In the Service of Luna
Author: John E. Siers
Date: 2018-09-05T18:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Science Fiction
Description: On-the-job training can be hazardous to your health… Lorna Greenwood hopes the Lunar Free State’s Fleet Academy will prepare her to follow in her grandmother’s legendary footsteps. Her roommate Nova Sakura has already spent time in the LFS Marines and wants to move up to the officer ranks. First, though, they have to survive four years of training. Military service gets real for Lorna when the assault carrier Omaha Beach comes under fire during her first year training cruise. Nova’s first year cruise aboard the light cruiser Hydra seems pretty routine, until she’s called upon to take charge of
Publisher: Theogony Books

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Epilogue

Prologue

November 2085, TerraNova City, Luna

“We have the initial report from Arcturus, ma’am.” The young officer on the screen wore a sober expression.

“It confirms everything we got from Galileo’s hyperprobe. The star has reached Stage 4 expansion. Nothing in the inner system could have survived. They found an observer satellite out near the hyper limit that recorded the details of the event, but it also confirms that Galileo didn’t get clear. We’ll have more details when Arcturus arrives at TransLuna in about forty hours.”

The lieutenant looked very uncomfortable. Being the bearer of bad news was stressful enough, but when the recipient of that news was a four-star admiral of the fleet…

“Thank you, Lieutenant, I appreciate the update.” Lorna’s voice was devoid of emotion as she signed off, but she felt a crushing weight on her soul, the likes of which she had experienced only once before, nearly half a century in the past. On that day, when the alien Mekota had destroyed Earth’s envoy ship, she had lost two people who meant everything to her. Ian Stevens had been her lifelong friend and mentor, and Carla Perry had been the love of her life, her committed partner for more than a decade.

Once again, she had lost two people—a daughter who meant more to her than life itself and a son-in-law. All she had left was Carla’s last message, with Bjorn beside her, recorded for inclusion with the messages of other crew members and scientists aboard the doomed research vessel. The hyperprobe that carried those messages had arrived too late for a rescue mission, but one had been sent anyway. Arcturus had gotten there as quickly as possible, but to no avail, except to confirm what everyone already knew. She was a scientist, Lorna told herself. She was doing what she loved most in life. She remembered Carla’s excitement when the mission had first been proposed.

The life of a main-sequence star spans billions of years, but its death—the final stage of it—takes place in a matter of hours. Scientists can guess the age of such a star, but it isn’t until the last year or two of its life that they can accurately predict when it will enter that final stage. The last hours bring rapid and violent expansion, which engulfs the inner system, while hurling much of the star’s substance far into space. This expansion is followed by a final collapse into a small, relatively cool red dwarf. The entire sequence is usually something noted with interest and recorded from afar.

This star had been different. Seventy-four light years from Sol, New Lunar Catalog 60759 might have escaped notice until the light of its violent end reached Earth and Luna almost three-quarters of a century later, but it happened to be one of the twelve stars visited by LRS Copernicus during a two-year-long survey of that region. When analysis revealed the star’s imminent demise, a scientific mission had been planned to observe and record the event.

The research vessel LRS Galileo had been outfitted for the mission, and it was only natural that Dr. Carla Greenwood—the Lunar Free State’s foremost astrophysicist—should head the scientific team. The plan had called for the ship to place dozens of observer satellites at various distances from the star, then withdraw to a point well beyond the star’s hyper limit to record the feeds from those satellites until the fury of the star’s death throes destroyed them. Galileo, though far enough away to be safe, would still have been able to observe the event from far closer than anyone ever had, and, if things got too violent, the scientists would have had plenty of warning that far out. Worst case, the research vessel could have jumped into hyperspace to get out of harm’s way.

That had been the plan. Galileo had arrived in-system and found that NLC 60759 was only weeks away from its violent end. The scientists were hastening to place their observer satellites when something went terribly wrong. The hyperprobe had documented a catastrophic failure of the ship’s fusion plant that had left it stranded just four light-minutes from the star days before its impending death. The cause of the failure remained unknown. Such a failure had never happened to an LFS vessel, except under combat conditions. Three crew members had died in the incident, which proved the numerous fail-safe systems had not worked.

The rest of the crew and the scientific team were going to die, and they knew it. Death hadn’t claimed them yet, but when the star died, they would die with it. At four light-minutes, the swelling star would engulf the ship, assuming the blast front of hot plasma hadn’t already torn it apart. Even before that, though, the humans aboard would have already died from the event’s massive doses of radiation. The only thing they could do was prepare the tiny hyperprobe and send it to Luna to tell those back home what had happened. It would arrive too late for any hope of rescue, but at least they could send a last message to loved ones. Scientists to the end, they had packed the probe’s memory with every bit of scientific data they had collected, which was an unworthy legacy of the doomed mission.

The probe had arrived a little over nine weeks ago, and the LFS Navy destroyer Arcturus—the nearest and fastest vessel available—had been dispatched immediately. It had taken the ship 32 days to reach the star’s redefined hyper limit and four more days to search the ravaged system for any sign the research vessel had survived. The search had uncovered several surviving observer satellites, placed by Galileo, in the extreme outer reaches of the system, and the Navy crew had found data from one of those satellites that confirmed the destruction of the research ship. There had been nothing more to see or do, so Arcturus had returned home.

In seventy-four years, we’ll see it happen, Lorna thought. I’ll be long gone by then, but hopefully someone will remember. The tears came, unchecked, and dropped on the desk in front of her.

“What’s wrong, Grandma?”

Lorna brushed the tears from her eyes and looked up and saw her namesake granddaughter standing in the office doorway. It was late—almost 2300 hours—and she had thought little Lorna was asleep. How do you tell a six-year-old that Mommy and Daddy aren’t coming home ever again? For two months, she’d put off this moment, hoping against hope some miracle had saved Galileo and those aboard her. Now, that hope was gone.

“Come here, honey. There’s something I need to tell you.”

I was wrong, she decided. Carla and Bjorn left me with more than a message, much more. There was a message in the probe for little Lorna as well, but it would have to wait. She would show it to the girl later, after some of the hurt had healed.

* * * * *

Chapter One

22 March 2100, Lunar Fleet Academy

“That’s my bunk, Blondie.”

Lorna turned and saw an Asian woman wearing the green and grey of a Marine cadet standing in the doorway, hands on hips, with a scowl on her face. The woman was of medium height, her dark hair was cut very short, and she looked like she had some serious muscle under the uniform.

“Sorry.” Lorna heaved her gear off the bottom bunk and transferred it to the top.

“You’re not supposed to say you’re sorry, Blondie,” the other woman growled. “You’re supposed to say, ‘It’s mine now,’ or ‘I don’t see your name on it,’ or something like that.”

“And then what?” Lorna felt a scowl forming on her face. What was the woman’s problem?

“Then I kick your ass and take the bunk anyway,” the woman said. “But that way, there’s no doubt about who’s the alpha dog in this room.”

“Then we both end up getting kicked out of here on our very first day. Fine, you’re the alpha dog. I’ll take the top bunk, and we’ll just agree that you kicked my ass. Okay?”

“Hmmph.” The Marine cadet snorted. She walked up to Lorna and looked at her name tag. “Greenwood…Greenwood! Oh, great, it’s not bad enough that they didn’t have another Marine for me to bunk with, but now they go and stick me with a fleet admiral’s daughter.”

“Granddaughter,” Lorna corrected her, “and Granny’s been retired for a while now. I got here on my own, not because of any family connections.”

“Yeah, right. Mommy and Daddy are only commodores or maybe vice admirals, I suppose.”

“My parents are dead,” Lorna said, “and they weren’t even in the Fleet.”

There was an uncomfortable silence.

“I’m sorry,” the other woman said.

“Why should you be sorry? You didn’t know them, and you don’t know me. They were scientists who were lost with the research ship Galileo. It happened fourteen years ago.”

“No, I mean I’m sorry for being an asshole. I can’t help it sometimes; it’s just the way I am. Can we start over?” She put out her hand. “Nova Sakura, Marines.”

Lorna relaxed and smiled despite herself. “Yeah, Marines. I noticed. Lorna Greenwood, Navy.” She shook the offered hand.

“Lorna Greenwood…I thought so. Your granny was that Greenwood, the Iron Maiden herself. Damn! I am so screwed.”

“Look,” Lorna protested, “I told you, no family connections. I got here on my own, without Granny’s help. She doesn’t even live here most of the time. She’s got an estate on Copper Hills. She just comes back to Luna a couple of times a year to visit. I don’t expect any help from her or any special treatment from anybody here.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Sakura shook her head. “You’re going to get special treatment, but you’re not going to like it. They’re going to run you ragged. Because of your granny, they’ll expect twice as much from you as from anybody else, and my concern is that some of that may splash on me just because I’m living in the same room with you.”

“Fine.” Lorna scowled again. “Request a transfer if it bothers you.”

“What? And let you get caught with your tits in the machinery?” Sakura favored her with a crooked grin. “They put me here, and now I have to save your tall, skinny blond ass. You got any prior military?”

“No. I just finished university, went through the admission screening, got a recommendation, and came straight here.”

“Oh, so you’ve already got a degree, huh?”

“Just a bachelor’s in engineering. How about you?”

“No. While you were at university, I was doing three years as an enlisted Marine. While you were going through screening, I was fighting off a hundred other Marines who wanted this slot.” Sakura’s voice had turned sarcastic again.

Lorna said nothing.

“Damn!” Sakura muttered. “What’s the matter with me? I’m really acting like an asshole. Look, I’m sorry. It’s not your fault, and I’ve got nothing against you. Just first-day nerves, I guess.”

“Nerves?” Lorna suppressed a skeptical snort. “After three years in the Marine Corps, you’ve got nerves about this? I would think this would be easy for you. You already know most of the military stuff. This can’t be any worse than the basic training you went through when you signed up.”

Sakura shrugged. “Not worse, just different. In Marine Basic, you’ve got to do things. Difficult things, maybe, but they show you how to do them, they convince you that you can do them, and you drill over and over until you can do them in your sleep. Then they give you an order, and you just do it. Most people who wash out don’t listen, don’t follow orders, or just don’t put forth enough effort. It’s more about willpower and confidence than anything. After that, if you just pay attention, you can get through okay.

“Here at the Academy, they expect you to know things, to study, to learn stuff. This place is a university, and if you don’t study hard and keep all that stuff in your head, you’re out of here. You have to follow orders, sure. A big part of it is military, and that part doesn’t worry me, but by the time you’re done here, they expect you to give orders, the right orders. You’ve got to have it up here.”

She tapped her forehead. “I was never that good in school,” she admitted. “I had to work like hell just to get decent grades. I guess that’s why I never went to university in the first place. Now, here I am, and yeah, I’m nervous about it.”

Lorna began to understand. She was mostly concerned about the military and physical requirements. She knew the Academy had rigorous standards for academic studies as well, but those didn’t bother her. She’d taken advanced placement courses in high school and had graduated near the top of her class at Luna University, even though she was two years younger than most of her classmates. That kind of learning came easily to her.

“Well, maybe the people who put us in the same room weren’t so dumb after all,” she said. “Look, I did pretty well in school. I’ll help you study if you’ll help me get in shape and handle the military stuff. I mean, hey, the Marines and the Navy always work together. It takes both to get the job done. What do you think?”

Sakura gave her another crooked grin. “I think you’ve got a deal, Blondie, but there’s one more thing to settle. You really want that bottom bunk?”

“Match you for it,” Lorna said with a grin of her own. “Odds or evens?”

“Evens,” Sakura said. “On three. One, two, three.” She looked at the two fingers Lorna had thrown out against her own single digit. “Fair enough, Blondie. You’ve got the bottom, but I’m still the alpha dog.”

* * *

17 September 2100, Lunar Fleet Academy

“Greenwood! Get your butt down! When you do push-ups, I want to see a perfectly straight line from your head to your heels. Is that clear?”

“Sir! Yes, sir!” Lorna responded, adjusting her position as ordered. She knew why Gunny Lawrence wanted her butt down—it was harder that way. She had been trying to do the exercise correctly, but her body, seeking relief from the task, had betrayed her.

“On your feet,” Gunny ordered as they finished the exercises. “Listen up. It has come to my attention that the men’s deck—in particular, the head—was not ready for inspection this morning. In fact, it was so not ready, Lieutenant Novak found a pubic hair in one of the urinals. For that reason, you men will spend the next period scrubbing and shining every fixture in that facility and will be prepared for another inspection at the end of the period, to be conducted by me, personally. Is that clear?”

“Sir! Yes, sir!” the men shouted.

“You ladies,” Gunny continued, “are more fortunate. Through some mischance, or perhaps a temporary attack of nearsightedness on the part of the inspecting officer, the women’s deck passed inspection. You may, therefore, hit the showers, get cleaned up and in uniform for your next classes, and spend the rest of the period studying for said classes. Is that clear?”

“Sir! Yes, sir!” the women replied. Though they were slightly outnumbered by the male officer candidates, their response was somewhat more enthusiastic.

“Greenwood!” Lawrence once again turned his attention to Lorna. “How many times did I call your name today?”

“Sir! Twice, sir!” Lorna replied.

“Right. That means you owe me two trips around the dome in the one point five lane. After that, you may join the rest of the ladies in the showers. Sakura!”

“Sir! Yes, sir!” Nova replied instantly.

“You will accompany Greenwood to make sure she doesn’t stop to smell the flowers. I expect you to set an appropriate pace.”

“Sir! Yes, sir!”

“Dismissed!”

* * *

“C’mon, Blondie, pick it up,” Sakura growled.

They were three-quarters of the way through the second lap around the kilometer-long track that encircled the Academy drill field, and Lorna’s legs felt as if they were made of concrete. At this point in her training, a two-kilometer run was no longer a major challenge, at least not in the normal-gee lane; but, under one point five gravities, it was an ordeal. To her disgust, she noticed Sakura wasn’t even breathing hard. Lorna gritted her teeth and found enough reserve strength to pick up the pace.

“I knew this would splash on me,” Sakura muttered.

“Yeah…I can see…you’re soaking wet with it…” Lorna managed to get out between labored breaths. “Besides…didn’t hear…any complaints…at quarter-finals…”

“Breathe, don’t talk,” the Marine told her. “Yeah, okay, you’re right, but I figure we’re about even. Don’t thank me, and I won’t thank you.”

The two women finished the second lap, then switched to the normal-gee lane and ran another hundred meters to keep their legs from cramping.

“Been meaning to ask you,” Lorna said as her breathing and heart rate returned to normal, “you keep on raking me over the coals about my grandmother, but your name’s Sakura. Aren’t you related to—?”

“No,” Nova replied. “Sakura might be an uncommon name on Luna, but it’s pretty common in Japan. Besides, Admiral Sakura—I presume that’s who you’re talking about—is an original Lunar citizen and a big-time proponent of Lunar tradition. His female children and grandchildren will have their mother’s surname, not his.

“My parents came here in ’72 as provisional citizens. They opened a Japanese-Chinese fusion restaurant on the main concourse near TerraNova Park. It’s still there, and they still run it, but I haven’t been there in a couple of years.”

“Why not?” Orphaned at age six, Lorna couldn’t imagine anyone with living parents not wanting to stay in touch with them.

“Well, unlike the admiral, they’ve got a more traditional Eastern view of things. The LFS Marine Corps is not their idea of a proper place for a daughter. They could see I wasn’t university material, so they wanted me to work in the restaurant until I found a suitable husband.

“I joined the Corps instead, and they haven’t spoken to me since. I thought they would get over it, but they haven’t. I keep thinking that, maybe, they’ll accept it if I get through the Academy and become an officer, but…” She shrugged, leaving the sentence unfinished.

“Oh.” Lorna was at a loss for words.

“Well, hey—” Sakura perked up, “—at least you don’t have that problem. I’ll bet your granny was thrilled when you got into the Academy.”

Lorna grimaced. “Yeah, she was. Now I have to bust my butt to make sure I don’t disappoint her.”

“You’re doing just fine as far as I can see,” Sakura assured her, “and so am I. I know I don’t say it often enough, but thanks for the help.”

“You too,” Lorna replied. “Like you said before, we’re even.”

As they left the field and headed back to quarters, Lorna decided Sakura was right—they were pretty much even. Lorna’s performance at PT that day had not been typical of her usual effort, and she deserved the two laps she had gotten for it. She had already passed her first-year physical requirements by a comfortable margin, including conquering the infamous confidence course—a long and challenging obstacle course designed to weed out the weak, the clumsy, and those who lacked proper motivation, endurance, and discipline.

Lorna had gotten herself into shape, thanks in large part to Sakura, who had taken on the role of an unrelenting personal trainer and driven her to do things she hadn’t believed she would ever be able to do. The Marine cadet had also hammered Lorna constantly on military matters, from proper posture while at attention to microscopic concern for the details of her uniform. It had been some time since Lorna had gotten gigged for anything in that area.

She’d repaid Sakura by teaching the other woman how to study effectively and retain the knowledge she acquired. She had drilled Nova on everything from starship engineering to military history and forced the Marine cadet to stand tall for oral examinations, which Lorna conducted in excruciating detail. She didn’t relent until she was confident Nova knew the material. When the results of the last quarter-finals came out, Sakura had been as surprised as anyone to find herself in the top ten percent of the class. She was not surprised, however, to find that she was still looking up at Lorna, who had placed first in class in every subject, except interstellar navigation, where she’d had to settle for a respectable second.

In fairness, Lorna had to admit that Sakura’s dire predictions about the difficulties she would encounter due to her ancestry had not come true, perhaps because she’d anticipated them and driven herself harder to avoid any unfavorable comparisons with her grandmother. In general, her instructors seemed satisfied with her performance and gave her no more grief than they gave any of the other candidates. She had suffered a few embarrassing moments in one classroom, however.

Commander Rebecca Ling, the first-year instructor for Space Warfare Strategy and Tactics, was a seasoned veteran of the Fleet. Rumor had it she was on the short list for promotion to commodore and was just marking time as an Academy instructor until Fleet could find a suitable command for her. She frequently used examples from actual space battles in her lectures, and an embarrassing number of those examples featured Lorna’s grandmother as the star. On those occasions, Ling often referred to the infamous Iron Maiden as ‘Ms. Greenwood’s grandmother,’ or ‘your grandmother’ when she addressed Lorna directly. Lorna took a lot of ribbing from the rest of the class, but most of it was good-natured. Still, it bothered her, and she could feel her cheeks redden every time Ling made such a reference.

Yesterday, less than a week before close of classes and final exams, Ling had asked Lorna to remain at the end of the class session.

“Ms. Greenwood,” she began, “I get the impression you are uncomfortable with my use of your grandmother’s battles as examples. Your grandmother was a brilliant strategist and tactician—she practically wrote the book on space warfare—and surely you realize that I would use those examples whether you were present in class or not.”

“Permission to speak freely, ma’am?”

“Of course.”

“Ma’am,” Lorna said carefully, “I have no problem with the examples. If I am uncomfortable, it’s because the commander never fails to remind me—or the rest of the class—that she is my grandmother.”

“I should think you’d be rather proud of your ancestry, Ms. Greenwood.”

“I am, ma’am,” Lorna assured her. “My parents died when I was six years old, and my grandmother raised me after that. It was impossible for me not to know how famous she was, although she tried to downplay it. During my teen years, we spent most of my school breaks on Copper Hills, where the Lizards practically worship the ground she walks on.

“Believe me, I know who she is, and I am very proud to be her granddaughter; but the point is, ma’am, I’m not her. I may never match her exploits, may never even have an opportunity to try. I hope to serve with distinction as a Fleet officer, but for right now, I’m on my own and must sink or swim through my own efforts. In short, ma’am, I’d much prefer to be Ms. Greenwood, Probationary Officer Candidate, rather than the Iron Maiden’s granddaughter.”

“Hmmm, I think I understand,” Ling mused, “and I should have been a bit more aware since I also have a heritage to live up to. My mother is Vice Admiral Ling, who commands Second Fleet and flies her colors aboard LFS Sorceress. Incidentally, she was your grandmother’s flag captain for many of the battles I’ve been using as examples. She received her third star when I was at the Academy, and I took a lot of ribbing about being an admiral’s daughter. That was twenty years ago, and, since that time, I’ve had a command of my own and a chance to serve with distinction, as you say. I’d forgotten how uncomfortable it can be to live in the shadow of a famous ancestor.”

* * *

11 December 2100, Lunar Fleet Academy

“So, did you kick everybody’s ass this time, Blondie?”

Sakura had found Lorna at the big bulletin board in the barracks, where the first-year finals had just been posted. Closing classes had run late for both, and most of the other cadets had already been there and gone.

“Not quite,” Lorna replied. “Some damned Marine beat me out in Military Discipline and Leadership, by two points.”

“What? Let me see that.” Sakura stepped up to the board, called up the rankings by subject, and studied the results. “Hmmmm. Number one ranked: Stellar Nav…Greenwood; Engineering…Greenwood; Mil History…Greenwood; Discipline and Leadership…oh…that Marine.” Sakura appeared to be blushing, though her Asian complexion made it hard to notice.

“Yeah, that Marine,” Lorna said. “Congratulations.”

“Wait a minute, this can’t be right.” Sakura pointed to the column for overall rank in class. “No way, me? Number four overall? The only Marine in the top ten? Somebody screwed up.”

“If anybody screwed up, you did,” Lorna told her with a wry grin. “You studied too well. You’re going to spoil your reputation. Marines won’t talk to you anymore, and you’ll have to transfer to the Navy.”

“I’d sooner walk across Tranquility in full sunlight without a vac suit,” Sakura growled. She pulled up her grades and studied the transcript. “Not bad. I guess I can live with number four. Somebody has to show most of these Navy types how it’s done.”

“Well, I think a celebration is in order,” Lorna declared. “Since we’ve got three days until graduation with nothing much to do, I think we should go into town tonight and have a little party.”

“Won’t be much of a party; my account is tapped out. Had to buy a new set of dress bravos for the graduation ceremony, and I blew a bunch of credits on a sword.”

“A sword? You do know you won’t need one of those until fourth year, don’t you? Besides, a standard-issue dress sword is only about a hundred creds.”

“Yeah, well.” Sakura’s voice showed a hint of embarrassment. “I’ve gotten to the point where I’m pretty sure I’ll make it to fourth year, and I didn’t exactly go for one of those decorative swords. I wanted something functional if you know what I mean. This way, I’ll have a couple of years to get familiar with it before I have to wear it on parade.”

“Okay, I get the picture. Nova Sakura, LFS Marines and closet Samurai warrior.”

“Hey, it’s in my blood. What can I say?”

“Well, anyway, about the party,” Lorna said. “Don’t worry about the creds. I turned twenty-one a few months ago.”

“What does that mean?” Sakura gave her a puzzled frown.

“It means the trust accounts my mother and grandmother set up for me have matured. I hesitate to mention this, but I am now, well, disgustingly rich would be an accurate description. In other words, the party’s on me.”

Sakura flashed an evil grin. “In that case, there’s this bar called Corporal J’s Place on the concourse to East Terranova. I can’t think of a better place for a graduation party.”

“Corporal J’s Place?” Lorna looked skeptical. “Let me guess, it’s a Marines place.”

“Well, actually, it’s not just a Marines place. It’s the Marines place in TerraNova, and it’s the oldest saloon on Luna, but it was started by a Navy guy, and they welcome everybody. I’m sure your grandmother’s been there a few times. Now that I think about it, I believe they have a picture of her on the wall.”

“Oh, great!” Lorna declared. “Just what I need. Another reminder of those great big boots everybody expects me to fill.”

* * *

“We are POCs no more!” Nova Sakura exclaimed as they walked off the parade ground.

She and Lorna had just been dismissed after their first-year graduation ceremony and were no longer probationary officer candidates. They were now provisional officers, which meant that, no matter what happened, they owed the Fleet six more years of service. Had they washed out during the first year, they would have been allowed to go immediately to a civilian job, to university, or to wherever they chose, but washing out after the first year meant they would serve whatever remained of their six-year commitment in the enlisted ranks. Unless, of course, they washed out for committing some criminal act, which would result in court-martial, possible prison, and a dishonorable discharge. At the moment, such thoughts did not trouble them. They considered their glasses to be one-quarter full, rather than mostly empty.

They had to complete one more assignment before they could say their first year was over: the first-year cruise. They would spend the next three months somewhere in the Fleet, with tiny pips on their collars that marked them as being somewhere between officers and pond scum (and closer to the latter). They were provisional officers. Enlisted personnel were required to salute and address them as ‘sir’ or ‘ma’am,’ but, really, they would be regarded by officers and enlisted alike as dull-witted children, suitable only for menial tasks. Meanwhile, they were required to behave like officers, were expected to learn from the experience, and would be graded on their performance by the officer to whom they were assigned as well as the commander of the unit. Then, assuming they hadn’t screwed up completely, they would get a short leave before returning to the Academy for the next year’s courses.

They would go out with the fleet at the completion of their second and third years, as well, before finally being commissioned at the end of the fourth year, but the freshman cruise was the worst. During the second-year cruise, they would be senior provisional officers, and during the third-year cruise, they would have titles that sounded like real officer ranks—ensign junior grade for the Navy people and lieutenant junior grade for the Marines. They would also get a bit more respect because it would not be their first time with the fleet, and they would be halfway through their Academy studies.

After they reached the edge of the parade ground and stepped over its boundary, Nova stopped and flipped open the presentation binder which held more than her first-year completion certificate. In the upper left corner was the data chip that contained her cruise orders, but Academy tradition held that it was bad luck to open the orders while still on the parade ground, so she had waited to pull out the chip and slip it into her data pad. Around them, other classmates were doing the same.

“…is hereby assigned to LFS Hydra.” Her face reflected the dismay Lorna heard in her voice. “Oh, hell! A light cruiser.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Lorna asked.

“A ship that size only carries a short platoon of Marines—two squads. I’m going to be nothing more than a glorified squad leader or gopher for some LT and do nothing more exciting than damage control drills for the whole cruise. What did you get?”

“Hmmm.” Lorna had inserted her chip into her pad. “Oh, hell! I wish I’d gotten your light cruiser. I got LFS Omaha Beach.”

“You dog!” Nova’s eyes widened, and her jaw dropped. “You blond-haired, blue-eyed offspring of a golden retriever! Omaha Beach. An assault carrier! A Marine assault carrier!”

“Yeah. Living with you wasn’t bad enough. Now, I’m going to be up to my neck in Marines.”

“At least you’ll be going where the action is. Those carriers don’t go anywhere unless somebody needs a lot of Marines in a hurry. Scuttlebutt says Fleet is going to make a big push to clean up the Golden Braid. Maybe you’ll be sent there. Oh, you lucky dog!”

“Great. I get to sit in orbit while the Marines go down to the planet and clean out some pirate nest.”

“Hey, even pirates have ships. You might wind up in a space battle or two.”

“Not likely. They never send an assault carrier out with less than a battlecruiser division for an escort. No raggedy-ass pirates would dare face that kind of firepower. Hey, if Fleet really is going out there to kick some ass, maybe you’ll wind up there as well. I’m sure there’s plenty of work for a light cruiser in an action like that.”

“Right.” Sakura screwed up her face. “I’ll get to stand by a damage-control station while Hydra blows some pirate ship to hell and gone, or maybe I’ll be the one sitting in orbit while your carrier dumps real Marines on their heads. But according to this, Hydra is assigned to Home Fleet Support Services, so it’ll more likely be convoy escort duty, and we’ll never even go to battle stations except for drills. Life is so unfair.”

