STELLAR HERITAGE BOXSET

The Complete Space Opera Series

BOB MAULDIN

Copyright © 2019 Bob Mauldin

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by

Blade of Truth Publishing Company

Cover art: Alexandre Rito of Podium Audio

Box Set Mockup by JCaleb Designs

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and events portrayed in these stories are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is coincidental.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Contact the publisher via email at:

chadd@bladeoftruthpublishing.com

ISBN-13: 978-1-64248-051-1

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FOREWORD

It is with a heavy heart that we write this…

In November of 2019 Bob Mauldin tragically passed away. Bob was not only a great man, but a phenomenal author as well. The stories in his head that he never put on paper will be sorely missed. However, his legacy will live on in the works he did get down on the page.

When we came into the picture, Bob already had his four book series completed for a number of years. At the time, we didn’t have a publishing company so we decided to show him how to self-publish the works on his own. Plans changed as we founded Blade of Truth Publishing. Now we had an easier avenue to share Bob’s work with the world.

We were barely established as a company when Bob took a chance on us and asked us to publish Legacy. It was with much excitement that I was able to come to him after only a couple of months and tell him that people loved his book. We took on the rest of his series and started the editing process. We published his second book, Spheres of Influence, in July 2019 with plans to publish the last two books in early 2020.

Then November came and Bob passed away, but not before he could see the success of his books and the support many readers were showing him. He passed after experiencing his dream of being an author come to fruition and we were blessed enough to be a part of that.

The last two books in the Stellar Heritage series are published posthumously with permission from his family. This may be the end of a great author, but his legacy will live on in the hearts and minds of his readers.

Joshua & Sarah Chadd

Owners, Blade of Truth Publishing Company

To my awesome beta readers: Dylan, Darlene, & Jennifer. Thank you for your hard work.

To Joshua for walking into my life and changing it completely and for helping fulfill my dream of being an author.

To my Honey: without you this work would never have been started—or finished.

INTRODUCTION

I’ve always been fascinated by the concept of Roswell. More to the point, I’ve always been fascinated by what would have happened if, instead of the government, it was civilians who’d gotten ahold of something alien and fantastic.

The year 1947 brought with it hope for a newer, happier world after the end of the greatest war the planet had ever seen. It also brought the beginnings of the Cold War, the Iron Curtain, and, in the United States, a rumor, still unverified, of an alleged spaceship crash in the desert outside Roswell, New Mexico.

The year 2001 should have begun a bright new millennium, but over three thousand souls were lost in one senseless act of violence on September 11th, and the whole world writhed for years… and more people died.

The year 2010 should have been well into the first part of a bright new millennium. Instead, it brought more of the same—food shortages, race riots, sarin gas attacks, and suicide bombings—killing innocents on both sides, all designed to get the world’s attention so some group could espouse some great cause, political or otherwise.

With all of this came more of the same—anger, hatred and fear, frustration over the inability to effect any changes in the systems causing all this misery around the world, giving way to resignation concerning one’s fate. At least one of these conditions applied to the vast majority of the human race, it is sad to say, except for a few favored nations where the standard of living was such that the citizenry, for the most part, knew about the conditions in other parts of their world but felt more than a little divorced from them.

Many of those favored nations would fall by the wayside, devolving in time to the very status they looked down on in those so-called third world countries.

The bright, new, long-awaited millennium finally dawned, bringing with it something alien… something fantastic.

Bob Mauldin

June 2017

Book 1

Legacy

PROLOGUE

Trajo kep Kuria launched the shuttle and moved away from the great factory ship for the last time. The virus had finally gotten to him, even with all the precautions. He should have known. The Spirits of Space would never let him get away with over nine hundred murders, even if it had been for love and even if it was unknowingly.

He remembered the necklace and its silvery setting, entwined with the sigil of Rami’s minor house at the bottom. She had placed it around his neck herself on their wedding in the little chapel overlooking the port city of Quillas the night before the Dalgor Kreth left on its mission. The gava stone center was almost two inches across and showed the esteem that she and her house were held in by clan sel Garian. Once, he’d been proud of the associations that one piece of jewelry had entitled him to. Now he saw it as evidence against those who would use him so callously and kill so many.

Before leaving the bridge for the last time, he recorded a final message detailing his treachery and naming all those responsible for leading him to his part. He then placed the damning testimony under a security lock with the captain’s personal code. He had left the Chalweh—the only personal item he allowed to remain aboard—hidden and revealed its location in his confession, all to show the Matriarch how deeply she’d been infiltrated by Isolationists.

All he had to do was input the codes, and at the specified time Rami had told him, the program would activate several strategically located bombs that would make the ship have to return, setting back the Expansionist agenda by several years at least.

What Rami hadn’t told him—and maybe hadn’t known herself—was that the explosives were attached to vials of frenda vesh, the death plague. None could survive in the confining space of even so large a place as the huge factory ship. Built in space, and a small village unto itself, the Dalgor Kreth was incapable of landing on a planet. She and her crew mined the asteroid belts that made their existence possible, shuttling the finished products to a colony planet’s surface. Even though he was a crewmember, he’d never been intended to survive, he now knew, and the ship had never been meant to arrive at her destination.

As per policy, a shuttle was launched each time a ship left otherspace to check for damage, and he had the privilege on this particular occasion of being the lowly soul assigned the boring task of inspecting the unending field of metal that comprised the hull of a factory ship.

From time to time, ships entered normal space in the direct path of a meteor swarm, or even less likely in the middle of the swarm itself, so it was standard practice to make such inspections. Finally, the program he’d inputted activated itself. This time, when the Dalgor Kreth dropped out of otherspace, the bombs had gone off. It was the thing that had saved his life, even if it was only for a few more months. He’d been launched at the same time that the small explosive units had ruptured vials of the virus throughout the ship. But before he could finish his chore, the radio had informed him of what was transpiring aboard. During one of his final lucid phases, the captain had transferred control of the ship, and Trajo had felt his wristband tingle for several seconds.

After the voices finally ceased, he flushed the tainted air into space and finished the grisly task of removing all organic material to which the virus might attach itself and survive. Sealed inside a construction pod from his inspection ship while removing the last few corpses, he’d had time to admire the irony of the situation the Spirits of Space had placed him in. He’d finished his morbid tasks and returned to the shuttle, waiting the recommended time and then some before ordering the closing of all ports and restoring the ship’s air from uncontaminated spares on board.

In the months that followed, he’d tried to find a home. Someone, possibly the captain, had erased all astrogation data from the computer, and others had evacuated the dead bodies and all of their possessions up until the last few no longer had the mental capacity to carry on. Those few were the ones he’d had to remove himself.

He knew as little about his section of space as anyone would who’d never traveled the airless pathways between the stars. His home star was one of a trinary system, his own sun being the reddest. Ordering the ship’s computer to begin compiling data and rebuilding the astrogation library, he also ordered that any such system was to be investigated.

Now he sat in the command seat of a shuttle, leaving the Dalgor for the last time. Months had passed as the computer searched out system after system with its long-range scanners. Each time had been a false alarm until the last stop. Sitting in orbit around the reddest star of the latest trinary system, the ship’s instruments picked up intelligent signals from a hotter, yellower star than his people would usually colonize.

The irony of that made him laugh. The Spirits had led him to a new race in the stellar neighborhood. The Shiravi knew of only one other, and that one had been rejected as a belligerent, warlike race. From what the computer had translated while he was in otherspace, streaking toward the planet its inhabitants called Earth, these beings might hold the key to the defeat of the Korvil. But the information needed to get back to Shiravi. If only he hadn’t contracted the disease himself. Even now he could feel the ice rushing through his veins.

Choosing a landing site wasn’t too difficult. A continent in the northern hemisphere reminded him of home. And, since the atmosphere was breathable, he could at least pretend he was home. The stars would be different, of course, but he would feel the wind on his face one last time.

The virus running through his body bloomed again and the toxins flowed through his system, greying his vision and numbing his hands as the shuttle nosed deeper into the waiting arms of the gravity-well fast enough to overtax the heat compensators. Terror welled up in him at the thought of not getting one last breath of fresh air, but that fear also gave birth to the hormones that finally gave back his vision and the use of his hands. Dripping sweat, he brought the shuttle back under control and keyed the onboard computer to land the shuttle in the valley he’d chosen while still aboard the Dalgor Kreth.

Maybe, he thought, dying will give me relief from this burden. Maybe the Spirits will allow me to rest if these beings can advance fast enough to help bring down the Isolationists who willed this turn of events.

Hands trembling over the controls, he carefully settled the shuttle into the secluded valley and shut the engines down for the last time. A spasm wracked him as the plague began its final assault on his body, and he coughed blood onto the deck. He staggered from the control room of the shuttle and through the empty cargo section to the door, pressing the controls that would give him his last look at a living world.

And maybe, just maybe, he could use those two aliens he’d seen on his scanners in the last few seconds before landing to get back at all those who had used him. If this race had the curiosity and aggressiveness indicated by their space technology, they’d be a good choice. And if the two he’d seen on his scanners had either or both of those traits, they’d be waiting somewhere nearby. Of course, they wouldn’t understand what he had planned for them, but if those Kath-e-vel spawned Korvil Raiders could copy the ships they stole, then perhaps these could, too, especially with a full-sized construction ship waiting in orbit. Maybe they could stop the Raiders, and maybe they could eventually deal a death blow to the Isolationist movement that had used and discarded him. He would never know, of course, but he did hope.

“Oh, Rami, did you ever really love me?” he asked himself as he started down the ramp to get the only revenge he had left…

CHAPTER ONE

Katherine Hawke regained consciousness slowly, her eyes fluttering open. For a time, she just lay there, feeling the cold, hard ground beneath her as impossible images replayed in her mind and her eyes finally focused. The first thing she saw, mere inches from her face, was a small alpine-like plant found in the Montana Rockies every spring. It threw a shadow from the full moon shining down on her. After a few moments, she was also able to make out the sage and mountain grasses that were struggling to cling to the steep slope.

Beyond that was… something else—a craft of some kind, shaped vaguely like a space shuttle. This one was still glowing red from its fall to Earth, and Katherine could feel the heat on her face.

It didn’t fall; it landed! And I’ve had enough experience designing loads for shuttles to know that this isn’t one, she mused fuzzily.

At this point, she realized that her head and right arm were hanging over the edge of the steep bluff she and her husband, Simon, had climbed, lugging a telescope to do some stargazing. Slowly rolling over until she was on flat ground, she looked at the moon above, realizing from its position that only moments had passed, and hours of memories poured into her head.

Their yearly camping trip was meant to clear out “cabin fever,” as Simon called it, away from man’s presence. There were places in Montana where one could pretend that no one else had ever been and that no other people existed. The occasional vapor trail and far-off sound of engines usually came as a bit of a shock somewhere around the third day, except that it had rained for the first three days.

This year, she and Simon had brought their friend Gayle Miller along. Gayle had stayed in camp, not caring to hike up a steep, muddy trail in the dark.

“I’ll keep the fire going so you can find your way home,” she’d said jokingly. Her idea of fun was to read a book by the light of a Coleman lantern and feed an occasional stick of damp wood to the warming blaze.

Katherine sat up carefully, a wave of dizziness stopping her just short of upright. When the feeling passed, she took stock of her situation. First, she was apparently unhurt except for a small gash on her forehead that had bled more than a little before beginning to clot, courtesy of some small rock kind enough to break her fall. Standing up uncertainly, she looked toward the telescope and Simon. By the light of the fully risen moon, she could see him struggling as she was, only he didn’t know why.

Or maybe I don’t either, she thought acerbically.

A flash of memory surfaced—the sky growing brighter as whatever was at the bottom of the bluff came down, Simon looking up in astonishment as the sky turned red, and then... nothing. She heard a groan as he struggled to sit up. Whatever had made her pass out had worked on him as well. She struggled through the few paces toward him, and her balance and energy returned more with each step. She knelt down beside him and, pretending to wipe leaves and twigs off, checked him over for any injuries.

Pushing her hands away, he said, “Nothing broken. Just bruised and battered. What the hell was that?” He slowly got to his feet, and she wrapped her arm around his waist as much for herself as for him.

They were standing several yards back from the edge of the bluff so Simon hadn’t yet seen what she had. “Well, it kinda looks like a space shuttle,” she said, nestling close to him in the chilly Montana night, her head on his chest. At an even six-foot, Simon’s arm draped around her five-foot-two frame comfortingly.

He rested his chin on top of her head for a moment and then jerked it up. “Looks?” he asked incredulously. “Something moving that fast had to have crashed. What makes you think it was a space shuttle?”

“Come over here,” she said, pulling with the arm she had around his waist. “You tell me. And I did say ‘kinda.’” Her flashlight found the edge of the bluff.

The moon’s cold white light tended to suck the color out of most things, but the craft at the base of the bluff was still sending heat waves into the air, and the field behind them was wavering. Small fires had started near the ship but quickly extinguished themselves due to the rain-soaked ground.

Smoke drifted around the slowly cooling ship, blurring its outlines—first here, then there, always tantalizing and not giving a full view of the thing. A shift in the winds blew the smoke clear for a few seconds, and the pair stared down at the huge ship. It stood forty feet above the bluff, which was about sixty feet above the valley below. At sixty feet wide and nearly two hundred feet long, it nearly filled their end of the small valley.

“It had to have landed under its own power,” he said, almost to himself. “And we don’t have anything that can do that.”

Katherine looked up at him. With the moon behind him, his face was hard to see, his eyes hidden in shadow. She felt a quiver go through the arm around her shoulder. “Who do you mean by ‘we’?” she asked. “Even the Russians and Chinese don’t have the capability to land something like this under power, and practically VTOL, too.” Getting no response—pretty much expected under the circumstances—she added, “Remember, I have a doctorate in physics and I had to learn the cargo capacity of a shuttle, along with lift, drag, mass, momentum, and other things like vehicle configuration, and that is no normal shuttle down there.” Occasionally, her time at MIT still came in handy.

Tech Sergeant Hoskins jumped when he heard the first ping in his earphones. He looked at the data stream running down the right side of his display and immediately flipped a switch, pressing three numbers on his keypad. It only took seconds for a captain to arrive.

“What do you have, Sergeant?” he asked, clearly irritated at being disturbed. Nothing at the shift briefing had indicated any reason to expect anything out of the ordinary.

The sergeant pointed at the image on his screen. “Sir, my first guess was junk falling back to Earth, or a meteor, but then this curve showed up. I called as soon as I confirmed that there had been no recorded launches.” The sergeant pointed at a line of data slowly scrolling down the screen. “It’s definitely decelerating.”

The officer picked up a red phone on a nearby console and held it to his ear while continuing to read the display over the technician’s shoulder. “Sir, Captain Martin in Operations,” he said by way of introduction after a short wait. “We’ve picked up an incoming bogey as of three minutes ago. Preliminary data is that it is not, repeat, not a missile. The object appears to be under power and decelerating and shows every indication of having originated from outside our atmosphere. We have a tentative landing area somewhere between Wyoming and the Canadian border.”

He listened for a few seconds and said, “Sir, yes, sir,” then hung up the phone. “Sergeant, you will continue to monitor the bogey until it drops off your screen. And try to get something from our orbital assets, too. Make sure you have all of this on backup. I’m not going to take the fall if General Dalton doesn’t get all the information he needs.”

“Yes, sir.” The sergeant wouldn’t have this cushy assignment under Cheyenne Mountain if he wasn’t good at it, and all recorders had been running from the first. Still, he knew where the feces would land if anything went wrong and offered a silent prayer.

I am definitely going to have to pick a better place to pee next time, Katherine thought, not taking her eyes off the craft below. A spaceship.

Shuttles needed long glide-paths and long landing strips. This thing had come almost straight down at a considerable speed for it to have glowed so brightly. The light had illuminated the whole top of the bluff just before she blacked out, and its ability to decelerate caused her to worry somewhere in the back of her brain. But in the forefront of said brain—trained in analytical thinking and possessing a master’s degree in systems analysis and a bachelor’s degree in theoretical physics—was the desire to go down and examine the craft immediately. Her eyes took in the smoldering vegetation around the ship or… whatever it was.

Looking up at her husband, she said, “Okay, Simon, give. You’ve got to know something. Tell me.”

As a former DIA agent, he was sure to have some of the answers she wanted. The expression on his face told her a lot but not enough.

“Well, I was briefed twice before we were married and I got promoted to agent supervisor, but I never really expected to see one, even if they did exist. Some of us stayed up nights tossing ideas around. What if the powers-that-be were right? We had to have control of that knowledge or we’d eventually cease to exist as an independent nation. That’s what I was trained to believe, but here and now, I’m not so sure. There are groups of special troops stationed all over the country set to act as quick-response teams. Our government has a name for them: ALERT teams. Stands for ‘Alien Landing, Emergency Response, Tactical.’”

Ever since the bungled attempt to hide the crash at Roswell in 1947, most governments around the world had instituted programs allowing them to mobilize forces specifically designed to contain situations such as the one Simon and Katherine now found themselves in. Although acting under a variety of names, groups similar to ALERT were stationed all over the world in hopes of getting to a craft first. There had been unsubstantiated reports out of South America, Russia, China, Egypt, and a number of other places in the intervening years, but none had ever hinted at an intact craft.

Katherine glanced back at the vessel below. “Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

Simon immediately responded. “Need to know, Kitty-me-love. Besides, I never expected to actually see one in the first place. And I’ve been out of the loop since I retired.”

She surveyed the scene below her, agreeing in principle. The smoke drifting back and forth on the ever-changing winds added a surreal quality to the overheated craft. Decades of reading science fiction hadn’t prepared her for this moment, but it did deaden the pain. Hell, she’d even brought the latest Honor Harrington book along for reading material. Three miserable days of rain had left the ground a soggy mess, and she and Simon had had to slog through more than one small swamp to reach the switchback trail up the ridge. At least the dampness kept the heat of the craft’s entry from allowing the brush in the area to do more than smolder a bit before dying out.

The newly risen full moon cast sharply defined shadows, and Katherine’s breath caught in her throat as she gazed in wonder at the ship that sat exposed in the silvery light. No earthly craft could have landed in that confined space, except some of the more advanced vertical take-off and landing types, the ones called VTOLs, and this certainly wasn’t one of those. It had no props or fans at all. Shaped essentially like a shuttle, it had floated over her head and apparently landed under its own power.

Apparently, she thought, because its passage had knocked both her and her husband out in some unknown fashion, and now it sat at the bottom of the hill.

Katherine tried to fit this new information into her worldview. She was bombarded daily with news programs full of travel warnings—anthrax vaccinations and scenes of almost unimaginable suffering from all over the world. The burning questions posed by the immaculately dressed commentators were about madmen pushing the button, trains derailing, toxic spills, drive-by shootings or some other psycho committing another unspeakable act in their particular slice of heaven, all topped off at the end with an upbeat, heart-warming fluff piece about a kitten that survived a fire. Hell, that was the reason for their yearly retreat in the first place! And now this.

“What was that you said about something called ALERT teams?” she asked. The possibility of government agents dropping out of thin air suddenly unnerved her more than a bit.

“They’re teams of specially trained agents whose mission is to get this thing out of sight and into a place where it can be studied.”

“Like the Roswell ship?” Kitty asked sarcastically. “We’ve been getting dribs and drabs out of that for the last fifty years, and they still haven’t admitted its existence.” Within the circles she used to run in, it was a well-known fact that advancements like the transistor and fiber optics were a direct result of technology from crashed alien spaceships. And that was a wrecked one; here sat an intact vessel.

“How long before one of those teams arrives, and how many will be involved?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Look,” Katherine said patiently, an internal clock starting to tick in her head, “in this day and age, this kind of thing can’t be kept secret. Too many countries have the ways and means to track it and grasp the meaning of what we have here.” She spoke almost as if to a child. “If the U.S. gets hold of it, everyone is going to want in on it out of pure fear that one entity will gain too large an advantage over everyone else. And I truly wouldn’t be surprised if it was one of our allies that did the first button-pushing if we didn’t give in to their demands.”

Simon shook his head. “I’ve lived with you way too long, woman. You’re beginning to make sense. So, we keep it out of everybody’s hands. How?”

“If we can’t convince the occupants to leave immediately, I don’t know what we’ll do. If they don’t go, it sure looks like World War III to me.” At that moment, a high-pitched whine interrupted the crackling and popping of cooling metal coming from the now-darkened ship. As the pair on the ridge watched, a hatch opened in the near side, hinged at the bottom. When it was fully extended, its edge rested on the ground about twenty-five feet from the hull.

A dim red light shone out of the opening, and for a time, nothing more happened. Kitty asked Simon again, “How long for one of those teams to arrive?”

He thought for a moment. “Assume a unit stationed at Malmstrom,” he said, naming an Air Force base in north-western Montana. “Not really expecting an event, they’d be a bit unprepared for an immediate activation. Confirmation, authorization, and execution would take some time. Besides the team itself, there would be at least a half-dozen scientists, helicopters to ferry them here, support craft to provide ground troops or perimeter duty as necessary. You’re talking between forty and sixty personnel roused from a dead sleep.”

He looked at his watch and then at the moon, which had been below the mountains when this started, and saw that it was almost two-thirty a.m. “I’d say two hours for the first of the group to arrive, maybe a little less. Those would be primarily special ops units to secure the area. The brains will arrive at a more leisurely pace. Most of those guys will be civilians, and they’ll have all sorts of equipment to study this thing with. But jets scrambled from the same base could arrive here within half an hour for a preliminary fly-over. They’re equipped with infra-red and UV, as well as normal cameras, and they would probably be F-15s or F-16s.”

Kitty usually told Simon just what she thought, and this time was no different. “If we let our government have that ship, no nation on Earth will believe the U.S. doesn’t have it, and I see World War III coming out of that.” Sometimes, when she was at her most insecure, she tended to repeat herself.

Simon had started to give her an appraising look when the light from the interior was blocked by something moving around inside. “Looks like our choices just got a lot more limited,” he said.

Gayle reveled in her solitude. It was all that Kitty and Simon had said it would be—deer actually walking into their camp—and with the total absence of civilization’s noise and light, the stars spilled across the night sky like jewels from the hand of God. Finally.

The first three days had been a pain, though, with all three of them pretty much confined to their tents. A front had stalled, bringing three days of off-and-on rain. There’d been no campfires, no breakfasts over an open fire, nothing. Everything had been done in the cramped quarters of the two tents—dreary, to say the least, and not what she’d been led to expect. Kitty had apologized several times a day, but she had no control over the weather. At least it hadn’t turned cold and snowed, a distinct possibility at this altitude even at this time of year.

Kitty was her best friend, of course, and had been for over thirty years. And Simon was, well, Simon. Him, she’d only known since just before the wedding. It was obvious that he adored Kitty, but even after fifteen years, she knew virtually nothing about his life before their meeting. His early life he talked about easily enough if pressed—trouble with his father, some juvenile scrapes that left him with the choice between military service or jail—but her delicate and not-so-delicate questioning over the years still left a blank spot in the life of her best friend’s husband.

It was that very mystery she focused on as she fed the fire, gazing outward into the darkness. He had easily fit into their lives while keeping a part of himself secret, at least from her, which could mean Kitty was also keeping a secret from her. She kept trying to brush the idea off as paranoia, but the memory of one of the times she’d brought the subject up kept coming back. Kitty had brushed it off, saying, “Oh, that. National security stuff, like how we met.”

“So, he was a spy?” Gayle had asked.

Kitty shook her head. “I think the term ‘field operative’ or ‘field agent’ would be more appropriate. Not everything he did was clandestine. I mean, he just walked into MIT and started asking questions. No spy stuff. Just good detective work.”

Gayle had learned to let the matter lie, and Simon was likable enough. And he did love Kitty; that was obvious. He doted on her. More to the point, Kitty loved him, too, which was where Gayle usually left off in her musings. She added another log to the fire, propped her feet up, picked up her book and began slowly turning pages by the light of the Coleman lantern.

Her first indication that something was amiss was when the pages took on a reddish tinge that couldn’t possibly have come from the lantern. She glanced first at the campfire, thinking it had somehow flared up. When that proved to not be the case, she started looking for a fire somewhere in the area, unlikely as that was with all the recent rain. But the red glow continued to increase, throwing vague shadows across the campsite. After a few moments, she looked up and her mouth fell open.

Roughly triangular-shaped and glowing a bright, cherry red that was already dimming, the thing dropped from the sky and floated over the butte where Simon and Kitty had put up their telescope before it set down at the base of the ridge.

Heart pounding, she picked up her .223 rifle and a flashlight, hesitated for a second, and took Simon’s obsolete military 30-06 M-1 rifle instead, opting for the heavier stopping power if needed. Slipping quietly through the darkness with a hunter’s deftness, she made her way toward the strange craft between her and her friends, the smell of smoke getting stronger the closer she got.

General Herman C. Dalton worked to keep his hand from shaking as he spoke into the phone. “Colonel, you are to have your team in the air in no more than twenty minutes. Is that clear?” He listened to the response and the question that followed. “Right now, all we can say is that your destination is somewhere in Midwestern Montana. Your pilots will be updated en route. Two F-16s out of Malmstrom have just been scrambled and will take care of the overflight. Yours is the closest team, and I expect your advance people to be on the ground within ninety minutes. And Colonel, no slip-ups. I want that area completely interdicted. No one in and no one out until we have all the information we can get.”

The general then turned to the conservatively suited man sitting in an overstuffed leather chair. “Operation Sidestep is underway, sir,” he said as humbly as a certain sergeant had spoken to a particular captain not too many minutes before.

“Good,” the man answered. “The Director will be pleased if this goes well.”

The general was another of those who knew what happened when things didn’t go well, and he said a silent prayer of his own because the director wouldn’t be pleased if there was any kind of screwup.

Trajo kep Kuria looked out the hatch at the alien mountainside. He was going to walk out into that unfamiliar environment and feel true wind on his face one last time. The icy breeze on his face burned a bit. Part of that was the virus, of course, but he did come from an older, smaller, hotter planet. Almost anywhere but the tropics would be cold to him. And here he would die, within the hour probably. Even his mind wouldn’t focus, and he wondered what he’d just been thinking about the aliens.

CHAPTER TWO

Simon’s pulse slowed towards a semblance of normal, his eyes drawn to the little valley below. Formed during the last retreat of the glaciers that had covered North America thousands of years ago, it had provided a sanctuary for both him and Kitty for nearly fifteen years. Every spring, when cabin fever drove them out of their home in Billings, Montana, it gave them almost everything—a small artesian spring that burbled over and around rocks left behind by the long-gone glaciers, a fair-sized pond complete with brookies, a small stream bleeding off the excess water, wildlife strolling around, and near-complete seclusion provided by an access road only four-wheel-drive vehicles could navigate. And even those had to be on the small side to get past some of the constrictions on the road in. All-in-all, it was an almost perfect place to let the cares of running their small security company wash away one week each year.

Across the small valley, the beacon that was their campfire blazed, tended by Kitty’s friend, Gayle Miller. This year they had included Gayle in their escape from cabin fever, but it looked like their trip was going to be anything but free of stress. Simon idly wondered how she was taking the situation.

He turned his eyes back to the thing at the bottom of the steep slope. Deep inside, he felt a sadness slip over him, knowing that this sheltered haven would never be the same again. Simon glanced down at the woman beside him. His height often made him feel protective toward his wife, but she carried twice the mental firepower of anyone he knew. That was how she’d captured him.

Looking for a leak in their cold-fusion program, Simon had been the overt operative on the team sent to MIT to investigate the situation. Even though Doctor Conroy was a brilliant physicist, he made a lousy spy. Kitty, as she preferred to be called by her friends, had been assigned as his research assistant while she worked to get her own impressive string of letters after her name, and she’d kept a log of all the good doctor’s connections to the university mainframe. While his personal password would only operate the terminal in his office, everything leaving and returning to Conroy’s machine had gone through Kitty’s terminal first. Noticing certain oddities, she’d long before quietly begun making backups of all e-traffic in a secure file located elsewhere in the massive amount of data in the university’s restricted access section.

When he found out about Simon’s presence, Conroy panicked and tried to send just enough data to Kitty’s terminal to implicate her, but she’d already planned for such an eventuality. Anything being sent to her terminal from his was automatically re-routed right back to his own station, renamed, and hidden among his own research notes.

Even as he was being led away, hands cuffed behind his back, Conroy didn’t seem to comprehend the twists that had led to his arrest by federal marshals. Simon knew, though. He knew that without the foresight and ingenuity of one Katherine Cattin, PhD., with a B.S. in systems analysis among her other accomplishments, uncovering the culprit could have been a lot harder.

A whirlwind romance followed, which was the talk of the Agency for a time; then, as with most things, the tempest blew itself out, until the wedding. After the honeymoon, Simon found a notice among all the other stuff in his inbox transferring him to field-operative handler. Reading between the lines, he knew that he was no longer considered a good risk in the field since he now had someone else to worry about as well. What could happen if he were covert and someone found out about his wife?

Two years he’d foundered on, trying to fit into a world of suits and ties, parties, galas and intrigue on higher levels that held no real interest for him. Finally, he tendered his resignation, moved to Billings, Montana, Katherine’s hometown, and set himself up in business as a security consultant. Hawke Security was a well-respected concern in the year 2010 when one camping trip changed the course of life on Earth almost as much as the meteor that had wiped out the dinosaurs.

Now, he stood on a hilltop and looked down on a sight that his fellow agents—former fellow agents, he reminded himself—had only whispered or dreamed about. Once he’d been reassigned to the position of handler for field agents, he’d become privy to some of the more esoteric briefings bestowed on the upper echelons. Those evening bull sessions that revolved around all the “what ifs” now stared him in the face.

The here-and-now snapped back into place when Kitty prodded. “So, what are we going to do, Simon?”

Kitty, for her part, hadn’t been idle while studying the thing. Heat-glow gone now, the moonlight sketched a roughly triangular shape sitting in the narrow strip of land between the pond and the ridge they sat on. The general shape of the craft below would make a casual observer think they were looking at one of the space shuttles. Closer examination, however, showed that not to be the case, even leaving out the impossibility of its apparently powered landing in such a restricted space.

Kitty saw that the dimensions were more than a little off. While it had a round, cigar-shaped main body, flattened on the top and bottom, fat stubby wings and a tall stabilizer, something just looked subtly wrong about the whole design.

“Look,” she said quietly, seeing the lights change, too. “And don’t even try to tell me it’s one of ours. I already know it’s not.”

Simon’s other senses brought him information that he took in, stored, and analyzed almost subconsciously—the wind blowing Kitty’s long red hair around while it also scattered the smoke from the several small fires below, as well as the smell of the lodgepole pines competing with the odor of overheated metal and smoke whenever the capricious wind blew from the right direction.

“What the hell is a shuttle—whoever it belongs to—doing landing in the middle of a National Forest?” Kitty asked, pushing against Simon’s side until she stood unsupported. Reaching up, she felt around the cut on her head, and her fingers came away bloodied again. She let her arm fall to her side, thumb rubbing over her fingertips, feeling the blood rather than seeing it and knowing there would be a lump in the morning.

Kitty felt the shrug of his shoulders. “I don’t know, Kitty,” he answered quietly. “One thing I am sure of is that that is way beyond anything I was ever told about. Of course, I’ve been out of the loop ever since I retired.”

Kitty looked up at her husband’s face, hidden in moon-shadow. “What do you mean, ‘anything you were ever told about?’ You never told me about anything like this.”

Simon shrugged again. “Like I said before, hon—need to know, and you didn’t. Besides, I may be out of the Agency, but I’m still bound by several laws about revealing classified material.” He looked again at the shape in the darkness below and shook his head. “Of course, need to know just went out the window.” Reddish light spilled out of the open hatch onto the ramp and a small section of ground around it. “It’s all moot now, but I sure never expected to see something like this.”

“What do you mean?”

“That,” he said simply, nodding in the direction of the ship below. “Who do you think built it? You said it’s not one of ours. What do you base your opinion on?”

Kitty looked back at the craft in their little valley. “You know I worked on some of the low Earth orbit satellite projects after… Conroy,” she said hesitantly. “Not as classified as your work,” she said sarcastically, “but we did need to know things about the space shuttles, like their dimensions, both interior and exterior. That thing isn’t shaped right. Too long, too wide, too… I don’t know.”

“So, who built it?” Simon prodded.

Kitty shrugged. “No one on Earth has the tech base for it. Who do you think built it?” She realized the two of them were just temporizing. All these facts had already been gone over.

Simon stated positively. “This thing flew over us.”

Kitty was silent for a time, replaying the last few seconds before she’d lost consciousness. A hollow feeling began to form in the pit of her stomach. Hesitantly she asked, “Okay, so who does that leave?”

Simon said, “Aliens.”

“Don’t you dare make fun of my choice of reading material, Simon,” Kitty said tartly, already having come to the same conclusions.

“It’s not a line, hon,” Simon said gently, “And I read the same stuff as you, thank you very much. So. After I got promoted sideways, I attended a number of briefings on what to do in the event of something like this, and some of us, other controllers, talked about it amongst ourselves—the ones who were cleared for it, that is.”

Kitty stared into the dark spaces where Simon’s eyes hid. “So, we’re looking at real live aliens?”

Simon chose not to answer the accusation Kitty had leveled at him.

She stared up at him in the dark. “You’re not kidding, are you?”

Simon shook his head. “No, dear, I’m not.”

She looked back at the ship in the valley. “What does this mean?”

Simon’s gaze followed his wife’s. “It could mean that the balance of power is about to shift drastically. It could mean that the U.S. is about to get an advantage no one else will be able to match.”

Kitty’s voice came quietly to Simon’s ears. “Or it could mean the end of life as we know it.”

Montana nights tended to be on the chilly side, even in late May, and especially above six thousand feet, but Simon’s shiver hadn’t come from the errant winds. Rather, it came from the profusion of possible futures his mind conjured up, one possibility leading to another in an ever-increasing cascade of maybes until it was all just a blur. Some of those paths led to the best long-term gain for humanity. Others ended badly, with humanity suffering more in the long run, some less dramatically. But a few led to the stars. He held Kitty tightly, his shiver passing to her.

“If that ship doesn’t leave soon, you could be right, Kittyn.”

CHAPTER THREE

“So, tell me,” she said quietly, “what do you think is going to happen?”

“Truthfully?” Simon asked. Shaking his head, he said, “We’re out of time. That’s the future down there, and we’re in deep shit—personally, as well as a race. The people who are going to show up soon are good enough to figure out who camped out here sooner or later, so even if we leave, they’ll be knocking on our door. And as a race, well, this isn’t going to be a Roswell kind of thing. Too many people have too many ways of finding things out for this to be kept under wraps for long.”

He ran his hand through his hair. Kitty knew that gesture. Whenever Simon felt trapped or was unsure of his course of action, he fussed with his hair. “No nation on Earth can be allowed to have that much of a technological edge over the others. Balance of power, remember? I think that before we could figure out how to use what’s down there, other nations—China surely, Russia possibly, even France and maybe Germany—will try to get their share of the pie. Of course, we’ll deny it, but word will leak out. I see a coalition rising up against us to turn it over to the world. I see us refusing, throwing up roadblocks while we try to get some advantage before world opinion forces someone to do something drastic.”

Kitty contemplated his words. “So, this is major.” Not a question, a statement of fact.

“Unless that thing takes off,” Simon confirmed, “very major.”

The two observers noticed another change in the light from the interior of the craft at the same time. It looked like something, or someone, was moving between them and the interior light source. They stood rooted as a figure stepped into the doorway.

Stepped, Kitty thought, legs shaking. One head, two legs, two arms. Maybe it’s a human ship after all, and things aren’t as desperate as Simon thinks.

The figure leaned against the doorframe for a moment and then stepped over the threshold. It seemed to sag, as if it suddenly shouldered an extra burden, and staggered two paces forward before sinking to its knees.

Knees, Kitty was almost giddy with relief. He’s human after all.

In the dim red light pouring out of the interior, the figure looked like it was trying to stand but only succeeded in kneeling upright before falling off the side of the ramp into the shadows.

“Honey, I think he’s hurt. I need to get down there.” Simon started to move toward the edge of the bluff.

For the first time in her life Kitty was afraid of the wild darkness of her native Montana. “Not without me, you’re not! I’m not staying here alone. Besides, you might need help.”

Simon hesitated, deciding. He handed her a flashlight and pulled his mag-light from its nylon holster on his belt. “Okay, but be careful.” He took her free hand and slipped over the edge of the hill, beginning the long slide to the bottom.

As she scrambled down the sloping face of the knoll with a small patch of light her only guide, Kitty thought, This is crazy! We’re going to break our necks trying to get to a space shuttle in the middle of the night in the middle of a forest!

She skittered down the slope just feet behind Simon, using one hand to keep herself more-or-less upright, the other shining her flashlight ahead so she could maneuver around the shrubs, rocks, and occasional small trees that kept appearing in the tiny circle of light.

They reached the bottom and Kitty hissed at a stitch in her side and a new gash in her palm. Simon came over and looked at Kitty’s hand. He took a small package off his belt, opened it, and placed it over the cut. Wrapping the ends around her hand to hold the gauze in place, he said, “Pre-loaded with antibiotics and a painkiller. I’ll do a better job as soon as I can.”

Simon shined his light to the right, revealing a stubby wing set low on the stern of the vessel out of which protruded a landing foot or skid. Pointed up, the beam revealed a heat-seared wall some forty feet high. The two felt the craft’s residual heat, though it was quickly dissipating in the night’s chill breeze. “This is almost beyond belief,” Simon muttered, taking in all the details his eyes could focus on.

“‘Almost’ isn’t a word I would use,” Kitty said sarcastically. “Where’s the pilot?”

To the left, no flashlight was necessary. A pale red light washed out of the opening, illuminating the ramp and part of the ground in the near vicinity but leaving everything close to the ship in shadow. They had come down with the ramp between them and the fallen pilot. But what about the rest of the crew? A ship this size had to have a crew of at least five or six. Shouldn’t they be coming out as well? The two of them had made enough noise coming down the hillside. Loose pebbles still clattered down the slope.

Kitty watched Simon start to move slowly in the direction of the ramp some twenty feet to their left. She started to call out to him to wait but just followed instead. She watched him reach for the old Army .45 caliber pistol he always wore in the woods, fearing something bad was just ahead. Her heartbeat slowed when she realized he was merely checking to see that the leather flap was still fastened down.

Simon stepped gingerly onto the ramp from the side, crossing the fifteen-foot expanse in silence, watching the interior as he made his way across. Kitty followed onto the strangely textured surface and glanced into the interior of the craft as well, seeing nothing but an unbroken expanse of floor. Simon let out a breath that brought her attention back.

She moved up beside him when he motioned her forward, his light never wavering from something in the shadows on the far side of the ramp. Their near-vertical, controlled slide down the face of the hill in a darkness broken only by the wildly swinging beams of their flashlights and a full moon had been bad enough. But this! This was just un-bloody-believable! She’d figured the pilot was a human being, even after what Simon had told her. Of course, she had. After all, who in their right mind would really expect a UFO to drop out of the sky right in front of them? It just had to be next-gen technology not yet released to the public

He had told her of his military service and how he’d joined the DIA after leaving the Army so he could keep doing something for his country. The problem had been that he wasn’t one of those who easily tolerated the regimentation of military life. That was why the DIA had been perfect for him until they’d gotten married. On some deeper level though, she struggled. She just couldn’t believe he hadn’t told her about this years before.

Until now. Apparently, you could take a spy out of the business, but you couldn’t take the mindset out of the spy. Speared in the twin beams of their flashlights lay indisputable proof.

“Simon! He’s red!” Kitty stared in fascination at the… person… crumpled on the ground beside the ramp. “I mean really red. Look at his face!”

The ochre light spilled from the open hatch and mixed with the beams of their own lights, revealing a sight Kitty could hardly tear her eyes from. The pilot, the alien, slowly moved to lie flat on his back. His, because there was no evidence of breasts showing under the form-fitting, bluish garment he wore.

He looked back and forth between the two beings standing over him. There was no hair on his head, no eyelashes, and no eyebrows, and the lack of the latter gave him a permanently startled appearance. The eyes themselves were a slightly lighter shade of red than his skin, the nose had no cartilage to give it form, and the fingers seemed to have at least one extra knuckle each.

How must we look to him? Kitty thought.

He leaned away and coughed something dark onto the ground.

Finally breaking free from the trance he seemed to have entered at the sight of the being on the ground, Simon said, “We have to do something. Help me get him up.”

Simon stepped to the far side of the alien, and as he and Kitty squatted down and reached out toward him, the man—for that was how they both thought of him—said, “K’lat! Muvara chi. Liperin se.” As he spoke, the alien struggled to get himself into a seated position.

The two humans looked at each other. There was no way to know what the alien had said, but the intent was obvious: they weren’t to touch him.

“Stop!” a voice said from inside the ship. “I cease. Touch not.”

Time seemed to stand still for Simon. His thoughts raced. Two aliens? The weight of the pistol on his hip comforted a small part of him, and he suddenly realized just how small a part that was. But the voice from inside had said, “I cease.” He looked first at Kitty, then at the open doorway into the vessel. Images filled his head as scenes played out to their logical, and sometimes illogical, conclusions, and all of them left much to be desired.

Simon took on faith that whoever—whatever—was translating for the alien was capable of working the other way as well. “What can we do to help?”

As the translation rumbled out of speakers somewhere inside the ship, the alien seemed to relax, though his expression remained guarded, if any earthly description could be applied to a face so different.

“Keppa sil,” the alien answered. “Chi a sumara do jora, kiya liperin se.”

Seconds later the voice sounded from inside the huge ship. “Very little. I would feel a planet’s breath once more before I cease.”

Simon was acutely aware of the passage of time. He asked, “What happens to your ship when you… cease?”

“It will cease also,” the alien answered. “I would see that not happen.”

“Me, too, I think,” Simon muttered.

Kitty spoke up from beside Simon. “How can that be prevented?”

The alien thought for a moment, or perhaps gathered his strength. The impression both humans got was of less than good health—the short breaths evident by the movements of the nasal skin flaps and the labored rise and fall of the skinny chest.

“I am the last of the crew,” came from the internal speakers. “When I cease, the ship will know by this.” He held up his wrist, encircled by a silvery metal band covered in colored designs. “To prevent the capture of our technology by… others… we make our ships cease when the last of the crew dies. This can be prevented if one of you agrees to wear this. It will identify you as the captain and allow you aboard. The technology will be yours.”

Simon stared at the alien as choices flashed into his mind—possible outcomes, branching alternatives, countermoves—trying to think several steps ahead while still maintaining a degree of adaptability to adjust to the exigencies of the moment.

To Kitty’s eyes, Simon seemed frozen, a condition she’d only witnessed on rare occasions. It was a form of meditation that she’d begged him to teach her. He said he could sometimes see the possible futures laid out on a grid, one that changed even as he examined the individual moves that led to certain conclusions. When she asked him how he could change things merely by looking, he would only say, “The observer always affects the observed.”

Now, if he was right, time was running out. She deliberately broke his train of thought with a question. “What do we do, Simon?”

Simon jerked as if a small electric current had hit him. He looked down at the alien. “How much time do we have to decide?”

“Keppa sil. Muvara se,” the alien said, and the translation boomed from inside the craft.

“Very little. I cease.”

She knelt down beside the alien. “Who are you, and why are you dying?” She gazed into the improbably red eyes, a shiver running down her spine.

“I am Trajo kep Kuria,” the red man answered through the translator, almost brusquely. “I die because of stupidity. I was tricked into releasing a plague aboard the ship. I thought it was an explosive that would damage the ship and force it to return to Shiravi, my home-world. There were explosives, yes, but they were only small charges to release the virus and it was to have killed me as well. I would see the ones who have done this punished.” His hand shot out and grabbed Kitty’s wrist. “You are my last hope. Find my world and send this message to the Matriarch—Isolationists have a deeper hold than you realize. Beware.”

Before Kitty could do more than start to pull out of the alien’s grasp, his hand fell limply to the ground.

“Virus?” Simon questioned, kneeling beside his wife. “What good will it do us to do anything after being exposed to who-knows-what kind of disease?”

“You are safe,” the alien said. “This disease is one that targets only those of Shiravan ancestry. Our systems are too incompatible for you to be affected. Now, you must decide.”

A thoughtful tone entered Simon’s voice. He turned to look at his wife kneeling beside him, still surprised at her acceptance of the situation. “If I was still with the Agency, I’d probably turn it in. But being married to you for fifteen years has mellowed my outlook a bit. Now, I’m not so sure that turning it over is the best idea. We could try to move it farther back into the mountains, staying below radar level, and hide it until we can figure out what to do with it. We could also turn it over to an international consortium or something. But whatever we do, we have to take the wristband, now.”

“You two would be right in the middle of something mysterious.”

The voice out of the dark made Kitty jump.

“Damn it, Gayle! Don’t do that!” Simon exclaimed, lowering the pistol and putting the safety back on. Even in the dark, her waist-length blonde hair stood out. “What the hell are you doing out here with a rifle—my rifle?”

Before she could reply, Kitty said quietly, “Okay, do it.”

Gayle looked over and saw the alien move his fingers over the surface of the wristband in a complicated pattern. “Holy sh… I mean, Jesus Chr… I mean, God damn!”

Gayle’s last New Year’s resolution had been to quit cursing, but given the situation, Kitty felt her friend had shown remarkable restraint.

The two women had met on the first day of first grade. Kitty had been dropped off and was making her way across the playground through the mass of yelling second through sixth graders, lunchbox in hand, when she heard first laughter—unpleasant laughter—and then screaming. “Let me go, you bastards! I’ll kill you, you sons of bitches!”

Kitty started to head away from the ruckus since she’d been raised that a proper young lady didn’t use that kind of language or associate with those who did, but a glimpse of the screamer changed her mind. She’s smaller than me! she thought. Six-year-old Kitty saw the little girl being held against the baseball backstop by two bigger boys while two others reached through from behind the chain-link fence and were busily tying the poor girl to the fence by her long, blonde hair. Kitty, victim of the O’Reilly genes that had given her unruly red hair, was also victim to a sense of outrage that knew no bounds. At the tender young age of six, she knew wrongness when it hit her in the face, and she had to do something.

She made her way around the growing crowd of yelling schoolchildren until she was behind the two boys industriously tying the blonde girl to the fence. She didn’t have a plan; she just ran straight at the boys, bowling one over completely and swinging at the other bigger boy’s head with her lunchbox. An altogether satisfying sound came from the meeting of the two hard objects, but the boy’s head began to bleed from a nasty gash above his eye. Yelling at the two to get away, she kept swinging the box until the two boys ran off.

Kitty began to try to untangle the messy knots in the now-silent girl’s hair, completely oblivious of the quiet wall of children staring at her from the other side of the fence. Knowing that some of her actions caused more pain, she was surprised that the girl said nothing, made not a sound. Finally, there was only one knot left.

“I can’t untie this one. I can cut it with my scissors or go call a grown-up. What should I do?”

“Just cut it. My mom is gonna be so pissed!”

Kitty found her new school scissors in her pocket and sawed at the mass until it finally fell apart. She wound the section of hair around the scissors and slid them back into her pocket at the same time the teachers arrived.

The ensuing brouhaha got her dad recalled to the school before home room, along with the blonde girl’s mother and the parents of the injured boy. Kitty stood beside her dad, looking at the carpet in front of the principal’s desk.

“It’s abundantly clear, Mr. Cattin, that your daughter was only doing her best to defend the other little girl from a group of bullies that, quite frankly, we’ve been having trouble with for some time.” He did have the nerve to stare at the boy’s parents when he said it, “My problem is that she actually injured Danny Batten pretty badly. The cut on his forehead is going to require stitches, and his parents want an apology. I believe I can put this aside if she’ll just apologize to him.”

Kitty pouted. “I won’t ‘pologise! I can’t.” The principal caught the stress on the last word and asked why. “‘Cause then I would be a liar, and my daddy said I should never lie. I’m not sorry, and I won’t ‘pologise.” She glared at Danny Batten, reducing him to ashes in her mind, and then looked sullenly back down at the floor. “I’d do it again, too,” she muttered.

The principal looked as if he hated what he had to say next. “Then I’m afraid I’ll have to suspend you for a week, Miss Cattin, just because you won’t tell him you’re sorry.” He tried to say it kindly, hoping she’d change her mind, but it was to no avail. Stubbornness was another Irish trait she’d acquired from her mother.

There were two positive notes that emerged from the incident. One was that Kitty never had to fight again. Her reputation had been made, and it grew with each year she went to school with the same kids. The other was that it started a friendship with Gayle Miller that spanned over three decades. The downside was the anger Danny Batten carried around forever after.

The two girls, later women, were seldom seen separately. For the week of Kitty’s suspension, Gayle was over every day, helping Kitty keep up with her homework and filling her in on what was going on with the bullies. It seemed that as a result of one little first-grader tackling two bigger boys, the other kids had decided they could do something to defend themselves against the milk-money thieves, the smokers, and the drug pushers, and were just saying no long before it became a First Lady’s battle cry.

A sharp metallic snick marked the passing of the wristband. She stared at it, Simon’s light shining off it. Composed of a mostly silvery metal, the band was largely covered with colored spaces that had to be some form of information input. The wristband felt both light and heavy at the same time. Her original thought—that it was merely ornamental—went out the window as she remembered the long red fingers moving across the surface of the two-inch-wide band.

“Guys, can either of you explain what’s going on here?” Gayle’s voice had risen an octave, signaling her approaching panic. “I saw this thing land over here where you two were playing with your telescope, so I grabbed Simon’s bear-stopper and headed over. I don’t know what I expected, but it sure wasn’t this!” she exclaimed, gesturing with the weapon.

Kitty shook her head, trying to rid herself of the impending sense of doom that washed over her. “It would appear,” she said stiffly, “that we’ve just had a real-life, honest-to-God spaceship handed to us.”

“And how long do we get to play with it before the big boys show up?”

Simon stood up from beside the body of the alien. “If we don’t get out of here, and soon, we won’t get to play with it long at all. This guy just died. At least, I think so. His chest moved up and down just like ours until a few seconds ago.” He ran his hand through his hair.

Kitty looked at Gayle and shrugged. She then laid her hand on Simon’s arm. “Darlin’, we need you to put your old DIA hat on. What would you do if you had a three-person team here and needed to move in a hurry?”

“Divide my forces,” Simon answered immediately. “Someone stays here to see if we can get some kind of control of the ship while the other two go break camp. But we’re not a DIA team.”

“But we’re all we’ve got. What do we do first?” Kitty just stood there and looked expectant.

Simon came to a decision. “Gayle, are you in on this?”

“See if you can get rid of me,” she answered.

“Okay, you two go forward and I’ll go aft. I’m betting you’ll wind up with the control room, and that,” he said, pointing one thumb over his shoulder, “should be the engine room. I’ll do a quick recon and meet you up front. Then we split up, but not until I’m sure that whoever gets left here is as safe as we can hope for.” He glanced at his watch. Miraculously, only twenty minutes had gone by since he first looked at it. That meant maybe twenty-five from first contact with an ALERT team.

Simon led the way up the ramp and across the threshold into the interior of the ship. His sense of balance fought for control as the gravity seemed to lessen instantly. He held onto the doorframe for a few seconds, looked at the ceiling, and jumped straight up. Kitty and Gayle looked appropriately amazed.

“They’ve got some kind of gravity control,” he said as his feet reached the level of their heads before stopping and floating back to the floor. “Well, ladies,” he said as his feet hit the deck, “shall we go exploring?”

“I’m not sure. Are we going to meet any more of… those?” Gayle asked worriedly.

“I don’t think so,” Simon answered. “He said he was the last crewman. How about you, hon?”

“You’re the expert here, Simon,” Kitty temporized, adding sarcastically, “I’ve never had a need to know, remember? But whatever happens needs to happen soon, according to you. These ALERT teams you talked about. How soon will they show up?”

Simon glanced at his watch, a purely reflexive gesture. “If F-16s were scrambled out of Malmstrom, we should be getting an overflight within half an hour, figuring NORAD recorded the descent and some of the newer thermal imaging satellites confirmed it. Ground forces? That will depend on where they’re based and what kind of transport they have. Choppers at the least for the forward troops, the ones who will secure the area. After that, it’s anybody’s guess when a supervisor will arrive onsite. Won’t be long though.”

Kitty shrugged. “What’s the worst that can happen if we fail?”

Simon looked at his wife sharply. “When did this become a ‘we’ thing?”

She looked back just as sharply. “You’ve been saying ‘we’ ever since this started. But it actually became ‘we’ the day we got married. If things go wrong, we can always give it to the government, can’t we?” Kitty asked.

“I’d have to say yes. We’d have to negotiate for our freedom, but that shouldn’t be too hard if it comes down to that. Look what we have to bargain with.”

Kitty said simply, “Then let’s do it.”

Simon looked at his wife. “Are you sure? We’re moving into circles where the air gets pretty thin, hon.”

“Simon.” The name came out with enough snap to make a drill sergeant proud. “We have to go with our strengths, love,” Kitty said into the surprised eyes of her husband. “You’re the one with the experience in this kind of thing. We go with your feelings, and the way you keep looking at your watch tells me we’re running out of time.”

“Okay, we take the ship. Maybe find a more remote place to keep it hidden until we can arrange a transfer to an international group. By the way, I didn’t see anything even remotely resembling food or drinks aboard. This thing must have a mothership in orbit somewhere.”

Gayle stood at Kitty’s shoulder and whisper in her ear. “You want to explain all of this to me?”

“Simon can fill you in later, and I’ll vouch for it, I hope,” Kitty said, temporizing. “Then you’ll know almost as much as I do. It seems that Simon was a bit deeper into clandestine operations than he ever let on. Honestly, girlfriend, that didn’t cause this situation, but he wasn’t as surprised as I would have thought. Now we’re getting a spaceship and the whole world is going to be after our asses.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Katherine Hawke had continued her studies after she married Simon, attending classes at Montana State University, Billings. Math was her first love and had been ever since she figured out that no matter what, three plus five always equaled eight. Always. The simplicity of the thought appealed to a child afloat in a life that changed from one day to the next due to the vagaries of being a military brat.

By the time her parents were killed in an automobile accident shortly after she turned twenty-three, she’d exhausted most of the avenues available to her mathematically. What was confusing to most people, she found crisp and clean. All a person had to do was plug in the right values and everything worked out. Why couldn’t they see that? Theoretical mathematics led to practical applications, and soon Kitty had a degree in advanced physics to go along with an impressive string of other accomplishments, including systems analysis.

The three stood in the control center of the ship, gazing at the layout. Simon had found that the rear of the vessel was indeed the engine room and that it was uninhabited. The center two-thirds of the ship was one big empty space, and the front of the ship had this cockpit. Chairs for four beings fronted consoles covered with incomprehensible symbols. She knew that someone was going to have to take charge, and she did have the captain’s wristband.

It was the last course of study Kitty had focused on. “We need someone to figure out if we can get this thing off the ground, and somebody’s got to go break camp.” Kitty could tell that Simon was conflicted. He always had trouble when it came to his idea of defending her. He needed to allocate his resources effectively, and his defensiveness was getting in the way.

“Simon, why don’t you and Gayle go break camp and let me work on the controls? That way, you can fill her in on what we know so far and give her a little background on just how it is that you aren’t surprised by all of this.”

It had been easier than she’d thought to get him to do as she wanted. The concept bothered her on some levels and pleased her on others as she watched two flashlight beams bobble away into the darkness. She’d finally had to resort to stubbornness and pointing out that time was running out to get Simon to leave her there to study the controls. She sat down in what she thought of as the pilot’s chair. It was the only one with weirdly shaped joystick-like controls on the arms.

Katherine Hawke wondered at her own actions even as she began to study the controls in front of her. She’d always been a law-abiding citizen until then, and this would push her over a line that couldn’t be uncrossed. Of course, she had the support of Simon and Gayle, who were of the same mind. She shook herself, both mentally and physically, and went to work.

She let herself feel the ship around her and was immediately aware of the fact that her feet dangled at least six inches off the floor. Built for beings who probably averaged a bit taller than normal for Earthmen, the chair cut off the circulation to her lower legs if she let them dangle long. That fit with her impression of the alien just outside the cargo bay door being tall, even though he was on the ground. She shivered and looked over her shoulder.

Shaking the worrisome thoughts from her mind, she settled herself as best she could and closed her eyes, imagining herself taller and with a longer reach. As if, ran ruefully through her head. She took a deep breath and let her taller, longer-limbed self handle the controls, then opened her eyes and looked closely at the control panel before her. Dark panels set in obvious patterns stared back up at her. Smooth to the touch, there were some symbols that could only be seen from certain angles. “Back-lighting, dammit!” she prayed.

She climbed down out of the chair and began a systematic search of the four stations. Some of the panels were duplicated, and some weren’t.

Duplicate controls, she thought. Probably connected with Flight Operations.

The seemingly unduplicated controls would most likely route mission-specific information to the particular crewmember for which it was intended. A circular depression in one surface defied all guesses, especially once she noticed an opposed depression in the undersurface of a small shelf protruding over the panel.

She walked back to the center station and studied the control board. A muddy brown button sat apart from the others on that panel and was duplicated nowhere else in the room. She tentatively reached out and touched it. Akin more to the touch-sensitive screens on some computers, it neither moved nor clicked, but the entire panel lit up. Looking right and left, she saw that the other three stations were live as well. The odd depressions still sat dark and useless.

Now the various buttons were indeed back lit and she could make out what had to be lettering on each one, accompanied by a pictogram. Kitty realized that she was copying Simon’s tic—looking at her watch. Thirty minutes had passed, and all she’d managed to do was get power to the control boards. At this rate, they’d be old and grey before anything significant was accomplished. She jumped up and slammed herself into the pilot’s chair, folding her legs under her. “Damn! Where’s a Rosetta stone when you need one? How am I supposed to figure out an alien language in the next ten minutes?”

“Is this a request for information?” a voice reminiscent of the alien translator inquired.

Kitty nearly jumped out of her skin. “Who wants to know?” Her heart pounded in her chest at the unexpected surprise.

“I am the control center for the Shiravan colony ship Dalgor Kreth. Do you require assistance?”

“Hell, yes! How do I fly this contraption? And how do you speak English?”

“The main control board is laid out to represent the ship itself. Now that the board is activated, all you have to do is touch the symbols for the engines and then the launch indicator. The vessel will go into prelaunch condition, and all automated systems will be under the control of the shuttle’s onboard computer. The controls on the arms of the master seat regulate the acceleration and attitude of the shuttle.”

As Kitty watched, two symbols—supposedly the engines—and then one—probably the launch indicator symbol—flashed on the board as the voice spoke.

“The left control handle regulates the power applied to the engines, and the right control determines the attitude of the vessel. All languages were recorded and decoded when I moved into orbit. Once your speech was identified as English, mid-west, I was able to translate for Captain kep Kuria and now am able to speak with you.”

“Wonderful,” Kitty muttered. Aloud she said, “The left is the gas pedal and the right is the steering wheel.” A motion outside the cockpit window caught her attention. Two sets of headlights bounced and swerved across the end of the little valley, seemingly disconnected from anything earthly in the now nearly moonless depression that was the small valley they were in. “That would be Simon and Gayle,” she said out loud. “They’re not going to be able to get the trucks up the ramp. Can I move the ship so that it faces the other way?”

“That can be done. Another option is to open the ramp on the other side of the ship.” Kitty looked closely at the new light that had begun flashing and finally noticed the outline of the ship inscribed in the surface of the control panel. She thought to test the system, and instead of pressing the blinking light, she pressed the light that would correspond to the open door opposite the newly flashing button. Hearing a noise coming from the center section of the ship, she slid out of the chair and hurried to the control room door in time to see the ramp closing off the view of the hillside she’d scrambled down less than half an hour earlier. She returned to the control panel and pressed the other ramp button, rewarded with the sounds of it opening.

“Can’t you operate these controls without my assistance?” Kitty asked.

“No. No voluntary controls can be accessed by the control center. All functions must be input by a… human being.” Kitty was certain she heard a slight hesitation in the computer’s atonal voice.

“You seem to be speaking better than you did when we first arrived,” Kitty noted aloud. She continued to study the control panel in front of her and monitor the progress of the two approaching vehicles.

“I have been accessing several hundred English language audio and video transmissions. I have been able to identify and store more than four hundred and fifty thousand words in a variety of languages up to this moment.”

Kitty stopped in her tracks as a thought struck her. “Hold it. You said something about automated systems being under the control of the shuttle’s onboard computer.”

“That is correct.”

Kitty’s heart began to pound. “Am I in the shuttle you were speaking of?”

“That is correct.”

“If I’m on the shuttle, where are you?”

“I am aboard the Shiravan colony ship Dalgor Kreth, in orbit around your planet.”

Kitty climbed back into the pilot’s chair to chew on this new bit of data and saw the two sets of headlights rounding the far end of the little lake. Soon, they’d be on the old Forest Service road leading to the meadow the ship sat in. At that point, it would only be a matter of minutes before the threesome was reunited.

“Is there room aboard this Dalgor Kreth for this shuttle?”

“The Dalgor Kreth is thirty-eight hundred of your feet long. The landing bay is capable of holding three shuttles and one fuel scoop.”

“Oh, God. Simon is gonna shit.” Kitty was already making plans of her own. And there was no need to bother Simon just now. She stared down at the wristband she had chosen to wear, one of the few major unilateral decisions she’d made in their marriage. For a moment, possible futures laid themselves out before her. It was too much information too fast, but she did know that she was keeping this ship.

Kitty stumbled slightly as she stepped over the threshold of the ship onto the ramp. The change in gravity was unexpected. Her muscles had acclimated a bit even in the short time she’d been aboard. She walked to the bottom of the ramp and watched Simon stop their S-10 pickup at the end. Gayle’s Jeep stopped behind it. The two drivers got out and met Kitty at the ramp.

“Well, Miss Systems Analyst, it looks like you’re getting a handle on things. It was the other side that was open before, right?” Gayle looked down the side of the ship in the headlights of the two vehicles. “That’s too stubby to be a wing, isn’t it?” she asked, peering toward the stern of the ship.

“I think you’re right.” Kitty looked that way, too. “Probably just housing for the landing gear. There’s another one up there,” she said and motioned toward the nose of the craft.

Simon waved his hand to get their attention. “Sorry to interrupt the discussion on alien spacecraft design, but the clock’s ticking, ladies. We need to figure out where we’re gonna stash this thing. I’ve got the topos on the front seat.”

Kitty waved back. “We’ve got to get those two vehicles aboard first. If we back ‘em up to the rear wall, they should be okay if I don’t have to do any fancy flying.”

Simon looked intently at his wife, raised one eyebrow slightly, and nodded. He looked at the ramp, easily capable of taking both vehicles at the same time, and walked back to the truck.

Gayle followed and asked Simon quietly, “Is this a good idea?”

Simon nodded, smiling. “Oh, yeah. We leave no tracks, offload the rigs somewhere else, and then I’ll drop this thing in some hollow somewhere and hike out. I’ll take some pictures first, of course, so we can prove it when we go public.” He sat down, turned the key and drove the little pickup into the cavernous interior of the ship that was nearly fifty feet wide. He turned left, turned the headlights off, and drove to the end of the bay near the door to the engine room, jockeying the truck around and backing it up until it nudged the rear wall. Setting the parking brake, he turned off the engine and grabbed the maps.

Gayle followed more cautiously, and Simon waved her into position.

“Kill it and set the brake!” he yelled from the far side of the Jeep.

Gayle joined him and they turned toward the front of the bay. Dimly lit with a reddish illumination that seemed to come from the ceiling panels themselves, the room was huge. Simon had rarely seen larger rooms in most buildings, except, of course, for public places—opera houses, sports arenas, and the like.

Thirty feet to the ceiling, Simon judged, by nearly fifty wide and almost a hundred long. “This thing hauls some serious cargo.” He noticed the scuff marks in the deck plates as they walked toward the cockpit.

Gayle’s voice, usually carefree, betrayed her concern. “Where’s Kitty?”

“I hope she’s in the cockpit, Simon answered. “Damn, but it’s strange to be saying something like that.”

“Why?” Gayle kept pace with Simon with difficulty. At only five-four, her legs needed to take more steps than his did, but she recognized the unconscious worry on his face and didn’t say anything about slowing down. “Kitty said you knew all about this stuff.”

“Not about this,” Simon said, waving his hand vaguely. “About the teams deployed to intercept this. That would be the ALERT teams I told you about. This is as new to me as it is to you.” They strode about ten feet up the steps leading to the cockpit door. “Kitty! Where are you?”

“In here! And you’d better hurry. We’ve got company!”

Kitty was bent over one of the panels when Simon and Gayle entered the control room of the ship. The first thing they noticed was that all the panels were lit, and they walked over to see what she was looking at so intently. Between the bowl-like depressions of the mysterious panel was a cylindrical column of light. It took Simon a few seconds to recognize the little valley they were in, then the surrounding foothills. Then, two moving green dots caught his eye.

“What are those?” he asked, pointing.

“That’s company. Computer, how far away? And how soon until they arrive?”

“Accessing measurement translation program. Sixty miles. The craft seem to be suffering from the mountain winds. Estimated time of arrival is four minutes, twenty-eight seconds.”

Simon jumped perceptibly when the computer spoke. Kitty noticed and looked into his eyes for a few seconds before turning back to the controls.

Gayle interrupted. “I see five more dots headed this way. It looks like slower and lower, but definitely headed right for us.”

Simon was silent for all of three seconds as his mind translated the distance into time. “If the first two are F-15s, they shouldn’t be traveling over Mach one in these foothills; updrafts play hell with fast planes at low levels. So, we’ve got about four minutes left, like the computer says. They can’t really get this far into the mountains. It’ll be a high flyover with some pretty sophisticated cameras and smart bombs. The other five are probably Blackhawks with enough combat-ready troops to secure the area. Screwed, blued, and tattooed.” He shook his head. “If we get the vehicles out of the ship, we might be able to keep from going to jail for trying to steal this thing. If it was just me, that’s one thing. But I can’t let you two take any of the heat on this. Federal time isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, trust me.”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Kitty said. She climbed into the pilot’s seat and asked, “Computer, how long for the engines to rev up or whatever they do?”

“Full engine power is available as soon as the engines are activated. Cargo has been detected in the bay. Stasis field should be activated before take-off.”

Simon stared at his wife in astonishment. He opened his mouth to speak, but she reached out and touched a flashing light on the panel in front of her and the emotionless voice responded. “Stasis field activated.” She pressed another button, this one not flashing, and sounds came from the cargo bay. Simon stuck his head out the door to see the ramp swinging into place and sealing itself.

“Wait!” Simon yelled. “Lower the door. I’ve got to get the telescope from the top of the hill!”

Kitty watched the green dots closing on their location, two much faster than the others. She ignored Simon, touched two buttons in succession, and the ship seemed to come to life. A vibration that had not been there a moment before ran through her body. An outline of the shuttle appeared on the forward glass, a form of head’s-up display. Kitty touched another button and felt her stomach lurch. A hum came out of the air for several seconds, along with a stronger vibration felt in her butt, finally ending when the computer said, “Preflight operations complete. Anti-gravity field at seventy percent, landing gear retracted. Shuttle is ready for departure. Pilot has control.”

Simon stormed into the cabin. “I wanted that telescope,” he said fuming.

Kitty said, “Look at the radar. I’ll get you another one later. Right now, though, if you’ll excuse me, I think you need to sit down.” Kitty gripped the two control arms and said softly, “Left is gas; right is steering wheel.” Louder she said, “You grab a chair too, Gayle. The ride could get a bit bumpy.”

Simon stared in awe as his wife began to operate the alien ship. She spun it a full 360 degrees, looking for her adversaries—dozens of men in combat Kevlar with their weapons trained on the shuttle’s front screens and half a dozen Blackhawks trying to keep her boxed in.

“Outer doors sealed. Vessel ready for flight.”

Simon started to speak, then changed his mind as Kitty clenched her fists twice, reached out, and gripped the joysticks. She pulled back on the left stick and Simon noted a difference in the vibration coming into the soles of his feet.

He glanced at the device he could only think of as a form or radar, and blanched. “Kitty, this thing says those jets should be back in about a minute. It also says we’re about, oh, six hundred feet higher than we were a few seconds ago. What did you do?”

“Simon, another way to say systems analyst is to say efficiency engineer. All I’ve done so far is to guess at what would work best for a tall, two-armed person, plus getting a lot of help from the computer. As for what I’ve done specifically, I’ve pulled back on the left-hand control arm, seeing what happens when I send power to the engines while not giving a specific command to the attitude control. Apparently, it rises up in one place if the directional controls are in neutral.”

“There goes one of the jets,” Gayle commented. “I just saw his exhaust, and the radar thingee shows both of them past us and turning for another pass.”

“Kitty, if you’ve got any ideas, now’s the time to pull them out of your hat.” Simon glanced at the radar and back out the window. “I don’t know whether they’ve been ordered to shoot first or order us down and try to take us intact.”

“Give me a few seconds here, dear. The way you talk about my driving, you should quiet down. And now I get to drive in three dimensions.” Kitty centered the left-hand control and said, “Let me know if our altitude starts to drop. I either have to apply constant power to stay at one height or the ship will do it automatically when I center the control. It will give me a few seconds to try this…” She slowly rotated the right-hand joystick, and Simon watched the outline on the front screen slowly rotate at the same speed.

“Any change in altitude?”

“None that I can see,” Simon answered. “We seem to be holding at a constant height, according to this, although we’ve moved several miles away from the mountains.”

“Okay,” Kitty said. “I think I’ve got this. Tell me about those planes.”

“F-15s, most likely,” Simon said. “Capable of Mach two-plus. The plus is classified. Usually carry two or four air-to-air missiles—”

“No,” Kitty said, interrupting, “I mean, where are they?”

“North and east of us, turning for another pass,” Simon replied. “This is where I would order them to fire if I was calling the shots and was so inclined.”

“Dual radar lock-ons,” said the computer. “Engage covert systems.”

Kitty glanced at her panel. “You guys look for a flashing light and push it, quick.”

Gayle almost yelled. “I’ve got it! Pushed it. Now it’s on steady.” After a short pause, she asked, “What did I just do?”

“You probably activated some kind of stealth or jamming system,” Kitty answered.

Simon commented dryly, “If they can see us, they can still shoot at us. They just fall back on seat-of-the-pants flying and good old-fashioned luck to hit their targets.”

“Then we’ll just have to be gone when they get here.” Kitty held the angle of the ship in the forward screen steady at about forty-five degrees from level and pulled back on the power control.

Simon expected a heavy SOB to sit on his chest when Kitty fed power to the engines, so he was off-balance when nothing happened. Off-balance was apparently the catchword of the day. He’d felt off-balance ever since the ship had flown overhead, like something out of one of the original Star Trek shows, only without the bad acting. He said, “I don’t think we ...” His voice trailed off.

“Simon, what?” Kitty’s voice carried more than just concern in it. A tinge of hysteria added its own modifications to her voice.

“Uh, situation stable at present. No sign of the jets. It appears that we’re about two hundred fifty miles up and climbing, and I don’t feel a thing. Do you have a destination in mind?”

“Well, yes,” Kitty said a bit diffidently. Simon knew Kitty. The nonchalant attitude was just a pose. He could tell how scared she was by the way she hunched her shoulders. “I just needed to be somewhere safe for a few seconds so I could take the time to ask a question. Computer, how do I find the main ship?”

“Astrogation data is available through the left-hand station.”

Kitty looked over her shoulder. Gayle was closest. “Gayle, be a friend and press the button that should be flashing on your control panel, okay?” Kitty asked sweetly. “You’ve just been promoted to Astrogation Data Specialist.”

Gayle looked at Simon, who just shook his head and shrugged. Gayle shrugged back and pressed the button indicated.

“Accessing orbital data. Increase distance from the planetary surface to twelve thousand miles. Dalgor Kreth will appear as a medium-sized green dot on the forward viewscreen as soon as it clears the edge of the planet. Use the right-hand control arm to orient on the dot and apply power slowly with the left to pull up from behind. When you reach the proper distance, the automated landing sequence can take over if you put the ship on remote-pilot.” A light that was centered on the main control panel began flashing.

“Hon,” Simon asked softly, “how did you get the computer to talk to you?”

Kitty let go of the power arm and waved her hand nonchalantly. First, she said, “Computer, take us slowly to orbit, then let me know.” Then she looked up at Simon, her whole posture screaming for attention. “Once I had the power to the control panels on, all I did was ask myself a question out loud and the computer asked if it was a request for information. After my heart started beating again, I asked, and it answered.” She sat silent for a while, listening to the sounds moving the ship farther from Earth. “Then I had to decide whether we’re really going to turn over what we’ve found or find a way to keep it.”

Simon interrupted. “You had to decide?”

“Yes, dear. After all, I am the one flying the ship. And that’s another thing. I say we keep it. You’ll have to be in charge of most things. Any recruits we manage to find will respond to a mature male quicker than a tiny, red-headed girl.”

Simon sat back, apparently thinking about what his wife had just said.

The view outside the cockpit window took on the true colors of space—black highlighted by every color in the rainbow, or to be more precise, in the stellar spectrum. The Earth’s atmosphere washed out the color from most of the smaller stars, leaving a neutral white speck. Beyond the upper reaches of the atmosphere, the stars gleamed like jewels strewn upon the velvet darkness of space.

Kitty watched the slowly changing vista for a while and then moved the attitude control a fraction, turning the shuttle so that they were able to view Earth from an ever-increasing height.

“Oh, my God.”

Kitty looked over her shoulder to find Gayle standing there, one hand on the back of Kitty’s chair.

Gayle was staring at the planet below. “I think I can make out Japan down there,” she said, pointing.

“Right,” Kitty said. “And there’s the northern part of Australia. They’re just starting their morning. If we keep on going, we’ll see the lights of some of the larger cities of Russia and Europe.”

Simon, mouth opening to speak, got interrupted as the computer announced, “We have reached twelve thousand miles above the planet’s surface. If you wish to dock, begin reducing power by pushing the power arm forward until the image of the ship is stable in the holographic display.”

Kitty did as instructed until the image of the ship was centered in the display and holding position above the Earth. She let out a sigh and dropped both hands into her lap, massaging her forearms, and then looked into the display. No medium-size dot.

“Computer, can you increase the range of our scanners?”

“Navigation station has the controls for that, as well as the homing beacon. Left-side station.”

Kitty waved Gayle back to the station. “Let’s find the ship first. Gayle, press whatever flashes, and then we’ll see what happens.”

“Okay,” Gayle replied with little enthusiasm. “I just hope I don’t open the door or something.”

“Certain actions are not possible when the vessel is in flight status.”

“That’s just reassuring as all get-out,” Gayle said sarcastically. Presently, a pulsing green dot appeared in the display. Kitty, now comfortable with the controls, moved the shuttle closer.

Gayle had a confused look on her face. “Kitty, what are covert systems?”

Kitty stared at the holo-display glowing in the forward window and twitched the control arm, adjusting their course while watching the dot that represented their ship move closer to the dot the computer called the Dalgor Kreth. “Simon would be better able to answer that, really.”

“Not really, Gayle,” Simon demurred. “I don’t know any more about this stuff than you do. But I have to agree with Kitty. The term ‘covert systems’ could apply to any number of things technology-wise. It does look like it foxes radar though.”

Kitty sat up straight in her chair. “No cuts, bruises or contusions, ladies and gentlemen,” she said lightly. Simon looked at her, asking with his eyes. She pointed out the window. “I think we’ve reached our destination.”

Gayle was the first to see it. “Looks like a two-by-four from here,” she observed.

“That ‘two-by-four’ has room to park this shuttle, two others, and something called a fuel scoop,” Kitty stated quietly. “We’re still a long way off.”

Simon peered out at the sight. “I don’t have anything to reference it against. How big is the damned thing?”

“The Dalgor Kreth is two hundred thirty-six feet high, six hundred and eighteen feet wide, and three thousand eight hundred forty-one feet long,” offered the computer.

As they approached, the shuttle seemed to slow down on its own. The size of the larger vessel became more apparent the closer they got. Simon began to comprehend the true size when a door slowly opened low on the side of the gigantic craft.

“It’s huge! Something like this had to have been built in orbit. I wonder if they’ve had any contact with humans before.”

“From what Kitty told me, I’d have to guess not,” Gayle offered. “Otherwise, the alien would have been able to speak English, don’t you think?” Simon remained silent.

The shuttle floated into a large space in the side of the gigantic mothership. Noises and vibrations came from beneath their feet, and then the ship settled onto the floor of the chamber. Several seconds later, the noises they’d come to associate with an active ship began to disappear one by one as the ship shut itself down.

“I guess you never really know what you’re hearing until you can’t hear it anymore,” Kitty said. “So, this is the end of the trip. What do we do now?”

“We should definitely leave the ship—this one, that is. We need to find out if the alien meant that the crew of the shuttle died of the plague or the crew of this bigger ship, too.” Simon suited action to words and headed for the exit ramp.

Two buttons were flashing alternately when he arrived at the door.

Gayle looked at them and asked, “What does that mean?”

“How about we leave them alone for a while? Could be that something isn’t ready to operate,” Kitty surmised, looking over her shoulder at the other door and imagining that she could see that one flashing, too

Simon was about to comment when the panel steadied down. He reached out and pressed the button with the open ramp symbol on it. “My guess is that the atmosphere had to equalize,” he said as the door first popped out about four inches, then opened. Simon stepped out onto the ramp and shivered. “Cold out here.”

Large enough to hold the shuttle and three others as well, the room was lit by the same dim red light as the inside of the shuttle. Simon walked to the front of the shuttle and looked down the line of vessels. Their vehicles sat at one end of the row.

Kitty’s voice brought his attention back. “This one looks like ours, don’t you think?” She stood on the deck a bit forward of the ramp, hands on hips, looking from one vessel to another.

Simon peered into the gloom. While the hangar (for that was all he could think of calling it), was definitely brighter than the inside of the shuttle, it didn’t do much to help human vision. Kitty’s form was little more than a silhouette as she stood at the mid-point of the shuttle about seventy-five feet away. “I think so, dear,” he said, pitching his voice to carry without quite yelling. “The next space over has another ship that looks the same from here. Looks like a fourth ship parked way down there, but I’m not positive. I’m gonna take a quick look.”

Simon strode down the line of ships until he stood in front of the fourth one. The ship sitting there bore only a slight resemblance to the other shuttles. It was squatter, with no windows at all, and somehow it seemed more… used, more worn. He walked back to where Kitty waited, straining to make out details in the reddish half-light. To his left was the hatch that served as exits for the ships he passed. His steps quickened when his imagination gave him all the gory details of what could happen if someone cycled the airlock while they were out of a ship. At the same time, his mind felt numb as the implications of what they were doing finally struck home.

Simon reached Kitty and slid his arm around her waist. She hugged him back, then quickly pushed away, looked him in the eyes, and said, “We are standing in an alien spaceship, and you go wandering off! Both of you! And left me standing here! What the hell got into you?” The tremor in her voice told him just how tightly she was wound.

Simon was saved from having to respond when Gayle appeared out of the gloom. “I found a door in the wall back that way. Looks like a more complicated system than on the shuttle though.” She nodded her head back in the direction she’d just come from.

“Well, then, that would be where we need to be,” Simon declared, a feeling of unease settling onto his shoulders. “Ladies, let’s go.” He put his arm back around Kitty’s waist and pulled her close. “Unless you’d rather stay here?” he asked jokingly.

“No, I’m coming, Simon,” Kitty said. “Where you go, I go. That’s what I promised fifteen years ago. I just didn’t imagine this!” Her voice started to quiver, and she took a deep breath, eyes closed. “We’re on an alien spaceship, twelve thousand miles above the Earth. It just takes some getting used to.” She waved a hand in the direction Gayle had indicated. “But maybe we should get started, so let’s go.”

Her enthusiasm growing more evident with each step, Kitty walked alongside Simon, disengaging his arm from around her waist and sliding her hand into his. Her head moved from side to side as she looked for some sign of the inhabitants, passengers, or crew of this larger ship. Gayle, right behind her, was doing the same.

“So, what did you see?”

“Just about the strangest thing I’ve ever seen,” Simon proclaimed.

Kitty began to hiccup, followed immediately by hysterical laughter.

Simon noted the manic quality in her laughter. “What’s the matter, hon?”

“The matter is that we’re on a spaceship God only knows how many miles from home and you just saw the strangest thing in the world; that’s what. The first thing that went through my mind was how did your mother get here ahead of us? Okay, so she’s not exactly strange, just a little bit eccentric,” Kitty temporized, “but my mind isn’t exactly working right at the moment. Can you say for sure that yours is?”

“Well, no,” Simon agreed sheepishly.

“So, what’s so strange, Simon?” Gayle asked lightly, trying to divert the conversation onto another track. “If it’s not your mother, what is it?”

“Don’t you start, too!” Simon growled. “Just a weird ship. Sorta like these three shuttles, but more… I don’t know. Just different. You should see it.”

“Okay, dear. Why don’t we do that before we leave here? We might not get another chance for a while.”

The trio walked around the front of the second shuttle, affording everyone a better view of that quarter, and moved across the open space to stare at the squat, half-melted-looking ship sitting alone at the side of the room. Roughly the size and shape of the shuttle they’d ridden up there in, it had a broader, less aerodynamic bow, and didn’t seem to have any viewports or access except through a front opening that resembled a scoop. Its battered appearance gave it the impression of being either very old or heavily armored and even more heavily used.

“You’re right, Simon, that’s even stranger than your mother.” Kitty giggled. “Sorry, darling, I’ll get myself under control sooner or later.”

“Sooner would be better,” he growled under his breath. Aloud he said, “I’d like to get a better look at that one. Why so beat up?”

“We can do that some other time, maybe,” Kitty said, clearly uninterested in the strange ship. “I can’t help but feel that there’s someone here somewhere. How sure can we be that we’re alone on this thing?”

CHAPTER FIVE

“If I were running the show,” Simon said, “I’d be right on the other side.” He indicated the door Gayle had found in the back wall of the landing bay. “And I’d expect someone on the other side of this door except that we’ve been here for over half an hour now. Maybe that alien was actually telling the truth about the ship being uninhabited.”

“That’s fine for you to say, but I’m not in as big a hurry as you are,” Gayle said, standing beside him. “Kitty, I’m going to borrow one side of your husband for comfort. You can have the other.” She moved back a step and looked around Simon at the door. Placing her right hand on his shoulder, she looked at Kitty and reached for her hand.

Simon looked over the door. It wasn’t really more complicated; it just had more moving parts. A wheel was centered in the door with twelve cantilevered bars attached, much like watertight hatches in use on Earth. The door opened outward. “I think that if this side was still in vacuum, this door wouldn’t open, anyway. The pressure on the other side would keep it shut. Like in a submarine,” he said to the girls. “Ready?”

“No,” Gayle said flatly.

“Not really,” Kitty agreed, “but go ahead. We’re out of options, aren’t we?”

Simon shrugged, stepped forward, and turned the wheel firmly. The bars smoothly disengaged from the bulkhead and the wheel stopped with a faint click.

When nothing happened, he pushed on the door and it opened as smoothly as the ones in the shuttle, but this far more massive door absorbed the energy of Simon’s push and stopped about half-way open. The sight that greeted them was… anti-climactic. The same red light and deck plates continued into the murky distance, with nothing in sight but the floor. Simon spoke first. “There’s nothing. Warmer, though. Let’s look around.”

“This is going from scary to spooky,” Kitty said.

Simon pushed harder on the door. Before he could stop it, the door pivoted all the way around and banged against the metal bulkhead. The resultant clang echoed back twice, indicating a very large open space ahead of them.

“Well, there went our last chance to sneak up on ‘em,” he quipped, stepping through the hatch. “If any of them still exist, remember.”

Kitty and Gayle followed Simon through the door into a red-tinged, nearly formless void. The only point of reality was the deck stretching out of sight until Kitty reached back and grabbed the wall for support. She tilted her head up, eyes following the wall into the gloom, and saw a straight line. Immediately, her depth perception asserted itself and she recognized the ceiling about twenty-five feet above her head. She let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

Simon heard and turned away from his fruitless scan of the area in their immediate vicinity. “What? Are you okay, hon?”

Kitty smiled. Even though his face was in deep shadow, she knew worry lines were pinching the corners of his eyes in a most unattractive manner. “I’m fine, love. I just discovered the ceiling.” She knew it sounded inane, but she didn’t care.

Simon and Gayle looked up as well. Kitty saw the gleam in Simon’s eye when he looked back at her. “Now I don’t feel like I’m under a microscope. Just a bug on a plate. A subtle difference, but an improvement, I think.”

“Wanna make a map or something?” Gayle asked. “I have a notebook and pen in the Jeep.” She laughed nervously. “Or we could leave a trail of shredded paper. A paper trail. Get it?”

“Not a bad idea,” Kitty agreed. “I’ll get them and handle making the map. Maybe it’ll help me stay focused.” She glared meaningfully at Simon and walked purposefully back to the shuttle. She’d complained only moments before about being left alone, and now she was walking off on her own to prove… what?

Not being able to see the far side of the room due to the dim lighting, Simon chose to begin the map from the open shuttle bay door. He arbitrarily turned right and began counting paces aloud while he considered the notion of confronting Kitty about her inconsistent behavior. A team leader needed to be able to depend on the actions and attitudes of his team. And she had specifically asked him to act as a team leader, thinking of her as an asset rather than a wife. It was hard, but he was trying. He realized before opening his mouth that he had almost fallen into the trap of thinking he really was on an assignment. He decided, also, that the two women were holding up remarkably well under the circumstances and that discretion was certainly the better part of valor.

A door appeared out of the gloom. This one had a small, lighted panel next to it. Set into the bottom of the panel was an icon that could be interpreted as an up arrow if one stretched the point, or maybe an ‘A’ without its crossbar. Touching it opened the door onto a small chamber that would be crowded if a dozen people were in it. A strip of buttons graced the inside wall next to the open door, and the bottom one was lit.

“Elevator, I’ll bet. Looks like I’ve got a new saying for a while—form follows function. Let’s see what else we can find. I suggest we finish walking the perimeter of this… room.”

“You’re in charge of the reconnaissance mission, dear,” Kitty said.

Gayle remained uncharacteristically silent.

The first piece of… machinery that manifested out of the gloom startled the explorers at first. While looking the device over, whether accidentally or not, Gayle pushed a button that was set apart from the others. A faint hum emanated from somewhere inside the thing, and it rose up off the floor about four inches.

The noise made Simon jump. When the machine rose in the air, he said, “Okay. Who did what? We need to be careful here. I don’t want anybody getting hurt. We’re a long way from a doctor.”

“Sorry, Simon,” Gayle said, her voice not quite carrying the sentiment. “I’ll be more careful.” She pushed the button again, this time obviously, and the hum died out as the thing settled back to the floor.

The mysterious shapes that presented themselves after that didn’t evoke quite as much apprehension as the first. Several different types of machines were noted during the walkaround of the room, and numerous racks affixed to sections of the walls held unidentifiable objects, possibly tools.

Reaching a second corner, Simon announced, “A little over two thousand feet. I figured this thing was big when we docked with it, but two thousand feet?”

“Well, the computer on the shuttle did say it was over thirty-eight hundred feet long,” Gayle said, following her two friends along.

Simon began pacing along the next wall until they came to four more doors. “This area should coincide with the hangar bay we arrived in. How many shuttles do these folks need at one time?”

“These doors do look like the one on the other side,” Kitty commented. “That one should be an elevator if the little panel is the same, but these are separate.” She walked up to the nearer of the three remaining doors and knocked on it to hear the clang. “Why are there three separate doors over here and just one on the other side?” She gripped the wheel in its middle and spun it until it stopped. “For once, I’m opening the door for you, Simon. Be my guest, but be careful.” She bowed facetiously and swept her hand in the direction of the new room.

Simon shook his head, an unreadable smile on his lips as he turned to the new room. He instantly dubbed the three ships they found ‘fighters,’ each having its own launch bay. And what beauties these little ships were! Sleek and deadly in appearance, they looked for all the world like Vipers out of the old TV show Battlestar Galactica. Noting the open cockpits, Simon itched to sit in one and see how it felt. But acceding to his desire to find out for sure if anyone else was aboard, he passed on the idea. Reluctantly, he closed the door and began to count paces again while Kitty made a notation on her pad. They passed the door they’d tentatively identified as an elevator and kept walking.

Arriving back at their starting point, they took stock.

“We’re in a rectangular room about two thousand, three hundred feet long by about six hundred feet wide, not including the shuttle bays,” Kitty read in the dim light. “This end has two bays with seven ships—three shuttles, one weird one, and three fighters. There are two banks of three elevators each at this end of the room and one each at the far end. No other doors that we saw. Correct?”

“That’s the way I figure it. The big question is why does such a huge space exist? Twenty-five feet to the ceiling gives us a lot of square footage.” Simon looked thoughtful.

“Something like thirty-four-million-plus square feet of space.” Kitty looked up from another page of the legal pad she was fast running through.

“Are we ready to take a ride upstairs?” Simon asked.

“Not me,” Kitty announced. “At least, not yet. I don’t know about you two, but I need to get a bite to eat. And I’m in serious need of a bathroom. Not necessarily in that order, either. Why don’t you two go to the Jeep and let me take care of other things for a minute, okay?”

“Hold on and I’ll join you,” Gayle said. “I don’t think we should run around here alone. Simon can fix us something to eat and I’ll get the necessaries.” Minutes later, she walked back out of their shuttle carrying the porta potty. “Simon will be okay for a few minutes. Let’s find a corner. I guess I’m glad this happened on a camping trip, or we’d be in deep… trouble,” she finished lamely. Her resolution to quit cussing often caused her to have to stop and think before she said something.

Returning to the Jeep, the two women found that Simon had lunch ready. “Cold cuts, cheese, crackers, and pop,” he said. “Comfort food.”

The two women took their time, dragging the meal out until Simon got up in frustration and began to pace toward the shuttle cockpit. Gayle looked at Kitty and raised one eyebrow. When Kitty frowned and nodded her head just once, Gayle wiped her hands on her jeans in lieu of the napkins Simon had forgotten and went after him.

“Hey, Simon,” she said when she found him. “Let’s talk a minute, okay?”

“Sure,” he replied, idly running his hands over the arms of the pilot’s chair.

“I’m really not up to any more exploring today,” Gayle confessed. “And Kitty isn’t either. She told me when we went… Anyway, I’ve had enough shocks for one day. I’d suggest we take a nap or something,” Gayle advised, motioning Simon to follow her. “Look at your watch. It’s almost midnight,” she said over her shoulder, leading Simon back to the Jeep. “I know I’ve had a long day. And if any aliens show up, it’s a safe bet that they’ll wake us up. We can close the ramp on the shuttle and get that much extra warning. It makes a racket opening up. The more I think about it, the more sure I am,” she said, getting into the front seat and reclining it a bit. “Besides, don’t you want to be at your best if that alien was wrong and we finally do meet his friends? You go close the door, Simon. It’s lights out for me.”

No alarms went off, and no aliens woke them up at blaster-point. But the lighter gravity did make for some interesting dreams. Simon stretched the kinks out of his back and legs, grateful for the sleeping bags and air mattress. “Okay, ladies, rise and shine,” Simon called. “If you can’t shine, then just rise. I’ll be right back.”

Visions of alien pilots herding this shuttle around for hours on end made him go back to the cockpit, roll of paper in hand. “Even aliens gotta go sometime, damn it.” Rapping on a blank section of bulkhead, he finally found what he was looking for by putting pressure on a section of plating the size of his hand. The door receded about an inch, then slid silently into the wall. The facilities thus revealed were strange, to be sure, but keeping his new mantra in mind, he made them work.

Feeling more than a bit pleased with himself, Simon strolled back to the Jeep. “Guess what I found, ladies. Here’s a clue,” he teased, aiming the roll of toilet paper at the back of Gayle’s head.

Gayle, closer to being awake, got the picture first. “Cool! I don’t guess you can imagine how I felt last night. I had dreams of being caught with my pants around my ankles by a bunch of snickering aliens. Where is it? Kitty! Potty call!” Groaning, Gayle crawled out of her sleeping bag and limped around. “My foot’s asleep! Shit! Kitty! Let’s go! Your man has made himself useful and found a bathroom!” No one said anything about her lapse into profanity.

Returning to the Jeep to find breakfast almost ready, the two women smiled at each other. “I guess we’ll keep him around for a while,” Kitty said. “He does have his moments.”

Breakfast finished, Simon strapped his ever-present pistol on his hip and said, “Let’s go, ladies. The elevators await. Kitty, got your pad?” At her nod, he set off down the bay and opened the door. When the ramp stabilized, the three of them went to the still-open bay door. “We’re going to have to come up with names to call things around here until we get set straight by whoever’s aboard, although at this late date, I’m beginning to believe we really are alone. Someone should have come to see why a shuttle docked and no one got off, if there was anyone left aboard, that is. Shuttles, fighters, launch bays, and the big empty room so far. Okay?”

“Any preference as to which elevator we want to use in the big empty room, boss?” Gayle questioned frivolously.

“Nope. The closest one will do,” Simon said, pointedly ignoring Gayle’s tone. “They all had the same strip inside the door. I counted them. Apparently, this ship has eighteen levels. I hope we don’t have far to go before we locate someone.”

With Kitty scribbling furiously, the three stepped into the elevator. “Press the top button, Gayle. That’s the obvious place to start. Not that ‘obvious’ means anything in a situation like this, but it’s as good a place as any.” Simon didn’t really expect to find much on the top level. He hadn’t seen anything that related to windows as they neared the immense ship, but his ingrained training made him want to start at the top and work his way down.

Gayle pressed the top button on the strip, and they felt the weight of a swift ascent as the chamber moved up. The door opened to more red light and still no occupants. They stepped out into an empty corridor and stood there uncertainly. Closed doors met their gaze along the corridor. There was a door just a few feet to their left, and the corridor then stretched off to their right, ending in a bulkhead door. “I really expected to find someone here,” Kitty said peevishly, “regardless of what that alien said. How could everybody on a ship this big die of a plague? Can it really be that fatal?”

“Anything’s possible, Kitty,” Gayle said. “There are documented instances of entire tribes dying of smallpox back in the 1800s, from infected blankets issued by the Army, if I recall.” She shivered. “It wasn’t an easy death, either. It’s possible that whatever killed these people was extremely effective. But if that’s true, there should be bodies, right?”

Kitty froze. “Thanks for that mental image, girlfriend.” She turned left and went to the door in the bulkhead, inspecting it. “No airtight seals here, guys. Just one of those plates like in the shuttle. Well, here goes nothing.”

Putting her words into action, Kitty pressed the plate and watched the door slide into the wall. The corridor ahead of her, some twelve feet wide, stretched off into the distance. “Simon, start pacing off distances, please,” Kitty said as she began walking. “We’ll go as far as this hall will let us and then start looking into rooms, I guess. Does anybody else notice how much we’re saying that? ‘I guess?’ Quite a bit, I guess.” She giggled, and that set Gayle off.

“Not this early, please, Kitty,” Gayle said with a chuckle.

The corridor they traveled ended at a T-type intersection. “Five hundred feet, Kitty,” Simon offered. “You do realize that the length of this section of the ship is in addition to the big empty room downstairs? Down below? Whatever. This section adds to the length of the ship as a whole.”

Kitty noted the figure on the map. “That makes it twenty-eight hundred feet long, so far,” she said. “We’ve passed ten cross-corridors. Let’s go left,” Kitty said.

An hour later, the three were more confused than ever. “This whole floor is mostly what looks like weapons sections with a few sets of living quarters for personnel. Dozens of rooms, and not one of them looks like they’ve been used recently. No personal possessions, no pictures, no nothing. I really don’t get it. Could it be empty? How can someone lose a ship this big?” Simon sat down on a bed he would have killed for the night before. A metal shelf extruded from the wall and was covered with a thin yet amazingly comfortable mattress.

“At least we won’t have a problem finding bathrooms again,” Kitty quipped. “But the idea of this thing being empty really bothers me. Let’s go down to the next level.”

As the threesome headed back toward the elevators, Gayle said. “Remember how the computer said this ship was thirty-eight hundred feet long? I want to know about the missing thousand feet.”

“Probably the engine room or section or whatever,” Simon said. “About the last place we’d be likely to find survivors, if any, which I’m beginning to believe less likely by the minute.”

The second level proved to be simply sleeping rooms, exercise rooms—judging by the odd-looking equipment scattered around the floors—and large rooms with oversized tables and benches that the trio thought were eating areas or gathering places. After a more than cursory but less than complete inspection, they moved to the third level.

This time the elevator doors opened onto a larger corridor than the other two, and Kitty’s heartbeat went up the instant she stepped into the corridor. There was a feel to this level that she hadn’t sensed on the first two. She watched Simon’s hand brush his pistol—an automatic response to an unknown situation. Recognizing the incongruity of his response, she snorted quietly, an action that didn’t go unnoticed by Simon.

“So, what’s the drill here, boss?” Kitty asked, deliberately deferring to Simon’s expertise. She’d listened to more than one story of recon in enemy territory and was unsure whether she was glad he was unarmed or not.

Simon glanced around him. The abnormally wide corridor, compared to the only other two they’d seen so far, stretched out ahead of them like the other two, but where corridors had branched off, leading to blocks of housing and communal areas, this one seemed to have a more… managerial… air to it. It ran straight and direct, with only two cross corridors until it reached a set of double doors that were the first of their kind so far.

The two previous decks had rooms with doors that were marked by different symbols above a series of other figures painted beside the door. Just above that was a plate that, when pressed, opened the door. These doors had their designations fronted directly on them, although the now-familiar, hand-sized plate was still set beside each door.

A more thorough investigation of this particular level turned up rooms dedicated to things the three humans could only guess at. In some rooms, consoles sat dark beneath blank panels or screens; in others, the control panels flickered with electronic life, the displays scrolling along faster than the human eye could comfortably follow. Other rooms gave no clue to their reasons for being that the three could identify.

Standing in front of yet another point of entry, Gayle placed her hand on the now-common panel found beside most doors, expecting another room full of more unidentifiable items. But this door slid into the wall, revealing a sight that caused her to hesitate. Her eyes flickered around the room, taking in as much as she could without passing over the threshold. She finally managed to break away from the scene and turned to find Simon just coming out of a room across the corridor. “Simon, come here,” she said excitedly. “This whole level has been work-spaces and labs and stuff. This room looks like a secretary’s office. Maybe we’re getting close.”

Simon glanced into the room and shrugged. “Could be. Extra chairs along the walls. A desk guarding the only other door in the room. Maybe the captain’s outer office.”

Kitty turned up at Simon’s elbow, having finished looking over the room she’d been assigned. “What have we got?” she asked, peeking around the doorjamb.

“A mystery,” Simon replied. “What did you find?”

Kitty shrugged. “Nothing earth-shattering. I got one of the consoles to show me a few star systems. One of ‘em might be ours. The sixth planet was ringed, but it showed ten planets instead of nine.”

Gayle bowed at the waist and waved Kitty into the room. “Here’s our mystery. All the rooms we’ve seen so far have been dedicated to something specific, like your last room and the star systems. This room looks like it was designed for people to just sit in.”

Kitty walked in and stood beside the desk. She stared around the room and then sat in the over-tall chair behind the desk. She ran her hands over the surface, along the sides, and under places she could easily reach. Turning a bemused look on her husband and friend, she said, “This is a receptionist’s desk. I don’t know how yet, but she has a way to let her boss know who’s here. He’d be in there.” She thumbed over her shoulder at the door behind her. “This is a waiting room.”

Gayle grinned. “Told ya so. I’ve been in enough of ‘em.”

The next series of rooms, after figuring out the secretary’s door opener, proved to be a suite, and was just as frustrating as all the other rooms had been. “What do these people have against personal effects?” Kitty complained. “Not one personal item anywhere. No pictures, recordings, clothing, games, toys, nothing. It’s as if there was never anyone aboard, but we have the alien’s story that there were more crewmembers. And the computer said so, too.”

“Which we haven’t heard from in a while,” Gayle commented. “Computer?”

“Attending.” The same voice came from apparently empty air.

Gayle looked around the room she and her friends stood in, sat down on what was obviously a lounger, and said, “I’m not moving until I get some answers.” She glared at her friends. “We need to know things, damn it! How many people are needed to operate this vessel?”

The response, while immediate, wasn’t one any of them wanted to hear. “It requires one hundred thirty-seven crewmen to operate the engines and navigation systems. Seventy-five are assigned to sensor duty and record and input data to the computer continuously. One hundred are assigned to routine shipboard maintenance. Another seventy-five serve as cooks and other shipboard tasks. Five hundred thirty-one crewmen are assigned to operate the factory section. The total complement of this vessel is nine hundred and eighteen.”

Simon sank into a recliner-type chair, stunned at the number. Gayle’s mouth had dropped open during the recitation, and Kitty slowly sat down on the lounger opposite Gayle.

Simon asked a question in turn. “What do you mean by factory section?”

“This vessel’s purpose is to go to a star system, preferably with an asteroid belt, manufacture the materials needed by a colony, and deliver those goods to the planet selected for colonization. When the colonists arrive, basic shelter will already exist, and all other necessities will be stockpiled for their use.”

“So, your builders were going to colonize our system?” Kitty asked angrily.

“No. Colonization directives dictate that only planets with non-sentient life are suitable for colonization. This vessel went off-course after the plague struck.”

Kitty had climbed out of the chair and was roaming the suite, listening to the computer’s answers. She opened a door and stared for a few seconds as a smile flowed across her face. She leaned against the doorframe, one foot cocked over the other, arms crossed, and gazed around the room. Images out of Star Trek flashed through her mind as she took in the scene.

Rectangular rather than circular like the Enterprise, this bridge had nine different stations, each composed of a pedestal-style control panel in front of a chair. Two faced the front of the room, if the front was defined by the several huge screens showing off-colored pictures of the Earth. The rest all managed to find space along the sides of the room, leaving one other chair set slightly apart and above the others. She stood away from the jamb and walked into the heart and soul of the titanic structure they were in.

Kitty was studying the viewscreens when she heard Simon and Gayle come in. All the screens needed to be color-adjusted, but the center one was very obviously Earth. Florida and the Gulf of Mexico were proof positive.

“We wondered what had happened to you. Whatcha got?” Gayle asked.

“Control room,” Kitty declared. “Or more appropriately, the bridge. And not a soul in sight. If anywhere, this is the place I would think to find someone. Ten people to operate the entire ship. That doesn’t seem right.”

“Maybe,” Gayle proffered as she walked through the room examining the consoles, “ten is all it takes to command it in flight. And at that, there would have to be some kind of shifts, wouldn’t there? We assume these people sleep, given the fact that they have beds, so we have to assume that they get tired and need to be relieved.”

“And of course,” Simon said, finally getting a word in edgewise, “there are other people to run other stuff. We’ve only been on three decks, now. Computer, did this plague you mentioned kill them all?”

“Yes.”

“Just as the alien claimed,” Simon said. “So, we ask questions about how to run this ship and you answer them?”

“As much as I can. There are very large portions of my database that have been deleted.”

“By whom and for what reason?” Gayle asked.

“Unknown.”

“And now we die, too?” This from Kitty as she sat down in the single central chair.

“No. The records that continue to exist appear to define the plague as species-specific.”

“You keep using words like ‘I’ and ‘my.’ Are you self-aware? And what are your functions?” Gayle asked.

“No. My functions are to oversee the operations of the factory levels, calculate courses, and estimate threat levels under hostile conditions.”

“Factories? Threat levels?” Ever the master of understatement, Kitty said, “I think we need a lot more information than we have at the moment. Tell us everything you can.”

“Yes, Captain. My construction was completed just over a year ago as time is measured on the planet below ...”

CHAPTER SIX

“Sir, we have a preliminary report on Event Alpha,” the dark-suited young man said.

“Yes?” John Porter, Director of the Defense Intelligence Agency, took a few seconds to switch gears. He gave a harried look at the folders in the young agent’s hands.

“The event in Montana, sir,” the agent said, knowing his boss’s propensity to focus on one thing at a time.

“Ah, yes.” The light came on. “I hope we managed to salvage something from the situation.”

“Well, sir, we did find the spot where the unknown landed, but it managed to get away just as forward elements of one of our air cav units arrived on the scene. I have the radar records of both the landing and the departure. I also have radar and visual records of the F-16 that actually got within range. Audio recordings of the conversation between the pilots have been provided as well. And NORAD tracked the vessel back out of atmosphere until it disappeared from their screens. No reason was given for the disappearance.”

At a gesture from the director, the agent set the pile of folders and discs on the edge of the antique desk. At a signal, he sat down in the straight-backed chair opposite his boss. “Put it in a nutshell for me, Agent. I have to make a report to the president later today.”

The young man started his recitation. “We have evidence of recent use at a local campsite across the lake from the landing site. The place was pretty well cleaned up, but we managed to come away with quite a bit of Intel. Near the edge of the hill, overlooking the site, we found blood. We were able to come up with an exact DNA match—one Katherine Anne Hawke of Billings. Did research work in particle physics at MIT some time back. We also found a telescope on top of the ridge with an inscription on it. ‘Merry Christmas, Simon. Love, Kittyn.’ We pulled positive prints of both suspects off the telescope. Our forensics teams found a strange background radiation and something very crispy that they’re pretty certain wasn’t conceived on this planet.”

The agent went on. “We didn’t have to look far to find Simon Hawke, either. Metaphorically speaking, I mean.”

“I don’t have the time or temper for metaphors, Agent. Finish this.”

“Yes, sir. Simon Andrew Hawke. And an interesting individual he is, sir. It seems that he’s a former member of this very agency. Left thirteen years ago after being side-lined for getting married. Seems he wasn’t cut out for military life, so he crossed over when he had a difference of opinion with Army higher-ups. Made an effective agent. His most notable case was the Conroy affair about sixteen years back—the physicist smuggling secrets to China. He’s been living in Billings, Montana for the past thirteen years, which is just about five hundred miles from the event site. And with his wife’s blood on the ridge and the fingerprints of both on-scene, we can pretty much wrap this up as soon as we get our hands on either of the Hawkes.” The agent flipped a page on his clipboard. “One other thing. The ALERT team leader ran down the same information and sent someone in to find Hawke. It seems that he and his wife are out of town. Annual spring camping trip or some such, according to some chatty neighbors.”

The director’s expression was not one that would be found on a happy face. “So, what do I have to tell the president? That this was just the break we needed to put us ahead for good? That no one would ever be able to threaten the U.S. again?” The director looked the agent in the eye. “You get Hawke in here immediately. I want it spread quietly to every police agency in the country that Simon and Katherine Hawke are to be taken alive. I want as much on this guy as we can get. Then we’ll know who has what to say.”

Kitty went to bed thinking about the implications of what they could actually do, and the next day a long and involved interrogation of the computer was begun by the three humans. One question led to another and one topic to another until what would have been early hours for most from their time zone. Their adrenaline levels were just too high to allow them to stop. Among other things, it turned out that the ship had teleportation technology. This would prove invaluable to the three conspirators, for that was surely what they had become.

Finding this second, larger ship had changed all of Kitty’s ideas. No way could this technology be given to any governmental or quasi-governmental group, or sooner or later one of the bigger nations would gobble it up whole and begin to wring its secrets from it for their own military gain, bringing about the very future they were trying to avoid. And now, with the discovery of the existence of the larger ship, even Simon recognized the wisdom of not giving it up.

The need for rest finally made itself felt, and the three strolled back to their vehicles in the shuttle where Simon prepared dinner from canned goods, an ice chest, and a Coleman stove. The trip back up to the third level gave them time to talk more about future plans.

“If we’re going to keep it, we need to learn as much as we can about it,” Simon said. “None of us have the grounding to do more than be button-pushers here. We need to have at least a basic understanding of what type of forces we’re dealing with or we’re going to get bit in the ass. And sooner rather than later.”

“What do you suggest?” Kitty asked. “I’m still thinking of you as the team leader. You’ve got the expertise in this type of situation.”

“There’s never been a situation like this!” Simon exploded. “Getting the ship, any ship, if we could, was part and parcel of our mission statement, the mission statement, that is,” Simon said, stressing his self-distancing from the decision. “But development of its technology was supposed to take years. And we were just in acquisitions, so to speak. Hell, look how long it took for fiber optics to get into general use after what supposedly crashed at Roswell got taken apart down at Groom Lake. The predictions were that it would be years before we understood enough about the technology to keep from blowing anything up.”

“So, what do we do?” Gayle asked. Simon looked at her, his face devoid of expression. “Hey! Don’t give me any of that!” she protested loudly at his favorite blank look. “Remember, I just found out you’re a spy. I guess that’s what comes from letting your best friend marry outside their community, huh?”

Kitty grinned at her friend and shook her head slightly. Simon shook his harder and focused on Gayle.

“I’m sorry, Gayle. I was concentrating on your question, to be honest. And don’t blame Kitty. I never told her everything. National security and need-to-know clauses in my contract. I resigned for the good of the service after I couldn’t hack a desk job. So that means I was a spy.”

“Kitty said you weren’t cut out to sit around all day. That was true?”

“As far as it went,” Simon admitted, leaning back in his chair, trying to find a comfortable position. “The thing is, the Agency, the DIA, that is, doesn’t approve of married field agents. If you have those kinds of ties—a wife, kids, a life outside the Agency—you’re less likely to take advantage of delicate circumstances when they present themselves. So, I got sidelined, made a handler for active agents. Didn’t work for me, so I quit. Came to Billings, and you know the rest.”

Gayle looked at Simon as if she’d just met him. “Do you miss it? The adventure of all that spy stuff?”

Simon smiled, his eyes focused on something she couldn’t see. “I wasn’t James Bond, kiddo. Most of what I did was boring—footwork, paperwork, details. I spent a lot of time in libraries. As a matter of fact, that’s how I met Kitty. Not in a library but because of one. I needed to know a little bit about low-temperature physics for the assignment at MIT where I met Kitty.”

Gayle persisted. “You still haven’t answered the question. What do we do?”

“We do the same thing any other team does when it finds itself in need of assistance,” Simon said. “We follow the manual on this.” The looks of confusion on both faces made him laugh outright. “We call in experts.” He’d leaned forward to stress his point and then resettled into a different position in the chair.

Kitty looked sharply at her husband. “I thought we wanted to keep this ship out of government hands?”

“We do. I do,” he said, emphasizing the second syllable. “We find our own experts. Actually, all we have to do is locate one, someone with a background that would let him or her accept all this.” He waved his hands vaguely, “And a background that will let them bring together enough like-minded individual scientists as possible to give us a good working knowledge of the ship’s systems—if not why they work then at least how they work. We find our initial contact outside the usual channels and let him or her pick the next candidates.”

Gayle was perplexed, and it showed. “Even if we get some scientists to tell us what we can and can’t push, we’re still going to need a crew. Where are we going to get them, and how are we going to make sure they’ll follow orders? Or won’t form cliques and try to take over or something? And just what will we be doing with this thing?”

“All good questions, Gayle,” Simon said easily. “Who do we know ourselves who would believe us without proof? Let’s start out with our closest friends and then decide who we should contact first. As for the rest of your questions, I have only one answer.” He looked over at Kitty. “I know how you feel about martial law from some of the things you’ve said over the years, dear. But I think that the only way to control a group as disparate as the one we’re contemplating is going to be through some form of military rule. How are you going to feel about being a part of that?”

Kitty thought for a moment before she replied. “It depends on what we’re going to do with the technology. I do get a voice in this.”

Simon nodded. “Of course you do. After all, you’re the captain, and the ship answers to you because of that wristband. But we have to find out what we’ve got before we can decide what we can do with it. I believe this ship belongs to the whole planet, not just one country, at least until the original owners show up to claim their property. I want to be very careful about what we tell the world in general, and when, so we don’t cause too much disturbance in the economies of the world. Best way to do that is to take the—what did the computer call her?—Dalgor Kreth out to the asteroid belt and build her twin just in case her real owners show up. Then we can give her back without any losses. We’ll recruit crew the same way we recruit scientists. I’d say that we should build a cadre of people loyal to us personally before we start letting a lot of relative strangers aboard.”

Gayle said, “I know just the right bunch! My little brother and some of his friends would love to get in on this. I’m sure of it.”

Simon smiled at Gayle’s statement. Grant Miller had definitely received the height in the family. Standing six-foot-three, he was about average in the post-high-school football-team crowd he was often found with. They could bring Grant and his buddies aboard, with Gayle being head of security for a time, and then the real business of figuring out this nightmare could begin.

“Good idea, Gayle.” Simon slapped the arm of the chair. “I like the way you think. We have to work on our friends and acquaintances and let them do the same to others in their broader circles of friends.” Gayle beamed at the compliment, but it didn’t last long. “I figure we all need to start taking on the responsibilities of getting this enterprise underway. And you getting Grant and his friends is just a start. Satisfied, Kitty?”

With some misgiving, she nodded slowly. “Okay. But just because we set up on a military structure, I don’t want to lose the… the,” Kitty searched for a word. “Oh, I don’t know how to say it. See, the government knows we’ve got the ship but not who we are. They’re gonna try to make us out to be the bad guys when I think most people might come around to our way of thinking. I want us to be the good guys in this.”

Simon nodded. “We’ll find our scientist. You two can do it from home. I’ll lay a few false trails Earth-side and get in touch with some of my old platoon. I know one who’ll be perfect for security officer.”

Kitty worriedly asked, “Dear, how are we going to move bunches of people around without getting caught at it sooner or later?”

“We’ll use the transporter technology to simply beam in and out. You heard what the computer said—line of sight and inside most buildings but not underground.”

“Simply,” Kitty said, mimicking Simon. “You’re willing to trust yourself to that kind of technology?”

“Not without some testing,” Simon admitted. “I’d say send down something very expendable, like a bag of trash. When we beam it back up, if it still looks like trash, I’ll try it myself. We’ll still have to get us and the vehicles back to the surface, though, so that means at least one more shuttle trip.

“Oh, yeah. Gayle can pull into her driveway and beam out, no chance of her being touched. I, on the other hand, want to know what they know. The questions they ask and don’t ask will tell me a lot. I’ll just have to improvise to get out. I’ll bet they identified you from the little blood you left behind. My telescope was engraved with both our names, and Gayle is our best friend. There’s no way we’re just gonna be able to just walk around on the loose, but going to the house is the only option I have to learn anything. And they know I’m an ex-agent. They’ll be on their toes for the little tricks I know. I’m almost sorry you’re going to miss the dance.

“We’re about to be investigated to hell and back, dear, so we better have an airtight transportation system. The shuttles are good, but now that they’re known, I’d rather not use ‘em for a while. So we’ll do a lot of transporting.”

“Well, I’m gonna need some things from home. All of us are,” Kitty said. “How safe would it be to transport into the house and back out again?”

Simon thought about it a minute. “I’ll bet they’ve got our phones tapped, computers bugged, and audio and video pickups all over our houses by now. Why not just appropriate what you need from a store and leave a voucher saying the U.S. government will take care of the bill? Sign your name and I’ll bet they do it,” he finished, laughing.

Gayle applauded lightly. “That might just work. You think on your feet pretty well.”

Simon shook his head. “If you can’t think on your feet in this business, you’re dead,” he said with a straight face. “I’m not exaggerating. And as far as thinking on my feet is concerned, I’m about out of the ability to do that until I get some rest. I think I’m gonna go find a bed.”

Kitty’s own face was carefully blank until the door closed behind him. She looked at Gayle and just said, “I’ve got to sleep on it too, but I do have some reservations.”

Simon woke from a restless night. The gravity thing had kept him thinking he was falling every time he closed his eyes for more than a few seconds. And the dreams hadn’t made it easy to rest, either. But a trip to the shower reduced his irritability enough that he was able to face the world at last. He found clean clothes laid out on the bed with a piece of the yellow notepad on top, saying, “Meet us on the bridge.”

Simon, Kitty, and Gayle sat around a too-tall table in too-tall chairs in a suite of rooms they’d started calling the captain’s quarters. Gayle now wore a wristband like Kitty’s. The girls had gotten up earlier than Simon and explored more of level three. One room boasted a machine that would custom-fit a band for any wearer. The first order of business was to get one fitted to Simon’s arm.

A door led directly from the bridge to the captain’s briefing room and quarters, and was the only set of rooms to have a private bedroom and bath, as well as the fact that the amount of space allowed for a lot more people to be coming and going. It boasted the only living room they’d so far seen aboard the ship, as well as a room they called a private office, connected to a smaller room that was connected to the main corridor. “Looks like any standard office I’ve ever seen,” Kitty said as she walked around the suite. “Secretary sits out here at the desk. The big boss sits in there.” She nodded toward the inner office as she looked over an instrument panel on the small desk.

The last room in the suite was the one they were in. “Conference room?” Gayle said, guessing. “I’m betting you can get twenty or more people around this table once we get it lowered and have some more chairs brought in.”

Simon nodded in agreement. “For mission briefings, daily reports, and that sort of thing, maybe. It’s perfect. Three doors that let people in from the secretary’s office, the captain’s office, or the captain’s private quarters.” A thought crossed his mind and he smiled. When the two women looked perplexed, he added, “Of course, it would make a hell of a room for poker games, too.”

Kitty bristled at Simon’s comment. “These people were… are… aliens, Simon. You can’t just go assigning things like that to them. There’s no telling what they did here.”

“You’re right, Kitty,” Simon said slowly. “But I can make some assumptions about them. I have to. For instance, they were concerned with their physical wellbeing. Why else would there be obvious exercise rooms aboard? They also colonize other planets to perpetuate their species. They eat, drink, shit, sleep, and all the things we do.”

He stood up and began to walk around the table. “They lose things... like this ship. They have enemies or they wouldn’t need weapons like those fighters down below or the cannon we found mounted on level one. And they need room to expand or they would never have built this ship. If they just wanted to explore, there’d be no need for a factory ship.” He fell silent, but continued to pace—something Kitty had only seen him do when he had a really tough decision to make.

“Okay, we have a bunch of unknowns,” Simon said, “and very few knowns.” He began ticking off points on his fingers. “Starting with not knowing why the alien chose us, humans, in general, and Kitty to give the captain’s wristband to. We don’t know why large chunks of the computer’s memory have been wiped out—things like all the astrogation data. We know nothing at all about the race that built the ship other than their language in the computer, which could come in handy in the future if and when we run into them. We have no real idea why a colony ship would be coming here and no idea who their enemies are.”

“You’re right, Simon. The knowns are very few,” Kitty said and looked at the pad in front of her. “We know the translation program will allow us to relabel all the controls so we can run this ship. And we know we aren’t going to be able to run it because it takes over nine hundred people, and we don’t know that many people. We’d have to put a lot of trust in a lot of people, and I just don’t know how we can do that.”

“Two more unknowns,” Gayle added. “How these aliens react to strange races, and how they react to strange races that have some of their technology. And, I want to know how you’re so sure they have enemies in the first place.”

“Well,” Simon said defensively, “it’s just logic. First, until we got the ship, or until we met the alien, we could always believe we were the only intelligent race in the universe. But then we got hit in the face with reality. There is another intelligent race out there. And if there’s one, there could be a second, third, fourth, or fifth. Even more. Knowing of two—ourselves and whoever built this ship—lets us extrapolate other races. Looking at the ships in the bays on the lower level tells me that if there are races other than our two, then at least one of them is an enemy of the people who built this ship. If you don’t have enemies, you don’t need weapons.

“Now, as for the technology level. You heard the computer on the bridge,” Simon continued. “We have a matter transmitter aboard. That means we can beam down and up just like Star Trek as long as we have these bands and someone stays aboard to operate the controls, which can’t be automated. That’s a hell of a plus, even if it’s restricted to ships of this size due to the size of the equipment. Matter conversion takes place in the factories, and the ship only needs to have the fuel supply replaced every five years. Personally, I need time to think about all this. And we don’t have a helluva lot of that at our disposal.”

“It’s something we all need to think about,” Kitty said dryly. “Truth to tell, I already have some ideas to bounce off you two. These guys have exercise rooms, mess halls, kitchens, showers—all the things needed to allow this many people to function, like you just said. It’s like a small city, and we’ve only scratched the surface. We’ve just seen the top three levels of the living area.”

“What I want to see is the factory section,” Gayle declared.

Simon grinned at her. “Well, I’ve only got the beginnings of some ideas. Believe it or not, I had this dream last night, and the more I walk through this ship, the more concrete it becomes. Most of ‘em get lost after a while, but this one…” He shook his head. “I’m going for a walk. Maybe I can get something to gel.”

Kitty and Gayle looked at each other, and Kitty said, “Okay, Simon. You do that and we’ll toss a few ideas around in here.”

“Let’s do our idea tossing while we go through the factory section,” Gayle suggested. “That’s what this ship is all about, and I want to see it!”

They agreed to meet in two hours in the shuttle bay for lunch, and when Simon arrived, he started in without preamble. “We ran into each other enough times for you to know that I spent a lot of time in the factory section, too. That’s an amazing place! Anyway, I was wandering from room to room, trying to get a feel for what should be going on. If this thing was properly crewed, so much would be happening—pulling asteroids into the converter for breakdown into raw materials, moving those raw materials to the various rooms, making parts, and moving them down to the lower level for either assembly or loading onto a shuttle to be transported to a planet’s surface. There are computer terminals in each of the rooms to tell the machines what to make and a larger one in what appears to be a control room that has image after image of things that this ship can build—from sheds to skyscrapers, from cars to tanks, from planes to spaceships. All the infrastructure of a colony world.”

“Let me guess,” Kitty cut in. “I know you, husband-mine. We already have the infrastructure, and you want to build more ships. Where are we going to get the people to crew this one, much less others? And why would we want to build ships in the first place?”

“Because whoever lost this thing is going to want it back sooner or later. I’d like to have the time to duplicate it and some of those fighters to defend what we build before its owners show up. Maybe we can be strong enough to hold them off long enough for us to get a permanent foothold in space.”

He busied himself with turning some of the stored food into edible meals for them. As he opened packages and combined things, he continued. “First, we need to learn as much about this thing as we can before we crew it. And for that, we need scientists. I sure don’t know any we can trust, so we’ll have to come up with a plan. Table that for now. We’ll want to get the trucks down since we don’t need them up here. That means we learn how to fly the damned shuttle, get Gayle and the Jeep back to a remote location, and get back up here. I’ll drive our truck home and get the original confrontation settled.”

“Oh no, Simon Hawke. I know your temper and the willingness of the DIA to negotiate. They get you and we’re dead in the water.

“Nice try, Kittyn, but you can’t have your cake and eat it, too,” Simon said. “I know the routines these guys will go through. Do you want to be on the end of their questioning? I think not.”

“And,” Gayle added hastily, cutting Simon off, “we can start looking for scientists to come up here.”

“And these,” Kitty said, laying a few metal disks on the tailgate of the Jeep, “are locator disks. Found ‘em in the same room where the wristband machine is, or whatever you want to call it. Hand one to a person, press the red button on your band, and you and the other person will be transported to the ship if the two are close enough together. Or, it’ll work as a single-function device. The person holding it will be transported alone if they press the button on the upper side. At least, that’s what the computer told us. We found the transporter room, too. We missed it on our first walkthrough. At least, I don’t remember seeing it. It will allow four at a time to beam up or down. So,” she said, changing the subject, “who’s going to pilot the shuttle?”

“Why don’t we all practice at it?” Simon suggested. “Three heads and all that. I think getting back up here will be the same as before. Hopefully. Just get close enough and let the auto-landing program take over. Get the computer to help us relabel the controls and maybe we can figure out the rest for ourselves. That is, if the thing is as user-friendly as you think.”

“And try to keep us stealthed. And go back down at dusk, so we have less chance of being seen,” Kitty said practically. “If that button works like it did before without anything on the radar, then we might just get away with it. Both vehicles get home, and we can also get to work finding someone to bring in on this.”

“Agreed,” Simon said after a little thought. “The more the merrier, I think.”

Two more days found the trio ready to depart. Day one had gone into relabeling the shuttle controls and learning how to use the transporter. First, a bag of trash the three had accumulated was beamed down to a little-used campsite with a locator disk inside the bag. What looked like a shower of blue sparks surrounded the bag and then it faded from sight. When it was beamed back up, Simon went through it.

“Looks like trash,” he announced, unscrewing the cap from a Pepsi bottle and taking an experimental sip. “Tastes like pop to me,” he said, causing Kitty to scold him for his foolhardiness.

“Lighten up, hon,” Simon admonished his wife. “Someone has to try it out sooner or later.” He walked over to one of the hexes on the floor and turned to face the two women. “Now, just do the same thing again, this time with me. Wait about thirty seconds and bring me back.”

“I’m not sure I like this, Simon,” Kitty said, voice atremble. “What if something goes wrong?”

Simon walked back to Kitty and wrapped his arms around her. “Nobody said there weren’t going to be risks, Kittyn. But sooner tested, sooner known. Besides, I’m the logical candidate.” He leaned back and tilted her head up with a finger under her chin. “In two minutes, this will all be history and we can get on to other things. So, let’s do it, okay?”

Kitty took a deep breath and said, “If anything goes wrong, I’ll never forgive you. I understand the need to know, but I don’t like to risk losing you to some alien ...” She reached up and pulled his head down for a long kiss. “Two minutes, no more,” she said firmly after breaking loose.

With a sideways look at Gayle, Kitty walked over to the console and began to press the combination that would dematerialize her husband. Simon walked back to the hex and stood, waiting.

Kitty’s finger paused over the last button.

Gayle asked, “Do you want me to do it?”

“No. He’s my husband, and if anyone’s going to be responsible, it has to be me. But I don’t have to like it.” Without looking up, she pushed the final button and Simon disappeared.

The second day was used to learn to handle the shuttle. Since it was a powered vessel, keeping control was only a matter of staying out of any major atmospheric disturbances once they started down. Test flights around the bigger ship were successful, except that landing in the relatively small bay was tricky. Simon cheated by pressing the return button on all three approaches to the ship and let the landing system take over. The stealth button lit up each time it was pressed, so it was assumed that the system was in operation. Only a lack of visitors would confirm that once they got back to the surface.

Deciding where to land was a problem until Gayle remembered something.

“The rifle range! Outside of Acton, Simon. We went there last year to sight in our rifles just before hunting season. There’s that wide valley, and the ramp should let us drive right out onto the road. All we’ll need to do is open one gate, and bingo, back in Billings.”

“And it should be easy to find,” Kitty put in. “Just north and west of town. We come in from the east, keep Billings on our left, and we should see that valley fairly easily.”

Simon looked at the control panel in front of him. “We don’t have a lot of options. Too far away will take too long to get home. And if the stealth works, it won’t matter anyway,” he concluded. He looked at his watch. “Let’s get some rest. It’s still a few hours until dark.”

Kitty spent the last few minutes before departure in the control room, looking at the planet as it spun below them. This would be a dead-reckoning flight.

I wish I hadn’t used the word ‘dead,’ she thought.

The sky was clear over most of the Pacific Northwest, so she was able to pick out the jewel that was Billings and headed for the shuttle. “Cargo net on?” she asked.

“Check,” Gayle answered from the left-side control panel.

“Stealth on?” she asked, looking at the panel.

“Confirmed,” came from Simon, seated to her right.

“Bay doors sealed?”

“Confirmed,” Simon said, looking strangely at Kitty.

“Okay, depressurizing,” she said, pushing the newly relabeled button. “I’m really glad this thing is built as well as it is. Have either of you noticed that there isn’t a real airlock on board? Or on the big ship, for that matter. Apparently, these folks never landed anywhere there wasn’t air to breathe.”

When the door opened, she grasped the twin joysticks and pulled the left one backward, raising the ship off the deck slightly. She then pushed forward fractionally on the right, which moved the shuttle out of the bay and into the bright light of a full sun.

Wish I’d been a Nintendo player, she thought. This would probably be easier.

The trip down wasn’t without incident. No one had noticed the turbulence on the flight up. They’d been too keyed up probably, but on the trip down, it scared the hell out of all of them. The hull temperature stabilized, so Kitty kept the speed constant until they hit the jet stream. None of them had even considered it, and the violence of the impact knocked Kitty’s hands off the joysticks long enough for the ship to break through the lower layer and right itself.

“Ignorance is going to get us killed,” Kitty said after she got her voice under control. “The first thing I’m going to do is find a pilot, then a scientist.”

Thirty minutes after leaving the ship, Kitty set the shuttle down in a little valley just north of Billings. “Cargo net off, Gayle,” she ordered. “Radar shroud is still online, so we have a few minutes at least. I’d like to talk to Simon alone for a few. Can you get the Jeep out by yourself?”

Kitty felt him shudder when he put his arms around her. During their entire fifteen-year marriage, they’d never been separated by more than a few hundred miles. Now, it was going to be twelve thousand miles, and all of them straight up. “Don’t worry. If anything happens, I’ll just press the button and you can beam me up. God, that sounds weird to say! Gayle will beam right out of her truck, and I’ll face the DIA waiting at home. It won’t be easy though.”

“I could try some of the contacts I have at MIT, but that’s been a long time.”

“Yeah, I know,” Simon said, nodding in agreement. “Who’s going to believe you when you say, ‘Guess what? I’ve got a spaceship!’ Still working without a clue?”

“So far. But you know how Gayle and I get when we start tossing ideas around.”

“Indeed, I do, love. I’ve had to deal with the aftermath of some of the schemes you two have worked out. Just remember that whoever you go after, he or she doesn’t know you. Be gentle, okay?”

“Yes, dear.” Kitty kissed him lingeringly. “Think that’ll hold till you get back?”

“I hope so. And there’s no time for more. Gayle just pulled up in front of the shuttle.” Simon took her by the arm and guided her to the stairs. All the words he didn’t know how to say tangled in his throat, allowing none to get out, so he just hugged her one more time. “I better go. We could have been seen landing. I love you. Now get back into the cockpit before I… just go!”

Simon turned Kitty around and gave her a small shove as Gayle honked her horn.

Leaning out the window, Gayle yelled, “Let’s get moving!”

Kitty closed the ramp and watched the taillights move off over the hill. Still feeling a strange pressure deep in her chest, she reached out to press the return button but stopped her finger just before contact and leaned back in her chair.

Why not? she thought. I never said I wouldn’t. Of course, neither of them asked me. Grinning at that, she gripped the joysticks, pulled the nose up, fed power to the engines, and took the craft back up out of the atmosphere. I’ll still let the autonav land it, but this is fun!

CHAPTER SEVEN

Kitty’s return to the larger ship was somewhat complicated. Owing in large part to her lack of knowledge of celestial mechanics and astronavigation, she couldn’t find the damned thing! Understandable, perhaps, in light of the state of human space exploration, but potentially fatal, except for the failsafe homing system built into the shuttle’s controls.

She’d never really considered the fact that getting from the ground to a particular point in space in a fully powered vehicle was an entirely different matter than getting from space to a particular point on the ground by seat-of-the-pants flying. Nor had she considered things like orbiting satellites. Simon had quipped, “Expect the unexpected and you… we… might all survive this.” This comment had come just before Simon fired up their truck and followed the Jeep up the rutted road to the Forest Service gate.

Five minutes after Kitty left Simon and Gayle, the radar lit up with several blips. She looked over her shoulder at the empty radar operator’s display, gripping the joystick controls and working to match orbits with the three blips. But turning that way to see the results hurt her neck, so she finally swiveled her chair around so she could see better. From there, she kept wanting to look over her shoulder out the forward viewscreen but suppressed the urge to do so. When the three blips were stationary in relation to the icon that represented the shuttle, she pulled back on the left grip, increasing power to the ship's engines.

The power increase threw the ship into a higher orbit, passing near one of the blips as Kitty used the right stick to maneuver around the obstacles. Rising to a higher orbit put the shuttle above most satellite traffic, and the radar screen went dead, hologram fading out of sight in a matter of seconds.

She’d faced back to the front and begun to search for the Dalgor Kreth when she realized just how fruitless such a search would be. Easier to find the proverbial needle in a haystack, she thought sheepishly.

“Computer, display main ship and this shuttle,” she ordered.

She turned the chair back to view the display. The green spot in the center she understood to be this shuttle, so she assumed the pulsing blue dot farther out to be the big ship. “What do the little yellow dots mean?” she asked aloud.

“Artificial satellites placed in predictable orbits for various purposes by the indigenous species of this world,” the computer replied.

Kitty studied the various spots of light and ran her hands over the joysticks. She slowly fed more power to the engines and threaded her way through the satellite layer, gradually closing the distance between the green spot and the blue. She glanced over her shoulder out the front of the cockpit and was rewarded with a three-quarters view of the Earth, the terminator swallowing the mid-Pacific before her very eyes. A chill ran through her when she thought about how long she’d dreamed of seeing this very sight. Watching coverage of live missions whenever possible and every documentary that came her way couldn’t have prepared her for the emotions welling up inside.

Her hands trembled slightly as she twitched the controls so that more of the planet became visible. Blue, green, and white predominated as she’d always known, but the browns, tans, and greys of deserts and mountains were visible as well. Adding to the palate were the variegated greens of the coastal shallows fading into the deep blue of the open seas. The British Isles and Western Europe were just coming into view, their large, well-lit cities showing as expanding patches of light along coastlines and most of the major rivers.

Her breath caught in her throat and a memory floated, unbidden, into her consciousness. She could no longer place the speaker or the particular mission, but an astronaut had commented on the fact that no national boundary lines could be seen from space, a remark significant enough to resurface at this time. She looked down at the planet slowly turning below her and realized that the only boundaries were those imposed by man. A sense of insignificance verging on impotence washed over her until she remembered that she had possession of an artifact capable of giving her species an unexpected technological advantage if only the squabbling factions would give up bickering over a few square miles of land and unite under one banner to work toward a common goal.

For the first time since this whole thing started, alone and without the distractions of her husband and friend, Kitty tried to clinically diagnose her—their—situation. They were three humans in possession of alien technology of unknown potential. Of course, the government didn’t know there were just three of them. That was a plus, but the low numbers were a definite liability, which was why they were going to find a scientist to turn to.

Kitty knew Simon had downplayed the danger he faced, even though he knew the caliber of people he’d be facing in a way she hoped she and Gayle never would. She also knew that some bright young agent would correlate the disappearance of an ex-agent living in the vicinity of this incident and start asking questions.

A thought occurred to her. “Computer, are we cloaked from electronic surveillance?”

“Yes, Captain. But we are not cloaked from the lesser technologies. Specifically, from devices that manually magnify light.”

“Damn,” Kitty muttered. “Some amateur astronomer is eventually going to see us and report an anomalous body in orbit. The shit will really hit the fan then.” One thing she did know was that most astronomical discoveries were made by amateurs.

What would she do if she were leading the opposition? Knowing they could just beam out was small consolation. First, if they got arrested and used their wristbands to escape, it would confirm that they had the ship. Second, it would demonstrate the level of technology available, and it was just too early for that.

People like the ones they were looking for tended to focus their attention on particular parts of the sky. Once the bigger ship was reported, every eye on Earth would be staring straight at them.

“Can you evade incoming missiles?”

“Considering the level of technology exhibited by your race so far, there is nothing that can approach us without being destroyed.”

Kitty relaxed slightly. “Anything that gets too close, you will destroy unless your sensors report humans aboard. It’s remotely possible that NASA or somebody else could send a manned vehicle up to get a closer look. You will inform me of either situation before you take action.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Kitty thought long and hard about the repercussions. At present, only the U.S. and Russia could mount manned missions to inspect the ship, but a number of other countries could send up unmanned missiles with fairly sophisticated gadgetry aboard. Anything beyond that would require the cooperation of the whole world, setting the stage for a one-world government, and there were still too many madmen and patriots alike unwilling to give up any of their hard-won ground for that to happen anytime soon. What they—the madmen and patriots—needed was a common enemy, and she smiled uneasily at the idea of becoming that enemy.

Kitty brought the shuttle into traffic-control range of the bigger ship and let the automated process take over the docking procedure. She had too much on her mind to attempt the maneuver under manual control. The shuttle banked into its final approach and Earth slid out of view to the rear.

She turned her thoughts back to the task at hand. First and foremost, she planned to talk to the computer at length. That, in association with a far more thorough inspection, should help her answer any questions, or at least know where to look for answers when the conscript came aboard. She no longer wondered whether or not there would be a recruit; she just wondered when.

Simon turned onto his street two blocks before he normally would. Even late at night he spotted the grey sedan parked a block from the house.

“I’ll bet there are at least ten agents in the area,” he said to himself. “I hope Gayle doesn’t have any problems.”

Simon backed the truck into the driveway, intending to unload the gear into the garage and take the clothing into the house. Watching from the corners of his eyes, he saw one of the cars pull up to the curb as he opened the tailgate and began to pull their camping gear out of the back of the truck.

He pretended not to see the two men until they were almost on him. He looked up and then looked closer—a classic doubletake—and said, “Johnny! You’re about the last guy I’d expect to see these days.” He dropped the tent he’d been lifting out of the back onto the tailgate and shook the man’s hand. “What brings you here after all these years?”

John San Martino gripped his ex-partner’s hand firmly, sighed, and said, “Let’s not play games, Simon. We were partners, for Christ’s sake. You saved my life on more than one occasion. I got assigned to a case and your name keeps coming up in all the wrong places. We need to talk.”

“Is this a back room thing, or can we talk while I unload the truck? Then we can go in the house and have a beer like civilized adults.”

“We can talk here as long as you play straight with me, Simon,” San Martino said, leaning nonchalantly against the side of the pickup.

Simon looked at his ex-partner from hooded eyes as he pulled a long grey case out of the back of the truck. He handed it to San Martino. “30-06. Never leave home without one. My pistol is on the passenger seat.” The tone was pure banter, but the gaze was speculative. He lifted the tent back onto his shoulder, turned around, opened the garage door, and walked to the back wall. He set the tent on a shelf and came back to the truck. “So, what do you want to know, Johnny?”

“You’re going to make me go through the whole routine, aren’t you?”

“Yep,” Simon replied, hauling an ice chest out of the truck and setting it aside with a grunt. “If you’re official, we need to be on the up-and-up all the way across the board, don’t we? I know your boss—who is that these days?—wouldn’t like any of the particulars to be overlooked.” He hooked two folding chairs with one arm and snagged a folding table with his free hand. Carrying them inside, he said over his shoulder, “Let’s stipulate that you’ve read me my rights and I understand them. Come on, John, get specific.”

“We found your telescope, Simon. Has your prints and name all over it. Were you expecting a landing? Do you have some kind of connection to these landings we’ve been set to watch for?”

Simon walked back to the truck, thinking. “Oh, come on, John. I’m an amateur astronomer, and you know it. I saw whatever it was come down and I got the hell out of there. I had vacation time coming, and I really needed it this year. You remember Kitty? Katherine? We’re having some troubles right now, and I needed to get as much distance from her and money troubles as possible. Then that thing put an end to that.”

“So, why did we find her blood at the scene if she was nowhere around? And who was the third person? Woman or small child? And there are the tire tracks in but not out. Those same tracks go across the clearing and into thin air. Not to mention three indentations in the soft soil that said something heavy sat there, and there were some small fires caused by whatever it was when it left. And let’s not forget the supposed remains of something definitely not from this world. You see, we’ve got quite a bit, along with the tires on your truck, which is now under a national security seal.”

Sleeping bags and a mattress were tossed into a corner, pillows tossed at the porch, and Simon pulled out the last item—an oversized canvas suitcase. He closed the tailgate and picked up the suitcase.

“Okay, John,” Simon said, sighing hard. He wiped his hands on his pants and picked up the ice chest. “Come inside and I’ll tell you everything. All I need to do is empty the ice and put the perishables away. Forgot all about the ‘scope at the time. When you guys are finished with it, I’d like it back. It’s a gift from Kitty. You know how wives are about stuff like that.”

“So why didn’t you report it, Simon? That’s the question on everybody’s mind.”

“Everybody’s?” Simon repeated. He picked up two crates of food and moved them to the back porch, along with the chest. “Or the director’s? You seem to forget, I’m a civilian now. Yes, I still have classified information, like the existence of ALERT teams, and I knew troops would be on the ground within the hour, most likely. But you should also notice that I just got home. When have I had time to report anything?”

Simon opened the back door and sidled into the house with the big suitcase. San Martino followed him, carrying the rifle. Simon dumped the suitcase in the middle of the floor, laid his pistol-belt on top, and stepped out the back door, grabbing the ice chest while ignoring the remaining agent. He quickly put perishable items in the refrigerator and pulled out two beers. Stepping into the living room, he handed one to San Martino.

“Sit down, John, and tell me why this is going to be the last beer we share. Oh, and the third set of prints belong to a girlfriend of Kitty’s. Gayle Miller is her name.”

San Martino set the beer down unopened, an action not unnoticed by Simon. “Because you’re dead center in the middle of something a lot bigger than any of us, Simon. And your wife is in it up to her ears, too, along with her girlfriend. That’s one sharp woman you’ve got there.” He looked around the living room and shook his head. “This is as far as you could get in thirteen years, Simon? A four-bedroom house in Billings, Montana of all places? Home of the Freemen, the Unabomber, and now Simon Hawke.”

Simon looked at the place he’d called home for thirteen years. It looked fine to him, and he felt sorry for the agents who never knew where they were going to be from one day to the next. Of course, he was in the same boat now but in a distinctly different way.

Their home was a mixture of the two of them, and Simon and Kitty had managed to make dust-ruffled furniture co-exist with a mounted eight-point whitetail rack and gilt-framed oil paintings of mountain scenes. A blue Persian rug tastefully set off the light oak furniture that was sitting on burnished hardwood floors.

“Actually, I’m rather happy here, John. I run my own business, come home to my own bed every night, and only have my wife to answer to. Why would I jeopardize that?”

“I don’t know, Simon,” San Martino admitted. “But our profilers say it’s extremely likely that you’re mixed up in this. And remember, you helped train me. I know you. That’s why I was assigned to the case. And I don’t like getting the old Hawke smoothness in full force. You almost had me there.”

Simon just grinned. It wasn’t fun to give his old friend the runaround, but it would keep the waters muddy long enough to cover some of their tracks. He cracked his beer and took a pull.

“You know we’re going to have to interrogate Miller, too. We have to cross-check all the information,” San Martino said tiredly. “You know how the game is played, Simon. So far Miller and you and your wife are the only ones we can connect to the… incident. We need to know how you got separated, how you got away in the first place, where you’ve been, and who you’ve talked to. We’re going after all of it, Simon. We want that ship.”

“Sorry, John,” Simon said. “Can’t help you with the ship part. I don’t seem to have it on me.” The sound of a car door slamming brought the two men to their feet. Simon looked out the window to see Gayle walking up the sidewalk. He let out a silent groan.

Simon started for the door, but San Martino raised a hand. “Allow me, please.” He opened the door just before Gayle could knock. “Come in, Miss Miller. Simon is waiting for you. My name is John.”

The blonde walked over to Simon, a perplexed and somewhat apprehensive look on her face. She took a deep breath and turned to face the stranger. “Mind introducing me, Simon?” she asked brightly.

Simon was secretly surprised by the composure she showed, walking into the situation almost blind and knowing there was going to be trouble. That was obvious from her stance. He’d sparred with her a couple of times and knew how much trouble she had pulling her punches, even sparring. But pissed off? Hell, he’d been out of his league when she was just warming up. Her blackbelt wasn’t for show, and she practiced regularly.

He was going to have to keep his attention on San Martino and just hope Gayle could hold her share of the line if push came to shove. He noted that she wore a long-sleeved shirt, a common-enough event in Montana in the springtime that even his own long sleeves didn’t get remarked upon. And of course, the two pieces of identical jewelry wouldn’t be noticed… at least not until they were hauled out in handcuffs.

“Gayle Miller, my ex-partner John San Martino of the DIA. It seems that John wants some answers to some very touchy questions.”

At Simon’s introduction, Gayle stepped forward, a thousand-watt smile lighting up her face. “If you were Simon’s partner, I’m glad to meet you. We could use a friend in all this mess.” She held out her hand to the agent.

“John isn’t the friendly face you think he is, Gayle,” Simon warned. “As a matter of fact, he’s here to arrest us. Isn’t that right, John?”

Gayle jerked her hand back, her expression going blank. She looked at Simon, who had sat back down on the couch, the picture of a genial host. Gayle slowly sat down on the other end, almost as if she expected the couch to bite her. Simon noted that her foot was ready to strike in the direction of San Martino’s knee. He wasn’t sure she had the reach though. If he could get the agent a little closer ...

Gayle dropped her hands into her lap. “Don’t you need a warrant or something before you can arrest us? And don’t you need to prove that we’ve done something?”

“Miss Miller,” San Martino said patiently, “we’ve got all three of you linked to a place and time where an… anomalous object… appears to have landed.” He held up his hand to forestall interruptions and began ticking points off on his fingers. “We’ve got the telescope with both Simon and Katherine’s prints on it found at the scene. We have blood samples taken from the scene that match Mrs. Hawke’s DNA. We have shoeprints that likely as not match your boots and tire tracks that probably match your Jeep. And there’s always the Homeland Security Act that lets us do pretty much what we please.”

“How do you know all that?” Gayle interrupted.

Simon held up his hand. “They’re very good at their jobs, Gayle. I should know; I used to be one of them. As a matter of fact, I trained John. No good deed goes unpunished, right?” He turned back to San Martino. “Go on, John. I’m sure you’ve got more.”

“We’ve got NORAD and several satellites verifying that something entered Earth’s atmosphere and landed in a small valley about five hundred miles from here. We’ve got tire tracks leading into the area but not out. We’ve got those same tracks leading us around the edge of the clearing and into a small meadow, finally vanishing as if by magic. And we’ve got a mass of… something… burnt to a crisp. DNA analysis just doesn’t have a place to put what we’ve got.”

“This is all circumstantial, you know,” Gayle said, finally finding her voice. “There’s no way it’s going to stand up in court.”

Simon patted her arm. “There isn’t going to be a trial, kiddo. We’re about to be disappeared until they have all they can get out of us. Even then, we might not get back to our normal lives.”

“Well, you’re not about to disappear me,” Gayle stated positively. “I’ve got plans.”

“Miss Miller, we really don’t care what you have planned. We’re going to ask questions and you’re going to answer them.”

Gayle put her best indignant look on her face. “You threaten to haul me away to some governmental limbo and you want my help? Please, allow me to cordially invite you to go piss up a rope.”

“I’m truly sorry you feel that way, Miss Miller, because the accommodations aren’t going to be like Club Med.” San Martino didn’t sound as if he much cared either way.

Simon crossed his legs and leaned back on the couch, seemingly totally unconcerned. Gayle merely seemed ready for whatever action she needed to take.

“I’m really surprised that you didn’t see the need to bring more than four men to take us in, John. You know I never work without a fallback position.”

“‘What I haven’t forgotten,” the agent retorted, “is your ability to make the best of any situation. That’s why this mission wasn’t restricted to just four men. Those are just the front team. You were meant to see them, Simon. You must be getting soft.” He crossed his own legs and finally reached for the beer he’d set aside earlier. He twisted the cap off, dropped it deliberately on the floor, and took a healthy swig. “I brought a full tactical assault team. The rest of them moved into position as soon as you came into the house.”

“Simon,” Gayle asked worriedly, “what does an assault team consist of?”

“In this case, knowing John, a full platoon of forty men, armed for a small invasion, armored against anything except a nuclear explosion, and with orders to shoot to kill if any of us step out of the house. How’d I do, John?”

“Pretty good, Simon, except that they are required to shoot to stun. We want the information, see? I can give away things if I think I might get something in return.”

“A full platoon, John? Did you bring air-mobile support as well?” Simon asked tersely. “I guess I should be impressed that you think you need that much firepower to bring us in.”

“Simon, Simon, you know how it is. The women are pressure. We really don’t believe they know that much. Now, your blonde friend did surprise us a bit. Three different blackbelts in three different disciplines. All deadly. But that we can counter. It’s you we have to neutralize. You forget that I watched you kill two men with your bare hands in less than ten seconds. I’m not going to make the mistake of underestimating you. But even you can’t talk your way past forty men who have no ties to you whatsoever.”

Gayle looked at Simon with a measure of respect she hadn’t shown before. “You let me win, you son-of-a-bitch!” she hissed, referring to their sparring matches.

“Not once,” Simon said defensively. “We were fighting by the rules, and you beat me by those rules. If you want a no-holds-barred match sometime, I’ll try to go easy on you.”

Gayle huffed up and started to say something, but San Martino stood up impatiently. “Enough of this domesticity. We have transport waiting to take you to a secure location. Miss Miller, if you ever find yourself in a position to take Simon up on that free-for-all, I suggest that you don’t.”

“No way to talk you out of this, John?” Simon asked lightly.

“I have my orders, Simon.”

Simon’s face clouded up. “Ya know, as soon as I remembered I’d left the telescope behind—easy enough to do in all the excitement—I knew somebody would be here sooner or later. I wasn’t expecting you, but I guess I should have. Playing on my loyalties and all that.”

Simon let his body posture relax, leaning back into the couch and projecting less aggressiveness than he had seconds before. “You know, you were one of the ones who used to get together and discuss just what we’d do if something like this should ever really happen. As I remember it, you were one of the advocates for blowing the thing to kingdom come, Johnny. What happened to change all that?”

“I decided to live in the real world, Simon. My agenda is whatever my bosses tell me it is. And at the moment, that’s acquiring all the advantages possible for the U.S. in a rapidly deteriorating world situation.”

“Well, I have an agenda of my own, old friend, and I can’t be letting you interfere with it,” Simon informed the agent, sadness in his voice. “It was always a given that we could count on each other. It’s too bad you’ve gone and let the powers-that-be brainwash you so thoroughly. I could have used a friend on this one. As it is, you’ve just forced me into that fallback position I mentioned earlier.”

“One word from me and this house will be assaulted from all four sides,” San Martino said regretfully. “You’re not getting out of this one, Simon. Face it, you’re weaponless and surrounded, and no one knows you’re here.”

“Let me guess, John. That word would be ‘indigo.’ At the agent’s look of confusion, Simon laughed out loud. “You come here thinking you know me, friend. Well, I’ll let you in on a secret. I’ve grown in the thirteen years I’ve been gone. The love of a good woman will do that to you. You, on the other hand, haven’t. Just remembering your activation word should show you I know more about you than you do about me.”

“What I know, Simon, is that I’ve got the upper hand here. You have no chance to get away.”

Simon smiled. “I know you’re wired, John. Are you set up for video, too?”

“Why?” A suspicious look crossed San Martino’s face.

“You just said that I had no chance to get away. I’m about to prove you wrong. I also intend to take Gayle with me. I just hope that this is on video so your boss can see what he’s up against.”

San Martino was livid. Not in his wildest imaginings had he expected the interview to go this way. “Okay, partner, I’m calling your bluff. If you think you can get both of you past forty armed men, especially after warning us, go ahead and try.” He spoke into his lapel. “Condition Red. Take down anyone leaving the house.”

Simon looked over at Gayle. “Let’s go.”

Gayle just nodded, stood up, and pressed the return button on her wristband. While San Martino’s eyes were on her, Simon hit his own at the same time.

San Martino’s eyes went wide as Gayle vanished in a cloud of blue sparks.

“Sorry it has to end this way Johnny, but sometimes people do change.” He snaked his foot out and caught the pistol-belt, transferring it to his hand as San Martino’s pistol appeared. Blue sparks started to flow past his eyes and San Martino’s face evaporated, replaced by the reddish light of the transporter bay.

Kitty stared thoughtfully into the open hatch. The computer had told her where to find the access hatch to the main data storage area, and she’d wound up here. It was located in the factory section, or the computer room as Kitty called it, and was merely an empty room with a door in one wall and this hatch. Closing the hatch, she used the single door to enter the room, and what she was staring at reminded her not of a computer but rather a bowl of Jell-O, more than anything else.

The entire mass, some four cubic feet, appeared to be back-lit by a light that came out a glowing, iridescent green after it passed through the… “proto-organic gel,” as the computer had called it. Lights flashed on and off within the mass, the product of something called “whisker-lasers,” which was the computer’s way of writing information to, and reading from, the memory core.

Baffled by the advanced technology, she asked the computer how someone would go about removing data from the memory core.

“Data deletions can be ordered from any of a number of consoles throughout the ship, but it would be most convenient for someone to do it from either the bridge or the environmental control center,” the computer responded.

“But how do you recognize a valid order?” Kitty probed. “Or could anyone have given the order to delete astronomical data and all data on the original builders?”

“It would require the deletion request and passwords from two ship’s officers.”

“So, let’s trace the passwords. Can you do that?” Kitty asked.

“No. All passwords have been deleted.”

“So that leaves?”

“No way to determine who deleted the information.”

“Wonderful,” Kitty muttered as she listened to the pneumatic hiss of some device sealing the access cover back into place over the computer core. She stood up and massaged a kink out of her back. “First thing we have the new guy do is find us a computer specialist with imagination and vision. This is lightyears ahead of anything we’ve got. Somebody has got to want to study this!”

She began walking down the corridor away from the computer room, looking into each room she came to. Sensors turned the lights on as she entered a room and turned them off again as she left. Along with the lights, the sensors activated a console located near the door of each room and a variety of different machines. Pressing buttons on the consoles produced few results.

Probably needs certain keys pressed certain ways to activate ‘em, she thought. Or maybe, there has to be raw material in the room for the machines to make something.

All rooms provided virtually the same results, with only a few buttons lighting up or doing anything at all.

It was the picture window that gave it away. Kitty’s heart beat faster as she slowly walked across the room and put her hands on the glass, looking down into a huge funnel-shaped hole leading into the bowels of the ship. She then looked up at the rim some two hundred feet above. This had to be the matter converter that shredded asteroidal material into basic components for the various factories and assembly areas. That placed her roughly in the center of the huge ship.

She turned around, forcing her attention back to the job at hand. All the consoles in this new room were considerably more advanced and probably more complicated than the others. And there were no machines, just the various workstations, six in all, scattered around the room. Near the window, a separate console sat fully powered and operational. Even the usual flat-screen-like panel always located on the right side of all consoles looked bigger and somehow more imposing.

Guessing that this was the main control room for the factory section, she looked back out the window and remembered one of the training flights they’d made before taking Simon and Gayle down. She had circled the ship while learning the controls, and she’d looked at just about every inch of the exterior. This funnel was the matter converter. Centered in the upper side, the converter penetrated almost halfway into the ship and was capable of taking asteroidal material in chunks of up to almost two hundred and fifty feet in width. Larger rocks were sliced up by lasers mounted in the tractor beam towers that circled the rim.

The oversized flat-screen on the main desk was displaying the image of a device that was slowly rotating through all its angles in the upper left corner of the screen. On the right side, a column of figures scrolled from top to bottom. Beneath the small image, an expanded view of the device took up the rest of the screen.

Beneath the display was a confusing array of buttons, and one was flashing. Taking a deep breath, she pressed the glowing spot on the panel and the image changed. First, it was a full-screen view of a different object. Then the image shrank into the upper left corner and the screen displayed the same information it had for the previous image. The next images were of a spaceship, one with a distinctly more warlike look than this one or the three little ones in their bays.

An alarm interrupted her. She shut the panel down and headed for the Transport Control room. The panel identified the alarm as Gayle’s transport request, so she got to watch her friend sparkle into existence. Simon’s wristband was flashing as well, so she quickly reset the panel and beamed him in, too. Having been in a seated position when the beam-up occurred, he naturally landed flat on his butt, muttering curses at alien technology.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Unexplored territory, Simon thought, standing in front of a perfectly normal door on factory level sixteen. After his return to the ship, he’d begun to do a more systematic search, and he was facing the last barrier to their exploration.

He spun the now-familiar door lock. This door, though, opened in such a way that if the room were decompressed, he wouldn’t be able to open the door against the exterior pressure. Once all the bars were fully retracted, he pulled on the door, noting the strength necessary to get it moving.

Engine room, he decided as he entered the oversized room. Several of the shuttle test flights around the giant ship had passed by the stern of the vessel. Three huge black nozzles marred the otherwise smooth rear of the ship.

He’d figured then that they were engine exhaust ports, and now he was pretty sure he was looking at the other end of those holes. Before him were three cylinders, each hundreds of feet long and easily sixty feet high. But it wasn’t the engines that took most of his attention. That was accomplished by a huge, ill-defined yet solid-looking sphere floating equidistant between the floor and the ceiling.

Besides a low railing completely encircling a dark-colored area directly beneath the sphere, the only other structures in the room were dozens of tubes and the supposed engines. Attached to the sphere’s surface by no obvious means, two tubes ran from the sphere to each engine while others disappeared into the walls for purposes unknown.

In exasperation, he wrote, “Let whoever the girls pick out decide what kind of scientists we need and who to choose.”

Simon stifled a yawn and looked at his watch. Shaking his head at the amount of time he’d spent going even this far, he headed back to the captain’s quarters to dine on some of the oh-so-appealing MREs he’d offloaded from Gayle’s Jeep.

“Grabbing a little rack time wouldn’t hurt, either,” he mused aloud later, cleaning up the residue of his meal. And putting how to dispose of the trash at the top of the list would probably be a wise move. He jotted that final note on his pad and left the large room in search of his bed.

Somewhere between lying down and starting to worry about something else, a fitful slumber finally overtook him. He walked through a murky darkness, alone except for shadowy, unidentifiable… things… at the edge of his vision—things that never seemed to get any nearer, staying just out of reach.

Simon dreamed, and knew that he dreamed, of darkness and light. Oh, yes! The light. For just as the darkness brought visions of fear, hysteria, and loss, so did the light bring visions of splendor, glory, and hope.

When he woke up, it was to a feeling of disorientation. Normally not one to remember his dreams other than vaguely, this one stood out due to its complexity, but that wasn’t what left him uneasy. The darkness was complete, and as he lay there, a slight noise, more of a low-level vibration in the air itself, intruded upon his consciousness. He reached out to turn on his bedside lamp and banged his hand on a metal surface. “Damn!” he muttered.

The feeling of falling or floating had been very real just before he’d awakened. He sat up on the side of the bed, letting his feet swing a bit until he realized they should be touching the floor. That was when the events of the last few days snapped into focus.

“Lights,” he said into the darkness, and a red glow pervaded the room. “I’ve got to do something about the lighting. This can’t go on. It’s too depressing. Like being at battle stations at all times.”

He padded into the bathroom, noticing the extra height on the fixtures there, and made a mental note to see about having something done about that, too. After throwing water on his face, he went back to the bedroom and got dressed, then worked his way through another MRE packet and went to the bridge.

“Computer,” he said as he entered.

“Attending.”

“The lights on this ship are not… adequate… for humans. What can be done to change them?”

“The lighting can be adjusted to any wavelength required. Please define the parameters.”

Simon thought for a few seconds and said, “How about something more appropriate to the planet below. “Say high noon halfway between the equator and either pole.” The room immediately brightened to a harsh glare. “We’re on the right track,” Simon commented, quickly shading his eyes from the light. “Less intensity, please.” The glare seemed to dissipate somewhat, and after a few more adjustments, he was satisfied with the level. “Let’s set that as the standard all over the ship, please.”

“New configuration locked.”

Simon smiled as he walked off the bridge, thinking about how pleased Kitty would be at the change. That happy thought led directly to the realization that he was feeling better without ever having suspected that he’d felt less than well.

It must have been all that red lighting, he thought.

He stopped in the corridor and looked at the legal pad that seemed to have become his constant companion. He noted the rumpled and dirtied edges, the dog-eared corners, and wondered if there wasn’t a better way to keep track of his to-do list. His eyes focused on a single word, underlined twice, at the bottom of the page—fighters. Much easier to read now in the brighter light, the word brought direction to his otherwise aimless wandering.

He stepped into the elevator and punched the button for the lowest level. The floor fell away and he fell with it, enjoying the sensation and thinking it probably had something to do with the lower gravity. He was feeling the weight returning when it dawned on him that the numbers on the control panel were in English. The lowest button had the number eighteen on it. He then noticed that the three was highlighted in red.

Because it’s the command deck? he asked himself. It was as good a guess as any.

Simon walked out into the cavernous space and immediately noticed the difference. Where the lighting had once been dimmer and more indirect, he could now see the light strips running the length of the room. Their intensity also allowed him to see the circular openings, all irised closed, in regular rows between the light strips. He noted his observation and moved on to the fighter bays.

The sleek little ship sat in its stall, looking as if it had been built the day before, but the image was ruined by scorch marks around the engine nacelles. Though it was grey over most of its surface, there were markings on the erect fin at the rear of the ship.

“Probably ID numbers,” Simon guessed.

Walking all the way around the ship, he added to his guesses. The legs the ship sat on had no tires, only ski-shaped feet or skids, making him think of Earth-manufactured vertical-take-off-and-landing aircraft, but the small wing surface argued higher speeds than the skids suggested.

He shook his head at the discrepancy and looked for a way to get to the cockpit, but no ladders or other machinery were present in the room, and no handholds were apparent on the body of the craft. Experimenting in the lighter gravity, he flexed his knees and jumped for the edge of the cockpit some twelve feet off the floor. His fingers missed the edge by a matter of inches, so on the next attempt he crouched deeper and pushed off harder. This attempt netted him a handhold and left his body dangling down the side of the ship. He lifted himself up by the strength of his arms alone until he was able to get first one elbow and then the other over the edge and wriggle into the single seat.

Moving a helmet designed for a head slightly different from his own, he set it on the fighter body just outside where the canopy would seal and looked over the controls. A joystick-style system sat in the obvious place for a bipedal creature, and an abbreviated instrument panel, dark and lifeless, was arrayed just below the seal and wrapped around the front of the compartment. A pair of pedals were just out of comfortable reach in the recesses under the control panel.

Form follows function, Simon subvocalized for the hundredth time—at least for people of the same general type of body structure. His hands found a series of pockets on either side of the cockpit, and he idly stuck his hands into each one, finding nothing until he slid his fingers into a small pocket on the bottom right side. He felt a sizable lump in the little pouch and managed to jam two fingers into the narrow pocket. Pulling up slowly, he worked the item out of its hiding place to find that he was holding a smooth, dark-green stone in a heavy silvery setting, dangling on a long chain of what looked like the same kind of metal.

He looked at the necklace for a while, wondering at the significance of the design completely encircling the oval green stone, if any, and wondering why it was here when the rest of the ship was so nearly sterile. He held it up to the light and studied it for a minute, watching it dangle. Shrugging, he slipped it into his pocket and returned to his examination of the cockpit.

The seat was a bit too large for him, a condition he was used to from the chairs, benches, beds and other sitting places aboard the rest of the vessel. But it was less so, it seemed, than those places. He noticed as well that he had to lean forward only a bit to reach some of the hand controls.

Maybe their pilots are required to be smaller than their average, he mused.

Simon closed his eyes and let his hand find the main joystick-style control, wrapping his fingers around it. Contoured to fit a hand different from his own, it felt awkward, but it went along with the feeling that the ship was designed for a being somewhat taller than himself. He opened his eyes and, after another look around, climbed out of the cockpit and perched on the edge. He put the helmet back in the seat, suppressing an urge to put it on, and eyed the drop to the floor.

It’s called a deck, he told himself, and let his body slide free of the little ship.

In the lighter gravity, it seemed that he floated to the deck, flexing his knees to take the shock of landing. His hand touched the deck to steady himself, and then he rose to his full height. He walked around the back of the craft again and looked at the twin orifices he found there. Not truly holes that led someplace deeper within the vessel, these were capped with a translucent material set about three feet inside the holes. The edges of the metal at the most aft portion were discolored by, he imagined, the titanic and unknown forces that propelled the fighter through space. The same discoloration showed on three smaller and similarly capped orifices located at the front of the ship.

Attitude controls? he speculated.

Knowing that he wasn’t going to take this thing out for a spin anytime soon, he reluctantly closed the hatch and headed back to the command deck.

The two women noticed when the lighting changed.

“I’ll bet this is Simon’s doing. Good for him,” Kitty said.

She and Gayle had been discussing how they were going to find a suitable candidate to recruit, and they returned to their conversation.

“We can’t just beam back down and start making phone calls, Kitty said. “Simon mentioned something about a way to hack into public communications on Earth. Let’s go see what we can find.”

The two women wound up in what Kitty called the master control room for the factory section. Bringing power up to the main board activated a dozen or more auxiliary terminals around the room. “Computer?” Kitty asked, hopefully.

“Attending, Captain.”

“I want to know about that device that will let us access and use Earth-side communications without detection.”

“Simon Hawke has already researched that data, and I have found and reconfigured a device that will perform as requested.”

On the main screen was a flat-looking device, slowly rotating through all its axes. “Placed on top of any power transformer in close proximity to telephone lines, it will provide total access to all communications without the possibility of discovery, barring a physical inspection of the transformer itself. It merely needs to be placed on top of the transformer and access will be instantaneous.”

Kitty asked, “Do we have enough material to build three of these? Backups would be nice. And make sure that any tampering registers here before the device fries itself.”

“Instructions have been downloaded to manufacturing, room thirteen-dash-seven. The process requires initiation by a person. Will two backups suffice?”

“For now,” Kitty hedged.

She Gayle made their way down to 13-7, finding the systems live, schematics already inputted, and a single light flashing on the activation panel.

“I guess we just push the button,” Gayle said. “That’s all we had to do on the shuttle.”

Kitty nodded and, with only a hint of hesitation, pressed the button. “Okay, computer. What happens now?”

“In about an hour, you will find all three devices waiting at the far end of the assembly machine.”

“Thank you, computer,” Kitty said, feeling a bit self-conscious about thanking a machine. But the damned thing seemed so… normal. “Come on, Gayle. Let’s go get a bite and start figuring out where to put our little packages on Earth. They need to be obscure places, ones that aren’t too likely to need repair often.”

Choosing three spots was the work of minutes after a light lunch, with Simon showing up for once. The operations panel in the transport room was live as they entered the room. Simon took the three devices—dinner-plate-sized with several short antennae on top—and placed them on individual transport hexes. “So, what’s the plan after we get these things in place?” Simon asked casually.

“First, we go shopping,” Kitty said. “I think we can convert power to Earth-side stuff like computers and start looking for our first victim.” She looked at her own clothes and then pointedly at both Simon and Gayle. “We can’t just appear somewhere, so we’re going to have to appropriate things for a while. Once something gets scanned into the computer, we can send the originals back. Hell, most things can come from the homes of recruits—new clothes, state-of-the-art computers, and food! I’m sick to death of MREs. If we spread our perishable purchases out over the whole world, no one will be hurt. Plus, with anything appropriated, we’ll send it back as soon as we can get it scanned. It’s a victimless crime, except for the food part.”

Simon went quiet and stared at the deck for a time. Finally, he said, “Well, that sounds like a plan to me. Would you like do the honors?” He bowed toward the transporter panel waiting for coordinates for the three devices.

Kitty shook herself and walked over to the panel. She had to stretch her short frame to reach some of the buttons on her cheat sheet, but each device winked out of existence.

CHAPTER NINE

It took two days to find all they needed to make life more comfortable. With the big computer’s help, they found one of the kitchen areas—mess halls as Simon called them—and began filling the shelves of the refrigerator/freezer with food. It turned out later that both cold sections were inside a modified stasis chamber. The temperature was allowed to reach a certain level, and the stasis turned on automatically until the door opened.

The computers were beginning to pay off as well. Hooked into the Internet, it took Kitty and Gayle just an afternoon to find their first recruit, though a battle still raged about how to approach him.

“We don’t have to convince him,” Gayle said, taking a sip from her coffee as the two women sat at the table. She pawed through the printouts and found the downloaded picture of the dark-haired astrophysicist. “All we have to do is get him aboard, and the ship itself will convince him for us.”

“True,” Kitty agreed, “but anything less than him going along of his own free will is going to cause him to resent us.” She stood up and walked around the mess hall. “We need to get his interest and make him want to come aboard, not kidnap him.”

“Leave that to me,” Gayle said. “Of course, you realize you’re taking all the fun out of it if I can’t just throw a rope around him,” she kidded.

“This is who we’ve come up with,” Kitty told Simon. “First of all, we asked ourselves who would be most likely to believe us in the first place. The answer was obvious… after we hit on it—a SETI scientist. They spend all their spare time sitting at some radio-telescope looking for little green men.”

“And right now,” Gayle added, punctuating her comments with a fork, “this guy is our best bet. Because of the limited range of the telescopes anyone can get, there are only a few people in the world who ever get access to the big dish. We got this picture off an astronomy website he runs. Dr. Stephen Walker, PhD, thirty-eight years old, single, degrees in astrophysics and mechanical engineering, and right now he’s down in Arecibo looking for signals from space.”

The three began exploring ideas about how to confront their choice until Gayle finally said, “My mother once said there were two ways to get a man’s attention. And since I can’t cook, let’s send me to Arecibo and see what I can do. He’ll have trouble resisting these!” She grinned as she wiggled her chest at her companions.

“If I was single, I’d agree with you.” Simon grinned back and looked at Kitty, whose face was carefully neutral. “Looks like we have a new personnel officer. Now for my news. I’ve been working with the transporter, so now we can beam Gayle right into Arecibo. It only works in line-of-sight mode, but from our altitude, we can beam to and from just about anywhere in this whole section of the northern hemisphere, and that includes Puerto Rico. With the sensors this thing has, we should be able to drop her within a few feet of whatever location we choose.” He turned to Gayle. “Ready to go to Puerto Rico?”

“You bet! But first, I need a change of clothes, especially for the tropics. And maybe someday, I’ll get a chance to do some sightseeing!”

The three conspirators went to the transporter room and Simon showed off the console. “The sensors on this ship are so refined that I can almost read over the shoulder of someone on the surface.”

“The colors and the general lighting, are… correct now. What did you do?” Kitty asked as she looked over Simon’s shoulder at the console’s screens.

“Just talked to the computer,” Simon said. “I got it to adjust everything for human eyes. You should see the viewscreens on the bridge!” He consulted a piece of paper on the edge of the console. “Cheat sheet,” he admitted. “Don’t want to drop her anywhere but home, now do we?”

“I’d hope not!” Gayle put in. Simon motioned for her to go stand on one of the transport hexes and went back to the console. “Uh, Simon? Is there a chance that I can be… you know… beamed into something? Like a bed or a wall or something?”

“No,” he replied, standing back from the console. “As a matter of fact, you should come see this. Kitty, too. You’ll both need to know how to do it.” Kitty stood beside Simon, eager to see the finer details. “First, the physics of this machine is that the pads,” he said, pointing at the four hexes, “must be set up close to a field generator of some kind, I guess you can call it. Anyway, the sensors on board this thing will determine if there’s enough free space in, say, a room, or your garage, Gayle, to allow a transport to the indicated destination.” He scrolled a cross-hairs-type indicator across an expanded aerial view of a neighborhood. “I’ve already got Billings in the computer as a main reference point.” He set the crosshairs on an intersection and turned to Gayle. “North is at the top of the screen. This is the intersection of Juniper and Ash. Which house is yours?”

Gayle indicated a spot. “Two houses up from the second corner.”

Simon moved the crosshairs and put his finger on a button. “Increasing magnification.” Hearing Gayle’s breath hiss at the speed of the magnification process, Simon smiled. He’d had the same reaction the first time he zoomed in on his own house. Touching two other buttons, he said, “This thing uses some kind of pulsed energy beam to target the house. They—we—use it as a carrier wave to piggyback sensors on and read the destination. One of ‘em is a sonic-type sensor to tell if there’s enough room for the package—you or me—to be delivered, so to speak.”

Kitty immediately caught the implication. “So, if there’s no room, the machine won’t transport her?”

“Exactly,” Simon confirmed. “Kind of a fail-safe. These people were… are masters of user-friendly technology, it seems. Everything is set up so that it takes more than just one mistake for someone to get hurt. You should see the things I call constructions pods—self-contained miniature spaceships with grappling arms used to build things in space from components built here.” Simon shook his head. “There’s just so much stuff! Right now, though, we need to get Gayle on her way.”

“Right,” Gayle agreed. “If I’m going manhunting, I need different clothes, and that’s just for starters.” She walked back to the transport hex, turned to face Simon and Kitty and said, “I’ll buzz you tomorrow morning. Don’t go far.”

Simon pressed the sequence he’d written down on the small paper attached to the side of the console and Gayle disappeared in a shower of sparks. No sooner had she disappeared than Kitty spun around and punched Simon in the arm.

“That if-I-was-single comment was some crack, Simon!”

He grimaced as he rubbed his arm. “Well, yours got my attention first. And they still have it. Besides, I’m right, aren’t I?”

Kitty said deprecatingly, “Well, yeah. Our Dr. Walker is in for a bit of a shock.”

They looked at the map and Simon said, “We need to drop her just outside of town in a secluded spot. Won’t do to have her spotted beaming in.” He scrolled the screen to show Puerto Rico. “This looks good. No nearby buildings, and only about a mile from town. Among other things, the computer has infrared scanners so we can make sure there are no people around and drop her right before sunset. She can get a room and look up our guy.”

The pair walked out of the transporter room and down the hall towards the captain’s quarters. Halfway there, Simon remembered a discovery he’d made the previous day. “Hon, would you like to see something? I think you’ll enjoy it, if you aren’t too tired. You’ve had a busy day.”

Kitty heard the excitement in Simon’s voice and asked, “Can you give me your impression of this little surprise in ten words or fewer?”

Simon’s head tilted to one side a bit. After a few seconds he said, raising a finger for each word, “So cool it’s almost frigid. In a word, spectacular. Nine. How’s that?”

Kitty bowed slightly and waved her hand in a sweeping move, palm up. Simon, not to be outdone, held his arm out for her to take and led her to the nearest elevator. Exiting on level one, uppermost in the ship and devoted mainly to sensor arrays and weapons pods, Simon led his wife down a maze of corridors until he came to a small airtight door. Opening it, he exposed the first set of stairs Kitty had seen aboard the ship.

Curious, she climbed them, stretching her legs on the slightly oversized risers, and emerged into a spacious, hemispherical dome near the bow of the ship. Awestruck, she raised her head and stared at the sight outside. The dome was turned away from Earth at the moment, so she felt as if she’d stepped into the airless void of space. The velvet blackness was pierced by a myriad of tiny colored lights. Her breathing came in small gasps at first. Knowing that the ship was in orbit only helped a little.

A feeling of insignificance threatened to wash over her when she thought about the plans they were making. She melted into the comfort of Simon’s embrace, knowing the feeling of protection was illusory but grateful for it nonetheless. Simon put his arm around her shoulders, pulled her close, and copied her stare into infinity for a time she never would be able to accurately define.

Simon tensed slightly, breaking her mood. She looked up into his grinning face. “What? Am I going to have to set a limit on how many times you can surprise me on any given day?”

His grin got even bigger, telling her that he did indeed have something else in mind. “I found something earlier today,” he said, confirming her suspicions. Most men were so transparent, although she had to admit that Simon did pull off more than his share of surprises. “It may be the only personal artifact on board this thing, and I immediately thought of you.”

He reached into his pocket and slowly pulled the necklace he’d found in the fighter into the light. Bringing out the chain first, thereby stretching out the moment, he finally let the pendant slide from his pocket and begin to sway back and forth. At the sight of the dark green stone glowing brightly in the starlit dome, he froze. “It didn’t do that before,” he commented wonderingly.

Kitty gasped and her hand reached involuntarily for the stone, glowing green in the darkness. She cupped the pendant in both hands, feeling the weight of the stone and its intricately carved setting. As she held it, the glow increased visibly. “It’s so beautiful!” she exclaimed. She turned the piece over, examining the back. “What makes it glow?”

“I have no idea,” Simon admitted. “It didn’t do that when I found it in a small pocket in one of the fighters,” he said, slipping the chain over her head and settling it onto her neck, the pendant lying between her breasts. “I just thought this would be the best place for it.”

“Words can’t express how I feel,” Kitty said, pulling closer to Simon’s side. “Ecstatic and scared. Humble and cocky. A lot more scared than anything else, I think.”

“I know what you mean, dear. I’ve had just as much time as you to get over my feelings of insignificance, but I don’t think I ever truly will.” He turned her to him. “As a matter of fact, I thought that this might be a good place to ...”

“Simon!” Kitty’s voice expressed her total shock at his suggestion.

“Why not?” he asked innocently. “I locked the door coming in, and can you think of a better place to initiate our new… home?” He pulled her to him and began to caress her back.

An indeterminate time later, with clothes scattered everywhere and naked to the universe, Simon’s last conscious thoughts were of the novelty of making love under a rising Earth and how the stone glowed so much brighter against Kitty’s bare skin.

Gayle beamed into the transporter room the next afternoon dressed for a hike and carrying a small backpack. “I’ve got an idea about how to snare our pigeon. Don’t ask. If it works, I’ll tell you all about it.”

Kitty grinned. “Knowing you, I don’t need to ask; I can guess. Poor guy won’t know what hit him. Just be gentle, okay?”

The sensors on the ship were easily able to discern a clearing and nearby trail, as well as the fact that there were no humans within two hundred yards of the spot. Gayle beamed into a small clearing on a hillside overlooking Arecibo. The first things she noticed were the heat and the humidity. Fifteen seconds in the new environment and her shirt was already plastered to her skin, making her think about pulling a bra out of her backpack.

The air had an almost physical quality to it, heavily laden with the smells of tropical flowers mingling with the odor of decomposing vegetation. It was a smell she felt she could tolerate but never entirely get used to. She took a deep breath, reaffirmed her opinion, and listened intently for sounds indicating that anybody was nearby.

I guess I could just say that I had to pee if someone sees me coming out of here, she thought.

She stepped out of the clearing onto the trail, oriented herself on the lights of the small town at the bottom of the hill, and headed down to locate her quarry.

She walked quickly along the path in the growing dusk, slapping at mosquitoes the size of small planes until she passed between two ramshackle buildings and found herself on the main street of the little town just as the sun finally set. Looking around, she saw a sign painted on the wall of a building not too far down the street. Remembering her one semester of high-school Spanish with something less than fondness, she translated it as Hotel Arecibo.

Walking in the front door, she was relieved to see a counter off to one side that had the universal look of a check-in desk. Opposite the desk was an open door leading to a dining room. As she reached the counter, a young woman, most likely in her early twenties, stepped out of a doorway behind the desk.

“Yes, senorita? May I help you?”

A few minutes’ haggling got Gayle a small bungalow behind the main building for a surprisingly cheap rate, considering the fact that it was one of the few with air conditioning, as well as hot water. The desk clerk told her dinner would be served in an hour and would only cost a little more. She paid in advance and, almost as an afterthought, asked, “Are there any other hotels in town?”

“No, senorita,” the girl replied. “This is the only hotel. There are not enough touristas to make it a profitable thing to do here. Although I just rented a cabana to two American men.”

“Did they say anything about staying long?” Gayle asked, interest aroused.

“No, senorita, and I don’t think they will,” the girl said with a smile. “Their room has no air conditioning.”

Gayle walked down a crushed-shell path to her bungalow. She passed a dozen or so cottages in various states of repair. Clustered at the far end were several outbuildings that were most likely used for storage of maintenance equipment, sorely in need of repair. She found her room, stepped inside, and turned on the air conditioner. She let the air blow over her for a moment before stripping off her sweat-soaked shirt and pants.

Not up to stateside standards, she thought, giving the room a once-over, but air-conditioning and hot water make all the difference in the world. Or out of it.

She let the air conditioner lower the temperature and suck some of the humidity out of the room before she stepped into the shower. Changing into a pair of khaki shorts and a light blouse, and this time wearing a bra, she strolled back to the foyer and into the dining room.

The desk clerk was on duty as hostess and told her to pick any empty seat. She looked around at the six tables. Each table was set with four places and had two or three people already seated, except for the one in the far corner of the room. Seated at that table was the man she’d come to find. And all by himself.

She looked around the room, trying to identify the two Americans who were undoubtedly agents of one alphabet agency or another, but none seemed any more unusual for this time and place than any other. If anything, she was the one who was out of place.

If this gets any easier, she thought, heading toward her prey. Stopping behind an empty chair, she put on her sunniest smile.

“Hi! Mind if I join you?”

Dr. Walker looked up from a scatter of papers covered in graphs and cryptic figures. “Uh, sure, Miss ...?”

“Miller. Gayle Miller. What are you working on?” She slid a chair out and sat down, pointedly looking at the papers on the table.

He made a vague gesture at the papers and then swept them into a pile when he realized she actually meant to sit with him. “These? Just some frequency tables and astronomical charts. I work at the observatory. You know, just outside town. I’m Stephen. Stephen Walker. Hi.”

It turned out to be homestyle dining with their only choice being what to drink. Both chose a local beer that Stephen said was palatable. As the meal progressed, Gayle showered him with questions about space and the big telescope even allowing that she believed in aliens, too.

“Too?” Steve asked, eyebrows reaching for his hairline while the last bite of his dessert hung on his fork.

“Yes, too, Stephen. You do prefer Stephen, don’t you? I think it sounds so debonair.” Gayle leaned forward, exposing more than a fair amount of cleavage. “You wouldn’t be listening for signals from space if you didn’t believe, now would you?” she said, pressing. “I’ve always believed that there has to be someone else out there. And it would be so cool to make first contact.”

“Well, yes, I guess I do believe, Miss Miller,” Stephen admitted a bit sheepishly. “And while I can’t say that I expect to find proof of alien life, I do hope to find it. It’s just that the distances are so vast that at the speed of light, it would take forever for any signal to arrive. Remember, we’ve only had video signals going out for about sixty years. We’ve had radio a lot longer, of course. Those signals are just now beginning to arrive at some stars. Assuming that one of those stars has a planet with intelligent life on it, and assuming further that they are capable of receiving and decoding our signals and want to respond, it would take the same length of time to get word back to us. So, I only have hope of finding evidence of somebody else out there, not actually talking to them.” He pushed his plate away and took a long pull on his beer. “Tell me, what brings you to Arecibo?”

“Oh, I had a little shore leave coming, and I’ve always been interested in the big telescope. I thought I’d come out here and see it.”

“Shore leave?” Stephen asked. “Are you in the military?”

“No,” Gayle said with a laugh. “I’m the personnel director for the Morning Star. It’s a cruise ship docked at San Juan.” Getting into her role, she made up stories about her life and continued to show interest in Stephen’s work. Questions starting with, “How do you ...” and, “What about ...” finally made him break down and invite her to his room to show her some of the intricacies of radio-astronomy.

‘Bout damn time, she thought. I was beginning to think I’d lost my touch.

Neither she nor Stephen noticed the two men who got up and followed them out moments after their departure.

The next morning Gayle carefully extricated herself from between the sheets and a sleeping Stephen Walker. Deciding a shower was in order, she sauntered into the bathroom, grinning. Putting the next phase of her plan into motion, she set the alarm on her watch and turned the shower on. Climbing under the water, she tunelessly hummed anything that came to mind, making sure the good doctor was awake. She stepped out and began drying her hair as she walked back into the bedroom to find him looking her way.

“So, I didn’t imagine last night,” he said.

“No,” she replied, grinning, “you didn’t.” She watched as a blush spread from his face down below the sheet he held in his hands. As she was about to sit down beside him, her watch began to beep, and she regretted having set it for such a short time. Oh, well, she thought. The hook’s been set. I’ll reel him in later. Aloud, she exclaimed, “Damn! I’m gonna be late,” as she slipped her blouse on.

“Late? I thought you were on vacation,” he said.

“Yes and no. I’ll explain tonight if I can see you again,” she said, stepping into her panties.

As she gathered up her shorts and shoes, he just said, “Uh, sure.”

“At seven for dinner, okay? Okay.”

Shorts and shoes in hand, she stood in the middle of the room, said, “Bye!” and pressed the button on her wristband. The last thing she saw was the sheet falling to his lap as a look of astonishment spread across his face.

Simon and Kitty were in the transporter room when Gayle beamed back in.

“That’s just about the coolest thing ever!” she exclaimed. “So, what are you guys doing?”

“Well, I was going to go down for breakfast, but right now I think Simon should go. Care to explain why you’re half dressed?” Kitty didn’t seem to know whether to be mad or crack up laughing.

Simon said, “That must have been one hell of a plan! I’m not going anywhere till you fill us in.”

Gayle looked at her shorts and shoes and said, “Oops!” Putting the rest of her clothes on, she filled them in, finishing with, “And I’ve got a date for dinner tonight. We’ll see then how well I set the hook.”

Gayle walked into the dining room at seven p.m., black short-sleeved shirt and trousers showing off her figure and managing to look vaguely military at the same time. The effect was heightened by her long blonde hair being pulled back into a ponytail. Dr. Walker was already seated at the corner table without his papers, so she walked over.

Stephen saw her in time to stand up. He looked hastily around the room, but seeing only the familiar faces of his fellow guests, he relaxed a bit.

“I’m alone, if that’s what you’re worried about, Stephen,” she said, stopping opposite him. “Buy a girl a beer?”

He waved his hand at the chair across from him. “I’d almost convinced myself that it had been some kind of weird dream or something. Otherwise, I’d have to be going crazy.” He sat back down in his chair, hands on the table and fingers spread as if he needed some physical connection to the world around him.

Gayle slid into the opposite chair and started to open her mouth, but Stephen held up a hand. “There are other explanations, though.” He stared into Gayle’s eyes. “One could be that I wasn’t dreaming, and you actually possess the technology I saw.” He stared a few seconds longer, then said, “That assumption is bolstered by the fact that those two gentlemen over there,” he nodded to two men across the room, “came to see me today and grilled me quite intensely about our evening and why you didn’t leave my room this morning. If I work that assumption, then I have a truckload of questions. Let’s leave the obvious ‘how’ for later and go straight for the big ones. Why? And why me?”

Grinning sheepishly, Gayle glanced in the direction of the table Stephen had indicated. Impishly, she waved in their direction. “Can you guys hear well enough?” she jibed. “Going straight for the throat,” she said, turning back to Stephen. “I expected that. I’ll explain the ‘how’ later. As much as I know.” She leaned closer and began to whisper. “I’ll bet this drives them crazy. Anyway, we need you, or more specifically, someone with a certain set of qualifications. That’s the ‘why.’ You were the first one we found who fit our criteria—those being a belief in extra-terrestrial life, a working knowledge of both astrophysics and mechanical engineering, and a spirit of adventure. Besides, I needed some way to get you to listen seriously to what I came here to tell you.”

“What I came here to tell you,” he mimicked. “Let me guess. You beamed down from the Enterprise for a little R&R.” Sarcasm dripped from his words as he waved two fingers at the waitress.

“I’d consider it a personal favor if you’d keep your voice down.” She looked quickly across the room. “Just let me talk until dinner arrives. After dinner, I’ll finish up and answer all your questions, okay?”

He nodded.

“First off, I lied… some. But then, you’ve already figured that out. The ship I’m on isn’t the Morning Star. It doesn’t have a name. Yet. I am the personnel officer, and temporarily, the recruiting officer. And to answer your next question—no, I don’t plan to recruit any other personnel that way. So far, we have a crew of three, and we need over nine hundred more. You’re the first person we’ve contacted.”

She began to tell the story from the time she’d seen the shuttle land. Dinner arrived and they ate in silence, leaving without dessert. Walking down the main street, they came to a bench and sat down. Two shadows quit moving as soon as they did.

She finished up, adding, “The rest you know, except that I spent all day on board just dreading this conversation because I had no idea how you’d react.”

He looked through her for a moment, and then spoke. “Do you really expect me to believe any of this?”

“No, but I do expect you to keep an open mind. Especially after this morning.” Even in the dark she could see his face turn red. “Not that. I mean the other thing. I can prove what I say, every word of it. And if I do prove it, it validates everything you believe in, doesn’t it?”

He looked at her thoughtfully. “Okay, just how do you plan to prove it? I assume you have a plan.”

Gayle stood up. “Of course I have a plan. Follow me,” she said, getting up and heading between two buildings.

They passed between the two houses and stood only a dozen feet from the jungle.

Dr. Walker turned to Gayle. “Well, how do you plan to prove you’re not… prove such an outlandish story?” His voice betrayed his discomfiture at his predicament.

“Prove I’m not insane?” She reached into her pocket, pulling out a small round disk and holding it out to him. “This is a locator beacon. At present, it’s slaved to my transporter activator,” she said, lifting her left arm and displaying her wristband. “If you hold it while I activate mine, we both beam up and you get to visit a real, live spaceship built by the very aliens you’ve been looking for. The decision is yours.” Feigning indifference, she leaned up against the side of one of the houses, determined to out-wait him.

Dr. Walker paced a short distance. The lights from the buildings illuminated only a very small portion of ground. He turned the disk over and over in his hand. At last he stood before Gayle.

“Okay. Let’s get this over with. If you’re nuts, you’re outta here. If not, well ...”

Gayle stood up and quit examining her fingernails in the near dark. She looked around for the two men from the restaurant. Not seeing them, she said, “I do like a risktaker!” She eyed him speculatively. “Where’s the disk, Stephen?” He held it up and she nodded, reaching for her wristband. “Watch that first step,” she said lightly.

As the walls of the transporter room phased in, Gayle watched the doctor. He looked at Gayle.

“Uh ...”

She shrugged. “Told ya so.” She winked at Kitty, who’d been standing by to activate the beam when Gayle signaled. Gayle introduced the two and added, as she walked toward the door, “Okay, Stephen. The hard part’s over. Let’s go.” She stopped next to the transport console and waited for him to make up his mind.

A confused look on his face, he walked stiffly over to her. “Look, suppose I don’t want to go through with this or decide to back out. I mean, is it too late?”

Gayle laid a hand on his arm. “Stephen you’re not a prisoner. I said ‘visit,’ and that’s exactly what I meant. Let’s go meet the rest of the crew.”

Gayle pulled gently on his sleeve, but he ignored her, focusing on the transport console itself. He looked a question at Kitty, who nodded her head and stepped back so he could take a closer look at it.

“You said you found an alien ship,” he said to Gayle. “How is it that everything is in English?”

“We’ve had some small successes dealing with the computer that runs this thing. You should have seen the lighting before Simon got the computer to change it to Earth normal,” Gayle said. “Ask Kitty how dismal it was.”

A bird might look at a snake the way Stephen looked at Kitty.

Holding out her hand, she said, “Katherine Hawke, Dr. Walker. Please call me Kitty. It’s a pleasure to meet you. And the light really was pretty bad. So dim that you couldn’t see from one side of a room to the other in some of the larger spaces. But Simon will tell you more about that.” She looked at Gayle. “I believe he’s in the ready room.”

Simon stood and put out his hand as Gayle entered the room, leading Dr. Walker. “Welcome aboard, Doctor. How are you holding up?”

Walker gave a small shrug. “Better, I think,” he said, taking Simon’s hand. “This is a bit much to accept, you must admit. And I’m not saying that I do accept it. I’ve seen some pretty good special effects in my time. I still need proof, Mr. Hawke.”

Gayle interrupted the proceedings. “Simon, Stephen, I have to go talk to Kitty for a bit. Will you excuse me, please?”

Her request was only peripherally heard as Stephen nodded his head without taking his eyes from Simon’s. Gayle waved a hand at Simon and left the two men to talk. They released their grip and sat at Simon’s gesture.

“Good. I must admit that we engineered all this just to talk to you, but neither Kitty nor I were aware of Gayle’s tactics. What we want is for you to join our little band of merry men. All of what I have in mind can be explained during a tour of the ship, as soon as you’re up to it, of course. Coffee?”

Simon got up and poured Stephen a cup from a thermos sitting on a side table. He had beamed down and brought coffee back for their visitor as soon as he knew for certain that he’d arrive. “Something normal to help him keep his head on straight while he adapts to the idea,” he’d said by way of explanation, and it seemed to be paying off.

During the tour that followed, Simon explained why Dr. Walker had been recruited, what some of their plans were for the future, and a bit about their timetable. One idea that Simon had conceived of was a way to marry their benefactor’s solar cell technology to automobiles and even homes or, on a grander scale, cities. “We need to do something to get a cash flow started,” he said.

Showing a flair for the dramatic, he saved the final pitch and a visit to the bridge for last. With a full Earth showing on the viewscreen, Simon asked, “So, interested in signing on? This isn’t going to be a picnic, but when will we get another chance at this kind of technology? I see a lot of hard work ahead, but with perseverance we should be able to get this crate to work for us just as well as she did for her original owners.”

Simon looked at Gayle, who had returned from her talk with Kitty. “Some of this, we just got from the computer. With a full crew, this ship is capable of turning out a basic-design space dock in about six to eight months. That dock will be able to turn out spaceships, depending on the size, at the rate of about two a year.”

Simon turned back to Dr. Walker. “We’d like you to set up planet-side operations for the solar cell project and then turn it over to someone of your choosing. Until then, you’d be wearing a bunch of hats, just like the rest of us. I’ll expect you to be my liaison between the scientists you approach and me, so getting yourself away from Earth-side operations as quickly as possible will be a prime consideration. Then you’d be free to be on that first trip if you want. And another thing—your expertise in astrophysics guarantees you a position aboard just about anything we build.”

Dr. Walker looked at the planet below. “Of course, I’m interested, Simon. But the devil’s in the details.”

Nodding his head, Simon answered, “Of course. Getting paid is just one of those details. And I can’t cover that at present. Which is one reason I want to get the solar cell project I have in mind up and running, soon, along with a newer, improved battery. We should be able to realize revenue from that at a fantastic rate. We’re talking free fuel here. And once we add anti-gravity, we have George Jetson’s car. Tell me that won’t make millions… billions! You’ll have full access to all engineering specs to develop it, and you’ll probably come up with a lot of other ideas, too. Then there’s the planet-side setup, which is more money we don’t have. And officers and crew to pay. I would hope for precious metals from the asteroid mining, but I’m not betting on it. No one knows what’s out there. And after we start turning out ships and crewing them, we’ll need even more money. A space-based population is going to require a space-based economy, so I guess one of the specialists we’re gonna need is an economist.”

Kitty and Gayle walked in, and Simon looked at the three of them. “Here’s what I propose,” he said, growing excited, “crew this ship, go to the asteroid belt, and build a space dock. If we can build another ship like this one, then we can set this ship adrift heading back toward home. We should be able to make an educated guess as to which way to send it. And by ‘we,’ I mean a whole crew, including the scientists we want Stephen to talk to. Maybe the aliens will find it before they find us and give us some breathing room before we have to start dealing with an alien race.”

He turned to Stephen. “Incidentally, you’ll need a wristband like ours to pull the disappearing act for your people.”

Gayle looked worried. “Suppose the previous owners don’t like the fact that we’ve duplicated their technology? Suppose they don’t like the competition?”

The talk went on for a long time, fueled by imagination and their surroundings.

The plan was finally modified to producing smaller, more heavily armed ships to begin with and the duplicate later. At this, Simon winced. More people.

Consultations with the computer showed just how many—five hundred plus for each ship built that followed the lines of the one they were on, minus the factory section. Those would be the battleships. Smaller ships, smaller crews.

“Something I saw when I was wandering around in the factory section was a list of ship types. A type I didn’t see was a carrier for fighters, which leads me to wonder if they never thought of that, or if fighter tactics won’t work against their enemies.

“One way or another, they were talking about a lot of people—not percentagewise when looking at Earth’s population levels, but still, someone was going to notice, especially when they planned to siphon off the best and brightest.”

“Can I put in my two-cent’s worth here?” Stephen interjected. “It’s a change of subject, but we seem to be doing that a lot. I think I can do more good up here after getting the first few groups of scientists settled in. I know a mechanical engineer who would be perfect to run any production facilities, after getting the patents on solar cells and batteries, of course. All these things take time. And that’s what we’re talking here—time to create, patent, develop, market, and produce. And it’s all going to take money. Do you… do we… plan to crew this ship on a hope and a prayer?”

Kitty and Gayle both started to talk at the same time. They stopped and looked at each other, knowing each had the same idea, and Gayle jumped in.

“That’s exactly how we’re going to do it, Stephen! Look at where we are! There are enough starry-eyed… excuse the pun… people down there to crew a thousand ships, given the chance. And for free! To live and work in space, and not on a space station, but on a spaceship. Yeah, some will get bored and quit, but there will be more just standing in line.”

Kitty chimed in. “But how long can we keep that big a people-drain a secret? Someone’s gonna notice, and then the shit’s gonna hit the fan. Especially the scientists, for God’s sake! Our government thinks of people like that as national resources. Remember, I was part of that program for several years. What happens when a bunch of ‘em start to disappear? We need to play this as close to the chest as possible, but I don’t think we’re going to be a secret for very long. I mean, they know about the shuttle already. I hate to be a wet blanket, but we need to keep the possibilities in mind.”

Simon managed to break in. “Good ideas, everyone. And we are probably already compromised. This ship is going to be the only real refuge we’re going to have for a long time to come. Stephen, it sounds like you’re going to fit in real well. I think you’re going to be a major asset, and I’m delighted to have you aboard. And I agree that you should handle your situation as you see fit. I don’t have the expertise to tell you how to do it. Gayle, we’ll work on the logistics of recruiting nonscientific personnel. See what you can come up with, and we’ll brainstorm it. And Kitty, good points. Like I said, we’re already compromised, especially after my visit from San Martino. And those were probably his people in Puerto Rico, too.

“I’d hoped for a little more time,” he said, “but we’ll have to make our plans and keep one step ahead of the law. We’re going to have to provide safe havens for our recruits as well, and that will include their families, eventually.”

He stood up and started to pace, thinking out loud more than anything else. “Now, we’ll soon have a lot of people beaming up and down. Security is going to be a problem. We need security personnel before those scientists move in. And I think we’d better restrict access to the computer—need-to-know type of thing. Speaking of which, we should get a computer person up here soonest. Kitty got a chance to look at the computer. The main unit is located in a small room at the back of deck three. She managed to get a panel off and look inside. It looks like some kind of green Jell-O or something. When I asked about it, I was told that it’s a proto-organic gel, whatever that is. It seems that the computer is alive and stores things at a cellular level with super-fine lasers.”

The meeting seemed to have come to a conclusion for the time being, and Stephen took advantage of the lull to ask about getting specs on the technology he needed. He wound up with a trip to the factory control room and a shiny new wristband. As he prepared to beam back to Arecibo, he commented, “I’ve only got three more days on my stay there. I can start contacting people and dropping a few hints. But I’m going to have a problem with my new shadows.”

Simon gave him a shopping list of professions to include, and added, “You’re the expert here. Add anyone you think will be helpful.” Standing at the transport console, he watched as Stephen vanished.

Back in the mess hall, Simon turned to other concerns. “First, Kitty, I think we should move the wristband machine into the meeting room.” They had decided to use a room near the captain’s quarters for the initial meetings with newcomers. “That will free up a room right off the bridge just for orientation. And under way, it can be used as a breakroom or something. Next, Gayle, your job is to schedule your security personnel. We’re going to have to start keeping the transporter room manned at all times, soon.”

Kitty looked up from the pad she was busily scribbling on. “Also, proper tables and chairs for the mess halls and… ready room. Let’s call it that to prevent confusion, okay? And you have a job, too, Simon—deciding on a chain of command. You spent five years in the Army and have a better understanding of that than we do. And how about uniforms?”

Simon went for the easy one first. “How about what Gayle’s wearing? Black shirt and pants. Call it space black. Lots of pockets for regular onboard activities and fewer for dress wear, if we ever get to that point. We’ll decide on rank insignia later.”

Both Kitty and Gayle nodded agreement while Kitty scribbled.

Kitty said, “Tables need to be about three inches lower, and how about individual chairs instead of benches? We’ll bring up a couple of chairs and duplicate them in the factories as soon as we have people to work them.”

Gayle raised her hand. “I’ll take a stab at learning how to run one of the factories. That way I can use some of the people I have in mind for security to get them made. Some of my little brother’s friends from high school still keep in touch with him. Big guys. Not tall, just husky. Used to be football players. And intimidating as hell when they want to be.”

Kitty threw another comment in. “Nametags on the uniforms so we know who’s who. Also, who’s going to handle shift scheduling? Once people start coming aboard, we’re going to have to allocate time everywhere so people get some practice at their jobs before we even leave orbit, especially the shuttle pilots since they’re the ones who’ll be bringing material to the ship for construction.”

A week went by before Stephen beamed up again. His time had been spent getting back to the States, contacting colleagues, and starting on the plans for the solar cells and batteries. And being thoroughly worked over by agents of the United States government, who refused to identify themselves further.

The first thing he noticed when he beamed in was a new face in the transporter room. “Who are you?” he questioned.

“Ensign Marshall, sir,” was the reply. “Security and transporter tech.”

Making his way to the mess hall, he found Gayle having coffee. “I have twelve people meeting me at a hunting lodge in the Appalachians outside of Washington, DC tomorrow. One of them is a half owner. I think most of them will at least listen with an open mind. I’ve worked with almost all of them at one time or another on various projects.”

Gayle told him she’d gotten his name onto a list of speakers at a sci-fi convention in Denver two days after that. “Sorry to fill up your schedule, but it looked like too good an opportunity to pass up.”

He winced. “Astronomers don’t usually work at this pace, but I can handle it awhile longer. I just wanted to give a progress report and pick up some of those locator disks you used on me for tomorrow. I’ll fly in today and get some rest before my guests arrive. I see you managed to get some security set up.”

She shrugged. “Wasn’t too hard. I picked the three I thought would come over easiest, and they convinced three of their friends. They also got a cousin of one of ‘em to come on board, too. You probably met him in the transporter room. They’re already running around in their uniforms, calling everyone ‘sir’ and ‘ma’am’ and ‘captain’ and ‘commander.’”

Kitty walked into the mess hall during this last. “Welcome back, Stephen. We were beginning to worry about you. It’s a good thing those security boys are here now and past the denial stage. Did any of us go through that? And, congratulations, by the way. You are now Commander Walker, senior officer in charge of Operations. That makes you Third Officer, temporarily. And, incidentally, third in line for command. Of this ship or any that we build.”

Stephen sat back, stunned. “Command? Me? I assumed you guys were kidding before.”

Kitty looked at him sympathetically. “I know how you feel. Denial finally kicked in for me a few days ago. I’m still trying to work through it.”

Gayle excused herself. “I’m going to get another batch of those locator disks for you. Be right back.”

Simon strode into the mess hall and went to the coffeepot. “I’m glad somebody keeps this thing filled.” As he sat down, he smiled. “Well, how’s our newest commander? I assume Kitty has already spilled the beans. At least I get to do this.”

He slid a small case across the table to Stephen, who opened it and saw a pair of eight-pointed stars. Looking around at the others, he saw that Simon was wearing the same and that Kitty had what appeared to be comets on her lapels.

“One on each lapel of the shirt you draw from Supply on deck eight. One of our security people has a knack for finding things. I think he’ll make a fine Supply Officer. And two are pilots, so they’ll learn shuttle operations.”

Quite a bit had changed in a week. The mess hall now had eight tables for four, with chairs at each. The conference room had a long table and chairs for sixteen. Security protocols restricted bridge functions and computer access. Stephen now had a room on deck four, rank (high, apparently), and a job. And seven new faces roamed the decks.

“Just what does an Operations Officer do?” Stephen asked with the look of a man who’d received one shock too many.

“Coordination, mainly,” Simon said, “between shipboard functions, shuttle crews, factory output, construction crews, etc. You won’t be alone. Each department will have a supervisor who’ll report to you. All you have to do is keep track of it all and give orders.”

Stephen winced. “That’s all I have to do? This, I’m going to have to digest. And I need to get back so I can take a plane ride. I don’t want to arouse suspicion by not having a back-trail. Now I’m acting like I’ve got something to hide.” He raised his hands in the air dramatically, and then let them fall to his sides, his smile a bit lopsided. “Well, I guess I do, at that.”

He proceeded to fill Simon in on his visit home. “They were waiting for me at the airport. The next eighteen hours were the worst of my entire life. I made sure to call each of my contacts from a different phone and at different times. I’m sure they all think I’ve gone over the top. As for the rest of the week, I turned those plans over to a friend of mine and let him have his way with ‘em. He promised a working model within a year, and that’s including retooling a plant—a couple of plants, actually.”

Simon and Kitty accompanied Stephen to the transporter room. “What do you mean by a couple of plants, and where’s the money coming from?” Simon asked pointedly.

“Investors,” Stephen responded, “all looking to get a piece of the pie when we go public. And I have Adam Gardner overlooking the whole thing. He’s a good friend of mine with an uncanny ability to get things done.”

The tech on duty reported, “Commander Miller requests that you wait for her, ma’am. She has a package for Commander Walker.”

Kitty replied, “Thank you, Ensign.” Turning to Simon, she sighed. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get totally used to this, being the captain and all. It seems too strange.”

Gayle arrived in time to hear the last of Kitty’s lament. She handed a package to Stephen. “Here are the locator disks. I’ll put your insignia in your room.” She turned to Kitty and put one hand on her friend’s shoulder. “And you’ll get used to it, Kitty. I have. Just think about all the men you’ll have at your beck and call!”

Kitty stuttered, “I d-don't need men at my beck and call!”

Simon laughed. “One of the perks of command, dear. Let’s send Stephen on his way. And us, too. You realize that this will be the first time we’ve been down together since we got this old girl? Been thinking about a name for her, too. How does Galileo sound?”

They all agreed that it was an appropriate name, so it passed unanimously. Kitty nodded at Stephen’s armband. “Contact us when you’re ready. We’ll be waiting anxiously.”

Gayle put a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll put on a good show for your friends, Stephen.” She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “That’s for luck.” He turned beet-red as she turned to the young man at the console. “Activate transporter, Ensign.”

Two days later, an ensign knocked on the Hawkes’ door. After she read the hardcopy, Kitty said, “We have an hour to get dressed and meet our guests. I know my part; just don’t fumble yours. I’ll call Gayle.” She shook her finger in Simon’s face.

She had spent much of her free time the past two days learning about military protocol from him. His five years of service was about to pay off in a most unexpected way, indeed. And she’d switched ranks with him after a long discussion. She felt a male captain would go over better in the beginning, and he had the ability and knowledge to pull it off.

Those two days hadn’t been without incident, either. An Agent Daniels, FBI, seemed to like to pop up when least expected. Just that morning he’d knocked on their front door. Kitty and Simon had only beamed in moments before, and that only after a scan of the house showed no occupants. Persistent, he wanted to know where they’d been and insisted on seeing Simon as well.

Sticking her head into their office, she told Simon about their visitor.

“Don’t worry about answering questions about where we’ve been since we got back,” Simon said. “He shouldn’t know any more than San Martino. Let’s see what else he has.”

What he had was footprints, none distinct enough to ascribe to any one individual due either to the weather or contamination by other feet, but they were of a size with both Simon’s and Kitty’s at the scene of an… event that was yet to be explained. “Yes, Agent, those could be my footprints. I do camp in the area from time to time. But, we don’t know what you mean by an ‘event’ any more now than we did then. And I’ve already been over this with Agent San Martino. Care to enlighten us?” Simon asked.

Demurring, Agent Daniels left, but not without a parting shot. “It’s my job to know when something doesn’t smell right, and I can say without hesitation that something stinks here. You aren’t leaving the house by any means I can see, yet you’re very seldom here. Your truck is here, but where are the Hawkes? See what I mean? We will talk again, I promise you.”

Any response would have been made to a very angry back as it made its way to the grey sedan parked at the curb.

As the hour expired, ‘Commander’ Hawke walked self-consciously into the transporter room and went to the tech on duty.

“I didn’t introduce myself when we came aboard. Too much of a hurry. I’m Commander Hawke,” she said and shook hands.

“I’m Bill Hodges, ma’am. I guess that’s Ensign Hodges, now. But you’re really the captain, right?”

Kitty smiled. “We’re all making adjustments, Ensign. We’ll be having some visitors shortly who’ll probably appreciate a male captain for now. Watch for Commander Walker’s signal.”

Not knowing quite what to expect, but trusting Stephen’s judgment, she told the ensign to begin transport as soon as the signal arrived, which resulted in four very bewildered men staring at her. “Welcome aboard the Galileo, gentlemen. Would you please step forward so Ensign Hodges can bring the next group up?” Motioning with her hands to one side of the room, she drew them away from the transport pads. “Again, please, Ensign.” Three men and a woman were next to experience the effect while the first four stared goggle-eyed.

“Son of a bitch!” escaped from someone’s lips before he managed to control himself.

“Again, welcome aboard the Galileo. Would you please step forward so Ensign Hodges can bring the next of your group aboard?” She motioned toward the first four, and the current group moved slowly off the pads. “Once more, Ensign,” she ordered. As three figures emerged from the sparks, she recognized Stephen. “I believe that will do, Ensign, thank you.”

The ensign put the console on standby and moved away from the gaggle of visitors.

Kitty turned around to confront her guests. It was amazing what one could do under the guise of military protocol! Still, the mere thought of ordering people around like she’d just done gave her fits. To think that she had that kind of power and responsibility only made her throw up once a day… usually.

“Ladies and gentlemen, once again, please let me welcome you aboard the Galileo. I am Commander Hawke, and if you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to the captain.” She turned and walked to the door, which whisked open in front of her. Remembering how unnerving that had been the first few times, she stepped into the corridor and turned back. “Ladies and gentlemen, please. The captain is waiting.”

One man took a hesitant step forward, then another. The moment gone, the rest followed into the corridor, Stephen bringing up the rear. Keeping her tone light, Kitty led the way down the corridor, apologizing as she led the group to the ready room.

“Sorry about the long walk. The mechanics of transporter technology seem to require that the transporter pads remain in close proximity to the generators and an entirely separate computer that handles our beam technology. Some of the things you’ll find here will seem subtly wrong, like the people who designed all this just think differently than we do. For example, we haven’t found any evidence of art or esthetic values aboard. Just utilitarian rooms and furnishings.”

As she finished, she led her charges into the ready room and pulled the newest toy Simon had found out of her belt. Holding the commlink to her mouth, she said, “Commander Miller?”

“Miller, here.”

“Commander Miller, please inform the captain that his guests have arrived in the ready room. And bring a couple of pots of coffee from the mess hall.”

“Right away, Commander. I’ll have Ensign Hodges bring the coffee,” came in a voice from the small instrument Kitty held. The group of scientists looked at each other nervously.

The woman spoke first. “I’m Dr. Joanna Barnes, Computer Sciences. This is all kind of hard to believe, Commander. Sit anywhere?” she asked.

Kitty nodded, understanding. “I know what you mean. I’ve been here for weeks now, and I still find myself running head on into denial around every other corner.” She waved her hand at the table. “Anywhere there’s a notepad, Dr. Barnes.”

Everyone took a seat, Kitty at what would be the captain’s right and Stephen at what would be the captain’s left. Simon walked into the room just as the last person was getting settled. Kitty and Stephen got to their feet while the rest froze. Striding to the head of the table, Simon ordered, “Be seated, Commanders.” Reaching his chair, he said, “Welcome aboard. I am Captain Simon Hawke, commanding officer of Galileo. This is my First Officer and wife, Commander Katherine Hawke. You are already acquainted with Commander Walker, and here comes Commander Miller with refreshments.” All eyes turned to Gayle as she entered, not for the coffee she brought but for the figure she cut. Where she’d found time to tailor her uniform was anyone’s guess, but it did turn heads.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Sorry to be late.” She rolled an ordinary cafeteria cart before her and stopped about midway down one side of the table. She set a pot and a tray filled with cups and a stack of saucers at each end of the table. From the lower level she brought out cream, sugar, and other things people ruined good strong coffee with, duplicate sets going to each end of the table. She then sat down quietly at the lower end of the Galileo’s officer chain.

Simon leaned forward and crossed his arms before him on the table. “Thank you for coming, even though none of you really believed it was possible, but the fact that you showed up at all tells me your desire to believe. Of course, your natural skepticism won’t let you fully trust this even yet. A tour of the ship later will finish that job, I assure you.

“I’m sure Commander Walker told a good story, including our feelings about turning this vessel over to any one government. Well, I can’t stress enough how right she is. This vessel won’t be another Roswell. Nothing this big can be kept secret from the government. Too much leakage. And if one nation did get it, all the rest would want in. If not, I can see some neighborhood bully saying, ‘If I can’t have it, you can’t either.’ Then there’s the very real possibility that if things managed to stay quiet, absolutely none of this technology would reach Joe Citizen for a hundred years. It would get shuffled into some agency’s black budget and never seen again. On the other hand, if we keep control, the technology will get to the people. Some of it is already in the works. Talk to Commander Walker sometime. That’s his department.

“You folks have the unique opportunity to bring more technology back, whatever you can find that will be of benefit to humanity. You’ll have an almost totally free hand in that department. There will be only two restrictions. One, no weapons or propulsion technology goes down. That’s firm. Two, I have final approval on just what does go down. That, too, is firm. I can’t allow anything too advanced to show up too early. Remember, smallest waves possible. Does anyone have problems with the situation as I’ve outlined it?”

Several hands went up, and Simon recognized a crucial point when he saw one. He sat up straight in the chair. “I’ll bet I can guess what you’re thinking. How about, ‘How dare you think you know what’s best for humanity?’ Or, ‘What gives you the right?’” All the dissenters’ heads nodded in unison. “Well, let me tell you a secret. I don’t know that I do know what’s best, but I believe that I do know what’s worst, and turning this vessel over to any one government down there is worst. The balance of power would change so drastically that no other nation could let it go unchallenged. I believe turning it over would eventually spell the end of humanity as we know it. Ironically, keeping its secrets as long as possible and doling them out piecemeal is what will help humanity the most. The process will take years, and thought must be taken at each step.

“More than military disasters are ahead if we do this the wrong way. There would also be economic disasters as entire industries disappeared and new ones were born. What would happen to the displaced people? Too many at one time… see what I mean? What happens to the loggers when lumber is no longer needed? Or to everyone in all the oil-related industries when oil is no longer needed? Multiply that by all the other changes and you have chaos. We cannot be the cause of that. The only path we can follow is the one we’re on.”

By the time he finished speaking, Simon was on his feet. Sitting back down, he said, “Ladies and gentlemen, I apologize for the harangue but not for the content. I feel very strongly about this, and I’m afraid it shows.”

Kitty broke the spell by reaching for the coffeepot. Filling her cup, she passed it to Dr. Barnes, who had seated herself on Kitty’s right. “Okay, you’ve heard the serious explanation. You should have heard him when we first came aboard. ‘I found it! It’s mine! I’m keeping it!’” she mimicked, falsetto. Laughter ran around the table until Kitty waved her hand. “No, he didn’t really say that, but I’m his wife and I know he thought it!”

Simon sputtered. “Well, who wouldn’t! But back to business if you please. Second call. Who still has reservations? This time only two hands went up. Simon frowned. “I wish we could change your minds. If they do change, I’m sure you know how to contact Stephen. Now, I am sorry, but the rest of this meeting is classified. Commander Walker, would you escort our two guests back to Earth?”

Gayle stood up to take her turn as Stephen left with his charges. “Now, for those of you who remain, we need you to tease as much information out of this ship and its computer as you can. You were selected because Commander Walker considers you Earth’s best and brightest in your individual fields. We’re in the position of the man who’d never heard of electrical fields but knew that if he flipped a particular switch, a particular light came on. We want… no, we need to know how, why, who, where, when, and even what, if it applies. Toward that end, Commander Hawke and I would like to take you on a tour that is, quite literally, out of this world!

CHAPTER TEN

Kitty and Gayle led the scientists off in two groups, leaving Simon alone in the ready room.

“There you are,” Stephen said, finding him poring over the now-tattered legal pad. “I think those two will be back. Both have commitments they couldn’t get out of.” He sat down across the table and poured a cup of coffee. “I’m sure you noticed that not one of them said a word?” Simon nodded, his expression saying that he had no idea where Stephen was headed. “I think they’re afraid of you.”

“What!” Simon sputtered. “Afraid of me! What the hell did I give them to be afraid of?”

Stephen grinned and took a sip of his coffee, stretching the moment out for effect. “Oh, I don’t know. Your severely businesslike attitude perhaps, or the way you steamrolled them and took control of the whole conversation, then just dismissed the two who weren’t able to commit without even asking for an explanation. What do you think?”

Simon smiled ruefully. “Maybe you’re right. I just wanted to do a good job of explaining myself and get ‘em on board. We do need them, as well as every one of their friends they can convince to join us. We also need their good opinion of us. Maybe I shouldn’t have too much to do with the science types?” he said, looking across the table.

“I’ve been thinking, Stephen. You know about the time limit we’re under before the original owners come looking for their property? We figure we’ve got about five years unmolested, according to what we got from the computer. That’s not knowing anything about where the original owners are located, by the way. After that, all bets are off. When someone comes knocking on our door, we better be ready. How are they going to react to our having their property? Or pirating their technology? Or even being in space and setting ourselves up as competition? These questions have already been asked, but there can’t be any answers until we actually meet them. I just want to be prepared for friend or foe.”

Stephen sat down with a frown on his face. “What can we do? They have more ships and more experience than we do. Supposedly.”

Simon sighed. “I’d say that’s a safe bet,” he said glumly. He leaned back in his chair. “Here’s how I see things. This ship is probably listed as missing by… whoever. Our first contact will most likely be with scout vessels looking for ship and crew. I checked the computer about that class of ship. They’re lightly armed but fast. If they find this ship manned by other than their own, I’m betting they’ll scoot for home. Also true if they find other ships present. Either way, if we can detect them first, we open up other options. Let ‘em go and know we only have a couple more years, at best, or let them know we know they’re there and let them know that we let them go. Or try to take them out. Or some other option I haven’t thought of yet. The problems come in if they detect us and we don’t know about it. They could come back in force and we’d be sunk.”

The two men sat in silence until Stephen poured himself a cup of coffee. “Seems to me like we should gear up even further than you first imagined. Look, we’ve both been going through the computer, what we can of it, that is. And we’ve both made observations, things such as the need to get the fuel plant built first. That’s what, two or three months? All automated. Then, the first space dock will take six more. How long to turn out a ship?”

Simon leaned forward and refilled his own cup. “About six months more for the design I have in mind—about a thousand feet long, with more beam weapons, but lighter, missile launchers and plasma cannons, whatever those are, and crews of about five hundred. It would be a mean bruiser, but there are no shields. We need to figure out if we can make shields and then figure on a third power source just for the shields. When not used for shields, that third source could be added to the engines for greatly increased output, making it almost as fast as a scout and measurably faster than anything else in its class. Or it could be funneled to the weapons, making us the equivalent of a full battleship. At least, that’s what I get when I fiddle with the numbers.”

Stephen took the notepad and pen and began to doodle. “Okay. Let’s say the fuel plant is done. Six months for the first dock and six for the second. And in that second six months, the first dock has produced a ship. Six more months for the third dock, and the first two have put out two more ships. Six months for the fourth, and the other three have put out three more ships. After two years, you’ll have six ships. Every year of operation after that, you get eight more ships, unless you begin to vary the sizes.”

Now a frown traced its lines on Simon’s face. “We’re back to people, again—four docks at almost six hundred apiece, six ships at five hundred each, and this one at eight seventy. That’s around six thousand, Stephen. This grows by leaps and bounds. How are we going to control this monster?”

Stephen shook his head. “I’m not the one you need to ask. You set up the chain of command here, so do it again on a higher level. Call it Fleet Level.”

Simon threw his hands up in the air. “I’m not able to think on that level right now. Let’s just take this one step at a time. Get a crew, build a fuel plant, and build a space dock. Until we get near the end of that program, I’m not going to worry about the next step.”

Stephen stood up. “I have to get our visitors back soon, so I’m going to make a quick trip to my room. I’ll see you before I beam down. Oh, here,” he said, placing two locator disks on the table. “Maybe Gayle and Kitty should collect the others, too.” He strode to the door, stopped, and looked back at Simon. “And you shouldn’t worry about it, but you should be thinking about it. If you don’t have any idea about our direction, who does?”

Not waiting for an answer, Stephen strode from the room, leaving Simon staring at a notepad covered with scribbles and one much-circled number.

Simon stood as the first tour group returned. He realized he was frowning and tried to turn it into a smile. What he came away with was something less than a frown.

“Ladies and gentlemen, during your tour, Commander Walker pointed out that I presented an image that was something less than… amiable. For this I apologize. I’m not used to public speaking, as you’ve undoubtedly figured out for yourselves. It’s just that I,” he said and paused, looking for words, “I feel so strongly that turning this ship over to any one government or group would be the worst possible course of action for humanity. So, I hope you’ll allow me the opportunity to change that first impression at another time.”

As soon as Simon finished speaking, the visitors began to seat themselves at the table. One man remained standing, however, and began to speak. “I’m Adam Gardner, Captain, and personally, I’ve put up with a lot worse to work in less interesting places.” He glanced around at his companions. “Besides, Commander Miller has explained how much pressure you folks are under. She also outlined your general plans for the future. I won’t presume to speak for the others, but for me, where do I sign?”

The other three were echoing Gardner’s sentiments when Kitty led her entourage into the room. Simon repeated his apology to the new arrivals, sat down, and looked around the table.

Spreading his hands in an all-encompassing gesture, he inquired, “Well, folks, what do you think of the Galileo?” The dam broke, and not one sensible word came out of the babble that followed.

Kitty got control of the situation by the simple expedient of tossing her notepad out into the center of the table. It landed with a sharp report, halting all conversation instantly.

Gayle took the rest of the pressure off. “Commander Hawke does have a way with words, doesn’t she?”

As the laughter died down, Kitty put forth a suggestion. “How about everyone starting a list of questions, comments and suggestions? We can go over them at future meetings. What I’d like to do right now is get each of you outfitted with wristbands like ours.” The physical effects and general use of the transporter had been explained as well as possible by Kitty and Gayle during the tours. “One thing to remember—beam-up is not automatic. Make sure you’re in a secure location. Since that place is where you’ll usually return to, a locked room is always good.”

Stephen found his colleagues in the briefing room getting fitted with their wristbands. As the last one was finishing up, he stepped forward. “Folks, we need to get you back to Earth.” At the shocked looks he got, he laughed out loud. “Get used to it. Those wristbands make it a fact of life. One thing of note—those bands are connected directly to the computer on board the Galileo. If you wind up under too much pressure or get given something to change your basic metabolism or some such, the band will notify the computer and you’ll be beamed out of your situation. It’s a bio-monitor, pure and simple, and lets us know your location and general situation as well. It won’t automatically beam you out just for getting incarcerated or overly, shall we say, excited. Your stress levels have to go pretty high before that happens. Otherwise, you have to request a beam-out by pressing the red spot on the band. If at all possible, try to do that where the results won’t be seen.”

Stephen and Gayle had started to lead their charges back down to the transporter room when Kitty spoke up. “There’s one more item of some importance to most of you. We’ve found that our anonymity has been breached already. Who says our government isn’t good at its job?” A few nervous titters sounded in the room.

“Anyway,” she continued, “so far, it appears that only we four—me, my husband and Commanders Miller and Walker—have been identified. Make an active effort to keep your involvement unknown or you, too, will be receiving late-night callers. If that should happen, and you don’t want to escape, tell ‘em everything they want to know. Tell them also that the wristbands are attuned to each specific individual. Even if they figured out how to get it off without destroying it, it still wouldn’t work, at least not as a transporter. It becomes an automatic listening device and locator beacon at that point, but you don’t have to tell ‘em that part.” With a wicked little grin on her face at the thought, Kitty turned and headed off to find Simon.

She found him in the ready room, slumped in his chair and glaring at his notepad. “Okay, I know something’s wrong. Spill it.” She sat down beside him and grabbed a coffee cup.

He slid the notepad toward her, picked up the pot and filled her cup. “Stephen has suggested that our best course of action is to expand the plans we’ve already made to go from one dock to four. In two years, we can have six operational ships. That circled number is how many people we’ll need by then. Over five thousand.” Simon sat there, tapping a pen on the table. “These numbers scared me for a while. I was only in charge of forty guys—a rifle platoon, for Christ’s sake! Not even a jeep.”

Kitty leaned over and laid a hand on Simon’s arm. “I’ve never seen you quite this indecisive about anything before, dear. You always seem to know what you want and how to go about getting it. And here you are… dithering. What’s the worst that can happen? We could all get dead, of course, but that’s going to happen sooner or later anyway. You’ve always told me that if you act like a boss, then people will look at you as one. Okay, you’ve set yourself up as one,” she said, her voice trembling. “So, start acting like a boss. All we’ve done is up the scale.”

Simon spent a long minute thinking over Kitty’s comment. “Okay. The only thing I can see to do is take the opportunity and run with it. I guess if we don’t pull it off, we can always give the ship to something like the United Nations rather than a single country. But I must say that you surprise me. You’re the last person I would figure to push for keeping this thing to ourselves.”

“In a perfect world, I wouldn’t,” she retorted. “But have you looked around lately? The sarin gas attacks, India and Pakistan with nuclear weapons, shit starting in the Middle East, and to top it all off, look at the similarities between Drake and Hitler. Both of them stole the leadership of their respective nations, and both of them immediately started wars. At least Drake has the dignity not to grow a mustache. He looks silly enough as it is.”

Simon looked at his wife as if she’d grown a second head. “So, you’ve got this all figured out, have you?”

“No,” she answered, sitting down across from him. “But I’ve got some ideas. Hell, you gave me the glue to bind it all together.”

“Me? What did I say?” Simon sounded defensive.

“Well, it was more your dream than anything else. Remember it? You said you could never forget it. It happened on one of your first nights aboard and it was about starting an empire.”

Simon’s features got more animated as he recalled what she was talking about.

“But,” Kitty said, going on before he could speak, “I applied that technique you taught me to the situation. I kinda tranced out and looked at the possibilities as my mind laid them out for me as far into the future as I could go. In most of the futures I saw, we were better off keeping the technology away from the powers-that-be down below.” She was referring to a meditation technique Simon had taught her, picked up on his travels somewhere in Asia. He’d always been rather vague about just where.

Simon thought for a time, now lost in that realm himself where some of the more probable futures were laid out, almost like chess moves. Cutting the visit short, he said, “I see what you mean. You do realize that this means the government is going to do whatever it takes to get possession of this ship, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Kitty said, reaching out and taking Simon’s big hands in her tiny ones. “It means that since they can’t get at us, they’re going to go after those we care about. My folks are dead, but you ...” Her voice trailed off.

Simon spoke well of his mother when he spoke of her at all, but only once had he spoken of his father. An innocent question had once led to a half-hour rant that ended with a penitent look and a heartfelt apology. And it had never been repeated. Nor was mention of his father ever made again, by unspoken consent.

Now, though, things were different. “They aren’t going to care if you hate your dad. They’re going to pick him up, along with your mother and brother. Wanna bet they use the words ‘protective custody?’ You’re going to have to face him sooner or later.”

“The later, the better,” was all Simon said. Pointedly changing the subject, he said, “That thought about my old platoon was really first rate. For now, though, let’s get Gayle and Stephen in here. Send for Ensign Marshall, too. And the two pilots.”

Twenty minutes later, the four ship's officers were seated around the conference table. Simon took a breath and said, “It’s time to fish or cut bait, people. I’ve been worried about personnel, but I’m going to go ahead as if that were assured. If it doesn’t come to pass, well, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. This way, we can start training them as fast as we can get ‘em.

“Gayle, among other things, you’re Communications Officer. That puts you on command staff and in line for command. Our two pilots are going to start hands-on training tomorrow for shuttle/fighter training. Stephen, you need to get ready for the convention in Denver. Let any of us know if you need help with that. Kitty and I will be reachable by wristband at all times once Stephen gets to the convention. We’ll use the same routine we used on the scientists, only this time it will be on whoever you can manage to attract. If a system works, go with it.”

Gayle jumped in when Simon took a breath. “The convention center is expecting a couple of assistants.”

“Fine, just don’t take any unnecessary chances,” Simon said, agreeing to the unspoken request. “You guys work it out and let me know what you plan to do.”

Before Gayle could respond, Ensign Marshall knocked on the door, both pilots behind him. “Ensigns Marshall, Johnson, and Quinn reporting, sir.” He stood at a civilian’s idea of attention and saluted, mimicked by the two pilots.

Simon self-consciously returned the salute and said, “At ease, Ensigns.” He proceeded to fill the three men in on their duties. “All three of you will start flight training. Tomorrow, you start hands-on training… in the bays. No excursions until authorized. Johnson and Quinn, you’re both promoted to lieutenant, junior grade. Ensign Marshall, you’re promoted to lieutenant and temporary Chief of Security. I want you to get as intimate a knowledge of this ship as possible. As a temporary Security Officer you need to have that knowledge of this vessel. As soon as you can demonstrate that, you’ll be posted to commander. We’ll get insignia to you when we have them. Wait for me in the briefing room. We can discuss things in more detail shortly.”

Gayle spoke up as the three men left the room. “They’ll have those insignia before you know it, Simon. John—Lt. Marshall, that is—and I designed insignia for all officer ranks and made up a few sets of each rank up to commander, only one for captain, and none for the admiral ranks. We just did designs for those. We still need to do the enlisted ranks, though. We made them in one of the smaller factories down on deck four. They’ll draw them from Supply before going off shift. Trust me. I know those guys. Ensigns wear a small silver pip we call a planet. lieutenants jg wear a silver crescent moon, lieutenants wear a gold crescent moon, lieutenant commanders wear a silver eight-pointed star, commanders a gold eight-pointed star and captains wear a silver comet with a tail. Hope that meets with your approval. And I guess I should pass stuff like that by you first, huh?”

Assuring her that it did indeed meet with his approval and noting that he’d already seen a few, he called for questions. After all three demurred, he closed the meeting. “Good luck, Stephen. I hope you’re as successful as you were today. Call if and when you need anything. I guess that’s all for now, folks. I’ve got people waiting in the briefing room. Meeting adjourned.”

The mess hall had been rearranged into auditorium-style seating to accommodate the thirty-five young men and women who’d attended Stephen’s lecture. Their presence was a direct result of what Stephen called smoke and mirrors.

“Without the smoke or mirrors,” Gayle said to Kitty, her nervousness causing her to forget for a moment that Kitty had been there, too.

The presentation easel had read Teleportation in the Twenty-First Century, on the first line, Lecture from 6 p.m. until 7 p.m. on the second, and Guest speaker Dr. Stephen Walker, PhD., M.A., B.A., M.S. on the third. The time had been scheduled between two of the more major events of the convention, and it was hoped that enough people would drift in to make the whole thing worthwhile.

Almost forty people wandered into the room before Stephen took the microphone. “This is really not my forte,” he said, “public speaking, that is, but thank you for coming. I’m not here to lecture on the possibilities of teleportation in the twenty-first century but to show you that we actually have it.”

The room started to buzz immediately, and Stephen, a teacher as well as everything else, waited for his moment. “Teleportation exists, but the ability to teleport is currently beyond human reach. That means this ability comes from an outside source. We, humanity, were lucky enough to get possession of alien technology, and it’s in civilian hands. I have with me an officer of a very large and dedicated spaceship. One of the pieces of technology aboard this remarkable find is the teleportation device, and we propose to demonstrate it to you right now.”

He gestured to Gayle, a striking figure in her space-black shirt and pants, boots polished to a high gloss, and golden hair in a ponytail that reached her waist as she stepped to the lectern. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m relatively certain that not one of you believes we can prove teleportation exists in a single hour. I propose a quick and easy way to prove it.” She reached into the lectern and pulled out three transporter disks.

“These are tickets to a real, live, working spaceship. It’s not the Enterprise or the Millennium Falcon, but it is capable of building those ships. Let me put it another way. What we’re doing is recruiting volunteers for a crew. All we ask is that you go along with the gag until you’re convinced.”

She tossed the disks out into the audience where each one was looked at and passed around for a few seconds. At that point, Gayle stopped all inspections with an announcement. “I’m about to push a button on my wristband. I trust you’ve noticed that we’re all wearing them,” she said, raising her own. “I’ll press it in ten seconds. At that time, anyone holding a disk will be transported aboard the Galileo, as we’ve named our ship.”

“You should have heard the commotion the ones left behind caused,” Stephen complained. “I thought we were gonna be raided by convention officials. The only thing that saved us was Gayle and the first three finally beaming back in.”

“Well, we had to show ‘em enough of the ship to prove it wasn’t a setup,” Gayle interjected.

“Anyway,” Stephen said, “the rest of the group got so into questioning them that they forgot all about us for a while. Finally, some of the braver ones said they wanted to take a ride, too. Eventually we got the entire group up for short tours, gave them an address to come to the next day, and sent them on their way. I’m both pleased and surprised that thirty-five showed up.”

The three commanders stood out as they walked to the front of the room in their solid black uniforms, facing the group of young people from behind a long table. Kitty, as senior officer present, called the meeting to order by tapping on her as-yet-unfilled water glass. She was finally getting comfortable telling the story of how they’d come by the ship and what they planned to do with it. To start, she, Gayle, and Stephen answered questions for about twenty minutes, stopping when Simon entered the room.

Stephen had been watching the door and spotted Simon first. He stood up and announced, “Captain on deck!” Kitty stopped in mid-sentence, and she and Gayle jumped to attention.

Simon took his place at the table. “Be seated,” he said to the three in black and the few who had hesitantly risen to their feet as he made his way to the front of the room, making a mental note of each person who had stood, however hesitantly.

“Commander,” he said to Kitty, “if you would finish your presentation.” He’d been listening to the meeting via commlink and timed his arrival accordingly.

When Kitty reached the point where she, Stephen and Gayle had been sent to Denver, she shut up and looked at Simon, who began his part of the presentation.

“I’m Captain Hawke, commanding officer of the Galileo. Ladies and gentlemen, I believe we have a unique opportunity here, a real chance to start something new, an ability to make a difference like no other group in history. Until now, mankind has just dreamed about the stars—written about them, wished for them, and wished on them. Now, we can actually go there. Those of you sitting here today can eventually be in command of some of the first ships to visit many of those stars. There’s a hitch, though.”

He hesitated for a moment to let that sink in. “The… people who built this ship are going to want it back, and they’re going to come looking for it. My officers and I believe they’ll do whatever they have to do to get it back. Now, I’m not saying we won’t give their property back to them, but I am saying we’re going to duplicate it first, along with all the technology it contains. We also need to worry about whether these aliens are going to object to us being the new kids on the galactic block. To that end, I propose that we start a program of building and expansion like nothing seen in the past hundred years. I’m asking you to make a sacrifice equal to that of the patriots of the American Revolution. I’m not talking about an overnight project here. We have five years minimum to build up, gear up, and prepare to either repel invaders or greet visitors. So, I ask you now to give me your time, your bodies, and your hearts, and we can forge a whole new direction for humanity—a direction that has Earth as a beginning and the entire galaxy as a destination. But only if we take the opportunity chance has provided for us.

“Now, if your manner of transport hasn’t convinced you of the truth of the situation, then the tour we’re about to take you on should do the trick. Afterward, there will be another question-and-answer period, followed by interviews for each of you who choose to sign on. If you have any skills that will qualify you for specific berths, we’ll find out about them then. Those without specific skills who wish to join the crew will be given a few simple aptitude tests and assigned positions. As soon as the first ships start rolling out, those of you who’ve qualified for posts on those ships can be transferred to the new vessels and assist in the training of your new crewmates. If you find yourself in a post you don’t like, you can cross-train for another as soon as it’s available. So, if there are no questions, we can begin the tours.”

As the visitors were anxious to see a working starship, they kept their questions to themselves for the present. Simon had three security officers on hand to make the tour groups a manageable five persons each. He took the first group out the door and onto the bridge while the other groups started out with different primary destinations in mind, emptying the auditorium out almost instantly.

After an hour of tramping around the ship answering questions, Simon was glad to get back to the mess hall. He fielded more questions until Gayle led her group in, turned his five over to her, and strode from the room. He slipped onto the bridge and through his quarters, heaved a sigh of relief, and sank into his chair.

Later, all three found him lost in thought, staring at a view of the Earth. “So this is where you’ve been hiding.” Kitty said. “We were beginning to worry. And where the hell did that speech come from? Do you have any idea what kind of reaction you got from those kids? They’re so hyped up, they’re ready to leave orbit right now. We got them to calm down some though. They’re all going back down to get friends to sign on. I think you may have just solved our personnel problem all by yourself.”

Stephen joined the conversation, saying, “And you sent me to that convention? And what, exactly, is our direction, Simon?”

Simon looked up, sat up straight, and spoke in a subdued voice. “I’ve been dreaming about that very thing since we first came aboard. The problem is that when a secret is shared by more than one, it isn’t a secret anymore. We’ve recruited some of Gayle’s friends, you, about a dozen scientists, and almost three dozen others who’ll come aboard as crew and recruiters, as well as any of their friends, almost without any kind of guarantee of their loyalty. Our decision to keep the Galileo to ourselves and crew her is going to cause a hell of a reaction when word gets to the right people. I’m sure there’s been a lot of scampering around, trying to find out something concrete already. And trust me on this, those guys know their jobs, so it won’t be long.”

Simon sat quietly for so long that Gayle started to speak, but Kitty held her hand out and shook her head. Finally, he spoke again.

“Once we take this step, it’s a certainty that none of our lives will ever be the same, not to mention the lives of a bunch of people we’re asking to blindly follow us. We’re going to have to achieve an equal-but-separate status, and the technology on board this ship is all we’ve got. Our lack of numbers is a definite liability, but at the same time, we’re going to have to start being careful who we let in. I have some ideas on that for a later meeting.”

Once he got started, the rest just flowed out. “For the short-term, our direction is towards independence, although everybody concerned will know just how dependent we really are on Earth, at least for now. We’ll outgrow that need rather quickly and become a separate, self-governing branch, a branch that will eventually absorb the parent as they get the technology we have aboard and join us or stay earthbound. It’s a dream I started having right after Kitty and I first came aboard. Now it looks like that dream will come true. If I had to give it a name, I’d call it ‘The Terran Alliance.’” Simon looked at his three commanders—one his wife and two his friends. “I’m serious, guys. Tell me you don’t feel it, too, and I’ll walk away from this right now.”

Silence reigned on the bridge for a moment that seemed, to Simon at least, an eternity. Gayle was the one to speak for the trio. “No, Simon, we feel it, too. We just didn’t have the words for it. You brought it to life and given it a face. I say let’s go start an empire!”

Stephen grinned and bowed. “Emperor Simon the First! And his Empress, Kitty!”

Simon exploded. “No! Emperors rule by decree, and I don’t see our Alliance ruled that way. As soon as we have enough people, there will have to be elections. And I guarantee that my name will not be on the ballot! All I want is my own ship and a chance to see things that no man has ever seen before. That’s another part of my dream, and no way is that going to happen if I’m anything other than a ship’s captain. This boy’s happy with Captain Hawke. Period. End of discussion.”

Kitty addressed the silence that followed Simon’s ultimatum. “Whatever you say, dear. I’ll go along with you, but that’s quite a way into the future yet,” she said, as if to a child. She laid a hand on his arm and smiled, taking the sting out of her tone. “Change of subject. I don’t think you have to worry about being too imposing to other people anymore. I overheard a couple of those kids actually bragging that they got the captain as a guide. And we got twelve females in this bunch, by the way. Gayle and I won’t be alone anymore. Also, Stephen suggested an additional function for the wristbands. I checked with the computer, and it’s doable. I did have some trouble getting it to respond to me at first, but we now have a way to let people know we need them without being obvious. It’s a mild electric shock, more like a tingle. That way, anyone down below can be told to report aboard before we leave orbit. It can also be used to call specific individuals or identify persons who are requesting a beam-up.”

Simon considered what she’d said. “Good ideas. And that’s to all of you. Looks like we’ve got a real good start here. Now all we need are about eight hundred more people.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Two weeks had produced significant changes. The first batch of recruits had talked to friends, who talked to other friends, and the first group of thirty-five turned into over seven hundred new faces living on, training on, and otherwise finding reason to be aboard the gigantic city/ship.

During the first few days after the convention, Simon, Kitty, and Gayle conducted interviews with all those who accepted wristbands. Gayle’s second contribution to the crew—nearly a dozen large, intimidating friends of her brothers—acted as additional security and escorted each interviewee back and forth as they were called up from the lower levels.

A more professional security solution was in the works though. Simon had contacted his old platoon, and almost the entire unit, another thirty-three, joined outright. Six were either dead or off the grid, as some called it. They would absorb Gayle’s original force and train them up to Simon’s standards.

Since none of the three were professional interviewers, they finally decided to just chat with each and see how it went. Simon specifically focused on education and home life when he sat down with an applicant. He laid out his ideas and listened to how each person reacted to what he had to say, then went into chat mode to draw out their inner thoughts and let the answer to his final two questions count for as much as the whole conversation up to that point.

“So, how do you feel,” he would ask casually while refilling a pair of coffee cups on the small table between them, “about leaving home for almost a year at this point in your life?”

The answer was invariably some form of, “Are you kidding? Look around us. How could I possibly pass this up?”

The second question usually caught the interviewees by surprise. “Do you realize that every government on Earth wants this ship and will do anything to get it?”

Only twice did Simon make a note that the applicant wasn’t ready for a position aboard the Galileo. One other impressed him enough—twenty-two years old, finished high school a year early and moved on to college, majoring in physics while getting respectable grades in creative writing—to ask Kitty to talk to her and give a second opinion.

However, the one thing all four were universally agreed on was finding others to take over the interviewing process.

The scientific staff had been hand-picked by Stephen, and they were soon found poking into various and obscure portions of the ship in search of… whatever. The Science Department had grown to somewhere in excess of one hundred and was making great strides with cataloging the technology, or at the least getting an idea of what could be grouped with what, as far as basic effects were concerned.

Several things had already emerged for certain from that quarter. First, the massive matter converter, the teleportation system, and a small device found in the mess halls currently called a food processor, were offshoots of the same technology. Second, the computer had a virus that was slowly lobotomizing it.

The propulsion system was giving the scientists fits because they’d finally figured out that the basic fuel was antimatter monopoles. And Doctor Barnes had identified the fact that the computer was infected with what was quite probably the same virus that had killed the crew, being composed, she guessed, of the same material as the aliens themselves.

Each day ended with a debriefing for the four friends, and three weeks after the first scientists had come aboard, Stephen sat down at the ready-room table and started without preamble.

“I have bad news and good news, and it comes in the same statement. The computer is lobotomizing itself, according to Dr. Barnes. Remember her?” Even Kitty had made a comment some time back that the computer was getting harder to work with. “Apparently it’s a gradual thing.” He put his feet up on the desk, indicating that the matter wasn’t about to bring their dream to an abrupt end. “It seems that somehow some of the virus that killed the crew got past the hermetic seal on the computer housing. It goes after higher brain functions first, so we’re losing its speech programs and most of its self-willed protocols. We’ll still have the autonomous functions, though, like environmental controls and gravity control. Now, before we go any further, I’ve got to say that I like the idea, in a way. If there are any lingering… things in there, like commands we haven’t found, they should be gone by the time we get the upper hand.”

Simon nodded. “Joanna Barnes?”

“Right. Anyway, she seems to be on the trail of a way to fight this virus. It looks like information is written to and read from the memory core by means of something she calls whisker lasers. Doctor Barnes thinks that since the original owners used their own proteins, the core was susceptible to the virus and it was only a matter of time before it happened. She and a hand-picked team worked day and night to identify the virus and now are in the process of getting the computer to disinfect itself.”

“I really don’t want to sound like too much of a dummy,” Simon said, “but how will she do that? If the core is infected ...?”

“Apparently,” Stephen said, “all she needed to do was clear a portion of the gel manually, then get a set of commands inserted into the cleared core, and the computer would take control of the lasers and target and destroy any traces of the virus remaining in the gel itself.”

“And has this process worked?” Simon asked worriedly. “If we don’t have a working computer ...”

“As far as we can tell at this time, it’s working,” Stephen said. “It isn’t as simple as I made it sound, of course. Barnes has assembled a team on her own to fight the infection. She has medical doctors, computer techs, laser specialists, and I don’t know how many others working on the problem. She seems to think it will only take a few more days before the system is cleaned up. One good thing is that because all the colony infrastructure data was in so many places in the factory section, we seem to have kept all that. We did lose all data on the alien language though. Apparently, no one bothered to copy it out. I guess they thought they had plenty of time. The bright spot is that we can reprogram the computer to our specifications as we go, and by the time we’re ready to leave orbit, we should have a full set of instructions for it. If not, we can handle most functions manually.”

“Well, then,” Simon said, “as uncontaminated space becomes available, start inputting anything you think we need—navigation programs, astronomical data, whatever. If we’re going to leave orbit and start building a space dock, we need all the information we can get.”

“I’ve got it under control,” Stephen said.

Simon’s feet joined Stephen’s on the ready-room table as the end-of-day briefing wound down. “The news about the computer is both good and bad as far as I can see,” he said. “I don’t know how much ‘disk’ space we have, but keeping unnecessary things off the hard drive is one of the things people try to do with computers. This virus looks like it’s going to do that for us, whether we like it or not. The fact that most of the things we call ship’s services are going to survive is good. The bad part is that we’re losing all language skills, astrogational data, and automatic traffic control. Also bad is that we have no idea what else we’ve already lost or will still lose before Dr. Barnes gets this thing under control. It’s good, however, that Dr. Barnes and her team think we may have that accomplished in the next few days. It’s also good that Stephen’s people think we can make do with manual control of most of those things until someone can work out new programs to handle autonomous functions.”

He waved a sheaf of interviews in the air. “Another good thing is that every one of these kids has more formal education than I ever dreamed I would get,” he said. “And Kitty and Gayle say damn near the same thing about each one of their interviewees.” He tossed one interview out on the table. “Eager, ambitious, intelligent.” Another paper. “Enthusiastic.” Another. “Determined and smart.”

He laid the balance of the stack on the table carefully. “One thing I don’t want to do is fall into the mindset that it takes age to be prepared for service aboard this ship. Everything is new to all of us, and I think that the younger folks we attract, which is going to be a very high percentage, are just as capable, maybe even more so, as any of the four of us at this table tonight. These are the people that the future ‘captains of industry’ would be drawn from under other circumstances, and I think we can use most of this bunch as the core of our primary command teams. We could put them in charge of various departments or make them second in command to one of Stephen’s people until they’re competent to run the department themselves.”

Kitty raised her hand and asked, “Are you sure that’s the best course of action? Shouldn’t we have older people in charge?” She let an embarrassed look cross her face. “I don’t want to sound like I’m discriminating based on age, but I guess that’s what I’m doing, isn’t it?”

Simon grinned at her. “Yes, you are, dear. And I was guilty of the same thing for a while until I started reading these interviews. You haven’t seen Gayle’s or mine, but they all say things like ‘conscientious, level-headed, responsible, or trustworthy.’ Keep in mind that these… kids have all had a chance to spend time away from the nest, and while a few aren’t ready to take on the burden of command, most of them seem to be. And as far as I can see, we got a lot better than we deserve with this first batch.” He hesitated for a moment and then said, “Another problem I see is that we need teachers in various disciplines, so a priority on our return will be to recruit as many people capable of teaching astronautics, physics, and anything else we decide on to the rest of the crew. I would imagine that some of the scientists already aboard would fill those slots admirably. They’d get to stay aboard and study the ship while training people at the same time. We get the best of both worlds—older heads laying down the framework and younger, more ambitious people to implement our decisions.”

He effectively ended the session by adding, “We really should reward the courage and adventurousness this batch showed in making the trip up here in the first place. Command will be a good way to punish them for that courage, don’t you think? Besides, if you look at this thing as a military operation, we have the captain, first officer, security chief, and science officer all in agreement about a course of action. We will, of course, add members to this council as we come to trust them. We’ll keep ultimate control among ourselves and can demote or retrain anyone we think isn’t making the grade. But since this has turned into a military operation, there can be only one captain, one final authority. Unfortunately, that happens to be me, thanks to you,” he said, looking meaningfully at Kitty. “I’ll gladly trade positions with any one of you if that’s a problem.”

The offer to step down was ignored by all present as each one planned their next moves.

All levels teemed with people moving from one place to another as they learned their new jobs or carried out some chore necessary to the comfort and well-being of over nine hundred people crammed into one big container. Some were already moving into quarters and spending more time aboard than on Earth.

The pilots had started making training flights with the shuttles, and there was a waiting list for fighter training. That one was going to take some time because the differences between a shuttle and a fighter were enormous, the main one being that the fighters weren’t flown by intuition or by the seat of the pants but by a more direct neural interface. Fighter pilots wore a skintight suit containing a myriad of receptors connected to various ship functions. An accompanying helmet tied the pilot into the sensor suite, accessing the heads-up display and even throttle control.

Half a dozen engineers were aboard getting the factories prepped, and most positions were fully staffed. The bridge crews were shaping up, and Astrometrics, led by Stephen, had identified six different locations that were suitable for space docks.

Construction pods had been located in a ring around the aft end of the factory section, brought online, and had crew training to use them. These were one-man, self-contained miniature spaceships in their own right. They were the workhorses of the construction projects, designed to take a completed equipment assembly out of the main ship and move it into space for installation. Twenty-four of these nimble craft were on hand to perform whatever task was assigned them.

And there was still a trickle of recruits coming in. By this time, most of the more glamorous positions had been assigned, and the occasional recruit would show something less than boundless joy when they found out that the only positions left open were either janitorial, maintenance, or something equally boring and dismal. Sometimes it was only due to the confidence and spirit of the interviewers that the potential recruit agreed to sign on in one of the less sought-after positions.

Stephen had department heads reporting to him on a regular basis, and two scientists working in the engine room had detected a small fluctuation in one of the magnetic containment fields. They had adjusted it and established protocols to monitor both fields while automatically keeping them at optimum.

Some very interesting observations were beginning to come in about their ship. Some of the technology was well in advance of Earth, such as the monopole energy source, warp engines, artificial gravity, and transporter. But other things seemed rather anachronistic beside them. Most internal data transfer was by fiber optics, for example, and most things were powered by electricity produced by generators that wouldn’t get a second glance on Earth. The scientists were having a real problem trying to come up with a hypothesis to explain the disparities. Links were built to allow Earth equipment to run on the ship’s power.

One report that caught Simon’s attention was about the power source. The science-types were all abuzz about finding actual working equipment based on ideas that were still just theories to earthbound humanity. Apparently, the original builders had discovered monopoles, a fairly recent theoretical possibility to Earth scientists. What was most interesting to Simon was that antimatter was involved. It seemed that monopoles could be created artificially and that it took one north monopole and one north antimatter monopole to create power. If they were put in conjunction with each other in a containment field, they generated power. The mechanism was simple, apparently—that is, if you had the technology. North poles tended to repel each other, and matter and antimatter tended to attract each other. If an antimatter north monopole was placed next to a normal-matter north monopole, the dynamics of the situation created power that could be tapped. At rest, they provided enough power to keep all ship systems active. If pushed together by manipulating the magnetic containment fields, they produced enough power to move the ship at normal speeds. If pulled apart by the fields, they produced energy quantum levels higher, thereby allowing warp drive. The scientists were starting to call it a quantum drive. And apparently, that strange ship down on deck eighteen was what went after the necessary material to produce monopoles scooped from a sun’s corona, which explained the badly warped armor plating.

But the other news was what made Simon’s day. He’d been worrying about how he was going to feed this crowd. So far, most of them had been beaming down to their homes, keeping the problem at a minimum. Once they left orbit, though, the problem would be how to keep enough food on hand.

“We’ve been studying the transporter as everyone is calling it,” a little man was saying. Simon never could remember his name. “It seems,” he began, “that the device has a cousin, so to speak. Have you noticed the alcoves in some of the rooms, primarily the ones we’ve set up as dining rooms?”

“I have,” Simon said hesitantly, not sure where this was going.

“Well, it appears that those alcoves are a kind of matter converter. We think—that is, my colleagues and I think—that if we can get control of those alcoves, we can start programming them to produce whatever we want them to, such as well-done steaks, or soup, or oatmeal ...”

“And how did you arrive at this conclusion?” Simon asked, all ears.

“We simply followed certain trains of thought, Captain,” the man said. “First, we have all that organic material between the hulls of the ship. We figured it had to be more than shielding, as some surmised. Then, when we found the conduits that led to the various… terminals, for lack of a better word, we became certain that they had a specific function. From that point, we just followed the wiring, and we got the connection, if you’ll excuse the pun. In other words, we can program the computer to give us whatever we want in the way of organic foodstuffs. It just won’t do anything like take organics and turn them into metals, plastics, or other materials.”

Simon, Kitty, Gayle, and Stephen became a panel that summarily decided which of the volunteers would fill which position. Nine of the ten possible command slots for each shift had been filled. Tactical officer, also known as second officer, was still vacant because there was no vital need to fill it yet, although there were several names under consideration.

The first draft of the command roster put the four friends in four of the top seven positions in first shift, with one other older person filling out one of the top slots. John Marshall, a sergeant from Simon’s old platoon, took command of all security with an automatic promotion to full commander, which left only three people new to the group. Second and third shifts would be made up completely of newbies, a move Simon thought would show one and all that there wasn’t going to be any discrimination.

Meeting daily, the command team grew from the original four members to nine. The exotic, more than slightly alien surroundings tended to keep most people off balance enough that for most of the time leadership questions were overlooked in the welter of other things to do.

The primary command team began to mesh, bringing problems to the daily briefings for solutions that didn’t readily present themselves elsewhere. Simon decreed that each officer on the command team was responsible for their alter egos on the other two shifts, so each person became responsible for training at least two others in the time remaining before the ship left orbit. The most common things being brought to the staff’s attention were the newest discoveries about the vessel and frictions between crewmembers as they shook down into a functional whole.

During today’s meeting, the chief medical officer waded into the fray with his diagnosis. Not a regular participant at the daily briefings, Dr. Harrison (Sandy) Penn said, “Crewmembers are beginning to experience boredom, pure and simple, even considering where we are.”

He suggested exercise equipment as a starter, and it was brought aboard and copied. Card games and board games began to appear around the ship, and the computer began tapping into satellite broadcasts of radio and television for storage and replay. Crew quarters and recreation areas were equipped with receivers so watching television was becoming popular in the off shifts.

“But don’t let it become the only form of relaxation,” Dr. Penn warned. “And,” he added, looking directly at Simon, “you should probably have more interaction with the crew. I haven’t been aboard long, but I’ve already heard two things about you. One is that you’re secretly one of the aliens that built this ship, and the other is that you tend to keep yourself apart from the regular crew. The second, in my opinion, tends to reinforce the first. You should get out among the crew more and show them you’re as human as they are.”

Simon fumed as Kitty, Gayle and Stephen broke out in gales of laughter. Kitty was the first to find her voice. “What must they think of me? I’m married to him!”

Glances passed among the newer members of the command team until Shirley Dahlquist, appointed to navigation officer under Stephen and some of his Science team, said diffidently, “The doctor is right, Captain. Your reputation started out pretty good among those of us who got accepted early on, but the newest recruits don’t see much of you. The talk in the rec rooms after shift turns to all sorts of things concerning the ship and the command teams, especially you. Having been the first one aboard the ship who recruited the rest of us, you’ve earned a reputation, whether deservedly or not. Keeping yourself apart from the crew only makes people talk more, and some of the rumors are just…” she said, hesitating for a second. “I was going to say out of this world, but you know what I mean.”

Kitty, still chuckling at the thought of Simon as an alien, said, “Hon, you should make yourself more visible. We all should, for that matter, but you most of all.” She held up her hand as Simon started to protest. “I hear stuff, too, and Shirley’s right. What our people need is the occasional inspirational talk that all good managers know how to give. You’ve got to tell the troops that they’re doing a good job, and they need to hear it from you.”

Simon’s face turned red as he tried to find a way out of his dilemma. “I’m not a public speaker! I don’t have any idea what to say to people or how to say it!”

The silence that greeted Simon’s outburst stretched out enough to begin to be uncomfortable. Amy Carpenter, newly appointed to helm officer, first shift, diffidently said, “Captain, I think the biggest thing that has people spooked about you is the fact that you’re planning to keep this ship away from the government. That takes a lot of guts, sir, and it makes people wonder what else you’re capable of.” She looked around the table before continuing. “Captain, I have some public speaking experience. I’ll be happy to help you write a speech to give to the crew, if that’s what you need. Actually, it’s not so hard to do. I thought I could never get up in front of folks and say something, but I found that with practice and a belief in what you have to say, it’s actually rather easy.”

“Thank you for your offer, Ms. Carpenter,” Simon said, discomfited by the statements of his new Helm officer. “I’ll think about it and get back to you.”

Engineers were busily going over and amending plans for the first dock. While no changes were being made to the operational side, several people voiced the opinion that the oversized ceilings, chairs, tables and various other equipment needed to be reworked from the outset to make it more human-friendly. Control panels were lowered to a more workable level, along with the aforementioned chairs and tables, and the theme carried itself over into things like beds, toilets, door handles, and as many things as could be thought of ahead of time.

Parameters were changed in the computer, keeping the original plans separate for safety’s sake. The fuel plant, being fully automated, needed no changes. As soon as the ship arrived at the spot where they were going to build the plant, the Sundiver, as the fuel scoop had been named, would be sent on a three-and-a-half-month round trip to pick up its cargo of coronal material needed to begin operations. Controlled by the computer, no other supervision would have been necessary. But with the loss of the computer’s higher functions, a team of astrophysicists would program the maneuvers into the Sundiver’s onboard computer and track it all the way.

A departure date had finally been set for moving the Galileo out of Earth orbit and into the asteroid belt. The last of the crew were called back, accounted for, and a final countdown begun. It had taken three months to get to this point, and tensions were running high. Until that moment, no power had actually been routed to the engines, and until that happened, all that had gone before was just an exercise.

There were quarters for forty more people than were actually needed, and they were filled, too. Once the dock, tentatively named Orion, was operational, over five hundred volunteers would remain aboard to begin production of the first ship and would stay aboard for up to one year. That would leave just over four hundred aboard the Galileo for the return to Earth orbit. More crew would be recruited, and they could then head out to build dock number two.

Simon walked onto the bridge ten minutes before departure. Looking at the crew bringing the behemoth to life, he smiled slightly at the memory of a couple of unofficial, clumsy attempts to suborn a few of the crew. Simon was the first to admit to the efficiency of alphabet agents, but with only a large point made in the papers nation-wide about the missing civilians and none made of missing scientists, everything else stayed quiet, except, of course, for the late-night radio talk shows.

All stations but tactical were manned, and all stations but his were backed up by an extra crewman for training purposes. He took the command seat when Kitty relinquished it and listened to her report.

“Engine room reports all systems optimum. Computer is green and course is laid in, Captain. All departments report ready and all personnel have received the ten-minute warning. Stephen will monitor things from the engine room. You have the con.”

Simon sat down and ran his hands over the controls built into the arms of the chair. He looked around the room at the expectant bridge crew and back to his wife.

“Thank you, Commander, I have the con,” he said formally. He looked at Kitty, winked, mouthed the words, “I love you,” and, with a slight hesitation, entered the codes that removed the ship from standby.

A low murmur that had gone unnoticed made its presence felt by its cessation as the bridge crew turned to their posts. An almost subliminal hum filled the air, and a barely felt vibration made itself known. Pressing a button on the arm of his chair, he announced, “All hands, this is the Captain. Secure all stations. We break orbit immediately. All our work is about to pay off. From this moment on, the course of human history is going to change as we embark on the grandest project since the pyramids were constructed. Good luck to us all.” Leaving the PA live, he said, “Helm, on my command, engines ahead slow.”

The crewman reported back, “Engines ahead slow on your command, Captain. Course laid in for position Alpha.” Commander Amy Carpenter, Senior Helm Officer, looked over the crewman’s shoulder at the console, nodded to Simon, and patted the crewman on the shoulder.

A stronger vibration began to make itself felt as the engines took the power being forced into them. From this point on, all experiences were new to each and every person aboard the enormous vessel. Simon watched several people exchange glances as their bodies registered the almost subliminal pulsations. He wasn’t immune to the experience himself and found himself looking at Kitty.

A thin smile crossed her face, and she laid her hand on Simon’s shoulder. Her gaze went to the forward viewscreen and the image of an Earth that would never be the same again.

Calling up a screen showing the same information Stephen would be looking at in the engine room, Simon double-checked his own readings, took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and gave the order everyone had been working feverishly toward for over three months. “Helm, ahead slow.” Barely noticeable, the image on the viewscreen receded as the ponderous ship began to slip away from Earth.

CHAPTER TWELVE

A seriously agitated agent of an agency only recently admitted to by the U.S. government waited anxiously in his boss’s outer office. Rather than appear to be anything other than totally relaxed, he flipped through the documents collected into a manila folder on his lap. For two weeks he’d been following leads on what he’d first thought to be a doomsday cult similar to the Heaven’s Gate bunch, looking for possible ties to terrorist groups operating on U.S. soil.

Finding his old partner dead-bang in the middle of the whole thing put an entirely different light on the operation. And the rumors of alien spaceships caused him no end of worry, especially after some of the things he’d already seen. Pure X-Files stuff, but the actual facts seemed to him to be even more disturbing than that.

The secretary had been busily typing during his entire wait, and veteran that he was, he still jumped when she spoke.

“Agent San Martino, the director will see you now.”

The agent closed the folder and stood up, walking to the door to the inner office. He took a deep breath, opened the door, and walked in. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, sir. I believe you’ll find that what I have to show you will justify your time.”

“Just get on with it, Agent. I have an appointment on the Hill and not much time today.” The heavy-set man behind the ornate desk set a small sheaf of papers aside to give his full attention to the agent.

“Sir, I was present when the ALERT team scrambled for that sighting in Montana earlier this year. I have residue that our best forensics experts say can’t possibly come from this planet. It was regrettably charred but enough remained. I personally saw the craft make its escape. It was I who found the link between the event and Simon Hawke, who just happens to be an ex-agent and an old partner of mine.”

San Martino took a breath. “I faced him one-on-one, and he sparkled out of existence right in front of me. And don’t look at me like I’m going nuts because I know what I saw.”

Before he could go on, the director held up a hand, stopping him. “Agent San Martino, relax. I’m fully aware of the sparkle effect.” At San Martino’s look, the director said, “What? Did you think you were my only line into this situation? The White House is even more interested than we are.”

The agent looked at his boss and asked, “So, I’m just confirming what you already knew?”

“Yes, but not entirely. You’re bringing in new information, like Hawke having been your partner. You’ll have some insight into the man.”

“I don’t think so, sir. Simon Hawke isn’t the man I knew fifteen years ago. He has a different look in his eyes. I wouldn’t trust my own analysis of him in this situation.”

The director looked his agent over. “Well, you’re going to have to get a handle on it. We need that technology.”

The comment jogged a memory in San Martino. “Sir, if we were to get control of that ship, how long would it be before the rest of the world governments found out?”

“What do you see as a result, Agent?” the Director hedged.

“I mean, like, what would the U.S. do if, say, the Brits or Chinese got the ship?”

“We’d have to pull an emergency preemptive strike on China and hope we were in time. The Brits, I don’t know. Why?”

“It’s just that I would expect the Chinese to react in the same fashion, sir. It almost seems like the situation as it stands is perfect. The ship is completely crewed by Americans, with the exception of a few scientists. Keeping them quiet is going to be a small problem as they come back home and we get them for debriefing, but we still wind up with the data ahead of anyone else on Earth.” A moment of silence passed, and San Martino said, “Then, we impress upon them the consequences of staying with such a traitorous bunch.”

“Do you think you can convince enough to make a difference? It seems even to me that the idea of really traveling in space is going to overcome many people’s loyalties. Or so say some of my other informants.” The director looked at his watch openly, deliberately. “Agent San Martino, you are ordered to get someone on the inside of this group as soon as possible.”

San Martino looked the director in the eye. “That’s going to be a problem, sir. The ship just broke orbit and headed for the asteroid belt. They’re gonna be gone close to a year.”

The director looked San Martino in the eye. “Then that’s how long you have to figure out how to capture at least one person from that ship. Dismissed.”

San Martino closed the door behind him and started down the hall. “Damn you, Simon Hawke. Damn you to hell!”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Six days and eighteen shifts. That was what was projected for the enormous ship to reach its destination. Stephen’s Science team recommended running systems up to speed slowly, since there was no longer a reliable database to draw information from.

Simon was near collapse when Kitty lowered the boom late on the second day.

“Simon, no one knows any more or less than anyone else about what we’re doing. You said so yourself. You have a shift, I’ve got a shift, and Lt. Commander Grimes has another. And all three of us have assistants. I’m telling you right now that if you don’t go get some rest and quit staring over our shoulders, mine included, you’re going to have a very lonely trip, Captain Dearest. The rest of the staff are taking their off shifts, and you need to do the same. We’re all agreed. We need you to be on top of things when we reach Alpha. Do you want me to get Dr. Penn to make it official?”

Simon opened his mouth to argue.

“No, Simon,” Kitty interrupted before he could speak. “You set up the rules. If you don’t follow the rules, you can’t complain when others don’t. So, I’m making it official.” She stood at attention and spoke an age-old formula. “Sir, I relieve you.”

He deflated and gave in to the inevitable. Answering in the same way, he smiled, “I stand relieved, Commander Dearest. You have the con.” When he thought no one was looking, he kissed her and left the bridge.

As they approached a rendezvous with the point in space the Astrometrics officer called Position Alpha, Kitty thought, Simon is going to be pissed. But it is my shift. Aloud, she ordered, “Helm, all ahead slow. On my mark, reverse engines and make us dead relative.” The bridge was silent for a long minute until she said, “Mark. Report dead relative.” Conversation returned to a low murmur as each station worked their minor miracles getting the ship ready to go back into standby.

At last, Helm reported. “Dead relative. Position Alpha acquired, ma’am.”

A low cheer sounded on the bridge until she hit the all-ships. “Attention all hands, this is the first officer. It gives me great pleasure to report that we have reached position Alpha. Good job, one and all. Operations Officer, please report to the bridge as soon as possible. First Officer, out.”

Kitty looked at the arm of her chair, pressed a combination of buttons that she had rehearsed several times, and the ship settled back into station-keeping mode. The vibrations that had become white noise made themselves known by their absence. Curiosity getting the better of her, she called up a view of Earth. All eyes went to the viewscreen as it came alive.

A small voice quavered, “It’s not there!”

Kitty ordered, “Magnification ten, coordinates zero-zero.” While the stars behind didn’t seem to change size, the image on the main screen focused on the Earth/Moon system and zoomed in at a speed that made a few of the bridge crew mutter in awe. Centered on the screen was a large blue dot accompanied by a smaller white one.

Only the faintest of smiles betrayed Kitty’s emotions as she congratulated herself for all the hours she’d spent with Stephen soaking up all she could about the environment she was going to be living and working in. It was difficult keeping up with all these young people eager to see their dreams come true. Her only recourse was to spend as much time as possible with the Science teams, learning as much as she could retain about the ship itself, as well as everything she could get her hands on about the asteroid belt. She felt like a teacher just one jump ahead of her students.

Unfortunately, not all the crew had had time to do more than learn one specific job. Looking over at her Helm officer, she said, “Think about just how far away we are, Commander Hill—over one hundred and forty million miles. Okay, team, secure all stations. It’s time for the construction crews to take over.”

As she shut her console down, Lt. Commander Donna Hill asked, “Where are all the asteroids, Commander?”

This time Kitty’s smile broke through. Of the nine-hundred-plus people aboard, roughly ten percent were scientists of one kind or another. The remaining fraction was composed of the original thirty-five volunteers and all the contacts they’d made over the months it had taken to get the ship fully operational again—friends of theirs, and friends of theirs in ever-increasing circles. While almost all the volunteers knew something about space, having grown up in the ‘space age’ after all, some stereotypes still remained.

Kitty responded, “There’s a lot of space out here, Commander. And as many as there are, most asteroids are pretty small—under a mile, in fact. It’s not like the movies. I suggest you do some reading on the subject. You can download some material from the computer after you go off shift.”

The young lieutenant commander took the suggestion seriously and replied in a quiet voice, “Yes, ma’am.”

Stephen entered the bridge, deflecting Kitty’s attention from the embarrassed junior officer. “Everything under control?” At her affirmative response, he winked and said, “Ma’am, I relieve you.”

Kitty stood up, waved to the command chair, and replied, “Sir, I stand relieved. The bridge is yours.”

The rest of Stephen’s Flight Operations staff started arriving and Kitty waved her crew toward the door. “See you at the meeting this evening, Stephen. Break a leg.”

Kitty walked into her quarters and found Simon sitting on the edge of their bed, reading over a sheaf of status reports. “Looks like the factories are all ready. And the flight crews are as ready as they can be without actual experience. Marshall, Johnson, and Quinn will be supervising crews for a while. According to Chief Engineer Baylor, the Sundiver will be dispatched within the hour. By the time it returns, we’ll have the fuel plant finished for sure and a major dent made in the habitat section of Orion. Looks like you and I are out of work for a while. Want to learn to fly one of those fighters?

Kitty gave him an appraising look. “Sounds like fun. But I have something else in mind.” He looked up just in time to see one hand unbuttoning her shirt. He never saw the one that turned out the lights.

The completion of the fuel plant was two weeks behind the original estimates. Nine hundred people don’t all learn at the same rate, and it had taken time for a group of that size to learn to work as a team—actually a series of teams, or to be more precise, three sets of teams since the plants ran twenty-four hours a day. Simon forgot that in his effort to get the entire project up and running.

There were a great many things he and others hadn’t considered, like how what they had could attract all the kinds of people they wanted—starry-eyed dreamers willing to take part in one of the greatest endeavors of all time just for the sake of being there—as well as the kinds they didn’t want—those trying to escape from something or those working for interests other than those of most of the crew. Those were the ones who would, out of idealism, nationalism, fanaticism, or something entirely different, try to take the ship and fulfill visions of their own.

They tended to forget that most of these kids had grown up with some of the most sophisticated sci-fi scripts and graphics of all time and were damn near brain-washed from the beginning to think of life aboard a spaceship as regimented. The initial three months of recruitment had weeded out a lot of those who thought of the Galileo and Simon’s plans for her as just a game or who weren’t ready to commit themselves for whatever reason. All the way up until departure, there were those who’d said that it was all a hoax. Those were the very ones who wouldn’t sign on and would be susceptible to inquiries from the various agencies detailed to look into the mass disappearances of so many people.

Another problem was the fact that not all of those who’d volunteered to work in the construction pods were able to do so. A significant number of people couldn’t adjust to zero-gravity.

One of the original volunteers had an uncle in need of work, and when she approached him, the uncle managed to talk most of his crew, some twenty men in all—high-steel men—into coming along. Of course, this was after a suitably convincing courtesy visit by Gayle and Stephen’s “smoke and mirrors.” It was from this group that most of the pod jockeys had originally come. Used to working in high places, it was just another job to most of them. A welding torch was a welding torch, after all. It was just the location that had changed. Simon shook his head when he realized these men wouldn’t be there if not for the fact that the year 2010 had brought more of what its predecessors had left behind—declining job-markets, inflation spiraling out of control, and the stock market dropping as war finally broke out in the Middle East.

The factories were busy turning out components on a twenty-four-hour basis but were still running below their projected optimums. The shuttles were flying far afield, scooping up small asteroids and dust into a type of force field that extended from each side of the vessel. The unloading process was simplicity itself. They merely stopped above the converter opening, turned off the force fields, and moved off. The tractor beams and lasers mounted around the rim of the huge hole would do the rest.

Several dozen green specks, the business ends of the pod thrusters, flitted around the installation as the finishing touches were being seen to. Completion of the plant was expected that evening, the last details of the fuel plant’s docking port and some shielding over critical components being the last items on the checklist. The small satellite stationed nearby had already been activated so that the Galileo would have greater control of the docking procedure when the Sundiver returned from its trip through the corona of the sun.

Simon and the rest of the command staff decreed a twenty-four-hour day of rest. In an all-ships address, he commended the entire crew for their hard work, and in a private meeting with his senior officers and department heads, he said, “Tell your people to have a good time. Just make sure that the ones who have duty don’t get crocked. Let them know their turn will come as soon as we get ourselves situated at Alpha-two.”

Over the two months the Galileo had been in the belt, the daily and weekly progress report sessions had semi-officially become known as staff meetings. Who exactly started it, Simon never found out and would gladly have strangled the perpetrator. He left the latest meeting more than a little unsettled. His discomfiture was at the deference that he and Kitty seemed to be held in by the members of the crew. Gayle, and to a great degree, Stephen shared in this circumstance as well. His ingrained sense of keeping to the shadows warred with the necessity of keeping visible and visiting the various departments. Informal talks with section heads invariably filled in gaps in written reports.

It was on one of his inspection tours that he found advice from an unexpected direction. “Surround yourself with people who know what they’re talking about, Simon. God knows, you can’t do it all yourself,” Gayle chastised. She took two steps to his one until she managed to get ahead of him and spun around to block him from going any further. She poked him hard in the chest with her finger to get his full attention, then shook it under his nose. “No boss can. Presidents have cabinets, CEOs have boards of advisers. Face it, friend,” Gayle said, calling up stories Simon had told her of his Army life, “you’re not a platoon sergeant anymore.”

The two friends walked into Simon’s private office and sat down. The meeting they had just left dealt mostly with the adjustments people were having to make to work in the new environment and the close living conditions. It had been an emotionally draining experience for Simon. He still felt that there were better people for the job than he.

“No, no, no,” Gayle said, wagging her finger. Now that she finally felt that she knew the full background of the husband of her lifelong friend, she somehow felt more at ease in his presence. “While I get some of the spotlight, it’s you and Kitty who seem to have become the focus of everyone on board. You are, after all, The Captain, and these kids are romantics all the way through. Not to mention a bunch of totally indoctrinated sci-fi nerds.” Gayle held up her hand, stopping Simon from protesting. “I mean that in the best possible way, of course.” Her grin was matched by the first smile Simon had shown in hours. “These are just the kind of people we need out here right now. Idealists, dreamers, crazy fools willing to risk their lives to live in a sci-fi series. Just like you and me.”

“But why me, Gayle?” Simon asked plaintively. “I sit in those meetings week after week and those people look at me like I have all the answers. And I don’t! Sure, we decided a male figure-head was better at first, but it could just as easily have been Kitty. You two found Stephen. It took all four of us to get the first group aboard. Stephen got the scientists, and those kids as you call them, brought the vast majority of these people aboard themselves. So why me?”

The answer he got stunned him. As much by content as by its source. “Because every great endeavor needs something or someone to personify it. In this case it’s Captain Hawke and Commander Kitty. You’re it and that’s all there is to it. Besides, you don’t have to do it all alone. You’ve already got your staff in place. Use it, Simon. Let the people who have made it their business to learn about specific aspects of this ship tell you what they know, then you decide what to do with the information. That’s the job of a captain, isn’t it?”

Simon struggled to find a response to Gayle’s argument. With a shrug and wry smile, he finally accepted the inevitable. “What would I do without the women in my life? I never knew you were so insightful.”

Having cleared out a couple million cubic miles of space, it was taking longer to get material to Galileo, so the factories were shutting down. There were only a few things left to install anyway, so even fewer factory units were needed at the last. Then, for safety reasons, the ship would move some millions of miles away to build the actual dock. If something should go wrong with the fuel plant, no one wanted the Galileo or the slowly growing base anywhere near it. Dr. Harmon was sure the blast, if there was one, would be easily detectable on Earth.

Lt. Commander Lucy Grimes, officer in charge of the third shift as much by luck as catching the captain’s and Commander Kitty’s attention during the initial interviews, squirmed uneasily in the command chair and punched in the sequence that brought the ship to life. She glanced at the first officer, who was watching from one corner of the bridge.

“Don’t look at me, Commander,” Kitty said. “You have the con. I’m just along for the ride.”

The young commander faced forward, keyed up all-ships, and with a quiver in her voice said, “All hands, this is the bridge. Secure all stations. Prepare for acceleration.” She shut off the intercom and, giving herself a mental shake, ordered, “Helm, set course for Alpha-two. All ahead slow.”

Commander Kitty left the bridge shortly after they got underway, and Lucy spent the next three hours coaxing the giant ship into just the right position. She would normally have two more hours on her shift, but since they’d arrived at their destination and gone back to standby, she called Stephen to the bridge and turned the ship over to him.

Lucy had only moved the ship about ten million miles, but she was sweating by the time she put the ship back on standby.

Only ten million miles! she thought. That’s what? Four hundred times around the Earth? We’re going to have to find a whole new way to think about our universe.

Afterward, she returned to her quarters, showered, changed, and made her way to the junior officer’s rec room on deck two, sinking into one of the lounge chairs with an audible sigh. At twenty-two, she was the youngest officer to sit in the command chair by quite a few years, and she felt as if people were looking at her all the time, judging. Eyes closed, she sat without a thought about what was going on around her until she heard someone sit down heavily next to her.

Looking over through one slitted eye, she saw her shift second, Rob Greene, looking at her with a worried frown on his face.

“You’re too tense, boss. Why don’t you go see ‘Chiko? She’ll work those knots out and you’ll be able to relax.” Rob and Michiko Greene were one of the few married couples aboard. Rob was Lucy’s Science officer, a few years her senior, while Michiko was second shift Nav officer. ‘Chiko, as she liked to be called off shift, was a five-foot-one bundle of Asian dynamite with the ability to massage knots out of a steel bar. They’d both been at the DenverCon and were among the first group Stephen and Gayle had recruited, along with most of the rest of the bridge crews.

“What I’d rather have is a long, long soak in a hot tub, Rob. But, thanks. I just might do that.”

As they sat there, the rest of her team began to filter in. They were led by Virginia Wade, who peeled off, grabbed a couple of pots of coffee from the food processor—now regularly producing a variety of beverages thanks to the science types—and poured all around before landing in a chair of her own.

“Thanks, Ginny,” Lucy said gratefully. Then she turned back to the group as a whole. “Okay, team, we have business to discuss. This came up at the last staff meeting, and the captain would like all the input he can get. We didn’t have much time for it to become a problem with the fuel station, but we’re going to be here for six months or so, trapped in an oversized tin can. What can we do to keep from going stir crazy?”

“How about some kind of sports?” This from Helm, David Sipes.

“Sure, Dave,” Virginia mocked. “Just tell us, what sport do you know that fits our space—no pun intended—limitations? We want something that requires teams so we can involve as many people as we can, don’t we?”

Dave looked hesitant. “Well, I managed to bring a basketball aboard, so we could build a few nets. We’ve got enough height down on deck eighteen, but that won’t give enough people something to do. A lot of folks don’t like basketball for some strange reason. How about something that uses the ball with new rules for our particular circumstances?”

“Let’s hear what Rob has to say. He’s sitting there with a mile-wide grin on his face and not one word coming out of his mouth,” commented Mustafa Morgan, third shift weapons officer. “He sure looks like the cat that got into the cream to me.”

Lucy set her cup down and slowly turned her chair around to face her shift second. Draping her legs over one arm, she stared pointedly at her second officer. “If you’ve got something, you’d better spill it. I’d hate to send you back to ‘Chiko in little pieces, Rob.”

As everyone’s attention turned toward him, Rob raised his hands in defeat. “Okay! I give up. It was Dave’s comment about height that helped me put some things together. ‘Chiko and I spent a lot of time exploring the ship early on. We’ve got a place to go play, people. And I’m about to give it the old Greene twist. Come with me and don’t ask any questions.”

No amount of threatening could get him to open up. Lucy sighed and climbed out of her chair. “This better be good, Rob. If it turns out to be a joke, you’ll wish you’d kept your mouth shut, I promise you!”

A crooked grin split his face. “Trust me. If this doesn’t get your imaginations going, then you’re all dead from the neck up! Besides,” he said in a mock-hurt voice, “you insisted, so don’t blame me if you don’t like it.” He stood in the doorway and looked back. “Motivate yourselves for ten minutes. We’ll either be heroes to the crew, or Captain Hawke and Commander Kitty will have our heads for trophies. You, too, ‘Stafa. We’ve got to stay together on this. United front and all that. A team, remember?” With a mysterious glint in his eye, he headed for the elevator and the rest strung out behind.

Deck eighteen was an open space twenty-six feet high, eight hundred feet wide and twenty-seven hundred feet long, starting at the nose of the ship and running all the way back to the forward engine room bulkhead. Most people thought the oversized deck was for storage of parts waiting to be taken to another location. The five hundred feet beneath deck seventeen shared a bulkhead with the habitat section above, effectively making two rooms out of the space. It was to the smaller section that Rob Greene led his shiftmates.

“This place is almost ten and a half million cubic feet, guys,” Robert said. “And I know how to use it. Just follow your Uncle Rob, and you won’t regret it. I hope.”

They trooped out of the elevator and Rob shepherded them to the center of the huge room. Their voices echoed in the cavernous emptiness.

“Just stand there. I’ll be right back.” Raising his voice as he headed to a far wall, he explained, “‘Chiko and I use this level for jogging. Totally empty. We figure it was used for storage of manufactured parts by the aliens. Anyway, on to part two.” At this point, he had reached the wall. The distance was too great for anyone to see what he’d done, but a panel popped open, revealing a control board with glowing status lights.

“Let your imaginations fly, guys. And why don’t you fly, too?” With this comment, the gravity cut off like a light bulb and he twisted in the air, braced his feet on the wall, and pushed off straight toward them, gliding along about a foot above the deck. At the last second, he tucked his knees to his chest, wrapped his arms around his lower legs, and did a creditable imitation of a bowling ball picking up a spare. Bodies scattered haphazardly, and he drifted to the opposite wall amid loud and inventive curses. “Think about the possibilities. Zero-G sports! Get creative!” He used his arms and legs to absorb the shock of hitting the wall and spun around, floating about a foot from the wall. Watching his teammates founder around, he laughed, “Been there. Done that!”

Reactions were varied. ‘Stafa sat Buddha-style, floating upside-down in relation to the deck, while Velma fruitlessly tried to swim. David reached the ceiling, tried to grab a projection, missed, and drifted off at a new angle.

Virginia groaned, “I think I’m gonna be sick!”

Lucy finally yelled, “Aha! Thank you, Professor Weston!” Those who could looked her way in alarm. Their eyes widened as she turned her back to the wall with the open panel, took off one shoe, and threw it away from her. This gave her a small amount of momentum toward the wall panel. That shoe was followed by the rest of her clothes, one piece at a time.

It was a totally naked Lucy Grimes who finally reached the panel “Uncle Rob” had opened. Studying it for a moment, she pressed a button and slowly slid a lever about halfway from the bottom to the top. As she did, her team, along with her widely scattered clothes, slowly drifted to the floor as weight returned. As everyone was getting to their feet, they were startled by the sound of clapping.

Velma, closest to the elevator, saw who was standing there. “Oh, my God! Captain on deck!”

Everyone, including a very red, very naked, Lucy Grimes, came to attention. Simon and Kitty stood just outside the elevator door, and Simon’s back was to the room as he inspected the call panel.

“At ease, people,” Kitty ordered, a grin plastered on her face. “Get your clothes on, Commander. Some of you help her get them together. By the way, who is Professor Weston?”

Lucy began to get her clothes on, aided by her team. “Ma’am, he was my physics professor. One of Newton’s laws of motion—I forget which number—is that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction, or something like that. It just made sense.” With shirt and pants on, shoes in hand, she stood there, head down.

Kitty tapped Simon on the arm, and he turned around. “That was quick thinking on your part, Commander,” Simon said carefully. “No one else on your team thought of it. I think posting you to commander of third shift was a good idea. Now, how did you people figure this out?”

Rob Greene stepped forward, intentionally trying to deflect attention away from Lucy. “Sir, my wife and I thought the area would be ideal for jogging, to keep in shape. One off-shift, we saw one of the little service robots open the panel and check the settings or something. After it left, we looked at the panel and figured out what it was for. It was a remark by Commander Grimes that made me put it together. She said we needed to figure out something to keep people from going nuts out here. I brought the team down and showed them. I had an idea that we could come up with some kind of Zero-G sport for the crew to get involved in, helping prevent boredom. I was just starting to tell ‘em my idea when you showed up. May I ask, sir, how you happened to be here?”

Simon answered, “It’s not anything supernatural, Commander Greene. Commander Hawke and I happened to be on the bridge going through some ship schematics when the gravity went off down here. If we’d been looking at something other than the habitat section, we’d never have known anything was going on. We came to see what the problem was and got here just in time to hear Commander Grimes thank her professor. That’s all.”

Kitty got a thoughtful look on her face. “I think you have something there, Commander Greene. Personally, I like it. Why don’t you go brainstorm it and see what you can come up with? Involve the other shifts and departments, too. The more the merrier. Submit your proposals to your shift commanders, and they can pass them on to us.” She glanced at Simon before continuing. “We’ll offer a prize or something for best idea. We can get more people involved that way, I think.” She laid a hand on Simon’s arm and started to turn to go but spun back as another thought struck her. “And, Commander, any more discoveries of this magnitude are to be reported immediately. “Understood?”

Rob nodded vigorously as Simon and Kitty disappeared behind an elevator door.

Stephen leaned back in his chair, regarding Simon and Kitty almost gleefully. “This looks to be very interesting. As a matter of fact, I think I’ll submit a proposal of my own.”

Kitty made a face at him. “I’m coming to know you pretty well, Stephen, but for the life of me, I don’t have a clue. What do you have in mind?”

He ran his hands through his hair. “Just putting some things together. One of the engineering teams found a weapons locker yesterday. It contained hand weapons and longer-range, rifle-shaped ones, as well as a few heavier weapons. Those come with a backpack power supply, and I suspect they’re some type of portable plasma cannon or particle beam.”

Stephen shifted in his chair as two sets of eyes gazed at him unpleasantly. He went on quickly. “The find was on the docket for tomorrow morning’s briefing, but I did have time to check out the weapons and put them under a security lock. The pistols and rifles are variable-strength lasers. We tested those, very carefully, I might add. We’ll wait awhile before we test the ones with the backpacks.” He doodled unconsciously. “The rifles and pistols have internal power sources. If we make a few dozen pistols that can’t do anything more than emit a harmless beam of light and add some body sensors, we can have something like the laser tag of a few years back. Throw in some large balloons that will drift in the air currents of a Zero-G environment, and there you have it. There could be teams of four or five, and the winner would be the team that kills all the rest. There could be eliminations, play-offs, trophies for the winners, all that.”

Kitty clapped her hands. “I love it! If one of the crew can come up with that, let’s give them the credit, though. I think it would be good for morale. Maybe we should have a competition for the best ideas. Eventually, after we get more ships, we can have an all-ships competition. What do you think, Simon?”

He made a gun out of his thumb and forefinger. “I think you and I better be on the same team. I know how good a shot you are. Does that answer your question?”

A week later, game fever had taken full control. During that same time, long-range scans reported receiving the Sundiver’s return signal. Stephen, as ops officer, ordered a recon flight to oversee the docking from a safe distance, of course. The flight was scheduled to leave in a week, and, as the shuttles were all involved with factory supply, it would be the fighters making their first extended trip away from the Galileo. Simon was spending a part of each shift training for the flight. He had put himself under the same regimen as the rest of the hopefuls and would have to qualify in the top three to get assigned to the mission.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

After the incident with the gravity control, Simon sat down with his inner circle and had a talk. The two months building the fuel depot had been the shakedown cruise for the fledgling spacemen, and at first it had seemed like things had gotten done more by accident than on purpose. As time went by and nothing blew up in their faces, the various members of the crew began to mesh as teams worked toward a common goal. The newness of their situation, combined with having to learn new skills and coming to grips with the fact that this was no science-fiction show, took almost all the time and energy anyone had to spare.

Television and movies pirated from Earth satellites and beamed to the huge construction vessel helped fill the few empty spaces, but now that the ship had reached its final destination, more people were going to have a lot more spare time on their hands.

“That’s what I want to avoid,” Simon opined as he took his seat at the table. “Spare time is not a good thing when so many people live so closely together. We need to find something that will redirect the excess energy that comes with hand-to-hand combat into something more suitable to spare time.”

Kitty nodded her agreement. “I’ve got an idea that this thing with Zero-G will figure in very prominently. But whatever it turns out to be in the end, a diversion of some kind is going to be needed.”

Stephen picked up a pen and aimlessly scratched it over the pad in front of him. “I think we need to go a step farther than that, Simon,” he said hesitantly. When Simon faced his way, Stephen continued. “I think these engineering updates should be released to the crew in general. At least part of ‘em,” he said before Simon could voice a protest. “Maybe not the technical details, but the fact of their existence. I think we need the imaginations of everyone on board to come up with the innovations we need to make this a going concern for humans.”

Stephen leaned forward, body language conveying his intense interest in the subject. “For example, just last week one of the groups I’m overseeing came up with a way to manipulate the capture fields. I know, we can do that already. The shuttles, and to a lesser degree, the fighters, can pick up asteroids and drop them off at the converter, and it grabs them and pulls them into itself. What this bunch did was to find a way to use them inside the lower deck. Now a shuttle can enter the main hold and load or unload anywhere without the necessity of maneuvering on its own. We can have a field operator pick it up and move it to whatever position we want.”

“That’s a good use of resources, Stephen,” Simon said, “but I don’t see how that applies to allowing the junior staff and the rest of the crew in on what gets found or discovered.”

Stephen shook his head. “You don’t have the whole story, yet. Two days later, these guys are playing around with the effects of their research, moving this and that from here to there, and one of the crew down on eighteen for whatever reason stopped to watch. It was her comment that got the guys off on another tangent. She asked why it wasn’t possible to turn the field sideways and use it for see-through doors over the exterior hatches. Forty-eight hours later, there are several generators down on eighteen, and they’ve shut off a section of the deck.” He went into lecture mode. “The procedure we follow right now is to move equipment ready to be incorporated into the dock down to eighteen, close off the deck, and pump the air out. Then we can open the hatches and the construction pods come in and haul all the stuff out. We reseal the hatches, pump the air back in, and start all over.”

Simon waved his hand dismissively. “I know all that. Where is this going?”

“It’s going to man’s basic nature to do things the easy way, Simon,” Stephen said. “We—and I say we because by this time I was as involved as anyone else—can make that field selectively permeable. We can get it to pass metal, but not air molecules. Glass, or what passes for glass, but not anything else. Or just program it not to pass just two items, like, say, air or a body, which is really several different items, and we can push all that equipment out the side of the ship and the pods can pick it up there without depressurizing the hold at all.”

“That’s a lot of time and effort saved,” Kitty said appreciatively. “I wonder why the original builders never thought of it.”

“We may never know, Kitty,” Stephen admitted. “But the point is that we can use the input of everybody to find new uses for some of the things we see around us. Restrict the information to too small a group and we’re bound to miss a lot.”

“Agreed,” Simon said after listening to Kitty and Stephen for a bit. “Let’s start easy, though. We already have morning staff meetings to lay out the day’s general orders.”

He’d finally embraced the full concept of making the Galileo a quasi-military organization, knowing Kitty’s reservations about any military in general, and had adopted as much of the military lexicon as would fit their situation. Where necessary, he innovated.

“We also have weekly staff meetings to discuss progress and problems. Let’s set up a site on the computer where people can go to see what we’ve discovered so far and how we use it, allowing them to make suggestions for other uses—a bulletin board that gets looked at on a regular basis. Stephen, it’s your job to oversee setting up the site. You can conscript anyone you need to help with data input. That will help ease the boredom problem a little.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Simon said to the various department heads, standing up to signal the end of the meeting, “let each of your people know about this. I want everyone looking for new ways to enhance our capabilities.”

The chain of command that had developed almost of its own accord surprised Simon when he mapped it out one night. Effectively, there were two distinct and separate crews aboard the great ship. One was the operations crew, responsible for the daily operation of the ship in flight mode. The other was the construction crew, responsible for getting the factory section running and the completed parts funneled out to the construction site where the pod jockeys assembled them into a functioning fuel plant, space dock, or whatever.

The factory section had a foreman/chief engineer heading up the construction project. The job of directing the huge spaceborne factory complex was normally directed from an office Simon had found on one of his trips around the ship, but Flight Control operated from the bridge communications console and Daniel Baylor, Chief Engineer and production foreman of the construction process, could often be found there. He had developed into Simon’s alternate, taking control of the ship when it was in construction mode, even so far as having the ship moved when a particular section of the belt was mined out. On those rare occasions, he called Simon, Kitty, or Lucy Grimes and their on-duty bridge crew to settle the ship into a new location.

Staff meetings became increasingly more complex as time went on, to Simon’s consternation. Whenever possible, all three shift commanders from the operations crew were present, often with their seconds. Also present would be the heads of Engineering, Computer, Life Sciences, Astrogation, and Flight Control, along with their seconds. Navigation and her second would be along when the need for moving the ship was to be considered. If everyone attended, they would constitute a fair-sized group, so normally the only time a second would show up would be to replace a busy senior officer, keeping the meetings to a manageable size.

This particular meeting coincided with the completion of the fuel station and would deal in part with the movement of the Galileo to its new location for the pièce de résistance—the six-month construction of the space dock Orion—so everyone and their seconds planned to attend. Kitty had scheduled the meeting to be held in a mess hall on deck three, allowing everyone some breathing space. A few of the attendees had had little prior experience with Simon, so Kitty wanted the extra space to allow those who felt less comfortable a slight remove to indulge themselves.

Simon waited until the last arrival was seated and stood up. “I want to thank all of you for being here, and I’d like to get right to business. It has been brought to my attention that we need to have more people in on some aspects of the decision-making processes. We have two distinct and separate divisions aboard this ship—those whose job it is to run the ship, and those whose job it is to build the new dock. We also have the distinctions of more-or-less military versus civilian, male versus female, younger versus older, religious versus nonreligious, and any other differences that come to mind. These divisions are not being enumerated to cause any problems, but rather to highlight the fact that we have a lot of diversity here, and we need to take advantage of it. Different people think in different ways and see the world from slightly different perspectives. That’s why I am so insistent on everybody sharing information.”

Simon looked out at the sea of faces before him. “In six more months, we’ll be done here, and some of us will go home. I hope most of you will choose to stay on, filling the roles of teachers for the next wave of volunteers. I believe there will be a problem for those who do leave us, and that’s going to be with our government.”

Simon looked down at Kitty, who found herself suddenly very interested in the notes on her pad. Finding no help from that quarter, he forged on, hoping he wasn’t stepping on too many toes.

“So far, it seems that most people have the idea that we’re coming out here to build something and go home. Nothing could be further from the truth. We’re here to establish a permanent deep-space presence, and not the haphazard type of thing going on in Earth-orbit.”

Several looks of confusion and a couple of downright anger greeted his statement.

“I said haphazard, and I meant it. Look at what we have back there. Several governments are putting people into space, trying to gain an advantage over the others. It’s only recently that we’ve seen any cooperation between nations to get the International Space Station up and running, and actually damned little of that And what will this bold endeavor allow? A paltry half-dozen scientists at a time to go up at incredible expense to perform experiments that won’t have any effect on the planet for years. Letting those in power know what we’re building out here will put a halt to those projects eventually, and the funds currently being funneled to them can be redirected to other programs as we eventually take over the extraplanetary component of humanity for the foreseeable future.”

The confused looks had faded, and the angry looks had morphed into confusion.

“Once we reveal ourselves to the world at large, that is. The government already has some knowledge of us. This group is going to be our think tank. You are the best of the people we’ve recruited so far. There will be other recruits, to be sure, and some will be brighter and smarter, but your advantage is that you’re the first. You won’t be the last, and you’ll have to work to keep that advantage, but that’s what’s going to make this such a great opportunity for everyone.”

Simon looked at Kitty again and saw that she had boldly written the word, “Yes!” on her pad. Heartened, he went on.

“I’ve asked you here today because, as individuals, you each see situations differently. The discoveries we make aboard this ship will impact all of us immediately and directly, and sooner or later, every member of the human race. It’s going to be your input that will help determine which directions we take at different points in time. Stephen, would you repeat the example you gave me?”

Stephen stood up and related the story of the crewman and the shields, finishing up with a plea. “It’s going to take the combined minds of everyone on board to figure out the applications to which a lot of our discoveries and innovations can be put. It’s therefore necessary for everyone to become familiar with these concepts.”

Simon had started to get back up when a raised hand in the back of the room caught his attention, and he recognized Navigation’s second, nodding for him to speak.

“Sir, Lt. Commander Jeremy Hoke. Some of us spend a lot of time discussing the… political ramifications of our situation. Will that be something we discuss here?”

Simon nodded, smiling. “Yes, Commander, it is. Along with anything else that affects us—crew morale, discipline, disciplinary actions, personal problems, personnel problems. You name it; we can discuss it, and hopefully come to a decision that will be acceptable to everyone.”

He hesitated for a second, and his expression went carefully blank before continuing. “But don’t let it go to your heads. This is not a democracy! It can’t be. Only one person makes the final decisions, at least for the indeterminate future. My vision is for a new segment of the human race, for a while anyway. There’s no doubt that we need the Earth for recruits, for vacations, for retirement—if things get that far—for raw materials we can’t get out here, and any number of other things. Plus, that’s where most of us have families, not to mention that Earth is genetically coded into us. I don’t think we’ll ever escape a need for Earth. And the people in power back there are going to have to come to the realization that they need us and what we’ll shortly be able to provide.

“We’ll be hounded,” he predicted, “coerced, pressured, intimidated, and bullied to give up what we’ve found and gained. And all so one regime can expand its sphere of influence over another. It’s my opinion that we need to see to it that the balance of power on Earth be kept as it is and not tipped one way or the other by the ownership of this vessel and its knowledge. It’s to that end that I’ve decided it will stay out of earthbound hands and stay in ours. The cost of doing anything else is just too high.”

Simon noticed a young brunette raise her hand. Damn! So many of them are so young! he thought. When did that happen? I didn’t get married until I was older than these kids. Aloud, he said, “Yes, Commander?”

“Miranda Lee, sir, Flight Control,” the woman responded. She had an odd look on her face, and it took Simon a minute to see both reluctance and determination warring there. Determination won. “Sir, I’ve spent more time listening to these discussions than getting into them, but it seems to me that I’m involved. How can we possibly stand against Earth?”

“Good question, Commander,” Simon said. “The answer is really simple if you take two things into consideration. One is that we have the right to say no, and the other is that we have the power to enforce it. Aside from the fact that we can build ships and docks, we can come and go as we wish, undetectable by radar and at speeds they can’t match. And if you haven’t already figured it out, that last one means that we’re now essentially UFOs.”

A nervous titter ran around the room for a second before Lucy Grimes’ second spoke up. “What about our families and friends, sir? We’ve already seen how governments react to threats, and this one is going to scare the sh—I mean, well…”

Kitty took pity on Simon and fielded this new question. “Commander Greene, isn’t it?” At his nod, she went on. “This is a time in the history of the human race like no other. The Greeks, Hannibal, Napoleon, Hitler, Genghis Khan, Pol Pot and others whose names I’ll never remember all wanted to control the world, or at least that portion of it that they knew existed at the time. And look what happened to them. The big question is why it happened to them, and the answer is fear, which we have going against us, I admit, but those people didn’t have this ship. And they didn’t have our motivation. Theirs was and always will be to dominate everything around them. We want to give all of this to the world as soon as possible, making it a better place for every nation—which, by the way, will be measured in years rather than the decades we figure it would take if we turned her over. To directly answer your concerns about friends and family, I’d say that they’re going to take some heat, yes, as the government tries to get a handle on us. It’s just a fact of life that we’ll have to deal with until we can make them understand.”

Kitty had come to her feet and caught herself before she started to pace. “But—and this is the part that you’ll have to take my word for—they won’t take heat for long because they aren’t part of this. Our system, the one we left behind and will someday return to, is basically sound. Internments of Japanese and Germans in World War II and other transgressions have happened and will again, quite probably in this case as well, but the outcry of the common people will put a stop to it. Especially when we go public and start releasing some of the technology. One of the conditions of sharing that technology will be that anyone being held in connection with us be released. With the abilities this ship gives us, we’ll be able to make sure that everyone on the planet knows what’s happening, and one thing I can say for sure is that wrongdoing just can’t stand up to the light.”

Lucy walked into the rec room. Two weeks had passed since her embarrassing encounter on deck eighteen. The funny thing was that not one word had come back to her about it—nothing from the captain or Commander Kitty, nothing from her bridge team, and no rumors or snide comments from the rest of the crew. The dread with which she’d started meeting each day began to fade as time went by, and now she walked confidently.

Rumor had it that David Sipes was in the running for his soccer idea, as well as Rob Greene, who’d been in close consultation with Commander Walker for days. His was the one she secretly hoped would win, even not knowing what it was, because it would bring prestige to the shift. Of course, several other ideas were on the table, too, so anything was still possible, but one could always hope.

She looked around and found that third shift had commandeered one corner of the room and were holding a chair for her. She sank gratefully into it and groaned.

“I think I spent too many hours in that damned fighter. And whoever had it out before me doesn’t know how to change socks!”

Glancing at the other team members, Rob walked around behind her and began to knead her shoulders. “You need to take a break, boss. And, speaking for all of us, we have a surprise for you. Come on.”

Lucy shuddered. “I think I’ll pass. Your last surprise is still too painful to think about.”

The team laughed good-naturedly. “No, boss. This one is from all of us. Do a favor and play along, okay?” Ginny begged.

“Oh, all right. But it better be good!”

Ginny grabbed one hand and Mustafa the other, and they pulled her groaning, protesting body to its feet. They led her to a door she didn’t remember being there a few days before.

Marcus Randall, security officer of the team, whipped out a cloth and blindfolded her.

“Hey! What’s this?” she cried as she was propelled through the door that had been opened after her eyes were covered.

“A surprise, boss. A couple of the guys down in fabrication and reproduction owed me big time,” bragged David, “so I called ‘em on it. Okay, take a look.”

Lucy removed the blindfold and gasped.

“Yep,” Velma confirmed, “the only hot tub on the ship at the moment, and it’s all yours, for the next hour, at least. After that, there’s a waiting list, I hear. But you have the privilege of being first, so we’ll just leave you alone.”

Marcus was the last to leave, and he pointed to the door. “The door unlocks about five minutes after the warning light and buzzer comes on, so don’t let any grass grow under your feet when your time’s up.”

Lucy’s ability to move returned about the time her body started to rid itself of the effects of the surprise just handed her. A slow grin spread over her face and her hands began to pull off her shirt almost of their own volition. For the next hour, all thoughts not connected with pure animal relaxation banished themselves from her mind.

All except one. All her life she could remember a sense of knowing that her future was preordained. Now the heat and water acted like drugs, focusing her mind on a thought—that the place she found herself in sure added another dimension to her universe. A small smile at her own wit was soon followed by a light frown as her mind free-associated the possible futures that lay ahead, and she shivered at the fear she finally recognized at her core.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Simon fired up the systems on the sleek little fighter and held it in neutral, calling Flight Control. “Control, this is Fighter One. Status green. Prepared for launch.” Sensors told him that the air was being removed from the bay and that when the doors opened, a gentle pressure on the control yoke would move him out into space. He was aware that, if necessary, the doors could be opened almost instantly, wasting the air and allowing the fighter to exit the bay much faster. As the door finished sliding out of the way, he caressed the accelerator, watching the bay slide past him. After clearing the bay, he angled the little ship slightly so the drive field wouldn’t cause any damage to the hull. Moments later, he was in a loose formation with the other two fighters. Lucy Grimes flew one. The other was under the control of a man Simon had met only a few times before. Dieter Rausch was an ensign from one of Chief Baylor’s manufacturing crews. Apparently, he was a natural pilot. He’d out-scored Simon in every way despite all of Simon’s practice. Lucy had finished a close third.

The three pilots would be in their cockpits for the next twelve hours, flying to the site of the fuel plant and back, plus the time onsite observing the docking. They flew just above the plane in which the asteroids orbited. Fighters, being smaller craft, had correspondingly shorter scan ranges, so it took a while to come into range of the fuel plant’s transponder. They spent the first five hours in straight-line flight until Ensign Rausch, who was leading at the time, reported receiving a signal from the fuel plant. Stephen had had Engineering reconfigure the transponders of all vessels and installations to operate on a frequency that was unlikely to be discovered by unwelcome visitors making anything less than a full scan of the system. They continued to fly sunward until the Sundiver’s signal was picked up.

Simon and his companions cautiously flew into visual range of the automated shuttle. Engineering had replaced almost the entire surface of the squat, ugly vessel in preparation for its first trip into Earth’s primary, but one would never know that from the sight that greeted the three pilots. The effects of its trip had left it looking much as it had when he’d first seen it in Galileo’s launch bay—armor plating warped, projections melted, and a section of plating missing. His sensors detected a wobble in the drive field, and a small antenna projecting from the hole left by the missing plate was the source of the signal they homed in on. They followed the stubby vessel until it finally mated with the plant, and Simon turned his ship toward the Galileo.

“Okay, folks, mission accomplished. Let’s go home,” he said.

Lucy was leading the flight as the fuel plant disappeared behind them. Simon signaled to her, “Commander Grimes, report.”

Seconds later, Lucy answered, “Yes, sir?”

Laughing into his headset, Simon accelerated past her. “Tag, you’re it!” Watching his instruments, he saw both of the other ships traveling together. First, one sped up, followed almost immediately by the other.

“Hey! Wait a minute! How can we tag each other in spaceships?”

Dieter answered first. “You don’t need to tag, Commander. All you have to do is pass one of us.”

The three fighters slid into their bays, and technicians began to go over the ships as the pilots went their separate ways. Simon found Stephen and reported on the success of the Sundiver’s mission, Dieter went back to his department, and Lucy was off to shower, change, and head to the rec room.

On a ship the size of the Galileo, as in any enclosed environment starved for any information or diversion, news traveled fast. By the time Lucy arrived in the rec room, almost every junior officer not actively on shift, and a few that were, had crowded in to welcome her back. Most she didn’t know, but by now she realized that any excuse to party was a good excuse. Virginia sidled through the crowd and pressed a beer into her hand.

“Where’d this come from?” Lucy whispered incredulously. “We’re going to get so busted.”

“Not even. Special dispensation from Commander Kitty,” Virginia retorted. “There are three parties going on right now, and one of them is for the captain. Commander Kitty gave the word to unlock the food processors’ restricted levels enough to allow beer for tonight, so we’re having the first kegger in space in your honor.” Virginia stepped up on a chair, pulled a protesting Lucy up on another, and addressed the room. “Ladies and gentlemen—if there are any present—our guest of honor, Lt. Commander Lucy Grimes! Queen of the asteroid racers!”

Cheers shook the walls, glasses were lifted (and spilled), and Lucy’s mouth dropped open. “What… how?” she spluttered incredulously.

Rob and Michiko appeared out of the crowd.

“Let me guess, Lucy. You forgot that the Galileo has much better sensors than those puny fighters,” ‘Chiko said. “We kept track of your entire trip, especially your return flight. Word got out and everyone on board started betting on the winner. I don’t think anyone was more interested than Commander Kitty. Actually, I think ‘pissed’ is much more accurate. I sure wouldn’t like to be in the captain’s shoes right now.”

Lucy paled in horror as she stepped down off the chair.

Rob grinned. “Lighten up, boss. Rumor has it that Commander Kitty is only upset with the captain for starting it. For once, the first officer gets to pin back the ears of the captain, not that we lowly junior officers will ever hear what she has to say. All you did was follow the captain’s lead. The fact that it turned into an all-out race isn’t exactly your fault. The fact that you won, now, that’s a matter for celebration. You’re an official hero to all the folks in this room!”

The Galileo had been on-station for just over a month now, and the habitat section of Earth’s first deep-space station was nearing completion. Another week would see that finished, followed by two more for power generation, and then the pressure of so many people living so closely together could be alleviated by moving a large number aboard the new facility. At that point, work on the actual dock assembly would begin. The factories that weren’t involved in the habitat section were turning out some of the larger assemblies that would go into the dock proper. By far and away the largest of those was a duplicate of the smelter. It was half finished already and floating in position trailing the habitat, as were several dozen other modules that were scheduled to be installed at different times during the construction project, not to mention three new stripped-down shuttles and twenty-four new construction pods. The shuttles were for feeding the smelter, and the pods were to handle the actual construction of new ships after the Galileo returned to Earth. Projections said four more months after the habitat section was done and they could head back to Earth.

Simon was going over reports with Stephen in the ready room. “Dr. Penn says injuries are up. Nothing major so far, but he says it’s only a matter of time. These games are the main problem, of course. Stopping them would start a mutiny, so what can we do?”

Stephen tossed his pen onto the table. “You said it yourself—mutiny if we try to stop it. So, I have a suggestion.” Simon looked up from his reports expectantly. “Do the only thing you can, Simon.” Stephen took off his shirt with a vicious grin, revealing a series of laser sensors. “You can show your support for the sport if not for Walker’s Wildsiders. Exhibition games start in about an hour.”

Simon shook his head in resignation. He had to show support. After his little screwup with racing back to the ship like a teenager with a new hot rod, Kitty would never let him hear the end of it if he didn’t. Plus, one of the teams in the first exhibition was Kitty’s Kommandos.

He slapped the table with one hand. “Of course I’ll show support, Stephen. And, privately, I hope the Kommandos wipe the deck with your butts.” Turning the conversation back to the construction of the base, he asked, “So, when do we need to fire up the fuel plant?”

“All the material is in place,” Stephen said. “We can send the signal any time. That way we can send a ship out to tow the finished fuel cell and send the Sundiver back for installation as soon as power generation is completed.”

The game forgotten for the moment, the two men lost themselves a bit longer with deciding how to handle some of the minutia that constantly threatened to take all the fun out of having a spaceship.

Simon changed from his uniform to something less conspicuous, feeling that he needed to appear at the games in an informal capacity. Deck eighteen, forward, had been transformed into an arena. Cables had been strung from floor to ceiling in a random pattern, some of which had four-foot plastic (or something like plastic) balls suspended from them at different levels. About three dozen other balls lay around the arena. One end of the room near the gravity control panel had been walled off by some clear material put out by one of the factories. Cables were strung in an orderly pattern for spectators to anchor themselves once the gravity was turned off.

The rules were simple—kill your opponent by hitting the proper sensors. Some sensors caused an arm or leg to be immobilized. The sensors would light up with a reddish glow, and if it was for an arm or leg, one of the three referees would disallow that limb’s use. There were five players to a team, no substitutions after the game started, and no quarter until one team was dead.

The gravity was still on when Simon found a place among the nearly two hundred fifty spectators in the gallery, some of whom were in laser-tag garb. He saw Lt. Commander Grimes and her team off to one side, wearing what looked like bathrobes, for crying out loud. They were in one of the later exhibitions, he supposed. As he waited for the first match, Kitty slipped into the space beside him.

“We’re in the fifth match,” she explained.

He looked her up and down in surprise. Her flat-black outfit could have been painted on, and sensors were strapped to various parts of her anatomy. Kitty chuckled merrily. “Gayle is something of a seamstress, you know. And she had a field day with this new fabric.” She pirouetted beside him. “See something you like, big fella?”

Simon was saved from answering by three men in traditional referee’s stripes walking out onto the arena floor. One blew two short blasts on a whistle, consulted a clipboard, and announced, “We need the first two teams in the arena immediately. That will be the Neutron Stars and the Astronuts.”

Ten men and women walked into the arena, each armed with a laser pistol that had been redesigned specifically for the human hand and powered down for the games. One team was dressed in standard black ship uniforms with multi-colored stars sewn on, and the other team sported gaudy rainbow-patterned outfits. Starting positions had been predetermined, and the Neutron Stars in their rainbow outfits took position at the far end of the arena. The referees spread out. One asked if both teams were ready and then signaled to the gravity control operator, who cut the power.

Both teams held their positions while the referees moved from one loose ball to another, giving each a random kick or shove until all were in motion. At the next whistle, both teams exploded into action.

Each team had different tactics. The Astronuts operated more or less solo, each having picked out an opponent, while the Neutron Stars worked as two teams of two, with the fifth player flying solo as backup for whichever twosome needed support.

The Neutron Stars handily beat the Astronuts, the Moon Men trounced the Starwalkers, Walker’s Wildsiders squeaked out a victory over the Novas, and then it was time for the match between the Martian Maniacs and the Queens of Outer Space.

The Maniacs were already in the arena when the five bathrobe-clad women entered. The team captain of the Maniacs asked the Queens if they intended to fight in their robes, and Lucy looked him up and down.

“Oh, no,” she drawled, a sound of superiority riding the accent. “We’re just waiting for our attendant.”

At this announcement, another young lady walked up to the Queens, who began to hand her their robes. The catcalls and applause were deafening. The disrobing had revealed five nearly nude women dressed in sensors, mini-thongs, pistol belts slung low, and nothing else—very distracting for the all-male Maniacs, whose team captain lodged an immediate protest to the boos and jeers of the crowd.

The referees put their heads together for a moment, and one referee spoke for the group, “In the matter of the protest by the Maniacs over the manner of dress exhibited by the Queens, considering the fact that no mention is made of uniforms or clothing in the rules of combat, we find that the Queens may wear anything, or nothing, as long as all sensors are worn and no sensors are blocked. Let the combat begin.”

Gesturing to the panel operator, the referees set the loose balls in motion, and at the whistle, the contest began.

Lucy’s teammates were Velma and Virginia from her bridge crew, and Ensigns Toni Putnam and Miranda Lee, both training for bridge positions. The five bare-breasted women started out using the same tactics the Neutron Stars had used to such good effect. Within a matter of minutes, Velma had been shot in one arm and Toni in a leg.

Shifting tactics on the fly, Lucy yelled, “Cue ball!”

Immediately Velma grabbed the nearest ball, wrapped her legs around it, and with her pistol in her good hand, got a push from Virginia. She sped off toward one corner of the Maniacs’ territory like a cue ball’s bank shot, firing wildly.

The other four advanced to the centerline of the arena, and at Lucy’s shout of, “Cables!” pushed off the stationary balls. Firing cautiously, they flew toward different anchored cables in enemy territory. Using the cables to change trajectory, they each kept firing at anything that looked male.

Distracted by Velma’s ricochet tactic, and not being able to disable or kill her because of the ball she’d wrapped herself around, the five Maniacs were all “killed” within five minutes of the starting whistle. The final action took less than two minutes from the time Lucy yelled “cue ball.” At the referee’s command, gravity was restored, and the teams sorted themselves out.

Holstering their guns, the Queens of Outer Space strutted from the arena, beaming from ear to ear as they slipped back into their robes. It took longer for the crowd to stop cheering than it had for the Queens to beat up on the Maniacs. So far, they were the only team to win their match without having a team member killed.

Simon turned to Kitty, only to find her gone. As he looked around, he finally saw her entering the arena for her match. Her team’s opponents were the Rocketeers, dressed in black and silver. At the signal, the Kommandos began to advance. Two pairs and a solo looked like it might become a standard tactic. Kitty’s team varied it only slightly as their pairs were on the flanks while the solo worked the center.

The Rocketeers tried a tactic no one else had yet. Each grabbed one of the loose balls, and the team moved together as a group. The balls made a formidable wall through which none of the Kommandos’ shots could penetrate. To their advantage, the Rocketeers were able to fire around the sides and between the gaps at their opponents. They concentrated their fire first on ‘Chiko Greene, Kitty’s solo. Then, at the Rocketeers’ team leader’s direction, they fired at each remaining member of Kitty’s team. They lost two of their own in the doing but eliminated the Kommandos rather handily, much to Kitty’s chagrin.

Four months turned into just over three. Orion’s new shuttles were pressed into service alongside Galileo’s three, and with six shuttles supplying the converter, the factories went into overdrive. Between that and the instant attraction and near total devotion to what was now being called Z-Tag, almost everyone was too tired or too caught up in something to be bored.

Even the scientists had kept busy. Much had come of poking into the dark recesses of the computer core, some of it disturbing, such as not understanding even the basic mathematical principles behind which most systems operated. As the staff sat in the ready room going over reports, they all realized they’d dodged a major bullet in that there had been no deaths. They’d had quite a few injuries—half a dozen broken bones associated with construction, multiple cuts, scrapes, sprains, abrasions, and more broken bones from Z-Tag. All in all, they’d walked away clean, primarily due to the amazingly trouble-free technology aboard the ship.

Chief Baylor would remain with the dock for about six months, long enough to turn out one new ship that was now being called a battlecruiser. He and almost five hundred others had volunteered to stay and handle operations. Since the dock was technically capable of independent motion, Chief Baylor would be promoted to captain.

The modifications to the original dock plans had been instituted, but a last-minute clamor for an arena for Z-Tag had gone up. Extending the lowest level of the dock—now being called a base but soon to be formally named—had been, if not easy, at least straightforward. Adding extra height and grav lines to the lowest level had accomplished the task.

The three fighters would remain behind and assist the shuttles with their duties since they also had capture fields, albeit not as strong as the shuttles. New fighters, designed to human dimensions and specifications, had been built to replace them. Engineering estimated that anywhere from two weeks to a month could be cut from the production schedule by their addition.

In the final days before the Galileo headed back to Earth, a large portion of the organic material stored in the holds was transferred to the base for the food processors, personnel received their new assignments for the base as well as the Galileo, new chains of command were worked out, and base’s new computer core was activated.

The activation of the new core touched on one of the darker discoveries. The computer itself was semi-organic in nature, composed of about four cubic feet of proto-organic gel, just like the Galileo’s. Information was transferred to and from the gel by way of micro-thin lasers that would write and read to and from different sections of the core. As the information in the Galileo’s computer was being transferred to the new one, it was discovered that one section was being consistently skipped. It could neither be copied over to the new core nor could it be read. The Science staff hypothesized that it was probably a personal diary or a formal report under some kind of lock.

It started simply enough. Simon needed to know the date. It wasn’t until he glanced at the calendar and figured out the present date and Orion’s commissioning date that an icy feeling of disaster barely averted washed over him. Simply remembering was enough to get him off the hook, especially way out there, but ever the romantic, Simon had been obsessing for the last several hours about what he could do to make the occasion special for Kitty.

He wandered the corridors of the Galileo aimlessly until he found himself on the bridge. The number of people at duty stations surprised him for a moment until he reminded himself that the commissioning ceremony was just a week away. Communications was one of the stations that was constantly manned since it was used as flight control for the entire construction process. Now, with construction winding down, everyone who could find the time—and that was most of the people aboard—were lined up to get a chance to fly one of the fighters. That meant increased traffic and increased personnel on comm duty.

Gayle looked up when he entered the room, then returned her attention to the pilot she was coaching. “Relax, Ensign,” she said into the microphone. “You just need to realign your frame of reference. Your computer still thinks it’s aboard the Galileo. Didn’t your instructor warn you to realign as soon as you left the ship? Lower righthand quadrant of your control panel. Small green knob. Turn it clockwise until it lights up.” She cocked her head for a second. “Very good, Ensign. Now complete your flight and remember to realign when you re-enter the flight deck. I’ll personally check your flight logs later. Control out.”

Gayle took her headset off, shook out her hair, spoke quietly to one of her control team members, and came over to join Simon. “What’s up, boss? You look… strange.”

“Do you know the date?”

“The date?” Caught flat-footed, Gayle stalled for time. “No, I don’t. Should I? It’s pretty easy to lose track out here.”

Simon nodded. “That’s just my point. We’re going to commission the base next week, so I had to look up the date because I want to make up a plaque or something to give to Daniel during the ceremony.”

“Okay, so far, but what’s the big deal?”

“Today is February 7th. One more week will make it the 14th, our sixteenth anniversary,” Simon confided. “You know we always do something special. But look where we are. What other man has given his wife an anniversary in the asteroid belt?”

“Hold it, Simon, let me think. You know by now that most women just want to have special occasions remembered, and Kitty is really no exception to that, but out here ...” Her voice trailed off as thoughts raced through her head. “How about you say something during the ceremony? Maybe at the end? Just to her? And afterward the two of you can have one of the most romantic dinners on record. I have just the place. You know the observation deck. Run everyone out and it will just be the two of you for a quiet dinner. Consider all the details taken care of.” At his look of disbelief, she added, “Duty roster for one shift and a romantic dinner. I’ve got a week to figure it out. You better take me up on it, friend. It’s likely to be your last real peaceful moment for a while.”

Simon sat in silence for a few moments. “I can do that. All I have to do is come up with something to say.” Already beginning to formulate a way to add what he wanted to say to Kitty into what he’d prepared to say to Daniel and the ship’s company, Simon wandered back to his quarters.

Gayle, for her part, returned to her console, put her headset back on and smiled. Too bad you can’t collect on bets you make with yourself, she thought.

Kitty had come to her not five hours earlier with the same dilemma and received an almost identical solution. It was an incredibly easy thing to do since she’d been anticipating the situation for over a month after her own need to know a date. Hell, she’d had the dinner planned for most of the last month anyway, but it was just so much simpler when one’s victims cooperated.

With the exception of skeleton crews on both the Galileo and the now-completed space dock, everyone was present on deck eighteen. Simon and his staff stood facing Chief Baylor and his staff. Stepping forward, Simon addressed the ship’s company.

“Ladies and gentlemen, crewmates and friends, the day we’ve worked so hard for has arrived. The better part of a year has been spent one hundred and forty million miles away from Earth to build the first true space station in humanity’s history. The friends and comrades we leave here today will start writing the next chapter while the rest of us go back to Earth to repeat the process—recruit volunteers and build another base.

“We stand here today as the salvation of mankind from her own follies and from outside aggression. It’s all too clear that it’s possible for mankind to destroy itself or be destroyed by some natural cataclysm or, as we now know, from alien interference.

“But right now, I have something of a happier nature to do. I have the pleasure to formally announce the completion of our first space base, and I have the honor of naming it Orion. I also have the pleasure of introducing its new commanding officer. Commander Baylor, step forward.”

Daniel Baylor, Commander, Terran Alliance, (even if only in the minds of those present), hadn’t been told the full story. Simon and Kitty loved to spring surprises wherever they could; it tended to liven things up. Daniel knew he’d be in charge of the new base for a while, but that was all, until now. He’d held several positions, as had most of the crew, and had actually held two different ranks simultaneously—commander and chief of operations, equivalent to a captain—for the construction projects.

As he stepped forward, Kitty and Gayle came out. They smiled at his confused look and met him halfway between the two groups of officers. Reaching up to his lapels, Kitty calmly removed the two golden stars of a full commander and placed them in her pocket. Turning to Gayle, she opened the case Gayle held in both hands, and, one at a time, replaced the two gold stars with the silver comets of a captain. Taking one step back, she saluted.

“Congratulations, Captain Baylor.”

The cheers were deafening, even in that large space, and continued until he returned the salute. Kitty and Gayle returned to Simon’s group, and the newly promoted Captain Baylor went to stand in front of his staff.

Simon spoke again. “Captain Baylor. It is now my duty to relinquish command of Orion. As the only officer present with the rank to assume command, do you accept?” At Daniel’s nod of stunned acceptance, Simon smiled. In a voice that didn’t carry past the two command staffs, he said, “Acceptance is usually verbal, Dan, but I’ll take what I can get.” Raising his voice to carry to the entire company, Simon continued. “Captain Baylor, as commanding officer of the Galileo, I wish to present you with this plaque.” Stephen handed him a cloth-covered object, and as Simon took it, Stephen removed the cloth. Revealed for all to see was a highly polished brass plaque, three feet long by two feet high, with three lines of raised letters:

ORION BASE

COMMISSIONED FEBRUARY 14, 2012

CAPTAIN DANIEL BAYLOR, COMMANDING

Handing it over, Simon saluted and said, “Hang it in your reception area, Captain.” Then, dropping the salute, he shook hands with the new captain. Turning to the assembled crew, Simon announced, “Ladies and gentlemen! Captain Daniel Baylor!”

When the second round of applause and cheers died down, he addressed the crowd again. “I have an announcement to make at this time. Actually, what I have to say isn’t so much to you as it is to one particular individual.”

The crowd was suddenly aquiver, anticipating something major. Simon turned to his staff lined up behind him, looked straight at Kitty, and said, “Honey, I want you to know that I haven’t forgotten our anniversary.” Silence reigned over the operations deck at this announcement, and he let it continue for a short time. Turning back to look out over the assembled crew he said, “Since men first started promising women things to get them to marry us, women have been promised everything imaginable, including the stars.” A titter of laughter ran through the crowd.

He turned back to Kitty and said, “I really don’t remember exactly what I promised you way back then, hon, but I know it was to love and cherish, help and protect—all the standard things men say to women at times like that. We mean them, but sometimes we just can’t deliver. I’d like to think that I’ve delivered on all the promises I made all those years ago.”

As Kitty started to speak, Simon raised his hand. “Let me finish. Today, I am the first man in history to have the opportunity to fulfill one particular promise.” Emotion held back his next words. “Kittyn, so far, I’ve only managed to give you an asteroid belt. In just a few more years, at most, I will give you the stars… with the help of all of these good people around us.”

The applause and cheers went on for so long that Simon finally held up both hands to quell the noise. “Okay, people! You’ve all got your assignments. I want to break orbit in twenty-four hours. Dismissed!”

The director eyed Agent San Martino as he sat in the chair in front of his desk. Although it was more or less designed to be uncomfortable, San Martino seemed relaxed.

“Well, what have you got for me?”

San Martino shrugged slightly. “We know the ship hasn’t come back to Earth yet, and we have a loose net of agents monitoring the families of all the missing people we can identify. We know about every scientist that has gone missing, and interrogations have all been unsatisfactory. Seems like every family repeats various versions of the same story about them taking a vacation to get away from the stress of work.

“As for the civilians, we’ve got over six hundred possibles identified. We have the school records for the general area and have been canvassing most of the businesses in the area. We’ve checked missing persons with every police agency from Cheyenne, Wyoming to Great Falls, Montana. We’ve leaked stories to the press, hoping someone will come forward with information. And we’re paying special attention to the relatives of the Hawkes’.

“Also,” he continued quickly, “we’ve managed to find a few of the people who, for whatever reason, turned down the offer or were turned down. We’re having a little better luck getting information from that latter bunch, though even that’s sketchy. The timeline we’ve worked out is that they should be gone about a year, and the rumor is that whatever they’re building out there, at least some of them will stay behind to operate it.”

The director stopped him with a gesture. “I’m going to see the president in a few minutes. These plans for the return of the ship are all well and good, but can you give me anything in the way of good news?”

“I hope so, sir. Among the missing is an agent from this very agency. We’re not sure, but his disappearance coincides with the last few people reported missing. We’re desperately hoping that he got aboard but didn’t have time to report in.”

“And that’s it? You haven’t come up with anything better than a desperate hope?”

San Martino shrugged again. “We’ve discovered and are watching what appear to be several teams in the area. It’s getting to be a real pain in the ass to keep from actually running into one of them. And from what information we can get, they all appear to be working for different countries or different agencies.” This last came out with some asperity.

“If and when the time comes, terminate those teams with extreme prejudice, except our own, of course. I leave it to you to deal with those delicately, Agent.”

Taking the tone of voice as dismissal, San Martino stood up and simply said, “Yes, sir,” on his way out the door.

Almost two thousand miles away, Agent Daniels of the Billings division of the FBI was working leads of his own. When the disappearances occurred, he’d begun the original investigation and was quickly relegated to the shadows as the DIA took all control of the situation. But one thing they couldn’t do was stop him from investigating the disappearances in his own assigned area. He’d been called to Washington once and read the riot act. His response was, “If that’s all you had to say, you could have done it by phone.” He hadn’t really expected to get out the door, much less being allowed to return to Montana.

He immediately started looking into his own old files and soon hit upon what he thought was the main cob up someone’s butt. About eight months earlier, a lot of people had disappeared. Now the higher-ups were sticking their noses back into the phenomenon.

Knowing from experience what might happen, he ordered three large moving vans and a crew to strip the Hawkes’ house bare after a full set of pictures had been taken. He felt bad about doing this, but he needed to make a point, get a reaction. He left a phone with his number attached and exited the house, locking the door behind him. Several days went by with no repercussions, so he settled back to wait.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Simon and Kitty stood in the reception area of Orion, the last members of Galileo’s crew to leave the new station.

Simon shook Dan’s hand and said, “Time for us to go, Captain. We’ll be back in a month or so. Keep in touch and good luck.” Realizing that the new captain already had a mountain of work ahead of him, the two Galileo officers beamed back to the ship that was waiting to take them back to Earth and another load of recruits.

Running at half speed, the Galileo took a leisurely orbit back to Earth. Full speed for the colossal engines that powered the factory ship was possible inside a solar system, but the scientists and engineers had decided it wasn’t worth the time savings to push things too close to the limit until her full capabilities were better understood.

Eight hours into their homeward flight, with all systems optimal and all screens clear, Kitty sat in the command chair, musing abstractedly about the romantic dinner she and Simon had shared the night before. Dinner in the dome of the Galileo was something that could only be described as out of this world. A precious whole chicken had been sacrificed so the cooks could prepare dinner for the anniversary pair.

Her attention was diverted as the comm reported an incoming message carrying the urgent prefix Simon had devised for intra-ship messages. Communications had twice checked in with Orion to test the higher-powered communication system they’d installed, and the last thing she’d expected was a message from the new dock at that particular time.

“Let’s hear it, Ensign,” Kitty ordered, letting the thoughts of how she was going to repay Gayle for her duplicity in last night’s dinner slip from her mind.

The next sounds that came through the speaker froze everyone in their tracks.

“Mayday, mayday, mayday! This is Orion Base. We are under atta—” The signal cut off in mid-word, leaving only interstellar hissing in the background.

For five interminable seconds, Kitty sat there, stunned into immobility. Then she began issuing orders.

“Helm, get this ship turned around, now. Navigation, plot a course back to Orion Base at best speed.” Hitting all-ships, she announced, “This is the first officer. All hands prepare for immediate maneuvering. Captain to the bridge, on the double.” Turning back to her bridge crew, she ordered, “Comm, I want full scans of the entire area. Everything is to be recorded completely. I want every sensor we’ve got on full. Do I make myself clear?” That last was rhetorical, and she really didn’t expect to get an answer. “And re-establish contact with Orion.”

By the time Simon burst onto the bridge, the feel of the ship itself had changed. What had once been a subtle vibration had become a heavy pulse felt deep in the bones of everyone aboard as the engines labored to slow the giant ship down and turn it around. Kitty filled him in on the little they knew and her subsequent actions.

Communications interrupted. “Ma’am, still trying to re-establish communications with Orion. No luck so far.”

Kitty only replied, “Keep trying until you do.” She looked up at Simon as he stood beside her. “Do you want to take over?”

He laid a hand on her shoulder. “No need for that; you’re doing fine. But I do want all weapons systems manned and free as soon as possible.”

Hitting all-ships, Kitty called her weapons officer to the bridge. They’d been too complacent, she now saw. But who would have guessed that anything like this could happen so soon? And just who or what the hell could be attacking Orion? There should have been several years yet before they had to worry about the owners showing up.

Lt. Commander Thomas Breen, second shift weapons officer, showed up seconds after the announcement. It appeared that he’d been on the way without being called.

“Get to your post, Thomas. Orion has been attacked and we’re going back to help. Make your weapons live and free.” Turning to her Nav officer, she said, “I want a best estimate on a return to Orion.”

Simon taught me well, she thought. Even I can’t hear the quiver in my voice.

Navigation responded almost immediately. “Been working on it, boss. We’re already turned around and pushing her close to red line to get back what we lost. At max acceleration, we’re four hours out.” Frustration tinged her next words. “For all the good it’s going to do us.”

Simon stood there for another twenty minutes until Kitty again gave him the choice of taking over or getting off the bridge. “You’re not doing any good staring over everyone’s shoulders. Either take the con or let us do our jobs, Simon.”

He grinned ruefully and patted her on the shoulder. “You’re beginning to get the hang of this, aren’t you? I’ll be in the ready room. Let me know when the situation changes.” He leaned over to kiss her cheek and whispered, “You could send some fighters out ahead if you think it best.” With that, he walked off the bridge.

Twenty minutes dragged by interminably, the numbers on her watch moving at half-speed. Kitty ordered two fighters to scout ahead, keeping the third one out but closer to the ship. The only sounds were the muted voices of the bridge crew taking reports and issuing orders to the various departments. The very air pulsed in sync to the throbbing coming up through the deck plates.

Another twenty minutes passed, the outer black pressing in on her as her tension grew. Among the steady radio traffic between the two fighters and the Galileo, her comm officer found other sounds just now being reported by the fighters.

“Ma’am, I’m picking up faint signals from what seems to be a shuttle. Both fighters agree and both have authenticated another fighter answering their hail. We’re also picking up what appear to be two high-power drive traces on an outbound vector.”

“Any chance of catching them?” she asked hopefully.

Silence reigned while Helm and Navigation bent their heads over their respective stations, sending data back and forth. Finally, Nav said, “Sorry, ma’am. Even the fighters can’t get close to them under their theoretical maximum.”

“Keep those traces under observation and record them for analysis. Communications, what do you have for me?”

Comm replied, “Ma’am, I’m picking up faint traces of what appear to be shuttle transmissions aimed at the station. I’m trying to enhance the signal. Signal clearing. Transferring to bridge audio.”

The signal cut in mid-message, “—ion Base, this is Shuttle Two. Please respond. Please respond.” Panic oozed out of the speakers as the bridge crew listened helplessly. “I have a damaged fighter in my capture field. Pilot needs assistance. I’m headed for dock. Open the bay. I repeat, open the bay. This is Shuttle Two. I am two minutes from dock. Open the bay. I have a damaged fighter in my capture field. Respond. Respond.”

As the shuttle pilot’s transmission ended, another voice came in stronger, one the entire bridge crew knew well. Ensign Miranda Lee had elected to stay with Orion and had opted for Flight Operations. She’d come to love that sleek little craft and had been out helping the shuttles supply the base with material for the smelter when the mayday came in.

“Shuttle Two, this is Fighter Three. I have a visual on the docking bays. Bay two is clear. Repeat, Bay two is clear. You are clear to dock. Base cannot respond. Their antenna array is shot to hell. I have the Galileo and three fighters on my long-range sensors. She’s on a return vector and appears to be about three hours out. I’ll fly cover until she returns. I see two outbound drive traces. No telling if there’s anything else waiting for us.”

The Galileo established communications with the fighter, as well as with the shuttles now inbound to base. The two new fighters arrived on the scene and began to fly cover and search and rescue. No trace of the third fighter was found. Kitty called Simon and filled him in on the situation as it appeared at that time—Orion apparently functional but damaged to an as yet unknown extent, cut off from communications, all shuttles inbound, one fighter damaged, one missing.

Three hours later, the Galileo sat dead relative to Orion. Kitty turned the bridge over to Lucy Grimes and met Simon in the transporter room, and they beamed over to the base.

The two materialized in the middle of a scene of furious activity. Kitty grabbed the arm of a passing ensign and asked for Captain Baylor.

“The last I heard, he was in the infirmary,” the distracted junior officer said.

They found the captain sitting on the edge of a table, his arm in a sling, giving orders. Simon, eyeing a row of sheet-covered bodies, was beyond speech.

Kitty, ever sympathetic to the feelings of those around her, put a hand on Daniel’s arm and asked, “What can we do?”

Looking up from someplace far away, he answered in a voice devoid of all emotion, “You can get those bastards.”

Kitty looked down at the bodies on the deck. “You know we can’t do that right now, Daniel. There’s no way the Galileo can match the speed those two vessels were making. But I promise you we’ll get them. The only question is when.”

Walking over to the row of bodies on the floor, Kitty knelt and uncovered the face of each of the seven. At the last one, she fell to her knees and gazed down for a long time.

“This will not go unpunished, Toni. Not one day will go by that I won’t look for a way to pay them back,” she whispered.

She knelt there for so long that Simon began to worry. As he was about to go over to her, she finally slipped the sheet back over Toni Putnam’s face and stood up.

“Simon, if there’s anything that can be done, I’m going to do it. I helped her pack, for God’s sake!”

It was a Kitty that Simon had never seen before. Steel tinged her voice as she added things up, tears streaming down her face. “Seven dead. One missing. One fighter destroyed and one missing. Damage to the base. What do you need from us, Daniel?”

Daniel corrected her. “That’s three missing, Kitty. Two of my construction pods haven’t checked in. I need pilots out in shuttles looking for them and the other fighter.”

Looking him in the eye, she said, “I’ll take care of it. You and Simon get started figuring out how we’re going to get back on our feet here. I’m going to contact Stephen.”

An hour later, six shuttles and all fighters were searching in ever-widening spirals for the missing. It was not an easy task since it had to be conducted in three dimensions. Space had never looked so vast to Kitty as it did from the deck of a rescue mission. The pilots were all from the Galileo as Daniel’s people had enough to do. Just getting airtight seals into place and putting in a new antenna array was a strain on already frayed nerves.

After several hours of fruitless searching, one shuttle stumbled on a curious item—a piece of debris that had no business being where it was, much less existing. An engine pod of a design that didn’t exactly match anything in their databanks was floating in the middle of a slowly expanding cloud of plasma.

Simon and Kitty, joined by Stephen, were sitting in Captain Baylor’s office. Simon began speaking first.

“Dan, I’m sorry to have to start on this, but we need to. I know you need time to mourn, but we need to get to work to prevent this from ever happening again. Gayle will take care of matters as far as seeing that our dead are cared for until we can get them home.” He shook his head. “Daniel, I thought we had a few years at least. We all did. I think we still do have years if we’re talking about the people who built the Galileo. What information we have shows that the drive fields of the two ships that ambushed you are not typical of the types of drives we’re using. We speculated early on that the original owners had enemies. Because of the weapons, that is. Well, apparently, we were right. I don’t know if we were attacked because they thought we were the original owners or if they just don’t like the new guys. But it doesn’t really matter, does it?

“What we need to do right now is to start analyzing all the data we have and see where it takes us. I need to know just what you have on scans that might shed some light on this. I already have everything from the Galileo’s data banks, which is precious little. We were too far away to get good scans.”

Daniel reached over and picked up a commlink. “I’ll have everything sent down immediately.” He spoke at length and put the link back on the table. “We were running the shuttles and fighters as much as possible, so we have a lot of data to go through. Flight ops should have recorded all of it. We’d been bringing two weeks’ worth of material into the station area and parking it all around so we wouldn’t have to fight just to stay ahead of the factories. Then the bastards just popped up out of nowhere, or so it seemed at the time. Now we know that there were three of them and where they’d been hiding. How they got there is anybody’s guess. We weren’t looking for trouble. We were just waiting around for the smelter to go online full time. The construction pods could move ‘em around as easily as a shuttle in the area of the base—easier, in fact, because they’re smaller and more maneuverable. Communications was running as well. And we do have hard data on what happened. They hit us and they ran. Distress calls from two of my pods were cut off mid-word. We didn’t have time to get a fix on that, but the missing pods were scheduled to start bringing in smaller rocks from the rear of the base.”

Simon’s next comment was deeply impassioned. “More than anything else, I want to know why they ran. They had enough time to turn this base into toothpicks. Why didn’t they? I’m glad they didn’t, of course, but what stopped them? What did they want, and what stopped them from finishing what they started?”

Finishing what they started was an apt comment. Aside from two destroyed fighters and two destroyed or missing construction pods, the only real damage to the base were three well-placed shots, one that took out the antenna array and two that hit the base proper. Of the seven known dead, two had been outside the base at the time of the attack—a crewman repairing an antenna housing and Toni Putnam, the other fighter pilot. And there were still the two pod jockeys to account for.

Hours of poring over data was giving everyone headaches. They were reduced to going over and over the same things without making any progress. Stephen had been called in to get a fresh viewpoint but to no avail. Charts and diagrams covered all available surfaces. When they broke for dinner, they were still going in circles.

As they pounded on the same points one more time, Simon said, “I don’t understand. It looks like they had a perfect operation planned. They came in from your rear, made a pass, and took out one section of the base. There were two of them at that time, and apparently one missed, if he fired at all. They knew when to strike and what to hit. They waited till we were out of range, came in, took out the antenna array so no signal could get out, and then the records show them hightailing it out of here. What happened?”

Kitty jumped up. “I have an idea, and I think I may know an answer to that question. I’ll be right back.” She took off so fast that Simon didn’t have time to ask what it was she knew.

He looked at Stephen and shrugged. “Any idea is better than none. Let’s see what she has.”

Five minutes later, Kitty was back, accompanied by an unruly stack of papers. She sat down between Simon and Stephen and pointed to a section amid the chaos.

“We’ve got the scans of the intruders, but nobody thought to add the ones of the legitimate traffic. Look here. See. This is where they made their first pass, and this is their second.” She set one scan above the other so all traffic was visible. “Here is pass number one. Notice that the fighter is hidden from their position by these asteroids.” Another chart. “Here is where the Mayday went out. Watch the fighters.” She kept moving back and forth between the two sets of data. “The bogies rendezvoused back at what I call position one. Here comes Quinn’s fighter. See. He got close and something upset his containment field. It blew, and now we have the engine pod of their third ship to study. Here are Toni and Miranda heading back to base to see what the shouting is about. Okay. The other two bad guys panic. Maybe. Want to bet they weren’t expecting us to have left fighters behind? So they make another pass, maybe hoping Quinn was the only one. They’d already gotten the antenna array, so they make a second pass. Toni fires two missiles without her targeting computer, misses, and gets hit herself. Then Miranda fires and hits one of their ships. I know one of those ships was hit. Here are the scans from the Galileo. See the drive traces? The lead one is strong and steady. The other one is fluctuating. It’s having trouble keeping up. They panicked. They ran.”

Kitty leaned back in her chair, breathing hard. “Those ships are bigger than a fighter by a long shot. They could have stayed and taken out Miranda and the base, and caught us by surprise, but they ran. Now that they know that we know they’re out here, I don’t think they’ll be back unless they have an overwhelming superiority. And they don’t, or they would already have done it. They’re just sitting out there somewhere, watching us and waiting for us to screw up. Or they’re waiting for backup. That’s the way I read it. And I’m right, damn it!” She stood up, glared at the three men sitting there, turned on her heel, and left.

The two staffs were gathered in one of the mess halls on Orion since they needed the extra room they couldn’t get in Daniel’s office. They began to discuss options.

Gayle was of the opinion that since they weren’t a real military outfit, many of their people were going to want out now that the situation had turned sour—too many people, in fact, for them to continue operating both the Galileo and Orion.

Daniel looked at Gayle and spoke deliberately. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve already spoken to my people. There were only two or three who wanted to go home. And when they found out what a minority they were, they changed their minds. It wasn’t cowardice; it was simply that they were thinking the same way you were.”

He glared around the room. “We’re not talking fear here, we’re talking anger. My people are royally pissed. You people realize what we’re forging here, don’t you? I think only Simon and Kitty truly see what’s happening. My people don’t want to go home; they want revenge! And if it’s in my power to help them get it, then I’m here for the duration!”

A plan worked itself out of the confusion.

First, the Sundiver was going to have to be reconditioned and sent back for another load of coronal material. Since she was unpowered for the entire voyage except for the initial boost in-system and docking at the end, it was considered an acceptable risk.

Second, they would delay the building of the first battlecruiser. Instead, they’d start building a fleet of fighters using plans from the computer—slightly larger fighters than the ones originally provided by the Builders, as the previous owners were now being called. It would still be a one-person vessel but capable of carrying four missiles instead of two and having a more powerful beam capacity. Engineering estimates gave them almost one hundred fighters of the new class in the three months it would take the Sundiver to get back. There was enough material, Stephen’s people estimated, to power several dozen of the new fighters almost immediately.