“Relax, Marine. It’s supposed to be a learning experience, and it’s only for three months. Besides, as the saying goes, be careful what you wish for.”

* * *

14 January 2101, LFS Omaha Beach

“Good morning, Omaha Beach. It’s oh seven hundred LST, and today is January 14, 2101. We’re just two weeks into the twenty-second century.”

Lorna glanced at the wall-mounted screen as she settled her breakfast tray onto the table in front of her. She enjoyed the morning newscasts on the ship’s network, and the young, female petty officer on the screen was now a familiar face to her.

Unlike traditional educational institutions on Earth, which recessed in midsummer, Lunar schools, including the LFS Military Academy, held classes from March through December, beginning on or about the vernal equinox and ending at the winter solstice. Nova’s orders had required her to report aboard Hydra on the day after Christmas, but Lorna hadn’t needed to be aboard Omaha Beach until January 3rd. She’d spent a lonely week in her room at the Academy, while all her classmates were off on their cruises or spending time with family. Lorna had no family on Luna, so she’d celebrated the turn of the century in solitude and breathed a sigh of relief when the day to report finally came. The assault carrier had departed Luna on January 5th and was now in deep space, headed for a classified destination.

“For those of you who are keeping track,” the commentator continued, “we are now fifty-seven light years from Sol. If you had a telescope powerful enough to see Luna, you’d be looking fifty-seven years into the past, and you’d see a war going on—Sol System’s first interstellar war with the Mekota. Ian Stevens, the first CEO of the LFS, died along with several other Earth leaders when the Mekota destroyed the envoy ship LFS Valkyrie. Admiral Lorna Greenwood took over as CEO and led us through the war while seriously kicking Mekota butt from Sol all the way to Alpha Akara. That was fifty-seven years ago, but the Turnips still rue the day they crossed swords with the Iron Maiden.”

Lorna winced and glanced around the mess to see if anyone was looking in her direction. No one was, and she mentally kicked herself for her reaction. She was in Marine country—the part of the huge carrier where Marines were far more common than Navy people—and it wasn’t likely anyone knew her or had bothered reading the name embroidered on her uniform. She relaxed a bit.

“That’s history, people,” the young woman on the screen continued, “and you may be more interested in current events. If so, be advised that the scuttlebutt you’ve been hearing is true. The official word from Captain Lawrence is that we are headed for the Golden Braid, and word from General Petroklos is that we are going there so the Marines can educate a bunch of pirates about the penalties for uncivilized behavior.

“Fleet is expecting some possible in-system resistance, so we are traveling in company with Second Fleet’s Second Battle Group, headed by the battlecruiser Isis. While this should not be treated as a walk in the park, any bad guys who cross our path and survive will no doubt need to go home and change their underwear.”

Lorna nodded. With regular warships hunting for them, pirate ships could only survive by avoiding encounters with the hunters. Even a pirate fleet, such as those rumored to exist in the Golden Braid, would not dare take on an LFS battle group. The bad guys could only stay alive by maintaining a low profile, and these pirates had failed to do that. Fleet had been hunting pirate ships in various star systems throughout the cluster, with limited success, but now, word was that Lunar Command had located a permanent pirate base. The base was located on a planet with a sizeable civilian population, so it couldn’t simply be blasted to oblivion with kinetic strikes. They would need to do it the hard way—with Omaha Beach and her Marines. Second Fleet’s battle group was there to make sure no one bothered them while they were getting it done.

“Excuse me, Navy. Is this seat taken?”

Lorna looked up and saw a short-haired blond, a Marine lieutenant, standing over her with breakfast tray in hand. The name tape on the woman’s uniform said Bartley.

“No, ma’am,” Lorna replied. “I was just leaving.”

“Relax, Navy, finish your coffee. I’m not running you off.” The woman sat across the table and looked Lorna over. “I was just wondering if you are lost or something. We don’t see many Navy people in this mess.”

“I’ve got duty in Boat Bay Four, ma’am. I stopped for breakfast along the way. I didn’t realize the mess was restricted.”

“It’s not.” Bartley favored her with a grin. “We welcome everybody, even provisional Navy officers. It’s just that most Navy types prefer to eat in Navy country, forward of Frame 180. I guess they don’t like to rub elbows with Marines.”

“Ma’am, I just spent an entire year at the Academy with a Marine cadet for a roommate. A mustang, so she was already a Marine before she got there. I have no problem rubbing elbows with Marines.”

“Really?” The Marine officer raised an eyebrow. “What was this Marine’s name, if I may ask?”

“Nova Sakura. Right now, she’s a long way from here, aboard a light cruiser, on her own first-year cruise.”

“Damn!” Bartley exclaimed. “Sakura? So, she made it through the first year! I told her she would.”

“You know her, Lieutenant?”

“Oh, hell yes! She was a corporal in my platoon aboard LFS Amazon—a kick-ass Marine. I signed off on her application for the Academy and convinced the company commander to sign off on it, too. Then they transferred me to Omaha Beach, and I never found out whether she made the cut or not. Glad to hear she did. Give her my regards when you get back and tell her she owes me a beer.”

“I’ll give her the message, ma’am. I don’t know if we’ll be roommates again, but I’ll see her around.”

“Good, and good luck with your cruise, Provie…Greenwood?” The Marine noticed Lorna’s name for the first time. “You wouldn’t be any relation to…” She stopped when she saw the expression on Lorna’s face. “Never mind,” she continued with a chuckle. “I’m guessing you are, and you get really tired of people asking you that question.”

“If you mean the Iron Maiden, she’s my grandmother, and my mother named me after her,” Lorna admitted. “It’s not an easy name to live up to. She’s long retired, and I haven’t seen her in almost a year, but I feel like she’s looking over my shoulder all the time, especially at the Academy.”

“I can understand that. Your granny’s a legend, Provie. My mother served with her for quite a few years and still talks about it. By the way, my mother’s a retired Marine colonel—came up through the ranks from buck private—so I know what it’s like to go through the Academy with somebody looking over your shoulder. I got through it okay, and so will you.”

“Wait.” Lorna suddenly made the connection. “You’re Rock Bartley’s daughter? I met her when I was just a kid, and my grandmother told me some stories about her that…wow! Yeah, I can see how you’d have problems at the Academy. If Granny’s stories were anywhere near true, you had a lot to live up to.”

Bartley favored her with a crooked grin. “Maybe so, but not as much as you. At least nobody calls me Rock; not yet, anyway.”

* * *

“Ma’am, I’ve been instructed to train you in the fine art of boat bay traffic control,” Chief Petty Officer Griswold told Lorna, “and we’re fortunate because this morning we have a major deployment exercise going on. Over the next few hours, we will launch and recover several hundred assault landers, strike ships, equipment transports, and other assorted small craft. In addition, we will be doing a fast turnaround—recovering, refueling, re-arming, and re-launching most of the strike ships in support of a simulated landing operation. The entire task force will drop out of hyper for this exercise, and the other warships will be conducting carrier defense and interdiction drills while we do our deployment.

“In other words,” he told her with a grin, “we are going to be busier than ants at a picnic. Lieutenant Wiseman, whom you just met, is the control officer for this bay, and he is usually assisted by two controllers: me and Petty Officer Garcia. Today, however, you will be sitting at my station. I will be right behind you, plugged into the console, instructing you and monitoring your performance.

“I’m told you had simulation training at the Academy, but those simulators deal with typical traffic situations in an ordinary warship’s boat bay. Omaha Beach is not an ordinary warship. An assault carrier’s boat bays are ten times as busy, but, more importantly, this is the real thing, not a simulation. If something goes wrong, I may have to jerk you out of your seat and take over, and I won’t have time to be gentle or courteous about it. If that happens, you had best stay out of my way until I tell you it’s over. Do not take it personally. Just call it part of the learning experience. Is that clear, ma’am?”

“Perfectly clear, Chief,” she acknowledged.

“Fine, then put on your headset, sit down, and plug in right there. The deployment exercise starts in forty-five minutes, and I need to get you up to speed on the basic routines before then.”

* * *

“End of exercise. Repeat, end of exercise. All crew, secure your stations for hyperspace translation. We will reenter hyper in fifteen minutes.”

The announcement brought Lorna relief. She’d just been through several hours of pure hell, and despite the unvarying climate of the boat bay control gallery, her uniform was soaked with sweat. Chief Griswold resumed his usual station, and Lorna unplugged from the console.

Wiseman stood behind her. “Well, Provie Greenwood, how do you think it went?”

“I think it could have been better, sir,” she responded honestly.

“Do you now? Would you care to elaborate?”

Lorna grimaced. “Well, sir, I think I cut it too close with a couple of those incoming and outgoing swaps during the turnaround. At the same time, judging by the impatient voices I heard on the channel, I’m guessing I kept a lot of them waiting longer than I should have. I think the chief may have been on the verge of pulling me out a couple of times.”

“Hmmm, interesting,” Wiseman mused. “You think you cut the swaps too close, and you felt nervous about them, but that’s because of your lack of experience. An experienced controller, like the chief, would have cut them closer and not given it a second thought. The pilots know the drill. You have to rely on them to get out of each other’s way.”

He chuckled. “As for the impatient voices, those guys are always impatient. They’re a bunch of hot shots who aren’t happy unless they’re making a high-speed attack run on a well-defended enemy position. Waiting in line is not something that plays well with them. Maybe you were a little slower, but we’ll never do it fast enough to suit them, so they’ll have to learn to live with it. The important thing is you didn’t lose your cool or let them push you. Speed is important, but it’s better to do it right than to do it quickly.

“As for the chief pulling you out of the chair…Chief, when was the last time you didn’t pull a provie out of the chair on his or her first try at an exercise like this?”

“Had one back in ’94, Lieutenant,” Griswold replied with a grin, “but he was a mustang who had experience as a controller before going to the Academy. Other than that, I’ve had a couple who lasted over an hour, but I believe Provie Greenwood is the first to get all the way through. ’Course, that’s just ’cause I’m such a hard-ass, sir.”

“That rates a ‘not bad’ in my book, Greenwood,” Wiseman said, “which is a much higher grade than a ‘could have been better.’ I’ll pass my evaluation on to Commander Brinkman, with a note that says if he’s looking for additional duties for you, we’d be happy to have you down here again.”

* * * * *

Chapter Two

22 January 2101, LFS Hydra

“What’s the matter, Provie?” Marine Lieutenant Sig Thorsson asked. “I’m getting the impression you are less than enthusiastic about this assignment.”

“No, LT, it’s not that,” Nova said. “I mean, I’m learning a lot about damage control that I didn’t know before, and I know it’s an important duty function for warship Marines, but, well, it’s not the most exciting thing in the world.”

“Bored, are you? You’ve been a Marine for how long?”

“Four years plus, counting Academy time.”

“Yeah, I read your file. You were assigned to Amazon. I imagine you did plenty of DC drills there.”

“Well, sure, but we also did five combat drops during the Gamma Hydra campaign and two boarding actions on pirate warships.”

“Hmmm. Ever been in a serious ship-to-ship engagement?”

“Depends on what you mean by serious.” She shrugged. “The task group had a few dustups with Otuka pirates, but those didn’t last very long. Either the pirates got away, they surrendered—which the Otuka usually don’t do—or they were blown to itty bitty pieces.”

“Well, now,” the lieutenant said, “that’s the difference between being assigned to a battlecruiser group and being on convoy escort. Battlecruisers scare the hell out of pirates, but we tend to attract them.

“I was with LFS Procyon in ’94,” he continued, “a Star-class destroyer with a single squad of Marines aboard. We were escorting a Predator-class destroyer, LFS Wolfhound, and we ran into an Otuka pirate squadron. Bastards had an old Akara heavy cruiser and five of their own commerce raiders, and they figured they could take us. They were wrong, but by the time it was over, we had lost maneuvering, most of our missile tubes and graser mounts, and about a third of the ship’s company, including the captain and the whole bridge crew.

“Wolfhound was only a little better off, but the convoy was safe. We did our job, but damage control wasn’t just an important duty function that day—it was critical. Just for the record, it’s kind of hard to get bored when you are trying like hell to keep your ship in the fight while the enemy is trying like hell to take you out. I guess the point I’m trying to make is…be careful what you wish for.”

“Yeah, LT, I get it.” She grinned. “Funny, my roommate, a Navy type, said the same thing when I first got this assignment. She drew Omaha Beach, and at the time, I would have traded places with her in a heartbeat. But like I said, I am learning things here, things an officer needs to know. I appreciate the lessons.”

“You’re a good student, Sakura.” He grinned in return. “You learned the ship’s layout, key damage control points, SAR data, and so on pretty quickly. I was impressed enough to go back and check your record just to be sure you hadn’t served on a Vampire-class cruiser before, but you haven’t. You did exactly what you need to do for any warship you get assigned to.

“An enlisted Marine, or even a non-com, only needs to know where his or her duty station is and then they can sit back and wait for orders. If you are going to be a Marine officer aboard a warship, you’ve got to know the ship as well as any Navy crewman—maybe even better than some. So far, you’re doing fine. Keep it up, and don’t let boredom get the better of you.”

“I’ll do my best, LT,” Nova promised.

Thank you, Blondie, for beating those good study habits into my head. They’re as useful here as they were in the classroom.

* * *

“Condition Red—all crew to battle stations! This is not a drill. Repeat, this is not a drill. All crew to battle stations!”

Nova was out of her bunk and pulling gear out of the locker before she was even awake. This was not her first call to action, though the last one had been almost two years ago aboard Amazon.

It was not, she reflected, something you forgot how to do. An Earthworm might say it was like riding a bicycle. Nova had been born and raised on Luna where most people had never seen a bicycle, let alone learned how to ride one, but like all LFS Marines, she had learned how to respond to alerts. Her shipsuit, light ballistic armor, and equipment harness were in place less than a minute after the announcement.

She allowed herself a little smile of satisfaction when she noted the three other women with whom she shared the female Marine quarters were a few seconds behind her in their preparations. Though, technically, she outranked them, they tended to regard her as something less than a real Marine because of her provie status, but none of them had been obvious about it, so she’d had no opportunity for a kick-ass demonstration.

“Move it, ladies,” she told them. “Captain’s waiting on you to tell him it’s okay to go to war.”

“Roger that, ma’am,” Corporal Biggs muttered as she ducked through the hatch, followed closely by the others. Nova shook her head. She was still smiling as she ducked out herself. Back aboard Amazon, she would have been the first one through, but now, it was her job to be the last one out.

* * *

“Good show, people.” Commander Walter Simms nodded in satisfaction. His status boards looked good, and all stations reported ready. LFS Hydra had cleared for action in record time. She was not his first command—he’d previously had LFS Aldebaran, a Star-class destroyer—but Hydra was his first cruiser, and he was proud to be her captain. More importantly, he was pretty sure the incoming pirates thought they were closing on a convoy with a single escort, and he was about to teach them the error of their ways.

There were two escorts, but per Simms’ order as the convoy escort’s senior officer—its SO—LFS Timberwolf had gone to full stealth and tucked into the sensor shadow of one of the big freighters on the far side of the convoy. Hydra had also taken some security measures but had not tried to hide completely—the pirates would have been suspicious if they had encountered a convoy with no escorts. Instead, the light cruiser was doing her best to emulate the emissions signature of a British corvette and was squawking an IFF code that identified her as such.

Merchant ships were most vulnerable to pirate attacks shortly after arrival in their destination system, when they passed inside the star system’s hyper limit and could no longer escape into hyperspace. Some skippers preferred to travel alone, on their own schedules, which diminished their chances of being attacked since the pirates wouldn’t know when or where to look for them. Convoys followed regular routes and schedules but were usually escorted by warships. They were easier for pirates to find but more difficult to deal with. This convoy had just dropped out of hyper and entered the Sigma Draconis system. Its merchant skippers would have preferred Simms show his full strength and frighten off the marauders, but Fleet Command was tired of letting pirates get away. Simms’ orders directed him to ‘engage and neutralize any hostiles, if possible.’

Since the pirates weren’t attempting stealth, Simms could not pretend he hadn’t seen them. He had issued several blustery warnings, ordering them to break off their approach, but he wasn’t surprised those warnings went unanswered and ignored. From the incoming data, it appeared he was dealing with four Kandar-class ships of an Akara design originally intended to harass Mekota shipping during the Akara-Mekota war nearly fifty years ago.

After the war, the ships had been upgraded and kept in active service for a while, but most had been decommissioned about twenty years ago. Some, through devious means, had been delivered into the hands of the lawless, notably Otuka and Sillascaritan pirates, and there were rumors that some had fallen into the hands of humans—Sol System vermin bankrolled by major criminal organizations back on Earth. This encounter was far from the usual haunts of the Otuka or the Sillies, and Simms wondered if he might get a chance to verify those rumors.

Despite their age, the Kandars were not to be taken lightly. The Akara built sturdy warships in the smaller size classes. They could probably take a single destroyer and would even be a tough proposition for two destroyers to handle, which was why Simms was hovering close to the convoy in a purely defensive mode, trying his best to look timid. An aggressive escort commander, particularly one with more than one ship at his disposal, would have charged toward the Kandars in full attack mode in the hope of driving them off.

Most pirates had no desire to spar with warships. They hoped the convoy, seeing its escort overmatched, would scatter. Most of the merchants would get away, but the marauders would run down one or two, catch them with no escort, and force them to surrender in the slim hope their lives would be spared.

Simms waited and fended off queries from several nervous merchant captains until the incoming ships were too close to avoid engagement.

“Pass the word to Timberwolf. Execute attack plan Bravo,” he ordered. “Stand by missiles.”

On command, the destroyer popped up from behind the convoy and launched a full pattern of broadside missiles at the attackers. As the ship rolled to fire her other broadside, Simms gave the command to his tactical officer, and Hydra added her double broadside, which was twice as heavy as the destroyer’s, to the fray. The pirates were looking at twenty-four incoming missiles—fast, long-range, heavy ship-killers—and then their screens became garbled with confusing echoes as the LFS warships hit them with ECM and jammed their targeting and defensive systems. Hydra had dropped some of her defensive cover when she fired, and the attackers got a good look at her just before everything went to hell. That look told them, in no uncertain terms, they were screwed.

The pirates deployed decoys and counter missiles, initiated their defensive ECM, and launched everything they had—a salvo of just eight missiles—from their chase tubes, then scattered in a desperate attempt to escape. Unfortunately, their aggressive closure rate worked against them. They hadn’t scattered far when the LFS missiles reached attack range.

Five missiles were drawn off by decoys or fooled by ECM jamming. The energy of their laser warheads—basically a cluster of laser rods fired by a fusion bomb—was wasted on nonexistent targets. Three missiles were taken out by counter missiles before they could detonate, and two more fell victim to the pirates’ point defense lasers. The other fourteen locked onto real targets and detonated, with devastating results.

The Kandars, which were built for speed and maneuverability, had little in the way of armor, though their powerful gravity drives provided a fair amount of shielding. Unfortunately for them, a fair amount was far less than an adequate amount against LFS Viper missiles, which were designed to attack targets the size of battlecruisers. Two of the pirate ships vanished entirely—one disintegrated when multiple laser hits caused massive structural damage, and the other went out with a blinding flash characteristic of a direct hit on a fusion reactor.

A third pirate ship suffered heavy damage. Its drive faltered as air and debris spewed from compartments that had been torn open. It began to tumble as cascading system failures resulted in the loss of helm control.

The fourth pirate ship suffered surprisingly little damage, but Simms decided not to expend any more missiles. The marauder was using all the power it could muster in a frantic attempt to claw its way out of the trap, but Simms had done the math, and he knew there was no way the enemy could avoid coming into energy weapon range. At that point, Hydra’s grasers, which were far more powerful than anything the raider could bring to bear, would put a quick end to the engagement.

Meanwhile, he had other matters to worry about. He felt a flash of relief as Hydra’s point defense picked off the last of the pirate missiles.

“Sir, Bogey Three is abandoning ship.” Lieutenant Carl Burgess, Hydra’s tactical officer, couldn’t keep the note of smug satisfaction out of his voice.

“Understood,” Simms acknowledged, feeling a bit smug himself. A few seconds later, his communications officer advised him Bogey Four was hailing them and offering to surrender.

Burgess concurred with a shrug. “They’ve cut their drive and dropped their defenses. No active targeting systems. Looks like they mean it, sir.”

Apparently, the pirates had done the math as well. Simms nodded and keyed his console. “Marines, secure from damage control and prepare for boarding action,” he ordered.

* * *

Marine Boarding Party Aboard Pirate Vessel, Sigma Draconis System

“Keep your hands where we can see them. Do you understand?”

Thorsson eyed the four human crewmen with suspicion. The pirates had opened their boat bay hatch without question and allowed Hydra’s cutter to enter. The hatch had closed, pressure had risen, and Thorsson had deployed his squad of ten Marines into the bay. The cutter could only carry twelve passengers, so Thorsson had brought only one squad plus Nova Sakura. According to her file, Sakura had had experience with pirate boarding actions as an enlisted Marine, but Thorsson wanted to see how she handled it as an officer.

As soon as they debarked from the cutter, a personnel hatch opened, and four of the pirate ship’s crewmen came in, hands raised in apparent surrender. They were human and, judging from their dress, of Earth origin. They fanned out in a line facing the Marines and stood there.

“We speak English,” one of them said. “We give up. We don’t want to fight you.”

“Are you the captain?” Thorsson stepped closer to the one who had spoken. The pirates weren’t wearing pressure suits or comm units, but the Marines had turned on their external sound gear as soon as the pressure came up. They could hear the pirates, and the pirates could hear them.

“No. Cap’n sent us to tell you we give up,” the man replied.

Thorsson glanced over his shoulder to make sure his Marines were deployed and covering the pirates properly. As he did so, all four of the pirates stiffened, their eyes suddenly went wide, and expressions of shock crossed their faces. Simultaneously, their hands came down, and they began digging for something in the pockets of their coveralls. The one who had spoken took a step toward Thorsson, while the others turned toward the nearest Marines.

Nova Sakura had seen behavior like that once before, during a raid on a human drug cartel’s base on Gamma Hydra Four. She knew what was going to happen. “Zombies!” she yelled. “Open fire!”

She raised her sidearm and shot the pirate who was advancing toward her twice in the head. The man pulled a cylindrical object out of his pocket just before the impact of the heavy bullets pitched him backward. As he hit the deck, the device in his hand exploded. It wasn’t a large explosion, but it blew his hand off.

Nova’s warning came too late for Lieutenant Thorsson. The pirate in front of him rammed another of the cylinders into the Marine officer’s chest and set off the charge. The shaped charge, with most of its explosive force directed out the end of the cylinder, punched through Thorsson’s battle armor, pressure suit, and rib cage, killing him almost instantly. It also blew off the pirate’s hand, and he stood there for a moment staring at the arterial blood spurting from the stump, then he looked up and reached into another pocket with his remaining hand. Before he could retrieve another device, Nova shot him in the head.

The rest of the Marines had been slow to react, and one went down when a pirate rammed a cylinder into his chest. Another Marine tried to butt-stroke the remaining pirate with his rifle. He scored a solid blow that should have knocked the man out, but the pirate only staggered back a step, then lunged forward and detonated his charge against the Marine’s helmet. Several Marines saw clear shot opportunities and opened fire. Both remaining pirates staggered as bullets slammed into them, but they didn’t go down.

“In the head!” Nova ordered. “Shoot them in the head!”

Following her own advice, she shot one in the middle of his forehead, and he dropped to the deck, lifeless. Other Marines followed her order, and the remaining pirate dropped as several rounds tore through his brain.

Suddenly, the hatch through which the pirates had come slammed shut, cutting off access to the rest of the ship.

“Grab something and hold on,” Nova told the remaining Marines. “Check your suit seals. They may blow the doors off!”

She expected the pirates to vent the boat bay into space to get rid of them, but nothing happened. Her comm unit came alive.

“Marines! Advise status! Lieutenant Thorsson, what’s happening over there?”

The cruiser had been monitoring them, watching the scene through Thorsson’s helmet camera, and listening to their communications. Hydra’s bridge crew was trying to make sense out of the chaos.

“This is Sakura,” Nova replied. “Lieutenant Thorsson is dead. Attackers are down, and we are secure for the moment. They’ve cut us off from the interior of the ship, and we can’t get out with the bay doors closed. We’re holding position.” As if there were anything else we could do, she thought.

“Sakura, this is Hydra Prime,” Commander Simms said. “I assume you’ve taken over as platoon leader. What’s your situation?”

“Sir, they hit us without warning—four attackers, all dead now. They took out Lieutenant Thorsson and two other Marines, then sealed the hatch to the interior of the ship. We’re still suited up, and the cutter is still serviceable, but we can’t get out while the bay doors are closed, and we’re not packing enough firepower to blow them open. There are no immediate threats.”

“Understood. Stand by,” Simms advised.

Nova turned to the waiting Marines. “Bag our casualties and stow them aboard the cutter. We don’t leave anybody behind.”

Several Marines moved to obey, but Corporal Biggs hesitated. “Uh, LT?”

“Who are you talking to, Biggs?”

“Uh, you, ma’am. The captain said you were platoon leader, so I guess that means you’re the LT now.”

“It doesn’t work that way, Biggs,” Nova started to say.

“She’s right.” Sergeant Olson nodded. “You’re the LT now, ma’am.”

“Ain’t no bars on my shoulder,” she told him, “but if it makes you feel all warm and fuzzy to call me LT, so be it. What do you want, Biggs?”

“Uh, what just happened, ma’am? I mean, what’s a Zombie, and how’d you know what was going down?”

“Saw it once before. It started with urban gangs back on Earth. They find a shady doctor or med tech and get him to implant a little capsule inside a member’s skull. Some members even volunteer to do it to prove how loyal they are. The capsule contains a psychotropic drug and a coded trigger. The gang leader with the remote pushes the button, and the capsule releases the drug. It turns the guy into a murdering psychopath who’ll use any weapon he can get his hands on.

“You can shoot a Zombie repeatedly in the body, but the brain refuses to die. Only a bullet in the head will stop them. The drug will eventually kill them, but they can do a lot of damage before it does, and they don’t care how much damage they take in return.”

“I’ve heard about them,” Olson said, “but this is the first time I’ve seen it. I’m praying to God I never see it again.”

“But…” Biggs shook her head. “But what if the gang member is a traitor and goes after the leader instead?”

“The remote has two settings,” Sakura replied. “The first releases the drug into the brain. The second blows up the capsule and kills the Zombie.”

“Shit…”

Sakura held up her hand to stop further comment as the command channel came active again with Simms’ voice.

“Sakura, are you still secure?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. You need to be aware that the ship you are on is running from us and heading straight for the hyper limit. They say they have you as hostages, and they will release you unharmed if we let them go.”

I know why they haven’t tried to eject us, Sakura thought. Problem is, they will eject us once they get away, after they make the jump into hyper. It would be fatal to the Marines. In hyperspace, the gravitational shear would tear them apart as they passed through the boundary layer of the ship’s drive field. “Sir, I’m not inclined to put much faith in any promises from them.”