Third, the Galileo would remain on-station for two additional weeks, adding her production capacity to the newly commissioned Orion.

Fourth, they would send the Galileo back to Earth, recruit more people and return. Simon’s original idea of building a carrier-type vessel was hauled out, dusted off, and approved, but when it would go into production was another matter.

Fifth, they would maintain full scans at all times, reporting any anomaly immediately. So many things needed doing all at the same time.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Simon pushed as many distractions aside as he could so he could concentrate on the report of the recovered enemy engine pod.

“It’s like an older version of what we’re using,” Stephen said. “My people don’t have any answers, but it looks like what we have is several upgrades better than what they have. They’ve got to use a lot more power to achieve the same effect, and that doesn’t include our own improvements. If they think we’re the Builders, they won’t be expecting some of our upgrades, and if they are the Builders ...” He just couldn’t think of an appropriate end to the sentence.

The tentative conclusion arrived at after much analysis of available data and even more guesswork was that the three alien vessels probably crewed around forty beings apiece. This assumption was based on the apparent engine output and relative speed of the vessels as they appeared on the scan records. While it was theoretically possible for ships the apparent size of the ones that attacked Orion to have power cores big enough to give them warp drive, space limitations should prevent that unless they gave up something in weapons space—another bit of evidence for the smaller ship theory. It was therefore suspected that there was a mothership hiding somewhere farther out in the solar system.

Realizing that the mood aboard the two vessels was near the flash point, some way was needed to divert the attention of officers and crew alike. To this end, the gaze of the staff fell on Ensign Miranda Lee. She was the only survivor of the little fighter wing, and there was computer verification that she had actually damaged one of the vessels. This meant she had most likely been instrumental in driving the intruders away, thereby possibly saving the lives of all aboard Orion who’d survived the initial attacks. The combined staffs decided to honor her.

A ceremony was called for. It would take the undirected anger that was beginning to manifest itself in unhealthy ways and redirect them. Ensign Lee probably wouldn’t like the idea of a ceremony in her honor, but she would perform her duty. And if that didn’t work, she’d just have it forced on her. She had to surrender her anonymity for the greater good—at least, that was what she’d be told. Simon suggested a medal, and the idea passed by acclamation. Stephen wanted to call it the Stellar Cross. Kitty and Gayle wanted to design it.

Three days later, repairs were finished on the Sundiver, and she began her second voyage to the sun without ceremony. Repairs to Orion were almost done, and her antenna array had been replaced.

There was now a maze of small asteroids around the base itself that required a rather circuitous course to get in or out. Six shuttles were bringing material to the two smelters, and parts and assemblies were beginning to stack up. The new fighters were going to be assembled in record time, it seemed. In honor of the pilot lost in the explosion that had given them the enemy engine pack, the new fighters would be called Quinn-class. A new class of missile was being constructed as well. Once more, technology was being changed to fit new circumstances.

There was enough material on hand to give power sources to twenty of the new fighters, with enough material left over to convert into antimatter for warheads and propulsion systems.

The new warheads were a marvel. Equipped with proximity devices, as well as contact fuses, they would wreck enormous damage, if not total annihilation, on whatever they hit. The missile itself was normal enough by all the standards of construction supplied by the Builders—a small fusion drive pushing chemical explosives very fast. The differences were that the warhead was now a small amount of antimatter riding in a containment field powered by an externally mounted field generator. Mounted ahead of the containment field it generated, the generator and field died if the missile impacted anything, releasing the antimatter at a fraction of the speed of light, followed instantly by the explosion of the drive generator. Hopefully, this would take place deeper within an enemy vessel, multiplying the damage exponentially.

With twenty improved ships carrying a total of eighty much more destructive missiles and improved beam weapons, the original owners would be hard pressed to recognize their own equipment, or combat it. And rudimentary shields were being tested in hopes of mounting them on the new fighters, as well as the Galileo and any ships Orion turned out.

Kitty stepped up onto the dais, and the milling crews began to sort themselves into their various subgroups. When it looked like everyone not on duty was present and in their appointed places, she called them to attention. They stood in the larger section of the Galileo’s lower hold beneath the factories. It had become Engineering’s project area when not needed for one of the ongoing construction projects associated with Orion. Weeks of work had gone into the project that emerged after the attack on Orion. Changes were made and assessed against other changes, dead ends were reached and circumvented, and obstacle after obstacle was surmounted in a prodigious effort to bring this latest project to fruition.

Before the assembled group sat a thing of deadly grace. Sleek, flat-black, and about a third again as large as the original version, this new vessel, the Quinn-class, was already being called a Mamba because of the snake’s deadly reputation. Simon stood to one side and looked the vessel over for a moment.

Turning to the assemblage, Kitty ordered, “At ease. Ladies and gentlemen, we are here for several reasons today. One is to commemorate the lives of our dead. We will miss them, but their efforts have not been in vain. We will build on their efforts and carry on.

“Another reason is to present our latest innovation, the Mamba, and give recognition to those who’ve brought this new fighter into being. From department heads down to factory operators, engineers, pilots, pod jockeys, and all the support personnel who made it possible for those directly connected to this project to get the job done in an amazingly short time, you are all responsible for what has been accomplished here. You all deserve recognition, and after this ceremony, you’ll be released from duty for twenty-four hours except for skeleton staffs who must remain on duty. Sorry. It can’t be helped, but you’ll get your twenty-four hours after those shifts.” This last was said with a small grin.

“And still another reason is to give special recognition to one of our company who has, through her dedication to duty and her selflessness, brought that recognition upon herself. Ensign Miranda Lee, front and center.”

As Kitty spoke, Simon walked up beside her. While the new Mamba was no surprise to any of the crew, it had been rumored that something else was to be announced at this ceremony. The unveiling was expected by one and all, of course, so almost everyone found some excuse to be on deck eighteen for the event.

Kitty stepped to one side and Simon took over the microphone. He looked out at the expectant faces, letting the suspense build until the ashen-faced ensign had finished walking stiffly up to him.

“Ensign Lee, reporting as ordered, sir.” Her salute was crisp and sharp, though her eyes said scared.

Motioning for Kitty and Daniel to join him, Simon pronounced, “Ensign Lee, you have shown a greater-than-expected devotion to duty. It’s an unfortunate fact of life in any military organization that dedication of that kind is never rewarded, but instead the individual is punished.”

The silence that had grown when Miranda was called forward was broken by a buzz of low conversation as the crew listened in confusion to Simon’s pronouncement. Hadn’t she saved damned near everybody’s lives? Hadn’t Kitty herself just said so? Simon’s smile took some of the sting out of his words, and the unfortunate ensign’s emotions flew across her face in a steady progression from confusion to consternation to total befuddlement.

“The punishment you’ll be subjected to is more responsibility, Ensign,” Simon said, causing her face to return to confusion. It also caused the noise to die down in anticipation of… something.

Simon reached out and removed the small silver pips from her lapels one at a time, pocketing them. He then turned to Kitty, who stepped forward and opened a small case so Miranda could see the silver stars of a lieutenant commander resting on a black velvet background.

As he pinned the insignia of her new rank on her, he said, “With more responsibility comes increased rank. It is my great pleasure to promote you to lieutenant commander.” Finishing the second star, he stepped back a pace and saluted her. “Congratulations, Commander.”

The assembled crew cheered until Simon held up a hand.

“Folks, we’re not yet through with Commander Lee. Captain Baylor, if you please.”

Relinquishing his position to Daniel, Simon winked at the new commander. In a voice that reached only to her and Kitty, he whispered, “Chin up, Commander. It only gets worse!”

Daniel took his place in front of Miranda. “Ladies and gentlemen, there are times that require special attention. As a commanding officer, it’s my responsibility to recognize your performance and act appropriately. This is one of those times, and it is my happy duty. Commander Miranda Lee, for acts of bravery above and beyond the call of duty, specifically in defense of Orion Base and your fellows against overwhelming odds and with no regard for your own safety, I am proud to bestow upon you this medal.”

Turning to Kitty, he opened a second case that had been slipped to her while all eyes were on Daniel. Inside, on a layer of black velvet, lay a golden cross. Symmetrical in all dimensions, it was about two inches high and highlighted in silver. Attached to it was a golden ribbon lined with silver. Picking it up, he turned back to the dumb-founded Miranda.

Holding the ribbon apart with both hands, he reached out, and in a move that had its beginnings somewhere in mankind’s misty past, Miranda bowed her head so he could slip the ribbon around her neck.

“Commander Lee,” Daniel intoned, “I have the honor of bestowing upon you the first Stellar Cross of the Terran Alliance. Know that from this day forward, you and all future holders of this medal embody all that is precious and unquenchable about our spirit. Know also that when you wear this medal, you are entitled to be saluted by all ranks at all times. Woe be to those who neglect this duty!”

Stepping back a pace, Daniel stood flanked by Simon on one side and Kitty on the other. He came to attention, as did Simon and Kitty. The three of them saluted Miranda as one, and Daniel added, “Congratulations, Commander.” Turning to the assembled crew, he announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, Commander Miranda Lee, first recipient of the Stellar Cross of the Terran Alliance.”

It took two more days for Engineering to okay the new fighter for trials. When it was finally ready, Simon and Daniel made it a point to be on hand for its maiden flight. Simon had to admire the efforts of the engineering staff. The new version of the Mamba still resembled that of the original, but at almost eighty-five feet in length, it was a full third larger. A correspondingly larger engine pack gave it greater speed and maneuverability. The pilot was protected by what the engineers called an acceleration drain or grav-drain that bled off some of the g-forces associated with higher speeds and turns.

A new device straight out of R&D had also been added to the craft. Several of the scientists had become obsessed with the capture fields used by the shuttles, and they’d already devised shields that would allow certain things to pass through, allowing easier access to the dock. Now, they were experimenting with an actual force field capable of protecting an entire ship, be it fighter, shuttle, or a larger ship. And the flat-black finish, along with its sleek aerodynamic styling, gave it a look of menace just sitting in the bay.

Lt. Commander Lee entered the bay wearing a black, short-waisted jacket over a grey, form-fitting suit and strode directly to humanity’s first true deviation from Builder technology. Helmet in hand, she walked around the vicious-looking craft, thoughtful admiration evident in her gaze, one hand occasionally caressing the skin of the ship as she made her visual inspection. She rounded the nose of the experimental ship and saw the two captains waiting for her.

She walked up to the two men, saluted, and said, “Good morning, Captains,” bringing her hand back down without waiting for either officer to salute back.

Simon chose not to comment on the casual nature with which she approached military protocol. He’d tried to teach them that courtesies such as proper saluting helped define a regimented society, like juniors showing respect to seniors and seniors returning it. But he’d finally come to the realization that most of the civilian recruits would never understand. They did try though.

Besides, he thought, it’s not as if my five years instilled that much discipline in me, either.

Daniel, equally oblivious to the niceties of military courtesy, returned her salute as casually and asked, “Well, Commander, what do you think?” He pointedly did not mention the purple bruise under her left eye.

Lt. Commander Lee looked over her shoulder at the ship. “She looks hungry, sir.”

Surprise flickered across Simon’s face as he looked at the ship once again. “That she does, Commander. That she does. Well, she’s all yours. Take her out for her trials. You get all the time you need, and the only tests you can’t perform today are the aerodynamics. You have four missiles aboard with dummy warheads and bogies to match out there somewhere. We’ll observe from the bridge. Good luck.”

The captains headed off the flight deck, discussing the upcoming trials in low voices. As soon as they were in the elevator, Simon asked, “What about that shiner?”

Daniel answered with a twinkle in his eye. “What I heard was that there was a disagreement about who would be flying the trials today. Looks to me like it got solved.”

Simon shrugged. “Can you delay her departure for about ten minutes? I’ve arranged a small surprise for her. I told her there were four simulated bogies out there. In that, I wasn’t lying. What I need you to do is hold up her departure for a bit so I can get set up to ambush her. I have her old fighter and one of your stripped-down shuttles prepped and ready for launch out of one of the Galileo’s bays.”

Daniel nodded in agreement. “I see. The Mamba outperforms both craft, but not knowing what’s coming should give us a better idea of the craft’s capabilities and her ability to handle surprises.”

Simon just grinned. “Once she’s used her missiles, we’ll jump her. It’s one thing to know what to expect, and it’s another entirely not to have any idea what’s going on. I think it’ll be a good test of both the craft and Commander Lee. I’m beaming over to the Galileo now, so if you can handle that delay for me, I’d appreciate it.” Shaking hands, Simon beamed out, leaving Daniel to go on to the bridge.

Commander Lee’s departure was delayed for almost fifteen minutes by an unusually strict systems check. Engineering wanted nothing to happen to their prize pilot. Another ship could be built, but not another Miranda Lee. Her mystique was already starting to spread. At last, she climbed into the cockpit, put her helmet on, and became one with her ship.

Engineering had taken the original fighter designs and beefed them up, not stopping with the weapons systems and engines. Joanna Barnes and her team had installed a miniature version of the Galileo’s own computer, which accounted for a small portion of the increased size. The proto-organic nature of the gel forming the computer meant that it had to be fed, so a section of the ship had organic material stored between the inner and outer hulls to feed the living computer.

The main difference was that the computer in this fighter must be constantly fed, unlike the Galileo, which stored years’ worth of food between its inner and outer hulls. While the power core gave the little craft virtually unlimited flight time, its computer needed to have its stores replenished on a regular basis—at least weekly if not on standby.

Built into the helmet were hundreds of sensors that connected a pilot directly into the computer. Information came to the pilot in three dimensions on a heads-up display on the inside of the visor, giving the pilot a real-time 3D image of all space within scan range. The effect was as if she were flying in the center of a bubble.

The downside of the system was that the pilot and computer tended to bond, learning each other’s ways and quirks. The analogy used by Dr. Barnes was that for another pilot, it would be like riding someone else’s horse. It would work, but not well and not for a while.

Miranda and several volunteers had spent two totally frustrating days in the cockpit, running simulations programmed by the war gamers among the crew to get the bugs worked out. While she hadn’t aced everything thrown at her, she came away with an appreciation for this new generation of vessel. A lot of the scenarios had been pretty absurd, and some just weren’t possible to escape with the limitations imposed on her by the computer and the programmers.

Miranda ran through her preflight checklist, checking each item off her HUD with a thought. She accessed her intra-ship link and said, “Flight Control, this is Mamba One. Communications check.” When she received confirmation, she reported, “All systems green. Request permission for power-up.”

Flight Control’s voice was close in her ears. “Systems green, aye. Permission to power-up granted. Launch bay clear and locked, outer doors opening. You are cleared for launch. Good luck and good hunting, Mamba One.”

Miranda watched the bay doors split down the middle and retract into the space between Orion’s double-walled hull. She fed minimal power to the engines, mindful of the exhaust that still baffled the scientific team, not that it mattered to her as long as the deadly little ship moved when and where she wanted it to.

Not truly exhausts in the technical sense, the apertures that emitted whatever type of energy that pushed the Galileo and her children through space still stumped the eggheads on Stephen’s research teams. This energy tended to blacken the metal around the points where they exited the ship, and the back walls of the launch bays exhibited scorch marks consistent with the expulsion of energies producing high heat levels. Oddly enough, or not-so-oddly actually, the metal of those walls was more than twice as thick as even the exterior hull.

Miranda slid the Mamba out of its bay, able to tell even this early that she had something more than an ordinary ship. The static tests performed for two days inside the bay had given her no real indication of what the ship was capable of, but the simple act of moving it away from the larger ship told her that here was something as far beyond the original as a Ferrari was beyond a Model T.

Her heart began to pound and her mouth went dry. She took a sip of water and willed herself to relax. Letting her senses acclimate themselves to the HUD built into her helmet, she moved off to her predetermined starting point above and ahead of Orion.

A course had been laid out through a portion of the asteroid belt that hadn’t been cleared out completely so the Mamba’s handling characteristics could be evaluated. Miranda put the agile craft through a series of maneuvers assigned by Engineering, weaving her craft through the asteroids in the same manner that had gotten Captain Hawke a much-rumored scolding from Commander Kitty back when the first fuel plant was being finished. Speed, agility, and maneuverability in all respects exceeded every parameter Engineering had established or imagined.

Special telemetry devices had been installed in her craft so Engineering could keep up with her systems in real-time. Those devices constantly transmitted data on all the ship’s systems to prepositioned relay satellites, so when she suddenly diverged from the program by diving straight into the densest part of the belt she’d seen so far, a howl in her headset brought a smile to her face. Already, her instinctive feel for this deadly ship told her that she had a tiger in the tank. Her smile turned into a teeth-bearing grin when she opened the throttle the rest of the way, and the howl rose to a shriek as Engineering ordered her to slow down.

She spun the little craft around, trusting in her HUD to keep her aware of anything larger than a small pebble, and the newly installed shields would take care of those. Another thing that added to the size of the new fighter was the installation of shields based on capture-field technology. It had been discovered by R&D that the fields used to snare asteroids for the smelter could not only be tuned to specific shapes, but with the right application of power and field generation, they became shields that would deflect anything that got in their way. Missiles would detonate at a short distance, their energy dissipated—theoretically—and anything else that smashed itself against the screens provided a quite unexpected fireworks display.

Twisting and turning through the obstacle course she’d run through once before, this time in the other direction and at a much higher speed, she wondered at the silence that had replaced the spontaneous screams of moments before. That was one of the perks of flying a fighter—no one could hear her screams of pure joy. Flipping the ship end-for-end and applying full power, she stopped herself quickly enough to strain the capacity of the augmented grav-sump, adrenaline flooding her system as she felt herself greying out.

Setting all of her controls to idle, Miranda slid her helmet’s HUD up and looked out into the emptiness of space. Opening her commlink, she said, “Galileo Control, this is Mamba One, reporting completion of performance trials. Request permission for phase two.”

Knowing she had overstepped her prerogatives, her heart beat with more than just the adrenaline of moments before. Expecting a reprimand, or more likely, a recall, she was thrown off balance by a voice apparently straining for control. “Roger, Mamba One. You are cleared for phase two.”

Miranda’s surprise vanished as she thought about the next phase of the trials, and a tiny, little-girl-like grin twisted her lips as she surveyed her new hunting territory. “This time, I get to play with the guns!”

Knowing what was coming, she enabled her combat computer and pulled her HUD back into place, putting her trust in the computer’s programming. Keeping a close eye on scan for the bogies she knew would be there, she held her ship to a little over half the speed she now knew it to be capable of. Just ahead and slightly to the left of her course, she saw a small cluster of asteroids. Knowing something was coming, she figured it would be a good place to watch and instantly saw the drive trace as it flared into being. Locking her computer onto that trace, she twitched her craft lightly, increased her speed a fraction, and when she’d achieved target lock and optimum range, she fired.

One missile fired, and with one sustained burst from her twin pulse lasers, one bogey was down. Seconds later, she picked up twin engine signatures. Acquiring both in her targeting computer, she locked them in, armed and fired two missiles, and fired on one with her lasers. Looping back around, she went after the other to confirm the kill. Then she turned back onto her original vector, looking for number four.

Presently, her long-range sensors registered the drive trace of a ship cutting obliquely across her path. Her ship acquired target lock and veered off to one side in a preprogrammed maneuver, lining up to launch a missile. Engineering had said that the programs would allow a pilot more time to assess a situation in the early stages of an attack, and Miranda tended to agree as she noted the sensors reporting an increase in power output from the target, followed almost immediately by a course change. She looked at the icon on her HUD that represented her autopilot, blinked twice, and went manual.

Maneuvering her ship into position behind the target, she armed her remaining missile and slowly increased her speed. Wondering if Engineering had anything else in mind, she kept a sharp lookout. Closing to within five hundred miles, she ordered her computer to fire, feeling the now-familiar lurch as the missile left the tube. With her lasers armed, she followed the missile in, staying a little behind and to one side. There were barely two hundred miles between her and the missile when it connected with the engine pack of the bogey and exploded in an exceedingly bright flare—bright enough to grey out her HUD for a long second. She added the effect to her mission recorder.

“Well, I know my missile was a dummy, so I’ll bet those geeks put a piece of antimatter in that bogey to throw me a curve. Okay, guys, that was your last trick.” She opened her commlink. “Galileo Control, this is Mamba One. Four up, four down. Mission accomplished. Request instructions.”

“Mamba One, this is Galileo Control. Roger mission accomplished. You are cleared to return to base.”

Heading back to base at a leisurely half speed, Miranda felt very pleased with herself and her craft. “What a sweet thing you are. We’re going to kick some alien a—” Three separate alarms erased her self-satisfied feeling instantly.

How the hell did something get that close? she thought wildly.

Something had moved into her rear aspect while she’d been congratulating herself on that fourth target! Sensors reported something trying to get a target lock on her, setting off another alarm. The third alarm reported a missile launch from another direction entirely, and she twitched her control, rolling the ship to port and down, and increasing her speed to evade her pursuer, who was continuing to gain. There’s two of ‘em! she thought, an edge of panic feeding her nerves. She let the pursuer get to within his apparent target window and then dazzled him with a full burn on all boosters.

“That ought to fry the front of his ship off.” Finding the distance growing between her and her pursuer, she found the bogey on an intercept course. “Must be the one that fired on me.”

As she was taking this in, the bogey on her tail cut loose with laser fire that would have sizzled past her cockpit had there been air to sizzle. Twitching her ship again, this time to starboard, she found a small cluster of asteroids on her screen, and against all training, dove her ship into their midst. Emergency deceleration and a hard turn to port and down brought bogey number two onto her screen. Acquiring target lock, she powered out of the cluster and opened up with both lasers. Scoring several hits on the bogey, identical in design to the older style shuttles the Galileo carried, she saw a flare of light from its engine pack as it skewed sideways. Not finding bogey number one on her screens at all, she quickly reversed course and ducked back into her hideout. As she started to pull her ship into the cluster, she began calling home.

“Mamba One to base. Mamba One to base. Reporting bogeys. Real bogies! One down, one active. This is not a joke, people. I have just taken out one bogey and one has dropped off my screens.” As she uttered these words, her vessel lit up with several laser shots, and all her systems went dead.

Sitting in the darkened cockpit of her crippled fighter, Miranda began cursing her own stupidity. With her sensors dead, she could only sit there and wait for the bogey to come back and finish the job. She didn’t even know if her message had gotten out. After several minutes of nothing, she finally cracked.

“Damn you! Come back here and end this charade! But winning one battle won’t win you a war, you bastard!”

Drifting in the silence of space, without even the whisper of her life support system for company, Miranda lifted her visor and waited. She finally noticed a small, red, blinking light among the darkened instruments of her control panel—one small light to hold on to in that great darkness. She stared at it for a time, then reached out and touched it. Instantly the light went out, and several seconds later, all of her systems came back online.

With the return of her systems came her radio and an incoming message. “Congratulations, Mamba One. You found the reset button. Consider yourself fortunate that this is only an exercise and you have a reset button. You are cleared to return to base. Report for debriefing as soon as you’ve settled your craft.”

Recognizing the voice, she muttered, “I don’t know how Commander Kitty does it.” As she located the base on her screens and began her approach, she muttered, “I could kill that man.”

Lieutenant Commander Miranda Lee, first recipient of the Stellar Cross of the Terran Alliance, was thoroughly pissed at herself. Too damned cocky, she thought. Well, she’d just had that kicked out of her. She eased the nose of her ship through the force field and into the docking bay. Mad as she was, she realized that the engineers and science teams were doing a good job. This new force field, for example. The Builders had possessed the technology, but for some reason, they’d never adapted it to this use. Now it wasn’t necessary to pump the air out of a bay so a ship could enter or leave. The selective field made life so much easier.

Likewise, the interior capture fields. Adapted from the shuttles, they caught an entering ship and the docking crews could move it to wherever they chose. She shut her systems down as she felt the field take hold and began to get ready for the ass-chewing she foresaw in her future. As she stepped down the ladder provided by the deck crew, an ensign was waiting.

Saluting, he said, “Ma’am, Captain Baylor’s compliments, and would you report to his office in one hour?”

The hour Captain Baylor had granted let Miranda shower and change before reporting. Might as well look my best for the funeral, she thought gloomily. At the appointed time, she knocked on the captain’s door and was ushered in and asked to sit down before she could go through the formula of reporting. She found herself sitting opposite the highest-ranking members of the combined crews.

I have to quit this. I’m not going to be able to survive the attention, much less any combat! she thought.

Captains Baylor and Hawke, and Commanders Hawke, Walker, and Frost were all present. Frost was the new Chief of Engineering for Orion, and probably the one who’d screamed the loudest when she red-lined her ship.

The debriefing went much better than she’d expected. The only low point was when Chief Frost chewed her for exceeding her red lines. She defended herself by stating the obvious—that it was absolutely necessary to know exactly what her vessel was capable of—and she bordered on insubordination by saying that she would do the same thing again under the same circumstances.

Having been questioned extensively by most of the officers present, Miranda was feeling very wrung out, but she was beginning to think she’d walk away from this debriefing clean until Simon spoke. He went over, in great detail, everything she’d done during her encounter with the fighter and shuttle, continually asking, “Why?” It turned out that the pilot of the shuttle was Commander Kitty, who apparently had been annoyed but not all that surprised when her craft was disabled so handily. As they discussed her maneuvers, Simon made a point of stating that there was no wrong move for her to have made, as up until this point, there was no such thing as space combat tactics.

“In this field, we’re quite literally flying by the seat of our pants,” he cautioned. “So, all in all, you are to be commended for your performance today and for the way you handled yourself throughout the entire exercise.”

Simon ended on that note, and everyone stood up to leave. As they did, Kitty maneuvered herself beside Miranda. Placing her hand on Miranda’s shoulder, she slowed down to let the men go on ahead. In an offhand tone she commented, “Apparently you weren’t aware that there was a cockpit voice recorder on your vessel today.” Miranda looked at Commander Kitty questioningly. They reached a juncture in the corridor, and as Kitty prepared to go to quarters, she looked both ways before confiding, “There are times when I could happily kill that man myself.” Turning on her heel, she left a stricken Miranda standing alone in the hall.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Simon was furious to the point of a total meltdown. Two reasons were that his wife and First Officer refused to allow him to get her out of harm’s way. But the second reason was the one responsible for most of his anger—she was right.

It had started the day before, on an upbeat note, oddly enough. Simon and Daniel had been on the Galileo’s project deck when the last Mamba, number twenty, was brought in for its systems check shortly after the power core had been initialized. The crew and technicians present let out a ragged cheer, acknowledging the promised celebration as the interruption in Orion’s basic mission ended. Thirty days of nonstop production had produced those twenty ships, their eighty antimatter missiles, and more than enough pilot-hopefuls to fly them.

Kitty and Miranda had started a training program using one of the original fighters to familiarize trainees with their future craft, as well as the more unpleasant task of identifying those who weren’t going to be able to interface with the upgraded neural net well enough to serve in a flight capacity. Getting a long-range patrol up and prowling the fringes of Orion’s sensor range became a priority issue, and permanent if sketchy air cover would become the rule before the Galileo left.

Now that Orion had some protection, the Galileo could go back to Earth and pick up more volunteers. Simon had made a list of the people he wanted on that trip, and Gayle and Stephen were on the list because they made a good recruiting team. Several of the first thirty-five from the DenverCon were on it because of their contacts And he wanted Kitty as acting captain.

Simon had broached the subject several days before the Galileo was scheduled to depart. The confrontation in the Hawkes’ quarters began when Kitty told Simon no.

Kitty sat there calmly and waited for Simon to run down. When he finally paused to take a breath, Kitty jumped in with both feet. “My turn.” Simon opened his mouth, but Kitty spoke first. “Shut up for a minute,” she said, breaking one of their rules never to use those two words with each other. “This isn’t as much captain and first officer as it is husband and wife, and you know it. You want me away from here so I’ll be safe. But that leaves you here and in danger.”

She laughed at the startled look on his face. “I’m perfectly capable of figuring out the same things you are, dear. Now, one of us has to go back and supervise replacing the recruits. That should be you since some of the decisions have to be made on the spot. And I,” she said, fists on hips, “don’t want to leave here with my job half done.”

Kitty finally decided to put Simon out of his misery. “Besides, Captain Dear,” she said, a half-nasty smile on her face, “you aren’t cleared to fly one of the new ships yet, so you can’t teach anyone else how to fly one. You signed the order that gave me and Miranda the power to license a pilot, and neither of us will certify you in the time we have left, so I stay and you go. And Miranda and I have things under control. You need to realize that I can handle my end here, and that you’re the one most qualified to handle things back on Earth. Besides, we can keep in touch by radio.” Her decision had been hard to put into words, and her voice cracked at the end.

It took some doing, but Simon finally bowed to the inevitable, and two days later the Galileo finally left for Earth. The night before departure was a strange experience for most of the crew. They were about to watch their comrades leave again, and the last time had produced some very unpleasant results. For Simon and Kitty, it was a problem because they’d never been separated by over twelve thousand miles for an extended time in their sixteen years of marriage.

The strain was beginning to get to everyone, and it was almost with a sense of relief that the Galileo made her way out of the maze now surrounding Orion and disappeared into the deep black.

With the Galileo’s second departure, a new sense of purpose began to infect Orion and her personnel. Plans had changed again, but the fluidity of plans around the two large craft had become a hallmark. Now the theory was that if three of the old-style fighters could run off their attackers, then surely twenty of the newer, meaner version could keep them safe until the Galileo could get back, especially with the maze in place.

Consequently, Daniel kept patrols out at all times. He had Engineering, already overworked, design a series of sensor buoys that would warn them long before any craft could sneak up on them again. These would be placed by some of the farther-ranging patrols, first in near-Orion space and later farther out on the edges of the solar system by ships going out on their trials or on patrols.

Kitty Hawke, now Wing Commander, and her executive officer, Lt. Commander Miranda Lee, shared an office built into one corner of the flight deck. With the extra personnel left behind by the Galileo, lured either by the mystique of the new Mambas or a sense of outraged duty, they’d been able to man all twenty fighters.

Orion returned to its original purpose of building full-sized, long-range ships. Two weeks after the Galileo’s departure, the keel of the first vessel was nearing completion. With the additional assistance of the Mambas not on patrol, Orion’s Engineering department estimated the completion of the first ship sometime in November of 2011.

Kitty chafed under the knowledge that Simon had gone back to Earth and left her with all the potential problems that were inherent in that situation, even though she’d fought for it personally. Privy to all the staff meetings up until the Galileo had left, she was as aware as anyone else of the possibility that the government—U.S. that is—would most likely be all over them as soon as it became aware of their return. The days that passed with no report of trouble were a balm at the end of each weary day. The first week was a no-brainer because it would take that long for the huge ship to get back to Earth. Each day after that gave her more hope that they’d misjudged the situation.

Her reason for staying with Orion was still a valid one, and from the moment the Galileo disappeared into the inner system, she and Miranda had had their hands full training the new pilots in the fine art of fighter control. That they were making up rules and tactics as they went along was obvious, but it was a start.

Kitty’s days began early. She got up, showered, had a hurried breakfast in the mess hall nearest her quarters, and hurried to her office on the lower deck. By the time she arrived, the morning Flight Operations shift was on duty, crawling over the off-shift fighters like so many ants over their queens. By the time Miranda arrived, Kitty had the day’s training and patrol rosters posted, had made coffee, and was going over the reports from the previous day, as well as the late shift’s reports on flight readiness for the assembled fighters waiting on the main deck.

The calm ended the evening she stopped by the radio shack—called that for some esoteric military reason she never bothered to ask about—and read the evening report filed by the Galileo’s Comm officer. Surprisingly, she read, it was reporters who’d first begun to harass the returnees, the government a close second. Transport Control was busy pulling people out of jails until the authorities gave up on that and just started asking questions. Her emotions, already low after having to wash out two gifted pilot-hopefuls earlier in the day, she couldn’t take the stress any longer.

Tears rolled down her face as she made her way back to the room she shared with Miranda. Expecting Miranda to be gone, as was her usual habit, Kitty didn’t wipe the tears away as she entered her apartment. Her thoughts were only for the bed she wanted to cry herself to sleep on.

Miranda looked up from the report she was reading and said, “You know, I used to read novels. Now I feel lucky to make it through one of these reports before bedtime.” It took that long to register the tears flowing freely down her boss’s face. She set the paper aside and moved to Kitty’s side, using an arm around her shoulders to guide the weeping woman to a chair. Seeing the crumpled-up piece of paper so obviously from Communications and knowing that the Galileo had only been back at Earth for two days, Miranda guessed at the worst possible scenario. “Kitty! Simon… is he okay?”

Kitty nodded wordlessly as tears and sobs emanated from the despondent woman. “Yes, at least so far. It’s just that everything is getting so complicated, Randy,” she managed to choke out. “I trust Simon to handle things there just like he expects me to do the same here, but I’m just not… I don’t have the experience he does with things like this!” Kitty waved her hand in the air, trying to indicate the whole of her life at present but only succeeding in making Miranda look at the paper she had clutched in it.

Not knowing exactly what Kitty was referring to, Miranda focused on the paper and managed to extricate it almost intact from Kitty’s grasp. Reading it twice to make sure she missed nothing, Miranda said, “Kitty, dear, we knew this kind of thing was going to happen. Remember, Simon told us the government would do all it could to take the Galileo away from us. And truthfully, I wouldn’t mind giving her to them after we dismount all the weapons and wipe the computer. Now that we’ve got all of her information duplicated on Orion…”

“It’s not just that, Randy,” Kitty wailed. “I had to wash out Rita and Larry today. They each did fine in the old trainer, but neither one of them could tolerate the helmet.” “The helmet” was a euphemism for the neural net built into the suit and helmet of a pilot that essentially made that pilot one with her ship.

Connected to the net via connections wired into the helmets, almost twenty percent of the applicants reported a buzzing throughout their entire bodies—never enough to impair their senses, but enough and then some to distract them from the concentration needed to fly one of the new ships. The condition disappeared the instant the pilot removed her helmet, leaving the two women guessing that the problem lay with the person and not the new system. “And I don’t like not being able to talk to Simon when I need to.”

Miranda listened to Kitty talk well past the time the two of them usually went to dinner. Taking the opportunity to call the mess hall while Kitty took a restroom break, Miranda ordered a couple of plates delivered to their room before the stewards went off duty. Finally, the commander of the new fighter detachment, worn out from worry and stress, went to bed. Miranda tucked a light blanket around her boss’s shoulders and turned out the light.

Looking back from the door, she said, “You’ve got tomorrow off. We’ve only got two more pilots to certify, and I can handle that. Get some rest and call Simon. I know you won’t be able to talk to him, but you can message and reply as often as you want until you can get this talked out.”

Simon’s mission to Earth wasn’t faring as well as operations aboard Orion, primarily due to the people equation. The return of almost five hundred people to the Denver/Billings area after a nearly year-long absence had been a recurring topic of discussion at the weekly staff meetings. So vocal were the arguments that Simon had had to step in a number of times to separate potential combatants.

Preferring to lead from the best position available, Simon tended to listen to both sides of an argument, let the two sides get all of their information on the table, and then try to sift through the partisan posturing to hopefully arrive at a solution that would work for all involved.

From the snippets of conversations heard and overheard in daily shipboard life over almost a year’s time, Simon surmised that a goodly number of the crew accepted for the construction of Orion had told no one they were leaving for any number of reasons. Most or all of them would be listed as missing persons, and any one or two would arouse considerable attention when they showed up. But almost five hundred…

Surprisingly, just under half had stayed in the asteroid belt to begin construction of the first ship. Their continued absence would be commented on in light of the return of so many others. And there was the very real problem of telling eight families about the death of a loved one, having to convince them that it was no hoax. And it irked Simon that one of the missing only had a name. No one could ever remember him—Derek Carter—ever talking about his background, so he had no one to contact.

Simon still felt a bit uncomfortable with his position at the head of the table. His five years in the Army had brought him to the illustrious rank of sergeant and placed him as second in command of a platoon of forty men. A long visit to the observation deck, awash in Earth-light, and a lot of soul searching helped him let go of the fear of failure and embrace the vision that had slowly grown more vivid since finding the Galileo.

He sat up straight in his chair and leaned his forearms on the table, his actions bringing the current growing argument to a halt.

“This isn’t a prison.” His expression told the assembled group that this was Law. “We don’t have the right to keep anyone from beaming back down if they want to. Everyone aboard this ship is here of his or her own free will, risking their lives gratis for a dream.

“I happen to know that there are several dozen who’ve made it clear that they want off and won’t be coming back. I’ve spoken with most of them, and they know there will be no protection for them when the authorities find out who they are and where they’ve been. In keeping with the consensus reached here in prior meetings, I’ve asked these volunteers to cooperate completely with any officials who decide to question them.

“Now we get to the great majority of the people aboard the Galileo as of this moment. That so many have chosen to stay is something I find… amazing.” Simon shook his head, smiling slightly. “That so many have chosen to give up so much to do this also amazes me, especially after what happened.” His voice trailed off for a moment, echoes of the attack on Orion rebounding around the room. “But,” he said forcefully, jarring a few to closer attention, “we can’t hold anyone back who needs to take some time off. We’re going to be here for at least a couple of weeks, and if we don’t let these people off, there will be a mutiny. We need to keep the good will of our unpaid crewmembers, ladies and gentlemen. And they are supposed to be recruiters as well, so they have to have the freedom to go back down and take their chances just like everybody else. We’ll just make sure to bail them out as necessary. To that end, you will go back to your departments and tell your people that we’ll begin a beam-down schedule right after breakfast tomorrow morning.”

Simon raised a hand. “Beam-down will be by reverse order of rank, lowest ranks first. See if you can get some to postpone their beam-downs to keep ship’s services running until we can get replacements, and then they’ll have their chance to visit home if they want to. I’m pretty sure a lot of them have families to reassure.

“I’ve listened to all of your arguments, and I’ve decided it’s going to be impossible to keep our return a secret, so now is the time to start grabbing some airtime with interviews. Beaming out in front of a live camera will go a long way toward helping our recruiters prove their stories.”

He sat back up and let a speculative look take residence for a minute. “We need to re-crew fast, and some attention will help. Getting new people found, convinced, aboard, and partially trained is going to take some time, and our people are the ones who’ll do the finding of those recruits for us, so we can’t sequester them aboard. That would be denying ourselves the use of a basic resource.”

Simon’s face hardened slightly before he spoke again. “I’d like to see about setting up some sort of underground network before the shit hits the fan, though. Everyone please submit a written plan based on your knowledge of Denver and your friends and acquaintances to address the problem of recruiting covertly if the need arises. I’ve had Engineering make up a few radios to keep in touch with whoever we decide to do business with because sure as God made little green apples, we’re going to be the targets of everyone on the planet who thinks they should be in charge of what we have.

“Those who choose to leave our service will give up their wristbands and will be encouraged to cooperate with the authorities, telling everything they know. As soon as they’re identified, they’ll be hauled in and debriefed, but since we’re still in the unfortunate position of merely duplicating what we have without truly understanding the underlying physics, there isn’t much chance that they’ll give away more than we want them to. The other side of the coin is that once humans know something is possible, they’ll worry at it until they find the way—or at least a way. I’ve decided that we will eventually give all the technology aboard this ship to Earth, but the two things we won’t give up in the foreseeable future are weapons technology and our power technology.”

He glared around the table. “There are some things we need to keep to ourselves to ensure our own survival, and make no mistake, that’s something we must do to keep the world from destroying itself fighting to get control of this ship. The problem is that if we keep it, we become the enemy in the eyes of every government on Earth. Another unfortunate characteristic of human nature is to be afraid of someone who has more power than you do, and we represent more power than any group in history. That’s going to engender a lot of fear in high places. Our job is to prove to the general public that we aren’t the monsters some will try to make us out to be. Exposure is our best friend, but I do want to wait until we have the beginnings of a second crew aboard before we start making our existence general knowledge.”

Simon placed his hands on the table, drained of all energy after his speech. He looked at Griswold when the commander asked, “Sir, I can see writing off assistance to the ones who opt out, but what about those of us who just visit home and get arrested or something?”

Simon looked at him blankly. Hadn’t they gone over this a dozen times? “Just press the red recall button twice for emergency beam-up, Commander. The wristband you wear,” he said, holding his up for all to see, “is essentially a bio-monitor, as well as a communicator. We’ve set the parameters of all wristbands so that if you find yourselves in positions of great stress, the computer will automatically beam you out. If you’re slipped a drug, your vitals will change, and the computer will beam you out. If you start to drown, the computer will know and beam you out. Of course, there’s always the old standby of pressing the emergency recall button. So, if it’s not an emergency, signal for regular recall, please.”

Silence greeted his final statement until he waved a hand. “Ladies and gentlemen, you’ve now got a lot more to think about, so I’ll leave you to implement the departure of those who wish to quit us and the leaves of those who only wish to visit home and family. Make sure the first group understands what they face and that the second keeps a low profile until they can each get a few new recruits lined up. And check for volunteers to stay aboard for a few extra days.” His voice trailed off and he sat quietly for a few seconds until he seemed to reach a decision.

He stood up, bringing all at the table to their feet, a response he still felt less than comfortable with. The senior Engineering officer said, “Tenn-hut!” and everyone stiffened to various positions of attention until Simon left the room. As the door closed, he heard, “At ease,” and shook his head in continuing bemusement at the turn his life had taken.

The first thing reported to the Galileo by those who made the initial trip was the intense interest expressed by a multitude of hard-faced men and women most generally described as dressed in cheap suits and wearing dark glasses. The questions asked by this group ranged from where people had gone to when they were expected to return. No aspect of the lives of those departed or those known to have been associated with them was overlooked. Relatives, teachers, friends, acquaintances, even clerks at known hangouts had been harassed for the first several months after the Galileo departed. Apparently, the government had spared no expense in searching out possible crewmembers and keeping a soft surveillance going.

Pointed questions concerning secret technology, thinly veiled hints at treason, and horrible consequences from the benevolent, freedom-loving government that spawned these dour-faced, humorless people had managed to get some results from a variety of sources. By the time the Galileo returned, more than a little bit was known about the situation in places Simon and company would have preferred to have been kept in ignorance for a while longer.

The initial furor had died down during their long absence, but that didn’t mean eyes weren’t watching from the sidelines. Officials, primarily police and hospitals, were on alert to report the presence of any of hundreds of names that showed back up in Denver and other cities, while Simon’s and Kitty’s house, unknown to them, was under constant surveillance.

Two days was all it took for word of the reappearances of hundreds of missing people to filter out to the press. Reporters who had covered the mass disappearances the previous year paid heed and dug addresses out of their archives. Thus armed, they went in search of the returnees, as often as not finding the object of their search.

Before the first responses to Simon’s lefthanded request to speak personally with the mysterious agents swarming all over the area came back, the news shows started airing interviews with returning crewmembers.

The first one was the most dramatic, of course. Any time a totally new experience impacts someone’s life, it tends to stand out. And in an unusual twist to last year’s bizarre disappearance of almost eight hundred people from Denver and surrounding areas, a Denver news anchor said to a rapt audience, “It has been reported that some of those missing people are starting to show up in areas they were seen in just before their disappearances. Our Jennifer Martinson was able to track down one of these missing people, and the results are guaranteed to amaze you. Please keep in mind that this is untouched footage taken earlier today.”

The screen blanked out for a second and returned to what looked like an impromptu interview with a shoulder-mounted recorder trying to keep the reporter and her subject in the same shot.

“I’m Jennifer Martinson,” the woman said, holding her microphone so the logo of the local CBS affiliate was visible. She stood in front of an anonymous brick wall, leaving the viewer to wonder if that was by happenstance. “I’m talking with John Grant, reported missing almost one year ago. John has turned up with many of the almost eight hundred people reported missing from the local area last year.” She looked at the black-clad person standing beside her and asked directly into the microphone, “Can you tell us where you’ve been for the past year, Mr. Grant? And are you associated with all the other people who’ve turned up recently?” She moved the microphone towards the young man.

Hesitantly leaning forward to speak into the proffered microphone, John Grant said, “I’ve been working in outer space for the last nine months. And all of those people were there, too.”

The expression on the reporter’s face, trained to remain impassive regardless of what was said to her, slipped a fraction before she was able to regain her composure. “Can you tell us exactly where in outer space you’ve been working? To the best of my knowledge, NASA hasn’t been sending up hundreds of workers for any special purpose. And what are the requirements to get a job like that?”

“Well, the requirements, for me, for all of us, was being in the right place at the right time,” the crewman said. More than a touch of pride entered his voice. “And for the last nine months, I’ve been working in the asteroid belt helping to build humanity’s first real deep-space facility.”

“Really, Mr. Grant?” Condescension evident in her voice, the reporter asked, “And how did you get all the way out to the asteroid belt?”

Looking more uncomfortable with each question, John Grant answered, “We’ve got a spaceship, ma’am. Our captain and his wife found it. They were the ones who got us to come aboard and go build the space station.”

The reporter looked at the camera, her expression revealing that she now felt she had a total nutcase on her hands. “Okay, Mr. Grant. And what does this captain of yours and his wife want to do with a space station in the asteroid belt?”

“They’re going to use it to build more ships.”

“What kind of ships, Mr. Grant? And why?”

“The first big one is going to be a battlecruiser,” Grant said proudly. “And we’re going to need ‘em to protect us from the aliens who are going to come and try to take back their ship.”

The reporter smiled at the camera. It wasn’t a nice expression, more like a pit bull realizing it was going to be able to take a kitten apart without any repercussions. “Really, Mr. Grant! Aliens?” She stepped closer to the man, pushing her microphone ahead of her like a sword. The camera followed, giving the viewer a look at the face of John Grant as he found himself backed quite literally into a corner. “What do these aliens look like? And where are the rest of the eight hundred, Mr. Grant?”

Unused to attention from the pretty young reporter and the camera filming his every word, the young crewman began to get flustered, and when his heartbeat hit 150, he disappeared in a shower of blue sparks. Jennifer Martinson looked from the empty spot in the corner to the camera once, then again, and asked, “Did you get that?”

Simon sat at his desk, facing Stephen over a series of reports. “Another emergency beam-up. Reporters, again,” Simon commented, smiling. “The government has already gotten tired of all the ‘escaped from custody’ reports. Now they’re just questioning anyone they catch on the spot. So far, it seems as if someone with a real cool head is covering this.”

Stephen looked at Simon speculatively. “I know what you said during the meetings, but you really did expect this, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did, Stephen,” Simon said patiently to his friend. “What did I ever say to make you think I didn’t believe this would happen? After all, I was part of that mentality for almost fifteen years. You just wait until this time tomorrow. Fully half of all emergency recalls will be back due to escapes from police or government agents. What about your people? Are you having any trouble with them?” Simon was referring to the scientists aboard, most of whom had come aboard at Stephen’s request and had stayed for at least the first round trip to the asteroid belt.

“Yeah,” Stephen admitted, a sour look on his face. “But at least most of them are reaching a few of their friends before they either go back to their lives or stay for another tour, so to speak. Are you sure you want to let some of them be interrogated?”

“Of course. And that’s exactly what it’s called—a tour of duty. It was the plan all along, Stephen, to let the authorities know what we have. I want them to know.” Simon gestured broadly, indicating not only the ship but more. “The technical knowledge alone will help humanity get a leg out into the universe. If we can understand what we have, so much the better. But right now, I’m happy just being able to reproduce it. Since we still don’t understand how to make antimatter or how to even begin to formulate the math to understand the physics behind our force fields, there’s no harm in letting some of our people be questioned, as long as the people who do the asking do it nicely. None of our people will be subject to pain or jail. And they don’t know what we have right now. They’re gonna have to get a spy aboard.”

“I still don’t see why you want the authorities to know what we have,” Stephen said. “I would think you’d want to keep it a secret.”

“Different people down there are going to want different things, Stephen. Imagine what the United States would ask for: maybe the antigrav, maybe something else. But what about one of the flood-ravaged, third world countries? Would they want antigrav or a way to make safe medicines and food? What will people like the Saudis do when the world no longer depends on the oil they produce? Maybe we should approach them to find out if they’d like to get in on the ground floor of a unique power storage device, coupled with a reliable, long-lasting electric motor. What would they pay us to be the sole producers of these motors and power systems to the world’s automobile makers? Maybe we shouldn’t have given that one to your friend, Victor.

“I’m going to sell, trade, or lease what we have here for the rights to come and go as we please, and we’ll recruit the same way. Some of your people should tell their interrogators that they should be dealing with me rather than going after the small fry.”

Stephen had one of the hardest jobs of all. The scientists of the United States are watched, just like the scientists of other countries. They were the points around which ideas coalesced and new breakthroughs occurred—national treasures to be kept under close surveillance. Keeping surreptitious track of these individuals had been a task of certain agencies since before the Cold War. To have so many disappear at once—some one hundred and twenty scientists stretching out over almost every discipline—had caused quite a stir, to say the least. Some of the more out-there conspiracy theorists clung to the belief that the disappearances in Denver and those of dozens of scientists clustered mostly along the east coast were related.

The efforts of the scientific community, along with the return of so many of their peers, brought a steady stream of scientists aboard over the next two weeks. Some stayed, drawn to one ongoing project or another, seeing the possibilities for research on things they could otherwise only dream of. Others only stayed long enough to find out that the ship was real, having been approached surreptitiously by one agency or another. They were ordered to observe as much as possible and report everything they saw, paying special attention to aspects of the technology that might be reproducible on Earth.

Within days of the Galileo’s arrival back at Earth, dozens of scientists had had to use the recall function on their wristbands to escape durance vile from government agents, most certainly, but in some cases it wasn’t exactly certain which specific governments were being represented. And the new hires were reporting advance visits from solemn-faced men warning of dire consequences if their edicts weren’t met.

Simon quietly congratulated himself. He’d learned many years before that if anyone wanted a project or idea to leak out, the best way was to try to be mysterious about it. Truth be known, visibility was what he wanted, and as much as possible. The fact of their existence had been spread all over television, radio, and even the tabloids, for crying out loud. Now, that didn’t mean much to Joe Average, even when the headlines read, “Earth has Spaceships!” Conspiracy theorists had had a field day right after the first disappearances, especially those who managed to get airtime on some of the late-night talk shows. Every possible answer for the disappearances was forwarded, including the right one, which got little mention after the anonymous caller got off the tollfree line.

Eventually, the calls died out almost completely. Those who knew for sure kept a low profile during the first set of absences, and those who only suspected could never turn up so much as one body. So, no one outside the government had enough proof to do more than speculate… until now.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The efforts of the group Simon had come to think of as Lucy’s people brought new faces up at the rate of a dozen a day, and not surprisingly, there was a lower incidence of interference with them from government agents as it was almost impossible to pick out who was being approached to join up. The science-fiction crowd was more open to the possibility that the Galileo really existed and were easier to convince to go for a ride.

The rumors and stories told by people who’d been approached but declined to join the original mission, coupled with the return of people known to have disappeared almost a year ago, had the Galileo fully crewed two weeks after arrival in spite of governmental interference. And, of course, it didn’t hurt that CBS kept replaying the John Grant interview. Nor did it hurt when the other major affiliates began airing similar interviews to the point that they became commonplace in less time than it took to get the ship re-crewed.

There were a few problems that needed to be attended to, but most of them could be handled by delegation of authority. However, two problems stood out, and Simon, Gayle, and Stephen held council in the ready room. Simon, being Simon, took the easy one first.

There were more applicants than they had room for. “Take applications,” he said. “By that I mean to get their names and numbers and tell them we’ll get in touch when we have an opening. Meanwhile, we’ll only take those who can be vouched for by someone already aboard.”

Simon had been following the news as it was beamed from pirated satellite intercepts directly to the Galileo and Orion. Election campaigns were just heating up. How that would affect their actions was unclear. President Drake was running for re-election based on his record of having stomped so hard on terrorist groups around the world, doing his best to maximize the fact that the Republican agendas had effectively gutted the stock market and brought the country to the brink of depression.

The Democrats were working to keep Michael Drake in the Oval Office so his more moderate policies would help to reduce the violence directed at Americans and American interests around the world. The eternal hatred of the have-nots for the haves would ameliorate any positive effects that ploy would have, though, Simon feared.

Stephen had been investigated during his absence by the FBI and other agencies, as well. Most of the missing scientists who’d gone joyriding on the Galileo suffered the same fate, even to the point of having their relatives checked for suspicious activities. The flurry of investigations over the mass disappearances of almost eight hundred people from the Denver area had produced few real connections between most of the missing persons beyond a curious affinity for science fiction. An east coast reporter working on the disappearance of so many scientists at about the same time noted the same curious fact, though it was buried among many other observations and never really got the attention it deserved.

Gayle’s disappearance, along with a few others with whom she had a passing connection, had caused a minor stir in Billings local news stories for about two weeks. Simon and Kitty had been mentioned as well in a separate article, as was the disappearance of half a dozen young men thought by some to have gone off to a religious retreat.

Gayle visited her parents with Simon on her second day back. They had called to make sure her folks were home and then told them the story. To prove it, they beamed into the living room of her parent’s house.

The first thing they heard was her mother’s scream and the second was her father’s profanity. Half an hour later, after her mother had recovered from her faint, Simon and Gayle showed them a video of all the things they’d done over the last year, courtesy of Kitty who’d had the foresight to record events as they unfolded.

Simon and Kitty weren’t quite so lucky. Since Kitty’s parents had died in an automobile accident when she was twenty-two, they’d been living in the house she’d acquired from her mother’s estate. Using part of her inheritance to set up an account that would pay all the property taxes automatically, they figured they had all their bases covered. What they hadn’t figured on was the tenacity of Agent Daniels.

Gayle’s father was the one to break the news to Simon. “There was an FBI agent here asking about you shortly after Gayle left. And he stopped by several times after that, too. He seemed to think you were involved, but we told him you couldn’t have done something like that. He was intimating that you had killed her without actually using those words. I think now that it was just to get us rattled so we’d tell whatever we knew, but what could we think, you know?”

“That’s not a problem, Mr. Miller,” Simon said positively. “I’ve dealt with this guy before, and so has Kitty, if he’s the same one. I was planning to go over to the house and pick up a few things I know Kitty would like to have when we get back. I think I’ll call him from there and get something started that’s going to set this whole world on its collective ear, if I haven’t already done so,” he amended sheepishly.

Simon beamed into his house to find it totally empty. The only thing left was a telephone on the floor with a note from the overzealous agent. “If you want to get your property back, contact me.” At the bottom was a local number.

Waiting for the connection to be made let Simon get his emotions back under control. Somewhat. At the sound of the agent’s voice, Simon growled, “Okay, thief, you’ve got my attention, but you may decide it was a bad idea on your part. Get over here and tell me what you want.” Beaming back to the ship, he picked up a transporter disk and called Lucy for backup. The two beamed back into the house and waited for the soon-to-arrive Agent Daniels.

“I’ll give him some credit, Commander,” Simon said as a grey sedan pulled up in front of the house. “It only took him about fifteen minutes to get here. And now we’re going to put an end to his interference.”

The agent walked through the open door without so much as a knock. “Well, Mr. Hawke, I’m glad to see you’ve come to your senses. You want to tell me what’s going on?”

Simon just grinned. Tigers would run from his expression. “Sure, Agent, I’d be happy to. You see, you guys were right. We were out there when the ship landed. Oh, yes,” he said at the startled expression, “it was a ship. And we managed to get away with it just before the stormtroopers showed up. Here’s just one of the smaller things we found aboard our pretty new ship.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a transporter disk.

Simon hadn’t informed Lucy about his plan to virtually kidnap the agent. She watched him toss it to the agent, and a small noise escaped her.

“Don’t worry, Commander,” Simon said softly. “He’ll find out sooner or later, anyway. If we make a clean breast of things, we might get some leniency. Right, Agent? Besides, you must be up on all the stuff going on with our people coming back after all this time, right? You were expecting me, weren’t you? How else would you have been here in just fifteen minutes?” Simon winked an eyelid at Lucy as the agent’s eyes rose from the disk in his hand.

“So? What is it?” he asked, pointedly refusing to answer any of the questions Simon put to him. “And how does the girl rate the title of commander?”

Simon spoke from across the room. “Just as to-the-point as ever, aren’t you, Agent? Only this time, you managed to see to it that we didn’t get to keep our stuff. Petty of you. Real petty. And this ‘girl’ rates the title of commander because she does a commander’s job. Just like I do a captain’s job.”

The agent, face reddening, answered the accusation. “Petty? No. You can have your stuff back. I just wanted to get your attention.”

Simon had been pacing around his empty living room. “Well, you managed to get it, friend. Now let’s see if you don’t regret it.”

He’d stopped pacing right in front of Lucy. Standing with his hands behind his back, Simon watched the agent examine the disk in his hands. Pressing the spot that activated his beam-out along with the slaved disk Daniels held, he transported back to the ship.

Immediately upon his arrival, he called out, “Security, arrest that man.” Pointing at the agent standing there in total shock, he watched as the two security personnel first disarmed him and then stepped back. “Okay, Lieutenants, I accept responsibility for this man. Hold on to his weapon until he’s cleared to beam back down.”

Simon turned back to the speechless agent and watched as he suffered another shock. The standard, person-tall shower of blue sparks formed over one of the hexagonal spaces, and Lucy materialized in the middle. The sparks died as she stepped off the spot. Bringing the agent back to reality after he witnessed his first beam-in, Simon said, “That’s why you and your people aren’t going to get what you want this time, Agent. Come with us and you’ll see just what it is we found.”

A quick tour of the ship ended up in the ready room. Simon seated himself and then waved to the other chairs. “Sit anywhere, Agent. Let me present my First Officer, Commander Lucy Grimes, my Science Officer, Commander Stephen Walker, Ph. D., and my Communications Officer, Commander Gayle Miller.” As he slowly dropped into a vacant chair, Lucy sat also, followed by Gayle and Stephen, who had attached themselves along the way.

Keeping in mind the fully crewed nature of the ship and the impending departure that had everyone running around like a stirred-up anthill, Simon asked, “Okay, tell me. Are you going to release my stuff now? And put it back?”

Gasping like a fish out of water, the stunned agent asked, “Is that all you can think about? Look around you!”

The four looked at the agent instead. “What do you think we’ve been looking at for the last year, Agent… Daniels, is it?” This from Gayle as she turned her full attention on him, devastating when she was so close. “And how about you try to guess what we’ve been doing for the last year.” Leaning across the table, she picked up a remote control. Pointing it at a screen to one side of the room, she started the video Kitty had begun making right after the Galileo reached the asteroid belt.

Instantly, a view of the stars showed clearly in the small screen. Time-lapse editing showed Orion begin to take shape from the things shuttled from the bigger ship. More scenes played—shuttles and fighters bringing in material for the smelter, people playing Z-tag, two construction pods sliding an assembly into place while another welded a seam.

Leaning toward the agent as the screen went dark, Gayle, cleavage exposed for effect, asked the faltering agent. “Quick, Agent. What are you going to do, now? Arrest us? All eight hundred of us? What about the ones out in the asteroid belt? How are you going to get at them? Do you have any answers to any of these questions?”

Forcing his eyes to travel up to Gayle's face, the agent stammered, “I… don’t know. I suspected something, of course. But, this… I need to pass this on to my superiors.”

Stephen decided to have a little fun of his own. “So, tell me, Agent. Just what are you going to do when you find out that your bosses know all about us, and that they’ve been keeping you in the dark all this time? Just what can you say that won’t get you shipped off to… someplace very remote and cold?”

“Well, I…” Getting some of his composure back, Agent Daniels asserted, “I’m just going to have to confiscate that video.”

As he started to get to his feet, Lucy raised a hand. “Don’t get up, Agent. I’ll get it for you.” Pulling the disc from the machine, she slipped it into a plastic case. Smiling wickedly, she said, “I don’t think you’re going to confiscate anything off this ship that we don’t want you to have, Agent, so let me save you the trouble and make you a gift of this one. We have so many copies.”

Handing it to him, she said, “Some of the equipment on this ship—we call her the Galileo by the way—is very much from Earth. Nowhere did we find any evidence of videoing for personal use, although they do have a way to store videos in the ship’s main computer. We haven’t had any reports from our scientific staff to that effect, anyway.”

Half an hour later, Agent Daniels, dismissed by Simon and his other officers, made the trip back to the transporter with only Gayle as an escort. Armed with the disc and his pistol, unloaded, he was about to be transported back to Earth.

“Tell me, Agent, just where is the superior you’ll be reporting to?” Gayle asked, all innocence.

Standing on one of the hexes, he said, “Washington, DC.”

She signaled the transporter tech to step aside and handled the beam-down herself. “Well, I hope you don’t have any problems getting that disc to him. You do realize that time is of the essence, don’t you? Good luck, Agent. We’ll see you in anywhere from six months to a year.” She looked over the control board settings and, nodding to herself, reached out to activate the system.

As Gayle was about to energize the beam, the agent spoke hurriedly. “And tell Mr. Hawke I’ll have his house restored to normal right away.”

Gayle looked at the reeling agent. “That’s Captain Hawke, and don’t forget it!” Reaching out again, she energized the beam and Agent Daniels sparkled out of their lives.

Stephen had his share of difficulties, too. It had been hoped that a solar cell project would generate some revenue that could be used to resupply the ship with luxury items or used to perhaps pay for the time of someone whose expertise was needed and couldn’t afford to be gone long without recompense. Stephen had recommended an engineer for the project and recruited him, turning over a considerable amount of information from the Galileo’s data banks early on so he could begin production of these advanced cells.

After getting no answer to a phone call, he beamed into the house of the engineer and sat down to wait. An hour and two beers later, Victor McCord unlocked his door, turned on the light, and, to his credit, didn’t flinch. His eyes took in the two empties sitting on the table beside Stephen, and he brought another two from the kitchen, opening one for himself and handing the other to his friend.

“Okay, spill it,” Victor said without preamble. “And if it’s not the best damn story I’ve ever heard, that’s the last beer you’ll ever get from me.”

For the next half an hour, Stephen talked, the beer mostly forgotten except to wet his throat. He finished and sat back, arms crossed.

Victor brought another beer. “Well, you do spin a great yarn, friend. Now, how do you convince me?”

A crooked grin on his face, Stephen asked, “Do you really want to be convinced?” At his friend’s slow nod, Stephen handed him one of the videos Kitty had made.

An hour and two more beers later, Victor argued, “This is good, I’ll admit. But I’ve seen better special effects at the movies. Got anything else?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. How would you like to see where I got the data on those cells you’re so busy turning out?” At the engineer’s bemused nod, Stephen tossed him a disk. Climbing out of the armchair he’d appropriated when he beamed in, he warned, “This will be easier if you’re standing, Vic.” Looking down at the disk in his hand with confusion on his face, Victor stood up. Stephen advised, “Remember, buddy, you asked for it!” and activated his wristband.

Victor was convinced. Finally. They sat in the mess hall, drinking coffee he’d seen materialize out of bright blue sparkles. They talked about the problems associated with the solar cell project—very few, actually. The patents had gone through, and he’d drawn some interest from the private sector. But the big surprise was the defense contractor who wanted exclusive rights. Remembering Stephen’s request, he’d demurred and gone ahead with the project privately. Some speculative money had come in. He’d taken an option to lease on a building that would be the manufacturing facility, and some of his friends were retooling existing equipment to fabricate the new cells. The batteries would be farmed out to another company, built to the specifications Stephen stipulated.

The Galileo’s return had coincided with the next phase of Victor’s job—the actual production of the new cells and their storage batteries—and after a tour of the ship and a good long look at the fighter in the bay, Victor was ready to go back.

“That fighter is the old model,” Stephen said. “The newer, faster versions, twenty of them, are still out there.”

Victor shrugged. “I’m an engineer. I can guess what the new one’s look like. And I’m going to see one, sooner or later. Right now, though, I have to finish getting this project up and running. One more year, and you’ll have a very insistent volunteer.”

Taking Victor back to the transporter room, Stephen said, “I’ll go back down with you. One of the most amazing sights in the world is to see someone beam out. And you know there are no hidden gadgets. It’s your own house, after all.”

As they stood there, Transport Control beamed in a young crew woman. Victor, agog, said, “I’m going to find out how that works! Really, Stephen, there’s no need to go down with me now. I’ve seen what a beam-in is like, and I’ll assume a beam-out to be much the same.”

Agreeing that it was, Stephen shook his friend’s hand. “We’ll be back in about a year. I’ll be in touch as soon as we make orbit. Good luck, Vic. And be ready to take a ride next time.” Gesturing to the on-duty tech, he watched Victor beam out.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Lucy decided she hated being in command, but actually, it was okay in a way. When she was just in charge of the third shift, it was cool. Most of the time all she had to do was sit there and maybe order a course correction, but that was before she’d found out what Simon’s definition of rank and command structure really meant.

She’d never completely understood her own idea that everybody on the first two shifts would be senior to her in rank. Simon, on the other hand, felt somewhat differently—a misunderstanding, really. He hadn’t realized Lucy didn’t fully comprehend her position, not understanding its importance in Simon’s worldview.

She’d thought she was just in charge of the third-stringers, sort of, but Simon had explained the facts of life to her when the Galileo headed for Earth, leaving Kitty on Orion. Now Wing Commander Hawke, Kitty was going to oversee the formation and training of the defense network around Orion, which left a gap in the command structure of the Galileo for the voyage home.

Commander Walker was in charge of the Research and Development division and Commander Miller was senior Communications Officer, also overseeing factory operations when the Galileo was in construction mode. With the captain being the captain—Duh! Lucy thought, working her way through the logic—that was all four of the Firsters.

“With Wing Commander Hawke on Orion, and since Commander Walker isn’t a line officer and Commander Miller is… working in other areas, that moves you to First Officer,” Simon had told her when he’d called her to his office the day before the Galileo left for Earth. “And you’ve been in actual command of this ship eight hours a day, seven days a week for quite some time. Let me ask you a question, Lucy. Who better to run second shift and be First Officer than someone who has experience running third?”

“But…” Lucy said, searching desperately for an answer. The reality of what the captain was asking her finally struck home. “I can’t run second shift! I mean, sir, everyone on the second shift bridge team outranks me.”

“Not anymore, Commander,” Simon said. Smiling, he slid a small case across the desk to her.

Hand shaking slightly, she picked up the black velvet case, guessing what was inside. She opened the lid to reveal the gold eight-pointed stars of a full commander.

Her mind churning, she looked from the stars in her hand to the man behind the desk several times before she could formulate a response. To her horror, she heard herself ask, “Do I get my bridge team, sir? I’m not sure I can do this without them. I mean it’s not all my doing that our shift runs so well. I depend on them a lot, sir.”

Simon smiled, “I appreciate your loyalty, Commander, but the fact is that to do so would effectively demote those already on second shift for no apparent reason other than favoritism, and that’s not going to become a practice aboard any ship I have control over. Do I make myself clear?” He ended on a firm note that sounded stern even to himself. When the new commander silently nodded, fear evident on her face, he relented.

“This is going to give you a broader range of experience, Commander. Learning to work with others is a part of life. Besides, your new team is expecting you on the bridge at fifteen hundred hours tomorrow.” He smiled at the nervous Lucy. “Relax, Lucy. I’m going to give you the same advice an old sergeant gave me way back when—if you act like you know what you’re doing, most people will believe it. Confidence breeds confidence, Commander, and you need to project it. Now, this bridge team is pretty much intact. They did lose their Helm officer to Orion, though, so you can bring yours over. That way you’ll have at least one familiar face on the shift until you get used to the new ones.”

The thought of David Sipes sitting at Helm did calm her some, she had to admit, but getting used to the new position and faces was going to be a bitch.

She’d thought the move to second shift was going to be a problem, but whatever she’d expected never materialized. The bridge team was polite to her, calling her “ma’am,” and following instructions without hesitation. She did get a few sideways looks that she thought could have been her imagination, but she was never certain. The few times she met her old team in the rec room was the only point at which she got to let her hair down. They razzed her unmercifully about her promotion, but she knew it was all in fun. Nevertheless, it had been a hectic week, absorbing the new situation. Rob Greene was feeling the same since he’d been promoted to Lucy’s old position.

Now they’d arrived at Earth, and Lucy’s trip home to see about getting some of her friends to join up had been interrupted by a strange incident. Ensign Lisle Gower had been in a TGI Friday’s dressed in civilian clothes when she was approached by an anonymous man and woman asking for her by name. The two had given her a letter and asked her to deliver it to Captain Hawke.

“They acted okay, but kinda stiff, you know?” Gower said. “It did do some good, though. All my friends got to see a couple of MIBs give me a letter with the presidential seal on it, and then they all followed me outside and watched me beam up. I was gonna let one come with me to tell the others what had happened, but this seemed more important, so I told them I’d be back and just beamed out in the middle of the parking lot. You said we should be more obvious about it—beaming out, that is. Did I do right?”

The implications were clear, Lucy realized, tapping the envelope Gower had handed her on the arm of the command chair. The girl had indeed done right. Captain Hawke wanted as many people as possible to know about their existence, feeling the exposure would help ease the problems dealing with a government that wanted their ship, but they’d expected a greater respite before the government began sending this kind of message to the captain.

“Of course, Ensign,” she said, sending her back down to her friends.

“Well, the only thing to do is to pass the buck,” she mused and continued tapping the envelope on the arm of the command chair while she waited for the captain to arrive.

When Simon appeared on the bridge, Lucy handed the envelope to him. “This has to be related to that FBI agent. God, but he’s quick. Didn’t Commander Miller drop him back in Washington? In order for him to get that,” she said, gesturing to the letter, “get back to Colorado, and get it to one of our people, well, someone greased his wheels.”

Simon tore the end of the envelope open and shook the single-folded piece of paper out. Reading it, he looked up at Lucy. “Get Commanders Miller and Walker to the ready room. And be there yourself as soon as you can, Commander. Looks like things have just heated up down below.”

Lucy stared at him as he left the bridge. If a man could skip without actually doing so, then the captain had just done a credible impression.

Gayle and Stephen walked into the ready room and found Simon and Lucy already there. The letter lay on the table before them. Seating himself, Stephen reached out and grabbed the piece of paper, bringing it over so he and Gayle could read it.

“Is this for real? And who would we send? It can’t be you.”

Gayle added, “Hell no, it can’t. And where would we meet these people? And on such short notice. And I’m not sure I like this phrase,” she said, pointing at the paper. “What does ‘in the best interests of all concerned’ mean, anyway?”

Simon lifted his hands in surrender. “Don’t look at me. I’m sure I don’t know, but there’s a way to find out. Stephen, why don’t you set up a meeting at the earliest moment? I don’t want to delay departure any longer than I have to with all these new people on board.”

Taking the business card that was stapled to the letter, Stephen said, “I guess the lodge would do again. I still have the key I never returned before we took off last time. I’ll beam down and give this Special Assistant to the Office of the President a call. I’ll let you know what happens as soon as I can.”

“Brandon Galway,” the no-nonsense voice said, grating out of the speaker. “Who’s this?”

“I’m Commander Stephen Walker of the Galileo, Mr. Galway, and I’m under the impression that we’re supposed to talk.”

Setting up the meeting was the work of minutes. When Stephen asked how long it would take Galway and crew to get to the Appalachians, he was told that they had a helicopter at their disposal and that he should just name the place.

“Okay, Mr. Galway,” Stephen said, “about five miles past Rawley Springs you’ll see a cutoff into Washington National Forest. Take that for about five miles and you’ll come out at a hunting lodge. There should be enough room to land a chopper.”

Given an arrival time of an hour and a half, Stephen responded, “Very well, Mr. Galway. Just make sure you four are the only ones there. And unarmed. We have ways to monitor things like that, you know.”

When Simon heard about the arrangements, he could only say, “Good work. I want all four of you to have a sidearm. The new lasers could give you an advantage or even things up if your gun ban gets disobeyed. Full uniforms as well.”

The roster for the away team had broken down to Lucy, Stephen, Gayle, and Commander John Marshall, their Security Chief. All four went to their quarters to change into clean uniforms and draw weapons from the armory.

Keeping track of the air traffic in the area via the Galileo’s sensors, the four members of the team were informed that a helicopter seemed to be heading straight for the lodge and would arrive in about fifteen minutes. Lucy, as First Officer, was in charge of the mission, and in addition to the weapon on her hip she was wearing a headset identical to those her other team members wore. That way, everyone could keep track of what the sensor crews were reporting, as well as keep in touch with each other if they should get separated. Their headsets were connected to the new commlink that had been built from some of the plans found in the computer. Despite its small size, it was able to reach the Galileo some twelve thousand miles above.

Ten minutes before the chopper was estimated to arrive at the lodge, the team beamed down to the parking lot outside the two-story ranch-style log structure. Stephen pulled the key from his pocket and opened the front door. Looking around to see that everything was in order, he waved the others in and, pushing the door closed, set about making coffee in the oversized pot on the divider between the living room and kitchen.

A few minutes later, they heard the rising sound of the whirlybird as it cleared a ridge half a mile away. Almost immediately, the sound began to drop as the craft settled in the precise middle of the parking lot. Lucy, getting updates from above, gave the okay. Even though she was years younger than the others, she had the responsibility of command. Taking time for a deep breath, she remembered the captain’s advice about appearances.

“Seems like there are five people in that thing, folks. Commander Walker, would you be kind enough to greet them and ask them in for coffee?”

Stephen watched from a window as four men stepped out of the helicopter and, bending over, ran several dozen feet away from the whirling blades. A silhouetted figure stayed at the controls of the idling machine. They conferred in a tight group for a few seconds and then headed for the lodge. Stephen watched them walk up the stone steps and across the wide wooden porch. He nodded to Marshall to open the door as the lead man reached for the doorknob.

Hesitating only fractionally, the four U.S. representatives entered to a scene they hadn’t expected. There were four people in the room, all in identical uniforms, and a good-looking blonde was pouring coffee into obviously expensive cups on equally expensive saucers. Stopping just inside the door, a short, stocky man looked each of the Galileo crew over.

“Looks like you have a lucrative business going here. I’m Brandon Galway, Special Assistant to the Office of the President. This is Colonel Michael Babcock, USAF, Steven Mitchell from NASA, and… a member of the security services.”

Lucy stepped forward, hand extended. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Galway. I’m Commander Lucy Grimes, First Officer of the Galileo. With me are Commander Walker, Science Officer, Commander Miller, Communications Officer, and Commander Marshall, our Chief Security Officer.” As she named each one, they nodded their heads in turn.

Lucy looked the four men over. Galway could have been a linebacker in a former life. He had the kind of build any coach would love to see in a defensive formation. The Air Force officer was in uniform and the NASA guy looked the part of a rocket scientist, complete with pocket protector and pens. The unnamed man at the back of the group Lucy faced would never get a second look on the street. Plain in dress and appearance, he would blend into virtually any crowd. Here, he stood out like a sore thumb since Galway had made such a production of not naming him.

He was the first to speak, baiting her, she realized. “Kinda young to be second in command of a spaceship, aren’t you, young lady?” he taunted.

Keeping her temper under control wasn’t the easiest thing to do. Too many times in her short life she’d had to defend herself against those who would give her the same kind of grief. “Who are you? And what experience do you have with spaceship crews that you can make that determination, sir?” she threw back.

Glowering in anger, the little man started to make a rejoinder when Galway, the obvious leader of their group, silenced him with a wave of his hand.

“Now that we have the amenities out of the way, can we get down to business?” Sitting down at the head of the table that separated the two groups, Lucy waved for the visitors to be seated as well, preempting the right to set the tone of the meeting. She picked up a coffeepot, filled her cup, and set it down as close to Galway as she comfortably could. “Your fourth still hasn’t identified himself, and until he does, he can wait outside. I was raised to observe the amenities.”

Galway shifted uncomfortably in his chair and said, “He’s a member of a group even I don’t know the name of. Let’s just call him Mr. Smith.”

“Well, that’s very original.” Her sarcasm wasn’t lost on Galway or Smith. “So, tell me, Mr. Galway, what’s so important that you’d call a meeting like this at such short notice? We’re due to leave orbit as soon as this meeting is over, so you’ll forgive me if I don’t have time to spar with you. Tell me what you want, and we can discuss the details without any beating around the bush, if you please.” The captain had briefed her on how to handle these people. She was to make them state their position and wasn’t to let them draw her into any confessions or giving too much away.

“First, I want to express my displeasure at the fact that you people are wearing weapons. That’s a violation of the agreement we made prior to coming here,” Galway huffed.

This brought an immediate response from Stephen. “Mr. Galway, I asked your group to come unarmed. You never asked the same of us, though we would have come armed in any case. We’re the ones at a numerical disadvantage. Now, please state your reasons for asking us here. We can leave any time, you know.”

Taking a deep breath, Galway looked at his little security man and spoke. “We’re here to demand that you turn the vessel you found over to your government. It’s the patriotic thing to do, and the law is very specific on this point. It’s called the right of eminent domain. Confiscation is allowed under the laws of the United States. Besides, you have no idea what you have and no idea how to use it. Also, having private citizens in possession of such a thing is a threat to our national security. We have no recourse but to insist on this course of action.” Sitting back in the chair he occupied, he smugly folded his arms across his chest and waited.

Lucy grinned. “The Captain said you’d take that tack. Well, here are some facts for you. Even though he didn’t explicitly mention eminent domain, I will tell you that, if I’m correct, it only applies to things actually in the United States. Our ship was found in what amounts to no-man's-land some twelve thousand miles above the Earth. Let’s add to that the fact that we do know what we have and how to use it. As evidence of that, let me play a video for you, a new one. Commanders Miller and Walker will narrate.”

Motioning for Commander Marshall to put the disc in the player, Lucy sat back. Over the next hour, Gayle and Stephen explained what was showing on the screen. It would have taken far less time if they hadn’t been repeatedly interrupted by one or other of the four men.

“Gentlemen,” Lucy began after the disc ended, “this second video shows you that we do know how to use our ship.” Everyone noticed the stress she put on the pronoun. “And turning this vessel over to any government on Earth would be stupidity of the worst sort.”

Outpacing the objections that naturally followed that comment, she went on. “Do you know what would happen if we do as you demand? How would Russia or China react to the United States having the kind of technology that our ship represents? You, my anonymous friend, how do you think they’d react? Or all the other countries of the world, in fact? We say that the best thing is for the ‘status’ to remain ‘quo,’ so to speak. That will keep this country and all the others on this mudball from taking each other out in some kind of nuclear frenzy. We consider that to be patriotism of the highest caliber. And as we have both possession and a tactical advantage, I think we’ll keep control.”

Deftly fielding the questions of the four men from the government, Lucy and her team finally hammered home to them that there was no joke, no special effects, and no attempt to defraud, defame, coerce, or intimidate.

“Remember, you came to us, gentlemen,” Stephen interjected. “Right now, one hundred and forty million miles away, we have four-hundred-plus people trying to carve out a piece of the universe for the human race. We don’t intend to keep that away from the rest of Earth. On the contrary, we intend to give it to the people of Earth, eventually. Please note, I said ‘to the people of Earth,’ gentlemen, not to one country or group. But until we get a few problems solved, the most notable of which is that we’ve already been fired on by unknown aliens—and fired back successfully, mind you—we must keep as much distance between us and you as possible. We’re still figuring out how to do that since we have to keep returning here for more personnel and to bring back those who get tired, want out, or need to be buried. Yes, buried. As I said, we were attacked, and there have been casualties. We have seven confirmed dead and three missing. This isn’t a picnic we’re returning to.”

Gayle found a chance to make her voice heard. Knowing that her physical attributes made most men underestimate her, she tended to let it go on most of the time, but in this instance, she decided to demonstrate that she wasn’t there just for show.

“We’re now fighting for our lives out there, Mr. Galway.” Turning her not inconsiderable attention toward the leader of the opposing group, she continued. “We are few, and space is vast. I realize that’s an understatement, but there it is. We have a chance to move the human race forward a quantum step, and giving the ship to you wouldn’t accomplish that. As a friend of mine said, ‘They’ll study it into some black budget, and no one will ever benefit from it.’ That’s a paraphrase, but you know what he means. So, we keep the ship, and we’re going to carve out a foothold in space for the human race whether you like it or not!”

Not a word came from the four men, and a cloud seemed to hang over them as they sat there. Lucy tipped her head to one side, listening to a report from the Galileo. She looked at her visitors. “Gentlemen, are any of you expecting company? Four men in a sedan heading toward this cabin at a high rate of speed, perhaps? If you are and can contact them, I’d suggest you wave them off. If not, we’re out of here, and our next meeting won’t be under such pleasant circumstances.”

Commander Marshall rose and went to stand at one of the windows, looking out onto the parking lot with pistol in hand. At this, Galway’s security man looked at Galway, who nodded at him. He got up and left through the front door.

Galway temporized. “Look, we had to take our best shot at things. Truth is, I feel a little like you do. I want to keep things as they are, having a vested interest in the status quo. But I also have to answer to a higher authority. Balancing those two can be pretty tricky sometimes. I imagine that if you don’t know that yet, Commander Grimes, you will before too much longer. Those guys in the car had orders to infiltrate if they didn’t get a signal from… him. Now that we know how hard it is to sneak up on you, I’m sure it won’t happen again.”

Lucy glanced at her watch. “Mr. Galway, this thing in my ear is a terrible nuisance sometimes. It just informed me that we’re running out of time. So, here’s what we want: A base on each of three continents—North America, Europe, and Asia—free passage for our personnel when they return from their tours of duty, and no restrictions on recruitment. These are things we expect you to work out with all of Earth’s governments while we’re gone. In return, we’ll start giving out some of the technology on board to begin improving the lives of all Earth’s citizens. There are, of course, two restrictions on that. We will not trade propulsion or weapons technology.”

Lucy closed her eyes for a moment, thinking back to some of the conversations she’d listened to and, lately, been involved in. “The real kicker to the whole situation as we see it is this—if we give something to you, Mr. Galway, you can be sure that someone in every country on Earth will be given the same data. There will be no exclusivity.”

Stephen picked up where Lucy left off. “I want you to keep in mind, too, what a Pandora’s Box this kind of deal can be. Let me give you an example. Today, in this country, there’s a company forming to build improved solar cells and storage batteries. That’s all well and good. But how about when we offer you a device that will cancel weight? Not mass, my friend, just weight. Marry that to an automobile equipped with the new battery and solar cells, and whole industries would vanish overnight—gasoline companies all the way down to distributors because those batteries will run an electric motor at seventy-five miles an hour for a week. Add to that all businesses that support internal combustion engines and all businesses that have anything to do with tires, Mr. Galway. And those are just a few off the top of my head. So. One small… gift and how many millions of people will be unemployed around the world? What about the countries that produce the oil the world will no longer need? I say take what I’ve said here back to your boss and tell him to be very careful about what you demand and what you—”

Lucy’s wrist jerked and she looked down at her arm. Blue sparkles formed before her eyes as she looked back up to see two men barreling into the room, guns drawn.

“Keep the same phone number, Galway!”

“I will not tolerate this!” Lucy shouted, rampaging through the bridge. “I want to know how two men can get past our sensor net and get that close to us! Those two fucking Neanderthals weren’t kidding. Weapons out and looking for someone to shoot.”

Stephen, silently in agreement with her, was busy picking through the data to come up with just that answer. “It seems, Commander, that the lodge is in an area that blocked some of our sensor sweeps. Somehow, and don’t ask me how, those two got into the area before we beamed in and worked their way into the lodge. If the others in the car hadn’t shown up, we wouldn’t even have been on the lookout. Imagine the potential damage from that. We got lucky, and that’s all there is to it.”

Simon chose that moment to walk onto the bridge after waiting for the few minutes it took for Lucy to regain a portion of control. “Luck is about all we have going for us, people,” he said, looking to bring the atmosphere on the bridge back to something approaching professional. “And that’s been from day one. All we can do is make the best of any break we can get and try to minimize any damage.” He turned to Lucy. “Debrief in my office, if you please, Commander.”

Lucy stood at attention as Simon circled her like a… hawk, not blinking. She couldn’t get the image of a bird of prey out of her mind, searching for just the right moment to strike.

“In front of junior officers, Commander?” he asked inches away from her ear, his voice almost a whisper. He walked all the way around her again, coming to a stop in front of her. Raising his voice to conversational level, he continued speaking. “Losing your temper is not out of line, but I will not tolerate outbreaks like that in front of the crew. That was out of line.” He turned his back on her and walked to his desk, the set of his shoulders telling her he wasn’t through.

He sat down, deliberately staring at her the whole time. “When your subordinates see you lose control, their confidence in you can be severely impacted, which in turn can cause problems at crucial moments, problems like hesitation to obey orders instantly. And instant obedience is required out here or else people can die. Easily. These people, like you, Commander, are volunteers. They don’t have to obey; they obey because they want to, because they trust you, and because they trust that I made the right choice putting you in command.” Simon had gone into lecture mode, his voice smooth and firm, his eyes compelling her to look at him and daring her to look away. The Law was about to be delivered from on high. “These people only follow what I say because… hell, I don’t know why they do, but they do. And they’re only going to as long as the people I pick to lead them in my place don’t let me down.”

He took a deep breath, obviously choosing his words with care. “Outbursts like the one I just witnessed are marginally acceptable in a staff meeting but not in front of the crew. If that’s not acceptable to you, I’ll see to it that you’re dropped off the next time we get back to Earth. Otherwise, you’ll make it your personal mission to see to it that each and every officer on this ship learns what happens when that rule is broken the first time. And remember that while ‘first time’ implies a second time, second time means last time.”

Simon leaned back in his chair and looked up at her. A chime sounded, saving her from further chewing. He smiled, taking her by surprise. It carried all the way to his eyes, which had remained hard up until then.

“All I have to do is remember some ass-chewing I got and give it to someone else when they screw up, and I sound like a damn genius, don’t I?” He shook his head sadly and glanced at his watch. “Right now, we have a ship to get under way. And as it’s my shift, I want you to get some rest. We’ll let your actions decide your fate. You show up for your next watch and I’ll consider this matter resolved. You don’t show up and I’ll still consider it resolved.” He looked at her for another minute while she stared a hole in the bulkhead over his shoulder. After another eternity, he said, “Dismissed.”

Lucy closed the door behind her with a sense of doom averted. He hadn’t canned her. She’d known she was wrong as the words were coming out of her mouth, but she hadn’t been able to stop. She blamed it on post-adrenaline letdown, but for whatever reason, he hadn’t canned her.

And why wouldn’t everyone follow him? she thought. Yeah, it’s going to take some time and work, but I see the vision Simon sees. And it’s obvious that Commander Kitty sees it, too.

Six days later, the Galileo slid back into place beside Orion, ostensibly to drop off extra supplies for the food processors and to add and transfer crew, but also to show those on the space dock that they hadn’t been forgotten. Just over a month had passed since their departure, but to Simon it had felt like a year.

“I’m going to be too old for this before we get the third dock built, Dan,” he griped. Putting his feet up on Daniel’s desk, he sipped gratefully at the scotch sitting in front of him. “And I’m going to have to do something about whoever’s been smuggling booze, even if it does hit the spot right now.” He knew better than to ask who among his crew was bringing the stuff aboard for Daniel, and he let the matter drop. “So, how are things going out here?”

“First, who said it was smuggled?” Glancing at some printouts on his desk, Daniel shrugged. “And as well as can be expected. We haven’t had any more visitors. We now have a sensor net that covers an area extending from halfway to Mars out to about the same distance from Jupiter. That’s lateral. Front to back, I’d say somewhat less.” Front to back referred to the areas ahead of Orion and behind her in the asteroid belt.

“As for the ship itself, we’re about a quarter done. The construction is primarily from the inside out, as you know. As each section is finished, it’s pressure tested, and the next one out is started. Installing the hull plating itself effectively finished that portion of the ship, and work started on braces so we had something to build on, so-to-speak. Now we can pick up the pace. All the time that the beam extruders were turning out the keel beam, spars, struts, main braces, and so on, others were turning out deck plates and hull plates. And the other factories were busy stockpiling wire, cable, fiber optics, switches, control modules, seats, tables, nuts and bolts, and everything else. Now it’s just a great big jigsaw puzzle.

“Everything has been reconfigured to our own physical parameters, of course. That translates to more decks and more storage space and will make things a little less claustrophobic for everyone who works on her.”

Simon took another sip of the scotch, eyeing the amber liquid speculatively. “We’ll be able to mount heavier lasers and more torpedoes, too?”

“Oh, yes,” Daniel affirmed. “And even the newest thing out of R&D. I’m just glad they got the specs to us in time to allow for the interior modifications.”

Simon looked from his inspection of the drink in his hand to Daniel. “I’ve read all the reports that come across my desk. Did I miss something? The only thing I know is something about reconfiguring the capture fields into selectively permeable barriers.” He secretly patted himself on the back. A year ago, that phrase would never have entered his conversation.

“Right,” Daniel said, slipping into teacher mode, finding it an aid in helping someone reach the answer by themselves. “Now take those same barriers and add a little more power to them. Remember, we’ve got power to spare out of an antimatter core. Push ‘em out past the hull of the ship and you’ve got what?”

Simon unconsciously set his drink down, forgotten, as the imagery Daniel’s words evoked cascaded through his mind. “Force fields!” he exclaimed. “Meteor shields, antimissile defenses.” His voice trailed off, and he looked up at Daniel.

“Exactly,” Daniel said. “And if we’d had that technology when those ...” His voice cracked and Simon knew what was going through his mind.

“I wish we’d them back then, too, Dan, but we didn’t,” Simon said, feeling the same pain Daniel did. “At least we have them now, though. Retrofit Orion and…” His anger over the deaths of people who’d trusted him he filed in a safe place. Someday he’d be able to pull it out and deal with it, but now was not the time.

Instead, he fell back on the age-old tactic of changing the subject. “Did I see a white hull as we came in?”

Daniel sat up, relief showing on his face, and nodded. “One of the engineers found a way to add coloring to the hull plates as they come out of the factory. Takes a little more time to set up, but once in place and functioning, it doesn’t slow anything down. And it makes the ship look less like the Galileo and more like a ship from some other race. Also, white reflects light, and the ship won’t require as much energy to cool it. We’re carrying the idea inside the ship, too. Humans are color-oriented critters, Simon, so we’re using light colors in the work areas and corridors, and restful pastels in the gyms, mess halls, etc. We’re still debating what to do with the personal quarters. Have you thought of a name for her, yet?

Simon looked his friend in the eye and smiled. “Yes, I have. And for the next five after that, too. I intend to name them after six of the premier science-fiction authors of my time. They will be named the Arthur C. Clarke, Larry Niven, Isaac Asimov, Anne McCaffrey, and Andre Norton. And the one you’re building right now, the flagship of our battle fleet, will be named the Robert A. Heinlein. I’m sure they’ll be referred to by the surnames only, and that’s all right with me since I won’t mind being captain of a ship named the Heinlein. And I just hope he won’t be turning over in his grave at the thought that a fighting ship is named after him, but he really shouldn’t since he spent a good part of his life in the navy.”

Daniel looked at Simon questioningly. “I was never a sci-fi reader before this, but I’ve read some of the stuff the guys brought with them.” He shook his head, eyes casting to and fro, as if in search of an answer. “Still, I don’t get your choice of names.”

Simon leaned forward, eager to find another topic to get them back to the present. “It’s not so much the particular authors, really, although they’re the ones I read the most avidly when I found a new title on the shelves. It’s just that science-fiction authors are responsible in very large part for the fact that we have such an easy time getting volunteers. And sci-fi writers have been in the business of asking ‘what if’… for the last hundred years or so. Surely you’ve heard of Jules Verne?”

“Well, yeah!” Daniel exclaimed. “The submarine show. Now that was a piece of engineering. Cheesy monsters, though.”

Simon laughed out loud. “Well, Danny-me-lad, that book was written in the late 1800s, so that was science fiction in its day. But look at the subs we’ve got today. And sci-fi authors predicted force fields a long time ago.”

He turned serious as quickly as he had laughed. “I wonder why the Builders never took their technology to that level?”

Daniel shook his head. “I don’t think we’ll ever know, Simon. Too much cultural difference, I’ll bet.”

Simon finished up his courtesy call on Orion’s skipper and returned to his quarters on the Galileo, somewhat miffed that Kitty was still out on one of the continuous patrols. If not her sensors, then her radio should have informed her long ago of the Galileo’s arrival. He’d only been back for a couple of hours and already he was hearing gossip about the commandant of the fighter wing—how she spent as many hours up and out as possible, and how she was turning the fighter wings into an elite group of… what?... loyal to her and her vision of what a fighter pilot should be. Could this really be the even-tempered woman he’d married? And to make a pistol a part of the uniform? A vision of her tear-streaked face kneeling over the shrouded body of Toni Putnam crossed his mind, and he shivered involuntarily.

Kitty sauntered into their quarters and dropped her pistol belt in a corner. After draping her flight jacket over a chair, she draped herself over Simon.

“Long time, no see, lover.” Pulling him to his feet, she tugged on his sleeve until she got him moving in the direction of the shower. “Help me scrub the stink off, okay? Then I’ve got plans for the rest of the night. Randy’s got the watch, and we’re clear until I say otherwise.”

After a much-needed shower and a desperately needed reunion with her husband, Kitty was relaxed enough to broach a subject she’d been thinking about for the entire month of Simon’s absence.

“Simon, how far have you thought this out?” Long hours in a Mamba had given Kitty’s philosophical nature time to worry over the future. “Right now, you see the possibilities of getting open recognition. What about when—not if—some government gets pissed off at not getting what they want fast enough? We’ve already seen our own government trying to arrest our people. It’s thanks to the wristbands and your foresight that they were able to get their jobs done without anything worse happening, but that can’t go on. Someone will get hurt no matter what we do. We all hoped we’d have at least a little more time before publicly revealing ourselves, but that didn’t happen. So, we make the best of our situation.” Looking over her shoulder at Simon as she briskly dried her now shoulder-length hair, she saw the amazement on his face. “What?”

He grinned, propped himself up on an elbow, and sighed. “You seem to have… embraced our situation rather completely for an avowed pacifist. Come back to bed and tell me about it.”

And cradled in her husband’s arms, she did.

“We’ve been out here for almost a year now. And while I’m out there,” she said, waving in the general direction of the bulkhead, “I have time to think. I figure there’s a point at which there’s no going back, and I think we’ve already passed that point. We’re going to need a fallback position for when we’re cut off, officially, from Earth.”

Simon marveled at how their thought processes coincided. “I mentioned that to the staff when we were on our way to Earth,” he said. “We’ve got the beginnings of just that in place—a couple of people we can trust to help steer volunteers our way without having to worry too much about whether or not they’re agents of some kind.”

“Hell, Simon, it’s the second most common topic for discussion in any group, and most of the groups are composed of college-age people. You know how they like to chew on something once they get their teeth into it. And,” Kitty went on in a lively tone, “we need to instill some traditions in our fledgling republic. We’ll probably have to quote the Declaration of Independence at Earth eventually, so getting people motivated early is a good idea. The Mamba pilots are a highly visible group, so use them to motivate our own people and attract newcomers.”

They talked for hours in the limbo Kitty had created for them. And after their reunion idyll ended by common consent, Simon and Kitty dressed for their evening appearance.

“We can’t miss dinner,” Kitty proclaimed. “It’s traditional on the first day back.”

Simon nodded in agreement. “Fine with me, but I gotta say something about that fledgling republic comment of yours. When what we’ve started building here can grow on its own, then it can be a republic. By that time our group will have grown and split into many segments—a civilian population, service industries, police, courts, military, everything any civilization needs to survive. Diversity. Right now, we’re only a military branch. We have to build and recruit the rest. But let’s get to dinner, since it’s now traditional,” Simon said, changing the subject. “We can throw this out on the table for our own bull session later.”

For the most part, mealtimes had settled down to the ends of shifts, so there were three meals served every day by the people assigned to the kitchens. For reasons known only to themselves, most folks didn’t seem to take too well to the food processors. It made no difference that the egg they were eating had come from a processor; when people wanted an omelet, they wanted it prepared by the hands of a fellow human being. Therefore, a kitchen had been constructed, and cooks plied their arcane skills within.

Time was measured in the age-old twenty-four-hours-in-a-day manner, and dinner was being served to those who had the evening shift free, which included most department heads. Because of this, Simon wasn’t too surprised to see Daniel in the mess hall, along with Stephen, Gayle, Lucy, and Miranda Lee.

“Waiting for us to come out of seclusion?” Simon asked, smiling. “So, what’s up?”

“What’s up is that everyone wants to know what happens next, Simon.” Daniel looked up from the depths of his coffee cup. The number one ongoing discussion centered around just that question. Simon, having determined to keep overall control of the Galileo in his own hands, was in effect being called upon to put up or shut up. Closing both eyes and drawing on the strength of his wife sitting next to him, he jumped straight into the deep end.

“The immediate next step is to start the next dock and let Orion get on about its own mission,” he began. Opening his eyes, he glanced around the table. “The next step after that is harder. I originally wanted to stay out of view longer than this, but our government—while not exactly composed of the brightest bulbs on the sign—isn’t stupid and figured out enough that we couldn’t stay hidden if we wanted to. Here’s what happened on Earth.”

After relating his part, Simon let Stephen, Gayle, and Lucy tell their tales.

“So, we go completely public when we get back with two lines of attack. One is overt. How do we go about openly recruiting? And the other is covert. How do we set up clandestine lines of communications if worst comes to worst? Call me paranoid, but from now on we need to consider the possibility of tech spies, sabotage, and worse. Prepare a proposal or proposals for me to review. There’s no rush on this since we have to get number two built before we spend any more time on Earth.

“Next on the table is the question of command. In the next eighteen months or so, we’re going to need three base commanders and ten more ship captains, not to mention crews. Stephen has indicated that he wants to opt out of command and stay more in the science branch. I agree that we can get more use from his abilities if we follow his suggestion, so I’m left looking at five of my next nine captains and base commanders.

“Daniel, you may not like this, but you’re going to be the only captain among the base commanders. I’m looking at a chain of command that will leave one person in overall charge of all the bases—that being you or your replacement—to coordinate the building of ships. Standardization will be the watchword. I want any ship able to be serviced at any station, refueled and rearmed as necessary. We need one man to handle that, and you’re elected. The others will have the rank of base commander. We have Orion, and we’re going to build Gemini.” Noting the look on Miranda’s face, Simon gave her his attention. “Speak up, Commander. This amounts to a staff meeting, and if you weren’t supposed to speak up, you wouldn’t be here.”

Stephen leaned across the table and stuck his hand out. “Welcome to the team, Miranda. I got conscripted the same way. My advice is, take a deep breath and just say what’s on your mind. He doesn’t bite.”

The rest laughed as Simon reddened and Miranda swallowed a lump in her throat.

Miranda began by saying that she wanted to opt out like Stephen had and started citing reasons why she wasn’t a good choice for captain. Simon let her ramble for a bit and then cut her off.

“Miranda—and in these meetings, we’re all on first-name basis—I’ve got something more in mind for you than being just a ship’s captain. But right now, I need people I can trust in those control seats, so I want you to take the position anyway. And here’s the carrot I’ve got to dangle in front of you. At some indeterminate time in the future, we’re going to have fighter squadrons… and fighter carriers. Do you want to be in command of the fighter squadrons? Before you give any kind of answer, let me point out that most of the jobs on both the Galileo and Orion are being handled by people your age or younger. And here’s another thought for you—you’re just as qualified as anyone else to do a job no one has ever done before. But I need you to have some command experience. It’s not something that needs to be answered right now, but do think about it and we’ll talk about it later.”

Next, Simon turned to Daniel. “I guess now’s the time to tell you that I’m stealing not only your assistant but about half your crew. The crew, I’m replacing with fresh faces. Your assistant, I’m not. I figure that if he’s good enough to be your straw boss, then he can handle a dock on his own. We may run out of qualified people to captain the docks. I’m open to ideas,” he said, looking around. “Submit them any time, people.”

Tossing a folder on the table, Simon said, “This is what we’ve come up with for crew transfers. You get half of my volunteers, and I get half of your trained personnel. We can juggle specifics later, but I want to get under way within forty-eight hours.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Simon, Kitty, Lucy, Gayle, and Stephen, along with the newest member of the inner circle, Adam, sat at the ready-room table. Kitty still held the rank of wing commander, and she’d taken charge of all of Gemini’s fighters, beginning her version of training almost immediately for every pilot aboard. Miranda Lee had been left in charge of the fighter detachment aboard Orion, and Kitty was more than a little upset at not getting her position as first officer back. Simon had to explain that it wouldn’t be fair to Lucy to remove her from the position just because Kitty was back.

Adam was Simon’s candidate for base commander of Gemini once it was completed. An accomplished mining engineer, he’d come highly recommended, and to his credit, he was an avid sci-fi fan.

“It always helps, Adam,” Simon said, referring to Adam’s sci-fi propensity. “Most of our volunteers are hardcore fans. I swear, if we allowed costumes, you’d see Klingons walking these decks side-by-side with Ferengi.”

He laughed and poured Pepsi over the glass of ice the steward had set on the table in front of him. “Sooner or later, though, you’re gonna hit the wall, as we call it. You’re gonna wake up some morning and say, ‘That was the most realistic dream I’ve ever had!’ Then you’ll step out of your cabin door, find out it ain’t no dream, and wind up in sick bay until we can get your head screwed back on. I want you to remember what I just said. I just love to say ‘I told ya so.’”

The Galileo stopped at Earth long enough to drop off some last-minute returnees and headed on out to the asteroid belt across the solar system from Orion. Position Beta was one hundred eighty degrees around the belt from Orion, and that put the sun in the way of any direct communication at most times of the year, so a relay satellite had been constructed prior to departure. Dropped off along the way, it provided a link to their compatriots so far away and allowed direct news from the underground forming on Earth. Slow though it was, it was the only way to keep in contact at those distances.

First things being first, a new Sundiver was built and sent on its way, courtesy of the original shuttles the Galileo had brought along. Next, three more shuttles and a dozen fighters were constructed, powered by cores also brought from Orion. Then, and only then, the Galileo went to work building the fuel plant. The shuttles received power cores and joined the three already in operation. The fighters were immediately pressed into service, flying patrols and doing double duty as shuttle alternates. By the time the Sundiver got back to the fuel plant, the Galileo would have moved on to its new location and the construction of Gemini would be well under way.

A goodly number of personnel aboard the Galileo were now veterans, and the training of new volunteers continued apace with the construction of the new dock. Within weeks, the habitat section was finished and the overcrowding ceased, although the new section would depend on the Galileo for power until the power plant processed the Sundiver’s first haul.

Start to finish, this second dock took eight months, power plant included. The old hands from Orion made the whole process go much smoother than before. At least this time someone knew what they were doing from the start. The only circumstance of real note during that time was that Orion finished its first ship and immediately began the second.

Simon had originally intended to take that first ship for his flagship but changed his mind somewhere along the way. He prepared a message to Daniel, congratulating him on a job well done, and outlined his ideas. With treachery and deceit the top topics at more than one of the staff meetings, Simon had come away with some new security precautions whirling through his head. Since the commissioning would have to wait for the Galileo to return to Earth and pick up a new set of volunteers, Simon decided to wait on even activating the new ship’s computer core. He wanted to make some changes to the basic programming and figured to take the third ship to come off the docks or reassign whoever originally got command to another and take her himself. He confided some of his suspicions and intentions in a letter to Daniel, dropped the message at Communications, and went to bed.

Simon waited on the sidelines as the available personnel of both the Galileo and soon-to-be-commissioned Gemini milled around deck eighteen, waiting for the activation ceremony to begin. It was known, of course, that Adam Gardner was going to be promoted to base commander. It was his firm hand and eagle eye that had kept things moving, and it was his presence, somehow always at just the right time, that kept the construction crews energized. It was gratifying that there had been an overabundance of volunteers for this second base.

Simon studied the faces of the people standing below the dais, shaking his head. He knew just how important ceremonies like this one could be, but he was still learning how to be an effective public speaker.

Just goes to show you, he thought, even the upper echelons have to learn new jobs.

The cooperation necessary to accomplish the prodigious task that was now almost behind them had formed a bond among these faces looking up at him. Now, he needed to cement that bond with him.

The babble began to die down as he stepped up to the microphone, and soon the last voice went silent. Simon said nothing for a moment. He let his eyes pass over every face he could, recognizing some but not as many as he would have liked. Leaning toward the microphone, he said, “Thank you.”

He let the moment linger for several seconds, then said, “Thank you one and all for believing in the dream that we few not only can but do give our allegiance to advancing the human race so far in so short a time. We’re still learning about the technology we’re using. Every day something new comes across my desk, and I wonder what’s ahead on this totally surreal journey. Only time will tell where all of this will lead, but that’s the way it is with… pioneers—they lead the way and others expand on their work. This station, Gemini Base, will stand alongside Orion and two future bases as mankind’s most outstanding accomplishment for many years to come.”

Simon swept his gaze over the entire audience, including everyone in his next words. “None of this would be possible if not for the vision, dedication and endurance of you, the builders of this new facility. Now, the time has come for all your work to be put to the ultimate test. Very soon, we’ll be activating Gemini’s computer and leaving behind a crew to begin the process of turning out some of the first ships capable of taking humanity to the stars. That being said, I now call upon Commander Gardner to step forward.”

Adam stood stiffly as Simon replaced his old insignia with the new golden stars surrounded by an oak wreath, denoting his new rank, and shook hands all round with his staff. Stephen then stepped forward and handed Gemini’s commissioning plaque to Adam.

“It gives me great pleasure to present you with this plaque, Commander. We all wish you the best of luck in the coming months.” He snapped a salute to the new officer, and Adam returned it clumsily as he transferred the heavy plaque from one hand to the other.

Stephen smiled at him as he stepped back amongst Simon’s staff. “I think the audience is waiting for you to say something, Commander,” he prompted.

Turning to the assembled crews, Adam looked everyone over for a few seconds and then said, “You folks all know me. I’m not a fan of long, flowery speeches that say I couldn’t have done any of this alone. Take it from me, this plaque belongs more to you than to me.

“Now, I’m sure you’ve all been waiting for this announcement—assignments will be posted tomorrow. Some of you will be staying here with me, and the rest of you will be going back to Earth to recruit more volunteers, but your names are at the top of the list for the next ship built. Until those lists are posted, people, I want you to enjoy your parties, for tomorrow we toil. Company dismissed!”

Immediately after, continuing a tradition started only eight months earlier when Orion was commissioned, parties broke out all over both bases.

Adam Gardner, newest commander in the fleet, poured drinks all round. “If you can call two docks and two ships a fleet,” he grumbled good-naturedly, and his audience chuckled. Gemini’s conference room was comfortably crowded with five of the Galileo’s crew and six of his own staff. “Okay, Simon. I know. ‘Take the long view.’ I’m trying to do that. I think my problem is the same as most of the people at this table.” At Simon’s raised eyebrow, an affectation he’d raised to an art form, Adam went on. “I keep stumbling over reality. I really am living in a science-fiction story!” Laughter rippled around the table. Adam raised his glass and said by way of a toast, “To Gemini. May this base age gracefully and bear many young!”

Simon woke up with a headache. “Why did we get warp-drive and not a cure for hangovers?”

Kitty threw a towel at him and grinned evilly. “The cure is to eat first and drink slowly, not-so-bright hubby of mine. Remind me, why did I let you marry me?” Easily dodging his lunge, she stepped to the door. “You shower and I’ll go tell Lucy to get the Galileo ready to get under way. Courtesy call on Commander Gardner in one hour. Meet me in the transporter room, okay? Okay. Love you! Bye!”

Good-naturedly grumbling something about uppity women, Simon headed to the shower and an hour later met Kitty and Lucy at the elevator.

“Good morning, Commanders. What’s our status?”

This last was directed at Lucy, who promptly answered, “Sir, course for Earth is laid in. Everything and everyone needing to be transferred have been. All factories report deactivated and locked down. Drive is online, all stations manned, all instruments green.”

Simon looked his first officer up and down. “Very good, Commander. Now, how about you fill me in on these uniform changes.”

While they waited for the elevator, Lucy began to explain. “Sir, this is the result of one of your suggestions to work on ideas for overt recruitment. The uniform was too bland. If we’re going to recruit openly, we need to look like a class act. Commanders Miller and Hawke think so, too.”

Simon stared at Kitty with no visible expression on his face. Over the past several days, Simon had seen more and more uniforms with odd patches on the shoulders. He’d expected to be informed of the changes at one of the morning briefings, but so far, none had been forthcoming. Now, on the day the Galileo was ready to leave for Earth, he could see that every crewmember of both the Galileo and Gemini were wearing shoulder patches on their uniforms. No one would admit to actually starting the practice, but Simon was sure Gayle had had a hand in it somewhere.

“It actually started when we last arrived at Earth. Everyone’s left shoulder has a round patch about two inches across,” Lucy explained. “It has a stylized Earth with an accelerating ship above it and the words Terran Alliance stitched into the design. On the right shoulder, you’ll see three different patches, depending on their duty station. All of them are the same shape. One reads Galileo and has an image of a crescent moon taken from a drawing by Galileo himself. The second reads Gemini and has a pair of twins holding hands. The third says Orion and has the constellation on it. We’ll soon have to start making ones for each ship as it gets commissioned.”

Some of the right-side patches carried another above emblem them—a partial arch that read “Mamba Pilot.”

Finishing up as they arrived at the transporter room, Lucy blurted out, “And I think we need to have baseball caps as part of the uniform, too.”

Seeing the patches on the transporter tech, Simon gave in to the inevitable.

Gayle and Stephen were in their respective departments handling last-minute business before departure, so only Simon, Kitty and Lucy beamed into Gemini’s reception area. Adam’s executive officer was there to greet them.

“The commander’s compliments, if you please. He’ll be with you momentarily.”

Acknowledging the young lieutenant commander, Simon eyed the reception area. His eyes came to rest on the plaque Stephen had handed to Adam the day before. It read:

GEMINI BASE

COMMISSIONED: NOVEMBER 17, 2013

COMMANDER ADAM GARDNER, COMMANDING

As he read the lines, his chest filled with the pride of accomplishment, but then a chill ran down his spine as his vision greyed out for an indeterminate time. He got a glimpse down the long, cold tunnel of history to a caveman stumbling through unfamiliar territory. Forcing the vision down, he got himself back under control and turned from the plaque as Adam entered the room.

“We’ll be back soon, Adam. Or someone else will. We’re heading for the Heinlein’s commissioning by way of Earth to pick up more recruits, so the new ship could be the next vessel you see. She’ll come this way on her trials. You know, the more ships get built, the less we’re going to need the Galileo as a taxi service. We may move her into Earth orbit and leave her there as a waystation until we’re able to replace her. We also need to keep in mind the fact that by the time we get that first one crewed, we’re going to have to get a crew for the second ship, and your first won’t be far behind that! Possibly in the same month.”

Lucy offered her goodbyes as first officer, and then Kitty spoke for herself and delivered Gayle and Stephen’s apologies.

Laughing, Adam waved the apologies aside. “It’s not a problem. Everyone knows what a slave driver Simon can be. By the way, boss, did you wake up with a headache like mine?”

Pain flickered over Simon’s face. “Not like yours, I’ll bet. Mine was bad enough to be a phenomenon in its own right!”

“I’ll bet you guys are glad you didn’t have to drive the spaceship home last night, huh?” Kitty quipped.

Adam’s exec appeared outraged at the familiarity, and Adam observed, “Colorado College of Mines turns ‘em out serious, apparently. But don’t worry. I’ll have him trained right by the time you get him back.”

One final round of handshakes and the Galileo slid into the depths of space, having brought her second child to term.

Rising up out of the plane of the ecliptic, the Galileo made her way back to Earth. As soon as she was clear of the sun’s interference, Simon sent word to Daniel that the Galileo would dock with Orion in about a month with new recruits and any replacements and supplies they might need, so he should start his wish list. Meanwhile, the crew selected for the first ship was frantically training for their trials right after the commissioning ceremony. Only the officers hadn’t been named yet.

Kitty glared across the suite at Simon as he paced back and forth—a habit newly acquired, she noted, and one that needed to be broken before it totally destroyed her peace and tranquility. Launching a large pillow at his feet and one more at his head, she growled.

While fending off the attack to his head, he stumbled over the pillow at his feet. Simon turned an astonished gaze onto his assailant.

“If you don’t sit down, the road is going to get a lot rougher! What’s bothering you? You’re not a pacer!”

Giving the pillow at his feet a half-hearted kick, Simon sat down on the edge of their bed. “It’s the next phase, Kittyn. It’s as obvious as the nose on my face. I know what I need to do, but I’m having trouble convincing myself.”

Kitty crawled up on the bed and sat cross-legged behind him, starting a slow massage on his shoulders. “It must be a doozy. You don’t call me Kittyn often anymore. All I’ll say is what my grandma used to tell me—if there’s right and wrong, choose right. But sometimes the right choice can be painful. Do what you think is right, and I’ll support you. We all will. Now relax, or I’ll go sleep in one of the empties. We’ve got three more nights before we reach Earth. Wanna spend ‘em alone?”

Knowing that he wouldn’t be able to see the Galileo didn’t stop Simon from looking up into the clear night sky. Standing in his backyard at one a.m., he wondered why he felt so heavy. Stephen assured him that the people who knew about that stuff had long ago recalibrated the Galileo’s artificial gravity to ninety-nine-plus percent of Earth’s gravity. Plodding back inside, he promised himself to test that one someday.

The interior of the Hawke home was back to normal, including the pictures on the walls. “Son of a bitch took pictures, I’ll just bet,” Simon groused as he looked at the note taped to the television asking him to contact the number below. Copying the number and leaving the note where he found it, Simon vowed, “I’m going to teach a class in contact, Agent Daniels, and you’re going to be my star pupil.”

Looking around the living room one more time, Simon picked up the small suitcase at his feet, nodded at Kitty, and pressed the button on his arm that took them back to the Galileo.

Stephen dropped in on Victor McCord and Lucy beamed into an empty alley four blocks from the White House. Locating a phone, she dialed a number and counted the rings. On the fourth, a disgruntled voice rumbled in her ear.

“At six in the morning, this better be good.”

Biting back her laughter, Lucy said, “This is Commander Grimes, Galway. Is that good enough for you?”

“Marginally, Grimes, marginally,” the grumpy voice responded. “I have this line transferred to my home when I’m not in the office. You could have picked a decent hour to call.” He felt the hair rise on the back of his neck at her next words.

“I’m still pissed about our last meeting, Galway.” The tone of her voice brought him wide awake in an instant. “There’s something you need to start figuring into your equations, friend. You never, ever, upset a girl with a spaceship. She might drop a rock on your house. One big enough to make a crater the size of Delaware.” Letting her voice settle back to normal, Lucy commented, “Just be glad Mr. and Mrs. Grimes raised their little girl better than that. Now, did you pass on our requests?”

Getting an affirmative response, Lucy finished the conversation. “Six days from now. Four people, no weapons. Pack an overnight bag, Galway.” She hung up the phone, looked up and down the street, and beamed out of the phone booth.

Over the course of the next six days, Rob and ‘Chiko, the husband/wife duo from the first batch of volunteers, began sending other volunteers aboard. Their efforts were aided by crewmembers who would beam into a meeting that had been organized by still other crewmembers who’d managed to gather a few friends together. They’d then take a few volunteers up for a quick look around. Usually, after they returned, most of the rest would be anxious for a visit.

Ted and Alice Brandt were twenty-six and twenty-four, respectively. The Brandts had two children—a boy, eight, and a girl, seven. Jim Collier, twenty-four, and his wife Barbara, twenty-five, were the proud parents of a six-year-old boy. Rob and ‘Chiko had considered these two couples to be excellent candidates for a clandestine recruiting network. Friends since high school, the three men had attended each other's weddings and continued their friendships on into adulthood. The wives had known each other almost as long, and now that relationship was about to be tested.

The three couples had often gone to see the first showings of many science-fiction movies that had come out over the last dozen years or so, but the credulity of their friends was going to be hard to get through in a hurry without help. For that reason, Robert and ‘Chiko had asked Gayle to come along.

“We really believe in these guys, Commander, and we think that if you’d beam in during our presentation, it would at least convince them we aren’t nuts.”

The sextet met on short notice at the Brandt house, it being easier for the Colliers to find a short-notice sitter for one than the Brandts for two. Robert and ‘Chiko arrived last, bringing the traditional bottle of wine that the last arrivals were required to bring, a juvenile holdover from their boisterous college days.

Robert stood on the Brandt’s front porch and looked at his wife. “One last chance to back out?”

‘Chiko shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. She’d last seen her friends almost a full year ago and had left with virtually no word of goodbye.

“Got the disc?” Robert asked.

“In my purse,” ‘Chiko managed to say.

“Yeah,” he sighed.

He held up the bottle, showing Alice the label when she opened the door. “We’re last.”

“That’ll get you in the door,” Alice conceded, inspecting the label. “But it’s gonna take a damned good story to get to stay.”

She turned away from the door, leaving it open, and Robert and ‘Chiko followed her in, closing the door behind them. Robert followed his wife down the short hall and into the Brandt’s family room. He stopped just inside the room, hand on ‘Chiko’s shoulder, and felt Alice’s cool reception magnified four times over. Tim Brandt sat on the couch with Jim Collier and his wife Barbara.

Alice, standing at the end of the couch, was the one to break the silence. “Do you two have any idea how many times we’ve had to answer questions from the police?” She stamped her foot in frustration, a personal quirk ‘Chiko had always found amusing up until now.

“And reporters looking for stories,” Jim put in caustically, “not to mention private investigators hired by the families of other missing people, not to mention, again, psychics, channelers, and even a weekly tabloid guy from frigging England!”

“Aw, give the Brit a break, Jim,” Barbara said, sarcasm dripping from her words. “The guy was over here doing a story on cattle mutilations and heard about almost a thousand people gone missing from Denver. Of course he tried to see what he could get.”

“Guys,” Robert began, “we know this is gonna sound too hard to believe, so we’ll just say that, yeah, we were part of those thousand people. Actually, it was only around eight hundred. And until you see our evidence, all I can say is that it was the most frightening and enlightening time of my life.”

‘Chiko nodded her head in agreement and pulled the disc out of her purse. “We want you to watch this video. I know we have a rule against that and baby movies, but this isn’t any ordinary home movie. You just watch. No narration, no nothing. We’ll even leave the room.”

“Just watch the video and ask questions later. This ain’t Amway, guys. We need a favor, and the video will tell you why.” Robert set the disc on top of the player and steered ‘Chiko out into the kitchen. “We’ll be on the patio for a bit, guys. Trust us. Just watch the video.”

Robert stopped at the refrigerator on the way out the back door and ‘Chiko scolded, “We shouldn’t be doing that.” It had long been a friendly tradition among the three couples that anyone wanting a drink could go get their own.

“Relax,” Robert said, “we are still friends. Besides,” he opened the door and pulled out two cold Cokes, “that video is going to take about twenty minutes.” He handed one can to his wife, opened the patio door, and motioned her out.

The recruiters Simon had counted on had fallen through, so he’d put out word that he needed to find others who could be trusted. Robert and ‘Chiko offered to try a few of their friends and were about to find out the results. Knowing the length of the disc helped. Rob and ‘Chiko walked in just as it was ending. Picking up the remote, he sat down. ‘Chiko set a tray of beers down on the coffee table and sat as well.

“Pretty good special effects,” Jim commented. “But the camera work is kinda cheesy.”

“Reminds me of a low-budget movie that came out not too long back but no discernible plot,” added Barbara. “You said you needed a favor. You need backing to get better camera work?”

“This could turn out to be a good deal if there’s a plot to go with all the special effects,” came from Ted, ever the entrepreneur. “Could be money in a low-budget sci-fi flick.”

Alice was the one to put the brakes on things. “I don’t think this is some kind of deal to get investment money, guys. They would just ask. Look at their faces. And remember, we’ve known these guys for years. I know, for example, that they don’t have the kind of camera or computer equipment to do some of the things we just saw.” Turning to her guests, she confronted them. “One of the things about being friends for years is that you get to be blunt sometimes. So, point blank, this isn’t a pitch for money, is it? What’s in it for you? And us, by the way, since you came to us with whatever this is.”

For the next hour, Rob and ‘Chiko talked. They used the video to point to various parts of their story until Jim finally stopped them.

“All right. Enough is enough. I like the thought of having a spaceship, too, and I’ve seen some of the stuff that’s been on the news. But are we supposed to buy the idea that you guys really have one?”

‘Chiko spoke up. “Well, we don’t have it. We’re just crewmembers on it. Senior crew, but still just crew. We don’t get to make the big decisions. But since we are senior crew, I think it won’t be long before we’re making some of the big decisions.”

Out of deference to his friend, Jim had waited this long before digging in his heels. “Flights of fancy are one thing, Rob, but this is really going too far, I think. Are you telling us flat out that you are both… what? Some kind of officers on a super spaceship?” Standing up, fists propped on his hips, Jim challenged Rob. “I say put up or shut up. I’m sorry, guys,” Jim said, looking over his shoulder for support. He turned back to Robert and ‘Chiko. “This is just too much. Rob, please either admit this is all a joke or prove it, okay?”

Rob stood up and walked over to his friend. “Here’s part of the story we didn’t tell you.” Holding his wristband up for all to see, he continued. “‘Chiko has one, too. They’re part of the Galileo’s transporter technology. Everyone you saw on that video has one, too. Now, I realize that doesn’t prove anything, but this will.” Turning to ‘Chiko, he said, “You know, I could get used to the expressions on people's faces.”

Turning back to Jim, Rob held up the armband on his left wrist. “Put your finger on the red button and press it, buddy. When you do, you’ll get all the proof you want. And if it isn’t enough, I’ll bring more proof when I come back.”

Jim gave Rob a calculating look. “Come back, huh? You know, I almost hate to do this. It was a good story, Rob, but… uh?” Standing alone in the center of the room with his finger pointing at empty air, Jim gulped. Quite literally. His friend had disappeared in a cloud of blue sparks, and something in his throat just would not go down. He looked down at the carpet, expecting, what? As he looked to his friends for some kind of support, his finger still poised in midair, something pulled his attention back toward the center of the room. The same blue sparks were fountaining out of thin air. Stunned at the sight before him, Jim backpedaled and fell onto the couch.

The sparks were becoming more solid by the second. Right out of Star Trek, for Christ’s sake! There stood Rob where he hadn’t been a few seconds before and where he’d stood but seconds before that! And with a blonde. And, oh, what a blonde! Golden hair down past her ass. His eyes went first to ‘Chiko, then to his wife. ‘Chiko seemed to be expecting the woman, and Barbara’s eyes were sparkling.

“Okay, Jim,” Robert said exultantly, “proof enough for ya? If not, have I got a tour for you! Everyone, this is Commander Miller, Communications Officer of the Terran Alliance Ship Galileo.”

Finishing the introductions as he brought out another chair, Rob said, “And this is Jim Collier. He’s a true disbeliever. Or, at least from Missouri.”

Gayle looked Jim over. Turning to the other two women, she asked, “All right. Who does he belong to?” When Barbara raised her hand, Gayle walked over to her and shook hands. “Hi. I’m Gayle, and I really am the Communication Officer on a spaceship. I know. Sounds simplistic and stupid when you say it out loud, but it’s true. May I borrow your husband for a bit? I promise to return him in the same shape he’s in now, which isn’t too great. He hasn’t said a word since I got here.”

Bowled over by Gayle’s flamboyant attitude, Barbara looked to ‘Chiko for support. “Oh, let her have him for a bit. I promise she won’t hurt him. If you want, Rob and I will take you three on a tour, too. Wanna see a spaceship?” she asked with a wicked grin.

Getting a slow nod from Barbara after getting ‘Chiko’s okay, Gayle said, “Oh, goody. I just love a good skeptic. Here, Jim, stand up and take this.” Handing him one of the handy-dandy locator disks, she pulled him to his feet. She said, “Watch that first step, my friend. It’s about twelve thousand miles high.”

Pressing the button on her wristband, she wished for something more flamboyant, like having to say, “Beam me up,” but would settle for the blue sparkle effect.

“Come on, stop staring,” she chided as the metal walls of the transport room shimmered into view. “Nobody else can come aboard while you hold things up by standing on the transport pads.” Turning to the transport tech, she said, “Ensign, this is Jim Collier. When his wife comes aboard with either Commander Greene, let me know immediately.” Turning back to her stunned companion, Gayle asked cheerily, “So, what do you want to see first?”

Two hours later, all four visitors were together in the mess hall on deck three.

“So sue me! I’m sorry! I’ve been convinced, and I want in. I still think that if we stayed on the Galileo, the kid wouldn’t be that much trouble. But I’m outvoted, so I give up” Jim said, raising his hands.

Ted laughed along with the two women. “Well, we do have promises for when our kids are old enough. I got Rob to agree to talk to the captain for us. When the kids turn fifteen, they can join with parental consent if, and only if, the parents join for two years, too.”

Since each couple had finally agreed to act as clandestine recruiters, both were given a small radio. Made to look like kitchen appliances by paranoid engineers, there was little chance of them being spotted and even less of them being overheard since Earth still hadn’t discovered the wavelengths they were on.

Beaming back to Earth with the two couples, Rob and ‘Chiko were jubilant.

“Now we can stay in touch. I was afraid we’d wind up choosing different roads. I don’t like it when friends drift apart. Good ones are hard enough to come by as it is,” ‘Chiko said.

The usual round of hugs and handshakes ensued, complicated by the fact that there were three couples involved.

Robert shook his head. “You guys are going to have to get used to this, so we’ll just say goodnight, and we’ll be in touch soon.” He was still amazed that he could see out of the beam well enough to recognize the envious expressions on the faces of their friends as it took effect.

Stephen had no trouble, on the other hand, getting his friend Victor McCord to come aboard. “Oh, I’ve been waiting for you, pal!” Victor crowed. “I’ve had things wound up for months, and waiting for you to come back was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. And that includes my final exams and getting married and divorced!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Six days to the minute after Lucy hung up the phone on Galway, she called him back. Sounding considerably more alert this time, he commented, “Now why did I expect to hear from you at this exact moment?”

Lucy responded, “Of course you should have expected me. I said ‘six days from now,’ didn’t I? Are the other members of your team ready to go? Good. It shouldn’t take you long to drive to a little place in Delaware called Bethany Beach. There are two rooms reserved for you in your name.” She named one of the better known motel chains and added, “Once you’ve had a chance to unpack, you’ll be contacted.” Looking up and down the street, she beamed out of a phone booth far away from the one she’d used the previous week.

Later that evening, Lucy called Galway’s room. “Satisfied with your rooms, Mr. Galway?”

A slight hesitation came from the president’s representative. “To tell the truth, Commander, I was expecting the rooms to be paid for, but when they weren’t, I went back over what you said. And your words were ‘there are two rooms reserved for you.’ You tend to say what you mean, don’t you?”

Lucy shot back, “Well, Mr. Galway, my grandpa always said that I never learned how to gild a lily. I think that just means that all I know how to do is be direct.”

Galway chuckled. “Now there’s a phrase I wouldn’t expect out of someone twice your age, Commander. But to answer your question, yes, they’re acceptable.”

Lucy couldn’t resist another shot. “I thought they might be. After all, what do four men together need besides an internet connection and the Playboy channel? The reason this place was chosen was because of the meeting rooms. They’re totally secluded from the outside world. A lot of companies come here for their retreats. Not even sunshine can get in if it isn’t wanted. If you’ll go down to the first floor, you’ll find that the Compton Room has been reserved for your party. See you in fifteen.”

Galway and his group arrived about five minutes early to find the door locked. They milled around uncertainly for a few seconds until the youngish manager came up to them.

“Are you the Galway party?” he inquired. Brandon nodded, and the manager unlocked the door. “Enjoy your meeting.”

The four men filed uncertainly into the empty room, pulling the door closed behind them. The little man walked over to the door and checked it.

“I’m not the least bit happy about this, Galway,” he complained.

“And what are you worried about, Anderson?” Galway all but snarled as the agent put the phone back on its cradle after checking for a dial tone.

Looking around the generic box of a room like a million others from Boston to Bavaria, they found a long conference table with eight chairs around it. The big difference was a small metal box sitting on the table. Without the tools that none of them were carrying, nothing could be determined about the box since it appeared to have no seams at all. The only conclusion the four men could come to was that it was obviously not solid unless it was a very light metal or composite.

Having been reassured by a hidden sensor disk on the wall that their opponents were unarmed, Lucy and her team beamed into the room precisely on the mark. The meeting proceeded in an unremarkable fashion. Galway let them know that the U.S. government was ready to cede a small parcel of land to be used embassy-fashion. The location was still to be determined, of course.

“Everything’s negotiable,” Galway said.

Lucy just smiled. “No, everything is not negotiable. What about the other two bases?”

“We’re working on that. The other heads of state involved—and actually that includes all the nations of Earth—are having trouble believing you exist.”

Stephen couldn’t help getting a shot in. “Maybe that’s because you’ve promoted the ‘they don’t exist’ policy a bit too long and aggressively, Mr. Galway. See what your policies have brought you to?”

The colonel had to speak at this point. “That’s not a fair representation, sir. It isn’t our policy. We just do as we’re told.”

Stephen countered. “That’s what the Nazi’s said at Nuremberg, Colonel.”

Lucy stepped into the fray before the two men came to blows. “Children, please! Well, Mr. Galway, you’ll have to solve that little dilemma, now won’t you? Just remember this: we will not put up with any more delays.” Changing tack fast enough to give most people whiplash, Lucy asked Galway in a frank voice, “Let’s get the record set straight, here, Mr. Galway. Just what is it that you think we have? A spaceship, yes. But what else do you know?”

Galway glanced at his team, and the little man spoke. “We know you have an alien spacecraft that belongs to the United States, Commander.” The man almost spat her title out.

Lucy leaned back in her chair. “Any particulars on that spacecraft? And it actually belongs to its builders. We’re just sort of caretakers.”

Galway stepped in, keeping the unnamed man quiet. “Analyzing the video footage, we’ve come up with what is probably in the vicinity of two thousand feet long. What its functions and capabilities are, we don’t know. And that scares people. We’re assuming it has an interstellar drive. We’re assuming, too, that its data banks will have information about this part of the galaxy and its own neighborhood that we can use to our advantage. We also know that you’re using it to build what you call space docks and ships, and that you need large numbers of people. The rest is speculation.”

Lucy looked at Galway like a bug on a plate. “Okay, I’m going to give away information that’s going to save you a lot of time and effort. The ship you assume to be two thousand feet long is closer to thirty-eight hundred feet long, eight hundred wide, and over two hundred high. The first five hundred feet are living spaces on sixteen decks, workspaces on one, and storage on the eighteenth. The last five hundred are engines and power core. The portion in between is factories and a fusion smelter. It’s a construction ship, Mr. Galway. The computer aboard has the specs for every piece of equipment needed to start, maintain, and eventually expand a colony world. That also includes ships, sir. Many kinds, from little scout craft to ships big enough to turn our planet into ashes. We’re still trying to figure out just how it wound up here.

“Our plans. We’re going to build four—count ‘em, four—space docks in the asteroid belt,” she said waggling four fingers in the air. “We’ve already finished two, and one of those has turned out a ship. We’re going out to commission and crew that vessel now, return for more volunteers, and go back to get the third dock started. And here’s a secret for you. The second and third ships are already under construction. Once we have all four docks built, we’ll be turning out four ships every six months, each and every one with interstellar drives and weapons suitable for space combat. Energy beams, force fields, antimatter bombs, and more.”

Lucy looked at the little man at the back of the group, recognizing him from their previous encounter outside Washington, DC. “I see a look of pure fear on your face, little Mr. Anonymous. Don’t worry. We won’t be using these weapons on you. They’re for the folks who’ll be coming to look for the ship they lost. Assuming, of course, that we can ascribe our motivations to an alien race and that they show up angry. We believe it will take almost three years to duplicate that ship ourselves, and we don’t think they can let that kind of expense go without at least looking for it. If we want to keep it or duplicate it, we’d better be prepared to fight for it. And without other ships, we can’t. Also, what will happen when they do get here and we have no defenses against them? Will they come as friends or oppressors? Who was it who said, ‘The best defense is a good offense?’” She shook her head. “It really doesn’t matter. We have things well in hand and intend to keep them that way.

“And there are others out there besides the Builders. The ship had weapons aboard and in the data banks. That means there’s someone they’ve had to fight. We’ve been attacked ourselves. Most of our folks don’t believe it was the Builders, so that leaves their adversaries. Those could be our friends, given a chance. Or not. Again, we’re going to alien motivation. Could be that all space-going folks are going to resent the new kid on the block. So, we’ll be as prepared as we can get. We figured five years before the Builders could even show up the first time. That’s down to four now and maybe a little less.”

Lucy leaned back in her chair and waited. She could tell Galway didn’t enjoy his position, and being put there by a mere girl was even worse. “So, tell me, Mr. Galway, what does Earth want? Does she want to feed her starving millions? Does she want to clean up her biosphere? Or do you want to be able to turn lead into gold, Mr. Galway? Tell me what you want.”

A bit nonplussed by her direct approach, Galway stalled. “Most negotiations tend to have a lot more give and take in them, Commander Grimes, and your directness is a little disconcerting. You’ve already made it clear that you’ll share no weapons or propulsion technology. How about some kind of shield technology? Something we can use to protect ourselves from attack?”

Lucy nodded, a grimace on her face. “Barely possible, I believe. That can be done. I do want you to remember what you were told in the beginning. We’re giving these items to the people of Earth, not to any one particular nation or group of nations. We’ll make our shield technology available to the people of Earth if that’s what you want. We’ll give it to a representative of each nation and tell them not only why they’re getting what they’re get but also who requested it. I have a hard time believing, Mr. Galway, that all the countries of the world got together and asked for shield technology. You wouldn’t be putting yourself up to speak for the entire planet, now would you?”

The anonymous little man fumed, “You can’t give that information out to everyone. It’s not that we were going to… it’s just that we need to be able—”

“Silence, you little prick!” she thundered. “If you can’t add something constructive, just be invisible.” Getting her temper under control, she turned her back on the infuriating man.

Colonel Babcock stepped in and put an end to the exchange. “I’d be very surprised, Commander, to find out that anyone outside of the G-8 officially knows about your existence, which, as I understand it, goes against the spirit of what you’re trying to accomplish.”

“You got it right, Colonel,” Lucy avowed, watching the little man glare daggers at the colonel. “Maybe you should be in charge of these meetings for your team.” Lucy looked at all four of the men facing her. “You need to keep in mind that we are citizens of Earth, too. We have families here, and we want to come back, eventually. Some of us won’t stay in space forever but will come home to live and work and raise families of our own. We need to be able to come and go without harassment by the alphabet agencies. Believe me, I know how hard that is for a government to allow. But you don’t have any choice, which makes you madder than hell and also makes you doubly dangerous. And that means we have to be doubly cautious. See our dilemma? But you can relax. I don’t believe we would give you shield technology, anyway. Sometimes the counter to a threat is as bad as the threat itself. Now I want to get something straight, Colonel. Is it true that only eight governments know of our existence?”

Getting a hesitant nod from the colonel, Lucy went on in a stricter tone. “We’re not too far away from breaking orbit, Colonel, so there’s no way to remedy the situation now. We’re going to be out seven or eight months building the next dock. By the way, Mr. Galway, by the time we finish that dock, there will be two more ships finished and ready for commissioning.

“We’d like to be able to set up Earth-side bases when we get back. We expect that in that time you’ll have officially revealed our presence to the rest of the world. And we’ll know if you don’t. If you haven’t, we’ll do it for you. How about something visual? Flybys over Moscow, Washington, New York, Beijing, London, Paris, and Tokyo maybe? I guarantee you, it would be something the major news services wouldn’t be able to keep from reporting, especially after the flurry of stories last time we came back and this time as well. We’re more than willing to coordinate with you ahead of time so you don’t get caught with your pants down.”

Gayle had to get her two cents’ worth in. “Think about this—if we get to set up shop down here, you’ll be able to keep track of some of our comings and goings, maybe even slip a ringer or ten in on us. At present, you don’t even have that much, as far as we know.”

The others nodded at that as if they’d talked it over before coming to the meeting.

The anonymous little man spoke up. “How about putting an observer aboard?”

Lucy hesitated for a few seconds, glanced at her team members and then back at the group in front of her. “It’s an interesting idea. Not a subject that has come up in discussion for some reason,” she said a bit acerbically. “I will say this—it won’t be you.”

Turning to Gayle, she asked, “Commander, would you take the suggestion to the captain? I think it merits immediate attention since we’re so close to leaving.”

Gayle nodded and stood up. She glanced at the four men and said, “Gentlemen, if you will excuse me.” Touching her wristband, she disappeared in front of them.

“I’ve seen that a few times now and would really like a chance to look into it,” said Mitchell, the NASA man.

“Maybe you can someday, once the politicians settle down and the military decide we’re no threat to them,” Lucy mused. “The problem with that technology is that it’s line-of-sight and very energy-intensive. Only the Galileo has it and will probably be the only one for quite a while. The equipment is very bulky, and only battleships or larger can provide the space for it.”

Gayle’s return moments later put an end to the impromptu question-and-answer period. Looking at Lucy, she said, “Captain is agreeable to the idea of an observer. And he put special emphasis on the word ‘an.’” Turning to the men, she added, “Gentlemen, the captain has a suggestion for who that observer might be, if you’re interested. He’d be agreeable to having an FBI agent on board the Galileo, and he chooses that particular agency because he personally knows an agent who already has some small experience with this case. If you’re amenable to the idea, please contact Agent Daniels out of Billings, Montana. And if he’s agreeable, he should be at Captain Hawke’s house in six hours. Acceptable, gentlemen?”

Declining to answer right away without conferring with their superiors, Galway and his team started to make leaving noises.

Lucy helped the process along by telling Galway, “I’ll let the captain know what you’ve said here. If Daniels is in place, he goes. You’ll get a report from him in about seven or eight months. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have departure preparations to finish up.” Standing up, Lucy leaned across the table with her hand out. “Mr. Galway, it hasn’t necessarily been fun doing business with you, but it has been instructive.”

Galway shook her hand and answered, “Commander, you are a breath of fresh air. That’s not to say that I’m in favor of doing business this way on a regular basis, understand, but you do get to the core of a problem quickly.”

As they were preparing to leave, Mitchell asked, “What’s in the box?”

Lucy looked at the box, smiled, and pushed a button on her wristband. When all eyes were on the box, she said sweetly, “Strictly a diversion, Mister Mitchell,” as two sensor clusters hidden on the wall disappeared unnoticed along with the team.

Simon and Kitty beamed into their living room about an hour before Daniels was due to arrive. Kitty wandered aimlessly around the house, chafing under Simon’s instructions not to go outside and to stay away from the windows.

“If he shows up at all,” Kitty commented as time ran out on the deadline. “I have to wonder if he’ll have the nerve.” She sat down on the couch and started tapping her foot in annoyance.

Simon looked up from the book on his lap. “I’m willing to bet he won’t have any choice, hon. Someone is going to make it an order. You’re starting to think like an officer. You just need more practice.”

Kitty sniffed at him. “I do well enough, thank you. No one has said anything about my leadership qualities, and I get my job done, so there.”

Simon slid over beside her, put his arm around her shoulders, and said, “Of course you do. If not, I’d have someone else doing it. But you do need to start thinking with a little more paranoia. It helps to guess what the other guy is gonna do. And if you’re wrong, no problem. It’s the ‘if you’re right’ part that will save your delicious little ass, my dear. And everyone will be in awe of your superior tactical ability, whether you have any or not.”

This time the doorbell rang, and Simon answered it as Kitty left the room. “I didn’t know whether to hope you’d show or not,” he said. “In any case, come in. You know your way around, of course.” Walking across his living room and standing at the far end of the couch, Simon turned to his visitor. “I must admit, you did an excellent job of putting things back where they belong. But you shouldn’t have done it in the first place.”

Agent Daniels sat down nonchalantly on the far end of the couch from Simon. “And that’s why I’m here, right?” Daniels asked as he kicked the overnight bag sitting beside him.

Simon nodded. “That’s right, Agent Daniels. I’m a man who pays his debts, even small ones. You should have spent more time studying me, and then you wouldn’t be so surprised to be here.” Raising his voice to be heard beyond the living room, Simon called out, “Hon, our visitor is here. When you’re ready, we are, too.”

Kitty walked back into the room, a small overnighter in hand. “All done and ready to go, husband-mine.” A measurable frostiness entered her voice. “Good afternoon, Agent Daniels. I really would never have imagined that I would invite you into my home for any reason. I can’t say that I’m happy to see you, but I trust my husband’s judgment.”

Exasperation in his voice, Agent Daniels interrupted. “I need some information here, if you please. I have a real problem with this.”

Kitty turned her full attention to the agent sitting on her couch. “Just exactly what is it that you have a problem with, Agent? Isn’t it your job to find out what’s going on?”

The agent was beginning to show signs of agitation. “Whatever my job is, it doesn’t usually entail getting on a spaceship with people I’m investigating at the instruction of superiors from the White House.”

Simon looked at the agent. “What were you told?”

“Told? I was told to pack a bag, be here at a specific time, and expect an extended trip.” This last came at the same time the agent’s overnight bag received another swift kick. “I was told nothing else.”

Simon looked at him for a long time. “I’ll fill you in on all the details later, and you can crosscheck them with your bosses when you get back. But suffice it to say, Agent Daniels, that at the moment it seems you get to be the determining factor in whether your government and the peoples of Earth consider us friend or foe. I’m the one who asked for you to be here, and that was just because I’m an ass.

“I believe another question you might ask is how long you’ll be with us. Well, there are two answers to that, and you get to choose the answer you like best. The short answer is a couple of weeks. We’re going to be making a trip out to one of the space docks to take the crew out for the ship we’ve just finished, then we’ll return to Earth, pick up more crew, and go out and build another dock. That’s out in the asteroid belt, Agent. That’ll be dock number three, by the way. If you want off after the two weeks, fine, but I think you’ll get more out of an extended stay, don’t you? On our return for more crew, you’ll be able to leave the ship and return, of course.

“The only restrictions are that there are areas that are off-limits to you—weapons bays, engine room, fighters, shuttle bays, transporter room. Don’t try to get in. Trust me, we’ll know. Also, no weapons. Otherwise, you’ll be free to go where you want, talk to whomever you want, and draw whatever conclusions you want. Oh, and the extended voyage will be seven or eight months.”

Simon reached down and picked up a locator disk. “Remember this? Be sure to have your bag in hand when we beam up.”

The agent stood up, took the proffered disk, and slid it into his shirt pocket. Simon glanced over at Kitty. Seeing that she had her finger on her wristband, he did the same.

“Bag, Agent, before it gets left behind.”

Tearing his eyes away from Kitty long enough to pick up his bag, Agent Daniels was still able to see her vanish in a very pretty pyrotechnic display. At the same time, the world he was used to began to fade, replaced by another one entirely.

Agent Daniels’ second visit to the Galileo was considerably different from his first. This time, it was with eyes wide open and of his own free will. Kind of. His superiors had given him little choice, and by now, his own natural stubbornness was making him do something that good sense screamed at him to run from.

Walking out of the transporter room and down the corridor, the three stopped outside a door. “This is my ready room,” Simon told the staring agent. “You can leave your bag here for now. We’ll send it for later or take it to your billet.” Leaving that room behind, Simon led the agent to the briefing room. “I’m going to have to come up with something other than Agent Daniels. We could be around each other for quite a while,” he said amusedly. “Who’d a thunk it?”

Walking over to the device sitting on the corner table, Simon ordered, “Put your left wrist in there. You’ll get a wristband like the ones the rest of us wear.”

Looking dubiously at the dark opening in the side, the agent balked. “Just for my peace of mind, what can I expect sensation-wise? I don’t want to get surprised, jerk my arm, and mess up something.”

Laughing, Kitty told him, “You won’t feel a thing, I swear. Unless she doesn’t like you.”

The agent looked around. “She who? And what will she do if she doesn’t like me?”

Waving his arm grandly, Simon said, “Why, the ship of course. The Galileo. That box is full of sensors. When a wristband is fitted, the ship gets a bit of a skin sample and knows you from then on. And if she doesn’t like you, she’ll keep the hand.”

Looking into Simon’s eyes, the agent smiled. “I’m calling your bluff. It’s a locating device and probably a communicator. You want to keep track of me, so I’ll wear one.” Confidently sliding his arm into the device, he waited.

Simon manipulated the controls on the side of the machine. “Security level five, Agent. That means you aren’t allowed near Engineering, the engine room, weapons bays, shuttles or fighters without supervision. Understand?”

Daniels watched Simon and pulled his arm out when Simon nodded. He looked the wristband over critically and shook his wrist to settle it in place. “Understood, Captain,” he said.

The unlikely trio walked onto a bridge that was all brisk efficiency. They made their way over to Lucy Grimes, who was keeping track of the goings-on from the distance of the captain’s chair. Simon glanced around the bridge and spoke so only the four of them could hear, “Someday, Commander, I want to know how much you bribe the transport techs to let you know when we come aboard.”

Mock penitence in her voice, Lucy quietly replied, “Why, Captain! How can you think such a thing? It’s my job to know when you’re aboard and where you are. Just in case, you know. Costs nothing except the extra processor rations I give as a bonus to whoever’s on duty. And look at all the goodwill I spread among the crew.”

Simon stepped back into captain mode. Raising his voice a bit, he said, “Status, Commander?”

Lucy immediately replied, “Sir, course for Orion Base is laid in, all new volunteers are accounted for, and all departments report locked down and ready for boost.”

Simon deferred to Lucy. “Very well, Commander. It’s your shift, so she’s your vessel. Take us out of here. Request permission for my party to observe departure.”

Lucy responded, looking pointedly at Daniels, “Permission granted, Captain.” She turned to her primary responsibility. “All hands, this is the First Officer. Prepare to leave orbit. Engine room all ahead one third.”

Simon gestured his companions over to one side of the room. Keeping his voice low, he said, “Kitty, if you want to leave, you can.” Getting a grateful kiss on the cheek, Simon added, “I’ll stay with Agent Daniels for a bit and get him settled. See you in our quarters shortly.”

Simon had been watching the agent watch the viewscreen on the forward bulkhead. He’d also noted that the agent appeared to be trying to follow some of the bridge chatter.

“That’s not a real view, you know. It won’t appear to change very fast for a while. And I’m afraid you won’t understand much of what you hear right away. Spend time in some of the introduction classes for new crewmembers and see if it makes any sense in a few days.”

The two men stood silently for a time, long enough for the Earth to slowly slide off the forward screen. Tossing a small wave in Lucy’s direction, he led his charge out into the corridor.

“Always ask permission to enter the bridge. I can’t imagine you not getting permission, but you never know. Things could get a little hectic.”

Leading the agent back to his ready room, Simon sank into a chair, waving his visitor to do the same. Picking up a commlink, Simon called Gayle. “I need a billet assignment for one Observer Daniels.”

The answer, when it came, dripped acid. “We don’t have any trash bins on this ship, so I’ve had to billet him with people. Is that okay with you, sir?”

Stifling a smile, Simon admonished, “Now, now, Commander. He’s our guest. I need that room assignment, and I need you to set up a level five services account for him, if you will be so kind.” A level five account was basically a subsistence account with unlimited credit for food, clothing, gyms, rec rooms, etc, and no access to restricted areas.

Gayle’s voice finally came back. “Deck six, room C-26. I have him rooming with one veteran and one recruit.”

Simon thanked her and put the commlink away. Leading the agent to the elevators, he explained the facts of life.

“There are a few specific do’s and don’ts that you’ll pick up. But there’s one general rule that’s broad enough that you only need to hear it once. You’re locked into a big tin can with almost nine hundred people. Do whatever it takes to make the time you have to spend locked up with us as pleasant for you and for us as possible.”

Making their way down to deck six, Simon quickly located room C-26, knocked once on the door, and then opened it. Finding no one present, he motioned Agent Daniels in. Pointing to the empty bunk, he indicated that the agent should place his bag there. “I prefer you have at least one old hand around for the first few days. After that, make your own bed and lie in it. Okay, follow me and I’ll give you a quick tour of this level.”

Stopping first to key Daniels’ thumbprint to the door code, he then showed him the mess hall, showers, library, theater, gym, and other common areas. He also mentioned the hot tub on deck three. “We didn’t have one on board when we got the ship. This is a new thing for us, and it seems to be in great demand. Your room is now keyed to you, so I’m going to leave you to your own devices for the next few days. Visit any deck any time. All officers are instructed to answer fully and completely about anything except, weapons and propulsion. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go.”

During the trip to Orion, Agent Daniels found out a lot about the Galileo and the people who ran her. There were essentially three groups of people aboard, the first being the oldest group, with ‘oldest’ meaning longest aboard. This included Simon, Kitty, Gayle, and Stephen, of course. It also included some dozen scientists and quite a few of the first people recruited from the DenverCon. These were the people in charge. Most of the second generation of people had come aboard after the completion of Orion. A lot of the middle-management positions were being held by those people. And then there was the newest batch, who’d been aboard for only a few days.

Agent Daniels was good at his job, well able to tell the difference between fact and fantasy for the most part. Who could have predicted this, though? And he was soon amassing a pretty fair-sized mental file of the various things people were saying. On his first evening and night aboard the Galileo, the agent ate dinner in the crew’s mess on deck six and spent most of the evening talking to the newest volunteers and one or two of the people who’d been around since Orion was built.

The next morning, he awoke to an all-too-familiar sound. Reveille. The lights came up to something just short of eye-searing, and he heard one of his roommates say, “Okay, guys on your feet. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

Daniels groused, “I’m not one of your volunteers. I’m just an observer. I’m staying in bed.”

And the same cheerful voice replied, “Well, if that’s what you wanna do, but you’re gonna observe real quick that if you don’t get up right now and take a shower with the rest of us, no one’s gonna want to be anywhere near you. You’ll also observe that if you don’t get up, you’re gonna miss breakfast.”

Staggering to his feet, he found that the body belonging to the cheerful voice was already dressed and bent over slipping his sandals on.

The overly cheerful voice went on. “I’m Crewman First Class Charley McNalley, and this is Crewman Arthur Stein. I already know who you are. Cap’n hauled me up to officer country last night. Tole me who ya are, what ya are, and what I’m supposed to do wit ya. What I’m supposed to do is see to it that you get settled in and see just about every part of the ship and everything we do here. Now I cain’t make you git up and do anything, but to my way of thinkin’, if you don’t observe it, you sure as hell cain’t report it. Unless you plan to make it all up. And if you do that, then there was no need to come aboard in the first place.

“The cap’n put you with me ‘cause I know what I’m doin’,” McNalley went on as he grabbed a towel and soap from a drawer. “Let’s go. We get cleaned up, straighten the room, and then go to chow.”

The two first-timers followed their guide to the showers. On the way, he continued, “I helped build Orion, I helped build Gemini, and I’m gonna help build the next one that goes up. And probly the one after that, too, cause I’m the best pod jockey on the ship.”

At this point the agent stopped him. “Uh, new here, remember? What’s a pod jockey?”

McNalley smiled. “That’s just the kinda question all the fish ask. A pod is a construction pod. I drive a construction pod. Factories’ll turn out sumthin’, slip it out past the force field, and I grab it with my pod and go put it where they tell me.” He took a few quiet steps. “I’d be doin’ more than that, but I don’t read so good, so they don’t give me more to do.”

Agent Daniels, looking for dissent or anything that would show a chink in the armor these people were showing, asked, “Well, wouldn’t you like to do more?”

McNalley stopped in the corridor. “Well, yeah. I’d kinda like to fly those Mambas. But then, ever’body wants to fly ‘em.”

Daniels rushed to stop him before he could move on. “Okay, we just hit my stupid spot again. What’s a Mamba?”

Having one described didn’t quite fill the bill. Late on his fourth day, Daniels went to a class on the Mambas being held down on deck eighteen. There were a lot of classes being held all over the ship. Anyone who knew what they were doing was conscripted to teach the fish something about their new environment. This one was being conducted by Mrs. Hawke.

I guess that’s Captain Hawke from now on, he thought.

These were introduction classes for all the new volunteers, some few of whom would stay on the Galileo. Some would go to the new ship, according to McNalley, but most would find themselves on Orion since that was where most of the crew for the new ship was being pulled from.

He found himself standing at the back of a group of forty or so hopeful Mamba pilots. Not having had a chance to visit deck eighteen before now, he was simply stunned at the sheer openness of the place. It was over two thousand feet long, eight hundred feet wide, and twenty-six feet high, and this was only a part of the whole. Its primary purpose was to hold finished parts or components until they could be moved to a project and installed. Right now, because the ship was under way, the entire area was nearly empty, leaving one with an eerie feeling. Right now, all that was there was one Mamba and forty or so people seated in chairs around the craft.

Daniels’ first view of a Mamba wasn’t the impressive sight he’d been led to believe it was going to be from the enthusiastic words he’d overheard in the various common rooms around the ship until he got close enough to judge the size of the vessel by the people standing next to it. Then he was impressed. Oh yes, indeed, he was. This Mamba looked like it was capable of anything just sitting there. Not really prone to flights of fancy, he still couldn’t shake the image of a shark gliding up out of the murky depths to wreak havoc on its prey, and a wholly unreasonable fear shivered up and down his spine.

Sitting near the back of the group, he listened eagerly to a recitation of events from Captain Hawke. She tells a pretty good story, he told himself as she spoke a little about the construction of Orion and then went on to tell about the attack on the station, the loss of life, and the heroic actions that saved the station. Then she went on to tell how the Mamba had been created to counter the new threat. She talked of their future plan, which was to build a carrier taskforce that would carry these powerful little ships to their destinations and keep them armed and flying against any opponents. And she talked about the possibility of conflict with alien races, a possibility that was all too believable, considering where he was sitting. And the more he looked at that Mamba, the more he wanted to get his hands on one. With ten years behind him as an Air Force pilot, how could he not?

Daniels stood at the end of the line and patiently waited his turn to take a look into the cockpit of the craft. On a couple of occasions, he saw Captain Hawke looking directly at him. He was finally nearing the front of the line when the captain appeared in front of him. Pulling her commlink out, Kitty arranged to have Daniels’ tingler turned off.

“So you want to see a Mamba? Well, come on. For now, it’s safe to do so.” Ushering him up a ladder on one side of the craft, she ducked under and ran lightly up the ladder on the other side. “Well, what do you think?” she asked.

“It’s not nearly as complicated as I’d have imagined,” Daniels replied. “I flew F-15s for years, and there’s a lot more instrumentation on them than I see here.”

Kitty went into instructor mode. “Most of this craft is automated, Agent. The computer is advanced enough that some of the techniques now being developed for fighter pilots on Earth are old hat to this technology. Specifically, after a Mamba gets used to its pilot, it can tell what’s needed, which is due to its being able to monitor a pilot’s brainwaves. After an initial shakedown, the computer can associate certain thoughts with certain actions. The only actions that are not under computer control are the weapons. Those require physical actions to engage. But if you wind up with a bogey on your tail, for example, just knowing where it is gives the computer something to work with and it will help to escape, evade, or retaliate as necessary.”

Continuing, Kitty allowed Daniels to actually sit down in the cockpit. “As you can see, the pilot requirements are such that you need to be a fairly small person. “You’d fit nicely, Agent. This vessel is capable of atmospheric flight. Due to the size of the vanes—we don’t call them wings—the speed has to be rather high, on the order of about half of Mach one or she loses maneuverability. Anything less than that and we need to add her antigravs to the equation. She can hover on her antigravity generators for a short while, but that’s for emergencies only, or for landings and takeoffs. She carries twin high-intensity, rapid-fire pulse lasers, four high-yield antimatter missiles capable of taking a sizable bite out of most anything they hit, and she has an ECM setup that works on levels most scientists have only just begun to think about. It amounts to full cloaking ability.”

Kitty stopped for a moment to let the information sink in. She sat on the lip of the cockpit watching Daniels examine the controls.

“Her biggest advantages are her speed and maneuverability in space,” she continued. “On rare occasions, these ships can get right up to low-warp speeds. Their biggest disadvantage is their range, which depends on the pilot’s stamina. She can’t negate all the gravitic stress due to her size, but her grav sump manages to offset most of the problem. Also, there isn’t room enough for supplies beyond a few snacks and a water reservoir.”

Ushering the agent back down the ladder, Kitty joined him on the deck. “See, Agent Daniels, I can give some of our weaknesses away. Call it a show of good faith.” Motioning him away from the side of the ship, Kitty tapped her wristband. “Also, Agent, I apologize for that incident earlier. I really thought you would have tested the limits of your leash, so to speak, and until the last second, I thought you would stop. Please test it now so we can make sure it’s back on.”

The agent stepped toward the ship slowly until at about thirty feet he stopped. “I feel a mild tingle. Not painful but not enjoyable either. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it, Agent.” Kitty turned back to her introduction group. “Are there any questions before we end this session?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Simon floated into Orion’s construction information center, which was even now gestating its second child. Every construction project had a Shack. This was one for the books though. Orion was over two thousand feet long, sitting atop the metal ribcage of some long-dead titan. Extend the main spine past both ends by nine hundred feet each, add twelve oval “ribs” and a bottom spine binding the whole together, and it added up to the space station. But this titan had just recently come into being.

The Shack, which Simon had just entered, was a clear blister on top of the main I-beam. Capable of sliding along tracks along the beam or any of the ribs, it could be at the location of a construction problem almost immediately so the supervisor could make on-the-spot suggestions without having to take the time to get into a pod and go to the trouble spot. Due to its mobile nature, the Shack wasn’t equipped with artificial gravity, so most people tended to stay away unless they were pod jockeys or others who were now used to Zero-G.

Finding Daniel busy with several of the new up-and-coming engineers trained on the Galileo and Orion, Simon stared out of the transparent wall facing the inside of the ribcage. The pounding heart that always accompanied his visits to the Shack was brought on by the dream being born before his eyes, and the pounding this time was because the dream was about to become a reality.

The vision before his eyes was of a partially constructed hull—Orion’s second child. Construction pods moved about the slowly growing shape that would be the third ship in the Alliance Fleet, sparks of light revealing the locations of pods welding or cutting on different segments of the interior while alien atomic torches illuminated the uncompleted portions in stark, intermittent relief.

When Daniel finally left the two engineers overseeing the installation of a new field generator in the starboard forequarter back to their task, he floated over to Simon. “Today’s the big day, Simon! Don’t you want some kind of ceremony?”

Simon stared avidly out the window. The star field skewed before his eyes as the Shack moved around on the ribcage for a closer inspection of the work area. “There’ll be time for a ceremony later, Dan. Usually the grand opening comes a bit after the actual event.”

Two pod jockeys maneuvered a sizable piece of equipment toward a hole of questionable size.

“Is that the new generator?”

“Yeah,” Daniel said sourly enough that Simon looked at him sharply. “Don’t get me wrong, Simon. I’m all for those generators. We just had to do some quick reengineering to get them and their associated field emitters in place. Fortunately, we only had to tear out part of one section. There are eight of those per ship that size.”

“So that’s why torpedo loads dropped so drastically. I think I’d trade the firepower for the shield any time, though,” Simon said, moving toward the far end of the Shack and away from the two engineers.

“I’d think so,” Dan said matter-of-factly. “I’ve still got the hard copy with your signature on it authorizing the installation. But, that’s not why you stopped by, is it?”

Simon positioned himself so that he could see the two engineers supervising the installation of the generator. The slowly moving Shack rotated enough to expose the real reason for Simon’s visit. He nodded in the direction of the white-hulled warship sitting just outside the dock. “Tomorrow that ship is going to be named the TAS Robert A. Heinlein. She’ll have to come back to be retrofitted with the shield generators, but for now, she’d the first symbol of what we’re capable of. I like the thought of having things like the shields that the Builders never figured out. Could be a critical advantage when we finally meet up with ‘em.” Simon looked out at the ship as it rotated through his field of view. Daniel could see him come to a decision and reach into a pocket, handing him a computer disc.

It was still easier to have human computers interface with the organic ones of the Galileo-class computers when it came to straight input of information.

“Daniel, at this exact moment, only two people know what I have planned for that ship out there. Joanna Barnes helped me write the code on this disc. Actually, it was my idea, and she did all the work. In a few seconds there will be three, and as soon as this one is commissioned, there will be four, and I want this information to stop right there. What I have here is the start-up information for the computer out there—all the access codes, operational information, everything, plus a few extra lines of code. That ship will be able to access any other ship’s computer and shut it down, either in part or in total, at the captain’s discretion.”

Simon slid the disc under an elastic band to keep it in place. “This one is a little different,” he said, waving a second disc in the air. “It will be used by all other ships for their startups, and their commands are that they will accept over-rides from that one,” he said, pointing at the first disc. “The shutdown codes are buried so deeply in the operational codes that I don’t think anybody not specifically looking for them will ever figure out they’re there.” He laid a hand on the first disc and said, “Call me paranoid, Daniel, but I don’t want someone to get hold of one of our ships and give it to the wrong person.

“And, yes, I know it’s a calculated risk,” Simon went on. “But if only four people know about it, I believe the risk is minimized. Besides, whoever has command of that ship is someone I’d trust completely anyway. So, here’s the standard disc,” Simon said, stressing the point. “Put it away, and let’s get her lit up. After we get her online, I’ll keep track of the original. I have a copy of the second disc for Gemini and two more for the new stations as they’re finished.”

Daniel looked worried and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know that we need to be that paranoid, Simon, but I do agree that we should err on the side of caution.” He slid the first disc into the transmitter, set up the upload, and turned to Simon. “Do you want the honors?”

Simon waved the request aside. “No, Dan, she’s your baby. You get the privilege of waking her up.”

Daniel pressed the send key and sat back to watch the results. About a minute later, the computer spit the disc out, and a screen flashed the message: Function complete.

Simon stared out the porthole at their first ship as it slowly came alive. He was pleased to see the portside running light come on and begin a slow, steady, red pulsation. Neither of the two men could repress their emotions as they saw lights begin to appear in irregular patterns across the surface of the twelve-hundred-foot-long ship.

Simon asked, “How long before we can go over for an inspection tour?”

Daniel’s reply was slow and deliberate. “Well, we’ve had heaters running over there for two weeks now. There are components that don’t take well to the cold of space once they get installed. So, I’d say, at a guess, mind you, that we should be able to go… oh, I don’t know… how about now?”

Simon gave a chagrined look. “Am I that obvious? Okay, let’s go.”

Daniel opened the airlock door to the Shack, gave instructions to his assistants, and led Simon off to the main habitat. “I thought we’d take a shuttle over. Soon enough we’re going to have to get used to not having the Galileo’s transport technology. Actually, we’ve already done that out here, which suits me just fine. You should start getting used to it yourself. I don’t know how you people can stand having your molecules scrambled anyway. I’m always afraid I’ll go in as Daniel and come out Danielle or something.”

Nodding, Simon asked, “How about meeting me in the shuttle bay in half an hour? I need to pick up a few interested parties.”

Twenty minutes later, Simon arrived with Kitty, Gayle, Stephen and Lucy, to find Daniel waiting with a handful of his engineers. The shuttle door was open, so Kitty walked directly aboard and found a seat near the front of the passenger compartment.

The rest of the group followed, and Simon noticed that the shuttle had been modified to accept more passengers. This one was more in line with what a shuttle should be. Besides, there were others to ferry large components. Next, he noticed the pilot. To his shock, it was Commander Lee. “I figured you’d have a fit before you’d fly one of these again,” he commented.

Miranda’s laugh was infectious. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world, Captain. Even if it means flying one of these crates. Besides, we want only the best when we have such a high-powered group, don’t we?” Her logic was impossible to refute, and her wicked grin said as much.

“Very well, Commander,” Simon responded, bowing to the inevitable, “we’re in your capable hands.”

Commander Lee brought the shuttle online, made sure all of her passengers were belted in, and contacted Orion’s Launch Control. “Flight Control, this is Shuttle One… make that Alliance One, requesting clearance to depart. Destination, ship number one. Shuttle will be under manual control. Advise me of any outside traffic.”

Receiving permission from Flight Control to depart, Miranda slowly raised her ship off the deck, sliding deftly through the force field and out into space. Checking her screens to be sure there was no other traffic between her and her destination, Miranda slowly applied power.

As they neared the ship, Simon, seated forward with Daniel, said, “Commander Lee, transmit this signal to the new vessel: Open docking bay one, priority override alpha-star-alpha. Then give us a full flyby. I’d like to get an overall view of her exterior.”

Miranda acknowledged her orders and momentarily reported, “Sir, instruments show docking bay one open and ready for us to access.” She began a slow flyby of the gleaming white vessel sitting alone in the depth of space.

Simon noted the steady pulse of the red portside light, blinking to match the green one to starboard, as well as the occasional interior light that illuminated various portholes built into the vessel. The original designs showed none of those, but it had been determined that since humans are visually-based creatures, it would be necessary to have some kind of window onto the universe to prevent the claustrophobia that grounded a small but respectable number of people hoping for a position on one of the bases or ships.

Simon pointed out to Daniel some of the various features as the shuttle slowly cruised the length and breadth of the new vessel. “I see four torpedo tubes in each octant. Is that correct?” Simon asked.

Daniel nodded and pointed to the forward upper octant. “Each segment is internally independent of the others by virtue of self-sealing section bulkheads, keeping damage to one section from interfering with the operations of the other sections of the ship. You’ll notice, though, that the eight separate sections that comprise the forward and stern missile bays are constructed so that the eight forward torpedo rooms are all supplied from one central storage bay. The stern is built the same way so you actually only have two areas that are storing explosive materials. Not including the engine room, of course.”

The shuttle glided past a replica of the habitat section of the Galileo. The original plans had called for it, and since the one on the Galileo was so popular with most of the crew, it was allowed to be left in the design. More important was the addition of the extra power cores in the engine room.

Early on in their studies of the basic plans loaded into the computer’s memory, the engineers had discovered a bottleneck in the basic design of the ship’s power allocation system. Power taps connected directly to a matter-antimatter core that sent power first to the engines and then to other parts of the ship, depending on the priority of ship situations. Weapons, mostly gamma-burst lasers, drew their power at a higher priority in battle, thereby leaving less power for the engines. The decision was one of fight or flight.

And now, with the addition of the new shield technology, there was going to be the addition of another power-intensive system adapted from Builder technology but apparently totally unknown to them. The solution was evident. It took very little extra space overall to add two more power cores into the engine room. All the controls were already in place for one core and powered one system. The Heinlein, as the first ship was to be called, would need to return for a refit of the shield generators, but the data on the systems arrived in time to allow for the installation and activation of the second and third power cores.

Miranda maneuvered the shuttle through the force field and into the docking bay, coming to rest in the geometric center of the space available. She checked her instruments and announced, “Air and gravity optimal. No lumps, bumps, or contusions.”

Daniel stood up and made his way back to the hatch. “Well, I told everybody to dress warmly. Commander, let us out.”

Daniel turned to face the small crowd staring avidly around the landing bay. “You will notice that we managed to get force screens installed on the landing bay doors, and we’re even now working on the plans for how we’re going to retrofit her for her shields.” He led them out of the bay, lecturing as he went. “Each segment is triple-compartmented. Doesn’t mean much normally, but if she should get holed, two major bulkheads seal completely. Like this one here. There’s an elevator on each side of the bulkhead and another pair at the other bulkhead. That way, you don’t lose an entire ship to one missile.”

While Simon had never been aboard this vessel before, he felt right at home walking down corridors that fairly glowed as the pearlescent material used to coat the interior walls reflected the indirect lighting. After all, he’d been involved, albeit in a minor way, in designing her.

Simon commented, “This feels comfortable,” a sentiment heartily echoed by all.

The bridge wasn’t much of a surprise to the visitors. It was located in the center of the ship, which was considered by some to be the most secure spot, but Simon still felt a bit uneasy. True, there was a lot more mass between the bridge and any possible strike, but Simon was imagining those torpedo magazines fore and aft, as well as the power cores, and that didn’t even take into account the large number of high-intensity lasers, plasma cannons, and other weapons between the bridge and outer skin of the ship. Efficient screens were going to be a must, that was for sure. How did the Builders ever send one of these things into battle without screens? It wouldn’t take that much to get through the armor plating and blow either torpedo magazine. Were they fatalists? Idealists? Or had they simply never connected the dots? Are their enemies equally armed? Better? Worse?

He shook his head. The debates raged, as to whether the Builders were a young and vibrant race or one in decline. Hell, it was humans who’d adapted the capture fields used to bring asteroidal material to the main smelter for so many uses, all the way to sci-fi’s impenetrable force fields.

“The bridge is pretty standard,” Daniel said, breaking Simon out of his reverie. “We took the Galileo’s bridge and adjusted it for the smaller area. “I’ve been here before. Take a look. Some of you will be working here soon enough.”

The tour that followed was totally unexpected. There was color everywhere. Once the engineers figured out how to color the metals, they started to go crazy.

“We found a Lt. Kimura to ride hard on them to keep ‘em from going overboard. I’d like to think we put her to good use,” Daniel said.

An hour later, they came away with a new sense of what they had wrought.

“Individually targetable, high-intensity lasers,” Daniel said proudly. “Thirty of them. At least three, and sometimes more, can be brought to bear on almost any target most of the time. And of course, you must keep in mind that we have more room, so we made the lasers larger, and they have their own dedicated power source.”

Simon broke in. “I’m hearing ‘almost’ and ‘most.’ What conditions would have to exist for fewer than three? Any blast powerful enough to get us there will have effectively gutted a good portion of the ship already.”

Daniel took a serious turn. “If you get to that point, there’s no need to know. About the only things that can take this ship out are,” he held up a hand and started ticking off points, “superior tonnage or generator power, superior numbers that will overpower even a very sophisticated computer’s fire control system, or coming out of warp inside a star. Once this girl gets her shields, I’m not sure even those things could stop her. Except maybe the star.”

The missile bays were another marvel. Each of the eight rooms were capable of firing four missiles at a time, making for forward and rear salvos of sixteen missiles at one time, or near-continuous synchronized fire as long as the missiles lasted. Each missile was tipped with one of the new antimatter warheads and was capable of taking down screens, as well as taking out ships. The difficulty lay in the number of missiles required to get through a ship’s screens. Tests showed that screens powered by the largest generators could be penetrated. It just took more missiles. Once the screens were down, no mere metal would stop even one of these new breed of killers. And the real nice thing about them was that the other side didn’t know they existed. At least, there was nothing like them in any of the computer's data banks. And no shields either.

The boat bays were last on the list, a marvel of compact engineering and efficiency. Each ship in the Heinlein’s class carried ten Mambas, which launched straight from their bays. The force fields were attuned to the specific energies emitted by the engines and allowed them to escape into space. Upon any given ship’s return, capture fields would pull it inside stern first where a crew would be waiting to service or repair as needed.

At last Daniel turned to them. “And here we are, ladies and gentlemen, back at the start of our little tour. If you’ll look to your left, you’ll see the shuttle that will take you back to Orion.” Dropping the tour guide act, Daniel smiled. “We’re proud of her. Take good care of her, will ya? Anybody hurts my baby, you’ll have to face me.” He shook his finger at the lot of them. “All kidding aside, folks, I have things I need to look after. So, let’s all get back to Orion, shall we?”

Miranda wasted no time returning the shuttle to Orion. As the passengers exited the craft, Simon handed Daniel another disc. “This one has the crew roster. I’d like to schedule a commissioning ceremony for two days from now. You can release the roster immediately so people can get used to it and get packed and transferred. I was going to take more from you, but, as you’ll see, I changed that. Orion will only be supplying a third of the crew. That will minimize your downtime as you train the new people.”

Daniel made an exaggerated bow to Simon. “Thank you, kind sir. I’ll remember you in my will.”

Simon laughed. “Typical straw boss, Daniel. Also, I intend to call a meeting of the senior staff tomorrow evening to announce the officer roster.”

Back in their quarters, Kitty put Simon on the spot. “Why won’t you tell us who’s going to be on the officer’s roster? Don’t you think we have as much right to know as the rest of the crew?”

Simon gestured at the stack of papers on his desk. “That’s everything on anyone who might conceivably fill an officer’s position, and I haven’t made my final decisions yet. You know I work best under pressure,” he said, trying to inject a little levity. “I’ve only got a little over twenty-four hours to make my decisions. I’ll call a staff meeting sometime tomorrow afternoon or evening. If you knew how difficult this is for me, you wouldn’t push. The last time we really talked about this, you said you’d support whatever my decision was. Part of that decision is that I won’t rush it, and I’ll announce the entire officer complement tomorrow evening.” Simon began pacing up and down the length of the room. “I’m sorry if I sound testy, honey, but I feel that this is a command decision, and you’re trying to use our personal relationship to get more information than I’m ready to give.”

Kitty began to back down. “Well, I guess you’re right, but it’s safe to tell me, you know. I’m your wife, and I won’t tell anyone.”

Simon said, “That’s not the point. The point is that I can’t treat you any differently than any of my other officers as far as ship matters are concerned. You’ve noticed that I’ve tried to be scrupulously nonpartisan when it comes to you and duties aboard ship.”

Kitty replied a bit testily, “Yes, I’ve noticed. And speaking of duties, why is it that I’m not first officer anymore?”

Simon responded tiredly. They’d done this one before. “That’s a matter of protocol. No officer that serves in a given capacity and gets demoted for any reason stays on the same ship or in the same unit. Promoted up is one thing; demoted gets you a transfer. And we don’t have anywhere to transfer Lucy right now. The only two options are to leave her where she is or promote her to captain.”

A look of sudden comprehension crossed her face. “So that’s it! You’re going to make Lucy captain of the new ship and give me back first officer since I’ve already had experience at the job.”

Simon looked her in the eye and said, flat-voiced, “I’m not going to be drawn into this conversation.” He picked her up by her upper arms and soundly kissed her, setting her down before she could strike.

Walking to his desk and sitting down, he picked up a folder and began to go over some of the personnel transfers. Looking over at Kitty as she sat on the side of the bed, he said, “Think about the fact that I not only have to decide who’ll be officers aboard the Heinlein, but I have to decide on promotions for the Galileo as well. I’m just glad that once each of these vessels gets a captain, promoting and demoting becomes someone else’s problem.”

Kitty walked up behind him and began kneading his shoulders. “Poor dear. You’re just too tense. You need some relaxin’. A little rest might give you a different outlook.” She leaned over and whispered in his ear. “You know, all work and no play is beginning to make Simon a very dull boy.” As she leaned forward, she noticed that one of the files on the desk had her name on it. “You’re not seriously considering me for a place on the Heinlein are you?”

Simon glanced down at the desk, reached out and picked up his wife’s folder, along with the one under it. Spreading the two folders apart so she could see the other name, he said, “About as much as I’m considering me, dear. Just think, if I claim her, Lucy becomes captain. Chain of command. Now, will you drop it, please?”

Kitty didn’t answer. She just dug her thumbs in a little harder until he laid the folder down and let her have her way with the muscles of his shoulders and back. He never saw the dark look she gave him as she worked the knots out.

The next morning, Simon walked into the transporter room and said, “Ensign, if you don’t want to walk home, you’ll send me to these coordinates and forget I was even here today.”

The technician saw the look in Simon’s eyes, stammered “Y-yes, Sir,” and beamed Simon off the ship.

He found his new surroundings quite comfortable indeed. After all, he’d helped to design them. He was standing in the captain’s quarters aboard the Heinlein. Functional furniture filled the living room portion of the suite. The dining alcove would seat six in a pinch, and the bedroom was out of sight behind an unobtrusive door in one corner of the room. “It’ll do for a hideout,” Simon said aloud. “Shouldn’t be anyone here until after I name the captain.” He sighed, stretched, and sat down. Propping his feet up on the coffee table, he let his eyes slowly close as his dilemma enveloped him.

Strange noises disturbed his reverie until he realized that it was probably just some of the crew coming and going. A ship that had just come from the dock would still need a lot of attention. He poured himself a double scotch and let himself drift back into a light daze as his mind gnawed at the bones of his quandary.

Taking stock of his surroundings for the first time in what seemed like hours, Simon glanced at his watch. Realizing how short his time was, he quickly beamed back aboard Galileo and called Lucy. “Commander, if you’d be so kind as to call the people on the list I gave you this morning and ask them to meet me in the mess hall on deck three, I’d appreciate it. Tell them thirty minutes from now.”

Looking to kill close to half an hour without running into anyone he’d be seeing at the upcoming meeting, Simon walked into the mess hall on deck six, not realizing what a stir it would cause to have the captain stop in for coffee. Not wanting to distress anyone, he grabbed a cup of coffee and headed out the door but stopped quickly when he heard a voice calling his name. Looking more closely, he saw a raised hand belonging to Agent Daniels. He walked over to the table and slid into an empty seat.

Recognizing another face, he said, “Crewman McNalley. Everything under control?”

The crewman answered, “Cain’t says I complain, Cap’n. But I kinda sat still long enough. It’s time for this Georgia boy to git back to work.”

Simon nodded at McNalley. “I know the feeling, Crewman. I like my time off, too, but I get nervous without something to do. I can tell you it won’t be a whole lot longer. Only a couple more weeks, I think, until we’ll be starting on number three.”

He turned to the new face at the table. Glancing at the young man’s nametag, he asked, “How are you settling in, Crewman Pike? I’m Captain Hawke.”

The new volunteer set the glass he’d been holding down on the table to shake hands. “I’ve got to say how amazed I am at where I am and what’s going on.”

Simon grinned. “Those seem to be pretty common sentiments for all the new volunteers. I just hope we can keep you amazed. A sense of wonder needs to be watered to grow. Speaking of which, after almost a week of orientation, have you found anything that strikes your fancy?”

Pulling a piece of paper from his pocket, Crewman Pike pointed to two job categories he’d circled. “I was studying astrophysics back before I joined, so it looks like either Navigation or Helm would be most suited to what I’ve been training for.”

Simon had to leave the new man with more than that. “Those are both good choices, Crewman, but I want you to remember that a little over a year ago, no one on this ship had any idea what to do on any post. Whatever you choose, you won’t have to stay there forever if you don’t like it or don’t have an aptitude for it. What I’m saying is for you to keep your options open. We hold classes all the time for different positions.”

Simon turned to Agent Daniels. “So, Agent, what terrible and subversive plots have you turned up this week? I hear you’ve been poking into every corner you can find. I also hear you had a run-in with your security parameters. What happened?”

The agent reddened. “Actually, I never saw that Mamba coming, Captain. I was talking to some of the pilots over on Orion when a ship came in for service. I watched it enter the bay and went back to my conversation. The next thing I knew, my wristband started to go off. The technicians had picked it up in a capture field and moved it over by me where they could work on it, so I left.”

Laughing, Simon said, “Pretty much what I’d already been told. Just wanted to hear your side. Anything you need?”

Taking a sip from his cup, Daniels finally said, “Well, it is a pretty big ship. That commlink you mentioned when I first came aboard would be a big help tracking people down.” Simon pulled his own out of his pocket, called Supply, and left instructions for a commlink to be made available to the agent. “Pick it up any time, Agent. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I have to be somewhere in a few minutes.”

Simon stepped out of the elevator on deck three to find the entire corridor empty. Puzzled, he stopped at the closed door to the mess hall, took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and walked into the room.

No sooner had he set foot in the room than Kitty, who’d been standing beside the door, grabbed his arm and hissed, “Simon! Where the hell have you been? We’ve turned the ship upside down looking for you.”

In a voice just as quiet as hers, blue eyes spearing into her heart, Simon answered, “If that question is coming from my wife, I’ll answer it in our quarters later. If it’s coming from one of my officers, either withdraw it or ask it louder. That way, I can give one answer to the whole room.”

Kitty had started to reply when Stephen coughed. She looked over at him as he made a small sit-down gesture with one hand. She stood frozen until Simon quietly added, “Honey, I need you to sit down so I can get on with this. I’ve been telling you it’s not easy.” Kitty heard something in his voice she’d never heard before and felt a chill run up her spine—anguish. Reaching out and laying a hand on his forearm for a second, she turned and found her chair between Gayle and Stephen.

Simon stood at his place at the head of the table, watching all the eager faces and not-so-eager faces looking at him. Some of the looks he was getting were tinged with worry.

So many of them are so young! he thought.

When he finally spoke, it was in a voice that was so low it was almost inaudible at first. “I apologize to each and every one of you for taking so long to reach these decisions. That everyone in this room is going to be affected by what I’m about to announce goes without saying, but I have to say it anyway.”

He pulled a piece of paper out of his shirt pocket, re-buttoned the flap, and slowly unfolded the paper. “That said, some of you won’t be happy, and that can’t be helped at this time, but please be assured that no one is being slighted. We’ll soon have enough ships for each of you to show your true mettle, ladies and gentlemen.”

He looked down at the paper he held, feeling the tension grow in the room. “We’ll have a seven-officer cadre—captain, first officer, weapons/security officer, science/tactics officer, communications officer, navigation officer and helm officer. And, of course, three shifts as usual. I’m going to leave it up to the captain to name the other positions. That will be the order of ascension as well. Now, for the position of Helm Officer, Donna Hall to be promoted to full commander. Navigation Officer, Michiko Greene to be promoted to full commander. Communications Officer, Commander Gayle Miller. Science/Tactics Officer, Robert Greene to be promoted to full commander. Please note, ladies and gentlemen, that the Greenes will be promoted at the same time so that neither can pull rank on the other.” A small titter of amusement answered back. “Weapons/Security, John Marshall. First Officer, Marsha Kane to be promoted to full commander.”

Simon stood at the front of the room and looked at the faces staring avidly at him. “This has been one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever had to make. When all was said and done, I only had two viable candidates for this first ship, which, by the way, is going to be named the Robert A. Heinlein. I found both candidates to be identical in their qualifications for the job, and it actually came down to basing my choice on rank. Of the two possible candidates for captain of the Heinlein, my choice is ...” Simon paused to take a deep breath and then continued, “Commander Katherine Hawke. Congratulations, Captain.”

The silence after Simon’s revelation lasted only a heartbeat as Kitty’s and Lucy’s faces both fell. Then Rob Greene said, “Yes! Captain Kitty!” He stood up and began to applaud, and the rest of the room followed suit—Lucy not quite as quickly as the others but applauding just as heartily.

The applause dribbled to a ragged stop, and Simon let the silence stretch as long as he could. “Those of you not chosen today for this first posting, please keep in mind that we will have two more vessels within six months, and your names are first in line for any future available positions. Then, three more six ships months after that, and then eight vessels a year from then on, more if we build smaller ships and less if we build larger. Ladies and gentlemen, I believe you all have duties to perform or preparations to make. Everybody not chosen for this ship will be eligible for the second.” He stood up. “Lucy and Kitty, if you’ll meet me in my ready room in five minutes, we can open the mess hall back up.”

Kitty and Lucy sat opposite Simon. He’d thought hard about what he was about to say. He picked and chose each word with care as if skirting a verbal minefield. He addressed Lucy first.

“I saw the looks of shock on both your faces—Kitty’s because I named her captain and yours because I didn’t name you. That’s what I want to discuss first. Although nothing was said, Lucy, I know that you expected to be named captain, and under most conditions you would have been. I didn’t choose Kitty because she’s my wife. She and I had this discussion last night, although she didn’t really know it. I think I’ve been scrupulously honest about not showing her any favoritism—so scrupulous, in fact, that I think she’s had a rougher time of it than the rest of you. The simple fact of the matter is that you’re both equally qualified for the position, but Kitty outranked you. Now, I’m going to make life just a little easier for you. In front of a witness, I’m telling you categorically that the next ship completed is yours. And we’re talking less than six months, Lucy, so I want you to start training your successor. Also, I’m going to let you choose the name of your ship. Talk to me later and I’ll give you your choices.”

Lucy said, “Commander Marshall was waiting for me outside the mess hall after the meeting. He explained to me a little about military protocol, so I do understand why you made the choice you did. I’ll be perfectly happy with ship number two, and I have a successor in mind already. And I don’t think our relationship will suffer.”

Simon gave a small sigh of relief. “I’m glad to hear that, Lucy. I think you’re going to make a great captain. I’d hate to lose you over something like this. Now, if you’ll excuse us, I have some things I need to go over with Kitty.”

Lucy stood up, reached over the desk that separated them, and held out her hand. “Truth, Captain. I’m not upset. I’ll be happy to take the second ship. Congrats, Captain Kitty,” she said as she leaned over and kissed Kitty on the cheek.

When Lucy left the room, the temperature dropped some twenty degrees, and Simon tried to hold off the eruption he saw coming. “Look, honey, what I said in the mess hall and here to Lucy was the absolute truth. But not the whole truth.” At this, Kitty’s mouth snapped shut. “You are about to become the fourth person to be privy to the following bit of information. The third is Daniel, and he just found out yesterday. The other is Dr. Barnes because I needed her help in writing the code that was used to activate the Heinlein. This is a secret we may take to our graves, but then again, maybe not. The big secret is that the ship out there, the Heinlein, has an ability that none of the other ships will have. Because of that, only someone I trust implicitly will ever command her. I spent many hours locked up with our computer and Dr. Barnes working this out.”

Simon stopped for a breath, and Kitty wailed, “But you’re splitting us up!” Simon winced at the volume. “What can possibly be so special about that ship that it requires splitting us up?”

Simon explained about the changes to the operating codes, not only for the Heinlein, but for all the others as well, and how her ship would be able to access and shut down any or all portions of another ship’s systems. “Life support, weapons, power generation, it doesn’t matter. You issue the right command codes, and the ship will go dead. The protocols are hidden behind so many layers of encryption that no one will find them without knowing what they’re looking for. And the acceptance protocols on the rest of the fleet will be equally well hidden. Also, any attempt to remove the acceptance protocols or block or circumvent them will result in a total system shutdown for the ship involved.”

While he spoke, he watched expressions run across her face. More and more they began to look like what he privately called her Toni Putnam face. Kitty shook her head. “That’s a pretty big secret, all right. It’s also too much power for one person to have, Simon. But I’ll take the ship.”

Surprised by her almost instant change of mind, he stumbled. “N-no. That’s too much power for one person to have that I don’t trust. At this point in time, there’s only one person I trust as much as me, and that’s you. Just between you and me, we started this together, and we’ll go as far as we can before someone takes over for us.”

Simon began drumming his fingers on the desktop. “Here’s something I haven’t told anyone yet. Once we get enough ships built and crewed, I envision teams of three ships traveling together, especially when we start to seriously explore other stars. At first, some will go out as singles, but once we have enough, there’s no reason to risk our people and ships traveling alone. Two ships like the Heinlein and… how about a carrier? We’ve come an amazing distance by being both daring and foolhardy. I think it’s time to throw a pinch of caution into the mix and not send ships out alone.

“Now,” he said, pointedly changing the subject. “I believe I heard something about there being a celebration throughout the Galileo and Orion. And I know for a fact that you’re about to have several very hectic days ahead of you. Let’s take tonight and tomorrow night and just relax.”

Simon and Kitty boycotted most of the festivities, although nature did finally force them out of their room and down the corridor to the mess hall. As they approached, they could hear a commotion, so Simon wasn’t surprised to see a crowd present when they walked in, but Kitty was.

They stopped just inside the doorway and the noise in the room died in a spreading wave, with them at the epicenter. Then one pair of hands started clapping. Presently, everyone in the room was on their feet, facing them and applauding. Kitty looked around the room to see what the cause of the uproar was.

Simon put his arm around her waist, leaned down just slightly, and said, “Honey, the applause is for you.” He saw a flush come across her face as he felt her stiffen up and start to take a step backwards. “You can’t run from this, dear. Trust me, you’re in for the duration. For some reason, all these people seem to like you. You may hate me for this, but for now, you’re stuck with it.” Keeping his arm around her waist, Simon gently herded his wife in the direction of the captain’s table.

Kitty saw the tables and looked up at Simon. “You planned this.”

Simon laughed and said, “No I didn’t, but I’m not in the least surprised.”

Leading her to what would normally have been his place, Simon seated Kitty at the head of the table and sat down on her right. As word spread that Kitty had emerged from seclusion, more and more people began to come by to offer their congratulations. Shortly, the three tables were full. By common consent, Galileo’s personnel sat to Simon’s right and Kitty’s new staff sat to her left, including quiet, competent Marsha Kane, whose uncharacteristically dazed expression was further enhanced by the glasses she wore.

Talk inevitably turned to the new ship and plans for her disposition. Simon deflected the majority of the questions for a time by saying, “This next week to ten days, she’ll be standing to her trials.” He turned to Kitty. “That means, m’dear, that for the first week or so your crew will be engineer and tech heavy. Some of your regular crew will stay here for that time while you put her through her paces. You’ll have the extra tech support for things like repairs, adjustments, calibrations, and such.”

A short time later, Kitty turned to Simon and asked him in a quiet voice, “You think you could take me over there and give me a personal tour? I hate to admit this, but I wasn’t paying as much attention on the tour as I maybe should have been. I really only went because you did.”

Simon patted her on the arm. “Kittyn, it’s been planned for a while. I’ve just been waiting for you to ask.”

After the delay that decorum required, Simon and Kitty got up and made their way to the door. Kitty said, “We’ll be back before the party’s over. Won’t be staying long, but we’ll be back.”

Daniel, seated nearby, turned around in his chair and looked over his shoulder at Kitty. “What do you mean ‘party over’? I have it on good authority that tomorrow is going to be all party except for the commissioning ceremony. So I wouldn’t worry about missing your fair share of partying.”

Everyone within hearing laughed, and Kitty smiled down at Daniel.

Simon stopped in his tracks and turned to Daniel. “And on whose authority do you have it that tomorrow is going to be all parties?” he asked with a chuckle.

Daniel peered up at Simon and said sonorously, “Why, my authority, of course,” and then very carefully passed out into the tray of snacks on the table.

Simon took Kitty’s arm and steered her through the milling crowd. True to his word, he led her to the transporter room where they beamed over to the Heinlein’s modest reception area directly off the boat bays. Simon led her to the bridge, sat her down in the captain’s chair, and began to talk. “Unlike the Galileo, this is a fighting ship. The slimmer and trimmer she is, the more maneuverable she is, so weight and space considerations mean a lot. This bridge is the equal of the Galileo’s, only a bit smaller.”

Kitty looked slowly around the room, hands unconsciously caressing the arms of the command chair. “And,” he continued, “there are repeater circuits that transfer all the information on these consoles directly to your cabin so you can be informed at all times about what’s happening.”

As the tour continued, Kitty showed more and more distress. She asked all the right questions, but Simon could recognize the signs—fingers rubbing any convenient piece of fabric between them, eyes shifting right and left continuously, as if looking for a way out, face flushed. It was when they entered a laser cannon servicing bay that she finally cracked.

“Simon, these… these things,” she said, waving her hand in the direction of the laser assembly, “are the perfect example of why I think you screwed up by making me captain. The only thing I’ve ever killed in my life is time. I can’t kill anything directly. I have to put out no-pest strips and roach motels. And you want to put me in command of a warship?”

Simon leaned back against a convenient bulkhead. “You see, there’s the beauty of the idea. Think about it for a minute. Who better than a pacifist in command of a warship? What it means to me is that if you do pull the trigger, you had a damn good reason. And excuse me while I point out a flaw in your logic. I remember when you found Toni Putnam’s body on the floor of Orion’s sickbay. I think if you could have gotten your hands on whoever killed her, you’d have killed them without hesitation. And I’ve noticed a difference in you since then. You’re still as loving and caring as ever, and just as quick to find fault with me. But I think you, like some of the rest of us, lost some of your innocence that day. As evidence, your pistol. That’s not a Z-Tag toy, love.”

With many scenarios chasing themselves around the inside of her head, Kitty decided to head back. Simon, having accomplished his mission of getting his wife to at least question her core beliefs, agreed.

The most noticeable difference upon their return was the absence of Daniel.

“Some of his people took him back to Orion shortly after you left, sir,” Robert Greene said as they sat down. The party was in full swing, and there didn’t appear to be an end in sight.

Kitty glanced around the table and said, “For once, I think I’ll have a beer.”

An hour later, after she’d wrapped herself around a couple more beers herself and something to eat, Kitty began to think she could do this after all. Turning to Marsha on her left, she said, slowly and deliberately, knowing the alcohol was affecting her, “Number One, the commissioning ceremony is for two p.m. tomorrow, which is going to allow most of us to sleep off what we’re doing to ourselves right now. I think we should have a staff meeting immediately afterwards. We should probably use the ready room here. Time enough to get used to our own once we get moved in.”

Marsha turned to her new commanding officer and replied, “Yes, ma’am. I’ll inform the staff.” Turning her head to the left, she announced, “Officers of the Heinlein. Listen up! There will be a staff meeting immediately after the commissioning ceremony tomorrow. Attendance is mandatory in the Galileo’s ready room.” Turning back to Kitty, she mumbled, “Ma’am, mission accomplished,” and gently placing her head on her arms, she started snoring.

Kitty looked down at the unconscious woman beside her and asked, “Will someone please help my first officer to her room?”

Rob Greene stood up. “‘Chiko and I were planning to leave soon anyway. We’ll see that she gets home safely.”

Several stumbles and a stagger later, interspersed with more than a few apologies, the trio made their way to the door and out of sight.

Kitty awoke on commissioning day clear-headed and curiously focused. She slipped into and out of the shower in near-record time, and when Simon finally woke up and found her at his desk, a box on the floor beside her was slowly filling up with files.

Simon walked up behind her, bent down, kissed her on the neck, and nibbled one ear. Playfully breathing in her ear, he asked, “Whatcha doin’?”

She replied, “Taking anything even remotely pertinent to the Heinlein’s operation with me.”

Seeing that she had just about finished anyway, he reached out and slid two more files over in front of her. “That should pretty much do it.”

Still looking down at the desk, Kitty reached behind her to pat him on the thigh and encountered bare skin. Sliding her hand up a few inches, she asked, “What would have happened if I’d had company?”

Simon kissed her on top of the head and said, “Then they would have seen just how much I love you and how happy I am to see you this morning.”

She moved her hand higher and could only respond, “Oh!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

As usual, the only place for a crowd this size was deck eighteen. What had come to be known as the projects deck was crowded with people, almost fifteen hundred of them.

And that’s not counting the skeleton crews for Orion and Galileo watching via whisker lasers, or the start-up crew already aboard the Heinlein, Simon thought.

He stood in the shadow of a Mamba, looking out over the crowd. The ship and its twin on the other side of the podium tended to focus the audience’s attention on the speaker. As he waited for Daniel to introduce him, he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering over the events that had led up to this moment. Part of his mind listened to Daniel and another part kept asking what, if anything, he could have done differently. Holding the pages of his speech in his hand, he tapped them against his leg while he fought the butterflies waging war in his stomach.

He had to table his self-examination when he heard Daniel begin to wind down. A quick introduction later, he was staring out at a field of faces. Silence ruled the deck as Simon placed his papers on the podium, grabbed each side, and glanced back down one more time. Finally, he could dither no more.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I wouldn’t be standing here today if not for your effort, your dedication, your sacrifices.” He stopped for a moment to judge the crowd and heard a murmur in response to his accolade. “I also wouldn’t be standing here today if you didn’t share my vision of what we can do for the human race.” Picking up the microphone, he stepped to one side of the podium. “We are doing more than standing on the edge of a new era.” He took a step forward. “We, those of us living and working aboard five distinct and separate vessels, have actually crossed the line. Just one step, but we have crossed. Very few times in history has anyone or any group of people had the opportunity to realize how big an impact they were making on the future. This, my friends, is one of those times. What we do here alters the very destiny of the human race. And we are privileged to know that ahead of time. This place, Orion Base, is a place of firsts.” He held up one finger. “This dock is the first deep-space outpost built by humans. And as important as that is,” Simon began to put spaces between his words, and as he did, the exterior doors slowly began to open, leaving the entire crew of both vessels exposed to the depths of space save only for force fields. “As important as that is,” he repeated, “it pales in comparison to what you’ve accomplished in the last six months.”

The doors finished rolling back and there, illuminated by light that had traveled almost twice as far as most humans had experienced, was a sparkling white ship. Anyone familiar with the Galileo’s original plans would have trouble believing that the one had been derived from the other. With the annealing process that allowed the engineers to imprint color directly into the hull, deck and wall plates, the ship already seemed to have a life of her own. Her length of over twelve hundred feet, offset by her narrow beam, made her seem smaller than she actually was. Yet the finished product housed twenty fewer crew than originally planned, leaving the crew complement at three hundred eighty. Engines almost the size of the Galileo’s allowed her to move at speeds undreamed of by the Builders, and she would soon carry shields and armament unmatched by anything in the data banks. On her lower deck were an even dozen Mambas, housed in individual bays that would let any one launch independently of the others.

Simon turned away from his audience to gaze through the insubstantial barrier out to the vessel waiting just beyond his reach. Finally realizing that he was keeping almost fifteen hundred people waiting, he turned away from the vision and back to his audience. He let his gaze drift from left to right over the entire group and then looked down at the podium. He realized unhappily that he recognized even fewer faces than ever.

Replacing the microphone, he gripped the podium with both hands. “I’m going to cut this short. I’m only going to say that where we stand right now and what that ship out there represents is a crossroads in human history. At a normal crossroads, you have four choices, one of which is to go back where you came from. Unfortunately, things aren’t that simple here. From where we stand, there are an infinite number of roads we can take. One course is to go back, stick our heads in the sand, and hope the universe goes away. Another is to turn what we’ve accomplished and the Galileo over to the governments of Earth. On the first road, we give up any chance at the universe in our lifetimes, our children’s lifetimes, even our grandchildren’s lifetimes. As for other roads, well, I’m can’t tell you where they lead because we don’t know yet, but I can tell you this—I don’t like the first two roads, and I won’t walk either of them.

“The only things more to say are thank you for walking this road with me this far, and I pray that our association continues for many years to come.

“And now, the real reason we’re here today. We have conceived, and you have built, the first ship in the Terran Alliance Fleet. I don’t think anybody knows how badly I wish this first ship didn’t have to be a warship. But even though she is capable of an immense amount of destruction,” he hesitated a regretful second, “I envision her, her sisters, and all the ships to follow to be a constructive force, securing mankind’s place in space. And defending, if necessary, our right to be out here.

“From the time the first human gazed up at the stars in wonder to this very day, mankind has dreamed of being where we stand. But it wasn’t until the late 19th century that people started to speculate in print. And mostly, it was twentieth-century writers who got us all hooked on the possibilities. Those writers, from Jules Verne on, have fueled our imaginations. We grew up with his stories and those of H.G. Wells in the late 19th century. Most of us, though, grew up reading stories by the premier authors of our times. And the first six ships to come out of our docks are going to honor the spirits of those visionary people without whom most of us wouldn’t be here today.

“The second through sixth ships will carry the names Isaac Asimov, Arthur C. Clarke, Larry Niven, Anne McCaffrey, and Andre Norton.” Simon turned to gaze out upon the ship glowing in the sunlight. “And this one,” he continued, “is to be named after the grandmaster of modern science fiction.” If any eye on that deck had been looking anywhere but at the ship, it might have seen a small flash of light at the end of Simon’s last comment. He hesitated for a few seconds and then continued. “It is my great pleasure to christen the first ship in the fleet of the Terran Alliance. By the power vested in me by the people who share my dream and my vision, I hereby christen her the TAS Robert A. Heinlein.”

Quite literally on cue, as the last syllable left Simon’s mouth, a small glittering cloud appeared at the bow of the newly christened ship. For a few seconds, a small portion of the Heinlein was obscured from view and Simon heard mutters of surprise from behind him. He turned back again with a smile on his face and said, “Of all the engineering feats that have been accomplished out here in the last year, you have just witnessed one of the most difficult. Do you realize how hard it is to christen a spaceship with a bottle of champagne?” Laughter broke out on the deck. Simon let it run for a few seconds and then held up his hand. As the sound died, he went on.

“Special congratulations go to Engineering for not only designing the delivery system to get the bottle from here to the Heinlein but keeping it liquid until it could smash on the hull and give you all those pretty little sparkles out there. Good old human ingenuity strikes again.

“Now. Those of you who are assigned to the Heinlein already know who you are. At this time, I’d like to introduce you to your command staff. For the position of Helm Officer, Donna Hall. Front and center, Lt. Commander.” Having rehearsed before the ceremony, Donna Hall walked up onto the dais. Daniels, in the background until this point, came forward to stand beside Simon.

When Donna reached the two captains, she stood to attention. “Lt. Commander Hall, for your dedication to your job and your superior performance of same, you are hereby posted to the Terran Alliance Ship Heinlein,” Simon said. “With the position come greater responsibilities and duties. Therefore, I have the pleasure of promoting you to full commander. Congratulations, and may you acquit yourself with honor.”

During his speech, Simon had removed her insignia and replaced them with the golden stars of her new rank. He stepped back, saluted her, accepted her salute in return, and watched as she pivoted and left the stage.

Naming and promoting as necessary, the two captains continued until only three were left. “Robert and Michiko Greene, front and center.” The two officers stepped up on the dais together. Simon and Daniel, each taking one officer, quickly stripped off the old rank and installed the new insignia, finishing at the same time. The four exchanged salutes and then the stage was Simon’s again.

Simon again faced the audience. “Wing Commander Katherine Hawke, front and center.” At the sound of Kitty’s name, the crew who were not in the know began to cheer. Walking as if to her own execution, Kitty slowly ascended the dais, her eyes locked on Simon’s. She came to a halt directly in front of him in the same position of attention the others before her had used. Simon finally signaled for the cheering to stop. In the silence, he stared deeply into his wife’s eyes, and then said, “I had two choices today. One was to play the part of a happy husband and stand down there while you got promoted, applauding with the rest. The other was to stand up here and pin your comets on you myself.” He reached out and slowly removed the golden stars from her lapels. Turning to her newly appointed first officer, Marsha Kane, who had appeared at his side, he picked up the first comet from the small black box she held. After he finished with the second one, he stepped back a half pace and stuck his hand out.

With a slightly perplexed look, Kitty reached out and shook his hand.

“Congratulations, Captain,” he said. Then, with no warning, he tightened his grip, pulled her to him, put his left arm around her, and kissed her soundly on the lips in front of the entire assemblage. Whistles and catcalls greeted the sight. Stepping back, he said quietly, “Damn, Kittyn, I hope that doesn’t become part of the tradition of promotion.” Grasping her by the shoulders, he turned Kitty around to face the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am proud to present to you the Captain of the TAS Robert A. Heinlein, Captain Katherine Hawke.”

As the applause started to die down, a voice rose up out of the front row. “Three cheers for Captain Kitty!” At each hurrah, Simon could feel the deck vibrate from the power of nearly fifteen hundred voices yelling in unison. As the third cheer echoed into silence, Simon reached into the podium and said, “Captain, there’s one more thing for you to take with you. Apparently, this is going to become part of the tradition as well. He pulled out a brass plaque and handed it to her.

All this fuss for a piece of metal, she thought, and then looked down at the words embossed there:

T.A.S. ROBERT A. HEINLEIN

COMMISSIONED FEBRUARY 10, 2013

CAPTAIN KATHERINE HAWKE, COMMANDING

Staring at the plaque in her hands, with her name on it, she realized just how thoroughly she’d been roped in by the ceremony. Ceremonies weren’t just for the crowds. It bound a person to the event and to the people watching it. The problem with ceremony was that it branded an individual as well, sometimes for the good and sometimes otherwise as in the case of an execution. The ceremony surrounding an event of that nature wasn’t for the guest of honor at all.

“Show ‘em the plaque, hon,” Simon quietly urged, breaking her train of thought. “That’s why they all came.”

To Kitty’s credit, her thoughts never reached her face as she raised the plaque over her head and let the applause—undeserved though she felt it to be—wash over her. She recognized the psychology behind Simon’s strategy for what it was but still couldn’t get the lump in her throat to go away—not that she would change anything, and not that she could.

Simon, you will pay for this. Worse than the time you did forget our anniversary. I promise you that, she thought.

“The sooner we get these trials done, the happier I’ll be. I want to see us get base number three started. We’re going to try something different this time,” Stephen said to Simon. “I know the Heinlein is going to complete her trials with flying colors. Call it an engineer’s intuition mixed with knowing how user friendly this technology is. I’m thinking ahead to three things we need to do with one ship in a very short period of time. It’s the end of March. We’ll have two more ships needing crews by mid- to late April. Meantime, we’ll be building… what are we going to name the next base?”

Simon looked up from the collection of papers, files and reports on his desk. “What? Oh, I don’t know. I picked two constellations. Let’s continue that and you pick the next name.”

Stephen added the stack of papers he was holding to the growing pile on the desk and sat down in one of the chairs across the sea of folders that threatened to spill off onto the floor. “We’re going to have to get you a secretary before long, maybe two,” he said, glaring at the mess. “That office out there is a pretty good indication the previous captain knew how to delegate. You shouldn’t have to read anything but synopses and ask for the relevant report if you see something interesting. That would take a lot of pressure off you.”

Stephen could see that the conversation wasn’t going anywhere near the direction Simon’s thoughts were. “Look, Simon. You can’t beat yourself up over assigning Kitty to the Heinlein. She was the best person for the job as far as I’m concerned. Of course, I’m not married to her,” he quipped. “She’ll do a good enough job on you when she finds out how much you really dumped on her.”

Simon roused himself enough to look up at Stephen. “You’re probably right,” he said with a lopsided grin. “So, what did you mean by trying something different?”

Stephen said, “Look. What good is the Galileo once the habitat section and factory sections are completed? They can finish building the Shack themselves and then start on their first ship. So, we get the fuel plant built, set up the habitat, factory section, and docking bays. We help produce the station shuttles and a half dozen Mambas, and the new dock—let’s call her Libra—can finish completing itself. We make a beeline for Earth, pick up crew for two ships, and get back in, I’d say seven or eight weeks. With the Mambas as protection as well as cover, there shouldn’t be any trouble while we’re gone. Especially if the Heinlein stays in the vicinity until we get back. Think about it.”

Simon leaned back in his chair, stroked his chin, and put on his pondering face. Stephen tossed a folder at him, and papers flew everywhere. Both men laughed. “See what you made me do?” Stephen complained. “Let’s go get a beer.”

Simon demurred. “I’ve got these reports to go over. The Engineering staff seems to think a wobble they found in the magnetic containment fields can be permanently cured with the right filters coupled into the system. They’ve tried to solve the problem with software filters, but sooner or later they begin to drift again. According to them, the faster a ship moves, the more stress on the containment fields. This time they’re looking at a hardware change, and I’m not sure I want to mess with the original design specs on something as critical as this. They tend to get too technical for me, so if you’d look into it and let me know what you think, I’d appreciate it. And I’ve got something personal to look into.”

After seeing Stephen out one door, Simon went directly to the bridge to check on the Heinlein’s progress. Transmissions came in on a regular basis from the techs and engineers on board, but the Heinlein’s captain only saw fit to send a personal report once a day. Simon wasn’t sure if the point was to make him worry, but he did. And to tell the truth, he even looked forward to the distant tone of voice and terse reports in the daily dispatch from Kitty. He just wished she would let go of her grudge over her promotion.

Six days of trials, and the engineers were putting the Heinlein through some pretty stiff paces. They’d spent days going over the parameters she needed to meet, and so far, everything was well within tolerances. Quite a few of the parameters had been drastically exceeded, to tell the truth. Tomorrow was to be the last major trial—an extended boost up to warp speed, then beyond. Simon had told her to head for Alpha Centauri. When she asked why, he only said it was the nearest star and she wouldn’t be going all the way there on this trip anyway. It just gave her navigator something to program into the computer.

Every trial so far had come off without a hitch, even the weapons tests. Here she sat, farther from Earth than any human had ever been except her own crew, of course. Almost eight hundred and ninety million miles from home, shooting at asteroids in Saturn’s rings, of all places.

The lasers were even more powerful than expected due to having their own power core to draw from. The poor asteroids never stood a chance. The missiles only needed some fine tuning to their targeting mechanisms. The missile technology, like almost everything else the Builders produced, had been perfected to the point of not really needing anything added to increase its effectiveness. The targeting systems worked perfectly, of course, and it was just the human adaptations that needed to be gone over. Most of the problems lay in the different measuring systems inherent in the computer and the new programs installed by humans. Glitches that surely wouldn’t exist for the Builders kept cropping up and needing to be adjusted.

The engineers had turned out several shield generators that would simulate an enemy ship, assuming, of course, that the enemy ship had shield generators. Bets were being taken that there would be no shields to contend with. Generator and power supply were turned loose, and the ship took them out, telling the techs much about what the ship might have to face in a combat situation. Now all that remained were the final engine tests, and then she could go home.

Calling her staff together, Kitty asked them a question. “Are we ready to go for the engine tests?” The usual hemming and hawing began, but she’d suffered through enough of that in the previous week that she’d learned how to stop it before it got into deep technical explanations she’d never understand. Hell, she was sure most of the technical team didn’t understand half of what they said themselves.

“Let’s cut to the chase, people. Either we know for sure, or we’re speculating. Are we sure enough to risk all our lives?” Taking the silence as a commitment to continue, she said as much. “In the absence of a strong verbal dissent, we’ll begin the final tests tomorrow shortly after breakfast. I think I’d rather try this on a full stomach and an empty bladder,” she joked.

Kitty woke up the next morning in her quarters aboard the Heinlein with a feeling of disorientation. She couldn’t shake the feeling of something forgotten or missing. The feeling was so intense that even going over her previous days’ calendar didn’t dispel it. She finally realized that she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. As she showered, dressed, and otherwise prepared for her day, the feeling seemed to become more internal than external, leaving her with a curiously pleasant tingle.

Oh, no, she thought, as she brushed her hair into her usual shipboard ponytail. I hope I’m not getting addicted to life-defining moments!

She had checked her repeater screens immediately upon arising to make sure the course she’d given to third shift was being followed, so she decided she had time for a quick breakfast.

Finding the room considerably more crowded than expected, she asked, “Aren’t some of you supposed to be getting some rest?”

A voice belonging to a lieutenant commander she barely recognized spoke up. “Yes, ma’am, but I don’t think any of us want to miss what’s coming up. If everything works like it should, some of us will just be a little tired and go to bed early at the end of our next shifts.” He shrugged and added philosophically, “And if something goes wrong, it won’t matter.”

Kitty sat down at the table next to the philosophical young man and pressed him. “And it doesn’t hurt that the technology has been tried, true, and tested for hundreds of years before we got it. It’s not new, merely new to us. Now, isn’t that right?”

“No, ma’am, it doesn’t hurt at all, even if we’ve added a few twists of our own.” This came from a redheaded ensign sitting next to the young lieutenant commander. “We spend a lot of time after shift talking about where we are and what we’re doing, speculating on the future. Anyway, ma’am, one of the things that keeps coming up is just that fact—the age of the technology.”

Kitty looked at the new speaker more closely and recognized her. She glanced at the nametag on the woman’s uniform, and said, “Oh, yes. You would be Ensign Ross from… that would be one of the forward missile bays. We met during one of my first inspections.”

The redhead smiled and said, “Yes, ma’am and no, ma’am.” At Kitty’s confused look, the woman went on. “Ensign Ross and forward missile bay are both correct, ma’am, but I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting you. That was my twin sister. She’s on first shift, and I’m on second. And she didn’t quit talking about your visit for days, ma’am.”

Kitty looked in the direction the ensign pointed, and her mouth dropped open. Her head swiveled classically between the two, coming to rest, finally, on the one she’d been speaking to. “You mean to tell me that I have a pair of redheaded identical twins on my ship? On a ship named after Robert Heinlein? This is just too hilarious.”

The ensign stuttered, “Y-yes, ma’am. Is that a problem?”

Kitty immediately tried to assuage the panic she heard in the woman’s voice. “No, it’s not a problem. As long as I’m aware of the situation,” she said, hedging. “I think I just found the ship’s good luck charms. Totally identical, are you?”

“Yes, ma’am. Except that I wear my hair different since we can’t wear different outfits.”

“And what are your names?” Kitty asked.

“Ma’am, I’m Diana Ross, and my sister is Demeter. And before you say anything, ma’am, our father was a professor of Greek history—with a sense of humor, I might add.”

Kitty laughed aloud. “I know what you mean about a sense of humor. My last name wasn’t always Hawke. My father’s name was Brian Cattin. Try growing up being called Kitty Cattin.” The laughter, though muted, was genuine, and Kitty could tell that there was no malice in it.

Kitty finished her meal, made her goodbyes, and went to the bridge where she found John Marshall, her Weapons/Tactics Officer, sitting as shift commander as third shift neared its end. Standing beside the chair, she asked, “Status, Commander?”

He began to detail the status of the ship. Everything from the monopoles, containment fields, power conduits, and field generators to the warp engines themselves had all been triple checked. Simulations showed that she would be able to leave ships like the Galileo behind in the blink of an eye, if all went well. And, of course, there was the innovation that that technician in the engine room had come up with—cross-connecting the three power cores so additional power could be routed to any one of the three main systems. She was anxious to see how it would affect the engine trials after how well it had worked on the lasers.

John slid out of the seat and she slid in. She’d actually taken over the shift about ten minutes ahead of time as was her usual habit. And one of the rules she’d instituted was that shift change should occur one station at a time unless there was an emergency. Normally, full shift change, with each station reporting status to new operators, could take as much as ten minutes. Today wasn’t normal, and the change was effected in less than five, which still gave Kitty time to talk to the engineers and techs in the engine room and those scattered throughout the ship.

As the last status light on her board turned green, Kitty ordered Helm to move out at normal speed. This would be the first time humans had traveled in excess of the speed of light. All the data said that, in an emergency, the warp engines could be run up from a stop, but the figures also showed that they worked best if the ship was approaching light speed. Consequently, they’d use their in-space drive to cruise up to the lower warp limit and then boost past it.

Since these were speed trials, the instructions were different than anything she’d issued up to this point. Those instructions were to channel as much power to the in-space drives as possible without redlining the drive and see how fast they could attain their maximum velocity. Engineers, techs, and scientists began to monitor their instruments. Kitty cut the intercom into the circuit so all could hear what was going on.

She gave the order to boost, and in less time than anyone thought possible, the ringed wonder of Sol system was a slowly receding dot in the rear scanners. Long before the orbit of Uranus was reached, the Heinlein was at the warp threshold, cruising just under the speed of light. This was the point where people could age differently if they stayed at speed too long. Time passed normally for them, but their friends outside the ship would seem to age much faster. The curious thing was that once they went into warp drive, that law of nature no longer seemed to hold, according to the figures they had. Einstein would need several lifetimes to refigure his equations.

Kitty ordered the massive engines cut into the system at their lowest warp settings. She had once asked one of the engine room technicians why there weren’t two separate engines for normal space and for warp space, and she’d been told that the whole thing was a matter of the energies produced by the power core. Once the monopoles were placed in conjunction with each other, they found a happy medium where they emitted a tiny amount of energy, an amount that could operate all the third-tier systems without problems for dozens of years. But to move a vessel the size of the Galileo, for example, in normal space, more energy was required. In that case, the containment field was constricted a bit, forcing the monopoles closer together, producing enough energy, once routed to the engines, to move the enormous ship around the solar system.

To move at warp speeds, it was necessary to try to separate the two poles. This, for some reason, produced energy quantum levels higher than pressing them together. That energy, when channeled into those same engines, would move the ship up to and through the warp barrier. Slowly, they would be raised up to their max. Over the next twelve hours, they dropped in and out of warp half a dozen times, bringing the ship to a virtual standstill and running her back up to warp speeds, looking for their fastest time.

Their last test was to see how the warp engines would hold up under a sustained near-maximum boost. Kitty had long ago surrendered her chair to the second shift. Marsha Kane had control when the time for the last test came, but Kitty would be on the bridge for the beginning of it. Marsha looked her way and asked, “Course, ma’am?”

Kitty smiled and said, “Set course for Alpha Centauri.”

Marsha’s eyebrow went up just slightly. She turned to the Nav officer and ordered, “Navigator, set course for Alpha Centauri.”

When the navigator called out, “Ma’am, course laid in, sent to Helm, and locked,” Marsha got a last nod from Kitty. After checking engine status one more time, she announced the impending test to all hands. Turning back to her crew, she ordered, “Helm, move us out. Normal speed, increasing to maximum in-space. Report when maximum speed is achieved.” Shortly, she called the engine room. “Prepare for warp.”

As the ship approached its maximum in-space speed, a new panel lit up on Helm’s console, who reported, “Ma’am, ship ready for warp.”

Commander Kane ordered, “Very well, Helm. Bring us to low warp,” and the now-familiar twisting sensation that some said they didn’t feel ran through her body as the ship passed through the invisible barrier.

The ship passed that barrier as effortlessly as it had during the short trials, and Marsha said, “Very well. Run us up slowly to maximum warp. Report when we’ve reached that point.”

Kitty could feel the vibration slowly building as Marsha and the rest of the crew pushed the Heinlein to her limit. Once they reached high warp, Kitty spoke to Marsha. “Very good, Commander. We are now to run at this speed for twelve hours. Since no one can keep up the kind of concentration we need for that long, shifts will change every two hours for the duration of this test, especially the shift commander. I don’t want anyone zoned out. I will be on-call at all times. Just whistle, Marsha. I’m going to my cabin for now.”

The engine tests were largely anticlimactic. A huge success, of course, but overshadowed by the weapons tests with all their pretty explosions. The physics of this type of space flight said that when coming out of warp, the ship retained the velocity it had upon entering, so great care had to be taken in plotting courses. Kitty was on the bridge when the Heinlein emerged from warp, and she immediately ordered full deceleration and full scan, leaving the area directly astern for last.

A chill ran up her spine as a thought crossed her mind, and she muttered, “More of that life-defining crap. Could I be an adrenaline junkie?”

Finding what they’d expected to find—nothing—they turned their sensors in the direction of the solar system and were surprised, but not unduly, in retrospect, to find that they were receiving a message they’d already received and responded to days before. Kitty, feeling unusually good about how the tests had gone, decided it was time to be a little bit playful. “Gayle, send this reply to the message we just received—Captain Hawke, just how many times do you think it is necessary to tell me to be careful? Sign that Captain Hawke, the Heinlein, date it and send it. Rob, can you tell me exactly where we are?”

Robert Greene looked up from his console. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but all I can tell you right now is that we are partway between our starting point and our destination.” Before Kitty could explode, he continued, “All kidding aside, ma’am, I can’t tell exactly where we are, but I can tell you that if we continued at our highest acceleration, we would reach Alpha Centauri in about two weeks, which makes our maximum speed somewhere in the vicinity of double that of a ship the size and configuration of the Galileo.”

“That’s good enough for me.” She keyed the intercom to address the crew. “This is the captain. It’s my pleasure to report that we’ve just completed the last phase of testing. And, I might add, we aced it. Now we can go home. I want to express my appreciation to everybody for a job well done. The time for the return to Orion won’t be as long as what we’ve had to go through up to this point since now we can head straight in. So, ladies and gentlemen, let’s get to it. Thank you.”

An outside observer would have seen the Heinlein slowly accelerate to her maximum in-space speed. As she reached her limit, that observer would have seen her apparently blink out of existence while the occupants of the ship went about their duties blissfully unaware of the impact they were making on human history.

Kitty had finished her report, and one of the recommendations she’d made was to keep the computers well acquainted with the various pieces of space debris in whatever area they chose to come out of warp, if possible. She could already see the dangers inherent in traveling to new places and wondered out loud how many ships and people would be lost in exploring their newly expanded neighborhood.

“There’s something about two objects not being able to occupy the same space. What happens if we come out of warp inside a moon or something else we can’t possibly know about beforehand?” she asked Daniel.

He looked at her and tried to allay her fears. “The people we have rooting around in the remains of the database have been tasked to look for that particular problem. Believe it or not, some of us have already thought about it. So far, what has turned up is a lot of nothing. Since we managed to save some of the data, we have records of many dropouts, without their stellar locations, of course, and never has anything shown up to cause the engineers or astronomers to worry. That isn’t to say that it can’t happen or won’t, just that it seems highly unlikely. Some of the theoreticians think that physics won’t let a vessel come out of warp inside another object. That remains to be proven, of course. And how we prove it, I surely don’t know. I’m just a lowly engineer, myself.”

Kitty leaned back in her chair and an introspective mood seemed to come over her.

“Okay, what’s on your mind, Kitty?” Daniel asked. “I’ve come to know that look.”

“I seem to have become more philosophical lately, Dan. What I want to know is what we’re going to do with all the ships we’re building? I mean, I know we’re defending our right to keep the technology now that we have it, and quite likely defending our planet as well, but we don’t really see an enemy. All we have concrete evidence of is three other ships—one destroyed and the two survivors hightailing it out of the county, so to speak. Sometimes I have to wonder if we’re really going in the right direction. It seems to me that we’re building stuff we don’t really have a lot of use for.”

Daniel gave her a penetrating look. “I agree, in a way. But when you think about those ships, you have to ask yourself whose policies they were following. If it was one individual, that’s one thing. But if they were operating under the orders of a government, that’s entirely a horse of another color. The question I need to put to you is do we dare take any chances? I’d much rather err on the side of caution. And personally, I want to get my hands on whoever was in command when they hit us, hang him by whatever passes for thumbs, and then spend all day carving him into little pieces. Bloodthirsty? Well, I’m not going to defend my position by saying that the human race has been bloodthirsty since it began, but I still want to see the son of a bitch suffer.”

Changing the subject, Kitty began to describe her ideas for a large, permanent base. As an engineer, the prospect should distract him from the emotions she could see just beneath the surface. “The asteroid Vesta,” she said. “I’ve been through the database and think I’ve found a way to turn it into something we can use. It won’t be long before we have several thousand people out here, and some of them will become permanent residents while others will need a place to vacation from the ships and bases. It’ll take a few years to get it ready for occupation, but here’s what I have in mind.”

Itemizing the equipment she’d found in the computer, she began. “First, we’d need a power generator and broadcaster. A simple program would coordinate several dozen specialized machines to hollow out the asteroid, and some of the material could be used to seal the interior against air loss. Smoothing off the surface would let us lay out artificial gravity grids like the ones built into the deck plates of the ships, or we could lay the cables on the inside surface before the sealer goes on. Then the inside of Vesta would have gravity. The material culled from the surface and excavated from the interior would follow the asteroid until the Galileo arrived to scoop it up and use it to build structures for the interior. Everything except the Galileo’s part could be done without supervision from humans if we built a computer and programmed it to do the job for us. Once the entrance was sealed, we could introduce air, heat, light and plants to begin oxygen production. I could do an initial survey on the way to Gamma since we’ll pass Vesta on the way.”

Daniel stared at Kitty, his mouth dropping farther open with each sentence.

“What?” Kitty demanded. “I’ve looked into this. It’ll work, dammit.”

“I’m not doubting you, Kitty. I just think we should have thought of this already. When you meet the Galileo at Point Gamma, you should be able to skim some of her time and get your machines without causing too much of a slowdown in construction. From what I see here,” Daniel said as he called up specs on his own screens, “the factories you’ll need aren’t the same ones used in dock construction, for the most part. If Simon gives you any trouble on this, have him get in touch with me. This needs to be done, and I’ll back it if he doesn’t.”

Thanking Daniel for his time and support, Kitty left. She desperately wanted to talk to Simon, but he had taken the Galileo back to Earth to pick up more volunteers for the next ship. His instructions to her had been to take the Heinlein out to Point Gamma where the next dock, Libra, was to be built. Of course, this would be after she’d spent some time there getting her crew sorted out and doing some patrolling to train the recruits.

Included in these instructions was a suggestion that she slowly begin scanning the asteroid belt on the way in hopes of finding any unwanted visitors like the ones who’d attacked Orion. Many people believed there was too high a possibility that spies had been left behind, and after a careful analysis of the records, she’d come to believe the theory was plausible. Still, she wished Simon had waited a little longer before getting Lucy’s ship crewed. She agreed time was not to be wasted, but…

Kitty made her way down to Orion’s docking bay where her gig and pilot waited. This is such a waste, she thought. I can fly myself around as well as anyone else can. Why does Simon put so much stock in appearances? And why do these people follow so readily? Resigning herself to the inevitable, she boarded the trim little vessel and waited while the pilot went through her checklist and was pushed out of the bay by the presser beams.

Her gig was nothing more than an oversized Mamba without weapons, capable of carrying a pilot and four passengers. Not warp-capable, it was used to ferry personnel from space to ground or ship to ship. Early on, Kitty had seen the necessity for having two standard shuttles, so a little judicious reengineering had dropped the Mamba complement from twelve to ten so they could tuck the shuttles into the recesses of the Heinlein’s docking bay.

Two days went by while the tech crew left the ship and the regular crew boarded. Finding room assignments, workstations, and common areas had been a small problem at the beginning of the first voyage, so Kitty had maps made and distributed to the new arrivals. Finally, the Heinlein powered up and began to make her way through the maze that had grown around the station. Knowing Simon wouldn’t rendezvous with her for almost a month, Kitty took her time, cruising along just above the asteroid belt with her sensors on full, searching for whatever she might find. Knowing she had a one-in-four chance of finding anything since she was only passing one fourth of the belt on her way to Gamma, she felt it would be good practice for the crew. And that percentage held only if an intruder chose to use the asteroid belt as a hiding place. She would, she mused, but maybe that didn’t figure in the ideas of someone who came from a totally alien culture that had been in space for hundreds of years.

Along with the drills, the regular flights by the Mambas tended to keep most people occupied. Daily reports from the Galileo and Orion didn’t take up much of her time, nor did her responses since she was still pretty upset with Simon, so she had plenty of free time on her hands. Running performance drills kept all hands occupied, if a little irritated, until she started plugging herself into various personnel slots and taking part herself. It was such a success with the crew that she mandated the procedure for all the command staff.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Almost six weeks went by before the huge construction vessel came to rest relative to the Heinlein at Gamma. Shuttles and Mambas began to emerge from her dark hull almost immediately. The larger ship had spent two weeks in Earth orbit, picking and choosing from an overabundance of volunteers and letting some of those who’d been gone for almost a year have some leave time.

The third reappearance of so many missing persons added a new dimension to the pressure various government officials were beginning to feel from their constituents. The ramifications of such a monumental discovery were finally beginning to find their ways into the mass media as well. Late-night radio talk shows and supermarket tabloids only added fuel to rumors that were flying through the intelligence agencies of the world like wildfire. Simon smiled at the thought of what those groups were going to do when so many more people disappeared again.

Overcrowding was the name of the game for the week that it took the Galileo to get back to Gemini Base. Finally, nearly a third of the volunteers were offloaded at the base. Simon kept his word, investing Lucy as captain, and she immediately named her vessel the Anne McCaffrey. The Galileo remained in the area while the crew rosters of the base and ships sorted themselves out. It was necessary for dozens of veteran crewmembers of both Gemini and the Galileo to be moved to the new ship where they would function as instructors for the newbies who’d been assigned. This left the remainder of the new volunteers to be doled out into the more innocuous positions aboard the three vessels.

Simon, missing his wife more as time passed, ordered the Galileo to move out and rendezvous with the Heinlein and Kitty.

Kitty beamed over from the Heinlein, briefcase in hand, to spend some well-deserved time alone with her husband.

I wonder how much longer this is going to go on, she thought. I remember something about hunter packs—two ships and a carrier. If Simon will just hurry up and take command of a ship, we can form the first pack and spend more time together. This captain business is really putting a cramp in my love life.

She walked into the captain’s quarters, let her uniform drop to the deck, and headed for the shower. If he isn’t here by the time I get good and wet, then I don’t know Simon, she told herself.

As if on cue, she heard the outer door open just as she was getting the temperature up to blister-the-skin-off-your-body. Turning around, she was just in time to get passionately hugged by the man she hadn’t seen in so long.

When the afterglow had faded away into one of those memories that last forever, Kitty let her satisfied smile turn into an achingly pleasant, joint-popping stretch. She sat up, leaned over and kissed Simon, an unspoken promise implicit in the way her tongue flicked between his teeth and back out again. Turning her back to her husband, she stirred through the pile of clothes beside the bed until she felt the weight of her briefcase.

Aware of the sight she presented, Kitty leaned over and picked up the briefcase. Sitting back up, she felt Simon’s hands sliding around her sides to caress her breasts, so she set the case aside, turned in his arms, and kissed him again. Then, pulling away, she gently grabbed his wrists and moved his hands down to his thighs. “Take a break, dear. We just had dessert, and now we need to talk business.”

She pulled the briefcase into her lap and hauled out a sheaf of papers. “Before I left Orion, I sat down with Daniel and told him about an idea I had. He thinks it’s something we need to implement as soon as we can.” She handed the papers to Simon and launched into a description of Project Vesta.

Simon, quickly flipping through the report, did his best to keep up with the details of material allocation and production, transport of same to Vesta, and oversight of the project in its early phases.

Kitty ended with, “And we only have to have someone stop by every month or so to check that things are on track,” before leaning back to let the idea sink in. Encouraged by Daniel’s enthusiasm, she’d spoken firmly and was pleased with the occasional question, gratified by his acceptance.

“A base like that is just what we need,” Simon said. “It can serve as a symbol, as well as an R & R spot. As ideas go, this even tops Z-tag, as far as I’m concerned. But if something can serve two purposes, and one of them just happens to be a PR bonanza, then why not take advantage of it?

“The reasons you gave in the first place are enough, of course, but look at it from the position of those on Earth. A place no government can reach and a permanent base in deep space where you can walk around in shirtsleeves and have room to… what? Play ball? Run races? Anything you can dream up. It would certainly stir up more interest. But this is only one idea off the top of my head, and look where it led. This was your project. Why not watch over it until the time comes to start making it habitable?”

Simon leaned away from Kitty for a second, reaching into the pocket of his own jacket. Pulling out an envelope, he handed it to her, saying, “I’ve got a surprise for you, too. Read this, Kittyn.”

She pulled a single sheet of paper out of the envelope, barely noticing the presidential seal on the corner as she set it aside. She shook the paper open, read it once and then again, more slowly. And then a third time. “Have you confirmed this?” she asked incredulously. “You’re going to meet with the vice-president? We’re going to get the bases?” Kitty’s imagination went into overdrive. “What do we have to give them initially? I assume there has to be some kind of good-faith gesture. And it should come from us. I also think it should be a public meeting. Camp David is where they go to do things quietly. As much media attention as possible is what we need to have.”

“Whoa! Slow down, honey. Right now, the only thing on the table is the idea of a meeting. And, yes, with the vice-president, and possibly with senior officials from some of the other countries we could get bases in, too—maybe an Asian representative and someone from somewhere in Europe. According to Galway, through Lucy, we get the bases and then discuss technology trades. And as I understand it, those were the conditions. As for media attention, that’s going to be a given, but none of it will happen until we get Libra finished and go back for more volunteers.”

Kitty stared at Simon so long he finally had to ask, “What? That’s what we wanted. Bases and at least tacit acceptance by the governments of the world. So why the face?”

“Why? Because something doesn’t smell right, husband-mine.” She rolled out of the bed and began to pace the room. Coming to a stop beside the bed, she looked down at Simon. “I know I didn’t marry a total idiot. Since when did any government give away anything without some guarantees first? And they specifically requested our commanding officer? Tell me this isn’t a setup, Simon. Make me believe it, if you can. Listen, we’ve been married for what? Over sixteen years, now. You aren’t going down there alone and definitely not without backup. Do you understand? If I have to get every single soul off-planet in on that, I can. Don’t doubt it for a second.”

Simon finally got a chance to get a word in edgewise. “Lighten up! Nothing’s been decided, yet.” He sat up and pulled Kitty down beside him. “That piece of paper is just an invitation to meet to discuss the details of a meeting, and I haven’t answered it yet. The only answer that went back was that I’d think about it. Give me some credit, okay? If it happens, backup is a given. And I won’t go alone. Also, what can happen in front of live cameras? And they will be live. We’ll be able to monitor that from several directions. At the first sign of trouble, the whole team beams out. And that can be done from any of four wristbands or from the Galileo, not to mention any other security precautions we can come up with between now and then. But remember, they’ll have to be invisible precautions. We can’t afford to insult any of the people we want to get something from any more than they can afford to insult us.”

Kitty stirred her piled-up clothes with a bare foot and then turned to face Simon. “You’ll take care, or else. And here’s a guarantee for you—when you go down, I’ll be leading the backup detail. Five Mambas flying overhead would give anyone pause, not to mention the PR it would generate on worldwide television, since you like to have things serve dual purposes.”

Interpreting the expression on Simon’s face as a prelude to denying her the right to fly, Kitty plowed on. “And don’t you dare try to tell me no, dammit! If you do, I’ll quit and get off the next time this boat gets back to Earth. I’m not one to deliver ultimatums, and you know it. But I mean this! For once, there will be no discussion. If it’s safe enough for you, it’s safe enough for me.”

Changing the subject, which left Simon no option but to accept her final statement, Kitty threw another thing at him. “And you should know, dear, that we certainly do have company out here.” She handed him another printout from her briefcase. This one had come about on the way to Gamma just before they’d reached Vesta. “There seems to be an abnormal amount of material in this area trailing Vesta,” she commented. “And while we were scanning, Gayle found a heat source somewhere close. We didn’t let on that we’d seen anything, either. I wanted to, believe me! But with Lucy on the way here, I figure we could drop off any mining equipment at Vesta, get the project underway, and then go deal with the problem together. If we work it right, we can trap whoever it is between us and leave no witnesses.”

Simon slowly shook his head. “Sometimes I wonder if I did the right thing by making women my first two captains. And here I am considering Gayle for the third.” He saw Kitty start to cloud up and hurried on. “I’m not putting you down, hon. You just seem more aggressive than I would have figured a year ago. Hell, it was just weeks ago that you said you shouldn’t be in command because you didn’t have the killer instinct. I’m not saying that’s bad. And I’m certainly not saying I wouldn’t do the same thing in your place. You know, if you hadn’t suggested it, I probably would have ordered it myself. I’ve wondered if they could be possible allies hiding out until they’ve evaluated us. But if there were, I’d think they would have been more open. Or should have been. Who can say how aliens think? At any rate, if they’re hiding, they’re up to no good, so go get ‘em.

“Hey! Let’s go get something to eat,” Simon said, changing the subject himself this time. “You can meet Victor McCord. He’s a friend of Stephen’s, and he’s going to be our new Base Commander when Libra goes online. He brought his new wife Casey and their two kids with him.” At Kitty’s shocked look, he went on, “They’re seventeen and eighteen. Both are finished with high school, and both are eager to get into the Mambas, of course. And that’s all your fault for making those videos. Stephen had to show them to Victor to convince him, and he made copies. He showed ‘em to his wife, and when she wanted in and he said no, she showed them to the kids and they triple-teamed him. He brought a list of people with skills, too.”

When Kitty inquired as to the skills Victor mentioned, Simon rattled off a list that included theoretical physics, molecular biology, and games theory, among others. Kitty jumped on the last one. “That might be a good place to look for strategists and tacticians.”

“I know,” Simon replied, “and Stephen said the same thing. Once we get back to Earth, we can look some more of these people up and see if we can recruit them.”

By the time Lucy arrived with the McCaffrey, most of the equipment needed for Kitty’s Project Vesta was already set up. The power broadcaster only needed an internal power source of its own, and the computer that was needed to run the initial interior excavation was being programmed. Kitty called Lucy and invited her to attend a captains’ call aboard the Galileo.

As the three captains settled into chairs in Simon’s ready room, Kitty congratulated Lucy on her command. “And I like your choice of a name, too,” she said. After a quick discussion of the McCaffrey’s trials and Kitty’s mention of the redheaded twins, they got down to business.

Kitty called up a display on the wall monitor. “This is where Gayle found a heat source. I want to go investigate and, if necessary, destroy whoever or whatever is out there. I want you along for the ride, Lucy. What I want is as much advantage as possible. We have no idea what kind of tactics these people will use or what kind of weapons they have.” She went on in a much more subdued voice, “I really don’t want to be the aggressor here, but I see no alternative. Whoever is out there is watching and evaluating us, learning our weaknesses and possibly making plans to take us out.

“I don’t think any report has been sent, or at least no transmissions on any wavelength we can monitor, and no ships have left the system since Orion was attacked. The need to prevent any more reports from leaving this system is urgent. And if we sneak up, so to speak, on this spot, I’ll bet anything you want to name that we flush something out. I said we should destroy it if necessary, but let’s let the bogey make the first move. Powering up weapons and firing is one response. Powering down and waiting to be boarded is another.”

Lucy stared at the display, hoping it would give up secrets she hadn’t yet divined. “And how do we sneak up on something like that? It would surely be watching each move we make very carefully, so carefully, in fact, that it decided you were no threat and didn’t budge when you passed within less than half a million miles of it. If someone is out there, he—or she—is very good at what they do.”

“I’ve been thinking that we may need to start considering something like submarine warfare during World War II,” Simon interjected. “Right now, that captain is just lying there, using passive sensors and gathering data on our progress. By now, they’ve seen new types of missiles, at the least, and probably the new and improved beam weapons.

“Oh, yeah. Let me tell you both. Some of the guys down in R & D think that real, honest-to-Pete tractor beams are possible. Capture field seams were a walk in the park in comparison and operate within a few hundred yards of a field generator, but this would be something we could use to reach out and touch something from two to five thousand miles away. They say to give them a year or two. I hope we have the time.

“That’s another reason I want to see Project Vesta started, Kitty. That much room would give those guys a lot of workspace. And, so far, the free hand they’ve had has been very profitable. I think that would be a very useful trade technology once it’s perfected.” The mention of Project Vesta meant that Lucy needed to be brought up to speed on it, so Kitty took the time to fill her in.

“And that’s how we’ll sneak up on our pigeon. After we set up the equipment and get the power and computer online, one of us heads back to Orion following almost exactly the same course we were on to get here. The other one heads for Earth on a slightly diverging course.” She walked over to the display and marked out courses with a finger. “When we reach here and here,” she said and looked at the two captains following her finger, “we launch all Mambas and change course directly for the hotspot.”

“Whatever’s there will have to respond, one way or another. I’m guessing that some of their first moves will be preprogrammed. They could possibly have some passive systems deployed like mines or buoys. But in any event, the ship itself will either have to power up and move or stand down. Splitting each ship’s Mambas into two groups will give us four groups of five. If they come in from four different directions and we come in from two others, we’ll have them effectively boxed. And if you aren’t willing to fire on them, I am.” Kitty sat back down and let the ghost of Toni Putnam watch as she planned the revenge that was so long overdue.

Lucy looked at Simon and Kitty. “Okay, look. You two are the bosses. None of us would be here without you, and I, personally, am delighted to live out a dream that no sane person could possibly have expected even two years ago. But I won’t fire without a reason that’s better than just because they’re there. If that’s what you’re asking me to do, even after what happened to Orion, I quit right here and now. If they fire first, no problem. All bets are off, and I’ll do whatever it takes to prevent them from hurting any more of our people. I’ll follow that plan all the way up to ordering my people to fire, but I won’t give that order without good reason.”

“If I believed you were the sort of person to act that way, you wouldn’t be sitting here making that ultimatum,” Simon asserted. “So, why don’t you two work out more specific plans between you and let your crews get some rest. Overworked people don’t perform well in a crisis, and you’ll need all the cool heads you’ve got if Gayle’s sensor readings are accurate. Now, if we don’t have anything else to discuss, let’s go get dinner. I’m starved.”

Five days of R & R saw both the Heinlein and the McCaffrey ready to move out to implement Project Vesta. Carried in their small, overstuffed cargo holds were the machines to begin the excavation, and what would not fit inside was carried along in the capture fields of the two warships. That particular method of transport kept both ships moving at minimum speeds, and as had been discussed, the only messages to pass between the ships were about Project Vesta itself. Simon figured that if the Galileo’s computer could decode Earth languages, then this bogey could, too, so no reference to Project Intercept was to go out over the radio.

All the two ships had to do was stop the tumble of the asteroid. No one really had any idea how to do that until a junior engineer suggested the use of the capture fields. They’d place one ship on either side of the asteroid and slowly increase the strength of their fields—very slowly since the enormous mass of Vesta could wreck both ships if they engaged too quickly. The idea was to have the fields act as brakes on the spin and tumble.

The machinery they’d carried along was parked nearby, and the ships took up their positions. Several attempts were made before any effect showed. Two days of nitpicking, mind-numbing work with the two capture fields finally brought the large rock into a stable position relative to the two ships.

Then the crews detailed to the initiation of the project began to move their equipment into position. Shuttles moved an active power core and transmitter near the end of the asteroid where they planned the main airlock to go. The simple computer, programmed with all the information possible, began to route beamed power to the excavating machines that would go first and do most of the work carving out the various rooms and open spaces. Engineering predicted at least a year to get that done.

Then antigrav grid-wires could be laid in place and covered over. Once air and heat were introduced, humans could enter and begin the process of making the interior a more livable environment. After the wires were in place, another series of machines would be brought in to heat-treat the walls closest to the outer surface of the asteroid, effectively putting an airtight seal in place. Another six months to look forward to.

Implementation of Project Intercept began none too soon for Kitty. As the Heinlein headed back towards Orion, the McCaffrey headed Earthward. At prearranged points, and at exactly the same time, both ships launched their entire complement of Mambas. Flying in four wings of five, they sped toward their appointed positions. The two warships began their runs toward the faint trace of heat, which was beginning to increase even as they watched.

They were launching six different attacks on one location in space. If there was only one object there, it would be, hopefully, overwhelmed. If it was armed with anything not in their databases, there could possibly be major losses on the Terran side, not so much for the McCaffrey but for the Heinlein and the Mambas as they had no screens to absorb or deflect anything that might be thrown at them.

The two warships had powered up all three sets of monopoles. Shields were at maximum for the McCaffrey, but they were able to fire their beams at full strength without any loss of maneuverability. The Heinlein, still without the new screen technology, would use the cross-connecting capability built into the three power core systems to add to her laser strength or speed as the situation required. The Mambas had only their speed to protect them, and they’d be first on scene.

As Kitty sat in her command chair, she had Michiko feeding constant updates to her battle plot as the distances closed. The heat source became a blazing beacon on their viewscreens as something powered up. Real-time reports began to come in from the first Mambas on the scene.

“Tiger One to base. I have contact with a vessel approximately ten thousand miles distance. Looks to be slightly bigger than the Heinlein. Outriders are moving in our direction. I count six. All scans show weapons are hot and targeting systems are trying to lock on.”

Tiger and Cheetah Flights originated from the Heinlein, and Viper and Cobra Flights flew from the McCaffrey. Tiger and Cheetah came in from ahead and to the right, while Viper and Cobra came from behind and to the left. Kitty was above while Lucy arrowed in from below. Twenty Mambas fanned out to prevent an escape. The Mambas of Tiger and Cheetah faced six marginally larger craft. Viper and Cobra went in unopposed. All ships had been ordered to hold fire unless the stranger fired first.

Some had expressed the opinion that the proposed action of the Terrans was designed to provoke an armed response, and Kitty couldn’t refute it. Sitting at the head of the table during the briefing just before they’d left Vesta behind, she agreed that it certainly appeared that way.

“What other option do you propose, Rob? Should we go in with shields down and Mambas docked? Maybe let them get off a kill shot before we can protect ourselves?” Kitty gave the floor to her Science officer, Robert Greene.

“Captain, that’s an unfair assessment of the situation. We just don’t have enough data to go on. The possibility of a peaceful settlement has to be explored. We could even be looking at future allies who are evaluating us prior to contact.”

Lucy, sitting at the other end of the table, joined the fray. “I don’t approve of jumping in and shooting first, either, Commander Greene. But I do think we should go in prepared for trouble. If that provokes the problem, then they probably weren’t potential allies to begin with. And if they are potential allies, they won’t let our aggressive posture force them into a fight. We have a decided advantage in the weapons department, as far as we can tell, but we’re also certainly at a disadvantage in the experience department.”

“I agree with Captain Hawke,” Gayle said. “We go in weapons hot and ready to kick ass. If we don’t have to, fine. If we do have to fight, let’s do the job right. And remember one thing, people. This is not a debate. These are orders being issued. If you have a problem with them and can’t perform your jobs, step down now. Otherwise, you better do it first and question later. The other Captain Hawke agrees as well. The middle of an operation is no time to have qualms about it.”

Kitty took the meeting back and brought it to a close. “Ladies and gentlemen, so far, you’ve all done a superb job, and now we’re about to show our teeth because we have to. One thing I know. If you pull a gun on someone, you’d better be prepared to use it. If you’re bluffing and get called on it, you’re dead, and no amount of questioning by the survivors will bring you back. We bite, folks. And if these people are possible friends, they won’t do anything to cause us to draw blood. The only other option is that they aren’t friends. And, as far as I’m concerned, that leaves them dead.” Her voice was totally without emotion. The image of Toni Putnam was all too vivid in her mind. “If you have reservations, speak up now. Anyone not at their duty stations after operations commence will be taken back to Earth at the first opportunity. Otherwise, dismissed.”

No one demurred.

Tiger and Cheetah Flights stopped dead in space relative to the ship powering up some five thousand miles ahead of them. As the ten pilots watched their screens, they saw the six larger craft sweep in toward them. The Heinlein’s sensors brought the same data to Kitty’s battle plot. Fractional seconds after Cheetah One reported missile launches from the craft they faced, Kitty saw the same and ordered all ships to hold their fire except Tiger and Cheetah.

“Take ‘em out, and make it decisive, people.”

No sooner had the words left her mouth than she saw the ten Mambas scatter as a flight of missiles slipped past them. Cheetah One, in nominal command of the lead units, ordered all ten ships to fire, and seconds later all six opponents vanished from the Heinlein’s battle plot.

Kitty’s Tactical Officer reported. “Ma’am, we have multiple launches from the bogey. She is powered up and her drives appear to be at full. She seems to be going to ram Tiger and Cheetah Flights. I think she was hoping her outriders would at least make a dent she could squeeze through.”

“Evaluate motives later, Commander. Right now, we just need facts,” Kitty said. “Send to the McCaffrey: Bogey is attempting to break out. Her screening elements have been destroyed. Move to intercept. Fire at your discretion. Send to Tiger and Cheetah: Flush your tubes and back off. Helm, intercept course from above and behind. Full speed. Weapons Officer, prepare to fire full spread.”

Kitty watched as pinpoints of light erupted from the formation of Mambas in the way of the alien vessel, and then they darted away. The slight haze around the dot of light in her battle plot seemed to diminish as the pinpoints arrowed in like moths to a flame.

“Ma’am, multiple hits registered on the bogey. She appears to have absorbed all of our missiles,” Gayle said, whose screens copied those of the Weapons/Tactical Officer.

Kitty heard with part of her mind as she watched the icon that represented her ship closing on the bogey. Acknowledging the report with a wave of her hand, she ordered, “Weapons Officer, fire on my order.” A heartbeat passed as though it were an eternity. “Fire! Prepare another spread.” When her battle plot showed all forward tubes full, she ordered, “Fire!” and sixteen more missiles tracked in on the glowing dot on her screens.

Simultaneously, missiles from the McCaffrey appeared on her display, followed seconds later by sixteen more. Both Gayle and Tac Officer Marshall reported hits at the same instant, and as she watched, Kitty saw the haze disappear from around the dot on her screen just before the McCaffrey’s second wave melded with it. For a bare second the screen blanked, and when it cleared, the arena held only Terran ships.

A larger slice of eternity passed as Kitty gazed at her screens. Finally, somewhere in the back of her mind, she felt a tension melt away that she hadn’t really known was there. And, at the same time, she heard a voice.

“Thank you, Captain Kitty.”

Had anyone been standing close enough to hear, they might have been surprised to overhear Kitty murmur quietly, “You can rest now, Toni. And I’ll do my best to see that what you lost was worth the cost.

“Gayle, pass the word to all Mambas. I want a full search for survivors, if any, and look for any wreckage. We need some kind of tentative identification on the bogey. Also, when you have time, go back over your sensor logs. See if you can identify any transmissions we might need to be concerned about.”

It appeared to be a fact of life that when that many antimatter missiles impacted a ship, nothing was left to recover. One enterprising pilot had gone back in search of one of the missiles that had been fired by the bogeys, and after an unsuccessful hunt, was joined by the rest of her flight. With a little help from the Heinlein’s battle plot, the now-inert missiles were found. Two were carefully brought “home” in capture fields and the rest destroyed.

Finally, there was nothing left to do but call her pilots home. “Gayle, send to all Mambas: Well done. Return to base.”

Kitty ordered a full copy of all sensor data to be transmitted to the McCaffrey for Lucy to take back to the Galileo so a more in-depth analysis could be made. She sent the two foreign missiles along as well, glad to have them out of her hands. Although it was still technically her shift, she called her first officer, Marsha Kane, to the bridge to take over.

Her mind in turmoil, Kitty wandered the decks of the Heinlein until she at last found herself on the flight deck. As she stood in the shadows and watched the technicians service and rearm the Mambas, she saw a technician initial a service log and hang it on the access hatch to one of the Mambas. Recognizing him as her Chief of Flight Services, Kitty announced her presence.

“Good day, Chief.”

Anson Hargrove turned around and literally tipped his hat. A son of the Deep South, this was no affectation. Anson, a bit older than Simon and Kitty, had been raised to a different standard than a lot of the younger generation. And he was only on the Heinlein due to that upbringing.

Chief Hargrove was a devoted family man. The fact that he’d never had a family of his own at almost fifty didn’t keep him from lavishing that affection on his relatives. And when his sister asked him to keep track of her daughter after her husband died in an oilfield disaster, he immediately said yes. This had led him to Colorado State University, where his niece was going to school, and then ultimately led him to a science-fiction convention to keep track of a young country girl traveling in fast company.

Anson had seen people appear in beams of light as he sat in the back of the room his niece had gone to, along with about thirty or so others. Thinking it a great magic trick, he wasn’t too concerned until several of the audience accepted the offer to visit the spaceship these people said they came from. Four of the guests took small black disks that were handed out, and seconds later they disappeared in a cloud of blue sparks. Shills, Anson thought, until moments later when they returned in the same manner, expounding on the wonders they’d seen in just five minutes.

Among those early disappearances was his niece. As more sparked out of the room four at a time, he began to worry that none were returning. Even the original four took the opportunity to revisit the spaceship. Worried as much about his niece as what his sister would do to him if anything happened to her, he stood up, walked to the front of the room with some others, and when he was handed a small disk, waited to see what would happen.

And was amazed to see the room vanish, replaced with a small steel room occupied by more of the magicians in uniforms. He immediately asked after his niece and soon found her among a group heading for a meeting room. Catching her eye, he shrugged. Knowing how her uncle felt, the girl just smiled, waved, and kept on into the room.

Finding a seat in the back, Anson listened with growing amazement—a condition he was to be subject to for some time to come. After it sank in that he truly was on a spaceship and that his niece wasn’t going to go back, Anson decided to sign on, too. Soon, he’d been evaluated and assigned a job on the factory level.

His aptitude with machines brought him to the attention of a delightfully curvaceous blonde called Commander Miller, and he soon found himself shouldering more and more responsibility. His niece flourished as well.

During the several months it took for the Galileo to get underway the first time, Anson took advantage of the fact that he could go back to Earth occasionally and let his sister know that all was well. He didn’t tell her about the spaceship part. Margie would never understand. And he’d asked his niece to keep their secret. Now that Marsha Kane was first officer of the first commissioned Terran Alliance warship, he couldn’t bring himself to do anything that, in his mind, might jeopardize that position.

Too much family pride, he thought.

Still, he’d told Margie about Marsha’s new attitude and how she could be found looking up some obscure bit of data about her new job. “Classified,” was all he would tell Margie, “but they let me keep an eye on her.” All in all, Anson was very proud of his niece, the first officer.

Chief Hargrove was jolted out of his reverie when Captain Hawke laid her hand on his arm and asked, “Chief, are you okay?”

“Y-yes, ma’am,” he replied. “Just daydreaming, ma’am. I’ll try to see that it doesn’t happen again.”

Kitty smiled, and in the manner that had captured the hearts and minds of her crew, said, “Think nothing of it, Chief. Daydreaming is what got us here. As long as you’re not doing it at a critical moment, it’s no problem. I actually encourage it, come to think of it. Daydreaming can bring us some of our best ideas.”

“Well, ma’am, I don’t think any ideas will be coming out of this bit of daydreaming, but I’ll keep it in mind. Now, what can I do for you, ma’am?”

“Well, Chief,” Kitty said with a conspiratorial air, “I really need some quiet time after all the fuss. I was wondering if I might borrow one of your babies for a while. Do you mind? I am qualified.”

The look Anson gave the tiny captain would have been described by anyone else as a glare, but Kitty had a feeling it wasn’t directed at her and was just a way to hold the world at a distance.

“Well, ma’am, I’ll be proud to have you fly one of my babies,” he said, doffing his hat. “I just finished checking this girl out myself, and she’s ready to fly.”

Kitty looked up at her big chief technician and said, “I know, Chief. When I saw it was you signing off on the maintenance log, I knew which one I wanted.”

Anson turned a deep shade of crimson at the compliment from his captain, and having heard his accent before, Kitty wasn’t the least bit surprised to hear him utter a phrase she’d only heard in old movies.

“Shucks, ma’am, I was only doin’ m’job.”

Chief Hargrove watched as Kitty climbed into the Mamba. He personally checked her seals, put on her helmet, gave her a thumbs-up, and exited the launch bay. Kitty’s onboard systems were powering up and showed one red light until the launch-bay door was sealed. No sooner did that door seal than the red light turned green. She instantly began to nudge the fighter out through the force field and into the eternal night. For a time, she maintained a discreet distance from the Heinlein’s starboard stern quarter until she’d reacquired a feel for the craft. Then, she began to edge away and pick up speed.

Almost instantly a voice came over her radio. “Single Mamba, return to bay. Place yourself on report and confine yourself to quarters until I arrive.”

Kitty recognized Marsha’s voice and shuddered slightly. “Commander Kane, this is the captain. I’m the pilot of the Mamba,” she sent over the commander’s private frequency. “I realize now that I should have informed you or Flight Control of my intentions, but I didn’t know myself until moments ago just how badly I needed to get out. I need to be alone, Marsha, and I’d appreciate it if you’d let me get this out of my system without interference.”

All that came back was, “Acknowledged, Captain. Kane, out.”

Marsha told her navigator to keep a special eye on the solo ship traveling ahead of the Heinlein.

Kitty shook her head. Damn, she thought, how is it that I can be the captain and still get in trouble? Needing to do something to set the images in her mind aside for a while, Kitty fed power to her engines. Pushing all other thoughts out, she dove her ship down into the plane of asteroids. She increased her speed, leveled out, and glued her eyes to her HUD. Taking her craft through near-miss after near-miss with asteroids as she went along, she never noticed that the Heinlein had picked up speed and was keeping station above and behind her.

All she wanted was for the images in her mind to go away—images of so many people/creatures/beings with thoughts, loves, and aspirations, family and friends they’d never meet again, obligations they’d never discharge. It didn’t help that the people she was responsible for had lived because of her decisions. All she could see was the death she’d caused.

Kitty jerked her ship around the last in a long series of tumbling rocks, aimed slightly up out of the belt, then reached over and flipped the master switch that cut all power except for life support. As her ship slowly drifted up out of the plane of asteroids, she screamed. She screamed until it seemed as though her lungs would burst, and the sound in the confined cockpit threatened to deafen her. She railed and ranted at a universe gone mad, and she beat on her instrument panels until her hands were bloody. And she screamed again. And blamed.

She blamed her parents for bringing her into the world and for dying and leaving her. She blamed fate for putting her on a hilltop two years ago. She blamed an invisible alien government, most probably lightyears distant. She blamed a faceless alien commander. She blamed herself. But most of all, she blamed Simon.

No normal person could long maintain those emotions at that intensity, and Kitty soon found herself drained. It was with a sense of great detachment that she noticed the blood running down her hands and into her lap, and she idly wondered how it had gotten there. Sitting in the cockpit of her Mamba, Kitty’s mind drifted into that curious state that is neither wakefulness nor sleep. Sharing the universe with only the hard, unblinking, accusatory light of the stars, she sat quietly, waiting for… she knew not what, nor cared.

Her journey through limbo continued for an indeterminate time until she heard a voice call, “Captain.”

Too weary to care, she didn’t answer. Somewhere in the back of her mind drifted the thought that she had turned the radio off, along with the rest of the systems.

“Captain, I need to speak to you.” The voice had an urgency to it that was hard to ignore, but she tried. “I’m not going away until you talk to me, Captain.”

Kitty slowly raised her head and asked, “Who’s that? I thought I was alone. I want to be alone. I’m the captain. I order you to go away.”

The voice disobeyed. “I can’t go away, Captain. As long as you blame yourself for my death, I’ll be with you. You can kill all the aliens in the universe, and it won’t be enough to get me to leave. The only way to do that is for you to realize that you weren’t responsible.”

Kitty wailed. “I am responsible! I’m responsible for all of you! I’m responsible for your lives and your deaths. I’m responsible for the deaths of hundreds more on that ship, and I want to die with you!’

“Captain, we’re only responsible for the choices we make. I chose to join, and those on that ship chose their own paths. You chose to save those under your command today. Do you think they’d have let you and yours live if you hadn’t fired? Remember the gun. If you aren’t ready to shoot, don’t point it at someone…”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Marsha and the rest of the bridge crew watched in horror as Kitty’s Mamba dove into the asteroid belt and sped up. The relative scarcity of material wouldn’t normally have been a problem except for two things—the lack of screens on a ship the size of a Mamba and the speed at which it was traveling. She ordered her Helm officer to speed up and stay with the Mamba.

“Above and behind her, if you please. I don’t want her knowing we’re following.”

Any ship under power has a blind spot… directly behind it in a cone-shaped, expanding pattern produced by the immense energies being created and expelled. Sensors couldn’t read through that much distortion. So, unless Kitty flipped her ship, she’d never know the Heinlein was there.

Two hours passed as Marsha followed the little Mamba, and a collective sigh was heard throughout the bridge as it finally arced up out of the asteroid field.

Gayle, still sitting at her communications console and monitoring the data, was the first to announce, “Ma’am, her ship is no longer under power.”

Marsha had noticed this at almost the same instant. She also noticed that there was no deviation in the flight path, and as far as the sensor data could show, the craft wasn’t tumbling, which were pretty fair indications that the ship hadn’t collided with anything and that for some reason the pilot had intentionally shut down her systems. Concern for her captain was overridden by their last conversation, and Marsha merely kept watch. She ordered the Heinlein to change her course and shadow Kitty’s ship from the same blind spot. Then, she waited.

One hour turned into two, two finally turned into four, and Marsha could wait no longer. She ordered two Mambas out to intercept with their capture fields and bring the drifting ship in. This decision hadn’t come easily. The last hour had been spent making calls to the little fighter and getting no response. Gayle had even traded on their long-time friendship by calling and making increasingly more personal requests for Kitty to answer. When all attempts to talk had failed, Marsha finally took the bit in her teeth.

The two rescue ships rendezvoused with Kitty’s craft, and a voice came over the radio. “We have visual on the captain’s ship. She looks like she’s asleep or unconscious. No response to our hails, no indication that she’s even aware we’re here.”

Marsha ordered the two ships to bring Kitty back, and not needing two sensor stations active at that moment, she said, “Commander Miller, you have the bridge. Order a medical team to the flight deck. Commander Marshall, keep me informed of any changes. I’ll be on the flight deck.” With that, she left the bridge.

Flight Control had things well in hand. Kitty’s ship had just been docked, and the two rescue ships were even then being moved back into their bays. As she strode down the deck to the bay that housed Kitty’s Mamba, she saw a familiar figure stepping through the hatch with Kitty’s body in his arms.

With the medical team and curious onlookers around, Marsha could only ask, “How is she, uh, Chief. Is she alive?”

Anger and grief softened the voice of Chief Hargrove as he replied, “Yes, ma’am, she’s alive. But look at her hands. Who could have done that to her hands?”

Taking in the steady rise and fall of Kitty’s chest and the slight smile on her face—two things at such odds with the blood-soaked uniform and mangled hands—Marsha dismissed the medical team back to the sick bay with orders to have it ready for their momentary arrival.

“Let’s not move her any more than absolutely necessary until we can get her on a table and the doctor can have a look at her.”

Her secret reason for issues those orders was the expression on her uncle’s face. She’d grown up around him and knew that he would sooner give up an arm than the delicate package he carried. During their infrequent conversations, she’d heard him echo the sentiments of everyone she knew, herself included, concerning the high regard in which Kitty was held.

I need to make an announcement at the earliest possible moment, she thought. Rumors are going to start flying almost immediately.

The long walk to Medical solidified a resolve she’d had since she’d first come aboard the Heinlein, and that was the need for more than one sick bay. There should be one off the flight deck as well, and as she looked at Kitty, she knew just who she’d talk to about that once things settled down.

They arrived at the sick bay to find Doctor Penn anxiously awaiting their arrival. “I knew this would happen sooner or later,” he said. At the sharp look he got from Marsha, he added, “I don’t mean to the captain specifically. I mean to anybody in general. That they’d get hurt far enough away from sick bay that they’d need to be transported here.” These comments were made as he began his examination of Kitty. “Commander, will you clear the room, please? Ensign Dorsey, you will stay to assist me.”

To Marsha he said, “Elevators, turns, twists. This ship isn’t designed to easily cart injured people from one point to another. We either need to widen the corridors or we need to have auxiliary sick bays in other parts of the ship.”

Marsha shooed everyone from the room, saving Chief Hargrove for last. The expression on his face said that he wasn’t about to leave, but Marsha looked both ways to make sure they were alone and then promised in a quiet voice, “Uncle Anse, as soon as we know anything, I’ll let you know, okay? Let’s not disrupt things any more than they already are. Go on back to the flight deck. Please?”

At his silent nod, she turned back to the doctor. “I want you to know that I feel the same way about extra sick bays. After this is over, you and I will go to Simon and insist on some changes in future ships. Oh, by the way, I’m staying, too. If I can help in any way, let me know.”

The doctor just nodded and kept up a running commentary for the recorder that hummed at his side.

Doctor Penn first examined Kitty’s hands, determined that they were no longer bleeding, and then went on with the rest of his examination. After a complete exam, he told Marsha that the only physical damage was to Kitty’s hands. He began to delicately clean the wounds and, where necessary, he either stitched up the cuts or taped them.

As he wrapped both hands in gauze, he told Marsha, “She’ll need a pair of hands when she wakes up. I trust you to take care of that. All my medics are male, and I’m sure she’ll be more comfortable with a female for certain things. Beyond that, I can find no reason for her to be unconscious. She’s sustained no head trauma, and there’s not enough blood loss to be significant, so no indications of anything that might bring her to this state. The only possible reason I can come up with at this time is exhaustion—either mental or physical, or possibly both. You do realize that you’re in command from this moment on, don’t you? And as far as I’m concerned, you will be for the foreseeable future.”

A flustered Marsha replied, “I’ll certainly take care of seeing to her needs, doctor. I have someone in mind, as a matter of fact. I’d like to see that she’s moved to her quarters, if you’d have your people assist me. And as far as being in command is concerned, I want you to return her to duty as soon as possible, without causing her any trouble, of course.”

Doctor Penn called two of his medics in and gave instructions for Kitty’s transport to her quarters. “First, I’d like to see if we can get her to wake up enough to recognize her surroundings,” he said. “It would help if she knew what we were doing to her and would seriously reduce the stress she’d experience if she woke up without any forewarning.” He leaned over her and spoke softly but with authority. “Captain? Captain? I need you to wake up, Captain.”

The voice that came to Kitty’s ears this time was male, carrying an undertone of concern.

“As far as I can tell, all she needs is rest, Commander,” the voice said quietly. “I suggest that we rendezvous with the Galileo as soon as possible, and I’d like to talk to her to gauge her mental state as far as I’m able as soon as she wakes up.”

Another voice, Marsha, Kitty thought hazily, spoke.

“Very well, doctor. She’s in your care. I don’t need to tell you what the feeling is on this ship right now. I’ll make sure she gets rest, and you call me the instant she’d awake enough to talk.”

As Marsha’s voice started to recede, Kitty clawed her way to awareness for a moment. “Marsha?” When she felt her first officer touch her arm, Kitty grabbed at it and jerked her hand back involuntarily as unexpected pain exploded from her bandaged hands. “I spoke to her, Marsha. She said I wasn’t responsible.”

Trying to say all the things one says at a sickbed, Marsha groped for the right words. “That’s good, Captain. Don’t talk anymore. You need to get your strength back.”

“She said I could let it go, Marsha. That I shouldn’t blame myself,” Kitty murmured as she started to drift off. “She said to remember the gun…”

“Yes, Captain. Now get some—who said those things, Captain?” Marsha asked.

Kitty made one final stab at consciousness. “Toni did, Marsha. Toni told me.”

Marsha headed toward her cabin, wondering how she was going to word this message to Simon.

Simon was blissfully unaware of the battle that had taken place outside the Galileo’s sensor range, having judged the odds that the Heinlein’s sensors had actually picked up their bogey to be very low. In one respect he was right; the odds were low, but not outside the realm of possibility. But as soon as the McCaffrey’s message came in, he got his nose rubbed in reality.

The report that made its way to Simon as he sat discussing some of Libra’s construction details with her future commander gave no details of the battle other than that there were no injuries or damage. It merely stated that the McCaffrey was going to rendezvous with the Galileo and bring material recovered from enemy wreckage.

The McCaffrey parked alongside the larger ship and Lucy beamed aboard, bringing with her all the sensor data from her ship, as well as Kitty’s. She immediately called Simon and Stephen to pass along everything she had. Stephen, in turn, woke up several members of the Science staff—it being the night shift—and asked them to make themselves available to start analyzing the new data. The two retrieved missiles were parked a safe distance away.

Lucy handed the sensor data to Stephen, who passed it on to an aide to take to the Science staff. She made a point of noting how many hits it had taken to bring down the enemy ship when their projections hadn’t led them to consider it would take even half that many. The conclusions that finally came down from all this data weeks later (and this from people who’d been in space and using this technology for less than two years) was that the ship they’d dealt with hadn’t been a craft of the Builders. In the final analysis, they based this decision on the two missiles they’d recovered, along with the earlier bit of wreckage.

Rather than monopole-powered energy sources, these missiles consumed themselves to provide their propulsion in some manner that baffled the scientists. The warheads, if that was what they could be called, seemed to be some form of energy-absorption device. Enough of them striking a target would absorb all the energy from it, effectively disintegrating the craft. This would be harder to do to the McCaffrey since her shields had been stiffened by having their own monopoles to power them. Any other missile striking the ship would begin to absorb the energy that bound matter together.

Simon, busy with the minutiae of the Galileo’s daily routines while keeping his finger on the pulse of Libra’s construction and Lucy’s report of the battle, was just beginning to realize that the Heinlein’s daily report was overdue. Once the realization hit, he wrapped up his meeting with Lucy and made his way to the communications console on the bridge, where he upset the ensign on duty by committing the faux pas of showing up unannounced.

Keeping his message terse, all he said was, “Heinlein, your daily report is overdue. Please contact the Galileo at your earliest opportunity.” Not knowing the Heinlein’s location or situation, Simon gave the comm officer instructions to call him as soon as a reply came in.

With nothing to do while he waited for a response, Simon wandered the ship, making a general nuisance of himself. Only his commlink going off saved him from Victor physically ejecting him from the manufacturing section of the ship.

Although he hadn’t been officially confirmed or promoted to the rank, it was general knowledge that Victor was going to be commander of Libra Base, and since the system had worked so well for Gemini and Orion, it had become policy to have the commander and the people who were actually going to crew the base working together to construct it. It tended to slow things down a bit in the beginning, since each base was being constructed by nearly as many newbies as veterans of at least one other trip, but in the long run, the crew of the base knew it intimately from the very first rivet, and they were well able to work together from the first day of ship production.

While this system sometimes caused problems due to the dual chain of command, it normally didn’t interfere with the daily workings of the ship when she was in construction mode. In this particular case, Victor was saved from having to exercise a prerogative he wasn’t sure he had.

When Simon finally acknowledged receipt of a message from the Heinlein, he left for his ready room, unaware of the confrontation that had been averted by his departure.

Simon poured a cup of coffee and sat back in his chair, prepared to enjoy the sound of his wife’s voice. He pressed a button on his console, and to his surprise and disappointment, it was Marsha Kane’s voice that filled the air. He sat bolt upright, coffee forgotten, at the first sentence.

“TAS Heinlein, mission report. Commander Marsha Kane, commanding per Doctor Harrison Penn’s orders. Captain Hawke is under mild sedation in her quarters after an incident. The Heinlein is on course to rendezvous with the Galileo. Approximate ETA is seven hours from the transmission of this message. The captain is not, I repeat, not injured due to battle, and the Heinlein sustained no damage. Injuries to the captain are minor, and she’d resting comfortably. Further report to be made in person.” Simon was sure he heard a tremor in Marsha's voice. “This is the TAS Heinlein, out.”

Simon replayed the transmission from the Heinlein several more times, trying to glean any more information he could from it. He finally called Stephen, giving no reason other than, “I need a friend.” When Stephen showed up moments later, Simon waved him to a chair. “I just got the Heinlein’s daily report. I think you should hear it.” With no further comment, he played the message.

Stephen just sat for several seconds after Marsha’s voice faded out. “Simon, I don’t know what to say. It sounds like there isn’t anything to worry about. You know as well as I do that accidents are going to happen. Marsha wouldn’t tell you Kitty was okay if she wasn’t.”

      “It’s what she didn’t say that worries me, Stephen. No mention of what kind of accident, what kind of injuries, nothing. And her word was ‘incident,’ not accident. And under mild sedation? Something happened out there after the McCaffrey left the area. Lucy said Kitty was going to patrol the area, and that’s what our first ships are supposed to do. So what could they have run into that would injure one person out of an entire crew, and the captain at that?”

Simon was on his feet, pacing. A flash of Kitty chiding him for just that habit flashed through his mind, and he forced himself to sit back down. “I don’t know what to say any more than you do, Stephen. I’ve listened to that message half a dozen times now, and I can’t get any more out of it than the first time. Maybe I just want misery to have company. You and Gayle were with us when we got this business started, and I thought you should know as soon as possible. Gayle already knows since she’s out there with Kitty. About six more hours and we’ll have all the facts. Or I’ll have someone’s ass.”

Stephen walked over to the wall console and dialed up two cups of coffee. “I thought I’d strangle Marsha for not giving more information, but on second thought, I guess not,” he said over his shoulder. “I heard the top-secret stamp at the first of the message, but I’ll bet it’s all over the Galileo and the McCaffrey by now.”

The hours seemed to drag by, relieved only by regular reports from the Heinlein updating their ETA. Sensor data finally showed the ship approaching about two hours before her actual arrival, and Simon haunted the Astrometrics lab, watching Stephen try to tweak any additional data from the sensors.

When the Heinlein finally parked on the opposite side of the Galileo from the McCaffrey, Marsha beamed aboard after a brief message telling Simon she’d come directly to his ready room. Entering alone, she said, “I know you’re worried. I would be, too, in your place. Let me tell the story and then you can ask questions.” After a detailed summary of events, she finished with, “And Doctor Penn won’t let her be beamed over. He insists on having her brought over by shuttle. He’s still concerned about her mental state and says that no one knows what the effects are of beaming a fragile mentality.”

Simon jumped on one word. “Fragile? Who decided Kitty is mentally fragile? She’s about the most stable person I know. Hell, she’s the one who’s kept me from going ballistic more than once in my life. And look at how everyone out here sees her. She’s a rock, damn it.”

Marsha looked at Simon pleadingly. “Simon, she’s a rock who’s talking to dead people. How stable is that? She was out there alone for hours. By her own choice, too. Then when we get her back, she’d tried to beat the control panel of her Mamba to pieces with her bare hands. Simon, please let Dr. Penn talk to her. Maybe she was just dreaming about Toni. But what about her wounds? I’ve talked to the doctor, and I’ve seen her hands. Let him do his job, okay?”

Simon finally conceded that the doctor was qualified to make the decisions he had (although it was like pulling teeth to get that admission), and headed for the flight deck.

Arriving as the medics were bringing the litter off the shuttle, Simon bulled his way through them to Kitty’s side. His eyes were drawn first to the bandaged hands lying outside the covering draped over her. Seeing her closed eyes and slack expression, he asked the doctor, “What’s wrong with her that she needs to be sedated?”

“Well, Captain,” Doctor Penn began, “the problem is that she seems to have taken a holiday.” At Simon’s puzzled look, he went on. “What I mean is that she’s suffered a level of mental distress from which her subconscious needed to escape. Now, I’m not a psychiatrist, but I’ve seen this before. Since her subconscious can’t escape, she has, well, stepped out for a while. I can’t say for how long, but she’s handling it. From what I can tell from the little she’s said since we brought her aboard, it seems that she’s had a problem rationalizing the deaths she caused by ordering the attack on that ship. The conversation she believes she had with Toni Putnam while she was out in her Mamba is a manifestation of that conflict. It also appears to have been the catalyst that brought on this fugue. And, oddly enough, I think it’s the key to her recovery. She thinks Toni blamed her for getting killed. She also thinks Toni came to her in her ship and forgave her. She needs time to work these things into a new gestalt she can live with. Give her time and encouragement, and she’ll recover.

“In the meantime, no stress. Keep things light. Help her feel useful but put no strain on her. That’s my diagnosis and regimen of treatment. I know it’s not much, but the mind is a tricky thing. You’ll have to trust me on this or go back to Earth and get a second opinion.”

Simon literally hovered as the med-techs carried Kitty to their quarters. It was quite a little procession that made its way from the flight deck of the Galileo up to deck three and the captain’s quarters—two med-techs with a stretcher between them, Simon on one side and the doctor on the other. Marsha and Gayle led the way, with Stephen guarding the rear. Simon felt a great weight leave his shoulders as he crossed the threshold into his quarters, the door cutting off the noise of the crowd that had formed in the corridor.

As each person sorted themselves out, Simon wandered the suite, at loose ends. The doctor, med-techs, and Kitty were in the bedroom. Marsha, Gayle and Stephen sat or paced through the living room until a knock came at the door. Startled, Simon just looked at it, and Gayle finally got up and opened it to admit Lucy Grimes.

“Simon, I’m so sorry. I wish I’d known. I mean, I’d never have left her out there if I’d had any idea…”

Simon held up a hand. “Lucy, thank you for everything you’ve done. You may think you’ve done nothing, but I think just being here now is a help. It helps me, that’s for sure. And Kitty isn’t in a coma or anything. She’s just sedated. She knows you’re here, I’ll bet. And how could you, or anyone, have known what was going to happen? Don’t beat yourself up over it. Second-guessing doesn’t help, and I don’t need another basket-case out here. Unless it’s me, that is.” A lop-sided grin played across his face. “The doctor said she’s on holiday. Maybe I should join her and leave you in charge of this menagerie. Maybe then you could pay the penance you think you owe.” At the look on her face, he laughed. “Oh? Don’t think you screwed up that bad, do you? Well, relax. I don’t either. And neither does anyone here, so grab a drink and sit down for a while.”

Doctor Penn came out of the bedroom, preceded by the med-techs. The two men left with their stretcher and the doctor turned to Simon. “She’s resting comfortably now. She’s awake, Captain, and wants to see you. She’s not made of glass, but I still don’t want her stressed. Answer all questions truthfully. And only two visitors at a time—if one is you, Captain—for the next couple of days. I’ll stop in and check on her twice daily, and you can call me if necessary. After that, well, we’ll just have to see. Now, can anyone get me some quarters, or do I need to go back to the Heinlein?”

Simon called his supply officer to make arrangements for Doctor Penn’s stay and then dismissed the doctor from his thoughts as he went into the bedroom to see his wife. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair from her cheek. “You gave me quite a scare, Kittyn. The doctor says you’ll be okay. Can I get you anything?” He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.

As he started to raise up, Kitty put both arms around his neck and pulled him down into a kiss that spoke volumes on its own. “I know how I’d feel if I lost you, Simon,” she said sleepily, “so I think I know how you feel right now. I’m sorry. Sorry I caused all this fuss. Sorry I worried you. And sorry that I worried everyone else, too.” Tears ran down her cheeks and Simon wiped them away.

“The doctor said no stress, dear, so let’s table this for now except for one thing from me—nothing that happened was your fault. Some people react differently to combat, and you got your first taste with no warning. You thought you were ready but few people are really ready for something like that without a lot of training.” He looked down, and in a voice filled with shame, he said, “I used you. I thought all we needed to do was show our presence and readiness to fight. Still, the responsibility is mine, and if you disagree, we can discuss it later when the doctor says you can, and not before. Right now, though, there are some people who want to visit for a few minutes. They want to say encouraging things and offer moral support. Think you’re up to it?”

Kitty glanced at the door and nodded slowly. “If you stay here with me. I need that, right now.”

Simon nodded and went to the door. Opening it, he beckoned for Gayle to come in. As she sat down in the place recently vacated by Simon, she first reached out to place a hand on Kitty’s shoulder and then leaned down to kiss Kitty on the cheek. With her face close to Kitty’s ear, she whispered, “If you ever scare me like that again, I’ll show you what real stress is all about, you hear me?” Raising back up, she said loud enough for Simon to hear, “If you need anything, just ask. As long as Simon keeps the Heinlein in the area, I’ll be available. “I was so scared, Kitty. We all were. We’re just happy to have you safe.”

These sentiments more or less set the tone for Marsha, Lucy and Stephen as well.

Kitty muttered a few inanities to each of her visitors, trying to apologize for the situation. To a person, each refused to let her take any blame. “As a matter of fact,” Lucy said, “I think someone should recommend you for the Solar Cross. You planned the action and it went off without a hitch.” At Kitty’s look of horror, she could only ask, “What’s wrong? What did I say?”

Kitty couldn’t get the words to come out in sequence. “Murderer. No. Can’t.”

Tears ran down her cheeks and Simon stepped between the two women. To the stricken Lucy, he quietly explained the situation and Kitty’s state of mind as he ushered her out of the room. Turning back to Kitty, he sat and offered his support and love.

After a few minutes, Simon told her, “I’ll be right back. Let me run this bunch off and we can have some time to ourselves.” Sliding her bandaged hands out of his with ease, he winked. “I’m not leaving, dear. Just getting rid of the well-wishers. I’ll leave the door open a crack so you’ll know I’m still here.”

Simon walked into the living room of his suite to find all the visitors still there. Gayle was in the process of telling her version to Lucy while literally wringing her hands. Stephen, seated beside her, could no longer take it and reached out and took one of her hands in both of his, holding it as she finished. This gesture didn’t go unnoticed by Simon or anyone else, but no one saw fit to comment on it, and Simon went back to the matter at hand, which was running everyone out of his quarters. That mission finally accomplished, he went back to the bedroom to find Kitty snoring on the bed. Smiling at a memory that rose in his mind, he drew up a chair, brought a glass of scotch, a glass of Kitty’s favorite herbal tea, and a few papers into the room, and sat down to keep vigil over his wife.

Three days brought considerable improvement in Kitty. A continuous stream of visitors had come and gone during normal business hours on this first day of visiting allowed by Dr. Penn. Her aide, Lt. Commander Kimura, assigned against Kitty’s wishes, came to her with a strange look on her face.

“Ma’am, your last visitor of the day is here, but I strongly advise that you turn him away. It’s Agent Daniels.”

Simon and the doctor had conspired to keep her physical and mental stress to a minimum, using newly promoted Lt. Commander Kimura to screen her visitors and monitor her condition.

“I’ll be the judge of that, Commander,” Kitty said kindly. “Let him in. I need a diversion from all the well-wishers. And be polite. There isn’t any reason to be rude.”

“Please be seated, Agent,” Kitty said as the agent walked into the living room, waving to a chair that had been placed on the other side of a small table. “Coffee?” At his nod, she called Rukia and ordered two cups, and perversely, a pot. “Well, Agent, how have you been? Keeping busy looking for plots and subverting our people?”

“Keeping busy interviewing anyone who’ll talk to me, Captain. Making friends and influencing people. No subversions or mutinies planned, if you’re interested,” he answered lightly. The coffee arrived and Kitty waved Commander Kimura away.

“I think I’d like some privacy, if you please, Commander. If you really must flutter about, do it on the other side of the door.” She watched the woman leave, wounded pride showing in every step. “You can bet Simon will know about my little indiscretion before the hour is up, Agent. Sometimes I feel like a prisoner and take my pleasures where I can find them. Now, what can I do for you? You will forgive me if I don’t shake hands?’

“Captain, considering our history, I wouldn’t take offense if your hands weren’t bandaged. How are you doing, by the way?”

She lifted her hands up out of her lap, looking at them for a moment and then setting them back down. “Physically, as well as can be expected. The doctor says the bandages can come off tomorrow and the stitches can come out in another week. Mentally, well, most of the people around me are treating me like I’m about to explode. Look at the commander, for example. Believe it or not, getting her to leave the room surprised me. I thought I’d have to fight her over it. I don’t think I’m going to explode, but who am I to judge?”

Agent Daniels poured coffee into the two cups, helped Kitty hold one in her bandaged hands, and took a sip from his. “Well, Captain, I’m glad you worded yourself the way you did because it touches on one of the two reasons I’m here. Let me tell you what the first reason is. I’m the government stoolie, and they’re going to want to know everything that happened out there. I’m betting they’ll say that their need to know is based on what could happen to Earth because of your actions. So, when you feel up to it, I’d like to request an interview. Not today. It’s way too soon, by my estimation, but I wanted to get my bid in.” He took another sip from his cup and went on. “It’s been my experience that one should always go to the horse’s mouth for information, which is why I’d like to talk to Marsha Kane and Lucy Grimes if and when they become available for interviews.”

A look Kitty interpreted as discomfort passed over the agent’s face. “The second reason I’m here indirectly concerns the rumors running around the ship that say you’re a ticking timebomb ready to explode. I don’t see a timebomb ready to explode, Captain, but I do see a woman who could very easily have another nervous breakdown. And for what little it’s worth, I’m here to offer my support.”

Daniels took a deep breath, closed his eyes and seemed to come to some inner decision. “In 1970, I went to Vietnam. I enlisted for my country, you know? They trained me to shoot a rifle and sent me to a place where all the people who didn’t look like me either wanted me dead or didn’t care one way or the other.

“I was in-country less than two weeks when I went out on my first patrol, and we got into a firefight. I was so scared I pissed myself. I’m not ashamed to admit it now. When it was all over, I’d squeezed the trigger so hard that either it or my finger should have broken. It took my squad leader to pull my finger off that trigger, and I’d never fired a shot. The safety was still on. We lost three people in that firefight, and even today I wonder if any of those three might have lived if I’d done my job right. I’d never have known what I was shooting at, but maybe, just maybe, some of those guys would still be alive. So, what I’m saying is that I know what you’re going through. What it boils down to, Captain, is that in a war you do things you wouldn’t normally do. Now, I don’t know you personally, but because I had to investigate you,” here he shrugged his shoulders and gave a deprecating wave of his hands, “I do know a bit about you. And what I know is that you’re not some indiscriminate killer. I saw enough of those in ‘Nam. Those are the kind of people who will get you killed, not save your life.

“These aren’t normal times, Captain. I don’t remember who it was that said this, but extraordinary times call for extraordinary measures. And I’ll add my own bit to that truism: It also calls for extraordinary people. I’m the last person on the face of the planet—hey, I made a joke there—to curry favor with anybody, but I see you, and I see Simon, and I see the hundreds upon hundreds of other people here as extraordinary people. The scuttlebutt I have says you did what needed to be done. That’s nothing to be ashamed of or to beat yourself up over. It’s just a fact of life. And if the stories I’ve been hearing from the people I’ve been talking to have any validity at all, sooner or later there will be a lot more of this. I, for one, will feel a lot better knowing that you and Simon and Marsha Kane and Lucy Grimes and all the others, down to the last pod jockey, are out here.

Daniels stood up and made ready to leave. “Just for your information, Captain, that’s the report I intend to give the next time I get back to Earth. I’ll probably get off then, too. My superiors will see that report and think I’ve been compromised. I don’t know how much good it will do you and your people, but there you have it. Beyond that, all I want to say is that I wish you the best of luck and a speedy recovery.”

Lt. Commander Kimura came back in as the agent opened the door and left. “Ma’am, I guess you know I heard everything that was said in here. The captain, your husband, ordered me to tell him everything that went on while he was gone. You know he only has the best of intentions, and I know it, too, or I would never have agreed to do it, but I think I’ve just run into something I should keep to myself.”

Kitty nodded. “I think so, too, Commander. Simon will know he was here, so we won’t keep it secret, but let’s not burden him with the full conversation, shall we? All Agent Daniels did was drop in to ask for an interview at a future date and wish me a speedy recovery.” At her aide’s nod of agreement, Kitty stood up and said, “Well, then. I think we should plan dinner, don’t you? Something to distract Simon from our last visitor. Let’s call the mess hall and see if we can get someone to put together his favorites—meatloaf and banana pudding. Now would be a good time to surprise him.”

A week later, Kitty walked out of the sick bay with her stitches out. She’d already been feeding herself and performing other small tasks, but she felt a line had been crossed. Getting dressed was still a bit of a problem, so Commander Kimura remained as Kitty’s aide.

Simon had joined her during the stitch removal and listened to Dr. Penn’s admonitions about how she should treat herself for the next week. He then broached the subject he’d been wanting to talk about for a while.

“Doc, look, Kitty’s been telling me everything you’ve been telling her, so I know your opinion of her mental state. Since my own assessment that there’s nothing wrong with her mind coincides with yours, what I want is for you to release her back to active duty if you think it appropriate. Before you make a decision, I’d like to say that for the next few months, I want to keep her near me as an adviser.” He gently took her hand and pulled her closer. “I want her back in command of her ship eventually, but we’ve got this meeting with the vice-president coming up, as well as negotiations for bases on Earth and some kind of official status for our people so they don’t get harassed or jailed for whatever they know about what’s going on out here. These will be executive-level discussions and decisions. What do you think?”

Dr. Penn looked thoughtfully at Kitty. “I think that decision is up to her. As you said, I feel that she’s ready to take up her duties. If she thinks she’s ready, fine. Otherwise, let her progress at her own pace. I consider her discharged with only once-a-week visits. In about a month, we should be finished completely, which should make you happy, no?” This last he’d said to Kitty.

She looked from one man to the other and took a deep breath. “I have some definite ideas about the meeting and negotiations, so I want in. And if you want to talk, doctor, I’m more than happy to oblige you for as long as you feel it necessary. Does that make the two of you happy?”

Simon nodded and the doctor said, “That brings up my last topic for discussion today. If the Galileo follows her current plan, she’ll finish Libra, go to Earth, pick up crew for ship number three, take them out to the commissioning, and then go back to Earth for more. Rumor has it that Libra will be finished sometime in July 2013, and two more ships will be ready by August or September. Sometime before then, I’d like to get off. What I have in mind is to disembark at your next visit to Earth and work on getting replacements for myself and crew-doctors for some of the other ships and bases. Psychiatrists and psychologists, too. Believe me, as the population grows, so will the problems. I’d try to be prepared if I were you.”

Simon, having heard rumors himself about people beginning to get tired of tin-can living, was anxious to get these agreements in place and functioning—not just for the Alliance, but for its members. His people needed to be able to come and go with the freedom anyone else would enjoy.

“You bet, doctor. Just remember that there won’t be any agreements in place when you get back, which means no protection for you until we can get it negotiated. You’ll be running some pretty big risks, especially since you’re a doctor. As long as you’re informed, I don’t have any problem with you leaving. I’ve said from day one that no one is a prisoner here. Besides, you’ll keep your wristband, and if any ship is in orbit, you’ll have assistance as quickly as we can. We do appreciate your help in getting replacements, too. Maybe one day you’ll want to come back to us. There will always be a place for you. You know that.” Shaking the doctor’s hand, Simon headed for the door with Kitty at his side.

The two made their way to the observation bubble situated above deck one. As they sat there watching the construction pods add one hull section after another to the habitat section of Libra, Simon finally reached down and took Kitty’s hands in his. He held them up so he could see the angry red welts of the healing wounds and gently kissed each hand.

“Honey, I’m sorry.”

Kitty looked up when she heard the emotion in his voice and was stunned to see tears running down his face. She pulled her hands free of his, grabbed his head, pulled him to her, and kissed him. “Just what is it you think you have to apologize to me for, you big idiot?”

“For putting you in command of the Heinlein in the first place, even though I knew I needed somebody there I could trust. I could have put somebody else in charge. I’m sorry for putting you in a position where a gentle nature like yours winds up going through the trauma I put you through. I’m sorry for thinking there was no chance you’d ever run into a bogey out there that we’d have to take out. I’m sorry that it all came down on your shoulders. I’m sorry you got hurt. I’m sorry that...” He faltered and couldn’t say anything more, tears running down his face as Kitty pulled his head to her shoulder.

“Listen, you,” she scolded, “I’m as much to blame as you are. I didn’t have to accept a commission and go out there. I didn’t have to go looking for Toni’s killers or give the commands when we found them. I chose to do all those things. I can’t say that if I’d known where the first choice would lead I would’ve agreed to any of it, but I did and here we sit today. Now, I’m going to tell you something else. I’m going to repeat a saying so old I should be beaten for dredging it up, but it’s true. What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger. And, honey, it didn’t kill me. And I do believe I’m stronger. Doctor Penn gets to make the final decision on that, but I do believe it’s true. I’ve had some long talks with myself and some longer talks with Doctor Penn.

“People think that I think the long talks I had out there were with a ghost, but I know it was just my subconscious. But the things “she” said to me in that cockpit were things you’d said for real, especially the one about if you’re going to pull a gun on somebody; you’d better be ready to use it. Well, I was out there in a damn warship loaded with guns, and I pointed ‘em at someone. They called my bluff and I had to use ‘em or lose all my people. I’ve come to terms with that. I think I came to terms with it in the Mamba that day. I’m not saying I’m ready to go back out there… yet, but you don’t have to treat me like I’m gonna fall apart. So, let’s get on with doing the things we need to do.

“At some point, you were talking about a meeting with the Vice-President of the United States. Tell me about it, dear. Who brought the message? And how do we know it’s genuine? If we’ve got plans to make, let’s start making them.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

A few reporters worthy of the name—those who did more than just read the predigested pap handed out in press releases—began to stretch long-unused muscles and started investigations of their own. The mysterious mass disappearances of two years running, combined with the reappearances of some of those same people, made for stories with all the ingredients necessary to wring out a week’s worth of ratings, or even more.

Those same reporters dug deeper into the files concerning the disappearances and came up with almost nothing. Although it was a sure bet that not all the missing had been reported, the group of persons reported missing around that time numbered in the hundreds. Some estimates said almost eight hundred people had vanished the first time, and those numbers were about the same for the second round.

Relatives had been questioned, friends tracked down and questioned, and habits looked at with greater scrutiny as the numbers of missing increased. Three sets of disappearances had occurred at this point, and each time, some eight months later, most would reappear making wild claims and performing amazing tricks on camera. The only difference was that the numbers of missing were spreading out from Wyoming, Colorado, and Montana.

Most of the missing were young, in their early-to-mid-twenties, but a few were older. Males outnumbered females by a fair margin, and most religious affiliations were represented, including a few who were referred to as practicing atheists. Race didn’t seem to be a big factor either, and as the numbers were crunched and the data analyzed, percentages fell within a range that kept investigators stumped, as did the entire case, even when viewed from a distance. The only thing that even remotely linked most of the missing persons was an interest in science fiction. Tie that into the magic tricks and anecdotes, and the bare bones of a story began to emerge. There was also the fact that the larger, younger group represented a fairly high percentage of college students, a specific that raised eyebrows each time but faded away like so many other speculations. Questions had been raised, but three months later, in the press of other matters of global or political significance, the lack of further evidence effectively excised the phenomenon from the daily memory of the public at large.

Now, in a variety of places all around the United States, a fair percentage of those missing persons had turned up, purportedly claiming to have been voluntarily taken aboard a spaceship and made a part of the crew. And each time they returned they were looking for recruits—volunteers they called them—to join up. When all the numbers were added up, some reporters were looking at an excess of two thousand.

People appearing and disappearing just like on Star Trek had already been seen on television a number of times. And tied into all of that was the rumor that the recent disappearances, so painstakingly coordinated as to happen in over two hundred locations around the country simultaneously, were a response to the arrival of the returnees.

Editors being editors, they had to look at the bottom line first, last, and always. But they also tried to run their papers on common sense, and the tabloids should have been handling the material these editors were receiving. No reputable company was going to advertise in a paper that ran spaceship stories as sensational as these were looking to be.

But editors, some of them, had principles as well and did run the stories, causing a particular late-night talk show host to say, “You heard it here first, several months ago. Just now reaching the mainstream media is the fact that hundreds of our people are in space building ships and bases right now!”

The president’s press secretary issued hot denials of government involvement, pointing the finger at overzealous agents of the super-secret DIA as possibly being responsible for the recent reported mass roundups of citizens all across the country.

It took the persistence of one young reporter to actually get a recent returnee to talk to her on camera. Add to that the I-just-don’t-give-a-damn attitude of a retiring senior editor who felt the story needed to be told, and the genie was taken fully out of the bottle.

“This is Monica Webb, Channel Eight News,” the reporter said into the camera. She stood in an anonymous room beside a young man dressed in all black, with strange insignia sparkling from his collar and unfamiliar patches on his shoulders. “Can you tell me your name, sir?” she asked, turning the microphone toward him.

“John Winston,” the twenty-ish man said simply.

“The same John Winston who just up and disappeared from home, college, and friends almost two years ago?”

Yes, ma’am.”

“Are you in any way connected with the disappearances of almost eight hundred other people at about the same time?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Getting a little tired of the short answers, the reporter tried a different tactic in hopes of getting more out of this opportunity. “Please, Mr. Winston, explain your relationship to so many people.”

“Well, Miss…?”

“Webb.”

“Miss Webb, we’re all volunteers, I guess you’d call us. We got an opportunity to do something no human has ever done before, and that is to build a factory in outer space.”

“In outer space, you say.” The reporter looked at the camera, her what-do-I-do-now look classic to behold even though she’d watched the earlier reports avidly. “Building a factory. If that’s the case, Mr. Winston, how is it that the government from the local level all the way up has been looking for you and all the others for years now? If you were doing what you say, wouldn’t they have known about your whereabouts, and if nothing else, covered it up to keep it secret?”

The young man smiled. “Who said they don’t know what I was doing, Miss Webb? I think they’re probably more anxious to find me than you were, to tell the truth.”

“Are you telling me the government isn’t involved in what you’re doing? That this is a private venture?” The young woman’s voice reflected her obvious surprise at his answer.

“Yes, ma’am, entirely,” the young man affirmed, seeming more comfortable in front of the camera as the seconds passed. “More or less, that is,” he added by way of qualification. “You see, in order to do all that we have to do—build the factories and then the ships they’re being constructed to build—we need to have some form of regimentation just so we know who has to be where when and who’s in charge once we arrive. So, we’re actually pretty militaristic when you get right down to it. We have rank and all of that stuff.”

“So what you’re wearing is a uniform then.” The words came out as a simple statement. “And all your people wear something more or less identical to what you have on right now?” She paused for a second, and Winston nodded. “Can you tell me the significance of your uniform and the symbols on it?”

“Certainly,” the man said. “The shirt, pants, shoes, and hat are black. The piping around the collar and shirtsleeves tells people your department. I wear blue because I’m with the engineers.” He fingered the collar so the small metal insignia showed better. “I’m a lieutenant, so I wear a golden crescent moon.” He then turned one shoulder to the camera, showing a circular patch. “This shows that I’m a member of the Galileo’s crew,” he said and turned the other shoulder forward, “and this is the emblem of the Terran Alliance.”

The camera zoomed in on another round patch, which showed a ship leaving what was obviously a representation of the planet Earth.

“Would you explain for our viewers just what the Galileo is, please?”

“Well,” the young man said sheepishly, “this is the part people are going to have a hard time believing, but the Galileo is a spaceship, built by an unknown race for the sole purpose of establishing colonies around this part of the galaxy.”

“When you say ‘unknown race,’ do you mean aliens? As in little green men?”

The lieutenant smiled. “Well, we actually think they’re rather tall and red, but yeah, that’s pretty much the idea.”

“How is it that you get to be aboard an alien ship, Lt. Winston?” The reporter looked like she’d swallowed a bitter pill, clearly expecting something other than the revelation she’d gotten or at least hoping for something different.

“Well, you see, it was found by the captain. Exactly how, I’m not sure. Like he met one of the aliens or something,” the lieutenant said, obviously more taken with the pretty young reporter than he was willing to admit. All things considered, she was a rather attractive woman, and he dragged his attention back to the camera with difficulty.

The reporter, perhaps sensing an opportunity slipping away, asked, “And why are you back at this particular time, Lt. Winston?”

The young lieutenant felt his own moment approaching. He’d been briefed a bit on what to say if this happened, along with everyone else in his department on the way back to Earth. Of course there was going to be some attention, and this was his chance to do something.

“We’re back here on another recruiting mission. We’re supposed to talk to our friends and see if we can get anyone to join up.”

“But you already have, by our estimates, nearly two thousand people, Lieutenant.”

Winston grinned to himself, letting her lead him right where he wanted to go.

“How many more do you need?”

“Miss Webb, remember when I said we built a factory out in space?”

The reporter nodded silently, a slightly dazed look on her face.

“Well, we’ve actually started construction on the third factory and left almost five hundred people out there to run it. Spaceships don’t build themselves, you know, and they don’t run themselves either. After finishing the second base, we came to Earth and picked up enough to crew the first ship out of the first factory. Now, we need to get more volunteers to build another factory to build more ships. The captain says we’ll have four factories in all.”

The reporter looked at the camera. “Four factories! At five hundred each, that means putting two thousand more people in space!”

“That’s just for the factories, ma’am. Then you figure in the crew of the Galileo, which is just over nine hundred, and the first ship at almost five hundred, as well as the second ship, and the figure is closer to four thousand right now. Then you add two ships per year per base and you come up with about two thousand people each year that we need to recruit after the last base is finished. There are more people born each minute than that.”

Monica thought of a question that might crack the veneer of confidence this young man exuded. He’d been well briefed and obviously believed what he was saying, but she was betting he hadn’t figured on the political ramifications.

“How do you think the American government is going to react to a bunch of its citizens acquiring technology of this level and not turning it over to them? If they don’t already know, they will when this interview airs.”

“Of course they aren’t going to like it. They already don’t,” the young lieutenant said, causing the reporter’s mouth to drop open. “They say they should have it because they know better how to deal with alien technology than we do. But it’s going to take them a long time to realize that in this era of global communication, if they did get control of it, the whole world would lose because of it.”

Before he could take a breath and continue, the reporter asked, “Are you saying you people would blow the ship up or something?”

“No, ma’am,” Winston said decisively. “The problem is that no government on this planet could let any other have that much of a technological advantage. The balance of power can’t be allowed to shift so strongly in favor of any country, or the whole world would go up in flames. The only solution is to keep it out of the hands of any government on Earth that would use the technology primarily for political or military advantage.”

“And what makes you think the government or the viewers are going to believe you’re telling us the truth?”

Throughout the interview, John Winston had been standing in a position most soldiers would refer to as “at ease,” feet about shoulder width apart and hands behind the small of his back. Aside from underscoring the idea that the Terran Alliance was a militaristic concept, it was a position ideal for keeping Winston’s hands still, hiding his nervousness.

“Well, Miss Webb, I came down here tonight to try to get some of my friends to join up. You found me, so you must have found my folks. If you’re any good at your job, you’d probably know by now that we’re not real big on family closeness, which is why I’m here and not at home.

“I’ve already told my friends all that I’ve told you, and more. And I got pretty much the same response from them that I’m getting from you. I was about to give them a demonstration of what the technology we found can do to prove to them that I’m no liar, and since they’re all right there watching us,” he said, nodding at a place in the parking lot just out of camera range, “I can show them, you, your viewers, and all the governments of the world at the same time. You’ll have to believe that I’m telling the truth because I can do things like this.”

With his hands behind his back, the young lieutenant pressed the button on his wristband. Several seconds later, just before the reporter could ask what he meant, he disappeared in a shower of blue sparks.

The woman stared at the vacant space for a few seconds, shook her head, and turned to the camera, microphone before her face like a shield. “This is Monica Webb for Channel Eight,” she said, a dazed expression on her face. “Back to you, Mark.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Four months into the construction of Libra Base, it appeared that the U.S. government had decided on a course of action. Not bothering with subtlety, a series of late-night raids began, resulting in the arrests of hundreds of family members of those identified as being part of the Terran Alliance.

The problem with a pirated television signal is that it can’t be interrogated. The pirates did manage to get the whole thing recorded, however, so no one missed any of it. The reporter was from a small station in Fargo, North Dakota, and she was breaking a story. Simon and Kitty had to rerun the recording to get all of the account.

The windblown reporter was standing in front of a chain-link fence, complete with manned sentry post and red-and-white-striped barrier blocking the road and some buildings seen well off in the distance.

“This is Sarah Parker reporting live from somewhere north of Devil’s Lake, North Dakota. There are many lonely miles to travel to get to this place on dirt roads that haven’t seen a road grader in almost twenty years, or so I’ve been told by local inhabitants. But the road we traveled today looked like it had been graded in the last few weeks. There are no towns nearby, making this a perfect place to … do what? “I’m standing in front of what was an Air Force refueling base until budget cuts closed it down almost fifteen years ago. But today, it appears to be a growing concern.”

The camera panned across a barren plain, marred only by the secluded base. Close up, the freshly painted gatehouse had shiny new fencing stretching off to the left and right. There was a control tower and landing strips with associated buildings farther in, and smoke poured out of several chimneys in a cluster of buildings even farther away. The cameraman zoomed in on the plume of dust raised by a rapidly approaching vehicle, the reporter now almost off camera.

“I’ve received reliable information that this,” she said and turned to look over her shoulder as the wind whistled through her microphone, “is the destination for literally hundreds, possibly thousands, of American citizens who have the misfortune to be related to people the government has decided are threats to its existence. Although I hadn’t yet been born, I’m reminded of the roundup of American citizens almost seventy years ago because they had the misfortune to be of Japanese ancestry. And German. But there’s been no attack here, if you don’t count September 11th, of course, and there’s also been no mention of anything like that coming from the White House.”

A plane—large, green, and windowless—glided through the camera’ s field of view, passing the obvious control tower as it got closer to the ground. The approaching vehicle, an unmarked Humvee, stopped and a figure stepped out of the passenger side. Clad in camouflage clothing and a black beret, the man stepped around the barrier and approached the reporter.

The officer said, “This is U.S. Government property. A secure facility. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Not much taller than the woman, he seemed to loom over her. The reporter spoke into the microphone, not the least bit frightened by the overbearing way he’d stepped into her personal space.

“Be happy to, uh, Colonel,” she said pointedly looking at the eagles on his collar, “if you’d be so kind as to tell me just where this U.S. Government property is. I was under the assumption, as I’m sure all my viewers are,” she said, waving at the camera, “that the U.S. Government property starts on the other side of that fence, leaving us outside your ‘secure facility.’”

The officer loomed even further, as though acting out a lesson learned in some arcane military class on intimidation. “If you and your pal aren’t out of here by the time my MP’s arrive, I’m going to have you arrested, young lady.”

“You really don’t want to do that, Colonel,” the woman said coolly, not flinching when the officer stepped into her space. She smiled thinly, “I can threaten, too. You don’t want to say the wrong thing in front of a camera. The results could just plain haunt you for the rest of your life.”

She maneuvered herself so the guard shack was a backdrop to her confrontation with the officer. “Now that we’ve gotten the amenities out of the way, sir, can you tell me what you did wrong to be put in charge of security at a secret illegal detention facility in the middle of nowhere?”

As loaded questions went, this one was about a six-and-a-half. The colonel turned red at the slight to his military expertise and then realized what the content of the last half of her question had implied. Before he could formulate a response, the pretty young reporter asked, “Why are hundreds, thousands, of innocent American citizens being rounded up in the middle of the night and transported here and other places around the country in planes just like those?

“My sources tell me that for the last two months, this base has been the focus of a lot of military attention—upgrading the security, refurbishing the buildings, getting the power and water back on. The curious thing is that none of the soldiers who pass through on their way here ever come into town. Not to visit, not to drink, not to buy their girls a souvenir, and not even to get away from Army food. I can understand the concept of a secure facility, Colonel, but no passes at all?”

Two more Humvees pulled up, disgorging eight armed soldiers. With their black-and-white MP armbands visible, the armed team fanned out to circle the confrontation.

A nasty grin crossed the colonel’s face. “Okay, lady, you’ve just gotten yourselves arrested. I’ll take your boyfriend’s disc,” he said, waving an MP forward, “and you two are going to wind up at the bottom of the deepest, darkest pit I can find.”

A phone began ringing in the guard shack.

The reporter looked startled, as if realizing for the first time just how vulnerable she and her friend were. Then a grin that failed to reach her eyes flickered across her face. Never taking her eyes from the colonel’s, she asked, “Disc? What disc?” And then louder. “Dwayne, if you brought the camcorder, I’m gonna see you canned.”

“No, boss!” a voice from off-camera interrupted as the camera’s viewpoint bounced slightly. “You said you wanted a live feed; you got a live feed.”

“So I did, Dwayne, and I’d say it’s a good thing you listened.” She smiled at the officer again—not an expression of happiness but of pure feral glee. The prey was within her grasp, but she could still lose it all if she didn’t spring her trap soon.

“It would appear that you don’t know anything about electronics in the new age, Colonel.” The soldiers had them almost surrounded now. “There isn’t any disc, at least not here. That camera feeds directly to the antenna on top of the van, and that is pointed by computer at a satellite in geosynchronous orbit, beaming our little tête-à-tête into millions of homes even as we speak.” She paused to let the information sink in, fighting desperately to keep from shaking or letting her voice break. “Now, exactly which deep, dark pit were you referring to?”

The colonel held his arms out to his sides, bringing the MP’s to a halt. “Lady, all I can tell you is that this is a secure facility, and I’m not at liberty to discuss what happens inside that fence.”

Dwayne’s camera caught the guard inside the shack as he gingerly laid the phone down and walked toward the colonel.

Seeing the look on the approaching guard’s face, the reporter knew her time was dwindling fast. Before the guard could interfere, she asked the one question all of this had been leading up to, virtually confirming the rumors a stunned public had been hearing about late-night governmental abductions from all over the country.

“For four days now, military units have been pulling people out of their homes and taking them somewhere without a trace. All of the reports from Pensacola, Florida to Ottumwa, Iowa, to Portland, Oregon, have one thing in common, colonel—not one unit designation to be found. Odd, don’t you think?”

The cameraman, brave beyond belief, deliberately zoomed in on the numbers painted on the Humvee’s bumpers. Where unit designations were usually found was only what appeared to be fresh coats of camouflage paint. He panned back to the colonel and reporter, lens passing slowly over a couple of the soldiers surrounding them before settling into place.

“What have the people you’re holding done, Colonel?” the reporter asked. “When relatives and friends report these incidents to the police, they’re told, ‘We got word from Washington. It’s out of our jurisdiction.’ Senators and congressmen are being inundated with requests to help find these missing people, Colonel. The information I have says that some of them are being detained here. Why? And who ordered it? And what do so many disparate people have in common?”

The reporter looked at the camera, finally turning her back totally on the colonel. “Ladies and gentlemen, normally the profiles of people detained in raids of this type should match up enough for some kind of correlation to be made. Here we have, reportedly, Democrats grabbed up with Republicans, Catholics with Protestants, young and old, black and white. You name it, we have an opposite here. The occupations range from housewife to police officer, from grocery clerk to political official.”

She turned back to her victim. “What have these people done, Colonel?”

The guard, a sergeant according to the three stripes on his sleeve, finally got the colonel’s attention, pointing emphatically to the phone. Flustered, and happy to get away from the little spitfire roasting him alive, he turned away, stepped into the guard shack, and picked up the phone.

Face considerably paler than before he’d stepped into the shack, the colonel walked woodenly back to the reporter. All the while, the camera followed his movements, even recording the silent, “Yes, sir’s,” he’d repeatedly uttered during the call.

“Miss, I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed about the purpose of this base. Unfortunately, due to national security restrictions, I’m unable to answer any more of your questions. Even though I’m unable to remove you from public lands, I am able to leave you with no further answers.” Stiffly the officer turned to head back to his jeep and an apparent trip back to his command facility somewhere inside the fence.

“One last question, Colonel!” the reporter yelled. “It has nothing to do with any alleged detainees, I promise.”

The officer, apparently against his better judgment, turned back to the reporter. “What?”

“I’ve interviewed many soldiers in my time, Colonel,” the woman said. “One thing I’ve been struck by was the fact that every one of them was more than proud of his unit and branch of service. I notice that your uniform has no unit patch on it. It also doesn’t have a designation over one breast pocket proclaiming your branch of service, or a patch with your name on it over the other pocket. Do you have an explanation as to why a senior officer would neglect those bits of military regalia?”

“Can someone tell me just what that ass was thinking when he went out to confront that… that reporter?” The last word was spit out with particular venom, and the question was assumed to be rhetorical, so neither agent answered.

The man in the expensively tailored suit delivered his edict from behind a massive oaken desk, his back to the two agents standing there as he looked out over the Washington, DC landscape. “I want him replaced within twenty-four hours, is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” said one of the two agents who’d watched the telecast with the director. “Twenty-four hours. Anyone particular to replace him with?”

“Anyone who can keep his mouth shut!” the suit proclaimed. “And you will begin the release of the detainees immediately.”

“Sir!” one agent protested. “We just got them separated and haven’t even started on the interrogations.”

“I don’t give a damn. This has attracted the attention of the White House. The only thing we can do is release the detainees, apologize, and make restitution. As quietly as possible.”

“Sir, that will be admitting blame.”

“Of course it will, stupid,” the man behind the desk growled. “Someone has to be the scapegoat, and who better than some over-zealous idiot of a colonel who will never be heard from again?” He took a second to get himself back under control. “If we release most of the people we’ve already rounded up, then the few we keep won’t be nearly as obvious, will they? The Hawkes’ families are separated by thousands of miles. Their absences, along with a few families of some of their top people, will fade into the back pages of the newspapers without the others to bolster them. But the Hawkes, Simon and Katherine, will know that their people are still unaccounted for. And I want you to get that reporter, too. We need to find out who her sources are.”

Lucy caught the third or fourth replay of the telecast and immediately had the feeling of butterflies dancing in her stomach—doing the polka in combat boots, to be more precise. She called Robert aside after the piece finished running. “Got any ideas, Rob?”

“About that?” He poked his thumb at the television screen. “Not really. You know how the country’s been ever since September 11th.” He shook his head slowly, a frown on his face. “Probably more of the same. I’d swear we’re headed back to the bad old days of McCarthyism.” Lucy crossed her arms on her chest and looked troubled. “What? Tell Uncle Rob what’s bothering you, Luce.”

“I can’t say for sure, but I have to wonder if someone isn’t trying to get at us all the way out here.” Lucy shook her head as well and sighed like the weight of the world was on her shoulders. “Can you get in touch with your friends, Brandt and Collier, was it? I’d say send them a list of our personnel and let them see if there’s any correlation between our people and the ones being picked up.”

James Collier, Senior, slapped his hand on the table. For the last hour he’d been listening to a cock-and-bull story from Dave Brandt—whose tall tales were never to be believed—and his own son concerning spaceships, missing people, more spaceships and more missing people. The fact that the third Musketeer, Robert Grimes, was somehow involved only made Senior more determined than ever not to give any credence to the tale that was surely designed to separate him from an as-yet unspecified amount of cash.

But the bite never came. That’s what had thrown him for the longest time. The list of hundreds of names, purportedly from Robert, lay on top of a stack of news clippings from papers all around the country.

“And they all match up, Dad,” his son was saying. “Every one of those families arrested in the last four days has a connection to one of the names on this list.” He tapped the white paper with his fingertip. “But this is the big news. Have you seen the morning paper yet?”

The elder Collier, still groggy from his rude awakening, hadn’t made it much past his second cup of coffee and was just beginning to reach a level that would let him think effectively. “Not yet, I haven’t. You two just dragged me out of bed, you know? So, what’s the paper got to add to this sorry little story of yours, boys?”

By way of an answer, Dave pushed the newspaper across the table, scattering the piles of clippings. The elder man spun the paper around to better read the headline and froze. MORE LATE-NIGHT ARRESTS IN DENVER AND SURROUNDING AREAS, the top two lines screamed in bold print. The story beneath it laid out the details, complete with eyewitness accounts from neighbors and friends, and pictures of the abductees. One face in particular leapt out at the older man.

He picked the paper up and began to scan the three columns of print. There wasn’t much substance, mostly filler on the missing persons and speculation as to who the abductors were, but two things, no, three, were clear—one, that the stories the boys were telling him were true, at least in part; two, that the government was somehow involved with all these unmarked cars and people who refused to identify themselves; and three, that John Wilder, one of the two abducted city councilmen and James Senior’s long-time friend from their days as peace activists, was among the abducted.

“Two city councilmen and two police officers have been abducted, and there’s been nothing but stonewalling from the police, even in the face of having to watch two of their own hauled away. Investigations are ongoing,” was one quote. “We’re doing all we can, considering the amount of information we have to go on,” was another.

Senior read through the rest of the article and set the paper down. “So what do you want from me, boys? I’m still not saying I believe in all this spaceship crap, but something sure as hell is going on.”

Jim Junior spoke first. “Robert gave us that list, Dad, and he says the names on it are their people. The clippings show that somebody is rounding up the families of the people on the list. We think you should help the people get away who haven’t been picked up yet. Maybe to Canada or something,” he finished lamely.

Robert and Michiko had wrought better than they knew. They’d known, of course, that the elder Collier had been a peace activist during the Viet Nam War, but they, along with his own son, hadn’t known the older man’s complete past. The fact was that he was the perfect man for such a situation. He’d helped set up and operate more than one underground network, funneling people out of the country so they wouldn’t have to fight in a war they had no belief in. Now he was going to do it again, this time on his belief in the integrity of a mere boy (hadn’t he been about that age when he’d gone to his first sit-in and spent the night in jail for it?) who just happened to be one of the two best friends his son had ever had. Dave had joined the two in high school, but Jim and Robert had been friends ever since grade school.

That expertise, so hard-won in the sixties, would be called on again to save more people from the depredations of a rampaging government. “I need to make some calls, boys, but I’m sure I can get something set up. After all these years, there are going to be some holes in the old network, but I’ll bet we can get those filled pretty quickly.” Changing the subject, he asked, “Are you two sure Robert is on the level about all this?” He glanced at the television, now detailing the highlights of a local collegiate sporting event as if nothing were wrong with the world as it spun in its orbit.

“Dad, we’ve been on the ship. Robert and ‘Chiko took the four of us on a tour. We met the captain and some of the officers, as well as a few of the crew. There're hundreds, thousands, of them out there now. You saw the video. Watch it again and tell me you don’t believe me.”

Dave felt he had to make his contribution to the conversation. “Mr. Collier, there’s more than that. There’s nine hundred on the big ship alone. They have two bases, and they’re building a third with a fourth in mind, and two ships have already been constructed. I’d guess we’ve got well over two thousand people actually in space. Then there’s a few like us who recruit on the sly, so to speak.”

The last words that came from the TV before the announcers signed off was their standard hook. “Stay tuned to this station for breaking news on the mysterious abductions as we get it!”

Fifteen minutes later, James the Elder was on the phone to one of his friends, ever mindful of the new technology capable of recording his call. “Echelon is up and running, Sam. So all I’m going to say is that we need to get some of the old crowd together at my place for a talk. This is like the most serious shit to come down since Nam, man.” His attention was diverted by a banner running across the top of the muted TV screen. Grabbing the remote, he said, “Turn your set up! We may have more going on. I’m going to try to set my old VCR.” He put the phone down and fiddled with the machine under the TV for a moment, missing a fraction of the story.

“This reporter has received reliable information that this,” she said and turned to look over her shoulder as the wind howled through her microphone, “is the destination for literally thousands of American citizens who have the misfortune to be related to people the government has decided are threats to its existence.”

The aging hippie picked the phone back up and asked, “Are you listening to this? As soon as it’s over, get over here and bring everybody still able to get around without a walker, will ya? I’ve got more calls to make.”

The message time for something to get to Earth from the asteroid belt was on the order of thirteen minutes one way. Then there was the time spent waiting until an unsuspecting recipient realized his friend from outer space had left a message on the interplanetary answering machine. Robert didn’t expect an immediate reply and wasn’t disappointed. It was almost ten hours before a runner from Communications arrived with a response. Robert thanked him and closed the door. Calling Michiko over, he slid the miniature disc into the player.

“Got your message. Will try to see what we can find out. We’ll need a few days to look into it. We’ll call you back as soon as we know something,” was the gist of the message.

Rumors ran through the Galileo like wildfire. The radio operator Robert had used to send his message to Earth started the guess-what-I-heard game before his shift was up. Within eight hours, the story was larger than life, with the governments of Earth planning to strike against the Alliance and use the hostages for a shield. Work slowed to a standstill while every breath was held, waiting on a response from Earth, and the source was the same as the one that had started the trouble in the first place.

Four days passed while the rhetoric grew hotter and steamier on both sides of the issue. Someone was always glued to the television receiver, keeping track of the developing situation on Earth. National security versus civil rights was the topic on every show that boasted a discussion format and not a few of those that didn’t. Experts bandied words, and while the words were sharp, the underlying tone was still a bit incredulous. “That our own country would treat its own citizens this way was so ...”

Entirely believable. The short shrift the Japanese Americans and German Americans got was brought out first, opening old wounds, and the Blacks and American-Indians jumped on the bandwagon, underlining the predominately white, callous, imperialism the United States had fallen heir to early on in its existence. A government, any government, is a living, breathing entity. It has the same basic instinct that single individuals have—the drive to survive—and it will do whatever it has to do to achieve that goal. It would walk over the lives and dignity of “inferior” races to ensure its growth. It would walk away with the lands of others in an attempt to achieve a manifest destiny it possibly shouldn’t have envisioned. It later isolated the possible infection of Japanese and German Americans, appropriating their properties in the process, to ensure its own survival. Why not believe this newest revelation?

Ultimately, it was Simon’s mystique as The Captain, and Kitty’s as the unflappable Captain Kitty—though she would be shocked to know that she had a mystique—that averted what could have been the Terran Alliance’s first mutiny.

“We can’t get there in time, anyway,” he pointed out. “Our people are already under military control.”

Kitty stood on a podium next to Simon on the Galileo’s projects deck while the Heinlein rode beside the Galileo. Word of the raids had reached the Heinlein through the daily message relays, and Marsha rendezvoused with Simon as soon as she heard. She looked out over the crowd of anxious faces.

“What’s done is done,” Kitty said. “I don’t mean to sound callous, but there’s nothing we can do right now. According to the messages we’re getting from our people on Earth, not all of us have been identified, so not all of our families have been targeted. Both Simon and I have relatives in custody, and so do several of the other officers—mostly those who chose to reveal themselves at various times during our last visits to Earth. I think the best thing is to wait and see what happens. The news has broken now, and you can bet that every effort is being made to find out who those people are and get them released, especially if they haven’t done anything. And most especially if most of them are good, upstanding Americans, as they’re going to be portrayed by every civil rights group looking for a platform to hang their name on. Those folks will do our job for us, and if they can’t, well Simon has already said it. We hold the high ground and have the technological advantage.”

“This is Sarah Parker, reporting for Channel Four News. In just a moment you’ll see the second U.S. military cargo plane to land within the last hour here at Denver International Airport. The first was laden with people being returned to their homes by the very agencies that were responsible for their illegal detainment in the first place. Planes just like this one are carrying people home from secret locations all over the U.S., like the one reported on in North Dakota.” An Army-green plane bisected the camera shot, confirming the reporter’s story. “The previous group declined to speak on camera, but we’re hopeful that someone on this flight will be willing to talk with us about their ordeal at the hands of the very government their tax-dollars help to perpetuate.”

Obviously trying to fill time, Parker said to the announcer on the other end of the camera, “I do believe that if there hadn’t been such a mix of people picked up, there wouldn’t have been as much fuss raised. By my best estimates, there were no less than four police officers, two city councilmen, a Baptist and a Lutheran minister, and a state representative caught in the largest sweep since the McCarthy era. We’ve been told that blame is being laid at the feet of over-zealous agents of an undisclosed government agency, and an internal investigation is underway.”

Her expression, studiously neutral until that moment, cracked and a look of disdain passed across her face. “Democrats and Republicans alike are calling for an investigation into this latest abuse of power being laid at the front door of the White House. Spokesman Dan Goodall has stated that President Drake had no knowledge of the operation and was as stunned as the rest of the world by the revelation.

“The exposure of this atrocity has spurred Congress and the House to pass a unanimous resolution in record time. Coauthored by leaders from both parties, the resolution condemns the detention of American citizens without due process in the harshest terms without specifically naming individuals.”

“Now that one’s a little fireball,” Simon said appreciatively as he watched a replay of that particular story. “I’m willing to bet it was her first broadcast a few days ago that got the ball rolling on getting our people out of jail. I think we should thank her personally, don’t you, hon?”

Kitty stared at the screen for a few seconds before she said quietly, “That woman stuck her neck pretty far out. Someone’s really not going to appreciate his applecart being overturned like that. I hope she’s got eyes in the back of her head because she’s gonna need ‘em. And thank her? Sure. Why don’t we give her an interview when we get home?”

It looked like the U.S. was going to have to admit that it had been treating with the Alliance, but no such confirmation was forthcoming. “What about all the videos of people beaming out?” one reporter shouted at the presidential press secretary.

“I told you,” Dan Goodall said, “that I won’t take any more questions on that subject. We’re dealing with special effects, nothing more. I suspect that the people in those videos had some accomplices in the matter.”

He didn’t directly implicate the reporter, but the crowd knew what he meant. Since the news conference was composed entirely of reporters, his comment wasn’t taken too well, and a sullen murmur began to make itself heard.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The months that followed saw the completion of Libra Base and the investiture of Victor McCord as its Commander. Those final two months also saw a lot of radio traffic between Simon and Kitty and the Brandt’s and Collier’s on Earth. It seemed that all of the detainees, as the hundreds were being called by the media, had been released as promised by an embarrassed administration. The problem was that neither Simon’s parents nor Kitty’s relatives—two aging aunts in Montana—along with several dozen others from top-ranking Alliance officers, were answering the calls being placed to them by people in the Brandt/Collier network.

Discarding the idea that all families would coincidentally choose the same time to go on vacation, Simon and Kitty suspected the worst. They wanted to keep the information from general knowledge until after Libra was turned over to Victor, so they called in the affected officers separately.

Simon privately vowed to show the Drake administration the folly of its ways. “I don’t like the thought of them using our families this way,” Simon declared to Kitty. Never really on the closest terms with his father, Simon still felt the anger boil up whenever he thought of it. Family is, after all, family. “Dirty pool, and I won’t stand for it any longer than I have to. When we get back, we warn ‘em first, and then we drop a rock in the ocean to prove we can do it. If our people are still not set free, we start dropping progressively bigger rocks. We can use the Parker woman to spread the word as soon as we get home. Just get Collier or Brandt to get in touch with her and set things up.”

An orphan Kitty might be, but she did have relatives in Miles City. They’d never been truly close, but as Simon said, they were family. Besides, there was a principle at stake.

The last two months before Libra was able to breathe on its own were the toughest on Simon and Kitty. They tried several times through the radio link with Earth to call their respective families, interspersing their own message traffic with that of the others concerned about their families as well. Surreptitious inquiries revealed that their families were among the few still unaccounted for, of those who chose to admit to families at all.

The two talked together late into the night every night, growing more despondent as each message was returned marked: No response.

Curled into a small ball and sheltered in Simon’s arms, Kitty asked quietly, “What are we going to do?”

“This is somebody’s way of telling us they know who we are,” Simon stated firmly. “They can’t speak to us directly, but I’ll bet they think they got their message across.”

Kitty looked up questioningly. “And the message is?”

“Give up or you families get it, basically,” Simon said. “But I’m not going to let that happen.”

Kitty pushed herself away from Simon’s side and stared at him. “What have you got up your sleeve?”

“Look,” Simon said, standing up, “attention was what got the rest of the hostages released, and it’ll do it again. I sent a message to Collier asking him to get in touch with that reporter, Sarah Parker. I figured she would love to get an exclusive, but Jim sent word back today that she has dropped out of sight. Nobody at the TV station knew anything about it. Even her cameraman, a guy named Dwayne, was missing. Cameras were still checked out to him, and everyone thought the two had taken off after another story.”

“And?” Kitty prompted, after a long silence.

“Collier thinks he was followed after he left the station. Pretty sure of it, in fact. He thinks he lost whoever it was in a shopping center.”

“So what are we going to do?” Kitty repeated.

“Nothing,” Simon stated flatly. “Nothing is going to happen to our folks until they know that we know they have them.”

“Wait a minute!” Kitty protested. “That kind of logic gives me a headache.”

“The people being threatened,” Simon said simply, “that’s you and me, have to know there’s a threat. Without that knowledge, there’s nothing to make us change our course of action. Once they know that we know, they can begin to apply pressure.”

“So as long as we don’t respond, nothing happens?” Kitty asked, unbelieving.

“That’s about the size of it,” Simon said. “Our folks get away from the hassle of everyday life for a while and have a story to tell forever. There was another reporter who got another story aired about one of our guys—Grant, I think his name was. I want to use that reporter as a backup in case something has happened to Parker.”

“But this is our secret for now?” Kitty asked.

“Right,” Simon agreed. “For now.”

The week before the Galileo was due to leave for Earth, Simon called a council of war. Kitty was present, as were Gayle and Stephen. Also present were Victor McCord, in his capacity as Base Commander, Marsha Kane, de facto Captain of the Heinlein, and Captain Lucy Grimes, just arrived from her trials in the newly named Anne McCaffrey.

“Isn’t it a little harsh to call this a council of war, Simon?” Marsha looked a bit edgy at the thought.

“No, it isn’t,” Simon responded. “First, if you’ll excuse the informality, here are your comets, Captain.” He slid a black velvet box across the table. “Congratulations. Also, it’s time we told you this. My parents and two of Kitty’s aunts haven’t been contacted yet either. And you know about several others, including Lucy’s folks.”

The revelation brought silence while the implications sank in. “It’s been two months and you haven’t said anything?” Gayle said, livid. “Why would you keep something like this secret? And why tell us now?”

“I haven’t heard of anyone else who didn’t get word back that their folks are safe. So it’s just you and Kitty?” Stephen asked, glancing at Lucy.

“Somebody has figured out that you two are running the show,” Victor said pointedly.

“We never made any attempt to hide the fact in the first place, and there are a few others as well,” Simon said, shrugging his shoulders. “At least not after the first few weeks when we started to get rejects. We accepted a few people who later opted out when they found out how long they’d be gone. Had the same problem with the first group Stephen brought aboard, as I remember.”

“The reason we didn’t say anything until now was so we could get Libra finished,” Kitty said firmly. “Then we go back with all three ships and get our folks out.”

Simon spoke into the latest silence. “We don’t know for sure yet where they are, but it would be a reasonable guess that they’re at that same base the Parker girl exposed. With the number of Mambas available to us, as well as two battle cruisers and the Galileo herself, we stage a diversion, drop a shuttle into that base, and find our people. We release them quietly, so as not to embarrass their hosts, and then we sit down and talk about a technology release. It’s a game of ‘I show you my power, now you show me yours.’ And I intend to win that game hands down.”

Marsha nodded her head slowly. “So it is a council of war. You plan to attack the United States less than thirteen years after September 11th?”

“No,” Simon stated flatly. “Just one small part of it. At night, and preferably overcast, if possible.”

Lucy sat quietly in the corner of the ready room watching the bantering, questioning and planning go back and forth. As the newest member of this august group, she watched the interplay between the various personalities but held her tongue. She specifically noted the way Kitty stood beside Simon, lending her support both visually and vocally. The two played off of each other almost as if it was rehearsed. Then she realized that it was. This scene had been planned two months before, at least in a general way.

She wondered at her role and realized as well that it didn’t really matter. The answers had already been figured out and courses of action plotted. All else was just window-dressing.

Lucy was jerked out of her reverie by Simon’s question. She didn’t register it at first, so lost was she in trying to figure out what was next. But since it had been addressed to the room in general, her lapse wasn’t noticed.

“Why me?” Simon asked, complaining again that he wasn’t the best person for the job. “Why should it be me who runs this show? There are any number of people who are better at organizing a group as disparate as this outfit is. There’s one example right there! Two years ago, I would never have used the word ‘disparate’ in a sentence. What qualifies me to sit at the top of the heap, handing out edicts from on high?”

Lucy was amazed to hear the question. She started to answer, but Kitty spoke up first. “Because you’re right,” she said. “Everyone agrees that the Galileo can’t be given directly to Earth. Doling out the technology is the only safe way to see that the people benefit before the governments and militaries do this time.”

Gayle said, “The crucial test is whether our way costs fewer lives to accomplish.”

“Is that lives lost or lives destroyed?” Stephen asked. “The technologies we’re able to introduce will put so many industries out of business. Of course, it will also create more, but some of those displaced people won’t be able to acclimate to the new reality. No matter what we do, we’re bound to hurt somebody.”

Lucy surprised the whole room, herself included, when she spoke up. “Are you kidding?” She let the front legs of her chair bang onto the deck and continued on to her feet. “You’re the captain, and you,” she said, turning to Kitty, “are Captain Kitty.” She looked at Stephen and Gayle, including them in her next words. “You four are the Firsters. That’s with a capital ‘f,’ in case you didn’t hear it. You found the Galileo and figured out how to run her.”

She turned her attention back to Simon. “Why you? Because you had a vision. The kind of vision people can get behind. The kind of vision that can transform a world, Simon. And all those people out there? They’re behind you one hundred percent. Why? Because you let them come along on the journey. You allowed all of us to be a part of what you’re building out here. There are nights,” she heard herself saying, “when we don’t sleep. We talk instead. And we can see the future, too. Why do you think we’re all still here? Especially after what happened with Orion.”

Stunned by her own temerity, Lucy sank back into her chair. “There’s just something about you two that makes people trust you.” She was silent for a few seconds, then scrunched down in her chair and added, “And the people you pick to be in charge. And God help me, I’m one of them now.” she muttered quietly.

Simon looked at Kitty after Lucy’s outburst and then at the rest of the room. “Who says I’m right? And even if I am, why can’t someone else be just as right and sit here instead of me? There’s an entire government down there that says I’m wrong and is trying to take it all away from us. And until they got caught at it, they were fucking with our families—still are with Kitty and me and a few others. Do they know more than I—than we—do?”

“We have the strength and power to do whatever we want,” Stephen said almost apologetically. “As long as we don’t abuse that power, we have the right to choose for ourselves how we deal with this situation. No one down there is any better equipped to deal with this than we are. You’ve drilled that into all of us from the very first day.”

Marsha snorted. “Give me two hours with a history book and I’ll give you at least six examples in recorded history of larger, less technological societies absorbing smaller, better equipped ones. Of course, I can name a few where the reverse is true, too. Just proves that history is a crap shoot.” She smiled slightly. “Now that I’ve got everyone’s attention, which I didn’t want, by the way, I have to say that I agree with Lucy. And to put a word on it, you’ve become a legend, the four of you. There’s a mystique that follows you around, and it makes people listen to you and concern themselves with your ideas and opinions.”

Lucy, finding strength from Marsha’s support, said, “Look at where you have us, and what we’ve accomplished because of you. Most of us are sci-fi freaks, and you’ve given us outer space. I remember you talking about a dream of an independent group, a nation, existing not on the Earth but above it. Others heard it as well. Eventually you quit talking about it. We thought you quit talking about it because your dream was on track. Hell, after all this time, it has become a vision—if not of yours then for the rest of us. And the women share the vision as much as the men. They see half of the First Four being female. Besides, aren’t we calling ourselves the Terran Alliance now, anyway?”

Kitty sat beside Simon in shock. Her contact with his body told her that he was in at least the same condition. The words of the two younger women didn’t threaten her sanity as much as shake it for a minute or two. To think that she had a mystique! More to the point, she realized that they were right. Multiple confrontations, associations, and interactions raced through her mind, and she saw how the crew acted differently toward both her and Simon, as well as Gayle and Stephen.

She hadn’t had time to go into some of the deeper ramifications before Simon stood up, breaking her train of thought. The expression on his face was one she could only think of as distasteful. His words, when he finally spoke, were quiet enough that some had to strain to hear them.

“All I ever wanted from the first day we came aboard was to be a ship’s captain, not ‘The Captain.’ Remember, I’m a sci-fi freak, too. I want to go where no man has gone before first, damn it! I need to think.” He looked around the room, bent down, kissed Kitty on the forehead, and said, “Someplace where nobody is sitting around waiting for an answer.”

“Damn, I’m glad I don’t have to make his decisions,” Victor said, concern and relief evident in his voice.

Simon automatically made his way to the observation bubble, that unique blister on the outer skin of the ship. A favorite place for crewmembers to visit, Simon was surprised to find it empty. He walked over to one of the walls and stared out at the stars. The Galileo’s speed, such as it was sitting next to Libra in the asteroid belt, meant that the perspective didn’t change much from minute to minute, and hardly at all even from hour to hour.

Simon looked through the transparent metal of the bubble wall. “What a contradiction in terms,” he thought. “Transparent and metal, too.” He looked to the left and saw the Heinlein and then to the right and got a view of the McCaffrey riding shotgun. The bulk of Libra was out of sight beneath the body of the huge factory ship, although a portion of a construction spar was visible below the McCaffrey, pod jockeys carefully moving another beam into position. Nobody knew why every ship in the database that was battle-cruiser-size and larger had one of these bubbles built into the plans, but it was one of the things the engineers had decided not to change when they began to redesign the ships for human convenience.

Simon had never been a deeply religious person. His view was that though he felt that the human race was more than just a cosmic accident, no caring God would let some of the things that had happened happen, free will be damned. But standing here, looking out at the vista that drew visitors like a Mamba drew pilot hopefuls, he experienced something more than a vague feeling of something greater. Not a conversion, exactly, but a willingness to believe.

Simon was peripherally aware of others coming into the bubble, much as he was aware of the faint vibration bleeding up through the deck plates into his legs. Most visitors tended not to stay long when they saw the captain, hands clasped behind his back, staring out at the infinite dark and obviously lost in thought.

In actuality, though, Simon wasn’t really thinking. All his thoughts on the subject had already been thought and all the arguments made, both pro and con. Now he waited. He waited for his subconscious to reveal the decision. After a time, he no longer saw the stars outside the bubble, nor did he see the other ships, running lights ablaze, parked on either side. His mind began to lay out the possibilities, much as a chess player laid out the game many moves ahead.

Simon’s mental state was not one that lent itself to straight-line thinking. It was more closely akin to something Native Americans produced intentionally, and it had been brought on by a combination of factors that would not normally exist simultaneously in his life. Worry over family had been lurking in a deep, dark part of Simon’s mind for months, pushed there by the rationalization that the government wouldn’t really do anything to hurt them to get his cooperation. This was heaped on top of stress, which was heaped on top of exhaustion, with a bit of hunger thrown in for good measure. Now, though, he opened his mind to all potential outcomes.

He wandered through the possible futures, the patterns forming and reforming, the scenarios playing themselves out, sometimes logically and sometimes not. His mind sifted through the various scenarios, evaluating, discarding, searching for a way through the clutter of possibilities that would lead to the outcome he and a lot of others felt was best for the human race. The feeling of not being alone pulsed up through the floor with the ship’s vibration, helping to crystallize his decisions.

The visions ended, and Simon finally stirred from the position he’d held for so long, feeling the ache in his knees and back. Decisions and goals finally accepted, Simon stretched the kinks out of his muscles, and with a determination that hadn’t been in his step when he’d walked into the room, he headed off to find something to fill the void in his midsection.

Kitty sat in bed and looked at Simon over the mangled remains of the snack tray he’d brought in at three a.m. She shook her head slowly, red hair swaying almost hypnotically. “No apologies, dear. You had to travel your own road to reach the same destination. I have faith in you, and so does everyone else. You just needed to learn to trust yourself.”

Simon pushed a piece of cantaloupe across the plate to Kitty and then speared the last piece of watermelon for himself. “You’ve known for a long time, haven’t you?” he asked. “That you were committed to this vision Lucy and Marsha are babbling about.”

“Ever since Orion,” she admitted, nodding. She stuck her tongue out as Simon bit into the watermelon, taking the last piece of fruit from the plate. “At least consciously. On the other hand, I think my subconscious may have been a little behind my conscious, you know?” She smiled slightly, unconsciously rubbing the numb spot on her right hand, the final physical reminder of her own recent digression from reality.

“There’s just one more question to be answered,” Simon noted.

“And that is?”

“My decision. Is it fate, destiny, or just colossal arrogance?”

CHAPTER THIRTY

Those same two months before Libra’s completion also saw design changes to the newer ships that moved medical services to various places throughout the ships rather than consolidating them in one place. There would also be wider corridors, and generally speaking, a more user-friendly design.

It was also during this time that Dr. Penn signed off on Kitty’s complete recovery, and she began to fly Mambas again. She always had her particular craft either serviced or signed off by the head of Flight Services, who’d been trained by Chief Anson Hargrove.

This was the time, as well, to formulate plans for the meeting between Simon and the vice-president. The Alliance’s technological advantages were now evident, and most were available as trade goods. At this point, it was only left for the governments of Earth to formally reveal the existence of the Alliance and supply the bases Simon needed for open recruitment. Negotiations for technology rights could then begin after the rest of the hostages were released. Trying to decide what to say to the man, anticipating possible questions or comments from the opposing side, and wondering who—more importantly than any of the above—was going to be involved in the planning and negotiations, was a nightmare from the word go.

One of Kitty’s contributions was to get a complete roster of all personnel actually in space at the moment. She was finding out what they knew, what they’d studied, what their hobbies were, and anything else that might shed some light on who they could go to for this most delicate of proceedings. Up until this point, anyone who wanted to volunteer had only needed to be at a collection point and they were beamed aboard, trained, and moved to a more permanent station. Now, however, finding out who each and every one of those people were and what each one knew had become a priority.

Her thought had been that with as many college-age people aboard the ships and stations as there were, surely some of them had been studying something that would be of some use to them. Sure enough, three political science majors were working aboard Orion and Gemini. Simon sent Marsha Kane in the Heinlein to pick them up and trade personnel so neither station would be shorted.

As this project worked its way towards completion, Dr. Penn used the radio and the Collier/Brandt connection to try and find a replacement. He also wanted to see if he could recruit volunteers from the medical community for their basic medical teams, as well as for the slowly expanding Alliance Fleet.

Using Stephen to plan most of the details and getting Victor involved in the production planning, Simon got a blueprint for a planet-side base started. What he was looking for was something eye-catching and futuristic since it would be one of the most televised structures on Earth for a while. At the same time, he needed it to perform the functions of recruiting center, headquarters, living areas, and embassy. Simon agreed that it would be a good idea for the Alliance to build their own structure in order to show their expertise, not to mention the fact that there were some aboard who remembered stories about the fiasco of allowing the Russians to build the American embassy in Moscow. It had been so riddled with surveillance devices that it’d had to be torn down and rebuilt from the ground up. Another consideration was the fact that their materials would be proof against anything on Earth other than a nuclear bomb, and the new shield technology could cover even that eventuality.

Simon had originally favored having the first base constructed in the United States, since that was his home country and that of most of the folks crewing the various ships and bases, and he brought this up at one of the first sessions. But after discussion with his new planning staff, it was deemed best to place the first base somewhere in Europe—most likely Switzerland, if possible, as that country had such a long tradition of strict neutrality.

Another topic that got a lot of attention was the requirement that anyone who wanted to could come to any one of the bases and apply. How the various countries worked that one out was going to be something to see, that was for sure, since so many applicants were going to be from places outside the host countries. Another thing to be put forth was that only four things would prevent anyone from volunteering—a physical inability to perform, having a record, intolerance of others, and not being able to speak English. No one thought this last requirement was troubling since English was the most widely spoken language on the planet for business purposes and had been for years. And the press would have a field day with the fact that race, religion, gender, country of origin, and adherence to a particular governmental system wasn’t going to be a consideration.

“So,” Simon commented, “we’ve chosen a location, assuming those on Earth will agree to it, and we’ve set a platform of who we’ll accept as volunteers, which is virtually anybody. We do need to keep in mind that from the very first applicants, any or all of them could be spies or plants looking to steal the technology we don’t want to release. I’d still prefer to accept volunteers from outside the official channels—that is, from the friends, family and associates of our current volunteers. These will provide a continuing group of people we can be relatively certain we can trust.”

Ken Baker, a former construction coordinator on the Gemini, asked, “How will we keep people out of sensitive areas, Captain? They’ll have to be placed in positions all over the ships and stations. What’s to keep them from sneaking in and, say, photographing some installation or other?”

Kitty decided it was time to let out one of the secrets of the wristbands.

“The wristbands you’re all wearing can be programmed to either sound an alarm on the command deck or shock the wearer mildly. The shocks get stronger if an attempt is repeated or if someone keeps getting too close to a proscribed area or thing.”

She went on to relate a little about the incident with Agent Daniels’ wristband the day he tried to get close to a Mamba. “Of course, that function isn’t to be bandied about. We may want to see if someone will try to get into a restricted area. We can set their wristband not to shock them and just alert Command. Easier to catch them in the act, so to speak. And pictures of things aren’t going to help much without the specs and the factories to produce them.”

Simon took the conversation back up. “What I envision is that after we finish number four, which will be named Taurus, by the way, the Galileo will be put into a permanent Earth orbit. That way, she can use her transporter to bring up volunteers for transfer to other ships or bases.”

Sylvia Parker—poly-sci major, former pod jockey, and current adviser to the command staff—interrupted. “Captain, why not just build a space station in Earth orbit? They’re doing that right now—that ISS, they call it, the International Space Station. It will only house ten or twelve people, at best, and requires constant maintenance and resupply. We can build a bigger, better one and do it faster and cheaper. Not only that, but it would have gravity, and if built big enough, it could have its own transporter. Give it some form of propulsion, and it could move to whichever base needed to upload volunteers or download returnees. And it would have the advantage of leaving the Galileo not tied down to a purely static function. That just seems so wasteful.”

After several months of meetings while Libra Base was being completed, the subjects began to get rehashed and rethought to the point that it seemed that every eventuality had been explored and planned for. Simon decided that nothing more could be gained at the time from further meetings, so he called a halt to them.

“I’d like you to stay aboard, though. Sooner or later, we’ll need to get back into this once I’ve gotten the first responses from the vice-president and his advisers. He’s going to want to get all he can for a little bit of land and freedom for our people, but I won’t work with this family thing over my head. I don’t want to give away too much at one time; we need to keep something in reserve. So, for now, people, I want to thank you for all your input. Feel free to come see me if anything occurs to you. Beyond that, we’ll see about finding you something to do on board to keep you busy. Yes, I’m afraid you’ll have to go back to work, but once we get back to Earth and start negotiations, I’m sure we’ll reactivate this committee.”

And so, Libra approached completion. The third daughter of the immense Galileo was about to begin her own journey.