“Neither am I,” Simms said, “which is why I’m not letting them go. Protecting the convoy is still my primary responsibility, but I’ve decided to detach Timberwolf and send her after you. Commander Atkins is on this channel, and you’ll be talking to him from this point on. He’s advised the pirates that the minute you stop talking to him, he’s going to assume you are no longer alive, at which point they will be able to measure their own life expectancy in microseconds. They haven’t replied to that threat, but since they aren’t acting against you, I’m assuming they got the message. Commander Atkins, it’s your show.”

“Right,” Timberwolf’s captain came on the channel, “but the show is a standoff. We’re chasing them, they’re running, and the hyper limit is about two hours away. If they jump, we’ll follow, but you don’t have hyper-capable comm gear aboard that cutter, so we’ll lose communications. Lieutenant Sakura, do you have any ideas?”

Nova swallowed hard, shocked to hear herself called lieutenant. Either nobody told Atkins that I’m just a provie, or he’s making the same automatic promotion assumption my Marines made.

“Let me think on that for a minute, sir. I’ll get back to you.”

Her options looked very limited, but she wasn’t totally without resources. She was determined to make the murdering bastards pay for their crimes and to teach them the folly of calling a squad of armed, combat-ready Marines hostages.

* * *

Nova sat on the flight deck of the cutter and tallied her assets. She had eight fully armed, pissed-off Marines who wanted nothing more than to kill something. She had the cutter—which wasn’t much use at the moment—and its Navy pilot and crew chief. Ensign Taylor, the pilot, outranked her, but he was Hydra’s junior engineering officer and a stereotypical techno-geek. He declared that he had little knowledge of Marine combat operations and was willing to let Sakura give the orders. “Get those doors open,” he told her, “and I’ll take over and fly us out of here. Until then, I’ll let you Marines take care of business.”

Nova looked up as Sergeant Olsen came through the hatch, followed by Petty Officer Warner, the cutter’s crew chief.

“No joy, LT,” Olsen said. “PO Warner says the doors are dead. There’s no power to the servos or any of the control circuits.”

“I was hoping we’d find an emergency jettison,” Warner added. “Figured we could blow the doors, get out of here, and let Timberwolf eat these bastards for lunch, but I didn’t see any door charges, controls, or warning markers.”

“You won’t find any,” Taylor told him. “This ship’s an Akara design. The Lizards don’t believe in blowing doors off a perfectly good boat bay. Only their personnel hatches have jettison charges.”

“Sounds like you know something about Akara ships, Ensign,” Nova said.

“Been fascinated by them since I was a kid,” Taylor admitted. “I built a model of one of these old Kandar-class raiders when I was ten years old.”

“That could be useful,” Nova said. “If we can’t get out, and we can’t do much by staying here, the only option left is to go in. Do you know anything about the internal layout of these things?”

“I can make an educated guess,” Taylor said.

“Well, we know what’s behind Door Number One.” She waved a hand in the direction of the personnel hatch from which the pirates had emerged.

“Yeah, Door Number Two.” Olsen shook his head. “It’s an airlock.”

“Which means,” Nova continued, “even if we get that hatch open, they’ll have plenty of time to prepare some nasty surprises while we’re trying to open the second one. I’m guessing the same is true of that large equipment hatch down the way.”

“Good guess,” Taylor said. “Any hatch that opens into a boat bay is an airlock so they can cycle stuff in and out without pressurizing the whole bay.”

“What’s aft of this bay?” Nova asked the Navy officer.

“Power plant,” Taylor said. “That bulkhead is part of the reactor containment structure. It’s double walled and extra heavy.”

“And forward?”

“General ship spaces. Could be storage, crew quarters, just about anything.”

“How thick do you think the forward bulkhead is?” she asked. “Just an educated guess.”

“Why guess?” Taylor said with a grin. “Chief, have we got a grav scanner in the tool kit?”

“Wouldn’t leave home without one, sir.” Warner was also grinning. “Want me to check it out?”

“Wait.” Nova turned and called into the crew compartment, “Corporal Biggs!”

“Yes, LT?”

“I saw two surveillance cameras in the bay—one forward, one aft. Go out there and use them for target practice. Let me know when they are no longer functional.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

A single shot rang out, followed moments later by another one, then Biggs stuck her head through the cutter’s main hatch. “Cameras out of action, ma’am,” she reported smugly. “One shot—one kill.”

“Now you can check it out, Chief,” Nova told Warner. “Stay with him, Sarge.”

Warner and Olsen returned a few minutes later.

“Ordinary steel,” Warner reported. “Average five point seven millimeters thick, welded to structural uprights spaced out every two point three meters. Looks like a sizable compartment on the other side—around five meters deep, mostly empty except for some lightweight structures that appear to be shelves in the middle. Probably a storage bay.”

“You thinking about zip strips, LT?” Olsen asked.

“I assume we’ve got some, Sarge,” she said. “Should be standard issue for boarding operations.”

“Of course, we have,” Olsen said. “How big a hole do you want?”

“About two by two meters, right between two of the uprights and big enough for two Marines to go through together, just in case somebody’s in there. Let me know when it’s set up.”

Linear cutting charges—zip strips in Marine jargon—were lengths of explosive cord with a flat strip of ballistic fabric armor on one side to direct the explosive force. They could be bonded to any surface with a polymer adhesive and were more than sufficient to cut through the relatively thin steel Warner had described. The Marines couldn’t use the existing hatches to get out of the bay, so Nova had decided to make a new one. Olsen drafted two of the squad to assist, and they tackled the task with enthusiasm.

Ten minutes later they returned. “All set, LT.”

“Okay, so here’s the drill.” She laid out a simple advance and cover maneuver, and she assigned each Marine a position in the order of engagement. She couldn’t do much more until they saw the layout on the other side. “Biggs, Montoya, if the zip strips don’t clear a hole, I need you to open it up. Drag or push anything that’s in the way to make an opening.

“I’ll go through first and cut right. Montoya, you follow and cut left. Biggs and Carson, wait for a clear from us, then you’re up. The rest of you, follow in order. Sarge, you bring up the rear. Keep ’em tight back here until we’re all through.

“Remember,” she warned, “they may have more Zombies. Anybody who doesn’t go spread-eagle on the deck when ordered is a fair target. Any questions?”

There were none. Olsen handed her the remote detonator. “You want to do the honors, LT?”

“Yup! Everybody in position?” She looked around and made sure they were where she wanted them to be. “Fire in the hole in three, two, one.”

* * *

Provisional Officer Nova Sakura, LFSMC, found herself in command of a Kandar-class pirate ship, having taken possession of it from its former owners, most of whom were now dead. Her command lasted all of three minutes—the length of time it took her to get Ensign Taylor up to the bridge so she could cheerfully hand command over to someone who might actually know how to operate a starship.

It hadn’t been much of a battle. The pirates, who were taken by surprise, had offered little resistance, and the Marines had shot anyone who didn’t immediately surrender, including a couple who might have surrendered if they’d had a few more seconds to figure out what was happening.

When the Marines reached the bridge, they’d found that the pirates had sealed the hatch, but proper application of more zip strips had solved that problem. Sakura was first into the breach, and she discovered the pirate captain had kept one Zombie in reserve. The deranged crewman had come at her, holding one of the shaped charges in front of him like a knife, but she’d dropped him with a perfect head shot before he got within two meters. Corporal Biggs had come through the hatch behind her and had dropped the pirate captain, also with a head shot. He hadn’t made any moves toward them, but he was standing with the Zombie remote in his hand. Nova reflected that, perhaps, Biggs had been a bit too hasty. Having the pirate leader alive for questioning would have been nice, but she really couldn’t fault the corporal. All things considered, the universe was a better place without the scumbag.

They’d killed twelve more pirates and wounded another two. Seven had surrendered uninjured, including two they’d found hiding in the engineering spaces when the Marines searched the ship after the battle. Nova hadn’t lost any more Marines, Ensign Taylor had quickly shut down the ship’s drive, and Timberwolf had sent over additional Navy personnel to serve as a prize crew. Commander Atkins sent over a medic to tend to the wounded and to scan the surviving pirates to make sure none of them were Zombies who hadn’t been triggered.

The former pirate ship was headed back in-system. As soon as they could link up with Hydra again, the cutter would carry Nova and her Marines back to the cruiser.

Blondie was right, Sakura decided. This assignment turned out to be a hell of a lot more challenging than I thought it would be. Speaking of which, I wonder how she’s doing on Omaha Beach with all those Marines?

* * *

LFS Hydra, Sigma Draconis System

In his cabin aboard Hydra, Commander Simms finished his report and touched an icon on the screen. His log closed and was replaced by a full-screen image of the cruiser’s logo—the many-headed mythological creature depicted in her hull artwork. Simms sat back in his chair with a sigh. Would have been a perfect mission, he reflected, if I hadn’t lost three Marines. On the other hand, it could have been a total disaster if young Sakura hadn’t stepped up.

Simms had expected the worst and had been genuinely surprised when Timberwolf relayed the message that the Marines had taken the pirate ship. When the team returned to Hydra, he had expressed his approval by bumping the young provie up to the temporary rank of second lieutenant and confirming her as the officer in charge of his Marine contingent. She would lose that rank as soon as they returned to Luna, but it would be good to have it on her record. He’d also recommended her for the Lunar Cross, which would not be taken away, assuming Lunar Command accepted his recommendation. The Cross was somewhat short of the Lunar Medal of Honor, but a step up from the Lunar Star. It could only be earned for combat operations “in direct contact with a hostile force.”

There was no doubt in his mind that Sakura was a hard charger who would make an excellent Marine officer. Assuming she survives long enough to graduate, he thought, with a smile. Hopefully, the rest of her Academy studies will be less eventful.

* * * * *

Chapter Three

4 February 2101, LFS Omaha Beach

“Bulldog Five, Bulldog Six, Launch Con, you are now number three in your queues. Move to the rail for hook-up.”

“Roger, Launch Con, Bulldog Five on the move.”

“Bulldog Six, Roger.”

Lorna watched as the two heavy attack craft moved forward on the bay floor below. She checked to make sure her status displays were updated, then turned her attention to the next task. “Bulldog One, Bulldog Two, Launch Con, you are cleared to launch. Go at your discretion, and good hunting.”

“Roger, Launch Con, Bulldog One acknowledges. Bulldog Two, go on my command in three, two, one.”

Two down, ten to go in this batch, she thought, as the two strike ships sped down the launch rail and disappeared through the bay doors.

“Launch Con, Eagle Seven.”

“Go ahead, Eagle Seven.” Lorna frowned. Eagle Seven was one of the assault shuttles she had launched a few minutes earlier. It should no longer be in her control zone, since she had handed the whole group off to Tactical Control.

“Launch Con, Eagle Seven is RTB with electronics issues. We need an inbound slot, if you please.”

“Roger, Eagle Seven. Are you declaring Condition Echo?”

“Negative, Launch Con, returning routine.”

Lorna breathed a sigh of relief. No emergency, thank God. She checked her displays again and made a quick decision. “Eagle Seven, take approach lane Delta. You will be number four in queue. Acknowledge.”

“Roger, Launch Con. Eagle Seven inbound, approach lane Delta, number four in queue.”

Lorna updated the inbound queue, then turned as Chief Griswold tapped her on the shoulder. He had been studying the traffic situation on the display for several minutes.

“I have the picture, ma’am. Take your lunch break.”

“Thank you, Chief.” Lorna touched an icon on the display to log herself out of the system then slid from the chair. Griswold quickly took her place, logged himself in, and began issuing orders to the inbound and outbound craft.

He called me “ma’am,” Lorna thought, with a little smile, and sounded as if he meant it.

Lieutenant Wiseman had given Lorna a glowing review and requested her for duty in Bay Four several times. This was her fourth tour at the launch and recovery control console. More importantly, he had only requested her for occasions when something was happening. Most of the time, while in transit to a destination, the bays were idle, primarily because a starship had to drop out of hyper and cut its drive to launch and recover small craft. During the idle periods, there was always a controller on duty, and the hardest task he or she faced was to keep from falling asleep since absolutely nothing was going on.

After her “not bad” performance on the tactical exercise, Wiseman had requested Lorna for duty when the fleet dropped out of hyper to get its supplies of consumables topped off by the colliers accompanying the task group. This required the launch and recovery of the numerous cargo shuttles that ferried the supplies from LFS Imbrium, as well as a couple of courier boats that moved personnel between Omaha Beach and other ships for various reasons. The duty shift was much more relaxed than the exercise had been, but Lorna took it seriously. She learned even more about boat bay operations and received another nod of approval from Wiseman and Griswold. The next time they brought her back was for a gathering of the brass—a face-to-face conference aboard the carrier that involved warship captains, as well as the flag officers of the battlecruiser group and the assault force. For that tour, Lorna handled inbound and outbound traffic consisting mainly of courier boats—captains’ and admirals’ launches—although the logistics people took advantage of the drop out of hyper to transfer supplies as well.

Today, she was handling a duty tour that was every bit as busy as the training exercise had been. This time, Lorna was more experienced, more confident, and much more relaxed, which was good, because this time it was for real. A few hours earlier, Omaha Beach and her escorts had inserted themselves into high orbit around a nondescript planet circling a very ordinary star in the cluster known as the Golden Braid. The planet was reportedly home to a major pirate operation, and the reports had turned out to be correct. The battle group’s cruisers and destroyers had already tangled with pirate ships on the way in—encounters that had gone very badly for the pirates—and now the attack craft and assault landers whose launch Lorna was coordinating carried live ordnance and fully-armed, combat-ready Marines.

After the first wave was off, Griswold had left her alone at the console. Lorna had mixed feelings—on one hand, she was nervous about being on her own, but, on the other, she was pleased with the confidence the veteran chief demonstrated. She’d handled the secondary launch that had included Eagle Seven and the turnaround of attack squadron Bulldog, then Griswold had returned to give her a well-earned break. She turned and saluted Wiseman, who returned the salute and cleared her to leave the control deck.

In theory, Lorna had thirty minutes for lunch. Wiseman could decide to leave Griswold on the console for longer than that, but she needed to be back to the bay control gallery on time. She found the nearest general mess compartment—the one where she’d had breakfast before her first tour in the bay—grabbed a tray and loaded it with a light lunch. She was just sitting down at an empty table when a group of Marines in full combat gear swarmed around her and occupied the remaining seats.

“’Scuse us, Navy, got a date on the planet. Mind if we sit here?”

“No problem. It’s your table,” Lorna said to the brash PFC who had spoken.

“Right, it’s our table,” another PFC said. “So, what’s the Navy doing here?”

“Launch Control,” she replied. “I’m here to give you a kiss and send you on your way.” She blew him a kiss across the table.

The other Marines hooted encouragement.

“Yeah, baby. Ow! What the—” The PFC’s grin vanished when his platoon commander delivered a solid smack to the side of his helmet from behind.

“That’s ‘yes, ma’am,’ not ‘yeah, baby,’ Private Osterman. You’d better be nice to the lady, or she’ll leave us stuck in the launch queue for about an hour, sweating in our combat gear, while somebody else gets the job done and grabs all the glory.” Lieutenant Bartley winked at Lorna.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, ma’am,” Lorna said, with a grin. “Just want to get you where you need to go so you can kick ass and take names.”

* * *

At first glance, a human observer might have characterized the Sillascaritans as “humanoid.” They were upright, tailless bipeds with two arms, two eyes, two ears, a nose, and a mouth in the appropriate places. Closer examination, however, revealed that they had a fine pelt of fur and facial features reminiscent of a squirrel. In addition, Sillascaritan hands had four digits that were mutually opposed, causing one human exobiologist to note that they appeared to be “all thumbs.” They were like Terran marsupials in that their young was carried in the female’s pouch during early development, but their body chemistry was far different from that of any mammal found on Earth.

As a race, they were moderately advanced star travelers, with technology roughly on par with the reptilian Akara, with whom they had occasional contact. The Lunar Free State first encountered them during interstellar trading in the year 2080 but had yet to visit their homeworlds—a pair of habitable planets orbiting Delta Pavonis. Though the star was a mere twenty light-years from Sol, the Sillies, as human star travelers had come to call them, made it clear that visitors were not welcome. They claimed several worlds circling nearby stars as colonies and declared those off-limits to outsiders as well. They went out among the stars to trade with others but did not want traders to come to them.

Their society could best be described as an oligarchy, built on power structures headed by individuals or families. Violent power struggles marked their history, but in recent centuries, those struggles had been mostly economic, as the oligarchs built empires based on manufacturing and commerce. Most of their population lived in fealty to one faction or another, but their social structure included large, well-organized criminal elements as well. Several of those elements had expanded off-world and engaged in interstellar piracy, smuggling, black-market activities, and slave trading as opportunities arose.

Over the past two decades, the Lunar Free State had encountered Sillascaritan criminals far more often than legitimate Sillascaritan commercial interests. The pirate nest in the Golden Braid was a case in point. While virtually all the planet’s inhabitants were Sillascaritan, most were not there by choice. They lived at a bare subsistence level and provided necessary services as required by the pirates.

* * *

“I expect we’ll have this nest of snakes cleaned out in another ten days or so,” Major General Andreas Petroklos said.

“Hell, Andy, for somebody whose mission is going exactly according to plan, you don’t sound very enthusiastic,” Rear Admiral Robert O’Hara said.

The two officers were of equivalent rank, but, based on time-in-grade, Rob O’Hara was senior. As the commander of the naval forces assigned to the mission, he flew his colors aboard the battlecruiser LFS Isis, but, in this case, his primary job was to protect the carrier and support the Marines. Petroklos, commanding the Marine expeditionary force aboard Omaha Beach, had been designated the overall mission commander.

That didn’t bother O’Hara. Confident in his abilities, he didn’t suffer from the over-inflated ego that marked some flag officers. He had worked with Petroklos in the past, and the two of them got along well. They were discussing progress and status over coffee in Petroklos’ day cabin aboard the assault carrier.

“It’s not the mission, it’s the aftermath that bothers me,” Petroklos confided. “When we’re done, there’ll be a few hundred thousand Sillies down on the planet, with an infrastructure that’s blown to hell, trying to survive in a power vacuum. What passes for a planetary government down there was nothing more than a few bureaucrats and a bunch of goon squads to keep the citizens in line. The so-called governor was the pirate warlord.

“Now, the warlord and his palace are a smoking crater, my Marines have dealt with most of the goon squads, and you Navy guys used their fleet for target practice. In a few more days, we’ll shake off the dust of this planet, pack up our gear, and go home. Leaving what? The average Silly doesn’t know how to live without a dictator telling him when to eat, sleep, or take a crap.”

“You’re probably right,” O’Hara said, “and we’ve just taken away the planet’s primary source of revenue. The whole place is nothing more than a colony built to support the pirates. Hell, it isn’t even habitable without environmental support. This planet’s no better than Mars was before the terraforming project started.”

“It’s a little better than that, but not much. At least they have liquid water, though it’s deep underground. My people tried not to damage their environmental enclosures any more than necessary. They’ve still got food production, water, power, and atmosphere processing to keep them from starving, freezing, suffocating, or dying of thirst, but that’s about it. They had no industry other than the production of weapons and ship components for the pirates, and we pretty well trashed that. So where does that leave them a few months from now?”

“We left their orbital port operational,” O’Hara said. “They get some commercial traffic—people wanting to buy what the pirates have to sell or bringing supplies the pirates want to buy. Word will eventually get back to their homeworlds about what happened here.”

“Hah!” The Marine general snorted. “Then some other Silly crime lord will send people here to take over what’s left, assuming the survivors from this batch of criminals haven’t gotten themselves reorganized by then, and—”

His words were interrupted by a warbling alert from the ship’s address system, followed by a terse announcement. “Incoming! Incoming! We are under fire! All sections lock down now and stand by for damage control.”

“What the hell?” O’Hara muttered, and he reached for his data pad. “Isis, this is Flag. What’s happening?”

“Flag, Isis. Admiral, we have one bogey coming up from the surface and—”

The message cut off as Omaha Beach shuddered under the impact of multiple missile hits.

* * *

The Sillascaritan ship was neither large nor heavily armed, and since it was primarily a smuggler, it was capable of planetary landing. It had been caught down on the planet when the LFS task force arrived, but, unlike many of his fellows, its captain decided to stay there. He heard the panic and confusion on the comm channels as other ships were forced to surrender or blasted out of space soon after clearing the atmosphere.

His ship was parked in a covered revetment next to a warehouse. The planet’s heavily-charged ionosphere, and the storms it produced, hampered the orbital surveillance that might have revealed his hiding place. He was content to wait and hope the enemy eventually went away.

It was a forlorn hope. His ship went unnoticed for a while as the humans suppressed the city’s defenses and blasted strategic targets into oblivion, but then the Marines arrived and began a systematic search-and-destroy for every pirate or smuggler asset they could find. They were only two hundred meters from the warehouse when he decided to abandon his hiding place and attempt an escape into space.

Unfortunately, the same magnetic and atmospheric storms that had kept the enemy from seeing him also kept him from seeing what was in orbit. He emerged from the ionosphere with his hull wrapped in sparkling plasma, like Saint Elmo’s fire, and when his scrambled electronic gear recovered from the effects of the passage, he found four enemy ships directly in his path. One of them was a behemoth, larger than any warship he had ever seen.

He was still building escape velocity, and his maneuvering options were limited. Worse, the enemy had noticed him, and threat warning indicators told him they were locking weapons to fire. Hoping to distract them, he chose to open fire himself. He didn’t bother with his single, spinal mount laser. It could damage an unarmored target but was woefully inadequate against a real warship. Instead, he launched all six missiles from the non-reloadable canister launchers attached to the sides of his hull. With no time to consider priorities, he locked all six on the same target—the largest enemy ship.

LFS Isis and the two destroyers guarding Omaha Beach were not expecting trouble from the planet. They believed everything the Sillies had down there was out of action, so the rest of the battle group’s warships were out near the hyper limit, watching for possible pirate ships entering the system. The hyperactive ionosphere kept them from detecting the Sillascaritan ship until it was too late. Their point defense systems picked off two of the incoming missiles, but the other four, guided by laser targeting systems too stupid to be blinded by ECM, slammed into the carrier. The missiles had chemical explosive warheads with point-contact detonators, and three of them struck Omaha Beach’s outer hull. They did significant damage but did not penetrate far into the huge ship. The last missile went deeper after entering the ship through the open doors of Boat Bay Four.

LFS Isis opened fire, and the Sillascaritan captain didn’t live to see his weapons hit their target. The battlecruiser’s graser broadside was dead on target, and a storm of coherent gamma-ray beams turned the smuggler ship into a glowing cloud of hot gases and molten fragments.

* * *

Lorna was on the traffic control console in the gallery overlooking Boat Bay Four when the lockdown order came. Her response was automatic, a result of many practice drills. She reached back and flipped the cowl of her shipsuit over her head, deployed the face mask, and sealed it tight. She slid her hands into the gloves hooked on her belt and twisted them off the attach points to seal them at her wrists. She slapped the actuator on her environment pack, felt the pressure come up in the suit, and checked the indicator. Green light, good seal. She turned the manual selector back to external, so she wouldn’t use up the pack’s air supply while the gallery was still under pressure.

With those priorities covered, she returned to her traffic control duties. No matter what was happening, her job was to keep things moving in the bay until advised otherwise.

“Echo One, Echo Two, Launch Con. You are number three in your queues. Advance to the rail for hookup.”

There were four traffic lanes in Bay Four. Lorna handled the outbound traffic on lanes one and two, while Chief Griswold worked incoming traffic on lanes three and four. Traffic was relatively light, and Lieutenant Wiseman was taking a lunch break. Lorna was the ranking launch control officer, but she was more than willing to defer to the veteran Griswold for any decisions she needed to make.

She felt a tremor through the ship as the first missiles hit. She looked up from her console, through the gallery windows that gave a view of the entire boat bay. She was one of the few people who saw the incoming missile as it flashed through the open bay doors, straight down the middle of lane three. That lane was empty, but a fully-loaded strike craft was passing behind it, heading for lane one. The missile hit the craft broadside, and the explosion that followed rocked the ship and sent heavy debris and fragments flying in all directions.

It happened too quickly for Lorna to react, but the armored gallery windows held against the blast and saved her and Griswold from injury. Several panes cracked from the impact of debris, and pressure warnings sounded as air leaked from the gallery into the unpressurized bay. Lorna’s training kicked in again as she switched the environment pack to internal and pressurized her suit.

She saw chaos in the bay below. A pair of strike craft had been queued up in each of her outbound lanes, followed by heavy assault transports full of Marines waiting to go down to the planet. The two transports and the strike ships in lane one appeared to have weathered the explosion. The strike ships in lane two hadn’t fared as well. The rearmost ship in lane two had been hurled forward into the forward one, causing heavy damage to both. She looked at her console, where flashing red indicators told her the launch rail for lane two was compromised as well.

Under normal circumstances, a fire couldn’t happen in the airless bay, but flashing blue arcs in the wreckage of the two strike ships told her their plasma fuel cells had shorted out. As she watched, a brilliant flare enveloped one side of the wreckage as one of the cells ruptured. Several small explosions followed as the ordnance aboard the attack craft began to cook off.

Lorna looked back at her console. Lane one still showed green, and the craft in that queue didn’t appear to be damaged, yet.

“Dragon One! Launch now! Launch now!” she ordered.

“Dragon One, I’m gone.” The acknowledgment came immediately, and the strike craft raced down the lane and disappeared through the open door.

“Dragon Three, are you still on the rail?” she asked, hoping the next craft in line hadn’t been torn loose from the catapult system.

“Affirmative, Launch Con, on the rail and green to go.”

“Dragon Three, move to the line and go immediately. Do not wait for another launch order! Echo One, are you hooked up to the rail?”

“Negative, Launch Con. The deck crew is gone; nobody left that we can see. We can try to hook up unassisted, or we can shut down and evacuate. What do you want us to do?”

Lorna glanced at Griswold, but the veteran controller had problems of his own. He was trying to wave off and redirect incoming traffic, and two assault landers full of Marines had recently come in that he needed to cycle through the secondary doors to the pressurized hangar deck so they could safely disembark.

Technically, Echo One could hook up to the rail unassisted, but it would be tricky because the pilot could not see the hookup point under his ship. Lorna had once heard a pilot say it was like trying to thread a needle in the dark while wearing gloves. Normally, Navy deck crew were on hand to guide the hookup, but any who had been on the bay floor when the missile hit had not survived.

Small explosions flashed around the two wrecked strike craft as more of their ordnance became involved in the meltdown of the PFCs. The full platoon of Marines aboard Echo One would have to cross the bay unprotected if they evacuated; but the lander was armored and would protect them from the small stuff if they stayed aboard. As she watched, Dragon Three sped down the rail and was gone.

Lorna decided. “Echo One, try to hook up unassisted. Advise when hooked or let me know within two minutes if you can’t do it. Acknowledge.”

“Roger, Launch Con, trying to hook up unassisted.”

“Thank you. Echo Two, advise status.”

“Launch Con, Echo Two. We are not hooked up either, but this lane is blocked by wreckage anyway. We’ve got some external damage, but we’re still under pressure and able to move.”

Lorna looked out at the bay. Echo Two was boxed in between Echo One, the wreckage in lane two, and the wreckage at the rear, where the missile had hit the strike ship behind lane three. She couldn’t send it back to Griswold to be routed to the hangar deck, so her choices were the same ones she had for Echo One—launch or abandon ship.

Suddenly, Griswold was at her side. He motioned for her to switch to the secondary channel for a private conversation. “Inbound lanes are shut down, and that end of the bay is clear,” he told her. “You’re doing the right thing. We’ve got to get those guys out of there. I’m going on deck to help them hook up. You have control here, but you’re on your own.”

“Chief, I—”

“Ma’am, I can do it. I used to work the deck before I became a controller. Nobody else is available. A damage control party is on the way, but they won’t have anybody who knows how to do a hookup.”

Lorna said nothing, but she nodded her acceptance. Griswold stepped back, quickly saluted her, and exited through the access hatch that led down to the bay floor.

Lorna switched back to the launch control channel. “Echo One, Echo Two, I have hookup assistance on the way. Echo Two, move back from your position and move over to lane one. Position behind Echo One.”

The two ships acknowledged. Echo Two was just beginning to reposition when Griswold arrived on the deck and moved in front of Echo One. He was carrying a coiled communications cord, and he plugged one end into a jack under the landing craft, and the other into the comm unit on his belt. He talked directly to the pilot and guided the craft forward to engage the hookup shoe under its nose with the rail. The shoe coupling was designed with some flexibility, and he guided it by hand the last few inches as it slid onto the rail. He turned and unplugged the cord from the craft, and as he scrambled clear, he flashed an exaggerated thumbs-up gesture to both the pilot and Lorna.

“Echo One, you are hooked up. Move immediately to the line and launch. Do not wait for another order. Acknowledge.”

“Roger, Launch Con, Echo One on the way.”

“Thank you, Echo One. Echo Two, move into position for hookup.”

“Echo Two, moving.”

Lorna breathed a sigh of relief. This was going to work. She watched as a damage control party emerged from one of the hatches and moved toward the hot, still-active wreckage of the attack ships. They wore armored rescue suits and carried fire-suppression gear. While chemical suppressants could not stop electrical arcing or fuel cell meltdowns, they could keep the ordnance cool and, hopefully, prevent more explosions until the other activity subsided.

She wondered what had happened. After the initial lockdown order, she’d heard nothing more. She’d been locked into her own communications channel, trying to clear the traffic jam, but something should have come from Traffic Control, if only to inquire about the status of the bay. Perhaps Chief Griswold had handled it, but he hadn’t said anything to her. In any case, he had known the damage control people were coming.

She watched as Griswold plugged into Echo Two and guided it toward the rail. Echo One reached the launch point, accelerated down the rail, and disappeared. Lorna caught a movement in the corner of her eye and turned to see the damage control party running from the wreckage.

Suddenly, her comm unit came alive with a terse message on the all-hands channel. “Anyone in Bay Four, evacuate now! Repeat, anyone in Bay Four evacuate now!”

Technically, she wasn’t in Bay Four, she was in the gallery above it, and she didn’t want to abandon her post, but she had a feeling something awful was going to happen. Instinctively, she slid from her chair and ducked behind the console. That simple action saved her life.

The damage control party had seen the plasma bloom beneath the wreckage, where one of their team was trying to defuse a general purpose bomb carried by the attack craft. The bomb was a thick-skinned weapon—fifty kilos of high explosive in a heavy steel casing. It could withstand heat for some time without blowing up, but the plasma flare was much hotter than an ordinary fire. It incinerated the crew member working on the bomb before he had a chance to cry out, while the other members of the crew scrambled backward to escape the radiating heat. The team leader knew what was going to happen, and he sounded the alarm on the open comm channel. His crew turned and ran for the nearest hatch, hoping they would make it to safety. They didn’t.

The explosion blew in the windows of the gallery and blasted shards of armored glass against the rear bulkhead. If Lorna had not been crouching behind the console, she would have been shredded, and if the bay had been under pressure, the shock wave would have been fatal, but the airless vacuum provided no medium through which the blast could travel. The gas generated by the explosion was enough to slam her down on the deck, but the effect in the gallery was far less than on the bay deck below. The wrecked attack craft was blown to pieces that scattered all over the bay. Echo Two slammed into the corner, rupturing bulkheads and venting the air in several compartments beyond. The lander’s hull was partly crushed by the collision, and it settled at a crazy angle on the deck.

* * *

Lorna picked herself up off the deck, and burning pain raced through her chest like an inferno. A couple of ribs that were likely cracked, but the telltale displays on her left forearm told her that her shipsuit was still intact and maintaining pressure.

The gallery was a wreck, and the console at her duty station was dead. So was every other piece of electronic equipment in the area, except the emergency lighting. Time to go, she told herself. She turned to the regular entry hatch and tried the handle, but it wouldn’t open. The hatch wasn’t an airlock, and there was pressure in the compartment beyond. The gallery, now open to the bay below, was depressurized.

That left the other hatch, the one Chief Griswold had used to get down to the bay. It was an airlock, but that made no difference because both ends were in vacuum. The door at the top opened easily, and Lorna went down the stairway and found that the bottom door opened easily as well. She stepped onto the bay floor and looked to her right. About fifty meters away, the hatch through which the damage control team had come was closed. It was also an airlock, and a green light indicated it was still working. Lorna’s shipsuit was intended for survival in an emergency, not for extended use in hard vacuum. She needed to get to a pressurized compartment as soon as possible.

She looked to her left at the wreck of Echo Two which was less than twenty meters away. A full platoon of Marines had been aboard, plus the lander’s crew—more than thirty people altogether—but no one had come out. The ship hadn’t taken enough damage to kill them, so why hadn’t they evacuated? Lorna grabbed a communication cable from the rack beside the airlock and started toward the wreck at a brisk trot. She had watched Griswold use the cable with Echo One, so she knew where the plug-in panel was located. She reached the ship, opened the panel, and plugged in. “Echo Two, can anyone hear me?”

“Lieutenant Simpson, command pilot.” The response came immediately. “We’ve lost internal pressure, but we can’t get the hatches open. Servo systems are down, and manual controls don’t work—no joy on the emergency jettison. We’ve got some injuries, but everyone’s in suits and still breathing. I hope you brought a can opener.”

“Stand by, Lieutenant.” Lorna tried the short-range communication unit built into her suit but got no response. The units were strictly line-of-sight for emergency use, and it wasn’t likely she’d be able to talk to someone who wasn’t in the bay. She switched back to the direct cable channel. “I’m on my own, with no communication, Lieutenant, and I don’t have a can opener. Let me see if I can open the hatch from this side.”

She stepped back, looked along the hull, and quickly located a personnel hatch on the lander’s flank. It was well above the deck and didn’t appear to be damaged, but when she tried the recessed handle, it wouldn’t move. She stepped back and looked over the lander again. There’s supposed to be an emergency jettison here somewhere.

She stared at the side of the ship for several seconds before she noticed something that should have been obvious from the beginning—a large, bright orange arrow, outlined in black, with the word “RESCUE” printed on it in bold, black letters. The arrow pointed to a small compartment with a pop-open latch. As Granny would say, if it were a snake, it would have bitten me, Lorna thought. Granny had been born in the southeastern United States on Earth, and a half-century of life in the upper ranks of the LFS Fleet hadn’t erased her Southern drawl or her country-girl outlook.

Lorna popped the panel open and found a yellow and black striped handle beneath a clear safety cover with a sign that read, “PERSONNEL HATCH EMERGENCY JETTISON—CLEAR AREA IN FRONT OF HATCH BEFORE ACTIVATING!” The hatch was about four meters away from where she stood, and she hoped that was clear enough. She assumed it was, or the handle would have been further away. Hoping for the best, she lifted the safety cover, grabbed the handle, and pulled. The results were spectacular, as the entire hatch blasted loose from the ship and hurled outward. There was no sound in the airless bay, but Lorna felt the deck vibrate under her feet as the heavy hatch landed nearly ten meters away. That seems to have worked.

Almost immediately, a Marine stuck his head out, and Lorna’s comm unit came alive.

“Give us a hand, Navy,” he said. “It’s getting nasty in here and we’ve got injured to get out.” He reached around the hatch frame and pressed a recessed stud, which deployed a folding ladder beneath the hatch.

Lorna could see the dull red glow of the emergency lighting inside the hatch, punctuated by intermittent flashes from damaged electrical equipment. Some of the lander’s power systems were still up and running, which might not be a good thing. Plasma fuel cells tended to react violently when shorted out.

Two Marines appeared in the hatch, supporting a third with a leg injury. Lorna helped them lower the injured Marine to the deck and directed them toward the green-light hatch farther down the bay. More Marines appeared, most with minor injuries or uninjured. They jumped or climbed down without assistance and headed for the exit. Lorna counted twenty-three troops before two more Marines had to be brought out in rescue bags. The bags, which were sealed, were intended for injured personnel whose suits had been compromised, and they could be carried several ways, depending on how many people were available to carry them. They had self-contained life support gear that would last for about an hour. Four Marines grabbed the corners of each bag as it was handed down, then jogged briskly down the bay.

Lorna had climbed the ladder to assist with handing down the injured. She turned and looked in the lander. Two more Marines appeared. One wore a flight suit with the name Simpson beneath the lieutenant’s bar on his helmet.

“Thanks, Navy,” he said, and Lorna recognized his voice as the command pilot she had spoken to earlier.

The other Marine wore armored combat gear which also had a lieutenant’s bar on the helmet. Through the faceplate, Lorna recognized Lieutenant Bartley.

Apparently, Bartley recognized her as well. “Greenwood? What the hell are you doing out here wearing nothing but a shipsuit?” Simpson and Bartley ignored the ladder and jumped down to the deck.

Lorna faced them. “Just trying to get you out of here, ma’am. Is everyone else out?”

Before Bartley could reply, there was an explosion. It wasn’t much of an explosion, just a high-pressure oxygen tank, heated to extreme by a fractured fuel cell, cooking-off, but it produced a shock wave that blew through the hatch and threw Lorna off the ladder. The last thing she saw was the blown-off lander hatch on the deck as it seemed to rush toward her.

* * *

“Hey, LT, she’s awake.”

Awake was the best thing that could be said about her present condition, Lorna decided. She hurt in many places, despite a heavy dose of painkillers that had left her feeling dizzy and dull-witted. Her right eye was swollen shut, and her right arm was immobilized by a neural block and a restraining sling. A neck brace kept her from turning her head, but she could still see with her left eye, and she recognized the grinning Marine looking into her tiny sick-bay compartment.

A moment later, a grinning Lieutenant Bartley came into view behind Private Osterman. “How are you feeling, Provie?” She followed Osterman into the compartment.

“I’ve felt better.” Lorna’s words were slurred from the swelling in her face.

“Yeah, well, you’re in better shape than I expected,” Bartley said. “When I saw you collide with that hatch, I was afraid you were finished. Your suit was compromised. Lucky for you, we had rescue bags on hand.”

“Thanks for getting me out,” Lorna said. “I don’t remember much.”

“You were out cold. Thank you for getting us out of there. If we had still been inside when that tank cooked off, it wouldn’t have been pretty. The SAR people didn’t show up until we were carrying you out of the bay. Man, that was a serious clusterfuck.”

“First SAR team got there right away,” Lorna said, “but they were blown away in the explosion that wrecked your ship. We lost Chief Griswold, the guy who was trying to hook you up to the launch rail, too.”

“Didn’t know that,” Bartley said somberly. “All we knew was that there was a problem in the launch bay. Crew chief told us to strap in for immediate launch, then something hit us like an old-Earth freight train. Simpson ordered us to evac, but we couldn’t get the hatches open. Anyway, thanks to you, some of us, like Private Osterman here, are walking around without so much as a scratch or a bruise—”

“ON DECK!!!” Osterman announced. He snapped to attention as another woman entered the compartment.

The newcomer’s name tag said Vasquez, and she wore the silver eagles of a full colonel. She had dark hair worn in the tight single braid favored by many female Marines and looked to be about fifty, though anti-aging treatments made it difficult to tell. She walked with a slight limp and carried a cane with an ornate silver handle.

“As you were,” she growled. “This is a sick bay, Private, you don’t call to attention here.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Osterman replied, but he didn’t relax. Neither did Bartley, who had reflexively come to attention at Osterman’s announcement.

The colonel ignored them and turned her attention to Lorna. “I’m Colonel Vasquez, the CAG on this ship. I presume you are Provisional Officer Greenwood?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Despite her injuries, Lorna squared her shoulders and tried to come to attention. The commander, air group—a title left over from the aircraft carriers that once dominated Earth’s wet navies—was the second-ranking Marine aboard Omaha Beach. The CAG was responsible for the assault, attack, and support squadrons aboard the carrier—over a hundred air-superiority and ground-attack craft, as well as the landers that carried the Marines to and from the surface of the planet.

“I’m here,” Vasquez continued, “because somebody told me a Navy provie had done an incredibly stupid thing—gone into a hostile environment with no SAR training and no rescue gear, wearing only a shipsuit—and managed to pull a bunch of Marines out of the wreck of one of my landing craft. I’m also told that had she not done that incredibly stupid thing, those Marines would have been deep in the hurt locker and would not have survived. Does that about sum things up, Provie?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Lorna admitted, “but I wasn’t the only one. Chief Griswold—”

“I heard about that as well, and I’m sorry we lost the chief. I am grateful he helped launch one of my ships before the shit hit the fan, but that makes your action more impressive, or more foolish, depending on how you look at it. After seeing what happened to him, you still went out there and did what you did. Tell me something, Provie. I’m sure you’ve heard Marines say ‘Semper Fi’ on occasion. Do you know what it means?”

“Yes, ma’am. It’s short for semper fidelis—a Latin phrase that means ‘always faithful.’”

“Correct. For Marines, it’s more than a motto—it’s a way of life. It means we don’t ever leave our fellow Marines in a bad spot. We don’t retreat and leave our own behind. We do what we do to serve the needs of the Lunar Free State, but, just as importantly, we do whatever is necessary to take care of each other. This is so important to us, we have a special decoration we award to those who put themselves at risk to save other Marines. Not surprisingly, it’s called the Semper Fi Medal, and unfortunately, it is all too often awarded posthumously. It’s usually only awarded to Marines, but, occasionally, like when a dumbass Navy type risks her life to rescue a bunch of Marines, we make an exception. Anyway, I’m here to tell you you’re going to get a Semper Fi and so is Chief Griswold. I put you in for it, the general signed off on it, and, per Marine Corps rules, nobody else has anything to say about it. I hear you’ll both be getting regular service awards as well, but that has to go through Lunar Command. Word is, they put Griswold in for the Lunar Medal of Honor, and I’m pretty sure you’ll get at least a Star of Luna.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Lorna found herself at a loss for words.

“No, thank you, Greenwood. Damned stupid and risky thing to do, but a bunch of Marines, including me and, I’m sure, these two right here, are damned glad you did it. You are going to have to explain to a bunch of ignorant Navy types what that funny-looking ribbon on your chest is. I’m sure your grandmother will know, and she’ll know how rare it is for a Navy officer to get one. You’ve done her proud, but try a little harder to stay alive, so you can follow in her footsteps.”

“I’ll try, ma’am,” Lorna assured her.

Vasquez nodded and allowed a small smile to break through her dead serious demeanor. She turned to leave then hesitated a moment. “By the way, Greenwood, you and I have met before, but you were too young to remember. Your parents were good friends of mine, and I used to see them regularly until a year or so after you were born. Then, things got busy. They went off to discover the secrets of the universe, and I went off to make the galaxy safe for humanity. We kept in touch and met for dinner once in a while, but that was about it. Then Galileo happened and…anyway, I wish they could see you now. I’m sure they would be proud.”

She tossed Lorna a salute as she went out the door. There was a moment of silence.

“She’s gone now, Osterman,” Bartley advised. “You can pull that ramrod out of your ass and relax.” She grinned at Lorna and mimicked Vasquez’s salute. “As for you, Semper Fi.”

* * * * *

Chapter Four

5 August 2101, TerraNova City, Luna

“I still get the shivers every time I see that ribbon,” Nova said, with a grin. “I checked on it, and you are the only active Navy person currently wearing a Semper Fi.”

“Yeah, well, your ribbon rack isn’t looking too shabby either,” Lorna replied, “especially for a second-year cadet. You still haven’t told me where we’re going or why we need to wear dress Alphas. We’re on weekend liberty. We could be going casual and not having to salute every uniformed officer we pass or return salutes from every enlisted.”

“Let’s just say I need to make an impression,” Sakura said. “As for where we’re going, I hope you like Japanese food.”

Lorna skidded to a halt in the middle of the walkway, then had to step aside to let others pass. “Wait a minute,” she said. “Are we going to…?”

Nova stopped and turned. “Yes, we’re going to my parents’ place, and it’s all your fault. After over a year of listening to you talk about your dear departed parents and your legendary grandmother, I figured life’s too short to leave things hanging with my family. Truth is, I miss them, and I want to get back with them or, at least, try to make them understand. So, we’re going over there tonight. We’re going to walk in just like regular dinner customers, and…well, I haven’t thought much beyond that, so we’ll play it by ear.”

“Maybe you should have come by yourself, without me to get in the way,” Lorna suggested.

“No, I need you to push me through the door in case I chicken out. Besides, my father can be a little volatile at times. He won’t cause a scene if you’re there, because that would be shamefully impolite by his standards. My mother will be calm, but, if he starts in on me, she’ll just withdraw. If you’re there, I still might not get anywhere with them, but everyone will be nice to each other.”

“Okay,” Lorna agreed reluctantly. “I’ve got my doubts, but it’s your call.”

The restaurant was called Kiku, and it was obviously an upscale place, tastefully decorated with understated elegance. It was not the sort of place Academy cadets would normally go for dinner, at least not regularly. The menus weren’t posted outside, but Lorna suspected the price of dining there would take a serious bite out of even a junior officer’s credit account.

As they entered, an impeccably dressed young man at the reception stand greeted them politely and asked if they had a reservation. Nova spoke to him in Japanese. Lorna didn’t understand the language, but she heard the name Sakura mentioned.

The young man’s eyes widened. “Hai!” he acknowledged with a sharp bow from the waist, then he motioned for them to follow him. He led them to a table in a private alcove near the rear of the dining room. He waited for them to be seated, placed menus in front of them, bowed again, and hurried away.

“Now we wait,” Nova said softly.

They didn’t have to wait long. First, a well-dressed Asian woman headed toward their table.

“My mother,” Nova confirmed.

Before the woman could reach the table, a man wearing a white chef’s coat emerged from the kitchen door and headed their way. The woman saw him coming and stopped and let him get in front of her.

“My father,” Nova said with a sigh. “Here we go.”

Her father reached the table and stood looking at them for a moment, then turned to Lorna and bowed. He gave Nova a slight nod that was far less than a bow. “Nobuko…”

Nova lowered her eyes. “I am not worthy of that name. I am now called Nova, the name I took when I reached the age of citizenship.”

Lorna’s eyes widened with surprise. Lunar law allowed a young person to choose a new first name on reaching adulthood, age 18, when he or she became a full citizen. Few took advantage of the option. Until now, Lorna had never known anyone who had.

“Nova,” her father repeated. “A Latin word that means new. Did you become a new person when you left your family?”

“I left to spare you the dishonor of a disobedient daughter, Father,” she said. “I have not forgotten my family.”

“So why have you come here tonight? Are you seeking forgiveness?”

“Forgiveness may be too much to ask,” she said. “I am here to ask only that there be peace between us, that I still be allowed to call you my father and mother.” She looked up, but he said nothing. “Father, this is my friend and classmate Lorna Greenwood. Her parents died when she was just a child, and she has taught me that family ties are a precious thing. I have chosen my path, and I can no longer turn back, but I never meant to disrespect or dishonor you. I come now to ask only that you accept what I have become and recognize me as your daughter once again.”

He stood silent, staring at her. He turned to Nova’s mother, who said nothing, but returned his gaze with a stern expression. After a moment, he nodded.

“Hai!” he said at last. “You may call me father, and I will call you daughter, but I will not call you Nobuko again. You have taken a new name and have become a new person, and I will accept that person as my daughter.”

“Domo arigato, Gozaimas.” Nova bowed her head, and the tension between them seemed to disappear.

“The prodigal child of the Christian Bible has returned,” her father said. “We will celebrate with a feast. I must attend to business in the kitchen, but I am sure your mother will wish to dine with you and your friend.” He bowed briefly to Nova’s mother, then turned to Lorna. “Welcome, Lorna Greenwood. You are the image of your honorable grandmother, who has dined here several times. You honor us with your presence.”

“Thank you,” Lorna replied. “I am honored to meet Nova’s parents.”

He bowed once more to Lorna, turned, and was gone.

Nova’s mother approached the table and bowed to Lorna. “I am Katsumi, Nobuko’s mother. May I join you?”

“Of course.” Lorna motioned to the nearest empty chair. As if I would say no, but Japanese manners required her to ask.

“Mother,” Nova insisted, “I am not Nobuko anymore. As Father says, I am Nova.”

“You will always be Nobuko to me,” her mother replied, “and as your father says, we must celebrate your return.” She made a small hand motion, and a waiter appeared instantly. She spoke to him at some length in Japanese, and he departed as quickly as he had come. She turned again to Lorna. “I hope you will forgive me. I have taken the liberty of ordering for you. I do not believe you have been here before, and I want you to experience the very best we have to offer. If anything is not to your liking, you need only say a word, and we will bring you something else.”

They made small talk until the food arrived. Katsumi Sakura was an accomplished hostess, and she made Lorna feel welcome and included, while still managing to convey her joy at having her daughter back again.

When the food arrived, Lorna looked at it with cautious optimism. She had never eaten real Japanese food and wasn’t certain what to expect, but it turned out to be a delightful experience. I’d happily come back here again, she decided, and wouldn’t worry too much about the bill. She suspected they were not going to be charged for this meal, anyway.

When the dishes had been cleared, and they were sipping a last cup of tea, Katsumi turned to her daughter. “Do you remember the letter you sent us a little while after you left?”

“Yes,” Nova said. “I wanted to explain why I did what I did. I hoped you would understand, but you never answered.”

“Your father was still angry with you. He did not want me to correspond with you, and for the sake of harmony, I complied with his wishes, but you also sent a picture of yourself in that fancy uniform.”

“Yeah, the basic training graduation picture.” Nova smiled. “That was the first time they let us put on our dress Bravos.”

“I did not tell your father, but I downloaded the picture to my pad, and I have kept it with me ever since. Then, last month, something extraordinary happened. A Navy officer came into the restaurant with his wife and some friends. They enjoyed the food so much, they asked if they might compliment the chef. Your father came out to see them and accepted their compliments. As is common courtesy, he also thanked the officer for his military service. To my surprise, he told them he had a daughter in the Marines. To my knowledge, he had never mentioned it before, and I was even more surprised when he took out his pad and showed them the picture—that same picture you sent us.”

Nova’s jaw dropped. “Really? He’s been carrying it all this time? He…” Suddenly, she choked up, and tears came to her eyes.

“But that’s not the end of the story,” Katsumi continued. “The officer looked at the picture with surprise. He said, ‘Of course, Sakura! I know her! She served aboard my ship not long ago. She is an outstanding Marine. You must be very proud of her.’ Your father did not know what to say, so he bowed, thanked them for their compliments, and went back to the kitchen. He never mentioned it to me again.”

“Did you notice the officer’s name?” Nova asked quietly.

“The name on his uniform was ‘Simms,’ and he had four silver marks on his collar,” she replied. “I made a point of remembering that.”

“Commander Simms, LFS Hydra,” Nova told Lorna. “He’s the one who recommended me for this decoration.” She pointed to the ribbon on her chest that represented the Lunar Cross.

“I am proud of you, Nobuko. So is your father, but he is a stubborn man, and it is difficult for him to admit it.”

A short while later, as they prepared to depart, Lorna went to the front of the restaurant to let Nova say private goodbyes to her mother. Her father did not come out of the kitchen again. While Lorna waited, several members of the restaurant staff bowed to her as they passed by. She returned the bows with a hesitant smile. Hey, people, I’m not my grandmother or anyone that important.

Finally, Nova joined her, grinning from ear to ear. “I ought to kiss you, Blondie,” she said. “This is all due to your good influence.”

“Don’t even think about it. My grandmother was into other girls. I’m not.”

“I’m not either, but somehow a simple thank you doesn’t seem like enough.”

“It’s all we’ve got time for. We have to grab a shuttle to get back to the Academy before curfew.” She led Nova to a nearby stand where they could flag one of the automated cabs. “While we’re on the way,” she continued, “you might explain something to me. Nobuko?”

“It’s my given name,” Nova admitted. “When I left and joined the Marines, I really believed I needed to change it. In Japanese, Nobuko means faithful, trustworthy child. At the time, I really didn’t think I deserved it.”

* * *

7 November 2101, Lunar Fleet Academy

A respectful hush fell over the audience as Vice Admiral Charles Bender (retired) stepped up to the podium at center stage. He looked out over the audience of three hundred cadets, all four classes of the Lunar Fleet Academy’s current student body. Luna’s future, he mused, and it’s my job to urge them on to glory, hopefully without scaring them out of their wits or boring them into a stupor. Well, they’re a select group, supposedly the best of the best, so maybe they’ll survive an hour or so of my rantings.

“I will open my remarks today with the Old Man’s Lament,” he told them, “the same complaint that ancient fossils like myself have been expressing since Og the caveman discovered fire thousands of years ago. Contrary to popular belief, I wasn’t there when that happened, but I’ve heard the same complaint from generations of my elders: you, young people don’t know how good you have it!”

He paused for a moment to let the murmur of amusement run through the crowd.

“Maybe you do know, or, at least, you think you know, and that’s why you’re here. You’re here because you believe in the Lunar Free State, and you want to protect and preserve it for future generations. You’ve studied our nation’s short history—a mere seventy-odd years—in which we’ve gone from a few hundred refugees, trying to escape from the dysfunctional wasteland that Earth had become, to the most powerful, prosperous nation in the solar system. No, we’re not the biggest. Our total population is tiny compared to the billions still on Earth. We’re just the best, and it will be up to you to keep us that way.

“We’ve come a long way in seven decades. We built a nation on the Moon and defended ourselves against those who wanted to take it away from us. We went out to the stars, fought a war with one alien race, and allied ourselves with another. We built a trading empire that spans a hundred light-years, and we rescued an entire planet of primitive humans from alien predators. Along the way, we built a powerful fleet and earned respect from a lot of people—alien races and humans back on Earth—who didn’t know we existed a few decades ago.

“With all that behind us, we started to tidy up the little details of our existence. We called ourselves the Lunar Free State, and it was time to put more emphasis on the free part. We rewrote the Constitution to build that elusive ideal society we dreamed about when we first got here. On this date, twenty-five years ago, we finally finished our national makeover, and the new Lunar Free State emerged. You are the first generation for whom the old LFS is nothing more than something you read about in the history texts, and most of you consider today—Constitution Day—to be the anniversary of the real beginning of our nation.

“I suppose that’s fair because the Lunar Free State as you know it really did begin on that day, a quarter of a century ago. I hope that, on this national holiday, you will pause for a few minutes to remember the decades before, from the time we first arrived on Luna through a half-century of struggle that brought us to that day, November 7, 2076, when we looked around and decided we finally had the nation we had set out to build.

“None of you were born. Hell, most of your parents weren’t born when our first ships touched down on the Moon. None of you were there when we stood against the nations of Earth and declared that we were here to stay, that we would not surrender to the demands of the so-called United Nations, and that we would fight to the death, if necessary, to preserve our independence and our freedom.”