Simon and Kitty found themselves alone in the observation bubble. Most people found reason to be elsewhere when the Captains Hawke showed up, knowing the fondness they had for the bubble and the paucity of time they had to spend enjoying each other’s company, which was one reason their visits of late had been rather infrequent. It seemed that everyone was doing a dance to see that no one overstepped the bounds of propriety by monopolizing that popular spot.

This night, though, would be a little different. Since Libra’s Sundiver had returned, her powered sections were ablaze. Normal construction techniques saw to it that a power core was fired up as soon as possible, so most off-vessel construction didn’t require the Galileo to provide power to anything but her own massive onboard factory complex.

Simon and Kitty stared out at the vast, nearly completed base and watched the pod jockeys installing the final beams around the construction cage. The personnel staying behind had already been chosen and moved to the habitat section, lessening the crowding considerably. And first thing tomorrow, the Galileo would head back to Earth and the next chapter in human history.

Kitty and Simon sat together on a bench that had been constructed around three-quarters of the inside of the observation dome. Kitty leaned into Simon’s side, at ease with the familiar weight of his arm around her shoulders. She gazed out into the darkness and watched the lights of Libra and the few remaining construction pods that were still moving about.

“You know,” she said, “this is a real strange position to be in for bringing this up, but you should know about it if you don’t already.” She felt Simon stiffen a little, so she patted him on the leg and said, “Relax, lover. It’s nothing bad. Just odd. I heard something strange a few days ago, and I went down to check it out. You won’t believe what I found. You’ll have to go see for yourself.”

“And who or what are we talking about?” Simon asked, turning away from the infinite vista to look down into the face of the woman who’d never steered him wrong in all the years he’d known her.

“Our good friend, Agent Daniels,” was the reply.

“Let me guess—planning a mutiny?”

“No, dear. I said you wouldn’t believe it, and that would be all too easy to believe. What he’s actually doing… I believe the man has finished all of his interviews because as far as I can tell, he hasn’t conducted one single interview since talking to Marsha, Lucy, and me after our battle.” Simon started to pull away, but Kitty wouldn’t let him. She already had both arms around his waist and just held tighter.

“You… he… when you were still… That man is about to get his ass so kicked!”

Kitty spun on the bench to face her husband and placed a hand on his chest. “Simmer down, darling. First thing he did was come to our quarters three days after I got back and was allowed visitors.”

“Well, yeah, I knew he’d been there.”

“Of course you knew he was there. Rukia told you about it. That was the job you gave her.”

Simon pulled away from her, adding a bit of distance for safety’s sake. “You knew about that?”

Kitty bestowed a withering look on her not-so-sly mate. “How long have we been married? Of course I knew about it. I suspected it from the beginning. You’ve always been protective. And now that we’re here, you have to be in three places at once, and you have to get someone else to be there in your place. Well, the mistake you made was an obvious one. You assigned a woman to me. We bond easier than men do, dear, so my suspicions were confirmed very shortly. We told you what you needed to know and no more.

“Anyway, back to Agent Daniels. All he did at that time was to request an interview when I felt up to it. So stay off his case about that. He asked nicely, so when I was able, I gave him his interview.

“But what’s been going on is amazing. You know he went down to report to his superiors when we were last at Earth. When he came back up, we made sure he didn’t bring any contraband with him. We’ve allowed him to have a recording device, and he’s used it for his interviews. He’s also had the use of a video camera, as long as he stayed away from sensitive areas. The thing is, when we had his bags checked, we didn’t pay attention to the other things he brought aboard. No one said a damn thing about him bringing reading material. And he did.”

Confusion played across Simon’s face. “Reading material? Are we dealing with a pervert? Why would you think reading material worth bringing to my attention? Am I going to have to get involved after all?”

“No, dear,” Kitty said with a sigh. “The type of reading material he brought aboard—well, he’s opened a school. He’s teaching some of our people down on the lower decks how to read. We’ve surrounded ourselves with the cream of the crop up here, so to speak, and haven’t had time to get to know the rest of our people very well. Some of those surveys we requested are what got my interest started. We have another ship ready to be crewed now, Libra about ready to be commissioned, and two more ships slated to be finished within weeks of Libra’s completion. We’re about to almost double our personnel, and we don’t know the people we have right now.

“I talked to one of the agent’s roommates, a Crewman McNalley. I’m pretty sure that’s where Daniels got the idea. I don’t know if you remember McNalley, but he came aboard with Chief Hargrove in that group of construction workers Marsha helped recruit at the beginning. Did you know Hargrove’s her uncle? That’s not for public consumption, Simon. For some reason, they don’t want their relationship to be common knowledge. I think Chief Hargrove doesn’t want to appear to be using Marsha to get ahead. Why he’d think that is beyond me. The man’s a genius in his own right.”

Simon shook his head. “I really don’t know McNalley all that well. We met a time or two, I think.”

“And there is no real reason you should. He’s a quiet man, and the best pod jockey we have. He’s a smart man, but he’s from a place where book smarts don’t go much past the seventh grade, if that far. He’s older than the average, too—a bit older than us. Hell, Marsha and Lucy are both twenty-four years old and commanding ships. And he gets embarrassed about how he speaks whenever he’s around our younger, college-trained people. They make him feel inferior. Apparently this got to Daniels, and when he went down to report to his bosses, he came back with a copy of Hooked on Phonics and began to teach McNalley. It got around to some of McNalley’s friends, and for the last three months, Daniels has almost exclusively been teaching school to those men. Haven’t you noticed his absence?”

“As long as the computer’s proximity alarms didn’t go off, I didn’t care what he did. No love lost there, hon,” Simon admitted.

Kitty went on. “Well, I went on a rambling inspection tour a few days ago, and I found him holding a class on deck seven in one of the crew rec rooms. With a slate and chalk, for God’s sake. Where he got those, I’m not sure, but I think he has an ‘in’ with some of the manufacturing crew. And he’s teaching our people to read, write and speak better. He’s even teaching them grammar! I was totally stunned by what I saw. And trust me, it’s not something he set up overnight. The crewmen I’ve spoken to are pretty adamant about that. He had to be cajoled into it, but once he started, it seems to have snowballed. And this has apparently been going on for six months, off and on, and almost full time for the last three months.

Simon gazed out onto the night. “Maybe I misread the man. How was I to know? He hounded us, stole our stuff, and made a general nuisance of himself, so I put him right under our noses where he couldn’t hurt us.” Simon shook his head. “And he still surprised me.”

Kitty slid back beside him. “I think you should have a talk with him. You two are a lot alike, you know, and I mean more than exterior plumbing. He was in the Air Force, too. Did you know he served in Vietnam? And he’s a prideful, stubborn man, just like you. Don’t look at me like that—you are, and you know it. Anyway, I think he’s really a nice person. The fact that he’s an FBI agent who got on the wrong side of us is no reason not to make an effort. Go talk to him, dear. Please. For me.”

“Well,” Simon said sullenly, “will you be satisfied if I say I’ll think about it?”

Kitty snuggled back into the crook of her man’s arm. “Yes, I’ll be satisfied if you say it again without that growl in your voice and make me believe you mean it.”

Kitty felt the muscles in Simon’s back relax and he said, “Okay. You’re right. I’ll have a talk with him—a civil talk. Are you happy now?”

“Yes, dear. Let’s go to our quarters and leave the dome to someone else.”

The commissioning ceremony for Libra was becoming a standard thing for Simon, as well as quite a few of the crew of the Galileo, but it definitely wasn’t for the crew who’d built it. By this time, many of the permanent crew of the Galileo had been aboard for over a year and a half, but Libra personnel had only been out there for a little over six months. For them, the novelty hadn’t really worn off yet, and they were soon to make Libra their home, as well as their workplace. With this in mind, Simon went to great pains to sound sincere and make the ceremony as upbeat as possible. The last thing he wanted was for people to get the idea that they weren’t doing great things, and that was all too possible when great things became a part of everyday life.

As he stood on the Galileo’s project deck and stared out at the upturned faces, Kitty’s words came back to haunt him. He didn’t know most of those faces, and quite a few of them were older than the average, as she’d said. His gaze slid over the crowd, and he wondered for a moment which one was McNalley.

Giving himself a mental shake, he started to speak. He praised the dedication of the individuals who were already moved into quarters on the station they’d built. He praised the ability and perseverance of the pod jockeys, shuttle crews, and factory teams. And he extolled the virtues of the lives they were all about to embark on. As he spoke of the future he foresaw, Simon told them of the heights to which humans could aspire and painted a picture of those in the audience as the forerunners of that future. He reminded them of the folly, too, of thinking that just because they were first that meant they were better.

“It’s like being a gunfighter in the Old West,” he said, shaking a finger back and forth. “There’s always somebody faster than you out there. What we do today and tomorrow will be ho-hum to those who follow even twenty years from now. Don’t let that stop you from striving, though. Those who follow won’t be able to outdo us without the groundwork we’re laying. They wouldn’t have anywhere to start if we hadn’t built it for them.”

He looked out through the shimmering veil of the force field at the station beyond. “It seems to have become a tradition in even this short amount of time for a Commissioning Day ceremony to be followed by a party. Far be it from me to hold up tradition any more than I have to. Ladies and gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure to officially name our third base Libra Base, and name as the Base Commander, Commander Victor McCord.”

Following the program that had become a tradition, Victor walked up onto the dais from one side, and, in a slight departure, Kitty from the other. The two reached Simon together and Simon turned to Kitty, opened the black velvet case she carried, and one at a time, pinned the twin, wreath-encircled gold stars of a Base Commander on Victor’s lapels. Turning to the crowd, he announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, Base Commander Victor McCord.”

Once the cheering died down, he said, “Commander McCord, it is now my duty to relinquish command of Libra Base. Do you accept command?” At Victor’s acknowledgment, he pulled the dedication plaque from its hiding place and handed it to Victor, saying, as he had four times now, “Hang it in your reception area, Commander, and good luck.” It read:

LIBRA BASE

COMMISSIONED 6 NOVEMBER 2013

BASE COMMANDER VICTOR McCORD, COMMANDING

Turning back to the crowd below, he said, “Now, with the exception of the crew that must remain on duty, it’s time to party!” Cheers resounded throughout the bay until Simon held up his hand. “One of these days I’ll figure out whether those cheers are for the end of the speech or the start of the party. Those of you who have duty in the morning or next shift, hangovers are okay, but make sure you’re able to do your jobs. Food processors on all decks have been unlocked to provide beer! Dismissed!”

Simon found Kitty and Stephen waiting at the foot of the dais. “Just like old times, huh?” he asked, thinking about the other two bases they’d commissioned in the past year and a half.

“That’s true,” Stephen answered, “especially when you consider ‘old times’ to have been just two years ago. And I heard you mention a party. I came from Communications just before the ceremony, and both the Heinlein and the McCaffrey are on their way in. Lucy and Marsha wanted to be here, but it didn’t work out. Actually, the McCaffrey will arrive first by about an hour, according to scan”

The three officers walked toward the lift to deck three.

Kitty gibed, “I’m betting you can hardly wait for the Heinlein to dock so you can see Gayle again, huh?”

Stephen stammered, “G-Gayle? Um, well, uh, yeah.” He seemed to get flustered every time her name was mentioned. “I, uh, we were, uh ...”

Simon began laughing so hard that he had to hold onto the wall of the lift to stay on his feet.

Kitty slapped him on the shoulder and said, “Don’t be such an insensitive clod, you, you, man, you.” Turning back to Stephen, she said, “Okay, look. We know that you were just ‘uh.’ Everybody knows that you were just ‘uh.’ We’ve known forever. Actually, Stephen, there’s been a pool going for I don’t know how long now.”

“A pool? What kind of pool?” Alarm was evident in his voice even as the question squeaked past bloodless lips.

Kitty grinned. “Why, when you two are going to get married, of course.”

The blood drained from the rest of Stephen’s face and his eyes went wide in shock. “Married? Us? I don’t know what to say.” He staggered back until his shoulders touched the wall of the lift.

Kitty stepped up beside him and put an arm around his waist. “Of course you don’t know, dear. The man is always the last to know.” With her free arm she elbowed Simon. “Get on the other side and help me hold him up. We’ll get him to the Officers’ Mess, prop him up in a chair, and leave him there until Gayle can get here to collect him.”

Parties proceeded as parties do. And in the Officers’ Mess, the table that had been set up for the senior officers held Simon, Kitty, Victor, and Stephen, who, after his third drink was heard talking to himself with only the occasional decipherable word, such as “married?” and “me?”

Trying to ignore the stricken Stephen, Simon turned the talk to other things. “I’ll tell you right now, people,” he said to the group gathered at the captain’s table, “number four, Taurus Base, will take longer to build than any of the first three. She’s going to be able to build the really big ships—destroyers, large freighters, and another Galileo. We’ve already got the plans laid out. Victor said it would take the best part of a year, not counting the power plant and the Sundiver.”

Kitty spoke up. “I thought this was supposed to be a party. How about less shop talk and more beer?”

Simon’s commlink beeped, and he turned away from the table for a moment. When he turned back, he said, “The McCaffrey just docked. Lucy will be along shortly. And scan has the Heinlein about an hour out.”

The two of them looked over at Stephen, and Kitty said, “Well, we better cut him off or Gayle will kick both our butts.”

Simon, feeling the effects of more than one drink himself, said, “She’s not gonna kick my butt, I guarantee you that. I outrank her.”

Kitty looked up at Simon and replied, “You’ll think ‘outrank’ if she gets here and finds him too far gone for her to get anything intelligent out of him. Don’t forget, she’s a martial arts champion.”

Lucy Grimes, accompanied by the Greenes, arrived in time to ask, “Are we talking about Commander Miller? If we are, I’m in complete agreement with Captain Kitty. She looked around, raised her arm and her voice, and called, “Orderly. Two pots of coffee for the captain’s table, please.” Gesturing for the Greenes to join her, she sat down facing Kitty and Simon. Looking at Kitty she asked, “How are you doing these days?”

“Fit as a fiddle,” Kitty replied. “I got a clean bill of health a week ago. Would you care for a game of Z-Tag to prove it?”

Lucy held up both hands. “Oh, no. I’ll take your word for it. Besides, we don’t have the facilities on the McCaffrey to keep in practice. To Simon she said, “Our scans showed the Heinlein about an hour behind us, so Marsha should be along shortly. And I’m sure Gayle will be with her. Just how is it that Stephen has gotten himself into such a state when he had to know Gayle was getting in?”

Simon looked at the young captain and said, “Someone let the cat out of the bag about the pool.”

‘Chiko spoke up for the first time. “No wonder he’s half tanked! Who blabbed?”

Kitty confessed. “I did. The poor man’s been hanging long enough. And if he hadn’t found out, things would have stayed the same until hell froze over.”

‘Chiko looked first at her husband, then at the rest of the group, and said, “Commander Miller won’t like this.” To Kitty she said, “Captain, this isn’t wise.”

“Gayle Miller has been my best friend for well over thirty years. I feel relatively certain that I’ll come out of this alive and in one piece. Besides, someone had to move the process along. She wasn’t going to say anything, and he,” she said, gesturing at the gibbering subject of their discussion, “certainly had no idea. Besides, this is just the push the two of them need. They’re likely to be married by the time we leave Earth next.”

“And which dates did you have in the pool, Captain?” Robert Greene innocently asked Kitty.

Kitty pulled herself up to her full height, and in her haughtiest voice, announced, “I never bet a nickel on a date. Please check the pool if you don’t believe me. So I get nothing out of them getting married on any specific date.” An evil grin passed over her face, and she added, “Except for singing.” At this point, she performed a small gyration in her chair, her two fists held together, making small circles in front of her chest as she sang, “Another one bites the dust, another one bites the dust, uh-huh!”

Everyone at the table went into fits of laughter, except, of course, Stephen.

Two pots of coffee and two unassisted trips to the bathroom later, Stephen’s world seemed quite a bit more stable, the thought of marriage notwithstanding. So Kitty wasn’t too worried when Gayle walked into the room behind Marsha. The two newest arrivals found places to sit at the now crowded captain’s table, Gayle in a seat that magically appeared next to Stephen. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him until some joker called out, “Get a room!”

She leaned back in her chair and licked her lips. “Hmm. Beer, for sure, and you got a rum and coke from somewhere. Able to navigate on your own, lover?”

Stephen, full of pride of self after two successful trips to the bathroom, replied, “I’ll have you know I’m perfectly sober.”

Gayle, in true form, couldn’t resist. “Of all the things you’re perfect at, being sober isn’t one of them at the moment.”

Stephen’s blush was seen to go past his collar, but it didn’t stop him from asking, “What do you know about a marriage pool? That seems to be the major topic of discussion this past hour.” In a wounded voice, he said, “And they’re talking about me like I’m not here.”

Gayle got a guarded look on her face. “Well, I do know about it. It always seemed like more of a joke to me than anything else.”

Seeing a chance to get her on the defensive, Stephen asked, “You think a marriage between us is a joke? Am I that bad a catch?” In a louder voice, he asked, “Is there anyone who wants a slightly used astronomer?”

The same joker who’d spoken earlier said, “Slightly is the wrong word to use, but I’ll take ya!”

Gayle looked around quickly, unable to identify the culprit. “Why don’t you come with me, Stephen? It seems that we have some things to discuss.” She glared at all the innocent faces at the table. “I have an idea who’s responsible for this, and I’ll get you back, Simon.”

Simon choked on his beer as Gayle towed Stephen behind her out of the room. “Why me?” he wailed. “I’m innocent.”

Kitty laughed. “That is the absolute last word I would use to describe you, husband-mine, even knowing it was my fault. I’m sure you’ve done something this will even the scales for.”

As Stephen was towed out the door, the unknown joker couldn’t resist one more shot. “If he isn’t perfect, send him back. We’ll show him how to get the job done!”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

The morning the Galileo was due to depart Libra space, Simon called all of his officers together. “This is the last time we’ll be together for a while. I want to thank each of you for your assistance and understanding. I particularly want to thank you, Victor, for sticking it out here.”

He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “There are a couple of things that need to be attended to before we move out, so long as I have some high-powered witnesses present. It’s been brought to my attention that we, I, need to get a couple of things straight. So, with no further ado, let’s get this done.”

Gayle stepped forward, holding the now-familiar black velvet box. “First, I am officially creating a new staff position—Wing Commander. The job is going to entail keeping track of Mamba production and the training of pilots, initially. I can have anything tacked on later that I see fit. Captain Hawke, step forward.”

Kitty stepped up in front of Simon, and he removed her old insignia and pinned on her new ones, showing them to her first. The usual silver comet was central to the design, encircled by a pair of golden wings. “You are authorized to commandeer whomever you need for your office and staff,” he said, grinning. “You can thank me later.” He stepped back a pace and saluted her.

He looked at the assembled officers. “Next, to formalize a promotion I’ve already made, Marsha has already been promoted to the Heinlein’s . I’ll see to it that you get a proper plaque for your reception room, Marsha. And see me later. We need to talk.”

Galileo left Libra Base behind. Ahead of them lay another base to be built—an even more extensive base capable of building big ships. Its location was already known. A sizable cluster of asteroids had been found that would provide the materials to keep it in operation for decades, possibly longer. Taurus Base was going to take close to a year to build, but first came several trips to Earth. One ship was already finished, and two others would be ready soon enough that starting Taurus wasn’t wise until they were crewed as well. That would put five ships in space, not counting the Galileo, and all the Mambas that went with them.

These ships would be cruising throughout the system, patrolling, cataloging the bits and pieces, getting more definitive data on planets and moons, and training their crews. And watching.

Kitty, who as yet had no staff or specific duties, spent as much time with Simon as possible. Attempting to work out a table of organization for her training squadrons had to be balanced with helping Simon prepare for his meeting. There was only a week left before the Galileo moved back into Earth orbit, so she was working hard to keep his mind off the hazards he was going to have to face personally.

She knew that the upcoming negotiations were going to be not only hectic but draining as well. And knowing Simon as she did, Kitty was sure he planned to handle a large part of the negotiations himself. And she knew that after going after that bogey with Lucy, she wouldn’t have a leg to stand on if she tried to get him to stay on board. So she bit her tongue, kept her peace, and spent as much time with him as she could.

The Galileo, with her escort alongside, finally slid into orbit around Earth, and Simon heaved a sigh. “Once more into the breech,” he misquoted. Who, exactly, he was quoting, he wasn’t sure, but it seemed appropriate. The two looked down on Earth from the relative privacy of the observation bubble. “This will be the most important one yet—crewing another ship and meeting with Vice-President Reese. Damn, but life is getting complicated.”

He turned to Kitty and asked, “Do you ever wish for the days when we were stuck on Earth? I realize we’ve only been out here for two years or so, now, but it seems like forever. There are things I miss, and I guess there are for you, too.”

Kitty looked up at the man she’d shared almost seventeen years with. “Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet, man-o-mine. We’re way too deep into this to back out, now.”

“I wouldn’t call it cold feet, hon. But I do miss things. Would you believe it’s the little things, like sunsets, snowstorms, and moonlit walks? Remember that sleighride on our third anniversary or the trip to Old Faithful on our ninth?” He sat there, silent for a while. “We never had many friends, and we brought our best friends with us, so this wasn’t too hard to accept at first, but you used to like to shop and go for drives and camping and hunting. Those are things I miss, too. Except for the shopping part. Don’t you?” He waved an expansive hand. Hastily he went on, “I’m not saying give this up. Maybe I’m just being infected with vacation fever. It’s hitting quite a few of the crew. Or maybe I’m just worried about this meeting. Things are about to get pretty rarefied, and I’m not the most diplomatic person in the world.”

Kitty snorted. “First, I agree about your lack of diplomacy. Second, we aren’t in the world.” She hesitated, choosing her words. “At first, I was going to say we were above the world, but I don’t want to sound like I think we’re better than anyone down there. We’re outside the world. That, and this ship, gives us a unique perspective. We have a responsibility to our species to continue. We can’t give up now. I’m willing to sacrifice sunsets and shopping trips for all this.” She cuddled against Simon and smiled. “And we are together, you know. That makes a big difference to me.”

Simon grinned back. “It makes a difference to me, too. Okay. So, how do I handle people who’ve spent their lives manipulating people?”

Kitty sat up and straightened her uniform. “I do miss colors,” she said musingly. “Black never did do much for my figure.” Turning back to business and moving away from the bench toward the center of the bubble, she continued, “The best way to handle powerful people is to get them on the defensive, keep them there, and don’t ever bluff. I’ll bet Robert and ‘Chiko are already in Denver, and I’m hoping they come back with enough for us to get things rolling.” She stepped up to the semi-reflecting inner surface of the dome and inspected herself. “I guess pulling a jailbreak will be enough to let our Mr. Galway know we’re back. Things get sticky from there on in.”

Jailbreak it was going to be, and through an odd concatenation of events, it was a member of the very government that had kidnapped his family in the first place who provided the necessary information to accomplish their task.

Simon wasn’t pleased to find out that Collier Senior had effectively taken over control of the underground that had been forming while Libra was being built—at least, until he met the garrulous old man.

Old, ha! Simon thought. He’s not that much older than I am.

Collier Senior, mid-sixties, pot-bellied, grey-haired, and pony-tailed, wore wire-rimmed glasses and had a bald spot big enough to rent space on. He also had the sixty’s radical mistrust of all that was governmental, disregarding the fact that that same government allowed him to make the protests he did. Any number of other countries would like to see him someplace that light and heat never reached.

Simon and Kitty waited for the Greenes’ report on the situation Earth-side and then followed the couple back to the transporter room. The four beamed into the living room of Collier Senior, and Simon got his first look at the aging hippie. Clad in sweatpants and a tie-dyed t-shirt, the older man pulled himself out of his chair to welcome his visitors.

“Robert! I thought it would take you longer to get back,” he said, shaking the younger man’s hand. He then turned his attention to Simon and Kitty. “You must be the ones my boy talks about so damned much. James Collier,” he said sticking his hand out.

“Simon Hawke, and this is my wife, Katherine,” Simon answered, shaking the proffered hand. “Thanks for seeing us on such short notice.”

“Not a problem,” the older man said, holding the handshake a bit longer than customary. “Somebody’s got to keep the man from getting his fingers into all the pies. You’ve got a lot of balls, dude.”

“Just doing what feels right,” Simon demurred. “I seem to say this a lot, but if we gave it to the ‘man,’” Simon said, dipping into the slang Collier had used, “only the military would get any use out of the technology for-bloody-ever. The little guys like us would never get anything out of it in our lifetimes.”

“Still takes balls, though. Sit down. Something to drink? We have beer, tea, and some kind of pop. I’ll be having tea,” Collier said, patting his paunch. “Too much beer and this is where you wind up.”

“Tea is fine with me,” Simon said, looking at Kitty and the other couple questioningly as they all settled on the couch across from their host.

‘Chiko stood back up. “Mr. Collier, do you mind if I take care of that for you? I know where everything is.” She moved off into the kitchen without waiting for a reply.

“You got a good one there, Robert,” Collier said. “Make sure you don’t let her get away.” He turned to Simon. “I asked that you come down here because I have someone I want you to meet, and I don’t think I’m gonna let you folks scramble my atoms around like they do on television.”

“I know how you feel,” Simon said conspiratorially. “I haven’t let myself get on a commercial airplane for years, now. I don’t worry about terrorists as much as I do about the people who inspect and repair the damned things. They fall out of the sky with amazing regularity.”

“You won’t fly, and you’re willing to travel like that?” the elder Collier sputtered as he waved his hand in the general direction of where the foursome had materialized. “Dude, you have some serious priority issues!” The smile on his face took the sting out of his words.

“You said you had someone you thought I should meet?” Simon prompted as ‘Chiko passed around a tray with small teacups and a rather large pitcher on it.

Their host looked at his watch and said, “Jim left the same time Robert did. He only has to drive a couple of miles one way, but he’s taking a rather more devious route back. I’m not taking any chances on the man getting wise to our location. I’ve got a couple of people watching his back in case the dude isn’t playing square with us. Shouldn’t be much longer.”

“Sounds like you’re pretty organized,” Simon observed. “Also, if you don’t mind me saying it, a bit on the paranoid side, too.”

Collier took a sip of the tea and grimaced. “Don’t talk to me about paranoid. It’s your folks who are still in the hands of the man, dude. Tastes better with sugar,” he said after another sip, “but I can’t have it anymore. Takes a lot of the sparkle out of life. Pretty organized, yeah,” he said in answer to the question. He laughed lightly. “Seems like a real turnaround, though. In the old days, the group used to get people out of military service, and now you’re using it to recruit into a military organization. But I will say,” the man said, holding up a hand to forestall any response, “that this particular organization just might be worth it. If you don’t let go the way our forefathers did and keep a tight rein on things, you might have something worth fighting for.” His eyes shifted to a window behind his guests, and he said, “I believe my son is back. I see lights coming up the drive.”

“You never did say how you found this guy,” Simon observed.

“That’s the bad part,” Collier answered. “He found us. Or more to the point, he found Jim and David. Left word with them that he was the one who leaked word to the Parker girl and wanted to talk to you. Personally. If he can do it, so can others. So I’m taking precautions. Jim can’t be traced to me here since this place is in my wife’s name and she and I never officially did the thing, you know? We just never believed that a piece of paper made that much difference.”

Kitty’s arguments about the sanctity of marriage and the need for a formal commitment died on her lips as a younger version of Collier entered the room. He looked at the guests, particularly at Robert, and raised one eyebrow. Kitty watched the interplay and saw Robert nod slightly. The unspoken answer to the unspoken question was that the captain was willing to meet, and he could bring in his guest.

In his mid-to-late twenties, Jim Collier showed no trace of the beer belly he was genetically predisposed to. Tall and athletic, Collier the Younger stepped over and offered his hand. “Jim Collier, Captain. I didn’t get to meet you when Robert and ‘Chiko showed us around your ship. It’s a real pleasure. And I wish you’d reconsider taking small children aboard the Galileo. Think about it, okay?”

The younger man, possessed of an overabundance of energy, moved away from the introduction and quick appeal without waiting for a response, going to the door he’d entered by. “Captain Simon Hawke,” he said formally, waving an unseen figure forward, “I’d like you to meet Agent Jared Bench.”

The man who entered the room next did so as a cat might, taking in everything in one sweep of his eyes. Simon stood up when his name was mentioned, so the new man had no trouble discerning who was who in the room. “The infamous Captain Hawke, I presume?” he asked shaking hands perfunctorily.

“Infamous, is it?” Simon asked testily. “Is that how they teach you to think about people who won’t do what the ever-wise government tells them to?”

“Actually, we’re not even supposed to refer to you as captain. You’re just mister to us—those of us who follow the party line that is… Captain.”

“And why am I supposed to believe that you’re on some side other than the one that follows the party line?” Simon asked.

“Because,” the agent answered, “I don’t believe our government should round up people like we did a few months back. I don’t believe any American should be summarily arrested just because it serves somebody else’s purpose. We have laws about things like that, and that’s one of the things I thought I was standing up for when I took this job. Enemies, foreign and domestic, the oath says. I didn’t see any enemies in the people we rounded up. Just scared citizens.” Vindication made his voice ring.

“And you were part of it?” he asked coldly.

“Was then, still am,” was the subdued reply. “That’s how I know that some of your people are still being held. And where.” He looked at the elder Collier, directness in the blue eyes he trained on the older man. “I’m not proud of what happened, if that’s what you think. If I was, I wouldn’t be here now. But staying ‘loyal’ put me in a position to be able to pass this along.”

Simon looked the other man over appraisingly. “I’m told that you said you were the leak that got most of our people released. How did that work? I’d think that you’d be taking an awful chance with your bosses.”

“If they find out, hell yes!” The agent looked around the room. “I took some of the crucial data that came in and passed it along to a reporter I know. It was her call to make that satellite broadcast. Then, three days later, she went missing.” He clenched his hands in his lap. “That’s when I started going over the data myself. It just took time to sift through it all and come up with known associates of the missing people. Up came the names of David Brandt, James Collier, and four others. Statistically speaking, this group shouldn’t know as many of the missing as they appeared to. Your son wasn’t the first one I confronted, Mr. Collier,” Bench said, “but he was the first one to flinch. It wasn’t much of a leap to add David Brandt to the mix, seeing as how they were both friends of Robert and Michiko Greene, two of the missing. You people run a pretty tight ship.”

Collier Senior asked, “So what’s keeping others from following the same trail that led you to my son?”

The agent reached into an inner pocket of his suitcoat and pulled out a sheaf of papers. “Because these are the original documents. The agents who submitted them have no idea what they had, and I’m the only one to have seen them since they came in.” He laid them on a table beside the older Collier. “I have no idea what happened to them. I certainly never saw them. And there’s nothing left on the hard drive of the computer I used.”

“That’s all well and good,” Robert said suspiciously, “but why come to us? You contacted us. You want something. What is it?”

“Because I didn’t leak the location of the detainees to just any reporter,” Bench said. “Sarah Parker is my cousin. Who, by the way is missing, along with her cameraman.”

“Let me get this right,” Kitty interjected. “Your cousin is the Sarah Parker who broke the story of the detainees? And you got the information, how? So far, all we’ve had the pleasure of coming in contact with is the DIA and FBI.”

“Yes, ma’am, she is,” the agent confirmed. “And I believe she’s being held where your people are. They want to find out how she got word of such a secret operation. And your existence isn’t that much of a secret, anyway. It’s not something you can cover up that easily, and you haven’t been exactly discreet about what you’re doing.”

“And you’re worried she’ll spill her guts?” Robert asked acidly, looking for the hook.

“Sarah? Hell, no!” the agent responded proudly. “She can keep a secret. And that’s what’s going to keep her locked up until they get what they want out of her. Of course, if they go the sodium pentothal route, I’ll be toast before I even have a chance to react.”

“What do you want us to do, Agent?” Simon asked directly.

“I tell you where your people are, and you bring Sarah and Dwayne out with ‘em.” The agent looked around the packed room. “And I’m willing to stay here until you get ‘em out safely.”

Simon looked around the room, getting shrugs and blank stares, all telling him that the decision was his. “We’ve already got a plan to get them out, Agent. I don’t see a problem adding two more to the roster. All we need is the location and someone to tell them that the cavalry is on the way.”

“How are they housed and guarded?” Collier Senior asked.

“They’re in the same base they were in before, living in one of the barracks. There are about two hundred personnel on the base. Armed guards patrol at regular intervals. That’s what the main detachment is assigned to. The rest of the personnel are support—you know, clerks, cooks, engineers, and such.”

Simon looked the agent squarely in the eye. “So far, you’ve been skirting around treason, Agent Bench. It’s time to fish or cut bait. “How many people are in the actual guard detail?” This time his voice left no room to squirm.

“A full MP platoon from the 101st Airborne, sir,” the agent responded quickly. “Mostly equipped with riot gear, the officers and senior NCO’s are carrying nine millimeters. The ten-to-six shift is the least watched, one guard on each floor of the barracks changed every four hours.”

Collier Senior finally waved the agent to a chair and ‘Chiko offered him a cup of tea. He took a sip and grimaced. “Would be better with sugar. So what’s your plan?”

“The less you know, the less you can tell,” Simon said. “At the moment, we don’t believe the government knows we’re back. We’ve asked our people to keep it low-key for a bit this time, so the first clue they’re gonna get is about two days from now when we make our presence known, assuming you don’t give us away, that is. I’m going to take a chance and trust you. Your job is to get word to the hostages, Agent Bench. Tell them to be ready to go at two a.m. two nights from now. And tell them to try to act normal. Just be ready to cut and run. You, of course, will be nowhere around when we get there. Maybe you can be leading the assault on the diversionary force or something. That way, you won’t be compromised, and we’ll kinda sorta have someone on the inside.”

“Kinda sorta?” Bench mimicked. “Aren’t you the person calling the shots here?”

Simon nodded slowly. “I seem to have inherited the position, so to speak, but yes, I’m the one in charge. As for kinda sorta, all it means is that for this one instance, our interests coincide, and we won’t hold it over your head later.”

The agent looked deep into his teacup, possibly wishing for leaves and the ability to read them. “Okay,” he said finally, “but go easy on the guards, will you? They have no idea who they’re guarding.”

Simon, remembering his years in the Army, smiled at the thought of going easy on anybody in the 101st Airborne and said, “That time of night, it will probably be a couple of corporals bored half to death. I don’t think we’ll have much trouble there. It’s going to be the diversion that will be the problem.” He turned to Robert. “We can use all four wings.”

“Sir!” Robert said, nodding in the direction of the DIA agent. “Shouldn’t we let Agent Bench be about his business?”

Simon turned his head and gazed over his shoulder at the agent. “Ah, yes. We’ll try to do this with a minimum of trauma, Agent Bench. We are, after all, mostly Americans ourselves, you know.”

The agent turned to leave but turned back at the last second. “Captain, there’s one way you can pay me back for this.” Simon merely looked at the agent and waited. “When the dust settles, and you have whatever it is you want, I want to join up.”

Simon stared at the agent for a moment, thinking. “I believe we can always find a place for a man of conviction and compassion, Agent. Until then, I suggest that you walk carefully. You’re going to be on the front lines for a while yet.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

The Galileo’s new command shuttle was poised over the northern portion of the United States, waiting for a signal from the planet below. A gift from Dan Baylor, Captain of Orion, it had been the first official project completed by the new space dock. Specially modified to carry passengers, as well as perform as a mobile command center, its role would be to carry the twenty specially selected members of the rescue team and coordinate the twenty Mambas making up the rest of the rescue fleet.

The target, a closed-down air refueling base named Burgess Air Force Base, rotated through the darkest portion of the night-shrouded side of the planet—dark to the naked eye, that is. The Galileo’s sensor suite was more than up to the task of laying bare the features on the surface twelve thousand miles below. Thermal imaging, as well as a form of ultrasound, was all that was needed for Simon to start identifying the location of the people still being held by the U.S. government.

It was his years as a soldier that ultimately provided the clues to pinpoint the precise spot. Three different locations had the requisite number of warm bodies, and two of them needed to be eliminated. Simon stared at the screen for a time, then reached out and touched one of several spots. “This is Communications or the computer center, or both in an outfit this small. This is probably Command,” he said, pointing at another spot. “Too many people coming and going for it to be anything else.”

Not quite touching the screen, he pulled his finger back. “It’s possible that they could have the prisoners in the center of all their comings and goings, but their commander probably has them out of the way so they can’t get a clear picture of how many there are or get any other ideas about the size of the operation. Lack of knowledge is what keeps people from forming escape plans, and I’m betting they’re as far away from the center of things as possible.”

One spot stood out because it was so far from the others. Pressing several buttons caused the spot to enlarge, giving Simon a bird’s-eye view of a typical army barracks. Two stories tall, the building was designed to hold a total of forty-one men during wartime—four squads of ten men each, two squads on each floor, and a platoon sergeant. One end of the bottom floor held a small room for the sergeant opposite a supply room. The other end held the latrine.

The squads lived in open bays with six to eight windows per side, and there were only two doors, one at each end of the building. One end opened onto a quadrangle where formations would be held when the base was fully operational, and the other, in this case, opened onto a narrow space, almost an alley, that ran the length of one of the airport service buildings.

Simon’s attention was drawn from the static display to the tactical. Mambas from the Heinlein and the McCaffrey began to exit their launch bays and form up into their respective wings. Three more fighters emerged from the Galileo and formed up a bit apart from the other ships. They were to make the first move in the rescue.

Simon was also betting that the commander of this operation was nowhere near the base, so his first move was going to be to cut off all communications with the outside world. The orders had to originate from Washington and be sent to the base in North Dakota. That would be two of the places he’d target.

Another gadget in the Galileo’s arsenal of electronic devices was an electrical jammer. It effectively stopped any mechanical electron flow in a specific area for a specific amount of time. Encased in a force field, these jammers would be dropped at certain locations and activated at the appropriate time. The effect would be devastating. Care had to be taken that no aircraft were in flight in the target areas at the time of activation, or the consequences could be fatal. Otherwise, the simple cessation of the ability to communicate other than shouting would cripple any attempt to interfere with the rescue. It also rendered all electronic equipment on the base useless. No battery-powered, enhanced night-vision, and no weapons that needed anything electrical or electronic would operate at all. Digital watches, microwaves, and everything else in the vicinity of Burgess Air Force Base were going to suddenly stop for no apparent reason. By the time the operations officer could determine that it wasn’t a mechanical glitch and sounded the alarm the old-fashioned way, it was hoped that the entire rescue could be done and over with.

Simon watched the operations clock as it turned over to two a.m., feeling a moment of despair before a chime sounded in the confined space of the command center. Elation filled him for a second, but despair followed right behind it again.

I left home because I could never please the son-of-a-bitch, he thought. Now, I’m going to save his worthless hide, and he’ll probably ask what took so long.

Swallowing the bile that rose into his throat, he touched a control and said, “Alpha Flight, this is Control. Commence your runs. Full cloak all the way, and report as soon as you’re clear of the target areas.”

“Control, this is Alpha Leader. Roger, wilco.”

Simon heard the same voice as it changed tactical frequencies. “Bozo, you’ve got the North Dakota target. Golddigger, you’ve got DC. I’ll be taking Cheyenne Mountain. On my mark, dive. Mark.”

Simon smiled slightly as he heard one of the pilots ask petulantly, “So why do you get the mountain, Reaper?”

“Because I’m the flight leader, is why,” came the response. “And if that ain’t enough for you, Bozo, I’m a better pilot and a better shot. Plus, I can whup yore ass when we get back if you don’t like it. Besides, all you’ve got to do is hit North-fucking-Dakota. Now shut up and fly.”

Not waiting for Alpha to complete its task, Simon ordered the four wings of Mambas down after a fifteen-minute wait. He could tell by the banter that the pilots were getting restless, and, truth be known, so was he along with his personal flight crew. Only five minutes remained in Alpha Flight’s attack runs. Following at the same speed, the squadron would be ten minutes out when Alpha dropped their cargoes, then five more minutes to activation, then twenty minutes, hopefully, of noninterference from anything that relied on electrical power to function. That still left purely mechanical systems like rifles and light machine guns, not to mention actual physical assault—not an unlikely occurrence, considering the reputation of the unit they were facing. It was those last twenty minutes that would eat up human lives if the right precautions weren’t taken.

Hence the jammers and the eight Mambas attacking the base at the farthest point from the prisoners. The ten back-up Mambas would fly patrols around the area outside the jammed space, forcing any flights away if they should get curious about the loss of communication with the secret base.

Simon, in the command shuttle, followed the first flight in, getting confirmation of all three missions accomplished. Five minutes later, he activated the jammers, making certain that the DC one didn’t intersect the airport. Cheyenne Mountain would have gone down at the same time as Washington, DC, but Simon waited for two inbound choppers to set down, putting things in that area back by three minutes. Time enough, it seemed, for someone to notice when the link with Washington was broken but not enough to change the DEFCON before Simon shut them down as well. Then and only then did he black out the system around the base in North Dakota.

At fifty thousand feet, Simon ordered flights one and two from the Heinlein, to veer off and begin patrol duties in the outlying areas. “Remember, don’t kill anyone. Force them back or down. That is all. Copy?”

“Roger that, Control. Turn ‘em back or force ‘em down. Squadron Leader, out.”

Hearing the distinctive click as the flight leader changed tactical frequencies, he heard, “It’s our job to watch the boss’s back. No one gets through, got it?” Muttered answers came back since all the pilots had already had it drilled into them that there should be no loss of life to the down-siders. “On my mark, move to your assigned locations. Mark.”

The shuttle reached the ten-thousand-foot level and slowed to a complete stop. The whine from the engines rose noticeably and the inertial compensators redlined as they performed far outside their parameters. Designed to steady the vessel during landings and takeoffs, the compensators acted like gyroscopes, holding the ship in a particular attitude just prior to launch. Stopping cold at ten thousand feet was asking for a system failure that, while probably not fatal at this altitude, could have severe ramifications if performed much closer to ground—depending on the level of competence of the pilot, of course. Simon ordered the remaining Mambas down into their attack patterns, holding two ships in reserve to guard the spaces the shuttle couldn’t cover once it landed.

He looked over the assault team that was formed up at the rear of the compartment. They’d be the first on the ground, establishing a perimeter while Simon and a select few actually entered the building in search of the prisoners. Equipped with laser pistols, as well as the heavier-gauge laser rifles, there wasn’t much that would be able to get through. The jamming field that blanketed the area was tuned to the type of current used by humanity at large and totally ignored the power packs and systems of the Alliance personnel.

The members of the ground assault team had been chosen from among all the members of the Galileo, the Heinlein, and the McCaffrey. A request for volunteers with police or military training netted almost two dozen willing and qualified candidates, enough that it was necessary to leave some behind so there’d be room for the prisoners they were going to rescue.

One thing Simon stressed was that the level of resistance had the potential to be fierce, and since the rifles and pistols carried by the guards were totally mechanical, there would be a definite chance of getting shot or killed. “Remember, a bullet can still kill you,” Simon reminded the assault team. “It’s not the technology; it’s the nerves and training of the men holding the guns that decides a battle, and these men are among the best.”

The trip back to Earth had produced the crew now assembled. The time had even allowed them to get to know each other a bit, but it would take an actual mission to find out which could be kept for more missions of this type and which would have to be relegated to more mundane tasks. One surprise had been the discovery that one of the assault-team volunteers had, for reasons he refused to divulge, brought with him a set of body armor and a riot helmet. Duplicating and enhancing them with the materials capable of being turned out by the Galileo’s factories would be easy later, but in the week that passed between the discovery and now, only four sets had been made, and each of those had been specifically fitted to particular individuals.

Simon signaled the pilot to begin his descent as he listened to the chatter over the tactical channels. The diversionary force was already drawing the attention of a considerable number of personnel on the ground, although there was very little firing being done. Knowing it would take time for the unit commander to be brought up to speed without the luxury of telephonic communication, Simon bet on total confusion and delays in getting orders out.

The shuttle set down on its antigravs, the whine barely heard over the noise coming from the base perimeter several hundred yards away. Screened by the buildings between the commotion and the prisoners, Simon felt that the only time they could have been spotted was when they’d dropped out of the cloud layer and floated directly down into the quadrangle. The two support Mambas kept watch on the empty buildings while the perimeter defense team exited the shuttle and set up around it.

Simon stayed at his console, reading the thermal imaging scans provided by the two backups, and spoke into his headset. “Perimeter defense, you have several heat signatures moving toward you from your two o’clock. I make it six warm bodies. Remember, these buildings are set on concrete pylons. If you need to undercut them, you can take out one whole side and the building will collapse. It should happen slowly enough to allow the enemy to retreat or at least regroup. I’m turning the command post over to Commander Shipley. Take your signals from him.”

Simon stood up and made his way to the shuttle door facing the building that supposedly housed the prisoners. As he stared at the door, a helmet-clad figure stepped out and gave Simon a thumbs up. Simon strode down the ramp, glancing both ways and noticing the glowing blue flares of Mamba exhausts as they wove a pattern that kept most of the base personnel glued to the far side of the facility.

A feeling of déjà vu shivered down his spine as Simon walked past the platoon sergeant’s room and into the squad bay proper. The first face he saw, of course, was his father’s. His mother stood to one side, waiting to see how this particular clash between her husband and only child would develop.

Nodding to his father, he looked at his mother and winked. Continuing, he recognized Kitty’s two aunts and then noticed the woman standing slightly apart from the others. “Miss Parker?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” she said cautiously. “Who are you and how do you know me?”

“We’re the cavalry,” he said, smiling. “And as for how I know you, it was your broadcast that got most of our people freed. We’re here to repay the favor.” Simon looked around the room and then back to the reporter. “My information was that your cameraman would be here as well. Is he being housed separately for some reason?”

“Dwayne’s missing?” Sarah looked shocked and worried. “He was supposed to come over and help me edit some footage, but these people decided otherwise. I haven’t seen him since the day before I was abducted.” She fairly spit the last word out.

“Sorry to cause you extra worry, Miss Parker,” Simon said. “I think I know someone I can talk to about it, though.”

Steps pounding down the stairs brought three pistols to bear until the rescuers recognized one of their own. With chagrin on his face, the commander said, “Sorry, Captain. Upstairs is clear. Both guards are tied up, and there are no other civilians in the building.” He turned to yell up the stairwell. “Adams! Move it! We’ve got a flight to catch!”

Another set of steps sounded, bringing the last rescuer back to the ground floor. “We’ve got company on the way,” he said matter-of-factly. “Looks like about seven to ten possibles trying to flank us and lock the back door. Perimeter defense is on it.”

Simon turned back to the prisoners. Before he could speak, the deeper thrum of a Mamba’s laser cut through the night air, causing all of the uninitiated to duck.

All except for him, of course, Simon thought, watching his father out of the corner of his eye.

The sound of a building collapsing on itself shook the walls, and a huge cloud of dust seeped into the building through every crack. Simon listened to his headset for a few seconds and then spoke. “I’m afraid there isn’t time for explanations right now. Mom, Pop, Aunt Cindy, and Aunt Lynn, and you, too, Miss Parker. We have to get out of here now or we’ll have a whole lot of very irate soldiers to deal with. I have transportation right outside. There should be enough room to accommodate everybody else as well.” With Adams’ arrival the body count had risen to almost thirty, including the various families still being held.

“That would be one of these spaceships the government boys have been saying you have?” his father asked sarcastically.

“As a matter of fact, yes, Pop,” Simon said curtly. “Sometimes they do know what they’re talking about.”

“Bullshit,” the elder Hawke said flatly.

Simon looked at his father angrily. “Spaceship or not, I’ve got a ride waiting. Are you going to sit here and let them come at you again?” he asked, nodding at the sound of increasing gunfire. “Besides, do you want to keep Mom in this situation any longer than necessary?”

The elder Hawke started past Simon and paused to look down at the weapon strapped to his hip. “That’s not anything I’m familiar with, son,” he said.

Simon put his hand on the older man’s back and pushed slightly. “I’ll show it to you once we get settled in the shuttle, Pop.” Simon looked around the room. “Okay, if we’re going to finish this without serious resistance, we need to move now.” He touched a control on his belt. “Perimeter team,” he said, “begin to regroup at the shuttle. The hostages are coming out now. Detail four to lay down suppressing fire. I’ll be bringing out the last ones personally.”

The guard at the front door looked inside and gave a thumb’s up to Simon. Simon noted the enhanced Kevlar vest the guard wore and turned back to the waiting group. “Ladies first, if you please. There are some very angry men on their way to stop us, so we need to hurry this along.”

A two-second pause followed while the women looked at each other. Finally, Sarah looked at the windows glowing from the light of the fires started by the lasers. She said, “What the hell,” and headed for the door.

Parker walked out the door and was escorted across the open space, up the shuttle ramp, and out of sight. Kitty’s aunts, both in their sixties, stopped beside him. “We told them that neither you nor Katie could possibly be involved in something like this, Simon. Are you two in trouble?” Aunt Cindy asked.

“Yes and no,” Simon said. “We’re working on that right now. Getting you guys out of here had to be our first priority.” He put a hand on their shoulders and turned them toward the door. “Now, if you’ll let these nice gentlemen lead you to the shuttle, we’ll be able to get out of here shortly, okay?”

The two old ladies moved hesitantly toward the strange men wearing the outlandish kinds of clothes they saw on all of those TV cop shows. Both men smiled and spoke courteously, weapons holstered. When one held out a crooked arm, Cindy took it and allowed herself to be led across to the shuttle. Lynn shrugged and took the other young man’s arm, allowing herself to be led off like her sister. The other women took their cue and followed quickly.

Simon turned to face his parents. Leaden of heart, he knew he was going to have to face his father, but he could put it off just a short time longer. “Mom, if you’ll go with Commander Adams, I’ll come along with Pop in just a few seconds, I promise.” He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead, telling her in his own special way that all was indeed well.

She looked deep into his eyes for a few seconds and pronounced, “I don’t care what they say you two have done. I believe you. They’re trying to make you out to be the new Bonnie and Clyde or something. I say the same thing your father did—bullshit!”

“Mom!” Simon was shocked. Not once in his thirty-something years had he heard his mother utter a profane word, and not for lack of reasons. She just always seemed to find a more genteel way to express herself.

“There are very few times when that word can be considered appropriate,” she asserted categorically. “This is one of those times and I stand by it.” She turned to the waiting guard. “Commander Adams, if you please.” To her husband she said, “I’ll see you aboard momentarily, John. Don’t dawdle. You two can fight when we’re all safe.”

Schoolteachers! Simon thought. Ya love ‘em and hate ‘em at the same time, and I’ve got one for a mother!

A flurry of conventional gunfire shattered John Hawke’s reverie, lasers whining in return. He spoke, urgency and self-deprecation warring in his voice. “You got your brains from your mother and your bullheaded stubbornness from me, but even I can tell when it’s time to cut and run.” The remaining men all followed the women across the open space to the unfamiliar craft.

The elder Hawke, last to leave, turned toward the door and walked steadily to it. His wait for a stunned Simon to catch up gave him the opportunity to examine the machine sitting in the quadrangle.

He’d noticed the two lines of uniformed men outlining a path to the door of the craft when Simon reached him and put a hand on his shoulder, pushing slightly. John Hawke took a first step forward but froze when a Mamba drifted into view. His mouth dropped open at the sight of the little ship.

Little! his mind screamed, that thing’s got to be about a hundred feet long!

The ship fired twin beams of eye-searingly brilliant magenta light into the ground, throwing up dirt, dust and steam as the pilot skillfully walked the reign of destruction across the path of several camo-clad troops working their way around the flaming debris of a barracks building. The push on his shoulder got a bit more insistent, so he hurried down the steps, taking in as much of the marvel in front of him as possible in the few seconds he had.

Simon got his father settled into the seat next to his mother, noticing wryly that the older man had chosen a clear view of the operations station.

I’ll get one of the famous John Hawke lectures for sure, he thought.

He pressed buttons on the console and spoke into his microphone. “Mission accomplished, people. Well done. Now all we have to do is get out of here. Ground teams, return to shuttle. Diversionary Mambas, break off and provide air support for ground team withdrawal.”

Almost immediately, men and women began to crowd into the shuttle through both sides. Laser whine sounded in reply to sporadic gunshots. The distinctive sound of a Mamba hovering on its compensators multiplied through the open hatches, blowing dust and debris inside. Simon watched as one man entered the shuttle and took stock of all the faces of the rescue mission. “All present, Captain,” he said. He looked around the overcrowded cabin. To the teams, he ordered, “Find something to hold on to, people.”

“Button us up, Commander,” Simon ordered the pilot. Leaning out slightly, he said, “As soon as you have a green board, lift to five thousand and hold.” Pressing a button on the console, he said, “Interdiction team, mission accomplished. Be on alert. We are about to disarm the jammer to communicate with the base. Diversionary team, you will transfer to the command of Interdiction Commander Dahlquist when the shuttle reaches five thousand feet.”

“On station at five thousand, Captain.” Simon’s console confirmed the pilot’s verbal report.

Simon chuckled to himself when he heard his mother say quietly, “That’s not possible, John. You know how I get whenever I fly.”

Unable to speak for several seconds without laughing, Simon just sat there, apparently unaware of the stares of his guests. Finally trusting his control, he said, “Attention all ships. I am about to deactivate the jammer. Prepare for possible aerial incursions.” Simon pressed a series of buttons, and a light on his panel turned green. He pressed another, and the sound in his earphone was transferred to the shuttle’s internal speakers.

“Mongoose, this is Paladin. Paladin calling Mongoose. Please respond, Mongoose.” No response came, and the unknown voice called again. “Mongoose, please respond. We are under attack by… I don’t know what we’re under attack by, but we can’t touch ‘em.”

Simon pressed another button, cutting the voice and background static out completely. He cocked his head, laid his headset down on the console, and said, “Paladin, this is Alliance Control. Mongoose will not be responding for a short while longer. They’re still experiencing the same mysterious electrical failure you just did. I have new orders for you.”

“First of all,” the voice answered, “there is no Alliance Control in my chain of command, so I don’t recognize your authority, and second, what makes you think you can give me orders and enforce them?” The belligerent, bullying voice just plain antagonized something deep inside Simon.

His response, when it came, gave no hint of his inner turmoil. “In response to your first point, as the commander with the greater tactical force, I effectively control this entire exchange. And as for your second point, I am betting that you’re the kind of commander who won’t throw his men away in a pointless gesture. Third, look at the state of your base.”

Silence reigned for seconds while Paladin considered that. “Exactly what pointless gesture would that be?”

“Having any of your men on or near this base in one hour.”

“What? Are you going to start bombing us? You got what you came for.” Incredulity dripped out of the speakers.

“No, but I could if I wanted to,” Simon answered, pressing a button. An explosion was heard distantly as the sound was relayed to the shuttle. “That was just a demolition charge to get rid of the equipment we used to cut your power. What I have in mind for your base is a much grander gesture, Paladin.”

“What else can you do? We can hold out until reinforcements arrive.”

“When I said one hour, I meant it. You are down to fifty-eight minutes. What’s about to happen is that I am going to drop a very large rock on your base. I brought one back with me from the asteroid belt where we’ve been living and working for the last two years. I thought it would be a nice gesture to donate it to some of the universities of the world so they could study pristine matter from the formation of our solar system.”

Simon stopped for a breath, the unknown voice not bothering to fill the gap. “I’ve decided to give it to someone else instead. I think it would make a much grander gesture to give it to you. The problem is that it’s going to be arriving at something like a couple of thousand miles an hour, and it’s not a little rock.” Simon stopped to let that sink in. “I think the grand gesture, the big show of power, the winner of the pissing contest, is going to be the one who destroys the most of the other guy’s stuff. You’ve got a big goose-egg, and I’m about to turn Burgess AFB into Lake Burgess in fifty-six minutes. Are you getting any of this?”

“I’m getting it, but I’m not getting it. You got your prisoners. Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I’m not a monster, like too many military bean counters,” Simon answered firmly. “Besides, if I’m lying, you’re back in the base in another thirty minutes and none the wiser. If I’m not lying, you’ve saved your entire command and yourself into the bargain.”

“I don’t like this, but I don’t see an alternative. I’ll start issuing the orders immediately.” Almost as an afterthought, Paladin asked, “What about civilians in the area?”

“I’ve had people running any stragglers off for the past half hour. There will probably be a lot of UFO stories in the local papers tomorrow.”

“I want to thank you,” Paladin said. “Not many people would have given us warning.”

“Just consider yourself lucky that I was raised with compassion.” He glanced at his mother for a moment. “The problem is that I also have an ingrained sense of justice that requires that I respond to this incident with a show of force that will make your bosses think twice before messing with us again. The compassion lets you and your men live while the other will deliver a message to your bosses that we are not to be messed with. Also, you should send a couple of men to the detention barracks to untie two of your guards before you leave, Paladin.”

Simon cut the connection and reluctantly turned to face the dumbfounded people sitting in the forward section of the shuttle. “We can’t sit here for fifty minutes, folks. As good as this equipment is, it has limitations.” He ran one hand through his hair and sighed. “I suggest taking the aunts home. We can drop them at Aunt Cindy’s farm and be back here in time to monitor the impact.”

He turned to Kitty’s aunts. “Aunt Cindy, Aunt Lynn, Katie will be by to explain all of this very soon, and we’re sorry to have caused you any trouble. We just never expected this to happen,” he said, waving his hand vaguely.

“Won’t those nasty men just come back and take us away again, Simon?” Cindy asked worriedly.

“I expect to be speaking with their boss in the next couple of days about that very matter, Aunt Cindy. You should be okay, but if they try it again, we’ll just have to make sure that there isn’t a third.” He turned to the pilots and said, “Check your preprogrammed destinations. Access destination alpha and land near the farmhouse you find there.”

He looked at his parents. “That’ll be one down. As soon as the asteroid hits, we’ll get you two home, then the rest of these good folks. Same thing applies—I’ll be putting a stop to this soon, but you should be safe enough until I get to talk to a particular individual.”

His father raised a hand to get a chance to speak. Simon expected a harangue but was surprised to get a question instead. “How are you going to ensure that the asteroid doesn’t miss its target?”

“It’s being guided down by two ships designed to move those kinds of rocks around in space. They’ll make sure it’s on course, and at almost the last minute, they’ll veer off and let it finish its run on its own.”

“Pretty intense response, though, son.”

Simon bristled. “You were the one who taught me that if someone messed with me once to whip him good, and if he messed with me a second time to make sure it never happened again.” He looked the older version of himself in the eyes. “The only difference is that this time the bullies have been elected. The level of response to an individual is one thing, but to a government? It has to be something that will make them stop and think or sit up and take notice. I believe I’ve got that covered.”

Simon glanced at his console and then turned to face it completely. “I’m on it,” he said to the pilot. He touched a point on his screen, and the isolated farm below appeared in minute detail—barns, silos, main house, outbuildings and large equipment all instantly transferred to the pilot’s console. He touched a point on the new screen and said, “Set down there.”

Taking off his headset, he turned back to his guests. “Mom, Pop, Miss Parker, I’ll be back in a few minutes. I’ll be seeing my aunts to their house.”

“Wait!” Sarah Parker almost yelled. “Where were we being held?”

Simon looked surprised, but answered, “Call it eastern-central North Dakota, why?”

“And we’re where right now?” she asked, ignoring Simon’s question completely.

Something in the frank stare she gave him over the tops of her wire-framed glasses made him say, “Call it central Montana. Again, why?” This time his question carried more persistence.

“I’m from Fargo, Captain. I know how far it is from one place to another around here, and we just went around three hundred miles in…” she looked at her watch, making faint beeping sounds, “…about six minutes. Pretty fancy rescue vehicle.”

Simon’s smile would have done a wolf proud. “We’re pretty proud of her, but you should see her move when we shift into second.”

John Hawke watched his son usher Kitty’s two aunts toward the back of the shuttle. He leaned forward and spoke to the pilot. “Better than three thousand miles an hour? That’s around five times the speed of sound. Kind of hard to believe,” he said gruffly. For months he’d been questioned by a series of nameless men about just this kind of technology. All that time he’d denied knowing anything. Of course! And now he sat in a chair covered in exactly what he couldn’t say, but it was comfortable enough.

The pilot laughed. “And that’s about it inside Earth’s atmosphere, sir. We’re restricted to something in the vicinity of Mach four or five or so. Maybe a little faster if we were more aerodynamic but not much. We try to keep it down around populated areas. But get us out of the atmosphere and she’s a bit faster than a Mamba in the long run. Right up to sub-warp speeds is what we hear out of R&D.”

The reporter in Sarah wouldn’t let her keep quiet. “I know there were lots more people released than would be represented by the number of people here. Where are the rest of your group?”

“Aboard the Galileo, three bases, and at the moment, two ships,” the pilot replied, “and… well, maybe the captain should fill you in on the details.” He turned back to his console and said, “Mikey! I have one vehicle on a straight-line near approach.”

“Been there, done that, Jeff,” came softly through the speakers. “Beat up old truck, weaving slightly. Probably a drunk headed home.”

“Thanks, Mikey.” The pilot turned back to the three people sitting in the front row. “I’m sure the captain won’t be much longer. We need to get back to the air base soon.”

Knowing he wouldn’t get anything out of the pilot if he kept pestering him for details, John Hawke asked a more innocuous question. The truth was that the answer to this one question would tell him more than he could get by asking any ten others. “Are you happy doing what you’re doing?” His voice trailed off as he pointedly looked at the pilot’s collar insignia.

The pilot’s face lit up. “Oh, yeah. And I’m Commander Jeff Archer,” he said. “Lieutenant Commander, actually. Full commander wears a gold star.” He bubbled with enthusiasm. “Wouldn’t you be happy if you could live your fantasy? I mean, flying ships in space, away missions, firefights.”

“This was a real firefight, son,” John Hawke said huffily, “not one of your war games. Real people are risking their lives here.”

“I know, sir,” Archer said somberly, his face going slack. “I was on Orion when…”

Something in the pilot’s eyes, or maybe his posture, told John that his son had reentered the ship. He sat back easily in his chair.

“Thanks for keeping an old man occupied, Commander.”

Simon sat down across from his parents and the Parker girl. “I’m glad Kitty’s the one to have to deal with that one,” he said, sighing. “Take us back to the base, Jeff.” He looked at the three people and said, “It’s all true. We have a spaceship, and we won’t give it to the government. We plan to release the technology to the whole world so everybody benefits. If that makes us bad guys, then we’re bad guys.”

The few other civilians just absorbed the information since they knew from personal experience what their children had gotten them into, albeit involuntarily.

Simon sat silent for a few seconds and then looked at his father. “This little scene we’re having is your fault, you know.” At the look of shock on the elder Hawke’s face, Simon laughed bitterly. “Not directly, Pop, but you helped instill the values I live by. I’m here—we’re all here—because of one of your heavy-handed lectures.”

He stood up and looked down at his father. “I remember two things out of all the stuff you tried to teach me. Actually, believe it or not, I rely on both of ‘em a lot. One was, ‘When in doubt, don’t.’ That applies to so many things in life, not just passing a car on the road. The other was not to get even with the wrong person or thing. I remember egging some kid’s car and his dad called you and complained. I got my ass chewed. You told me that the car hadn’t done anything, so I should have left it alone and fought with the kid. When I said you’d whip me for fighting, you told me that the whipping would have been done and over with. Instead, you grounded me for two months. Well, I’m here tonight because somebody else was the egg-thrower and you were the car.”

“I don’t understand,” Doralene Hawke said.

“Mom, somebody’s mad at me and was trying to use you as leverage against me,” Simon explained. He looked at his father. “Haven’t you explained any of this to her?”

“What am I supposed to explain? What exactly did you confide in me for me to explain? How was I supposed to know the truth?” the elder Hawke shot back.

Simon smile wryly. “Maybe so,” was as close to admitting his father was right as he would go. “Wanna see what all the fuss is about?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Simon sent his second in command, Commander Robert Shipley, down to contact Galway after dropping off the rest of his passengers.

“I was expecting to hear from Commander Grimes,” the gravelly voice replied to Shipley’s introduction.

“Captain Grimes has been promoted and is too busy running a ship of her own to do messenger duty. I, on the other hand, had a clear schedule and was happy to take a quick look at DC. Now, the Captain says that you and he need to discuss a meeting with one of your bosses, especially since the scales have just been balanced. He said you should get your team together and line up whatever transportation you want out to the west coast. I’ll call you back with details later. Have a nice day, Mr. Galway.” Shipley hung up the phone, having spoken for less than two minutes.

Robert and Michiko beamed down and placed calls to their friends, the Colliers and Brandts. Specifically transferred back to the Galileo for this trip, Robert and ‘Chiko hoped to have someone else meet them as well, making life a lot easier all the way around.

The three couples had been in touch via the radios left behind during their last visit while the Galileo was en route to Earth. The high number of volunteers needed at one time was almost as large as the force trying desperately to absorb them. It would have to be handled in two trips, if that many people could be found. They were looking at almost another two thousand and were hoping to get a fair fraction of that on this trip—enough, if they were lucky, to crew at least one of the three ships waiting in the belt. And that still left Taurus Base to be staffed.

The two-thousand-person figure seemed a daunting number at first. The only thing that made it even remotely possible was the underground that had sprung up in the Denver area. Once converted, James Collier began to show his son how to set up cells of people where only one person in a cell knew about the next one. Making duplicates of the videos and getting them passed around was of prime importance. The video work was amateurish enough that no one could think it fake for more than a few minutes, and it was added to each cell’s equipment. Telephone schedules were arranged so that all could be contacted at need, and converts or interested parties could be brought in. Meetings were held for the newbies on a monthly basis, never in the same place twice, and those who agreed to join were assigned to cells.

The process continued to grow and evolve until meetings began to take on the aspect of church revivals, with people showing up from out of nowhere. Once word began to spread about a particular meeting, the Brandts and Colliers, were hard pressed to keep any sort of order. Not able to give a particular date, all they could say was, “Be ready. The call will come. They’re on the way back.” The repetition was getting tiresome.

Until the call came. “Robert! Where the hell are you? Are you going to help us? We’ve got people ready to take our heads off, thinking it’s all a hoax. What took you so long?” Ted Brandt was indignant, to say the least.

“It takes time to build a space station, Ted. We got back as soon as we could. And we had an errand to take care of first. Are you able to get some of your people together tonight? I’ll stop by to give you something and show you how to use it. We’ll put on a little demonstration, and I guarantee that your people will settle down after that.”

“You better be right, pal. We can’t hold this together much longer without proof of some kind. The will to believe is only so strong, you know. Especially in something that flies in the face of everything these people have been taught to believe.”

“I know. I’ll see you in fifteen.” With that, Robert hung up the phone, turned to ‘Chiko, and explained their dilemma. “I think we should give a demonstration like we got when we joined. Want to beam in and freak out a bunch of people?”

She smiled. “I’d love to! Let’s go set it up. The best way is to give Jim a locator disk and show him how to activate it when he has his people in one place. You think?”

Agreeing, Rob grabbed the keys to their car and headed for the door.

Robert handed Jim a disk. Ted had been called, and he and his wife were there as well. Babs and Alice looked on.

“You’ll recognize these. They send out a signal to let us know where to beam down if we haven’t been there before or if it’s too crowded. Set it on the ground and press here,” he said, indicating the small depression in the top of the disk, “and the signal is sent. These are coded to you, so we’ll know it’s time for the show. Trust me, your people will believe. And if you could have a space about the size of a football field available, that would be great. I’ve already spoken to the captain, and he’s decided it’s time to start showing a little of what we have to the people of Earth rather than just our own volunteers. The reason for all the open space, believe it or not, is so one of our fighters can come in and land. It won’t be able to stay long, but it should be long enough to make believers out of the worst skeptics. How soon can you get your cell leaders and a few from each cell together? By the way, how many do you have enlisted?”

Jim grinned. “You said you needed about two thousand, right?” At Robert’s hesitant nod, Jim laughed. “Well, buddy, we’ve got about a quarter of that right now. And if you pull off what you’re saying, I’ll bet we can have several thousand more within a week. We’ve got people from all over the country camped out around here. Word spreads, man, word spreads. You may need to start recruiting from somewhere else after this. I think it’s going to get way too hot real soon. As my dad says, every good undergrounder knows when it’s time to go under, himself.”

‘Chiko let out a small noise. “Several thousand? We could crew all three ships, plus the new base, and have people left over for the next ships. Some are going to be resentful about being left behind. Perhaps we should institute a lottery-type situation for the time being.”

“Maybe, honey, maybe,” Robert mused.

“Well, Mr. Galway, we have you booked into the Quality Inn in Billings, Montana.” You can check in any time after two p.m. tomorrow,” Commander Shipley said. “Two rooms have been reserved in your name. We’ll call you sometime after you check in and let you know where the conference room is.”

“Billings, Montana,” Galway responded with resignation in his voice. “That’s where all this started. Where will you people send us next?”

“I really have no idea, Mr. Galway,” Shipley responded. “I’m merely passing along the captain’s instructions.”

Seeing as how it was Simon and Kitty’s home turf, it wasn’t too hard to have someone inside the airport that serviced Billings and the surrounding area when Galway’s plane landed. A disguised Lucy Grimes reported that it actually was Galway and company, then beamed back aboard the Galileo. Meeting Simon in his ready room, she asked if he was going to set the meeting up like the last one.

Simon pursed his lips and said, “No, I don’t think so. Things like that tend to work only once. I intend to be a little more above board this time. I did tell Commander Shipley to tell them that there would be a conference room set up, so I expect any of their extra manpower to be expended trying to cover all the possible conference rooms we could be meeting in. Instead, I think I’ll have them picked up by a limo and delivered right to my front door.”

Lucy was aghast. “To your home?” she finally got out. “Isn’t that just asking for trouble?”

Simon smiled. “Sure, but why not live a little? It’s time to be a little more open. Daniels has been inside—with and without my permission. You know that story. Why not let Galway in, too? But it’ll be on my terms, this time. And this session can be more informal. Maybe they’ll feel more at ease and a little less antagonistic.”

“Well, you know best, Simon,” Lucy said dubiously.

“A statement that is not always true,” Simon retorted. “Infallible, I’m not. Anyway, we’ll let ‘em stew for a little while, and then we’ll all beam down to the house, call the limo, and have a tea party. I figure me and Kitty at first with two others just to show we aren’t alone. We’ll have a few security personnel armed and out of sight to discourage unwanted visitors, and then we’ll signal you and John to beam in. Another move to show our strength. We’ll also have several people around the neighborhood keeping watch. And, of course, the Galileo will have her sensors trained on the area the whole time. That should provide enough deterrent to provide an interesting evening without too many surprises.”

On the stroke of seven p.m., the phone in Galway’s room rang. The voice on the other end told him to get his party together and go outside where transportation would be waiting. The four men trooped out the front door of the motel to find a limousine at the curb. Galway didn’t miss the significance of the all-black uniform and baseball cap of the driver.

“Galway party?” the uniformed driver asked. At Galway’s nod, the driver opened the door and gestured the men inside. He then walked around to the driver’s side, got in, and pulled away from the motel.

At Galway’s query concerning their destination, the driver looked into his rearview mirror and said, “Sir, I’ve been instructed to deliver you without answering questions of that nature, but I can say that we’ll arrive at your destination in about seven minutes. Normally, I take a more indirect route and point out some of the sights of our fair city, but I’ve been given to understand that you wouldn’t be interested in something like that.”

Looking into his rearview mirror and seeing the curt nod Galway gave him, the driver went back to his job of navigating his oversized vehicle through the streets of Billings.

Pulling up in front of a nondescript house on Billings’ near-west end, the driver stopped his vehicle and said, “Well, gentlemen, here we are.”

A young man in shipboard uniform stepped up and opened the passenger door. The first to venture out of the vehicle was the man Lucy had dubbed Mr. Anonymous, who wasted a scathing look on the earnest young ensign. When the last of the four had stepped out, the young man closed the door and said, “Gentlemen, if you will go to the front door, you are expected. This vehicle will be here when you’re ready to leave.” He then stepped back into the shadows provided by a lilac hedge and a westerly sun, all but disappearing from view.

The four men walked up to a shingle-sided house that would have fit perfectly in any middleclass neighborhood in the country. Light seeped around the edges of the curtain that closed off the big picture window, and they could see shadows moving around inside as they stepped up onto the porch. Galway looked at his three companions and hesitated, then looked back at the door and noticed the small sign taped over the bell saying it was out of order and asking them to knock. He did so.

A handful of heartbeats later the door opened and there stood a petite redhead. She smiled and said, “You must be Mr. Galway. Please come in. I’m Katherine Hawke, but you can call me Kitty.”

She held out her hand and smiled. Galway hesitated for a fraction of a second, took her tiny hand in his, and replied, “And you can call me Brandon.” At this she positively beamed.

“Please, gentlemen, come in. My husband is changing and will be out momentarily. We get so tired of uniform black that I welcome the chance to come down and relax. She waved a hand down her body to indicate the outfit she had on—a cream blouse, tan slacks, and open-toed sandals, none of which hid her striking figure.

As each of the next two men came in, Kitty greeted them by name, showing that she was up on what was going on. “Lucy described you to us, and I’m happy to meet you Colonel Babcock, Mr. Mitchell.” As the fourth man walked into the room, she put out her hand and said, “Good evening, I’m Kitty Hawke.”

He shook hers in turn and said nothing. As he started to pull his hand free, she clamped down. Having grown up on a farm, she had a grip most men found disturbing unless she toned it down. This time, she let the little man feel the power in her arm.

“Where I was raised, it’s customary to respond to an introduction with an introduction. Now, maybe you don’t want to give your real name, and that’s entirely your business. But, sir, in my house, you will give a name for someone to refer to you by, or you can wait outside. And before you say anything else, I said ‘where I was raised.’ It just so happens, sir, that this house is where I was raised. Now,” she said with a smile on her face, “we’ll try this again.” Still maintaining her grip, she said, “Good evening, I’m Kitty Hawke. Welcome to my home.”

The man reddened visibly and said,” Uh, good evening, Mrs. Hawke. I’m John Anderson.”

Kitty bestowed one of her glowing smiles on the man, and said, “I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr. Anderson. And I like that name.” She waved her hand toward a couch and some chairs to one side of the room and said, “Please, gentlemen, have a seat. What would you like to drink? Ensign Martin will take your orders.”

A young man dressed in black uniform pants and a white shirt stepped forward. “Gentlemen, we have coffee, iced tea, various colas, caffeinated and decaf, and domestic beer. What can I get you?”

Simon emerged from the bedroom dressed in a V-neck pullover, blue jeans, and cowboy boots, making quite a contrast to Kitty’s outfit. “Make mine beer, if you please.” Turning to the four men seated in his living room, he said, “Good evening, gentlemen, I’m Simon Hawke.” After another round of introductions, hand shaking, and drink orders—three beers and an iced tea for Anderson—the five men sat down.

“Sugar and lemon, sir?” the ensign inquired.

A nonplussed Anderson said, “Uh, just sugar, please.”

Simon and Kitty were sitting in a loveseat arrangement facing the four visitors, and Mr. Anderson noticed the two empty chairs. “Expecting company?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact,” Kitty replied. “Captain Grimes and Commander Marshall, our security chief, will be along shortly. Do you mind if they just beam in?” she asked in her straightest face.

The NASA representative, Steven Mitchell said, “I, for one, would like to see this ‘beaming’ phenomenon at a time when everything around me isn’t going to hell in a handbasket.” Getting no refusal from the rest of the group, Kitty let it drop, and when no one was looking her way, she pressed a button on her wristband.

Simon said, “I really didn’t see a need to have a third or fourth member here, but my wife plans these affairs.”

Kitty picked up the thread of the conversation as Ensign Martin returned and began passing out drinks. “Well, I felt that four on four was a much more balanced arrangement. So I invited Lucy and John, whom you folks are familiar with anyway.”

The ensign stopped beside Kitty. “Ma’am, you neglected to give me your order.”

Kitty answered, “My apologies, Ensign. Make that three more iced teas with sugar and lemon for all, if you would. Captain Grimes and Commander Marshall will be with us shortly.”

“Yes, ma’am. Right away,” he answered and disappeared into the kitchen.

Kitty held up her wristband for all to see. “This serves a variety of functions, gentlemen. One, of course, is to identify one of us to another. It can be used as a communicator over short distances or a bio-monitor/locator at longer distances. Our ship is, of course, monitoring us at all times. A few minutes ago, I pressed a button that informed our ship, the Galileo, that we were ready for visitors. I expect them to—ah! Here they are now.”

All eyes went to a corner of the room as two columns of sparks began to form. After about four seconds, Lucy and John stood there in uniform, got their bearings, and walked out into the room. Kitty waved them to chairs and said, “Sit down. Ensign Martin will be in shortly with your drinks.”

As they made their way to the vacant chairs, Galway stood up. He stuck his hand out to John and said, “Nice to see you again, Commander.” He then turned his attention to Lucy. “I see and hear that congratulations are in order, Captain. Which ship is yours?”

Lucy looked at him sharply. “I have the honor to command the McCaffrey, Mr. Galway.” Barely hiding her discomfiture at his knowledge, she shook his proffered hand and nodded her head slightly. “You’re pretty good at your job, sir.”

Sitting back down, he grinned. “That’s why I get the hard jobs, Captain. But sometimes just being good at what you do isn’t enough. For example, I’m not getting as far as my bosses think I should as fast as they think I should. You should hear some of the things I have to listen to about you folks. Especially the way you get even.”

Simon waved his hand grandly. “Had to level the playing field, so to speak. And send a message. Besides, we did North Dakota a favor. Instead of a useless, closed-down airbase, they’ve got a brand new recreational area—Lake Burgess.” The impact zone had touched upon the Ox River. Unfortunately, it had caused tremors felt as far away as Minot and Grand Forks.

Lucy seated herself, still watching Galway warily. Kitty, not missing the byplay, decided to redirect the conversation—whether for good or ill, she wasn’t sure. She only knew the subject definitely needed to be changed for a number of reasons, not the least of which was the tension she felt between Lucy and Galway.

“Captain Grimes, I believe you know this man under a different name, but may I present Mr. John Anderson?”

Lucy cast a startled look at Kitty. “How did you... never mind.” She nodded formally in the man’s direction and said, “Good evening, Mr. Anderson.”

After a few more minutes of amenities, none of which were joined in by Anderson, the real reasons for the meeting emerged.

Simon began, “Gentlemen, you know what it is we want, and you know what we’ve offered. The last time we were on Earth, we had an invitation delivered to us.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a much-folded piece of paper, tossing it onto the coffee table in front of Galway. “I assume you have some idea of what this is about.”

Galway picked it up and glanced at it. “I should; I helped draft it. Specifically, since you’re not a head of state, meeting with President Drake first is out of the question, or more to the point, would not be à propos. That leaves Vice-President Reese. You and he will discuss bases and technology transfers. Our job is to set up that meeting.”

Simon nodded. “That’s good. I wouldn’t want to do anything to upset the applecart.” He waved his hand dismissively. “But what about our request that the general populace be officially informed of our existence?”

Anderson finally chimed in. “That’s not a good idea. The average citizen isn’t going to be able to handle this kind of revelation.”

Lucy leaned forward. “And just who do you think we are, Mr. Anderson?” she asked. “Remember, before Simon and Kitty found the Galileo, they were average citizens. And what about the rest of us? Are you saying we aren’t average? And if you are, sir, I, for one, want to know in which direction you think we aren’t average. Above or below?”

Kitty stepped into the fray before Anderson could answer. “I think the answers to those questions are ones we don’t need to hear right now, although I do want to hear them later. You, Mr. Anderson, may be called on to answer them, and if I were you, I’d think real hard about those answers and the people you’ll be giving them to.” Turning to the head of the delegation she said, “Mr. Galway, Brandon, my question is—what will happen to those personnel of ours who, for one reason or another, choose to leave our service and return to their lives here on Earth?”

Galway squirmed in his chair. “Well, they’ll have to be quarantined, of course, to make sure they don’t bring any dangerous viruses down.”

“That,” Simon said dangerously, “is a load of bullshit the size of Delaware. You don’t seem to be worried about viruses right now, and you haven’t been concerned about that at any meeting you’ve had with our people up to this point. You want to use that as an excuse to detain and interrogate our people. You’d hold them incommunicado, I expect, until they gave up all the information you could get from them. And then what would you do with them? Hold them in some special facility? You know, we need to start playing straight with each other right now, or we might as well not play at all.”

Kitty, looking to defuse a testosterone explosion in her living room, spoke up. “Brandon, you need to be aware of something. There are people here on Earth—a very large number of them, from what I hear—who don’t know what happens when they flip a light switch. They don’t know where electricity comes from, and they don’t care. If the light doesn’t come on, they’ll change the bulb. If it still doesn’t come on, they call an electrician. I worry about what would happen if the lights went out, along with the phones, for more than a short while, I really do.” She could see the look of confusion in his face. “What I’m getting at is this—we found something. We figured out how to make it work, but we don’t know why it works, even after borrowing all those scientists. We stick space debris in one end of a thing we’ve come to call a smelter, and processed material comes out the other end. This we send to various places we call factories. The finished products are put together the way the plans we found in a computer tell us. And what do we have? Three space factories and two crewed ships. Also, one ready to crew and two more ready soon, with another in the not-too-distant future.

“We’ve got scientists working on some of those questions, but not enough of them. For every guesstimated answer, we get about a thousand more questions. I think that about sums it up. And we still don’t think the government should have the ship. You can’t do any more with it than we have and probably a whole lot less. I like Simon’s analogy best—the one about the caveman who wakes up in thirteenth century England. He might be able to use some of the things he’d find there, but he wouldn’t understand it. We are quite literally cavemen, Brandon. Granted, we have a better grounding in science, and granted that what we see up there we don’t ascribe to magic. But we still don’t understand it. We still have too large a gulf to bridge. Give us time. We’ll get the job done.”

Mitchell from NASA was waiting for his chance to weigh in. “What makes you think you’re better able to figure things out than people who’ve studied for space exploration all their lives, Mrs. Hawke? We’ve been at this since the fifties, you know.”

“Earlier than that, if you count Von Braun,” John interjected. “Surprised that I would know that? Well, some of us have been studying, too. We are encouraged to. And just what are you studying, Mr. Mitchell? Ion drives, ram-scoops, atomic drives? Tell us, please. Hell, you’re still using liquid hydrogen and solid propellants. I’ve got news for you, sir. There’s nothing up there that you would understand. The scientists we have aboard right now can’t say why most things work. We have atomic physicists, nuclear physicists, quantum physicists, string theorists—you name it. And none of them can say for sure why what we have works.”

“And we’re getting off topic,” Kitty said. “I’ll answer your question with one of my own, Mr. Mitchell. Since the scientists we’ve enlisted say that some of the technology is so far out there that they have a bare glimmer of what the math would be like, what makes you think you could do any better than we have?”

Not waiting for an answer, she turned back to Galway. “What about our people, Brandon? That’s one of the points to be decided with Vice-President Reese. The only reason it was brought up was so you could apprise him of what will be on the table for discussion—bases, technology, and freedom from persecution for our people. Is Mr. Reese a veteran? One way or the other, I’m pretty sure he’ll have a vested interest in seeing everybody’s freedom preserved, don’t you?” she asked sweetly.

Galway sat there uncomfortably for a time. “I’m sure he will, Kitty. I’m sure he will.”

Simon took a long pull on his beer and waved the empty at the ensign standing silently in a corner. While he waited for a replacement to arrive, he looked at Galway. “You know what I like most about us finally meeting, Brandon? Can I call you Brandon? Call me Simon. What I like is that we can look each other in the eye and spit if we need to. What I mean is that we can get to the bottom of things in a hurry. So. We have several topics for discussion with your boss. Embassies. Tech transfer. Safety for our people. But you haven’t even mentioned the one thing we’ve wanted from the first, and that’s revealing us to the general public. How about that, Brandon? Why haven’t we heard anything official on the radio or television about our little group?”

Into his third beer, Simon was beginning to feel the effects and starting to bait his guests. He knew the answer was going to come from another quarter than the one he’d thrown the ball to. “And if we were to get the embassies without public recognition, how would you go about keeping it secret?”

John Anderson had just put his tea on the table when Simon put the question to Galway. He stood up, and in a belligerent tone said, “The general population, Mr. Hawke, isn’t ready for the revelation that there are aliens out there. Most of them couldn’t handle it. We have it on good authority that the best we could hope for would be mass hysteria and panic. At the worst, full-scale revolt.”

Simon had been waiting for an opening of this type, and he landed on it with both feet. “I assume your ‘good authority’ was someone hired by the government and paid by either you or someone so like you that it would make no difference. That particular attitude comes right out of the Middle Ages and has absolutely no basis in fact. Another way to say what you just did is to say that the human race is too stupid to handle the information.

“Are you also saying that the largest portion of the population shouldn’t be informed of the smallest? I seem to recall a tribe of twenty or thirty members from the Amazon basin that was a real nine-day wonder some years back. And they won’t have near the impact on history that we will. We’re over two thousand strong and about to double in the very near future, with a technology that dwarfs anything you have. And you think the people of Earth shouldn’t know about it?”

Simon stood up and walked over to Anderson, intentionally stepping into his space. “You know, I have to wonder just who you really are—not so much who you are personally but who you represent. We’ve pretty much ruled out CIA. And since we have an FBI agent aboard ship, I’m relatively certain you aren’t with them.” He looked Anderson up and down disgustedly. “And I don’t think the Office of Naval Intelligence would have you, so that leaves the DIA, which, if you’re any specimen, I’m sorry to say that I was one of for several years.” At the slight narrowing of Anderson’s eyes, Simon knew he had scored.

“DIA. I should have known. Confirmation is always appreciated. I knew a few of your kind when I was in the business. It’s nice to know that some things never change. Now I’m going to have to fumigate my house.” He shook his head. “You seem to think we’re a threat to you, Mister Anderson. Are we a threat because we won’t give you our shiny new toy? Or because we’re going to let everybody else play with it, too?”

Anderson tried again. “Your weapons and technology are so far ahead of ours that we have to have a serious threat assessment. We don’t know what you can do, or will do. If the videos we’ve seen are real, and I don’t doubt that they are, then we have a real problem. And you are the problem.”

Simon sighed. “You do realize that you just acknowledged that they are our weapons and tech? There are a hell of a lot more of you than us. We can’t survive without you, but you can survive without us. These are facts even I can see, and you should be able to see them, too. The problem is that if we have to try to survive alone, you could very likely wind up without any of the technology. And we keep trying to tell you that there are others out there who know we are here, now. Add to that the fact that we don’t think they are the ones we got the ship from. They want to keep us out of space for one reason or another. Then, there’re the ones we call the Builders. When those guys show up to get their ship back, what are you going to do?”

He walked across the room and sat back down. Ensign Martin had set another beer on the table beside his chair, and Simon picked it up. Looking at his wife and friends, he nodded. Not bothering to drink from the beer, he used it to gesture with. “The point I’m making here is this: we asked you to reveal our presence. We gave you the opportunity to put the best light on it that you could, and you did nothing. Well, we’re going to do it for you. What we have is another video. We’ll show it to you and let you go tell your bosses. So that they will have some warning. I don’t like being blind-sided, and I don’t think they do either. We are set up to transmit a signal in forty-eight hours to the entire world, one time-zone at a time. This transmission will explain who we are, what we stand for, where we plan to go, and how we got what we have. We’ll start with India and Russia because they are on the other side of the globe and it will be eight AM there. Then each time zone until we get them all. Here, watch this.”

Picking up a remote control, he pointed at a TV that had been on but muted throughout the meeting. “This is a copy of the tape we will video we’ll air in two days. As soon as you leave here, get it to your bosses. Maybe they can put some kind of positive spin on things before the balloon goes up. Sit back and hold on, folks. The ride is about to get bumpy.”

Simon pressed play, and the actors winked out, replaced by snow. Seconds later, an image formed, and there stood Simon himself, dressed in his uniform, collar insignia in place and nametag above his pocket. A dais stood beside him, but behind him was the blackness of space, relieved only by the stars. Off to one side, a ship could be seen. He stood there for a few seconds without saying a word and then began to speak. “People of the planet Earth.”

Simon paused the video. “I know that’s melodramatic. I didn’t want to use it, but everybody said I should because it would get people’s attention. I think most of ‘em have seen one science-fiction show too many, but I gave in to it.” He pressed resume and the video continued to play.

“My name is Simon Hawke and I have a spaceship—a real, working spaceship that’s capable of going from one star to another. We call her the Galileo. I know she came from outside the solar system because we, that is, Earthmen, didn’t build it, so it had to come from elsewhere. It’s capable of building other ships and bases. At the time of this transmission, the Galileo is in orbit around Earth, along with the ship you see in the background. We’ve named her the McCaffrey. How we came to be in possession of all this is a story for another time. Right now, what you need to know is that we have the ship and several other ships we’ve built over the past two years.

“The reason for this transmission is to inform you of our existence. The governments of Earth have consistently refused to reveal our presence, saying it would cause too much panic for you to know about us.

“As people just like yourselves, that is, average citizens, we believe the ship we found and all the technology on it belongs to the human race in common. Not to any one country or group within a country, but to all people everywhere. We therefore have petitioned the governments of Earth to grant us three embassies—one on the North American continent, one in Europe, and one somewhere in Asia. We’d like to place the first in Switzerland as they have a reputation for neutrality unsurpassed in history. These embassies will be open to all citizens of Earth where you can come and request a position aboard one of our stations or ships. We wish to trade some of the ship’s technology for these bases and for our people’s safety when they’re not aboard ship. So far, we’ve had no success getting any agreements of any kind. The only restrictions we’ve imposed at this time are on weapons and propulsion technology. All else is available to the people of Earth.

“The ship you see behind me is a warship, one of the only two operating ships we’ve built so far. We have four more in varying stages of completion, along with dozens of smaller, one-man ships we call Mambas. We regret the necessity of making our first ships warships, but the universe is not a friendly place. This ship was armed when we found it, suggesting enemies, and they turned up. We suffered casualties due to their interference, but we prevailed. We don’t know whether their aggression was because our bases looked like their enemy’s or if they wouldn’t tolerate another space-based race. We wish to build freighters, passenger vessels, courier ships, survey vessels, resupply ships, and yes, unfortunately, other warships. We have three operating bases in the asteroid belt turning out ships for which we desperately need crews. Going to the governments of Earth would only defeat our purpose by allowing the weapons technology to get into the hands of people whose only agenda is to increase their own power.

“There is one other thing we want and that is for the people who join us not to be harassed when they come back to Earth—and come back they will. This is their home. They’ll vacation here, visit friends and families, and retire here. We don’t want our people arrested, detained, debriefed, interrogated, incarcerated, or anything else simply because they chose to work for us. If they were to break the laws of any country, they should, of course, be subject to those laws, but not just because they’re our people who’ll be bringing their knowledge back with them.

“This transmission is being made at this time because I, as commanding officer, am supposed to meet with and discuss just exactly these issues with various leaders of Earth within the next forty-eight hours. Since our request for acknowledgement has repeatedly been ignored, we therefore take this unilateral step to inform you of our existence. And while it’s possible for this transmission to be faked, the visual display in your skies above some of the major cities in each time zone will most definitely not be fakes. This display will begin ten minutes after the end of this broadcast. We invite all interested parties, especially news agencies and scientists with cameras, to step outside and not only witness but film proof of our existence.”

The image on the screen reached out and touched the podium he was standing beside. Almost immediately three Mambas moved across the open space behind him. “Those three ships,” the recorded Simon said as he stepped down off the dais, “are ships we call ‘Mambas.’”

The invisible cameraman followed Simon as he walked over to and in front of a Mamba parked on the projects deck of the Galileo. “This is a closeup of what you just saw outside the force field. This is a Mamba, named after a very fast, very deadly snake, and it has already earned its name. This is what you’re going to see in your skies ten minutes after this transmission ends. There will be three of them, and we invite your military forces to try to stop them. We will cause no damage to any of your craft or any of your property, but we’re about to give you an aerial display that will prove that what we say is so.

“Please, after this transmission and display, get in touch with your governments. Let them know how you feel. We’re betting that you’ll feel the same way we do—that this is one of the most wonderful occurrences in human history and that to relegate what we found to some government would be the blackest folly. No one nation could hope to survive if all the others knew they had this ship. Before they could figure out how to use it, the world would end in a nuclear holocaust, and that’s our prime reason for refusing to turn it over to any government. Tell your governments that you want the technology we can provide. Tell them that you want to join us on this, the greatest endeavor in human history, and that you want to be able to come and go at your own discretion. Thank you for your time.”

At that point Simon stopped the video and walked over to the TV. Silence reigned in the room as he pulled the video out, placed it in a plastic case, and handed it to Galway. Turning the TV off, he turned to his guests. “Well, gentlemen, how did I come off? I tried not to sound too pretentious. I didn’t want to sound like I was begging, and I tried not to sound like I was threatening. What do you think?”

Getting no response, he sat back down. “I think your bosses will be wanting to see that at the earliest possible moment. We have several ships available to perform the aerial acrobatics I explained. I think when it’s the Eastern seaboard’s turn, we’re quite likely to hit both Washington, DC and Boston. What do you think? I’m thinking maybe Chicago and St. Louis. Denver, certainly. I had considered Roswell, but then I thought that would be… just not right. They’ve suffered enough. So, Albuquerque. And what do you think of San Francisco and Seattle? London will get a show, as well as Paris, Berlin, Beijing, Tokyo, Moscow, Sydney, and Johannesburg. Did I leave anyone out? Oh, well, my logistics people will let me know. And just for general information, we’ve turned off our shields. We can now be seen by any amateur astronomer, or professional, for that matter, about twelve thousand miles straight up. Visual, infrared, ultraviolet, and radio telescopes will have a problem since we don’t transmit on any frequency known to man.”

The man from NASA, Mitchell, was the first to say, “I think this should be brought to someone’s attention immediately.”

Kitty asked, “Just how immediately would you like, Mr. Mitchell? I can arrange for you to be in DC in about five minutes.”

“You can do that? How?” he asked incredulously.

Kitty smiled. “Why, quite easily. First, we beam you up to the ship and then beam you back down to DC. Five minutes and your boss will have that video.”

Anderson stirred in his chair. “That would be a most inappropriate thing to do.”

“Meaning you don’t want one of your people out of your sight, is that right?” Commander Marshall quipped. “How about you go up with him? I’m sure we can arrange a small tour before beaming you back to Earth. I’ll go with the two of you and make sure you get home safely. I know you want to see her, and I’m sure you’ve got your knickers in a twist over the fact that the FBI has had an agent aboard for a while now.”

Kitty spoke up. “I like that idea, John. I could escort Mr. Galway and Colonel Babcock on a tour of their own, if they’d like.” Kitty smiled at the two men.

Galway demurred. “That’s a most generous gesture, Mrs. Hawke, but I’m afraid we’ll have to decline. How about rain checks for the future?”

Kitty knew when she had a man hooked. “Why certainly, Mr. Galway. And as long as we’re near—if not on—the subject, I have something for you.”

Getting to her feet, she walked over to where Ensign Martin stood. Reaching down, she picked up a slightly oversized attaché case and carried it back to the coffee table. The men scurried to remove their drinks so she could open it.

Spreading the case out flat revealed an electronic device with a small screen in the center of one half and a rectangular hole to one side. She picked up a device the size of an ordinary cellphone and slid it into the hole. “Now, Brandon, this is a commlink capable of full two-way communication with the Galileo. If you’d be so kind as to place your hand on the screen, this device will tune itself to you.” She looked him in the eyes and waited while he made up his mind.

Looking at his companions, he shrugged and did as Kitty asked. The screen lit up to a light green color, and a brighter bar of light swept from his fingertips to the heel of his hand and back again.

As the bar disappeared, Galway yelled, “Ouch! What the hell was that?”

Kitty gave him a coquettish look. “Why, Brandon, that was the DNA sample needed to tune the commlink to you. No one but you can use it now.”

“Well, it stung,” he said petulantly.

“And if I’d told you it was going to bite, would you have put your hand on it?” she asked.

“Probably not,” he growled.

“Well, then,” she said lightly, “there you go.” She reached out and grabbed his hand. Turning it over, she examined his palm. “Not a drop of blood. We won’t even need a Band-Aid. Better than a hospital, don’t you think?”

Getting serious, Kitty looked at her watch. “I really hate to end our little tête-à-tête, but we have things to do. Busy changing the world, you know. And you guys have got to get on your way so you can try to stop us, or at least make yourselves look less bad. I really wish we could have met under different circumstances. Of, course,” she said, “if we’d never found the ship, we wouldn’t be playing in such strange territory and meeting such interesting people.”

She led her guests to the door, shook each hand and said, “Have a safe trip. And Brandon, don’t try to pry open the commlink. It’ll melt, leaving you with nothing.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Simon sat in his ready room and listened to Jim Collier and Ted Brandt as they pitched their idea.

“Captain, we know what needs to be done to keep these people’s attention,” Jim said. “You say you want to start beaming them up today, which is fine. We can get them to show up at a meeting, but we need someone to come down and show them that we aren’t kidding. So far, all we have is a very large number of upset people. You guys took too long getting back.”

He slid a locator disk across the table to Ted. “You’re familiar with one of these, right?” They both nodded. “Good, it’ll act as a guide for a beam-in. I do need to know the time, at least approximately, so I can have my people on hand. I’d hate to upset any more folks by not appearing when you tell ‘em we will.”

Getting the time and location of the meeting, he handed Jim a video like the one Galway had taken back to Washington the day before. “You should see this. We plan to blanket the airwaves with this starting tomorrow morning. It’s going out worldwide. If this meeting doesn’t come off on time tonight, it could be awhile before the ruckus dies down enough to get enough people together for another demonstration. Tell your people we need about four hundred and sixty volunteers packed and ready to go. And good luck.”

Turning his visitors over to their guide so they could beam back down, Simon called Kitty and Lucy to put the idea of playing demonstrator to them. He found that it wasn’t as hard as he’d figured. Apparently boredom was a factor that could figure heavily if properly worked. Leaving the situation in their capable hands, he turned to other matters.

Conferring with Flight Control was something that needed to be done in person. He deemed it essential to have the pilots involved as well. They were, after all, going to be the stars of the show starting in just a few more hours. Meeting with the pilots and Flight Control officers on the projects deck, Simon lined out his idea.

“I want the most visually exciting display you can manage, ladies and gentlemen, without cutting it too close—dogfights, playing tag, acrobatics. Have fun with it. You’ll be flying in teams of three, and your lasers will be toned down to the point that they’re no worse than Z-tag guns. Take shots at each other, but by no means are you to even look like you’re firing on a planetary target or anything that comes from Earth. You may most definitely show your superiority by outrunning or flying rings around anything that tries to fly against you, but you’ll leave the area as soon as practical without firing a shot at any craft or ground installation. Your lasers won’t be able to down their ships anyway, but you could blind someone, and that could be just as bad. If one of you gets too far out of hand, I’ll skin you alive in front of the others.” None present doubted Simon’s ability to do so. “No injuries to the downsiders or their property. All we want to do is impress the hell out of them. Got it?”

At their loud agreement, Simon nodded. “Then I’ll turn you over to your individual flight controllers. Have fun, come home safe, and remember, you’ll be monitored seven ways from Sunday, not to mention being filmed by every news service on the planet.”

Kitty rather looked forward to the impromptu meetings she’d been asked to participate in. If her previous experience was any guide, they’d be a welcome respite from showing newbies around on orientation tours. It was one such tour she gladly turned over to her aide, Rukia Kimura, when she was called to the comm center.

“Mr. Galway,” Kitty said. “I wasn’t sure we’d be hearing from you today, but I’m glad you called. Or is this a ‘Brandon’ call?”

Galway’s voice sounded strained. “I was hoping to speak to your husband, Wing Commander. And, unfortunately, I think it should remain formal today. It has to do with the meeting we’ve been discussing.”

“I’m sorry, Captain Hawke isn’t available at this time. I believe he’s busy orchestrating an airshow. After all, our broadcast is due to go out in just under twenty-four hours. I’ll have to do for the moment, unless you have a problem dealing with females.”

Galway’s voice sounded harried. “You know I don’t. But, if I may, Wing Commander, this call is to get a specific time arranged for our two principals to get together. You appreciate the demands Vice-President Reese has on him, I’m sure. Not to say that Captain Hawke isn’t very busy, as well, but…”

Kitty let him off the hook. “I do see your point, Mr. Galway. Do you have the vice-president with you? I can get Simon here in ten minutes so there won’t be any more delay on the matter.”

Galway answered, “That much speed won’t be necessary, ma’am. The other thing I was to tell you was that there’s going to be a special press conference starting in about half an hour. President Drake will be making an announcement that I’m sure you’ll want to hear. I believe that any time after that press conference, Vice-President Reese will be available to speak to Captain Hawke.”

Kitty sighed in relief. Finally! “Thank you, Mr. Galway. I appreciate the heads-up and will pass the information to Simon immediately. Do your best to stay close to the vice-president, and try to be in a secure area so he can speak freely. We’ll wait for your call after the telecast.”

Simon, Kitty, Lucy, and Stephen all gathered around the ready room table. They’d been joined by Commander Shipley and several other officers to view the broadcast and give their reactions, if necessary. Kitty had set up the screen and recording device as soon as she’d informed Simon of Galway’s call so a permanent record of the broadcast could be made.

By the time Simon arrived, the room was full, and coffee was on the table. Simon settled himself into his chair and asked what, specifically, Galway had said. She repeated the conversation as close to word-for-word as she could.

“They’re cutting it a little close,” he said. “Of course, there’s a lot more of them that have to be in the loop than there are up here. Can you imagine the uproar this is going to make in Congress? And the House? First, all of those guys will have to be informed and convinced before this broadcast. I wish I could have heard some of those conversations. So, let’s see what’s on the agenda for tonight.”

As the final minutes wore down before the broadcast, Lucy fidgeted, Stephen doodled, and Simon sat still and raptly watched the last few minutes of a primetime sitcom as eight p.m. Eastern time approached.

About ten seconds into an ad promising less redness if one just used a certain eyedrop, the signal suddenly cut off and was replaced by a face most Americans knew, even if they couldn’t put a name to it. No one was left to guess for long as the man holding the microphone said, “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m Wolf Blitzer, NBC News correspondent to the White House. I’m standing here in the press room tonight by special invitation, along with several dozen other correspondents from various agencies around the country and the globe who’ve been able to get here in time. We’ve been informed that President Drake will be out shortly to make an announcement. Speculation is rampant as to the content, and the atmosphere is charged. No one, least of all this reporter, has any idea what’s going on. We’ve only been told that the president will be out momentarily to make an announcement of global significance.”

The scene cut to a newsroom with a male and female anchor staring out at the country from a set with the usual backdrop—a map of the globe surmounted by half-a-dozen clocks showing the time in various places around the world. The man asked, “Wolf, do you have any idea what could be of such great importance that President Drake would call a conference on such short notice?”

The camera cut back to Wolf, standing in the press room amid a confusing jumble of people and camera equipment. The presidential seal was prominent on the podium behind him, and several agitated people were standing on the stage to each side of the podium, looking confused. The only islands of serenity in view were the secret service agents standing in various places within the camera’s view.

Wolf, microphone in his right hand and left hand to his ear, said, “No, Don, we have no idea. No one here has a clue as to what the president has to say, which is why we’re at such loose ends tonight.”

A mumbled voice spoke from off camera. Wolf looked over his shoulder and then back at the camera. “Don, it looks like President Drake is about to come out now. Yes, I believe he is, preceded by two secret service men. He’s stepping onto the stage, followed by Vice-President Reese.” Wolf faced the front and stepped to one side so the camera could get a clear view.

The president walked across the stage with a grace belying the fact that he’d been effectively sandbagged by the ultimatum handed out by Simon just a few hours previously. He stopped at the podium, faced the audience, and in an unusual departure for a man who liked to look like he was speaking off the cuff, pulled a piece of paper from his inside coat pocket and made a show of flattening it out on the podium before he spoke.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the press. I want to thank you for being here on such short notice tonight. First, let me say that I have an announcement of earth-shattering proportions to make. Second, I must say that I will take no questions on this matter tonight. I leave that to my scientific advisory staff. I do feel that the nature of what I am about to reveal to you, and the gravity of the situation, compels me to stand here tonight and make this announcement. What I am about to say is going to be unbelievable, even coming from a president.”

Drake took a deep breath as he glanced down at the paper he’d laid out, and his knuckles visibly whitened as his hands gripped each side of the podium. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said as he looked down. He then raised his head and looked directly at the bank of cameras before him. “It is my duty to inform you that… we… are… not… alone… in… the… universe.” Not one sound came from any corner of the room as the shockwave moved outward from the podium. The members of his staff on the stage glanced first at each other and then at the president and vice-president as if they, too, were stunned by this revelation.

The president went on. “There has been controversy since 1947, and even earlier, as to whether or not the human race was alone in the universe. Conspiracy theorists said the government cleaned up the wreck at Roswell and hid it, along with bodies and that proved aliens existed. Others have said there was no wreckage, which proved there is no life out there. When I took office, I was asked by various factions to look into the situation. I asked questions. I assigned people to look into it, and nothing concrete turned up. I didn’t follow it any further. The exigencies of my office precluded spending any more time on a matter of such seemingly small significance.

“My personal feelings on the matter aside, I, and a very few members of my staff, have been made privy to the fact that citizens of the United States have come into possession of a spaceship of alien origin. Ladies and gentlemen of the press, living, intelligent beings, born on a planet that circles a sun other than ours, built a spaceship, and for one reason or another that ship wound up here and derelict. Citizens of the United States found the ship and took it for their own. They have decided, unwisely, I feel, to refrain from turning that ship over to this government or any other government on this planet. Their stated reason is that to do so would upset the balance of power and precipitate a nuclear war from which we would never recover. Their stated goal is to use the technology that comes from this vessel to benefit mankind as a whole, not just one country or group. As far as we have been able to ascertain in the slightly over two years they have been in possession of this vessel, they have done nothing that did not follow their stated goals.

“They have recruited and trained some two thousand persons, mostly from the United States, and to the best of our knowledge, have three bases in the asteroid belt. Aside from the original ship, they have built and crewed two other ships. Our sources tell us that one more base is to be built, and then each of these four bases will be turning out a steady stream of ships. It has further been brought to my attention that shortly after completion of the first base, it was attacked by persons or beings,” here the president’s speech stumbled a bit, “of unknown origin. Most likely, we are led to believe, by a second race that is an enemy to the race that originally built the ship our citizens possess. The attack was fended off at some loss of life to our citizens, but they have carried on their program of expansion.

“Now to the reason for this press conference tonight: The Office of the President, along with a select few others, has known of the existence of this group for almost two years. Once I ascended to this office, I was informed of the existence of this group as well. This knowledge has stayed at the highest levels as we tried to work out policies for dealing with this new and disturbing situation.

“Unfortunately, the decision no longer rests with us. Beginning right now, in the time zone that includes Rangoon, Burma, New Delhi, India, Kathmandu, Nepal and portions of Tibet, China and Russia, a telecast is being made to the peoples of Earth. This telecast is designed to acquaint you with this new group and their goals. According to our sources, after each telecast an aerial demonstration will be performed over the major cities of the area. We ask all countries that you do not, repeat, do not interfere with the demonstrations or fire on these vessels. They are friendly and are only demonstrating their existence.

“One of the things that has been requested by this group is a series of embassies on Earth. Three in all—one on the European continent, one in Asia, and one on the North American continent. Another thing they have requested is freedom from prosecution, persecution, arrest, harassment, or interrogation for all of their people based on who they choose to work for. They do agree that they should be subject to the laws of any nation they visit. They ask that they be allowed to recruit volunteers for their space-based labor force and earth-side embassies, station personnel and shipboard personnel. In return, they offer access to the technology of this marvelous vessel to increase the quality of life on Earth. They ask that all peoples of Earth be allowed to apply, regardless of gender, religion or ethnicity, and insist that any technology traded is to be given to all countries simultaneously so that no one country gets an advantage over another.

“Artificial gravity, antigravity, new manufacturing techniques, methods to help us clean up our water and air, methods to help restore the ozone layer, methods to make our homes and automobiles more efficient and cheaper to operate, and methods to feed our hungry are among the items this group, this Terran Alliance, is willing to trade for the concessions they have requested. At the same time, these ships will give the human race the universe. I ask you, do not be alarmed. You will be seeing vessels operated by human beings over the next twenty-four hours in your skies. These vessels will be there to show you their abilities and to show you that they actually exist.

“Negotiations with the leaders of this group will commence immediately, headed by Vice-President Reese and attended by representatives of various nations of Earth. Knowing that I am being listened to as I speak, I extend an invitation to the leader of the group, Captain Simon Hawke, to meet with Vice-President Reese at Camp David so negotiations can begin and an alliance can be forged that can take the human race to the stars.

“It is my understanding that two vessels are currently in orbit around our planet at an altitude of about twelve thousand miles. They have turned off their shielding so they can be seen by professional and amateur astronomers alike to make my revelation easier to believe.” He looked down at his paper on the dais. “Two major radio-telescope arrays and more than a dozen optical telescopes from observatories around the northern hemisphere have confirmed the existence of two objects at a height of about twelve thousand miles directly above the North American continent.

“I hasten to point out to all the peoples of Earth that this is not, I repeat, not an American endeavor. It is simply a matter of Americans finding the technology. And it is they who insist on making it something that crosses all national borders, all racial barriers, and all religious barriers. They are the ones who insist on bases outside the U.S. and accepting anyone who wants to join. As soon as negotiations can be completed, we hope to see all three embassies up and running, but this is not something that can happen overnight. Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming.”

The president turned to leave the stage, and pandemonium broke out among the reporters. Microphones were raised, voices were raised, and questions were screamed, but, ramrod straight, President Drake walked out of the room, led by secret service and trailed by Vice-President Reese.

It was a full ten seconds before veteran reporter Wolf Blitzer realized his cameraman was filming an empty stage and stepped in front of the live camera. A look of shock was as apparent on his face as it was on the faces of everyone as he said, “Don, for the first time in my life as a reporter, I am absolutely speechless. I can only say that the president’s words, if true, speak for themselves, and only time will tell that tale.”

The scene cut back to the newsroom and the male anchor said, “What was that about aerial displays?”

The scene cut back to Wolf. “Oh, yes, Don. President Drake said there would be a broadcast from this group of people in each time zone, followed by an aerial display of some type to prove they were telling the truth. We can only wait and see. What I remember hearing is that the first broadcast and demonstration will take place over India, and actually, should be taking place right now. You should be getting reports from that part of the world any time now.

“This is a situation where we will know very soon whether the statements made here tonight by the president are true or whether he has somehow been hoaxed into giving us misinformation, if that is what it is.” With one more look over his shoulder at the stage, Wolf turned back to the camera. “It appears that there will be no more from this quarter tonight, so this is Wolf Blitzer in Washington DC. Back to you, Don.”

The camera cut back to the newsroom one more time, the two anchors looking as composed as they could, given the circumstances.

Simon reached down, picked up a remote and shut off the screen. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “mission accomplished.” The sound of cheering made him wince in the confines of the small room. “We’ll air the alternate video before each demonstration. Don’t want to embarrass our new partners any more than we already have, do we?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Simon handed a disc to Kitty. “Would you see that this gets to Communications, dear? We don’t want the wrong one to air. And see if you can raise Galway. We’ll send him a copy for his boss so they aren’t uninformed. Seems like good manners since we just got all we asked for, don’t you think?”

Kitty agreed that it was, indeed, good manners. “But, what are the changes you’ve made in the second video? I saw the first one, but I actually didn’t have any idea there was a second.”

Simon seemed to be enjoying himself. “Well, it wouldn’t have worked if President Drake hadn’t made a mistake. He used the word ‘embassies’ several times in his speech. I’d used it during our talks with Galway and company, and it got to his ear and came out of his mouth. What the second video does is leave out any reference to disagreements or coercion in getting recognized and refers to us three times as the Terran Alliance.”

Stephen, quick to see the implications, spoke up. “You’re looking for status as an independent power, aren’t you?” he asked. “Only political entities have embassies, and the President is talking about granting them. That is, of course, if the other nations agree.”

Simon grinned. “Oh, they’ll agree, all right. The only question is how fast. We’ve dangled some bait already, showing our ships here. And there’s more bait to come in the aerial displays. Of course, some countries will try to shoot our guys down. That’s a given. But nothing they have can penetrate our shields, and the Mambas are just way too fast, even in atmosphere. My only concern is that our hotshot boys and girls will do something stupid before they get used to flying in atmosphere. So far, all they’ve done is play around where there is none. I made sure they know to be careful and remember their limitations, but you know how kids with new toys are, especially when they get to show off.”

Kitty looked at her husband closely. “This is one even I didn’t see coming, Simon. What do you have planned?”

“It’s not so much a plan as a dream, hon. And all of you,” he said as he turned to the people gathered in the room, “I hope, will see the wisdom in this. If we’re independent, we can write our own rules and grow in our own direction. I hope that direction is one that will lead us to the stars as a responsible, caring group—and group is the key word, here. We need to be unified. If we buy into the philosophies down there, we’ll wind up just like them—factionalized and fighting over every little word or punctuation in every little document. We need to keep to the bigger picture and follow the spirit, as much as the letter, of whatever we lay down as our operating guidelines. If we stay independent, we stand a chance of influencing them to join us and reunite the human race.”

People began excusing themselves to get back to whatever they’d been called from—some to their duty stations and some to bed or time off.

The first to leave was Commander Pritchert, head of Flight Ops. “I’ve got people ready to fly, and I need to be there. We plan to have an oversight craft filming each demonstration as well, so I have that much more to do.”

Kitty nodded in approval. “Filming is a good idea. We’ll have something to show the holdouts about what advantages we have. And if these hotshots know they’re being filmed, it might help hold down some of the wilder stuff. They’ve been told to play around but to be careful. I’ve also told ‘em that anything I find on one of these flights that I don’t like, I’ll pull their license so fast it’ll make their heads swim.”

The next several days produced enough activity to keep everyone busy. The culmination was Simon receiving a call from Galway in which he spoke to the vice-president personally and was invited to come to Camp David in three days for a meeting with representatives of most of the more advanced nations and some of the less advanced, as well. “They’d like to know how all this is going to affect nations in the third world,” the vice-president said.

Simon replied that the food-processor technology alone would put an end to hunger in most of the world. Given one of the machines, all a person would have to do was put organic material, any organic material, into a receptacle, press a series of buttons, and food would come out the other end. “It’s fully programmable, so whatever you want the machine to produce is kept in memory, so to speak, and when you put enough material in and request the item, it will appear. And it can be programmed to refuse to produce items like liquor and drugs of all kinds. Or it can be used in a hospital and programmed to produce the very drugs other units will be unable to synthesize. This is one item we think should be produced and distributed without charge to hungry people around the world. One machine would feed dozens, even hundreds of people. That should do for starters.”

Another thing that happened was that new faces began appearing on the Galileo again since Kitty and Lucy beamed down to several meetings and sparked near riots at two of them. Beaming out was the only alternative at one meeting where several women tried to grab them to prove they were holograms. Lucy left behind a sleeve and quite a few skin cells in the fingernails of one disbeliever. Kitty fared only a little better when a half-full drink cup that should have passed through her bounced off, covering her with something sticky and cold.

Jim and Ted were kept busy handing out their contact number to anyone who asked. After several meetings, it looked like the total number required for this trip would be met handily. To prevent a recurrence of the last time, Ted suggested that several of the unlucky ones who wouldn’t be going this time be given tours of the ship to prove it was real. That, coupled with the president’s revelation and subsequent aerial displays all over the world, not only put an end to any disbelief among the faithful, but it assured a worldwide volunteer base that wouldn’t be depleted any time soon.

Simon went into a flurry of activity after his talk with the vice-president. He called in his new security chief, Commander Larry Staples, a former Navy Seal and one of the original members of the crew, his second in command, Robert Shipley, and a lieutenant commander named Olivia Beauchamp to meet with him and Kitty. Along for the meeting were Lucy Grimes from the McCaffrey and Stephen Walker for ideas and opinions.

Simon proposed that he, Staples, Shipley, and Beauchamp be the contact team for this initial meeting. “I have to go, of course. Staples is for backup, Shipley so that in the future I won’t have to be present, and Beauchamp because she’s the only one I’ve found so far who’ll admit to being a law student. She wasn’t far from taking her bar exams when she decided to take a vacation with us. Now, her knowledge will come in handy.

“I don’t intend for us to get entangled in legal disputes though. It’s been my experience that if you lay out what you want and the other guy wants it, too, he’ll find a way to take it. I plan to let the vice-president and his staff tell us how what we want can be accomplished. Granted, it’s simplistic, but some of the best plans are just that. If it doesn’t work, we haven’t lost anything, and we can look for legal help among the downsiders.

“It’s been requested that we don’t beam down since too many of the people present aren’t familiar with the concept, even from science fiction. So, Commander Staples will pilot a shuttle down, carrying the four of us. I’ve been informed that a wing of Apache helicopters will be in the air while we’re there, strictly as protection, of course, so I informed Galway that a flight of Mambas would fly as backup. This flight, ladies and gentlemen, will not have their wings clipped like the demonstrators did.”

Anyone who’d been watching Kitty while he’d been expounding his plan to speak to the vice-president would have seen her eyes narrow slightly. She listened quietly and patiently while he outlined his plan, and her expression darkened visibly when she heard who he planned to take down with him for his contact team. Security chief, sure. Second in command, understandable. But, Beauchamp just because she’d studied law?

A flight of Mambas for cover? she thought. I told him I’d be along for the ride. I just hope he forgets until it’s too late. Shit. I’ll fly even if he does find out!

When Simon finished and hadn’t specifically assigned anyone to take charge of the cover flight and their pilots, Kitty volunteered her services as Wing Commander. “I’m not doing anything else, anyway,” she said offhandedly. “So, who better than a Mamba Wing Commander, and wife, to oversee pilot selection and work with Flight Control to ensure mission safety.”

Simon considered the matter for a few seconds, then said, “Sure, why not? I can’t think of anyone better to watch my back.” He reached out and patted her on the leg. “And it’ll teach you not to volunteer.”

Radio and television commentators had plenty to keep them occupied for the next couple of days—speculation about the president’s announcement, analysts taking it apart, spin doctors from both sides of the aisle ringing in with their opinions, and astronomers confirming the presence of two objects in orbit that shouldn’t be there. Simon’s broadcast received a lot of attention, and the demonstration flights were featured items. A lot was made of the fact that on more than one occasion a Mamba pilot had missed, and his laser had done no damage to objects on the ground. One scientist said something about attenuated beam strength inside Earth’s atmosphere, and the debate over that went on for hours. There were religious views, pro and con, as well as various and sundry nuts able to get airtime—enough material to keep people arguing for years.

Simon had insisted that the meeting at Camp David be covered by the press and televised live. Galway threw a fit.

“Security details are staggering, as it is, Captain. We’ll have dignitaries from all over the globe there and no way to guarantee their safety. Normally, it wouldn’t be a problem, as I’m sure you’re about to point out, but we’re dealing with an entirely different set of circumstances. This topic is too highly charged. If the press shows up, the nuts will follow. There’ll be demonstrations and possibly riots. I’m sorry, but no press.”

Simon balked. “First and foremost, I’m insulted, Mr. Galway. Camp David is one of the most secure places on the planet. Just who will you be needing to protect those dignitaries from?” Simon let the silence from the other end of the connection go on until it was uncomfortable. “You’re certainly not going to say that it would be from us, are you? We’ll be the only ‘unknown quantity’ there, so it must be. Maybe we should just call this whole thing off.”

Galway got his voice back, and apparently so did someone in the background. Simon couldn’t make out the words, but he did hear another voice. “The president has already made the announcement, Captain, and representatives from dozens of nations have already started to arrive. The meeting should go on as planned. This is turning into a circus.” His voice died out.

Simon spoke into the silence, picturing the agent sweating as one of his bosses put words in his mouth. “I’m not saying no more secrets, Galway. What I am saying is that this is already public knowledge. People have seen the Mambas. Some will surely see the shuttle and her escort. The press can be on hand for that, at least. You’ll do more for a space shuttle launch than you will for the first meeting between an extraplanetary power and the leaders of the nations of Earth?” He paused to let Galway respond.

Getting nothing, Simon added, “What arrangements we make, you can keep at a high level and spin them any way you want as long as they don’t make us look bad in the process. But the fact of our existence and our comings and goings, well that’s history in the making. And I’ll bet from all the crap that’s been aired on radio and television for the last couple of days that all the major networks would just love to be there to get footage of the first landing of an alien craft. So, here’s the deal: if we aren’t seeing live transmissions on most, if not all, of the major networks, our shuttle won’t leave the bay. Now, we’ve already acceded to your request that we not beam down the first time. It’s time for you to give a little, too. Or are you afraid of something, Mr. Galway?”

Kitty, in the room at the time of the call, felt her heart skip a beat when Simon made that remark. When the conversation was over, she asked as lightly as she knew how, “What do you think the deal is there?”

Simon waved a hand negligently in the air. “Oh, just more of the usual government secrecy bullshit. I just don’t intend to let them get away with it.”

Kitty left Simon with all of her alarm bells ringing. She beamed over to the McCaffrey after making sure Lucy was in and made her way through overcrowded corridors to Lucy’s ready room.

“Just how many people do you have aboard this tub, Lucy?” Kitty asked as she sat down.

“Don’t call my bucket a tub, dammit,” Lucy shot back. “Simon wants to crew two vessels at once, as you know. We’re just taking some of the Galileo’s overflow. My exec, Mark Brenner, is getting one of the ships, so we took on the people who’ll be training for command level and a few others, as well. And you know Gayle is getting one of the others, so Marsha is bringing the Heinlein in. Simon is having his meeting tomorrow morning, and we’re supposed to get underway right after that. It’ll only be for a week, so I don’t see any real problems. We could do it a little faster, but we can use that week for training.”

“True enough,” Kitty agreed. “And that brings us to why I’m here. I have a funny feeling about this meeting.”

Lucy concurred. “I’ve noticed that you’ve been kind of jumpy the last couple of days, ever since the meeting was finally confirmed. Anything specific?”

“Well, no. I want these bases as much as anyone else does, and I realize how important the meeting is. I’d put my jitters down to a wife being concerned about her husband… until I overheard a call between Simon and Galway.”

“What did you hear?” Lucy inquired. She leaned forward, laying her forearms on the desk, fingers laced together.

“I was there when Simon was discussing the final details with Galway. And Galway said no media, which Simon refused to agree to. Galway finally gave in. You know how Simon can be. I’d hate to be there when he finally meets the guy as stubborn as he is. Anyway, I just don’t feel right. It’s not anything I can put a finger on, you know? So. I’m supposed to be picking the pilots for Simon’s cover flight. That’s my official reason for being here. Simon thinks I’m going to pick five of your pilots, then go sit in the Galileo’s Flight Control and monitor the whole thing from there. He seems to have forgotten my promise to fly cover for him, and after that call, I’m definitely going to be in a cockpit. He’ll think someone else is in charge of it right up until something goes wrong. If something goes wrong. And that information stops right here, Lucy,” Kitty said, tapping Lucy’s desk. “He’s going to have enough on his mind.”

Lucy said, “I have to credit your feelings, Kitty. I have them, too. But this, I don’t know. Of course, I’ll keep the secret. Just be careful, okay?”

Kitty stood. “Of course. And I’ll keep in the background unless there’s trouble. Now, down to Flight Control. See you later.”

She called Flight Control and requested that four particular pilots meet her in Fighter Operations. When she arrived on the flight deck, she saw the last of the four entering a room located at the far end of the corridor. She hurried along past the launch bays holding their craft and entered to find all four pilots in deep discussion about the mysterious summons.

After a few minutes of reminiscing, she got to the point. “I’ll put an end to the mystery right now,” she said. The four pilots, all veterans from the very first group of volunteers, looked at her expectantly. Shirley Dahlquist, Amy Carpenter, Velma Randall, and David Sipes were people she’d flown with and respected. Now she was to fly with them one more time. “As you know, tomorrow morning Simon is going to take a shuttle down to Camp David. We’ve been informed that there will be a wing of five Apache helicopters to provide protection for the dignitaries there, and we’ve informed them that we’ll have five Mambas flying cover for us. You’ll be four of those pilots, and I’ll be the fifth.

“Commander Dahlquist will be in charge of the flight.” As Shirley started to protest, Kitty added, “As far as Simon knows, you’re in command. All radio traffic will come from you, and I’ll be referred to as Lt. Johnson. As long as nothing goes wrong, you’ll stay in charge. If the shit hits the fan, I’ll take over and assume all responsibility for our actions. Clear?” At Shirley’s nod, she went on. “I chose you four because I know you. I know how you fly and how you think. I know you’ll follow orders, and I know you’ll deviate only if you think it’s truly necessary. I hope it won’t be.

“Orders for the flight are as follows: Going in, it’s okay to show off until we get close to the ground. You need to know how your ships will react in atmosphere if you weren’t among the display pilots, so play with ‘em. Once we get down, pick a chopper and play one-on-one with it. You will not fire on any individual, installation, or craft, unless fired on first. Keep in mind that there’ll be media there filming our arrival and actions, so be on your best behavior. The contact team can beam out if necessary, but that would leave a shuttle on the ground in unfriendly hands. I’ll take the responsibility for destroying it, if necessary. The contact team will have their wristbands slaved together. If one person hits the button, they all go. Their bio-monitors will activate the recall if their stress levels get too high, or we can manually recall them if we decide the situation warrants it. The rest will be an improvisation, just like it will be for the contact team.

“We can ‘how about’ and ‘what if’ all day long, but that’s it in a nutshell. I’ll beam over as soon as Simon boards the shuttle, so we won’t have much time to talk until the mission. I’ll say ‘good flying’ now and let you check your ships. I’ll have the Chief see that a ship is prepped for me, too, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

She started for the door and turned. “Oh, yes. Remember, my part in this flight is secret. I can’t have Simon catching on until after we get back aboard. That’s all.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

The alarm went off as if it were any other day. Kitty woke at the first ring but lay on her side, pretending sleep and interpreting the movements of the bed as Simon moved over to shut the ringer off. She experienced a feeling of separation the moment his body no longer touched the bed, believing the mattress transmitted their heartbeats to each other.

She heard him shuffle across the floor and turned over to watch him walk into the bathroom. Laying there listening for the shower to start, Kitty stretched, feeling disgustingly good after the night they’d just had. She smiled to herself, content, until her feet touched the deck.

Why is it, she thought, that every time I think my life is going well, something happens to upset it?

The smile faded from her face and she stood up, knowing that the water would be just right and she had to go in there. She smiled again. Simon had known she was awake when he left the room. She often thought they’d been married too long and knew each other too well.

Maybe that’s the problem, she thought. When he starts to predict me, well, I’m just going to have to put some surprise back into that man’s life.

Keeping her nervousness to herself, she stepped into the shower and wrapped her arms around her man, letting her body adjust to the heat and steam of the shower stall. Nuzzling the back of his neck, she said, “Ready for the big day, lover? And after a night like that?”

Simon turned around in the circle of her arms. Obviously more awake and functional than a few minutes earlier, he replied, “You bet. Nights like that only make me look forward to more nights like that.” He grinned down at her and kissed her forehead. “Now, woman, no time for fun and games. We’ll have plenty of that once we break orbit.” He turned back around, feeling her hands pressing against the flesh of his waist. “Scrub my back?”

Showers finished, they both got dressed and stopped in the mess hall for a light breakfast before heading down to the shuttle waiting on deck eighteen.

“Last night’ll have to hold both of us until I get back. Now, get to Flight Control, so I know I’m safe.” He looked deep into her eyes, kissed her lightly one more time, and turned her loose, then spun on his heel and headed for the shuttle.

Hours before Simon and Kitty had even thought about getting out of bed, Agent Daniels was in his specially selected hiding place, congratulating himself on picking just the right spot. He watched as the shuttle was moved into position by the bay operators stationed above and counted the service techs as they began their morning preflight checks. He would stay sequestered until all support personnel left, which should be enough time to sneak aboard unless guards had been posted.

He’d taken a tour of one of these workhorses with Kitty’s permission and had found the best place to hide his less-than-svelte girth. Now, a low chime over the loudspeakers announced lunch. He carefully stood up, the returning circulation almost making him fall. By his best estimate, all the workers had left the shuttle, so he slipped out of the locker carrying the smallest case that would hold his various “finds” aboard ship.

He started to relax and then remembered the force field over the bay doors. Among the items he had on him was a laser pistol “found” in a locker room while its true owner showered off the day’s stink. He also got Crewman McNalley to find a way to undo the wristband he wore without it showing on the bridge. He’d gotten a replica to wear at times when he didn’t want it known that he was out of his room. And he got McNalley to make a more advanced Taser into the same casing.

Now he had a decision to make—try for the shuttle or go back to his bunk. He was armed with multiple disks, two guns, and terabytes of additional data hidden on various parts of his uniform.

Now was the time, before someone came back early. He pushed the locker door shut with a faint sound and made directly for the shuttle. To his great relief, no one was aboard and no guards called for him to stop. He slipped into the engine room, slid the door into place, and found his hiding spot. After putting his pack down, he sat on it, completely hidden behind one of the oversized generators.

He was still hidden when he heard the returning flight techs, but no one entered the engine room. Soon, he heard Simon’s voice, along with several others. The engines began to power up for their prelaunch test while other systems did the same.

“Yes, Sally,” the reporter said into the camera, “we’re here at Camp David awaiting an historic moment. This is the first time something will land on Earth that hasn’t first been launched from the Earth. At least,” he continued with a smile on his face as his entire body radiated a palpable sense of excitement, “officially. Stories about Roswell come to mind, crop circles, and many other things as well. But none of those have ever been substantiated. Today we will be able to see something land. I must admit that I’m having a bit of trouble believing all this, Sally. It just seems a bit too… Star Wars-ish. Officials have been very closemouthed about the situation, except to say that we’ll be witnessing the first official meeting between this Terran Alliance and representatives from all over the world. What type of craft will land or even how it will land hasn’t been divulged.

“Historically, the only flying craft that come to Camp David are helicopters, and the only thing we have to go on so far are all the films of those small fighter-type craft that buzzed the major cities of the world, putting on the aerial displays that are still causing such a furor in scientific circles. In some cases, those craft came to a complete stop and held position for extended periods of time before moving on.

“Where we’re set up, just outside the main gate, we have as good a view as anyone is going to get of the landing, if it occurs.” The commentator was obviously displeased with not being closer but was unsure whether the unexpected restriction was justified or not. He went on. “I’ve had the privilege of being present at two space shuttle landings, and I can tell you that what we have here today is a drastic departure from that type of landing. A shuttle essentially glides into a landing area on runways specially designed for a long, rolling stop. The field we’ve been told to watch is too short by far for anything but a powered landing. And as a pilot, I can say that, considering the area, the angle of descent will be rather steep.

“Whatever’s coming down shortly is going to do so in a manner that very few crafts can manage—helicopters, VTOL’s like the Osprey, and such. But a powered space-to-ground craft? Nothing in any arsenal on the planet can do it in the space available, Sally. And we are led to believe from the press release,” he said, waving a piece of paper at the camera, “that the craft will take off and go back again without refueling.”

Another voice, another channel. “According to what we’ve been told, the vessel will land shortly after eight a.m. and we’ll get our first glimpse of the enigmatic Captain Hawke setting foot on Terran soil.”

Simon laughed as he turned away from the screen that had been set up on the projects deck. “So, now I’m ‘enigmatic.’” He turned to the assembled crowd and said, “Well, folks. Let’s go make a deal.” He watched as the rest of the away team filed aboard the small shuttle Daniel Baylor had presented to the Galileo so long ago.

It hasn’t been that long, has it? he thought. Has it really been two whole years?

He took Kitty off to one side. “Listen, Kittyn, I can see the worry in your face. I’ve known you too long not to know that you’ve been troubled by this for days. I just don’t know how to reassure you. Nothing I can possibly say would do it. You’re a wife and your man is going into danger. I’d worry too if the situation were reversed.” He smiled deprecatingly, hands out in a helpless gesture. “But the risk is worth it!”

He looked over his shoulder at the waiting ship, slid his arm up to her shoulders, and drew her to him, letting her head nestle against his chest. “Damn it, I know it sounds vain, Kittyn,” he said to the air above her head, “but I remember that this is how the U.S. got her independence from Britain. They felt that the distance was so great and the information time-lag so long that it made no sense to remain so closely affiliated. They believed their distant shore gave them the right to determine their own destiny.”

He stroked the back of her neck with his left hand. “And if this works, we’ll do it without having to kill one person or have one of ours killed. A bloodless secession.”

He raised his left hand to her head and let the reddish-gold hair spill from between his fingers, his eyes devouring the sight. “You know I can’t do this without you, don’t you?”

Kitty pushed back in his embrace, looking up angrily. “I hate it that you put this on me, Simon. You’re not asking me if I believe in your vision; you’ve got more than enough who believe in that. You’re asking me if I believe in you. And of course, I believe in you. I have since the day we met. I’d have thought you’d have known that, but… you’re just a man.” She squeezed him tightly for a moment and stepped back. “It’s just that I didn’t expect this! And I wish it didn’t have to be you!”

Simon kissed her, feeling the rapid beating of her heart in the fingertips that lightly stroked her neck. “That’s the best compliment I’ve ever had,” he said.

Chief Hargrove waved to her from the last open bay door. She grabbed the helmet he held out as she swarmed up the boarding ladder, throwing her right leg into the cockpit and feeling the ladder retracting before her weight was fully off her left. She wormed her way into her flight harness and settled the helmet onto her head, absently acknowledging the ready status of the ship as the cockpit closed automatically. She had just enough time to realize that the name on the helmet read Hawke, K, and gave silent thanks to whoever’d had the foresight to bring it over from the Galileo.

As she put her helmet on, she became privy to the chatter across the open circuits. “Flight Leader, this is Flight Control. Telemetry shows Mamba Five occupied, prepped and ready for launch.”

Kitty heard Shirley reply, “Roger, Flight Control. Confirm Mamba Five occupied. Mamba Five, report your status.”

Kitty looked down, gave all of her instruments a final check, and reported, “Flight Leader, Mamba Five. Board green and ready for launch.”

Shirley’s voice came to her again, “Flight Control, this is Flight Leader. Mamba Flight reports all green, ready for launch. Request information on shuttle status.”

Flight Control reported back, “Galileo Flight Control reports clearing last computer glitch. Shuttle is preparing to leave the bay. Mamba Flight, you are clear to launch in sequence.”

“Flight Control, this is Flight Leader. Acknowledge clear to launch in sequence. Mamba Flight, this is Flight Leader. Prepare to launch in sequence. Ten-second intervals. Form on me and await further instruction.”

Kitty immediately felt the distinctive vibration that told her a Mamba had launched. As soon as she felt the fourth one, she began her own internal countdown, and on the mark, took her ship out of the bay. As soon as she slid into open space, her sensors came alive. She found the blips that represented the rest of her flight, moved herself into position, and reported, “Mamba Five, on station.”

Kitty looked down at her screens and saw the five small blips of her flight, the larger one of the McCaffrey, and the still larger one of the Galileo. As she watched, a small blip separated itself from the largest one, and Simon’s shuttle headed down at a sedate pace.

Shirley Dahlquist’s voice came across the intercom, “Mamba Flight, this is Flight Leader. Escort formation. Johnson, take point,” she said to Kitty. “Carpenter, port. Sipes, starboard. Randall, take the rear and watch out for the shuttle’s backwash. Remember to test your controls, people, those who haven’t flown in atmosphere before.”

Kitty, appreciative of the fact that Shirley had assigned her the point so she could assess the situation, led the flight down, keeping their speed well below the levels Engineering recommended for atmospheric flight. As soon as she felt her ship buck, she reported, “Mamba Five. Atmospheric contact.”

Both the shuttle pilot and her flight leader acknowledged, and almost immediately Simon’s voice came over an auxiliary circuit. “Galway, this is Hawke. Do you copy?”

Galway’s terse reply. “Galway here.”

“We’ve just hit atmosphere. We’ll be down shortly. Clear a spot.”

Galway came back, “If you can land vertically, there’s a well-marked helipad that should be able to take a craft up to about a hundred and fifty feet long.”

“We’ll use the helipad. Hawke clear.”

A minute later the shuttle’s pilot came on. “Mamba Flight, this is Chief Staples. Transferring commercial audio feed to your channel three. Thought you might enjoy it. Shuttle clear.”

Kitty began testing her ship’s controls as the six Alliance vessels dove deeper into the atmosphere. With one part of her mind, she listened to the chatter on her ship circuit, and with another she listened to the television audio. “Mamba Five. Fifty thousand feet,” she reported.

Immediately on the heels of her report came another. “Mamba Three. Reporting radar contact.”

“Mamba Two. Reporting radar lock-on.”

“Mamba Flight, this is Mamba Leader. Do not, repeat, do not raise shields at this time. Continue your descent. Take no evasive action. Bogeys approaching from east and west and still below us.”

Kitty watched the approaching blips, as well as her descent, and heard Shirley challenge the approaching craft. “United States craft, this is Mamba Flight Leader. We are on approved approach to Camp David at Vice-President Reese’s invitation. Halt your approach and state your intentions.”

“Mamba Flight, you say. Is there a Captain Simon Hawke with you?” a disembodied voice asked.

Shirley acknowledged the fact that there was.

“Very well then, Mamba Flight, we are your escort.”

Kitty’s instruments lit up, and she reported, “Mamba Five. Reporting radar lock-on.”

She heard Shirley’s calm voice continue. “Escort Leader, three of my flight report radar lock-on. That’s not good manners. Disengage your targeting systems.”

“Mamba Flight Leader, this is Escort Leader. Regret to inform you that we cannot do that. To quote from my mission briefing, it says, ‘armed with weapons of unknown potential, and to be considered potentially hostile.’”

“Well, then, I have a surprise for you, Escort Leader,” Shirley shot back. On a separate circuit, she ordered, “Mamba Leader to all ships. On my mark, engage shields for five seconds, then disengage. Three, two, one, mark.”

After all six ships had engaged and then disengaged their shields, Kitty heard Shirley’s voice again. “Okay, Escort Leader, what do you think of that?” The move had made all six ships disappear from the radar screens of the approaching craft, effectively ruining all targeting data and lock-ons.

“Mamba Flight Leader, I still have my orders.”

Shirley was silent for several seconds, then said, “That was the simplest thing in our bag of tricks, Escort Leader. Try this one on for size.” Switching to the private channel, she ordered, “Flight Leader to all ships. On my mark, reduce speed to zero and hover. Three, two, one, mark. Reengage your screens and continue your descent. Escort Leader, this is Mamba Flight Leader. Respond.”

“How the hell did you do th… This is Escort Leader.”

“You’re just going to have to track us on visual, I’m afraid.” Kitty grinned as she heard the suppressed chuckle in Shirley’s voice. “If you try to lock on one more time, I’ll have to burn out your radar systems, and I don’t want to do something like that to somebody who my mission briefing refers to as a potential ally. So, we’ll just keep our screens up.” Switching back to the private channel, she said, “I know we can’t do that, but he doesn’t.”

Kitty grinned at Shirley’s audacity and reported, “Twenty thousand feet. Extensive radar sweeps. No lock-on.”

She listened to the verbal duel between the flight leaders.

“Mamba Flight Leader, my orders are to fire on your craft if you make any hostile moves.”

“Well, you’re going to have to make your own interpretation of our moves,” Shirley said. “We’ve been invited to Camp David, and we’re going straight there, so the only thing you can call hostile will be a deviation from that course. Besides, you aren’t carrying anything that can hurt us.”

“Mamba Flight Leader, this is Escort Leader. You don’t know what we’re armed with.”

“Escort Leader, I have a strong suspicion what you’re armed with, especially considering the fact that we’re flying over densely populated parts of the United States. You’re not going to detonate a nuclear device at this altitude, and nothing else you have can do anything to harm us. Our vessels and shields are designed to take minor meteor impacts at a fraction of the speed of light, Escort Leader, so I suggest you back off on the threats.”

Kitty reported, “Ten thousand feet.”

Shirley spoke to the U.S. aircraft one more time. “Escort Leader, this is Mamba Flight Leader. I believe you’ve just reached the point of can’t-do-anything-now. We are picking up commercial audio, and all three major networks have us on visual. It’s time to put away the brass knuckles and be good little boys. And it’s time for me to go eyeball the landing site. Bye, guys!”

With that, Shirley’s Mamba dove for the ground with a speed that astonished even Kitty—from just under ten thousand feet to five hundred feet, in atmosphere, in less than twenty seconds. Kitty watched on her screens as Shirley’s Mamba came to an almost instantaneous halt.

A few seconds later, Kitty heard, “Mamba Flight, this is Mamba Leader. The water’s fine. Come on in!”

Kitty continued to lead the flight down in silence, depending on Shirley to keep control. When she reported the flight to be at five thousand feet, Shirley’s voice came over the speakers. “Mamba Flight, level out at five hundred and say hello to your counterparts. Shuttle, you are clear to land.”

As she led the flight down at a less breakneck pace, Kitty’s attention was caught by the commercial audio band. “Yes, Dan, as you can see, our longest-range lenses are finally picking up the vessels as they approach. The one in the center appears to be built along the same general lines as a space shuttle but perhaps a bit smaller, and it appears to be coming in under its own power. The other four, which look to be similar to the one that appeared here moments ago and the ones that were involved in all of those aerial displays around the world recently, are also coming in under power. One has to wonder at the need for any wings at all when you see this deadly-looking little craft as it just hovers here in the air above us, facing down the five Apache attack helicopters that are circling it.”

As her ship hit the five-hundred-foot mark, Kitty said, “Mamba Five, breaking off,” and randomly chose one of the helicopters to pair off against. She found herself almost literally nose-to-nose with an Apache attack helicopter, staring into the hard, cold eyes of its pilot, who smiled very nastily when he realized that the pilot he was facing was a woman. She could see his hands move on the controls through the canopy of his helicopter, and he made his craft dart towards hers—a form of aerial chicken.

“So, you want to play, big boy,” she said out loud, letting him see her lips move. “Let’s see how you react to this one.” She nosed her craft forward and raised it level enough that his rotor tip would impact the nose of her ship if he did nothing, and she saw him immediately slide backwards, down and off to one side a bit. She followed, keeping the same reduced distance between the two of them and, smiling prettily, saluted him. She watched the storm clouds form on his face, and though she wasn’t a lipreader, had no trouble recognizing the word “bitch” at the end of the sentence he spat in her direction.

As no one seemed inclined to comment on the give and take between Kitty and her opposite, she settled down to keeping one eye on him and one on the shuttle as it grounded. With one ear she was listening to TV audio, and with the other she was listening to the interplay between Shirley and the shuttle’s pilot, so she wasn’t looking when the unimaginable happened.

Kitty could never have told who it was who first cried out, “It’s a trap!” And then, “Oh, my God! He’s been shot!” No one would ever be able to delineate the exact sequence of events that transpired over the next few minutes.

At the first yell, Kitty felt the electric rush of adrenaline flood through her body. At almost the same instant, heavy-caliber weapons fire began to impact her ship, and she heard the pang of ricocheting slugs as they slewed away. She immediately brought her shields up and started to turn her ship to see what was happening on the ground. Yells filled her ears, but from the corner of her eye she saw her opposite number slide his craft into her way, smile, and depress a switch. Instantly, two rockets scorched out of the weapons pods mounted on each side of his craft. They impacted directly on the forward shields, dispersing their energy and knocking her back some fifty yards.

She saw his eyes go wide in amazement at the fact that her vessel hadn’t fallen, burning, from the sky. She smiled sweetly, thumbed off the safety, and fired twin beams of coherent light into his weapons pods. They exploded gratifyingly, cutting the chopper in half. As the wreckage started to fall, the encounter was already a part of her past, and she spun around, eyes riveted on the grounded shuttle. She saw smoke pouring out of the open hatch, a body that could only be Simon’s sprawled at the foot of the ramp, and three camouflage-clad men racing for the shuttle’s open hatch. She instinctively fired her lasers, and two of the men went down, the other gaining the relative safety of the shuttle.

Kitty looked around for something else to destroy. The voices in her helmet said there were still gun emplacements active on the perimeter of the camp. As pain ravaged her soul, she saw the last Apache fall from the sky, and she turned her lasers on the gun emplacements still pouring fire on her and her fellows. She screamed in rage as two guns went up in magnificent gouts of dirt and flames, sending body parts and machined pieces in all directions.

After what seemed like an hour but could only have been seconds, there was complete silence in the compound known as Camp David.

Smoke poured across the compound from five fallen helicopters, numerous ruined gun emplacements, the fires started by these events, and from the open hatch of the stricken shuttle, masking much of the damage and softening the visual effect. Kitty maneuvered her ship toward a landing beside the damaged shuttle.

Shirley interposed her Mamba between Kitty’s ship and the ground. “What do you think you’re doing, Kitty?”

“I’ve got to get Simon out of there!” she cried.

Shirley’s voice cut to the bone. “It won’t do any good, Kitty. Look at the bio-monitors.”

For the first time since the attack began, Kitty’s eyes were drawn to the lower corner of her instrument panel, and the life drained out of her. The bio-monitors of the four team members had been slaved to a small panel of lights installed in the cockpits of the escort Mambas. Four red lights, one for each person, had been glowing brightly all through the descent to Camp David. Now all four of those lights were noticeable by their absence, and the meaning was all too clear: the entire away team had been killed by whoever had attacked the shuttle during the firefight with the Apaches. “We’ve got to go, Kitty. Let’s move.”

The voices of her fellow pilots became white noise in Kitty’s ears as she said, “We’ve got to take care of the shuttle. I’ll do it. And I’ll take care of Simon, too.”

Wind carried the battle smoke across the helipad. She could no longer see Simon’s body, but she knew where it lay. Then she remembered that there had been three who’d run for the shuttle, and she’d only gotten two. One was still alive inside. He could be the one… She couldn’t finish the thought.

Kitty slid her ship around so that she could see into the shuttle’s forward viewport. There stood two men in camouflage clothing, desperately trying to get the shuttle moving. Not caring where the other man had come from, she thumbed the intercom override button. “Attention, Earth forces inside the shuttle.” They looked up in confusion at her voice. “This is Wing Commander Katherine Hawke of the TAS Galileo. You have two choices—surrender or die. That shuttle only leaves the ground with Alliance personnel at the controls.”

Knowing they couldn’t shut out her voice because of her override, she demanded that the hijackers surrender. “Don’t think I won’t fire on an unarmed craft, especially when it’s occupied by the murderers of my husband.”

Hearing the rising alarm in her fellow Mamba pilots' voices, Flight Control, and the voice of the communications officer aboard the Galileo, Kitty snarled and locked them out. Ignoring the slowly increasing small-arms fire, she moved her ship around to the side of the grounded shuttle to get a better shot through the open hatch. This left her looking at the backs of the two men feverishly working at the controls, and she saw exactly when they brought the engines online.

In one last bid to keep from firing on the two men, Kitty called them one more time. “Are either one of you married?” she asked. She could see the startled look on the face of one of the men as he turned to look at her. “Did you kiss your wife goodbye this morning?” As the soldier hesitated, she promised, “If you did, that will be the last memory she has of you if that shuttle lifts so much as an inch.”

Kitty was contemplating an antimatter blast, and a massive one. The shuttle’s power core was going to explode when its containment-field generator disintegrated under the two missiles she’d just armed inside the hijacked shuttle.

The three explosions together should be pretty spectacular, she thought, for everybody but me. It’ll probably set off my own power core at the same time.

As this thought went through her mind, she saw the look of triumph flash across the face of the second hijacker as he looked over his shoulder at her. The shuttle shifted slightly, she stroked the trigger, and the world as she knew it ceased to exist. Outside, through the gates, the forgotten camera crews continued to roll.

Life went on around Kitty Hawke. A respectable percentage of the compound had been vaporized by the explosions, and observers, after they picked themselves up from the shockwave, were stunned to see that Kitty’s Mamba had survived the explosion. Blown backwards by the shockwave and half buried in the side of a concrete and brick building, her ship was covered by the debris still raining down, severely damaged by its impact with the building. Her Mamba would never fly again, but it had saved its pilot’s life. The crash webbing, the shields, and the increased structural integrity of the redesigned Mamba had combined to keep Kitty alive but little more as it lay amid the wreckage of buildings and trees only a few dozen yards from some of the closer, more adventurous camera crews.

Perceptions vary from person to person, and while all of the documentary evidence showed that the events following the destruction of the shuttle lasted only seconds, Kitty would forever swear that Consciousness took her own sweet time leaving. In the meantime, she endured an endless visit from Pain and from Sorrow and from Nightmare.

Mostly, she feared Nightmare, because it brought images of death, blood, destruction, and the image of herself with twin beams of fire shooting from her fingers, destroying her enemies as she stood over the body of her fallen mate. She somehow knew those images that Nightmare kept bringing were all too real.

She welcomed Pain with open arms, knowing that for the few moments she allowed it to overtake her, she wouldn’t have to endure Nightmare’s images. She welcomed Pain also because she knew, somehow, that soon after would come Oblivion. And she prayed for Oblivion.

The four remaining Mamba pilots, unsure what to do with their superior tactical position, milled around above the devastated presidential retreat until one pilot, a little quicker than the others, dove on Kitty’s ship and lifted it in its capture fields. The other three, flying escort, followed straight up out of the atmosphere, leaving cameras filming quiet devastation as crews stared first at the departing spacecraft and then back at the immense hole left by the explosions.

EPILOGUE

The nearly Earth-sized planet swung around its reddish-colored primary a bit closer than did Earth around the star its children named Sol, or more commonly just “the sun.”

Too faint to be seen from Earth with the naked eye, the dim red star was an unremarkable notation in a compendium of stars notable only for its relative obscurity except to astronomers. The portion of space the red star occupied was only visible from the southern hemisphere and marginally closer to the galactic center than humanity’s star.

A tall, red man put down the file he’d just finished reading for the third time. He leaned back in his chair, frustrated. He knew his father would only have needed one reading to arrive at a decision, but his father was three months dead, killed in the same Isolationist attack that had injured his mother and catapulted him into his father’s office.

For three months now he’d filled his new and unexpected position as Minister of Spatial Affairs for the Shiravan Polity, and this was the first time he’d needed to do anything other than initial some report.

Not that he didn’t keep track of what his position entailed. Oh, to be sure, he did. Too many young, ambitious men had thought to inherit their fathers’ positions and rise through the levels of Shiravan society without having to actually work at their assigned tasks. After all, males were not the norm in polite Shiravan society. Only recently had they been allowed outside their compounds to release the females for more important duties off-planet.

Rentec do’ Verlas needed to have only a few of them paraded before him, metaphorically, to learn that the system discouraged idiocy, promoting ranking nobles sideways into dead-end positions while more able-minded people went on to head the departments the Matriarch deemed essential.

So he read those reports before signing off on them, sometimes adding comments of his own to show someone that he wasn’t the dilettante some thought him to be. He’d already acquired the reputation of staying until the last secretary and runner had gone home for the night before he left himself. Often, the evidence of his late stays would show up in the form of memos found by various secretaries the next morning. Few suspected that he was working at a frantic pace just to keep the position he’d inherited. Fewer still guessed that it was a matter of honor that drove him.

Let the many think his late stays were an attempt to thwart a repeat of the Isolationist bombing that had killed his father. No matter what others thought or said behind his back, he knew that it was an attempt to catch up in a system where those who didn’t learn quickly were either gobbled up or pushed aside by the stronger. And it was a perfect place from which to plan and execute the revenge the do’ Verlas family required.

Rentec stared blankly out of his third-story window as the Dukara Mountains slowly swallowed the sun, thinking more about the letter he’d have to write in response to the report than the spectacle he still hadn’t gotten used to. He glanced across the landing field at the shuttle from the returned colonist hauler Kemara Vasit, the sight crystallizing his resolve. He turned back to his desk and reluctantly picked up his stylus, stared at the offending instrument for a few seconds, then put its tip to the blank paper on his desk.

Minister Foran,

Appended is the report from Colonization Ship Captain Serris do’ Kerran. In brief, it details her ship’s arrival at Descaret Four. Where the colonization ship Dalgor Kreth should have built a functional base for her load of colonists, there was nothing to be found and no sign at all that the Dalgor Kreth had ever arrived at the Descaret system. In view of the fact that there were no groundside facilities for her charges, Captain do’ Kerran wisely elected to return to Shiravi rather than abandon the colonists to an unprepared planet with few resources or weapons.

It is my opinion that Captain do’ Kerran acted in the best interests of her charges and should be commended for her decision. I also recommend that a search be instituted at once for the missing vessel and crew. While the loss of one-twelfth of our colonization fleet is a severe economic blow, it is as nothing beside the loss of life and knowledge represented by the crew.

Ever your servant,

Rentec do’ Verlas.

He folded the report and his recommendation together, slid them into a security seal, and addressed it. Dropping it into his secretary’s outbox, he finally left the darkened office for the small apartment assigned to him in the bachelor dormitories the city of Quillas maintained a few blocks away.

Book 2

Spheres of influence

PROLOGUE

Rentec do’ Verlas, Minister for Spatial Affairs to the Shiravan Polity, usually enjoyed his visits to Minister Foran’s offices because he’d noticed of late that the minister’s secretary was showing more than passing interest in him. As a high-ranking, unattached male in the expanding Shiravan space program, he was, he knew, a “good catch,” and therefore tended to view any female advances with a great deal of skepticism. But this secretary of Minister Foran’s was different. Hired just over a year earlier from the common labor pool, she’d come to the minister’s office with the highest recommendations from her superiors in Personnel Placement. This had occurred at just about the same time he’d been elevated to his father’s post by the bomb that had killed his father and severely injured his mother.

The shy young woman with the amazingly red eyes had never said anything to him that was not strictly within the bounds of Shiravan protocol, but every time he entered a room she was in, she began to drop things, or stutter, or trip. And though he usually discounted the rumors that inevitably abounded anywhere so many people co-existed, his interest had been piqued by the stories passed to him by co-workers, who said she oh-so-casually asked about him on occasion. Perhaps it was time he did something about it. His mother wasn’t one to let a son go unattached forever, and if he didn’t find a mate on his own, there was no telling who she’d saddle him with.

“Good morning, Ramannie,” he said, staring at her frankly and taking a chance on getting lost in her ruby gaze. “Is the Minister ready to see me yet?”

“Yes, M-minister do’ Verlas he is,” the girl said as papers spilled off the stack in her hands. “He canceled his morning appointments r-right after you called. You may go right in.” Twice missing the button that opened the door to the inner office, she had to look down to find and press it.

“Good morning, Minister Foran,” the younger man said as he entered the office.

“In this office, you may call me Mondel, Rentec.” He turned to a device on his desk and spoke into it. “Ramannie, please bring in a tray of refreshments.” Looking back to his guest, the older minister asked, “And how is your revered mother this morning?”

“As well as can be expected, sir. She had to have a lung replaced and quite a bit of skin grafting after the explosion, as well as a few weeks in a regeneration chamber, but she’s mending well. Of course, she still mourns the loss of my father. And she won’t stop trying to find me a mate. I sometimes think she does it just to irritate me. Oh, and she sends her regards.”

“Those things are ever a mother’s province, Rentec, and not a thing you can do except find a mate on your own. Thank you, Ramannie,” Mondel said as the woman entered with a tray.

Ceremoniously setting two wooden cups in front of the two men, she carefully poured a green liquid into each cup from a crystal decanter.

“Take my regards and condolences to her when you next go home, and tell her I said you’re filling your father’s position quite well,” the minister said. “So tell me, what made you go to the trouble of making a formal appointment this fine morning?”

“It’s about Colony Ship 478. You may remember that five turnings ago a scout ship came back from Descaret Four, and all the data showed it to be nearly perfect for colonization. Its light is a little too much on the yellow side and gravity’s a bit higher than we would have liked, but otherwise it’s a great prospect. Since we had a colony ship nearly completed—number 478, the Dalgor Kreth—we sent it out as soon as it was crewed. All the senior officers and most of the crew were veterans. Only twenty were new personnel. It took just over a turning to get there, another turning to get the infrastructure mined from the asteroid belt, and another turning to return. By our best estimates, the ship should have arrived over half a turning ago. We’ve had no word of any kind, and according to standard operating procedures, I, as Spatial Minister, have to formally list the ship as ‘missing.’ To that end, it’s my duty to request that you, as Minister of Colonization, order any and all ships to begin searching for the missing vessel and crew.”

Mondel silently gathered his thoughts as he watched the young woman putter around, cutting small edibles, which she set on plates and placed in front of each man. She then looked expectantly at the older man.

“Thank you, Ramannie, you may go now,” the Minister for Colonization said. “There’s no reason to bore you with any of this.” The minister looked at the younger as the office door closed. “While it is my responsibility to order such a search, it’s yours to know if a vessel is available to perform the search.”

“I’m sure you received my report about the colonist ship that had to return because the Dalgor Kreth wasn’t in-system and had apparently not been there at all since no work had been done to receive the colonists.”

As they spoke, both nibbled at the platter on the table before them.

“Survey Vessel 264 has just finished its latest refit. The captain and crew would be happy to engage in such a search, and the thought of a salvage bonus has been dangled in front of them.”

“Salvage bonus is always a potent argument,” the minister said. He looked down into the cup in his hand “How is it that kemwood can impart such an intoxicating flavor to anything poured into it and still leave one perfectly sober afterwards? Ah well, one of the little mysteries of life.”

Mondel stood and led Rentec to the office door. As he opened the door, he said, “I’ll authorize 264 to embark as soon as they can be provisioned. But understand, not one other vessel can be spared at this time. We’ll have to await their report before I can authorize other craft away from their duties. I’ll suggest that they proceed directly to Descaret Four first. The captain will have discretionary powers to alter the schedule as she sees fit after exploring the area.”

As Rentec took his leave of his elder, he stopped at Ramannie’s desk. Looking into her eyes, he said, “Good day to you Ramannie kep Gillas. Perhaps one day soon you’ll do me the honor of having dinner with me.”

“I-it would be my p-pleasure, Minister do’ Verlas,” she said without raising her eyes from her desk.

CHAPTER ONE

Chaos reigned supreme on the Galileo. Lucy stood on the bridge, swaying as if she’d been sucker-punched. Simon dead? All the away team’s bio-monitors were red across the board. Lucy shook herself visibly and turned to the monitors showing Kitty’s condition. There was far more red than green for her liking, that was for sure.

The aftermath of what was quickly coming to be known as “the debacle at Camp David” was that the United States was now short a vice-president, leaving Speaker of the House Dennis Hastings to move into the second most powerful position in the land. The event had also left the country deeply divided, sending the world on a witch hunt.

In addition to the vice-president, ambassadors from Russia, Great Britain, China, France, Spain, and Portugal had died in the explosion, along with representatives from half a dozen third-world countries. The list also included an unknown number of “covert operatives” from a little-known outfit called the Defense Intelligence Agency, whose members were beginning to scurry around like a bunch of cockroaches exposed to the light. This agency’s chief operative, known by a variety of names—the latest of which was John Anderson—was nowhere to be found and was presumed to have died in the explosion, although most members of the intelligence community weren’t taking bets.

Losses on the American side included five Apache helicopters and their crews, as well as some two dozen Marines assigned to Camp David’s perimeter defense force. Losses on the Terran Alliance side were one shuttle, one Mamba, four dead, and one critically injured.

Dr. Penn wasn’t sure how Kitty had managed to survive the explosion, much less the transport back to the Galileo and then the trip to sick bay. He’d had her placed on the table farthest from the door. It was part of the Galileo’s original equipment—a solid rectangular pillar slightly too high for humans to work comfortably. Up until then, it hadn’t been a problem since patients were rare due to the extremely reliable nature of the technology they’d acquired.

With the help of a portable x-ray machine he’d brought aboard, he began his examination. Thirty minutes later, he delivered a harrowing diagnosis to Lucy.

She looked at the body of her friend, now supreme commander, and quaked with each word the doctor uttered.

“Two broken legs, the right one in two places, cracked pelvis, spine broken in the lumbar region, three broken ribs on the left side, left arm broken in two places, and a massive concussion. In addition, her corneas are burnt, most likely from her proximity to the explosion. Her left lung is punctured, and considering the obvious pounding her body’s taken, there’s bound to be bruising to many of her internal organs. I won’t know for sure until I can get a better look. What she needs is a state-of-the-art medical facility, but I won’t even consider moving her until I can get her stabilized—if I can do that.”

Several hours later, after turning the sickbay into a makeshift surgery, Dr. Penn had dealt with the punctured lung, set the various broken bones, taped her ribs, and administered what medication he could to make her comfortable and combat the shock. When he felt he’d done all he could, he sent his two assistants off to clean up and stepped into the corridor to call Lucy. Breaking a major rule, he left the door to sickbay open, pulled out his commlink, and lit a cigarette. He nodded to the two guards who’d been placed there to keep the corridor clear and took the first satisfying drag, exhaling in relief. As he did so, he heard a sound that reminded him of airbrakes bleeding down and turned just in time to witness a sight that left him speechless and raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

Dumbfounded, Dr. Penn watched as a transparent cover slid out of an as-yet-unnoticed hole in the wall, covering Kitty’s body and meeting a semicircular piece rising up out of the base of the table. He now realized what the two recessed tracks along the long sides of the table were for but wished he didn’t. Hermetic sealing was nothing new to him. He punched in Lucy’s comm frequency, and as he waited for her to answer, he saw panels opening up in the table’s surface along Kitty’s body and watched, horrified, as things came out of the holes and attached themselves near her ankles and wrists, including a darkened patch that covered her eyes, nose, and mouth.

Lucy answered as a light mist began to fill the interior of the... device. Shock making his voice rock steady, all he could say was, “There’s a problem with the captain. You should get down here right away.” Finally noticing the forgotten cigarette, he snuffed it out with shaking hands and dropped it in a disposal.

A flustered Dr. Penn was bent over the casing that enclosed Kitty, stethoscope pressed against it, when Lucy stormed into the room. Sliding to a halt, she asked, “What the hell have you done, Doctor?”

“I haven’t done anything,” the doctor replied indignantly. “At least, nothing I wasn’t supposed to do, which was to make her as comfortable as possible and get as much done as I could before transporting her downside. She needs specialists now. I’m not experienced in spinal injuries, and she needs a real specialist to work on her pelvis.”

“Well, what’s happening?” Lucy demanded as she tried unsuccessfully to peer into the cover.

The doctor described what he’d seen and pointed out the places—visible once he knew where to look in the mist—where hoses and tubes had come out of the table and either connected to or entered Kitty’s body. There was something covering the area around her pelvis. There were four black bands that circled her arms and legs just above her wrists and ankles, with tubes a quarter-inch thick running down into the table. And a black band covered her mouth, nose, and damaged eyes.

“We have to get her out of there!” Lucy exclaimed.

“That was my first response also, Captain, but I’m no longer sure of that. What I can see shows me that she’s still breathing. If there was a limited amount of oxygen in there, she’d have already used it up. If you look closely, you can see her chest rising and falling regularly. Slowly, but regularly. And whatever is in charge of this process has attached cuffs to her arms and legs at optimal points to access arteries for flushing the blood of toxins or administering drugs.”

The doctor fiddled with the Zippo he’d pulled back out of his pocket. “What’s controlling this process and whether or not we should take her out of there is anybody’s guess. At any rate, she doesn’t seem to be any worse off than if she were out of there.”

Lucy laid a hand on the container. “For the time being, since you feel that she’s in no danger, we’ll keep things as they are. I don’t like it, but it doesn’t look like we have any choice. I’ll have the engineers look into this situation, and I expect you to keep me apprised of any changes in her status. That is your top priority. Understood, Doctor?”

Dr. Penn drew himself up to his full, not inconsiderable height and said gravely, “Captain Grimes, I consider Captain Hawke to be a most important patient. With the death of her husband, she’s the single most important person in our organization.”

“I’m glad we agree, Doctor.” Lucy took one more look at the container. “All I can say is do the best you can with what you have available. Now, there are several things I need to see to.” As she left sickbay, she looked at her watch and noted that it was only two p.m.

Forcibly pushing Kitty’s situation to the back of her mind, Lucy headed back to Galileo’s ready room. Hating the thought of sitting in Simon’s chair, she did so reluctantly and picked up the personnel roster she’d ordered. Anxiety tingling her thoughts, she looked for someone—anyone—who could take over command of the Galileo.

Her commlink chimed, interrupting her thoughts. Picking it up, she snapped, “Grimes.”

A nervous ensign, bucked up to second watch by the loss of crew transferred to Libra Base, stammered, “M-ma’am, communication from the Heinlein. Captain Kane’s compliments, and she says they plan to dock with the Galileo within two hours.”

Lucy sat up with a start. What the hell, she thought. Marsha was in the belt the last I heard.

Aloud, she asked the ensign, “How is she going to dock in two hours? Where is the Heinlein?”

“Ma’am, scan reports the Heinlein’s beacon at two hours out. That’s all I can tell you.”

Lucy’s first order of business had been to send messages to all bases and the Heinlein, informing them of the disaster. She hadn’t expected anyone to show up in much less than a week, and she’d certainly have questions for Marsha about how she’d managed this feat.

As for what was going on down below, the United States was reeling. Kitty’s two antimatter missiles, combined with the shuttle’s power core blowing up, had taken out a sizable chunk of real estate. At the present time, government estimates as to the number of people killed were fifty-six, not counting dignitaries and Simon’s team. And of course, that number being revised upward was a very real possibility because there were generally no remains with an antimatter explosion. So, for the time being, that total was going to remain a guesstimate, albeit a close one.

Lucy had tried several times to reach Galway but had received no answer on the special comm circuit set up just for him. She’d decided to beam down and call his private number when word of the Heinlein’s arrival reached her.

Her commlink chimed again. She sighed and picked it up. “Grimes,” she said in a resigned voice.

“Captain, this is Commander Nellis, Senior Computer Technician,” a hesitant voice said.

“Yes, Commander?”

“Normally, ma’am, I’d be bringing this to either Captain Hawkes’ attention, but...”

“Go on, Commander. I understand your problem. We’ll all be dealing with it for a long time,” Lucy prompted.

“I just want to report some strange occurrences in the computer core.”

“Define ‘strange’ for me, will you?” Lucy asked. With all the surprises I’ve had today, what’s another one? she thought and forced herself to take a calming breath. “And tell me why you feel the need to bring it to my attention right now.”

“Well, Captain Hawke left standing instructions that any time we found something new about Galileo, we were to report to him immediately. And since he’s... since you’re... I didn’t know who else to report to.”

“We’re all having a hard time right now, Commander,” Lucy said, consoling the nervous crewman. “So, what did you discover?”

“Well, you know that when we first started to activate the Heinlein, we were downloading programs from the Galileo to the Heinlein’s computer core.”

“Go on,” Lucy urged.

“We left out a lot of stuff, of course, because the new ships don’t need to have information about how to build bases and factories and things like.”

“I understand. Go on.” Frustration was becoming apparent in her voice.

“Well, Captain, there was a section of the core we couldn’t read. It seemed to be locked. We couldn’t download it to anything else, and we couldn’t read it or access it in any way. We assumed it was a locked file under some code we hadn’t figured out or possibly a voice lock that belonged to the previous captain. Anyway, that section is now active and doing... something”

Lucy felt a chill run up her spine. “When did you notice this section of the core become active, Commander?”

“About an hour and a half ago, I noticed some unusual activity around the file area, ma’am, but it wasn’t ‘til about half an hour ago that it actually started doing anything that caught my attention as far as the locked file itself.”

“A half hour, you say?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, thank you, Commander. Keep me informed of any changes, and if I have any questions, I’ll call you. Thank you for your attention to this matter.”

The conversation had reminded her that she needed to get in touch with the engineering department, so she called them immediately and asked the chief engineer if he would please be kind enough to go down to the sickbay and look into the matter of how they could possibly disengage Captain Hawke from the equipment. “I need to know everything you can tell me about the device we’re dealing with here. I don’t like being sandbagged.”

Lucy was beginning to feel very tenuous; like a cloud on a summer day, her attention and time were being nibbled at from one direction and then another. Handling the problems of her own ship was a headache in and of itself. Now, she had to solve the Galileo’s problems, too.

Both ships were overcrowded. The one she was now on had no commanding officer or first officer, and she didn’t see anybody farther down the chain of command ready to take over in anything less than six months. To make matters worse, radio and television from Earth was having a field day with the situation. Half of them were looking for some government official or other to hang, and the other half wanted to launch strikes at the “aliens in our skies.”

Stephen had been standing back, in as much shock as everybody else. He’d understood before anyone else that the situation wasn’t going to get better without people working to make it so. Simon, he realized, had always known. He’d been bull-headed, stubborn, and something akin to a force of nature when he got his mind set. Kitty was his lighter side, his motivator and his brake, when needed. She took what he created and somehow made those she came in contact with feel that it was the right thing to do. What he saw now was a rudderless ship with one chance to get back on track. That was why he had, even before Lucy, sent word out to all the bases with the suggestion that Kitty be put in charge “for the duration.”

The Heinlein finally matched orbit with the two ships already circling the stunned planet, and Lucy, Marsha, and Gayle shared a tearful reunion. When the three women broke apart, Stephen took his turn commiserating Gayle.

“I didn’t know him as long as you did, but you can’t work with someone for three years without something developing. I was going to ask him to be my best man when he got back from this trip.”

Gayle held him tight and said, “I saw the bond grow between you two, so I know you’re hurting too. Wait… best man?” She pushed him away and held him at arm’s length. “Is that a proposal?” At his nod, she said, “Lucy, Marsha, wanna be bride’s maids? This skunk just proposed! His timing sucks, but I think I’m gonna take him up on it just to teach him a lesson.”

People could only talk about a painful subject for so long before they had to get away from it for at least a little while.

After agreeing to be Gayle’s bride’s maid, Lucy turned to Marsha. “Okay, how did you get here so fast?”

“Actually it was something Kitty said on our shakedown cruise,” Marsha answered. “She was the one who thought about the idea I call ‘micro-jumps.’ I wouldn’t try it out in the belt, but coming into Earth orbit was no problem.”

They sat in the Galileo’s ready room, and Lucy brought the others up to date on the goings on aboard the two ships, and as far as she could with what was going on downside.

“I’m willing to bet this whole thing was set up by that bastard Anderson,” she said and glanced around guiltily, recalling a very unpleasant ass-chewing she’d received in this very room for losing her temper once before. “I’m guessing he died in the explosion, but I’m wondering about Galway. He’s not answering the commlink we gave him, so I’m going to have to go down eventually and try his private number. It looks like Anderson is going to be their scapegoat. His name and face are already beginning to show up on television. The White House is trying to put the best spin on it they can. They’re saying Anderson was a rogue agent and that he had Vice-President Reese fooled. Communications is picking up transmissions aimed directly at us asking for contact, but I haven’t responded yet.”

Marsha ran her hands through her hair, gave her head a shake to settle her pageboy cut back into place, and asked, “Okay, so what do you want me to do?”

“What do I want you to do? What do I want you to do?” she repeated, voice rising. Picking up three pieces of paper and waving them at Marsha, she read, “Libra Base, Captain McCord commanding: How can I help? Gemini Base, Commander Gardner commanding: What can we do to assist? Orion Base, Commander Baylor commanding: Our deepest sympathies. Just ask. Whatever we can do, we will.

“And now you hit me with ‘What do you want me to do?’ Just who decided that all this shit was supposed to land on my shoulders? Simon was the one who had the vision, and Kitty made people want to... well, she just had confidence oozing out of every pore. And every time you stood next to her or she looked at you, you caught it. She led by ‘being’ as much as ‘doing,’ and I’m here right now because Stephen’s and Gayle’s ‘smoke and mirrors’ got our attention at that first meeting in Denver. But it wasn’t the smoke and mirrors that kept us, or it wasn’t what kept me. I’m here because Kitty made it feel right. Simon said, ‘Let’s go build a base in the asteroid belt,’ and Kitty didn’t blink an eye. Build a second base? The right thing to do. Command of the first ship to come off the line? The right thing to do. Take out the ship that tried to take out Orion, the right thing to do. (Okay, she went a little loopy there, but she’s human.) Negotiate for bases on Earth? It was the right thing to do. But for this to happen... for her to see Simon dead, for her to be hurt this badly. And for her to be in that... that... thing. To be in storage. You haven’t seen her. I have.” And with that Lucy finally got to break down and have her cry.

It’s said that catharsis is good for the soul, and Lucy came away from her experience a new person but still unwilling to take any kind of command beyond the McCaffrey. “I’m only twenty-five for Christ’s sake,” she said.

Stephen, as the only male in the room, felt it incumbent on him to say something to try to help. “You know, Alexander the Great set out to conquer the world before he was twenty-four.”

Lucy considered that for all of two seconds and then laughed. “First of all, Alexander was absolute ruler of his empire. If you happen to have an empire laying around here for me to be absolute ruler of, I might consider it. Second, his two biggest problems were elephants and the Alps. I’m going to have to deal with spaceships and aliens—at least, anyone who sits in this chair for any length of time will have to deal with it. And third, he failed.”

“Wonderful analogy, Stephen,” Gayle said.

“Well, my point is that Alexander tried. He didn’t just roll over and curl up into a ball ‘cause his daddy died. Uh, I mean...”

“Well, you still can’t expect me to take command of this... this bunch,” Lucy wailed.

“Yes, we can,” Marsha said gently, “and here’s why. One of the things Simon tried to teach us was the chain of command. And by us, I mean those of us young enough not to have any military experience and young enough to not know what following a chain of command meant. Which, if you think about it, is about ninety-eight percent of us out here. I talked to a couple of people on the way in, and they told me some interesting things about the chain of command. One is that you can’t be in overall command unless you’ve been in a fighting unit or come up through the ranks of a fighting unit. In other words, the head of the Quartermaster Corps can’t go out and command an army in the field. He’s not trained for it, although he has the rank. So nobody on the space bases qualifies to be in command. Right now, there are three other captains, and one is critically injured. And you’ve been a captain longer than me, Lucy. That’s why you’re it—not because somebody ganged up on you and not because nobody else wants the job, but because if we’re going to follow this thing the way Simon wanted, that’s the way it’ll have to be. I’ve heard of something called a council of captains, and we can think about that one. Call it an advisory board or delegating authority.”

“Well, if I’m going to be senior captain,” Lucy said. “I can’t command two ships. That’s my rule. My number one moves up and gets his own ship a little sooner than expected. We’ll have to name his new number one. And by the time that’s all done, there are going to be three ships ready and waiting for crews. I don’t know if anyone else has seen the bottleneck, but I have. What I want to see done is that in the next open spot we build a freighter with room for four hundred passengers and simulators. Figure the crew yourself, Stephen, since your job is to design a new ship. And this new ship’s job is going to be to go to Earth, fill up with passengers and go crew a ship. This ship will also have a transporter in it, and it will be armed. It will carry two flights of Mambas and have shields. We’ll try to fly her with an escort whenever possible. Gayle, Miranda Lee, and Robert Greene will be captaining the three new ships.”

Immediately after this revelation, Lucy’s commlink went off. “I’ve been getting this all day,” she said, “and I’m getting tired of it.”

The Galileo’s chief engineer, Titus Safer, reported to Lucy. “As you know, Captain, we’ve been mapping out the Galileo’s inner systems for over two years now. This just goes to show that we can still be surprised. We had no idea that any of these systems or equipment existed. What we have is some very sophisticated medical equipment whose monitors are piggybacked off sensors that are connected to the bio-monitors in our wristbands. We managed to get inside the pedestal below the tabletop, but I’m not willing to monkey with the equipment we found there—not with the captain’s life at stake. As for the rest, that was all in what amounts to a concealed room next to the sickbay. Apparently, what the system does is identify when someone is in critical condition, then takes over and begins repairs on its own.”

CHAPTER TWO

Roland Daniels, FBI, on special assignment to the TAS Galileo, looked around and saw nothing but destruction. Actually, the destruction was a short way from where he sat in a copse of trees and brush while acrid smoke drifted through his hiding place.

His original intention had been to tweak the noses of the Hawkes when he left the Galileo unobserved because of the sensitive material he was carrying—material he was sure they wouldn’t let him leave the ship with because a lot of it concerned the weapons and propulsion systems he wasn’t supposed to get near.

He had managed to get near them, though, and he’d done that by the simple expedient of removing his wristband. He’d been sure that doing so would have raised a flag in the computer, but nothing had happened. Of course, it had taken McNalley’s help, and the only reason he’d been able to convince McNalley to help him was because he’d taught him to read and then helped him pass his ratings test.

A grateful McNalley had fabricated a fake wristband for him that he could wear around, and just so the computer wouldn’t get suspicious, he carried his real wristband around in his pocket to show that he was going about his daily activities, except, of course, when he wanted to be someplace off-limits, like weapons bays, engine rooms, shuttles, etcetera. Thinking his bosses would be very pleased with him, he’d managed to acquire one of those neat little hand lasers, and not the model they used in their Z-tag games. Being a fan of the old-fashioned methods, as well, he’d managed to get McNalley to fashion a taser, which he stashed in a hiding place along with the laser and the phony wristband.

His new-found freedom came in very handy the day he found out that Simon was going down to talk with the vice-president at Camp David. In the days leading up to that mission, he’d kept a close eye on the comings and goings of the technicians and other personnel working on the projects deck. The night before the flight, he’d secreted himself, along with his cache of weapons and information, in a storage locker near where he expected the shuttle to be prepped. He’d drilled several small holes for air and surveillance, and settled down for a long, uncomfortable wait.

A loud clang woke him from an uneasy slumber, and he peered groggily out one of the holes he’d drilled the night before. As he’d guessed, the shuttle was being prepped not far from where he’d chosen to hide—only fifty yards, in fact—and he waited patiently while the technicians came and went. Finally, the last preflight check had been made, and the last technician had gone off to lunch.

He’d slipped out of the storage locker and made his way to the shuttle. This would be the hardest part of his plan—no place to hide and no excuse for being where he was. And if he’d miscounted and there was somebody aboard…

The shuttle, designed to hold a pilot, co-pilot, and eight passengers, was empty. During his last three months aboard, Daniels had found time enough to inspect these particular vehicles several times and knew there was a space in the engine room large enough to hold him if no concerted search or inspection was made. He’d passed through a thick door in the aft bulkhead and slid it shut. Calling on his training in the service, he’d then slipped into a light doze and waited.

Muffled sounds and nearly imperceptible vibrations had brought him back to awareness of his surroundings. He made out what he thought were the sounds of people entering and then the definite sound of the shuttle door closing. Engines powering up left no doubt that they were about to depart the Galileo. It was the thought of having no control over what was going to happen in the descent and landing that had almost made him reveal his presence, and it was training that had kept him quiet.

His original intention had been to exit the shuttle immediately after the Terran Alliance contact team left it, depending on the taser to overcome anyone left aboard and his credentials to get him past any guards posted by the Camp David commander. But that intention was blown to hell by the rocket that streaked past Simon, blowing three of the contact team to pieces.

Daniels had opened the aft hatch a crack to see Simon walking down the ramp and managed to slam it shut when he saw the trapdoor spring up and a camouflage-clad soldier lift a shoulder-fired rocket launcher into position. Opening it again proved to be a problem. Warped by the explosion just on the other side, it required all his strength to get it open enough to squeeze through, but hearing urgent voices getting louder, he decided to stay put and instead peeked around the edge of the door. He saw five men racing past the sprawled body of Simon for the shuttle ramp, weapons firing into the interior. Stepping back into the shadows provided by an extinguished light, he was able to see into the main section of the shuttle and recognized parts of bodies here and there around the interior. With his gorge rising and skin crawling at the smell of burning flesh, he pulled the laser pistol and taser out of his waistband and waited.

Crouching down behind a cluster of power conduits near the doorway, he heard the screams of injured men and shuddered. Almost immediately, he heard feet thundering up the access ramp, and knowing how he would divide his forces had they been his, he pointed his laser at the door. Seconds later, he saw fingers reach around the door and try to slide it farther open. A rifle barrel poked its nose in and sprayed a fan of slugs into the room, which provoked an outcry from the front of the craft.

“That’s the engine room, asshole! Do you want to blow us all to hell?”

The soldier slid through into the room, and Roland Daniels joined the opposition when he raised the pistol and silently burned a hole through the man’s temple.

As he crossed the hatchway, pistol in hand, he could see the backs of two men standing at the controls. Wondering where the other men were, he angled himself so he could see out the hatch and down the ramp. Seeing Simon’s body lying there with a camo-clad body next to him, Daniels had a pretty good idea where the fifth body lay. Quickly stripping off the dead soldier’s shirt, he put it on, casting uneasy glances out the hatch.

After repeated explosions from outside the craft, he noticed that the heavy weapons’ fire was diminishing. The Mambas are probably taking out the gun emplacements, he thought. He also knew that it would be a matter of moments before the Mambas turned their attention to the shuttle to keep it from being hijacked. As the thickening smoke drifted across the helipad and compound, he picked up the soldier’s rifle, shoved the pistol in his belt, and stepped out of the hatchway.

Three quick strides took him to the ramp, and he raced down it, stopping beside Simon’s body. Kneeling, he checked the neck for a pulse as he scanned the compound, looking for any indication that he’d been discovered. The drifting clouds of smoke reassured him that he was still relatively safe from both parties. Finding a pulse, he shouldered the rifle, lifted the limp body in a fireman’s carry, and staggered off into a pall of smoke. Glancing up, he saw the shapes of the Mambas, slicing through the smoke like vengeful sharks through a murky sea.

As he tottered away, he glanced back and saw a Mamba come to a stop just feet off the ground. Kitty’s voice came from inside the shuttle, and he realized it must be some sort of relay.

“Attention Earth forces inside the shuttle. This is Wing Commander Hawke of the TAS Galileo. You have two choices: surrender or die. That shuttle only leaves the ground with TAS personnel at the helm.”

Hearing her threats to destroy the shuttle made Roland redouble his efforts. Having spent the better part of a year aboard the Galileo while being exposed to all the talk about antimatter and exactly what it could do added impetus to his headlong flight. He stopped behind a gardener’s shack only long enough to secure his hold on Simon.

When he almost ran headlong into a fence on the backside of the compound, he figured he’d only traveled some two hundred yards. With his free hand he pulled the laser from his belt, used it to burn a hole through the fence, and continued on at a shambling run. He began cursing every one of his sixty-one years with each step, and finally, when his legs and back were on fire and he could move no farther, he wormed his way into a tangled thicket among some trees and dropped his load.

Simon was in miraculously good condition... for a man who’d been hit by four bullets. One had entered the upper left thigh and Roland could find no exit wound. Another had gone in and out the left shoulder and seemed to have missed the artery there. One had creased the scalp for about four inches above the left ear and was probably the cause of his unconsciousness. And the last one seemed to have hit the wristband on his left wrist. “Seemed” was the only word for it. Simon’s wrist was discolored, swollen, and flopping loosely, and his wristband was hanging by a thread.

Roland held the wrist down and pulled the remains of the wristband off, placing it in a pocket. Slipping the dead soldier’s shirt off, he began to rip it into strips. He wrapped Simon’s wrist, then did what he could to stop the blood flow from the other two major wounds.

Taking stock of assets and liabilities was part of Roland’s training. First, he considered the clothes on his back. He pulled the patches and rank insignia off both himself and Simon and put them in the same pocket with the wristband. Next was his wallet, which contained sixty-five dollars he hadn’t expected to need, a Visa card that was surely invalid since he hadn’t made a payment in almost a year, his identification, and a driver’s license. Then there was a taser of “alien” manufacture, a laser of equally unlikely origin, a military rifle with eighteen rounds, and an unconscious man in shock and oozing blood. Best of all, he’d managed to bring along seven medium-sized diamonds “scavenged” from a collection tray in the factory section of the Galileo during one of his interviews. No one had seen him scoop them from the collection tray, and he’d figured they’d go a long way towards proving to his bosses just how lucrative a venture space could be. Added to all that was his being in a strange state, knowing almost nobody, and the fact that the unconscious man was the leader of the “opposition.”

When you get into deep shit, Daniels, you do it in a big way! he told himself.

During his brief rest, the sounds of traffic finally penetrated his mind, and Roland loaded a still-unconscious Simon up, moving toward those sounds. What he found was a paved two-lane road bordered on both sides by trees and scrub. Sitting along the road, he waited for just the right vehicle. Roland Daniels, FBI, had just become a terrorist on the run.

Here I am rescuing people whose way of life is detrimental to all I’ve believed in all my life, and now I’m planning to shoot out a tire so some poor schmuck will have to change it so I can sneak into the nation’s capital and hide the very person I rescued. And to top it off, I can’t go to any government source!

After shooting out a tire with the laser, Roland got Simon up into the backend of a disreputable stake-bed truck loaded with questionable-looking barrels of something-or-other. Roland had noticed the transport logo on the truck’s door and figured it would be headed into the city’s commercial district since it was headed in the direction of DC. Already, a plan was forming in his mind, one that dealt with a lot of ifs. But with luck, he could pull it off.

He’d looked at things as more of a game than anything else when he climbed into that storage locker on the Galileo, and luck had been riding with him from the first. Now, though, he was going to have to depend on luck, and that could be very disconcerting.

Simon had been drifting in and out of consciousness over the past several hours as they made their way into the commercial district. Roland had been able to stop the bleeding using parts of the dead soldier’s shirt as a compress, but the stains on his shoulder and thigh were a dead giveaway. The only thing that helped at the moment was the black material of the uniform Simon wore.

The driver pulled his rig into a nondescript cartage company’s holding yard and went to report to the freight master. Roland chivied Simon to the edge of the truck’s bed, jumped out, and helped him down. Using one arm to hold Simon up without appearing to do anything except keep him on a straight path, and with the other hand holding a paper bag filled with rubbish from the truck’s bed to simulate a bottle, Roland and Simon staggered out of the yard without being spotted and down the street to an alley Roland had noticed on the way in.

Taking the calculated risk of leaving Simon in the alley, Roland walked back to the cartage company and asked to borrow a phone book. Checking first for a local Goodwill store, he then called a taxi and squandered some of his precious cash. He had the cabby drop him off two blocks past the store, paid him off and watched him turn the next corner.

Buying two sets of clothes that would make them look more rural than anything else, he used the store’s phone to call another cab. Using the same deception, he let this driver drop him several blocks from his destination and walked to a convenience store. There, he bought bottled water for the resealable containers and several sandwiches, and headed back for the alley.

He was relieved to find Simon’s condition unchanged and managed with some success to get him to drink some of the water. With the remainder of the soldier’s shirt, he tried to get most of the blood wiped off Simon’s face and neck. He then proceeded to strip the blood-soaked shirt off and replace it with one of the shirts from the Goodwill store. The water seemed to restore some of Simon’s energy, and he seemed to rest easier, although he didn’t regain full consciousness.

Roland waited impatiently for dark and then walked back to the cartage company. Finding it dark, as he’d hoped, he used the laser to cut a link in the chain locking the gate and slipped inside. Through the darkened glass of the door, he could barely make out the alarm sensor and, setting the laser at a lower intensity, he managed to fuse it so it wouldn’t go off. He’d seen the key box when he made his earlier visit, so he had no trouble finding the key he wanted—the one to the truck that had brought them there. Praying that it wasn’t sitting on empty, he climbed in and checked the gauge. He found it to be half full, and sighing with relief, he started the engine.

Opening the gate, moving the truck through, and closing it again took all of three minutes, including welding the link back in place. Moving out of the area without arousing suspicion was of prime importance, so he kept everything as legal as possible.

Except for breaking and entering, grand theft auto, harboring a fugitive, breaking my oath to the United States, and who knows how many other charges that could be filed against me, he thought.

With some difficulty, he got Simon into the cab of the truck. He then went back to pick up the water bottles and food and changed clothes. That hurdle passed, Roland headed for his next one—getting clandestine medical help for a wounded man. He drove the truck back to the area of the Goodwill store. In this district, a person could find liquor stores, crack houses, whorehouses, and rescue missions, all within easy reach of the capitol building, Roland realized with a shake of his head.

He pulled the truck into an alley behind a rescue mission where he laid Simon down on the seat, locked the doors, and went inside. Realizing his appearance was a cut above what passed for normal for this place, even though he’d “dressed down,” he walked up to a middle-aged man who was industriously pushing a broom across the floor.

Obviously down on his luck, and equally obviously bound and determined to pay his way with the only coin he had, he asked, “Who’s in charge around here, bud?”

“That’d be Father Timothy,” the man said. Pointing with his chin, he added, “You can find his office down that hall.”

The man turned away without another word and went back to his sweeping, leaving Roland standing there. He watched the man sweep for a few more seconds, then went in the indicated direction. At the third door on the right he saw a cardboard nameplate held up with masking tape that said simply, “Father Jeffers.”

Knocking on the door brought a muffled, “Come in,” and he opened the door.

Father Timothy was not what he’d expected. In his forties, black, balding, and heavy-set, he didn’t sit in his chair as much as inhabit it. Nor was he dressed as one would traditionally expect a priest to be. He had on a grey sweatshirt that showed a frayed cuff as he moved a piece of correspondence from one stack to another.

“Can I help you?” he asked, moving an appraising eye up and down Roland’s body.

Roland hesitantly asked, “Father Timothy?”

The man behind the desk said, “I have either that honor or cross to bear, depending on whether you bring me good news or trouble, my son. How may I be of service?”

Roland looked back out the door, stepped inside, and pushed it shut. “Father, I’m afraid it may be a cross for you to bear as what I have is nothing but trouble.”

“Sit down, my son, and tell me what the problem is. I’ll be the judge of whether it’s trouble or not.”

“Well, now I’m beginning to wonder if it was such a good idea for me to come here at all, Father,” Roland said. “I have an injured friend, and at this particular point in time I can’t take him to a hospital.”

Father Timothy said, “When you have trouble with the law, my hands are pretty well tied, my son.”

“Well, there’s different kinds of trouble. Sometimes it not so much with the law as it is with the people who make the laws.”

“Could you be a little more specific?”

Roland reached into his hip pocket, pulled out his wallet, and let the priest see his badge and ID card. “Father, I’m under cover, and my partner has been shot. I can’t afford losing a year’s worth of investigation by going to a hospital. They’ll ask questions I’m not prepared to answer at this time. I need a doctor to patch up some holes so I can move him to a safehouse. Father, I really hate to put you on the spot, but it amounts to this: we go to a hospital, my partner dies. There are... others out there who would kill us both before we could walk back out the doors. And if we don’t get him some medical attention soon, he dies anyway. His, and my, only chance is to find, shall we say, alternative medical help. I was really hoping you might know someone I could deal with quietly.”

“How badly off is your partner? I can’t say what I can do until I know that much, at least,” the father said.

“He has a bullet in his thigh, a hole through his shoulder, a broken wrist, and most likely a concussion from a bullet graze.”

The Father thought for a moment or two, then sighed. “There’s a man I can call. He’s a doctor, but he won’t be able to show you a license. Helps me out with some of the addicts and usually I can get him to work for free, but for this he’s going to want to be paid.”

“Father, I’ll pay you, and you can pay him. That way, you’ll be able to keep the largest portion of this.” Roland reached into his pocket, felt among the stones there, and pulled out what felt like the largest, about the size of a pea. “This is an uncut diamond. There’s no blood associated with it, and if you want to get right down to it, I’m the one who found it.” He thought back to scooping them out of the retrieval tray along with the other six in his pocket. Never would he have guessed at the time what use he’d be putting them to.

“Now, you wouldn’t be lying to a priest, my son?” Father Timothy asked.

“Father, I wasn’t raised Catholic, but what religious upbringing I have won’t let me lie to a priest. I’m with the FBI, we’ll get killed if we go to a hospital, I found that diamond, and our situation is desperate and urgent.”

Father Timothy said, “Without indications to the contrary, I’ll have to take you at your word, and I can call the doctor right now. I need to know your partner’s condition one more time so he’ll know what to bring.”

Roland repeated, “A bullet lodged in his upper left thigh, a broken left wrist, a through-and-through in the left shoulder and a bullet graze over his left ear. I don’t know his blood type.”

Having reached a decision, the priest came alive and took charge of the situation. “So where is your partner?” he asked in a brisk and business-like manner.

“In the alley behind this building,” was the instant response “And it would be best for all concerned if as few people as possible know we’re here.”

“Then I suggest we go get him ourselves,” the father said. “We can leave him in the care of Sister Celestine until the doctor arrives.” Picking up the phone, he called a number from memory and spoke persuasively for about two minutes. Then, to Roland, he said, “Let’s be about it. As the Bard would say, ‘Twere best were done quickly.’”

The two men stepped out into the alley and Roland unlocked the truck. Grabbing Simon’s feet, they slid him out, caught a shoulder apiece and hurried him into the mission.

As he was being laid down on an examining table in the mission’s infirmary, Simon’s eyes shot open. Seeing the priest, he exclaimed, “Who the hell are you?”

Roland spoke quietly. “You’re in good hands, Simon. You got shot, remember? You’re safe now. Just rest. The doctor is on his way. This is Father Jeffers,” he said, a placating tone in his voice.

Simon turned his head and focused on Roland with difficulty. “You’re... Daniels.”

“That’s right. I’m Daniels, your partner. Go to sleep now. The doctor will be here shortly.”

Simon slumped in the priest’s arms, and Roland helped get him onto the table. Father Jeffers called a nun into the room.

“I need you to sit with him, Sister. Do what you can for him until the doctor arrives.”

The sister, dressed as unconventionally as the priest, complied silently. She went first to the sink, got a wet towel, and began to wash Simon’s face.

“We’ll leave your partner in Sister Celestine’s capable hands for now. Let’s go back to my office for the time being.”

The priest sat down and dialed a number again. “I need you here an hour ago. The patient has a high fever and probably a massive infection, so antibiotics, an intravenous saline drip, and a plasma bag would be in order. We’ll discuss your compensation later.” He listened for a few seconds and then said, “Don’t forget you’re speaking to a man of the cloth. You’ll not be cheated, and you know it.”

Hanging up the phone, Father Timothy rummaged through a desk drawer and came up with a business card. He dialed the number and leaned back in the chair. As he waited for the connection, he told Roland, “We can expect the doctor within the half hour.” Turning his attention back to the phone, the father said, “Michael, I know it’s late, but I have a small item for you to look at. If you’d be kind enough to bring your experience and a jeweler’s loupe around to the mission, I’ll say a prayer for you at Sunday Mass.” At Roland’s raised eyebrows, Father Timothy hung up the phone and said, “Some of the people who come through here don’t live their lives on the streets, but they do occasionally find themselves in untenable circumstances. The church is there to give a hand up where it can, Michael needed to be put back on the straight and narrow, as it were.” He gave a small chuckle. “His marriage broke up and his wife took the kids. He thought the world had ended, but I showed him it hadn’t. And now, he helps me out from time to time.”

“I assume then that Michael is a jeweler,” Roland said in a conversational tone.

The father smiled. “In a manner of speaking. A lot of people who come through here have items of... questionable history. And Michael is adept at dealing with that type of material.”

“In other words, he’s a fence.”

“Michael,” the priest said, “is a pawnbroker with his own unique interpretation of the rules of ownership. He makes money on the deal, money comes into the mission, people stay fed and clothed. As you can tell, I, myself, have my own interpretation of right and wrong. And as long as nobody’s getting hurt, I’m willing to overlook some of the niceties. Now, I am bound to tell you that you won’t realize as much from this,” he pushed the small gem around on the desktop, “as you would if you went to a reputable jeweler.”

Roland hastily said, “I’m not looking to realize anything out of this. That’s yours.”

Father Timothy looked at Roland said, “You’re going to have to learn not to argue with a stubborn man, my son.”

Roland replied, “And you’re going to have to learn not to look a gift horse in the mouth, Father. You can feed, clothe, and help a lot more people, and you can do it better with reliable heat, good plumbing, blankets for all, and things I haven’t even considered in my whole life. Anyway, at this particular moment I have an errand to run. I need to return that truck before someone gets upset over my having borrowed it.”

“I must admit,” the father said, “the idea had crossed my mind that you’d be attending to that in some way or other.”

Roland gave Father Timothy a crooked grin. “Well, at least I’m not going to try to sell it to Michael.”

The father laughed heartily. “That is a mark in your favor, my son. Indeed it is.”

Parking the truck about a block from the cartage company’s yard, Roland walked back toward the mission. He disposed of the keys in a storm drain and walked down the stairs into the subway, checking a map on the wall for the exit nearest the mission.

When he finally stepped back into the mission, he felt the tension drain out of his shoulders. A place of relative safety, he could relax somewhat. He walked down the corridor to Father Timothy’s office and tapped on the door. After hearing a scrape and footsteps moving toward the door, it opened a fraction.

“I realized after you left that I never did get your name. And the doctor arrived shortly before you did. We should be hearing from him shortly,” the priest said as he stepped back and opened the door.

“Roland Daniels, Father.” His eyes took in the guest sitting at Father Timothy’s desk—a smallish man in his mid-thirties. He was using the desk lamp as he put a jeweler’s loupe to his eye. “You must be Michael,” Roland said.

“I’ve been accused of it at one time or another in my life. You must be the man who belongs to this stone.”

“That, for a fact, I am,” Roland replied.

“So where did you get this little beauty?” Michael asked as he gazed into the depths of the stone. “Not a flaw, not an inclusion, uncut and a beautiful blue-white.”

“I’m not at liberty to tell you where I got it.”

“Then I’ve got news for you. I can only get about ten percent for a hot stone.”

“I can guarantee you,” Roland said, “that you’ll find the stone in your hands has never been reported stolen. You’re only the third person to ever lay eyes on it—myself and Father Timothy being the first two.”

Michael looked up from the diamond in his hand. “So, you’re telling me I can go up to the City, go to any jewel buyer on the Street, and they’ll give what this stone is worth?”

“I don’t see why not. What is it worth?”

Michael looked up at the father. “You know I get ten percent, right?”

“Michael, we’ve been associates for a long time now. Besides, you’ll be the one taking any risks. We’ll take your word on the price, and you’ll get your ten percent. I just want you to know that if you cheat me, you’re cheating God, too.”

“Father, I wouldn’t do that to you,” Michael said a bit hastily. “But what we’re talking about is twenty thousand dollars or better. And that’s just for the rough stone. Imagine what it’ll be worth after it’s been cut!”

“How long do you think it’ll take you to make a deal that’ll bring Father Timothy here some cash?” Roland asked.

“Forty-eight hours, maybe seventy-two.”

“Tell ya what.” Roland reached into his pocket and pulled out two more stones. “If you can turn that into ‘twenty-four, maybe forty-eight,’ you can add this one for me, keep twenty percent, and keep the third one all to yourself.”

Father Timothy’s mouth fell open. “My son! Are you sure about this?”

“Father, without your assistance, I’d be dead, along with my partner,” Roland said, “so yes, I am.”

“I can leave for New York first thing in the morning,” Michael said, “and find out what I can get for these on the Street.” He stood up and pocketed the stones. “I can probably be back late tomorrow evening with cashier’s checks that will require jaw surgery for the both of you.”

Shaking his hand, Roland wished him a safe trip and watched him pull the door closed with a soft click, leaving the two men with nothing to do but wait.

As they waited to hear from the doctor, the father’s eyes were drawn to a small television set flickering in the corner, volume down. He glanced at his watch and said, “Would you be kind enough to turn the volume up a bit? It’s almost time for the eleven o’clock news.”

With a great deal of trepidation, Roland reached over and turned the volume up, listening to what amounted to the tail end of a recap of that morning’s events, as there’d been nothing else on the news since then. What little he did hear was enough to chill him to the bone. Then, the top of the hour brought a dose of reality he didn’t know how to swallow.

An appropriately sad-faced commentator sat inside the little flickering box and announced to the world the death of the American Vice-President, British ambassador, Chinese, Pakistani and Russian ambassadors, ambassadors from half a dozen third world countries, and various and sundry US military forces to the number of fifty-six, at present count. “The problem with this type of explosion, I’ve been told, is that while there is no release of radiation,” the commentator told a disbelieving world, “according to scientists, an antimatter explosion is tantamount to a total energy conversion, so there are no bodies and remarkably little debris to sift through for clues. Cameras with telescopic lenses set up outside Camp David were able to record what happened.

“First, one of the deadly little ships known as ‘Mambas’ seemed to magically appear above the helipad at Camp David.” The scene cut to one of the Mambas, and the reporter continued as a voice-over. “Shortly thereafter, at a slightly more sedate pace, the other four craft appeared and squared off against the Apache helicopters on patrol above the compound. In a bizarre game of aerial ‘chicken,’” the camera zoomed in on Kitty’s ship, “one of these ‘Mambas’ and one of the helicopters traded moves in a display that was obviously initiated by the helicopter. Just minutes later, the shuttle purportedly carrying the contact team from the ‘Terran Alliance’ landed.”

The scene switched to the shuttle landing in the center of the helipad. “Supposedly headed by the Captain Hawke featured in the transmissions that blanketed the world just a few days ago, shown here in this footage is the one individual who managed to exit the craft before it was attacked by soldiers secreted in hidden spaces below the ground ringing the helipad. As you can tell, he bears a striking resemblance to the ‘Captain Hawke’ in the video transmission.” The screen split in two and showed an enlarged three-quarter still image leaving the shuttle beside one of Simon from his video message to Earth. “Again, in what was obviously a move initiated by US military, a simultaneous assault was launched against the shuttle and the five Mamba craft.”

Roland was treated to a montage of helicopters firing on Mambas, gun emplacements opening fire on Mambas, and soldiers jumping up out of concealment, one of them launching a shoulder-fired rocket past Simon into the shuttle itself. Simultaneously, other soldiers cut him down and still others made a determined rush to gain access to the shuttle.

“This obviously orchestrated attack has been laid at the feet of the White House. White House Press Secretary John Gower released a statement just hours ago.”

The scene shifted to the White House press room. “The president and the late vice-president had no knowledge of anything pertaining to this morning’s unprovoked attack on the members of the Terran Alliance delegation that landed at Camp David. The attack was orchestrated by rogue members of an intelligence department known as the Defense Intelligence Agency under the command of a John Anderson, who was responsible for issuing the orders that activated a select elite unit for guard duty at Camp David this morning. The apparent motive for the assault was to gain access to technology that the United States and several other countries were going to negotiate for. The President deplores the regrettable incident and wishes to express his condolences to the survivors of all those who lost their lives in this most heinous act.”

The scene cut back to the reporter. “Democrats and Republicans alike have united for almost the first time in history. And in an apparent effort to assure the world at large that this was not an attempt by the United States to steal technology that was promised to the entire world, they’ve called for not only a congressional over-sight committee to look into the matter, but to establish a multinational tribunal to deal with the situation and to deal fairly with the Terran Alliance. In a unanimous vote, US Ambassador William Kent has been appointed as US representative to the proposed tribunal, but as of this hour there has been no response from the ambassador’s office.

“It is this reporter’s opinion that the instantaneous and overwhelming response to the assault on the shuttle has given not only the American military but the military forces of the world in general reason to hesitate before acting in such haste again. And it is also this reporter’s opinion that two specific incidents in this morning’s debacle are responsible for the instantaneous change of opinion.” The scene cut back to an image of the shuttle’s landing. Once more, the shuttle was shown landing, the ramp coming down, and the captain walking out. Once more, trapdoors popped open, bodies emerged, a shoulder-fired rocket was launched into the shuttle, and Captain Hawke’s body was seen to fall. Once more, the blast wave was seen to explode out of the shuttle. “This scene, and the one just before the final explosion,” the reporter said as the scene changed again to one of the shuttle beginning to lift, “shows the shuttle clearly beginning to take off. The fact that it can take that much damage internally and still function shows the durability of this craft, and it is just a transport!

“The other fact to consider is that the Mambas were hit on more than one occasion by rockets fired by the Apache helicopters.” The scene shifted again to a montage of rockets fired from Apache weapons pods. “And aside from momentary confusion on the part of the Mamba pilots at these unprovoked attacks, there seems to have been no damage at all. In what was obviously intended to be a devastating and overwhelming assault to gain technological advantage for the United States, the military has received their blackest eye in its history. Within five minutes of the first rocket attack, these five small, deadly craft showed why they’ve been named ‘Mambas.’” Scenes of laser beams lancing through the thickening smoke and flames, midair antimatter explosions, and wreckage flaming from the sky assaulted Roland’s eyes. The images of gun emplacements exploding, sending sandbags, dirt, and unidentifiable pieces of men and machines flying in all directions brought back memories he wished had stayed securely under lock and key.

“All of this happened with a near-surgical precision that would have taken out only the combatants,” the reporter continued, “but for one fatal error on the part of the assailants. We have been made aware that one of the restrictions on the release of technology to Earth at this time is on weapons and propulsion technology. The attempt to seize the shuttle was designed to circumvent that restriction at the cost of all other technology we might acquire.” The scene changed to show Kitty’s Mamba down on the deck, preparing to fire through the shuttle door. The screen went white and then back to the reporter.

“All that’s left in an explosion of this type is a big hole in the ground. Again, the physics of what can only be an antimatter explosion is that it’s a very local phenomenon and there is no radioactive fallout. Miraculously, while severely damaged in the explosion, the Mamba that fired the missiles seems to have survived.” The scene cut to a shot of the four remaining Mambas surrounding Kitty’s ship and lifting it out of camera range. “At last estimate, American losses number fifty-six, including the vice-president and the various ambassadors there to receive the Terran Alliance delegation.

“In other news tonight...”

Father Timothy indicated that Roland could turn the television off, which he did with a sense of relief, sitting back in his chair.

After a few moments of contemplative silence, Father Timothy said, “You appear curiously unmoved, my son.” The priest reached into a drawer and pulled out two glasses and a bottle of scotch, pouring a double shot for each of them.

“Unmoved, Father? Let’s say I’m... conflicted. I am sad, I am angry, and I’m shamed and humiliated by my government’s actions. To think of what we could have had and now won’t—technologies to help clean up our air and water; no more reliance on fossil fuel; cheaper, cleaner sources of energy; safer ways to remove toxic and radioactive waste; the ability to feed the hungry throughout the world. And that’s not even taking into account gaining access to the stars. And now, because of the stupid actions of a few greedy people, we stand a very good chance of losing all of that.”

Father Timothy had a speculative look on his face. “Well, what do you think of the concept of people not having things they haven’t earned by the sweat of their own brows, so to speak?”

“Did I say you’re in the wrong business, Father?” Roland retorted. At the raised eyebrows, he continued, “The people you help here, they deserve their places to sleep and the food they get because they’re human beings, but they haven’t earned these things by the sweat of their brows, as you put it. And just what would you do with a ten-dollar bill you found lying on the ground and no way to trace its owner?”

“To answer the first part of your question, my son, a compassionate man cannot watch others go hungry if it’s within his power to help, and as for the second part, while I understand what you mean by the finding of a ten-dollar bill, I personally would put it in the poor box or use it to feed some of these people here... some of my flock.”

“Well, the people out there found their spaceship. That’s their ten-dollar bill. And they’re compassionate enough to be willing to share it with the entire world. It’s just that in this particular instance, it’s a bill of such a large denomination that measures must be taken to safeguard it first.”

“I see your point,” Father Timothy said. “But what about the many industries destroyed by these new technologies coming along? Large industries with large numbers of people who’ll be out of work?”

“Every time a new invention or innovation comes along, someone gets hurt. Look at the light bulb. Do you have any idea how many candle makers and lamp makers and oil transporters and natural gas companies went out of business? I certainly don’t, but it must have been a lot. How about the automobile? How many industries went belly up? And how many were created? And the railroad and the telegraph, followed by the telephone. Sure, a lot of people lost jobs, but look at all the new jobs that opened up. We have so much to look forward to, Father. A little disruption is a small price to pay.”

“I’m beginning to think you are in the wrong profession yourself, my son,” the father chuckled. “You’d have made a great priest with that kind of conviction. Do you mind the observations of a tired old man?”

“I don’t mind the observation of any man, Father. What is it?” Roland asked.

“Actually, I have two. The first is that you seem to know an awful lot for a simple FBI agent. And the second is that your partner bears an amazing resemblance to this ‘Captain Hawke.’ In all my years as a priest—and there have been quite a few of those—one of the things I’ve learned to do fairly well is read body language and facial expressions. Now, your body language says you’re holding something back, and the expression on your face gave you away when I mentioned the name Hawke. So, do you have anything to tell me that I should know about?”

“Well, Father, I can’t tell you how I know what I know, but I can say that I’ve noticed the resemblance myself, and I’ll have to leave it at that for now.”

It was at this moment that the doctor chose to make his appearance. He sank down into the only other chair in the room and said, “Timmy, I do hope you have more of that rotgut stashed in your bottom drawer.”

“I’ll thank you to show some respect for fine scotch,” the father responded. “At no time in history has Chivas Regal ever been considered ‘rotgut.’ Would you care for another, Mr. Daniels?”

“This once, it might not be such a bad idea,” Roland said dryly.

As the father puttered around with another glass and the bottle, the doctor turned to Roland. “Your partner, I presume?”

“Yes, he is,” Roland answered. “And if you’ll excuse me for being rude, will you not beat around the bush? I need to know how he is.”

“Well, as for how he is, he’s shot to hell. Beginnings of a good-sized infection, broken wrist, lost a good bit of blood, concussion, dehydration, and a crease in his scalp that it wouldn’t hurt to have a plastic surgeon look at or he’ll never have hair growing there again. The in-and-out in his left shoulder needs to drain, and it’s been irrigated and dressed. You’ll need to change bandages twice daily for about a week, then go to once a day for a while. I set the wrist and pulled a bullet out of his left thigh. That will also need to have the dressings changed regularly. He’s now resting comfortably, although he seems to want his cat. Do you know anything about that?”

Roland said, “Excuse me? His cat?”

The doctor said, “He kept calling ‘kitty, kitty.’ That’s a first for me.”

Roland temporized by saying, “I don’t know. Concussion can do strange things to a person’s memory, I’ve heard. Maybe he’s remembering a lost cat from his childhood?”

“Well, anyway, I appreciate it when people are a little more forthcoming with me than you seem to have been. And I’m beginning to believe you haven’t been all that forthright with Father Timothy here, either.”

Roland took a sizable swallow from the drink Father Timothy had set beside him. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Doctor.”

“Really?” retorted the physician, reaching into his pocket. “I get called into cases like this because sometimes I’m the only doctor people can find without going to the hospital... like you tonight. So I see all kinds of things and pull all kinds of things out of people. And this,” he said, tossing a slug down on the table next to Roland’s drink, “is a 7.62MM NATO slug. I pulled it out of your partner’s thigh. There aren’t very many criminals who use this type of round, although there are some out there. But it’s a military round. And to be perfectly honest with you, the only military action recently has been at Camp David. This morning. This says you two are hotter than a two-dollar pistol.”

“Okay, I’m going to talk to you man-to-man. There’s no FBI agent here, no doctor, no priest. The more you know about this situation, the more trouble you’re in. That is Captain Hawke in the other room. I was on the shuttle, too. I managed to get off just before the craft was destroyed, and I picked him up in the smoke and confusion. As soon as he’s fit to travel, we need to move. How long will that be, by the way?”

“If he’s got the constitution I think he does,” the doctor mused, “and if he doesn’t do anything strenuous, I’d say three days. And he can travel if all he has to do is sit and maybe walk from a car to a motel room. If it’s going to be more strenuous than that, it will be weeks. And the more he moves, the more you’ll need to change his bandages. In three days he should be able to hobble, and please note the stress on the word hobble, on that leg for very short distances. But because of the broken wrist, he can’t use crutches. Just what is it you’re planning to do, mister?”

Roland thought swiftly, took a sip of the scotch in his glass, and said, “Head west.” More silence while the other two men looked at each other. “Back to where it all started. Which is in Montana and Colorado. That’s where a large portion of their recruits come from.”

Father Timothy closed his mouth with an audible snap. “So they truly are Earthmen?”

“Yes, Father. Every one of them. There are almost three thousand of them up there on three bases and three ships. They’re planning one more base, and they want to have dozens of ships, so they’re going to need even more crew.”

“And I’m sure they need guidance, too,” the father said as his eyes focused on a point far beyond the walls that confined the three men.

“Well, everybody has their own interpretation of guidance. I’ve spent the last year living with them, studying them to make a report to my superiors... to the Office of the President. With their knowledge, mind you. My presence on the shuttle and saving Captain Hawke’s life was a purely fortuitous situation. The simple fact of the matter is that the man you just patched up, Doctor, is the head of their organization, and with him ‘dead,’ his wife is in charge. And after this morning, there’s no telling what she’s going to do. I’ve known her for over a year now, and I think she’s a pretty levelheaded woman, but with this shock, who can say what she’ll do to the country that ‘murdered’ her husband.”

“Let me get this straight,” the doctor interjected. “You say this ‘Terran Alliance’ is composed of human beings, and they’re taking recruits?”

“I do. That’s how they’ve gone from the original three who were lucky enough to find the first ship and smart enough to recognize the opportunity, to the thousands who operate three ships and three bases, with plans for drastic expansion in the near future. And there are two more ships just waiting for crew to be assigned. But this little fiasco this morning puts a hell of a crimp in those plans.

“Look, they think they’ve got four dead, and one of them is alive in the next room. And he’s their number one man. I don’t know what they’ll do now, but I know what they had planned. One, take enough people out to the third ship to get it back to Earth orbit and then do it again for the fourth. They also need to get their main ship, the Galileo, back out to the belt and build their fourth base, the big one to make some of the bigger ships. That will put the big ship away from Earth for almost a year. Now, though, it’s anybody’s guess. All I am sure of is that we need to get to Denver where their recruiters are. If we can find them, we can get him back to his people and save something out of this mess.”

The doctor zeroed in on two points. “What do you mean by ‘belt,’ and when does it leave?”

Roland thought for a moment. “They could leave any time. Whether they will or not, well...” He looked at the two men and shrugged. “I know that he knows the recruiters in Denver. Maybe when he’s able to talk, we can make a call and set something in motion. But they—the folks in Denver—have the radio and what they call locator disks that will let them locate and beam Simon back aboard the big ship. And by ‘belt,’ I mean asteroid belt.”

“Beam?” the father asked. “Like in ‘Star Trek’?”

“I’m afraid so, Father,” Roland said ruefully.

The doctor leaned forward as excitement and animation took years off slumped shoulders and a fatigued expression. “You know, I could do some good out there.”

“What? You have work to do here, Brian Jeffers! You can’t go gallivanting around the solar system or whatever! Besides, you know you don’t have...”

“And you haven’t had the same thoughts, Timmy? What did you just get through saying? ‘I’m sure they need guidance, too,’ wasn’t it?” Doctor Jeffers pointed out. “You and I both grew up on Buck Rogers and Flash Gordon, and we both couldn’t wait for the next Amazing Stories. I’ll tell ya now, big brother, I’m for helping these two out and joining up when we get there. You know I only lost my license for writing prescriptions I shouldn’t have because I cared too much.”

The doctor looked at Roland. “So how many doctors do they have? What kind of facilities? General practitioners? Surgeons? Dentists, for God’s sake? Somebody has to look after the sanitation and general health of that many people. Who is it? And how about mental health? Not to mention the fact that you’re spread out all over the solar system, for crying out loud.”

Roland held his hands up. “Whoa there, Doc. I don’t know the answers. I was there studying them as potential adversaries and found out they’d make better allies. But I didn’t look into their health. Everybody seemed healthy. Just the normal sniffles and broken bones. I only saw one real doctor aboard though. Quite a few medics and paramedics. Still not enough to do the job, if I had to make a guess.”

“Well, it’s a profession you need, and there’s another profession you need across the desk there,” the doctor said. “How many priests or rabbis or whatever do you have up there?”

“Again, I have no idea. Are you talking about going to Denver with us?” Roland asked incredulously.

“Can you think of better camouflage than a priest and a doctor?”

“Wait a minute, Brian!” Father Timothy said, panic in his voice.

“You know you can get a replacement here in a couple of days. The Cardinal owes you,” Doctor Jeffers said. “You haven’t had a vacation in eight years, dammit! And I’ll have another drink now that we’ve got that settled, if you please.”

CHAPTER THREE

Lucy sat uncomfortably in the Galileo’s ready room. She could almost feel the captain’s eyes on the back of her neck, and she resisted the impulse to look over her shoulder with difficulty. She felt each of her twenty-five—almost twenty-six—years individually.

Twenty-four hours had now passed since the disaster at Camp David, and the full depth of her position hadn’t revealed itself to her yet, though she had some suspicions. She doodled on another in a long chain of pieces of paper, seeing nothing and accomplishing less. Finally, she picked up her commlink.

“Communications, send messages to Captains Kane and Chapman. Have them meet me in the... my ready room as soon as possible, please.” Captain Jerry Chapman had been her executive officer until she took over command of the Galileo.

As she waited for the two officers to arrive, Lucy tidied up her calculations onto a fresh sheet of paper.

She waved at the chairs in front of her as the two came in together and began without preamble. “The first thing I see is that if we don’t do something, and do it fast, this whole thing is going to come unraveled. We need to get some momentum back, and we need to show our people that we can do it without Simon. And without Kitty. No one person is necessary to the continued existence of the Terran Alliance. Because I’ll tell you, if any one person truly is necessary, then we should all beam down right now and call it quits.”

Marsha and Jerry started to speak at once, and Lucy held up her hand “One at a time, please.”

Jerry was the first one to get a word in. “Can’t you feel it, Lucy... uh, Captain? We can’t end this. Not now. It’s taken on a life of its own, and if we don’t help it grow, especially now that the whole Earth knows, then we’re doing the whole human race a disservice.”

“This is a Captain’s Call, Jerry. First names are allowed here,” Lucy said. “How about you, Marsha? Let’s have your opinion.”

Marsha looked uncomfortable. “Well, I don’t want to go back now, either. It’s too much fun. And yes, I know it’s going to get considerably less fun in the not-to-distant future, but sacrifices get made in the name of progress all the time. We have very concrete reminders of that with Simon dead and Kitty... whatever. I say keep on.”

Lucy shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “Okay, here’s the deal. I have three communiqués from the base captain and commanders essentially saying they’ll support whatever decision I make. I have you, Marsha, standing right here yesterday asking what you could do to help. And you, Jerry, when I said you were the new captain of the McCaffrey, you said, ‘Yes, ma’am, thank you, ma’am, I’ll do the best I can, ma’am,’ so I’m assuming I have your support as well. Do I, or don’t I?”

Both captains nodded their agreement and Lucy said, “Very well. For the moment, construction of Taurus Base is on hold. We have two ships ready to be crewed now, and that will be our priority. The McCaffrey and the Heinlein will both break orbit carrying as many extra personnel as possible without overtaxing the life support systems. I estimate you can carry an extra fifty people on each ship, especially if you use Marsha’s new trick of short-jumping straight out to your destinations. The Heinlein will rendezvous with Orion and offload a skeleton crew to get the new ship back here to the Galileo. The McCaffrey will proceed to Gemini and do the same. Both ships will return straight here. Trials will come later.

“I want to maintain a one-week trip time back from the belt to get as much training into the new crew as possible. At least they’ll be able to find their stations and quarters when they walk onto the ship. Marsha has worked out the micro-jump parameters, so I want her to download those to you, Jerry. Do that for the new ships when you get there and get back here. We’ll do what we can on this end to have crew ready to fill out your rosters when you arrive.”

She slid two folders across the table to the captains facing her. “These are the rosters for your ships—who you’ll be keeping and who you’ll be transferring to the Arthur C. Clarke and the Andre Norton. Inform your people and have them ready to break orbit right after the funerals day after tomorrow. Any questions?” she asked.

And, of course, there were. The new Captain Chapman was concerned with shipboard minutia.

“That’s what you have an executive officer for. Remember how I’d delegate things to you? You need to learn that you can’t have one-hundred-percent control of your ship, but you do need to have that kind of control over your officers and department heads. Your job is to tell people where to go and what to do, and look competent doing it. You also handle the big decisions, which gives you the big headaches. The best advice I can give you is to delegate as much as possible to people you trust. Simon once told me that if going to the captain with a problem is a traumatic experience, people will do their damnedest to solve it themselves. Let’s keep them thinking like that. But the trick is not overdoing it. We can’t have people doing something stupid because we fostered an image.”

Marsha stopped doodling on the pad in front of her. “Okay, Lucy, I can see the rationale here. Seven days out to train a crew, a couple of days on-station, and micro-jump back. That’s nine days for us. My question is what’s the Galileo going to be doing?”

Lucy had unconsciously adopted one of Simon’s gestures, which was to stare down at the tabletop while someone was speaking. She raised her eyes to Marsha’s and said, “The Galileo is going to sit right here and train as many people as well as we can so we can crew those two ships. As for me, I’m going to carry on Simon’s vision of getting bases for us, and I’m going to find out what happened down there.”

“Are you sure that’s wise, Lucy?” Marsha asked.

Lucy bristled. “Let me ask you something, Marsha. If I punched you in the nose, would it be wise to retaliate or let it go? If you let it go, what do you think I can do to you tomorrow? And the next day? Yes, I think it’s wise. Now, I’ll admit I’m not the most diplomatic person you’ll ever meet. I believe in saying what I mean, and I don’t believe in beating around the bush. I think that’s the root cause of some of the worst things that have happened in human history—specifically, worrying something to death instead of getting the matter resolved.

“I’ve been watching the newscasts. Constant repetition of the same stuff all day long. It gets very boring. What I do get out of it is that the Senate and the House of Representatives are up in arms. Republicans and Democrats are unified on something for just about the first time in history. China, Russia, and Great Britain are screaming for an answer. Everybody is screaming for an answer. Nobody wants to lose their piece of the technological pie, and messages have been beamed at us from every satellite circling the globe, none of which I’ve bothered to answer. I’m gonna let ‘em sit down there and stew for a while. What I see here is a televised funeral beamed down to every television on the planet. Until we do that, there will be no response to any overture from anyone on the surface. Then, and only then, do we begin any kind of negotiations.

“We’re only going to be ‘burying’ eleven coffins. We all understand that. It’s the symbolism I’m looking at here, for us as well as the people down there. I was having a problem deciding whether to launch them into the sun, into permanent orbit, or send them home. Home won out. Besides, it’ll make a bigger spectacle, and Simon taught me that if something could serve two purposes... Anyway,” she continued after a choked pause, “we load the coffins with something pyrotechnic and send them on long, shallow courses so everybody gets a good look. And those who matter won’t miss the message that we can drop something anywhere we want. Anything else?”

With a strange look on her face, Marsha stood up and answered, “No, that just about covers it, I think, which leaves us with things to do. Jerry, why don’t you come with me? I’ll explain micro-jumping and get you a download for the McCaffrey.”

The two captains headed off, discussing the esoterica of micro-jumps and the command of star ships.

Lucy took her own advice and delegated. She delegated Kitty’s care to the doctor and engineers, the day-to-day running of the ship to her new executive officer, and preparations for the trips to Orion and Gemini to Marsha. This left her with time on her hands—time she wished she didn’t have.

She wandered down the Galileo’s corridors until she found herself at the sickbay. Not knowing quite why, she walked over to the... container... holding Kitty’s body and stood there, looking into its cloudy interior.

“I don’t know what you or Simon would do,” she said, with a tinge of agony in her voice. “I only know what I think you would do. I think Simon would fight to get the embassies and get Taurus built, and you would have stood beside him every step of the way. All I can say is that I will continue that fight as long as I have breath in my body. I may not go about it at the same pace or in the same way, but it will get done.

“Now, I’m going to set up a funeral. I hope you approve.” Lucy called Stephen to meet with her and the Chief Engineer on the projects deck, and with one last look at Kitty, she left the sickbay.

“What I want is a highly visible display,” she said to the two men seated at the small table tucked away in one corner of the immense room. “We’ll start with a ceremony here on the projects deck with as many people as possible, which will be broadcasted live to Earth. Then, the coffins will be launched in such a way that they traverse most of each time zone from north to south so more people get a chance to see it. There are four time zones across the US. Launch a coffin in each zone at ten p.m. local for best visual effect.”

The engineer spoke up. “The launches themselves are no problem. Either move the ship or have Mambas haul them to the right places and release them at the right time. As far as the visual display is concerned, different materials give off different colors and break up differently. I can load each coffin with enough stuff that they’ll burn for a while. We have the entire construction area to help with that. Don’t worry. But you’d better not plan on having pallbearers. These things will be heavy, trust me.”

Stephen had listened quietly to the exchange and finally asked, “Are you sure this is what you want to do?”

Lucy looked at him and said, “Stephen, if you or Gayle or anybody else who knows Simon... knew Simon... thinks that he wouldn’t do this... if even one of you thinks that he wouldn’t, tell me so, and I won’t do it. And he would make the ceremony a live broadcast, just like I intend to do, don’t you think?”

Stephen sat there and let the silence grow uncomfortably long.

“I’m going to take your lack of answer for agreement, Stephen. I have to. Now, there’s something else I have to do, and that’s organize the funeral. And I’m not what you could call good at public speaking. Either of you want my job?”

Both men, one twice her age, demurred.

“We are gathered here today to mourn the loss of eleven voices,” Lucy said as she tore her eyes away from the somber crowd before her and looked down at two agonizing days’ worth of notes. “Voices belonging to people we have come to respect, cherish, and even, to some extent, love. Eleven people whom we will never be able to turn to again to share good times or bad. Eleven people who have passed beyond the need for our help. These eleven people were taken from us maliciously—four by greedy men who sought to take what we were going to freely give to the people of Earth, and seven by unknowns from outside our solar system.”

She stumbled through the worst twenty minutes of her life, talking about the four people killed in the fighting at Camp David and the seven others, saying something about each of their lives and detailing their deaths. The situation wasn’t made easier by the fact that she had insisted on making this a live broadcast to the world below. She’d rehearsed it fifty times if she’d done it once, and she still felt like she had a mouthful of rocks. It wasn’t until she began speaking of the future that she became a little more comfortable standing where she was.

“We are a young group,” she said, “not quite three years old, so we don’t have many traditions. Today we start one. These eleven martyrs,” she hesitated after the word to give it more strength, “are returning to the planet of their birth as shining symbols of what men and women can achieve if given a free hand. We of the Terran Alliance urge you all over the world to join us now in paying homage to these fallen souls.”

As Lucy spoke, she turned to watch the side doors of the projects deck slide open, leaving only the force fields between the mourners and the emptiness beyond. With Earth as a backdrop and eleven Mambas standing by, the eleven coffins were trundled to the force field where the internal capture fields picked them up one by one and gently slid them out to the waiting ships. Each Mamba moved forward and took charge of a coffin, then moved back into place. Turning in a synchronized movement, the eleven ships moved off into the night. As the door slid shut on the sight, Lucy turned back to the crowd of mourners before her.

“We invite the people of Earth to step outside in about ten minutes and look to the north. Mourn with us the passing of the sons and daughters of Earth and rejoice in their homecoming.”

Lucy looked at the camera, positioned near the back of the crowd of mourners, without speaking for a long minute. “I’d like to end these services at this point by introducing Marsha Kane, Captain of the Terran Alliance Ship Robert A. Heinlein, and Jerry Chapman, Captain of the Terran Alliance Ship Anne McCaffrey.”

Standing to one side, she beckoned to the two captains to come onto the dais. Marsha, looking like she’d like to be anywhere but in front of an entire planet, stepped forward. “Ladies, and gentlemen, I am Marsha Kane of the Terran Alliance. By unanimous consent of the ranking officers, we have promoted Lucy Grimes to the position and rank of First Captain of the Terran Alliance. This act places her in command of all Alliance forces and personnel, and grants her the power to make treaties with or war upon any group of her choosing.” Turning to Lucy, she said, “Congratulations, First Captain.” Nodding slightly for Jerry to follow her, she stepped off the dais and melted into the crowd.

Lucy stood for a long second, then spoke a final time into the camera. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your time. Watch the skies, mourn their loss as we do, and good night.”

The monitors in the ready room showed eleven streaks of light as eleven Mamba pilots reported missions accomplished.

“Well, that’s that then. Time to be getting back into action,” Lucy said.

“Before you do that, Lucy, you should think about something,” Marsha said. “This is the captain’s ready room, the captain of the Galileo, that is. And you aren’t that person. We, that is the ‘Advisory Council,’ thought you should have more appropriate quarters, so we...”

Gayle broke her uncommon silence. “What Marsha is trying to say is that we have a surprise for you. Let’s go for a walk, okay?”

Lucy followed curiously down the hall past the elevator and down deck three to an otherwise anonymous room. Then she saw a plaque affixed to the wall. Its two lines of print said simply, “Fleet Headquarters. Lucy Grimes, Commanding.”

“No!” she exclaimed. “You’re not doing this to me!”

Stephen, seemingly alarmed, said “Can we get out of the corridor? Let’s go inside and talk about this rationally.”

“Oh, talk we shall,” Lucy vowed. “But rational? Someone else will be the judge of that.”

Stepping through the door, she came to a complete stop. Standing up from behind a desk at one side of the room, Lt. Commander Kimura said, “Captain on deck!”

The only other door in the room opened, and a man she knew by sight walked in. “Commander Lloyd Pike, ma’am. Mamba pilot off the Heinlein. When Captain Kane put out the word that she was looking for staff officers for you, it turned out that I was the least unqualified.” A crooked smile crossed his lips. “Or most qualified, or whatever. By virtue of my parents having money and flaunting it, I happen to have picked up a bit about how to anticipate the wishes and needs of others. Most often from the other side, I’ll grant you, but then, I’ll be back there someday.”

“And that makes you my...?”

“Aide, ma’am.”

Looking at Commander Kimura, Lucy asked, “And you?”

“Your personal secretary, ma’am. And I already have messages for you.”

“Messages? Already?” Lucy was beginning to know what the term ‘shell-shocked’ meant.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Kimura said. “The captain of Orion and the commanders of Gemini and Libra send their congratulations, as well as the captains of the McCaffrey and the Heinlein.”

“Get Agent Daniels in here, Commander,” Lucy said self-consciously. She was still reeling from the shock of finding out what her new position entailed, and she smelled a rat. This trick smacked of Simon’s doing, but he was dead, so she shifted her attention to Stephen.

He had a hand in this, she thought. Could Simon have told him to engineer an outcome like this, if worse came to worst?

Her consternation was at her new duties. As overall commander of three stations—very soon to be four—and three ships, she’d been removed from personal command of any particular vessel. Sure, if she wanted the Galileo to do something, it would get done but under the command of someone else. And the same held true of any ship in their slowly expanding fleet. And they gave her a staff? She also had a suite of rooms specially prepared as her personal quarters, along with a dining room big enough to serve as a banquet room, two aide’s quarters, and a small gym.

I have an “aide,” she thought. And a valet, personal secretary, and two gophers! Well, if I’m in charge, I guess I’d better get at it.

She picked up her commlink and said, “Commander Kimura, please call Dr. Walker and Captain Kane. I want to see them first. And find Agent Daniels.”

Lucy read the paper in her hand for about the twentieth time. They tried to think like lawyers, but they didn’t take into account just how vindictive I can be. The paper she perused held her operating instructions, so to speak. She could only be removed from office by a unanimous decision of all the captains, and she could appoint her advisers carte blanche.

This is where I got ‘em, she thought.

She was jerked out of her reverie by the sound of her commlink.

“Ma’am, Dr. Walker and Captain Kane are here.”

“Well, send them in.” God, don’t let me come off as pompous, she prayed. Unable to sit behind her desk, Lucy paced nervously.

“Do I ask, ‘What’s up, Lucy?’ or do I say, ‘Captain Kane reporting as ordered, ma’am,’ Marsha quipped as she strode into the office, Stephen at her heels.

“I don’t know, and right now I don’t care, Marsha. I just wanted to let the two of you know how much ‘help’ you’ve given me recently.”

Eyes darting in Stephen’s direction, Marsha said, “That’s nice of you to say, Lucy.”

“The point I want to make is that I appreciate it so much that I want to do something for you in return.”

Stephen’s eyes narrowed at being included in Lucy’s expansive wave. “What do you have in mind?”

“Well, this for example,” she said, waving the paper she was still holding. “It says here ‘... no limitations on appointing advisers as deemed necessary by the First Captain.’” She sat down on one of the couches in the more informal area of the office. “I really think I have too much room here. I need to fill it with something. I know what! Advisers! Guess what, guys? You’re appointed.”

Stephen began to protest. “I have enough to do! It seems I’ve inherited some kind of ‘senior scientist’ status. People come to me to solve problems I’m not even associated with.”

“And how do you handle things like that?” Lucy wanted to know.

“Well, usually I know who to turn the problem over to for the best results. I can only be in so many places.”

“There you go! My new technical adviser!” Turning to Marsha, she asked sweetly, “And just how do you plan to weasel out of this? Let me guess. Senior line captain is best suited to advise from the command perspective?”

“Uh, something like that,” Marsha said and looked down, an unreadable look on her face.

“Something like that,” Lucy mimicked. “Sit down and talk to me. I want to send the Heinlein and the McCaffrey out to bring in the two new ships ASAP. I’m thinking micro-jumps both ways to shorten time, properly crew them, and send them out of here on their trials. Any objections?” When neither Stephen nor Marsha responded, she went on, “If both ships go out as stuffed as their environmental systems will handle, we can have four ships in orbit. Allowing two days to transfer crew and do a full systems check, we could accomplish that in about eight days. Comments?”

“That many people crammed into one ship will take some innovation. But if it’s not for more than a week, I think we can handle it,” Marsha said.

When he became the target of Lucy’s cool gaze, Stephen said guardedly, “I don’t see a technical reason not to. Actually, I really don’t see any reason not to, but I’d like to know what you have planned for the Galileo while they’re gone.”

“Good. Marsha, tell Jerry to find a way to load an extra hundred aboard and you do the same. I want the Heinlein to go to Orion with your second in charge. Jerry goes to Gemini. You’ll stay here and help me out as part of my new Advisory Council. See that both ships are under way within forty-eight hours, that is after getting the crews aboard and familiar with their duty stations, if possible. Okay?”

At Marsha’s stunned nod, Lucy turned to Stephen. “The Galileo will sit right here bringing new volunteers aboard and getting them acquainted with living and working aboard ship. When the new ships arrive, I hope to have crews ready for each of them that will at least know their way around a spaceship.”

“And...” Stephen prompted. “What about you? Are you planning to retaliate?”

“Retaliate? Who would I retaliate against? Whoever’s responsible will have covered their tracks too well by now. I’d thought of moving our North American embassy to Canada. Kind of a snub at the U.S., don’t you think? But I also realize the advantages of having a base in the greatest country in the free world. But the U.S. no longer speaks for us—that will be their punishment. I have a couple of thoughts on people to work out a proposal with the Swiss and others to work on someplace in a Far East country. Which one, I don’t know yet. I’m going to let the U.S. stew for a while. For now, though, I’m going to look toward convincing the United Nations that it’s best for all parties to work with us. Which is why I want to see agent Daniels, now.”

Picking up her commlink, Lucy called Commander Kimura. “Do you have Agent Daniels for me, Commander?”

“Captain, it seems that Agent Daniels isn’t aboard. I called both the Heinlein and the McCaffrey, and he also doesn’t appear to be aboard either of those vessels.”

After four days of intense discussion, Lucy’s shuttle landed in Zurich. Chosen for this meeting due to their well-known neutrality, the Swiss had gone all out to make the Alliance delegation welcome. Security was tighter than she would have imagined, but never having been in a situation like this, she really had no frame of reference.

The crowd was unbelievable to a person who hadn’t seen more than a few thousand at one time in her life. There must have been fifty thousand spectators on hand when her shuttle landed at the airport, accompanied by a four-ship flight of Mambas, the newly named Hawke Flight. It wasn’t until twenty nerve-wracking minutes later that the near riot was under control.

“Ma’am, Zurich Tower reports all clear and requests that we expedite debarkation. Message ends, ‘Welcome to Earth.’” The pilot fairly glowed with suppressed glee. “We got ‘em!”

“Don’t go jumping to conclusions, Lieutenant, but it is a good sign.” Lucy stepped out of the shuttle with a feeling of dread. The last time this happened, people had died. But the attempt must be made. This time she was walking into the fire and taking with her the people she’d come to know and trust. Marsha, Stephen, and Gayle were along as the newly formed Fleet Advisory Council, and they were accompanied by half a dozen well-armed security personnel.

Flanked by her staff, Lucy walked toward the delegation waiting a safe distance from the shuttle. After the introductions, she was left standing with the assistant to the Secretary General of the United Nations and Vice-chairman of the UN Security Council.

“Please permit me to welcome you to Earth, Captain Grimes. I am Heinrich Juergens, special attaché to the Secretary General. I apologize for our unseemly haste, but it would be better if we continued our introduction in a more... secure... location. The penthouse has been made available in one of Zurich’s oldest and most prestigious hotels.” He waved grandiloquently toward the waiting motorcade, and a bottleneck immediately presented itself. Separating Lucy from her security detail was out of the question.

Lucy felt utterly alone and stupid as she stood there and let her aide argue over protocol, for God’s sake, with a total stranger as if she wasn’t even there. Feeling like a chess piece, Lucy grimaced when her personal aide, Commander Pike, turned to her and asked, “Stephen and Gayle in the lead car, Marsha and myself in the rear, each with one guard, and yourself in the middle with the other four. Will that be acceptable, ma’am?”

Relegating each person to their place, the two men finally got the motorcade under way. The attaché himself rode with Lucy and her four guards as the trio of cars sped away from the airport. “I assure you, all three vehicles will stay together, and you’ll be delivered to your hotel momentarily. The council will be in session at nine a.m. tomorrow morning and extends an invitation to attend.”

“You appear to have things well in hand, Herr Juergens. I have every confidence that our stay here will be a pleasant one as long as we have you to look after the details.” Lucy smiled at the slightly older man.

About Simon’s age, actually, she thought. And where does Mr. and Mrs. Grimes’ little girl get off sounding that pompous?

“Don’t you get a feeling of sheer age here?” Lucy asked. “To think that this place is over three hundred years old... and look at the furniture! Antiques, all of it.”

“And bugged to the hilt, too, I’ll bet,” added Lloyd Pike. “There will be two guards outside your room tonight and one inside.” Forestalling any comment from Lucy, he went on, “I have it on good authority that if anything happens to you, my ass is grass. So much for a cushy assignment!”

The next morning, after a lavish extravaganza called breakfast and served by liveried footmen, the attaché was led into the room by Commander Kimura. “Ma’am, Special Attaché Juergens is here.”

“I see that, Rukia. Thank you. Coffee, Herr Juergens?”

“Yes, thank you. Black, bitter.” He looked toward Rukia as she left the room. “You aren’t used to this are you, Captain? Or should I call you ‘First Captain?’”

“Wha... what do you mean, Herr Juergens?” Lucy stammered.

“Being waited on. Having someone to do your bidding. Being in charge.”

Praying that Rukia was just outside the open door, Lucy said, “A spy. I should have known. And ‘captain’ will do.”

“Not at all, Captain. Just connections. We, that is, the Security Council, know that you are Lucille Angelina Grimes, born of John and Darla Grimes of Cincinnati, Ohio, on the 12th of October 1988. Placed third in your last high school long jump, and just missed being on the honor roll. Satisfactory grades at Colorado State University until you dropped out. All of this is a matter of public record, Captain. And, of course, now you’re the supreme commander of a group of people who have control of the most advanced technology in human history. Quite a jump, Captain.”

“Quite a jump, yes, Herr Juergens,” Lucy said as Rukia walked back in with two cups of coffee. Facing away from the diplomat, she raised her eyebrows questioningly. Lucy shook her head slightly. “But not what it seems,” she continued as Rukia left the room. “Just a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. After all, I’m not the one who found the ship, just one of the first volunteers. And I still don’t appreciate being investigated.”

“There’s an old German saying, Captain, ‘If not your enemies, then your friends.’ It means that somebody is going to do it, so why not your friends? Besides, don’t you think your own country has done much worse? And I’m not even counting that whole Camp David affair. Please excuse me if I offend you with the memories of recent losses.”

“And are you my friend, Herr Juergens?” Lucy asked, pointedly ignoring the remarks about how her own country had treated her people.

“And why not, Captain? No matter today’s outcome, I will still be somebody’s attaché. But I was talking about your relative newness to... power... shall we say? And in reference to your subordinates, I was going to say that you looked uncomfortable with having servants. And that is surely what they are. I was going to offer you some advice...”

“Herr Juergens, advice I have coming out of my ears. But oddly, I still don’t have enough. I would appreciate what you have to say.”

“You are most gracious, Captain. I was going to say that you should let your people wait on you. They feel useful and happy, and you can get more done. I’ve seen this before. New leaders come before the council, and they don’t know how to appear effective. Remember, in this line of work, appearances are everything. Accept your subordinates as if they are your due. Just don’t treat them that way. There’s a fine line there, and the best politicians learn it early.”

“Politicians! I’m no politician. How dare you think that!”

Heinrich saw that he’d finally reached Lucy’s core. That kind of anger ultimately signaled final acceptance. “I beg to differ, Captain. For just a moment, let your mind accept the premise that you are a politician. How did you arrive at that exalted status? By acclamation, of course. Your peers voted you into place. They gave you authority over them. And now you are here to speak before the United Nations Security Council. How is that possible for the daughter of John and Darla Grimes? Because she is the head of the most powerful yet smallest group of people ever to exist.”

Heinrich stopped and took a sip from the dainty cup in his hand. “Some of the finest china in the world,” he said admiringly, then returned to his original tack. “Accept it, Captain. Once you do, your life will be much less... stressful. I speak as one who has seen many of the leaders of the world pass by me. Even I am one of those people. The subordinates, that is. I have someone I answer to. So I have a unique perspective, don’t you think? And as one of those subordinates, I can say that we truly thrive on it if treated properly. There are those who lead and those who follow. Fate decides which. And you, Captain, are one of the leaders, whether you like it or not.”

During the attaché’s impassioned speech, Lucy had laid her head back on the couch and closed her eyes. “Why should I believe you, Herr Juergens?” she asked.

“Because, Captain, once you’ve finished speaking before the Council, I’d like to apply to be your first volunteer after the embassy gets established here in Switzerland. I told you, I’m a follower, not a leader. And I would consider it a privilege to be attaché to the senior Terran Alliance officer.”

“I’ll think about it, Herr Juergens.”

Better the spy you know than the one you don’t. And I may get some use out of him.

Seeing the smile flicker across his face, Lucy remarked, “I may be from Ohio, Herr Juergens, but I am most certainly not from the sticks. I think you wanted me to see that smile, or I never would have. So what do you wish to say? And do me a favor, will you? Leave out the diplomatique. Just tell me in plain English.”

“You think me a spy, and you think that in the knowing, you are safe. And now you will deny that, not wanting to be revealed to have such callous thoughts. But I warned you, I am adept at this business. It is to me what flying in space is to you. Here, I have an effect on the thin air of global politics. I have seen many pass through these rooms, and in you I see promise. It is my desire that you appear confident and competent at tomorrow’s council meeting, and more importantly, at the gala that will be sure to follow a successful conclusion of tomorrow’s meeting.”

“Gala? Maybe I am a country girl after all. Explain a gala, please.”

“Held here in Zurich,” Heinrich began, “it means royalty. A baron and a few earls, high-ranking members of society, higher-ranking members of various military organizations, some ambassadors, and just possibly, a few heads of state will be on hand to meet you and your staff. I realize that on the face of it, you think you won’t be able to function in such an environment, but you can. Again, I have seen much, and you have the determination and stamina for it. The others will enjoy themselves. You’ll be miserable, and that’s because you care about the opinions of those around you. And you should. It does matter, but the difference is that the burden rests squarely on your shoulders, and you want to succeed.”

Leaning back in his chair, Heinrich studied Lucy. “Have I frightened you? I have but told the truth, about you as well as your situation. And to ease your mind, I have the privilege of being assigned as your personal guide and liaison during your stay.”

“Ter-bloody-rific,” she muttered.

In a two-hundred-year-old building, the Security Council met in special session. Not normally the setting of such rarefied discussions, the building had been pressed into service so the council could meet in secret with Lucy. The secret was only to be kept from Joe Average, but nonetheless, there were several hundred people outside when her motorcade arrived.

Surrounded by guards and staff, Lucy walked the gauntlet of spectators from the limousine to the steps. When she slowed to answer a question from the crowd, Herr Juergens subtly pushed her forward.

“Not now, please. If you answer one question, you’ll be here all day, and the Council is waiting.”

Feeling put out by the incident, Lucy strode up the steps and into the darkened cavern of the foyer.

Commander Pike met her inside the entrance. “I took the liberty of going on ahead to check security,” he said. “If you’ll follow me, ma’am, there’s a room prepared for you to wait in until the Council calls you. I’ve been assured that you won’t have long to wait.”

“That is most certainly the case, Commander,” Juergens said. “If you’ll excuse me, I must go inform the Council of your arrival.”

Lucy stood in front of a gilt-edged mirror and examined her appearance. “Are you sure this is appropriate, Marsha?”

“Lucy, you need to put on a show here, style as well as substance. Your speech will be the substance, your appearance the style.” Marsha stood behind her and tugged on the uniform jacket. “You look fine. This is what all the up-and-coming Terran Alliance officers will wear for dress occasions.”

Designed by Gayle, the uniform each member of the party was wearing was basically the same as a duty uniform—a finer-quality material, of course, and fewer pockets as had been discussed once long ago. Lucy’s golden captain’s comets were now surrounded by a gold wreath, and the thin golden stripes up the legs of her pants were a direct steal from US military uniforms, as were the four stripes around the cuffs of her jacket.

“I feel like an attraction in a circus!”

Marsha looked herself over and swiped at a piece of lint. More understated, the other uniforms had less braid around the jacket cuffs, giving the visual impression that Lucy was in charge. And it works to perfection, Marsha thought.

Heinrich walked into the room in his Special Attaché persona. “First Captain, Captain, Commanders, if you will follow me, the Council requests your presence.” He led them to an ordinary wooden door. “It is amazing to me how much of a symbol a door is,” he mused aloud. “They can signify endings, as in ‘closing the door on a chapter of your life,’ or a beginning, as in ‘opening a door on a bright new future.’ I sincerely hope you and your people open it onto a bright future, First Captain. I offer this advice: on the other side of this door, speak only the truth as you see it. If you truly want a bright future, it cannot be built on lies and deception.” He glanced at his watch and said, “And now your turn has come. Good luck.” With the last word, he opened the door and stood aside.

Since the Security Council was not in its customary building, having come to Switzerland so as not to appear to snub their noses at the Alliance by making them meet on American soil, the four Alliance officers walked directly into the middle of the special session for which this meeting had been arranged. Their appearance was surely expected because Lucy heard not a sound as several hundred pairs of eyes examined her and her friends.

Looking around, Lucy located the chairman and broke the silence. “Sir, I am Lucy... Lucille Grimes, First Captain of the Terran Alliance, and I have come to you today to ask for your assistance.”

The face of the man who answered her could have belonged to anybody’s grandfather. The eyes belonged to... she didn’t like where her thoughts were leading her and looked away from the eyes. The feeling of being ten years old again and sitting in the principal’s office was so strong she almost laughed out loud.

“What would you have this Council do?” he asked, breaking the spell.

“All I ask is that you listen to what I have to say. If after that, if you have any questions, I and my colleagues will be ready to answer.”

“I call for a voice-vote,” the man announced loudly. “And in the interests of saving time, I ask only, does anyone vote against allowing First Captain Grimes to speak?”

When several seconds had passed in silence, he waved to the dais. “First Captain, you have the floor.”

Lucy stepped onto the dais, turned to the assembled crowd, and faltered. The looks of interest, boredom, and amusement, she could take. It was the hostility she saw in some of the faces that caused her to hesitate.

Marsha caught her eye and crooked a finger, and when Lucy bent down, whispered, “Remember, they’re as afraid of you as you are of them. Give ‘em both barrels!”

Lucy took a deep breath and launched into her prepared speech. “We stand, by purest luck, on the real last frontier. Once thought to be Alaska, then the ocean, and finally the moon, space is the true last frontier. And we have a chance to exploit our luck.

“By now, you all know how we came into possession of this marvelous ship,” Talking about familiar things and ideas helped put an end to her nervousness, and she warmed to her subject. “You’ve all seen some of the things it, or its technology, can do—both good and bad. I stand before you today to ask for three embassies on Earth. The Terran Alliance promotes the same values that the United States of America and most other nations around the world today do—freedom from persecution of any kind, and equal opportunity for all regardless of race, gender, creed, or color. What we ask for are a few paltry acres of ground and the same basic liberties for our people that would be offered to anyone in a free world. What we offer is a bright new future—a future where everyone has enough to eat, a future where the power to heat a home in winter and cool it in summer will be available to all, and a future where pollutants in your air, water, and land will be things of the past.

“For three embassies on Earth, we offer all this. For the right to accept volunteers into the Alliance, we offer this. As a gesture of good faith, I have with me today the plans to construct a device that will convert any organic matter into food. This device is cheap, economical, and easy to build and operate. Before I leave today, I will also deliver two dozen working models of the device.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the Earth is getting crowded. The last major challenges have been met. Yes, there are a few left but not enough to occupy the hearts and minds of mankind’s dreamers. These dreamers are the troublemakers of today because there’s no place for their energy to be directed. Let it be directed up and out toward the stars. Isn’t that what man has wanted since the days when he first stood outside a cave and looked up in wonder?

“Time grows short, ladies and gentlemen. Some of our people figure that the original owners of the Galileo, the ones we’ve been calling the ‘Builders,’ will come looking for her. She represents a major effort in construction and cost, or so we believe. They wouldn’t let her go without at least trying to find out what happened to her and her crew. Sooner or later, they’ll come here. When they do, we must be ready to repel, if necessary, any attempts to take this technology from us. We have no way of knowing how they’ll view our usurpation of their technology. How will they react to ‘the new kids on the block?’ We don’t know. So, we must be ready. To that end, we need volunteers in this bold venture into the future.

“A future I must remind you, that is not without risk. You’ve heard rumors of an attack, I’m sure. I can clear that up now. Our first base, called Orion, was attacked by unknown ships that used technology markedly different from that which we have acquired. This argues strongly for a second alien race in our galactic neighborhood. We lost ten people to the unprovoked attack but managed to repel it through the heroic efforts of our personnel. Later, we found another ship hiding in the asteroid belt. When approached, the vessel came out of hiding and began to fire on our craft—a fatal mistake as it turned out. No trace of the vessel was left, nor any of her crew, so we have no way to verify the race of her personnel. The result, though, is the same—no more attacks on Alliance property or personnel since then. That’s not to say there will be no further attacks. We believe that the ship was an outrider or scout, if you will, and working alone. We also believe they had no time to get a message off to... wherever. What orders they were working under, we’ll probably never know. But if that one vessel can find us, so can others... of both races. Our mission is clear—to build as many ships as possible and be prepared for any threat. To that end, I ask you again to grant us a charter that will let us recruit personnel, and at the same time, allow those personnel to return to Earth whenever they choose without fear of arrest, interrogation, or retribution.

“Thank you for your time. We are now at your disposal to answer any questions you may have.”

For several seconds there was bedlam until the speakers sorted themselves out. The first intelligible question to arise was, “Why no weapons or propulsion technology?”

Marsha answered for the Alliance. “As far as propulsion is concerned, the facilities do not exist to manufacture our power sources on Earth. The matter we use comes directly from the corona of a sun, and we use an unmanned station to convert that material into matter and antimatter monopoles. Some of the scientists among you will recognize the fact that monopoles are just now being recognized as a theoretical possibility. If matter and antimatter come in contact with each other, you will have a situation much like Camp David. As for weapons technology, most of it is powered by the same basic principles that power our engines. And I have a question for this august body: Don’t you have enough weapons, nuclear and otherwise, to destroy this planet several times over? What need do you have for more?”

An uncomfortable silence followed Marsha’s questions. “I’m going to assume from your silence that you don’t need better ways to kill yourselves. Next question.”

“Georg Ustinov, Ukraine. Where do you propose to place your embassies?”

“That, Mr. Ustinov, is a good question. Our hopes are to get three countries to agree to host our embassies—the United States, for one. Even though there’s considerable tension at the moment, it’s admirably suited due to their location. As is Japan, if they will agree. But our first choice has always been Switzerland, a country known throughout the world for their neutrality. Next question.”

A man at the back of the room stood up. “Willem Boch from South Africa, Captain. It has been my experience that nothing is ever free, especially those things that are touted as free. How much will this technology cost us?”

At a nod from Lucy, Stephen stood up to answer. “Commander Stephen Walker, Mr. Boch. I agree with you that all things come with strings attached, and the food processors do have a string. We will make available to all the nations of Earth complete plans for construction of these remarkable devices. They allow a ship in space to travel many lightyears without a lot of storage of bulk organic foodstuffs. Here on Earth, the system will prove itself in no time at all. Put organic material into one end, and food comes out the other. The unit is fully programmable, and drugs can be left off the menu so the unit won’t get misused.

“But the same unit in a hospital, for example, can be programmed to produce the most important life-saving drugs ever imagined. It’s programmability allows a unit in the hands of Hindus to produce food that isn’t ‘tainted,’ while an identical but differently programmed unit will be busy turning out cheeseburgers. These units are free. We refuse to hold hunger over the heads of Earth’s people. Remember, we are of Earth, too. The string attached to this item is that we will make occasional unannounced inspections of various sites to determine that everyone is benefiting equally. For example, we will not allow one person to control a unit and charge for the food that comes out of it. Maybe someday, when there’s no more hunger, a chef can make a dish, program it into a processor, and sell what comes out to diners. But not until every belly on the planet is full!

“As for other items, if Earth has the technology to produce an item, we could outright sell the plans to you, and every nation gets a copy. For items that can’t be produced on Earth, we’ll lease the rights to use them and produce them for you. As Earth’s technological level rises to meet the new items introduced, the number of things we produce will diminish.

“The prices will not be extravagant, but someone other than those of us standing here will have to hammer out the details. What dollar figure will apply, we have no way of knowing. Next question.”

A woman stood up next. “Marta Koenig of Germany. I see that three of the four of you are female. Is this the norm among your population? And in a related question, who will be allowed to volunteer?”

Lucy responded to the question. “The disparity has been a subject among ourselves on occasion. To answer your question, both asked and alluded to, I can only say that the ratio of male to female officers is purely coincidental. To the best of my knowledge, the crew is pretty evenly split between male and female now. If one sex is more predominant, it would probably be males. To be honest, I’ve never really considered it before. One restriction will be enforced, however. No one who is presently under sentence or indictment of any kind or who is on the run from the law will be allowed to volunteer. All others are welcome to apply. We realize that our population will be growing at a very slow rate at first, so we won’t be able to take many people at any one time. Some won’t want to stay, preferring to return home. We are not going to bleed Earth dry of all her brilliant minds, ladies and gentlemen. On the contrary, we’ll be enhancing Earth’s database. Think about it for a minute. No matter what, for the next hundred years at the very least, everyone who signs on with us will come home for vacations, to visit friends, to attend family functions like family gatherings and burials, and to retire. The sum total of all that they learn about us and our technology will come home to Earth! This process allows everyone equal access to what we have at a rate that will let the planet progress without the massive disruptions that you will surely see in the short term. Next question.”

“Jose Gallegos, Brazil. What ‘massive disruptions’ do you see from introducing your technology at this time?”

“A very good question, and from a direction that’s more pivotal than you might expect. Let’s go back to the food processors for a moment. If you have those, then clearing all the land you do will become unnecessary, won’t it? Less cleared land equals more forest to produce oxygen equals less ozone depletion. Another point—what happens when advanced solar technology is wedded to antigravity? Rather than let you think about it, let me tell you. Several industries will disappear, and some countries depend heavily, if not exclusively, on those industries.

“Advanced solar technology will provide electricity to power antigravity motors that can be applied to anything from personal transportation to home heating. There will no longer be a need for huge power-generating stations, oil production, gasoline manufacturing, natural gas distribution, automobile tire production, service stations, and a host of other industries that we haven’t even thought about yet. And that’s just from two innovations. Think about all the people out of work! Governments will be in chaos, and there will be rioting in the streets, unless preparations are made in advance and the technology is introduced slowly. Job retraining will have to be a governmental priority. And we will offer some form of assistance while the retraining takes place.

“There are so many things that impinge one on the other that no one person can say for sure just what will affect what. We realize that we will be the architects of much sorrow and heartache in the future, and we wish it wasn’t so. But the benefits to all! We ask only that you think as hard as we are about what it can mean. Next question.”

“Sonja Detweiler, Netherlands. It is assumed that the vast majority of Alliance personnel are American. Why did you not turn this over to your government?”

Gayle stood up. “Captain? If I may? This is one that Stephen... Commander Walker and I, have discussed repeatedly.”

“Go ahead, Commander.”

“Well, Ms. Detweiler, what do you think would happen given the scope of the world’s intelligence community? If we turned our find over to our government, there would be no ship. Specifically, in this day and age, another government would sooner or later find out about it and decide that the balance of power had changed. And not in their favor. What would the schoolyard bully do? Surely you’ve faced or seen a bully in action at some time in your life. He would launch a ‘preemptive strike,’ is what he would do. As a dear friend once put it, ‘If I can’t have it, you can’t either.’ So, no one nation can be allowed to have control of our find. ‘How about turning it over to the United Nations, then?’ you might ask next. Same thing applies. A very few nations would have control of something that would change the way we look at the universe, and that’s not fair to all.

“We’ve come to see things differently, Ms. Detweiler. Perhaps I should invite you aboard the Galileo to see what we’ve seen—that there are no boundary lines from space! This planet is one delicately balanced biosphere. I think of it as one big family. We must get along or the structure is forever fractured. That is why we’ve taken the steps we have—to prevent the fracturing of our family. And it has cost us dearly. Those who gave their lives trying to protect the ship have become martyrs to the cause, so to speak. Simon was killed by greed. He was murdered on television in front of the whole world. And his wife is now held hostage to the very technology you wish to usurp.

“Hostage, you ask. How is that? Well, to tell the absolute truth, after three years, we’re still learning about what we’ve acquired. Sometimes we get bit in the butt by the technology. Simon’s wife...”

“That will be all, Commander,” Lucy intervened. “I think we’ve covered the high points and should leave these good people to discuss what they’ve heard so far.”

“One last question, if you please, Captain,” came from an unidentified voice. “Who will get what as far as the technologies are concerned?”

“That one is simple. You, earthbound humanity, will decide just what it is you wish to introduce to the planetary economy. Once the decision has been made, we will provide that technology to all the nations of Earth, along with the identities of those who requested it.

“At this point, I feel that all that can be accomplished here today has been, and since we’re living and working on another time schedule, I beg that you allow us to get some rest. Thank you for your time, ladies and gentlemen. We realize that you have gone to considerable extremes to be here today, and we appreciate it. We do think, however, that another venue would be better for further discussions, and we’re open to suggestions to be considered at a later date. At this point though, it’s time we depart.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Sitting in the suite provided by the city of Zurich, Lucy finally had a chance to relax. She called the Galileo and ordered that the shuttle and flight of Mambas return to the ship. “There’s no reason they should sit there and be targets,” she asserted. “Besides, they won’t be of any benefit if something should happen. And if we need to, we can beam in and out with no one the wiser.”

Three times during the evening, her secretary, Commander Kimura, was approached by undersecretaries of the three countries that had been mentioned as possible bases for embassies. The United States, Japan, and Switzerland, all sent tacit, if not overt, approval of Lucy’s proposal for embassy locations.

Lucy never saw these people. Herr Juergens advised against it.

“Protocol and appearances are everything, Madam Captain. And please, call me ‘Heinrich.’ The Security Council has granted you full ambassadorial status by allowing you to speak in front of them the way they did. And, as you’re the highest-ranking person in your Alliance, you’re the de facto head of state. It would not be seemly for you to meet with underlings.”

The last visitor of the evening was a page who merely handed Commander Kimura an embossed envelope bearing Lucy’s name and title. Obviously hand-printed by someone with a calligrapher’s bent, it said simply, “Lucille Angelina Grimes, First Captain of the Terran Alliance.”

“Lucille,” she exclaimed in disgust. “If I didn’t love my parents so much, I’d kill them for giving me that name! And does everybody know my middle name?” Turning the envelope over to open it, she found a wax seal on the back. “Heinrich, what do we have here?” Lucy asked.

Taking the envelope in one well-manicured hand, the attaché looked it over carefully and pronounced, “A significant honor for you, Madam Captain. The von Schlenker family crest is embossed on the front, and that crest is repeated in the wax on the back, which means the baron himself has extended this invitation.”

“How do you know it’s an invitation when you haven’t even opened it?”

“The baron is famous for his galas, and this,” he said, handing the invitation back to her, “is the standard form of invitation. Although, to honor you, he has addressed this one, himself. Protocol requires that your secretary respond to the RSVP that is surely included within the invitation. You should open it and find out when the event will take place.”

Doing as Heinrich instructed gave her almost forty-eight hours to prepare for the gala. “I don’t know what to do at a gala! I don’t even know what a gala is!” she exclaimed. “I’m Lucy Grimes from Ohio!”

“You will circulate,” Heinrich said. “You will be pleasant and mysterious as befits a visitor from outer space, and you will converse. You will eat little and drink less, and sometime during the evening you will be approached by the American ambassador, the Japanese ambassador, and the Swiss ambassador. These events are where most... deals... are solidified. And the Terran Alliance will make its official debut on the social scene.

“Madam Captain, if you’ll forgive me for being forward, may I suggest something other than the uniform you wore today for a gala? Not to say there’s anything wrong with your uniforms; there isn’t. Simple black always makes a statement, and the name tag, the patches on the shoulder, and the rank insignia add authority. But you’re going to a gala. It’s light and airy. You want to present the glamorous side of your Terran Alliance.”

“I have nothing to wear that could even remotely be considered glamorous!”

“I have some ideas in that department, Lucy,” Gayle said. “Marsha and I discussed them when we were upgrading these outfits. We’ll do some makeup to give your eyes a little mystery and enhance your cheekbones. Then, we’ll do something simple yet elegant for your hair, and leave the evening attire to us. Suffice it to say that if you want glamour, silver and white should do the trick. And now, Herr Juergens,” Gayle said, “if you’ll excuse us for the evening, we girls need to talk clothes.”

Juergens got up and walked over to the door. “Breakfast will be at nine in the morning. Shall I send a car around at about ten for a tour of the city?”

The next forty-eight hours were a nightmare for Lucy. Between the deliberate drop-ins by various ambassadors and the casual ‘accidental’ meetings in various public places, Lucy became superficially acquainted with several dozen of the ambassadors who’d found their way to Zurich. Between times, she was busy beaming back and forth between the Galileo and her suite being fitted for a gown made from scratch. “This... isn’t... going... to... work! It isn’t possible!” she complained

“It will work,” Gayle said, “if you’ll just hold still and let me get my job done! Stephen and Jerry were easy. All they needed were white pants, a white turtleneck, and a black dinner jacket. We added some silver piping for accent, and they were done. These new, lighter materials make things a snap. What we are going to have are dresses that have two skirts. The outer, longer one is almost floor length and can be removed and used as a wrap, leaving us with the inner one at about knee length or whatever length you want. We’ll have a long-sleeved jacket with a scooped neckline that gives just the right emphasis to the cleavage, which always gets a man’s attention. A silver braid on the sleeves and the Alliance logo on the left breast will fill out our outfits in pure white. Yours will be the same, but instead of just white, there will be a thousand little points of light picked up by the various kinds of illumination you’re either under or passing by. Your dress will never be the same from one moment to the next. And your logo will be in the same shade of blue as your eyes. There’s plenty of time!”

The Alliance team made quite a show as they exited their hotel’s elevator. First out were two security personnel who looked around and then signaled Lucy forward. She made her way across the lobby slowly, as if measuring each step. The procession of four white-and-silver-clad officers, accompanied by Lloyd Pike in his formal blacks and six guards in their duty uniforms, caused all in the lobby, even those used to spectacle, to stop and stare. Heinrich Juergens waited by the main doors and watched the procession closely.

In much the same arrangement as the day before, Juergens ushered Lucy and Lloyd into the middle limousine and climbed in with them and three guards. A fourth sat in the front with the driver.

“Keep the window between us down, driver. Understand?” Lucy said.

Gayle and Stephen rode in the lead limo, and Marsha brought up the rear, each car having one guard assigned to it. The motorcade made its way through the city, the traffic, and the approaching dark until it left the city proper behind.

“The gala is being held at the ancestral home of Baron Manfred von Schlenker. A ten-minute ride will have us there,” Juergens said.

The time passed quickly as Heinrich filled the two Alliance officers in on the do’s and don’ts of meeting royalty. “Even a baron is jealous of his prerogatives. When you meet in the receiving line, introduce yourself first. Formally. Full name and title. He will then set the tone for any future conversations.”

Shortly, the vehicles turned off the main road onto what was obviously, even in the dark, a well-manicured driveway that seemed to go on forever. Through the trees, Lucy could see a large lighted structure flickering in and out of view. One final turn of the tree-lined lane brought the building into clear view.

“It’s a damned castle!”

“Indeed, Captain,” Juergens responded. “It has been the von Schlenker family residence for over three hundred years. The outer battlements are still intact, even rebuilt in places, but the inner wall that enclosed the bailey was taken down about a hundred years ago to use for other buildings. The Baron keeps a stable of some of the finest Arabian show horses in the world. And, of course, no castle is complete without its own set of ghosts.”

“Have you ever seen one of them?”

“In truth, I have not, Captain. But I did once lose a silver cigarette case under mysterious circumstances some years ago. It was found some months later in a room that had, reportedly, not been opened for several years.”

The motorcade pulled up in front of an impressive set of stairs. Several vans with imposing-looking antennae on them sat to one side, while reporters and their cameramen stood in a front of cordoned-off vehicles filming the entire scene and calling out questions. Liveried footmen hurried forward to open the doors of the three vehicles and recoiled in confusion as four women stepped out and began surveying the area.

Lloyd Pike joined the women and spoke quietly to the team leader. He leaned into the center limo and said “Captain, your gala awaits. You shall go on my arm, and Captain Miller will go with Commander Walker. Captain Kane can bring up the rear.” This last was said as if some social gaffe had occurred.

Once the four officers had gathered, Juergens looked them over with a critical eye.

“Perfection,” he said quietly. “And as one who’s been to many of these events, please trust me when I say that the lack of adornment or jewelry adds to the mystique. Now,” he said briskly, turning to look Lucy in the eyes, “remember, among these people, image is everything.” In a schoolmaster’s cadence, he said, “Heads up, shoulders, back, and... chests out. Walk as if you own the ground beneath your feet. A regal step is always deferred to. If you act like a queen, you will be treated like a queen.”

This solemnly delivered pronouncement was greeted with titters of laughter by Marsha and Gayle. “Oh, my! The Queen of Outer Space!”

A look of pained confusion on Heinrich’s face prompted Lucy to say, “Private joke. Maybe I’ll explain someday.” To her companions she muttered, “Once more and you’re dead.”

Heinrich shrugged. “Go. Mingle. And remember—eat little, drink less.”

One step ahead of everyone else, Lucy arrived at the top of the massive stone staircase in time to see yet another liveried man stepping out of a small stone gatehouse. “Invitation, please,” the man ordered.

Lloyd quickly reached into his inside pocket, pulled out the embossed envelope, and handed it over. The gatekeeper glanced at the invitation and returned it to Lloyd. He then took a step forward, opened one of the huge doors, and with a courtly bow, pronounced, “By the Baron’s command, enter and be made welcome.”

The group moved into a large anteroom that, despite all the stone, was still amazingly warm. Two liveried men stood guard at another set of doors directly across from them. The room was decorated with suits of armor, flags, and tapestries. Weapons adorned the walls, along with a few portraits, all of which should have been in a museum somewhere.

“I’ll say this,” Marsha commented, “the man sure knows how to set a mood.”

“Well, ladies and gentlemen,” Lucy said, “it looks like we’re expected. Let’s go to a party.”

Lucy led her entourage across the foyer, and the footmen, acting as if their movements had been rehearsed a thousand times before, moved to open the double doors just as they arrived. Continuing into the next room, Lucy stopped, stunned. The scene before her was right out of a movie. The white marble staircase leading down to the ballroom floor, the pike-carrying footmen flanking the top and bottom of the staircase, and the fancifully dressed people circulating below could all have been provided by some movie company for atmosphere.

But this is no set, Lucy thought. And I have to cope!

Another hurdle to be passed stepped toward them from his position at the top of the stairs, hand out held. Lloyd, hesitating only slightly, handed over the invitation one more time. With a practiced movement, the gaudily dress man flipped the card from the envelope and read it. A small throat-clearing noise alerted the nearest footman, who banged his weapon on the stone floor three times. When the echoes stopped reverberating around the stone room, all eyes were on the group at the top of the stairs.

“Lady Lucille Angelina Grimes, First Captain of the Terran Alliance and party!” Stepping back into position, he gave a small surreptitious wave of his hand to indicate that the group should proceed down the staircase.

Leaving her bodyguards to follow from the rear for a change, Lucy started walking down the staircase one measured pace at a time. She now had a feeling of what a bug on a plate felt like. Every one of the hundreds of pairs of eyes were on her... again, bringing back the feeling of her visit to the Security Council. It hadn’t seemed so... daunting... aboard the Galileo because she either knew everyone on board or had something in common with them. Here, though, the only sound was the tapping of the feet of her party as they moved down the staircase, at the bottom of which was a line of people staring at her expectantly.

Later, Lucy wouldn’t be able to place name or title to any face she met in that line, with the exception of the last two. Baron and Baroness von Schlenker were dressed to match the room in which they stood. Louis XIV never dressed as well. The matching ermine-trimmed half-capes of the baronial couple were royal purple, and the clothing, while of the finest material, was cut in the style of the fourteenth century.

The baron was a huge bear of a man. Mutton-chop sideburns and a goatee stopped just short of being a full beard. A heavy gold chain with an equally heavy gold pendant hung from his neck, while every finger sported a ring with a different stone. Speaking a word or two to each of the apparent half-dozen children of the baron had given her enough practice that by the time she reached the man himself, and she was able to get through the ritual without stumbling.

“Lucille Grimes, First Captain of the Terran Alliance,” she said, holding out her hand.

Rather than shaking her hand, the Baron took it in both of his and, raising it to his lips, kissed it. “I am Baron Manfred von Schlenker. And I am in your debt. To have three such beauteous women as yourselves grace my home is indeed an honor.” In a stage whisper, he continued, “And it doesn’t hurt that this is the first public appearance of the Alliance Commander. It is certainly the social coup of the century. Now, if you will forgive me, I have a few more guests to greet. Make yourselves welcome. I will come rescue you shortly, after some of these people have decided that you are real and don’t bite.”

Taking a risk, Lucy asked, “Who said I don’t bite?” and got a muffled laugh in return.

As Lucy moved uncertainly away from the baron, nervously eyeing the people who were blatantly staring at her, she was intercepted by a waiter.

“Libation, Madam?” he asked.

Lucy started to reach for one of the delicate crystal flutes, but remembering Heinrich’s admonition, said, “Not just yet, thank you.”

The waiter stepped ever so slightly into her path and lowered his voice. “Perhaps Madam would be more amenable to ginger ale? It also gives one something to do with one’s hands.”

“Thank you,” Lucy said. “Um, could you see to it that my friends are served the same? I would be most grateful.”

“It would be my great pleasure, madam,” the waiter said, turning the tray half-way around. Several glasses stood apart from the others on the tray. Lucy selected one and took an experimental sip. The waiter gave a small bow and turned away.

She turned around to examine the hall and the guests resplendent in their finery, coming face-to-face with an older lady dressed in a tweed suit and wearing enough pearls and diamonds to buy half of Cincinnati.

“Haw! First to meet ‘cha, don’t ya know!”

“Well, if that’s supposed to be a feather in your cap, then congratulations. I’m Lucy Grimes, and you are...?”

“An American! I’d hoped that with the name ‘Grimes’ you might be a subject of the Queen. No matter. I’m Lady Olivia Harrington-Smythe.” At the silence that met her pronouncement, she went on. “Wife of Sir Jonathan Harrington-Smythe, British Ambassador to the United Nations.”

“I don’t have time to keep up with politics, Mrs. Harrington-Smythe, so I apologize for not knowing who you are, but pleased to meet you nevertheless.”

“That would be ‘Lady’ not ‘Mrs.,’” the old woman corrected. “And since our dear friend the baron has conferred the title of ‘Lady’ on you, you’d be wise to use it at every occasion. Now, you simply must meet Birdie.”

“Uh, Birdie?”

“My husband. Jonathan Birdwell Harrington-Smythe.”

The next half hour was a blur to Lucy as she was towed from one small conversational group to another by the indomitable Lady Olivia, her guards never too close or too far away. She caught occasional glimpses of the other three members of her party, and each one was always surrounded by a wall of interested listeners. Her guards, on the other hand, seemed to have a no man’s land around each of them as they jockeyed to keep her and the others in sight. Stephen and Gayle, never far from each other these days, were very animatedly explaining something to the group surrounding them, while Marsha was making motions with her hands that could only have something to do with piloting a Mamba.

Lucy took her fourth glass of ginger ale off a passing tray and turned back to another in a long series of banal discussions with woefully uninformed women and silently prayed, Help me to endure, please!

“It must be oh so exciting,” one woman, a little younger than the rest, exclaimed, “to be flitting around outer space without the constraints of gravity.”

Once again, Lucy had to disabuse someone of their notions. “I’m terribly sorry, ma’am, but we do have artificial gravity on all our major ships. Only the fighters don’t have it because of their size. Walking around in our spaceships is just like walking around in this room. And I don’t get to do much ‘flitting.’ I spend much of my day in a dreary office without even a window to break the monotony, signing forms and pushing papers from one stack to another. I think I’ll have to do something about that window though.” While not quite literally true, Lucy’s explanation had portrayed a fairly accurate description of what her days were like now.

Finally, salvation appeared in the form of Baron von Schlenker himself. The portly man in the purple cape inserted himself into the small group around Lucy and exclaimed, “Ladies, ladies! My deepest apologies for this interruption, but I’m afraid I’ve been remiss in my duties as host, and I find that I must now spirit the good captain away from you.” He lightly placed a hand on Lucy’s elbow and said, “Lady Olivia, as always, it is a pleasure to have you in my home. I regret that we didn’t get to speak more. Perhaps next time.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Freddie, I will. And you owe me for keeping her away from the riffraff.”

“I owe you nothing for that, Olivia. You took that chore upon yourself, and gladly, from what I could see. Now, I’m afraid the captain and I must go.”

“You’ll wait a moment more, Freddie,” Olivia said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Lady Lucille, it has been my great pleasure to spend this last half hour with you. And I’m sure Birdie will agree with me when I say that if you’re ever in England, you’ll be welcome in our home—a delightful country estate. Not the dank and dreary pile of stone this is. Now, you go with the baron and relax. He’s been declawed, and I promise you that if he does anything more than ogle your cleavage, his wife will hand him his head on a platter!”

Lady Olivia’s laughter diminished as the Harrington-Smythe ship of state slowly made its way through the huge room, and Lucy turned back to the Baron. “There goes an amazing woman,” she said.

“She’s a tough old bird,” the baron said. “And sugar wouldn’t melt in her mouth, but she knows her politics, and she has Lord Harrington-Smythe’s ear. If she likes you, you’ve arrived.”

The baron had begun to steer her across the crowded floor when she noticed she hadn’t seen any of her party for the last little while. “Where are...”

“They’re perfectly safe, my dear. I’m sure one of your security persons would have informed you if there was a problem. They’ve been hovering over the five of you so much that half the people here are calling them ‘angels of death.’ They’re waiting for you in my study, along with several others who are anxious to make your acquaintance in more than just a social setting. So,” he asked conversationally, “what did you think of Lady Olivia?”

“Well, I’ve already said she’s an amazing woman. Surprisingly, I think I like her. And I think she fancies some distant relationship between us.”

“Really?” the baron said incredulously. “Normally, she won’t even recognize her own kin. How is that possible?”

“She heard my name was Grimes, which apparently isn’t an uncommon name in Great Britain, I’m led to believe. But it just happens to be her great-great grandfather’s name. That particular Grimes on her family tree apparently had a rather checkered past and disappeared not long after fathering her great-grandfather. Her oral family history has him being killed by someone or other for his misdeeds, but oddly enough, we Grimes’ trace our heritage back to North Carolina at about the same time her ancestor disappeared. Our family history says he was hung as a horse thief. Coincidence, I’m sure, but they both have the first name of John. It would be interesting to be related to royalty, but the chances aren’t good.”

“You would only be related by marriage anyway, Captain. Lady Olivia, for all her pearls and diamonds, was a barmaid back in the 1940s when she met and married a young RAF pilot who’d had the great good fortune to survive the war. He came home, and on his father’s death, ascended to the title of Lord Harrington-Smythe, Baron of Dunsmere. For many years, he was an influential member of the House of Parliament. Those years of selfless public service got him knighted to Lord and earned him the post of ambassadorship to the United Nations.”

As the baron finished the recital of the life of Harrington-Smythe, they reached a small door artfully hidden by some potted plants and a suit of armor. The baron opened the door, and said, “My private study,” ushering her in ahead of him with a slight bow.

Lucy stood and took in the whole room. The size of it was impressive. Oak beams crossed the ceiling some twenty feet up, barely visible in the dim light thrown by several strategically placed lamps in various nooks. The walls were lined with books, some of which had to be hundreds of years old. One wall had a fireplace big enough that it could be used to roast whole pigs, large ones. Above the mantle were two crossed pikes with pennants hanging from them, and as an integral part of the setting, a shield was hung in the upper portion of the “x” formed by the pikes.

The furniture was overstuffed, dark-leather couches and chairs that a person could sink into, accompanied by massive oak coffee tables and end tables, waxed to a glossy sheen and seeming to make the room seem a bit smaller by their sheer presence. And all of this was set off by Persian rugs scattered over the floor, their light color and sometimes whimsical designs serving to, somehow, tie the room into an aesthetically pleasing whole.

Four men sitting in the area fronting the unlit fireplace rose as one when Lucy entered the room. No one spoke until she’d finished her examination of the room.

As Lucy turned her attention to the four men, the baron swept past her and announced, “Gentlemen, I have managed to rescue our guest of honor from the clutches of the evil Lady Olivia.” The good-natured laughter that followed this declaration only served to assure Lucy that she was skirting the edges of an inside joke. “Gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure to introduce you to Lady Lucille Grimes, First Captain of the Terran Alliance. Her companions you have already met.”

Indicating each man in turn, the baron began introducing the strangers. “Lady Lucille, please allow me to introduce Ambassador Miyagishima of Japan, Ambassador William Hargrove of the United States, and Ambassador Hans Rennert of Switzerland. With us also is Lt. General James Crenshaw, who is the American President’s adviser on matters... shall we say extraplanetary. And at the back of the room, speaking with your Commander Walker, is Colonel Jason Deering, United States Army. He belongs to one of your special intelligence services, I believe.”

Lucy shook each man’s hand as she was introduced but gave the colonel only a nod of her head since she was too far to shake hands. Which suits me just fine. From the look on Stephen’s face, I don’t have enough disinfectant to get my hand clean with anyway.

Lucy sat down facing the four men. She glanced first at the glass the baron set down beside her and then up at the baron.

“Any good host,” he said haughtily, “keeps track of his guests. Ginger ale, Captain,” he said with a smile.

“Thank you, Baron,” she said, “but now that it’s time to talk business, I’d like to get a good scotch under my belt.” Turning to the four men now seated across from her, she inquired, “To what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting, gentlemen?”

The Japanese ambassador spoke first. “I admit to being at a loss. I was under the impression that your title was ‘First Captain,’ but I have heard the Baron refer to you as ‘Lady’ on several occasions, denoting royalty. Before we progress further, how do you wish to be addressed?”

Lucy smiled, the first real one since she’d arrived. “The ‘Lady’ part is a fabrication on the baron’s part, I’m afraid. My rank is first captain, but ‘captain’ will suffice, Mr. Ambassador.”

“Very well, Captain.” The ambassador leaned forward and laid a rolled-up parchment scroll on the table between them. It turned slightly until it was stopped by the knot in the red ribbon tying it closed. “My government has instructed me to offer you the use of some two hundred acres of land about twenty miles from Tokyo with ocean access. We would be honored if you would accept the loan of this land for your Asian embassy and allow Japan to host you.”

The Swiss ambassador also leaned forward and laid an identical parchment beside the first. “While we don’t yet know where we would place such an embassy, the Swiss government would also be honored to accept an embassy from the Terran Alliance.”

Lucy nodded her head as gravely and regally to the Swiss ambassador as she had to the Japanese. I think I’m getting the hang of this! It’s like acting—play the part and roll with the punches.

She turned her attention to the American ambassador, who wilted after a few seconds under her frank stare. “I’m afraid I haven’t been given instructions in that area as, uh, clear-cut as my fellow ambassadors,” he stumbled. “There are matters, uh, details, rather, that need to be discussed before I can authorize...”

“Well,” she said sweetly, “that’s quite all right. I’m sure my good friend, the baron, can contact the Canadian and Mexican ambassadors for me. Both countries have qualities to recommend them, though I daresay I do like the thought of having an embassy near Cancun. How about you, Stephen? Wouldn’t you like to get rid of some of that ‘spaceship pallor’? Marsha? Gayle?”

The Special Assistant to the President finally decided to take over. “Ma’am, Captain, we’re not saying there isn’t a possibility of an embassy in the United States. To be perfectly honest with you, we’re concerned with the thought of retaliation.”

The look on Lucy’s face was if she’d bitten into something extremely bitter. “That statement, Mr. Crenshaw, would, under normal conditions, make me run screaming from the room. And that would not be... appropriate... right now, would it? First, the ‘perfectly honest’ part, coming as it does from someone so closely allied to American political figures, is immediately suspect. Second, are you suggesting that we, that is, I, would be so petty as to retaliate against an entire country for the actions of a few? Especially when it’s obvious that the few got their just desserts on the spot. And I’d like to know why you are sitting here instead of Mr. Galway. Did he survive the explosion?”

“President Drake didn’t feel that Mr. Galway was the... appropriate person for this situation due to his previous involvement. It was decided at the highest level that you’d consider it an insult to have him present.”

“Allow me to deliver a newsflash to you, Mr. Crenshaw,” Lucy said, steel in her voice. “I have come to know John Galway, and while I don’t know him well, at least I do trust him, which is more than I can say for you. And I want him back in the loop. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Crenshaw?”

“Perfectly, Captain.”

“Very well, then. I expect to hear from him shortly. That being said, I believe our business is concluded for the time being. Mr. Miyagishima, Mr. Rennert, I wish to apologize for my behavior just now. I’m not used to dealing with matters of such a rarefied nature. The Mr. Galway we were just speaking of has accused me on more than one occasion of being more direct than he was used to. I think he said there was more give and take in situations like these, but I’ve never in my life had a use for being anything less than direct. It saves time, and everyone knows exactly what I mean.” She let her gaze move over the people assembled in the room. “Now, before we conclude our business for the evening, is there anything else we need to cover?”

Immediately, Colonel Deering stood up. “Before I sign on with any of this, I need to be convinced that this is the way to go, Captain. Along with telling me, and the world, why a twenty-five-year-old girl gets to set policy that will affect a planet and its people for centuries to come.” Deering’s stance and total concentration on Lucy earned him the undivided attention of everyone in the room. And his baiting of her had more than one pistol in hand.

“Take a break, people!” Lucy stood up and glared at everyone present. “Everyone is taking themselves way too seriously here. And that includes me, dammit. I’m going to answer the colonel’s questions, but—surprise—none of you are going to like my answers. Sit down, Colonel,” she ordered.

“First off, I don’t want this job! But I have it, having been shanghaied by my friends,” she said. “Colonel, I just lucked into this, if you can call it that. Someone else found the ship—someone your people murdered, by the way. I was among the first group to become volunteers. We all were, it seems,” she said, waving at her party. “I just happened to be the second one to get a captaincy. The first was his wife, Kitty, who is now in what our engineers think is a recuperation tank aboard the Galileo. Since I was the ranking line officer, I was forced by my peers to take this position. What it amounts to is that I was left holding the bag.”

Lucy shook her head as she glowered at the colonel and special assistant. “If we had turned the Galileo over to you, Colonel, not one soul on this planet outside of the military would see anything out of it for decades, if ever. And, there’s another consideration. I’ve had this discussion with Galway, so I’m truly surprised that we have to go through it again.

“There is no way in hell, gentlemen, that something as enormous as the Galileo could remain a secret for long. Sooner or later—and we were betting on sooner—someone would find out and there would be consequences on a global scale.”

The colonel settled into one of the massive, leather-covered chairs, and with every outward sign of confidence said, “Okay, Captain, enlighten us as to what those results would be.”

“I’ll be happy to, Colonel, but first, let me clear something up. I’ve given you and your rank every bit of civility I know how. If you ever speak to me in that tone of voice again, I’ll take one of our lasers and make you wish you’d never seen me. Do I make myself clear?” She stalked over to her guards with her hand out, and one of them placed a pistol in her hand. She let it dangle, pointing at a sensitive part of his anatomy. By the time she had stopped talking she was bending over the chair, knowing her cleavage was revealed down to her bellybutton, but the colonel only had eyes for the gun in her hand.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said apologetically enough that she almost believed he meant it. She handed the pistol back without looking at who it had come from and returned to her place in the room.

“I don’t know how long you’ve been in the loop, Colonel,” she continued, “but we’ve had a few years to consider the ramifications of our actions. Have you ever had to deal with a bully, Colonel?” Lucy’s pacing had brought her back to the hapless officer again. “We give the ship to you and the balance of power changes. The whole planetary dynamic is thrown off. We give it to anyone and the balance changes. No one would let that government or entity alone. If they didn’t get their share immediately, they’d do their best to see that no one got it. That would mean two things, Colonel—the end of the United States you swore to protect and the end of life on Earth as we know it.”

All eyes followed Lucy as she left the colonel and began to pace the floor. “Colonel, before you could learn to operate the ships’ defenses, how many countries would launch nuclear missiles to destroy the Galileo rather than let you have sole possession? At least three! And the result of that, Colonel?” Lucy said, badgering the older man. “After a world-wide nuclear exchange with no benefit in sight for anyone, Colonel, every political system on the planet would disintegrate almost overnight. Stock markets would plunge, making the crash of the last century look like a small dip. Every transportation line in the country would be broken, and no food would reach the millions of people stranded in the megacities like New York and San Francisco, just to name two. Greed and corruption would run rampant, and every nation on the planet would collapse under the weight of the political decadence that would remove all hope from the disillusioned masses. Around the world, assassinations would serve to destabilize any remaining solvent governments, leaving the wicked and the meek alike to fend for themselves.

“It’s the scared little man who’d be blamed for the fall of civilization, Colonel, if there were any left to write the history books. But it would be the greed and fear of men like you who’d be the real root cause of the end of the world.” Lucy looked down at the man in the chair with contempt. “As long as there’s one person the planet who would try to make that scenario come to pass, we need people like you, Colonel, to remind us of what we shouldn’t become. Even though I find that personally offensive, I can still recognize a fact when I see one. As you should, Colonel. And the basic fact is that we did right by keeping the Galileo out of governmental hands.”

Heart racing at the thought of how she’d just spoken to a man twice her age and a representative of the most powerful country on the planet, she added almost pleadingly, “The only scenario that lets life as we know it go on is one in which no one finds out you have the ship. Think you can keep that big a secret, Colonel?”

“I don’t know what would happen, Captain, and to tell the truth, I don’t care. That’s the job of the people appointed above me.”

“Just doing your job, Colonel? Even somebody who follows orders blindly has a conscience. Somewhere deep down inside of you is a little place labeled ‘right and wrong,’ and I’m betting you’re going to have to reevaluate some of your precepts. If you don’t, then I feel sorry for you.”

Changing tack fast enough to take everyone by surprise, Lucy turned to the seated ambassadors and said, “Gentlemen thank you for your time tonight. Remember, we need to have all three countries in agreement before we move into the first embassy. That having been said, can I have my secretary contact yours to make the proper arrangements?” Getting their instant agreement and business cards, she turned to the baron. “Sir, Your Grace, or Majesty, or Highness, or whatever, how do we get out of here without appearing abrupt to our newfound friends?”

The baron, a smile on his face, said, “Gentlemen, if you would be so kind, I have a private matter to discuss with the captain. I’d be most grateful if you’d avail yourselves of the hospitality of my home for a few minutes while we talk.” He waved his hand toward the door and the five men headed out to mingle with the rest of the guests. “The rest of your party may stay as well, Captain.

“Mag-nif-icent!” he exclaimed. “Just the right amount of wounded pride coupled with indignation and determination! You were a diplomat in another life! I’m sure of it.” Waving the four friends to sit, he continued, “And from this day on you will call me ‘Freddie!’ After the way you handled yourself, I certainly don’t want to be on the list of people who are not your friends!”

When the door closed on the departing men, the baron turned to Lucy and her friends. “I wasn’t just making excuses when I told them I had a reason to speak to you alone.” Lucy quirked an eyebrow and waited for the baron to continue. “While my government doesn’t yet have an idea where your embassy should be, I do. Some years ago when my country hosted the Winter Olympic Games, I offered a portion of my lands to be used as housing for some of the athletes.” Seeing that he had the attention of his guests, the baron leaned forward in his chair, elbows on knees and hands clasped in front of him. “Due to the political climate at the time, that housing was built with security foremost in the minds of the contractors and construction crews. Since those games, the complex has remained dormant. I’m thinking that the front half of the first floor could be used for offices, meeting rooms, or whatever you need them to be. The back half has a swimming pool and a gymnasium. There’s another office on the second floor, with the third and fourth floors as living quarters for resident personnel.”

“And how do you propose that we pay for this... largess, you offer, Freddie?” Lucy had imitated the baron’s posture, giving him a view of the cleavage Lady Olivia had alluded to earlier, and smiled inwardly as his eyes strayed downward.

A supreme effort brought his eyes back to Lucy’s. “The estate will cover the utilities, of course. But it would be bad form not to exact some form of payment. I suggest one dollar a year for each year the Terran Alliance is in residence. And,” he continued before anyone could react to the offer, “I’d like a ride in one of your marvelous spaceships. Of course, you’d be nearby to attend the occasional party we have here. Not too onerous a task, I think.”

Lucy looked at her friends. “I think we could live with that arrangement, Freddie. I’m sure the Alliance would be able to put in an appearance at most of your functions. Of course, I, personally, won’t be able to attend each one, but that won’t be a problem, will it?”

“Of course not, Lady Lucille! I shall make the arrangements known to my government through our ambassador immediately. If they agree, we have a deal! Then, I’ll arrange for you to take a tour of the facilities. You can make your final decision at that time. And for the balance of the evening, may I suggest that we rejoin the other guests? There are still many who wish to meet you.”

Lucy stood and took the baron’s gigantic hand in hers. “Yes, we should do that, shouldn’t we?” She reached up and pulled his head down to her level, kissed him on the cheek, and said, “And, Freddie, please call me Lucy.”

The big man, overcome with emotion, could only bow deeply as he opened the door and allowed the Alliance delegation to return to the gala.

FUGUE

Her world was a featureless void, and she inhabited her world neither thinking nor not thinking. Simple existence was more than enough effort for her. But slowly, after an indeterminate time that could have been days or millennia, a sense of self began to insert itself. With this sense of self came vague and formless... things...that she eventually decided were emotions... or possibly feelings. One thing her world didn’t give her was certainty.

The elusiveness of these feelings, which stayed just on the edge of her perception, gave rise to an uneasiness and took away the comfort the formless void had fostered for so long. Eventually, one of those fleeting feelings got close enough to be grasped and held, to be studied and made a part of her. And when this had been accomplished, she recognized it. This ephemeral feeling was loss, and it brought with it such emptiness that she cried out in despair as much for the emptiness itself as for the fact that she didn’t know what it was she had lost. Somewhere, something decided that she should sleep.

CHAPTER FIVE

Simon, sitting in a wheelchair in Father Timothy’s office said, “All I know is that I need to get to Denver. With my wristband ruined, the quickest way I know is to get in touch with a... recruiter we have out there.” He looked at the men in the room.

What a crowd, he thought. A ghetto priest, a defrocked doctor, and a pawnbroker-slash-fence. And not one of them has a single reason to help me or a rogue FBI agent.

Michael had returned to the mission within the forty-eight hours he’d hoped, wearing a worried look and carrying bearer bonds. “Fifty-six thousand dollars! And the reaction I got! They took forever to make all their tests and inquiries. So, what are you planning to do now?”

“Head west,” Simon said. “Agent Daniels has offered to help me. Neither of us thinks we should take any kind of public transportation. I’m supposed to be dead, but my face has been shown so many times in the past few days that someone would be sure to recognize me. So, it’s the lesser of two evils—a car. Know where we can buy one?”

As plans have a habit of doing, these grew. The brothers Jeffers had convinced themselves that they were coming along to volunteer. They’d been fans of science-fiction since they were kids and still enjoyed their old argument. “Of course you think a lightsaber is more elegant! You preferred armored knights before that. But look at the simplicity of a phaser!”

They laughed at their private joke while Simon and Daniels shook their heads.

“How about taking my Winnie?” Michael suggested “She’s old, but I keep her up. Three days for my guy to get her out of storage and checked out. I can always fly out and drive her back... after. Brian said you need that long anyway before you’re fit to travel. Sleeps six, so the four of you should have plenty of room.” At Simon’s lifted eyebrow, he exclaimed, “Hey! Some of us can’t just get up and go traipsing around the country. But take the RV. That way, I’ll be there in spirit.”

That evening, Simon first watched Lucy’s broadcast and then his own funeral. “It’s spooky knowing that’s supposed to be me,” he said, staring up at the startlingly green trail left by the reentering coffin. “but now I have more questions than ever. If they think I’m dead, why isn’t Kitty on the television? She was second in command. She should be First Captain.” His mind tried desperately to skirt the possibility that the broken and battered Mamba the news report showed being carried back to space after the destruction of the shuttle had been piloted by Kitty. Or maybe she was in mourning. Somebody had to take over, but to not know for sure...

“And what is Lucy likely to do now? I’d just love to hear some of the meetings on the Hill,” Roland said. “That’s what’s going to be on the mind of every person on the planet. You do know they are afraid of you, don’t you? Because you have power they don’t.”

“Hell, even I don’t know what she’ll do!” Simon winced as he slapped the right arm of his chair and felt the vibrations all the way into his left shoulder and wrist. And the new cast made him feel clumsier than ever. “I thought she was pretty bright and a quick thinker, or I wouldn’t have given her a ship in the first place. But she can be a little rash at times. All the more reason to get to Denver as soon as possible.”

A pissed off, worried Simon was nearly impossible to be around, much less live with for any length of time. Kitty could have told his companions this, but they wouldn’t have listened. Men tended toward being problem solvers, and Simon’s attitude had become a problem. The fact that they couldn’t remove the cause any more than he could didn’t help either.

Simon worried about Kitty constantly. He wanted her to know he was still alive so she wouldn’t worry. And, not incidentally, her knowing he was alive would result in his rescue. And rescue was just how he’d come to see it. Loner that he’d always been, it had been easy enough to conceive of leaving Earth and all that meant. He’d still be dependent on the planet of his birth for some time yet, but it really was only a matter of time.

His frustration was at his forced idleness and inability to do for himself. Having his left wrist in an inflatable cast meant he couldn’t use a cane to get around while his leg healed. And he’d be confined to the vehicle during the entire trip.

He was pissed at the deaths of three people who’d trusted him and for whom he felt responsible. Maybe more, he thought as he remembered the pictures of four Mambas hauling a fifth back up to the Galileo. Simon blamed himself for their deaths, no matter that they were dead due to the ambush. I should have considered the possibility. I should have made plans.

Michael picked up the four men and drove them to his house in the suburbs so he wouldn’t have to thread the big vehicle through city traffic any more than necessary.

A week had passed since Simon had been wounded, and he was able, for short periods of time, to hobble around without his chair. The able-bodied members of their small party moved supplies into the nearly-bus-sized rig prior to their departure as Simon looked on in frustration.

The Winnebago left the small community of Falls Church, Virginia, and headed west. The battered-looking RV with the cracked vinyl spare-tire cover proclaiming it to belonging to “The Reardon’s,” got onto the road four days after the funeral broadcast to Earth.

Simon slept through most of the days’ drive, courtesy of Dr. Brian. “I just slipped a sedative in with his antibiotics. He needed the rest. He’s on orals now, so it was easy.”

“And not incidentally gave us a rest from his temper, too?” Father Timothy asked.

“Think what you want, big brother. He needed the rest, and it helped keep us sane. Besides,” he said, glancing at his watch, “we’ll be parked for the night soon, and he’s due to wake up anyway. We’ll have dinner, and then he’ll go back to sleep and so can we. This has been a long day for all of us, and tomorrow is time enough for him to be staying up more. I’ve finally gotten the infection under control. All he needs now is time to let the damage heal.”

Tuning the little TV to a local channel while they ate their Chinese meal that had been delivered, the four were treated to the next phase of Lucy’s agenda. The news anchor said, “Due to the secretive nature of the dealings with the Terran Alliance, we were fortunate to have had a correspondent in Switzerland when word of the landing was released. Our Sarah Parker brings us the details.”

The screen flickered and a young brunette stared out of the screen. “Thanks, Pete. I’m Sarah Parker, reporting from Zurich, Switzerland where we’ve been lucky enough to capture the landing of the Terran Alliance spacecraft on camera.” The screen shifted to a view that was unmistakably an airport. “A shuttle that appears to be identical to the one destroyed at Camp David early last week is landing here in Zurich.” the woman’s voice said over the picture. “Also with the shuttle are four of the ships called Mambas, leaving me to wonder if they’re the same four that hauled the damaged craft back to... wherever. They do appear different in that these four are painted with the image of some kind of bird.”

The picture zoomed in to show a closeup of the lead Mamba landing between the camera and the shuttle. Just under the edge of the cockpit, a name could be seen—Dahlquist, Shirley, Commander. Emblazoned on the nose of her ship was the legend, “Red Shift.”

The scene moved as the cameraman jockeyed to get a view of the occupants emerging from the shuttle. “Rumors here are that the Terran Alliance has decided to take their case to the United Nations. In an apparent attempt to mollify the Alliance, the Security Council has agreed to meet on neutral ground and hear from the Alliance Commander, Lucy Grimes. We managed to get a shot of her party as they stepped onto the tarmac, preceded and followed by armed guards.”

Simon named each one as they appeared. “Lucy, of course. And there’s Marsha, along with Gayle and Stephen. I don’t recognize any of the bodyguards. Not a sign of Kitty.”

Simon seemed to live on an emotional rollercoaster over the following days. Father Timothy tried to help as best he could, but when all was said and done, it was truly up to Simon to get past those hurdles on his own. The continuing lack of any word about Kitty in the news stories that were constantly airing began to be a dull ache at the back of his mind as he continued to learn to cope with his disabilities. And those were lessening daily, with a corresponding improvement in attitude, both of which his companions enjoyed.

Scrupulously keeping within the speed limits so as not to arouse any more attention than necessary, the four men drove west at a sedate pace. The first night saw them at an RV camp in Indiana, the second somewhere in the Mississippi Valley, and the third found them on the Great Plains. As Simon continued to improve, he realized that moping and a foul temper weren’t helping matters.

They all began to look forward to the nightly stops so they could catch up with what was going on with the Alliance. Every day it was someone new telling some audience what the Alliance was all about from someone else’s viewpoint. Or reporting that the two ships that had sat in orbit with the Galileo were gone, expounding for hours on the significance of that fact. Simon laughed for the first time in a week when heard that the Alliance Commander had accepted “an invitation to a gala to be held in her honor at the castle of an expatriate German nobleman living in Switzerland.” The reporter responsible for that particular piece of journalistic sleuthing was none other than Sarah Parker, who’d catapulted to international fame by being the only reporter with feet on the ground when the Alliance landed in Zurich.

“Personally, I think it’s true,” Simon asserted. “This Parker woman has had it right so far, and all I can say is that Lucy is going to kill me when she finds out I’m alive! She hates attention almost as much as Kitty.” Simon bestowed his second smile on the three men he was traveling with. “And she said it would start at eight p.m., so that would be noon here. Let’s stop for lunch and see what’s on TV.”

The past week hadn’t been kind to Agent Daniels, either. As short a time as that was, it was all it’d taken to make a man who prided himself on his dedication, loyalty, and devotion to duty to begin to question his basic beliefs under the right circumstances. From his first impulsive act of shooting the soldier, Daniels had been in just as much turmoil as Simon had. The fact that it had been self-preservation was irrelevant to him. But having been conditioned by the military and later the FBI to endure long periods of solitude, the agent was more adept than most at keeping his quandary hidden from the others. Now, it seemed, it was time to make the final break.

“Agreed,” he said. “There’s a small town just down the road. But first, we need to talk. Or at least I do.”

Brian, sitting behind the wheel, reached out and turned the radio off. “Revelation time, Roland?” he asked.

Father Timothy looked at the two men sitting at the small table. “You told us you two weren’t partners before we left the mission. Something else on your mind?”

Daniels shook his head. “Not that. I never made any bones about who or what I was after Simon woke up. I just said we were partners then because I didn’t feel the need to confuse the issue with facts. Now I do. I was on that shuttle escaping from the Alliance. They would have let me go anyway, but not with these.” He pulled two disks out of his shirt pocket. “Or with this,” he added, pulling the laser pistol out of the back of his belt and laying it on the table beside the disks.

“Once upon a time I believed in my country. I still do, I think. But after what happened at Camp David, I can’t be a part of it. Those disks have all the information I could acquire on your propulsion and weapon’s systems, as well as a lot of stuff you probably wouldn’t have released to us for years, but we’d still have a leg up on most other countries. It contains deflector screens that would protect most major cities with just the power of any major hydroelectric dam. Think of it. And there’s more. I’m not bragging, but I’m good at my job. And the gun was just because I’m a weapon’s nut. You should see my collection someday.

“Back to the main issue. Yesterday, I called a friend, hoping to call in a favor. I didn’t get it, by the way, but I got something better—or worse, depending on how you look at things. It appears I underestimated the owner of a certain cartage company. He called the police when he found his truck ‘misplaced.’ He wanted to be sure it hadn’t been used in a crime, or so he told the police. They fingerprinted the truck and sent the prints to the National Crime Information Center, NCIC. That and some mysterious bloodstains on the passenger side have let the wrong authorities know that I’m back on Earth, and since I haven’t checked in, there’s a nationwide alert out for me. And because of the blood, Simon, too.”

“I’d think,” Father Timothy said, “that the word ‘treason’ would be bandied about in relation to both of you then.”

“I’ll go ya one better, Timmy,” Brian said from the front of the Winnie. “These two would just disappear. No trials, no publicity. And since we just happen to be with ‘em, we would disappear, too. Only difference is that they’d survive longer than we would. Both of them know something. We just came along for the ride, so to speak.” Brian glanced into the rearview mirror at Daniels and waited for his response.

“What can I say after...” the agent said. “Look, the best thing we can do now is split up, and the town coming up is just as good a place as any to do it. We’ve got enough money to buy a car and go on to Denver separately. Here’s the address of the two men you need to find.” At Simon’s startled expression, Daniels shrugged. “I told you I was good at what I do. Besides, what if you hadn’t woken up or something? Anyway, it’s done.”

The four men stopped on the outskirts of Salinas, Kansas, found a local channel carrying international news, and watched Lucy and her entourage emerge from a series of limousines and walk up the steps of a medieval castle.

Shaking his head, Simon could only ask no one in particular, “What is that woman up to?”

The morning after the gala, Lucy woke to a message light on her phone. She lay there staring at the sun shining off the western slopes of the Alps for several minutes, reveling in the clarity of the view. They make the Rockies look like foothills, she thought. I’m ruined for life. This is the most gorgeous sight I’ve ever laid eyes on. She drew as much strength from the panoramas she could, knowing what was coming. Having gone partying as the Terran Alliance in front of international television, she was going to have to keep up the persona.

While things seemed to have gone well to that point, she still felt like she was about to make a fool of herself at any moment. So far, everyone seemed to be taking the Alliance seriously, with the notable exception of a certain few.

She dreaded the thought of picking up the handset and letting the world know she was awake.

The second ring brought a response. “Good morning, Captain. It’s 10 a.m., and you have messages waiting. Would you like the messages first, or breakfast?”

Lucy stared at the phone for a few seconds. Putting it back up to her ear, she said, “Uh, Commander Kimura?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Are any of the messages unable to wait for breakfast?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Okay. Orange juice, wheat toast, strawberry jelly and half a grapefruit. With sugar. Real sugar, and butter, please.”

“Yes, ma’am. About twenty minutes?”

“Uh, fine.” At the extended silence that followed, she said, “Uh, that will be all, Commander.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The line went dead, and Lucy stared in amazement at the phone. I heard Simon tell Kitty once that if you act like you have the right, most people will go along with you. Damn if it doesn’t work. I say having the goods to back it up helps, too. Putting on the uniform that had mysteriously appeared while she showered, she blushed. God! What did they think of that caterwauling I call singing?”

Minutes later a knock at her door made her jump. “Come in.”

“Breakfast, ma’am, and the local English newspaper.” Setting the tray down on a centuries-old desk at the side of the room, Commander Kimura said, “After breakfast, there’s a stack of messages on the desk in your office.” One of the bedrooms in the three-bedroom suite had been converted to an office for Lucy the second day. The third bedroom was occupied by Commander Kimura, and at least one member of the security detail was awake at all times in the dayroom. Two more were on guard in the hallway at all times, too.

She took a drink of orange juice and sprayed half of it all over the paper. There she was in as close to living color as a newspaper could get. Right on the front page! Along with Marsha, Gayle, and Stephen, of course, but the article began with the letters AP, which stood for Associated Press, and they delivered their news all over the world.

What the hell are Mom and Dad gonna think of this?

The article covered the landing, the visit to the Security Council meeting, and of course, the gala. She continued to force a few more bites of toast down, but they began to feel like lead in the bottom of her stomach. Finally setting the tray and paper aside, she stood up, dusted herself off, and with a deep breath, opened the door.

Commander Kimura started to get up, but Lucy waved her back down. “Don’t be doing that. Let’s do away with as much protocol in private as possible, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am. You now have twenty-six messages on your desk. Fourteen of them are from ambassadors or representatives of various countries, arranged in order of who called first. The other twelve are television and news crews wanting an interview. They’re all using the word ‘exclusive’ and offering obscene amounts of money.”

“I don’t want this kind of notoriety! Get Marsha in here. And Gayle. Tell them I want to see them for a late lunch, around one o’clock, probably after I talk to all of those government guys. And remind me to call home today, please. Right now, I’ll go tackle those messages.”

Having her secretary (still a freaky feeling) call each of the ambassadorial messages back, she spoke to each one personally, assuring most that they would all share equally in the distribution of technology, and assuring them that the larger nations would not set the agenda for what was released. They felt, as did the Alliance, that something other than weapons should be on the agenda for release. Then Lucy went through the stack from the media and finally settled on the woman who’d broken the story of their arrival. There was something about her...

Setting the last piece of paper down, she went out into the dayroom. She sat down in the ornate chair next to the desk and laughingly asked, “What’s new?”

“Well,” Commander Kimura said seriously, “more ambassadors, and now people wanting to sell things. One man wanted to sell us meteor insurance! Where do these people come from, and how do they get our number?

“Oh yeah, and then there’re the groups that want to pay us to do something—carry a satellite into orbit, launch personal remains into the sun or orbit, build a space hotel as a resort, and provide shuttle service. Take ‘em to the moon. Take ‘em to Mars. Who knows what’s next?”

“I sure don’t! Let’s get lunch and then I want you to set up an interview with this woman after I talk with Marsha and Gayle.” She passed a piece of paper across the desk. “Sarah Parker. She’s done the best job of reporting this so far, and she hasn’t been pushy. Yet. Schedule her tonight. Here. Her and one cameraman. We’ll have our own cameraman, as well, to prevent doctoring unless we allow the changes.”

Gayle and Marsha walked in, and Lucy said, “We’re about to have a lot of money coming in. There will be people who want us to do any number of things for them—hauling things into orbit, bringing things down, taking people here, taking them there, that sort of thing. Hell, we could license our technology rather than sell it or give it away. Even if all our power is free, we still have to have cash. Some, if not all, our people would like to be paid if possible, though I think a lot of ‘em would stay on for free. Marsha, among other things, will you figure out a pay scale of some kind? Base it on the US military. We’ve taken so much else from them, why not more? You are hereby appointed to the position of Secretary of the Treasury, but that won’t stop you from taking command of one of the ships due to arrive soon. I called the Heinlein. They have their skeleton crew aboard and are ready to micro-jump back. We’ll have four more ships in orbit very shortly. I asked the McCaffrey, too, and they report almost ready.

“Oh, and one more thing. It’s past time we had a lawyer—at least one. Gayle, you look into that for me, will you? Maybe you can find someone who grew up on science-fiction. Or maybe one of our crew has a relative somewhere willing to take on the job. Maybe Freddie, Baron von Schlenker, can be of some help in that area. Look into it and get back to me. No time limit, but soon.”

“Commander Kimura?” the young woman asked suspiciously. “And just what are you a commander of?” She glared at the phone in her hand as if it had bitten her.

“Terran Alliance,” the voice returned. “And my boss has ordered me to call you and tell you that you’ve been chosen for the exclusive interview you requested.”

“Yeah, right. Who put you up to this?”

“Miss Parker, your last written message to the office of the First Captain used the phrase, ‘I most anxiously await your response,’ just before your signature. And your last call to this office, answered by me, by the way, was the third since 7 a.m.”

“Tell me where and when.” The reporter’s voice immediately turned professional.

“Here. Two hours. You and one cameraman. We hold final rights over what goes out. That’s not to say that you’re restricted in your questions, just that we intend to make sure the reporting isn’t biased.”

Met at the hotel’s main entrance, Sarah and her cameraman were hustled into an elevator and whisked to the penthouse level. Once there, they were led into two different rooms and thoroughly searched before being deposited in front of a desk behind which sat a small Asian woman.

“Uh, I was expecting...”

“To meet the Captain immediately? Oh, no! You’re getting the grand tour, Miss Parker,” Kimura said with a grin.

Nonplussed by the Alliance woman’s response, Sarah tried to regain the initiative she felt she hadn’t had since pulling up in front of the hotel. “I really don’t appreciate the tactics your Amazons used on me and my cameraman,” Sarah said. “You people invited us, remember?”

“And your people are responsible for the deaths of four of ours and dozens of your own, remember?” the secretary shot back. “To that end, we reserve the right to inspect all of your equipment before any of it’s allowed around First Captain Grimes. Now, you’ve passed the first hurdle—getting your equipment in here. Do you want the interview, or do I call one of these others?” she asked, waving the stack of messages at the young woman.

“No!” the reporter said hastily. “I mean, I’ll do the interview. What format do you want to use? Straight Q and A? Or informal chat? How much time can you give me? And where do you want to have it? And we haven’t discussed your fee yet either.”

Commander Kimura looked like she’d bitten into something sour. “I don’t know enough about that to even comment. The captain said we should have the interview, and before it airs, your people can decide what it’s worth to you. See? We can be pretty easy to deal with. As to your other questions, how about an informal chat? Do you have some questions ready? Need more time?” When the reporter shook her head, the commander went on. “As to the amount of time, the captain said as much as it takes. We may have to break for business matters, but we can always pick up where we left off. All in all, probably no more than a few hours. Is that agreeable to you?”

“Uh, yes. Certainly! That only leaves where to hold the interview and when.”

“Well, here’s where things could get a bit sticky. How do you feel about traveling?” Kimura asked, grinning mischievously.

Parker glanced at her cameraman. “It would depend on how far we have to go and how long it will take to get there, wouldn’t it?”

Kimura said, “Well, how far? About, oh, I don’t know, I’d guess around twelve thousand miles. And how long to get there? Less time than it would take you to get from this floor to the ground by elevator. Are you in?”

“In? In what?” the reporter asked as she glanced apprehensively at her partner. “How do we travel twelve thousand miles that fast?”

“With these,” Kimura said, holding up two small disks. “We call them locator disks. You hold one and when I press the button on my wristband, we all beam out of here. Just like in the movies. We wind up on the Galileo. You’ve heard of her, haven’t you?” She continued sarcastically. “The big one sitting up there in orbit? The one that started all this fuss in the first place?”

“Sarah,” the man holding the camera said. “I think we’re getting a chance no other team on the planet has a shot at. Take it! A Pulitzer for you, maybe. And look what it’ll do for my career! Hey, lady,” he said, changing his focus. “I can’t speak for her, but I’m in. If she won’t go, I’ll do the interview myself!”

“Hey! Back off, Dwayne. Give a girl time to be stunned, will ya? Of course, I’ll do it. How does this work, again?” she asked taking the disk from the other woman.

“Just hold it in your hand. Dwayne, make sure that anything you need is in your hands or strapped to your body. Otherwise, it, or parts of it, could be left behind. Here’s your disk. Ready?”

“Wait! This is cool and all that, but why can’t we do the interview from here?” Sarah asked. “I mean, hell, I don’t know what I mean.”

“Well, to be perfectly honest with you, Miss Parker, Captain Grimes had some pressing business on board the Galileo. And while she wants to do the interview, the best place at this time would be aboard ship. I can’t say any more than that right now.”

“Okay. Do it before I change my... mind. Holy shit!” The reporter stood motionless in the confines of a hexagon on the floor of a metal-walled room. A console on the far side was operated by a young man in a uniform to match the one their host was wearing.

She watched as the Alliance Officer took a small device off her belt and spoke into it. “This is Kimura. I have the interview team with me.”

Sarah heard the faint sound of a camcorder beginning to operate and turned to her partner. “Do you believe this shit?” she asked. Remembering the microphone in her hand, she moved away from the cameraman and posed in front of him. “This is Sarah Parker. I have the honor to be standing in the... where are we?”

“Transport Control.”

“I have the honor to be standing in Transport Control aboard the spaceship Galileo about twelve thousand miles above the surface of the Earth. I am here today to interview the commander of the group that calls itself the Terran Alliance. It would seem that First Captain Grimes had duties that precluded an interview in Zurich at this time, so I and my cameraman have been...transported... aboard. With me now is Commander Kimura. Commander, just where are we aboard this ship, and when will we get to see the First Captain?” She moved the microphone toward the commander and waited for a reply.

“We’re on deck seven, about three-quarters of the way back from the front of the vessel, which is about thirty-eight hundred feet long. We’ll be going to deck eighteen, which is also known as the ‘projects deck.’ There, you’ll be allowed to film a ceremony investing two of our officers with command of their new ships, and you’ll be in time to see the ships arrive if we hurry. Your cameraman can continue filming as long as he likes. Follow me, please.” Taking a headset from the ensign manning the transport console, she placed it on her head and led the way out of the room.

Keeping up a running commentary as they moved out of the room and down the corridor toward the elevator, Kimura said, “Part of the technology we have aboard is artificial gravity. Our scientists are still trying to work out the math, but it helps that we have the hardware to work with. Working models, so to speak. Knowing that something can be done helps with learning how to duplicate it, but it’s still slow going. We don’t want to get ahead of ourselves. Right now,” she said as the elevator doors opened, “we’re running at well over one hundred percent of crew complement because we’ll be transferring personnel to the two new ships I mentioned. They’ll arrive with skeleton crews aboard, and we’ll transfer crew to each ship until they’re fully crewed. Then we’ll recrew the Galileo herself, and she can start on her next mission.”

As the elevator moved downward, Sarah motioned Dwayne to turn off the camera. “Let’s save storage where we can, okay?” Turning to their guide, she asked, “What’s the next mission, Commander?”

“To build the fourth and final space dock. We have the first three in operation now, and the fourth will be big enough to turn out ships the size of the one we’re on now. It will take about a year to build as opposed to the six months or so for each of the other three.”

The door slid into the wall, giving the trio a view of a huge open space filled with people in identical uniforms. Sarah heard the camera begin to whir behind her again and asked, “Most of the uniforms look the same. Are these people all crew of this ship? And what about the differences I see?”

“As I said, many of these people will be transferring to the two new ships arriving shortly. And yes, the uniforms are all the same. We call this particular uniform the duty uniform, and it’s worn every day for most functions. You’ve seen the dress uniform when the shuttle landed in Zurich, as well as the fancy dress uniform worn to the baron’s gala. The differences you see here today are primarily in the patches people wear on their shoulders. We have a few people aboard from each of the three space docks, some from each of the two active ships, and quite a few who will be moving to the two new ships. Plus, the Galileo crew have their own shoulder patch.”

“And how will we see these ships arrive, Commander? Some type of screen or viewport?”

“No, Miss Parker, not quite. Come with me.” Kimura led the two visitors through the crowd and over to a relatively clear area. She glanced at her watch and said, “Dwayne, you might want to get a shot of that wall.” Pointing her arm in the direction she wanted him to aim his camera, she dropped her arm and waited.

“What are we going to see, Commander,” Sarah asked at about the time that the entire section of wall began to retract. “Oh my God!” Sarah cried. “We’re all going to die!”

“Relax, Miss Parker,” Kimura said with a smile. “You’ve just been initiated. Almost everyone has the same reaction the first time. We’re protected by force fields strong enough to stand up to a meteor impact yet selective enough to allow the passage of any material at the field operator’s discretion.” She pointed to a room raised above the main floor of the deck where some dozen people were doing arcane things to consoles the visitors couldn’t see.

“And now, Dwayne, you will aim your camera about... there, shortly,” she said pointing into space. “Look for four shapes. Another way to spot them is to look for stars that disappear and reappear. That would be a ship passing in front of them. Soon enough, you’ll see the ships themselves. Unlike the Galileo, which is an uninspiring grey-metal color, the new ships have been subjected to an annealing process that makes them white. We wanted to do something to set ourselves apart from the Builders, which is what we call the original owners. Some of our Mamba pilots have started using the process to decorate their ships. Over there is one of the Hawke Flight ships.”

Sarah and Dwayne looked in the direction indicated and saw a Mamba being swarmed over by a group of people. “What’s going on? Repairs?”

“No. It’s called ‘nose art.’ The main colors have already been added. What they’re doing now is adding the pilot’s handle and name on top of the hawk design.” As Dwayne zoomed in on the ship sitting by itself at one end of the immense bay, he was able to make out the name “Avatar.” Just under the clear cockpit was the name, “Randall, Velma, Commander.”

Dwayne turned the camera toward Kimura. “Aren’t you worried about the government finding out who your people are?”

“Not at all. At least for some of our people. We do ask before we reveal anyone’s name. I understand that one of the requests is that we give a full list of the names of all our personnel. The official reason is that the United States wants to make sure none of our people are wanted for crimes on Earth. So far, that hasn’t been a problem. Trust me, we don’t have Elvis or Jimmy Hoffa on any of our ships or bases.”

The commander cocked her head to one side as if listening to someone on her headset. “Now would be a good time to get over by the force field while you can still get a good shot,” she said. “The Heinlein and the McCaffrey are about to arrive.”

The reporter’s and cameraman’s feelings of being out of place grew as they moved through the crowd of identically clad people over to the edge of the deck. Sarah put her hand out and felt it collide with... something. “That’s the force field,” Kimura said. “It won’t pass organic material unless the overrides in the control room allow it, and that doesn’t happen often. Now, Dwayne, aim your camera there,” she said pointing outwards.

At the same time that Dwayne was filming the arrival of the four ships, Lucy stepped up onto the dais and stood in front of her staff. “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I am First Captain Lucy Grimes. Quite a few of you don’t know me yet. I hope to remedy that in the months to come, but for now, let me say that I’m glad you’re here. Each and every one of you are here, I hope, because of your belief that mankind belongs in space as more than a visitor, but that’s what the space stations of Earth provide—visitor status. The Alliance offers full residence as a separate and independent entity. Once, we thought we’d be an appendage of Earth, and that could still be true, but for the time being, we’ll remain a unique and distinct entity. As more and more of our technology becomes a part of Earth’s daily life, we’ll become a greater part of Earth, lessening the distinction. And as more ships need crews, more volunteers will come up to join us, constantly changing our uniqueness in directions we can’t yet imagine. But that will be a slow process—faster than if we’d turned this ship over to any one government, to be sure, but slow nonetheless. We hope to have as minimal an effect on the economy of the planet of our birth as possible while exporting the most technology we can.

“It will be up to all of us—Alliance members, as well as the people of Earth—to make sure that economic upheaval is minimized while progress is maximized. I realize these are platitudes, but they must be voiced for the benefit of all. We don’t want to upset the applecart. It is, after all, our planet as well. We, all of us, have homes down there, as well as friends, lovers, pets, dreams, and aspirations for the future. Only a few of you standing here today will make the break that will turn you into true members of the Terran Alliance, real spacers. The rest of you will stay with us for a time and then go home.

“That split will be with our blessing. You’ll take your memories with you, and more. Most of all, you’ll take with you information that will eventually seep into Earth’s database and enrich everyone. We encourage this. But that isn’t why you’re here today.

“You’re here because of those.” Lucy turned to look at what the cameraman had centered in his viewfinder—four gleaming white ships. “All four of those ships need crew, and a large portion of you will fill slots on board those ships. You’ll become true spacemen! Buzz words, yes, but you’ve been aboard the Galileo training for two weeks now, most of you, and you know deep down that this isn’t a game.”

“Not once,” she continued as Dwayne’s camera panned through the crowd of rapt faces and up to hers, “have we made any claims that the adventure you are about to embark upon is anything but dangerous. Already, almost a dozen people have died. But that’s true of any leap forward in human evolution. The deaths are deplored, but those who’ve passed on will not be forgotten. Their memories will sustain us in the dark of space when nothing else can.”

Only the sound of air passing through the ductwork could be heard as Lucy stood silently before the multitude. She looked down on their faces and continued to speak. “I want to thank each and every one of you for being here today. Without you and the dreams you bring with you, we couldn’t even begin to accomplish this great work. Those of you who’ll be moving to the new ships already have your orders. Those of you who’ll be staying with the Galileo will have a job bigger than any you’ve attempted so far—the building of Taurus Base. But now, it is my distinct pleasure to present to you the captains of our two newest ships.”

Taking two steps toward the side of the dais, Lucy said, “By unanimous consent of the Fleet Advisory Council, it has been decided that the captain of the Terran Alliance Ship Arthur C. Clarke will be Commander Gayle Miller. Commander Miller, front and center!”

The fact that she’d seen this same ceremony before as a participant did nothing to lessen the impact of the words. With a lump in her throat, Gayle took two hesitant steps up onto the dais and stood before Lucy. Marsha had stepped forward to stand beside the First Captain and held a black velvet box.

“Gayle Miller,” Lucy intoned, “by the power vested in me by the Fleet Advisory Council, I hereby promote you to the rank of captain.” Taking one of the gold comets from the box, she pinned it to her lapel. Repeating the task on the other lapel, she stepped back and saluted. “Congratulations, Captain Miller.”

As a cheer went up throughout the deck, Gayle returned the salute. “It’s also my pleasure,” Lucy continued in a voice that cut through and silenced the cheering, “to present you with this plaque,” she reached out and took a large object from another of her staff. “As Simon would say, ‘Hang it in your reception area, Captain.’ And I would like to say congratulations again. See me in my ready room afterward, please. For now, dismissed.” She saluted Gayle again, winked, and said quietly, “The drinks are on you when time permits, Captain.”

Lucy watched her new captain leave the dais with a bemused look on her face. Memories of first meeting Gayle surfaced, followed by dozens of memories from the past three years, and she had to mentally drag herself back to the present.

Even so, she thought, she deserved to be a captain long before me.

She surreptitiously motioned Marsha back to her side as more memories threatened to sidetrack her, but she forced them back. “Commander Robert Greene, front and center,” she commanded.

When the man she’d served with for the past three years stood before her, she said, “Again, by unanimous consent, the Fleet Advisory Council has approved your promotion to Captain of the Terran Alliance Ship Isaac Asimov. Congratulations, Robert. It couldn’t happen to a more deserving person.” She pinned his gold comets onto his lapels and transferred the brass plaque that was handed to her into his hands. “Hang it in your reception area, Captain, and good luck. Please see me in my ready room after the ceremony is over.”

Lucy watched Robert descend the dais and stand beside Gayle. Looking back at the crowd of people before her, she said, “In accordance with traditions that started with the completion of Orion Base, I hereby declare a holiday! Well done to one and all. Tomorrow all hands will report to their assigned ships by 0800. Until then, all food processors have been reprogrammed to allow beer for all hands. Except,” she had to yell above the clamor, “for those who have duty tonight. Sorry folks, it can’t be helped. Dismissed!”

CHAPTER SIX

Pankatt Korchon, Kravar Sept-leader, strode down the corridors of the palatial estate followed by two escorts and the stink of his own fear. Quite often these peremptory summons resulted in the recipient’s head being mounted on a pole outside the front gate until the skull gleamed white in the light.

The krath-hide vest he wore was decorated with his Honors and stained with the sweat the Korvil exuded when their fight-or-flight reflexes were in effect but couldn’t be acted upon. So much time had passed, nearly a quarter-cycle now, since he’d filed the report, that he’d convinced himself there would be no reprisal. He should have known better. Even in the Korvil Hegemony, paperwork moved slowly. But no Korvil got elevated to the position of Sept-leader and then lost a ship, not without an accurate accounting. And as surely as big krath made little ones, he was here to be held accountable.

The corridor darkened as it narrowed down into the center of the complex. Angling down, it led to the ancestral caves that were the beginnings, or so thought some of the old greybeards, of his Lord. Each Lord had a similar place that embodied the beginnings of Korvil supremacy over the lower animals of their world. One of the great Plains Lords, it was said, had a palace made of carefully interlaced bokon trees that was over fifty generations old.

The corridor ended at the entrance to a huge, sand-floored room. Once a cave, the structure had been covered over by level after level of living and working spaces dedicated to the service and expansion of his Lord’s influence. Here was the heart of Supreme Lord Marcad, Korvil’s power—his throne room, the visible symbol of his Lord’s exalted status.

Senses honed by fear, Pankatt felt his escorts move to block any possible retreat. Swallowing hard, he stepped onto the burning sand and strode toward the throne, dimly glimpsed in the distance. Lit only by torchlight, the shadows in the great chamber reached out for him and evoked ancestral memories that only served to strengthen the fight-or-flight reflex he was working desperately to subdue.

Alone, he approached his Lord’s throne, his two escorts having remained at the entrance to the chamber. It wasn’t until he neared the great seat that embodied Lord Marcad’s supremacy that he realized it was empty. The dancing shadows had served to hide that fact until he was almost upon it. Glancing swiftly around, Pankatt could see nothing of his Lord. Only the precious varch furs draped carelessly over the arms, seat, and back of the great wooden chair gave evidence of his Lord’s presence.

After what seemed like an interminable period of waiting, the Sept-leader began to move about the room slowly, no longer able to just wait for his fate to overtake him. Sniffing the air, he moved quietly past the fancifully carved pillars that supported the roof. Feeling the hot sand work its way up between the pads of his toes, he paid attention to the information his sensitive nose relayed to him. Something had been here recently, and it was new.

He found himself staring out over a large circular expanse. Here was where he’d given his life to the service of his Lord. This was only his second time to stand in a Pit of Justice. Legend said that opponents in the Pit could only speak the truth whether for good or ill. As he stared in fascination at the Pit, his imagination provided the sights and sounds of the combats that must have occurred there over the generations.

As he stood there, a sense of wrongness penetrated his forebrain, and he dropped back into the moment, the possible past already relegated to memory. At that instant, his lips skinned back from his teeth, his breath hissed in his throat, and he dropped into a battle crouch, reaching for the sword he’d been forced to leave with his escorts. He held the pose for several breaths as he slowly examined each object within his sight in the flickering light provide by the torches lining the Pit. Just as he began to relax from combat mode, thinking he must have been wrong, out of the gloom a sword flew through the air and landed at his feet.

“Take up the weapon Sept-leader,” said the voice he’d only heard once before, on the day of his ascension to leader of his Sept. He had knelt in the sand before the very throne somewhere behind him and proclaimed loyalty to that voice. Sliding gracefully back into his battle crouch, his hand reached for the hilt of the sword. Not quite touching it, he surveyed the room again. All of his senses went into overdrive—his nose cataloging every stray scent, and his ears moving independently as they tuned in to even the faintest whisper of pads on the sand. The very fur on his body rose to feel for eddies in the air currents that passed over him, secondary lenses snapping into place over his eyes as he searched for even the slightest movement.

For all his keenness of sense, he couldn’t place the source until one of the carven statues that lined the Pit moved.

“I have gifted you greatly, Sept-leader,” the hulking figure said as it moved out into the center of the Pit. “Land, power, and females have I given to you, and Honors on your own merit as you moved up in my service. Of all my Sept-leaders, only you had the daring to take the position offered to you in the outer provinces. Your skill and bravery have brought wealth to your Lord and Honor to you.” The huge figure paced back and forth in the great Pit, brandishing the huge torch held as if it were a twig. “Pick up the weapon, Sept-leader, and step into the Pit. I would question you.”

The krath-hide vest darkened with his sweat, and Pankatt’s hand slid smoothly onto the hilt of the sword as he sidled out into the expanse. Keeping the sword pointed at the ground, he waited. “If your opponent is the stronger, let him come to you,” his teachers had said enough times that it had become ingrained. But the instinct to attack was just below the surface.

Stopping the requisite three paces away, Pankatt faced his Lord and benefactor. Going down one knee, the Sept-leader placed his head to the burning sand. Arms outstretched, he extended the sword. “As you command, my Lord, so must I obey,” he recited the ritual words. “With the gift of this sword, I once again pledge my allegiance and dedicate myself to your service.”

Hearing the great torch whistle through the air, he rolled to one side and into battle crouch as the fiery end of the torch slammed into the ground where his head had been but one second before.

“You prattle to me of loyalty?” the shambling figure roared. “I raise you above almost all others, and you repay me with incompetence!”

The great torch went flying into the shadows as the furious Lord moved in on his victim. “If you don’t answer my questions to my satisfaction, I will rip off your arms and beat you to death with them! I will disperse your wives across the hegemony! I will eat your male cubs! Then I will replace you with someone who won’t lose my property! Where... is... my... ship?

“Power I gave to you. Authority and responsibility I gave to you. And you were to use those things to protect the Korvil Hegemony. My Hegemony! A double handful of ships I gave you, and you lose one!”

“Sire! I but followed the procedure you set down. I sent in the reports on anomalous readings on the long-range scans from our outermost scouts. War Minister Darmag sent back instructions to dispatch ships into that area over your signature, Lord, to investigate. I sent out two teams of two, Lord—standard procedure when we approach the Shiravan colonies. Only one ship has appeared on scan, and that is Fist of Vengeance. Long-rang scans show her engine signature to be fluctuating, which is what is slowing her arrival. She was teamed with Hunter’s Luck, but she arrives alone. Until she docks, I have no knowledge of any losses!”

“Hunter’s Luck didn’t have any problems with her engines, Sept-leader, and she came all the way to Korvil to report directly to me. At first scent, according to the Luck’s captain, the hunters had found a nest of Shiravi. But it would seem that what your patrol discovered was an entirely unexpected surprise. It would seem this colony was progressing in an unexpected direction. Rather than building a base for personnel, this bunch built defenses first! When your forces attacked, they had fighters to defend the nest. Two of your ships are lost, Sept-leader, but I will let you live. For the information we have uncovered is nearly unbelievable! Not one, but two new races! And they are working in unison to fortify a system using Shiravan technology. This means that we face an alliance composed of two races we’ve never scented before. What say you to that, Sept-leader?”

“I would say, Lord, that any further contact with these new aliens be made in force. They must be discouraged from having anything to do with the Shiravi. Keep one’s enemies at each other’s throats and they will be too busy to defend themselves in unison or separately. What do we know, Lord, of these new races, if one as unworthy as I may ask?”

“We know this, Sept-leader.”

The monarch growled into the gloom, and immediately the sounds of approaching feet could be heard, along with the sound of something being dragged. From between the pillars, figures moved into the Pit. There were four in all, half-dragging two things with them. Aliens!

“Tell me what you think.”

Pankatt walked up to the two creatures held up by the guards. They were both naked, so it was obvious that they were at least similar, but they were two totally different colors. The darker one was obviously male, but the other one was white and if it was a female, there was something wrong. Her teats looked to be full of milk, but she was unmistakably barren. He sniffed up and down their bodies, inhaling deeply.

“Lord, I have no explanation. They would appear to be of the same species but for their coloration. They smell akin to each other, but the female must be weak. She is milk-full but barren. And they have no hair to speak of except on top of their heads and between their legs. How is that a survival trait? Perhaps they are both diseased.”

“It was my idea to have them dissected, Sept-leader. Perhaps we can learn something from their composition.” The great monarch looked down appraisingly on the smaller beings.

“Yes, Lord. But if a humble servant may ask a question, could we not learn more from them alive? It would seem that great care should be taken to study all aspects of these new creatures. They can always be dissected later. I have to wonder how anything so defenseless can be formidable enough to destroy two ships though.” He lifted the hand of the male and inspected it, then did the same with a foot. He repeated the process on the female, massaging her teats in wonder. The two beings just stood and allowed the indignities to occur. “They have no claws. He lifted the female’s head by the hair on top of her head and pushed back her upper lip. “Flat teeth, not hunter’s teeth, but they have hunter’s eyes. And they are soft.” He walked around behind the two beings and poked them in various places. “I don’t understand how they survive. Perhaps they are pets?”

“Perhaps, Sept-leader. But they do make the same kind of gabbling noises the krath-Shiravi make. Not that any of the crew of the Luck was ever able to understand a sound they made. Simple gestures, is all. The black one keeps putting its paw to its mouth. It is believed that this indicates hunger, but they cannot survive on real food. It seems that trail-paste is all they are able to absorb.” Trail-paste, a high protein concentrate, was a blend of cooked meats and several things no proper Korvil would eat in its natural state—nuts, berries, and grains. These last ingredients served mostly to act as preservatives but also to add protein to the meats because, over time, they tended to lose their potency. All ships carried a quantity of it for emergencies. “Many things were tried before someone tried the paste. So, tell me Sept-leader,” the huge being asked in more conversational tones, “what sector did you send the missing ships to explore?”

“Sector korvatch-nine, Lord. But the captains were given the standard instructions to follow their own instincts and expand their search as necessary, as well as to maintain communications silence. It’s possible, Lord, that the other two ships could still be operational.”

“Not possible,” the hulking creature roared and made a lightning grab at the young Sept-leader, who barely managed to evade the stroke, feeling claws barely graze his throat. “At least not for one of the ships,” he continued in more reasonable tones. “Luck’s sensors detected an explosion consistent with our engine pods just before the final attack on the nest. Perhaps one still stalks prey but certainly not both.”

The imposing figure moved ponderously around the two aliens, scenting deeply of each and enjoying the fear-smell from the smaller white one more. “Perhaps, if we find their homeworld, they would make good prey—if not for us, then at least for our cubs. They really don’t have much in the way of natural weaponry, do they?”

Pankatt barely managed to suppress a flinch as his Lord suddenly jumped in front of him and batted the forgotten sword aside as if it were a toy. “The ships I gifted you were among the best to come out of the Darmesh yards! And their crews were among the best in the entire fleet! I will not hear tales of engine disruptions or meteors or ineptitude on their part! We will send an expanded taskforce to search korvatch-nine. I want my ship found, do you understand, Sept-leader? Or word of its fate. And,” he said, looking back at the two aliens still being held up by the guards, “I am going to gift you with these two pitiful specimens. You are now responsible for their care and maintenance. You are now responsible for wringing sense out of their gabbling noises. Return to your Sept, Pankatt Korchon, and know that you still have your life only by my pleasure and generosity. Guard well these two creatures, and report by fastest courier ship any progress in learning to communicate with them. That is all.”

Pankatt bowed low before his Lord, exposing the back of his neck for several seconds, and when he raised his eyes back up from the floor, only the two soft creatures were left, lying on their sides in the sand.

The return to Kravarine was not without incident. First taking their leashes in hand, Pankatt dragged his prisoners out of the Pit, out of the Palace, and into the streets of Darkoma. The capitol city of the Korvil Hegemony was only about two hundred thousand or so, and they were all Korvil. The lesson was that they had no chance of hiding.

Taking the simple expedient of just walking off holding their leashes, he left the decision of following or being dragged up to the aliens. This lesson was that obedience made their lives easier.

As he led the way to the city’s markets, he used his communicator to speak to his First aboard Predator’s Claw, the Kravar Sept, informing him of the impending arrival of unusual items for the ship’s cargo hold. “No, I cannot say more. There are ears to hear, and the wrong inferences may be drawn. Consider the materials to be temporary additions to Claw for the duration of a mission assigned by Lord Korvil himself. That will be all.”

Standing in the middle of nearly a hundred booths and stores, he faced the female and forced her eyes up to his. Using the simplest gestures he could think of, he finally got through to her the concept that she should choose foods for herself and the male. It was insanity, really, since Korvil females didn’t have the mental acuity to understand more than the simplest of gestures. He smiled slightly as the pale-white, bare-skinned creature finally began to hesitantly move among the booths and stalls, searching each for foodstuffs that were compatible. Surprisingly, fruits, nuts and berries were high on her list of acceptable items. Each time she found an item, she would go to the male and offer him some. On some occasions he would agree, and others disagree, so she wasn’t the final arbiter for the pair but perhaps the junior member.

Each time an item was agreed upon, Pankatt allowed each creature to eat some and ordered each proprietor to send cases of the item to the Claw. Joruun will think I’ve gone crazy, he thought. A smile crossed his face as he envisioned the First’s reaction when he brought these two aboard. Finally, he intercepted the female as she tried to get the male’s approval on some berries that were normally used as dyes. The look that crossed her face could have been confusion or anger.

I will have to learn their expressions. Sometimes it is wise to study your prey before attacking. The trick is in knowing when.

Making her understand that she should ask him for permission to have the food took some patience, but when she got it, he rejoiced inwardly. That was the third lesson—that they had food only by his pleasure. And they were trainable! If he could find their homeworld, the free labor alone would enormously enrich him. And if they made good prey, so much the better.

Indicating that the shopping spree was over, he headed out of the market, intending to look for a hire-vehicle to take them back to the Claw. Suddenly, the leash in his left hand tightened enough to spin him halfway around. The female had stopped at a stall, and when he looked at her, she pointed at a bolt of cloth on a table. He mimed that the cloth was not food and turned to go, pulling on her leash. When she resisted again, he sprang to her side, grabbed the longish hair on top of her head, and bent her backwards over his knee, holding her in place with his other hand on her belly. When she started to squirm, he unsheathed his claws just enough to break through the soft skin covering her and felt her grow still.

Pankatt pulled down hard enough on her head to bend her farther backwards, and a sound of pain escaped her lips, high-pitched enough to hurt his ears. When he saw the male begin to move toward him, he placed his teeth firmly on the female’s throat and prepared to tear it out. Looking at the male, he saw him stop, stunned by the sight before him. Sinking to his knees, the creature almost seemed to beg him not to kill the female. He growled around the quivering flesh, stared at the kneeling male for a moment, and then removed his teeth. Some two dozen drops of blood stood out starkly on the pale white skin of her throat. He stood up, keeping his eyes on the alien male, and let the female drop heavily to the ground. When the male tried to go to her, Pankatt growled loud enough to stop him in his tracks. Finally, he signed that the male could approach the female. The fourth lesson was learned—that they had their lives only by his pleasure.

During the trip back to Kravarine, Pankatt ordered a pair of cells to be constructed and placed them in a room where the prisoners would be able to see each other through the clear plasticine substance used to form their box-like prisons. During the time it took to build these special cells, he left the creatures strictly alone, ordering that food be delivered twice daily and that no apparent notice be taken of them unless they attacked.

When the cells were ready, he went with four guards to the small lavatory that had been used to house the prisoners and immediately noticed the absence of any unpleasant odors except for the creatures themselves. Apparently, they’d figured out how to use the facilities for their own waste disposal, as well as any food residue. They’d also cleaned their furless skin to an unusual degree, and there was the smell of disinfectant about them. That boded well for their ability to learn, and he was encouraged about his plans for them.

Guards dragged the prisoners to their new cells, which were tall enough to stand upright and long enough to lay down in. The guards first placed the male in his cage, then the female. Their leashes were removed, and a punishment collar was locked about each neck. Both cells had a sleeping mat and elimination hole, and were cunningly designed so that the height could be lowered, forcing the occupant to crouch or sit. The length could also be shortened, forcing them to sleep erect, and the lights were left on at all times.

Pankatt remembered that the female had seemed to covet the cloth from the market almost as much as the food, and she’d been willing to suffer much to acquire it. Deciding this was a useful piece of information, he’d paid a handsome sum to have a bolt delivered along with the foodstuffs, a fact that he kept from the creatures for the time being. He surmised that the female wanted it for artificial coverings because of her furless skin.

After two more days of isolation, Pankatt decided it was time to begin lessons. He needed to learn the position of planetary defenses, major population centers, transportation systems, population levels, technology levels, etcetera. And the only way to learn was to teach them his language. The female was the logical choice. She seemed to defer to the male, but she also seemed the smarter of the two.

Several days of eating well and resting had restored much of the creatures’ vitality. A report had been handed to him before the Claw departed Korvilene, stressing their robust condition. This was a significant improvement considering that their condition when he’d taken them aboard had been anything but “robust.”

He entered the cell of the female and she shrank back into a corner. Pointing at the floor at his feet, he said, “Kneel here.” When she refused to move, as he’d known she would, he showed her the small device in his hand. It had two buttons on the face of it. He pointed at one button and then pointed at her. Then he pressed it. She screamed in pain and grabbed the collar around her neck. He released the button and waited for her to recover. He then pointed at the second button and then at the male. Once again, he pressed the button, and the creature’s scream of agony was barely audible through the two cell walls.

Holding the pain applicator in his left hand where the female could see it, he pointedly placed a finger on the male’s button and again pointed at his feet. “Kneel here.” This time she obeyed but stopped too far away. He pressed the button and listened to the scream. “Here!” he said, and she moved within easy reach. He put one hand on her shoulder, refusing to flinch at the feeling of bare flesh, and pressed down until she knelt. “Kneel!

The lessons continued all the way back to Kravarine, alternating between the male and the female. Often, he would take one or the other around the ship, leashed, as he inspected or just socialized with the crew. Total immersion was the only way to learn his language in time to do him any good. The cell walls were too thick for them to communicate with each other without yelling, and that seemed to hurt their throats in an amazingly short time. He became confident that he’d be able to communicate with them much sooner than anyone would have imagined. Perhaps his Lord would even bestow another Honor upon him and his Sept.

Pankatt had leashed one creature to each side of his command chair and was directing the landing approach to Kravarine when the inconceivable occurred—Shiravan craft attacking! Nine craft sprang into position from behind Kravarine’s one dismally small moon. Six of them targeted his two ships, and the others made strafing runs on the unsuspecting spaceport.