He paused briefly and looked around at them. His dark, serious look faded to a wry grin as he caught sight of a tiny Asian woman, standing with her hand raised at the rear of the auditorium.

“No, I’m sorry, that isn’t quite correct,” he conceded, pointing to the woman. “You were there, Admiral Ling, as was Admiral Torrey, who is standing beside you. The two of you were just girls, younger than most of the cadets here today, when we gave you ships and sent you out to defend us against an invading armada.

“We sent just nine ships out to hold off an invasion force launched by the largest and most powerful nation of Earth—and they did it. If they hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here today. Nor would any of you.

“We lost people, like another young woman named Kristine Kelly, who took the crippled LFS Starfire and put it in the path of an incoming missile, which saved those of us on Luna from nuclear incineration. Kelly and her crew died so that we, and the Lunar Free State, could live. We lost others as well—Marines fighting for this piece of Lunar real estate that we now call TerraNova City, crewmen and women aboard other ships that took damage in the battle. You’ve all read the histories, you’ve studied the First and Second Battles of Luna, but you have no idea how close we came to losing it all. We had no idea how to conduct a war in space or on the surface of the Moon. Fortunately for us, our enemies had no idea either, and somehow—by sheer luck, for the most part—we managed to do it better than they did.

“You are members of the military, which, today, means the Navy, the Marines, and the Corps of Engineers. Back in the earliest days on Luna, every Lunar citizen was part of the military, and every citizen had a rank and position in the table of organization. Even the scientists we brought with us were on the T.O. and had assigned ranks.

“We had to have that discipline, dedication, and focus to survive. A lot of people on Earth wanted to wipe us out of existence. Our lives depended on a very complex infrastructure, and if we had gotten careless, even for a moment, Luna might have killed us all. Today, we still depend on that infrastructure, but we’ve strengthened it and learned how to maintain it. We’re comfortable with it, and, for most of us, we wouldn’t want to live any other way.

“We still have a larger military—in terms of percentage of population—than any nation on Earth, but most Lunar citizens are civilians. We still call the executive branch Lunar Command, but the Directorate watches over it, passes judgment on the performance of the chief executive and can remove him or her from office if necessary.

“As for the Directorate, it was originally nothing more than a committee of high-ranking officers appointed by the chief executive. Now, any adult citizen can serve in the Directorate, including active-duty military personnel of any rank, and every adult citizen has an equal vote in the election of directors. We tend to think of the Directorate as having one primary job, the hiring and firing of the chief executive, but never forget that any changes to the Lunar Constitution must be initiated in the Directorate, and, if passed, they will be voted on by the citizenry. That’s one area over which Lunar Command has absolutely no authority. All of us, including the chief executive and the members of the Directorate, are subject to the rule of law as stated in the Constitution.

“Terra Corporation, the economic powerhouse that now accounts for over eighty percent of Luna’s economy, was originally a corporate front, controlled by the executive branch, with the primary purpose of gaining access to Earth’s markets, so we could buy the supplies we needed to survive. Over the years, it has become a profitable enterprise, owned and controlled by the private citizens of Luna. I’m sure all of you took note when you got your last set of shareholder statements. Hopefully, you also remembered to cast your vote in the last election for Terra Corp’s board of directors. Never take a voting opportunity for granted, whether it’s for the Lunar Directorate or Terra Corporation. Too many nations have fallen by the wayside of history because citizens failed to exercise their right and allowed their future to be determined by a handful of their fellows.

“I worked hard on the original LFS Constitution, but I wasn’t sorry to see it go. We knew when we were writing it that it wasn’t going to give us the nation we wanted, but it defined the nation we needed to survive. It has been retired, put away in the archives twenty-five years ago, and we are a much better nation. We have security, we have prosperity, and, above all, we have peace.

“That could change tomorrow. We could encounter some new, powerful alien race bent on our destruction. Given the way things are going on Earth these days, we could find ourselves at war with our home planet once again. We could wake up tomorrow to news of an event that threatens our future as a nation, maybe our very existence.

“What if it doesn’t, though? What if the so-called Pax Galactica continues for decades, perhaps even a century?

“That, ladies and gentlemen, may provide you with the greatest challenge of all. You are being trained as military officers, and, when your training is complete, we will send you out to serve with the most powerful fleet in our little corner of the galaxy. What will your mission be? It’s easy to be a military officer in a time of conflict. Your orders are clear, and you know who the enemy is. You have a purpose, and you know what you must do to accomplish the mission. It’s a lot harder in a time of peace, when you have no enemy, no clear-cut mission.

“Yet, consider this. The desire for peace is what causes us to build a strong military in the first place. The whole purpose of having the biggest, baddest fleet in space is to get respect so nobody will dare to mess with us. Your challenge will be to keep it that way—to maintain our strength and keep that respect and, thus, keep the peace for as long as we are able.

“Your success will be measured not by how many wars you’ve won, but by how many years you have gone without needing to fight a war, because no one who has ever experienced war firsthand would ever want to be involved in fighting one. On Earth, the U.S. Navy used to say, ‘peace is our profession.’ They had the right idea, but that only works if you maintain the edge and continue to command respect.

“That’s the paradox you have to live with. We need a powerful fleet so we never have to use it. We need to train crews for a job we hope they will never have to do. We are teaching you to be officers so you can lead those crews in situations we hope you never encounter. Along the way, there will be those who will question the need, those who will say there’s no war going on. So why do we need all this expensive military hardware and all these people just standing around, waiting for something to happen? They will urge cutbacks, reductions in force, and other ‘cost-saving’ measures. The hardest part of maintaining respect may well be maintaining it with our own people, but that is something you must do for the well-being of our nation.

“There may be a bunch of aliens out there somewhere who don’t know how tough we are. Maybe they’ve never heard of us, or maybe they have, but they don’t believe. You may be called upon to make believers out of them, and when that moment comes, you need to be ready, no matter how many years of peace you’ve had. We will still measure our success in terms of years of peace we’ve maintained, but if you have to go out and fight a war, we won’t hold it against you. Peace is the objective, but unfortunately, war is sometimes the means to that end. You, as fleet officers of the Lunar Free State, will need to be prepared for both.”

* * *

15 July 2102, TransLuna Orbital Station

“I still don’t know why you wanted me along for this,” Nova grumbled.

“Hey, I did the same for you.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have any family issues to work out, and we don’t need to be wearing dress Alphas this time.”

“She’s been off Luna for almost three years. She’s never seen me in uniform, except in the class pictures I sent her. I need to make an impression, just like you did. I haven’t told her we’re coming, and she probably thinks I’ll be meeting her on the surface.”

Lorna had received a message from her grandmother when LPV Carla Perry dropped into normal space at the hyper limit. Since they had weekend liberty, she’d talked Nova into going to TransLuna to meet the incoming ship. After checking the arrivals board, they watched from the gallery as the sleek vessel slid into the docking bay.

“I know your grandmother has money, Blondie, but this is ridiculous. That thing’s as big as a destroyer.”

“Not even close,” Lorna said. “She’s only sixty-seven meters long, not even the size of a corvette.”

“It’s still pretty damned big for a private yacht.”

“She’s mostly power plant; she’s almost as fast as an express courier. Grandma doesn’t like to spend a lot of time in transit. Come on, we need to get down there before she leaves the ship.”

They reached the boarding tube just as Lunar Customs finished verifying the ship’s documentation and status, and they were cleared to go aboard. As they approached the boarding tube, a tall, grey-haired man, wearing a sharp green and tan uniform, stepped into the boarding area.

Nova skidded to a halt. “Gunny O’Reilly?”

The man stopped, looked at them, and broke into a grin. “Sakura? In a Fleet Academy uniform? Damn! Next thing you know, I’ll be seeing leprechauns walking down the concourse!”

“Or flying pigs.” Nova returned the grin. “That’s not the same uniform you were wearing last time I saw you either.”

“Retired from the Marines, I did, and some might say it wasn’t a moment too soon,” he said. “Got myself a private security job.” He turned his attention to Lorna. “We haven’t met, but I don’t need to read your name tag to figure out who you might be, young lady. I see your picture every day on your grandmother’s desk, not to mention the large portrait in the great hall on Copper Hills. I’m Sean O’Reilly, her security chief for the past year or so. I presume you’re here to see her?”

“I am,” she said. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. O’Reilly. I’d really like to surprise her, if you don’t mind.”

He looked at her in mock concern. “Well, I wouldn’t be doing my job if I just let you walk down there, but I’ll do what I usually do when I run into a conflict. I’ll pass the buck.” He tapped the communication pad on his wrist. “Captain, I’ve got a visitor coming down the ramp to see Her Ladyship. I’ll let you decide what to do about it.” He grimaced at the reply he heard in his earbud. “I’m not going to tell you, but I’m sure you’ll recognize her.” He gestured toward the boarding tube. “Go right ahead, ma’am.”

“Nova?” Lorna looked questioningly at Sakura.

“Nope! You’re on your own, Blondie. I’ll stay out here and chat with Gunny. We’ve got some catching up to do.”

“All right, but don’t leave the area, because you are going to meet her whether you like it or not.”

As Lorna approached the ship, a stocky, stern-looking woman in a blue uniform appeared in the hatch. With one glance at Lorna, her serious look changed to a smile of amusement.

“Permission to come aboard, Captain Pirelli.” Lorna smiled.

“Permission granted, Ms. Greenwood,” the other woman said. “It’s been a couple of years, and you’ve grown a bit, but I still recognize you.”

“Grown? As far as I know, I haven’t gotten any taller in the last two years.”

“No, thank God for that.” Pirelli looked up at Lorna, who topped her by a full 20 centimeters. “I guess what I mean is you’ve matured. For a minute, I thought I was looking at your grandmother from about fifty years ago.”

“Oh, please!” Lorna rolled her eyes. “Besides, you weren’t even born fifty years ago.”

“Actually, I was,” Pirelli assured her. “In fact, I was about where you are now, a cadet at the Academy, and your grandmother was chief executive. Does she know you’re coming?”

“No, and I really would like to surprise her.”

“I can’t just let you walk in on her. We have protocols to maintain, and she’s pretty rigid about those things. I’ll escort you to her cabin and announce you when we get there. Is that enough of a surprise?”

“It’ll do,” Lorna assured her. “Thanks.”

They reached the master cabin hatch, and Pirelli touched the keypad next to it. “Ma’am? I have a special visitor, some brash, young, third-year Academy cadet who says she’d like to see you.”

“So I see,” a familiar voice replied. “Very well, send her in.” A green indicator appeared over the hatch.

She has cameras all over the ship, Lorna realized. So much for the surprise.

The master cabin suite had an office and recreational space separate from the sleeping cabin. Her grandmother stood next to the desk, and as Lorna crossed the deck toward her, she held up her hand. “Stop right there. Let me look at you.”

Lorna resisted the impulse to come to attention and salute. Her grandmother had retired from active service more than a decade ago but still had the commanding presence of a four-star admiral. Lorna stopped and came to a respectful parade rest position with eyes straight ahead, legs slightly apart, and hands clasped behind her back. She stood perfectly still as her grandmother came forward and looked her over from head to toe.

“You wear the uniform well,” Lorna the Elder conceded at last. “You look like an officer already. Would you care to explain this to me?” She tapped the Semper Fi ribbon with her index finger.

“First-year cruise,” Lorna replied, “aboard Omaha Beach. We had an incident with a lander in the boat bay. I went out on the bay floor to jettison the hatch and direct the Marines to safety. There was an explosion, and I got hurt, but the Marines got me out of there. I really didn’t think—”

“There were thirty-six Marines trapped in that lander,” her grandmother interrupted. “You went to them after you and Chief Griswold launched another lander, even though your systems were compromised, and, by all rights, you should have already abandoned the area. Griswold bought it, but you still went out on the bay floor, wearing only a shipsuit, and popped the hatch to get those Marines out—Marines who would otherwise have died in the explosion that took you out.”

Lorna said nothing. She clenched her teeth to keep the flash of anger from showing in her face. You knew all about it; of course you did! No one in the Lunar Free State has the Fleet connections you have. You never mentioned it, never took notice until now. She kept in touch with her grandmother, though “in touch” meant a video letter about seven or eight times a year. Copper Hills had enough merchant traffic to support regular mail service, but round-trip mail time was well over 40 days.

In fairness, she had not gone into detail about her Academy experiences. She had purposely kept her letters low-key to avoid subjects that might draw Grandmother’s criticism or give the appearance that she was boasting or, worse, seeking help. Grandmother, in turn, had not given any hint that she was interested in such things, though Lorna was pretty sure she kept track of her granddaughter’s grade point average. She now suspected her grandmother had been watching a lot more closely than she had thought.

“I’m inclined to agree with Colonel Vasquez,” Lorna the Elder continued, confirming those suspicions. “It was a damned foolish risk. You’re lucky to be alive.” She paused and looked directly into Lorna’s eyes. “That being said, it was the right thing to do. Griswold left you in charge of launch control, and, to that extent, the people in that lander were your responsibility. Not every Navy officer would take it that far, but the Marines understood. Semper Fi.” She stepped back, and her expression changed to a happy grin. “Relax and give your grandmother a hug, little girl.”

With a sigh of resignation, Lorna complied. “Love you, too, Grandma,” she said. “It’s been too damned long since I’ve seen you.”

“Well, you may be seeing a bit more of me in the future. Seems I’ll need to make periodic trips back to Luna for medical reasons from now on. I need to address a few issues the doctors on Copper Hills can’t quite figure out.”

“Issues?” Lorna felt a sudden flash of concern. “I thought the Fleet medical facility there was pretty capable.”

“Oh, it’s nothing serious. It mostly has to do with being around for about twelve decades. The docs haven’t yet gotten used to the idea of a life expectancy over a century, and they’re having to figure things out as they go. Cancer was rare in the nineteenth century because people didn’t live long enough for it to develop. In the twentieth century, it was a serious problem, but we finally wiped it out in the twenty-first. Now, it looks like the docs are seeing new conditions that don’t occur in people less than a hundred years old.”

She shrugged. “Anyway, the medical research people on Luna are a bit ahead of the fleet medics in the field. So here I am, maybe not so much a patient as a research subject. I hate being poked and prodded, but I guess I’ll have to put up with it for a while. I’ll know more when I talk to the doctors.”

“What is it? Can you tell me?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. Sorry I mentioned it, it’s no big deal. Enough of that, we need to celebrate our reunion. Call your friend Sakura and tell her to stop swapping war stories with Gunny O’Reilly and come aboard. We’re going to dinner tonight. I’ve got reservations at Kiku, and I believe her mother will be joining us.”

“You…how did you…” Lorna stammered. “Is there anything I do that you don’t know about?”

“Nothing important,” her grandmother replied with a grin. “Don’t worry, I’m not violating your Constitutional privacy rights, but anything you do in public—or in Fleet service—is fair game. I do know a few people in Lunar Intelligence who owe me some favors from long ago.”

* * * * *

Chapter Five

Planet Tatanna, Star System NLC 72917, 45 Light-Years from Luna

The inhabitants of the planet called their world Tatanna, which in their language meant “Home of the Goddess.” They were human, another supposed seeding of the legendary Progenitors who were said to be responsible for the scattering of human-inhabited planets throughout the Orion Arm of the galaxy. Of course, the humans of Tatanna had their own legends which said they had been placed and nurtured on their world by an all-powerful female deity, who became the central figure of a planet-wide religion.

Their civilization prospered and eventually reached a level of development similar to that of medieval Earth, and then stopped, and their development was arrested for more than a century. They knew little of astronomy or cosmology. The stars were merely lights in the sky, placed by the Goddess to comfort them in the darkest nights. From that sky, strange creatures descended and became their masters.

The Ay’uskanar—the Bugs, as many called them because of their resemblance to giant insects—were firm masters but not cruel. In fact, they seemed to have no emotions whatsoever, just a cold, single-minded drive to accomplish their ends. They required human labor to excavate certain minerals from Tatanna’s soil. They chose sites for their mines, brought in giant machines to open deep pits, and directed Tatannan laborers to dig certain types of rock from the pits. The humans were required to transport the rocks to a leveled site near the mine, where strange flying machines would come and pick them up.

To obtain laborers, the Bugs went to nearby farms, towns, and villages where they rounded up people, forced them to pack their belongings, and marched them to the mine site. Anyone who resisted was killed. They took men, women, and children—apparently understanding the need to establish permanent settlements at the mines—but they required only adult males to do the mining. When each load of rocks was picked up, a deposit of small copper bars was left behind. Copper was a precious metal on Tatanna, and the Ay’uskanar left it as wages to sustain the miners and their families. They let the miners decide how to distribute the copper. The Bugs took no interest in the humans’ affairs as long as the piles of rock continued to arrive. If there was a problem, if anything disrupted the mining operation, the Ay’uskanar would select several people at random—local leaders, miners, or their family members—and kill them.

When the Ay’uskanar first came to Tatanna, there had been resistance, but swords, pikes, and arrows were of little use against the strange, armored suits the Bugs wore. The Tatannans killed a few Bugs, mostly by mob action in which dozens of men attacked a single Bug, crippled it by attacking its legs, and beat it with heavy tools, hammers, or axes until its armor cracked. They soon found out a Bug would die if its armor was breached in any way, as if the air were poisonous to the creatures.

The consequences for killing a Bug were terrible. Fire would rain down from the sky, killing everyone near the site where the Bug died, sometimes wiping out whole villages. It soon became clear resistance was futile, that the only way to survive was to do the bidding of the Bugs.

When the Ay’uskanar first arrived, Tatannans had been living for centuries under a feudal structure with regional lords holding sway in small areas, a higher lord ruling a province, and a single king ruling them all. That structure had survived because the king and lords had stopped resisting and directed their subjects to cooperate with the Bugs. There were a few exceptions, but they quickly became horrible examples. Suddenly, all became peaceful—with the peace that exists when slaves have learned their place and accepted their enslavement.

For the most part, the Ay’uskanar were absentee masters. The planet’s natural environment was hostile to them and forced them to remain within sealed habitation modules they buried underground or to wear their self-contained armored suits when they ventured out on the surface. At any given time, only a few of the Bugs were at each mining site, but large numbers of them could drop out of the sky on short notice if there was a problem. Keeping production flowing from the mines was in the best interest of all concerned.

Mining only required about five percent of the human labor available. If the miners did their part, the rest of Tatanna’s inhabitants could go about their business with little restriction, as long as they did nothing to draw the Bugs’ attention. Any sort of industrial development would upset the Ay’uskanar, as would construction of heavy machinery or efforts involving energy production and distribution. They allowed the humans to build aqueducts and sewer systems to serve cities and to construct large buildings within those cities, but everything had to be done with human hand tools or animal-powered labor. Candles and oil lamps were still the only sources of artificial light, and wood-burning stoves and fireplaces provided heat for the long Tatannan winter. Blacksmiths still produced all metal products, hand-forged of metal heated in coal-fired furnaces.

The Bugs had no patience for human conflict. Before their arrival, territorial squabbles among nobles had often resulted in clashes, which sometimes escalated to the level of open warfare. Under Bug rule, such conflicts were put down quickly, with impartial brutality. The Ay’uskanar didn’t bother to punish the nobles involved. They simply wiped out the military forces on both sides with kinetic strikes that left smoking craters where battlefields and staging areas had been.

Technological progress on Tatanna came to a halt far short of any sort of industrial revolution with the arrival of the Bugs. The Bug-imposed peace removed incentives for military development, which are often a driving force in the advancement of civilizations, and prevented the civilization-ending destruction that often followed.

Effectively, the humans of Tatanna were stuck with technology equal to that of the first millennium of Earth’s Common Era, but that didn’t stop progress in other areas. Art and literature developed to the level of Earth’s Renaissance, and Tatannan craftsmanship reached new heights—they produced beautiful and functional creations in wood, metal, and stone. Medicine developed to the point of making the critical link between sanitation and health, and all the plagues that had devastated cities and villages in the past were wiped out.

Despite the overall peace, human conflict had not been eliminated. Instead, it was driven beneath the surface in the form of political intrigues more devious and complex than even Machiavelli might have imagined, but Machiavelli had never had to account for the Bugs.

* * *

Planet Tatanna, Castle Boroson, Mid-Summer, Year of the Goddess 1802

“It’s very late, Father.”

Algar T’Boroson, King of Kings, Master of all Tatanna’s Realms, turned from the window in surprise and found his son standing in the doorway. “Yes, Arne, it is very late, and you should be in bed.”

“So should you, Father. Even a king must rest sometime,” Prince Arne declared with wisdom beyond his eleven years. Tatanna’s year was long, and by Terran standards, Arne would have been almost a teenager. “I was in bed but got up to use the relief room. I saw the light in your study window.”

“Ah, I see.” Algar nodded. “Well, if you must know, I am resting. I find it very relaxing here, late at night, with the view of the mountains, especially on a night like this, with both Aliya and Krissa high in the sky. It is almost as bright as day out there.”

“Still, something is bothering you, Father,” Arne insisted. “I see it in your face. You look almost as troubled as you did when Mother died. It has been two years, and I was happy when you became yourself again, but now, there is something else.”

Algar sighed. I had hoped to spare him a while longer, but he must begin to learn. He will be king someday, and who knows when the Goddess will decide it is time for me to follow Adrille into the afterlife.

“Come and sit with me, my son. We need to talk about some things. Since you and I are already awake, now is as good a time as any.” He gestured to the two comfortable chairs that flanked a small table near the largest window. Before sitting down, he went over and pulled the bell rope hanging beside his desk.

After a moment, the door opened, and his personal steward appeared. “Your Majesty?”

“Ormus, the prince and I have decided to spend a little late-night time together. Could you find us some refreshment, a little bit to eat and drink? You know what we like, so just bring us whatever you can find at this hour.”

“Of course, Majesty. It will take but a moment.” Ormus disappeared as quickly as he had come, and Algar settled into his chair. Arne regarded his father with a serious, attentive look.

“There are things,” Algar began, “that you must learn if you are to be king someday. You may not understand everything I tell you tonight but mark them well. In time, you will begin to see how everything fits together.”

“Is it about the Bugs, Father?” Arne asked.

“Not really. The Bugs are part of it, but only as a factor in the game that must be considered. I am more concerned with people, especially certain barons and a duke or two. The Bugs have been here since my great-grandfather’s time, and we know well how to avoid trouble with them. But there are those who seek power for themselves, who might even want my throne, if truth be known. Were it not for the Bugs, we might already have had open conflict, but they know the Bugs will not allow any such disturbance. That doesn’t keep them from plotting and scheming in secret.”

“Do you know who they are, Father?” Arne was wide-eyed, for his father had never spoken to him of such serious matters.

“Of some, I am quite certain. Others, I only suspect, but that is the problem with secret conspiracies. You sometimes know who not to trust, but you can never be certain about who you can trust. In the end, you must trust some, but be very careful, even with them. Of all the servants in the palace, only Ormus has my true trust, and that is only because he has been my loyal retainer since I was about your age. Among the nobles, I trust Ragar, Duke Middle Plains. We grew up together, and he has proven his loyalty to the Crown many times. Beyond that, well…”

For Arne, it was an epiphany. He had seen so many nobles in the palace, smiling and laughing with his father. He had assumed everyone of noble blood was his father’s friend and had never heard any of them speak a word against the Crown. Somehow, deep inside, he knew a happy part of his childhood had just come to an end, and he was about to step into the world of adult reality.

* * *

Planet Tatanna, House Corsa, Province of North Coast

“I agree Algar is a problem, Ronor,” Duke Asral T’Corsa declared, “but there is little that can be done. The Bugs do not like to see us set against each other. They almost wiped out T’Moro’s guard regiment because of a minor border dispute with Middle Plains.”

“You’re missing the point,” said Ronor T’Korval, Duke of the High Reaches. “We need to convince the Bugs that Algar is a problem for them.”

“Hmmm…” T’Corsa’s brow wrinkled. “How do you propose to do that?” His tone betrayed skepticism.

“I’m not sure yet,” T’Korval admitted, “but I can’t do it myself. I don’t have the means or reason to communicate with the creatures. Those mines of theirs are strung all along your North Coast holdings, so you must have dealings with them. I’m sure you take your share in taxes from the miners. So, if you need to talk to the Bugs about some mining issue, how do you do it?”

The two men were alone in T’Corsa’s private study. T’Korval had sent a messenger ahead to request the meeting, then made the two-day journey down from his mountain domain to Castle North Coast. He looked at his host and frowned intensely as he awaited North Coast’s response.

T’Corsa picked up his wine glass, sat back, and regarded the younger duke with a serious gaze. High Reaches was a big, brutish fellow whose looks concealed a keen intelligence. Many made the fatal mistake of underestimating him, but T’Corsa knew better. His only issue with T’Korval was a lack of subtlety, but that was because of youth and inexperience, not stupidity. T’Corsa hated King Algar as much as T’Korval did but was much more careful to conceal that hatred.

Perhaps hatred wasn’t the right word. Both High Reaches and North Coast wanted Algar removed from the throne to further their own ambitions, but they both respected Algar’s strength and his ability to unite and lead the rest of the nobility, as well as his popularity with the common people. They were not about to underestimate the king as an enemy, but they differed in their approach to the problem. This time, however, T’Corsa had to admit that young Ronor was proposing a rather interesting solution. Convince the Bugs that Algar needed to be removed…what a novel idea!

He could also see why Ronor needed his help. T’Corsa did have a secret channel of communication with the Bugs. He had gone to meet with the creatures once at their request—or summons, as it seemed at the time—at one of the mining sites in his domain. It had been a frightening experience, knowing that they had no respect for his title, position, or political power, that they could kill him in an instant and suffer no consequences.

Yet he had gone, and, to his surprise, the insectoids had simply presented him with a list of questions written in the common language of Tatanna. They had also given him a small pouch of gemstones of considerable value, and he understood immediately—answer our questions, and you will be rewarded. The questions were simple. Some of them were about the borders between provinces and who controlled those provinces. Others were of a less political nature, such as how humans used a medicinal plant common in certain regions. He answered their questions, and they dismissed him. Before he left, however, they asked him to designate someone at the mine site to serve as a messenger in the event they wanted to ask additional questions, with the understanding there would also be additional rewards. They showed him a small box that seemingly could not be opened, and showed him the secret of how to open it.

That had been nearly two years ago, and since that meeting, the designated messenger had arrived at his doorstep, bearing the box, on seven occasions. Each time, the box held more questions and a suitable payment; each time, he had sent it back with the answers to the questions locked inside. No one knew of his relationship with the Bugs or the contents of the secret box that went back and forth, and he intended to keep it that way, but it was exactly the sort of thing Ronor needed for his plan. For a moment, T’Corsa toyed with the idea of rejecting T’Korval’s proposal and going ahead with it on his own, but he realized he needed to keep an eye on the brash, young duke and that he might find an alliance useful in the future. He certainly did not want to count Ronor among his enemies.

“I find your idea most interesting,” he said at last, “and I can see how I might be able to help you. We must proceed with caution, though. Algar has ears everywhere.”

* * *

Planet Tatanna, Cold Creek Mine, Province of North Coast

Once again, T’Corsa found himself in a place he never wanted to be—standing in front of the small, human-sized entrance to the strange agglomeration of structures the Bugs had built at the mining site. He would very much have liked to send his messenger, but he could not. He had no secret box in which to enclose his handwritten message, and he dared not take the chance someone might read it. He hoped the alien creatures would find favor with his proposal and that he would leave this place with another box. He needed one he could keep in his castle, one he could dispatch to the Bugs at a time and place of his choosing, one they might return filled with suitable rewards for his efforts.

He would need another messenger as well, a trusted man from his personal guard. The present messenger was a resident of the mining village, so he was close by when the aliens needed a message carried to the duke. The new messenger would serve the same purpose on the other end of the communication chain—he would be available when T’Corsa needed to send a message to the Bugs. That there would now be two boxes arriving at his castle with rich rewards was a bonus. From T’Corsa’s point of view, the real value of the plan was undermining Algar’s rule and usurping the king’s power without any concern the king’s spies might discover and report his seditious acts. In Algar’s court, he could continue to play the role of the loyal opposition—the voice of reason that sought to provide constructive criticism, in total support of Algar’s rule.

He thought about the contents of his message to the aliens, the one he had spent so much time composing and writing, not daring to entrust it to a scribe. The message was simple: You are the masters of this world, and I am happy to serve you. Others in this world, including King Algar and many of his advisers, are not so happy to serve. They plot against you and seek ways to hinder you. They are clever, and they keep their actions hidden from you. I can discover their hidden plots and advise you of them. I only need another of your message boxes, one that I can send to you whenever I have information you might need. I do not ask for any great reward. I will send a messenger bearing the box with the information. You can send it back to me by the same messenger, with whatever reward you think the information is worth. You have always been fair to me, and I trust you to be fair in this as well.

A simple message, but one that would gain him an appointment with the king’s executioner if it fell into the wrong hands. He shuddered at the thought, then drew a deep breath. Perhaps they won’t even see me, he thought. I’ve been standing here a long time, and they have taken no notice. I’ve been holding the message in my hand, hoping they would see me and understand that I mean to deliver it.

He stiffened as a light—a strange, unknown light, blue and very tiny and bright—began blinking next to the door. Suddenly, something slid out of the wall beneath the blinking light. He watched it with fascination, thinking it looked very much like one of the drawers in a storage chest in his bedroom. His drawer at home was made of wood. This one was made of…he wasn’t sure, but it didn’t look like wood or metal. The drawer extended outward about the length of his forearm and stopped.

He nodded in understanding and dropped his message into the drawer which withdrew back into the wall. He felt relieved. Perhaps he would not need to be in the presence of those monstrous creatures after all.

He waited.

And waited.

The Sun was getting low in the sky, and he did not want to be there after dark. If they did not reply soon, he would have to leave.

Suddenly, the little light started blinking, and the drawer opened again. Inside was one of the secret boxes. It was identical to the box they had been sending him, except for an arcane mark on its lid. The original box had a similar mark, but he had seen that one often enough to know they were not identical. He reached in, lifted it out, and tried the secret combination of actions he used to open the original box. It worked, and the lid opened. Inside was a beautiful gemstone and a small note.

Message understood. Take the box with you. Use it as you have suggested.

Relief flooded over him. His plan had worked! He tucked the box under his arm and headed across the bare-earth clearing to the edge of the forest, where his mount was waiting to take him home. It would take him a full day to get there, but he mounted eagerly and started on his way. As soon as he got back, he would dispatch a messenger to T’Korval.

* * * * *

Chapter Six

16 January 2104, TransLuna Fleet Anchorage

Lorna walked quickly through the boarding tube, moving with a purpose, ignoring the slightly unbalanced feeling produced by the narrow gravity plates in the center of the tube. She was about to reach a milestone in her life, and she felt a pang of regret that her mother and grandmother couldn’t be there to share the moment.

She stepped through the hatch at the end of the tube, deposited her space bag on the deck, and turned to salute the ship’s colors—the logo displayed on the rear bulkhead that proclaimed the ship to be LFS Lewis and Clark. She turned again and saluted the senior lieutenant standing behind the watch station podium.

“Ensign Greenwood requests permission to come aboard, sir.” She dropped the salute and presented her pad, with her orders displayed on the screen.

“Permission granted, Ensign—” the lieutenant began, but whatever else he’d intended to say was cut off by an officer who charged through the interior hatch.

“Greenwood! Where in hell have you been? We’ve been expecting you for two weeks!” The newcomer wore the rank of lieutenant commander and a name tape that said Carter on his chest. He looked very unhappy to see Lorna.

“Sir, I—”

“Never mind! I don’t want to hear excuses. Get your gear stowed, report to your section head, and get your ass to the wardroom. Start-of-mission dinner with the captain at eighteen hundred hours. I’ll be sure to tell him we can start now that the guest of honor has arrived.” His voice dripped sarcasm. “Oh, and it’s a formal dinner, so I hope you have a clean, sharp Bravo uniform in that bag!”

He left without waiting for an answer. Lorna turned to the watch officer in dismay. It certainly hadn’t been a good start to her first permanent ship assignment. To her surprise, the senior lieutenant, whose name tape read O’Hara, seemed to be trying hard to suppress a smile.

“That was our executive officer, Commander Carter,” he said. “As for reporting to your section head, you’ve already done that, as Commander Carter must have known, but probably forgot in the heat of the moment. I’m Lieutenant John O’Hara, navigation and tactical officer, and you’ll be reporting to me. Welcome aboard.”

“Navigation and tactical?” Lorna asked cautiously. “My orders say I’m assigned to engineering.”

“I know, but Fleet, in its wisdom, assigned us two junior engineering officers and nobody for Nav/Tac. I had to thumb wrestle the chief engineer to see who got whom. You’re my assistant NTO now.”

Lorna began to relax. Lieutenant O’Hara seemed to have a sense of humor. “Sir, am I allowed to ask whether you won or lost that thumb war?”

O’Hara gave her a genuine grin. “Let’s just say we reached a mutually satisfactory arrangement. Chief’s happy, and I’m happy…so far, anyway.”

“Sir, about that delay in reporting, I didn’t get the orders until last night. I was out of system, and—”

He held up a hand. “Doesn’t matter. Your orders gave you until today to report, so you are on time as far as I’m concerned. You can tell me the whole story when you get a chance, but right now, you need to get to your cabin, get your gear stowed, and get ready for dinner. The exec wasn’t kidding about that. You do have a set of dress Bravos in that bag, right?”

“Yes, sir, I do,” she assured him.

“Good. You’ve got about an hour and a half. Ship’s deck plan has been downloaded to your pad, and I’ve marked your cabin on it. You’re assigned to compartment two oh four on B deck, just aft of this frame. Up one deck and take a right. See you at dinner, Ensign.”

“Yes, sir.” Lorna saluted again, picked up her bag, and went looking for her quarters. She had no trouble finding compartment B204, which turned out to be a small, but serviceable, cabin intended for two occupants. It was typical of junior officers’ quarters on just about any ship in the fleet. It was cleaner and newer than most she’d seen, but Lewis & Clark was a brand-new ship. She stepped inside, deposited her bag on the lower bunk, and turned to check which wall locker was empty.

“That’s my bunk, Blondie,” a familiar voice growled behind her.

“I don’t see your name on it.” Lorna turned, with a grin, and found Nova Sakura standing in the hatch, trying hard to suppress a grin of her own.

“Damn!” Sakura lost the battle, and the smile broke through. “I thought I was done rooming with you after first year, but they’ve stuck us together again. Where have you been, Blondie? When you disappeared during finals and missed graduation…I mean, they read your name off, but the commandant just said, ‘Absent under orders,’ and went on to the next name.”

“It’s a long story,” Lorna said, “best told over a couple of drinks. Right now, I need to get unpacked and dressed for dinner.”

“Me too,” Nova said. “By the way, this time I will take the bottom bunk since I got here first. The locker on the left is yours.”

* * *

Commander Karl Erikson was a stickler for protocol, as Lewis and Clark’s officers discovered when they filed into the wardroom for the captain’s first formal dinner. A long table in the center of the compartment was carefully set with a name placard at each place. The seating arrangement put Erikson at the head of the table with his officers arranged down either side in descending order of rank. Lieutenant Commander Carter was on Erikson’s right, while Lieutenant Commander Guzman, the chief engineer, was on his left. Since the captain had not yet entered the wardroom, the officers found their places but remained standing behind their chairs.

The arrangement put Nova Sakura at the foot of the table with Lorna just to her left.

Across the table from Lorna, one tier higher than Nova, Ensign Jake Mathews lifted an eyebrow. “How did you end up last, Sakura?” he asked with a grin. “We were all in the same class at the Academy. Did they look at grade point averages?”

“Some of us,” Nova replied with a sniff, “paid attention in the classes on military protocol. The commissioning order listed the entire class in alphabetical order of surname. Technically, that makes you senior to me and Greenwood senior to you. We Marines don’t let such trivial matters bother us. We leave it to the Navy to worry about the little things.”

“Captain on deck!” The announcement came from the chief steward, who was standing beside the hatch. Conversation stopped, and the entire group came to attention when Erikson entered the compartment.

He moved quickly to the head of the table, looked the group over, and nodded. “As you were, ladies and gentlemen. Take your seats.” They relaxed but waited until the captain had taken his seat before sitting down. “I’ve talked to each of you individually,” Erikson began, “except one. Ensign Greenwood, please come to see me in the morning at your earliest convenience.

“I would like to welcome you as a group for the first time. You are the heart and soul of Lewis and Clark, and the success of our mission will depend on your ability to do your jobs, direct your crews, and work as a team. For the record, I’m aware the crew have already nicknamed the ship Elsie, so I won’t be offended if I hear that name. We’ll assume it’s a term of endearment.

“It’s been a busy day, and I’m sure we’re all hungry. I’ll save the rest of my comments until after dinner.”

He nodded to the stewards, who began serving the first course. Dinner was relatively simple fare, but well-prepared and served. The LFS Navy believed a well-fed crew was a happy crew, so the enlisted crew members were enjoying the same food in the crew’s mess that night. The lower ranks were being served cafeteria style, while the officers were being served at the table by the stewards; otherwise, there was no difference. Even the wine being served in the wardroom was available to the crew, with the understanding that anyone scheduled to be on duty should not indulge. Lorna looked down the table and noted that several officers, no doubt those currently on watch, had turned their wine glasses upside down as a signal to the stewards not to pour for them. Since the captain had directed her to report in the morning, she assumed she was under no such restriction and allowed herself a glass.

At the end of dinner, after the dessert dishes had been cleared, the stewards came around and refilled the wine glasses. This time, they took the upside-down glasses and turned them upright, but poured only a small quantity of wine into each. When they finished, Captain Erikson picked up a spoon and tapped the side of his glass several times. All conversation at the table ceased. Erikson looked down the table and nodded to Nova Sakura, who promptly stood and picked up her glass.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she announced in a clear voice, “to the Lunar Free State, its Constitution, and its people, in whose service we stand.”

They all stood and raised their glasses. “To Luna,” they responded, “in whose service we stand.”

“To Lewis and Clark,” Erikson added. “May she serve us as well as we serve her.”

“To Lewis and Clark,” the group replied.

With the formal toast out of the way, the group relaxed somewhat.

Erikson leaned back in his chair, looked at them, and again nodded in satisfaction. “We’ve got a brand-new ship with a brand-new mission,” he told them. “As they say in that twentieth-century video series, we will boldly go where no one has gone before. From what I’ve seen so far, this ship is equal to the task, and I’m happy with the officers and crew they’ve given me.

“In case you haven’t noticed,” he continued, with a smile, “Fleet, in its wisdom—or possibly out of desperation with the shortage of qualified officers—has given us no less than three newly-commissioned graduates from this year’s Academy class. In fairness, it looks like they’ve given us the cream of the crop. Ensign Greenwood, who just joined us today, was this year’s class commander as well as valedictorian. She will be our assistant Nav/Tac officer, reporting to Lieutenant O’Hara.

“Ensign Mathews was the winner of this year’s Stevens Award for engineering excellence. He will be second assistant engineering officer, reporting to Commander Guzman. Second Lieutenant Sakura came to the Academy from the enlisted Marine ranks and was awarded the Lunar Cross for combat action during her freshman Academy cruise. Since Lewis and Clark only carries a single platoon of Marines and one Marine officer, she is the platoon commander, reporting directly to me. I expect you ancient mariners to welcome these three aboard and give them the benefit of your vast experience.”

That brought smiles and a murmur of welcoming comments from most of the officers.

Commander Carter raised his voice to make sure he was heard above the crowd. “By the way, Greenwood, perhaps you’d like to explain to us why you only showed up today. We’ve had you on the roster for two weeks, and I would think you’d have been in a hurry to report to your new ship—especially for your first assignment after graduation.”

Captain Erikson gave her a curious, though not disapproving, look as he waited to hear what she had to say.

Lorna felt her face reddening as the officers turned to her. “Sir, I only got the orders yesterday when I arrived at TransLuna Station. I just had time to go down to the surface, get my gear in order, and come back up here.”

“You were off Luna?” Carter looked at her in disbelief. “Where the hell were you? Mathews and Sakura got their orders at graduation, so why didn’t you get yours?”

“I didn’t attend graduation, sir. They pulled me in the middle of final exams, gave me a set of orders, and sent me to Copper Hills.”

“You were out of the Sol System?” Carter looked even more incredulous. “I assume when you say they, you mean Lunar Command. Why in hell would they do that?”

“So I could attend my grandmother’s funeral, sir.” Lorna’s tone was cold and unemotional.

There was a shocked silence.

Carter recovered quickly. “With all due respect, Greenwood, your grandmother’s funeral was almost three months ago. Everyone on Luna knows that. Hell, it was practically a national holiday!”

Nova glanced sharply at Lorna. Carter’s due respect didn’t sound very respectful; it sounded downright sarcastic. What was the man’s problem?

Lorna was no longer blushing. Her expression was cool and calm. “That was the funeral on Luna, sir. My grandmother had a large estate on Copper Hills, along with a noble title granted to her by Heart of the Clan. I had to travel with the Fleet contingent to attend the Copper Hills funeral.”

“To claim the estate, I suppose. I’m sure that took precedence over anything the Lunar Free State might require.”

“Sir,” Lorna replied firmly, “I was under orders from Lunar Command by specific request from the Diplomatic Corps. My duty to the Lunar Free State comes first, and I would have skipped the funeral had I not been specifically ordered to be there. I was told it was in the interest of continued good relations with the Akara.”

“Oh, right.” Carter’s sarcasm was not to be quenched. “Must keep the Lizards happy. Mustn’t upset the Lizards.” He grinned and looked around the room, but nobody else was smiling.

“Commander Carter,” Erikson said softly, “I think Ensign Greenwood has properly accounted for her delay in reporting. Let’s move on to another subject.”

Carter looked surprised. “Of course, Captain,” he replied and lapsed into silence.

“As I’m sure you’ve noticed,” Erikson continued, “we also have two civilian crew members aboard.”

The three junior officers had certainly noticed, since the two people in question—a man and a woman—were the only ones seated lower than them at the table. They wore typical Lunar civilian dress, with name tags on the left breast beneath the embroidered gold logo of the Lunar Research Institute.

“Lewis and Clark is the first of a new class of ships that represent a major departure in thinking regarding deep space research,” Erikson said. “In the past, research targets were selected in advance, based on the known or expected characteristics of a star system as determined by observation from Luna. A research mission was planned to study specific aspects of the target star system, and a dedicated research vessel like Einstein, Hawking, or Randall was equipped and sent to carry out the planned research. Usually, those ships have more scientists aboard than Navy crew, and the ship’s mission is to get the scientists out there so they can do their jobs.

“That worked when we had sufficient information about the target to decide what we wanted to study, but for most star systems, we have no idea what we’re going to find until someone goes out there and looks. The stars are too far away for us to learn much by astronomical observation.

“Let’s be clear about this. Lewis and Clark is not a research vessel, she’s an exploratory ship, officially designated a deep space survey cruiser. We aren’t going to a specific star for a specific mission. We are going to visit many stars to see what’s out there. We are an LFS Navy warship, and, while we have plenty of sophisticated instrumentation aboard for observing and recording what we find, we are also fast and well-armed because deep space can be a nasty place, and there are hostile lifeforms out there.

“However, it did occur to somebody at Lunar Command that we over-muscled, knuckle-dragging Navy and Marine types need somebody aboard to help us figure out what we should be looking for and what we needed to bring back. Thus, our two civilians—officially science advisors—Dr. Marcus Phillips and Dr. Cynthia Warren. Dr. Phillips is an exobiologist who will serve as our life sciences advisor, while Dr. Warren is our hard sciences expert, an astrophysicist with knowledge of chemistry, astrophysics, planetology, and related subjects. For any of you who can’t operate without a T.O., consider them department heads, reporting to me. I want you to welcome them aboard, as well, and try your best to convince them that we military types really do have functioning brains.

“That’s about all I have to say. Do any of you have questions about the ship or the mission?” He paused and scanned everyone at the table, making momentary eye contact with each of them. No one spoke up. “Okay, then. We slip moorings at oh nine thirty hours tomorrow. I’ve got a few last minute administrative details to take care of, but any of you who aren’t on duty are welcome to stay here, have coffee, wine, or whatever, and get to know each other. Just be at your stations and ready to go in the morning.”

He got up and the entire group, including the civilians, stood as well. They remained standing until Erikson left the compartment. Some followed him out the hatch, bound for their duty stations, while others sat back down. Conversations started around the room as the stewards came back in to refill coffee and take orders for other refreshments.

Nova turned to Lorna with a sad smile. “So now I know why you missed graduation. I never got to tell you how sorry I was to hear about your grandmother.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. She had an amazing life and career, and she saw and did things most people can only dream about. Besides, the Akara really know how to do a funeral; it’s a celebration of life, not death. I’ll tell you all about it sometime, but right now, I’m trying to get caught up with things. I feel like I’ve just done laps around the Academy dome, and I need to spend time jogging in the cool-down lane.”

“I understand,” Nova said.

You need to figure out where you stand on this ship, Blondie, she thought. I have a feeling Commander Carter isn’t done with you yet. I wonder what the man’s problem is.

* * *

21 January 2104, LFS Lewis and Clark

Five days after the captain’s dinner, Lewis and Clark was in hyperspace, heading into the unknown at a rate equivalent to seven hundred times the speed of light. Astrophysicists still argued about whether hyperspace allowed a ship to travel that fast or exponentially shortened the distance between two points, but the issue was moot as far as hyperspace travel was concerned. Starships employed a sort of dead-reckoning navigation that used the hypergravity signature of the destination star as a homing beacon. Erikson and his crew would reach the first star system on their list, NLC 72917, which was nearly 45 light-years from the Sol System in normal space, in another 18 days, with very little in the way of relativistic effects.

The ship had been thoroughly tested by an acceptance crew before being commissioned, but her captain was not about to take anyone’s word for her spaceworthiness. He was also determined to give his officers and crew a thorough workup, so he’d put them through every conceivable trial, maneuver, and simulated situation on the way to the Sol System’s hyper limit. He’d ordered more tests after the translation into hyper, but, by that time, the crew was familiar with the ship and its capabilities. Things were running smoothly.

Lorna had settled into a routine. She’d had her session with the captain and had had no more run-ins with the exec, and she got along well with Lieutenant O’Hara. Between the two of them, they’d handled everything the captain had thrown at Navigation and Tactical, and cruising in hyperspace presented no special challenges. Lorna was assigned to the second watch on the bridge. O’Hara, as senior NTO, took the first watch, leaving an enlisted technician to cover the Nav/Tac station on the third.

From Lorna’s viewpoint, the only bad thing about the schedule was that the executive officer was more likely to show up on the bridge during second watch when the captain wasn’t around. Carter liked nothing better than to remind everyone that he was the acting captain whenever Erikson wasn’t on duty, but if the bridge crew showed him proper respect, he didn’t seem inclined to give them any grief. A couple of times, Lorna had caught him off guard, looking at her with a sour expression on his face, but he rarely spoke a word to her other than routinely asking for status reports.

Lorna wasn’t due on the bridge for a couple of hours, so she went to the wardroom for a leisurely lunch. She took a quick look at the menu, gave her order to the steward on duty, and looked for a place to sit down. She found her Academy classmates sharing a table with one of the civilians.

“Dr. Phillips, Nova, Jake, may I join you?”

“Call me Mark,” Phillips replied. “No need to ask on my account.”

“Park it.” Nova motioned to the empty chair. Mathews grinned at her. “Who’s minding the course,” Nova asked, “or are we just drifting aimlessly in hyperspace?”

“Lieutenant O’Hara is on the bridge,” Lorna said. “I have second watch. Who’s protecting us from the forces of evil?”

“Commanding a platoon of Marines on a ship like this has advantages.” Nova’s grin was evil. “I’m taking the afternoon off, so I can surprise the troops with a nasty damage control drill around oh three hundred hours tonight.”

“Bet some Marine would pay good money for advance notice of something like that,” Mathews mused.

“If I even get a hint of that happening, a certain junior engineering officer will be deep in the hurt locker,” Nova said. “Besides, what do you need money for? No place to spend it out here, and you already have all the techno-toys you could ever want to play with.”

“That’s true,” Mathews admitted, “but this ship is so big, I still haven’t found all the toys, let alone played with them. I spent my second-year cruise aboard the research ship Stephen Hawking, and I thought there was a lot to learn there. Elsie is twice the size and has some engineering features that weren’t even invented a year ago.”

“More like two and a half times the size,” Nova said. “Lewis and Clark is built on a Dragon-class light cruiser hull. For all intents and purposes, she is a light cruiser, with some serious upgrades to her sensor suite. She packs a light cruiser’s punch, with twenty Viper missile tubes and forty-centimeter and fifty-five-centimeter graser batteries.”

“Hey! How come you know so much?” Mathews protested. “You’re supposed to be a Marine, not an engineer.”

“Damage control,” Nova told him smugly. “When you Navy types get your ships all busted up in combat, we Marines are supposed to help you put them back together. An older and wiser Marine officer once told me I had to know my ship better than the average Navy crew member.”

“Still don’t know why she has to be so big,” Mathews said. “I would think a destroyer would be more than big enough for the mission we have.”

“Twin reactors,” Lorna said. “A light cruiser is the smallest ship with two complete fusion plants—one to get us home if the other fails. These days, when the older research vessels go out, Lunar Command usually sends a destroyer along as an escort, not only in case of hostile encounters, but also to provide a rescue ship if something goes wrong.”

“How often does that happen?” Mathews snorted. “Fusion plants are super-reliable; they have a dozen redundant backup systems.”

“It only had to happen once,” Lorna said. “My parents might be alive today if Galileo had had a second reactor.”

There was an awkward moment of silence.

“Dr. Phillips…Mark,” Mathews said, “There’s a little game I play. I listen to people’s accents and speech patterns, and I try to guess their ancestry. I’m pretty good at it, but I’m having a little trouble with your accent; I can’t quite place it.”

“Accent? Me?” Phillips looked innocent. “My father was born and raised on Luna, and I grew up speaking English. Can’t imagine what kind of accent I might have.”

“Sakura speaks perfect English,” Mathews retorted, “but I only have to listen to her for a minute to figure out she grew up speaking Japanese. Greenwood also speaks perfect English, but thanks to her famous grandmother’s influence, I can hear a trace of the Southeastern United States when she talks. I’m guessing Alabama, maybe Georgia.”

“Tennessee,” Lorna admitted. “That’s what Granny always said. I’ve never been there.”

“Close enough,” Mathews said. He turned back to Phillips. “But yours, Doctor, is not like anything I’ve heard before.”

“Okay, you’ve got me,” Phillips said. “I’m an Edie.”

“You’re a what?” Nova asked.

“I’m a Lunar citizen, but I grew up on New Eden, the second planet of the Rothstein system. My mother is a New Eden aborigine—commonly called Edies—and my father is an anthropologist who came there with the first expedition from Luna. They fell in love and got married, and he chose to stay there. He and my mother both speak English, but she grew up as a non-native speaker. We spoke English at home, but my father speaks the Edie language fluently, and I do as well. That’s no doubt what you’re hearing when you listen to me.”

“Hah!” Mathews exclaimed, with a grin. “Got me there. I’ve been assuming that any accent I hear is traceable to some ancestral origin on Earth. Never met a real extraterrestrial until now.”

“Edies are human,” Phillips said with a grin of his own. “If you believe what the Akara tell us, humans are scattered all over this part of the galaxy, and nobody knows where they all came from. New Eden is the first place we know of where humans from two different star systems came together. That’s how I, an Edie native, ended up with an Anglo-Saxon surname like Phillips.”

“The Akara say humans are everywhere, but they won’t tell us where to look for them,” Sakura said.

“Well, we’re going places that haven’t been explored,” Lorna reminded them. “Maybe we’ll find another human world out there.”

“Optimist!” Sakura snorted. “More likely, we’ll find another nasty bunch of alien critters like the Mekota, the Otuka, or the Sillascaritans. If you don’t mind, I’ll keep my weapons close at hand and keep drilling my Marines on damage control. I’m glad we’ve got a light cruiser under us, not an unarmed research ship.”

* * *

“Is that an actual antique book you’re reading?” Nova sat up on the bunk and blinked the sleep from her eyes. “You do know the ship’s got a world-class electronic library, don’t you?”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.” Lorna looked up from the small desk in the cabin. “I can turn the light off and go down to the wardroom.”

“No, you didn’t wake me. I was just wondering what sort of paper book was worth the space and mass to haul aboard ship.”

“My grandmother had a huge collection of them on Copper Hills. This was one of her favorites.” She glanced down at the book in her hands and began reading aloud. “When you’re wounded and left on Afghanistan’s plains, and the women come out to cut up what remains…”

“Jest roll to your rifle and blow out your brains and go to your Gawd like a soldier,” Nova finished the quote. “Kipling? Your grandmother liked Kipling?”

“Yes, she did.” Lorna looked surprised. “She said he captured the essence of military life. Obviously, you’ve read him too.”

“Yeah, I have. So have about half the LFS Marine officer corps. First three officers I served under quoted him all the time. Some of his stuff’s a little dark, like the verse you just read, but I think your granny was right. He understood what it meant to be a soldier.”

“So did she,” Lorna said wistfully. “She commanded the LFS Fleet but wasn’t afraid to get down and dirty with the troops, and she had a special fondness for the Marines. I guess that’s why they have her picture on the wall at Corporal J’s—the only Navy officer in the bunch.”

Nova had gotten up from the bunk and pulled on a tank top and pair of pants. She went to the sideboard and brewed herself a cup of coffee. “You want to talk about that funeral on Copper Hills? I mean, we had no idea what had happened to you. You were in class the day before finals and then you were gone. Next thing we knew, they were telling Becker he had to do the valedictory address because you weren’t going to be there. That was about a week after your grandmother’s funeral on Luna, and Commander Carter’s sarcasm notwithstanding, it really was a national day of mourning. You were with the procession, but the rest of us turned out to pass in review, and just about everything on Luna came to a standstill.”

“Yeah, I know.” Lorna sighed. “Hey, she was the chief executive for a few years, and she resigned that job to go back to Fleet Command. Everyone credits her with winning the war against the Mekota, which gave us the key to hyperspace. When you look at us now, it’s hard to believe we’ve only been traveling the stars for a little over sixty years.”

“She was larger than life.” Nova nodded. “All of them, the original citizens, were. There’s only a few left now, and when you see one of those ribbons on somebody’s chest, you automatically want to salute, even the civilians and the scientific people.”