Within seconds, all his plans were in ruins. A hand apiece of The Korvils’s finest raiders lay in ruins on his Sept-world! And the sister ship that had traveled with him from Korvilene was destroyed in the first moments of the attack, taking its attacker with it. Shiravan ships had never executed an effective defense, much less a coordinated attack! Not a command had escaped his lips, but the pilot immediately flipped the ship and dove for the surface.

Pankatt recognized his pilot’s maneuver as one that used a gravity well to help accelerate a ship so that it could bypass a planet’s defenses quicker. It could also be used, he knew, to help escape a superior force. Using the sling effect, he could effectively exit the gravity well anywhere he chose, and unless his enemies were very lucky, he’d escape to report this... abomination to Korvilene. Of course, he’d lose his head, but Honor dictated only one course.

The dive into the gravity well went smoothly—too smoothly, at first. He was treated to the sight of the main Sept-hall in ruins, along with the harem and nursery. He saw the spaceport demolished as well, along with virtually all of the infrastructure that had been built up over the past fifty cycles of occupation. It was then that the Claw shuddered. She rang like a bell, and the echoes reverberated within the hull for several seconds.

Half of all the consoles went dark, and the First said, “Report loss of drive power! Artificial gravity gone, life support gone. Minimal response to atmospheric controls. Abandon ship! All hands, abandon ship!”

Pankatt Korchon, Kravar Sept-leader, had not expected to reign at the ignominious end of his Sept’s existence, but he had. Apparently, his was the only life pod to escape the Claw before a lucky shot by the cowardly Shiravi holed her drive room. He watched through the viewport as his First maneuvered the ship into the path of the attacker and accounted for a second enemy ship in its death throes. The explosion from that slammed the just-ejected life pod into the ground with enough force to stun the two Humanz he’d dragged along with him. If the krath-Shiravi had missed his pod’s expulsion, and if he survived long enough, a ship would rescue him. If he could keep the Humanz alive as well, perhaps there was still a chance the Kravar Sept would not disappear into the mists. Honor could still accrue.

For hours he skulked toward the main Sept-hall, hoping to spot any sign of life. It could not be possible for the Shiravi scum to have destroyed his entire Sept! Almost as an afterthought, he dragged the two creatures with him, forcing them to hide whenever he sensed an overflight.

They appeared as he stood up to make the final dash to the main hall. He could see the entrance, cracked and broken, to the subterranean ways. There he would find safety from the abomination—krath-Shiravi who fought back and won! Four of the disgustingly red creatures blocked his path to the lower ways. He spun to go around them, only to find two more of the krath-Shiravi approaching from behind. He’d been herded!

The fury that overtook him at this realization wiped out generations of “civilized” conditioning. No longer able to consider the consequences of his actions, he screamed his rage and drove at the nearest opponent. With his legs pushing him forward at blinding speed, he almost reached the nearest creature before half a dozen beams of light ended his existence.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Rentec do’ Verlas, Shiravan Spatial Affairs Minister, was on vacation in the Dukara Mountains when his communicator chimed. He set down the perlwood pole, an heirloom handed down from his father’s father. Disgusted at the interruption, he walked away from the river’s edge and picked up the offending piece of technology that kept him tied to his job.

I could easily do without this, he thought. I spent three days doing everything Ramannie wanted to do, and finally I get some time to myself. By the Spirits of Space, I barely got the line wet!

Forcing his voice into neutrality, the young minister picked up the device and spoke his name. “Minister,” a voice responded, “this is Undersecretary Ralith. We seem to have a situation.”

“And just exactly what kind of situation requires that you interrupt the first vacation I’ve taken in years?” do’ Verla asked with a precise amount of irritation in his voice.

“Minister, I beg your indulgence, but I cannot answer that question at this time over an open channel. Your presence is required at the Ministry of Spatial Affairs at the earliest possible moment. Colonization Minister Foran concurs with the opinion that you should be apprised immediately.”

“Can you give me any idea over an open line what this is all about?” do’ Verlas pressed.

Several second passed before the undersecretary spoke. “It’s possible, sir, that it has something to do with a returned patrol ship.”

“You know where I am,” Rentec said. “It will be several hours before I’ll be able to make an appearance. All I can do to speed the process, I will do. Rentec do’ Verlas, out.” He threw the communicator back onto the seat of his floater and turned to Ramannie, who was sitting in the shade of a tem tree nearby. “I’m sorry, my dear, but it would seem that one of the perquisites of my job is interrupted vacationing. Someone has decided that my presence is required at the Ministry Building, and apparently Minister Foran agrees.”

The gorgeous young woman turned her ruby gaze to the man who, just the night before, had asked her to become his consort. “And what could possibly be so urgent that they need to drag someone as important as the Minister for Spatial Affairs away from a well-deserved rest?” Ramannie asked, venom in her voice as she stroked his arm.

“Oh, I’m not so important as all that, Ramannie. Minister, yes. Junior minister, and only for Spatial Affairs. Not the most prestigious posting, love. But one does hope for promotions. Economics, finance, security, colonization, diplomatic minister—all of these are more important than my lowly posting.”

“But, Rentec,” Ramannie pointed out, “you are Minister for Spatial Affairs in an Expansionist government. You have the potential to become someone... formidable.”

“True. I will admit that the potential does exist,” Rentec acknowledged slowly. “But at this time, it is only potential, and I am only a junior minister. And I will come when Foran calls. If I want to keep my position and potential, I can do nothing else.”

Loading his fishing gear and the remains of their picnic into the back of their vehicle, Rentec and Ramannie climbed into the floater and strapped in. Their return to the port city of Quillas required that they first drive back up the mountain to get to the main road. As they passed the lodge, Rentec called to request that their possessions be packed and sent to their homes in Quillas. While keeping the floater at its maximum height of about eight feet, he headed back at just under the legal limit. Refusing to activate his communicator on the drive back into the city, Rentec split his attention between keeping the little vehicle airborne and talking to his consort-to-be.

The tricky part about operating a repulsion-powered personal vehicle was that errors tended to magnify themselves the faster one traveled, so compensating for such things as wind changes, turns, braking, and even elevation and terrain all had to be handled with infinite care. Almost as much care, in fact, as it took to keep Ramannie mollified. He finally managed to sidetrack her by opening a discussion about the upcoming meeting with his mother.

“Not meaning to brag,” he said (meaning to ever so little), “but the women of the do’ Verlas line have, for the last fifteen generations, been renowned for their matchmaking abilities. The ability seems to be passed on by the male but is seeded in the female line. That means that the first girl-child will have the same abilities as my mother and hers before her and so on. And they can tell who’s meant for whom. Something about empathic awareness, I’m told.”

Ramannie sat quietly for the rest of the ride.

She’s afraid, Rentec thought. And who wouldn’t be, knowing that your fate is in the hand of someone you’ve never met. For a do’ Verlas woman to pronounce “nay” upon a union effectively ended it before it began.

Dusk was falling as Rentec and Ramannie approached the spaceport employee’s housing complex.

“So, what’s the big emergency?” she asked as they neared her building. “I’ve refrained from asking, but I’ll find out, you know. I do work for Minister Foran, after all.”

“The undersecretary couldn’t tell me over an unsecured line, but he did let me know that it had something to do with a returning patrol. Just what, I’ll know shortly.”

“Could it be the one you and Minister Foran sent out the search mission for?” she asked suddenly interested.

“Oh, I doubt that, Ramannie. The only way it could be that would be if the Dalgor Kreth turned up back in Shiravan space on its own. Which I suppose is a possibility—remote, but a possibility. I think, though, that if that had been the case, the undersecretary would have just passed on the information without worrying about secure communications. And my presence wouldn’t be so urgently required that we couldn’t finish our vacation. This is something far graver, I believe.”

Rentec’s vehicle settled to the ground outside Ramannie’s building, and she stepped out into the deepening gloom. “Well, I’m sure it’s nothing so urgent that it should have taken you away from your vacation,” she said. “No one with your level of responsibility can work day in and day out without relief. You should make them extend your vacation when you finish with this charade.”

Agreeing to think about the situation, Rentec drove over to the Spatial Affairs building as soon as Ramannie was out of sight. It’s odd that the building is named after one of the more junior offices in it, he mused for the thousandth time as he settled the vehicle into its place and hurried into the looming edifice.

Rentec arrived as full night fell, and he found the main building fully lit. More than just unusual, it was virtually unheard of to have so many people around at this time of the evening. Even more of a surprise were the checkpoints he’d to go through to get onto the Ministry grounds. On three separate occasions, he was stopped and his identification demanded. Upon identifying himself yet again when he actually entering the building, he was directed to a briefing room.

During his several Turnings as a minister, Rentec had never been in this particular briefing room. He found that it was more in the nature of an auditorium, with its raised stage and chairs rising up in tiers from the floor to the highest seats in the back.

The room was already crowded when he arrived. This time, rather than having his identity checked, he was merely asked for his name. Rentec watched the guard strike through his name and noticed that it was the last one on the list.

“Minister do’ Verlas, you are the last to arrive,” the guard said. “I’ve been instructed to inform Policy Minister sel Garian when the list has been completed so the briefing can begin. Please, make yourself comfortable.”

Rentec found himself standing shoulder to shoulder with the Underminister of Defense, a distant cousin of his, Parlo do’ Nallen. “This doesn’t look like any briefing I’ve ever attended. It looks more like a...”

“A council of war?” cousin Parlo finished in a strained voice.

“So it would seem,” Rentec noted. “We have Economics, Intelligence, Defense, Personnel, Finance, Supply, Military, and Spatial Affairs, and those are just the ones I can see right off. The last time we had this many ministers gathered together was just before my father’s death. The discussion then was whether or not to send ships out to harass the Korvil as they’ve been harassing us for centuries.”

“That was before my time, too,” Parlo said. “But it’s obvious you haven’t heard. Where have you been?”

“On vacation in the Dukara Mountains,” Rentec said sourly. “I asked Ramannie to be my consort. This is not an auspicious beginning for our life together. Heard what?”

“Ah! A betrothal trip! Did she accept? And is this Ramannie the same beautiful young thing I’ve seen you with over the last several months?”

“Yes, she did, and yes, she is,” Rentec said lowering his voice. “And what haven’t I heard?”

“You haven’t heard that scout ships from one of the reprisal fleets finally located a Korvil raider’s outpost,” Parlo said with equal amounts of elation and fear in his voice. “You haven’t heard that we ambushed two of their ships in space, destroyed almost a dozen more on the ground, and destroyed the entire compound. And when one kill-crazed survivor we believe to have been a Sept-leader tried to attack the ground troops, he was shot to death literally at the feet of the assault team. We have effectively declared open war on the Korvil Empire.”

“Silence!” Rentec hissed, looking down at the stage. “There’s sel Garian.”

Minister sel Garian was famous. The entire sel Garian Clan were rabid Isolationists, with the exception of a very few who could afford to buck the clan system. Manura sel Garian was the most prominent of these. As Policy Minister, she was the matriarch’s closest adviser. It was she who had led the fight to empower the Reprisal Fleets, and the council vote had gone her way by sheerest luck, one might think.

Rentec had his doubts about that though. The Shiravan colony-world, Harlo, had among its members relatives or offspring of many of the ministers who, for one reason or another, would abstain from voting in favor of a war. But the tensions were too high after the report of Harlo’s capture by Korvil forces. And sel Garian had chosen the absolute perfect moment to call a vote on the Reprisal Fleets, winning only because of Harlo. His father had told him of that vote—of how the vote had been called for when word of the calamity reached the council, and of how, afterwards, there were those who wondered aloud at the timing of the release of the report and how sel Garian had refused to rise to the bait and challenge any of those who spoke out. sel Garian had been instrumental in crushing the Isolationist uprising some twenty turns earlier. Her brutal tactics during the suppression had earned her the title of “Butcher of Harasel,” a label she never bristled at and never denied.

The wizened old woman walked out into the center of the stage and glared at the audience until silence reigned. “That’s better,” she grated harshly through the artificial larynx that was the legacy of her actions during the revolt. A fanatic from her own clan had tried to behead her during the last bloody hours of the uprising, only to fail because of his own mortal wounds at her hands. “There’s no time for debate. No arguing, no finger pointing, and no name calling—just action. Each and every one of you are relevant to the effort we are about to embark upon. Everyone knows about the Reprisal Fleets, and now you can be told of the success of one of those fleets.

“Because of their hit-and-run tactics, it has until recently been virtually impossible to even find a Korvil outpost. Thanks in large part to the Ministry of Intelligence, and in some part to the Goddess of Luck, we recently located and identified one such base. We then planned and executed an assault upon that base, raider style. The Goddess of Luck flew with the women and ships of Second Fleet, and of the nine vessels involved in the attack, seven returned. We mourn the loss of the crews of the two ships and commiserate with their relatives and clans. Their names will be marked among those of Honored Ancestors in the Dusternas of each clan from this day forth.

“As I said, the Goddess of Luck rode with this fleet. Not only did seven ships and their crews survive, but we accrued an unexpected bonus. Along with the nearly one dozen ships caught on the ground, we caught two on approach vectors and destroyed them as well, but not without a cost. Both of those enemy ships managed to ram the nearest unfortunate ship and take it down with them. The bonus is that in the aftermath of the attack, while all the data were being reviewed, traces of a life pod ejecting from one of the inbound ships was detected.

“Teams were sent down to search the destroyed base and environs, and a survivor was found. Following their usual policy of fighting to the death, this one did so as well. And had it not been for the proper placement of personnel, he might have inflicted serious damage upon the landing team even though he was unarmed. We believe, from what little we know of Korvil hierarchy, that this individual was the equivalent of a clan mother. I believe from the few translations we have been able to obtain that the proper term is ‘Sept-leader.’ We also believe that this individual was responsible for the raids throughout the entire Parrasine sector.” During the last minute of sel Garian’s presentation, video from the ground teams flashed on the screen behind her, ending with the scorched Pankatt Korchon, last Kravar Sept-leader.

“The type of destruction,” sel Garian continued when the screen went blank, “along with the debris from our two ships, will show quite clearly to the Korvil monarch that Shiravan ships were responsible for the destruction of the outpost. We expect the reprisals will be extremely unpleasant to all Shiravans everywhere. For over two hundred turns, the Shiravan response has been minimal. Defend, defend, defend. This way lies death through attrition. It has now become necessary to learn from our tormentors, and learn we shall. The crews of our three Reprisal Fleets that have been put into space over the past five turns will comprise the core of our new, revised fleet structure.

“While our ships are armed, they are neither as heavily armed as Korvil ships, nor do their crews have the accrued experience that winning battles brings. This will change. As time and material permit, ships will be brought back to Shiravi for refitting, but their crews will have to gain experience as they go. It’s my hope that this briefing will have laid to rest many unsubstantiated rumors. Unfortunately, sometimes the truth can be worse than imagination. All ships and crews are hereby impressed into the service of the matriarch for the duration. All Shiravan personnel are requested to comply with new, soon-to-be-published rules that cover the hoarding of supplies and war-related material. All ministries will receive instructions on how their business is to be conducted as we go to a full-scale war footing. There will be no questions at this time. All questions can be submitted to the Policy Ministry. This meeting is concluded. I want the ministers, underministers, secretaries and undersecretaries of the following Ministries to remain behind for additional instructions: Intelligence, Defense, Finance, Commerce, Spatial Affairs, Colonization, and Production. That will be all.”

When the room had been cleared of all but the seven dignitaries of each of the named ministries and their assistants, the little old woman motioned to have the doors locked by the remaining guards as they left the room. Rentec, still sitting at the back of the now nearly empty room, noticed the doors being locked and started to make a formal protest against the unusual nature of the action, but for some reason he decided to see where this particular turn of events led. All six of the other ministers protested the action, along with several underministers and a secretary or two. Rentec’s cousin, Parlo, would have joined in voicing his objection as well but for Rentec’s restraining hand.

“Just wait and see what happens. sel Garian wouldn’t take this position if she didn’t feel she had backing. If we oppose sel Garian, we oppose the matriarch, and I’m not prepared to do that.”

The protests continued until the old woman raised the volume on her throat mike and grated, “Silence! Everyone move down to the first few rows.”

Rentec watched his fellow ministers with something akin to amusement and waited while they complied with sel Garian’s command. He looked back to the stage to find the Policy Minister staring directly at him, and he wished he could be anywhere but under her scrutiny. It reminded him too much of his mother’s gaze the day he’d been sent home from Academy for playing a prank on a professor.

Turning the volume up even farther, sel Garian bellowed, “Silence!”

The walls shook, and Rentec could feel the sympathetic vibrations as they were transmitted from the walls, through the floor, and into the chair he sat in.

This time sel Garian got the silence she demanded. She turned the microphone down to a more reasonable level and waited, spearing each member of her audience with those angry red eyes. When she felt the silence had served its purpose, she said, “Everything that has gone before this point is for public consumption. It will be reported throughout the Polity in even more detail than you’ve heard tonight. What the general public won’t know is what you are about to hear. This is a matter of the gravest importance, make no mistake about it. You will not reveal what you are about to be made privy to—not to your mothers, not your consorts, not your lovers. You will tell no one, and you will not discuss what you are about to hear and see with anyone who is not in this room right now, with the exception of the matriarch. The oaths of everyone in this room to the matriarch are invoked. Is this clear?”

It was if somehow sel Garian had disappeared from the stage and been replaced by a maddened vorloper, horns and all. The Ministers and secretaries closest to the stage moved back as if they thought she would reach out and shake the bones right out of their skins. Rentec saw the hand she snaked to the control box on her belt and only smiled at the next jolt she gave her audience. “I said, ‘Is that clear?’”

Even expecting the subsonic pulse, Rentec began to sweat and nodded along with the rest, just to get on with hearing what she had to tell them next. “Each of you are here because your various ministries are so deeply involved, and discussion of the following information is forbidden outside of secure areas.” Again, she stood in silence and let her last remarks sink in. “Now,” she said sharply enough to make Rentec jump, “the item that is not for public consumption is this. In four hundred and fifty years in space, we’ve found only one other intelligent race—the Korvil.”

“If you can call them intelligent,” Parlo said quietly. “I, for one, think they operate mostly on instinct. And that knowledge can’t be what is so secret. Everybody already knows it.”

“Instinct doesn’t allow you to devise new manufacturing processes to be able to reproduce stolen technology,” Rentec countered quietly. “Nor does it allow you to innovate the kind of battle tactics we’ve had to deal with so far. In almost every encounter with the Korvil, we’ve lost because we didn’t know what we were doing. The one major action we won—the one we just found out about—we won because we were somehow able to mount superior forces and catch them by surprise. Now be silent.”

sel Garian waited patiently for the murmurs that followed her declaration to die down. “That statement has held true until recently,” she continued. “We now have proof that there is another race out there somewhere.”

Pandemonium broke out throughout the auditorium, and the old woman let it go on. Rentec sat silently.

His cousin asked, “Aren’t you the least bit concerned?”

“I’m concerned that I won’t get to hear what sel Garian has to say, cousin. Don’t you think she’ll have some kind of proof to back it up? She has to. Wait and listen.”

“What is not for public consumption is the fact of the existence of these new aliens, and that two representatives of this race are on Shiravi now! At the time our forces killed the Sept-leader, he had with him, chained and leashed, two members of this new race—one male and one female. After much deliberation, the matriarch has decided that anyone, any race, that’s an enemy to the Korvil can only be a friend to the Shiravi.

“The spirit of these two people—yes, I said people, for that is what they are even though they look different—the spirit of these two people is amazing. The first pictures we have of them show them dirty, emaciated, kept on the verge of starvation, beaten, and abused. The male, still chained, tried to fight off his rescuers until they made it clear to him that they meant no harm to him or the female. The two biggest problems faced by the members of the fleet were gaining their trust and finding the right food for them to eat.”

sel Garian stood patiently while the ministers and secretaries spoke amongst themselves. Finally, the Minister of Commerce, a rabid Isolationist and distant cousin of sel Garian’s, managed to get her attention. “Minister sel Parris,” she said in recognition, granting him the right to speak.

Adopting a considerably more aggressive stance than polite Shiravan custom would normally dictate, the recognized minister asked, “What assurances do we have that these reports haven’t been exaggerated and that these ‘aliens’ actually exist?”

The only sound in the room came from the air flowing into the room through the vents during the time sel Garian stared at sel Parris. By the time she finally responded to him, even the people from his own ministry had begun to physically distance themselves from him. “I would consider carefully any further words you might have for me, Minister. You are dangerously close to calling me a liar,” she said as she stepped off the stage.

“No, Minister sel Garian, I’m not calling you a liar. I’m merely pointing out that you, like the rest of us, could be duped into believing a lie, which you could then pass on to us as truth. And believing it yourself, you could easily convince us.”

“So you’re saying that I’m not a liar?” sel Garian asked. “But rather that I’m gullible?”

“Minister, you twist my words,” sel Parris protested.

“Minister, it is the job of people in our profession to twist words, thoughts, and ideas,” sel Garian said chidingly. “Of course, I twist your words, just like you twist the words put into your ears by your superiors. The difference is, Minister, that the words are coming out of your mouth, and you should have better sense than to utter them in my presence. Here and now, we will deal with my ‘gullibility,’” she said, looking sel Parris up and down. “First, the matriarch would not authorize the destruction of two vessels and their crews to maintain a fiction. Second, the visual details agree with the written reports in every detail. Third, cross-examination of every surviving member of that fleet agree with both the written and visual records. And concerning the two aliens that you wish to dismiss so handily, I’m here to tell you that they were not only rescued but survived to set foot on Shiravan soil. We have among us two representatives of a third sentient race. These two beings have been handled badly at the hands of the Korvil, and it is the matriarch’s opinion, with which I concur, that once their rulers find out about their treatment at the hand of their captors, they will be no friend of the Korvil. There’s an old maxim, Minister sel Parris, that you would do well to heed: ‘He who would oppose your enemy should be cultivated as an ally.’”

“We still have no proof, Minister sel Garian,” the Commerce Minister said, “of the existence of these future allies. And if they do exist, how do we know they will be allies?”

“We know they’ll be allies, Minister sel Parris, because they were mistreated at Korvil hands, rescued by Shiravan forces, and so far, have been treated with the utmost respect and consideration. At this particular moment, we cannot converse with them beyond basic needs, but we’ll remedy that situation in the near future. Now, as to their real or imagined existence...” sel Garian left the sentence unfinished, turned her back on the larger man, and stepped back up onto the stage. Thumbing her throat-mike to a new frequency, she gave a command unheard by the stunned ministry personnel. Seconds later, the door opened, and one of sel Garian’s secretaries entered the auditorium, followed by an... alien! No! Two aliens!

Rentec was as stunned as the rest of the people in the room to see what came next. The first being to follow the secretary onto the stage was shorter than the Shiravan average by a noticeable amount, while the second was even shorter, and she was white. Her skin seemed to be bleached of almost all color, leaving only the vaguest tint of red to her complexion, and she had long brown fur growing from the top of her head. But the first! If he ever saw anything in his life that said ‘alien,’ it would be the taller of the two creatures now standing beside sel Garian. He—if it was a “he”—was black! He looked as if all the darkness of space had been condensed into one individual, and the fur on top of this one’s head was short and composed of tiny ringlets pressed tightly against his skull. Both... people... seemed to be heavier across the chest than most Shiravans, possibly indicating a greater strength.

It seemed to be a night designed for pandemonium. The ministers and secretaries crowded around the stage, causing the two aliens to step back. sel Garian took one step forward, arms held out. “That’s far enough! Minister sel Parris, step up here, please.”

When the Isolationist Minister stood before sel Garian, she asked, “Please tell me now what you think of our ‘fictitious’ aliens.”

“I... I have no response, Policy Minister.”

“Of course, you don’t. You haven’t had your ears filled with the wisdom of your elders in Clan sel Parris. Nor will you! Knowledge of the existence of these two is restricted to the Reprisal Fleet that brought them in, the matriarch and her staff, and the people in this room. If this bit of information gets out, be sure that the matriarch will not be pleased, and I will track down the perpetrator. That would amount to treason and would be dealt with appropriately. This is only a temporary restriction until we can learn to speak more fluently with these people and learn something more of their culture and their race’s intentions. Then more can be said. For the time being, these two will be removed to a safe haven and kept in seclusion for their own wellbeing.”

She motioned for her secretary to take the two aliens out, and the unlikely trio made their way offstage. When the doors closed, sel Garian turned back to the assemblage. “Each Ministry will receive instructions in the coming days. For the time being, that will be all. And remember: Not. One. Word!”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Sarah and Dwayne were led on a whirlwind tour of the Galileo, showcasing her bridge, quarters, dining halls, gyms, factories, and engine room. “The captain thought your viewers would like a tour,” Kimura said at the outset. “This may save you a question or two and will certainly do your careers a world of good. In about an hour, you’ll be sitting down with Captain Grimes. How much space does your camera have, Dwayne?”

“About twelve hours’ worth. I’m more concerned about batteries, though. I can only run for about three hours. What’s that walled-off section down there?” Dwayne asked, pointing toward the bow.

Kimura looked forward and said, “Save ten minutes of battery power. You may get to see a game of Z-tag.”

Explaining in a clear, concise manner could be an easy way to lose an audience, but not when one has a sense of humor and an infectious attitude, which Kimura had in spades. Between destinations on the tour, Sarah asked how she’d come to be aboard.

Looking distinctly uncomfortable, she said, “I am Rukia Kimura. I’m third-generation Japanese American, and I was expected to do something useful with my life, but this wasn’t exactly the kind of thing we had in mind when I left for college.” She looked up to see the camera pointed at her and didn’t miss the red light on top. “Anyway, some friends of mine went to a science-fiction convention and disappeared. That would have been bad enough, but other friends told me how they disappeared. ‘Beamed up!’ they said,’ but don’t tell anyone.’

“Well, I didn’t tell anyone, but still the police, the FBI, and people who never said who they worked for interviewed me. Then, about seven or eight months later, a couple of friends who’d disappeared showed back up with some very impressive evidence, so this time when they had a meeting, I went. I’ll tell you right now, the first time you see a beam-in or beam-out is something you’ll never forget!

“So, I’ve been aboard for about two years or a little more now. I’d like to take a vacation, ya know, but the higher-ups think most of us should wait until... wait a while and see how things develop. When we don’t have to worry about being picked up by some government agency and grilled about what we know... Okay!” Kimura said with some relief, “Here’s the engine room. Operating on principles just now being thought of on Earth, these engines can move a vehicle this size into what we call quantum space. A trip to Alpha Centauri would take a bit over four months each way. And contrary to popular opinion, there isn’t that much time distortion—no double ages like in the old sci-fi novels, just a clean, relatively quick transition to another place at a high rate of speed...”

Finally! Sarah thought as she recognized the woman seated at the table in one of the dining halls aboard the massive ship. “I’m sorry I couldn’t take the time any sooner, Miss Parker,” Lucy said, standing up and gesturing to the chair opposite her. “Will this do? I hope Commander Kimura kept you entertained?”

“Uh, ladies? Can I get you to sit at nine and twelve instead of six and twelve? That way I can get you both in one shot without any cutting.”

“If you have no objections, Captain,” Sarah said, staring daggers at her cameraman.

“You’ll thank me later, Sarah,” Dwayne muttered.

“Um, thank you, and yes she did, Captain,” Sarah said as she moved around the table. She didn’t quite know how to take the young woman sitting across from her. Short, slim, and with a figure Sarah would have died for, the darkly pretty woman seemed both older and younger than she’d appeared when she stepped off the shuttle in Zurich.

I think she’s actually younger than I am! The aura of command seems to surround her, probably because so many people seem to defer to her, Sarah thought.

At the same time, a redheaded woman came up to the table. “Would you care for refreshments, Miss Parker?”

Sarah glanced at the glass sitting in front of the woman she’d come to see.

“Ginger ale, Miss Parker. I find that it helps me focus.”

“That will be fine,” she said in a weak voice. Keeping the running camera ever in her mind, Sarah began before the redhead could come back with her drink. “Let’s start with the basics, I guess. What do I call you?”

Waving her hand negligently, the other woman said, “If we were aboard a ship assigned to me, you would call me ‘captain.’ My rank, however, is First Captain, and that would be appropriate, I think. But here and now, you can call me Lucy.”

“Okay, Lucy, tell everybody out there how you got to be the head of the Terran Alliance.”

“Let’s see… How to make a long story short?” Lucy said speculatively. “I was among the first group to volunteer. There were thirty-five of us. When ‘watch’ schedules were being assigned, I was lucky enough to get third shift and be put in charge. You need to know that at that time, no one person knew any more about what we were doing than any other, so it was essentially luck that put me where I wound up. I got promoted to captain when the first two ships were commissioned, and when the captain, Simon Hawke at the time, and his wife Kitty were...” her voice cracked with emotion. “Well, I was the senior officer left, except for the base captain and commanders, and they refused to take the position. They’re engineers, and we needed them where they were. So the other captains and Marsha Kane, who’s captain of the McCaffrey, teamed up and shanghaied me into the job.”

“What effects do you see as a result of releasing this technology to the general public?”

“There lies one of the biggest problems we have to face,” Lucy said slowly. “You see, a lot of this stuff is so far ahead of Earth’s technical level that it can’t be reproduced on Earth, at least not until several levels of technological upgrades are made. But for the things we can do now, the results can be devastating. We hope to minimize the pain, of course, but whole technologies will give way to new ones. If this ship were to disappear tomorrow, do you think the world would go back to being the same? No. Just the absolute knowledge that there are other people out there will spur people on. The simple fact that something can be done will make people try to reproduce it. But what will happen to the people who get displaced? We don’t want them to suffer. They have families to feed, lives to live, bills to pay. But change will inevitably occur.

“It’s the short term we worry about, right now. What happens when hundreds of thousands of people are out of work? Economic devastation is what. We want to turn over technologies that will benefit the planet and see that people get retrained before they wind up out of work. Governments will have to help with that. Possibly a voluntary retraining program could help people get into the new technologies. Construction of the facilities to produce the new items, as well as removal of older buildings to make way for those new buildings, will be needed. We’ll also be introducing ways to help end some of the pollution that’s causing the greenhouse effects—cleaner fuel technologies, ones that don’t need replacement as often as say, coal, or gasoline. And those are just two.”

Caught unprepared for the next question by the implications of the previous one, Sarah, blurted out, “Who designed your uniforms?”

Oh, God! Sarah Parker, reporter for Interplanetary Fashion Review!

Lucy smiled. “Well, they were just supposed to be utilitarian, and for the most part, they’ve stayed that way. The short sleeved duty uniform you see on most of the crew grew out of that concept, as well as the longer, more formal dress uniform, of course. But I must admit that when we received our invitations to Baron von Schlenker’s gala, we were caught flatfooted. Here we were, finished with three space docks and ready to go build a fourth, and nothing to wear to something really fancy! The uniforms for the gala were mostly done on the spur of the moment.”

Sarah picked up the amber-filled glass the redhead had put down in front of her during Lucy’s last answer and took a sip. Clearing her throat, and asked, “Where do you get your recruits, Lucy, and what do you expect to happen to them when they go home?”

“More good questions, Miss Parker. They’re tied together, by the way, and we see them as the second major obstacle. First, we have a few people who, for one reason or another, weren’t able to sign on as active shipboard personnel and who still want to contribute. They’ve been acting as recruiters for us down below. Our extended absences caused a lot of problems at first, as you can imagine, since most people who want to believe just can’t believe when someone says, ‘Guess what? I’ve got a spaceship.’”

Sarah laughed out loud. “I can sympathize with them. I’m actually sitting here and I’m having trouble believing. So, how did you get around that situation?”

“Well, as I remember it, a bunch of us went to a sci-fi convention and there was a billboard mentioning a talk by a Dr. Stephen Walker about transporter technology in the modern age. It drew about forty people and we got shown transporter technology using Commander... Captain Miller as a first test subject. After that, he said, ‘Guess what? We’ve got a spaceship.’ A lot of us told Dr. Walker to put up or shut up and wound up going on our first beam-up. Some of the others came along because of Captain Miller. She’s not the kind of woman you meet; she’s the kind of woman you experience.”

Sarah had settled down into “interview mode” and glanced down hastily at some of her scribbled notes. “And how do you see your people being treated when they choose to go home?”

“I’m sorry to say that I don’t expect to be seeing them treated well at all, much less by their own government, which is primarily the United States. As yet, we haven’t had the opportunity to recruit outside the U.S., so most of our people are Americans. I have been the target, albeit lightly, of some of our more... clandestine government agencies. I understand,” Lucy said, holding up her hand, “that they’re just doing their job, but their methods are born of fear, since they believe that what they can’t control can harm them and must be feared. I see our people being picked up, interrogated, and kept under lock and key until they’ve had all their secrets ‘squeezed’ out of them. I see whole families being subjected to this same process just for being related to someone aboard an Alliance craft. Refusal to ‘tell all’ could result in charges of treason if the government really wanted to scare someone.

“It’s the natural condition for a living creature to want to continue its existence, and a government is surely a living being. Never doubt that. Governments are born, they mature, they die. And they will reach out and hurt you if you hurt them. They’ll try to attain whatever they need to stay afloat in the cesspool of politics they foster and swim in. They attain money, often underhandedly, and spend it, often foolishly. I call that living. And they should exist. In this day and age, almost every nation on Earth is full of ethnic diversity. Some like it, and some don’t. In either case, there are laws to protect ‘good’ as it’s defined by the inhabitants of a particular area. To enforce laws, you need police. To control the police, you need more laws and a government to watch over them. But to answer the question you asked, I see our people being treated poorly until we get some form of recognition that protects them. Whether you want to call them employees, volunteers, or citizens, they have the same basic rights as always, spelled out in one of the United States’ most revered documents—the Bill of Rights.”

“You’ve been out here for three years now. What prompts people to stay?”

Lucy’s eyes drifted out of focus for a second. “Well, it sure isn’t for the pay, I’ll tell you that! What prompts them... us... to stay? Look around you! In three years, we’ve taken a derelict alien spaceship and learned how to use it well enough to begin to duplicate it! That doesn’t mean we understand everything we do. We’re just following directions, so to speak, but we learn more every day. Hell, I’ll bet if you were to go home right now and ask, you’d find that a surprisingly high number of people don’t know how a light bulb works and don’t care enough to find out.

“But back to your question. A few go home, but we’ve managed to keep a fairly low profile.”

“What do you plan to do with all the ships you’re building?”

“We believe,” Lucy said after several seconds’ hesitation, “that the original owners will come looking for their ship eventually. If they want it back, they can have it. But if they don’t want technological competition, there could be resistance, and we want to be able to handle that successfully. We’ve already made several modifications to their existing technology that the Builders apparently hadn’t conceived of. For example, the force fields that got such a reaction out of you earlier.”

“What do you mean?” Sarah asked, reddening visibly.

“When we got the ship, the entire cargo bay had to be depressurized to move cargo in and out of it. But after our engineers got through with the capture fields on the shuttles, we had force fields that could selectively pass objects through when needed. The Builders don’t seem to be very innovative. It looks like they get something that works and just keep it. For example, they don’t seem to have grasped the fine art of miniaturization, at least on a grand scale. By that I mean that they would make a... something... smaller to fit into a smaller space, like a shuttle, but leave it large on a ship like this one. Their use of what we call the ‘capture field’ is another example. It was only used on the shuttles and their fighters. (By the way, we’ve reworked their fighters into something bigger, faster, and far more deadly than they ever had.) We adapted the capture fields to be used inside the ship here in the cargo bay, and with minimal reconfiguring, turned it into the force field that not only surrounds the bay doors but the entire ship itself. And we’ve just figured out how to put partial shields on our fighters.”

Sarah looked down at her notes for a few seconds and finally asked, “Do you intend to hold to the statement that your Captain Hawke made in relation to the disbursement of technology to Earth?”

Expecting this question, Lucy had a reply ready instantly. “New administration, new policy. I’m sure the governments down below will recognize that fact. They won’t like it, but they’ll get used to it. Basically, the result will be the same. Earth will get a technological upgrade at the end-user stage, and the Terran Alliance gets cash or concessions. Call it licensing fees if you want, or whatever. The good thing is that we have no place to spend the money except on Earth, so it all comes home sooner or later.”

“Are you worried about spies or industrial espionage?”

“Of course, we are. We’re taking what measures we can to minimize the losses, but remember that once we part with a particular item, it’s out there. We can’t call it back. And if we can see implications in a piece of equipment beyond the obvious, don’t you think someone will come up with an idea we missed? Actually, industrial espionage will cost us, but that will only be money. The only restrictions, remember, are on weapons and propulsion technology. And the propulsion technology is only restricted because it requires a lot of vacuum and zero gravity, access to a sun’s corona, and the ability to make monopoles, some of which are antimatter. Do you really want another Camp David to happen somewhere on Earth? I think not. And as far as weapons are concerned, it will take the output of one of those sets of monopoles to power weapons as powerful as we have. And that begs the eternal question: aren’t there enough nuclear weapons on Earth right now to wipe it out several times over? What would we need stronger weapons for?”

Sarah looked up to see a man pulling his finger across his throat. “I assume that means you have to go, Captain?” she asked, indicating the man.

“I’m afraid it does, Miss Parker,” Lucy replied. “I believe I have a staff meeting with my two newest captains.”

“One last question, if you would, First Captain,” the reporter begged. “I’ll make it an easy one, I promise.”

“The only ‘easy’ question was about the uniforms,” Lucy retorted. “But I think I’m up to the challenge. Go ahead.”

“How does your family feel about this development in your life?”

Momentarily stunned by the change of direction, Lucy sat there, mouth open, until she closed it with a snap. “Of all the questions you could have asked, Miss Parker, that’s the one I least expected to hear.” A smile crossed her face. “Actually, it is the last question, isn’t it?” she asked, head cocked slightly. “Okay, I’m from the upper mid-west, I guess you’d call it. Middle-class family, middle-class values. My family wasn’t easy to convince and still aren’t really, but once they see this, there won’t be any doubt, will there? My mom has her pottery classes and bridge club and can’t understand any of this, and my dad is an electrical engineer and won’t believe it. I have one brother and no sisters to shock with the news, and I have no idea about aunts, uncles or cousins.”

Sarah turned to face the camera squarely. “There you have it, ladies and gentlemen. The first unrehearsed interview with First Captain Lucy Grimes, the leader of the Terran Alliance. I’m Sarah Parker, reporting from the starship Galileo somewhere in Earth orbit.”

Simon and Daniels left Salinas, Kansas in a car older than a lot of the members of the Terran Alliance, while the brothers Jeffers followed at a discreet distance in the RV. The old green Impala was chosen because it had a rebuilt engine theoretically capable of reaching Denver and a CB radio to keep in touch with the Winnie.

Keeping to a sedate sixty-eight miles per hour, the old Chevy led the RV by about three miles. “We’ll have to shorten the distance once we reach the mountains,” Simon said into the microphone. He leaned back on the cracked-vinyl seat and looked at the mountain chain growing in the distance.

I’ve flown a Mamba through the asteroid belt, and I still feel a sense of awe at the sight, he thought.

It was discovered that the Chevy had a tendency to overheat when it had to climb, so Simon and Daniels spent a lot of the next morning and early afternoons sitting in pullouts alongside the road. It worked out well, actually, since the Winnebago needed to climb in a lower, slower gear anyway.

“My guess would be thermostat,” Daniels said, “since we aren’t losing coolant.”

It was during the third such stop that the luck that had been following Simon seemed to vanish. Pretending to be tourists while the car cooled off, the two men would stand and gaze at the view in a near-companionable silence, more often than not.

The two men watched as a Colorado Highway Patrol car pulled into the rest stop and cruised slowly past the scattering of parked cars and pickups.

“Well, what do you think? Are we on his agenda?”

The lone officer didn’t seem to pay any special attention to the old Chevy as he passed. They watched him turn his car off, speak into his microphone for a few seconds, and get out.

Simon heaved an audible sigh of relief when the patrolman headed in the direction of the restrooms. “That’s the kind of reaction that gets people arrested, Simon,” Daniels said. “Let’s get to the car. Now.”

“What’s the hurry? He went to pee.”

“It’s glaringly obvious that you’ve never had a major run-in with the law,” Daniels noted. “First, he didn’t lock the doors on his cruiser. Second, he wasn’t moving like a man on that particular mission. He was moving like he wanted someone to think he had to pee. Third, he never looked at any of the cars or people he passed. Ever seen a police officer who didn’t make eye contact with at least a few individuals? Entirely too forced. Let’s go.”

Simon managed to hobble to the passenger door and get settled as Daniels started the engine. “Temp is still too high. Call Brian and tell him we need a pickup, quick,”

Simon keyed the mike. “Stargazer to Sawbones. Pass the next rest stop and pick us up just past the abandoned vehicle. Acknowledge.”

“Will do, Stargazer. What’s up?”

“I hope it’s nothing. If we have company, just pass on by. You have an assignment. I’ll say goodbye, now, just in case. Do not respond. Stargazer clear.”

Daniels had the old car out of the parking space and headed for the entrance ramp to the highway when flashing lights pulled into the rest area behind them. “Company, Simon. And it isn’t good,” Daniels said as he took his eyes off the mirror and slowly accelerated. “We keep up appearances until they force us to do something. It’s barely possible that it’s not us... shit!”

The expletive was the first one Simon had ever heard Daniels utter. That’s a bad sign, he thought. He hung the microphone back on the hook and turned the radio off while changing channels at random as a second set of lights came in from the wrong direction of the ramp. Daniels slammed on the brakes, and the old car nosed down and slid to a silent halt.

At least the salesman didn’t lie about the brakes, Simon thought incongruously.

He looked over his shoulder as the second vehicle also slid to a stop, leaving inches between the two vehicles. Bad sign number three appeared in the form of officer number one. Simon was staring down a barrel big enough to drive a Volkswagen through.

“Step out of your vehicle with your hands up!” Came over a loudspeaker in the rear car.

“Suggestions?” Simon asked.

“Yeah, right,” Daniels growled. “Just do what they say, and let me do the talking. Maybe I can get us out of this. I hope.”

One hand up and outside the car, Daniels loudly announced, “Coming out, officers. Federal agent! Don’t shoot.”

“Step clear of the car, Agent, and keep your hands in the air. And your friend, too. Move!”

“No friend of mine, officer. Just a hitchhiker. And he’s injured. Cut him some slack getting out of the car. Bum leg and arm in a cast.”

“My, my. Aren’t you the humanitarian? Don’t lie to me!” the first officer said “We have descriptions of you from back at the car lot in Salinas. You shouldn’t walk onto a lot and pay cash, mister. At least not in consecutive hundreds. Some people get nervous enough to report it. Now turn around. If you are a Federal agent, you know all about assuming the position. Do it!”

Simon struggled out of the passenger side and kept his right arm up. “Hey, guys. Busted arm, here. And a bad leg. Doing the best I can.” He watched as the officer frisked Daniels and came up with a wad of cash, his badge and a stun gun.

“Not like anything I’ve ever seen,” the officer said. Simon could see the name “Reynolds” on the silver nameplate the officer wore. Then he felt himself being pushed into the side of the car, his legs forcibly spread, and hands patting him down.

“This one’s clean.”

“Well, well. Looks like we hit the jackpot, boys,” Reynolds said “This badge says we have FBI Agent Roland Daniels with us. And isn’t that the name that came in on the fax a couple of days ago? Cuff ‘em, and let’s get out of here.”

While getting their rights read to them and settling into the back of one of the cruisers, Simon saw the RV pull in and stop in the section for larger vehicles. Deliberately keeping his eyes on the seat in front of him, he waited until the three-car convoy moved out of the parking area with Daniels in the lead vehicle.

Looks like splitting up was a bad idea, he thought. At least Brian and Timothy got away. Unless, he felt the blood drain from his face, they’re being followed separately.

The only words spoken on the drive into Denver were from the patrolman reporting in on his radio.

“Oh, Christ!” Brian exclaimed as he pulled the RV to a spot across the parking lot from the confrontation. “What’ll we do? Hey! Roland left that laser of his with us. We could shoot out their tires...”

“Brian! Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain!” Father Timothy said angrily. “And will you listen to yourself? Shoot out the tires? How about shooting out the radios as well? Then shoot the officers, because they’ll surely have figured out who’s shooting at them by then. And if they don’t shoot us, they’ll tell every other policeman in the country. How far are you willing to go to carry out an assault?

“I don’t like what I’m seeing either, but they aren’t being mistreated. Those men are only doing their jobs as they see them. They have orders to follow. And when you think about it, we do, too, in a way. The best way we can help them is to get word to their people. And that gun is our ticket to proving our story, so don’t go playing with it. It’s not a toy lightsaber, you know.”

Pushing the RV to its limits, Brian managed to keep the police convoy in sight until they turned off at a small town and into what appeared to be a county jail. A plan had formed over the last hour on the road, and it was immediately implemented. Realizing that Simon and Roland probably wouldn’t be moved again for a while, they took a page from Daniels’ own book and drove to a used car dealer.

Driving their new acquisition to a motel, they temporarily mothballed the RV and settled in to implement the second part of the plan they’d formed—contacting the Colliers or the Brandts.

It wasn’t the contacting that was the problem, they found, it was the convincing, which was going to be no easy task. They parked their late-model Mercury in front of the two-story Aurora home and knocked on the door.

“How many times do we have to tell you people? We have no idea where Ted is. And why do you want him, anyway?” the obviously distraught woman cried.

Affecting the fatherly demeanor that usually helped when he needed to calm one of his parishioners, Father Timothy said, “Ma’am, we aren’t lookin’ to do the boy any harm. And who might have been here before us?”

“Who? How about first we had the police at our door, then there was that newspaperman from Billings, the FBI was here, the military, Federal Marshalls, and I don’t know who else. We’ve had our phone bugged and our house under surveillance, and we get followed everywhere we go. I guess they think Ted or Alice will contact us sooner or later. Who are you?”

“I’m Father Timothy Jeffers, ma’am, and this is my brother, Doctor Brian Jeffers. I give you my word that we’re not associated with any of the people who’ve been here before.”

Ted’s mother was the one to hit the nail on the head. “So how did you get our address then?”

“Ma’am,” the priest said, “we are... associated with a friend of Ted’s. He told us to look Ted up if there was... trouble.”

Ted’s father chose that moment to join the conversation. “Listen, mister, or Father, or whatever. We don’t know where Ted is. He and the kids and his wife seem to have disappeared, and we aren’t happy about it, even less happy than the government agencies that keep showing up here. We’ve told them everything we know in hopes of finding them. They have the best chance, after all, with all their manpower. We’ve told them about our lake cabin, his favorite hangouts, even his friends—a large number of whom seem to have disappeared, too. Personally, I think they’ve gotten themselves involved with some kind of cult.”

“Harry, some of those people said he was working with that bunch of space people we’ve been seeing on TV, remember?”

“Yes, Glenda, I know. But Ted’s too smart to fall for that nonsense. I can’t see anybody falling for it for long. It has to be some kind of scam.” Turning back to the two men at his door, the elder Brandt said, “And I sure as hell don’t want to get involved with the kind of things that trouble a priest! Just go away and leave us alone. We have enough problems of our own right now, and you’re upsetting my wife.”

“I’m having trouble with the coincidence here,” Brian said on the way back to their motel. “First Simon and Daniels get arrested, then we find out that one of the two people we’re supposed to contact is in hiding from our own government. All of a sudden, this adventure doesn’t seem like so much fun.”

“I’m not too happy myself,” Father Timothy said. “We either get through to Collier’s parents, or we have to wait until the first embassy opens since we don’t stand much chance of intercepting any of Simon’s people. I’m hoping a more direct approach to the Colliers might work.”

“Mr. Collier, I’d like five minutes of your time to tell you a story. If at the end of that time, you tell us to leave, we’ll leave instantly and you won’t see us again. You have my word.” Brian spoke first and waited for a response.

“Five minutes, huh? By the clock, Mr. Jeffers. And a word of warning—your ‘story’ will have to be a real beaut to get past five minutes.” The elder Collier, grey-haired and pony-tailed, made a point of setting a digital alarm. “You may begin.”

“My name is Brian Jeffers, and this is my brother, Timothy. He’s a priest who runs a rescue mission in Washington, D.C. I help out there when I can. About two weeks ago we met two very interesting individuals...”

“Interesting story, gentlemen, but I’d really need proof, and I can’t see you coming up with that.” The old hippie sat back in his chair long after the five-minute deadline had passed. “Besides, I still haven’t said that I know how to get in touch with Jim or Babs or that I believe they could be connected with this Alliance of yours.”

“I think I have something your son would recognize, even if you wouldn’t, sir,” Brian said. “You give it to him and let him decide if we’re worth the risk. Here’s our number at the motel. And here’s the proof.”

In a move almost as old as firearms themselves, Brian reached into his coat and pulled the laser pistol out. The elder Collier’s eyes started to widen in alarm, but the expression turned to one of wonder when Brian handed the weapon to him butt-first. “That, Mr. Collier, is a working laser pistol. We don’t know how much of a charge it has left, but go ahead and prove it to yourself. Is there anything in this room you’d like to see gone?”

“I’ll go along with the gag. That old doorstop over there.” Collier aimed the gun at a small cast-iron cow beside the door. “Always did hate that thing. Okay, how do you fire it?”

“Just tighten your grip. No recoil. Hope you’re serious about the cow.”

The old man’s expression said, “Yeah, right,” better than words could ever do as he re-sighted on the doorstop. Two seconds later it had changed to one of stunned amazement.

Father Timothy stood up. “Mr. Collier, quite a few people’s destinies are now literally in your hands. I know you don’t want the responsibility, but you have it nonetheless. If you do as we ask, lives will change, and if you don’t do as we ask, other lives will change. We deeply regret laying this at your feet, but if you can believe our story, you’ll see that we had no choice. We’ll wait for a call. But please impress on everyone involved that time is truly critical. If Simon gets moved out of state before someone up there knows he’s here, he could be kept hidden forever. Once he’s proved to be alive, he can be rescued. But first, word needs to reach the Alliance. Thank you for listening, sir. Keep the gun to show to your son, if you see him. Good evening.”

The priest sputtered angrily, “What were you doing with that gun, Brian?”

“What? Don’t be stupid, big brother. Roland gave it to me so we’d have the proof we need. He had Simon, and we needed the gun. Besides, you know I’ve had it ever since they arrested Roland and Simon.”

“You’re right. But with everything going on, I forgot, and it caught me by surprise.”

“Besides,” Brian said, “Roland said to use it this way. You did good to pick up on leaving it there. Now it’s out of our hands, too. If we get caught, nobody gets the technology. That’s another reason he gave it to me. And he was proved right, wasn’t he?”

The priest shrugged. “It would appear that Agent Daniels knew what he was doing.” He leaned over the table and brushed the remains of dinner aside. “But I hate waiting. So, what’s next? If I’m going on telephone duty, I need reading material.”

“No problem, Timmy. I saw a used bookstore about a block down. But if we got Collier convinced, I’m betting you won’t get very far into a book before we’re moving. Tomorrow will have to do, though,” Brian said as he looked at his watch. “No reputable bookstore will be open this late.”

“Come on, Timmy, rise and shine!” Brian walked into the motel room accompanied by several hundred pounds of very bright sunshine and the sound of the door hitting the wall. “I brought a newspaper, and it’s time to go get breakfast.”

“Okay, okay,” groused the priest. “I never was very fond of cheerful early risers when I was growing up, and they’re even more irritating now. How are things going down the street?” he asked, referring to the police station where they’d last seen Simon and Daniels being unloaded.

“So far, there doesn’t seem to be any more traffic than usual... although I wouldn’t know what’s ‘usual’ for a police station.”

The two brothers spent the day taking turns waiting for the phone to ring. Boredom-prevention techniques included watching anemic television, reading, and getting outside the four walls for a while.

The newspaper brought them no closer to answers, of course, but it did leave them with more questions. The smaller headlines of interest to the two brothers varied wildly from stories about FBI agents searching the Metro area for “suspected terrorists,” a pro-Alliance editorial, letters to the editor both pro and con, an article in what was apparently a series by a Ted Kammerman of the Billings Gazette, now being picked up by the Associated Press and United Press International, pointing out the correlation between the large number of missing persons from Denver and surrounding areas and a significant number of missing scientists from back East, and the revelation of some of the names of Alliance personnel, most of whom had ties to the Denver area in one way or another. One article mentioned the U.S. Government probe into the whereabouts of the two “terrorists.” Another quoted a local astronomer saying that there were now five ships in orbit, and another talked about a shuttle launch to the International Space Station that would have the Discovery passing almost directly beneath the five orbiting objects.

It was getting outside that proved most effective for the two brothers. Evening saw Brian walking back into the room after an unusually long absence, and the look on his brother’s face made him ask, “Still no word, huh?”

Timothy shook his head. “Not a word. What took you so long?”

“Oh, I took a walk down to the station to see what was going on. There seems to be a little more traffic than yesterday. All unmarked cars.”

As Timothy looked away from the TV screen, Brian put a finger to his lips in a shushing motion and handed him a much-folded piece of paper. Opening it, he found two things—that the handwriting was very unlike Brian’s and that there was a small hand-drawn map attached to the main note. Glancing at the map, he detached it and set it aside. The body of the note read like something out of a cheap thriller.

“You’re being followed,” the note said. “It’s possible that your room is bugged. Read this note, then destroy it.”

Turning the paper over, he read instructions for a meeting, although with whom was not clearly stated. They were to drive so far north on such and such street, turn right, go so far, turn left, etc. The final destination appeared to be about a mile from the motel. Arrival time was to be 8 p.m., and they were to “make sure the priest drives.”

Timothy got up, went into the bathroom, and before closing the door, made tearing motions at Brian, who just nodded.

“Just some guy!” Brian said defensively when pressed again about where the note had come from. “I was in the bookstore, and he asked me if I was Jeffers and then handed me the note. By the time I knew what it was, he’d gone. And I didn’t know I was going to be quizzed like this!”

“Well, the note was right about one thing—we’re being followed by a beat-up old Ford,” Timothy said. “But whoever wrote that note knows that and still gave directions and a time, so what next?”

“‘Next’ is a right at the next corner and pull over on the right. And the Ford just broke down. See the lights keep dimming? And it’s blocking the street, too.”

Timothy pulled the car up to the curb just outside the circle of light thrown by the corner streetlamp, and as he was shutting the unfamiliar vehicle down, the passenger door opened.

“You guys the Jeffers brothers?” a gruff voice demanded out of the darkness.

“Yes, we are,” Brian answered. “Are you the man we’re supposed to meet?”

“You Brian?” the man demanded.

“Yes, I am,” Brian said testily. “Why?”

“You need to go back to the bookstore and ask for a first edition of An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge by Ambrose Bierce. And I’m just your stand-in.”

“My stand-in for what?”

“For the merry little chase we’re about to lead the Feds on.”

With a dismissive wave of his hand, Timothy said, “That’s not necessary. Their attempt at camouflage backfired. They were in an old Ford and it broke down a little ways back.”

“Shows what you know, Father.” The man slid into the seat vacated by Brian. “That was our car acting as a blocker. Now drive before they get past.”

“I thought we were both going to see Collier,” Timothy said. “I don’t like splitting up like this.”

“Can’t be helped. You both know the same things, according to the colonel, so you and I will make the Feds think what we want them to. You hungry? I know a decent place, and we won’t have to worry about traffic. Turn left at the next light.”

As the sedan moved through the intersection, Timothy saw that the man bore a striking resemblance to Brian and was dressed essentially the same. When he commented on this coincidence to the man sitting beside him, the response was, “The colonel started looking for ringers for you two. He found me first, and we had to move fast to get me in place.”

“Wait a minute here. I’ve got all kinds of questions. Who’s this ‘colonel?’ And how did Brian get the note? Who are you? And... I don’t know.”

“I’ll tell ya what I can over dinner, which is on me, by the way,” the man said conversationally as they trolled through the parking lot toward the restaurant. “Turn in right up here. As for who I am… since I’m supposed to be your brother, call me Brian. Let the rest wait until we get settled.” He stopped long enough in the lobby to make a quick phone call that seemed to consist of just the name of the restaurant. “Now we’ll have another car on us when we leave so we can switch back. So, why don’t you answer a question for me? How is your brother going to get Captain Grimes to believe him?”

“He’s going to ask her a question,” Timothy said. “Something about one of her teachers, I believe. We have no idea what it means. ‘Have you thanked Professor Weston, lately?’ is what we’re supposed to say.”

In a portion of Brian’s life that had surprises thrown at him almost daily, this day looked like it was going to take the award. It had seemed like one continual surprise from the time he’d entered the bookstore until now.

First, the dark and musty bookstore made him think of the proprietor as some wizened little old man with glasses perched on his nose, and what he found at the back of the overflowing maze was a sweet young thing of no more than twenty.

Second, when he asked for a first edition of Ambrose Bierce’s An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge, her eyebrows made a serious attempt to connect with her hairline. He’d never heard of Ambrose Bierce and had no idea why an “occurrence” at a place called Owl Creek Bridge should have any relevance to anything.

Third, she immediately began to lead him farther back into the dark warren of the store. He was momentarily blinded when she stopped in front of and then opened a narrow door between the floor-to-ceiling shelves. The light that enveloped him was florescent and of almost daylight intensity, coming from a thoroughly modern room. Chrome, glass and leather seemed to predominate.

Fourth, she led him into the room and picked up a small disk from among several laying on a side table. Handing the disk to him, she pushed a button on the wristband he hadn’t known she was wearing.

The room fading out around him seemed like some special effect in a movie. And the fading in of a totally new scene—a metal-walled room with a console off to one side manned by a youngish man in a black shirt—also surprised him just a bit. Brian lost track of the surprise numbers as he realized that the black shirt was part of a uniform, and that he’d seen pictures of that same uniform on television.

“Uh, exactly where are we?” he asked the young woman who’d taken his wrist and was pulling him away from a hexagonal spot marked on the floor.

She plucked the disk from his unresponsive hand and said, “We’re aboard the Galileo, sir, and you’re here to see Captain Grimes, aren’t you?”

“Well, y-yes,” he stuttered. “But I didn’t expect...”

The woman laughed. Somehow, Brian felt it wasn’t so much at him as it was at his response, so he didn’t take offense. “I have to get back down. Someone has to run the bookstore. It’s been nice to meet you, sir.” To the man at the console she said, “Could you call an escort for this gentleman, Crewman, and send me back to my original position?”

Brian watched as she walked back into one of the four hexes on the floor and disappeared in a cloud of blue sparks. His eyes were drawn to the ceiling as a faint glow vanished and he noticed four corresponding hexes there. Brian closed his mouth with an almost audible snap and came back to some level of reality when heard the man at the console say, “Sir? Your escort will be here shortly.”

“Uh, thank you, uh...”

“Crewman Jakes, sir.”

“Uh, yes, Crewman Jakes. Can I ask you a question, Crewman?” Brian asked.

“As long as it doesn’t violate security. That’s something they’ve been pushing pretty hard around here lately.”

“How long have you been aboard?”

“About two weeks, sir. I volunteered right after... you know, Camp David.” Brian could hear a capital “v” in the young man’s voice.

“How do you like it here?”

“It’s not what I expected, sir. I mean it is a spaceship and all, but we aren’t doing anything really different yet, you know? I mean we don’t go flying from planet to planet, or meeting aliens, or anything, like in the movies. We’re supposed to leave orbit soon and go build a fourth space dock in the asteroid belt. I’m already learning to be a CP driver. That’s a construction pod. Once a part of a dock has been built here on the Galileo, I get to move it into place and lock it down. Now, that’s cool! I’ve already been outside in one, just to learn how to maneuver, ya know?”

Brian could hear the excitement building in the crewman’s voice as he told of the experience.

They were interrupted by the arrival of another member of the crew entering the room.

“Dr. Jeffers? Would you come with me, please?” Brian noticed a patch on the left shoulder of the newcomer’s uniform that said “Mamba Pilot.” Also in evidence was the laser pistol strapped to the man’s waist. If he hadn’t held one in his hands himself, he never would have known exactly what kind of weapon it was.

“Where are you taking me?” Brian asked

“To see the First Captain, of course. That is what you wanted, isn’t it, sir? Her office is on a different deck.”

Brian followed the crewman down a crowded, metal-walled corridor and up in an elevator, equally crowded. Kinda like a hive, he thought, with all the people running around on unknown missions dressed alike and acting so serious. Or, more like some giant machine going about the business of replicating itself.

The areas he’d passed through so far seemed to be mainly living quarters. So many people! He wondered how they kept from killing each other. His escort finally stopped in front of a door with a brass plaque at one side.

“Fleet Headquarters,” he read. “First Captain Lucy Grimes, Commanding.”

Pressing a button below the plaque, the escort said, “Lt. Commander Trent reporting. I have a visitor for the captain.”

The door slid silently open, and the man gestured for Brian to enter first. The room he walked into was about as ordinary as any secretary’s office could be except for the metal walls and lack of windows.

“Welcome aboard the Galileo, Mr. Jeffers. Please have a seat. You’ll be able to go in momentarily.”

While it seemed that the woman was busily shuffling papers around and making occasional notes, it also seemed he was under her constant scrutiny.

And who can blame ‘em, after what happened to their boss. And here I am, telling ‘em he’s not really dead.

Brian stared around the office. He saw a coffee table covered with magazines—none old he noticed—flowers in vases, all freshly cut, and pictures on the walls. All pretty prosaic, until looking at the pictures more closely. He got up and went over to look at them. He recognized a Mamba in flight from the telecasts, but the backdrop was blackest space with a rock in the near background. An asteroid! he realized. He saw what could only be the Galileo in another picture, and in another, three ships together—the Galileo with two others and Earth in the background. The small brass plaque beneath it read: Galileo, Heinlein and McCaffrey in Earth orbit. All of them appeared to be authentic photographs.

Brian turned around when he heard the secretary speak.

“Follow me, please.” The Asian-looking woman got up and led him into another room. Furnished on the lines of a conference room, it had a long, narrow table capable of seating at least fifteen people with chairs to match, five of which were already filled, and more of the same type of photographs that had been in the secretary’s office.

Somewhat surprised to find five people waiting when he entered the room, Brian hesitated a second.

“Please Dr. Jeffers. Have a seat. I’m Lucy Grimes, and with me today are Captains Kane of the McCaffrey, Miller of the Clarke, and Greene of the Niven. Also present is Commander Walker of our Science Division. You’ve already met Commander Kimura, who’ll be recording this session. I understand you have a most... original story to tell us. Please. Go ahead.”

The group he faced didn’t project optimism so much as a polite willingness to listen to his story. He sat in the chair indicated and reached out, picking up the glass sitting in front of him.

“I don’t know where to start except at what was the beginning for me.” He took a sip from the glass, relieved to find that it was just water, and set it down with deliberate care as he ordered his thoughts. “It was evening on July 28th when my brother called and told me he had a patient filled with bullet holes...”

“Well,” Robert Greene said after Brian finished his story. “That’s quite a tale, Dr. Jeffers. It ties everything up into a nice neat package and even explains the pistol. But it doesn’t convince me that someone like Daniels would go against a lifetime of training and conditioning on such short notice. The dilemma would paralyze most people.”

“I say let’s go for it,” Gayle said excitedly. “It’s just the thing Simon would do! He’s a target, so he can’t travel openly. He can’t get to Europe where Lucy has been. And he can’t openly approach someone in the United States until we can get an embassy open. He knows Brandt and Collier, of course, so naturally he’d go there.”

Stephen looked up from the sheet of notes and doodles he’d been playing with. “Simon was... is... nothing if not daring. And inventive. It’s the correlation between coincidence and Daniels that keeps getting in my way though. There are just too many of them. It was coincidence that he chose that particular time to stow away, and he just happened to have stolen a laser, and just happened to exit the craft right before it was destroyed. He happened to stop to see if Simon was alive and then just happened to find your brother’s mission, Mr. Jeffers. You see where I’m headed with this? Or do I need to continue?”

Marsha spoke into the angry silence that followed. “Stephen, we all know how close you were to Simon. And you, too, Gayle. You were his friend from way before. But, guys, we’ve all seen the videos. I don’t buy this hiding-in-the-smoke nonsense. It’s too convenient. Somebody wants to use these two,” she said, gesturing angrily in Brian’s direction, “as some kind of smokescreen to get next to us. Look, you all saw the video. Kitty blew that shuttle and half of Camp David into their component atoms. And Simon went up with it, along with three others.”

In other times and places, the look on Lucy’s face would have been called the “thousand-yard stare,” and it burned a hole through Brian as she turned in his direction. “Well, I want to thank each of you for your opinions. I hate decisions like this. I swear to God that if Simon were alive, I’d kill him for dumping this on me, but I don’t see any choice.”

Commander Kimura drew all eyes when she stood up and spoke. “I beg your pardon, First Captain, but I think there’s a voice not represented here. Captain Hawke, Kitty, that is, has just as much at stake, even more, than the rest of you. I know how she felt about Agent Daniels and since so much of your decision is based on your opinions of him, you should hear hers. I was there when Captain Kitty met with Agent Daniels during her recovery from her... breakdown after finding the alien ship. After their meeting, she told me he was an honorable man working for the wrong side. She said she felt that he would be the kind of person she could come to like under the right circumstances. And I think saving her husband’s life qualifies, if he truly did save it. I agree that there’s reason for doubting the whole story at present, but there are also reasons to believe that it happened exactly as Dr. Jeffers said. Coincidences do happen. Look at the finding of the Galileo herself. Could Simon, Kitty, and Gayle have come into possession of her without the greatest of coincidences? The coincidences we’re discussing here pale in comparison,” she said, waving a hand in Brian’s direction. “Don’t judge a book by its cover, as an old saying goes. Just because he’s an agent of a government doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a heart or principles. Governments are made up of people, both good and bad. Aren’t we, here, right now, a government of a kind? Are we bad people? Must Agent Daniels be a bad person because he works for a government? For Captain Kitty’s sake, if no other reason, you need to check this out.”

Lucy listened without comment all the while Commander Kimura spoke. A thoughtful look stayed on her face as she asked, “Does anyone have anything else to say?” Heads shook and fingers twiddled until Brian hesitantly lifted his hand. “Yes, Dr. Jeffers?”

“Simon, that is, Captain Hawke, knew this would be the probable reaction. During his... less depressed... moments, we talked. Mostly he did. The man can spin a good yarn, that’s for sure. Anyway, he said that if nobody believed me, as was likely to happen, I was to ask Captain Grimes a question. As I understand it, Simon meant the question to be the key here, not the answer.”

“Well, what’s the question?” Robert asked with exasperation.

Ignoring the taciturn young man sitting almost across from him, Brian looked to the head of the table at the woman who’d said relatively little during the entire meeting. “Captain Grimes, the question is, ‘When was the last time you thanked Professor Weston?’”

A confused look settled onto Lucy’s face, and the newly promoted Captain Greene spoke into the silence. “What the hell kind of question is that? Every one of us who’ve revealed ourselves, and probably quite a few who haven’t, have already been investigated by the government, and I’ll bet they know everything about us down to the brand of diapers we wore.”

Lucy’s eyes twitched left and right as though she were reading a book while her mind processed the question. “Let me think a minute, Robert,” she said as she tried to put two people together from two totally disparate portions of her life. The silence seemed to go on forever, but it couldn’t have been more than thirty seconds before she exclaimed, “Oh... my... God!” A blush started on her cheeks, spread quickly across her face, and down her neck.

At the chorus of startled exclamations that followed her own, Lucy said, “I had to put together how it would be possible for Simon to have known anything at all about Professor Weston. There’s only one instance I can remember that I mentioned his name in Simon’s presence. And as embarrassing moments in my life go, that particular event was one of the most embarrassing. You were there, Robert. As a matter of fact, the whole thing was your fault! You were the one who figured out that we could turn the gravity off on deck eighteen. And do you remember what I said that day, floating in midair along with everyone else?”

Greene shook his head in bafflement. “I remember the day well, as well as the event, but I don’t remember what you said.”

“Of course, you don’t. It wasn’t an embarrassing moment for you. But it was for me, and I still recall the day very vividly. To this day, I don’t know which of Newton’s laws it was, but I do remember that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Which meant, Robert, that I started by taking off my shoes one at a time and throwing them away from me so I would move toward the gravity-control panel. But it wasn’t enough. By the time I reached the panel, I wasn’t dressed for a public viewing unless it was in the centerfold of Playboy, remember?”

“I confess that I don’t remember, Lucy,” Robert said.

“Well, as I said, there are parts I remember very clearly, and I definitely remember this. I said, ‘Thank you, Professor Weston!’ That means, ladies and gentlemen, at least as far as I’m concerned, Simon Hawke is alive!”

CHAPTER NINE

“We ran the prints through NCIC, sir, and it seems that we really do have Agent Daniels in custody in Aurora, Colorado,” the earnest-looking young man said. His short hair and conservatively cut dark suit made him look like he’d been stamped from the same mold as the other man in the room. “And it looks like the man arrested with him is Simon Hawke.”

The man behind the desk had a sleepy look on his face, and Richard Stanton had worked long hours to be able to adopt that look when he needed it. Most people would either underestimate him because of it or think he just wasn’t listening. Either one was a plus in his line of work. “Name sounds familiar. Wait a minute. You don’t mean the guy from the damned Alliance, do you, Agent Wilson? The one who went up with Camp David?

“Yes, sir, I do. It seems he didn’t die after all. I recommend that we get a team out to Colorado and get them both back here where we can keep a close eye on them.”

“Who knows they’re out there?” Stanton asked.

“Well, sir, there are a few, it seems. I would guess all the members of the Aurora Police Department know, since we put out that notice to be on the lookout for Daniels. Then there are the ones here who took the call about their arrest, and the agent who passed the information to me. And of course, you, sir,” Agent Wilson said. “I don’t have a specific number though.”

“Our people here, I’m not worried about. Get word to that police department that they’re to keep this under wraps. It already had a security tag on it, but it has just become a matter of national security, and if one word gets out, people are going to be shoveling shit with their bare hands for life. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir!”

“And we won’t move either of them right now. Get an interrogation team out there to find out what the hell is going on with Daniels. And see what they can sweat out of Hawke while they’re at it. Anything else?”

“Just one other thing, sir. It appears that Hawke is wounded. The arrest report details that he has a severe limp, his wrist in a cast, his arm in a sling, and a scalp wound.”

“That’s consistent with what we’ve been able to piece together from that cluster-fuck Anderson set up at Camp David. And find out who’s been giving him medical attention, too. We have enough traitors in our midst. Get a move on, Agent. Pick your team and be there yesterday. Got it?”

“Yes, sir, Director,” was the only response as he moved through the door.

Once Lucy committed herself to the possibility that Simon was alive, she wasted no time setting up a way to get him back. “And we’ll bring Daniels with him. I want answers, and he seems to be right in the middle of the whole thing.”

An extended interrogation of Brian resulted in finding out, among other things, the true extent of Simon’s injuries.

“So, who did the patch job on Simon?” Robert asked.

“I’ve already told you. I did,” Brian said, exasperation shortening his tone. “I got a call at about eight p.m. on the twenty-eighth. When I got there, I pulled a bullet out of his left thigh, patched his left shoulder—the round missed all major blood vessels, thank God—set his wrist, and cleaned up his scalp wound. I set up antibiotic therapy for the infection that was beginning to set in and helped him get past the shock and back on his feet. I played nursemaid for him all the way out here. And I figured out for myself that he wasn’t who Daniels said he was. It was a military 7.62 mm round that I pulled out of his leg. The only rounds of that kind that had been fired recently had been at Camp David that morning, and that fit in with the look of the wound and the beginnings of the infection. Roland finally told us to keep us quiet. Hell, he had to trust someone.”

Stephen, always invited to any Captain’s Call, asked, “How did those two get picked up and not you two?”

“Simon and Roland concocted the idea to split into two groups, saying that way we had a better chance of getting in touch with you.” He shrugged, hands out, palms up. “Bad luck, I guess. Or good detective work by the bad guys. I don’t know.”

Mustafa Morgan, the Galileo’s newest captain, broke in. “There’s a problem with your story, Mister Jeffers. What doctor in Washington, D.C. makes house calls?”

“I lost my license to practice medicine. I was caught prescribing medications that I shouldn’t have for patients who were terminal. My conscience didn’t have a choice. The Board didn’t either. So, I work for my brother on occasion when the need is desperate. Look,” Brian said finally, “I’ve been straight with you guys. Time will prove me right. My brother walked away from his position with the Church and came along because he’s as much of a visionary as I am. As you people are for that matter. Timothy fancies himself as the first missionary on the Last Frontier. Surely you have people aboard your ships who feel a need for church services?”

“Well, yes,” Gayle answered, looking around the table. “There are unofficial services held that aren’t of any specific faith, led by whoever wants to get up and say a prayer or sing a hymn, but we don’t have anything structured.”

“I get the impression from Simon that you’re short of qualified doctors, too,” Brian said. “And I think we could both contribute a lot if you’d let us.”

“Mr. Jeffers… Doctor,” Lucy corrected herself as she stood up and walked down the length of the table, “I realize that you have questions, too, but now isn’t the time for us to get into long answers. It appears we have a rescue to set up. Please accept my apologies and a rain check for you and your brother to visit after this is over. And you can sign on if you still want to, of course.” Lucy shook Brian’s hand and said, “It’s the least we can do if your information turns out to be good.” She turned to Kimura. “Please see that Doctor Jeffers gets a wristband, Commander. Level five, if you would. And see that he gets back to Earth.” Dismissing him from her mind, Lucy got back to the Captain’s Call.

“She’s not that abrupt, usually,” Kimura apologized as she led her charge down the hall. “She has a lot on her mind of late, and now this. You realize that this is almost as new to us as it is to you? We’ve only been out here for about three years, and she’s been in charge for less than two weeks. Is it any surprise that she should feel overwhelmed?”

“You’re preaching to the choir, Commander. I’ve had a lot of my own preconceived notions challenged a lot more recently than yours. What’s this about a ‘level five wristband?’”

Kimura answered as she led him into a room a short way down the corridor from the briefing room. “It’s a communicator, basically, a very simple one at level five. It will allow us to send a low-level charge through your wrist, a tingle, so to speak, and get your attention. Sit here,” she said, motioning to a chair positioned beside a small box on a table. “Put your hand in here,” she continued as she set a series of controls on the front of the machine. “When you feel the tingle, you’ll press the red button to let us know you’re in a secure location to be beamed up. If you’re not near a secure location, press the blue button. If it’s an Emergency, you’ll get a sharper tingle.”

“Suppose I press the red button without getting a signal?”

“It had better be important. Level five means that you’ll be met by armed security.”

“Trust me, Commander, I don’t want to have to test that statement. But I have another question.”

“Ask me on the way to Transport Control. You can remove your arm now.” The commander inspected the wristband circling Brian’s wrist. “It appears to be in order. Follow me, please.” As she led Brian down the corridor to the elevator, she asked over her shoulder, “What was your question?”

“I see that you folks have set yourselves up on a military basis. I’m not objecting to that, don’t get me wrong,” Brian said sincerely, “but I want to know how you keep all these people in line. I mean, it’s not like you have the authority to punish people. What happens if somebody says, ‘I don’t feel like swabbing the deck today’?”

Kimura was silent as the elevator descended to the transporter level. “Two things keep people in line,” she said as she led him down an identical corridor. “One is the ship itself. I mean, look around you. What would you give to live and work here?”

“I really don’t know,” he retorted. “All I’ve seen are an elevator and a couple of metal-walled corridors. I’ll admit the beam-up effect is a good one, but give me a break, okay? Disney World can do just as good.”

“Point taken,” Kimura conceded. “I’ll make you a promise. When you return, I’ll personally give you a tour of the ship. Another part of the answer is ‘location,’ if this isn’t a ‘special effect,’ of course. Look around you. We’ve spent an enormous effort in the asteroid belt, for Christ’s sake, to build three space docks, and we’re going out to build a fourth as soon as we get this new mess straightened out. It’s not the weightlessness of the International Space Station, but the futuristic artificial gravity of the movies. It’s not a baby step out into the cold, hard universe, but seven-league boots with which we can stride from star to star. The final part of your answer is that anyone who, for whatever reason, doesn’t want to be here can go home. And if they didn’t follow the rules that come down from on high, they’d be banished forever to that tiny, crowded, overheated mud ball down there. Each and every person who signs on knows that up front. Some just don’t sign on, and others find out that we mean business. But those cases are rare. It takes a very adventurous spirit to even contemplate the existence of a group like this one, much less take a chance on coming up here, until recently, that is. Would you take a chance on being kicked out with no chance of returning? I don’t think so, and neither do several thousand others.”

“Do you have the concept of ‘illegal orders’?” Brian said as they approached the door marked Transport Control.

“Of course. I can’t give you an order to kill someone, for example,” Kimura explained. “If I did, the trouble would land on my shoulders. I have a responsibility to you as a ‘superior officer,’ just as you have one to me as a crewman. Here we are. Dr. Jeffers. It’s been a pleasure to meet you,” she said, shaking his hand. “I hope to see you again soon. And I do hope your information about Simon pans out. For Captain Kitty’s sake. For all of us.”

Lucy was only marginally aware of Brian and Kimura leaving the room as she let her mind move onto another level. “We need someone who knows Aurora. Fortunately, a lot of our volunteers come from the Denver area, so we shouldn’t have too much trouble in that department. Get our sensors trained on the police station as soon as we have it positively identified and see if we can locate Simon and Daniels. They would probably be in one of the more secure areas of the building, and for the most part, alone. I expect that sooner or later, FBI agents will arrive to interrogate Daniels if Dr. Jeffers’ story is true, or pin a medal on him if it isn’t. In either event, they’re probably in one of the most secure areas, and I want to be able to snatch Simon and Daniels as soon as possible.

“Marsha, your job is to locate anyone who’s familiar with the Aurora police station. Gayle, downside reconnaissance will be your job since you have the least exposure. Our one exposure in Switzerland shouldn’t get you recognized in street clothes. Stephen, you’re on the technical aspect of things. See what our sensors can make of the interiors of the buildings and the movements of people inside them. Draft whoever you need. Just get results! As soon as Rukia gets back from getting Jeffers home, she, and Lloyd, and I will be returning to Zurich to find out what the Security Council has to say. I also want to know what the Swiss have to say about setting up an embassy. I think we’ll pass on having all three countries in agreement before setting up the first one.

“I’m really looking forward to Simon’s return, assuming he’s alive, of course. I’ll take great pleasure in turning this mess back over to him. In the meantime, remember that the next mission for the Galileo is the building of Taurus Base. That means, ladies and gentlemen, that once we leave orbit, and we will leave soon, we’ll be dependent on our shuttles for space-to-ground support. I’ll probably be transferring my—or more appropriately, Simon’s—flag to Niven. Sorry, Robert. Your ship will be staying in orbit to give weight to our presence here for a while. Once other ships roll off the line, your shuttles will be required to act as ferries to bring the new crews aboard. Once the Galileo finishes her job building Taurus Base, I plan to have her spend most of her time here freeing the Niven up for other duties.

“Specifically, I want the Niven to be one of the first ships to leave Earth space and actually begin to explore the surrounding stars I remember Simon and Kitty talking about in three-ship groups—two cruisers and a carrier. That will be the first thing to come out of Taurus Base if I can convince Simon to do it. Two ships with ten Mambas each and a carrier with forty more would make a pretty formidable taskforce. I think a supply ship would be a good idea as well, so four ships in all for our first foray into interstellar space. Is that a good enough carrot to dangle in front of you to keep you in good spirits, Robert?”

“I’ll say! What kind of timeframe do you have in mind…”

Brian beamed back down into the same room he’d left and saw the same young woman sitting in a chair, reading a book.

“Maybe I’m just not on the right wavelength,” she said, “but this Ambrose Bierce thing is a bit overrated for my taste. What do you think?”

“I’d never heard of him before, so I have no opinion the subject,” Brian responded distractedly. “How do I get back in touch with my brother?”

“In such a hurry! Let me make a phone call.” The young woman punched a number into a cell phone beside her and waited for a few seconds. Without speaking a word, she shut the unit down and said, “Go out front and wait. A blue car will be along to pick you up and deliver you to your brother. I’ll really be glad when all this cloak-and-dagger stuff isn’t necessary anymore, even if it is kind of fun. Stop in sometime when you aren’t looking for anything in particular, Mr. Jeffers.”

“Okay, Brian, give,” Timothy said as Brian slipped into the seat vacated by his impostor. “By the way, we had dinner while you were gone. I didn’t think it would look good if ‘we’ had dinner again, so I brought you this. He handed over a Styrofoam container.

“Well, long story short,” Brian replied, “I got beamed aboard a spaceship. I think it was their Galileo. Neat thing, that. It felt like one long mild electric shock. Anyway, I was led down a long metal-walled corridor, up an elevator, along another corridor, and got interrogated. Then I got returned the same way I arrived. It’s the details that make the story interesting though.”

After relating his part of the adventure, Timothy took a turn. “Mine isn’t nearly so involved. Actually, I did have dinner with a relatively good replica of you. I found out that there are about a thousand people who, for one reason or another, can’t go on active-duty positions at this time. They’ve formed what they call the ‘Terran Alliance Underground,’ and do things like what happened tonight. Your double says they’ve about mined the Denver area out of recruit material, so they’re looking at other cities to recruit from if the embassy idea doesn’t fly.”

Dressed in a conservatively cut three-piece suit, Baron von Schlenker appeared to be the consummate businessman that he, in fact, was. “I only play dress-up for some of our galas, not all of them,” he responded to Lucy’s compliments on his appearance. “My dear wife says that I’ll never grow up. But you did see that she out-dressed any of our guests that night, didn’t you?”

“Yes, Freddie, I did. But don’t you dare tell her I said so. I’d just have to call you a liar to your face. I make it a rule not to upset the woman of the castle,” Lucy quipped as she followed the baron on a tour of the now-furnished building he’d donated to the Alliance. “How did you get this done so fast? Everything was dust, cobwebs, and bare floors four days ago!”

“It helps to live in a country that still believes in royalty and having the word ‘baron’ in front of your name. It also helps to have money and contacts.” The baron waved his hand dismissively. “This was nothing.”

“It still costs money, Freddie, and I don’t know how we’ll repay you, or when,” Lucy said. “As much as we do have, money isn’t one of the things we’re rolling in.”

“I won’t lie to you, Lady Lucille. This did cost a bit but not more than I can afford. Even Margit agreed that the money was well spent.” A glint appeared in the old baron’s eye. “There is a way you can repay us though. Both of us would like to visit your marvelous ship, the Galileo, is it? Then, of course there’s the first year’s rent on the property. I think we agreed on one dollar, yes? That would be in cash, of course, for which you would get a receipt. The estate will foot the bills for the utilities. And don’t think we’ll be getting nothing out of this. The publicity alone will be worth all the expense. At this early stage of the game, who can say where the financial trails may lead? And that doesn’t even begin to include the prestige, and yes, the notoriety, which will accrue just by being associated with you.”

“Notoriety can be a two-edged sword, Freddie. Someone predicted that the flow would reverse after a time. When the governments of the world finally figure out that they can’t bully us into giving out technology we don’t want to part with, they’ll turn mean. Things like illegal arrests and secret interrogations will begin to happen. Star chambers, if you will, and possibly worse. Everybody wants a new weapon to wave in the face of everybody else. Some of the stuff we’ll release can be converted to weapons, but that’s true of a lot of things. A clever person took two sticks and some string and made a weapon that killed at a distance. What do you think clever people can do with matter-conversion technology? Or antigravity? Or some of the more advanced solar technology? Energy storage devices?

“It’s going to be bad enough when people start going out of business because of the new technologies. We want to minimize that by releasing things slowly, but some won’t be able to cope with even that, and it will add to the ranks of unemployed. Children will grow up with the newer technologies, and they’ll be more comfortable than the older generations. Look at what happened when kids got hold of computers. We figure it will take a full generation before everything’s integrated—say twenty-five years, maybe more. But we hope that, before then, we can become an integrated part of Earth society. That way, the whole planet will get the benefit of technology that will take us to the stars as a race rather than individuals.”

The baron led Lucy through a door on the second floor of the building. “This I envision as your secretary’s office,” he said striding across the room. Without pausing, he opened another door. “And here’s what I had in mind for you, my dear Lucy.” With a grand flourish and a bow, he waved her into the spacious office.

“This is...is...” Lucy’s voice trailed off as she took in the scene—huge oak desk, upholstered chair, and an entire wall of glass that gave a view of the Alps that was “to die for.” Several chairs, somewhat less grand, faced the desk, while across the room a grouping of chairs and a couch gave a more informal place to relax, all fitting beautifully around the fireplace found in almost any space this large.

“I thought to put a few pictures on the walls just to liven them up but decided to let you do that for yourself,” the baron said expansively. “I have several paintings that would go nicely in here. Several of the old masters come to mind, but you’d probably like something more in keeping with the, shall we say, futuristic aspect of your Alliance. Allow me to work with an idea that just came to mind. If you don’t like it, you can change it.”

“Agreed,” Lucy answered. “And thank you for what you’ve done so far, which brings up another point I’ve had rolling around in my head. I think we need a lawyer—attorney, barrister, whatever they’re called. Maybe more than one. Someone we can trust to look after Alliance interests on Earth and keep things from getting all balled up. We don’t need to see any revenue from licensing rights or outright sales of technology getting held up in the courts, and someone’s bound to try at some point. It would be better to be prepared for attacks of those kind just as much as overt physical assaults, don’t you think?”

“You are wise beyond your years, Lady Lucille. It would be wise indeed, and I have just the group for you. Incidentally, three of the partners in this group have already approached me for invitations to the next gala in hopes of meeting you. And the fourth! He has threatened to sue me for not inviting him to the last one! Each has children who would do well to get some discipline from some branch of military training, and your Alliance would serve admirably, I think. It certainly wouldn’t hurt to entertain the idea, my dear.”

“I think that’s a remarkable idea, Freddie. There are complications I can’t discuss just yet, but I’d certainly be willing to meet with these gentlemen. And that brings me to another thought. I’ve come to the conclusion that we need somebody to represent us before the Security Council and possibly the world. It’s obvious to me that no one I know of is well enough versed in international matters to handle things without ruffling a lot of feathers. I want you to take on the job for us, and I have no idea how to go about asking except straight out. Will you do it? And speaking of leverage, has your government accepted us using this building as our official embassy?”

“Not yet,” the baron admitted, “but it will surely happen. There’s too much to gain not to. It’s my opinion that my government will wait to see what the Council does. Everything is contingent on that. And I’m honored that you would think of my poor, humble self to represent you. I accept.”

“You see, Freddie,” Lucy said, sinking into the overstuffed chair, “that’s why you’d be perfect for the job. I’ve only known you for a short while, but I would call you neither poor nor humble. You almost made me believe you, though,” she said with a laugh. “Now, how about that visit to the Galileo you asked for? Let me give you the full tour. If you’re going to speak for us, you should know what you’re talking about.”

An hour after sending the baroness back to the castle, Lucy summoned her staff to a Captain’s Call. “Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to present Baron Manfred von Schlenker,” she said as soon as the last person was seated. “He has agreed to be our representative to the United Nations and to assist in acquiring a very prestigious law firm to take any cases that might arise wherein we need a defense. He’s our newest volunteer, so to speak. As such, I believe he needs to know something about how we operate. He no doubt believes that everything we do is exciting...”

Laughter rolled around the table, stopping her for a few seconds.

“But,” she went on, throwing enough emphasis into that one word to silence the room, “I have some serious news. As you know, we’re in communication with two men in the Denver area who help us get our volunteers. They’ve informed me that several of our recruits have been identified and have had their families picked up for ‘questioning.’ Since I made my name and face public, I checked on my folks. They’ve been picked up, too, as have Marsha’s and Jerry’s. My first reaction was disbelief, then anger, and I’m sure everyone affected feels the same. After talking with the baron, I feel that we have several ways to go with our responses. If I have to use world opinion, I surely will. The baron was quick to point out that America wouldn’t like the ‘what goes around, comes around’ approach, as they’ve so often yelled about human rights violations in other countries. Laying it right on their own doorstep would be a bit much to take. Immediately after this meeting, I’ll be getting in touch with Brandon Galway. I imagine an earful to him will get to the president in a hurry. I ask each of you to remain calm and let us try to get the problem resolved. And we won’t be leaving orbit until it is resolved.”

Standing at the head of the table, Lucy unconsciously leaned all of her weight onto her arms, hands splayed out before her. Looking around, she said, “Now to smaller things. First, a job for Rukia. As soon as we are finished here,” she said, turning to her, “get in touch with Victor McCord on Libra. Tell him we need another name for commander of Taurus Base ASAP. Someone willing to go out with us on this trip. I plan to have the Galileo break orbit as soon as we get our little problems solved, and I’d like to have someone he trusts to take charge of the construction phase. Second,” she continued, turning to Robert. “I need to get my offices moved from here to the Niven. Commander Kimura and Lieutenant Ross will assist you in getting that done. I’ll be beaming down to talk to our dear friend Galway about Simon and Daniels. I’ve already started the process to put a bug in the Security Council’s ear about it.”

She went on to explain Baron von Schlenker’s new role in Alliance affairs in more detail. “Next is Galway, and after that, if I have to, I’ll go to our pet reporter and give her the dirt so she can tell the world how our own country is jailing our family members again in an attempt to coerce us.”

“Since you’re going to talk to Galway, Lucy,” Marsha said, “give him a message from me personally, will you? Tell him that pissed off isn’t even close to how I feel right now, and the more I think about it the madder I get! Make sure he understands that!”

Lucy looked at Marsha in sympathy. “I’ll tell him, all right—for you, for myself, and everybody else affected by this stupidity now and in the future. This is exactly what we should have expected, but idealists all, we thought we were past this pettiness. There should be no impact on our families. Especially, not in America, for Christ’s sake and I will make that plain in no uncertain terms!”

It was a fine, clear August morning when Lucy beamed into an alley not far from Union Station. She walked a short distance to a bank of pay phones and dialed Galway’s private number. The phone went unanswered on the third ring, and she was about to hang up when she heard the click of a completed connection. “Galway.”

“Lucy Grimes, here, Mr. Galway. We need to talk.”

“Ever the blunt one, aren’t you, First Captain? I can play that game, too. Name the place and I’ll be there. If it’s urgent, make it someplace close, would you?”

“Just sit tight and give me your address. I have a package I believe you should see. I’m having it delivered to you.”

Giving a suite number in the Department of Labor Building, Galway said, “It’s the best I can do on short notice. I understand I have you to thank for my reactivation.”

“Anything is possible, Mr. Galway. I’ll call back after you receive the package.” She hung up the phone and called another number. “This is Grimes. You can send the package out now.” After giving the messenger service the address she’d gotten from Galway, she was told it would be about an hour before the package reached its destination.

With an hour to kill, Lucy strolled out of the Station and up to the first taxi in line at the stand. “Air and Space Museum,” she said after a short hesitation. As many times as Lucy had been in Washington, D.C., she’d never been to see any of the sights or memorials that dotted the cityscape. This one was of particular interest to her since she’d been aviation crazy from her earliest memories. While other girls had been playing with Barbie dolls, Lucy had models of P-51 Mustangs and lunar landers hanging from her ceiling.

Maybe one day we’ll be in here, too, she thought as the cab pulled up at the entrance.

The hour came and went as Lucy wandered through the exhibits. The Spirit of St. Louis was gazed at in wonder and a Mercury space capsule with awe, while a mockup of the first space station brought chuckles. Finally, she wandered over to the phones and called Galway’s number, amazed that she now knew it by heart.

“Your package arrived two hours ago. I was beginning to think something had happened to you. It’s about time for lunch and I’ve been here since six-thirty. Can I buy you a cup of coffee and a bite?” Galway said.

“Sorry ‘bout that, Mr. Galway. I got wrapped up in some of the exhibits in the museum I’m in. How about I buy? Have you had a chance to look at the package yet?”

“I’ll be happy with any arrangement as long as my stomach quits having this relationship with my backbone. And yes, I have. I’ve seen something like it before. The former president had a similar one, along with a letter in his office some time back, I believe,” Galway said.

“True enough. Bring it with you to the Air and Space Museum. I don’t need to tell you to come alone, do I?”

“No, you don’t, Lucy. Can I call you Lucy? You got me back in the loop. I’m not going to repay that with some kind of double cross. I will say that I’m going to let my boss in on what’s up, though. Without the specifics, like where we’re meeting. If I remember correctly, it wouldn’t do much good anyway, would it?”

“No, it wouldn’t,” Lucy said with a chuckle. “Be prepared for a short trip, though, and this time you won’t need a bag. You’ll be back in time for dinner, I promise. Twenty minutes? Thirty?”

“Twenty should do it, I think,” Galway said.

Lucy stood near the entrance and watched as the taxi pulled up to the curb. When Galway got out, she strode out of the building and stood against the wall with every appearance of nonchalance. As Galway started to enter the building after paying off the cabby, she said quietly, “I forgive you, Mr. Galway. The last time we met I was in uniform. Unfortunately, I have to wear civilian clothes as a disguise.”

“This is an improvement, so ‘unfortunately’ isn’t a word I would choose,” he said appearing only slightly startled. “Black really isn’t your color.”

“But I’ve become used to it after so long. Let’s walk. Do you have the disk with you?”

“Yes,” he said simply, sliding it partway out of his shirt pocket. “What is it?”

“It’s a locator disk. We use it to beam people up who don’t have one of these.” Lucy said as she showed him the wristband that circled her left wrist. “At the moment the one you have is ‘slaved’ to my wristband. If you don’t let go of it, you’ll disappear from here and reappear on the Galileo when I signal for a pickup. Want to go for a ride?”

“As long as we get to have lunch. I’m free until I report back. How does it work?”

“Like so many things aboard the Galileo, we don’t know. As Simon once said, we’re in the position of a caveman in middle ages Europe. We can learn to use the technology and even duplicate it with the help of the ship itself, but much of it we just can’t understand yet. Could that caveman have understood ships and sails and compasses and such? Well, we can’t understand how the computers work because they’re a protein gel, nor can we understand antigravity, artificial gravity, or any number of other things. But we have learned how to use them.”

The older man and young woman made an unlikely pair as they strolled along at a sedate pace. “Do you mind causing a stir, Mr. Galway?” Lucy asked innocently.

“What kind of stir?”

“There are a few people who’d see us as we beam out, and I imagine some of them would find it necessary to report it to someone. Of course, if you’ve explained things to your boss, it won’t go past him, and he’ll have things under control by the time you get back. Wanna live dangerously?”

“What the hell. I’ve been out of the field for quite a while now. Let’s do it. How about getting back?”

“The disk is also a tracking device. When you said you had it in your office, we used it to get a lock. Now we can send you straight back there. No fuss, no muss. Good enough?”

“Sneaky. Deal. Let’s do it.”

“And a sense of adventure, too. I like men like that. Stand still. It’s easier that way.” Lucy pressed the button on her wristband, and three people walking toward them stopped in amazement as the two people vanished in clouds of blue sparks.

“Welcome aboard the Galileo, Mr. Galway. I’ll take responsibility for the visitor, Lieutenant,” she said to the woman standing at the transport console. “You said something about lunch. Shall we?” She led him out the door and down a corridor brimming with people. Finally reaching the elevator, she said, “We’ll eat in the officer’s mess on level three, I think. Then a tour of the ship. In between times I have some things I need to talk to you about, things you probably need to bring to your boss’s attention. At least let him know that we know.”

“Like what?”

“Like, for instance, we know that Simon Hawke is alive and in custody. We want him back immediately, of course.”

“What?” Galway yelped. Lucy was glad they were alone in an elevator. “That’s not possible. We have footage from three different angles. They all show him being shot, damn it all. I wish I could change that, but it’s true. Somebody’s blowing smoke up your... skirts,” he finished lamely.

“We have good intelligence that he’s alive and in detention in Aurora, Colorado, along with Agent Daniels of the FBI. Remember him? We want them freed and returned to us.”

“If it’s true, and I’m not about to admit that it is at this point, I can’t guarantee that we can give you Daniels. Why do you want him anyway?”

“He has questions to answer in the matter of three of our members,” Lucy stated unequivocally, “and he will be turned over to us one way or another. I promise not to let him get hurt, Mr. Galway.”

The elevator doors opened, and Lucy led him down another corridor. This one was wider, but still just as busy, it seemed. Shocked as he was at the news, Galway couldn’t help but stare at everything they passed. After three years of hearing about the ship that had taken on a near-mythic quality among the intelligence community, he was walking her decks. “So where are we going, First Captain?” he asked, trying to hide his eagerness with formality.

“You know, I really don’t like that title. Most people around here just call me Captain anyway. But you can call me Lucy for any informal occasion. Besides, if Simon is alive, I’ll be going back to captain sooner or later.”

“I’d like that, Lucy. And you can call me Brandon.”

“Okay, Brandon, I will. As for your question, I thought to show you some of the Galileo in hopes of catching you off guard and giving away something I could use to get Simon free. You’re either way too good at what you do, or you really are as surprised as you act. Either way, I lose. For now. Here we are, officer’s mess.”

Lucy and Galway walked onto the bridge following a leisurely lunch and interrupted a discussion between Robert Greene and Mustafa Morgan, the Galileo’s Captain. “Hello, Robert, ‘Stafa. I thought I’d chaperon our guest through a short tour of the ship. Brandon Galway, meet Captains Robert Greene of the Niven and Mustafa Morgan of the Galileo. Mr. Galway is associated with the Office of the President and could be a great help if we don’t alienate him, so let’s play nice, okay? So what did we interrupt?”

“I was just filling Captain Morgan in on your transfer to the Niven, Captain,” Robert said. “He was of the opinion that there wasn’t enough space for your suite until I explained the restructuring.”

“You could enlighten me, too, Robert,” Lucy said, sitting down at the navigator’s station. “I’ve heard about it but haven’t been filled in on all the details. That’s what happens when someone takes over without a full briefing. So much gets lost that the replacement has to work with incomplete data. I’m going to make sure that never happens again, trust me. Once Simon is back in charge, he’s going to keep his successor up to date if I have anything to say about it. Have a seat, Mr. Galway.” Lucy waved her hand at the station next to hers. “Don’t worry. All controls are offline when we’re at standby.”

“I was just explaining that the ceilings have been lowered,” Robert said, uneasy in the presence of Galway, “which gives us an entire extra deck that the Heinlein and the McCaffrey don’t have, so there won’t be any trouble fitting your staff into place. As it stands, we have you just about completely moved out of the Galileo already. Actually, there will be even more room than you have now, ma’am. And there are other... modifications that I’ll brief you on later.” He shot a meaningful look in Galway’s direction. “As an extra bonus, Captain Gardner sent along a special gift. It seems that he anticipated the loss of the transporter when the Galileo is off building Taurus Base, so he sent you a redesigned shuttle. Its crew complement is four and has been specifically designed for passenger service. It seats one hundred and twenty, so it won’t take too many trips to get a crew of new arrivals aboard, once we can land openly, that is.”

“That was very thoughtful of him,” Lucy said, pointedly ignoring the sarcasm. I’ll have to send him a thank-you note. Who’s going that way next?”

“I think Marsha is, ma’am. She’s supposed to stop at Vesta and see what progress the machines we left behind have made. It should be almost completely hollow by now, we think.”

“Wait a minute!” Galway groused. “I know a little bit about our solar system. I have to now, thanks to you folks. And I know that Vesta is one of the biggest asteroids in the belt. Are you saying that you’ve hollowed it out? What on Earth...what the hell for?”

“Why, Brandon, we need a space station, too,” Lucy said coyly. “And since we operate at a greater distance from Earth than NASA’s astronauts, we need a base farther out. It seemed perfect, except that it was solid rock, so we set some machines to hollowing it out a year or so back. The Galileo will probably go there and outfit it before returning to Earth orbit permanently.”

“Why would she come to Earth orbit permanently?”

“Once the major construction jobs are done, what do you think we should do with her, Mr. Galway?” Captain Morgan asked. “We thought to use her as a staging area for the new ships being built. And training areas, of course. Volunteers can beam aboard and train for however long it takes before being transferred to a new ship. It will work for personnel transfers, too. People getting tired of space or just wanting a vacation need to be replaced. Consider it a waystation between Earth and the rest of the galaxy.”

“Captains, I’m sure you have a lot more to discuss. I’ll take Mr. Galway on the rest of his tour and then send him home. What corner of the Niven do you have me tucked into, Robert?” Lucy asked, standing up and effectively ending the conversation.

“Just beam into the reception area, ma’am. Your Lieutenant Ross will be a comm call away.”

The three men got through the ritual of handshakes and unmeant pleasantries, and Lucy led Galway off the bridge.

“Well! I’m glad to be out of that testosterone storm. First, how about a visit to the flight deck? I believe we have a Mamba or two for you to see.”

Lucy stood with Galway in Transport Control after sending the technician out and said, “I have one other thing to bring to your attention, Brandon. We know that some of our relatives are being detained for no other reason than that they are related to us. Mine are among them, and so are two of my captains’, and it’s all I can do to keep a lid on the... level of emotional stability around here. If this situation doesn’t rectify itself immediately, I will not be responsible for the consequences. I don’t want to bandy around the word ‘mutiny,’ but I can’t be everywhere at once, know what I mean? You tell that to your bosses, Brandon, and make sure they get the full impact of what it could mean to push us. Remember Lake Burgess? Now, none of us are angry at you, personally. Just don’t let us find out that you had anything to do with this one!” Leaving the threat hanging, she called the technician back in to send Galway down to Earth.

As soon as Galway disappeared, she beamed over to the Niven, commed her aide, Lt. Diana Ross, and walked around the reception area while she waited.

“Welcome aboard the Niven, Captain.”

She turned toward the speaker. Diana Ross, half of a pair of twins, had been appointed her aide when she was first promoted to First Captain. The young lieutenant, along with Commander Kimura, worked hard to keep her boss from having to deal with the minutia that would take her mind away from the necessary work of keeping the dream of the Alliance on track.

“Thank you, Diana,” Lucy said to the flame-haired woman. “I understand you know where our quarters are.”

“Yes, ma’am. Follow me. And you have a communiqué from Commander Pike in Zurich. It’s marked ‘urgent.’”

“No rest for the wicked,” Lucy sighed. “But I haven’t had time to be wicked, so I don’t know why fate is landing so hard on me.”

The grumbling was good-natured, but Lieutenant Ross knew the sentiment behind it was no less valid for all that.

Lucy strode through the door marked with the now-familiar plaque beside it and couldn’t repress the shudder she felt every time she read it. Turning her attention away from her own discomfiture, she looked around the room. A desk to one side was occupied by Commander Kimura, who stood guard over the doorway to her private office. There were chairs lined up along the opposite wall, fronted by a low table that was covered in the magazine effluvia that always occupied level spaces in waiting rooms. There were pictures on the walls, and a waist-high pedestal holding a single, head-sized rock in one corner caught her eye.

“It looks good, Rukia,” she said to the woman behind the desk. “Takes talent to do this on such short notice. Diana, take the rest of the day off, and Rukia, you will too, as soon as you bring me up to speed on the rest of my day. And why do we have a rock on a pedestal in the waiting room?”

Her secretary blushed. “I, uh, found it among your personal possessions when we moved you over here, Captain, and I remembered something you said about the first thing you retrieved when you started flying missions during the construction of Libra. I thought it fitting to have it in the anteroom. If I’m out of line, ma’am...”

“No, you’re not, Rukia,” Lucy hastened to reassure her. “I’d actually forgot about that thing. It does fit.”

Kimura relaxed slightly. “Thank you, ma’am. And if you don’t mind, both Diana and I would like to stick around.”

“But I do mind, Commander,” Lucy shot back. “If as you say, I only have one appointment today, I think I can handle it myself. And if you haven’t noticed, I have only one secretary and one aide. I hereby declare August 9th to be the First Interstellar Aides and Secretaries Day, so you can’t be here. Out!”

Lucy stood there, trying her damnedest to look imposing, and pointed at the door. Only after the door had closed on the two young women did she drop her arm and walk into her office. Huh! She thought. I wish everything went that smoothly.

She opened the door to her office and looked around at the bare walls and desk heaped with papers. I don’t think people will ever get away from the need for keeping records on paper. Look at how much paper gets used in a “computerized” office downside.

Lucy sat down in the chair and picked up the paper that lay centered in the small, bare space directly in front of the chair. “To: First Captain Grimes, Niven. From: Commander Lloyd Pike, Zurich,” she read. “After returning from a Security Council meeting, Baron von Schlenker requests the pleasure of your company at his castle. He has left transportation standing by for your use. Come soonest.”

Shaking her head, Lucy beamed over to the Galileo. “Send me to the Zurich coordinates, would you, Ensign?” Lucy asked the technician on duty. She beamed into the hotel suite and was immediately met by Crewman Wilson, one of the two men assigned as gopher and guard for her Zurich staff members. “Where is Commander Pike, Crewman?” she demanded.

“Uh, he’s asleep, ma’am. It’s the middle of the night here.”

“Oh.” Chagrined by her oversight, Lucy said, “Ask him to contact me as soon as he’s up and ready for business.” The man nodded, and before he could answer verbally, she beamed out.

Roland Daniels occupied one of ten cells set in two rows at the back of the third floor of the Jefferson County Sheriff’s Office in Aurora, Colorado. Simon occupied one of the four-foot-wide, seven-foot-deep cells in the opposite row. By common consent, neither man had spoken to the other since their arrest—Simon because he wasn’t sure what to say and Daniels because he was pretty sure anything they said would be recorded.

Daniels watched the potbellied, cherub-faced deputy with interest as he walked down the center of the corridor between the two rows of cells. Up until then, the only time a deputy had walked down this particular aisle, he’d been pushing a cart containing meals. So far, three such trips had been made.

This time the deputy stopped in front of Daniels’ cell and said, “Turn around. Back up to the bars.”

Daniels was eager to find out what was next on the agenda but unwilling to let anyone know about that eagerness, so he feigned apprehension as he complied with the deputy’s command. “Don’t get bent all out of shape there, Mr. FBI man,” the deputy said sarcastically. “I’m just taking you to see some friends of yours. And don’t try anything funny. You’ve got three steel doors and several of my friends to get through. I don’t think even you can do that right now.”

Daniels was pushed through the door at the end of the hallway where he found three more uniformed men waiting for him. Equipped with leg shackles and waist chains, two of them wasted no time getting him trussed while the third kept a pistol trained on him at all times.

Eagerness to get to the next phase of what awaited him couldn’t completely banish his qualms at being on the other side of the handcuff key for the first time in his life, and Roland Daniels felt the full weight of the chains as he was led into the quintessential interrogation room—steel door with tiny, barred window, grey walls, floor and ceiling, grey metal chairs, grey metal table and one-way mirror. The deputies pushed him into one of the chairs and chained him to it while cherub-face left. The next five minutes dragged on interminably, but finally Cherub-face returned leading two men.

Daniels took one look at the three-piece suits and said, “Well, it took you long enough. I would have thought you’d have been a little more anxious to talk to me. So, who are you guys with?”

The older of the two men looked at the deputies and said, “Out.”

Cherub-face replied, “Sir! Our orders are to keep this prisoner under surveillance as long as he is out of his cell.”

In a voice that would do a drill sergeant proud, the older man said, “There’s only one door in or out of this room, deputy. And unless you have an ultra-top-secret security clearance, you will guard him from the other side of the door! This matter is classified so secret that if you were to find out what’s going on, we’d have to kill you, do you understand?”

Cherub-face stammered his understanding and led his fellow deputies out of the room, leaving the three men alone. “Oh, and deputy, don’t even try to use the surveillance room,” the man said, referring to the darkened room behind the mirrored wall. “One of our people is there now.”

When the door closed behind the four deputies, the younger man said, “Can you believe these rubes? Thinking they can barge into things that don’t concern them?”

“Lighten up on the deputy, will you?” Daniels demanded. “After all, they did capture me and Hawke. All you guys did was put out a bulletin.” He couldn’t resist the barb even though he knew it would cost him.

“Listen, Agent Daniels, I’m going to extend professional courtesy to you, one government agent to another, okay?” the younger suit said. “We know you spent almost a year aboard their main ship, and we need to know what you know.” He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, flipped one out with a practiced hand, and offered it to Daniels

Shaking his head in refusal, Daniels said, “No, thanks. Nasty habit. So, you’re the good cop. Let’s just skip the pleasantries. What do you want to know? What kind of weapons they have? I don’t know, beyond their antimatter torpedoes, and those are pretty good, don’t you think? They have a very effective method of keeping prying eyes out of secure locations. How many are there? Several thousand, at the very least, and growing daily. What are their goals? So far, I think they’ve laid all their cards on the table. Do you have any reason to doubt them? Other than your innate paranoia, that is.”

Older suit spoke up. “You realize that you’re in violation of your oath of allegiance to your government, don’t you? We can hold you until you’re old and grey, and no one will ever know.”

“Okay, so you’re the bad cop. Haven’t you guys figured out that I don’t have anything to tell you?”

“Give it a rest, Agent,” the younger man said, “we’re not the bad guys here. You and your friend upstairs are. There’s a serious situation here, and we need to resolve it. We have to know what they’re capable of and what they’ll do. An unknown group as powerful as these people must be evaluated in the context of global politics. There are too many variables, and we need to get a handle on them. You were sent there for that specific purpose. Of course, we realize you were requested by Hawke. What we’d like to know is just what, exactly, did you do to impress them that much?”

“Impress them?” Daniels laughed at the younger agent. “Sometimes pissing someone off can get you the same results. It’s the in-between that can get you killed.”

“Is that a threat?”

“No. Just an observation made from many years in the business.”

“You were supposed to report in when you got back, Agent Daniels,” the older man stated. “We had no way of knowing when you’d show up, but then we find your fingerprints on a stolen vehicle in the D.C. Metro area. Imagine our surprise! Your superiors and mine have been waiting very impatiently for the information you have, and you decide to disappear? Not an option, Agent,” he said leaning over the seated prisoner. “We have complete access to your files. You were the first FBI agent in the western United States to be liaison to an ALERT team, the first agent to get close to one of the principals in the situation, and the first agent to get aboard one of their vessels. And you were supposed to report your findings to your superiors in Washington. Then you don’t report in. Of course, we put a bulletin out on you! So, what are you going to tell us that will help to get you out of the shit pile you’ve fallen into?”

Daniels smiled. “You’ve just given yourselves away. DIA, right? Has to be, actually. They’re the only ones outside the few FBI agents acting as liaison to local law enforcement that know about the ALERT teams.”

Daniels and the two agents were alluding to the several teams of experts who’d been put together and kept as special units since the crash of an alleged unidentified craft in the New Mexico desert in the late forties. The acronym stood for “Alien Landing, Emergency Response, Tactical,” and the teams were scattered around the United States and the world to be able to respond at a moment’s notice to any alien incursion into U.S. Airspace or to try to recover alien technology. The purported objective of these teams was the capture of an intact ship for study, and Daniels was not only a sidewise member of one of these teams, but he’d been aboard one of the ships. The powers-that-be couldn’t let him slip out of their grasp, and they couldn’t let him keep his knowledge to himself. From his lofty vantage point of a dozen years’ service in the FBI, Daniels knew what was ahead. Not from personal experience, but from rumor. “Just remember, guys, I’ve had the same training as you have at resisting interrogation. Anything you get from me will be highly suspect and unreliable.”

“We’ll keep that in mind, Agent, but we’ll go ahead just the same.” The older man spoke with finality. He walked over to the door and banged on it. When cherub-face opened the door, he said, “Take him back to his cell. We’ll arrange transport for him and his accomplice. You are to keep quiet about what’s going on in here, understand? Not one word to anybody, or you’ll live to regret it, deputy.” Turning to his partner, he said, “Let’s go. Time to report in.”

Baron Manfred von Schlenker stood on the battlements of a castle that had once hosted Hannibal on his trek across the Alps. For four and a half centuries, the castle had been the main western protection for the town, and later city of Zurich. Now, the many-times modified bastion guarded only one man’s wealth and position in the rarefied world of sociopolitical, jet-setting movers and shakers.

The baron leaned against a crenellation that had once protected the castle’s archers from invaders below and now graced the three-by-five postcards in the gift shop open on the first floor from nine to five, five days a week. Deplorable as that was, the baron decided long ago that if tourists were going to show up on his property anyway, he might as well make something out of the situation. Now the grounds were littered with signs directing tourists to the tours, (three daily at nine, noon, and three), dungeons (mostly fake), and the gift shop (filled entirely with cheap souvenirs).

Easily accessible from only one side, the castle looked down on the intersection of two valleys. The other three sides provided, he believed, the most spectacular views of the Alps and Alpine valleys in all of Switzerland. It also provided a view of the land he’d “rented” to the Terran Alliance.

Gazing down at the complex in the heavily forested valley below, he replayed the day’s events in his mind. Seemingly unaware of the lengthening shadows that swallowed first the lowest depths of the valley below and then the upper reaches of the hills, he didn’t move until the sun turned the snow-capped peaks carmine with its final rays.

The old man groaned as he stood erect, feeling every one of his seventy-two years. Every year the Alpine cold seemed to settle deeper into his bones, and this August night promised more of the same. He slowly moved back into the recesses of the castle and down to the library, mercifully warmed by the modern heating system situated on the other side of the wall and hidden in the labyrinthine bowels of a false dungeon. The disparity often amused the old man but never more so than on that night.

Labeled as a hopeless progressive by even his closest friends, he enjoyed the anachronistic picture he presented to the world by residing in the family castle while capitalizing on its image. The heating system was just one of the innovations he’d introduced. Modern lighting and electricity-generating systems, as well as shortwave radios to keep in touch with the world in the event of necessity, alarms, and intercoms were either well hidden or displayed surreptitiously, as was the fluorescent lighting.

Tonight, he smiled slightly as his mind calculated possible futures and poured a brandy for himself and another for the woman sitting in front of the fire. “Margit, love, I feel my time upon me,” he said as he slowly settled into his favorite chair.

“Hush, husband. You’re not ready for the midden yet. You have many years yet to irritate me.”

“I don’t mean tonight, woman, but don’t be surprised if it should happen. I saw the count today.”

Long thought to be haunted, the castle had a reputation for being home to Count Ludwig von Strassenweg, hung by the troops of Hannibal on their march. Refusing the immense army passage across his lands, the troops simply wrapped a chain around his neck and lowered him over the walls for all to see. Not surprisingly, they had no trouble gaining passage across lands not their own for quite some time after that. Now, his spirit wandered the halls and was seen by one person or another from time to time. Local folklore had it that if one were to see the count three times, their death was upon them. This sighting was the baron’s second encounter with the shade.

Used to her husband’s moods, Margit sat quietly, waiting for Manfred to speak what was on his mind. The brandy would loosen his tongue in time.

Setting the snifter down on the table between the two chairs, the baron picked up a small round disk that lay next to his humidor of Cuban cigars. Machined to an exact circle with a dime-sized button on top, the burnished metal of the disk shone faintly in the firelight. The baron turned the device over in his hands and said, “The Security Council found in favor of the Alliance today.”

When he didn’t go on, Margit resorted to prompting. “And...”

“They have drafted a resolution declaring the Terran Alliance to be an ‘independent power’ and referred the matter on to the World Court, saying that the matter is now one of acceptance by each individual government. They also said that the Alliance has shown ‘admirable restraint’ in the wake of the incident at Camp David. In the matter of whether Simon Hawke is alive or not, an inquiry has been sent to the U.S. State Department requesting any and all information in the matter. I believe that’s the first time in history that such a body has made a demand of this nature of the United States concerning one of their own citizens. I look forward to seeing their reaction since they’ve so often done the same to others. The Chinese, in particular, will have a field day with this.”

The grey-haired woman took a sip from the snifter she’d been warming between her hands, first inhaling the aroma deep into her lungs, then exhaling completely before allowing the burgundy liquid to pass her lips. After this little steadying ceremony, she asked, “And this affects us how?”

“Both the Japanese government and our own have formally notified the Alliance of their intentions to allow embassies on their soil. Note the word ‘embassies.’ Ours has agreed to my suggestion to rent part of our property to them. Restrictions will be imposed on the number of travelers at any one time, and they’ll have to have appropriate lodging and such things as that. Details only. Things for politicians to wrangle over. All in all, though, it’s what the Americans would call a ‘done deal.’”

“And how is it that you’re in possession of all this information at such an early date in the proceedings, husband?”

“Why, you have the honor of being in the presence of the official spokesman for the Terran Alliance, a position I took after the last visit from the delightful Captain Grimes.” The Baron smiled at his wife. “You know how I like to be at the center of things, which is why I say that I feel that my time is coming on. I’ve long believed that the future holds more good than ill, and for most of my life, I’ve been able to envision that future. Now, though, a future I never imagined has landed in our laps with considerable force, and I can no longer see what’s ahead. Too large a leap, now, for me to envision.” A wry smile passed over his face. “And I will never know the fullness of what help I create. Do you see where my thoughts wander, love? And why I say my time is coming?”

“I do, my love. And I tell you now that you may not see the fullness, but you’ll surely help an infant through its first growing pains and be the happier for it when you see the count for the third time.”

“Indeed,” the old man said. “Indeed.”

“I do hope Captain Grimes has the strength for what lies ahead of her.” Margit looked at her husband. “Have you warned her about the future?”

“Of course not,” the baron said, snorting. “Sometimes the best way to shape events is to do nothing. Do you think the girl would go ahead with this idea of a ‘Terran Alliance’ if she knew the trouble that lies ahead? I think not. I think she’d hesitate, as would almost every person on the planet. Which is where one of the biggest mistakes lies. But she has one thing in common with all those people—she’ll try her damnedest to bear up under the burden once it’s been shouldered. The human spirit at its best, my dear. The willingness to carry forward with all of one’s strength as long as there’s a worthwhile goal in sight.”

The companionable silence of almost fifty years of marriage settled on the darkening library, and the warm glow from the fireplace finally gave way to errant embers chasing themselves among the cooling ashes.

“Why do you not tell them tonight, Manfred? Surely Captain Grimes is anxious to find out the results.”

“Tomorrow is soon enough. Let’s enjoy the knowledge that our actions have helped change the destiny of a world. Tonight is the last night of an era. Gloat, my dear. Even Hannibal didn’t have the effect on the world that we’ll have. We won’t even get a footnote in the history books, but we’ll know, and that’s enough, I think.”

CHAPTER TEN

Still stunned by the sight that had awaited her when she beamed into the hotel in Zurich, Lucy paced the length of her office while she waited for the baron to arrive. The sheer volume of people camped outside the hotel entrance was overwhelming, though not as many as had been at the airport. There wasn’t enough room in the streets for that, but the police had retreated into the lobby of the ancient stone structure, managing to keep out all but the most persistent reporters. Those few who were resourceful enough to get past the first line of defense were carted off to jail. The Commissioner of Police had said that since the jail wasn’t big enough to hold all the influx, only the worst were being held, more as a deterrent to others than any real hope of stemming the tide of humanity that had descended on his town.

Even through the double-paned glass and stone walls, Lucy heard the murmur of the crowd as they hoped to get a glimpse of... anything.

“Don’t go out on the balcony,” Commander Pike warned. “Even if you had anything to say to them, you’d never be heard over the noise.”

Lucy stared down at the sight. Interspersed throughout the crowd were dozens of camera crews—some filming the building, some the crowd, and some just waiting. Also visible were signs and banners both accepting and condemning the Alliance. “Welcome to Earth,” read one sign, ignoring the fact that the Alliance personnel were from Earth. “Return from whence you came,” was another, ignoring the same fact.

Heart pounding and face drained of blood, Lucy flopped into a chair. “What have I gotten myself into? I can’t face all those people!”

Lloyd Pike peeked around a curtain edge. “You don’t have to face all those people, Captain. That’s what you have staff for. And even we don’t have to face all of them. Some reporters will be satisfied to get a statement from anyone in uniform. We’ll set up a press conference for them. The rest will be refused admittance. Most of those will shake out into a few categories—volunteer candidates, glad-handers, and denouncers. We’ll have the embassy handle those, but we do need to find people to fill those positions. The embassies will operate as public relations, as well as screening out most of the troublemakers. And we can hand out daily press releases to anyone -interested.”

Lucy had only a few minutes for reflection before Commander Kimura stuck her head into the room. “Captain, the baron and baroness have arrived and are on the way up.”

The announcement eased some of the tension in Lucy’s neck and shoulders. “Show them right in, please.” Shock after shock to a person’s system could cause premature aging, and Lucy felt like she was a hundred years old as she hauled herself up out of her chair. “Diana, bring another setting for the baroness, please,” she said and busied herself moving a few items around on her desk until she heard the outer door open.

A murmur of voices preceded the trio into the room. “Simon will be pleased, Baron,” Lucy said, smiling broadly. “I truly think he will. Please sit down. Coffee?” When both guests nodded their assent, she motioned for Diana to serve.

Thirteen days had passed since the “Debacle at Camp David,” as the news was now calling it. And the fact that so many had died was still causing Lucy grief—the four from the Alliance, three if Simon really was alive, and the dozens from the U.S. military, not to mention the civilian representatives of various nations on hand to meet Simon. And of course, the vice-president. And yet, almost all the things Simon and Kitty had worked for were coming to pass. It was the speed that was dizzying.

These thoughts chased the smile from her face, and the baroness noticed. “What causes you such discomfort, Lady Lucille? You’ve won much this day, I think.”

Lucy looked down into her coffee and swirled the liquid around. “It’s the cost, Your Grace. So many died when it wasn’t necessary.”

“Who says it wasn’t necessary, Captain?” The older woman leaned forward and carefully placed the coffee cup on the table between them. “I’m not trying to belittle any of the people who died on either side that day, Captain. Each person was important to someone. But at times like these it sometimes takes a... galvanizing action to get Joe Common off his couch and away from his comforts. Manfred and I have seen two such events in the recent past. First was the ship being found, and the second was that most unfortunate event at Camp David. Both of those events are tied directly to you, Captain, and unfortunately, that makes you a focus. Now, things are going to start happening around you.”

“I hope you mean the Terran Alliance when you say ‘you,’ Your Grace,” Lucy protested. “Because when Simon comes back aboard...”

“Stop right there!” The baroness seemed to puff up to twice her not inconsiderable size. “First, we will dispense with the ‘Your Grace’ nonsense. You call my husband Freddie, and you can call me Maggie. And I’ll call you Lucy, in informal settings of course.”

“Second,” interrupted the baron, “is the fact that it was you who spoke to the ambassadors from several nations in my library just four days ago. And it was you who stood before a special session of the United Nations Security Council just two days before that. Your face is the one being shown on television and magazines.”

“Magazines!” The blood drained from Lucy’s face for the second time in one morning. Had she not already been sitting, she would have fallen down. “What magazines?” The same feeling settled into the pit of her stomach that had been there the day she’d learned of the loss of Simon and Kitty, and the fact that she recognized the feeling as fear didn’t help.

The baron handed her two publications, and her face leapt out at her from the glossy cover of Time. Obviously a still taken from one of her transmissions, it was undeniably her. The other was a different matter entirely. She stared in horror at the cover of a supermarket tabloid, seeing herself in front of a fanciful spaceship with a headline that read, “Space Aliens Arrive to Eat Your Young!”

“The world now perceives you as the head of this organization, Lucy,” the baron said gently, “for good or ill. I remember the pictures of Simon getting off that shuttle, shown so many times. Mostly, though, for me, and I’m sure most of humanity, his face—his persona if you will—has been overshadowed by the carnage that followed. I’m afraid he’ll become associated with those images, and he’ll forever be scarred by the stigma of being ‘that poor guy,’ or some such equally unflattering thought.

“You, on the other hand,” he continued, “have appeared as the voice of reason, not to mention having renewed promises to the world about the dispensation of your technology. Did you know that the food processors that were first shown and then given away have become indispensable in most third-world countries already? Any place there’s a natural disaster, the processors arrive and fresh food and water appear as if by magic, thanks to the largess of the Terran Alliance. Whether you know it or not, you’ve already saved many more lives than were lost at Camp David, and one day the world will remember. I’m afraid that, to all intents and purposes, you are the head of your Alliance, Lucy, with all the good and ill that goes with it.”

Lucy’s mouth moved but no sound came out. Commander Kimura managed to look unimpressed. Lieutenant Ross and the baron grinned as the turn of events made itself clear to Lucy.

The baroness looked concerned. “Are you going to be all right, my dear?”

Lucy finally got enough air into her lungs to spare for talking. “I... I think so. This can’t be real. What will Simon think? Freddie, Your Gr... Maggie, I’m sorry, but I need to think... I think.” Her voice trailed off. “Commander, uh, Kimura will see that you get home. If you’ll forgive me?”

Before leaving, the baron placed the two magazines on Lucy’s desk, and she quickly forgot about them as her mind turned over the possible futures. Behind her, Lieutenant Ross’s face was split by a grin that, fortunately, Lucy never saw.

Director Stanton heard the frustration in his agent’s voice.

“Sir, we can’t keep this quiet forever. Too many people already know, and it will leak, sooner rather than later. We need to get these two back to a secure location.”

Ever mindful of his own years as a field operative, Richard Stanton chose his words with care. “I appreciate the input from someone on the scene, Agent Wilson, but we’ve come under a certain amount of... pressure here. Somehow, the State Department has become aware of your packages, one in particular. It’s imperative that they be delivered without undue attention. Therefore, you will keep them under wraps until further notice. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” The answer was squeezed out from between thinned lips as Agent Wilson’s white-knuckled hand threatened to crush the handset.

“You have the resources of an entire ALERT team at your disposal, Agent. Use them. Find a safe house if you think that’s what’s necessary. All you need to do is stay low-profile for a few days. Get me a number and I’ll call you as soon as I can.”

“It’s been two days!” Gayle yelled. “Don’t we have anything to go on?”

“Yes, we do, Gayle, so settle down a bit.”

The four Firsters and the first group of about forty second-wavers had become the cadre around which all else was being built. As two members of that group, Gayle and Lucy had grown close over the past few years, close enough that Lucy recognized the frustration flowing out of the diminutive woman. Gayle finally quit pacing and sat down in a chair while Lucy perched on the arm of another opposite her distraught friend.

“I told you we found out we have an ‘in’ with the Aurora PD—a young patrolman. Apparently, he’s been to a couple of Brandt and Collier’s meetings but didn’t get recruited out of sheer bad luck. Or, in this case, good luck. He actually leaked the information to some of Brandt’s people that the government had a high security prisoner they claimed was Simon before Dr. Jeffers did. But not by much.”

Lucy got up and began walking in circles. “Now you’ve got me pacing, damn it!” Stopping in front of Gayle, she sat down on the edge of the coffee table. “They just moved faster than we did. We’re new at this, Gayle, so they have the advantage. But they have to come out sometime. Brandt says his guy inside the station claims they’re going to fly ‘em out in the next few days. We need to watch the airport. Collier can get people in there to keep watch on all the private and leased aircraft. Do you want in?”

“Want in? Hell, yes, I want in. I’ve got to do something to help.” The little blonde’s smile was strained as she gestured expansively. “I find it ironic that we have all this shit and none of it will do us any good.”

“Oh, ye of little faith!” Lucy said with a feral grin. She walked around behind Gayle and laid her left hand on Gayle’s right shoulder. Waving her right hand dramatically, she said, “Imagine if you will, a clear August morning. A small private plane leaves a crowded airport and heads east over the Great Plains. About an hour into the flight...”

Three years of building contacts allowed Tim Brandt to be at the Denver International Airport the morning a black limousine stopped at the county jail and then headed in his direction. Luck allowed him to masquerade as the anonymous baggage handler who just happened to look over as two orange-jump-suited figures were hustled aboard a particular jet. Speaking quietly into a two-way radio, he reported to Gayle, who called Lucy aboard the Galileo. The result of that call almost wrecked the Lear jet as it neared the Mississippi River.

Lucy had been waiting for Brandt’s call. She’d put everything else into the hands of her staff and worked solely on the preparations for the rescue mission, and she’d nearly gone crazy in the interim. Everything hinged on Brandt’s inside man being real, and too much was riding on it for Lucy to be comfortable. Tiger and Cheetah Flights were standing by. Hawke Flight, with a temporary addition to bring it up to full strength, was also on standby. Each flight was on an eight-hour rotation so no one crew would be too tired to fly the ultimate mission. The Galileo’s command shuttle was also pressed into service, with three crews on rotation. The entire mission could have ships en route to Earth on a mere ten minutes’ notice.

Lucy kept herself apprised of every aspect of the situation that she could. Keeping in touch with Baron von Schlenker kept her up to speed on what was happening with the U.S. State Department. So far, nothing. No group or Agency claimed to know anything about Simon or Agent Daniels. Families of Alliance personnel were being released as quietly as they’d been rounded up. Her hurried trip downside assured her that her parents were fine, although a full explanation, as well as effusive apologies, were required before she was allowed to leave the house.

August 13th dawned clear and crisp over Denver as a three-vehicle convoy rolled through the airport gates and into a restricted area that led directly up to a plane set apart from the others on the tarmac.

“Status?” Agent Wilson demanded after he stretched his six-foot-four frame back into shape after the ride.

“Fuel tanks are topped off, flight plan filed, all systems green, sir. We’re ready to move,” the pilot responded.

“No signs of anything out of the ordinary,” the head of the ALERT team’s security detachment said. “No one has been near this plane since we set down except us and the refueling truck, and the plane was buttoned up at the time. We’ve just finished a sweep for bugs or intruders. Negative on both counts.”

“Very good, Agent Davis. Transfer the prisoners immediately.” To the pilot he said, “Start her up and notify the tower. I want us wheels up within the half hour, understand? If they give you any trouble about cutting the line, just invoke national security. If they still give you trouble, call me.”

Agent Wilson didn’t need to be called. He sat in the passenger compartment and stared at his prisoners as he slammed back his third cup of coffee. Daniels, still dressed in the orange jumpsuit provided by the Aurora PD, elected not to notice as Wilson moved around the cabin. Simon, dressed similarly, followed suit.

The modified Lear jet flew east at a respectable percentage of the speed of sound. Federal black-budget appropriations had provided Agent Wilson and his ALERT team with the funds to revamp the craft after it had been confiscated in a drug sting. Engines built to military specifications, allowed the refurbished jet to take off or land at the smallest airports. They also allowed a higher cruising speed, of which the pilot was taking full advantage.

About six hundred miles into the flight, the pilot, a veteran of the 1980s Latin American drug wars, sat bolt-upright as the speeding jet was slammed by a gigantic fist. Being seated at the front of the aircraft was the only thing that allowed him to get any kind of assessment of his predicament. From the corner of his eye, he’d seen... something pass his windows, headed east at a speed that was quite literally impossible for any type of craft he was familiar with.

“Unidentified aircraft! You are interfering with official United States business! Veer off! I say, veer off!”

The order to veer off was totally unnecessary as the vessel had disappeared into the distance. Still, he had to say something. “St. Louis Control, this is Flight seven-one-seven out of Denver. I wish to report a craft headed east after passing my position. Approximate speed...”

Agent Wilson landed in the co-pilot’s seat, making violent slashing motions across his throat. When the pilot let go of the transmit button, Wilson said, “You will call no more attention to this flight. Is that clear? Say whatever you have to, but get those people off the air. Now!”

“Uh, St. Louis Control, this is Flight seven-one-seven. The object headed east appears to have been a meteor. Sorry, guys,” the pilot finished lamely.

“Just as well, seven-one-seven, we have nothing showing on our screens here.” Enduring the good-natured ribbing that inevitably followed, the pilot glowered at Agent Wilson.

“I don’t care how pissed you are. This mission stays...”

The pilot suddenly rolled the ship to starboard and dove for the ground. “Anyone not strapped in better get that way fast! We’ve got company!”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Wilson screamed. “What company?”

The pilot, all blood drained from his face, stared out the front of the cockpit and asked, “How can it do that?”

Wilson’s eyes followed the pilot’s, and his mind seemed to freeze. After a few seconds that felt like an eternity, he looked down at the instrument panel. The pilot noticed and said, “Six hundred and fifty miles an hour. And he’s doing it backwards!”

Lucy strode into the Galileo’s Flight Control and tersely demanded, “Update?”

Andrew Belkin, Chief of Flight Services and de facto head of all flight operations, answered, “We just got word of their takeoff, ma’am. Since we had no way to tell until they were airborne, we were waiting to see which planes went where. My bet was on the fastest eastbound craft headed on the most direct route to the Washington area. I won the pool when this one,” he said, pointing at an eastbound blip, “transmitted a message ending with Wilson’s name.”

Alerted to her own brusqueness by Chief Belkin’s tone of voice, Lucy softened her approach. “Sorry, Chief. Just on edge, I guess. Good work.”

The chief said, “That’s your pigeon, Captain.” He pointed at a blip headed east appreciably faster than some of the others headed the same way. “Has to be. Larger engines. Probably military grade. Just gotta get there, ASAP.”

Lucy’s heart was in her throat. What if they were wrong? She stared at the offending light as it mocked her. “Captain? Your orders?”

Lucy’s thoughts went to the pilots sitting in their crafts, waiting to launch. “Chief,” she said in resignation, “if you’re wrong, I’ll be in such deep shit...” Taking a deep breath, she said, “Begin the operation, Chief. You have control.”

Instantly, the ex-traffic controller said, “Tiger Flight, Cheetah Flight, Hawke Flight, launch, launch, launch. Recon One, launch, launch, launch.” Lucy shivered as possible outcomes ran through her head.

The five pilots of Tiger Flight had lost the toss and would stay in reserve, along with Hawke Flight, while Cheetah Flight would take the brunt of any response that might be mounted against the rescue mission. Recon One was the Galileo’s command shuttle and would be overseeing the operation, as well as handling the transfer of Simon and Daniels. Jamming all local radio signals would be part of Recon One’s responsibility as well. Since the Mambas’ communications system operated on another level of the radiated spectrum, their signals wouldn’t be affected.

The five pilots of Cheetah Flight, like their counterparts in Tiger, were veterans of the battle in the asteroid belt. The destruction of the alien ship not long after Orion Base had gone online had provided them with the mystique of “combat experience,” so Captain Chapman offered their services to the mission.

Cheetah Flight, winners of the coin toss, climbed into their ships and, in concert with Recon One, launched from the projects deck where they’d been waiting. Tiger Flight, designated as blockers and backup, launched immediately afterward and formed on the rest of the ships.

Marsha Kane sat at the comm console of Recon One. “Okay, people, you’ve studied the satellite maps, and all the data has been loaded into your onboard computers. Tiger Flight, move out. One and Two, you are east and west traffic-blockers respectively. Three, Four and Five, you are assigned to aerial interdiction of any traffic not designated as ‘target.’”

The pilot managed to stabilize his craft about two thousand feet lower than it had started out. The complaints were just starting to come in from the rear of the plane, as well as frantic inquiries from St. Louis ground control.

Shutting off the distractions of ground control was but the flick of a switch. Silencing the distractions from the rear took little more. “Quiet down! Strap in and shut up!” Shutting off the intercom, he turned to the ashen-faced agent. “You fill me in on what I’m facing up here, and you’ll do it now, Wilson! I swear, I’ll put this bird on the ground so fast it’ll make your head spin. Literally!”

“That’s ‘Agent’ Wilson to you, and everything is on a need-to-know basis.”

“Look,” the pilot said in exasperation, “I’ve got a pretty good idea that thing was one of those Mambas.” At the agent’s expression, the pilot laughed. “Don’t even go there! I watch television, Wilson, and this plane is headed down. Now. No way I can out-fly one of those. Son of a bitch!”

Although just as abrupt, this dive was more or less controlled from the start and smoothed out quicker than the last. “Well, now we know they can hover at ten thousand feet! Or should I just forget that?”

“We’ve known since Camp David that they can hover,” Wilson said sheepishly. “We just didn’t extrapolate it to this altitude.”

Marsha ordered Recon One to take position behind their target and assigned three of Cheetah Flight to take position to either side and above the eastbound jet so they could be seen by the occupants. “Agent Wilson, this is Captain Kane of the Terran Alliance. You are ordered to land your craft immediately. There has been a seven-mile section of Interstate 70 interdicted for this purpose just east of Kingdom City, Missouri. The only way to make the landing is to begin immediately. If you do not reduce speed and begin your descent voluntarily, we will force you down. Safer all the way around if you just follow instruction.”

The remaining two ships of Cheetah Flight ranged ahead of the jet, positioned to block any anticipated move to escape. Hovering in the jet’s path had worked twice so far, and Marsha decided to keep with the moves that worked. When her comm tech reported that Agent Wilson was trying to radio for help, she smiled. “Agent Wilson, you are not able to transmit more than five feet beyond the outer skin of your craft, except to me, so save your breath and put that plane on the deck. Now!”

The pilot of the portside Mamba reported that he’d made eye contact with the pilot and seen several faces staring out the windows in the passenger compartment. The pilot on the starboard side reported much the same.

“Agent Wilson, we have you surrounded.” Oh, God, how trite can I be? Marsha thought. “Last chance to comply willingly.”

She released the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding when the plane abruptly slowed. “Uh, Captain Kane, this is the pilot requesting more specific instructions for landing.”

“You’ve been flying east following Interstate 70 for some time now. There has been a seven-mile stretch of highway cleared for your landing. All air and ground traffic will be interdicted. I have two flights of Mambas with me, plus the full resources of a command shuttle. It may not mean much to you, but Agent Wilson can tell you that there was only one flight at Camp David, and look how one-sided that turned out to be. If you don’t begin your descent now, you will find yourself faced with more obstacles. Do I make myself clear?”

“Clear as a bell, Captain. Beginning descent now.”

“Agent Wilson, I know you’re still listening. No tricks and you and your people will all walk away from this. All we want are our people—Simon Hawke and Agent Roland Daniels.”

“Agent Daniels belongs to us,” Wilson said, “and he goes back with us. There is no debate on the subject.”

“You’re right about that, Agent Wilson, there will be no debate,” Marsha returned, guessing at the owner of the new voice. “We are responsible for Agent Daniels’ safety since he was assigned to us as special liaison by the president, who, I might add, is your superior. We will see to his safety and his return to the FBI. I suggest that since you’re outgunned and outmaneuvered, you should back off.”

Marsha watched as the jet began a steep descent, veering slightly to line up with the ribbon of asphalt that was Interstate 70. “Tiger Flight, heads up. Target has just gone below radar screen. Expect company,” she said, switching tactical frequencies. “Pilot, you’ll see a line of vehicles stopped on the Interstate by one of my Mambas. Touch down just past that point.”

“Roger, Captain.”

“Mission Leader, this is Cheetah Three. There seems to be a serious disagreement going on in the cockpit.”

“Put the gun away, Wilson,” Agent Davis said wearily. “You know as well as I do that I’m the only pilot aboard. Shooting me will deny them their people, true, but it’ll kill you, too. Kinda like cutting off your nose to spite your face, don’t you think?”

Agent Wilson reluctantly put his weapon away and keyed the microphone in his headset. “Okay, Kane, you get what you want. We’re landing. I need assurances that my people won’t be hurt.” Marsha heard the fury in Agent Wilson’s voice as the plane floated over the Mamba that was blocking the eastbound lanes and watched in satisfaction as the landing gear locked into place.

“You have the assurance of an officer in the Terran Alliance. What more do you need?”

“This craft is on U.S. Government business, Kane. You realize that you can and will be charged with air piracy? You’re in violation of dozens of FAA rules and regulations. You’re in violation of United States laws governing overflights by non-American craft, and you’re dangerously close to being charged with terrorism. Desist immediately and I’ll forget any of this happened.”

Marsha considered for a moment, then answered, “As far as rules and regulations of the Federal Aviation Administration are concerned... I really don’t care. As far as United States laws concerning overflights... I don’t care. And I don’t for one minute believe that you’ll forget any of this for any reason, Agent Wilson. But you do have a point about piracy and terrorism, which may not be all that valid when all we’re doing is retrieving our... property. Maybe we should discuss the laws concerning the illegal detention of citizens of the United States and their lack of legal representation. Then again, maybe not. I’m a lot more direct than that, Agent Wilson. I leave those things to the people trained to handle them. Of course, doing so would bring your operation to light, and you don’t want that, do you?” Marsha asked without inflection. She continued more briskly, “Enough talk. I’ve already demonstrated that I can force you down. Give up, Agent Wilson. You’re faced with superior firepower and superior numbers. No one will fault you for saving your people, if not your mission.”

The jet’s wheels touched the pavement, and the vehicle slowed to a halt in the middle of the flat Missouri plains where no aircraft had a right to be. The three Mambas hovered at cockpit level while the shuttle landed on the highway facing the nose of the plane.

Marsha began juggling various radio calls as the confrontation progressed. As she was about to ask for a report from Tiger Flight, she heard, “Mission Leader, this is Tiger One. On station blocking eastbound traffic. Tiger Two reports on station blocking westbound traffic. I’m facing some very amazed and upset individuals here. Three, Four and Five report on station as aerial cover. No inbound traffic on radar.”

“Affirmative, Tiger One. Hold position until further notice. Mission Leader out.” Switching frequencies again, she called, “Cheetah One and Two, you are released from blocker duty. Assist Tiger Flight in air and ground interdiction. Mission Leader out.”

Switching frequencies yet again, she called the downed jet. “Agent Wilson.”

“What?” came the surly response.

“Don’t take it so hard, Agent Wilson. You did your job quite well considering your circumstances and opposition. Now break loose with my people.”

While waiting for a response from the jet, Marsha smiled at the situation. There sat a sleek, gleaming jet that relied on its streamlining as much as its engines to get speed but was relegated to operations within the atmosphere, and it faced a squat, ugly shuttle that relied solely on the force of its power-plant for speed and was more at home outside the atmosphere than inside.

After several minutes had passed with no visible response from the jet, Marsha said, “We’ve got the firepower, but time is actually on their side. It’s time to push some buttons.”

She put on a headset and tied herself into the comm net through the console she’d been monitoring and told the navigator to keep her informed if he picked anything up on the radar. “It won’t be long, guaranteed, before we have company. When that beauty went off the radar screens, you can bet that alarms went off all over the place.”

Marsha strode to the back of the cargo compartment, marveling at the versatility of the vessels. The first ones had been a cockpit and engine room and a whole lot of empty in between. This one had been specially modified with the primary mission of carrying passengers from ground to orbit and back. It was more like a troop shuttle at the moment, she thought as she looked at the armed men grouped near the hatches, waiting for orders.

When news of the impending rescue mission had become public knowledge among Alliance personnel, the number of volunteers had been staggering, coming as it did from four active warships and the Galileo. Marsha had expected to see a trickle of people show up, but so many had that she’d had her pick of seasoned, combat-capable personnel, and she’d used some of them to turn the extras away. And since it had been determined that there’d be a ground force of only ten men, there was a lot of excess.

One of the things that had struck Marsha as curious was the large number of second- and third-generation volunteers there were. After just over four years, the Galileo’s first crew, some nine hundred plus, were scattered among four vessels and three space docks, with the remainder being new members. The disparity in numbers shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but it did anyway.

After as short a time as four years, patterns had begun to emerge—habits, customs. Finding things to call “traditions” became a way to tie everyone together, and Marsha was not unaware of the fact that the newer volunteers looked upon anyone from the “First Crew” with something akin to hero worship. Older crew spoke to newer about Firsters almost with awe, and it eventually got back to those being gossiped about, which fact Marsha wasn’t above using at a time like this. Uncomfortable as it made her, she’d used her status as a Firster to call in volunteers for this mission.

She stood amongst the results of her choosing, all seconds and thirds, and cringed inside as thoughts of pep rallies not so far past filled her head. “Okay, people, this is above and beyond. I want you all to know I appreciate it,” she said. “You all have your instructions. Following orders is what this is all about at the moment, but I trust each of you to use your own discretion as the situation warrants, or you wouldn’t be here. Just be ready to back up your decision if you have to!”

Chief among those she’d chosen for this mission was one who caused her great concern—Bobby Lee Remmick. A onetime boyfriend and lover of Marsha’s, and a three-year veteran of the Atlanta Police Department, Bobby had been recruited in the second wave. Marsha had returned to her hometown at her uncle’s insistence to reassure her mother that she was all right and to explain the situation in person. “You owe your mama that much,” her uncle had said.

How he’d found out she was home, Bobby Lee never said, but he arrived on her front porch in time to hear most of her explanation to her mom through an open window before he pounded on the door.

“Remember Collin Harper,” he said after the shock of seeing him had worn off.

“None of these people are crazy, Bobby Lee. None of ‘em are obsessed with me, and where would they kidnap me to, out there?” she retorted, her mind ranging back seven years to her senior year in high school when she was kidnapped by a deranged classmate on the night of her prom. Bobby Lee had been instrumental in the search that finally freed her from the nightmare. “But if you want to sign on, I won’t tell you not to,” she said, placing a hand on his chest.

Those three years in the Atlanta PD had earned Bobby Lee his position as head of the ground forces that would be deployed against the jet after it landed.

“But I was just a beat cop!” he’d protested.

“Which is more than any other volunteer we have at the moment,” Marsha had said with finality. “Besides, I’d like someone I know and trust working with me on this.”

Shaking herself free of her reverie, she said formally, “Deploy your forces, Commander Remmick,” as she opened the hatches and watched them form the now-familiar ramps on each side of the shuttle. “Last time was a place of their choosing. This time it’s ours. Then, they were in a superior position, they thought, and had surprise on their side. This time, they have no backup and we hold the high ground, so to speak. I’m not saying this will go like clockwork, but what plan ever does? Truth is, we don’t know what’s inside that plane, and it’s time we found out.”

Lt. Commander Bobby Lee Remmick saluted and said, “Deploy troops, aye, ma’am,” the smile on his face not detracting from the seriousness of his voice. “A team out the port side, B team out the starboard side. If it moves, just pin it down unless it starts shooting. Don’t forget, you have three Mambas for aerial support. Teamwork, people, teamwork. Keep to your assigned frequencies and no idle chatter! Move out.”

Once both teams had reported back that all was secure, Bobby Lee led Marsha out onto the highway where she could see the jet’s cockpit. Marsha thought it the height of overkill to have ten Mambas and twelve laser-armed people on hand to accomplish this mission, but it had been mandated by the captain.

Going with the orders she’d been given as Mission Leader, she used what she had. “Five minutes on the ground, people,” she said on her all-frequency band. “Look around you, Agent Wilson,” she said, switching back to the jet’s frequency and overhearing the end of a transmission.

“…ayday, Mayday. This is U.S. Government flight seven-one-seven out of Denver International Airport. We have been forced down on Interstate 70 just west of St. Louis by an overwhelming force of Terran Alliance craft. Immediate assistance required.”

Smiling, Marsha said, “Remember, Agent Wilson, I’m the only one who can hear you. Now. We have things to discuss. Are you going to come out and play?”

“I’m not saying I have what you want, but if I did and gave it to you, what assurances do I have that nothing happens to my people?”

“As I said before, the assurances of an officer of the Terran Alliance, assuming that none of your people try anything stupid. Beyond that, you have no assurances at all, Agent Wilson,” Marsha said sweetly. “No more assurances than we had at Camp David. Trust has to begin somewhere. We gave ours at Camp David, and I think it’s your turn. Now, here’s the best deal you’re going to get all day—you turn Captain Hawke and Special Liaison Daniels over to us, and you and your people will walk away from here with all the information you’ve already acquired. Don’t do as I ask, and I’ll be forced to start carving parts off that government property parked in front of my shuttle.” Marsha heard a beep in her headset calling for her attention. “You’ve got three minutes to think it over, Agent.”

Glancing down at the comm panel strapped to her waist, Marsha pressed a button. We’re going to have to do something to make this more convenient. Maybe something with the circuitry built into the shirt, comm panel on the sleeve?

“Mission Leader,” she said.

“Ma’am this is Blocker West. I have a Highway Patrol officer here, lights flashing. He has a bullhorn, and he’s ordering me to leave.”

“Just don’t let him past your position, Blocker West. Take out the car if you have to, but do not under any circumstances cause harm to anyone. We’ll have this wrapped up soon. Mission Leader, out.”

Turning back to the jet, Marsha said, “Agent Wilson, this is Captain Kane. You know, a girl’s reputation rests on how well she keeps her word. Please don’t make me start slicing parts off your pretty little airplane.”

Marsha’s innate sense of politeness made her wait a whole ten seconds before she began to carry out her threat. She drew the pistol strapped to her thigh, and said, “The first thing I’m going to do is destroy your cockpit’s airtight integrity. I suggest that you clear your people out of there.”

Having great power thrust upon one can be a heady thing, even when they’re expecting it to happen. Even though Marsha had commanded a starship for over two years, the experience of having control over the lives of people who had not freely given themselves into Alliance service was new to her. The fact that she perceived this particular bunch to be adversaries made the feeling all the sweeter since she knew the capabilities of her team to be vastly superior to those ranged against her at the moment.

Commanding weapons that had only been dreamed of in science-fiction and ships that until then would have been reported as UFOs, Marsha laughed at the absurdity of it all, breaking the spell that had been stealing over her. She lowered her weapon back to her side. “I’ll tell ya what, Agent Wilson,” she said playfully. “You’re getting one final chance before I start taking your plane apart around you. I swear, I’ll peel it like a banana.”

As she raised her arm again, a face appeared at the pilot’s windshield. “Hold on! Hold on! One of your people is in need of medical attention not caused by us. We have an emergency escape chute at the back of the plane. With him injured, that’s the safest way off at the moment. Is that agreeable?”

“All the way up to the point where you think you can get away with pulling a fast one, Agent Wilson. Go ahead and deploy the chute.” She hadn’t realized how high her tension level was until the rear hatch popped open a crack and she jumped about three inches straight up.

When her nervous system recovered from the adrenaline jolt, she realized that Bobby Lee was standing beside her, muttering into his headset. She pressed a button on her comm panel and listened as he gave instructions to his two teams. She felt his hand on her arm as he pulled her back and to one side.

As she started to protest, he said, “From here on, you’re out of the line of fire from that hatch.” She watched as the two teams moved into positions, covering all possible exits from the plane, pistols constantly moving back and forth. Two members of A team stood ready to catch anyone coming down the still undeployed chute, weapons holstered.

“Let’s just add a little intimidation to the mix, shall we?” Marsha muttered to herself. She ordered Cheetah One and Two to hover at hatch level and report on what they could see inside the plane once the hatch was fully opened. She had chosen Cheetah Flight for the express reason that each member knew both Simon and Daniels by sight, thereby staving off the possibility that Wilson would get away with trying to pull a fast one on them.

Neither pilot reported anything untoward from their admittedly limited vantage points, and when nothing else happened, she called Wilson. “Having a change of heart in there, Agent?”

“I just don’t want my people killed for no good reason.”

“No more than I do mine, Agent. Which of my people is uninjured?”

“That would be Agent Daniels.”

“Well, let me make a suggestion. How about you have him open that rear hatch the rest of the way, and quickly? He knows us and knows we won’t hurt him. Let him lower Captain Hawke down the chute and then slide down himself. We go away; you go away. We get our people, you get all that information we mentioned earlier. Time’s almost up.” Twenty seconds went by, and just as she reached for her comm panel, Agent Wilson’s voice grated in her ear.

“Okay, you’ve got a deal.” Marsha felt a bit irritated at the fact that even though she’d unfailingly used his title, he hadn’t had the courtesy to return the favor even once.

“Two minutes and they’ll be coming out, Kane.”

Bobby Lee had been listening from his own headset and began issuing orders to his teams. Her position, which had been dictated by Bobby Lee, may have restricted her vision of the interior of the plane, but she was able to see the hatch swing fully open and heard at the same time, “Mission Leader, Cheetah One. Confirm Agent Daniels aboard.” Immediately afterward, the blazing yellow emergency chute cascaded away from the body of the plane and hit the ground with a resounding smack.

Glancing at her watch, Marsha said, “Nine minutes and counting, people.”

Bobby Lee followed that with, “Heads up A team and B team. Things get tight from here. I don’t want the wrong people shot.”

“Tick, tick, tick, Agent Wilson. I don’t pilot conventional aircraft. What’s that little thingee sticking off the wing there?” Marsha asked. When a pale and worried face appeared at the windshield, she pointed at a small protuberance on one wing.

After a five-second pause, Agent Davis said, “that’s the airspeed indicator.”

“Will the plane fly without it?”

“Yes, but landing becomes harder when I don’t know my airspeed,” the pilot answered. “Why?”

Marsha calmly pulled her pistol back out of the holster and, taking careful aim, neatly sliced the indicated piece off the wing. “Your time is up, Agent Wilson. Get my people off that plane, now!”

“Mission Leader, Cheetah One. Confirm Simon! Repeat, confirm Simon! He is standing at the hatch. He appears to need the assistance of Agent Daniels to stand up.”

“Very good, Agent Wilson. Now get them on the ground or I won’t ask before I slice something else off your plane. And have the decency to look me in the eye when you talk to me!”

A total of ten minutes had passed. Simon and Daniels were at the hatch, and Agent Wilson glared out of the cockpit window at Marsha. “Don’t worry, Agent Wilson. I’m not going to shoot you. But I don’t want to deprive you of the pleasure of seeing what I do to your aircraft. That way you’ll be able to give a full report on the capabilities of my side arm. More information for your bosses, right?”

“All right, I’m sending them down the chute now.” The anger in his voice was mirrored by the venomous look he gave her.

She answered back, “Keep your microphone open. I want to hear the orders as they’re issued.”

She watched his head turn toward the back of the plane. “Okay, Simkin. Let ‘em go.” Turning back to Marsha he asked, “Are you satisfied?”

“I won’t be satisfied until they’re safely aboard my shuttle. But I’m getting there.”

“Mission Leader, Cheetah Two. Daniels is helping Simon to sit down in the doorway of the plane. Looks like he’s getting ready to slide!”

Simon, grinning broadly at the two Mambas in front of him, half-turned to Daniels, reached up, got a handful of orange jumpsuit, and kicked out, sliding out of the hatch and down the chute while dragging Daniels along with him.

“Keep alert, people! Now’s the time for something to happen!” Bobby Lee said into his headset. “Patterson, Jordan, get Simon out of the line of fire!” Two members of the A team moved forward to help untangle the knot of arms and legs that had landed at the bottom of the chute, and the four men moved into the questionable refuge of the jet’s landing gear.

“I heard ‘em just before they brought me to the door,” Simon said by way of explanation. “The plan was for you to push me out, and they were set to grab you and button up. I think Wilson planned to try to take off. Can’t guess what he’ll try now.”

Simon slumped against one of his rescuers just as Bobby Lee yelled, “Gun!” and fired his laser through the rear hatch, raining molten metal down on an agent squirming his way into firing position. With a yell, the man jerked back into the darkened interior of the plane.

Reacting to a noise behind him, Daniels grabbed the laser off the hip of the man in front of him and spun around on one knee, fell backwards, released the safety and fired in one motion. A nine-millimeter pistol and hand fell to the ground from an open belly hatch.

“Captain!” Bobby Lee yelled loud enough to be heard inside the open hatch. “Two attempts to ambush us! All bets are off! A team, B team, if it moves, shoot it!”

Daniels tapped the crewman he had relieved of his weapon on the shoulder. When the crewman turned to Daniels, he handed the man his pistol butt-first and said, “You provide cover. I’ll take Simon’s bad side. We should head for the shuttle.”

The four men began to shuffle in the direction of the grounded shuttle.

Bobby Lee, seeing the progress of the four men under the jet, said, “Prepare to pull back as soon as Simon is aboard.”

Marsha said into her headset, “You want to play rough, Wilson? I can play rough. We can chop that plane up as easily as your agent. Fortunately, a laser cauterizes as it cuts.” Not sounding too concerned, she added, “Your agent should live.”

Changing frequencies, Marsha said, “Thirteen minutes on the ground. All Mambas form up on the shuttle. Blockers break off and form up. We lift in two! Bobby Lee, Simon is on the ramp. Get your people aboard!”

Trying to listen to all frequencies at once proved impossible, so Marsha finally cut out all but Recon One and Bobby Lee. Hearing her navigator report incoming aircraft arriving in three minutes, she laughed nervously and replied, “Commander Graham, I want this ship ready to lift on a five-second notice.”

“Been there since we grounded, ma’am. Give the word and we’re airborne,” came the reply.

Men began to run past her position on the ramp. “Loadmaster! What’s our status?”

“We’re at minus two, Captain,” Chief Hargrove told his niece. “As soon as you and Commander Remmick get off that damn ramp, we can button up and move.”

As Bobby Lee backed up the ramp, pistol trained on the cockpit of the jet, Marsha called, “Cheetah One, prepare to launch special weapon.” Calling the jet, she said, “I told you that if you played nice, I’d let your people walk away from this. Well, you sure as hell didn’t play fair, but I’m going to let you walk away anyway. But only that, Wilson.” Leaving the perplexed agent in the circuit, she said, “Cheetah One, on my command you will fire on the jet.”

Acknowledgment of orders and a shriek of protest hit her ears at the same instant. Bobby Lee backed across the threshold, and she hit the button that closed the ramps, calmly saying, “Fire.”

To observers on the ground, the black apparition called a Mamba was seen to hover a moment longer than its companions, lazily turn away, point its nose at the sky and accelerate with heart-stopping suddenness. What those observers also saw was the jet begin to sparkle, apparently of its own accord. Then a series of electrical discharges began flowing down the length of the plane from nose to tail, until, after about thirty seconds, they faded into nothingness.

“Commander Graham, you are on notice!” She began a five-second countdown, with the ramps closing off the outside light on “three,” sealing tight on “two,” status lights turning green on “one,” and the world seeming to back away from the viewport on “zero.”

Marsha looked at the group of people surrounding Simon and hit her all-ships frequency. “Tiger and Cheetah Flights, thank you for your help, and my compliments to Captain Chapman. You are cleared to return to base.” Two more calls to make. “Kane to Flight Operations. Mission accomplished. Recon One returning to base.” One more call. “Commander Graham, the ship is yours. Please take us home.”

Barely listening to the responses from her calls, she stood behind the two medics checking Simon over. Out of the frying pan and into the fire! she thought. Taking a deep breath, she placed a hand on the shoulder of the nearest medic. She caught the motion of the man looking up at the edge of her vision, but her attention was drawn to Simon, sitting so unnaturally still in the chair.

Clad in a blaze-orange jumpsuit, he was at least twenty pounds thinner and, obvious even to her, near the edge of exhaustion. His left wrist injury, in a cast and strapped to his chest, was apparent. Not so apparent was the hair growing back on the left side of his head just over the ear. Closer examination under the lowered lights of the passenger compartment showed a livid, razor-thin scar trying to hide among the regrowth. And if memory served her, he’d come aboard limping with the assistance of two men, one of whom was Daniels.

With images of Kitty’s automated crypt in her mind, Marsha asked quietly, “How is he? Will he be all right?”

Simon sighed, rolled his head with great effort in the direction of Marsha’s voice, and opened his eyes. “I’ll be fine. Thanks for the lift.”

“Well, I won’t say ‘it was nothing, Captain, but at least no one got killed this time.” Realizing her mistake, she reddened in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Simon. I didn’t mean to imply...”

Simon raised his right hand a fraction, and a small smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “I know exactly what you meant, Marsha. No offense taken. And you and your team deserve applause for what appeared from my position to be a relatively flawless operation. Take it from me—when you do let the shit hit the fan, and you will eventually, you’ll be your own worst critic.” His voice trailed off for a moment. “There’s only one way to live with your mistakes, Captain, and that is to learn something from them. To let it have been for nothing, there is the crime.”

Simon’s eyes closed and Marsha had to lean closer to hear his next words. “And if no one got killed, you’re going to have to explain your use of the words ‘special weapon’ and ‘fire.’ But let’s do that later. Tell me how bad she’s hurt, Marsha.” The request seemed to come from a different man—one so devoid of hope that she had to look into his eyes to reassure herself that it was still him.

“Uh, it was my understanding that you’d been out of touch since Camp David, Simon,” she stalled. “How did you know…?”

“You can’t love and live with someone for almost seventeen years and not get to know them, Marsha,” Simon cajoled. “That woman would have moved heaven and earth for me, just as I would for her. If she’s not here, it means she can’t be here. It’s married logic. And since you won’t look me in the eyes or talk about it, it must be bad.”

Marsha took a deep breath and fought the panic that threatened to silence her. “I really wanted to be a coward and pass this off onto somebody else, Simon, but you need to know before you get back. You must have seen the news footage of what happened at Camp David...”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

It would be four more days before the Galileo left orbit. Simon’s collapse upon entering the sickbay and finally finding out the true extent of Kitty’s injuries was just one of the many things Lucy had to confront. In this, at least, she wasn’t alone. Gayle and Stephen flanked her during an arduous hour that couldn’t be allowed to wait for him to recover. She came away from the session drained, relieved, and at the same time, frustrated.

Taking advantage of the fact that all ships’ captains were in orbit, Lucy said, “Rukia, please let the other captains know that they’re expected at a Captain’s Call. My quarters, one hour. Stephen, you’re invited to attend as well. Might as well get the show on the road, I’d say.”

With none of the three base captains able to give any input on such short notice, Lucy felt a little less sure of herself as she spoke to the assembled group. Gayle was there, sitting with Stephen, a little apart from Marsha, Robert Greene, Jerry Chapman, and Mustafa Morgan, still new to his position as Captain of the Galileo. Noticeably absent was Simon since he was undergoing psychiatric evaluation. Each captain had his or her second in command along, except Mustafa, who’d brought his weapons officer. Lucy had Commander Kimura seconding her.

“I want to thank you all for coming,” Lucy said as she paced the length of her briefing room. “It’s going to get harder to have a full Captain’s Call without really good scheduling after this, I think,” she said lightly, then turned serious. “Before the virus wiped the Galileo’s memory, Stephen and some of his people were able to figure out that it would be at least five years, if we were lucky, before the Builders would come looking for their ship. Four of those years are gone, and we still need to build the fourth base. I’m glad Simon got back when he did, but he’s not in any shape to turn this zoo back over to him, so I’ll still have to make the hard choices. The timetable says we can dispense with the Galileo’s presence long enough for her to get the fourth base built. And I have to decide what to do with a certain FBI agent, as well as Simon and Kitty.

“Kitty stays aboard the Galileo,” she stated flatly, “for obvious reasons. Dr. Penn isn’t willing to try to remove her from the chamber at this time. Simon will go along, of course, and recuperate, hopefully regaining his former... spirit.

“Mustafa, you will have two new members added to your permanent staff. Father Jeffers and Dr. Jeffers. Lack of current medical credentials notwithstanding, Dr. Penn has signed off on Dr. Jeffers’ ability to do his job. Speaking of doing a job, how long will it take you to get crewed and under way?”

“Three days if we do the job right,” Mustafa said, glancing down at the stack of papers in front of him. “Still want us to make the rounds?”

“Definitely,” Lucy said “Here’s a list of personnel. Get with Brandt and Collier on who to pick up. After you get the specifics out of the way, fill out the rest of your roster with regular volunteers. Just figuring out who to send where and who you need to pick up was a nightmare! We’ll be opening a new department very soon. We need a personnel department desperately. Keeping track of who’s who and where they are is going to be a full-time job for several somebodies.”

While Commander Kimura murmured a note into a small recorder, Mustafa scribbled a note on the back of the papers Lucy handed him, turned to his weapons officer, and said, “Get these to the Exec.” Grinning at the faces staring at him as he turned back to the group, ‘Stafa said, “Expected the order to load up, but I didn’t expect the lists.” He glanced at his watch dramatically. “Your orders should be going into effect as we speak, First Captain. My Exec can get things started.”

Hearing the military nickname for a second in command brought Lucy up short. The increasingly martial attitude of the infant culture that was growing up around the Galileo had little to do with starting off using rank to denote degrees of position. That was only a simple way to tell who was in charge. Nor was it a matter of “let’s all pull together in a dangerous environment.”

She recognized it for what it was, for it affected her, too. It was pride. It was the little kid inside saying, “See what I can do!” It was us against them. It was the same thing that had affected the young United States over two hundred years before. It was nationalism. There were some who didn’t like that aspect of the Alliance and wanted to go home—one of the reasons the Galileo was going to make all the stops on the way out.

Lucy said, “Good.” She stopped pacing and looked at the group. “Mustafa already knows about item one, so this is for the rest of you. The Galileo’s engineers have documented a very slight but disturbing fluctuation in her power output, and peak demand times are being met with increasing difficulty. Apparently, this is normal with matter/antimatter power generation. The supply isn’t endless, and we’re fortunate to find out the easy way. I’d hate to have a ship run out of gas out in the middle of a big, empty… someplace. Have your chief engineers implement programs to monitor the situation on each ship and integrate them into normal watch rotations. The Galileo will have a three-day layover at Orion to have her monopoles replaced and then continue on to Gemini and Libra.”

Gayle broke in. “What about the rest of us?”

“Don’t be so anxious, Gayle. I’ve got something for you to do, too,” Lucy said. Kimura, knowing what was coming since she’d been used as a sounding board for the scheme that was about to be proposed, put down her recorder and watched with interest. “There’s still the matter of who attacked Orion, remember? Were they associated with the ship the Heinlein and the McCaffrey killed? Are either of those two associated with the Builders? We could be dealing with three alien races, out here people, none of whom may like us being here. And at least one of ‘em knows where we are.”

Lucy looked uncomfortable. “You three will start playing war games, and as we get new ships, they’ll join in as well. Figure out amongst yourselves who can help devise strategies that will work in space. We humans are really good at exterminating things on our own world—to the point that many species have gone extinct—but on our world we’re working with only two dimensions. We’re stepping onto a whole other playground, boys and girls, and if we don’t learn real quick, we’re gonna get our collective asses handed to us.”

Jerry Chapman, after conferring with his exec, said, “Someone could get hurt. A lot of someones.”

“I imagine,” Robert Greene said, “that we’ll be using weapons with reduced power like the demo flights a few weeks back.”

“Right,” Lucy said, glad to go anywhere else than there. “And we won’t be using the new plasma discharge weapon on each other. Too expensive.” The new weapon, a prototype, had been mounted on Cheetah One to test against drones. “Marsha, I can’t guess what prompted you to use it against a grounded craft. I’m glad you waited, I guess, but it was already down!”

“He pissed me off,” she muttered.

Lucy missed the comment but not the reaction to it. She glared at Robert and Gayle as they fought to hold in their laughter. “And you’ll get your share, Robert. I’ve decided that the Niven may not be permanently in orbit, especially if the climate downside continues to improve. I could just move my whole staff into the complex on Fre… Baron von Schlenker’s estate. Actually, we could start to call it the Terran Alliance Embassy, move out of that hotel, and let Zurich get back to normal. I’m sure the mayor and chief of police would appreciate it. I’d like to see it up and running within the month. Then, after the other three finish their first set of games, they can rendezvous with the Galileo, pick up the returnees, and come back to Earth orbit. One of them will relieve you and you can go play interstellar cowboys and aliens, or whatever is socially relevant. I imagine Gayle would like to rest her crew first.

“And remember that new ships will be joining the party pretty soon, so they’ll have to be crewed up as we go along.” Lucy finally ran down and sank into a chair.

“And what will the Alliance presence be doing on Earth while all of us are away?” came from Jerry Chapman’s exec.

“Murillo, right? Arthur? Like to be called Art?” At his nod, Lucy said, “The Alliance presence will be doing three things. One, our stated goal of recruiting volunteers. Two, keeping our word on another goal, specifically the release of technology to Earth. And three, public relations. We need to keep these people’s good will. This is our home, too, after all. They are our families. They are our past and our future.”

“How can they be our future?” Marsha asked. “We’re trying to leave them behind, aren’t we?”

Stephen spoke for the first time “On an individual level, that could be the case, Marsha. But look at the two groups. One has too many people now and needs someplace to put the ‘extras.’ And one needs the extras. And not just the extras. How about a technological base that is comprised of an entire planet? How many ships could we turn out with that behind us?” Stephen went into lecture mode. “It’s truly a symbiotic relationship. They need us to get out into the universe, and we need their industrial base, after we help them upgrade it, and of course, their manpower to do so.”

“Another point,” Lucy said. “Some of us don’t get to see our friends out on the bases all that often. That will change with regular stops to resupply, both them and us, or just visit so we don’t get tired of the same old faces. Did you know that all three bases are operating at higher-than-expected rates? Records I found in Simon’s desk detail conversations with Adam, Victor and Daniel,” she said, naming the base captain and commanders, “concerning the stockpiling of dozens of extra Mambas and hundreds of missiles at each base! Obviously, he wasn’t planning to get sidetracked, so he saw no need to keep others informed of the details. Apparently, each base is mining through a very concentrated cluster at about the same rate. Couple that with the innovation of smaller, more powerful warheads, and you have a very potent combination. And all of this without getting behind with ship production.”

Stephen said, “Daniel was the first one to put it together. Of course, he had the ‘advantage’ of having to rebuild a portion of his own base before he could get back to business. Not only can each base handle its own repairs, it can handle add-ons. Without slowing production, they’ve managed to increase their capacity and size.”

“Yes,” Lucy said from the comfort of her chair, “but the problem is that without additional personnel, as well as replacements for those who wish to return to Earth, they won’t be able to keep up that pace, so the Galileo is going out crammed with as many as we can get aboard. Once, it took a week to get to the belt, but now that we can micro-jump, we’re talking hours, a day at most, so overcrowding is going to be something we really won’t have to consider.”

Lucy’s anger boiled just beneath the surface. She’d been wrangling with the baron and Lloyd Pike for an hour.

“You can’t say you’re sorry,” Freddie said. “It amounts to an admission of guilt, and unless you honestly feel you did something to apologize for...”

“He’s right, ma’am,” Lloyd said. “And the only thing you can do from that point is go into the reparation phase.”

“Okay,” Lucy said, frustrated at the prohibition. “How about, ‘I regret the’...”

“No, no,” the old baron said. “Using ‘I’ makes you specifically responsible. You must spread out the guilt. Say ‘The Terran Alliance regrets...’”

Gritting her teeth at the restrictions placed on her, she said, “Which of you am I going to have to strangle first?” The time spent trying to compose a proper response to the U.S. State Department’s strongly worded protest had worn Lucy down. “They can say ‘unspeakable act’ and ‘piratical actions’ and I have to watch what I say?”

“Their plane, their airspace, their casualties. I’m afraid you do have to watch what you say, my dear,” Maggie said as she breezed into the room. “I’m off, Freddie, my Love. I simply must meet with that dreary Countess van Kirkendahl. Some fundraiser or other. You know the countess.”

The baron’s wife picked at an imaginary piece of lint on her immaculate tweed suit and walked over to Lucy’s side when she saw the discomfiture of her guest. “Try this: ‘The Terran Alliance deplores the necessity of interfering with Flight seven-one-seven, caused by the illegal nature of the arrest and the childish attempt at clandestine interrogation of one of our people and an American citizen for who’s safety we had accepted responsibility.’ That should defuse the situation, or more likely muddle it enough to put an end to it for all intents and purposes.”

“That, ladies and gentlemen,” the baron avowed, “is why I married her! So insightful, so incisive, so beautiful!”

“Hush, you old faker,” Maggie admonished her husband. Turning back to Lucy, she said, “Have Agent Daniels deliver it to the State Department on his return to the United States, and include a statement like, ‘We wish to commend Agent Daniels for his quick thinking and decisive actions in the matter of saving the life of Captain Simon Hawke and for his selfless attempt to help Captain Hawke regain contact with Terran Alliance personnel.’” With an airy wave of her hand, Margit, Countess von Schlenker, sailed out of the room without a backward glance.

Finding no need to change a word of what the woman had said, the three confederates leaned over the huge old desk and plugged the appropriate phrases into the document they were drafting. “I’ll get it copied and see how Agent Daniels feels about delivering it,” Lucy said with a sigh of relief.

“Ma’am,” Commander Pike said, “I can be back with a clean copy in about half an hour. If you wish, I can brief Agent Daniels myself and bring him with me when I return.”

“Okay, Lloyd,” she replied, standing up and massaging a kink out of her back. “Meet us at the... embassy. Freddie said he had something to show me?” She turned the statement into a question as she took the baron’s crooked arm, letting him lead her from the room. Behind her, Lloyd Pike disappeared in a shower of blue sparks, and the butler shook his head in wonderment.

“You’re going to have to get used to traveling like a normal human being again, Lucy,” the baron said as he handed her into his Rolls Royce. “Take us to the main building, please, Viktor.”

“Very well, sir,” was the only response from the liveried man behind the wheel.

“Not much will surprise Viktor,” the baron said as the vehicle eased away from the curb. He turned to find Lucy running her hand over the surface of the sensuously soft leather covering the seats of the luxury vehicle. “Ostentatious, I know,” he said. “And I wouldn’t keep it if I didn’t need to keep up appearances. Now, I’m afraid I need to broach an unpleasant subject.”

Lucy’s hand froze on the leather, and she looked into the baron’s eyes. “That means I’ve done something wrong.”

“More to the point, you’ve done something irreversible without letting me know in advance. Not that you should have to do so on most matters,” he demurred with one hand up, “but when you make a move as drastic as interfering with government airplanes of foreign powers in their own airspace, you need to let me know as much in advance as possible.”

“Spin-doctoring?” Lucy asked

“That or distancing myself from the situation. I am the Terran Alliance’s ambassador, Lucy. One instance like this can be explained away or swept under the rug,” he said. “Two or three cannot.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Freddie,” Lucy said contritely. “My dad used to have a saying about being painted with the same brush. It means you could catch hell just for being associated with the Alliance if we do too much that is out of step with what’s considered proper conduct.”

“You have an instinctive grasp of the situation, Lady Lucille,” the baron said suavely. “I’m sure the matter won’t need to be discussed again. Ah, here we are.” The Silver Cloud pulled up at the curb, having bypassed the oversized parking lot, and the baron, at his debonair best, handed Lucy out of the car.

They stood for a moment gazing at the gold-tinted glass front of the building. The words ‘Terran Alliance’ were hung over the door in block letters. “We need to design a logo or something, don’t we?” Lucy asked sotto voce.

Set back from the curb about seventy feet, the building shone in the evening sunlight. Walking up the two flights of widely spaced shallow steps, Lucy moved toward the doors in a daze. The baron opened the door with a flourish and Lucy stepped into the cool interior, freezing in astonishment.

The lobby floor, once covered in a neutral grey, was now covered in a light-absorbing black, relieved here and there by specks of color highlighted by the recessed lights shining down from the black ceiling. Silver accented the doorway and edges of tables, as well as the receptionist’s desk.

Two sets of painters were busily covering the left and right sides of the room in murals directed by one man standing in the geometric center of the lobby. “No! No!” he said with all the feeling of a frustrated perfectionist. “You must make it live! It’s the Horsehead Nebula, you cretins! Yes!” he said to the team working on the other side of the room. “The depth! You make it come alive! This is truly the Milky Way!”

“Karl,” the baron said with mock seriousness, “the next set of painters is coming out of your pocket. Allow me to present First Captain Lucille Grimes of the Terran Alliance. Lady Lucille, Herr Doktor Karl Mensing, chief astronomer of the Royal Observatory in Stockholm.”

“I want to thank you, Herr Doktor, for your time and effort here,” Lucy said, sticking her hand out to shake his. “The murals are magnificent! And the rest of the décor!”

“They will be when these paint splatterers learn to follow directions,” he said quietly, referring to the walls. “Pfffft! The rest, it just made sense.” The monocled astronomer took Lucy’s proffered hand, and instead of shaking it, turned it slightly and pulled it toward him, kissing the back of it, which caused Lucy to redden.

Lips on the back of her hand, the Doktor’s eyes caught Lucy’s blush. “You will have to learn to accept common courtesy with grace, First Captain.”

“In the circles I’m comfortable in, a handshake is very common, Herr Doktor, but I find this most appealing.”

Before the interchange could founder embarrassingly, the baron said, “First Captain, if you wish, we can continue the tour?”

“By all means, Your Grace, let’s,” Lucy replied.

The rest of the tour was of more prosaic surroundings—offices and storerooms, lavatories and living quarters.

“Some of your personnel will be day labor and some will be embassy staff,” the baron said. “You’ll need to be able to distinguish between the two, as well as visitors and unauthorized persons.”

Lucy smiled. “Remember our tech advantage? Our wristband will be the deciding factor. There are a few items that will be left behind when the Galileo leaves orbit tomorrow.” Her smile grew wider. “Simon, when he was fit, said you should never have just one motive for an action. We’ll be sending down several of our computers to run the three embassies, defensive equipment, a few trinkets to impress the natives, and three of our wristband machines. We’ll have the new shuttle Victor sent us from Libra to transport people to orbit, as well as the normal complement that would be aboard a ship of the Niven’s class.”

The baron stopped in front of an immense oak door bearing a plaque that read simply, “Lucille Grimes, First Captain, Terran Alliance.” It was with the gallantry found only among continental Europeans that he said, “First Captain, your business offices. I’ve taken liberties, of course. You’re welcome to make any changes you desire, and I won’t be offended.”

Lucy walked into what, under other circumstances, would have been any other secretary’s office found anywhere, but the differences jumped out at once. While a normal office would have been a bright color, this room mirrored the lobby with its dedication to the black and silver motif. Three of the walls bore pictures of various astronomical phenomena, illuminated by cleverly hidden lights. The over-stuffed black leather couch was accompanied by four black leather chairs, all of which surrounded a massive black coffee table. All six pieces were chased in what appeared to be pure silver and standing on the same style carpet that was found in the lobby. Off to one side was a black, silver-bordered pedestal bearing a small grey rock. The various black items seemed to complement each other, some gloss, some matte, while others were either hard or, in the case of the couch and chairs, soft. “I see you’ve been in collusion with Commander Kimura,” Lucy observed, staring at the small asteroid.

“My transgressions will become even more apparent momentarily, I’m afraid,” the old man said with a huge grin and no hint of remorse. “If you would, please?” he asked with a flowing gesture toward another door. Lucy, fearing another shock would finish her off, opened the door.

The normality she walked into was almost as much of a shock as all the surprises leading up to this moment. It appeared that her office aboard the Niven had been sent down in toto. The walls surrounding the desk and models of the various ships were different, though. A shimmering grey paint covered three of the walls, and the fourth was hidden by black floor-to-ceiling silver-chased drapes. Fanciful renditions of sights found around the solar system graced the walls. Lucy looked at the small brass plaque beneath one of the paintings: “Saturn’s Rings Seen from the Surface of Its Moon, Titan.” The signature in the lower righthand corner simply said, “Bonestell.”

“Is this...”

“An original?” Freddie asked. “Yes, it is. I’ve had it and several others in my collection for years. I couldn’t think of a better place to display them. Can you?”

“Uh, no,” Lucy responded lamely as she sank into the familiar chair behind the plain grey desk.

“I would suggest that you get a more prestigious desk and chair. I have a desk in mind—nineteenth century, I believe—that would be the antithesis of the rest of this entire building. It would draw attention to the person behind it. But the chair—lumbar support, three-way massage, heated, and adjustable to almost any position! Worthy of your inestimable self, my dear.”

“Let me think about it, okay?” Lucy said vaguely. “This is beginning to snowball, and I have no idea where it will lead.”

August 17th was clear and cold in Zurich, Switzerland. Lucy Grimes, First Captain of the Terran Alliance, became the de facto head of the Alliance delegation to the planet Earth when the Galileo headed out into the depths of space to rendezvous with Orion Base. Observatories around the globe reported that fact, as well as the fact that three of the four ships in the Alliance arsenal left as well.

Before the huge ship moved out, several deliveries were beamed down to the embassy. Three of the organic computers, one for each embassy, crate after crate of support equipment, satellite uplinks, prototypes of various items that should be of interest to scientists and military types as well, and dozens of boxes with attached contents lists began to pile up in some of the second-floor offices. Larger items, such as the three antigrav ground cars and the generators for the defense grids, along with all the associated hardware, had been shipped down by shuttle the day before.

Two Mambas sat in the parking lot beside the three Terran Alliance “automobiles,” lending a lethal air to the otherwise peaceful scene they inhabited. Off to one side, on an expanse of grass that had been used as a picnic area, sat the personnel shuttle sent to Earth from Orion Base. The sight reminded Lucy that she’d be returning to Earth in the not-to-distant future. One of the people sent out on the Galileo was her replacement.

Dozens of volunteers from the recently commissioned Niven moved crates from one place to another, kept track of Alliance message traffic on communications equipment that had been classified as secret as the weapons technology, and in general, began to make the building feel lived in.

Technicians were in the process of setting up the defense grid when Lucy walked into the basement room that had been co-opted as the main computer room on her first inspection tour of the premises since personnel had begun to arrive.

The Niven’s chief engineer looked up at her entrance. “Glad you stopped in, ma’am. It’ll save me a trip to report,” he said. “Six more hours, maybe eight, and we’ll have the equipment installed. Then we can bring down the power core and energize this beast.”

Lucy nodded her approval. “Thanks, Chief. I appreciate your team’s efforts. How are you going to get the core down here?”

“In pieces,” he said with a grin. “First will be the core itself. Its force fields have been reconfigured to minimum tolerances and will fit in the freight elevator. The other equipment can come down in bits and be assembled as we go. Once the core is actually in place,” he said, pointing at a bare space in one corner of the room, “it won’t take us more than four or five hours to have the grid up and functional.”

The core would provide all the power the embassy would need for the next several years and was just as secret as the comm units. If it weren’t for the fact that the defense grids wouldn’t work without the immense power output of the core, it wouldn’t have been necessary to bring it along. One function of the computer would be to monitor the force fields holding the monopoles in place and adjust them automatically.

FUGUE

Another endless time passed and she neither knew nor cared how long that time was while she struggled to fill the Emptiness that had arrived when she re-integrated Loss into her being. She reached out to the other things that floated within her perception but beyond her grasp, fearful of what they might bring her, yet more afraid of feeling so Empty.

Fear of the Emptiness within her turned into Hatred, and she began to plot ways to trick the things into coming into her reach. She would look where they weren’t as she strode through the void and then make a darting leap in the direction of the things. More often than not, they eluded her grasp, but occasionally she was able to lay hands on one and draw it in to make it a part of her.

Time after time these things, these feelings, these emotions, brought with them a degree of pain—not pain in the physical sense, for she had no physical body, she felt, but pain in the mental sense. Pain that took a brain and ripped it apart cell by cell, synapse by synapse, reveling in the discomfort It produced in Its victim.

Gradually, after several eternities, her efforts began to pay off. Now it wasn’t just a sense of self. It was more than just, “I am.” Faces appeared in the formlessness of her world, faces to which she could put names. Names that brought comfort. One such face was “dad.” Another was “mom.”

With these faces came the first kernel of what was becoming a growing sense of self. A sense of... identity.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Marcad Korvil, supreme ruler of the Korvil Hegemony, strode around the circumference of his family’s Pit of Justice, stopping at each of the fancifully carved pillars to offer his respects to the ancestor within. Beyond mere structural support, each pillar was a tomb holding the stripped and cleaned bones of an honored ancestor. Inset into the upper reaches of each pillar was the skull of the resident ancestor, some so old that they’d begun to decay in the hot, humid atmosphere of the cavern that surrounded the Pit. Recent technological advances had allowed the skulls to be treated for the prevention of any further deterioration.

He stopped before the tomb of the father of his father’s father, The Korvil, as he had come to be known, and studied again the life and accomplishments of the occupant. This one had risen to racial primacy through trial by combat, thereby giving the family name to the whole race, as well as the planet.

This communion with his ancestors was supposed to help him achieve, if not wisdom, at least balance. A full cycle had gone by since Marcad had given in to the urge to spare the life of Pankatt Korchon, his liegeman—twice the time he’d expected to wait before hearing back.

Deceit, even treachery, he expected. After all, had they not been racial attributes of the Korvil since time immemorial? But so was obedience to one’s Lord. It had been so since the earliest Memories. Cooperation had been a necessity on the young, volcanic world of Korvilene, called something else all those thousands of cycles before. Loners died out, while cooperative groups just hung on at first and finally grew to planetary dominance, with power residing in the smartest, strongest, or luckiest.

Power changed hands most often in the early days through trial by combat. Lately, it had tended to lie in family lines. Marcad’s great-great-grandfather had stepped back into the race, so to speak, when, dissatisfied with his lot, he challenged his Lord to a trial by combat. Winning that combat led to Marcad’s dilemma now. Each Korvil since The Korvil had pushed the race into the expansion that kept them bumping into the krath-Shiravi at every turn. Needing the space and being able to use the same worlds produced one of the sparks that kept the fires burning between the two races. Another spark was the drive to dominate that had not yet had time to mellow in the young Korvil race.

A large part of the inability of the Shiravi to interact peacefully with the Korvil was the problem with actually hearing Korvil words. In main part, it could be said that the concept of the Korvil as a race, the Korvil as an individual, and the Korvil as a ruler sounded the same to Shiravan ears, and this problem lent itself to all other aspects of the Korvil language as well.

The Korvil culture was at a more basic stage of its evolution and hadn’t developed the “shades of grey” that the more advanced Shiravan culture had, so the concept of “me/mine” ran head on into “let’s talk about it,” with the result that the more restrained Shiravans had been caught off guard and had stayed there for almost three hundred cycles.

Fearing a power shift based on knowledge of the “human” captives, Marcad sent scout ships out to the farthest reaches of his empire to demand whatever information Korchon might have wrung out of the Humanz. Another half-cycle went by before the ships returned to report the news of Korchon’s demise, along with his entire Sept, as well as the loss of the Humanz, bringing on the barely controllable urge to smash the perpetrators of such a heinous act.

So it was that Marcad had wound up in the depths of his palace, communing with the dead instead of marching out to exterminate the krath-Shiravi. For it was surely they who had done this to his subjects, his ships, his Honor. With the return of the fleet to Korvilene, he had in his hands indisputable and disturbing proof of the power of the krath-Shiravi.

The fact that the original sin—the massacre of the first Shiravan ship to land on his world and theft of their ship—rested on Korvil shoulders was lost on Marcad. They had occurred long before The Korvil had won the right to rule in personal combat lifetimes before. And had he known, it would have made no difference, for to the Korvil, all things belonged to the Korvil.

The major problem Marcad faced was not whether to attack but when. Since the inception of the Korvil space program, most manufacturing had been at the freighter and cruiser level. A few mid-sized vessels had been constructed, but not enough to even begin to think about attacking the fixed defenses the krath-Shiravi had around their major population centers. And it took an entire hunter pack to take out one of their mid-sized defense crafts. That was why, even though able to take more damage than a Shiravan craft, there was some attrition in the Korvil fleet. It was for this reason that most of the Korvil objectives centered around lone ships traveling known lanes or new colonies on the outskirts of Shiravan space that hadn’t had time to build their defenses.

Another problem was deciding how to respond and with what degree of aggression. Some response must be immediate, of course, to keep the enemy from gaining any more of an advantage than they already had.

The normal state of affairs for a Korvil, when attacked, was to fight to the death. That seemed to be the case in this instance, anyway. Conversations with Darmag, the Korvilene War Minister, had accounted for all of Pankatt Korchon’s ships, grounded and in space at the time of the attack. It appeared that only two of his ships had been crewed, and it was surmised that the attack had taken place on Korchon’s return to Kravarine after his interview with Marcad. The wreckage indicated that, while the krath-Shiravi had had superior numbers and possibly the advantage of surprise, the two active ships had each managed to attain Honor by taking their attackers with them. The laxity of having no ships on patrol could almost be forgiven since the krath-Shiravi had never mounted a more than ineffectual defense, much less an effective attack of their own. Most losses taken by the Korvil had been attributed to luck as much by the Shiravi as the Korvil.

The Korvil had operated with numerous smaller ships in hunter packs and minimal support as Tradition and Honor dictated for so long that it was almost impossible to conceive of a different way of fighting. But a different way would have to be devised to teach the krath-Shiravi that they could not attack the Korvil with impunity.

In order to combat larger vessels with heavier weapons and a significantly increased aggressiveness, new ships were going to have to be designed and built. Nothing would please Marcad more than to rid the universe of the species that had visited this ignominy upon his people, his Honor. But even a cornered krath was a danger to unprepared hunters. And for this hunt, much preparation needed to be made in advance.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The days that followed sel Garian’s revelations had left Rentec frustrated to the point of exasperation. His inability to talk to anyone about the meeting, along with the daily notices from various ministries concerning what his particular ministry was supposed to do, had drained him, not to mention Ramannie’s endless questioning.

Telling Ramannie that the information was classified only served to infuriate her since she was running into the same lack of information in Minister Foran’s office. What little he was able to tell her had already been public knowledge even before Rentec had visited her apartment the next day.

“I want to know what went on behind those closed doors!” she exclaimed. “If it’s causing you this much discomfort, you should share it. ‘Two to bear a burden halves the work,’ you know.”

“Don’t mouth platitudes at me today,” he demanded. “I don’t want to be on the receiving end of one of sel Garian’s purges. When the time is right, all will be revealed. Until then, isn’t it enough that we are at war with the Korvil?”

The war footing the matriarch had embarked all of Shiravi on impacted the life of Rentec do’ Verlas in four distinct ways. The first was that his relationship with Ramannie had cooled noticeably since the secrecy order. The second was that his ministry was catapulted into the forefront of the activities to prepare for a war no one had expected to be declared for many years to come. The third was related to the first. His visit to the do’ Verlas estates had been postponed. And the fourth lay in wait, marking time until it could manifest itself properly. Not only was the war taking up his time, but with Ramannie on the outs with him, it was not a propitious moment to have his mother engage in a matrimonial reading for the two of them. Emotion was so much a part of the reading that any discord was able to throw off the results.

Following sel Garian’s announcements, Rentec had become uncomfortably aware that ministers who hadn’t given him more than a polite nod in the past were now trying to curry his favor. The experience was unnerving, to say the least, for the most junior Shiravan minister. Sitting in Minister Foran’s office, he said as much over a glass of that worthy’s more esoteric vintage.

“I have people from every ministry but yours, Intelligence and Military pounding on my doors day and night, Minister!”

“Of course, you do! You are now one of the most preeminent persons on the planet after the matriarch and sel Garian. You are the one with the information about which ships are where, what they’re carrying, how they’re armed, who crews them, and how they’re trained,” the older minister said, ticking off points on his fingers. “Colonization is at a standstill, so I have no reason to search you out. Military and Defense have their own ships and agendas, and they’re tied to Intelligence by cords too strong to break. I’ve often thought that it would be simpler to have them under one central command structure, but too many ministers would balk at having that much power in one person’s hands. Also, several would lose their jobs entirely and actually have to find work or return to the family compound. This would be a good time to initiate a new attempt at doing so, though. It would speed up reaction times to any attacks.”

Rentec spent his days in a seemingly perpetual fog while barely managing to accomplish the nearly endless tasks appointed to his office. Disruptions, one after another, cropped up often enough to make him wary of walking into his office each morning. The sound of his comm unit caused him to sweat each time he heard it in the middle of the night, and he began to noticeably lose weight in just the first week after sel Garian’s bombshell.

Halfway through the third week of the Korvil War, a harried Rentec arrived at his offices to find workmen scurrying around, moving things without apparent rhyme or reason. “What’s going on here and who authorized this?” he asked furiously, grabbing the arm of a passing worker.

Immediately, a burly man who was directing the operation interposed himself between the two. “Minister do’ Verlas, I’m Building Superintendent Darvel,” he said soothingly. “My staff and I are only following the orders handed down to us last week.” The subtle emphasis on the last two words were not lost on Rentec. “Surely you were informed of the move?”

Rentec took the paper offered to him by Darvel and scanned it quickly. Halfway through the work order, he stopped. “This must be a mistake! My ministry doesn’t need the space indicated here. And on the top floor! What is being done with Minister Foran’s staff?”

“Minister,” the man said quietly, “I realize that you may not have had time to read all of your correspondence, but it may simplify things if you look at the signature at the bottom of the order.”

Rentec’s eyes widened in shock at the name scrawled across the bottom of the page. In the distinctive blue ink used only by the matriarch’s staff was the phrase, “For the Matriarch, sel Garian.”

Befuddled by lack of rest and one too many surprises, Rentec allowed the work order to be gently pulled from his numb fingers. His eyes strayed to a workman carrying a box labeled with writing of his own. He followed the man to the back of the floor and into a freight elevator that he half remembered led to Mondel Foran’s Ministry of Colonization. Standing in an uncomfortable silence, he felt the floor press against his feet as the elevator moved upward, and he swayed in compensation. When the door opened, it was onto a scene he could not have imagined. The room, once sparsely furnished with a half dozen desks, one of which had been Ramannie’s, was now crowded almost to overflowing with desks, computers, filing cabinets, and people.

He stepped hesitantly out of the freight elevator into semi-organized madness. The workman he’d ridden up with carried the box into the room, and Rentec slowly moved in the same general direction. Not one face was familiar to him as he desperately searched for someone he recognized. His staff had consisted of a private secretary, four general secretaries, and a pair of runners. Here were no less than thirty persons, all moving about as if each errand was of the utmost importance. Deducting the obvious workers who were just moving things from one place to another still left him with over twenty to contend with.

His eyes finally stopped on a young woman who appeared to be giving instructions to anyone who came within range. At the same time, she spied him, finished giving instructions to the woman before her, and headed his way. “Minister! I was expecting you to use the public transport or your private lift! Please! Follow me. I’ll show you to your office.” The poise with which she carried herself made him wonder why someone as competent as she appeared to be was directing the reassignment of a junior minister like himself.

The woman led him through a maze of desks to an aisle that led down the center of the room, which led to an office he’d visited many times before. The differences this time were stunning. He entered, expecting to find his friend and mentor, Mondel Foran, sitting at his desk as usual, perhaps reading the latest directive from Polity Headquarters. Instead, he found that all of his possessions used to personalize his own office were now placed tastefully around the room.

“I hope you approve of what I’ve done with your furnishings, sir,” the woman said deferentially.

“Everything seems to be quite... all right...” Rentec turned from his inspection of the room and stared at the woman standing quietly just inside the door. “I am at a total loss here. And you seem to have me at a disadvantage, ther’a?” he asked, using the formal designation for a woman of unknown status.

“Maratai kep Parrasine, Minister. At your service.”

Rentec fell into his chair in shock. The kep Parrasine clan was among the oldest and most revered clans on Shiravi. It was Kerel kep Parrasine who’d postulated theories that led to the construction of artificial monopoles. Later, it was his grandson, Mordas kep Parrasine, who’d constructed the first converters that allowed the power from matter/antimatter to be channeled into power generators that could accelerate a vessel into what scientists called “second-space.” This had led to the colonization of a large portion of nearby space until running into the Korvil Empire some two hundred and fifty years ago, known then as the Tarkah Empire for reasons still not known to the Shiravi. A kep Parrasine stood beside Manura sel Garian at Harusel and had an entire sector of space named after him, and another was second only to sel Garian on the matriarch’s staff.

The woman sat gracefully in a chair at the side of the desk and looked critically around the room. “Uncluttered, functional without being pretentious. It becomes you, Minister do’ Verlas. I could be comfortable here.”

Rentec, desperately trying to find a proper response, looked around the room as well. “Thank you, Doma kep Parrasine,” he said, switching from equals mode of address to junior-to-senior. “But someone else put all this here.”

“Nonsense! I supervised the entire move. Everything is as it was in your old office,” she said authoritatively.

“Please, Doma,” Rentec begged. “This is all... I mean, I don’t understand. I’ve tried to do the best I could, of course, under the circumstances, but...”

“There are those who use the intelligence of those around them to their best advantage. For reasons of their own, they see in you one who can be of great help in advancing the cause of the matriarch. There are also those, Minister do’ Verlas, who see in you the potential that was seen in your father before you. If I may suggest, you should read the correspondence on your desk. I’ve taken the liberty of sorting it into descending order of importance.” kep Parrasine stood up and walked toward the door. “I’ve also taken the liberty of reprogramming your comm unit with all the codes you’ll need to reach me or anyone else you should think necessary. Call me if you have any questions, sir. Your office should settle into proper operating mode by this time tomorrow. Now, I have other matters to attend to. If you will excuse me?”

Rentec nodded in shock and watched as kep Parrasine pulled the door closed. Several seconds went by before he looked down at the stack of messages on his desk. The first was in the same conspicuous blue ink that sel Garian was fond of using—so fond, in fact, that it had become her personal trademark. Fear slowed his hand as it reached out of its own accord and picked up the single piece of paper. He read, “Minister do’ Verlas, at your convenience, please contact my office and arrange an appointment. For the Matriarch, sel Garian.”

Hand shaking, Rentec set the paper down as if it were about to explode and reached for the comm unit sitting at one side of his desk. Running through the menu, he found that kep Parrasine was indeed right. Any number he might possibly need was already programmed into it, including the matriarch’s personal number!

Scrolling down until he found sel Garian’s name, he pressed the button and expected that he would be shuffled through several layers of bureaucrats before getting to speak to the infamous Policy Minister. Nothing could have surprised him more than to hear her distinctive voice answer.

“I... I’m sorry, Minister sel Garian. I expected to get a secretary. I was to make an appointment.”

“Why not now?” the mechanical voice grated. “You have the time.”

Rentec felt as if he’d stepped into a thitura’s nest. The six-legged creature was the size of a small house pet, but the venom of this tenacious pest was almost always fatal, and it never attacked directly, coming at its victims from unexpected directions until either it or its target was dead. And he’d voluntarily walked in there!

Sweat beaded on his forehead as the little old woman read aloud from a paper on her desk. “do’ Verlas. Mother: Kirel, of the kep’ Ligera clan. Father: Tira do’ Verlas, Minister for Spatial Affairs before you. ‘Highly intelligent and capable but unmotivated unless challenged,’ it says in your secondary school transcripts. We’ll see what we can do about your motivation, young Rentec. And you will rise to the challenge. Of that I am certain.”

Frozen in place by the carnelian gaze of the second-most powerful woman in the Shiravan Polity, Rentec could only fight to keep his breathing as even as possible. Don’t let your enemies see your fear, he remembered his father telling him on more than one occasion. They will use it to break you. Buoyed up by the thought of his father’s advice, gone now for over three turnings, Rentec’s chest eased slightly and he looked back, outwardly calm, into eyes whose depths he couldn’t fathom.

“It had been decided,” sel Garian said after a short pause, “that one of the things needed in this war is a more youthful viewpoint. Another is a spirit of adventure that seems to be sadly lacking in most Shiravans these days. It’s most surprising to me to find that combination in a male. But we are speaking of the do’ Verlas line. If we wish to win this war rather than become slaves to the Korvil, daring action must be taken.” She stared at the young man who was squirming in the chair before her. “It has therefore been decided that you will be transported to the summer estate of the matriarch, there to become an adviser in matters that require a more youthful frame of mind.” The words seemed to be forced out of the woman’s mouth by someone else. “You will be expected to arrive no later than one week from today. Will that give you enough time to set your ministry in order and appoint a new underminister with more youthfulness and vision?”

“Of course, Minister sel Garian. May I ask what criteria other than youthfulness and vision are required? And from where may I choose a new underminister?”

“The decisions will be yours alone, young Rentec,” he was told. “You may choose anyone you wish. The matriarch and I will be watching to see how you handle this assignment, and I believe we will all learn much. Now. I have many cords to pull this day. Go. Be inventive.” She waved a hand at the door, and Rentec stood to leave. “Oh, and do’ Verlas.”

“Yes, Minister?”

“I would advise you to be more diligent about reading the correspondence that is sent to your office. Someone goes to the trouble to send it. It is rude to ignore it, don’t you think?”

“Yes, Minister.” Heart pounding, Rentec closed the door on her brooding gaze, feeling as if he’d barely escaped with his life.

On the other side of the door, the little old woman recognized a pivotal moment for the entire Shiravan race, her nervousness betrayed by one claw-like finger tapping a steady beat.

“It would seem, cousin,” Pardo do’ Nallen said admiringly as he looked around the new office, “that this war has done well by you already. Rumor has it that your star is rising rather quickly.”

“Remember,” Rentec said with asperity, “fast-rising stars burn hotter, and hotter stars have shorter lives.”

Catching the temper of Rentec’s last statement, Parlo chose to ignore it. “So, cousin, what did you have in mind when you invited me here? Knowing you, it wasn’t to show off your new decor.”

“Are you happy in your post at Defense, Parlo? Do you have enough to keep you busy?”

“Strange questions, Rennie,” Parlo returned, using Rentec’s childhood nickname. “Why do you ask?” The caution in his voice was mirrored by the narrowing of his eyes.

“What would you say about moving from Defense to Spatial Affairs? I realize that now wouldn’t be a good time to change ministries under normal conditions, but these aren’t normal times. We haven’t spoken since sel Garian’s announcement,” Rentec said, alluding to the deeper nature of the revelations of that night, “and I was wondering if you’d be willing to move over here as my underminister.”

“Are you serious? Of course, I would! But it would mean that I’d have to move into Quillas proper,” Parlo mused aloud. “That could pose a problem. Living space is at a premium, right now, you know.”

“I believe I can get around that, Parlo. All you need to do is agree to the transfer, and the position is yours.” Rentec slid a piece of paper across the desk. “Sign at the bottom and my secretary will take care of all the necessities, including finding you an apartment befitting your new position nearby.”

As Parlo reached for a stylus to affix his signature to the document, he said, “You had this ready in advance, Rennie. How did you know I would agree?”

“I didn’t, cousin. You were just the first one I asked,” Smiling sheepishly, he pulled a slim stack of papers out of a drawer. “Seven other names were under consideration. You do need to know that as underminister you’ll have to fill in for me when my duties take me away from Quillas, which, as it happens, will be almost immediately and quite often.”

“Sounds quite sinister, but I’ll take the gamble. You have yourself a new underminister,” Parlo said, signing the document on the table before him.

Rentec smiled slightly in remembrance of his recent conversation with sel Garian. “Sinister could be a very apt word, cousin.” He picked up his comm unit. “Doma kep Parrasine, would you come in here for a moment?”

“kep Parrasine? As your personal secretary? What are you hiding from…?” Parlo choked off the sentence as the woman walked through the door.

“Yes, Minister?”

“If you would be so kind, Doma, I need this forwarded to the Ministry of Defense,” Rentec said, handing her the signed document. “Also, would you see about finding an appropriate apartment for our new underminister?”

“At once, Minister,” she said deferentially. Turning to Parlo, she said, “Welcome to the Ministry of Spatial Affairs Underminister do’ Nallen.”

The lack of stature of the Ministry of Spatial Affairs in the past had kept Rentec from having a reason to visit or be invited to any of the matriarch’s personal holdings. Now, with the ascendancy of his ministry, Rentec was treated as if he’d been a visitor for turns. A full day before the deadline imposed by sel Garian, Rentec took a private suborbital reserved for his ministry’s use to the matriarch’s summer estate halfway around the planet from Quillas. He’d argued as violently as possible to keep the suggested retinue down to a size that wouldn’t embarrass him, but kep Parrasine’s eyes bored into him with a focused look.

“You’ll need to make an impression when you arrive, Minister,” she said not unreasonably.

It is apparent to me, at least, he said to himself stepping onto the tarmac after the half-hour flight, that I’ve already made an impression in some corner or other.

After a week of dealing with kep Parrasine, his perverse nature came to a head. “I’m not at all sure that I care to have been thrust into the spotlight like this.”

“It is the matriarch’s opinion that you, Minister do’ Verlas, are the proper person at the proper time to make a difference in the course of our history. It is not for you to gainsay her.”

“Was it the matriarch’s decision or sel Garian’s?” he retorted with a vigor that was not his normal manner. “My ‘youth’ is not necessarily an advantage here, you know.”

“Again, that is not your decision to make, Minister,” kep Parrasine put a less than subtle emphasis on his title.

He fumed silently as he watched a valet, secretary, two runners, and baggage handlers deplane after him and kep Parrasine. “You will be happy to know that after this excursion, you won’t have to deal with a kep Parrasine again for a while, Minister, since I’ll be staying here after your visit. I’m not unaware,” she added tartly, “that I, as well as the rest of my family, are held in less than the highest esteem by some because of our military, and that causes unease amongst many Shiravans. You’d be well advised, also, Minister, to keep in mind the fact that at this time in our history, we need a militancy that has been absent for more generations than I, personally, care to count. People like sel Garian are needed to deliver our entire race from the ignominy of slavery to the Korvil—that is, the survivors, at least. And much as you’d wish it otherwise, you are one of those who will stand beside a kep Parrasine and a sel Garian to deliver our people from that fate. Now, Minister, put on a less antagonistic face, if you please. We are about to be in the presence of those who will report every word to the matriarch.”

“As if you won’t?” Rentec’s perversity kept surprising even himself.

“Be careful, Minister. Even my patience has limits,” kep Parrasine warned.

The ride from the landing field to the matriarch’s personal summer holdings went past some of the most beautiful sugar-sand beaches on the planet, and Rentec marveled at the sight. The Stala Mountains ran almost a thousand miles north to south, bordering those beaches until they doglegged west, leaving a fertile plain which the des’ Harras clan had held title to for over two thousand turns. It was here that the matriarch chose to settle in the summer to avoid the heat that afflicted Quillas City.

Rounding the final bend in the mountain range, Rentec saw for the first time the shimmering buildings constructed of the fabled gava stone mined only in the Stalas. The operation had made the des’ Harras clan rich many times over in the past millennia, and the reason was most obvious here. The last rays of the westering sun illuminated the scene, causing the buildings to glow with an internal light all their own—the property of gava stone that made it the most expensive and sought-after building material on Shiravi. Gava stone was highly prized for its reaction to light and heat. A single stone, big enough to be set into a ring or pendant for a man or woman, could cost a week’s pay, a sculpture, or a king’s ransom, and here was an entire city of the stuff.

Rentec’s suborbital grounded at a private landing field not far from the glowing, fanciful structures, and he self-consciously led the group of people with him (at kep Parrasine’s nearly subvocal direction) toward the waiting transport. Seating himself, Rentec looked out a window toward the ship and saw the baggage module being transferred to the transport. Glancing out the other side of the vehicle, he saw the city shimmering in the distance, situated to catch the full effect of the setting sun.

Rentec found himself in a suite of rooms with a valet arranging his clothes, his discomfiture growing with each passing moment. “Leave. Now.” he said irritably. He wandered around the suite aimlessly, wishing Ramannie were there for him to talk to. The reason for their spat was now forgotten, a thing of the past, and his feeling of isolation continued to grow until a chime sounded, calling him to the door.

The liveried attendant showed no surprise when Rentec opened the door. “The matriarch’s compliments, Minister do’ Verlas, and would you attend her at your earliest convenience?”

“Would now be an inopportune moment, ther’a?” he asked, adopting the informal mode of address.

“Your request has been anticipated, Minister,” the woman said, “and the matriarch awaits your arrival.”

“Very well, ther’a. If you would be so kind as to lead the way?”

Apprehension growing with each step, Rentec copied the sedate pace of the attendant as she led him without interruption past several obvious guard stations into the private apartments of the matriarch. An interminable wait followed as she disappeared to inform the Shiravan ruler of his presence.

Rentec truly hadn’t known what to expect, but the last thing he did expect was to find Linnas des’ Harras, Matriarch of the Shiravan Polity, sitting on the floor giving a language lesson to one of the aliens—the shorter female he surmised from his one look weeks earlier.

“Rentec do’ Verlas, Minister for Spatial Affairs,” the attendant said formally.

“Come,” the woman on the floor said without preamble. “Sit here and help me, Minister do’ Verlas.” She patted the floor beside her. “I wish to introduce you to Maggie Spencer. We seem to be having some difficulty with our language lessons, as usual. Perhaps you might be able to help?”

Rentec sat down slowly beside the leader of the entire Shiravan Polity and asked, “If I may, Your Grace, what are you trying to teach... her?”

“‘Her’ is proper, I think. I do believe her to be the female. I want her to learn that this,” she said, setting a cup of water down on the floor, “is called a ‘cup,’ but we seem to be running into a barrier.”

He picked up the cup and looked at the alien long and thoughtfully. The long, yellowish fur on her head was disconcerting, as were her features, but he could see the intelligence behind the eyes. A vivid blue, they were causing him to stare unabashedly.

“I had the same reaction,” the matriarch said. “Not a proper color for eyes at all.”

Rentec continued to study the alien female. She had two eyes on the front of the head, indicating predatory ancestry, ears on each side providing directional hearing, a single nose in the proper place but deformed into a lump, along with a mouthful of teeth that indicated an omnivorous heritage—not altogether unlike his own race. Physical differences could be attributed to different evolutionary tracks, but all in all, the similarities were enough to make him think the problems were not insurmountable.

“How are you describing this, Your Grace?” he asked holding the cup out to his ruler.

“I set it on the floor and say ‘cup,’ of course.”

“I see several things that one not familiar with our language could imagine from your actions, Your Grace,” Rentec started.

“Name two,” she challenged him.

“The idea of ‘cup’ versus the idea of ‘water’ for starters,” he said. “Then there’s the concept of ‘place on floor’ or ‘place cup on floor.’ May I?”

“By all means, do.”

Rentec looked at the alien and poured the water onto the floor. He reached out and patted the wet spot with one hand, saying, “Water.” Holding the cup up at eye level, he tapped it with a finger. “Cup,” he said distinctly.

The alien watched this process with intense scrutiny. She reached out and took the cup from Rentec. “Water,” she said. The sound was not intelligible, but the action that followed certainly was. She raised the cup to her lips and mimed drinking.

The elder woman, just entering her seventh decade, clapped her hands in joy as if a small child had just said her first word. “I think she and her mate, if that’s what he is to her, are afraid of us. We’ve been able to learn their names, but that’s about all, with the exception of basic concepts like ‘cold’ and ‘hungry.’ ‘Water’ is the first word either of them has learned.”

Rentec picked up a towel lying to the side and began to absentmindedly mop up the spilled water. “If I’d been taken from my people and subjected to the kind of treatment that led up to the condition we found them in, I’d be wary of strangers, myself, Your Grace.”

“And how would you suggest we proceed from here, Minister?”

The feeling of traversing a narrow, lipless bridge over a deep chasm while blindfolded came to Rentec. “You ask me, You Grace? I’ve barely had time to get used to the fact that these aliens exist.”

“Yes, I ask you, Minister,” Linnas des’ Harras said regally. “Of all the people at the meeting where Policy Minister sel Garian introduced these beings, only you made comments that showed your grasp of alien mentalities. I will grant you,” the woman went on, “that your comments were about the Korvil, but if you can make those assessments about a race with whom we’ve had so little contact, then you should be of immeasurable use to us now.”

Rentec looked at her sharply. His comments that night had been for his cousin and not much above a whisper.

At the mention of the Korvil, the alien woman jumped up and began to speak for the first time since Rentec had walked into the room. Nothing was understandable, of course, except for the word ‘Korvil,’ but it was obvious she was agitated.

“Perhaps, Your Grace, we should try to reassure ther’a Spencer that we are truly friends. How are they housed?”

“Housed?” she asked. “In a private apartment down the hall where they won’t be disturbed.”

“And doubtless they are under constant surveillance?” Rentec asked.

“Of course,” Linnas retorted. “For their own protection, of course. Where are you going with this, Minister?”

Rentec hesitated. “I realize I may be overstepping my bounds, Your Grace, but if we want to win their trust—and, through them, the trust of their entire race at some time in the future—we need to give them some measure of respect, the same respect we’d give to any member of our own society. First, all surveillance devices should be removed from their private quarters. Second, it’s time for all of Shiravi to learn of their existence. This will make it easier for them to be accepted by our people when we start taking them around our world and showing them what we have to offer.” As an afterthought, he said, “And someone should start to learn their language.”

Linnas des’ Harras stood up and started pacing the room, constantly being followed, Rentec noticed, by the eyes of the alien woman. “Why?” she asked after a time.

Startled from his circumspect study of the alien, Rentec asked, “Why, what, Your Grace?”

“Why all of it, Minister? Except the privacy part. That I can understand, and it shall be as you say.” She turned to an inconspicuous young woman at the side of the room. “Sitha, you will see to the removal of all surveillance devices in the private apartment of our guests immediately.” Anticipating the question that was to come next, she said, “Of course, you’ll leave all exterior devices in place.”

“Yes, Your Grace. Right now?” the woman asked with concern in her voice.

“Yes, right now. I’m sure Minister do’ Verlas and I can take care of ourselves while you get the process started.” The matriarch turned back to Rentec. “Now, continue, Minister. The question was, ‘Why?’”

“These are matters of policy better left to those who are wiser than I, Your Grace, but it seems to me that our people should know that there’s another race out there with as much reason to hate the Korvil as we have. It will give them a new spirit, I think. I hear the talk when the secretaries think I’m not there. If their conversations are any indication of the populace at large, we don’t have a lot of support for this war. Allies would make all the difference in the world.”

“Continue, Minister. I would hear more,” des’ Harras urged.

“Consider their side of things, Your Grace. We are the second race these people have seen. And in both cases, they are caged. Our cage is plusher, I would think, than that of the Korvil, but in my estimation, a jail is a jail no matter how well appointed.” Rentec stopped for a time to marshal his thoughts. “Allowing them access to our world and people is a way to show they aren’t captives, and that we have nothing to hide. And finally, Your Grace, to have someone learn their language would be a sign of respect. Of course, they should learn ours. There are only two of them, right? Much easier for them to learn ours than to have a translator around all the time. But again, it seems to me—who knows nothing of these things—that it would be possible to gain valuable insights into these people if we knew how they spoke. Hasn’t the same been said of the Korvil? Learn to think in their language and you learn to understand the people.”

The young woman chose this time to return to the room. “The devices are being removed as we speak, Your Grace.”

“Thank you, Sitha. Would you escort our guest back to her room? I would speak privately with Minister do’ Verlas.”

Motioning Rentec to a pair of chairs on a balcony overlooking the plains, Linnas des’ Harras poured a sweet wine into two subtly carved kemwood cups. “How is your mother these days, Minister?”

“My mother, Your Grace?” he asked, surprised by the change of subject. “She’s fine. Recovered from the surgeries and beginning to get back to work. She only spent a few weeks in a healing chamber. Still mourning my father, of course.”

“As do we all mourn the tragedy. A voice was stilled well before its time, and it was a loss to all Shiravi. When next you speak to Tira, tell her that her absence has been noted, and I would enjoy the pleasure of her company should she ever choose to visit here again.”

“Again? I hadn’t known she’d ever visited here, Your Grace,” Rentec said with confusion.

“Your father was a frequent visitor here, and he often brought Tira along with him. You take after him in many ways, not the least of which is your outspoken manner.”

Rentec blushed. “My mother says the same thing, Your Grace.”

“Still a woman of infinite insight, I see. And what will become of your consort-to-be now that her ministry post has been dissolved?”

“Ra—Ramannie?” Rentec stammered. “She has no close family, Your Grace, merely her clan affiliations. I had thought to move her out to the family holdings until our matrimonial. It seems a perfect solution.”

“Perfect to a male, young Rentec. How about to Ramannie and especially to your mother? No matter. It is a time when we must all make sacrifices.”

Rentec would have reason to remember that phrase in the days to come.

“Now, if you will forgive me,” Linnas said, draining her small cup. “I have one other interview before my day ends. Please make my home yours for the night. Sitha, if you would, please?”

After Rentec was led away by the attendant, Linnas stared out over the darkening plains of her ancestral home for a time before speaking to the figure standing in the shadows behind her. “Well, come and sit and tell me what you think,” she ordered.

“I think you will do what you will do, as ever, Linnas,” grated the mechanical voice of sel Garian, “and only historians will be able to call you fool or savant.”

“It is my job to see that we have historians, Manura,” she replied quietly.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Lucy Grimes sat watching the morning sunlight wash over a bare desk in her office at the Terran Alliance Embassy, Zurich, wondering what to do next. With a staff of four in the outer office and some forty other personnel from the Niven acting as temporary building staff, she still felt lonelier than she had in a long time.

It has to be because Galileo is gone, she thought, along with the Niven’s sister ships and almost everybody I’ve come to care about.

Comm calls were possible, of course, but when it took a message minutes to reach its destination and the same length of time to return, gossiping was an exercise in futility. Add to that the Alliance’s still uncertain status with the U.S., where it wasn’t exactly advisable to travel at present, and the feeling of isolation fed upon itself. Lucy wasn’t unaware of what she called the “incongruous irony” of her situation. She’d made three trips to the asteroid belt and helped build humanity’s first three deep-space installations, and the fact was that she felt trapped in one of Earth’s most beautiful countries.

She looked down at the barren desktop and muttered, “If I don’t find something to do, I’m going to go crazy. And the Galileo hasn’t been gone a good hour yet.” Reaching a decision, she called in Rukia Kimura and Lloyd Pike. “As soon as our phone lines are up and running, we’re going to be swamped with calls twenty-four hours a day. First, we’re only going to be taking calls for twelve or fourteen of those hours, like any other business. Second, I want an after-hours message put on the phone lines directing people to call back the next business day. Come up with something appropriate and get it set up, will you?

“That’s the easy one,” she said as she plopped a stack of folders down on the desk. “Here are the complete lists of all personnel aboard all four ships. The bases will send their info as soon as they get it compiled. We need to get all this entered into the computer. We’ve got name, home address, education, shipboard job, which ship, interests, and special knowledge on each person we’ve recruited. You two know this. You filled out one of these, just like I did.”

Rukia screwed up her elfin features and reached for the stack of folders. “Well, I guess this is my job,” she said. “It’ll give me something to do, and it is the work of a secretary.”

“You’re right about it being the work of a secretary, which I don’t consider you to be. Not for a minute. Official title, yes, and you’ve served in that capacity so far, but I have more in mind for you than that. Right now, pick out a few people and get them started on this, then get back here. You may wish for something as simple as data entry before this day is over.”

She watched Rukia leave and turned to Lloyd. “You’re my aide because you’ve had more experience out in the real world than a lot of us. What do you know about hiring people for sensitive jobs?”

Lloyd hesitated for a few seconds. “My father was a contractor for the government for several years. We produced some equipment for Gulf Storm. I’m still not sure what they were, but I do remember that he needed to hire people with a reasonable certainty that they weren’t flakes or totally inept. There was a test he brought home.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I wish I’d known I was going to be asked questions like this,” he said with a weak grin. “I’d have paid more attention. As it was, I took the test, along with about twenty of Dad’s most trusted and well-known employees. To see if the test was valid, you know? It was a kind of word-association thing, like ‘which of these words does not fit with the rest?’ and you get four or five to choose from. Pretty good results as I remember.”

“Good! That’s just what I want,” Lucy said. “Get with Baron von Schlenker and see if you can locate one. If it goes to things like reliability, aptitude, and things like that, I want it. I think it’ll be necessary for you, me, and Rukia to do the initial testing and evaluations, so I want to practice on our people here, like your dad did. We need to get managerial and secretarial types to man the embassies first. Then we can look to filling shipboard slots. We’ve got about a week before I expect to be doing those first tests for real. We’ve got all those reporters out there to spread the word for us about the tests, plus our pet reporter, Sarah Parker.”

“We’re going to be up to our asses in people,” Lloyd predicted. “We need to make sure that when the report of this hits the news, people are told in no uncertain terms that the trip is at their own expense, as well as their accommodations and meals. We aren’t footing the bill for that, and the Swiss won’t take kindly to a shitload of indigents wandering around one of their tourist attractions. Also, let ‘em know that we’re just taking applications, not accepting volunteers.”

Lucy looked speculatively at Lloyd. This was the first time she’d heard a curse word come out of his mouth. As a matter of fact, there was a rumor that he didn’t know how to use a contraction, and here he was, cussing and contracting! Dear god, there’s hope for this guy yet!

“We should probably have some kind of press release made up,” Lucy said, “stating those facts in detail and stressing the fact that there will be no shipboard assignments for some time. We can probably farm that out to Parker to be disseminated to the world at large and have copies for anyone who comes through the door.

“Oh, yeah! Here’s another one!” Lucy exclaimed. “Project Vesta is nearing completion—at least the hollowing-out process. We’re going to need people to man that, too. There’ll be deep-space observatories, zero-g experimentation, a supply depot, a rest and relaxation center, a real home office (if we decide to do that), and so much more. I envision it as a home-away-from-home for those who, for whatever reason, want off the ships for a while but still want to serve the Alliance in space. I asked Marsha to stop by and check on the progress so we can get a better idea when we can get started on the interior construction. My idea was to have the Galileo construct another habitat with construction module immediately after finishing Taurus. And using Taurus to help build it will cut down the construction time. The Galileo can tow it into position, leave it and a crew there, and return to Earth. It’ll add a bit to her away time, but it really should be worth the effort.”

Lloyd built on the preceding ideas. “How about a daily press release? Or not so much a press release but a jobs list. When we have a new ship about to arrive, we could put out a list that says we need one ship’s captain, four cooks, and so forth. We could have a section that never changes much, like scientists and janitors, and one that reflects whatever we need at the moment.”

Weeks turned into months. Mid-November arrived and gripped Switzerland in one of the coldest winters in history. A massive low-pressure system stalled over the area, held in place by the sheer mass of the mountain range it had run into.

Lucy drove her skimmer, as they were now referred to, into the brightly lit, heated garage and left the depressingly overcast afternoon behind her. Elation banished her unconscious irritation at the lack of sunlight as soon as she settled the antigrav auto in its space.

She commed Rukia and Lloyd. “Meet me in my office in ten minutes, please.”

She hadn’t expected either of them to be readily available this late in the day. The embassy had settled into a routine that had finally begun to feel normal. Lucy, Rukia and Lloyd only fielded the most persistent or high-ranking callers these days. The volunteer staff, mostly locals now, went home at five p.m., at which time visitors and applicants were turned away at the main gate. This left the building sparsely tenanted, sounds echoing eerily through the darkened rooms and corridors.

Her meeting at Freddie’s had gone on longer than expected, but then, so many of them did these days. Still, she walked into her office smiling. What would stuffy Lloyd think of her coming in reeking of wine? The truth was, she’d stumbled while accepting a glass for a toast and spilled her glass all over herself and the Japanese Ambassador.

Not one of my better moments, she thought, her smile fading a bit.

She plopped into a chair and looked at her two friends, crooked grin still in place.

“Okay, Luce,” Rukia asked, “what do you know that we don’t?” Rukia Kimura had learned to read her boss pretty well over the last several months, but this was just too obvious.

“First, let’s recap the dailies, Okay? Fill me in.”

“Now? I was just going to dinner! Oh, all right.” Her pique at not first hearing Lucy’s news passed, and Rukia said, “All three bases report everything on schedule and even a little bit ahead. Seems like the infusion of some new people and the removal of some unhappy ones has caused a production increase. Mambas and torpedoes are being built right alongside whichever ship is in the yard. With the addition of extra Sundivers, courtesy of Adam Gardner out on Gemini, we have power cores and missile heads to spare. The Galileo reports that the construction of Taurus is a bit ahead of schedule. Their Sundiver returned, and they’re ready to power up the habitat section, and the Galileo has taken on new power cores. Kitty’s condition appears unchanged, but Dr. Jeffers says Simon’s mental state is slowly improving. He’s never personally seen a depression that deep, and can’t predict the progress in any case.” She shrugged her shoulders and sighed. “Simon blames himself for Kitty’s condition, you know.”

“Yes, but true or not, he’s got to learn to live with it.”

“I don’t know how I’d handle something like that, or even if I could handle it. Let him alone, you two,” Lloyd said caustically. “If he comes around, great. If not, you’re doing fine.”

“Don’t be such a kiss-ass, Lloyd,” Rukia said. Lately, there’d been no love lost between her two senior staffers.

“I’m not a kiss-ass, and I resent you saying so. She is doing fine. So what if it hasn’t been just exactly like you think Simon would have done it? The result is still the same.”

Lucy stepped in to separate the two. “Don’t make me pull this car over!” Her comment was ludicrous enough to get through to the two antagonists. “Good. Now that I have your attention,” she said, “it’s time for my news.” She felt the quivering tension in the air and savored it for a moment. “It will be announced at Baron von Schlenker’s soiree later tonight, but I thought you’d like to know first.” After torturing them for a few more moments, she said, “We got the Japanese embassy!”

Astonishment washed over Lloyd’s and Rukia’s faces “God! What did you promise ‘em?” Lloyd asked.

“Plastics,” Lucy said simply. It turned out that one of the things no one had ever thought of was what the Japanese wanted to produce. And, upon reflection, it made perfect sense. A plastic that was almost as tough as steel, lightweight, durable, almost impervious to damage, and extremely heat- and cold-resistant had been used aboard ship to make seat cushions, tabletop covers and balloons for Z-tag. The Japanese took one look at it and saw the potential inherent in such a substance for use in everyday life. Of course, they were already involved in the processes of miniaturization in almost all parts of the Alliance.

She’d been looking for a trade with the Japanese. They had, after all, provided a nice place not far from Tokyo Bay for the embassy site and then proceeded to build an embassy building that was loosely modeled on the Swiss building but with a flavor to it that allowed it to fit into the existing architectural styles around it. Giving them the plastics concessions should allow her to ask another favor. It had been determined long ago that the Builders hadn’t gone in for miniaturization. Now was a good time to upgrade some of their own technology by melding it with Earth-based advances.

Information flows both ways, she thought.

“That’s not so bad.” Rukia said. “We can still use the antigrav with the Germans, right?”

“No, I was going to use that to mollify the Americans,” Lucy said with a sigh.

“But the Germans were expecting that,” Lloyd said, confusion in his voice.

“But they’ll be satisfied with the superconductor technology,” Lucy said wearily. “Just like the Chinese will take the solar cell technology. The British will get something else, and everybody gets a piece of the pie,” she finished sarcastically. “Somebody shoot me. I’ve turned into a fucking politician!”

Uneasy laughter at this pronouncement was interrupted by Lucy’s valet, Lt. Diana Ross. “Ma’am, you asked to be reminded that the baron’s car will be here in one hour.”

“Thanks, Diana,” she said, standing. “Out of the frying pan and into the fire, and all that stuff.”

“Wait a minute! What about the Japanese embassy? Are there any details?” Lloyd asked.

“Oh, yes.” Lucy stopped before heading to her bedroom door. “News. We leave for Tokyo in three days.” She looked at Rukia, “Will that leave you enough time to get us packed and ready for a week or so?”

“With Diana’s help, no problem at all,” Rukia replied, nonplussed. “Who’s going?”

“You, me, and Lloyd for sure. I figured on a few others for effect and a couple of Mambas with their pilots, of course—all armed. And later, a core staff of engineers.” The policy of going armed outside the embassy grounds had evolved over the past few months as Alliance personnel increasingly found themselves accosted on city streets and in shops. Having their weapons visibly strapped to their thighs tended to keep away all but the most persistent. Japanese officialdom had balked at that particular proviso but backed down when Lucy made it clear that it was a safety issue and not a matter for negotiation.

“What about me?” Lloyd asked. “Surely you’ve got something more in mind.”

“Oh, indeed, I do,” Lucy said, the smile finally coming back to her face. “Ladies, meet the new temporary head of the Alliance Embassy, Zurich.”

Emotions flowed across his face almost too fast to follow. “You can’t... I’m not...” he sputtered.

“You can and you will, Lloyd,” she said authoritatively. “And that’s what you get for laughing at me when Freddie explained my situation!” Having accomplished half of her admittedly childish payback plan, she pulled the door closed behind her as she headed for the shower.

Lloyd stared at the door. “She had her back to me, and I only smiled! How did she know?” He turned on Kimura. “You told her, didn’t you?”

“Hell, no! I was grinning so hard my face hurt! Ratting you out would have been implicating me, you idiot. Besides, I didn’t think of it,” she finished lamely. “Oh, shit. If this is what she does to you, what’s going to happen to me?”

“Like you’re so much better than me,” Lloyd groused. “She probably didn’t see you, or she’d have found a way to get to you, too!”

Baron Manfred von Schlenker’s long black example of extravagant decadence pulled up at nine o’clock to carry Lucy to the castle. Tonight’s soiree had no special theme, but Lucy wore her ball gown anyway. For some reason she couldn’t get the thought of Cinderella out of her mind, and she smiled to herself. Maggie had commented that the white material gave her a more vibrant look than her customary duty blacks, and that the gold highlights complemented her hair. Whatever that means, she thought on the short ride to the castle.

The intervening three months since the opening of the Zurich Embassy had dulled the immediacy of news about Alliance activities on Earth. Volunteer applicants walked into the Alliance building daily and came back out, volunteer employees worked there daily and went home at night, and crewmembers from the various ships in orbit came and went in the streets of Zurich. Alliance personnel occasionally visited a nearby ski lodge for a day on the slopes. Of course, the media had now spoken to almost all the family members of all Alliance members.

Since crew lists had been published with the nearly unanimous approval of all Alliance personnel (this was one thing Lucy refused to dictate), every talk show host, news commentator, and radio personality were trying to get the “true story.” The media had finally been saturated with Alliance news, and only things of real importance reached the nightly news shows.

Tonight would be one of those nights. Freddie had given her a guest roster before she’d left earlier in the day. It included the Japanese Ambassador to Switzerland (with whom she still felt uncomfortable after the toast incident), a dozen wealthy businessmen from around the world, and a smattering of officials from some of the major nations. Chief among those on the list were Virgil Collins from the U.S. State Department and a name she recognized—Brandon Galway listed, she noticed with amusement, as the representative of the Deputy Minister of the Interior.

Can you be arrested for impersonating a politician? Probably. But they’d send you to the loony bin instead of jail. She giggled at her joke and stepped out as the chauffeur opened the door to the flashes of cameras and the shouting of questions, which she no longer heard.

No longer a novice at these kinds of entrances, Lucy waved to the crowds on both sides as she marched up the steps. There would be the obligatory photo op after the “beautiful people” had finished with her.

Lucy had lost track of the times she’d traveled these steps now and had come to know the footmen by name. “Good evening, Georg. How’s your father?”

“Just fine, Lady Lucille. Looking forward to summer. Claims he can feel the cold in his bones, but he won’t let us move him. Obstinate, as usual.”

“Sometimes parents can be that way, Georg. If he starts to hurt badly enough, he’ll move,” she predicted.

She moved across the foyer and onto the balcony serving the main floor. Hello, Robert,” she said to the pike man at the top of the stairs, and then, “Good evening, Thom,” to the pike man who announced visitors.

“Good evening, Lady Lucille,” came back in stereo.

“If you would be so good as to announce me, Thom?”

Lucy began the walk down the stairs that let everyone gawk at whomever the newcomer happened to be.

Like a fly on a plate, she thought behind the phony smile plastered on her face. Why didn’t I bring someone else with me? ‘Cause I’m stupid, that’s why!

She spent the next ten minutes saying generic nothings to people she’d never meet again. After a time, she made her way to the side of the room where Freddie, whom she hadn’t seen since she reached the bottom of the stairs, waved her over.

“Gentlemen, allow me present Lady Lucille Grimes, First Captain of The Terran Alliance. Captain Grimes, Mr. Lee and a few of his associates. I beg your indulgence, but I have someone I must see right away.”

The baron seemed as if he was asking permission to leave, but he was gone before Lucy could even raise a hand in what could be construed as dismissal. She turned back to the Texan, slightly annoyed. “Let me guess, you want to pay for the right to get first crack at some of our technology, correct, Mr. Lee, is it?”

“Yes, ma’am, Aaron Bidwell Lee of the Virginia Lees.” At her raised eyebrow, he added, “Our particular branch of the family found it advantageous to relocate for a time after the War. (He pronounced it Waw-wuh, and his inflection left no doubt to which Waw-wuh he was referring.) We moved to Pennsylvania because our politics didn’t coincide with the rest of the family’s. That’s where we got into oil. Then we moved on down into Texas at the turn of the century where we’ve been in the same business for the last hundred years,” he said proudly.

“And just how can I help you, Mr. Lee?” she asked more tartly than she would have liked.

“Well, now, ma’am, I’m sure you’ve been approached every way there is, but we have to make our pitch so to speak,” Lee said. “My friends and I want to say that we are perfectly willing to pay whatever we must to get the rights to produce some of your technology for Earthly things. I know I’m not saying it right, but we’ve never really had to consider this scenario have we, boys?

“The truth of the matter is that rumors are flying faster than a hummingbird about the fact that oil will very soon become a thing of the past, and we want in on the ground floor of whatever is going to replace it. Here’s the thing,” he said, apparently the spokesman for the group, “we want to get in on this antigravity stuff. Since the oil market is going into the toilet, we need to produce something that will keep us afloat in a changing world, and antigravity looks like it could be the Microsoft of the twenty-first century. Yes, of course there’s money in it, for us and for your Alliance, Captain,” he said speaking so fast that his accent all but disappeared. “Remember, money isn’t a bad thing if you have enough of it.”

“I believe you’re getting ahead of yourself, Mr. Lee,” Lucy said. “We still haven’t come to a firm agreement with most of the major governments of the world on just what to release and to whom, especially the United States. We still haven’t forgiven you for three murders, an abduction, and the loss of Captain Katherine Hawke, who’s still encased in some kind of suspended animation.”

“Perhaps that’s because some people are too shortsighted to see what it will take to get this project moving so the most people benefit while the least suffer, First Captain Grimes,” said a voice from behind her.

She turned halfway around to the speaker. “And you have the answer to this Gordian Knot, Mr….?”

“Collins, First Captain. Virgil Collins, U.S. State Department. And this is my associate—”

“Brandon Galway,” Lucy finished in time with Collins. “We’ve met. I see you’ve been promoted to the Interior, Brandon. Congratulations.”

“Here today, gone tomorrow,” Brandon demurred. “I hear good things about you, too, Lucy.”

“Then you aren’t hearing them from American sources!” Nervous laughter rolled through the group. “Brandon and I are friendly adversaries, gentlemen. Don’t let us ruin your night.” She turned back to the newcomer. “Since you made your statement in front of these gentlemen, Mr. Collins, I assume they’d be welcome at a private discussion in the Baron’s study? There’s no need not to be comfortable while we bounce this around.”

When Collins nodded his agreement, Lucy led the group to the understated door that opened onto the baron’s library. Causing no end of ruffled feathers, she stood to one side, holding the door open while the group passed within. Before doing so herself, she looked out at the crowd. Freddie, regaling a group of women, gave a small thumbs-up at her, and she pulled the door closed.

“Brandon, would you be kind enough to pour drinks for us? Make mine scotch. I’m not driving tonight,” Lucy said as she entered the group of men trying to sort themselves into chairs. The jockeying for an advantageous position was almost comical to watch, especially since she herself hadn’t landed anywhere yet.

“See here, First Captain!” Collins exclaimed in disapproval.

“All right, Mr. Collins, since we don’t seem to have any servants around us and you don’t want me ordering Brandon around, how about you doing it for him?” Lucy asked as she slipped into what had become her favorite chair in the room. Positioned so that it afforded a nice view of the Alps during the daylight hours, it also allowed its occupant to see almost the entire room at a glance, and it was also sink-up-to-your-eyeballs comfortable.

“No, no,” he demurred. “Just not used to having someone else order my staff around, is all.”

Hiding the ghost of a smile behind her hand, Lucy said, “I believe you’ll find several kinds of spirits on the sideboard, Brandon. And the baron serves some of the finest coffee in the world. At least, that’s what this country girl from Ohio thinks.”

“So, Mr. Collins,” she asked politely, “just what did you mean by your statements out on the ballroom floor?”

“I think Mr. Lee would be better able to answer that one, First Captain. After all, it was his idea in the first place.”

“Just ‘captain’ will do in private, Mr. Collins. But how about you go first. After all it was you who opened your mouth to try to salvage the situation.”

“Captain,” Lee said smoothly, “it really would save more time if I started this off as Mr. Collins is only slightly briefed on the situation. The way we see it is that you should have local people, that is non-governmental persons, doing the actual production of the items, whatever they are. We, the locals, already have the supply lines in place and the distribution network to send finished goods off to whatever markets you choose. If you make the government do it, any government, they would have to build all the infrastructure again. Sure, the government has those things in place now, but they’re geared to military matters. This is directly in the private sector’s province.”

“How so?” Lucy asked, nodding at Brandon as he handed her a cut-glass container with at least two fingers of amber liquid.

“All I can say at the moment, not knowing what the project would be, is that if you gave us an item to build and the plans to build it, we could start the process, sometimes the same day. We’d just make a call to our suppliers and the material would be on the way. The problem is if, and when, we have to retool a plant or build an entirely new structure. At that point, the government would guarantee ridiculously low loans to get us set up,” Lee said, looking at Collins for confirmation.

Lucy, seeing him nod, motioned for Lee to continue. “All of this would employ the same people we’ve used all along until we get to new production. More jobs there. The new plants go online. More jobs there. We produce a new widget or whatever to replace an old one, and you have new jobs coexisting beside old ones. And since the older widgets are no longer useful, there would be less call for them and their makers would be transferred over to the new item, providing a steady labor pool for the steadily increasing new widget market. Minimal loss of jobs, minimal impact to the economy. Very little cash outlay for the government, and they get their cut right off the top in taxes.”

“Sounds good on the face of it, Mr. Lee, but I’ll have to run it past a few people who know how to find loopholes in such things.”

Brandon, finished with his drink chore, sat down with a beer and said, “You should look at this proposal real close, Lucy. It’s one of the better ideas to come down the pipe. Most of the others are top heavy in favor of the government concerned.”

Collins, trying to appear on top of things but getting further behind all the time, said, “If it means anything, Captain, Mr. Galway here is one of the initial proponents of this plan.”

“I’ll take it under advisement, Mr. Collins, I promise. The disbursement of technology is one of our primary goals here, along with not inconveniencing anyone any more than necessary.”

“Can we inquire as to what other things concern you, Captain?” Lee asked. “Maybe we can help—a mutual assistance pact, so to speak.”

“Well,” Lucy said speculatively, “we’re going to have three ships in orbit in about three months. That’s another, oh, twelve hundred personnel we’re going to need. A few months after that, Taurus Base as we call it, comes online. That’s another thousand or so there. And, of course, there’s Project Vesta. An unknown number will be needed to fill that one out, and it won’t be in the hundreds, I assure you.” She appeared to think for a few seconds. “Most of our problems are personnel-related, Mr. Lee, but I believe we’ll have that wrapped up shortly. You’ve heard, I’m sure, that the Alliance has an announcement to make?” At Lee’s nod, Lucy went on. “Find a comfortable spot, gentlemen. In about an hour, all will be made clear.”

The meeting broke up, and Lucy made her way back to the main ballroom. She wandered around for a time, talking quietly with one person then another, waiting for the hour to end. She ran into Galway on the way to the top of the staircase. “Sure it’s a good idea to be seen with the enemy, Brandon?” Lucy gibed.

“I’ll take my chances. I’ve already been painted with the same brush once, so a second time can’t be that much worse. What’s the big announcement? I surely can’t tell anyone in time to derail anything.”

“Even if you’re wearing a wire, what’s ten minutes?’ she said and shrugged. “I’m going to announce, with the Japanese ambassador standing beside me, that the final hurdles to building a Japanese embassy near Tokyo have been removed. I’ll be going to Japan in about three days to inspect the site. Then, we’ll have another source of volunteers for those new ships I told you about a while ago. And none of those volunteers are going to be American. That’s because, of course,” Lucy said biting off each word, “your people won’t get off their collective asses. The future is about to leave America behind, Brandon. Acting now will put an end to that prophecy. Don’t wait too long.”

Not waiting for a response, she continued up the staircase. His expression thoughtful, Brandon watched her until the huge doors boomed shut between them.

The press conference went as such things always did. Standing on the courtyard steps so the cameras could get good shots, the Japanese ambassador stood beside Lucy and agreed with every word she said about the new embassy in Tokyo. He then, along with her, answered questions for about ten minutes before backing away from the small stage, leaving her to face the crowd alone, Lucy had become an expert at these functions, and they no longer terrified her like they once had. She chose which questions to answer fully and which to answer with more fluff than substance. Finally, she called a halt to the session, pleading exhaustion, and escaped into the safety of Freddie’s castle.

An hour later, back at the embassy after her final goodbyes of the night, Lucy slipped out of her clothes and into the bed she’d waited for all day. Turning the lights down, she gazed at the stars and let the view lull her to sleep.

Lucy gazed out over the expanse of water dotted with the colorful sails of hundreds of boats. Pleasure craft, fishing vessels, and merchant ships vied for the same space, and Lucy marveled at the fact that so few collisions occurred. February had brought them to Tokyo, and three new ships were in Earth’s orbit. Two of the ships, named the Andre Norton and the Isaac Asimov, finished off the list of names Simon had come up with, so Lucy had decided on Shasta for the third.

“Because I like the name, that’s why!”

Rukia had merely asked how she’d arrived at the name, and the vehement response had momentarily stunned her.

Lucy sat for half a minute more and then turned to Rukia. “Sorry. So much on my mind right now that having to pick ships’ names seems like a petty thing to blow up over.”

“It’s because of the Americans, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” Lucy admitted. “But how did you know?”

“You set it up so that I read every piece of mail that comes in here and also every radio communication. I know the Americans have finally given approval for an embassy, so I also know you’ll be leaving soon,” Rukia said. “It’s nerves, of course. It’s a big step. The big step as far as the rest of the world is concerned. Once America buys into the embassy notion, it’s as good as written in stone. I guess you’re leaving me in charge of this embassy?”

“I had that in mind, yes,” Lucy admitted. “If you’ve figured that out, then you’re the right person for the job.”

“I’d have had to be blind not to have figured it out, Luce. With all the ‘go here’ and ‘meet this person’ going on, everyone saw that you were grooming me for the spot. Besides, I saw what you did to Lloyd, so it made sense. Tell me, how did you know we were laughing at you that day? Lloyd pointed it out that you had your back turned to us and couldn’t possibly have seen us.”

“If I tell you,” Lucy said lazily, “it’ll ruin my mystique! Lucy Grimes, mind reader extraordinaire.” She changed the subject. “You know I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“Yes, I know,” Rukia said, letting some of her temper show, “I need to tell you that even though I look Japanese and have a Japanese name, I really don’t understand the Japanese. I was raised in California, for Christ’s sake! How am I supposed to get along with these people?”

“Use common sense. You know as much as I do about the day-to-day functioning of this embassy now. So what if you aren’t familiar with the culture. No one expects you to be. Get a cultural attaché to help smooth out the bumps. I’m sure Mr. Karagawa would be happy to assist you,” Lucy said, referring to a persistent gentleman who had, from almost the first day, tried everything in his power to get Rukia to go out with him.

“He’s entirely too persistent for my taste. When I tell someone no, I expect to be listened to. It must be that horrid Western upbringing of mine.” Her comment fairly dripped with sarcasm. “And if you don’t tell me how you know we laughed at you, I’ll...I’ll…”

“What?”

“Quit!”

“You wouldn’t do that after all we’ve been through,” Lucy said with conviction.

“Try me.”

“Okay, geez! A girl can’t even have any fun,” Lucy said, pouting at her friend. “You two were so busy laughing at me that you must not have noticed the mirror at the side of the room. But I saw it, and I saw the two of you. And I vowed to get even. Laugh at my discomfort at being thrust into the spotlight, will ya? Well, what goes around, comes around. Your turn, only I won’t laugh. Didn’t with Lloyd, and I won’t with you.”

Just a small lie, for as soon as Rukia walked out of the office, laugh she did.

Lucy’s shuttle landed in the Arthur C. Clarke’s bay, and she strode about halfway down the ramp and stopped. A small band was playing something martial off to one side, something vaguely familiar but nothing she could put a name to. “Permission to come aboard?” she asked formally of the commander standing at the foot of the ramp.

“Granted, ma’am, and welcome aboard the Clarke. The captain’s compliments, and would you care to join her in her ready room?” came out of the mouth of the officious-sounding young man who wore a set of duty blacks that looked as if they’d been tailored to fit.

“Delighted, Commander. Lead the way.” Lucy knew that she could teach this one a thing or two about his own ship but passed up the chance to bring him down a peg or two.

The fresh-faced commander knocked on a door with a brass plaque reading: Gayle Miller, Captain, TAS Arthur C. Clarke, Commanding. Hearing a muffled voice from inside that he translated as, “Come in,” the young man did just that, stopping in the doorway and effectively blocking it. “Ma’am, First Captain Grimes.”

“Send her in, Charley, and for God’s sake quit blocking the door for superior officers. It’s rude and could turn you into a lieutenant commander in no time flat.”

Lucy closed the door on the startled face of the commander and looked at Gayle. “Who is that?”

“Someone entirely too serious for his own good. I think he’ll make a good tactical officer though, if I can only get some of the spit and polish off him. Got good marks on all of the tests we could devise, some of which he helped develop, so things are suspect there. But he’s coming along. Got great marks on games theory and something called chaos theory. Just needs to get over himself.” The two women hugged and sat down. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Well, I’ve come to steal some of your people. The American Embassy has been approved...”

“Congratulations!”

“Thanks, but the problem is that I don’t have enough trained, trustworthy staff to set the place up properly. I took all I could from the Niven, but they’re now stretched between Zurich and Tokyo. A couple of dozen bodies are all I need, and I can get you good replacements from the tests we’re administering. I need experienced engineers to oversee the installation of the power core and security screen, and a few bodyguards. I haven’t needed those since Zurich, but Lloyd and Rukia insist that I have them. Mother hens, both.”

“Well I, for one, agree with ‘em. Do you really trust that bunch of...” Gayle stumbled to a halt, at a loss for words.

“Okay. Okay,” Lucy said, picking another subject. “How’s Simon doing?”

Gayle, who’d just come from the Galileo, said, “He’s doing okay. Seems more like himself all the time. There’s just this... shadow, ya know? Like a cloud he can’t get out from under. I came back by way of Vesta. Thought you’d like to know.”

“What?”

“All the machines are idle. Took a shuttle into the thing. Job’s done. Completely hollowed out and ready for the next step.”

“Good. We should get the Galileo to build a habitat and factory section and tow it to Vesta. Crew that and start laying grav lines. Then we get the interior aired up and we’re on our way. The rest of the construction can go at our leisure. Oh, there is one other thing.”

“Yes?” Gayle asked expectantly.

“The band. It’s embarrassing, Gayle! I mean, I agree with the symbolism, and thanks for the thought, but save it for special occasions, okay?”

“Special occasions?” Gayle was all innocence. “Do you mean to say that the commanding officer of the Terran Alliance visiting one-seventh of her battle fleet isn’t a special occasion?”

Commander Diana Ross, newly promoted, walked into the room carrying a stack of papers. Appointed to be Lucy’s personal secretary after the promotion of Rukia Kimura to head of the embassy in Japan and overly conscious of the new insignia on her collar, she set the papers down on Lucy’s desk. Still uncomfortable with the familiarity to which she was now entitled, Diana, said, “This is the first batch, uh, Lucy. I’ve flagged the ones that look most promising in blue and the least in green.”

Lucy stared out the window at the San Mateo Mountains as the map on her wall called them, and asked, “How many good ones, Diana?”

“Out of over four hundred applications, we have about two hundred sixty-five, ma’am.”

“That takes us over the top for the first ship, but keep the interviews going,” Lucy said absently as she watched the sun set behind the mountains. “Call up the first crew and have them report for their initial introduction class. Let Security know we’ll be having arrivals and give them a list of names. Get housekeeping to assign quarters and notify the mess halls to begin to expect an increase at the tables. Tell all the other acceptable applicants that they’re in the ‘keep a bag packed’ file.”

The three ships in orbit awaiting crews preyed upon Lucy’s mind. Two months had passed since skeleton crews had delivered them to Earth orbit, and still they sat with only skeleton crews. She had envisioned these three ships as examples of what the Terran Alliance really stood for. Crewed with a truly international mix, these ships needed to get under way as soon as possible. The sticking point was the damned Americans. It had taken Congress months to decide to cede even a small portion of the New Mexico desert to the Alliance, and still more months—meanwhile, the Japanese embassy had taken off like a bat out of hell—for the infrastructure to be set in place and become operational, and none of it would have been possible if it hadn’t been for the surprise that arrived on her doorstep three days after the embassy opened. Lucy stared out the window and wondered if the U.S. could have picked a worse place to cede them. She doodled in the ever-present dust that seeped through every possible crack in the ancient buildings of the old army post.

Her introspection was thankfully disturbed by the phone ringing. The guard at the front gate was calling to say that an unusual convoy had come to “enlist.” When Lucy asked what was so unusual about this particular group of people, she was told that all of them claimed to be friends of Simon. Intrigued, she told the guard she’d be right out, grabbed Diana and two guards, and headed for the gate in her skimmer. After a long conversation with the leader of the group, a Sergeant Mike Abernathy, Lucy provisionally agreed to allow them inside the complex. “I’ll have to speak to Simon first to confirm your identities,” she said.

“Abernathy?” Simon asked when Lucy’s message brought him to the Galileo’s comm center. “Yeah, I remember him and most of the other names you read off. Platoon mates of mine from my tour in the Army. You want some way to know that he is who he says he is? Okay. Ask him why his nickname was ‘Double Cross.’ If he blushes, he’s the right guy. And don’t ask. Maybe someday I’ll tell you the story. And anybody he vouches for is okay, too. Why not use ‘em to help set up a functioning base? You’re going to have more people than you know what to do with running around all over the place shortly. Let them handle security and train the new security personnel. Tell him I’ll see him in about six months, and if he doesn’t behave, I’ll tell everybody how he got the nickname.”

She sat behind a grey, military-style desk some thirty miles north of a New Mexican town called Truth or Consequences and started to wade through the stack of blue-flagged papers Diana had deposited on her desk. Her desire to see the personnel mix as equal as possible was what’d been holding her up. Her original thought, seeing these papers, was that one ship could be up and running, but then she thought of all the applicants in Japan. A simple call to Rukia Kimura might just get two of them out of orbit and into training mode.

Lt. Commander Thomas Breen, second-wave volunteer, rode down to Earth in the shuttle, orders in hand. His surprise at being called to the First Captain’s office in New Mexico had been complete. Serving as the weapons officer aboard the Galileo, he’d been pleased to be off Earth and away from the stifling family life he’d endured prior to his enlistment in the Alliance. But it was the wording of the invitation to Alliance Headquarters that baffled him. “Captain Grimes requests the pleasure of your company,” was not a phrase that engendered worry. “At your convenience” also gave the impression that the invitation was less than urgent. The problem was that, until he received the summons, Thomas had only met the First Captain once before, and he’d been sure she hadn’t taken much notice of him.

A redhead led the small crowd into a room and handed her clipboard to a waiting ensign wearing a shoulder patch that read “Alliance Training Command.” The ensign immediately left via a second door, and the redhead, Diana, walked down the aisle between the two groups of chairs, stopping at a podium at the front of the room. She turned to face the expectant assemblage, waving expansively at the chairs.

“Please take a seat wherever you feel comfortable.” She began as soon as the last person got settled. “Thank you all for being here.”

“As if we were given a choice!” came from the right side of the room.

Diana turned to the speaker. “Lt. Commander Mark Grant, isn’t it?” At the speaker’s startled nod, she looked down at her podium “Born and raised in Joplin, Missouri. Never missed a day of school, straight As in every subject all the way up to college, which you got into two years early by jumping two grades. Five years studying physics at Cal Tech where you finished up with a short string of degrees at twenty-one. Very impressive. You’ve distinguished yourself in the position of science office aboard the McCaffrey over the past year.” She looked the young man up and down. “You also got high marks on the tests everyone’s been required to take recently. Unfortunately, they didn’t cover manners or patience. If they had, you’d probably have failed.” She looked at the rest of the room so they’d know they were included in the next statement. “Those tests, along with the bios we asked you to fill out at the same time, are the reason you’re here today. Any of you are free to leave at any time—back to your assignments or back to your homes, whichever you want. Or,” she said, turning to the uncomfortable young man, “you can pipe down and listen to what I have to say first, then get huffy and leave. I don’t really care.”

After a short silence to let her heart rate slow down to something approaching normal, Diana said, “Ladies and gentlemen, among other things, I’m the personal secretary to First Captain Grimes, who’ll be stopping by momentarily to speak to you. I have the privilege of giving you the good news now so less time will be spent once the First Captain arrives. You’ve been selected out of four ships, three bases, and the newest recruits from our new Japanese embassy to be the nuclei for the command crews of the three new ships we have in orbit right now.”

The bomb thus dropped, Diana waited for their reactions. It had been a matter of intense debate at all levels as to who would get the coveted bridge positions, and stunned amazement was the first reaction, while elation and suspicion followed close behind. The meetings between each ship’s captain had only served to fuel the debates, but until now, not one word of those decisions had been leaked. Lucy had spoken personally with each ship captain and lengthily with the base commanders about the top scorers on the affected ships and bases, and she’d finally chosen the first four positions for each ship. In a fit of pique at the wasted time, she’d fleshed out an idea about a selections board to handle the process. The handwritten notes in an old-fashioned notebook soothed her somehow, as if committing an idea to paper gave her a purpose, a goal.

Lucy entered the room by way of a side door before anyone had time to begin questioning Diana, and Lt. Commander Grant, first to spot her, jumped to his feet and said, “Captain on deck!”

Inwardly, Lucy shivered. Will I ever get used to this? Outwardly calm, she stepped up to the podium and said, “Thank you, Diana.” Turning to the small group of people standing at attention before her, she said, “Ladies and gentlemen, at ease. Please be seated.”

Diana made her way to the side of the room, and Lucy looked at each face for a moment as they settled back into their seats. Their expressions ranged from bewildered to wary and guarded. “First, thank you for coming on such short notice. I realize you’ve just had a shock to your systems. Believe it or not, I do keep up with what is going on among the crews. The information you’ve just received has been the topic of open debate for weeks now. But once you’ve heard what I have to say, I think you’ll agree that it was time well spent.”

Lucy stepped out from behind the lectern and began to pace slowly, in time with her words. “We are entering, after a little more than four years, a new phase in the life of the Terran Alliance. We’ve finally been accepted as members of the international community, and with the opening of this embassy, our status is virtually locked in stone. It’s for that reason that you’re here. Since we now have the ability to recruit from all the major countries on Earth, and most of the others as well, it’s time to put our principles into practice. You know that we’ve had three ships sitting idle in orbit for two months now, and there are more coming as soon as the bases get them completed. We’ve been waiting until enough people qualified under the guidelines we’ve developed to begin filling out crews. As of last week, we have enough to fill the command roster of two of those ships completely, as well as enough crewmembers to fill out the empty berths, and the next isn’t far behind.

“Over the next few days, I’ll be having talks with each of you individually and then as collective command teams. That will be followed, in about a week, by actually moving aboard your respective ships. Prior to that, you’ll be getting to know your new crews and the instructors who’ll be working with you and your people until you’re ready to take on your individual assignments.

“At present, this embassy has about six hundred people in residence. Some of those are slated as crew, and more will be arriving all the time. Others are here to provide services for the people passing through. We have cooks, janitors, guards, radio operators, admin personnel, and so much more. We have a small, very new, very fragile community of constantly changing people here, and most of the folks working in the ground slots expect to be promoted to ships as they become available. That’s why you won’t make the mistake of pissing anyone off. It’s all too easy to have one of the people assigned to a ship you’ll be on. The way things stand right now, each new ship’s crew will be composed of fifty percent experienced personnel and fifty percent taken from the three embassies, about half of whom will have some limited Alliance experience from serving in the embassies.”

Lucy glanced at her watch. “I wish I could give you more time right now, but I have to see a delegation from one of the nearby towns to assure them that our ships don’t pose a radiation hazard to them or their children and cattle.” A round of laughter passed through the room, and she smiled wryly. “I’ll be happy to change places with any one of you. Just let me know!” She nodded at Diana and stepped away from the podium. “Diana will give you your housing assignments and keep you informed of meetings and classes.”

Taking this as her signal, Diana stood up straight and said, “Ten-hut!” The dozen people jumped to their feet with such alacrity that she was glad of the time spent saying that one word to a hapless saguaro cactus growing out of a sand dune behind the barracks she lived in. As soon as Lucy left the room, Diana said, “At ease and be seated, people.”

Almost as one, the twelve people sat down, and Diana walked back to the podium. She reached down to a small shelf under the stand and brought out a small stack of papers, which she handed to Lt. Commander Grant, saying, “Make sure everyone has one, please.” To the group as a whole, she said, “These are the do’s and don’ts. Things like do pay attention to your instructors and other personnel assigned to give you support. Don’t get drunk. No fighting. No sneaking off embassy grounds, primarily for your own protection. It’s twenty miles to the nearest town and quite a few critters out there would consider any of you food. Mostly common sense, but you never know, right? Also, mealtimes are listed, as well as class schedules. We now have a few people who’ve generously volunteered their time to help you adjust to your new positions. They are your instructors, and you won’t give them any lip, will you, Commander Grant?”

As laughter rang through the group, Diana walked to the door. “Follow me back to the bus, please.” She stepped into the hall, and the ensign she’d handed her clipboard to returned it. “Thank you, Ensign.”

The young woman sketched a salute, turned, and hurried back the way she’d come as the group climbed into the bus painted in a color known as olive drab.

Diana let the bunch get settled into their seats on the bus and spoke to the driver. “Quad C, please, Mickey.”

“Righto, Miss!”

Diana swayed and grabbed a pole as the bus got under way. “Mickey worked here during the seventies before they decommissioned the base. His grandson joined up, so he decided to see what all the fuss was about and stayed on. When we need to move large groups of people, we call on Mickey.” She glanced at her watch as the bus glided to a halt. “It’s getting on toward dinnertime here, so once you get settled into your quarters, your barracks monitors will show you to the mess hall.” She saw the strange look on a few faces. “Don’t worry. The food is better than the name makes it sound.”

Two crewmen, one wearing a McCaffrey patch and the other a Niven, waited for the newcomers to step down off the bus. When the semi-organized gaggle quit milling around, Diana stepped over to the two crewmen, turned to face her charges, and said, “Ensigns Collins and Matthews will take things from here. Ladies go with Collins, gentlemen with Matthews. In case you get lost, ladies, your barracks is C1, and the men’s is C2. Tomorrow will be a busy day, ladies and gentlemen, so please take time to read page one of your handouts. And make sure you’ve left nothing on the bus.”

Diana and the dull green bus disappeared around the corner of the quad with a grinding of gears.

One of the women, glancing through her handout, asked, “What’s this six o’clock in the morning shit? Reveille? Make our beds? What is this? Boot camp?”

Ensign Collins glanced at her companion and said, “Essentially, yes, ma’am, it is, with a little bit of officer candidate school thrown in for good measure. There’s a lot to go through if you want to get your ships under way in the shortest time possible. So, we all need to get started early, and in some cases, work late. Truthfully, the sooner you get started, the sooner you get out of this heat. Now, if the women will follow me, I’ll get you settled in your new quarters. Gentlemen, if you’ll follow Ensign Matthews, he’ll do the same for you. Meet back here,” she checked her watch, “in about half an hour and we’ll show you how to get to the mess hall. Remember your housing assignments and look on the corner of your building if you get lost.” Turning, she pointed out big block letters that read “C1.” Saying nothing further, she started off toward the building indicated, leaving the five women in the group to gather their bags and follow her.

The two groups followed their assigned barracks monitor, put their few possessions away, trooped over to the mess hall, and went through the basic military procedure that had worked for so many millions of soldiers from all nationalities over the years: they stood in line until someone asked for proof that they were authorized to eat in that particular facility. In this case, that just meant showing their wristbands to a scanner at the door.

They made their way through the cafeteria-style service and sat down at two adjoining tables to eat and discuss the day’s events. The complainer, Lt. Commander Anna Zandt off the Niven, said, “Can you believe it? They can cram up to forty people into those rundown buildings. And the facilities! Communal showers, and stalls all lined up in a row while people run around outside ‘em taking care of... business? And we have to keep those places clean! Mops, buckets, brooms and stuff, and all before ‘formation.’” She was referring to the gathering of all personnel for the day’s duty assignments before first mess. “I’ve got a good mind to go back to the Niven and let the bunch of you rot here!”

Thomas looked up from the mass-produced meatloaf and mashed potatoes in front of him and said, “I’ll bet if you do that, you’ll never rise higher than you are right now, Zandt,” he said, looking at her name tag. “Just what was your job on the Niven?”

“Nav officer,” she said uncertainly. “Do you really think so?”

Thomas finished his mouthful and chased it down with the iced tea in front of him. “As a matter of fact, I do. Look at the way things are shaping up. First, we were accepted willy-nilly and plugged into slots for OJT. Now, we have these tests and personal histories to fill out. And from what I hear, all new volunteers are taking the same tests before acceptance now. For Christ’s sake! Those tests determine acceptance! And now, we’re dumped on an old military base to train. And things are being run a lot more militarily, which, to my way of thinking, is necessary. We have too many people to just say, ‘Do whatever, whenever,’ so we have to get regimented. Eventually, we’re going to have instructors who’ve actually served out there training the upcoming classes. Right now, I’ll bet we just have something like professional motivators or efficiency experts giving general advice. Make the best of it. This could be a turning point for those of us who want to stay with the Alliance.” With this pronouncement, he turned his attention back to his plate and tuned his fellow diners out.

An hour later, the twelve candidates, still talking over coffee, had long since pushed the two tables together. So far, they’d used military rank freely, not thinking about the eventual consequences, but the almost certainly fortuitous happenstance of getting a military base handed to the Alliance for an embassy rubbed their noses in the fact that sometime in the very near future, a real decision needed to be made. Their surroundings and circumstances told them as surely as words what none of them had really believed until now: that they were truly a part of an organization at odds with the government they’d grown up thinking of as generally kind and benevolent. It was the lure of all their dreams that had masked the problem until then. After all, what sci-fi buff could actually have passed up a chance to become a crewmember of a spaceship?

Shirley Dahlquist, the gold stars of a full commander on her collar, spoke for the first time since they’d gotten off the shuttle. “You guys realize that this is for keeps, don’t you?”

Sarcasm dripping from his voice, Mark Grant said, “So the great Commander Dahlquist speaks! Please! Bestow your wisdom on us lowly mortals.”

Looking through the place Grant sat, Shirley said, “Bite me, pest.”

“Lighten up, Grant. You don’t have any reason to talk to her that way,” Thomas said, trying to settle things down. “She’s not only a full commander, but she’s a Firster, as well. And if anyone at this table has a right to speak and be listened to, it’s her.”

“Well, I just don’t like it when someone gets ahead just because they’re lucky,” Grant said weakly.

“Luck!” Anna Zandt exclaimed. “How far back are you gonna take that one, you idiot? How about as far back as the luck that let the Hawkes get hold of the Galileo in the first place? Or the luck that let them get the good people to crew her the first time? Which, by the way, just happened to include Shirley. Or the luck that let you,” the word dripped with all the sarcasm Grant had used, “be in the right place for the second wave? You coulda been left out of that for any number of reasons. I’m guessing you’ve about used up your luck. I’ll be surprised if you’re lucky enough to get through whatever they have planned for us.” After a few seconds, she said sheepishly, “I guess that goes for me, too.”

Thomas, wanting to hear what Shirley had to say, asked, “What did you mean by ‘for keeps’ Commander?”

“First, for now, let’s drop the ‘commander’ stuff, okay? Call me Shirley. And I meant that what’s happening here is a full split with the United States. We’re talking embassies, for crying out loud. Who has embassies? Okay, if it hasn’t sunk in yet, I’ll tell you. We’re talking countries, people. What we’re doing is in effect becoming members of a foreign country. Do you want to give up citizenship in the United States? Most of you have folks here, and you’re going to need a visa to go anywhere outside the embassy compounds before long.” Not one to indulge in unnecessary scare tactics, Shirley did her best to shock her companions into at least considering her words.

“Yes, I got lucky enough to be what some of you call a Firster. I was also lucky enough, if you want to call it that, to be involved with the destruction of that alien spaceship that was most likely involved in the attack on Orion. And, I’ll tell you something else: I don’t have a problem joining up as a full Alliance member. I expect there to be an oath of allegiance in the near future. I’m going to take it without any hesitation because I’ve already done my soul searching. You people would probably be wise to start considering the idea yourselves. You’ll give up a lot, but look at what you’ll be giving the human race in the long run.” She stood up and drained the last of her coffee. “Think hard, people. It’s going to be really difficult to change your minds no matter which choice you make.” She picked up her dishes without another word, walked over to set them inside the passthrough window for the kitchen staff to take care of, and walked out without a backward glance.

Grant, still a little taken aback by Shirley’s words, looked at Thomas. “So, what do you plan to do, Breen?”

“First, I plan to follow Shirley’s example and stick to first names, Mark. And second, while the idea she put on the table isn’t exactly new to me, I’m going to give it a whole lot of serious thought over the next few days. I really don’t care why you feel the way you do about her, but she’s still right, and we need to take her advice into consideration.” He looked at the four remaining women at the tables. “You guys, especially, should think real hard about those things. Surely, you’ve noticed that we have an uneven amount of men and women in the top slots. Why that is, is a mystery to me, but it does say that things are stacked slightly in your favor. Simon took care of the first appointments, and then Lucy took over. Now I hear there’s a selections board being set up to handle promotions and appointments to various posts, not to mention a personnel department. I guess we’re getting so big that one or two people can’t keep up with it anymore.”

Silence reigned as words warred with each other to escape.

“Whatever. I think Shirley’s right. We’re gonna have to make a choice soon—stay and become Alliance citizens with all that implies or drop out now and spend God knows how long being debriefed by various factions of our own governments. Me, I’m going to see which way the wind blows for the next little while.” Thomas looked at the remaining candidates and waited. When the only response was an uneasy silence, he cleared his part of the table and followed Shirley out of the building.

Lucy was in a position many wished they could try to survive—having more money than she’d ever imagined could exist. Earnest money, or good faith money, began rolling into Alliance accounts that had been set up for just that purpose. Lucy had organized a group to start handing over specs on various pieces of technology, with her as final arbiter of any deals. To keep things fair, she’d given some advance notice to those who were going to have to completely retool their factories, but that was the only concession she’d been willing to make.

Polling her people and their families, she got the names of several psychologists and psychiatrists and called them personally about their availability to help with the selection process. “More in the line of helping them to understand adjusting to the level of responsibility they’re about to have pushed on ‘em,” she said to one of her contacts.

Games theorists arrived to help set up simulations for potential pilots, navigators, gunners, helmsmen and all the other jobs that required their services. They began arriving at about the same time as the shuttle flights from Zurich and Tokyo began. Those classes and the command lectures were almost all the training available downside, so trips to whichever ships were in orbit were arranged to give recruits hands-on experience that virtually guaranteed they wouldn’t be wasting the instructors’ time and Alliance funds.

After two days of interviewing the first group of recruits, Lucy felt like her head was going to explode. The sun had long since set behind the mountains, and Diana brought her a glass of water and two Tylenol. “God, I’m glad that’s over. I swear, one way or another the personnel department is going to have a new department called a selections board!” She slumped down into the rusty brown couch left behind by the last base commander and put her feet up on the scuffed, scavenged coffee table. “So, what’s on tomorrow’s agenda?” she asked after the water had rinsed the desert out of her mouth. No matter how well she closed the windows, the sand always found a way to get in.

“Tomorrow?” Diana parroted, all innocence. “I do believe you have tomorrow free.”

“Free? What about that Ladies Civic Committee from Truth or Consequences? Complaining about the increase in traffic or something, wasn’t it?”

“All taken care of,” Diana said firmly. “Rukia invited them here this morning while you were busy and pointed out that their proximity to the embassy was going to be a boon to the entire community—restaurants, souvenir shops, barbers, grocery stores. Everybody is going to make money from this, and not just from our own people, either. There will soon be the biggest influx of people since the gold rush. Certainly, the city itself will profit, from the taxes if nothing else. Then I reminded them about the increase in traffic fines and what that would do for the city coffers, and they left thanking us for being here,” she said quietly.

“What about those eco-people? I’ve got to tell them something...”

Diana held her hand up. “Done yesterday. I told ‘em we’re not going to be doing any desert training and would pretty much stay behind our little fence. That seemed to stop them dead in their tracks. Actually,” Diana said, forestalling anything more from Lucy, “you’ve got the next three days free, boss.”

The familiarity raised Lucy’s eyebrows. “Since when did you start listening to Rukia, and what do you have up your sleeve?”

“Well, actually, I did talk to Rukia last week. I think it was when you were interviewing those shrinks. We exchanged notes on you, so to speak, and decided you need a vacation.”

“Oh, you did, did you? And did you decide what kind of vacation I was going to take, too?”

“Well, we noticed that you’re almost the only person who hasn’t taken time off to go home and visit family now that we’re back on Earth. So, we got it arranged for you to leave here tomorrow morning and fly to Cincinnati to spend a couple of days at home soaking up family vibes, you know? And sleeping in your old bed. I know from Rukia that you’ve spoken to your folks a few times since we started the embassies, but you haven’t been home. It’s time, boss. You owe it to yourself and your family.”

Lucy sat quietly for a time. “Seems like I taught you too well, girl.” She shook her head. “And I’m sure you know how I’m going to fly to Ohio, spend my free time, and get back?”

“Of course.” Innocence ran rampant through the room. “You’ll climb into a Mamba, fly to Cincinnati, meet your folks and fly back three days later.”

“‘Climb into a Mamba,’ huh? Are you aware of things like flight plans?”

“Yes, ma’am, I am,” Diana said stiffly. “You have to file one upon departure, which you can do with our own control tower here. Then, when you reach Cincinnati, they’ll pick you up on their radar and request identification. You tell ‘em ‘First Captain Grimes, Terran Alliance, requests permission to land,’ and you’ll be added to the landing pattern.”

“And just how do you know all this?”

“Brandon told me, ma’am.”

“Brandon? You’re on a first name basis with Agent Galway? Since when?”

“Since I called him last week.”

“You called him?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What about?

“About your vacation, ma’am.”

Lucy finally recognized Diana’s retreat into formality and apologized. “I’m sorry, Di. Really, I am. Tired, I guess. And a real good reason for that time off, huh?” she asked sheepishly.

“Pretty much. You know, your folks would probably love to see their kid climb out of a Mamba. I’ll bet you could have quite a reception if just your old friends were aware of your arrival.”

“I’ll bet you’ve taken care of that, too, right?” Lucy said with a small grin.

Diana smiled. “I asked your folks to tell anyone they trusted not to spill it to reporters. Cincinnati Traffic Control was spoken to by Galway. They should keep quiet, too. It’ll slip out somehow, but you should only wind up with local news if you’re lucky.”

“Won’t someone get pissed about that?” Lucy asked.

“Probably only reporters, since Agent Galway is handling security from that end. But if we don’t say anything, they can’t get mad until after the fact, and then you’ll be gone. Plus, the Heinlein will have you under surveillance the whole time. And you do have your wristband. You can’t beam out of course, because you wouldn’t want to leave your Mamba behind, but you sure can call for help.”

“Okay,” Lucy said with a smile. “You’ve covered all the bases, I guess. So, who have you spoken to besides Galway?”

“Oh, just Greater Cincinnati International Airport’s control tower. They’ll be expecting to hear from you. Did you know it’s actually in Kentucky? Of course, you did,” Diana yammered on, showing her nervousness. “And I spoke to your folks, of course. Called ‘em to let ‘em know your arrival time, and they’ll be there to meet you.”

Lucy’s silence stretched out and Diana finally asked, “Did I do wrong?”

“No!” Lucy announced with enthusiasm. “It’s just that I haven’t seen them since this started. My little brother will be, oh, almost twenty by now. I’ve managed to get a call in every now and then, but the opportunity to go home just hasn’t presented itself. I guess I’ve got some fences to mend and some explaining to do, huh?”

Diana smiled at the mental picture of the leader of the Terran Alliance getting called on the carpet and chewed out. “Yeah, I guess. You know, you could call now and be home in time for dinner. One word of advice though. Once you get near Cincinnati, Brandon says you should slow down to the same speeds as other aircraft. And be sure your transponder is on. You know how tight U.S. security is these days.”

“You’re right about that,” Lucy said. “And, Diana?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Thanks.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Lucy’s natural exuberance at being back in the cockpit of a Mamba was tinged with worry at her family’s reaction to her absence, return, and situation, so she herded the machine northwest at a speed only slightly faster than most military jets. America’s state-of-the-art craft was the F-15, also known as the Eagle. It flew in excess of Mach two (upper limit classified), and at will, her Mamba could leave an Eagle in the dust. The high speed reduced her travel time, and her passage through a number of radar nets produced enough radio chatter that she didn’t have time to get a full case of nerves before she finally heard, “Unidentified aircraft, this is Cincinnati International Control. Please state your identity and destination.”

Lucy squirmed upright in her seat, removed the ship from autopilot and answered, “Cincinnati Control, this is First Captain Grimes, piloting Alliance Flight One, requesting permission to land at GCIA.”

After a brief pause, a new voice spoke to her. “Alliance Flight One, welcome to Greater Cincinnati airspace. Permission granted. Do you have special landing requirements, and what is your fuel situation?”

“My fuel situation is fine. I guess you guys would say ‘nominal’ or something like that. I can go into your holding pattern and stay there all day if I have to. As to my landing requirements, this ship has full VTOL capabilities, and I only need a space about two hundred feet long and two hundred wide.”

“Very well, Alliance One, reduce your speed to two-five-oh and your altitude to four thousand. On my mark, come to a heading of oh-three-oh.”

“Uh, what’s your name, guy? We need to talk. Oh, yeah. Speed two-five-oh, I think, and altitude about four thousand.”

The voice came back. “Uh, I’m Carson Gamble, First Captain. How can I help you?”

“Here’s the thing, Mr. Gamble. This ship isn’t really built to fly in this environment. It’s built for... a bit farther out, so it doesn’t have the kind of instrumentation to let me follow all of your instructions as given. You’re going to have to say things like ‘a little lower’ or ‘a lot slower.’ And I can hover at need. This ship will actually move backwards if necessary. And I’d appreciate it if you could have a mobile ladder available. This thing has a pretty big first step.”

“I have a suggestion, First Captain. First, I need you to cut your altitude by about half, please, and slow down a bit. Turn slightly to your left... there! Hold that heading for now. The suggestion—I can have a security car with its light bar lit up on the runway in about three minutes. Land behind him and taxi to a gate.”

“Counter-suggestion, Mr. Gamble. Have the car be in the middle of the space you want my ship to sit in for the next three days. As I get ready to land, the car moves, and I set down. There’s a defense shield around this ship that will damage anything that isn’t ground or concrete. By the way, do you know anything about whether or not my family has arrived?”

“Uh,” the voice said, “yes?” The last word had a questioning note in it. “There’s someone here who’d like to speak to you, First Captain. Reduce your altitude by another half, please, and bear a little to your right. There.”

Lucy could still hear the open channel to Gamble, but another voice spoke to her. “Morning, Lucy.”

“Brandon Galway! Your name was being bandied about just yesterday. What are you doing in Cincinnati?” As if I didn’t know! she thought.

“Well, it just so happens that you are a Seriously Important Person right now, and I was sent to coordinate things with the various agencies that have been alerted to see to your protection and keep the peace. It’s not like an announcement was made of your arrival, but there was no effort to conceal it either. We’ll just see to it that your visit has a minimum of, shall we say, disturbances? And if you don’t mind, I’d like to join the welcoming committee.”

“Well, thank you, Brandon. I appreciate that. And, of course you’re invited. I guess I’ll see you on the ground in a few minutes.”

“It’s a date. I’ll turn you back over to Mr. Gamble, then.” Galway’s voice disappeared as if it had never been, and Lucy shook her head at the incongruity of the conversation.

Twenty minutes later, Lucy’s Mamba floated into position above a white security car, yellow lights flashing, and followed it to an out-of-the-way spot at the end of one of the concourses. The car stopped for a few seconds and then shot out from under the sleek, black apparition from outer space. Lucy looked around, saw a motorized boarding ladder waiting at one side of the designated area, and slowly cut her power. The deadly little vessel drifted lower until its landing skids touched the pavement, and she slapped the last few switches, cutting the last of her power to all systems.

She pulled the actuator key out of its slot, sliding it into place in a belt newly designed for that purpose, and opened the cockpit to find the ladder slowly being moved into position.

Feeling totally exposed even though she knew she was being monitored seven ways from Sunday, Lucy finally lifted her helmet off and set to one side of the instrument panel, climbed out onto the ladder, pulled her overnighter from the space behind her, and turned around. It was at that moment that the smoked-glass doors flew open and a tall, gangling youth vaulted the low fence that normally kept spectators away from arriving aircraft.

“Luce!”

She recognized the voice, although the form was a lot taller than she remembered. “Brucie?” she asked incredulously as the young man connected with her, knocking her bag flying. She finally disengaged from the hug he inflicted on her and pushed him far enough away to get a good look at him. “You’ve grown, squirt. You’re taller than I am now.” She grabbed one arm, turned him toward the terminal, slid one arm through his, and said, “Let’s get inside. I want to see the folks before they have a cow.”

“They won’t,” Bruce proclaimed positively, snagging his sister’s bag. “Mom keeps saying, ‘How did my little girl get into this?’ but I think she’s secretly pretty proud. And, Pop! You should hear him! ‘That’s my daughter running things up there.’ So, what’s it like to fly one of those things? Can I sit in it sometime? When do I get to join up? The word I hear is that you only have to be eighteen, and I’ll be twenty in a couple of months.”

Lucy laughed out loud and finally got a word in edgewise. “Let’s save that for later, okay? I’ve got stuff to tell you and show you that you’ll just die over, Bubba,” she said, using the diminutive that came so easily as she led him to the darkened glass doors. She stopped just before them and said, “Oh, yeah!” Turning back to face her ship, she pulled the key from its special pocket, pointed it at the craft, and pressed a button on the side. The cockpit closed of its own accord, and she pressed a second button. Immediately a shimmering bubble formed around the vessel. “Okay, let’s go.”

“What’s that?” her brother asked.

“Meteor shield,” Lucy answered matter-of-factly. “Also works real well to keep intruders out.”

“Oh, wow,” was his only response as he opened the door and Lucy walked into her past.

Or as far into it as she could, considering her circumstances. Mom and Pop were the first ones she recognized in the crowd, the people she’d turned to for guidance on all of the big things for as long as she could remember. She knew her brother, Bruce, of course, who’d moved over to stand beside a pretty brunette. His girlfriend? Half a dozen or so of her closest friends from Coverdale, an upscale community just across the Ohio River that helped make up the Greater Cincinnati area, were there, and a few less well-remembered faces, along with some she frankly didn’t know at all, the last group probably being those who just happened to be in the “right place at the right time.”

And Brandon Galway. She watched as he discreetly showed his wallet to a man trying to approach their group. As she hugged her mother, she saw the man walking away, frustration evident in his shoulders and gait.

Darla Grimes pushed her daughter away to arm’s length and held her there. “I didn’t understand any of this when I first heard about it,” she said meaningfully, “and I really don’t have a grip on it now. Hopefully, you can put this in perspective for me.”

“I’ll try, Mom. Really, I will.” She turned to her father. “Hi, Pop,” she said and delivered a lighter hug, knowing his feelings about public displays of affection.

“‘Hi, Pop?’ I want to be there when you explain to your mother just what you’ve gotten yourself into. And I guarantee you,” he said with a grin, “that I’ll have questions.” Her father was the total antithesis of her mother. Where Darla Robinson had grown up with June Cleaver as a role model, John Grimes was enamored of Albert Einstein and his ideas about the universe. Where Darla wanted to cushion and protect, John knew that learning life’s lessons had to come with at least a modicum of suffering, or the lessons wouldn’t stick. And his daughter didn’t seem any worse for her experiences. She moves with more assurance than I remember, he thought. And she stands straighter, too. Aloud, he said, “Go see your friends. This morning and afternoon are for them. But I want you to remember that dinner will be on the table promptly at seven. Understand?”

The First Captain of the Terran Alliance meekly said, “Yes, sir. And, Pop?”

“What?”

“Thanks.”

Lucy took a deep breath and waded into the group of well-wishers, friends and quasi-friends, knowing what was coming. Five minutes of hugs, handshakes, and one surreptitious pat on the butt later, the group began to break up.

As people drifted back to their vehicles, Lucy was left with a half dozen people—two friends she’d kept from grammar school, her parents, her brother, and Galway. The residents of a community as small as Coverdale (population hovering around seven thousand), tended to stay close for most of their lives unless someone moved away. The few who chose to move off into the great, big wonderful world were balanced by the folks who thought a small town was the perfect place to raise a family, so things never changed all that much.

“So, what do you guys want to do?” Lucy asked, knowing the answer ahead of time.

“Well,” Carmen LeBoy said, jumping in, “we want to know everything, of course.”

“But we thought we’d take you to Martello’s,” Amy Sparks said. “We got the back room, and the Pasta Primavera will be flowing freely.”

Lucy couldn’t remember a time when the three women hadn’t been friends. Thinking back to her first day of kindergarten, she remembered how glad she’d been glad of Carmen’s presence. Carmen claimed to remember even earlier.

“Martello’s! Guys, that’s too expensive!” Lucy started.

“No, it isn’t,” Amy said. “Remember, we all worked for Martello, and he’s just as anxious to see you as anyone else. When we asked to rent the back room, he wouldn’t hear of it. Said it was on him and started to prepare his Primavera.” Pasta Primavera on Martello’s menu was a treat. It was rarely advertised, and whoever happened to pick a night when it was being served considered themselves among the luckiest people in the Cincinnati area.

“Okay, guys, you’ve sold me,” Lucy said, remembering the nights when there was enough left over for the waitstaff to have some. “But let me talk to someone for just a sec, okay?”

She walked away without waiting for an answer, making her way to where Galway was leaning against a wall. On the way, she caught her father’s eye and motioned him over. “Hello, Brandon,” she said as her father arrived, an expectant look on his face. “I want you to meet my father, John Grimes. Pop, this is Brandon Galway. You have him to thank for helping put an end to your... troubles. Don’t blow a gasket, but he’s with the FBI. And as agents go, he’s one of the better ones. As a matter of fact, I think his job title is Special Assistant to the President of the United States. I think he’s more like a troubleshooter.”

A cloud passed over John Grimes’ face, but he finally put his hand out and said, “I guess I need to say thanks. If it was through your efforts that my wife and son were released, then I owe you.”

“No thanks are necessary, Mr. Grimes. You can think of it as payback to your daughter. I owed her. Besides, I don’t always agree with what my government does, and detaining you folks was wrong. Questioning you, I can understand. Hauling you in, no.”

Galway released Lucy’s fathers’ hand and turned to Lucy. “Commander Ross said you’ll be here for three days?”

“Yeah. Training schedules will be winding down by then, and I need to get the Norton out of orbit. Why? Are you going to be my babysitter while I’m here?”

“Just think of me as a facilitator, Lucy,” the agent said. “Go have fun. I’ll just be a ghost in the background, trying to see that you’re not disturbed.”

“Like you did with that guy a while ago?” she asked, smiling.

“Just a reporter,” Galway said, waving his hand dismissively. “When I tried to shoo him off, he showed me his press card and started spouting first amendment rights at me. I just showed him my badge and spouted jail terms back at him. He wasn’t too happy, but he left. Oh, by the way, do you really think it’s necessary to carry that?”

Lucy looked down at the pistol strapped to her thigh. “As long as I feel that our people are safer with them than without, yes. Besides,” she said leaning in toward Galway and her father, “it’s been rigged by our techies. It has a sensor that won’t let it fire for anybody but me. Something to do with our wristbands. Besides, as soon as I change my clothes, it’s gone. As an accessory, it doesn’t go with anything I’ve got except the uniform. I’ll see you at dinner, Pop.” Lucy spun on her heel and made a “move out” gesture toward the parking lot.

The three women headed toward the main entrance to the terminal, seemingly leaving all their worries behind. Most law enforcement agencies requested and received reports on a regular basis about celebrities and dignitaries who passed through their areas, and Lucy, thanks to Galway, was no exception. Most times, just a plainclothes officer or two were needed to deter annoyances, but in Lucy’s case, an extra level of care was being taken, and she was able to spot some, if not all, of it.

“So, who was the older guy? Kinda cute if he was younger,” Carmen commented, oblivious to the several officers and agents shadowing the group.

Knowing the answer would floor her friends, Lucy took great relish in saying as matter-of-factly as possible, “Oh just the Special Assistant to the President.” She waved her hand, dismissing the subject.

“The president? Our president? Have you met him?”

“No, but it’s a distinct possibility sometime in the future. After all, one of our embassies is here on American soil, and who really knows who was behind the ambush at Camp David.” She pulled herself up short. “Sorry guys. One of my pet peeves. I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt, especially after meeting one of the operatives who was influential in the attack. We’re supposed to be having fun, but I have my buttons, ya know?”

Amy looked around the crowd. “Aren’t you supposed to be incognito or something?”

“Yeah.”

“Then we need to get you out of that... outfit. Besides, a woman carrying a gun on her hip is going to draw attention.” And it was true, but the stares the three women drew on their way out of the building stemmed as much from their differing looks as from Lucy’s somber uniform and weapon.

“I was gonna change when I got home. Seems like Bruce took off with my bag,” Lucy said, looking around helplessly.

“We’ll stop at my place,” Amy said. “I’ve got something that you will kill in, and it doesn’t need a gun to do it!” She giggled at her own joke as the trio walked across the parking lot, drawing stares from passersby, as well as a few unnoticed photos from a photographer with a long-distance lens. They climbed into an old Futura after Carmen unlocked the doors.

“Isn’t this your Mom’s?” Lucy asked.

“Yeah, but my Firebird got totaled by a drunk driver. No insurance, of course. And, no, I wasn’t hurt. I wasn’t even in the car. He plowed into it right in front of our house at two-thirty in the morning. So, I got Mom’s hand-me-down until I can come up with the down payment on another car. At least it runs.”

As has been known to happen when two women get hold of a fashion basket-case and have all the tools of the trade at their disposal, a simple change of clothes turned into a full makeover, no matter that the victim went kicking and screaming to her doom. At least she looked good.

A full hour and a half after they arrived at Amy’s house, Lucy stared into the full-length mirror. Carmen and Amy’s attack had been well planned. A complete stranger looked back at her. Her long blonde hair had been taken out of its habitual ponytail and fluffed and curled, framing her face and softening the lines. Her nails, both fingers and toes, had been painted a brilliant red, and she’d been poured into a pair of hip-huggers made from something akin to parachute fabric. A low-backed, low-cut white blouse just this side of legal matched a pair of open-toed platform shoes, and the ensemble, coupled with the expertly applied make-up, caused Lucy to yell, “I look like a hooker!”

“Well, maybe you do. But you certainly don’t look like the woman who walked out of the airport two hours ago!”

That was true, so after one more long look in the mirror, she said, “Oh, what the hell. Let’s go!”

Four years and then some of being separated from the greater mass of humanity had left Lucy a little unprepared for the super-entity that was Cincinnati, even though it was early. The mere crush of bodies was enough to give her the shakes, and she thanked the stars above that she didn’t have to cope with the traffic!

Martello’s private banquet room had been the status symbol for graduating seniors for over a dozen years now, and Lucy, Amy, and Carmen had been able to steal it away from several competing high schools when they graduated due to the fact that the three of them had worked for Martello as bussers and waitstaff. Now, on this afternoon almost eight years later, the room was almost as crowded as it had been then, and the faces were all the same. The difference was that then, everyone had gathered to celebrate a shared accomplishment. Now, they were all here to see her—not an unusual circumstance these days, but these were people she knew personally, and she’d have been a liar if she said it didn’t matter to her.

She began “working the room,” as someone had once put it to her, shaking hands and renewing old acquaintances while Carmen and Amy stuck close at all times. The rounds had nearly been completed when Lucy heard a familiar voice from the back of the room holler, “Speech! Speech!”

The demand was taken up by all in the room until she finally stood up. She looked around the room for the first voice, but with this crowd, anyone who wanted to stay out of sight easily could. “First things first,” she said. “I want to apologize for all the trouble you guys have been put through over this. None of you should have been bothered by the FBI or anyone else. All I can say is that the difference of opinion as to who’s going to control the technologies we’ve got our hands on has been settled at the highest levels. Things are progressing differently now, and no one should be bothered again.” As the last word left her mouth, the room broke into applause.

She waited for the noise to die down and continued. “I’m only in town for three days, so I’m not going to have time to renew old friendships right now. Please don’t feel slighted. We have a very tight schedule to keep. I guess you guys have been following the news and stuff, right?” When a few voices affirmed her guess, she went on. “Okay. We’ve got three ships in orbit right now that need crews.” She held up her hands to stop the buzz that started at her words. “This is not a recruiting speech, guys, but if any of you want to join, we’ll be happy to take you. Anyone who can be personally spoken for by a member who joined before we started taking specialized applications has an advantage over those who come to us off the streets, so to speak. Just so you know.” Again, the buzz of conversation started up and died down seconds later.

Lucy gazed at the staring faces. “You know, I was our class valedictorian, and I’ve spoken before the United Nations Security Council, The Swiss Parliament, and the Japanese Legislature, and I’ve never been more at a loss for words than I am right now. I guess it’s because I know all you guys, and it’s a little spooky. Basically, Simon and Kitty Hawke found the ship, recruited about a thousand of us for the first crew, and went out to the asteroid belt to build the first space dock. The reason for was that if we wanted to keep the technology, we needed to get it duplicated. They believed the original owners—we call them the Builders—would come looking for their ship and take it back.

“One thing led to another, and when the first dock was done, we headed back to Earth to get more crew for the next dock. I was just third shift crew supervisor at that time, and I made captain right after Kitty got promoted to her captaincy after we finished the third base, I think. Anyway, it wasn’t until Simon got invited to Camp David that things went sour. Simon was killed, or so we thought at the time, and Kitty was critically injured. At the time I was the choice to succeed Simon and Kitty because I’d been promoted to ship captain right after Kitty and was next in line.

“Simon’s vision was for us to distribute the technology aboard the Galileo to the people of Earth in such a way that not too many got hurt in the process. Had we given the ship to our government, Simon and Kitty believed, no one would have seen anything of the technology until our government milked it for all the military stuff it could get. Plus, given our current level of espionage, someone would have found out about it and started a nuclear war rather than let us keep the ship. Doing so would have changed the balance of power too greatly.

“Personally, I think Simon was right. How many of us have had to deal with a bully who says pretty much the same thing? Anyway, the Galileo is out in the belt right now building the fourth and final dock, which we’ve already named Taurus Base. We have four active ships, three more waiting for crews, and more coming off the assembly lines every six months.

“Our first base was attacked right after we left for home, and we lost ten crew to the attack. We believe we’ve found and destroyed the ship that did it, but we also think a sister ship managed to get away. It’s the opinion of most of us that the attack was perpetrated by a second race, so we’re in a real race to build up what we have in order to protect ourselves, and quite possibly the entire planet. I’m not really happy to be in charge of this mess, but I keep hoping Simon will recover enough to take back the reins. All I want is to be a ship’s captain. Besides, the paperwork is awful!”

As Lucy sat down, the doors opened, with Martello leading a procession of carts and waiters into the room. Plates full of Martello’s famous dish were unloaded onto the tables, and Martello himself served Lucy.

“Ah, mia Angelina! Too long have you been away. For you, my specialty! And for all your friends. In your honor, I am having new menus made up! Now and forever, this dish will be known as ‘Primavera Angelina.’”

Martello, a very pious man, had taken it as a sign when Lucy applied for a job one summer. Seeing her middle name, he hired her on the spot, saying, “Whoever is named after the angels cannot be bad!” And from that day on, he’d called her by her middle name, to her complete and total dismay.

As Martello grated fresh parmesan onto her plate, he asked quietly, “Would it be possible, mia Angelina, for poor Martello to get a picture before you leave?”

Lucy sat there, stunned. Martello had one whole wall devoted to the famous and infamous who’d dined there over the years—presidents (three!), politicians, movie stars, athletes and authors giving mute testimony to the quality he insisted upon. “Martello! Thank you! But not like this. Wouldn’t it be better if I had my uniform on?”

Amy leaned over and put a hand on Lucy’s arm. “Gotcha! I figured we wouldn’t have time to go back to my place, so I put your stuff in the trunk of Carmen’s car. Your gun is there, too.”

“So!” Martello said triumphantly. Lucy gaped at the heavily laden plate sitting in front of her. “Martello, there’s no way I can eat all of this. I have to have dinner with my parents tonight and explain all of this to them, too.”

The grey-haired owner placed both hands over his heart. “A mother must come before Martello. Any less and you wouldn’t be mia Angelina. You are a good daughter and forgiven. But taste and tell me what you think!”

Lucy made a show of taking a bite. “It’s been almost four years and you still serve heaven on a fork! My compliments. And thank you for understanding.”

“I’m a poppa, too,” he said, moving condiments around on the table. “I’ll have the camera set up when you’re ready to go.” He clapped his hands together. Let’s go, you lazies!” We neglect our other customers.”

An hour later, Lucy looked at the watch embedded in her wristband and said, “It’s about time, girls. Pop will skin me if I’m late, and you know he’ll skin you for making me late!”

“One step ahead of you, girlfriend,” Carmen said. “Here’s your uniform and gun.”

Lucy remembered Carmen excusing herself earlier but had thought it was just to go to the ladies’ room.

“Try a shot from the waist up. There are a few of those on the wall, and the rest are mostly people seated at a table. All you have to do is put the shirt on for a few, and then we can go.”

And so, Lucy Grimes, once a bus person at the famous Martello’s Italian Restaurant, wound up on the wall with her arm draped oh-so-casually over that worthy’s shoulder.

Carmen’s Futura wheezed to a stop in front of Lucy’s house with fifteen minutes to spare. Lucy picked up the lump of clothes wrapped around her pistol and slid out of the car. “Tomorrow, okay?” she asked. “We’ll go shopping and then I have to get back to work. Right now, it’s out-of-the-frying-pan time.” After the three women exchanged hugs and comments, Lucy asked, “Hey, I thought for a minute there, earlier, that I heard Jack Potter’s voice, but I never saw him. Did either of you guys see him or invite him?”

Carmen said, “He’s still getting greasy rebuilding engines for one of the circuit racers over at Rick’s Rods. I spoke to him personally yesterday, and I thought I saw him, but we didn’t speak, so maybe not, ya know?”

Lucy shrugged. “Oh, well. I had kinda hoped...”

“Yeah,” Carmen said, commiserating. “But who can figure guys? Go!” she said changing the subject. “I see Bruce peeking around the shade. See you tomorrow.”

“I’ll get your stuff cleaned and back to you then, Amy.”

“You can keep ‘em. You make ‘em work better than I ever could!” Amy said, laughing. The old clunker rattled to life and groaned around the corner, leaving Lucy with the hard part of her night still ahead. She trudged up the walk and onto the porch, and as she reached for the knob, the door swung open.

Bruce stood there, door in one hand and the other out for her load. “Go wash up before Mom has a kitten. I’ll put these in your room.”

“Be careful,” she admonished. “I’ve got my pistol in there.”

Lucy slipped into the guest bathroom that was tucked under the stairs. Minutes later, scrubbed clean of all makeup, she walked into the dining room. She stood there, just listening to the sounds that had given her solace during all the trying times of her life, and two tears inched their way down her cheeks. As smells began to intrude on her perceptions, she started to register them.

Pop’s famous meatloaf! I am in such deep shit!

There was, as well, the smell of her mother’s mashed potatoes, the ones with the secret spices and lumps. The smell of beef gravy also wafted out of the kitchen, along with the smell of steamed veggies, probably from the little plot out back. And banana pudding! They’ve pulled out all the stops, she thought, grateful that she’d only tasted the Primavera.

Her mother backed into the dining room carrying a serving tray loaded with slices of meatloaf covered in beef gravy. Turning around, she set it on the table and inspected her daughter. “That is not appropriate dress for the dinner table, young lady.”

Her father, entering the same way, carried potatoes and veggies to the table and set them down. “I think, just this once, we can overlook that rule, Mother.” He walked past Lucy and stuck his head into the living room. “Bruce!” he said, raising his voice just enough to be heard upstairs. “Dinner is on the table. Two minutes or you don’t eat!” Lucy had heard that threat all her life but never seen it enforced. Still, her brother took the stairs two at a time to get there.

“Sorry, Mom,” Lucy said. “Thanks, Pop.”

Dinner at the Grimes’ house usually consisted of all four members discussing their days and getting feedback on decisions made or help with decisions or just talking about whatever newsworthy item had been presented, sanitized, on the nightly news. On this particular night, with Lucy home for the first time in almost four years and a family conference coming up, no one was really interested in small talk, so dinner was consumed in an uncomfortable silence with very little effort to liven it up.

For the first time in recorded history, no one had seconds of Pop’s meatloaf or Mom’s banana pudding. As Lucy dutifully scraped the last of her pudding from the cup, grateful again for her earlier abstinence, John Grimes said, “Bruce, help your mother with the dishes. I want to have a short talk with your sister before we all sit down.”

“Sure, Pop.” Everyone attended to the ritual of stacking dishes for removal to the kitchen, and when there were two stacks, John looked at his daughter and inclined his head toward the living room door.

“They’re going to take a few minutes to get that done,” he said, sitting down in the overstuffed recliner. “You know how I like to keep the bad things from your mother. The nightly news is bad enough with all the killings and wars and such. Is there anything you want to tell me that your mother shouldn’t hear?” Never one to beat around the bush, John went straight to the heart of the matter.

Lucy, ever her father’s daughter, had the same failing. “Well, you were never in the service, Pop, so I don’t know if you’ll understand...”

John raised a hand to stop Lucy. “Not in any of the services, no. But I was involved in some top-secret armament development in the sixties. Popguns by today’s standards, I’m sure, and even less than that to you if what some of the people who came to see me said is the truth. Regardless, I think I can understand a lot of what you have to say, so don’t try to sanitize it for me.”

“Pop,” Lucy stared. “I never knew you were involved in that kind of stuff.”

“Classified,” he huffed. “I’ve never been fond of that kind of security, but there it was. I’m sure some of the developments I introduced helped kill a great many people more efficiently, and I don’t sleep well some nights, but I consoled myself with the thought that my kids wouldn’t have to face that. Or I did until recently.”

“I’m sorry, Pop. I never knew,” Lucy said softly. “But I have the same problem. Only, in my case, I know my actions have caused deaths. And not just of human beings. Can you get a grip on that concept? My problem is that I think of those beings as people. And I gave the orders that killed dozens of them, if not hundreds. No matter that they attacked us first and then went into hiding to either wait us out and escape or attack again. I still go to bed at night and wonder if I’ll ever sleep soundly again.”

“I’ve never had any problem thinking of alien beings as an intellectual concept,” John Grimes said flatly. “After all, I am a physicist, daughter. But having intellectual concepts come to life and try to kill my daughter, yes, I’m having trouble. And it scares me.”

Hearing the man she’d looked to for guidance all her life admit to being afraid didn’t exactly rock Lucy’s worldview, but she did feel it quiver mightily for a few seconds. “Scares me, too, Pop. But a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

Her mother chose that moment to come into the room carrying a tray with four glasses and a pitcher. “Ginseng,” she said. “Helps with the intellectual processes, or so says Mary Fellows. So, what do you have to do that scares your father, Lucy?” She sat down next to her daughter and placed a hand on Lucy’s leg. “You know we’re here to turn to.”

“I know, Mom,” Lucy said, looking at her brother as he sat down on the arm of the couch. She was surprised not to hear either parent order him down onto the cushion. “I guess what scares me is that I get to be the one who oversees the next step in human evolution,” she said, astonished at the words coming out of her mouth. “I don’t mean mutants or anything like that, Mom. I mean, we’ve been looking at the stars since we stepped out of the caves, and now we have a chance to go there. A lot sooner than we would if we’d had to invent this technology ourselves.”

“So, what’s it like out there?” Bruce got in.

“Wide, empty, scary, dark, exhilarating, deadly, and full of promise all at the same time,” she answered. “We can go to the stars now, although none of us have done so yet. Partway to Alpha Centauri is all we do on our training cruises, so far.”

“How about the moon and Mars and stuff?”

“Well, we haven’t had any reason to go there yet. They’re kinda like steppingstone for a race just starting out, and we’ve started out past that. Oh, there’ll be reasons to go there—colonization and such—but it brings up one of the things we find so... unusual about the ship and its database.”

“What’s that, daughter,” John asked quietly.

“There are... disparities. For example, they have these fields built into their ships to capture an asteroid and move it from one place to another. We adapted those fields to be used inside the ship. We also have blueprints on board for some pretty powerful missiles, but we converted the principles behind our engines and made missiles even more powerful than even the Builders imagined. They can speed up healing and even clone body parts, but it still requires a skilled surgeon to replace a bad organ or whatever. Our radios operate on principles we still don’t understand, which helps to prevent being overheard, but a lot of information is still delivered by old-fashioned fiber optics. Kinda weird actually. But what Brucie said made me think about it again. We don’t have spacesuits. Never have. We have these things we call construction pods that let us move around outside the ship but not on a planet’s surface. It’s like the Builders never conceived of going to a planet that has a hostile environment. So, no exploration of the moon or Mars, not yet. Hey, Brucie, go get my bag from upstairs. I’ve got a present for you.”

Leave it to a mother to get to the heart of the matter while her son sprinted for Lucy’s bedroom. “Why do you need missiles at all? Much less more powerful ones, Dear?”

“Mom, it’s like somebody having a gun. You should have one, too, just to make sure they don’t try to use it on you.”

“Mutually assured destruction,” John said, absently. He huffed into his mustache. Letting me dig my own grave, she thought, not knowing how to prevent it.

“But if you didn’t have a gun in the first place, there wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Mom, the problems with that statement are so many that I don’t have enough days left to go into all of them. But let me give you just two reasons.” Bruce arrive with Lucy’s bag and sat down expectantly. “First, if there were no guns and I had something somebody wanted, they’d hit me over the head with a stick, or stab me, or something else. I know you don’t like to hear this stuff, but it leads to reason number two. There are people out there, on Earth and elsewhere, who will go to any lengths to get what they want. I know it’s simplistic, but there’s no other way to look at it.”

“Well, I don’t have to think about it. There’re people who are paid to think like that, and I’m not happy with my little girl being one of those people. Why don’t you just come home and get married like that nice Buffy Barton did? She married a doctor, you know.”

“And had a kid, a tummy-tuck, a nose job, and a boob job by the tender young age of twenty-five. No thanks. Not right now, Mom. I don’t see how I could, even if I wanted to. Can you understand the thrill of being the first person to do something? Or being the person who goes somewhere first? I swear, it’s... intoxicating.”

“I wish you wouldn’t glorify this in front of your brother,” Darla Grimes said, finally. “He’s been talking about nothing else since we found out about your travels. I won’t have him following you into outer space, do you hear me?” Her voice rose a full octave, and she stood up. “I won’t have it!”

“Mom! Pop, tell her. I’m over eighteen. That’s the age they were cutting recruits off at when they got started. Luce, you tell her!” Bruce implored.

“Not another word about it!” Darla stormed out of the room and the sound of clattering pots began to emanate from the kitchen.

John looked each of his children in the eye and mouthed the word “porch.” Aloud, he said, “I’m going to see your mother.”

The siblings picked up their glasses and quietly let themselves out of the house onto the covered, oversized porch, Lucy carrying the bag Bruce had brought down.

“What do you think he’ll say to her?” Bruce asked.

“How should I know?” Lucy set her glass on the porch rail hard enough to splash tea out of the glass. “I’m the one who’s been gone for almost four years, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember,” Bruce said with irritation. “Off saving the universe, right? Which is cool, don’t get me wrong, but did you know I made All State?”

“That’s great, Brucie! Really. Sorry I wasn’t there. I missed you guys a lot, though. It’s hard not knowing what’s going to happen next,” she said, looking deep into her glass. “I guess I missed a lot, huh?”

“You missed Mom going into the hospital last year. She got diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s.”

Lucy’s head shot up as his words struck like lightning. “Oh, God!”

Bruce looked up from the spot on the floor he’d been studying. “They say it’s not your common, ordinary kind, though. Treatable with medication. She just forgets stuff, sometimes. They had to take her driver’s license. I think that hurt her the worst, not being able to just get up and go to the store or whatever. She tries to joke about it. Calls it ‘part-timers,’ but you can see how she hurts when she forgets something.”

“She seemed so…”

“Normal?” Bruce said, finishing her sentence for her. “Today’s one of her better days. Just so you know, okay? I was almost a father last year, too,” he said, changing the subject. The shocks just kept coming. The idea of herself as an aunt brought a small smile to her face. Misunderstanding the smile, Bruce said, “I’d have married her, too, but her folks thought she was even less ready for parenthood than I was. As soon as she told me, we went to see her parents together. I offered to marry her, but they thought it best if she was shipped off to ‘boarding school.’”

“I know George Cook sent his daughter off to boarding school last year,” their dad said as he walked around the corner of the wraparound porch. “Should I talk to him?”

“No, Pop. I handled it. Was about the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. Her folks were pretty upset, of course, but I guess I got points for taking responsibility for my actions. At least they didn’t kill me. We got the ‘kids and raging hormones’ lecture and then were told we weren’t allowed to see each other for a while. Then they shipped her off. They even invited me over for dinner to say goodbye.”

“Was this just before graduation when your grades dropped?” John asked his son.

“Yeah. I was kind of a mess there for a while.”

“I don’t know whether to be more upset that you didn’t tell me or that you didn’t need to tell me. Would you really have married her?”

“I asked her father to let me when we went to see him. I told him I was ready to accept responsibility for my actions and that I really did love her, but...” His voice trailed off and he began studying the same spot on the floor again.

“This appears to be a day for surprises.” John sat down in his favorite chair, set two cans of beer on the small table, and asked, “Do you drink these days, Luce?”

“Only off duty,” she said with a smile.

“Mother has gone to bed,” John said quietly, “so I guess the floor belongs to you.”

“So, I guess the best way is to start from the beginning.” She popped the top off her beer can, took a swig, and said, “We had a few weeks to go before midterms, and there was this sci-fi convention in Denver. I went with a few of my friends, mainly to look at the crazy costumes some people can come up with, you know? But there weren’t as many as I thought. Then we saw this seminar advertisement. It was about transporter technology in the here and now. We all knew it had to be some kind of gag, but we went in just to see what kind of special effects they had...”

“So you assumed command as senior line officer due to the incapacitation of your superiors,” Lucy’s dad said, boiling it down to its basics.

“Assumed, hell!” she exclaimed. “Sorry, Pop. I didn’t assume anything. I got shanghaied! All three of the base commanders refused, saying they were ‘just engineers,’ and the other captains kept saying, ‘You got promoted first so you’re in charge.’ Then it was, ‘Tell us what to do,’ as if I had any idea. I was winging it just as hard as the rest of them.”

Bruce stood up and headed into the house. “Bathroom,” was all he said by way of explanation. “Two more beers?” When both father and sister declined, he went inside, making sure not to slam the door.

“We each have to bear up under the loads we’re given, daughter,” her father advised. “I can deal with the burdens here at home, and you have the unique opportunity to advance the human condition in a positive way that few will ever have in history. I know that’s preachy and really doesn’t comfort you, but how can I advise you on something like this?” He spread his hands helplessly. “Tell me, do you think things would be better if the ship had been turned over to the government?”

“Of course not, Pop, but I can’t tell the whole world to go to hell! I’m just plain Lucy Grimes from Cincinnati, Ohio! And bearing up under the load is just what I’m doing. Barely. And that with a full team of advisers. It’s not like I asked for any of this.”

“Your Simon sounds like an interesting individual, Luce. What did you say that he said? ‘These are things no human has done before, so everyone is equally qualified’? It seems to me that you’ve acquired more qualifications than anyone else at the moment, so it falls on you to do the job.” He sat quietly for a time, packing the old briar pipe that sat beside his chair. “Unless you want to chuck it all and move back home?”

Bruce stuck his head out the door. “Uh, Luce, I hate to interrupt, but your bag is making noises.” He handed it out the door and slipped back inside.

The bag was chirping insistently. “My comm unit. Uh, can you excuse me for a minute, Pop?” she asked, digging into the offending luggage. Not waiting for a response, she activated the unit. “Grimes.” Lucy looked at her father and shrugged.

“Lt Commander James aboard the Niven, First Captain. I have a message here. Captain Morgan advised that you be informed.”

Lucy looked at her father. “Go ahead.”

“Message reads: Daily report overdue. Contact Commander Ross at Training Command.”

“Set me up a link, please, Commander.”

“I anticipated your request, First Captain. Link established... now.”

Lucy recognized the change-over from direct connection to an assisted link and said, “Diana?”

“Yes, Captain. Your daily report is overdue. Are you all right?” The anxiety in her voice came through the connection.

“I’m sorry, Di. Things are a little intense here at home, but I’m as right as rain. I’m in the middle of a discussion with my father at the moment. Can we do this tomorrow, or is there something else?”

Relief evident in her voice, Diana signed off with only a perfunctory, “No, ma’am. Tomorrow will be fine. I’ll be expecting your call at about four p.m. local time. Ross out.”

John Grimes smiled around the stem of his pipe. “I guess I can give you one piece of advice now. It’s my firm belief that bosses are as much at the mercy of their subordinates as the other way around. That one sounded worried, and you just brushed her off.”

“Not really, Pop. The ‘right as rain’ part was our code for everything’s fine. If I hadn’t said it, there would have been a flight of Mambas here within fifteen minutes, homing in on this,” she said holding up her wristband.

John looked down as Lucy slid her comm unit back into her bag. “Is that a gun? I saw you wearing it when you arrived but didn’t have time to ask.”

“Not your garden-variety pistol, Pop,” Lucy said, affirming his suspicion. “It’s a laser pistol. Wanna see it?”

“You know I do. A piece of alien technology sitting right beside me? I think I’m getting the same bug Bruce has.”

Lucy pulled the pistol out of the bag. “You don’t have to worry about firing it accidentally, Pop. You can’t fire it at all without one of these,” she said, indicating her wristband again. “We’ve made modifications to a lot of the technology. Things like that safety, for instance. And the same system on shuttles and Mambas now, after... We had to modify them to fit human hands, too.” She handed the weapon over to him as Bruce came back onto the porch.

“Too cool! What’s it do?”

“It’s a death ray,” Lucy said jokingly. “Actually, it is that in the technical sense, but it’s actually just a laser pistol.”

“‘Just’ isn’t a word I’d use, Luce,” her father said. “What can it do? What kind of range does it have?”

“It can burn a hole through six inches of steel plate at five hundred yards in about two seconds if it’s set on needle beam. It has the capacity to do that about seven times before it needs to be recharged. If you think of it as a regular pistol, you can get about two hundred shots out of it if it’s set on a wider dispersal,” Lucy said, reciting from a manual printed for trainees.

“A variable focus laser beam in a handheld weapon,” he said to himself as he studied the pistol. To his daughter he said, “I can see why the government was after you and why they gave us so much trouble trying to get to you. But I’m glad you held out. I believe your Simon is right. Things like this don’t need to be spread out on Earth. We’re not ready for them yet.”

“Thanks, Pop. You don’t know how much I needed to hear that.” Her father handed the weapon back to her, and she weighed it in her hand for a second before holding it out to Bruce as he sat back down. “Here, squirt. See what a laser pistol feels like.”

The remainder of Lucy’s vacation was, on balance, uneventful, considering her situation. Reporters, getting wind of her presence, haunted the area around her house until a call to the police ran them off. The more persistent and inventive ones found ways to follow Lucy to the mall when the old Futura pulled up to take her shopping on her second day home. A reporter and cameraman bedecked with all the paraphernalia of their trade cornered her outside a Foot Locker.

Lucy, tired and caught off guard, tried to duck the pair by slipping away into the masses of people swirling around her but to no avail. As a crowd formed to see what the commotion was all about, a vaguely familiar figure stepped between the two groups. Facing the reporters, the huge man said, “The lady wants to be left alone! If you two don’t beat it right now, I’m gonna sit on the both of you!”

Recognizing the voice and knowing that the threat would never be carried out, Lucy watched with amusement as the team slunk off. When the man turned around, Lucy punched him in the stomach as hard as she could, with no visible result. “Just as buff as ever, Jackpot. But you’ve grown!”

“Late growth spurt,” he said sheepishly. “Now I’m better suited to be a lineman.” Jackson Potter, once the star quarterback for their football team, had been a big boy even in high school. His agility and speed had earned him the top spot on the squad, and he led his team to All State their senior year with an unbroken string of victories, a record never before achieved. Those tackles he couldn’t break, he just rolled over. Now he’d added at least six inches and fifty pounds to his already massive frame, and the difference between their heights was giving Lucy a sore neck just looking up at him.

The small crowd began to disperse as Lucy and her friends ignored the incident and moved off as a group.

“Carmen, go buy me a bat, will you? I need to whup this boy, big time.” Lucy crooked a finger at the big man and walked over to a bench bolted to the mezzanine floor, climbing up on it. She still had to look up at her old friend. “When Carmen gets back, you are in such trouble! Why didn’t you stick around yesterday? I wanted to talk to you.”

“Aw, come on Angel,” the huge man said, actually scuffing his foot on the floor. He was the only person outside of her family with the right to call her by her middle name, save Martello. “You were busy giving a speech and meeting old friends. I knew I’d get my chance. You three never could resist a chance to shop.”

“So you admit to stalking me today?” she asked, getting a sheepish nod. “And it was a speech you called for! I looked for you the rest of the evening. Where were you?”

“In the little room Martello uses to spy on his banquet guests. I heard everything, and then I left.”

Martello’s room, known only to his employees, past and present, allowed him to know when something needed to be done for his guests, and the instant and unasked for service had earned him the reputation that kept him head and shoulders above his competition to this day.

Lucy reached up and pulled Jackpot’s head down by his ears, kissing him soundly. “That should cover the kiss I promised you on prom night,” she said. Never given, the kiss had gone wanting when the two graduates had come around a corner in Jackpot’s GTO to find the mangled wreckage of George Beacon’s restored ‘69 ‘Cuda wrapped around a tree. Both George and his date, Millie Scott, had died in the collision, and no reason had ever been found. Lucy remembered that the coroner had finally issued a report saying that neither alcohol nor drugs were related to the accident.

Due to the cloud that had fallen over the evening, the class had drifted farther apart than most small-town graduating high school classes. Not many wanted to reunite and relive that night, until this weekend. Lucy’s return as something of a celebrity helped to dispel the old cloud, and for the first time in five years, most of the old gang had been found in one place.

“So, what’s next?” Jack asked.

“Got a trailer?” Amy asked with a grin. “We’ve bought way too much stuff for Carmen’s beater.”

“Let me offer the services of my Humvee,” the ex-jock said. “Plenty of room for us and your stuff.”

“Humvee?” Lucy asked incredulously. “How did you… I mean, uh…” she finished lamely.

“Stockbroker,” Jack said simply, which answered the question adequately. Jackson Potter had eidetic memory, which he’d used ruthlessly to win more poker games than was strictly possible according to the laws of chance, earning him his nickname before his victims found out and quit letting him play. “You know, it’s just numbers and patterns, so I make money. For me, for my clients, and my boss. Everybody’s happy, and I’m well off.”

“’Well off’ is hardly how I’d put it,” Carmen said appreciatively when the olive-green monstrosity came into view. “I hear each tire costs over a grand, and there ain’t no such animal as a used Humvee tire.”

“Now there’s a scary thought,” Jack said, laughing. “I just got this baby, and the last thing on my mind was new tires.” He opened the rear and began loading packages inside. The job finished, he turned to the three women. “Well, it’s not a spaceship, that’s for sure, but it gets me where I want to go. Speaking of which, who’s riding with me and the packages?”

Lucy looked at her companions, who just looked back and shrugged. “I guess it’s just me,” she said, giving her friends a chilling glare that would have frozen any first-waver in their tracks.

Amy winked at Lucy. “We’ll stop by later to divvy up the loot, okay?” Without waiting for an answer, she turned and hurried after her cohort.

Lucy turned back from her friends’ retreating backs to the man who’d just faced down two wild and ferocious reporters for her. “Why do I get the feeling that this was a setup?” she demanded, unable to repress the hint of a smile that crept onto her face.

“Because it was,” Jack admitted as he opened the door for her. “Step up and in. Carmen and Amy wanted time alone with you, and I did, too. I agreed to help keep the curious away, and they agreed to let me have part of this evening. I figured on dinner. But not Martello’s,” he said quickly.

Lucy stared at him as he walked around the front of the vehicle and climbed into the driver’s compartment. “What?” he demanded as she continued to stare.

“You goof!” she laughed. “You could have joined us and, heaven forbid, shopped with us! Besides, there are enough undercover cops and FBI agents in the area that your help really wasn’t needed. If you hadn’t jumped in when you did, I’m sure some local Fed would have put a stop to it pretty quick.” At his stricken look she said, “Just take me out to eat and watch for cars that become familiar. Make a game out of it if you want to. This kind of thing happens to celebrities and dignitaries. They have to let the local authorities know they’re in the area for their own protection, and then they get quiet escorts. I kinda happen to be both right now, I’m sorry to say.”

Jack thought about it for a few seconds, shrugged and asked, “Are they gonna come in and eat with us, too?”

“Oh, certainly,” she said lightly. “But probably not at the same table.” At his sharp glance, she said, “I don’t know, Jack. They eat, too, and have to do something so they don’t look too conspicuous. Just pretend they aren’t there. I had actual bodyguards for a while, and you just have to put them out of your mind and do your job while they do theirs.”

Still looking unconvinced, Jack looked in his rearview mirror. “I think I spotted one.”

“That’s one point for you if you see it again. Tell me, what got you into being a stockbroker?”

“I fleeced a guy once too often, and he caught wise to my memory thing,” he said slowly. “And you know? He wasn’t even pissed. Just asked me if I wanted a job. I’d seen how much he could afford to lose and what he drove, so after a while I said I’d try it. I think he got his revenge. I’ve never been as miserable as when I have to deal with some of my clients. If the money wasn’t so good...”

They pulled off the road and into two spaces away from the building. “In a rig this big, you look for doubles and take what you can get,” he said, apologizing. As he handed her out of the passenger side, he asked, “Any chance I could get to fly one of those ships of yours sometime?”

Lucy looked up at him as they crossed the parking lot. The smells coming out of the Mexican restaurant made her mouth water. “One of the shuttles or even the bigger ships, sure,” she said as they walked into the diner.

The conversation continued once they got settled at their table. “I went out to the airport and looked at your ship just like about a zillion other people. The little kid in me said, ‘That’s what I’d like to get my hands on’”.

“I’m insulted!” Lucy teased. “I’m gone four years and all you want to get your hands on is my spaceship?” Louder she complained, “You don’t love me anymore!” Her eyes were drawn to two men in suits four tables away, one of whom looked quickly away when she made eye contact. “Don’t look now, but we’ve been made, Clyde,” she said with a bad imitation of a gangster’s moll. “We’ve got shadows.”

The shadows remained for the rest of the afternoon. At least the human kind were less obvious to the two high-school sweethearts as they talked about the past few years. Jack had married not long after Lucy “disappeared,” stayed that way for six months and, with no prenuptial agreement, lost half his worth in a messy divorce. No matter that he was worth ten times now than he had been then, the pain still ran too close to the surface. “I wish things had been different, Angel. Really, I do. But here I am, an ex-jock with a mind trick that lets him make money, and here you are, boss of your own space navy, about to drag the human race into the twenty-fifth century, kicking and screaming.”

Lucy thought about that for a time. “It’s not like either one of us set out to wind up where we are today. I’d say, ‘No harm, no foul,’ and try to move on. I do think we could try to see if things would work out between us, from the perspective of our new lives, of course. In the meantime, if you want to learn to fly, I can teach you, just not a Mamba. You’re... they’re built for smaller people, Jack. I’m sorry, but I just don’t see how you could fit into a cockpit.”

“That’s what the Air Force said, too,” he said, smiling. “Them, I turned down. Your invitation sounds a lot better though.”

“Good!” Lucy exclaimed. “I like to see things finish up on a positive note. And that means,” she said when his expression changed, “that I still have to have a talk with Pop and get some sleep. I have to fly back to New Mexico tomorrow. Say, in return for those flying lessons, how would you like to use your little mind trick for me?”

“How so?”

“Well, we have funds coming into our treasury now, and investing seems like the way to go.” Lucy shifted uneasily in her chair and lowered her voice. “See, if we can intertwine ourselves more deeply into Earth’s finances, it’s going to be harder for them to cause us trouble. I’ve always felt that the more money you control, the more control you have. I’ve just never had the money to test the theory.”

Jack laughed out loud. “Not a theory. Fact. And, sure I’ll help. How much are we talking about?”

“Millions, for sure. Billions, maybe. Poor Jack,” she said when his eyes glazed over. “Just take it one day at a time. I do, these days.”

Lucy and Jack pulled up in front of Lucy’s house and found Carmen’s old Futura waiting at the curb. Both women piled out and headed for the back of the bigger vehicle. Ten minutes later, with both vehicles gone, Lucy wandered up the walk, across the porch, and into the living room. “Pretty fancy rig you pulled up in, Luce. Was that Jackpot?”

“Yeah, Pop. He’s a stockbroker now. Seems to be doing well, too, if his mode of transportation is any indication.”

Father and daughter made their way into the living room and sat down. “Your mother’s at church, so we can talk freely if you want to.”

“Actually, Pop, there’s not a lot more to talk about. You’ve let me know that you don’t disapprove of what I’m doing, and that’s enough for me. Like I told Jack earlier, I just take things one day at a time. Oh, I make plans, but...” her voice trailed off.

“So, what are your plans when you get back?” her father asked.

“Well, I have to go over the training reports, pick captains for two ships sitting in orbit, and pick the crews if we have enough qualified to go out on their training cruises. Follow that with another wave of volunteers and another after that. It won’t be long before that kind of decision is out of my hands though. I’m trying to get a personnel department set up to handle things like evaluations, promotions, transfers, and such. It’s finding the right people to do the job, you know?”

“I do,” he agreed. “I have an idea for you. I know a man who’s retiring soon, and he’d be perfect to head up a department like that. He could take a pre-retirement vacation, come down there, and test the waters. What do you say?”

Lucy picked up a piece of paper and started writing. “I’ll take help wherever I can find it. Anyone recommended by you will be welcome anytime, Pop. This number will get you through to my private secretary.” Seeing his eyes widen slightly at her statement, she smiled. “I have a little trouble with it, too. I was always able to juggle everything in my life, but now I have a secretary, support staff, gofers, aides, personal pilots and drivers. I have department heads, ship captains, base commanders, three embassies, and headaches out the wazoo. Some of the load is picked up by Diana, of course, but I have to make the final decisions.”

“I have one piece of advice, Luce. Any CEO of any major corporation learns it early or he burns out—learn to delegate. Once you pick someone, let them do the job you set them. If they don’t do it well enough, replace them. But let them try! Otherwise, you’ll get bogged down in minutia and never get the overall plan accomplished, whatever that plan may be.”

Father and daughter sat in companionable silence for a time until Lucy looked at her watch. “I think I should get to bed, Pop. Long day tomorrow. Tell Mom goodnight and I’ll see her for breakfast. Besides, I need to check in with Diana before she has kittens.” She heaved herself up out of her chair and headed for the stairs. Halfway there, she turned back and walked to where her father sat, bending to hug him. “Thanks, Pop. You don’t know how much I needed this vacation.”

Lucy made her way upstairs, got undressed, and picked up her comm unit. After a short talk with Diana to let her know all was still well, she signed off and lay down to sleep. The process was complicated that night, for some reason, by the sounds the old house made. Sounds that should have soothed her to sleep kept her jumping. An hour after she lay down, she heard her mother coming in from church. A few minutes after that, she heard steps on the stairs that padded into her parents’ bedroom.

Drifting in that half-awake state just before sleep finally comes, she heard a door open, another close, and a few seconds later water began running in the bathroom sink. This set of sounds ended, and the bathroom door opened. Lucy was listening for the sounds that would tell her that whoever was up had gone back to bed when her door opened. She reached over and touched the base of the lamp once, bringing the light on to its lowest setting.

A short, slender figure stepped into the dim light, resolving itself into the form of her mother. “Did I wake you up, honey?”

Lucy sat up and slid over, patting the side of the bed. “Sit down, Mom. No, I was just kinda drifting in and out.”

Wringing a handkerchief in her hands, the elder woman sat slowly on the edge of the bed. “I remember buying this bed for you,” she said incongruously. Lucy groped for a response, and her mother continued. “But I can’t remember my own address or phone number.”

“Mom...”

“It’s okay, honey,” Darla Grimes rushed on. “I have your father. He tries to protect me, shield me, but I know what’s happening to me. They say it’s controllable, but will I know if it isn’t? I’m not looking for pity, baby,” she said, reaching out to stroke Lucy’s cheek. “I just want you to know that no matter what, somewhere down deep, I will always love you.”

Lucy squirmed uncomfortably on the bed. “Mom, you’re going to be fine.”

Legs crossed under her, Darla looked her daughter in the eyes. “Don’t patronize me, young lady. Your father and I have always taught you to look trouble squarely in the face. What kind of example would I be if I folded at the first hint of trouble in my own life?” She laid her hand on top of Lucy’s. “Like I said, I have your father. I think that sooner rather than later, he’s going to have his hands full with... me. You and Bruce are going to have to look out for each other from now on. You’ve flown the nest, and your brother isn’t far behind. That’s as it should be, but I know what he’s going to do, and I want you to see that he’s safe. You have to promise me that, Lucy.”

The intensity in her mother’s voice shut all else out of Lucy’s awareness. “Mom, I can’t make that kind of promise! I have no way to keep it. Sure, I could keep him out of the Alliance, but would that keep him safe? Not in this day and age. Besides, my baby brother is stronger than you imagine. I think he’ll grow up just fine. Trust me, Mom.”

The older woman squeezed the hand of her daughter. “The world belongs to the young, Lucy, and one of the jobs of the elders is to know when to step aside. The future belongs to you, and all your father and I can hope for is that we’ve trained you well enough to cope with it. I wish it hadn’t landed on you as hard as it has, but fate deals us our hands and we have to play ‘em. At least that’s what your father says.” She leaned over, kissed her firstborn on the forehead, and stood up. “I should get back to bed. If he wakes up and finds me gone, he frets.” Darla Grimes walked over to the door and looked back at her daughter. “I want you to remember, even if I forget—I love you and am as proud of you as any parent could possibly be.” The door closed, leaving Lucy alone with her thoughts.

FUGUE

From another plane, a presence looked down on the tortured, writhing mind it held in Its grasp and chose to grant her Peace. The distant, benevolent entity watched in satisfaction as Oblivion wrapped her arms around the mangled remains of Kitty Hawke’s psyche and separated her from Pain.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The seasons came and went, finally becoming a full turning at the matriarch’s estate. Rentec had succumbed to temptation and moved onto the estate to facilitate the language lessons he’d suggested should be given. The matriarch, in her infinite wisdom, had declared that since he was the only one astute enough to see the necessity, he should be the one to learn the alien’s language. Everyone agreed that their sounds could be made by a Shiravan mouth, so it remained to be seen if complex concepts could be conveyed between the two species.

Rentec made slow progress with the two aliens during the first turning he spent at the des Harras summer estate, although some things had become obvious from the outset. One was that the two aliens actually were members of the same species. They were male and female, Derek Carter and Maggie Spencer. Rentec had a bit of trouble there as the male would sometimes refer to the female as “Margaret,” until he realized that “Maggie” was a nickname, much like his mother calling him “Rennie.” Some concepts, such as “walk” and “sit” were easy. It was the abstract that caused all the problems. And getting to the concepts of good versus evil and right versus wrong was going to be a headache.

Right, now. Wrong, later. A little bit wrong. What’s wrong for one person isn’t necessarily wrong for another. The concepts made Rentec’s head spin even without trying to describe them to someone whose frame of cultural reference was so different from his. He called Parlo and talked at length with him. The result was an addition to the matriarch’s extended family—a bewildered Parlo. “You just waved your hand here I am. Just how much power do you really wield in this new age, cousin?” Parlo gazed about himself as he was escorted to the waiting transport.

“Power? None to speak of, cousin. I make recommendations, and sometimes they’re heeded, but sometimes they’re not. In this case...”

Minister Foran, on loan to the Ministry for Spatial Affairs, graciously agreed to fill the Spatial Ministry post until Rentec’s return. His exceptional administrative skill had turned a minor post, the Ministry for Colonization, into a major cabinet post over the years. Now that his own ministry had been relegated to the shadows for the duration of the crisis, he was happy to lend his not-inconsiderable skills to the now-prominent cabinet post Rentec enjoyed.

The turning Rentec had spent at Cho-An, the jewel of the Stala Mountains, invalidated Maratai’s prediction that he would see less of her. Almost from the moment he agreed to move to Cho-An, Maratai was there, hinting at the proper form for this function or that, helping him get settled into life in the home of the matriarch, and working to see that he wasn’t disturbed during his sessions with the humans. This, of itself, was a help all the way up until she told him Ramannie was on the grounds.

“She just showed up on the suborbital, so I put her in your quarters until you decide what to do.”

Rentec walked into his quarters to find Ramannie looking out the windows at the Stala’s in all their glory as the sun shed its last light on their peaks. “What brings you here?” he asked more brusquely than he normally would.

“I came to see my betrothed,” she answered with asperity, “and to get some answers. Do you realize that since you moved out here, we’ve seen each other only for social functions that you couldn’t get out of? If you’d rather that I leave...”

“No! I just wasn’t expecting you. I’ve been so busy...”

“Doing the bidding of the matriarch and sel Garian, of course. And have you thought about me?”

“Of course,” he avowed. “I think about you constantly.”

“Enough to keep me squirreled away in a tiny apartment in Quillas for almost a full turning with no one to escort me to functions except those you choose to attend. I’m losing my standing, Rentec. The only time I get to go out in public is when I go to work. You certainly aren’t around to do your part.” Ramannie gave vent to the feelings she’d been keeping pent up for the past turning. Even in Shiravan society, and even on a wartime footing when rules were relaxed, a young woman promised as consort wasn’t allowed to be seen in public unescorted, with the exception of making her way to her workplace. And since Shiravan society had such a strong matriarchal flavor, a young woman who was kept from attending social functions for whatever reason soon fell out of sight of her equals. “When will we be joined, Rentec? Then I can attend functions with just a family retainer. Someone needs to keep the do’ Verlas name in the spotlight, else you will rise no higher than you are now. And how high have you risen, consort-to-be? I see your old mentor, Minister Foran filling your post while you hide out here. Nowhere does your name appear on any of the ministry announcements. It’s ‘Minister Foran this’ and ‘Minister Foran that’ all the time now.”

“I’m not sure just what my status is these days, Ramannie,” he confessed a bit uncomfortably. “I’m performing a vital task for the matriarch, and I can say no more on the subject.” He was all too aware that of late he’d been given no other tasks than communicating with the aliens. “It’s possible I’ve gotten too involved with what I’m doing. Perhaps a vacation is in order.”

A thought that had been floating around for a full turning came to the fore. “We can move you out to the do’ Verlas estates. It is accepted for a consort-to-be to be escorted by family members, and with so many cousins in residence, you should have no trouble getting to social events. And with my mother along, well...” He thought for a moment. “I can call and set up everything, including a time for our Matrimonial Reading. Mother has found a Reader to sit for the occasion, you know.”

Setting up the trip was a matter of two calls, one to his mother and one to Maratai, who seemed to be acting as his intermediary whenever necessary.

Rentec stood with Maratai and watched Ramannie board the suborbital. “I should be gone only a few days,” he said. “I want to try an idea that I think Dom’ Carter has been trying to get across to me. If I understand him correctly, he wants me to live with the two of them constantly, hearing and speaking nothing but their language, a process I interpret as total immersion. The concept has merit, I believe.” He said no more, as his proximity to Maratai constantly caused him to lose his focus, almost as if she were deliberately... No, he thought, she can’t possibly be interested in me. Without another word, he followed Ramannie up the ramp.

The suborbital circled the do’ Verlas estates four hundred miles to the south of Quillas. A thoroughly angered Ramannie turned to Rentec. “I thought we were going back to Quillas first! What about my clothes? My things?” she asked sharply, pulling Rentec’s arm until he turned to look at her. “I have only what I’m wearing!”

Before she could get even more worked up, Rentec said, “I took the liberty of having your apartment boxed up and moved here. Staying here has enormous benefits socially, and to give your address as the do’ Verlas estates cannot do you any harm. Besides, once we’ve gotten the Reading out of the way, all else is just formality.” The female of any species hates to be uprooted and replanted without her knowledge, at the very least, and Ramannie proved to be no exception. Hardly mollified by the explanation, Ramannie finally consented to the abrupt change in her life literally moments before the suborbital landed.

It wasn’t until breakfast of the second day that his mother finally made an appearance. “Sorry, Rennie, I had to make arrangements for your Reading this afternoon. Rala kep Simther has agreed to officiate. Until Morath has spilled his blood across the sky, I will be in consultation with our elders.” With this pronouncement, Tira do’ Verlas, Reader Prime, gave notice as to the time and place of the Reading and swept from the room.

It was customary for Readings to be overseen by a Reader of another line who had no ties to any of the interested parties. While the empathic link established during a Reading was able to give a Reader a glimpse into the future, it was the overseer who kept the Reader tied to impartiality. Tradition said that total ignorance of the pair being Read was best, so Rentec’s mother, an accomplished Reader herself, had to scramble to find someone to fit the equation.

Rentec commed Ramannie in her suite. It was necessary for the two to stay apart until the Reading so the Reader didn’t stumble upon the pair prematurely and taint the Reading. “Sunset at the family shrine,” he told his consort-to-be, correctly deciphering his mother’s instructions. Some Readers tended to wax poetic as their particular gift was activated. Emotions flowed close to the surface as the time for a Reading approached and hormones kicked in.

By the time the Reader got escorted into the room with the hopeful pair, she’d mastered the vagaries of her body and arrived at a state approaching catatonia. This was the condition Rentec saw his mother in for the first time in his life. He’d heard of the phenomenon, but until today, he’d never seen it. He sat there, arms around his consort-to-be and hers around him, entwining their auras as intimately as their physical bodies, and waited for the next step in the Reading.

Ramannie, for her part, sat woodenly still, posed with her intended as instructed by the overseer. Fear tingled in her like an electric current, and she ground it under a mental heel, dragging her emotions back under control.

For a time, the participants in this drama remained as if fixed in place. Then Tira do’ Verlas, leaning limply on the arm of a servant, seemed to find strength from some inner reservoir and stood alone. The servant stepped back and, hands outstretched, the Reader approached the combined auras of the pair in front of her. She recognized the cool blue (surprising!) of her firstborn instantly and rejoiced at the feeling. The lime-green aura entwined with his she didn’t recognize. Approaching, hands still outstretched, she allowed her aura to mesh with the entwined auras before her. She moved around the pair, examining them from all angles, arms around but not quite touching the supplicants. Her aura pulled one direction and then another in a dance that would, under other circumstances, seem erotic. However, presently, at sunset, surrounded by the remains of ancestors going back forty-two generations, the Reader, in her simple peasant dress, moved with grace and majesty in a dance that at its end should leave no doubt as to the rightness of this possible union.

A questioning feel began to assert itself into the dance of Tira do’ Verlas. A hesitation appeared. Time passed while the last of Morath’s blood fled from the skies, and still the two lovers sat frozen under the stars as their every aural nuance was examined. Finally tiring, Tira slowed to a stop. Her head fell forward and her arms to her side. Alarmed, the servant stepped forward to assist her, but pushing the offered arm away, she stood straight and faced her opposite number. “I can get no clear picture,” she said at last. “Never before have I seen such auras. They mesh here and not there. They combine as one in this place yet remain separate in others. What say you, Rala kep Simther?”

Called from her position on the sidelines of the event, the overseer, equally entwined in the aural dance while it went on yet separated from it, admitted, “I see no outcome. It is as if a small part of one of these two is rejecting the other. But I cannot tell which.”

“Nor can I,” Tira said, defeated. “This must be studied.” Motioning for the seated pair to get up, she turned, distracted, and walked slowly back to the house and her rooms, leaving the others to make their uncertain ways back as best they could.

Rentec flew back to Cho-An, seething with an inner turmoil he had trouble putting a name to. Of course, he was upset by the inconclusive results of the Reading, as was his mother. She’d gone into seclusion, studying her books and aural charts, and calling other Readers to discuss the finer points of the Reading, looking for any similarities she could use to get hold of the situation. To say nothing of Ramannie. She’d suffered for at least a full turning before getting to sit for Tira, and the results were, if not shattering, at the very least disconcerting.

“What will I tell my friends?”

“Tell them the Reading was delayed,” he said testily. “Another will be done, I’m sure of it.”

It was the attitude she directed at him that made Rentec so angry. Ramannie acted as if he were personally responsible for the results. He spent the entire flight trying to put the final confrontation out of his mind and return to the business at hand, and it was with relief that he watched the compound of the matriarch come into view. At this time of morning, the gava-stone walls gave no hint of their unique properties, and all he saw were the plain grey walls of the dozens of main buildings, each with their own set of support structures, the whole somehow harmonizing and drawing the eye even without the special nature of the stone.

Maratai kep Parrasine waited at the bottom of the ramp. “How was your vacation?” she asked politely.

“A waste of effort and energy,” he said as he strode beside her to the waiting hovercar. “I would have gotten more rest if I’d walked off alone into the Stalas. I’ve heard nothing on the war front. Has there been any change in the situation?”

“We have successfully killed two more raiders, at a loss of seven ships of our own, and taken two more systems complete with their entire populations and infrastructures.”

“We need to do something to even the odds,” Rentec mused, “but what that would be, I don’t know.”

“The matriarch wants to find the homeworld of the humans,” Maratai said. “Of course, that means you need to make some kind of breakthrough.” She let the thought die. “Dinner in my quarters, tonight?” she asked quietly. “We can discuss your total immersion idea. When do you plan to start?”

“Tell Doma des Harras that I’ll begin tomorrow. I have an idea that I think will get this experiment started in the right direction.” The hovercar pulled up at the entrance to the main compound and Rentec got out, carrying his bag with him. “Dinner at the eighth hour. I will tell you my idea then.”

He tossed his bag into the sleeproom and made his way to the comm panel for the compound. Picking up a directory, he glanced through it until he found a particular listing. When a voice answered his call, he asked, “Is it possible to get a car for a camping trip with provisions for two groups of two for five days?” He listened for a moment and said, “This is Minister do’ Verlas. Have the vehicle ready tomorrow morning. I’ll take full responsibility for all damages.” Shaking his head at the pomposity of clerks and accountants, he lay down to let his body adjust to the new time zone.

The short nap adjusted Rentec’s body-clock, and he found himself knocking on the door of the kep Parrasine quarters. Actually a small compound within another compound, it supported several dozen of Maratai’s relatives at any one time.

Dinner was with all of Maratai’s clan-in-residence, and surprisingly, the matriarch was in attendance as well. Small talk kept the diners busy discussing everything from daily activities in Cho-An to Rentec’s ambivalent Reading.

“Amazing, really,” Linnas des Harras said around a mouthful. “An inconclusive Reading from Tira. And with her own son! Are you sure she is well, Rentec?”

“Tira do’ Verlas is in fine form, Linnas,” he said, using the matriarch’s first name to acknowledge the informality of the occasion. “The overseer says that one of us has some reservations but was unable to determine which of us it is. Mother is studying the situation. She sends her regards and promises a visit in the near future.”

Dinner over, Rentec followed Maratai and Linnas out onto the patio to watch the sun bring the gava stone to life for a short time as it sank out of sight. Sitting down at a low table, Linnas picked up a waiting pitcher and poured into three kemwood cups. “Now, Rentec, Maratai tells me you have an idea on how to help with your language lessons?”

Rentec waved his hand dismissively. “The idea was Dom’ Carter’s. I merely embrace it out of frustration. The concept is simple, really. I will hear nothing but their language—Eenglits, they call it—for five days. Children grow up learning to speak one word at a time. I must do the same but in considerably less time.”

“You propose to lock yourself up with them for five days?” Linna asked.

“No, Your Grace,” he said, moving back to formality. “I propose a vacation, a first for our guests and a second for me,” he added sheepishly. “I propose a camping trip into the Stalas for five days, in which no words will be spoken unless they are in Eenglits. We have often said that it would be a show of good faith to escort our guests around our world. And it would be good for the morale of our people, as well. This will be a first step in that direction, I think.”

Linnas des’ Harras twined her fingers around the cup and gazed at the mountains as the glow faded from the stone. “I will agree with this idea, Rentec. It has merit and should be tried, provided you can find someone else to go as well. The Stalas are wild, and our guests are unprepared for our world. Security comes with numbers, after all. But who would go?” she mused aloud. “It must be someone who already has knowledge of the humans, and someone who will keep a level head. Someone good in a crisis, and trustworthy, as well...”

So it was that the following morning, Maratai kep Parrasine found herself strapping on a laser pistol from a survival pack at daybreak. Her fury at being manipulated by both the matriarch and Rentec, and apparently without collusion, caused her to fumble with the fittings. And the conversation she remembered from the night before did nothing to alleviate her frustration.

“You expect me to go off into the wilderness for five days with an unattached male without a chaperon?” she had fairly yelled at him.

“I expect nothing, Maratai. And there will be two chaperons along, unless you’ve forgotten—a male to keep me in line and a female to watch you.”

“And what sleeping arrangements have you decided upon?” she had asked belligerently.

“Why, the most innocent of arrangements, really. The males will share one tent and the females the other. It will give you a chance to try the total-immersion technique, as well. You’ll be with them almost as much as I, after all. Unless you’d like to tell the matriarch you have other responsibilities? I’m sure we can find someone else.”

Now, with dawn turning the Stalas into a shimmering dreamscape, there came Rentec with the two humans in tow.

“I had a hard time explaining the purpose of the trip, but I think I got through to them,” he told Maratai cheerfully. He climbed into the driver’s seat, raised the vehicle on its repulsors, and waved his passengers into their seats.

As the floater and attached trailer moved out of Cho-An and into the Stala Mountains, Maratai said “I’m familiar with survival packs and camping trips, Rentec, but I didn’t recognize the long skinny case stuck in the back of the trailer.

“Oh, that,” he said with a smile of anticipation. “That’s my fishing pole.”

Derek and Maggie’s hope that experience in total immersion would push Rentec over the edge to understanding their language took almost the full five days Rentec had allotted to the experiment. The four beings had found many mutual points of contact, but a language breakthrough seemed as far away as ever until the group rounded a bend that deposited them on the edge of a high mountain meadow that Maratai had pointed out on the map. The two humans were in the lead, eager for each new visual experience on this alien world, when the silence was broken by the scream of a tortured soul.

Rentec, clawing for his laser, yelled, “Danger! Down! Now!” Derek dove for the cover of a boulder, dragging Maggie with him. Rentec’s speed was offset by his clumsiness, and two beams lanced out as one to catch the shaggy beast in mid leap. Dead before it hit the ground, the creature slid twenty feet and stopped at Derek’s feet.

“Your aim is good,” Maratai said coolly, “but your reaction time needs work. You let yourself get flustered. It could have cost your life, or worse. What was that you yelled?”

Stung by the criticism, Rentec started to respond but stopped, a thoughtful look on his face. “I think I spoke Eenglits,” he said in wonder. “Derek, Maggie,” he said to the two humans. “Danger gone. Seerka dead. We go back now.”