“Granny taught me all that history before I was old enough to go to school,” Lorna confided. “I thought I knew her as well—she raised me—but I didn’t really know her. Not until I made this last trip to Copper Hills. Tell me something, have you ever had a conversation with an AI?”

“Well, yeah.” Nova shrugged. “Everyone on Luna has. When I was a kid, running errands for the restaurant, I had to ask Mike for directions to places in TerraNova City. I’ve also taken his interactive tour of the LFS Museum—it’s like having a personal guide who can answer all your questions. It’s weird when you consider he’s doing the same thing for a few dozen other museum visitors while he’s talking to you and running everything in the city at the same time.

“Besides, we’ve both done the space combat simulations at the Academy. Those are run by the AI of whichever battlecruiser happens to be in orbit over Luna. I always thought it was kind of amusing that warship AIs have female personas, while the fixed-installation AIs—Mike in Terranova and Louis at TransLuna station—are males.”

Lorna smiled. “Lots of jokes about that, but we can save those for the wardroom. I guess what I meant was, have you ever had a serious personal interaction with one of them?”

“Well, no, not really. Never had any reason to.”

“My grandmother had a last will and testament.” Lorna leaned back in her chair and relaxed as she started to tell the story. “In fact, she had two of them—one filed with the LFS Registrar’s Office on Luna and the other with the Akara Keeper of Records. The first dealt with her property and affairs on Luna, while the second dealt with her estate on Copper Hills, including not only her lands, but also some Akaran hereditary title she held. I guess you could say she was the Lizard equivalent of a duchess or something—only about two steps below Heart of the Clan, who is the absolute monarch of the whole planet. She was the only non-Lizard to ever hold such a title.

“Anyway, both wills specified that she wanted half her ashes to be laid to rest on Luna and the other half taken to Copper Hills. That week delay after her funeral on Luna was the LFS Foreign Office trying to figure out what needed to be done. They talked to the Akara ambassador, who told them there would be a big funeral on Copper Hills and that a large LFS presence would be expected. Apparently, he already had a copy of her Akara will on file, and he told them my presence—as her heir apparent—would also be expected. More importantly, he told them a courier boat with news of her death had already been dispatched to Heart of the Clan. I don’t know when they finally got things sorted out, but it was twenty-three hundred hours when a commander from the Foreign Secretary’s office showed up at the dorm, handed me a set of orders, told me to pack a bag, and took me out of there.”

“Wow! And nobody saw you leave?” Nova stared at her in surprise.

“You know I had a private room; it was one of the perks of being class commander. I guess everyone else was either sacked out or cramming for finals. Nobody saw me go except Admiral Torrey, and she just showed up to confirm the orders they’d already given me.”

Nova nodded. Vice Admiral Robin Torrey—one of those original citizens she had mentioned earlier—had retired from Fleet Command some years before to become the commandant of the Academy. Not even the Foreign Secretary would have pulled something like this without advising her in advance.

“Anyway, next thing I knew, they put me on a shuttle and bounced me straight up to LFS Valkyrie at the TransLuna Fleet Anchorage, and within an hour, we were headed for the hyper limit. By the way, the Academy uploaded my final exams to Val—the ship’s AI—for me to take on the way to Copper Hills, so no, I didn’t get out of those.”

“Obviously you passed.” Nova grinned at her. “You’re here with your shiny new commission and ensign’s bars.”

“Yeah, I passed and maintained my class standing, but that only took four days, same schedule as you had back at the Academy. The rest of the time…well…Valkyrie was my grandmother’s flagship for her entire career, and Val has been Valkyrie’s AI since the ship was commissioned. Battlecruisers are typically a flag officer’s flagship, but no other flag officer has kept a single flagship for as long as Granny had Valkyrie, meaning no human could possibly have known my grandmother as well as Val did. She was Granny’s constant companion aboard ship, and the two of them had long conversations on many nights when Granny couldn’t sleep. Val was there when the LFS envoy ship to the Mekota was destroyed and the love of my grandmother’s life, Carla Perry, my other grandmother, died along with Ian Stevens, the first chief executive of the LFS. She was there when my grandmother got the news that Galileo’s hyperprobe had arrived with the last message from my mother and father before they died.

“A flag officer never really has privacy aboard her flagship. The AI is always there, and Val was witness to things no humans ever saw. They called my grandmother the Iron Maiden, but Val saw her cry more than once. Val went with her into battle and was there when she agonized over the loss of her ships and people, and she stayed with her until victory. Val knows Kipling, too. I don’t mean she has Kipling’s books in her library, I mean she knows Kipling. She read those books and discussed them at length with my grandmother.

“She talked to me about them as well, which is one of the reasons I’m carrying this one with me. In “The Young British Soldier,” the ballad I just quoted, there’s this passage—

When 'arf of your bullets fly wide in the ditch,

Don't call your Martini a cross-eyed old bitch;

She's human as you are - you treat her as sich,

An' she'll fight for the young British soldier.

“I had to ask Val what a Martini was. It’s a reference to the Martini-Henry rifle that was in common use in the British Army in Kipling’s time. Anyway, Val particularly liked that passage because she thought of herself as my grandmother’s Martini—her weapon—and she served that purpose through a couple of wars and lots of minor battles.”

“Some rifle.” Nova shook her head. “An LFS battlecruiser with enough firepower to sterilize a small planet.”

“Yes, but she’s also as human as you are. I never realized that about the AIs. I mean, I’d always been told they were full Lunar citizens, with all the rights and privileges of human citizens. I’d heard people who worked with them—including my grandmother—say they were really people and not just machines. The first Catholic bishop of Luna even wrote a letter to the Vatican, asking the Pope to consider whether they might have souls. Unless you’ve had close personal contact with one, though, it’s hard to believe.

“I’ve had that contact. I spent almost every free hour on that trip talking to Val. Somewhere along the way, I realized she loved my grandmother, probably as much as I did. I think those sessions with Val brought closure for both of us. She’s asked me to stay in touch, and she gave me a special authorization code to contact her. Valkyrie is assigned to Home Fleet as Admiral Sakura’s flagship, so she’ll be at Luna most of the time.

“Then there was the funeral on Copper Hills. It was a planet-wide celebration that lasted for three days. The Akaran idea of a funeral is to throw a big party involving everyone who ever knew or had heard of the deceased. In my grandmother’s case, that meant just about everyone on the planet. There was a lot of eating, drinking, partying, praising the Goddess every few seconds, and reminiscing about Granny. I only saw the big parties in the capital, but I understand they were happening all over the planet. At one point, one of the old Akara, who had been there during the Mekota war, got up and told everybody how my grandmother had stood in front of the lizard High Council and Heart of the Clan and quoted Patton. You know, the quote about not wanting soldiers who were willing to die for their country, but rather soldiers who would go out and make the enemy die for his country. I can’t believe an Akara would remember that more than half a century later.”

“Hey, why not?” Nova grinned. “You and I know that quote, and Patton actually said it more than a hundred and fifty years ago.”

“Yeah, but we learned it a couple of years ago in Leadership and Military Discipline 101,” Lorna said. “Anyway, after the parties finally ran out of steam, they dragged me out again for the investment ceremony that officially made me my grandmother’s heir. I still can’t get my head around the idea that about twenty thousand Lizards now owe me personal fealty or that I’m the lady mistress—effectively the owner—of a chunk of land on Copper Hills that’s the size of Japan back on Earth. It’s not as hospitable as Japan, at least not to the Lizards. They like hot, wet climates, and my domain is way up in the mountains and too cold for most of them—kind of like Alaska on Earth. The twenty thousand who live there fancy themselves rugged pioneers and swear they wouldn’t want to live anywhere else. I guess that’s true of Alaskans as well.

“I can’t be there to take my rightful place, as they put it. My grandmother selected an Akara regent decades ago, one she had known since the earliest days of first contact with the Lizards. You know they live a lot longer than we do, don’t you?”

“No, I didn’t know,” Nova said.

“They do, as much as two hundred and fifty Earth years or so. The funeral was a big party, mostly a celebration, but Regent was the only one I heard express any real regret at my grandmother’s passing. She was one hundred and twenty-one years old, and he told me he regretted she had died so young.”

The two of them were silent for a few moments, then Lorna spoke again, a note of bitterness in her voice.

“She never told me. She knew at least a year ahead that she was going to die. She might even have known when we met her two years ago, but she never told me. She had to be the rock-hard Iron Maiden—not let anyone see what was happening to her. I saw her at least a dozen times in the last two years—whenever she was on Luna, and I could get a break from the Academy—but I never had a clue. There were others who knew—I’m pretty sure Admiral Torrey knew—but she swore them to secrecy.

“My first notice was a call to come to the hospital. They said she was asking to see me, but by the time I got there, she was gone. I was still in shock three days later when the big state funeral happened. I don’t even remember most of it.

“She left me a long letter, said she didn’t want to ‘distract’ me—do anything that would take my attention away from the career I was building. She wanted to hang on until I graduated, and she almost made it. I keep telling myself that if she had, she would have told me about it after I got my commission—would have given me a chance to spend some time with her, to say goodbye. Truth is, I’ll never know.

“She had to know what a shock it would be, how hard it would be for me to just…lose her like that. She went through the same thing herself—twice, in fact—when my other grandmother Carla Perry died, and again when my parents died on Galileo. She must have thought I was tough enough to handle it, but…”

“She was right.” Nova nodded, sadly. “You are tough enough. You’ve handled it, and you’re moving forward.

“Yeah, I know.” She held up a hand to stop Lorna’s protest. “It still hurts, but you’ve got it under control. Otherwise, you’d have lost it back when Carter started needling you about it. Now you’re just determined to make her proud.

“Hey, I know you too well. I can see it in your face and hear it in your voice. You want to be the Iron Maiden, Mark II. That’s the real legacy she left with you—forget about the estate on Copper Hills.

“You think you owe her something in return, and you won’t figure you’ve paid that debt until they pin stars on your collar and start calling you ‘Admiral’—which probably isn’t going to happen for a couple of decades. Meanwhile, just hang in there and work on making lieutenant…and if you need anything, I’ve got your back.”

“Thanks.” Lorna managed a smile. “You’ve already helped me—just had to let it out, and you’re a pretty good listener…for a Marine.”

* * *

Lewis and Clark’s deck plan included nothing that was listed as a gym, an auditorium, or a recreational facility. There was, however, a large compartment amidships listed as a multi-purpose space which served all three of those functions. During the first watch, it was normally configured as a gym, a physical training facility in Navy jargon. Technically, it was open to all who wanted to use it, but twice a week, Nova Sakura’s Marines took it over for most of the morning for hand-to-hand combat training.

Ten days out from the Sol system, Nova was conducting one of those training sessions when Lorna entered the compartment. Normally, it would not have been cause for comment, but that day she was wearing a gi—the traditional uniform of the Asian martial artist. More importantly, it was a padded gi, like one might wear for a full-contact martial arts match, and it was like those the Marines were wearing, except the patch on the left breast was that of the LFS Navy, not the Marines. She was also wearing a black belt, adorned with a gold braided cord with four knots. Eyebrows went up among the more observant Marines; the only other person in the room wearing such a belt was Nova Sakura.

“Are you lost, Ensign?” Nova asked in a parade-ground voice easily heard throughout the facility. “Or did you come here to get your ass kicked?”

“Actually, I came here to kick some ass,” Lorna replied, “assuming I can find a willing volunteer.”

“I think we can oblige you,” Nova said, with a feral grin. “Step onto my mat, please.”

Lorna stepped onto the mat, moved through a couple of preliminary stretches, and took up position near the center. Nova turned and scanned her Marines, who were seated around the edges on three sides.

“Private Hicks, step up.”

The big Marine got to his feet with a grin. Lorna was nearly two meters tall, so she topped him by a few centimeters, but he outweighed her by 40 kilos.

“I don’t need to remind you, Hicks, that this is a training exercise,” Nova said. “Under the circumstances, you are allowed to strike an officer. I don’t think the captain will be happy if you put her in sickbay, but short of that, you are directed to thoroughly kick her Navy ass. Is that understood?”

“Yes, ma’am!” Hicks’s grin got even wider.

Nova extended her hand between the two of them. Lorna and Hicks bowed to each other.

“Fight!” Nova commanded. She withdrew her hand and stepped back out of the ring.

Fifteen seconds later, Hicks was no longer grinning. He was flat on his back, feeling the pain of no less than three well-placed kicks, and he still wasn’t sure just how his legs had been swept out from under him. He was staring at Lorna’s fist, which had stopped just a few centimeters short of his nose.

“Match!” Nova declared. “You’re dead, Hicks. You just died from a terminal case of the dumbshits!”

Lorna took her knee off the Marine’s sternum, stood, and stepped back to center mat. Still looking befuddled, Hicks got up, bowed to Lorna, and sat back down on the mat’s edge.

“Lesson for all of you,” Nova told her troops. “I don’t care how big and bad you think you are. Don’t ever underestimate an opponent, especially one you know nothing about.” She turned back to Lorna. “Are you warmed up now, Ensign?”

“Yes, I am, Lieutenant,” Lorna said, with a hint of amusement in her voice. “Do I get to go up against the First Team now?”

“Yup!” Nova took her place at center, facing Lorna. “Gunny, call it.”

Gunnery Sergeant Macrowski, Nova’s platoon sergeant, stepped up with a serious look on his face. He extended his hand, and the two women bowed to each other.

“Fight!” Macrowski ordered. He withdrew his hand and hastily retreated off the mat.

Eight minutes later, the two women were still standing. They circled each other warily, four meters apart, while thirty Marines looked on in awe. Most full-contact martial arts matches lasted less than a minute before one combatant scored a kill point, but the two were still going at it. Both had scored hard kicks and punches, and both had been down on the mat but had bounced back quickly enough to avoid the other’s follow-up. They had dealt each other an amazing array of punches, kicks, strikes, and counterstrikes, most of which had been blocked or avoided as they moved with fluid grace and sought a weakness to exploit.

“Shit, Gunny,” Hicks muttered to Macrowski, who sat beside him, “if one of them misses a block, the other one’s going to kill her!”

“Nope.” Macrowski shook his head. “They’re both too good for that. They know when to pull back. Hell, if they didn’t, the ensign would have killed you.”

Suddenly, Lorna launched a kick, only to have Nova duck under it and sweep her supporting leg out from under her. She hit the mat hard on her back but bounced up to meet Nova’s follow-up with a solid block and a counter punch to the ribs. They separated and began to circle each other again.

Finally, Nova paused. “It’s been great dancing with you, Ensign, but I have to get back to training these Marines. Call it a draw?”

“Yeah,” Lorna agreed. “I have to be on duty in a couple of hours, anyway. Call it a draw.”

They dropped their fighting stances and bowed to each other.

“Thanks for the workout,” Lorna said as she left the mat and headed for the showers in the next compartment.

“You’re welcome,” Nova called after her. She turned to face her Marines. “Any questions?”

No one spoke.

“Any of you hard-ass Marines think you can take Ensign Greenwood?” she pressed them.

Again, silence.

“Okay, today’s lesson. You saw both of us get hit pretty damned hard, but we kept going. If you are still alive, and the enemy isn’t dead yet, it isn’t over. Ensign Greenwood is not my enemy, so we can call a draw. In combat, you don’t have that option, so you damned well better keep going. All right, on your feet.”

They jumped up and came to attention. She dismissed them, and as they were leaving, she motioned for Gunny Macrowski to stay behind.

“Think they learned anything?”

“Oh, hell yes, LT,” Macrowski said. “If nothing else, they learned not to mess with you or the ensign, but I think most of them picked up a few pointers along the way. I take it the two of you have done this before.”

“Four years at the Academy,” Nova admitted. “She took the Fleet trophy away from me in third year, but I got it back in fourth.

“You know, it’s funny,” she continued. “When Greenwood showed up at the start of first year, she wasn’t in very good physical shape. She wasn’t out of shape, but she wasn’t up to Marine standards, and the Marines run Academy PT. I helped her get in shape, and I thought I was going to teach her martial arts. Boy, did I get a surprise. Seems she’s been doing it since she was a kid, and thanks to her famous grandmother, she had some of the Fleet’s best instructors.”

“I kind of figured that,” Macrowski said, “but with all due respect, LT, I kind of suspect you have also been doing this since before you joined the Marines. I see a lot of classical Japanese style when you fight.”

“Okinawan, Ishin Ryu, to be exact,” she admitted. “My mother was a ranked champion before she met my father. When I was born, my father didn’t think it was a proper pursuit for a girl, but my mother thought otherwise. That was the only time in my life I can remember her getting him to go along with something he didn’t approve of. So, yeah, I’ve been doing it since I could walk.”

The gunny chuckled. “I noticed you didn’t ask them if they thought they could take you. I guess the answer to that question’s already been established.”

* * * * *

Chapter Seven

22 February 2104, LFS Lewis and Clark, Star System NLC 72917

Lewis and Clark slipped quietly out of hyperspace, well beyond the star’s hyper limit. Erikson reduced the ship’s approach rate to almost zero before dropping into normal space. Only the inward vector produced by the star’s hypergravity well remained, and it drew the ship toward it with a gentle pull at such an extreme distance. That pull all but vanished when the ship returned to n-space and was replaced by the weak draw of normal Newtonian gravity. The translation profile presented the least probability of detection by any hostile forces in the area who might object to their presence.

Least probability didn’t mean zero. Even the gentlest translation between n-space and hyperspace would produce a gravity event that could be detected many light-minutes away if anyone with a moderate understanding of gravitational physics was looking for it. The event would produce a broad EMP spike across the electromagnetic spectrum that could be detected a hundred thousand kilometers distant by anyone with primitive radio technology. For that reason, Erikson had chosen to enter the system so far out—in the system’s equivalent of Sol’s Kuiper Belt—that the chance of anyone being within detection distance was poor to zero. The system had five planets, but they had already been charted by their hypergravity signatures as the LFS cruiser approached the system. They were all well away in their orbits from the point where the ship dropped in.

Elsie had come out of hyper with her weapons hot and her crew at battle stations. The soft translation had produced minimal physiological effects on the crew—no more than a moment of vertigo—but Lorna Greenwood was still waiting for her instruments to recover. The ship was wrapped in a flickering cloud of plasma that would take a full minute to dissipate. It would have been a spectacular sight if anyone had been there to see it, but until the show was over, Lewis and Clark was effectively blind.

From his command chair on the bridge, Erikson watched his junior NTO with interest. This was their first arrival in an unexplored system, and he had chosen to go with Greenwood on the bridge and sent the more experienced O’Hara aft to auxiliary control, along with the exec. LFS battle stations protocol called for the exec and a backup bridge crew to be standing by in AuxCon, ready to take over if some disaster befell the main bridge.

Under the circumstances, a junior ensign might be a bit nervous. She might be feeling a bit of pressure, knowing the captain was waiting for a report but being unable to give one because the ship’s systems weren’t providing the needed information. She might even glance over her shoulder to see if he was looking at her with a scowl of disapproval.

Erikson was not scowling. He was waiting patiently, knowing the delay was inevitable. It didn’t matter, though, because Greenwood wasn’t looking at him or showing any other sign of nervousness. Her attention was entirely on her screens, and her hands moved with purpose as she keyed in commands to bring her systems back online.

“Radar is up, sir,” Lorna announced. “No contacts in the immediate vicinity. Still waiting on gravitics.”

Erikson nodded with silent approval. Active systems, such as radar and lidar, always came back first. Passive detection systems, such as gravitic sensors, had a much greater effective range but took longer to recover after a translation. Greenwood had just told him nothing was close enough to shoot at them, but that didn’t mean the neighborhood was deserted.

“Gravitics online. Scanning,” Lorna said. “Contact! Three five zero, down two. Nine point two million klicks. Plotting.”

Erikson focused his attention on the main screen. Greenwood had tagged the bogey, which was just ten degrees left of their intended course and slightly below. It was more than nine million kilometers away, and at that range, it shouldn’t even have been visible unless it was massive or generating a strong gravitational field. The latter would be typical of a ship under gravity drive, but so far, there was no indication of the object’s nature or its motion. Lewis and Clark had not moved into the system yet. Her drives were in standby mode. Except for the brief hyperspace translation signature, she wasn’t emitting anything that could be detected at that distance. Erikson waited patiently for more information.

“Sir, contact appears to be passive. It’s moving slowly on a vector consistent with an orbital object at this distance from the primary. Mass looks to be in the fifty-gigaton range.”

“Are you saying it’s a natural object, Ensign?”

“Yes, sir. Based on the data, it’s a large asteroid or comet. Haven’t seen enough movement to calculate an orbit, but there’s no indication of anything other than a natural drift, and it will not intersect our course.” She consulted her screen again. “Range is opening. It’s moving away from us.”

Erikson had already reached the same conclusion, but he’d wanted to test the young officer. No hesitation, no hedging, not afraid to call it as she sees it. Good. “Very well. Prepare to get under way.”

Throughout the ship, crew members moved to carry out the order.

* * *

“Captain on deck!” Lorna announced.

The bridge crew sat upright in their chairs, but they did not get up, nor did they take their eyes off the readouts at their duty stations.

“As you were,” Erikson replied with the standard response. “Where’s Mr. Carter?”

The question wasn’t directed at anyone in particular, but Lorna was the ranking person on the bridge, the only officer on watch, with one noncom and two enlisted crew members.

“I believe he’s down in Main Environmental, sir.”

Erikson frowned. Carter had the bridge watch that night. Barring some sort of crisis, he should have remained there for the duration. “In that case, I presume you have the bridge, Ensign Greenwood?” It sounded like a question but there was only one possible answer.

“Yes, sir,” Lorna replied without hesitation. “I have the bridge.”

Sounds confident, Erikson thought, but not confident enough to ascend to the throne. Lorna was still at the Nav/Tac station. If Carter had turned the bridge over to her when he left, she should have moved to the captain’s command chair at the rear of the bridge—the throne, as many called it, since the captain was the absolute monarch of the ship. She could have monitored her Nav/Tac station from there but would also have had access to everything else that was happening on the ship.

Then again, maybe Carter hadn’t followed protocols and had left the bridge without officially turning it over to Greenwood. Erikson made a mental note to review the bridge video logs, not only to find out what had required Carter to depart, but also to see whether he had done it properly. For some reason, the man seemed to have a problem with Greenwood, and Erikson was at a loss to explain it. From what he had seen so far, the young ensign was performing well—better than most with her experience.

* * *

Lorna knew why Carter had left the bridge. Most of the crew knew the reason as well, though, so far, it seemed to have escaped the captain’s attention. Carter had grown rather fond of a certain tech 2/c in the ship’s environmental section. He was too smart to make any social advances while off-duty, when others would be sure to notice, but he had the young woman’s duty schedule memorized and made it a point to go by her station whenever she was working. As far as Lorna knew, from scuttlebutt sources, the feelings were not mutual, but the tech was an attractive woman who probably had lots of practice fending off men without making a big fuss.

Carter was persistent, and he threw the weight of his rank into the mix. If he kept at it, the tech would have to take the matter upstairs to the chief engineer, who would be forced to take it to the captain. The crew were already making bets in the mess about when that would happen. She was only a technician second class, so it was possible she would be intimidated to the point where she kept her mouth shut and gave the XO what he obviously wanted, but the consensus seemed to be she was too savvy for that.

For the rest of the crew, it was a little drama that spawned a lot of amused gossip, but it bothered Lorna. Her grandmother had raised her to believe the LFS Navy was an honorable institution, manned by people who aspired to the highest ideals of service. Realistically, Lorna knew they were just people, with faults and flaws like any other group, but to see proof of the axiom was disconcerting. She felt she ought to be doing something, but she didn’t know what. So, like the rest of the crew, she kept her mouth shut.

* * *

Erikson surveyed the bridge crew, bothered by a feeling that something was going on that no one was telling him about. Finally, he walked over to the command chair and sat down. He brought up the displays and arranged them to his preferences. “I have the bridge, Ensign. You can return to your station,” he said, with amusement.

“Aye, sir. You have the bridge.” Lorna knew that she should have been in the command chair, but Carter hadn’t officially turned the watch over to her. There was nothing that could be done about it, so she turned her attention back to her displays.

A few minutes later, Carter came through the hatch onto the bridge. His first reaction was annoyance that no one acknowledged his arrival, but it turned to shock and dismay when he turned and saw the captain sitting at the command station.

“Good evening, Mr. Carter.”

“Captain, I…” Carter seemed at a loss for words, but the dismay in his face spoke volumes. “I was just—”

“No problem,” Erikson interrupted him. “I happened to be up and about, so I thought I would drop in on the bridge. I presume all is well with the ship?”

It was phrased as a question, not an accusation. He did not want to hear the man make excuses for his absence, at least not in front of the bridge crew.

“Yes, sir.” Carter got the message. “Just had to check on an issue in environmental, but it turned out to be nothing.”

Erikson continued to sit at the command station. He studied the displays and ignored Carter, who stood there and tried hard not to fidget. Let him stew for a while, the captain decided. He knows he’s done something wrong, and there will be a reckoning, but I’ll have that reckoning with him later, in private. I’ll let him stand there for another half-minute or so, then he can have the bridge back.

“Contact!” Lorna’s terse announcement broke the momentary silence. “Multiple contacts! Gravity drive signatures at three two seven degrees, up twenty. Range, seven point six megs and closing!”

“Kill the drive,” Erikson ordered. “Silent running, scatter field up. Make us a hole in space, Ensign.”

At the helm, Petty Officer Morris obediently shut down Elsie’s drive. “Drive to zero,” he advised the captain. “We’re ballistic, sir.”

Lorna shut down her active sensor systems and activated the scatter field, a gravity-based shell around the ship that would absorb, deflect, and scatter any incoming radiation from an enemy’s active search and detection gear. “Actives shut down, scatter field up. We’re a hole in space, sir.”

“Go to Condition Red,” Erikson ordered, and alarms began to sound as the tech 1/c at the communications station passed the word. Erikson turned to Carter, who was still standing there with a shocked look on his face. “I believe you need to go aft, XO.”

Carter stared at him for an instant, mumbled an acknowledgment, and ducked back out the bridge hatch and headed for his Condition Red duty station in auxiliary control.

* * *

“Set Condition Red! All crew to battle stations! This is not a drill! All crew to battle stations!”

Nova Sakura jumped out of her bunk and pulled her gear from her locker before she was fully awake. She knew Blondie was on duty, so she was alone, which was a good thing, since two people getting dressed in a hurry would have been a challenge in the tiny compartment. Shipsuit on, boots, gloves, check seals. Helmet, protective gear. Her hands moved swiftly and surely without her needing to think about it. This wasn’t her first rodeo, though the last time she had gone to battle stations for real had been three years ago aboard Hydra. This is the first time you’ve done it when you are in command, she reminded herself. Got that? In command of a whole platoon of Marines. Don’t screw this up!

She ducked through the hatch, sealed it behind her, and keyed the communications unit strapped to her left forearm. “Marine channel, comm check!”

“Loud and clear, LT. How’s mine?” Gunny Macrowski replied. By rank and experience, Macrowski should have been a first sergeant at the company or battalion level, but the LFS Navy was building ships faster than BuPers could find people to crew them, and he wasn’t the only one filling an assignment above or below his rank. Nova wondered if he had been given this assignment as a counterbalance to her lack of command experience.

“Loud and clear, Gunny,” she said. “I’ll be at DCC in about thirty seconds.”