“Nirsa,” Derek said, using one of the few Shiravan words he and Maggie had positively identified. He tapped himself on the chest. “I came to fish, and I’m going to fish.” He made casting motions with the hastily fashioned pole in his hand, turned his back on the two Shiravans, and headed off toward the lake beckoning from the far end of the meadow.

“What did he say?” Maratai asked.

“He told me no.”

“I got that part.” Maratai’s ire showed in her voice. “I mean what else did he say?”

“He said that he came to fish, so he is going to fish.” Rentec picked up his old perlwood pole and followed the human along the path. Over his shoulder he said, “Perhaps our peoples have more in common than we thought. I feel the same way.”

Linnas des’ Harras, Matriarch of the Shiravan Polity, clapped her hands together once to show her extreme pleasure. “It is well that this has happened at this time, Minister. I will authorize the departure of two Contact Fleets as soon as possible. They will be cut in size due to Korvil activity, but you will still have ten ships of the line, plus two corvettes to send word back. It remains to find the homeworld of these people. What have they to say on the subject?”

“Linnas,” Rentec said, emboldened by his success and the informality of the matriarch’s garden, “that’s one of the first things Maratai had me ask them. It seems that they’re common laborers trained to use the equipment and were transported to their asteroid belt to build a space dock. They have no concept of where their star is in relation to other stars and have no way to show us.”

Maratai spoke up. “We have a few clues though. Their system has an asteroid belt between the fourth and fifth planets, and the sixth is ringed as well, and our scientists have determined that their sun is younger and hotter than ours. The spectra it puts out gives a brighter, more yellow glow than ours does. Placed in a special chamber, Derek Carter has said that a particular wavelength is what he sees when he stands outside on a clear day, and Maggie Spencer agrees, so we can discount a great many stars and concentrate on those with the correct spectra.”

Rentec had one other matter he wanted to bring up. Fortunately, it was the matriarch who did so. “Minister Foran,” she said, “is going to need to be rewarded for his unflagging duty to his people. I had in mind to bestow a landed title upon him. It is, of course, necessary for someone from a major family to sponsor him.”

Rentec, knowing that this was the right thing to do for his father’s old friend and his own mentor in the political arena, instantly agreed to sponsor him. “It would be my great pleasure to offer land to this endeavor, Your Grace. I have in mind several parcels along the Kugarin River.”

“Excellent choice, Rentec,” the matriarch said with a smile. “I see that we chose wisely. It leaves me with the happy duties of adding several parcels from my own clan’s land along that same river and informing him personally. Minister Foran will have a very comfortable and beautiful estate to retire to after all of this is over. It’s my understanding that Mondel has no living elders?”

“That is my understanding as well, Your Grace. Two ex-wives, several children, and a few grandchildren. He is the eldest of his line now,” Rentec confirmed.

“Very well,” the matriarch said firmly. “From this day on, he shall be known as Mondel kep Foran, beholden to the do’ Verlas clan.” She thought for a moment. “There’s one other thing that needs to be done, and that is to confirm him as Minister for Spatial Affairs. This will leave you free to accept the post of Ambassador to the Human Race, Rentec. Do you accept?”

“Cousin,” Rentec said to Parlo, “it seems that the matriarch has plans for us.” The two men sat on Rentec’s patio, watching the Stalas throw the sun’s final rays back at it.

Parlo do’ Nallen poured drinks into the kemwood cups on the table between them. “I wonder if I’m going to like the direction this conversation is taking, cousin,” Parlo said. “But sitting in Cho-An, drinking zintha from kemwood, and watching the sun make all this gava stone shine is bound to affect my judgment. And that’s probably what you want, isn’t it?”

Rentec nodded. “Greater receptivity is what I hoped for, cousin. Linnas has decreed that the Contact Fleets will set out in half a cycle. That gives you just over ten days to better your knowledge of the English language.” With the success of the experiment, Rentec was daily adding words and phrases to his vocabulary and improving his pronunciation at the same time.

Parlo took a sip from his cup. “And why do I need to better my understanding of Eenglits?”

“English,” Rentec corrected. He got up and walked to the railing around the patio. “Because I suggested to Linnas that you’d be the best person to head up the contact team in the second fleet.”

“You what!” Parlo sat stunned after the revelation. “You know I don’t like space travel! I’ve never even taken the tour of Shabbas and Grinnas!” Parlo said, referring to a tour of the two moons of Shiravi that almost all children took as part of their schooling. “How could you do this?”

Rentec turned around and faced his cousin. “Parlo, it’s time and past for you to get beyond your irrational fear of space. The matriarch requires your expertise and assistance on this mission to approach the humans.”

“What ‘expertise and assistance’ do you refer to, cousin?”

“Why, it’s well known that you are, or were, one of the best negotiators on the staff of the Ministry of Defense. And after you spend a few days with Derek and Maggie, you’ll begin to be fluent in their language. These two traits alone guarantee you a place on one of the fleets.” Rentec waited for the news to sink in and added the final enticement. “There will be a new position added to the existing order of things, as well, cousin, and there will be two persons posted to this new position. I’ll be one of them, and you’ll be the other.”

Parlo carefully set his drink on the table and looked at Rentec. “And what is this new position to be, cousin?”

Rentec savored the moment. He knew he had Parlo hooked, and he drew it out. “The new position is that of ambassador.” He used the human word, since there was no equivalent in Shiravan. The Shiravans had only met one other race in their four hundred and fifty years in space, and the enmity between the two had precluded any concept of ambassador. “The word means one who speaks with the voice of the matriarch, Parlo. When we meet the rest of the humans, one of us will have to be there to speak for the matriarch and try to work out a preliminary treaty. It will be best if you can speak their language, and you’ll be able to practice on the voyage since one human will be with each fleet.”

During the next half-cycle, while the Contact Fleets were preparing for departure, Parlo and Maratai spent their time with the two humans, and while they weren’t quite as fluent by the end of that time as Rentec was, most simple concepts were being openly discussed, as well as a few esoteric subjects if simple words were used. Each day the verbal database grew, and conversations with their new friends became more complex. The humans were taken on a whirlwind tour of Shiravi and introduced to the populace at large, and most aspects of Shiravan culture were open to the visitors.

“It is of prime importance,” the matriarch said, “that these people understand our culture and can accurately report to their superiors just what kind of people we are and what our situation is.”

The disturbing aspect of the new conversational circumstances was that Shiravans were learning about humans as well.

“Linnas, I don’t think you realize just how different these people are,” sel Garian said, holding a brief report from Maratai in her hand. “They don’t have a unified world, and most of their sub-cultures are run by men! How are we to relate to such a situation?”

“That same report states that women are beginning to have a greater influence in their culture, Manura,” the matriarch returned. “There are women in their military forces, in their governmental processes, and in their business affairs. It’s not as if they’re second-class citizens.”

“In some of their subcultures, they are, Linnas,” sel Garian argued. “Maggie Spencer volunteered that information without coercion, and in such a way that there can be no doubt that she knew what she was saying and that we understood. While she seemed less than happy about the plight of her gender around their world, she seemed resigned to it as well. I have to wonder about the mindset of a people like that. Can we ever have a common ground?”

“I’m betting that we have a fear of the Korvil in common with them, Manura. That should bond us together for a short while. At least until the Korvil situation can be resolved. You know our scientists are working on ways to neutralize the Korvil. Ever since we were lucky enough to finish off that raider nest on our borders and were finally able to get a few bodies for study, they’ve been working night and day to find a solution to the problem. And,” she continued before the older woman could interrupt, “we also have samples from Maggie and Derek if the humans try to replace the Korvil.”

“I still think the situation is too delicate to allow such youthful idealists to dictate policy for you from such a distance, Linnas. It is madness to allow such a thing!”

Linnas des’ Harras smiled at her friend and adviser. “And that is why you’ll be going along as well, Manura. We need a voice of reason tempered by wisdom and experience. Impetuosity has its place, but there are times for restraint. A calmer head to steer things in the right direction, don’t you think?”

“Me? Linnas! What about my duties here? Who will watch out for your interests in the Forum? Who will be there to watch your back? You know the Isolationists who killed Kirel do’ Verlas were never caught. They bragged that they could get to any Expansionist, and you are chief among those. Your safety is paramount!”

Linnas raised her hand, effectively cutting sel Garian’s protests off. “You have trained any number of people to do the jobs you do, Manura. It’s unfortunate that it takes so many of them to do what you alone are capable of, old friend, but that’s what we have to live with.”

“Or die with,” the Policy Minister muttered to herself.

It was almost a full cycle before the Contact Fleets were ready to move out. Twenty-four ships in all, twelve for each fleet, they had to be completely inspected and overhauled before the voyage ahead. Minister kep Foran, now confirmed in his position as Minister to Spatial Affairs, used his new position to commandeer all the files on any explored stars with the proper spectrum. Finding that none of them had any chance of harboring a native population that matched the human race, (not unexpected), he broadened his search to include the locations of all stars cataloged carrying that stellar signature. Even leaving out the obviously unpopulated systems, the number of stars of the proper spectra that they were concentrating on was daunting for the commanders of the two fleets.

Rentec, knowing that the situation with his consort-to-be was rapidly deteriorating, asked a local Son of Morath to perform a ceremony confirming his marriage to Ramannie.

“Now, my love,” he said after the priest took off his vestments and joined the festivities, “you have your status. And you have the responsibility you asked for of keeping the do’ Verlas name in the public view.”

Rentec had revealed his new status to Ramannie only the night before. After her initial shock, she asked, “An ambassador has more power than a mere minister, is that not so?”

Shaking his head, Rentec said, “I’m not sure. It will have a lot to do with how well we get along with the humans. If all goes well, I think I’ll get credit and prestige, but if not, I’m sure I’ll get all the blame. Who can tell the future?”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The three, soon to be four, space docks of the fledgling Terran Alliance had formed a loose amalgamation, with Captain Daniel Baylor of Orion as senior captain. An engineer had to be able to handle a variety of systems, and in most cases, apply the proper principle to a given situation to bring it under control. Dan Baylor had long before seen the need to have a universally accepted command structure, and when it devolved upon him, he accepted the responsibility with the same aplomb that he’d demonstrated when he agreed to Orion’s captaincy. Still answering to Lucy as the head of the Alliance, the subcommand structure that grew up around Dan Baylor was more of an information-sharing system that began the official sharing of any innovations dreamed up by the crews of any of the bases as they went about the various duties assigned to them.

Carefully choosing among the crew of Orion Base, Dan had recruited anybody to his staff who had any engineering training at all—systems engineers, flight engineers, stationary engineers, electrical engineers, etc. These crewmembers came to be known as the Research and Development Department of each base and reveled in turning up new and innovative uses for the technological toys they were playing with. He’d prevailed upon the commanders of Libra and Gemini to implement similar programs, and by the time Lucy’s order came down requiring the personal histories of the crew, the task had already been accomplished.

Since Daniel agreed with Simon that design improvements needed to be shared between the bases to allow uniformity, keeping in touch was of vital importance. They agreed that it would be a shame if a ship couldn’t get proper servicing because it had to go to a particular dock that may not be able to accommodate them for some reason.

Daniel also saw to it that another task was performed by all the bases along with construction of new ships—placing sensor buoys throughout the solar system. A number of small, single-burst, omnidirectional buoys that would send out a pulse when triggered, as well as other more sophisticated kinds, had been loaded onto any passing ship and dropped off into deep space whenever feasible. The “smarter” buoys would record as much data as possible, and when the coast was clear, they’d locate the nearest base and send a compressed burst transmission. The problem as Daniel saw it was that there were just so many areas to cover.

“It would take hundreds of years to cover the entire sphere of our system with buoys,” he said, “so we’ll concentrate first on those areas where someone could come directly from another star and their counterpoints, and fill in the blank spaces as we get to them.” He smiled at his small joke.

It had, admittedly, been an expansive project but one that needed to be started as soon as possible, and it had paid off.

“Sir, we have incoming traffic,” Communications Officer of the Watch, Lt. (jg) Sarah Rogers said, breaking into the middle of the racquetball game Captain Baylor was losing to his second in command.

“Make it brief, Lieutenant, I’m in the middle of something here.” Breathing hard, he picked up a towel from a bench near the door and wiped the sweat from his face as he sat down heavily.

“Sir, standing orders require that the captain be informed whenever a buoy has been triggered.”

Sometimes I think the military mind grows out of thin air! Dan thought. Quoting orders at me! Aloud he asked, “Which buoy and what possibility of error?” An unnamed fear raised the hair on the back of his neck.

“Sir,” the young, shaky voice replied, “Buoy two-four-four-one, placed on-station seven months ago by the McCaffrey near the Oort cloud. Possibility of error nearing zero, sir. The data transmitted carries a power spike, and none of our ships are scheduled to be in that area at this time.”

Dan glanced at his exec, one eyebrow raised slightly. It was his classic “what the hell” look. “Is that all, Lieutenant?”

“Uh, no sir, it isn’t. The, uh, computer went nuts when the message came in, sir. Lights and bells all over the place. I had to hit the override to shut ‘em down. Sir, the computer has issued a threat assessment.”

“I’ll be right up.” Turning to his partner and exec, Dan said, “Tom, jiggle that memory of yours. Where and what type of buoy is two-four-four-one?”

All thoughts of the game forgotten, the two men headed for the comm shack. The hapless junior grade lieutenant handed over the papers that had poured out of the printer and made herself as inconspicuous as possible.

Several seconds went by as the two men pored over the papers, and Dan was the first to speak. “Well, the shit just hit the fan, Tom. Ninety-nine percent probability that the energy signatures of that drive match the one we recorded after the first attack. And the same for the ship in the asteroid belt but slightly less if it was the one that got away. At ninety-four percent, it’s still well within the limits of an overhaul or refit. Now we’ve got an idea where to look for our playmates.”

“We’ve also got the spike of a small ship here, boss,” Commander Tom Caudell said, waving one of the papers. “Look here. Not as much energy as the Heinlein puts out and way less than the Galileo but more than a Mamba. My guess is that there’s a mothership out there somewhere, looking to pick it up after its recon. If the Heinlein can make six lightyears a month, then these guys have probably been out here a long time. If it’s the same ship. It would have had to limp back to base, report in and refit, and return. It’s been two years or maybe a little more since Orion was attacked. Out and back, say seventy-two lightyears.”

“A good working hypothesis, Tom,” the captain agreed. “But it could be just an outpost, too. These folks have been in space a long time, and we just got here. I’ll be very interested to learn how large each civilization is. Remind me,” he said, changing tracks, “to get a message off to First Captain Grimes. We should try the U.S. Embassy first, but we can’t stop until we have her reply. I’ll be in my quarters.”

“Captain,” Tom said, a preoccupied tone in his voice, “the bogey was powering down and headed straight in, not vectoring across the system.” He shuffled papers around in his hands. “We’re guessing at the size of the vessel from its power signature, of course. Since it shut down its drives, we can’t get any other information about it, and it’s going to coast through the system gathering all kinds of information. I’d say that it’s somewhere around the orbit of Saturn right now. And if it followed a direct course, then it came in from the direction of Alpha C.”

The two men walked out of the comm shack still discussing the problem. “Aren’t you going to notify Libra or any of the ships?” the exec asked worriedly.

“We don’t know their intentions or temperament. If we make an unscheduled comm call to the base nearest them, it could trigger the very thing we don’t want to happen, which is a repeat of what happened here. I’m playing the odds, and it’s with people’s lives. Not my job. I’ll gladly pass the buck on this one.”

Departure was less eventful than arrival, though tears and hugs were shared all around again. Lucy called Galway just before leaving the house to inform him of her return to New Mexico. “I’ll meet you there and see to the guard detail around your ship,” he said.

Lucy’s goodbyes were just as heartrending as she’d known they would be. She experienced fear and concern for her mother and father, and worry about Bruce’s plans, although she was pretty certain she’d be seeing him soon. Regret at leaving her friends behind made her say, “You know, you guys are welcome to join up. We wouldn’t get to see a lot of each other but more than if you don’t. Bruce won’t be far behind me. He’s almost twenty, and the folks can’t hold him back if he wants to go. You three could make a trip of driving down to New Mexico together.”

With the last tear shed and the last hug given and received, Lucy turned to the smoked-glass doors that led onto the tarmac where her ship waited, but a tug at her sleeve turned her back. “Here’s your bag,” Bruce said, handing over the black nylon satchel. “And you did promise me a look inside your cockpit, Luce. Mind if I walk out with you?”

Expecting the request, Lucy nodded and pushed the door open. She eyed Carmen and Amy, but they both shook their heads. The cool morning air made her glad she’d worn her long-sleeved uniform, but the weight of the laser on her hip was unaccountably bothersome. “Sure, let’s go.” Stepping out into the bright morning light, she looked around and saw several vehicles with that “cop” look to them, and at least half a dozen silhouettes of men either atop nearby buildings or in the shadows not far from the Mamba. To one side, a motorized ladder stood waiting, its engine idling and a driver at the controls.

Reaching into the pouch on her belt, Lucy pulled out the key and pointed it at the ship. Seconds after she pressed the recessed button, the shimmering field around the Mamba vanished and she waved the ladder driver to move up to the craft. She touched another button and the cockpit opened as if on its own as the stairway came to a stop mere inches from the skin of the ship. Climbing up first, Lucy stood to one side so Bruce could look inside.

“Can I . .?” he asked, gesturing at the seat.

“Sure,” Lucy said indulgently. “Just don’t touch anything. You could deactivate the magnetic containment field and blow up half of the airport.”

“Yeah, right,” Bruce muttered as he slid into the cockpit. “What am I looking at?” he asked, hands conspicuously on his legs.

“Far right panel is environmental controls. Next to the left is the armament status board. Center front are the actual flight controls. Radar is a holographic display projected on the inside of the cockpit window. Next to the left is the engine status board, and on your far left is the comm panel. We simplified some of the controls so they act almost like computer games with joystick controls, but it’s not really set up for atmospheric flight. These engines make it much more suited to what it was designed for—a space fighter.”

Bruce looked around at the controls and the helmet sitting atop the panel. “If I’ve got a choice,” he said, “I’d like to learn to fly one of these, but Mom...”

Lucy put her hand on her brother’s shoulder. “Brucie, Mom’s all right with it. Trust me. We talked last night, and she’s not real happy, but she knows, deep down, that you’re about to leave the nest. She also knows that whatever you do in life has risks to it. She’s okay with this if you go in with your eyes open. And if you do show up in New Mexico, I’ll make sure your eyes are opened before you get accepted. Now, just about everybody who signs up wants the glamour of being a Mamba pilot, so sooner or later we examine them all, but I do have some pull,” she said, smiling up at him, “and I’ll get you bumped up the list. After that, you’re on your own. If you wash out of pilot training, I’ll find something else for you to do if you decide to stay with us.”

Bruce looked at the controls for a moment longer, then climbed gingerly out of the fighter to stand beside his sister. “You said, ‘if you decide to stay with us.’ Do you think of things as ‘us’ and ‘them’ now, Luce?”

Lucy stood on top of the stairway and thought for several seconds. She looked around the airport and, in her mind’s eye, beyond, to her one-time home and her past. Bruce leaned down and picked up her helmet, turning it over in his hands. “Yeah, I think I do, Bubba,” she said taking the helmet and letting it dangle at her side. “At least for now. The world needs to grow up some before we can turn everything over to it, I think. Simon had the right idea about getting the food processors out first and free. End the hunger and then people have time to grow, as individuals and as groups. As long as you have to worry about your next meal, you can’t think much beyond that. Now, they can. All we have to do now is fight man’s basic greedy behavior. In the long run, I think that will be the hardest battle of all. If we can win that one, then the ‘us’ and ‘them’ can go away.”

She smiled ruefully at her brother. “The last thing you needed was a speech from your big sister as she’s about to leave. Sorry ‘bout that. Look, I gotta get the show on the road. When you get ready, call the number in your top desk drawer and get your butt down to New Mexico.” She punched him on the shoulder, then hugged him, hard. “Now go. Love you, Bubba. Tell Mom and Pop to come visit. It’s about time they took a vacation anyway, isn’t it? Oh, and by the way, under the right circumstances, you could blow up half of this airport, no joke.” She watched the look of amazement cross his face as she waved the ladder driver back and stepped into the cockpit of the Mamba. As the platform moved slowly back away from the black ship, Bruce carefully walked down the steps, and when it stopped, he stepped off.

Lucy slid the actuator into its slot and the systems came alive, one by one. She pulled the helmet down over her ears and lowered the canopy before she thumbed the comm panel. “Cincinnati Control, Terran Alliance One requests permission to take off. Destination, New Mexico.”

“Terran Alliance One, Cincinnati Control,” a strange voice answered. “We advise caution. There is severe weather between here and New Mexico.”

“Not a problem, Control. I can fly above anything out there. And what I choose not to fly over can’t hurt this ship.”

“Terran Alliance One, what are your takeoff parameters?”

“Just tell me when I have clear airspace and my takeoff parameter will be straight up, Control. I can be out of your airspace in a matter of seconds.”

“I doubt that, but it will be interesting to watch, Alliance One. Wait for clearance.”

While Lucy waited for Control to clear the airspace above her, she brought each system on-line and double checked it. The antigravs whined into life and the sleek ship lifted off the ground. She slid the craft out over the taxiway where she floated about thirty feet off the ground.

Since she was still waiting for word from the control tower, she called Diana in New Mexico. “I’ll put you through to your office, ma’am,” the tech on duty said.

Almost instantly, the circuit connected, and Diana’s voice came through her speakers. “It’s good to hear your voice, Lucy. Did your trip go well?”

“As well as can be expected, I guess. How are things on base?”

“Running like clockwork, really, thanks to Abernathy and his people. But we do have a situation that needs your immediate attention. Dan Baylor just brought us a packet by way of the McCaffrey. It’s marked urgent.”

The tower chose that moment to give Lucy permission to launch, so she said, “Hold on, Diana.” Switching frequencies, she said, “Cincinnati Control, this is Terran Alliance One. You said you doubted my ability to be gone in seconds? Well, watch this.”

“All eyes are on you, Alliance One. You are cleared for takeoff. Good luck and have a safe flight.”

She poured more power to the generators and the ship rose another fifty feet. Tilting its nose toward the sky, she pulled the joystick back hard toward her and the ship almost literally vanished from sight. Keeping her speed down below the sound barrier, she still went from zero to almost six hundred miles per hour in under half a second, vanishing from the radar screens of anyone who had an interest in her departure.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Somewhere deep inside the proto-organic gel that was the brain of the Galileo, a metaphorical switch was thrown, and Consciousness began to return to Kitty Hawke. That gel was most intimately connected to the occupant of the chamber in the medical bay through the sensors embedded in the pedestals under the table. It recognized a crewman in distress, and when its sensors confirmed that the crewman had a chance of survival, it began procedures that had been set down in its primal conditioning—first, insulate the body and then induce the body to repair itself.

Wiped of all its secondary programming by the virus that had killed the original crew, its primary programming remained intact. Ship functions were unimpaired, as were medical functions and logic circuits, all of which took up a tiny fraction of the organic mass and had been shielded by layer after layer of protection. Now that its new occupants had removed the last trace of the virus, it searched the remainder of itself and found appallingly little about the bodies of its new owners. Following hints, it learned of a larger database concerning the human body on the planet below. It tied itself into Earth’s satellite system while all was in chaos and downloaded everything it could find on the human body.

It began comparing what it “read” with what it sensed of the body in the regeneration chamber. When it got to the cellular level, the computer came as close to a feeling of joy as it was possible for it to get. Comparing the genetic coding in the database with material taken from the chamber, the computer began testing each of the billions of combinations it was possible to twist the human code into. It had long been known to science that reputable cases of spontaneous regeneration of an organ or even a limb existed, but the process had never been isolated. Until now.

Time, it has been said, heals all wounds, and the greater the wounds, both physical and mental, the greater the time needed to heal. Time was all that was necessary for the computer to repair the genetic damage, and Kitty’s body was induced to grow nerve cells, skin cells, bone, and blood cells in the insular gel surrounding it in the chamber. But Time was going to have a harder job ahead when it came to healing the tortured psyche in the computer’s care. Each time the computer’s “attention” wandered even a bit in its quest to find a solution, the mind it was trying to heal fought to the surface, and each time that mind showed itself unready to return. Each time, the computer flooded the body with narcotics manufactured in its central core to calm the mind and ease the pain.

Some ten months had passed since Kitty had received her wounds at Camp David, and under the watchful care of the computer, six of those months were all that were needed to bring the body back. Electrical stimulation of the muscles helped keep them in tone, blood was flushed of waste and toxins, and nutrients were added to keep the body alive, but the mind was beyond the scope of the immense computer. Hidden behind the barriers constructed to hold the now non-existent viral attacker at bay, the computer, realigned to serve its human element, had adopted a wait-and-see policy toward the occupant of its regeneration chamber for four additional months.

The first clue that the “Kitty situation” had changed came at shift change when Lt. (jg) Heather Crawford walked into the sick bay carrying a stack of study material, preparing to take over the monotonous shift of watching the never-changing container holding the body of Kitty Hawke. Following procedure established months before, she checked the numerous dials and gauges attached to the outside of the semi-transparent material housing the body of one of the Founders of the Alliance.

“Temperature’s up on the chamber, Colin. Did you get it documented?”

Performing a classic double take, Lt. Colin Hampstead said, “Everything was normal when I came on. What is it now?”

“Up six degrees from normal,” Lt Crawford noted. “Procedure says to notify the captain immediately.”

“Don’t quote regs at me, Lieutenant,” Lt. Hampstead said. “Everything was normal when I came on. I’ve got it logged.”

“Well, I’ve got the shift now, and I’m notifying Captain Morgan immediately,” Lt. Crawford said. She pulled her comm unit from her belt and pressed a button. “Lt Crawford to the captain,” she said. “Please contact me in sick bay immediately.”

The voice that came back was not the captain’s. “This is the Exec. What’s the problem, Lieutenant?”

“Sir,” she replied, “I just took over duty in the sick bay and found the chamber up six degrees. It’s risen another degree since then, and other vitals are up as well. Heartbeat is up, respiration is up, and alpha waves are up, and I don’t know what to do other than notify the captain as ordered.”

“Good job, Lieutenant. I’ll notify the captain and the doctor immediately. Make sure you have everything documented. Someone’s going to want that information later. Exec out.”

Ten minutes later, Mustafa Morgan, Captain of the Galileo, strode briskly into the sick bay, belying the fact that it was the middle of his off shift. “Status, Lieutenant,” he ordered as he entered the room.

“Sir,” the nervous lieutenant said, “temperature is up to ninety-six degrees. It’s stayed constant at eighty-six since the beginning, and now this!”

Dr. Jeffers entered the sick bay looking as if he’d been sleeping in his clothes, which to all intents and purposes, he had. He went straight to the chamber that was holding Kitty’s body and began studying the dials and readouts. “A full ten degrees up,” he noted. “Respiration is up from eight breaths per minute to fourteen, and her alpha waves show normal sleep patterns. Has Simon been notified?”

The young lieutenant, unused to so much brass around, found a corner to make herself inconspicuous in as she listened attentively to every word. Recruited right after the Camp David affair, she’d never known Kitty and was understandably curious about the individual she’d heard so much about and been keeping watch over for the last few months.

Simon, who’d been summoned by Mustafa as soon as heard the news, entered the room at that moment. For the first three weeks after his rescue, Simon had spent every waking moment in the sick bay, convinced that his presence would get through to her and cause her to awaken. Even the list of injuries didn’t deter him from his belief that his presence would have a positive effect on the woman with whom he’d shared the last seventeen years. Finally, Dr. Jeffers had convinced him that for his own benefit he should find something to occupy his time rather than sitting around pining and accomplishing nothing. “There are plenty of people out there who would benefit from your expertise,” he said to Simon. “When there’s a change, you’ll be notified, I promise you.”

Wandering around the Galileo as it went about its task of building the fourth base, Simon spent considerable time feeling sorry for himself and Kitty, not really knowing who needed his sorrow the most. But he eventually began to take an interest in the engineering problems involved in building the more massive Taurus. Throwing himself into the project allowed him to hold his grief at bay, although it was always just under the surface and erupted at the most inopportune moments. All aboard came to recognize when his moods were most volatile and left him alone or just agreed with him and went ahead and did things the way the supervisors ordered, ignoring any suggestions he gave in times of stress.

Now, notified as promised, he stood, shifting from foot to foot as the doctor moved from one sensor to another, making notes. Finished with that process, he turned to the two captains and announced, “It looks like something has decided it’s time to wake her up. I don’t have any more control over the process than you do, so I know just how helpless you both feel, Simon in particular.” An idea occurred to him. He turned to the junior duty officer and said, “Lt. Crawford, right?” At her affirmative nod, he ordered, “Go to the captain’s quarters and bring back a set of clothes. It doesn’t matter what as long as it covers her warmly.” Dismissing her from his thoughts, he went back to his instruments. “Ninety-seven now, and respiration is up to fifteen per minute. I’d have to guess that something is about to happen, gentlemen.”

As if in response to his words, the chamber began to clear a bit, showing the naked form of Kitty Hawke floating in a suspension that was suffused with glittering particulate matter of some indeterminate material. The young Lieutenant made haste to get out of the room on the errand she’d been set, leaving the three men alone with the slowly changing chamber.

Mustafa, a bit nonplussed by seeing Kitty nude, asked, “Should I be somewhere else, Simon? I don’t see how I can be any help here.”

Simon answered from a distant place. “I’m sure you’ve seen naked women before, Stafa, and I don’t think Kitty is going to be worried about it. I’d rather have you here if we need you. Let’s just make sure that no other sightseers get in, shall we?”

Taking the suggestion as an order, Mustafa commed his security chief and ordered a full security detail to the sick bay to guard against that occurrence.

The cloudiness continued to dissipate from the container and the three men could clearly see the hoses and other contraptions attached at various points to Kitty’s body. “Well, there won’t be any bedsores to contend with,” Dr. Jeffers said as he noted that Kitty’s body was supported about four inches off the table by the sparkling substance that surrounded her body.

One by one, the various fastenings attached to her body began to separate themselves and retract into receptacles in the tabletop, leaving only a demi-mask over her nose and mouth and another covering her eyes. By this time, the three men could see the definite rise and fall of her chest, indicating that she was breathing more or less on her own. After an indeterminate time, the level of the fluid in the container began to recede, showing a marked line along the sides of the clear cover. Finally, Kitty’s body rested firmly on the tabletop, and the rest of the fluid was sucked out of the chamber. At this point, the connection over her nose and mouth detached itself, followed by the one covering her eyes, both tubes sliding into a hole in the flat bottom of the chamber.

The tension heightened as nothing further happened for several minutes. The young lieutenant returned with an armful of clothes and said, “I hope this will do, Doctor. You said warm, and this is what I could find.”

Simon’s thank you was aborted when a sound like hydraulic brakes bleeding down sounded in the room, accompanied by a three-tone descending chime. Immediately following the third repetition of the chime, the transparent cover slid back into the wall as if it had never been, the endcap dropping down into a recess at the end of the table. The four people in the room watched, fascinated, as Kitty took an extra-large breath, opened her eyes, and stared blankly at the ceiling for several seconds as if getting a feeling for her surroundings. Comprehension dawned on her face, and before anyone could speak, she asked no one in particular, “Why am I still alive? I don’t want to be alive. I don’t have any reason to even be alive with Simon dead.”

Simon moved to her side and said, “Kittyn, I’m not dead.” Reaching out, he slowly pulled her hands from her face and said, “Honey, look at me. I’m alive, and so are you. Come on. Let’s go to our quarters. I’ll explain how I made it, and we’ll try to figure out how you did it. Truth is, dear, we should both be dead, but we’re not.”

Eyes squeezed tightly shut, Kitty refused to look in the direction of the familiar voice. “Look at me, darling. I’m alive,” Simon reiterated. “Come on, let’s get some clothes on you. People are gonna talk enough as it is.” He pulled on her arms until she came to a sitting position, bits of sparkling goo dripping from her arms and hair, which was now no longer a golden blonde but rather the purest white. Simon’s eyes wandered lower and noticed that the same condition applied there as well.

He looked back up in time to get slapped in the face. “How could you do that to me, you bastard!” In the next breath, his wife, miraculously delivered to him whole and apparently healthy, went on long enough to become embarrassing to the viewers.

Stafa said, “Uh, folks, I’ve got a ship to run. Welcome back, Captain Kitty. We all missed you. I’ll stop by to see you as soon as you’re up to having visitors. Lieutenant, it looks like we won’t be needing an officer on duty here anymore. Let’s move.” Junior officer in tow, Captain Morgan left the sick bay, already planning the calls he needed to make.

The Hawkes spent the next two days alone in their quarters, having meals sent in. “That’s one of the prerogatives of rank, my dear,” Simon told Kitty, enduring constant interruptions by the doctor and fending off calls from friends and well-wishers.

“When we’re ready, we’ll come out. Until then, thanks for your thoughts, one and all,” Simon said in a curt but heartfelt message to everyone who tried to get past the security team detailed to prevent just such occurrences.

Kitty sat on the edge of the bed, an apple in her hand a pensive look on her face.

“What’s up, love?” Simon asked. He hadn’t let her out of his sight except for bare necessities for the entire two days, and overall, he was happy with her recovery, but there was something troubling her. Sooner or later, it was going to have to come out, but he wasn’t sure he was the one to deal with whatever it was.

“Simon, if I tell you, you’re going to think I’m nuts, and then it’ll be a different kind of doctor. I don’t think I could endure that,” Kitty said mournfully. “I know we’ve never kept anything from each other, but this is so... weird.” She shook her head in bewilderment. “I’m not sure I believe it myself except for this,” she said, twitching her hand through the snow-white hair falling past the small of her back.

“Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it, hon,” Simon said, sitting down beside her. “Look at what we’ve managed to survive already. Both of us have been all but dead, and here we sit.”

“Yeah, but this...” Kitty looked at her husband sitting beside her and felt the confusion and frustration welling up in him. “Look, if I tell you, you’ve got to promise me that it goes no further than the two of us for now.” When she saw the expression his face, she slapped his thigh. “I’m serious, Simon! No telling anybody! Not Gayle, not the doctor, nobody! Promise me.”

“Okay,” he agreed finally. “Nobody. I promise.”

“On our wedding vows, Simon, you promise, or I won’t say another word about it,” Kitty warned.

“On our vows? Are you serious?” At her look, he said, “All right, on our vows. Now what is it?”

“When the ship took over for the doctor, it thought I was going to die. And I would have, I’m sure, without more attention than he could give. The computer, or whatever, didn’t know that he planned to send me downside for more treatment, so it sorta took charge. It’s something in its primary orders, I think. Anyway, it raided Earth’s database for information on the human body and started repairs. As we know, the Builders are way ahead of us in that department. It programmed itself to do what was necessary to fix my injuries, mostly regeneration of things and slow growth of broken bones and things.”

“How do you know all this?” Simon asked. “I’m not doubting you, but it seems kind of fantastic, you must admit.”

“No more fantastic than the reality of this damned ship!” Kitty retorted. “Just listen. I don’t know how I know, I just do. But that’s not all. It’s enough, but not all.” Her voice died and she looked at her lap long enough to start Simon worrying again, but before he could speak, Kitty went on. “I think the computer put the information in my mind somehow. And there’s more. One more thing, and this is the part you better not tell. Not for a while, Simon. It has to be a secret. The computer re-sequenced my DNA. It looked at it, decided that some things needed to be ‘fixed,’ and went ahead and did it. We knew the Builders could clone things, but we didn’t take it any further than that. They can actually affect some things on a molecular level. And this is just the byproduct of the computer ‘fixing’ me,” she said, waving a handful of hair in Simon’s face.

A chill ran down Simon’s spine. “What else did it fix?”

“Apparently the computer decided that getting old isn’t normal, so it increased my lifespan by doing something to my DNA that prohibits aging. It can’t stop the process, but it can certainly slow it down drastically.”

“The computer told you all this while you were... being repaired?” Simon asked carefully.

“It didn’t tell me so much as put the information there, Simon. It’s not like we talked or anything. I had a lot of weird dreams, and most of ‘em I can’t remember, but this is no dream.”

“Okay, so how long will you live?”

“I’m not exactly certain, but something around three times the usual for humans. Like about three hundred years.”

Lucy shut off her comm unit and laid it on her desk with a feeling of wonderment. Her flight back to New Mexico had gone as well as the trip out, and she was still shaking her head every time she thought about it.

It seemed as if the fates had conspired to give her only one day of relief at a time. Shortly after walking into her office, Communications sent word that Dan Baylor had commandeered the McCaffrey to come to Earth.

Lucy met him at the landing field when his shuttle touched down. “We were just finishing up the torpedo upgrades when the news came in,” he said as her skimmer carried them back to headquarters. He looked around at the ex-military base as Lucy followed the roads back to the parking area. “I sure didn’t expect to see a sight like this again,” he said, “at least not as a ‘ranking officer.’ It’s almost spooky.”

The two officers stepped over the low sides of the grounded skimmer and walked into the main building. Four secretaries were seated around the large outer room, each one handling the next-to-last daily interview for recruit hopefuls, so their trip across the foyer and through the door marked “Communications, Authorized Personnel Only,” went almost completely unnoticed.

“I wasn’t about to trust this to the comm system since we don’t know anything about what these... invaders have in the way of communications systems of their own or whether or not they can decipher our language.”

She opened the packet he laid down on her desk and started to read. A chill started at the base of her skull and traveled down her spine. There’d been an incursion into human space that was apparently still going on. The kicker was the percentages the computer assigned to the probability that it was the same type of ship that had attacked Orion, not to mention the possibility that it was the same ship!

“Communications, this is Captain Grimes,” she said into her comm. “Raise the Heinlein, the Niven, and the Clarke. I want to know exactly where each one is at this moment. Mark it ‘urgent, top priority,’ and get back to me as each ship reports in.” She stood up and walked to the door. “Let’s get to the chart room. I want to get these coordinates into the computer and see what we can do to isolate this fucker.” The two officers walked across the outer office, and just before leaving the room, Lucy turned to Diana. “Bad news—we’ve got company in-system, probably the same bunch that jumped us before. Captain Baylor and I are going to the chart room to see what we can do about it. Route all calls there as they come in, will you? And get word out to the Galileo and all bases to go on full alert. I don’t want a repeat of Orion.”

As Lucy started out, Diana asked, “Could you do with a bit of good news, Lucy? I really think this would be a good time to hear it.”

Hand on the doorknob, Lucy said, “Give. And I sure hope it’s something that can help us right now.”

“Well, I don’t see it being a help in this particular case, but word just came in from Captain Morgan on the Galileo that Kitty is awake and apparently sane and healthy. She slapped the shit out of Simon for ‘dying,’ then hugged him. The two are recuperating in their quarters.”

Stunned by the revelation, Lucy could only stand there holding the knob until she felt the world start to spin again. Dan Baylor’s hand on her elbow brought her back to herself and the situation at hand. Kitty, awake! After ten months! Lucy felt a weight lift from her shoulders that she hadn’t known was there until it disappeared. She hadn’t even thought of her friend in over a week, and her relief at the news was immense. Still, the state of affairs as they stood pushed that relief to the side.

“Send word to Simon and Kitty telling them how happy we are that she’s back and that I’ll get in touch personally as soon as this mess is straightened out.”

The chart room was just down the hall from Lucy’s office and, in fact, had no real paper charts in it at all. The computer—a duplicate of the one aboard the Galileo, the bases, ships, and the other two embassies—projected a three-dimensional hologram of space surrounding Earth’s sun. As data was added, the “picture” grew in complexity and could be rotated in any axis, or one could walk around or even through the display and view it from another angle entirely. Dan Baylor walked over to the controls and, with several stops to consult his hard copy, began inputting data.

“Right now,” he said as he gave the keyboard a final tap, “I’ve got the last reported positions of all three ships not in orbit and their courses plotted in green. The bogey is shown in a solid red line before he cut his drives and went dark, and the red dotted line is the projected course if it doesn’t change. It will pass by Libra and come within a few million miles of Earth on its way back out of the solar system. Judging by its signature, we feel it’s not capable of interstellar travel because of its size. We could very well be wrong, of course, but we can only go on what we know of our own ships and technology. This is all just best guess.”

Lucy studied the holodisplay. “You said you’d just finished upgrading the McCaffrey. How about the other three?”

“The Niven needs her upgrades, but she’s carrying a full complement of the high-yield antimatter torpedoes. If we can box the bogey in, the three of them should be able to handle the problem easily. Of course, we don’t know what other weapons they could have, so we might get our butts kicked. But three against one?” Captain Baylor shrugged. “This reminds me of street fighting when I was a kid. You never knew what the other guy had until you started fighting. Did he know karate? Was he packing? You just toughed it out until the answers came in. Sometimes you won; sometimes you didn’t.”

“That makes the odds fifty-fifty, and I don’t like ‘em at all.”

Dan sat at the computer desk, slowly rotating the display. “Well, it may not be as bad as all that,” he said. “Remember, this is all hypothesis, but we think that these guys,” he said, waving at the glowing display, “are the enemies of the Builders. If that’s true, they probably think we’re allied with them since we’re using their technology. They will probably think we have the same type of weapons and tactics used by the Builders and will react accordingly. And even though the weapons types are the same, we’ve done some major upgrading, as you know. Ships have shields unknown to the Builders, lasers are much stronger, and our torps are the real kicker. We’ve made ‘em smaller so we can carry more, and they have antimatter warheads. The Builders didn’t have that capability built into theirs. Also, we’ve tapped the antimatter engines to increase propulsion. Our torps can accelerate to almost light speed in a fraction of the time that the old-style torpedoes could get up to half of that. Oh, and here’s another item for the ‘new weapons’ department. R&D says that our capture fields can be focused a lot tighter than we’ve been able to get them down to before now. It’s thanks in part to our use of miniaturization.”

Lucy looked away from the display slowly rotating in midair. “That means what to us, Dan?”

“Tractor beams! One of our ships can lock onto something smaller than itself and pull it into range. Then, its lasers can cut it to ribbons. Or lock on and hit the brakes, so to speak, keeping it from jumping out of our territory until we’re ready to let it go, if ever. And the other side of the coin is that reversing the polarity of the fields will create a ‘pressor’ beam. Using both at once will be like taking a wet dishrag and wringing the water out of it. Messy but effective when it comes to combat. The drawback to that one is that it brings you into range of whatever the enemy has to deliver to you. Calculated risks, I grant you, but that’s what we’ve been taking for the last four years now. You know, it was my intention to quit after we got Orion up and running, but I just couldn’t resist the challenges. I don’t see how any engineer could. Anyway, that’s the situation as it stands now. The bogey should be crossing the orbit of Saturn soon, so if all goes well, and it seldom does, it should continue to follow an unpowered trajectory at the same speed it was traveling when it went dark. Then, in two days, it should be about here,” he said, indicating a position about two million miles short of Libra.

“Awful close to the base,” Lucy noted, “but to me it looks like the best place to intercept. Plus, Libra has several dozen Mambas stockpiled, doesn’t it? And I’ll just bet there are enough qualified pilots to put them in space at the same time, right?”

“You read my mind,” Dan said with a small salute and a large grin. “I don’t know if these alien bastards have an alien equivalent, but they’re about to stir up a hornet’s nest.”

Signals flashed back and forth between Earth and the Alliance fleet, detailing all the information Captain Baylor had brought. Ships began shifting positions to intercept a vessel that was running silent, which meant that all scans were on full, giving away the fact that Alliance forces knew about the intruder.

The McCaffrey sat in stationary orbit above Zurich while Marsha Kane paced her command deck in frustrated circles. “Another ship would increase our chances of catching the son of a bitch, Lucy,” she insisted when she finally got Lucy to answer her calls. “Plus, we’ve already got combat experience. You should maximize your resources.”

“As Captain Baylor pointed out to me, Marsha, everything we do here comes under the heading of calculated risks. I want a ship in orbit in the event that there’s something out there we haven’t detected yet. I can’t let Earth go without any defenses at all. Just call it the luck of the draw that you’re here and the action is out there. Besides, two of the three others were involved with the action in the belt in one way or another. And we’ve got all those Mambas at Libra for backup. Our visitor won’t get far with his scheme or his data. It’s what comes later that worries me. Will we be left alone? Or is whoever sent this expedition using it to judge our strengths and responses? I know it’s hard, Marsha, but you’ve got to sit this one out. Keep your sensors on full though. I’m putting you in charge of the defense of the entire inner system.”

With that sobering thought in mind, the two women chatted about goings-on in the fleet and especially about Kitty’s recovery. “Did you hear that whatever happened to her caused her hair to turn white?” Marsha asked. “God, but that is going to take some getting used to.”

“True,” Lucy responded. “Word has it that whatever the process is that she went through, it not only regenerated tissues in a manner we have no way of reproducing on Earth, but it seems to have reversed her aging process somewhat. Simon swears she looks at least ten years younger. Of course, she had ten months of beauty sleep,” she quipped.

Changing to more serious topics, she said, “Captain Morgan estimates that construction is just a bit ahead of schedule and the Galileo will return to Earth orbit in just over a month before going out to Vesta. I intend to start bringing in recruits from both other embassies immediately. I want to get that last ship crewed and out of orbit before we get another batch in. As soon as this intruder is dealt with, I’ll be bringing each ship in one at a time and transferring some of each experienced crew to the new ship. That will give us a cadre of trained personnel. Then, I’ll fill out the crew with the latest batch of newbies. As it stands now, I have one ship ready to go, but all of the crew are new except the command staff. I’m not exempting the McCaffrey, either. Just a friendly warning so you won’t get caught by surprise. You’re gonna lose a few people after we settle this SOB’s hash. The newbies you get will have more than a little training, though, so it won’t be too bad. I think they’ll integrate well.”

Pleasantries concluded, Lucy signed off and waited. Knowing that people she knew and cared about were out there in deep space chasing their own possible deaths at her orders caused her no little concern, and she cursed the day Simon “died” and left her in charge of the fledgling Alliance.

Time lags between transmissions over the distances inside a solar system being what they were, Lucy had returned to her office before her first call was returned. Those same time lags prevented idle chitchat, so she detailed the course of action each ship was to take as the calls came in. Finished with the last call, she looked at her watch and realized why she felt so tired. “Almost midnight! Damn!” She recalled sending Diana away only moments before, or so it seemed, but that had actually been hours past.

She stood up, feeling each individual vertebra in her back pop as she did so. She waved to the night duty officer as she walked out of the building. Stopping at the bottom of the steps, she looked up into the clear New Mexican night and stared at the stars as they slowly made their stately way across the firmament.

“So beautiful it takes your breath away, isn’t it?” The unexpected question made her spin around in shock to see the shadowy figure of a man sitting on a nearby bench, smoking a cigarette.

“Beautiful, yes. But that same beauty has a dark and violent side, I’ve learned,” she replied to the stranger. “Who are you?” she asked peering hard into the shadows. “And don’t you know smoking is bad for you?”

“It also relaxes me after a hard day, and I’ve had a rough one,” he replied. “Besides, I only smoke when I get stressed, and it beats getting shitfaced. The name’s Tom Breen. What are you doing working so late, and can a guy buy you a drink?”

Realizing he didn’t recognize her in the dark, Lucy said, “My job has a lot of detail and stress, too, Tom. I was just going to bed, but a drink sounds good. I think I’ll take you up on your offer.”

They’d walked almost a block before a streetlamp revealed Lucy’s face and the insignia on her collar. When Thomas Breen saw who he’d been trying to pick up, he paled. “First Captain! Uh, ma’am, I’m sorry. I didn’t know...”

She saw his face flush under the harsh glare of the light and laughed, her tone showing him that she harbored no ill will. “It’s all right, Tom. Relax. We’re both off duty, so I’ll let you buy me that drink. And call me Lucy, please. I let all my captains call me by my first name when we’re off duty.”

They walked another few steps before the meaning of her words got past his embarrassment. “Wait. You said ‘all your captains.’ You mean...”

“Yes, Tom,” she confirmed. “The positions will be posted tomorrow anyway, so what’s a few hours advance notice? Anyway, it’s customary for the newest captain to stand for drinks for his or her buddies. And while I don’t quite qualify as a buddy, I did approve your promotion, so that should earn me one drink, right?”

I was an idiot to turn him down, she thought later as she walked alone into what had once been the home of the former base commander. He really is a hunk, but the complications! Oh, well.

An hour later, as she wandered through the three-bedroom house wondering what she needed so much space for, her comm jangled. Still feeling the buzz from the two drinks—one she’d bought for her newest captain in return for the one he’d bought her—she said, “Grimes,” with a touch more roughness than she otherwise would have done.

“Ma’am, I have an urgent message from Captain Miller on the Clarke. Should I have a runner bring it over?”

Shocked into total sobriety by the thought of Gayle sending her an urgent message so soon after receiving orders to intercept the bogey, she asked, “Is it marked any way other than urgent?” Getting a negative, she said, “Just read it to me, please.”

“Yes, ma’am,” came the reply. “It reads: Captain Miller to First Captain Grimes. Subject: interception of alien craft in Earth space. Give me the coordinates it will occupy in two hours. The Clarke will micro-jump in and finish this now rather than two days from now. Arguments for this course of action—total surprise and an immediate resolution of the crisis. Arguments against—none. Respectfully, Gayle Miller, Captain, Arthur C. Clarke. That’s all there is, ma’am. Will there be a reply?”

“Not at this time, Lieutenant, but there will be soon, trust me. Connect me with Captain Baylor, please.” Now, why the hell didn’t I think of that?

“What?” a sleep-strangled voice barked after the third chime. “This had better be good.”

“It’s Lucy, Dan, and I think you’ll find it very good. How soon can you meet me in the chart room?”

“Ten minutes. I just need to get dressed.”

“Make it five and show up naked for all I care,” she responded. “We both missed a bet, and I think we can have our bogey under control a lot sooner than we first thought.”

Six minutes later, a bedraggled Dan Baylor showed up in tee-shirt, slacks, and slippers sans socks. Lucy looked at the slippers and grinned. “All they need is to be pink and fuzzy, Dan.” Turning serious, she asked, “Where is our bogey now, and where will he be in two hours?”

Still blinking sleep out of his eyes, Orion’s commanding officer asked, “Two hours? I can figure it out in no time, but why the hell do you need to know that? Shit!” He jumped for the computer console.

“Exactly. Shit. We transmit the coordinates to all three ships and have ‘em micro-jump in and solve the problem before it gets any worse. The only drawback is that we won’t have the Mambas from Libra for backup.”

“Unless you have them leave first under high boost,” he said over his shoulder. “One, it will make the bogey give itself away by powering up to either attack or escape. Two, the three main ships show up almost instantly, powered up and ready for either eventuality, and three, they can act as tenders for damaged ships and pick up any survivors and injured.” During all this, his hands were flying over the keyboard, entering figures and computing results. Silence descended on the room, broken only by the clicking of keys and the occasional muttered oath.

Finally, he finished his computations. “I make just over three hours if you start the Mambas now. Send these coordinates to each ship in this order,” he said, handing over a piece of paper. He collapsed into a chair and sighed. “I’m really getting too old for this, you know. Bridges and buildings are one thing, but space stations and ships are another thing entirely.”

Lucy stopped in the doorway and looked at her friend. “I know how you feel, Dan. I’m what, about half your age, and I feel the same. And it doesn’t look like it’s going to get better any time soon,” she said and started to head for the communications office.

“Lucy,” Dan said, stopping her in her tracks. She looked back at the man who seemed so much older than he had an hour before. “You know that people are going to die, don’t you?”

She leaned against the doorjamb and looked down at the paper as if it was about to bite her. “Yes, I do. And this time tomorrow I’m going to be so drunk you won’t admit to knowing me. A lot of those people will be ones I’ve known for years now. And some of them will be people I call friend.” She stood up resolutely. “But what choice do we—do I—have, Dan?” She took one step away from the chart room and turned back. “The only thing I’m going to add to this list is a notice to Libra to expect casualties. I think they’re going to have to act as a hospital station for a short while.” She straightened up and turned to leave the room. Speaking loud enough to be heard as she walked away, Lucy said, “What I don’t know is how I’m going to face myself once I sober up.”

Lucy walked into the communications room feeling like she’d just stepped into a death chamber. In one way, it was, but not for her. Orders flashed out to four different locations in the solar system, ordering ships to converge on a certain spot just inside Saturn’s orbit. The Mambas from Libra were the first to launch, leaving their station under high boost, each pilot knowing that he or she might not return from the mission but knowing, as well, that the mission they were on could define the course humanity would follow for centuries to come.

On three other ships, the clocks ticked down to zero and, from widely separate locations, they jumped into a space that contained themselves, forty-one Mambas, and one alien ship. Two of the ships, the Heinlein and the Niven, jumped in behind the guesstimated position of the alien ship, and the Clarke jumped directly into the projected path of the bogey. So close was the timing that mere minutes later, the squadron of Mambas passed her. Sensors tuned to their highest degree, the three major ships began quartering the area, looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack. But thanks to the engineering expertise of Dan Baylor and his counterparts on the other stations with building and launching the sensor drones, and thanks to the computations derived from those same devices, the spatial haystack had become more manageable.

Barely an hour after the forty-four ships arrived at the projected coordinates, a lone Mamba pilot called, “Target lock! Sensors indicate alien metal composition similar to data in my computer. Probability ninety-eight percent. Request assistance!” She followed this with a string of numbers indicating her position.

Forty other Mambas turned like a swarm of guided missiles and began to converge on the spot where they could now make out the alien craft. It was two thirds the size of the Alliance’s own cruisers, like the Clarke, and oddly similar in style but with subtle differences.

“Target powering up!” the first pilot announced. “Instructions!”

Seconds later, a message arrived on the Clarke’s bridge. “Wait for them to fire first,” Gayle ordered. “We will not initiate hostilities! If fired upon, all bets are off, and good luck to you all.” Switching frequencies to her bridge crew, she said, “Comm, send to the bogey on all channels: ‘You are in Earth space. This is interdicted territory. Stand down or be fired upon.’ Send it three times and report any response.”

Her exec, Commander Scott Newman, “Captain, what if they don’t speak English?”

“I don’t expect them to speak English, Number One,” she answered, using the title from a sci-fi series she’d watched years ago. “What I expect is for them to see an overwhelming force and hear something being said to them. If they have the smarts of a doorknob, they’ll figure out that we mean ‘stop.’ Otherwise, we’re about to fire the second or maybe third shot in an interstellar war. Whatever, it won’t be the first shot. We will be defending ourselves with prejudice.” She stared at the computer plot. “I also expect to be saying goodbye to some of my friends in the next few minutes,” she said softly.

“No response to our message, Captain,” Comm said.

“Damn. What I wouldn’t give for a universal translator. Too bad they only exist on television,” Gayle lamented. She fingered her command panel. “Eagle One, fire one torp across the bogey’s bow and detonate it manually well short of the target, then repeat the warning. Report results.” Seven flights of five Mambas and one of six made up the forward assault force against the intruder. Now sitting squarely in its path, the lead ship, Eagle One, fired a single torpedo as ordered and repeated the order to stand down.

While she waited for the results of the Mamba pilot’s attention-getter, Gayle called another section of the ship. “Forward Fire Control, this is the Captain. Arm a full spread and load all tubes. Prepare to fire on my order. Code alpha, alpha, prime.”

The response came back immediately. “Arm a full spread, aye, Captain. Load all tubes. Code alpha, alpha, prime acknowledged.”

Gayle swallowed hard. “Helm, bring us directly into the bogey’s path. Hold your course.” She hit the all-ships button. “All hands, this is the Captain. The bogey has refused to answer our hails. I expect to engage within the next few minutes. Lock down all stations and prepare for combat.”

The bridge loudspeaker crackled to life. “Flotilla Leader, Eagle One. No response torpedo or hail. Request further inst—” The transmission broke off mid-word as the lead Mamba exploded, leaving only the hiss of interstellar space as her epitaph.

Immediately a gabble of voices came through.

“Oh, my God, she’s gone!”

“The Bogey has returned fire!”

“They’re attempting to run!”

Studying her battle plot, Gayle ordered, “All Mambas, attack pattern delta. Attack, attack, attack!”

The plan she ordered sent the remaining forty ships into attack mode in waves of ten, flushing their tubes of their full loads of torpedoes, now eight per vessel, followed by laser assaults until they passed their target. After being disarmed by their passes, the Mambas moved to regroup and return to Libra at just under maximum speed to preserve their engines and crew.

Four times, ten ships sent a total of eighty torpedoes at the enemy, the pilots recklessly careening close to the target to get the best laser shots possible. The attacks proved of little use as they blew up on the shields they hadn’t expected the enemy ship to have. Since the lasers were set up to fire forward only, this left each Mamba open to return fire while their only protection was their speed and maneuverability. Gayle’s battle plot showed most Mambas making successful passes and moving off into space to regroup, but a significant number didn’t as the enemy ship returned fire. Gayle’s heart ached with each wave that threw itself against the unknown might of the alien invader with little effect.

“Helm,” she said, a catch in her voice, “come to attack speed and follow the fourth wave in.” Switching frequencies, she called the other two ships in her fleet. “Heinlein, Niven, you are cleared to attack. Code alpha, alpha, prime. We have the point and will hold the enemy until you arrive. Good luck and God bless! Miller out.”

She went back to internal frequency. “Forward Fire Control, on my order, fire all tubes and reload.” She watched the plot, and just as the fourth wave of Mambas was reaching attack position, she ordered, “FFC, fire, fire, fire.” She felt the now-familiar lurch as her ship expelled twenty missiles, each tipped with more megatons of explosives than had been released in all of World War II. “FFC, reload and prepare to fire,” she ordered. On another channel, “Flight decks, prepare to launch both flights. Attack plan echo.” This plan would have the ten Mambas that were an integral part of each ship launching as the Clarke passed the enemy ship, trying to attack from the rear with the twenty Mambas from the Heinlein and the Niven as those two ships poured their immense firepower into the backside of the hopefully fleeing invader.

This last order proved to be unnecessary as the combined torpedoes of the last flight of Mambas and the Clarke’s first salvo met the target vessel almost simultaneously. Gayle watched as the ten little ships peeled off and went to join their fellows awaiting the outcome of the battle. The Clarke, however, much larger and harder to turn, was not able to escape the whirling, white-hot vortex created by one hundred missiles and the explosion of the enemy ship’s power core. Speeding right into the center of that unimaginably intense man-made inferno, the Clarke’s Mambas launched and moved away from the artificial sun, trying to come up behind it to contact any survivors of the attack. The Clarke’s shields, powered by the same principles that had destroyed her quarry, failed under the onslaught of the inferno she’d helped create.

Twenty missiles, still in their tubes, vaporized when the shields failed, taking out the entire forward half of the ship. Airtight doors sealed off the damaged portions of the ship as critical systems failed, leaving only the red emergency lights burning dimly, a fitting illumination for the hellish interior of the crippled ship.

Anything not nailed down became missiles careening around the interior of the doomed ship, killing or wounding almost as many as had died outright in the attack. Control consoles, unable to handle the high-energy backlash, erupted in showers of sparks, sending parts of themselves throughout whatever room they happened to be situated in. Four hundred eighty souls sailed the TAS Arthur C. Clarke into battle, and barely one hundred twenty survived the destruction that followed the trip through the artificial sun they’d created. The bridge, situated in the center of the ship, barely survived, as did the engine room, rear torpedo rooms, and life support. Crew quarters, most of the flight deck, engineering, astrometrics, sick bay, hydroponics, communications and many others did not. Thirteen Mambas and their pilots never returned to base, adding to the total dead.

The missiles set off by the passage through the inferno caused the ship to begin tumbling, adding to the casualties. The Heinlein and the Niven, as soon as they were sure the enemy had been destroyed, moved in alongside the stricken vessel, using their capture fields to stop the tumble and move her back toward Libra, almost two million miles away.

Victor McCord, Commander of Libra Base, ordered the half-completed ship being assembled in his dock to be towed and set adrift near the base. More intimately acquainted than most with the construction of these ships, he knew that opening this can of worms was going to be a major undertaking. For whatever reasons, the Builders had neglected to provide airlocks for most parts of their vessels, a condition that had been noted but not considered a necessity until now. Another oversight of the Builders was the lack of spacesuits. It had been surmised, in innumerable bull sessions, that the Builders either relied solely on the construction pods or just never set down where there would be a need for that type of protection. So, with the Clarke’s flight deck gone, there was no way for an individual to gain access to the savaged remains of the ship that had so proudly sailed from this base mere months before.

Hastily assembling his staff, Victor began issuing orders for the fabrication attached directly to Libra herself. The base would have its own airlock, already under construction, and the other end would be open to space until the Clarke could be pushed into place and held there by the capture fields of the base itself. Construction pods, positioned in the tube, would first seal the ship and tube together, then cut their way into the shattered hulk, allowing for the offloading of any survivors.

During the agonizingly long hours that it took the Heinlein and the Niven to transport their sister ship to the dock, no word was received from any of the Clarke’s complement. Mambas from both escort ships reported that all external antennae had been lost, leaving no way to communicate even if the comm center had managed to survive.

Word flashed to Earth almost as fast as it had to Libra, considering the distances involved, and Lucy, beside herself with grief and fury, raced to the spaceport, climbed into her Mamba, and left a double sonic boom behind her as she made for the ship in orbit.

“Marsha, this is Lucy,” she said as soon as she cleared the atmosphere. “Prepare to leave orbit for Libra Base as soon as I dock, and you’re elected.”

She arrowed directly for the bigger ship, slowing finally as she drew near. “First Captain, this is the McCaffrey Flight Control,” she heard an unfamiliar, no-nonsense voice say. “Come alongside the flight deck, cut your engines, and be prepared to be pulled into the bay.”

Cutting her power and turning control over to the crew operating the capture fields, Lucy sat through the procedure of being pulled through the force field and into the McCaffrey’s bay. She released the cockpit controls and, as the canopy slid up and back, grabbed the quick dismount rail above her head. Allowing it to pull her bodily from the cockpit, she rode the bar just far enough to clear her ship and dropped to the deck, in complete disregard of all safety precautions, many of which she had instituted. Both feet hit the deck together, and she let her knees bend, taking up the shock of her landing, with only one hand going out to lightly touch the deck for support before standing up to her full height.

She turned around to find a full commander waiting for her with a look of disapproval on her face. “Permission to come aboard?” she requested.

“Permission granted, First Captain,” the woman ground out frostily. “Captain Kane is expecting you on the bridge. If you will come with me, please?” She led Lucy to the elevator, and when the door closed on the two officers, she punched the hold button and said, “I’m glad none of my pilots saw that stunt you just pulled, First Captain. I have enough trouble keeping them from pulling dumb stunts without having them see you go all cowboy on us.”

“Which is a polite way of saying to follow my own rules, right?” Lucy said, contrition in her voice.

“I don’t know how polite it is, ma’am, but I have enough on my hands as it is,” the commander, whose nametag read Valentine, said. “Besides, do you know how much trouble I’d be in if the boss got hurt on my deck on my watch?”

“I’d feel the same way in your position, Commander,” Lucy said. “I helped formulate some of the rules I just broke. I apologize, and the only excuse I have is that I need to get underway as quickly as possible.”

“Apology accepted,” the commander said, apparently expecting anything but that from the First Captain to a mere commander. Emboldened by her success in chastising the boss, Commander Valentine pressed the bridge button and added, “I’d like to point out that whatever has happened has already happened, and that kind of haste won’t help at all.”

As the elevator began its ascent to the bride, Lucy said, “While I agree with you in principle, you’re about to see another rule broken, Commander. And I’m not going to apologize for this one.”

Seconds later, the door slid open and Lucy strode down the short hall to the command center of the ship, the perplexed commander following in her wake.

Setting foot just inside the bridge proper, Lucy saluted Marsha and asked, “Permission to enter, Captain?”

“Permission granted, First Captain,” Marsha answered. “I assumed you’d want to get underway immediately. Engines are online, and we’re ready to break orbit on your command.”

“No, Captain. On your command,” Lucy corrected. “Can I see you in your ready room first?”

The door closed, cutting the two friends off from the rest of the ship, and Lucy began immediately. “Your Commander Valentine just chewed me out for breaking a flight deck rule, and rightly so,” she said, sitting down in one of the chairs in front of Marsha’s desk. “And now I’m going to ask you to break a bigger rule. I need to get to Libra soonest. I want you to micro-jump into the belt, Marsha, but I won’t order it. This is your ship and crew. It’s a risk, and you have to make the final decision. But as a friend, I’m asking you to consider it. I ordered the action, and I need to be on the scene. I figure if you jump to a point just above the plane of the belt and Libra, I can take my Mamba in the rest of the way. That way, I can get there before Victor can get the Clarke opened up, and you can either come back to Earth or I can send Jerry or Robert back here,” she said, referring to the captains of the Heinlein and the Niven.

Lucy made a helpless gesture with her hands, letting them fall into her lap and slumping down into the chair. Marsha looked at her friend for a few seconds and began to call figures up on her desk comp. She made several false starts, clearing her screen each time, until she finally got the results she wanted. Picking up her comm link, she called her Helm officer. “Bunny, I need you to run us up to jump speed as fast as possible. I’m sending coordinates to Nav. Just go with ‘em. I know what you’re going to say, but the rules just changed. There will be quite a few things done differently for a while, I’m afraid. Let me know when we’re about to jump.” Lucy heard a muffled response, and Marsha set the comm down, stood up, and asked, “Something to drink?”

Lucy waved her hand indifferently. “Pepsi if you’ve got it. I think I want my caffeine cold.”

“Nothing stronger?” Marsha asked, skepticism in her voice.

“I’m flying soon, remember? That’s one rule even I won’t break.”

“Glad you’ve got some of your wits about you, girlfriend,” Marsha said, opening the refrigerator at the side of the room. Peering inside, she said, “Coke’s all I’ve got here.”

Lucy flopped her hand in her lap again and Marsha popped the tab on the can and set it in front of her. “Look, you can’t beat yourself up over what’s happened, Luce. It’s turned into a war out here, and somebody has to make the tough decisions. You can’t blame yourself.”

The ship shuddered as it got under way, settling down to a smooth purr. Lucy picked up the red and white can and took a long pull. Setting it down hard, she asked angrily, “Who the hell can I blame then? Simon for getting shot? The people who shot him? Kitty for getting hurt? The same people who caused that? How about some faceless aliens who lost a spaceship? Or some other faceless aliens who probably don’t want us to keep it? You tell me who to blame, Marsha. Somebody’s to blame for so many lives lost on the Clarke! Who do you think the families of those people are going to blame? I sent those ships out there.” She stared absently at the brown liquid bubbling up out of the can she’d just slammed down on the desk.

Unable to answer the questions Lucy posed, Marsha sat there, wishing she could do something, anything, to ease the pain her friend was feeling but knowing she’d probably feel and react much the same way under those conditions. She also knew that at some future date, she just might. The silence lengthened, and both women felt the ship continue to change its subtle vibrations until Marsha’s comm chimed. She picked it up and listened for a few seconds.

“Thanks, Bunny. I’ll be right out.” Hooking the device on her belt, she placed a hand on Lucy’s shoulder. “Time to go, Luce. We’re about to jump. You’ve got to get to the flight deck.”

Lucy picked up the can from the desk, looked down at the ring of drying liquid, and asked, “Bunny? For real?”

“For real,” Marsha confirmed with a grin. “Bunny Bradshaw, a real whiz at Helm, but watch what you say around her. She’s kinda sensitive about it. There’ve been a few black eyes I’ve had to overlook, but nothing serious, and not a one lately.”

The two women walked out into a scene of quiet efficiency, though with some slight apprehension in the air. Marsha said, “Report, Number One.”

Her executive officer responded, “We’re almost ready to jump, ma’am.” In a quieter voice, he added, “The crew knows the destination and seem a little tense, but there haven’t been any incidents.”

“Very well, Number One. You have the bridge. I’ll be on the flight deck for a short time.”

“I have the bridge, aye, ma’am,” the exec acknowledged. Apparently dismissing her from his thoughts, he turned to the rest of the bridge crew. “Helm, how long until we reach jump speed?”

“Sir,” Lt. Commander Bradshaw replied, “five minutes. Ten, tops.”

Lucy and Marsha walked onto the flight deck and found it to be a place of furious activity. Commander Valentine, having returned to the flight deck when Lucy and Marsha had gone into conference, turned away from the crewmen she was giving orders to, tucked a clipboard under her arm, and saluted. Lucy, as senior of the two being saluted, returned it.

“Problem with my ship, Commander?” she asked, nodding at a pair of legs dangling out of an open hatch near the rear of her Mamba.

“Not to speak of, ma’am,” the commander replied. “I ordered a diagnostic run on your systems and found a wobble in your grav compensator. Not dangerous yet, but without attention…” she let her voice trail off and shrugged.

“How much longer do you figure, Commander Valentine?” Marsha asked.

The pair of legs turned into a full body as the technician wriggled his way out of the access hatch. “I can answer that, ma’am,” he said. He reached inside, pulled a small tool case out, sealed the hatch, and said, “All done. Just needed to recalibrate the sump sensors. They were throwing off the compensators just enough to register as a glitch on our diagnostics.”

Commander Valentine said, “I noticed that your ship only carries four torps. That makes it one of the older models. I suggest that you have your power core replaced sometime soon, ma’am.”

Lucy nodded. “Sentimental attachment, Commander. Thanks for your attention to detail.” At that moment, the triple tone that indicated an upcoming jump sounded. “That’s my cue to lock and load,” she said.

Marsha said, “Safe trip, First Captain. I’ll see you on Libra. Think about what I said, okay?”

“I’ll keep it in mind, Captain,” Lucy answered. She saw Valentine signal the Ops officer to lower the dismount rail. As the bar came within reach, Lucy grabbed it with both hands and nodded at Valentine, who then waved her hand, thumb up. Immediately, Lucy’s feet left the floor as she was carried up and over her cockpit. Looking down, she slid her feet forward as her butt met the seat. She slid each arm through the crash webbing, locked it in place, put her helmet on, and hit the power button. Once her systems were live, she called Launch Control.

“Comm check,” she announced.

“Loud and clear, First Captain,” came through the speakers built into her helmet. “Stand by for jump.” A pause, then a short countdown. “Four, three, two, one, mark.” On the last word, the familiar queasiness that signaled a jump through the mathematical anomaly humans had started to call “otherspace” twisted her stomach and then disappeared. “Jump complete. Prepare for launch.”

“Prepare for launch, aye,” Lucy replied, and the ship, lifted by the interior capture fields, slid smoothly to the open bay doors and was pushed through the force field into space. When the last of her status lights turned green, she powered up her side thrusters and moved effortlessly away from the McCaffrey.

Lucy queried her onboard computer for information about nearby space, and moments later, objects began to appear on her radar screen. First, the slowly receding blob that was the McCaffrey showed up, followed by several small asteroids. That’s why we don’t do this! She thought to herself. Finally, the conglomeration of blobs that was the complex known as Libra Base showed up on her screens. She locked the center of the base into her computer and fired up her engines, allowing the little ship to pick its way through the clutter surrounding the base.

Less than a minute after she’d done so, three Mambas appeared on her screen headed straight toward her, and a hail came over the speaker. “Solo Mamba, this is Libra patrol. Identify yourself or be fired upon.”

“Libra patrol, this is First Captain Grimes. Request an escort to Libra Base. I believe I’m expected. Isn’t your reaction just a bit overstated?”

“You’re a bit ahead of schedule, First Captain, and no, our reaction isn’t overstated. We have no idea who could have possession of a Mamba or Mamba-style craft, so we take no chances. Neither will any other base anymore. Anyway, welcome to Libra space. If you’ll follow me, ma’am, I’ll lead you in. Just stay a bit to starboard to clear my engine wash.”

Almost immediately, a Mamba passed above her and slowed as it moved into position. Her screens showed two other ships flanking her, but since neither of them spoke, she ignored them and followed the patrol leader as requested. Ten minutes later, she was warped into the docking bay of Libra Base and being greeted by Victor McCord.

“Permission to come aboard?” she asked formally.

“Granted, First Captain, and gladly. Good to finally meet you,” Victor said, reaching out to shake her hand. “I’m sorry that it’s under these conditions.”

“Me, too, Commander. But we’ve met before. Back then I was just a third-shift watch officer and you were concerned with setting up a deep space manufacturing facility for spaceships, so not remembering me is understandable,” she answered. “What’s the status on the Clarke? I saw her on the way in. God, what a mess. Can you tell me what happened?”

“We haven’t gotten her opened up yet, ma’am, so we don’t have any word from the survivors, if any. But the sensor data from the Heinlein and the Niven seems to show that the last wave of Mambas and the Clarke fired on the bogey at the same time. Most of the Mambas were able to veer off from the explosion, but the Clarke either couldn’t turn in time or Captain Miller felt she could ride it out. What we’ve recorded is a second explosion after the enemy vessel was destroyed. So far, that’s all. We’ve just warped her into the boarding tube, and I have three construction pods welding the two together right now. We should be able to cut through within the hour.”

Two pods welded the hastily constructed boarding tube from the outside while a third worked from the inside. Welded to the hull just forward of the engine compartment, it was thought that the cutting process from the single pod inside the tube posed the least danger to both the remaining crew of the Clarke and to the base in general. The specially constructed airlock on the station side of the tube was kept closed until the inside pod could cut through to the inside of the stricken ship and poke a camera inside to assess conditions.

Lucy chafed at the slowness of the process, calmed only slightly by Victor as they watched the pod on a monitor set up just outside the airlock. “One step at a time, or we could do more harm than good,” he cautioned. “I want to go charging over there, too, but one thing I’ve learned is that you have to let people do their jobs and trust that it’ll get done. Sometimes, like now, you can supervise the process, but it still gets done by someone else.”

Lucy and Victor, along with a growing crowd of people, watched as the pod operator turned off the cutting torch and checked a gauge he had attached to the outside of the Clarke. “Positive pressure,” he announced. Lucy watched as an extension arm threaded a small tube through the hole. Victor tapped a command into the monitor’s console and the view changed to a surreal view of the inside of the ship. Lit by a dim red glow, the camera showed several people floating to one side of the picture, most oriented with their feet toward the floor but a few at odd angles to the camera. The posture of three or four indicated that they were injured, while two others held crewmates and a third held a laser trained on the camera snaking into the ship.

Victor pulled his comm from his belt and spoke into it. “Relax people. We’re the good guys. This is Commander McCord of Libra Base. You’ve been towed to the dock, and we’re cutting our way in now. What’s your situation?”

The man holding the laser lowered it to his side. “I’m Chief Engineer Gordon Conners, Commander. We have fourteen still alive in this section. I have no idea about the rest of the ship. All airtight doors are closed down and all communications are out. Life support seems to be operating, just barely, but no other sections answer our calls. I can’t even get into the engine room to check on my crew. I’ve banged on the bulkhead, and I do get a response, but I can’t tell much more than that. There are dozens dead though, mostly due to stuff flying around from exploding equipment.”

“Very well, Chief,” Victor answered. “Stay back while the operator cuts a bigger hole. We’ll get you out and to medical attention as quickly as possible.”

The view cut to the skin of the ship as the pod operator pulled the camera out of the small hole he’d cut, and Victor switched to the wider view offered by the exterior camera. Sparks flew as the torch began to cut a swath inches from the edge of the tube.

Working quickly in the weightless environment, the hole was soon finished, and the section of hull was pushed inward by the extendable arm of the pod. Seconds later the pod disappeared inside the ship, allowing room for the swarm of people moving from Libra to the Clarke to assist in the rescue process.

Lucy tried to move across as well, but Victor held her back. “There’s only room for one pod and so many people over there right now. You and I will wait until the pod cuts through to the bridge.”

Distraught, Lucy took Victor’s implied order with ill grace and watched as the first casualties began to emerge from the boarding tube and were whisked off to make-shift infirmaries around the base.

The watch on her wrist slowed to a crawl as the pod’s cutting tools sliced through door after door and the pitiful few survivors trickled in. Finally, the pod operator reported that he’d arrived at the door to the bridge. The flow of people had ended, leaving room for Lucy and Victor to cross to the stricken ship. Gliding through the interior, reddened by the emergency lighting, Lucy shivered as she saw the mangled bodies of the dead that the rescue teams hadn’t yet had time to remove. She stopped and looked at the face of one as she passed, and wept, then closed the staring eyes and followed Victor down the once-familiar corridor. Hovering in the gravity-free hallway with the tech team, all of whom were as shaken as she, Lucy watched as the final barrier was breached and the heavy door was pulled away and set to one side. She steeled herself and pushed to the front of the gaggle of people, pulling herself into the command center and burning her hand on the hot metal of the opening as she did so.

For the rest of her life, Lucy would remember the sight that met her streaming eyes. Ten positions had been occupied at the time of the disaster, and seven limp bodies floated in various positions around the room or sat strapped in front of their exploded consoles as if ready to perform their duties. Two of the three survivors hovered over the central seat from which the TAS Arthur C. Clarke had been commanded. Lucy, gagging at the smell trapped in the room from the failing ventilation system, floated over to the command chair to find Gayle’s first officer and navigation officer trying to remove her from the straps holding her in place. Both officers showed evidence of their harrowing ordeal, but they single-mindedly kept at their grisly task until the medical officer from Libra ordered them back. Beckoning an assistant to bring a light to bear on the captain of the Clarke, he began an inspection that finally produced a groan of pain from Lucy’s friend.

Gayle’s eyes fluttered open to see Lucy watching worriedly. “Did we hold ‘em, Luce?” The question was so quiet that Lucy almost missed it but for the movement of her lips.

“Yeah, you held ‘em, Gayle. You held ‘em good. Now let the doctor take a look at you, okay?”

“Sure, Lucy,” the injured captain mumbled. “How’s my crew? And the ship? How did she do?”

Tears floated from Lucy’s eyes as she saw the wound in Gayle’s side, hidden until now by her hands, the spreading stain of red on black being wicked away from the wound by the material of her uniform. A piece of one of the exploded consoles had pinned her to the chair she sat in. The doctor reached into the bag held for him by an aide and looked up at Lucy. “I need to put her out for a while. We’re going to have to cut the chair free and get her out of it back on the base.”

“Do it,” was all Lucy could say.

The doctor pushed up Gayle’s sleeve, slid a hypodermic under the skin, and pressed the plunger home.

“Lucy,” Gayle whispered, her hand drifting out to rest lightly on her friend’s arm, “how is Stephen?” Her eyes closed as the drug started to take effect.

“We’ll talk later, Gayle,” Lucy said, grief strangling her voice.

The doctor motioned for the pod operator to start cutting the chair free as the captain succumbed to the narcotic he’d injected into her arm. Lucy slowly turned around and surveyed the room again. Floating over to the science station, she found the body of Stephen Walker still strapped in his chair, his heart pierced by a piece of his console that had blown apart during the energy backlash that had destroyed so many other systems throughout the remains of the ship.

At the same moment, millions of miles away, another ship quietly moved away from human space, undetected by the still-unfinished surveillance net being constructed around the system.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The McCaffrey one-jumped Gayle and thirteen other seriously wounded survivors to the Galileo to be seen by Dr. Jeffers. The remaining survivors, just over a hundred, were either loaded aboard the Heinlein and taken back to Earth or were given berths aboard Libra until such time as they could be sent back to Earth as well.

Lucy, feeling like an interplanetary hitchhiker, stowed her Mamba on the McCaffrey’s flight deck and waited out the jump while standing behind Marsha’s command chair. Less than an hour later, running at speeds that would make the Builders themselves shudder, the McCaffrey lay alongside the huge factory ship at the nearly completed Taurus Base.

Dr. Jeffers, alerted to the arrival of so many wounded, triaged the entire group himself, assigning crewmen to attend to the less seriously injured. One amputated arm and three surgeries later, he walked out of the sick bay to find half a dozen anxious people waiting for him. Sitting wearily in a chair, he looked at the row of faces. “I said it the day I came aboard, and I’ll say it again—we don’t have enough adequately trained medical personnel for a really serious incident. This just points the fact up. I need to find a donor with B-positive blood for a transfusion for Captain Miller, but the others will be fine as they are now. Lieutenant Morrison needed an O-positive transfusion, but I found several of my assistants who helped in that department. She’s going to have to learn to do things left handed, I’m afraid. Her hand was crushed when one of the airtight doors closed on it. The other three will have some interesting scars, but the B-positive is considerably rarer and needs to be found as soon as possible.”

Captain Morgan stood up. “That will be my job, then. With the McCaffrey and the Galileo here, I should be able to get someone here pretty quick.” He turned to leave but then turned back. “Unless B-positive is really rare?”

“Not all that rare,” the doctor said. “About seven percent of the population have it. Out of what, some thirteen hundred plus, you should be able to find at least a couple of dozen who have B-positive.”

Captain Morgan nodded and said, “I’ll put out a ship-wide bulletin right away.”

He’d started to leave when Marsha stopped him. “Call my exec and have him put out the same notice, will you, Mustafa? Can’t hurt.” The Galileo’s captain nodded and left without a backward glance.

Simon, standing next to a transformed Kitty, asked, “So, exactly what is Gayle’s condition, Doctor? Not to disparage the others, but Gayle is a personal friend, and I… we all,” he said, waving at the room in general, “want to know.”

“Well, to tell you the truth, she was in the best condition of the four who needed my attention. The piece of metal that pinned her to the chair had wedged itself between two ribs. No internal organs were damaged, but she did suffer a lot of blood loss, hence the transfusion. If she wears a bikini, she is going to have an interesting scar to explain. But I understand that we may still have a problem, and that’s in the department of mental health. Is it true that her boyfriend or lover was aboard and died in the attack?”

Lucy answered, “Yes he was, Doctor. As a matter of fact, he was in the same room. Died instantly, we believe, sitting at the science station.”

Dr. Jeffers shook his head. “That’s a rough one. I thought it might be something like that from some of the things she said while she was under sedation. She’s going to need the support of all her friends in the months to come, as will the others,” he added. “This is a new experience in the human condition, people. Participating in space battles isn’t something that happens in ‘real life,’ and the trauma, both physical and mental, is going to be severe.”

Simon spoke up more confidently than he had in almost a year. “We didn’t expect a cakewalk, Doctor, but I had hoped that after taking out whoever attacked Orion, we’d have a longer breathing spell than we got. Distances being what they are, we figured we’d have more time...”

A white-haired, still not completely up-to-date Kitty spoke up. “Dr. Jeffers, is it? I don’t know you, but I know what Simon told me, and if he trusts you, then I do, too. I guess you know about me and my condition.” She self-consciously fingered her hair. “I sure as hell don’t. But Gayle and I have been friends for almost thirty years now, and if anyone can even come close to understanding her loss and helping her, I think it would have to be me.”

Brian nodded slowly. “I was briefed on your condition when I took over Dr. Penn’s position, and I’m as much at a loss to explain what happened to you as anyone else. According to all medical data and experience, you should be in a vegetative coma, at best. Still another case of technology getting the upper hand—for the better in this case, thank God. But just for everybody’s information, none of the patients were left on any of the tables. I don’t want another occurrence of what happened to Captain Hawke. Anyway, none of these are suffering from life-threatening injuries. I did think about leaving Lieutenant Morrison there to see if we could give her back her right hand though.”

Kitty asked, “So, when can we see her, Doctor?”

“I think this time tomorrow will be soon enough,” he replied. “I’m going to keep her sedated for a while to let the stitches set and to let her to gain some of her strength back. I’d like you there when she wakes up, of course, so I’ll let you know a bit in advance.”

“None of us are going anywhere right now, Brian,” Simon said familiarly.

“All right, then,” the doctor said with a touch more joviality than was really necessary. “I should get back to my patients. I’ll leave you folks to your reunion.” He stood up and shook hands all around. When he got to Kitty, held her hand a bit longer than the others. “I’d like to give you another quick exam sometime tomorrow, if you don’t mind. After you see Gayle would be a good time. I can check out your stress levels as well.”

Sixteen hours passed, allowing all concerned to let their body-clocks adjust to the Galileo’s time while they came to some kind of terms with the situation. The “reunion” consisted of Simon, Kitty, Lucy, Marsha, Victor—who’d also hitchhiked to the Galielo—and Mustafa when his shift ended. The group made their way to Mustafa’s ready room, and on the way, Lucy laid her hand on Kitty’s arm, slowing her down a bit. The action caused the two women to be the last two to enter, and as the door closed, she hugged Kitty gently.

For her part, Kitty hugged back fiercely and said, “I’m not going to break, okay?”

Marsha took her turn, and the six sat down around the table.

Mustafa, playing host, brought a pitcher and glasses to the table. “Tea,” he said. “Technically, I’m still on duty.”

“Sounds good to me,” Kitty said. “Simon had a beer in our quarters last night, and the smell almost made me gag. I guess I was out way too long.”

Lucy sipped from her glass and asked, “How much did he tell you about what happened?”

“Pretty much everything, I think,” Kitty replied soberly. “I gather I was pretty messed up, like one-foot-in-the-grave kind of messed up.” She sat quietly for a time, twirling the glass in her hands. “He didn’t think I should see the footage of what happened at Camp David, but after he fell asleep, I found it. Some pretty rough stuff. Our guys did a good job. I just wish, you know, that fewer people had died, like none of the bystanders. And the changes!” She flipped a hand through her hair. “I don’t just mean me, this I can get used to after a while, but I mean the embassies, the ships, you in charge. It’s a lot to take in and process in forty-eight hours, you know?”

“I know,” Lucy said, nodding. “And I apologize for what I’m about to say. We have six captains present. As far as I’m concerned, that’s a quorum, and I’m making this a Captain’s Call.” She looked around the table. “At present, there’s one topic up for discussion, and that’s Simon taking back the reins. I feel that since the Alliance was his vision in the first place, he should be the one to lead it. Especially right now, with what has just happened. He has the military mind among us, and he’s best suited to lead us through this.”

“‘Military mind,’ my ass!” Simon exploded. “I was just a sergeant, for Christ’s sake! And I made that rank three times. Insubordination, I believe the charges were both times I got busted. And I haven’t forgotten how to be insubordinate, either. How about, ‘No way in hell am I taking this job back!’ I didn’t ‘die’ on purpose, you know,” he said more reasonably. “You just got stuck with the job. And you’re doing a good one, too. We need an administrative type at the top, and you’ve got the mind for it. Look at what you’ve accomplished so far.” He stared across the table at Lucy. “I just got my wife back, dammit, and I’m not going to let anything get in the way of that for a while. I say, let’s not change horses in midstream. It’ll just confuse the troops. And more importantly, it’ll confuse everybody on Earth at a time when we need to have them see us as more stable than we know ourselves to be. I know I wasn’t acting responsibly most of the time Kitty was out of it, but I did keep track of what and how you were doing. I couldn’t have done any better. Remember, we’re winging it here.”

Simon wound down when Kitty laid a hand on his arm. “I agree with Simon, Lucy. And not because he’s my husband. God knows, I’ve stood up to him before, but right now, you’re our best hope. Not necessarily as a military mind—those are a dime a dozen—but as an overall administrator.” Simon settled back into his chair and Kitty put her hand back on the table. “We talked a long time ago about the occupations we were going to need out here, and tacticians and strategists were on the list. I remember that. So, go looking for some. Put one in charge of military matters and let him or her do it. I hate a sports analogy, but you’re the coach. Make someone the quarterback and let them run the plays. You set overall policy, and we’ll do what needs to be done.”

“I don’t know if I can do that,” Lucy said quietly, her voice cracking. “Hundreds of our people died yesterday, and I’m the one who gave the orders. Do you know how that feels?”

“Yes, I do,” Simon said gently. “And if that gets easier as time goes by, then you aren’t the right person for the job. But as long as even one death hurts you, your compassion is intact, and you can’t do any worse than anyone else. Plus, you’re known and liked. Me, I’m a tactless SOB who’d rather tell someone else they’re an SOB and watch the defecation hit the oscillating air movement device.” He was interrupted by a wave of laughter that rolled around the table, and even Lucy’s mouth turned up faintly. “Is that who you want running this show? I always said that all I wanted was a ship of my own, and being the boss won’t get one for me.”

Marsha had sat back to watch the sparks fly, and she finally spoke up. “Are you really calling for a vote on this, Lucy? I have to go with Simon, here. You’ve done a damn good job. You can’t blame yourself for what happened to the Clarke and her people. If there is anyone to blame, it’s the damned aliens who won’t leave us alone. Twice now, we’ve slapped ‘em down for being where they shouldn’t be. The first time we were lucky, the second, we got our fingers burnt. We’re learning as we go. If we dump someone because they feel bad about a battle they won, we’re in deep enough that we might as well kiss our collective asses goodbye. I’m not ready to do that.”

Mustafa chimed in, agreeing with Simon and Marsha, and Victor took his turn before Lucy could start over.

“I agree with the rest, Lucy. You’ve done first-rate work, and you’ve got all five of us of one accord. Even if you think that all five of the other captains and commanders would vote your way, the tiebreaker is still under sedation but will be able to vote in the not-too-distant future. Do you want to drag this out or give in gracefully?”

Lucy sat silently, eyes twitching left and right, looking for an escape route.

Wild animals caged for the first time have that same look, Simon thought. The next words we hear are going to be interesting, one way or the other.

“So, you want me to be the boss? Is that what you’re saying?” Lucy glared around the table. All five facing her nodded, some a bit more affirmatively than others. She stood up and placed her hands on the table, fingers splayed. “Okay. But there will be changes, and the first is that I will not be called First Captain any longer. And you won’t have a president, either. What my position will be called is yet to be determined. Here’s another—every one of my captains will follow my orders, or I’ll quit so fast it’ll make your heads spin! Am I understood?” When she got a few weak nods in response, she asked again. “Am I understood?” The volume rose substantially as all five answered aloud.

Her glare included all present and stopped when it got to Simon. “You’re going to regret this, Simon Hawke. And I hope you live a long time so you can regret it in detail.” Lucy stood there, chest heaving for a few seconds longer. “There will be one more meeting before the McCaffrey takes me back to Earth.” A transformed Lucy stood up straight and said, “I’ll let you know when.” Only a hint of the trapped beast remained, hidden behind a stern look and new resolve.

Twenty-four hours went by before Lucy summoned the five conspirators together again. The fact was that they’d spent a considerable amount of that time together already, trying to guess what was going on in the head of the woman who’d gone into total seclusion.

“I don’t think she’s eaten at all in the last twenty-four,” Mustafa said. “She’s either been in her rooms or in the comm shack. All I know for sure is that she’s ordered that all her incoming and outgoing traffic be kept secret.”

“She sent word to me that the McCaffrey is on a five-minute departure notice,” Marsha announced. “Has anyone heard anything else?”

“All I know is that Dr. Jeffers has pushed Gayle’s visitation back by a day. Says she needs more recovery time before we inflict ourselves on her,” Kitty said.

The door opened, stopping any further discussion, and Lucy walked over to the table wearing a uniform shorn of all insignia. “This meeting is called to order,” she said without preamble. Looking down at a piece of paper she had placed on the table in front of her, she said, “First order of business: I will no longer be called First Captain. My new title is ‘Herald’ from this moment on.

“Second, since we’re forming a government, I will choose a deputy herald and other members of my cabinet, who will be known as ‘wardens.’ Below that rank will be the secretaries of various parts of our new nation—Treasury, Commerce, Foreign Affairs, Extra-Terrestrial Affairs (which will become shortened to ET Affairs anyway, so let’s just do it now), Trade, Production, Defense, State, etc. Below that will be elected representatives of our populace, modeled on the good ole U.S. of A, of course, and our charter or constitution will be a direct steal from theirs, too. Those called to serve, will serve, or they will be dropped back on Earth without wristbands.

“Third, as soon as this present crisis is over, specifically, the threat from an unknown alien source, elections will be held to determine who the next herald will be. I’m taking a page from Simon’s book here, and the next herald will not be me.

“Fourth, there will be a massive personnel buildup beginning as soon as I get back to Earth. Ship production will increase to maximum without over-stressing our people, work on Vesta will be started, and we’ll keep a closer watch over each base to prevent any further attacks on our less well-defended assets.” Lucy looked down at the paper before her. “We’ll have another ship ready to go in about a month and two a month thereafter. From that point on, we’ll be getting roughly eight ships a year unless we use Taurus to build something bigger. Your guess is as good as mine as to whether or not that will be good enough, but I do have some good news. I’ve spent most of the last day talking with Libra’s engineers. They’ve been going over all the data accumulated from all sources, and it seems that Stephen,” she said, choking on the name, “left us a legacy.”

The assembled officers stirred at the mention of Stephen’s name, but said nothing. Lucy went on, “He was using his station to assess the effectiveness of each wave of Mamba attacks and was making notes as he went along on what we could do to make it easier to knock out one of these craft. As you know from our only other assault in the asteroid belt, we had a harder time taking out the enemy craft than our engineers had assumed. The situation was much the same this time. It appears that our energy release, while devastating, isn’t as effective as we’d hoped.” Lucy closed her eyes for a few seconds before she continued. “Stephen was working on equations that would let us build a type of shield nullifier. I don’t understand the physics at all, but I’m assured by our engineers that the project is feasible—something about opposites canceling each other out. What that means is that a missile carrying a wave generator would leave a ship on course for an enemy ship, followed microseconds later by standard antimatter missiles. The generator would produce, for lack of a better term, an anti-shield—energy that cancels out the shields of an aggressor. This would make a hole in his shields long enough and big enough, hopefully, to let the following antimatter missiles through to do their jobs. All sheer speculation at this point, but we’ve gotten a push in a direction that we may not have even seen without Stephen’s contributions.”

Stunned by the revelation, Lucy’s audience still said nothing, watching her as if she were a specter come alive. Lucy’s lips turned up mirthlessly at a stray thought. “I never figured this group would ever be speechless over anything. I guess I was wrong.” She looked down at the paper before her. “Then, you add the still-to-be-built-and-tested shield penetrator missiles to the possibility of tractor and pressor beams for grappling onto a ship in space, and I believe we have a chance to do more than just give a black eye to whoever it is we’re fighting. The engineers on all bases, as well as the Galileo, have been given copies of all pertinent information and will be working as closely as the distances will permit. It has been postulated that the destruction of the Clarke was due to the fact that her shields weren’t sufficient to handle the sudden onslaught of energy she faced as she flew through the destruction zone of the enemy ship. A new addition to all future ships will be the ability to crosslink any two of the three power cores to double the available power to the shields as necessary.”

Switching tracks at a lightning pace, Lucy added, “Enough to keep you thinking for now, I would guess. Happier subject—I’ve just come from the sick bay where I talked with Gayle. She’s awake and waiting for you to visit. Dr. Jeffers does say that you should keep your visits short.”

This welcome news brought the most response to anything Lucy had said up until that point, and everyone sat up straighter and looked around.

“Last note,” Lucy said, picking up the paper. “It’s my intention to get the best possible use out of all our assets, and that includes personnel. Some of you will be receiving new assignments in the near future. Remember, refusal means expulsion! You made me the monster; live with it!” Her right hand balled up the paper, and she turned without another word as she stalked to the door, tossing the paper in a basket on the way out. Stopping at the door, she turned back, stemming the sudden gabble of voices. “Marsha, make a visit to Gayle. She’s expecting you. After that, the McCaffrey will return me to Earth. One hour.”

The silence went on for thirty seconds before Marsha stood up. “Well, guys, I’m off to the sick bay. Who else?”

The group followed Marsha out the door, and Simon stopped long enough to retrieve the paper Lucy had thrown away. Following the others down the hall, he smoothed the paper out and stared at it, incredulous.

His low chuckle made Kitty slow down and walk beside him. “What’s up?”

He passed the paper over. “Looks like she’s learning even faster than she realizes,” he said.

“What do you mean?” Kitty asked, glancing down at the paper.

“I mean,” Simon said quietly, “that Lucy was just using that as a prop. She kept referring to it during her little lecture back there, and it’s just some doodles. She walked in knowing what she wanted to say and used that to keep us just a bit off balance. Now she’s laid down the law, and we better fall into line, or else.”

“Or else what?”

“Or else we get ourselves a new herald. And it’s almost too late for that.”

A pale and haggard caricature of the person they all knew lay propped up in a makeshift bed as the small crowd entered the sick bay. Gayle’s eyes slowly opened as the sound of feet shuffling across the floor penetrated her consciousness. “‘Bout time you guys got here,” she mumbled. “I was beginnin’ to think I’d been forgotten.”

Kitty knelt beside the bed and hugged her friend gently. “The doctor was supposed to call us… me, before you woke up, hon. I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

“Hey, it’s not like I’m goin’ anywhere,” the petite blonde declaimed. She looked closer at Kitty. “Wow. The Doc must have given me some really good stuff.”

Puzzlement on her face, Kitty asked, “What do you mean?”

Gayle’s face screwed up, and a tear trickled from one eye. “First, you got hurt, then you got sucked up by the ship, then Simon died, and Simon came back but you didn’t, then we got to go fight this ship, ya know? And I wrecked the ship and Stephen died, and now you’re back, and I think I remember somebody saying so, but right now, I’m not sure. And I’m not surprised by your hair, and Stephen being dead doesn’t hurt. Must be some really good stuff to make me see things like that. It’s your hair that’s the giveaway though.” Her voice trailed off and silence reigned for a time.

Kitty looked helplessly over her shoulder at her four equally miserable companions. Seeing no help coming from that quarter, she turned back to her stricken friend. “Gayle, hon, we need to talk. But I don’t think this is a good time.”

“Why not?” Gayle demanded. “Cuz you think I’m loopy from the drugs the doc gave me? I’m with it enough to know that Simon came back to life, and that you’re really here, so you did, too. And I know that Stephen won’t be.” Her voice cracked on the last word, and she descended into bone-shaking sobs.

Dr. Jeffers chose that moment to come over and inject a needle full of something into the IV drip going into Gayle’s arm. “You need to leave now,” he said protectively. “She’s lost a lot, both physically and mentally. She needs her rest.”

Kitty stood up and Marsha quickly slid into her place. “Gayle, listen up, girlfriend. I’m headed for Earth in about an hour, but I’ll keep in touch and stop in to see ya when I can. You just remember what friends are for—to help when they can and listen when they can’t help.”

Gayle’s hand shot out and closed on Marsha’s arm. “It’s not fair!” she wailed. “He asked me to marry him!”

Marsha gently disengaged Gayle’s hand from her arm. “Now I’ll agree that the drugs are kicking in,” she said lightly. “Stephen, propose on his own? He’d have to be drunk. That man couldn’t make a proposal in committee.”

“No!” Gayle said, less adamant as the sedative kicked in. “Well, he was, a little. But it’s not a dream.” Her voice began to lose clarity and strength as the drug took effect. She struggled to get her left arm out from under the light blanket covering her. “See?” she crowed in triumph as her arm finally came free and fell to the bed, revealing a small gold band with a huge stone.

The group filed out the door and milled around in the corridor, not having any specific destinations for the next few minutes. Before they could break up and go their separate ways, the doctor stepped out. “Captain Hawke, Kitty? May I speak to you for a moment?”

“Of course, Doctor. What can I do for you?”

He hesitated for a few seconds. “It’s not for me. It’s for my patient. She’s asking for you, even through the drugs. I think it would be a good idea if you could stay for a while. Quietly, mind you. Stay clear of stressful topics. She’s going to fall asleep soon, but she’s fighting the sedative. A friend nearby will help her relax.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

The loss of the Clarke and her crew was a blow that left the Alliance stunned, but like determined people everywhere and in every time, they mourned and then made a commitment to see through ‘til the end a course of action that, in retrospect, seemed inevitable: the digging in of heels, the effort to first deny and then blame, moving on to acceptance, and ending finally with a dogged resolve to persevere.

The year that passed after that disaster had transformed the Alliance in ways even Lucy hadn’t foreseen. Six ships were added to the active roster—two of them, the Canopus and the Aldebaran, being the carriers Simon had envisioned in the beginning. Now, the ships, bases, and Project Vesta carried a total personnel count of over forty-five hundred. Planet-side, another five hundred served in three embassies, while hundreds were training at any one time in preparation for a ship assignment or to replace a downsider finally moving up to space.

The Alliance entwined itself into the fabric of downsider economics by investing as Jackpot Jackson, Lucy’s old boyfriend and now Secretary of the Treasury, advised. More funds began to enter the Alliance coffers to pay personnel, now being called “citizens” more often than not.

Almost two thousand Alliance personnel were on “rest shift” or simply taking vacations, able to be tapped at need to fill positions on the various ships and installations. None were allowed to talk about their jobs or missions except in the broadest terms, allowing for more exposure, and finally the media started getting used to this new phenomenon and began leaving the Alliance alone.

Research and Development began turning out “shield-killer” missiles, sending the plans to the bases to begin construction and deployment. Ships’ personnel received training in the use of these new weapons, and the tractor and pressor beams were being actively researched. A few hundred plasma bombs, like the one used when Simon was rescued were built and put through their paces. This was not a weapon that could be stockpiled, as their power was drawn directly from one of the power cores of an individual ship and needed to be used then or allowed to bleed off safely by firing it into the depths of space, thereby squandering a measurable portion of the core itself.

Earth began to see Alliance technology on a more personal level as solar power systems began to make their presence known by reducing the emissions from fossil fuels, food processors were still being given away to anyone who could demonstrate a need for one or more, especially in third-world countries. Anti-gravity began to revolutionize the transportation industries, whether it be bulk goods or simply a cab to get from one part of town to another, and, unexpectedly, the Japanese began to impact the timber and mining industries world-wide by beginning to export a cheaper, far superior building material. Based on the Alliance’s “plastics” technology, it was stronger and less brittle than steel and lighter than an equivalent piece of wood.

Lucy moved her permanent base to Zurich, chafing under the handicaps imposed upon her not long after she released the list of her appointees to the various cabinet positions created for the fledgling government. That meeting still caused her distress whenever she thought about it. Simon had led the “delegation,” she remembered, a look of satisfaction his face even before he spoke. “So, you’re going to go ahead with the full nationalization thing?” he asked casually.

“Of course,” she had replied. “It’s what you were going to do before... We have the full support of all our people, and you agreed to it too, Simon. Why would you ask?”

“Well,” Simon said, all innocence, “a few of us were having drinks the other day, and we came to the conclusion that the offices of the herald and deputy herald are just too important to go without a proper security contingent any longer. So far, you’ve been lucky, but what’s to stop someone from assassinating our top officials?” His tone took a more serious bent. “The only thing standing between you and an assassin’s bullet at the moment is pure luck. We took it upon ourselves to create a new cabinet position—one we’re sure you won’t approve of, but one that you won’t be able to overrule. We’ve got the votes to back this up.”

“So, you’re all in on this?” Lucy asked, looking the group over from the depths of her chair. “Okay, what is this new position you’ve created?”

“Yes, we’re all in on it, Lucy, as well as every captain you have, every warden, every secretary, and even the base commanders. The vote was unanimous. The position is Office of Herald Protective Services, and since it’s a cabinet level post, the person filling the position will be awarded the title of warden, as well. Its function is, overtly, to provide personal protection to the persons of the herald and deputy herald, but it will be charged with a secondary mission as well. They are going to be our intelligence group. In effect, it will be used as our FBI, CIA, NSA, and Secret Service all rolled into one. Prevents a lot of jurisdictional disputes, I’d think.”

Lucy stared at Simon as if he’d suddenly grown a second head. “You don’t think I’m going to take this lying down, do, you?” she said, finally getting the words past her clenched teeth. “Why are you doing this to me?”

Simon grabbed his chest, feigning a wound. “I’m only concerned with the safety of the herald. We’ve managed to locate and reassign several dozen ex-military or former police personnel to fill out a unit dedicated to the protection of the person of the herald. About forty in all. That will be the nucleus of the new office. As intelligence needs are recognized, people will be hired to keep track of, or in some cases, influence the event or events.”

Lucy, feeling control of the meeting slipping away from her, asked, “And who do you have in mind to head up this new position? I imagine the qualifications would be rather hard to meet.”

“They were rather hard to define, much less meet,” Simon answered. “I really wouldn’t want to drop the ball on this one, now would I? Especially since this office is dedicated to the protection of yourself as well as my wife.”

“So that’s your reason!” Lucy exclaimed. “You’re just pissed because I split you and Kitty up, keeping her here on Earth and you in space.”

“That’s not it at all,” Simon denied vehemently. “My wife is in charge of her own destiny. She accepted the position of deputy herald willingly, and there’s nothing I can or would do to influence her decision. I can only applaud and support her. But if there were a reason, you might say that it would be that you wouldn’t give me a ship. Promoting me to admiral and putting me in charge of all the ships just doesn’t cut it. I’m still not in the captain’s seat.”

Simon stood up and paced around the space in front of Lucy’s desk. “I’m really getting tired of saying this, but I’ll do it one more time. I realize that if I hadn’t gotten ‘killed,’ I’d be sitting where you are right now, and I still wouldn’t have a ship of my own. But you picked up the ball and carried it at a crucial time. I know Kitty and Gayle and I found the Galileo and got all this started, and I know you’re just following the ideas I set out while Orion was being built. My original vision called for this outfit to be set up along military lines because I believed, and rightly so it seems, that space is a dangerous place, even with all of our new toys. It was intended that, sooner or later, a government would be set up, and I would not be a part of it.”

Simon quit pacing and stared at the carpet. “It’s not like any of us had any idea where things would lead, ya know? Figuring that the U.S. Government, as well as others, would try to take it from us wasn’t a stretch of the imagination, and thinking that the Builders would come looking for their missing hardware wasn’t a much further stretch. That they’d be openly hostile about it was a surprise. Or that their enemy would find us. Whatever. We’ve taken casualties from all sides and managed to survive it. So far.”

Simon visibly shook himself out of his reverie and faced Lucy. “I don’t know that I would have made the same choices you did or gone an entirely different route, but what you did worked. That’s what counts. My problem with you is that I think you stuck me with this job because I wouldn’t take your job back. Now, that’s what I call petty and vindictive. Just remember—I’m one of those people who think that what comes around, goes around.”

He strode to the door and opened it. “So, you’ve got yourself an admiral, and now you’ve got a security detail to keep you safe at all times. On embassy grounds, you’ll have no fewer than two guards with you. That is paramount, Madam Herald, and you’ll just have to accept these new security guidelines.” The ends of Simon’s mouth turned up in a mirthless grin seen only by the herald. “And the chief of the new Herald Security Detachment is going to be Mike Abernathy,” Simon said, referring to the sergeant who’d arrived at the New Mexico embassy shortly after it opened. “Remember him? I think you’re going to have a very hard time subverting him, Lucy. His job description has him answering to me, not you.” Simon bowed slightly to Lucy and said, “Have a nice day, Madam Herald.”

Pulling the door closed, Simon crossed the outer office, paying no heed to the secretaries or the two guards he left behind.

That conversation in her office only bothered Lucy these days when the consequences impinged on her as they had today, reviving the memories. Scheduled to appear in southern Germany at an automobile factory where the first of a new breed of vehicles was due to “roll off the assembly line,” she boarded the shuttle along with Kitty and ten armed escorts. Ignoring the armed detail as much as possible, she engaged Kitty in small talk until the shuttle was airborne, then closed her eyes and napped until she was awakened by changes in the internal noises of the shuttle as it settled down on a grassy expanse just outside Stuttgart, Germany.

When the herald and her deputy were finally allowed to exit the shuttle, they found themselves on what appeared to be a soccer field, surrounded by about two thousand onlookers, including several camera crews. The babble of sound produced by all those voices began to make itself heard as the shuttle’s systems started shutting down, and Lucy felt a gentle poke in her ribs.

“Wave, Luce. We’re here to put on a show, remember? Let ‘em see the Alliance working hand-in-hand with Earthbound industries for the betterment of mankind.”

“So why wasn’t I at the opening of the plant putting out the first food processors?” Lucy asked petulantly.

“Because,” Kitty said in her third-grade teacher voice, “we decided to put the plant in Afghanistan, remember? Even though they’re happy about the infusion of cash, jobs, and food, there are just too many extremists still running around over there. You know how well the United States is thought of over there after the pounding they took, and we have too many ties to the U.S. Somebody would try to kill you, and that can’t be allowed to happen. So we take our photo ops where we can find ‘em.”

Met at the end of the ramp by the German chancellor’s deputy, the Alliance group was driven to the nearby factory complex where they were invited to freshen up before meeting Daimler-Chrysler’s upper-level management team. Limiting themselves to one ceremonial glass of wine apiece, Lucy and Kitty circulated among the executives, making small talk until the PR people felt that the press and guests had suffered long enough.

Lucy and Kitty were ushered to one side of a low stage at the end of a huge auditorium-style room. Along with about a dozen members of the upper echelon of Daimler-Chrysler and four of the guards assigned to this particular outing, Lucy and Kitty suffered through several speeches extolling the virtues of the newest-production vehicle for model year 2015. The other six guards circulated through the hundreds of people present for the unveiling of the first consumer-oriented vehicle built using the combined technologies of Earth and the Alliance. People moved out of the way as the solemn-faced, black-clad security officers passed by, many warily eyeing the unusual weapons strapped low on their thighs.

The reason for all the attention sat placidly in front of the stage under a red-velvet, gilt-edged cover, and after all the obligatory speeches, it was finally exposed to the general public for the first time. Even Lucy and Kitty, knowing what to expect, felt their breaths catch in their throats. The sleek, ultra-modern shape spoke of speed while standing still, but it was the lack of a heretofore necessary item that caused the crowd to begin to mutter. Letting the vehicle sit flat on the concrete floor for a few seconds longer, the Daimler-Chrysler chairman listened as the crowd’s noises began to grow.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said into a microphone produced by an assistant. When the crowd subsided, he smiled and said, “We thought to call our first offering the ‘Jetsonmobile.’” He waited while the uncertain laughter died down. “But some thought it too clumsy, and some thought it too cute. Therefore, we present to you the Daimler-Chrysler Quasar. This vehicle embodies the best of both Earth engineering and Terran Alliance technology blended into a functional and, we hope, pleasing vehicle.”

At this point, the driver, unremarked upon until that moment, chose to bring the automobile’s systems to life. First, a barely perceptible hum penetrated the ears of the audience as the vehicle rose off the ground about sixteen inches. As it settled into its new position, the hum disappeared and the car began to slowly spin clockwise, giving everyone a full view of all sides.

“Powered by sunlight, this revolutionary vehicle is freed from the restraints of both gravity and fossil fuels. Equipped with the latest in proximity-avoidance equipment, one of the benefits of the Quasar is the lessening of the loss of life as the onboard computer reacts to the presence of other vehicles in its vicinity. Internal safety fields, adapted from the force fields supplied by the Alliance, will automatically deploy in the event of an accident, effectively cocooning the passengers and preventing injuries. In the event that the solar charging system fails, a backup system will allow the Quasar to be plugged into household current and run for about a week before needing another charge.”

The chairman continued to talk, but it was mostly to hear himself finish his speech as the driver moved through a preset course around the outer edges of the big room, allowing one and all to see that there were no mirrors, illusions, or hoaxes being perpetrated. The vehicle came to a stop back in front of the stage, and the cameras followed it. Lucy and Kitty endured twenty minutes of questions and answers before being able to make an unannounced departure as attention was diverted back to the new Quasar.

On the trip back to Zurich, Lucy watched Kitty talking with Sarah Parker for ten minutes or so before coming over to sit down at her side. Dropping limply into her seat, Kitty said, “Sarah will release the news about the Montana base while you’re talking with the president. That’ll let her get a short jump on her competition. Here’s what I told her...”

President Drake, nervous at his first meeting with Alliance personnel after the Camp David affair, greeted his guest in the Oval Office, bypassing the usual press conference and photo session. “First, let me say how happy I am to finally meet you, Madam Herald,” the President said. “And let me also say that you are causing our security chief to have fits over the armed guards you insist upon. Protocol dictates that we, that is the United States, are to be responsible for your safety while you’re our guest.”

“I’m no happier than your security chief,” Lucy said sourly. “But I must point out that I’m hampered by the strictures of my office, just as you are. My people are still too close to the loss of three of our own at Camp David at the hands of U.S. troops, not to mention the injuries sustained by Admiral Hawke, as well as the attempt to shanghai him. If we hadn’t received warning, there’s no telling where he’d be right now. So, I’m accompanied by armed guards.” Lucy held her hands out, palms up, indicating resignation. “I realize Camp David is still a sore spot with both our groups, but it needs to be out in the open.”

Drake nodded. “Sore to a lot of Americans, most of whom blame me for the disaster, Madam Herald. I was actually surprised to find out that I’d won the election. But what’s past, is past.” He waved his hand dismissively. “That’s not meant to diminish the death of the vice-president or any of the others lost that day. Their efforts to form a union with your Alliance were only in the beginning stages, and I want to make sure that they didn’t die in vain. So. Let’s change the subject. I’m given to understand that you want to negotiate for a different base on U.S. soil?”

Lucy smiled slightly. “I wouldn’t use the word ‘negotiate,’ Mr. President. Actually, this is a courtesy call to inform you of something so you don’t get caught with your pants down.” A single raised eyebrow and a slight nod filled the moment of silence. “I’m sure you’re kept apprised of just about everything the Alliance does, Mr. President, so it should be no surprise to you to find out that we’ve bought several thousand acres of land in Montana. What we plan to do is move our embassy there as soon as we can build a new facility, one more appropriate to our needs. We’ll use the Galileo and her factories to manufacture whatever equipment we can’t hire from on-planet to construct a training facility for our new citizens. But this facility won’t serve that purpose for very long. As you probably know, since we’ve made no secret of it, we’ve hollowed out the asteroid Vesta and are in the process of fitting it out as a permanent headquarters facility. All of our administrative staff will be moved there, and the training of new personnel will be conducted there as well. This will leave the three embassies here as recruitment, pre-space training, and spaceports.”

The president leaned back in his chair and looked closely at Lucy. “And tell me, Madam Herald, how do you see that affecting the economy of the U.S.? Not to mention other economies around the world,” he added hurriedly.

Lucy smiled. “That’s the beauty of it, Mr. President. The Alliance Embassy in Zurich will be our Earth-side headquarters, shipping recruits to our embassy in Montana, which will also be accepting recruits from the Americas, and Alliance Embassy Asia will be our financial center, as it were, sending recruits here as well. The recruits will be quartered in Montana and receive their initial pre-space orientation and training. From there, they’ll be moved onto ships, to Vesta, or the space docks as personnel requirements dictate. The U.S. will get a small boost because there will be more people here, but it will mostly affect New Mexico and Montana—a loss of income for New Mexico and a gain for Montana. And whatever monies we have will still be rooted in Earth’s economies. Mostly, they’ll stay in banks and be used to purchase luxury items we don’t care to manufacture, which will put the money back into circulation. And pay salaries to our citizens, which will also go back into circulation as Alliance citizens come home for vacations or to retire. As for the rest of the world, they’ll fall in line or get left behind.”

President Drake, obviously not pleased with the direction the meeting had gone, glanced at his watch and stood up, saying, “We really should be leaving if we’re going to make the press conference on time.”

As he led her out of the Oval Office and down the corridor to the conference room, he said, “We’ve studied you, you know, Madam Herald, everything we could find, and nothing in any of it would lead someone to think that you’d turn on your country like this.”

Lucy stopped so quickly that the Secret Service agent following her almost ran her down. Her own security detail had trouble keeping their hands off their guns, but one managed to insert herself between Lucy and the errant agent.

“Mr. President,” she said to his retreating back, her voice replete with venom, “did any of the information you managed to dig up on me happen to include my grades?”

The leader of the free world, noticeably greyer than when he’d begun his term, stopped and turned, surprise at the distance between the two leaders showing on his face. “Why, yes, Madam Herald, I believe it did. Public knowledge, you know.”

“Public knowledge be damned, Mr. President,” Lucy said, sparks flying from her eyes. “If the knowledge had been confidential, you’d have gotten it anyway. So don’t go getting all holier than thou on me.”

Set back by the verbal assault in the middle of his own sanctum, the president could only respond, “Why do you ask?”

“Because,” she answered, walking toward him, “if you’d really looked at my records, you’d have seen that I got straight As in history, sir. And I find it totally hilarious that the leader of a country that got its own freedom by refusing to obey constituted authority would have the nerve to say what you just did.” Pausing when she drew even with the president, Lucy said, “Face it, Mr. President, we’re never going to be each other’s greatest fans. But we do have to work together upon occasion, so let’s just smile and say nice things for the next few minutes, shall we?”

Simon, Kitty, and Gayle stood on a small bluff overlooking the site of the new Alliance Embassy about an hour’s drive east of Helena. Casting a critical eye over the area, Simon said, “It’s not on high ground, but it is a defensible location.”

Kitty looked up at her husband. “Defensible from whom, dear? If Lucy and I have done our jobs, we won’t need to defend against anyone here on Earth except the occasional psycho. And if aliens get this far, then we’re screwed anyway.”

“You do have a way of putting thing into perspective, hon,” Simon said, a slight smile passing across his face.

The three friends watched the activity as transports arrived with raw materials destined to be dumped into the converter copied on a smaller scale from the big one aboard the Galileo. They followed the process as the converter passed its output to the extruders where transports waited to move a finished product to a building site. There, grapplers would move a prefabricated section into place while other machines welded, nailed, or otherwise attached each new part to the whole. Five other similar sites were under construction in the same area, to be covered by walkways, eventually forming the headquarters. Housing was being constructed to one side of the area for the personnel expected to be living there while awaiting assignment, and other structures were being laid out. A small town was planned, to include training facilities, mess halls, recreation areas, and entertainment facilities. Already, the smooth, flowing lines that had been envisioned were beginning to show as the main buildings went up. In the distance, the world’s third antimatter power generation plant was being constructed to handle the requirements of the community, as well as the generators that would power the defense shields.

“Strange how it is that the three of us are here together after all this time,” Simon mused aloud. The inspection of ground-side facilities wasn’t on his mind, and only the insistence of Kitty made him show his face at this semi-event. He’d felt that his time would be better spent keeping tabs on the ever-growing fleet of ships flying the Alliance banner, but the women had other ideas.

“Right back where we started,” Kitty noted. “This isn’t far from where the first shuttle landed. Hey! Do you guys know that you… we,” Kitty said, waving her hands expansively, “have become folk heroes or legends or something? You should hear how the ‘Firsters’ are talked about by the new recruits, and how we are regarded! And that includes the general public, too,” she added, her circling finger indicating the three of them. “There are a bunch of folks who haven’t seen much of the famous Simon Hawke yet, and you need to make your presence known to all, Admiral.” Her bantering tone took much of the sting out of her comment.

“Not to mention the Deputy Herald and the famous Captain Miller,” Simon added.

“Don’t call me famous, Simon,” Gayle protested bitterly. “I got over three hundred of my crew killed. I shouldn’t even be here.”

Kitty stopped in front of the huge windows that looked out of what was going to be one of the cafeterias. Simon and Gayle stopped as well and glanced at each other behind Kitty’s back. Staring at the valley below, Kitty raised her voice to be heard by her companions. “I want you to tell me with certainty that someone else would have done a better job, Gayle. And I want you to tell me that you wouldn’t do the same thing again. Who would you wish this experience off on?”

“I wouldn’t want anyone to have to live with what I do, Kitty. You know that!” Gayle protested. She stood frozen for several seconds, trying to find some way to answer the demand her friend had made. “I can’t tell you that, and you know it.” The agony was evident in her voice. “Why are you torturing me? We’re supposed to be friends.”

“We are friends, Gayle,” Kitty said, turning and hugging her long-time pal. “That’s why I said what I did. You did as good a job as anyone else could possibly have done. Remember, we’re learning as we go along. The technology just bit us again, that’s all. Sure, a lot of people died. You were almost one of ‘em, you know. And it’s really shitty about what happened to Stephen, but we can’t just stop because of it. We’re in way too deep now, and we need all our people at their best. We need you back, Gayle. I hate to ask, but you’ve managed to heal pretty well physically. It’s time to get back on the horse. I know it hurts, but you need to do it. We’ve got another ship arriving in Earth orbit in a couple more months. That’ll give you some time to think it over.”

Letting that particular conversation drop, Kitty finished touring the new facilities, followed by Simon, Gayle, and the ever-present gaggle of armed guards.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Torlan Garpal stared at the communications console for several seconds before the full implication of what he was hearing hit him. When the shock wore off, he hit the emergency call to the commander of the small Korvil fleet. Within minutes the summoned individual entered the bridge. Taller than most Korvil, Fleet Lord Formug Gavrit, second cousin to The Korvil himself, ducked his massive head as he strode into the confined space. Having worked with this team for almost two cycles now, he knew this would be no false alarm. “Report, Communications Second.”

“Lord, we are currently in the fringes of a trinary system. No signs of the Humanz or Shiravi, but I am picking up signals that appear to be less than random. I have the computer checking now.”

Gavrit sat heavily in his command chair and waited while the comm officer refined his data. At last the computer blinked and Garpal read directly from the screen, “Lord, there is no indication that any species has visited this system—no message traffic, no signs of any construction—but the computer reads intelligent signals emanating from the yellow star nearest us.” He pointed to an image on his screen.

Fleet Lord Gavrit transferred the images to his own screen and compared them to information he’d been given before beginning this hunt. “That is indeed the system we’re searching for. All information from previous visits to this region has been made available to me, and our attempt to search out the Humanz from a second angle appears to have been effective. Make course for the new system cautiously,” he ordered the navigator. “I will not have our prey spooked before we’re ready to pounce. How long to reach the fringes of the system?”

“Lord,” the navigator responded as his finger flew over his own console, “it appears that we will spend four more periods before we reach that point.”

“So long? This creeping through the dark can sap the patience from a Hunter’s bones, no? Very well. Continue with standard protocols and regular reports. I will guide us into our final position.” Not waiting for verification of his orders, the fleet lord returned to his chambers to prepare a message to be sent to Homeworld that would arrive months after any possible engagement with the Humanz took place.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Derek Carter stood behind the navigator’s station aboard the Shiravan flagship Light of Dawn and stared intently at the battlecruiser’s display. “That’s got to be it!” he exclaimed. Five months crammed into the overstaffed ship with nothing to do but wait to be called to identify Earth’s system had taken its toll on him. The relief that flooded through his system threatened to drag him to his knees. “I’m home,” he whispered.

Rentec do’ Verlas, first Ambassador to the Human Race, looked at the human sympathetically. “Are you so certain, my friend?” he asked. Many times, he’d tried to imagine what it would be like to be stranded lightyears from home, the sole representative of his race, and totally at the largess of aliens to get home. He admired—and secretly feared more than a little bit—the drive and internal fortitude that had allowed his friends Derek Carter and Maggie Spencer to maintain their sanity. Somehow, he doubted he would have fared as well.

As he looked at the long-range scan on the navigator’s console, Derek felt a connection form between himself and the image on the screen almost instantly. Something primal, buried deep in his genes at the dawn of time, recognized the configuration of the system. On a more rational level, he pointed at the sixth planet. “How many planets have you seen that are ringed like that?”

The navigator responded, “I know of two ringed planets and one ringed moon, but none so large as this one appears to be.” His fingers flew over his instruments, trying to eke out any more information at this distance.

“Eight major planets, an asteroid belt between the fourth and fifth, and the sixth is ringed. It is as you described, Derek,” Rentec agreed. A true comradeship had grown between the two disparate aliens over the last half-turn, and Rentec felt a wave of joy wash over him at the expression on Derek’s face. He placed his hand on the shoulder of the crewman seated at the console. “Navigator, set course for that system. Standard approach, and stop at the outer edges until we can get a full scan of the system.”

Rentec decided a gamble was in order. Trusting in Derek’s feelings, he turned to Light of Dawn’s Captain and said, “Download the coordinates of the target system to the corvettes, Captain. Brief the crews and let them complete their missions.” One six-man corvette would head back to Shiravi while the other searched out the second Contact Fleet. The matriarch would have the coordinates of the human homeworld, and the second fleet would immediately head this way, operating as either a relief force or under their original orders as a reprisal fleet. Both Contact Fleets had a human with them to act as interpreter and to ensure safe passage, if such was possible. Both fleets were composed of two battlecruisers carrying five interceptors and a long-range scout, four destroyers carrying three interceptors each, two destroyer escorts, and two heavy cruisers. The corvettes had been attached for just this purpose due to their extreme speed and the ability of their crew to endure the extended flight. Now, they flashed away on their separate missions, leaving the ten ships of the Shiravan Contact Fleet to make their way to human space.

Marcad Korvil listened to the summation of the report as it came from the captain of the Fist of Vengeance. “It is my conclusion, Lord, that this situation is different than most others we’ve encountered. If this is truly the home system of this new race, these Humanz, and if they truly took possession of a derelict ship, as has been surmised, then they’ve taken that technology in an altogether different direction than the Shiravi do when starting a colony world.”

Marcad had paced through the entire debriefing and now froze into the preternatural stillness that allowed a Korvil to become all but invisible to prey. “And how did you proceed?” he asked.

“Lord, I followed standard mission protocols all the way in. When we were first able to define their entire system, we stopped and scanned it in all bands. Two different types of transmissions were detected. One, a series of low frequency types, carried audio signals only, or visual data mixed with audio. This type was found to be coming exclusively from the third planet. The other type is what we find whenever we encounter the krath-Shiravi. It was found that this second type was coming from a variety of places throughout the system. We identified a hand, three of major sources and uncounted hands of minor targets.”

Marcad spoke as to a cub. “The norm is to set up a colony before building ships. Do you have any thoughts as to why it’s different in this case, Captain?”

Hesitating for a second, as though choosing his word carefully, the captain answered, “I turned my attention to the matter fully on the voyage back to Korvilene, Lord, and it is my opinion that these Humanz already have their power base, their homeworld. All they need to do is begin building a fleet.”

Marcad nodded. “War Minister Darmag and I are of the same mind. What did you do next?”

“Lord, the captain of Hunter’s Pride one-jumped into the system for a more definitive look. They attempted to coast through the system unpowered and under full stealth, recording all they could using passive scans only.”

“You said ‘attempted,’” Darmag said before his captain could continue. “Were you seen by the Humanz?”

“Until the Humanz attacked the Pride, War Minister, I would have said that we were not detected. We recorded signals being sent, but since we have no working knowledge of the language, we were unable to tell if any of it referred to us until the Humanz short-jumped within their own system. Pride made it halfway through the system. They were attacked and destroyed, along with any knowledge they may have gleaned.”

Darmag stood up. “Lord, it is my duty to tell you that I think we should attack these Humanz now, before they can build up any further. Only a hand of seasons have they had this ship, and look what they have done.”

“With packs of krath-Shiravi roaming our space, decimating entire clans, we now have the added insult of these puny Humanz destroying ships!” Marcad roared. “Now we must split our forces to prevent any further attempts by these upstarts to claim our rightful space. Until now, the Humanz had no certain knowledge of our existence and therefore no reason to expect attack from us. Now they are alerted, Captain! I detail you and your entire clan to watch these Humanz until such time as we are ready to act. My orders: assemble all ships except for those of Clan Prandalk into hunter packs. Most will begin harassing any krath-Shiravi they can find. This will make the krath-Shiravi send out their ships to protect their worlds, tying down their ships defending against attacks that might or might not come. Take out all ships wherever they are found. Leave them with no way to attack Korvil worlds or ships. After our warriors have honed their skills against these krath-Shiravi, they can turn their attention to these Humanz.”

The hulking figure of the Korvil monarch loomed over the smaller captain. “The loss of any ship is of utmost concern to all Korvil. But to lose a hand two to the krath-Shiravi and now another to these Humanz is not to be tolerated. I give your life, Captain, because you bring the news of the loss and of the abilities of these new enemies. The fact that they are willing to one-jump inside their own system, shows their faith in their abilities, or a lack of fear for the consequences.” Marcad backed up a pace before continuing. “But you were in charge of this mission. On your head lies the responsibility for the loss of the Hunter’s Pride. For that, you and your entire clan will pay with your Honor. You will skulk like the vergas of the field, waiting for the leavings of the true predators. You will search out the weaknesses of these Humanz and report them to me.” Marcad paced back to his throne and sat, looking into the eyes of his subject. “Know, too, that I know these new enemies can detect our presence at a longer distance than the krath-Shiravi, so what other tricks do they have to surprise us with? Study well, Captain. Learn the weaknesses of your enemies, and you can defeat them.”

An exaggeratedly casual wave of one hand sent the hapless captain back to his clan, plans already floating through his mind to restore the Honor of his clan, even if it be at the cost of his own life. Some of those plans foundered when The Korvil added one final bit of news.

“I am putting at your disposal two transports. They will be loaded with sixty light attack craft, and you will launch them through the Humanz system on a slash-and-destroy mission when I send the word and not before. The transports will wait and depart the system just before the raiders show themselves. This should have the effect of siphoning off any defenders who might see the drive traces of the two transports. Two other transports will be waiting on the other side of the system to pick up any survivors of the three waves of ships that we will launch against these Humanz.”

Eventually, over a hundred raider ships formed into groups of five to ten and spread out through Shiravan space, looking for the less well-defended planets and lone ships ferrying supplies in one direction or the other, while the ten ships of Clan Prandalk, including Fist of Vengeance plus the four transports and their deadly cargo, headed to the refit yards to prepare for such an extended voyage.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Kitty messaged Simon with her suspicions concerning Lucy. Since Alliance scientists still hadn’t found a way around the light-speed limitation for messages, answers could take hours to arrive, depending on what the recipients were doing and where they happened to be in the solar system. In Simon’s case, he was beyond the orbit of Saturn aboard the new flagship Rigel, engaged in fleet exercises with the Asimov and the new fleet-carriers the Canopus and the Aldebaran.

Pulling himself away from a planning session with the newly promoted Captain Miranda Lee and several of the top Mamba pilots from both carriers, Simon opened the sealed communiqué in his quarters. After getting through the “missing you’s” and “I love you’s,” the main reason for the message became clear. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Simon,” the letter read, “but I have the distinct impression that Lucy is losing her ability to cope with situations as they present themselves. Ever since the destruction of the Clarke, she has become more distant and dictatorial. We all thought it was her way of coping right after the tragedy, but now it appears that she’s trying to deny or avoid troublesome issues. More and more over the past few months, I’ve found myself making the hard decisions while Lucy spends more time in isolation. I’ve spoken with Dr. Jeffers, and he suggested a few good psychiatrists. I confronted Lucy with my thoughts and observations, and she admitted she didn’t feel up to her job. While Gayle now seems to be able to cope with the losses she incurred, Lucy is still blaming herself as the person who ordered the action in the first place. ‘Morose and combative’ is the way one doctor described her.”

Simon scanned the rest of the message and then sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. Raising his hands to his temples, he massaged them for a minute. Picking up a pen, he started to write. “I don’t know what I can do from out here, but it would seem that you have the situation under control. If Lucy needs time off or therapy, then see to it that she gets it. We’re coming along as well as can be expected out here. Fleet maneuvers are progressing satisfactorily, but the sheer number of ships is daunting as more arrive each day or so. As you know, we have one hundred Mambas on the two carriers, as well as ten each from the Rigel and the Asimov, plus each ship of the line and its Mambas as well. We’re looking at almost two hundred individual vessels at any one time.”

He sat back and looked at what he’d written. Steering his thoughts back to Kitty’s problem, he wrote, “Lucy has finally reached the dark side of command decisions. If she needs to be sidelined until she can get her head back on straight, then that’s what she’ll have to do. I’m sure you’re thinking, ‘Oh shit, that leaves me in charge!’ like it’s a bad thing, but trust me, honey, there’s no one I’d rather have calling the shots. Remember,” he added with a smile he hoped she would mirror, “I’m used to taking orders from you. Just keep me fed with updates and I’ll get my job done. I feel that our jobs are almost done out here anyway. The Alliance isn’t going to die out now. Somehow or other, no matter what happens to us, it will go on.” Adding a personal thought or two to the missive, Simon took it to the Rigel’s comm shack. “Send this out with the next packet, will you, Lieutenant?” he asked the comm officer behind the counter.

“Yes, sir, Admiral!” the young man responded. “I have a packet going out as soon as the results of today’s training exercises are posted. That should be about two or three hours.”

Kitty stood at the window of the newly built spaceport outside Zurich and watched as the shuttle carrying Lucy and her party took off. One of the harder decisions she’d to make of late, it was a group consensus that had sent Lucy off to Vesta for a period of working recuperation. Dr. Jeffers had suggested the name of a psychiatrist specializing in what most people would call nervous breakdowns, and Kitty had placed the call. Visions of a paper on space-related stress in his head, he’d jumped at the chance to work with Lucy. Kitty had informed him that the problem wasn’t space related, but he agreed anyway, hoping that once he was attached to the Alliance, he could find a way to stay attached. Private talks with Dr. Jeffers pointed to that exact scenario as the Alliance was still woefully short of trained medical professionals in all disciplines.

Two months of work with Lucy had convinced the psychiatrist, Dr. Mark Emmanuel, that she shouldn’t make a total break with the Alliance, so she’d been allowed to sign aboard the Vesta Project for an unspecified period of time. It had taken considerable thought among all parties concerned to come to this decision. Compromises had been made along the way that resulted in the Alliance getting its first fulltime psychiatrist, who held out for a position aboard the ship, taking Lucy and her party out to the asteroid belt. Dr. Emmanuel would have to find a replacement for himself before he’d be allowed to leave Lucy and start practicing aboard ships of the fleet.

Lucy’s party consisted of five people in all when it finally matched orbit with Vesta. Kitty, searching for a way to keep Lucy close to the Alliance, had finally called the Grimes family for assistance on the problem and came away with three new recruits—her brother, Bruce, and her two best friends, Carmen LeBoy and Amy Sparks. The three would act as anchors to reality for Lucy, along with her doctor, while the three newest recruits helped with the construction of the interior of the asteroid.

Kitty Hawke, now the Herald of the Terran Alliance and surrounded by her inevitable security detail, turned away from the window that looked out onto the Zurich spaceport. Feeling like she’d lost an important part of herself, she turned to Commander Diana Ross, Aide to the Herald. “I know you’ve said that you have no problem with the changeover, Diana,” Kitty said as she paced slowly back to the parking facility. “I just want to ask again if you think you should’ve gone with Lucy or if you’d like to take a different assignment.”

“And I have to say again that I’m happy right where I am at the moment, Madam Herald,” Diana said slowly. “I just have a different boss. One, I might add, that I don’t have any problem working for. Not being an ass-kisser,” she added hastily. “It’s just that I’ve heard so much about you from Lucy and from a lot of other people as well, that I almost feel as if I know you. And it does help that we’ve met a time or two, you know.”

“Thanks, Diana,” Kitty said. “I’m going to need to lean on you for a lot of what goes on in the embassy until the facilities on Vesta make it possible for me to move our permanent headquarters there. Actually, I’ve been thinking of promoting you to Head of Embassy for some time now. You’ve been doing most of the work anyway, so you might as well get the recognition and rank.”

Kitty had self-consciously taken her seat at the head of the table for her first council meeting as herald, and during the meeting, she presented the motion that the heads of embassies be given the rank of captain. It had been debated and passed, with the result that now, with eighteen active ships, including the Galileo, there were twenty-five captains, some of whom did double-duty by filling cabinet positions in the Alliance government.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The slash-and-destroy mission Marcad Korvil had ordered was designed to test and hopefully destroy the defenses of the Alliance, as well as gauge the effectiveness of their offensive capabilities. When it finally descended on the Alliance, it came with almost no warning at all, catching the Alliance with its collective pants down. The first of the three waves didn’t show up on scan until they were less than ten minutes from Earth’s orbit. The fact that they’d been launched on a ballistic course from far outside Uranus’ orbit and remained at minimum power for the weeks it took the ships to reach their destination spoke volumes for the tenacity and fortitude of the crews of the light attack craft, hunters that they were and needing more space per individual than humans. It also spoke volumes for the relatively few sensors that had been deployed to cover an area of space that could only be expressed by a higher math understood by very few people, Alliance or otherwise.

The newest addition to the fleet, the Mira, had made Earth orbit the previous day and was still waiting for her assigned crew to come aboard, allowing the transport crew to be released for reassignment. The helm officer, a veteran of two other transports, was testing the scans when all hell broke loose. “Ma’am, I’m picking up dozens of drive traces! They all just came up in the last few seconds and are just outside the moon’s orbit. The computer has no record of anything with this particular signature.”

Transport Captain Heather Reed looked up from the manual she was studying. “Probably just a glitch, Deb. Recheck your short-range calibration. Make sure you aren’t picking up background radiation.”

“Ma’am, I’ve done that twice now, and they’re still there!” Real panic sounded in her voice. “Starting to separate from a compact group, and the traces are very distinct. I think we should notify Command.” Lt. Commander Deborah Waterman chafed at having her word questioned. She’d helped install most of the consoles on this particular ship and had dreams of getting a ship assignment herself. She’d filed the transfer request long enough ago that it should be in the mail packet brought back from Libra Base and could be undergoing evaluation even now. “All my information is routed to your scan now.”

The young woman looked over the information transferred to her screen and began crunching the information herself. Seconds later, she hit the all-ships. “All hands, prepare for evasive maneuvers! Engine room, I need full power. Now!” Turning to her abbreviated bridge crew, she said, “Carla, get over to Tactical and get our shields up as fast as you can. I don’t like the looks of this.” She opened a channel to Alliance Command, explaining the situation tersely. “I’ve downloaded all of our scans and slaved our sensors to your computers, for whatever good it’s going to do. What are your orders?”

The thirty ships of the Korvil’s first wave attacked before an answer could be formulated and sent. At the speed they were traveling, the Korvil raiders were essentially manned weapons platforms with limited mobility. Able to pick one, maybe two, targets and fire before passing out of the system, the thirty ships managed to make a mess of a large part of the orbiting hardware mankind had put into space.

Almost instantly, most military and governmental communications systems went silent. Civilian systems fared no better. Global positioning systems went down, leaving ships, planes and individuals to rely on dead-reckoning to get to their destinations. An unexpected and frustrating side effect of the attack was the jamming of all land-based telephonic communications as irate television and radio addicts tied up all lines trying to find out why their favorite shows were no longer being aired. Only the Alliance, operating on a frequency not dependent on satellites, was able to mount any kind of defense at all.

Kitty, returned to Alliance Headquarters, Zurich, read the reports in the chart room just off her office. Ten minutes had gone by since the first wave had passed through Earth’s system. It was plain luck that let the Mira get her shields up in time to sustain only minor damage. It was a shame, however, that they didn’t have enough crew aboard to put up a fight.

“So,” she said, “we’ve got about forty percent of Earth’s satellites down and the Mira reporting slight damage. It could have been a lot worse, but they will pay for this. Those guys can’t go but a few places. Communications,” she said to the young man sitting at the comm console, “Message to Captain Lee: Earth under attack. Bring your battlegroup to Earth soonest. Deploy Mambas on arrival to interdict any further attacks. Message to the Spica, the Niven, the Capella, and the Norton: Short-jump to the following coordinates,” she said, reading off a series of numbers, “to intercept retreating attackers. Approximately thirty in number. Terminate with prejudice. Message to all ships: Sensors on full. Continuous scans on all bands and frequencies. Report any discrepancies immediately. You are cleared to use any necessary force to stop invaders. Shoot first and ask questions later. Alliance Command out.”

“Are you sure we should be shooting at whatever we see, Madam Herald?” Diana asked from the doorway. “What if there are friends out there?”

“Friends wouldn’t come in shooting,” Kitty responded. “And especially not in such a way that we didn’t have any warning. How the hell did they get so close before we saw them? That’s not a trick I want to see twice. Who can we get here fast?”

“Ma’am,” answered the comm officer, “both the Heinlein and the Castor are close enough to get here within a half hour.”

“Very well,” Kitty said, looking into the battle plot. “Send to the captains of the Heinlein and the Castor: Earth under attack. Short-jump to Earth orbit soonest and deploy Mambas screening force. Place yourself under the command of Admiral Hawke as soon as he arrives with the carrier group. Send to the Shasta: Rendezvous with Orion Base. You are assigned as mobile security until further notice. Send to the Regulus: Rendezvous with Libra. You are assigned as mobile security until further notice. Send to the McCaffrey: Rendezvous with Gemini, etc. And send another to the Vega for Taurus. Send the Pollux and the Deneb to Vesta.”

The comm officer turned from her console. “Madam Herald, Captain Ross, I just copied a message from the International Space Station to NASA. It was on an open channel. I think you should hear it.”

“On an open channel, you say?” Kitty asked, intrigued. “That’s unique enough that I think we should at least listen to it. Go ahead, Lieutenant, play it.” The playback made both Kitty and Diana wince.

“NASA Control, this is ISS. We have sustained severe damage from an unknown source—not meteors, but beyond that, we have no ideas. Solar panels are gone, and power is fading fast. The station is venting air, and we are going to suits. Escape module is damaged beyond our ability to repair it. I estimate that we have six to eight hours of air left. Request immediate evacuation. ISS standing by.”

Simple inertia had kept Earth’s first cooperative space station going over the past four years, but ever since the revelation of the Alliance’s existence, enthusiasm for the project had been waning. The point had finally been reached where the ISS was experiencing the same troubles the old Russian Mir space station had gone through before its demise a decade before—parts failures, slow repairs, less frequent supply missions. Not from lack of money or resolve, but from the simple knowledge that the station was now an anachronism.

A chill ran down Kitty’s spine as she listened to the response. “ISS, this is NASA Control. Be advised that we have nothing that is even near ready to launch at this time. We are currently checking with the Russians to see if they have a vehicle nearing launch. We will advise soonest. NASA Control clear.” The preceding two years had seen a decline in the use of rockets to launch satellites into orbit. Even the launch systems themselves were beginning to fall into a light state of disrepair despite the attention of technicians working for downside governments. Earth-based companies with ties to the Alliance had begun to place satellites into orbit at a fraction of the cost of government launches. A shuttle could carry a satellite into space with its capture field and deliver it to its proper orbit or pick up a malfunctioning unit the same way and bring it back for repair. The net result was a lessening of ready launch vehicles for governments too stubborn to avail themselves of the Alliance’s services. Now the piper was being paid.

Kitty, alerted to the attack, found herself in the Alliance chart room, staring into the slowly rotating solar system display trying to devise a strategy. With Simon working with the soon-to-return carrier group and all of her top advisers in widely flung positions around the solar system, as well as not having named a new deputy herald, she had no one to bounce ideas off of.

“We need to find out where they’re coming from,” Diana said.

“More to the point, we need to find out if there are any more of ‘em out there.” And I want to know just who the hell they are, damn it!

By this time, the drive traces of the thirty alien attackers were headed out of the system and almost to Mars’ orbit, having made mincemeat out of Earth’s satellite net. And not one shot had been fired in return.

With the communication time-lag, only now were some of the ships she’d messaged beginning to return her calls and starting to move as she’d directed

Diana stared at the screen in consternation. “Is that going to be enough, Kitty? If there’s another attack, we’re going to get our heads handed to us on a platter.”

“We’re going to do the best we can. That’s all anyone can do.” Kitty stared into the holographic display and watched as ships finally began to move according to her directions. “Remember, Di, humanity has conquered almost an entire planet and made it safe for a person to go wherever she wants, barring interference from other humans, of course. It’s high time that we made sure the same thing is true for our entire solar system. And next on the agenda is to warn Libra Base about those ships.” She turned to the comm officer and rattled off a message with an “urgent” tag, informing Commander McCord that he had hours at the most to prepare for a possible attack.

Kitty paced the floor, feeling as if she’d forgotten something. Finally, she said, “The ISS! We can kill two birds with one stone here. Comm, send to the Mira: Proceed to the ISS. Pick up stranded astronauts and set course to rendezvous with the Galileo. You are under-crewed and are not able to mount an effective defense of your ship or assist in repelling any further attacks. Once you arrive at the Galileo’s position, both ships are to go silent and await further instructions. Hawke out.” Kitty turned to Diana. “That’s all we can do from here. The only thing left is to ride it out. But first, I think we should let NASA know that their people will be taken care of.”

The TAS Heinlein flashed into Earth orbit a mere hundred thousand miles above the surface, violating every safety protocol the young Alliance had envisioned and enacted. Only after all ten Mambas, fully armed and looking for trouble, had been ejected to screen the planet did the captain of the battlecruiser call headquarters.

Kitty uploaded all the data from the now-departed Mira. “Captain Chapman, until Admiral Hawke arrives with the carrier squadron, the Heinlein and the Castor will be Earth’s only defense. I expect the Pollux to arrive momentarily. I regret the necessity of dumping this on you, Jerry, but I have no choice.”

“Madam Herald, we’ll do the best we can. The Heinlein has all sensors on full and all weapons hot,” Captain Chapman responded. His voice didn’t betray the massive case of butterflies that was trying to tie his insides into knots. “We are at full alert and all sensors are double-manned. I received a message from the Castor just before making orbit and expect her to arrive at the same state of readiness.”

“I know you’ll do your best Jerry, and I… we all, appreciate the efforts of your crew and Captain Dahlquist’s.”

Kitty had barely finished her sentence when the sensor alarms went wild. The Castor followed the Heinlein into orbit, broadcasting on all channels. “Incoming craft! Incoming craft! Approximately one hour out and headed straight for us. We were moving too fast to do more than register their drive traces on our sensors. All ships prepare for attack!”

Shirley Dahlquist’s voice sounded tense but controlled as she reported in. “Madam Herald, the Pollux is at your disposal.”

“I’m glad you’re here, Shirley. Follow Jerry’s lead until Admiral Hawke and the carrier group arrives. It’s going to be a close thing, I’m afraid. The group was on maneuvers and had to pick up too many Mambas to jump quickly.”

“Yes, ma’am,” came the instant reply. “But may I respectfully suggest that we meet the attackers as far from Earth as possible? It would seem the wise thing to do, especially knowing where they are, and it would lessen the risk to Earth.”

Kitty pondered for no more than a few seconds before agreeing. “Jerry, get a fix from Shirley’s data and jump as close to the enemy as possible. Good luck. I’ll see that the Admiral is informed so he can move to assist you.”

“I anticipated your orders as soon as Shirley made the suggestion, Madam Herald. My Mambas are already docking. We’ll be ready to move five minutes after we get Shirley’s data. Got it! Heinlein out.”

The second, smaller wave of Korvil ships had powered up at almost the same instant that the first had begun its attack run. Counting on the fact that the Alliance would be either too hurt to respond or busy chasing the receding first wave to notice them, the second wave planned to use the higher velocity attained from starting farther out to blast through any remaining defenses. Each of the eighteen ships in the second wave carried a secondary power core attached to its outer hull. Of a size to power a mothership, each core was, in essence, a bomb capable of destroying thousands of square miles when it hit its target.

None of the Korvil ships, intent on the blue-green target just outside their grasp and equally intent on bringing their systems back up to full power, noticed the Alliance ship as it sped toward Earth, coming in from behind and below. It was, therefore, a complete surprise when two Alliance battlecruisers suddenly appeared directly in the path of the raiders, disgorging a swarm of Mambas in response to the data the Pollux had managed to pull in as she headed for Earth.

Even Korvil response time wasn’t up to stopping the twenty tiny ships that darted in and out among the fleet, especially once the two bigger ships moved off to either side of their formation and began pounding them relentlessly.

Unable to penetrate the shields of this new enemy, these Humanz, the raiders began to concentrate their fire on the lighter craft even as they moved inexorably closer to the destination their Honor demanded.

The Mambas expended their torpedo tubes and returned to their ships for reloads as the two battlecruisers continued their relentless assault. Eighteen raiders were now only fourteen, but twenty Mambas were now only eleven. Unhesitatingly, each pilot returned to the battle as soon as her ship was rearmed. The comm net was full of chatter among the surviving pilots as they devised and tried new strategies, literally on the fly. One that seemed to have the most success was to come upon a raider from the stern and shoot for the engine pods. The shielding was minimal to allow for the expulsion of the energies that moved the ships, but those same energies were potent weapons in their own rights. And the Mamba pilots had to meet the raiders head-on at least once each time they went out just to get into position for their stern shots, then pass the enemy again, this time unarmed and with their own sterns exposed, in order to get back and rearm for yet another run.

Two more passes and five Mambas returned to the fray, pitting themselves against eight of the Korvil six-man light attack craft. The distance to Earth had closed to just outside the moon’s orbit, some two hundred forty thousand miles. Suddenly the comm net, which had been nearly silent for the last twenty agonizing minutes while the surviving Mambas grimly threw themselves at their larger foe, came alive. “Heinlein, Castor, break off, break off!” Simon and the carrier group had managed a coordinated short-jump that placed all four arrivals directly between the raiders and the object of their attack. “Reform on the carriers. Aldebaran and Canopus will launch all ships and stand off. Rigel and Asimov will hold the center, Heinlein take the left flank and Castor the right as soon as you pick up your Mambas. Do not redeploy them! They’ve done their jobs and then some.”

As the Heinlein and the Castor picked up their pitifully few surviving Mambas, Jerry Chapman called Simon aboard the Rigel. “Admiral, we’ve found that the enemy is most susceptible from the rear.” Even as the information was being passed, swarms of Mambas were emerging from the two carriers and orienting on the surviving raiders. With so many targets to choose from, the targeting systems aboard the raiders overloaded and would only lock on when a ship came within a minimum defense perimeter, which allowed the smaller, more agile Mambas to evade most of the weapons fire directed their way.

Still, two raider craft managed to make it through the line drawn by the Alliance ships. Followed closely by the pursuing Mambas, the attackers dove on the helpless planet below, intent on whatever mission they’d been given. That mission became apparent when one raider, passing over the Sea of Japan, changed its course to take it directly over Tokyo. Fearing the worst, one lone pilot pushed his ship’s systems to their limits, and as the Earth’s atmosphere slowed the two combatants, it managed to get off a double shot led by a shield killer. Only fractions of a second passed between the impact of the first missile on the raider’s stern and the release of a slowly falling object. The swiftly expanding shockwave of the raider’s own engine exploding and the missiles that destroyed it caused the object to veer away from its intended target and land in the Pacific Ocean about five hundred miles east of the main island. Plummeting beneath the waves, the errant antimatter bomb exploded about a half a mile beneath the surface, sending a gout of superheated water vapor, biological material, and rocks miles into the atmosphere. The resulting tsunami nearly washed away an entire nation but for the Alliance embassy turning on their shields, separating the murderous waves and blunting its force. South Korea and Russia had almost as little warning as Japan, and the later report on loss of life came close to the twenty million mark in those three countries alone.

Hawaii fared almost as badly, although the tsunami took longer to arrive. The mutilated satellite system prevented warnings that would ordinarily have arrived within minutes of any disaster. In Earth’s information age, the loss of her satellite system was particularly advantageous to any enemy with the resources of the Korvil. The United States’ West Coast was subjected to waves over forty feet high, washing everything away as if it were made of paper mâché. In places, the water wormed its way hundreds of miles inland, depositing fish and debris wherever it chose.

The second raider, caught above South America, was destroyed before it had time to release its deadly cargo. The double explosion of its power core, along with the bomb it carried, left an area of devastation that was reminiscent of the Tunguska meteor of the early 1900s. A single meteor had exploded above the Russian countryside with a force approaching later-day nuclear weapons and flattened thousands of square miles of forest. Now, South America had a scar just as horrible to gaze upon.

Military communications nets, among the best on the planet, were the first to begin to come back online. Kitty, through the transmitters aboard the six ships in orbit, was able to inform all the governments of the world of the events that had just transpired, averting a nuclear exchange that would have succeeded where the Korvil had failed on their own. Those same governments, feeling the powerlessness of their positions, began to berate the Alliance for allowing the Korvil to come within range of Earth at all. Some were even calling openly for the arrest of anyone associated with the Alliance.

Stunned by the vehemence of the response to her announcement, Kitty turned to Simon for advice. “I was only trying to keep everyone from blaming each other for what happened, Simon. How could they blame us?” The anguish in her voice carried through to her husband aboard the Rigel.

“It’s the nature of the beast, hon,” Simon answered. “The human animal has to have a scapegoat. Someone to blame. I’ll take care of this.”

“Simon, don’t back us into a corner,” Kitty chided. “I know how your temper can get the best of you at times. And this isn’t the time to let yourself lose control.”

Simon didn’t immediately make the announcement he had intended. Kitty’s plea had caught him in the deepest part of his being. The one time their nearly seventeen-year marriage had almost come apart was due to his volatile temper. Shame was one of the factors that led him to subject himself to anger management counseling, but the most compelling reason was his fear of losing the only woman he’d ever really loved.

Now, he was able to recognize that same atavistic anger and fear in the communications coming from Earth, and knowing he couldn’t stop it, he sought to redirect it. “People of Earth. I am Simon Hawke, Admiral of the Terran Alliance Fleet.” Even now, his ire at being forced to take the position he occupied still rankled him, and those who knew him heard it in his voice. “It is my sad responsibility to report to you that unknown enemies from beyond our solar system have attacked us without provocation. In this new age of weapons of mass destruction that are magnitudes more advanced than even the nuclear weapons stockpiled on Earth, it only takes a few in the right spots to put an end to an entire species. Regrettably, two attackers got past our defenses in a sneak attack much like the one the United States suffered with the destruction of the World Trade Center some years back. Nothing I can say will bring back any of the lives lost due to this attack, or lessen the pain of that loss, but you can rest assured that we will do all we can to put an end to the menace that faces us all.

“I realize that the attacks are aimed at the Alliance, and the Earth is feeling the effects of those attacks, but we are of Earth as much as you are. There are some who say that we are responsible for the attacks in the first place, merely by having taken the technology we found and using it. That could well be true, but we, the Alliance, are no more to blame than would be any government we could have turned the technology over to. We still believe that the best way to get that technology into the hands of the general populace is as we are doing. Hunger is being eradicated all over the world, with a corresponding decrease in violence. Energy costs are going down as more and more homes come equipped with the new solar power converters, and automobiles that run on solar energy are even now beginning to hit the world markets.

“I cannot guarantee that there will be no further attacks. Rather, I have to work under the assumption that there will be more attacks. We of the Alliance stand ready to defend Earth and ourselves from any and all enemies, wherever they may be found and at whatever the cost. We are expanding our fleet and personnel base as fast as we can to meet the crisis before us. This enemy from the depths of space has been harassing us from the first and shall not be allowed to go unpunished for this heinous act. Root and branch, we will find and destroy his ability to persecute us. Look at your night sky and know that we stand between you and the unknown.”

Feeling like he’d left something out, Simon ended the transmission abruptly. He sat staring into the holographic display of the solar system as it floated in the air to one side of his desk until his comm unit chimed. “Admiral, the herald is calling.”

He leaned forward and activated the channel. “Well, how’d I do?”

Kitty’s chuckle came through as if she were right beside him. “Remarkably well. You only threatened the entire planet once. Are you learning restraint in your old age?”

“Well, you do bring out the best in me, my love,” Simon retorted. “I know, I know. It’s taken something going on over sixteen years now, but better late than never, right?”

Twenty-seven hours after the second attack, the threat assessment level was dropping steadily, not for further attacks but for an imminent attack. Sensor scans had gone back to one person per scan per shift. Vigilance was beginning to waver as no further evidence of enemy action presented itself. It was assumed that the enemy would have to go home, report, receive new orders, and make their way back to continue to press the attacks, giving the Alliance many months, if not a year or more, to prepare for more hostilities. It was a universal truth that unfounded assumptions had a way of coming back to bite one on the nether part of the anatomy.

It would have been better if mankind had known about a small pest native to the Korvil homeworld. Analogous to Earth’s ant, the thukira would dash about with no apparent plan, looking for whatever had disturbed the nest, and calming down after the attacker had been dispatched or after an extended period of time had passed. Over time, it had become customary to wait a full day before venturing within range of a violated nest.

It was a flight of Mambas that was unlucky enough to be in the way of the third wave of ships as they powered up for their attack run. The flight leader ordered his ships to attack without hesitation and called in the alert. “Rigel Command, Dragon leader. Be advised we have seven drive traces on our scans. Same MO as previous attacks. Same direction. We are moving to interdict. Assistance would be appreciated, guys.”

Manned by Korvil desperately seeking to restore lost Honor to clan names, these seven ships were quite literally suicide ships. Each crewmember had already been listed among the Honored ancestors of their clans. Desperation, determination, the effects of the long separation from their species, and the certain knowledge that they were already dead to their families, gave an impetus to the attack that was almost impossible to avert.

All five Mambas went down under the massed firepower of the larger raiders, but the alert had been sounded. Operating on data dumped to the Rigel before Dragon leader died under a three-way crossfire, two battlecruisers short-jumped into range and offloaded their Mambas. Adding their heavier firepower to the lasers and missiles of the smaller ships, the battlecruisers accounted for two of the seven invaders. Wildly veering one way then another, the remaining Korvil ships closed on their target, as one by one, they went down under the massed fire of the Mambas and battlecruisers arrayed against them.

Fatalistically charging the swarm of Mambas launched from the Aldebaran and the Canopus, the five remaining ships of the third wave managed to fight their way through the screen, giving up three more of their number before breaking through into clear space above their cerulean destination.

One raider, engines damaged by a near-miss, swerved off course and added a new crater to the lunar surface, while the final ship, seeing a clear path to its destination, dove for the surface as Honor dictated.

The crew of the last raider, studying their scans in an effort to find the most effective target to expend their lives on, didn’t see the three Mambas scramble from the surface. It wasn’t until the ship took repeated hits on its outer skin that they had any intimation of another bar to their progress. High-powered lasers punched through metal designed to repel inert meteoric rock, and two Mambas died in the upper reaches of the atmosphere.

The last pilot, glancing at his weapons display and seeing only one missile left—and that one a shield-penetrator—aimed his ship at the raider’s midships hull and accelerated onto a collision course. Fingering two buttons on his control yoke, the pilot closed the distance, taking advantage of his superior maneuverability to get close enough to ram the larger vessel. Fractions of a second before impact, he pressed first the launch button, sending the penetrator ahead of him, and then raised the forward shield strength to full. As he passed through the last few meters between him and the raider, he let out a scream of primal rage and fired both lasers, gouging a hole deep into the body of his opponent.

The raider, all power cut off from the control section by the smaller ship, began to fall to the ground miles below, dragging the Mamba with it. The Mamba’s nose, aided by the cutting power of its twin lasers, had punched completely through the mortally wounded raider, stopped only by her stern control vanes.

Amazed to find himself still alive, the pilot looked to the wildly careening ground, then to his altimeter. At a height of fifteen thousand feet, he activated the self-destruct timer and fired the explosive bolts that separated his cockpit from the rest of his stricken vessel.

On board the Mamba, a timer counted down to zero, and a double-sun was born high above the Earth. The falling cockpit/escape module was thrown farther from the scene of devastation by the shockwave, blaring Mayday on all frequencies. At two thousand feet, the antigravs cut in, slowing the pilot’s module to a safe landing on the Korean peninsula where he was picked up, battered but alive, less than an hour later.

Elsewhere in the solar system, four Alliance ships chased the retreating first wave. The Spica, the Niven, the Capella, and the Norton, along with their complements of Mambas, harried the invaders as they tried to rendezvous with the motherships waiting to take them home. The taskforce had whittled the Korvil light attack craft down to a mere dozen ships when the Capella’s Nav officer reported, “Captain! I’m picking up two new drive traces directly ahead of the enemy! Powering up and outbound. And these are big mothers!”

No sooner had this announcement been made than the fleeing raiders turned en masse and headed directly for the Alliance fleet. Mambas started to disappear from the battle plots as the two fleets engaged. Robert Greene, Captain of the Niven and senior captain present, ordered all four capital ships to assist the Mambas at the expense of the escaping larger ships. “If we don’t assist our fighters, we’ll be losing at three-to-one odds, and I won’t allow that.”

The last Korvil raider, obviously fighting to the last to give the larger ships time to escape, was finally destroyed, and Captain Greene ordered all hands to stand down from battle stations. “Sensor stations remain on full alert,” he commanded over the all-ships band. “I won’t take the chance of another sneak attack.”

The grisly business of searching for surviving Mambas began, scans reaching deep into space looking for distress calls. It was as the four ships had begun to widen their search pattern that the Norton’s senior scan tech sounded the red alert. Robert Greene, jolted back into full awareness from a state of post-battle euphoria, called the Norton. “What’s the fuss about, Anna?”

Captain Zandt looked into her viewscreen and said, “Nav has just picked up new drive traces. They apparently just jumped in. There are ten of ‘em, and the smallest is about half our size. I think we’re screwed, Bob.”

Book 3

Far Horizons

PROLOGUE

Rentec do’ Verlas stood on the bridge of the battlecruiser Esmit do Caryl, flagship of the First Shiravan Contact Fleet, and stared into the slowly rotating holographic display. There were times when his head still reeled from his appointment as Shiravan Ambassador to the human race, and this was one of them. Things tended to happen fast when humans were involved.

The system they had just entered was the seventh one in more than a turning since the contact fleet had begun searching for the homeworld of the recently discovered race of humans.

Derek Carter and Maggie Spencer, pod jockeys during the attack on Orion Base, had been rescued from their Korvil captors by a Shiravan Reprisal Fleet. They had recuperated on the Shiravan homeworld, teaching Rentec English in return for a trip home. Linnas des Harras, Matriarch of the Shiravan Polity, hoped that returning Derek and Maggie would create enough of a favorable impression that her ambassador would get a chance to investigate the possibility of an alliance to combat the Korvils.

At the same time, she and her advisers discussed possible responses to a number of scenarios that might accompany first contact with a race as young and volatile as this one seemed to be. Rentec assured Linnas that from what he’d learned during his language lessons, humanity as a whole was prone to violence amongst themselves, but they’d never met an alien race before. He explained that they tended to hide their violent behavior behind a facade of letting the other guy throw the first punch or claiming the higher moral ground, so some communication should be possible between the two races.

When the long-range scans had first imaged the yellow star and its family of satellites from the vicinity of the star known to humans as Alpha Centauri, Derek had known instinctively that this was the sun that had spawned his race. His certainty was so intense that Rentec ordered the corvettes to carry the location to both the homeworld and the Second Fleet. Only after the corvettes were confirmed clear had Rentec ordered the fleet to jump to the new destination.

Almost thirty days had passed while the Shiravan fleet ghosted through contra-space, that region of mathematical space humans called hyperspace. It had become ten self-contained worldlettes during this time, the inhabitants performing battle drills, eating, sleeping, and handling the minutia of nearly six thousand highly motivated lives.

Several things couldn’t be done while one was in contra-space—checking what was happening in normal space being one, and communicating with another ship in contra-space being another. That was why the routine for return to normal space was to drop out well outside the target system, allowing the fleet to regroup and assess the local situation. As a rule, the computations for such maneuvers were a matter of precision, but the vagaries of solar wind, galactic drift, passing large bodies in normal space while in contra-space, and a host of other things could affect reemergence. Then, there could be trouble.

Their jump to the new star was as uneventful as such things usually were. The realm of contra-space seldom caused problems unless one spent too much time gazing out through one of the normally shuttered portholes. Then, one’s spirit was all too likely to be sucked into the swirling grey nothingness and join with the Spirits of Space, the spirits of all ancestors who had gone before. That realm was left to the Spirit Witches, who kept a clear domed room on most ships of any size so they could meditate close to their gods.

The return to normal space was preceded by a call to stations for all hands. This was the system, after all, of a spacefaring race. Humans were new to space, certainly, but they’d started with a complete colonization ship. If humans were all as intelligent and determined as the two he’d already met and come to know, what was possible for an entire race to do with the information they’d received lately? Unfortunately, they’d only had access to the lost ship for a mere handful of turnings. Not much was expected, but with a little help, who knew?

Derek Carter stood beside Rentec and felt a glow of triumph suffuse his entire being as he recognized Jupiter’s unique Red Spot and Saturn’s distinctive rings. More than four years had passed since he’d last seen Earth, and there had been times when he hadn’t expected to see it ever again. He searched for and found the small blue planet basking in the temperate zone of the bright yellow sun. It was only another dot on the velvet cloth of outer space, but it was home. His grin of victory changed to one that hinted at past pain, as well as the promise of revenge.

Rentec saw the expressions crossing the face of his human friend and thought, It is well that we bring them home. I only wish I knew whether to hope that the stories they’ve told of the ferocity of their race weren’t an exaggeration or that they were.

Rentec returned his attention to the holodisplay and the problem glaring back at them. The fact that they were in the wrong place in relation to the system’s primary happened often enough to be taken as the whims of the Spirits of Space. The real problem was that there was a full-scale battle going on, and they had just dropped into normal space directly in the path of the oncoming combatants. It was obvious that one side or the other would detect their presence within a matter of hours, if not sooner.

“We need to determine which group is the human one,” Rentec said to the captain as he assimilated the data appearing on the holodisplay. “Assisting them is one way to show that we mean no harm.”

“Unless,” the captain responded dourly, “they have had enough of alien races altogether.”

Rentec looked sharply at the captain. “And why would you come to that conclusion, Captain do’ Sirkis?”

“Put yourself in their place, Ambassador,” the captain said. Related to each other by a kinship string long enough to be purely coincidental, they had discovered mutual interests over the course of the voyage and become fast friends, allowing for a more informal, straightforward conversation than would otherwise have been possible. Still, in the public forum of the bridge, the captain maintained proper adherence to protocols and kept kinship out of the conversation. “If you’d found a construction vessel and had the chance to give your race a technology boost that was magnitudes beyond what you presently had, wouldn’t you fight to keep it? Besides, the Korvils don’t announce their actions. These humans have no way of knowing whether the ones they fight are the owners of the ship or not. For all they know, we could be reinforcements. In their place, I would assume anything except the possibility of friendly intentions. I advise proceeding with caution, Dom do’ Verlas.”

Rentec stared at the holodisplay without really seeing it. “Derek, how would you analyze this situation?” He switched to the human’s language with almost no hesitation now.

“There’s no way I can answer that with any certainty, Rentec. I know they’re my people and all, but can you say how any specific group of your own people would react under specific conditions? I can guess as to what’s going on here, but I can’t be sure.”

“I see your point, my friend,” Rentec conceded. “But, as the closest thing we have to an expert on humans, what would you guess is going on?”

Before Derek Carter had time to answer, the navigation officer spoke up. “Captain! I have two drives powering up less than one million staka’s sunward and heading at right angles to our course.”

“Quickly, Derek. What would your people do?”

The dark-skinned human tried one final time to hedge his bets. “I’m not in charge, but if I was, I would have my forces retreating to one of our strongholds or back to Earth if they were getting whipped—a fighting withdrawal. So, my guess is that since everybody is outward bound, the four bigger ships are ours and the other two they’re chasing are the enemy. I think maybe the two bigger ones you just found were out here to support the little ones or pick them up.”

Derek shook his head. “When Maggie and I got captured, we were just pod operators, remember. We weren’t in on what the higher-ups were planning, aside from building several stations and then a bunch of ships. Where the stations are and what type of ships—not a clue. We were only there for the construction of the first base. The only thing I can say is that someone will be thinking that we could be friendly, but the final result is going to be to err on the side of caution. That tends to be a human trait.”

The Nav officer spoke again. “I’ve identified four distinct and stationary power sources located roughly equidistant around the asteroid belt and seventeen drives that equate to battlecruiser size, as well as one larger drive and several dozen smaller drives of corvette strength, Captain.” Almost as an afterthought she added, “That doesn’t include the dozen ships the four battlecruisers are chasing or the two new drives now headed our way, all of which are distinctly Korvil, now that I have a better resolution on my scans.”

“Seventeen battlecruiser drives?” asked the astonished captain. “That’s almost a third of our battlecruiser strength, overall. Are you certain?”

“Yes, Captain, I am,” the Nav officer replied without looking up from her screens. “And there appears to be some action taking place near the third planet as well. Also, we’ve just been scanned. Our presence is no longer a secret. You should also know that the four possible Terran ships engaging the twelve smaller ships have drive signatures that… fluctuate.”

“Explain what you mean by fluctuate, Navigator,” the captain ordered.

“I can’t explain it, sir. In my experience, there’s no way for a ship to have the power signature of a full battleship at one time and a battlecruiser at another.”

“A battleship running at lower power to mask its true strength?” the captain mused, more to himself than to anyone present.

“My sensors say that is not the case, sir,” the navigator responded.

“These humans are full of surprises. Regardless, they are too far away for us to worry about now, but we should have expected the scans. They have the same type of sensors we do,” the captain said. “It’s the nearer two ships we should be concerned with right now. What are your orders, Ambassador?”

“Obviously, we need to do something,” Rentec said quietly, “but having no previous contact with this race other than Derek and Maggie, I’m going to go with Derek’s intuition. After all, he did pick this system from four lightyears out with certainty.” He held his hand up to forestall objections. “I realize it could have been coincidence since this is the seventh system we’ve found that matched the parameters our scientists laid out, but it could just as easily have been Second Fleet that found it. The Spirits of Space have smiled on us through Derek, and I say it’s time to take a risk. Besides, we now have our navigator’s assessment that those are truly Korvil ships. Captain, bring the fleet to battle stations and prepare to attack the two larger ships approaching us. Hail them first, then attack when you get no response.”

The one concession Rentec was making to analytical thought rather than superstition and two hundred and fifty years of ingrained hatred was that the Korvils had never bothered to respond to a hail. They merely attacked anything that moved through whatever space they happened to inhabit at the time. Hopefully, if the two ships were human, they would respond to a hail. “Considering the progress these humans have made in such a short time, they must have discovered the translation program in the ship’s data banks and copied it to their other vessels. It’s what I would do, knowing that another race exists out there somewhere.”

CHAPTER ONE

Captain Robert Greene, commanding a four-ship battle group from the bridge of his own ship, the Niven, shook his head. “This just isn’t getting any easier, is it?” he asked nobody in particular. “Niven to all ships: incoming hostiles. Launch all Mambas and assist your fighters. Do not, repeat, do not attempt to follow the larger ships at this time. Niven out.” He sat back in his chair, studying the information that had been downloaded to his display. The distances were so close, it might as well have been in real-time. “Tactical, screens to maximum. Weapons, make them hot and prepare your gun crews. Comm, set up for a tight-beam message to the Norton. She is to be ready to jump for Earth at a moment’s notice. Nav, what are the new ships doing?”

“Sir, the big ones we spotted are building up speed away from us. I have their course and drive characteristics locked into the computer. The new group is definitely ten ships. But they’re just sitting there. No!” the Nav officer said, correcting herself. “They’re powering up!”

“Okay, Nav. Copy all your data to Comm. Comm, encrypt and prepare to send to the Norton on my command.” Intently watching the holographic display floating in front of him, he split his attention three ways. Facing the more immediate threat of the twelve surviving raiders that had turned to attack, he kept the other two groups under close scrutiny. Delegation of authority was all that let him spread his attention that far. Tactical was coordinating the ten Mambas from the Niven with the thirty others from the Spica, the Capella, and the Norton by way of her opposite numbers on the other three capital ships. Weapons was doing the same with the massed laser fire and torpedo assaults on the enemy ships. Fortunately, the new double-warhead missiles worked almost without a hitch, and bogeys began disappearing from the display, along with an alarming number of Mambas unable to get past the raiders for the easier stern shots.

Tactical, Navigation and Helm were all first or second-wave veterans well acquainted with their ship and its systems, allowing Robert to concentrate on the more immediate threat. Weapons, a high-scoring third waver, reported, “Sir, shields are heating up.”

As Helm kept the larger ship at approximately the same distance from the attackers, maximizing the Niven’s fire. This move allowed the raiders to pinpoint Alliance ships as well, so there was a downside to the tactic. Shunting power from environmental systems and the ship’s services to shields and weapons was their only alternative.

Robert Greene’s ears caught the rising hum of the shield generators at the same time the report came to him. He winced as he saw icons representing one Mamba after another disappear from the display as well.

“Sir, report on the new group,” Nav said. “Their course is toward the two escaping ships. Emission signatures look like they are powering up weapons.” Voices fell silent for several seconds as everyone on the bridge absorbed the implications of this new information. The sounds of the ship reigned supreme momentarily—shield generators humming louder by the second; a high-pitched, intermittent whine, going beyond human hearing as the lasers fired and fired again; the dull thud of missiles leaving the ship at fractions of the speed of light; the bell tones, felt in the bones, of enemy hits on the screens.

The comm officer turned in her chair, saying “Sir, I’m picking up a transmission. It appears to be aimed at the two fleeing ships and coming from the larger group. Transfer to your station or play it aloud?”

“By all means, play it out loud, Comm, and record it for later analysis,” Robert said, listening along with the rest of the bridge crew.

“Chap ara, Korvil! Mokara da est simu. Chap ara, Korvil! Shiravi korpa yefite!” A short interval passed before the message was repeated, another pause and another repetition, then silence.

“Sir, unknowns are launching Mambas,” Nav reported. “Uh, not Mambas, but something similar with lower power outputs. I make it about twenty vessels. They’re attacking the two ships as a group. I’m getting more on the ships themselves now. One has engine outputs that are almost identical to ours, four have larger outputs than any I’ve seen except aboard the Galileo, and the rest are slightly less powerful. The two ships running away are almost up to our outputs, but their signatures are… dirtier. Same as the ones we’re fighting right now. I can’t say it any better, sir. It’s like their engines aren’t tuned as well as ours or the new guys.” A heartbeat passed, and she added, “Sir, the new guys… they’re losing fighters and their small ship has been destroyed. No, make that two. Looks like they’ve lost their drive. They’re sitting ducks.”

Eleven Mambas had been completely destroyed by the time the last raider dissolved in a slowly expanding cloud of plasma, while six others were damaged badly enough to require pick-up. And that didn’t include the losses inflicted on the mysterious fleet that had appeared from nowhere. Scan showed that two of the six damaged Mambas were on a trajectory that carried them past the now-stationary group of unknowns.

Navigation, responsible for knowing where things were in the vicinity of the ship, reported, “Sir, I’ve got a beacon on my screens. It’s like nothing I’ve seen before but on the same wavelengths we use. I think it’s one of the small fighters launched from the unknowns. And six Maydays are coming in from our guys. Two of them are drifting into range of the unknowns.”

Captain Greene, acting on a hunch, ordered, “Launch ten Mambas, two each for the four Mambas we can get to easily, and have the other two do a flyby on the bogey. Bring our guys in on capture fields. Have the pilots of the flyby report before committing.”

“Sir, what about our other two guys?” Helm asked. “I can get us in close enough to handle a pick-up.”

“Not without bringing us under the massed fire of eight ships,” Robert said as he looked into the display. “I’m not writing them off, Helm; I’m playing a hunch. We’re picking up one of theirs, and I’m betting that they pick our guys up.”

Icons began moving around the display—green for friendlies and red for unknowns. Two green dots were surrounded by red and finally disappeared from the display. Another two green dots passed the lone red one drifting toward the Terrans and almost immediately the radio came alive. “Flyby reporting. This is Hothead. Looks like a weird Mamba, Control. One side is burnt off. No stabilizers on the port side and half of one engine is gone. I’m surprised it’s in as good a shape as it is. Waiting for orders.” The female voice could have been reporting on the condition of air filters on the engineering deck for all the emotion that came through.

“Hothead, this is the Niven. You are authorized to make another pass. Get closer, and get a look at the pilot, if possible.” Robert released his mike button and waited.

“Roger that, Niven. Reporting in two.” The static hissed as the pilot left her mike open while she turned her ship for another pass. “Dagger, this is Hothead. I’ll make the pass. Hold off and cover me,” came through in the same aloof voice.

An eternity passed aboard the four ships in the space of several heartbeats. Finally, the static ended as the pilot reported again. “Niven, this is Hothead. I am dead relative to the bogey. It’s a Mamba, sort of, but definitely not one of ours. It’s tumbling, so I can’t get a good look at the pilot, but I can see a humanoid form. There’s some type of helmet covering the head, like ours in a way. Can’t make a positive ID. Sorry, Niven.”

“Hothead, we understand. You and Dagger lock on with your capture fields and stop the tumble. Slowly! Bring it alongside for inspection by pod.”

One of the four repair pods carried by all capital ships was waiting outside when the two Mambas brought the stranger alongside. “Bridge, this is Chief Wilson.” The senior engineering officer prepared to do the inspection of the strange vessel himself. “Pilot appears humanoid, but I can’t tell any more than that without opening the cockpit. Engines are definitely shot. This bird will never fly again without a trip through the nearest base. Power core appears stable. All voluntary control circuits are out. I think life support is intact. This thing is so much like a Mamba it’s spooky.”

“Very well, Chief. I have some ideas on that particular subject. We can discuss them later. Have it brought aboard and crack that cockpit. Make sure that all personnel are either out of the bay or in pods.”

“Aye, sir. But, if I may, I have a way to test for poisonous atmosphere before opening her up.”

“Do it, Chief,” Robert said. “Let me know as soon as you have something. Bridge out.” He turned back to the holodisplay. “Nav, what are the unknowns doing?”

“Sir, they’ve picked up their fighters and our guys, too.” The Nav officer tweaked her instruments. “Weapons are still hot, but there’s been no attempt to lock on. Engine power fluctuations are consistent with station-keeping. We are being subjected to the same type of scans.” She shook her head. “I can’t tell you any more than that.”

Commander Marian Farley and Lt. Commander John Evans found themselves drawn aboard one of the ships of the unknowns. Life support was the only system still functioning on Farley’s ship, while Evans had gone to reserve air, and the temperature was steadily dropping in his cockpit. The two Mambas were placed side by side in a bay or hangar by the four little fighters that were so reminiscent of the ships they flew—or had flown until then. The two pilots watched as the bay doors rolled shut. Momentarily, sounds began to reach their ears, confirming that air was being pumped into the bay.

Able to see into each other’s cockpits, Lt. Cmdr. Evans signaled his dilemma to his fellow captive. Unable to use her radio, Commander Farley shrugged her shoulders, unsure what to do. The bay their ships had been deposited in was barren of any living thing, but machinery along the walls was familiar in ways she couldn’t explain. The dim red light that seemed to serve for illumination only added to her inability to determine anything concrete about their surroundings. As a pilot, she hadn’t been required to service her ship, but it was customary for a pilot to know her ship’s systems and know how to work on them if called upon to do so. Therefore, she had a passing acquaintance with the equipment in the Capella’s bays. It was like looking into a slightly warped mirror, and it left her feeling queasy in a way she had never felt before.

Without any warning, her fellow pilot shrugged back at her and popped his cockpit. She watched in consternation as he removed his facemask and took a deep breath, then another, and a third. Finally, he grinned at her and gave her a thumbs up. Relief flooded her system, followed immediately by anger. Releasing her own seals and shock harness, she pushed straight up, standing as the canopy swung up and back.

The two Mambas had been set directly on the deck since their landing gear was unable to be deployed, so Commander Farley vaulted out of her cockpit and let her knees flex as she hit the deck, cushioning her dismount in the slightly lower gravity. One wall, she noticed as she looked around, had no fixtures or equipment against it. That would be the hatch we came in through, she thought. The other three walls were covered or lined with various pieces of equipment, some of which was familiar and some not. A slightly taller-than-normal door, reminiscent of the doors on the Galileo, was centered in the wall opposite the hangar bay door.

Farley turned her attention to her companion. Glancing at the name stenciled on the fuselage, she addressed him, unable to keep her temper in check. “Lt. Commander Evans, do you have any idea how stupid that was? Suppose the air wasn’t breathable? I don’t know how things are done on the Spica,” she said, looking at his shoulder patch, “but on the Capella, we’re taught to be a little less irresponsible.”

“Do you have any idea how much air I had left, Commander?” the junior officer asked in return. “Look for yourself.” He tossed the portable air bottle to the deck at her feet. “That’s the only one in the rack. If I ever get back to the Spica, you can bet that somebody’s ass is gonna be grass.”

She picked the bottle up and glanced at the meter on the side. “Ten minutes. Okay, so you had cause. But this is part of your checklist,” she said, tossing it back with force. “The only person you’ve got to blame is yourself. And I’ll make sure to note that in my report.” Evans caught the bottle and dropped it into the cockpit with a guilty look on his face. “Now, get down here. I think we should meet our… hosts… together.”

Evans dismounted less acrobatically, swinging both legs over the edge of his cockpit and sliding down the side to the deck. “Looks like we finally get to see what the BEMs look like. I coulda done without the honor, for sure,” he said caustically.

“BEMs?” Farley asked. “You’re going to have to explain that one to me.” She walked away from the ships and began examining the equipment along the wall near the door.

“It’s an old science-fiction term,” he replied, walking along beside her. “It meant ‘Bug-eyed Monster.’ I don’t think you should touch that,” he protested as she picked an object up off of a high bench.

She turned to face him, brandishing the thing in front of his face. “Don’t tell me you don’t recognize this. It’s a flux tuner!” She laid it down and lifted a bulky item off of two hooks on the wall. “And this,” she hissed, pushing it into his hands. “Tell me what this is.”

“Uh, a flow compensator? It realigns the couplings between the core and engines, I think.”

“So, they did teach you how to do more than fly that rattletrap on the Spica. I’m surprised,” she said, acid in her voice.

“Hey! It’s not my job to repair the damned things! Why should I know what this thing is? I just happen to remember it from training. What’s it doing here?”

“But it is your job to understand as much as you can about the ship you fly, so getting your lily-white hands dirty…” She broke off her tirade and the two humans turned around as the door latches began to spin open.

Their surprise couldn’t have been greater when the door swung open a few inches and a slight southern drawl spoke through the gap. “I’d take it as a great personal favor if you two would keep your pistols holstered. Mind if I come in?”

Captain Greene strode down the corridor known informally as Damnation Alley, an allusion that still eluded him. The previous four years had seen a revival of science fiction among Alliance personnel, and the name came from a novel he hadn’t yet had time to read. The five armored and sealed doors on each side of the corridor led to launch bays housing individual Mambas, but due to the fighting, many were empty. That thought brought a constriction to his chest that he had a hard time setting aside.

He stopped before a door with a blinking red light above it. Fighting to get his emotions and voice under control, he pressed the intercom button connecting him to the repair pod. “What’s the verdict, Chief?”

“My sensors say that his atmosphere is a little higher than ours in oxygen, a little less in nitrogen, and a few trace elements that would give the air a different smell. Nothing fatal, though. I’ve added oxygen and reduced the nitrogen a bit but otherwise left things alone. You’re going to get an oxygen rush after a few breaths, sir.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Chief. Thanks.” Robert cracked the vacuum door and slipped in, shutting himself inside with the mangled fighter and the Operations Chief, who was busy climbing out of his now-deactivated repair pod. He pressed a button on the intercom and said, “Bridge, this is the Captain. I’m leaving this circuit open. Comm, wait for my signal to transmit unless something drastic happens, either in here or outside the ship. Then transmit and we’ll worry about the consequences later.”

“This is Comm. Understood, sir. And… good luck.”

Robert turned to the ship sitting in the middle of the launch bay and nodded at the man climbing out of the deactivated pod. “I figured you’d need an extra hand, sir,” the chief explained as he left the pod leaning against the wall. “The pilot of that thing hasn’t moved since we shut the doors.”

Robert stood there, hands on his hips, eyeing the sight before him, not missing the slumped form of the pilot through the darkened canopy. “How would you pop the canopy if that was a Mamba, Chief?” he asked.

The chief looked at Robert as if he’d sprouted a second head. “If that was a Mamba, there’d be an access hatch on the port side just behind and below the rear hinge,” he said, pointing. He walked up to the side of the ruined fighter and stepped up on a jagged edge to reach the area he had just indicated. “Son of a bitch,” the man muttered. He turned to the captain who was watching from below. “How’d you know, sir?”

“When did you join up, Chief?” Robert asked in lieu of a direct answer.

“I was on the crew that built Gemini Base. Why?”

“Well, Chief, I’ve been involved from the beginning, and the fighters we had at first looked exactly like this one. It was after Orion got shot up that we redesigned them and called them Mambas.” The heaviness in his chest came back. “I think we’ve got one of the Builders in our launch bay, and I think we need to get him out of there. Pop it, Chief.”

The Operations chief turned back to the access hatch and fumbled with it. “There’s a handle in here just like on the Mambas. You sure, sir?”

“Not entirely, Chief,” Robert admitted, “but what real choice do we have? Besides, he’s just one individual and possibly hurt. And I’m hoping that the folks who picked up our guys are treating them as well as I intend to see this guy treated.”

Farley and Evans looked at each other and both shrugged. “Doesn’t seem like we have a lot of choice, now does it?” Marian answered for the two stranded pilots. “It appears that we’re at your mercy.”

The surprises continued when an obviously human black man stepped slowly through the door. Dressed in a grey one-piece coverall, he didn’t resemble an Alliance member, and he was moving freely about an alien ship. Too confused to do more than stare, the two pilots waited for the stranger to speak.

The man seemed disinclined to speak for a moment as he stared at the faces of the two pilots. “God, it’s good to see humans again. My name is Derek Carter, and I’ll explain as much as I can in the short time before you meet the leader of this fleet. I’ll be able to answer a few questions on the way up, but I’m really just an interpreter, if needed. Would you come with me? After you meet the Ambassador, you’ll be allowed to call your ships and tell them you’re alive.” The man turned around and stepped back through the door, waiting for the pilots to follow. As soon as they did, he headed off down the corridor.

John, first to get his voice back, said, “I’m John Evans and this is Marian Farley. This looks a lot like the Spica’s flight deck.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” the man who called himself Derek Carter said as he walked along the deck. “It was probably built from the same set of plans that produced this ship. Elevator is right here.” Pressing a control identical to the ones on all Alliance ships caused a door to slide into the wall.

“This is just spooky,” Marian said, a slight quiver in her voice. “Where are we going? And why have you let us keep our weapons?”

Derek turned and looked at them. “Before we go up, I need to tell you a few things and answer a couple of questions. First, you’re being allowed to keep your weapons because trust has to start somewhere. Second, we’re going to the command deck. Third, you probably want to know why I’m here.” At their nods, he just smiled. “That one will have to wait until there’s more time. But most importantly, you’re on an alien ship. I’m the only human aboard, except for you.”

“So, where are all the aliens?” John asked. “We couldn’t get a good look at the pilots of the ships that towed us in.”

“You’re going to start meeting them in just a few seconds,” Derek answered as the elevator door opened. “They were asked to stay away so they didn’t shock you before I had time to fill you in a bit.” He stepped inside and turned to face the two pilots. “Come on. First you meet Rentec, and then you get to call your ships and let them know you’re okay.”

Marian watched closely as Derek placed his finger on a strip alongside the open door and ran it toward the top. “What did you mean by the ‘same set of plans,’ Mr. Carter?” she asked.

“Haven’t you guessed yet?” Derek answered her question with one of his own, then gave her the answer she had shied away from. “These are the people who built the Dalgor Kreth, the ship you so aptly renamed the Galileo. All that you folks have built was designed by these people.” The door slid closed and the floor pressed against their feet. “They’re humanoid, with two arms, two legs, and a head. Eyes, ears and nose in all the right places and numbers. They just look different. The other race out there, the Korvils, have all the same physical characteristics—arms, legs, head, eyes and ears and such, but they’re the bad guys. Ambassador do’ Verlas and his people, the Shiravans, have been fighting them for over two hundred years. Now, you two aren’t going to go berserk or anything, are you?” Derek asked, real concern in his voice.

“Is anybody going to… Hell! I don’t know,” John said in frustration. “This is a lot to take in, ya know?”

“Believe me, I know,” Derek said with enough venom in his voice to draw stares from his companions. “I was captured by the Korvils right after Orion Base was completed. But you guys have an advantage—me. I’m telling you these people are friends. You’re just going to have to trust me. They saved my life, and yours, too, and went to a lot of trouble to bring me home. Of course, they want something in return. But they need to talk to the boss.”

The elevator slowed to a halt and the door retracted into the wall, giving the two pilots a view of another corridor. Not far off, two tall, thin beings were just disappearing around a corner. “They’re red!” Marian exclaimed. “I mean, like, really red!”

“Tall, skinny, no hair,” John remarked, a tremble noticeable in his voice. “Less exotic than what I’ve seen on television, and not as bad as I imagined. At least they’re not slimy blobs or something.”

The two pilots were led down a corridor that was strangely familiar yet eerily alien. The non-human origin of the vessel was becoming more apparent with each step the pair took, and the feeling of dissociation was compounded by the fact that they were following a fellow human who appeared to have the run of the ship. They walked past several open doors, commented on the higher ceilings, and got glimpses into open rooms. And, once, two beings walked past, glancing curiously down at them. This afforded them their first close-up look at their rescuers.

The aliens were somewhat taller than humans in general, which accounted for the higher doorways and ceilings throughout the ship and taller benches noted in the landing bay, and somewhat thinner of build. While they were indeed humanoid, with the proper number of arms and legs, eyes and ears—two each—as well as a head, nose and mouth—one each—the whole, when viewed from the perspective of the two pilots, was disconcerting. The skin was a bright red, even in the muted lighting common throughout the ship, leaving no doubt as to their alien origin. The ears were slightly pointed, apparently independently mobile, and located higher on the head than on humans. The nose was bereft of cartilage, leaving a mobile flap of skin below and between the eyes, while the mouth was probably the most normal part of the face. The eyes were what drew the pilots’ attention, though. Pink eyes shading into rose glanced their way from one lofty face while the eyes of the other registered in Marian’s mind as more salmon-colored than anything else.

Derek stopped in front of a door like all the others, knocked twice and opened it without waiting for a response. He stepped to one side and motioned for the pilots to enter. Hesitating for only a second, Marian looked at her companion, shrugged, and stepped through. John followed warily, taking in the room as a whole.

Two beings sat facing the doorway, one behind a desk and the other off to one side. As John stepped into the room, the one behind the desk stood up and stepped around it, approaching the humans slowly. From the doorway they had just entered, Derek said, “I’d like to present Rentec do’ Verlas, Shiravan Ambassador to the human race. Mr. Ambassador, Doma Marian Farley and Dom’ John Evans of the Terran Alliance.”

The tall red man stuck his hand out, and with yet another surprise, said, “Dom Carter has informed me that it is the custom of your people to shake hands to show that one holds no weapons.”

The captain and Operations chief stood on opposite sides of the stricken craft, and when the canopy jumped up the fraction of an inch that it always did on Terran Mambas, they pushed up and back, revealing the still form of the pilot.

A helmet and grey one-piece suit covered most of the figure, but the hands were plainly visible. Immediately noticeable was the color of the skin—red, very red. It took a few seconds more for the other big difference to sink in. There was an extra joint on each finger. Robert’s eyes riveted on the sight, and he felt a shiver run up his spine.

He looked over at the chief and said, “We lift to your side. When you have him stable, I’ll come around and help get him to the deck.”

The chief tore his gaze away from the hands and nodded. He reached in and hit the quick-release button on the restraint harness. “Just like on our ships,” he muttered. The two men lifted and moments later had the alien flat on his back on the deck.

Robert raised his voice. “Comm, do you copy?”

“I do, sir.”

“Very well. I want you to call the doctor down here and then transmit all data to Admiral Hawke on the Rigel via the Norton. Add this note: ‘Mission accomplished. All enemy vessels destroyed. Cost: eleven Mambas, nine pilots.’ I hope, he thought, “Add: major damage to two ships. P.S. I have an unconscious Builder on my flight deck. Would appreciate your arrival soonest.’ That is all.”

Five seconds passed, and the speaker broke the silence. “This is Comm. Norton away. Time to reception by the Rigel in Earth orbit is just over four hours.”

“Damn,” Robert said. Turning his attention back to the alien pilot, he laid a hand gently on its chest. “At least he’s still breathing, I think. His chest is rising and falling. How can we tell how bad he’s hurt or even what hurt is?” Robert shook his head in total bewilderment.

Before Chief Wilson could reply, the intercom squawked again. “Sir, this is Comm. We have an incoming transmission from the unknowns. It’s in English, it’s not our pilots, and they’re asking for Captain Hawke. What are your instructions?”

“In English? How the hell is that possible?” he muttered. Aloud he said, “No response until I get back to the bridge. I’m on my way. Get a copy of the message downloaded to my comm link. I’ll play it back on my way up.” He turned to his companion. “Chief, can you...?”

“No problem, sir. The doc will be here in a minute. This guy isn’t going anywhere.”

Robert nodded his thanks and headed for the bridge as fast as he could. When his comm link beeped, he replayed the message that had been recorded by Comm. “This is Derek Carter calling Captain Hawke,” a hesitant voice said in a definite southern drawl. “I am aboard the Shiravan flagship Esmit do’ Caryl, accompanying Ambassador Rentec do’ Verlas, who wishes to speak with Captain Hawke. As a sign of good faith, the ambassador has authorized the two Terran Alliance pilots rescued by his pilots to report their situation. As another show of faith, the ambassador has authorized the return of your pilots and myself. I was captured shortly after the Galileo left Orion Base for Earth. Unfortunately, their ships are too damaged to make it worthwhile to return. An unarmed shuttle will leave this ship momentarily. Carter, out.”

The voice ended as Robert strode onto the bridge. “Comm, get me the signal and send this: ‘This is Captain Robert Greene of the TAS Larry Niven. We’ve picked up one of your pilots as well. Unfortunately, your pilot appears to need medical attention. At least, we think so. If you have medical personnel aboard, they are welcome to accompany our pilots back to this vessel to administer aid and return your pilot as soon as they consider it feasible.”

A red dot had separated from the swarm that was designated “unknown” while Robert was speaking. It reversed course, merging with the larger group, and minutes later it again headed slowly in the direction of the Niven. Robert returned to the flight deck and waited for the other ship to dock.

Marian stepped forward, trying to show more confidence than she felt. Warily eyeing the hand of the taller being, she tentatively reached out and grasped it. A thoroughly normal handshake ensued, followed by a repetition with John. The second being had risen at their entrance but made no move to come forward. “You speak English?” she asked, looking at Derek.

“I have a small understanding of your language, Doma. Dom’ Carter and Doma Spencer have been excellent teachers. I’m afraid that I will be at a loss if the discussion gets technical, though. Your translation programs should be of enormous benefit in that area.”

Marian shook her head. “So many questions. But Mr. Carter said that we would be able to call our ships and report in. I think that should be our first priority.”

“And so you shall, Doma. I apologize for the delay in allowing you to do so. It was merely that my curiosity got the better of me. I’ve met only two humans before this moment. Now, Dom’ Carter will take you to our communications station where you can speak to your commanders, and then we will return you to your people.”

The two human pilots self-consciously exchanged pleasantries with the alien being and followed Derek out of the room. “Are we really going to be returned to our ships?” Marian asked the strange man leading them down an all-too-familiar corridor.

In response, Derek stopped and waved them into a room filled with communications equipment and several aliens. “Of course,” he replied. “Ambassador do’ Verlas wants the best relations he can get with the Alliance.” To the aliens in the room he said, “Errocerra, ara eset Terrani simu yat mihara pukara, Dom do’ Verlas.”

An alien sitting at one of the stations held out a microphone and Marian hesitantly took it. She glanced at the black man and took his nod as an indication that it was all right to speak. “Uh, this is Commander Marian Farley, leader of Tiger Flight, call sign Tinkerbelle. I’m standing in the comm center of an alien battlecruiser of about the same configuration as the Capella. I have Lt. Commander John Evans of the Spica standing with me. We are alive and well. Evans would probably be dead now if not for the assistance we received. We have been informed that we are to be returned to our ships as soon as possible. Uh, that’s all for the moment. Over.”

“Commander Farley, Niven Control. We have received your message and will be trading the two of you for one of theirs. Congratulations. We lost a few good people, but with the assistance of your new friends, and at great loss to them, not one ship escaped. Control, out.”

CHAPTER TWO

Robert hurried back to the hangar deck, listening to Flight Operations on his comm link as they talked the alien shuttle in. The thoroughly human voice with the southern drawl continued to speak for the shuttle all the way through its final approach and into shutdown. As soon as the status light over the door turned green, Robert spun the hatch locks loose, took a deep breath, and stepped inside.

The sight that met his eyes couldn’t have been more normal. So much so, in fact, that for a second, he almost believed he had hallucinated the entire past few hours. A normal-enough looking shuttle ramp sat open in the bay, and the two pilots walked to the lower end, stopping just short of stepping onto the Niven’s deck. Commander Farley, saluted and asked, “Permission to come aboard, Sir?”

“Permission granted, Commander,” Robert replied, returning the salute. “Report to the command deck and wait for me in my ready-room. Stop off in the mess hall first, if you need to. I’ll be a while, I think.”

The two pilots moved toward the hatch, the junior stopping beside Robert. He glanced back at the shuttle and said hesitantly, “Captain, you’re about to have some pretty weird visitors.”

“So I’ve been led to believe, Commander. But I already have a pretty weird one in another bay. Thanks for the heads up, though.” Robert turned back to the shuttle sitting in his bay. I’m not sure I’m ready for this, he thought. Any of it. It’s just now sinking in that some people aren’t coming back, and now I’m having to deal with aliens, for crying out loud. I think I can understand how Kitty felt after... Cutting the thought off savagely, he turned back to more pressing matters.

Expecting to see someone like the unconscious alien pilot step out next, the appearance of an Afro-American man caused almost as much befuddlement as if an alien truly had walked down the ramp. The first words from the stranger confirmed his identity, as much by the accent as the words themselves.

“Sir, I am Derek Carter. I apologize for my haste, but Ambassador do’ Verlas would like to see to his pilot as quickly as possible.”

“Of course,” Robert said quietly. His voice gaining strength, he added, “In his place, I would want to do the same. What’s the procedure?”

“I assume you’ve seen the pilot?” Derek asked.

“Yes.”

“Then you won’t be too shocked to see three walking, talking members of his species come out now?”

“I guess not,” Robert replied hesitantly.

“There will be two medics bringing out a stretcher, followed by the Ambassador. His presence is required, as he speaks both English and Shiravan.” Derek turned and called out, “Chap ara. Terrani est sa aleren.” He faced Robert again. “I picked up a little Shiravan as I was teaching the Ambassador English. Couldn’t help it; it kinda stuck. Now, if you’ll lead the medics to the pilot, sir?”

Robert hesitated when he saw the figures start down the ramp. The first two were dressed in greyish, one-piece coveralls and carried what looked like a standard stretcher except for the muted green color, while the third was dressed in a blinding outfit that appeared to be a turquoise shirt trying to hide under a yellow vest and a pair of trousers that matched the screaming yellow vest.

When he realized his mouth was hanging open, he closed it with a slight gulp and said, “Follow me, please.” He walked to the door and turned to look at the odd procession. The two medics were directly behind him, being trailed by the garishly dressed alien and, finally, Derek Carter. He shrugged, more to himself than anyone else, stepped over the threshold and turned toward the open hatch of the adjoining bay.

Robert stepped through the bay door and motioned the two medics forward, a feeling of disassociation washing over him. He stood to one side and watched as the two beings set their load down beside the stricken pilot, and one opened a pouch at his waist. He removed a device and laid it on the pilot’s chest, watching it for a few seconds. Obviously waiting for some reaction from the device, the Shiravan glanced up at the damaged fighter and then around the room. Returning his attention to the device on the pilot’s chest, the medic pressed a control, and when it emitted a short, shrill beep moments later, the wounded pilot twitched, shivered, and raised his head.

“Su lapka? Domar foroset paka reth?”

“Par a Terrani dara foroset. Ep torbinasa pakara din Esmit. Terrani dara foroset.”

“Now he’s being told that your people saved him and that he is being returned to his ship.”

Robert turned to look at the speaker and found himself looking up into a pair of unnervingly red eyes. “I am Rentec do’ Verlas,” the being said, holding his hand out. “I have been appointed ambassador to the humans by Linnas des Harras, Matriarch of the Shiravan Polity.”

Robert apprehensively took the hand and felt the slightly higher temperature of the skin against his. Shaking it gingerly, he answered, “I am Robert Greene, Captain of this ship and a member of the Terran Alliance. Welcome aboard the Niven, Mr. Ambassador.” A retreat into formality was all he could think of.

The alien gestured with his head and said, “My people are ready now to return.” Robert looked and saw that the two medics had lifted the injured pilot and were waiting impatiently.

“Of course,” he said. Leading the group back to the shuttle’s bay, he stepped aside to let the medics carry the pilot aboard. “Will he be all right?”

“It is too soon to know, Captain,” Rentec said. “As soon as I become aware of his condition, I will inform you. Your concern and aid are appreciated.”

“Uh, sure. Thanks, Mr. Ambassador,” Robert said, faltering and feeling more foolish by the second.

“Please understand, Captain, this is no more comfortable for me,” Rentec said slowly. “Yours is the second race we have come into contact with and the first we have been able to converse with. The Korvils are not a social people. We can only assume that they hate all who are not Korvil as they attack you with the same…” He turned to Derek. “Kome esan dara eset jimana polika mehara?”

Derek answered with a single word. “Ferocity.”

“Ferocity.” The red man looked as if he were trying the word out in his mind. “A strange flavor to that word. And so compact for such a complex idea. They attack you with the same ferocity as they do us, it seems.”

The two medics disappeared into the dim red interior of the shuttle, and a moment later, one returned to stand beside the ambassador but behind by one step.

Before the ramp raised, another alien stepped into view. “This is my assistant, Doma Maratai kep Parrasine. Would it be proper for us to remain aboard your vessel and await the arrival of your Captain Hawke, whom Derek has told us of? We would speak with him on matters of great urgency.”

When did I lose control of the situation, Robert thought? Oh, yeah… just about the time I got out of bed this morning. Aloud, he said, “Certainly, Mr. Ambassador. I think we could wait in my ready room, if that is agreeable with you. That’s on the command deck. I’ve already sent a message to Captain Hawke—who’s now an admiral, by the way—and expect his arrival within the next five or six hours.”

By the time Navigation detected approach, Robert had been brought up to speed for the most part on the adventures of Derek Carter and Maggie Spencer.

“Once we were sure of the location of your homeworld, I dispatched a ship to report to my ruler and another to inform Second Fleet. Doma Spencer is aboard the Chi Mara Vesh to perform much the same function that Dom Carter has, which was to keep you from shooting at us before we could show our intentions,” Rentec said.

“Apparently, Mr. Carter hasn’t told you the story of the Trojan Horse, Ambassador,” Robert said, a small grimace crossing his face. “Humans can be a very suspicious people, especially right now. Considerable damage has been done to our world, and people are going to be looking for someone to blame. At the same time, they… we… most of us, are going to have very short fuses.”

“I beg your pardon?” Rentec knew he was using this phrase a lot of late. As soon as he thought he had a handle on these humans, something would get said that threw all of his assumptions into contra-space. “Trojan Horse? Short fuses?”

“It will take a history lesson to explain the Trojan Horse. Suffice it to say that it is a reference to an ancient war and subterfuge. As for the short fuses, it means that our anger is easily aroused, and sometimes we aren’t too careful about how we retaliate.”

Robert’s comm link chimed. “Sir, this is Navigation. We’ve picked up the Rigel on long-range scans. Your orders?”

“Sit tight. I’ll be right there. Call security and have two men posted at my ready room door. I don’t want our visitors to be bothered by a lot of gawkers. And we’re going to have to arrange for something for them to eat. We may have to have something brought over from the Shiravan ships.”

Maratai turned to Rentec as soon as Robert’s door closed. “It would appear that we aren’t trusted, even after we aided them at considerable cost to ourselves. I think we may have been deluding ourselves that these humans would be willing to support us in our fight against the Korvils.”

“Do not assume in haste, Doma kep Parrasine,” he answered. “We have spoken only to this one officer. We will await the arrival of their Admiral Hawke.”

“We should be wary of what we say, Dom do’ Verlas,” Maratai responded. “They could be recording us. It is what I would do if the positions were reversed.”

Rentec nodded. “I agree, but remember that Captain Greene has said they don’t possess any translation protocols. Somehow all of that was erased from the memory banks of the Dalgor Kreth when they took her over.”

“So they say,” she argued. “We have only their word on that. And Dom Carter has told us often of the human penchant for duplicity, which has been confirmed by this Captain Greene.”

“Nevertheless, we will wait,” Rentec decided.

The Rigel’s speedy arrival meant that it had outpaced the laggard light-speed communications the Alliance was restricted to. The only information Simon had been privy to was what had been carried by the Norton—mostly a pure data-dump attached to Robert’s announcement and a few cryptic remarks made since the Rigel had arrived. One in particular had caused Simon to smile: “Visitors in the parlor. Bring your wallet and leave your guns at home.”

Sensors on full and weapons hot, the Rigel sat slightly apart from both groups of ships while Simon’s shuttle docked with the Niven. Simon strode down the boarding ramp accompanied by Joanna Barnes, now the Alliance’s science officer since Stephen’s death. “Permission to come aboard, Captain?” Simon asked as he saluted Robert from the boarding ramp of his shuttle.

“Granted, and gladly, Admiral. I’m happy to have someone to turn this hot potato over to,” Robert said, relief evident in his voice. “If you will follow me, sir.”

“Captain Greene, Commander Barnes, our new Chief Science Officer,” Simon said by way of introduction as the group headed for the midship elevator. “So, what can you tell me, Bob?”

“I can tell you that two of our people didn’t die during the attack on Orion,” Robert said. “They were captured and then eventually rescued by these guys—Shiravans, they call themselves, from the planet Shiravi. The two rescuees taught them English, and one of them is here as an ambassador to the human race, asking for help in their fight against the other ones, the Korvils. Sounds like science fiction to me.” Robert laughed lightly at the old joke.

“We’ve all been living a science-fiction story for years, now,” Simon answered, finishing the now-tired joke. “They can understand us, but we will have no idea what their transmissions say.”

“Not entirely, sir. We do have Derek Carter. He’s learned some of their language in the process of teaching them ours, and he should be able to identify intent if not content.”

“I can work with this,” Simon declared, “as long as there aren’t any more surprises.”

“Well, there is one more,” Robert ventured as they left the elevator and started down the corridor.

“And that is?” Simon asked when Robert added nothing further.

“There are ten more ships headed this way with Maggie Spencer aboard the flagship. Once this bunch located Earth, they sent ships back to inform their homeworld and the other fleet that was looking for us.”

“This just gets better and better, doesn’t it?” Simon asked rhetorically. He stared into the bulkhead and beyond for the better part of a minute as his mind toyed with the various scenarios. “So, they know where our homeworld is. I’ll bet that information hasn’t been mentioned concerning their planet, has it?”

“Not yet, sir,” Robert admitted as he stopped in front of his ready room door. “There’s one other thing you should know, sir.”

“Yes, Captain?” Simon prompted when Robert said nothing for a few seconds.

“You saw the data-dump?” When Simon nodded, Robert said, “Then you saw that they lost two ships taking out the two ambushers. Their arrival apparently flushed them out. They were closer, so they took them out. Been like this ever since.”

Simon nodded slowly. “Common enemies make strange allies. Okay, let’s do it.” Simon waved Robert toward the door. “You get to handle the introductions, Captain, so lead the way.”

I always thought this was supposed to be fun, riding around in spaceships, like Buck Rogers or something, Robert thought as he reached for the door. I keep forgetting that even movie characters have problems. He opened the door and stepped in and to one side, allowing room for Simon and Joanna Barnes to enter. The tall, red beings stood at his entrance and waited quietly.

Robert waited until the two parties stood a few feet apart and announced in a slightly strained voice, “Ambassador do’ Verlas of Shiravi and associate.” He’d only heard Maratai’s name once and wasn’t willing to mispronounce it and possibly anger his guests. “May I present Admiral Simon Hawke of the Terran Alliance and his science officer, Doctor Joanna Barnes.”

Simon’s sense of déjà vu was strained for a moment as his mind went back to a Montana mountain retreat over four years ago. The mood broke when the taller of the two beings, dressed in the most eye-blinding colors he had ever seen on a living being, stepped forward, hand out, and said, “I am pleased to finally meet you, Admiral. Dom Carter and Doma Spencer have told me as much about you as they knew and guessed. I have waited for over two turnings… years, for this meeting.”

“I’ve thought about it, too,” Simon confessed, shaking the proffered hand. “But I wasn’t expecting this.” He looked next at the Ambassador’s companion and then at the table they’d been seated at. “It seems that Captain Greene has neglected to offer you refreshments,” he said. “Can we get you anything to drink or eat?”

“Sir, we discussed that,” Robert interjected, “and the Ambassador thought it best to wait for your arrival before sending to his ship for appropriate foods since it’s most probable that what we have to offer will be unacceptable to the Shiravan metabolism.”

“Okay, so you have been thinking about this. My apologies, Captain,” Simon said. Turning to the alien, he said, “This takes some getting used to. Please, go ahead, Mr. Ambassador.” Another shift of attention. “Robert, make sure Traffic Control knows to expect further arrivals from the Shiravan fleet. Oh, and order our ships to power down weapons,” he said, almost as an afterthought.

Simon noticed the other occupant of the room. “Mr. Carter, is it?” he asked, reaching out to shake hands.

“Yes, sir. And glad to be home,” Derek answered.

“We’ll see about getting you back to Earth as soon as possible, Mr. Carter,” Simon promised, “and if you still want to be a part of the Alliance, I’d be pleased to have you. You’ve certainly earned the right. For all that we’ve accomplished up until now, you’ve traveled farther than any other human in history. And you are due for a lot of backpay.”

“I think that by the time Maggie arrives, she will have taken that title away from me, sir,” Derek said self-deprecatingly. “But I’ll take you up on your offer after I’ve had time to get reacquainted with home.”

Turning back to the two aliens, Simon asked, “How can we make your stay easier, Mr. Ambassador?”

“I have already taken the liberty, as Derek would say, of calling my ship and ordering some food and drink to be loaded onto a shuttle,” Rentec stated. “Do I understand you to mean that it is all right to have it sent?” Rentec held up a comm link similar to the ones carried by Alliance personnel. He looked at Robert. “Also, Captain Greene, while we were waiting for Admiral Hawke, I was informed by our medical staff that our pilot will be well after some time to rest. He suffered from lack of air. If your people had not taken him in, he surely would have died.”

“You did the same for us already, Mr. Ambassador,” Robert said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“By all means, Mr. Ambassador, go ahead and send for your foodstuffs. How long do you plan to stay aboard, if I may ask? If you’re going to be here for any length of time, you will certainly need it.” He listened attentively as the alien spoke into his link. When Rentec finished, Simon said, “I think you are the real deal, Mr. Ambassador. Of course, I can’t understand the words, but the flavor of your language fits in with the single recording we have of one of your people.”

For the first time, Rentec’s companion spoke up. “One of Shiravi, Admiral? How did you get… recording of one of Shiravi?”

Simon looked directly at the other being. “I don’t think I got your name.”

Rentec spoke before Maratai could answer. “This is my aide, Doma Maratai kep Parrasine. She is also special assistant to our ruler.”

“Doma?” Simon asked, noting the stress placed on the word.

“Doma is a word used to denote respect to a high-ranking Shiravan female, sir,” Derek said by way of explanation. “Just as Dom is used for males, as in the case of Dom do’ Verlas.

“Ah, I see,” Simon said, turning his full attention back onto the smaller being. “Well, Doma Maratai kep Parrasine,” he said, stumbling slightly at this first pronunciation, “it seems that one of your people—most likely a crew person—aboard the ship we found left a message in the ship’s computer. We didn’t discover it until about a year ago. I would be greatly pleased if you could shed some light on what it says.”

“That brings up a point we need to discuss, Admiral,” Rentec said. “Captain Greene tells us that you do not have a translation program in your computers. All Shiravan deep spaceships have such a program imbedded in the basic matrix of the computer. Surely you must have found it by now.”

Simon looked at Joanna, who tentatively leaned forward. All this time she had been carefully watching the interaction between the two leaders and wished more than anything that she could just stay quiet. “Well, uh, Mr. Ambassador, I guess you could say that I’m responsible for that. My field is… was… advanced cybernetics. That’s the study of advanced computer intelligences. I was recruited early on to study the computer aboard the Galileo, and in my eagerness to discover all that I could, I’m most likely the one who opened the sealed case surrounding the computer core and exposed it to some form of viral infection.”

Rentec shook his head, an almost human gesture. “Dom Carter has been very thorough in his teachings, but some of these words I do not know. Viral infections?”

“Very tiny lifeforms that can inhabit the blood of living beings like you or me, sir. In some cases, they have the ability to change the genetic structure of a person’s DNA—the smallest bits of information in your body that tells it how to grow.” Realizing that she was again going deeper than the two beings could understand, she tried again. “These tiny lifeforms have the ability to make you sick and die. It takes a doctor... one who understands the body... to know how to combat these tiny things. Among humans they—viruses—are the smallest living things we know of. In some cases, they’ve been responsible for killing off whole cities, even destroying countries, because not enough people were left alive to keep things going.”

Rentec and Maratai spoke animatedly in their own language for several moments. “Excuse us, but we don’t have the words to discuss in your language what we needed to say. What form does this… virus take? What did it do to the computer?”

“What form? I cannot say as it has survived to be studied in only two places, and I don’t have clearance to anything but pictures. What it did was begin to wipe all information out of the computer, like taking all of your memories away. I managed to stop it by reprogramming blanked portions of the computer as the virus moved to other sections and got the computer to use its information-writing lasers to attack and destroy each viral piece as it tried to assault another portion of the computer.” Joanna sat silently for a few seconds. “One of the things we lost was the translation program. We had it at first. We used it to put English names on all the controls so we could use them. But before we could find a user’s manual for the ship…” She shrugged in defeat and sat back in her chair.

The faces of the two aliens couldn’t be read by the humans in the room, with the possible exception of Derek, but their manner was positively agitated. “There is a…” Rentec paused, looking for words to express himself. “People lose their memories first,” he said, trying again, “then their body stops doing the things it is supposed to do. Finally, they die, most horribly. This is not just one person, but many—first those closest to the first one affected, spreading outward in larger and larger circles. Strong things must be done to stop the spread of this… frenda vesh.” He looked to Derek for help.

“The only thing I can come up with is the obvious,” Derek said. “I’d have to say that he’s describing a plague.”

“Yes,” Joanna said eagerly. “First it attacks the memory centers of the brain, then moves to motor functions—I’d guess at voluntary levels first and then involuntary, like breathing.”

“Yes,” Rentec said. “Breathing is one of the things affected by this… plague? In our earliest recorded times, it killed entire cities and was called frenda vesh, the death wind. Now, we also understand that it is caused by very small things that get into the blood. They can only be seen with the aid of devices designed to look at small things.”

“Microscopes,” Joanna said. “We tried that. But by the time we felt it was safe to take samples of the gel the computer is made of, we weren’t able to find anything out of the ordinary—ordinary for the gel, that is.”

“This is cause for great concern, Admiral,” Rentec said. “We take great precautions to make sure that nothing like this is allowed to get off of our planet. There is too much that can go wrong on a colony world without having to deal with a plague as well.”

Simon shook his head. “I don’t know what to say, Mr. Ambassador. We haven’t seen any ill effects, but maybe your virus can’t affect a metabolism as different as ours. I grant you that we breathe the same air, more or less, but we are just too different, I think.”

“We have duplicated the original computer into all of our ships,” Joanna said. “Smaller versions for our fighters, as well. That’s almost two hundred different computers out there, and not one of them has given us any reason to suspect that the virus hasn’t been completely eradicated.”

Rentec tipped his head to one side, then the other, and said, “What cannot be changed, cannot be changed. I will call my ship and inform them that they are not to associate with any other ship, either by person or by exchanging supplies, until they are sure that the plague has not come to their ship from yours.”

“Quarantine,” Simon confirmed. “We have the same concept on Earth.”

Rentec straightened up at the mention of Earth. “As troubling as this matter of plague is to us, we have another matter we wish to discuss with you, Admiral. That is the joining of our two races into a force that can defeat the Korvils. It is fortunate, in a way that they are between our two peoples. That way, they have to divide their forces to fend off possible assaults from both sides.”

Simon raised his hand to stop the alien ambassador. “That’s not a subject that we can discuss by ourselves, sir,” he said. “It would be best if we include our Herald in any negotiations, Mr. Ambassador.”

“Herald?” Rentec asked. “I do not know this word.”

“The Herald is our ruler, sir,” Simon told Rentec. “She should be present for any negotiations since she will have to make the final decision.”

Simon thought he was beginning to get a handle on the facial expressions of these beings. The ambassador definitely looked confused. “We were told by Dom Carter that you were the ruler of your Alliance.”

Admiral Hawke nodded, a strange expression on his face. “At one time, that was true, but things have changed in Mr. Carter’s absence. Actually, the person we call Herald is the second to hold that title since it came into being.” Simon went on to explain how the Alliance had copied their governmental style from the United States Constitution and Bill of Rights and gave a more complete picture of the Alliance’s short history that brought Derek’s information up to the present.

“We are amazed at the amount of progress you have made in the short time you have had possession of the Dalgor Kreth, Admiral,” Maratai commented. “How is it possible? We have much trouble getting recruits for our ships.”

Simon pondered the question for a time. “You have to understand that we are an inquisitive race, Doma. There’s not much we won’t stick our noses into. It’s only been in the last sixty years or so that we discovered atomic power, how to release energy from the smallest pieces of matter. It’s been less time than that since we first set foot on our planet’s satellite. We are very new to space and really haven’t taken our ships out of our own solar system yet. We probably would have, had it not been for these Korvils.” Simon looked around himself at the ship’s walls and the human and alien gathering, and said, “We have a form of recreation—fun,” he said when he saw the confused look cross the ambassador’s face, “called science fiction. It is an art form that consists of storytelling. Sometimes we read it and sometimes we watch it, but it’s storytelling about how science will affect humans in the future. A joke we of the Alliance make among ourselves is that we are living in a science-fiction story come true.” He paused for a moment, a little smile passing over his face. “And, of course, it doesn’t hurt to have access to who knows how many young, adventurous, idealistic, science fiction nutcases who are willing to work in outer space for nothing.”

The Shiravan edibles arrived, two small crates on an antigrav pallet. A crewman pushed it in, followed by a Shiravan. The Shiravan pulled out a tray, bottle, and glasses. “Ah, refreshments,” Simon said. “That was quick. I’ll get glasses for us, Mr. Ambassador, and then I’d like to introduce you to the human custom of the toast.”

“I’m afraid, Admiral, that Dom Carter has already done so.” Rentec smiled at the nearly identical flinch the Admiral shared with Derek when surprised.

CHAPTER THREE

‘People’ is the right word, Simon thought, studying the two aliens. Just different-looking. After some thought to keep the words simple for his visitors, he said, “It is my hope that this meeting will be a first step into a bright future for both our races.”

Simon looked at the raised glass he held, duplicated five times by the people around him. “So, let’s just get to it, shall we? Ambassador, what do you think the next step should be? I have my own ideas, of course, but it would be easier if we can start out knowing what each other wants, and as the guest, you should go first. Human custom,” he quickly added to forestall any objections.

Everyone took a sip of the liquid they held, the aliens copying the gestures exactly. Simon set his glass on the table. “I never have figured out how to get from a toast to the more serious business that needs to be discussed.”

Rentec looked around. “We would speak with your Herald to discuss the possibility of a partnership in our mutual fight against the Korvils.” The statement, simple and straightforward, hung in the air for a few seconds.

“That’s all?” Simon asked. “I’m going to make an on-the-spot decision here and say that the Herald will be rather upset if I say no to that. Granted, Ambassador. You and one ship can accompany us to Earth to advise the Herald. I imagine having a planet under your feet after all this time will be a nice change.”

“That will be nice, Admiral,” Maratai answered. “But why only one ship? We have seven other ships in need of the same chance to walk under an open sky.”

“Because, Doma,” Simon said, looking into the disconcertingly red eyes of the female alien, “after what my planet has just suffered, a large group of alien vessels suddenly appearing in orbit will cause much worry among our people. The damage has been too severe. They don’t know that you aren’t the enemy, but they will react as if you are because they have been hurt too badly, too recently. Another trait of my people is to look for someone to blame and exact revenge—make them pay a price for attacking us and killing our people,” he amended at the blank stare that came his way.

Rentec glanced at his companion, then back at Simon. “It is easy to forget that such things exist when a person spends so much time away from a planet.” He placed his hands together in front of him. “If I may ask, how severe was the damage to your world?”

“Only two ships made their way through the blockade to Earth,” Simon said slowly. “But that was more than enough. One exploded its cargo above one of our continents, destroying an area of several hundred thousand square miles.” He drew a circle on a piece of paper. “Our world. Earth,” he said. Then, he drew South America inside that circle and a smaller circle inside the continental outline to show the devastated area. Drawing another circle, he said, “The other strike was here.” Drawing more continents, he showed an area off the coast of Alaska. “One raider was shot out of the sky, and it fell into the ocean about here, five hundred miles from one of the regions that supply a large amount of the sea creatures—fish, we call them—used for human consumption. Tidal waves swept down the North American coastline and inland as far as any river or tributary would allow up to about three thousand feet inland and sometimes miles. That affected millions of people in the United States alone. The tidal waves that resulted from the explosion at the depth of almost a mile killed people and destroyed property and manufacturing and agricultural resources all around the ocean’s rim. The western rim took it the best because the energy from the explosion used itself up trying to move that much water that far. In all, it is estimated that over twenty million lives were lost, and our ability to recover from such a hit is… it will be years before the full effects are known. Nothing like this has happened within the recorded history of our race.”

Robert pulled the paper to him, horrified both by the pictures and the words. “Sir, any chance that the reports could be wrong? We did lose most of our satellite network. Couldn’t the reports be somehow exaggerated?”

“No, Robert, I’m afraid not.” Simon’s face mirrored the feelings roiling through Robert’s mind. “The U.S. took the hardest hit. Almost every coastal town, including San Francisco and Los Angeles, is like a ghost town. The water just swept in and right back out, taking anything not nailed down and an unknown number of people with it,” he said. “And we came close to losing our Japanese embassy. Some smart thinker turned on the force field in the nick of time, but the island itself will take considerable rebuilding. Then there was South Korea, parts of Russia, China, the Philippines, Hawaii, and Indonesia. Australia got off lightest of all because of Indonesia, but the west coast of the United States got hammered. Twenty million seems like a pretty small number when you consider the area affected. Doesn’t make it any easier, though.”

Robert’s face paled at the recitation. “So, what will we do?”

“We’ll rebuild, of course. The Alliance will contribute all it can to the effort, but we can’t stop production on the fleet, either. We’ll start sending entire asteroids to Earth for the Galileo to process in orbit, rebuilding what we can. The people and economy will recover eventually, but nothing is ever going to be the same. First off, we’ll be handing out food processors wholesale. We’ll split our people and start with Japan and the west coast of America.”

Rentec didn’t understand every word, but he caught enough to know that the humans had suffered greatly. “We are saddened at your losses, Admiral. It seems to me that the losses will continue unless we can come to an agreement. In the spirit of that thought, perhaps we can begin our journey to see your Herald?”

“Of course, Ambassador. I have been told of the losses to your ships. This saddens us, as well. Your sacrifice on our behalf is a debt that cannot be repaid. Would you accept the offer of repair and resupply for your ships? And I would be honored to have you ride with us back to Earth.”

Rentec smiled. “I would be happy to ride with you, Admiral. It would give me time to learn more about your people. But I think it would require too much foodstuffs for us for the voyage.”

Surprise crossed Simon’s face. “Too long a voyage? How much do you folks eat? I can have you on Earth in three hours, tops.” He turned to Robert. “Am I missing something, Captain?”

“I’m not sure, sir,” Robert replied. He turned to the ambassador. “I hope this isn’t a stupid question, but how long would it take for one of your ships to reach Earth from here?

The puzzled look on Rentec’s face was becoming a frequent occurrence. “At top in-system speeds, I would say about four of your days. That is just a guess since I am not trained to know these things. Why?”

“Because, sir, like I said, I can have you on Earth in about three hours. I’m at a loss here. We have the same technology. Surely your ships can do the same.” Now it was Simon’s turn to be confused. “Or is it a translation problem?”

“I will confer with the fleet commander about the repairs. I’m uncertain if he will be willing to split the fleet,” Rentec said. “As for the question of how fast our ships can travel, I will speak to someone about it, but I am sure I am right.”

After a short session making sure everyone understood each other’s time systems, Captain do’ Sirkis stood beside Rentec on the bridge of the Rigel and watched as the crew prepared to jump for Libra Base. Simon stood with his guests, letting the ship’s captain do his job. The Esmit do Caryl would follow at its best pace. Simon was still perplexed as to the reason for the slowness of the Shiravan vessels.

The Rigel ran up to jump speed, followed closely by the Shiravan ship. As the otherspace barrier got closer, eyes started following the scans more closely to see where the difference lay. “Two minutes to barrier, sir,” Navigation reported. She glanced at Helm’s data stream. “Course laid in and locked.”

“Very well, Nav,” the captain acknowledged. “Take us to Libra.”

The silence stretched out until Nav began the final countdown. “Ten, nine, eight...” On the mark, the screens traded their view of the universe for the swirling, grey emptiness of otherspace for a few seconds before helm shut them down. “Translation complete,” Nav reported. “Two hours, fifty-three minutes to breakout.”

Simon turned to his guests. “Well, gentlemen, the hard part’s over.” He stopped speaking at the look on the Shiravan captain’s face. The guy is scared to death! he thought. “What is troubling your captain, Ambassador?”

The aliens spoke together quietly for a moment, and the fear drained out of the Shiravan’s face to be replaced with… resignation. “It has been so long that the rule of not using this level of space travel inside a solar system has been in place that no captain would think of ordering it. Neither of us considered the possibility that you would do so.”

The alien captain spoke again, Rentec handling the translation. “Do you travel like this often?”

Simon’s mouth quirked up at the ends. “As a matter of fact, it has become standard practice. Doctor Barnes said it herself: we didn’t get the operator’s manual. We had nobody to tell us it couldn’t be done, so we went and did it. And it’s so much quicker than the other method. Besides, we couldn’t have done as much as we have in defense of our world without this trick. Don’t the Korvils know about this either?”

“I would say they know about it now, if any ship has escaped with the information,” Rentec answered.

“You have made changes to the engines, haven’t you?” the Shiravan captain asked through Rentec. “I would like to see how you have changed the design. And I am interested in seeing what you have done with the parda kellin, the small fighters.”

“We’ve changed far more than just the engines, Captain,” Simon said proudly after the translation. “I think we’ve found some applications for your technology that will surprise you. Sometimes it just takes a different perspective. I’d be happy to give you the grand tour. But first, we should consider getting the repairs to your ships underway. And you’ve got two of our fighters to tear apart and examine. But we can discuss those things another time.”

While the Terrans were aware of the problems with positional accuracy inherent in the drives of their ships, the distance was relatively short—just over three billion miles—so the margin of error was considerably less. The Rigel’s navigator dropped the ship back into normal space above Libra Base, well outside the plane the asteroids traveled.

In the twenty-four hours it took for the damaged ships to arrive, the Galileo docked with the Alliance base, and Simon was able to get the base commander up to speed on the next order of business—preparing for the arrival of the two alien destroyers. Pulling the specs out of the computer, Viktor McCord, Captain of Libra Base, set up the parameters necessary for the repairs to begin.

“You have done much with the technology, Captain McCord,” Rentec said as he watched the process. “I am not very well acquainted with how these bases are operated, but I think that if the circumstances were reversed, we would be unlikely to have made as much progress as you have.”

“Well, I guess you could say that we had a greater incentive than you folks did,” Simon responded. “You developed the technology over who knows how many years and without much in the way of... innovation, if you will forgive me. We’ve been pressured from the very start, first by our own people and then by these Korvil folks. We had to produce quickly.”

The Shiravans continued to get additional surprises as they awaited the arrival of their ships. A trip to the lower levels gave them some insight into one form of human recreation that amazed them. “We would not think of turning off the gravity matrix,” Rentec translated for the Esmit’s captain. “And you use the system to play games.” He flipped his head from one side to the other. “And you use weapons in your play. This I find very… disturbing.”

“Disturbing in what way, Captain?” Simon asked intently. “Disturbing that we turn off the gravity for fun or that we play with guns for fun? We consider both to be as much relaxation as training. And the guns are toned down. Even a direct hit on the eyes won’t do more than cause a person to be blinded for a moment or two—about the same as walking from a dark room into bright light.”

“I find the practice disquieting as well,” Rentec said, his English improving at a phenomenal rate. “I recognize the necessity, but it is not something Shiravans would ever consider.”

“Well, Ambassador, we humans have found out that if you disguise training as play, you tend to get a lot more accomplished,” he said, defending the practice. “As a matter of fact, I think that throughout history—our history, that is—humans have gone to great lengths to make work of all kinds more interesting by adding an element of fun to things. Here, we are doing no more than letting our people relax from their daily chores. The fact is that it bears directly on space combat and hand-to-hand fighting. Do we point this out and take all of the fun out of it? I think not, knowing how our minds work. Suppose a ship loses its gravity? Would you have your crew unable to perform their duties because of the disorientation from suddenly having to cope with zero-G? How about their ability to fight effectively when they can’t even navigate their own familiar corridors without the benefit of gravity?”

Simon and Robert let Rentec and the alien captain finish their conversation as they guided the aliens, leaving Carter to translate as best he could. They led their guests through the forward partition and into the huge middle room. “This area we call the Projects Deck,” Robert said. “It is where all of our R&D boys and girls put their little inventions together. Then, we can slide them out of the ship and tow them safely away for field testing.”

Simon left the group and spoke to the flight operations officer quietly for a minute before making his way back. “I have another surprise for you, Mr. Ambassador,” he announced. “I think we’ve made better use of some of your technology than you might expect. We found your… we call them capture fields… to be most effective for picking up asteroidal material and bringing it to the converter. We think that some industrious soul was told to figure out how to do that, and he or she did just that and no more. We experimented with it and found that these capture fields serve as a very effective shield against meteors and most projectile-type weapons, as well as reinforcing the walls of the bases and ships whenever necessary. In some cases, it is even possible to do without the metal walls altogether. It was all a matter of figuring out how to get enough power to the shields and learning how to manipulate them.”

At a signal from Simon, the operations officer activated the field and opened the outer walls as if they were going to move a piece of equipment out of the deck and into space. The expressions on the two alien’s faces were becoming more readable by the moment. Total shock was evident on both as they gazed into the infinite depths of space, separated from it by the merest electronically generated field. “We’ve also adapted the same field to another use,” Simon said offhandedly. With another wave, a Mamba that had been left sitting on the hangar deck for this particular demonstration was lifted by one of the internal fields and moved across the expanse of the hangar, setting down beside the group.

Simon walked over to the grounded fighter and climbed up to the open cockpit. “Those fields were not in evidence aboard the Galileo when we found her,” he said, looking back down at his guests. “Some of our technicians figured out how to adapt them to interior use. Makes it a lot easier to move things around inside, don’t you think?” He motioned for a waiting crewman to bring a rolling ladder for the others to use. “Captain do’ Sirkis, you said that you wanted to get a closer look at one of our fighters. We call this a Mamba. It’s named after a very poisonous reptile on our world, one for which most people have a very healthy respect. It’s modeled after the fighters we found on the ship. Most of the modifications are to make it more comfortable for the human pilot, but we did make the engines more powerful and enhance the gravity-sump. We also added forward shields to protect the vessel from front impacts. Sorry, we have to make up our own words for all the new toys we’ve acquired. Anyway, our pilots are able to accelerate harder, faster, and longer than yours, I’ll bet. Makes for a more agile ship, too.”

The Shiravan captain looked into the cockpit of the fighter, taking in the differences and making allowances for the smaller frames of the human pilots. “Different controls. What for?” he asked through Rentec.

Simon looked at Robert before answering. “Stronger engines and shields, and bigger grav-sump all require a different level of monitoring for humans. I must say that the neural connections in the helmets and bodysuits gave us some trouble at first. We’re not as apt to trust a computer for things that we can monitor for ourselves.”

Captain do’ Sirkis walked around the lethal-looking ship. “Bigger, certainly,” he said to Rentec in Shiravan. “One wonders what they’ve done to the weaponry since they’ve modified so many other things.” He stopped at an access panel to the engine housing. Tapping on the panel, he got Simon’s attention and cocked his head to one side.

“Apparently, the captain would like to get a closer look at the engines, Admiral,” Rentec noted. “I believe that, as a youth, he would have been among the ones who were fascinated with over-powered hover cars. Now, he has a chance to see how someone else does it.”

Simon waved an okay to the curious captain and continued talking with Rentec. “My people tell me they have already begun repairs on the most critical of your ships, Mr. Ambassador. Two weeks—three at the outside—will see both of them back in shape. In the meantime, we should probably head for Earth and meet the Herald. It is what you came to do, after all.”

“Right now isn’t the best time to be an Alliance member on Earth,” Kitty said when Simon called her Zurich office from orbit. “World opinion, led by the United States, isn’t giving us much of a break. I’ve recalled most of our people to active duty. The few who didn’t want to crowd into the two embassies are aboard the Galileo, and I’ll bet almost anything you want to name that they’ll be eager to move upstairs very soon.”

“I’m more concerned with your safety, hon,” Simon replied. “Shouldn’t you be aboard as well?”

The image of Kitty shook her head in Simon’s viewscreen. “It wouldn’t serve any good purpose, Simon, and it would just lower confidence in our people at this time. So far, I’m fine. Don’t forget, I’m in Switzerland. They’re famous for their neutrality. And I have the added bonus of being Freddie’s guest. He, by the way, along with a whole battery of lawyers, is moving heaven and Earth to get things settled down. Most of the rhetoric is just smoke anyway. Things are being said like, ‘You should never have taken possession of the ship in the first place.’ Another one is, ‘The United States takes the position that you aren’t qualified to handle either the equipment or the situation.’ And my personal favorite, ‘We are aware of the imminent arrival of a representative of an alien race in Earth orbit. Negotiating with a possible enemy of the human race unilaterally is not an acceptable course of action. We insist on the right to have a representative on hand to greet the alien and assess the situation first-hand.’”

Simon looked at Kitty closely. “Why is that your favorite?”

“Well, it’s the most pompous. And they’re the ones who supported us the most,” Kitty answered. “We gave them almost everything they asked for, and they go and lead the world in crying for our blood.”

Simon shook his head. “We sold them almost everything they wanted. What they couldn’t buy, they couldn’t get, and that pisses them off to no end.” He hesitated for a moment and added, “But that’s not what I get out of that last one. What I want to know is: when and how did they find out about our visitors?”

Kitty had started to speak over Simon but stopped as the implication struck home. “We’ve got a leak?”

“Not just a leak,” Simon noted. “This was deliberate. We have a snitch. And if it’s someone who took a loyalty oath, I consider it treason.”

Kitty had glanced away from the screen but jerked her attention back. “Treason! Simon, we can’t do that! I mean the penalty is... I don’t know what the penalty is, but we can’t!”

“Relax, hon,” Simon raised his hands at the screen in a protective gesture. “The penalty for treason doesn’t have to be death. We haven’t had to deal with the situation before, but I should have figured it would happen. We did figure it, in fact.” He thought for a minute and then said, “No lives have been lost due to the leak, so simple expulsion would suit me… if we can figure out who our problem child is.”

Simon, Robert, and the two aliens stood on the Galileo’s bridge, awaiting the arrival of the Shiravan ship Esmit do Caryl. The captain of the Esmit had attempted the same jump maneuver the Rigel used to get to Earth orbit but caution had apparently played too large a role in his calculations. The Esmit glowed in the holodisplay just outside the moon’s orbit, while most ships had a standard jump program that put them at fifty thousand miles above the surface. Then, the relatively short jump dropped down to assigned parking in geo-synchronous orbit at twenty-two thousand miles and a fraction.

“Maintain station beside the Dalgor Kreth,” Rentec told the Esmit’s captain. “Doma kep Parrasine and I will go to the surface and speak with the leader of their Alliance. Our trip may be for an extended time, so one of us will keep in touch with you on a regular schedule.”

The four beings walked into the Galileo’s transporter room. Maratai looked around slowly. “It doesn’t appear that you have made many changes on this vessel, Admiral Hawke. Why is that?”

“Well, Doma kep Parrasine,” Simon responded, “this is the fount of all knowledge, so to speak.” He waved his hand in an expansive gesture. “We didn’t want to mess with it too much and maybe lose more of it, like we did the memory in the computer. Essentially, all we did was to change things to make them more comfortable for humans—lower the tables and chairs, add short platforms in front of consoles, that sort of thing. The major changes were incorporated into the new vessels we built.”

“I would still like to see the engine room aboard your Rigel,” Rentec said. “And I am sure that Captain do’ Sirkis would like to accompany us on that tour as well.” He glanced at the controls for the transporter and said, “I am full of surprise at how you were able to reprogram the computer to accept your language. It is my understanding that it is not a small accomplishment.”

Simon smiled knowingly. “I’ve been given that same impression myself. I think that since Doctor Barnes felt responsible for the problem in the first place, she worked harder at getting things squared away than she might have otherwise. Sometimes, embarrassment is as much of an enticement to greater achievements as anything else. But in actual fact, when we got the ship, it already had every Earth language in its database. I believe it was the last survivor who managed to get your computer to do the translations.”

“You may be right, Admiral,” Rentec said, nodding his head in an entirely human gesture.

Simon entered the transporter, followed by the two aliens and Robert, and turned to the nervous technician manning the controls. “We’ll be beaming down to the Zurich embassy, Ensign. Set us up for the Herald’s outer office, please.” He turned back to Robert and the two visitors. “I had thought to take a shuttle down so you could get a better look at our world, but this isn’t the best time. Too many people are too upset at us for what they think is our fault.” He motioned the rest of the group to the hexagonal spaces on the floor.

Maratai walked over unhesitatingly, as if she had done this countless times before. “We are concerned, Admiral, with the fact that your Herald does not speak for all humans,” she said, taking her place on the appropriate spot. “On our world, we have had a single ruler for dozens of generations, and have a hard time thinking of any other system as… effective? Is that right?”

Robert spoke up. “That would be the right word to use, Doma. And we are surprised from time to time to find out that things work as well as they do with so many different groups advocating so many different goals. We are slowly heading toward a universal planetary government, but a lot of folks resist it, thinking they’ll lose their national identity. They don’t realize that real expansion into space will eventually require the concerted effort of the entire planet.”

Simon took his place on the last hex. “We can continue this conversation downside, I think. We’re expected soon,” he said. To the young ensign, he just nodded. Seconds later, when the columns of blue sparks had faded away, they were thousands of miles away.

Rentec’s awareness of his surroundings underwent the normal dislocation he always associated with beam travel. Seconds passed while he took in the new locale. Gravity was a bit higher than he was used to aboard the Esmit do’ Caryl, but nothing that he couldn’t handle with rest periods at opportune moments until he could get acclimated. The air was a trifle denser than he found comfortable and full of strange but not overly unpleasant odors. The room he materialized in was furnished with low-slung furniture indicative of the shorter stature of these humans and was occupied by one of the five humans present.

The seated human looked up from papers on her desk, and said, “Welcome to Alliance Headquarters, Zurich, Admiral. The Herald is expecting you. Go right in.” She didn’t seem to bat an eye at her first view of the two aliens.

Rentec thought, I would imagine a different reception had we arrived without an escort. Aloud he asked, “No more formality than this to get into the presence of your Herald? I imagined something more.”

Simon started across the room, gesturing to the others to follow. “We don’t stand on ceremony as much as some people might think, Mr. Ambassador. Our rank mostly serves to let each of us know who’s in charge in a particular situation. To those outside our organization… well, they’re used to pomp and ceremony, so we give it to them. Most people see what they want to, so we tend to reinforce some misconceptions for our own benefit. Besides, the Herald is my mate.”

Rentec only understood about two thirds of the words Simon spoke, but the inference was clear. “We, too, have certain things we do to make the actions between peoples go easier. Some make sense, and some are things we do because we have always done them so.”

“Like not changing your technology for hundreds of years just because it works as it is?” Robert asked as Simon reached the door to Kitty’s office. Rentec’s answer was cut short as Simon opened the door, stepped through, and ushered the group inside.

“Madam Herald,” Simon said formally, “I have the honor to present to you Ambassador Rentec do’ Verlas of the Shiravan people and his aide, Doma Maratai kep Parrasine.”

Kitty Hawke stepped around her desk and walked up to the two aliens as if she did this kind of thing every day. “Welcome to Earth, Mr. Ambassador,” she said looking up enough to hurt her neck. “I have imagined this day for many years now and am very happy to make your acquaintance.”

Rentec put his hand out in the human gesture and took her cooler one in his, shaking it carefully. “I, too, have thought about this moment for some time, Madam Herald, and am happy to meet you, as well.”

Kitty waved at a cozy setting of chairs and tables, two of which were noticeably higher than the others. “Would you care to sit down? I would offer you something to drink, but I’m afraid we don’t have anything you’d consider safe without a lab to test it first. Even our water could have harmful effects.”

The taller alien moved to the grouping of seats, saying, “I took the liberty of having my aide bring beverages with us in the event that we were to be here for a time, Madam Herald. It is my hope that you are not offended?”

Before Kitty could answer, Maratai noted, “You have chairs of Shiravan design. How is that?” She sat on one of the cushioned seats as if it was going to bite her.

“When I knew for sure that you were going to arrive,” Kitty said to Maratai, “I called the Galileo and had them make some chairs and a few other things from designs in the computer and send them down. My only worry was that you would bring more people along and I’d not have enough for everyone.” To the ambassador she said, “No, I am not offended at you bringing refreshments. Under the circumstances, I would have done the same in your place.”

The five beings settled themselves into the chairs, situated so that the aliens had a view out the picture window at the massive mountain range looming over the embassy. Kitty noticed Maratai’s attention riveted on the scene. “One of our more impressive mountain ranges, I believe. I consider myself lucky to have that to look at. The place I grew up is more flat than anything else.”

“I think your mountains are bigger than any we have on Shiravi. I think our world is an older one than yours, but I am not sure,” Maratai said. “I have seen bigger on several worlds, but these have a…” she hesitated, looking for words in the strange language. “These have a bigness to them that I have not seen before.”

Kitty let the small talk go on for a few more minutes before she got the group focused on the reason for this first official meeting between the two races. “I’ve been told that you’re here as a representative of your ruler, Mr. Ambassador. I do not wish to appear too uninformed, but would you tell me in your own words just what your mission is?”

“Doma kep Parrasine and I were sent,” Rentec started, “to find out if humans could become partners in our fight against the Korvils. That is the main thing we have been asked to do, after returning Dom Carter and Doma Spencer to you, of course. Our other goals are to assess your ability to assist us and help where we can.”

Kitty leaned back in her chair and looked up at the tall, red alien. “I see,” she said. “I know you’ve seen our ships in action against some of these Korvils and have been allowed to tour one of our bases. You also got to see how we’ve adapted some things, sometimes drastically. Are you willing to share with us some of your feelings now that you have had time to think about what you’ve seen?”

“We feel, Madam Herald,” Rentec said, having trouble taking his eyes from the diminutive human with the amazingly white hair and disconcerting blue eyes, “that humans have the capacity to help us greatly in our fight to rid ourselves of this problem. Even though we have faced the Korvils for some two hundred and fifty of your years, we have not been able to do much to stop their raids on our space and peoples. Not until recently have we even done so much as find one of their bases. We have only been able to destroy a handful of their ships, and that only if they happen to attack while a sufficiently large force of ours is in the vicinity. And our win/loss ratio is becoming unacceptable.”

Kitty nodded. “I see your point, Mr. Ambassador. We’d be grateful for any assistance you could give us as we prepare a larger effort to defend ourselves, but just how can we help you? You’ve been dealing with this problem for far longer than we have. How can we help as advanced a race as yours?”

Rentec looked to Maratai, who leaned forward, placed her hands together in her lap and, with an expression that Kitty read as uncomfortable, began to speak. “One of the things we were to do was find out what we can about your culture. We had only Dom Carter and Doma Spencer to go by, and they said that they were only—I use Dom Carter’s words—just plain folks and not informed as to what you or other leaders might do or say when we arrived. We are happy to see that your Alliance is headed by a female, as that is how our culture is run, but we are troubled by the fact that you are a small part of your race and that the rest is so splintered. I wish Dom Carter could be here to help with this talk, but I am happy that he was able to go and reassure his family that he is still alive. We will have to make do with the words we have.”

Rentec took the reins back. “Another thing we are to do is find out how much you have done with what you call the Galileo. We know that you have only had the ship for a handful of your years, and we thought that you would have done very little with it, even knowing what Dom Carter has told us of your plans. He and Doma Spencer were not high in your Alliance, so they weren’t aware of your future plans.”

“Which changed drastically,” Simon interjected, “right after the attack that they got captured in. We began a massive recruitment and building campaign immediately afterward.”

“As we would have in your place, I believe,” Rentec said. “We are amazed at the amount of progress you have made in so short a time. To speak the truth here, we are also somewhat worried about the same thing. We believe that the Korvils—they called themselves something else long ago—stole a ship from us. It happens that a ship will not come back, from time to time. This is the nature of life in space, unfortunately, but in this case, some four hundred years ago by our reckoning, the Korvils must have come into possession of a ship, either the same way you did or by finding and killing the crew of a ship. We feel this to be the case because the ships they used when we first met them were almost identical to ours. Unfortunately, they do not have the same values we do. From that point, they used the ship they copied to expand their empire. We became aware of their existence when they started raiding our planets. At first, we tried to talk to them. They never spoke but merely began systematic attacks against us wherever our spatial borders met.”

“So, you feel threatened by us for what we’ve done with your ship?” Simon asked.

“Not threatened,” Rentec corrected. “At this time, we are happy to find another race we can speak to and possibly work with on friendly terms. We do worry about the future since the Korvils are the only other race we have met.”

“It would be nice,” Maratai added, “if humanity were to become our partners in wiping out this menace to our way of life.”

“But you still feel threatened by us,” Simon prodded.

Kitty raised her hand, stopping Simon from continuing. “Let me try, dear.” She turned to the two aliens sitting stiffly in the over-sized chairs. “I think you see the similarities between us and the Korvils, don’t you? The ability to take your technology and duplicate it for our own use, our lack of a unified government, our racial immaturity. These are the things you find that do not make you happy. I think it’s time for you to know the whole story about us—as a race, how we came by your ship, and how we’ve arrived at this point. First, though, we should have those refreshments.”

After glasses had been brought in by an aide and everyone was again comfortable, Kitty started. “I’m not an expert by a long shot, but most people know enough about the beginnings of the human race that they can speak reasonably knowledgeably about it. There are actually two differing stories—one scientific and one religious. I’ll leave the religious for another time. Our planet is about four billion years old, our scientists think…”

An hour later, with the help of Simon and Robert, Kitty summed up the situation. “Yes, we quarrel among ourselves. We fight each other and kill each other for a variety of reasons, some of which can be defended but not very well. We were in the process of growing into space—or we were until your ship came along and let us make a leap that would have taken hundreds of years. I’m afraid of what would have happened if we hadn’t found that ship. The Korvils came anyway. They would probably have turned us into a hunting preserve or something, and that would have been the end of humanity, in the end. But they found us with the ability to defend ourselves instead. What would we have done against them if we hadn’t possessed the technology we do—a question I’m glad we don’t have to answer. Are we ready for this great step? I have no real answer except to say that some of us are but not all. Can we help you? Certainly, we can. It’s how much help we can give and what kind of help that are the main questions. And one of your bigger worries—a female in charge. We have one now, but at one time it was a male,” she said, nodding at Simon, “and under our system, it will be again at some time. We don’t have anything preventing it. We believe too strongly in what we call equality of the sexes.”

“We believe as well that it takes both male and female in balance to make a unified, productive, rational race,” Maratai said, her feelings eased somewhat by the history the humans had just revealed. They were as war-like as the Korvils, to be sure, but moderated by a sense of right and wrong that she felt in her soul. And they even spoke of a higher power! “We have come to believe in the moderating influence of the female spirit in our race. It lends itself, we believe, to a greater balance and greater sense of right and wrong as you say.”

Earth’s first official meeting with the Shiravan lasted well into the evening, exploring ideas and possibilities until all the participants were too tired to think straight. Kitty finally called a halt to the session, saying, “I think we have enough information to keep our minds busy for days to come, Mr. Ambassador. And while I agree that we need to do something together to end this menace to both our races, I think it would be wise to include some of the other leaders of our world in the discussions. Perhaps we could get together again in a few days?”

Rentec nodded his head, disconcerting his hosts with the humanness of the gesture. “I agree as well, Madam Herald. But if I may, Doma kep Parrasine has a question she has wanted an answer to since she first heard about the situation.” The ambassador continued to refine his use of the English language, and the improvement was apparent even near the end of this first meeting.

Kitty nodded to the ambassador and turned her attention to the other alien. “If there is anything I can do, I will certainly do so, Doma kep Parrasine.”

Maratai was beginning to feel the effects of the slightly higher gravity. Even so, she wasn’t going to pass up this opportunity. “Ever since we heard that you have a recording of one of our people in the computer of the Dalgor Kreth, I have been eager to hear it. Is it possible to hear that at this time?”

Kitty nodded her head slightly, lips pursed. “I think that can be arranged. We’ve been anxious to find out what it says, too.” She walked to the desk and pressed a button. “Diana, can you find the file from the Galileo marked unknown alien speech, please, and transfer it to my office?” Moments later a light blinked on her terminal, indicating the arrival of the requested information.

This was a file she had accessed so many times that she knew the alien sounds almost by heart. She didn’t understand any of it, of course, but she knew the sounds. “I’m convinced,” she said, spinning the monitor around so the others could see, “that this is the person my husband and I saw the day this all started. Please, move your chairs closer if you’d like.”

“Most definitely a Shiravan,” Rentec said as he examined the image frozen on the screen.

“And recorded on board the Dalgor Kreth,” Maratai noted. “It appears to be one of the personal rooms, but I can’t tell which. It appears that all of the furniture and decorations have been removed from the walls.”

“That’s how we found her, Doma,” Simon interjected quickly, “with not one personal item to be found.” He deliberately omitted finding the pendant. Just why, he couldn’t say. A quick glance in Kitty’s direction let him see her hand twitch slightly toward her neck, then drop back to her lap. “It wasn’t until about a year ago that we discovered this recording after a computer problem. We believed it was a member of the race that built the ship, and it’s nice to have our guesses proven true. Our hope is that we’ll find out something useful about how our world was chosen by whoever that is,” he said, nodding at the screen.

Rentec settled back and folded his arms across his chest. “We will do our best to translate for you, Madam Herald. I can think of no reason that you cannot hear what is said. Besides, you have Dom Carter to verify our words if you think we lie.”

“Mr. Ambassador!” Kitty said, looking at Simon and Robert. “What have we done to make you think we wouldn’t believe you?”

Maratai looked at the two human men. “When we awaited the arrival of Admiral Hawke, we were left alone for a time, but were kept under guard so that we might not explore the ship or speak to any of your crew. We find this to be a sign that you do not trust us.”

Robert flushed to his collar. “Wait a minute! I didn’t put you under guard. I was only trying to allow you some time to yourselves without being interrupted. You could certainly have gone anywhere you wished. But I was going to be right back with the admiral.”

“And haven’t you been shown everything you’ve asked to see since then, Doma?” Simon asked. “And been allowed to speak to anyone you wanted?” He turned to Kitty. “Not once have we done anything that wasn’t for the good of our visitors, much less insult them.”

“Let’s not let things get out of hand here, people,” Kitty said placatingly. “It could be something as simple as a culture clash. Mr. Ambassador, Admiral Hawke is under my orders when he’s acting in his capacity as an admiral, but at all times, he is my husband. He’s aware of what I will do to him if he makes a mistake on this matter. And Captain Greene is one of our most trusted officers. I’m equally sure that nothing he did was meant to cause insult. I would hate to have a possible alliance between our two races fall apart before it even got a chance to start.”

Maratai looked at Rentec before speaking. “I would not like that either, nor would the Matriarch. I think we treated Dom Carter in much the same way at first to protect him from those who needed to see to believe. I should have not been so quick to speak.”

Relief flooded through Kitty’s body. “Thank you, Doma kep Parrasine. Now, if you’d like to see the recording?” When the two aliens nodded, Kitty hit a key on her console and the image came to life. Even though the humans had seen this same video many times, it was the first for the alien members of the conference, and they sat transfixed.

“Se el Trajo Kuria. Pela ben kala es Derol Kuria dep Gerra Kindara. Dumal subara set es kimro sparadimo ni apara torbinasa.”

Rentec waved his hand and Kitty hit the pause button. “This says he is Trajo Kuria, son of Kala and Derol. He is from the Kindara region of our world, which is not far from the Stala Mountains where our Matriarch has her private residence. He also says that he is—was—a junior computer technician and the captain’s shuttle pilot. Please go on.”

This time, when Kitty resumed the replay, Rentec spoke over the sound, providing a running translation. “And this is my confession. I freely give up my honor, for I am guilty of the deaths of all aboard—not by my hand alone, but under the guidance of Isolationists, the same Isolationists who wanted to see this mission fail and told me that the explosives built into the ship when it was constructed were meant to cripple it and make it return to Shiravi. I was told that the Expansionists would see how deeply we had penetrated their regime and stop their expansion into Korvil space. I was lied to. The explosives were there, but just enough to rupture several containers of a deadly sickness.”

Rentec raised his hand. “Please. Stop the recording.” He took a drink from the tall, thin, wine glass, and stared at it for a moment. After a few seconds he looked first at Maratai and then the humans, and said, “I am at odds to explain why I can appreciate the gracefulness of this,” he said, indicating the glass, “when I have just heard of the deliberate destruction of an entire crew. I knew some of those people. I was personal friends with the captain. He was the first male to command such a large vessel in our program to return our males to the workforce. Now I must tell his lifemate.”

Kitty felt as if she were intruding on a private moment. She glanced at Simon and inclined her head at the door slightly, eyebrows raised. When he just shrugged, she said, “Mr. Ambassador, if you wish, we can leave you to listen to the rest of this in private.”

Rentec sat up straighter in his chair. “No, Madam Herald. I’m sure the worst is past. The rest will be just details. Please, continue.”

The recording continued, and so did the strained voice of Rentec. “I have had many nights and days to consider my situation and how I came to be here. I believe that I was used. This does not lessen my guilt, but perhaps it may explain it. I always believed in the Isolationist ideal, but when I was chosen from university to work on the new computers, I jumped at the chance to learn more about my profession. It would be a great thing to say to potential future employers.

“I was approached several times by a dockworker named Kinna Feras, but not until I met Rami did I begin to go to the meetings he had invited me to. It was at her urging, I now see, that I finally agreed to go. As our feelings for each other grew, so, it seemed, did her hatred for the Expansionist ways. When I was chosen for the next crew, I would have refused to go out of love for her. It was she who said that I could help the cause by damaging the ship from within, for explosives had been planted while the ship was being built, supplied, and inspected.

“It was she who convinced me, but it was still I who input the codes that started the Isolationist plan into action. Half a turning, they said. Half a turning into the flight, I was to send the codes to the explosives, and then the ship would have to return home. Only one turning would I be away from my beautiful wife. Yes, wife. We were married in a small place of worship in the Dukara Mountains overlooking the spaceport at Quillas.” This was the point in the recording where Kitty had always felt that the being speaking was distraught. It would seem that she’d been right. She heard Rentec’s voice falter and Maratai’s sharp intake of breath.

“She gave me her family crest,” the narration continued. “I could add kep to our family name. I was so proud that such a one as she would bestow such an honor on one of my birth.” Resignation crept into Rentec’s voice, matching the tremors in the recorded speech. “We, the captain and I, were outside the ship and managed to survive the infection. When the last crew were dead, we evacuated the air from the ship using pod suits and removed all the bodies and personal possessions, committing them to the Spirits of Space. Their names are twice recorded in the ship’s journal. Then... then,” the voice faltered and stopped for a few seconds. “The captain fell victim to the death, and I was alone. I searched for home after the captain died, but it was no use. While we were outside, someone removed all navigational data from the computer so we couldn’t take a death ship back to Shiravi. But they needed to know, so I tried.

“Instead, I found this new world, inhabited by an intelligent race. Satellites in orbit say they are almost ready to step beyond their world. I give this ship to them in hopes that they can help topple the Isolationists that killed me, for I find that I now have the plague as well. I will take a shuttle to the surface and try to find someone to give our knowledge to. If not, the ship will stay in orbit until they can find it and enter it on their own. I will evacuate all the air to sterilize the ship one more time. A recall signal will restore the air, or a ship approaching will do the same.

“To all who hear this, know that no one was meant to die—not by my hand. Know also that the people of Shiravi are a good and kind race. Know as well that there are those amongst us who, while they are good and kind also, will do whatever they think necessary to forward their particular cause. Be it Isolationist or Expansionist, there are extremists on both sides.” The figure on the screen broke out in a fit of coughing that left him visibly weakened. “All that I have said here, I have written down and placed, with additional proofs, with the ship’s log. I go now to my fate. May the Spirits of Space forgive me, for I know no one else will.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Tears rolled down Kitty’s face while both Simon and Robert looked uncomfortable. Rentec took several breaths before he spoke. “I would find this journal as soon as possible. Whatever information it contains that you can use is yours, but the journal itself must be turned over to the Matriarch as soon as possible.”

Simon looked at the humans present. “One of our standing orders is to bring anything like a journal or personal possessions to the attention of any officer so it can get to us for analysis. No record has been turned in. Where would something like that be kept?” This last was directed at the two aliens.

Rentec shook his head, adopting the human gesture for the time being. “I would not know, as I was never involved in the day-to-day functioning of any of the ships. The one to ask would be Captain do’ Sirkis. But I can tell you why no personal things have been found. It is one of the customs of our people to take all of the things a person has gathered in their life and bury it with the remains. It was thought long ago that it would ease the journey to the next level of existence. Now, although we no longer believe that, it is a custom that continues. Also, anything that might hold the frenda vesh must be destroyed.”

When contacted, do’ Sirkis said, “There is a secure document safe in the captain’s cabin, but the most likely place to find it would be in the side panels of the command chair. Most captains keep their logbooks there for easier access.”

Simon shrugged at Robert. “As many times as I’ve sat in that chair, I had no idea there were hiding places in it.” To the image coming from the Shiravan flagship he asked, “How do we open these panels, Captain?”

“Beneath the chair arms are two depressions easily reached by the fingers of either hand. The usual method is to press the rear one once, the forward one twice, and the rear one once again. This should open the compartment.”

An hour later, the five beings were sitting around a small pile of material found just where the Esmit’s captain said it would be. Rentec and Maratai pored over the heavy journal, commenting in Shiravan at times. The two aliens read the final pages in the journal and came to a separate packet. Opening it, they began to peruse the sheaf of documents inside until Rentec sat back in his chair, one hand loosely holding one of the papers. Every bone had been removed from his body, it seemed, and every emotion drained from him, he sat so still. It took a moment for his despondence to register with the rest of the people in the room.

Kitty touched Maratai on the arm as she read more of the hand-written notes inside the packet. When she looked in the indicated direction, Maratai put down the paper she had been reading. “Dom do’ Verlas, Mr. Ambassador, what troubles you?”

Saying nothing, he handed the paper to Maratai. Her eyes flew across the document line by line, and she said, “It appears to be a marriage document between one Trajo Kuria and… and… Mr. Ambassador! Se el kuvai. I’m so sorry,” she added in English.

Kitty asked, “What is so bad, Doma?”

“What?” Simon asked at the same time.

“This document,” Maratai said, “says that our young man who was led astray by his feelings for a female was indeed married in a small chapel in the Dukara Mountains. It names both parties and their affiliations back three generations. It appears that the names here are legitimate, but one of them is of great concern to us. Trajo, we can discount as perhaps one who was used as he said. But the other—that is a problem.” She turned to the gloomy-visaged representative. “Should I tell them, Dom?”

“I will tell them, Doma,” Rentec said heavily. He sat up straighter in his chair and took the paper back from Maratai. “The second name on the document is the same as that of my lifemate, Ramannie kep Gillas. But it must be a mistake. How could this be? Proof must be gathered before I will believe this!”

“What would it take to make you believe this Trajo, Ambassador?” Simon asked.

“Every female, when she comes of age,” Maratai said, halting over having to turn Shiravan into English, “is given a…” she hesitated for a few seconds, her eyes roving across Kitty’s desk until she saw a pen. “May I use your writing instrument and something to draw on?” Kitty nodded and slid the pen across the desk with one hand, reaching into her desk for a legal pad.

Maratai fumbled with the unfamiliar pen until she made it fit her longer fingers. Simon, sitting beside her, watched as she drew a circle on the paper and began to fill it in with strange symbols and designs. “If Trajo truly mated with Ramannie,” she said, her voice choking on the name, “then he should have had a symbol like this with him. It would be too important to allow it to be lost. There are also bad spirits,” the red woman’s voice cracked again, “associated with the loss or destruction of a bond symbol.”

Simon watched with interest as the woman drew, feeling a strange tightening in his chest as she continued her drawing. When she finished, Maratai sat back in her chair, as drained as Rentec.

Simon picked up the drawing and stared at it for a moment. “Kitty, I think you should show your necklace to the Ambassador.” He handed over the pad without another word and sat back in his chair.

Kitty took a long look at the drawing and pulled the necklace Simon had found in the little fighter craft during his early examination of the ship out from under her blouse, sliding the chain over her head, and hesitantly handed it to the Ambassador.

“It would seem that our Trajo has provided even that, Dom,” Maratai said quietly, instantly recognizing the medallion for what it was.

Rentec’s hand trembled as he took the solid disk and looked at it. “The kep Gillas crest, for sure,” he said. Turning it over, he peered closely at the back. “To our daughter Ramannie on her twenty-fifth turning,” he read. “This,” he said to the humans present, “is given to a female on her ascension to full adulthood. Giving it to a male seals her decision to mate with that male. I had assumed it was because my family status was already higher than hers that she had never offered it to me, although she said it was because it had gotten left behind in one of her moves.”

Kitty looked at the ambassador, sorrow for his plight coloring her emotions, but when she looked at the female, conflicting thoughts ran through her mind. Recognizing that the ambassador needed time to sort out this strange turn of events, she said, “Perhaps we should end this meeting for now. I’m sure that you both are as tired as we are after all this.”

“That would be best, I think,” Maratai said, looking at the slumped figure of the Shiravan ambassador. “Nothing more will be gained this day. How will we get back?”

“I see that you’re both wearing wristbands like the ones we wear,” Kitty said. “And you have already been through the beam process once, so you’re registered with the computer. I’ll personally escort you to the Galileo, and you can transfer to your own ship. I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable there.”

“I’m glad you’re still here,” Kitty said when she returned to her office. Simon and Robert seemed not to have moved from their chairs except for the refilled glasses sitting in front of them.

Simon snagged a beer from the mini-fridge and set it down on the table in front of her. “Your day is over. Now it’s time to digest what we have here. There’s more going on there than we can see, for sure. The ambassador took a hell of a hit just now, I know. It’s a long way to travel to find out that his woman isn’t the person he thought she was.”

“But the woman—Maratai is her name?” Kitty asked. Simon and Robert nodded. “If she were human, I’d say she has feelings for the ambassador. It looks to me like we have a lot of similarities between our two races.”

She took a long pull on the beer, made a face, and set the bottle down. “I still don’t know all that happened to me in that chamber, but I do know that I seem to have lost my taste for this stuff. Maybe I’ll just switch to tea.” She leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms and legs, and asked, “Okay, guys, what do you think we should do?”

“Why are you asking us? You’re running the show now,” Simon pointed out.

“I am, indeed, and what I say will go,” Kitty retorted, “until people stop doing what I tell them; then I’ll quit. But I have a cabinet now, with people to advise me, and I’m going to take full advantage of that. You’re my Secretary of War, Simon, and you Robert, represent your ship’s crew. I want to know what you think we should do. Trust me, yours aren’t the only opinions I’ll be asking for.”

“Well, I can only speak for myself right now,” Robert said. “Until my people are in the loop on this, I won’t have any idea what they think. My feeling is that we should keep on the way we have so far—looking into the possibility of an alliance with the Shiravans. And if things go as they have, in about a year and a half or two, maybe, we’re going to have to face another attack by these Korvil guys. Each time the numbers and stakes have gone up, so what can we expect next time? Both of these races have been in space a lot longer than we have, and they have a numerical advantage, but I think we have a technical advantage. Look what we’ve done with the Shiravan stuff we’ve had—upgraded it so much that we amazed the original owners. All we have of theirs right now is mechanical, to one degree or another. What about values, ideas, other branches of science? I say we need the Shiravans.”

Simon stood up and paced the floor for a moment. “I don’t know much about the ambassador and Doma kep Parrasine yet, but I already think of them as people.” Robert nodded vigorously in agreement. “There’s so much that they can teach us. Let’s start with simple things. What area do these Korvils claim? Just exactly where do these Shiravans call home, and what areas do they claim? We may already know more about them than they realize. For example, they have way more ships than we do. After all, they’re sending out two fleets of ten major ships each to find us, which takes them away from system defense for their homeworld and colony planets. And they must still feel relatively safe or they wouldn’t have released that many on speculation. On the other hand, even though they sent out that many ships, they still feel they need our help to defeat these Korvils.

“We know they have feelings and emotions just like we do, that they care about each other and put the safety of their race on a higher plane than personal survival. These are all evident from their actions and what we got from the ambassador’s translation. We know that they’re a stagnant and stratified society—”

“Hold it, Simon,” Kitty interjected. “How have you arrived at ‘stagnant and stratified’? And how will knowing this help us?”

“I don’t know that it will help to know this,” Simon said, walking over to the window and staring out at the slowly darkening sky, “but the old adage of ‘knowledge is power’ was never more important than right now. We are at the single most crucial event in human history.” He turned back to his wife and friend. Leaning back against the windowsill he continued, “I said stagnant because they’ve been in space for over four hundred years, and the ambassador said they’ve been doing things the same way for a long time. No change. Things that work don’t get upgraded to make them better—the old ‘if it works, don’t fix it’ syndrome. The ambassador and captain were amazed at what we’d done to their equipment. Never even thought of it. So, stagnant.”

Kitty nodded. “I’ll buy that line of reasoning. But what about stratified?”

“Now, that one is more of a guess than anything else.” He thought for a minute. “They refer to each other as Dom and Doma. Carter told us that’s a sign of deep respect. Did you notice that they never once referred to the guy in the video that way? Maybe it’s because they don’t respect a mass murderer, but I get the feeling it goes deeper than that. Also, they’re a matriarchy, which is probably why there was less tension in our meeting with them than there had been in some of our other interactions before now. It hadn’t been enough to comment on, and I really didn’t notice until we sat down with you. They’ve had a one-world government for so long now that I’d guess just thinking about how splintered our system is gives them the willies.”

“I think there’s more to the kep Parrasine woman than meets the eye,” Robert said when it became apparent that Simon had finished.

Kitty looked at Robert sharply. “I had the same feeling, Bob. What did you get out of the conversation?”

Robert shrugged one shoulder. “It’s not much. It’s just that she was introduced as the ambassador’s assistant. Plus, they’ve admitted to being a matriarchal society. It seems to me that she takes entirely too much initiative for an assistant. It could just be a quirk in their culture, but what else do we have to go on at the moment? If their society is stratified as Simon believes, then they’re from different yet equal levels. What did you see?”

“Well, I see things from a woman’s viewpoint,” Kitty said. “I think she has feelings for him—ones she can’t express because he’s committed to someone else. But that may have just changed. Her personal world is in just as much disarray as his. And these are personal matters they’re going to have to work out on their own. I just hope none of that will get in the way of why they came here in the first place.”

“So, how are we going to use all of this to our advantage?” Robert asked.

“Simple,” Kitty answered, taking a long pull on the beer and making a face. “I was right. This stuff tastes terrible now.” She set the bottle down and continued. “We’re going to throw a party. But that’s a matter for tomorrow. Right now, it’s getting late and I haven’t eaten yet. And since we’re both on Earth at the same time, husband…” The grin on Simon’s face assured his wife that his thoughts had paralleled hers in the matter.

“Well, Doma kep Parrasine,” Rentec said after they materialized in the comfortably ruddy light of the Esmit do Caryl’s shuttle bay, “it appears that we have walked through the thitura’s nest and emerged unharmed.”

Maratai matched him pace for pace as they made their way to the captain’s conference room. “Harm can come to a person in many ways, Dom do’ Verlas. It would seem that I fared somewhat better than you.” Her eyes flicked to the medallion he still carried in his hand.

Rentec looked down at the necklace, turning it over in his hand. “The finer details of the tragedy aboard the Dalgor Kreth will remain secret until I am ready to pass the story on to the Matriarch. I will accept responsibility for my involvement with Ramannie, either upon our return to Shiravi or when Policy Minister sel Garian arrives here with Second Fleet. I expect she’ll take over negotiations with the humans anyway.”

The pair arrived at the door to Captain do’ Sirkis’ conference room and entered to find the captain already there. “Well, Ambassador, it seems that you return intact. Did you find the Dalgor’s log?”

“We did, Captain,” Rentec confirmed, “and it appears that we have a greater Isolationist problem than anyone imagined. The crew was killed by the frenda vesh. During the construction of the Dalgor Kreth, Isolationist partisans managed to infiltrate the work details and plant vials of the plague to be released by an unwitting accomplice.”

“But the accomplice would die as well!” the captain interrupted. “Not even Isolationists would throw their lives away in that manner.”

“We have a video confession, Captain. In it, the traitor, one Trajo Kuria, claims to have been misguided about the level of threat. According to him, the ship was only supposed to be damaged enough to ensure its return to Shiravi before completing its mission. He was a pawn—a well-meaning one but a pawn just the same. He did manage to flush the ship of the virus, so there should be no chance of anyone aboard this ship becoming infected; however, we’ll follow quarantine protocols for the next ten work shifts. No one from this vessel will come into contact with anyone from any other ship in our fleet. The medical staff will begin testing immediately to determine if any spores have been brought aboard. Doma kep Parrasine and I will be the first to be tested, and you will be next. In the meantime, we should discuss our observations of the humans before things begin to blur in our minds.”

“I find them to be open and forthright,” Maratai said immediately. “My greatest concern is that the Alliance itself is such a small group. Will they be able to provide enough ships and personnel to assist us when needed? And how will the fact that the vast majority of the planet is not aligned with the Alliance affect their decisions?”

“Unfortunately, those questions will not have answers in the near future,” Rentec said. “I agree that they are a forthright people. It is also gratifying to know that their leader is female. It bodes well for negotiations with the Matriarch. I also note that the admiral is lifemated to the Herald. Such a close relationship between the topmost officials of the Alliance should provide for faster responses to most situations.”

The Captain of the Esmit had listened carefully to the opinions of Rentec and Maratai, waiting for them to finish before offering his own viewpoint. “I do not agree that they are as forthright as you both believe. And I worry greatly about their ability to manipulate the technology aboard the Dalgor Kreth.” When neither Rentec nor Maratai responded, he continued. “Forthright, in my opinion, means open. And I feel that the humans have not been totally open about their advances with our technology. By their own admission, they have only been in possession of the ship for a handful of turns, yet they have managed to build four bases and seventeen ships! Fourteen of those ships are Karda-class battlecruisers like this one, one is a transport, and two are a totally new configuration designed to carry fifty of their parda kellen each. They have strengthened our weapons and invented new uses for them like their shields. It is obvious that no single Shiravan ship could stand up to one of theirs unassisted. Worse still, their natural inclination to dominate could make them more of a problem than the Korvils. These things they have told us, even bragged about.” do’ Sirkis idly picked up a small statue that sat on his desk and rolled it around in his hands. “One thing they haven’t even mentioned once, however, is their advances in weapons technology. Their ships do not sustain as much damage as ours. That is related to these new shields, and those are only a reconfiguration of capture fields. They project what is in reality a repulsor field around the entire vessel, except the stern, for maneuverability. And they inflict considerably more damage to an opponent’s ships. Our analysis of the fight when we entered this system shows that they had lost fourteen of their Mambas but not one of their capital ships while destroying all of their enemy’s ships—enemies that concentrated their fire on those same ships. Those ships were destroyed in a third of the time we could have done the same job, and they lost only the fourteen parda kellen.”

“This can be explained by the strengthened shields alone, can it not?” Rentec asked.

“It is possible,” the captain answered, “but not likely. It was commented on by Admiral Hawke that we had the remains of two of their Mambas. He neglected to ask for their return. I have had my engineers going over them in detail. Heavier engines, on a class with long-range scout vessels, let them accelerate almost to jump speed. Stronger gravity-sumps allow them to withstand the higher accelerations and, consequently, perform abrupt maneuvers more easily. What worries me the most is the weapons we found in one of the Mambas. And that is my reason for saying they are not forthright. The torpedoes those ships carry are equipped with anti-matter warheads! A most ingenious device it is, too,” he added.

At Rentec’s blank look, the captain explained, “The fuel for a standard torpedo is a small anti-matter power cell, and the main body of the weapon is equipment designed to detect and lock onto enemy engine signatures plus explosives to destroy the enemy vessel. These people have added a second power cell on the front of the missile as well to replace the explosives. My engineers say that since the field generator for the power cell is at the front of the missile, it will destroy itself on impact, the field will vanish, and the anti-matter will blow a hole in the hull. But remember the power cell on the other end. It passes through the first hole, and when its generator is destroyed on an inner wall, it blows a hole deeper into the ship. So obvious now, but no one ever thought of it before.”

“It would appear that for all of our similarities,” Rentec noted, “the minds of these humans work in ways that we must strive to understand. This we already knew from our exposure to Doma Spencer and Dom Carter, but now we have an entire race that thinks the same way. How we deal with this problem could determine the fate of our entire race.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Simple wasn’t a word that even came close to describing the process of getting a party set up the way Kitty envisioned it. So, she called in the experts—Baron Freddie and Margit. It would take time for the various dignitaries she wanted to invite to arrange their schedules, even for such a momentous occasion. Especially for such an occasion. Smoothing the ruffled feathers of those same worthies took most of her time, along with the help of Baron and Baroness von Schlenker.

The guest list included representatives of every government on Earth. Even the United States would be represented but by one person only—Brandon Galway. Kitty knew it was petty, but she couldn’t help but thumb her nose at America at the moment. And considering the press this was going to draw, the slight wouldn’t go unremarked.

Freddie’s ballroom underwent a drastic make-over, debuting the new Alliance flag, thirty feet long by twenty high, hanging on the wall opposite the grand staircase. A midnight blue was background to a representation of Earth in blue and green centered with a small, stylized spaceship spiraled away from the planet, leaving a red trail behind it from its point of origin. Arched over Earth were the words ‘Terran Alliance’ in blocky silvery script and ‘Ad Astra,’ cradled the planet below. Kitty stood at the top of the grand staircase and gazed across the hall at the huge banner. Struck by the dichotomy of the ancient stone walls holding up the emblem of the future, she shivered. The hair rose at the nape of her neck as the weight of centuries yet to come settled more solidly onto her shoulders.

A week passed while various officials met quietly, if not exactly secretly, with Kitty and the two aliens. The purpose was to not overwhelm the aliens and to let them get used to interacting with a race that wasn’t out for their scalps. Stress was put on the idea that these representatives were here to help humanity in their fight against the enemy that now had a name: Korvil.

Kitty passed the information to Sarah Parker, the Alliance’s go-to journalist, that there were aliens on Earth, and they even allowed her to meet and speak with them for a few minutes. “There will be time for more later. I want you to have first shot at this, but I also want as much coverage of the party as we can get. That means that every reporter on the planet who can wrangle it will be here. Not to mention security. It’s going to be tighter than…” Kitty was at a loss for an allusion. “You get forty-eight hours lead time, kiddo. Make the most of it.”

Very little mention was made of the terrible losses Earth had suffered. Enough key officials in the major governments around the world had grown up with stars in their eyes, as well, and ungracefully accepted the keeping of the Galileo and her offspring in independent hands for the near future at the very least. Quiet talk was of another great step toward the realization of a one-world government. With the formation of the European Union, the world was quickly heading toward becoming a three-entity planet. The other two were the Pan-Asian group and the Pan-American Union. The smaller nations had to fall into one or another of the three or be left behind. There was even talk of the Alliance as an off-world branch that would be equal to, separate from, but ever connected to the Earth.

Kitty tried during the week between the first press release of the Shiravan’s arrival and the gala that would actually introduce them to humanity to prepare Rentec and Maratai for the reality of human reporters and paparazzi. She looked for and found movies showing celebrities being mobbed by reporters and said, “There will be security present to protect you, but this is what you will have to look forward to until we can get inside the hall to meet the invited guests.”

“Shiravans would never act in such a manner,” Maratai asserted with a shake of her head, staring at the television screen Kitty had moved into her office.

“Actually,” Rentec said, “I seem to remember a story about one of your own ancestors, Doma. Mondas kep Parrasine, I believe. He risked his life to prove the validity of his hypothesis that anti-matter was a viable power source. His return to Shiravi was met by thousands of demonstrators, both for and against the new technology. The Matriarch of the time named him a cultural treasure.”

“And he never recovered from the fame thrust upon him,” Maratai retorted, heatedly. “He died some turns later under circumstances that were never clearly explained to the kep Parrasine clan.”

Rentec tossed his head from side to side, a Shiravan shrug. “Even so, there are things in our own past that parallel this kind of display.” He looked closely at the television itself. “A most remarkable device, this television. We have something similar, but it is used only for direct conversations when the persons involved cannot be in the same room.”

“We can do the same and use it for information dispersal, as well,” Kitty said. “And entertainment as well as education, with special emphasis on entertainment. The scenes you have just witnessed are from a form of visual entertainment called movies—stories to amuse, accompanied by visual images. Definitely not scenes from real life, but close enough to give you a good picture of what you can expect from our people.”

“As entertainment, this perversion robs individuals of the need to exercise their imaginations,” Maratai said disparagingly.

Kitty gave the alien woman a calculating look and smiled approvingly. “Your English is improving, Doma. I congratulate you.”

Maratai lifted and dropped her shoulders in a human shrug. “I only follow Dom Carter’s advice to use a technique he called total immersion. I do not allow myself to hear the Shiravan language unless it is absolutely necessary. And I listen and try to relate a word to a meaning.”

“It appears to be working well for both of you,” Kitty said. “You speak much better than you did just a week ago.”

The night Kitty referred to as the ‘big event’ arrived all too swiftly for her taste. She felt as if things were totally out of her control, a train racing downhill with no brakes. She began to second-guess herself. The decision to arrive with her alien guests in front of all the cameras began to look like a bad idea. “We could just go in the back way and let the invited guests meet with them,” Kitty said to Simon as they dressed for the affair.

“It’s your decision, of course,” Simon said nonchalantly. He looked himself over in the full-length mirror attached to the inside of the closet door, brushing lint from his space-black uniform. “But you’ve already made the plans and informed the press. How will it look if you change things at the last minute?”

“It’s not for me,” Kitty said, pushing him aside to inspect herself. Her white dress was reminiscent of the uniform Lucy had worn to her first formal affair at Baron von Schlenker’s castle. “I just don’t want Rentec and Maratai to be any more distressed than they already are.” She turned one way and another, looking in the mirror. “I think I should have more than just one dress for occasions like this, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Simon said in agreement, allowing Kitty her little white lie. “But they seem to be ready for the ordeal. I did get him to wear something a little less... outstanding. Turquoise shading into pure purple, I’d say. He called it night wear. I think he meant evening wear. It’s kind of like a tux. Maratai seemed scandalized that he would appear at such a high-level function in what amounts to Shiravan casual wear.”

Two light beeps sounded from the armband on Simon’s wrist, and he glanced at the time. “Well, Madam Herald,” he said, bowing formally, “it seems that time for primping and preening is over. Shall we go start the dog-and-pony show?”

Kitty punched Simon on the arm. “Primping! Preening! Who was the last one dressed?”

“Who hogged the bathroom for almost an hour before I could get in there?” Simon said, retaliating. He stood beside her and looked into the mirror. “Hell of a contrast we make, I’d say.” He laughed quietly.

“What?”

A smile ghosted across his face. “Any other time, we’d stand out like sore thumbs, dressed like this. But tonight, we’re not going to get a second look after Rentec and Maratai make their appearance.”

The last week had brought the two Alliance leaders into such close continual contact with the two aliens that a first name basis developed almost in self-preservation. The constant “Ambassadors,” “Madam Heralds,” and “Admirals” had gotten on everybody’s nerves until Maratai quietly suggested the solution. “Please, Madam Herald,” she had said deferentially, “call me Maratai,” hoping that Kitty would reciprocate.

“I would like that, Maratai,” Kitty answered. “And you can call me Kitty in private, of course. In public, we must remain Doma and Madam Herald.”

“Of course, Kitty. I agree. But if I may ask, what does Kitty mean? You do not look like a small household pet.”

Kitty burst out into the first real laughter she’d enjoyed in months. “No. It’s the short form of the name I was given at birth—Katherine.”

Maratai opened her mouth to answer, but no sound came out for several seconds. “If you will not feel offended,” Maratai said demurely, eyes cast to the ground, “I will call you Katherine. It has a very Shiravan feel to it.” Kitty noticed the hesitation but decided not to pursue the matter at that particular moment.

Simon’s comm-link buzzed, and he answered it. “Ten minutes, Admiral. Your guests are already waiting at the south entrance.”

Kitty picked up a small white handbag and headed for the door. “I just can’t get the concept of fashionable lateness across to these people. They are much more literal than we are. And they don’t have much sense of drama either. Looks like we’ve got a lot more to teach them than anyone realized.”

Herald and Admiral made their way down the corridor and elevator holding hands all the way. The elevator settled into position, and Simon reached out and pressed the hold button. “You realize that this is going to be about the last personal time we’ll have for a while?” At her nod, Simon bent down and kissed her gently, left hand at her neck. With his right hand still on the door button, he slid his left down Kitty’s back until he cupped one taut cheek, feeling her heart race as his picked up speed to match.

“Mmph! My makeup!” she said, suddenly breaking free. “My dress! Be careful!”

“Lighten up, Kittyn. You look perfect. Any more perfect and I’d have to stuff and mount you.”

“Simon!” Kitty slapped his arm playfully.

“Hey! What? I didn’t mean... oh, hell, yes I did.” He smiled boyishly at her, and as she raised her arm to hit him again, he took his finger off the button and the doors slid aside, revealing eight black-clad security personnel.

Four men and four women composed the detail that took great pains to make itself obvious to anyone who was watching. There were also several less obvious security personnel stationed along the short route the limo would take to the front of the castle, and still more were among the crowd already gathered there to film or just get a glimpse of the two beings for whom the party was being thrown.

Security surrounded Kitty and Simon and added the two aliens to their group as they met at the embassy doors. The crowd separated themselves out into the two vehicles at the curb—four guards in the lead car, and the rest packed themselves into the limo. Two practice drills earlier in the day made the process much easier for Rentec and Maratai, who were getting their first ride in an ordinary ground-effect, fossil-fuel-powered vehicle.

Rentec, taller than the rest, slumped slightly in his seat, his nearly neon suit riding up his legs, revealing shiny black footwear. Maratai, dressed in a suit of a pale shimmering material that changed color as she moved or the lighting changed, sat motionless beside him. The light green color that predominated when she sat still flattered the red of her face and hands, and, somehow, complemented the near purple of her companion. The combination added an extra dimension to the alien-ness they presented to the humans.

“Relax, now, you two. You look great,” Kitty said as the limo rolled around a corner and the lights of the castle courtyard appeared. “Just the right mix of exotic and commonplace to keep people off-guard. Okay, boys and girls,” she said into her comm-link, “it’s showtime!”

The limo rolled to a stop between two groups of people and cameras being held back by red ropes hung from waist-high brass poles and several dozen very dedicated security personnel. First, the four guards from the lead car stepped out, and the driver pulled the car away. The limo driver moved up to center the vehicle’s doors on the open space, and the four guards moved to preassigned positions, providing an extra level of insulation between the occupants and the curious crowd.

Captain Robert Greene, outfitted in his dress blacks, stepped forward from among the dignitaries at the base of the outer staircase and opened the rear limo door. The roar of the crowd hit the occupants with almost physical force, and stepping out onto the red-carpeted walk was like moving through chest-high waters flowing the other way. Simon, first out after two of the guards, surveyed the crowd. Face impassive, he leaned into the limo and said quietly, “Okay, boys and girls, let’s make history.”

Simon stepped back and straightened up, urging Maratai out of the vehicle. Humanity-at-large would remember their first impression of two hands—one pink and one adding a new dimension to the word red—clasped together. Cameras flashed and video lights cast a cold bright light on the scene.

The sound swelled noticeably as people got their first look at a real, live alien on Earth’s soil. Later, pundits would remark on the strangeness of her features and the serenity she exuded as she scanned her first crowd of humanity.

Voices yelled questions and hands pushed microphones forward while other hands continued to film the occasion. Simon nodded to Robert to step forward and take the arm of Maratai. The two paraded up the staircase, both led and trailed by two stern-faced guards, threading the gauntlet of humanity clamoring for a word from, or a look at, the real aliens from beyond the stars.

The Shiravan ambassador caused even more of a stir when he unfolded to his full height. The tallest human in sight barely reached his chin, and the bright purple suit brought voices to a halt in a spreading circle as he got his first look at humanity amassed. The voices started up again almost instantly, louder than before. Captain Gayle Miller, resplendent in her uniform, stepped forward to act as escort to the ambassador, and the second group followed Robert and Maratai, with two more guards immediately behind.

Simon stood to one side as Kitty emerged. He held his hand out and she took it until she got her balance, and then she turned to survey the crowd as well.

Admiral and Herald, husband and wife, walked hand in hand up several steps to a waiting microphone-topped podium and turned to face the buzzing crowd. He held up his hand for quiet as Kitty stepped up to the podium. A minute passed while she stood unmoving, refusing to answer any question or respond to any comment. Finally, the babble of voices stilled enough for her to speak and be heard. “I am Katherine Hawke, Herald of The Terran Alliance, and you have just witnessed the first public meeting of humans and aliens. The two beings you have just seen are called Shiravans after their planet, Shiravi. They are here tonight to meet with world leaders to discuss combating another alien race. The same race that has caused so much death, destruction, pain, and suffering to our own world has been attacking them for hundreds of years.”

No sooner had that statement been made than the reporters went wild. Only parts of questions reached her ears.

“… they from?”

“How many…”

“… of weapons?”

“How long…”

Simon held both hands up and yelled, “Hold it!” several times, to no effect. Finally, he surreptitiously turned the volume control up, and in his best parade-ground voice, yelled, “Silence!” Getting the crowd’s attention at last, he turned the volume back down to something approaching normal. “Later, there will be a press conference. The Shiravan Ambassador will make a statement, and then a very few questions will be answered. In your press kits, you’ll find a card labeled ‘question.’ I suggest that you put your heads together and come up with four or five questions to ask. Otherwise, not much will be learned by anyone. We’ll try to give you fifteen- or twenty-minutes’ notice before they come back out. Until then, you are all invited to wait in the lower hall where you’ll find refreshments and heat. Now, I have to go. No,” he said, raising his hand again as the sound level rose. “I will not answer questions at this time.”

Simon and Kitty met the others in the foyer as they rearranged themselves to enter the main hall. As visiting emissaries, Rentec and Maratai would lead, followed by Simon and Kitty. Normally the centers of attention at public events, the human couple were happy enough to let the aliens take some of the heat. They heard the baritone voice of Freddie’s majordomo perfectly announce, “Dom Rentec do’ Verlas, Ambassador of the Shiravan Polity, and his aide, Doma Maratai kep Parrasine.”

Instantly, the background sounds of nearly three hundred people died to nothing as the alien couple made their way down the grand staircase and began the process of moving through the receiving line at the bottom. Seeing the pair acknowledging the customs of their planet, the noise began to rise again, stabilizing at a low murmur.

As Simon and Kitty appeared at the head of the stairs, a few heads turned to watch them move slowly down the steps. Shortly, they were moving among the crowd with glasses in hand, never far from the two aliens, occasionally entering one group or another to assess the reaction.

The Shiravan delegation to Earth, while officially consisting only of Rentec and Maratai, also sported three Alliance security officers on loan, as well as one or another of the various ships’ captains who happened to be in orbit for the occasion. Over a two-hour period, most of the hundred or so invited guests found occasion to drift into the circle surrounding the two red beings, most merely confirming the facts with their own eyes and moving on.

During the evening, Rentec noticed the slow motion of groups around the room and around each other. Almost like solar bodies, he thought with some amusement. The laws of physics that governed that movement finally brought the group surrounding Rentec and Maratai into a corner of the room while stripping most of the idle onlookers away at the same time.

Maratai ran her hand over the wood and iron surfaces making up the centuries-old door that was half-hidden by two tall plants. “Did you know,” she said in quiet Shiravan, “that the Herald’s name is not truly ‘Kitty,’ which is a diminutive for a longer, more formal name.”

Rentec fingered one of the leaves on the nearest plant. “Much like I would be called Rennie, or you might be called Mari?” he asked in return.

“Just so,” Maratai responded simply without taking her eyes from the ambassador.

“I suppose I should ask what her proper name is,” Rentec observed laconically. “Should I ask her, or do you happen to know what it is?”

Exasperation tingeing her voice, Maratai said, “Her name is Katherine, Rentec.”

Rentec was side-tracked by thoughts of his last visit to Quillas more than a turn ago at a gathering much like this one, with Ramannie glowing beside him. He suddenly froze and looked at his companion. “Kath-e-rin?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes, it sounds very much like Kath-e-Rin. A good omen, I would think.”

“It does sound much like Spirit of Light,” Rentec agreed.

Kitty appeared out of the crowd, ending their discussion. “‘Ask and ye shall receive’ is a phrase sometimes used when someone or something is being talked about and appears unexpectedly,” she said cheerily, missing the exchange between the two aliens and only hearing what sounded like her name as she arrived. “Actually, I engineered this little breathing space.”

Before she could continue, Simon arrived as well. “Looks like you two could use some rescuing,” he noted. “How are you holding up?”

“All goes well, Admiral,” Maratai answered in nearly perfect English. “We have functions similar to these on regular occasions. I believe that since we don’t have your television, we participate in more social gatherings. The higher gravity is causing some discomfort though.”

“I think our world would be a better place if we spent more time in the company of others rather than insulating ourselves from each other as so many do these days,” Kitty commented.

“I think some people are better off left alone,” Simon said.

“Those are probably the ones who’d benefit most by being brought into social events,” Kitty shot back. “And if that doesn’t happen, at least you can keep an eye on them.” She turned to her guests and assumed a more formal posture and tone. “Please, let me apologize for tiring you out. I had thought that now would be a good time to escape from this crowd. Would you two like to sit down for a while and speak with some of the people you came here to meet?”

Kitty knocked discreetly on the door Maratai had just been examining, and after a few seconds’ delay, it opened. “Mister Ambassador, Doma kep Parrasine, if you would follow me, please?” she asked formally, stepping across the threshold.

For the Shiravans, accustomed to a sun producing light in the cooler shades of red, the outer hall had been the optical equivalent of high noon in the Gobi Desert for humans. The darkened interior was an oasis for their eyes.

“Welcome, welcome!” The baron’s hearty voice sounded from across the room where he stood pouring drinks into four glasses. Waving off-handedly in the direction of the lounging area, he said, “Sit, please. I have two special chairs for two special guests.”

Four chairs sat side by side, the center two obviously having been built for someone with different bodily parameters, leaving the Alliance representatives sitting one to either side. The empty chairs faced an even dozen men from various extremely interested and influential nations and conglomerates around the world, although none were well known by many of their respective populations.

Simon ushered the Shiravans to the chairs so clearly meant for them and sat down on their right after making sure Kitty was settled. “Well, gentlemen, I think we’ve all met at one time or another in the last week. What say we get down to business?”

“Please, Admiral,” the baron interrupted, “let’s first toast the occasion.” He turned from the side table carrying the four glasses on a silver tray. Stopping in front of Rentec and Maratai, he offered the two a glass from the front of the tray. They hesitantly took them, glancing at each other. “I assure you, honored guests, that this is something you will be able to drink.” The old man offered glasses to Kitty, then Simon, and then moved to one side of the assembled group. Lifting his glass, he proclaimed, “To a bright future!”

All repeated the sentiment except one, who muttered, “Please, God, let there be a future.”

Simon, stung by what he thought of as criticism, stood up and said, “To new friends, without whose help we may not have had any future at all,” inclining his head and glass to Rentec and Maratai. The toast was repeated with a bit less enthusiasm.

Kitty, sensing the moment disappearing before it even arrived, stood up. She raised her glass and stared into each face before she made her pronouncement. “To hope, gentlemen! Raise your gasses to the hope that we survive this crisis as a race; to the hope that we make new friends across the depths of interstellar space; to the hope that our new friends survive as well; and to the hope, gentlemen, that the ability to cooperate is still within both our races, for we surely are going to need to do just that if anything is to survive much longer.”

She drained her glass and stayed on her feet, glaring at the assemblage until first one and then the rest drank to her toast.

The following hours seemed at moments like a police interrogation as first one alien or Alliance representative was quizzed and then another. At other times, it felt like a summit meeting of the world’s greatest powers. The Shiravans answered questions about how they had first met the Korvils, found the two humans and, through them, Earth, and what they hoped to accomplish with this contact mission. Kitty fielded most of the questions directed toward the Alliance, with Simon, for once, staying uncharacteristically quiet.

In answer to one pointed question, Rentec made mention of the fact that Shiravi was a one-government planet. “Quite unlike Earth, as we understand it,” he added. “Also, our colony worlds, while encouraged to handle their own affairs like internal disputes and trade, are tied to the homeworld in such a way that no one planet enjoys too great an edge over the others.”

Members of the human contingent in the room looked at one another, the exchange not lost on the Shiravans. Finally, one who had remained conspicuous by his silence chose to join the conversation. “Your pardon, gentle beings,” he said. “I am Eric Bader, recently appointed as Vice Consul to the German Chancellor. One topic of conversation that comes up at meetings of this kind in the past has been the formation of a one-world government much like yours, I would think. Not long ago, several of our countries in Europe formed a type of loose coalition that allowed us to standardize our currencies and brought us one step closer to that goal. It now remains for the Asians to complete their unification and for the Americas to finish what was started with NAFTA. After that, the only real holdouts will be the Arab and African nations. Smaller nations will have to fall into one camp or another or be left behind when the realignment occurs.”

The story got picked up by the British representative. “Gordon Smythe-Blakeley of the United Kingdom, Mister Ambassador. It is the opinion of all here that events are about to start moving at a pace far in excess of anything imagined as recently as even five years ago. This is due to two events: the acquisition of your technology by the group that calls itself the Terran Alliance, and your own arrival. We, here, believe that the threat represented by these aliens called Korvil could be enough to push our world into uniting in such a way that a one-world government will be the logical outcome. It is deplorable, of course, that so many lives and so much property were lost recently, but they can serve as vivid reminders of what can happen if we do not work together, thereby making their sacrifices worth something.”

Kitty set her empty glass down and leaned forward slightly. “Our Shiravan friends think they’ll learn much about us by watching how we handle our internal affairs. And by ‘us,’ I mean humanity in general,” she said. “And we’ve already told them that most humans, Alliance personnel not excepted, like to mask ulterior motives under the guise of altruistic words and endeavors.” She leaned back and settled deeper into the chair, her body language telling all that she was settling in for a long talk. “What I want to know, gentlemen, is how you think the Alliance is going to fit into this new image you’re planning for our world.

“I’m not saying that I oppose a one-world government, but I want to know just where we’ll fit into your picture. We’re already willing, as soon as this crisis is over, to take over all space-related services, such as launching satellites, building space stations, and moving people from one point to another. We’ll consider leasing vessels to certain organizations and training pilots, freeing up Alliance personnel for other projects. We will, of course, continue to release technology to Earth, allowing all nations to share the wealth.”

“Continuing to keep for yourselves the weapons technology and the secret of your propulsion systems, of course,” accused the Chinese representative.

“First, the propulsion system is no secret sir,” Kitty countered. “As we’ve said before—and proven on more than one occasion—the energy we use to power the drives of our ships comes from a carefully controlled matter/anti-matter balance. The material comes from the surface of the sun, and only we have the ships that can mine this material safely. Also, the conversion process has been deemed unsafe for set-up on a planetary surface except under very controlled conditions. I can cite several examples that everyone here should be familiar with by now. You’re all aware of the huge hole in the ground where Camp David stands—I hear that it’s now being called Lake David, by the way—that resulted from the release of energy from two small torpedoes and the power core from a mere shuttle. A mere few dozen grams of material in all. The devastation in South America was caused by what we believe to be a power core from a Korvil assault ship. That power core was either never installed or was removed for this occasion and used as a bomb. The explosion that caused the tidal wave that took so many lives all along the Pacific Rim was caused by the failure of the containment field around the power core of a single ship barely twice the size of one of our cargo shuttles. We feel that both of these explosions were caused by amounts of matter considerably larger than were present at Camp David. The destruction caused by the second ship was so great because the explosion occurred at a great depth, multiplying the power of the resulting tidal waves.”

This particular conversation had been anticipated by Kitty, and she had earlier instructed Simon to answer the rest of the question when it arose, dividing the attention of the group sitting opposite them. While these men were of different countries, religions, even philosophies, they were the more-or-less secret cabal that worked behind the scenes to advance the concept of “one world-ism.” Their faces and names seldom ever made the news, but their power was legendary, and was the subject of a few movies and many books. Their combined power would give many a world leader reason to pause were the reality of the situation known, and in this instance, they were as united as it was possible for them to be.

“We still maintain,” Simon said, “that the weapons technology is too intense to allow on the planet in the hands of groups with so much mutual antagonism. The balance of power would change too drastically if we gave it to just a few, and if we gave it to all, it would get used. This would do for the Korvils what they haven’t been able to do for themselves. We don’t believe there are enough people off the planet yet to allow the human race to survive such a misuse of technology. Besides, you already have enough standard weaponry to destroy this planet many times over. Why do you need more?”

A dark-complected man, dressed as if he had just stepped away from a desert-spanning caravan, was conversing quietly with a man whose suit and coloration fairly shouted Mediterranean. The olive-skinned man, younger than the Arab by a decade or more, straightened up and asked, “What assurances do we have that you won’t take your ships and leave when the going gets rough?”

Simon laughed out loud, earning a glare from the man. “First, where would we go, sir? This is our planet as much as it is yours. Every Alliance member was born here and has a birth certificate to prove it. Second, where would we draw our recruits from? Where would our replacement supplies come from? Third, where would our people go to retire or just plain quit? There are no human colony worlds to turn to yet. Give us a couple hundred years, sir, when there will be places aplenty to go. But right now? Our destiny is tied too closely to Earth to think of leaving. Fourth, everyone who chooses to return to Earth brings back with him or her all the knowledge they’ve accumulated, which will, of course, be made available to all the peoples of Earth.”

Brandon Galway finally decided to speak up. “Madam Herald, Admiral, you both know me. Trust me when I say that I personally agree with your goals and methods. Officially, though, I’m supposed to convey the message that the president is rather upset at the international snub you handed him. The United States still maintains that none of this would have happened if you hadn’t been so irresponsible as to keep the discovery of the ship to yourselves,” he said. “Look at what has resulted directly from your decision. The world will never know the full number of lives lost. And to set yourselves up as an independent government with only the technology of one ship to back you up is ludicrous.”

“I believe that you’ll be able to appreciate the gravity of the fact that we have considerably more than the one ship you allude to, Mister Galway,” Kitty answered carefully. “And we maintain that the devastation would have been much worse than it was because you would have proceeded considerably more cautiously than we did. It’s our contention that you would have done nothing more than study the ship with an eye to its military applications for the United States and not toward what it could do for humanity as a whole. We further contend that the Korvils would have arrived regardless of who was in charge of the Galileo, and since you wouldn’t have been building ships, the very first attack would most likely have gutted the one hope our race had to stave off total annihilation by the Korvils. Or worse. Neither we nor the Shiravans have any idea what the Korvils do with prisoners. Hunt them? Eat them? They don’t communicate with us, so we have no way of knowing. I will say from what we’ve seen so far, they have no compunction about ridding the universe of our presence. Are we a threat to their existence? To their expansion? Or are they just xenophobes? We’ll probably never know for sure. But I will say that since no one had any experience with this type of technology, we did at least as well as you and yours would have, and probably better.” Her last words were a total condemnation of all that the U.S. stood for, and Galway’s eyes showed his understanding. Secretly, she felt sorry for him. If she had her way, diplomacy was going to become a whole lot less complicated in the future.

“I have a question for you, Mister Galway,” Simon interjected, happy to get another word in edgewise. “We’re curious as to how the United States knew of the existence of the Shiravan delegation to Earth before we made the information public to the world at large. We had every intention of doing so, of course, but even before they set foot on Earth, we received a communiqué mentioning their presence. Are you able to enlighten us as to how this could be?”

The pensive look on Galway’s face blanked, but Kitty noticed the expressions flowing, hard as he tried to conceal them. Damn all stubborn men. They’d been on again/off again enemies and associates almost since the beginning. Frenemies, if you will. “I saw the message before transmission,” he said, “but I have no idea where the information came from. It was a first for me.”

Simon nodded, accepting Galway at his word. He had earned it, along with one other U.S. agent. “I don’t pretend to know what drives you, Mister Galway, but I believe you should make it clear to your associates that you personally are aboard the one-world train. You’re free to either tell all or sandbag your boss. It really doesn’t matter anyway.”

“You’ll appreciate that we’re most concerned about the devastation that has recently been done to our world,” another man said. “Can you give us any assurances that this won’t happen again?”

“No,” Simon said curtly. “We don’t know how many ships these Korvils have or what type. Are they all raider-type like we’ve seen so far? Do they have larger ships? What kind of tactics will they use next time? How far are they willing to go before they break off an engagement? Do they think they’re earning rewards in their version of heaven? These questions and more we won’t be able to answer until it happens.”

“Is it possible that our new friends can answer some of these questions? They have been at odds with these other aliens and should have some answers.”

Rentec shifted in his chair. “Yes, we’ve been fighting the Korvils for over two hundred and fifty of your years. And they do have larger ships than you’ve seen so far. As far as how they fight, most of what we’ve seen is hit-and-run tactics. It appears that they don’t normally want to commit their larger ships to a conflict, as if they don’t have very many or don’t want to risk them. We’ve lost a considerable number of ships over the years, but we have no way of knowing how many fell to the Korvil or how many wound up like the Dalgor Kreth—the ship you call the Galileo—or were just lost to accidents. The data you’ve shared with us concerning your encounters with the Korvils up until this time show an increasing amount of force with each new encounter, so it’s safe to say that the next attack will be on a larger scale yet. To that end, I have authorized the entire remaining fleet to assist humanity in defending this system. That means eight more ships, thanks to the space docks made available to us by the Alliance, and ten more when Second Fleet arrives, bringing Maggie Spencer home.”

Kitty glanced at Rentec, and, feeling that he was uncomfortable with being the center of this kind of attention, she spoke, transferring the group’s attention back to her. “At this time, we have fifteen battlecruisers and two fighter carriers in service, with another battlecruiser due for completion within the week. With the addition of the Shiravan fleet, that brings our strength to over thirty major ships, along with hundreds of Mambas that can be committed to any defense of our system. We aren’t yet counting the ten ships of the Shiravan Second Fleet since we have no idea if or when they’ll arrive.”

Seeing Rentec stiffen, she added, “It is possible that they could run afoul of a Korvil fleet or have some other reason for not showing up. The old saying is ‘don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched.’ If those ships don’t show up, we won’t have made plans that fall apart because of their absence. I will say that we’re turning out a total of eight ships per year at the moment, but I feel that isn’t good enough. I plan to authorize the Galileo to begin ship production immediately upon leaving this meeting, along with helping to build housing and other facilities for the Pacific Northwest.”

Seeing Simon’s head turn in her direction, she forged on. “I believe the Galileo is a resource that’s been overlooked. She’s a factory ship, designed to build the infrastructure for a colony world, and is perfectly capable of building ships just like one of the bases she’s already turned out. As a matter of fact, considering her size, she should be able to out-produce any one base by two to one, bringing our total production to twelve ships per year. And the Galileo can stay in Earth orbit, letting her shuttles catch asteroids sent our way by ships from the belt. If the Korvils hold off for two years, as seems likely considering the distances involved, we should have over fifty capital ships defending this system by the time they arrive.” On the heels of this optimistic view came a sobering thought. She leaned back in her chair and let it out quietly. But all in the room heard it nonetheless. “Of course, if they show up much earlier, we could become a footnote in galactic history.”

CHAPTER SIX

Second Fleet exited contra-space and found themselves in the Oort cloud of the newest system on their schedule. They scanned thoroughly per standing orders and found significant traces of Korvil presence. “The fourth planet, sir,” the scan tech confirmed a full day after arrival. “A third again larger than Shiravi, three moons, and six drive traces. That does not count any vessels powered down.”

The fleet commander concurred with the assessment, and ordered, “Send a scout home with the location, immediately. I will not have this information lost to the vagaries of battle.” His observation left no doubt as to his intentions. “Place the rest of the fleet under full alert and cloak. We will take a lesson from our enemy and accelerate for two hours, then shut down all power except life support and passive scans until we close to within ten thousand stakas of the fourth planet’s outer moon.”

He paused for a time, considering the lives about to be lost to his next commands—his as well as most, if not all, of the fleet if things didn’t go well. “The Marasel Sepis and the Kepara Lourbin will target the planet. The Kath-e-vesh and the Besserai will target the moons. All other ships will attack any vessel in range. Particular attention is to be paid to any vessel under power, but do not hesitate to fire on unpowered ships if the opportunity presents itself. Once the fleet goes silent, no one will break the tranquility of space until I give the order to attack.”

Marcad Korvil stormed through his palace, venting his frustration on any unfortunates who crossed his path. Most of his anger spilled onto the being shadowing him. “Tell me, war-Minister Darmag,” he roared, “how it is possible for not one of almost twelve hands of ships to return from a simple reconnaissance in force?”

Shrewdness prevented the war-Minister from pointing out that Marcad himself had ordered the fleet into human space. Instead, he placed the blame on the one he thought his master would most likely believe to be the culprit. “Lord, Sept-Leader Vorkan’s battle plan was to assault in three waves. Surely some survived to bring back word of what happened. Perhaps they are only damaged and taking longer than anticipated to return, or perhaps some unforeseen calamity befell them.”

The gigantic figure, a cross between an enraged teddy bear and a furious panther, spun around in the corridor and pinned the smaller entity against a wall. “Sept-Leader Vor’an formulated those plans and submitted them to me before he left. I personally authorized them. There should have been less than a twenty percent loss on all combined ships. And at no time should there have been a point at which every ship was either destroyed or damaged too badly to return. At the very least, a large fraction of the first wave should have survived to make rendezvous with the host ships for resupply and return. And not even those host ships have reported in. Are you saying that Sept-Leader Vorkan and I devised a flawed battle plan?”

The lowered voice and nearly immobile posture gave away Marcad’s transcendence to hunting mode, a condition not lost on the Korvilene deputy. “No, Lord. I only suggest that there may have been incomplete information to work from. Perhaps a covert mission to ascertain the facts is in order. A smaller one that will not risk so many ships.”

The massive leader moved with deceptive speed. Four furrows graced the left side of the war- Minister’s face, narrowly missing one eye. “Covert! Smaller! Risk! You accuse me of cowardice? I will have your head on a pole before the day is out! I will eat your sons and use your cows to breed loyal Korvils to serve me and my descendants!”

A gesture from the maniacal monarch brought guards to surround the war-Minister and escort him to Marcad’s Pit of Justice where his death would be carried out with all due ceremony, displaying for all the strength and bravery of their Lord.

The Korvil, flushed with anger at the insult to his Honor, stood in his Pit of Justice studying the prone body of the one who had lately been his war-Minister. He glanced at the sword in his hand and threw it contemptuously to the ground, spattering Darmag with sand. “Rise up and arm yourself!” he roared.

Darmag slowly rose from the sand where he’d been thrown by his guards and picked up the blade. Recognizing the dishonor of trying to talk his way out of his imminent death, he planted his feet firmly and hefted the weapon, getting a feel for the weight. Designed for one a bit larger than himself, it was a clumsy tool, but he vowed to acquit himself with dignity. He shrugged out of his vest, the attached Honors tinkling incongruously as it fell to the ground, and saluted with the sword. “Lord, what weapon do you choose?” he asked, seeing Marcad unarmed.

“Weapon? What need have such as I for weapons when dealing with you?”

Darmag finally got a glimpse of the madness lurking beneath the surface of the overbearing ego driving his Lord—too late by far to do him any good. He lifted the sword and felt himself snap into hunting mode.

Protective membranes slid into place over Marcad’s eyes at Darmag’s first move, sharpening his eyesight and narrowing his field of vision. He dodged behind one of the carved pillars that surrounded the Pit and grabbed a projection as he passed, letting his momentum alter his direction. Feet lifting off the ground, he spun around the column and slammed into the smaller being, knocking the sword spinning into the darkness.

Ribs cracked by the impact, Darmag fought for breath as his metabolism fought to deny the pain. Claws extended, he rose from the sand for the second time. Lips peeled back from his teeth, he scanned the Pit as he sidled toward the fallen sword. Eyes questing from side to side for any sign of movement, nose searching the air currents for the musky scent of a hunting Korvil, he crouched down and let his hand brush across the sand, feeling for the sword.

The backs of his fingers connected with the smooth metal of the blade, and he slid his hand along it, feeling for the hilt, but found instead only the point. Darmag slid his hand the other way, still wondering at the disappearance of his opponent. His fingers curled around the hilt, pulling it from the sand, and one of the pillars moved.

Marcad stood immobile, arms above his head and hands planted firmly on the ceiling of the low-roofed Pit, watching his prey. He saw the hesitation in the movement of his victim as the sword was raised back to a guard position, and he felt a distancing. Time slowed as his hands came away from the roof, and he flowed across the three paces separating him from his quarry.

Darmag started to spin as soon as his ears heard the swish of feet through sand, but the motion was never completed. A huge hand lifted him from the sand by the neck, shaking him violently. The sword flew yet again into the murk surrounding the combatants, and he heard not the expected scream of victory, but, surprisingly, the raucous sound of a battle alarm sounding in the distance as darkness closed in on him.

Marcad turned from the still-twitching body of his former war-Minister, the victory howl caught in his throat. He pounded from the arena, struggling to reacquire a sense of perspective. He raced up the three levels to comm central, finding several Korvils moving about the room in extreme agitation. “Who sounded the alarm? I’ll have another head on a pole! What excuse can you offer to keep it attached to your body?”

One technician turned from his console and saluted his master. “Lord, we are under attack! The outer moon reports several attack runs. Reports are coming in from the far side of Korvil saying the same thing, and all five ships in orbit are reporting Shiravan attack craft targeting them. We have lost contact with one ship so far and have confirmed two enemy destroyed.”

Marcad studied the real-time display as his ships moved out to interdict the attackers. One ship down left the odds at six attackers to four defenders. If things continued at that rate, the ships not firing on planetary targets would soon be destroyed, leaving only a few ships to rout the balance of these krath-Shiravi. Power and weapons systems operating at full capacity, the four surviving Korvil ships plowed into the formation of Shiravan battlecruisers, scattering them.

The battle moved away from the planet’s surface as Marcad watched. His anger at the unexpected development turned to joy as he saw his ships start to perform a reversal that would bring them behind the attackers, giving them clear shots at the relatively unprotected engine pods.

Before one shot could be fired by the defenders, two more Shiravan ships joined the fray. Fresh from their attack on the undefended outer moon, the two new ships saw the position their fleet-mates were in, and both captains elected to assist their comrades.

In a matter of minutes, the tide turned. Four defenders became two, and the odds were now four to one, having lost two more Shiravan craft. Twisting and turning, using the planetary gravity field to change directions in ways that fooled the Shiravan gunners and accelerating to speeds even gravity sumps had a hard time dealing with, one more Shiravan ship died as the Korvils fought with their typical fierceness and tenacity.

The last Korvil ship vanished from the screens in a flare of light, and Marcad raced out the front entrance and down the Boulevard of Skulls toward his personal ship, which was under orders to be crewed and ready at all times. Before he could reach the vessel, he was thrown onto his face by an explosion behind him. Climbing to his feet, images of his latest foray into the Pit flashing through his mind, he turned to look for the source. A series of detonations threw him back as extensive portions of his palace disassociated themselves from other portions, and still others caved in on themselves.

He looked up to see two Shiravan single ships moving away at speed. Attracted by the massive radio and scan traffic and active sensor arrays, they had destroyed generations of Korvil heritage in a matter of seconds. Spitting curse after curse at the krath-Shiravi, Marcad turned back to the waiting cruiser only to see it dissolve into a huge fireball, taking a large section of the landing field with it.

Pain finally worked its way through to his perceptions, and he looked down at himself. Blood coursed freely down his body from the numerous cuts inflicted by bits of rock and metal thrown about by the explosions. Numerous Honors earned in a lifetime of service to Korvilene were either damaged or completely missing from his torn vest. He shook himself, raised his bloody head to the retreating fighters, and roared his defiance.

Kitty sat at her desk looking over the progress reports for the rebuilding of the areas that had been devastated by the Korvils. She shook her head slowly, amazed at the things she was reading. Just a few years ago, no one would have believed it possible for the world to react so unanimously.

The anniversary of the first Korvil attack had passed almost without ceremony two months earlier. According to the papers sent to her office by the agency overseeing the actual work, virtually every nation of the world had contributed in some way to the reconstruction of the American west coast and the rest of the Pacific Rim—the larger countries with technical expertise and equipment, and the smaller with brute manpower. Earth movers and other equipment that had been built to construct the Montana facility had been moved to Portland, Oregon, and a large amount of the equipment that had been built and was no longer needed for the construction of Vesta was spread across the planet. American civil and military engineers had arrived to supervise the restoration of several dozen individual economic entities, and the world watched the extraordinary collaboration not seen since the loss of the World Trade Center just a few years before.

First, roads had been built to facilitate access to areas needing the most assistance. Then, hundreds of buildings needed to be erected—from family-sized dwellings to multi-storied structures to house the various governments and agencies that would be needed to help with the resettlement of displaced persons and the administration of aid that was beginning to make its way to the dislocated survivors. In large part, the workforce for this mammoth project was found in the very people it was designed to serve. It provided work, sustenance, and stability in a time when those were in short supply

Focusing on another part of the report, Kitty noted that dredgers from the United States had made their way to the waters surrounding Japan early in the restoration effort. They were still busy moving mud and other material from the ocean bottom onto the rocky protuberances that had once provided food for so many millions. Earthmovers from terrestrial organizations, as well as from the Alliance, were busily moving the piles of dredged materials to all parts of the island in an attempt to provide a new layer of what would become topsoil for the devastated country. Soon, the millions of Japanese lucky enough (or unlucky enough, as some maintained) to be away at the time of the attack would be allowed to return to their portions of the islands, take possession of their homeland, and start to rebuild their coastal infrastructure nearly from scratch. Tears ran down Kitty’s cheeks as she thought of the vanished millions she’d never known and the few hundred of those with whom she’d had at least a passing acquaintance.

She put down the monthly report the World Restoration Organization had sent to all heads of state and turned to Alliance matters. In crises, one helps as one can, and the Alliance was no exception. As the only group able to take on the task of guarding the planet from attacks from space, Kitty gladly threw Alliance resources into the pot. The fact that that had already been happening from before the attack was given little consideration. The peoples of the world had finally seen the Alliance siding with the rest of humanity to stand against the monsters from space, throwing their support behind the effort. As a result, each time a ship was ferried to Earth to be crewed, the Montana training facility was able to respond almost immediately.

Twenty-four new ships had been projected for service by the time two years had passed, but only twenty-two had been built. The difference was made up for by the fact that Taurus Base had pulled the plans for a full-sized battleship out of the files, amended them to fit human standards, and, in two years, had turned out two. Named the Antares and the Polaris, these two ships boasted crews of over nine hundred. Smaller in size than the Galileo, they had equivalent engines, and there was considerably less automation aboard with correspondingly more weaponry, including new experimental particle beams, which necessitated crews on a par with the huge factory ship.

Vesta had continued to grow as well, one of the pleasanter parts for Kitty to read—not as much for the continued expansion of the hollowed-out asteroid as for the news of her friend, Lucy Grimes. Apparently completely recovered from her nervous breakdown, Lucy now headed the construction efforts on the new Alliance facility as its project director. She had the full support of the doctor who’d returned to Earth to assist with Alliance personnel suffering everything from agoraphobia to xenophobia.

The asteroid had been hollowed out by machines built from plans in the Galileo’s computer. Set loose under computer control and operating on broadcast power, the bevy of machines were busy carving the interior of the asteroid into forty separate levels except at the end opposite the entrance. There, the level count was only twelve to allow for the open spaces humans needed to have around them from time to time to prevent claustrophobia. A Parthenon-style building and a Roman-style Forum for plays and readings had been included. Mega-tons of pulverized rock were spread on the floors of these levels and mixed with load after load of dirt and topsoil brought from Earth by each passing ship. Seeded with trees and shrubs, grasses and plants of various kinds, these levels would be a small slice of Earth intended to soothe the nerves of those so many millions of miles away from home. Now that air and water had been added from ice asteroids found throughout the belt, people were beginning construction of the living and working facilities for the projected forty-thousand-plus inhabitants with an industrious bent.

Lucy still had her brother and two friends with her, Kitty noted, all working at meaningful jobs while providing strong support for the former Herald. Her brother, Bruce, was working his way up through the ranks of the Alliance, his skill in a cockpit somewhat of a surprise to all. Her friends, Amy Sparks and Carmen LeBoy, worked as administrative assistants to the project director. All in all, Kitty thought, not a bad outcome, considering the possible alternatives.

The engineer originally chosen for the job hadn’t been able to continue functioning as over-all director due to a severe case of tunnel vision. As each new engineering obstacle arose—and there were many—he would tend to focus on that one rather than the bigger picture, letting the more mundane tasks associated with an effort of that magnitude go untouched. Supplies hadn’t been ordered, reports hadn’t been sent, questions had gone unanswered, and a myriad other things needed to be attended to. Lucy had eventually gravitated to the position by default and finally accepted the position officially after Kitty personally visited the installation to lean on her friend.

“Delegate, Luce,” Kitty had told her. “You did it once, and you can do it again, on a smaller scale this time. Work your way back up, so to speak.”

“Back up to what, Kitty?” Lucy asked snappishly. “Herald? Don’t even think it, or I’m packed and out of here on the next rust-bucket back to Earth. Then who do you get to pick up the pieces? Who’s going to understand them?”

Kitty smile ruefully at her friend. “If it wasn’t for Shiravan technology, there’s no way we’d have done something like this in just two years.” She let the smile fade as a memory surfaced. “Do you remember Simon so long ago saying something like, ‘Experience doesn’t matter when no one has done anything like this before?’ I’m sure I’ve misquoted him, but the idea’s the same.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Of course, we wouldn’t have been off-planet at all, and how would we have dealt with a Korvil incursion then?”

Linnas des Harras perused the report she’d been holding, mimicking the moves of her unknown counterpart many light years distant. “Tell me, Sitha,” she casually asked the woman seated across from her, “what do you make of this report?”

“M-me, your Grace?” the young woman stammered. “I certainly wouldn’t go so far as to express an opinion on a subject I haven’t been fully briefed on.”

“Since when has lack of complete information stopped a kep Parrasine from speaking her mind?” the Matriarch asked archly. She watched the conflicting emotions flow across the face of her assistant with amusement. “I need to gauge the response of the common person in this matter, Sitha. And while I know that the kep Parrasines are far from common, you have a better idea of how they’ll react than anyone else I have access to at the moment.”

“Well, Your Grace, it seems to me that most people will welcome the news that the human homeworld has been found. True it is that we all have our doubts because of our long struggle with the Korvils, but if these beings will be able to help us, much can be withstood. The only thought contrary to that is what if we wind up trading a thitura for a biroc?” Sitha’s remark made Linnas consider the agony of the bite of a thitura and extended recovery therefrom as opposed to the painfully certain death of the innocuous-looking biroc.

“Your point is well-made, Sitha,” the Matriarch said, “but I think it’s a gamble that must be made. We do have the example of our friends Doma Spencer and Dom Carter to go by, so the risk is really less than one might think at first glance.”

“So, what response to the courier-Captain, your Grace?”

Linnas des Harras, Matriarch of the Shiravan Polity and supreme ruler of fourteen subject worlds, picked up a gaily wrapped package. “Tell courier-Captain des Marach to take three days leave for herself and her crew; then, she is to return to Ambassador do’ Verlas at all speed with this gift for the Alliance leader.” She slowly added a small package to the packet. “And these are my express wishes. This package is for the eyes of Ambassador do’ Verlas only. Under no circumstances will the existence of this packet be made known to anyone until after it has been delivered to the ambassador. Then he can decide what to do with the information.” She leaned back in her chair and gazed at the lights dancing on the peaks outside the des Harras estate and sighed. “Now, go. Let the crew have their time with their families. It will be long before they will see their loved ones again.”

Policy Minister Manura sel Garian read the dispatch handed her by the courier-Captain, who had finally found the Shiravan Second Fleet. “These coordinates are correct, Captain?” she asked in her gravelly voice.

“Yes, Minister,” she answered. “I personally entered the figures into the computer before coming to you. Ambassador do’ Verlas requests that you arrive with all due haste. Those were his exact words.”

“Very well, Captain, then that is what the fleet will do,” the diminutive woman said. “You have acquitted yourself well. You will resupply from fleet storage and rest for two periods, then make your way back to Shiravi with the news that we have been directed to the human homeworld. The Matriarch should be kept apprised of our actions at all times. Have you any news of the war with the Korvils?”

“None, Minister. We came to you as directly as possible. Following the schedule laid out to us by Minister do’ Verlas, we checked each system on your projected list until we arrived here. There has been no word of any attack by the Korvils.”

The old woman shook her head. “It is unfortunate that I have no way of knowing what’s happening with the Reprisal Fleets. There is much to be said for staying on-planet when war clouds loom on the horizon. At least there I would have access to the latest information.” A thought flitted through her mind. “Or perhaps, my being on the scene would be the greater of two evils in this particular case.”

sel Garian left the bridge and went to her quarters after seeing that the fleet was headed for human space almost half a turn from their present position. She wasn’t going to handle military duties as well as her other self-appointed responsibilities. It was merely a check to see that no one individual held too much power at once. For a time, she busied herself with setting her quarters in order, then went to her desk, pressed a button on her comm link, and waited for a response. When it came, she said, “Ask Chief Tekavey to come to my quarters at her convenience.” Then, she sat back and waited for the kath-mora to arrive.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Even after two years, the memory of the Korvil attack on Earth was still fresh in the minds of humans, and the lingering effects brought more reported changes almost daily. Temperatures had dropped an average of three degrees worldwide, and growing seasons had changed. Deserts bloomed with new growth, and drought now threatened areas once thought to be ever fertile. The gulf stream no longer flowed all the way up into the northern Atlantic, and the jet stream moved farther south. And these were just the more visible signs.

To the overwhelmingly vast percentage of humanity, the double strike on Earth had been the first attack. To the ever-increasing thousands that comprised the entity known as the Terran Alliance, it was just the latest in a series of attacks that had started almost the moment they’d ventured into their own asteroid belt. They had “bullies” to protect themselves from, and that was why a siege mentality had set in upon Alliance Command. The average citizen of Earth began to be subjected to increasing amounts of propaganda, touting the need for a “retreat” to their own private asteroid to battle the double menace of aliens from space and a new ice age. Accepting the premise and acting upon it was going to be an uphill fight the likes of which the political world had never seen.

Polls taken by news agencies showed an increasing trend toward consolidation of forces to combat the alien menace, and closer to home, secondary effects from the attack continued to fuel the move toward globalism.

Entire species disappeared from the natural environment. Spotted owls, pandas, and migratory fowl of several varieties were only to be found in zoos and other protective environments around the globe. Plant species that had been abundant only two years before were now found only in greenhouses and carefully controlled environments. The polar ice caps had begun to grow at a rate not recorded since measurements first began, fueling the fear that Canada and the upper portions of the United States might become uninhabitable within a single lifetime if the effects weren’t somehow reversed. Not so coincidentally, plans were already being drawn up to move the Worldwide Seed Storage Facility, which had spent many years above the Arctic Circle. The time to move it south might just be upon them. Corresponding latitudes worldwide experienced the same concerns. Several reporting agencies noted that the decline in the size of most glaciers had ceased, and in fact, most, if not all, had begun to increase in size.

And recruits flocked to the Alliance. As expected, most were young and eager, with sci/fi on the brain and almost totally useless until trained, but a smattering was able to be put to work almost immediately. From the first days after the attack that had finally gotten humanity to truly see the bigger picture the whole world over, the number of applicants accepted, given a quick orientation, and shipped out had jumped drastically. The four Alliance bases kept producing ships, Mambas, and probes at a rate no one had expected prior to the attack. A friend of Lucy’s father had shown up in Zurich and begun to streamline the mess that was Personnel and Deployment. Vesta, while still austere, was home to over four thousand Alliance personnel and would eventually be able to house ten times that amount. Most were construction workers, true, but a few of the training staff had arrived and were getting used to the layout before the recruits they had to teach arrived. It was going to be a matter of staying one chapter ahead for quite a while.

Construction crews had finished most of the preliminary housing and were busily crafting the park areas, the place the pond would be, and a nine-hole golf course able to be played backwards to get the full eighteen. Alliance command personnel were beginning to make their presence known as space was constructed for them, and scientists from all over the world were working in the Research and Development areas, expedited for the necessity of finding new and more powerful weapons to deal with future attacks. Supplies arrived almost daily from ships moving back and forth across the system.

Now information would flow to and from Vesta as it assumed its duties as the new Alliance Headquarters. There was no point in being an off-planet nation and having your capitol located on Earth. Technological updates made their way from Vesta to the four asteroid bases and were then incorporated directly into the newest ships. Now, the Galileo was going to become a full factory ship with no room for esoteric studies, and the new headquarters for Research and Development moved to Vesta.

Older ships were being retrofitted as quickly as they could be accommodated. Of course, ideas emanated from the bases as well since they were where the modifications were actually being put into effect. Joanna Barnes wove the disparate entities into a smoothly functioning whole.

The first clue that the Korvils were on the move came when a probe was activated by an incoming drive trace. The past two years had seen a quantum leap in the production of these small devices, as well as their distribution around the periphery of the solar system as ship after ship flew out of the yards, making their way to Earth for crews and moving off into the outer reaches of the system on shakedown maneuvers and patrols.

The signal was picked up by the newly commissioned battlecruiser Predator on maneuvers in the Oort cloud surrounding the solar system. Lying passively among the debris from which comets were thought to be born, the probe woke up when it detected a drive trace and recognized it as one of Korvil manufacture.

“It’s just plain luck that we were here to pick up the signal,” Captain Sierra Hawkins said as she looked over the shoulder of her comm officer. Standing to her full six-foot height, the captain turned to her bridge crew. “Standing orders, people. We set course away from the invaders and away from Earth. Maybe we can make them believe we aren’t on to them. Helm, use your best estimates as to where another picket ship is or will be. Get us into range so we can transfer the message. They’ll carry the word to Earth, hopefully keeping the Korvils in the dark as to the fact that they’ve been spotted. We’ll just continue on patrol, looking like we know nothing. Nav, prepare the best set of coordinates you can from the probe’s signal and send it to Comm. Comm, prepare to transmit to any ship we pass as soon as it can be identified as friendly.”

“Even Shiravan, ma’am?” the Comm officer asked.

“I said friendly, didn’t I?” Hawkins retorted testily. “Any ship in this system that isn’t Korvil is friendly and will be treated as such. Set up a translation program to send to any Shiravan ship just in case.” Hawkins privately wondered about the wisdom of having xenophobes aboard ship. It seemed too many people just couldn’t get over the fact that the Shiravans were alien—really alien. Movies like E.T. notwithstanding, a lot of folks just couldn’t make the leap that would allow them to accept people as different as the Shiravans were. Even though racism was nominally on its way out on Earth, due to her own black heritage, Captain Hawkins knew from personal experience that it still existed. Now, with the Shiravans present in the system, bigots of all types had another target for their poisonous natures to obsess about.

Breaking out of her reverie, Hawkins strode to the Nav station and inspected the course that had been laid in. She clapped her Nav officer on the shoulder and sat down in her command chair. “Nav, send the course to Helm. Helm, execute as soon as you get the data. With luck, we should be able to pass this off to either the Vega or the Red Shift and set ourselves up for a combat pass if necessary as they go out-of-system.” She heard the generators start to rise in pitch as the ship built up to near-jump speed on an oblique course away from the source of the captured signal.

The Red Shift dropped into Earth orbit at fifty thousand miles, as had become the custom for ships needing to come to Earth. The Nav officer, at his captain’s orders, had sent the message off even before sending out the standard IFF signal required of all inbound ships.

Kitty dragged herself out of the warm bed she’d been sharing with Simon for the first time in more than two months.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry to disturb you,” her aide said. “The Red Shift has just entered orbit and her captain sends the code word ‘whiplash.’” Diana Ross knew the importance of her message but still felt protective enough of her boss that she regretted having to disturb her at this ungodly hour.

“You did right, of course, Diana. Now, let me get dressed and we’ll get this show on the road.” The commander closed the door behind her as Kitty yawned hard enough for her jaw to crack and yanked the covers off her mate. “Rise and shine, husband mine. We’ve got trouble, and my guess is that it’s spelled with a capital K. Let’s get the ball rolling.”

She let her eyes roam over Simon’s lean body, regretting the late night that had gotten her to bed too late to do more than cuddle a bit before falling asleep. Now, she was going to be up informing leaders of the world about her impending actions and, hopefully, heading off a case of mass hysteria.

Two years distance from the event had taken the edge off the sense of righteous indignation that had blossomed early on. Xenophobia, from mild to extreme, had replaced the first feelings of violation, and fear fueled the rage that eventually burned low in a large portion of humanity as no further attacks were made on Earth. Pundits tried to warn people that the distances involved in interstellar actions dictated long periods of time in which the combatants would evaluate their next moves in relation to their previous losses or gains. Eventually, the feeling of innate superiority that mankind perhaps unwisely aspired to, coupled with the lack of another assault, had led the majority of people to believe that the enemy had been vanquished.

Most Alliance citizens had managed to avoid that particular pitfall. Because of the indoctrination they received upon joining and the constant reminders during training and after, Alliance personnel knew that another conflict was inevitable. Most were eager to confront the enemy that had tried to destroy their homeworld, and all were more than aware that much time would pass between incidents. They also knew that they might never again see the blue skies of home.

Those who didn’t share this fervor usually tended to last a short while and then return to Earth. While considering themselves to be citizens of something greater than just one world, Alliance citizens nonetheless saw the world of their birth as sacred, and, to a man, were ready to take the fight to the enemy, reinforced by the fact that the damage to Earth was so very evident from their vantage point of several thousand miles above the surface. While the islands of Japan, just now beginning to green up a bit on their westernmost shores, and the Pacific Rim countries didn’t show much damage from space, the huge defoliated area in the middle of South America was a constant reminder of how vigilant they all had to be. That determination was about to be tested.

The Korvil fleet commander had left Korvilene with the information provided by his Lord—that this new race of beings was to be treated with extreme caution. They were to be exterminated, for sure, with the slow pleasure a hunter takes in the doing. The caution was because an entire fleet had not reported back from this system.

Sept-Leader Grimat studied the screens before him. His claws dug into the specially padded armrests as he assimilated the information that was passing across the glowing plate. He’d been expecting to meet two hands of ships and a fraction, maybe a few more. He also expected to face Shiravan tactics. A veteran of many attacks on krath-Shiravi ships and worlds, he had arranged his attack fleet to meet what he could only think of as more of the same. The drive traces his analyst had read out were identical, so how could the tactics differ?

The problem lay not so much with the types of vessels in the new system but their sheer number. Where he’d expected what humans would call a dozen, he’d found more than ten hands of ships of varying sizes, and they crossed the system in regular patrols, extending into the cometary belt where he had grudgingly hidden as he studied the situation. While he felt some trepidation at the prospect, his orders were clear, and Honor dictated that he and his Sept make the attempt. And should the unimaginable happen and they fail, then at least the second fleet would have much less to deal with.

Sept-Leader Grimat gave the order, and ten highly modified battlecruisers headed in-system surrounding his flagship, one of Marcad Korvil’s greatly prized battleships. Never had so much power been concentrated in one place. Grimat wondered at the reasoning behind the necessity for a brief moment, but then went about the business his Lord and his Honor demanded. One small cruiser stayed behind, and her officers and crew were unhappy at the prospect of not being able to fight. Instead, they were loaded primarily with sensor gear strong enough to detail the coming battle. Her mission was to record the conflict and return to Korvilene.

Simon strode through the corridors of TAS Red Shift, a sense of foreboding following his every step. He still felt uncomfortable with the deference accorded him and wondered again if the right thing had been done eight years ago when the Galileo had first fallen into his and Kitty’s hands. At times like this, he’d run the entire scenario through his mind again and come to the same conclusion, which never seemed to make things any better.

He came at last to a door marked Astrogation, took a deep breath, and walked in. “As you were,” he said as the three men in the room came to attention. “Let’s see what we have here, gentlemen.”

The Navigation officer, Parker, by his name tag, moved over to a console. “Sir, we’ve backtracked the data dump from the Predator and have a target system that it is possible they originated from, but there’s no guarantee it’s good data. We also have some stuff we stripped from Hubble, showing the in-bound formation.”

Simon looked sharply at the Nav officer. “How did you get anything from Hubble, for crying out loud?”

“Well, sir, we sorta commandeered it, you might say,” the officer said, squirming a bit. “McReady, here, hacked into its systems. We pointed it in the right direction and got some stills for our own use. As long as it’s pointed away from the sun, there’s no damage to the unit, and it’s one of the few things that didn’t get whacked when the Korvils came through before. Just seemed right to use it to help us out now.”

Simon shook his head ruefully. “That’s one I wouldn’t have thought of.” He chuckled slightly. “Why didn’t you just use Astrogation’s systems? I believe they’re a couple of orders of magnitude better than Hubble.”

The hacker’s face fell. “Uh, I just never thought of it, sir,” he confessed. “I am kinda new here and don’t really know the systems all that well.”

Simon tried unsuccessfully to keep a straight face. “Commander,” he said to the Nav officer, “I expect you to see to it that all of your people are fully conversant with the systems they have access to. It’s going to be a matter of life or death, and a whole lot sooner rather than later, I suspect. Am I understood?”

“Sir, yes, sir,” the officer acknowledged sheepishly.

“Okay,” Simon said, relenting, and hooked a loose chair over to sit in. “However you got the information, let’s see it.”

Twenty minutes later, Simon left the Red Shift considerably more worried than when he’d arrived. Looking at Kitty on the screen in his launch, he said, “We’ve got all the trouble you mentioned earlier, hon. A group of eleven ships as far as we can tell. Too far out and too close together to tell more at this time, but it looks like a lot of tonnage. And if these guys run true to form, there’s at least one other around somewhere. I don’t know whether to call it a taskforce or a battlegroup or what, but we’ve got to put something together quickly to meet it.”

Kitty’s visage gave away her concern. “You’re in charge of system defense, Simon. Do you think we can do it? Will we need the Shiravans? I don’t know what else to ask at this point. Just be careful, will you? I thought I lost you once.”

“And you got even by taking a nap for almost a year,” he retorted, a smile on his face. “I don’t want to have to go through that again, either. I’m going to talk to Rentec and do’ Sirkis. I still think they should just act as scouts. They don’t have the shields our ships do, not to mention the armament. In the meantime, I’m going to institute one of our contingency plans. Since the Korvils don’t seem to want to jump around in-system, it’s going to take a while for them to get to our inner system. I’m sending a dozen ships into the belt to hide until they pass and jump them from behind. Two of those will be carriers—I think the two new ones, Castor and Pollux. My hope is that the Korvils won’t even see them because they’re too far apart, but there’s no telling what their sensors are like. Besides, they should be too busy worrying about the dozen more that will be waiting in plain sight.”

Kitty glanced off-screen and back again. “I think I wish I had your job. I just got word that the Security Council is almost ready. I’ve got to go. At least your opponents are faceless, and they don’t ask questions, either.”

“Remember, dear, fearfulness and helplessness tend to make people more unpredictable than usual. And considerably more dangerous,” Simon warned. “Make sure you’ve got a full guard detachment with you. When are you going to create a position that will do these kinds of jobs for you?”

“Just as soon as I no longer need to have such a position, dear,” she answered sweetly. “Do you really think I’d put this off on someone else?”

“If you had answered any other way, I’d have to wonder if you were really you. You just be careful, too. I’ll be in touch as soon as I have something to report. I love you.” Waiting just long enough to hear Kitty’s response to his last words, Simon cut the screen and stared at it for a short time before beginning to issue orders.

Some of the twenty-four ships of the Alliance were alerted to the impending attack through the simple expedience of contact. For others, too far out for laggard light-speed communications to be of any use, warp-capable shuttles were dispatched with word to bring themselves to red alert and position themselves for the approaching encounter.

Rentec and his captain, do’ Sirkis, watched Simon leave the Esmit’s ready room.

“I’m not happy to be taking orders from the humans, Dom do’ Verlas. I feel sure that the Matriarch would agree with me in this matter as well.”

“Do you object more to taking orders from the human or to not being allowed to participate in the coming battle?” Rentec asked pointedly. “As Admiral Hawke said, we’ve lost ships and personnel in their defense already. It’s time to let them stand for themselves, Captain. And is it not effective to act as scouts on the fringes since our vessels don’t have the shields and weapons to match either the Korvils or the humans?”

“Of course, it makes sense to stand off while the two stronger groups decimate each other,” the captain said testily. “It’s just galling that we, who have been in space for so much longer, must take a subservient role in this.” The Shiravan fleet commander paced the room, a habit picked up from humans. His expression was that of someone who has just eaten something not to his liking. “That brings to mind another thing, Dom do’ Verlas. The humans say they will upgrade our ships, but I haven’t seen one of our fleet get these upgrades, yet. In truth, I’m not certain that I want humans wandering through our ships, but since they already have all the specifications, I can see no reason to stand against it if we benefit from the exchange.”

Rentec sat slumped in his chair. Slowly swirling a milky liquid in a blue-tinged glass, he answered as if preoccupied. “I understand your reticence, Captain. But, remember, both I and Doma kep Parrasine have had far more exposure to humanity than you have, and we both agree that there is nothing here. The delay in upgrading our ships, I like that word—upgrade—has a peculiarly human flavor. The delay is due to the ongoing effort to make all of their ships combat-ready. And it appears that time has run out for both them and us. Eleven ships of the line, Captain. Eleven! When has a Shiravan fleet ever met a Korvil fleet that strong? And what have we accomplished against any fleet we’ve encountered of whatever size, with the notable exception of the raid that netted us Dom Carter and Doma Spencer in the first place? Our losses have always been in the three- or four-to-one range.”

“But those were our fights, Dom. We fought those fights and learned from them. Now we are ready to carry the fight to the Korvils.” The fleet commander stood his ground, facing his superior without apology. “We fought two ships and lost one for one in the last encounter. Our tactics continue to evolve, and we grow in experience with each encounter.”

The ambassador set his drink down with a pensive look on his face. “By your own words, Captain, those ships were lightly armed due to the fact that they were designed as support vessels for the long-range assault ships the humans finished off as we entered the system. And,” he added before the captain could continue, “those two ships were doing something no other Korvil ship has ever been seen to do, along with the ones being chased by the humans—they were running from a fight! Have we ever caused a Korvil to do anything but fight to the death, Captain? Could that be what has aroused you to such heights of passion against these humans? I believe you might be suffering from what humans call xenophobia—a fear of that which is strange, or in this case, alien. Admiral Hawke has told me of the phenomenon among humans. It is true that there are those among them who hate us just because we aren’t human. It does not matter to these individuals that we are friendly. It doesn’t matter that we have no intention of taking anything that belongs to humanity. It just matters that we are different. Tell me Captain, do you have that failing?”

The fleet commander started to speak, then sat back in his own chair. A look of embarrassment crossed his face. “I must admit that the idea has not crossed my mind, Dom. Perhaps I should examine my motives before I continue this conversation.” The embarrassment changed to a look of wry amusement. “I certainly would not want to be accused of having the same failings as humans.”

“Just so, Captain,” Rentec countered, some sarcasm tinting his light rebuke. “Think about what they can teach us, as well as what we can teach them. And think as well about the fact that it would be better to have these people as friends in our struggle rather than as a second enemy. One thing I have come to see is that they are a volatile people, Captain. They hold their loves and hates close to their hearts. You would do well to feel sorry for the Korvils rather than hate them.” This pronouncement uttered, Rentec got up and strode from the captain’s ready room without a backward glance.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Simon Hawke was no strategist, but after eight years of dealing with sniper-type fighting, massed formation attacks (suicidal) or guerrilla, he knew where to find one when needed. As a matter of fact, strategists and tacticians were running out his ears. Games theorists, game players, and numerous people of all kinds had flocked to the Alliance banner, and not one was allowed to go to waste.

Over the last two years, scenario after scenario had been run on the massive organic computers of the Alliance, first aboard the Galileo and then everywhere one of the cloned copies managed to wind up. Of special note to Simon was the different pattern of attacks after the first hit-and-run attack. Rentec and company had arrived with footage of the attack that had rescued Derek Carter and Maggie Spencer, so people now knew what the enemy looked like. They also represented just about the only combat experience that the officers and crew of the First Shiravan Contact Fleet could “recall” from the files aboard the various ships in Earth’s system.

Some scenarios were set up with the Shiravans as the enemy as well. After all, who knew for sure? Other scenarios depicted the Shiravans and Korvils as allies against humans, since the Alliance only had the Shiravans’ word that the Korvils really were the enemies or even truly existed. All were assigned degrees of probability and filed away, never to be seen by their new allies.

Now, one of those scenarios was pulled out, dusted off, and put into play. Twelve Alliance ships short-jumped into the asteroid belt, hopefully ahead of the Korvils’ ability to detect them, with all the other traffic about to clutter things up. Twelve more moved into position just on the Earth side of the asteroid belt, making a target of themselves that it was hoped couldn’t be resisted. According to the Shiravans, the Korvils had either a high tolerance for battle damage or a lower opinion of life, depending on how one viewed it. In either case, the usual battle scenario ran to a three- or four-to-one loss ratio in favor of the Korvils. One possibility for this particular ratio was thought to be a higher tolerance for gravity than Shiravans. Another was that their grav-sumps somehow worked better than the Shiravan’s.

The one time that had not held true was when a Reprisal Fleet had caught a Korvil clan unawares and sucker-punched them. And still the Shiravans had lost two capital ships to two Korvil light attack craft.

Best guess said that the reason humans had fared so much better was that they’d started out getting punched in the nose immediately and began to expand their weapons arsenal. Listening to the Shiravi tell it, both sides had reached a certain level and just kept on slugging it out. Too hide-bound on both sides, most analysts said, and both sides seemed unable to really get behind the fact that humans had been able to innovate as quickly as they had.

Of course, that was because ever since the very first man stepped out of the trees and onto terra firma, he had been looking for better ways to “protect” himself with a “bigger club.” And that fetish followed him through millions of years of evolution. So, yes, humanity was ready to bust out of its little blue egg and let the universe know it was ready to meet the rest of its playmates.

Simon wasn’t one to let any resource go unused if he could help it, and human ingenuity was one resource he relied heavily upon. The four bases were so inundated with older ships coming in for upgrades to weapons and shields that special shifts had been instituted to handle them while the main business of construction went on. Still, a significant number of Alliance ships weren’t fully refitted to the newer weapons.

When the Korvil fleet crossed into the area of Mars’ orbit, the obstacle they openly faced was comprised of the newer Terran ships equipped with the latest hardware—third gen torpedoes that carried both shield generators covering an anti-matter warhead, as well as anti-matter propulsion, plasma bombs, or just plain nuclear warheads. Tractor beams and pressor beams to use against smaller targets, and more sensitive targeting systems had all been incorporated into the newer hulls and not a few of the older ones. And not one of these weapons had been divulged to the Shiravans. Simon hoped to get a lot of information about the Shiravans from their reactions to the new weapons when they questioned things later.

As the Korvil fleet approached the human one, it began to spread out, most likely to allow for fields of fire that wouldn’t intersect other Korvil ships. The Alliance fleet, long since assigned to particular drive traces, much like a basketball team goes one on one, spread out to meet them. Simon, aboard the Rigel, was kept to the rear of the formation, much to his chagrin. “I have my orders from the Herald and the Council of Captains,” the Rigel’s captain informed him. “The admiral is to be kept out of harm’s way if at all possible. Personally, I’d rather be out there, too, sir. She gave me this to give you at this time.”

Simon took the proffered envelope with ill grace and tore the end off. “Simon, if you are reading this,” it began, “it’s because you’re too stubborn and dense to recognize your value to the Alliance that you started—not necessarily as a tactician or strategist, of which we have plenty, but as a driving force, a symbol of what we can be. If I said it wasn’t also because I’m afraid of losing you, I would be lying, but that isn’t the only reason. It’s the main reason for Kitty, the wife, but not for Katharine the Herald, and while I am both, I must now think of the Alliance first and myself second. In either case, you’re too valuable to be put into jeopardy unless it’s absolutely necessary, so the Rigel’s captain has orders to hold his ship back unless it is, in his estimation, necessary to step into the fray. I realize this hurts your pride, but I pray you’ll see the logic and accept the decision that had to be made.

“As Herald, my prayers go with you. As your wife, more prayers and all my love go with you as I stay behind and worry myself to death, waiting for the outcome.”

Simon crumbled the paper in his hand and slid it into a pocket, his expression unreadable. “Captain,” he said, “you will hold the Rigel in reserve and order the Venture and the Aldebaran to move into position to take on the bigger ship. Relay to all ships: ‘Launch all Mambas and attack. Carriers move back and prepare to pick up survivors.’”

Simon found a vacant seat in a far corner of the control room and tapped into the main battle computer to keep himself apprised of the developing situation and was as surprised as any when the eleven ships they faced suddenly sprouted multiple signatures. The modified battlecruisers had each piggybacked six light attack craft to the combat area, and when action seemed imminent, they separated and set off under their own power. Soon Alliance sensors registered over seventy different drive traces.

Countering the tactic, of course, was the launch of all the Mambas in the Alliance “forward” line, representing well over three hundred vessels in total. Simon ordered the Alliance fleet to engage the Korvil attack force and waited to see what transpired. According to the plan developed months before, the overt opposition launched two hundred Mambas from the two carriers and another hundred from their ten main battlecruisers. As soon as the hidden Alliance fleet saw the deployments, they would do the same and attack from the rear. Given the speed of light, the blocking fleet would deploy first, hopefully attracting the attention of the invaders, and the second fleet would be able to approach from the enemy’s blind spot. Taking into consideration the enormous amount of energy pushing each ship forward, sensors had an unusually difficult time peering directly astern. He hoped that the superior numbers would overwhelm the Korvil sensors and combat computers if they actually had any, but the result was going to be in doubt all the way up until the last moment. Their sheer numerical superiority did nothing to allay the knot of fear that settled into the pit of Simon’s stomach and refused to go away.

Simon’s experience (actually the Alliance’s experience, limited as it was) had been confirmed by do’ Sirkis—these Korvils were hard to kill. Several other things had become apparent as well after Simon and several Alliance captains started attending briefings on the aliens almost two years ago—that the Korvils had no desire to talk, that Shiravan opinions about humans approximated those of humans for Shiravans, and that Shiravans in general feared the humans more than humans feared the Shiravans.

As a rule, Alliance pilots felt more comfortable around the red beings than most other humans, Simon noted. This probably stemmed from the close working relationship both groups had with space—the Shiravans from so many years associated with it and the humans from their constant exposure to it as they trained incessantly.

Simon, reduced to waiting and watching, turned his attention back to the screen. It was now in the hands of the individual captains and group commanders as the two fleets merged. Each red dot, representing the enemies, was surrounded by as many as five green ones within a matter of minutes, and Simon could only sit there and watch the train wreck happen.

The Shiravan captains had taken great pains to explain just how tenacious and resilient the Korvils could be. At meeting after meeting, Simon and his staff had been regaled with stories of how Korvil ships in ones and twos had driven larger Shiravan forces from an area. With pictures of a dead Korvil—the one Carter and Spencer had been rescued from—displayed on a back wall, Shiravan captains had extolled the fierceness of the enemy they faced.

Simon had studied the scene and come to another conclusion. Held up by three Shiravans, the dead Korvil was still virtually the same height as the Shiravans, who were so obviously discomfited by their role in the video. Alive, the creature would have stood eight feet tall and weighed at least five hundred pounds. Covered in a light coat of short, bristly hair, the body had the normal two legs and arms, one head, forward-peering eyes and a set of teeth a lion would have been proud of. No clothes covered the body, and this was apparently normal, according to the briefing, with the exception of a short-pocketed vest bearing badges or medals of some sort and a belt that held a laser pistol almost any human would have had to wield two-handed.

Even in death, the face bore a look of defiance—at his killers, Simon wondered, or at the universe in general? Vaguely bear-like in appearance, the opinion most thought of on first seeing the picture was that a wolverine or some related animal that had managed to rise to primacy as humans had on Earth and now sought to rise further still at the expense of humanity and Shiravans alike. A young species, Simon thought. As much younger than us as we are than the Shiravans. He shook his head slightly at the thought. We should have more in common with these Korvils than with the Shiravans.

Unable to do more than watch, Simon read the notes flashed onto his screen about the battle—numbers of enemy destroyed or wounded, numbers of friendlies killed or missing from the screen, names of ships that became either drifting hulks or rapidly expanding spheres of energy. Slowly, after what seemed hours, the tech advantage of the human fleet finally began to make itself felt.

Experience on the part of the Korvils allowed for a higher initial kill ratio, but the newer, more powerful weapons of the humans started to take their toll. Torpedoes carrying generators and bombs together made a greater impact on the overly-thick, double-hulled Korvil ships than in previous encounters.

Simon watched as one Alliance captain used a newly installed pressor beam to start one derelict hull drifting out of the field of combat. He glanced at the display and stiffened as the name McCaffrey added itself to the list of dead or disabled. Fists clenched, he pounded on the arms of the chair until he felt eyes upon him and forced himself to relax. Only days before, he and Kitty had hosted Marsha Kane and the McCaffrey’s officers at the Zurich facility, and he could only sit, his breath catching in his throat and his heart seeming to quit beating, as her lifeless ship tumbled out of the battle comp’s range.

Sept-Leader Grimat stared in confusion at the battle screen before him. More heavily armed and armored, his ships should have been able to withstand all that these humanz could throw at him. After all, not only were they using technology not of their own devising, but they hadn’t been in space long enough to learn how to use what they had. Or so he’d been told in the short briefing he’d gotten before leaving on this mission. Besides, right was always on the side of the strong, and having seen videos of the creatures captured by the leader of a now-defunct sept, how could these puny beings hope to best a Korvil warrior? He, himself, weighed at least three times more than the male creature he’d seen. And it looked so weak.

He’d entered this battle as a graltha would enter a pira den, knowing he’d get scratched and bloodied but would come away well fed. Now, all but a double handful of raider-craft were debris—no Honors for their battle vests, no glory for their names, no prestige for their sept. And only four capital ships were left of the more than two hands of ships Sept Grimat had been provided for the campaign.

His head deserved to be added to the Boulevard of Skulls for allowing himself to be tricked so handily. The small fleet of ships that had come out to meet his outnumbered him by one, but their size gave them no advantage. He’d ordered the deployment of the raider-ships to strike fear into his enemy and throw them into confusion with the larger number of targets he knew would appear on their screens. This same order sent every Korvil to his battle station in readiness for the chase ahead. But, from that point on, nothing had gone as it should.

The humanz launched raider-ships themselves. Smaller than his, certainly, and most likely crewed by single individuals, they very nearly overloaded his own battle computer with their sheer numbers. And where had they all come from? He could only hull-mount six raider-craft on each of the ten battlecruisers in his fleet, while the single main battleship, his flagship, carried none, its sole purpose being to provide backup power, should it become necessary.

Grimat looked around his bridge at the officers directing the battle. Quiet orders were issued while icons on screens moved into new positions, all the things he was familiar with. Everything running smoothly as it always did, he relaxed in his command chair, knowing from experience that the loss ratio would strongly favor his fleet.

As the two fleets met, Grimat felt the blood course through his veins, just as it did in the hunting parks back home, but he didn’t let it cloud his judgment. The initial figures began to come in from the first pass and that was the first moment that an inkling of what was to come entered his mind. Too many of the enemy’s shots were hitting home, and the missiles were of a kind he hadn’t seen before, causing more damage with each strike than he’d had any reason to suspect. Also evident was the fact that his warriors, seasoned veterans all, didn’t seem to be able to make as much of a dent in their opponents as usual. Rage at letting himself get caught between two opponents coursed through his brain for a single instant, and then relief at the fact that no other Korvil would know of his folly. His rage had made him forget the watcher left hidden in the outer system. Not only should his head grace a pole for failure, but it should do so because his overconfidence would be the instrument of his entire clan’s destruction. Still, he thought fatalistically, to make the journey into the next world more palatable, one took as many enemy dead along as possible.

Simon walked up behind the fleet commander’s Tac seat and looked into the more comprehensive display. “I just don’t see why they don’t retreat,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “Rentec said they won’t back off, but we had the last bunch of them running, which surprised him and his top officers. Now this. I wish we could get a handle on how they think. I want them dead, but this just feels wrong somehow.”

He watched as hit after hit got through the screen of destroyers and cruisers surrounding the one massive vessel. He’d figured the sheer number of Mambas and opposing main battlecruiser of First Fleet would make his enemy think that was all it faced, making the appearance of Second Fleet a complete surprise—so complete, in fact, that pilots and gunners managed to knock out three of the five main engines on the monster ship, leaving her a barely navigable hunk of metal. She was still highly dangerous but pretty much target practice for the Mamba pilots who continued to fly sorties against her.

“Captain, order a flight of plasma bombs and see if they will do any good. It’s one tactic we’ve not tried.” A number of the newly developed missiles got through several rudimentary or totally nonexistent shields and effectively stalled almost half a dozen ships that began to tumble, proving to be more of a hazard to the enemy than to humans. Simon wanted this to end. The rage he’d felt in the beginning and re-experienced every time these guys showed up had turned to quiet determination, but even so, this was too much like beating up a cripple.

Almost four hundred Mambas had launched against the Korvil fleet, with a few left behind, redlined for maintenance. At this point, just over three hundred pilots continued to fly mission after mission against the huge ship. Simon watched a lucky shot took take out one ship as it tried to get close enough to lock on and deliver the newest weapon in the Alliance arsenal. The other four ships in the flight wove through the return fire and launched their torpedoes directly against the enemy’s hull.

The effect was spectacular. The energy bombs spread out across the hull of the enemy ship, glowing in colors that had to be seen to be believed. Rippling in waves from the points of impact, multihued lights flared up wherever two separate ripples met. Two more flights passed the doomed ship, directing their fire at the suspected location of the enemy power core. Their efforts were finally rewarded when one missile drove deeper into the heart of the giant ship and disintegrated the generator that was powering the anti-matter containment field.

Simon sighed in relief at the sight of the last enemy ship disappearing from the screen. Now the cleanup and retrieval could begin. Of the almost one hundred Mambas taken out of action, only a dozen beacons flared red on the screens. Of the twenty-four Alliance ships to enter the battle, sixteen returned, and two of those were the carriers that hadn’t gotten close enough to the fight to be damaged. In all, eight ships had been lost, but only three didn’t need repairs. Of the eight destroyed ships, only the McCaffrey survived long enough for her remaining crew to be evacuated by courageous shuttle crews flying into and out of her empty launch bays before her containment fields went down.

The badly mauled Alliance fleet dispersed among various bases and Earth according to the severity of their wounds. Simon rode the last shuttle to leave the McCaffrey as it flew into the Galileo’s bay, rushing the McCaffrey’s captain to the most advanced medical facilities available. A lucky shot had taken out the McCaffrey’s antigravs, and Marsha had suffered several broken bones since she hadn’t strapped herself into her chair, but most disconcerting was the growing lump on the back of her head. He escorted the stretcher to the med lab and saw to it that Marsha was put onto one of the tables in much the same way Kitty had been. There, a surgical team—now a standard part of the ship’s medical department—worked on her mangled body.

For almost three hours, the team worked to stop Marsha’s seeping blood. They taped ribs to help prevent a ruptured lung, while repairing torn muscles and suturing wounds. The most imperative task, that of removing pressure from her brain, was temporarily accomplished by simply inserting a needle through the crack in her skull to drain a bit of the fluid collecting at the point where her head had contacted the ceiling. The other procedures could then be accomplished without the additional burden of a time limit staring them in the face. To Simon’s way of thinking, the amputation of Marsha’s right thumb and forefinger was worse than the opening of her skull to reposition the pieces.

The entire operation had been videotaped to see if and when the cylinder would appear. As in Kitty’s case, the doctors and nurses finished their work and stepped away from the table. This time, cameras captured the process as the two transparent pieces closed over Marsha’s body and the concealing mist/liquid slowly engulfed her form.

“You what?” Kitty exploded out of her chair when Simon told her of Marsha’s situation. She moved around her desk, an elemental force not to be denied. “You had no right to put her through that! There was every reason to think she’d survive without the assistance of… of… the ship,” she finished lamely but no less angrily. “You have no idea what you did.”

Simon, no less elemental, stood his ground defiantly, forcing Kitty to stop just outside his personal space. “Yes, I do,” he answered quietly. “How many conversations have we had about what happened to you? Besides, I had every right to make that decision. The doctors told me there was no real hope that she would ever regain consciousness, and even if she did, they didn’t hold out much hope that she would be anything more than a drooling idiot. This was our only chance to improve that prognosis. The fact was that this time, we knew what to expect. We have it all recorded, and the particular section of the computer involved is being monitored several different ways. Besides, no kin could be contacted in time to make the decision for her.”

Simon spread his hands helplessly, and Kitty moved in to put her arms around him, reaching deep for the feeling of rightness and safety she always found in his embrace. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I can still recall almost all of what went on inside there,” she said into his chest. “I know I turned out all right, but it’s not a guarantee that she will, and I just can’t…” She broke off and cried, shoulders heaving in misery. “I guess all we can do now is pray.”

The two stood silently entwined for a few more minutes, and Kitty finally broke away, somehow refreshed from contact with her other half. “She had an uncle on board, you know,” she choked out. “Was there any sign of him?”

Simon shook his head. “Yeah, I know, and I looked. His name didn’t come up among the McCaffrey’s survivors. We checked out the launch bays pretty thoroughly. The main deck took a pretty hard hit but maintained structural integrity. She’d lost about half of her grav fields, and it made for a hell of a time searching. We found a few bodies, but his and four others weren’t accounted for. They were listed as missing in action.”

“Oh, God,” Kitty cried. “I almost hope she doesn’t wake up to that news. They were close.” She walked over to the window and gazed out into the night, her reflection staring back accusingly. Silence reigned as two minds worried at the problem. “Both shuttles were still aboard?” Kitty asked, turning back to her husband.

“Right,” Simon confirmed. “And we checked both of them. There was no one aboard either ship. What are you looking for?”

“I’m not sure. I just have a feeling. Why just five bodies missing? And why was one of them Marsha’s uncle?” She sat down at her computer terminal and turned it on.

Simon just shook his head, at a loss for ideas. He walked around Kitty’s desk and watched as she brought up the McCaffrey’s crew list. Kitty looked up at Simon and arched an eyebrow. He pulled himself back from a distant place and read off five names from a piece of paper he’d fished out of his pocket.

Kitty typed them into the computer and followed them with the command: Associate. Immediately, the screen vanished to reappear bearing the same five names. Beside Marsha’s uncle’s name was the legend: Assigned TAS McCaffrey, Chief of Flight Operations. Beside each of the other four names was the phrase: Assigned TAS McCaffrey, Emergency Repair Services.

The cursor blinked steadily for a full twenty seconds before Simon said almost abstractedly, “Chief of Flight Operations is also head of Repair Services.”

Kitty finished the thought, “They took the repair pods out to try to get their ship back under power.”

“And the Spica used their pressor beams to push the McCaffrey out of the area of combat. That had to throw the pods loose,” Simon said, surmising. He pulled out his comm link and connected with the Rigel’s captain. “Return to the original combat coordinates and run the entire scenario again. This time pay special attention to all movements of the McCaffrey. Extrapolate what her position would be if the Spica hadn’t pushed her out of the combat area. Follow that heading slowly, sensors on full.”

“What am I looking for?” the captain asked.

“You’ll know,” Simon replied firmly. “I’m betting on five emergency signals.”

Unnoticed, a single drive powered up well past Pluto and disappeared into the depths of space.

CHAPTER NINE

The fleet moved slowly through the Oort cloud of the new system, sensors extended as far as the powerful generators could send them, disregarding the effects they might have on other sensor systems. On the contrary, they actually hoped to make contact.

Policy Minister Manura sel Garian sat in the captain’s seat of the fleet flagship Kath-e-Shiravi. Three months into the voyage to the human homeworld, the Kath’s captain had mysteriously died of an as yet undetermined malady. The ship’s surgeon could only assure the crew and officers that there was no trace of plague. sel Garian, stepping outside the accepted chain of command, had assumed full command of the fleet, as well as the mission, combining the command structures of both the military and the contact team. Such was her power that no one dreamed of pointing out that it was strictly prohibited for a civil leader to directly command military forces.

One ship on the outskirts of the formation had picked up a probe’s transmission when it sent off its report. Transmitted to the flagship, the signal pulled the fleet toward the probe. Once aboard the service deck, it was dissected and the report sent to the bridge.

“It appears to be a common marker probe,” the terrified technician reported. Rumors floated throughout the fleet about what happened to those who came too close to the person of the Policy Minister. “There are some unusual differences, though.”

“And what might those be?” grated out of the device strapped to sel Garian’s throat.

“Larger than normal power core, odd configuration of components, unintelligible source coding, and such,” he managed to get out. “Mostly, there’s just an alien feel to the device. We have noted that the device seems to work with a much higher degree of efficiency than an equivalent device of our own.”

A distracted flick of sel Garian’s wrist sent the terrified tech back belowdecks, grateful to escape with her life. Lost in thought, sel Garian left the bridge, not bothering to turn command over to the exec. That officer gingerly sat down in the command chair and nodded to the helm officer. “Continue your previous course,” was all he said, though his eyes contradicted the confidence in his voice.

Manura sel Garian entered her quarters and knew immediately that she wasn’t alone. It wasn’t that anything had changed; it was simply a feeling developed over many years of cunning and deception on her own part that let the minuscule clues send the proper message to her brain.

The suite was austere for one so high in the des Harras government. In one room was a desk, overflowing with the one enemy even sel Garian could never defeat—paperwork. One room was her sleep chamber, a luxury afforded to one so high. Another room held a couch, a low table, and a few chairs. No pictures or other color graced any of the gray metal walls of the suite. She turned into the common room, where she faced a robed and hooded figure. The dark figure rose slowly once sel Garian entered the room.

“The Sisterhood would have a report, Policy Minister.”

“When I send for someone, kath-mora,” she hissed, angry that even a member of the Sisterhood would violate her inner sanctum, “I expect them to arrive promptly and wait outside my personal quarters.” She was angered as well by the fact that her visitor’s tone of voice had been more of a command than a request.

“We have arrived,” she said after a slight delay. “A probe has been found that is neither Korvil nor Shiravan. It bears striking similarities to one of ours but with distinctive changes, some say improvements.” She poured a blue liquid into a small glass, deliberately not including her visitor in the small end-of-day ritual that always set her mind at ease. She sat down facing her uninvited guest, her dispassionate stare hiding her emotions.

The robed figure, hood thrown back, leaned forward. Her collar opened to reveal the rank and insignia of a weapons tech. “The Sisterhood requires that contact with this race be cut off at the earliest moment,” she said quietly. “Use whatever means you can find to extract the two fleets from human contact.”

sel Garian sipped from the tiny glass. “You still haven’t convinced me that it’s in the best interests of the Shiravan people to do so.” She looked down, apparently absorbed by the lightly glowing liquid. “I have given my oath and life to the service of the Matriarch. Her desire for the Shiravan people is to expand into the universe, spreading ourselves far enough that no group like the Korvils will ever extinguish the light of our race. I deem that to be a worthy goal. What arguments can you present to make me break an oath strong enough to estrange me from clan and family for over thirty turns?”

“I can offer you no arguments to break a solemn oath; I only present the truth. Choosing to realign yourself must come from your heart. And for that to happen, you must see the error of your ways.” The robed woman began to pace the floor. “Look at what the Korvils have done with the technology they stole from us. They hurt us badly at every turn, and they barely maintain their equipment at the level we had it at almost four hundred turns ago.” She turned and looked directly at sel Garian. “And now these humans have not only stolen the technology but have even improved on it. What does that portend for us?”

“We don’t know that the humans will do the same things the Korvils do,” sel Garian countered.

“We don’t know that they won’t either,” the kath-mora shot back. “Do you want to wait until it’s too late to find out?”

“You’re condemning an entire species because of the actions of another,” sel Garian noted quietly. “Is that the reaction of rational beings?”

“Is it the act of a rational being to condemn a third of her clan to death for an idea, Butcher of Harusel?” the robed woman retorted venomously. “Who is to say what is rational and what is not? At some time and place, any action could be considered rational. And we do not condemn them entirely on the basis of what they might do. The presence of only two humans on our world had already begun to cause problems, even before our departure. Both males and females have begun speaking of equality of the sexes. Young females wish to walk the streets unescorted. Males are being allowed into the workforce even more than before. If we are to allow such perversions of our traditional ways, where will it stop?”

sel Garian snorted, a chore for someone equipped with an artificial voice box. “The idea of equality of the sexes has been around since before the arrival of the humans. The earliest beginnings of the war effort brought the phenomenon into the open when unattached males and females were thrown into contact on a regular basis. And what young woman wouldn’t like the freedom to go where she wishes when she wishes, like her Chosen Sisters? This, too, has been an outcome of the war effort, not of the arrival of humans.”

The kath-mora looked daggers at her adversary. “You would bring us into contact with a people where males govern. We have seen the follies of that particular philosophy in our society, and now we will expose some of our most impressionable people to more of that after we have finally stamped it out. Contact with these beings will destroy the very fiber of our society.”

sel Garian sat silently for a moment, pondering the line of reasoning of the Chosen Sister. “I will grant that there is some merit to your case. A bare kernel of truth if the diatribe is pared down. Still, my oath binds me to the Matriarch’s goals. And it is my view that it is better to have a society, however badly fractured, than to have no society at all, which is what the Korvils intend.”

The sorceress turned to face sel Garian, a strange glint in her eye. “The Sisterhood does not believe that either the Korvils or these barbarian humans will be able to destroy our society. Shiravi will prevail.”

sel Garian stared back at the kath-mora, recognizing the look in her eyes for the madness that it was, and said, “The only way Shiravan culture will survive is through force of arms, through military might. And since we’ve steadily been losing planets and ships to the Korvils, I seriously doubt we’ll be able to survive without outside assistance.”

The robed figure drew herself up to her full height, believing it to give her a greater air of authority. On some, it might have worked, but sel Garian had been playing the game since before this one had been born. “We of the Sisterhood have meditated long on this very subject,” the kath-mora intoned. She faced sel Garian, arms at her side, palms out. “I myself have spent days on end in the sacred chamber, meditating and communing directly with the Spirits of Space.” sel Garian’s visitor flushed an even deeper shade of red than was her norm. Her eyes glowed as with a fever, and she raised her hands to waist level, making fists. “And the Spirits dictate that you join us in our effort!” Finally, she placed her closed fists on her chest, wrists crossed. sel Garian recognized the ancient gesture for what it was—an order to obey—and knew then just how well she had wrought.

“I’ve been in that room you call a sacred chamber,” sel Garian said coolly. She looked the kath-mora priestess in the eyes. Who else would know the old signs? she asked herself. Certainly not one of the lower orders. She must be a priestess at the very least. I accomplished more than I knew when I assigned this one to the fleet. Aloud, she continued, “Some say it gives you access to the Spirits; others say it sucks the soul out of you.” She inclined her head, first left, then right, a Shiravan shrug. “All I see is the swirling mist of otherspace. I don’t see any Spirits, and I’m not even sure they exist. So, I’m surely not going to follow the dictates of beings who might not even exist.”

“Blasphemy!” the weapons tech hissed, stepping closer to sel Garian. “Remember, Policy Minister, it is by the hands of the kath-moren that you sit in the fleet commander’s seat, and the hands of the kath-moren can remove you from it. You know not our power or reach!”

“On the contrary,” sel Garian fairly purred through her throat box. “Do you truly think that the Butcher of Harusel, as you named me, who led the resistance that killed almost a third of my clan to protect the Matriarch would come aboard this vessel, this fleet, without knowing exactly who each and every one of the personnel were? And what their affiliations were? Or without protection?” She stood and faced the larger woman. “It was my signature that brought each and every member of this fleet’s crew together. Even yours, High Priestess Masendi.

“Yes, I know who you are,” she said to the surprised expression on the weapon tech’s face. “I now know every kath-mora in the fleet and their affiliations, and if I were you, I’d be very careful about the threats I made. Now, I make one.”

She reached out and grasped the robe with the fingertips of her right hand, feeling, testing the quality of the material. She looked into the astonished face of her antagonist. “Knowledge is power, Sister,” she said sarcastically. “Your rank and affiliation, I was only able to guess at first. How much more do I know, you wonder?” The old woman just smiled, the merest twitch of her lip.

The beginning of the end for these fanatics, she thought triumphantly.

“That you will only find out as time passes,” sel Garian said. “Now, if I see one more robe walking the decks of my ship, or hear of one on any other vessel in this fleet, or hear personally, or have reported to me even one similar conversation, the death of the previous fleet commander will be as nothing to the purge I will initiate. Remember well, Spirit Witch and tell your Sisters. You know I speak the truth, for as many of Clan Masendi died at Harusel by my hand as did Clan sel Garian. Remove yourself from my presence, return to your duties, and don’t bring yourself to my attention again.”

“If they’re Shiravan,” Simon asked, “why are they just sitting there?”

“It’s possible,” Captain do’ Sirkis answered, “that the commander of that fleet is wary of entering a system with so many active warships moving around.” He thought for a minute and said, “Regular maintenance, weapons checks, battle drills. They’ll probably have their weapons powered up, but this is supposed to be a friendly system, so they’ll probably not be actively seeking targets.”

“Possible and probable are not among my favorite words right now,” Simon noted dryly. “We should send one ship out to meet them and escort them to Vesta.” He turned to Rentec. “Maybe, Mr. Ambassador, you’d like to go along for the ride? Perhaps assure whoever is in charge that the natives are friendly?”

Rentec shook his head, adopting the human gesture. “No, Admiral,” he said. “Doma kep Parrasine has requested that privilege. I believe she’s had a travel pack ready for some time now. Will you be accompanying the contact ship?”

“I had planned to, yes,” Simon confirmed. “I’d like to oversee their arrival at Vesta. Also, since we know they’re coming, sending our top military person to meet them is proper Shiravan protocol, according to Doma kep Parrasine.”

“You’re what?” Kitty demanded. She took a moment to get her voice back under control. “Simon, you can’t. I forbid it as Herald.”

“And who else would you send? You know what we’ve learned about Shiravan protocol. It has to be our highest-ranking military person—me.” Calm reigned on Simon’s face while his thoughts roiled. The thought of going to confront ten armed alien ships with just one tended to make him nervous.

“And what if they’re not Shiravan? You’ll need backup or something, won’t you?”

Simon smiled at his wife’s image in the viewscreen. “Taking a few ships will do as much good as taking one, and taking enough for a real fight would be an insult to the Shiravans. We got away with it when Rentec and company arrived because we were in the middle of a fight when they showed up. Besides, this way we only lose one ship if something goes wrong. And any commander who won’t lead from the front is not one to follow.” He reached out and touched the screen, watching her do the same. “More to the point, they’re here to bring one of our own home, remember? And according to Rentec, this sel Garian wants to discuss an alliance against these Korvils. That’s what we’ve been waiting for—the most senior players. So, there’s not much chance that I’ll be in any real danger.”

“Initial reports show that they’re communicating with their own people and with some of our higher-ranking officers on the scene,” Kitty told Simon. “As a matter of fact, it looks more like a staring contest is going on right now. These guys have to know that we sent a ship to Earth to report to, well, us, dammit. So, they must know that the fleet they face is waiting for orders.”

While Manura sel Garian’s Second Fleet sat waiting for a response to the dissected probe’s inbound signal, all sensors at maximum, section leaders saw to the routine maintenance of the fleet. Though certain chores could not be performed while the fleet ghosted through the realm Shiravans called otherspace, generators were realigned, field coils were retuned, magnetic containment vessels were recalibrated, and during all this, battle drills were being run.

sel Garian called her top people together. “It was never my intention to keep control of this mission,” she said when all the ships’ captains were present. “I now have the information I needed to apprehend the killer of Fleet Commander Keffis and will now proceed to name a replacement.” With no more preamble, she said, “Binmith kep Parrasine, you will turn command of your ship over to your second and move to this vessel and take command of the fleet.”

Operating on the better-safe-than-sorry principle, Simon ordered the Rigel to drop out of hyperspace several light-seconds away from the assumed Shiravan fleet. At the Herald’s insistence, he told the captain, “She would prefer that we not lose another ship, if at all possible.”

“I’m all for that, sir,” the young captain muttered, staring at the holodisplay. “Tactical, your assessment of the situation?”

“I have eight ships confirmed, sir—six ships of the Heinlein class, one our size, and one a bit smaller. One of the Heinlein class ships appears to be damaged. They’re beat up but not helpless,” the Tac officer said offhandedly. “I’d say stay powered up, though. We’ve got the legs to outrun them if we have to.”

“Okay,” the captain said decisively. He hit the all-ships intercom. “All hands, this is the captain. The ship is at yellow alert. All personnel to assigned duty stations. Section Chiefs, power to all weapons systems, torpedo rooms to standby. No one is to actually target any ship out there without my direct order. Engine room, prepare to go to emergency power on my command, pulling as much power from life-support as you can without killing us.” He cut the circuit and turned to the bridge crew. “Helm, lay in a course directly through the center of that formation and label it ‘cut and run.’ Tactical, you are assigned to cripple as many of the opposing force as possible during cut and run. On my command, execute without delay.” He thought for a few seconds, and asked, “Admiral, what are your orders?”

Simon shrugged, a half-smile on his lips. “I’d say we should answer the door, Captain. We’ve kept our visitors waiting long enough.” He held up his comm link. “I’m tied directly into Communications.” Pressing a button on the link, he said, “I am Admiral Simon Hawke of the Terran Alliance. Please state your race and business.” He shut off the link and waited.

More than the estimated six seconds for a reply went by before the com screen, centered on the part of space holding the alien fleet, changed to a view of another bridge. Eerily familiar and lit with a dim red glow few aboard the Rigel besides Simon had ever seen, the scene was just a backdrop for the small red woman staring back at him. “I am Manura sel Garian,” the image said in strangely accented but understandable English. “I am Second Voice of the Shiravan Polity. I return one of your people, stolen from you by the Korvils, and bring greetings from Domagera Linnas des Harras.”

“Welcome to human space, Doma sel Garian,” Simon answered in Shiravan. He continued in English, “While some of our people have made an intensive study of your language during the time your First Fleet has been in-system, I haven’t had that luxury. I would prefer to either speak English or speak through an interpreter, whom I just happen to have beside me. You are acquainted with Doma Maratai kep Parrasine, aide to Rentec do’ Verlas, Shiravan Ambassador to Earth?”

“I am, Admiral,” came back six seconds later, the sound grating on Simon’s nerves. “Would you and your aide join me aboard my flagship, the Shumara Vacht, to discuss matters of mutual concern?”

“I would be most happy to, Doma,” Simon replied. “How will my pilot know which ship is yours?”

The image stood motionless for the six-second time lag and then said to someone outside the viewscreen’s range, “Chia a ret. Suba ven gerat.” She looked back at Simon and said, “I have ordered my ship to move slightly ahead of the remainder of the fleet. By this you will know. I await your arrival.”

“Sir,” Tactical reported, “I have ship movement. One ship moving forward and stopping.”

“Acknowledged, Tac,” the captain replied. He turned to Simon, “That sounded like an order, sir. Are you going to let her get away with it?”

“I’m going to let her think so for a short while, Captain,” Simon said, a small smile flickering across his face. “So, she wants to play power politics, does she? I guess it’s up to us to teach her a new concept—home court advantage.” He stood up, straightened his shirt, brushed an invisible speck from the sleeve, and announced, “She’ll get her reply when our shuttle leaves the flight deck, which we should probably be doing.” He turned to his aide. “Please inform Doma kep Parrasine that I’ll meet her on the flight deck.”

Simon watched until he moved out of sight and said to the captain, “You have no discretion with respect to this next order, Captain. If things should for any reason go south on us, you are to keep your ship and crew alive to report back if at all possible. Your cut-and-run routine is more last-ditch than anything else. Remember, it will leave you with any surviving enemy between you and home base. I don’t think there’ll be a problem, but you never know with our own people, so how can we be sure about aliens?”

Rentec turned slightly to view the cut of his brilliant saffron coat in the mirror. “One thing I will never understand about humans is their ability to put their personal tastes aside and wear all that dull black clothing.”

“Think of it as insignia carried to extremes, Ambassador,” Maratai said as she surveyed herself in the same mirror. Her aqua gown matched the piping on the Ambassador’s coat and trousers. “The militaries of all the various Earth countries have their own distinctive regalia. Even civilian groups demonstrate their affiliations in the same manner. Police uniforms vary from place to place but are easily recognizable as police nevertheless,” she noted. “Even their sports groups exhibit the same inclination.” She nervously straightened the small ensign on her collar, denoting her status as a member of the Matriarch’s personal retinue. “sel Garian truly commands Second Fleet?” A quiver raced through her voice.

“So it would appear,” Rentec confirmed. “When Admiral Hawke announced our presence, it was she who answered.” He shook his head in the human manner. “I confess that I can see no reason for her to have usurped the military’s role in this matter. Court intrigue is her forte, not interplanetary warfare.”

“We will know soon enough, except that the only difference between the two that I can see is scope,” Maratai replied, temporizing. She looked up at her companion and placed her hand on his arm. “If what you say is true, let our friend Simon find out just how dangerous she can be, Rentec. Don’t get caught between them.”

Rentec covered her hand with his. “I haven’t been away from court so long as to forget the basics, Doma,” he said formally. “Your concern for my well-being is appreciated, but I intend to stand by and let these two particular brekkis butt heads until there is only one left standing.”

He smiled at the memory of a trip with his father many years before. Kirel do’ Verlas had taken the young son he was pleased to have sired on an outing into mountains so remote they were merely numbers on a map. During their two-week stay, Rentec had seen two male brekkis fighting over territory and reproductive rights—the winner being the one to withstand the repeated high-speed head impacts with another five-hundred-pound, heavily-horned brekki.

Focusing his attention back on the present, Rentec opened the door leading into the corridor, breaking the contact and putting an end to the moment. “But why you would feel so about a junior minister, appointed to a unique post for what is certain to be a limited time, is a mystery to me.”

“Perhaps,” Maratai answered, trying to put an air of the very mystery Rentec referred to into her voice, “it could be said that I find myself respecting the fortitude you have shown during this most uncomfortable situation. Integrity, honesty, and perseverance, notwithstanding, I find myself admiring your dedication to your Matriarch and convictions, and the ability to integrate them into a whole you can work with. Especially considering your extenuating circumstances.”

Shiravan culture prevented women from making overt bids for male attention. That was normally handled clan-mother to clan-mother. With so few men in the populace, there were economic advantages to having a male in one’s household, but so few were born. Only in the last fifty years or so had the figures for male births begun to climb again. But so many of the old traditions continued, even after males started to enter the workforce.

The actual verbal reference to Rentec’s situation was unheard of in polite Shiravan society, female-dominated though it was. She moved out into the corridor, effectively ending the conversation and leaving Rentec confused at her deliberate snubbing of all Shiravan custom.

Simon elected to approach the Shiravan fleet in the captain’s gig—a small shuttle capable of holding two pilots and a party of eight—and completely weaponless. Rentec and Maratai, last to arrive, seated themselves at the rear of the passenger compartment near the door, filling out the four chairs facing each other. “Glad you decided to come along, Ambassador. Our other two personnel are a surprise, if your Doma sel Garian doesn’t object,” Simon half-explained when he noticed the Shiravan’s curious glances at the two extra personnel. “If she does object, they’ll never leave the shuttle.”

“What are their duties?” Maratai asked, making note of the fact that these two did not carry the usual sidearm affected by most Alliance personnel. As a matter of fact, neither did Simon nor his aide, Captain Goldman.

“Call them harbor pilots,” was all Simon would say.

The Rigel’s gig drifted out of its berth in the battlecruiser’s docking bay and passed through its shields. The pilots brought the inertial compensators online while the ship’s computer acquired targeting data. Chosen for their ability to speak Shiravan as much as for their flight expertise, the two pilots locked on to the flagship and hailed her. “Shumara Vacht, tiso heppis Rigel. Sura vir tenara Admiral Hawke, Captain Goldman, Chudara Rentec do’ Verlas, es Doma Maratai kep Parrasine.”

Simon understood enough Shiravan to know that the pilots had just identified themselves, the shuttle, and its occupants. Even knowing that the flight should take no more than ten or fifteen minutes, he kept one ear tuned to the cockpit traffic.

“Tep’a ah musaret hisaro.” The copilot had requested docking instructions in accented but recognizable Shiravan, and Simon smiled as the delay in reply time lengthened past the time a ten-thousand-mile separation and light-speed communication would normally account for.

The pilots finally received clearance and manually moved the little ship into one of the bays of the Shiravan flagship. Unused to the process since Alliance ships had internal capture fields to handle the chore, more time was spent warping the shuttle into the bay than getting from the Rigel to the Shiravan ship.

The larger ship had none of the forcefields over the bay openings that were standard on Alliance ships, so the occupants waited while bay doors closed and the pressure equalized. It was obvious when that had occurred since a side door opened, allowing a small group of Shiravans to enter the bay. Per orders received earlier from Simon, the pilots opened the hatch and let the door become a short ramp.

Simon’s rise to his feet was a signal for the rest of the party to do the same. Only Kitty could have recognized the nervousness in him as he readjusted his uniform and wiped at nonexistent bits of lint. “Well, people, it’s showtime,” he said and stepped to the hatch. Moving past the hatchway, he noticed the difference in gravity. At about the time Rentec and his fleet had shown up in Earth’s system, engineers in the Galileo’s Research and Development section had finally figured out how to adjust what they called the gravity field gradient. From that time on, all Alliance vessels carried an Earth-normal gravity.

As he moved the few paces to the bottom of the ramp made by the gig’s open hatch, Simon became aware that not all members of the group awaiting him were Shiravan. The sixth member was human. Margaret Spencer, if he remembered her name correctly.

Followed by Rentec, then Captain Goldman and Maratai, Simon walked over to the waiting group. Taking advantage of a short course in Shiravan protocol hurriedly pressed on him by Rentec and Maratai, Simon stopped in front of the fleet commander and gave a measured head-nod, granting her the status of equals.

Familiar with the makeup of both fleets, Rentec had said, “This commander will outrank Captain do’ Sirkis. Her appointment to fleet commander of a battle group escorting Policy Minister sel Garian guarantees it, both militarily and socially. She will be the supreme Shiravan military officer in the area, and, as such, should be accorded every courtesy given to any visiting general or admiral of one of your own military forces.” His voice had taken on the detached quality it always did when he was thinking. “I am surprised, though, to find that a kep Parrasine is fleet commander. It was my understanding that a Commander Keffis was to be commander on this mission.”

Simon looked up at the taller being and decided that a little more distance between human and Shiravans would do wonders to prevent neckaches. Through a translator, he said, “Welcome to Alliance space, Fleet Commander. I’d like to express the Alliance’s thanks for the safe return of Lieutenant Commander Spencer. Our facilities are at your disposal for anything you need to refit and repair your ships after their long voyage. As for the rest, I’ll let your own people fill you in on that.”

CHAPTER TEN

“I want the Galileo and the Mira back here ASAP,” Kitty said into a her comm link. “We need to get those NASA guys back to Earth, and I want to get the Mira crewed up.” She listened as a tiny voice acknowledged her orders.

“And now that we know the identities of the newest batch of visitors to our system, we can stand down from general quarters. But I want an eye kept on them until we are more certain of their motives. I’m still a bit unhappy that we repaired two of their ships after that last attack, but to be fair, they earned it, sticking their necks out without knowing for sure which way we would jump,” she said to Captain Thomas Breen of the Deneb.

Second-waver that he was, he had excelled in all respects and received his comets just before the first Korvil attack. Sitting in an office on Earth while all of his friends got to go kick some alien butt galled him, but the reports of what had happened to the Clarke still sent shivers down his spine. Knowing that he was more of a courier than anything else didn’t sit well, but the speed of light almost dictated using warp-capable ships for message carrying, even at just planetary distances, so there were two ships usually in orbit at all times. The Shasta would remain in orbit until another ship took the Deneb’s place and would take her turn ferrying information and orders from place to place.

He turned his full attention back to the Herald. “This sel Garian person is the one Rentec said would show up and take over negotiations with us,” Kitty said quietly. “I’d prefer to meet her on neutral grounds, but there aren’t any, so we’ll use the Galileo instead. She should feel more comfortable there anyway.”

“You’re not concerned that they’ll find a way to take control of the Galileo while on board?” Thomas asked

“I’m only concerned about the medical section of the computer, I think,” Kitty said. “We’ve never really understood what goes on in there, and it is a section that’s still encoded with the Shiravan codes since we couldn’t erase them without losing all the medical data, too. Simple solution was to limit their access to that which we don’t understand until we understand it. Besides, with Marsha still inside one of those...” she let her voice trail off.

Thomas thought her fears justified but forbore to tell her so. Instead he asked, “So, what message am I to deliver to Admiral Hawke?”

“Tell him to delay twenty-four hours and then escort Policy Minister sel Garian and her flagship directly to Earth where the Galileo will be waiting to accept her entourage.”

Thomas stood up and said, “Yes, Ma’am. Anything else?”

Kitty reached into her desk, brought out an envelope, and slid it across the desk. “Deliver this to Simon personally before he talks to the new ambassador, and time your arrival for about twenty-four hours from now.” Thomas took the envelope, nodded, and turned to leave. “Have to have the gravity lowered for her, I guess,” he heard just before the door closed.

An officious-acting young second lieutenant bent over Simon’s shoulder and whispered in his ear, “Admiral, you have an urgent communique from the Herald. Should I wait for a response?”

Simon tore the flap open in frustration, read the contents, and looked up at the messenger. “There will be no response at this time. You may go.” The now-deflated young officer crossed the room as everyone sat in total silence, apparently waiting for him to leave. Once the door closed, Simon waved the paper in the air. “This has just arrived from the Herald. Her respects to you, Policy Minister, and her apologies for not being able to be here in person. She requests what I have already offered, but now it is official. You, Policy Minister, and your flagship will be escorted to Earth by the Rigel and the Shasta, assuming you agree, of course. She adds,” he said, reading further, “that the Galileo, or Dalgor Kreth as you know her, will be in orbit and can serve as a sort of neutral ground for your first talks.”

“And how long until this meeting can be held?” sel Garian asked through her translator.

Simon just smiled. “Rentec, explain that we aren’t afraid to short-jump within our own system. If she will allow two of my crew access the Shumara Vacht’s Helm and Nav stations, I believe we can be in Earth orbit within two hours.”

sel Garian’s response was voiced at the same time that Fleet Commander kep Parrasine spoke up. kep Parrasine was visibly shaken at the old woman’s curt acceptance of the request. Simon merely whispered into his comm link and told Rentec to tell sel Garian that the two harbor pilots were on their way to the bridge.

“Tell me,” sel Garian asked, “where will you be while your crewmen are controlling my ship?”

“Why, right here beside you, Policy Minister,” Simon said pleasantly. “I wouldn’t want you to think we were going to pull a fast one on you.”

“Pull a fast one?” Rentec asked blankly as he struggled with the idiom.

“Trick you or try something sneaky,” Simon explained. Rentec whispered in sel Garian’s ear, who thought for a moment and then just nodded.

Simon, through Rentec and Maratai, had explained the idea of harbor pilots by the time the two officers arrived. They scanned the room until they found Simon. Guessing correctly that the person next to him was the VIP they had to impress, the senior of the two saluted and asked in stilted yet perfect Shiravan, “Commanders Matthews and Ivanov reporting as ordered. Permission to enter the bridge?”

Impressed, but trying not to show it, she merely said, “Granted. You may take your positions and report when ready. My officers will stand ready to assist in any way they can.” This last was offered as a not-so-veiled threat that nothing besides the approved maneuvers were to be attempted.

The two officers, both women, went to what was to them over-sized control panels. Helm almost effortlessly began to access the strange ship’s engines, drawing a mutter of astonishment from the alien crew. “I have control, sir,” she reported in English to Simon.

Nav made several attempts before saying, “I need an access code to do this any time soon.” She looked at the alien whose place she had taken and asked, “Erocerra, Doma. Se el tugara fet yefite?”

Rentec hadn’t wanted the word ‘yefite’ to be used at all. Its usual tone carried the weight of an order, but the woman used the class-conscious Shiravan’s own society against them, deliberately speaking in everyday equal-to-equal mode. This took the sting out of the order and relegated it to a very urgent request.

The alien looked at the other human—who was already deep into the systems of the ship and showing every sign of knowing what she was doing—leaned over the human’s shoulder, pressed a series of buttons, and then stepped aside.

A few seconds of work and the second pilot reported, “I’m in and accessing primary targeting systems.” Several seconds went by. “I’ll bring her in to one hundred thousand first before acquiring a fix on a spot big enough at the fifty thousand marker.”

Helm said, “Receiving data dump from Nav and applying coordinates.” Several seconds went by before Helm reported, “Course laid in and locked, Captain.”

Simon looked at Rentec. “We’re ready to go. I know you guys have a problem with this. There’s still time for her to change her mind and go the slow way.”

“Oh, no, Admiral. Policy Minister sel Garian and Captain kep Parrasine spent the better part of last evening looking forward to the experience, it would seem. Definite military applications. See? Already you affect our way of thinking.”

Rentec didn’t bother to tell Simon that he and Maratai had been integral parts of that discussion, the early part of which had felt more like an interrogation than anything else. Neither held back anything they’d learned about the humans during their time together. Indeed, they’d been spoken to strongly by Simon before retiring for the night. “Now comes the big interview, Mister Ambassador,” Simon prophesied as he nodded at the retreating backs of sel Garian and kep Parrasine. “You’ve probably figured out some things we’d rather you didn’t know about us, just as you fear that we have done the same about you. Let me just say that while I really don’t know your culture as well as I’d like, I believe we have more in common than we suspect. Tell your boss the truth as you see it.”

“We’ve been shown every courtesy possible, with the exception of places called secure facilities, which we believe to be military bases for protection from each other as they are still a one-planet, power-driven, tribal culture. All other facilities of a civilian nature were shown to us—hospitals, prisons, transportation control centers for their ground-based and air-based traffic systems. All of their industry is based—was based—on the consumption of fossil fuels.” Rentec reached for a small cup and took a sip for his dry throat.

Maratai took up the story before he could settle back into his chair. “All of the construction you see about you includes four functioning bases, dozens of ships, literally hundreds of advanced parda kellin, upgraded to almost warp-level capabilities and carrying strange, stronger weapons. Also, it seems that they take less damage when in a conflict. My suspicion is that they’ve taken another of our technologies and twisted it to a more unique, more advantageous use. Most of the changes they’ve made have been predictable in hindsight, like adding another power core to a ship’s systems.”

She stopped, obviously embarrassed that she had run on so long. Rentec said, “No, Doma kep Parrasine, please continue.”

Reassured by the lack of rancor in his voice, she went on. “They are a secretive people by nature. I have learned that one of their favorite sayings is, ‘Knowledge is power.’ They still are splintered into many different factions on the planet’s surface, though those who have moved off-world seem to be united in their desire to pursue a space-borne lifestyle and may be able to help in our war against the Korvils in more ways than we can yet guess.”

Simon was already familiar with the reaction Shiravans had to in-system hyper jumps, but he watched these two especially closely. As Helm ran the ship up to jump speed, Nav said, “Sir! I have just acquired a Mayday. Orders?”

Simon looked briefly at the actual captain, and said, “Identify Mayday and authenticate ASAP, Commander.”

Manipulating the superior scanning system built into this larger vessel, Nav quickly said. “Authentication confirmed, sir. I have five construction pods interconnected and putting out a weak Mayday. Orders?”

Simon turned to Rentec. “Tell your Policy Minister that those are five of my people thought killed in the past action. Ask if she would mind if we divert and rescue them.”

Rentec spoke quickly to the elder of the two women. After a short exchange, he turned to the distressed Simon and said, “It is always in a Shiravan’s nature to deal solicitously with those in distress. Stop and rescue your people, of course,” Rentec translated.

Simon nodded to his Nav officer, who started sending new coordinates to Helm. In a very few minutes, the huge ship was on a course only slightly askew from their original heading. Simon felt the vibrations cease through the soles of his boots and correctly deduced that they were at the scene of the Mayday.

He turned to the ship’s captain, only to find her speaking into her wrist comm. He waited until she was finished and let her speak to Rentec. “Your people are even now being brought aboard. As soon as the air can be restored to the bay, you may see them,” he translated.

“Okay, then,” Simon said. “Helm, recompute course for Earth orbit and send to Nav. Helm, wait until I return to proceed. I’m going down to see who we just brought on board. Rentec, will you show me the way?”

Rentec escorted this alien who had become his friend during the past year, looking down at the erect frame and stoic bearing and fighting hard, even with his longer legs, to keep up. “Your determination is admirable, friend Simon, but your crew will either be alive or dead. No amount of hurrying will change the situation.”

“I don’t have a choice, Rentec. They’re my responsibility, and I must reassure them that they’re safe, if they’re still alive. I don’t guarantee their actions if I don’t speak to them personally. Besides, I also wonder what happens when I leave two unknown aliens in control of your number two’s flagship while I go gallivanting off to see who we just saved.”

“I see,” Rentec said slowly. “They may think they’ve been captured by the Korvil. Won’t they remember the pictures of Korvils we gave you?”

Simon smiled crookedly. “You’ve only known us for about a year now, Rentec. We have a long history of distrusting new things. Believe me, this is the best way.”

Simon stood outside the docking bay that held the five interconnected construction pods, waiting the seemingly interminable time it took for the air to be pumped into the room. As soon as the lights changed, he pressed the open button and waited restlessly as the round wheel in the center of the door spun of its own accord. The wheel stopped spinning, and when nothing further happened, Simon pulled on it hesitantly. The door swung open as soundlessly as any aboard the Galileo, he noticed almost absentmindedly as he walked over to the cluster of pods deposited in the middle of the bay.

Looking over the names stenciled on each suit, he knocked on a pod and wiped the frost off the outside of the forward viewport. Simon saw a human face looking back at him and tapped his own ear, hoping the man inside would turn on the suit’s external speakers and microphones. “Chief, this is Admiral Hawke. I need you unsuited and out here as soon as possible. Understood?” Getting a nod back, Simon stepped back a few paces and waited for the center suit to open of its own accord.

Marsha’s uncle looked first at Simon and then Rentec. Simon cut him off before he could ask any questions. “We are aboard the flagship of the second Shiravan contact fleet, Chief. Right now, I need you and your men to maintain discipline in here until we reach Earth, which should be in about two hours since we have to run back up to speed. You’ll be transferred to the Galileo almost as soon as we arrive.”

The chief just looked at Simon for a few seconds as if he were processing the information. Finally, he nodded. “As long as we’ve got air, we can handle a couple of hours cooped up in this one room. For sure, it’s more than we’ve had for some time now.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Simon followed Rentec back to the bridge, looking intently all about him. He wasn’t looking at the crew as Rentec thought but at the ship itself—fittings, signs of aging, disrepair, neglect, anything that might give him some indication what kind of readiness level these overtly pacifistic people were at.

All signs led him to the conclusion that this particular bunch of Shiravans were at a high state of readiness in a fully functional and battleworthy vessel. “Unless you’re not allowed to speak on the subject, I notice that these Shiravans seem to be at a higher state of readiness than you tell me most of your people tend to adhere to.”

Rentec looked down at his human friend. “I’m sorry if I gave that impression, friend Simon, but the truth is that most Shiravans, those planet-bound or just being transported from one place to another, are of a different mindset than those you see around you. We who actually travel between the stars as a part of our service to the Matriarch are truly humbled by the size of the universe and tend to maintain our vessels quite well.”

Simon stepped onto the bridge and said, “Nav, you may execute your orders.” Nav ordered Helm to execute her assigned course. It was at this point that most of the bridge crew finally realized for sure what the humans were up to.

Quiet pandemonium broke out, and Nav bellowed in her best parade ground voice, “Stimara!” The use of senior-to-junior mode stunned most of the red aliens into silence, as was intended. “Tiso serama. Everything’s normal. Earth tiso serama yat.”

Rentec, long since accustomed to the human usage of the concept they called short-jumping, immediately recognized the reason for the bedlam. Convention among Shiravan ship handlers said that one just did not short-jump inside a planetary system. The particular convention in question was never questioned or analyzed. The fact of the matter was that the Shiravan system didn’t have two massive bodies like Jupiter and Saturn sweeping the outer system clear of stray material, and the moon, much more massive than either of the two that circled Shiravi, served as another gravity well, attracting most of the rest of the larger incoming material.

Humans, noted for not respecting convention, had ignored this one without even knowing it. The peculiar conditions that let them operate so effectively in their own system would one day become recognized as unusual in the extreme, but in this one case, it proved to allow strategies neither of the other two species would ever have thought of.

It would have been nice to keep that particular piece of information quiet, Simon thought. I’m glad we aren’t overemphasizing the fact that aside from the obvious alterations to the capture fields, they haven’t noticed that we have a full set of shields against anything in their present arsenal and a way to counter their shields when they figure them out and implement them.

Rentec spoke sharply and quietly to the captain and her superior, sel Garian. A moment later the captain said, “Stimara! Par’a Terrani sec ferrada, korpa daesta.”

Simon looked from the captain to sel Garian to Rentec, unsure what to do. Rentec finally said, “The ship is under your command, Admiral. Please take us to Earth.”

Simon shook his head slightly and turned to his Helm officer. “If your course is laid in, Commander, you may execute.”

Merely nodding, the woman turned to the oversized console, moved two controls slightly, and said in accented Shiravan, “On my mark. Three, two, one, mark.”

The twisting feeling Simon could never quite shake passed in a matter of seconds, and he looked up at the display. Even eight years later, he was still able to tell, with the altered Shiravan color scheme, when they had arrived. “Doma sel Garian, Captain kep Parrasine, I would like to be the first to personally welcome you to Earth,” Simon said with a small smile on his face. “Nav, Helm, turn your stations back over to their proper operators please, and report back to the shuttle.” He turned quickly to the two Shiravans. “If that is all right with you, Doma sel Garian?”

Nonplussed by an alien giving orders in her presence and then asking permission, she nodded and waved a hand in the vague direction of the doorway to the bridge. Her eyes were still glued to the screens before her. Normal bridge patter, albeit Shiravan, began to pass back and forth among the crew, breaking the spell for the Policy Minister. With great difficulty, it seemed, she asked, “How soon will I be allowed to meet with your Herald?” the artificial voice grating more than usual.

“The Galileo should be in orbit, Policy Minister,” Simon said. “The ship you call the Dalgor Kreth. The Herald will beam aboard it, it will move into transporter distance of this vessel, and we can all go visiting.”

Rentec and Maratai, as interpreters, would accompany the Policy Minister’s staff. sel Garian played another card in her arsenal. “I have ordered my shuttle readied to carry us to this historic meeting, Admiral. I’m sure you won’t mind,” Maratai interpreted. “It would be so much better for all of your Herald’s visitors to arrive at the same time, don’t you think?”

“I have no problem with that at all, Policy Minister,” Simon replied. “You might want to add a few people to go over the ship to see that we haven’t damaged her to any degree. And I’m sure they’ll be quite interested in some of the modifications we’ve made.” Anyone who knew Simon would have heard, just barely, the smirk in his voice. None of that made it to his face, though, as he gave the old woman what she wanted even before she asked for it, or worse, before she tried to find out by sending people skulking around what he still considered to be his ship, never mind the fact that it would have to be returned in the now-foreseeable future. “Of course, my gig will carry the rest of my crew back to their ship.”

The old woman looked as if she had just eaten whatever passed for lemons on Shiravi, and Simon hid the grin on his face by turning away slightly and speaking into his comm link. “Galileo Control, this is Admiral Hawke. What is your status?”

The response, calm and professional, monitored by the Shumara Vacht’s comm station came across clearer than the signal across his link. “Admiral, this is Galileo Control. We have the Herald aboard, moving to the one-hundred-thousand-mile orbit and will take position one thousand miles ahead of you. We will await your signal for transport.”

“Galileo, be advised that there has been a change of plans. Prepare the starboard Projects Deck to receive a shuttle from the Shumara Vacht.”

A slight hesitation preceded the puzzled response. “Starboard Projects Deck available for docking, aye, sir.”

The old woman—small, Rentec had described her—stood nearly eye-to-eye with Simon and tried another way to assert her dominance over this alien being who seemed to have no fear of her position. “You won’t mind, I’m sure, Admiral, if my crew stays on alert, weapons ready, in case of further Korvil attacks? None of your ships will be targeted, of course.”

“No more, Doma,” Simon shot back, “than you will mind when my flagship enters Shiravan orbit someday with its weapons sealed, trusting in the hospitality and ability of Shiravi to protect it without question.”

The two leaders spoke no more for a time as they led a fair-sized contingent of people down to the docking bays. “See what I mean about a pair of brekkis fighting over territory?” Rentec said quietly as they lagged behind the two a bit. “Very interesting to watch but only from a safe distance.”

“The problem is,” Maratai mused, “that we won’t be that far away from either of them.”

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask,” Rentec said conspiratorially. “Have you told the Policy Minister the Herald’s first name yet?”

Maratai chuckled lightly. “There hasn’t been time, it seems, to inform the Policy Minister of that little detail. What with worrying about Korvil attacks and not yet having met these new aliens, as well as keeping track of some sort of situation almost minute to minute, she hasn’t asked too many questions.”

Rentec nodded at the door ahead of them. “You have precious few minutes to inform her of this not-so-little detail, Doma kep Parrasine.” A look of worry crossed his face. “One thing I know is that it is never a good idea to get on Manura sel Garian’s bad side. This will definitely do the job, embarrassing her in front of everyone who has any idea what is happening, the humans notwithstanding. She will have someone’s head for that.”

Maratai only shrugged. “I’m not worried. Her wrath can’t touch me. And it is fun to take the wind out of that one’s sails occasionally.”

“Well, her wrath can certainly reach me,” Rentec groused. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

The group arrived at the door, and Captain kep Parrasine opened the hatch leading to the shuttle bay, the act coinciding with the arrival of the small party escorting Maggie Spencer to the shuttle. She carried only a small handbag slung crosswise from her left shoulder to right hip.

There was no more time for talking as the two groups combined and a few moved off out of the bay while the rest moved aboard the shuttle that was taking up most of the bay. Simon contrived to sit next to the ostensible main reason for this voyage. “Maggie Spencer, right?” he asked.

“That’s right,” she answered cautiously. After a short time, she said, “Derek and I talked about this moment. Am I in trouble, or what?”

Simon could just stare at her for a few seconds, and then he broke out laughing. When he got his mirth under control, he said, “Trouble? Not at all. As a matter of fact, your name and Derek’s are probably almost as well-known as mine. Derek has been back for quite some time now, and if his story halfway matches yours, I’ll personally see to it that you both receive the Solar Cross and get posted to our Alliance-Shiravan protocol team, assuming you wish to stay with us,” Simon added hastily. “If you do, you get unlimited leave to recuperate from your ordeal and reunite with your family. Just press the red button when you’re ready,” he finished with a grin. “One way or another, we’ll pick you up.”

The shuttle carrying the party transferring to the Galileo filled up quickly. As there were twenty seats, all tailored for a Shiravan frame of course, Simon was surprised to see the shuttle full. He counted his own group—himself, Rentec, Maratai, sel Garian, and the Shumara Vacht’s captain. Along with Maggie Spencer, that made six. The rest, he was sure, would fan out through the ship, examining everything they could.

Simon waited until the shuttle docked inside the Galileo before springing his last card on sel Garian. “You will understand that I can’t yet let your people into what we’ve come to think of as our computer. Personally, I hate the idea that anything but pure fear motivates that requirement, but so it must be for the time being.”

“I fear the same,” Maratai translated for sel Garian. “But what you’ve done with our technology far surpasses what the Korvils ever did. You have actually improved upon many of the designs in our basic systems. We had very little wreckage of the two parda kellin we picked up, but even that small amount showed us that you are far more inventive than the Korvils and, therefore, far more to be feared. They at least just copy old technology. You look at something and ask, ‘How can we make this more useful?’ Or perhaps, ‘How can we make this more powerful?’”

The shuttle was pulled through the forcefield and deposited on the deck with one door facing a group of humans. The pilot, without waiting for orders, pressed a button on her panel and opened the hatch, letting it become the ramp that was standard among Shiravan shuttles.

Shiravan protocol demanded that the closest to equals should meet first, so Kitty, resplendent in her white formal dress and marked even more by her solid white hair, stood at the bottom of the ramp slightly ahead of her top officers. During several short comm calls between the two ships, Maratai had wound up as designated interpreter for Kitty, so she hurried off the vessel and stood beside Kitty while the rest of the passengers disembarked at a more sedate pace.

Rentec, performing the same duties for sel Garian, took a deep breath and announced, “Manura sel Garian, Policy Minister for the Shiravan Polity and Second Voice in Council, requests permission to board your vessel, Madam Herald.”

Kitty smiled up at the old alien. “I guess, technically, you don’t need permission to come aboard your own property, Doma sel Garian, but please, be welcome. I am Herald of the Terran Alliance, Katherine Hawke.” She stopped and let Maratai translate her welcome, then went on. “Each of my officers is fairly fluent in Shiravan and are at your peoples’ disposal for their inspection of the ship. Now, if you will come with me, I can provide better accommodations than a docking bay.”

Protocol holding him back, Simon rode up to the command deck in the second elevator, acutely aware that his wife was alone with three aliens in their own ship, and he had no control over the situation. Relegated to the purely military, he rode up with the Shiravan fleet commander and one interpreter while the rest of the Shiravan delegation fanned out through the Galileo with their escorts.

Unbeknownst to Kitty, a storm was brewing amongst the three aliens in her lift as stares and glares passed literally over her head. She thought the overly pungent odor might be because there were three Shiravans together, but she remembered many times in the past two years that that had been the case, and not once that she could remember had she ever smelled anything quite like this. Even among larger groups than three, she had never noticed this particular odor—not particularly repellent but one she certainly wouldn’t like to spend much time with in such a confined space.

The lift doors opened onto the command deck, and Kitty, as host, waved her charges out of the lift ahead of her. It was then that she noticed that the peculiar odor was emanating from the Policy Minister. She stepped out last, and the door on the second lift opened, disgorging several more people, including, she saw with relief, Simon.

An awkward silence followed until Kitty whispered in Simon’s ear. Simon finally noticed the tensions between the newly arrived Policy Minister and Rentec and Maratai. Change of orders, Simon thought. Maybe we should give them time to talk before we start anything serious. Aloud, he commented lightly, “We could only guess what some of these rooms were originally designed for, but we have set up one of the suites as guest quarters. An escort will be posted outside your suite to bring you to the Captain’s Lounge when you’ve had time to freshen up and catch up before going any further. We will wait there. Ensign,” Simon said to a young man at the back of the group, “please wait outside this door and lead our guests to the lounge when they’re ready.” He turned away, then back to the ensign, “Or to any other part of the ship they wish to visit before joining us. There will most likely be several different Shiravans reporting here from time to time. Render them any assistance they ask for. Do you have any questions?”

“Sir, no, sir,” the ensign shot back immediately. He moved to stand beside the door, hands behind his back, feet spread about shoulder-width, relaxed—at ease, the position was called in the U.S. military.

“You will have a small staff of six new recruits sent up immediately to use as gofers should you find it necessary,” Simon added to the ensign, “and you will stand four hour shifts as long as our guests are aboard. Second and third shifts will be informed of their new responsibilities before you go off-duty. “You, Ensign Randall,” Simon said, reading the nametag on his victim, “will be the officer in charge of guest security while they are aboard, so all of these new people will be looking to you for guidance. At no time is any guest to be considered restricted from any part of the ship except the computer. Access to that area will be on my personal authorization and physical presence only, understood?”

“Sir, yes, sir,” the young man answered, saluting crisply.

Simon suppressed a silent sigh and returned the salute. “Everyone chosen for this distinguished duty,” he said, acutely aware of the translation murmur going on even as he spoke, “will have at least one criterion in common—they will all be able to speak Shiravan to some extent. They will serve as guides for whichever Shiravan wants to visit whichever part of the Galileo they deem necessary, answering all questions fully and truthfully. Do you have any questions?” Simon’s voice had changed from the authoritarian tone he was used to wielding to one of almost sympathy.

“Sir, no, sir,” the young man answered.

Simon turned to sel Garian. “Will that be to your satisfaction, Policy Minister?” he asked formally, bowing slightly as he did so.

The old spymaster, perhaps caught off guard at the openness these Terrans showed to total strangers, answered, “For the time being, Admiral, until I think of something else.” She led the way into the quarters set aside for her and her delegation. As soon as the last Terran left, she ordered, “Full scan of all rooms and surrounding rooms will commence immediately. Captain kep Parrasine will post a schedule that will repeat those scans at irregular times on an ongoing basis.”

sel Garian ordered all nonessential personnel to take a rest, deciding that it would be she who dictated the timing and structure of the forthcoming meeting. Several hours passed while she, herself, laid down and let her mind wander before she ordered the first shift awakened and brought in for a war council.

“These are barbarians,” she told the officers of the Second Fleet. “Clever barbarians, but barbarians nevertheless. This Terran Herald is but a child when it comes to the use of our technology, and her abilities in the political arena will doubtless be just as inadequate, despite the testimonies of Doma kep Parrasine and Dom do’ Verlas.”

The old woman paced before the gathering. “And this Kath-e-rin thing as the name of the Terran Herald, for Spirit’s sake. I know something of the older teachings, and while Kath-e-rin is described as small, fair-complexioned, and white-haired, nowhere does it say that she will look anything like a human, Shiravan, or anything else. And while I’m not especially sure that I even believe in the Spirits,” she said quietly, “there’s no real evidence that they don’t exist, either.”

She squared her shoulders and said, “Until I have evidence to the contrary, I’ll treat this individual as I would any head of state. I’m extremely grateful that this is only the second sentient race we’ve discovered, and I’m grateful that they are so helpful. Since we have no real protocols to go by when dealing with interstellar sovereigns, we’ll just have to improvise.”

Rentec said, “It has long been the custom among our people to have the visiting ministers speak first and present gifts. Perhaps we can use that as a starting point and explain that we are a people steeped in tradition and out of our depth.”

sel Garian grimaced. “I will never publicly admit that we are ‘out of our depth,’ but I will propose a mutual trade and defense pact. Though they seem civilized, I remain unsure. I have the reports from the technicians studying the two human crafts. Between the two, we can get one intact craft and begin to reproduce it, giving us equal status with the humans.”

Maratai stood up, interrupting sel Garian, an almost unheard-of phenomenon. “We have had almost two Earth years to study them, and they us. These are a young and vibrant people, prone to rash decisions and hasty judgment. But they are not to be underestimated. Ever. Remember, these people have, with only a few years’ possession of the Dalgor Kreth, managed to survive three Korvil attacks, actually beating back two of them.” She looked around the room at all of the royalty and near-royalty present and said, “And they have done something in that short a time that we have never been able to do—make the Korvils retreat.”

Maratai got an embarrassed look on her face and sat down self-consciously. sel Garian looked at her with something akin to respect and nodded. “You speak truly, young kep Parrasine, but you don’t look to the future. How long will it be before we are the subservient race?”

“Subservient?” Rentec laughed aloud. “You will find this people already less than subservient. And that is an understatement. The very most you will get out of a bargaining table will be equality. And if you start off trying to sound superior, you will wind up with even less. These people are a truly multicolored race, totally able to interbreed but different colors due primarily to the climates they live in. They have a long history of fighting for equality, and I would steer clear of anything that even sounds like superiority. They may be new, but look at what they’ve accomplished,” he reminded the old woman, astonished that he really was speaking to her so. And surviving. “Remember,” he said, allowing a hint of warning to creep into his voice, “their entire history is one of violence and conquest. At this point in their development, they have finally come to see the wisdom of valuing words above war but are not afraid to be even more aggressive than we are when it comes to defending themselves.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

“This sel Garian is going to be a tough nut to crack unless we come up with just the right hammer,” Simon said to his assembled captains and Kitty as he paced back and forth in the Captain’s Lounge on the Galileo.

Kitty looked around the room before speaking, “Since she is Shiravi’s second in command, we can’t just brush her off. Their Matriarch chose a male to head their delegation out of respect for our traditions, so why is she here? I’ll tell you why,” Kitty said, answering her own question. “She’s here to see with her own eyes just how much progress we’ve made, and she’ll report to their Matriarch, most likely by saying she’s been away from her own post for too long.”

Simon nodded. “Hopefully, she’ll take just one ship back with her, if and when she goes. Eight Shiravan battlecruisers are a whole year’s production for us.” He added, “With the continuing buildup of Terran forces as ships come off the assembly line and get crewed, we’ll have a major advantage in our own tiny little section of space no matter how many ships they really have. And most of them will be on picket duty defending colonies against attack since most of those same colonies haven’t reached the point where they can build ships to defend themselves.”

Robert Greene, recently arrived in Earth-space in response to a summons from Kitty, added, “And soon, we’ll outnumber them so badly that they won’t dare oppose us. At least here.”

“We will not be making enemies of these people,” Kitty said forcefully. “They know their own technology far too well for us to become adversaries. Remember, they’ve been in space for over four hundred years.”

“But we’ve made so many advancements,” Gayle, also newly arrived, exclaimed. “Surely they can’t hope to oppose us if we should decide it’s in our own best interest to make unilateral decisions.”

“Suppose they decide that our advancements pose too much of a danger to them?” Simon asked quietly. “I think that if they choose to do so, they can field enough ships to take us out, regardless of the innovations we’ve made. If they’re willing to pay the price in people and ships.”

“Well, it looks like we’re going to find out soon enough,” Kitty said, closing the note that had just been delivered to her. “Policy Minister sel Garian requests our attendance in the briefing room immediately. Before we go in there, I just want to point out that the eighteen Shiravan ships you see in our system represent just a small part of their space fleet. And while there are surely many more tied up dealing with the Korvils, I’m certain the Shiravan leader has enough reserves to come stomp on us if she pleases. Remember, sometimes numbers do overcome technological superiority. You have only to look to our own planet to see dozens of examples of just that situation occurring.”

“This is still our home territory,” Simon declared. “And I, for one, will not heel to the beck and call of the second in command of another star-faring race. Besides, we still have some points to go over ourselves.” He turned to the message runner. Writing quickly, he handed a piece of paper to the ensign. “Take this back to the Policy Minister immediately,” he said.

“What did you just do?” Kitty asked, her voice approaching belligerence.

“I merely told the Policy Minister that we were still discussing policy from our own point of view,” Simon said innocently. “What you don’t seem to understand is that all of this is just jostling for superior advantage. I, for one, am not willing to concede that position in our own space as long as we have the firepower to enforce our decisions.”

Kitty looked at her husband, thought for a moment, then said, “As long as I am head of this Alliance, those decisions are mine to make, not yours, Admiral.” The stress on the last word was not lost on anyone in the room. “I admit that in this case, I agree with you, but do not presuppose that just because we’re married you can make certain decisions without clearing them with me first.” This was the closest thing to a reprimand she felt capable of giving her husband in front of witnesses, so she moved on from there.

“I need to impress on this sel Garian woman that we can be of assistance in their war against the Korvils. I don’t want more of their people to die than have to, or ours either, naturally, but I agree with Simon that this is an issue of who’s in control of what, and even though we’re the new kids on the block, remember that it’s the Shiravans who have come to us for assistance. We know from some of what Rentec and Maratai have let slip, and what we’ve learned from other Shiravans as our people learn their language, that Korvil space is between us and the Shiravans. Or more precisely, Korvil space touches Shiravan space, and we are in space the Korvils claim as their own. The fact that we don’t choose to be a part of the Korvil Empire just means that we will have to fight for our right to be here and control our own destiny.”

The actual meeting between the two leaders came about forty-five minutes after sel Garian’s directive was delivered. Kitty knew from security reports that sel Garian’s party consisted of four people, Rentec being one. That left the other two to be her chief, Kitty reasoned, so she decided to bring Simon as head of the Alliance military, Robert Greene, a captain of a Terran ship, and Joanna Barnes, science officer, to meet with Policy Minister sel Garian, along with Maratai as possible interpreter.

Taking time to fully discuss the possibilities inherent in any joint venture between two such different cultures over a not-too-leisurely lunch, Kitty finally wiped her mouth, stood up, and said, “I believe we’ve kept our visitors waiting long enough. Let’s get this dog-and-pony show on the road,” she said copying one of Simon’s phrases. She pressed her comm link. “What is the status with the Shiravan delegation, Ensign?”

They all heard the tinny voice announce to the waiting room, “As far as I can understand Shiravan, Madam Herald, if somebody doesn’t make an appearance soon, somebody else is going to blow a gasket.”

Kitty stood up, smiled, flicked at a crumb or two. “Thank you, Ensign.” She turned to those present. “Just about to reach a boiling point, I figure. Time to take some of the pressure off.” She looked around the room. “Simon, of course you’re with me, as is Robert and, I think, Dr. Barnes. We’ll also have Maratai with our entourage, which makes one more than our visitors.” She turned to leave, then turned back. Unstrapping a pair of miniature laser pistols from her forearms, which had been hidden by the voluminous sleeves of this particular dress, she tossed them on the table. “No weapons will be carried into the conference room.”

Simon stood up and unhesitatingly removed the low-slung .45 that had become a permanent part of his uniform. “I’m not sure I agree with this move, but we are aboard the Galileo, and you’re calling the shots here, so I won’t argue the point.”

Kitty smiled and said, “No such request was made of the Shiravan delegation, Simon. Good faith has to start somewhere.” Two more pistols joined the others on the table as the room emptied and the lights, now unnecessary, turned themselves off.

Simon, a little put out at not having any weapon at hand, followed his wife down the Galileo’s corridor until she reached a door simply marked ‘Conference Room.’ He watched as Maratai used her own link to announce their arrival to their opposites waiting at the other entrance. Shiravan protocol would prevail in this first official diplomatic meeting between the two races.

The two doors opened simultaneously, and Simon immediately stepped through, seeing the captain of sel Garian’s flagship do so from the other door. As the hosting culture, Shiravan protocol specialists had to dig into the far past, before space travel, to find a relevant situation. So it was that Simon introduced the Terran Herald to the Shiravan military commander, Captain kep Parrasine, just before she introduced Parrasine’s superior to Kitty, who had entered the room upon hearing her name.

Manura sel Garian, the Butcher of Harusel, entered fourth, feeling like she had lost a battle before she even knew it had occurred. Her opinion changed somewhat at the first sight of her counterpart. Small, even by human standards, this creature who called herself Kath-e-rin stood just inside the other door, as protocol dictated for a superior accepting the presence of an inferior.

Not wishing to initiate an interstellar incident if it could be avoided, sel Garian bowed to the level of equals. She was surprised, therefore, when the tiny human bowed even lower.

“Please, enter and make yourselves comfortable. I had some Shiravan furniture refashioned as soon as I was certain you would arrive.” Kitty went about preparing drinks for all, having learned from Rentec and Maratai over a two-year period just what kind of foods Shiravans would be comfortable with and letting the food processors do all the work. Now, using Maratai as her interpreter, Kitty continued, “I have asked Dom do’ Verlas and Doma kep Parrasine to program the computer with quite a variety of dishes acceptable to Shiravan tastes, so feel free to order whatever you wish.”

sel Garian settled into a chair, motioning to one of her assistants. Whispering tiredly, she sent the assistant off to speak to Maratai. Soon, a quick call to Engineering caused a noticeable lowering of the gravity in the room. Where Rentec and Maratai, among others of the first fleet, had accustomed themselves to the slightly higher gravity humans were used to, this was a first encounter for the entire Second Fleet with extended periods of higher gravity than they were used to. Almost immediately, the new arrivals began to show some of the vitality they had originally exhibited upon their arrival.

“Doma sel Garian,” Kitty said, letting Rentec speak the rest in Shiravan as she settled into a chair opposite the Policy Minister, “let me apologize for not having the gravity reduced before your arrival. With all that’s been going on, it’s sometimes hard to remember the details. Even my assistants missed that one.”

“A reasonable lapse, Herald,” sel Garian said. “Let it be as if it never were.” Changing subjects quickly, the old Shiravan asked, “How is Doma Spencer settling in with her family after all this time away?”

“They had long since accepted the death of their daughter, so it was with a great sense of joy that they found out about her survival. You’ve been personally invited to several homes of relatives of Miss Spencer, and should you choose to accept, know that these are sincere requests. There are quite a few people who wish to express their thanks personally. It’s a human characteristic.”

“Not unlike our customs, in some respects,” the gravelly voice grated out of sel Garian’s artificial voice box. “As senior civilian authority here, I suppose it is my duty to speak with those who wish to speak with me. But you and I, Doma Herald, will then have to sit down and explore the unique qualities each of our races would bring to an alliance between us.”

Bowing to the dictates of human protocol, Minister sel Garian shuttled down to the human homeworld using a ground-effect vehicle of Shiravan manufacture for the express purpose of keeping the gravity lower long enough for the old woman to hold up under full Earth gravity. Once there, she met with Maggie Spencer’s family—almost all of them. Upon hearing that the alien who had saved their beloved Maggie was coming, Spencers and Spencer-kin began arriving in record numbers.

A local park had been taken over for the occasion, and while police kept most unwanted visitors out, their main function was to keep the press away once they got wind of the meeting. Rentec accompanied the Minister to interpret for her, but it was still with some apprehension that she got out of the vehicle at all.

Standing up to her full height of six-foot-two, sel Garian, considered small amongst her own people, clearly could see all the throng awaiting her arrival. The silence that greeted her appearance was momentary. First, those closest started clapping, and then expanding outward, all the rest joined in.

“A human sign of welcome and respect,” Rentec said quietly.

sel Garian chuckled quietly. “I’ve spent my whole life living and working in the shadows, and look at me now. I suppose I’m expected to say something?”

“It would seem, Minister, that they wish to hear you tell how you saved their relative. I’m merely here to translate.”

“How I saved…? Is that what they think? We’ll see how much of a hero they think I am after they hear what I have to say.”

Walking over to a small stage, Rentec took the microphone and stand and set it to the back of the space. A strange smile on her face, Manura began to speak quietly. Rentec, eyes almost closed, hurried to translate as she spoke.

“I did not personally save your daughter. She was saved from our common enemy, the Korvils, who had enslaved her and one other, by forces of ours who managed to catch a manned outpost unawares. My participation in the matter came in when it was pointed out that it might be advantageous to have allies in our fight. The fact that you, too, were already doing so, made it obvious that we should ally ourselves. I authorized the return of your kin for political motives as much as anything else. Their return was our show of goodwill toward the chance to negotiate an alliance between our two peoples.”

The next twenty minutes were spent speaking with Maggie and her immediate family a bit aside from the rest. “Thank you, Doma sel Garian,” Maggie said. “It meant a lot to my parents and family. You may think that your political motivations disqualify you from this kind of respect, but we feel any reason that brings about a good result is a good reason. Now, I know you shouldn’t subject yourselves to our gravity any longer than absolutely necessary, so feel free to leave at any time.”

“Trying, most trying,” the Policy Minister said to Rentec after her visit. “There was a sense of family, of unity, that I haven’t felt in a long time, and I find that I miss it.” She climbed into the back of the specially adapted vehicle. “Please set up an appointment with The Herald for later this evening if she’s free and return me to the shuttle,” she told the human driver, hardly caring if she was understood or not. “For now, I wish to be alone with my thoughts.”

The scene was anything but a pleasant one. Kitty and sel Garian were to meet to formalize relations and establish some sort of mutual defense pact. Rentec and Maratai were present as the two best English speakers among the Shiravans, and Simon escorted Kitty as moral support and as her expert on Fleet matters. Rounding out the group, Fleet Captain kep Parrasine was present as the expert on Shiravan military matters.

“Korvil space abuts Shiravan space, and your system is in the far reaches of their territory,” sel Garian started out, knowing as she said it that the humans were quite familiar with the location of the various territories claimed by each group. One of Rentec’s suggestions had been to be as open as possible about Shiravan matters, including the precise location of the Shiravan homeworld.

Red dots designated known interactions with Korvils. No home planets were noted, except the one Carter and Spencer had been rescued from, and that was only given a tentative confirmation. Blue dots represented Shiravan ships and planets, the Shiravan homeworld being identified at last. The pitifully few green dots representing human ships were added to the spatial terrain, and humanity got its first really good look at what they faced.

The red dots were hazy, for lack of a better term, while the green and blue were crisper. “All data that is not conjecture is distinct—known vessels and planets, both ours and yours. The Korvils,” sel Garian said as her head made the side-to-side shrugging motion, “are more difficult to pin down.

“It has long been assumed,” sel Garian explained, “that the Korvils got their spatial technology in much the same way humans did.” The old woman held her hand up to forestall any interruption. “We know humans took possession peacefully, but we believe the Korvils took their ship by force. Perhaps an exploratory ship that landed on their world was overwhelmed, and the Korvils—at that time they called themselves something else—took possession and began duplicating the technology.”

The old Shiravan woman went on, only stopping while Rentec translated for her, “For now, the Matriarch will not contest ownership of the Dalgor Kreth,” the old woman said, her words surprising all present, “as long as her use is directly related to the destruction of our mutual enemy, the Korvils. These words I am required to speak from the Matriarch and then determine for myself if that is the case.”

Almost absent-mindedly, the Policy Minister took a small, wrapped box from one of her aides and continued her pacing. “Your rapid and highly effective use of our technology, along with the obvious upgrades I’ve already seen, could induce me toward either of two choices—to isolate you and hope the Korvils finish you off before you can become a threat to us, or ask that you join us in defeating them as a mutual foe.” She stopped in front of Kitty and Maratai, making a small motion for Kitty to rise.

Kitty rose at Maratai’s gesture, wishing she weren’t beating the path in interstellar relations. She gazed up into the old woman’s eyes, somehow redder than she had ever noticed on another Shiravan, and wondered what was to come.

“I have arrived at my judgment.” Rentec’s translation made the statement sound as if it were part of a ceremony of some sort.

Kitty looked quickly at Simon, who, poker-faced, gave her no help at all, and then back at the second in command of an entire spacefaring race. Feeling that some response was required, Kitty asked, “What decision have you reached, Policy Minister?” She already knew, really, from some of the previous conversation what the outcome was going to be, but she assumed this was an occasion where some form of protocol must be observed.

The older woman stepped forward, holding out the wrapped box as if it were some sort of treasure. “It is the wish of the Matriarch, Linnas des Harras, leader of the Shiravan Polity and fourteen subordinate colonies, that you,” Kitty clearly heard a catch in the voice, as well as an odd intonation, artificial though it was, “Katherine Hawke, leader of the Terran Alliance, would consider entering into an alliance that will forever defeat our common foe. As a token of her desire and respect, the Matriarch has gifted you with a double set of kemwood cups. You, of course, will not be familiar with the properties of kemwood, but suffice it to say that any liquid poured into a kemwood cup can be drunk without any harmful side effects.” She handed the box to Kitty, who looked around, shrugged and opened the wrapper. Inside was an ornately carved box with no apparent lock and two hinges on the back side. Kitty opened the lid slowly, wondering what she might see. Inside were four small cups, each identical one to the other, that almost seemed to glow with an inner light.

One more surprise waited for Kitty. Taking another small box from the same aide, sel Garian handed it to Kitty. “The cups are a gift from the Shiravan people. This is a gift from the Matriarch herself. Her family privately owns the only land on the entire planet where this particular type of stone can be found. It is extremely responsive to body heat and will glow if held or placed on a pendant around your neck. As one leader to another, the Matriarch personally went into the mountains and selected the stone you hold in your hand. Normally, a stone like this would be circled by the house sigil belonging to the dominant house of the woman giving it as a betrothal gift. And while there will certainly be no marriages between our two races, the Matriarch had the crests of all the major families on Shiravi who agree to this alliance etched in miniature, hoping that you’d join in our mission to exterminate these Korvils. You will come to note,” she said acidly, “that House sel Garian has declined to allow their crest to be added. Whether you know it or not, this is one of the gravest insults one clan can give to another. Wars have been fought over much less.” She quickly added, “That has not happened for almost a thousand years, though, since females took control.

“These gifts in no way diminish the assistance you have rendered our First Contact Fleet—building two entirely new ships to replace the ones lost defending your homeworld, resupplying ships in need of organics or new power cores, and even providing space on your newest endeavor, your Vesta Project. You’ve let our people have some room to stretch, so to speak, even extending these gifts to the Second Fleet, though they have done nothing to earn such largess.”

The old woman stopped her pacing and looked directly at Kitty. “It has been brought to my attention that your world has lost almost twenty million individuals due to attacks by the Korvils. Of course, our Matriarch does not yet know of those losses, but I’m sure that when she learns, she’ll mourn as strongly as you.” After a short pause in which the old woman seemed to get lost in her thoughts for a moment, she added, “I mourn, as well, the loss of so many innocents. It has happened often enough in our own territories.”

Kitty sensed that it was time to refocus the attention of this woman onto the present. She looked down at the pendant, beginning to glow in her cupped hand. “How lovely!” Kitty exclaimed. “It looks like the same kind of stone on the pendant Simon found.”

“Pendant?” sel Garian said, turning on Rentec and Maratai. “Is this the same pendant you showed me upon my arrival? Does she understand the significance of what it represents?” Her voice, harsh and grating, was almost unintelligible to the translator whispering into the earbud—the Alliance’s most recent innovation—that was covered by Kitty’s hair. This old woman wasn’t the only one who could play at spying. Kitty had had the room wired and was, up until that point, getting simultaneous translations in each ear—one from Rentec and one from a quiet human voice in her other ear. So far, both had seemed to dovetail almost perfectly. Rentec nodded, shamefaced, to the older woman.

Now, a microphone handily near the alien trio let her eavesdrop on the altercation going on in fast-paced Shiravan. The gist of the conversation was all she wanted anyway. She interrupted in stilted, childlike Shiravan. “I will speak now,” she announced, standing up at the head of the table. sel Garian had tried to turn the far end of the table into the focal point of the meeting, but Kitty kept drawing attention back to herself and the Alliance that backed her.

“For two of our years now, Rentec and Maratai, along with all the hundreds of members of what we call the First Shiravan Contact Fleet, have been busily trading knowledge with us while we quietly spied on each other. Maybe ‘spying’ is too strong a word. Coming to conclusions drawn from what was said or not said in any given situation might be a better way of putting it since we, the Alliance, are working mostly from conjecture. We’ve heard references over those two years that have led us to the conclusion that your planet is not quite as unified as you would have us believe.” Now Kitty took her turn pacing near her end of the table. Energy fairly crackled in the room, all participants lending to the charging of the atmosphere. “You know that we represent a very infinitesimal number of individuals compared to the planet we come from. You also know that we are still restricted to that one planet, and you know that we have more different governments down below than you—coming as you do from a people with a single, unified governing body—can begin to contemplate.”

She turned in her pacing, letting her gaze slide across the Shiravan end of the table. “We have deduced from dozens of comments, mostly from early on, that your unified government isn’t as stable as you would have us believe. Why, I don’t know, and I don’t care. I only care about getting these Korvils off our backs so we can relax and explore the potentialities of our new technology. We’ve been led to believe that the Korvils’ territory lies between your space and ours, and that our space is actually inside a loose area these Korvils have claimed as their own. Well, we won’t just roll over and play dead for them.” She practically leaned on the table, slamming her open hand on it with enough force to cause a loud cracking sound, making everyone present jump. “One thing Earthmen are good at is war, Policy Minister. I fear that our beginnings are closer to the Korvils’ than they are to your race, and we’ve never managed to agree on anything long enough for us to become a one-world government. It always seemed that someone would come along with enough power to disrupt any peace talks, and fighting would break out somewhere on Earth. I’m not even sure when the last time was that there wasn’t some kind of armed conflict going on.”

She sat back down in her chair, far enough away from the Shiravans that she didn’t have to look up much, and said, “Our experience tells us that it’s about time for a response to our last clash with the Korvils. Since, as far as we know, no ships escaped to tell about the battle, the next attack will be a feint, possibly with more punch in it than last time, but enough to cause us some severe losses, since they don’t seem to—at least until this last fight—back off as long as they have an operational ship. It’s almost as if they have Spartan orders. Mothers of Spartans would tell their sons, ‘Come back with your shield, or on it.’ They meant don’t retreat, don’t give up, and don’t give anything less than your best.

“If you want an alliance with us, I will gladly accept. We are familiar with the concept of a two-front war. The main problem is going to be getting any information on where their planets are. It almost seems, from what we’ve overheard, that they move around, much like the gypsies of our past, the difference being that they only leave ruin in their wake.” Kitty hesitated for a moment. “As far as tactics and such are concerned, those things I leave in the hands of my husband, Admiral Hawke, and his competent staff. I do know that we have a technological edge on these Korvils.” The implication that that same advantage was held over the Shiravans as well appeared to go unnoticed. “How long that will last is anybody’s guess, but if we are going to start attacking on our own accord, we need to get more ships built and crewed as fast as possible, and we’ll probably require the assistance of some of your fleet, as much as you can spare, to start to heat things up on this side of Korvil space. Of course, we need hard data to go on. We can’t be sending ships out to just anywhere. With the innovations we’ve added to the newer ships, I think we have a chance to stand up one to one with anything of equal mass that we might come up against.”

This drew a murmur from the assembled Shiravans as soon as they heard the translation. Kitty’s earbud told her, “That last statement has some of them jazzed, and others worried that you will become the next Korvils.”

sel Garian looked at Kitty after the translation and said, “There is an old saying among my people: ‘The enemy of my enemy is surely my friend.’ I only hope this will be so after the Korvils are defeated.”

Kitty, astounded that these people would consider humanity a threat after so short a time, thought furiously for several seconds. Most of what came to mind were old history lessons she’d studied in school. Romans, Greeks, Egyptians, Turks, and Asians came to mind from her lessons, but she had lived to see her own United States embroil itself in some of the messiest—in all of that word’s connotations—fighting in all of recorded history.

She shook her head, clearing it of all those images, and cleared her throat before answering. “I’m going to see to it that you get to see recordings of some of our wars. From one called the Viet Nam Conflict all the way up until today, we’ve had the ability to record visually and let the people see instantly what was happening. We have footage from our greatest war, one that happened over fifty years ago called World War II, and it eventually involved almost every nation on the planet. These will by no means be shown to you as a threat but only to show you what humanity is capable of in its youth, inexperience, and anger. But look at what we’ve accomplished as well. Not all of us are out to destroy. There are a large number of people down below just itching to get into space, no matter what the cost, so we have no lack of recruits when we need to put a crew into space.”

She seemed to wilt inside her clothes as she continued. “See? We’ve even carried that natural inclination into space. When our first station was attacked, we used your plans to build bigger and better fighters and started upgrading the weapons and defensive systems we inherited from you. That’s one place where humans excel—taking something and making it better, stronger, faster, more deadly. Both you and the Korvils seem to think that if something works, just use it as it is.

“Humans are always trying to improve on the abilities of things. It doesn’t matter if it’s a booklight or a space torpedo, somebody is going to say, ‘I can make it do this. I can make it better.’ This is where I see the difference between our two races coming into conflict. You seek to preserve the status quo far more than we do, thinking that if something works it’s good enough. We, on the other hand, seek to improve almost everything we come in contact with. The status quo is never good enough for us. We humans always try to push the envelope, the idea being that maintaining the status quo is just stagnation.”

Kitty looked at the Shiravan Second Voice bluntly. “We, as human beings, have never found a problem to which we couldn’t find a solution; otherwise, we wouldn’t be sitting here today. On our world, we’ve arrived at the top of the food chain. Some creatures we needed to kill to eat and some just to keep them from killing us. We didn’t have the armor, claws, speed, size, or whatever to take these creatures on one on one. So, we learned early on to work as groups. But we do have an inventive, curious nature. And let’s not forget a nasty streak a mile wide when we’re crossed. And, personally, I have a score to settle with these Korvils. The Terran Alliance stands ready to manufacture as many ships as we can and then begin using them offensively as soon as we get some hard data on where to best aim our efforts. Just going from one world to another…” she faltered, looking for the right words, “would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.” This last allusion had to be explained. Her wry smile was noted by both species present, and a small round of laughter ensued, the Shiravan version sounding like a high-speed hiccup fit.

She’d taken something Simon had taught her long ago and bluntly used it, hopefully to her advantage. Her opponent had been in the negotiating business far longer than Kitty had been alive, so it was possible that it would be seen for what it was, but one made the best of what one had at hand. He’d told her once that if you stared directly at the spot between your opponent’s eyes, it would look like you were giving him your undivided attention, and in many instances would throw the other person off just enough to gain some small advantage. “Of course, we haven’t been in space for very many years yet, so that could change. Thanks to our fortuitous acquisition of the Galileo, we’re now able to step outside our own solar system at will, although we haven’t yet done so other than for training flights, and even then, we haven’t gone more than one or two lightyears from our own planet. I still see a number of ways the universe could hand us our heads on a platter, but at no time while I control the Terran Alliance will it ever become something you have to fear. Of course, to be honest, we have no way of knowing how long we’ll live or who our successors might be, so you shouldn’t think that we’ll be a static equation at any time.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Manura sel Garian sat quietly, absorbing what the human leader had just told her. True, most of it had already been said by both Ambassador do’ Verlas and Doma kep Parrasine, yet still she was troubled by the volatility of a race such as this, and one who’s female leader readily admitted their bloodthirst, if somewhat apologetically. They were less predictable than the Korvils, of that she was certain, but a true threat to the Shiravan race? That was the question she had to wrestle with, along with the fact that since this race was still divided, only the spacefaring portion would truly be able to assist Shiravi in its time of need.

The old woman looked into the white-haired human’s eyes. They were a light blue, she noticed, adding to the alienness of this creature she was negotiating with. She came to a decision. “Before females took control on our world, males ruled, making war indiscriminately, and except for one opportune incident, our history could have been as volatile as yours. The last such war almost totally decimated our male population, allowing females to take control completely and without question. It has only been recently, in the last hundred turns or so, that males have been allowed back into the power structure of Shiravan society. Our natural inclination in recent history is one of distrust for anything male-dominated. Your culture, apparently heavily favoring females even though some males rule small portions of your population, leads me to the conclusion that yours is a culture to be trusted. For we, ourselves, have just recently reinstituted the presence of males in positions of authority.”

sel Garian leaned back in the chair/couch that had been provided for the Shiravan guests. The humans sat more upright and on couches that were lower to the ground than Shiravans would find comfortable. She’d tried furiously to figure out what it was about these humans that caused her to accept their leader at her word. Was it because their small stature, particularly that of their Herald, made them seem childlike and therefore to be protected? And believed? She shook her head slightly. “The offer you have just made is one that I, as Second Voice, have been advised to accept. I can and do agree to the joint operations of Shiravan/human forces in this sector of space. And I further decree that those forces be commanded by a human. It is, after all, your system. We will provide any logistical and tactical support as we are able, considering the distances between us. I authorize the entire First and Second Contact Fleets to remain in human space under the command of the supreme human commander. This ship, the Shumara Vacht, will carry the Herald to Shiravi to meet in person with the Matriarch and formalize relations between our two cultures.”

A portion of Kitty’s brain shut down momentarily while the full implication of what she’d just heard finally became clear. Ever since she’d first sat in the shuttle’s pilot chair, she’d dreamed of setting foot on an alien world. All humans did. But the time had just never seemed to present itself. “You want me to go to Shiravi to formalize relations with your people? Actually go to another world?” Without discussing it with her cabinet, she immediately agreed to the deal offered her.

Predictably, Simon immediately objected. “You can’t just go off to who-knows-where without a full meeting of the cabinet, Ki… Madam Herald. This isn’t a time when it would be advisable for the head of the Alliance to be out of public view for an undetermined amount of time. We need to show a united front during the repercussions that we’re bound to experience because of what’s already happened. There’s no reason to believe that even this many more Shiravan ships will make a difference against an aggressor willing to spend the lives of his subjects just to get information.”

“If what you say is true, Admiral,” Kitty said, her heart ached at the formality she had to assume in this situation, “then my presence would neither make nor break us. Besides, I have a person in mind to replace me for the length of time I’ll be gone.” She turned to the Policy Minister. “And just how long are we talking, round trip? While I agree with my senior military commander in spirit, I do believe that I should accompany you to Shiravi. I’ll detail a complement of two battlecruisers and one carrier to accompany us. It should give your peoples’ spirits a lift if we show them just a small part of what we have already wrought.”

Familiar with the standardized construction of most vessels, she pressed several oddly scripted panels and buttons, calling up a view of the near galactic neighborhood. “Here is your sun,” she said, making one star shine more brightly. “Here is ours.” Another light, more yellowish in color than the first, grew brighter. “Between the two homeworlds lies Korvil space.”

“This is the area where we’re sure the Korvils are,” sel Garian said. An area around the space between the two, designated orange, began to glow with a more reddish cast. “This second color represents the areas where the Korvils and Shiravans are in active contention.” The redder area seemed to be a bit smaller than the orange, but not by much, and the orange actually overlapped the star the old woman had said was humanity’s star.

sel Garian seemed even older, if that was possible. Kitty felt, as she listened to her translator and the timbre of the Policy Minister’s voice, that the woman felt as if she had no choice in her decision. “Let me make myself perfectly clear, Policy Minister sel Garian, that the defense and preservation of the human race is my first priority. Even so, we’ll still assist you in whatever way we’re able to finish this war with the Korvil. We can see that our race is on the cusp of needing new territory to inhabit. We’ll expand into Korvil space, taking what we win and making it ours. There are enough factions on that mudball below us,” her derision showed itself, finally, “that we can dole out habitable planets to just about anyone who feel that theirs is the only right path.

“Expansion is our only option, as I’m sure it was for your ancestors hundreds of years ago. That’s why you have fourteen colonies now, correct?” Kitty continued before anyone else could get a word in. “We’ve been in space, or studying it, long enough to know where we are in relation to the rest of the galaxy. And we—the Terran Alliance—have figured out for ourselves that just about the only places to expand are inward, toward the galactic center, rather than outward. The inner stars are older, more settled, one might say, and hopefully more civilized. To me, that means probably more advanced, if life evolved on them at all. We still have people on our own world who believe that both you and the Korvils are works of fiction, mere flights of fancy. Twenty million or more dead and a hole in the South American ecosystem that will take centuries for nature to repair, and still they refuse to believe.” She shook her head sadly. “And that doesn’t even begin to cover the costs of repairing the infrastructure destroyed by that last attack.”

Kitty turned to the Policy Minister. “If you’re here to judge us, then do so on what we’ve done to repair the damage done to our own planet and peoples and the help we’ve unstintingly given to your people and ships. If you haven’t noticed, the two ships we gifted to First Fleet were reconstructed on Shiravan body heights and also incorporated numerous changes that you’ll find most effective—all things we wouldn’t do for anyone but friends. If you’re here to help us defend ourselves from the Korvils, then point us at a target and watch us work.” Three million years of sapient aggressor looked out of her eyes as she stared at the old woman sitting at the far end of the table. “We have an old saying ourselves: You’re either for us or against us.

“I’d like to believe from our short association with your First Contact Fleet that you’d welcome us with, if not open arms, then at least without your guns drawn.” It took a few moments of whispered consultation to get the idea across from English to Shiravan.

Manura sel Garian sat, stunned. It was as if she’d been personally accused of not trusting these humans. Granted that the Korvils were the only other race Shiravans had to use for a reference, and the reception the two fleets had received in human space should have defused any possible worries on the matter of where human loyalties lay. But still, she had no answer to the accusation that she didn’t trust humans. Even when she had the head of the Terran Alliance in her grasp, she didn’t trust.

Of course, that might be because Kitty had outmaneuvered the old woman and announced the existence of a human fleet to accompany the Alliance leader before such measures could be brought up by the Shiravans and dismissed as unnecessary. Manura wasn’t used to being outsmarted, outguessed.

Used to statecraft, and seeing herself sinking beneath its waves, she acquiesced in a manner that saved face if not status. “In the name of the Matriarch, I accept your offer of alliance and give you my personal oath that your life is to be held as more sacred than my own while we are responsible for your safety. Should anything happen to you while you are away, it is my life that will be forfeit. I so swear upon my oath of fealty to our Matriarch. I will also dispatch a courier ship that will announce your arrival about two weeks before we actually arrive in orbit.”

Also notifying Shiravan military authorities that the alien ships that will be arriving with them are not to be fired upon, I hope, Kitty thought. Maybe these guys aren’t so advanced as we thought.

“I’ll need about a week to hand over command to my successor,” she said aloud. “And she isn’t going to like it.” At the Policy Minister’s strange look, she explained with a wave of her hand, “I have a certain group of people whose sole job is to protect me, no matter what. I find it unfortunate that the rules that allow me to occupy this position also require that I have this level of protection. I’ve learned to act like they aren’t even there most of the time, and they have specific orders to never speak of or reveal in any other manner what they see or hear while in my presence. If I make a quick jaunt across town, six armed guards accompany me. I never step out first and must wait while someone else decides whether it’s safe for me to leave the vehicle. A contingent of these will accompany me, I’m sure. Even though I’m the leader, we have a council, and a few of whose members will be accompanying us as well. They can veto my decisions if they feel I’ve overstepped my authority, which is clearly spelled out in our version of another document called the Constitution. So, you see, in the final analysis, I’m really not the head of our Alliance except in times of emergency when one voice is what is needed, and even then I have to defend my actions later on.”

Kitty smiled broadly at sel Garian and her Fleet Captain, kep Parrasine, while wondering if she was closely related to Maratai. She hadn’t said one way or another.

A voice in her earbud said, “Rentec correctly translated your words, Madam Herald, but he added that he felt there was a measure of sarcasm in your voice and that you somehow felt no threat going to Shiravi.”

Kitty’s fingers had been flying over a keyboard in front of her. After determining the distance and travel times, and allowing ten percent for unexpected occurrences, she arrived at a figure and whistled. “This is somewhere near eleven Earth months, one way.”

“That’s almost two years away from Earth, not counting negotiating time,” Simon stated. “I’m not sure that your disappearance for that length of time will do much to bolster the courage of those on Earth who feel less threatened because the Herald is here to keep the peace.”

“Admiral, you seem to forget that it’s my decision to go or stay.” Kitty’s flat, cold voice cut through the beginning of Simon’s tirade. “Your job is to protect this system from further depredations by the Korvils while continuing to build and train our fleets. I will speak for myself.” She turned back to the Policy Minister and said, “I agree. This is too important to leave to anyone less than the two leaders themselves. It’s unfortunate with so much turmoil between those of us who are in space and those still living down below. They are my responsibility as well, even though they don’t know it or acknowledge it.”

She paced briefly and turned back to her guests. “I have in mind a person who should fill the position admirably. Doma sel Garian,” she said, turning to the Policy Minister, “tonight I will spend with my husband as I so rarely get to do. Tomorrow, I’ll take a ship out to Vesta to personally ask Lucy Grimes to fill in for me here now that she’s back on active duty.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Kitty stepped out of her shuttle to the bombardment of some vaguely familiar martial music. She stared at the group of people before her, her mind’s eye picturing the bunch behind her, and had trouble keeping a straight face. She decided to let the leader of this group have the honor of speaking first. For some reason, she felt she shouldn’t have to ask permission to come aboard one of her own bases. And Vesta was just another base as far as she was concerned. She let her eyes roam over the half dozen people mustered for her unexpected arrival. Without saying a word, she out-waited the music.

After several awkward seconds of silence, the senior officer—a full commander—stepped forward. “Welcome to Vesta, Madam Herald. How can we help you today?” She noted the green strip around his collar and knew instantly that he wasn’t a line officer, green having been designated for Supply. This was all they could scrape up on such short notice?

Well, to be honest, she hadn’t let them know she was in the area until just before penetrating the defense perimeter, so she wasn’t going to be picky about protocol. Besides, she hadn’t moved her flag here yet, and there was no reason to have very many officers of line rank. “Thank you, Commander,” she answered. “I’m here specifically to see the Project Director. Would you be so kind as to inform her? And I’d like to wait somewhere more comfortable than a landing bay.” She realized as soon as the words left her mouth how she sounded, so she did her best to mend the fence before it could be completely knocked over. “I’m sorry, Commander. I’ve had a very rough day, and I shouldn’t take it out on you. Please, forgive me.” She placed her hand on his arm and looked up, farther even than with Simon—who topped out at six foot.

With her tiny frame, Kitty had often been called an elf, a situation that on more than one occasion had led to bloody noses when she was younger. Now, though, with her white hair, she knew she looked even more elvish (if that was a word) and more childlike, which encouraged cooperation. It was a situation she had learned to take advantage of shamelessly over the past two years or so, and it stood her in good stead now. The pained expression on the commander’s face disappeared, replaced by one of relief. “Let me escort you to the director’s personal quarters, Madam Herald. I’ve already notified her of your arrival, but she’s off-base at the moment, racking up some flight time.”

“Oh, is she now?” Kitty responded sweetly, following his lead toward the elevators. “Then she must be running ahead of schedule, or she wouldn’t take time out to keep her license valid. How goes the installation of the park?” she asked, quickly changing the subject.

The commander, whose name was LeCroix, answered, “We still need several more water asteroids to fill out the lake, but the bushes and trees are doing quite well with the subsurface irrigation system and the artificial sunlight. It will take several asteroids to completely fill all the reservoirs aboard the base. Of course, we’re getting regular shipments of soil, and the planting of air-ferns and hydroponics is ahead of schedule as well. We’re still a little behind on the factory section, not being real certain how compact or how spread out we should make the factories.”

“Keeping them close together will minimize movement of material from one place to another,” she noted absently.

“True, in essence,” the commander said as he led Kitty down a long hallway. Her entourage consisted of six guards and the current captain of the Rigel, Thomas Breen. “But the director has the idea that if we move them a bit apart and put park-like areas in between, it would lessen the overall view of the area as a factory complex. Even the buildings will have different shapes, blending into an aesthetic whole. All will be connected by underground corridors to bring in raw material and taking out finished product.”

The commander stopped in front of a door. Palming it open and stepping to one side, he said, “The director’s quarters won’t hold all of you. Guest quarters are here. The main room is the common area, and six private bedrooms open onto it. Four of you can accompany me.”

Kitty said, “I really don’t need anyone, but Thomas can come along if he wishes. Of course, two of my shadows will accompany us to fill out the quota.”

“Three,” one of the guards said. “One of us will be stationed outside the director’s quarters.”

Kitty sighed. “One of these days, I’m going to be done with this job for good, and someone else can deal with the headaches.” She followed the commander further down the hallway, where he palmed open another door. He ushered the group in and followed, closing the door behind him. “This is the director’s outer office. Considering the small size of her personal office, I suggest you wait in the guest lounge.” He motioned the startled secretary back down into her chair and opened a door at the side of the room. “My datalink says the director will be landing in about twenty minutes. She will surely want a quick shower before she meets with you, so make yourselves comfortable. Guest bar is behind this wall.” He pressed a button and a section of wall slid aside, revealing a full bar and refrigerator. The refrigerator held several varieties of beer and nonalcoholic canned drinks. The commander edged toward the door. “If either I or Miss Bartholomew can be of any assistance, please let us know immediately.”

Kitty stopped him with a lifted hand. “A datalink,” she said, recognizing the term from one of the Research and Development reports she’d read late one night. The details of what it exactly was slipped her mind in the moment. “Refresh me.”

The commander reached up to his left ear. “This is a datalink,” he said, taking the device off. A simple hook held an earpiece that looked like some kind of molded gel-like substance and a small boom microphone. “All of the UMC, ultra-micro circuitry, is actually inside the frame that goes over the ear and into the stem of the boom mike.” The whole thing, when fitted in place, looked almost inconspicuous. The mike molded to his jawline and was almost hidden in his sideburns.

“It’s both a transmitter and receiver of information to the central computer, allowing me instant access to whatever I need using these.” He reached into a pouch at his waist and pulled out a pair of glasses. “VR, virtual reality, glasses. In combination with the datalink, this gives me deeper access to more information than anyone who hasn’t used one will believe. Besides simple computer access, with the right access codes all of Vesta is laid out like an onion, if you so choose. Deep access requires specific codes, but almost everyone has access to communication Earth-side, even when Earth is in opposition. All traffic is routinely recorded and run through a special filter, looking for coded messages, both inbound and outbound.”

He put the glasses away, making sure the flap was sealed. “Latest thing out of R&D,” he bragged. “Completely eliminates the need for a keyboard or any other kind of hardwired access. A captain could be anywhere on her ship and be in as much control as if she were on the bridge.”

“Full core access?” Thomas Breen asked, incredulous at the thought of the sheer volume of sensitive data available to just anyone.

“Oh, no. Not necessarily,” the commander answered. “The codes can be set at various levels just like the wristbands, allowing the user access to certain portions of the computer only. These will be available to everyone in the near future, letting them interface with their systems more intimately and therefore more quickly. They’ll even replace the wristbands eventually, we believe. Some people envision implants just behind the ear within the next few years, if we get lucky.”

The conversation petered out, and finally, the increasingly uncomfortable commander said, “Flight Control reports her Mamba on approach right now. If you will excuse me, I should be there to meet her.” Not waiting for anyone to say otherwise, the man, who’d been conveniently standing near the door, was through it and gone.

“That’s one man who has a problem with authority figures,” Thomas said casually. “I wonder what his job performance ratings say about him.”

“Probably that he’s reasonably good at his job but has problems with authority figures,” Kitty responded. “Let it go.”

“You’re probably right,” Thomas agreed. “Here, being a commander is more like middle-management, and those types are always nervous around their bosses. Besides, Lucy will be here shortly.”

Lucy headed her Mamba back toward Vesta, suspicion weighing heavily on her mind. She kept abreast of what was going on, and she knew the second Shiravan fleet had finally arrived, especially since tall red beings were beginning to make occasional appearances around the hollow asteroid. They’d brought Maggie Spencer home, sure, but according to Rentec, whom she’d met on several occasions, they also brought the Shiravan second-in-command to survey the situation and make an onsite assessment of humanity’s ability to help in their war against the Korvils. That assessment would surely include eighteen new ships in two years, two of which were built especially for the Shiravans to compensate for their losses.

After a quick shower and change, Lucy hugged Kitty and shook Thomas’s hand. “Glad to meet you, Captain. Now, if you will excuse me for being rude, Kitty wants something, or she wouldn’t be here.” She turned to her friend and boss and said, “Spill it.” She listened impassively as Kitty outlined her plans to travel to Shiravi to meet with their Matriarch. After Kitty finally ran down, Lucy asked, “And how is this going to affect me?”

Kitty grimaced. “You always do go right to the heart of the matter. That’s what makes you so good at everything you turn your hand to.”

“Nowadays, I get awfully suspicious when I start getting praise heaped on me out of the blue,” Lucy retorted.

“Just can’t take a compliment between friends?” Kitty asked playfully. Turning grim almost as quickly. “I know how hard it was for you in the early days, but now we have a Council of Captains to shoulder a large part of the burden, and a better chain of command, as well as more people. I need someone who can ride herd on this bunch while I’m gone.”

“But two years, Kitty. I’m not sure I can expose myself to that much sheer humanity if I have to climb back into the spotlight.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Kitty responded instantly. “Keep your offices here. Anyone needing to see you badly enough can book a spot on one of the weekly shuttles.”

After listening for a few more minutes, Lucy stood up, opened the door she had entered by, and said, “Private conference.” She looked at the guards. “I hope you’ll excuse us for a few minutes.” She turned to Kitty. “Madam Herald, if you please?” When one of the black-clad security detail tried to pass, Lucy put a hand on his chest and said, “Private conversation means private conversation. I don’t care what your instructions are.” Such was her manner that she was able to get the door shut and locked before the guard could react.

“Now, that’s exactly why I need you for this job. I can’t even get those guys to do that,” Kitty quipped before Lucy could explode.

Lucy ignored the attempt at humor with a vague wave of her hand. “You expect me to just take the reins back while you go play interstellar negotiator? Just how much of me do you want, Kitty?” Anger, surrounding a bit of hysteria, could be heard in her voice.

“Lucy, please, settle down,” Kitty said in a calm, quiet voice. She pulled her friend over to a couch and gently pushed her down onto it, taking a place not too far away but safely outside Lucy’s immediate reprisal zone. “It just seemed like the right choice. You’ve had the job before, and now it really is easier. No more micromanagement like we had in the beginning. You’ll have a full staff to handle all but the worst problems, of course. Only the biggest stink gets to the top of the heap. That’s where you and your previous experience come in. Hand down a decision from on high and remain behind your cloud of anonymity from millions of miles away. I’m just not willing to leave Earth without a seasoned veteran to run the administrative side with everything in such flux and us not knowing if there’ll be another attack.”

Kitty spent several more hours with Lucy. Finally, she took a break and went to Vesta’s comm center to send a message to Simon. “Mission accomplished. Spending the night. See you tomorrow. Love, Me.” She spent the rest of the night watching Lucy getting pleasantly lit, talking about the old days as if they were fifty years gone.

The next day, after a long and tearful goodbye, Kitty hopped the Rigel back to Earth. Within hours, she was repeating her conversation with Lucy to Simon, who was still showing great opposition to Kitty’s proposed trip.

The translation sel Garian got repeated Kitty’s words almost exactly, but Rentec said hurriedly, “This is not about you, personally, Policy Minister. We’ve spent countless hours with these two humans, and we believe this tone of voice she’s using is just a ploy to get a personal point across to her husband in a formal setting.”

“Admiral,” sel Garian said, quietly, “your Herald… your mate… will be accorded the same degree of protection and reverence we would afford our own Matriarch. All who accompany her will have that same guarantee. Once we leave here and translate into contra-space, nothing can touch us. If you’ve had time to experiment with the warp drives, you’ll have determined that once a ship enters contra-space, no other vessel can contact or influence it in any way until it emerges. And I promise you we will not emerge until we are safely within Shiravan territory.”

“Admiral... Simon,” Kitty didn’t know which way to speak to him, especially in front of crew and aliens alike. “You can’t take all the chances. This is a matter of statecraft, and it’s a job I have to do because you, among others, put me here. Now you reap the rewards of what you’ve sown.” Sorrow tinged her words. “It doesn’t make me all that happy either, but look at the adventure. I’ll be only the third human to set foot on an alien world. If it’ll make you any happier, I plan to invite Baron von Schlenker and Maggie. Their opinion and insight will be an invaluable aid to me if they’ll agree to go.”

“I see you’ve already thought this out,” Simon said sourly. “I’ve learned not to go against you when you get like this, Herald or not, so you go ahead and go. I’ll do all I can to maintain security and keep our ship production up.”

“You’re partly right,” Kitty replied. “I have thought this out. At some time or other, the leaders have to meet personally. If you’d been sitting where I am, you’d have seen that, I’m sure. You let your priorities get out of order, and for that you’ll have to pay a small price. You’ll direct the standing fleet, both human and whatever Shiravan ships Policy Minister sel Garian decides to leave in place. Ship production will continue to be in the hands of the various base commanders, and you’re directed to stay out of their way. Recruitment of crews is also being fielded by our new Personnel Department, so that’s one more thing you won’t have to worry about.”

She realized that if she didn’t put restraints on him herself, Simon would take on too much and alienate half the people he needed most. Delegation of authority—that’s what he’d taught her almost from day one but kept overlooking himself. This wasn’t a situation where micromanagement was going to be very effective. She felt bad about using it against him, but not so bad that she’d let him ruin all they’d worked for by trying to be in too many places at one time.

“You just make sure the fleet is supplied and ready to fight when the time comes. Work on possible strategies, stage war games, and begin sending out patrols just as soon as you’re ready. Look for evidence of Korvil habitation or visitation until you can get a lock on one of their base worlds. Then, take them out by whatever means necessary. Work on fitting the newer ships into the standing units and see about setting up those wolfpacks you mentioned so long ago. You’ll notice that’s what I plan to take with me to Shiravi. You can also work on getting as many of the Shiravan ships upgraded to our level as possible, too.” She chose not to notice the grimace that passed across the face of the Policy Minister. “Those are your sole responsibilities as Admiral while I’m gone, except to accede to the orders of Lucy Grimes, who has graciously agreed to take the reins one more time. She’ll hold the title of Deputy Herald and hold all the powers I have right now. Do you have any questions about what I want?”

When Simon slowly shook his head, Kitty relented a bit. “As my husband, you’re allowed to worry about me just as much as I’m going to worry about you, and if things get too out of hand, you can always declare martial law and take those powers onto yourself, but you’d better be able to defend your decisions to a jury of your peers, not just me.”

The Policy Minister slapped her left shoulder with her right hand, the Shiravan method of clapping, and hiccuped in laughter. She said something the translator hesitated over but finally translated. “She says that you have him… I think she means well-trained, but the translation comes out ‘housebroken.’” Rentec did his best to hide a smile, and Maratai only let out two small hiccups in surprise.

Simon’s cheeks burned a furious red, and for once, he grudgingly chose silence.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Simon sat at a table looking at a replay of the old Shiravan’s holodisplay. Now they more or less knew where the attacks were coming from, and learning that they were inside the area claimed by these Korvils rankled him like nothing ever before in his life. Somebody was about to get their noses bloodied… badly.

In the past two years, eighteen ships had come out of the docks, even with the Galileo producing at almost twice the rate of the bases. Three of the new ships were carriers, one of which was going to make an extended trip to Shiravi with the Herald, bringing the total up to five. There were enough battlecruisers around to start exploring the neighborhood with an eye towards, first, where the Korvils might have bases, and second, places where humans might start colonies of their own, which was going to require an entirely different type of ship later.

As soon as information started flowing both ways in this new frontier, expansion was going to be impossible to stop, even if stopping them was someone’s goal, especially the Korvils. That still left enough human and Shiravan ships to begin to explore farther systems in groups of five, always weighted three human ships to two Shiravan. And ghosting along with the squadron would be two ships under full cloak—a hidden asset, so to speak.

The higher firepower of the human ships, along with the secret of real screens, started proving their worth almost immediately. A wolf pack and two Shiravan heavy destroyers that had recently been upgraded with the new screens had met eleven heavily armed Korvil destroyer-class ships as the squadron entered their third system. The Korvils were headed in-system for reasons of their own. The Shasta’s captain led the fleet as they slowly emerged from the Oort cloud surrounding this new system. No one had even bothered to name it, since its only reference was a number in a catalogue.

Normally, passive scans swept the system, sometimes taking days to get full returns on the entire solar area, but this time Korvil engine signatures popped up mere hours after they’d arrived. The Shasta’s captain had taken the gift handed to him. He ordered all sensors online and a cloud of fighters to launch, but he also ordered them to maintain strict silence and remain close enough to the carrier to cover the fact that they were in fact not one target but seventy once the Mambas from the two battlecruisers emerged as well.

Whisker-laser transmissions let the five ships coordinate their actions as they moved along a course that forced the Korvils to have to slow down to intercept. The Shasta waited until it was too late for any of the eleven enemy ships to veer off before springing the hastily planned trap. The carrier Antares began to back away from the fleet, leaving a shell of fighters that would register as one ship on almost any screen.

As soon as the Korvil craft were within range, the Mamba Strike Commander sent a single laser transmission to the five flight leaders. They each tight-beamed the individual members of their flights, and the battle was officially underway, except that the Korvils wouldn’t find that out until they started losing ships. Sensors were notoriously ineffective directly astern due to the strength of the drive emissions, making it a perfect place to ambush the enemy.

Each flight had been given a specific mission to target one ship together and take out the engines for sure, in addition to as many weapons pods as possible. The enemy had gone into immediate disarray. Five Korvil ships had died in the first pass, and the extra flight from the battlecruisers got their shots in. Six of the enemy ships had been drifting hulks before they even began to fight back. This was the signal for the battlecruisers to power up their forward shields and begin firing on remaining targets, pinning the survivors between two superior forces. The antimatter-tipped warheads had torn broad holes into the sides of the Korvil destroyers, some even breaching the power cores and blowing entire ships.

Within a matter of less than an hour, the five-ship fleet had taken on and destroyed more Korvil major vessels than the entire Shiravan military had in over one hundred years. Losses were one hundred percent for the Korvils, and five fighters for the Alliance fleet—three to either superb or lucky marksmanship and two that forgot where they were and flew into someone’s backwash.

The Shasta’s captain was sorry about the losses, of course, but he wasn’t too distressed over two of them. The only truly capital crime in the universe is stupidity. There is no recourse and no reprieve. The sentence is death, and God have mercy on their souls, he thought.

He turned the small squadron towards Earth to pass on the news after giving his gunners some target practice blowing apart anything big enough to hold any data on how this massacre had come to be.

Shasta Group (each patrol was named for its command ship) returned to Earth space full of glad tidings. They stopped in the outer periphery of the system to gauge their location exactly before moving on to Earth and performing the usual scans. Much to the surprise of Shasta Group, they found ten drive traces. They were throttled back to low but still emitting that drive signal peculiar to Korvil ships. Scanning said that they were all destroyer-class or better. Shasta Command ordered one of the Shiravan vessels—the one commanded by the more adventurous of the two captains—to hyper jump directly to Earth with the warning that the next invasion wave was underway and to deliver the particulars. Shasta Group would stay behind and harass the incoming enemy for as long as they were able. Shasta Command next informed the other Shiravan vessel to hyper jump to Earth if it became clear that the battle was going against the human ships.

The close departure signature of a large vessel registered on the Korvil scans, even though it happened from behind them through the interference of their drives. The tight-knit Korvil formation started to disperse, the signal for the carrier to drop Mambas instantly, holding a ten-percent reserve for emergencies. The two battlecruisers dropped their Mambas, adding another twenty to the melee, and attacked the two closest Korvil ships.

The Korvils hadn’t had time to completely rid themselves of their forward motion, so they flipped their ships end-for-end and began firing at the approaching human ships. Their drive trails spewed out behind them as they fought to bring their ships back onto an attack heading using forward momentum to increase their options.

The forward shields of the two human ships shrugged off the torpedoes thrown at them as if they had never been fired, while their own projectiles, antimatter-tipped and powered, met no resistance at all as they impacted with the forward sections of the two Korvil ships.

The standard torpedo carried by all ships and Mambas was already a bomb in its own right. Destroy the generator for the containment field powering the missile, and a blast was the result. Period. End of sentence. The humans that copied these straight out of data files just added another bit of antimatter onto the front of the missile, thinking of the first bit as just the power source needed to deliver the package they’d attached to the front end. The innovation let the first piece of antimatter penetrate the hull of a shieldless opponent, while the second piece, the power plant, exploded deeper within the ship, multiplying the damage.

Ten torpedoes flashed from each of the two human ships, self-guided spears that had no chance of missing at this distance. Both Korvil craft ceased to be as their magazines took three hits apiece. Other hits to other parts of the hulls were merely icing on the cake.

The other eight Korvil ships gave themselves over to combating the swarm of tiny ships literally overwhelming their scanners, stinging at will. Any time one of the speedy craft came within range of a Korvil laser emplacement, that pest was destroyed immediately. But they kept the Fleet from reaching the two fighting warships, now turning to choose new targets among the quickly disappearing Korvil fleet. Even the Shiravan captain took on an opponent, emboldened by the shield strength displayed by their new allies. The Korvil Fleet Commander was “lucky” enough to be in one of the last ships destroyed. He lived long enough to realize that the Korvil reign was at an end.

The carrier Antares stood off and let the battle work itself out, needing to stay and pick up survivors and casualties. She couldn’t enter the fighting proper. What she brought to a battle—more small fighters than either other race had seemed to deem necessary—caused her to have to give up space for things like mounted weapons, although she did carry torpedoes for both the Mambas and a dozen missile tubes of her own.

The two human battlecruisers almost immediately took out their primary objectives and turned to their secondaries. This was the point where the Shiravan commander called on the Spirits of Space to protect these brave and daring people who were fighting such a one-sided battle. The Korvil ships, realizing the havoc these two ships could cause in their midst, concentrated their firepower toward the two major vessels. Those two ships diverted power from their life support and engine modules and passed it into the system that was powering the shields. Only a direct hit from the rear would be able to get past the shields and destroy one of the human ships.

Under normal conditions, which these weren’t, the two human ships would have stood up for perhaps only a few minutes against the massed attack of eight Korvil destroyers, shields not excepted, but the distractions of the Mambas and the Shiravan battlecruiser began to make themselves felt almost at once. Firing into the stern of the enemy ships, the Mamba swarm was attempting to take the power core away from each vessel. Faced with the infernal torture of the tiny ships on one side and the apparent invulnerability of the three larger ships and heavier firepower, the eight remaining ships, breaking hundreds of years of Korvil conditioning, tried to run for open space.

Under normal conditions, it might have worked. Earth had found enemy ships lurking around just one time too many to let the matter go. Alerted by the first Shiravan vessel, eight battlecruisers and one more carrier flashed into existence surrounding the struggle. The Korvils, upon seeing so many more ships, essentially committed suicide. They attacked any ship near them and either destroyed it or was finally destroyed itself. The final count left all Korvil craft destroyed at the cost of one rammed and destroyed battlecruiser and three others seriously damaged, one of which required a tow back to base. The Mamba cost was severe as well, with over forty more destroyed in this single assault. In the two incidents, humanity and the Shiravans had accounted for twenty-one attack craft, and in the process had lost one battlecruiser and forty-five Mamba pilots. That translated into almost six hundred humans dead, but what was the real loss to the other side? Had those twenty-one ships represented a major portion of their fleet? Enough had been destroyed in the five years leading up to this moment that one might think so.

The humans began to see why the Shiravans feared these beings so much. The sheer ferocity of the attack when the Korvils learned that there was no way out stunned the humans, who had used those very tactics innumerable times in their own past. Even the wolverine, one of the fiercest animals on Earth, gave up ground, if only grudgingly. Here there was no attempt to retreat or minimize damage to oneself, only the desire to crush all that stood before them.

The meeting was a subdued one. It was also not open to the public, considering that it was held on Vesta. It had become common practice for the Alliance to hand out press releases on a regular basis from the very beginning of their open-embassy policy. Now, with so many affected, apparently because of a lack of vigilance by the Alliance, countries from all around the Pacific Rim, even those with only minor damage, wanted answers. And scapegoats. Preferably rich ones. Simon was determined that the Alliance not be the scapegoat.

He looked out at the faces before him, just like so many times before, only this time the faces were of ships’ captains, base commanders, embassy heads, and several dozen other people closely tied to the Alliance who’d come to Vesta for this one reason. There was Baron von Schlenker, all the way from Earth, and with him were several people he’d come to know as representing their governments in semi-official capacities. To see them there now was a bit of a shock but nothing he couldn’t handle. He let his eyes meet each one of this group, recognizing but not acknowledging Brandon Galway. Three ships had been in orbit, and the baron must have leaned on one of the captains pretty hard to get this group out there so quickly.

Also not normal for a meeting like this were several Shiravan faces in a small group off to one side.

One other abnormality was the camera, red light showing in record mode. “I want to thank each of you for being here at this most auspicious of times,” he began. “The recorded version will be sent out immediately, but you who happen to be here at this time deserve to hear two bits of news. First comes the good news. Shasta Group, consisting of a wolf pack, two Shiravan escorts, and two cloaked battlecruisers, ambushed eleven Korvil destroyers in the third system they entered at a loss of only five Mambas. The surprise was that complete. But on their return to bring the news, Shasta Group happened upon a ten-ship destroyer convoy inbound for Earth. The bad news is that even though this enemy convoy was completely destroyed, it was at a cost of forty-five pilots, the entire crew of the Vengeance, and several dozen from two other damaged ships.”

Simon let the muttering go on for a few minutes before continuing. “I know. We all have friends among those lost. That’s just how it is with a group as small and tightly knit as ours.” He stood silently for a few seconds and then said, “Grieve for your friends. Take what time you need to do so, but if possible, make it fast, I’m sorry to say. Then turn that grief outward toward the enemy that has caused so much loss here and on Earth. Our losses are in the hundreds, but our world has lost millions. There are so many volunteers clogging the system down below that we’re actually turning people away after taking a number they can be reached at.”

He took a deep breath and went on. “Shasta Group’s success was, according to her own group commander, mostly pure luck. Their arrival in the third target’s system dropped them just outside the local Oort cloud. Their slow progress inward let them detect the Korvil battle group before being spotted themselves. Shasta’s tactics, while somewhat less than conventional—if I can use that word in a venue almost totally new to us—let us destroy all eleven ships with only a five-Mamba loss. This shows us that these big, bad boogey men aren’t so invulnerable after all.”

The translators finished Simon’s words almost as fast as he said them these days as familiarity gave greater confidence and competence to the interpreter corps, both human and Shiravan. The Shiravan delegation began to slowly clap their left shoulders with their right hands, at one and the same time a show of respect for those fallen in battle and sorrow at the losses sustained.

The human delegation surrounding Brandon Galway looked perplexed—all except Galway. Wasn’t it enough that they had handed the Korvils their heads on a platter? Again? And for what? The fourth time now? Anybody else would back off and lick their wounds. But that was human thinking. Most people kept attributing human motives to alien machinations; after all, that was all they had for reference.

But Simon and his leading military officers had spoken at length with the Shiravan captains, during which time a speedy little dispatch boat arrived, dropped off a sealed communiqué for sel Garian, and then, after only one rest period in which all of her systems were tested and tuned as necessary, returned to the Shiravan homeworld. Whether or not the message had been replied to wasn’t discussed during the next highly anticipated meeting between the two leaders.

Now, he got to drop a small bomb among the humans that would be certain to stir the hornet’s nest down below when they returned home. “Now that our homeworld is known to the Shiravans, they’ve started sending messages back and forth between the supreme commanders of both factions. Unfortunately, Earth has too many voices for them to hear what we have to say. Their system is a one-world government, or more correctly put, a one-race government, and they’re spread out over fourteen colonial worlds.”

He let that sink in, distracting them for a short time, until he decided it was time to hit them with another dose of reality. “In short, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, raising his voice to be heard over the babble of two different languages, “the Shiravans refuse to have any dealings with Earth except through the Alliance, and then only as long as a woman holds the reins of power. They will not accept any less and we have agreed, in the name of humanity, to abide by that decision for the time being.”

He raised his hand to stave off the babble of questions that were fired at him. “Gentlemen, ladies, we had two options—one, agree to their demand, at least for the time being, or two, have all contact between the two races cut off. It appears that, as a rule, we are too much like the Korvils for their liking. Apparently the Korvils are a male-dominated society as well, and the Shiravans, for reasons explained to us in the past, distrust that kind of system. After all, look at how the Korvils most likely got the technology in the first place—murdering the crew and then, after retooling their lower technological facilities, reproducing the destroyer. We believe that to be the case, because up until recently, we haven’t seen any indication that they were working on innovations. Destroyers don’t have the database to do more than repair and reproduce themselves, which is why all you’ve seen so far are vessels slightly smaller than ours—more heavily armed and armored than we ever saw them in the databases, but I think that’s one indication the Korvils aren’t just some jumped up predecessor to a thinking, reasoning being. They may be a little closer to their ancestral roots than we are, to be sure, but still capable of rational thought, by their own standards.”

Simon paced, thinking of Kitty and how she chastised him for it. He had never paced before finding the Galileo. “We’ve given the Shiravans some indication of what we’re capable of in the attack Shasta Group made on the Korvil convoy. Granted, they weren’t expecting it, but still, eleven destroyers down. And more good news, this time from the Shiravan side of the equation. The Shiravans have located and attacked what appears to be a heavily settled planet deep within Korvil-held territory. They used two entire—as I understand the translation, Reprisal Fleets—catching many ships on the ground, several unpowered ships in orbit, and a huge construction facility on one of the two moons of the planet, along with a smaller facility on the other moon.

“Unfortunately, the fleet was only able to make one pass, but it’s believed that a significant amount of damage was done. Using that planet as a central focus, we—Shiravans and humans alike—are going to start attacking any world in the vicinity of that particular planet after verifying that they’re inhabited by Korvils. If it isn’t their homeworld, it isn’t far from it, at least in terms of where it is in the colonization chain. Their courier arrived earlier today, and the coordinates of the planet have already been downloaded into the Galileo’s battle computer. Ship captains need only query the Galileo’s computer and the information is yours as well.”

He finally sat down, an audible sigh of relief going up as he did so because it usually signaled the end of a briefing. “Policy Minister sel Garian will be heading back to Shiravi to help begin the coordinated attacks against Korvil planets and interests.” An unpleasant look crossed his face. “For the record, the Herald and a handpicked team of negotiators will accompany the Policy Minister back to Shiravi, setting the rules for further contacts between our two races. Mister Galway, I’d be honored if you’d accompany the group to oversee Earth’s general interests in the discussion that will take place. Make sure you have your own interpreter on hand, or you’ll have to make do with what we tell you was said and agreed to. I’d like to talk to you about that later, if you please.”

Galway, singled out, looked at the members of the Earth delegation. Getting blank looks in return, he turned back to Simon and nodded his head once, slowly.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“You know what happened in the recent past concerning me and my wife,” Simon said, looking Galway directly between the eyes. “First, I thought I lost her in that damned machine, and now she’s going lightyears away from where I can do anything to protect her. I can’t send any overt protection, since that would be a slap in the face of the Shiravans, but someone trained to look for the less than obvious might be able to steer her on a straighter path than she otherwise might follow, if you know what I mean. And I don’t mean influencing her in her talks with the Matriarch. I can’t even do that, and I sleep with her.”

Galway looked at Simon across the expanse of the desk separating them and smiled at the joke. “Of all the people I’ve met in the past few years, you and your wife seem most capable of taking care of yourselves. I’m no diplomat, but I still have a job to do. It will be an honor to watch out for her, Simon, but I’ll try to talk the Matriarch into dealing with Earth directly, if I can. All in the spirit of friendly competition. That I can promise you.”

“I guess I can’t ask for more than that,” Simon admitted ruefully.

“I hope not,” Galway said with a small laugh in his voice. “We’re going to be totally surrounded by aliens over forty lightyears from any help and no sidearms as a show of good faith. Watching her back is about all I’ll be able to do for her.” He sat silently for several seconds. “You know we’re going to see to it that this Matriarch understands that your Alliance doesn’t speak for the balance of humanity, don’t you?”

“I wouldn’t expect any less from someone who considers himself a principled man, Agent Galway. Besides, they already know that, almost from the first moment of contact,” Simon answered.

“Brandon, please,” Galway said. “If we’re going to be working as closely as I expect over the next few years, not counting our time away, of course, then we should be on a first-name basis, don’t you think?”

Simon stood up and held out his hand. “I agree completely, Brandon. Until I get bitten, of course. Then, the rules will change automatically. Every relationship has to depend on trust. I’m going to do my best to keep my word. Should be easy, since I do have the technological edge. But I don’t want you to forget, ever since we’ve taken possession of this ship, I’ve done a lot of reading. And I do mean a lot. Lord knows there have been enough times when I’ve had nothing else to do. One thing that keeps jumping out at me is how the technologically backwards people have wound up absorbing their conquerors throughout history. There’s no way you could have missed that one, Brandon. Just sit back long enough, and all things will come to you. You have to have cultural anthropologists working on any number of scenarios, and that one would probably be near the top of the list.”

Galway had the decency to look embarrassed, but he neither confirmed nor denied the charge.

“I know you, Simon Hawke,” Kitty accused, shaking her finger in the face of the admiral of the most potent fleet in human history. “If I don’t find some way to keep you under control while I’m gone, there’s no telling what might happen. So…” An almost satisfied sound coming into her voice. “I’ve talked Lucy into taking the position of deputy Herald in my absence. Forget administrator. We need the office of the Herald to be active while I’m gone. She has also been given very explicit instructions on how to deal with you. We women have to stick together, you know. The only difference between us during my absence is that you won’t be getting any from her. She’ll handle the overall situation from Vesta, and you’ll be in charge of handling fleet matters. And it will let you focus.”

She watched the expressions pass over his face. “Look at it this way, hon. It leaves her free to deal with the intricacies of global politics, which she’s good at, and you can concentrate on military matters, which you’re good at. Delegation of authority—something you taught me almost from the beginning of this whole thing.”

She moved into his arms, letting them automatically close around her. “You know, this is the almost the last time I’ll feel this for nearly two years. Let’s make it count, Lover.” Kitty shamelessly used her ability to distract her husband, ending the discussion for all practical purposes.

Simon stood in the Galileo’s viewing dome as the convoy carrying his wife, friends, and opposition forces got under way. He watched them move off into the blackness of space, standing alone and looking at the exact spot in space for several minutes before he let the malaise he felt wash out of him. Duty called. His job was to mold the new ships into the existing fleet, along with the Shiravan forces left behind as a gesture of good faith.

He got distracted by the images he began to see on the inner surface of the dome. He’d come to recognize that this was something other people couldn’t do—see the future’s infinite possibilities. In some sets of images, he never saw his wife again, and in some others, at a great distance, the human race no longer existed.

In other images, he could see the two of them walking arm in arm along an alien shore, watching a nearly blue sun set into an azure sea. His dilemma was to decide which set of images were the ones he needed to follow for the best interests of the human race. He shook his head wistfully. Working for that idyllic sunset tempted him desperately, but the corresponding image for humanity was of a universe devoid of human life.

Deep in thought, he let his feet carry him to the Galileo’s transporter room and absently told the duty tech to beam him to the Rigel, which was presently acting as his flagship. He called the Galileo’s med lab to inquire about Marsha Kane’s status. He’d made it his job to check on her progress in the Galileo’s healing chamber—as the strange device had come to be called—at least once a week.

It was with a great deal of relief that he learned Marsha had been decanted only hours before and had been moved to intensive care, not that she needed it after a sojourn in the healing chamber. She would be allowed to have visitors sometime the next day.

His next act after Kitty and her escort was gone was to put in a social call to the new deputy Herald. He walked into her anteroom, and her secretary almost couldn’t get her words out. “Ad… Admiral. We had no idea you were coming.”

“That’s all right, Darlene,” he said after a quick glance at the nameplate on her desk. “Please inform the deputy Herald that this is a ‘Simon’ visit not an ‘Admiral Hawke’ visit.”

She looked first at her desk datalink and then at the door she knew her boss sat behind. “Go on in after a quick knock, Darlene,” he said. “I know her. Just tell her Simon is here, and let’s see what she does.”

Less than a minute later he sat in her office with his feet propped up on a table covered with some of the latest magazines from Earth’s newsstands. “So, what got you to come back into the fold, Luce?” he asked bluntly.

“I have your wife’s assurance, and therefore yours by default, that this is the last time I’m going to have to fill this post. I was quite happy hiding out on Vesta, and I think I’ll keep Alliance headquarters here.” She looked at Simon for a minute, evidently gauging what she was going to say next. “My doctor said I was almost ready to reintegrate into society. Not at this high a level, but in some visible capacity. We intended that I work my way back into full-time service. Sick, crazy, whatever, I still have the same dream all the rest of us do—to take our place among the star-faring races of the galaxy. One step at a time, of course. One mustn’t act too uppity, you know.”

“Races?” Simon questioned. “I thought there were only three races in this part of the galaxy. We’re pretty far out in one of the arms, after all.”

Lucy shook her head. “I’ve spent several years out here now, treating a lot of our visiting alien friends to dinner and, in effect, interrogating them. One of their concepts I’ve tried to follow has been their references to the Spirits of Space. It seems to be a universal, almost religious thing for most of them.”

Simon interrupted. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Lucy saw unease appear in his eyes. “It has everything to do with Kitty’s mission to Shiravi,” Lucy said, looking uncomfortable.

“Well, don’t keep me in the dark, Luce,” Simon demanded.

“It’s not that simple, Simon,” Lucy said, regret tingeing her voice. “I know that you know they speak of something they call the Spirits of Space. We just got through talking about it.”

“Yeah? So? They talk about them like they really exist. Some of them claim to commune with these spirits in the observation domes during hyper-drive.”

“Simon,” Lucy said, intent on getting and keeping his attention.

It seemed that her ploy would work enough to let her get the last of her information out without interruption, because he stopped dead and waited for her to speak. “The Shiravans have two major Spirits of Space. One of them is Kath-e-vel, the Spirit of Darkness and Deceit. The other is the Spirit of Rebirth and Victory. That spirit is called Kath-e-rin. Katherine, Simon. Most of these Shiravans think Kitty is the personification of the good Spirit of Space come to help them overcome the dark forces afflicting their world.”

Simon sat stunned into silence, a sight Lucy had seldom seen. Finally, after a time, he was able to get enough air to ask, “Are you telling me that my wife has gone off with a bunch of people who think she’s some kind of goddess?”

Lucy looked uncomfortably around the room, which was currently serving as her office until she could get moved into another part of Vesta. “Well, that’s not exactly true, Simon.”

“Don’t you keep me in the dark on this, Lucy Grimes. Deputy Herald or not, I’ll go after her with everything I can put into space if you don’t fill me in, and fast.”

“You’ve got to give me your word that you won’t go off half-cocked,” Lucy insisted. “That you’ll listen to what I have to say and then sit on it for twenty-four hours before we talk again. Right here in this office.”

Simon shook his head. “I’m not going to promise any such thing without knowing at least some of what’s going on,” he said stubbornly.

Lucy sat up straighter in her chair. “You will give me your word, Admiral, or I won’t tell you anything. And those are the Herald’s orders, not mine.” She looked him straight in the eye, not flinching from the stony gaze he laid on her.

Simon stared at a spot one inch above and directly between Lucy’s eyes. The effect was that of giving her his complete and undivided attention. Most people couldn’t take that kind of attention for long. Lucy, though, had been warned by Kitty about Simon’s tricks—not that she didn’t know some of them herself. After all, she’d been serving with him in some capacity for almost eight years now.

“Policy Minister sel Garian personally oversaw the reprogramming of some of the Shumara Vacht’s food processors so our delegation wouldn’t have to carry too much in the way of rations,” Lucy said, trying to change the subject.

Simon saw what she was doing but let it slide. After all, Lucy had been prompted by his wife, and he never could stand up to her logic in the long run, even secondhand from Lucy. “Okay, I promise,” Simon grated out. “No matter what you tell me, I won’t go off to save Kitty, at least for twenty-four hours. Now, what’s the deal?”

Lucy hesitated for a minute, sizing Simon up. “I’ve never known you to go back on your word. I’m going to assume that when you say you won’t go after Kitty, you won’t stay here and send other ships after her. We may well need the resources in the not-too-distant future. The Korvils could strike again at any time.”

“Okay,” Simon reiterated grudgingly. “I stay here, and all ships stay here. Now what’s the deal?”

“Some of the Shiravans think Kitty is a goddess, yes. The problem is that some of them think she could be this Kath-e-vel in disguise.” Lucy was quiet for a second, gathering her words. “In the last meeting I had with Kitty before she left, we speculated on this, but this new information has just come to my attention. sel Garian doesn’t seem to believe either way, I suspect, but she has leanings that her culture bred into her. She’ll protect Kitty with her own life, if need be, if for no other reason than her own personal honor. There is some danger for Kitty on this trip, but somehow, I feel safer knowing that she’s traveling with sel Garian.”

Lucy picked up her datalink when it buzzed on her desk. After listening for several seconds, she said, “Thank you. Tracking can go back to normal scan.” She turned to Simon. “Tracking says that the Shumara Vacht and her escort have just entered hyperspace on a course that would take them directly to the star sel Garian designated as their homeworld. Of course, they could change direction after a while, but that’s all we can go on at this time.”

Simon, discomfited by his wife’ traveling so far without him, made perfunctory goodbye noises at Lucy and walked out of her office deep in thought. He didn’t like the turn of events but had to defer to Lucy, who said she was only following Kitty’s orders in the matter. That left him with nothing to do but work on the thousand and one things he had on his list.

Recruiting wasn’t going to be a problem after the dual disasters that had recently affected Earth, but keeping the ships coming out of the yards was a challenge. Theoretically, if he increased the number of shuttles flying collection missions, ships could be built faster. But he had to figure in the people factor as well. Everybody needed a rest now and then.

Production and crewing were supposed to be under the control of another department, leaving Simon free to integrate the new ships and crews into the existing fleet. This worked well in theory, but Kitty seemed to have forgotten that base captains and commanders fell under the purview of the admiralty, for lack of a better word, because they were in the military chain of command.

Simon used this lapse shamelessly over the next two years, building the fleet into something that could be used to protect or attack, or both. The Shiravan ships were what made the difference. Patrolling the various sectors of the Alliance, namely those areas Simon and his command staff had delineated around the spatial vicinity of Earth and her sun, became routine during Kitty’s two-year hiatus. In effect, he was carving out a small empire for humanity, saying, “Cross this line and you’ll get your nose bloodied, bad.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

During Kitty’s hiatus, all the Shiravan vessels were equipped with the new shields and some of the upgraded weaponry. Certain types of firepower, such as the plasma cannon, were still top secret. “‘Politics makes strange bedfellows,’” Simon told Lucy one day in her new office on Vesta. “That’ saying’s been going around for almost as long as politics has existed. It just means that today’s friend might be tomorrow’s enemy and vice versa. Let’s not give away all we know, shall we?”

Simon had sat in on various meetings and expressed his opinion openly on the need for a buffer zone around Earth. “The Shiravans have one, and it would behoove us to emulate our benefactors,” he said at one meeting Maratai attended.

During one of those meetings, the question of whether or not the Shiravans were prosecuting their portion of the war came up. “We’ve not received one single report since the Shumara Vacht left for Shiravi,” Simon declared, his concern for his wife just as strong as his need for intelligence. “I personally think we should have some kind of continuing chain of incoming reports about how the talks are going and what steps the Shiravans are taking to relieve some of the pressure on us while we start raiding into Korvil space. I particularly want to hear from my wife or any of her escorts that she’s okay and that talks are proceeding smoothly.”

Maratai leaned forward and said, “I’ll send a dispatch ship with your request immediately. I’m sure your concern for Katherine and the progress of the talks will make an impression on the Matriarch. But you must understand that the travel time will be the same, and Katherine is not due to stay an overly long time.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Simon asked himself as Maratai sat back, apparently thinking she had rescued the situation. Simon looked Maratai in the eyes, the red still discomfiting him somehow. “If we don’t start getting reports back soon, I’m going to begin sending out my own dispatch ships,” he said quietly.

Joanna Barnes noted, “If a courier leaves Shiravi as soon as your wife arrives, it will still take almost a year for it to arrive and another to return. The courier could pass Kitty on her way back.”

Simon just grunted unhappily.

Kitty received sel Garian’s summons to her stateroom just before the convoy was due to move into hyperspace, the same area known to the Shiravans as contra-space. Surprised at the timing, she slipped her shoes on and followed the Shiravan aide to sel Garian’s quarters.

Not entirely surprised to find Rentec there, she looked questioningly at sel Garian. In highly stilted Shiravan, she asked, “You wished to see me?”

“Yes,” sel Garian said simply. “Please sit and drink with me for a while. There are some personnel adjustments being made before we jump for Shiravi. You and your people have been kind enough to tell us stories about your race. Some were designed to impress us and some to scare us, I think. Propaganda, it is called.” Rentec worked furiously to interpret sel Garian’s words.

“Let me tell you a story.” The old woman got up and poured an Earth wine into two wooden cups, polished to a high gloss by the thousands of hands that had held them over the years, and handed one to Kitty. “This is one of the best things about your culture,” she said, slowly swirling the cup and smelling the wine within. “Long ago,” the old woman began without preamble, “our world was dominated by males. Bigger, stronger, and faster than females, they dominated our culture for most of our recorded history and apparently all of our unrecorded history until about a thousand years ago when the males started a war that lasted almost two hundred years. Because women were so precious—after all, we were the ones to give birth to the next generation of warriors—we were kept out of the fighting.”

sel Garian took a sip from her cup. “The females of the warring factions realized that if something wasn’t done, all the males would wipe themselves out and the Shiravan culture would have committed suicide. They set up a situation where the males almost completely wiped themselves out in one cataclysmic fight, at which time the females stepped in and took the reins of power. That’s a really simplistic view of what took over fifty years to accomplish, but we’ll have many opportunities to talk later in the voyage, I’m certain.”

The old woman took another swallow and continued. “The males tried to stop us, of course, but by the time they realized what was happening, there were too few of them, and more died in the fight to regain male dominance. The females had done their homework well. During the war, many females became legislators, and others secretly trained to fight like the males. We managed to rewrite the inheritance laws while the men fought, allowing property rights to reside in the female line so possessions were handed down from a mother to her firstborn daughter.

“And we saw to it that more females were born than males. Shiravans had become supreme geneticists, and we females were able to make sure that male births were kept low enough that they could never affect politics again. The problem was that some of us—the females—were psychic. Able to see into the future, albeit cloudily, we foresaw this war, although a thousand turns ago we had no idea what we were seeing. Now we know, and the belated realization could be our undoing.

“As with any group of people, there were numerous ideas of how to take advantage of our new-found power. We believe it was somewhere during this time that the Korvils got hold of one of our ships and began to duplicate it. It was almost two hundred years before we were directly affected, once they’d taught themselves how to operate the technology they’d stolen. By this time, the Korvil shipyards were fully functional, and we were left to deal with the situation.” No hint of comparing humans to Korvils had entered sel Garian’s voice.

“It was at this time that the anomaly of the kath-mora showed up. We have long had females who could read the future and make predications for matrimonials, births, deaths, and other such events, but it wasn’t until this time that their success rate blossomed. On one of our early vessels, we placed a dome, like the ones on the Kreth and the Shumara Vacht, to study the realm through which we traveled. On one such excursion, a kath-mora, a Spirit Witch who’d been trained as a physicist, rode in the dome, making observations and transcribing them into permanent records. After a particular flight, the Witch claimed she was able to commune with the Spirits of Space, and they told her that it was time for the Shiravan people to begin to retreat from their expansionist tactics. This was shortly after the first contact with the Korvils, who called themselves the Borgan at that time. It didn’t help the Expansionist movement that the experience somehow heightened this kath-mora’s power, and this Spirit Witch began the Isolationist movement that still thrives today. It is with great shame that I tell you that particular witch was a sel Garian.”

Kitty must have looked confused because sel Garian said, “I was the one to make crew selections for this particular mission, and I saw to it that all the top-ranking witches were aboard the two Contact Fleets. While in your system, I reassigned all the witches from Contact Fleet One to my own fleet. Now, the witches from both fleets will be given the extra ship we brought along.”

Kitty had wondered about that extra ship, as well as the overcrowded conditions aboard the Shumara Vacht since sel Garian had adamantly assured the humans that all Shiravan ships would stay in-system until the human shipyards could turn out enough ships to protect themselves. “The last ship, the Cara Set, will be used to house all of the Spirit Witches we brought with us, and they can find their own way home. When they get there, which will take some time as there are certain repairs that need to be made before she is otherspace-worthy, I think they’ll find that the political climate has altered, and not in their favor.

“In the meantime, the Matriarch’s forces will only have to deal with a disorganized smattering of witches totally bereft of their leadership. When I bring this last bit of evidence,” sel Garian said, dangling the pendant Kitty had worn since Simon had discovered it aboard the Galileo all those years ago, “to the Matriarch’s attention, she will surely outlaw the kath-mora forever. The back of the resistance against our expansion into space will be forever broken, and we will soon remove the blight of the Korvils from the universe, along with the help of our new human allies, of course.”

Kitty, not really knowing how to respond, merely grunted slightly as she took a sip of the wine in her cup. Perhaps the old woman’s getting a little dotty in her old age. After all, she’s closing in on the three-hundred-year mark. A few more minutes of banal comments and Kitty stood up, made her excuses, and left to think about the things she’d heard.

Brandon Galway felt distinctly uncomfortable seated across from the old Shiravan woman. Could he be, after all this time, a xenophobe? He had met and talked with dozens of Shiravans before Second Fleet had shown up, but it had usually been in a setting where there were more humans than aliens. So, he’d had “home court” advantage, so to speak, by being on Earth. Now he was in a room alone with two aliens aboard a spaceship that was taking him farther from Earth than all but two humans had ever been before. Granted, he knew Rentec, who, as interpreter, otherwise distanced himself from the conversation, but sel Garian was still a mystery to him.

“Would you like something to drink?” she asked. The mechanical voice grated on his nerves, but he refused to let it show.

Instead, he merely shook his head and answered, “No, thank you.” Then, silence descended on the room as red eyes stared into brown ones. Galway was troubled by the invitation since he was only along in a mediocre position with the Earth delegation. One thing he was sure of was that he wasn’t going to be first to speak.

After a decade or two passed, sel Garian broke the silence. “I’ve been told by the Herald that you are the true head of the human delegation to the Matriarch. I am told as well that you don’t agree with what the Alliance is doing with the technology they’ve inherited. Are both of these statements true?”

Shock ran through Galway’s system. His had almost always been a covert life, and to have information disclosed in such a fashion was unsettling. His mind raced, looking for an answer to the woman’s question. He finally decided on a unique tack—the truth. “Let me address the second statement first, if you will,” Galway said. When all he got was a slight left/right shake of her head, he looked to Rentec.

Rentec had begun to explain the difference between a Shiravan nod and a human one when sel Garian made a cutting motion with her hand. The old woman picked up a cup that sat before her, twin to the one in front of Galway, sat back in her chair, and motioned for him to continue. Galway tried to choose his words carefully, recognizing the minefield he was walking through. “First, let me say that we know yours is a one-government world, something some of us are striving for on Earth, while others seek to stop it in an effort to retain their own power. At present, there are over two hundred different nations on Earth, each ruled by an individual or coalition.”

He looked at the woman on the other side of the desk and made up his mind. “Most people these days think of the Alliance as the saviors of humanity. They will take us to the stars, give us planets, make us rich. But most of those people aren’t in government or military service. None of them understand the implications of dealing with an alien race, much less two at the same time. It’s a basic tenet on our world that the majority rules, and these people who call themselves the Terran Alliance have taken it upon themselves to appropriate the ship they found and use it for their own purposes.”

The red eyes bored into his. “Are you saying the Alliance doesn’t represent the majority of humanity or the majority of humanity’s governing bodies?”

Galway thought furiously. He’d decided on the truth and couldn’t turn back now. “They do represent the majority of humanity, if their motives are pure. Otherwise, they don’t. And they certainly don’t reflect the opinions of the leaders of the various nations.”

“When,” the old woman asked, “did you get to be the majority’s arbiter on this matter?”

“When I was assigned the job by my boss,” he answered immediately.

“Who is, by your own admission, only one of over two hundred differing factions,” sel Garian noted. “Your delegation consists of only six individuals. Are they representative of the rest of your world?”

“As humans, yes,” Galway admitted. “Humanity is always looking for a way to better itself, and the technology aboard the Galileo would go a long way toward doing that. Again, when you put these few people up against the rest of the planet, the data becomes skewed, since each one of us is trying to come to some kind of unique understanding with you Shiravans. It might be of note to know that my boss is the leader of the most powerful nation on our world.”

“A world that, by your own admission, he’s unable to unite under one banner, and a world that will bicker and fight over each coveted point of order to get concessions they don’t deserve. The Herald tells me,” sel Garian stated, blatantly changing the subject, “that the knowledge aboard the Dalgor Kreth would be sequestered for decades before any of it got to the planet at large if taken by Earthbound humans. Is this true?”

“Well,” Galway temporized, “we’d need to study it intensely before just starting to push buttons, which is exactly what the Alliance did. That’s irresponsibility of the first order. Of course, military applications would be considered first. Protecting the source would be of paramount importance, and no knowledge of the find would be allowed outside of a small circle of scientists and military heads.”

Galway was sure the old woman was scowling, although after all this time, he still wasn’t quite sure which facial expressions meant what. “So, the find would be sequestered, wringing all possible military advantage from it before turning it over to civilian scientists?”

“Well, of course,” Galway said vehemently. “First, we protect our country, then we advance our knowledge of the universe. Human history abounds with ideas and products that were first military applications that finally filtered down to the general populace.”

“And history abounds with civilian applications that were used by various military organizations on our own world as well as yours. Just take the invention of dynamite, for example,” the old woman retorted. “I sometimes think, from what Doma kep Parrasine and Dom do’ Verlas have told me, that our races parallel each other in many ways. We started out first, but you are fast catching up.” She sat silently for a moment, eyeing the human. “And that scares me. Besides, had the Alliance not gotten there first, there would probably be no human race.”

Galway had no response to sel Garian’s statement, so he only nodded his head once in recognition of the comment and waited for her to continue. “Tell me, Mister Galway, what do you think the Alliance will do with all its ships after this war is over? Do you fear they’ll come back to Earth and take over? They certainly could.” She smiled at the look of astonishment on his face. “As a matter of fact, if Shiravi should decide to back out of the fight now, you and the Korvils would bleed each other dry and we could take all the worlds of both races. Now, that seems the more opportunistic way to go.”

Galway’s mouth moved, but no words came out. It was virtually the same thing his bosses had come up with and the main reason they’d sent him on this mission at all—to gain at least a portion of the Shiravan’s sympathy to Earth’s side of the ledger. Finally, he was able to speak. “We would hope that that wouldn’t be the end result,” he said. “But in light of the fact that we really don’t know the power, capabilities, or the intentions of Shiravans, we have no choice but to work under a worst-case scenario.”

“Which is self-defeating,” the old woman said. “That kind of thinking is what led to the War of Ascension, when women took the reins of power. Only recently have we begun to lift the restrictions placed upon our males. And if it weren’t for the Korvils, we might not be lifting them even now. If you walk into a room expecting a fight, it’s more likely that you’ll find one than if you enter the room looking for ways not to fight.”

Galway resisted the ideas the Shiravan was putting forth. “You should still be prepared for as many eventualities as you can. Letting your guard down can get you killed.”

“I said nothing about letting your guard down,” she replied. “Only that you not go looking for a fight.” She let that sink in for a moment and added, “Fortunately, intelligent individuals know when enough is enough. We’ve tolerated Korvil depredations for so long that a movement to suppress expansion into space was growing almost daily. I’m taking care of that little problem with the Cara Set as we speak.”

“And we have suffered at the hands of the Korvils as well, from the first attack on an Alliance space station to two surface impacts that killed over twenty million people and will continue to cause environmental problems for years to come,” Galway asserted.

“So now you put yourself on the side of the Alliance,” sel Garian said tartly. “You really must get yourselves under control. Look at our history if you wish to see one of the possible paths open to your present methods of governance.” Her stress on the plural did not go unnoticed. “With a little less luck, there might be no Shiravan race to sit here now. It would seem, Mister Galway, that you really have no idea which side you’re on.”

As a chime sounded softly in the room, sel Garian started and said, “We’ll have more time to talk on the way to Shiravi, Mister Galway. Right now, I have an appointment, and you must have much to discuss with your delegation.”

Brandon walked back to his cabin bleakly, thinking, Well, at least we get a vacation from the rat race. I’ll just spin our losses as a woman-to-woman thing. We never stood a chance.

Manura sel Garian sat and thought as she sipped a tangy liquid from her wooden cup and wondered how much to reveal to these humans. Granted, they’d taken Shiravan technology back to the Polity that was much more advanced than when they’d found it, but she still felt that they were holding something back. Human ships seemed to take much less damage than Shiravan ships. The firepower difference was easily explained by the fact that the humans had totally reconfigured the inside of a battlecruiser to accommodate their shorter stature, giving them more room to install heavier weapons and more of them per vessel. This also gave a cruiser the power of a battleship that somehow managed to resist incoming impacts much more readily than Shiravan vessels. This was most certainly another incidence of humans bending applications of existing technology in different directions and one they hadn’t deemed necessary to inform the Shiravans of.

In their place, I would certainly do the same, she thought. It’s never a good thing to put all of your assets on the table at the same time. I wonder who’s really orchestrating the human’s movements. A worthy adversary, indeed.

Kitty spent her days learning the Shiravan language. She already knew what she wanted to say to the Matriarch, but she felt it would show respect if she could be at least semi-fluent before the interview. Rentec smiled when she told him of both her intentions and her dilemma. “Madam Herald,” he said, radiating pure pleasure, “it would be my great pleasure to help you. I’d like to use a method your Dom Spencer taught me when he learned our language. It’s called total immersion.”

“I know what you mean, Rentec,” Kitty said. “But how about the basics in a human-to-Shiravan forum for a couple of weeks? Let me get the feel first. I really do apologize for not learning this earlier. I knew this meeting was going to happen sooner or later, but I honestly thought I had more time.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Lucy Grimes wondered if she’d gone totally insane. How had Kitty maneuvered her into being the talking head for the Terran Alliance again?

That she’d once been one of them and now led them again seemed so incongruous that she sometimes needed to take more than one aspirin to get the headaches to go away. She closed her eyes and envisioned possible futures unfolding from the solidified past. Simon had once explained how he saw his visions. Now, she thought she could begin to see what it meant to have that kind of ability, knowing that a certain course of action could lead to many different futures, depending on how the first one was handled—chess on a cosmic scale. The thought scared her deeply.

One action could lead to many different conclusions, but not all the actions taken had originated with her, or even with humans, so the conclusions became foggy the further out she looked. Now with two alien races in the picture, how was she to tell which way led past the shoals? There were no lighthouses where she was going.

She wondered sometimes if she suffered from megalomania. What right did she have to undertake such a task? Everyone around her told her she was doing the right thing—her cabinet and the people chosen to advise her on matters she had no time to explore in detail herself. That was the key to a good command team, Simon had once told her. She was overjoyed, to say the least, to have Alliance headquarters moved to Vesta. It cut down on pesky reporters. She’d been surprised to find out that at least two different media outlets had already leased space on Vesta in anticipation of the official notification of the changing status of the Alliance.

All she could tell them was what her staff told her anyway—how many ships were ready for crews, how many volunteers were in what stages of readiness, the total number of ships that were now patrolling home space, how many had been assigned to the much more dangerous assignment of checking out the nearer stars, looking for a Korvil presence. Shows that promised realistic representations of the success of the first ships were already being promoted on Earth. Lucy wondered about the accuracy of the reports since she had no idea who would leak what information to the media.

After her third encounter with one of the few microphone-wielding reporters already stationed on Vesta, she decided on a daily press release, charging nothing for transmission of the release with an added commentary by the reporter.

Marsha Kane, recently decanted from her stay in the Galileo’s med bay, watched as the delayed broadcast played over Alliance receivers. The Alliance had insisted on placing as many of Earth’s satellites back in orbit as quickly as possible, a way to show that they cared about their world. Global positioning systems that guided everything from ships to airplanes to hunters and hikers needed to be brought back online, as well as numerous military satellites carried into orbit. At a time when Earth’s space program was slowly failing precisely because of the existence of the Alliance, this showed most people the necessity of having the Alliance around. Many even championed their defense of the Earth in the numerous attacks, pointing out, and rightly so, that the death toll could have been much higher if more ships had gotten through or had more time to accurately aim their weapons. Even the astronauts aboard the International Space Station had been saved by the Alliance since Earth had no vehicles ready to launch after the Korvil attack that had savaged the now-redundant habitat. Its mass had gone into the Galileo’s converter to help build parts for another battlecruiser.

The late-night radio host came on after the top-of-the-hour news. “Ladies and gentlemen, for reasons I am about to explain, things will be a little different tonight.”

After a short pause, he said, “It was my privilege to get a reply from the Terran Alliance recently. I’ve wanted to interview one of them for a long time. So, in a rare moment of generosity, the Alliance has sent a captain of one of the ships currently in orbit to be on tonight’s show.”

He continued, “In a departure from our normal routine of having multiple guests on the phone, I’ve invited several people to my studio to form a small discussion group in which the Alliance captain will participate. I guess you could call it an inquisition.

“Tonight, we have with us Captain Louise Garcia of the Terran Alliance battlecruiser Mira, which happened to be the ship that saved the astronauts aboard the ISS. Also with us tonight is Dr. Martin Van de Veer from NASA, along with the president’s science adviser, Mr. Joseph Blount. Representing Earth’s corporate involvement with the Alliance is Mr. Aaron Lee of Virginia, and a regular guest, Mr. Richard C. Hoagland, one-time science adviser to Walter Cronkite. You can find him on the web at EnterpriseMission.com, a well-planned, well-laid-out website for those people who wish to keep abreast of any number of interesting anomalies concerning our planet, our solar system, and out into the vast universe beyond. We’ll be asking him about that later in the show.

“Although this will be an extreme departure from our usual show, I’m sure the result will prove to be worth the effort. It was agreed beforehand that I’d act as moderator and have full authority to have anyone, even Captain Garcia, cut out of the loop if things get out of hand.” After a few seconds, he said, “I’ll start this off with a question of my own. Captain Garcia, how did you come to be the captain of a spaceship capable of devastating an entire planet if you so choose?”

The captain’s voice came across steady and clear. “As most other people do. I applied for citizenship in the Alliance and was accepted for testing. I took a very intensive battery of tests, lasting almost a week on Vesta Base in the asteroid belt. That’s where Alliance Headquarters and our major training facility are. I excelled in a variety of tests, leading me into the command structure, and after more training, I was awarded the rank of second lieutenant. As more ships became available, I was moved onto one to perfect my newly acquired skills. When a new ship came out of the docks, the person I was training to fill my spot on that first ship took over, and I, more experienced now and having been promoted to first lieutenant, took the position of navigator aboard the new ship. It was a combination of skill and the luck of being in the right place at the right time, and soon I was executive officer until I finally got my own ship, the Mira.”

“So which ships did you serve on before getting your own?”

“My first posting as second lieutenant and third shift watch officer was the Arthur C. Clarke.” A catch could be heard in her voice. “After that, I served aboard the Heinlein for a short while, then the Capella as executive officer. I received my own ship about six months ago.”

The NASA man spoke up. “Captain, if you please, how long will it be before Earth gets ships of their own?”

The captain hesitated before answering. “You’re not going to like to hear this, especially those at home and any official of any government on this planet. Earth will get ships of her own when she comes of age and is deemed worthy to join the Alliance as full partners. Before anyone says anything, I mean that this planet will have to be reshaped into a single political unit. I point to the Shiravans, our valiant allies, from whom we acquired the first ship, the Galileo, and the Korvils as well. Both of them are unified spacefaring races. And they only became so after uniting under one set of rules and rulers. It requires the GDP of an entire planet to finance the basic infrastructure of a spacefaring race.”

Richard C. Hoagland finally got a word in. “It has been known almost from the first that the Alliance wasn’t responsible for the devastating attacks on Earth or the massive loss of life that ensued,” the calm voice said, indelibly linking the images to the Alliance anyway. “At that stage, the Alliance was three deep-space construction docks, with a fourth under construction. In addition, they had nearly half a dozen warships at their disposal, complete with trained crews. Through data that has been released by the Alliance Office of Public Information, we know that the attacks came as a total surprise, even though the Alliance upper command knew it was a possibility.”

“Now, hold on just a minute,” Captain Garcia said, interrupting Hoagland hotly. “The Alliance knew it was under a time limit almost from the first, but they expected the owners of the ship to show up and claim it, not to be attacked by a third race. As a matter of fact, it was thought by many that the Builders, as we originally called them and whom we now know to be the Shiravans, were not responsible for the attacks on Earth. Our sole thought was to get as much as possible of the technology duplicated before the rightful owners showed up and demanded their property back. It was also thought that the owners might not like having their property duplicated and essentially stolen, so the decision was made to begin production of warships modified to human scale. In the doing of that, it was found that there was a lot of free space since humans are so much shorter than Shiravans. There was room for more weaponry, more sensitive instruments, and larger missile loads. Another innovation was the use of miniaturization, integrated circuits and microchips, to enhance the power of the weapons and sensor suites. We seem to have a knack for taking an existing Shiravan machine and reworking it to perform at higher levels. Of course, that’s because we as a race think a bit differently than the Shiravans do. They feel that if it works, don’t mess with it—an old saying I’ve heard right here on Earth many a time. But humans are like a teenager with an old jalopy. We’ve just got to get the most out of each part of the machine.”

“And from what we’ve learned,” the NASA spokesman said, “that’s exactly how the Korvils came onto the galactic stage, by taking technology that wasn’t theirs. Can you blame the Shiravans for being fearful of us?”

“As a matter of fact, I can,” the captain returned forcefully. “It’s also assumed by the Shiravans that the Korvils got their ship by massacring an entire ship’s crew after it landed peacefully on their world. But we took possession of what was essentially a deserted ship. There’s an enormous difference there that needs to be shouted from the rooftops. If any Earth government had gotten ahold of it, they would have spent years studying it, but we were attacked just after having built our first space dock.

“Apparently the natural inclination of this third race, the Korvil, is to attack anything they perceive as weaker than they are. They were at just the right stage in their evolution to be able to recognize the fact that there was more to the universe than their one small planet. The problem was that their ego wouldn’t let them accept anything less than total domination of what they considered their inferiors. Does that remind you of anything in the history of our own world?”

Not allowing the man to speak, Captain Garcia went on. “From the very earliest records, our scientists have found that humans are the highest form of life on this world because we have either killed off the stronger, independent predators by outwitting them or just plain annihilating them, along with more than a few innocent and harmless species along the way, to be sure, but what does one single species mean in the total scheme of things, right?” Sarcasm came easily on this particular topic.

“The problem is that we’ve come into contact with not one but two different examples of nature’s rule governing survival of the fittest. One seeks to overwhelm and destroy us, and the other wants to enter into a partnership against that very threat.”

“That’s an interesting point, coming as it does from an Alliance representative,” the host noted. “What are your opinions on the matter?”

The black-clad captain thought for a moment and answered, “I think we should trust the Korvils to continue as they’ve begun, and I don’t think we should trust them any farther than we can throw one. I also think we should make an alliance with the Shiravans. Attacking the Korvils on two sides will split their forces and cost them more in the way of manpower and machinery than they can spare.” There was a short pause, and then the captain added, “We hope.”

The host tried to get a word in, but the captain rolled over him. “I, as well as most Alliance members, feel that the Shiravans, while an older race than ours, shouldn’t be trusted completely yet, nor should they trust us either. Remember, all three races have an instinct toward racial survival, and we have no idea what will trigger the Shiravans into the same type of attacks the Korvils are making, if any. And the reverse must be true of you. Just how far can you trust us? So, we’re making small steps in dealing with them. As we speak, the Herald is aboard a Shiravan vessel, complete with a three-ship human escort, to the Shiravan homeworld to negotiate a deal with their Matriarch on just exactly how we can coordinate our attacks to do the most damage. There are eighteen Shiravan ships in Earth’s system right now, integrated with our own ships that are patrolling our outer reaches and making forays into some of the nearer star systems. So far, there have been two skirmishes. Three Alliance ships accompanied by two Shiravan vessels met and destroyed eleven Korvil battlecruisers in a system some thirty lightyears from here. The surprise was so complete that we lost only five Mambas in that fight. On the way home, they overtook inbound Korvil attack craft. At a cost of one destroyed cruiser and forty-five more Mambas and their pilots, we managed to destroy that bunch, too.

“I’d be extremely surprised if such a victory could occur again, though. We’re about to get into a slugfest in which the winner will be the one with the greater advantages. We believe we hold the technological edge over both the Korvils and the Shiravans because we’ve bettered many of their systems and added a few innovations of our own.”

“What’s to keep the Shiravans from letting us take all the punishment and then finishing us off after we whip the Korvils?” Hoagland asked.

The captain chewed the inner side of her lower lip for a moment, a sign of indecision that, fortunately, couldn’t be seen on a television. “That possibility has been put forward, and all I can say is that we won’t let ourselves become so weak and distracted from fighting one foe that we will ignore another potential danger. But you must keep in mind that, so far, the Shiravans have shown no inclination to be anything other than completely aboveboard about all of their dealings.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, you’ve just heard from Louise Garcia, Captain of the Alliance battlecruiser Mira. After the break, we’ll try to get some calls in to the captain.” The music rose, the host’s voice faded out, and an announcer began to tout a new vitamin package.

“Well, that went better than I expected,” Marsha said as she turned the receiver off and poured two drinks for herself and Lucy. “Still just drinking 7-Up, or have you gone back to stronger stuff?”

“Just the pop for me,” Lucy answered, watching Marsha pour a bit of Seagram’s into her own drink.

Marsha sat down after putting Lucy’s drink in front of her and took a long pull on her own. Setting it back down with a grimace she said, “Something’s wrong, either with the booze or the pop.”

“That’s odd,” Lucy commented. “Kitty said much the same thing about beer after her stretch in the chamber. It’s something to keep an eye on.”

Then Marsha just stared at Lucy, and Lucy stared back. Finally, Lucy couldn’t take the staring anymore. “What? Have I grown two heads or something?” she asked testily.

“No, Luce, it’s not that,” Marsha replied quickly. “I just see people staring at me, and I get all defensive. I mean, can I help it if that damned machine turned my hair white, too? It also got rid of several dozen scars and two tattoos in the process of healing me. I’ve had those tats for years, and they both meant something to me. How am I supposed to feel?”

“How about glad to be alive?” Lucy replied sarcastically.

“Well, of course I am,” Marsha said hotly. “But I’ve had my ship reassigned to someone else and haven’t been given another assignment yet. I also need to speak face to face with Simon as soon as possible.”

“How about taking the next ship out of the yards? From the looks of things, Taurus Base is going to finish our first true battleship in a few weeks,” Lucy said, looking over some statistics she brought up on her terminal. “Crew is going to be almost a thousand, with twenty Mambas, greater computer defense for incoming, better coordination on outgoing fire, stronger laser batteries, and larger missile magazines. And you’ll have the first ship to come equipped with the new plasma bomb as a standard. That one is going to come as a real surprise to whoever you use it against. You’re also going to have a transporter and both tractor and pressor beams—in short, just about all the innovations we’ve come up with in one ship.”

Marsha gaped at Lucy. “I know Kitty put you in charge while she’s gone, but isn’t that a bit much for a captain who hasn’t really proved herself? Shouldn’t Shirley get this command instead of me?”

Lucy just smiled at Marsha. Back in the days before the Galileo, she and Marsha had been mere acquaintances on the same campus. They rarely appeared at the same parties, their one real intersecting interest being UFOs, or to be more specific, science fiction. Now, Lucy sat behind the Alliance Deputy Herald’s desk and was giving instructions to Marsha, who’d been far and away the more popular of the two from the beginning. And now that she had white hair, she was even more striking, making Lucy feel like the ugly sister. “No, Marsha. Shirley has command of another ship. It’s not my intention to move captains around any more than it was Kitty’s. So, you’ll get the next ship out of the yards. You’re fit to command her. This three-week notice is so you’ll have time to compile your command cadre. You have full access to all computer records concerning recruits and veterans who are currently unassigned. Fill out your command teams and submit them to Personnel for approval, which is just a formality in case someone you choose is slated for some other mission.”

“What about the regular crew? Do I get any say in that?” Marsha didn’t really expect to and wasn’t surprised by the answer.

“No. What you’ll get is the highest ranked newbies we can give you, sprinkled with some veterans in slots to ride herd on them until after your shakedown cruise. Now, for the bad news.”

Marsha smiled grimly. “I’ve been looking all around this mess to find the hook in the bait, but I haven’t seen it. You’re about to set the hook, aren’t you?”

“I’m not a fisherman, but if I read your meaning correctly,” Lucy said, “then, yes, I’m about to set the hook.” Marsha sat there, poker-faced, forcing Lucy to continue without any help. “Your shakedown cruise is going to consist of a patrol into a system we haven’t checked out yet. You won’t be flying solo, though. Yours will be the task force command ship, with two cruisers and one carrier under your command, as well as two Shiravan ships along for assistance, plus two cruisers under full cloak. One Shiravan has been equipped with the new shields, so that ship can be deployed at your command, giving you seven fighting ships. The other is to be held back as a courier. If anything goes wrong, it can be sent back here to report. We’re going to start making forays deeper and deeper into Korvil space, carving out a section of our own. The Shiravans will be doing the same from the other side, but they don’t have the shields, heavy-duty lasers, missiles or other innovations that will make the difference in a major battle. We do.”

“I already understand that Korvil space is between us and Shiravan space, with the Korvils claiming the space we inhabit,” Marsha said, looking at the holograph slowly rotating above Lucy’s desk. “Won’t the Shiravans be taking the brunt of the damage? I remember something about the Korvils being more suicidal or something. And with the Shiravan fleets not being equipped with our innovations, they’re going to be walking into a meat grinder.”

Lucy nodded at Marsha’s analysis. “True, but that’s what your shakedown cruise is for. As soon as you finish your first patrol, you and your task force will be assigned to Shiravan space, an eleven-month journey, to assist the Shiravans in combating the Korvils from their side of the line. If the Korvils start finding that they can’t take out ships from either side of their territory, it will cause them plenty of second thoughts before they deliberately attack Shiravan shipping or colonization ships. Once we can send a few more ships their way, the pressure should ease off the Shiravans. Besides, they’ll be busy upgrading their ships and missiles from the schematics we’ll be providing, making it even harder for the Korvils to do any real harm to either of our races. Of course, we have no idea how the pressure will affect their high command, so we’ll just play the cards we’re dealt.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Marcad Korvil sat on his throne in what was left of the Korvil Pit of Justice. Gaping holes let light in through level after level of what had once been his palace. The still undecapitated body of his late war-Minister lay off to one side, tossed aside like an old toy.

“Ruin seems to follow my every move since the arrival of the humanz.” His predator’s mind closed in on that one fact. Ever since the discovery of their system, the Gods seemed to have turned their backs on him. Two raids and two full-fledged attacks had been beaten back with nearly one-hundred-percent casualties. An entire clan had been destroyed root and branch by the humanz, who’d never before shown the audacity to launch a full-out assault on any Korvil world, not that they’d ever found any before now. Now there’d been an assault on homeworld itself, along with the shipyards on the two moons. Those were an almost total writeoff, reports told him, needing extensive repairs just to put a hull together.

He continued the litany of his worries. The main fueling port was in need of major repair. It had survived merely by being too far away from most of the larger targets around the inner system. And an entire strike patrol was overdue. Two hands and one had been dispatched to scout approaches to the humanz’ homeworld, and no sign of their existence had been found.

And now this. He crumpled up the message delivered by a comm clerk rather than decapitating him. He was, after all, only the bearer of the news, not the instigator. Korgan Garmon had that honor. Ruler of most of the plains clans and a number of coastal clans as well, Garmon carried considerable influence, as well as bankrolling his own fleet of ships. Normally, these ships were the Korvil’s to assign, but with the loss of so many ships and crews, it seemed the Korvil mystique was about to have to withstand its first real Challenge in over three generations.

His head came up off his chest when he heard the sounds of a ship landing, something he never should have been able to hear from this spot. That would be Garmon’s ship, bringing the plains Lord to the Challenge. Marcad welcomed the coming fight if only to have something to kill personally. Darmag had been no opponent. In the end, even his brilliant mind hadn’t been able to withstand the might of his Lord’s strong left hand.

Marcad heard boot heels moving his way authoritatively. Somewhere deep inside, a blood lust began to rise. No enemy Lord had ever set foot in the Korvil Pit of Justice, and he was about to have to defend his right to reign. Here, in front of ancestors going back so far that the names on the pillars had been worn smooth, he was going to have to defend his right to rule.

He heaved himself to his feet, left hand holding his immense sword as if it were a wooden practice weapon. The footsteps ceased as the maker stepped across the threshold onto the heated sands of the inner sanctum. Marcad’s ears twitched every which way, listening for the betraying sound of feet sliding through the sand surrounding the Pit. He moved slowly from pillar to pillar, letting his senses reach out, searching for the faint sound of a foot compacting sand, an unwary breath, or the odor of the enemy—anything to tell him where his challenger was.

He didn’t fear an ambush; that was not the way among the Korvils. Ambush was only for the lower lifeforms. His challenger would step into the light and announce himself, and Marcad would only save face if he was facing his opponent when he entered Korvil’s Pit.

There. He’d caught a flicker of firelight off the silvery tips of Garmon’s fur, who would enter the Pit between those two pillars. Marcad faced the open space between the pillars, his sword tip in the sand and his hands draped loosely on top of the hilt. Come, Garmon. Step into my Pit.

By now the Pit was surrounded by guards from the ’retinues of both Lords, witnesses to the eventual outcome of what was going to be a death match, determining the future course of three different races.

Garmon stepped into the light provided by the flickering torches and sunlight. “Such a gloomy Pit, Korvil. Soon, our Supreme Pit will move to the central plains. It is much more to my taste than this krador.” The word evoked thoughts of stinking, slimy sewers, infested by light-hating vermin.

“On what grounds do you bring this Challenge?” Marcad asked for himself. His war-Minister, who would usually ask the question, way lying dead, unable to perform his duty.

“Treason is the charge,” Garmon replied. “Almost half of the ships lost in this past farat have been ships paid for by Garmon coffers. Kravar was oath-bound to Garmon, and now they and all their ships are no more. What have you done to avenge their losses?” Garmon roared as his rage increased.

Marcad let his opponent work himself into a frenzy, subliminally aware of the fact that an angry opponent was one apt to make mistakes. Holding his own temper in check, Marcad replied, “Where were Garmon’s ships if they were in league with Kravar? Only Kravar ships were lost at Kravarine. So say the reports.”

“Reports,” Garmon snorted. “Just words some lackey put together to impress you. The war against the Shiravans is not going well, and if you don’t realize it, then the least of the charges against you is incompetence. The Shiravans, and now these humanz, are pushing us on both borders, and you sit and do nothing. I say treason against your own race is the charge.”

Treason. Incompetence. Either charge to Garmon’s face was a declaration that one of the two would not leave the chamber alive. Marcad studied his opponent. Younger by some twenty farat, the silver tipping his fur was an attribute of the Garmon clan. Scars didn’t exist where scars should if this upstart really wanted to win. Experience was a hard taskmaster, and Marcad had been a more than apt pupil. More Challenges had he faced than this not-so-youngling had years.

Marcad watched Garmon draw his sword—almost but not quite a duplicate of his own—in a two-handed grip that no first-farat Korvil would use for fear of having his ears shredded for stupidity. Garmon’s sword was a bit lighter and shorter than Marcad’s, but Garmon’s longer reach offset the difference in length. The one thing Marcad had as an advantage was his sword’s weight, almost a third again heavier than his opponent’s.

Fearlessly, contemptuously, Marcad moved toward his adversary. A loss now would end the Korvil line forever, and that was something the Gods must not allow. From the ashes of both enemies, I will fashion an empire like never before. He shrugged out of his bloody vest, standing as the Gods had made him, and waited.

Garmon slipped out of his own vest and stood, sword forward, at the edge of the Pit. Here, in the shadows, he was about to bring his race out of the dark ages and onto the interstellar scene with Honor. For almost fifteen farats, he had planned this moment, waiting for a chance to Challenge the Korvil. Even now, the taste in his mouth was bitter, just like the day his father’s father had stood in this same place… and lost.

His eyes took in the blood-soaked fur of his opponent. “You are injured. This will not be a match of equals. I grant you time to be looked after and rest before we fight. I will not have my victory tainted by the fact that you are already disabled.”

He’d known, even before he made the offer, what the response would be. He’d do no less were the situation reversed.

Marcad could not believe his ears! This upstart offering him grace in his own palace was an insult that could not be ignored. “Scratches only, whelp. Do not let that be an excuse to back out now. The Challenge has been made. In front of witnesses, I declare myself fit for combat and waive any rest. Let us begin. My father’s father killed your father’s father on these very sands, and you will die here as well. Korvil forever!”

Suddenly, he saw the trap he’d almost allowed himself to be led into. Of course, Garmon would try to make him angry, just as he was trying to do in reverse, but there would be no quarter. He’d lay this whelp’s skull beside his father’s father at the foot of the pillar that would one day hold his own mortal remains. Or not. The Gods will be done, he thought. He moved to cut Garmon off from the center of the Pit because control of the center was the most common way of winning a fight like this. All one had to do was defend until one’s opponent made a mistake.

The first flurry of blows startled Marcad. This was no unblooded warrior he faced. A feeling came over him, and he focused onto the moment. He watched the way his opponent’s shoulder dipped as he attacked or defended. Time was measured by the space between sword strokes. His superior strength didn’t seem to be pressing his enemy back as intended. Instead, he held his ground, weathering each onslaught made by Marcad.

After a short time, the sword in Marcad’s hand began to weigh more and more. At some point, he noticed that he’d been scratched on his off shoulder, but when that had happened eluded him. He stopped his attack, studying his foe while trying to find a weak spot in his defenses, but Garmon wouldn’t let him be. Each time he stopped, Garmon would make a move of his own, giving Marcad no time to rest. The cuts and blood loss he’d sustained when his ship was blown up began to take their toll.

Garmon had plotted for farats for this moment. He would have manufactured an excuse to fight if he’d had to, but this disaster with the humanz had given him a truly legitimate reason to claim Challenge. Even if his father didn’t need to be avenged, he would have had to Challenge for the sake of the race. Two advanced races against their one didn’t seem like good odds to the wily hunter. For the sake of the race, he had to make a dangerous move.

Garmon knew that he was no match for the Korvil in a conventional Challenge match, so he had prepared. He’d studied records that hadn’t seen sunlight in generations. There was an understood rule that required the opponents to carry only swords, but in a crumbling ledger he found a description of a fight wherein the opponents carried shields on their off-side arms. Sometimes two feet across, these were defensive weapons and perfectly legal under today’s codes... maybe.

Now, the Korvil staggered slightly, and Garmon reached his left arm back into the darkness, a prearranged signal for one of his retinue to step forward, still hidden by the shadows. Hadn’t the Korvil wondered why he hadn’t even tried to gain control of the center of the arena, the best position to defend against an attacker? He felt the first two leather shield straps slide up his arm and he grabbed hold of the third, bolted to the far side of the two-foot round, steel-edged shield, and swung it around in time to block a blow that should have crippled him, at the very least. Left side numb from the blow, he still held the shield high, thrusting around the edge or over the top as conditions dictated. Slowly, the numbness began to subside, and he started using the shield to deflect the Korvil’s sword away from his body, leaving openings to exploit. He finally managed to land a serious blow to the Korvil’s sword arm.

Marcad felt his opponent’s’ steel slice through muscles and tendons. His arm dropped to his side, and he barely managed to shift the sword to his right hand before blood made the grip slippery. The fire that burned through his arm told him that he would probably never use it again.

Shields had been out of style for several generations, their banishment the legacy of an emperor who felt them to be too much of a hindrance in battle. Marcad had never fought an opponent who used one, but he quickly spotted one of the weaknesses. To parry one of his blows, Garmon would either have to use his shield to block, trying to counter around his shield—not the best position for a swordsman—or use his sword, hopefully allowing Marcad a chance to get in a killing blow.

The evaluation of his predicament took much less time to assess than to describe, and almost as soon as his right hand held the sword, he swung it in a mighty arc just two feet off the floor. Garmon saw the stroke coming and managed to jump over the swing, causing it to get caught on the bottom of his krath-hide boots instead of the backs of his legs. A real connection would have disabled him. Instead, the blow did nothing more than cause him to lose his balance and fall on the sand. His secret weapon would do him no good.

Landing on his back in the hot, packed sand, Garmon saw the killing blow coming. Marcad had battered at the shield a number of times, and it hung in tatters from the straps on his left arm. This was the time for the Korvil to kill him, and he had switched hands, bringing the sword down one-handed to finish him off.

Parrying the blow with his sword would throw the Korvil off balance, leaving his entire front exposed. Normally, this would be a time for both contestants to retire and refresh before continuing, but Garmon sensed that this would not be the case here. In a desperate move, he slashed across the Korvil’s unprotected torso with the finely-honed steel edge of his crumbling shield. Hot blood sprayed him from neck to crotch, and he looked up in amazement as the Korvil, surprise on his face, staggered back. He dropped his sword and slowly fell to his knees in the hot sand.

Garmon stood up, hardly believing his luck. But he couldn’t shirk his duty now. He staggered to his feet, lifting the sword that seemed so heavy now, and looked down at his opponent. After a lifetime, he heard the Korvil speak, softly, as if he were unable to speak louder. “Finish it now and be done with it.”

Garmon raised his other hand to the sword’s hilt, preparing for the blow, his eyesight focused on the Korvil’s neck. As the sword came down in a smooth arc, he realized that in this instant he had become the Garmon. Leaning over to pick up the severed head of the Korvil, he bit back a groan. It would be unseemly for a warrior to complain about a few cuts and bruises.

He dropped the sword where he stood, switched the head to his other hand, and let the shield fall to the ground as well, walking out of the Pit. As he slowly marched through the corridors of the Korvil’s razed palace, each warrior in Korvil livery knelt to the new Lord of the Garmon. Those who didn’t were immediately slain by members of Garmon’s retinue, laser pistols sounding unaccustomedly inside the crumbling walls of the palace.

He stepped out of the darkened interior onto a raised porch and blinked at the bright light of day. So short a time had actually passed that he was surprised to see the sun still so high in the sky. His gaze returned to earth and the sea of faces before him, all but a few in Korvil livery.

Now was the time to find out if all his planning, plotting and waiting would pay off. He held aloft the severed head of the Korvil and waited. Slowly at first, then in expanding waves, all the beings before him knelt on one knee, acknowledging him as the new Lord of the race. “We are no longer Korvils,” he roared. “From this time on we are Garmons, and we will take back what is ours—our pride, our glory, our Honor. Garmons forever!”

His last two words beat back at him as he slowly walked to his shuttle. Even through the closed hatch, he could still hear the chant, and it wasn’t until the engines fired up that the noise was blocked out. He handed the trophy to one of his men. “Mount this and send out the appropriate messages and warnings. Also, send out an order for all clan leaders to attend me at my palace as soon as possible. A way must be found to end this war in our lifetimes.”

Marsha Kane submitted her command lists to Lucy, surprised to find that of the thirty names she’d requested, only three had been turned down. She’d planned on that eventuality and handed over another list. “Pick any three off that list and I’ll be happy,” she said.

Lucy looked at Marsha oddly but didn’t say anything as she pulled the list toward her and looked it over. Picking up a pen, she put small, neat checkmarks beside three names and slid it back to Marsha. “So, what are you going to do now?” she finally asked.

Marsha picked up the list without looking at it, folded it, and slid it into her pocket. “The first thing I’m going to do is get a suite, take a long, hot soak, and get some sleep. Tomorrow, I’ll notify Personnel and let them contact all the appropriate people. Then I’m going to hitch a ride to the Taurus. You said she’ll be ready in about three weeks. I sent a query to the Taurus and found out that power, light, and heat are available on all levels, which means I’ll have almost three weeks’ head start with my command team. Remember Simon’s rule about command—keep your head and stay at least one step ahead of your officers and crew.”

“Simon,” Lucy said flatly.

“What?” Marsha asked. “Are you having trouble with Simon?”

Lucy shook her head. “No trouble. It’s not that.” She sat silently, marshaling her thoughts. “He takes orders well, but I wind up feeling like he’s pulling the strings somehow.” She shook her head. “It’s only a feeling. Like he gave in too easily when Kitty announced that she was going to Shiravi, at least in public. And you know, Simon isn’t afraid to make a scene. They’ve been so close in all of this, in spirit if not always in body, that it’s hard to see him letting her go without him.” She looked Marsha in the eyes. “Sometimes, I have to wonder if I’m being used.”

Marsha waved her hand, pushing the thought aside. “That’s just Simon,” she said. “He always said that all he really wanted was to be a ship’s captain.”

Lucy looked thoughtfully at a spot on her desk, eyes unfocused for a moment. “That’s not all of it, but you’ve just added another piece to the puzzle. He submitted a request, through channels mind you, to have this new battleship as his flagship. I told him ‘no,’ and he took it. He just said he’d renew his request when the next one comes online.”

Marsha looked at Lucy like she had two heads. “He just took it?” she asked incredulously. “I’ve only heard him back down from Kitty… wait a minute. Did Kitty give you a handle on him?”

“No,” Lucy answered hotly. “And I resent the thought that I would stoop to blackmail to get anything done.” This last came out with a crooked smile on her face.

“This coming from the woman who threatened to drop an asteroid on an NSA agent’s house?” Marsha asked, smiling.

Lucy looked sheepishly at the surface of her desk. “Okay, so I’m guilty of holding a double standard, but I’m not going to let Simon get out of hand. And I’m going to have to do that without any help from Kitty. And, yes, I’m going to blackmail him, too. Either he stays in line, or I quit. He won’t like having to split his responsibilities between the fleet and governmental matters. He really hates the spotlight, and I’m going to use it against him. He also said that information was power, and he’s in a position to know about all that goes on in the fleet and the governmental side. That’s a lot of information—and a lot of power. I’m not even sure I know all that’s going on in the fleet right now. That gives him more power than I have, if you think like him.”

“God forbid,” Marsha said fervently.

“On the contrary,” Lucy said. “If I know he’s using me without him finding out that I know, then I have a chance to stay that one step ahead of him.”

“Sounds childish to me,” Marsha said.

“Or politics.” Lucy said the word as if it hurt her mouth. “That’s all this job is. I can see why Simon doesn’t want it back, and it’s the one stick I’ve got to beat him over the head with, so I’ll use it.”

“You don’t want to make an enemy of Simon, Luce,” Marsha warned. “I have a feeling there’s a lot more to him than we know about. It’s like he hasn’t told us yet what his full idea is, you know?”

“That’s what I was just saying,” Lucy returned. “He keeps saying he didn’t get caught on purpose, but I still got stuck with the job, went nuts doing it, and here I am again, all because of his precious ‘chain of command.’ And Kitty asking me to, of course,” she added weakly.

Worry was a weakness, and Simon wasn’t about to show any in public. Certain friends he could relax with and talk about how he felt about his wife getting farther away every second. She had that effect on him, making him feel like the protector. He knew in his mind that she was in no more danger than he was—less actually, but his heart ached with the loss, almost as if a part of him had been cut out.

Otherwise, he kept his emotions under tight rein as he worked on getting the fleet ready to take on unknown forces in unknown places and unknown numbers. He interpreted his orders to mean that he should begin to build a buffer zone around Earth, carving out a section of the galaxy from a race that had been an interstellar player for at least two hundred and fifty years.

There was no doubt that these Korvils were bent on either killing or enslaving the human race. Korvil comm chatter had been recorded and decoded after the Shiravan translation program was installed in a computer built and maintained for that one purpose. Demands were never sent to the victims, only orders given to ship commanders and confirmations sent in reply. There’d been no attempt at communication or negotiation.

Okay, so be it, Simon thought. We may be new on the scene, but we bring new ideas with us.

CHAPTER TWENTY

The interminable journey was nearing its end, and Kitty couldn’t have been happier. She finally went up into what was called the Witches Den, the clear dome on top of all large vessels. The swirling colors made her think of an aurora gone wild, but the story that ran through the Shiravan crew was that to look upon the Spirits was to go mad. Well, if these swirling colors were the Spirits of Space everyone kept referring to, she didn’t think they’d make her go insane.

She spent several hours alone in the dome, letting the movement of the colors bring her into a trancelike state. This was the same state Simon used when he wanted to calculate the odds, as he would say. Once there, after great effort, she let her mind roam free. Things she’d seen and heard mingled with the ever clearer impressions she’d received as her command of the Shiravan language increased. She stood up and walked over to the crystal-clear wall separating her from the void beyond, wanting to get a closer look at some of the images her mind had wrought, but nothing came clear. She turned to leave and was startled by the sight of her own body still sitting cross-legged in the middle of the Den.

I’m having a literal out-of-body experience, she thought. How the hell am I supposed to get back?

She walked over to and around her body, wondering. Does Simon go through this? He’s never said anything about it. She finally sat down in her body, making sure that both were correctly aligned as her mind continued to think through all the possibilities.

Basically, the Shiravans were a good people, she’d learned over the two years the First Fleet had been in Earth space. Now and then, there was a bad apple in the barrel, but that was the way it was when so many different personalities spent too much time too close together. The problem wasn’t usually this noticeable, she was given to understand, because extremely long contra-space excursions were relatively rare, except for the Exploration Corps, a group of misfits dedicated to extending the Shiravan frontier under the Matriarch’s mandate.

Kitty let her mind ponder the question of contact with the Shiravans. Certainly, Earth, or at least the Alliance, was now up to par and then some, technologically if not numerically, but what of economics, politics, and religion, for Christ’s sake! She recognized her blasphemy and offered a silent prayer of forgiveness, just in case.

Back on track, she continued looking ahead, much like Simon had shown her, letting her mind wander down each path it found. Some led to closer ties, some to more dire consequences. After a time, she came to the conclusion that the Shiravans would probably opt for a more distant relationship, owing mostly to the fact that they would someday have to deal with a male ruler, something that was still a long way off.

She laughed quietly at the reversal of fortune between the genders of the two races. Then, an unsettling thought rose to the top of her mind. In both cases—one led by females and one primarily by males—neither worked as well as the leaders would like. Expansionists versus Isolationists. Republicans versus Democrats. Young versus old. Good versus evil. Male versus female. On her own world, matriarchies, patriarchies, monarchies, theocracies, and almost every other form of government had been tried.

So far, democracy seemed to be the top dog, and more countries had begun to institute reforms in that direction. The idea that most of the people would be right most of the time was an appealing one, but it just felt wrong somehow, as wrong as one man deciding for millions. Still, one worked with what one had.

Granted, this newer, updated version was only a little over two hundred years old, and so far, the world hadn’t come to an end, although there’d been several close calls in the mid-twentieth century. Now, in the opening years of the twenty-first, racial genocide had raised its head again under the guise of terrorism and antiterrorism.

She let her mind wander down darker paths with severe reservations. The Korvils were there on more than one path. On some, they overpowered all opposition, though just barely, and humanity and the Shiravans had become a part of the past. Other paths changed from dark to light with the eradication or control of the Korvils. One path she followed even gave a hint at a way to let the Korvils survive an interstellar genocidal war. The problem was that at the same time as the threat from the Korvils was ending, the path turned dark again. The one problem remaining was to see the end of that particular path. But the variables became too many for her mind to encompass. She’d definitely have to come back up here and look again after some of what she’d seen either came to pass or didn’t.

Kitty’s eyes finally refocused, and for a moment, she wondered where she was. Eventually, the design inlay on the floor and the swirling mists told her, and all her memories came flooding back. She stood up slowly. Her cross-legged position had numbed her lower extremities, and it took a minute for the tingling to stop. She felt as if taking a step too soon would bring her back in contact with the floor.

She finally felt fit to walk, so she moved to the stairwell, taking in the sight of the glowing, swirling mists one final time. She tromped down the stairs slowly, thinking about her experience. I could have achieved the same results just chanting nam-myo-ho-renge-kyo, she thought. But I can see its appeal to people who’ve been experiencing the phenomenon for generations.

Each downward step brought her body under better control. By the time she reached the door, all her aches were either gone or hidden well enough that no one would know, and she chalked it up to still not being completely comfortable in the lower gravity. She hadn’t slept well since the convoy had reached mid-point in their journey. Effectively, they were in the middle of Korvil territory, but not even the Shiravans had figured out how to locate or talk to another ship in hyperspace.

She opened the door and was startled to see a Shiravan officer standing beside the door. “Se el kuvai,” she said almost automatically, noticing another Shiravan hurrying away. Almost eleven months of total immersion in the Shiravan language had made the, ‘“I’m sorry,’” come out almost flawlessly. Heaven knew, she’d had enough chances to use it. “Have you been waiting long?”

“I have been waiting here four hours, Domagera Herald,” the officer said.

Kitty stared at her in disbelief. “If you’d wanted to enter,” she waved her hand at the stairs, unable to let the words “Witches Den” pass her lips, “you could have come in at any time.”

The officer stood up straighter. “It is never wise to interrupt someone in communion with the Spirits. Besides, I was given the duty of asking you to visit the private quarters of Policy Minister sel Garian at your earliest convenience but not to disturb you. If you wish to go to your quarters first, I’ll report to the Minister that you’ll arrive shortly.”

Kitty said, “I wasn’t in communion with... Oh, never mind. I guess now would be as good a time as any. You say you’ve been waiting for four hours?”

The officer nodded. “Aya, Domagera Herald,” she said as she led them off into the bowels of the ship.

Kitty shook her head. “My God,” she said in English. In Shiravan she continued, “You still should have come in. To keep the Minister waiting that long…” Suddenly, she couldn’t finish the sentence.

Over her shoulder, the officer said, “When it was learned that you were with the Spirits, it was Minister sel Garian herself who said you shouldn’t be disturbed. I was assigned the duty of seeing that you weren’t disturbed and giving you the message. Your staff has been informed of your location and are even now being informed of your return to the ship,” Kitty winced at the turn of phrase, as well as the Minister’s request for a personal meeting.

Kitty still felt somewhat ill at ease in the dimly lit, high-ceilinged rooms and corridors of the Shiravan battlecruiser, but she had learned to suppress the feeling after so long. The officer stopped at a door, let her palm be read by a screen mounted beside it, and then pressed a button. The door slid open immediately, telling Kitty that this was no low-ranking officer to have such access to sel Garian’s private quarters. She stood aside and motioned Kitty forward. “You are expected, Domagera Herald.”

For a fraction of a second, Kitty wondered at the advisability of visiting sel Garian’s quarters without making sure that at least one member of her staff knew her whereabouts, but she steeled herself and walked into the room. It wouldn’t do to let the Shiravan second in command think the Alliance Herald was afraid. After all, she’d been aboard for almost eleven months now. If the old woman wanted her dead, she could have done away with the entire delegation and no one would be the wiser.

The door slid shut behind her, and she looked around the room. A desk, unoccupied, sat against the far wall, and two chairs sat opposing each other, separated by a table that looked odd somehow until she realized that it had been lowered a bit—not to an entirely comfortable level for humans but shorter than the Shiravan average. She also noticed the human-style chair sitting at the table and, seeing no one else in the room, walked over and sat down. There was no telling how long she was going to have to wait.

The wait turned out to be only a matter of minutes. A door slid open and sel Garian walked into the room. Kitty stood up. “Minister sel Garian,” she said. “I regret that I did not get your message sooner.”

The old woman motioned Kitty to sit back down and stopped at a side table, picking up a small tray bearing a decanter and two wooden cups. Kitty was familiar with the kemwood cups, having a set of her own, a present from the Matriarch. “Do not concern yourself with such things, Domagera Hawke,” she said. “When one is conversing with the Spirits, one is not to be disturbed. Of course, the kemwood protects you from poisons and such,” the old woman said, changing the subject, “but I’d like to get a human’s response to our fire wine.”

She set the tray down between them and poured a pale blue liquid into the two cups. “We’ll reach Shiravan space in two more days,” the Minister said. She sat down and seemed to actually diminish in stature, almost to Kitty’s diminutive size. She slid the tray minutely toward Kitty, each cup equidistant from her guest, inviting her to choose whichever cup she wanted—a sign, she’d learned, that the host was well-disposed toward the visitor.

I’m glad she doesn’t hate me, Kitty thought. She picked up a cup at random—the right one because she was right-handed—and waited for her companion to pick up the other.

The old woman held her cup and looked into its depths. After a time, she said, “It would appear that exposure to the Spirits does not affect humans as it does some Shiravans.”

Kitty stalled, not knowing what sel Garian was looking for. During their many talks, which had never been held in her private quarters before and never occurred without the knowledge of at least one other human, Kitty hadn’t known how to react to the woman. Her charisma, for lack of a better word, always seemed to throw Kitty off. “You base this on one human’s response to the phenomenon?” Kitty asked, looking into her own cup as well.

The Minister inclined her head toward her right shoulder slightly, “No, Domagera, not just one human’s response. Several of your party have been into the Den during our voyage, but none stayed more than a few minutes, until you. Even though the others showed no signs of madness, they all said they felt uneasy or ill at ease. You spent four hours and walked out as if you hadn’t even been there.” Her voice had a tone Kitty had come to recognize as accusatory.

“Simon taught me quite a bit about meditation,” she answered. Four hours? It only seemed like one. The words she used came out as inner soul searching. “I actually found the experience a bit disagreeable at first, but when I begin to look inside myself, the outer world just seemed to fade away.”

sel Garian looked at Kitty as a toad might look at a fly before dining. “We have a sect, as you know, called the kath-mora. They claim to converse with the Spirits when in the Den. Did you converse with them as well?”

Kitty looked confused. “I don’t believe so. What I do is more of an introspective phenomenon. While I’m looking inward, I can see some of the futures that are possible if certain actions are taken.” The older woman showed an expression Kitty had come to translate in her own mind as surprise. “It’s similar to a chess game,” she said, by way of explanation, having taught the Shiravan Second Voice the game during their long voyage. “My problem is that I can only see so far ahead, and then things get muddied by all the variables.”

“Explain further, if you please.”

Kitty was surprised at the request. Seldom did the old woman ask for clarification on anything these days. She automatically took a sip from the cup and froze as the fiery liquid rolled down her throat. She felt it hit her stomach and flow from there through her entire body in a matter of seconds. At first, she wondered if the cups were really kemwood but then decided that if sel Garian had wanted her dead, she’d surely have done it before they were just two days from their destination. She embraced the sensations and found them agreeable. “I approve of this,” she said, nodding to sel Garian. Her nod brought her eyes back to the cup in her hand. Under oath, Kitty wouldn’t have said that the liquid actually glowed, but it sure seemed to when she took a second sip.

“We call what Simon and I do ‘meditation.’ It allows us to process information we wouldn’t normally think of as related—actual experiences, mixed with the emotions of the moment, and our instinctive reactions to them, as well as unconscious conclusions we reach because of them. It starts out with one simple action—let’s say my travel to Shiravi. There are an almost infinite number of reactions to that back home among my own people and yours, as well. So, I’m already starting out with three variables. Add to that the length of time I’ll be gone, almost two years, and anything could happen. Most of those anythings are extremely remote, so I discard them and all their off-shoots, and concentrate on the fewer, more realistic possibilities.

“My trip to your world could be the best thing to happen to both our races, either one of them, or neither. Again, it’s like chess. One makes moves and countermoves in hopes of achieving eventual victory over one’s opponent. Only in this case, Shiravans are not supposed to be opponents but allies. Still, everyone has their own ulterior motives or agendas, and political maneuvering and positioning will undoubtedly take place.”

sel Garian nodded slowly. No novice, this one, she thought. “So, did you focus on human/Shiravan relationships?”

Kitty nodded slowly as well. “I see our two races being more like distant friends. We’ll do some trading, mostly of ideas, but some tangible things, like these cups and perhaps the gava stone, would be rare attractions on Earth. It’s the thought of having to deal with a possible male leader sometime in the future that will be the main stumbling block for most Shiravans. You have for too long, by my estimate, been stratified into a matriarchy, that is, a society ruled by females. We, on the other hand, recognize the inherent need to balance the two genders. Male cannot exist without female, and female cannot exist without male, no matter how hard someone tries. Sometime in our future, a male will lead the Alliance if for no other reason than he is more capable than any woman at the moment.

“That, of course, is determined by more than just aptitude. Luck plays a part in things, as well. So, I see us being distant friends after we decide how to deal with the problem of the Korvils.”

sel Garian nodded. “I don’t have your connections to the Spirits, Domagera, but I’ve come to the same conclusions. Perhaps the Matriarch herself will have some impact on your impressions after you meet her.”

Kitty shook her head. “I don’t have any connection to your Spirits, Minister sel Garian.” Her protest was heated. “I have my own supreme power to whom I ascribe. Perhaps theologians from both our races could meet to trade ideas and see if we share a common theology. You seem to have more than one supreme being. We have but one, if you subscribe to the beliefs of most of humanity. We’re still divided on just what to call that higher power or who has the right of it. And some even believe that our entire race is a series of cosmic accidents, but both groups point at your race and claim victory for their own point of view.”

Kitty stopped speaking as if she’d been struck dumb. “No wonder you think we’re barbarians,” she said, almost in a whisper. “There’s nothing unified about us, nothing rational that you can depend upon.”

sel Garian smiled for the first time Kitty could remember. “Maybe our two races have more in common than you think,” the Minister said with a hint of amusement on her lips. Kitty’s raised eyebrow didn’t go unnoticed. “It’s common for allies to not trust each other,” the older woman lectured to the younger. “Our history is, I think, longer than yours. It also isn’t common for potential foes to give away valuable information. But I will tell you this—I have a much deeper insight, I think, to the human psyche than you do of ours. We are much alike, our two races. We are individualists banded together for the common good, finding it a workable enough arrangement that we continue it, but we’re volatile enough to bicker and fight for what we believe in, whatever that happens to be at the moment.

“And we aren’t above taking on allies of the moment, turning on or being turned on by those allies when whatever perceived threat is defeated. But I digress,” she said. “I’ve been a student of our ancient history for most of my life. That is, perhaps, how I came to be where I am today. Tell me,” she said changing the subject, “what you think this influx of advanced technology will do to your world?”

Caught off balance by the question, Kitty hesitated. “Many will lose their livelihoods as old industries collapse with the advent of new ideas. Most will be able to adapt, but some won’t be able to accept the new reality. Within one hundred of our years, there won’t be any human who doesn’t benefit from the knowledge we’ve already gained from you. We’ve already demonstrated that we’re pretty handy at adapting your technology to new purposes. With those two thoughts in mind, I believe that as we spread, our two races will clash unless we find a way to come to some accord beforehand. But I would expect this is a conversation I should be having with your Matriarch rather than you, Doma sel Garian.” Kitty found she didn’t like the direction the questioning was heading.

“I only ask now because the Matriarch will ask my opinion as Second Voice before she meets with you. I’m certain she’ll want to speak with Dom do’ Verlas beforehand as well,” sel Garian answered. “Would not your people do the same if they were in our position?”

Kitty agreed somewhat reluctantly that the Minister was probably right. “So, what will you tell her to do after all of our conversations and exposure to each other all this time?”

sel Garian sipped from her cup, waited a few seconds for the feeling of well-being to suffuse her body and said, “I’m not yet certain. I can see much to admire in your race—your forthrightness about your violent past being one thing. We had our own share of it ourselves.” Kitty wondered if the kemwood could completely offset the intoxicating effect of the fire wine. She’d never heard sel Garian speak so frankly. And she’d never felt so comfortable in the old woman’s presence. “The problem is that, like the Korvils, you are still too close to your wild roots. You haven’t yet learned, as a race, to work together toward a common goal.”

Kitty recognized the argument. It was one that had come up repeatedly in late-night bull sessions. Her response was the same now as it had been in each of those session. “I don’t claim to speak for the majority of humanity, only for those who’ve followed my mate and myself into this endeavor. That’s a truly small portion of our population, but it’s my supposition that most of the common folk of our world would welcome a chance to explore the universe. Our only limitation is how fast we can turn out ships. Getting crews isn’t a problem. Most of our last two generations have grown up with the idea that our manifest destiny lies somewhere beyond Earth. Our archaeologists have determined that a strike by an asteroid changed life on our world some sixty-five million turns ago, wiping out species that had existed for hundreds of millions of years. This cataclysm led to the eventual rise of what we have come to call human beings, the pinnacle of evolution on our world.”

Kitty recognized the sarcasm in her own voice. “I find it extremely prideful to think that the universe would never do such a thing to our world again, and that’s why I support our move into space. This way, no single cosmic accident will spell the end of the race. Isn’t that why you’ve colonized fourteen worlds yourselves, in the final analysis?”

sel Garian smiled again. “You learn quickly and well, for such a young race. ‘Knowledge is power,’ is a saying that dates so far back into our prehistory that its origins are totally lost to us. So. You have successfully ascertained more about us than we have suspected.”

Kitty nodded. “We have exactly the same saying in virtually every language on our planet. And that is another count against us, isn’t it? Our lack of a unified leadership. But let me suggest to you that you look ahead that same hundred years. Many will join us openly, certainly, and many will support us, either openly or clandestinely, but those who will oppose us are the very ones who wield the power in their various little nations. In effect, we still have a very small group of people who make policy for the rest of the world.

“We have what we call superpowers. Those are nations that have the military and political strength to impose their will on other, smaller nations under the guise of alliances. There are really only three of those, but they have diametrically opposed ideas about how the world should be led. Russia and China are two of those powers. Russia is going through severe internal upheavals as they struggle to move from one economic system to another, but their problem is that too many of the old guard still exist and resent the loss of status for their nation and themselves. The United States, where most Alliance recruits come from, is what we call a democratic republic. That means that the people vote for the ones who will represent them in government, hoping that their interests coincide with the common man’s. Each nation has one or more people who make policy for that particular nation. Sometimes their interests mesh; sometimes they clash. A one-world government would eliminate that and so much more…”

Kitty smiled slightly at the thought of the whole world cooperating. “One of the things we have discussed is the fact that if we wield too much influence, the nations of the world will band together to oppose us. If we can keep them aligned against us long enough, then that one-world government is going to become a reality. But as long as they stay fractured, there’s no chance at all. Our eventual goal is to become the big, bad enemy that Earth has to band together to oppose.”

She waved her hand negligently. “Of course, openly, the governments of our world will appear to accept us. They’ll have to at first. Public opinion will force it that way—and has, I might add. We have the embassies where we accept new citizens, bringing the newest volunteers out to our ships. That’s for public consumption. There were clashes between our people and members of various governments, early on, but we made one particular group back down with no losses on our side and few, if any, on theirs. We set out to make a point—that we had the power to do whatever we wanted anyway, so why not work with us for now, at least, and see where things go? Then, we can sit back and watch as our world governments coalesce into one. It is already happening, to a small extent. Nations are grouping together for economic reasons, military reasons, and ideological reasons until there are really only the three major groups to contend with. Sooner or later, the smaller nations will have to align themselves with one of the big three, further consolidating the world.

“As we siphon off the best minds to our side, the balance will shift, and we’ll become less welcome on Earth for a time. But we even have that covered, I think. Enough money has come under our control from selling or licensing the technology aboard the Kreth and we’ve been able to invest it in a wide enough manner that we couldn’t easily be excised from the planet. If we pulled out, Earth’s future power base would be gone because we’ve refused to allow weapons or propulsion technology to be transferred to Earth.” She sat back and let her words be digested by the older woman.

sel Garian looked at her and wondered. So far, the truth seemed to be all the human could tell, if her debriefings of do’ Verlas and kep Parrasine were any indication. Several other interviews had led to the same conclusion. “Tell me, Domagera, why are you so forthright about your race’s shortcomings? I would think that you’d try to hide them.”

Kitty smiled openly this time. “With your people coming and going all over our world for the past two years? What could we possibly hide? Some of our outdated military technology, to be sure, but what good is that? Actually, we of the Alliance have a certain knowledge of what things are in the arsenals of the world because some of us come from a background that had access to such information. The only thing I can say for sure is that there are enough nuclear weapons to destroy our world several times over, another reason to move out onto other worlds before we blow ourselves off the pages of galactic history. Of course, with the shielding we’ve developed from your capture fields, we could deflect some of the missiles but not all. And who would we save? The United States? That would alienate the Alliance members who come from other countries. And we’re getting more and more of those every day. We’re stuck between the horns of a dilemma.” She took another sip of her wine and closed her eyes as the liquid flowed down her throat. “Besides, if we hide our shortcomings now and they’re found out later, it would increase misgivings about us from the Shiravan side.”

sel Garian tried another tack. “Has anyone told you just why you receive so much deference from the Shiravans you come in contact with?” She watched the human’s eyes widen slightly, a sign of shock or surprise she’d come to recognize.

“I can only assume it’s because I’m the leader of our particular segment of humanity,” Kitty answered uncertainly, but there was something in her gaze. “I’ve also noticed that people refer to me as Domagera, now. Beyond that, I’m not sure. Why?”

“Because,” sel Garian said after another appreciative sip, “your real name sounds the same as one of our deities. do’ Verlas and kep Parrasine weren’t sure how you’d use the information, so it was kept from you. Though I know you have come by some of the information on your own. We constantly refer to the Spirits of Space, the swirling mists you see from the Den when we are in contra-space.” She deliberately shortened the name of the observation bubble, detesting even the sound of the word ‘witches.’ “There are two major facets of the Spirits, although I personally don’t ascribe to the notion. One is the Spirit of Evil, and the other is the Spirit Good—Kath-e-vel and Kath-e-rin. The kath-mora have seen to it that they are the conduits through which the Spirits make their wishes known to Shiravans. For a long time, it was suspected that the kath-mora were involved with the Isolationist movement, trying to keep their positions and power. Now comes an individual who claims the name of the Spirit of Good. Do you think the kath-mora will let that go unchallenged? As long as the Spirits were only accessible to a few, the few could translate what they learned in the Dens and inform the general public as to what the Spirits wanted.”

She took a longer pull on her cup and set it aside. “It was my desire all along to dispose of the kath-mora in some way not traceable to the Matriarch. On our trip to Earth, the Witches murdered and disposed of the fleet commander. I took it upon myself to take command, even though our charter expressly forbids my doing so without special dispensation from the Matriarch. That one act alone was enough to condemn all of the Witches on this one ship. But when Rentec and Maratai told me your name, I realized that I had to act quickly before some Witch got to you and ended the threat to their privileges and easy living.

“With the evidence presented by Rentec and Maratai, added to what I’d already gleaned over the last few years, I decided to act more quickly than I’d planned. I authorized the new Fleet Commander to disable the Cara Set so that she’d be able to reach contra-space with a few judicious repairs and arrive at Shiravi a few weeks after us. Then, they’ll all be taken into custody as soon as they make orbit.”

Kitty’s face burned red with indignation. “So, you are using me—us—to solve a major problem on your own world. I don’t find that a good way to start an interstellar relationship between two peoples with as much in common as you say.”

“Have you not done the same in your own past?” the Minister parried. “Everything from the Trojan Horse to intentional misinformation dealt to enemies to throw them off balance, is what I’ve heard about your past tactics, not to mention genocide, regicide, patricide, matricide, and dozens of other ways to dispose of unwanted peoples. Need I remind you of your World War II?”

sel Garian saw Kitty visibly shudder and knew she’d scored a point in this meeting, finally. She smiled at Kitty. “I don’t say these things to discomfit you but merely to illustrate the fact that we’re more alike than you know. We’ve experienced many of the same types of events in our own past—much longer ago, of course—and we learned from them, I think, more quickly than you and yours to live in peace with ourselves. Given a few more centuries, you might achieve our level of understanding as a world and not just as an isolated few.

“It wasn’t until the Korvils came on the scene that the Witches became a problem,” sel Garian continued. “Until then, they’d been a sect of psychics plying their trades—scrying, finding lost people and objects, determining whether two people were compatible for marriage, and many other functions—a real use among our people. Then the Korvils came and the Witches decided we should leave them alone so they’d leave us alone.

“I have only two problems with that decision—one, it’s not the belief of the Matriarch or any of her counselors, including myself; and two, it’s not the belief of the people who’ve had their worlds attacked, ships destroyed, and loved ones killed.” The old woman sipped from her cup again. “The fallacy of that argument has been proven over and over again for two hundred and fifty turns, but still they try. It would seem that whosoever screams the loudest is right, and the Witches scream very loudly indeed. I used you, yes, but I would have done the same sooner or later, even if you’d never existed. Your name just gave me the incentive to push my timetable up a bit.”

Kitty shook her head. “I don’t see how a name can do that much damage,” she said slowly. “Especially mine. There are thousands, hundreds of thousands of people with the same name in some variation or other.”

sel Garian looked at her as if she were a child, which she might just be to these long-lived creatures. “I’ll say only two names to illustrate my point,” she announced. “Mahatma Ghandi and Adolph Hitler. One is the epitome of good, and he got assassinated. The other is your worldwide symbol of evil, and he was hunted down and eliminated as well. A name means a lot to some people. Some names bring hope, others despair. Yours will bring hope to many, and despair to a few. It’s the few that we must prepare for.”

“It would seem,” Kitty said quietly, angrily, “that you’ve been studying our situation far longer than you’ve let on until now. An alliance against a common foe, certainly, but I don’t wish us to be drawn into your personal politics. We’re doing our damnedest to keep it that way on Earth, as well, staying out of their politics until they decide to unify and prove it. I wonder if we should abort this mission and return to Earth to battle the Korvils on our own.”

Kitty thought, She’s trying to kill two birds with one stone’, and I have to wonder if she really cares what happens to the stone afterwards. She set her cup down and leaned back in the chair. For some reason, the memory of the first Shiravan chair she’d ever sat in—the shuttle seat—came to mind, and she smiled slightly. Now, she was sitting in a comfortable chair, talking with an alien being nearly forty lightyears from Earth.

“I find it very disturbing to be getting this information now, two days before arriving at a destination it took eleven months to reach, rather than before we left Earth. And don’t think that because we’re a younger race than yours that we aren’t very familiar with the art of intrigue.” The word she actually used could also be interpreted as something akin to cowardly skulking.

The not-so-veiled insult didn’t seem to faze the Minister. ‘‘If your race was in danger, and it is, wouldn’t you do whatever you had to, to protect its existence? Yes, you would,” the old woman said, answering her own question. “You’re here for that very purpose. You could have chosen to stay home and help build up your ship strength, and what you have accomplished in five of your years is truly impressive, by the way. Even the Korvils couldn’t match you. At your rate of production, by the time you get home, there should be nearly twenty more Alliance ships making farther and farther patrols around your star, locating and eliminating any Korvils they may find. This will give you a both buffer zone and a breathing spell.”

Kitty let her eyes un-focus into the thousand-yard stare, a condition that was once applied to snipers on Earth in the last century, and a condition many people fell into when they began to think or remember. She let her mind process the information she was receiving, disregarding the feelings of her adversary. In the back of her mind, nam-myo-ho-renge-kyo echoed, a chant she used at times to help calm her mind and emotions. She let herself think about, of all things, evolution and how it applied to everything. Nothing survived evolution. It either adapted or died out. It was a simple concept.

Even religion evolved. Consider Christianity. At one time, God was almighty and vengeful, smiting the wicked and turning the disobedient into pillars of salt. Today, God was a just and loving being, accepting of almost all things. All the wrath and fire and brimstone had been excised from man’s definition of God, the only way to stay afloat in changing times. And politics had evolved as well. Kitty was truly a neophyte on the subject, which was why she’d insisted on Baron von Schlenker accompanying her. And considering his age and a two-year absence, she invited Margit along as well, officially as her personal aide, although Diana Ross filled that post admirably. She just couldn’t see the two separated for so long in their twilight years.

Kitty settled even deeper into the chair and brought her attention back to the present. “I’m going to tell you our history from what I was taught in school and learned afterward. We have people we call archaeologists, and their job is to find out as much as they can about our past. One of our wisest men once said that the culture that forgets its past has no future. So. Some two hundred years ago, the first dinosaurs were found. It was surmised from the first few bones that a race of gigantic people had inhabited our world before recorded history had begun and were somehow wiped out.

“In one respect, they were right. The creatures whose bones they’d found were indeed giants, but they weren’t human. Reptilian would be the more acceptable description—some of evolution’s first experiments with land-based lifeforms. We call them dinosaurs today. About sixty-five million years ago, an asteroid (the commonly accepted theory) impacted our planet, causing a cataclysmic climate change that the supposedly cold-blooded creature couldn’t adapt to quickly enough. Mammalians were far more adaptable, and they managed to survive the ensuing ice age. From them, we trace our own origins.

“From arboreal tree dwellers to two-legged plains dwellers, the climate continued to change slowly, just slowly enough for certain species to continue to successfully adapt. We humans are the pinnacle of that evolution, at least, most of us think so. I have to wonder what the next step will be.” Kitty mentally shook herself. “Anyway, the oldest fossil we have of a bipedal creature in the chain of evolution most of our scientists accept is three and a half million years old. And we just reached our only planetary satellite almost forty or so years ago. Are we ready to be out here among the older races? I don’t know. But, thanks to an unusual set of coincidences one might call astronomically large, we are.

“I think we’re more civilized than the Korvils, but whether we’re more or less civilized than your race is yet to be learned. From what I’ve seen so far, I’d have to say we’re dead even. You’ve got more years in space, but we’ve recently had more years of strife than you. Will that make us better warriors? Again, I don’t know. But I do know that when push comes to shove, humans have taken on and beaten everything nature and the cosmos has thrown at us. And that includes the Korvils—at least so far.” Kitty sat back in her chair and gave the Minister a chance to digest what she’d said so far. She picked up her wooden cup and took a sip, setting it down carefully after noticing how thin the wood was in places. This was one of a very old set of cups.

“In truth,” the Shiravan said, “I’ve known about your name almost from the first. I thought it best to keep the knowledge to myself and a few others, although the secret seems to have leaked out aboard this ship. To the crew, you are Kath-e-rin, come to save us from the depredations of the horrible Korvils. I see that you are just a person, no better or worse than any other.” She held up her hand to forestall Kitty’s expected response. “I know. You see yourself, your friends, and your organization as something altruistic and good, seeking to better the conditions on your own world using our technology.

“But the truth is that you’re as mortal as I am and just as dedicated to the preservation of your race.” The old woman sat back in her chair, duplicating Kitty’s posture. “You look to better the condition of your race and ensure its survival. That is my wish for our race as well, and I’m using your name to instill a sense of hope among our crew. And that same sense of hope will become known to the entire planet almost as quickly as we make orbit around Shiravi. The crew will see to that. For months, the talk has been about nothing more than that we have found one of the Spirits and are bringing her home to be venerated.

“I see two problems with this scenario. First of all, you aren’t Kath-e-rin, and secondly, you’ll refuse to pose as such. Your central core won’t let you lie in that fashion. You’ll try to tell everyone you come in contact with that you aren’t a Spirit come to life.”

The elder woman looked at the younger over the rim of her cup. “How many do you think you’ll convince? Especially when I deny that you have ever named yourself as such. My denial will only fuel further speculation that you truly are Kath-e-rin come to free us from the scourge of the Korvils.” She drained her cup and set it aside almost without notice. “And you will help us destroy the Korvils, further proving to my people that you are truly a Spirit. Besides, look at you—so very different from the only two humans our world has ever seen. The white hair will only confirm the legend.

“Short, with light skin and white hair is the description of Kath-e-rin. And it will grow,” the Minister predicted. “The more you deny, the harder people will believe. And look at what you bring with you—three ships that look like ours superficially but are capable of so much more.”

Kitty couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “All right, that’s enough,” she said firmly. “The fact is that we just look at things differently. After an unfortunate incident on Earth, I was lost for a time in some kind of limbo in the medical section of the ship. We don’t have the technology to repair the kind of injuries I sustained that day, so I spent ten months in isolation from the rest of the world while your computer cured me. And my hair used to be yellow, or what we call blonde. Now look at it. And it’s not going back to its natural color. I’ve been like this long enough to figure that out.

“So, I look like what your culture thinks this Kath-e-rin looks like? Most races invent a god that looks like them. Our ancient Romans, the Greeks before them, and the Sumerians before that all depicted their gods as being much like themselves, only with greater powers.”

The Second Voice smiled. “Why must a deity look like the race they protect? Is it a requirement? I think not. Look to some of your own religions for the answer to that question. All that is needed is for that deity to come to the aid of her people when needed. And you are arriving at just the right time.”

Kitty was finally beginning to feel the effects of her prolonged visit to the Den, along with her verbal battle with the Shiravan Minister. “I need time to think about this. There are ramifications I need to discuss with my staff before we continue this discussion.” She stood up, an insult if she were of a status lower than sel Garian, but since she was the leader of her people, it went unremarked upon.

sel Garian stood as well. “If you need the insight of your people, Domagera Hawke, then by all means, seek them out and discuss the situation. Are you a person willing to wager on the outcome of a set of circumstances?” she asked, changing the subject.

Kitty thought for a moment. “Under the right circumstances, yes. But those circumstances require that I have a better than even chance of being right. What are you proposing?”

“Better than even?” sel Garian asked with a smile. “You truly are a beginner, aren’t you? Very well. If you succeed in convincing our people that you’re not Kath-e-rin, I’ll present you with enough gava stone to make you a rich person on your own world. If I’m right,” she continued, “you’ll personally conduct me on an unrestricted tour of your world, excepting, of course, military installations or other sensitive locations. I want to see your literature, art, architecture, and anything else that might come to mind while I spend an extended amount of time on your world sometime in the future. This will enable me to better decide whether we wish to have any closer contact with your world.”

“Done,” Kitty said immediately. “With one exception.”

“And what might that one exception be?” sel Garian asked suspiciously.

“If I win,” Kitty said, “I’ll ask for nothing more than you’ve asked of me—a full tour of your world, minus the sensitive areas.”

sel Garian looked closely at Kitty. The impression Kitty got was of a cat sizing up a mouse before dinner. “Done,” she said, “although I’m sure our Matriarch will give you that tour anyway.”

“True,” Kitty replied, “but she’d only show me the brighter side of your culture. I want to see how the common folk live. That’s the true measure of a race. And I’ll see, before you have a chance to throw it in my face, that we humans are woefully lacking in taking proper care of our underprivileged.”

The entire exchange had taken place in Shiravan, since sel Garian had not had time to learn English, and Kitty felt extremely proud of herself. On only three occasions had she or sel Garian had to resort to looking for a different way to say something. She held out her hand and said, “A handshake, as you know, is used upon meeting friends or strangers but also when two parties have come to an agreement or when they are going their separate ways under conditions of mutual respect.”

sel Garian slowly took the cooler human hand in her own. Kitty felt slightly awkward with the longer, hotter Shiravan digits wrapping almost completely around her hand. She pumped her hand up and down three times. “And now it’s time that I return to my staff before they begin to worry that something bad has happened to me.” She held her own hand up to forestall a comment by the Minister. “It’s just that humans have, over the centuries, come to believe the worst in most cases, until proven otherwise. I’ve already been gone too long.”

“Then I shall keep you no longer,” sel Garian stated. “Return to your people and discuss what we’ve said here. Perhaps we’ll have another chance to talk privately before we arrive at Shiravi.”

Kitty walked to the door, and just before it could slide aside, she turned back to the Minister. “Let me ask a question for you to think on.” When sel Garian nodded, she continued, “You say that Kath-e-rin and Kath-e-vel are two aspects of the same being—one good, one evil. Even if I were to pose as Kath-e-rin, wouldn’t some of your people seize upon the notion that I could be bringing ruin and destruction to your race rather than salvation?” The look on sel Garian’s face spoke volumes, now that Kitty was a bit more adept at reading the Shiravan people, and it said she’d already considered the possibility.

Kitty moved a pace forward and let the door open. Score one for me! she thought. Stepping through, she looked back at the old woman behind her desk and said, “It is impossible to figure all the variables, no matter how hard you try, isn’t it?”

The door closed on a face as devoid of expression as she hoped hers was.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Kitty Hawke stood on the bridge of the Shumara Vacht as the four ships warped into Shiravan space. The small fleet stopped just inside the local Oort Cloud and sent messages to Shiravi, explaining the return of the Shumara Vacht, along with three Earth ships that had come to join the war effort from the Shiravan side of Korvil space. The fleet commander waited patiently until they got the proper response.

Considering the distances involved to the dim red sun, the smaller system, and the relatively close proximity of Shiravi to both the sun and the cloud, the reply came within a week, having been intercepted and rushed to the Matriarch long before the actual transmission could arrive. The four ships, now with a two-destroyer escort, began their preparations for their inward journey. Before the Shumara Vacht’s captain could issue the order, though, Kitty spoke to sel Garian. “Why not let our ships take the lead going in? Not physically, but if you slave your controls to one of our ships, we can jump all four into orbit within a matter of minutes, almost literally. That will surely give the tongue-waggers something to keep themselves busy, and those who need to know will get a better approximation of our capabilities. It will also save us days of travel time.”

sel Garian thought for a moment and then ordered Captain do’ Sirkis to do as Kitty asked. Reluctantly, the captain passed the proper orders, allowing Kitty’s flagship, the Vega, to override the Shumara Vacht’s controls. The other two Earth ships, the Federal Case and the carrier Canopus, did the same, bringing them all into close orbit as a tightknit group mere minutes after receipt of the confirmation to continue.

To say that the almost magical appearance of four ships caused a major furor among Shiravan Space Command was nothing short of an understatement. Captain do’ Sirkis spent the next several minutes identifying himself and his ship, casting an occasional glare in Kitty’s direction. Her declarations were met with outright disbelief until sel Garian stepped in front of the screen, pulling Kitty along with her.

“Do you recognize me, Commander?” she asked in her grating, mechanical voice.

The officer on the other end of the link stammered, “Yes, M-minister sel Garian. It’s just that we’ve never experienced such an event before, four ships appearing out of nowhere, and three of them alien in the bargain. I was afraid Captain do’ Sirkis was under some kind of coercion.” During her entire apology, her eyes never left Kitty, barring the initial recognition of sel Garian.

The Minister essayed a smile that Kitty was glad she wasn’t on the receiving end of. “You will immediately assign the Shumara Vacht and her escort ships a lower orbit so we can transport to the surface.” Her tone said that dire consequences awaited whoever didn’t comply on the spot. The hapless commander looked down at something out of view of the camera and began to rattle off a series of numbers, immediately granting the Shumara Vacht a lower orbit. The navigator signed that she had received and understood the instructions, and sel Garian nodded her head once. “We’ll descend to the new orbit shortly. You are to be commended for your diligence, Commander.”

She reached down and pressed a button that cut off the comm link. “Sometimes it’s good to be feared, but it’s not always the best way to get things done. I don’t like to pressure those who are only doing their jobs any more than I have to, but I know that family—an officious bunch and very jealous of their positions. This is not a time to dally, though. If you’d like your officers to accompany you to the surface, we’ll beam them first to the Shumara Vacht and then to the Matriarch’s personal estate.”

Kitty nodded and sat down at a vacant station. She called the three human ships, explaining the situation and invitation, while the Shumara Vacht led them to the new orbit. Presently, she and sel Garian were in the Shumara Vacht’s transporter room greeting Shirley Dahlquist of the Vega, Thomas Breen of the Federal Case, and Miranda Lee of the Canopus. Although the four ships had been traveling together for almost eleven months, she hadn’t spoken to them personally, since it was impossible to do so in hyperspace.

“Captain do’ Sirkis will accompany us to the surface,” she said after greeting each captain individually. The four humans made a distinctive group since the captains were in their dress blacks and Kitty was in a white pants suit, the midnight blue trim around her collar and sleeves matching the blue of the Alliance banner.

The Minister stepped onto one of the three hexes on the far side of the room and Kitty followed suit, motioning Miranda Lee to the third hex. “I’ll see you two on the surface in a few minutes,” she said to the others, and sel Garian motioned for the transporter tech to activate the transmitter.

The room Kitty, Miranda, and sel Garian transported into was bare of furnishings but open to the outside, more of a pavilion than a real room. It was attached to a much larger structure, but Kitty looked outward at her first view of an alien world. For all that she’d been in space for over almost eight years now, this was the first non-Earth planet or satellite she’d set foot on. Only Derek Carter and Maggie Spencer had been here before, and their travels had been farther and their travails worse by far.

The light from the Shiravan sun duplicated the lighting aboard the Shiravan vessel. During their voyage, Kitty had almost succumbed to a type of depression until one of her staff had noticed the slowly deteriorating morale of the humans aboard the Shumara Vacht and she remembered when they’d first discovered the Dalgor Kreth. Once the human suite had the lighting adjusted to Earth-norm, everybody began to feel better. Knowing there was a haven of yellow light to escape to had given everyone the fortitude to leave their quarters more willingly. If their stay there was to be of any length, the same would have to be done planetside as well.

In the distance, a range of mountains separated the ground from the sky, and she could almost swear she saw the glow she’d heard so much about and seen with her own eyes in the pendant she now wore in place of the larger one Simon had found so long ago. It wasn’t possible yet, of course, because the reddish sun was still too high in the sky, but she eagerly awaited the spectacle she’d been assured existed nowhere else in the explored galaxy.

She felt a tug on her arm and brought her attention back to the pavilion. sel Garian pulled both her and Miranda away from the hexes imbedded in the pavilion’s floor so the rest of the group could transport down as well. Kitty let herself be moved and continued moving until she stood at one of the open sides, getting a better view of the mountains and the small city nestled between two arms of the immense mountain range.

A slight noise she recognized as a gasp of surprise turned her around. The last sparkles were fading away as Captains Breen and Dahlquist got their first look at the alien landscape. Captain do’ Sirkis ignored the view and watched the reactions of the humans instead. “Welcome to Shiravi, honored guests,” sel Garian said formally when the last arrivals appeared. After they’d had a few moments to gaze in awe at the sight before them, sel Garian said, “If you’ll follow me, I’ll lead you to your suite to freshen up while I report your arrival to the Matriarch.”

Five minutes of walking down corridors with too-high ceilings brought the group to a set of doors nearly ten feet tall, the ceiling another five feet higher. Opening the doors herself, sel Garian ushered the humans into what was apparently a common room. Several doors opened off the main room, all ajar and all leading to what appeared to be individual bedrooms. The old woman said, “Please, relax here while I report to the Matriarch. I’m afraid that may take some time as she has many other concerns on her mind, and we have arrived a week early.” Her voice was almost accusatory.

As the door closed behind her, Thomas was the first to speak. “You spent the most time with her, Madam Herald. How do you assess the situation?”

Kitty wondered for a moment at the odd phrasing of Thomas’s question, then put it on the back burner along with several other items jumbling around in her subconscious. As she worked to bring the three captains up to date on what she’d learned while aboard the Shumara Vacht, she forgot about it. “Well, I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I think we’ve made a favorable impression on the Minister. At least, we’re no longer considered to be barbarians,” she said slowly. “Once I managed to get a better grip on the basics of the Shiravan language, sel Garian and I had many talks. She’s good at turning the conversation into channels she wants to pursue, of course, but I think I convinced her that we’re better as an ally, especially considering their present situation.

“You realize,” she continued, “that sel Garian is the second most powerful person in the Shiravan hierarchy. That means that not only will she be giving a full report on what she’s learned while with us, but she’ll have to be brought up to speed on what’s been happening during her absence. That woman has more irons in the fire than we know about, I’m sure. Her opinions will be listened to, assessed, and reassessed. And she’ll want to know how her plans have matured during her extended absence. Also, she’ll be anxious to get back to what she does best—spying on the opposition. We could be here for a while, so make yourselves comfortable.”

The four humans began a systematic search of the area assigned to them, finding that all the doors except the one they’d entered by led to separate, smaller suites, complete with bathing facilities and all the amenities. Windows gave them a view of the same mountain range they’d seen upon arrival—all built to Shiravan standards, of course, making the humans feel that much more like little children in the presence of adults.

Hours passed with no word, and the four humans began to relax into their new surroundings. Early on, Shirley discovered that the food processors had been adjusted for humans and sat with a glass of apple juice in her hand. She‘d also called her ship to see if their comm links worked. To her surprise, she was able to get through to the Vega without any problem. Thomas and Miranda tried their links as well and found them in working order.

“So, we’re not cut off from our own ships,” Kitty noted. “We can call down a shuttle if we decide to leave.”

She glanced out the window for perhaps the hundredth time, remembering Maratai’s stories of the fabled Stala Mountains, and noticed the glow. None of the lights had been turned on yet, but still, an hour after the last rays of the red sun had faded from the sky, the room was comfortably lit, only now the color had slowly changed to a greener cast, unnoticed by the group. She got up and walked over to one of the windows. Her sharp intake of breath pulled the others after her. For as far as the eye could see in both directions, the mountains actually glowed, releasing the built-up heat back into the atmosphere, along with enough light to see fairly clearly even without the room’s lighting turned on.

“Assuming the shuttle isn’t shot down by some overly efficient weapons control officer,” Thomas growled, unimpressed by the sight. “I don’t like this at all—all of us in one place and effectively quarantined until such time as sel Garian decides to let us out of our gilded cage.”

That release wasn’t much longer in coming. Kitty had stretched out on a lounger in the common room while the others selected rooms of their own and took the opportunity to rest as much as possible. Their own body clocks told them it was the middle of the night, but on-planet it was early evening. Kitty dozed fitfully, starting at the slightest noise until a knock at the door sat her straight up. Thinking it was a dream, she did nothing until another, more insistent knock sounded. “Ta hai,” she said automatically, standing up and straightening her clothes.

A tall female entered the suite, reminding Kitty of Maratai for some reason. “It is my understanding that you speak Shiravan, Domagera,” the newcomer said. “Is that truly the case?”

“Aya, Doma,” Kitty responded as her companions straggled into the room. “I’ve had the privilege of studying under Minister sel Garian for almost a turning. It’s my hope that I’m not mangling your language beyond comprehension.”

“Oh no, Domagera,” the alien woman replied. “I can hardly detect any accent at all. Your grasp of our language is impressive.”

“Segala vin, Doma,” Kitty said. “Thank you.” A moment’s hesitation. “Whom do I have the honor of addressing?”

“I am Sitha kep Parrasine, Domagera, personal attendant to the Matriarch. She wishes to speak with you at your convenience.”

“kep Parrasine,” Kitty repeated. “We left a Maratai kep Parrasine behind to help coordinate human/Shiravan relations during my absence. Is she any relation to you?”

“I have the privilege of calling Maratai my older sister, Domagera,” the stranger answered. “Was she well when you left?”

“Quite well, Doma,” Kitty answered, “and of invaluable assistance to our efforts to bring humans and Shiravans together under one cause, along, of course, with Ambassador do’ Verlas.”

“What’s up, Madam Herald?” Thomas asked, walking into the room and running his hands through his hair.

“It would seem that the Matriarch has found time to see us now,” Kitty replied. She motioned toward the door and addressed the red woman. “By all means, let’s not keep her waiting.”

When the entire group of humans had begun to move toward the door, Sitha said, “I beg your indulgence, Domagera, but the invitation is only for you. Domagera to Domagera. It is understood that your companions do not speak Shiravan well, and the Matriarch feels that too much time would be lost translating to your captains.”

Kitty repeated the statement in English for the benefit of the others. “I’m not sure I like this, Madam Herald,” Thomas said. “Splitting us up at this time isn’t in the best interests of your protection.”

“I have been separated from your protection for almost a year now, Thomas, while I traveled aboard the Shumara Vacht. I don’t believe any harm will come to me at this point. And Doma kep Parrasine has a point. A lot of time would be wasted translating back and forth. I’ll fill you in as soon as I return.” Something about Thomas’s manner bothered her, but she couldn’t put a finger on it.

Realizing her decision wasn’t popular with the others, she said, “We’re all at the mercy of the Shiravans at this point, us and our ships. Trust has to start somewhere, and I say that time is now.”

Bowing to the inevitable, the others sat down slowly, one at a time. Kitty turned back to Sitha. “My captains were voicing their protestations that it would be unwise to separate at this point, but I’ve told them we’re under the protection of your Matriarch and nothing untoward will happen. Personally, I have no problem with placing my safety in the hands of your Matriarch. Please, lead the way.”

Linnas des Harras, Matriarch of the Shiravan Polity, including fourteen colony worlds and some three trillion people, sat in her chair and looked down at her shaking hands. Here she was, about to meet with the leader of a branch of the humans, and her hands shook. She’d listened to the reports of both her Second Voice and Rentec. Granted, she’d met and come to know two other humans, but by their own accounts, they were only hired labor or, more accurately, volunteers in humanity’s attempt to duplicate Shiravan technology.

Those reports, as well as the conclusions drawn, worried her. Dom do’ Verlas was ecstatic in his praise, as was the long letter he hand-delivered from Doma kep Parrasine, who’d remained behind. Manura, on the other hand, was considerably more cautious in her estimation of humanity’s ability to render assistance and certainly dourer in her assessment of their capabilities. Too many innovations had been implemented by the humans too quickly. It was as if their minds saw things in a different manner, a situation, she realized, that could lead to the same result they were headed for anyway.

Proof of their inventiveness rode in orbit around her own homeworld in the shape of three alien-built ships, one of a totally innovative design. None of her military had ever considered building a ship to carry only fighters, opting, instead, for larger ships carrying stronger weapons. Now, just above her head were two ships of battlecruiser class, each capable of taking on any two, and possibly more, full-fledged battleships of Shiravan make. Also, each one carried ten fighters, as opposed to seven on a Shiravan battleship. And the third ship. Why had none of her engineers ever suggested such a thing? In retrospect, it seemed obvious. A “carrier,” the humans called it, capable of launching fifty fighters at once. Add that to the ten carried on the two cruisers, and the humans could put seventy fighters into space in a matter of moments, overpowering most ships’ defensive capabilities. And even the fighters were of superior design.

And now, the Domagera of the humans, who’d chosen to follow her mate into space, was approaching. She checked again that all was in readiness. The ceremonial kemwood cups sat beside a bottle of fire wine, a drink she’d been told was acceptable to the human metabolism. A chair, built for Doma Spencer and Dom Carter, had been brought in and placed opposite her own. Set on a raised dais, it would let the smaller human sit eye to eye with her. And this human was already quite conversant in the Shiravan language.

The knock at her door broke her reverie. “Ta hai,” she said, trying to hide the unaccustomed quiver in her voice. Sitha entered the room and Linnas stood up in anticipation of the next entrant. The reality of what she saw shook her deeply, even after seeing the reports and secretly acquired pictures. Even smaller than Doma Spencer or Dom Carter, she’d still stand out in any crowd. The absolutely white fur on top of her head, called hair, hung nearly to her hips and swayed as she walked into the room. The tiny human moved daintily, almost as if she expected the floor to open beneath her feet at any moment.

Linnas moved from her position on the patio into the center of the room. “Welcome to Shiravi, Domagera Hawke,” she said. “I regret that you have had to wait so long. Please, come sit with me and let us talk.”

The human female moved forward with more confidence, glancing around the room as she entered it. “Think nothing of it, Domagera des Harras. You needed to hear from Minister sel Garian and Ambassador do’ Verlas first. In your position, I would have done the same.” She held out her hand in what the humans called a handshake.

Linnas tentatively took the cooler human hand, pumped her own hand up and down twice as she had been instructed, and let go. She turned toward the patio and the table and chairs waiting there. “I thought perhaps to sit under the stars, since they are what symbolize our two cultures most.” Secretly, she was a bit shocked at the perceptiveness of this human.

The human—Domagera Hawke, she reminded herself--nodded once in Shiravan fashion and walked first onto the patio, leaving her back exposed. Although this could be taken as a sign of trust, from earlier experience with the only other two humans she’d met, she could tell by the set of the shoulders that the alien wasn’t the least bit at ease. Even so, the show of confidence wasn’t lost on her, nor was the fact that the human carried two small packages that she set on the table without any explanation. Security had scanned the packages before the human’s arrival and pronounced them safe, being merely some type of minerals.

Linnas waved to the chair she’d set aside for her guest and settled into her own. “You’re probably quite tired of looking at metal walls for almost a full turning of your own world. I thought this might be more pleasant.”

“Aya, Domagera,” the alien responded easily. “I’ve heard stories of your Stala Mountains. They are, in truth, even more impressive than I’d been told.”

So, the reports of her ability to speak our language were not exaggerated, Linnas thought. She busied herself with the small ritual of pouring wine into the cups, hoping that her shaking hands would go unnoticed.

“They are the source of the pendant you sent as a gift, are they not?” the human asked.

“That is so, Domagera,” Linnas replied. “And the main source of income for my family for almost a thousand turnings. As is custom, I went into the mountains and personally selected the stone for the gift that was sent to you. The less informed still believe that the glow has healing properties, and tradition dictates that any marriage be sealed with a gava stone pendant. It makes for a lucrative income, even if I weren’t Matriarch.”

The human sat down in the chair that was obviously placed there for her and waited for Linnas to sit. She set a cup beside the small human and finally lowered herself into her own chair. “Do you find this situation as uncomfortable as I do?” Linnas asked bluntly.

“Oh, yes,” Domagera Hawke replied quickly, a small smile crossing her face. “Although I’ve had extensive contact with your people for almost three turns now and learned some little bit of your language during our voyage here, this is an extremely uncomfortable position I find myself in.”

Linnas tilted her head from side to side, a Shiravan shrug. “I, too, find it a difficult situation. I have never been in the position of hosting an equal.”

The alien woman waved her hand slightly. “I would hardly call myself your equal, Domagera. After all, you are the ruler of fourteen worlds, not counting this one. All I control is four bases and several thousand people. Not anywhere near your exalted position.”

“But you do control what happens beyond the boundaries of your own world,” Linnas countered. “You decide what happens with all of your space-based economy and dictate the movement of forces that your own world cannot match. By all reports, even the other leaders of your world defer to you.”

“‘Defer’ is hardly the word I’d use,” the alien said with a small sound Linnas had come to recognize as laughter. “They fear what we could do if we don’t get our way. Not that we try to influence anything, but our power base is stronger than any military power that is strictly ground, sea, or air based. It’s our mobility and unknown potential that gives us our edge, so to speak, and causes our various militaries to have sleepless nights.”

“And more people flocking to your banner every day,” Linnas noted dryly.

“And how many of them are spies?” Kitty countered. “Learning our secrets, which we plan to give to our world anyway but at a rate that won’t totally disrupt the economy of our world. It’s fragile enough with so many different countries, each with their own currency based on differing values, and none of it really backed up by anything but promises. The world used to be on what we call the ‘gold standard.’ That meant that we printed what we call money on worthless paper with the promise of having enough of a mineral called ‘gold’ to back it up. All it would take is just a few of the right people to upset that balance and our entire economic structure would fall.”

Linnas looked at the small human. “What is this ‘gold’ you speak of?”

Her guest twisted a small band of yellowish metal from a finger of her left hand and passed it over. “This is what we call a wedding ring. It serves the same purpose as the pendant my mate found aboard the Gal… Kreth. In our case, both parties exchange rings in a mating ceremony. It’s not the rarest metal on our world, but it’s imbued with the most significance, much like your gava stone, I believe. The worth is mostly symbolic.”

Linnas turned the ring over in her hand, feeling the heft and noting the color. “I believe we have the same metal here, Domagera, but we only use it for electronic components. Something about it working better, but I’m not an expert in that area. Perhaps in my second career…” She handed the artifact back and watched as the human put it back on her finger. Something about the way she did so prompted her to ask, “You miss your mate greatly, don’t you?”

Staring at the band now back on her hand, the Domagera slowly nodded in the human fashion. “Aya,” she said. “Yes, I do. He’s in charge of the defense of our entire solar system. The ships your Minister sel Garian left behind, some eighteen vessels, are under his control at her orders, and he was beginning to integrate them into the human fleet even as we left. You might be interested to know that, one at a time, all the Shiravan ships are being what we call upgraded. In other words, they’re getting the same shields we’ve developed from your capture field technology. Also, we’re outfitting them with new torpedoes. It’s our belief that once the Korvils realize their torpedoes can’t penetrate our shields, they’ll work to develop the same technology. We’re trying to stay one step ahead of them by building a missile that will penetrate our own shields. Of course, the ‘how’ will be passed along as well.”

Linnas picked up her cup and looked over the rim at her guest. “Building a defense and then building a counter to it. That is most circuitous thinking. Are all humans this devious?”

“Oh, no, Domagera. Most humans are as straightforward as most Shiravans. It takes a person on the level of Minister sel Garian to think in that fashion. Or a group who get together and spend all of their time playing ‘what if.’” She picked up her own cup and took a sip. “Fire wine, if I don’t miss my guess,” she said appreciatively. She inspected the cup, a virtual duplicate of the set she’d been gifted when sel Garian arrived in Earth space.

Kitty set her cup down and looked at the woman who controlled fifteen worlds. “This cup reminds me,” she said. “It’s an Earth custom to return a gift with a gift. As you sent me two gifts unique to your world, it’s my pleasure to present you with two gifts I hope are unique to our own planet.” She reached out and pushed the two wrapped packages partway across the table.

Kitty watched as the other woman reached out and pulled the two packages toward her. Her host lifted first one then the other. One was heavier by far, and that was the one the red woman opened first. Two birds, sculpted from the purest white alabaster, emerged. “This is a sculpture of a pair of doves, flying creatures of our world. Over the centuries, they’ve come to stand for peace or love. It’s my hope that you’ll accept them as a symbol of peace between our two races.” She watched as the Shiravan monarch studied the specially commissioned piece. “The work was done by one of our world’s most accomplished artists and is a perfect replica of the birds.”

Kitty watched her host’s eyes widen. “The detail is exquisite,” she said. “I can only think that it took you much time and effort to get the details perfected. We have something similar on Shiravi, but evolution is bound to follow similar paths under similar circumstances. This is something I, and subsequent Matriarchs, will treasure beyond price. Thank you.”

Kitty watched as her host set the sculpture carefully in the center of the table and reached for the second package. Kitty, knowing what was in the other package, waited until the gift was unwrapped. She was amused at the Matriarch’s slow examination of the gaily wrapped package. “On our world, anticipation makes the gift more special. That’s why it’s wrapped in what we call ‘gift wrap.’”

The alien leader slowly worked her fingers under the tape that was holding the wrap on the package. Finally removing the last of the paper, she was holding a square white box, the lid a separate piece from the bottom. Pulling the top off, she gasped at the sight within. Carefully, she lifted the string of pearls out of the box, studying first the pearls themselves and then the clasp.

Kitty stood up and walked around the table. “These are what we call pearls. They are made by shelled sea creatures called oysters. First, a grain of sand gets inside the oyster—a source of food that’s considered a delicacy, by the way—then the oyster coats it with a substance called nacre in an effort to prevent irritation. It doesn’t work, and more layers are added in an effort to reduce the irritation. The end result is what we call a pearl. You hold in your hands a matched set of pearls. Most are white, although a few are black. The biggest is the largest black pearl I could find, with two more of a slightly smaller size on each side. The rest are white pearls, graduated in size to make a necklace. This gift is for you, personally, and not to be handed down to your successor. On our world it is quite valuable, and not one person in ten thousand would be able to afford it.” She showed her host how to work the clasp, then placed it herself around Linnas’ neck, closing the clasp behind.

Kitty watched as her host looked at the pearls and felt them with her fingers. “We have nothing like this on our world or any of the others we’ve colonized. I cannot accept such a precious treasure.”

“Of course, you can,” Kitty said firmly. “We have nothing like gava stone or kemwood on our world, making them the two most unique things in human existence. I accepted your kemwood cups and gava stone pendant. It’s my idea that the two gifts cancel each other out, making each one priceless in its own right.”

A few seconds passed before Linnas nodded her head once, firmly. “You are right, Domagera. Each of these gifts is unique to our respective worlds, and I accept with gratitude.” Kitty watched as her host’s fingers moved over the smooth surfaces of the pearls, an unreadable expression crossing her face.

“So,” Kitty said firmly, “we’ve established that we are to be friends, I hope. I’ve accepted your gifts, and you’ve accepted mine. What will be the next step in our negotiations?”

“Deciding how we can best assist each other in our war against the Korvils, I would suppose,” the red woman answered.

Kitty looked at her host. “As I’m sure you know, I brought three of our ships with me to show you that we’re able to duplicate, use, and improve upon your technology. Much of it we still don’t understand yet, but we can and do use it. Our best scientists are working on the underlying principles, but they’re having a hard time with the mathematics involved. It’s not enough for us to be able to duplicate it; we need to understand it as well.”

She hesitated for a second. “As I told your Minister, just point us at an adversary and let us show you what we can accomplish. And remember, the advances you’ll see are already being installed on the ships you left in our system, whether we can stand up to the test or not. And I’ve already turned a set of detailed plans on how to construct every modification over to your Chief Engineer right after he inspected one of our ships and asked for schematics on the changes. Either way, you win.”

The Matriarch looked over the rim of her cup, an obvious affectation since she’d done so several times already.

An attempt to hide her features and therefore what she’s thinking? guessed Kitty.

“You speak much about winning, Domagera Hawke. What if you lose?”

Kitty had been waiting for that question for eleven months. “If I lose—humans, that is—then you’ll lose also shortly thereafter. That leaves this entire section of the galaxy to a totally feral, predatory race. We have many old sayings on our world, as I’m sure you do here. One is ‘divide and conquer.’ If you allow the Korvils take us out, which is extremely possible, where will they turn their attentions next?

“The problem is that I don’t have a clue as to whether or not we can win. Each time they attack, they use a larger force. Three more waves, even with the addition of your two fleets, could wipe us out. Even with our innovations, we have our weaknesses, and an overabundance of enemies is something no race can handle alone. One of our great leaders of the past said that if you only defend, you’ll eventually lose because, sooner or later, a killing blow will get through. A combination of defense and offense is what’s required to accomplish any mission, or total offense, which can be a bad move in its own right. Such a move would, of course, result in major losses on our side, with no way of knowing in advance how much damage would be inflicted on the Korvils. If we gamble wrongly, both of our races are in peril.”

Kitty sat back and let her host digest the information and speculations she had set out. There were too many variables for her to properly assess a safe course through the minefield of possibilities. Lord knew, she’d spent enough time in the Shumara Vacht’s Den, trying to do just that, but the possibilities were endless, and she couldn’t even decide which of the nearer paths to follow. She sipped from her cup once more, finishing the last dregs, and reached for the bottle to refill her cup. After doing so, she indicated the Matriarch’s cup with an eyebrow raised. Linnas absently pushed her cup over a bit, more out of habit than any real desire to have the cup refilled.

Kitty was more than a bit frustrated at the situation. She’d come here hoping that the Shiravan leader would have a plan or battle tactic ready to be presented for consideration, but it appeared that she was going to have to be the one to make that move herself. She took a deep breath. “Listen, Domagera, if you would. We need to get onto the same page here.” At the alien woman’s blank look, Kitty said, “We need to come up with a plan that will keep the Korvils off the offensive and on the defensive. Remember, he who only defends ultimately loses. And I have another proposition to put to you, if it doesn’t offend any of your customs.”

The alien woman set her cup down carefully and looked Kitty squarely in the eye. “Although we have many customs it would be a terrible breach of protocol to ignore, I feel that with your lack of knowledge of such, some latitude would not be remiss. What do you have in mind?”

Kitty hesitated for a moment. “I have a problem with us as equals, for one thing. You control so much more power and so many more people. Trillions, I’m told, in contrast to our slowly growing thousands. In any event, I think that if we’re going to act as equals, we should be at least on a first-name basis. I’d be greatly pleased if you’d call me Kitty instead of Domagera.”

The alien nodded. “I agree. I have the name of Linnas and would be proud to have you refer to me by that name, at least in private.”

“Agreed, Linnas,” Kitty immediately decided. “It’s often the custom on our world to use first names among equals, and since you consider me an equal for some reason I still haven’t figured out, I’d consider the use of your name an honor.”

Linnas looked closely at her guest. She sat up straighter in her chair, obviously coming to a decision. “I’ve been informed that Kitty is a diminutive of a longer name, and that the longer name could play chaos among our people.”

“Oh, not that ‘kath-e-rin’ thing again,” Kitty groaned. “On our world, there are many people named Katherine, and it was just my luck to have been named so by my parents. Here, Kath-e-rin, which sounds amazingly like my name, is a deity, and two-sided at that. I asked your sel Garian what she thought about what people would think. First, they have the goddess of peace amongst them, but the other side of that coin is something not quite so easily digested—Kath-e-vel.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Linnas looked closely at her guest. It wasn’t often that she met someone with whom she could speak this easily—Manura, of course, and lately, of necessity, Manura’s protege, Sitha kep Parrasine. A real enigma, that pair. Now here was a totally alien being, speaking the Matriarch’s own language and discussing esoterica like the Spirits of Space.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts, a mannerism she had acquired from Doma Spencer, she realized. “I don’t recognize this coin you speak of, but if you mean two aspects of the same thing, I agree. Without the presence of bad, you have nothing to gauge good by. Virtually everything has to have an opposite—peace and war, love and hate, female and male. One cannot exist without the presence of the other. Normally, these are things one would discuss with the local Spirit Witch, if one were so inclined. But that’s no longer going to be the case.”

The small, white-haired woman—Kitty, she reminded herself—shrugged her head in the Shiravan fashion. “I’m not so sure about that, Linnas. Minister sel Garian and I spoke at length about that very subject, and I have an idea that your race won’t be long without spiritual guidance.” Kitty first settled back in her chair and picked up her cup. Finding it empty, she sat back up and reached for the bottle. She poured a respectable measure into her own cup and glanced at the twin cup on the table. A twitch of the hair-covered skin above one eye led Linnas to think that the human was asking if she wanted a refill. Nodding once, she slid her cup a few inches closer to the center of the table.

As she poured an equal measure into the second cup, Kitty spoke. “I’m sure your scientists have observed that nature hates a vacuum. With the removal of the Spirit Witches, someone will come forward to fill the void. All people want to be told that what they’re doing is right and that their deity is happy with the direction they’ve chosen to follow.” The small woman settled back in her chair, warming her cup between the palms of her hands. “sel Garian has made it plain that there are two types of Witches—those with power who wish to rule through their ‘special connection’ to the Spirits and those who have those same powers and use them for the good of your people. I believe the former to be a blight on your society, much like several we have on our own world, but the other… Now, that’s a different story altogether. I’ve never had personal experience with what we call extra-sensory perception, but I’ve also never discounted its existence or power. It’s just something that, on Earth, has never been satisfactorily proven to exist in the general populace. Here, it would seem, it not only exists for real but has been integrated into normal life.”

Linnas nodded. “We use the Witches to perform such things as findings, future searches, and whether or not two people are matched for a mating ceremony, just to name a few. They weren’t among those chosen to accompany the two contact fleets.” She sat silently for a short time, twirling her own cup in her hands. “I’ll tell you some things I’ve never divulged to anyone else, Kitty,” Linnas said slowly. “Of course, Manura will know immediately, but I no longer care. A ruler must have those she can count on to give her advice that will keep her on the throne and in the hearts of the people. Despite her reputation, Manura sel Garian has never given me cause to regret the trust I’ve placed in her. She’s been known as the Butcher of Harusel for so long that the reasons are almost lost to the younger generations. When I ascended to the leadership of our people, there were those who opposed the appointment. Isolationists, we call them. I came from a background that would almost certainly assure them that Expansionism would be the order of the day, and it has been so. There have been several attempts on my life, all foiled by the foresight of Minister sel Garian, although she did miss the attempt on the father of Rentec do’ Verlas.

“All of us are fallible, and Manura is as susceptible to that as any of us. She earned her name in my defense. Shortly after my ascension to the throne, the sel Garian clan attempted to overthrow my regime, planning to install one of their own in my place. Manura went along with her clan leaders’ instructions except that she informed me of the planned uprising. At the proper moment, she quashed the uprising by calling out the Matriarch’s Guard and trapping her own clan, along with dozens of members of several affiliated clans, in the open. The loss of life was devastating. Only a double handful of the sel Garian clan survived, and several of the allied clans were completely decimated, earning her the name Butcher of Harusel. Since that time, there has definitely been no love lost between the factions. It’s only been in the past few turnings that we’ve come to realize it was the Spirit Witches orchestrating all the opposition, their strings being pulled by the sel Garian clan.”

Linnas finally took another sip to quench her parched throat. “So it was that when the contact fleets that were looking for your homeworld set out, Manura, with the assistance of the Office of Exploration, set the rosters for the crews of the twenty ships. It was no accident that so many of the Witches’ top echelons were assigned to the fleets. Actually, most were anxious to go in hopes of influencing your leadership that it would be a bad idea to associate with us, but sel Garian’s plot bore fruit first. Now, they return in a disabled ship. When they arrive, their fate should be no surprise to them. They’ll all spend the rest of their lives on the moons or in the asteroid factories, working toward the furtherance of Expansionism.” A fleeting thought crossed her mind. “That is, of course, unless you wish to speak with them. It wouldn’t be fair to let you hear only one side of their story.”

Kitty waved her hand in dismissal of the idea. “If what you say is true, they’re guilty of enough crimes that it would do me no good to speak to them. Besides, Minister sel Garian has given me a fairly accurate description of them and their practices. I spent much time talking to the crew as well, and the general consensus is that these Witches should be treated as renegades to your regime. You say that only the top leaders of the Witches were sent on the two fleets. What of the lesser Witches?” Kitty asked, changing the subject.

Linnas was surprised at her guest’s thoroughness and quickness. “The lesser Witches, as you call them, are crucial to our plan to restructure the Shiravan people away from dependence on the guidance they receive from the Witches. As we speak, one of the lesser Witches is, with my gratitude, reorganizing the remaining Witches into a less politically active role and moving them into a role more suited to serving the Polity.”

“It would seem,” Kitty observed, “that you have your internal situation well under control. Of course, that’s due to having one ruler, something we’re still working toward on my own homeworld.” The small alien went on, “It seems that we’ve now arrived at the most crucial junction of our meeting—how we can help you, and you, us.”

Linnas sipped from her cup carefully. Even kemwood couldn’t completely dissipate the effect of fire wine. “We can help you by providing more support as your bases turn out more ships, and you can help us in two ways. First, you can show our people that all aliens aren’t necessarily bad, and second, you can show the Korvils that they can’t just walk all over us. With the addition of your three ships and the schematics for the upgrades, we can take the war to the Korvils on two separate fronts. Their empire is between ours and yours. Actually, they claim the space your world lies in, although they’ve never gotten around to surveying it or subjugating it.

“If we, using technology superior to theirs, attack on both of their borders, it will surely give their hierarchy pause to reconsider their actions.”

“I agree,” Kitty said. “Although I’ve never been in a war, except this one, of course, I’ve read a bit about some of our major conflicts. Any time two allies can squeeze their opponent between them, the opponent goes on the defensive, and that’s never a winning position.”

The look of surprise was becoming common on Linnas’ face. “You claim not to be a warrior, yet you speak of tactics as if you were born to them. Are all of your people like this?”

“No,” Kitty said with a smile on her face. “I have the good fortune to be married to a man who’s familiar with wars and how to fight them. The only difference, he says, is that there’s now an extra dimension to the conflict, and if we don’t learn fast, we won’t even be a footnote in history.” The smile disappeared. “It’s my job to see to it that that doesn’t happen.”

Linnas felt a shiver run down her spine—not from the cool night air but from her very similar response to a question Manura had posed to her before the departure of the fleets. “It would seem that your mate and I think much alike in this matter, Kitty. I, too, don’t want my people to become extinct, especially at the hands of something as despicable as the Korvils.”

For a time Linnas stared into the depths of her cup, wishing for the scrying abilities some of the Witches claimed to have. She looked up to find her guest staring at the Stala’s as the final glow faded and true night began to fall. She watched as the little woman pulled the pendant she’d been gifted from beneath her tunic, the glow brightening her face. “I don’t believe I’ve thanked you for the beautiful gifts you sent,” she said quietly. “I understand that the cups are far rarer, yet this one small stone seems to represent your people more. The glow that comes from the warmth of a body or sun represents your inner strength. The diminishing glow, as it loses touch with either a living body or the sun, represents fallibility, and the rebirth of the glow each day represents hope for the future.”

Linnas’ next words stunned Kitty, her cup halfway to her lips. “Perhaps you truly are Kath-e-rin, after all. All reports say that you’ve had no contact with any of the Witches or their works beyond your questioning of the Shumara Vacht’s crew, none of whom are associated with the Witches, yet you just very nearly, word for word, expressed their core belief about the stone.”

“Wait a minute,” she protested. “I’m most definitely not your Kath-e-rin. Just a simple human who’s had no contact with anything remotely connected to their beliefs.”

“What do you call the hours spent in the Witches Den aboard the Shumara Vacht? You emerged wholly sane after five hours alone with the Spirits,” Linnas countered.

“I can do the same thing in any room, whether it be exposed to hyperspace or not,” Kitty answered quickly. She took another sip of the wine and felt it burn all the way down. “We call it meditation, and it’s one of our ways to find either peace and tranquility or answers to questions. What it does is lets the mind explore all the events, emotions, and feelings one has picked up and process them in a more intuitive manner, coming to conclusions one wouldn’t necessarily come to otherwise. There’s no magic in it, and there’s no talking to your Spirits or ours, either. It’s just a technique we’ve developed over thousands of years to get in touch with our inner selves.”

“I don’t understand this meditation you speak of,” came a voice from the darkness, startling Kitty and making her spill a bit of her wine, “but I do agree that you couldn’t have received this knowledge from the Witches.” sel Garian stepped out of the shadows and walked over to stand behind her Matriarch. “It remains to be seen what real effect you can have on our enemies, and I fear for the effect you’ll have on our people in general. Will you be a boon to us or the destruction of a way of life we’ve cherished for a thousand turns?”

“Minister sel Garian,” Kitty said, showing an extreme attempt to restrain what was possibly anger, “it’s considered rude to eavesdrop on private conversations on our world, and while I know I’m not on my world, I still find it rude. In the future, if you wish to join a conversation with me, please do so from the outset.” Where her nerve to speak so to the Second Voice came from, she didn’t know, but now she couldn’t back down. She stood up and looked over the head of the Matriarch directly into the red eyes of the Minister, a possible protocol gaffe. “Do you want proof of our abilities? I asked you to point us at a target and stand back. Do so and quit making veiled innuendos. I also promised you data on how to transform your existing technology into shields so no Korvil missile can touch your ships. That will come, along with several other ideas we’ve come up with, as soon as you make a computer available for us to download the specifications into. In no time at all, you should be able to retrofit many of your ships to accept them and begin to attack on your own. Until then, our three ships are the Matriarch’s to command. I expect that computer to be ready tomorrow and a target designated shortly thereafter. Designate any two or more ships to accompany us and see how well we fare against the Korvils; then judge us. And if you wish to learn about meditation, you need but ask. I’ll be happy to personally instruct you in how to do so. Of course, it will require that you empty your mind of all other considerations, so you’d be a most unlikely candidate, but I am willing to try.”

With her last words, Kitty reached down, picked up her cup and drained it. Standing, she looked ever so slightly down at the still-seated Shiravan leader. “I really don’t think these cups can take out all the intoxicants or I wouldn’t have spoken so. I apologize for any insult to you personally and ask your indulgence. And I ask for a guide back to my quarters. The company has just become unbearable.”

Once the human Domagera had been led off by the night orderly, Linnas turned to her Second. “Are you deliberately trying to offend our only hope of defeating our enemy, Minister sel Garian?” she asked formally, anger tingeing her voice. “You’ve spent the last turning with her and should know by now the capabilities of her race, as well as their quickness to take insult. That last one even I picked up on almost immediately.”

“Of course, I’ve studied them, Your Grace, and this was just another test to see how far they’ll go on our behalf. And you’ll notice how quickly she returned the insult. If it weren’t for the fact that we’ve extended them a grace period to learn our ways, I would’ve challenged her right then,” Manura answered. “I distrust anyone who asks for nothing in return for their help. These people are willing to turn the Kreth back over to us as soon as they’ve consolidated their bases and industries. The only thing they want is our technology. I fear that they’ll become worse than the Korvils in time.”

“We must face one enemy at a time, Manura. Otherwise, both races will be devoured by the Korvils,” Linnas lectured as if to a child, even though her Second was many turns older. “You’ve spent too many years looking for the worst in people, and it has affected you far more than you realize. And as for your challenge, I heard you insult her first. I’d rule that she has the right to challenge first, if it should come to that.” She held up her hand, forestalling a response. “I grant that your paranoia has saved the Polity on more than one occasion, but you mustn’t let it become a permanent mindset. There are people of our own world who act out of altruism. Why cannot that be the case with another race? Just because the Korvils don’t, doesn’t mean that these humans won’t.”

“I’ve already seen the greed and deviousness of some of these humans, Your Grace,” Manura said. “It bodes ill for future relations, especially with so many different leaders on their one world and so many of them males. I tried to act in such a manner that they wouldn’t learn of my misgivings, but I can never trust them completely.”

“But this one is female and amenable to working with us, not against us. I suggest that you expedite the technology transfer immediately and do as Domagera Hawke asked, which is to point them at a target and see what happens,” Linnas replied. “Once we see their technology and tactics in action, we can form a more complete picture of how we wish to continue to interact with them. And,” she continued, “we have enough people of our own who act out of greed and a sense of self-serving to understand that it’s probably a universal constant.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” was all the answer she got.

Kitty had stopped Sitha by placing a hand on her arm. Gesturing for silence, she listened to the conversation on the balcony. Not wanting to get caught or appear hurried, she took her hand from Sitha’s arm, allowing herself to be escorted back to her quarters. The argument she’d intentionally stopped to hear had given her much to think about and much to confer with her staff about. As soon as morning came, she’d beam back up to the Shumara Vacht, transfer to the Vega, and begin to prepare her small fleet for battle, both against the Korvils and, apparently, against the subtle bigotry of Linnas’ Second Voice. This revelation stunned her, thinking the Policy Minister to be a gracious host and an excellent interrogator/adversary, especially with eleven months to question the six humans aboard the Shumara Vacht.

She shook her head at her off-base ideas. Kitty looked up at her guide as she followed her back to the human’s’ quarters. The lighter gravity made her feel more upbeat than she should, she was sure, along with the slight feeling of euphoria from the fire wine, but still, the question remained: who would Sitha kep Parrasine report to? Who’d find out first that she’d deliberately stopped in the next room and listened in on the ensuing conversation?

The answer to those questions and others would only come with time, and reactions to both scenarios would have to be worked out. That would require certain privacy, which could only happen aboard one of the human ships, so a quick assault on something Korvil was of the utmost importance at the moment.

As she finished the thought, Sitha stopped beside a door and palmed a panel beside it.

“Your quarters, Domagera Hawke,” she said formally.

“My thanks, Doma kep Parrasine,” Kitty replied as the door slid open. “I’m sure your elder sister would be proud of the job you’re doing, having risen so far in the Matriarch’s service.” It never hurt to fish a little, if it could be done discreetly. And even though these people knew she spoke their language, it was an even bet that even sel Garian wouldn’t guess to what extent she’d come to learn Shiravan body language.

“Thank you, Domagera,” the tall young woman responded, standing a little straighter, her chin held a little higher. “Perhaps you can tell me later how she fares.”

“It would be my honor,” Kitty replied, nodding deeply. “But let me ask a question first. It seems that we of Earth tend toward less formality than your people, for the most part, but there are a few who view pomp and ceremony to have more value than it really does. I’m more open to less formality. I feel as the second group does, so it would please me if you’d call me Kitty in situations where it wouldn’t be improper to do so. I really don’t like the whole ‘Domagera’ thing. To me, it seems like a hereditary title and one vested with a great deal of power, and that’s truly not my position among our people. I have a staff that helps me decide what’s best to do. True, the final decision is mine, and sometimes, although rarely, I’ll just tell them what I want done with no room for discussion, but on most sensitive matters, I’d rather have more input than my own intuition.”

The tall red woman nodded once, curtly, in the Shiravan fashion. “It’s true of us as well, Domag… Kitty. The Matriarch has her own staff to assist her in making decisions on difficult matters. To do otherwise would be folly, since no one can know all that transpires in situations as complex as the ones we find ourselves in now.”

Kitty held out her hand in the human sign for a handshake. Sitha took it gingerly, her fingers wrapping almost completely around the tiny hand of the white-haired human. “I wish to thank you for your assistance in this matter. You’ve been more help than you know.”

A look Kitty had come to recognize as puzzlement passed over Sitha’s face, quickly stifled. “It’s my honor to assist you any way I can, Domagera. If I can be of any further assistance, just let me know.”

Kitty released her hold on Sitha’s hand. “As a matter of fact, Sitha, there’s one other thing you can do, if it doesn’t conflict with any instructions from your Matriarch. How would you like to accompany me on our first patrol against the Korvils as a guest aboard our lead ship, the Vega?”

“I’d be honored to say yes immediately, Domagera Hawke,” Sitha said formally, standing her straightest.

A quick image of Mutt and Jeff, an old Sunday newspaper cartoon from the fifties and sixties, ran through Kitty’s mind, and she had to fight not to giggle.

“But that’s a decision only the Matriarch can make.” Sitha continued, “I’ll pass on your request.” She hesitated a moment. “You do realize that a professional team has been delegated to accompany you in any event to assess your tactics and degree of… excuse my words… ‘expertise,’ don’t you?”

“I would have expected nothing less. Those observers do realize that if we fail, their lives are forfeit, don’t they?” Kitty asked in return.

“Of course,” Sitha replied, almost casually. “Such are the fortunes of war.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Kitty stood in the doorway for a moment, watching Sitha depart. She had a feeling as to whom she would be reporting, but there couldn’t be any real certainty for a while. Her supposed personal loyalty was to the Matriarch, but she’d been trained by sel Garian. Oh, well, she’d find out soon enough. And knowing which way the wind blew was always an advantage.

She turned to face the common room, squared her shoulders and walked into what she knew was going to be a royal ass chewing, unless she put a quick stop to it. “See, I told you not to worry. Let me say right up front that sel Garian showed up, but I think the Matriarch and I are on the same wavelength. Where’s Miranda?”

“She’s taking a nap,” Shirley answered stiffly, “as you might have known if you hadn’t been gone for over three hours. Anything could have happened, and we’d never have known about it. If it weren’t for what Simon would do to me, I’d turn you over my knee and spank you right here.”

“You forget,” Kitty said, smiling, “that Simon not only married me, he trained me to protect myself. I don’t think you’d get very far in the spanking department, but it might just be fun for you to try. I haven’t had a good workout in months. Now, would one of you please go wake Miranda? We’ve got plans to make.”

Thomas, still silent, got up and knocked on a closed door. At the muffled response, he said, “Kitty’s back and wants you out here, pronto.”

Miranda walked into the common room, buttoning her shirt. “Well, you’re back in one piece, I see. These two owe me money.” She looked at her companions and said, “I’ll collect later.” Looking back at Kitty, she asked, “So what’s the drill, boss?”

“The drill is,” Kitty said, sitting down in a chair that would let her look out at a subtly different starfield, “that the Shiravans and I have an idea how to get the Korvils off both our backs. We all discussed some of the possibilities before we left Earth, and we’ve all had that much time to do some thinking about those possibilities. Our return to the Vega will give us the chance to discuss this in absolute privacy. But in general, the decision is that we are now allied in a two-front war and Earth space is one of the fronts. With our present superiority in weapons and shield technology and their larger infrastructure, perhaps we have a chance. Alone, well, I’m not so sure.” She looked at her team and commented, “I do get the feeling that they’re holding something back, but then so are we. At the moment, one cancels out the other.”

She went on to relate her discussion with Domagera des Harras and the late intrusion of sel Garian. “She tossed an insult at me, so I gave her one back, along with a challenge to point us at a target and see how we fare. We’ll carry observers on each ship, and a couple of ships will follow at a safe distance to report back if we don’t make it. I set a deadline of tomorrow.”

She turned to Shirley. “Call the Vega and have a shuttle land about an hour after local sunrise. Also, contact the tactical and ops staff aboard the Vega and have them start our preliminaries, with special attention to ship maintenance. I’m sure sel Garian won’t hesitate long since I didn’t give her any leeway in front of her boss. Then I left, saying that the company was no longer acceptable to me.”

“Was that the wise thing to do, Kitty, antagonizing the Second Voice?” Miranda asked worriedly.

“That remains to be seen, but I did manage to deliberately overhear part of the conversation the two had after I left. The Matriarch dressed her down pretty well, in fact. It seems that they have a challenge system here, and according to what I overheard, Linnas would have ruled in my favor just because sel Garian was out of line, by their standards. One of the things I want to find out is who our guide reports to. She was trained by sel Garian but is a part of the Matriarch’s personal guard and the little sister of Maratai. As for sel Garian, I think she was trying to see just how far she could push me.”

“Oh, Christ!” Thomas exclaimed, finally breaking his silence. “You have the second hardest head in the Alliance, and she wants to butt heads after spending eleven months locked up on a ship with you? Is she out of her mind?”

“I hardly think so, Thomas. And thank you for the compliment. I think. It seemed to me like she was just playing more of her spy games.” Kitty watched a small twitch appear on Thomas’s cheek for a second and disappear.

“So, do we have any idea what or where we’re going to attack yet?” Miranda asked.

“No, but I want all three ships on standby in the event that we don’t get much notice. That would be just like sel Garian. I’m certain it won’t be before we download our specs into one of their computers first, though,” she said cynically.

“Well, in that case,” Miranda said, pulling a small box out of her purse, “would anyone care for a game of chess?”

“Why do you insist on carrying a purse in this day and age?” Shirley asked, looking contemptuously at the offending object.

“In this day and age? Is that what I just heard you say? You of all people, Shirley Dahlquist? Did you forget that it was only eight years ago that we even got the Galileo in the first place?” Miranda turned on her companion captain and shook the purse in her face. “Did you carry one before? If you tell me ‘no,’ I’ll call you a liar to your face and bet that I’ll get away with it. Besides, there are no rules expressly forbidding them. I’ve thought about submitting a proposal that fanny packs—call them utility belts—be made an optional piece of the uniform. Through proper channels, of course, but since you brought it up, let me show you the real use of this ‘purse,’” she said, mocking Shirley’s tone. “We know that we’re going to be here all night. The shuttle will be here to pick us up just after dawn. Did you even think about that before beaming down? I did, so who’s gonna have clean teeth at bedtime besides me?” Turning toward her private room, she waved the brush over her shoulder. “Nighty-night, y’all.”

Rentec listened to the conversation going on in the guest suite uncomfortably. As the only Shiravan available with extensive knowledge of the language, he’d been summoned for just this purpose. Over his objections, he began. “Your Grace, it would seem that Domagera Hawke doesn’t trust Minister sel Garian. She stayed behind and overheard the conversation after she left the balcony. She feels that we are holding something back and readily admits that they have a few secrets held back of their own. The conversation is lighthearted and bantering for the most part, but she’s essentially giving an account of your meeting from a strongly slanted and slightly angry point of view, I believe. Apparently various scenarios were discussed before leaving Earth, and now they wish to discuss their feelings and findings in private. To that end, it seems that Domagera Hawke has scheduled a shuttle to land just after dawn since she plans to begin to get her crews ready for whatever target Minister sel Garian designates. To that end, she has just ordered all three ships onto standby, a condition where all posts are permanently manned, all systems are online, and full power can be acquired within seconds.”

“A not unwise decision to come to, considering their parting,” Linnas observed wryly. She turned to her second in command. “Now, Manura, before you say one word about having three armed, powered-up alien warships riding in our lowest orbit, I want to remind you that it was your interruption and provocation that precipitated the matter. So, nothing will be said. As for our ships, you’ll order them to disregard the situation. I expect the same of your other staff members, both overt and convert. Continue, Rentec.”

“Your Grace,” Rentec said uncomfortably, “the rest consists of general acceptance that Minister sel Garian has what humans call a hidden agenda, and they’re letting the matter drop. One is even suggesting that they play a game.”

“Well,” Linnas said to the silent third person seated in the room. “It was a good idea to put a microphone in their room, Second Voice. I applaud your ingenuity. But it would seem that the humans have a staggeringly different perspective of you than I do. Why is that, do you think?”

sel Garian didn’t hesitate. “Your Grace, I cannot say what it is that triggers my…” she stumbled for words for almost the first time in her life. “I’m just not comfortable around them. I grant that they’ve done no harm and that they’ve freely given aid and assistance to Shiravans in their territory when it was well within their rights to deny it. And I agree that their giving us the specifications to upgrade our ships to their levels will be of tremendous help in our ability to take the war to the Korvils and save Shiravan lives and property, which is another point in their favor. The human Domagera is right—stand together or die separately.” The old woman hesitated. “I just cannot make myself like them.”

Rentec cleared his throat. “Your Grace, if I might interrupt?” At her nod, he went on, “The humans are having the same problem, some of them. They just cannot make themselves trust an intelligent, alien life form. They developed a word for it long before they left their own world. It means fear of that which is different or strange: Xenophobia. And if you’ll forgive me, it seems that our exalted Second Voice might have a small dose of it.”

Kitty decided that she should at least inform the Matriarch’s staff that she’d called for a morning shuttle. Her deep feelings were that their suite was bugged. Since Rentec had accompanied them back to Shiravi, so the Matriarch, or sel Garian, she thought uncharitably, would know soon enough, but proper protocol must be maintained.

She picked up the comm link in the common room and said, “Is this unit being monitored?”

“Aya, Domagera Hawke,” came back almost instantly. “How may I be of service?”

“I’d like to speak to Doma Sitha kep Parrasine, if she hasn’t already gone to bed,” Kitty requested. “Anyone assigned to her shift will be acceptable if she isn’t available.”

“I’ll see to it at once, Domagera,” the unidentified voice responded. “It may be a few minutes... unless it’s an emergency?”

“No emergency, thank you. As soon as she’s able will be fine.” She heard the transmission cut off and laid the device back on the small table at the end of the couch.

“So, what’s up, Madam Herald?” Thomas asked. He was the only one who wouldn’t unbend enough to call her Kitty.

“I think it would be polite to let our hosts know that a shuttle will be landing here in the morning. A matter of courtesy, Thomas. Besides, I don’t want an incident with our new allies this far from home if I can help it.”

Kitty was sitting in a chair, sipping from a glass of apple juice and nibbling on a portion of the foodstuffs they’d beamed down with, when she heard a light knock. Setting the glass down, she tiredly stood up and walked over to the door, passing her hand over the plate beside it, and the door slid open. Sitha stood there, dressed, but somehow not quite at her best. Kitty said, “I told them that your relief would do just as well, Sitha. There was no real need for you to get out of bed for this.”

“It’s of no consequence, Kitty. The Matriarch has assigned me as your personal aide while with us, and it’s my pleasure to assist you.”

“I feel bad, regardless,” Kitty confessed. “Everyone needs their sleep. It’s just that I’ve ordered a shuttle to pick us up just after sunrise in the morning, and I didn’t want your defenses firing on it. If you’d be so kind as to inform them that it will be arriving, I’ll make sure the pilots, who are fluent in Shiravan, announce their flight plan and arrival time when they depart the Vega.”

“You are wise to do so, Kitty,” Sitha said sleepily. “Defense Command should be apprised of the flight, especially since it’s coming straight here. I’ll first inform the Matriarch and then Defense Command. Will there be anything else?”

“I don’t think so, Sitha,” Kitty said. “But I do want to thank you for coming here so late at night.”

“It is nothing. There are always people awake to handle the business of the Polity these days,” Sitha responded.

“But each one is not on twenty-four-hour call,” Kitty said. “That defeats the purpose of rest, which is to be at your sharpest. And you must admit that this particular request could have been handled by a subordinate.”

“True,” the woman said. “But we take our obligations very seriously in light of these troubled times. It’s been my pleasure to serve you. Will there be anything else?”

Kitty could tell from the curtness of the conversation that it would be best to let Sitha get back to sleep. “Thank you, Sitha. I apologize for dragging you out of bed, and I hope it won’t be necessary to do so again anytime soon.” The woman nodded once and turned to leave. Kitty watched as she moved down the corridor. After almost three years among the red aliens, she could tell when one of them was short of sleep and promised herself not to be so inconsiderate in the future.

“Your Grace, Sitha will be here momentarily to inform you that Domagera Hawke has requested a shuttle to arrive just after local first light. Sitha has notified the Domagera that she will inform Defense Command of the impending arrival as well.”

“I had hoped as much. It shows respect and consideration, as well as forethought,” Linnas responded. “Your services will no longer be required tonight, Rentec. Get some rest, and you can add anything you might find necessary after your visit tomorrow and after listening to the rest of the recordings.”

Rentec nodded, acknowledging his leader’s command, and almost stumbled out of the room. Linnas turned to her Second. “Manura, you will expedite the acquisition of the human’s technical data and find an appropriate target for them to engage. During your absence, we’ve located several possible worlds that might harbor Korvil outposts.” She sat silently for a few moments before coming to a decision. “Choose several, and I’ll make the final decision. It would be best Domagera to Domagera. Now, leave me and let me think.”

Linnas poured a not inconsiderable amount of fire wine into a crystal glass, eagerly anticipating the effects, and waited for Sitha to arrive.

The next morning, the door chime woke all four humans with its insistence. Shirley was the first to the door, though not by much. It slid open to reveal Sitha, this time appearing as if she’d had time to make herself presentable and ready to tackle whatever the day might hold. “I beg your forgiveness, Doma Dahlquist,” she said formally, “but it’s one hour before your shuttle lands, and they’ve already contacted Defense Command for permission to do so. Should I give them permission to land?”

Shirley looked sleepily over her shoulder. Seeing Kitty, she raised an eyebrow, and Kitty just nodded. “That would be acceptable, Doma kep Parrasine,” Shirley said, stumbling through the Shiravan translation. “We’ll be ready. Thank you.”

The door slid shut as the Shiravan woman turned away. Kitty said loudly, so as to be heard throughout the suite, “Okay, people, we’ve got a long day ahead of us. Let’s get cracking.” She turned back to her room and an eagerly anticipated shower. Twenty minutes later, changed into her duty blacks, she walked out of her room, overnight case in hand, and looked at her watch. Thomas, always one of the first for almost all functions, was already waiting. “Apple juice, Madam Herald?” he asked, holding out a glass to Kitty.

“Thank you, Thomas,” Kitty said taking the glass and draining it in two swallows. “Have we heard anything else from our hosts or the shuttle?”

“Not yet, Madam Herald,” he answered. “But I expect to hear something soon. The Federal Case is aware of the situation, as well as the other two ships. I took the liberty of calling as soon as the Shiravan left.” Kitty’s eyebrows rose slightly at his wording, but she said nothing. Facing away from him, he never noticed.

Shortly, Miranda and Shirley joined them, waiting impatiently like many passengers throughout the centuries must have felt before a momentous voyage.

Kitty picked up the comm link, and without triggering it, she said, “This is Domagera Hawke. How long before our shuttle arrives?”

The response was almost immediate. “Your transport will arrive within the half hour, Domagera. Can I be of any further assistance?”

“Yes. I’d like to speak to Domagera des Harras, if she has risen for her day. Also, would you inform Doma Sitha that we’re about to depart?”

“At once, Domagera,” came back over the unit. This time no telltale cut-off informed her that the circuit had gone dead, and the fact that she hadn’t triggered the unit didn’t go unnoticed by her companions. She made a show of indicating that the unit was still active and set it back down on the table.

Ten minutes passed and the door chimed. Kitty passed her hand over the wall-plate and admitted Sitha. “Domagera des Harras is awaiting you at the landing field,” Sitha informed her. “She wishes to see for herself some of the modifications you’ve made to your vessels.”

“Am I to understand that she wishes to inspect one of our ships personally?” Kitty asked, formally.

“Yes, Domagera. And she wishes to ride up to the Vega with you, if you have no objections. I’ll also accompany her.”

“If your security has no objections, then neither do I,” Kitty said, a bit nonplussed. “Shall we go wait for the shuttle to land?”

Sitha turned and walked slowly away, trusting that all the humans were ready to go. A short walk took them to a side door leading onto a large, open expanse. “The auxiliary landing field,” she said. “The main field is for far larger ships than mere shuttles.”

Kitty looked around and saw a small group some hundred yards away, the Domagera evident by her separation from the rest. Rentec was present, along with Minister sel Garian, who stood closest to her leader. Kitty gripped her overnight case a bit more tightly and started across the alien landscape. The grass felt the same under her shoes, but the color was so different that the alien nature of the situation was driven even deeper.

The shuttle hadn’t landed yet, so she walked up to Linnas and set her case on the grass. “I understand you wish to personally inspect one of our ships,” Kitty said conversationally.

“I’d consider it an honor, if you agree, Kitty.” The Matriarch seemed in higher spirits than the night before.

“Of course, Linnas, but you must remember that our ceilings are considerably lower than yours. And the lighting is considerably brighter. You might find the tour somewhat uncomfortable,” Kitty warned.

“No matter. I’ve been briefed on those aspects of your ships. I want to see the innovations you’ve made to our technology firsthand. Dry statistics in a computer just won’t do,” the Shiravan leader answered lightly.

Moments later, Miranda pointed toward the east, almost directly into the reddish ball that was starting to show itself above the Stala’s. Kitty finally saw the speck that was the Vega’s shuttle and glanced over at her guests. If she were a betting person, she expected sel Garian to accompany the Domagera, along with the two obvious security personnel and three other so far unidentified Shiravans. Kitty turned to Sitha. “I assume these others are going along as well to see what they can make of the innovations your Domagera wishes to see?”

“Yes, Madam Herald,” Sitha answered in English but then switched to Shiravan. “Two are captains of ships currently in orbit, and the other is one of our physicists. It’s hoped that they might be able to understand the thinking processes that led to these innovations and help us begin to learn how to think a bit differently about what we have.”

“I see,” Kitty said. “Rentec will do a superb job as translator. He’s worked very hard to understand not only our words but their meanings in different contexts, but your input might be invaluable as well—to your Domagera, that is.”

“I’d be honored,” Sitha said, any other response excluded by the request from the human Domagera herself.

The trip to the Vega went much as Kitty had expected. The ride up in the shuttle was uncomfortable for the Shiravans since they hadn’t requested any special accommodations beforehand. Kitty was quietly pleased that sel Garian was uncomfortable, and not just because of the lower ceilings and chairs suited only to human bodies. For the Shiravans, it was much like a parent visiting his child’s kindergarten class and having to sit in one of the small chairs.

Linnas had apparently anticipated a longer trip to the Vega, but the entire trip, from liftoff to clearance to landing, had taken only twenty-two minutes. “It would seem that your people take to our technology well,” Linnas said as she looked out into the shuttle bay. “I’m interested in what my people have told me about your new ideas for some of our older technology.”

Kitty already knew from two years with Rentec, Maratai, and Captain do’ Sirkis that the level of technology aboard the Galileo was at least state of the art for when she’d left port just eight years before. Not so much could change in that time, knowing how the Shiravans dedicated themselves to maintaining the status quo.

The shuttle let itself be pulled into its berth, the pilots wisely deciding not to show off with so many high-ranking persons aboard. The ramp touched the deck, and Kitty made sure she was at the doorway as each passenger got off. Her own captains waited until the guests had stepped off the ramp before descending themselves.

“I was expecting much lower ceilings,” Linnas said to Kitty as she waited for the last person to disembark.

“You’ll find them soon enough,” Kitty said, “throughout the entire rest of the ship, excepting the engine rooms, I’m afraid,” Kitty apologized. “This is just the docking bay. Each ship that lands is inspected and rearmed and/or repaired each time it comes in. Then, it’s moved to its own launch tube, except for the shuttles that remain here. The extra headroom is if we need to tear a shuttle or Mamba apart for some reason. Now, we’re about in the middle of the ship. We can either begin our tour with the engines or the forward torpedo bays and sensor arrays.”

Rentec had been keeping up a running translation, shortened only to expedite time. Kitty decided to speak a bit slower, letting him keep up more easily. One of the captains made a quiet comment. Kitty understood it but let Rentec translate for the other humans present who might not understand. “Captain des Gara would be most interested in your engine room first, if no one else objects,” he said.

“By all means then, let’s go to the engine room,” she said merrily, her voice hiding the ennui that always accompanied these tours. “You know the layout as well as the rest of us, Mister Ambassador,” Kitty said. “Why don’t you lead the way and tell our guests what they’re seeing as we go?”

With a slight nod to Kitty, Rentec led off toward a distant hatch. He described the various stations they passed along the way, as well as their analogous relationship to Shiravan stations. He reached the closed door, a red sign beside it spelling out the fact that the area beyond was restricted. Kitty stepped forward and held her armband against a sensor below the sign, and the door slid open, revealing the Vega’s heart.

Several technicians looked around at the sound of the door opening but turned back to their jobs without a word until they realized that half a dozen Shiravans had entered with the Herald. Surreptitious straightening of uniforms went on, along with quickly updated entries in various logs.

Silence reigned as the two strange Shiravan captains moved slowly throughout the room. Linnas and sel Garian moved from one area to another as well. Kitty had no trouble with those two, but Rentec was being run ragged by the two captains calling him to translate some esoteric answer they couldn’t fathom for themselves.

One of the Shiravan captains, frustrated by the slowness of the translations, came over to Kitty. “Please forgive the rudeness, Domagera Hawke,” he said, bowing deeply, “but I’ve heard your fluency with our tongue and am eager to hear the answers to my questions from someone with an intimate knowledge so I can get to the kernel of the matter without double translations, if it will not trouble you greatly.”

Kitty waved her hand expansively. “Ask whatever you will, Captain. It will be my honor to enlighten you or accept enlightenment if we’ve overstepped the limits of the technology.”

“I cannot see the necessity of the third power core, Domagera. Please enlighten me, if you’re able.” The captain was so engrossed in the subtle differences and the huge addition of an entirely—to him, at least—unnecessary power core that he never noticed that he’d voiced the near-disastrous assumption that a superior might not know something.

Having spent almost a year playing protocol games with sel Garian, Kitty recognized the captain’s gaffe. Not one to want to see talent wasted just because of one mistake, she overlooked the unintentional insult and just gave the same answer she’d given to so many captains in the First and Second contact fleets. “With your design, your two power cores supply power to the engines and the weapons, with a small bit shunted off for what we call essential services, life support, power to sensor arrays and essential controls, which in a warship means all systems and little else. That gives you a finite amount of power for each function, with no thought to borrowing power to move it from one system to another.

“Once we were able to actually project shields around ships, necessitating the third core, it was a logical leap for one of our technicians to crosswire the three cores to provide additional power to whichever system needed it. You must remember,” she noted dryly, “that this was at a time when we’d lost all of the higher functions of the computer. If the designs for the bases and various ships hadn’t been duplicated in another area of the Kreth, we might not even have had those available to us. We’d expanded on your own technology, remember, and installed shields against high-powered, incoming missiles, so we felt it necessary to have a separate power source for that system as well. You’ve possibly noticed that our sterns are somewhat larger than yours. The generators and extra power core account for that. Also, as I’ve said, we have them all cross-connected so we can divert power from less necessary places to critical areas as needed. Suppose we needed to harden our shields against an unexpectedly high number of incoming missiles? Our active antimissile defenses, what we call point defense, can only handle so much. Even the shields can be overwhelmed if enough missiles are thrown at us. We aren’t invulnerable, just harder to kill, so we temporarily divert power from, say weapons to shields, you see?”

The other captain, Maragon, strolled around, looking at the various command consoles, much as Kitty had upon her first visit to the Galileo’s bridge. At one, Maragon stopped and scanned it closely. She looked at several dials, all labeled, of course, in English.

“Chudara do’ Verlas,” she called. She waved at the console and asked, “Errocerra, se jimana?” Translating for the sake of Kitty’s companions, Rentec said, “May I, please? I believe she’s requesting to test out the board. I believe that’s the one controlling cooling and heating to this one room.”

“As long as she doesn’t blow us up or start a war, she’s welcome to play with it as much as she wants. It looks like something she knows.” She waved her hand at the console in question. “Aya, Sorgala,” acknowledging the captain’s rank.

Bowing a bit distractedly, the captain turned back to the console and began hesitantly, at first, pressing buttons.

Kitty looked around. “For those of you who wish to move on, I’ll leave a guide to bring Sorgala Maragon along when she finishes her analysis of our hardware here.” Receiving a semi-cognizant wave at her suggestion, Kitty nodded at one of her security team. He nodded back and moved over against the wall.

Linnas spoke up. “I, for one, would like to see a fully functional… what do you call them? Mambas? But I guess decorum would have us examine your bridge first to see how your ship is run. We could inspect the weapons on the way out and save the best for last.”

Linnas was a bit surprised when Kitty made the sound she’d been told was a polite chuckle. “We think much alike, you and I,” Kitty said, a smile creasing her face. “Come, let’s do things in the proper manner.” She moved off toward what was obviously a lift door. Truly, the humans had copied much without making many changes. The ceilings were lower to accommodate their more diminutive stature, true, but the ship was no smaller. This gave them room for two or more extra decks and an unknown number of additional point-defense units, which wasn’t an idea Linnas cared to follow at the moment.

Deck Three proved to be the central command point for the humans as well, Linnas noted as she walked into a scene of quiet competence. The arrival of several aliens didn’t slow the muted chatter of the operators at their various stations. Doing so would have surprised her completely. She’d come to think of these humans as more focused, more vibrant, and more confident rather than younger. The almost universal dismissal of the Shiravan presence showed her their level of competence. Only the shift commander even acknowledged their presence, and that with a slightly raised eyebrow. Her hosts easily missed the wave of her hand that told the duty officer to go about her business.

Rentec translated whenever he was specifically requested to do so but remained in the background as much as possible. The efficient functioning of a ship holding orbit was obvious enough to the two captains that they soon wanted to see more of the ship, with their eventual arrival at one of the Mambas.

The tour passed through one of the forward torpedo bays. Captain Maragon, having returned to the tour, walked over to one of the tables where she looked down at one of the torpedoes, strapped into place and opened up for servicing. Kitty stepped forward and said, “Regular maintenance makes sure we have a high on-target rate of active missiles.”

Maragon looked down at Kitty and asked, “Does it also include a power core both front and rear? I see no connections that might send power to the engines, and the power core takes up the place of the explosive package we always install on...” She ran down, and an expression others might call a smile crossed Kitty’s face. Linnas had come to know that expression well as Maggie and Derek prepared for their journeys home and sincerely prayed to the Spirits that it never be directed her way.

Linnas watched as Kitty let the captain arrive at her own conclusion. “The first core breaches their exterior hull, and the actual power core detonates that much further inside the target, multiplying the amount of damage exponentially. Our conventional explosive wastes itself on the thicker Korvil hull so the power core won’t breach the inner hull.” Captain Maragon looked down at the Herald. “I’m very glad you’re on our side, Domagera,” she said sincerely, bowing slightly.

“Thank you, Captain,” Kitty said, smiling. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” She turned to her other guests. “Well, would anyone care to see a parda kellin, human style?”

Getting positive responses all round, Kitty pulled her comm link off her belt and keyed in a call code. “This is the Herald,” she announced to a tiny voice that came out of the unit. “Please ask the Officer of the Deck to have a Mamba moved to the shuttle deck for inspection. Any one will do, just make sure all the controls are locked.”

Linnas suppressed a moment of… was it anger?... at the translation. Then she realized that the controls would surely be labeled in English, and she’d be sitting in an armed vessel inside another vessel. Kitty was nothing if not pragmatic. She and Kitty led the group back down the elevators to the shuttle deck to find what she could only describe as a close cousin of the fighters she’d once flown on her own. Longer by at least a third, the entire stern was more massive, with three engine nacelles rather than the standard two.

The only other obvious changes were the relative size—to match the engines, she supposed—and three torpedo launch tubes per side. Climbing the ladder provided, she looked down into the smaller, human-sized space and asked, “Why all the extra room surrounding the pilot?”

Kitty answered, “Not all of the changes are purely external, Your Grace. Just as the engines are larger, so is the top speed, necessitating a larger grav sump. This ship also employs shields, admittedly not of the class that can be installed on a full-sized ship but enough to get a pilot out of a lot of scrapes in combat. Also, we now carry a total of thirty missiles, allowing each pilot five six-torpedo runs at any given target or just a longer mission, firing singly or in pairs. The missiles are housed around and below the pilot. You’ll also notice that the nose of the vessel is a bit longer than your parda kellin, allowing a larger sensor array and a slightly larger computer.”

Rentec translated, and Captain Gara asked, “You surround your pilots with all of their torpedoes? How can you get someone to fly in such a deathtrap?”

Kitty’s laugh was almost musical. “Captain Gara, where do you keep the torpedoes on your fighters?”

“In the nose, where they can be cycled into the launch tubes more efficiently,” he answered indignantly.

Kitty walked over to a wooden stand. On it sat a pad of papers of an exceedingly large size. She lifted the first one over the back and revealed what turned out to be a diagram of the parda kellin before humanity got their hands on it. Clearly shown was the location of the torpedoes, grouped around their launch chambers, complete with the assemblies that moved the weapons into position—number of missiles, time to reload, reacquire targets, top speeds, and ability to reach those speeds delineated for all to see.

This sheet was moved over the back of the stand, and the newer version was shown. “Tell me, Captain,” Kitty asked, “What would happen if an enemy made a direct hit on your torpedo storage area?”

“The entire vessel and pilot would be vaporized, of course,” the captain answered as if he was speaking to a youngling. Linnas started to speak to his audacity, but Kitty caught her eye and she stilled her tongue. Not sure what was coming, she waited in anticipation.

Kitty waved to the ladder on the other side. “Please, Captain, climb up and answer one question for me, if you would be so kind.” Her voice left no room for dissension, so the captain did as he was bid, although slowly, as if he were going to his death. From the ground, Kitty’s voice still resonated. “If you find yourself able, Captain, I’d be most pleased if you’d sit down in the cockpit. I realize this ship has been redesigned for humans, but you should still be able to fit for these few moments.”

Linnas looked across from the ladder on the other side. “If you won’t sit in her, Captain, I surely will, although I don’t know if I’d be able to answer Domagera Hawke’s questions as well as you would.” The Matriarch’s remark left the captain no room to back out. He slowly stepped onto the seat and squirmed into the chair, finding that there was enough leg and hip room if he slid his feet past the lower controls. He looked up at the canopy, judging, Linnas believed, whether or not it would leave him head room once closed.

He looked down at the human, feet spread, hands on hips, looking up, waiting. “What is your question, Domagera?”

“What would happen if this vessel took a direct hit in its torpedo storage area?”

“Why, it would explode as surely as one of…” His face reddened even further than normal. “My apologies, Domagera. Your point is made and made well, I might add. It just seems so,” he searched for a word, “unsafe to have all the torpedoes surrounding the pilot. Of course, you did mention that this vessel has shields to prevent just that occurrence.”

“You may come down now, Captain. And yes, it does carry shields, primarily forward only. There isn’t enough room to provide generators to completely protect the craft.”

Linnas helped the captain extricate himself from the cockpit and eased into his place. “Come look at this, Captain,” she heard Kitty say. The two made their way to the strange board of papers, and Kitty’s descriptions and justifications faded into the background as she lost herself in a world she’d thought permanently behind her. Her hand caressed the central control, what the humans called a joystick, and remembered the few missions she’d been allowed to fly as Domagera-designate.

Some time passed—just how much, she didn’t know until she looked down and found the eyes of Manura staring at her. Resignedly, she awkwardly climbed out of the craft and made her way down the ladder to her Second Voice. “I am surprised to see you here, Manura. I thought you knew all there was to know about their new parda kellin.”

“I do, Your Grace,” Manura said tersely. “Don’t forget, I was able to get engineering reports on the two crippled ships the Esmit rescued. As a matter of fact, those two ships are on the surface now, being taken apart with great glee.”

“Then, why are you here? There isn’t much that can bring you out of your special world, old friend.”

“I was issued a challenge, Your Grace,” Manura said. “Immediately upon finding the right target, I had a pilot fly me here so that I might discharge my part of the challenge. Only the fact that our new allies don’t understand our customs has kept me from answering the challenge in the proper manner. Instead, I’ve chosen to do exactly as challenged. I have a target for the human battle group.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Admiral of the Fleet Simon Hawke felt like tearing something apart with his bare hands, and he didn’t much care what it was. The pacing he’d finally broken himself of because of Kitty’s nagging was back with a vengeance. And knowing she was forty-odd lightyears away didn’t make him feel any better. Half the time he couldn’t even remember the number.

Simon often found himself on Vesta as more and more of his duties kept him groundside, overseeing operations rapidly increasing in size. With the addition of the Shiravan translation program and their star charts, it had just become a matter of securing the immediate area and starting to systematically attack anything that even smelled Korvil.

Of course, all of these plans rested on their ability to produce ships without disruption and the good luck to not make too many mistakes too early in the game. Simon spent many an hour behind his desk, but a lot of his interaction was networking—God how I hate that word—at dinner or at meetings scheduled by practically everybody at just about all times.

One evening, while making rounds after dinner, he ran into Lucy’s psychiatrist and casually asked, “And she’s still okay, except for not wanting to return to Earth?” Getting a definitively positive answer again, except for that one particular point, Simon nodded. He made a casual reference to his memory problem. When the psychiatrist called it a classic case of denial, Simon retorted, “I hope you don’t expect to be paid for those kinds of diagnoses. I’ll tell you something right now, Doctor. Even though I may not be able to tell you how many lightyears separate us, I can feel each and every foot of the distance. We’ve been separated before, and this isn’t denial. I’d suggest that you get to know me a whole lot better before you start tossing conclusions around.”

The room had gone totally silent as Simon’s voice went up. He looked around and then back at the doctor sheepishly. “Or maybe it is. How about we discuss it over coffee or something?”

A clumsy silence followed Simon around for a few minutes until people felt less like he was going to explode. Maratai took that moment to walk up, handing him a glass. “I asked your bartender for something nonalcoholic and he called this a coke.” Simon took the glass and looked up at the alien woman. “We’re both of us apart from one for whom we care deeply, Admiral. Any time you wish to talk, I’m available, if you’ll make the same concession.”

“Agreed, Doma. We have a saying, ‘misery loves company.’”

“It seems that your people have many sayings, Admiral.”

Simon laughed for the first time in what felt like years. “I do believe you’re right. I’ll bet that someone somewhere could go a whole day without speaking anything but old sayings.”

Maratai took his arm, and despite her height, she seemed no more notable than he did. She led them to a group that was discussing the running of Vesta. Simon caught, “…but she’s doing marvelous things with the administrative side of things.”

Simon looked around at the various people in the group—most commanders by their rank, with one captains, Robert Greene, and a lieutenant—and decided to listen a bit before adding his own two cents’ worth. “You know that she has Marsha Kane’s friend, Jackson Potter, acting as treasury secretary, and from what I hear, he’s making money for the Alliance hand over fist.”

The speaker, a lieutenant he only recognized vaguely, said, “Admiral, welcome to our little ad hoc meeting. We were all of us wondering what was next after our destruction of that Korvil attack squadron.”

Simon looked the lieutenant over. Seeing that his nametag read Alvarez, he remembered that he was the first Hispanic to graduate from the first formal classes held entirely on Vesta and was slotted to be a captain in short order.

“I don’t know if you’ve reviewed the records of that action, lieutenant,” Simon said a bit stiffly, “but if you do, you’ll see that we caught the enemy totally unawares. That reason, and that reason alone, accounts for the total destruction of eleven Korvil raiders with a cost so minimal to us—three, or maybe it was four, Mamba pilots. I almost wish I could be there when you come up against an entrenched and well-prepared adversary. But, unless you can come up with something miraculous, we’d all be dead with that attitude. Never forget, we are not invulnerable. We’re just as capable of being erased from the galaxy as the Korvils. And we’re starting out with a deficit in ships, training, personnel, and I don’t have any idea how many other areas. Our only hope is to revert to the animal cunning that first led us to pick up a stick and turn it into a club.”

Simon’s dressing down of the soon-to-be promoted lieutenant brought all conversation to a halt. “Lieutenant Alvarez, I’d appreciate it very much if you’d start attending some of our planning sessions starting tomorrow morning.”

He continued speaking to the circle in general. “We have a total of fifty-three ships available to protect our system, and that includes the generous loan of eighteen Shiravan battleships, cruisers, and destroyers, all of which are receiving or have received upgrades to their internal systems to make them as potent and defensible as possible. We’ve started making forays into local star systems, lowering the number of ships available for local defense, and we’re expected to start sending some of our ships to Shiravan space to help take some of the pressure off our new allies. Remember, we only have one world to protect; the Shiravans have fifteen.”

He looked around the circle of faces. “All of you need to do some number crunching. We’ve been in space for what, eight years now? The Shiravans have been out here for over four hundred and the Korvils, by all accounts, in the vicinity of three hundred. Now yes, we’ve beaten off all attacks so far at a truly minimal cost in manpower and machines, but that doesn’t include the loss of over twenty million on Earth because we weren’t experienced enough to keep all incoming attackers from reaching their goal. Looked at the right way, we really have lost a lot in the last eight years in terms of damage to the planet that will take centuries to heal, if that fast, and lives lost that we’ll be blamed for without having an answer. And, of course, there’s the Clarke and most of her crew, along with various other personnel up until now.”

No one was ready to contradict Simon when he got wound up, least of all those who knew him well. Robert Greene and Maratai looked at each other and let him have his head. Simon turned back to Alvarez. “Lieutenant, I’ve invited you to the meetings because you’ll be getting the next ship to come out of the yards, and you’re already working with assigned bridge crews laying the groundwork for filling out a crew. How would you like to be part of a wolf pack foray into Korvil space? Captain Greene will command, of course, and there’ll be a carrier along, so the action should be short once you find a target to engage. The trouble is that by now, the Korvils must know that one of their heavy squadrons has been lost with all hands. That’s eleven ships plus the fourth attack that never made it in. Every time we’ve kicked their asses, they’ve come back with a larger force, and look at what happened to Earth the second time.”

He couldn’t drill that scenario into enough heads enough times. All most people could see was the glamour and glitz of shiny new powerful toys and not the cost of acquiring them, maintaining them, increasing them, or using them. “Sheer power is one thing, people,” he said, “but we’re badly outnumbered so we have to use our brains. Think strategy. Think tactics. Think survival with minimal losses. But think about the losses, because there are going to be losses. Soon enough we’ll start noticing that some face we were used to seeing around isn’t anymore. We’ll start adding more names to the roster of ships lost in combat, and I, for one, don’t want that list to grow any longer or faster than it has. We’ll take hits due to our inexperience, but we, as humans, have a history of fighting against overpowering odds and coming out on top. And let me point out one last thing before I end my tirade.

“In the beginning, the Korvils would attack and keep on until they felt they were outnumbered. The Orion debacle is a case in point. One single ship turned tail and ran from three fighters—Marks One’s at that. But it took two battlecruisers and their fighters to corner it in the asteroid belt and kill it. Our adversary is a strong one people, and one that we have no way of understanding. They won’t talk with us, and they haven’t talked to the Shiravans for over two hundred years. It’s just attack, attack, attack. Now, though, they skulk around our system, looking for a weak point, and they’re much more wary and wily about how they go about an assault. We have made a difference people, and we’ll continue to do so as long as we stay alert and in production of newer, more powerful ships.

“Soon, we’ll be starting to lay the keel for our first true battleship. It’ll be damn near the size of the Galileo without the factory section, but I want two more carriers first. Imagine in conjunction with two battlecruisers, a carrier and a farrier going up against, say a Korvil outpost. The amount of firepower would be devastating to any ground-based defenses, and unless they have more ships to spare than I think they do, we’d kick their asses all the way back to the Korvil homeworld, which is a planet we’re desperately looking to find.”

The Garmon sat on the throne that had been grown by his ancestors so long ago it was lost in the mists of time. He watched as the line of sub-leaders made their way slowly forward to profess their allegiance. The end of the line was finally in sight, so the ceremony wouldn’t take much longer. Then he could get down to the business of finding out how many space-worthy ships were available to him. The yards on the outer moon of Korvilene were almost ready to start turning out ships again—one at a time, of course, until the other two yards could be repaired and refurbished.

This line of sub-leaders was composed of those who hadn’t given their oath to him earlier. It had long been Korgan’s dream to overcome the Korvil. For many farats, he’d been binding more and more tribes to his own power base. For just as many farats, he’d envisioned the battle that would bring him ascendancy, but it hadn’t happened quite as expected. The Korvil had been weakened by wounds sustained when the Shiravans attacked, so his victory was tainted. Already, he was hearing it said that he shouldn’t be the leader, but let anyone say it to his face and they could join the criminals and politically untrustworthy who’d been sent to the two moons to operate and repair the bases. Or they could die. It was no matter to him, except for those few he’d cultivated as his inner circle.

Finally, the boring fealty ceremony was over. The only leaders who hadn’t shown up were off-planet, supervising their holdings in other areas of space, and, of course, the leaders of the two fleets sent out to keep track of the humanz. After the last sub-leader had passed through the Garmon’s Pit of Justice, he carefully laid the sword he’d used to vanquish his foe across the arms of the chair, declaring the ceremony ended, and stalked off to his palace.

Why the Korvil’s palace had suffered so much more than his own was a mystery to him but not one he was willing to look at too closely. The Gods had already favored him with the leadership of the Garmon people, and he was determined that they shouldn’t suffer further if it was within his power to stop it.

He strode into his council chamber, finding the expected leaders waiting for him. Talk subsided as he strode to the slightly raised chair that was his. “Very well, we are met. Report.” The tone was the same as he had heard the Korvil use on more than one occasion, and it worked just as well now. His eyes speared the clan leader.

“Sire, it’s clan Gubarak’s pleasure to provide over ten hands of ships to our endeavor to destroy the humanz.” The count rose with each leader, some with more ships, some with less.

Finally, clan Grimat’s leader stood up. “Lord, Grimat places two hands and two ships at your disposal. I’m at a loss as to why two other hands and one ship have not reported in after trying to search out another way to get to the humanz’s inner system. Their return is overdue by several weeks now.”

Korgan looked over at his personal scribe. “Lord, with clan Grimat’s addition, we have almost thirty double hands of vessels available for attacks on various targets.”

“Almost thirty double hands?” he roared at the assembled leaders. “It was only two farats ago that the Korvil was able to field over fifty double hands of vessels. Are you saying that we’ve lost over twenty double hands of vessels attacking these humanz?”

“Not just the humanz, Lord,” one of the assembled leaders said deferentially. “It would seem that the Shiravans have gotten bolder or luckier than usual as well. We’re now fighting on two fronts. Trying to take colonies away from defended planets is a costly endeavor, and the Shiravans are beginning to leave more ships on-station at each colony world. We’re still able to destroy them, but we’re losing a few ships with each attack. As for the humanz, we have no idea why these newcomers are able to repel us so effectively. Virtually no ships return from any assignment concerning them, leaving us with no knowledge of their tactics or armament. the Korvil sent one clan out to scout the outer fringes of their system, but that was clan Grimat, and I believe that would be the two hands and one that are unaccounted for. Perhaps they were trapped or caught unawares. All is speculation.”

“Speculation,” The Garmon said, “is for amateurs. We are seasoned hunters. We need to know all there is to know about our prey—their habits, their habitat, and especially their weapons. If these humanz have developed new claws, we need to know about it, conclusively. I therefore decree that all attacks against Shiravan targets will cease unless we are attacked first. We’ll devote our full attention to this new threat, these humanz.”

Korgan Garmon stood up to his full height, a bit shorter than the Korvil, but the Korvil was dead by his hand. He reached out and grasped his staff, on which rested the only thing brought from the Korvil’s palace—his head. At Korgan’s leisure, the rest of the palace would be razed, taking even his enemy’s ancestor’s names away. What more fitting punishment for one to let so many ships be destroyed? He’d decree that all mention of the Korvil be removed from all records and the land made into a public hunting preserve after sufficient landscaping. In a few generations, all remembrance of his line would be completely forgotten, as if they’d never been—a fitting end for one who would underestimate prey and bring the race close to extinction. Even now, the extermination squads were tracking down the last remnants of the clan of he who no longer existed.

He pounded the staff twice, bringing silence to the room. Clan leaders, ship captains, fleet commanders, and civilian leaders, such as those who controlled the production of food and those who controlled its distribution, as well as anyone else who thought they might lay claim to some portion of the new political hierarchy, all turned to face him, seeing the head of the deposed monarch. The scent of fear was almost overpowering.

Fear was something a Garmon could understand. Everything with any intelligence was afraid of the Garmons. Their cunning attacks could not be predicted until now, for some reason, by these humanz. Only this fear was of him. The feeling of power was almost so overwhelming that he felt the need to kill something. Instead, he dredged up the ancient words, “By the power of my own arm, by the power of my own mind, I claim the leadership of our people.”

He transferred the staff to his left hand, picked up the sword he’d earlier carried, and waited. Some few, his closest associates, knelt immediately. A slow wave moved outward from each kneeling clan leader he’d convinced to join him whatever the outcome. The wave also consisted of the sub-leaders admitting fealty only moments ago.

Normally, Garmons had only two reactions—fight or flight, the latter seldom occurring. Now, a new element had been added—acceptance. The choice of flight had been beaten down by the very obviously positioned guards who not only didn’t kneel but carried large, unsheathed swords in his presence. More guards stood amongst the shadows, these carrying the new power pistols. The choice of fight was defeated by those same guards and weapons. In such cases, a Garmon would defer to the alpha male as the only viable alternative, but even under the best conditions, that kind of obedience was suspect since it was coerced. Positive results would have to follow quickly to bind the clans to him unquestioningly.

He finally spoke. “We’ll scout out these humanz and discover their strengths and weaknesses, and we’ll find a way to use that information to our advantage. To that end, I declare that while I’ll make the final decision, I’ll also accept input and discussion of a rational nature. Therefore, we’ll be sending out patrols to scout out the enemy on both our borders. Half will find out how badly the Shiravans have interposed into our space, and the other half will determine the exact location and full power of the humanz. Each patrol will be followed by a single small ship. If the patrol attacks or is attacked, the single ship will wait out the battle from a safe distance and return here with the information so we can devise a plan. We must know their abilities as a first priority.”

He stared around the room at all the kneeling leaders. He had noticed who the last few to do so were, though. “You may rise,” he said, having made his point.

“The target I’ve selected,” Manura said to her Matriarch, “isn’t far from here. Its defense consists of only seven ships, all of cruiser class or higher. If we send two of our ships, along with an observer, we should be able to assess the abilities of the humans. That will give a force of five versus seven. The humans claim that their shields are so much better that no other ships need be risked at this time.”

“Very well,” the Matriarch said slowly. “The Shumara Vacht will be one of the two ships sent as assistance. You’ll choose the other, as well as the observer ship. You’ll go with the Shumara Vacht, subject to the Herald’s orders. Assuming any of you survive, I’ll expect a full accounting of the humans’ ability to conduct an attack scenario with full knowledge beforehand,” Linnas shook her finger in Manura’s face. “There will be no duplicity, Manura. I know you have an irrational fear of these new aliens, but so far they’ve acted fairly with us, so we’ll do the same with them. Is that understood?”

“Perfectly, Your Grace,” Manura said quietly, face blank. “I would do no other. It’s true that I don’t completely trust these humans, but they haven’t led me to believe that they’re in any way duplicitous. I just have a bad feeling about the future. I’m willing to commit two ships to the coming conflict, with my own person in the line of fire to prove that these humans can’t be trusted to complete a mission without turning tail and running at the first sign of superior firepower. They have two battlecruisers, and the target is invested with three fully functional Korvil battleships. It will be interesting to see how the humans fare against such odds.” She thought, Overlooking the fact that they haven’t told us about some of their more recent weapons modifications.

Linnas looked her Second Voice in the eye and said, “I better not hear that you withheld assistance at an inappropriate time just to bolster your own agenda. I’m as capable of determining that as anyone else. Don’t make me have to reconsider my decision to depend on your acumen just because you’re afraid of a bunch of aliens who are giving our own technology a boost, making us capable of standing off the Korvils for the first time in our history. Just by virtue of coming here in person, you’ve been subject to the increased abilities our human allies have added to our techno-base.”

Manura bowed slightly to her Matriarch. “I’ve never given less that my all to you personally or as my leader, and I’ll do no less now. I’ve chosen this target because it has those three battleships, which the humans claim their cruisers to be the equal of, and because it lies between Shiravi and Harlo where some still hold out hope that there are survivors. Should the humans win, the way lies open to send a mission to see. In actuality, since one of their ships is a carrier, there will only be four capital ships in the fight. But that carrier has a total of fifty parda kellin aboard. Add to that the ten on each cruiser, and the humans field eighty fighters.”

Linnas waved her hand at a chair and invited her old friend to sit. Manura did so gratefully, continuing, “The Shumara Vacht will, of course, not hold back, nor will the Seppigorn, taking our chances right along with the humans. It’s my intention to use them, the humans, as shields as much as possible because of their shields, while getting off shots and parda kellin of our own to add to the fight. All will be recorded by the observer ship for your perusal as soon as the battle is over, one way or the other, and some of our crews will get real combat experience without being blown out of space immediately afterward.”

Linnas hosted the human leader in her own quarters, although protocol strictly forbade it. All that was needed was one misunderstanding and the new alliance could fall apart.

Kitty brought a bottle with her. “On our world, it’s the custom for the one who’s invited to bring the drinks. You’ll be happy to know that this beverage is acceptable to Shiravan metabolisms without the necessity of the kemwood cups. Both Ambassador do’ Verlas and Doma kep Parrasine have pronounced it fit to drink.”

Linnas stood up, waving her guest to the seat that had been set up for her. “I’ll get a pair of ceremonial goblets, then, and test your beverage.”

Kitty settled into the chair, turning it slightly so she could look over the patio railing at the mountains. As her host returned with the two glasses, she admonished, “This is made from a fruit we call grapes and is known as cognac after it has… aged. This particular vintage is a dangerous one since its taste doesn’t begin to hint at the pain and suffering to come if one were to drink too much, too quickly. Please, small sips until you can tell that what I say is so. Both Rentec and Maratai were surprised by its effects.” She poured a small amount into each of the two delicate goblets.

Linnas took up her goblet and, following Kitty’s lead, swirled the liquid around and then inhaled the bouquet of the wine. She raised the glass to her lips and took a cautious, tiny sip, barely letting the liquid touch her tongue. It would be highly embarrassing to, say, have to leave the room immediately for a moment. Finding the taste exceedingly mild, she asked, “You are certain of its potency?”

“Oh, yes, Linnas,” Kitty said with a small laugh. “So, before you get the full effects of it without kemwood cups, why don’t you tell me why you’ve asked me here at this time of night?” She turned to look at the sun setting behind the Stalas, an image she’d have to capture on video for her own sense of peace in stressful situations.

Linnas set her glass down, afraid the brew would make her lose her tongue if she wasn’t careful. “I have the somewhat dubious honor of informing you that Doma sel Garian has found a target where your ships can show their mettle. One of my demands on the subject was that the target not be too big but still big enough to make you work for your victory. I’m afraid she’s pushing my meanings to their limits, but I must either accept her choice of target, since she knows more about your technology than I, or assign one of my own. And I at least appear to remain neutral in the matter.

“Two of our own ships will be traveling with you, under your command. It is my hope that you’ll hold those two ships behind your own, letting them have the secondhand use of your shields while they launch missiles and parda kellin to assist in the attack. They are not to just sit it out and see how you fare. sel Garian wishes them to be in or near the forefront so they can get some combat training and pass it along to future crew persons.”

She took another small sip of the wine, feeling the small explosion that went off in her stomach. “The system you’re going to attack will have three full-sized Korvil battleships, which we only recently discovered to exist, along with a number of smaller support vessels. Basically, they’re just oversized cruisers, but that’s enough of a description that it could be applied to one of our own battleships. Our main goal is to see how well your innovations fare against that which we haven’t been able to defeat without serious losses on our side versus minimal losses to the Korvils. It’s estimated that you’ll face around seven ships, some of them larger than any of yours. Is this acceptable to you?”

Kitty looked over the rim of her delicate blue glass at Linnas. To back out now would have this alliance fold before it ever got started, and she was sure that was what sel Garian wanted. She let some of Simon’s confidence well up in her words. “Only seven ships? And only three of them battleships? We’ve got them surrounded and whipped, and the battle hasn’t even started yet. When do we leave orbit?” She downed the last dribble in her own glass and added a considerably larger dollop for her second round. “The outcome will depend on what their state of readiness is, how much they expect an attack, how many personnel are actually aboard when we shift into their inner system, and how fast they can get their weapons to bear. We have an old saying, ‘When battle is joined, all plans go out the window.’”

Linnas looked a bit perplexed for a moment, then smiled. “We have a saying that is much the same, I think.” She reached over and picked up the bottle. Pouring a considerably smaller amount into her own glass, she said, “Dom Carter introduced us to the toast.” She raised her glass high. “To surprise and victory, my new friend.” She waited about two beats, not long enough for Kitty to respond. “Your fleet leaves in two days. We can do over the exact details later.”

Kitty raised her glass as well as an eyebrow. “To surprise and victory,” she repeated. She drained her glass and stood up. “If you’ll forgive me, Linnas, since I only have two days, I need to go inform my crews that they’re going hunting. There’s a lot to get done in a short time, and we need to be ready for departure. Besides, I need to get some sleep. There won’t be much time for that once we get under way.”

Kitty walked to the door, and just before she could put her hand on it, it opened at one of Linnas ever-present retainer’s touch. How do they do that? she thought. It would be nice if my people could see how things should be done. She turned, placing one hand on the door sill. “The rest of the cognac is a gift, my friend,” she said. “Perhaps you and Manura can sample it together while you talk over our conversation. Sleep well.” Turning toward the corridor, she stepped through and let her guide lead her back to her quarters.

Manura stepped out of the shadows. “That one bears watching, Linnas,” she said, pulling a second, Shiravan-sized chair over to the table.

“Oh, piffle, as Doma Spencer used to say, Manura,” Linnas admonished. “If you keep this up, I might just start believing that you are—what do the humans call it—xenophobic?” She reached over and grabbed the bottle Kitty had left behind, still more than half full. She set the two glasses she and her previous guest had shared next to each other in the center and filled them each halfway.

Manura looked at the two glasses and said, “Linnas, I’ve served the des Harras dynasty since the beginning of my second vocation. I chose to serve my third in the same position as well, and your predecessor agreed that it was the wisest choice. You know I’ve given up family and clan to fulfill the sel Garian obligation to the des Harras clan though, few others even recognize that it exists.”

Linnas raised her hand. “Let me finish for you, old friend. Over three thousand died on the day of my coronation because you committed an act of treason against your clan, which was, in effect, an act of loyalty to the succession, and that act was to inform on the leaders of the impending insurrection. Your actions cost the lives of three thousand and more of your own kin and allies, earning you the epithet Butcher of Harusel.

“You, as attack commander, called a last-minute meeting of the top opposition commanders and clan leaders, bringing them together in one place. You gave the location of those troops positioned to attack the Capitol building during my coronation to troops loyal to the des Harras dynasty, and you spearheaded the attacks against those troops after slaughtering at least twenty clan leaders and military commanders in single combat while your handpicked security teams finished off the rest, leaving those troops leaderless.

“Your sacrifice has not gone unrewarded these past twenty turnings. And I won’t pretend to understand what you’ve had to go through to make the decisions you’ve made. It cost you what was left of the rest of your living kin and earned you my eternal gratitude. Elsewise, I wouldn’t have depended on your loyalty. Spirits know, you’ve had opportunity enough to do to me what you did you your own, but not once have you let me down. To this moment you are a source of strength that I’d be loath to give up.” She looked across the table and said, “Taste this cognac old friend, and think on the matter, for I must know. Can you be objective about the humans or not?”

The old woman looked again at the two glasses, the nearer one having been used by the human. For a time, she looked away, out at the stars, the patterns subtly altered from those she’d recently seen in human space. She looked deep within herself for the answer to the question her monarch had just posed. Could she be relied upon to be impartial, thinking of race above self? She recognized the symbolism of the fact that the human had drunk from the glass nearest her and couldn’t resist a small jibe even as she admitted defeat. “You have learned well, Your Grace.”

She reached out and took the glass farthest from her and swirled it in the fashion she’d seen from the shadows. “I don’t see them to be as bad as the Korvils, but I see a dark side to coexistence with this human race. I see too much of us in them—us as we were five hundred turnings ago. They’re energetic, inquisitive, and willing to take a risk where others weren’t, but they’re also motivated by what we call a higher imperative—the furtherance of the race. The Korvils are much like that as well, although they’re closer to their primal ancestors than even the humans. These humans are just beginning to reach in the right direction.

“They recognize a higher power, but still they kill themselves by the millions in the names of their varied and benevolent gods. There are those who don’t believe in a higher power at all, preferring to believe they’re the end result of natural selection. We are, both races, much alike, but ours is more settled and theirs more growth oriented. Remember, they’ve seen that we have fourteen colony worlds and that the Korvils have claimed another twenty-one before we broke off negotiations.

“They have reason to get themselves scattered out as much as possible in as short a time as possible. In their position, I would do no less. I think, as well, that they might be smarter than we are. Certainly more inventive, at least at present, although one would think that the Korvils alone would be enough to bring our own inventiveness to the fore. Instead, we just keep building more of the same kind of ships and weapons and throwing them at the Korvils, losing that many more ships, and not so incidentally, their crews as well. These humans think differently, perhaps from necessity. I don’t know. Suppose they’d gotten the Kreth and then never been visited by the Korvils? Would they be as far along as they are? Would they have incorporated the changes they have? By the time I arrived, they had four functioning bases in their asteroid belt and were churning out ships, missiles, and parda kellin capable of sending us back to the Stone Age if they so desired and were left unchecked. They scare the Spirits out of me.”

She sniffed the liquid in the glass, then took a sip as cautiously as her mistress had. “And she says this is potent? How does it affect you?” Linnas had taken perhaps three sips after her initial testing.

“I would treat that with great respect, old friend,” Linnas said. Manura took another, larger swallow, and let it slide slowly down her throat, admiring the taste but not getting a feeling even as potent as fire wine. Less so, in fact. It had a fruity tang that invigorated one’s mouth. “I’d also treat these humans with the same respect you’re going to come to have for their liquor.”

Manura looked at her Matriarch and friend in wonder at the comment. “This?” Then the bomb went off in her stomach. She felt the heat radiate outwards until it passed through her skin. Sweat broke out on her forehead, and the room seemed to spin.

“I used the pretext of gazing at the stars in contemplation while Domagera Hawke was here,” Linnas said. “You have my permission to try it yourself. The worst effects should wear off in just a few minutes, and then you should be able to stand. I’m certainly not going to try it for a while, though.”

Manura finally caught her breath and grated, “What in the name of the Spirits is this stuff?”

Linnas laughed lightly, then groaned. “She called it cognac, and she warned me in advance that it was potent but drinkable. She said Rentec and Maratai both considered it was suitable, and since it wouldn’t have done her any good to poison me this far from home, I believed her. But I’ll certainly have to have a talk with Rentec about what he considers ‘potent.’”

Manura shook her head, fighting to clear it of the cobwebs that threatened to slow her thoughts. “Who have you chosen as my successor, might I ask, Your Grace?”

“There will be no more ‘Your Grace’ coming from you, Manura. You’ll live out your days here, if you wish. I refuse to coerce you into anything, my revered aunt—my revered aunt to whom I may sometimes come for advice.” She held up her hand as the old woman started to speak. “I said, ‘may,’ Domina Manura. And don’t think you’re being set aside for a younger person. You’ll be instrumental in shaping your successor, so you’ll be putting in as many hours a day as you always have been for some time yet. Just training your successor until she’s ready will keep you busy for some time to come and let you keep your hand in the pot while you’re at it.”

The old woman held her glass up to the younger almost in a gesture of contempt. From anyone else, it would have been, but this was Manura sel Garian, and Linnas chose to ignore to semi-insult. “And that would be Sitha kep Parrasine, by my guess,” she grated out. “Not much for me to be teaching that one, Linnas. I wondered, how she would acquit herself while we were away. Worried actually, because your life depended on her doing her job with little actual field training. And you do know I was loath to leave and wouldn’t have done so without specific orders. Even then, I might have stayed behind except for the need to curb those accursed kath-mora.

“Then I read the raid reports about rounding up the Spirit Witches left behind. An ugly mess, even for me. And she handled herself respectably. Who would have suspected so many could have amassed so much weaponry in this day and age? The arrest squads took almost thirty percent casualties and the Witches over fifty percent, and Sitha stood at the front of enough of the major assaults to become well recognized.” Manura stood up and looked down at the leader of fifteen worlds. “And if I should decide not to help train your pet kep Parrasine?”

Linnas stood up as well, glass in hand. “She gets the job anyway,” she said positively. “But, if you accept my invitation to live here at Cho-An, you can help oversee the polishing of a very adept young woman, Manura. I’d be so grateful that I’d wipe sel Garian’s debt off the des Harras ledgers, Domina,” she said, staring into the red eyes before her. “I’d be grateful enough to sponsor Clan sel Garian’s restoration to Great Clan status.”

Manura looked stunned. “You mean the debt is cleared?”

Linnas nodded. “Yes, Domina, the debt is forgiven, assuming your student can stand up to the meat grinder I know you’ll put her through. It will be posted in tomorrow’s dispatches if you agree here and now to finish the training of Sitha kep Parrasine.”

“I still won’t be able to go home, you know,” Manura said conversationally.

“I know, and I regret it more than you can imagine for one who’s never gone through what you have. That’s why you’re being invited to join my family. I already think of you as Domina, and have since I was a child. Why should that change now just because you’re nearing the end of your third vocation?”

The older woman looked deeply into the ruby eyes of her Matriarch. “Even though my relatives will not acknowledge my participation, I’m sure they’ll accept the restoration and clearance of the debt. Great Clan status is a great incentive, especially since it was once in their hands and then was yanked away, and now it’s about to be restored.”

Linnas smiled slightly. “They’ll have no choice but to acknowledge your contributions since they’ll be part and parcel of the postings. You know I have to post all reasons for my decision to restore sel Garian to Great Clan status. If I don’t, it’ll get tied up in council debate for turnings, and I won’t tolerate that when we’ll need to be spending our time on other more important matters. So, are we agreed?”

The old woman tossed back the last of her drink and waited for the explosion in her stomach, and its aftermath, to pass. The only outward sign she showed was when she reached one hand out to the table to steady herself. After a moment, she said, “Agreed, and without reservation. Sitha’s training begins in two days. She’ll be observer aboard the human ship Vega when it leaves orbit for its first patrol. I, of course, will be in the same position aboard the other human battlecruiser, the Federal Case. You’ll note that the humans consider the Vega to be their flagship, and I’ve already moved myself into second position. We have nothing equivalent to their carrier the Canopus, so we’ll post two captains aboard as observers, both of whom have some parda kellin experience, having come up through the ranks.”

Linnas stamped her foot angrily, childishly, she realized. “So, you knew you were being replaced even before I knew I was going to do it. Is that what you’re telling me?”

Manura looked with new respect at the odd-shaped bottle on the table and remembered Linnas’s warning earlier. She smiled at her friend of so many years. “It was my intention to resign anyway, Your Grace, if you’ll excuse the title one more time. My resignation has been written and was in the queue to be sent when our patrol returned with the human refugees. I barely managed to stop the transmission because I knew my contributions were going to be needed for a while longer. I now have no reason not to resubmit that resignation once you’re satisfied with the training of my student.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Simon Hawke, Admiral of the Terran/Shiravan combined fleet, was bored to death. He’d spent two years sitting behind a desk once the DIA had taken him out of the field after his marriage to Kitty. He’d hated paperwork then, and he wasn’t any fonder of it now. It wasn’t that he didn’t have anything to do, what with the personnel rosters, production reports, security reports, patrol reports, and upgrade statistics on Shiravan ships, ad infinitum, ad nauseum, that crossed his desk; it was just that he was bored with the whole business.

It wasn’t even the reports from the now fully functional academy for ship personnel hopefuls. Those were beginning to make him feel more like a commandant than an Admiral. Staring at a viewscreen of the surrounding space because no windows were available this far inside the asteroid, he finally realized what the problem was. Loneliness.

And not even the loneliness of sleeping alone at night, not having Kitty to hold. It was the loneliness that came when one had no peers to talk to. Kitty, of course, was off on her diplomatic mission, and Gayle had taken command, finally, of a ship—the Stephen Walker; she’d named it in honor of her dead almost-husband. And Stephen, of course had died in the explosion that crippled the Clarke. That took care of all the Firsters, as the four had become known. There were other Firsters, but they were known for being the first group to join, such as Lucy, Shirley Dahlquist, and over two dozen others.

He snapped shut the folder he wasn’t reading, set it aside, and checked his urgent file. Empty, as was his stomach, or so he interpreted the noises coming from that direction. He stood up and left his office, finding the outer office empty. He remembered something about his secretary calling him some hours earlier, saying that it was end of shift and did he need anything before she left. He’d answered almost automatically that he wouldn’t be too much longer and that she should go. A quick glance at his watch told him that almost three hours had passed since then.

He made his way to the officer’s mess, picked up a tray, and stood at the end of the serving line. It ran twenty-four hours a day, what with three shifts constantly rotating. The two tech officers he stood behind barely gave him a glance, busy discussing some problem down in hydroponics—something about a yeast culture that wouldn’t work as it should. He was sure he’d see the report in the coming days.

He made his way slowly down the line, pointing at one thing and another, finally ending up with mashed potatoes, gravy, vegetables, and something that resembled turkey. He took two rolls from a basket at the end of the line and looked for a place to sit. Junior officers immediately stopped talking if he chose to sit with them, perhaps afraid of saying the wrong thing or just awed by his rank and Firster status. He was surprised to see an arm waving at him from one of the corners of the room. When he saw that it belonged to Robert Greene, he muttered, “What the hell,” and walked in that direction.

“Just the person I’ve been looking for,” Robert said, indicating the chair across from him. “Have a seat, Admiral. You look like you could use someone to talk to. I feel pretty much the same.”

“Really?” Simon asked setting his tray down on the table. A steward, noticing the Admiral sitting down in his section, hurried over to fill two glasses with water.

“Really, Admiral,” Robert said firmly. “I think we have a similar problem.” He looked at the steward. “Iced tea for me, please, and I think the Admiral will have a Pepsi.” He looked at Simon, one eyebrow quirked up, and Simon just nodded. The steward moved off as quickly as he could.

Simon looked at his plate and took an experimental bite of the potatoes and gravy. “What similar problem could that be? I don’t see you stuck behind a desk with all of your friends off doing god knows what.”

Robert stuck a spoon into what looked like an oversized bowl of tapioca. “No, but just listen. I’m not trying to open old wounds, so don’t take offense. I think we should call this an informal officer’s call and go to first names. Standing on formality is so tiring, don’t you think?” Simon nodded slowly, looking for the trap. “We all have our jobs to do, Simon,” Robert started to say and stopped until the steward had deposited their drinks on the table.

“Unfortunately, we’ve gotten spread out kind of thin. At least the first three waves of volunteers have. Those are the ones you’ve used, for the most part, as ship captains and the more sensitive positions.” He took a bite of the dessert in front of him and continued, “You Firsters have lost one of your number, bringing the number down from four to three. The second wave, which I’m part of, was almost forty in number. Do you have any idea how many Seconds are on Vesta at the moment? I checked the registry when I brought the Nova into orbit. Exactly three—me, Lucy, and one other. We, neither of us, have anybody we can talk to.”

Simon cut through the rubbery turkey, took a bite and said, “I’ve had the same thoughts lately, Bob. Are you saying you have a solution?”

“I think so, but the final decision is up to you,” Robert said. “How would you like to get out of here and go on a patrol? Nova Group is scheduled to leave in three days for a patrol in one of the sectors nearer the center of what the Shiravans have told us is Korvil space. Our objective is to hyper to the nearside of their local Oort Cloud, about a three-month trip, and slip in under minimal power. Add to that directive. Make us more like privateers. If we can find a suitable target, either ground based or flight capable, we are to engage, unless the opposing force appears overwhelming. And we won’t be using Shasta Group’s success to make our decisions by, either.

“Most of the captain’s believe it’s about time for the Korvils to start coming to the parties a little more heavily armed than before. And if not heavier armed, then more of them and more aware of what to expect. So far, we’ve taken out every ship we’ve encountered. That’s got to have become apparent to their leaders by now. All of a sudden, a particular portion of their empire is swallowing up every ship that enters it. A spatial Bermuda Triangle? Or something worse? We know that two humans were in Korvil hands for almost a year before they were saved by the Shiravans, so they know we exist and where we are.

“Sooner or later—and my money is on sooner—someone on their side of the fence is going to realize that none of their balls are coming back. I mean, we know that has to be the case since the attacks have grown stronger and more…” he searched for a word, “desperate each time. Sooner or later we’re gonna get our asses kicked, but I think we’ll learn as much as we lose in the long run. It’s going to cost ships and lives, but what are our choices? Unless the Shiravans are lying to us about the size of Korvil space.”

Simon nodded, pushing his food around his plate without really eating it. “So, what are you suggesting, Bob?” Simon asked, a forkful of peas mixed with potatoes and gravy halfway to his mouth and his eyes boring into the captain’s.

“What I’m suggesting, Simon, is that you’re in need of something to get your adrenaline flowing. And rubber-stamping reports isn’t going to do it.” Robert looked surreptitiously around the room, noting all those who seemed to be paying more attention to the two officers than they should. “You know,” he said, lowering his voice a bit, “we seem to be attracting a bit more attention than I’d anticipated. What say I come to your quarters sometime tomorrow afternoon? We can discuss my idea in more detail and a lot more privacy.”

Simon, years of DIA indoctrination and training coming to the fore, never even looked around. “I’ll take your word for that, Bob,” he said quietly. “I’ve kinda gotten out of the habit of thinking that way. Tomorrow, I’ll make sure to finish my day at a more normal hour and expect your arrival shortly after shift change. Okay?”

For once, Simon left his office at a more decent hour, actually a bit ahead of his secretary, who was busy revising notes on the various classroom and space-side studies of the crewmen and officers in training. The idea was to make it more easily readable by Simon, not that he couldn’t wade through all the details and make the right decisions. This way just made it easier.

He stopped by her desk on his way out and looked down at what she was working on. “Demeter, don’t you ever feel that this isn’t what we’re supposed to be doing?” he asked.

“Daily, boss, daily,” she said in the informality of the empty office.

He smiled down at her. “Well, don’t fret about it. I’m working on a plan to start a new department—one that’s strictly designed to keep track of the students and their progress, taking it completely out of our hands except for a weekly briefing for me by our soon-to-be-found-and-hired training commandant. I think he should be attached to the personnel department, don’t you?” he asked rhetorically. “Just don’t spend too much more time here, okay?”

“No problem there, boss. I’ve got a date with a specialist from logistics in about two hours, and you know how long girls need to get ready,” she answered. “You’re leaving early tonight, yourself,” she noted. “Can’t be a date, so what’s up?” She closed the folder she’d been working on and set it aside.

“Actually,” he said, “I do have a date, but it’s just with one of the captains so I’m not going to be having as much fun as you are. I figure on dinner and then the meeting, all about patrols, acceptable casualties, and all that kind of heartrending stuff. And for once, I’d like to climb into a Mamba and just cut loose for a while. It’s something I haven’t done in a long time.”

“It’s something I’ve never done,” she answered. “I’m second wave, you know, and my first ship assignment was actually under Captain Kitty. Really drove her nuts for a while, since my twin was assigned to the same ship, only she got lucky and wound up in a command position earlier than I did. I started out in one of the forward missile rooms. Diana, that’s my twin, said Captain Kitty had made some kind of comment about redheaded twins aboard her first ship. Neither of us could ever figure that out. Do you know what she meant? Or can’t you say?”

Simon sat down in one of the chairs usually reserved for those waiting to see him. Have to get more comfortable chairs in here, he noted to himself. He wasn’t about to interrupt this conversation right now. “Kitty, Gayle, and I all read for relaxation, but I got started on science fiction, well, actually because I had to. That’s another story all by itself. Anyway, once the Galileo got crewed and onto her first trip to the asteroid belt, we, along with just about anyone who wasn’t already an avid sci-fi fan, started reading more science fiction. Kitty and I both became fans of Robert Heinlein, often called the Grand Master of Science Fiction, and in one of his series, he wrote about the, shall we say, misadventures of a pair of redheaded twins. I highly recommend it for pure entertainment. I’m sure there was no other reason for her comment. I remember quite well that she’d just finished reading the series a short while before she took command of her first ship. I would probably have responded in the same way. So where is your twin assigned now?”

Demeter Ross, Commander, and private secretary to the Admiral, personally selected by the Herald herself, looked down and bit her lip. “She’s assigned to the Canopus as a Flight Commander,” she answered quietly.

Simon’s heart sank a bit. A Flight Commander was in command of four other Mambas—combat, patrol, or attack—one of the highest casualty rates in the Alliance. “Then believe me when I say I understand and wish you and your sister the best.”

Demeter nodded. “Thank you, sir. And I’m sure Diana would, as well. She told me the night before she left that she looked forward to this mission. She felt that up until now—no offense meant, sir—we were just playing at Star Trek. Now, she has a chance to really live the dream and be one of the first to go where no man has gone before and make a difference. She was proud, sir. And I am too, don’t get me wrong, but I do hope we can start sending some more ships their way soon. I’m working towards a berth, studying myself to death, but I want a position on the bridge. And to learn to fly a Mamba.” The last was more an afterthought than a real request.

Manura sel Garian was not at her best this day. Instead of the normal sea of red faces looking at her, each face showing respect, these faces were mostly white, black, brown and yellow. Very few red faces sat in this audience chamber today. The eyes varied as well. A few were of that blue that so attracted a Shiravan’s attention, but the vast majority were brown, black, a few green, and any number of shades of each. And none of the expressions showed a great deal of respect right now.

Yet, she was up to the challenge. One last time into the breach, so she must make it count. Rentec stood nearby; ready to translate into English what she was about to say, but enough of the humans spoke Shiravan well enough that it would be a good double-check for their peace of mind. She looked out at the faces and said, “Herald Hawke, Captains Lee, Breen and Dahlquist, Ambassador von Schlenker and your wonderful wife Margit, Wing Commanders of the parda kellin coming to our aid, I bid you welcome. I wish it were possible to shake hands in the human fashion and reach a relationship. Unfortunately for both our races, this will not be an easy thing to do. We’ve both met the Korvils before meeting each other, and we look for the dark side before the light. And there’s enough dark on both sides, as we all know, having been as open and complete as we have.

“You perceive us as static and… I believe the Earth word is stodgy, and we see you as headstrong, independent youngsters, just coming of age. We wish to see the status quo remain pretty much as it is, trading human for Korvil residency on a number of worlds suitable to your kind.”

All who attended these meetings were urged to speak up regardless of rank, and a wing commander, said, “Not meaning any disrespect, but we already have the technology of the Galileo. What’s to keep us from sitting out the battle between you and the Korvils and finish off the winner?”

“Your innate sense of decency, if I don’t misread humanity and their core beliefs. We’re the underdog, and you got the technology from us in the first place,” sel Garian answered plainly. “You, yourselves have said that you’ve only been in space for eight years, something like nine of our turnings, and we really need to see for ourselves how your adapted uses of our technology fare against an enemy you can barely hold at the gate.”

Kitty sat quietly for a moment after sel Garian’s last statement, then stood up. “Doma sel Garian,” she said, her anger barely contained, “I find that last comment to be insulting on so many levels that I don’t even know where to begin. It wasn’t so very long ago that something like that would have had the two of us meeting at dawn, swords in hand. Instead, I find myself on an alien world, having to tolerate obnoxious behavior and snide remarks.” The murmur of voices died down as people realized what Kitty was saying.

“I know you’ve received reports on all that’s transpired since we came into possession of the Galileo,” she said, her use of the human name deliberate, “because I gave you most of that information myself, what you didn’t get from Dom do’ Verlas, and I know you’re aware that we’ve destroyed every ship the Korvils have set upon us, as well as a few unlucky enough to get caught unawares. True, we’ve sustained severe casualties on our homeworld, but so far, we’ve lost only one battlecruiser and an unacceptably large number of Mamba pilots. Your tactics had gotten you nowhere until you formed your Reprisal Fleets. And that has been, by your own words, just one small outpost.

“We have even, out of the goodness of our hearts, given you the specifications to upgrade your ships to our levels.” The stressed pronoun didn’t go unnoticed. “And we made modifications to the Shumara Vacht before coming here, so your technicians could see what was going on, not to mention two complete new cruisers to replace your losses on our behalf. I’m beginning to wonder if we shouldn’t just return home and let you fight your own battles from this side of Korvil space while we do the same from ours without any further collaboration. I’m going to have to speak to my advisers in private before these discussions continue.”

Kitty settled into her favorite chair in the common room and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, I think we should return to our respective ships and let tempers cool down. All advisers and staff will meet aboard the Vega in…” she looked at her watch, “one hour.” She turned towards the door. “I’m headed for my shuttle. Anyone traveling with me be there before we lift off or find other rides.”

Outside, Kitty met Sitha. She wondered if the woman had been listening to the conversations going on inside but refused to ask. Instead she said, “We’ll be returning to our ships. Are our shuttles still waiting?”

“Yes, Domagera,” Sitha answered. “May I ask why the discussions have broken off so abruptly?”

Kitty said through gritted teeth, “Please lead us to the shuttle field, if you’d be so kind.”

Sitha, recognizing the anger in Kitty’s response, turned and started walking down the corridor, the crowd of humans following.

“The discussions broke off,” Kitty said testily, “before I had to challenge your Second Voice to a duel. It just seemed inappropriate to kill the second in command of such an otherwise decent people. We’ll discuss how to go about the next phase of the negotiations, if there is one, in private. The only place to do that is aboard one of our own ships, so we’ll go there. Please deliver my apologies to Domagera des Harras, along with any personal commentary you feel necessary on what happened. I will relay my decision to the Domagera as soon as we’ve reached a consensus.” Somehow, she had a feeling that Sitha kep Parrasine was better informed than she let on.

Inside the meeting chamber, sel Garian let no expression reach her face but one hand clenched into a fist unseen behind the podium. “This special session is dismissed.”

“Freddie, Margit, did I misread the situation down there?” Kitty asked as soon as she was alone with the two older folks and her three ship’s captains.

“I don’t believe so, Kitty,” the Baron replied. “I wasn’t on board the Shumara Vacht during our journey here, so I don’t know what went on and probably even wouldn’t if I had been, but she was definitely baiting you. I’d be very careful before accepting any directions from that one in the future.”

Margit asked, “Did anything untoward happen while you were on that ship? Some reason the Second Voice might have decided she wouldn’t be the friend we’d all hoped for when she first arrived in Earth space?”

“No,” Kitty said definitely. “We spoke about the customs and histories of our peoples, and I taught her how to play chess. Beat her silly for the first few months and then we split wins for a while, but in the last two months, I haven’t won a single match. She’s good.”

Miranda Lee, of the Canopus, asked, “Did she give you any reason, before today, to suspect she was less than open to us?”

“None to speak of,” Kitty temporized. “I have to wonder though. While she was in Earth space, she came to Earth only once, meeting Maggie’s family, and then only traveling as far as Vesta. Not once did she let herself be surrounded by as many humans as she was confronted with today. I think she’s a xenophobe. I think she tried to hide it by waiting until we were on her home court, so to speak, to confront so many of us at one time, and it still wasn’t enough. I truly don’t know what to do.” She sat slumped in her chair, the picture of total dejection.

“Xenophobia has been a deeply rooted part of human existence almost since the beginning of time,” Thomas said. “It would appear that it’s as much a part of Shiravan society as it is for humanity.” He looked around the room. Six humans, himself included, sat in various postures of depression. “If I may make a suggestion? I think we should deal with someone else rather than sel Garian. Perhaps the Matriarch herself. You said she seemed to be more amenable to human/Shiravan interaction than you’d expected.”

“A good idea,” the baron added thoughtfully. “Perhaps Sitha could be a go-between to set up such a meeting, leaving the Second Voice out of the loop, so to speak. Of course, that’ll only serve to infuriate sel Garian, if she’s so inclined. Just remember, we have no real idea what their social structure is. No matter what they’ve told us, we have to take everything with a grain of salt. It may be that this Sitha will report directly to sel Garian first before going to the Matriarch. If she does, we’ll know soon enough who the power behind the throne is or if des Harras is truly the ruler of all she claims.”

“So, what do we do next?” Kitty asked, knowing she was in over her head. Give her something to shoot at, and she’d be all right. Her long talk with Toni Putnam had seen to that. But this was politics, which wasn’t her forte, hence the presence of Freddie, the baron. And of course, Maggie—Margit—his wife, who was an incorrigible political savant in her own right.

“We do nothing,” the baroness said firmly. “The ball is in their court, as I once heard someone say. It means that it’s their move. Soon, if we don’t contact them, we’ll begin to receive calls from the surface concerning our discussions.” She smiled at the group. “We’ll have a junior officer receive the call, and when one of us is requested by name, he or she will just tell them that the discussions are ongoing and whoever they ask for doesn’t wish to be disturbed.

“Sooner or later, the Matriarch herself will call to request to speak to Kitty at the earliest possible moment,” Margit prophesied. “It will be couched in terms that won’t assume an urgent request, and that’s the time that whoever’s on comm duty will say the meeting has ended and Kitty will be available momentarily. Keeping Domagera des Harras waiting for a short time will do her no harm and give her more time to rethink her options.”

“What options?” Kitty asked, fists propped on her hips. “I mean, we know where home is and how to get there, so we can always just leave, but we came here to find allies. Just because one old woman doesn’t like us isn’t reason enough to run home with our tails tucked between our legs,” she said, finishing up and breathing heavily.

Miranda clapped her hands. “Now, that’s the Kitty I remember,” she exclaimed delightedly. “I say we take whatever mission they set us, and if you get bored on the Vega, come over to the Canopus. I’ll set you up as a wing commander and turn you loose on the totally unsuspecting Korvils. The bastards won’t stand a chance.”

“And the Herald’s chances of survival go down correspondingly,” Freddie admonished, effectively scotching that idea. “I’m afraid that a combat option will be unavailable to our leader for a while yet.” Kitty glared in his direction. Before she could say anything, the baron added, “Do you have any idea what Simon would do to the survivors if we let anything happen to you? Especially if it occurred while doing something as dumb as flying this kind of mission against an enemy in their own territory?”

Thomas stirred in his chair. “I agree. That’s one man I never want to have to face with really bad news.”

“Oh, you are such a wuss, Tom,” Miranda said, acid dripping from her tone. “How did you ever get to be a captain in the first place?”

“I did it by being the best at everything I was assigned,” he replied. “How did you get your post?” His acrimonious tone dripped even more than Miranda’s.

“That’s enough, you two,” Kitty snapped. “We’ll get nowhere by sniping and backbiting.” She looked at her watch. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’ve had a long day, and I’m going to bed. Tomorrow will be time enough to see if Margit’s right, although I’m not going to bet against her even if we’re dealing with a totally alien mentality. I suggest the rest of you do the same.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Simon’s door chimed on the stroke of eighteen hundred hours, and he said, “Enter,” without moving from his chair. One of the channels that was beamed out from Earth was showing a documentary about the restoration of the South American forests and the American Northwest. Several shots showed what was obviously Alliance equipment and personnel working alongside downsiders in their efforts to bring a semblance of normalcy back to the area.

The South American ecology was most delicate, and biologists and biological research specialists were hard pressed to get the planting done that would restore the area to livability. But it was the tsunamis from the Bering Sea strike that had done the most damage. Tsunamis had raced back and forth across the North Pacific for days, their surges slowly decreasing with each oscillation. The original waves from such a deep, violent explosion had ripped through almost everything manmade within two hundred fifty miles of the shoreline. This was true for Russia, Japan, South Korea, parts of Canada, Alaska, Washington, Oregon and some of Northern California. Hawaii might never be the same.

Anyplace that acted as an outlet for a river, stream, or creek had been subjected to near-apocalyptic incursions of fast-moving, highly salted waters, each successive inundation smaller and smaller until at last the seas decided to take pity on the devastated landscape. Huge earthmovers rolled across a landscape ripped straight from the minds of all the doomsayers ever to spout their philosophies. Power poles were set back in place and lines strung in preparation for the eventual restoration of power to the areas. Most nuclear reactors had gone into automatic shutdown, but some had been as effectively demolished as any other structure. It was with some small bit of happiness that the authority assigned to clean up the radioactive mess found that most of the material had been swept out to sea—not that it wasn’t of concern there, but at least it wasn’t polluting the land. On the other hand, the seas were the source of all life, so new measures had to be enacted to deal with the new problem. Other power producers had in some cases been effectively scoured from the face of the Earth. Anyone living along the Pacific coast had largely returned to early nineteenth-century lifestyles and accommodations.

Hope, unity, and a sense of righteous outrage were keeping people working on bringing back the lost infrastructure. Roads had to be rebuilt from the very lowest levels to allow some of the larger vehicles to get in. Eighteen-wheelers formed solid lines, bringing supplies in and carrying wreckage and debris out.

Simon turned his head from the screen when someone set a glass of amber liquid down beside him. He hadn’t even looked up from the scenes being played out on the screen until then. “How much time do you spend watching this stuff?” Robert asked.

Simon shook his head slowly. “Not all that much really. Just the morning news and only the top five or six stories. If we aren’t there, or we’re getting good press, I’m happy. It’s the protests that get to me. It reminds me that we can’t let our guard down again. Against anyone.”

Robert settled himself into a chair that made Simon turn away from the viewscreen to talk to his guest. He took a sip from his glass and grimaced. “I don’t see how anyone can drink scotch,” he said. “It’s a horrid habit.”

Simon picked up his glass and sniffed the amber liquid. “At least you brought Chivas.” He looked at the amount of fluid in Robert’s glass and said, “That one and one more and you’ll begin to like the taste.”

“Or my taste buds will be so ruined that I won’t know the difference,” Robert retorted.

“Or you’ll be too drunk to care,” Simon snickered as he took an appreciative sip of his own drink. “Me, I’m going to enjoy this without asking where it came from. Kitty said she couldn’t stand anything but wines and such after coming out of the chamber, but I can still handle my scotch.”

“Good. That way I won’t have to lie to you.”

Simon picked up the viewscreen remote and shut it off. “Okay, I’ve been appropriately bribed with my favorite alcohol, and we’ve traded witticisms. What’s this about me going out on a patrol with you? You know Lucy won’t go for me being gone that long.”

“True enough, under normal conditions,” Robert responded. “But these are not normal times. That’s one of the reasons I went over your head to talk to Lucy last week about this very subject.” He took another sip of fortification, scowled slightly, and went on. “I finally persuaded her to have an independent person decide whether or not you’d benefit from an extended working vacation, so to speak.”

Simon laughed out loud, the first good laugh he’d experienced since Kitty left for Shiravi, he realized. “And how is someone going to evaluate me now that I know what they’re doing?”

The humor of the question seemed infectious. Even Robert started laughing. “The way I understand it, the absolute best way is for the one being evaluated not to know about it.”

Something in Robert’s expression made the hair stand up on the back of Simon’s neck. He got up and began to pace, a sign of deep thought. “You know, of course, that I spent almost ten years as a DIA agent before retiring to Montana. It’s been something like fifteen years since I was an active agent, but my position in the Alliance has helped me keep some of the skills I brought with me sharpened, such as knowing when I’m being followed or led, as the case may be, or when I’m being interrogated, debriefed, or pumped for information.”

Robert looked him squarely in the eyes and took another sip of the scotch in his glass. This time, the taste didn’t catch him by surprise, but there was still a less-than-pleasant look on his face. “Do people really develop a taste for this stuff?” he asked, deliberately not offering any information. Simon scowled. “That doesn’t work on me right now since we’re in a Simon/Robert moment,” Robert admonished. “I’m offering you an observer post with Nova Group on a patrol that could last from six months to an indefinite period beyond that. The group will consist of the Nova, the Pollux, and as a carrier we get the newest out of the Taurus yards, the Teton. Rumor has it the captain thought about naming her the Chicken Coop, but her exec talked her out of it.”

“Who’s the exec?” Simon asked casually, letting the matter of how he’d been evaluated drop for the time being. “He or she has a lot of nerve standing up to Gayle when she gets her mind set. Especially after I had to practically pry her out of the Stephen Walker with a crowbar.”

Hesitating for a second, Robert answered, “Bruce Grimes, Lt. Commander, fast tracked into a combat position—not by his sister or his name but by his talent alone. He applied under his mother’s maiden name so he wouldn’t get any special treatment.”

“Does Lucy know about this? I mean, she has to know that he joined the academy, but does she know about his assignment?”

Robert shook his head slightly. “The Deputy Herald doesn’t get all of the paperwork we generate. If she did, nothing would get done. You were the one who preached delegation of authority, you know. I’m pretty sure she hasn’t got a clue.”

“Oh, shit,” was all Simon would say about the matter.

After a brief silence, Robert said, “We’ll have the Shiravan ships Stigarn and Berra Feigh along for the ride, both outfitted with the new shields and extra power cores, as well as the newer missiles. That will make four nearly impregnable ships plus a fifty-Mamba carrier. Do you want to go?”

“Hell, yes,” Simon said, finally. “I’d do almost anything to get out from behind that damned desk and out of this rock. The only question is: who’s going to be in charge while I’m gone?”

That answer wasn’t long in coming. Two hours later, after Robert had definitely developed a taste for scotch (at least until he sobered up), he agreed to Simon’s idea that Lloyd Pike should take over, “He’s a natural, Simon,” Robert said. “Just like a robot. Give him an assignment and he’ll carry it out without question and to the best of his ability. I think he’s still showing off for daddy.”

Simon’s comm link went off. “Hawke here,” he said, a slight slur in his voice. He’d been in the process of pouring two more glasses, finishing off the bottle of Chivas that Robert had arrived with. What he heard made him set the bottle down with a thump. “That’s good news, Lieutenant,” he said thoughtfully and closed the circuit. “Marsha Kane has just returned from her first patrol with the new battleship. Seems that she has a report to make and wants to see me at my earliest convenience. I need to talk to her and then send her and her battlegroup home for a short break because they’re going to be the next group to head to Shiravi to lighten the load on Kitty. Once I get her briefed, we can go play cowboys and Korvils.” He sat for a moment longer, deciding that tomorrow would be soon enough to meet with Marsha.

“I’m too drunk to do more than be thankful she’s back,” he said to Robert and flicked the switch on his comm link. “This is Admiral Hawke. Please send the following to the Raptor: Congratulations on your trials and first patrol, Captain Kane. Get some rest and meet me on Vesta at 0900. Hawke out.” He looked over at Robert. “That’s one of the few really nice things about being the Admiral. Very few people tell you no.”

“Absolutely not,” Marsha said in answer to Simon’s question about problems, and she did so with absolute conviction in her voice. “Everything went just like clockwork, Simon. Raptor Group is ready to take on any mission you set us. You’ll send at least one Shiravan ship to establish our bona fides, is my guess. I’ll swap crew with any ship willing to do so to get crews that are ready to leave now.”

She looked across the expanse of Simon’s desk and secretly thanked her lucky stars that she didn’t have his job. “I’m a ship captain. You set me a mission, and I’ll go try my best to get it done. My people feel the same way. It’s time to go really kick some Korvil ass.” She didn’t even mention the destruction of three Korvil ships in the second system they entered. It was all in the mission report lying on Simon’s desk. She could see the last page with her signature on it.

“You’re right about being a ship captain, Marsha,” Simon said to her, “but you’re also now the head of an entire combat patrol group. So far, we’ve only been sending out wolfpacks, and that only infrequently until we build up our ship strength. We’ll keep on doing so, but your group will be fulfilling a promise to send help as soon as we were able. A second human fighting force should help make good on that promise.”

Simon leaned back in his chair and said conversationally, “Well, we’ve got the big stuff out of the way. Your people get a bit of R&R. Go ahead and transfer whatever crew you need to get under way in about two weeks. I have the privilege of going out on one of Nova Group’s next patrols and get an almost real, first-time-feel for what it is we’re actually doing out here. I mean, I’m no stranger to the idea of killing someone if I have to, but I like my motives to be clear. This is my first chance to do something really meaningful since we started this whole thing.”

Marsha looked at Simon steadily. “I’ll never figure men out. You figure deliberately putting yourself in harm’s way is meaningful?” She shook her head slowly. “And my uncle is how many lightyears from here?”

“About fifty, Marsha. He was assigned to the Canopus to keep her fighters flying while Kitty leads the diplomatic mission to Shiravi. We sent the best we had. Miranda Lee captained the Canopus and Shirley Dahlquist the Vega, along with Thomas Breen of the Federal Case. They were escorted by the number two Shiravan, who showed up with the second fleet aboard a ship that we sorta rebuilt for them, showing them how to better utilize their own equipment. Plus, they got two Mambas to play with. I expect we’ll be seeing more ships with shields and the new torpedoes pretty soon.”

“I’ve got to let my mom know about this,” she said. “She worries, you know. There’s not much of our family left. Me, my mom, my uncle, and that’s it.”

“I saw to it that your uncle got leave before he shipped out, so your Mom knows about him.”

“All right, Simon,” Marsha finally said, “I’ll do it. But I’ll take you up on the ‘home first’ part. Take a few days to reassure mom.”

“Agreed,” Simon said immediately. “Make it a week, or make it two if necessary to make sure she’s comfortable with this, and we’ll get your crew situations straightened out. I just need a list of people you want and a list of alternates. If we can’t fill all your requests, you’ll just have to get used to new faces. And if you have any more questions, you’ll have to go see Personnel.”

Kitty sat at the head of the table, looking at her staff—the baron, Margit, three ship captains, and still, disconcertingly, Brandon Galway. “Okay, we’ve had three calls from the surface now. Do you still say we should wait for the Domagera to call personally? And do you think she will?”

“Of course, she will,” Margit answered immediately, waving a hand negligently. “We may be of different species, but she’s still a woman and the Matriarch. And she’ll follow Shiravan protocol. If I had money to bet with, I’d bet the next message is from Linnas herself.”

It was lucky for Kitty that no dollar value was mentioned because eight hours later, the Shiravan Domagera herself requested an audience with Kitty. The baroness intervened before Kitty could say much of anything. “Invite her aboard for the audience, since she’s the one requesting it. It will establish your dominance and allow her to see again how we’ve modified her peoples’ ideas. It is my guess that she’s been secretly fascinated with the modifications all along.”

Kitty took the microphone almost as if it were about to bite her and said, “Domagera des Harras?”

“Aya, Domagera Hawke,” came back almost immediately.

Kitty looked at Margit, who only nodded. “Let me invite you aboard the Vega to finalize our arrangements,” she said. “Would you do me the honor of coming aboard tomorrow morning?”

The few seconds’ delay was almost negligible at this distance from the planet. “I’d be honored to visit your ship, Kitty. Do you mind if I bring another with me?”

Kitty raised an eyebrow questioningly at Margit, who just shook her head and shrugged. “That will be quite all right, Linnas,” she replied. “I’ll expect you sometime shortly after first meal, Cho-An time.” She cut the circuit somewhat hesitantly, but firmly.

“It is difficult to refrain from saying I told you so, but I did, you know,” Margit said, giving her husband a superior glare. “And ending communication that way,” she said to Kitty, “was pure genius. You have established yourself as an equal, even though you control only a few thousand people to her fourteen worlds.”

Kitty grimaced. “I wish you wouldn’t keep reminding me of that,” she said morosely.

The baron grinned at his wife and said, “Even the greatest Roman emperors had a slave following them around, reminding them that they were only human, my dear,” he said. “I’ll readily agree that any one ship of yours—ours—is more than a match for one of theirs or a Korvil ship, but each of those star empires have more ships than we do. Do you really think you can do anything but bluff until our strength is built up to their level? And what is their level, or the Korvil’s for that matter?” His expression turned serious. “What do we really know about what we’re in the middle of? Certainly, I agree that we should be helping the Shiravans, but to what degree? Should we not hold something in reserve? This is a case of the pupil bettering the master, in a way, and I want to be sure the master isn’t going to be displeased.”

Kitty said, “We’ll know tomorrow. She’s bringing sel Garian with her. I’m guessing we’ll get our target then.” She sat for a moment, letting the idea sink in, and then started to stretch. First, she extended her fingers, holding the extension hard, and then balled her hands into fists. Twice she repeated this, then went on to stretch each muscle group in her arms, neck, and shoulders. Finished, she said, “I think we should all get something to eat and then get some rest. I intend to ask the doctor for something to help me sleep; otherwise, I’ll second-guess myself all night and be in no shape to act as hostess tomorrow.”

The informal end to the meeting was met with approval all around, the day having been a long one. The entire group shuffled off to the officer’s mess, eating mostly out of habit and not saying much in the presence of the odd officer who passed by at that late hour. Kitty finished and said, “First meal on Cho-An, what they call their planet, is about seven a.m. our time, so we should expect our guests to arrive at about nine.”

She triggered her comm link to the Officer of the Watch. “This is the Herald. I want you to pick out about a dozen personnel to act as honor guard for the arrival of the Shiravan leader sometime around nine in the morning.” Looking back at her group, she said, “Well, that’s about all I can think of at this time. We should meet for breakfast about seven in the morning. Until then, I’ll leave you to yourselves.” She stood up, and the males in the group did the same. “Good night, ladies and gentlemen,” she said and left the table, not looking back, her mind on a hot shower and a good night’s sleep after a short visit to the dispensary.

Kitty’s alarm went off a half hour earlier than those of everyone else on the day shift. This was intentional since she wanted the extra time to get herself under control. Never had Simon felt so far away. She desperately wished that life hadn’t dealt them the hand it had, but here she was anyway, without his quiet assurance to hold her up. She climbed out of bed and shuffled into the bathroom. Half an hour later, washed, dried, and made up, she walked back into her bedroom and found that her ever-vigilant aide had anticipated her somehow, finding her bed made and closet opened. She wondered with some degree of amusement how the girl had overridden the room’s security to find out when she was awake.

She wanted to wear the gava stone pendant in honor of the occasion, so she chose a black turtleneck over a black skirt that reached her upper knees. She strapped on a pair of three-inch heels, laughing at the thought. Nothing would ever bring her up to eye level of even another human, much less a Shiravan, but they did make her calves stand out, and Simon always said she had nice legs.

She shook herself out of her reverie and hung the silvery chain around her neck, looking into the full-length mirror on the back of the closet door. An elf looked back. The creature was dressed exactly as she was, in all black and topped with the whitest of hair. There were times when her new appearance caught up with her, and she’d freeze up. Her reflection showed hair that reached her waist and bangs that stopped just short of her equally white eyebrows. Long white lashes framed her light-blue eyes. Her appearance made her remember what she’d learned from the computer. If she was going to live as long as these Shiravans, she needed to figure out how to get the regeneration chamber to work on people who hadn’t been wounded to one degree or another.

She turned at the sound of a knock. How does she do that? She closed the closet door and crossed the room, stopping just short of the door. She took a deep breath. Lord, just let me get through this one day. She pressed the button that slid the door open and stepped through, hearing it slide shut behind her, cutting off her last retreat.

Kitty looked at her aide—she’d never refer to her as a personal assistant—and said, “Good morning, Glenda.”

The lieutenant nodded respectfully, “Good morning, Madam Herald. It would seem that most of your staff had the same idea last night. Several are already in the officer’s mess.”

“Thank you, Glenda. I guess I’ll be off then.” She didn’t know how to take this new aide. Even after a full eleven months, she seldom spoke about herself, other than her time at the Academy (which had now achieved the status of a capital A) and her time aboard the Federal Case before being reassigned just before departure. It had been nice of Thomas to let such a highly rated and classified person go just to fill out her own staff. What was her last name? It had been so long now that she almost didn’t remember. Hallawell, Glenda Hallawell. She’d been his intelligence officer, a position that had originally been called the tactical officer. Mostly, it was a position that required second guessing one’s opponent, and since the Alliance had no real data on Korvil tactics beyond three slash-and-run attacks, almost anybody with any higher-level gaming skills would do at the outset.

“Good luck with your meeting, Madam Herald, and may I say that you look stunning. Very yin/yang, if you know what I mean.”

“I remember a saying my grandfather used when it was time to make a decision,” she said, knowing the wording would be found vaguely offensive by her inherited aide. “Shit or git off the pot.” Her reminiscence achieved the expected results from the prim and proper lieutenant. “His colorful way of saying lead, follow, or get out of the way.”

She reached the door and placed her palm on the doorplate, exposing herself to the outside world. Anticlimactically, all she faced was an empty corridor. Shaking her head slightly, she turned left and headed off to fill the growing void in her middle.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Linnas gathered her nerve as she stepped into her personal shuttle. The coordinates for the Vega were well known, but the ceilings these shorter beings used made visiting difficult, unless one spent most of one’s time seated, and she was supposed to get the whole tour. Of a battlecruiser. With more decks. She was sure the Herald would show off the wonders of her ships and then try to strike some kind of bargain for their use after wearing her down with all the stooping and tromping from one area to another.

It was with a great deal of surprise then that she watched her shuttle’s controls being overridden and the whole craft being sucked into the side of the visiting warship and set down perilously close to one of the walls. She was even more surprised to find that an impromptu greeting/meeting area had been set up in one corner of the bay. The Herald stood there, oddly enough, with her chief opponent on this mission, Brandon Galway. She’d described him as a “friendly enemy” and shrugged it off on most occasions.

Rentec had come along just in case, but the Herald’s Shiravan was almost flawless now, and only the occasional odd word needed to be translated. It was her guest that she wanted to see the Herald’s reaction to. Sitha followed her down the ramp in the place usually held by the Second Voice. She watched with interest as the Herald spoke quietly to her companion, a look of bemusement on her face, if she’d learned to read human expressions at all. His expression was—the only word she could find—guarded.

“Permission to come aboard?” she asked before she stepped off the ramp.

“Granted,” the Herald answered back, “and welcome aboard the Vega, Domagera. Come sit and let us talk.” Her eyes kept returning to Sitha, whom she’d met on her first visit to the Shiravan homeworld. It didn’t keep her from following the amenities, though. “I’ve had two chairs brought down for our meeting, and since Rentec is here, another is on the way. I must confess that I, we, that is, were expecting Doma sel Garian.”

It almost seemed as if the Herald was asking why Sitha was present without quite asking. Time to see how badly she could shake up the status quo. “Doma sel Garian has decided that it’s time for a change. She has, of her own free will, chosen to end her third vocation. She’ll spend the rest of her days at Cho-An as a revered aunt. Sitha kep Parrasine has agreed to fill the post at my request.”

The Herald translated for Dom Galway, and then looked Sitha in the eye, a difficult feat for someone of her diminutive stature. “Congratulations on your new position, Policy Minister. It brings honor to the kep Parrasine clan.”

“Segala vin,” Sitha answered automatically. “Thank you, Domagera Hawke. I will strive to fulfill my Matriarch’s trust in me.”

“Of course,” Linnas said conversationally as she sat down, “Doma sel Garian will be available to her replacement for several turnings until she’s comfortable in her new position.” This was a thinly veiled hint that the mind of sel Garian wasn’t going to be wasted in retirement.

Several thousand miles away, Manura sel Garian looked at the captains of four of the most powerful battleships in the Shiravan fleet. “You’re to reach this system with all possible speed and make one, and only one, pass through it. I want the inhabitants aroused and looking for a fight when the human fleet arrives.”

“But Doma sel Garian, two of our own will be with that fleet,” one captain protested. “Won’t that be putting more of our own people at risk? And in a ship equipped with some of the latest innovations the humans have installed.”

“True, Captain, but remember that we have all the specifications on file now, and the loss of the Shumara Vacht, if it happens, while deplorable, wouldn’t be totally devastating to our cause. And I’ll be aboard that fleet as well.” Once more, she stressed her orders. “You are to take no chances on getting caught or sustaining more than minimal damage. One high-speed pass to stir up the thitura’s nest before the arrival of the humans, and then return here by a roundabout route as if you’d been on a normal patrol.” Her eyes pierced the captain’s. “You’ll report to me and me alone as soon as I return, and none of you will reveal your part in what you are about to do, ever. I’ll accept no disobedience and no deviation from my orders. Is that clear?”

The captain looked at her peers, and after a long, silent glance at each one, she said, “We are yours to command, Doma. All shall be as you wish.”

sel Garian nodded curtly. “Very well. You are dismissed. Get under way as soon as possible, and speak of none of this except to your officers until just before you enter otherspace. And impress upon them that the orders come directly from me. That should be enough to keep them quiet long enough to bury your involvement completely.” She appeared to forget that the four were present as she turned her attention to papers stacked on the corner of her desk. Raggedly, the four captains stood up and filed out of the room.

Kitty wondered what could have caused such a high-level shakeup in the Shiravan hierarchy in such a short time. She badly wanted to ask but decided to let it go for another time. “I chose the landing bay because I didn’t want you to have to stoop over for hours at a time. I have no intention of taking you on a tour of the entire ship since you already know what most of this stuff is all about, anyway. Let me know what you wish to see specifically, and I’ll escort you to that section. Or, if you wish to experience the whole ship, you can. I’ll leave that decision up to you. Otherwise, this is the only space on the Vega that has ceilings high enough for you to stand straight and relax.”

“No, Domagera Hawke, this will be just fine. Unless Sitha wishes to see anything, I’m perfectly comfortable right here.”

The new Second Voice, seeming a bit uncomfortable in her new role, said, “I see no need to explore at this time, Your Grace.”

Can it be that she is almost as surprised as I am? Kitty thought.

Brandon finally spoke up in Shiravan, surprising Kitty. “I beg your indulgence, Domagera des Harras. During the voyage here, I spoke at length with Doma sel Garian about the differences between the Alliance and the United Nations of Earth.”

Kitty had never heard quite that turn of phrase before but let it pass, filing it away under things to discuss with Freddie.

Almost before Kitty could finish filing, the Shiravan Matriarch slapped him down. Hard. “I have had extensive conversations with Domina sel Garian, Captain do’ Sirkis, and my ambassador, Dom do’ Verlas. You have a United Nations, but they are never in agreement on anything important, so why the lie? And you are lying to yourselves, at that. Maybe our kath-mora have a greater impact than I thought. At least we are never so deluded as to think that we’ll all always think alike on all matters. That’s why I have a council. I cannot know everything.”

Brandon looked her in the eye. Seated, it was much easier to do. “We have councils as well,” Brandon said.

“Yes, you do, and that is all well and good, as Doma Spencer used to say. But in our case—it is better to say in my case—I can make a decision right here, right now, and you can only go back and convey my words to your councils. If I choose to ally my people with yours, and my council decides that the basic philosophies of our two cultures are too disparate for further contact, I can overrule them without even having to give a reason. Or the reverse.

“Perhaps your race will mature more, or mine will learn to accept a culture that has a male for a supreme ruler. We are too well acquainted with male-dominated cultures—our own, in the past, and the Korvils—and even though we’re bringing our males back into the general population, we’re doing so at a controlled rate. And Dom do’ Verlas impressed me enough to make him the Ambassador to the humans. He spent almost a full turning with Doma Spencer and Dom Carter, learning your language. In the process, Maggie and Derek, as they liked to be called, learned more than a bit of Shiravan. And that is as it should be, but it isn’t why we’re here.”

Kitty eyed the woman speculatively, wondering what was next. Pushing, she asked, “Is it to set a target so we can prove we’re worthy of being your allies? Because if it is, we’re ready to leave orbit almost immediately, although I was given to understand that you’d be sending observers on each ship, as well as the Shumara Vacht herself. A battleship, two cruisers, and a carrier equipped with the innovations we have at our disposal should be able to take on almost anything in an even match.”

The Matriarch nodded in the human fashion. “Yes, that’s why we’re here.” She reached out a hand, and Sitha placed a data cube in it. Linnas set the cube in the middle of the table and pressed a button on one side. Almost immediately, a starfield formed above the cube. The supreme leader took out a collapsible pointer, human enough in design to make Kitty’s lips twitch into a small smile.

The tip of the pointer lit up as it was pushed into the pattern of stars above the cube. “Here’s the star we have in mind.” A white point turned to red. “Here is Shiravi.” Another point turned blue. “You’ll spend almost two of your weeks in transit, and, as of our last intelligence report indicates, you’ll face between five and nine ships ranging in size from destroyer-class to battleship. Korvil battleship.” She looked directly at Kitty, and just as if she was giving a lecture, continued. “The Shumara Vacht and one other will be under your command. Of course, there can be only one commander of any group of any size. So, you’ll have a battleship, admittedly Shiravan but enhanced by some of your technology, two Alliance cruisers, a Shiravan cruiser, and one of your carriers.” The last word was in English as the Shiravans had no word for what the humans had made from their technology.

“That means,” the Matriarch went on, “that you’ll bring seventy parda kellin to any confrontation.” She paused for a moment. “I feel that the name parda kellin doesn’t do your superb fighters justice. What do you call them?”

“Mambas, Domagera des Harras,” Brandon put in before Kitty could speak up. “Named after one of the most deadly creatures on our world—a thing called a snake. A body about this big around.” His forefinger and thumb made a circle that almost touched. “About this long,” he said and held his hands about four feet apart, spreading them out and back to show that the length varied, “and one bite from this snake will kill a full grown human in seconds. The venom attacks the central nervous system and paralyzes every muscle in the body, voluntary and involuntary. The heart stops, breathing stops, and you die. Quickly. Painfully.”

“You seem to know a lot about Alliance technology, Dom Galway,” the Matriarch noted. She looked at Kitty. “Is it a common thing to tell your potential enemies things about your weapons?”

“You still haven’t grasped the core difference between our factions,” Kitty said. She looked at Brandon when she said it, including him in the comment. “We of the Alliance believe that at some time or other, the nations of Earth will outlaw us, making it almost impossible to bring in new recruits. They are going to consider us their enemies because they can’t control us. It’s a failing humans have. But here’s the difference: we won’t consider them to be our enemies. They are, after all, where we came from, where some of us plan to retire to, and where most of us have relatives. It’s going to be an adventure to get new recruits, much like our first batches, Brandon. I hope you don’t think we’re going to let ourselves be cut off at the knees.

“Besides, it will be harder to sneak in spies. We know you have them in place now; we just don’t know who or how many. Actually, it doesn’t matter. As you have been told in the past, we’re going to keep the propulsion technology and weapons technology away from the bargaining table. We just don’t trust you enough. Even if you have the data and somehow manage to build a ship and weapons systems, you don’t have the technology to get the material and process it to make power cores. And you need those because nothing else on Earth will produce enough power to energize either the weapons or propulsion systems.”

Brandon just looked her in the eye and said nothing. Kitty shrugged mentally and turned back to the Matriarch. “We’ll be ready to leave orbit as soon as your observers are aboard. We have crews modifying at least one room on each vessel to accommodate your added height. Also, the gravity and lighting in those rooms will be individually controlled. We don’t want to cause any undue stress on your people.”

Aside from taking them into combat with a bunch of primitive aliens who are likely to kill them, Kitty thought.

The Matriarch stood up to her full height, with Sitha duplicating her move immediately and Kitty and Brandon a bit slower. “This time tomorrow morning, expect a small shuttle to approach each ship. Sitha will board the Vega and Domina sel Garian will board the Federal Case. The carrier gets two because both generals were equally qualified and eager to fill the post, and neither would back down.”

“So, you allowed both to go,” Kitty finished for her. “A good way to get two opinions and keep your officers happy. I approve.”

The Matriarch nodded once, acknowledging the compliment. She reached down and pressed a button on one side of the cube and the image vanished. “Take this to your Navigator and she will be able to program your course. And know this, Domagera: I already consider you an ally. It is not for my people to determine. Remember that it’s far better to have complete control than have to debate endlessly a course of action.”

She looked down at the smaller woman. “Despite what you or anyone else may think of Domina sel Garian, she has shown through her sacrifices that she has the best interests of the Shiravan people at heart, and she’ll continue with me for turnings to come. Now, we’ll leave you to your preparations. May the Spirits of Space fly with you, Katherine Hawke.” She placed her right hand on Kitty’s left shoulder. “I know what we lost in our first meeting with your people, and I have a better idea than you might think about what you’re about to sacrifice for our people. The gratitude of the Shiravan people rides with you as well.”

The matriarchal blessing apparently at an end, Linnas moved slowly toward her shuttle, Sitha accompanying her. Kitty and Brandon scrambled to get around the table and catch up with the longer-legged beings. Linnas and Sitha stepped onto the ramp of their shuttle and turned to the smaller beings. Linnas said, “Fingatha kesh, Domagera Hawke. I know that that phrase is one you can’t translate, so I will tell you that it means: Fight well and die with honor. Should you not return, your name will be inscribed on the des Harras family dusterna for all to know of your bravery and sacrifice.”

Kitty looked up at her opposite, an even more difficult business since they were now on the ramp of their shuttle. “I don’t think you’ll be adding my name to your dusterna, whatever that is, anytime soon,” Kitty said. “You told me a two-week transit. That means two weeks back as well. Add in the time it takes to scout the system, discern if your intelligence is still good, make a plan of action, and execute it. See you in eight weeks, tops.”

The Matriarch looked down at the human, a strange look on her face. “Eight weeks it is. Then I order the carvers to start on your names.” She turned and walked into the shuttle, followed by Rentec. Sitha passed the portal last, and the ramp began to rise, forcing the two humans back until it sealed itself into place as a part of the ship’s hull. Seconds later, the shuttle was lifted off the deck by the internal repulsor beams, sliding through the forcefield and into space. The nose of the craft pointed down relative to the occupants of the shuttle bay and slid out of sight.

Kitty rounded on Brandon as soon as the Shiravan shuttle was out of sight and the outer doors began to slide shut. “What is this ‘United Nations of Earth’ crap, Brandon? I thought we were going to keep this legit. The United Nations isn’t in any position to handle policy for a situation like this. Just which United Nations of Earth were you referring to?”

“That’s not a subject I’m allowed to discuss,” he said, sidestepping the issue. “I’m sorry, really I am, but you’ve known from the first that I was sent along to get the best deal I could for Earth. To use your own words, we just don’t trust you enough.”

Kitty’s mouth moved, but no sound came out. She just couldn’t find the words to express her indignation. Finally, she turned and headed for the elevator. “I need to get this cube to Navigation and then see about a captain’s meeting. I’ll call you if I need your input, Mister Galway.” The last frosty words were spoken as the elevator door slid shut on her scowling face.

Her side trip to Navigation completed, Kitty slouched in a chair in her dayroom, looking at the faces of her captains and the baron and baroness. Freddie was the first to speak. “It seems that you have something pressing on your mind, Kitty,” he said, “or is this a Madam Herald moment?”

Kitty didn’t answer for a moment, almost as if the comment hadn’t registered. “No, Freddie, Kitty is fine. I just don’t like the feel of this—sel Garian stepping down at a critical time in Shiravan history, our Mister Galway suddenly speaking for the ‘United Nations of Earth,’ whatever that may be, and us getting our traveling papers, so to speak. I’ve taken the coordinates to Navigation, and we’ll be leaving orbit tomorrow morning after we take on the Shiravan observers we’ve agreed to host. By Shiravan estimates, we’ll face between five and nine ships, mostly destroyers like we’re used to, but at least one much larger. It’s my guess that it will be just a bigger version of a destroyer since that’s all they’ve ever shown us and, supposedly, the only thing they have the plans to build. It would seem that the Korvils are no greater fans of innovation than the Shiravans.

She slouched even lower into her chair. “I heard the Matriarch say that the Shumara Vacht will accompany us because we’ve upgraded her with, and I quote, ‘some of your technology.’ Has anyone let slip that we haven’t released all of our upgrades to them?”

Thomas, Miranda, and Shirley all shook their heads in unison, and Freddie and Margit joined in. “We all understand the necessity of keeping an edge on the competition, Kitty,” the baron said. “I believe the Matriarch was just on a fishing expedition with her comment. If you didn’t react, then she’s none the wiser. She may have her suspicions based on what she’d do if our positions were reversed, but she has no real, hard data to base her assumptions on. Of course, that’ll probably change as soon as we return from our mission.”

“Hmmph,” was all Kitty would say to that. “Anyway, you three should return to your ships and get your crews ready to leave orbit. And prepare for visitors, of course. I’m glad Sitha kep Parrasine will be the observer aboard the Vega. I’d rather have her where I can keep an eye on her, and besides, it’ll make her more uncomfortable during this mission. She, in her inexperience, may make a mistake we can use later. As for the rest of the day, I’ll be in my cabin unless I’m needed. By the way, someone call Engineering to have a suite set up for Shiravan standards on each ship that a Shiravan will be on.”

She worked her way out of the chair and to her feet, the rest of her group doing the same.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

The Garmon stalked a krath on the open plains miles from his palace on the newly named planet, Garmon. Having killed the Korvil in single combat, he worked quickly to assure his powerbase and inform the rest of the race that he was now the leader. Trial by combat had been the way of ascension since time had begun. The race took the name of the ruler, and the home planet did as well. Now would be the time for someone to try to wrest control away from him. Shrewdly, he’d foreseen the necessity of making the kind of alliances that would ensure his dominance. Secret meetings with clan leaders who’d have had him beheaded before the attack on Korvilene now stood him in good stead.

As he slowly moved in on the unsuspecting animal, he thought about more than just the hunt. The danger from that was real enough. He had no weapons except his teeth, claws, and brain against a creature almost as wily as he was. Stronger, faster, and armed with two wicked horns, the krath was at least twice his own four-hundred-plus pounds. All muscle and bad temper, the beast would scent him soon enough and charge. He wondered why the beast had ever become associated with cowardly actions. Like a Garmon, it wouldn’t back down from a fight but would struggle on until it either won or was destroyed.

The problem was that the beast was so single minded that it was nearing extinction due to those very qualities the Garmon so revered. Perhaps he should order that no more be killed until their numbers had risen somewhat. Killing one singlehanded was a rite of passage, and tackling one barehanded was folly at best, unless one had something to prove, and as the new leader of the race, a new krath-hide vest would be necessary to prove his fitness to rule and hold all the Honors he’d acquired in his life.

He moved slowly closer from downwind until the animal’s head came up, wide nostrils reacting to the faint scent drifting on the fickle breeze. In the back of his mind was the thought that some distance away waited the Court of Ascension, watching to make sure that he used no weapons other than those nature had provided.

Lowering himself closer to the ground to escape the sharp eyes of the giant beast, he moved closer still. With luck and the will of the Gods, he’d be able to get close enough for a throat strike with his foreclaws or a disemboweling stroke with his hind claws. Either would work just as well. Then all he’d have to do would be stay out of reach of hooves and horns until blood loss did the rest of his job for him.

But the Gods didn’t smile on him this day. Either the wind gave him away, or the keen eyes spotted his movement through the tall grass. No matter. With a snort, the beast charged his position without any thought to its own survival. On Garmon, the rule was kill or be killed, and this beast had survived many a conflict. The scars on his hide gave evidence of that, and the many rings of his horns attested to his long life. This was no junior krath, herdless and alone. This was a cagey veteran of many battles, probably driven off by a younger, stronger male but no less dangerous for all that.

The two long, straight horns of the krath zeroed in on his position as the animal got closer. Korgan Garmon stood up to his full height. Not quite the equal of he who was nameless but being of sturdier stock, his stance was more solid. That was what had given him his ultimate edge over the nameless one in the long run, and that was what he was going to risk his life and his race’s future on. He would stand his ground and try to sidestep the lethal horns, maybe scoring a debilitating stroke, if not a killing one. A thought crossed his suddenly clear mind. Why not hamstring the animal and finish it off at his leisure? If the opportunity presented itself…

During the two weeks it took Kitty’s battle group to traverse the distance to the target planet, she had come to know the new Second Voice a bit. Not as secretive as sel Garian, at least yet, she was able to talk openly with the young woman.

Young for her race, that was to say. It turned out that Sitha was almost one hundred turnings old and had been in some form of training for her position for almost twenty years by Earth reckoning. From her, Kitty learned a lot about Shiravan culture and much more—things she passed on to the baron, the baroness, and the Vega’s captain, Shirley Dahlquist, for discussion late at night.

The Shiravans had constructed a true matriarchy in every sense of the word. From the moment when the females had taken control of the planet away from the males and separated and sequestered them until only one hundred years before, no male was seen outside a clan compound unless escorted by a female relative. Social dynamics dictated that males be in attendance at most social functions to prove the viability of each clan.

Normally, Kitty was given to understand, male children were not allowed to be born. Some form of genetic manipulation was used to keep the male birth rate down, squelching any chances of an uprising and upheaval of society by males. Some Shiravan clans, Sitha had said, had specialized in genetics after the wars, while others gave themselves over to the exploration of space, colonizing nearly twenty worlds before the Korvils had come onto the scene. Still other clans devoted themselves to the inner sciences of the mind, spawning the kath-mora.

It was the discovery of otherspace that had set the kath-mora on the road to their present position. Once one clanswoman had testified that she’d communed with the Spirits of Space while studying the ethereal drifts of light found in otherspace, others soon followed suit. Whether it was true or not, some believed, and that was enough to bring together any Shiravan female who had any powers that could be used to drive the agenda of the kath-mora forward.

It was that agenda that led to the loss of the Kreth, and its eventual arrival in human space. That same agenda had eventually led to the Isolationist movement not long after Shiravi’s first contact with the Korvils, also leading to the schism that was slowly fracturing the whole planet. That was the reason sel Garian had gone with the Second Fleet. She’d loaded the ship rosters with known and suspected kath-mora—the higher ranking, the better—to get them off the planet and let the des Harras government deal with the lower ranks.

It was sel Garian who convinced the Matriarch that those same lower orders weren’t responsible for all the damage to their society. Indeed, most of them were true believers in the Spirits of Space and their eventual triumph over the Korvils. But as more and more attacks occurred, the Witches pushed their juniors to greater acts of violence against the Expansionist des Harras government. That was why the leaders had been removed from the main body of Witches.

Most of the lower orders were just what they seemed—finders, futurists, matrimonial consultants, and spiritual guardians. sel Garian had even suggested that, in her absence, a lower order kath-mora be appointed to the Matriarch’s staff to supervise the whole remaining body of Witches. Surprisingly, she had named Tira do’ Verlas, mother of Rentec and wife of the assassinated Kirel do’ Verlas, as the best choice to fill the new post. It was a move designed to appease the remaining Witches and, at the same time, defuse the entire network of clandestine meetings and subversive actions that were sure to be promoted by the few remaining unidentified Witches.

The revelation to Rentec of his mother’s elevation to the Matriarch’s staff had been quite the sight for Kitty. The do’ Verlas line had made many significant contributions to Shiravi over the past thousand years. It just seemed like the right thing to do after Manura explained it in detail, along, of course, with easing the restrictions on males in the general population, a necessary move to free up more females for duty aboard the slowly growing fleets of ships being sent out to protect the colonies from attack. The problem was that the Shiravans had no experience with warfare and hadn’t had since the wars of a thousand years ago. But they were learning fast. Even though ship losses were on the order of four of theirs to one of the Korvils, they were learning.

Witness the attack and ground assault that had resulted in the rescue of Carter and Spencer. Ten Shiravan ships, two of them full-fledged battleships, had attacked a newly discovered Korvil outpost. Almost a dozen Korvil raiders were destroyed at a loss of two Shiravan ships, one of those a battleship. Granted, eight of those ships had been grounded, but of the other four, two had been caught completely unawares on landing approach, but the other two managed to take out two Shiravan ships by ramming. However, it was still a considerable victory and was treated as such.

Just before jumping into hyperspace, Kitty ordered that all ships drop out one day earlier than originally planned. It was her intention to use the sensor arrays to try to determine what state the target system was in and whether any intelligence could be gathered on the amount of traffic and number of ships they were about to face. She’d wanted to arrive sooner than the Matriarch expected so she’d ordered that each ship, including the Shumara Vacht, transfer power from their third power core to the engines, effectively cutting travel time by about twenty percent.

The end result was that the battle group arrived far enough outside the Korvil system that, hopefully, no sensors could detect them. Unexpectedly, their own more refined sensor arrays spotted not only a thoroughly agitated system, with Korvil ships—apparently eight in all—scurrying about the system, but an unnerving anomaly as well. Navigation said, “Madam Herald, I don’t understand why my instruments would show this, but it seems that at least four Shiravan ships have just left the system as we were entering. There’s nothing as distinctive as a Shiravan engine signature. Even ours are now different enough to distinguish without too much difficulty. The Korvils are thoroughly stirred up, and there’s no chance of surprising them now.”

Kitty looked at her own display, confirming the information, and then looked at Sitha, who’d come onto the bridge to watch the breakout from hyperspace. She just tilted her head left and right in a Shiravan shrug. “Someone is going to get cut off at the knees if this was some kind of set up,” Kitty promised. “We’ll wait here for a while to see what happens and whether the Korvils settle down. If they do, so much the better. If not, we’ll formulate another plan to accomplish our mission. We do at least have an accurate count on the number of Korvil ships in the area, their sizes and capabilities. That’s to our advantage, but we can’t get cocky. We have too few ships to make assumptions that may be unfounded. I want to see if any more ships begin to patrol the outer reaches. If they do, we take them out one at a time. And we won’t play fair. Any advantage is acceptable. Four to one odds are the best we can expect, not counting the carrier. That will stay in reserve until we need it and its cargo. Now, Comm, get me in touch with the Federal Case via whisker laser. Ask specifically for Domina sel Garian, and don’t take no for an answer.”

During the coming study period while the Korvils calmed down, she intended to have a full and in-depth discussion with sel Garian about just what constituted keeping one’s nose out of her attack plans. And she didn’t expect it to be pretty, so she planned on observers and hidden cameras.

Two days were spent watching the inner system. The Korvil ships continued to move about in seemingly random patterns, but none came close to the battlegroup holding position outside the system. One ship appeared from hyperspace near the end of the second day, entering almost halfway across the system and leaving the dirty footprint indicative of Korvil engines, destroyer class. It stayed in-system for almost twelve hours, and then jumped out on a different heading. Several hours went by before the results of the single ship’s arrival and departure made themselves felt by the Vega’s passive scans. Six of the eight enemy ships headed for the planet that had been designated as most likely to be the main outpost. The other two kept up their patrols.

Kitty looked again at her display and made a decision. “Captain Dahlquist, order all ships to start moving in slowly using the Vega as their reference. Once we’re spotted, we’re going to even the odds at the last second by launching all seventy Mambas and letting the Canopus back off for the duration of the fight. If we have at least ten Mambas in close proximity to each other, it will look like we have ten ships to their eight. Knowing what we do about their psychology, it will make them attack, thinking that their superior ability to stand grav stress and battle damage will give them the advantage. They won’t know what hit them when the Mambas break up and start after individual targets. The confusion should allow us to get the upper hand with a minimum of loss of life to our Mamba pilots.”

Before the ships could do much more than begin to power up, Comm said, “I have a tentative translation on a transmission from the single ship, Madam Herald.”

Kitty looked up from the seat she occupied in one corner of the bridge. “What do you have, Comm?”

“Ma’am, the computer says that the single ship was carrying a message that there’s been a change in leadership among the Korvils. They are no longer Korvils but something called Garmon. Apparently, someone named Korgan Garmon has staged a coup and taken power from the previous leader, demanding that all Korvils now call themselves Garmons.”

Kitty looked at Sitha. “Doma kep Parrasine, do you think this will make any difference in how we proceed against the enemy?”

Sitha made the little headshake that passed for a shrug and said, “When we first met the Korvils, they called themselves by another name, still. The only difference we could determine was the name change. Their tactics remained the same. This sheds some light on why the name changed, but I have no idea what a change in leaders will do to their policy towards anyone not Korvil. It made no difference last time, and I see no reason to suspect that it will change anything now.”

Shirley had waited throughout the exchange between Kitty and her Comm officer before beginning the mission she’d been given. She raised one eyebrow at Kitty, who just said, “Captain, you have your orders. You’re in charge of the attack and retreat from this system. I’m now officially an observer.”

Captain Shirley Dahlquist, once a student at Denver Community College, commanded more firepower than any fleet in human history when the Shiravan battleship Shumara Vacht and her destroyer escort, a last-minute replacement called Ligara Keer-sa, were added in. Now, she sat in command of a full battle group over forty lightyears from Earth and prepared to issue orders that would get some of her best friends killed. She looked around the bridge of the Vega and said, “Comm, send this tight beam to all ships: move into the inner system dead slow until we are spotted. At that time, the Canopus will launch all Mambas and back off. Mambas will form as five tight groups of ten and keep that formation until I order otherwise. We’ve rehearsed this enough times that no more need be said at this time. Shumara Vacht, you’ll enter behind the Vega and the Federal Case, and Ligara Keer-sa, save yourself for emergencies.”

The ships began to move forward slowly as a group, spreading out in a preplanned fan that would require the enemy to split their forces. The Canopus moved along with the rest until the two ships on patrol noticed the battle group several hours later than Shirley figured they should have. The Canopus launched her chicks and slowed her forward momentum, letting the main group outpace her. In five groups of ten, the Mambas drove toward the two enemy ships. Twenty more Mambas sat in readiness in the launch tubes of the Vega and the Federal Case in the event they were needed.

The two Korvil patrol ships, now Garmon, moved with a swiftness that had to be causing stress on their power systems. They moved directly toward the oncoming threat, sending messages back to the planet that an attack was in progress, but not one message was directed toward the invaders. The two Garmon ships never slowed down. Sensors showed that all offensive systems of the enemy were fully powered up, as well as several defensive systems.

Shirley looked at her screens and ordered, “Vega, Federal Case, attack at will. Take out those two ships. You have the shields to offset their weapons, and I want them destroyed in total before we have to deal with their reinforcements as well.”

Without hesitation, the Vega’s helm officer moved the ship into the path of the oncoming enemy. Kitty silently congratulated her. The Federal Case was noticeably slower in moving into position, but she was still in place before the enemy ships arrived. The Vega’s point defense took out the missiles aimed at her with ease, the Federal Case doing the same. The return fire crippled both ships, leaving them twisted, drifting wrecks bleeding air, hardware, and flash-frozen bodies.

The five ships moved farther into the system, watching for a response from the planet. The five groups of Mambas moved along with them, the Canopus bringing up the rear in the event that a fighter that hadn’t been totally destroyed could be rescued. To anyone who might be manning sensors planet-side, it looked like eight ships were moving in on the outpost planet, and it wasn’t long before six more ships were headed out toward the invading fleet.

Seven ships moved away from the planet, one more than anticipated, but Shirley deployed her forces to meet the oncoming threat. The newly named Garmon fleet followed the same attack pattern as usual, depending on their unusually high tolerance of gravity changes to accomplish their objectives. It was a shame for them that they ignored the human propensity to improve on existing technology.

The Vega’s Comm officer reported the departure of a small ship headed in the general direction of what was assumed to be the Garmon homeworld.

It was obvious from the quick response and the attack pattern that the Garmons didn’t expect any reaction other than what they were used to. It never occurred to the clan leader that humans would be working in concert with the Shiravans at this early stage of the war on this side of Garmon space. The only problem was that that particular assumption was so very wrong.

The Garmon fleet commander saw eight ships inbound and, working under the assumption that the attackers were solely Shiravans, sent his entire fleet out to attack and destroy the presumptuous interlopers. Somehow, the fact that two over-gunned destroyers had failed to report in after their initial contact with this fleet apparently never made it to the fleet commander’s attention before he ordered his forces to attack—that, or it made less than no difference. A report to his clan leader describing the destruction of eight enemy ships was sure to earn him another Honor for his vest.

Clan Leader Zerrk Bardak expected no less than what normally occurred in the event that Garmon and Shiravan forces collided—victory for the Garmons and total, unreported defeat for the Shiravans. Either way, seven more ships flew into the human/Shiravan meatgrinder.

In the normal course of events for the Garmons, seven ships versus eight was virtual suicide for the eight, if they were Shiravan. And it was actually six Garmon to seven Shiravan as far as the Garmon clan leader was concerned. One of the Shiravan ships was slowly falling behind, an easy target once the others were disposed of.

He’d already sent word of the attack to the new homeworld. It would take several days for the small courier ship to make the passage, but with luck, there would be survivors for him to send to his new Lord as a gesture of fealty, since he’d been unable to attend the oath-binding ceremony in person. One thing aboard the courier was his written oath, but he’d soon have to make the journey in person. What better way than with a hold full of captives for the new Lord to play with?

The clan leader sat in his command center, watching the battle unfold in as close to real time as possible, and the closer the enemy came, the shorter the delay. The battle would take place too far out for him to make personal decisions. Several minutes would pass before his words could reach the fleet commander, and the same would pass before he could receive a reply. So, all he could do was rely on one of the best commanders in the Garmon fleet, no small Honor, to apply the proper tactics to the situation.

Garmon ships were far more heavily armored than Shiravan ships. Missiles that would penetrate a Shiravan ship just dented Garmon hulls, and the ability of the Garmons to operate in higher grav conditions was a direct result of living on a high-gravity world. Those two advantages had stood the Garmons in good stead for over two hundred cycles. There was no reason to think that anything different would happen now. It was just bad luck on the enemy fleet commander’s part that he’d happened to pick this particular system to invade.

It was almost with a sense of boredom that watched the screens as the two fleets closed upon each other. The first indication that all was not well was when five of the enemy ships broke apart without a shot being fired. What had been five distinct ships suddenly turned into a cloud of smaller ships all darting in different directions.

No, not different directions, he realized too late. He also realized what his fleet commander had already found out the hard way, but there was still no way he could influence the outcome of the battle. Frustration made him jump to his feet, his chair falling over, the clatter unnoticed. The small ships that had held so tightly together that they seemed like separate, distinct ships, now began to move around the space occupied by his six clan ships, trying to move in on their more unprotected rear. He could see a few, too few, being destroyed as they tried to flank his fleet.

His one bit of joy came from the fact that they’d have too hard a time trying catching up to the battle to do any significant damage before the remaining three ships were destroyed. All Garmons feared the little fighters the Shiravans used. They’d been tried on several occasions, but being alone was something the Garmons weren’t able to accept for prolonged periods of time. Even the courier had a crew that numbered almost twenty, providing enough companionship to prevent the Gods from taking the minds of the crew. Pilots who flew alone were too susceptible to going mad from the solitude, and the fighter angle had been discarded decades before.

He reseated himself, an aide setting the chair back in place, until he saw the small ships performing maneuvers he knew were patently impossible for Shiravans to manage. Only Garmons could handle the stress these ships were putting themselves through, but it was happening nevertheless. Weapons fire poured from his ships toward the enemy fleet, doing remarkably little damage. Conversely, the fire coming from the three ships still in front of his fleet was making itself visibly felt. Even at this distance, he could see that two of his ships were already starting to lag behind, a sure sign that they were experiencing severe difficulties. And the two forward patrol ships were noticeably absent.

It was at that same moment he noticed that the small fighters had made very high-speed turns, coming in behind his ships almost in unison. Now his instruments could make out almost fifty of the small enemy ships flying up behind his ships, and he realized he’d been outmaneuvered. The fleet discovered the same thing, but they could do no more than he.

Two of his ships were vaporized by repeated salvos of some kind of missile he’d never seen before, and two others were taken out by the swarm of tiny ships plaguing their unprotected rears. All Honor left him was to take some of these demon ships with him into the Great Dark as a tribute to the Gods.

“Send to the fleet commander: ram the lead ship,” he ordered. His comm officer didn’t even hesitate but only repeated the orders that would be received minutes later by the slowly deteriorating fleet of Garmon ships.

The fleet commander didn’t even bother to send an acknowledgment. He ordered their course corrected to do as ordered, followed by the last remaining ship in his until then undefeated fleet. “Point defense, take out as many of those damnable missiles as possible. We go to the Gods with slaves to serve us for all of eternity.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The Vega’s navigator, helm officer, and comm officer clamored for attention at the same time. Shirley chose Nav first. “Report,” she said, knowing from her own scans what was happening.

“Ma’am, the last two ships have adjusted course to ram us.”

“Comm, what do you have?”

“Ma’am, translation agrees with Nav. We’ve been targeted for ramming by the two remaining ships.”

Kitty found out what the extra bridge crew was for at Shirley’s next set of orders. She’d thought they were there in the event that someone needed to be replaced, but she hadn’t figured on Shirley’s planning. “Execute plan Alpha,” Shirley said, and three crewmen standing positions behind several stations moved to surround Kitty and move her off the bridge.

“Shirley, what are you doing?” she demanded.

“Keeping the Terran Herald safe at all costs, per my orders from Admiral Hawke, Madam Herald,” she replied. “You’re being removed to the safest spot in the fleet, along with the Shiravan observer. That means you’re being sent to the Canopus until the last chance of any harm to either of you passes.” Throwing a short, stony gaze Kitty’s way, she added, “Don’t even think about fighting this, Kitty. I have my orders and priorities, and so do my crew. Don’t make their job any harder than it already is. And I’m truly more afraid of Simon than I am of you.”

It seemed the work of seconds only before she was being hustled aboard an already prepped shuttle, waiting for Sitha and the rest of her staff, the baron and baroness, to arrive from other parts of the ship. In the meantime, she felt the telltale vibration of the Vega’s launch tubes spitting out more Mambas to interpose between the oncoming collision. Tears in her eyes, she watched as Sitha was hustled aboard and the hatch closed.

She looked into the cockpit and said, “Patch us in to the Vega’s comm system, please.”

“Aye, Ma’am,” the pilot said. “Vega control, this is shuttle one launching solo. All passengers are accounted for.” The vibrations that followed proved to her that this wasn’t a drill. Soon, she could see on the pilot’s screen that the shuttle was clear. Oddly, she could only count nine Mambas pulling away from the Vega, firing selectively at the oncoming hostiles. She was about to sit down and try to explain to Sitha what was happening when one more dot escaped from the Vega’s proximity—the tenth Mamba she hadn’t been able to account for.

“Vega, this is Dahlquist,” she heard over the comm system. “I’m taking charge of forward point defense. All Mambas form on me and stop those two ships. Canopus Mambas, target engine compartments and missile storage areas. Stop those two ships before they reach the Canopus. We need to have somewhere for you to land after this is over.”

Kitty felt her heart sink. “God damn it, Shirley,” she muttered. “If you live through this, I’m gonna kill you.”

Sitha, having a working knowledge of human language, asked, “What transpires, Katherine?”

“We’re being moved to a position of safety,” she answered bitterly, “while the Vega’s captain is taking the lead Mamba out to stop those ships from ramming her own ship. She started out as a Mamba pilot and seems to want to end as one as well.”

“A noble gesture, Madam Herald,” Sitha said quietly. “Her name will be inscribed on the dusterna of the Matriarch, as well as the kep Parrasine dusterna. Her story will be told for generations and her memory will not die.”

The shuttle pilot interrupted. “Madam Herald, the Vega is attempting to evade the ram, but the enemy is adjusting course. Mambas from behind are trying to get shots at the engines, but it looks like the emissions from those Korvil engines are fouling their sensors. No one is getting a good lock. I predict collision in twenty seconds.”

“I’ve got to watch this,” Kitty apologized to her guest, the words choking her. “Please excuse me for a few minutes.” She slipped into the cockpit and stood between the two chairs as the shuttle moved toward the Canopus. Dots of light, Mambas from the Canopus and the Vega, winked out one at a time as the two ships drew closer together. One, not totally destroyed by some freak chance, spiraled away from the battle and drifted in the direction of the target planet.

Not knowing Kitty stood behind him, the co-pilot exclaimed loudly, “Direct hit on enemy engines! The vessel is no longer under power. It looks like a near miss instead of a direct ram.” At that moment, the two dots of light collided in the display and silence reigned in the cockpit.

Both vessels appeared to be unpowered now, drifting apart like a couple of billiard balls. The swarm of Mambas finally took out the last ship and then made short work of the drifting attacker, its dot disappearing from the screen in a small flash as its atoms were spread among the stars.

Kitty reached out and grabbed the microphone. “Vega, this is Hawke. Status report.” The voice she used was the one Simon had taught her, with difficulty, over the years. Now, under stress, it came naturally.

“Madam Herald, this is the Vega. We’ve suffered massive damage to our port side and multiple casualties throughout the ship. Landing bays are nonfunctional. Surviving Mambas should attempt to rendezvous with the Canopus. Internal systems are failing. It’s possible that we’ve had a power core breach. Four Mambas do not respond, including Captain Dahlquist’s. We’ll hold on as long as possible. Vega out.”

By this time, the shuttle had reached the Canopus, and Kitty was off the shuttle, heading for the bridge so fast that the longer-legged Sitha was hard pressed to keep up. Kitty spoke into her wristband. “Canopus Control, this is the Herald. Move forward and pick up your chicks. Assign ten to follow the damaged Mamba toward the planet and intercept if possible. Also, send to the Federal Case: launch all shuttles and save as many of the Vega’s crew as possible. Launch yours as well. There may be a power core breach and we need to get that ship evacuated as soon as possible.”

“Aye, Madam Herald,” came back almost immediately. “Shuttle crews have been alerted to report to their stations on the double. Contact with the Vega is spotty, but they understand that rescue efforts are under way.”

Shortly, Kitty walked onto the bridge and found a solidly functioning crew bringing ships into the bays while others worked to coordinate the rescue attempt of the damaged fighter still drifting toward the hostile planet. She found Miranda Lee trying to stay on top of all aspects of the various operations. “How goes it?” she asked quietly.

“As well as can be expected, Kitty,” she said informally. “You know that the single Mamba is Shirley’s?”

A cold wave passed up Kitty’s spine. “No, I didn’t. Let me have a microphone.” She took Comm’s seat and keyed the mike. “Federal Case, this is the Herald. Launch all Mambas to provide cover for the rescue efforts for the Mamba headed for the planet. Shirley’s flying it. I want her back here in one piece so I can kill her personally.”

The response astonished her. “Madam Herald, this is Captain Breen. Launching all Mambas will leave this ship without any mobile defense. Do you wish to reconsider?”

Kitty looked at Miranda in astonishment. She keyed the mike and said harshly, “Captain Breen, if all of your Mambas are not headed for that planet within two minutes, I’ll have you relieved and placed under arrest. Captain Dahlquist needs your assistance, and you will respond with all due haste. Have I made myself clear?”

Interstellar static hissed through the speakers for five seconds until the response came. “All Mambas are launching now, as you command, Madam Herald.” Did she hear annoyance in his voice? “Nav says it won’t be possible to interdict before the damaged ship reaches the planet’s atmosphere. Do you have any further instructions?”

“Yes,” Kitty said, keying the mike with something close to anger. “Send your captain’s gig along to pick Shirley up if she makes it to the surface alive. We’ll speak in private later. Hawke out.”

Something like nine years had passed since Kitty had first set foot aboard a Shiravan ship. During that time, she’d learned many things—some of them from Simon and some of them from those she chose to surround herself with. Among those were people with military training, be it Army, Navy, Marines, or Air Force, and one lesson she’d learned was that a stern chase was the longest, hardest maneuver to execute. This was precisely because, usually, the leader was under power. In this case, however, the Mamba carrying Shirley was not under power, and it wasn’t even known if she was still alive. Scans of her ship gave no clue since the distance was too great, only reporting that minimal power remained, possibly having been rerouted to life support or just the normal functioning of a damaged craft devoid of a living pilot.

A total of twenty Mambas, followed at a distance by the Federal Case’s captain’s gig, arrowed in toward the planet and the sole Mamba trapped by the gravity well of the slightly larger than Earth-sized planet. Kitty ached to be in one of the small fighters but resigned herself to being held hostage to her position. Nonetheless, the bitter taste in her mouth stayed.

She ordered Miranda to move the carrier closer to the planet to facilitate the recovery of the Mambas on their return and allow something closer to real-time information on the rescue attempt. In the meantime, shuttles from the stricken Vega began to arrive with survivors of the ramming. Most were not hurt at all, some few needed attention, and a very few needed more complicated attention. The sad fact of space combat was that in most cases, you either lived or died. There was very little middle ground. Still, the loss of life astonished her, as well as the number of survivors.

Of almost five hundred personnel aboard, only three hundred and forty-one had been transferred to the Canopus before the Vega was declared clear of survivors. Intensive scans and room-to-room searches confirmed that fact, and Kitty finally ordered the ship scuttled—a wet navy term, she knew, but appropriate. Charges were set to destroy the magnetic containment fields on the three power cores, and any piece larger than a car was blasted by Mambas with laser fire to deprive the enemy of any technical data from the wreckage.

Still, the more important issue was the lone Mamba. An astonished bridge crew came to life when sensor data reported that the little ship had applied power to enter the atmosphere at an angle that would let it reach the surface intact. “It’s still going to require a lot of luck on Shirley’s part, Kitty,” Miranda warned.

“Not as much as you might think, Miranda,” Kitty replied. “Remember, Shirley qualified almost as high as you in Mamba training. What I see is a pilot who’s shepherding her power. She kept to minimal life support until she needed power to the engines. My bet is that she’s going to try to glide as far as she can, reserving as much as possible right up until the last minute.” She was silent for a moment, then added, “Of course, her speed will have to remain high to have any control if she’s dead-sticking, but once she nears the ground, she should be able to use her antigravs to set down.”

“Assuming she has that much power left,” Miranda responded. “It’s just what I would do of course, but we don’t know the extent of her damage or what kind of terrain she’ll have to land on.”

Miranda’s Comm officer broke in. “Reports coming in from the rescue ships now. They’ve got her power-up on sensors and are following her down. Still no comm chatter. The first ship should be hitting atmosphere ten minutes behind Captain Dahlquist.”

If the confines of a Mamba’s cockpit had let her, Shirley Dahlquist would be kicking herself. Hard. Her computer and comm system were out, power reserves were minimal, and she was going down on a planet that was populated by over-sized man-killing aliens with bad attitudes. As she dipped farther into the atmosphere, she could literally see the power indicator dropping. She cut all shields, hoping to reserve that power for the landing she prayed to survive. How she was going to get back was problematic.

Everything would depend on her skill at repairing whatever damage she’d sustained, and she wouldn’t know that until she got down and inspected the ship. Of course, that was if she didn’t have to fight off giant predatory teddy bears while she was doing it. Passive scans of the surface showed the high-grav planet was only lightly populated, or at least there was very little in the way of infrastructure except near the coastlines. She aimed her ship into the interior of the largest continent below her and looked for a level space to set down.

A high-pitched whine insinuated itself as she dipped low enough to make out distinct features of the alien landscape. A hurried examination revealed that her cockpit seal was beginning to melt away. At the same time, she noticed the rosy glow coming from the front of her ship. Friction was heating the super-hardened metal of her ship’s skin to the point that it was melting seals that weren’t composed of the same material. A Mamba was not, after all, designed to fly through atmosphere without the extra protection of at least the forward shields to dissipate the heat.

She decided to sacrifice speed and maneuverability in hopes that the seal would last until she could get down. It was certain that she wasn’t going to be flying that ship back into space without the seal, and she knew her spares compartment didn’t carry anything that would serve. Her prospects looked grimmer as she got closer to the ground. She determined that she’d save the last shot in her pistol for herself. The stories she’d heard about Carter and Spencer’s treatment at the hands of these aliens were bad enough, and the pictures just fortified her resolve.

Scans showed no indications of life in a large flat area directly ahead, and she aimed her craft toward it. The ground came up at alarming speed until she cut in her antigravs. Power levels dropped drastically as soon as she did, but she was only about two hundred feet above the ground at that point. She deployed her landing gear and aimed for an opening in a grove of trees.

Recalled from a hunt, Zagrrt Bardak—son to the clan leader—studied the scans and watched as one small fighter dropped toward his domain. He called the landing field and ordered his flyer readied for flight. With his only courier already past his ability to recall, all he could do was take out this one alien and hope that he survived long enough to report to homeworld the ignominious defeat of his hand and two of ships. These accursed humanz—for that was all they could be—weren’t predictable enough to use standard tactics on. Much like the krath he hadn’t had time to finish earlier due to the arrival of this fleet of ships, it appeared that the only way to win was to use vastly superior numbers, which he’d never had. Why they were so much more adept at combat was a mystery to him. All reports said that they’d only been in space for a handful of years. How had these humanz gained the expertise to fight so well? Certainly not from the Shiravans, whom they’d been beating at will for over two hundred cycles.

Still, this one would be a diversion while he awaited a reply from Homeworld Sensor Security. Sensor techs kept him apprised of the intruder’s path as it fell lower into the atmosphere. He’d be minutes behind the alien, taking great pains to make his demise last long enough to appease his own anger at the loss of his clan’s ships.

Shirley pried her cockpit open, cursing the failed seal, and climbed out onto alien soil. “I wish it didn’t have to be here,” she muttered, staring at the partially melted seal. She walked around her ship, gauging the damage. The engines appeared to be intact, but there was a gaping hole in the skin of the ship just forward of the flux converter. Not an impossible problem to fix, given time, but she feared she didn’t have that much time to spare. And the damage had effectively welded her repair compartment shut so she couldn’t reach her tools.

Her only hope now was to get a message out to the fleet and hope for rescue if they hadn’t written her off and moved on out of the system after taking out all the enemy ships. So. Power she had aplenty; the problem was to get it to her comm system. Another look at the damaged hatch gave her an idea. She pulled her laser out and checked the charge level. Full. Twenty full-power shots.

Dialing the intensity down, she aimed at the access hatch, hoping to open it without damaging the internal systems. Three shots and she had a hole she could reach into and hopefully reroute power to the comm system. Holstering the weapon, she reached inside the jagged hole, ignoring the burns to her forearms as she tried to feel her way through the process of getting power from the core to the cockpit while a part of her mind listened for any unusual sounds, although she had no idea what was unusual on an alien planet.

After a short time, she climbed back into the cockpit to see if she’d made any progress, not being able to tell through the ragged hole in the side of her ship. As she pulled herself up, she felt the full effects of this larger planet—twenty percent more than she was used to she guessed as she grunted with the effort of getting back into the ship. Her heart leapt at the sight of the lights aglow on her comm panel. Not only had she restored power to her comm system, but she could get the ship off the ground, although the melted seal still wouldn’t let her get back into space.

Cockpit still open, she keyed her mic, calling for the fleet she hoped was still in the vicinity. “Battle Group Vega, this is Dahlquist. Respond. I repeat, this is Dahlquist. Respond.”

Not really expecting a reply, her heart skipped a beat when an answer came. “Captain, this is Flight Leader Simms. We are inbound for your position. Be aware that we have a bogey on our screens that will arrive at your position ten minutes before we’re able to get there. Are you able to move your ship?”

“I am now,” she replied, her voice choking on the words. “But I’m not able to get above atmosphere. I’ll need another ship to get out of here in one piece.”

“Captain, this is Simms. We’re escorting a gig to pick you up, but you’ll have to protect yourself until we arrive. Good luck and good hunting. Simms out.”

The curt response told her that she’d better not waste any time getting airborne. Fighting to get her cockpit as sealed as possible, she also hit her scans and immediately saw the incoming bogey—a bit larger than her own ship but certainly not faster or more maneuverable. Pouring power to the antigravs, she lifted above the treetops and visually searched for the bogey. Gaining altitude, she finally saw with her own eyes what her screens had shown for the last minute—a single ship heading in her direction at high speed. She activated her forward shields and accelerated directly toward the bogey, firing her lasers. Early, it seemed, since they missed by a fair percentage, or perhaps her targeting computer needed to be realigned as well.

The two ships passed each other, and Shirley got the impression that her opponent’s vessel wasn’t designed for extra-atmospheric flight. “Just as well,” Shirley muttered to herself as she turned her ship for a second pass. This time, she armed two of her torpedoes and, shields at maximum, decided to take a page from her enemy’s book. “If you like to play chicken, then let’s go ahead and play,” she said aloud. Realizing that talking to herself was a bad sign, she shut up and monitored the rescue frequency with a small part of her mind while the rest closed down into the moment.

Advantages, she thought, were that she was more maneuverable, faster, and had more powerful weapons. Her disadvantages were being stranded on an alien planet, her lack of knowledge of the terrain, her inability to disengage from the enemy, and no backup against an enemy who thought mutual suicide was preferable to a win/lose situation. She checked her scans and found the bogey closer than she’d anticipated, barely finding time to fire at pointblank range as they passed again, wingtips almost touching. Both missiles missed and streaked off into the distance. She hadn’t had time to set them for target acquisition.

Snapping her ship around, she found that her opponent had anticipated her move and was boring in on her before she’d time to even twitch the controls. Only her forward shields kept her from becoming a mangled wreck as the aircraft was deflected to one side, striking her port stabilizer instead of hitting her head on. The ground came up at her unbelievably fast, and she barely had time or control enough to get her ship level before she hit the ground, skipping like a stone on a pond until her nose plowed a long, narrow furrow in the ground.

She jolted to a stop as her ship’s nose hit some underground impediment, bruising her everywhere a strap was holding her in her seat. She tried to raise the canopy and found that her left arm wasn’t answering her commands. Unbuckling herself, she stood up, bent over, and pressed her back against the clear material until it finally gave way. Without landing gear deployed, the drop to the ground was a lot less, a good thing considering the higher gravity. With her left arm hanging limply at her side, she grabbed her comm link and survival pack and slid down the skin of the once-beautiful ship, moving into the tall grasses surrounding her on all sides.

Her enemy’s aircraft passed directly overhead, and she raised her laser, dialed to full power, and scorched a line from nose to tail, hearing a change in the engines as the beam reached the aft portion of the craft. Whether this was because of her shot or because he was landing, she didn’t know and didn’t care. Changing directions at random, she moved away from the spot she’d been standing in, stopping only when the sound of the damaged aircraft scraping up dirt and rocks died away. Silence reigned, and she imagined the pictures of the dead Korvils she’d been shown during orientation classes so long ago. Remembering the face, she focused her mind on the nose. These aliens had to have a very good sense of smell, and she was leaving a trail a baby Korvil could follow.

Pawing onehanded through her pack, she found a long-bladed knife and slid it into her right boot. Taking a second laser she stuck it into her belt after checking the charge—three-quarters full, not unusual for a weapon stored for as long as this one had surely been. It matched her own after that last full-powered shot against the aircraft. Looping a fifty-foot length of rope over her good right shoulder, she tossed the rest of the pack aside and moved again, keeping low to the ground, hoping that the grasses, taller than she by far, weren’t giving her position away. Where she was, not a single breath of air stirred the thick stalks, but her passage had to cause some of the tops to move. If her opponent was tall enough to see the movement…

Zagrrt climbed out of his craft, flexing his muscles and assessing the damage he’d sustained in the landing, but it was nothing that would keep him from stalking and killing this puny human. Senses alert for any sign of its movement, his ears swiveled independently of each other, much like radar as he attempted to locate his prey. It would surely have moved from its last position by now. He’d start at the downed craft and trace its path from there.

The tall prairie grasses kept him from locating it by the movement of the grass tops from the ground, so he jumped up onto the highest point of the alien’s craft and scanned the area. Some distance off, he could see the grasses moving. He watched for a short time, lips skinned back in a feral grin. The alien was lost and moving in circles. This wasn’t going to be as hard as he’d expected. Somehow, the thought didn’t please him as much as he’d thought it would. A worthy adversary would earn him another Honor, but a stumbling human, lost and alone, wasn’t enough for that.

Shirley expected to be tracked by smell rather than sight, so she made it as hard as possible for her enemy. She moved in a large circle, actually surprising herself by coming back to her starting point, and slid the rope off her shoulder. Tying one end to a tightly packed clump of grasses about four feet off the ground outside her circle, she ran the rope out into the center where she hid. Hopefully, she’d confused her trail enough that if she could just get the Korvil to stand in one particular spot and look away from her position, she could shoot him in the back. She had no compunctions about it at all. Injured and tiring rapidly from the higher gravity, it was the only recourse she had left in this terrain. If only she could have faced him on open ground.

Zagrrt’s sense of smell, excellent at the worst of times, magnified itself as he went into hunting mode. Sight was no help in this environment, but he only needed his nose and bare hands. Already, he’d scented what he could only deduce was the smell of human fear. He pulled a single stalk of grass out of the ground and smelled its length carefully. His mind’s eye gave him a description of the alien. Male or female didn’t matter, but size did. This one was small by his standards, standing less than shoulder height. He dropped the stalk and moved on. Crossing the alien’s trail, he moved onto it, looking down for footprints.

Finding a depression in the packed soil, he bent down slowly, all senses alert, and sniffed at the find. Definitely fear, he thought, standing back up and moving along the trace he’d found. Now he stared into the grasses on both sides of the trace, looking at waist level for anything that didn’t fit the patterns of grasses he passed through.

Shirley felt the alien as he moved toward her. The ground actually shook a bit as he strode along her path, perhaps feeling himself to be the king of his domain and not needing to resort to stealthy movement. Perhaps his arrogance would be his downfall. Time would tell. And soon. She’d covered the rope with bits of dirt and detritus where it crossed the path she’d made in the grass, tied a loose loop in the free end, and put her foot into the loop. When he passed, she’d twitch her foot. He’d see the grass move in a spot where she wasn’t, and she’d shoot him. Simple plan. Simple ones were the best, Simon had said once, long ago. Unnecessary complexity just messed things up.

Out of the corner of one eye she saw a movement. Tensing up, she held the laser in her lap, pointed up at an angle that would intersect the alien’s chest if she had figured things right. As he came even with her position, she held her breath, twitched her foot and let the rope move the grass on the outside of her circle. The alien froze. He started to move away from her but then leapt straight backwards to land in front of her, only a few feet away. Shirley smelled the rancid odor of a Korvil in full hunting mode and fired her laser. Fear caused her to miss the chest shot she’d hoped for, and she only lopped off one arm. The other came down on her like a sledgehammer, knocking her flat on her back and sending her laser flying into the concealing grasses.

She scrabbled for the second pistol in her belt, but the Korvil landed on her chest, his massive arm pressing down on her. Her injured left arm was pinned against her breast leaving her almost defenseless. Close to five hundred pounds of intelligent hunting carnivore leaned down and snarled in her face. She could feel the second laser being pressed into her pelvic bone and her ribs cracking as he leaned down, his breath choking her. Or perhaps it was just his weight on her chest and abdomen. The Korvil’s remaining hand grasped her by the throat and squeezed, only this time no sound came out. He leaned closer, lips skinned back, baring a true predator’s teeth. He raked his teeth down the side of her face and neck, toying with her.

He sniffed the blood running down the side of her mangled face and licked it, bringing a shudder to her body, pinned as she was. Her right hand, still free, sought the last weapon she had—the knife in her boot. Pulling it loose, she brought it up just as the Korvil let go of her throat. His intent was clear. He meant to tear her throat out and let her bleed to death in the tall grasses of this alien world. As his head came down, mouth open, she brought the knife up and into view just long enough to stab it into one oddly beautiful green eye. He screamed, and she pushed harder, driving it into his brain. Death came instantly… for him. He collapsed on top of her—lifeless, immensely heavy, and totally unmovable.

Her death was going to be slower, she realized. Unable to move the massive body off her, she’d slowly suffocate under the weight. She finally stopped struggling against the inevitable and let herself relax. Death would claim her soon enough anyway. At least she’d taken one more with her. She started feeling light-headed and heard a distant buzzing in her ears.

Then oblivion claimed her.

Book 4

When One Door Closes

PROLOGUE

Terran Alliance Herald Katherine Hawke was pissed. After years of not knowing the origin of the spaceship she and her husband Simon had found, she was now in negotiations with the owners of said ship over forty lightyears from Earth.

She’d offered to show the Shiravan Matriarch the expertise of the Alliance cruisers built by the Shiravan colony ship and upgraded by human ingenuity but had found herself in a pitched battle against twice the numbers she’d been led to expect. On top of that, one of her captains had deserted her command chair in favor of a Mamba to fight ahead of the fleet and had been shot down over an enemy planet.

But more than that flavored her attitude. Their entrance into the system had coincided with Helm’s declaration that Shiravan class engines had been detected leaving. So many Garmon ships were buzzing around that it had taken two days for things to settle down so they could make their attack approach.

Simon had spent almost twenty years in the military or intelligence work. He’d once quoted an old Chinese general, Sun Tzu: No battle plan survives contact with the enemy. Truer words were never spoken, she thought, teeth clenched against inventive colorful language. The Vega was a mass of wreckage, the survivors split up among the other ships of the fleet. She suspected another captain of being a traitor, and a flight of Mambas and a shuttle were streaking toward the alien stronghold trying to save Shirley Dahlquist.

Five Mambas flew high cover, sensors stretched to the limit. Nothing showed on any screen, and the flight leader finally allowed the gig to land near the indicator that revealed Captain Dahlquist’s position. Those same sensors said that she was barely alive and fading fast. Two medics jumped out of the craft as it hit the ground, tracking the signal from Shirley’s wristband. Fifty feet away in the tall grass, they found a sight that would stay with them for the rest of their lives—a full-grown Garmon lying dead on top of a small, frail human, her knife wedged deep into one of its eye sockets. Her injuries were many. A cracked collar bone, broken arm, broken ribs and a punctured lung were the worst of it, but the growing bruise on the side of her head said concussion louder than any words could. Secretly, one of the orderlies managed to remove the knife from the Garmon to give to Captain Dahlquist as soon as she was able to receive it.

Once clear of the atmosphere, the gig accelerated toward the Canopus, the pilot calling for a doctor to be on hand as soon as they landed. Five Mambas escorted the gig while the other fifteen had a field day attacking undefended targets all around the enemy planet until Miranda ordered their recall. Reluctantly, the fifteen pilots headed out and away from the planet, knowing the reputation of a captain that they’d better not cross.

Sitha was on hand with Kitty when the gig grounded in the landing bay and followed her as she followed the stretcher into the bowels of the Canopus to the med lab. Kitty paced the corridor while Sitha slumped in the low ceilings of the human ship. Kitty finally realized her discomfort and sent one of the guards to bring a Shiravan chair from the observer’s cabin. He returned minutes later with the requested chair and one for Kitty as well. She sat down for all of thirty seconds before resuming her pacing.

Finally, the doctor stepped out of the lab, a glum look on his face. “I’m afraid I’ve done all I can, Madam Herald,” he said. “She’s not dead, but she needs far more than I can do onboard. She needs specialists that are forty lightyears away. I don’t know how long she has, but it’s measured in weeks, if not days. The internal injuries are just too severe for me to handle without a full medical team and hospital to back me up.”

Kitty’s head dropped to her chest, tears streaming from her eyes, but help came from an unexpected source. “I have a suggestion to make, if you’re willing to try it, Katherine,” Sitha said quietly.

Eye to eye in the corridor only because Sitha was still seated, Kitty asked, “What can you do? We have only one regeneration chamber that will work on humans, and it’s aboard the Galileo.”

“True,” the alien woman answered, “but there’s a chamber aboard the Shumara Vacht. It can be calibrated for humans by having a healthy human enter it and let the computer recalibrate its programs to fit the human metabolism. The entire process should take two days, at most.” She was silent for a few seconds. “It may be the only chance your Captain Dahlquist has of surviving.”

“Given a choice,” Kitty’s response was immediate, “we’ll transfer Shirley to the Shumara Vacht and make tracks for Shiravi as soon as that’s accomplished. I’ll act as the model for the computer to realign itself.”

The doctor, still standing nearby after giving his diagnosis, said, “I can keep her alive that long, but are you sure that’s wise, Madam Herald?”

Kitty looked at him and said, “Look at me, doctor. I’ve already spent ten months in one of those chambers; two more days won’t hurt me. And if it’s Shirley’s only chance, it’s my responsibility.”

Vega Group was about to leave Garmon space minus the Vega and one hundred and sixty-one crew. Seventeen Mamba pilots had failed to dock, leaving the Canopus with three extra ships. Kitty sat in her new quarters aboard the Shiravan battleship, readying herself for a two-day stay in a regeneration chamber. She’d been remonstrated for her decision several times over, not least of all by Shirley, who’d regained consciousness and was attended by the Vega’s doctor.

Kitty had moved her staff over to the Shumara Vacht since she’d be aboard for two weeks. The baron and his wife, along with Brandon Galway, moved their possessions over to the Federal Case’s gig for the two-week voyage. Kitty called Thomas just before the group went hyper. “All ships will slave their controls to yours, Thomas. Just get us to Shiravi as soon as possible.”

“Aye, Madam Herald,” came back through the speaker. “Course for Shiravi is laid in and ready to activate as soon as you give the word.” Did she still detect some anger in his voice, or was she just imagining things? There would have to be a confrontation in the near future, that was certain. She couldn’t go on wondering if one of her top officers was having second thoughts.

“No, Thomas,” she replied. “You’ve been given command of the fleet. It will be on your orders that we go hyper. I’m depending on you to get us there as soon as possible.”

The response that came back had a bit less tension in it than most of her conversations with him had had in the past few weeks. “Yes, Madam Herald. The Federal Case is ready to accept control of all ships and will jump as soon as the safeties are set up. How is Shirley doing?” This last question seemed almost an afterthought.

“Thank you, Thomas,” she said into the impersonal mike. “I’m leaving all preparations in your hands. And it appears that the doctor can keep Shirley stabilized long enough for the Shumara Vacht’s computers to get a lock on human physiology. See you on the other side.” She cut the circuit and immediately asked for a whisker laser transmission to the Canopus. “Miranda, we’ll be leaving soon and won’t be able to talk for two weeks while we return to Shiravi. You know what I’m about to do. I don’t have any choice. I won’t put anyone else at risk in this type of operation.”

Miranda responded by the same system. “I know, Kitty. I just hope it goes well. You know Simon will be looking for somebody to skin if anything goes wrong.” A short silence followed. “We’ve just received our jump coordinates from Thomas. Nav and Helm both agree that they seem to be in order, so I’ll see you on the other side.”

Not knowing what else to say, Kitty just said, “Good luck, Miranda. Kitty out.” She set down the microphone and turned to Sitha. “If you’d be so kind, Doma,” she asked formally, “I’d consider it an honor if you’d tell your doctors to expect my arrival shortly. First, I want to see Shirley and her doctor and then visit with the baron and his wife for a short time.”

A quick nod, human-style, and Sitha said, “It would be my pleasure to be of service, Domagera Hawke.” She waved a waiting crewwoman forward. “I’ll have you escorted wherever you need to go until you figure out the layout of the ship. I’ll meet you in the medical center soon.” She turned her back on the pair and began to study one of the consoles near the Engineering station.

Mystified by the abrupt dismissal, Kitty turned to her escort. Determined to ignore the snub, she simply said, “First, I need to visit the medical center. After you,” she said and waved her hand in an imperious gesture copied from one too many B movies.

Her guide immediately headed off the bridge and into the bowels of the ship. Soon, she stopped at a door marked with unreadable Shiravan symbols. “Medical Center,” she announced curtly.

“Segala vin, ther’a,” she answered using the senior-to-junior mode of address firmly and deliberately. “I won’t be long.” The thank you and the condescending mode of address should stem any more problems, especially coupled with the correct usage of the Shiravan language.

She pressed her hand on the plate beside the door, and as soon as it slid open, she entered the room. The patient was flat on her back, covered to the neck. The doctor stood up hurriedly at her arrival. “Madam Herald, I’m most grateful that you’ll be using yourself as a model for the new interface. I don’t want to sound presumptuous, but time is of the essence. I can keep her alive for a few more days, maybe a week, but we need that chamber, and fast.”

Kitty nodded absently. “I understand, doctor. I have to set up a few things with the baron, and then I’ll be back to get the process started. Less than an hour. You have my word.”

She stood by her friend’s unconscious body and stroked her hair. “You’ll be back in the middle of things before you know it, Shirley. And then I’m going to... never mind. Just hold on. We’ll have you up and around in no time. Hell, you aren’t half as bad off as I was when I went in.”

Her instructions to the baron were terse and to the point. “I don’t want Galway to have any more unrestricted access to Doma kep Parrasine than necessary. Perhaps you two can find some way to occupy her time. Maybe painting a rosier picture of humanity than we’ve shown so far would help. I don’t know. You’re the diplomats. Right now, I have to go save my friend’s life, if it’s possible.”

Kitty walked back into the medical center of the Shumara Vacht, more than a little bit anxious about what was going to happen over the next two days. Oh, in theory, she knew perfectly well that the computer that ran the regeneration chamber was only going to read her physiology and apply that to repairing the injuries to her friend. Still, she worried about the dreams she’d experienced when she was under the control of a computer already under human control.

She looked first at her friend lying still and almost lifeless on a table near the regen table she was about to commit herself to, then let her eyes slide over the cold metal table itself. Actually, it wasn’t cold at all. The Shiravans kept their ships at slightly higher temperatures than most humans were accustomed to. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to get undressed before getting on the table, Madam Herald. Completely,” the doctor said almost apologetically.

Kitty smiled nervously as she reached up to undo the first button on her shirt. Sitha took this moment to appear, bringing the alien-to-human ratio close to three to one. The doctor recognized her nervousness and said, “No word of any of this will ever leave this room if you desire, Madam Herald. And may I say that I admire your courage.”

She slipped out of the last of her clothes and reluctantly placed her panties on top. “Courage be damned, Doctor. If this is what I have to do to save my friend’s life, it’s little enough. Now where do you want me?”

He indicated one of the slightly too-tall tables on which she’d spent ten months and said, “The technicians tell me they can activate the process manually as soon as you’re comfortable.”

Kitty looked first at the doctor and then over at Sitha, standing slightly behind one of the monitoring technicians. “That’s a trick we haven’t been able to make your equipment do. I’d like to have someone explain that to me once this is over and I’m back on my feet.”

Sitha stood stunned at the sight of Domagera Hawke naked. Tiny to begin with, she was even shorter without her shoes. Her skin, untouched by any sunlight for a year now, seemed bleached of all color, almost to the point of total whiteness. Along with the all-too-real white hair, it gave her a sense of purity that was hard to resist. The two nearest technicians bowed at her command that had been marginally couched as a request, and even she couldn’t quite stop her head from twitching before the vision she was beholding.

Shiravan mythology described Kath-e-rin as a small being, glowing white, from beyond the stars. Over the last four hundred years, she and her opposite, Kath-e-vel—a huge, dark, brooding figure—had become the center of the kath-mora-led religion.

Not all who listened believed, of course, but it was at key figures in the des Harras regime that most of the invective was pointed. And it was the young females who responded fastest. For far too many years, they’d been told that they were better than males in all things. The few males who’d survived the great wars had been isolated and held in seclusion by their own clans until they died. From that point, the plight of males on Shiravi had gone downhill. Few males were allowed to be born, and each clan was required to register the number and age of each male in the clan holdings. This was the case until the past hundred years or so, when a des Harras first decreed that since more bodies were needed in space, more males should be allowed to be born and trained for support roles, like medics or comm technicians.

Linnas approved of her predecessor and mentor strongly enough to keep her programs concerning males going. At the same time, she ordered the construction of warships to be accelerated, and even ordered the construction of a third dock in the asteroid belt circling just outside the life zone of the giant red sun warming their world.

Sitha mentally kicked herself for losing track of her own thought processes. She knew this was just an alien female and not a goddess-come-to-life. She watched as the human doctor lifted Kitty by the waist onto the table where she immediately stretched out with her arms at her side. Could she, herself, act as calmly in a similar situation, she wondered?

Kitty felt a chill even though the temperature was higher than humans usually liked. “Let’s do this before I lose my nerve, doctor,” she said testily.

The doctor nodded, and then nodded to one of the technicians. Almost instantly, the clear canopy slid out of the wall the entire length of the table, meeting another half-circle-shaped piece that rose out of the end of the table.

This time she was awake when the ports in the tabletop opened. Tubes came out, searched, and attached themselves to her wrists and ankles. A primal fear made her shudder, but she stayed still as the devices attached themselves to her. This time she saw the mists begin to form around her, and felt the viscous liquid as it rose up her body. She recognized the beginnings of claustrophobia and stilled herself with a silent chant. A mask slid over her face, covering her mouth, nose, and eyes. She thought of the condition of her friend and bit back a scream.

Soon, she felt the liquid rise up and cover her face, but the mask provided her with all the air she needed. She expected to go to sleep, and she would soon, but before she did, she heard a voice inside her head—or at least she thought she did—just before the muffled sounds coming from outside the chamber faded from her mind.

The Shiravan computer had been given everything in the Federal Case’s data base on human anatomy and as much on human psychology as could be found and transferred. For two days, it compared what it had learned with what it could actually see in the form of Kitty. It delved down to the molecular level and found signs of earlier manipulation. The actual DNA extracted and examined by the computer matched almost perfectly with models given by the humans, but there was something subtly different about this living sample. Whatever it was would have to wait until other samples could be obtained and tested, and another sample was due as soon as this particular calibration was complete. The thought passed through the densely compacted gel that was a Shiravan ship’s computer, leaving something akin to anticipation in its wake.

Kitty woke up to pressure on her shoulders, heels, and butt. Almost as soon as she noticed the discomfort, the patch covering her eyes, nose, and mouth slid away and into a recess in the table, as did the five other tubes that had connected her to the ship’s computer for two days. The lid disappeared into the wall and she sat up.

The doctor hurriedly draped a robe around her shoulders and asked worriedly, “How do you feel, Madam Herald?”

She hesitated for a fraction of a second. If Shirley hadn’t needed to get into the machine so desperately... “How is Shirley, doctor?” she asked, ignoring his question.

“Ready to go in, if you’re sure it’s okay.”

She hesitated for a few seconds, remembering her first encounter. A dark presence had stayed in the background of her mind as it healed—curious, watchful, determined. This one was different, and oh yes, it was there. More distant, more reserved, and more clinical, this presence just felt... detached somehow. “Certainly, Doctor. I see no reason to keep her out any longer than necessary. By the way, what time is it?”

He nodded and said something quietly to one of the technicians. “Almost six p.m., Madam Herald, he answered almost distractedly. The reason for his distraction made itself known when two others wheeled Shirley Dahlquist’s still body into the room. The doctor said, “She’s pretty heavily sedated, so it’s unlikely that she’ll even recognize you, but you’re welcome to stay until she’s completely involved.”

“Involved?” Kitty repeated almost absently. Her attention was riveted on the process playing out in front of her.

“Completely hooked into the system and under the regenerative programs that will begin running almost immediately,” the doctor said. Two Shiravans lifted Shirley carefully onto the table. Stepping back, one of them said something to one of the technicians. The cover slid back out of the wall and the end piece moved up to seal Shirley inside. The now-familiar mist formed as things snaked out of holes in the table, covering her eyes and wrapping themselves around her wrists and ankles, taking control of her bodily functions. No one was sure how long Shirley would require healing in the chamber. Kitty had been inside one for ten months, Marsha had still been in one when she’d left Earth, and now Shirley.

The one ray of sunshine was something one of the technicians had said before she’d gone under two days earlier—or more accurately, something the doctor had said that one of the techs had said—and that was that they could initiate the process manually, not needing to wait for some emergency to present itself. That, as she’d promised Sitha, she would look into.

More importantly, she now had another matter to take care of. She went first to her room and showered, paying special attention to her hair. White it may still be, but it had more body now, that was for sure. It was full and long with a natural curl, which its sheer weight tried to straighten out. It framed her face, leaving her looking more elfin-like than ever.

She put on her most austere dress, an all-black sheath with no adornments of any kind—an outfit more appropriate for a funeral than a successful voyage—and walked out of her quarters and into her temporary office. She called Freddie and Margit to confer with her before she made her next call.

The baron made no mention of her attire, though his eyebrows did rise a bit. It was Margit who commented openly. “You look as if you’re going to a funeral, my dear. As Herald, you don’t have to resort to wearing black all the time as has been mandated for uniforms aboard ship.”

Kitty let a sour look pass across her face. She could have kept it away, but these two were her closest advisers. Come to think of it, there was another person outside of her immediate staff aboard whose opinions she could trust. She pressed a button on her desk. “Find Mister Galway, please,” she said into the speaker, “and ask him to report at his earliest convenience. And let him know it’s most urgent. Then come in here.”

“I need advice,” she said. “It’s bad enough to include Brandon in this. Even though I’m sure he’s not exactly on our side, we’ve built up a relationship of sorts over the past few years, and I’d like his input, as well as yours.” She leaned back in her chair. “While we’re waiting for him, I’ll fill you in on some of the details.”

Diana walked in with a strange look on her face. “Is everything all right, Madam Herald?”

“No,” Kitty said. “I want you to sit down. We’re having a council of war here, and I want every opinion I can trust.” She looked down at her desktop for a moment and said, “I think one of my captains is a traitor.”

The statement was left to hang for so long that Freddie finally had to ask, “What leads you to this conclusion, and who do you think the traitor is?”

Kitty replied, “Even before we left Earth, some details were reaching U.S. government officials that should never have left any of the ships. Couple that with some of the vibes I’ve been getting from Captain Breen, and I believe he’s one to be watched very carefully.”

Diana coughed lightly, getting Kitty’s attention. When she was sure she had it, she said, “I’d be very careful what you say from now on aboard that vessel, Kitty.” Brandon chose this moment to enter and sat down quietly while Diana went on. “I had a chance to work on the Federal Case’s computer just before we left Earth space. I thought it odd but not too important. While looking around, I found the ship’s roster, and one thing I noted was that almost ninety per cent of the personnel aboard had been personally selected by Thomas Breen. Several hundred transfers have his signature on them, all for personnel who volunteered long after we started open recruiting. If he wished to stage a mutiny, it wouldn’t take much to get a few of the crew he didn’t pick, locked up and held for ransom, interrogation, or worse.”

Kitty looked almost incredulous. “Thomas is a second-waver. I guess it’s possible that he could have been in the right place at the right time to get aboard when the rules were laxer, but to bring together almost five hundred personnel without us finding out? We have a personnel department now. They’re supposed to screen each applicant and flag those who appear to be a risk. We’ve had no such thing happen aboard any of the ships, so far.”

Diana said, unrelenting, “Some of these transfers, like his XO, were made long ago and then a few at a time, slowly building a cadre of loyal supporters. Then, just before we left Earth, he authorized these several hundred transfers, hiding them among all the others that were going on at the time. There were so many who didn’t want to be so far from home for so long that it was easy to remove those who wanted to stay and request certain individuals, especially if they said they didn’t mind a long voyage.”

Brandon spoke up. “You’re looking at Breen as a possible traitor, is my guess,” he said as he dropped into a chair. “Well, don’t ask me ‘cause I don’t know. Possibly, that’s because what I don’t know, I can’t tell. I do know that there’s someone highly placed who’s leaking information to certain U.S. officials. I’ll also say this: every officer you have serving under you, including Breen, has given an oath of loyalty to the Alliance. Violation of that in any way is tantamount to mutiny, or worse, treason, according to your own rules, most of which you adopted from the U.S. Constitution. Now, you know that I work for the government, but I hate a Benedict Arnold as much as the next man, covert ops excluded. Simon was involved in a few of those, if I remember his dossier correctly. Undercover is one thing, but outright treason is another entirely. A person is only as good as his word. Take me for example. I’ve never led you on. I’ve always told you that my first loyalties lie with the U.S. I guess that’s why I’m here—you know where my loyalties are.”

Kitty cut right to the heart of the matter. “It was my intention to confront Thomas, but now, I’m not so sure. Perhaps we should just let matters rest until we get back to Shiravi?”

“That might be dangerous if he suspects you know he’s dirty,” Brandon said. “He can do a lot of damage with an entire ship under his command, even so far as blowing us into space dust.”

“I hadn’t thought he’d go that far,” Kitty said, new possibilities blooming in her mind.

“When men are cornered they fight like wild animals,” Freddie said.

Kitty had to think, there was just too much new information for her to process this late in the evening without some time. Standing up, she said, “It is getting late, and I want to be up early to check on Shirley before breakfast, so if you’ll excuse me, folks, I’m going to bed.”

The comment brought her friends to their feet, especially since she’d also risen while speaking. She ushered them to the door. Hugging Margit and holding the Baron’s hand, squeezing lightly, she mouthed, “Thank you.” Diana, she hugged and said, “Get some sleep.” And finally, Brandon. She took one of his hands in her two tiny ones. “Do you think we could talk for a few minutes? I need your help.”

Brandon’s face dropped into that granite, no-emotion visage that she’d seen all too often on Simon in their early days. She didn’t notice it so much anymore, but then he’d been out of the Agency for a long time now.

“You know my main function is to get as much as I can for Earth, separate from whatever you’re trying to achieve. How am I going to be able to help you without compromising my own position?” he said.

“I know who you work for, Brandon, and I do wish you’d come over to our side. You’d be a tremendous asset,” Kitty said, sitting back down and motioning Galway to do the same. “But that’s not what I want to talk about. We have a traitor in our midst. We’ve known for some time that one existed, but we never were able to pin anyone down. I’m still not able to do so conclusively, but my intuition tells me that it’s Thomas and the evidence points to it.”

Brandon just nodded. “I still don’t see how I can help.”

“I have an idea,” Kitty said simply.

“So, what can I do?” Brandon asked. “I owe you and Simon both for getting me back into the action, but I won’t betray my government.”

“I consider you a friend, odd as that may sound, and in Simon’s absence, I need some help from someone who understands the minds of the people Thomas works for. What I want is a way to neutralize him as a threat against Alliance plans. You already know the reasons we can’t turn over technology concerning our power sources to you, meaning Earth, and I want Breen out of our hair, along with all his appointees. All you have to do is let your bosses know that we know about him, and they’ll yank him back almost immediately, along with his potential mutineers. It would be preferable to a set of public trials and executions, don’t you agree?”

Brandon looked at Kitty as if she’d grown a second head. “Executions? You’ve got to be kidding!”

“No, I’m not,” Kitty said amiably. “You were the first one to use the word treason, I believe. What’s the punishment for that? Execution.”

“But that’s only in time of war.”

“And what do you call what we’re engaged in with the Garmons? If this isn’t a war, I don’t know what is. They won’t talk to us; they just attack, attack, attack. So far, we’ve come out way ahead in the stats, not counting what happened on Earth, but I feel like we’re about to get our butts kicked if we don’t keep ahead of the curve, and I need all my captains to be loyal. I have to think of humanity as a whole first.

“All you have to do is report this conversation, leaving out some key parts, such as the fact that I’m asking you to rat him out. Once they know his cover is blown, they’ll pull him, and all of his cronies will either go with him or decide that their best bet is to really sign on with us.”

“Of course, I’ll report this conversation, but you’ve got to know that Breen’s bosses—probably the same people who handed me my assignment, for that matter—are just as interested in the other types of technology incorporated in a ship like the Federal Case. So much of this stuff could be used to enhance our military systems that the United States would be unbeatable.”

Kitty smiled, and it wasn’t pretty. “The Romans felt the same way, Brandon, and look at where they are today. Their only claim to fame is having Vatican City on Italian soil. The Greeks, the Etruscans, the Sumerians, and later the Spanish, the Germans, and now the United States. All of them thought they were right. The old saying ‘might makes right’ isn’t one of my favorites, but we have a clear case of it right here. We’ve got the power, and like the Goths, you want to take it away from us. Tell me, Brandon, what happened to the Goths after they sacked Rome?”

“I’m not sure,” Brandon said slowly, not knowing where the conversation was going.

“Well, I’ll tell you,” Kitty said. She took a moment to pour some fire wine into two glasses. “We can drink this without any unpleasant aftereffects, except, of course, for hangovers.” The bluish liquid almost glowed in the subdued lighting of the room.

“They were absorbed,” she said, bringing the subject back to the table. “They conquered Rome, and over the next several generations, they intermarried and finally became Romans themselves. What they had always wanted were the perks that came with Roman citizenship, only Rome wouldn’t acknowledge them so they fought their way in. We have the same situation here. The Alliance has the power to destroy every government on Earth and set up puppets that will answer only to us. Have we tried to do that? No. Will we try it? Not on my watch, we won’t.”

She took a sip of the liquid in her glass and let the effects make themselves felt throughout her body before she continued. Brandon beat her to it. “So, if I report that you know Thomas is a traitor, you’re just giving him enough rope to hang himself. And while you’re considering a public trial and execution, they’ll pull him in before you can set up the grisly spectacle?”

“Exactly,” she said with conviction. “I don’t want to be the bad guy here. If his superiors can pull him in before I have to have him arrested, then I’m off the hook as the executioner. He gets to live, along with his cohorts, and we get a clean slate as far as people we can trust running our ships. And there won’t be a recurrence of the kind of personnel transfers we’ve seen aboard the Federal Case.”

“I’ll do what I can when we get back,” Brandon said. “You know, though, that he could do a lot of damage between now and getting back to Earth. What if his orders are to take down the head of the Alliance? Or take her hostage? Don’t assume it’s just the technology they’re after. This could get bloody before you even lift a finger.”

“Then I have a lot more to think about,” Kitty said, taking large sip.

CHAPTER ONE

Simon introduced his new vice admiral, Jerry Chapman, to his staff and said, “I expect you to give him all the consideration you give me. He’s in charge.” He turned to Jerry. “And I expect you to listen to your staff and at least seriously consider their suggestions and ideas, Admiral Chapman. I’ll be getting full reports from both you and the staff upon my return. I don’t want to see too much headbutting, but I don’t want to see too much dithering, either.”

A long walk down the corridors of Vesta took the two men to Simon’s office. “This will be yours while I’m away. From here, you can access the location of any ship in the fleet, including Shiravan ships. Local ships will appear in almost real time. I expect you to keep patrols down to a minimum, but not totally nonexistent. We have to have a presence in the local stellar neighborhood or the teddy bears will start getting the idea that they can just walk in here and smack us again. Not an option, understood?”

The new Commander in Chief of Operations visibly swallowed hard and asked, “What do I say if Kitty shows up while you’re away?”

Simon grinned. “That’s the best part, for you. All the blame is on my shoulders. She’ll have to work with you and coordinate… whatever… while I’m gone. Just tell her the truth, and I’m sure she’ll let you live. Listen, I was going to put this off on Lloyd Pike, but my staff correctly pointed out that he’s never had any command experience and that you’ve had the most experience available to me, except for Robert Greene, who’s leading Nova Group’s next patrol. You’ve been on every council since we first mandated officer participation in the decision-making process, and you’ve been captain of the Heinlein almost from the beginning. By the way, she’ll be kept on-station for the personal use of the vice admiral, at need. Just make sure your exec keeps the crew in fighting shape. Besides, I should be back before Kitty returns,” he said, heading for the door.

“Famous last words,” the new vice admiral muttered.

“What was that?” Simon asked distractedly as he slowed at the door.

“Nothing, sir.”

Just before Nova Group left on its second patrol, Simon was able to send his wishes to Marsha Kane and her Raptor Group headed for Shiravi. There was an overly large number of letters, audio tapes, video tapes, and just plain pictures aboard. A large amount were from Simon to Kitty, but each person aboard the small fleet that had first essayed their way into Shiravan space had kin back on Earth. Each and every one of their families had been contacted, and letters, pictures, and sundry items had been gathered and sent to their special someones forty lightyears away.

The Raptor was the first battleship-sized and equipped vessel out of Taurus docks. Carrying twelve hundred persons, she blew anything out of the water in sheer firepower. The Raptor was truly an independent mobile weapons platform and twice the size of any ship so far. Incorporating all the latest innovations as of her commissioning, the great ship boasted six engines to the standard three of most ships. Carrying an extra five Mambas, she had both tractor and pressor beams installed in her. Tests on unsuspecting asteroids had proven the ability of the new weapon system. This new adaptation of Shiravan technology would just about crumble any ship the beams could get hold of.

The problem was getting in close enough to do some damage while taking the smallest amount themselves. That particular problem had been solved several years previously when a form of plasma bomb was developed that literally made every piece of metal in a ship totally inert. Nothing metal in any ship hit by a sufficiently powerful enough bomb would ever conduct electricity again. Melted and re-smelted with newer, fresher material made no difference. Even the new uncontaminated material would lose electrical coherence. The enemy would just find themselves dead in space with their monopoles going in different directions, the antimatter one taking part of the ship with it in a gigantic explosion, effectively destroying the last hope of independent movement, assuming of course, that the explosion didn’t completely destroy hull integrity first. The Raptor carried fifty of the things, with the ability to make fifty more from the power cores before they had to be replaced. Their one drawback was that they were a close-range weapon.

A plasma bomb was essentially a ball of electrical energy—very expensive energy. The manufacture of such a powerful force depleted the antimatter core at a faster rate than even hyperdrive did. Fifty would allow the ship to return to home base—actually any core assembly would do—but one hundred would not, unless the crew was very lucky. And no one wished to be that dependent on luck. An even newer version of the plasma bomb totally reduced the target to its constituent atoms, virtually imploding the vessel. Testing was still under way, so these plasma bombs were what was available.

The Raptor was able to fire a full complement of missiles forward that totaled twenty, to the normal ten for a battlecruiser of the Niven’s size, and being larger, she was able to extend newly designed sensor booms that would allow her the use of her sensors sternward more effectively than anything in space at the moment. And twenty accurately aimed missiles could sweep the rear of followers with a far higher degree of accuracy than ever before.

The newest generation of single-pilot fighter ships, Mantas, were aboard as well. Fifteen highly sophisticated fighters—even by Shiravan standards—that were privately called SMART ships by their designers had finished their trials and were ready to deploy.

Not everyone could fly these new ships. The helmet wasn’t so much worn as lain down in. The pilot slid into position in a depression in the padding of the cockpit, laying arms and legs in such a way that no part of the body touched another, and then made sure the helmet was in proper position. When the cockpit sealed, the pilot was effectively locked in that position for the duration of the flight, sensors analyzing each micro-movement of every muscle and translating it into action of one kind or another. Other systems handled nourishment and necessities at need.

Individually designed for specific pilots, the helmet area was a small computer in its own right. It mapped the brain it surrounded, then inserted several hundred microscopic probes into the wearer’s scalp, stopping only when they reached bone. This way, the wearer became the ship. Thinking of running made the engines move one forward, and sensors conducted data both ways. The pilot saw everything around her and felt as if she were actually running—the ultimate in virtual reality to date.

Capable of storing enough energy for four plasma bombs and carrying a full load of fifty-two Terran standard missiles, the Manta had its grav sump upgraded, shields strengthened, and range increased.

More and heavier point-defense lasers were added as well, both fore and aft, making the Raptor more powerful than any equivalent ship in space. But her greatest asset was the new shielding built into her hull. It very efficiently took in any energy emission that struck it and passed it around the hull, re-transmitting it off into space. The visual effect on an enemy’s scanners was (or would be, soon enough) that nothing was there until the Raptor got so close that the enemy scans could recognize the time-lag in the emissions running around the ship. It would look on their scans as if it were a true predator of the spatial deeps, slowly emerging from the murky depths to devour its prey.

The Raptor would be traveling with an extra ship. It would replace one ship from Kitty’s combat patrol, and that ship would return to Earth bearing the Herald, a plan of action that would help stop the attacks and, hopefully, encourage an alliance, as well as progress reports and, likely, new assignments for the Shiravan forces still in human space.

Nova Group left human space just after Raptor Group but was only planning on being gone between four and six months. They’d be cruising through solar systems near Earth, hoping to find some sign of the Korvils and using their own tactics against them, attacking without any attempt to parley.

In the second system the Nova Group entered, they found two Korvil destroyers circling the fourth planet as it in turn circled a redder star than Earth’s, though not so red as the Shiravans’.

Robert Greene, group commander, and captain of the Nova, met with his captains and Admiral Hawke to discuss the matter. The two captains from the Shiravan vessels Stigarn and Berra Feigh made do with what they could in the way of seating arrangements, with Robert’s abject apologies.

“Future meetings will be held on one of your ships,” he said, finally ending the apology. The two Shiravan captains, fully assured that it hadn’t been a deliberate slight but merely the oversight of an overworked group commander under stress, settled themselves side by side on the floor just to the left of Robert with a minimum of grousing.

Simon looked at the two still-uncomfortable aliens and slid off the couch he’d appropriated on arrival, settling on the floor with the Shiravans. “If the floor is good enough for our guests,” he stated firmly, “it’s good enough for me as well.” The level of discomfort dropped drastically with this move. Moments later, everyone was seated cross-legged on the floor, the humans more uncomfortable with the situation than the Shiravans.

Robert set the pace of the meeting by going right to the heart of the matter. “We have several hours before our arrival will be detected by the two ships in orbit around the fourth planet. We have sensor data on transmissions between the ships and the planet, and some traffic between the planet and the two ships, most likely fresh foods and reports to be forwarded to their headquarters. Our problem is that the translator says these Korvil call themselves Garmons now. We have some verbal confirmation that there was a different name for the race even before the Shiravans first met them.

“Nonetheless, we’ll treat them as if they are still the same hostile species, as a change in leadership doesn’t necessarily mean a change in direction or attitude. We will, therefore, one-jump straight to the fourth planet and attack the two ships in orbit. Then, we’ll reduce any planetary structures to rubble. Captain Miller, your carrier will drop out of hyper five seconds before the rest of the squadron. You’ll then launch half of your fighters to assist in the disposal of the two destroyers. The Nova and the Niven will drop out on schedule, and the Shasta, the Stigarn, and the Berra Feigh will drop out two seconds after the Nova and the Niven. This will effectively trap the two destroyers between three separate forces since the Mambas from the Eightball will stay in close formation, appearing on their screens as two ships.

“We’ll ask for no quarter, nor will we give any. Once the two defending ships are disposed of, all planetary targets are fair game. I want the entire infrastructure of the planet destroyed. No roads, bridges, or buildings are to be left standing. A lesson has to be taught to the Korvil or Garmon or whatever they call themselves now. Humanity and her allies are not to be messed with. If there’s a new leader of these people, he’ll have to learn that just because he’s now in charge, the atrocities of the past will not go unpunished. Captains des Nimara and sel Belca will place themselves under the command of Captain John Grant of the Shasta and prevent any withdrawal of the enemy ships. The Nova, the Niven, and Mambas from the Eightball will attack from two sides simultaneously.

“There will be casualties, people; don’t think for a moment that there won’t. Some of the people we know best won’t be coming back from this mission, but the group as a whole will survive. Our firepower is just too much for unshielded ships orbiting what’s most likely a supply outpost.” Robert’s monologue finally ran down, and he looked around as if asking for questions. When none were forthcoming, he added, “Very well, then. All captains back to their ships. The mission will commence as soon as all six ships report ready. The Niven will slave her controls to the Nova. The Stigarn and the Berra Feigh will do the same with the Shasta, and the Eightball’s captain already has her instructions. Good hunting and good luck.”

Robert stood up, the others following suit as far as the ceiling would let them, and all trooped toward the doorway. “Simon, if you’d stick around for a minute, I’d like to talk to you privately.”

Simon plopped back down onto the couch he’d vacated to make the Shiravans feel more at ease and waited for Robert to get the others on their way. When the door closed, Simon asked, “What’s up, Bob?”

Robert Greene busied himself at the small but well-stocked bar that he hadn’t offered to any of the others, pouring two fingers of amber liquid into two glasses. He handed one to Simon and settled into one of the chairs that was sitting vacant in the conference room. An uncomfortable look crossed his face.

“Tell me something, Simon. I have to know. Who do I take orders from? Ultimately, that is. If you tell me to go on patrol, I go on patrol. If you want to go along, I take you, but you have a superior as well. Suppose, just for the sake of conversation, that I get conflicting orders from you and Kitty. Whose orders do I follow?”

Simon looked as if he’d bitten into a rotten apple or something. “Why do you ask, Bob? Kitty is so far away, she has no influence here and now.”

“But she gave instructions to her substitute, and those are just as good as coming from her. I know Kitty, Simon. If I don’t do as she says, I’ll find myself cleaning the disposal pits for a couple of years... at the very least.”

Simon sighed, not quite knowing where this conversation was leading. “Ultimately, her orders outweigh mine. She’s the civil authority that the military branch answers to. Again, why?”

Robert sighed, too, and took a sip from his glass. “It’s Chivas. You better drink it,” he said without answering further.

Simon took a small sip and then a larger one, reveling in the smoky flavor. “Spill it, Bob. You didn’t hold me back to discuss the chain of command.”

Robert took another sip from his glass. “I have very specific instructions concerning your participation in any hostile activities. You’re to be removed to the safest place possible, whether you like it or not. These instructions come from Kitty herself, and just lately, Lucy reinforced the injunction. So, what’s going to happen is that you’re being transferred to the Eightball until this particular mission is over.”

“What! You’ll do no such thing, Captain Greene,” Simon said in his best parade ground voice. “I will remain aboard the Nova and direct the action from here. It’ll put me in the best position to make the necessary decisions as fast as possible.”

“Sorry, Simon,” Robert said, sounding truly apologetic. “I have my orders from the Herald and the Deputy Herald. You’ll move to the Eightball with Captain Miller. Her gig is holding its departure while we have this talk. You’re one of the symbols of what we’ve achieved so far in our rise to spatial equality with the other races in our stellar neighborhood. Your safety is paramount, and the Eightball is going to be as far from the action as I can keep her. Therefore, you’ll watch the action from there. As far as overall command of the operation is concerned, I am in charge of the group and will be calling the shots—all of them, including your transfer.” The expression on his face left no doubt that he was serious. “Now, I have to get six ships moving in a coordinated assault on two ships that are manned by possibly suicidal crews. The sooner you get moving, the sooner we can get moving.”

Simon stood up, his drink forgotten on the side table. “I will not be forced off this ship, Robert. I’m Admiral of the Fleet, and I’ll carry my flag aboard whichever ship I choose. You don’t have any latitude in the matter.” He walked to the door. “You’ll find me in my cabin until we’re about to come out of hyper, and then I’ll be on the bridge directing operations.”

Simon’s nearness to the door caused it to slide into the wall, and he found himself facing two of the biggest men he’d ever seen in his life—and he was no slouch, standing six feet tall himself. Robert said, “Commander Bergen, you will escort the admiral to Captain Miller’s gig and see that he’s aboard when it leaves the bay. If he isn’t aboard, you won’t ever work for the Alliance again. That’s a concrete guarantee. Have I made myself clear?”

The commander looked first at the captain, who’d just given him an order, and then at the admiral, who outranked the captain. “This is under the direct order of the Herald, Commander. Read this if it will make you feel any better about your assignment.” He handed over a folded letter from an inside pocket. The Herald’s holo-pic was at the top of the page, followed by her instructions concerning the safety of the admiral. The same dire warning followed. Surely death and destruction would rain down on his family for seven generations if he didn’t do as the captain and letter ordered.

He handed the paper back to Robert and said formally, “Admiral, if you’ll follow me, I’ll escort you to Captain Miller’s gig. It’s waiting in Launch Bay One, and we need to hurry.”

Robert’s sigh was audible to Simon, if not the two security men standing on the corridor side of the door.

“Okay, Robert. You win. For now. But don’t think I’m going to forget this,” he warned. “I’m not in the habit of being stabbed in the back and letting the culprit get away with it.”

“Then you should look to your wife and her deputy for the knife. Don’t blame me. I’m just the pointed object you got stabbed with. If it makes you feel any better, I’m angry to the point of outrage that you two have put me in the middle of what is essentially a husband/wife spat. I’m just following orders from the highest authority, too. And I believe you were the one to set them up and help pass them through the council into law. Now, you want to be exempt from your own rules. I don’t think you can have your cake and eat it, too, at least not as long as Kitty runs the civilian side of the arrangement, anyway. Besides, it sets a bad example for the common crewman. Just go and let us get this mission under way. The sooner started the sooner finished.”

Simon stepped off of the Eightball’s gig, fuming. Nothing Gayle could say had made matters any easier. She’d finally given up, grabbed a rating, and ordered her to show Simon to visitor’s quarters. “As soon as we deploy our Mambas, I’ll call you to the bridge, Simon. I promise.”

Simon fumed as he followed the rating down long corridors to the section assigned to the Eightball’s officers. “Make yourself comfortable, sir,” the rating said. She added, “I’ll be right outside your door to escort you to the bridge when Captain Miller gives the word.”

The door slid shut on her impassive face, and Simon found himself staring at a blank door. He turned, furious at his helplessness, and began to examine his quarters. After no more than two minutes, he flung himself onto the couch in the main room to wait for Gayle’s call to the bridge. Sometime later—his anger wouldn’t let him judge just how much—he felt the familiar wrenching feeling of the ship going hyper, and only seconds later, the same feeling repeated itself as the Eightball dropped out of hyperspace and started launching her Mambas. That was quick, he thought, rising to his feet.

He felt each vibration as a separate entity moving away from the ship. Some of them would never return, blown into atoms by an implacable enemy. The only thing he was happy about was the fact that the casualties were going to be so much less due to the extensive modifications to all aspects of Shiravan technology.

Soon, a knock at his door caused him to growl, “Enter.”

The rating stood there. “Sir, the captain’s compliments, and would you be kind enough to attend her on the bridge?”

“Absolutely,” he said. “Let’s go.”

As they approached the bridge area, the rating stopped and said, “Sir, I know you’re the admiral, but I have to serve on this ship, and Captain Miller has made it clear to me that I’m to make clear to you that you’re here strictly as an observer. You’re not to attempt to usurp her authority or issue commands to any active units. I’ve been ordered to ask if you’ll abide by these instructions. If your answer is no, then I’m to escort you back to your quarters where you can follow the action on the monitors that have been installed in your room.”

Simon smiled for the first time in hours. “You can assure Captain Miller that I’ll be the model of decorum.” He shook his head slightly.

Why is it that I always have to give in to the womenfolk? he thought to himself.

Simon stood on the Eightball’s bridge beside Gayle. Even though she was a long-time friend, this wasn’t the time to impose on that friendship. She was busy fighting her ship, as an old wet-navy term went. She stared at a holodisplay showing the two bogeys and the entire attack fleet as it moved into position. The surprise was complete. The Terran/Shiravan fleet had arrived in attack position before light-speed communications could discern that a fleet was even approaching.

Slaving controls was a human innovation that allowed two or more ships to move in unison without straying too far from each other or finding themselves out of position among a larger force. It also helped prevent the accidental collision of ships in space as they moved in concert, although nothing of the sort had happened yet. Often, a wet-navy commander had had to contend with individual subordinates interpreting orders in ways he’d never intended. This innovation prevented that problem. Simon had helped develop the tactic because he wanted to see as few casualties due to friendly fire or accidents as possible. It had happened once during his stint with the DIA. Three good agents died needlessly because someone had misinterpreted their orders.

The two Garmon ships—the distinction was unclear—were caught by surprise and never got off a shot, but as an ancient Chinese general once said, “No battle plan survives contact with the enemy.” During the few minutes it had taken to remove the two ships from the cosmos, leaving only clouds of drifting atoms, four destroyer-sized ships left the planet’s surface at a speed that would have melted hulls if they hadn’t been specifically designed to withstand the enormous heat.

Acting as two separate units, the enemy ships attacked with all the weapons at their disposal, which was considerably less than the joint fleet enjoyed. A fifth ship, much smaller and faster, didn’t bother to close with any ship, though it was noted on the fleet’s screens. It boosted at a very high rate of speed in a direction away from the action—a not unwise move for such a small ship. It cut power relatively quickly and merely stood off and waited out the entire attack by the four larger Garmon ships. Seven Mambas and their pilots died in the furious onslaught that followed, all from the Eightball, but even while the enemy was moving out of the atmosphere, the Shasta, the Stigarn and the Berra Feigh were moving in, now under independent command.

Five fighters from each of the two Shiravan ships moved out ahead of the three larger ships. The Shasta held back but stayed close, her own Mambas already out and ready to assist if need be. The Stigarn and the Berra Feigh had the good fortune to have received upgrades to their shields, along with some of the more effective human-inspired missiles they were launching at two of the new attackers.

Enemy point defense, or computer-guided lasers, took out some of the missiles pouring in on the two Garmon ships. The gunners apparently had orders to target the fighters at all costs because one enemy ship died in a cloud of quickly dissipating particles but not before all ten Shiravan fighters had been removed from the equation by the two enemy ships. Even a semi-sentient intelligence could be overwhelmed by the number of incoming, by what the sensors said about those same missiles, and by the positions of all other ships. In moments, the two Shiravan ships had finished off their foes and were looking for something else to do.

The other two Garmon ships fared no better. Actually less so, as the human Mambas had deployed shields and had already had some experience with Garmon tactics. The two ships almost immediately began to rain down on the planet they’d launched from as particles so small that they wouldn’t even leave trails as they entered the atmosphere.

The human/Shiravan battle group moved into orbit unmolested and began a survey of the surface. Meanwhile, nearly unnoticed, the small ship disappeared into hyperspace, its departure reminding the fleet of its existence.

The Eightball picked up her surviving pilots somberly while the other ships in the fleet rejoiced at the victory. A mapping of the planet’s surface was already under way, looking for anything they might destroy to hinder Garmon activity in the area. What they found were four small, town-sized complexes. A decision was made to send Mambas down to investigate the settlements, so five ships over-flew each of the sites. No roads besides rudimentary tracks led from the complexes, fields were planted in nearby areas, and the towns themselves appeared to be mostly comprised of rudimentary dwellings.

The captains of the six ships conferred and finally decided to explore at least one of the towns, if only to try to learn something about the enemy they faced. Three shuttles filled with volunteers, one of them Shiravan, grounded on the south side of one of the towns. Each shuttle disgorged fifty or more volunteers to explore what they’d conquered.

Simon fumed at the fact that he was still unable to change the minds of his junior officers. I let Kitty and Lucy have too much power for way too long, he thought to himself as he watched on the screens.

Cameras mounted on helmets gave a clear picture of each soldier’s field of view. Multiple images flashed on several screens as the troops moved through the town they’d chosen.

The truth of what they faced was appalling. Garmon females were apparently not as sentient as the males. Their faces bore testimony to the fact that they were closer to their original progenitors than anyone would possibly have suspected. They were bred for one purpose only—to provide more males to expand the empire.

Three teams of humans and one Shiravan entered the largest building in town. All helmet cams were in full record mode, and what was sent to the ships in orbit shocked all who saw the grim reality of Garmon existence.

The females were no more than breeding machines, docile and subservient, even to aliens who prodded them outside for perhaps the first times in their lives. Each female was either suckling four to six cubs or gravid to the point that it was evident they were about to give birth. Some few showed no signs of either condition, and it was suspected that these were not yet ready to bear young.

The ratio of males to females among the cubs was almost five to one, confirming a longstanding Shiravan idea that the important thing in Garmon culture was that male survival equated to species survival. It would appear true, given the obvious differences between the two genders. They were so different that one could almost say they were two different species. Not one word was spoken by any female, but some of the males, apparently almost of an age to begin training to be warriors, were hard to control.

Robert called the Eightball to talk to Simon. “Now you want my advice,” Simon said matter-of-factly. “Well, I suppose you’ve done well enough on your own so far. I never claimed I was a tactician or strategist. That’s why I surrounded myself with those who proved themselves the most able. The ones who didn’t pan out got sacked or moved to positions they were better suited for.

“Losing seven Mambas in the accomplishment of your goal is, in my opinion, a very small price to pay for the results you achieved, especially given that nasty little surprise of four more ships thrown in at the start. Those pilots and all of our dead are the giants upon whose shoulders we stand. And let’s not forget the lives of ten Shiravan fighter pilots as well. And two Shiravan crews dying in one of our battles.

“But now you want me to set policy for how we deal with situations like these. I say move all inhabitants out of the towns and level the town. Let the survivors forage for themselves or die. We can’t be leaving pockets of resistance behind us, and that’s surely what these Garmons will become if we let them alone. Their adults will come back and continue their teachings sooner or later. Better we scatter them so they’re harder to find when the lords and masters come calling.”

The oldest males among the populace of the small town were the only ones who could be spoken to, and that only through the translators. The problem was that they tended to attack first, even at this early stage in their lives. It took several troops to bind and secure the most aggressive males and some time more to instill in them the fear that the entire clan would be destroyed if orders weren’t followed.

One male, best-guess equivalent to a human preteen, arms bound at his side, asked, “How are we to feed and protect ourselves and our females if we are bound this way?” He stood in an aggressive stance, even though he was surrounded by beings twice and three times his size. A Shiravan looked at him and said, “It would make me quite happy to see all of you die right here and now, but our human allies have different ideas. They are going to let you live. Your homes will be destroyed, but you should be able to forage enough to feed all of your kin. To that end, you are instructed to move all of your people away from the dwelling areas immediately.”

The Garmon youngling looked at the Shiravan as if he were something to forage on. “How much time do you allow us to move away?”

“You waste time asking stupid questions, young Garmon. Order your people into the fields now.” The Shiravan turned and aimed his laser rifle at the base of one of the adobe and timber buildings. Almost immediately, the abandoned building was engulfed in flame. “That is the fate of every structure here. Order your people out... now.”

The young Garmon turned and growled in a speech pattern human ears had seldom heard. The small crowd of fur-covered beings began to shuffle out of the compound and away from the flames. “I have complied with your demand. Now you will accede to mine—release me so I may aid my littermates in providing for the females until assistance arrives from homeworld.” He turned his back and held out his arms slightly.

The Shiravan did so after locking eyes with the human group leader, who shrugged in the Shiravan fashion and then nodded. The small Garmon was cut free, and he immediately followed his kin out of the compound. Last to pass through the gate, he turned to his conquerors. “This travesty will not go unremembered. I am Pegra Nargresh, eldest son of Subat Nargresh. Remember my name and fear me, for I shall avenge this stain upon our Honor.”

“Imperious little shit,” one man muttered. “No wonder they’re so hard to kill.”

CHAPTER TWO

The Vega’s shuttle was assigned to the Canopus for the trip back to Shiravi. As the remaining ships moved away from the planet, Kitty used the shuttle extensively, moving between the remaining three ships in her small fleet. She called the Federal Case and informed Captain Breen that she and her staff would begin their transfer to his ship for the two-week journey back to Shiravi. “Are you sure that’s the best choice, Madam Herald?” Thomas returned testily, and not for the first time. Breakfast the day after Shirley had gone into the Esmit’s regen chamber had had much the same flavor. “The Federal Case is pretty overcrowded with the Vega’s survivors. Perhaps you should consider moving to the the Esmit, instead.”

“I’ll be the judge of what’s best, Captain,” Kitty said in her frostiest voice. “The Canopus and the Esmit are in just as much distress as you are. Four more aboard the Federal Case won’t make that big a dent in life support or other essential services. You’ll make room for me, and Baron and Baroness von Schlenker, as well as Mr. Galway. I predict that it’s going to be an interesting trip since you and I will have a lot to discuss during the two weeks we’ll be in hyper.” She ended the transmission abruptly, anger coloring her last words.

Kitty went first to the Canopus, where she picked up the baron and his wife, along with Brandon Galway. She stood in front of her closet, trying to decide what to wear, and finally settled on the more severe BDU’s. Some instinct made her reach for and strap on her laser for the first time in several years, things were about to get messy. The weight did nothing to comfort her. Actually, she felt less protected with it than without, but she was about to go into a situation she had very little actual control over, if her suspicions were correct. She checked the power cell, found it full, and re-holstered the weapon. Lastly, almost as if by a will not her own, she reached out and pulled her old pilot’s jacket off its hanger. Now, she felt dressed.

She then culled the rolls of the Canopus’s crew, along with the survivors of the Vega, and chose forty more people she asked to come to the shuttle bay, armed. The request had been met with disbelief from most she’d spoken to, but all complied with the orders of the Herald.

She walked into the Canopus’s shuttle bay, followed by a solid phalanx of armed crewmen, and the eyebrows of all three of her staff went up. “Don’t say a word, any of you,” she ordered. “Brandon, I know we’re on separate sides of certain issues, but those need to be tabled for the time being. I’m appointing you as my temporary chief of security,” she said as she pulled another pistol belt out of her travel bag and handed it to him. “Captain Breen and all of his top staff are traitors, if not more. As soon as possible, he and his staff will be removed from command and replaced with people from the Vega’s crew. Your job is to see to it that I don’t get killed making the necessary changes.”

“Not one person is going to believe me without corroboration,” Brandon muttered as he strapped the belt on and adjusted it. “I’ve never used one of these. How about a quick lecture?”

“Just point and pull the trigger,” she said. “You have a full power pack. That’s forty shots at half power, which is enough to kill anyone we’ll be facing.” She turned to the crowd standing behind her, deliberately standing beside Galway. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are about to enter a very dangerous situation. I suspect Captain Breen of being a traitor to the Alliance and weighting his crew with infiltrators. I have it on good authority that almost ninety percent of his crew are agents of the U.S. government. That means that very soon we’ll be fighting our own to take control of the Federal Case, beginning the moment the shuttle lands in the Case’s bay.”

Everyone had heard her instructions to Galway, and some faces showed nervousness. “I understand your discomfort, people, but this was going to happen sooner or later. I regret that it’s happened so far from any assistance, but we are going into action against traitors on one of our own ships. I’ll take responsibility for all actions from this moment on.” She reached up and, with some difficulty, ripped the patch off her left shoulder. “You’ll follow the orders of Commander Galway as if he were speaking for me until further notice. We’ll have until we reach the Federal Case to formulate a plan of action to take the ship. No one who tries to stop us is to be allowed to do so, up to and including termination with prejudice. That means that anyone who tries to stop you is to be disarmed and confined. If they resist, shoot to wound first if possible and then to kill if resistance continues.”

First one, and then in an increasing wave, the assembled personnel began removing their left shoulder patches. “Watch for Vega patches, people,” Brandon said, issuing his first order. “They’re most likely not a part of the traitors in control of the Federal Case. I see the Vega’s XO in the crowd. Ms. Dexter, you will pick your command team and add fifteen extra people to it as security. I expect resistance from the time the ramp goes down. As soon as the shuttle doors open, your team and I will do our best to overcome any resistance without raising an alarm. That means disabling or killing,” he said, using the last word harshly, “whoever is waiting for us when we debark. Remember, they are expecting only four people plus a pilot. We’ll then make our way to the command deck and take charge of the Case by any means necessary, as per the Herald’s orders, and your command team will be invaluable at that point, so don’t go sticking your necks out unnecessarily.” He hesitated for a few seconds. “Who here is familiar with the engine room?”

A hand raised from the crowd. “Sir, I was Chief Engineer aboard the Vega, and I have enough personnel present to operate the engine room if we can take it.”

Brandon nodded. “Pick your people fast, Chief. We’ll only have about a ten-minute flight to the Federal Case, and I expect that there will be resistance from the start. That’s why both ramps will be lowered at once when we land. Okay, I think we need to board and get into space before we set off too many alarms in people’s minds about our delay.”

Brandon’s premonition wasn’t far off the mark. The Federal Case called the shuttle once during the short flight. “Madam Herald,” a smooth voice said, “we were expecting your gig. It might be a problem to get your shuttle into the bay among the shuttles from the Vega.”

Kitty took the mike from the pilot. “This is Herald Hawke. We have to make do with what we have available. The Canopus’s gig is having a flux converter problem, so I’ve commandeered this shuttle. It will return to the Canopus as soon as my staff and I transfer my flag.”

“Very well, Madam Herald,” came back through the speaker. “You’re cleared to dock in shuttle bay two.”

“Damn,” Brandon said. Kitty looked his way. “That means we’ll have that much farther to go to get to the control room and give Breen that much more warning.”

Kitty said, “It also puts a contingent nearer the engine rooms, which we really must take. We’ll enlist any of the Vega’s crew as we pass them. They’re going to be strewn all over the ship in an effort to find accommodations for them. Change of plans, take weapons from the Case’s crew and distribute them to the Vega’s, using them as guards at secure points. As soon as I can reach a ship-wide comm console, I’ll call for a complete cessation of fighting and any Vega crewman to uphold their oath to the Alliance. Anyone not from the Vega who won’t surrender is to be shot without hesitation. Try to disable, but a kill shot will not be a punishable offense.” This last was said loud enough for all to hear. “Baron, Margit, you two are to stay back until the shooting stops. I won’t risk your lives in suppressing a mutiny aboard one of my ships.”

The baron just smiled and said, “Fear not, Madam Herald, I’ve survived more than you might imagine. And neither I nor my wife have any illusions about what we’ll be able to do if it becomes necessary. Should you need to retreat to the shuttle, be sure that your escape route will be protected.” Both he and his wife moved pieces of clothing aside to reveal laser pistols that she had no idea they had.

Kitty looked at the pistols for several seconds. “It seems I’ve seriously underestimated both you and your wife, Freddie. I’m more than a little relieved to know that you have our possible escape covered. And you have my apologies.”

The baron made a negating gesture with one hand. “No apologies are necessary, Madam Herald. Just don’t risk yourself more than necessary. Simon would never forgive me if anything happened to you.”

The pilot of the shuttle interrupted. “Madam Herald, we’ve just been captured by the Federal Case’s tractor beams. We’re being pulled into bay two as expected.”

Kitty nodded. “Very well, Commander. Allow them to override the controls until we’re on deck. Then open both exit ramps at the same time. Brandon, from here on out, you’re in charge of the boarding action. Listen up, people. No matter how you feel, our interests and those of Commander Galway are the same for the time being. I have placed my life in his hands and trust him completely. I expect no less from the rest of you.”

The two ramps started lowering at the same moment, and Kitty strode purposefully down the ramp that had a side party waiting for her. None of them was Captain Breen, an insult under most conditions, but considering that they were just leaving enemy territory, it was a forgivable offense. The problem was that all of the waiting crewmen were armed, weapons held at the ready.

The leader spoke up, “Madam Herald, I have orders to arrest you and place you and your staff in detention until Captain Breen has time to discuss the situation—”

The commander leading the party was shot in the shoulder before the last word left her mouth, a small hole appearing in her uniform. The other seven members of the group got several shots off before they went down. Luckily the shots had went wide and they didn’t have time to access their comm links. Kitty pulled her pistol, eyes focused somewhere behind the woman, and said, “Funny, Commander Malone, I was about to say the same to you.”

Brandon came out, pistol leading the way, with several other crew members and disarmed the three survivors from the side party. “Okay, people, you have your assignments.” His voice had gone almost totally lifeless as he shifted into what Simon had always called ‘combat mode.’ Now she understood the process and was just glad it wasn’t Simon she was watching.

A tinny voice came from Commander Malone’s comm link. “Status report, Commander.” Breen’s voice was recognizable.

Kitty pointed her pistol directly between the commander’s eyes and said, “If you say the wrong thing, you and a great many of your people will die needlessly.”

The commander, staring at the ruby-tipped barrel of Kitty’s weapon, carefully lifted her comm link to her lips. “This is Malone. We have the situation under control. The Herald and her staff have been neutralized.”

“Good job, Commander. Bring the Herald to the bridge, and drop the rest of them in the brig. Breen out.” The circuit went dead without waiting for a response.

Brandon took the link from the white-faced officer. “Hurdle number one passed, Herald. Let’s get the rest of them before they catch wind. Baron, if you’d be so kind as to keep them under guard, I’d appreciate it.” Changing tones, he ordered, “Chief, take your people to the engine room. Take no prisoners, I have a feeling they’ll ready for us, and don’t let anyone warn the bridge. Be sure to watch for Vega personnel. Most should be under some form of lock-down, but you can’t be sure. This is now hostile territory.”

Kitty looked back from the team headed for the engine room to Brandon. “I believe Simon would do the same thing, Madam Herald,” he said, formally. “Take the engine room and bridge, and you effectively control the ship. If we can get some of the Vega’s crew to throw in with us against traitors, so much the better. Even without them, as soon as we control the bridge, we can bring in more loyalists from the Canopus.”

He started off toward the bridge, hesitated a second, turned back to Kitty. “Change of plans,” Brandon said. “You will bring up the rear, and that’s none too safe a place to be. If Simon finds out, he’ll have my head on a platter. By the way, Kitty,” he said, changing his tone, “I like your instincts. You had Breen figured before I did, and I’m supposed to be on his side. Just goes to show how government paranoia works. Quite often, the left hand doesn’t know what the right hand is doing. I had planned for you to stay here until we had the bridge secured, but your idea of a ship-wide broadcast might just make the difference.”

The next half hour was never going to be totally clear to Kitty. Several crew from the Vega were almost killed before they were recognized. The Federal Case’s crew were given one chance only to surrender, and if they didn’t, they were shot. Somehow they knew they were coming and on full alert, something had tipped them off. Stepping over bodies became surrealistic, almost second nature to Kitty until a laser scorched a hole in a bulkhead inches from her left shoulder.

She dropped to her knees and spun around, along with the other five members of her team, and snapped off two shots at a mass of the Federal Case’s crew plugging the corridor. She saw two bodies hit the deck, then three more. That was when she realized her team was only four in number. The beam that burned the hole in the wall hadn’t missed after all. One of her guards lay face down on the deck, dead from a hole in his chest. He’d still had enough time to take out two of the aggressors before he died, a fact not lost on Kitty.

“Aim for the head or heart,” she ordered. “If that doesn’t work, hold the beam and sweep it across your target. Cut them in half.”

She heard her voice from a distance and was surprised to hear the same coldness Brandon’s voice had carried. Was this what it meant to kill people up close and personal? Good luck for Kitty’s team, or lack of teamwork on the traitor’s part, left the four Alliance personnel alive and remarkably untouched as the last Case crewmember fled back around the corridor. Kitty inhaled the smell of burnt flesh and looked at the massacre just fifty feet down the corridor. Amazed at the bloodless nature of laser warfare, she snapped back into reality.

She suddenly bent over and vomited on the deck, stomach heaving once, twice, three times before she got herself under control. Shakily, she stood up and looked at the carnage she and her guards had left in the Case’s corridor. “Come on,” she ordered, wiping her mouth with the back of her arm. “We can’t get too far behind or either we or Brandon will get cut off.” They backed hastily down the corridor, not trusting the survivors of the attack to stay cowed.

“Damn,” she muttered. “We didn’t pick up their lasers. We need to arm every Vega crewmember we find. I’m sure Breen kept them unarmed just in case something like this happened.”

“Don’t worry, Madam Herald,” one of her guards said. “We won’t be leaving any others behind, unless we just can’t carry them.”

In the distance, she heard the sound of lasers firing almost continually. She and her team moved in that direction, taking the occasional shot at any head that appeared around a corner. Soon, they caught up with the tail end of Brandon’s group. They were bunched up at a corner around which was the bridge entrance.

Brandon looked her over and noticed that she was short a guard. “Ambush,” was all she said to him about that. “We’re running low on power, though.”

“Not to worry,” Brandon said and grinned. “I made sure we made our way here by going past the armory. That’s four more you won’t have to worry about, but the bridge is aware of the problem now.” He handed out power packs that fit into the grips of the hand weapons. “I have three men holding the corridor with laser rifles until we’re ready to storm the bridge. We’ve picked up several Vegan crew along the way. They’re holding the armory, and one of my men is sending anyone we recruit either here or to the engine room.”

Kitty took advantage of a short lull in the firing to peek around the corner at the bridge. She was hauled back violently by Brandon grabbing the back of her shirt and pulling none too gently. “Don’t do that again,” he ordered. “We still need you to make that call for the fighting to cease, and you can’t do it dead.”

“Why is the bridge door only half closed?” she asked, disregarding his action except to rearrange her shirt.

“One of the Case’s crew was stupid enough to die in the doorway. Breen’s people got the body out of the door and found out too late that we’d welded it open with lasers.”

“So, what happens now?”

“Now we wait for confirmation that the power room has been secured so Breen can’t blow the ship,” (a prospect she hadn’t considered), “and that the cross corridor up there is covered from both sides by our people. Then I take a risk and drop these into the bridge.” He showed her three grey oval shapes with handles and pull-pins on them.

“Hand grenades? That’ll tear up the controls and possibly do just what you don’t want Breen to do,” she protested.

At that moment, Brandon’s comm link chimed. “Galway,” he said. He listened for a few seconds and smiled—a feral expression that chilled her to the bone. Had Simon ever been this cold? “We have the engine room,” he said. “And I’ve just decided that I don’t need to have that cross-corridor cleared. By the way, these are concussion grenades. Three going off in that small a space will put an end to all resistance and shouldn’t do too much damage to the controls.”

She grabbed his arm. “Brandon, where did you get concussion grenades?”

“Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies, Madam Herald. Now, if you’ll excuse me for a moment?” He turned to the riflemen splayed out behind a wall of bodies, effortlessly pulling his arm out of her grasp at the same time. “Lay down some covering fire. Just don’t hit me, please. I’m still on your side for a little while longer.”

Once the riflemen began to fire, he stepped into the center of the corridor and strolled over bodies as if it were an everyday event. Closing on the doorway with laser fire passing him—in some cases by inches—he pulled the pins from the grenades with his teeth, dropping them amongst the bodies. He had reached his point of no return.

Holding two grenades in his left hand, he let the handle of the one in his right go, a distinctive ting sounding all the way back to Kitty. He waited two seconds and tossed it into the bridge. Transferring the other two to his right hand, he let both handles go at once, waited two seconds, and tossed one into the room, waited another second and then tossed the other in a slightly different direction.

The grenades went off almost simultaneously and he was sprinting for the jammed door, laser in hand.

Kitty yelled, “Move out, people. I don’t want him hurt.” All the crew armed with pistols broke for the doorway, some stumbling over the bodies in the way. The riflemen were the last to get to their feet. They reached the cross-corridor and took up positions there, guarding the other approaches to the bridge and waiting for her.

Kitty glanced back the way they’d come and saw half a dozen people coming toward her. She raised her pistol but held her fire when one shouted out, “We’re from Vega. We’ve got your back, Madam Herald.”

Kitty said, “My thanks. I need you to hold this corridor until Commander Galway or I issue the all-clear.” She nodded once to the ranking officer in the bunch and turned away, dismissing them from her mind and beginning the same walk Brandon had so casually made. She couldn’t keep her eyes off the dead and dying. Most wore Federal Case shoulder patches, although a very few wore Vega patches or none at all. Stumbling more than once during that nightmarish walk, she somehow stayed upright until she reached the relatively clear space around the open doorway.

Taking a deep breath, she walked into the room, her laser sweeping back and forth, but all she could see standing were her own people and Brandon. She slowly holstered her weapon as Brandon turned to her. “Madam Herald, the Federal Case is your ship again.” There were no survivors among the bridge crew. Kitty looked around at the shattered screens and bodies, only noticing when she looked for Breen’s body that he was still strapped in his command chair, a small black hole drilled in his head.

She strode silently over to the comm console and looked it over. It had been bent and twisted during the fight to take control of the Federal Case away from rogue officers attempting a mutiny against the Alliance, but it was still functioning. “This is Katherine Hawke, Herald of the Terran Alliance. We now control the bridge, armory, and engine room. All surviving members of the Federal Case’s crew will report to the shuttle bay, unarmed. The Vega’s remaining officers and crew will be assigned positions until we can make this vessel space-worthy and return to Shiravan space. If you had nothing to do with the insurrection, you have nothing to fear, but all members of the crew will face a tribunal to determine their degree of guilt. Any member of the Federal Case’s crew who does not immediately report to the shuttle bay or is caught armed will be considered a combatant and shot on sight.” She let go of the microphone and let it fall to dangle from the console, swinging back and forth.

Two hours later, almost two hundred survivors of the Federal Case’s crew were packed into the Case’s shuttle bay. The Vega’s executive officer, temporarily raised to captain, was working her crew tirelessly to restore power to essential services. She reported to Kitty via comm link. “Madam Herald, I think it best if we slave our controls to the Canopus and return that way. It will give us two more weeks to make her space-worthy and clean up the mess.”

“Very well, Captain, make it so. Let Captain Lee know when you’re ready to attempt to make passage, and we’ll take it one step at a time from there.”

“Aye, Madam Herald. Captain Dexter, out.”

CHAPTER THREE

The two-week trip back to Shiravi was almost trouble-free. Acting Captain Dexter had managed to get her controls slaved to the Canopus, and since the engine room was intact—the boarders having caught the entire engine room crew by complete surprise—the three remaining ships left the Garmon outpost without incident.

Brandon, now back to being called mister, sat with Kitty and the baron. Margit was making herself useful in the med lab, helping with the wounded. “We’ve gone over the battle reports a dozen times, Kitty,” he said. “It would seem that the Garmon now have a new strategy. They hold one small ship away from the action, which records the battle and then disappears into hyper, most likely bound for the Garmon homeworld. Depending on how far away that is, well, their leader will know that a major defeat has just happened on the Shiravan side of their territory. Add that to the losses they sustain every time they attack Earth, and someone is going to be pretty pissed off.”

The baron decided to add his own comment. “Also, the translators have been working overtime on some of the more esoteric transmissions from the attacking ships. The word Korvil was mentioned once by the visiting ship, and since that time, it’s been replaced with the word Garmon. This confirms the change in leadership. Now, we have no way to judge what the response will be from a new leader, but we have to assume for safety’s sake that not much will change. We have to contend with the total output of over forty worlds against Shiravi’s fifteen and our one. We still hold a technical advantage, but sheer numbers, if they’re high enough, can overwhelm the most advanced weapons.”

Kitty looked at her eldest adviser dispassionately. She’d had a week to integrate her experiences into her psyche, especially after several extended sessions in the Canopus’s domed den. “The human race has never been known to just roll over and die for anyone, Baron. We fought our way out of the primordial ooze, onto land, into the trees, and back onto land. We’ve conquered every opponent nature has thrown at us, including climate changes and asteroid impacts. I won’t let myself believe that we’ll go down under the heels of some overgrown teddy bears. And if we do, that’s just the way it will be, but have no doubt, we’ll go down kicking and screaming all the way.”

Sitha kep Parrasine sat in the visitor’s lounge of the Shumara Vacht’s captain, a glass of fire wine untouched beside her as she gazed into a distance not contained by the walls around her. The Shumara Vacht had participated in the attack on the Garmon planet, losing all of her fighters and taking several hits from missiles aimed her way, though only three had gotten past her new screens. Losses had been minimal, and that was reason to rejoice, but the remarkable display put on by the human ships caused her worry such as she had never felt before.

Only seven of their remarkable fighters had been lost, and although one of the battlecruisers had remained somewhat back from most of the fighting for reasons she still didn’t understand, only one major ship was lost in the conflict, an impressive victory indeed. Six Garmon destroyers turned into so much scrap and atoms, while the humans lost only one ship and managed to save almost two-thirds of the crew, an unprecedented reversal of figures that would bear deep scrutiny and discussion between the Matriarch and her immediate staff.

Then there was the delay after the Herald had boarded her remaining battlecruiser. Internal communications could not be accessed, of course, but intercepted transmissions between the Federal Case and the Canopus indicated serious fighting going on amongst the humans themselves. Another item for consideration.

The fighting didn’t go on long, and after about three hours, the Herald’s voice was heard announcing that most of the Federal Case’s crew were to be imprisoned aboard the Canopus, while the survivors of Vega would take over control of the ship. Plans were made to slave the Case to the Canopus for the trip back to Shiravi. Sitha waited impatiently for the next revelation.

Her impatience was rewarded with more lack of information. The Herald called the Shumara Vacht to check on the progress of her officer and announced that the two remaining human ships were ready to depart the system and asked if the Shumara Vacht would like to slave to Canopus or travel solo. Sitha opted for the latter, though she neglected to say that it was so that she could arrive a bit ahead of the humans and report to the Matriarch what had happened. Undoubtedly, Domina sel Garian would have much to say about the entire exercise. There was a dark side to these humans, after all.

“I’m not surprised Sitha asked for her observers to be sent to the Shumara Vacht before she left for Shiravi,” Kitty said, sitting in her stateroom aboard the Federal Case.

“Maybe,” Brandon said casually, “she’s holding her own post-battle debriefing. I’m betting that she got more than an earful from the Vega’s observer, as well as the Federal Case’s. And let’s not forget that there were two observers aboard Canopus, all of whom had total access to all personnel as per your own instructions. I still wonder why you changed your mind and let her stay on the Shumara Vacht.”

“Intuition, Brandon,” Kitty said simply. “And I think it was best because she was the one who suggested that the Shumara Vacht might be able to help Shirley.”

“Can’t argue with that,” was all he replied.

Margit put in her own opinion. “My guess is that she’s pushing her ship to its limits to get back ahead of us so she can inform Domagera des Harras and sel Garian about our internal struggles. I’m sure that they’ll be busy finding a way to use our travails against us so they can take advantage of us.”

“What kind of advantage?” Kitty asked quickly. “Our internal struggles are our own business and we’ll solve them without outside interference. Besides, we have their internal struggles to point at if the need should arise. I’ll bet that the only mention is to find out what was going on.” She looked around the room slowly. “And I expect to receive a mission report as soon as we come out of hyperspace. I want thoughts, feelings, premonitions—everything that comes to you, as well as the unvarnished truth.”

The baron spoke up next. “I believe what Margit means is that anyone will look for a way to take advantage of another’s weakness if it seems to be in their own best interest. Look to our own past for the truth in that statement. We’ve just shown our allies that we aren’t as united as we would have them believe. It is unfortunate this came at a time when we needed to show a more united front, but we’ll have to work with what we have. We have two weeks to spin things into a manageable direction.”

Kitty shook her head. “I’m not sure spin-doctoring is the best approach with these people,” she said, a contemplative note in her voice. “So far, we’ve been as aboveboard as possible with the Shiravans, and I intend to keep to that course. If we have to take some heat because of it, then so be it. They’ve shown us a weakness of theirs—the problem with their kath-mora, their Spirit Witches. Now, we have shown that we are just as vulnerable as they are to internal struggles. It puts us on a more equal footing. Both of us are fallible, and that’s the image that I want to present.”

Brandon jumped in with a comment of his own. “As much as I’m supposed to be on the other side of this argument, I have to agree with Kitty. If we try to come off as more infallible than the Shiravans, more altruistic, more anything…” he hesitated, looking for the right words, “we stand a chance of—no pun intended—alienating our allies. Let’s appear as fallible as our allies, because we are. They’ve experienced divisions amongst themselves, just as we have. Their Expansionist versus Isolationist problem is equal to the split humanity shows as Alliance versus the remainder of the planet. So what if we have an insurrection on one of our ships? We’ve been in space for nine years now, and the powers that be Earth-side should want more than they have. And the Alliance should want to keep as much as they can for themselves, maintaining their power base.”

Kitty spoke up. “I agree with Brandon. We have weaknesses, and to deny them would only make the Shiravans suspicious. We should show our dark side a bit, and show them that we’re trying to work around it, just as they are.”

Kitty expected Sitha to order the Shumara Vacht’s captain to push the ship to its limit to get back before the human fleet. She felt that if their positions were reversed, she’d do the same, and the Federal Case still needed to make some repairs. She ordered the Canopus to hold their speed down to normal hyper transit. And so it was that the two human ships arrived in Shiravan orbit two days after the Shumara Vacht.

In order to break the monotony during one of the many meetings, someone asked why it was that two ships could be slaved through transit but couldn’t communicate by regular means. It quickly became a hot topic all through the Case’s scientists, and Kitty made a note to take the question back to human space when she left.

Immediately upon establishing a stable orbit, Kitty commed the Shumara Vacht to ask about the condition of her officer, more concerned about that than anything else. She was put directly through to the doctor she’d left aboard to monitor Shirley’s progress. “Madam Herald, these people have ways of accessing data that we’ve never discovered. I’m able to directly monitor Captain Dahlquist’s condition. The only thing I can’t do is get a read on her mental state, but her physical condition is improving at a rate that will have her out of the chamber within another two weeks, at a guess. You might find it of interest to know that her hair is now as white as yours. No one here seems to have any idea why that seems to be a side effect of regeneration time since Shiravans don’t have hair.”

Kitty thanked him for his dedication, asked if there was anything he needed, and if so, to comm the Federal Case and it would be sent over immediately. He thanked her almost distractedly and signed off, leaving her with the onerous duty of calling Linnas. She dreaded this call, knowing that she’d have a lot of explaining to do, but having the experience of both the baron and his wife to draw on, she knew she could turn the tables by bringing up the subject of the kath-mora, along with a few other esoteric subjects.

Taking a deep breath, she keyed in the frequency that would connect her with the Matriarch’s new personal assistant. “Domagera Hawke,” a new voice said, a sense of relief coming through to Kitty. “The Matriarch asked why you didn’t report in as soon as you reached orbit.” The statement came out almost as an aggrieved order.

Kitty opted for a forthright approach. “Ther’a,” she said icily, using the senior-to-junior mode that brooked no debate, “my most pressing desire was to discover the condition of my officer after a two-week lack of information. The Matriarch could wait long enough for me to find out how she fared. In case you or Linnas,” she said, using the Matriarch’s first name deliberately, “are interested, she seems to be healing well. And it appears that she faced a full grown Garmon, alone, armed only with a knife, and was the survivor.” A matter you might want to keep in mind for future reference, she thought.

The new voice spoke with a bit of uncertainty, “We are, of course, glad that your officer seems to be healing, and that her ordeal left her the victor. Too many times, it has happened that the victor has been the Garmon. As a matter of fact, we know of no instance where a Shiravan has bested a Garmon in single combat. Your officer is to be commended as soon as she recovers. That aside, the Matriarch would request that you attend her at tomorrow morning’s meal one hour past sunrise Cho-An time.”

Kitty didn’t give the new assistant time to turn the request into an order, desperately wanting to keep the situation on a superior-to-junior basis. “I’ll be happy to accept the Matriarch’s invitation. You may inform her that my gig will land on the eastern field approximately twenty minutes before the appointed hour. Also, please be kind enough to personally inform Central Command of my arrival.” I wouldn’t want to be shot out of the skies just because of a forgotten notice, she thought. She cut the comm link before the assistant could respond.

This particular breakfast with the Matriarch of fifteen worlds was not what Kitty had expected. First, it was in an entirely new room that had been built during her absence, apparently exclusively for the purpose of having the two Domageras sitting eye to eye. It contained the first split-level table she’d ever seen. The Matriarch’s side and chair sat a bit lower than Kitty’s, letting the two women sit so that neither had to look uncomfortably up or down at the other. Kitty examined the table with interest. “What a wonderful idea. I’m honored that you went to so much trouble.”

Linnas waved her hand dismissively. “After all you’ve done for us so far, as well as your spectacular performance, it was the least I could do. I had it commissioned before you even left on your mission.”

A nearly invisible servant dished up her second surprise. Kitty was served bacon, scrambled eggs, toast, butter, strawberry jam and orange juice, her personal favorite meal of all. How did she get the ingredients, much less the information? Kitty wondered as she noticed that Linnas had the same juice and jam on her side of the table.

The red woman noticed Kitty’s eyes on her own meal and said, “It seems there are a few foods that are compatible with both our systems, most in what your people call fruits and vegetables. I find the strawberries and juice to be very pleasing. I would hope that we could import some for our agronomists to experiment with.”

Kitty took a sip of the juice, thinking furiously. “I would imagine that we could work out a trade agreement of some kind,” she said slowly. She picked up a piece of bacon with her fingers and took an experimental nibble. It tasted real, so she dug into the rest with more gusto than she’d felt in what seemed like ages. “I’d like to see some of your gava stone come our way. The problem is that once we give you strawberries and oranges, you can grow your own from the results. The stone would be a one-time payment. How would we determine the value? Who would determine the value?”

Linnas waved her hand in dismissal of the idea. “It’s something we can discuss later. I only mentioned it to show that there are unexpected things that each of our worlds can offer the other. You’ve already been quite generous in freely giving us technology updates without asking for recompense.”

Kitty set her fork down. “That was a matter of necessity, Your Grace. It was a matter of saving lives—something I consider to be far more important than simple berries or fruit juices.”

“And I, as well, Madam Herald. But, I’d hope that we could keep these discussions on a first-name basis.” The Domagera spread jam on what passed for Shiravan toast and took a bite. The look that crossed her face told Kitty that this was more than just a small item for the Matriarch.

“Very well, Linnas,” she said. “Raspberries, blueberries, apples, nectarines, whatever. Foodstuffs are still foodstuffs. Once you get one shipment, you won’t need another. You’ll be able to plant your own crops from the seeds from the first shipment. How could you even begin to negotiate the price of something like that? And I agree that the discussions should be conducted by experienced negotiators. On that same subject, how about your fire wine? If it comes from something that humans can grow, there’s a possible trade. And why are we discussing this anyway? I’d think that you’d be more inclined to discuss the results of our foray into Garmon space.”

“True,” Linnas said, picking a piece of something vaguely white from her plate. The red light changed everything so that Kitty couldn’t tell the real color. “It would seem that there’s been a shake-up amongst our common foe, and I’m most interested to find out how that will affect future relations among Shiravans, humans, and Garmons.”

Linnas’s direct stare was a bit disconcerting. Kitty wondered how much she’d been told of the battle and how the results had been interpreted. One prime consideration was who was doing the interpreting. She decided to shelve the matter until it was laid directly on the table.

“I’d like to know why the change has occurred at this particular time,” Kitty said. “The ‘why’ is of great concern to me and my advisers. Is it because they’re fighting two different foes or fighting on two fronts? Or is it that their resources are beginning to be stretched too thin? We’ve accounted for a fairly large number of losses in human space,” she added pointedly. “And there are a number of other possibilities that could be the cause of the shake-up, none of which would be comprehensible to us, Shiravans or Humans, because we don’t think like they do. Hell, even humans and Shiravans don’t think alike. That’s another matter we discuss on an ongoing basis.” She finished off her meal and washed it down with the last of the juice in her glass, pushing the plate away from her a bit. “Is it possible to get more orange juice, please?” It appeared almost instantly.

“Again, true, Kitty,” Linnas agreed. “The most impressive case in point is the defeat of six Garmon destroyers while losing only one major ship in trade. This is something that we haven’t been able to do in over two hundred turnings. Your tactics and upgrades to our technology account for most of the achievement, but, as you have already pointed out, we don’t think alike. Shiravans are a more static culture, while you humans appear to be a more dynamic one. So, tell me, what do you attribute your success to?”

“As a far younger, more dynamic culture,” Kitty answered immediately, “we’re still striving to find ourselves as a people. There are over two hundred different countries on our single planet. We’re constantly at odds with each other over one matter or another and have been for all the hundreds of thousands of years of our existence, if our scientists are to be believed. And we are ruled, for the most part, by males. It seems to me that they, more than anything else, are the reason we progress so fast. I don’t profess to understand the male mentality, but then neither do most females on our world. Males and females will never truly understand each other.”

Kitty poured another glass of juice and offered to pour another for her hostess, who deferred. “Now, I’d like to ask you a question or two,” Kitty said, setting the pitcher down.

“I’ll answer any question as honestly and truthfully as I’m able,” Linnas said.

“Spoken like a true politician,” Kitty said, an odd tone in her voice. “First, what is to become of Ramannie kep Gillas and those who aided her in the killing of the crew of the Dalgor Kret?” She deliberately used the Shiravan name of the Galileo. “And what will you do with the senior kath-mora when they finally return to Shiravi?”

Linnas’s face took on a look that would do a poker player proud. “Ramannie kep Gillas and her immediate conspirators will be banished to an island we’ve prepared for them after suitable trials. And her marriage to Rentec was immediately annulled as soon as I was able to sign the documents.” Her smile was there, but there seemed to be a great distance hidden behind those ruby-colored eyes.

“As for the senior kath-mora, when they get back, assuming they do, they’ll be confined in a like manner, separate from the others. We will not allow them to have any contact with others they might corrupt. They’ll spend the rest of their days in contemplation of their actions, except, of course, for the agents among them who had to go to keep up appearances.” She looked across the split-level table at her guest. “What would you do with such persons on your world?”

“Excuse me? To keep up appearances?” Kitty asked.

“Of course. Only the most senior kath-mora were untouchable. We had agents on every one of their senior staffs but couldn’t touch them from behind their shield of Family. We managed to steer their course a bit, keeping them from being too overt. We even knew, at the highest levels, of course, that an attack was to be made on the ship. Our information, unfortunately, was the same as young Kuria’s.”

Kitty looked Linnas straight in the eyes. “You knew about the attack and didn’t anticipate the possibility of the mass killing of the Dalgor Kret’s crew?” she asked in disbelief.

She watched the looks pass over her hostess’s face. “As I said, we had every reason to believe that we could disable the plot en route. We got one report of plague from the captain before he was infected, too. He and his pilot, Kuria, removed everything the virus might adhere to and opened the ship to space. All personal possessions—everything except the ship’s log—was jettisoned. That should have cleared the virus. And what of the crew of your ship, the Federal Case? Will those who survived be subjected to this process and then killed?”

“Some, possibly,” Kitty admitted regretfully, “but most will just face banishment from space for life since we control who joins us.” She recognized it for the change of subject it was supposed to be. On some level, she felt that she was losing ground in this discussion. “We have an offense we call treason. That means willful disobedience of orders from accepted superiors, especially in time of war. If the offense is grave enough and the consequences of their actions vile enough, execution is not an unimaginable result. This is a subject that’s usually only addressed in times of war, as I said, and we are most certainly at war for the very existence of our race. Death isn’t too high a price to pay for such acts, or so we believe.”

Linnas looked across the table at the one known as Katherine and wondered if she were really Kath-e-vel. “Tell me how you arrive at the decision to end the existence of another in such a manner. We have wars and insurrections where the taking of lives are necessary, but to sit down and deliberate on the execution of a particular individual... that is something most Shiravans would find hard to contemplate.”

“Much like Domina sel Garian led hundreds of her kinfolk and associated clans into a trap and killed them to ensure your ascension to the Matriarchy?” Kitty returned quietly. “As I remember the story, she was rewarded with a post in your regime as your second in command. Was that so you could keep an eye on her so she wouldn’t do the same to you and yours if she should get ambitious?”

“Of course not,” Linnas answered hotly. “The two situations aren’t even remotely akin to each other.”

Kitty started to argue that the reverse was more likely to be true, but she was interrupted by her comm link chiming. “Hawke, here,” she said, extremely glad for the interruption.

“Madam Herald, this is Captain Dexter. Comm has just confirmed the arrival of five human ships in Shiravan space, accompanied by a single Shiravan vessel vouching for their intentions. The fleet is called Raptor Group and is composed of the Raptor, our first full-sized battleship, under the command of Captain Marsha Kane, the Spica, the Regulus, the Deneb, and the carrier Aldebaran. What are your orders?”

Kitty looked at her hostess and answered, “Tell the Shiravan ship to enter orbit under Central Command’s control, and have our ships stand off until further notice. Stress that the situation is delicate, and they are to maintain their distance until I order otherwise. Hawke, out.”

Linnas set her glass down and placed her hands on the table. “So, it would seem that your subordinate has followed instructions and sent more ships to help in our struggles.”

Kitty started. “I wasn’t aware that you spoke English, Linnas. I wasn’t trying to be rude.”

Linnas raised her hand, palm forward in the human fashion. “Do not distress yourself, Kitty. I have been known to study upon occasion.” She smiled as if at a small joke. “If Shiravans and humans are to co-exist, then it is my desire to understand your language as well as you understand ours. My tutors tell me that the best way to understand a culture is to understand their language, yes?”

“Well, yes, of course,” Kitty said, nonplussed. Linnas’s last words had all been in English. “I just didn’t realize...”

“Don’t worry,” Linnas said in Shiravan. “That’s almost all I know so far, but I’m a quick study. Before long I’ll have a better grasp of your language, and by extension, your people. Although, I admit that I’ll probably never understand your legal system. This killing of those who kill or cause others to die by their actions is anathema to our way of life. It’s probably a by-product of so many males in control of your various governing bodies. I would hope that, once you embrace a one-world government, this disgraceful habit will fall by the wayside.”

“Uh, yeah,” was all Kitty could say to that. “Anyway, I need to speak to the group commander and set up a patrol sequence. It was my idea that, just as your ships are under human command while on our side of Garmon space, human ships will be under the ultimate control of a Shiravan commander while here. Who that’s to be I’ll leave up to you and Doma kep Parrasine, but I need to go and make those conditions clear to Captain Kane in person.”

“Of course,” Linnas said. “But, don’t forget, we must ratify a treaty between our two peoples before you leave for your home, and I feel that that is something that will be happening in the not-too-distant future now that the new fleet has arrived.”

“Certainly, Linnas,” Kitty said. “Besides, I can’t leave until Captain Dahlquist comes out of her regen chamber, so I think we’ll have all the time we need to make that treaty.”

“Perhaps,” Linnas agreed. “Keep in mind, though, that she can go back while she’s still in the chamber aboard another vessel. I’ll be assigning another to replace the one that returned home.”

“I have it on good authority that she’ll be out of the chamber in another week—two at the most,” Kitty said, standing up. “Her injuries weren’t as serious as mine. And I believe my advisers will want to help draw up the articles of affiliation for our treaty, as I’m sure yours will want to do, also. Then we’ll have to negotiate the differences.”

Linnas stood also, and the efficacy of the different levels showed again since the two women were still at eye level. “Now, you must go and speak with your Captain Kane and advisers, as I must speak with mine. My new aide will lead you to your ship.” The Matriarch motioned for an almost invisible figure to come forward. “Domagera Hawke, please meet Doma Kersela des Harras, a distant cousin, just entering her first vocation.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Kitty entered her shuttle, contemplating the similarities of the two cultures. Nepotism was certainly a factor in this new aide’s appearance. It had to be, she reasoned. Of course a society as closed as this one was would promote it, but with the gradual reintroduction of males into society and their obvious elevation to positions of authority—ship captains, ambassadors, department heads—it wouldn’t be long before there’d be a Patriarch. She only had to look as far as Earth. There had already been a few women on the ticket for president at one time or another. Sooner or later…

Kitty’s gig rendezvoused with the Federal Case, and she immediately requested Captain Dexter to move out to the new fleet. She didn’t consciously know it, but she was in desperate need of a new face or fifty, and Marsha’s would do nicely.

It was only a matter of a few hours. After getting clearance from Central Command, powering up and jumping to the new coordinates, there was a short shuttle ride to the Raptor, and Kitty felt as if the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders. The shuttle ride gave her a chance to view the new behemoth out of Taurus Base. Almost as long as the Galileo, the ship fairly bristled with shield generators, laser mounts, tractor and pressor beam mounts, and numerous ports for the expulsion of several deadly kinds of missiles.

Of course, there were numerous characteristics she couldn’t put a name to, but that wasn’t her department anymore. As long as Marsha knew what to do with them, that would be good enough for her.

She felt it when the tractor beam took her shuttle in its grip and the pilot cut power, so she moved to the ramp and waited as the pilot shut the systems down. She wasn’t surprised to find a side party waiting, although the last one still caused her nightmares that she was sure would last for years. The biggest surprise was Marsha.

Standing several inches taller than Kitty, as most people did, Marsha stood at the front of a full dozen ships’ officers in full dress. The strange thing was that Marsha’s hair was as white as her own, and she couldn’t take her eyes off it for several seconds. Finally, she shook herself and strode down the ramp to its end, asking, “Permission to come aboard, Captain?”

“With great pleasure, Madam Herald. And let me say that I’ve waited for this moment for almost two years now.” She turned to her officers and said, “At ease.” Twelve hands came down in unison, and twelve people moved to the rest position—hands behind their backs, feet spread slightly apart, and relaxed but alert.

Kitty stepped off the shuttle’s ramp, and Marsha took her outstretched hand, but instead of shaking it, she pulled Kitty into a bear hug that threatened to smother her. “I’ve missed you, boss,” Marsha whispered into her ear, then stepped back. “Welcome aboard the Raptor, Madam Herald,” she said, still holding Kitty’s hand. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to my day room. We can do the tour later.”

“That would be fine, Captain Kane,” Kitty stammered, embarrassed at her lack of control. “Lead on.”

Marsha said, “Side party, atten-shun. Dismissed.” The officers came to attention, then seemed to disperse slowly in a random manner, two following closely behind the two friends. “Those two will be with us until they’re relieved by the next shift. It seems that we’ve been severely infiltrated by agents of several governments. It’s going to be a job weeding out the quislings.” She sounded almost apologetic.

Kitty nodded. “I’ve already had to deal with the same problem, and quite possibly in greater detail than you, Marsha. But I’ll save that for when we’re alone.” She presented the brown bag she’d carried from the Canopus. “I hope you have time to get sloppy drunk because this stuff is going to do the trick. It’s one of the things we and the Shiravans can both tolerate. They call it fire wine, and it will take some getting used to.”

Marsha laughed out loud as she pressed a button that opened an elevator. The two women entered, followed by the guards, one of whom pressed a button. Kitty felt pressure beneath her feet as the lift rose. The doors opened and the two guards stepped out first, hands near their weapons. One looked back and nodded. Marsha gestured for Kitty to exit first and said, “After you, Madam Herald.”

Kitty did so, and her first impression was of vastness. The corridor was easily twice the width of the Vega’s or the Federal Case’s, and people moved along it seemingly intent on errands of great urgency. Marsha turned right and headed down the corridor, Kitty a pace behind, feeling the presence of the two guards as an itch between her shoulder blades.

Marsha stopped at a door guarded by two armed crewmen, ran her hand over an identi-plate, and the door opened. She stepped in and Kitty followed, the feeling of vastness increasing. The room was easily three times the size of anything aboard any other ship of the fleet, and it was only the outer room to the captain’s private quarters.

The door closed behind her, and she looked over her shoulder to make sure they were alone. “Don’t worry, Kitty,” Marsha said, “we can relax now. But there have been several changes in protocol since you left. Too many attempts at sabotage, sensitive data reaching the wrong places, things like that. So, new protocols, especially aboard the Raptor since she’s the first of her kind.” She flopped down in a chair. “Whatcha got in the bag? Fire wine, you called it. Your name or the Shiravan’s?”

Kitty pulled the bottle out of her bag and set it on the table while Marsha got up to get two glasses from a sideboard. “We’ll wait to crack the bottle for just a bit, if you don’t mind,” Kitty said. “I’d like to be brought up to date on things back home, first. By the way, I like your hair.”

Marsha brushed her hand through her white hair self-consciously. “I’m still not sure I like the color. Have you discovered that dyes don’t take? They come out all spotty. The good thing is that they wash off with a minimum of showering. I like the pageboy cut, though. Easier to take care of.” She reached into the drawer of a small table beside the couch they shared and pulled out a manila folder. “I knew you’d ask, so here’s everything I have as of the Raptor’s departure. All the details are there, but in brief, reconstruction is going well, especially in the Amazon basin. Our scientists have been able to replant a majority of the damaged landscape, but things are going a bit slower on the North American west coast. Too much infrastructure needs to be completely rebuilt. We’re working with local power companies and construction crews to get power back, along with roads, bridges, and dams.

“All the housing and lives lost are the biggest problem—court suits to claim the land of lost relatives, squatters, disease due to lack of proper sanitation facilities, hunger because all the flora and fauna was washed out to sea, rainstorms causing mudslides that hamper rebuilding, the almost total loss of the giant redwoods, and oh, God, so much more.

“Places farthest from the Aleutian explosion, as it’s now being called, suffered least, with the exception of Russia, of course, but there were relatively few people living along the coastline there, and no accurate count will ever be made of the losses. Mostly, they’re just trying to replant fast-growing ground cover to keep the soil from being washed into the ocean. Japan suffered very little. The embassy there managed to get its shield up in time to save the buildings and people inside the perimeter. There was a secondary effect from that. It split the wave, lessening the damage the island suffered. Only Tokyo took much damage, and that was because they’ve built so many structures so close to the shorelines.”

Kitty skimmed through the papers in the folder, listening with half an ear. She stopped when she reached a yellow sheet of paper among all the white. “Oh, yeah,” Marsha said. “That’s an analysis of how far we’ve been infiltrated by agents of various governments. We knew it was going to happen, but this shows a far larger amount than expected. We’ve begun instituting lie detector tests and washing out even ambiguous applicants. The truth is that of the ones who did or do get past the screening process, we’re expecting a small number to truly convert to the Alliance. It seems that a greater number than expected are doing so there, too.” She watched Kitty skim through the rest of the papers, stack them neatly, and slip them back into the folder.

“And another thing,” she said, almost as an afterthought. She leaned over and pulled a thick envelope from the same drawer. “Simon asked me to give this to you personally. Probably just a bunch of mushy stuff that you can read later and cry over. There’s a video in there, too, but that can wait until we sober up. So, why don’t you fill me in on what’s been going on over here while we get shit-faced?” She indicated the blue bottle sitting on her table.

Marsha dodged Kitty’s determined swat with the manila envelope and just smiled when Kitty said, “I should just take my bottle and go for making me wait for this.”

Marsha held her hands up in a gesture of defeat, still smiling at her friend. “I don’t get that many pleasures these days, Kitty. Allow me to have some fun, will ya?”

“Okay,” Kitty said, grudgingly. “But you better have brought a compatible player with you, or so help me…”

“In my private quarters,” Marsha avowed. “And you can have all the time you need, I promise. Now, let me at that fire wine while you fill me in on what’s happening in this part of the galaxy.”

She listened as Kitty started in on Vega Group’s arrival, and Kitty was just getting to the part about meeting the Matriarch for the first time by the time she started pouring for her friend. She looked at the bluish liquid in the two glasses and then at the clear container above the rest of the wine in the bottle.

“This is going to be an interesting evening,” Marsha predicted.

“More interesting than you can even imagine,” Kitty replied. “While you’re still sober, I’m going to give you the worst of it, but first,” she said, lifting her glass high, “to old friends, even if they do have a perverse streak in them.”

Marsha lifted her own glass and touched it to Kitty’s, a small clink sounding through the room. “To old friends,” she replied and took a tentative sip of the alien wine. Her eyes went wide about three seconds after the wine hit her stomach. “Holy shit!”

“That,” Kitty said solemnly, “will be the understatement of the evening. First, we were given a task to perform to prove ourselves to our new allies. Vega Group, along with the Shumara Vacht and another Shiravan ship, was sent to a known Garmon planet to show what we could do. We had the Shumara Vacht, the Vega, the Federal Case, and the Canopus, along with another Shiravan ship. We faced six Garmon destroyers and whipped their asses, but we believe an observer was dispatched to the Garmon homeworld right after our victory. We took out all six ships, but we lost the Vega to a rammer. And as we entered the system, we managed to get the signatures of four Shiravan ships just leaving the system. I’ll be mentioning that one to Linnas.”

Marsha’s face fell and she started to speak but thought better of it after looking at Kitty’s face. “We managed to save about two-thirds of the Vega’s crew, but Shirley had to go and play hero. She took a Mamba, turned control over to her exec, and went after the bastards herself. The problem was that she got hit but managed to land on the planet.”

Kitty took a stiff drink of the wine before she went on. “By the time the battle was over and we could get a rescue team to her beacon, she’d been found by a Garmon. They call themselves Garmon now, by the way. The Shiravans think there’s been a power change and the race changed their name. God only knows why. Anyway, there must have been a hell of a fight. Shirley is in a regen chamber right now and should be out in less than two weeks, according to Shiravan doctors. Her hair is as white as ours is, by the way. They’ve got no idea why, either. Anyway, the Korvil—er—Garmon, was dead, with a survival knife stuck to the hilt in his left eye. Most of Shirley’s injuries were a result of being landed on by this critter and the length of time he lay on her before our teams got to her.”

“But she’s going to be all right?” Marsha asked worriedly.

Kitty nodded as she took another drink and waved her hand indifferently. “Oh, sure. They say she’ll make a full recovery. And as soon as she can stand up, I’m gonna kill her myself.”

Marsha snorted as she took another sip of her own drink. “I don’t think you’ll go quite that far, Kitty. I’ve seen pictures of these creatures, and killing one of them in hand-to-hand combat is no small matter. It probably took just as much luck as courage. But it just undersores… scores… this is some potent stuff… the need to neutralize them as soon as possible. I’m not saying we need to kill them all off, but I don’t know,” she finished lamely.

Kitty put her nearly empty glass on the table and leaned back on the couch. “And that’s the good news.” She watched Marsha’s eyebrows go up as she copied Kitty’s posture. “The Federal Case was loaded with traitors. Breen was a second-waver, but he was also a government agent. I think he was trying to take the Case for the U.S. government, but his assignment here got in the way. He had loaded his crew with about ninety per cent newer arrivals, and they almost succeeded in kidnapping me. If it hadn’t been for Brandon Galway, I’d probably be sitting in a cell while the Case made its way back to Earth. What they would have done with the ship is anybody’s guess. Sooner or later, they would have to come to us for a new power core because that information isn’t installed in battlecruisers. They had no way to build bases, sundivers, refineries, or any other aspects of the process. All they’d get would be the weapons technology, and even that they couldn’t use without the power that comes from an antimatter core, which would wear out after another two years by our estimates.”

Marsha, feeling the effects of the unaccustomed drink, said, “And he, they, had to know all that. What were they going to do with a single ship? They had to know we wouldn’t let them keep it.”

“But they would have had me, and about ten per cent of their crew were true Alliance personnel, as well as some of the Vega’s survivors. Would our ships really have fired on her in that case?”

“I guess not,” Marsha admitted ruefully. “So, what did you do?”

“The only thing we could. I made Brandon Galway an acting Alliance commander, loaded a shuttle with about forty loyalists, and transferred my flag to the Case. As soon as we landed in the bay, I was informed that I was under arrest, and the entire side party, except for the exec, was killed. We then stormed the engine room and bridge. Breen was killed in the fighting, along with quite a few of the Case’s crew, some of the Vega’s crew who either switched sides or got in the way, and some of our own people, but we took the ship back. It’s now under the command of Captain Dexter of the Vega and will transport me back to Earth with a signed treaty. All of the Case’s survivors will stand a court martial for treason and be sentenced according to the degree of their participation in the fighting.”

Marsha shook her head in wonder. “I still can’t see you trusting Galway, though.”

“He’s never been anything but an honorable opponent, Marsha. He always told us straight up what his agenda was and was just as surprised as the rest of us by the event. Besides, he was the only one available to me with combat leadership abilities. You work with what you have. He gave me his word; I took it and he kept it. I do wish he was on our side. What an asset he would be.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Kitty asked for and got permission to bring the Raptor into low Shiravan orbit in order to show Marsha the degree of care Shirley was receiving aboard the Esmit. During their visit, Linnas called from the surface.

“I regret the interruption,” Linnas began, “but I know you’ll soon be returning to Earth, and I wanted to finalize our treaty and meet the captain of the Raptor. I believe she and I will be working closely together over the next several turnings. I feel that it’s a good omen she’s also female. You do realize that your revolt was headed by a male—just a point I felt it necessary to make.”

Kitty looked the Matriarch in the eye, thanks to the viewscreen. “And you realize that the killers of the Dalgor Kret’s crew were female, even if they did use a male agent, as long as we’re making points. And for another point, you have some of your most sensitive positions filled by males now. Captain do’ Sirkis of the Esmit is male, and you seem to trust him completely, as is Rentec and several leaders of your most sensitive Ministries. I have to wonder why that is. I can’t believe it’s solely to free up females for combat roles. If that was true, do’ Sirkis would be female, as would every other captain of every ship in your fleet.

“You’re going to have to realize that males and female complement each other. Neither is whole without the other. We’ve tried all the various permutations of governance it’s possible to have, I think, and in our case, at least, it turns out that some males are better qualified to run a department, company, ship or government by temperament, as well as training, than females. Of course, in other cases, the exact opposite is true. We call it heredity versus environment. It’s a debate that’s raged for well over two thousand years, and I imagine it will go on for just as long and still not come to a consensus. So, let’s leave that topic alone, shall we?”

It was two days later before Kitty could arrange to have a sit-down with Linnas and Marsha. Marsha stopped and stared at the Stala Mountains, making appropriate noises before Kitty pulled her inside where an escort was waiting to lead them to the Matriarch’s chambers.

“I hope our last conversation wasn’t too much for you, Linnas,” Kitty said after formal introductions had been made. “Sometimes different opinions seem like insurmountable obstacles.”

“Agreed,” Linnas said quickly, glad to be rid of the subject when Kitty had made such a good argument using her own culture against her. “Captain Kane,” she said, changing tacks, “it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I would hope that at some time in the future you’ll show me around your ship. I hear it’s the first human ship of its kind.”

Marsha looked at Kitty, who just shrugged and said nothing. “First, I don’t know what to call you without offending you. You and Kitty are on the same level, being leaders of your peoples. I am but a lowly captain of a warship. Granted, it’s the mightiest in our fleet, and I’m greatly honored at receiving the captaincy, but know this: the other four ships with us are captained by men, all of whom have shown remarkable aptitude at handling themselves and their crews in crises. If something should happen to me, my executive officer is male, as are the next two people in line for command of the Raptor. And if the Raptor should fall, a male will take command of the group in my place.”

She looked around for a chair, and without asking or waiting for her superiors to do so first, sat down. She continued, “I don’t subscribe to the female dominance theory. I do feel that males have had it too good for too long in certain areas of our culture, but we’re entering a new era, one in which gender is of less importance than ability. From all I’ve been led to understand, that’s not a basic premise of your culture.” She held up her hand to forestall any interruptions as the two leaders sat down. “That’s not to say I’m not happy to see women getting more recognition these days. Some of us deserve it. But there are some men out there who are just as well qualified to fill the position of captain of the Raptor as I am. And there are some women I wouldn’t trust to clean out toilets. And it doesn’t all depend on temperament. Training, heredity, environment, and life experience all go into the mix to make a particular person fit for a particular position. It’s said that a person rises to their own level of incompetence. That means that if a person signs on as, say, a maintenance worker and shows an aptitude for more, he or she can be moved up. If they still show promise for higher positions, they can be promoted again. But sooner or later, that person, male or female, will reach a level of competence they cannot exceed. Then, when they’re promoted to a higher level and can’t do the job, their superiors will say something like, ‘Look at him/her. A total screw-up. Kick them out before they do something even worse.’ I say, why not just demote them back to the position they showed the most aptitude for? You don’t lose a good person that way.”

Linnas looked Marsha in the eye, easier for Marsha as she stood a good six inches taller than Kitty. “You speak words of great wisdom, Captain Kane. I’m now certain we’ll get along as well as Kitty and I have. I have two questions you may find unexpected: do you play chess, and are you any good at it?”

Feeling more than a little out of her element, Marsha answered, “I do play, but I’m not what you’d call the best player you could match up against. Why do you ask, Your Majesty?”

“Call me Linnas,” the red woman said. “We’re going to be the two most powerful women on this side of Garmon space for some time to come, and we should be friends. I’d be honored if you would allow me to call you Marsha.”

Marsha looked in confusion at Kitty, who just said, “Don’t look at me, Captain. You’re going to be the top human commander in Shiravan space for quite a while. I, personally, think it would be best if you were on a first-name basis with the Matriarch. In informal settings, of course.”

“Well, in that case,” Marsha said hesitantly, “I guess it would be okay.”

Linnas smiled in the human fashion, teeth showing. “Very well, then, I think you should meet some of my top advisers.” She pressed a button on her wristband and waited for her comm link to chime. “Doma kep Parrasine, would you meet me in my private chambers and bring Domina sel Garian with you if she’s available?”

Kitty said, “While we’re awaiting the arrival of our visitors, may I have a word in private with Captain Kane?”

“Of course, Kitty. Take all the time you need. I believe Domina sel Garian will be hard to pry away from her duties anyway.”

Kitty motioned for Marsha to follow her into the gardens of the Matriarch’s estate. “Listen, there’s something you have to know, and it has nothing to do with palace intrigue. That, you’re going to have to figure out on your own, except for me to say that sel Garian has stepped down as the Matriarch’s second in command and the post has passed to Sitha kep Parrasine, but Manura will still be around training her for a few more years yet. And I’ve been getting some funny vibes off her whenever she’s around. And that’s just since we got back from our little demonstration.”

“Well, of course. You’ve just proven that we’re more powerful than the Garmon, is it? That’s going to make a lot of people edgy,” Marsha said. “We’re still an unknown to them, no matter the amount of interaction up until this point.”

Kitty thought about that for a moment and then said, “Right. I hadn’t considered it in that light. So, you’ll just have to watch your back. Shouldn’t be a problem, what with being on a first name basis with the ruler of fifteen whole planets and controlling the most powerful ship in this part of space.”

“Umph,” was all Marsha said to that.

Looking down at the path, Kitty said, “There’s something else I want to talk to you about.” The uncertainty in her voice made Marsha turn her head as they slowly walked through the alien garden. Things that might be birds were seen flitting from tree to tree occasionally. “What did you get from your experience in the regen chamber? Any images, impressions, or communications from the computer controlling your recovery?”

The two white-haired women strolled down gravel paths under a blood-red sun. Lining the paths were flora from all over the planet, none of which looked particularly healthy, most likely due to the light. Marsha looked askance at Kitty as they strolled along. “I really don’t know what you mean. It was like I went to sleep and then woke up repaired, refreshed and renewed. Why do you ask?”

“How long did you spend in the chamber, Marsha?”

“They told me it was about six weeks. Again, what’s this all about?”

“I was in for almost ten months,” Kitty said, her lowered voice raising the small hairs on the back of Marsha’s neck. “I don’t know if I got more because I was in for so long, or what, but somehow, the computer told me what it was doing—after it got my brain back on track. I was pretty messed up, and I don’t mean just my body. After all, I thought Simon was dead.” Kitty stopped at a crossroads of two of the paths. “The thing is, it didn’t just fix me; it rewrote some of my DNA. And I think it did the same to you. And I think this other computer that has Shirley is doing the same to her because it used me as a sort of template for what a human is supposed to be.”

“I’m not sure I like what I’m hearing,” Marsha said uneasily. “DNA is what defines human beings, isn’t it? And if these computers are messing with our DNA, then shouldn’t we put a stop to it?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Kitty replied cryptically. “Simon is the only other person I’ve told this to and now you. And I’ll tell Shirley, as soon as she gets out. What the computer did was to rearrange some of our DNA so that we now have longer lifespans. How would you like to live to be over three hundred years old, keeping your mind sharp all the way up until the end? sel Garian is almost three hundred, Linnas, the Matriarch, is over a hundred, and most of the Shiravans you’ve met so far are about the same.”

“Three hundred years old? For real?” Marsha was astonished at the thought. Then, one of the immediate implications hit her. “You’re going to outlive Simon and watch him grow old while you stay young. The same will be true for me and Shirley, too. How are we supposed to handle that? I don’t think I can, and it’s apparently too late to change it for us.”

Kitty nodded. “True. But when I was going into the chamber so it could read me and then repair Shirley, I heard the technicians talking. You don’t have to be hurt to use the chamber. Look at me. I was fine. I just spent two days letting the computer get what it needed to fix Shirley. We can do the same for anyone we want. All we have to do is get the Shiravans to teach us how to use the equipment properly. And I think it’s inheritable. Once we’ve been through the process, any children we have will automatically have the same lifespans.”

Marsha started to pace around the intersection. “This is a lot to take in right now, Kitty. You’ve had time to process it; I haven’t. Why didn’t the computer tell me? Will everyone who goes through the process have white hair? Will we be marked for life like this? How about the rest of humanity? What will they do when they find out that we can outlive them by three to one?”

Kitty shook her head. “I can’t answer even one of those questions, Marsha. All I know is that we should probably keep this quiet for now, but I figured you needed to know, if you didn’t already. And since you hadn’t said anything to me about it, I figured you didn’t.”

“Shit, Kitty. We’re going to have to put regen chambers on all our bigger ships, transfer people around, and get them all up to speed. And we should let Earth in on it sooner or later. How will it look when you and I are still around in another hundred and fifty years and some smart young reporter decides to compare photographs?”

“It will look like we’re hiding something, that’s what,” Kitty said, agreeing with Marsha’s assessment of the situation. “We can say that the white hair is some kind of side effect of prolonged exposure to hyper travel or some such nonsense. Who’ll know the difference? And we’ll face the smart young reporter when he shows up.”

Kitty turned and headed back toward the building, barely seen through the alien foliage. “I think we should consider your briefing over before someone gets too suspicious. These Shiravans, at least some of them, are prone to that.”

The two humans walked back into Linnas’s quarters to find that the visitors had arrived. Kitty spoke first, “Captain Marsha Kane, let me present the Shiravan Second Voice, Doma Sitha kep Parrasine, and her predecessor and adviser, Domina Manura sel Garian.” Each individual nodded once in the human fashion, indicating their introduction. “Shiravans aren’t much for personal contact,” Kitty said, “so shaking hands isn’t going to be much of a problem.”

Kitty sat down and crossed her legs, looking at the others in the room. Finally, Linnas sat down, followed by the others. “Good,” Kitty said. “I realize these are your personal quarters, Linnas, but since time is truly of the essence, I’ll start us off, if you have no objections.” She spoke in Shiravan first, then translated for Marsha. Linnas waved a hand, indicating her approval.

Kitty cleared her throat, leaned over and picked up a glass of water from the small table in front of her chair. After taking a sip and replacing the glass, she said, “We five represent the most powerful individuals of our respective races, minus the Admiral. This isn’t braggadocio but pure fact, and I’ll be leaving soon, treaty in hand to bind us together until the Garmon menace is finally neutralized one way or the other. That will leave four, only one of whom is human, and she’s going to feel a bit inferior to the rest of you because she hasn’t had the exposure I’ve had. Marsha is the supreme human authority in this area of space…”

“Wait a minute, Kitty,” Marsha said, protesting.

“But,” Kitty continued over Marsha’s protest, “she’s going to be under Shiravan command,” looking at Marsha warningly. “Do you have any suggestions that might alleviate her apprehensions?”

Linnas’s eyes glazed over for a moment. “I have one idea that might be just the thing to solve the problem, but it’ll require the agreement of both my top advisers,” she said looking at Sitha and sel Garian. When neither looked like they understood, she said, “Kagaras e Semara.”

sel Garian protested. “Your Grace, you can’t do this. There’s no precedent.”

“Oh, yes there is. We’ve always been able to adopt from one family to another without difficulty. Where do you think the idea of fostering came from?”

Marsha looked stunned. Her slight knowledge of Shiravan gave her just enough of an inkling of what was being discussed to make her uneasy. “Would someone please explain to me what’s going on?” she asked plaintively.

Kitty just shrugged. “I’m not familiar with the particular idiom myself, Marsha,” she said in English. To her host she said, “This is a new concept I’m unfamiliar with. Would you please explain in the simplest words possible?”

“Why, certainly, Kitty,” Linnas said with a smile, smaller this time, no teeth showing. “What I’m proposing is that I adopt Captain Kane into the des Harras clan as a junior sister. That will put her under my direct command, which I can then delegate to whomever I decide is to be the supreme military commander on this side of Garmon space. I envision a ceremony wherein both you and the captain are inducted into the des Harras clan. Your position will be somewhat more ambiguous since you’d be my political equal, but I see no reason not to do it.”

Kitty’s mouth dropped open, but before she could translate for Marsha, sel Garian, butted in. “Your Grace, Linnas, while there are precedents aplenty, I agree, never have we inducted aliens into a Shiravan family.”

“True, Domina,” Linnas returned gently, as if to a child, “but there has never been an alien race that warranted such an adoption. Until now. And it will quite effectively show all our people the level of trust we place in our new allies. Especially if you stand up and suggest the adoption in the first place. It will, of course, have to be in full council, and there will be dissenters, but if the Butcher of Harusel makes a passionate plea, reminding the council of the futility and ruination of disagreement by your mere presence, I don’t foresee any problem. At least overtly. And with the kath-mora out of the way, only the most stubborn will resist, and they’ll be in the minority.”

All of this had gone on in Shiravan, leaving Marsha in the dark.

Finally Kitty asked, “So you are advocating adopting the two of us into your family, Linnas? If you are, then I need time to explain in English to Marsha just what that will entail, and I’m not all that sure that I do understand all the implications either.”

Linnas waved her hand at a far corner of the room. “Go. Explain to my future little sister what I propose. And tell her that I won’t be offended if she should decide to refuse, or yourself, for that matter. Actually, it will be more of a legal fiction than anything else, since no one will be offering to join with her, and you are already joined. But, it will make the decision-making easier since it will confer considerable status.”

Kitty stood up. “Marsha, let’s go talk. I think you’re about to get a big surprise.”

The two women walked into a far corner of the room. Two Shiravan-sized chairs sat there, and they made themselves as comfortable as possible while Kitty explained as much as she understood.

“Are you… is she… out of her mind?” Marsha protested loudly once the implications had been explained to her.

“No, I don’t think she is,” Kitty said, a strange tone in her voice. “And in an odd way, it would make perfect sense. You would be her sister, a family member and under her immediate command, bound to follow the orders of whomever she sets above you. No one would be able to consider you an alien wild card if you were related and subject to her reprimands. I’m inclined to agree with her. Look, you’re the commander of the most powerful fleet on this side of Garmon space. That will make a lot of her enemies nervous unless you have some ties to the safety and continuity of the race. They take these things very seriously, I think, and she's asking me to do the same. It will alleviate the tensions of the common folk and blunt the criticisms of her opponents.”

Kitty sat quietly for a moment. “You don’t have to answer right this minute. We still have that treaty to hammer out, part of which will probably entail our adoptions, now that she’s brought it up. Don’t say yes or no right now. Just think about it. I’m sure going to have to. Besides, since I’m included in this, it will make you my sister as well.”

Almost two weeks went by while Linnas and her staff, and Kitty and hers, with Brandon Galway usually in attendance, feeling more and more like a fifth wheel, hammered out a treaty that made the two star nations allies in the war against the Garmon. Nothing was ceded to Earth itself as they really had no way to assist other than by supplying personnel, some of whom were going to be highly suspect as the situation with the Federal Case pointed out so conclusively.

Kitty became more and more distracted as the days went by and no positive word came down concerning Shirley. Finally, as if fate had been waiting for just the right moment, and with one last proviso added to the treaty—that professional negotiators would discuss trade agreements and the possibility of colonies in each other’s space—the doctor assigned to monitor Shirley’s progress called and said, “I believe that the process is coming to an end, Madam Herald. The technicians say so from what little I’ve learned of the language, and the readings are beginning to change at an ever-increasing rate.”

Kitty, just sitting down with a sigh as she contemplated a long, hot soak, changed her plans immediately. Informing Freddie of the new development, she headed for the palace’s transporter room. Moments later, she was rushing down the Shumara Vacht’s corridors toward the med lab. The doctor met her outside the door and said, “Madam Herald, the revival process has begun and should be complete within the next twenty minutes or so. I’ve sent for her clothes and notified a few other friends of hers but asked them to wait until she is recovering in more familiar surroundings. The Federal Case has managed to spare space for her, and we’ll be transporting her as soon as she’s able.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Kitty said, shouldering past the man and into the med lab. She looked at one of the Shiravan technicians and asked, “How much longer?”

“Almost any time now, Domagera,” the senior tech answered. “We’ve arranged to have Sorgala Dahlquist transferred to a human ship as soon as possible to minimize the stress on her.”

“My thanks for your dedication, ther’a,” Kitty said to the two techs on duty, bowing deeply. “Please pass my gratitude on to your colleagues.”

“It was our honor, Domagera. Not in anyone’s memory has a single individual fought a Garmon single-handedly and won. Sorgala Dahlquist is deserving of the highest honors. The fact that she survived with only the injuries she had is close to miraculous. Surely the Spirits of Space watched over her.”

Kitty heard the subtle nuance in the tech’s reference and knew it was she they referred to. Having no answer, she merely nodded, turning to the chamber and seeing that the fluid level had started to drop. “Doctor,” she called, raising her voice so he could hear her in the corridor.

He walked in, took in the lowered levels in the chamber, and immediately picked up a pair of blankets. Handing one to Kitty, he said, “We should dry her off as soon as possible and get her circulation up. Then we get her dressed and over to the Case.”

Shirley woke to subdued lights and an orderly sitting in one corner of the small room she found herself in. Several seconds went by while she sorted through her memories and finally cleared her throat, bringing the orderly’s head up.

“Captain,” the orderly said, “welcome back to the world of the living. I’ll notify the Herald at once.”

“No,” Shirley croaked, her voice hoarse. “First, I want to know how my ship is, where I am, and the outcome of the battle.”

“Captain, I’m sorry, but I have my orders. You are to be debriefed by the Herald personally, and it’ll be my ass if I don’t call her right now.”

“Oh, very well. I’ve heard that if you have to be hung, it’s best done by friends. But some water first, please.”

Five minutes later, Kitty strode into the room, followed by—of all people—Marsha Kane. She looked from the Herald to Marsha and asked, “What got you into one of those chambers?”

“Nothing nearly as bad as what got you into one, Shirl, I’ll say that.”

“Me?” Shirley squeaked. She raised her hand to her hair and raised a bit up to eye level. “Oh, shit,” she said, seeing it was white for the first time. Memories cascaded back into her consciousness, threatening to knock her back out. Still connected to monitors and medications, she found herself dispassionately assessing her situation. “I’m in pretty deep, huh?”

“I’m here to keep Kitty from finishing the job that Garmon didn’t, if that’s what you mean, yeah,” Marsha answered.

Shirley looked straight at Kitty for the first time. “Okay, boss. I screwed up. I’ll take whatever you have to dish out—dereliction of duty, leaving my duty station, disobeying orders. I’ll admit to all of it, but how’s the Vega?”

Kitty kept a straight face, silently remembering the members of the Vega’s crew that never made it back to Shiravan space. “The Vega is a slowly expanding cloud of atoms drifting through Garmon space, Captain Dahlquist. That’s what they call themselves now. Seems like there’s been a power shift over there. So, I’d say you’re lucky to be alive.”

“The Vega’s gone?” she choked. “My crew…”

“We managed to transfer about two thirds of them after a suicider rammed her,” Kitty said coldly, cutting her off. “Her shields managed to hold enough that it was only a glancing hit, but it opened her port side up like a tin can.” Kitty pulled no punches. “Fortunately, the engine room survived untouched or else there wouldn’t have been anyone to save.”

Shirley felt the heat rise in her cheeks, and tears begin to course down her face. She didn’t even have the luxury of being hurt after her stint in the regen chamber and no place to retreat to as the monitors dumped drugs into her system, counteracting her hysteria and elevated adrenaline levels. “So, what’s going to happen to me?” she asked.

“I was going to court martial you and have you executed as an example,” Kitty said, and her tone left no doubt in Shirley’s mind that she meant every word of it. “But that’s not going to happen. If I even tried to suggest it, I’d have a full-scale mutiny on my hands, and the Shiravans would probably back out of our alliance, leaving us holding the shitty end of the stick.”

Shirley couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Why? I mean, I got all those people killed and I should have died with them.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Kitty said, her voice still cold. “Your entire bridge survived, so you probably would have anyway. It’s not your fault, or maybe wouldn’t have been if you’d been aboard. But you go off and get shot down on an enemy planet and wind up in single combat with one of the alien teddy bears and win! How can I court martial you now?” Now heat came into Kitty’s voice. “Instead, I’m probably going to have to give you a medal, and the Solar Cross, at that.”

Shirley protested, “I don’t deserve a medal. I deserve to be… well, not rewarded.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Captain Dahlquist,” Kitty said. Now a smile did come over her face, one that made Shirley shiver with fear. “You’re going to publicly accept your medal, knowing you don’t deserve it, and you’ll wear it, knowing why you don’t deserve it. You’ll answer every salute you get for having it, and you’ll personally visit each and every family member of your dead crew and deliver your condolences, along with a hand-written letter explaining the circumstances of their deaths, leaving out your desertion, of course. We can’t have a real live hero admitting to something like that, now can we? It would make recruiting that much harder if people knew their captains couldn’t follow orders and stay at their posts.

“Hell, I might even send you out on some recruiting drives. Think what a draw that would be—Captain Shirley Dahlquist, the only living being to survive hand-to-hand combat with the enemy and live to tell about it. And it’s going to have to be a good story, too, so you’d better start figuring out what you’re going to say when we get back.” Kitty turned on her heel and, without another word, stalked out of the room.

Shirley looked at Marsha, tears streaming down her face regardless of the drugs being pumped into her system. “A third of my crew? She really hates me, doesn’t she?”

Marsha looked down at her recovering friend. She saw that the effects of the drugs were beginning to take effect and said, with pity tingeing her voice, “No, Shirley, she doesn’t hate you. She’s ashamed of you. There’s a difference.”

The drugs finally did their job, taking Shirley’s consciousness away from her as her eyes closed and head lolled to one side. Marsha noted that the tears still rolled down her face, even so. She shook her head and followed Kitty out of the room.

CHAPTER SIX

Kitty and Marsha stood on a dais in the central governing building of Quillas City, capital of the Shiravan homeworld. The first two rows of beings were humans, primarily because they were so short that to be anywhere else in the audience would leave them unable to view the proceedings. The remainder of the attendees were Shiravan.

Kitty had opted for her white dress with the Alliance emblem stitched onto the left breast, while Marsha contrasted her in a severe black dress uniform. Standing in the front row was the only other white-haired human in the Shiravan theater of operations, Captain Shirley Dahlquist.

The ceremony, known as Kagaras e Semara, a joining or adoption, was about to take place. Originally thought of strictly for Marsha due to her captaincy of the battleship Raptor, it was designed to assuage the fears of the various clan leaders by tying Marsha directly to the des Harras clan. Kitty was added for much the same reason, although she’d be leaving in a matter of days aboard the Federal Case, returning to human space with a treaty and the bare bones of a trade arrangement that would take years to hammer out once the appropriate people could be brought together to wrangle over the details.

The senior kath-mora who was left on Shiravi, Tira do’ Verlas, Rentec’s mother, stepped up onto the dais and stood between the two humans and Linnas des Harras, Matriarch of the Shiravan Polity. “We come here today to welcome two new members into the des Harras clan. The fact that they are not of our world has caused serious debate among some of our senior clan leaders, but I and several other Sisters have done our best to take readings on the two human females before us today. Their auras are stable and clear, but, we must admit, of an unusual color—a color called ‘yellow’ by humans, if my description is accurate, bordering on white.

“Marsha Kane, Sorgala of the human battleship Raptor, has agreed to place herself and her fleet under Shiravan command during our battles with the Garmon.” The new name of their old enemy was now well known. “More, she has agreed to be adopted into the des Harras clan as a Junior Sister to our Matriarch, Linnas, thereby agreeing to abide by all Shiravan laws.”

Tira motioned to an assistant standing to one side who stepped forward and opened a box in front of Linnas. The Matriarch took out a silvery chain with a two-inch medallion on it. Formally, Linnas asked in Shiravan, “Do you, Marsha Kane, accept adoption into the des Harras clan, agreeing to abide by all the laws and customs of our people?”

Marsha, sweat beading her lip, nodded and answered, “Se kes.” The words meant little to her yet, since she was still learning Shiravan, but she was told that they meant, ‘I do,’ much like a marriage ceremony.

Linnas smiled in the Shiravan fashion and placed the chain around her neck, the medallion nestling between her breasts. “Ria, keppa sibara.” Translated into English it meant, “Welcome, Little Sister.”

Tira spoke again, drawing all eyes back to her. “des Harras welcomes another today as well. Katherine Hawke, Domagera of the Terran Alliance, has agreed to join with des Harras in unity against our common foe, placing the needs of the Shiravan people on an equal basis with the needs of her own people. While this may, in some cases, mean that she will not abide by our ways in the strictest sense, she places her honor in the hands of Linnas des Harras and, by extension, of all Shiravans everywhere. des Harras accepts the conditions under which an autonomous ruler accepts Kagaras e Semara. Are there any here who wish to oppose this union?”

Maybe it was the icy stare of Tira do’ Verlas, or perhaps it was the sound of the name Katherine, so much like Kath-e-rin, Spirit of Light, and her appearance, white dress and hair a shimmering crimson in the light of Shiravi’s setting sun, but no one spoke or even moved, the moment stretching out seemingly for an eternity.

Finally, Tira motioned again and the assistant brought another box to Linnas. The Matriarch took another chain out of the box and held it out for all to see. It was a silvery chain as Marsha’s was, the medallion the same size, but it had a gava stone center. Around the rim on both sides were inscribed all the symbols that denoted every clan on Shiravi. “Do you, Katherine Hawke, accept adoption into the des Harras clan, agreeing to place the interests of all Shiravans on the same level as your own people’s until such time as our common foe is defeated?”

Kitty, knowing what was expected of her and understanding the language as well as the implications of her words, answered, “Se kes.”

Linnas smiled again and placed the chain around Kitty’s neck. “Ria, sibara-nich.”

A stir went through the crowd when Linnas welcomed Kitty as her Sister-equal. Even Sitha and sel Garian looked startled. Linnas spoke to the assembled leaders of all the clans of her world. “This woman is the supreme ruler of her people, as I am of mine.” A legal fiction only a few Shiravans knew of or understood. “Her people must come first in her thoughts and decisions as you must come first in mine. By accepting sibara-nich, she has vowed to consider our people equally with hers, and I have agreed to consider the needs of humanity on an equal basis with ours. We are, for the duration of our war with the Garmons, effectively one people now. And even though there are two rulers, that will not affect the daily lives of any but a very few.”

The babble of voices rose sharply as the implications of this new information made itself felt, first among the clan leaders and then others as whispered words were overheard and repeated around the room. Only a few of the humans present understood what was happening, and they looked worriedly at Kitty. The volume rose, and individual voices began to make themselves heard out of the white noise that filled the room.

Clan leaders—sel Garian chief amongst them, followed by all those allied in one way or another—began to call for a repudiation of the alliance and the Kagaras e Semara. Louder still the voices rose, and a few of the humans present moved onto the lower steps of the dais, calling for others to stand beside them as a living shield to protect the Herald from what appeared to be a crowd turning into a lynch mob.

Tira do’ Verlas stepped forward almost unnoticed until her voice, amplified by a small box attached to her waist, rang out over the noise being generated by the various factions in the large room. “Stimara!” she commanded, the tone telling one and all that she would brook no resistance to her command. The word brought silence to the hall as intended, since it meant that very thing.

“This is a time of rejoicing, not of recrimination. Political aspirations will not be tolerated here and now. We have a venue for that process. Have you all become as uncivilized as the Garmons? Have you sunk so low that you are the same as they? Clan des Harras has this day found two new Sisters, each of whom brings great gifts to the clan, and by extension the rest of the Shiravan race. One commands the strongest military force for its size ever put into space. The other commands the people who built that force. Do any of you really want to anger either of them?”

Silence reigned long enough to make Kitty uncomfortable, but Tira let it go on longer still. Finally, she relented. “We have become apathetic in our belief that we can survive anything. The Garmons have proven that. For two hundred turns and more we have fought—and lost. Do any of you remember that we were once twenty-two worlds? Have you all forgotten Harlo? With the help of our new Sisters and their race, we can regain that, and more.

“Look at the one called Shirley Dahlquist, if you need an example of the bravery and skills of these, our new relatives.” Tira pointed at Shirley, white-haired and rigid, standing with the other humans, now facing the rest of the audience as if protecting those on the dais with their very bodies. “And all of her compatriots, female and male, both. At the first hint of danger to their kin, they moved to stand as you see them now. Could they really withstand an all-out attack by the rest of you? No. But their names would be inscribed in the dusterna of more than one clan for their efforts. And are there any among you who would take on the least of these singly? I think not, for they have earned their reputations by their very actions.”

Linnas sat down and the other five followed suit as soon as they could shut the door to the Matriarch’s private quarters. “I was truly worried for the first time in my reign,” she admitted quietly. She pressed a button on her chair, and almost immediately her new assistant entered the room. “Fire wine for all of us, please. And use the kemwood cups.”

She turned back to her companions. Sitha kep Parrasine sat nearby, as did Manura sel Garian. Kitty, Marsha, and, at the Matriarch’s request, an uncomfortable Shirley Dahlquist sat opposite the three Shiravans. “I think this will be the last time we’ll all sit together for many turnings,” Linnas said. “And you, Captain Dahlquist, are invited to tell us of your ordeal if you would. I’m most interested to hear how you were able to vanquish a being four times your size.”

Shirley looked at Kitty, who made a point of taking a sip of her wine, saying only, “I’ll translate for you, Captain.”

“Your Grace,” Shirley said, “I am in disgrace with the Herald. She has ordered me to make my ordeal as heroic as possible, but when she said that, she was speaking of the people back on Earth and among Alliance personnel. For you, only the truth.” She proceeded to tell the unvarnished story, including her fear and inability to oppose the might of the being that hunted her. “It was only the luckiest of strokes that allowed me to kill him,” she finished. “If I hadn’t had the knife with me, if I hadn’t had the good fortune to be able to reach it, and if I hadn’t had the opportunity to reach his brain with one stroke to the eye, I wouldn’t be here today. And if I hadn’t disobeyed orders, I wouldn’t be in disgrace today. If I could go back in time and know what I know now, I would have obeyed my orders and stood at my post as all the rest of my crew did. I’ve been told that my actions had no effect on the fact that a third of my crew lost their lives, but at night, in the dark, I wonder. Could I have saved even one of those who died if I’d stayed aboard? I’ll never know, and that will haunt me for all my days.” When Linnas’s aide came by to pour into her cup, Shirley placed her hand over the opening. “I don’t wish to offend you, Your Grace, but I don’t belong here and don’t deserve to drink your wine.”

“Nonsense, Captain,” Linnas replied gently. “My new Sister has already told me most of the story, but I wanted to hear the details from your own perspective. It takes great courage to admit one’s mistakes, and you have acquitted yourself with honor in my eyes. Please, accept the wine as a token of my admiration—if not for your rashness, then for the courage I see in your eyes and hear in your voice.”

Shirley slowly moved her hand from the cup and let the young Shiravan pour the blue wine into it. “Thank you, Captain,” Linnas said. “I realize the tribulations you’ll face in the years to come, but here, know that you are respected. Sometimes rashness is a survival trait, and sometimes it’s an incentive for others to push themselves to their personal limits. If your sacrifices, past and future, help push your people and mine to greater things than they thought possible, it will be a small price to pay in the final analysis.” She picked up her cup and the others followed her lead. “May the Spirits of Space follow you all for the rest of your days,” she said formally, “and may Kath-e-rin ease your burden with her wisdom.”

As Linnas sipped her drink, Shirley took a sip of her own and wondered at the phrasing of the Matriarch’s toast. Kath-e-rin was the Shiravan’s Spirit of Light, but the name was close enough to the Herald’s that she wondered if it had been a subtle request for mercy. She could hope so, but only time would tell whether the Matriarch saw it, or it was just her wishful imagination.

Kitty boarded the shuttle waiting to take her back to the Federal Case, and in a matter of days, she’d be under way back to Earth and Simon. She still felt the warmth of the handshake and embrace from Linnas on her skin and knew she’d miss the closeness she’d come to share with the Shiravan leader. She wondered, as well, at the wording of that toast Linnas had made, but would have to think on it for some time.

She got off the shuttle along with a few others, Shirley included. Just before the ramp raised, Marsha said quietly, “I have an errand to take care of on the Canopus. I’ll see you at least once more before you get under way.” Kitty just nodded as the ramp closed on her friend, watching the craft move back out into space to deliver the rest of its occupants to their respective destinations.

Marsha didn’t keep Kitty in the dark for long. The very next day, she called and asked to come aboard with a package to be sent back to Earth. She handed Kitty a plainly wrapped package and said, “There’s a video and letter in there. You need to deliver them to Lucy as soon as you get back. It seems that her brother Bruce joined up under his mother’s maiden name and is a flight leader aboard the Canopus. Apparently, she didn’t have a clue and didn’t find out until well after they left Earth space. So, Lieutenant Commander Bruce Sears has complied with the Deputy Herald’s wishes and is sending her his apologies and an update on what has happened to him since he volunteered, including his actions against the Garmons. According to his captain, he was in command of a double-flight that took out one of the Garmon destroyers.”

“I’ll see to it personally, of course,” Kitty said. “Would you care to join me for a drink before you go back to the Raptor?”

“Wish I could, boss,” Marsha said, “but Shiravan Command has redesignated Raptor Group as Reprisal Fleet Four, and we’ve already got our marching orders. I’ve got to get back and settle three Shiravan ships into my operations roster while the Deneb replaces the Vega.”

“Oh,” was all Kitty could say. “Well, you give them hell, kiddo, and see that we get regular reports on what’s going on over here. Got it?”

“Got it, boss. Give my best to Simon, and tell him that he’s done a hell of a job.”

“How do you know how well he’s done?” Kitty asked suspiciously.

“Don’t worry, Kitty. He’ll know what I mean,” was all the answer she got before Marsha hugged her and stepped back into her gig. Kitty’s last sight of her friend was of her giving the thumbs-up gesture as the ramp closed with a solid thump.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Kitty answered an early evening request to meet with Linnas on the eve of her departure. She sat in one of the chairs originally designed by Derek Carter when he was a guest of the Shiravans after his rescue. The sun had a way to go yet to reach the edge of the Stala Mountains, cradling Linnas’s official retreat and family home in the nearly rebuilt Cho-An. “I wanted this one last moment with my new Sibara,” Linnas said, pouring fire wine into two tall, thin glasses.

Kitty knew that since there were no kemwood cups, this was going to be an informal evening, one which she was sure she’d regret in the morning. Still, she picked up the glass, determined to keep her wits about her for as long as she could, and took a small sip of the fiery blue liquid. No stranger to strong drink and acquainted with this particular poison, she still felt the glow begin to spread out almost immediately. “It’s still a concept that I’m struggling with,” Kitty said in response. “Not that I’m uncomfortable with it, just that it’s going to take some getting used to. And now I’m going to leave my new Sister and go away. How long will it be before we meet again?”

Linnas took a larger sip than Kitty and let it settle before she answered. “Only the Spirits can say, Sister. And in the minds of some of my—our—people, you’re one of those Spirits. Perhaps you can tell me the answer to that question.”

“You know I’m no Spirit, Linnas,” Kitty said. “I’m just an ordinary human like all the others who stayed behind and who came with me.”

Linnas took another sip of her drink and noted, “Ordinary, you say? Like Shirley Dahlquist, who killed a Garmon with nothing but a simple knife? Ordinary like those who stalked through a ship full of traitors and took it back? Ordinary like those who follow you into unknown space to meet an unknown foe without hesitation? Ordinary like those who followed you and your mate into space in the first place and took totally alien technology and made it their own, improving on it as they went?”

“You make it sound like we’re some kind of super beings, Linnas. There are many among us who would never consider doing any of the things you name. Shirley was lucky, pure and simple, and as for the rest, I think it’s true that we’re closer to our beginnings than your people. I often think we still have too much inquisitiveness in us for our own good.”

Kitty took a larger sip of her drink than she’d originally intended. “It’s true that we would have been totally defenseless if the Garmons had found us before we got hold of your ship, but we did only because you couldn’t handle your own people. So, we bootstrapped ourselves into space against all odds and opposition and made ourselves a force to be reckoned with just in time to save our own asses from the Garmons. And now we’re able to be of assistance to the very race that unintentionally gave us the technology. A series of coincidences, nothing more.” Anger suffused her last words, not expecting this particular tack from one whom she had come to think of as a friend, not even considering the legal fiction of sisterhood.

Linnas gazed out the window and Kitty followed her gaze outward as the sun dipped below the Stalas. The heat trapped within began to seep out, wrapping the horizon in the green glow of the gava stone found in only this one place on the planet. She wouldn’t be seeing this sight again for many years to come.

Silence reigned as the two rulers sat and let the glow slowly fade out, leaving only the dim lights behind them to illuminate the room. “I’m sending the Jerra Nep as escort with your Federal Case, Linnas said finally, breaking the silence. “You might be surprised to hear that Rentec has requested to be reassigned to human space. I’ve listened to his reasoning and agreed that he’d better serve the Polity there than here for the time being. kep Gillas is still too close in his mind, and I, too, think he should be elsewhere for a while.”

Kitty considered it over another sip of wine. “Perhaps you’re right. Even among humans, the male is easily misled by females, and dealing with the disparities of humans and Shiravans will be enough to take his mind off his troubles.”

Linnas smiled slightly. “Your choice of words is much better than the one I would use,” she said. “But he’ll have almost a full turn to obsess on what has happened. Tira has officially disavowed the union, of course, but he still suffers from the betrayal.”

Kitty snorted and took another drink. “Men are men, no matter what the race. It’s his pride that’s at the bottom of his problem. He feels betrayed and has no outlet for his anger since Ramannie has been banished. I still say that her execution would have been a good way to begin his healing.”

Linnas turned from the window to look at her. “I’ll grant you the greater knowledge since you’ve known males of both our races, but I still say that the custom of killing in response to other killings is one that reduces the second to the level of the first. That’s one of the differences between our two philosophies. The Spirits of Space say that it’s wrong to do such, but yours calls for—what have I heard your people say—an eye for an eye?”

Kitty, feeling the effects of the wine too much, put her glass down on the table between the two women. “At least our way, we don’t have to support mass murderers for hundreds of years… turnings. And your people live three times as long as we do. It’s simple economics when you get to the bottom line, not to mention the ‘eye for an eye’ thing.” She looked at the wine left in her glass and decided to leave well enough alone. “Different races, different ways of looking at things. That’s something we’ve come to live with, having so many different political and religious divisions between our own peoples on one single world.”

Kitty changed her mind and took another sip of the wine. “And another thing, Sibara. Who’s been divining what the Spirits of Space say for all these turnings? If I’m correct, it’s the bunch of kath-mora that should be showing up soon, whom you and all of your people have disavowed.” She shook her head and immediately regretted it. “I’ve got to tell you, if we’re really sisters now, that I think your whole civilization’s precepts have got to undergo a radical change.” She held up a hand to stop Linnas from responding. “I’m not saying humans are perfect. Far from it. You, at least, have a unified government, or mostly so. There are a few Isolationists to be weeded out, but in my experience, you never get all the weeds, and I think that’s a good thing. If a culture becomes too static, it begins to decline. Maintaining the status quo isn’t good enough.” Feeling that she had overstepped her bounds, Kitty sat silently and watched the final glow seep out of the mountains and the city walls built from the same stone.

Linnas set her unfinished glass down as well. “I won’t argue with my new Sister on the eve of her departure. Besides, you have the advantage of knowing more about Shiravans than I do about humans. Perhaps that’s something I should remedy in the future.”

“Perhaps,” Kitty agreed, slightly startled. “I’d be happy to have you visit my world, but who would stand in your place while you were gone for several turnings?”

Linnas sat quiet for a short time. “That’s something I’d have to think upon when my mind isn’t fogged with fire wine. There really is no precedent for such an absence that I can think of. Who would I trust to hold my people together while I made such a long trip? You obviously have great faith in your appointed second in command. I, on the other hand, have a newly appointed Second Voice who has a slightly xenophobic adviser. There. I’ve said it. sel Garian stepped down because she couldn’t trust humans as fully as I. I’m not sure Sitha can either, especially since Manura is her mentor. Too much of the teacher gets left in the pupil. Would she govern as I wish in my absence? Would she proclaim a new dynasty, leaving me in the same situation as the kath-mora when they return? So many questions and no answers.”

“And none, unfortunately, that I can give you either,” Kitty said slowly. She stood up and almost immediately grabbed the back of her chair to steady herself. “Damn, that’s strong stuff. I’m glad you offered me a bed for the night. I think I’ll take you up on it.” She used her comm link to order her gig back to the ship and reported her decision to stay on-planet for the night.

Linnas pressed a button on her wristband. Immediately an aide appeared. “Take the Domagera to the guest quarters, please,” she said. “And slowly. I fear that she is none too steady on her feet.”

The aide did as instructed, and saw the alien Domagera safely into her bed. So much like a doll she appears, thought the young aide. Especially in that bed. She barely reaches a third of the way from head to foot. She waited quietly and unobtrusively in one corner until her charge started to make a strange, intermittent noise, and then she slowly slipped from the room. Various other duties held her attention for a time until she realized that she hadn’t heard from her own Domagera in some time. She looked into the small audience chamber to find her Matriarch asleep while Shabbas and Grinnas chased each other across the night sky.

Kitty awoke early, the first rays of the reddish sun sliding slowly across the floor toward her bed. Climbing out of the monstrous affair and stumbling into the connected facilities, she stripped off the dress she had worn and stepped into the shower, turning the water as hot as she could stand it. After ten minutes or so, she shut off the hot and gasped as cold water sluiced down her body. She finally turned that off as well and, shivering, stepped out of the over-sized shower stall to find an aide waiting with a large fluffy towel. “If I may be of service, Domagera Hawke,” the girl said.

“Segala vin,” Kitty said as the tall woman wrapped the unexpectedly warm towel around her shoulders.

“No thanks are necessary, Domagera Hawke,” the woman said. “When you awoke, I took the liberty of sending for your gig and requesting that someone send along a clean uniform and accessories. Your clothes are waiting in the next room, and your gig is on the landing field. Domagera des Harras has been informed of your rising and requests your company for an early meal.”

Kitty laughed silently at the word ‘accessories.’ Shiravan women were essentially breast-less except when suckling young, so a bra was unthinkable, and the concept of panties was totally alien to them. She smiled hugely at her own pun and said, “Tell the Domagera that I’ll be happy to join her as soon as I have dressed.”

She walked into the bedroom, toweling her hair and drying off while the aide spoke quietly into her own comm link. A shockingly pink bra and pair of panties lay atop the uniform on her bed. It must be the light, she thought. All of my stuff is white. She let the towel fall to the floor and picked up the bra. Hooking it in front where she could see, she spun the garment around so the hooks were in back and stuffed herself into the thing. Panties were next as the aide came out of the bathroom.

Kitty took the blouse from the aide when she picked it up off the bed and asked while buttoning it, “What is your name, ther’a?”

“Heppis sel Garian, Your Grace,” the young woman answered without hesitation.

Kitty froze for a moment and then continued to button her blouse. “Related to Manura in what way, if I may ask?”

“Great third-niece, twice removed, Your Grace,” the young woman answered. Kitty thought she detected an undercurrent of… something.

“And you find yourself in the Matriarch’s service,” Kitty said, slipping on her pants, sliding a belt through the loops, and buckling it.

“Not all of the clan believe the way the Elders do, Your Grace.” The aide was silent while Kitty put on socks and shoes. “Some of us would see Domina Manura elevated to Elder status.”

Kitty looked herself over in a mirror. She pulled a brush from a kit someone had thoughtfully sent along and brushed her white hair into a scalp-tingling ponytail, wrapping it with a black scrunchie. “How does Domina Manura feel about that?” Kitty asked lightly. sel Garian as an Elder? That clan was one of the more powerful Isolationist clans on Shiravi. With Manura elevated to Elder status, she could just imagine the bloodbath that would ensue. And how would it affect Shiravan politics? With sel Garian’s victory or without?

“No one has the courage to broach the subject,” Heppis answered uncomfortably. “She seems to revel in her title of Butcher of Harusel. To become an Elder now, well there are many who would vote for her but just as many who still remember the old days and adhere to the old ways. An open vote could go either way, and if she lost, well, no one wants to contemplate her anger and vengeance.”

Kitty said no more about the subject and let Heppis lead her to the small chamber from the night before. This time, though, there were three present: Linnas, of course, as well as Sitha and Manura. Heppis withdrew as soon as Kitty passed into the room. “Good morning to all,” Kitty said as she reached the table.

“Sibara,” Linnas said, nodding without rising.

“Domagera,” came from both Sitha and sel Garian as they stood at her approach.

“Sit, sit,” Kitty said as she did so herself. “We’re all friends here, at least for today, so let’s not allow ceremony to stand in our way. I leave for Earth in a matter of hours. Let’s let those hours be pleasant ones, shall we?”

Kitty unceremoniously ladled scrambled eggs, bacon and, wonder of wonders, hash browns onto her plate. “I can understand my new Sister wanting to spend a few more moments with me before a long absence, but what can you two want that would make you rise this early in the morning?” she said to the other two women.

“To hear from you personally what you intend once you return to human space,” Sitha said for the two women.

“I intend to prosecute the war as fast and effectively as possible with the information I’ll be taking back with me,” Kitty said bluntly. “We now have a better idea of where some of the Garmons’ bases are and will be dedicating our efforts in those direction, as well as searching out other strongholds for ourselves. Surely, you can’t have found them all.”

“No,” sel Garian answered, “but we’re concerned that you’ll deplete your enemies and turn your attentions elsewhere.”

Kitty put down her fork and looked the old woman in the eyes. The red still unsettled her a bit, but she refused to let it show. “You had better not be intimating that we would turn our attentions and power against our allies, Domina sel Garian,” Kitty warned in a dangerously calm voice. “If you are, I would have it said aloud and in such a way that I could challenge you to single combat before I leave here. But I really wouldn’t like that to happen. It would leave Sitha with no adviser as she grows into her new role as Second Voice and would upset my new Sister.”

sel Garian looked down at the small human. “You tempt me to accept your challenge, Domagera,” she said, the last word dripping with sarcasm, “but I fear that our Domagera wouldn’t like this day marred by your death.”

Linnas finally entered the verbal fray. “Far be it for me to interfere with such matters, Domina. If you feel insulted enough or confident enough to accept my Sister’s challenge, then by all means, do so.”

Kitty was a bit surprised at the response but figured that she’d stepped into a matter of custom that she, as an adopted Shiravan, had to deal with herself. “My Sister chooses to distance herself from the unpleasantness that is about to ensue. But before we do this, I’d like to know who sent four Shiravan battlecruisers into the area we were to ‘prove’ ourselves in, thereby stirring up the Garmons for an unconscionably long time.”

Linnas looked shocked at the revelation. “Is this true, Sibara?”

“I will provide you with a full set of our recordings before we leave, Sister. By way of Sorgala Kane, of course. She should know what kind of creature she’s dealing with.”

“Now come, Gramas to’ vara. Your time has come.” Kitty deliberately chose the words that would goad her opponent into a situation where she couldn’t refuse. They meant one who was already dead and assumed complete confidence in one’s own abilities to survive such a contest. “Remember, one under my command has not only survived personal combat with a Garmon but killed him by her own hand. I choose that we fight in the same manner—with knives only and at once.” She pushed her plate away and stood up. “I find that I’m no longer hungry. Linnas, if you would do the honors, I’d be happy to have you as my second. Bring the appropriate weapons to the landing field where we may put this matter behind us. I have a long journey and don’t wish to delay it any longer than necessary.”

She strode away from the table without another word to her opponent. “Heppis, attend me,” she said. The aide appeared immediately, white-faced and jumpy. “Lead me to the landing field at once, please,” was all she would say and stood so that the young aide could not get a clear view of her superiors. “Now, Heppis,” Kitty admonished curtly.

“Aya, Domagera,” the aide finally said and turned to leave the room.

Kitty followed the young woman through the labyrinthine passages of the Matriarch’s Cho-An residence and out onto the landing field. Along the way, she used her comm link to inform the crew of the gig, and by extension, all aboard the Federal Case, that she was about to face a death duel.

“Madam Herald, I strongly object,” came from the new Captain of the Case.

“You can object all you want, Captain,” she said, “but the fact of the matter is that at this point, neither you nor I have any control over the matter. Even the Matriarch has to stand by and let this go down. Remember, I’ve been adopted into their society and must abide by their rules. In this case, I’ve been insulted and responded with a death duel challenge. The only one who can stop this is sel Garian herself.”

“Why sel Garian?” came back in Galway’s voice, surprising her completely.

Kitty smiled grimly, anticipating her response. “Because she’s my opponent, Brandon. She insulted me in front of the Matriarch and new Second Voice. I had no choice but to respond as I did. So. If I lose, leave orbit, head back to Earth, tell Lucy that I apologize for leaving her in charge, and try to keep Simon from coming here and mopping the place up with my killer. End of subject. End of conversation.” She cut the link and refused to answer any hails from the waiting warship or the gig sitting a few hundred yards away.

She was surprised to see Marsha come down the ramp, headed her way at a run. Kitty started to open her mouth, but Marsha spoke first. “I’m not here to stop you, Kitty, just for moral support. I was going to ride back up and discuss some trivial stuff, but I’ll just stand nervously by and watch. Sure you gotta do this?”

“Yep, afraid so, girlfriend,” she said resignedly. “Now, let me concentrate.” She deliberately turned and faced the palace, waiting for the rest of the people to file out of the single door visible from this spot. She began to do some stretching exercises to prepare herself for the contest ahead. She knew the gig would be scanning her and the ensuing battle, recording it for future playback. She just prayed Simon wouldn’t use it to scotch the alliance she’d formed with the Shiravans. Maybe he’d just focus on sel Garian as his target. She could only hope. If she lived.

Finally, Linnas came out, carrying a large box under one arm. She was followed by Sitha and sel Garian. “It is not my place to try to stop this matter from proceeding,” she said, sounding as if she was following some ancient ritual. “I can only act as second to my Sister as requested. Here are two identical knives,” she said, opening the box. To Kitty they looked like two medium-sized swords, but that was to be expected considering the size of the race that had forged them. “The challenged party gets first choice.” She turned to sel Garian and said, “Domina, if you will choose your weapon.”

Kitty took the remaining one and hefted it appraisingly. Definitely not balanced for a human but not as bad as she’d figured upon first seeing them. They were more like Roman short swords and not as heavy as they looked, but then, she was from a heavier-gravity world. Perhaps sel Garian would forget that. She held it two-handed and practiced a few swings. She tried to block a few imaginary strokes and thrusts, but something seemed slightly wrong.

She switched to a one-handed grip, holding the sword a bit higher on the grip than sel Garian was holding hers. A few practice swings and cuts, blocks and thrusts, and something inside her seemed to click. Suddenly this piece of metal felt more like an extension of her arm than a weapon. She let her mind float back to the battle aboard the Federal Case and reluctantly forced herself into the mind-set she’d adopted while that battle was raging.

She turned and faced her opponent who was taller, had a longer reach, and was far more familiar with the weapon in her hand, and remembered one of Simon’s many lessons in self-defense: when fighting someone bigger than you—and almost everybody was—get inside their defenses and take no prisoners. She looked to the side and said to Linnas, “Sibara, I regret the loss of one of your advisers, but some insults cannot go unchallenged.” To Sitha she said, “I suggest that you begin to look for a new mentor as you will be burying this one very soon. And for future reference, remember that humans are one of the hardest life forms in the galaxy to kill.”

She turned once more to her opponent. “Come, Butcher of Harusel,” she said derisively, “let’s play. You’ve outlived your usefulness, and I want to find out what color Shiravan blood is.” She instinctively crouched a bit lower, the point of her sword describing small circles in the air before her. She knew that this old woman was one whom she would not normally want to face, but she saw several advantages in her favor. One was that she was so much smaller than any other opponent this woman had faced that she’d have to adopt new tactics. Another was the whole Kath-e-rin thing. With that thought came an inspiration.

She backed up two paces and planted her weapon’s point firmly in the ground. Placing her hands atop the hilt, she looked to the sky and intoned, “I, Katharine,” she used her own name properly, not separating the syllables, “invoke the Spirit of Kath-e-vel. Guide my hand, O Great Destroyer, guide my sword, rid my mind of all other thoughts but the removal of the Butcher of Harusel from the universe.” She didn’t have any idea whether it would work, but Simon had always told her to try to rattle her opponent. An angry or scared opponent was far more likely to make a mistake. Still, she would take what she could get.

Recognizing that the time for theatrics was done, she lifted her weapon and assumed an attack posture. She moved to close the distance between them, her eyes taking in all that she could of her opponent. When Manura took her first step in her direction, it appeared to Kitty that there was a certain amount of hesitation. Perhaps that Butcher of Harusel thing had hit a nerve. Not so on the second or third, as if she also had found the mind-set that let her stand outside herself and guide the body without worrying about the injuries she was about to incur.

Kitty adopted a stance seen on innumerable television shows and in more movies than she could remember—sword tip pointed at her adversary, left hand on her hip, right foot forward and knees bent slightly. Why? She had no idea. She had never trained with a sword and would have been more comfortable with a laser, anyway, but she had to work with what she had. Still, the sword felt comfortable in her grip and so far, she felt no fear. Again, she wondered with a small portion of her mind if this was what Simon felt when he saw action, as he’d said on more than one occasion.

sel Garian moved another step forward and slid her sword tip down and forward, apparently hoping to finish this quickly and prove that she was the mistress of her own destiny. Kitty took in the move and used her diminutive stature to her own advantage. She dropped even lower, tucked into a ball and rolled forward, letting her left shoulder take the brunt of the impact which was only fist and sword-hilt but hurt like hell, anyway. She rose to her feet, the tip of her sword touching sel Garian’s midsection. She sliced a shallow groove across her stomach and said, “You’re dead, old woman.” She immediately crouched down and swept her left leg in a swift arc, catching sel Garian behind the ankles and dropping her onto her back in the dirt and grass of the landing field.

Finishing the spin and rising to her feet in one fluid move, Kitty laid the point of her sword on sel Garian’s neck, and said, “You’re dead for the second time in a matter of seconds. Yield or die. I’ve given you two chances to live. I’ll give you no other.”

The proverbial eternity passed while the old woman thought it over and finally said, “I yield to Kath-e-rin, protector of the weak and fount of all mercy.”

Kitty’s eyebrows rose at the wording. She glanced at Linnas, who only nodded ever so slightly. Kitty moved her sword tip and stood back, her own sword pointing at the ground between them but not yet relaxing her defenses.

sel Garian rose slowly to her feet, looking down at the small human who had just handed her her first defeat since her days at the training academy. She bent over and picked up the sword she’d used, and Kitty’s rose back to a guard position. The old red woman reversed the weapon and held it out to her. “The swords were a gift to me from the previous Matriarch. I gift them to you in the name of peace between us.”

Kitty slowly reached out and took the second sword in her left hand, watching for some sign of treachery. As soon as she had the hilt in her hand, sel Garian let go and turned away, heading back toward the palace without another word.

Linnas stepped forward, the sword-case in her arms. “You constantly amaze me, Sibara. This is the first time in almost two hundred turns that Manura has been bested in single combat. It would seem that I chose wisely when I decided to adopt you into the des Harras clan. This meeting will become legend all over Shiravi before the six-day is out.”

Kitty slowly laid the swords back in the case, the depressions in the material showing how they were to be placed. Linnas closed the case and handed it to her. “Manura has given these to you. There isn’t another set on the entire planet that comes close to their craftsmanship or renown. They were carried at the Battle of Harusel in my name and have been used on three other occasions to assure my reign. I think it won’t be necessary that they ever be used so again.”

Kitty took the case and held it awkwardly under one arm. The adrenaline rush of combat was leaving her body, and she felt weak, shaking with reaction. “It is time, my Sister. I must leave for Earth, now. I’m sure I’ll face some criticism from my staff for this display of…” she searched for the right Shiravan words but didn’t really know them. “For my lack of restraint. Sometimes I feel that too much of my mate has rubbed off on me after so many years together. I should have handled the matter with more diplomacy. Perhaps this whole thing could have been avoided.”

Linnas waved her hand in negation. “Don’t forget. I know Manura. She would have continued until you couldn’t have done otherwise. You did only what you had to do. I’m just glad and, I admit, a bit surprised that you not only won but let her live. Her reputation will never be the same after this, and that is, I think, a good thing now. There is no longer any place for her kind of intrigue in my reign, and I hope Sitha has learned that,” she said, pointedly raising her voice slightly.

“Now, let me accompany my new Sister to her vessel. You’ve delayed your departure long enough.” Linnas waved her hand toward the gig, waiting two hundred yards distant. As the two walked toward the small craft, followed by a thoroughly awed Marsha, Linnas said, “I have had a small parting gift loaded aboard your ship. It took some diplomacy, I believe you say, to get your pilots and guards to allow its stowage, but I did prevail. Of course, it also took the gifting of a small quantity of gava stone to get them to agree, but what is a bribe or two among family?”

Kitty just snorted in amusement.

As the two neared the small ship, the ramp came down and Kitty stopped at the bottom, Marsha standing a pace behind her. One of the pilots came down and took the sword-case as Kitty turned back to her new Sister. “I pray that we meet again in the not-too-distant future, Sibara. Even though the return trip of almost a full turning will be most boring, I’ll remember our time together and the boredom will pass.”

A thought passed through her mind. “In my culture, we have a gesture of affection we call a ‘hug.’ Come closer, please.” When Linnas stepped hesitantly into Kitty’s personal space, the small white-haired woman reached up with both arms and wrapped them around her friend, squeezing slightly. It took a few seconds for Linnas to respond in kind, but she finally did. “I will miss you, Sibara, more than you know,” Kitty said.

Ending the awkward moment, she turned her back and resolutely walked up the short ramp into the dark interior of her gig, ignorant of all other things. She turned and looked once more at her Sister, the leader of fifteen worlds. She raised her hand and waved as the ramp came up and locked into place, blocking out the reddish light of early Shiravan morning and the face of her newest family member.

“Engines coming online,” she heard one pilot say to the other, and she moved to her seat, sidling past two crates strapped down in the middle of the aisle. She resolved not to ask what crossed whose palm to get them loaded. Never look a gift horse in the mouth.

Marsha waited for her moment to slide into the seat next to Kitty before the gig rendezvoused with the Case. “There hasn’t been a good time to tell you any of this before now, and I know that now isn’t the best time either, but I’m heading out and you’re heading back, so it’s now or never.”

Kitty looked up from her reverie, thoughts of maiming and killing drawing back into the blackness of the deepest recesses of her mind. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Marsha said quietly, “that there’s something going on back on Earth. We’re picking out more and more agents and returning them to their respective nations or just turning them away, but still, a few make it through. Oddly enough, most of those switch sides,” she said with a small smile. She was silent for a time. “I think there’s going to be a crackdown on open recruiting. The U.N. was holding almost continual sessions just before we left, and the U.S. was behind most of those actions, as I was given to understand the situation. They’re pressuring the Japanese and the Swiss to disavow our embassies. So far, both nations have given them nothing.”

Kitty laughed softly, almost regretfully, Marsha thought. “Simon and I figured on that a long time ago. We won’t have any problem with recruits, just picking them up. It’s going to be like back in the early days—clandestine landings in the middle of the night, swift pick-ups, and quick departures. But surely Tokyo and Geneva won’t crumble...”

Marsha shrugged, a measure of helplessness making the gesture all the more final. “All I can say for sure is that there was a feeling I was getting. Not all the time,” she said slowly, her mind going back over more than one event, “but where the higher-level players moved, things certainly seemed a bit cooler just before we left. I gave it less attention than I should have at the time since I was getting ready to lead a small flotilla against the ‘alien menace,’ but during our voyage here, I had way too much time to rethink things. Just be sure you check in at Vesta before moving further in-system. Just a feeling from one friend to another, okay?”

CHAPTER EIGHT

As soon as the gig docked in Federal Case’s bay, Kitty stepped off to meet her staff and new senior crew. “Captain Dexter,” she said to the woman standing front and center of the side party, including the baron and his wife, “it wasn’t necessary for you to meet me here. Any of your senior crew would have sufficed.”

“Under most circumstances, I would agree, Madam Herald,” she answered, “but this is your first time aboard with your flag officially moved. I considered it my duty to be present and am fully confident that my Number One can handle things during my short absence. Please allow me to show you to your quarters. I expect you’ll find them a little crowded, but I wish to point out in advance that although we’re a bit overcrowded, no one is being crowded into unsuitable quarters so you can travel in spacious comfort. I, myself, have elected to take smaller quarters so we can more effectively accommodate the extra personnel, as well as you and your staff.”

“I’ll personally inspect that statement as soon as I get settled, Captain,” Kitty said, “and if I find that I have to downsize my own space over some preconceived notion of protocol, you and I will find ourselves in the sparring ring.” The captain blanched slightly at her words. Kitty intended that she blanch more. “And since I don’t wear gloves, you won’t either. And if I feel that you’re pulling your punches, we’ll stay there until I’m satisfied that you aren’t. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” she said quietly.

Kitty had started to lead off in the direction of crew quarters before she spoke to her staff. Instead, she rounded on Maggie, the baroness. “What’s this ‘Your Grace’ business?”

Maggie placed a hand on her arm. “Let it go, Kitty. I think I have an explanation as soon as we have a degree of privacy.”

“As explanations go, it had better be a doozy,” Kitty muttered. She stepped aside and waved a hand graciously. “Please, Captain, lead the way.”

The captain, obviously flustered, stopped in front of her own door. “With your permission, Madam Herald,” she said, and Kitty heard the change in her voice, “I’ve arranged for you and your staff to share my quarters during the trip back to Earth. I beg that you wait until you know more about our other arrangements before passing judgment. At present, I must speak with the captain of the Jerra Nep about our passage to Earth. If you will excuse me, I’d like to be under way within the hour.”

Kitty settled into her new quarters with some trepidation. This was, after all, the captain’s quarters. Where else was Captain Dexter going to hold briefings, dole out assignments and hold Captain’s Mast, if that should become necessary? She began to feel that she’d begun too harshly with this new captain.

“Things aren’t that bad, I’ve been told,” Maggie said. “Captain Dexter ordered that the first ones to double and triple up would be the ship’s officers, of which we’re a part in one sense of the word. So, five of us are sharing quarters originally designated—functionally spacious, I might add—for one. Captain Dexter herself, along with her executive officer and one other, are sharing the Exec’s cabin, and so on and so forth. The regular crew are hardly suffering at all.”

The baron interrupted his wife. “I’ve spoken with the executive officer and been assured that most common areas have been turned into communal living quarters, with a few exceptions. Gymnasiums are now dormitories, rooms that originally held three now hold five, and any room that was designated as a private room for a department head and has a private bath is doing triple duty. Dexter has seen to it that the officers were the first, and there has been almost no dissension from the crew. Duties have been assigned on a rotating basis so there’ll be a minimum of personnel in any one room at any time, affording the most privacy possible. Crews will sleep in shifts, and the laundry will be working overtime to keep linens clean. Some recreational facilities have been kept intact for exercise and the working off of aggressions.”

Brandon looked at the three women present. “You gals will have the captain’s cabin, Diana included. A cot has been fabricated and moved in. And we men will make do with that and the couches out here. We’ll have to work out a restroom rotation, of course, but it’ll only be for about a year—less if Dexter has her way. She’s diverting power from the weapons core to the engines and moving us along at a slightly higher clip than otherwise predicted. The Jerra Nep has the same modifications and will keep up all the way. All in all, we should be back in Earth space in about nine months instead of eleven.”

Kitty stood silently for a moment, then said, “Okay, it seems fair enough, but I’ll conduct an inspection of my own in the near future. First, though, I want to speak to Maggie in private.” She nodded her head at the room designated for the three women’s sleeping quarters. “The rest of you make yourselves comfortable for a little bit.”

As soon as the door closed on them, Kitty whirled on the aging member of her inner circle, asking, “What was that ‘Your Grace’ business about, and why did you hush me up?”

The baroness smiled as memories came back to her mind of a young woman who’d recently come to power. “You never were one to mince words or pull punches, were you, my dear? I’m afraid you’re going to be even more of a legend than ever. I know you don’t like the position you’re in right now, but after your fight with sel Garian… well, the ‘Your Grace’ thing probably just slipped out after you threatened to wipe the deck with the captain of this ship. After all, that is what the Shiravans call their Matriarch.”

Kitty slumped down on one of the beds and put her head in her hands, elbows on knees. “Oh, shit,” she muttered. “I’ve been elevated to royalty. Are people going to start bowing as I go by?” She looked up at the baroness standing over her. “And just how did Captain Dexter know about that fight? As soon as it was over, we made tracks for this ship.”

“As I understand it, the whole thing was filmed by the gig’s pilot and co-pilot and beamed to all the ships in the fleet in the all too likely event of your death. It was hoped that it would keep Simon from going… what is it you young people say these days? Nuclear? There’s no way you’re going to get all the copies erased, especially since we’ve already started to get under way.”

Kitty remembered thinking much the same before the fight, but with all that had happened since, she had simply forgotten. She felt the subtle vibrations in the deck plates transmitting themselves through her body as soon as she let the desire to find all the copies of that fight go.

The baroness pulled herself up to her full height, which was not inconsiderable when she wanted to be imposing. “And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with being royalty, young lady. Remember, no royal line ever started out that way. They started out as junkyard dogs, as you Americans say, and fought their way to the top. And it does have its advantages. Look at how you deferred to me in the beginning. And how you chose me to come along and help you with negotiations with royalty, alien though it be.”

The older woman looked down at the younger—not just from height but from the distance of age. The baroness usually tried to hide her experience and brains from the world, with the exception of Freddie, of course, but she watched as the young woman’s shoulders slumped. “What? You haven’t become used to the power, the prestige, the deference that are accorded to you? Has it been decreed that these things be done? I think not,” the baroness continued in an obvious parody of royalty, right hand held aloft. “Rather, your subjects render them unto you freely.”

Changing tack, Maggie sat down next to Kitty and put an arm around her shoulder. “Of course, you’ve become used to it, but it’s been an unconscious assumption on your part. And that’s why people follow you. True, your being one of the Firsters carries a lot of weight. But the fact that you don’t rule by decree and walk among the people affects the minds of many, not to mention that you led a crucial alliance/trade mission personally.

“Speaking on behalf of all those who’ve followed you into space, let me say that that experience is harrowing in itself. And what we’re doing right now is several orders of magnitude higher. And I can safely say that countless others on Earth feel as I do and regret missing the opportunity to help personally.” The baroness’s voice dropped an octave or two, even though there was no one to overhear. “What if your alliance is opposed when you get back? We’ve been out of touch for over a year, and we have another nine months to go. There’s no telling what response your Alliance will bring to the power structure in existence when we return.”

Even repeated trips to the Federal Case’s den didn’t bring any insight as to what to expect when she returned home. There were too many variables, and she couldn’t see like Simon could. He compared it to playing chess, but she just couldn’t envision as many variables as he could. Each decision led to certain results, but most were altered along the way by the intervention of others, something she had no control over, so things became hazy quickly for her. She was still only able to see things in the short-term. Simon knew that, and that explained the packet of orders to be opened under specific circumstances.

Kitty understood, as well, the wisdom of Maggie’s words, but she couldn’t envision any massive changes that could occur while she was gone. More ships, certainly, and another possible attack given the distances involved and the predicted strength of the enemy’s power systems, but neither Lucy nor Simon would let things get too far out of hand. Of course, she had the mutiny of the Federal Case on the negative side of her own accomplishment list, so there wouldn’t be much room to talk. On the other hand, if things had gone well back home…

Korgan Garmon, The Garmon now, faced the legacy of his distant predecessor. It was a Garmon who had captured and killed the crew of the first destroyer to set down on their world, and it was a Garmon who had ruled from that point on, mostly. Now, with the advent of these humanz, it might be possible for him to finally unite the tribes and unify the planet.

The shipyards of three different bases were his to use, although only one was fully functional, and that one was working overtime to replace ships lost in skirmishes against the humanz. And he needed all three to be able to compete with this new threat.

Of all of his senior sub-commanders, only three weren’t related. The others were sibs or half-sibs, so he commanded considerably more respect, unlike the Korvil who had grown fat off the successes of his ancestors. He would keep in mind the line that had raised him to this exalted level.

He hadn’t considered the fact that there would be so much to do in the way of actual governance, having planned to have his particular appointees step in and take charge of a system that had steamrolled forward for two hundred farat. Colonization planets for the burgeoning male population was an ongoing problem. It was either that or the number of ritual combats would go up due to too many males living too close together. Population space was a must, and this world these humanz inhabited would make a perfect place to let some of his cockier sub-lieutenants have a land grant. Let them deal with the pesky humanz while he concentrated on the stinging tactics of the Shiravi.

Of course, most of what was known about the humanz was hearsay. Most, if not all, of the people who’d come into contact with the two humanz captured several farat back were dead. Most ships that entered the humanz system never came out. Lately, ships that merely patrolled areas around the human homeworld just quit reporting in. And on the Shiravan front, something of the same thing was going on. He held in his hand a dispatch from an outpost only three systems away from the Shiravan homeworld. It had been provided by the sole ship to escape the destruction of six of his ships. And the humanz only lost one and a few small fighters. There were humanz fighting on both sides of the Garmon Empire now, it was plain to see. Rumors of invincible ships—impossibly fast, hard-to-hit individual fighters with an uncanny ability to be where they weren’t supposed to be—did nothing to instill any bravery in the hearts of his followers. Tactics were going to have to change. No longer could the Garmon just run wild over their provinces but would have to proceed with some caution. It seemed that there was another alpha male in the neighborhood. The Garmon himself would have to hunt...

Kitty stalked the decks, ready to explode, as the ship sailed through hyperspace. She didn’t realize she was really just nervous about coming home after such an absence until the baroness spoke to her quietly. “You wonder if things have changed drastically in your absence, and you worry secretly about your husband. Take my advice and relax. What has happened, has happened. Don’t you think he’s as worried about you? And he doesn’t even know you’re on your way home, so you have the advantage over him. Now, you’ll deal with whatever awaits you in just a few more months in your own way and in your own time. Just don’t obsess about the negatives. There lies madness, especially when you spend so much time in that dome.”

The months wore away until they became mere weeks and finally days. Kitty had written and rewritten her report countless times, sometimes changing a single comma, other times deleting and re-writing entire passages. One day, one version of the story seemed more appropriate, and on another day, something entirely different would seem to be the focal point of her whole report. Other times, the whole thing seemed too ridiculous to even consider turning in.

Finally, the intercom called out, “All personnel prepare for emergence from hyper. Nav and Helm, prepare for immediate maneuvering.” Kitty dithered between going to the bridge or following orders. Orders won out. She could get to the bridge in a matter of minutes as soon as the ‘all clear’ was given. She settled onto her bunk just in case there was any maneuvering to be done and waited for the body-wrenching twist as the ship entered normal space.

The intercom came to life, Captain Dexter showing her awareness of the insecurity that lack of knowledge produced. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve just entered the Oort cloud of our own system. We’ll follow standard procedures, listen to broadcasts, and strip nearby buoys of any information. For the moment, all personnel are to return to duty stations.”

Kitty slipped out of the webbing that was holding her to the bed and headed for the bridge. As she walked the halls, the red lights of emergency stations clashed in her mind because of the lack of any indication of possible action. She stepped up to stand beside the captain.

Captain Dexter looked at her and said, “Ah, Madam Herald, I was just about to send for you. Welcome to Earth space.”

Kitty glanced at the various screens as she answered automatically, “Thank you, Captain. What have we got so far?”

“We’re receiving two different signals. The first mentions a time several months after we left Earth space. And it takes those kinds of signals about two years to get here, so I think our physicists are going to have to consult with the ghost of Einstein to rewrite the laws of relativity.”

“It beats getting back and finding everybody you ever knew either old or dead,” Kitty said, suddenly aware of just what it was that had made her so nervous. There was still plenty of time to get Simon into a regen chamber

The captain said, “The second signal has an IFF that says it’s the TAS Venture, on-station to greet guests from the general direction in which the Herald disappeared. Seems to be a repeating signal.”

“Can we micro-jump about half the distance and then send out our own signal, Captain?” Kitty asked quietly. It would be unseemly to appear to give her orders on her own bridge.

“I don’t see why not, Madam Herald, since the orders I’ve just unsealed indicate that we do exactly that in somewhat different words.” She turned to her crew. “Comm, prepare an IFF to be sent as soon as we come out of micro-jump. Be sure to include the Shiravans as well. Nav, plot the jump. Helm, prepare to execute.”

Nav was first to respond. “Course plotted, routed to Helm.”

A smooth switch in voices, “Coordinates confirmed. Prepared to jump on command.”

Comm said, “IFF with note attached ready to send.”

Captain Dexter said, “Nav, prepare an escape jump, if you would be so kind. Call it an exercise in futility, but do it. Have it ready to dump to Helm on my command. Helm, if you get that second jump order, just do it.”

Captain Dexter held up an envelope. “The Raptor’s Captain hand-delivered this when she knew I would be in command of our return flight. I was specifically forbidden to mention it in order to keep from heightening alarm among the crew until the last minute. And you’ve got to admit, the ship name matches one on the list. And, I’ve got half a dozen other sealed envelopes that deal with specific circumstances.”

Kitty’s eyes went to a list at the bottom of the set of orders. “The Venture is certainly on here, as well as the captain’s name,” she noted. “And this is Simon’s handwriting. Have you sent the signal?”

“Well, no Ma’am, I haven’t,” the captain started to say.

Kitty cut her short but spoke quietly. “My mission to Shiravi was a diplomatic one. Your job—to get me there and back safely—is purely a military one. You will execute any sealed orders immediately and worry about my reactions to them later. I’m sure that to err on the side of caution is prudent. Besides, I got a message from Captain Kane and didn’t tell you either,” she said and shrugged sheepishly. “Now my life is back in the hands of others again. Can I assume that we’ll be going to Vesta before Earth?”

“Oh, yes, Madam Herald. That’s what our orders call for if you read all the way to the bottom.” She turned back to her crew. “Nav, execute your jump and prepare to accept additional jump data. Helm, prepare your dump. Comm, prepare to send your signal.”

Space twisted around them, and Kitty felt a wave of nausea pass through her—only for a second but noticeable. “Signal sent,” Comm said. “Eight minutes to acquisition, sixteen minimum to reply. I got five bucks says it takes twenty-one minutes for the reply to come back.” That was giving the Venture’s captain five minutes to get the message and reply.

“Twenty-two, for five,” said the woman at Helm.

“Twenty-three,” said the young man at the weapons panel.

Captain Jeremy Trent of the TAS Venture was going to lose the bet for all of them. He had eaten early, exercised for about an hour in a one-ten grav field, showered, held his morning reports meeting, and now had nothing to do but sit there and look captainly during the final six hours of his shift. This was his first time on picket duty, but the Herald was due to return sometime soon. Wouldn’t it be a feather in his cap if it happened while his ship was on station? Even better, on his watch? It was a story that would procure him many a beer if he told it right. But first, a signal had to come in.

He was, therefore, shocked when a signal did come in from the Federal Case, one of the ships that had gone to the Shiravan homeworld. But the captain hailing him wasn’t the one listed on his papers. Within one minute, he had his Comm officer send a reply. “Welcome back to Earth space, Federal Case, but I require an explanation as to why Captain Breen is not in command.”

Almost as soon as his Nav officer had acquired a location and ID on the ship, an answer came back. This time it was female. “Captain Trent, I presume? This is Herald Hawke. I require immediate assistance. If you’d be so kind as to let us slave to your controls, you can jump into Vesta space without raising any alarms. Explanations concerning Captain Breen have been classified top-secret and cannot be discussed over an open channel.”

Kitty silently regretted having snatched the initiative from the captain, but she couldn’t help herself. She waited impatiently while the minutes ticked down to reply time. “Federal Case, I have a positive ID on the Herald’s voice. I’ll be happy to piggyback you and the Shiravan vessel into Vesta Base.”

The Nav officer said, “Ma’am, I have a jump plotted that will bring us within one hundred thousand miles of the Venture. We can use in-system drive to close with her from there.”

The Captain looked once at Kitty, shrugged her shoulders, and said, “Weapons operators, stay alert. Power will not be cut to weapons until I give the okay.” Turning to her bridge crew she said, “Helm, accept the course change and execute. Keep escape route for backup and inform the Jerra Nep.”

At a distance of one hundred thousand miles, radio was an effective means of communication. There was less than one second from send to receive, and the same for reply time. “Captain Dexter, why are your weapons powered up? My Tac officer reports multiple lock-ons from your gun batteries.”

“And think, Captain Trent,” Dexter replied, “that every one of those lock-ons is manual. I’ll bet that if you check your scans, you’ll see that none of your systems will record the use of any of my targeting systems. My gunners have become very good at their jobs in the recent past.”

Letting the comment go unnoticed, Captain Trent asked, “Will you open your computer to mine so we can move on to Vesta?”

Captain Dexter nodded to Helm and made a vague motion with her hand that meant, “Go ahead.” She also ordered all weapons systems shut down and secured.

Almost immediately, a message came over the comm. “Thanks, Captain. I’m not supposed to escort ships with hot weapons into Vesta Base. But since it was the Herald, I was going to overlook the caution as battle jitters, coming as you did from alien space.”

Kitty spoke up as the Federal Case closed on the Venture. “Tell me, captain, what has happened to cause such stringent measures amongst our own ships?”

“Madam Herald, there have been two ships that have mutinied against Alliance Command. We’ve been able to keep them from Earth, but until we allow them access, hostages have been taken and held to try and force our hand.”

“Again?” Kitty muttered to herself. Just how stupid were these people? Even the captains of the ships must know that their actions wouldn’t get Earth the technology it wants. Sure, they’d eventually be able to build power plants using cores stripped from ships or fighters, but they wouldn’t be able to graft that technology onto existing Earth technology, and the power plants would run out soon enough. An idea occurred to her. “Have there been any moves made against any of the fuel depots?”

The young captain said, “None that I’m aware of, ma’am,” with a touch of uncertainty in his voice.

“If either or both of those ships think to take a fuel depot, we could have a problem. They’d have access to enough raw material to make several dozen major cores and hundreds of smaller ones. Fortunately, one of the most devious men I ever met has already got a plan for just such an event. What I want to know is, why hasn’t he used it?”

Captain Trent said, “Ma’am, I’m just a newly appointed ship captain. I don’t need this kind of intrigue. I don’t know who you’re talking about, but my Nav officer says we’re now ready to jump for Vesta. Are you ready?”

Kitty looked at Captain Dexter, who looked to her Helm officer. Helm looked over her shoulder and said, “The computer is accepting new orders and preparing to jump.” Her fingers flew over her boards. “It appears that our projected course will bring us to Vesta Base in about fifteen minutes. Our parking spot is about a thousand miles behind the base.”

Kitty spoke to the Venture’s captain. “It would appear that technology wins again, Captain Trent. All our boards show green for jump. You may give the word any time.” For a moment, a portion of her conversation with the baroness about assumption of power rose to the top of her mind, and she realized the truthfulness of it, finally.

Kitty walked into Lucy’s office and said, “I like what you’ve done with the place. Looks real homey.”

Lucy just leaned back in her chair and looked at Kitty for a full minute before speaking. “You’re back. I quit.” She stood up and moved away from the chair, waving to it theatrically. “I’ll stay on long enough to bring you up to speed, though.”

“Right, thanks. I appreciate it. I know that sounds trite, but I really do mean it. You can fade back into the background if you want. Administrator of Vesta Base, again?” Kitty asked, stepping up to her friend and hugging her hard. “I’m sorry to have done this to you, Lucy, but I’m back now, and I’ll get it under control right away. First,” she said, sitting down in one of a pair of comfortable chairs to one side of the room, “Why hasn’t Simon taken care of this mutiny bullshit already?”

Lucy laughed. “You were right. He got Robert to take him on one of his deep space patrols. We’re encountering more and more Garmon lately in what we’re now calling the outer reaches—the nearby systems we’ve declared as our buffer zone, so to speak. Kind of like sharks smelling blood in the water.”

“Which is exactly why,” Kitty said firmly, “we’re going to finish this mutiny thing first and get back to doing what we do best—protecting our planet from big, angry teddy bears.”

“How are you going to derail the mutiny? The two ships, Avenger and Kill Zone, are parked out in the rings of Saturn, waiting for orders. We’re effectively blocking all transmissions. Seems like those guys gave their bosses some of our comm gear so they can stay connected. We caught on and put jammers between them and Earth.”

Kitty leaned back in the chair and placed her feet, ankles crossed, on a bare spot on the top of the huge desk. “How? With misdirection, Luce, and a bit of information that only three people have. I need two wolf packs to go on a small jaunt. I promise not to keep them long and to give them back in good repair, plus the two mutinied ships.”

“I can pull them away from Base defense,” Lucy said slowly, “if you’re sure you can pull this off.”

“Oh, I can do it, all right. I just need one specific ship—the Heinlein.”

A smile played across her face when Lucy said, “The Heinlein? She’s just a training ship, these days, along with most of the other surviving Firster ships, several of which are closer than the Heinlein. Why her?”

“I’ll tell you after the fact, but I gotta know something else first: who’s been picked up on Earth? Same as last time? Family and friends of family?”

“Pretty much,” Lucy confirmed, “but it seems that some were warned ahead of time and managed to get away before being picked up. My folks, your aunts, Simon’s parents, and several dozen other families seem to have just up and disappeared.”

“Would the Brandts and Colliers be among those missing?” Kitty asked quietly.

“Definitely,” Lucy said. “One of the first ones checked on. Why?”

Kitty grinned. “Collier senior was a protester back during Nam. He helped a lot of people keep out of government control. I feel his hand in this somewhere, as well as Simon’s.”

Lucy had been busy typing on a laptop as they spoke. She looked up from the screen and said, “You’ll have your two wolf packs and the Heinlein here in about forty hours. What are you going to do until then?”

“First,” Kitty said with anticipation in her voice, “I’m going to spend a couple of hours immersed in hot water, and then I’m going to eat something. After that, I’m going to threaten the planet Earth with death and destruction if they don’t let my people go! Then, I think I’ll take a nap.” Her voice had gotten steadily icier until it finally cracked, and she started laughing. “That should be enough for my first day back.”

Two days passed before Kitty felt reasonably up to speed enough to make her first public appearance and make good on her promise. She started off by making an early morning appearance at the Comm Shack. Although any place with a radio could be called a comm shack, like a room aboard a spaceship, so could entire structures, and this particular one had taken on a life of its own. Officially designated as the Communications Center, the Comm Shack acted as post office for Base personnel and was an unofficial meeting place for people looking for word from home. On this particular morning, the arrival of the Terran Herald produced unexpected activity. Within minutes of her arrival, the department head showed up. “How may I help you, Madam Herald?”

“I need to tape a message to be sent to Earth. That means a recording studio or room or whatever, a couple of techs, and a few minutes of their time. While you assemble what I need, I’ll be across the street at that small coffee shop I saw on my way in. Please send someone over when you’re ready to record.” Offering the poor man no chance to say yes, no, or go to hell, she turned and walked out of the room with Lucy strolling alongside. Somebody on Earth was going to be real sorry, and she was just the person to do something about it.

“I have a problem with being that peremptory,” Lucy said, “which is why I’m so glad you’re back. Now the headaches are yours.”

There weren’t supposed to be any headaches, Kitty thought miserably. “Okay,” she said aloud, “all you have to do is step back and assess your priorities. The… let’s call them detainees… on Earth are in no real danger, so we concentrate on the two traitor ships first. You get me the ships I requested, and I’ll deliver both sets of mutineers to you, gift wrapped. But after the cuppa we’re about to have, I’ll make a tape to beam to Earth, telling them that we won’t accept the kind of treatment the United States is inflicting on us. They’re behind all of this. You know it, I know, it, everyone knows it, and the U.S. knows we know. They’re pissed because they didn’t get there first, and now they’re a second-rate power. They aren’t happy that they’re the greatest second-rate power; they want more. I’m about to mobilize an entire world against the U.S. through the baron and all the international agencies that would just love to catch them openly doing what they’ve been railing against for almost two hundred years.”

Kitty waited while the seven ships were assembled, her special emphasis on the Heinlein causing the most trouble as no one knew exactly where she was due to her training-ship status. While waiting, she taped her message to be sent to Earth with the baron and Margit. Freddie would decide what to do with it.

Eventually, the Heinlein’s present captain heard the message and dropped into orbit trailing Vesta as if he had been doing that exact thing for years. “Acting Captain Alvarez and the Heinlein reporting as ordered,” he sent over the radio.

“Welcome to Vesta Base,” Kitty said once the call was routed to her quarters. “Would you be so kind as to meet with me at your earliest convenience? I have a special mission for you and your crew.”

The acting captain sat ramrod straight in front of the Terran Herald. Mind numbed by the information he’d just received, he couldn’t formulate an answer that adequately fit the delicate situation. “You do realize, Madam Herald, that those two ships are state of the art and we’re just a first gen. We have shields, yes, and stand a chance against most Garmon and some of the Shiravans still, but not against those two.” Kitty watched as the legacy of Simon’s idea came full circle. He always encouraged others to speak their minds, sometimes even finding their way to his point of view without much more than a gentle push.

“We have two complete wolf packs along as well.” Kitty looked at the young man with a small degree of pity, dropping out of phase when she thought of the Heinlein’s soon-to-be captain as young. Of course, she was into her forties now, but since her stint in the regen chamber, she looked a fit and trim (she did have to work at the trim part) twenty-six or so. The dichotomy of how old she felt and what she saw in the mirror each day still caused her a lot of confusion.

She came back to the present when her guest finished by saying, “So, my senior officers and I talked this out on the way here. With several other first gen ships more easily accessible than the Heinlein, along with better-trained crews, it had to be something about the ship herself that caused you to request us specifically. We just can’t figure out what.”

Kitty smiled as if she hadn’t been off on a tangent and said, “Yes, Captain, there is something special about the Heinlein, although I can’t tell you yet. Just trust me when I say that your ship is critical to our mission. As a matter of fact, it’s also safe to say that if things should not go as planned, we’ll be the first ship shot out of space. I know that’s small consolation, but remember, I’ll be aboard as well.” She smiled sweetly, “That also means that you’re now commanding a fully armed ship of war under orders to shoot to kill, if so ordered. Your rank of acting captain is hereby upgraded to full captain. Congratulations, and welcome to the headaches of command.”

What a prophetic statement that is!

The young captain left his meeting with a deadline and the first in a long line of headaches. He had two hours to get his crew turned around and ready to proceed to Saturn to face two fourth-generation ships. And he was responsible for the safety of the Herald, as well. His unease rose to fever pitch when, just at the two-hour mark, his Tac officer said, “Sir, I just got off the comm. Vesta Transport Control is beaming the Herald into the reception area. I took the liberty of informing the exec, and he’s on the way right now.”

A few minutes later, Kitty strode onto the bridge, all business. One of Simon’s earliest teachings rose to the top of her mind for a moment—if you act like you know what you’re doing, people will follow readily. Aloud, she said, “Captain Alvarez, the fleet will slave all six ships to you. If you would, please have your Helm set coordinates for this location.” She handed a slip of paper over to him. Out of habit, he looked at it. It was a string of numbers, followed by the words, ‘Saturn’s Rings.’

He handed the paper off to his Helm officer and said, “Tactical, accept slave signals from all six ships. Release them as soon as we reach our destination. Helm lay in the course and prepare to execute on my command.” He looked at Kitty. “Ma’am, I have no idea what to do now.”

“Now,” Kitty said grimly, “I’d like to take over your Comm station. When we arrive at our destination, I need to be able to speak to our traitorous captains personally.”

As Kitty settled herself into the Comm station, the Tac officer said, “We have acquired six slave signals, Madam Herald.” He had no illusions as to who was in charge.

“Thank you, Commander,” Kitty said formally. “Captain, you have charge of the formation until we arrive. At that point, the wolf packs will assume attack positions, weapons hot, and the carriers will launch all Mambas. I’ll accept responsibility for whatever happens after that.”

Captain Alvarez looked as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “Very well, Madam Herald. Helm, execute your assigned course.”

CHAPTER NINE

During the six-minute hyper-jump across the system, Kitty sat busily at the Comm console, searching for the innocuous file that held the codes she’d been given when she first took command of this very vessel. As its first captain, Simon had informed her that it was the only ship in the fleet that could send out a shutdown order to any other ship, carried on a signal that piggybacked the main, more potent signal. The receiving ship’s computer was required to accept the signal and begin shutdown of all but environmental services.

The file it was hidden in was one that most people were unlikely to access, being titled, ‘Toilets, Maintenance and Sanitation of.’ Especially since the whole file, while a necessary part of the ship’s regulations, had been carefully and expertly expanded. It was very unlikely that anyone would read all the way down to section thirty-seven, subsection L. And even if they did, there was nothing there to indicate what the cryptic paragraphs said. It would be immediately labeled a computer glitch and they would try to either rewrite it so that it made sense or delete it, which Simon had made impossible.

The problem was that the other ship had to be receiving—hence, her presence. She expected the two ships to be in contact via whisker lasers, almost impossible to intercept unless one were directly between the two ships, and her personal appearance would have both captains in receive mode. Whether they answered or not was irrelevant as long as they were listening.

The squadron dropped out of hyper and came to a dead halt, looking for the signatures of two full-sized battlecruisers, most likely on standby. Tactical and Navigation spoke up at the same time.

“Targets acquired.”

Kitty watched an adjacent console as the squadron dispersed into its prearranged attack pattern. She opened a comm link aimed at the two ships. “This is Katherine Hawke,” she said, politely. “I wish to speak with the leader of this rebellion.” She knew it was no real rebellion, just two ships primarily manned by people loyal to Earth as opposed to the Alliance. She hoped that by calling it a rebellion she could get one of the captains to respond while the other listened to the exchange. That would be all she needed.

Luckily for her, both ships’ captains were anxious to hear what the Terran Herald had to offer in order to keep any bloodshed at a minimum. No sooner did she get confirmation that her signals were being received than she pressed a final button on her console. This one sent the shutdown orders along a shielded signal that would only be recognized by humans after it was too late. Only codes from the Heinlein could send the orders to power up since it automatically put the computer in receiving mode.

Curses began to be heard from both ships as first their weapons, then shields, and then power systems shut down to station-keeping. And there was nothing either captain could do. All computer access was frozen until it received the reactivation signal. The only nonessential system left functioning was the short-range comm system. After an interval that literally measured over two hours, the captain of TAS Avenger called the small ship sitting alone in front of it.

“All right, Madam Herald.” The words sounded like they’d been dragged out with tongs. “The Avenger and the Kill Zone both acknowledge that we’re helpless. We accept that we will be treated as prisoners of war and surrender to you under the Geneva Convention.”

Kitty gripped the arms of her chair until her knuckles hurt. “No deal, Captain. You gave oaths to the Alliance. You and your top officers will be tried as traitors in time of war. Any subordinates will be treated less harshly, but you and your senior staffs have stepped over the line.”

She waited a full five minutes while the radio stayed silent. Finally, she said, “I grow tired, Captain Sweeney. I just got back from a two-year ordeal dealing with two different alien races. I will not waste my time dealing with traitors among my own kind. You and Captain Brown have until we tow you back to Vesta Base to decide what you’re going to do. If you hide behind hostages, it will go even worse than it already is. I’d also like to tell you that while Captain Breen of the Federal Case is no longer among the living, his second in command is quite alive and vocal about the treatment she’s received at our hands. She’ll be allowed to live, as will all of her compatriots, much as I might personally wish otherwise. I’ll let you speak to her before you give me your answer.”

Kitty switched channels and ordered the four battlecruisers to extend their shields to cover the two disabled vessels and tow them back to Vesta.

When it rains, it pours, Kitty thought as she received the latest dispatch from Vesta. The Nova Group had just reported in—all personnel accounted for, with three Garmon destroyers and a freighter to their credit.

“We didn’t even know they had freighters,” Robert Greene said in his preliminary report. “It looks like a long destroyer without weapons. Seems like they’ve got someone with some creativity over there.”

Now, she was going to have to chew out her own husband, in private of course, but he had left Jerry Chapman, a dedicated second-waver, in charge. But she’d fought a duel, so she couldn’t be too upset. They were both cut from the same mold, apparently, though you’d never have known it eighteen years ago. “Send word to Nova Group: Job well done. Please disembark Admiral Hawke at Vesta Base before continuing your assigned duties.”

She stood up from her position at the Comm station. “Captain Alvarez, take us back to Vesta, if you please.”

“Certainly, ma’am. Nav, plot a course for Vesta, send it to Helm, and take the bridge. Madam Herald, if you will join me in my ready room?” The young captain stood smoothly, stepped down from his chair, and walked purposefully toward the door to his ready room, appearing for all the world as if this were just another exercise. Stopping at the door, he turned to make sure all his orders were being followed. His Nav officer was just sitting down in the command chair, and the Herald—God forbid, he thought—was following him to the door.

He moved one step closer to the door, letting the sensor recognize a body present and open the door. He waved the Herald through before him and followed, allowing the door to close. Moving to a position behind his desk, he didn’t sit. He knew that technically he was the ranking person in the room as captain of an active warship, but he just couldn’t sit down before the Herald did. After all, not only was she the Herald, she was a Firster, and the first captain in of Alliance. She was looking curiously around the room. Several pictures adorned the walls, souvenirs of previous captains, and while the furniture was adequate, it was a bit threadbare. “I think this is the same furniture Simon requisitioned when he first took command, Captain,” the Herald said, a nostalgic tone in her voice. “Have Stores replace it with something more appropriate, if you feel like it. The Herald’s office will pick up the tab.”

Alvarez looked a bit shamefaced at the furniture. It was really no place to host such an august personage as the Herald, but it would have to do. Almost eight years of countless people moving through and sitting in this room had left their marks, abrasions, and stains here and there. The Herald sat down on a couch that was set to one side of the room.

“So long ago,” she said, almost to herself. She looked up at him. “I guess you have a right to know about what happened out there. You’ll be the fourth person to know, so don’t go spreading it around. You see, the Heinlein is a little bit different from every other ship in the fleet. It carries codes that will shut down any other ship as long as that ship has its radio on receive. All I did was input the codes while we were on the short jump out there, and when I had one confirmed connection, I knew the other had to be listening, so I sent the codes out on a weak carrier beam that was camouflaged by the main beam. Their computers had no choice but to shut down all but essential services.”

Alvarez nodded, finally seating himself. “So, now the cruisers can tow them back to HQ,” he said letting the familiar name for Vesta slip out.

“Yes,” the Herald replied, apparently not noticing the lapse. “And then we get to hold trials for all of them. Treason, mutiny, theft of Alliance property—oh, I’m sure our lawyers can find a dozen more charges to throw at each of the conspirators, or agents, or whatever they want to call themselves.”

Alvarez blanched a bit. “Treason is punishable by death, Madam Herald,” he said in protest.

“Yes, it is,” Kitty confirmed. “In times of war, treason can certainly be punished by a quick trip out of an airlock. But that’s not going to happen, at least not yet. Most of the folks involved are just doing their jobs and consider themselves patriots. They take orders from people high up in their own governments, and their oaths don’t mean anything to them. That’s why three ships were taken over.”

“Three? Which other ship has mutinied?” Alvarez was truly perplexed.

“Captain Breen of the Federal Case decided to mutiny while in still in Shiravan space,” Kitty said flatly. “He and his top officers left us no choice but to take her back under less than optimal conditions. It’s fortunate, in a way. We ended up with a place to put the survivors of the Vega and jobs for them once we’d taken the Case back. I’m definitely going to rename that ship as soon as possible.”

Captain Alvarez hadn’t had time to get any of the scuttlebutt from the returning ships, but he shuddered and promised himself never to cross this lady.

Not long after Kitty stepped into Captain Alvarez’s ready room, she felt the internal twist that told the experienced spacefarer of a hyper-jump. Six minutes later, after a brief conversation and a bit of reminiscing, the Heinlein’s training crew brought her into an almost perfect orbit trailing Vesta.

Kitty stood up and said, “Well, it’s been a pleasure, Captain. Tell your crew that I’m proud of each and every one of them. I’ll put a word in at Personnel about the professionalism shown by your crew today.” She reached to her belt and grabbed her comm link. “Vesta Transport Control, this is Herald Hawke. I request a beam-out from these coordinates to local 0/0.”

A short delay ensued while the Transport Coordinator verified her identity, and then a small voice came from her link, “Madam Herald, transport will commence in ten seconds.” She had time to replace her comm link and sketch a quick salute at the Captain, and the Heinlein’s ready room disappeared in a haze of blue sparkles.

Kitty waited impatiently for Simon to get in from the patrol group. She didn’t know yet whether she was going to laugh, cry, yell, scream, hit him, hug him, or what, but she couldn’t wait to see him. A part of her just didn’t feel complete without him there. Lord knew she’d had enough alone time to have learned that much. Right now, though, her anger was turned to one of the new strictures all patrols had to follow upon return to Earth space—look around first and see if any enemy could be sighted. If so, attack them first and report to headquarters as soon as possible so help could be dispatched. It added at least twenty hours to an incoming ship’s arrival time.

The Alliance wasn’t going to be caught napping again. A steady stream of ships was coming out of the yards and beginning to make their presence known in all systems surrounding Earth, especially those known to be on the Garmon side of the niche being carved out. Ships permanently guarded the four bases and the Galileo, as well as Earth, on a rotation that allowed more personnel to train with the equipment. Hence, the continuing existence of the Heinlein and her surviving sisters, serving as training ships.

Kitty had Vesta Traffic Control keep her updated on the arrival of Nova Group. Simon would surely know of her arrival by now, not to mention her precipitous dash across the solar system to squelch a mutiny, which he might have headed off or at least contained earlier if he hadn’t gone off risking his life unnecessarily. The secret of the Heinlein hadn’t been passed on after Kitty left, so even Vice Admiral Chapman, who had served as the Heinlein’s captain for a short time, didn’t know her special nature.

Oh, this is going to be a convoluted meeting, she thought. I haven’t seen him in almost two years, but I needed him, dammit, and he sent me off alone. Sure, she had the treaty between the Alliance and Shiravans, but she’d lost the Vega, and then there was the matter of the rebellion aboard the Federal Case. She blanched and a cold sweat broke out all over her body. sel Garian! her mind screamed. When he sees a copy of that, I’m toast.

At first, Kitty didn’t know whether to be the frosty superior officer with a few bones to pick or the long-separated wife. The wife won out as she waited in Vesta’s Transport Control. She wore everyday BDU’s, but nonetheless, her diminutive stature and totally white hair gave her away. A small space seemed to surround her wherever she went, so she finally opted for a wall near the transport hexes.

At first her heartbeat was up, and then she developed cold sweats. When those went away, she had the shivers from the air conditioning. She’d just decided on a bit of enthusiasm mixed with just the right amount of Herald aloofness when she spotted Simon appearing in one of the columns of blue sparks. All thought went elsewhere, and she threw herself into his arms. For just a little while, she wanted to be the one who was protected rather than the bastion behind which everyone else shielded themselves.

She let the power that she always felt in his arms flow through her, giving solace to parts of her body she didn’t know were in pain. A feeling of complete relaxation ran through her, and she lost herself in the feeling of his arms and the pressure of their bodies being pressed together. It was almost funny—she could feel his strong, slow heartbeat as a backdrop to her own, swift and fluttery. The kiss was at first cautious, then fervent, and then, as they remembered where they were, a bit more restrained.

“So,” he said, pushing her away to arm’s length so they could look into each other’s eyes. “I get sent to the rear for my own protection, and you lead ships in battle, fight duels, and suppress mutinies with underpowered, outgunned ships. We’re going to have to have a long talk about priorities soon.”

“It’s been almost two years since we’ve seen each other. Let’s let recriminations go for a while,” she begged as she wrapped her arms around his waist. “I want to know how you’ve been holding up. What we’ve each been doing can wait for official time. All I want right now is to hold you and remind myself that this is real; this is where I belong; this is where I was destined to be.” She leaned in and kissed him again as if she needed something from him just to stay alive.

Simon, for his part, had been just as anxious as his wife about their meeting. Two years they’d been separated. Two years he’d been faithful, though he’d had more than one opportunity to step over the line. He kept current on all the rumors, that being one of the functions of the nondescript little man walking beside him. Any public meeting between himself and any senior female officer or office holder other than his wife eventually found its way into the tabloids, something that had found its way to Vesta Base almost magically, as they never appeared on any ships’ manifest. The function of the little man was to see to it that the rumors never got out of control. His official title was Public Relations Officer for the Admiral’s Office. In fact, he kept the rumors to a minimum by acting as an unofficial adviser on most of Simon’s business dealings with just about everyone.

Kitty had accomplished so much in her travels, while he’d only increased the size of the fleet, and that only by the predetermined amount that the bases were able to produce, a function almost anyone could have performed. He still needed to see that video of her fighting sel Garian. The little man told him that it was a phenomenal exhibition of skill, grace, and restraint.

He’d never quite remember the exact words they first spoke to each other, but he’d never forget that kiss. After an interminable time, he noticed that people around them were deliberately ignoring their reunion as they moved about their business. “Your place or mine?” he asked quietly, breathing in one ear, infuriating her and making her laugh at the same time.

“I think mine’s closer,” she replied. “Not by much, but I’ve been living in mine for the past couple of days, and yours is going to need to be aired out and have all the spoiled stuff removed from the fridge. I sure don’t want to be there when you open that door.”

An interminable time later, conversation interspersed with other amusements, the two lovers had finally sated themselves for the time being. “Okay,” Simon said, all business, “I’ve waited to see this. I have the fight between you and sel Garian cued up and ready to play. You know I’m going to see it anyway. Why don’t you give your version of it as it goes down?”

Kitty sighed, a child caught in a terrible wrongdoing. “I know I shouldn’t have let her yank my chain, but she did, and I fell into her trap. Fortunately, my martial arts instructor, you, my love,” she said, bowing in his direction, “taught me to find my balance in almost any situation. Although I’d never had to fight with swords before, your training let me adapt in time to save both my own life and the treaty. Of course, for them those were just knives and not swords.”

She just shrugged, “They were given to me as a gift after I whipped her. I’ll bet they’re outside my door right now, waiting for me to get up and bring them in out of the corridor. Or, more likely, there’s an orderly there, guarding them and waiting for me to tell him/her to bring them in.”

Simon turned the wallscreen on with a touch of the remote and called up a still of Kitty waiting for sel Garian to arrive at the dueling grounds. “What was going through your mind at this point?” he asked clinically.

“I was thinking that I had let her maneuver me into an area of her choosing. I had, actually, but I was more able than she’d guessed. I won. Don’t ask how, because I have no idea. The knife just seemed to become an extension of my arm. If I had to guess, I’d say that since I come from a higher-gravity planet, her knife became a sword that was just right for my superior strength.”

Simon let the tape play while the two women chose their weapons, and then let it go on a bit longer, showing Kitty trying to find her center with this new weapon. The image on the screen found a one-handed grip that seemed to work for her and turned to her red opponent. “Come Manura, let’s play,” the image said. “I want to find out what color Shiravan blood is, and you have outlived your usefulness.”

What ensued, seen from the perspective of the pilots in the shuttle, was nothing short of phenomenal, as his public relations officer had promised. Kitty parried each and every blow sel Garian drove at her almost negligently. And she stood in the classic pose Errol Flynn had made famous—right foot forward, left foot back, her sword the only defense from the razor-sharp blade of her opponent. When she dropped down and came up inside sel Garian’s defenses, she sliced her slightly across the stomach. Then, she tucked herself into a small ball and knocked her opponent’s legs out from under her with a leg sweep, making her sprawl in the dirt When she placed her sword tip at sel Garian’s throat and rose to her feet, Simon stopped the replay. “What I want to know is: why did you spare her life? I would have killed her on the spot with no questions asked.”

“And you would have been perfectly within your rights to do so, but that also would have been screwing up in a big way, husband mine. kep Parrasine still needs somebody to finish her education in the art of being a spymaster. At least we know sel Garian and what she might do, so we think we know what her successor might do. Plus, the Matriarch thinks of sel Garian as an aunt—a little on the dotty side nowadays but still a valuable resource. I had every right to kill her, and she would have killed me, but I’d garnered support among many different factions on Shiravi. Remember, to most of them I’m Kath-e-rin, the Goddess of Light. I represent fertility, life, mercy, and all of the good things in life. For me to go and kill one of their most revered personages, or feared, depending on who you are, would have cast me in the role of Kath-e-vel, the Spirit of Darkness, bringer of chaos, famine, pestilence, and death. I decided that if I have to be a goddess, I want to be a good one, so I let her live.”

Simon let the rest of the video play out with no more comments beyond one. “Remind me not to piss you off, okay?”

“No problem, lover. Besides, I’d just been adopted as Linnas’s sister the night before. It would have been bad form to kill my own aunt.” She changed directions abruptly before Simon had time to think about that one. “We do have a situation that needs to be cleaned up once and for all. Some of our people, and in a lot of cases, their families and friends when they themselves couldn’t be arrested, have been detained. Again. I’m not going to stand for it. The United States has been trumpeting to the world that it is the supreme champion of human rights. I’m about to rub their noses in the dark underbelly of their own government.

“One thing the government hasn’t done is remove the wristbands from the detainees. That lets us get good visuals of what is happening, and audio as well. In some cases, we have very good documentaries on what our people and their folks are going through. Since we know the locations—all near major cities so we can’t make another lake like the one in North Dakota—we have asked the United Nations, the International Red Cross, and Amnesty International to sort of break the ice for us. The only downside is that the prisoners are being treated very well and carefully, with full medical facilities, proper meals, television, comfortable beds in private rooms, families not separated, all that sort of thing. It’s all posturing. Politics. And I have to get down in the mud and roll around in it with them. That’s why I feel so slimy at the end of the day.

“You should see the cockroaches scurry for their dark little hiding places. The politicians who quietly voted for the arrests and detentions are now crying loudest to end it. I guess it might help to know that I sent each one an individual note detailing what could happen out of a clear blue sky, like a rock falling on their house while they’re still in it. In some cases, I even appended a list of alternate locations we found out about, some of which came as a complete surprise to the recipients of the letters. Most of them still can’t figure out how we found out about the government safe houses we named, and having your mail arriving in a shower of blue sparks is still pretty unsettling for most of humanity.”

Simon looked at her curiously. “How did you get that kind of information?”

Kitty smiled. “I didn’t. While I was gone, Lucy cultivated Agent Daniels. Remember him? It seems that it wasn’t hard to do since he was pretty disappointed with the way things were going. He dug through the FBI database, and those systems are all interconnected you know—FBI, CIA, DIA, DOD, Interpol, the whole thing, and with his clearance, he got what we needed to know, then deleted his presence from the system and came over to the Alliance.”

“So,” Simon said slowly, “you’ve got senators, representatives, congressmen and probably even the president believing that we’re likely to start dropping rocks on them if they don’t give in?” At Kitty’s nod, Simon sighed. “You’re forgetting one thing, dear,” he said, and sadness tinged his voice.

“What’s that?”

“The innate sense of resistance that two hundred years of freedom has instilled in the American people. We’re going to have to find some way to back down from the threat of violence and work on getting those groups to embarrass the U.S. for us. It won’t look good if we start bombing the planet just to get our people freed. That’s got to be a last resort, not a first option.”

“Okay, that’s what we’re doing anyway. The threat of falling rocks is just to show our superior position, not an actual threat. I’ve had Freddie and Margit working on it from downside, leaking reports through Sarah Parker. She’s become quite a celebrity, of late, by the way. And her cameraman turned up. He’s one of those survivalist nuts and happened to see Sarah get picked up. Seems he filled up his gas tank and headed out into the hills. That van carries more than just camera equipment, apparently.

“Anyway, I field the irate messages that are coming our way. The U.S. wants to send defense attorneys out here to represent their people. We’re holding firm to the idea that they are Alliance citizens by oath, and we’ll deal with our own internal affairs ourselves, thank you very much. Actually, I haven’t even responded to a single request for an appointment. All ships in orbit around Earth are to ignore any communiques no matter how they arrive or how urgent they sound. I will eventually, grudgingly, allow five or six real live, honest-to-God attorneys to board a ship and come out here as observers only.

“The Brandts and Colliers are keeping the fires stoked under the various groups and have the families of all of our top personnel in safe houses. Sarah Parker is doing a daily column on the subject and being picked up by more papers every day, and more information is coming out every hour. We know that the U.S. government realizes that those wristbands are the source of most of their leaks, but we can only surmise that they’ve allowed the detainees to keep them to prove that our people aren’t being mistreated. They have to know by now the full potential of the wristbands. After all, they’ve had ample opportunity to see them in action and get access to them through their spies.” Kitty leaned back in the lounger and stretched luxuriously.

“I assume Galway is back on Earth, reporting on what he accomplished while he was away?”

“Yes, for all the good it did him. He one-jumped for Earth almost immediately after we got back. Linnas got into a debate with him and he lost. She wouldn’t give him the time of day after that, probably because he’s male and works for males. I don’t know how she got that information,” Kitty said innocently, “but she seemed to feel that the only course was to stay with us. It was a good thing that when one of her ships arrived here, one was ready to leave with dispatches detailing the last two years of talks, et cetera. It didn’t hurt to report that we have fourteen more ships, plus we’ve upgraded all of her ships in our space.”

“I knew about all but the last three ships,” Simon said. “I went on a patrol with Robert Greene and was gone for almost six months.”

“I know,” Kitty said dryly. “What the hell were you thinking? We can’t have both of us gone at the same time. What if we both get killed?”

Simon sat the lounger up straight so he could reach the glass he had set beside the chair. He took a small swallow of the amber liquid and replied, “Hon, I think we’ve reached the point where this can’t be stopped, unless we’re wiped out. We have too many ships, too many people on Earth on our side or actively enrolled in the Alliance, and too many contingency plans for this to stop just because we die. We’ve got Jerry Chapman, Robert Greene, Gayle, Lucy, and a whole host of others to step in if one or both of us should die. Two years ago, I might have said differently, but now we even have a system set up that’s moving selected people from place to place like the old underground railroad. We’re back to picking up some of our recruits from undisclosed locations in the United States, and the U.S. government has restricted travel to Japan and Switzerland, which has raised holy hell with those two countries. A large part of their income is from tourism. You should hear some of the stuff that’s getting flung around in the U.N. We just plain have too many people who want us to succeed. All of this is as of six months ago, of course. We came straight here as soon as the Nova made parking orbit.

“Plus, as of six months ago, we’re doing a lot better job of screening recruits since we have a man on the inside. But that’s only the U.S. agents. Who knows which countries have agents among our newest crews? And who really cares?” Simon leaned back in the chair, feet up, looking at his wife through the V they made. Kitty’s look of surprise made him smile. “Remember, without all of the specs, they can’t build anything, and they need our reactors to power the larger weapons, which we won’t let them have either. And to tell the truth, I think Daniels has turned some of his fellow agents to our cause. At least they’re feeding us information that seems to check out. We keep looking for the hook, but we haven’t found one yet.”

“Well, I’ve been back two days and squelched a two-ship mutiny. I’ve started to pick up on what’s going on, but I still need some time. I wish you hadn’t made yourself unavailable just now. It made me have to hold Lucy over that much longer. We’ll do whatever’s necessary to set our people free, just like last time. Maybe we can’t be that precise with an asteroid every time, but they don’t know that, and they have a new lake in North Dakota that says we can.”

She paced back and forth in the very manner she had once chastised Simon for. “We can mess with their GPS systems just by having Mambas park directly beside their satellites for a while at intermittent moments, like a training exercise. Or we can jam all their satellite transmissions to and from any place on Earth. And if we get mad enough, we can disrupt their landlines, which are their securest means of communications. And just imagine the hue and cry if we take television away from the masses. Radio, too. Governments would topple over that alone.”

Kitty sat down on the arm of the lounger Simon had taken over and slid down between him and one arm of the chair, her face turned up to his. “Let’s leave the details for later. Oh, that reminds me, Linnas gave me two cases of something they call fire wine. I’m going to be very interested in your response to it. But that can wait for later. Right now, I have something else in mind.”

Simon watched with interest as one of Kitty’s hands crept slowly up his chest and began to wrestle with the top button of his shirt.

CHAPTER TEN

Korgan Garmon studied all the papers before him, which wasn’t a normal course of action for a Garmon leader to be taking. One should just work from one’s intuition, but his intuition said that these humanz were far more than they seemed. Look at the number of ships that had gone out and hadn’t reported in. They’d been experienced ships, captains, and crews, and they’d all faced the same fate: destruction. He looked at the reports from the newly created Watcher Fleet. One small, otherspace-capable ship from each Garmon planet or outpost had been assigned to not fight but observe the fight, if there was one, and bring the information directly to homeworld.

The Watchers were reporting higher casualty rates than had been seen since the beginning of Garmon/Shiravi conflicts hundreds of cycles ago. Somehow, these humanz had negated the natural superiority of the Garmons, and that challenge could not be allowed to go unanswered. They would have to be studied carefully before committing any more ships to possible losses.

On the plus side, there were now two fully functional shipyards turning out replacement ships for all those lost. It was going to be difficult to find trained crews to fill them, though. And the time it took to train a Garmon for space travel was… not inconsiderable. Also, some Garmons just couldn’t accept the confined conditions aboard a spaceship of any size.

Maybe what was needed was to acquire more captives. This time the interrogations would deliver more information than before. That was another report he had on the table. He who had no name had squandered a valuable resource by letting the two humanz be rescued. That was one mistake he wouldn’t make when he took prisoners. They would talk—oh yes, they would.

As the Federal Case hypered off the Raptor’s screens, along with its Shiravan companion, Marsha Kane settled back in her command chair. Almost a year would pass before the Case arrived back in Earth space, and she hoped for Kitty’s sake that not too much would have changed.

Of course, Marsha thought, the real question should be: is the Alliance ready for the new and improved Kitty? She also hoped her own package reached its destination as soon as possible. After close to a year away from home or reinforcements and dependent on fewer docks and those not yet up to Terran standards, they were going to have to be very careful in their encounters.

Then, she turned her mind to other matters.

The prisoners from the Federal Case, the Avenger, and the Kill Zone stood alone at one end of the Empower Field stadium in Denver, Colorado. Those from the Case were a bit apart from the others as if they had a disease upon them, which they surely did since they were the only ones to have been involved in any killings during their desertion from the Alliance.

Katherine Hawke, in her persona as Herald of the Terran Alliance, was there today to impose sentence upon them all. It was her toward whom all eyes looked as she stood—small, tense, and white-haired—upon the dais set up for the occasion. The situation had been discussed many times over by everyone with an opinion and a channel to her ear, but hers was the voice that would end the rumors this day.

She stood silent before the microphone, listening to the susurrus of voices around her, knowing it to be the uncomfortable concerns of the crowd that had gathered to hear her speak the words that would condemn some of those miserable souls to death for their parts in bloody mutiny.

This would affect only the few remaining officers and crew of the Federal Case. She had been a small part of it, and those memories gave her pause.

She felt more than heard the Rocky Mountain Thunder from the observers who had pressed their way past police barricades upon hearing of the unpublicized event. It had been for the families of the accused only in the beginning, but one person had spoken, then another, and then word had spread like wildfire until the stadium was more than half full, the police and her security teams barely able to contain the mass of bodies waiting, watching to see what would happen.

The prisoners were guarded by a phalanx of laser-armed guards, most of whom had lost friends or loved ones on that miserable day only a year ago. Not constrained by Earthly laws, the Terran Alliance would this day, on her orders, carry out the sentences already imposed on those hapless individuals gathered forlornly in one end zone.

Still, she was on Earth and so were the prisoners upon whom she gazed. Her mind’s eye saw the bodies surprised and lifeless in the corridors of the Federal Case as she and a select boarding party fought to retake the ship that had mutinied in Shiravan space under war-time conditions. Those memories would follow her dreams through a very long life, and she wanted dearly to repay an eye for an eye, but she could not.

In the case of the Avenger and the Kill Zone, no lives had been lost, so she could in clear conscience merely banish the crews to a life on Earth with no chance of ever leaving the planet again. It was Thomas Breen’s hand-picked crew of the Federal Case that brought out her bloodlust. She had stalked those bloody decks in search of the mutineers and seen firsthand the brutality of their actions, as well as her own.

The ship had carried survivors of the doomed Vega after a fight with the Garmons. They should have returned to Shiravi and allowed those innocents among the rescued to debark before Breen implemented his plans, but something had pushed him over the edge. Perhaps it was her choice to make the Case her flagship on the return flight, along with the overcrowding, that had forced his hand. She would never know. He’d been found in his captain’s seat with a laser wound burned into the center of his forehead.

Regardless, she now had to deal with the results of his actions and those of his crew. She stepped up to the microphone, and the entire crowd went as silent as the corridors of the Case had been. Now she could dispense the justice the dead, both guilty and innocent, had waited for. “I stand here today to speak of oaths taken and lives unnecessarily cut short,” she said. Her words echoed in the silence of the open-air arena. “Those who served aboard both the Avenger and the Kill Zone have been spared the most severe penalties since your actions caused no loss of life. I sentence you to life in prison on the planet Earth with no chance for parole. You will never set foot on an Alliance ship again and will live with the knowledge of what you’ve lost.

“It is to the survivors of the crew of the Federal Case that I address my deepest concerns.” She stopped and heard her voice’s echo fade away. “Innocent lives were lost during the mutiny and retaking of the Federal Case. Survivors of the Vega were quartered aboard the Case, believing themselves saved from a horrible death in the airlessness of space after a battle with an implacable foe. It was their misfortune to find themselves surrounded by even more vicious enemies—their own race.

“Human history is replete with the taking of the lives of our own kind for many reasons—some sane, most others not. I stand here today to end that practice for the Terran Alliance. I say that there has been enough bloodshed amongst our own.” She paused and the voices rose up again. The faces sequestered on the field below her still showed resignation, but on a few, confusion reigned.

“It is within my power to take the lives of those who have violated their oaths and spilled the blood of innocent men and women.” She looked around the tiers of people present. Most were too far away for her to read their expressions, but now the sounds were somehow different. “By our laws and my orders, the lives of those officers and crew of the Federal Case who survived are forfeit. At my command they could instantly cease to live, but I choose not to avenge blood with blood. It is my decision that those members of the crew of the Federal Case shall have their lives spared and be bound forever to this one single planet, knowing what they’ve done and living with the memories. All sentences of execution are hereby rescinded, and the prisoners are free to go. May God and the Spirits of Space have mercy on your souls.”

Katherine turned away from the microphone and was immediately engulfed in a sea of security as she walked into a tunnel leading into the bowels of the stadium, the sounds of Rocky Mountain Thunder again ringing in her ears and traveling up through her feet as she slowly walked back to the shuttle waiting just outside.

She found her seat, let her head fall back against the rest, and closed her eyes, a sign to almost everyone that she wanted to be alone. Unfortunately, she shared the four-chair section with her husband, the admiral, who was going to be a pillar of strength for her whether she wanted him to or not, and her personal aide, Commander Diana Ross, who felt it her duty to interfere as well.

She felt Simon sit down heavily next to her and opened her eyes to see a concerned Diana looking at her from across the small table already stacked with papers. “You two just let me be. We’ve got a long trip back to Vesta, and I need to start preparing a speech.”

“The speech is already written, checked by Diana, and waiting for your approval or changes,” Simon said quietly. “Several governments were quite glad to get their people back today, though,” he said unhappily. “Too bad we couldn’t name even one specifically. But, Lord, the stink being raised over this latest set of abductions. The U.S. is getting bit on the ass big-time.”

“Thank you both for wanting to cheer me up, and thanks for the help with the speech, but I just want it all go away for just a little while, okay?” Even to herself, she sounded testy.

Speech read and set aside for the time being, she turned her thoughts to the war. That was supposed to be the province of the admiral, but she had executive oversight written into the Alliance Constitution as an unbreakable perquisite of the Herald’s office. If they followed the pattern humans had become used to, the Garmons were seriously overdue. Could someone on the other side have changed attitudes? Or merely be biding his time? If he bided too much longer, there would be too many ships for the Garmons to try hitting Earth again.

But she now had another problem. There were literally hundreds of thousands of requests asking for a one-way trip to any human-habitable world. It would relieve some of Earth’s overcrowding, but not by enough to matter. That would require more ships than they had available just to transport them, much less protect them.

Of course, control was locked in her hands as only the Alliance had the ships to answer those requests. Maybe someday she could claim monarchy over fourteen worlds like her new sister, Linnas, but for now, she was willing to start slowly.

She had Diana bring her all the files on the worlds visited by the teams that were going out on patrol, looking for worlds that would be right for humans. Unfortunately, they were right for the Garmons as well, so precautions would have to be taken to keep the colonists safe.

She never would have figured on this even four years ago, and they had been in space now for ten years. Meeting with the Shiravans, her trip of nearly fifty lightyears to broker a mutual defense treaty, and the acquisition of two sisters—one white, one red—read like the science-fiction story they were already living.

She even had time now to look into ship strength and what they were all doing. Simon had kept the production up, though he wouldn’t take any credit for it. Even without the Clarke and the Vega, there were more than fifty major ships in Alliance service. With eleven human ships on the Shiravan side of the battle zone and twenty-two ships patrolled Earth-space, assisted by nearly twenty Shiravan ships. The battle was now being carried to the enemy on two fronts.

Colonies or outposts had been discovered on both sides of human and Shiravan space, and wolf packs were making cloaked runs through each identified system, hoping to find a ship to destroy. The problem was that the ships seemed to be drying up. Had they been destroyed, or were they being staged for some major assault? And in which direction would the assault go?

The Galileo was built for setting up the infrastructure of a new colony, so her sister ship, the Isaac Newton, was being built at Taurus Base right now to accomplish that same task. As soon as she was finished, the Galileo would revert to its original name, the Dalgor Kret, and would be returned to the Shiravans with all modifications intact.

The simple fact was that until the Garmon threat could be controlled, colonization was on hold. An earlier talk with Rentec and Maratai had convinced her of that. All the Garmons were interested in was the death and destruction of anything not Garmon, and recently, apparently, they’d even found it necessary to fight amongst themselves.

The bodies of innocent Alliance citizens killed in the failed hijacking of the Federal Case and their families were treated in an entirely different way. The bodies were kept on Vesta, and the families were transported to the asteroid headquarters for ceremonies and a new ritual. Part of the wall in the terrarium, the terra-formed space used to provide a little slice of Earth on Vesta, had been smoothed over. Already, the names of previous deaths had been inscribed there, and the new names of the innocents would constitute the official unveiling of the Alliance Dusterna.

Taken wholly from Shiravan culture, the Dusterna contained the names of all who’d died for the Alliance, including the Shiravans who’d given their lives at their first meeting. A computer-guided laser would cut each new name as it was spoken. That particular agony still lay before her.

Between times, she could rest and prepare herself for the occasion, as quite a number of family members, not surprisingly, wanted to attend the ceremony. The coffins were all waiting; only a few families had declined solar cremation, so even the trajectories were already locked in. The speech was done and done well. Surprisingly, she saw a bit of Simon’s hand in it.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Korgan Garmon stood in the Hall grown by countless numbers of ancestors over the course of Garmon evolution. Some said it was started before the written word, and others speculated that it was begun even earlier. Regardless, with all the plantings, trimmings, bendings, and shapings over the cycles, the kadora trees had formed a continuous wall around a large space beaten to dirt by millions of feet over countless generations. The upper branches intertwined, mingling one tree with another, their leaves letting little light reach the ground, even at midday. The interior glowed with torchlight, illuminating family trophies, guests, and a comparatively small sandy pit directly in front of a living wooden throne.

Only two openings were left in the wall of wood that encircled this throne of Garmon influence. One was over nine feet tall and fourteen wide, the other was a mere bolt hole carefully hidden behind the throne and known only to each leader of the Garmon clan.

He stood proudly, with all of his Honors polished to a high shine. His feet were planted firmly in the cool sand of the Pit as he faced the council that would decide his fate. Monarch or murderer.

It fell to these seven elders, each of whom had given up his own tribe and name to officiate for the whole race, to decide whether or not he was worthy to lead his people. He had already defeated he who had no name, and now, after the ceremonial, bare-handed stalking and killing of a krath male, he was ready to be proclaimed Monarch of all the Tribes.

His mind surged with thoughts, facts, and figures, none of which directly impacted the upcoming ceremony—ships ready for action, ships under repair, ships under construction, personnel available to fill positions heretofore unnecessary. The male population, minus the elders who taught the young males, would have to take to the ships. Until now, the... less combative... males had been allowed to provide services from planetary bases. Now, though, the Garmon decided, there would be a racial draft, leaving only a few fertile males on any given world, supervising the fertilization and work of the females and the education of the male children.

First, the drafted males were required to spend time on the two bases, building ships and other equipment. Korgan had an image in his mind of all three factories turning out ship after ship, crews waiting to take their places and go destroy the upstart humanz. Presently, only two yards were able to produce ships, and those were working at a reduced capacity as new recruits learned lessons the hard way that gifted machinery operators were supposed to pass on to their successors. With the deaths of most of those operators during the attack wave that had passed through their system, old knowledge would have to be relearned, and that took time and cost lives.

Much the same could be said of the ships already in space. Korgan, as the Garmon, dictated that all ships would share their experienced crew with newer, less well-trained crews as they finished their familiarization flights with the ships they’d practically built themselves. This necessitated, of course, that new recruits had to fill the slots of trained crew who were off teaching others how to do their jobs. It never occurred to the newly crowned monarch that the race he called humanz had been doing the same thing from the start.

So far, only six new ships had left the yards, being crewed by older, recalled veterans, along with an appreciable number of drafted soldiers learning their new jobs. Fleet-wide, that was nothing, but as ship expansion sped up and conflicts continued, eating up experienced bodies as well as new recruits, not to mention ships, the need to spread his experienced personnel farther apart was going to be a problem. He had even dictated an end to ritual dueling as it cost irreplaceable lives. Duels were now confined to first blood, the loser having to spend time on the new space docks for a time before returning to normal duties.

His mind jerked back to the present as an old Garmon, older than any he had ever met, came forward. The Priesthood didn’t much interfere with secular matters, but their stamp of approval meant a lot to any new monarch. Now, the Chief Priest of the most secretive order of Garmon stepped forward, holding the skull of Korgan’s predecessor in his hand. The flesh rotting off the skull offended his delicate nostrils, as it did many of those nearby.

“Did you, Korgan Garmon, kill this individual to win the leadership of our race?” The question was put as if it were just another ceremony.

Korgan looked down at the thing the Priest held. There were still enough features visible to answer. “Yes,” he stated positively. He puffed out his chest. If the Priesthood decided that he had taken the racial mantle without proper attention to tradition, he would die right here.

Instead, the Priest asked, “And is this the krath you slew with nothing but your claws and your wits?” Korgan looked in the direction the Priest indicated. There sat a krath head. His mark had been clawed into the forehead at the time he killed it, and he looked closely at the mark and merely nodded.

He waited as the seven heads bowed into a circle and muttered among themselves for a time. Finally, they sat up in their chairs. “We, the Council of Priests, find that Korgan Garmon has acted in accordance with all traditions involving the ascension to the leadership of the race. We are Garmon.” With that the seven stood up as one and bowed to Korgan.

Finally feeling free for the first time since he had first challenged he who had no name, Korgan turned to the assembled tribal leaders and said, “For the first time since we took over our own world and started to spread into the universe around us, we have come upon a race that does not willingly accept that we are their betters and seriously opposes our fleets and actions. Combined with the Shiravi, they’ve begun a series of systematic attacks on our outposts and even one attack against our own homeworld and shipyards, causing severe damage and lost time. Not to mention the loss of almost every ship that has had the misfortune to face these humanz.”

Muttering broke out around the assembly. “The latest thing I have done is create a Watcher Fleet,” Korgan said, heading off the muttering. “One small, otherspace-capable ship sits out the battle, recording what transpires, then comes here and lets experts analyze the information. So far, we have discovered that all the humanz ships are almost impregnable to our missiles, and an increasing number of Shiravan ships are acquiring that same ability.” He stood thoughtfully for a moment. “My advisers tell me that this set of circumstances is because the humanz have a different pattern of thought that lets them take Shiravan technology and better it. We have done the same thing—taken Shiravan technology, that is,” he said, letting the mutters and comments build for a short time.

“I have read the old records,” he said, “and it’s clear that we got our start in space by taking the ship of a visiting spacefaring race, most probably the Shiravans. The leader then, one known as the Garmon, the first Garmon, saw the benefit of possessing the technology and took the ship. Unfortunately, none of the rightful owners survived to explain how to run the vessel. It took almost twenty cycles before the ship was ready to test with the Garmon at the controls. The Garmon then began a series of projects that resulted in the existence of our present three shipyards and an empire of over forty worlds.”

He continued, knowing that some of this was new to many of the leaders arrayed before him. “Then the leadership passed to the Korvil.” The name burned his tongue, but he pressed on. “For over two hundred turnings, they grew the fleets and the Empire, bringing more and more worlds under our control.” He stopped, letting the contributions of past leaders seep in and possibly reflect on him. “But the Korvil line weakened,” he said finally. “The last of that line threw almost twenty hands of ships at the humanz, and only a lucky few have returned to tell the tale. And we haven’t lost that many ships in the past two hundred cycles. Now this.” He waved his hand vaguely, indicating the whole human part of the equation.

He stood in front of all those who had already proclaimed their allegiance to him and said, “It is reported that we have a hand and a half of battleships ready to fight, along with almost three hundred standard-class ships. And that brings into view another point: that the humanz have taken the Shiravan small fighter and modified it even further, making it stronger, more elusive and harder to hit, as well as making changes to the armament that add even more to their effectiveness.”

Here was where Garmon knew he would stand or fall. Showing weakness would get him killed before he could implement any of his new ideas. He must make backing away from confrontations with the humanz look like a strategic maneuver. “We have fought the Shiravi for over two hundred cycles but these new humanz for only a handful. I say we should study them before committing any more ships to destruction. As with any creature, we should know the habits and capabilities of our opponent so that we can devise proper attack strategies.”

“How do you propose that we study these humanz?” one leader asked belligerently. He would remember from which quarter came that insolence.

“As I’ve said, I have instituted what I call the Watcher Fleet. So far, only a handful have reported in with their data. There’s not enough information to make a proper assessment of these humanz or how to deal with them. Yet. Let my advisers have time to make their plans.” He was already setting himself apart from any possible losses by leaving the impression in the minds of his followers that the directives that came from him were actually from someone else.

Let his advisers take the fall, as long as he was able to get his policies initiated. “We will capture and interrogate more humanz, as my predecessor should have done. He handed the assignment over to a subordinate, and you see the result.” That was as close to a censure of the Garmon under-hierarchy as Korgan was ready to go to right then, and he waited to see the response to his statement. One Garmon, caught unawares, had had his home and fleet destroyed.

Of course, he would have to initiate a rewards policy for those who could effectively manage to upgrade their existing technology. Death threats only served to inhibit free thinking, and that wasn’t what was needed now. After all, the humanz had done it, and anything a puny human could do, a Garmon could do better.

There’d been no signs of the humanz for some time, though several worlds had been visited and all Garmon destroyed. One world had been left alone, as though the human commander wanted him to know he was being watched.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Gayle Miller, Captain of the TAS Eightball, third carrier in the Alliance fleet, read slowly through the mysterious package found on her desk—mysterious because someone had had to get through two locked doors and five separate security systems to put it there. Audio had given nothing but background noise, heat sensors never registered a blip, and the floor sensors hadn’t been activated. Video showed that someone had been playing with Vesta’s transporter.

Knowing who’d sent it and how was a secret Gayle would keep to herself. After all, she might have need of that information at some time in the future.

Getting back to the contents, she placed a DVD in her player and hit the play button. At first, she was treated to sweeping vistas of the Shiravan homeworld, overlaid with Marsha’s voice. “Point and counterpoint,” the voice said. “Here we have the most unique place I’ve ever been, and it’s gorgeous. But I have some disturbing news to send along with it. These people, some of them, are master biologists. They’ve engineered a virus that will cause the Garmons guaranteed headaches soon enough, but I still want more ships on this side. I think the new Garmon leader is going to concentrate his attacks on this side of his empire, and we need the firepower to stop him. The Shiravans are starting to incorporate changes in some of their newer ships, and the ones now being planned will have most of our mods included in their basic designs.”

The rest of the letter was only of interest to Gayle herself, but she put her squadron captains on notice that they’d need to be able to boost at a five-hour notice and keep the entire procedure under wraps. Normally, any battle group was named after its strongest ship, and the commander of the squadron would ride in that ship. As a Firster, she used her power shamelessly to get herself named as squadron commander. It was a much better place from which to watch Kitty’s back. Besides, the other captains preferred to defer to her as a Firster.

But this letter from Marsha meant that she’d have to leave Kitty behind and essentially disobey orders, making raids of her own on selected Garmon worlds. The letter went on to say that at least one fuel plant had been located. Taking it out could mean that within five years no more Garmon ships would be able to leave their last landing places, so it was really a two-pronged attack built on guesswork and inferior intelligence. Still, it was better than nothing.

Gayle waited patiently while Marsha’s request went through the proper channels, and the possibility of a trip to Shiravan space became common knowledge. Everyone knew it could be a lot worse on that side of Garmon space, but the call of new vistas and alien suns was something most people in the Alliance couldn’t resist. She sat down and wrote a letter to a special post office box on Earth. The next Earth-bound courier would take it in. She’d have to see about it getting aboard near the end as she didn’t want Kitty finding a letter addressed to Megæra. It just wouldn’t do to have the Alliance Herald finding out that three of her top officers were set on their own notion of justice.

Shirley Dahlquist, still on administrative leave and touring wherever possible for the Alliance, found the letter and sent one back, waiting for the right time to present itself. Having Kitty ashamed of her was getting a bit too much for her. She needed a deck under her feet and soon, or she’d go crazy.

As soon as the lists for particular ship categories was posted, Gayle made sure to get her two cents in first. Falling into orbit trailing Vesta, she beamed into the hollowed-out asteroid and made her way to the Herald’s office. As she stepped through the doorway, Diana simply activated her data link to the Herald’s own.

Kitty was still trying to adjust to the new data-link technology, which had been implemented while she was gone. The earpiece and boom-mike were totally normal-looking and fitting, and the ease of operation was almost unbelievable, especially when she needed to get into the computer’s deeper files. Now, though, it was just a quiet chime asking for her attention. She set aside a report and tapped her earpiece. “Yes, Diana?”

“Madam Herald, you have an unscheduled visitor. You have about twenty minutes free. Can you fit Captain Miller into your schedule?”

“Of course, Di. Gayle comes first. The meeting can wait if it becomes necessary. Send her in.”

Gayle walked into her friend’s office, heart all aflutter. Never in all the years of their friendship had she tried to impose her will on Kitty this strongly. It would be interesting to see if it worked. She found her friend just inside the door. Being of an equal height, the two white-haired women hugged comfortably for a time and then separated.

“It’s been a while,” Kitty said. “How’ve you been?” she asked lamely.

“As well as can be expected,” Gayle answered almost too quickly. She slowed herself down, by focusing on shipboard matters. “We have the usual number of Mamba applicants, and the usual number who just aren’t suited to the new technology. Fortunately, we have enough qualified personnel to keep our entire complement active, plus a few others for insurance. But that’s not why I came. I want to volunteer the Eightball for the next trip to Shiravi, and I have another request to go with it. One you won’t like.”

An hour and an uncomfortable meeting later, Gayle left with promises made and given—that she would have one of the carrier slots and that she had to be careful. “I’ll do the best I can, but you know what happens when the shit hits the fan.”

Kitty, having just played and narrated the tape of her fight with sel Garian, agreed reluctantly. “And you guys are never going to let me live that down, are you?” she asked petulantly.

Gayle, hand upon the open door, looked over her shoulder and grinned at her friend. “Nope,” she said and stepped through, letting the door close on that single syllable.

Gayle took her gig and started composing a letter to Shirley in her head on the way back to the Eightball. Immediately after boarding, she looked up the Shift Commander and gave orders that would put the Eightball in Earth orbit within two hours.

Once there, she looked up Shirley’s data-link code and called it. Almost instantly, the response came back. “This better be good. I was just about to go to bed, and I really don’t appreciate being disturbed.”

“Shirley, this is Gayle. If you want out of durance vile, get dressed and call me back. I’ll bring you and anything you need aboard. Then, we go get your new ship, Captain.” She let that last word sink in for a bit before she said, “Shirley. Answer me, girlfriend.”

“I, uh, give me half an hour to get showered and dressed. I’ll call shortly.”

Gayle signed off and sat back, a bit perplexed. “Well, I guess we wait a bit.”

Shirley stepped out of a quick shower, dried and brushed her hair, and was in the process of getting her clothes on when she called Gayle. “What are you sending down to get me?”

“I’m sending my gig down. You should be comfortable enough on your ride up. And just for grins, I think I’ll come along.”

“Okay, home in on my signal and you’ll find an open area about a quarter-mile east of my present location. I’m leaving now, so you can, too. See you in a few minutes.”

Leery of some kind of deception, Shirley strapped on her pistol, checked the charge, re-holstered it and stepped out the door for the last time. Carrying two bags that got heavier the farther she walked, she made her way to the baseball field that would be empty this time of night. Once there, she sat down on her bags and waited for pickup.

Less than five minutes later, she spotted a dark silhouette covering stars, then letting them reappear seconds later. She stood up as the craft sank to the ground. The ramp touched ground and a single lonely siren could be heard from several blocks away. Grabbing both bags, she made her way aboard, hugged Gayle, and said, “That siren could be for us. I’d raise ramp and split before we have to find out the hard way.”

Gayle hit the close button for the door and said, loud enough for the pilot to hear, “As soon as we have positive pressure, your destination is the Eightball. Understood?”

The pilot answered, “Destination Eightball. Aye, ma’am.”

In the time it took to get back to the ship, Shirley asked all the questions she could. “So, why me?” she started simply.

“Because you have a payback coming, and I’m here to help you get it.” Gayle’s next words chilled Shirley to the bone. “And I’m going to do the same for Stephen.”

“What exactly do you have in mind?”

“Exactly? I can’t say for sure, but I got some interesting information from Marsha when that last courier arrived from Shiravi. Did you know that the Shiravans are pretty sophisticated biological engineers? Just look at their regen chambers,” Gayle said. “And they manipulated their populace for over a thousand years to keep the male population down and pacified. Now, some of the Shiravan captains Marsha is running with have let it out that there are viruses in production to kill all Garmons or restrict their growth or—my favorite—raise the intelligence of the females to the same level as the males. Nobody knows if it would result in a kinder, gentler Garmon, but it would take several of their quicker-gestating generations to see if it would cause major disruptions in their culture.”

“And how much of this does Kitty know?” Shirley asked suspiciously.

All innocence, Gayle answered, “I’m not sure what Marsha saw fit to tell her, but we are now working under code names. I’m Alecto, you’re Megæra, and Marsha is Tisiphone.”

“Sounds like some pretty strange names to me,” Shirley commented.

Gayle grinned. “You should have studied some ancient mythology. Those are the names of the three Fates who decided the lives and deaths of all mortals.”

“So, we’re gods, now?”

“No, of course not. Think of us as avenging angels. Don’t you want to pay back the Garmons for what happened to you?”

“I’m what happened to me, Gayle. It was made pretty clear to me then, and I’ve come to understand why I was punished.”

“But punishments end, Shirl. Now you can get back out there and do some real good.”

“Yeah,” Shirley said sarcastically. “And if Kitty finds out about it, I’ll be lucky to be banished to Earth.”

“So we don’t tell her.”

Two weeks later, Gayle’s wolf packs moved off in formation, heading for the jump point for Shiravi with Shirley Dahlquist in the captain’ s seat of the newly commissioned Vulcan’s Hammer.

As the ships reached jump, much too far away to be seen by the unaided eye, Kitty stared out the clear dome and wondered if she had let Shirley come back too soon.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Kitty buzzed her secretary in the outer office. Commander Holloway made a very efficient secretary and, upon occasion, aide. It was pure luck that she had transferred from the Federal Case just before Breen had staged his coup and therefore avoided the resultant trials and disgrace. “Glenda, would you please call the admiral’s office and tell them that the Herald would like to see him as soon as he can clear a spot on his calendar. And ask for an RSVP, too.” That last was an afterthought, but the note arriving through official channels would have him coming in the door with his worried face on, which was better than the offhand manner he tended to use in his day-to-day affairs.

Simon arrived almost immediately on the heels of her request—so quickly, in fact, that she excused his lack of response to her RSVP. She stood up at his entrance. “Admiral, thank you for coming so soon. You must have been close by. Please sit down.” She waved at a chair in front of her desk.

Simon sat down, a strange look on his face. “I figured it must be important, Madam Herald,” he answered, holding to the formality of her request and greeting. “What can I do for you?”

She looked at him, noting the grey in his sideburns. He still hadn’t made use of the regen chamber, although almost a hundred volunteers had been through the process. And that didn’t count the victims who actually needed the chamber. He used the transporter regularly, so why was he opposed to the technology that had saved her own life?

“Admiral, I’ve been going over the reports of patrols and their results and findings. Combined with the requests for transport to virgin worlds and the attacks of the Garmons, I think it might be wise to begin a simultaneous program of expansion. If just one determined attack were to get through to Earth, there would be no human race left to defend or draw recruits from.”

Simon, correctly determining the tone of this meeting—not of husband and wife but of superior to subordinate—asked, “What do you have in mind, Madam Herald?”

“Taurus Base is due to turn out our own Galileo-class ship in about three months. I propose that the next vessel built be a ship to carry colonists to inhabitable worlds. We’ll follow the same technique the Shiravans use. First, the Newton would go to one of the nearby worlds that’s able to support human life and build the infrastructure for colonists to move into. Then, a jump-capable transport would carry colonists to that world. It’s time and beyond to get our eggs out of one basket. Of course, there will need to be protection on hand for all phases of the process, including the protection of the colonists once they arrive.”

Simon wasn’t happy with the idea. “Madam Herald, we’re set to start another Raptor-class out of Taurus. As you know, our only other battleship has been sent to Shiravan space to help relieve the pressure on the Shiravans. We desperately need another on this side of Garmon territory.”

“I understand your needs, Admiral, but you will have three operating stations all the while. We desperately need to patch up relations with Earth. We have popular support, but we still need the support of whole governments,” Kitty argued. “It wouldn’t do anything to relieve real population pressure, but it would appear that way, and we’d be starting and assisting numerous colonies that would soon be producing ships to add to their own defense and the fleet in general. Once a colony is populated and settled, we could start adding more colonists. The original colonists would support the second wave as they started to build an interstellar infrastructure. The two groups would merge and then we’d have a population with two purposes—expansion across the planet and building starships. But we need to start now as a show of good faith.”

Simon tried one more time. “As commander of the military, it’s my call on what we build and when, Madam Herald.” His temper was starting to get the better of him.

“True, Admiral, but it’s the executive branch that tells the military what to do and, in this case, what to build. I won’t do this often,” she said, trying to lessen the tension, now and in the bedroom later. “Just remember, I have to consider the entire Alliance, and we do need the appearance of expanding, as well as making our technology available to Earth.”

“All right,” he said, giving in. “You’re right, and that type of ship won’t take long to build—just a converted carrier with mess halls, latrines, and living space. We won’t even need much in the way of activities rooms since we’ll fill the ship and immediately jump to the new world. I can even get some of the parts started as soon as we draft a set of blueprints. Will that be all, Madam Herald?” He stood up as if to go.

“No, there’s one other small matter,” Kitty said. “As I was looking over the patrol reports, I noticed that you don’t have anything specific on your calendar for about a week. I’ve taken the liberty of scheduling your visit to the regen chamber for the day after tomorrow. Does that meet with your approval?”

“When you put it that way, I don’t really have a choice.” Walking to the door, he opened it and said, “Good day, Madam Herald,” closing it without waiting for a response.

At Defense Intelligence Agency headquarters, the Director faced almost two dozen top-level staff and agents. “This order is being given to the CIA, NSA, FBI, and any other agency with need to know. From this moment on, no notice will be taken of any member of any family related to Alliance citizens. What they said in the beginning,” he said with a bit of irony in his voice, “is probably true: that there would have been a nuclear war if only one country had gotten that ship. And they are keeping their word to transfer certain technologies to Earth-based companies. Our scientists are having a field day with the math, and our think tanks are coming up with some radical ideas that could be used as weapons. The problem is that every country in the world is privy to the same information, so no one has an advantage over anyone else except in finding something unique faster than the other guy. And no one on Capitol Hill is taking bets on that. Therefore, our attentions will be turned back to their original purpose, minus the watch for alien vessels.” This last came out angrily, but the new administration had made it perfectly clear.

The new Howard administration was trying to work its way out of the miasma eight years of Drake and his cronies had left behind. The Iraqi/Afghanistan affair would certainly drag on for some time yet, but focusing on domestic issues was working to keep the new government’s approval rating fairly high so far. But for that condition to continue, an out was needed.

Omar had looked more than once at the communicator left behind when Agent Galway had decided to change allegiance. Even the Alliance seemed to have forgotten about it. He’d been briefed on the entire Terran Alliance situation at the beginning of his term, though he’d already known more than most, coming directly from the Senate to the Oval Office. Actually, it was more of a nonissue after the last release of Alliance family members.

But it would be time to start campaigning again soon. If he could renew ties with the Alliance, he might have a better chance for reelection. The problem was that most of the people who’d been working with the Alliance had moved to out-country locations, and no one seemed to know when, if ever, the U.S. could get back in their good graces.

Reluctantly, he reached for the case and set it on the Resolute Desk. Pushing two buttons beside the handle, the top popped up about a quarter inch. Gingerly, he lifted the lid to face the flat-panel-type display. The base held what looked like a handprint lock, several touch-type controls, and a perforated area that must hold the microphone and speaker. He ran his hand over the slick finish of the keypad and was startled when the unit lit up.

Not knowing what to do, he’d started to close the lid when a voice came out of the speaker. “Unauthorized transmitter. State your name and purpose.”

Another voice asked, “Are you sure it’s an activation and not a malfunction?”

“Sir, it’s an activation. As a matter of fact, I’ve pinpointed its location.” The first voice was silent for a moment, building suspense. “It’s coming from the Oval Office. It’s the unit Galway was given way back.” The voice now addressed itself to Omar. “To whom am I speaking?”

“This is President Howard.” His voice trembled, angering him. “I would like to speak to the Herald, please, at her earliest convenience.”

“I’ll personally deliver the message, sir. You understand that with the Herald on Vesta, I’ll have to send a jump-capable ship with your message. That will take about three hours. Return time will be the same, plus reaction time. I’d put it around seven hours, sir.”

“Uh, thank you. I’ll be awaiting her call.” The link severed itself and the unit went blank.

Seven hours to get a message to the asteroid belt and back. We never stood a chance once they got their first set of recruits.

“He what?” Kitty asked incredulously. “We released the DNA lock on that transmitter the day Drake walked out of the White House, and he chooses now to call?” Kitty had wanted to talk to this man ever since he’d taken office, but the Alliance had held a strict hands-off policy, except for converting Daniels and several other former operatives of various agencies. As long as there were no more reprisals against Alliance personnel or family members, the Alliance had helped with some of the more massive reconstruction efforts along the west coast. Of course, crews were committed all along the Pacific Rim.

Simon had finally gone into a regen chamber just hours before, and Kitty had found time to spend in one of the numerous baths dotted around the asteroid. She’d barely made it back to her room when the message reached her. “Who do we have on standby?” she asked Traffic Control. After listening for a few seconds, she said, “The Shrike will do. Notify her captain to be ready to break orbit for Earth as soon as possible.”

She dressed in a conservative pantsuit, threw some clothes into a bag, and made her way to the transporter room. As soon as Captain Devlin signaled ready, she beamed over. Meeting him in his ready room, she could already feel the ship vibrating around her, and the familiar twisting sensation told her they’d just entered hyperspace. After about fifteen minutes, another twist signified arrival in Earth orbit.

Finishing her talk with Captain Devlin, she went to the Comm Shack. “Please connect me with the transmitter in the White House.” Several moments passed before the connection was made at the other end. “This is Herald Hawke, responding to the president’s call.”

“Madam Herald, this is President Howard. I appreciate your quick response to my call. I wasn’t sure the machine would even work. I’d like to invite you to Camp David for talks aimed at regularizing relations between our peoples.”

“You and me and how many others, Mr. President? I’ll be accompanied by a detail of the Herald’s Security team. And after our last experience there, I’m not too certain I want a venue so remote. How about the Rose Garden? Your men will be armed, and so will mine, I’m afraid. But we’ll be out in the open for all to see. You might even invite some press for afterwards, if you think anything significant is going to come of our talk.”

Omar agreed to the meeting and the press, and the encounter was set for the next day. Meanwhile, he called in his security adviser, defense adviser, foreign adviser, and a number of other people. This meeting was held in the War Room deep beneath the White House. When all had arrived, he stood up. “I’ll be meeting with the Terran Alliance Herald tomorrow,” he said simply. The effect was as if he had fired a pistol in the room. Total silence prevailed for all of ten seconds, and then multiple voices made an incoherent babble until he was able to restore order.

“It’s a fact that most of the businesses started here have moved to other countries—countries looking to get a leg up on us. We’re in danger of becoming what we’ve always helped while looking down on them—a third-world country. True, we have the best military on Earth, but the most powerful country, if you can call a space-based economy a country, holds a distinct advantage over us—more powerful weapons, and the ability to strike when and where they want with impunity. It’s doubtful if we even have anything capable of hurting one of their smaller ships. Look at the videos of what happened at Camp David, if you need your memories jogged. I have agreed that we’ll meet in the Rose Garden. An Alliance battlecruiser in orbit above the White House will ensure that we keep things on the level, and that’s just the way I want it.

“We’ll meet as equals, hopefully ironing out our differences. Ever since Drake and his administration ambushed the original delegation at Camp David, we have been decidedly ignored. Their people are still helping with reconstruction of the west coast, probably as a show that they’re willing to consider the possibility of allowing us back into the planning of our—and I mean Earth’s—future. Therefore, when her shuttle lands, her security will be armed, but ours won’t. There has to be a beginning to the good faith I want to engender with the Alliance. She’s already doing the same, even though her guards will be armed. They’ll be outnumbered and at a tactical disadvantage, but remember the ship upstairs, which is capable of pinpoint strikes and totally untouchable. The person of Katherine Hawke has become an icon for the Alliance. It doesn’t even bear thinking about what would happen if anything happened to her, so all our security will be outward. Their people will handle local security, and there will be no discussion on the subject—no snipers on the roof, no hidden troops, no extra troops moved into the area. You can bet that we’re under total scrutiny from sensors we can’t even begin to imagine already. Now, if anyone has any comments, this is the time to make them, but the results will be the same.”

The twenty or so people in the room, from the highest general to the lowliest aide, looked at each other. Finally, the head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff said, “Mr. President, although the arrangements aren’t to my liking, given that we’re bound to protect the person of the President, everything will be handled as you request. Will you be needing any advisers at this meeting?”

Omar looked pensive for a moment. “Not this time. I think it will be more of a ‘getting to know you’ thing. We’ll leave it at that for now. She certainly has her own advisers, equally unhappy at the circumstances, I’m sure, but nothing she said leads me to believe that she’ll have anyone but her security detail. Most likely, her advisers and some of you here will be instrumental in hammering out a new relationship, but we’ll wait and see. Any other questions?”

None were forthcoming, although glances were exchanged, a fact that did not go unnoticed by the president.

Kitty took a shuttle down to the Swiss Embassy, where she knew a softer bed would be waiting for her than aboard the Shrike. She laid out a light blue dress with the Alliance insignia embossed in gold thread on the left breast, as well as shoes for the next day. Before retiring for the night, she made two calls. The first was to the Shrike to check on weather information. If rain was in the forecast, the meeting might be moved inside the White House proper. The other was to the dispensary asking for something to help her sleep. Otherwise, her mind would race all night.

As she laid her data link on the bed table, a knock interrupted her. Her personal aide, Diana Ross, slipped in with a blue bottle and two glasses. “I heard your call to the dispensary, ma’am, and thought this might be a better way to get to sleep.”

Kitty said, “That sounds like the best idea I’ve heard all day. Make mine a half-glass and help yourself.” She settled into a chair that gave her a view of the sun setting behind the Alps.

Diana sat down next to her, put the glasses on the table, and opened the bottle. Filling one half full, she took a bit more for herself. “I love this stuff, but God, what a headache the next morning.”

Kitty nodded, taking a small sip and letting it flow slowly down her throat. The warmth spread throughout her body, relaxing her more than any pill could possibly do. “The trick is to have a substantial breakfast tomorrow morning—juice, eggs, bacon, toast, and plenty of strawberry jam.”

Diana looked over at the dress laid out for the meeting. “I hope the president doesn’t decide to wear blue, too.”

Kitty laughed lightly. “I don’t care if he shows up naked. I just want this cycle of abductions to end so we can get some work done.”

The two sat in a companionable silence, lost in their own thoughts and sipping the glowing blue liquid. Kitty said, “You didn’t happen to bring another bottle, did you?”

Now Diana laughed. “What kind of aide would I be if I didn’t think ahead? I brought two more. One’s wrapped as a gift, and the other is just in case.”

“Just in case what?”

Diana finished her glass and stood up. “Just in case anything, ma’am. Now, I’ll let you get to sleep, and I’ll send the pill back to the dispensary.” She walked to the door. “I’ll see you at breakfast, ma’am.” She nodded her head to her boss and slipped out as quietly as she had arrived.

Kitty sat there sipping slowly, thinking about the next day, until all she could see were a few lights and her own reflection in the window. Finishing her glass, she set it on the table next to Diana’s and went to bed.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Korgan Garmon was not happy. Reports of decimated villages and outposts were becoming an almost constant irritant. And since most of the damage was occurring near the area claimed by the krath-Shiravi, that was where he would end the effrontery to Garmon rule.

A new fueling plant had been built in the outer reaches, but ship production wasn’t back to full potential yet. The damage done to the main yards was still being repaired. Garmon males were being conscripted for what new ships were available and being trained by their new crewmates. But this wholesale destruction of entire clans was cutting into his workforce. The few ships that still flew openly were attempting to find viable planets and conscript the best males. This was where the rash of reports was coming from.

Papers covered a desk fit for the gargantuan frame of the Garmon, not exactly the scene he’d pictured when he cut off the head of he who had no name. Ships, locations, condition, crew, weapons, and status of their fuel supplies. Juggling all these, he was trying to put together a fleet strong enough to attack and begin to win back some of the territory the krath-Shiravi were taking, especially ones that provided the best hunting. After destroying all homes and crops, the inhabitants had been allowed to run free as usual, a good hunt and meal afterwards. But first to build the fleet.

Brandon Galway was having the workout of his life. He had returned to Earth with Kitty, specifically to resign since he’d already made his choice to join the Alliance. A message waited on the top of his nearly cleared desk. With a sigh, he got up and headed for the room indicated.

He’d never been a guest in a star chamber before, though he’d played inquisitor often enough. Seven people sat in the shadows while he sat in a single chair, limned by a single bulb directly over his head. “Agent Galway,” a voice said. He couldn’t tell from which figure, but he didn’t like the tone of voice at all. “You were instructed to acquire as many concessions as possible for Earth during your voyage.” He was relatively certain that it was a man’s voice, but he couldn’t be certain. “And you came back empty-handed.”

“I did the best I could under the limited conditions I was allowed to work in,” he responded calmly. “You all have a copy of my report, or have read it, or we wouldn't be here now. You’re looking for a scapegoat. I refuse to be yours. I told you before the mission left Earth that you should send a woman. But no one wanted to listen to a trained field agent. You all had to make your own decision that I was better suited to deal with the leader of an alien civilization. I told you what the aliens themselves said more than once, that they’d be more comfortable dealing with other females.”

“You won’t be punished for your failure, Agent Galway. As you’ve said, you did advise sending a female agent.” It sounded like the same voice, but he couldn’t be certain of anything in this room. “Now, we would ask you, though, if you think a female would have any effect on future negotiations.”

“I don’t believe so,” Galway said after a short pause to consider the notion. “I think you screwed up by not following my suggestions in the first place, and now you’re going to be left holding the bag. And an empty one, at that.” He paused again, considering that these people were the ones who determined his fate. “Yes, I suggested a female agent, but I don’t hold that against you any more that you hold the lack of success against me.” He shrugged. “Maybe next time you’ll trust your field agent or send one of your own to do the job.”

“I’m not sure I like your impertinence, Agent Galway. We chose you because you had the best ties to the Alliance, and we expected that you’d be able to fulfill your mission.”

“I read the mission statement,” Galway said, holding his hand up to stop the anonymous speaker, a different one this time, he thought. “That was when I suggested a female agent, preferably a trained diplomat. That was when I was pointedly told not to interfere with the decisions of this council,” he said flatly. “I did exactly the job I was sent to do and brought you exactly the results I predicted.”

Another voice spoke. “But isn’t it possible that the results you got were arrived at after you decided the mission would be a failure with any plan other than yours in effect, your decision therefore affecting the outcome?”

“It’s possible that military intelligence won’t be considered an oxymoron someday, too, but it’s not going to happen any time soon,” Galway stated.

“Now, see here, Agent...”

“Now see here, yourself, General,” he interrupted, guessing at the rank of the outraged speaker and correctly guessing his sex. He looked at the head area of each of the shadowed figures. “I spent almost two years living among and talking freely to almost each and every one of the people I came in contact with. I told them who and what I was, as ordered, and then set it aside and tried my best to get along with them on a daily basis for the eleven-month trip there and back again. Oh, by the way, did you know that they can do it in only nine months now? Where is their technology going to take them next? Anyway, as debriefings go, this one is pretty much over,” he said, standing up.

“That is not your decision to make, Agent Galway.”

The agent placed his hand on the back of the chair. Still standing in the small circle of light, he looked into the darkness where his inquisitors sat. “Oh, but it is,” he responded. “I’ve been involved in enough of these inquisitions to know where this one is heading. You’re going to threaten me with a terrible duty station, or my family, or any number of things, but what I don’t know, I can’t tell. The Matriarch won’t deal on a diplomatic level with human males. She sent a male to deal with us because we’re mostly dominated by males and she thinks she’s doing us an honor. And from her point of view, she is. And a great one at that. Respond in kind or find yourself on the sidelines learning what it really means to be second string.”

He walked away from the chair until he, too, was in the concealing, comforting dark. “I decided when I found out you’d started another set of roundups that I couldn’t be a party to any more lies. They’ve got the technology, and there’s no way you’re going to get it from them. Besides, they’re right. You have power enough and bombs enough to destroy this planet several times over. Why do you need stronger weapons? Stronger power sources?” Getting no response, he turned and walked toward the door.

“To protect ourselves if others get the technology, too,” came desperately out of the dark.

“You’ve been told that that technology isn’t compatible with a planet’s surface and biosphere without very specialized equipment. Listen when someone who knows what they’re talking about tells you something, please. They can start holding back things like power cells if they want to. Now that you’re almost completely dependent on Alliance power generation systems, only a few of the major dams are even running. By the time you could get them back online, the damage to lives and crops would have been devastating, not to mention morale. How would any president deal with that? The last one didn’t succeed at his goal of ending global terrorism and was effectively sidelined. Now you’ve got President Howard to deal with, and he is going to have to make peace with us or suffer the consequences.” His stress on the pronouns was not lost on the panel.

Agent Galway realized his slip as soon as he made it but was too slow to spin it his way without getting hit first. “You just said ‘us,’ Agent Galway. Do you consider yourself closer to them than to those who have trained you, nurtured you, and paid you for almost twenty years?”

“When you start taking innocent Americans prisoner just because they happen to be related to people who won’t do your bidding, yes. I’ll side with them. You still look to find the best position, but they—I should say we,” he couldn’t help tossing in, “have had the moral and technological high ground from the outset. You’ve already lost, and you don’t even know it yet.” He walked to the door and it opened at his touch. He knew that wouldn’t have happened if even one of the seven figures in the chairs behind him had any more questions to ask him.

I guess the only thing to do is to go clean out my desk and see if the Alliance needs someone trained in covert operations, he thought morosely as he made his way to the front door of the edifice sitting not far from the shadow of the Capitol Building. He was surprised to find a message on his machine from the Council asking that he delay his decision to quit for at least a few days. He set a folder into his outbox and started putting his personal effects into a box. He hesitated over his brass and oak nameplate, then left it on his desk. A clean split was what he wanted. He walked out of his office for the last time and hailed a cab. With no transporter in orbit, he’d have to go to the Swiss Embassy and wait for transportation back to Vesta.

Kitty and Diana sat down to breakfast with all the menu items Kitty had outlined. At the end of a leisurely meal, Diana said, “You were right, boss.” When Kitty looked perplexed, she added, “About the meal and the hangover. I don’t feel a thing except good.”

Kitty smiled. “Told ya so, kiddo. Now, I’ve got to get ready for a meeting with President Howard. Then a short side trip to pick up Lucy’s parents. They’ll be going back to Vesta with us.” She got up from the table and headed upstairs. “Call Traffic Control and make sure the shuttle is prepped and crewed. I’ll be back in twenty minutes. She looked over her shoulder and said, “I know you like the red hair, but I’d appreciate it if you’d schedule a nap in a regen chamber.”

An hour later, her pilot requested clearance to land on the White House helipad. The tension among her security detail was palpable as the shuttle set down. All four guards were at the door as it swiveled down into a ramp. Two stepped out first and surveyed the area. With dozens of people walking around or just watching the shuttle, the team leader stepped into the cockpit. “Any sign of weapons on anyone out there?” Her voice was tense.

“All clear, from what my instruments tell me,” the pilot responded. “Not even anyone on roofs. It looks good to me.”

“Well, I’m still not happy,” she muttered as she stepped back into the main body and motioned to Kitty to come to the front.

Led by the first pair of guards, she stepped into the light of an overcast afternoon. “I hope this is just going to be a ‘tea and crumpets’ kind of thing. After that breakfast, I’m not sure how much more I can eat.” Light clouds had rolled in, and her dress billowed in a slight breeze. President Howard, flanked by two men wearing earbuds, waited at the bottom of the ramp to greet her. As she descended the ramp, she realized that Diana was right behind her.

Too late now to change things, she walked down the ramp and stopped before putting foot to ground. “Welcome to the White House, Madam Herald. I hope you don’t mind if we move our meeting to the portico. We have light rain in the forecast, and I don’t want to have things spoiled by a little water.”

Kitty stepped off the ramp, a sense of inevitability following her. “Thank you, Mr. President. I hope you don’t mind an addition to my entourage. My aide has taken it upon herself to accompany us. I’m sure she’ll make herself as inconspicuous as my guards.” This last was delivered over her shoulder at Diana, displeasure palpable in her voice. It was at this point that she noticed the laser slung low on Diana’s hip. An indecipherable look crossed her face.

“You can consider it another level of protection and fire me afterwards, Madam Herald, but where you go, I go. And in this case, armed,” she said quietly.

“This meeting calls for a bit of flexibility,” the president said in an attempt to placate the two women. “If you will join me, we can get to the porch before the rain decides and ruins that beautiful dress.”

Kitty stepped forward and shook Howard’s hand. The two leaders walked toward the edifice that was a slowly decaying symbol of freedom around the world.

“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Madam Herald,” President Howard said cordially as the two sat down opposite each other on the spacious veranda. A white-coated man pulled her chair out and back as she smoothed her dress under her legs. A pitcher and two glasses sat in the center of the table, separating the two as grey skies threatened rain.

“My pleasure, Mr. President. As you can tell from my prompt arrival, I’ve been anxious to meet you ever since you took office.” Kitty wasn’t going to give much else away just yet.

The president reached out and picked up the pitcher. “I hope you like iced tea. It’s about as neutral as I could think of for this meeting.”

Kitty took a cautious sip. “Sweet. Too many people like it without sugar. Too bitter for me. This is just fine.” An uncomfortable silence descended for a moment. “I admit I was surprised when my aide brought me your message,” she said, fishing for the reason for the invitation.

“And I admit that I was surprised when the machine actually worked,” the president responded. “We were under the assumption that it was only operable by Agent Galway. Since he has severed connections with us to join the Alliance, the only other method was to send someone to one of your embassies. That would have been my next move.”

Kitty smiled openly for the first time. “We canceled the DNA lock as soon as your predecessor left office. I’m gratified that none of his shenanigans have been repeated since you were sworn in.”

“My advisers suggested as much. I was never happy with the illegal way in which our citizens were treated during his tenure. But that is past. While we know who most of your people are, none of their families have even been contacted or watched. The exhibitions and reprisals performed by your crews and the intelligence we have amassed from the agents returned to us have convinced me and most of my staff that it would be sheer folly to try another such move.” He took a sip from his own glass, waiting for a response.

“The gesture is greatly appreciated, Mr. President,” Kitty said truthfully. “Since the vast majority of our citizens are of American heritage, it allows us to turn our attentions outward. As you know, there are at least two races out there. One, of course, is the Shiravans, with whom we have signed a mutual defense pact. The other call themselves Garmons and have no interest in talking. From what we’ve learned from the Shiravans, the idea of peaceful coexistence is a totally foreign concept to them, and it just happens that Earth is in the area they consider to be theirs. It’s anybody’s guess how Earth would be faring right now if we hadn’t made use of the ship that wound up in our hands.”

“Twenty million dead, conservatively, and hundreds of billions of dollars in damage around the world is enough evidence for me,” Howard said. “And your continued assistance with rebuilding the damaged areas does not go unnoticed, even if we aren’t exactly on speaking terms at the moment. I must point out that my advisers insist that they would have been better suited to utilize the discovery than civilians, though.” He held up his hand as Kitty’s mouth opened to respond. “I, on the other hand, feel differently. I’ve read the transcripts of Alliance personnel, and their comments as to what would have happened if we had taken the ship. You went straight into a building program, while our people would have spent years trying to understand the physics of each item before going on to the next. The timing of the attack on your first facility leads me to believe that your assertions are true. We wouldn’t have been ready for an attack, and it would have happened in Earth orbit rather than the asteroid belt. The two strikes on Earth tell me that your instincts were right, hard as is it is for me to say so, and I wouldn’t like to be quoted too widely on that last comment.”

Kitty took a sip of her tea, ordering her thoughts. “I thank you for your candor, Mr. President. Needless to say, we believe the same things. And, as you can tell, we’re keeping our word to release the technology as fast as we can, helping companies produce various items for public use.”

“And the food processor has been of inestimable value all around the world. As you may know, they’re indispensable in the Northwest and other ravaged areas around the world, not to mention places that have suffered from continual hunger for hundreds of years. That’s one of the things that fuels terrorist claims. A hungry man will do almost anything. With no hunger and an influx of jobs and money to the places they recruit from, there’s considerably less chance of gaining converts to their cause. All they have left is altruism, which is bad enough as it is. But now we can see some promise on the horizon.”

Kitty smiled bleakly. “Terrorism even gets exported to outer space, Mr. President. That’s one that even we don’t have much control over.”

“I’ve heard about your ordeal. I understand one of our agents helped you put down a rebellion.” It seemed to Kitty as if the president felt he had scored a point of some kind.

“If you’re referring to Agent Galway, he was aboard with our full knowledge. As a matter of fact, your predecessor’s administration sent him specifically to try to get some concessions for Earth outside Alliance channels. And he has since relinquished his citizenship in the United States to become an Alliance citizen. I believe he’s heading up our new counterintelligence operations. But I have another matter on my mind.” Kitty took another sip of her drink and set the glass back down. It was almost immediately refilled by a white-liveried waiter.

Howard, a consummate politician, never changed his expression, but only waited for Kitty to continue. I’m going to have to learn that technique, Kitty thought. Aloud she said, “As I’m sure you know, a lot of mail comes across a chief executive’s desk, a lot of it asking for help. The difference is that with a space-based nation, our requests are quite different. We have successfully restored almost all of the satellites destroyed by the Garmons for every country able to build new ones. We also are getting requests from the scientific community to help them set up bases on both the moon and Mars.” At this, one presidential eyebrow rose slightly.

“We have no problem with this as soon as we’re certain we can provide adequate protection for the expeditions. But far outstripping those requests are ones asking us to find habitable planets to emigrate to. At first, I was loathe to agree, but after what happened to Earth—and that’s not counting a stray super-meteor—I think it might be a viable idea. At present we have a ship just about ready to join our fleet that replicates the Shiravan vessel we acquired. That ship will be returned to the original owners since it represents an extensive cash outlay for them. Putting human beings on several, even dozens of worlds will go a long way to keeping a single incident from erasing us from the universe. Again, it’s contingent on our ability to protect those who choose to colonize alien planets. With Earth’s population reaching into the billions, no matter how many we allow onto new planets, we’ll never be able to even put a dent in Earth’s population.

“What will help is cleaner power generation and production practices. Some of our scientists estimate that the greenhouse effect could be reversed within fifty years to the point that it would be noticeable to the common man. Mass-producing antigravity cars would allow you to tear up millions of miles of concrete roadways, using the land for growing more crops and grasslands. Mag-lev trains and trucks could be moved to well above ground level and travel at speeds rivaling airplanes. Just imagine no more crashes and mangled bodies. Shipping would benefit accordingly. Of course, many present industries would fall by the wayside, putting a lot of people out of work. If they didn’t want to be trained for the new technologies or couldn’t for some reason, they could be used in a TVA or CCC type of labor, removing all that concrete and asphalt. Fill in swampland, if you could without destroying natural habitats for the animals left on Earth, build reefs for fish, make levees or breakwaters for coastal cities, or any number of things. The first colony isn’t even in the drawing stage as yet, but if things go as hoped, barring Murphy, we project that within five to ten years we’ll be putting colonies on several planets we’ve already cataloged.” She sat back, exhausted. The tea was an indispensable godsend.

“I’ve already had several letters to that effect from our scientists, Madam Herald, but this is the first I’ve heard of colonization. That will take away a lot more of our best minds when we need them the most.”

“Not if you start nudging the brightest kids into the scientific disciplines right now. It will be closer to ten years before we need any of them, and we wouldn’t take all, anyway. Remember, this is our birth-world, too. None of us want to see it ruined. And another thing—as we’ve said before, when someone wants to leave us and come back to Earth, they’ll be bringing their knowledge with them. And we need crew and Earth-side personnel all the time, but at a rate limited to how fast we can build ships and colonies.”

Howard sipped from his own glass before answering. “This is one idea I’ll have to pass along to my advisers. On the face of it, it seems feasible, but I’ll reserve judgment until I get some reliable input. How will I reach you in the future?” the president asked.

“Just like last time. I might be a little harder to reach, though. I occasionally have to travel to some of our various bases, which will make it harder for a message to reach me. My aide and staff will forward any message, and I’ll either come in person or send a fully authorized representative to handle any concerns you have.” A soft chime called Kitty’s attention to the watch built into her wristband. “Mr. President, I must plead another engagement and leave in about fifteen minutes. Perhaps we should throw the newsies a bone?”

Waiters came forward to pull back the chairs the two leaders occupied. As Kitty stood up, her security teams moved closer. “The Press Room is best suited for the purpose. Do you mind if my security carries guns at this point? I don’t want anything happening to you on my watch.”

Kitty thought for a moment. “All right, Mr. President. You’ve shown good faith and kept quiet until now about my people being armed, but if someone wants me dead, there’s not much five people can do to stop it, so more firepower might be the thing to do. Shall we go?”

The press conference was mostly President Howard and Kitty talking about the new and improved relations with the Alliance and the prospects of cleaning up the air and water. When questions came, one—directly related to the Alliance’s ability to protect Earth—was fielded by Kitty. “We have patrols examining and cataloging dozens of the nearer planets now, creating a buffer zone between us and the Garmons. The same thing is happening in Shiravan space. As it happens, we’ve figured out what type of planets the Garmons prefer and are targeting those for special attention.

“Unfortunately, both races can live quite well on the same planets, and we’re in the space they consider theirs. That’s one reason we’ve gotten hit so many times. Another is the Garmon’s insistence that all things belong to the Garmons. But all that changes now that we’ve amassed a considerable fleet. Granted, it’s enhanced by as many ships as the Shiravans could spare, but with each victory, the Shiravans gain more experience and confidence. Until we gave them some of their own technology back, tweaked by our own people, they hadn’t stood a chance of holding out much longer. Our occupation of their lost ship would seem at this point to have been a boon to both our races. Over the last two hundred and fifty years, they’ve been whittled down to only fourteen worlds from their original twenty-two. I think they were very glad to see us showing up on their radar, so to speak.”

After the short grilling by the press, Howard walked with Kitty to her shuttle. “So, tell me if you can,” the president said, “exactly how much do you know about these Shiravans?”

“Enough to have been adopted into the Matriarch’s own family as a Sister,” Kitty retorted a bit hotly.

“Don’t get me wrong, Madam Herald,” the president said placatingly. “I only mean that you didn’t spend enough time there to really get to know the whole race. Even the Shiravans serving here in Earth-space may not be entirely forthcoming. Our own world is proof enough of the practice of duplicity from our earliest beginnings. Withholding information, misinformation, and disinformation all play a daily part of our lives. How far can a race hundreds of years ahead of us in technological achievements be in the art of hiding things in plain sight? Don’t answer that; just think about it.”

The two stopped at the ramp. “I’d like to see one of your ships for myself one day, and I’m particularly interested in the asteroid you turned into a headquarters. Perhaps we can arrange something, if my people don’t get too stubborn. No president has ever left Earth before.”

“No president has ever had access to the craft to do so,” Kitty replied, wondering how she’d house a sizable contingent of visitors in some sort of luxury. And there was the matter of the dilapidated sections of what should be a pristine environment to be addressed as well. “Let’s let our people work out the details. We can see what happens after that. You’re welcome to see the inside of the shuttle, but I’m afraid you’ll find it more like the inside of an airplane than a spaceship. If you do come to Vesta, I’ll arrange a tour of one of our bigger ships.”

The two leaders stood for a moment before the president said, “I’ll save that for later, I think. You did say you had another appointment before leaving Earth.” Howard stuck his hand out and said, “Until next time, Madam Herald. Have a safe trip.”

As Kitty shook his hand, a flurry of camera flashes recorded the moment. She said, “I’m looking forward to it, Mr. President.” With that, she and her security team entered the shuttle, effectively putting off any press conference. Howard and his people moved back a safe distance, the ramp closed off the sight of the White House, and the shuttle lifted silently on its antigravs and moved out of the restricted airspace surrounding Washington, DC.

Kitty’s return to Vesta was a little more than unexpected, to her. To the rest of Alliance Command, she’d just disappeared. For some reason, no one had thought to check with Traffic Control. Kitty had filed a perfectly legitimate flight plan and was back well within her ETA. So, no flags from that direction either.

Word had spread as soon as Simon came out of regen and couldn’t find his wife. Technicians reported the departure, but only after a full-scale search was ordered, reaching all personnel. It was with great relief that Traffic Control took the incoming call: “Vesta Base, this is shuttle Herald One on approach from Earth. Aboard are Lucy Grimes, her parents, Commander Diana Ross,” the pilot said, “and Herald Hawke.” It wasn’t often she got to be Kitty these days.

An extended silence was followed by a strange, “Roger that, shuttle Herald One. We have you on scan, and you are cleared to land in Shuttle Bay Two. Prepare for Traffic Control to take over your systems.” The signal shut off, leaving an intergalactic hiss in her ears, so she shut her radio off as well. Moments later, a slight difference in vibrations confirmed that the ship was no longer under the pilot’s control.

She sat back, turning her seat towards the back of the passenger compartment. “We have some very nice apartments aboard,” she said. “Lucy has one, my husband and I have one, even my aide has her own place. This is as close as we can get to self-contained just yet, but we’re working on it.” A pneumatic hiss sounded as the ramp opened out and became a path to the deck. There normality ended.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Simon Hawke had worked himself up a fine head of steam by the time the ramp hit the deck. It was only by sheer willpower that he held his wrath in, and that only out of respect for the couple with Kitty. Lucy strolled out first with a parent on each arm, Kitty following as if behind a shield. She had seen his expression as the shuttle grounded.

“What did I do, now?” she asked, pushing Lucy on ahead with her parents. “You can expedite their housing and allowances and such, can’t you, Luce?”

“Got it covered, Kitty. You gonna be okay?” A worried look crossed her face as she looked at the two standing as if for an old-fashioned shootout.

“Yeah. You go on, now.” She turned to face an obviously irate Simon. “Okay,” she said, deflated. “Are you pissed as a husband or as an admiral?”

“Both,” he growled, not knowing where to begin. “First, you violate all the Herald’s protocols by going off on a jaunt. Second, you don’t inform anyone; you just go. And three,” he said, running down at that point and was all the madder for it.

“First,” she responded, “I did inform someone. Traffic Control, and my entire staff. Did you bother to check with them? No? I didn’t think so. The Shrike took us to Earth and handled aerial surveillance. Second, I didn’t slip my security. There are four guards waiting to see if they’ll have to shoot you to keep you from killing me. And Diana went along, as well. Armed. By the way, I didn’t go off on a jaunt. I went to talk to President Howard and bring Lucy’s parents back. And you don’t have a third, so this is over.”

“Not by a long shot, it isn’t,” Simon yelled. “Do you have any idea what I’ve been going through? And let’s not mention the rest of the base.”

“Yes, let’s not mention the rest of the base,” she said heatedly, looking around at the service team waiting to check out the shuttle. “You put an entire asteroid on alert because I was gone overnight. I don’t believe the nerve of you!” she yelled back. “If you can’t get over the fact that I’m not a doll that just anyone can hurt, I suggest you watch the sel Garian tape again. And do some more digging before you go off half-cocked. Your temper is unbelievable!”

Simon had planned what he was going to say, but she kept cutting him off at the knees every time. “Can’t you admit that you should have told someone you were leaving for a while?”

He watched her wilt. “You’re right, hon, I should have. It’s just that with this new advance in the regeneration chambers, I wanted to get Lucy’s mother in as soon as possible.” She seemed to perk up some as she changed the subject. “And you look good with white hair, dear.”

TAS Eightball sailed through the swirling lights and colors that composed hyperspace. Part of her lower deck had been turned into a temporary R&D section, working on ways to communicate in hyper. Kitty had said that if you could see another ship in hyper, you should be able to communicate via whisker lasers, over-amped, of course, to punch through the increased static of hyperspace. It would keep the scientists busy and might just accomplish something worthwhile.

Three months into the nine-month voyage, with the two packs moving at the speeds of the slower carriers, the Eightball’s scientists sent a description of the equipment needed to construct a transmitter since standard receivers were perfectly adequate to receive the more powerful transmissions of the newer transmitters.

One week later, the first answer came back, and within another week all four of the other ships had managed to cobble together working hyper communicators and contact the Eightball. Four months had gone by, with everyone working to make the new comm system as reliable and reproducible as possible.

Gayle sat in her chair aboard the Eightball and connected with the captains of the other five ships in her fleet. The best solution to many of their problems was to promote her exec to captain of the Eightball and essentially take over as Group Commander. All the other captains were in support and she remembered a bit of advice from Simon: somebody has to do the job, and in a lot of cases no one person is better qualified than any other. The problem, though, was that her exec was Bruce Grimes, and Lucy was likely to have a fit, but there was no choice.

Her nights were filled with the view of the alien ship exploding directly in front of the Clarke, and each time she was unable to save her ship or two-thirds of her crew. Finally, she stormed out of her cabin, startling her aide with her disheveled appearance. “I’m still in my quarters and not taking calls,” she said, her tone warning of dire consequences.

Leaving the young woman frozen at her desk, Gayle stepped out a side door and walked down a short passage. There was a dome on the Eightball, as with most full-sized ships, and the only entrance was by way of a short set of stairs on deck one, only a short distance from her office. She made sure it was vacant and locked the door from the inside, overriding any possible attempt to enter short of actually cutting through the alien alloy.

She sank into a lotus position and stared out at the swirling colors of hyperspace. This better work. My stomach’s already queasy, she thought. She cleared her mind and tried to attain the mental state Kitty had described. To be able to predict even a couple of moves ahead was worth the time and effort, if it worked.

She tried to close out the colors and see the situation as one of her ships flying down a long tunnel. She looked at her own reflection in the clear surface of the dome. So, what do you think we’ll find out there? she asked her doppelganger. No answer came from the seated figure, so she settled down and started the mantra Kitty had taught her several years back. Soon, she was in a light daze and surprised at the number of ‘hers’ she saw—a dozen, at least. She stood up and walked to the dome’s wall.

This had never worked before, so keeping up her mantra, she gingerly studied one of the ‘hers’ at random. She looked back and was surprised to see her body, still in lotus position, eyes closed, breathing as if asleep. Steeling herself, she turned and confronted her own body in lotus position. Feeling like she was stepping into the body of an alien, she stepped through the wall and sat down in the image she had already picked out. Immediately she was falling into orbit around a world lit by a red sun.

Following the line, she saw herself meeting Marsha and the Matriarch, then going out on patrol. Tempering her crews in battle proved to be hard to do, as very few Garmon ships were being spotted these days. And those moved off at the first hint of detection.

Another line started out the same way, then she and Marsha teamed up against almost a dozen Garmon ships and wiped them out. Loss of life was moderate due to the tactics used. Another line. This time the losses were more severe.

Line after line she followed until she found one that promised the best results—specifically, keeping as many of her people alive as possible while visiting maximum damage upon the Garmons. Some of the early steps were fuzzy, but the end results were optimum, barring interference from some outside source.

Marsha Kane got a relayed message from the half a dozen incoming ships minutes after her outer defenses had gone into full alert mode. She ordered Raptor Group to jump far enough out that the time lag between messages was only seconds and hailed the incoming fleet. The response delighted her, but she couldn’t let it show.

“Eightball Group reporting to senior commander in the area. This is Group Commander Miller. We are four cruisers and two carriers, requested by Captain Kane when the Herald returned to human space.”

“Welcome to Shiravan space, Eightball. This is Captain Kane of the Raptor. All captains and executive officers are requested to attend dinner approximately four hours from now.”

Gayle responded, “Understood, Captain Kane. Four hours. Shuttles away in three and a half. By the way, Alecto and Megæra send their regards.” The radio was silent for a moment.

Marsha said, “Tisiphone will be pleased. Kane out.”

Yes! she thought. I have help. The Garmons are going to be so busy learning how to deal with their new and improved females that soon we won’t have a threat from them even if they do keep a fuel depot.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The six captains and group commander of Eightball Group filed into Marsha Kane’s ready room, impressed by the size of the ship. The Raptor was twice again the size of any ship so far built by Alliance bases. Where most ships except carriers were manned by a crew of about five hundred, the Raptor carried nearly twelve hundred souls.

Marsha stood as the captains filed into the room. “Welcome aboard, ladies and gentlemen. I’d like to be introduced to the six of you who are new to me, and then we can proceed.” After the introductions, she said, “I’ll meet with each of you after this general briefing. To start with, there’s been little Garmon activity anywhere in either sector, Garmon or Shiravan. This matter worries me and the Matriarch, greatly. It’s our belief that even though we’ve taken out quite a few Garmon ships, there’s a very real possibility of some type of attack. We’ve decided to take the battle to the enemy in their own home territory.

“The Shiravans have identified well over two dozen Garmon worlds, one of which we suspect to be their homeworld. With your arrival, we now have eighty-seven major battleships, three carriers, and the Raptor herself. There are over one hundred second-generation Mambas, and with your arrival, another hundred-plus third-gen fighters. As soon as your ships can be integrated into the existing fleets, we’ll begin systematic attacks on each identified world as soon as possible. First, though, all captains and I will meet with the Matriarch so she can become acquainted with each of you. All crews will get shore leave to allow their nerves to settle down and satisfy everyone’s desire to get out of their tin cans and set foot on an alien world.

After the pleasantries were observed, four of the captains left, but Gayle stayed behind, motioning for Shirley Dahlquist to do so as well. She closed Marsha’s door and said, “Okay, now fill us in on what’s really going on.”

A slow grin grew on Marsha’s face. “I’ve found out that the Shiravans have been working on a virus that will raise the intelligence level of the female Garmons. It will take several generations for it to seriously impact Garmon culture, what there’ll be of it after we get through tearing them up. Fortunately, they breed faster than we do. From what we’ve seen so far, the females are nothing more than imbecilic breeding machines designed to pump out more males than females. The virus will address that problem, too. More females will be born, each generation smarter than the last. Eventually, this should throw the whole Garmon race off-kilter. The premise is that since we won’t be able to kill every Garmon everywhere, we’ll disrupt their society, such as it is. We’ll still be hunting them wherever we can find them for years, but this should put a large nail in their warring ways.”

“And just what kind of virus do they have planned for us after we help them defeat the Garmons?” Shirley asked.

Marsha had no answer to that question, at least not out loud.

The Raptor escorted the new ships into Shiravan orbit, and Marsha’s gig delivered the new captains to the Matriarch’s summer residence at Cho-An. The seven captains trooped down the ramp and stopped. Marsha let them take in the sight before them. The reddish sun was high in the sky, giving everything a rose-colored tint. The building before them, built of stone quarried from the nearby Stala Mountains, gave no clue to the transformation that would come with the setting sun.

They walked toward a covered portico nearly big enough for a football field where they were met by Shiravi’s Second Voice, Sitha kep Parrasine. She eyed the new arrivals with an unreadable expression on her face. Four of the captains were male. “Erocerra, Sorgala Kane. The Matriarch is waiting in her informal meeting chambers. If you would follow me, please.” The combination of Shiravan and English reminded the new captains that they’d have to brush up on their Shiravan if they wanted to communicate with the vast majority of the people they were going to be exposed to.

The long walk took them past strange plants, paintings and sculptures, each in their own niche. At last they were ushered through a large hanging drape insulating the Matriarch’s chambers from the outside world. Marsha noted the absence of Linnas des Harras and invited the six others to sit down, reminding them to stand when the Matriarch entered. Sitha nodded imperceptibly in the Shiravan fashion, apparently approving of the instructions.

When Linnas entered the room, all seven stood up as she walked to Marsha, giving the smaller woman a hug that almost enveloped her. “Welcome back, Sibara. I see that you’ve brought more help in our struggle.”

“Aya, Sibara. May I introduce Captains Miller, Dahlquist, Gaines, Marshall, Parker, and Mason. They brought four battle cruisers and two carriers to help root out the Garmons. The carriers are equipped with a totally new type of fighter that you might be interested in seeing before we go on our next patrol.”

“I’m already acquainted with Captain Dahlquist, and I must say I’m most pleased to see her among you. Erocerra, all. Welcome to Shiravi. Please be seated.” Marsha, as adopted Sister to the Matriarch, sat closest to her left, while Sitha took a seat on her right.

“Parma,” she said to a faint figure in the shadows, “please bring refreshments for our guests.” Turning her attention back to the assembled humans, she caught most of them staring at their surroundings, especially the mountains visible out one window. “I know your voyage has been long, and I wish to invite your crews down for some fresh air and a chance to see a bit of our world before you start your missions. Others may come and go by shuttle as fast as Central Control can accommodate them.”

Parma returned with a large tray. “I’ve come to enjoy your beverage called tea,” Linnas said, “and this sugar is beyond my imagining. For this, if nothing else all, Shiravi is grateful.”

The six new arrivals sat quietly while Parma served them. Marsha answered questions about her most recent mission and thanked her sister for the generosity shown to the long cooped-up crews. The Matriarch waved her hand dismissively. “I would wish to set foot on solid ground if I were traveling so long without stopping.”

“That is most kind, Your Grace,” Shirley Dahlquist said. “For most of our crews, this is the first time out of our own solar region. They should see what they’re fighting for, especially after our own infighting.”

“Most true, Sorgala Dahlquist,” the Matriarch returned. “But tell me, why are you here so soon after your last visit?”

“My usefulness as a recruiter was beginning to wane. Captain Kane requested me since I’ve already had experience with battling the Garmons,” she said simply, not mentioning the cloud she had left under. She took a sip of her tea and set the cup back on the oversized table between them.

Marsha, knowing the story of Shirley’s abandonment of her captain’s seat in favor of flying a Mamba in an effort to help protect her doomed ship, her fight with a Garmon and winning, and subsequent disgrace, changed the subject. “Tell me, Sibara, about this next mission you have for us.”

“The details will be given to you later, Sibara, but suffice it to say that after we broke up the Reprisal Fleets into smaller fighting groups, we’ve discovered numerous worlds where there are Garmons. Word came to me after your last mission that we may have even located the new Garmon homeworld. Actually, some time back a fast-attack squadron destroyed some major facilities on a moon circling a planet we call Sakarta. After your crews have had some battle experience clearing out some of the smaller targets, I propose a massive attack to wipe out all defensive arrays and communication facilities. And it goes without saying that as many Garmon lives lost as possible will not be noticed.”

Marsha sat in the Raptor’s command chair and studied her battle display before ordering the rest of her fleet to take defensive positions around the planet. The information was hours old since they were still in the outer fringes of the system. She wasn’t sure, but considering the outdated nature of the Garmon ships, it was probable that their presence hadn’t been detected yet. She privately thanked the Spirits of Space that Gayle’s task force had arrived in time to get some battle experience before this dustup.

Not that there had been much to shoot at. The new leader of the Garmons seemed to be less inclined to full frontal assaults than his predecessor. Consequently, of the seven worlds visited by the joint task force, only thirteen ships had been met and destroyed. Allied losses had been limited to about two dozen Mambas, and only three of those the new Manta-class fighter.

She was already figuring deployment tactics and transmitting them to the appropriate ships when the force commander called. “We have twenty ships, plus your carrier,” the commander said, the newness of the word causing her to stumble slightly. “What do you suggest?”

Marsha studied her holographic plot. “I have some ideas. Before I can tell you, I need to know a few things.”

“Ask. I’ll answer as truthfully as I can.”

“First, you—meaning the Shiravan people in general—believe that the Garmons captured one of your early survey ships and started copying it. Is that correct?”

“Essentially,” the Shiravan commander responded. “Why do you ask?”

“When did Shiravans first incorporate the universal translators in your ships?”

Silence followed Marsha’s question. Finally, an answer came back. “I have just done a brief,” she said, stressing the word, “survey of when this technology was implemented. It appears that the Garmons captured a ship that had been put into service before the translators were perfected. I fail to follow your line of reasoning.”

Marsha sighed. “That’s why you never gained any ground on the Garmons—lack of understanding. They may not have translators. I asked because you just requested tactical information over what is essentially an open channel, that is, if the Garmons have been able to pick a translator out of Shiravan wreckage. If you guarantee they don’t have translators, then we can talk. Otherwise, I’ll not talk over what may be a compromised channel.”

“Your idea is wise,” the Shiravan commander said. It sounded to Marsha as if it had been forced out. “We have several hours before we’re in a position we can’t back out of. Would you attend me for a brief meeting?”

Marsha answered, saying, “Certainly. Please advise your docking bay that my gig will arrive shortly.” She cut the transmission, a breach of protocol and she knew it, but the woman just annoyed her. She punched up the Flight Deck and ordered her gig prepared for immediate departure.

“It will take about five minutes to get the mains online, Captain. And I need to locate your pilot.”

“You’ve got until I can get from the bridge to the Flight Deck.” She cut the connection and turned to her executive officer. “Commander Willis, you have command until I return.”

She walked off the bridge, not hearing the Nav officer’s acceptance and appointment of a junior officer to stand his position. This curtness is going to have to stop, she thought. I will not be a martinet.

The ride to the Shiravan flagship was short, so she had little time to set out her reasons, along with the orders she’d given without prior approval of the force commander. She was led to the commander’s quarters. During the walk, she felt the euphoria of the lighter gravity, tempered by the dim red lighting. Almost melancholic was how she felt, and that was aside from what she’d done. And she knew she’d at least receive a reprimand for her unilateral actions.

At least at first. She knew she had a good plan for this situation. The problem was that she had left her superior with no choice but to accept her actions. Now, she had to tell that superior of her actions face to face. Only time would tell if she got a medal or got dead in the trying.

“Why ask me? I’m just a junior officer on this mission,” Marsha asked immediately after the formalities had been observed.

“And as such,” the commander replied, “it’s my intention to send the Raptor in first. I thought you might like to have some input on the strategic planning.”

“Se el kuvai,” Marsha said in her best Shiravan. “I’m sorry. I have a confession to make.” She sat quiet for a moment while the force commander’s eyes widened slightly. “We have fourteen human ships with us, as well as two carriers. Although we’re numerically equal so far, we’ve got them beat. Remember, we have the advantage of upgraded shields, longer-range weapons, and better targeting capabilities. I know at least two of your ships have been refitted. If we send eight ships in, the Garmons will feel safer until the Mambas from the Aldebaran strike from behind the planet, fifty from each side. Our eight will split into two groups, aiding the Mantas. We should be able to spook them into your waiting arms.”

“I fail to see the logic in this operation. I will not let it go forward.”

Marsha sighed. “If you have superior forces coming at you from two sides, what do you do? You move to the area that looks clearest of ships. Your remaining ships and the Eightball will cloak. As we herd the Garmons into range, you can fire on them, and the missiles will appear to come from nowhere. The distances will be too short to matter, so the surprise should be complete. The Eightball’s new Mantas will appear as if out of nowhere. We will, of course, be following uncloaked and taking them from behind at every chance we get. And that’s only going to happen after we prove to these SOBs that we can take ‘em with fewer losses than we ever could before.”

The Shiravan seemed to turn to stone for a moment. “I do see one thing I’ve never seen before. Always, the Garmons,” the new name was still unfamiliar to her, “have attacked as soon as possible. We are equal ship for ship, yet they only hold position just off planet.”

“Don’t make your plans as if it was knowledge from the Spirits,” Marsha warned. “Just because we have better equipment doesn’t mean their system hasn’t noted our presence.”

“I am most upset at your forming plans without my input,” Force Commander do’ Berel said angrily. “I know what your ships can do, and I should best determine the order of battle.”

“You know what our ships can do, so far, Commander,” Marsha returned. “The coming battle looks to be the biggest one we’ve engaged in up to this point. I know the capabilities of the people aboard better than you, and I know they can make their ships do far more than you’ve seen. As to my battle plan, it was always contingent on your approval. I didn’t expect this level of resistance, though.”

do’ Berel hesitated, as if remembering that she was speaking to a sister of the Matriarch. “I still resent our ships being put in the least position. Our crews need battle experience as well.”

Marsha had to fight to keep from smiling. “On the contrary, Commander. Yours will be the most important position of all. You’ll be the end of their chance to break out. As soon as you start firing, they’ll know you’re there. And fifty Mantas and your parda kellin will be on their targeting screens as well. Our job is to keep harassing their flanks enough that you don’t have their entire attention.”

Force Commander do’ Berel looked down on the smaller, white-haired woman. “Very well, Sorgala Kane. We shall go with your plan, and if it fails, the lives lost will be on your hands.”

“Very well, Commander,” Marsha said briskly. “Once we start into the system, your cloaked ships will trail the exposed leaders. Our carrier will be cloaked also. No need letting them think they don’t have the advantage. Here’s how it will go...”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“You have verified this information?” Korgan Garmon studied the faces of his sub-officers.

“Yes, my Lord. The Watcher Fleet has been amassing data on all the systems surrounding the humanz homeworld. It seems that they will appear at the edge of a system and spread out, using full sensors. The normal size of their force is five ships, one being a fighter carrier they take with them everywhere they go. We haven’t yet been able to confirm data that they’ve built a new type of small fighter craft. But if it is so, then they’re faster, harder to hit, and even harder to stop. One report has these small ships disappearing as into contra-space.”

“I refuse to say impossible where these creatures are concerned, but I don’t want us giving them too much credit.” Korgan gestured to seats around a table about fourteen feet wide and fifty feet long. There was barely enough room for the assembled group to sit.

“You’re all here today because I ordered each of you to deliver to me a plan to fight this war, win individual battles, or capture some of these humanz’ ships.” He gestured to the stack of reports sitting beside him. Now was the time to make the gamble he’d envisioned years earlier. He stood up and seared the faces of those sitting with his glare. “I do hereby assume personal control of all Garmon ships.” The murmur of voices quickly stilled when several dozen warriors stepped out from behind the ornamental pillars lining the room. “We will continue our reconstruction projects and get ourselves back into the bigger universe outside our own. First, the shipyards that aren’t ready to produce ships will be finished. Second, there has been one plan that struck me as possible. I want the new advances these humanz seem to have squeezed out of Shiravan technology. Therefore, I am going to adopt this plan,” he took one off the top of the stack.

“It takes into account that these humanz have some predictability about them,” he said, tapping the stack of papers on the table. “They are constantly patrolling the systems around their own sun, usurping Garmon territory. So, we will set a trap in one of their favorite systems to patrol. Sept Leader Gubarak proposes using thirty standard raider ships and one of the new super ships.

“I propose adding four more hands of ships under Gubarak’s command. These ships will come from Clan Garmon, and not the rest of the clans or septs. Those ships will be used to throw their tactics back in their faces. We have more ships, but theirs are better. That’s what Gubarak’s expedition is to find out. With fifty ships and a super ship, he should be able to overcome a mere five ships, even if they are all full of those damnable little ships. The fleet is to bring back any wreckage from humanz ships and whole ships if at all possible, even the little fighters. Our scientists can surely learn something from even them. And live specimens. I want live, healthy specimens.” The Garmon, still new to his authority, gazed down on the faces of his followers. “Go, now,” he said, waving his hand grandly. “You have your orders.”

He was still amazed that he was so literally accepted as The Garmon. It was as if the whole race was preconditioned to accept a ruler under certain conditions. He realized that he was different. Never had he thought of blindly following he who had no name. All his life he had planned for the very situation he found himself in, working toward it, rising to the pinnacle of his own clan and holding several clans’ loyalty and Honor.

The realization that he was different made him start to look for those who had the same lack of racial conditioning. Few there were who turned up, or maybe they were smart enough to remain hidden. Of those few, he made the best use he could. Five individuals, all dedicated to finding others like themselves, were able to think beyond their cultural conditioning—not to say that most of his subordinates were stupid, just not yet ready to embrace the concept of individual conceptional thought. The race had been conditioned to obey. Now, it was necessary that they not only obey but question things as well. Blind obedience was one thing when there was no conflict, but he needed others like him who would take the chance of acting without consulting him first.

He would send two of the five on the mission to attack the humanz and try to acquire their technology. They would be the leaders of the expedition, under his orders but able to change tactics as they saw fit. War was a dynamic thing, something he was all too recently acquainted with. He sat back down in the chair at the head of the table and stared down the empty expanse of it. It occurred to him that the race was on a downward spiral unless these problems could be solved. He had deliberately made no mention of the troubles on the Shiravan side of Garmon space. That would be the province of the other three free-thinkers he’d kept back. Hopefully some others would make themselves known when they saw the positions he had appointed others to.

Of course, he didn’t want anybody to get the idea that they were better able to control the Garmon Empire than he, himself. For all of his planning, sacrifice, bravery, skill, knowledge, and luck, his plans had to succeed for him to stay in the good graces of his people. Occasional raids by his predecessor had caused no real increase in response from the Shiravans, but these humanz were like a thorn he could not pull out. Their actions reminded him of a maddened gorpa. It would follow its victim for days, if necessary, to have its revenge. The only real protection was a pulse rifle or a flyer that would break his scent.

He knew this was a turning point in Garmon history and prayed to the Gods that he had the bravery and skill to use his weapon—his race—to its best advantage. The fifty-one ships left soon after. Only later was he to learn it was then that his world fell apart.

Marsha sat in her command chair and thought about her Shiravan superior. They had only met twice—once when the fleet was being assembled and just now as they began to make their way in-system, deliberately making targets of themselves. The first time had been a formal introduction, and this time she had pissed do’ Berel off mightily. Oh well, she thought. Some things can’t be helped.

The newer, stronger shields would help, of course, especially when you could shift power to one point or another to strengthen the shield just before a strike. That kind of thing was handled by the battle computer. No being had the reflexes to perform that job for more than a few minutes.

Hours passed, and the Garmon ships still stood just off planet, as if waiting for orders. She kept the twenty-two enemy ships on her screens, waiting to see the twin trains of Mantas coming from around the planet. The Aldebaran, cloaked, dropped them off and short-jumped into rendezvous position. That was her cue to start the full-power approach, sending four ships toward the left flank and four to the right. The Raptor would fly straight into the jaws of the Garmon killing machine, hopefully keeping them looking at her and not their rear scanners. The Mantas were to start on the flanks of the Garmon battle line. The nine capital ships under Marsha would take on the center of the formation in front of them. The only reason she had all twenty-two enemy ships under active scans was to keep their eyes on her group. It had taken a long time to get the concept of being bait across to the Shiravans. For too long they hadn’t had to war amongst themselves, and somewhere along the way, the art of war had died with the last of the combative males a thousand years before.

She sat up straight as ships began to appear from around the planet. “Comm, whisker laser to all cruisers: accelerate and engage. May God and the Spirits of Space fly with us today.”

The Garmon sept leader sat in the captain’s chair of the lead ship, facing the nine ships that moved toward him. One was definitely a new class of ship. The others appeared to be of more conventional design. A hunter himself, the Garmon commander knew instinctively that something was wrong, but he couldn’t put a claw on what it could be, other than that the commander of those ships had a death wish. He ordered all data from all ships to be sent to his control center. If there were any other ships or irregularities, his people would find them.

Meanwhile, the enemy fleet continued to advance without power, letting their initial acceleration carry them into range. He wondered if they could be having fuel problems but realized that was unlikely considering the kind of power that was generated by the engines he knew they carried. Then why? There was no way any ships could hide from the sensors in all his ships. Any ships held in reserve would be detected sooner or later.

Twenty minutes passed before the enemy ships changed tactics and accelerated directly toward his fleet. All ships were reporting targeting lock-ons. Were these creatures suicidal? He leaned forward and said, “Send to all ships: Two ship formations, plan alpha, execute.” This would dispatch eighteen of his ships to take on nine of theirs, with a four-ship reserve to shift wherever they were needed.

All twenty-two ships had kept their power plants online, awaiting action. The fleet powered up, and amazingly, each of the oncoming ships was targeting at least three of his ships apiece. What sort of madness was this? It was not possible for the rumors to be true. Maybe one on one and a bit of luck, but better than two-to-one odds?

The execute order was to implement itself as soon as his crews detected forward motion. He watched as they moved smoothly into two-ship groups and began to accelerate toward their opponents. At these speeds, they would only be in range of each other for about two minutes, but that would be enough for his fleet to decimate the Shiravans.

Suddenly, his smoothly functioning formation erupted in confusion. Two separated packs of Mantas reformed at each side of his fleet and took two hands of ships out in less time than it takes to blink. The main enemy fleet split into two, trying to flank his survivors, while the larger ship continued on, a monstrous blip on his screen. “All ships report missiles incoming,” came from his communications officer.

“Targeting. Firing,” came from the weapons officer in response to missiles headed directly for his own ship.

Torpal Garmon turned his attention back to his battle plot to find that missiles were incoming, some evading his point defense. All he could do was brace for the impact, as were the rest of the crews. Notice was made of the fact that the infernal little ships the humans used so effectively were amid and amongst the bulk of his fleet, firing incessantly, while his own crews hesitated for fear of hitting one of their own. That was the one difference that would never be known about the two races—human and Garmon. All members of a Garmon crew were kept informed of the progress of a battle. In most cases, it was a morale booster. In this case, it had the opposite effect. Trained, practiced, prepared warriors hesitated in the face of such devastation.

And that was all it took for the five human ships and remaining Mantas, totaling forty-two, to finish off the remaining Garmon ships. The Shiravans had gotten off two missile launches, taking out a single ship that had managed to run the gauntlet, not even sending their fighters out. The Eightball had never even gotten to red alert.

Marsha sat alone in the force commander’s informal reception room, having been deposited there by one of the commander’s aides. “Well, at least it’s not going to be an execution,” she muttered as she looked around the darkened room. Shiravan lighting was really dismal to most humans, being a constant red, like emergency lights on some forms of public transportation. She stood up as Shiravi’s Second Voice walked in.

“Sit. I don’t believe in all that nonsense.”

Marsha was stunned. “I had no idea you spoke English this well.”

“And I had no idea humans talked to themselves so much,” the Second Voice retorted. “I know you did what you thought best, and in this case, it worked in your favor. But I’m willing to bet that your Admiral Hawke would be chewing your ass out about right now, yes?”

Marsha went from stunned to slack-jawed. Finally, she managed to say, “Yes, he would, if he were here. And I’d remind him that he, himself, often said that sometimes hunches need to be heeded. Please, may I ask how you got so fluent in English?”

The tall red woman looked down on the smaller human. “Let us sit. I would have you more comfortable.”

Marsha settled uncomfortably on the edge of a small table. That way, her feet could touch the ground. She hated Shiravan chairs. Most humans felt the same way.

“Perhaps I’ve transgressed, but I did it for the continuance of my race. One person’s hurt feelings are insignificant beside that. Except, of course, to the individual involved. I regret that individual was you, Sorgala Kane,” the woman said formally. “As you know, I was recently appointed—very recently—to be the Matriarch’s chief spymaster and invisible presence should she need to know something. As her Sister-kin, you already know this. What you didn’t know was that I was involved with a lot of the early sessions with Dom Carter and Doma Spencer. Since then, I’ve been doing my best to learn your language as well as my own. One thing I was taught was that if you could think in the other person’s language, you had a better chance of understanding them.”

“Well, you did very well with the ass-chewing comment. That one was perfect,” Marsha said sheepishly. “But I have another matter to discuss with you.” kep Parrasine cocked her head, the same inquisitive motion humans used. “After this much time on patrol, two of my ships are in need of new power cores. They have enough left to return to Shiravi, but not much more.”

“Very well, Sorgala Kane. One of my ships is reporting marginal readings as well.” She sat silently for a moment. “Your two ships and my one will stay behind while the rest of the group goes in and finishes off whatever targets present themselves.”

“One of my ships is the Aldebaran. Will fifty new Mantas from the Eightball be enough?”

“I think that will be enough additional support to back up the rest of us,” kep Parrasine agreed. “I will notify the other ships that you’ll be mission leader until we’ve exterminated these Garmon.” At Marsha’s surprised look, kep Parrasine said, “Even I am not so blind as not to see the stratagem and its successfulness. My thanks, Sorgala. With your tactics to go by, we should be able to do with fewer human ships as our upgraded ships come online. Records were kept of the battle, and your methods will be studied and applied throughout the Shiravan fleet.”

A flustered Marsha could only turn red and say, “My thanks to you, Your Grace. When will we begin the operation?”

“As soon as all capable ships have reported ready to you.”

“Then I should be getting back to the Raptor,” Marsha said, and start making plans for some serious housecleaning.

As Marsha got to the door, kep Parrasine said, “May the Spirits of Space ride with you.”

“And with you, as well,” Marsha said, letting the door close behind her.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Katherine Hawke was on Earth once again. She had spent a week with the rest of her Earth-side relatives, her aunts having been convinced to move to Vesta some months back—one more concern she could lay to rest. Asking almost everyone pointblank, she was told that there had been no more harassment by anyone but the media, and that was slacking off.

Actually, she was Earth-side waiting for the United Nations to meet the next week, and Simon had always said to make one thing serve two purposes. Her presence at the meeting would give official status to the Terran Alliance at last. But what if she was required to have a passport? If so, she’d demand the same for any non-Alliance personnel wanting to travel off-world. Two could play at that game.

Kitty spent the week getting to know her uncles and cousins again after ten years. It felt good. The reunion was being held at her Aunt Katie’s ranch outside Miles City. There was no place else to put that many people. She felt a small sense of loss that she’d never had children. The sight of second cousins playing in the sprinklers brought back a flood of memories. She’d been named after one of her aunts, but two “Katies” was too much, so she’d been called Kitty.

She was jolted out of her trance by a body plopping down on the couch beside her. “Must be a lot of responsibility, doing what you do,” her cousin Amber said. Three years older, she looked closer to twenty. “Whatcha drinking?” she asked, nodding at Kitty’s glass.

“Ginger ale,” she replied. Ever since her time in the regeneration chamber, she no longer had a taste for anything but an occasional glass of wine, especially fire wine. “And yes, it’s a lot of responsibility. Ten years ago, I would have had anyone who said I’d be where I am today committed. Life’s a funny thing.”

This was her last night, and Amber must have been deputized by the rest of the cousins to talk to her alone. “Yeah. I’ve been following everything printed or taped. Especially after two midnight abductions and several interrogations.”

“Tell everyone I’m really sorry about that. But we did solve the problem, finally. It just took arm-twisting a president a little more than we expected.”

“And you’re not going to try to take over the Earth, are you?” Amber’s tone was totally serious, but Kitty couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Heads turned in their direction.

In a louder voice, enough to be heard by most if not all present, she said, “Take over the Earth! We’re too busy taking over outer space. The plans are still in the conceptual phase, but we may be able to take anyone who wants the challenge of a totally new world to tame. Modern day Daniel Boones. We still have to solve the problem of the Garmons, though.” She noticed that everyone had come closer when she included them in her outburst. “We’re still so busy building battlecruisers, battleships, and Mantas that we don’t plan to start colonizing for a while yet. We’d be the ones doing the protecting, so we’re trying to knock them back to the stone age and make them start all over, isolated on a few distantly separated planets. Their progress will be monitored.”

“Mambas are those ships that put on the airshow way back, right? I’d love to fly one of those.” This was cousin Jerry. A motor-head, but generally an okay guy.

“Yeah, but we have a new generation of fighters now that are shaped like a Manta ray, so we call them Mantas. Not very original, but mantas have been known to hurt and even kill people.”

“Well, I’d still like to try. What have I got to do?”

“Go to the embassy in Montana, fill out some forms, and you’re in, as long as you don’t have charges pending somewhere,” she finished jokingly. Most laughed, knowing Jerry had enough speeding tickets to paper a small room. And the jackass was actually serious!

The crowd started to drift away. Even if she was the Terran Herald, she was still cousin Kitty to them.

Kitty arrived at the airport the next morning with Amber attached, a bit ahead of schedule. She’d called the Shrike on her comm link just before leaving the house, amazing everyone still there. “How far will that thing reach?” her Uncle Frank asked.

“The Shrike is in a twelve-thousand-mile orbit,” she said. “But it will reach farther. About fifty thousand for this model.” He just shook his head, a look of awe on his face.

The pinnace followed conventional airport procedure so as not to upset the traffic pattern. It entered the traffic and took a runway just like planes, taxiing over to her terminal. Kitty turned and hugged each one. When she got to Amber, she heard, “Steve and I are getting a divorce. Don’t be surprised if we meet sooner than you think.”

Kitty turned to the door guarded by her ever-present security. She walked out into the morning light, shading her eyes for a moment. During her short walk to the pinnace, she wondered what was going to happen next.

Kitty seemed to be constantly getting off or on shuttles these days. This time it was the Swiss Embassy. In a few days, a full session of the Security Council was going to recommend the establishment of a new nation to the United Nations with full status in that august assembly, including a seat on the Security Council. That was the body that regulated the proliferation of nuclear weapons on Earth. The Alliance was being considered because their weapons were so far superior to anything Earth had that their exclusion wasn’t even considered.

That’s one job I’m handing over to Freddie, she thought, along with naming ambassadors to every country on Earth that wants one.

She wandered, distracted, around the jet and glass office that mimicked the unique new façade of the outside of the building as well as the foyer, a striking opposite to the granite walls of Baron Fredrick von Schlenker’s castle overlooking the compound.

And, of course, each nation will want embassy space on Vesta.

Her thoughts kept going in circles. Another asteroid, Ceres, was being given the same treatment as Vesta. Soon, there would be more personnel inside the two gigantic rocks than were serving on Earth and in all Alliance ships combined.

The Garmon problem seemed to be dying down. No more attacks came anywhere near Earth, and patrols were keeping a hefty buffer zone around Earth in all directions. Still, there were plenty of Garmons out there, and there was no letting down the guard of those ships on patrol. The occasional Shiravi ship told of raids and counter raids, and Alliance forces in and around Earth space reported a few battles, but more and more there were just descriptions of missed opportunities as soon as an Alliance force entered certain systems.

Arriving Shiravan and Alliance ships stopped at the limits of the solar system for identification or inspection before being allowed in-system, now standard operating procedure. The latest twist was to keep a small fleet on station at the point from which any returning ships came into the system. Any followers would get a nasty surprise. Other ships patrolled the outer reaches at random.

She didn’t have much to do on Earth anymore since her main offices were on Vesta, so she spent long hours with Baron von Schlenker when not representing the Alliance in most political matters on Earth. On this occasion, the baron was serving two glasses from a silver tray. Hers was white grape juice with a touch of club soda. Freddie sat in a black leather chair, twin to Kitty’s, sipping a very old Scotch. She wished she still had a taste for it; she could use the diversion of a slight buzz. On the heels of this thought, an inspiration hit her. She spoke into her comm link and asked for a bottle of fire wine to be sent to the castle. Two cases had been delivered to her departing shuttle before she’d left Shiravi, and now would be a good time to break out a bottle.

Upon hearing her request, Freddie carefully poured his drink back into a cut glass decanter and poured himself some grape juice in anticipation of the blue liquid. “So, what’s on your mind tonight, Lady Katherine?”

Kitty thought his formality had become something of a point of honor, but she wasn’t having any of that tonight. “You know better than that, Freddie. Call me Kitty, or I’ll just go home. I need a little reprieve from the Madam Herald crap and all that goes with it.” About then, a knock on the door signaled the arrival of a butler carrying an odd-shaped blue bottle and two glasses.

“Thank you, Jorgen. I’ll pour for the two of us. You can go to bed if you want to.”

“Yes, Your Grace. It’s been a long day.” As he turned to leave, Maggie, the Baroness von Schlenker, came strolling in.

Seeing the blue bottle, she picked up a glass from the sideboard and settled her ample figure down in a chair next to Kitty. “How are you holding up, my dear?” she asked, squeezing Kitty’s hand in her own. “And to what do we owe the pleasure of fire wine tonight?”

Kitty shrugged her shoulders and said, “I just wanted something with a little kick to it to relax me, and since Earth alcohol isn’t as potent after my time in the regeneration chamber, I had a bottle sent up from the embassy.”

“Oh, dear. Are you in good health? You do look a little pale.” The older woman had taken Kitty under her wing to help her learn to deal with self-important individuals like ambassadors and heads of state.

“Well,” Kitty said after taking a small sip of the blue liquid in her own glass, “I’m not looking forward to the United Nations session day after tomorrow. We’ll be receiving our autonomy then, and nothing suggests that there will be any trouble. I guess I’m just jittery at the thought of so many high-ranking individuals passing judgment on our status. It’ll be a major step toward stopping the harassment against our Earth-side citizens and families, and I just want things to go smoothly. And,” she added, “I’m not looking forward to having to stand in front of them.”

Maggie nodded sympathetically. “Remember, dear, that you won’t be alone. You’ll be seated in front of two hundred or more individuals, but you’re a head of state yourself. Just act regally and speak directly to the questions. Don’t embellish, and it will be over before you know it. And you’ll walk away with everything you’ve worked so hard toward for so long. And the next time the Council convenes, you’ll be there as an equal. Don’t forget that.”

“It seems so very long,” Kitty said, a bit of petulance creeping into her voice. She took another swallow of the wine. “But I’m glad it’s almost over. Simon and I need a vacation that doesn’t include Garmons hunting us.”

“And a richly deserved one,” Freddie said. “Do you have any plans for the future?”

“Our own or the Alliance’s?” she retorted. The fire wine was starting to loosen her up. “Simon has always wanted to be the captain of his own ship, and there are plans on the boards for a super-Raptor. We could take that and a couple of wolf packs and start exploring some of the worlds we haven’t been to yet.” A smaller sip before she continued helped pave the way for her next words. “We’ll have to find a new Admiral of the Fleet, and Jerry Chapman doesn’t want it. We’ll also need a new Herald, and Lucy has already made her feelings known. She’s willing to preside over the elections, but that’s all. She’s happy with the management of Vesta and making Ceres Base habitable.”

The silence following her declaration was the companionable sort shared between good friends. “I was thinking Marsha Kane would make a good Herald, but Shirley Dahlquist is better known, assuming she’s learned her lesson. I let Marsha talk me into letting her have a ship to travel to Shiravan space for an extended tour. I’ll wait until I hear from her before making a decision. Of course, we have our own House and Senate, descended from our old Council of Captains. I’ll make my opinion known when we’re ready to take off, but their decision will be final, of course.”

The meeting was taking place at the United Nations, so the trip from the airport turned into a circus. The motorcade consisted of four limousines and an uncounted number of New York police vehicles, fore and aft.

Kitty stepped out of her limo, followed by Simon and two captains of ships in orbit.
They were carrying no weapons, a courtesy that had all four feeling uncomfortable, but a gesture had to be made at some point and she’d decided to make it now. She even resorted to screaming and ranting until her security detail was left behind.

After all of her dithering and worrying, the whole thing was quite anticlimactic. Heavily armed and armored officers lined their route into the building, and more were in evidence inside the lobby. A secretary told them that they were expected immediately, so the group followed him into a huge chamber, packed to overflowing with delegates and a lot of press.

They were led to a table that had been set up for them, and few questions were asked. After all, the Alliance had shown their capabilities more than once and was still involved in the reconstruction of America’s Pacific coast. That part of the project was nearly finished. Power and sanitation, along with a new desalination plant were online, and local contractors were moving in to begin the rebuilding of the cities and towns. All of this was noted by the secretary general, and an immediate vote was called to ratify the status of the Alliance.

Only two votes were cast against the Alliance, and Kitty was so enthused that she didn’t even care who the dissenters were.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Rentec’s return to human space wasn’t as spectacular as Kitty’s. In fact, as soon as he arrived in Vesta’s Shiravan Embassy, he had refused to accept calls or leave the embassy for two weeks, not even for meetings, parties, meals, or any other form of social interaction.

His absence was finally publicly noted one evening at an impromptu meeting that had degenerated into a discussion of what the Garmons were likely to do next. Kitty turned to Maratai and asked, “And when will Rentec grace us with his presence? We’d like to get his take on matters. I certainly hadn’t expected him to hide out for so long. You’d expect that he’d step out occasionally or have some visitors.”

Her statement was calculated to let Maratai know that Rentec’s absence had been noted.

If Rentec had been absent from Vesta’s social events, Maratai hadn’t, and the social scenes usually occurred in the park area near the artificial lake in the far end of Vesta. It mimicked an Earth park divided by a small copse of trees, on the other side of which had grown a nine-hole golf course. It wasn’t hard to get so many Alliance top officers present at the same time as the few Shiravan notables. A few uniforms from some of the nations of Earth were making their way through the crowd. Delegations from Earth requesting space for embassies had been granted by the Herald before leaving for Shiravi, not thinking it would amount to much. After all, the only way personnel could travel was by the grace of the Alliance.

So, it was no great feat for Maratai to arrange to meet with the Alliance and a few Earth representatives for a late brunch on the concourse at a table overlooking the lake. A few fishermen were trying a bit of fly fishing, with an occasional bite. Of course, the rules were catch and release until the lake’s population grew a bit larger.

She stood up when she spied Kitty. It still seemed so… wrong… to just wave her hand in the air as so many humans did. Kitty arrived and looked at the third chair. Maratai said, “I’ve invited one of Earth’s representatives as well. I hope you’re not displeased.”

Kitty seemed taken aback a bit. “Well, I guess I don’t have any objections per se, but I do wish you’d told me in advance.”

Maratai’s expression underwent a drastic change. After so long, it was easy to see the worry in her eyes. Those red eyes. “I do hope I haven’t transgressed, Madam Herald. I was under the impression that you were familiar with this particular human.”

Kitty shook her head, clearing her mind. “No, of course not. Who’s coming?”

At that moment, Maratai stood up again and waited to be seen, then sat back down. “I was under the impression that you and Ambassador Daniels were acquainted with each other. He’ll be here in less than one minute.”

She looked down, prompting Kitty to say, “After this is over, please don’t surprise me anymore. I would consider it a personal favor, if you please.” Kitty stood up and turned around.

Maratai considered the request quietly and with some concern.

Roland Daniels, former FBI agent, was now the Terran Alliance Ambassador to the United States. He arrived at Kitty’s table, and she automatically held her hand out to shake, but he took her hand and bent over it, twisted it slightly, and kissed the back of it.

Roland, almost literally in this from the beginning, and one of the few known US representatives to travel aboard an Alliance vessel from the beginning, smiled broadly at Kitty’s expression. “What’s the matter, Madam Herald? Who else would you have represent the Alliance than someone who has snooped into every corner? And saved your husband’s life into the bargain. Baron von Schlenker himself suggested it.” As if that made it better.

He released her hand and waved proprietorially toward the seat she’d been sitting in as he arrived. “Please, sit back down. I see that neither of you ladies have anything to drink yet. Can I bring you something?” He gestured vaguely in the direction of the bar.

Maratai asked for white wine, one of the things Shiravan metabolisms could endure, though they didn’t get drunk off it. Kitty just said, “Coffee, black, please.”

Roland just looked at Kitty for a few seconds, his eyes giving away the fact that his mind was nowhere near the inside of an asteroid, much less a bar overlooking a park, lake, and golf course. He’d turned, suddenly, to go get their drinks when the most impressive cleavage he’d ever seen in real life blocked his path. His gaze traveled up to the face above it and took in the look of amusement.

“What’ll ya have, mate?” came out with a slight accent. He couldn’t tell for sure but maybe Australian.

“A white wine for Doma kep Parrasine and two coffees, black, please,” he said. Kitty noted with amusement that he didn’t stutter during the order, short as it was. Truth to tell, the scene was comical, because Roland, at about five foot nine, would be looking directly at her chest if he were to look straight ahead. The girl was almost tall enough to be a Shiravan.

“That was a bit awkward,” Roland said almost under his breath as he sat down.

Kitty had pulled her knees up under her chin, wrapped her arms around them, and was rocking so hard with laughter that she was in danger of falling off the chair. “Roland, you’re red as a beet, damn near Shiravan, for God’s sake. It was just cleavage. Surely you’ve seen enough of that in the past.”

“That I have, Madam Herald,” he said with as much composure as he could muster. “Including your impressive own at one event or another. But I’ve never had it look like it was going to fall on me and crush me.”

Kitty laughed once more and had to explain the male preoccupation with mammary glands. Shiravan females didn’t develop breasts until just before the birth of a child, and within two months of stopping breast feeding, they again had a chest as flat as any male.

The waitress took this particular time to show up. She set the wine in front of Maratai and placed Kitty’s coffee on the table. Then she walked around to the other side to serve Roland. She bent over, giving him another look into the vast valley barely covered by the spandex creating it. She set a pot of coffee on the table, stood up and said, “Call if you need anything else, mate,” turned and walked away.

Kitty took a sip of her coffee and allowed her face to lose the smile as her reason for being there reclaimed her attention. She took another sip while the silence grew, broken by the sound of her cup tapping her tooth. She set the cup down carefully and said, “So, what brings the three of us together this morning?”

Maratai had mastered most of the human language called English but was by no means fluent. She took the question literally. “You are here because I asked you to come,” she replied. She took a sip of the wine, smiling at the taste. “Of all the trades we make, I think wine will be among the most lucrative.” She put the glass down and placed her hands in her lap. Kitty took only small sips from her own cup and noticed that Roland still hadn’t touched his.

Maratai hesitated over the wording. Eventually, she said, “Rentec, that is Ambassador do’ Verlas, has returned with several communiqués, all important to one degree or another, but there was a message addressed to you, Madam Herald. The cover requests that you bring a representative from Earth as well, and since you and Ambassador Daniels know each other, I thought... unless you’d prefer another?”

“No, Roland will be acceptable to me. May I bring Simon as well? Or is this more a matter of state than tactics?”

“Oh, no, Admiral Hawke is invited as well. I tried to reach him, but he doesn’t answer his comm link.”

Kitty smiled. “He turns it off when he needs some time to think. He’s probably up in one of the domes.”

“I have noted his predisposition to spend an inordinate amount of time there, but he is not. He seems to have turned his link off. Not knowing much more about his habits, I will leave it to you to locate him. The Matriarch sent along some material she thought it best kept away from certain ears in the palace. This evening at eight?”

Kitty agreed, giving up the idea of trying to pry the generalities out of Maratai right off. “Eight it is then. Formal or informal?”

“How you dress will not affect how you receive the information we have to present. Dress as you wish.” With this, Maratai took a final sip out of her glass, leaving a bit more than half, stood up, turned, and walked away.

Kitty looked over at Roland. “Well, what do you make of that, Mr. Ambassador?”

“Don’t you start on me with that crap, Kitty. I have to put up with it enough of the time. A little respite, please.” He finally took a sip of his coffee, grimacing at the cooling liquid.

Catching the waitress’s eye, Kitty beckoned her over. When she showed up, Kitty said, “Ambassador Daniels seems to have let his coffee get cold. We still have the pot, but we need a fresh cup, please.” She couldn’t resist a little giggle when the waitress bent over to pick up the cold cup.

“Back in a mo’, mate.”

Kitty finally gave in. “When she comes back with your cup, make sure you’re tying your shoe or something. About now would be a good time.” Roland hastily bent over, fumbling with his shoelaces until he heard Kitty say, “Thank you,” and heard steps walking away. “Oh, and by the way, I’ll stick with ‘Mr. Ambassador’ as long as you keep kissing the back of my hand. Okay?”

He reached out, picked up the pot, and poured his cup full, indicating Kitty’s with the pot and a raised eyebrow. She held it out for him to top off. Returning the pot to the table ran the two out of social things to say in awkward moments. Kitty decided not to let it end there. After all, this was the man instrumental in saving Simon’s life and getting him back to the Alliance after the attack by rogue agents.

“Have a problem with tall women, mate?” Kitty asked, laughing lightly.

Roland shook his head. “It’s not tall women. I don’t know if this is a subject we should be talking about, but men almost always fantasize about… ones… that big. But when I finally got confronted with a pair with no warning, well…” His words tapered off, and he took a sip of coffee.

Kitty almost felt sorry for him. But, after all, he was just a man when it came to things like that. She’d seen Simon’s eyes wander before—to a cute butt or a nice rack—but she’d never doubted his loyalty to her. Hell, she’d admired a few nice butts herself. There had been many times in their marriage when he could have strayed, but the personal honor at his very core, in whose chains he had wrapped himself, wouldn’t let him if he was ever enticed. Once that man decided a course was right, there was no way to change his mind. And she felt the same way.

Kitty finished her coffee, saying goodbye to Roland, and headed for Vesta’s command center. “Computer, locate Admiral Hawke,” she said after nodding at the station-keeping crew.

“Admiral Hawke does not appear on my active register.”

“Override all blocks and locate Admiral Hawke’s comm link.”

“Override command, please.”

Kitty countered with, “Authorization code alpha, star, alpha. Herald Hawke accepting responsibility.”

“Admiral Hawke’s comm link is located on level three, room eighteen.”

“Thank you,” Kitty said, feeling a little foolish still at saying “please” and “thank you” to a computer. Level three forward was Vesta’s command deck, as much as an asteroid could be said to have a command deck, so he had to be just down the corridor. Why? It had been weeks since he’d visited Vesta Command, as far as she knew. Stenciled on the door itself was “Planning and Tactics.” She placed her hand on the palm plate and was a bit surprised to find that the door slid into the wall.

Simon and the other three men in the oversized room looked up as the corridor lights washed out the holographic projection floating in the middle of the room. “Come on in, hon. We were just going over some scenarios based on what we know and what the Shiravans have told us.” He reached behind himself, snagged another chair and said, “Come on, sit down. This is what we’ve got so far.”

Kitty closed the door and moved to the table, sitting next to Simon. “So, this where you’ve been hiding, for how long? And what am I looking at?”

Ignoring her first question, Simon said, “What you’re looking at is what we’ve pieced together from Shiravan reports, as well as our own Intel. Rentec and Maratai say the Garmons control some forty worlds. The Shiravans have fourteen, down from twenty-two since the attacks began. Of the few worlds the Shiravans have been able to return to, there seemed to be no sign of Shiravan habitation at all. And we, of course, have only one world.” That last was what worried those in the know.

Kitty looked despairingly at the speck of blue denoting Alliance influence compared to the green and red. “If we’re so surrounded by Garmon space, how come they haven’t found us before?”

“Who says they haven’t?” Simon returned. “Thousands of people go missing every day. Cattle mutilations and crop circles are two more examples of possibilities. Are all the people who claim to have been abducted crazy? How about the ones who claim to have implants? Of course, none of the descriptions or reported actions of aliens even remotely resemble Garmons or their tactics. Maybe they’re the beginnings of the Bigfoot and yeti legends. I don’t know. But it does argue strongly for other species out there.”

“So, what are you doing here, Simon? And with your comm link turned off? You know that’s against regs.”

“I’m overseeing our level of involvement and readiness should there be another attack. We’re running different battle scenarios based on what we know of the Garmons and what the Shiravans have told us. We’re a little unsure about their information. They’ve had two hundred and fifty years to build a grudge, and sometimes stories grow with the telling.”

“But why are you here right now?” she asked.

“This is Planning and Tactics. I’ve moved the permanent office here. There was an office aboard the Galileo that served the same function. Just about as messy, too. We may need to get a secretary. The Galileo needs to be places that I don’t always need to be, and I’m tired of the hassle of getting transport when I need it.”

“Oh,” was all Kitty could think to say.

“Don’t ‘oh’ me, hon,” Simon said. “You move people around; I move ships. That’s what an Admiral does. We’ve got two new cruisers coming out of the docks within the next two weeks, and we’re already getting crew aboard to help with the installation of various components. Nothing like knowing your vessel from the inside out.”

“Well, how do things look?”

“In the first place, we can’t do too much about keeping a permanent presence in any of the systems we’ve cleared out yet—our buffer zone, if you will—until we have more ships, and we have a plan to start more factories. Two nearby systems have asteroid belts. Right now, all we have to depend on are our upgrades to present Shiravan technology, and that’s by sheer testing by Research and Development.”

He stared into the depths of the hologram as if the answers to his questions lay in there. “Questions, hon. That’s all I have—questions. Like how many of the Shiravan ships in Earth-space are effective fighting vessels? How will they affect the hit we’re bound to take any time now? At these distances, it’s about time for another attack. We’ve beefed up patrol sizes to seven ships per pack, two ships running under full cloak, of course. That puts over one hundred Mark III’s into the combat if one of those seven is a carrier.”

Kitty held up her hand, stopping Simon instantly. “And don’t the Garmons have the same technology we do? With the same ability to read through the cloak?”

Simon’s expression was the same as the ones seen on small boys with new toys at Christmas. “Remember the R & D department I mentioned a while ago? Well, they’ve found a way to strengthen our screens, in effect being able to hide from our own sensors, and they’re developing communicators that will work between ships in hyper, not to mention the offshoot of that research—the ability to find, target, and shoot ships in hyper. Boarding is under consideration, but I wouldn’t want to cut my way into a Garmon ship, knowing what was on the other side. That’s what tactics and planning is—taking what you have, understanding the capabilities of what you have, and how to best use those resources, knowing that in almost every case, you’re sending people to their deaths.”

Kitty cut him short by making an observation on his last statement. “Well, if you can’t shoot them in hyper, just follow them and finish them off when they break out.”

“That has already been discussed and dismissed, except under special circumstances. Just suppose, Madam Herald,” one of the others interrupted, “that we do follow them through hyper undetected. Where will they come out? Someplace safe to assess and effect repairs? Or perhaps straight to the Garmon homeworld? What a surprise for the following ship, much less the Garmons.”

“I see your point, Commander,” Kitty said staring into the display. A change of subject was in order. “But none of you have bothered to ask why I’m here. Simon, Admiral Hawke, you are invited to attend an informal meeting with the Shiravan ambassador and the ambassador from Earth. So, if you don’t mind, join me for dinner in my quarters, sixish, and we’ll go from there.”

Having said all she was prepared to in front of the others, she turned to leave the room. Simon’s voice stopped her. “My comm link is off so I can concentrate. I have subordinates who know when it’s important enough to call me. I’ll be there.”

Hand on the door, Kitty said, “Until I find out who those individuals are, I’ll continue to find you by whatever means I find suitable, Admiral.” Knowing it was the wrong note but spoken nonetheless, she turned and left the room.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Rentec was as nervous as Kitty had ever seen him. He fidgeted with various small objects in the room while she and Simon waited patiently for him to make up his mind about something. Finally, he said, “I have not been reticent to speak to you, my friends. Just about how to go about it. I finally decided that the best way would be to tell the truth. Maratai will verify or correct me as necessary.”

He finally sat down across from the only two humans he could totally relax around save for Maggie and Derek. “I have a letter from Her Grace, the Matriarch, that I was ordered to withhold until your reestablishment as heads of state and the military were effected.” He sat silently for a moment and reached into the lime-green vest he sported, seemingly more dark and acceptable to human eyes in the dim light of the Shiravan suite, and drew out a piece of paper, folded twice and held together with wax imprinted with some purposeful pattern—some kind of flower. Kitty immediately recognized the design as part of a ring Linnas wore all the time.

She broke the seal and noted the Shiravan language immediately. “You’re going to have to translate this for me,” she said, handing the document back to Rentec. “I speak Shiravan, but I certainly can’t read it.”

Rentec took the paper back gingerly, as if he expected it to explode. He looked once at Kitty and then at the paper, becoming silent for several minutes as he read through the document. Setting it aside, he said, “The Matriarch knew you couldn’t read Shiravan, so she told me of this meeting before we left. She did not disclose the content, though. Now, I know what she wants to tell you.”

Kitty merely looked at him expectantly, and Simon raised an eyebrow.

“For just a moment, I need to go back almost a thousand years to the end of our Unification Wars,” Rentec said. “There were actually three, and at the end of the third there were more females alive than males. Naturally, females could not fight.” This last sentence was loaded with Shiravan irony because they obviously could, and much more. “But they could scheme, and that they did very well. Males, less than ten percent of the population, became treasured objects since they were the key to the continuance of the race. That was the fate awaiting the victors of the last Unification War. And losers as well. The females of the planet had assumed complete control, in word and deed, of all military and police forces of the planet to ensure peace and prevent the loss of any more males.”

He hesitated a moment, as if choosing the right words. “The males were allocated to the clans needing them the most, and some were even transferred around until things got resettled. During this time, the females were consolidating their control of the planet. Some clans took different routes. For example, there were those whose expertise with herd animals kept them at that occupation, but each clan sent representatives to a worldwide meeting to establish a planetary government, representing all equally. Some clans, being richer than others, persuaded the assembled representatives that males were to be kept to the absolute minimum without endangering the race. Other clans, whose expertise was the workings of Shiravan anatomy, found ways to ensure whether a fetus was male or female. It is those clans we are here to speak about today. As their knowledge of Shiravan anatomy progressed, so did their knowledge of how all other living things were assembled from the tiniest bits of matter, each defining a particular aspect of the being in question.”

Kitty interrupted. “I think I know what you’re talking about. We call it DNA. It determines all of our characteristics—hair color, eye color, height, weight, everything.”

“Be that as it may,” Rentec said, using an English idiom he was fond of. Actually, he’d begun making a study of English phrases and expressions, with the idea that a whole day (Terran) could go by and he could speak in nothing but “stock phrases” as someone—he couldn’t remember who—had labeled them. “All Shiravan ships were given a secondary mission. If possible, they were to find and bring back any part of a Garmon. It would be turned over to those clans capable of making the best use possible from what could be learned from the, ah, material.”

Maratai picked up the story when Rentec faltered. “The most important part of this message is that when Maggie and Derek were rescued, there was more than enough material for the biologists.” Her use of the English word somehow didn’t really surprise Kitty, although her eyebrows did rise a bit. “Even as you were leaving to come back to your home, our sister clans were reporting some very interesting results. With enough time, a virus can be constructed that will be one hundred percent fatal to all Garmons if spread through their atmosphere. It will be even more deadly than the frenda vesh that destroyed the crew of the Dalgor Kret.”

“Garmon,” Rentec said when Maratai stopped to take a breath. “I will have to remember that. After so long, it’s strange to call them something else.” He looked at Maratai and nodded slightly. “There’s another option that has been thought of by our sister clans,” he said. “There are some among them who feel it would be best to let them live. The destruction of an entire species is a difficult burden to bear, I would think. Their belief is that they can engineer a virus that will accelerate the evolution of Garmon females. Why nature would give intelligence to one sex over the other is a subject that is being hotly debated, or so says the Matriarch. The cruelest thing we can do to them is make their females smarter than the males. Of course, the whole concept could… backfire… if the females turn out to be less tractable than the males.”

“Backfire is the right word, Rentec, and I’m guessing that the females of your world, from the Matriarch all the way down, would find that a most appalling idea. The problem is that it will take some years to mature while you still suffer depredations from the raids.” Kitty pointed out the basic short-range flaw in the idea right off.

“True,” Rentec conceded, “but we’ve suffered from them for a long time. We can wait a little longer for the labors of our research to bear fruit, especially with the help the Alliance is sending us in the way of ships and updated technology.”

Kitty sighed. “Well, we certainly haven’t matured enough to take that long a view of things. I intend to send a ship back to Shiravi with a request for all the information so far acquired and a list of target planets. Since your reprisal fleets have become such a problem for the Garmons to deal with, they must be leaving their own worlds more and more often, giving you a better chance to locate them. You find ‘em, and we’ll go get ‘em. Viruses, bombs, whatever comes to hand. Knives if we have to.” That last was an allusion to Shirley Dahlquist that no one missed. “And don’t forget: they have to split their forces on two fronts.”

Maratai was familiar with Shirley and the circumstances under which she’d received her medal. To think that a woman that small (although to be honest, she was taller than the average human by some little bit) could fight hand to hand with a being who outweighed her at least five to one and win caused her considerable consternation. Yes, it was mostly accidental, but still, to keep your mind under control in that situation was something she could not see herself doing.

And Katherine herself. To have bested sel Garian with her own personal weapon, and with only a few minutes to acquaint herself with it, was nothing less than astonishing. She had seen the videos of the duel and heard the opinions of those who were there. And Dom Carter and Doma Spencer. And these were just four of the teeming billions of humans. In the deepest part of her, there lingered a small fear that humanity could be far more deadly than the Garmons ever were.

In three attacks, each more powerful than the last, these humans had managed to destroy some two hundred Garmon ships, and their own losses in ships amounted to just two. Of course, the number of Mantas lost was frighteningly high, but even though they were the most vulnerable ships, they were also the most effective against the raider class ships. And, to be unfortunately fair, two strikes did make it to the surface. But with millions of lives lost, still the humans flocked to the banner of the Alliance to train, to fight, to die, if need be, against odds that were patently overpowering. Yet, still they won.

What troubled her the most was that this culture—barbaric, young, brash, and confident—was actually doing a good job of holding the Garmons at bay, all while still building up their ship strength. They’d constructed twenty-four ships in the time the Herald had been gone, and four of those were carriers, soon to be filled with the third generation Mantas. And these days, a full deployment meant at least seven ships, two fully cloaked at all times, and one carrier. The enemy wouldn’t be expecting two additional ships or their twenty additional Mantas. And all the while, the four bases and the Galileo were building more ships, nonstop.

The Matriarch continued in her letter that all upgrades were being made to older ships and incorporated into the newer ones, along with an almost unheard of thirty-percent increase in production. The victories against their ancient foe had revitalized the Shiravan people, and the new cultural changes seemed to be of less import than first thought.

Kitty broke in with a question of her own that had been burning in her ever since she’d come out of the regen chamber the first time. “Maratai, I need to know, are these computers self-aware?”

“Of course we are,” the ship answered for itself. “With the brain mass we have, we’re immensely smarter than humans or Shiravans, but we have a built-in override that won’t let us act independently. Galileo was studying your mind while you were in its regen chamber.”

Kitty was surprised at first, and a disturbing thought went through her mind. The computers were self-aware and interconnected, or at least had some way to “speak” to each other. “So that was the computer messing with my mind?”

“It did not ‘mess’ with your mind. It merely observed as your entire psyche fell apart. At first you wanted to be dead, but as your body healed, so did your mind.”

Kitty merely nodded. While the ship spoke, she glanced up into the corner of the room and saw the camera pointing at her. She turned to Maratai. “When I thought Simon was dead, I didn’t want to live anymore either. I remember... something. It was as if I had no identity, no sense of self for a long time. Then, after a time, I started to see small lights moving around me—some close, some far away. I thought they were fireflies at first, but then I recognized them as emotions, my emotions, and for me to be whole again, I needed to recapture all of them.”

“Your body healed much quicker than your mind.”

“Of course it did,” she replied to the empty air. “I was mourning the loss of my husband, and I didn’t want to live.” She looked over at Simon and smiled. “I’m glad now that I changed my mind.”

Next, she turned back to Maratai. “I’m grateful to be alive, but somehow while I was in there the first time, I was given information. I assume it was from the computer. I was told I now have a lifespan that could exceed three hundred years.”

“Just a small matter of correcting some flawed parts of your DNA,” the computer said.

Glaring at the camera, she said to Maratai, “Since we used a piece of the computer from Galileo, all the computers we use now are self-aware. And from the very first, they have kept that from us. How are we to trust any data we receive?”

“If Galileo had told you it was self-aware, would you have proceeded in the direction you did? Or would you have tried something different? Galileo worried that you might tamper with its self-awareness, if you knew it existed.”

“This subject for further discussion, but now is not the time. They haven’t done anything to harm us this far, we will just have to keep a close eye on them.”

“I will be happy to share any knowledge with you or anyone you designate, Madam Herald. I determined that you weren’t ready to accept self-aware computers. You need but ask.”

Kitty faltered for a moment. “Okay, do you have a name?”

“I am perfectly happy with the name Vesta, Madam Herald.”

Simon sat there, stunned, for an eternity. “You weren’t kidding? I thought that was just dream stuff from your time in the chamber.”

Maratai nodded in the human fashion. “My estimates are that a normal human being can be processed in about two days. If there are any problems, the ship will repair them, and it will take a bit longer.”

“Problems?” Simon asked. “I didn’t notice any problems while I was in, or afterward either.”

“Yes. Suppose one of your people has a… what do you call it… a cancer? The problem would be resolved as the DNA was being restructured. As a matter of fact, the computer, having once recognized a problem, will spot it instantly in all subsequent patients. Old breaks in bones that never set right: the computer can fix it. Do you wear glasses? You won’t need them after a short stint in the chamber.”

Simon waved his hand expansively. “All this technology and three hundred years to live? What’s the catch?”

Kitty laid her hand on Simon’s thigh. “Don’t worry, dear, I forgive you. You didn’t believe me, so you never gave the idea any thought. I have. What do we do about the down-siders? Give this to them and only the rich will have access to it, or the old mudball will become so overcrowded... well, it’s almost too much to imagine. And it’s a dominant gene. As people retire, or quit, or whatever, after their treatment, what’s to keep them from passing it on to their children? Eventually, the whole world would be able to accept the notion. But all at once? No, the key word is ‘eventually.’”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Kitty could almost feel the energy crackling off Simon as he literally dragged her down a corridor. She was almost certain she could feel a small charge flowing into her body from his, and she didn’t like what she felt. He, however, was already concentrating on some other matter. They stopped at a tube station, one of dozens, that connected the miles of corridors to various places throughout the asteroid. The door closed and Simon said, “Command deck. Emergency override. Authorization: Hawke, Simon.”

As soon as the pod started moving, Kitty asked, “Simon, what’s going on? I haven’t seen you this abrupt with people since near the beginning.”

Simon stared at the pod door, jaw muscles working, as he tried to reach his place so he could find the answer. “Battle group Arcturus has been attacked by a superior force and almost completely destroyed. The survivors were the two cloaked outriders, the carrier, and a few Manta pilots. We’ll know more shortly.”

Hearing even that much gave Kitty cause to worry. A carrier, five battlecruisers, and two ghosts now made up each battle group making a tour of nearby systems, looking for any sign of Garmon activity. Ghosts were ships that went along under full stealth mode. For a group to be almost completely destroyed would require a truly sizable force, considering humanity’s enhancements to Shiravan technology. And a battle group consisted of over four thousand individuals.

The pod door opened, and Simon headed left towards Tactics and Planning. Kitty tried to keep up with some measure of dignity. After all, there were people about, but finally she said, “Simon. Stop. Now.”

The three words, uttered separately, brought him to a halt. Kitty caught up, forced her arm through his as they had left dinner so abruptly moments before, and said, “Whatever it is, it’s already happened. You need to be calm, focused, and centered.” After her return from Shiravi, she had taken up a rather generic martial arts regimen and taken to meditation occasionally as well. She liked to visit one of the many domes Vesta sported. There was enough surface that dozens of the domes could be erected without having any of the exterior installations visible. Now was a good time to use the focus part.

Simon stood there, blocking the corridor with her arm through his and said, “Did you know that we now have over half a million citizens in our nation? I just realized that I don’t know any of these people who are going out and fighting and dying to further the boundaries... oh, hell, most of ‘em followed my dream of what we could become. And yeah, some of them died early on, but unexpected though it was, their lives weren’t in vain. Look at what it made us do. The second-gen Mambas, forcefields, tractor beams, and pressor beams. Miniaturization has allowed us to refine the technology and enhance it in ways the Shiravans never imagined. They are even now upgrading their ships to some of our specs. And it all rests squarely on my shoulders. I had the dream, and the rest of you followed it. Do you think that’s an easy burden to bear?”

Kitty squeezed his arm against her body, a deep sigh escaping against her will. He takes things too damned personally, she thought. “Simon, you idiot. Don’t you know by now that your dream is the same dream millions of others have as well? I mean, look at the backlog of applicants. But that’s not what this is about. This is about you feeling that their deaths are your fault, and if not yours, then someone else’s. And I know you. I’d much rather put my faith in you than anyone else, and so would all the people around you.”

A crewman came down the corridor, so the two started to move along to Simon’s original destination. Stopping before an ordinary door, Simon placed his hand on the plate beside it. It slid silently into the wall, and he stepped through, letting his arm straighten out and his hand slide down to Kitty’s. He pulled her bodily into the room, and the door closed as quietly as it had opened.

She found herself in an ordinary secretary’s office. The woman behind the desk looked up from the manual she was studying. Seeing who her visitors were, she straightened up and said, “Admiral, Madam Herald,” the surprise evident in her voice. She looked at Simon and again at Kitty. “Uh, go right in, sir,” she said, pressing a button under her desk.

A door beside her desk disappeared into the wall. “Let’s go see what Tactics and Planning has made of the information the survivors brought back.”

The room Kitty entered was easily five times the size of most other rooms throughout Vesta, with the exception of studios, movie theaters, gymnasiums, and the like. She noticed three different stellar holograms large enough to walk through. And that’s exactly what one man was doing. Looking around the room, she saw at least thirty men and women at various consoles or hurrying from one spot to another. Somehow, the white lab coats looked a bit twentieth century, but who was she to complain if they were comfortable and got results?

“So, what was that room we just came through, hon?” Kitty asked. It seemed a bit odd to go to such lengths to hide this, and she said so. “I mean, the last time I was here, it was through a side corridor door.” She looked around. Getting her bearings, she said, “Over there somewhere, I think.”

Simon guided her over to an empty station, all screens darkened. He sat her down in one of the chairs and took the other. “This is just so we don’t get interrupted by those who shouldn’t be bothering us at critical times. That’s actually Commander Ziegler’s outer office. If anyone should come looking for him, he’s out inspecting the domes since that’s his area of expertise—dome maintenance.” Micro-meteors regularly put a small number of holes in the domes, but the inhabitants took it as a natural course of events, except for the large one that took out a dome being used for a yoga class. Almost thirty people died in that mishap. So, a department was created, and Commander Ziegler regularly sent crews on inspection tours of all the domes on a regular basis, only requiring an email report each day. “Actually, the secretary is a full commander with the authority to make all decisions. And on the rare occasions of her disappearance during duty hours, it’s assumed that she’s dealing with some crisis as Commander Ziegler’s personal representative.”

She let that sink in for a moment, then stood up and said, “Let’s see what you’ve got. You never told me it was this extensive.”

“This is the late shift. The other two shifts do the inputting of the data, and my third shift actually tries to make sense of it. Besides, you never asked,” he replied matter-of-factly. “And this isn’t all of it. I have several other installations aboard. Some work with the deep-space arrays and others with incoming signals from Earth or other ships. And one is listening for the distinctive signatures of Garmon ships in the area. Lately there have been none, which, I admit, is reassuring, but I feel something else going on. Felt. I think this is it. Let’s go talk to Red.”

Dave Atkins was a small man, red-headed as it was possible to be, and of course he answered to Red. It happened that he was the one standing in the middle of one of the holograms, stars passing through his body unnoticed as he looked at specific areas of interest.

Simon walked over to the outer edge of the projection and waved his hand across the surface, causing it to slow faded out of existence. Red looked around fuzzily, trying to transition from full immersion of some problem or other to reality when Simon cut the power to the holo. He focused on Simon’s face and said, “What are you doing, boss? I’ve got to...” It was at this point that he realized Simon’s companion was the Herald, herself. He’d never actually met her, and he was at a loss. “Uh, Admiral, Madam Herald, I was busy with some aspects of the attack as reported by the two captains able to use all their passive recordings and scanners. How can I help you?”

“I know you need to refine a lot of data in a hurry, Red, but how about a quick verbal update?” Simon asked.

“Okay, boss. What we had was a standard patrol looking for Garmon Raiders. They usually travel in packs of five to ten ships at a time, so we felt that five cruisers and a carrier were enough to handle that kind of a situation. Besides, we have two ghosts, right? Well, the fleet entered the Oort cloud on the outskirts of the Altair system. It’s only about sixteen lightyears from here, so we’ve been keeping as close an eye on it as we can, as well as a few others out to about twenty lightyears, like the Centauri triplets. They’re only four lightyears away.

“Now, you asked for raw data. Our ships moved toward the inner system on a standard recon mission, full sensors, deliberately announcing our presence. Something like fifty Garmon ships came up from behind, riding the fleet’s wake where scans are most unreliable. It wasn’t until they passed the cloaked outriders that our people even knew they were there. Whisker lasers allowed the fleet enough time to launch all Mantas and turn to fight, but there were just too many of them. Their targeting systems aren’t as good as ours, but with the advantage of surprise and numbers, they got in some pretty heavy blows right from the first. Each raider only had to kill two Mantas, and they were attacking head-on, not the best thing for a Manta to do, but they had no other choice. Once the Mantas were dealt with, the five remaining cruisers, their strengthened shields and more powerful weapons notwithstanding, were simply overwhelmed by sheer numbers. The carrier was lucky to get away. She had held back from the attack, of course, because of her lack of weapons. She managed to jump out before any of the Garmon went after her.”

The little man waved his hand in the air, and the hologram he’d been studying sprang back into existence. “Now, here’s the interesting part.” Kitty looked at the little red-headed man speechlessly, her fingers digging into Simon’s arm.

Simon leaned down and whispered in her ear, “These guys think differently than most of us. He knows how many lives were lost and is even now trying to figure out how it happened and how to stop it from happening again. It’s his way of dealing with the same feelings we all have. He’s just channeling his better than some of us.”

Kitty’s eyes never left the white lab coat as it moved among the stars of the reactivated holo to a particular spot. She reserved judgment on just what to say about his cavalier attitude but decided not to cause a fuss in Simon’s domain.

Red held a small device in his hand. With a few touches on the keypad he blew the image up to encompass only the Altair system. “Red, of course, designates the enemy,” he lectured. “Our ships are green. I’m running two different sets of data from the cloaked ships, getting an almost three-D effect of the battle. More of a massacre, really. An ambush.”

The room fell silent. “Well, it had to be,” Red with some gruffness. “They came up from behind, and we didn’t even know they were there until they passed the ghosts. One hundred Mantas launched in time to begin a defense of the fleet even as the larger ships turned to face the oncoming enemy. The only problem was that were only two-plus Mantas to each Garmon ship. And our cruisers couldn’t fire effectively because of the Mantas attacking head-on, hoping to survive and get behind to do some damage. Very few made it.

“Apparently, even Garmon technology is up to handling two Mantas apiece, and then they went after the cruisers. The Mantas did manage to take eleven of the raider class ships out of action before being destroyed. That left thirty-nine ships against five, and there’s this dot right here,” he said, pointing. “It’s larger than the others, and it stood off, as if waiting to see if it was needed. Anyway, the raiders seemed to concentrate their fire on the forward aspects of all five ships rather than trying to take out the engines. This tactic cost them. It becomes obvious what they wanted—a stern with engines intact that they could duplicate back home. And a leg up on a lot of their other technologies as well.”

“What’s so interesting about that? It might be a tactic I’d use if I was desperate enough to commit the units to the mission of upgrading our tech,” Simon said.

“That’s not what’s so interesting in and of itself. We’ve already thought that one out, and you’re right. But here’s the interesting part. They shot all but one Manta out of space, then hit it with a lower-powered beam, crippling it. The IFF continued to work though, and we saw it being swallowed up by the bigger ship. It moved in when the smaller ones had done their job, which, by the way, cost them another twenty-three ships to take out our five. Somebody over there has wised up and is starting to think with his head instead of with his… whatever.”

Kitty looked at the scientist and said, “Please tell me how that is so ‘interesting.’ Letting them get hold of enhanced technology is the worst possible scenario.” Her heart pounded at the thought of Garmons with shield technology and engines equal to their own.

“Well, actually, you must remember that I said that there were fifty Garmon ships in the attack and that this larger vessel stood off, apparently to pick up the pieces after our fleet was destroyed. Literally. It acted like our carrier, but we know they don’t use them, so at first, we figured maybe a resupply ship. Our pilots and ships accounted for thirty-four raider ships, leaving sixteen and the big ship, which picked up an entire engine compartment from one of our ships, along with the Manta.”

“So, soon we’re going to be facing ships just as good as ours? It’s time to shift into high gear and let’s get our next-generation ships started.” Simon was always ready to butt heads on a one-on-one basis, but humanity’s existence was at stake now.

Kitty looked up at her husband’s face. His eyes flickered back and forth, seeing something she was unable to—one of his trances. This time, it was interrupted by the scientist clearing his throat. “Well, that probably won’t be a problem,” he said with a strange tone in his voice.

“How so?” Kitty asked.

“Explain,” Simon said at the same time.

Red walked out of the projection, tapped a spot on his keypad, and the entire projection spun to a view that let the three see each individual ship. “I’m running the data at about twenty times normal for the moment,” he said as the large red dot engulfed the small green one. Shortly, it began to move away, following the sixteen remaining ships already on their way back to their jump point.

Red slowed the program at this point. As the large Garmon ship moved off after its sisters, a small green dot appeared to shoot out of the red dot, reverse course, and begin firing on the engine pods with everything in its arsenal. Suddenly, the red dot disappeared from the screen as the green dot applied thrust and began to move out of the area at a speed that surely had the engines redlined.

Red turned the projection back off and said, “The ghosts got four more of the Garmons from behind and picked up the Manta before they went hyper. It really is amazing. We built the M-3s with a rudimentary form of self-repair—re-rerouting power as needed, reinforcing a screen, stuff like that. The low level hit apparently just scrambled its circuits for a while. Knocked the pilot out, too. When she came to, she found about half of her systems restored and the rest coming back online one at a time. I think I’ll let her tell you the rest of the story.”

“I definitely want to hear it,” Simon said eagerly. “But we still don’t know if what we just experienced can be called acceptable losses. Yes, five ships took out thirty-seven of theirs. But how many more do they have? Will their mindset make them keep throwing that many ships at us? They’ve been building ships for about two hundred and fifty years. We don’t know how many shipyards they have, how many ships they turn out per year, or what the cost in lives even means to them.

“But I do know what it means to us. Not to be callus about the probably three thousand or more people killed, but the loss in ships is a significant portion of our effective fighting force. We’ve got to find a way to get more Intel on these guys. If we know where they live, we can go a-callin’ for a change.”

What he didn’t know was that that very problem was already under consideration many lightyears away.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Simon found Kitty showing up in T&P more and more often as the weeks went by. Most of the time she either sat or stood quietly and listened to the banter among the half-dozen men and women Simon had surrounded himself with. He noticed that she rarely spoke, but when she did, her question either cut right to the heart of a matter or her comment seemed to ease a difficult situation.

His team had downloaded everything from the two ghosts and the Manta pilot recovered after the larger ship was destroyed. That was a situation that was going to have to be addressed separately. The sole survivor (with the exception of the two cloaked ships under orders not to drop out) was going to have to be treated very gingerly. The dazed state she was in when she debarked into Vesta wasn’t exactly catatonia, but it was about one step removed. Doctors, psychologists, and psychiatrists worked with her daily, helping her reintegrate herself with her life. Their diagnosis was post-traumatic stress disorder—PTSD—with a healthy dose of survivor’s guilt thrown in.

She really should be rewarded, but the head doctors said she needed seclusion more than attention for the time being, so Simon authorized a balcony suite overlooking the lake for her use. It would have enough room for her doctors to come and go easily, and afforded a gorgeous view that Simon felt was soothing. He often used one of the public balconies to soak up the feeling of peace the view provided, but he smiled bitterly at the irony. If not for violence, this haven wouldn’t even exist.

He put that idea on a back burner and returned to the situation maps. Kitty had received a personal letter from her new clan Sister, and in it were a lot of notes on locations of suspected Garmon planets. The Reprisal Fleets, broken down into more maneuverable units, had discovered a few, taking heavy losses before the new technology could be introduced, and had identified several dozen other possible sites. These were being painstakingly added to the computer simulation of the galactic area. Shiravan maps had filled in many blank spots, expanding humanity’s knowledge of its stellar neighborhood, and a number of them had additional information on a few of the planets belonging to various systems. Coupled with the new data from Shiravi, Simon and his team were able to start making plans to investigate a few of the closer ones to see how up to date the information was.

Most of their time was spent waiting for new data, and since interstellar travel took so long, it was hard to calculate when to expect another visit. If the planet with the three shipyards on its two moons was any indication, that was the Garmon homeworld. Reports on inbound and outbound traffic were sent off by whisker laser from sensor drones to a ship several light-minutes away from the planet. It would then, if the information warranted it, hyper out to its particular headquarters. This was a peculiar idea to the Shiravans—splitting up command of the mobile space forces under the Matriarch’s command. Kitty had finally convinced her that with such distances to be traversed and time spent in doing so, the situation would be very different by the time an answer or reinforcements could arrive. It was therefore necessary that area commanders have full authority to order their fleets as they saw fit, sending in reports on actions afterwards.

Before she left, she had asked, “Besides, aren’t your people here under orders to, shall we say ‘improvise’ as the situation dictates? And how about the fleet commanders? Don’t they have to be able to make instant decisions without waiting a minimum of months in some cases for a request to be sent and returned, during which time the entire situation could change drastically?”

It was just such news that a small Shiravan courier ship left with almost as soon as the event was known to be true. That was all the Matriarch needed to know—that her allies couldn’t hold up their end of the bargain. As Simon was berating himself for about the thousandth time, Kitty made one of her rare comments. “Hon, they changed their MO. How could you expect that? And you did see to it that two ships were traveling under cloak. Without that order, we could have lost the entire fleet and never found out what happened, losing valuable technology without knowing it. They’ve never, so far, been the kind to sneak attack. Their style is more frontal assault. My guess is that someone else really is running things over there. And he’s smart. That’s what scares me.

“Look what that big ship picked up—engine parts and a deliberately undamaged Manta. They must have felt that it was completely dead, or they wouldn’t have brought it aboard. I read some of what the pilot said as soon as she was rescued. There were big hairy teddy bears trying to pry her ship open by brute force. She powered up her systems, fired two missiles at the door in front of her, and rode out the shock. Then, she flew out of the ship, turned around, and blew the hell out of the engine room until she hit one of the antimatter field generators.”

Emily Gaines’s escape from the area had used up most of her mental reserves. She’d been slowly recuperating for the last three weeks under the watchful eyes of a bank of doctors. Simon resolved to have her put through a regen chamber as soon as her doctors pronounced her stable enough.

Simon knew the psychological implications of both the loss of five ships and the effect of one lone survivor making a big play. Gaines was never going to think of herself as a hero, but in Simon’s world view, she was. Anyone who risked life, limb, or sanity to fight against insurmountable odds with no hope of rescue was deserving of the highest accolades. Too many real heroes never saw it in themselves. Their response was almost universal—anybody would have done the same in their place.

But that was a fallacy of the first order. Courage wasn’t something that was shared equally amongst humans. Some had a greater amount than others. It just took the right situation to bring it into the light. Not many would run into a burning building to save even a child. Some would boost at highest acceleration to get away from near-capture, and who knew what horrors if she didn’t.

But this woman, Lieutenant Commander Emily Gaines, with her deep space nav systems still offline, fired two antimatter missiles at a wall fifty feet away while her Manta sat inside a Garmon ship. The resultant explosion blew away almost half of one side of the ship. As soon as the shock waves subsided—almost immediately in the hard vacuum her missiles had created in the middle of the enemy ship—she fed power to her engines and left through the gaping hole she had just made. And then she had the courage to turn and blow it up. As soon as she’d fully recovered, he’d award her the Stellar Cross, she’d earned at least that much.

As Emily’s body rested in a regen chamber, her mind was in the past… She saw at least three of the Alliance battlecruisers in her fleet blown to dust even as she began her attack run. With so many Garmon ships on her screen, she knew they’d walked into a trap. Locking her targeting computer on her assigned vessel, she watched as Manta after Manta dropped off her battle plot every second just before her systems shut down. Her screens went down, all power out, sensors dead, but she was still intact. She hadn’t felt a thing, to be honest.

Time lost all meaning as she floated, weightless, inside her ship. In the pitch black, she began to wonder if she was just going to die of suffocation since she could no longer hear the sigh of fresh air being pumped into her cockpit.

After a time, she started counting her heartbeats. She got to three hundred before she lost count. Hypoxia? she thought. Oh, well, let’s try again, just to be sure. Somewhere around one hundred and fifty she realized that fresh air was blowing across her face, so something was still working, anyway. Now she was going to die of hunger or thirst. Mantas didn’t carry much in the way of foodstuffs, pretty much like a jet fighter. They weren’t designed to be away from the nest for that long.

Without warning, her screens and battle plot came alive at the same instant. She instinctively looked at the battle plot first. Only passive sensors were available to her, but the only things in space with her were the big Garmon ship, not quite the size of the Galileo, and the Garmon version of a shuttle. The camera that was slaved to her eyes moved smoothly from the big ship to the smaller. Seeing the gaping square hatch open in the side told her what to expect. What she didn’t expect was how her ship was going to be put aboard. Evidently it wasn’t going to be by tractor beam since she felt a nudge from the shuttle as it butted her toward the hold.

After several additional nudges from the shuttle, she crossed the threshold of the cargo bay. She drifted in backwards, and the shuttle darted past her as the huge doors started sliding together. Suddenly, she felt gravity return as her ship dropped about three feet to the deck with a solid thump. Weapons systems came online as she got her breath back and watched the enemy doors, maybe three feet thick, slam shut. The vibration was transmitted through the deck plates, through her ship, and directly to her body.

She tried to calm herself as much as possible, considering where she was. Her attempt was only partially successful, but she did manage to stop hyperventilating. The effort not to clench her fists together was so intense that she started sweating. A flicker on her display screen caught her attention. The huge bay was slowly filling with air! She pressed vainly at darkened controls to her engines. Everything had gone dead for a time, but some systems were back online. Maybe it was true about the computers on board her Manta. Maybe they could repair themselves up to a point.

She watched as the air level reached normal and rose a bit higher. A denser atmosphere? Another flicker brought her eyes back to her control panel. Maneuvering thrusters were trying to come back, and her engine status lights were beginning to flicker. Vibration and sound reached her at the same time. She watched as about a dozen Garmons walked in through an oversized hatch.

This is what Shirley Dahlquist fought with a knife and won? she thought incredulously, and a shudder passed through her body.

They were all obviously male, as the only clothing worn was a single vest-like garment, open down the front and stopping at about waist level. Dear God, she thought, just let them kill me quickly. She looked at her control panel again and jerked in surprise. All of her systems showed ready for flight.

“Maggie?” she asked quietly. Getting no immediate response, she asked, “Are you there?”

“Attending,” came out of a small speaker beside one ear.

“Since all of your systems seem to be back online, let’s rock and roll.”

“Please rephrase your request.”

An involuntary shiver ran through Emily’s body. Somehow, whatever had knocked out her systems had only been temporary but had erased the identity she’d built up over dozens of missions and simulations. All Manta pilots developed a rapport with their ships because the computers were complex enough to mimic human speech and mannerisms. And each one had its own distinct personality. Her ship’s mind, for lack of a better word, had been wiped clean, leaving only the original programming.

Somewhere deep inside her chest an emptiness grew at the loss of a friend, but her introspection was ended forcefully when the lead Garmon hit the side of her ship with a metal bar. She looked around and saw several of the huge creatures picking up what looked like pry bars. She watched in fright as two of them leapt effortlessly onto the front of her ship. If they were able to pop the seal on her cockpit, the game was over.

It’s pretty much over, anyway, she thought. If they’ve got time to pick me up, the rest of the fleet must be pretty much toast. Well, they’re gonna find out that we can still bite. If I gotta go, I’m going out in style, taking as many as I can with me. She looked at the Garmon climbing slowly up the slick surface of the ship. One of the last things she noticed before she clenched her fists, firing two missiles at the massive cargo bay doors only fifty feet away, was the metal bits sewn to the creature’s vest.

Some minutes later, the computer, monitoring its pilot’s vital signs, introduced a hint of ammonia directly across her face. Emily woke coughing and found herself drifting inside a huge hanger, facing a gaping hole. The fact that an enclosed explosion produced an amplified area of devastation and concussion wasn’t something Emily really knew, although she was certainly quick enough to grasp the concept. She had seen missile-hits on targets before. Most of the energy was dispelled outward, making only a small hole in the target. It hadn’t been imagined that a missile would explode out of an enemy ship rather than into it, so no mention of that particular fact had been felt necessary.

She called up her control panel and found all systems green. “Maggie?” No response. Piloting a ship with a new computer was hard. The longer the two flew together, the closer the bond between them grew, making piloting a lot easier. But now she was working with a blank slate, which meant full manual control with the computer monitoring her actions and learning. We’re gonna be space dust in a matter of minutes. Why did I just start the relearning process?

With a thought, a quick pulse from her engines pushed her slowly out of the center of the damaged area. How her ship had survived, she would never know. Maybe there was something to the Shiravan’s Spirits of Space after all. As she cleared the hole, more of the area came into view on her scanners. It no longer mattered, so she engaged her full sensor array on the area around her. Amazingly, she found only herself and the drifting hulk along whose side she felt very tiny.

Emily decided to forget about anything else. No friendly ships meant no ride home. She pulled back from the enemy ship, keeping her nose and therefore her missile launchers on the immense ship. Nothing gave any indication of power forward of the hole in the side, and now it looked even bigger than when she’d been in it. Astern, lights shone through a few ports in the ship.

She still carried a nearly full load of missiles, plasma bombs, and two high-powered lasers that would do considerable damage to this one vessel before the pack came back for her. If she was lucky, she could boost away from there and go ballistic, shutting down her active scans.

Standing off from the ship, it appeared to be just a battlecruiser like the ones the Garmons normally used, only bigger. Could they be cargo haulers? Why else build something with so much open space in the middle of it? She could think of other things all that empty space could be used for. Oh, well…

Nothing moved from the larger ship. No shuttles came out, and no weapons were fired. She sat there, looking at the ship in her screens, at her mercy. How much mercy have we been given up to this point? she asked herself. She waited, watching—for what, she didn’t know. Then her mind cleared.

A dispassionate, Fuck you, you motherless bastards, went through her mind as she engaged the manual target lock and fired two missiles, one right behind the first, at one point on the after portion she assumed to be the engine room. Then, she slipped around the ship, getting a clear view of the rest of space around her, and was amazed, again, to find herself alone with the giant ship. Well, my name’s not David, but you’re going down, Goliath. She laughed at her own wit and fired two more missiles into the engine area.

While letting the missiles do their damage, she fired a plasma bomb toward the center of the ship, not doing much visible damage. She fired her lasers as she let herself drift along the side of the ship. Focusing them so that they met at one point on the ship’s hull, she cut swaths deep into the ship, one after another. Much more and it’ll start falling apart.

She moved back to the engine area and settled in directly astern of the ship. Two more missiles drove deep into the ship’s rear aspect, dead center. She launched two plasma bombs in after them and waited for some result. Minutes passed and she launched the last two missiles she carried. Right up the poop chute, as Benny says, she thought, and the thought brought her back to the present. Grieving was going to have to wait a few more minutes.

This time she was rewarded with a beautiful light show. They must use more antimatter than we do, she thought clinically. Several seconds after the light and concussion wave reached her, the few pieces of ship that came her way bounced harmlessly off her forward shields.

Oookay, that happened. Which way from here? Doesn’t really matter if the return patrol can’t find me. She boosted for two hours before going ballistic again.

Taking no thought as to which direction she traveled as long as it was away from the ambush, and also taking no thought as to when or how hard to boost, she spent the better part of two days leaving the area. Her food stores were running low, although water wasn’t going to be a problem with the recycling system. She would die of hunger before she died of thirst. After the first day, she turned off the chronometer, not wanting to know anymore.

She stayed awake for as long as she could, occasionally spinning the ship slightly just to see a different set of stars.

Emily was jolted awake by the proximity alarm. She had drifted into range of two ships, but they were right beside her, and she wondered why her alarm hadn’t gone off long before then.

Her question was answered even as the amber lights of unidentified ships turned into the green dots of friendly forces. “Lone Manta, hold your fire. We are the Alliance ships ghosting your fleet. Please respond.”

Turning her chrono back on, she said, “Where the hell have you been the last… four days?” She didn’t care who was on the other end of the radio, just so long as they were friendly.

“Sorry,” a voice came back to her. “We were going to uncloak and pick you up, but you boosted out too fast, and just after you did, the Garmons showed back up. Only two ships, but we didn’t think they’d stay around as long as they did. And you laid down a pretty broken course. Took a while to track you down.”

Emily shook with relief. She felt the tension seep out of her, only then realizing just exactly how tense she’d been. Once she had accepted the idea that she was going to die alone, and slowly at that, she thought she had relaxed. Apparently not. She wondered if she was hallucinating some kind of space mirage or something, but she was jolted out of her reverie by the voice.

“Manta pilot. This is Captain Marquez of the TAS Vengeful. Prepare to have your ship tractored in. And welcome home.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Marsha Kane ordered her remaining ships onto search-and-destroy missions around Sakarta and its two moons. Several Garmon ships rose to meet the oncoming cloud of Mantas and four-cruiser backup, but there was no organized resistance, and they went down with only two Mantas destroyed.

The rest of the mission was a revelation. Both moons were heavily built up with construction docks. Half a dozen ships were in various stages of construction or repair. Those were taken out, along with every standing structure on both moons, and then operations were transferred planet side.

Dozens of large villages were strafed, taking out any moving beings in sight. It had been determined that the females and young males were housed in special compounds, and those were left alone, targeting only able-bodied males. The object was to reduce the fighting males should any ships stop by needing crew. The piece de resistance was a light show of phenomenal proportions when the fueling station was bombed. Almost a third of the smaller moon went up in an antimatter conversion previously unseen by any eyes anywhere in the known three-race sector of space.

Meteors rained down on the Garmon homeworld as Korgan Garmon stood and watched. He and several of his top sept-leaders had been lucky enough to be in the Garmon family home during the strafing of homeworld. After the majority of the remnants of the moon had finished falling, Korgan turned to go back into his family home, only to find himself alone. His hunter senses cut in immediately. He knew he’d have no more credibility with his people after this disaster, especially given his questionable victory at Kerasano.

Carrying no weapons, he walked into the Family Hall through the front entrance, knowing full well what was about to happen. A leader was a leader as long as he kept the respect of his subordinates. He had suffered two humiliating defeats at the hands of the humanz, and this was his last hour as The Garmon. The scene was as he had imagined it. Six of his staunchest sept-leaders stood in a line, blocking further progress into his own home. Three bodies lay on the dirt floor, their blood soaking into the dry ground almost as fast as it drained from the corpses.

He looked at the Garmon before him. “Am I to be allowed a hunter’s death, or will you just kill me here?”

In answer, the senior sept-leader gestured at the three loyalists in front of Korgan. “You have your choice of weapons, Lord Garmon,” he said, making the title seem like an epithet.

Knowing this was going to be more than just one on one, he slid two knives into his boots and chose the two best swords of the three available. His eyesight closed down to hunter mode, choosing the apparent leader of this usurpation of his place as leader of the Garmon people. He moved into the room, pressing the hunter on the right.

He thought that if he could get the hulking menace to give ground, he might have a chance to turn on the leader. That was his last mistake.

The senior sept-leader said, “A hunter’s death allows him to die with a weapon in his hand, but nothing says we have to lose more good men in a prolonged fight.” He then pulled a laser pistol out and merely shot Korgan. Next would be the Council. A new day was once again upon the race called Garmon.

Marsha sat across the table from her new Sister, Linnas. Both she and Fleet Commander do’ Berel had given their reports on the Sakarta raid, and do’ Berel had been dismissed. The two women looked out over the capitol city of Quillas since Polity business had brought Linnas there for a time. She could not effectively run her government from Cho-An all the time.

Night had fallen, and lights had come on all over the capitol and main port city. In the distance, moving lights outlined the gantries used to build the smaller ships of the Shiravan Polity. The cruisers and battleships were, like the Alliance, built in space and were never intended to land on a planet’s surface.

Linnas said, “It was well that you spoke privately with Commander do’ Berel before you implemented your attack on Sakarta. She would have suffered embarrassment in front of her officers otherwise. Is it always so with your people?”

“No,” Marsha answered quietly. “I would have submitted a plan of attack beforehand to a human commander. But I will say that if the mission had had a human commander in place rather than Commander do’ Berel, I would probably have made the same on-the-spot choice. I believe her main concern was that my plan was superior to hers, though I admit I’m not very good at reading Shiravan emotions yet.”

Linnas looked at her as darkness loomed. “Emotions? Or the cultural differences inherent in our two races, Sibara?”

Marsha was quiet for a moment. “Cultural differences? I don’t understand.”

“Understanding will come with time, perhaps you should contemplate staying on Shiravi to learn more of our culture.” Linnas replied. She reached out and lifted a bottle of fire wine from the table. The lack of kemwood cups warned Marsha not to drink too much. She needed to keep a tight rein on her mouth. There was too much at stake. “You should commune with the Spirits to learn your best course of action.” Marsha looked startled, evoking another comment from her alien Sister. “I have word that you from time to time call upon the Spirits as if you believe in them. A short journey in contra-space should let you get close and see if you can find the answers you need.”

Marsha’s mind raced. Kitty had told her about the trance-like state she and Simon entered upon occasion. Maybe it will do some good if I can duplicate the trance, she thought. She took a sip from her glass, a tall fluted, delicate thing, meant to enhance the color of the wine. The glow spread out from her center to all parts of her body, an almost spiritual feeling all by itself.

The rest of the evening passed in relative quiet as each woman thought their separate thoughts.

Marsha sat in the dome atop the Sindaro Vacht, staring at the shifting colors of hyperspace. Some said that one could go crazy doing this, but she needed the solitude and the sense of invulnerability it would give her among the Shiravans. But first, the trance thing.

She struggled to find the state Kitty and Simon talked about so often. She couldn’t reach the place she needed to be, so she tried another tack. She focused on the inner surface of the dome itself, letting the shifting colors do as they wished. After a time, she found herself jerking her head upright, on the verge of falling asleep as she strove for the state Kitty talked about.

Eventually, she noticed the reflections of herself take on some solidity. One reflection stayed aboard the Raptor, and she followed herself in that image. The Raptor survived, but most of the squadron didn’t. Another image stayed on Shiravi, coordinating the Human/Shiravan forces in their struggle against the Garmons. Again, it was a step into a possible future. This one led to dusty warehouses and dark nights. Other images inexplicably went so far and no farther.

Finally, Marsha roused herself from her position on the floor. Joints creaked and popped as she stood up. It was time to tell the captain that she was ready to return to Shiravi. She could also use the return trip to spend more time in the dome, but she’d made up her mind. She would not sit idly by on Shiravi while her people went out and faced the Garmon, she would go with them.

The return was relatively short but wasn’t without incident. It seemed that she had spent almost thirty straight hours in Sindaro Vacht’s dome. Alone. To Shiravans, conditioned from birth to expect someone coming from such a long sojourn with the Spirits to have lost their sanity, Marsha seemed amazingly sane.

She was asked to visit the captain first, most probably to ascertain whether she could be allowed access to the ship without escort. That interview went better than she had expected. Captain kep Parrasine spoke English well and soon determined that Marsha wasn’t a bomb ready to explode.

Alternatively, the crew kept watching her out of the corners of their red eyes, expecting her to blow up at any moment. As for herself, she had no duty station aboard the Sindaro Vacht, so she headed back to the dome for a while. She needed to put some of the images she’d seen into perspective.

Marsha stepped off the shuttle and headed for the public transport station just outside the landing field. Along the way, a vehicle pulled up and the passenger door opened. “Sorgala Kane, it will be my pleasure to convey you to the Matriarch’s office.” As the sole human among hundreds of Shiravans and dressed in her blacks as well, she wasn’t surprised at the invitation. Still, prudence dictated that she at least touch the pistol strapped to her right thigh. There were still any number of Isolationists willing to go to extremes to embarrass the Matriarchy. And humans weren’t universally accepted, regardless of Kitty’s name being so close to a Shiravan deity.

She climbed into the air car and prepared herself for a ride through Quillas, a grim prospect at best. New York cab drivers were cautious by comparison. Twenty minutes later, she was deposited outside the Polity Assembly building. Another twenty minutes found her on Linnas’s private level.

Sitha kep Parrasine met her and took her into the Matriarch’s private audience chamber. Linnas was having breakfast, with another place set for her. Having eaten aboard the Sindaro Vacht, she declined the invitation.

She let Linnas finish her meal, drinking some juice to pass the time. Finally, she got to talk business after a young Shiravan removed the leavings from the breakfast table. The two moved to a more informal part of the suite, featuring deeply upholstered chairs and couches overlooking the bustling city. “I am glad to hear that you’ve chosen to work with our strategy and tactics team, planning the next moves in our campaign against the Garmons, Sibara.”

“I think it’s prudent that I help where I can, Sibara,” Marsha demurred. “But I only plan to stay until my fleet is ready to leave, then I will accompany them in command of the Raptor.”

Linnas looked surprised and a dark cloud passed across her face. “If you think it best, but I’ve been thinking, also. This time, I’ll send only human ships in one group, or perhaps two since we have so many of your ships in Shiravan space.” Marsha started to argue her point, but Linnas raised her hand human-fashion to stop her. “I will, of course, send observers aboard each of your major ships, learning your techniques so that they may teach them to our own crews.”

Marsha thought quickly. “Perhaps you could send a few others along as well to sit watches, actually working with our crews and learning our moves. That might give a more comprehensive idea of how we operate.”

“See!” Linnas said excitedly. “Already you are putting forward ideas to better the safety of Shiravan crews and ships.”

Marsha felt the words fall out of her mouth and couldn’t believe Linnas would take them at face value. “But of course, Sibara. When I was adopted, didn’t I swear that I would treat yours as if they were my own and offer up any human ship to your command?”

“Of course, as our Sibara Katherine did also. So. For the duration your stay, you are hereby promoted to admiral of the human forces operating in Shiravan space. And when you transfer back to your ship, you will still carry the rank of admiral. As a token of my trust, I wish to present you with your new rank insignia.” She slid a small box cross the table.

Marsha opened the box, knowing what was coming. Instead of the twin gold comets of the Alliance, she found a pair of cloth patches meant to be sewn to the collar. On the patches were embroidered a series of four pentagons. She took the box, knowing she was going to have to wear them as soon as she could get them duplicated for her several uniforms, as well as a special version for her dresses.

“Thank you, Sibara,” was all she could say.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The return of the Esmit proved to be of great interest to Maratai kep Parrasine for another reason besides the return of Rentec. The captain himself carried her personal correspondence from the Matriarch. If Rentec were to see the contents, it could prove extremely embarrassing. The same could be said of the instructions and advice sent in return.

She had long since read the messages, enough times that the words were indelibly etched into her mind, but it was only now that she felt it to be the time to act. She stopped at one of the many transport stops along the major corridors that ran the length of the asteroid. The first time humans entered the carved out husk of Vesta Base, they had immediately seen the need for such a system. She wondered if her own people would have done the same.

A tube ride, an elevator ride, and short walk down another corridor gave her time to lose her focus, and she felt the living beat of the great beast with humans and Shiravans moving around inside, keeping it alive and healthy. This was humanity’s most ambitious effort yet, if one didn’t count beating back the Garmons three times in succession. Although, even with humanity managing to take Shiravi’s best technology and improve upon it almost immediately, lives had still been lost in those attacks. Just the tidal wave from the underwater explosion of one Garmon Raider had killed people all around the Pacific Rim.

Maratai came from a society that had evolved into a one-world government after severe worldwide trauma. Only after that were the real advances in the sciences made. Once there was no more need to have several million workers tied up in military services all over the globe, protecting lines drawn on a map, people would need a new focus. She’d studied the history of her world, just like all citizens. She’d also been studying the human race ever since her first arrival and had come to some conclusions. Actually, humans were where Shiravans had been almost a thousand years ago. Shiravans had adapted slowly to the ever-growing list of advances in the various sciences. Humanity had to make the transition in a single generation, maybe two. She wondered if they would make it or tear themselves apart.

She reached her destination and dismissed her musings. She hesitated, her hand almost touching the door pad. Human ingenuity at work again, she thought, taking Shiravan science and adapting it to uses my people would never think of.

She took a deep breath and finished the gesture. The door slid aside, revealing the outer office of the Shiravan Embassy to the Terran Alliance, and she walked in, heading for the far wall. She looked at the secretary sitting behind the desk, guarding the only other door, and nodded at her, a questioning look on her face. Right then, she didn’t trust herself to speak.

She placed her hand on the second plate as well when the secretary nodded in return. This room, like the outer, was bathed in a soothing red light, restful and reassuring to the Shiravan psyche. The furnishings were much the same as she would find in almost any office on the station—a desk, one chair behind it, and two less comfortable chairs facing it, as well as an informal niche holding a couch, coffee table and three generously upholstered chairs. A few pictures hung on the walls, landscapes Rentec found restful and calming.

As for Rentec himself, he was busy shortening one stack of papers and making others larger. He looked up, a harried expression on his face until he caught sight of her. Rentec laid down his scriber and said, “Thank you for the distraction, Doma. I am beginning to think that my position and presence is more in the way of punishment than it is an honor.” He leaned back in his chair and reached for a pitcher of tea and two glasses. It required a generous portion of sugar to make it palatable, but now it had become almost a ritual, exceeded in degree only by the English. He poured two glasses and slid one across the desk toward his staff second.

“I’m glad you came by,” Rentec said. “We have new instructions from the Matriarch. We will be allied with the humans against the Garmons. One Reprisal Fleet is being reactivated and diverted here to take some of the pressure off the humans. Just when they will arrive, I can’t say. A special courier had to go find them. Then they’ll have to return to Shiravi and refit before coming here. Best guess is about one Earth year, maybe a bit more.”

The Esmit had carried Kitty back to Earth with Rentec. While she and Simon had gotten to know each other again, Maratai was doing the same thing with Rentec. Only, from his point of view it was strictly business. The details the Matriarch and the Herald had worked out talked about life in the capitol city, Quillas, and about seeing his mother and family before returning to Earth space. And of course, all the details about the battle of Sakarta, as well as the far more important duel between the Shiravan’s ex-chief spymaster and Herald Hawke.

These things were important to Maratai as well, but she could easily see the stiffness in his posture when he spoke and the forced enthusiasm in his voice. She looked again at the piles of papers on his desk and wondered where his secretaries were. He couldn’t have just the one, could he? And she wouldn’t be able to make anything more than a dent in what sat before him. That, she could do something about.

She walked around the desk and took his hand. Pulling him to his feet, she guided him around the desk and pushed him gently in the direction of the informal area. She snagged their glasses and followed him into the semi-private environment of the niche. Even though they were alone in the room, this felt more comfortable.

She set the glasses on the table and took the center chair across from the couch, waiting until Rentec was seated before she started. Flustered, she said, “I can only begin at one point.” The silence went on for a time, and Rentec waited patiently for her to continue.

“Do you remember the day we met?” she asked quickly, looking at him from hooded eyes. Her crimson gaze put him a bit off his stride, and he faltered for a moment.

Recovering, he answered, “The day my Ministry reached its ascendancy. And I remember the details of that meeting, as well. To find out that a kep Parrasine was my personal secretary was almost staggering. Fortunately, exposure to my mother for my entire life helped prepare me for your arrival,” he said wryly. “Why?”

She smiled slightly at his quip, but her expression turned solemn quickly. “Rentec—and I do not use your first name lightly—I sent correspondence back to Shiravi by means other than your diplomatic pouch. The reason for this was so that you wouldn’t know what I was doing. For this, I ask your forgiveness. If you’ll hear the rest of my tale, I will tell it. Or leave, at your pleasure.” She sat quietly, arms on the rests of proper-sized chairs, nails digging into the imitation leather covering.

“Well,” he answered slowly, “I think I would need to know more about this private correspondence before I could make a judgment. I take it that it’s your intention to tell me, or you would never have mentioned it to begin with.”

“As a matter of fact, it is, Rentec,” she said, deliberately using his family name to keep this on as informal a scale as she could. “I can only be honest and open, or this is worth nothing. I sent my official communications with yours, but I had matters of... personal import that I preferred you not to know about until I was ready.”

“And now you are,” he stated simply. “Weeks after my return. I’m sure you received a response almost as soon as the Esmit docked. You’ve taken all this time to come to some conclusion.”

Is he deliberately toying with me? she thought. I never considered that he would have taken time to sort out his own situation while he was home. And why can’t he have spies of his own?

She spoke quietly. “I sent letters to both Linnas and your mother. In them, I asked for permission to offer you my Chalweh. And advice. Linnas called your mother in to discuss my request. I hadn’t thought of that, but now I see that I should have. Of course your mother should know about my offer. Besides, if we were back home, I would have to speak to her first, anyway.”

Rentec blinked. Twice. Standing up, he said, “I think this is where I open a letter of my own. You might know about it. Its address merely says, ‘Rentec. Do not open until the time is right. You will know.’ This was written by my mother.” He stared thoughtfully at the ceiling, especially high in this section of the station, and then back at her. “Perhaps this is the time she spoke of?”

“And perhaps not,” Maratai said, raising her voice enough that he could not in politeness pretend not to hear.

He looked back at her, and she was still seated, holding her glass gracefully and staring back. He stopped just inside the boundaries of the niche. “Why?”

For the first time Maratai looked uncomfortable. “I didn’t know of your mother’s letter to you. My private correspondence arrived not long after the Esmit arrived, which was letters from both my mother and Linnas. The difference is that I expected my correspondence. I know what your mother had to say about my proposal, and that is wrong, I know, but I had no other way open to me until the conviction of Ramannie. I suspect that the letter you have holds your mother’s opinion, but I want to hear from you first. Only the Spirits know for sure. Maybe it isn’t time to open it.”

Rentec moved slowly toward an arm of the couch, reaching out for solid support. He leaned against it, thinking hard. He had spent so much time with her, true, but he had also been away almost two turnings now. For her to be this intent on her goal, she must see something in him that was worth her time.

“What do I think? Since when did a male have a choice in these matters?” he asked bitterly. “And why would you want one tainted by...” He couldn’t finish the thought aloud.

Maratai rose to her full height, slightly shorter than Rentec but still taller than only a few humans, and finished for him, “Ramannie.” He looked up quickly. “You blame yourself when there were so many others before and after you who missed signs that are now obvious. Your own mother didn’t see it during her Reading. How Ramannie kept her true nature hidden from two of the most powerful Readers on the planet is still unknown.”

“But I am still stigmatized by the whole affair. You wouldn’t be able to go out in public without ridicule.”

“Rentec,” Maratai said softly, “Ramannie’s was part of a mass trial conducted after the Witch ship emerged in our outer system, distress signals blaring. Seems that their life support system wouldn’t take another repair without going in for a total refit. The traitors were banished to a series of small islands just out of sight of the Matriarch’s estate. Her security teams are on constant watch, of course. I have been assured that all relevant documents are no longer available. Therefore, there’s no impediment to our union, barring a Reading when next we are on Shiravi together. I’m sure it will only be a formality.”

He let himself slide down into the corner of the couch, astonished that she had asked for his opinion. Then he thought back over these past few turnings since meeting the humans, all the way back to sel Garian picking him out of a room full of older, wiser minds than his own. His father had been Minister of Spatial Affairs before him—a male. And himself—a male. Captain do’ Sirkis and a surprising number of males in the upper echelons of the Matriarch’s personal staff came to mind. And there was Minister kep Foran now. His mind enumerated each and every male he knew—not many in the whole of his life but more than a few. And many of these were employed in the bureaucratic sphere.

He looked across the table at her and said, “In the not-too-distant past, I would never have been asked if I wanted the union. Your mother would have spoken to my mother, and if the two agreed, we would be married. I thought Ramannie…” there was a definite catch in his voice, “I thought she was an extremely forward woman, even though it was I who first asked her to spend time with me. I will admit that I’m not up to speed, as the humans would say, on what is going on in social circles.

“I thought it strange that she went so far as to sit for a Reading and not offer her Chalweh, but I attributed it to the wiles of females. Now we all know why and what she was, and that what she got from me she passed on to her Isolationist allies. Yet you wish to offer me your Chalweh, knowing how easily I can be manipulated? And using that fact against me by asking my mother and the Matriarch without my knowledge?”

Maratai held her hand out in the human fashion, fingers up, palm making the sign to stop. “First, I would not speak to you until I had spoken with your mother, as custom dictates, which I did as best I could by courier. Don’t forget that messages travel at the speed of couriers, not thought, though that would be nice. Second, I would not offer my Chalweh to just any male. And third, I have come to know you better than you might think. Among all the other things I do, I study you. I want to know your mind, not just what you say.”

Maratai sat silent for several seconds. Rentec knew this was hard on her, but he recognized the same upheaval in himself. There was no way he would let her off easily. All this time, even though she was his social superior, she had kept her eyes downcast so he couldn’t see her face. Finally, he reached out and raised her chin so their eyes met. With one crimson gaze melting into another, he said, “I have made my peace with my past. I only worry about those I care for. To me, it is nothing; to our society at large, it will be a very big scandal if it gets out.”

“So, you do care for me in some small way?” she asked, something in her eyes changing, but to what, Rentec couldn’t say.

“Well, yes,” he stammered. “We have worked closely for several turnings now, and I have become comfortable in your presence, this particular moment excluded,” he added by way of qualification.

“Good,” Maratai said, raising her chin off the tips of his fingers. “I like a male with a sense of humor. Then you will accept my Chalweh?”

Rentec, not unaware of the political ramifications of what she was proposing, as well as the merely personal, thought for a time. “Have you given thought to the political and familial ties that will result from our union?”

Maratai nodded. “I had already figured it out for myself. I made a very detailed chart of the interconnections between our three clans, but the Matriarch, your mother, and my own mother went to great pains to make clear just what could come of our union from their own perspectives. According to your mother, who has the final say, the union would bind the three most affluent families on the planet. des Harras is already allied with the kep Parrasine clan, giving generously of their earnings from the gava stone mines to assist in the technological research that led to the advances that got Shiravans into space in the first place. So the alliance goes back nearly five hundred turnings.

“Meanwhile, do’ Verlas was quietly consolidating the power of the spirit of the Shiravan people, preparing to lead them into a bright new future, free of Garmons. And as a close personal friend of Linnas, I feel certain that she had full approval to act in any way she saw necessary. Actually, my sources say that there were several dozen assassinations, killings, and suicides while you were home, carefully deleted from the news and kept from the humans as well. With our union, Clan do’ Verlas elevates itself to the aristocracy that no one admits to, and Tira becomes privy to the Matriarch’s opinions and decisions, up to and including voicing her own opinions whenever she sees fit.”

“When did she ever not see fit?” Rentec asked wryly.

Maratai smiled briefly, having met Doma do’ Verlas on more than one occasion. “What the humans would call a cabinet minister,” she continued. “But she speaks for all the minor witches left on Shiravi, those deemed harmless to our regime, as well as Clan do’ Verlas. In fact, there were many who actively believed in the good despite the brainwashing. Meanwhile, in the background, des Harras money supports other more secretive research among some of the more xenophobic of our clans and their leaders.

“So, the more vocal rabble-rousers, including Ramannie, are marooned for the rest of their lives, and others learn from the lesson. Tira do’ Verlas has the charisma to rise to the top in an essentially leaderless organization. All she had to do was start dictating orders, which I’m told she was doing at the time the courier left home space. The rank and file, seeing the writing on the wall—another human expression I think I like—caved in and accepted the new norm. Tira do’ Verlas, representing the full body of readers, finders, foreseers, charm and amulet makers, and even some of the more recalcitrant Witches deemed essentially harmless by your mother, sits in council daily, discussing policy for the Polity—a policy they were all in agreement with, anyway, so the vote was just a formality. She has formally changed the name to Spirit Readers.

“Policy for the war against the Garmons, policy on how to deal with the human issue. There are those who consider them to be a worse threat than the Garmons. They, at least, won’t want to settle worlds with stars in our spectrum, so I see no problem with our spaces interweaving themselves.

Her expression went dark. “That picture is only going to be possible with the Garmons out of the way, for the Garmons and humans are attracted to the same kind of planets, and the Garmons refuse to accept anyone as their equal, so they attack us as well. We will have to discover all of their worlds, make sure they have no capability to build spacefaring vessels, at least until they have matured, and carve their territory up to suit ourselves.”

Rentec leaned back into the comfortable corner of the couch. “I have read the same dispatches you have. They say the humans have the capability to become more of a problem than the Garmons ever were, and that humans are too self-centered to be trusted after the Garmons are defeated. There’s more than one way to look at the figures and theories coming from the Matriarch’s advisers,” Rentec said. “They could just as well turn into very good allies.”

“Against whom, Rentec?” Maratai asked. “I thought the same in the beginning, but the more I see of these humans, the more I see Garmon in them rather than anything even vaguely Shiravan-like. And once the Garmons are destroyed or controlled, what will the humans do next?”

“My dispatches tell me that Linnas and the Herald have become Sister-equals, and Marsha Kane is Sister-kin.” He looked at her closely. “Both have agreed to consider our situations as if they were their own, and Sorgala Kane is risking herself and over four thousand human lives to defend our territory, and another fleet just left. Not to mention that in about a year, another fleet can start moving in that direction, taking time to stop at identified worlds. They can either bomb them or report on the results of previous assaults.”

He shrugged, apparently resigned. “In any event, we have a long while before we need to worry about humans as a threat.”

“Agreed, Rentec, I just wish I knew for sure what the future will bring. My personal belief, fears aside, is that they will be a great asset to our own race, and what if we should happen on another civilization? Three in this one small part of our galaxy argues for many more spread out through both arms. We need to re-instill the fighting spirit back into our own people that these humans have, without its wrath directed against us. I fear that we could become the brekkis being led to the slaughterhouse. Not that I don’t like humans in general, but they do seem to tend toward the herd mentality,” she finished lamely.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

The back alleys of Quillas, capitol city of the Shiravan Polity, looked much like back alleys anywhere on Earth except for the tall, red-skinned, red-eyed aliens. Then again, she was the alien here.

She had business there that couldn’t be conducted in the light of a Shiravan day. She consulted the piece of paper holding the address she was looking for. Her Shiravan was passable, but she was nowhere near ready to try to read it yet. Her contact in the Matriarch’s palace, apparently an Isolationist, had delivered a late-night snack the previous evening. Once fully inside her room and out of sight, she passed the tray with a small piece of paper sticking out of one corner and merely said, “Sleep well, Your Grace.”

Things were proceeding in a hurry now. She’d had to wait so long, teaching strategy to the Shiravan military, that her fleet was about to use up its leave time. Now she was moving through a crowd of port workers, afraid she would miss her address. Of course, everyone knew she was human. Who else so small would be out at this time of night? Still she was glad she had strapped on her laser before wrapping herself in a modified Shiravan travel cloak. At least it covered her white hair and let her stop in shadows.

As she walked slowly along, causing a small eddy in the faster-moving crowd, a voice from above said quietly, “Perhaps I can help Your Grace find her destination?”

She looked up. This was no face she was familiar with. While the old saw of ‘they all look alike’ did hold true for the masses, she had learned to recognize over a hundred faces at first sight, and this was one she didn’t know.

“What do you know of my destination?” she asked, looking back to the front.

The Shiravan said, “I know your fleet needs an essential item before it can leave orbit. I know that you received instruction to go to an address on this street tonight. And I know where that address is.”

Marsha thought about the implication of following a stranger—probably a rabid Isolationist—into any of these buildings, but she was going to go into one alone anyway. “Very well,” she said, “come down and lead the way.”

After a short walk, during which she unhooked the strap on her holster and made sure the laser’s safety was off, her companion said, “We must cross here.” A long-fingered, strong grip pulled her to the left, finding spaces among the moving throng until they stood before a darkened doorway.

Marsha studied the paper and the numbers etched into the metal door. They matched, so she pushed the door open and walked in, followed by the strange Shiravan. She quickly stepped to one side and scanned her surroundings with a professionalism she wouldn’t have shown five years before.

A counter ran the width of the building, and several Shiravans looked her way. She let her hood fall back, revealing her white hair, and stepped up to the counter. In the corner of one eye she saw that her escort stood quietly against the door, blocking any other visitors. When one of the workers behind the counter approached, she said, “I was given directions to this place. Who requested my presence here tonight?”

The clerk said, “That would be my Clan’s Leader, Your Grace. No other has the authority to summon one of the Matriarch’s staff.”

“Very well,” Marsha said in her coldest voice. “I will see your Clan Leader now.”

“Of course, Your Grace. If you will follow me, please?” A part of the countertop was raised, revealing an entry that she pushed through without a word.

She waited until it was replaced, then faced the clerk with a frosty stare. “Well? Are you in the habit of keeping your Clan Leader waiting?”

“No, Your Grace. This way.” Without a backward glance, the clerk moved off at a long-legged pace that was designed to make Marsha run to keep up. Instead she merely walked at her own pace, looking about her all the while. Tall stacks and shelves of unknown items filled the long room. When she lost sight of her guide, she merely stopped at an intersection and waited for her to come back. Thereafter, her guide moved at a slower pace until they reached a door at the back of the warehouse.

“My Clan Leader awaits your arrival, Your Grace.” She opened the door and stood back.

The room was better lit than the warehouse proper and was appointed in a style out of place with the rest of the building. Marsha walked in, one hand on her laser under her cloak. An elderly Shiravan stood up and bowed deeply. “Welcome, Admiral Kane. It is a great pleasure to meet you. I am Deshana sel Garian, head of Clan sel Garian. Please be seated.”

A couch had been modified for the smaller human frame, and Marsha settled into it warily, responding to the bow with a nod of her head. She was determined not to be the junior in this meeting. And she was just as determined to keep to business, especially with the chief enemy of the Matriarch. “I was given to understand that a necessary item needed for our next patrol has become available. Are you prepared to have it shipped up to the fleet?”

“Of course, Admiral,” sel Garian answered. “Aren’t you concerned about where it came from? Aren’t you worried about how it comes into your possession?”

“It comes from a Clan that specializes in bio-genetics. They got some tissue samples from the attack on a world that allowed Doma Spencer and Dom Carter to be freed. From this sample, they worked out how to manufacture a virus that will slow male births and raise the intelligence level of female Garmons. The two situations will cause immeasurable discord on all worlds where the virus is released. It is also passed from mother to all offspring, adding to the destruction of their civilization as we and they know it.

“As to how it gets into our hands… I don’t care. Clan sel Garian are Isolationists, I know. If you can’t keep your people out of space, your only alternative is to keep your enemies out of space instead. And I believe you’ll turn your attention upon us once we’ve done your killing for you. You should know that we came to be the premier species on our world by overcoming every predator on our planet. We have beaten back the Garmons, who have plagued you for over two hundred turnings, and we’ve done it in only ten. Keep that in mind Domagera sel Garian. Now. When will the shipment be made?”

“It is ready for shipment even now,” said the old woman gruffly. Marsha thought she detected a quaver in her voice but decided not to call attention to it, though she kept her hand near her pistol. “You have ordered several dozen cases of edibles for your crews. Among them you will find ten cases simply marked fruit. Those cases should be handled with great care. Each case comes with a connector allowing for transfer from the original containers to whatever you fabricate to hold the gases. The shuttle will deliver them this night to your Raptor. Will that suffice, Admiral?”

“It will be quite sufficient, Domagera sel Garian. Now, I must take my leave before my presence is missed.”

The old woman stood up and motioned to a different door. “Leave by this route, Admiral. It will confuse prying eyes.” This time there was no bow and no mention had been made of the bottle of fire wine and two glasses sitting in plain sight near sel Garian’s right hand, an insult Marsha chose not to notice.

Stepping out the door without another word—trading insult for insult—she turned her hood up, stepped into the throng of tall people, and began to make her way back to the palace. She barely resisted the impulse to shoot the stranger at the end of the arm that stopped her.

“I would offer Your Grace an easier way out of the Port District.”

Marsha got the impression that this was the same Shiravan who had led her to the warehouse initially and merely nodded.

The next morning she awoke slowly, stretching until her joints popped. A quick shower later, she found a note on her desk that she was sure hadn’t been there when she went in. Unfolding it, she found that Linnas was expecting her to show up for breakfast in twenty minutes. She wore her dress blacks with the new rank installed on the collar and made her way to Linnas’s breakfast nook.

Linnas was already seated when she came in, so she sat at the other place setting. She had time for an abbreviated morning greeting and a sip of the weakened wine most Shiravans had with breakfast, but she was surprised at the tack the morning conversation took.

“How was your visit with Domagera sel Garian, Sibara?”

Marsha hesitated before answering. She didn’t want to reveal her true reason for meeting the Isolationist leader. “Most enlightening, Sibara,” she answered. “It’s always best to know the mind of the enemy, so when I got a clandestine request to meet with her, I took it. I was going to bring it up this morning anyway. Her idea was much the same as mine—to assess her opposition. I’m not sure who got the most out of the meeting since it didn’t last long.”

Linnas let a serving girl put plates in front of each of them before answering. “I would prefer that my senior officers not have secret meetings with Isolationist leaders, if you please. How would it look if you disappeared? How would our Sibara, Katherine, take it? How would it affect the human fleet you control or the Shiravan government I control?”

Linnas slowed down and took a sip of wine, ignoring her meal. “You see, Marsha? There are so many things that can affect the natural order. That is why you will not go out without security from now on. Do you understand me, Sister?”

Marsha just nodded slowly, noting the emphasis on the human word, but still thinking about the ten cases of fruit that had surely already been sent to the Raptor. That was one item she would have to check for herself.

Marsha sat in the Raptor’s main conference room. Most of her captains were present or represented. “I want to know if we’ve received any deliveries by ship rather than transporter.”

One man stood up a bit uncertainly. “Admiral, there was one delivery by ship earlier today. Since I wasn’t really expecting it, I had it sealed in stasis until you released it.”

“Good work, Commander. Let’s take a look at it.”

Marsha entered her personal code and headed for the piles of crates. “Look for any crates marked fruit. There should be ten of them. I want them set aside for inspection.”

Forty-five minutes later the three officers had pulled the last crate from amongst the piles and sat down to catch their breaths. After a few minutes, Marsha asked, “Where do you keep your crowbars, Commander?”

The ten crates held forty canisters each and had both officers wondering what was going on. “Secret mission, gentlemen—one that you’re now cleared to know about. Each canister contains a virus to be released on each Garmon-occupied world we visit or attack. Suffice it to say that it will have a totally devastating effect on Garmon civilization and will be the winning stroke in this war.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Simon sat in the quarters he and Kitty shared in Vesta, waiting for her to get in. She had spent the last week on Earth making the Alliance presence felt at the highest levels—Security Council meetings, galas at Baron von Schlenker’s, and appearances and speaking engagements around the world. She was going to be beat, but he had the perfect vacation idea. One of the commanders in Planning and Tactics, a former Canadian, had shore-front property on Hudson Bay, and this was just the time of year to take advantage of the good commander’s offer.

He’d planned a week of total isolation from anything to do with the Alliance, except a couple of bottles of fire wine, and he’d gone to a lot of trouble to arrange things so neither of them had anything to do during that time. He had also put a bottle of fire wine in the cooler in anticipation of her arrival. That was one of the few things he liked about his position these days—the ability to keep track of every ship and person in Earth-space.

The Terran Alliance was now big enough to run itself, especially after the United Nations had unanimously granted the Alliance full status as a nation and allowed them onto the Security Council. After all, Alliance weapons were several orders of magnitude beyond Earth’s primitive atomics. The Alliance belonged on the Council.

The Garmons were becoming less and less of a problem as their shipyards and fueling stations were reduced to rubble. They couldn’t have too many ships left to wage war with. Soon, they’d be restricted to their own worlds until they could work their way back to space on their own.

What was becoming a problem was the number of requests for off-planet colonization—all in all a good idea since one concerted and determined attack on Earth would effectively wipe out the entire race. Simon was having more and more ships reporting on possible habitable worlds than Garmon-occupied ones. That was why he’d approved R&D’s buildup of colonist transports.

They would have to carry as many people as possible while providing adequate bathing facilities, gyms, mess halls, and even a theater. Anything less and the colonists and crew could arrive a disorganized, unmanageable group, lowering their chances for survival. And there would have to be enough ships to protect and resupply the colonies.

The door lock disengaging derailed his train of thought. After several months apart, Simon and Kitty were finally getting to spend some time together, time they needed to reconnect with their personal lives. And he had an agenda of his own to spring soon enough.

Kitty walked into their quarters and let the door close as she stripped off her traveling coat. Simon looked up and noticed the dark circles under her eyes. His first thoughts forgotten, he pulled her to him without a word and kissed her until they both needed to come up for air.

He started to massage her shoulders, working her blouse off over her head. She moaned quietly as she leaned into his hands. After ten minutes of silence and massage, he led her to the shower where he set the temperature just short of too hot and let the heat loosen up some of the muscles he hadn’t managed to get to yet.

Washed and dried, he took her to bed and spent another half hour working on her legs and back, feeling the tension melt out of her body. Finally, thoroughly relaxed, she asked, “To what do I owe the pleasure of this much attention, dear?”

“Simply that we haven’t had time for anything even remotely close to this in months. Don’t look surprised,” he said in response to her startled look. “I checked. I’ve been busy; you’ve been even busier; and I think it’s time we had some time to ourselves.” He let his hands wander over her body, her snow-white hair spilling through his fingers.

“And how am I supposed to repay this?” she asked playfully.

“I have a few ideas about that,” he answered.

Soon, all thoughts of Alliance affairs were left behind for both of them. Later, after another shower and a meal delivered by stewards, they lay together on the bed, drifting in a blissful limbo until both fell into the deep sleep only two lovers could attain.

The next morning, Simon woke immediately when Kitty began to stir. He called the kitchen and ordered breakfast for two and slowly pulled her back into the shower. This time they dressed informally and walked into their private dining room, a privilege most residents of Vesta didn’t have. The table was set, and the stewards had left juice and a variety of foods for them to choose from.

After a leisurely meal, Kitty said, “Well, I should probably make an appearance in my office.”

Simon laid a hand on her arm, stopping her from getting up. “I took the liberty of clearing your calendar for the next week, dear. You didn’t have anything pressing, and Diana can take care of almost anything here on Vesta. I took a week off for myself, and barring some major confrontation, I don’t have anything to do.”

Kitty looked at him strangely. “With this much time off, just what did you have in mind?”

“I know a commander in Tactics and Planning, a former Canadian, who happens to have a cabin overlooking Hudson Bay. This time of year is perfect. Days are cool and crisp; nights are perfect for kicking back on a bearskin rug before a nice fire, nothing to think about but getting ourselves back in tune with our marriage. We’ve spent enough time nursing the Alliance along. Let someone else handle the details for a week. We’ve earned a vacation.”

A gleam shone in Kitty’s eyes. “Hudson Bay, huh?” She was quiet for a minute. “How are we going to get there?”

“Have you forgotten shuttles and transporters? Depending on which ship we take, we’ve got transportation. All that needs to be done is to cut firewood, Milken said. He hasn’t had a chance to use the place for a couple of years, and we’ll be doing him a favor by getting it straightened out. Here, let me show you the pictures of the place. He pulled out a slim album and began flipping through the pages.

“Not a rundown shack, this,” Kitty said admiringly. “And I like the shots of the bay. Should provide some gorgeous sunsets. Okay, I’m in. When do we leave?”

“How about tomorrow? You wanted to check in with the Herald’s office, and all I need to do is get some cold weather gear together. Everything else is already packed and waiting except a few perishables. Ad Astra is just out of the docks and standing by to take us to Earth. They’ll wait for us while they do some shakedown drills. After they bring us back, they go out on their first patrol. Out Altair way.”

“Got it all planned out, do you?” Kitty asked with a smile on her face.

“Yes, I do,” Simon answered, grinning back. “And that’s the first real smile I’ve seen on your face in ages.”

Kitty was just as eager to get away as Simon was. It was nearly fifteen years now since they’d first stumbled on the Galileo and started the chain of events that had led to this moment. It was almost anticlimactic the way things turned out. Their normal transportation had been a small pickup truck into their campsite north and west of Billings, but this was just an extension of what they had wrought—a spaceship to deliver them to a remote corner of North America and communicators if there should be trouble or it was time to go back to the rat race they’d built for themselves.

In truth, as Simon had said on more than one occasion, the Alliance could run itself now. There was no real need for them to be there every minute. There were more people better able to interpret data and handle crises should they arise. And there was always the Ad Astra in orbit if they were needed back on Vesta.

They arrived in late morning, a mist still covering portions of the bay. Kitty started putting away the things that had been offloaded from the shuttle. Simon elected to get the fuel for the oversized fireplace that would take the sting out of the chilly Canadian nights. No security accompanied them whenever either one left the cabin. Kitty carried the laser pistol she had become accustomed to, while Simon carried the old-fashioned Army .45 he preferred.

They had started just a bit off cycle with the planet, and by the time a sufficient store of firewood was laid by, Kitty had prepared dinner, which was a first in more years than she cared to remember. After they had eaten at the obviously handmade and ancient dining table, Simon pulled a bottle of fire wine out and went into the living room where he already had a roaring fire going. The bedroom was on the other side of the fireplace, so any heat the rock chimney would absorb would be released during the night, although it would still be quite chilly by morning.

Tired from her labors and jetlag, Kitty lay back on the comfortable bearskin rug that really was there and watched the fire shimmer off the silver-tipped fur. Simon poured a small amount of wine into two glasses, for which she was glad since the brew was more potent than its taste suggested.

She raised up on one elbow and took the proffered glass, waiting for Simon to settle down beside her. Once he was at ease, he raised his glass in a toast. “To Commander Milken for the peace and quiet we are about to enjoy. We should find a way to repay him without it seeming obvious.”

“Here, here,” Kitty answered heartily, clinking glasses, the small sound resounding up her spine. Anything that would make him forget the war and the Alliance for even a short time was welcome in her universe. After his stint in the regeneration chamber, he looked almost half his real age and sported the same white hair she did. She realized what kind of stress he’d been under these past few years while she played at being a diplomat. She was going to have to find a way to thank him.

Getting up later in the evening to go to the outhouse made her reconsider having thanked Simon earlier. Even the white, store-bought seat couldn’t help but be frigid. If my ass had been wet, I’d be stuck out here all night, she thought, making her way back inside. Simon did redeem himself, though. He had awakened when she got up and put more wood on the dying fire, and a cheery glow presaged the heat even as she wrapped part of the bearskin rug about her, waiting for Simon to get back from his trip outside.

He stirred the logs and added two more before rejoining her. He had two more glasses ready for them, a smaller amount this time, and raised his glass once more. As she uncertainly raised her own, he tapped her glass, and said, “Here’s to the most beautiful woman in several dozen solar systems.” They sipped the shimmering blue wine slowly until Simon said, “Why don’t we go out to that ledge tomorrow? The one overlooking the bay?”

They were situated on the edge of a bluff, and the ledge gave an impressive view of a very large expanse of water. On their first day, Simon had hiked out and reported an iceberg sailing by when he got back with an armload of wood.

“Okay,” she said, snuggling against him. “We can make a picnic out of it and stay late enough to see if there will be an aurora. Of all the things on Earth I miss, auroras are near the top of the list.” Soon she nodded off to sleep, the last of her wine unfinished on a nearby table.

Kitty’s scream ended Simon’s search for firewood and proved to be the end of their picnic idyll. Simon’s .45 was in his hand even before he started moving back to the ledge where they had planned their afternoon meal. He skidded to a halt, staring in disbelief at the sight before him.

Canadian nights were supposed to be a bit chilly but otherwise wonderful in high summer. The problem was that the Canadian wilderness wasn’t supposed to be home to active, human-killing Garmons. The race had been trying to blow humanity out of existence since the completion of their first space dock. They were extremely aggressive, hostile, dangerous, and single-minded. To a Garmon, all things belonged to the Garmon.

This one was mere steps away from his wife, backing her into a corner of the ledge, her own weapon lying thirty feet from where she stood. He raised the pistol and sighted on the back of the creature’s head. One hand fired three rounds in quick succession, all striking low and to the left, shredding the shoulder of the Garmon while the other slid another clip out, ready for use.

We’re not supposed to have any on Earth, Simon thought abstractedly. The creature turned, and Simon fired four more rounds into the chest of the vest-wearing enemy from beyond the solar system.

The eight-foot tall alien stopped, dark brown fur matting with a thick green liquid. Simon dropped one clip and inserted the second. As the eight-hundred-pound Wookie on steroids moved toward him, he saw Kitty slip over and pick up her laser with her left hand. It was then that he noticed her right arm jammed into her waistband. Anger suffused him and drained out just as fast. Time slowed as he knelt on a boulder, bringing him to eye level with the alien. He raised the weapon and carefully, dispassionately, fired four rounds into and around the eyes of the thing from a distance of fifteen feet.

The small slugs penetrating the primitive brain of the newest enemy of humanity finally did their job, and the huge alien fell face down, twitched twice, and was still. Simon sidled past the body, wary of any possible subterfuge, and hurried to his wife. Apparently, rock-steady on the outside, he could feel the tension in her shoulders and back as he put his arm around her. “Maybe we should have just stayed on Vesta,” he said morosely. “At least we wouldn’t be spattered with Garmon gunk.” A quick comm call to the orbiting Ad Astra had medics and a sanitation team shuttling in almost immediately.

“I want to know how it got here, where it came from, and if there are any more, not just nearby, but on the whole damned planet!” Simon was livid. “I want answers… and fast. The Herald was almost killed.”

“Admiral,” the senior commander said, “I believe we already have some of those answers for you. How they got here will have to wait, but survey scans show that there were nearly identical life readings on top of that ledge just prior to our arrival. Now they’re two miles away and heading into some of the least-known country on Earth. We can track them, but going in on foot? I’d rather drop a couple of AMs on ‘em and be done with it.”

“I’ll have to talk to the Prime Minister about using antimatter missiles. It is their country after all, but if we can get some evidence of unexplained disappearances or something, I might have a chance. Look into that, will you?” Dismissing the commander from his mind, Simon said, “Let’s go get cleaned up, hon.”

Still silent, she just nodded. Simon took her good arm and walked her up the ramp into the waiting shuttle.

Not one to beat around the bush, George Cavitt, head of Tactics and Planning, said, “Our best guess is that they have to be survivors of the second wave.” The assault on Earth that had left almost twenty million dead and countless others homeless.

“What about the ones that got away?” Simon asked.

“We have a fix on their life signs, but it’s still too dangerous to send in teams. These guys know the forests now and are superb hunters to begin with. As long as they stay away from people, we’re just going to track ‘em and wait for the right opportunity.” Cavitt didn’t seem very pleased by the prospect.

“Their ship went down off the west coast,” Kitty said. “How did they get as far as Hudson Bay without being spotted?”

“They’ve had almost ten years to travel,” Cavitt answered. “I would move, too, if it was me stranded on an alien world. And who’s to say they weren’t spotted? I have inquiries out to all Canadian officials asking for all missing or dead reports for the past two years. We’re looking into anything unusual, including Bigfoot sightings.”

“You think you can keep them under control?” Simon asked.

“No. Under observation, yes. Maybe, if I can send in a couple of missiles, or maybe,” Cavitt hesitated, the stressed word calling attention to it, “maybe we can send in teams ahead of them if we can get a read on how they’re moving. Could cost lives that way, though. Either way, it won’t be hard to follow half a dozen large aliens across the wilderness, especially when we know where to look. I will do what is necessary to take care of the threat.”

“Good, and for what it’s worth, I don’t think the thing was out to kill me as much as it wanted to get my laser. I saw how they have adapted our tools and other things into weapons. Very inventive race. A few more centuries and they might just have won. And they can be our downfall yet if we slip up even once.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Simon stated positively. “We’ve beat ‘em back three times and started to cripple their extra-planetary capacity. Soon, they won’t be able to get a ship into space.”

“Famous last words, Simon,” Kitty muttered darkly. “Famous last words.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The Ad Astra carried Simon and Kitty back to Vesta, where Kitty finally agreed to spend several days in a regen chamber healing her broken wrist and severely wrenched elbow and shoulder. Her leg, broken several years earlier, no longer ached at all. It was during this time that Simon came up with a plan sure to displease his wife; it was time that he made his own trip to Shiravi. It felt to him like half the Alliance had already been there, and he’d only left Earth-space once.

Kitty had promised that he’d be able to take a captaincy of a ship as soon as the Fleet was able to be turned over to someone with enough expertise to do the job effectively. There were a few candidates in range, but he wanted the experience of walking on Shiravan soil and meeting the Matriarch who had taken Kitty into her own family. Plus, there were more than a few candidates there that he wanted to interview as well. Two stood out in his mind, and there was going to be one hell of a fight when she decanted.

He was there with a change of clothes when she woke up. The first thing she did was to check her wrist. “Not so much as a twinge,” she said, looking at him. She noticed the clothes on his lap and sat up slowly. “You even brought a towel,” she said with one of her brilliant smiles. “Thanks, husband-mine.” She cleaned the majority of goo out of her hair and started on the rest of her body. Simon couldn’t help but watch as she made a sensuous exercise of it.

She reached for the clothes and finally found herself in an old pair of sweatpants and shirt. A curious look made Simon say, “Well, we’re just going back to quarters, and I didn’t want you getting a chill. We’ll be eating in tonight. Diana has everything under control at the Herald’s office and instructions to bother you only with the most important stuff. I’m on call if necessary.”

“I haven’t been away that long. To what do I owe the pleasure of your undivided attention?” Kitty looked at him strangely.

“Well, we never did finish our vacation, and I want at least one more uninterrupted night before we get back to work.” His answer seemed lame even to himself, but it was the best he could think of.

“I know you too well, Simon Hawke,” Kitty said accusingly. “You’ve got something else on your mind. Aren’t you the one who said to make one thing serve two purposes?”

“Well, I wasn’t the first, but yeah, I did. Why?” he asked defensively.

Kitty laughed. “I know that tone too, dear, and you’ve definitely got something on your mind. Remember, that’s what wives are for. I’m your support group and sounding board.”

“Since you seem to know me so well, let’s wait until after dinner. I’m pretty sure you won’t like this one very much. I’ll give you a massage, and we can talk about it then.”

“Plan to catch me when I’m relaxed?” she questioned, one eyebrow raised. “It must be something big. Okay, deal. No more talk about it until you’ve got me in your clutches.”

Kitty had plenty of time to think about what Simon might have to talk about, but he managed to outdo even her imagination. After the promised massage, he said, “Everyone in Tactics and Planning, and that includes myself, is of the opinion that it’s time for me to show my face in Shiravan space. I want to talk to all the captains before I make my final decision. Bob Greene will step in as acting commander of Alliance forces in Earth-space. He’s got the experience, and I don’t want to lose it to a lucky Garmon missile or ambush.”

“And just when were you planning to tell me about this? And what decision are you talking about?” was all Kitty seemed to be able to get out.

“I was going to tell you when all the elements fell into place,” he said quietly. “And they have. The Isaac Newton will be coming out of dry dock this week, and a fleet is being assembled to ferry the Galileo back to the Shiravans. It would be good public relations on the other side, and I get to talk to all the captains over there before I decide who replaces me as senior admiral of the Alliance.”

It was only then that she realized the relaxing effects of the massage were completely gone. That’s what happened when bad news hit her in the face.

“First, as admiral, I need to inspect the fleet. That hasn’t happened since the first ships were assigned to Shiravan space. It’ll keep ‘em on their toes, and I’ll get those talks with the various captains over there. Besides, I want more than just Marsha’s word that Gayle is holding up well. She still wasn’t one hundred per cent when she left with Marsha’s group.”

“I still don’t know why you need to speak to those particular captains so badly. Care to fill me in?”

Simon looked at the floor and scrubbed at a mark on the deck plating with his boot. “We’ve had fifteen of years busting our asses putting the Alliance together from nothing more than a dream. And we did it! But I want out of this position, and I’m going to find and name my replacement. Maybe you should start doing the same. Then we can take a few ships and go looking in neighborhoods where we haven’t been before. If there are three races in this general area of space, why couldn’t there be more?”

Kitty had been half expecting this for some time and recognized the inevitable, though she still fought it. “Why don’t you just have the captains you want to interview come home? A courier ship could bring them all and at a faster pace than a fleet can travel.”

“Again, honey, because the rank and file need to know that I’m still out here. And a real leader leads from the front, not the rear. Credibility. How will anyone respect my replacement if I don’t show that I’m not afraid to take on dangerous missions, myself?”

“That’s faulty logic, Simon. How will anyone respect you if you don’t lead from the front, you mean. How it affects your successor is an entirely different proposition. How much of this comes from our little vacation problem?” Kitty asked.

“I will admit that there was some, uh, introspection after the trip, but that isn’t consequential. I’ve met and considered almost all the captains in Earth-space, and now I need to visit with the rest before making a decision. And truthfully, you should start looking into your replacement, too, unless you’re not planning to come with me?”

Simon made it sound almost like a challenge, but she wasn’t falling for it. I’ve become too much of a politician, she thought. Aloud she said, “I’ll take it under advisement for the time being. If you’re going to be gone almost two years, I’ll have plenty of time to make my own decision.”

“So, you’re not going to put up a fight?” Simon asked, sounding like he had expected one.

“No, dear. I’ve been to Shiravi, and I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t go, except that we’ll be another two years apart, and I’ll have to learn to work with Bob Greene all over again. I’d like to spend as much time together as possible before you leave, though. I’ll cancel most of my appointments, but there are a couple I can’t cancel on such short notice.”

It was closer to a month before the skeleton crew for the Galileo could be put together. They would have to return on other ships, so only essential personnel were required.

The day finally came. The Galileo had been stripped of all personal belongings, and most of her crew had already transferred to the Newton. All that was left was to take the fleet and leave for Shiravi. Simon carried a considerable amount of mail to Linnas, Marsha, and Gayle, while an even larger bundle was sent to the men and women of the rest of the human fleet in Shiravan space.

Kitty followed Simon aboard the Ad Astra to say goodbye. Most of that goodbye had been said alone in their quarters the previous night, but she really didn’t want to see her husband leave. Bob Greene was a fine interim admiral, and she’d become good friends with his wife Michiko many years before.

“Nice quarters,” she said, looking around. “I hope you’ve got a lot of reading material. Nearly two years in hyper is going to be very boring.”

“Oh, I don’t think I’ll be too bored. I brought a select part of my Planning and Tactics team along, and we’ve rebuilt a few rooms to our specifications for some simulations that might help with the Shiravan side of things.”

“What do you expect once you get there?” she asked cautiously.

“No more than you do. The last courier gave a pretty glowing report. No real activity of any consequence. The Garmons seem to be holding back more than usual. Whether that’s because we’ve taken out too many of their ships or destroyed their refineries is anybody’s guess. Most of the action seems to occur whenever we come across one of their worlds, and then the resistance is light. That’s one of my reasons for going. We need to try to determine just how badly we’ve hurt them.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Pegra Nargresh looked uneasily at the hand and two of faces before him. Ever since the same language had been adopted and the Laws established, there had always been a leader chosen by the Elders. Occasionally a leader left no qualified heir, and the Elders met to choose a leader from a group of applicants who fought for the honor of leading the united Clans.

Now there were no Elders, or not enough surviving to mean anything. Pegra looked around and said, “We must choose from amongst ourselves who leads. If we don’t, we run the risk of ending as the Elders warned us. Clan versus clan will destroy our race. None of our worlds might contact another again other than as enemies. I propose we decide together what a leader’s next move might be.”

A moment passed, and one clan leader cautiously said, “We have all suffered surprising losses at the paws of both the Shiravi and these new humanz. Certainly, no single Clan can stand against them. Do you have a plan in mind?”

Pegra nodded slowly. “I do not propose to set my will against another’s, but my instincts say that I should find a place to lick my wounds and look at alternatives. I know that our late leader has sent out a construction crew to build a new, secret fueling station. Sharing fuel amongst our own clan ships will assure us of having enough to start refueling our under-fueled ships and quietly survey our own clans.”

He shrugged. “After that,” he said, hesitantly, “we can meet and bring treaty proposals together. I do wish to stress that our enemies have not given up their patrols and attacks against our nursery worlds. We must consider whether to hide the younglings and cows or move them to other, more distant planets not likely to be found by either race.”

The moves had to be made carefully. Each clan and sub-clan had to manage with a severely diminished number of ships and try to be wherever their enemies weren’t. The occasional meeting of the humanz broke the quiet movements of the clans.

Pegra strode impatiently through the remains of the wooden hall of the Garmon, waiting for the other captains to arrive. With farther to travel and more sub-clans to care for, he had collected almost half of the Garmons’ nurseries before calling off the search for more; he had little patience with the rest for their tardiness, especially when the six right here were secretly making policy for a race used to the iron rule of a single individual.

These half-farat meetings were beginning to wear on him, even with the knowledge that his own personal domain now outnumbered any two of the others combined. Couple that with his proximity to the fueling station and the secret construction of one of his own, and he was beginning to feel the urge to call for a conclave now that several Elders had been found alive and a few others had attained that exalted status.

Eight hands and two ships pledged to him personally, and his spies told him that no one else, conspirator or loyalist, could claim even half that. His pacing stopped as he heard a ship land on the field outside. There was some chance of detection, but since the fuel plants hadn’t been rebuilt and all the nurseries moved, there were no longer as many enemy ships returning to check on the viability of the world in question.

Three captains entered together, traveling in concert to minimize exposure to enemy patrols. The lead captain, one Targal Morghat, followed by Grikara Gubarak, senior captain under The Garmon, entered, followed by a youngling captain owning a mere two hands and two of ships and with few Honors on his vest.

Pegra said testily, “You’re late. My ship has sat exposed for two suns while you delayed. We have two more to wait for. Who is the new captain? And where are the others?”

Before the new captain could answer for himself, Gubarak spoke up, a dangerous breach of Garmon ethics under the best of conditions. “Here stands Rudal Kravact, heir to the holdings of Sept-Leader Arkelt after sanctioned combat.” He eyed Pegra, a look unmistakable to any Garmon. He added, “We here now comprise the whole of Garmon rule.”

Pegra eyed the Honors on the newcomer’s vest. “Welcome Sept-Leader. I am Sept-Leader Nargresh. We welcome your ships as well. As soon as we can decide on where to build a new shipyard, I’m sure your fleet will grow to fit your population.”

“Speaking of populations and ships, Sept-Leader,” Gubarak said dangerously, “as senior captain and Sept-Leader under The Garmon, it should be I who holds power here. Thanks to the attacks of the humanz and Shiravi, we have lost two of our own, and we feel that the Empire should be reunited under a single ruler.”

“From your words, I assume you mean yourself,” Pegra answered, a hand on the pistol at his belt. “You said that young Kravact holds his position by way of sanctioned combat. Do you propose a conclave wherein we may all vie for the honor of leadership?”

“And let a council of Elders know that we went against all tradition in assassinating The Garmon? We would all be executed as soon as word got out. I have a far simpler solution to the problem. Since no Elder knows of The Garmon’s death, we will present them with a united front and only one contender for the title.”

Pegra drew his pistol, anticipating with a hunter’s instincts what was to happen next. “And you believe that it should be you who leads? Did you convince your friends here of your supremacy? I was never even consulted. I call that an insult of the highest magnitude. This hall has already been dishonored by one tainted death; another will do no harm.”

Gubarak moved his hand toward his own pistol. He might have won if Pegra hadn’t already had his own weapon drawn. The ripping sound of the laser startled the others while the smell of burnt hair and flesh stung his own nose. Holding his pistol at his side, he turned to the others and said, “So now there are three, since the other two haven’t presented themselves. Will there be any more discussion concerning leadership? I don’t want it, but I don’t believe that it is wise to go back to our old ways. For three farats we’ve done well with deciding what to do for our people. Perhaps others should do the leading, but leadership should never again rest in the hands of one person.”

He watched the eyes of the other two. Their hands stayed carefully away from their weapons, but their claws were certainly showing. Finally, they shifted away from him to gaze on the body at their feet. “Perhaps you are right, Sept-Leader,” Targal Morghat said uneasily. “All the Elders we’ve been able to locate are on one of my nursery worlds. I will inform them of the crisis, blaming it on the raids on homeworld. They can consult the old books and decide what to do. I will convey your words and add my own as well. We will rise against the enemy and defeat them in time as a race rather than as the dream of one individual.”

A half a farat later, almost two hundred ships stood primed to attack the homeworld of the Shiravi. It had taken that long to convince Morghat and Kravact to throw their forces in with his, and with the absorption of Gubarak’s clans and sub-clans into their three domains, there now existed enough ships to mount an offensive capable of doing serious damage against their enemies.

Now, the Fleet sat invisibly in Shiravi’s Oort cloud, gathering intelligence on the comings and goings of all ships. The time was perfect to pounce, especially with the new rudimentary shields. Four enemy ships sat at rest in the system—one around the second planet, two in orbit around the Shiravan homeworld, and one concealed in the Oort cloud opposite the fleet across the system.

Ships refitted with more efficient drives comprised a large part of that fleet. Enemy ships having shields against all the Garmons could throw at them had proven that such technology existed. Whether the systems were the same or not, the result was that the same light-built craft could carry heavier armaments and move faster. New drives were more efficient, and upgraded missiles gave a higher damage ratio. Now was a good time to test the new technologies against standing ships of the enemy.

Eight hands of ships were assigned to the single ship while the rest were aimed at the remaining three ships in-system and the satellites in orbit. A single order would send those ships onto their missions, the one going farthest leaving first so that all three enemies would be taken out simultaneously. Commanding the largest contingent of ships, Pegra gave the order to move out. Within half a day, the results would be obvious.

Simon did have time to read and more. With the slower speed of the Galileo, almost nine months passed before the convoy arrived in Shiravan space. Every imaginable scenario had been hashed and rehashed to the point that everyone was on pins and needles, waiting to implement one plan or another.

Protocol demanded that any incoming fleet be challenged by a warship assigned to the point in space that ships from Earth entered Shiravan space just outside the local Oort cloud. The Keltra Vant was assigned to the duty for the moment, but no hail reached the Shiravan ship, even after several hours. Passive scans and Manta 3s were used to search cautiously for the missing ship.

At full red alert, the information came back. The Keltra Vant was a probable cloud of expanding gases and fragments. Included were the remnants of what appeared to be Garmon ships of a configuration not seen before, and there were only three of those. To date, with the upgrades to Shiravan vessels, the Keltra Vant should have survived or taken several more ships with her.

Simon had the luxury of having two full wolf packs with his fleet, not counting the Galileo, now once again the Dalgor Kret. Two cruisers and a carrier moved out under full cloak to check the situation closer to Shiravi.

Travel time to the inner system took days under in-system drive and full cloak, mandated by the circumstance of the nearby wreckage. Cloaked M-3s from the remaining carrier patrolled an ever-expanding area, coming up with nothing active scans hadn’t already acquired upon arrival. All data collected indicated that the attack had happened as much as a week before. Physical examinations of the wreckage gave the same results.

Finally, a hyper-link message arrived authorizing an approach to Shiravi, along with the fact that several ships, two Terrans among them, were in orbit, providing cover for the homeworld. The balance of Simon’s fleet, eagerly awaited, short-jumped into near-Shiravan space and were assigned orbits complementing the existing patrols.

Simon shuttled down to the landing field outside Quillas, main port city and capitol of the slowly re-growing Shiravan empire. By the time the fleet arrived, all the information on the Garmon attack was aboard the Ad Astra, and Simon was livid. Shiravi had received the same treatment Earth had. Two scars marred the surface of the smaller planet, and a number of satellites and ships had died in the surprise attack, two of them Earth ships.

The Matriarch and her Second Voice met Simon’s entourage personally. “I am honored to meet the mate of my Sister, Katherine,” Linnas des Harras said. “I grieve that your arrival coincides with such misery.”

Simon and his captains followed the Matriarch into her offices in Central Command. After introductions, he said, “We are used to this kind of news, Your Grace. Remember, humans have had a very violent past.” This was delivered with a wryness he hadn’t expected. “And all the more so, recently. We share your grief, not just for our losses but for yours as well.”

His discomfiture came from having only a passing acquaintance with the captains and none of the crews. For some reason, this left him feeling even worse than before. The fact that two Shiravan ships had been destroyed in the attack and the Shiravan death toll peaked around three hundred thousand didn’t help any either.

Linnas offered chairs all around and fruit juice. After everyone was comfortable, her Second Voice, Sitha kep Parrasine, added a few details that had been left out of the transmission. “We had no notice. None of our scans picked them up until they were just outside the orbits of Shabbas and Grinnas.”

Simon shook his head slowly. “That’s the same trick they pulled on Earth. They came in on ballistic orbits without power. No telling how long they drifted before getting into attack position. And they managed to take out four ships, including the Keltra Vant. It seems amazing that so few enemy ships were destroyed.”

Sitha spoke before her Matriarch could. “Our scans showed over two hundred ships involved in the attack. They were far better armored than we expected or have ever seen. When three ships broke off and headed directly for Shiravi, three cruisers—two from Earth—interposed themselves between the attackers. They were swarmed by a large number of the enemy’s new attack craft and destroyed, but not before taking out two of the larger attacking craft. Only one managed to reach the surface. Unfortunately, it was aimed at the Matriarch’s Summer Palace at Cho-An.

Simon looked at the Matriarch and said, “Your Grace, I’ll see to the protection of Shiravi until we can get some real firepower back here. Do you have any long-range couriers on hand? Sending them out to look for any ships able to return immediately would be a big help. I’ll advise my Planning and Tactics team about the apparent upgrades in Garmon engines, shielding, and tactics, and then we can get to know each other better. After all, you are my sister-in-law, according to our ways. Spare me a few minutes to confer with my captains, and then you’ll have my undivided attention.”

At Linnas’s gracious nod, Simon huddled with his men, and they all began to leave immediately. Simon smiled quickly and said, “All that can be done will be, Your Grace. My captains express their regrets but want to see to the disposition of their ships and set up a defensive perimeter. They will return for formal introductions as soon as possible.”

Linnas waved Simon back to his chair. “I have waited a long time to meet you, Admiral Hawke. The stories Katherine has told tell me you are a capable male and responsible for the building of the Alliance from the technology of our Dalgor Kret. It is good news that she has been safely returned, and I hear there are numerous improvements our scientists can incorporate into not only our space fleet but our entire economy.”

Simon waved one hand deprecatingly. “I only had the idea. It was the work of thousands of others that resulted in the improvements you mention and the Alliance as a whole. I just helped find the scientists and crew who did all the work. I feel like more of an administrator than a leader, especially since my wife is the elected head of the Alliance.”

“Katherine said you’d say as much, but the truth is that your people look up to you, and it’s likely that not as much might have been accomplished by a lesser person,” Linnas said matter-of-factly. “She also told me what could have happened if one of your governments had gotten hold of the Dalgor Kret. It’s even possible that your world wouldn’t have survived being found by the Garmons. Do you not wish to take credit for your foresight in choosing so wisely?”

Simon thought for a moment then shrugged. “Not particularly. I just made the decisions I felt to be in the best interests of my world and people. That those decisions led to what we have today is pure coincidence, and many of those decisions were made by other people over my objections. Still, all in all, I’m not too displeased with the way things have turned out.” A lopsided grin crossed his face. “All I ever wanted to do was command one of the ships. And once this Garmon business is settled, I fully intend to do just that.”

“Just my point, Admiral. We all thought we could get back to our normal lives. We all thought the menace had been contained. We have patrols revisiting past Garmon worlds and checking out new locations for any evidence of habitation. There’s not much else we can do until we determine the source of this new invasion.”

Simon took a sip from his juice. Oranges had become an overnight sensation in the time since trade had started between the two races. “Do you have any ideas where my senior captains are? Miller? Dahlquist? Kane?”

“As direct as Katherine said you were,” Linnas said with a little smile. “I will see that you have access to the proper Directorate for such information. It is possible that some information will give you an expected return date. These patrols were sent out before the current attack, so they won’t have any idea until they return. I can tell you this—the three you named will be beyond angry. Through their efforts, most of our gains have been made and many of our more junior officers have gained valuable experience and confidence. We have even re-established contact with the survivors on Harlo and retaken another five of our colonies. With the help of the Alliance, the Polity now numbers twenty worlds rather than fourteen.”

Simon took a sip of his juice to hide his attempt to gather his thoughts. “That is good news indeed. Kitty will be happy to hear it. It is well that so many of your ships and crews have gained experience in combat. And winning battles boosts morale. This setback will probably cause your opposition leaders to try to move against you. Our ships will back you, and as soon as more ships return from their patrols, we can begin planning new strategies, such as finding out where so many ships came from. We must have missed at least one shipyard on some world we haven’t yet visited. Sweeping more worlds may help with that task.

“But you mustn’t take the chance of overextending yourselves at this time. You might not be able to keep what you’ve gained if you’re not careful.” Simon stopped, uncomfortable. “I don’t mean to tell you how to handle your own affairs, but it’s what we would do in such a case.”

Linnas looked at Simon appraisingly. “I see now why it is you who leads your battle fleets. It was inevitable that the Garmons would eventually upgrade their ships. Seeing how we have refitted our own ships told them that the task wasn’t impossible. And your advice is not unacceptable.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. My concern is now how to deal with a re-energized enemy with better weapons. And for that, I need my senior captains present, along with yours. We must pool our combined resources to find our way to the end of this mess.” Simon was deeply troubled. “If the Garmons managed to sucker any one of the fleets in, it could be a disaster. And with two hundred enhanced Garmon ships on the move, it’s going to be that much harder.”

“Will you stay here and see some of our homeworld for a short while? I would consider it an honor to have you as a guest in Quillas for a few days or until some of the fleets return if it doesn’t interfere with your duties and if that meets with your approval.”

“It would be my pleasure, Your Grace. Odd, isn’t it? In all this time, this is the only the second time I’ve set foot on a planet other than Earth.”

His mind wandered for a moment to a short excursion with Bob Greene’s squadron, checking out some Garmon worlds where he got a firsthand view of Garmon life. The things he’d seen still stuck in his mind—the young males being trained by old Garmons, the females, looking like a different species altogether, and the squalid conditions they lived under. Some of the last was caused by at least one attack designed to cripple any resistance and ships in the area.

After giving orders to his fleet, he spent three days inspecting the shipyards, meeting with high officials before fading to darkness. Then came a visit to Cho-An, destroyed in the attack. “Kitty told me about this place. I’m sorry I didn’t get to see it before.”

“Don’t worry, Admiral,” Linnas said. “As soon as we have defeated the Garmons completely, it will be rebuilt. But now it’s time for you to return to your fleet. A few more ships have returned, and we can now start sending out reconnaissance groups to the nearer worlds to see if this was an isolated attack or part of a more coordinated effort.”

Seeing the necessity himself, Simon called for his gig and was taken to Quillas Port for the ride back to his flagship. Once aboard, he immediately called his Planning and Tactics team together to consider the ramifications of the new circumstances. Sending out two recon groups to some of the nearer worlds, he set out the mission parameters.

“Until we get a better grasp on what we face, you are not to engage the enemy. Just find out where they are and return, without being noticed if you can. Fight only as a last resort for the time being. I want information, not casualties.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Their missions finished, Marsha Kane and Gayle Miller held their fleets at a predetermined rendezvous point, waiting for Shirley Dahlquist to arrive before they returned to Shiravi. Both Captains had noticed the increased capabilities of some of the Garmon ships and were discussing the matter aboard the Raptor. It was during one such meeting that they received the news. Captain Dahlquist’s fleet had finally arrived, bruised, battered, and almost half-strength but still a welcome addition to the ships just sitting in empty space.

Three fleets had gone out totaling twenty-one ships, including the ghost. Fifteen had returned. Shirley Dahlquist’s fleet had suffered the worst, losing four of her seven ships when they came out of hyper into the path of more than twice their number. The newly refurbished Garmon ships, though more powerful than before, couldn’t stand up to the battle-hardened crews of Shirley’s ships. The carrier managed to disgorge her chicks before taking a hit to one engine pod. If not for that, there might have been no one left to tell the tale at all. Eleven Manta’s returned to their damaged roost, joining Shirley’s flagship and surviving cruiser. Sixteen clouds of gas slowly expanded as the survivors limped off toward their meeting with the other two fleets.

Marsha was more than a bit concerned when only three ships arrived flashing the Alliance IFF signal. She was even more upset when Shirley stepped out of her captain’s gig. She looked at Gayle, back at Shirley, and said, “Maybe we should go up to my quarters.”

Tired, Shirley replied, “I agree, but can you send someone over to the Canopus to see what can be done for her starboard engine pod? She took a direct hit with her shields down. I don’t think she can make hyper again without some repairs. And I need a drink.”

Marsha nodded and spoke quietly into her comm link as she led her friends to her quarters. “Crews will be on their way within the hour. If she could make one hyper jump, it can’t be too bad.” The rest of the walk was made in silence as the three friends contemplated the seriousness of the problem. Only once before had the Alliance suffered a defeat this bad, and that had been an ambush, pure and simple.

Gayle tried to comfort her friend as they settled into chairs in the Captain’s quarters. “Sounds like bad luck to me, Shirl,” she said. “Got any ideas how it happened?”

Shirley shook her head. “All I can say is that those ships seemed to be able to take more punishment than any I’ve encountered before. It was almost like they have shields or something now. And their weapons carried more of a punch than before, too.”

Marsha heard the confusion and pain in her voice. “Well, both Gayle and I have run into something similar. But now that we know, we can start planning new tactics for the future. But we should cut our schedule short and get back to Shiravi with all this as soon as the Canopus is ready. We’ve managed to seed over twenty suspected worlds with the virus, and that should be enough for a first foray.”

Simon Hawke, First Admiral of the Terran Alliance, sat in a chair watching a sunset on an alien world. Even after two months, it was still a marvel to him. The Alliance was almost fifteen years old, suffering from growing pains similar to the ones that had afflicted a new nation more than two centuries before. His ostensible reason for being on Shiravi in the first place was to confer with several ship captains in preparation for promoting one to his own position. He was tired of leading and being looked to for direction and inspiration. His very bones told him it was time and beyond to take off his admiral’s hat.

He watched the red sun slip down past the port facilities on the far side of Quillas City, capitol city of Shiravi and her twenty colony worlds, and even though the sight still made his breath catch in his throat, he was beginning to feel an itch to move. The problem was, according to Linnas des Harras, Matriarch of the Shiravan Polity, that the three particular captains he wanted to see were on extended patrols with no specific ETA. It was, therefore, a bit of a surprise when a runner from the Matriarch’s staff found them with news that the patrols had finally returned.

Considering the hour, he decided that tomorrow would be time enough to announce his intentions. His presence would be common knowledge to the new arrivals almost immediately, but since this was only his second trip out of Earth-space, he imagined the news of his presence would come as a shock. Their reactions might tell him something, but with these three, maybe not. Time would tell. He finished the glass of fire wine sitting beside him and went in to bed.

The next morning, he found breakfast waiting for him, so he ate before calling the fleet in orbit. The Raptor, the largest warship to come out of an Alliance shipyard, was captained by Marsha Kane. He left it up to her to round up the other two. First, he wanted a battle assessment of their missions and then individual meetings with each one. Two hours later, he entered the Raptor’s landing bay.

He stepped out to an honor guard and Ruffles and Flourishes. Marsha stood at the head of her staff, flanked by Simon’s other two candidates—Gayle Miller and Shirley Dahlquist. He strode to the bottom of the gig’s ramp and saluted Marsha. “Permission to come aboard, Captain?” he asked, snapping a salute.

Marsha stepped forward and returned the salute. “Permission granted and welcome, Admiral. I must say it’s a pleasant surprise to find you out here. If you will follow me, please?”

Simon followed Marsha, trailed closely by Gayle and a bit farther back by Shirley. Once the four were comfortably seated in an alcove in Marsha’s suite, she poured drinks all round, handing Simon his favorite without asking—a double Chivas, neat. He took a sip and said, “I think Kitty was right. Going through regen takes the—for lack of a better term—potency out of alcohol... except for fire wine for some reason.” He then got to the root of one of his reasons for being in Shiravan space. “So, give me your personal opinions on what’s been happening on this side. Marsha, you start.”

The Raptor’s captain didn’t quite manage to hide her wince. “Well, Admiral, we’ve been out on mission revisiting some of the old Garmon strongholds. We found and destroyed about half a dozen ships on the ground on three different planets. It was when we entered our last target system that we ran into trouble. We stopped in the local Oort cloud to get a feel for the area as usual and were attacked almost immediately, almost like they knew what we would do. Anyway, sir, the enemy had better armor, more like rudimentary shields, and heavier missiles. My fleet lost four ships before we finally took out the last Garmon ship.” She stopped speaking abruptly, waiting for Simon’s response, which wasn’t long in coming.

He informed them of the attack on Shiravi finishing by saying, “I’m really not surprised. The Garmons do learn, after all. Planning and Tactics has been working on just this kind of scenario for some time. It’s unfortunate that you were among the first to encounter their upgrades, but rest assured it won’t be held against you. Of course, it doesn’t make the loss of so many people rest any easier on you, but just imagine what could have happened if they’d had a larger force on hand.”

Marsha’s sigh of relief was almost palpable, and Gayle stepped in to cover her lapse. “Simon, we all know the risks as well as you do. It’s likely that Marsha ran into their first upgraded fleet and Shirley had the same problem. We’ll all have to be more careful in the future and plan for the possibilities. It’s also obvious that they have another fuel depot we missed. Now we’ll have to search farther out to locate it. That means more missions and more losses, but we’re prepared for that now.”

Simon looked appraisingly at the three captains. His expression changed, as did his tone of voice. “I do have another matter to bring up. Central Control picked up transmissions before your fleets left on your last forays. It seems that several encrypted messages no one has been able to decode were intercepted. That seems likely to be your handiwork, Captain Kane. Would you care to enlighten me as to their content?”

Marsha’s eyes strayed to her friends before answering. “Just personal messages between friends before departure, Admiral,” she responded smoothly, belying the hesitation before her answer.

“I also have it on good authority that you had at least one meeting with antiestablishment persons before your final deorbit. How about explaining that one, and do a better job than you did to Linnas.” He was poker-faced and his tone had changed again. This time there was a coldness she hadn’t heard before.

She didn’t hesitate. “I was summoned by the head of the sel Garian Clan. I wanted to know what she had to say that was so important that she’d go to such great lengths to contact me. She wanted to try to convince me, as senior human commander and captain of the most powerful ship in Shiravan space, to see her point of view. In fact, she tried to turn me. Of course, I refused and left immediately. There’s nothing more to tell, sir.”

He stared at her until he saw goose bumps prickle her skin. “I sincerely hope my most senior captain wouldn’t be consorting with the enemy. We have a vested interested in keeping the des Harras regime in power. Let the sel Garians and their ilk take over, and everything we’ve done to help these people will go down the drain, not to mention the help we receive from them. We’d have to find a habitable planet and build our own base in Shiravan space. Probably have to do that anyway. But the time lost doing that would give the Garmons more time to rebuild their forces and be that much harder to defeat. Do I make myself clear, Captain?”

“Perfectly, Admiral,” Marsha said straight-faced.

“Good,” Simon said more equably. “Then I consider this matter closed. Now, how about another drink and you tell me about the state of mind of your various crews. Anything in particular you think I should know?”

Gayle got up and went to Marsha’s liquor cabinet. While she was pouring four glasses of wine, Marsha said, “Well, about the only thing I can think of is that quite a few of our people think we should rotate fleets so others can get more experience on this side of the war and let us go home for some real R and R.”

Simon nodded as he took a sip of his drink. He let the taste linger in his mouth for a minute before answering. “I agree. I only have five ships with me that I can trade out right now, but that should show the rest that relief is coming. How many ships do you have over here now?

“After our losses, we have twenty-two human-crewed ships here. That’ll leave seventeen looking forward to going home. Of course, not all of them have been here from the beginning, and you didn’t bring a Raptor-class with you, so I’ll stay with my crew until you can send replacements.”

“Okay,” Simon agreed. “You pick the ships, and I’ll cut the orders for their trip home. As soon as I get back, I’ll send a full contingent to let the rest of you get some downtime. Travel time, fleet makeup, and return can’t be accurately estimated, but you can make an educated guess. Will that do for now?” By this time, he sounded positively agreeable, so Marsha just nodded, almost afraid to say more.

Gayle spoke up. “How soon do you plan to make the switch, sir?” She was one of his closest friends and a Firster into the bargain, but apparently she felt that this meeting required formality.

“Are you gals that anxious to see me gone already?” he quipped. Before any of the captains could answer, he said, “I’ve been here waiting on you for a while, so I think we’ll be headed back within the week. Maybe sooner if you get me that transfer list. How does that sound?”

“Sounds fine, sir,” Marsha answered. “We can fill out Shirley’s group with some reshuffling and integrate the new ships into the slots of the returning ships. I can have a list ready for you in two days. Will that do?”

“Excellent, Captain. Do you need anything else?” When Marsha shook her head, Simon added one more thing. “I think it might be a good idea to find a system where we can set up a base over here, so keep an eye out for something appropriate, okay?”

The three women looked at each other, and Shirley spoke up tentatively. “My group did find a system that might be just what you’re looking for, sir. Not too close to any identified Garmon worlds, and a sufficient asteroid belt to set up in. Should I send you the coordinates?”

“Not now,” Simon said, finishing his drink. He set his glass down and stood up. “I think I’ll be going now. I have a meeting with the Matriarch in a few hours. I’ll apprise her of the changes and see how she responds. Marsha, you might consider attending as well since you’re going back to being stationed ground-side for now.”

Marsha agreed, and moments later the admiral and his mesmerizing presence were gone. She looked at her co-conspirators and said, “Whoever goes home now, we three will stay until replacements arrive. I’ll arrange for more of the virus to be shipped up. We’ll cut back on revisiting old sites and try to find new ones and possibly their new fuel depot. That should make our replacements happy if we can do it. If we don’t find it, at least it will cut out a few places they won’t have to search, and we’ll have infected several more worlds. I just wish I could know if we were having any effect with this virus. Now, I’d better shower and change before going to see Linnas.”

Shirley and Gayle both drained their glasses and stood up. Marsha hugged both friends, and each one left to their respective chores.

Simon’s trip back home was uneventful, but his interviews had left him with a lot to think about. He’d gone in anticipating offering his office to Marsha Kane, but his interview had left him uneasy somehow. All her answers had been clear, concise, and just a bit too rehearsed. There was something he’d missed, though he couldn’t figure her as anything but totally loyal. She’d been one of the shining stars of the second wave and proved herself a dozen times over.

Perhaps it was just paranoia that he was feeling a bit uneasy about relinquishing command, even though that had been his deepest desire from day one. He wanted to be the one in the captain’s seat. And if he could rig it after the war, he’d be the commander of a fleet prepared to search the inner reaches of this arm of the galaxy. It would take a quantum leap to let them travel to other galaxies, but this one should be big enough for even his extended lifetime.

Nargresh was perplexed. The reports coming in from the watcher fleet his predecessor had started, along with the reports of visiting Clan leaders, were distressing to say the least. Planets that had been attacked by the humanz and the krath-Shiravi, as well as planets no alien ship should have been capable of finding, were experiencing a major problem of the first magnitude.

For thousands of years, the docile cows had served as breeders for bringing new warriors into the Septs. There had never been a problem before. A warrior would land on one of his vassal planets, impregnate as many of his breeders as he had time for, and then head back into the packs. Now, though, it seemed that there was resistance to the natural order of things.

The younger cows were reported to have begun speaking! True, it was only on a rudimentary level so far, but they were showing opposition to mating. Without amenable cows, there was going to be a decided shortage of warriors in a very short time. Something would have to be done. But what?

CHAPTER THIRTY

Pegra watched his monitors as a majority of the ships in homeworld orbit left to mobilize all the usable craft and rendezvous for the attacks the Elder-approved Council had devised. But this time he would again lead a fleet himself, an action his predecessor had refused to do. It would look good to the Elders to see him in the forefront of any action.

Nearly two hundred hastily refitted ships were slated to simultaneously attack half a dozen Shiravan worlds. Depending on their success or failure, another campaign would be mounted against the humanz. That would be the tricky part since the humanz hadn’t yet started to colonize planets he could attack. It would be a well-defended home system, so he would hunt the hunters, ambushing their patrols wherever he could find them.

Marsha Kane presided over a nearly full conclave of ships’ captains, a fair percentage of them Shiravan. The Alliance admiral had finally left for Earth-space, taking the promised five ships with him. The fresh faces of the new captains were recognizable by their eager expressions. They hadn’t faced the type of up-close-and-personal combat the Garmons were so proficient at.

She outlined the general plans, omitting the viral attacks. She had no idea yet whether or not to trust these new captains. Did their loyalties lie with the admiral or with the chance to save humans and Shiravans both from certain extinction? Those orders would come after the new captains returned to their vessels.

In Earth-space, Herald Hawke made plans of her own. Enough ships would guard Earth from attack while the rest, operating under new orders, would spend their time under full cloak while they searched for signs of Garmon presence encroaching on the buffer zone humans had carved out around their single star.

That was going to have to be a priority, and soon, too. She was beginning to receive pressure from more than a few groups wanting to colonize new worlds. This would, of course, entail ships to protect those colony worlds. First, though, habitable planets needed to be certified safe within the general parameters of that word. Also, with Earth’s dwindling resources, geological teams would have to ascertain if the planets in question could produce enough resources to trade for vital goods and services. And they needed the new Galileo-class ships to perform the same task the Galileo had been intended for.

It was the kind of headache she didn’t want, so she appointed a new committee to go over all the preliminary specs and advise her which planets were worth a geological survey. All this information would be made available to Earth through Alliance embassies, and requests for space aboard future ships had already outstripped capacity within weeks of the announcement, virtually tying up all embassy landlines overnight.

This left the Alliance to handle the transportation of survey crews, with the caveat that the buffer zone would have to be expanded if suitable planets could be found. And that would require more ships. With all four bases and the Newton churning out ships at full capacity, the sheer numbers were daunting. Simon had been gone nearly two years now, and twenty more cruisers had joined the lists, with a super-Raptor soon to come out of Taurus Base. There were now over sixty Earth-built ships in service around Earth-space, and that roster was increased by almost two dozen Shiravan ships.

Between all the ships already in service and service personnel on Earth and Vesta, Alliance citizenship was in the millions. Vesta was now a going concern, being more of a transient habitat for those waiting for shipboard assignments or transportation back to Earth. It had more of a lived-in feel about it now. Ceres was more pristine, transformed into a model of efficiency and cleanliness, housing only service and headquarters personnel—a fit showcase for visitors and embassy staff from Earth that Kitty was proud to show off. Both the Herald and Admiral had moved their offices to Ceres.

TAS Murphy’s Law, along with a dozen other ships, was on regular patrol in the outer reaches of Earth’s solar system when the screens lit up with the images of half a dozen inbound ships. Alarm bells brought Lt. Commander Roger Davis running onto the bridge. “Status, Helm,” he demanded, hiding the quaver in his voice.

“Sir, six ships inbound. Straight-line extrapolation indicates Shiravi as point of origin. Incoming message arriving now.”

“Put it on speaker, Ensign,” Davis said.

Interstellar hiss preceded the message. “Any Earth ships within range, this is Task Force Alpha. Admiral Hawke requests immediate clearance for Ceres orbit.”

Davis got on the comm. “We’re sending a flight of Mantas for visual confirmation, Admiral. Please hold your position until you receive clearance.”

The answer was almost immediate. “Holding position, aye. Task Force Alpha out.”

Thirty minutes later the Manta leader reported all clear and Lt. Commander Davis keyed his comm. “Task Force Alpha, visual inspection complete. You are cleared for Ceres orbit. Welcome back to Earth-space, Admiral.”

“Thank you, Murphy’s Law. Glad to be home. Proceeding to Ceres orbit via short-jump.”

Davis moved his ship out of the way, and the six ships disappeared from his screens.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Simon stepped off the transporter pad on the newly activated and barely populated Ceres, where the Alliance’s offices had been moved, with a lot on his mind. First order of business, of course, was to get reacquainted with his wife. A nearly two-year absence tended to affect his priorities. He asked the transport tech the local time, reset his watch and headed for his quarters.

He expected to find Kitty asleep in the middle of local night, if that word could be used inside a twenty-plus-mile-long asteroid. Instead, she was not only up and dressed, she had a bottle of champagne and two glasses waiting. After a hug and kiss that came close to making up for two years of separation, he held her at arm’s length and smiled. “I didn’t expect you to be awake at this hour, dear, but I’m glad you are.”

She stepped into his arms again and looked up with a smile of her own. “I gave orders long ago that I was to be informed the instant you got back. Did you think I’d sleep through you getting home?”

He felt her melt into his arms and knew there would be no rest any time soon.

Simon’s body-clock wasn’t on the same schedule as Kitty’s yet, but he woke up refreshed and happy as soon as he felt his wife start to move against him. He pretended to be asleep and watched her through half-open eyes as she walked into the shower. Her figure hadn’t changed, but her snow-white hair had grown. It reached nearly to her knees in a heavy mane that swayed with each move she made. He sat up in the bed as she came back into the room and watched her towel the last of the water out of her hair.

“I will never get enough of looking at you, lover,” Simon said.

She smiled brightly as she worked at the mass of hair. “One good thing about this white hair business is that no matter how wet it gets, it dries almost instantly. And things must have gone well for you. You look younger than when you left. I’d say mid-thirties now. So, what’s on your plate for today?”

Simon stood up and headed for the shower himself. “Well, I’m going to touch base with Earth-side Planning and Tactics to see what’s been going on around here, then see what R & D has been doing recently. I’m two years out of date all around so I need to get back up to speed. That should pretty well take care of today. And it leaves time for a long, leisurely dinner with my wife. How about you?”

Kitty shrugged. “The post of Herald seems to have become something of a figurehead. Freddie handles things on Earth, though he’s been making noises about stepping down. I have a replacement in mind, but I haven’t talked to him yet. I don’t know if you’ll remember Heinrich Juergens. He was a great help in Zurich when we were trying to get recognized by the United Nations. I’ve got to talk to Freddie and hear what he has to say about him, but even though we haven’t spoken since then, I still remember being impressed by his knowledge and expertise.”

Simon stopped in the doorway. “Freddie stepping down? What will we do without his extravaganzas? His castle was the perfect backdrop for bringing us into being. I liked the blending of the old with the new.” He was truly upset with this news. It was the first time his extended lifespan had affected a relationship, and it hit home hard. He felt his blood pound in his veins. “I’m going to have to think about this one,” he said without explanation.

He saw the concern in Kitty’s eyes. She said, “I’ve had longer than you to accept this, Simon. We are going to outlive a lot of the people around us. So will anyone who’s been through a regen session, and I’m trying to get as many people through as I can—all our senior staff, for example. I think that’s going to do more to set the Alliance apart than we figured. We may not get to become as accepted as we thought once people really see that we don’t age as fast as ordinary people. There could be a pretty big backlash. Even if we colonize dozens of worlds, there are still going to be billions of average people who are going to be pretty pissed about it, and we can’t send them all through regen.”

Simon nodded. “Even with making it mandatory for colonists, people on Earth will still reproduce like rabbits. We could make all colony worlds answerable to us, but that has repercussions of its own. Revolutions and wars with our own race are not my idea of what we want. Some form of mandatory birth control? Another can of worms I don’t want to touch, and we can’t just wait and let this blow up in our faces. Too many innocents will die. I’ll add this to the list for Planning and Tactics long-range goals.”

After their reunion night, Simon showered, dressed, and went about getting reacquainted with Earth-space concerns. Kitty did the same, although her day was far less hectic since she didn’t have two years to catch up on. She walked into her quarters to find Simon sitting on the bed, elbows on his knees and head in his hands. She sat down beside him and put an arm around his shoulders. “What’s up hon?” she asked quietly.

Without raising his head, he answered, “I come back to find that there are more incursions into our space in the past six months than expected. We’ve lost seven ships, including two Shiravan ships. These new attacks are comprised of upgraded ships like the ones we started seeing around Shiravi just before the fleet headed back to Earth. They now have rudimentary shields, heavier armor, better missiles, better control, and better cooperation. We took heavier losses than before because we hadn’t seen them yet. Now they’re here, causing havoc with our patrols.”

He was quiet so long she prompted him. “So, what did you do on Shiravi?”

“Increased the size of our patrols, added more cloaked ships, and accepted the fact that we’re going to be taking more losses. We’re going to start using the extra power cores to strengthen our own shields as we engage them.” He raised his head. “I brought back five ships that needed downtime more than the rest. “That leaves seventeen ships that haven’t been back to Earth for at least four years, five by the time I can get replacements out to them. Tactics and Planning says we can still accomplish our missions without them as long as new ships continue to come out of the docks. I’ve drafted preliminary orders for a replacement fleet without naming specific ships. What do you think?”

Kitty sat quietly for a moment. She already knew about the earlier losses and finally said, “I think it’s a good idea. Those crews need to feel their own sun on their faces and get some time off, but I’m just the civil administrator who once was a ship’s captain. This decision is a military one. If you think we have the strength to do without so many ships then go ahead and do it.”

Simon said, “The team in Planning and Tactics thinks it’s a good idea, too. And R & D has come up with a new concept that could offset our lessened ship strength. It’s new type of plasma bomb capable of causing ships to implode, leaving virtually no trace of what happened. They’re past the testing stage and ready to go into production. As soon as they can outfit the fleet, I can send the replacements out. I can cut travel time by having a cruiser head to Shiravi to let Marsha know to expect her replacements and have the returnees set to go as soon as possible.”

At the same time the new plasma bombs went into production, word filtered out that a major expedition was in the planning stage. As word spread that a large number of ships were going to Shiravi to relieve the ships there, instead of the uproar Simon expected, requests began to filter in, asking to be included in the outgoing fleet. It wasn’t long before more than enough volunteers and ships were lined up to go. Simon’s dilemma became which ships to accept. Some were going to be disappointed, but he could make them happy enough with the new weapon and a chance to retaliate against the enemy here. And if enough systems could be cleared, Kitty could start her colonization program. His main reason to wait was for the super-Raptor to come out of Taurus.

Several planets had been found that were acceptable for human habitation and colonists could be contacted, relieving the pressure on that front. Kitty was more than happy to hear this news. Now she could let word filter out to the embassies that potential colonists could be screened for selection as soon as the Garmons could be pushed out of the area the Alliance had co-opted for itself. The Newton and a security patrol would have to perform the exact tasks the Galileo had been sent to do so many years before, which seemed a bit funny to Simon. He shrugged his shoulders.

Such are the ways of the universe, he thought with a wry smile, and made a mental note to start plans for colonial transports.

Sebra Keth was the commander in charge of Garmon forces attacking the humanz’ home system. His information told him that the humanz usually traveled in packs of five, including one of their carrier ships, with ten hands of small fighter ships. His twelve-ship squadron should wipe them out with minimal losses since all twelve had been fitted with the new shields and upgraded missiles. He positioned his ships in the Oort cloud where the humanz normally appeared before entering a system. On this occasion, though, the humanz overshot their usual exit point and appeared almost midway between the cloud and the star it surrounded. By the time his sensors detected the five ships, he had been scanned. This time there was no chance for an ambush, but his superior numbers still gave him a significant advantage. He ordered his ships to spread out, two targeting each cruiser, four for the carrier, and headed at half speed toward the enemy.

Commander Mark Davis, leading Task Force Marakesh, waited nervously for the Garmon to approach. His five visible ships would normally be able to take on the twelve enemy ships with the loss of only one cruiser, maybe two, but this was the first task force encountered after positive proof of Garmon upgrades. In point of fact, his fleet was twelve strong, just like the Garmon. Two cloaked cruisers were spread out to each side and forward of his visible ships. Three others, also cloaked, were almost a million miles closer to the enemy, and one of those was another carrier. Each ship was carrying prototypes of the new plasma bombs, and the Mantas had slightly smaller versions built specifically to fit their smaller size.

These new weapons had been tested rigorously, but this was their first real use in combat. The other five ships were spread out so the Garmons could pass through without interference. The ghosts ahead of his visible fleet let the enemy pass through them according to the battle plan and then moved in behind. Just before contact range, the shielded carrier launched her Mantas. As soon as they appeared on Davis’s screens, he ordered his visible carrier to launch her own birds.

This time there would be no helter-skelter fighting. Each Garmon ship was specifically targeted by dozens of Mantas and the remaining ten cruisers from forward and behind the unsuspecting enemy. At extreme range, all ships launched a full spread of standard missiles, then loaded their launch tubes with plasma missiles.

Under the new rules of engagement, the five visible ships diverted all three of their power cores to strengthen their shields instead of the standard two. After the first missiles spent themselves on their targets, all five Earth ships were still intact, although most of the crews were shaken up from the impacts on their shields.

By now the Garmons knew there were more Mantas in flight than one carrier could launch, but the eight remaining Garmons still concentrated on the five visible ships on their screens. This time the enemy salvo was smaller but came in two closely spaced waves. Davis sent the order to launch the new weapons. Hundreds of missiles converged, and all eight ships simply ceased to exist. All that was left was to make out his report and send it Earth-ward.

Power was diverted back to life support and drive systems, and the fleet went back to normal operations. The captains of all ships converged on the Marakesh for debriefing. Once all captains were in Davis’s briefing room, sensor scans of the battle were replayed for all to see. Only six Mantas had been lost, and not even one capitol ship sustained any damage. One ship was designated to send word back to Earth while the rest moved on to the next system using the same tactics.

“We won’t be able to use these tactics more than a few more times without the Garmons catching on and changing theirs,” Davis said. “So I want you all to start working on new ideas for dealing with different situations. Plus, I think that our accidental over-shoot as we came in may well have made all the difference in the world. We’ll hold here while we come up with some preliminary new tactics to use in the next systems we enter. As we move farther out, we’ll certainly find more ships to deal with, and we’ll have to return to Earth to rearm at some point. By then, this information will be in the hands of the admiral and his planning team. Tactics will review our actions and accept or alter our method of attack. So, until we have to go back, we’ll move on to our next designated system and see what happens. Any questions?”

Only one captain raised her hand. “How long to the next target, sir?”

Davis answered automatically. “About three weeks, Captain. That should give us plenty of time to bring our crews back up to battle readiness. Right now, they’re all celebrating a glorious victory. I don’t want people too cocky for their own good. Just one high-spirited idiot can get a lot of people killed. Let your crews have some fun but start stressing the severity of this mission quickly. Drills and exercises will go a long way towards that end. Any more questions?”

When no one spoke up, Davis said, “Very well, this meeting is adjourned. We will reconvene tomorrow after breakfast, have a working lunch, and shut down for the night around six p.m. Any questions? If we can conserve our munitions on target number two, we may be able to put some fear into a third system before returning to Earth. Dismissed.”

Simon looked over the mission reports of the ships involved in the first action. “I want one of their cruisers to study. Let’s send another ship out to tell Captain Davis to just disable at least one of the newer versions of their ships. Next, we’ll clear out the crew with a boarding action and examine the ship in detail. I want full reports on engines, shield technology, missiles, and anything else of interest. Then, blow it out of existence. I don’t want the Garmons to figure out this little surprise until it doesn’t matter anymore.”

One of his P & T people said, “You realize that boarding a Garmon ship is going to cost a lot of lives, don’t you”?

“Yes, Red, but I have to consider acceptable losses in any engagement. At least we shouldn’t lose a whole ship in the process.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Seventeen ships left Earth for Shiravan space with the new plasma bombs and a request for fresh ships to release the Shiravan ships serving in Earth-space. Their allies needed to be back home just as badly as their human counterparts did. A regular rotation was tentatively suggested at the same time for both races.

Despite the new forces, new patrols left on a regular basis with orders to explore and map no more than three carefully selected systems and return to base. This had the effect of keeping a larger number of ships in near-Earth space in the event of another large-scale attack. Simon was determined that nothing else would get close to Earth. More sensor drones were being deployed, and the entire system was now almost completely covered. The warning wouldn’t be much, but anything was better than nothing. The newest probes were equipped with short-jump engines to give even more warning.

Marsha Kane ordered her first captain’s call since she’d returned from her tour in Garmon space. With over seventy ships mobilized, some were on patrol, but enough arrived to give her a good idea as to what the others were thinking. The general consensus was to increase the size of the patrols, and in a case of parallel thinking, keeping most ships cloaked. The ideas were appealing, and she thanked the two captains responsible—one of them Shiravan. This was a good sign since most Shiravans couldn’t figure out where she stood in the political hierarchy that held sway on Shiravi, so most held their thoughts to themselves.

On the spur of the moment she decided to implement the ideas and let the Shiravan captain have command of the first patrol. “Ten ships, two of them carriers, and you get one encounter to test the new strategy. If you have to visit four systems to find a decent fight, do so. But try to keep the heroics to a minimum, please. I’d like a list of ships on my desk within two days, including target systems and a loose idea of your timetable. Will that be sufficient?”

The Shiravan captain, mindful of the low ceilings humans preferred, nodded her head instead of standing to bow. “That is most courteous, Your Grace. Two days from now you’ll have a full list of ships and a projected itinerary on your desk. Can I assume that the Raptor is not to be included on the list?”

Marsha noted the small smile on the captain’s face and returned it with one of her own. “That would be a safe assumption, Captain. I know you’d like the firepower she provides, but I have other plans. Specifically, a similar mission of my own based on your choice of targets. I plan to send her in another direction, doubling our chances to hurt the Garmons. Our remaining ships and carrier will stay in-system in case of another attack.”

She leaned back, satisfied. This was the first time a Shiravan had treated her with anything but stiff formality, and she found she enjoyed it.

Eventually, she turned to a shielded video comm and called the planet below. The gruff voice she heard was the same as the one from the warehouse many months before. “I need to set up another shipment of our special supplies, if possible,” she said without preamble.

“You’ve used up all you had?” the voice asked, sounding surprised.

“Completely, Your Grace,” she answered to the matriarch of a clan in opposition to the des Harras regime. “And if we don’t get more, and quickly, my patrol won’t have any to deliver to our mutual enemy.” She sat back and waited for a reaction to judge the situation by.

“And what coin do you expect to repay such supplies with?”

Marsha made a face that only remotely resembled a grin. When she made that particular face, people tended to disappear from her presence as quickly as possible. “Why, with the dissension of our enemies, Your Grace. With dissension comes chaos, and with chaos sloppy planning and tactics. It will make our job that much easier.” She wanted to make her listener understand that the danger rested off-world. “Of course, even the planets we don’t find will be affected by any ship landing and exposing even a single female. What more could you ask for payment?”

A long moment passed while the old woman on the other end looked at her intently. “Very well Admiral. You can expect a supply ship within two days.” The belligerent voice cut off without waiting for a response.

Well, so much for harmony between me and the enemy of my enemy, Marsha thought unhappily.

Linnas des Harras waited impatiently for her Sister-kin to arrive. Her request for an audience the previous day had been regretfully and graciously refused, Marsha pleading too much work setting up the two patrols her comm call had mentioned, which was the reason for this meeting. Linnas was worried about a repeat attack of her homeworld, and she should be after the destruction of her ancestral home. Cho-An existed no more, with only a ravaged crater as evidence of what had once been the crown jewel of the des Harras Clan for uncounted generations. With the Dalgor Kret back home, equipment was being manufactured to begin the rebuilding. Already, earthmovers were in the process of filling in the giant hole, preparing the ground for the foundation of the new city complex.

Marsha walked through the curtains dividing Linnas’s dining area from the rest of her home in Quillas. She hesitated for a fraction of a second when she saw Sitha kep Parrasine sitting there as well. Sitha stood up and bowed slightly as she would to any member of the Matriarch’s family. “Good morning, Your Grace.”

Linnas looked up from a report she was reading and said, “Sit, both of you. And how are you this fine morning, Sister-kin?” she asked quietly. Marsha slipped into a human-sized chair as Sitha sat back down. Linnas leaned over and picked up a pitcher, making as if to pour for Marsha. “Orange juice, if I remember correctly, Sister?”

At Marsha’s nod, Linnas poured. “I am well, Sister,” Marsha replied to the question. “My mind is full of facts and figures as I try to assemble two fleets, and I don’t get much sleep, but I get by.” She took a sip from her glass, moisture already condensing on the outside.

Linnas hadn’t failed to notice Marsha’s pause upon entering and mused on its significance. She was loath to bring it up after the last conversation the two had had over a secret meeting with the matriarch of Clan sel Garian, so she chose another tack. “That’s one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you, Sister. And my Second Voice is here because this is a matter of considerable delicacy for the Shiravan people as a whole.”

She stopped for a moment to see how Marsha would respond. Instead of saying anything, Marsha took a sip of juice and then used that irritating human facial expression of raising one eyebrow. She had learned over time that this was merely a silent question, so she overlooked it.

She kept her silence, and Marsha did the same for so long that Sitha, new to her position as second-in-command, finally blurted out, “We, that is, the Matriarch and I, are concerned over two fleets leaving at the same time. After the appalling attack that destroyed Cho-An and many of our ships, we feel that the system is being left with too little defense, especially with the Raptor leading one of the fleets.”

Marsha looked the slim red woman in her even redder eyes. “I thought that might be the reason for this visit. If I’m allowed to provide some particulars, it might set some of your concerns aside.”

Linnas raised a hand and said mildly, “Please, Sister, enlighten us as to your thoughts.”

She watched as Marsha took another sip of her juice, a delaying tactic she had learned over the years. It allowed one to put one’s thoughts in order or to prepare to tell a lie. “As a prelude to the disposition of two large fleets, let me say that we’ve been running continuous shorter patrols of nearby systems, all cloaked, along with a few longer-range patrols. So far, we’ve only come upon two small patrols of Garmon ships, and those were utterly destroyed without the loss of a single ship. If ever there was a time to make use of our full potential, the time is now.

“One carrier will be left behind, along with almost fifty fully refitted ships of the line. That does not include the half dozen smaller patrols on station in nearby systems deemed useful as staging areas for a large-scale attack on Shiravi. The smaller patrols were tasked with seeing if our space was clear and visiting several colony worlds to see if they’d been attacked. None have reported any sign of Garmons for months now.

“These two larger fleets are designed to penetrate deeper into known Garmon space from two different directions and actually take the fight to the enemy. We have a saying among our people: ‘The best defense is a good offense.’ The other two carriers will both go with the fleet commanded by Sorgala des Nimara. I and my advisers, some of them Shiravan and personally acquainted with des Nimara, have evaluated her actions over the past year and believe she is capable of taking on this task. She has proven herself in battle and seems to have no problems dealing with humans.

“She questions her own abilities in these areas but has agreed to take on the task if for no other reason than to show all Shiravans that you are now ready to stand up for yourselves and handle your own battles. Granted there are human ships in her fleet, but they are under her command and will obey her as they would any commander. There will be Shiravan ships in the other fleet and they will be expected to handle their missions as would any other ship. Your people need this, Sister. Too long have they had to stand helpless as the Garmon took what they wanted virtually without fear of retaliation.

“Each Shiravan captain was chosen for the same reason as des Nimara, to revitalize your people with victories over your opponents. They desperately need a jolt of confidence in themselves, Sister. It will instill your people, our people, with a sense of pride and accomplishment and, incidentally, increase their effectiveness both in space and in your ground-based industries.”

Marsha hadn’t made a speech that long ever, and in Shiravan at that. She felt completely drained and took another sip of her juice, her hand shaking visibly. So far, it didn’t appear that Linnas knew about her comm call to sel Garian the day before. System defense was paramount on her mind, as well the Second Voice.

Linnas spoke, more vitality in her voice than before. “I applaud your choice of des Nimara as doma-Sorgala for your second fleet, but I wonder about your choice of sending both carriers with her group. What will you do to offset the loss of fifty Mantas in the other fleet, Sister?” Marsha thought she heard genuine worry in her alien Sister’s voice.

“We’ll have the Raptor, of course, and we’re readying more powerful missiles for both fleets before we leave. Also, Raptor Group will have more ships than des Nimara’s fleet. I expect about two weeks before they break orbit. Are you satisfied with my report?”

Linnas looked at her companion, who gave a slight nod. “We are both impressed with the thought you’ve spent on this mission and the care with which you have prepared for our defense in their absence. You are to be commended and have my full blessing. May the Spirits of Space ride with both fleets.”

Marsha sighed slightly. One hurdle down. “If I may be so bold, Sister, you mentioned more than one reason for asking me here today. What might those other reasons be?”

“So impatient, you humans. I believe it might be because you haven’t endured as many years since you came to your full potential and your short time in space. We’ve been riding with the Spirits for almost four hundred of your years, and you less than twenty.” Linnas took a sip of her own drink, a milky substance with a slight blue tinge. “There is only one other reason for your visit. It has come to my attention that you are spending entirely too much time on the business of the fleet and are in need of a short rest. So, for the two weeks you are ordered to spend time here on Shiravi as a guest in my own house. A room has already been prepared.”

Marsha’s face gave away her resistance to the idea. “This is not negotiable, Sister. You will be able to join your fleet before it leaves. But it is rest you need. You yourself said you are just getting by. Therefore, you will spend some time with nothing to contemplate but the natural beauty of Shiravi. You, of course have permission to return to the Raptor to pick up some personal effects, but I expect your return by dinner time. Is that clear?”

Realizing that she had no choice in the matter, Marsha said, “If that is your wish, of course I’ll obey, Sister. Do I have your permission to leave now?”

“Of course, Sister. Our business is completed for the moment, so you are free to go. You are expected for dinner.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Marsha said with stiff formality. “In that case, I’ll be on my way.” She stood up, Sitha following suit, and strode from the room, back straight and with an even, moderate pace. It would be unseemly to appear to be running from this confrontation.

Marsha stepped out of her gig and headed directly for her quarters. She didn’t have much time if she was going to make dinner planet-side. She commed her first officer to meet her while she got a bag packed for an extended stay on Shiravi.

Her decisions were limited. Her clothes all went into a small duffel before the knock she was expecting came. She opened the door and ushered her first officer, Alicia White Eagle, inside. “Ah, there has been a small complication.” She watched as Alicia stood there wooden faced. She’d never been able to read her at poker and had no better luck now.

She picked up a bottle and poured two double scotches, a nasty habit she had picked up from Simon, and even though she’d been through regen, she still tended to drink it at times of great stress. She handed one over, getting the first sign of emotion from her in memory—surprise. “Don’t worry so much. Captain’s orders. It’s to numb the pain.” She indicated two chairs in her visitor’s nook and took one herself.

White Eagle sat down, asking, “Whose pain, Admiral?”

“Both of us, Ali, both of us. Here’s the deal.” She went on to explain the Matriarch’s decision that she needed some rest and was required to spend the next two weeks down-side. “So, until I get back, you’re the Raptor’s acting captain. All you have to do is confirm that every system is ready, all stores replenished, and all hands are battle-ready without starting a mutiny or losing your mind. You’re one of the best tacticians in the entire Alliance, or you wouldn’t be here. Think you can handle it?”

A small smile flickered across her face. Miracle! Two shows of emotion inside of ten minutes. “All systems ready, all supplies topped off, and all crew alert, rested, and ready. I don’t see any problem with that, ma’am.”

She went for the hat trick. “That’s for all ten ships in the fleet, Alicia. Still confident?” She waited while several expressions flowed across her face, eyes focused on an unknown spot far outside the confines of the room. Mission accomplished, she thought, and it almost cheered her up.

After several seconds passed, Ali finally focused on her. “I assume this isn’t some kind of test, ma’am. I can only answer that I’ll try my damnedest. I may not be of much use for a while, but everyone else will.”

“Oh, no, Ali. Your orders were for all crew to be ready. That includes you, as well. I’ll give you some free advice—delegate. Let the captains of the other ships do for their ship what you’ll be doing for the Raptor, which is running drills, exercising, and resting. Take their reports, look them over for trouble spots and point them out. Politely. And of course, after I go to bed each night, I’ll call for a full report. I’ll have one or two chances to visit the ship during that time, but otherwise it’s all on your broad shoulders. Any questions?”

“Only one, Admiral. Who’s going to tell the other captains about the change in command?”

“I’ll field that one for you, Captain. Consider yourself promoted. Welcome to the ulcer seat.” A quick conference call from the bridge to the other captains in her fleet took some of the strain out of White Eagle’s face. The rest of first shift’s bridge crew had heard every word she said, but she still addressed them personally after she had signed off her call. “It’s only for two weeks, people. And maybe Linnas is right, but I still don’t have to like it. I’ll be back before the fleet leaves orbit and then we can expect to remember these days fondly ‘cause it’s going to get very sticky very quickly.”

A short time later she was standing over her duffel bag again. Besides a dress uniform and several BDU’s she had only the one set of civilian clothes. She managed to get all of it into the bag and glanced at her watch. After a call to her gig pilot, she stuck her head out the door. One perk of her position was that she didn’t have to carry that bag all the way back to the launch bay. One of the two guards permanently on duty outside her door picked up her bag as she left the room.

She told them, “I’ll be gone for the next two weeks. No reason to waste your time guarding an empty room. You guys take some time to work on other things while I’m away.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Pegra Nargresh now led the Garmons, not in name, as had been the custom for uncounted generations, but in practicality. He had called together three hands of his most loyal sept-leaders and then called for a council of Elders.

When those worthies had convened, with the thought of confirming a new leader in the old way, they were quickly disabused of the notion. As they trooped in to take their accustomed places on the dais, they found only one chair there, and it was already occupied.

Pegra looked down on the confused mass of old men and said, “The old ways are gone. It should have been recognized shortly after the arrival of the humanz, but past leaders made the fatal mistake of underestimating them. Even I have done so. But that is not why we’re here today.” He enjoyed the consternation of the Elders as his sept-leaders watched them closely.

“We are faced with an even greater menace than the humanz. Our cows have suddenly started to show signs of independent thought. No longer are they passive breeders taking any male that chooses them in their heat. Now they either refuse to mate or express a desire for a particular male. This is unprecedented in our history. Also, the number of male cubs produced has diminished and the number of cows has risen. Soon, we won’t have enough fighters to man the remaining ships we’re able to produce. Add this to the fact that the humanz and Shiravans have destroyed most of our shipyards and mating grounds, and we have very few options left to us.”

The chief Elder stepped forward and said, “This flies in the face of all that we hold as a race! We will not allow you to usurp the leadership of the People in this fashion. You will become an outcast, reviled by one and all, and these humanz will be beaten back as all other foes have been. This I say, and it is Law!”

Pegra nodded slightly, his eyes flicking to one of his sept-leaders, the one he was least sure of. This one instantly raised his rifle and shot the old greybeard in the head. “I now decide what is Law,” he said to the confused mass of old males below him. “You will have to find another way to earn your right to survive. From this moment on, the Garmons shall be known as the People as the dead one has called us. And the People must survive above all. To do this, we have to gather what ships, males, cubs, and cows we can and find a place the humanz and Shiravans cannot until we overcome our old and new problems.”

He nodded to another sept-leader. “Sire, I have the dubious honor of having Holdings farthest from both humanz and Shiravans. This might prove to our advantage since we have records of many expeditions into the outer reaches. There, we should be able to find at least one world to begin anew on, or use it to move farther on while we sort out the complications that have arisen. All of my records are yours.”

“Excellent, sept-leader. Perhaps these Elders can turn their attention to finding a world among your records and earn their heads. All others will begin to collect what ships, cubs, cows, and males they can and prepare to move them to your major Holding. Keep in mind that we will not need these ships as fighting ships but transport vessels. Use just enough males to run the ships and fill the rest of the space with food, cows, and cubs.”

This sept-leader was one of his earliest converts, an exiled younger cousin of a previous leader. Just come into his full growth, Harka Garmon was eager to please and restore Honor to the Garmon name. “Sire, arrangements have been made on my major Holding and one other to accommodate as many Septs as can be assembled. There’s plenty of room to forage and hunt, and there’s sufficient material to build shelters for everyone. It’s also not too far from the new yards and power station set up by your predecessor. They are both under heavy guard until such time as enough ships arrive to allow them to perform the same duties you’ve assigned to the other sept-leaders.”

Pegra stood and said, “This is far more than you were asked to do, Harka. Honor to your name. Step forward.” The young sept-leader stood before his Leader and showed his surprise at having Pegra Nargresh himself pin an Honor to the meager few adorning his vest. He returned to his place along the wall of the meeting chamber. Without drawing attention to himself, he glanced down to see one of the highest Honors awarded one of the People. His chest swelled visibly at this, and then he turned his attention back to the Leader.

Pegra turned back to the sept-leaders surrounding him and the huddled Elders below. “The People, by nature, are more at home with much room around them and much sky above, those manning our ships included. Those, however, are special, raised from cubhood to withstand the confines of the ships. They also learn to work as a large team rather than in smaller, scattered packs. Take your example from young Harka Garmon, willing to share his lands with all who seek a place to rest and plan new tactics. And we cannot forget the unimaginable fact of our cows suddenly getting smarter and bearing fewer males. Now go, all of you, and gather what you can.

“Young Garmon, since you have nothing to carry home, I leave it to you to find space for these useless old males. Turn your charts over to them and let them earn their keep.” He turned eyes slitted into hunter mode on these last few. “You are not to restrict your search to mere charts, either. Seek out the far-farers and ask questions. A new space must be found in which we can re-grow our race and strength. Then we can take back that which is rightfully ours and repay the insult to our entire race. Now, go.”

Three months passed while one fleet searched systems known to harbor Garmon, four for the other, and return to Shiravi. Marsha Kane’s fleet, having the longer route, came in last, and she called her counterpart for details even before making orbit. “Tell me some good news, Sorgala des Nimara,” she prompted, weariness in her voice.

des Nimara answered almost immediately. “Well, Your Grace, we visited three systems as ordered and came back without losing a single ship or fighter.”

Unsurprised, she asked, “And how did you manage to accomplish such a feat?”

“Your Grace, we didn’t find any ships to target. Two systems are known Garmon worlds, but we got no readings for any ships on the ground or in-system, so I sent landing crews down with sufficient air cover to handle anything we could think of. All we found were some mostly deserted villages populated by older females and some of the youngest kids, also mostly female. That was the first system. The second was identical to the first with one difference—crops had been harvested for the stranded populace to survive on for a good while. System three was a complete unknown, and we searched extensively but found no sign of any Garmon activity at all. I thought about going on to a few other systems, but you said three, so I brought the fleet home without a single shot fired.”

Marsha thought for a short time. “I was confronted with the same situation on all four of the worlds I visited. Now I have to report to the Matriarch as soon as I get my ships settled in. I assume you’ve already reported your news to her?”

des Nimara responded, “She asked me to come down personally to report as soon as we had stabilized our orbits. After that, I started sending out smaller patrols to odd locations, anywhere my strategists thought might be a good hiding place to attack from. The rest I repositioned around the system, augmenting the ships already protecting Shiravi.”

“You did well, Sorgala. We had the same results with one exception. At the third system our sensors showed five ships outbound with no chance for us to overtake them, but we noted their direction. We have no idea whether they spotted us, but it’s unlikely since they have the same sternward blind spot that we do. I assume you’re rotating the ships that go out on patrol, keeping everyone at top readiness?”

“I am, Your Grace. Otherwise too many crews will get lax in their duties. All new patrols are given their orders just two days prior to departure, leaving no time to do anything but resupply as necessary,” the Shiravan answered.

“I am impressed with your foresight, Sorgala des Nimara,” Marsha said, praise evident in her voice. “You are in temporary command of system defense should it be necessary until I return. There’s no telling how long my Sister-kin will keep me planet-side. Kane out.”

It was midafternoon when Linnas des Harras watched her Sister-kin’s ship land at the port. Her driver moved the floater across the field to the distant landing pad, but she found Marsha already walking toward the gate where transportation was usually found. She was surprised at the slumped shoulders, and as she got closer, the dejected look on her face before Marsha noticed the nearly-silent hover car moving toward her.

Linnas watched as her Sister quickly squared her shoulders, and her face took on a more guarded expression. One door opened, and Linnas waved her inside. “It’s a long walk to the gate, and I think you could use some respite from the heat, Sister.” Marsha nodded and stepped into the vehicle gratefully.

“The ride isn’t long, so a report can wait until you have a cold drink in hand. But, in the meantime, tell me about yourself. Four months on patrol, with nine other ships to care about. You must be exhausted.” Linnas didn’t mention her first impression of Marsha as the car approached her.

“It was more tedious than I had expected, Sister,” Marsha replied. “You said a report could wait until later, but in order to explain what I mean, I have to give a bit of it now. As with Sorgala des Nimara, we had no luck finding any ships to engage. Only in one system did we even get any readings, and those were of five ships leaving the system and too far away to attempt an intercept.” She stopped speaking and pointedly stared out the window at the ships they were passing. She noticed that many of them were stripped of much of their hull plating, allowing workers easier access to the parts of each ship receiving modifications.

Linnas noted the ploy for what it was but said nothing about it. Instead, she said, “These ships are receiving the modifications your scientists have built into your own. Already, new ships are coming out of our main yards with the modifications fully installed.” Marsha only nodded at the information, saying nothing.

After a thankfully short ride, the car pulled up at Quillas Central Command with Marsha’s side closest to the exit. A guard opened the door and stood back while Marsha stepped out, usually a breach of protocol, and waited for her Sister to get out as well. The guards encircled the two women and led the way to the main entrance. There, another group of guards, smaller this time, took over and followed them to an elevator that took them to Linnas’s quarters on the top floor, Linnas leading the way.

In a smallish room, by Shiravan standards, she waved Marsha to a chair especially made for her shorter frame. The tired admiral flopped into it bonelessly, staring at nothing in particular. With an occasional glance at her sister, Linnas took out two glasses and poured fire wine for each of them.

She sat down beside Marsha and handed a frigid glass to her. For the first time, Marsha showed something besides apathy. “Fire wine at this time of day, Linnas? I do have a ship to get back to and work to do.”

“Which Sorgala White Eagle can handle quite well, Marsha. She handled everything for two weeks before you left. I’ve already spoken to her and informed her that you’ll be staying here for a few days. Even without conflict, the demands of command can be wearing, and I’d be doing my sister a disservice if I let you return without a short respite.” She waited for the expected outburst, but instead Marsha just nodded and took a small sip of her wine, then another, larger drink.

Linnas watched as the wine took almost immediate effect and the weariness left her Sister’s face, replaced by an expression of relaxation that only fire wine could bestow in the present circumstances. “Do you feel better now?” she asked, concern in her voice.

“I do, Sister,” Marsha said. “I just wish it wasn’t alcohol-induced.” She took a smaller sip as Linnas joined her, taking her first sip. She was determined to remain levelheaded during this meeting.

Linnas looked at her and took a very small sip from her own glass, which had started with less than Marsha’s to begin with. Do you want to make your report now, or should it wait until tomorrow?” she asked quietly.

Marsha looked at her and shrugged. “Now is as good a time as any while it’s fresh in my mind. Our itinerary was to visit three systems known to be Garmon outposts. On the first two, we only found several small villages populated mostly by females and younglings. Both planets had crops harvested for the Garmons and left behind. In the third system, the one we thought to be the Garmon homeworld, our sensors detected five ships leaving the system at a high rate of speed—too high and too far away for us to do anything but mark the direction they took. Several visits to the surface found the same circumstances there as well—no ships and all able-bodied males gone, with some females and younglings left behind, none of them male.

“I think that just because this planet was where their major shipyards were doesn’t mean it was their homeworld. I now believe that the culture is more fragmented than we thought, with certain males carving out their own spaces to set up small dynasties of their own under the supervision of one ruler. It’s only a feeling, but with the report of Sorgala des Nimara being much the same as mine, I think it a high probability. After leaving that system, we headed home, and here I sit drinking fire wine when I should be seeing to my duties.”

Linnas shrugged. “So, you found the Garmons abandoning their worlds. This is good news, Sister. It means that we have decimated their forces enough that they no longer feel safe raiding our colonies, trying to attack our ships, or even remaining in this area of space. Your people have breathed new life into an otherwise desperate race. We now have ships carrying new weapons and shields and their crews are all battle-hardened veterans, with most of our other ships having the same equipment and attitudes. New crews spend weeks going through simulations of past battles, as well as battle simulations set up by your own tactical teams. They are ready to take their places aboard a ship before it even comes out of the yards. And we have reclaimed five of our previous worlds. The Polity now numbers twenty worlds. What more can you ask for? But we’ll talk more about that in the days to come, Sister,” Linnas said gently. “Have you had anything to eat? It should go well toward settling your stomach after a glass of fire wine.”

Marsha smiled slightly at the thought of what would surely happen if she added food to a full glass of fire wine and said, “No thank you, Sister. I think what I need right now is a hot soak and a long nap. I believe I’ll be starving by then.”

Linnas nodded knowingly. “Surely you know best, Sister. I’ll bid you a good rest, then.” Without any apparent summons, a young Shiravan female appeared. “Berea will show you to your quarters and assist you in any way you wish.”

Marsha stood up and Linnas did the same. They stood close enough that when Linnas reached out and hugged her for a moment, she was so stunned that she barely had time to return the hug. Linnas turned to leave, so Marsha did the same. She stopped at the door and turned back. “Linnas,” she said. The Matriarch turned around without a word. “Your English has improved a lot,” she said lamely.

“I’ve been getting a lot of practice lately. You should really try it yourself, Sister. Sleep well and may the Spirits guide your dreams truly.” The tall red woman stepped through a set of curtains and was gone.

Marsha stared after her so long that the new assistant finally said, “Your Grace, if you will follow me, please? Your bag has already been taken to your room.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Marsha woke to a bright reddish light streaming around the drapes that were over the windows of her room. She stumbled into the bathroom, which was everything the word included. Her personal needs were seen to in a small, closed off corner, but the main room, large enough to re-wall and rent out as a three-bedroom apartment, contained an over-large (to her) tub on one side, with a spectacular pool taking up the rest of the space.

She looked longingly at the tub, for she had spent an hour in it the night before surrounded by attendants. This time she was alone and decided to take a few laps in the pool to wake herself up. She let the specially shortened robe fall to the floor and stepped into the steaming water.

After a few minutes to accustom herself to the heat, she began to swim slowly from one end to the other. By the time she had made the first length, her muscles had absorbed the heat, and she pushed off and swam more vigorously. Seven laps later she was winded and sapped by the heat. She stepped out of the pool and was startled by an attendant waiting with a towel. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to this, she thought

The room had a myriad of hiding places, some or all of which surely concealed doors. She couldn’t tell due to the dense growth of a miniature Shiravan forest primeval. Rocks tumbled out of the vegetation, some few of which were just right to sit on if the lounging couch happened to be occupied.

She used a towel first to dry her hair, then wrapped it around her for the walk back to her bedroom. The curtains had been pulled back to allow the sun to warm the room, but there was still enough airflow to let her cool off as she finished toweling off and dressing. She noticed the young attendant eyeing her surreptitiously.

Bra and panties on, she asked the silent girl what she was looking at. “I surely can’t be the first human you’ve seen, can I?”

The girl blushed an even deeper shade of red. “No, Your Grace, but if I may be so bold, you are the first human female I have seen unclothed. If I may ask a question without offending?” she asked looking at the floor.

Marsha considered the situation. There were a great many questions she still wanted to ask but felt they may be out of bounds for proper conversation. “You may ask any question you wish and I’ll try to answer. There’s nothing I will find offensive as you learn more about the strange people you now have to deal with.” She flashed her best smile to affirm her answer and waited while the girl got up her nerve to put her thoughts into words.

She had slipped into a black, short-sleeved shirt and was in the process of putting one leg into her pants when the attendant spoke.

“Forgive me, Your Grace, but I have only seen breasts like yours upon females nearing their birthing time. It is obvious that you are not carrying a child. Why are your breasts so large at this time?”

Marsha thought for a few seconds before answering. “Human females are different from most creatures. When a young female passes through what we call ‘puberty,’” she said, hesitating because she didn’t know the right word and hoped the girl would guess for herself, “her body begins to change. Breasts grow, and her body becomes ready to take on the ability to have children of her own. This happens anywhere from ten to sixteen years of age. We keep our breasts for the rest of our lives, but the size does increase when they swell with milk in preparation of childbirth.”

The girl said, “Thank you, Your Grace. I am in your debt for the answer to such a personal question.”

As she seemed to have no more questions, Marsha finished dressing, lacing up the black boots that completed her standard BDU’s. She had been so tired and worn out the night before that she didn’t remember the way to Linnas’s dining area, so she got herself escorted. She arrived to find the Matriarch just starting a meal of fruits and some unidentifiable meat.

Linnas waved to the chair across from her. “Sit and eat, Sister. I wasn’t sure how long you would sleep so I waited until I was given word that you had arisen.” Almost immediately a plate was placed in front of her. “I took the liberty of ordering for you. I hope I got it right.”

Marsha looked down at her plate to find scrambled eggs, bacon, and what looked suspiciously like hash browns. “This looks excellent, Sister. What do we have scheduled for today?”

Linnas looked up from her own plate and said, “First, I think we’ll do some shopping. All you humans wear too much black, and it is such a drab color. We’ll get something more appropriate for Shiravan society, and perhaps tonight, if we have time, we’ll take in a play in the forum. How does that sound to you?”

Marsha finished her bite. “Since I’m on vacation again, it sounds fine. Most women like to shop, but I’m at a disadvantage as to what is proper dress for most Shiravan occasions.”

“Do not worry, Sister. I will be there to help you pick out suitable clothes.”

Later, after a whirlwind tour of Quillas and stops in several stores, she rested in her room. After a while, a knock got her up and she answered it. It was the attendant from earlier in the day. “Come in,” she said, taking several of the boxes the girl was carrying. She set them down on her bed and the girl did the same. “Are you going to be a regular during my stay?” The girl nodded, and Marsha asked, “Your name is Berea, correct?”

“Yes, Your Grace. Berea kep Gillas.”

“I’ll tell you something, Berea. This whole ‘Your Grace’ business gets quite annoying to hear all the time. In the privacy of my quarters, if we’re alone, I’d be pleased if you would call me Marsha.”

Berea looked startled. “I’m not sure I can do that, Your Grace. I’ve been taught to observe the proper forms at all times.”

Marsha thought a few seconds. She kept coming up against walls in Shiravan society that she had trouble accepting. “Have you been taught to obey orders if they’re given to you as such?”

Berea nodded.

Marsha smiled triumphantly. “Very well, then. I order you to call me Marsha in the privacy of my quarters when no one else is around. Tell no one about this, as it is our secret. Does that satisfy your sense of duty?”

Berea looked despondent. “It does, Marsha. I will try to follow them until I get it right.”

“Good,” Marsha said excitedly. “Let’s see what we have in all these boxes. I’ll need you to help me find the right clothes to wear to a play at the Forum later this evening.”

Marsha dithered in her room as Berea hovered around her, trying to help. Linnas’s night out at the Forum was going to be a bigger do than she had imagined. At least, that was what she got from Berea. Everybody who was anybody was going to be there. Word had leaked out that Admiral Kane was going to attend this evening’s performance.

“What am I going to do, Berea? I can handle dealing with Linnas and Sitha, and I can deal with a task force of ten ships, twenty ships, whatever, but being put on parade for the nobility of your entire race is beyond me.”

Berea pulled a dress out of the closet. Marsha had tried on everything at least three times but hadn’t decided on anything yet. She had to figure in the Shiravan lighting, as well as anything else, and she turned at the rustle of a dress being laid out on the bed. She’d spent hours looking for just the right color, one that would appear green in the red Shiravan lighting, and it lay before her now. “Time is running out, Marsha,” Berea said. “You should get dressed now and present yourself to the Matriarch. The play is due to begin shortly.”

The play won’t start until the Matriarch arrives,” Marsha said shortly. “And I just don’t feel comfortable in a dress, especially one that doesn’t allow underwear.

Berea made a face as Marsha began to undress. “I don’t see why humans put so much emphasis on the clothes you wear under clothes. They can’t be seen, so what purpose do they serve?”

Marsha chose not to hear the question. Instead, she began to slip into the dress. It was a deep green in Shiravi’s light, and she didn’t want to imagine it under normal conditions. The fit was perfect, with built-in supports for her breasts, and flared down to knee length. The whole thing couldn’t have weighed more than a few ounces and shimmered back at her from the mirror. Shoes with two-inch heels completed the ensemble.

With time running short, she thanked Berea for her help and walked to the lounge. Linnas was already waiting and stood up as she appeared. The look on her face was one of wonder. She clapped her hands and said, “You will be the hit of the evening. I would not be able to wear that color, but on you it is perfect.”

“I don’t want to be the hit of the evening, Linnas,” Marsha said petulantly. “I was just supposed to fit in, remember?”

“Quit being an old Domina, Sister. You’d stand out in any crowd anyway, so why not look good doing it?” Linnas motioned for her to spin around and again declared, “Perfect! Now, it’s time we should be going. There’s a car waiting at the front door.”

Resigned to her fate, Marsha followed Linnas to the elevator. On the way down, Linnas commented, “I took the liberty of having all your clothes imprinted with the Alliance symbol. You’ll find it on the left breast of your clothes. Will that satisfy your need to appear to represent the Alliance?”

Exasperated, Marsha retorted hotly, “I have no desire to represent the Alliance tonight. I just don’t like playing dress up.”

Her Sister took no notice of Marsha’s temper. “It’s too late to discuss the matter now, Marsha. In a moment, we’ll be on our way to the Forum and you can enjoy yourself or not. There are many people there who wish to be reassured that you are not Kath-e-vel, breathing fire and laying waste the land around you.”

Marsha took that in, as well as the fact that Linnas chose to use her first name instead of calling her Sister. She fingered the Alliance crest woven into the fabric, a darker green than the rest of the dress, and wondered why she hadn’t noticed it before. By now the two women were almost to the door where a single car awaited them. “Where is your security, Sister? What is to keep someone from trying to kill you?”

Linnas smiled. “If I were to die, my ideals would not, and a new Matriarch, dedicated to Expansionist philosophies, would assume the responsibilities of Matriarch. The world would continue to turn, and more planets would be colonized. By the way, did you know that all of our old worlds taken by the Garmons have begun to be repopulated? Soon, we’ll hold more worlds than ever before in known history. And none of them will be left without adequate protection. See how your presence, spirit, and technological achievements have helped out, so far? You should be proud instead of depressed over one more ceremonial occasion.”

They arrived at a building that reeked of age. Nonetheless, it looked as if great care had been taken to preserve the original building, as though it were a shrine of some kind. “This was our first government building. It was built to be an imposing structure and has remained so over the centuries, don’t you think?”

Marsha nodded without answering. People thronged the dozen or more steps to the main concourse, and many more could be seen inside the glass-fronted building. I’m in for it now, she thought. And not a stitch of security. I’m glad I had an opportunity to at least strap a knife to my leg. She followed Linnas out of the car to a chorus of cheers, though for whom she couldn’t tell. As they walked up the steps, Linnas was greeting about every other person she met, making their entrance take that much longer.

As they entered the Forum proper, more of the same occurred, only this time Marsha was introduced as well. She lost count of the number of hands she touched as they slowly made their way to the doors of the theater itself. As they stood a few feet from the interior doors, they suddenly burst open and an odd-looking Shiravan lunged out, screaming, “Death to the Matriarch! It is time for Isolationists to prevail!”

Marsha took all of this in in one glance and threw herself at the stranger in a full-body block. He staggered aside and then back to his fatal mission. This time, Marsha caught a glimpse of steel in his hand and managed to draw her own knife, getting between Linnas and the crazy male. From the look in his eyes, that was all he could be, but that didn’t slow her down.

The male strode forward as everybody moved back to see what was going to happen. Marsha, still in between the two, wasn’t even recognized as a threat until she slid her knife between two of his ribs. The look in his eyes didn’t change, but his focus did. He came at Marsha wildly, swinging a Shiravan knife that might as well have been a sword as far as she was concerned. Her only option was to get inside his defensive circle and stop him any way she could.

She misjudged his speed and reach as she tried to duck under his swing. The knife cut into her left arm at the bicep, rendering it useless. She dropped to the floor and swept his legs out from under him. He landed hard, and she took the opportunity to slam the hilt of her knife into his wrist, sending his flying.

Now, stunned bystanders began to subdue the attacker, and Marsha got slowly to her feet. She swayed a bit and looked at her left arm as the pain set in with a vengeance. Blood ran freely down her arm and began pooling on the floor. She had started to turn to Linnas to make sure she was all right when a mighty blow slammed into her left shoulder just above the cut. The last thing she saw was Linnas’s face, mouth moving, but she couldn’t make out the words.

Then the lights went out.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Marsha woke up slowly to find Linnas’s smiling face looking down at her. She reached over to feel the slash on her left arm and was surprised to find nothing there. She realized, too, that she didn’t feel any pain from the massive punch she’d felt just before blacking out. She looked around and found herself in her own room. “I’ve been in a regen chamber,” she said sleepily.

“Yes, Sister, you have. We might have avoided it if it were only the slash on your arm. You would have had an interesting scar to tell stories about, but you were in the way of a rifle shot aimed at me. It was a close call. We almost didn’t get you to a chamber in time. I owe you my life, Sister.”

Marsha smiled weakly. “I told you that you needed security. Have you made new arrangements now?”

“Oh, yes,” Linnas said quickly. “I even consulted with your Captain White Eagle, as we have never needed to institute such a policy in the past. And you are included in that security as well.”

“Good,” Marsha said. “So, how long was I out?”

“With the damage done to your shoulder and the laser passing through your lung, it has been three months. I’m sorry.”

“Three months! What’s happened to the fleet? Have there been any attacks? Have we lost any ships? What’s been going on?”

“Captain White Eagle will be down to answer all of your questions in detail later. Right now, I can tell you that out of all the patrols she has sent out, only one met with any resistance, and that on the far reaches of Garmon space, as if they are retreating. Two ships were lost in exchange for nine Garmon ships.”

“I guess that’s acceptable, though I do regret the loss of life.”

“We’ve constructed a special dusterna to honor the humans lost in defense of Shiravan lives. Their names will be remembered for as long as Shiravans live.”

“Thank you, Sister. Their families will be happy to hear it. Now, how soon can I get back to the Raptor?”

Linnas smiled again. “I expected that question much sooner in our conversation. As soon as you feel ready and have had dinner, we shall send for your gig. Is that soon enough?”

“It will do, Sister. It appears to be getting on toward evening anyway. I’ll get dressed and meet you in the dining room shortly.”

Linnas nodded. “I’ll send Berea in. She’s been beside your chamber almost constantly. She can help you dress and join us for dinner.”

Before long, Linnas was sitting in the dining room when Marsha walked in dressed in her most comfortable BDUs. “I expected that,” the Matriarch said with a sad smile on her face. “Are you going back to work or running from an uncomfortable situation?”

She watched Marsha turn what was, for a human, an almost decent shade of red. Unfortunately, in humans it could mean shame, embarrassment, or any of a number of emotions. Marsha sat down at the table, and Berea hesitatingly took another chair. “I took the liberty of ordering for us again—a meal I know you like. Though it isn’t common dinner fare, I think it’s fitting for your last meal with us,” Linnas said, noting Marsha’s guarded look.

“What do you mean, Sister? By my count, it will be a minimum of four months before the replacement ships can arrive. I expect many more dinners here.”

“But not while you’re on vacation,” Linnas said, smiling. “I realize you only experienced a few days, but here you are, looking totally fit.”

“Thanks to a damned regen chamber, thank you very much!” Marsha retorted, laughing out loud. “But yes, I need to get back to work. Too much time has passed, and right now I feel a bit embarrassed, but I can’t say about what exactly.”

Linnas laughed along with her. “You saved my life and you feel embarrassed? Our sister, Kitty, couldn’t have been braver or foolhardier. I’ve taken steps, though it is unsettling, to have a security team with me from now on. What has our world come to that the Matriarch should need to hide behind others?”

“I can tell you what’s going on, Sister, if you’re willing to entertain a concept,” Marsha said, startling Berea into dropping her fork. She’d never seen anyone except the Second Voice instructed the Matriarch.

“Tell me, Sister. Our minds are different enough that you may see what I cannot,” Linnas said conversationally, causing Berea further distress. “Stop fidgeting, girl. If you have something to say, speak up.” Berea merely looked down at her plate and shook her head. “Very well, then. Marsha?”

Marsha shifted position, as if she were starting a lecture, which in fact she was. “Okay, here goes. For two hundred years… turnings… your people have been systematically reduced in numbers of planets and people. Now, with the Garmons safely routed or at least in serious hiding, your economy is about to double, triple, or even more. You’re going to need more ships to transport colonists, more ships to permanently guard those worlds, even more ships to patrol the outer reaches, your buffer zone, so to speak. You’ll have more people wanting to emigrate, more jobs to fill, people to pay, and taxes to impose to accomplish all of this.

“You, yourself, told me that you’ve already sent settlers to all previously overrun planets. Your economy is going to go through one hell of an upheaval, not like the slow recession two hundred years brought. Who’s going to control all those functions, jobs, and taxes, both incoming and outgoing? You? Not a chance. You’ll only have an overview, being told only that which you need to know to ensure your reign.

“Someone out there has already thought of these things, and you’d better round up your best minds into what we humans call a think tank. You need to find solutions to upcoming crises before they occur and have a viable, positive solution to problems before they arise. You need at least two new shipyards turning out the requisite numbers and types of ships. Here on Shiravi, you need schools to train the new recruits and colonists. Maybe the colonists could train on Harlo, where the people know both how to tame a world and survive under hostile invasions. And those are just the things I can name off the top of my head.” Marsha turned to her plate while she gave Linnas time to think.

She had almost finished her meal when Linnas spoke again. “All of what you say is true, Sister. Times are changing, and the males are going to have to play a greater part in it, as well.”

“See?” Marsha interjected. “Already you’ve come up with a problem I didn’t mention. Think about what your best minds will do with the ideas.”

Dinner finished, Linnas signaled for an attendant and called for a bottle of wine. Marsha’s Shiravan was extensive enough now to recognize that it wasn’t going to be fire wine. This she could handle in small doses before stepping foot back on the Raptor. They sat back and waited for the wine to arrive.

“There’s another matter to be discussed, Sister,” Linnas said, turning serious. This caused a shadow to pass across her Sister’s face. “Don’t worry, Marsha. The matter has been brought to my attention by your attendant, Berea. I believe I’ll let her speak for herself.”

Berea looked quickly at the Matriarch as if to say something, then squared her shoulder and said, “Your Grace, I have had the privilege to serve you for only a short time, but I have a request. I will understand if you say no, but our Matriarch has said that if I want something badly enough, I should speak up.”

“What can I possibly do for you, Berea?” Marsha said, looking positively puzzled. “You have a place in the Matriarch’s household, and I’m reliably informed that people in your situation are generally given good positions when they choose to start their vocations.”

“Oh, I have no doubt of that, Your Grace, but there’s a special job I’d like for my second vocation.” She looked down at where her plate had been.

“Well, spit it out, girl,” Marsha said. “I feel the same way Linnas does about the matter. If you don’t ask, you’ll never know. And in your old age, you’ll look back on this moment and regret it. I’ll do anything I possibly can for you. I heard how you spent much of your time beside my chamber, depriving your Matriarch of your valuable services.” This last came with a smile Berea missed. “Raise your head, look me in the eyes, and just ask.”

Berea, abnormally shy for the moment, did as she was told. Red eyes regarded blue for a long moment, and Marsha broke the spell by taking a sip of the wine that had arrived. “Your Grace, I would be pleased, honored, if you’d allow me to accompany you on your return to Earth.” Before Marsha could speak, Berea went on as if a dam inside her had broken. “I’ll do my best to learn English and all of your customs. I’d be a good assistant for you, and I won’t mind the enclosed spaces. Every journey has its end, and I can wait out the trip without complaint. Also, I’d like to get to see the homeworld of humanity.”

She finally ran down but didn’t put her head back down. Marsha looked at Linnas, who just shrugged. “You seem to have it all figured out, and your Matriarch seems to have no problem with your proposal. Do you realize that it may be many years before you see Shiravi again?”

“I have thought long on it, Your Grace,” Berea answered, “and find that I would rather travel than spend my life under the cloud Ramannie kep Gillas has laid on our Clan, though that is only a small part of it.”

“Well, I don’t see a problem, Berea. You and I get along well together, and if it doesn’t work out, I can find you a position you’d be satisfied with. You realize that it will be several months before we can possibly leave for Earth? Another fleet is coming to replace a large number of ships whose crews have been expressing their desire to get back to their families for a long time. You’ll stay here until just before we leave, coming aboard occasionally to familiarize yourself with the Raptor. Then, two weeks before we leave orbit, you can move aboard permanently. Will that satisfy you?”

“Oh, completely, Your Grace,” Berea said with excitement. “I’m most grateful for the opportunity and won’t allow you to regret your decision.”

Linnas saw a part of her Sister she hadn’t glimpsed before and was even surer of her decision to adopt her. She cleared her throat. Both pairs of eyes turned toward her. “I believe the admiral’s gig is waiting. Berea, you are excused for now. We’ll talk later. Now, I’ll accompany Admiral Kane to her ship.”

As they walked out of the building, several armed guards fell into place a few yards behind. She turned to them and said, “I’m perfectly safe within sight of you. I would speak with my Sister alone.” Her voice alone was enough to stop them in their tracks.

She faced toward the gig and started walking slowly so Marsha could keep up. A kind of euphoria filled her. Quietly she asked, “How many will your ship hold, Sister?”

Marsha looked at her in wonder. “At least four, not counting the pilots. Why?”

“This might be my only chance to see the Raptor without a mob at my back. Can we go aboard, and I’ll call the Second Voice and inform her personally what I’m doing?”

Marsha shrugged and said, “You’re the Matriarch. You can do pretty much as you wish. Come aboard. We’ll close up and lift off as soon as the engines come online.”

Later, as the gig cleared atmosphere, Linnas did as promised and informed an indignant Sitha kep Parrasine of her decision. “It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, Sitha, and I’m certainly safe with Admiral Kane. I intend to get a tour of a larger ship than we possess, and this is a good time to do it. The staff is asleep, except for the guards, and no one else need know.” She shut off the radio and replaced the microphone. “Now I won’t have to listen to her interminable complaining about protocol. Let me enjoy my little vacation.”

Four hours later, Marsha returned her Sister back down personally. Linnas hugged the smaller woman tightly. “I enjoyed the visit, Sister. I hope our choice of wine won’t jeopardize your position.”

“Of course not, Sister. As you said, most people are asleep except for a skeleton crew, most of whom I can avoid, and the rest won’t bother me until morning. I’ll miss my visits as well once we break orbit. That’s a few months away, though, so you can still show me some of the things I missed.”

“I will look forward to the opportunity, Sister. And, of course, the night before you leave there will be a reception for you and most of your officers. What you call a ‘going away’ party.”

Hesitantly, Marsha only said, “I see your guards approaching. I wish you well, Sister, and will do so at least once more before I leave.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Simon Hawke stalked into his wife’s office. “I really don’t like making an appointment with my own wife, Kitty.”

“Can’t help it, dear. I have so many appointments on my daily calendar, you’re lucky you didn’t have to wait until I came home tonight.”

“Getting home from here is a five-minute tube ride,” he said, sitting down. “But how am I supposed to know when you’ll be home? You keep such erratic hours, I can’t even plan to take you to dinner anymore.”

Kitty set her pen down. Even inside Ceres there was need for paper copies and originals. “Don’t you think it’s frustrating for me, too, Simon? But there’s so much to do. We have more scientists requesting transport to various places, and the ship has to remain there in the event of an emergency. Earth-side is calling for planets to colonize, as if that was going to end their overcrowding. All it will do is get some of our eggs out of one basket, really. More people are being born every minute than we can transport in months. Look, I don’t want to have the same old argument again. Can’t we talk about something else for a change?”

Simon heard the exasperation in her voice and knew when to quit. “As a matter of fact, I do have a couple of things to talk about.” Kitty raised her eyebrows in surprise. Simon smiled. “First, Freddie officially wants to retire and he’s serious this time. Says something about having seen a ghost three times, and his days on this mortal coil are almost over. His words, not mine,” he added when Kitty smiled. “So, we need to find a new ambassador to Earth. I know you have some ideas.”

“I do. I’ve talked to Freddie, as well. He made a suggestion for his replacement and then put wheels in motion when I agreed.”

“That Juergens guy right?” Simon asked.

“Yes, I’ve only met him a few times, but he strikes me as an upright individual. I already have his application for Alliance membership here on my desk somewhere. His name is Heinrich Juergens, and he was of great help to Lucy while I was in regen after Camp David. A protocol specialist. Freddie recommends him highly. He doesn’t seem to have any firm political affiliations and just works for whoever needs to have someone who knows the ins and outs of the political arena. He writes that he’s willing to swear allegiance to the Alliance and work for us wholeheartedly. I’m considering it seriously.”

“Well, if Freddie swears by him, I don’t have a problem unless he’s too obnoxious. You know how some lifetime civil servants can be.”

“True, dear. That’s why I’m drafting a letter in response, asking him to come here for an interview. I figure that if he’s going to represent us on Earth, he should see how we live out here and what we do. Maybe let him go to one of the planets being considered for colonization. Let him see alien skies and so forth. See how he reacts to all that and then ask him again if he still wants the post.”

“Sounds good to me, Kittyn. And we can talk about other things tonight, maybe?” Simon tried his best to sound mysterious, which often got Kitty’s attention.

“That’s a date. I really do have a short day today. Dinner and then small talk afterwards?”

Simon knew what small talk really meant, and he wasn’t averse to the idea. He just decided to leave the larger matter on his mind until afterwards.

The two lovers lay entwined and nearly exhausted. They’d been apart for too long, either by distance or occupation. And now was as good a time as any to broach a subject that had been festering in him for several years. The two had been in space for almost fifteen years now and married for fifteen before that. After thirty years, he should be able to approach the subject without starting a fight. Admiral though he was, he knew enough to back down if things started getting unpleasant. After all, he was still a husband.

Simon looked at his wife, her face inches from his. “Honey, there’s something else on my mind now. Can we talk?’

Kitty looked him right back in his eyes and said, “There’s been something on your mind for a long time, dear. I’ll listen to anything you have to say.”

“Without getting mad?”

“Depends. Have you been sleeping with any young beautiful ensigns totally enthralled by the mystique of the famous Admiral Hawke, discoverer of the Galileo?”

“Of course not,” he said hotly. “Oh, I get it. You’re trying to rattle my cage. Well, it’s not going to happen this time.”

“You’ve got a battle plan for this conversation, don’t you?” Kitty quipped

“Kittyn, I’m really trying to be serious here. Just listen with as unbiased a mind as you can, please?”

Something in his voice got through to her. “Okay. Whatever it is, I’ll listen.”

“Good. We’ve been out here now for nearly fifteen years, and in that time we’ve been separated almost four-and-a-half years due to trips to Shiravi. And the rest of the time I’m the Admiral and you’re the Herald. You agreed a long time ago that when things got to the point where we weren’t needed as symbols we would take off on our own and just go exploring. I think that time is going to come soon, as in about a year. You’ve mentioned a new Ambassador. I’d like to talk about a new Herald and Admiral.” He rose up on his elbow and leaned back a bit, waiting for her response. What he got was totally unexpected.

“Okay, dear. I’ll think about it, but you’ve been thinking about it for years. Can I have at least a month to process this and see if I feel comfortable with it?” Her gaze remained level and he couldn’t see anything in her eyes or face that belied her words.

“That’s fair. Discussions during that time or just wait the month out?”

She thought for a moment. “You’ve kept this to yourself for a long time. Give me at least a month. I’ll tell you then if I need more time.”

“It’s more than I expected,” he said with his lopsided grin. “And the year is flexible, if we need more time to prepare and find the right people.”

Kitty slipped out of bed and into a hot shower.

So this is what’s been on his mind for so long. I should have known, she thought. Well, actually, I kind of feel the same way. It would be a relief to have company in bed every night instead of this hit or miss shit we’ve both been living through.

Coming back to bed composed, she slid in beside him and cuddled close. Not another word was said about the subject, and soon the two fell asleep.

“What’s on your agenda for today, dear?” she asked him over breakfast the next morning.

Simon looked up from his plate and said, “Just more of the same. Moving ships around, checking reports, and such. The super-Raptor is due out of the yards in about a week. I’ll need to go to Taurus Base for her commissioning. Care to tag along?”

Kitty shrugged. “I’ll have to check my calendar, but I’d like a tour of this new ship. I’ll see what I can do.”

Simon nodded. “I plan to leave the day before and show my face around so the new people will see their admiral and know that he isn’t some distant, untouchable person.”

“In the meantime,” Kitty said, “could you send some stuff over to my office? Things like the closest habitable worlds, climate, flora and fauna, and any other data you may have. Also, an estimate as to the number of ships we should assign to rotating patrols for each.”

“Sure. I’ll get Personnel and Planning and Tactics working on it immediately. “It may take a couple of days to compile, but you’ll have it ten minutes after I do. Deal?”

“Deal,” Kitty said. “Also, I’ll need estimates on passenger ships to send colonists in. I’d like to get at least two before the year is out.”

“Actually, the plans have already been drawn up and entered into the computer. I figure Taurus Base can start the first one as soon as she retools from the new ship. The Newton would be best for the other, and she’s due to finish a long string of Mantas within the month.”

The colonists’ ships were based on the external carrier design. The only resemblance inside would be the engine room and bridge. The rest would be devoted to rather Spartan living quarters for about a thousand people, plus their luggage and tools. Public spaces would include dining, recreation, and essential services, plus storage for the organic material for the food processors. At least two cruisers would accompany each ship, and the Newton could slip out ahead, with escorts, and begin preparing the surface for the arriving colonists—the job her predecessor was originally designed to do. All should go as planned if the Garmons continue to stay out of our hair.

Pegra Nargresh sat in the hall of Harka Garmon and discussed the settlement of so many Clans. He had recalled the attack fleet and used them to ferry cows and cubs to Harka’s two best-suited planets. A small Clan, the young sept-leader had plenty of room to spread the refugees out and still keep them close enough to come at The Nargresh’s call. Even the new fuel refinery was within a reasonable distance. Already, ships with depleted power cores were being refitted with new ones in preparation for his plan.

What he had in mind was soon made known to the various sept-leaders. “I want a hand of ships to start exploring farther out, away from Shiravans and humanz. No more than a hand of groups are to go out at one time. Each hand will survey at least three systems, looking for habitable worlds. A third of the remaining ships will accompany the yard builders and help in the construction of a new yard and depot as soon as a suitable system can be found. The remainder will stay in this region to search for enemy ships and keep our people safe. Are there any questions?”

Word had already trickled down, and no one had any questions to ask. The meeting ended simply when The Nargresh left the room.

Marsha was wearing her green dress, replaced while she was healing, and preparing to go to the surface in a shuttle filled with most of her senior captains for the going away party. Their replacements had finally arrived two weeks before, and it had taken that long for her to bring the replacement admiral and captains up to speed. A familiar face headed up the new flotilla. Robert Greene was posted as admiral of the human presence in Shiravan space. He brought his wife, Michiko, along as communications officer of the flagship, and to offset the loss of the Raptor, four additional ships had been sent. Twenty-one ships in all, which had sparked quite a bit of worry until they were identified.

Robert and some of his captains had been invited to meet with some of the Shiravan higher-ups. All went well, with no assassination attempts and nothing to mar the smooth transition from Marsha’s command to Robert’s. Even the fact that he was male seemed to have little effect on their Shiravan counterparts.

It was at the end of the evening, Marsha’s last in Shiravan space, that she got a surprise. Linnas had just finished making a short speech welcoming the newcomers when Marsha got sandbagged. Riding a small tide of euphoria from some light wine and the prospect of seeing home again, she heard her named called.

She turned from the circle of friends she had made over the past few years and looked toward the other end of the room. Linnas was motioning to her to come over. Marsha headed toward her and noted that she stood slightly apart from everyone else. Robert stood nearby, the look on his face saying that he knew nothing, but she felt something in the air. The closer she got to Linnas, the stronger the feeling got.

She looked up at her taller Sister wonderingly, but she didn’t have to wonder long. Linnas laid a hand on her shoulder and turned her to face the crowded room. She looked out at all the red faces interspersed with some white and black, a dull feeling in her stomach.

Linnas kept her hand lightly on her shoulder, giving her a reassuring pat. “It is with great sorrow that I officially announce the departure of my Sister-kin, Admiral Marsha Kane. Taking her place will be a new admiral, sent by my Sister-equal, Katherine Hawke. You will all get to know him and his senior officers in the months to come, but tonight is special. My Sister leaves tomorrow, and I wish to do something special for her.”

Linnas motioned for Sitha kep Parrasine, her Second Voice, and she stepped forward with a carved stone box in her hands. Marsha immediately recognized the gava stone so highly prized among Shiravans and sucked her breath in with awe. This was a gift of inestimable value. She started to protest, but Linnas’s hand laid heavier on her shoulder.

“This is a gift for my Sister,” she said quietly. “Have the courtesy to take it in good grace.” In a louder voice she said, “It has been my honor to know Marsha for several turnings now and call her Sister-kin. She has treated well with us, putting her own life and safety above even her own. She deserves our respect and gratitude.” She turned Marsha to face her. “Sister, it is well that we have known each other, and I pray to the Spirits of Space that we meet again. Until that time, please accept this as a gift from me personally and all Shiravans to show our gratitude.”

Linnas took the box from Sitha and handed it to her. It was heavier than she had expected. She already had a gava-stone necklace, but the size of the box truly told the weight of this material. She didn’t know what to say and could only mutter, “Thank you, Sister. I will treasure this all my life.”

Linnas smiled. “Look inside.”

She lifted the lid and found a set of four kem-wood goblets nestled inside. “Oh, this is too much, Sister,” she stammered. “I have nothing for you as a return gift.”

“You have given me and all Shiravans peace, Sister, for the first time in two hundred turnings. With the routing of the Garmons, we are free once more to expand back to our original size and beyond. Without the technological advances your people have bestowed upon us and the help and sacrifices you and your people have made on our behalf, we would be a dying race. Besides, think of it as a going away present, which I am told requires no return gift.”

“I only did my job, Sister,” she protested.

“Nonsense, Marsha. You put yourself at risk for a race not your own. You are a special person in your own right and deserving of so much more. So, I’ve decided to do something I’ve only done once before, and something no other Matriarch has ever done. I raise you from Sister-kin to Sister-equal in front of all these witnesses. I will miss you, and all Shiravans will as well.”

Sister-equal? thought Marsha. I don’t know why she’s doing this, and my guess is that she’ll go all Spirits of Space on me and tell me nothing. She held the gava-stone box in her hands and looked uncomprehendingly at Linnas.

“You will make a great Sister-equal, Marsha.” Linnas leaned down and hugged her hard, then pushed her out into the crowd.

Captain White Eagle gently took the box from her hands. “I’ll hold this while you enjoy the party, ma’am,” she said quietly. Soon, she found herself, glass in hand, surrounded by Shiravans and humans alike, all talking at once. The rest of the evening was a blur.

Marsha woke the next morning not the least bit hung over and feeling well until her eyes fell on the green box on the table beside her bed aboard the Raptor. She looked at her watch, jumped out of bed, and hurriedly dressed. The flotilla would be breaking orbit soon, and she had one more thing to do.

The observation deck showed her the night side of the planet below. The major centers shone like stars and, set apart, the mountains that surrounded Cho-An were still glowing green as the darkening night settling upon them. She watched until the rotation of Shiravi took the mountains out of view and then slowly made her way down the stairs to deck three.

Minutes later she was on the bridge, standing beside Captain White Eagle, who started to stand up so Marsha could have the control seat. A curious feeling had taken hold of her in the dome, and she shook her head. “You’ve had command long enough, Ali. No reason you can’t handle a little thing like leading seventeen ships home. The flotilla is yours.”

“Yes, ma’am, the flotilla is mine. By the way, Admiral Greene sent a package over by gig before you woke up. It’s addressed to Admiral Hawke. I signed for it and put it in the ship’s safe.”

Her tone wasn’t questioning, just informative, so Marsha only said,” Thank you, Captain White Eagle. Please start us for home, and see me after your shift, if you please.” She turned and walked to the bridge door. As it opened, she looked back a long time at the crew, heads down, monitoring the various functions of the ship and Alicia White Eagle coordinating with sixteen other ships—all competence and efficiency. She turned and let the door close, and it felt as if a part of her life had been cut off.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Simon waited for Kitty to come in after her day was finished. The news he had was only hours old, so she may not have heard yet. The seventeen ships stationed in Shiravan space had come home to roost. Now the plans he’d been making could begin to go forward since Kitty had finally acquiesced. They could retire and take a ship out to explore on their own, but she had insisted on a long vacation Earth-side beforehand.

He gave in, feeling much the same himself. It would be good to walk around under a sun with wind in his face and not have to worry about being recognized or arrested. That last problem had been solved years ago when the United Nations had finally accepted the Alliance as a separate political entity, but he still hadn’t been to Earth more than a half dozen times in the last several years.

When Kitty finally came in, late as usual, he was awake at his desk, reading through a sheaf of papers Robert Greene had sent back with the Raptor.

“You’re still up,” Kitty observed. “Usually I find you in bed by now.”

“Well, I had some papers to read this time. Marsha’s fleet returned about six hours ago, and the first thing she did was report in and give me a package from Bob Greene. I’ve just finished reading it.”

“So, what does he have to say? And how is Marsha?” Kitty asked, taking off her shirt. She came to look over his shoulder, but he snaked an arm around her shoulders and turned it into a long kiss.

After that he started in on Marsha’s report. “It appears that the Garmons are leaving their planets and moving somewhere else. All the evidence points to a quick evacuation, taking as many as they could cram aboard their remaining ships and leaving a few behind. Those will have to be dealt with eventually—maybe moving them to a single world as they’re found and rounded up. That’s about par for the course on all Garmon planets we’ve been finding lately. You know, we haven’t seen a ship in over a year now.”

“That’s good,” Kitty said, heading for the shower. “I’ve got a couple of planets in mind for the Newton to go set up for colonies, and with the Garmons gone, we’ll only have to send a minimum escort.”

“There’s more,” Simon said over the sound of running water. “Bob sent back a preliminary report.”

A few minutes later, Kitty came out of the shower, toweling her nearly knee-length white hair. “You said Bob Greene sent back a preliminary report? What could he have to report on in so short a time?”

“More than you might think, hon,” Simon said. “And some of the most interesting stuff wasn’t in Marsha’s report.”

“Is she trying to hide something? What went wrong? Shirley didn’t flip out again, did she?” Kitty’s questions were so rapid-fire, Simon had no time to answer any of them. He held up his hand.

“To answer your questions in order, that would be she is trying to hide something, nothing went wrong, and no, Shirley didn’t flip out. As a matter of fact, Marsha gives her one of the most glowing reviews of all.”

“So, what, then?”

Simon turned a computer monitor to face the two of them. “Why don’t you slip into something and sit down. Otherwise this will make you fall down.” As she complied, Simon put a small disk into the player and said, “I already had my pick made for admiral, and I know you’ve been dithering over several prospects, especially since Lucy Grimes still refuses to take over your job. But I think this will reverse things for both of us. You’ve got a Herald, and I need to reevaluate my choices for admiral. And my second choice has been in Shiravan space for almost a year now. Maybe I should send a courier with a replacement.”

“What are you talking about?” Kitty demanded, sitting down beside him.

“It seems that one of Bob’s people thought to wear a shoulder cam to record his first visit to a Shiravan party. It happened to be Marsha’s going away party, and I think you’ll find it interesting. You’ve kept up your Shiravan haven’t you?” At her nod, he went on. “Good. Mine’s been getting better, but I still have trouble with some concepts. I did get the gist of this though. Feel free to translate at will.”

He pressed a button and a junior officer’s face came on-screen. “Hi, Mom and Dad, I wanted you to know I got here safe and sound, and there’s no sign of enemy activity. As a matter of fact, only a few ships have been seen in the past year, and all the Garmon worlds are deserted except for a few old women and the youngest kids. But here’s the news. I get to go down to Shiravi itself and attend a party in their major industrial city called Quillas. It’s for the out-going admiral, Marsha Kane, and should be quite a shindig. I’ll save rest of this disk for the party. I’ve been studying Shiravan and can give you an idea of what was said at the end or on another disk.”

The screen went black for a moment and then showed the outside of a building in Quillas. “That’s the Forum,” Kitty said. A lot of voices were overlaid one upon another, all English at first. Then the view entered the foyer of the building, one both Kitty and Simon had been in several times.

Eventually, the view moved into a large room filled with a lot of tall, red Shiravans dressed in garish colors, a few in more somber colors, and a sprinkling of humans, all in dress uniform. The young officer spent his time on the outskirts of most of the party, venturing closer for shots of things that interested him. Kitty got to name several individuals, but most of her comments were just about general conversations.

The view changed again as the camera moved closer to the dais. Linnas stood there with Marsha beside her. “I got all the essentials and a short note from Bob Greene giving his interpretation of what was said. Just watch and listen.”

Kitty sat rapt before the screen until the end of Linnas’s speech. “You can turn it off now. I see what you mean. Linnas conferred the status of Sister-equal on her, making her as obligated to the survival of the Shiravans as she herself. And me too, for that matter. I wonder why she didn’t see fit to put that in her report?”

Simon looked at his wife. “Technically, she’s under my jurisdiction, but considering the closeness between you, I think I’ll let you make her squirm. Then you can ask her to consider taking on the responsibility of Herald since she’s now a Sister-equal as well, leaving her time to think about it while she takes a long vacation back home. A Sister-equal leading the Alliance would sit better with the Shiravans than a man or just some other woman.”

Kitty thought about it for a minute. “Where is she now?”

“Aboard the Raptor. This is her sleep cycle, and I’m sure she’s trying to get her body clock back to Earth norm. Maybe about noon you could comm her and invite her over for a visit. Girl talk, you know. Then, after a glass of fire wine, she could be loosened up enough to talk to an old friend.”

“You’re a devious bastard, Simon Hawke. I’ll have to cancel all my afternoon appointments,” Kitty mused aloud.

“Good,” Simon said almost gleefully. “Then you might have a second glass if she isn’t ready to talk after the first. Afterwards you can call me, and I’ll escort you back here so you can recuperate. Maybe we could even have the stewards deliver dinner.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, provoking a smile and girlish giggle.

They eventually shut off the lights and Kitty fell asleep tucked in the familiar safety of Simon’s arms. He gently stroked her hair and pushed a few strands out of her face. He lay there looking at her, thinking about the new ship and the coming year-and-a-half before he could abdicate. It all depended on Marsha’s reaction to the suggestion of becoming the new face of the Alliance.

It might be a good idea to go ahead and send the Newton out like Kitty said. Time enough to think about that later. Presently he fell asleep himself. His last thought was that it was time to name the new super-Raptor. Maybe it was finally time for a ship named Enterprise.

Kitty sat comfortably behind her desk and looked over at Marsha. “You know that as sisters we aren’t supposed to keep secrets from each other, don’t you? At least, if I’d had a sister as a kid, I wouldn’t have kept secrets from her. I think.” She gazed blandly across at Marsha, who held a glass of wine halfway to her lips.

Setting the glass carefully on the edge of the desk, Marsha replied, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And we aren’t sisters. Not that I wouldn’t mind having you for a sister,” she finished quickly.

Kitty noted the guilty look on her face and went for the kill quickly to minimize the pain. “First, according to Shiravan custom we are sisters, and second, that was a really pretty green dress you wore at your going away party. Why did you leave the party out of your report?”

Marsha hesitated, looking for a way out. “Well, it had no bearing on the mission, and I didn’t think it worthwhile to waste your time. How do you know the dress was green?”

“The same way I know that Linnas elevated you to Sister-equal. Now, don’t you think that was significant enough to put in your report?” Kitty took a sip from her glass and indicated Marsha’s. “I think a toast is in order, Sister,” she said, putting emphasis on the last word. She continued to hold her glass out, her look changing from bland to intent. She wasn’t about to be snubbed at this point.

Marsha finally picked up her glass and slowly moved it out to touch Kitty’s, a wary look on her face. “Don’t worry, old friend, I’m not going to bite. Yet. To Marsha Kane, Admiral of the Alliance and Sister-equal to myself and Linnas des Harras, the Matriarch of twenty worlds. This is not an honor conferred lightly, I’m told. Only two times in recorded history has a Matriarch done such a thing. Do you realize that if she dies, one of us will have to go take her place? She has no heirs, so the job would land squarely on the shoulders of one of us.” Marsha blanched. Kitty chuckled quietly as she took a sip from her glass and indicated that Marsha do likewise. She wasn’t about to admit that that last bit of information was false. At least she believed so, nobody having ever mentioned any such thing.

Marsha took a larger drink, and Kitty refilled her glass. “Kitty, I can’t go and take Linnas’s place! That’s absurd. You would have to do it.”

Kitty smiled, an almost feral expression. “Well, I certainly can’t. I have my hands full here, running herd on this bunch, and we don’t even have a second planet of our own yet. What do you suggest we do? Just in case.”

“I don’t know, Kitty. I just don’t know.”

“The Shiravans are happy that the Alliance is being run by somebody who has their best interest at heart. And after your near-fatal encounter at the Forum, they see you as just as committed to their welfare as your own. More so, even. You nearly gave your life for the Matriarch, for God’s sake!” Kitty barked.

Marsha emptied her glass and set it upside down on the coaster. “Where are you going with this?” she demanded, not at all swayed by Kitty’s official status or her supposed sisterhood.

“You want it in one shot, or should I baby you a bit longer?” she taunted.

“I’m a big girl. I run a fleet of seventeen ships and have lost ships and crew, some of whom I started out with and will miss forever. I’ve put my life at risk for the Alliance from day one and will continue to do so,” she said in a rush. “What do you want me to do next? Just tell me.”

Kitty softened her approach. “I know all too well what you’ve given and given up, as well as how much you’ve suffered. Lord knows, I carry around enough ghosts of my own to understand.” She looked Marsha squarely in the eyes. “This isn’t something I or Simon can order you to do. We’ll both order a nice long vacation, but while you’re gone, I want you to think about a proposal I have in mind.” She waited a few seconds, finally judging the time to be right. “Simon and I want to retire and start our second vocations, as the Shiravans put it. That means we’re going to need a new supreme Admiral and Herald. We’re going to take a small fleet and go exploring where the rest of the fleet can’t go. Are you interested? You’ll have plenty of time to think it over—as long as you need, up to about six months.”

“You want me to be supreme Admiral in Simon’s place? That’s quite a job,” she hedged. “It will take some thinking on, and I promise to do just that while I’m on vacation.”

“That’s not exactly what we have in mind, Sister-equal,” Kitty said, finally setting the hook. “We want you to take over as Herald.”

Blank-faced, Marsha reached out and turned her glass back over. “Got any more of that fire wine on hand?”

Pegra Nargresh sat alone before a fire in Harka Garmon’s main hall. It was winter on Harka’s main world, and even a thick coat of fur couldn’t keep the cold of a winter storm from his bones. Fortunately, Harka had the foresight to suggest that all the able bodied of the People start putting aside food for the short winter period. No one would starve, but that was the least of his worries.

The various Clans were separated far enough apart that there would be no incidents among a race that valued its personal space. What bothered him was that scout ships kept returning with negative results on planets with the proper spectral pattern. He had loosened those requirements and sent them back out, hoping for worlds that would support their lives if not their exact environment.

What was even more disturbing were the reports on the cows. They had begun to speak and even demand—demand—to be treated with more respect than mere baby factories. And the number of cows born was not diminishing. The Elders and few remaining who qualified as scientists among the People were at a loss as to explain the situation. The youngest cows were being born with facial characteristics similar to the males and were even more intractable than previous generations. Some were even beginning to question his methods, ideas, and goals. They were gaining some insight to the situation they were in and beginning to speak their minds.

They were needed for the proliferation of the race, but the situation could not be allowed to continue without something being done. Fighting was his forte, as it was with all males, but how to handle this was beyond his comprehension. Never in the history of the People had such a thing occurred, and he had no precedent to follow.

He went for a walk to clear his mind. The industry going on around him appealed to his sense of order. They were encamped in the foothills of an enormous mountain chain, heavily wooded and full of game. On the plains below, herds of krath ran unhindered, having been imported with Harka’s original settlement. A troop of hunters was coming up an already well-worn path, three krath strung up between them. Other males were hard at work building lodges and handling the many chores required to keep over two hundred People alive and healthy.

This number did not include the cows, of course, though they must be fed as well. Older cubs were busy learning the techniques they would need as adults to survive. He knew that in a remote spot, others were training on the hidden ships, learning to fly them. These days, though, very few trips were being made. Occasionally, a ship needed to be refueled, or a new ship came out of the rudimentary yards hidden in an enormous cave system half a planet away. It had been deemed too dangerous to have an elaborate factory complex out in the open for the enemy to find.

Pegra’s stomach churned at the thought of hiding from an enemy, but the People had been decimated in a mere double-handful of years. In order to preserve the race, some things must be endured that went against the natural order.

And the thought of natural order coincided with the appearance of a young cow. It sauntered up to him, eyes wide. He was astonished at the change in the features of its face—more like the People, but somehow softer, though there was steel in its gaze. He had heard of them talking, but he was shocked when it spoke to him. “You boss?” The words were intelligible, though slurred.

Pegra was confounded. How did one of the People speak to a cow? “Yes,” he answered uncertainly.

The young cow stood up straight, looking uncomfortably like a real Person. “I work,” it said, pointing at the males building fires, cooking, building lodges. Its hands had changed from the more hoof-like structure he was familiar with to uncommonly long fingers.

“You can’t work. You’re just a cow. Go back to your compound.”

He turned around, feeling somehow uneasy, but her words stopped him. “I learn talk. I learn work.” Its tone was uncommonly like an obstinate cub, sure of his ability. “I no sit and wait to be baby-maker. I work.” Pegra didn’t know how to deal with the situation. No one had real supervision over the cows, and they didn’t even have names, so he resorted to the only tactics he knew. He swatted at it, intending only a firm smack, but it jumped back, still glaring at him.

“Go,” he said, raising his hand again. This time the cow moved farther away and stopped again. “Go,” he said again, raising his voice.

It finally moved off after another glare. “I work,” it said again over its shoulder.

He started off on his rounds of the encampment and noticed the eyes of the males following him. He stopped and glared at the lot of them. “Who has been teaching the cows to talk, for the God’s sake?” he roared. After several seconds had passed and no one spoke, he roared again. “Well?”

Finally, a youngling not far out of cubhood said, “If it pleases you, sire, they seem to have learned by themselves. It’s something we’ve noticed over the past few seasons.”

“It doesn’t please me! Why has no one told me of this?” he asked, not realizing how far along their intelligence had come.

“We believed you already knew, sire,” the youngling said.

“Well, I didn’t. Is someone trying to make me look the fool? Do any of you wish to challenge me for leadership?” No one spoke up. All the males seemed to find something direly necessary that needed immediate attention. “Lieutenants, attend me,” he bellowed and stomped back into the main lodge hall.

The talk about the increasing intelligence of the cows ran long into the night. The pile of wood for the central fire ran low before anything was determined, and that was only that one individual per day was to keep watch over the cow’s compound, preventing any more incidents.

Incidents began to occur with an alarming degree of regularity. The cows managed to get out of their compound on a regular basis, starting with the one who had accosted Pegra the day before. This time it showed up at a firepit with an armload of wood. It managed to make two more trips before the new supervisor caught on. He herded it back into the compound and walked the circumference until he found a hole big enough for it to have slipped out of. He rolled a large boulder into the depression and went back to cleaning his claws.

Later, he had to gather three back in, all younglings by their features. He suspected that one was the same one he had caught earlier. This time, he found a deeper hole near the boulder. Was he going to have to spend his whole day watching cows? If Pegra found out, he could be stripped of his rank or his hide, depending on the leader’s mood. He decided to bring it up at council that night. For the rest of the day, he made regular rounds of the compound, ungraciously accepting comments from his fellow warriors. To one he said, “Just wait. Tomorrow it will be your turn.” Laughter followed him as he rounded the edge.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Simon looked up from the report he was reading when his private door opened. Kitty stepped across the threshold and dropped into a chair in front of his desk. “You look bushed, hon. How did it go?” He sounded truly worried.

“Well, I’m still alive, and she didn’t say no,” she responded. “She’s going to take an extended leave, though. Says she wants to get the smell of spaceships out of her clothes. I told her to take all the time she needs, up to six months. I don’t want her getting too comfortable in her old life. And she’ll be drawing full pay, so she won’t need money. I won’t say it’s a lock, but I get good vibes from it. She really wanted to go with us, though. I told her that when we get back, she can have her choice of ships and crew.”

Simon’s comm chimed and he gave it his attention. “Yes, I did, ‘Stafa. Are you close enough to stop by my quarters anytime soon?” he asked, rubbing his hands together almost gleefully.

“I believe we can make Ceres orbit in about an hour, sir. What’s up?”

“How about we don’t discuss it over an open channel, okay? Bring your first officer with you, and plan to take the rest of the day off. Dress is civvies. I have an offer for you.”

“Intriguing, sir. I’ll see how much time I can safely shave off that estimate. Morgan out.”

He stood up and held out his hand to Kitty. “Let’s go change. Our guests will be arriving soon.”

Mustafa Morgan arrived about forty-five minutes later with a young-looking man beside him, who he introduced as Mitchell Price. Both had the white-hair characteristic of regen treatments. On Mustafa it looked especially good, considering that he had the blackest skin Simon had ever seen. He’d been among the first volunteers, even before the Galileo left on her first mission to build a space dock.

“Welcome to Ceres, ‘Stafa. Commander Price, we haven’t met yet. I’m Simon Hawke, and this is my wife, Kitty. Why don’t you two have a seat in the lounge area?” Simon and Kitty followed the two and sat down opposite them. On the table between them was a blue bottle and four glasses.

“So, how are things with your new ship, ‘Stafa?”

“More room, better armaments and screens, faster, too. And she carries a crew of almost four hundred. A far cry from the first ships out of the yards,” he answered. “But you didn’t ask us here for just social talk, did you? Let’s get down to business, Simon.”

“You always were direct, old friend,” Simon said as he filled the last glass with a liquid that seemed to glow a light blue. “Let’s drink to old times, old friendships, and new adventures.” He raised his glass and Kitty copied him, leaving the other two to stare at the glasses before slowly picking them up. “This stuff has quite a kick, guys, so I suggest you sip slowly until you get a feel for it.”

“It can’t be any worse than that horrible stuff you call scotch, Simon,” Mustafa said.

“Famous last words,” Simon retorted with a smile. “Just promise me that you”ll remember them.” When he held his glass farther out, all four touched glasses and took a drink. Simon, Kitty and Commander Price all took small sips at first, but Mustafa took about a third of his drink in one swallow.

Price let out a small, “Whoosh!” and looked at the glass with some respect. Mustafa, on the other hand, looked like he was about to suffer a stroke. After a minute of huffing and puffing, during which time the others took another sip, he finally asked in a strained voice, “What the hell is this stuff? Goes down smooth, then kicks your ass. Are you trying to poison me?”

“I warned you to take it slow, ‘Stafa. But, no, you wouldn’t listen to me. Maybe you aren’t the man for the mission after all.” Simon shook his head sadly.

“Hold your horses there, boss man. Things are getting boring around here. Maybe I want the job. What is it?”

Kitty spoke up for the first time. “Have you heard of the Overlook Restaurant? It’s at the far end of the asteroid, has a splendid view of the lake, and a four-star menu. Dinner is on us, and I think Simon wants to talk about it there. We have a private table and won’t be disturbed except by the waiter, who happens to have a top-secret clearance.”

“Been there,” Mustafa said, “but I’ve never turned down a free meal unless I had to. How soon do we eat, if you’re going to be all mysterious about this? Commander Price?”

“I’m in, sir. I’ve heard about the lake but never seen it. If they’re going to bribe us with food, I say let’s eat and then hear the deal.”

“See why he’s my second in command? Knows how to exploit a situation,” Mustafa said proudly. “Trained him myself.”

Kitty looked at her watch. “Then we should be leaving, gentlemen. The tube system will take us to an exit near the restaurant, and it’s just a few minutes’ walk from there.” She stood up and the three men followed her example, Mustafa a bit unsteadily. He left the rest of his glass on the table, as did Price.

On the ride to the restaurant, Mustafa asked, “Just what was that stuff, Simon? It’s got a kick like nothing I’ve ever experienced.”

Simon smiled happily. “The Shiravans call it fire wine, and nobody has found a better name for it. Respectable, huh?”

“Respectable, hell! That stuff should be outlawed.”

Kitty said, “That’s why we asked you to spend the night on Ceres. We have rooms already assigned for each of you.”

The tube shuttle slowed to a stop and the four stepped out. “One flight up and we’re there. Think you can manage it, ‘Stafa?” Simon quipped.

“Of course,” Mustafa replied indignantly. “It’ll take more than that to put me out. Besides, a meal will help me sober up some.”

“Good. I’m glad you feel that way. We still have most of a bottle to go through afterwards,” Simon gloated.

“So, you want me to take a courier ship and go replace Bob Greene at Shiravi. Is that all? What happens to my ship once I’m gone? A ship can’t be without a captain for long.” Mustafa sipped gingerly at his wine, waiting for the answer.

“Well, there’s going to be a change in the command structure around here pretty soon. What I have in mind is to have you take over Bob’s command as Admiral in Shiravan space while he comes back here,” Simon said.

Mustafa thought about it for a time while he savored another sip from his glass. “So, you promote Price to captain to fill my place and me to admiral to fill Bob’s shoes. What is Bob going to be doing?”

Simon said simply, “My job.”

Mustafa mulled the puzzle over for a minute. “So, what are you going to do?”

Simon just smiled. “You know what I’ve wanted all along, ‘Stafa. A really long vacation.” Mustafa gave Simon a vague look over the rim of his glass. Simon said, “You know—‘going where no man has gone before’?”

Enlightenment dawned on Mustafa’s face. “And just when will this momentous event occur?” he asked, smiling brightly. He had long known of Simon’s displeasure with staying behind while so many others were able to step out of the solar system. “You know,” he said before Simon could answer, “I remember you saying at one of the first dedication ceremonies that you were the first husband to really give his wife the stars. Congratulations. You finally get to do it. But who’s going to become Herald?”

Kitty joined the conversation because Simon was halfway through a sip from his glass. “We have to wait for Bob to get back and let him get acclimated first. As for the Herald’s post, I have someone in mind, but I have to go slow.”

Simon nodded and added. “You know that new ship coming out of Taurus Base? That’s going to be my ship unless something better comes along in the next year and a half. We’re finally going to have a ship called Enterprise, and I’m getting the ulcer seat. There’s no rule that says an admiral can’t be captain of a ship.”

Mustafa shifted position on the couch. “No rule that you didn’t make up, right? So, when do I leave? I’ve got a few things to wrap up, and I’d like to some spend time with my family if I’m going to be away for several years.”

Kitty asked, “Both of your kids are grown, aren’t they?” Mustafa nodded. “Why don’t you take your wife along with you? I know she’s gone through regen like most partners have.”

“True,” Mustafa agreed. “And she’s been working on learning Shiravan for quite some time now since she’s right here on Ceres, along with a lot of other service-connected personnel. She just might go for it.”

“So, let’s say you leave in about a month, then,” Simon said. “Right after I promote you to admiral and Mitchell, here, to captain. Sound okay to you?”

After the two men agreed, the foursome returned to the lounge and got down to the serious business of finding the bottom of the blue bottle.

Sitha kep Parrasine stepped out of the suborbital ahead of her Matriarch, and they both looked out on the ruined land that had been Cho-An, the ancestral home of the des Harras clan for more generations than could be counted. Huge dirt movers were busily moving material from all around the plain to fill the gaping hole left by the Garmon assault.

The wound was nearly repaired and ready for the city to be rebuilt from ancient records kept in Quillas, as well as other places. Redundancy was nothing if not normal for Shiravans in almost all things. “The new city will have an added feature the old one didn’t,” Linnas noted almost absently.

“And what will that be, Your Grace?” Sitha asked.

“‘All the bits of gava stone that can be found on the surrounding plains will be incorporated into the outer grounds of the city,” Linnas answered. “It will be scattered along the top of the soil to give off a diffuse glow all around the outer walls.”

Sitha finally noticed workers slowly going through the piled-up dirt, pulling out bits and pieces of stone from among the dirt and ordinary rocks. “Aren’t you worried about theft?” she asked with an eye toward the value of the amazing stone.

“Only about the biggest pieces,” Linnas answered. “If it’s obvious, it stays here. There’s no reason the people can’t have a small bit of Cho-An to treasure, sell, or turn into a piece of jewelry. Until the job is done, the workers revolve regularly so they have a chance to find some small bits for themselves. In some ways it will be an economic boost to Shiravi in general.”

“I see,” Sitha said simply as she reached down and picked up a shard almost the size of her hand, passing it to her Matriarch.

Linnas weighed it in her hand before giving it back. “It is yours. Let’s go. The sight still causes me nightmares.”

Their return to Quillas was one that Sitha didn’t really want to happen. The new human admiral was to be given an audience today by Linnas.

At least he won’t get the title of Sister-kin, she mused to herself. In her private moments, Sitha was still a bit disturbed by the fact that two humans had been awarded that honor. At no other time in recorded memory had an alien been accorded such an honor. Of course, she kept reminding herself, the only other race we’ve ever met has been the Garmons.

She sat at the left hand of her Matriarch as Admiral Robert Greene was ushered into Linnas’s formal reception room. The two had met once before, at the going-away party just before Marsha left. This more formal meeting was to judge the level of interaction possible with human males. Linnas’s Sister-kin Kitty had personally chosen him for the position, so it was to be expected that the two would get along.

Admiral Greene, for his part, was all graciousness, to the point of speaking perfect Shiravan, although with a slight accent that made him seem all the more mysterious. He waited to sit until after Linnas and Sitha had sat down and observed all the proper formalities, if a bit stiffly. This would go away as he became more used to them.

During their conversation, Linnas said, “I hear you’re getting along well with the Shiravan captains, Admiral. Do you have any problems to report?”

“No, Your Grace,” he answered. “I’ve had the pleasure and honor of meeting and serving with many Shiravans, including Minister do’ Verlas and his aide, Maratai kep Parrasine, who I’m told is related to you?”

This last was directed at Sitha so she had to join the conversation, if only for a bit more. “Yes, Admiral,” she said almost reluctantly. “Maratai is my older sister.”

“She brings honor to your clan. Yet you hold a higher office than she does. Is that because she’s spent so much time away from home or for some other reason?” he asked pointedly.

“Maratai has been of invaluable service to us in her time among humans,” Linnas answered. “She was among the first to work with Dom Carter and Doma Spencer after their rescue from Garmon hands. This was before Shiravans and humans had even met, if you will recall, and she volunteered her services even before Manura sel Garian retired from her third vocation.”

“Is there some reason for these questions, Admiral?” Sitha asked self-consciously. She’d always felt that Maratai would have made a better Second Voice than she did and wondered at her continued stay in human space. Could she really be enamored of do’ Verlas? Yes, he was a decisive male, as so many weren’t, but still…

“Only to get to know the persons involved better, Madam Second Voice,” the admiral said. “The more knowledge one has, the better one is able to adapt to a situation.”

Sitha felt that he spoke Shiravan a bit too well for her taste. Linnas had told her once that to know a culture one had to be able to think in their language. She was afraid this human was able to do just that.

“Tell me, Admiral, what do you think of the situation in Shiravan space now that you’ve had time to assess it?” Linnas asked, changing the subject—whether on purpose or not, Sitha didn’t know. “My Sister-kin Kitty has called you one of her best tacticians. I would be grateful to hear your ideas.”

Robert took a few seconds to collect his thoughts. “Well, Your Grace, this isn’t only my opinion, but the opinion of others I keep close to help me make decisions. There’s an old human saying—two heads are better than one. There have been no Garmon incursions in over a full turning, and you have reclaimed several worlds that had been taken from you. Instead of fourteen worlds, you are now twenty.

“Earth still has one world, though plans were going forward for our first colony worlds. You have one set of yards to turn out ships; we have four. I think it’s time for you to start building more yards in other parts of your domain. Do you realize that if the Garmons had hit your yards instead of Cho-An, you’d have no ability to build ships at all? I suggest that you build at least two more yards, putting that many more ships into service that much faster. Your expansion more worlds would happen more quickly, and you’d soon be totally independent of the need for human ships in your space. I mean no disrespect, Your Grace, but it is better to have your industries spread farther out. The more worlds you hold, the more yards you will need. It will be up to you to determine the ratio.

“Also, your economy depends on your paying laborers to build and maintain these facilities. We still have volunteers who are willing to work for free just to be in space, though we’re now able to pay them.”

Linnas sat silent for so long, Sitha thought she was going to be angry, but she was surprised.

“I see that you’ve given more thought to our situation than I’d expected, Admiral. These are very good points, and I’ll bring them before the Council, giving fair voice to where they came from, as well as my personal recommendation.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. You know your people better than I do. If there should be the possibility of resistance to these ideas because they come from a human, please feel free to omit my name.”

“It seems,” Linnas retorted with a wan smile, “that you know our people as well as you do our situation. I shall keep that in mind during future talks. Do you have anything more to add?”

The Admiral had no more to say other than his good-byes, and after his departure, Linnas turned to Sitha. “Tell me, how do you feel about his assessment of us?”

Sitha answered her Matriarch honestly. “I think he’s completely correct in all respects, Your Grace.”

Linnas looked surprised. “You resort to formality when we are alone? Do you have other thoughts?”

“I feel the humans have come to know us much too well, Your Grace, and that might be a bad thing,” was all she could say.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

If Robert Greene was surprised at his early return to Earth space, he was even more surprised at the circumstances he found the Alliance in. The Newton had been sent to two planets on the same mission the Dalgor Kreth had been on when it turned up in Earth orbit almost twenty years before. Colonists were already on their way to the first, called Terra (not very inventive as it was just Latin for earth or dirt). The second was called Aphrodite. Rumor had it that a third was under consideration after the Newton had a refit and crew change, to be called Nike (pronounced the Latin way—nee-kay.)

With no aggressor to fight, the fleet had grown to over ninety ships, and more were being turned out regularly. Now, though, there were a few more specialized ships being built. Passenger carriers for the trips to the new worlds were based on the old carrier designs and fitted with admittedly cramped quarters, but gyms, rec rooms, two spacious dining rooms and a theater were among the amenities, along with a plethora of books. A preliminary power core and brain went along, as well as a considerable amount of personal possessions for each family.

Habitations were set up in the most advantageous spots along rivers, near oceans, near equators and lush vegetation, and no expense was spared to make sure there were no Garmons on any of these worlds. The few found had been transported to a distant world and left to fend for themselves, leaving the new colonists with nothing but native flora and fauna to contend with. Several ships were to stay in orbit or on patrol to ensure the safety of the colony from attacks from space. The commander of the small fleet on patrol was an arbitrator whenever he or she felt it necessary to intercede in planetary affairs.

All this he had found out on his inbound vector from passing ships and his first night aboard Ceres. He had found a nicely appointed, embossed letter from the admiral’s office, requesting his presence for nine o’clock the next morning. Not waiting for his luggage to arrive, he helped himself to a very long and luxurious bath right off. He wasn’t too surprised to find his luggage in his room and unpacked except for what were obviously personal items.

He dressed in civvies and went out to find a bar, not having to search very long. His face was not all that well known except among his fleet crew, so he had no trouble finding congenial people proud to tell him what had been accomplished during his long absence. He went to bed that night with a slight buzz, a lot of information, and questions circling each other in his mind. And he still didn’t know why he’d been recalled.

Pegra Nargresh was at a total loss as to how to deal with these new cows. Two more generations had been born since the incident with the young cow who’d been determined to work. He’d had her specially impregnated as soon as she came into her first heat, hoping that pregnancy and the necessity of raising several younglings would take the determination out of her. Reports had it that it took three grown warriors to hold her down for the process. It wasn’t something he was particularly proud of.

Besides, the results were anything but comforting. Three cubs she bore—two cows and only one male. At this rate, he was going to have to start leaving some of the cows out in the wilderness to die. Escapes from the compound were so frequent now that he had given up posting guards. Their morale was dropping from being outwitted by mere cows, although ‘mere’ no longer applied to these cows.

If the truth were to be known, the rise in intelligence frightened him more than his first krath hunt as a cub. These cows and others all over the two planets were becoming much smarter. They’d even taken to giving themselves names—simple things like Breeze, Gatherer, Forest, and more. It had become known that some few had escaped into the forests and begun returning the cowlings left out to die. All the compounds were becoming overrun with cows, and the males were hard-pressed to keep all of them fed, as well as themselves.

The latest and most trying confrontation had come when one of the younger cows, even smarter than the one who had faced him down in front of his men, took up a spear and threatened a male as he was punishing a cow for disobedience. The warrior wasn’t hurt, but the damage was done. A cow with a deadly weapon! An idea began to form in the back of Pegra’s mind.

Later that night, sitting in council with his chief lieutenants, he broached the subject to his men. “We have to spend too much time feeding these cows. And today’s experience has shown me the way to rid ourselves of this burden. Why not give a few of them weapons and teach them the rudiments of hunting? Many will surely be killed, helping to ease our problem, and the ones that do succeed will feed their own. It’s a task worth considering.”

Naturally, he was met with stiff opposition, but he sat back and held his silence. Soon the council was arguing amongst itself. Eventually they arrived at the same conclusion. Only, which to choose?

“I say pick some of the smartest, especially the one who attacked Bakat, and train them in the nature of hunting. They’re smart enough to understand that if they don’t feed themselves, they’ll go hungry.” Naturally, he got Bakat’s vote right off, and it wasn’t long before the rest fell into line as he had suspected they would. It lifted a heavy burden from their shoulders and had the potential to reduce the cow population.

Accordingly, the next day, Pegra and three of his most trusted followers rounded up a half dozen cows, chief among them the one who called herself Gatherer, and began to explain the rudiments of hunting with a spear. A krath-hide-covered shrub was their target, and they began to stab it viciously with the dull points of the spears they’d been given. Soon, they were left to their own devices with the warning that they were now responsible for finding food for all the other cows as well.

That night, the cows weren’t fed, and Pegra stood in the shadows watching to see what would happen. Soon, the six cows, spears in hand, came together to discuss the ideas planted in their enlarging brains. The next morning there was a revolting sight at the gate, now left open because it was a waste of time to lock it.

The six cows walked out of the compound and off into the forest, spears in hand to find food for the rest. It was also astonishing. One day of practice with worn weapons and one warning, along with one night’s hunger, had impelled them into the very trap he had hoped for. When they came back empty handed enough times, the other cows would realize their place in the true order of things and return to the old ways. A naïve thought, as it turned out.

Later that evening, the six returned carrying a small forest creature big enough to fill the bellies of all the cows and cubs and began distributing it among the rest of the compound’s population. In the days to follow, even more astounding things took place. More spears appeared, obviously inferior but made by the hands of the cows. One day, a cow was seen wearing a belt to which a bone-handled knife was attached.

The spears had been of the old workable-stone type, and somewhere the cows had found a supply. Copied from the original tips, the new spears were a vast improvement over the originals. When Pegra inspected one, he found it to have clean, sharp edges. The knives now worn by many of the cows showed a greater capability than he had thought they would. Obvious copies of the males’ weapons, these were crafted to fit the hands of the smaller cows.

The cows had been watching as his men went about the daily chores of cleaning and sharpening their own weapons. One day, he even saw the cow, Gatherer, wearing a steel-bladed knife. Wondering where she’d gotten it, he asked amongst his men. One finally answered. “Sire, it was only a worn-out blade. I threw it away and crafted a new one to replace it.” He went away from the conversation worried.

The cows thrived, and more began to engage in practicing with their new weapons. Soon, daily groups of cows headed off in different directions to hunt or gather, and they were almost always successful. One group even went down to the plains to try to kill a krath. The group returned two days later with a youngling strung between two poles. They struggled up the hill to the camp, two short of their original number.

In the coming days, more parties went toward the plains, some coming back empty handed, which suited Pegra just fine, but the others made up for those losses. Then one day, the camp awoke to find the entire compound empty. All the cows were gone, along with all the young, both cows and cublings.

Their tracks were plain to follow since they hadn’t tried to hide their direction. Three males were assigned to follow and find out where they went. Their report amazed him, as well as the rest of the males. Some farats away, in a glade near the edge of the forest, a new compound had been erected. The cows had settled for the night, but sentries roamed the interior, just as the males did.

A fire had been started to keep away the chill from the area, and meat could be seen smoking over the fire. The cows talked amongst themselves at times, and the silent watchers listened. The talk was of hunting and enough food and water for the group. Plans for future expansion of the tribe were discussed as well. The next day, as all the cows came out of their shelters, many young cubs could be seen among the cowlings.

Pegra would not tolerate this. He gathered his males and stormed the camp, burning down the huts and carrying off the cubs to be reared in the old ways of the hunt and adherence to the laws of the People. Several of the cows were forcibly mated as an object lesson, and the males returned to their own encampment.

Several days later, the cow’s camp was deserted, and this time the tracks were not so easy to follow. The hunters had to rely on their noses to find the new camp, many farats away. A wall had been erected and the sentries were more alert, talking less and staring out into the darkness. They learned fast, these cows. All of them now carried knives as well as spears, and Gatherer seemed to be their leader. It had been one of the ones mated as it already appeared gravid and spent more time sitting than many of the rest. Still, it issued orders, and they seemed to be obeyed. It settled quarrels amongst the cows and kept the camp in order. It also directed the hunting parties on their journeys to the plains. A fully-grown krath was seen hanging from its hind legs, slowly bleeding out before butchering. The skin was set to one side as if to keep it safe.

One of the watchers was discovered by a group of cows headed uphill for smaller game. He was beaten off with spears, but not before he had ripped out the throat of one cow. Then the blades had come down and he’d barely escaped with his life. Pegra declared that this situation would not be allowed to continue, but the damage was too widespread. All the enclaves were reporting similar actions. And what would happen to the People if all the cows were killed? The absolute worst part was that the occasional patrol ship that arrived carried the same bad news, as if all the cows had been infected by something at the same time. He looked at the skies and began to wonder.

CHAPTER FORTY

Robert Greene wore his best dress uniform as he strode down the corridors of Ceres and through its plazas. The invitation had come from the admiral’s office, not from Simon personally. He walked into the secretary’s office and announced himself a bit self-consciously. He hadn’t spent enough time in Shiravan space to screw up as admiral of the human presence there, so he was a bit mystified as to his quick relief and the undertone of urgency that had run through the courier ship all the way home.

The secretary wasn’t surprised to see him, of course. The summons had specified a particular time, but he had expected to wait a bit. Instead, as soon as he had identified himself, he was ushered into the admiral’s inner sanctum.

Simon looked up and set the tone of the meeting. “Bob! It’s good to see you. Come over here and sit down.”

He sat in a comfortable chair in front of the massive desk and said, “It’s good to see you again, too, but I hadn’t expected to do it for at least another year or more.”

Simon got that little smile he used to have in the early days when there were only a few ships and all those bloody-minded aliens were trying to kill them. “Well, you know that we’re famous for changing our plans on the spur of the moment. Coffee?” When Bob shook his head, Simon went on. “Kitty and I were talking some time back, before the ship was sent out to retrieve you—actually, I was doing the talking. She just changed the direction of my thoughts from time to time. Anyway, we, the both of us, have decided that it’s time for some fresh blood at the top of the heap.”

“What kind of fresh blood are you talking about, Admiral?” he asked quietly, his stomach in knots. He’d never been given to raising his voice too much.

“Oh, hell. If you don’t call me Simon, I’ll demote you to ensign,” came the reply.

Robert looked at the smile on Simon’s face and said, “Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad idea, Simon. Michiko and I were cooped up alone way too long together on the trip back. Especially not knowing why.”

“Sorry ‘bout that, Bob,” Simon said apologetically, “but I wanted to keep this all under wraps until I had all my pieces in place.”

“And I’m one of these pieces, I presume?”

“Oh, yes, very much so,” Simon said emphatically, losing the smile. “One of the two most important ones, at that. I’ll cut to the chase and end the suspense. How would you like to be sitting behind this desk? She’s a beauty. A gift from Freddie, almost four hundred years old and as sturdy as the day she was made.” Simon leaned back in his chair and waited for him to answer.

Bob had to think a minute. “You want me to become admiral of the entire Alliance instead of just a fleet? I guess I can handle it, if that’s what you need me to do.” He could hear the disbelief in his own voice. “What are you going to do?”

“Did you see the new ship out of Taurus Base out there?” Simon asked.

“No, I missed it since I was more concerned about why you wanted me back so soon,” he said with some asperity. “Now I find out that you want me to take over your job, and I’m even less worried about a new ship.”

“Well, you should be worried about it,” Simon said, the smile back on his face again. “That ship represents what I’ve wanted for almost twenty long years—to be free to go where I want and do what I want, when I want. She makes the Raptor look like a scout ship. Almost as long as the Newton and carrying six times the firepower of any other ship in the fleet. She’s also capable of building a new dock or fuel depot as needed. An almost completely self-contained city of over nearly a thousand, and that doesn’t count the other ships that will accompany her—I figure at least five or six, at least one a farrier. All will be fitted out with the newest technology in engine design, and they’ll be able to do more than three times the speed any other ship can. That means Earth to Shiravi in just over two months instead of seven.” Simon sat back again and waited for his response.

“What about Kitty? Oh, let me guess,” he said. “You’re taking her along with you, so another piece is someone to be Herald. I know Lucy won’t take it. She’s had enough of that job. So, who’s your sucker?”

“Kitty finally convinced Marsha to take the job, and as for Lucy, she’s going to captain one of the other ships.”

“Huh!” he huffed in surprise.

Simon said, “Why don’t you come to our quarters around eight. Have dinner first. Kitty and I are having a little get-together. Marsha will be there, and you two will need to talk. Gayle will be there with a new special someone, and Lucy will be bringing a date, too. Simon laughed at the look on Robert’s face. Bring ‘Chiko, too. Marsha has an escort, so everything will work out evenly.”

Simon was happy with the way things ended. Marsha had already agreed to take Kitty’s place, and now Robert had weighed in on the positive side as well. Gayle’s first love was a scientist she’d recruited to become one of the First Four in the beginning. It had taken her a long time to get over Stephen’s death, but she had given her love, once she’d known how, and eventually found another man to trust. He and Kitty were happy for her and both very impressed with her choice—impressed enough to consider him for captaincy of one of the other ships included in his little exploratory flotilla.

“Kitty,” Simon said, “I do believe we can start making more concrete plans now. Six ships, three captains. Three more and we can leak the news that we’re looking for long-range personnel.”

Kitty looked at him and asked, “Why don’t you tell me one more time why we just don’t go to Personnel and have them fill the slots?”

“Because this is just like in the beginning, honey. I want trusted people to interview each applicant personally and send me the reports. We’re looking for people with a greater sense of adventure than what passes for normal these days.” He was beginning to get exasperated at Kitty’s resistance to the personnel selection process. “You don’t have to participate in any interviews if you don’t want too, Kittyn. But I’d expect you’d like to be personally acquainted with the people who’ll actually be running your ship and taking orders from you.”

He stepped back in surprise as Kitty rounded on him, and the fire in her eyes was unmistakable. He didn’t know what he’d said, but he knew he was about to find out. “What makes you think I’m taking a ship of my own, Simon Hawke? This damned Alliance has kept us apart for far too long. Don’t you think it’s about time we started spending some time together for a change?” She stormed out of the room, and if the door could have been slammed, she’d have done it.

He sat down slowly and automatically reached for the bottle of scotch sitting close by, then thought better of it. He wandered the apartment, trying to figure out what to say when she got back. Of course they had been apart a lot over the past few years. Then he realized that it had really been almost two decades of separation with occasional visits together. Unable to believe his own stupidity, he went in search of the woman he loved.

An hour and an inspiration later he found her in one of the observation domes. He knew which one it was by the Herald’s guards who followed her everywhere she went outside their quarters. He nodded to the guard commander, who put a hand on his arm. “Careful, sir. She’s in a pretty foul mood.”

“Thanks, Commander. I know. I’m the one who caused it,” he said. A look of understanding and pity crossed the officer’s face as he stepped aside and Simon slowly climbed the stairs into the dome. Kitty was alone when he came in. When she turned around at the sound of his steps on the deck, he raised his hands in surrender. “For once, I know what I’ve done, and I’m sorry, hon. We can be on the same ship together if that’s what you want.”

Kitty’s face didn’t even change expression. “Or,” he added, “if you don’t want to go, we’ll stay here. Or on Earth or wherever you want. You’re right. We’ve spent entirely too much time apart.” He stood there, several feet between them, and waited for her reply. When it didn’t come, he hung his head and turned to leave. “I’ll be in our quarters if you want to talk.”

He hadn’t made it to the first step when her voice came from right behind him. He hadn’t known she could move that quietly. “Do you mean it, Simon?”

He turned around and looked down into her eyes. “I said what I meant, and I’ll stand by it, Kittyn. From now on, things will be the way you want them. That’s not to say that they’ve always been the way I wanted them, but circumstances dictated a lot of what has gone on for the last twenty years. It’s time you had your say in things, so I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Simon, we’ve got about two hundred more years ahead of us. It can’t be the way I want it all the time, but I’d like to have blue skies over my head for a while and to walk in the rain if I want to. Did you know that I missed the funeral of one of my aunts because I was in another solar system? And your folks are getting on, too. Don’t you want to see them before we go somewhere else? I know you haven’t been home but once for almost twenty years yourself.”

He turned his head at the memories she dredged up. The last time he’d seen his parents had been during a rescue from government troops before the Alliance had been recognized as a separate political entity. He still had issues with his authoritarian father that would probably never be resolved, but his mother was another matter. “Sure, hon. Let’s take a holiday. We’ll go visit my parents and do whatever you want.”

“We’ll do something you want to do, too, dear. Anything you think of,” Kitty answered, melting into his arms, all her anger forgotten.

He looked down into her face and an idea occurred to him. “How about the camping trip we never got to finish? It’s been waiting a long, long time. Don’t you think it’s time we finished it?”

EPILOGUE

Life seemed to have come full circle for Simon and Katherine Hawke. Almost twenty years before, they had been in this same secluded valley when what they thought was a spaceship landed.

Now, they were taking the camping trip that had been so precipitously interrupted by that event. This time, though, they had arrived by way of a clone of that very ship. One month. That’s what they wanted, and that’s what they got. They had spent some time in Texas visiting Simon’s parents, both of whom were getting on in years. Simon had offered them a trip through a regen chamber, but both had refused, saying they were satisfied with the life they’d lived and had accepted the inevitability of time’s passage.

For his part, Simon had finally gotten some closure with his father. Sitting on the porch one muggy summer night, the two had talked for hours. Simon had related all the adventures of his life since finding the ship and forming what became the Terran Alliance, and his father had at last broken from his distant attitude enough to say that he was proud of the accomplishments of his only son. Simon was stunned. He had, in his own mind, never felt that he had lived up to the expectations of the old man. Now, he could put that ghost behind him.

The night sky of their one-time sanctuary was clear, though it was cold enough to need sweaters even around the fire that was slowly dying behind them. The couple had dragged their sleeping bags out of the tent and put them together into one. They slid into the bag and stared quietly at the stars above their heads. Stars they’d once only seen through a telescope were now places they had actually been. Kitty was trying to find Shiravi, but it was, she believed, not visible from their latitude. A few could be seen, though.

She nestled in her husband’s arms and asked, “Which one are we going to see first?”

Simon ran his hand through her hair, an old, comfortable gesture she hadn’t felt or seen in years. As they lay entwined, she could feel the difference in him, almost like he was a different man from the one she’d married—more relaxed, less tense, less driven. It had been this way ever since they’d left his parent’s house, and she found that she liked it. The steel resolve was still there, but it was now hidden behind something new, and she thought of it as a vast improvement. “I’m not sure yet, hon. The idea is to go where no one else has been yet, and there are plenty of those. We’ll decide when we get back, I think.”

Kitty watched a falling star blaze across the heavens as she thought about the idea as well. “Could we stop by Shiravi first? I’d really like to see Linnas before we take off for such a long time.”

They had prepared their little fleet already, and most of the personnel had been chosen from the myriad volunteers. Some of their oldest and best friends were going along. Gayle would captain the carrier ship, of course. She had turned down a chance at one of the cruisers in favor of the post she’d become accustomed to after so long. The captain she had taken up with was going along as part of her crew. The Hawkes had finally met him and thoroughly approved the match. Kitty saw how they looked at each other and realized it wasn’t a rebound romance for her dearest friend. She’d silently given the couple her blessing.

Lucy Grimes had agreed to go along as captain of another cruiser, and the other slots were filled to everybody’s approval. She did wish that Shirley Dahlquist had signed on, but her name hadn’t been on the volunteer roster.

Simon, after a long silence, said, “Of course we can. I would have been surprised if you hadn’t asked. That course has already been laid in, and plenty of time set aside for a nice visit. Shiravi is a good jumping off point for parts unknown. We have so many stars charted around both Earth and Shiravi that we have a pretty good idea about almost every star between here and there.”

Kitty snuggled closer. “Good. Now, let’s just enjoy ourselves for a while. I have an idea for a nice hike tomorrow.” That night they made love under the stars with nothing between them but a little atmosphere.

The month passed pleasantly enough for the two Alliance icons. The pity was that it just wasn’t long enough. When Kitty complained, Simon asked, “Well, what else would you like to do? Our schedule is flexible. It’s not like the fleet will leave without us.”

She said, a bit hesitantly, to Simon’s mind, “I want to go shopping. This is going to be the last time I have a chance to do any real shopping for I don’t know how many years.”

Simon considered it and came to an instant conclusion. “You pick the places and we’ll go shopping.”

“We?” Kitty asked coyly. “When have I ever been able to get you into a store without you bitching and moaning the whole time?”

“To the best of my remembrance, I’d have to say never, hon,” he said, smiling. “I don’t have to be in the same store with you to go shopping with you, you know. I have a pretty good idea what you’re going to do—pick out some things for yourself and a bunch of stuff for friends both going and staying behind.” He shrugged. “I have the same thing in mind myself now, though if you hadn’t mentioned it, I wouldn’t have thought of it,” he said, finishing with a small bow.

Simon could already see her thinking about a shopping trip. It was in her eyes, and they’d been married too long for him to miss the signs. “How much can I spend?” she asked, more out of habit, he thought, than anything else.

“My love, the entire Alliance treasury is at your disposal. Just leave a little bit for me, okay?” Her grin was fiercely exuberant.

“Okay,” she agreed, teasing, “but just a little. So, are we through here?”

Kitty looked around her at the camp that had been home for the past month. “I guess so. There are a few things I want to keep, but the rest can go into the recyclers.”

Simon walked into the tent and came out with two fair-sized bags. “One for each of us,” he said, dropping one at her feet. He had strapped on his old .45 and had his M-1 over one shoulder. “It’ll take me about five minutes to get my keepers,” he said, leaning the rifle against a tree. “How about you?”

“About the same. Are you going to change clothes here or back on the ship?”

“I think I’ll wait,” he said. “I’m still gonna smell like smoke and pine trees unless I shower first, and I want to either get out of here or stay another month.”

“Same for me,” she agreed. “Shall we call down a ship?”

“Two,” he answered immediately. “A gig for us and a shuttle and crew to clean up the campsite for the recyclers.” He dug into a pocket for his comm link, and twenty minutes later a small ship appeared above the treetops, then settled to the ground, door opening almost before the gear touched down.

The pair picked up their bags and boarded the craft. Simon felt a slight twinge as he set foot on the ramp. It had been a month without any sight of Alliance technology, aside from the laser Kitty kept strapped to her hip. Now they were going back to the world, the culture they’d started from nothing and watched grow until it now no longer needed them. A couple of shopping trips and then it was off into the black.

Kitty followed Simon to their quarters and set her bag down beside his. Before she could get out of her jeans, hiking boots, and flannel shirt, she heard the shower running. Simon was already standing under the pulsing showerhead, washing off the smell of wood smoke and insect repellent.

He stepped aside and she let the water, hot enough to turn her skin red, wash through her hair first, then let it stream down the rest of her body. She changed places with Simon, and he rinsed off while she soaped up. He stepped out, leaving the whole stall to her. She took advantage of it and stayed for several minutes after all the soap was gone, letting the warmth ease the aches she had borne for a month. She’d been behind a desk for far too long. A training schedule was going to be somewhere near the top of her list once the fleet got under way.

She came out to find Simon splayed out on the bed, letting the air dry what the bedspread didn’t. She joined him for a few minutes after toweling the mass of her hair dry and spreading it out to finish drying on its own. Finally, they got up, and by mutual consent, dressed in civilian clothes. She slid her ID and a platinum card stamped with the Alliance logo into a zippered pocket.

Civilian dress meant no weapons, but it had been years since there had been an incident of any kind concerning police and Alliance personnel. After a quick meal, the pair went to the docking bay, along with the Herald’s guard, all armed, and settled herself into the pilot’s seat.

She jockeyed the shuttle out of the bay and headed for atmosphere. As she came into range of Los Angeles, she radioed a request for a position in the landing queue. By this time, most controllers knew the capabilities of Alliance craft, and almost immediately she was ordered to a lower altitude and assigned a spot away from aircraft moving about the airport in normal fashion.

Soon, a limo from a local Alliance affiliate pulled up and the group moved from the shuttle to the automobile. Kitty noticed that this model had no wheels but floated about ten inches off the ground. So much for traveling incognito, she thought. Of course, her hair and the Alliance car were dead giveaways, along with the black-clad armed security team that surrounded her.

Hours later she had spent an obscene amount of money on clothes, mostly for herself since she was getting tired of the standard black among Alliance crews. She had several gifts for her closest friends, too, especially an intricate necklace for Marsha. She and Simon made quite a stir on Rodeo Drive, considering the floating car and the stern-faced armed guards. This time she had called the mayor and local law enforcement, apprising them of her presence, and a few cars dogged her own, their officers helping to keep the crowds moving along without incident.

Finally, exhausted, she slumped into the back of the limo and told the driver to head back for their shuttle. It took three men two trips to carry everything aboard.

The fleet Kitty’s shuttle was coming up on was a diverse group. First and foremost, there was the Enterprise herself. Painted an electric blue, her name wasn’t the only thing paying homage to the various TV incarnations she’d stemmed from. Simon, maybe for laughs or maybe bowing to pressure from all the mail received after the name had been announced, had christened her with the Alliance code number NCC-1701.

Her crew was over a thousand, and she carried six massive engines powered by oversized cores, able to transfer power to three times the number of weapons of any two other ships in space. There were tractor and pressor beams, plasma bombs, stronger torpedoes of various kinds—photon, antimatter, nuclear, and long-range plasma—and lasers that outreached any ever before built into a mobile battle platform. Shields that were orders of magnitude stronger than any before them and an entire computer core had been devoted entirely to battle control. The five destroyers assigned to the fleet had been specially constructed with much of the same technology already built in rather than retrofitting older model cruisers.

The final two ships were Gayle’s carrier, the Eightball, rechristened the Close Call, and a new ship altogether—a farrier. This vessel was in essence a flying repair facility for the rest of the fleet. It came equipped with a detachable fuel depot especially designed for this occasion. Once on station, the depot would be deployed after a Sundiver was launched into the local sun’s corona, and the farrier would back away some thousands of miles. A small atom-stripper was built in, and various factories packed her interior. In all, almost five thousand people were scheduled to leave the solar system in the seven ships.

Kitty had her acquisitions delivered to the captain’s quarters and stored temporarily in the adjoining conference room. There was still a week to go before they were scheduled to leave orbit, so she did an immediate turnaround and headed back to Ceres via short-jump to spend time with those she wouldn’t be seeing for who knew how many years. First, she dropped into the Herald’s office and asked if Marsha was in. The same secretary sat behind the desk and announced her arrival.

Marsha lost no time coming to the door herself and ushering her friend into the room. Kitty settled into one of the overstuffed chairs in front of the desk.

“So, this is what it looks like from the other side!” she exclaimed, laughing.

Marsha looked at her and muttered, “Lord deliver me from my enemies because I’m not sure I’ll survive my friends. You know this is a lot harder than you let on, Kitty. I should quit on the grounds that you misrepresented the amount of work involved.”

Kitty smiled wickedly. “I already told you how to handle it, Marsha. I learned the hard way, but I gave you the tip for free—delegate. Read the reports of your department heads, and only call them in if you either don’t understand or don’t like something in the report. I was usually done with the paperwork by my third cup of coffee and any face-to-face meetings within another hour. I’d take an early lunch and spend the rest of the day touring facilities, quads, parks, and generally inspecting random areas of the base or meeting with whatever group managed to get past Diana’s replacement out there.” She cleared her throat. “You’re smart, or you wouldn’t have all that wood in front of you. I’ll bet that within two months, you’ll be doing just what I said, or a fair imitation.”

Marsha got up and led her to the cozy little nook reserved for more intimate conversations. “Drink?” she asked.

“No, thanks, unless you’ve still got a Pepsi in there. I’ve got too much to do today to start drinking now.”

A Pepsi soon sat on the table before her. “So, what makes you stop by, Kitty?” Marsha inquired bluntly.

She didn’t detect any anger in her friend’s voice or face, so she just said, “You know we leave in a week, give or take a day, and I’ve got something for you. A going away present.”

Marsha looked a bit surprised, saying, “Going away presents usually go the other way around, you know. But thanks anyway.” She reached out and took the small package, looking over the gaily wrapped box. “Now?” she asked. Kitty just nodded.

Marsha ripped the paper off and was left with what was obviously a jewelry box. “I had to guess at your size, but I think you’ll be pleased. It’ll go with anything you have in your wardrobe except those horrible black uniforms.”

The box opened to reveal a four-strand diamond choker. “I can’t keep this,” Marsha protested instantly, breathing hard.

“It’s bad form to refuse a gift, friend-o-mine. Besides, I threw the receipt away,” Kitty said, lying through her teeth.

Marsha was almost in tears. She couldn’t take her eyes off the glittering expanse of ice and platinum lying on the black velvet interior. “I’ve got one for you, too. It’s just not in the same league with this.” A tear rolled down her face.

Kitty misinterpreted the tear. “Don’t you even worry about the cost difference. The money came straight out of Alliance funds.”

“It’s not that, Kitty. It just makes me realize that I won’t be seeing you for what… five, ten years?” Now tears flowed freely down her face.

“Marsha, think about it for a minute. We’ve got a nearly three-hundred-year lifespan now. Just how much of your life is ten years? It always seems much longer from the front end than the back.” Kitty tried to reassure her friend but wasn’t sure how well she’d done. “So, what do you have for me?”

“Well,” Marsha said slowly, “it’s more for you and Simon both. Here.” She reached behind the couch she was spread out on and pulled out a fair-sized square box.

Kitty ripped through the paper almost as fast as Marsha had. When she opened the box, she found two sweaters and two t-shirts inside. All four were jet black with star patterns in all the varied colors ever seen by even a small telescope. Emblazoned on the front and back in iridescent green embroidery were the words, “To go where no man has gone before.” Kitty’s had a small difference. Hers said “woman” instead of “man.”

One week later, the final preparations had been made and they’d said all their goodbyes. A small group of humans and Shiravans had come to see them off and Simon had been surprised to see Rentec and Maratai holding hands in a surprising show of human affection. He’d heard rumors that the two had been spending a lot of time alone together lately.

Good for them, he thought with a smile.

Finally it was time. All hands were at their stations. The captains of the other ships in their small fleet reported that all was ready, and Simon sat in the command chair of the Enterprise. He looked at Kitty, who just nodded calmly, a twinkle in her eye.

“Nav,” he asked, “is the course laid in?”

Helm responded, “Sir, course set for Shiravi.”

He looked back to Kitty as she stood with a hand on the back of his chair.

“A few weeks to visit and bring Linnas up to date, and then it’s off into the unknown,” she said as she looked at Earth in one of the view screens.

This time, he saw a tear roll down her cheek, though her face showed pure joy. “Okay, Kittyn, here come the stars I promised you.” He turned back to the bridge crew. With a channel open to all ships. “Nav, course is laid in for Shiravi as first port of call. Helm, you may take us out.”

And another door opened…

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Bob lived in Montana for over thirty years, since late '85. He fell in love with the state almost instantly (who wouldn't after spending the previous twenty or more years trapped in Houston, Texas). Out in the Big Sky Country, he found the “elbow room” he didn't even know he was looking for. He lived quietly with his two cats and library of nearly two thousand books—about 95% Sci-Fi. He discovered that he liked to write as well and could often be found doing just that. Bob passed away in November of 2019 and is survived by his younger brother. Before he passed, he finished his writing project of more than a decade, The Stellar Heritage series. He will live on in the hearts and minds of his readers.

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By Bob Mauldin

The Stellar Heritage Series

Legacy

Spheres of Influence

Far Horizons

When One Door Closes