“I’ll be there in ten. Squad leaders haven’t checked in yet.”

Nova grinned. Okay, Macrowski would beat her to the damage control center, but not by much, and her squad leaders were still getting it together. She was on track to set another example for her troops. Wonder what’s happening out there. I’ll bet Blondie knows, but I can’t call her and ask.

* * *

“Talk to me, Ensign.” Erikson had no doubt Lorna was doing her job. Her fingers moved purposefully over her console, coaxing the tiniest bits of information from her instruments. Erikson wanted her to share that information.

“Tracking seven—repeat, seven—drive sources, sir,” she said. “I see the five we originally picked up, plus two smaller sources. No indication they’ve seen us, and they’re still maintaining their original vector. If that continues, they’ll cross ahead of us, with closest approach of point eight three megs at zero zero five degrees, up twenty-nine, in approximately three hours, twenty-three minutes. That’s assuming we don’t maneuver, sir.”

“In other words,” Erikson mused, “if we stay quiet, they haven’t got a chance in hell of seeing us.”

“No, sir, not unless they have much better detection gear than we have,” Lorna said. Spotting Lewis and Clark at 830,000 kilometers when she didn’t want to be spotted was well beyond the capabilities of any sensory system known to the LFS.

“Tactical analysis?”

Lorna paused. It was the kind of question she’d often received from instructors at the Academy, but this time it was for real. Her captain was asking for her professional evaluation of the situation and would expect her to back up every word with sound tactical reasoning. She drew a deep breath. “Sir, I think we’re looking at a merchant convoy.”

“Really? What leads you to that conclusion?” Erikson didn’t sound critical, just curious.

“Looking at their formation, sir. They have five big ships bunched together in the middle, with smaller ships positioned fore-and-aft of the formation. I think the big ones are freighters, and the smaller ones are the convoy escort.”

“Hmmm, but it could be a military formation, could it not?”

“Maybe,” Lorna said, but her tone was skeptical. “If so, they’re light on screening elements. I can’t guess at the battle doctrine of an alien race we haven’t met, but we know the importance of a screen. I’d expect a formation of two capital ships with five destroyers for a screen, not five capital ships with two screeners.

“Besides,” she continued, “if the big ones really are warships, they ought to be packing warship-grade sensors. The screening units should be further out to extend their sensor reach beyond that of the main formation. If they are a military unit, they aren’t out here on patrol. Backtracking their course, they almost certainly originated at the second planet in the system. Forward projection shows they’re headed for the hyper limit. There’s nothing else out here that could be their destination. Their present acceleration will set them up for a gamma-level translation to hyper when they get there.” She consulted her console. “Military or commercial, they’re leaving the system approximately forty-two hours from now.”

“So, what do you suggest we do, Ensign?” Erikson found no fault with Lorna’s analysis, but he wanted her to take it one step further.

Lorna hesitated. Again, she had flashbacks to Academy exercises, and she wondered if the captain was testing her. “Sir, I’d stay silent and let them go by. Once they get out there—say ten million klicks or better—we can start moving again, with reasonable caution. I think we ought to take a serious look at that second planet. There has to be a reason why they started from there.”

“Agreed. Make it so,” Erikson ordered. “All stations stand down from Condition Red. We will continue in silent mode and watch them to see if anything changes. Otherwise, advise me when they are ten megs out. Ensign, you have the bridge until the XO returns from auxiliary control.”

“Aye, sir. I have the bridge,” Lorna said.

With that, Erikson left via the main bridge hatch. Lorna got up and moved to the command station. She hesitated for just a moment—this was a first for her—then sat down and brought up her tactical displays on the command console.

* * *

In auxiliary control, Senior Lieutenant John O’Hara smiled as he shut down his console and prepared to go off duty again. Damn, that kid’s good, he thought. Glad she had a chance to show the captain what she’s got. O’Hara had seen the same data and had reached the same conclusions. He had also recognized the implications of a merchant convoy originating from the second planet. Wonder what we’ll find when we get there.

* * *

At the command station in auxiliary control, the exec also shut down his console, preparing to return to the bridge and resume his normal watch. Unlike O’Hara, however, Carter was not smiling. I can’t believe the captain let her go on with all that merchant convoy nonsense, as if she knew what she was talking about. Those things were obviously warships, and we should have closed with them—cautiously, of course—to find out as much as we could about them. If they had detected us, so what! The way they were lumbering along, we could have easily run away, gone back to Luna, and given Lunar Command some real information to work with so they could send out a proper battle group to deal with whatever’s here.

Carter didn’t much care for the idea of moving in-system to the second planet. Why the hell does the captain want to walk into a potential trap, knowing there’s an alien presence here with significant space capability? We could find ourselves surrounded by enemy warships with no way out. Lunar Command might never know what happened to us, all because some snot-nosed fresh-out-of-the-Academy ensign thinks it’s a good idea to go poking around. News flash, Captain: her grandmother’s dead now. You don’t have to kiss her ass anymore.

The captain hadn’t asked for Carter’s opinion, and that bothered him most of all. What good is it to have a sharp, experienced executive officer if you aren’t going to seek his input? That’s certainly a point I’ll bring up when they hold an inquiry about this whole affair—assuming any of us survive to face it.

* * *

Efficiency was the driving paradigm for the Ay’uskanar. They considered the region of space surrounding NLC 72917 their territory and reasonably secure. They saw no reason to deploy significant military assets in the area. The ore freighter convoy crossed Lewis and Clark’s track without seeing her and continued its way to the star’s hyper limit. That was fortunate for the Ay’uskanar since detection of an unknown ship would have forced them to respond aggressively. Though neither side knew it, the two convoy escorts would have been no match for the LFS cruiser.

A few hours later, when the separation between them had opened sufficiently, Lewis and Clark began to accelerate on a course toward the second planet in the system.

* * *

Planet Tatanna, The King’s City

Algar’s loyal Guardsmen surrounded him protectively, but the safety he normally felt in their presence was gone. The Bug flying machine had landed in the fields just beyond the city gates, almost in the shadow of Castle Boroson. A single Bug had emerged and approached a cowering peasant boy in the field, and he had given the boy a message. The boy had run to the gates, climbed the road up the hill to the castle, and demanded entrance. Algar’s guards had seen all this as they kept watch from the castle’s towers, but when the boy reached the castle, they had been surprised to find he carried a message for the king.

The message had been a summons the King of Kings dared not ignore. Algar stood with his personal guards in the field, almost in the same place where the boy had been. Again, a single Bug emerged from the sky-ship, made its way over to them, and stopped just out of reach of the king. The creature was nearly twice as tall as a man, and it towered over them, its true features concealed inside the armored suit it wore. It raised one of its arms—one of the forward pair of its six limbs—and pointed at the king. It beckoned to him with an unmistakable gesture as it turned and headed back the way it had come.

Algar started to follow, and his guards moved with him, but he sensed the Bug wanted him alone. He knew his men were powerless to protect him but would try to do so anyway. They would give their lives for him and would accomplish nothing. He did not want them to die uselessly, so he turned and ordered the captain of the guard to stay back and keep the detail in place while he went forward alone.

The officer looked ready to protest, but he accepted the order. “As you command, Majesty. May the Goddess protect you.”

“May She protect us all,” Algar responded, as he turned to follow the Bug.

A short while later, he returned to his men, carrying what the Bugs had given him—a box only he knew how to open. They had given him a glimpse of the written message inside, and he knew he needed to return home to read the message in private. As he and his men returned to the edge of the field, the Bug ship rose into the sky behind them.

* * *

It was late in the evening when Algar finally finished reading the message, and he still wasn’t sure he understood everything it contained. The Bugs were asking questions, some of which bordered on accusations. They wanted to know what certain dukes were doing that might interfere with their mining operations. They seemed to be accusing Algar of fomenting dissent among the nobles, turning those who had no mines on their lands against those who had them. The Bugs paid well, in pure copper, for the output from those mines. The nobles who controlled the mining lands imposed taxes to take a share of that copper, and Algar, in turn, imposed his own taxes on the nobles and took a share for the Crown.

The Bugs seemed to think Algar was supporting plots by the have-not nobles to seize the territories and the mines from their fellow nobles. Since the Crown was already getting its share of the mining profits, Algar could not see how such plots would benefit him, unless the have-nots offered him a much larger share. None of the nobles had suggested such a thing, though some, whose lands were devoid of mines, had occasionally complained about the lack. In response, Algar had always shrugged and pointed out that he did not control where the Bugs chose to place their mines. He had once toyed with the idea of allowing only the Crown to collect taxes on the mines and distributing shares to all the nobles, but that would have caused a major outcry from those who had mines. In the end, he’d abandoned the idea in favor of the status quo, which had not caused any problems with the Bugs until now.

The Bugs did not accuse every have-not noble of being involved, but those specifically mentioned—Duke Middle Plains, for example—were all close allies of the king, except one. Ronor T’Korval, Duke High Reaches, was accused of conspiring with Algar. Algar thought it was almost amusing since High Reaches was one of his most vocal critics. He was a man who could never bring himself to agree with his king on even the most trivial matters. Middle Plains had once joked the best way to get T’Korval to agree to anything was to tell him Algar opposed whatever it was.

Algar also noticed one name was missing from the list of complainants—those whose mines were allegedly being threatened. Asral T’Corsa, Duke North Coast, was not one of Algar’s most noteworthy critics, but neither was he an ardent supporter of the king. His lands were home to many Bug mines, and they bordered on T’Korval’s holdings in the High Reaches. The Bugs did not mention any threat to those mines, nor did they accuse anyone of conspiring against T’Corsa.

Algar knew someone was playing sinister political games and that one or more of his enemies among the nobles was feeding information to the Bugs. He had to respond, and he needed to consider his response very carefully. He looked again at the strange box in which the message had arrived, and he smiled as another implication struck him. Someone is feeding information to the Bugs to gain advantage over me, but thanks to the directness that seems to be part of the nature of these creatures from the sky, I now have a way of my own to communicate with them. With care, I can learn much about my enemies and, perhaps, turn their ploys against them.

* * *

Planet Tatanna, House Corsa, Province of North Coast

“You told the Bugs I’m conspiring with Algar against them?” Ronor T’Korval did not look happy; he looked dangerously angry. “What in the name of the Goddess would possibly make you think that was a good idea?”

“That’s not what I told them,” T’Corsa replied somewhat hastily. T’Korval was a dangerous man when angry. “I told them Algar is trying to involve you in his conspiracy. Think about it, Ronor, word is bound to get back to the king, and that little bit of information was intended to confuse and misdirect him about who his enemies are, to make him think someone believes you are secretly in league with him.

“If the Bugs ever confront you, you will have the opportunity to tell them he did approach you, but you wanted nothing to do with it. It would be just like them to do so, and it would help confirm that what I told them is true. I left my name off the list of dukes Algar is supposedly conspiring against, so he’ll have no reason to believe I’m the one complaining, and the Bugs will believe I’m just passing along information given to me by others. My credibility is enhanced if I’m not one of the aggrieved parties.”

T’Korval thought about it, and his anger subsided a bit, but he was far from happy. Asral thinks he is so clever, but his schemes are far too complicated. The little details are going to be his undoing someday, or maybe my undoing, for that matter.

In truth, the younger duke had no idea how devious and complicated T’Corsa’s plan really was. Duke North Coast was playing a dangerous game in which T’Korval was just another playing piece, one in which he was intended as the target for Algar’s wrath should the ploy with the Bugs fail, and the king seek reprisal on the conspirators. Algar knows Ronor will never be his ally, but he will see Ronor’s name on the list and believe it is only there to deflect suspicion away from one of the obvious suspects.

He was certain Algar would see the list, probably already had. The Bugs were very direct in their ways, and he suspected their response to his message would be to confront the king. He had asked them not to divulge the source of their information, and he hoped they understood the concept of secrecy, but he had no assurance. It was a dangerous game, one he might lose in the end, but at least he had taken a few steps to divert the king’s attention to others.

* * * * *

Chapter Eight

1 March 2104, LFS Lewis and Clark

“Come in, Lieutenant. Sit down.”

O’Hara took the indicated chair in the captain’s ready room just aft of the bridge. The compartment served as an office and conference room that Erikson used for private meetings with one or more of his officers. That day, O’Hara was the only one summoned, and he wondered what the meeting was about. He was reasonably confident nothing bad was coming his way, but private meetings with the captain were not to be taken lightly.

“Before we left the Sol System, Lunar Command sent us a few more data packets,” Erikson said. “Most of them were administrative stuff, but they included the latest listings from the promotion boards, marked as not to be published until today. You’re on the list for lieutenant commander, with date-of-rank the fifth of this month. The lists will be posted on the ship’s network tomorrow, but since you were the only officer listed, I thought I’d give you the good news myself. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, sir.” O’Hara had no dependents to support, so the extra pay wasn’t a big deal, but the promotion meant he was ahead of his career curve. He had just turned 34, which made him about two years younger than the average officer reaching that rank.

“We haven’t been working together very long,” Erikson continued, “but from what I’ve seen so far, you’ve earned it. It looks like you’re trying to live up to your heritage rather than counting on it to help you along.”

“Sir, I…” O’Hara hesitated, not sure what to say. He never mentioned his ancestry to anyone, and he tried hard to keep it quiet, but his commanding officers always made the connection, and his shipmates usually did as well. It was almost impossible for them not to know he was the son of a currently serving rear admiral, one who was soon to be promoted to vice admiral if the rumor mill had it right. More importantly, his grandfather had been, until his retirement a decade ago, the longest-serving chief executive officer in the history of the Lunar Free State. If the LFS had been a hereditary monarchy, O’Hara would have been a member of its royal family.

“Relax, Lieutenant,” Erikson said, with a chuckle. “That wasn’t a jab. The Navy goes out of its way to avoid any hint of nepotism or patronage, but, in my experience, people with backgrounds like yours usually wind up working twice as hard because they think they have to prove they’re not getting a free ride. You’re very good at your job and seem to have a fair amount of natural leadership ability. Maybe there’s something to be said for genealogy after all.

“Unfortunately,” he continued, “that means you’ll be leaving Lewis and Clark after this mission. They’ll send you to Command College, then you’ll probably get an XO slot on a cruiser or maybe even command of a corvette or a destroyer.”

Assuming I don’t screw up too badly in this assignment, O’Hara thought.

“Anyway,” Erikson said, “given the expected duration of our mission, Command also gave me full discretion regarding the normal eighteen-month promotion for our three most junior officers. So far, I’m happy with all three, but I think Greenwood is a bit ahead of the others. She reports to you, so I’d like to hear your thoughts.”

“I’m inclined to agree with you, sir. She’s doing very well for her level of experience. I mean, she’s smart—we knew that from her Academy records—but she also has confidence in her abilities, which she tempers with common sense. She knows a lot, but she’s willing to learn even more. The bridge crew seems to give her a bit more respect than the average green ensign typically gets. Frankly, I’m glad I got her for Nav/Tac.”

“Hmmph!” Erikson snorted. “That was a no-brainer. Either of them would have done well in the engineering slot, but at the Academy, she was head and shoulders above Mathews in just about everything else—especially space warfare and tactics.”

“Maybe that’s genealogy again,” O’Hara said, with a wry grin.

“Maybe so, though she still has a long way to go to match her late grandmother. If I have one complaint about her, it’s that she tries to do too much herself. Give her a problem, and she works it to death, but she doesn’t tell you what she’s doing until she has a solution. Mind you, she’s quick, and, most of the time, her solutions are dead-on accurate, but I’d like to know where she’s going before she gets there. It’s possible someone else—like her captain—might have some useful input.”

“Hadn’t thought about that, sir,” O’Hara admitted. “Mostly, I’ve been letting her go just to see what she can come up with on her own. I’ll have a word or two with her, kind of get her pointed in the right direction.”

“No, don’t do that. She’s a diamond in the rough, but I suspect she’ll learn more from experience than from any counseling we give her. Why don’t you swap watches with her—put her on first watch for a while and let me see if I can polish up some of that diamond’s facets.”

“Sounds like a plan, sir. I’ll relieve her early tonight, and she can start on first tomorrow morning.”

“Good. Here’s something for you.” He pushed a small box across the desk. O’Hara opened it and found a pair of rank insignia pins, the triple silver bars of a lieutenant commander. “Used to be mine. You can pin them on in four days.”

“Thank you, sir.”

* * *

“Why am I always asking you who’s minding the store?” Nova asked. “Aren’t you supposed to be on the bridge, keeping us on course and watching out for hostile aliens?”

“Mr. O’Hara relieved me early; I’m switching to first watch tomorrow morning,” Lorna said. “So, why am I always finding you people here in the wardroom? You are on duty occasionally, aren’t you?”

“As I said before, I set my own schedule.” Nova sniffed. “As it happens, I am a daytime person, and I have chosen first watch as my work time, unless we go to battle stations, and I have to save all you Navy types from death and destruction, or unless I choose to prowl around the ship at midnight to harass my Marines who have the misfortune of having security detail.”

“I’ve got third watch,” Jake Mathews said. “I don’t have to be on duty for another five hours.”

“Nobody knows what I do aboard ship anyway,” Mark Phillips chimed in. “I just have to be on standby in case the captain needs my knowledge. Meanwhile, I’m doing research for a paper on Otuka reproductive cycles and their influence on the nomadic nature of Otuka society.”

“Seriously?” Nova looked surprised. “Hey, is it true the Donkey boys change sex periodically? I mean, like Donkey boys become Donkey girls, and vice versa?”

“Yes, they do,” Phillips assured her. “From a biological standpoint, the Otuka are a fascinating study, though my ancestors on New Eden didn’t think too highly of them back when they used our planet for a hunting preserve.”

“Right, until the LFS Marines kicked their Donkey butts up between their shoulder blades.” Nova’s grin was feral.

“With just a little assistance from the Navy,” Lorna added.

“Maybe a little. Let me guess, your grandmother was there for that one.”

“Only for part of it. Second Fleet did most of the heavy lifting, or so Granny always told me. My mother was there as well. It seems Rothstein’s Star—New Eden’s sun—is an unusual stellar type. Mom was an astrophysicist and went there to study it.”

“Speaking of which,” Mathews said, “what do you think of the name the Captain picked for this star?”

Elsie’s mission profile had included a special directive from the Lunar Research Institute, granting her captain the authority to give “serious and appropriate” names to the stars they explored, which were identified only by numbers in the New Lunar Catalog of 2084. Erikson had chosen to solicit suggestions from the crew and had just announced that the star cataloged as NLC 72917 would be named Sacagawea. He hadn’t given any further details about the name, leaving it for the more intelligent officers and crew to figure out and instruct their less erudite brethren.

“It’s kind of a tongue twister,” Nova said. “I had to do a library search to find out where it came from.”

“Nineteenth century,” Lorna said. “United States of America, to be exact, the Lewis and Clark Expedition. Sacagawea was a native American woman who served as their guide and interpreter. I heard the suggestion came from a missile tech named Whitefeather, whose ancestors were native Americans.”

“Blondie’s a walking history book.” Nova rolled her eyes. “She probably didn’t even have to look that up.”

“Granny always said, ‘Those who don’t learn history are doomed to repeat it,’” Lorna said, “but I have to wonder. Here we are naming a star, when we already know there’s an alien presence in the system. I imagine they already have a name for this star.”

Phillips chuckled. “Most sentient critters, including humans, call their home planet Dirt or some synonym for it, and they give their home star a name that means Big Light in the Sky. They also name all those other stars up there. Whatever we choose to call it won’t make any difference to them.”

“Okay, Sacagawea it is,” Mathews said. “I heard the XO was trying to get everybody to suggest ‘Erikson’ for the star’s name. What a butt-kisser.”

“It is not proper for an officer to refer to his superior in a derogatory manner,” Nova said, sounding as if she were quoting the Code of Military Protocols. “Besides, I heard he only did it in the hope we would name the next star ‘Carter’ when we get there.”

Phillips and Mathews laughed, but Lorna said nothing. She agreed with the first part of Nova’s remark, and while she had her own opinion of Commander Carter, she wasn’t about to express it openly in the wardroom.

* * *

“What have you got, Ensign?”

Lorna hadn’t said anything, but Erikson noticed she wasn’t just watching her console. She was selecting data, entering commands, sifting, refining, and studying the results. She was onto something, but she wasn’t talking about it. For a moment, Erikson thought she might be so in the zone that she hadn’t heard him. He was about to repeat the question when she spoke up without looking away from her displays.

“Sir, there is something in orbit around the planet.”

“Last time I looked, there were two moons in orbit around the planet.” Erikson chuckled but also came to full alert because he was reasonably sure she wasn’t talking about the planet’s natural satellites. Damn, that kid is good, he thought. I just wish she would learn to tell me what she’s got before she figures out what it is.

“No, sir, I mean something other than the moons, a lot closer to the planet. The orbital radius is about thirty-three thousand kilometers in the plane of the equator, which, for this planet, would make it a synchronous orbit. It would have to mass at least a few hundred k-tons, and I’ve ruled out a sensor ghost. There’s definitely something there.”

Erikson studied the plot and tried to see what Greenwood was seeing. They were coming in ballistic, with sensor remotes spread out in front of them forming a detection array ten kilometers wide. Lewis and Clark had the best gravitic detection gear the LFS could produce, but they were still almost two light-minutes out from the planet. Finding an object of less than a million tons at that distance would be hard in open space. Finding it near a massive planet and two good-sized moons would be close to impossible. Either Greenwood was very good with her gear, or she was chasing shadows. The calm assurance in her voice seemed to rule out the latter. Without further comment, she posted a marker on the display so he and the rest of the bridge crew could see the location of the mysterious object.

Stable synchronous orbits, which would always keep the orbiting object over the same spot on the planet’s equator, didn’t happen by accident, and the object’s location relative to the planet’s moons ruled out any sort of LaGrangian effect. In short, the odds were high that the thing was an artificial construct.

“Noted. Keep an eye on it. Do you see anything else?”

“No, sir, but something’s bothering me, or rather the lack of something. If there’s a space-capable civilization down there, we ought to be picking up some EM transmissions from the planet. I’ve been up and down the spectrum and there’s nothing.”

That, Erikson decided, is something the communications section should have noticed. For that matter, I should have thought of it myself without needing a junior Nav/Tac officer to remind me. He thought about it. “Maybe there isn’t anyone down there. For all we know, there is no life on the planet at all.”

“Sir—” Lorna sounded skeptical, “—those ships we encountered weren’t just passing through, and I’m pretty sure the object I’m watching is an artificial construct.”

“I don’t disagree with you, Ensign, but that only proves there’s something on or around the planet that is of interest to an advanced civilization. That doesn’t mean they live here. They may just be using an orbital research station to study the planet. More likely, since I’m inclined to agree with your theory that what we saw was a merchant convoy, they are exploiting some resource they’ve found, and that orbiting object is a processing or transfer station.” Erikson keyed the command channel. “Dr. Warren, are you available?”

“Yes, Captain,” Cynthia Warren replied immediately. “I’m in the laboratory, and Doctor Phillips is here with me.”

What the two scientists called the laboratory was officially labeled the research facility on Elsie’s deck plan. While it had some equipment for studying and analyzing any physical samples they might collect, it was primarily intended to give the researchers access to data gathered by the ship’s sophisticated detection gear or by the remote probes that took up a significant amount of space in the cruiser’s missile magazines. It served as an office and workspace for the researchers during normal duty hours and was their official duty station during alerts.

“What can you tell us about the planet from this distance, Doctor?”

“I’ve been fine-tuning my data, sir. What we have is a planet of one point zero nine Earth-mass and one point one nine Earth-diameter. In other words, it is larger than Earth but not as dense, perhaps due to a shortage of the heaviest elements. It has an oxy-nitrogen atmosphere, which is a bit oxygen-rich compared to Earth’s, but carbon dioxide and other problem gases are within limits, and my scans show significant water vapor in the atmosphere. Barring any surprises in the trace elements, it should be breathable without life support.

“The planet is within the star system’s liquid-water life zone but a bit outward from the center of that zone,” she continued. “Sacagawea is smaller than Sol but slightly hotter, with a spectrum more toward the blue end. The planet has a mean orbital radius of one hundred sixty-two million kilometers. That’s significantly greater than one AU and produces a planetary year about thirteen percent longer than our own. It also means the planet is much colder overall—anything more than about thirty degrees north or south of the equator will experience sub-arctic conditions most of the year. There is about twelve degrees of axial tilt, so there will be seasonal variation, but from what I’m seeing, conditions at the equator will be equivalent to those in the mid-latitudes—say around forty degrees north or south—on Earth.”

“If I could add a comment,” Phillips said, “we have no idea what sort of lifeforms we might find, but it’s likely there will be life, at least in the equatorial region. We are seeing significant amounts of green down there, and I hope that means chlorophyll-based plant life, thriving by photosynthesis. As Doctor Warren said, barring any surprises, I would expect most temperate-climate Earth life forms could survive there.”

“I got some pretty good imagery of the planet,” Warren added. “May I show it to you?”

“By all means,” Erikson said. “Put it on screen channel two.”

A moment later, the secondary screen came up, and the bridge crew got their first look at the planet. It was a cloud-studded globe wearing a belt of blue, green, and brown around its middle, with a brilliant white mantle covering its polar regions.

Look at the size of those polar caps, Lorna thought, as she stared at the image in fascination. Looks cold down there; that’s for certain. Cold, but beautiful all the same.

* * *

On larger warships, face-to-face meetings involving all officers were uncommon, but Lewis and Clark's entire complement included just 17 commissioned officers, and Captain Erikson favored such meetings wherever possible. All the officers, except two, were assembled in the wardroom for officers’ call. The two exceptions—Lieutenant Colleen Murphy, the Admin/Logistics officer, and Ensign Jake Matthews—were minding the store on the bridge and in main engineering, respectively.

“You’ve all seen the scientific brief,” Erikson began, nodding to the two scientists who were also present, “and you’ve had a chance to look at the preliminary data on the orbiting object Ensign Greenwood discovered. What you don’t know—or most of you don’t, since we just got this in the last hour—is that we have seen an indication of small craft moving between that object and the planet. Mr. O’Hara?”

“Yes, sir,” O’Hara said, “though I’m not sure small craft is the appropriate term. What we’ve seen are gravity drive traces of two distinct objects. These are low-power drives compared to those of a hyper-capable starship, but they could be enough to move significant payloads at the low acceleration rates—on the order of ten gravities—they seem to be using. Also, we may not have seen all they’ve got simply because it isn’t necessary to go fast on the short trip between the planet and the orbiting object.”

“You’re saying we haven’t seen any large ships since that formation we encountered earlier?” Commander Carter asked.

“That’s correct, sir, but given the size and mass of that orbiting object, they could have a battlecruiser moored next to it, and we wouldn’t see it until they lit up its drive.

“Unfortunately,” he continued, “that’s all we’ve got, and all we are likely to get, unless we get a whole lot closer—close enough to be certain that anyone with a reasonable level of technology would see us coming. We might be able to get a long-range probe in there to take a better look, but it would have to be a ballistic fly-by, with no chance of recovering the probe. By the time it got there, it wouldn’t have enough left in its drive to maneuver, let alone return.”

“So, that’s our dilemma.” Erikson nodded. “We need more information to figure out what’s really going on here, but we can’t get it without exposing ourselves.”

“Unless…” Lorna stopped abruptly as she realized she had just committed the unforgivable sin of interrupting her captain. “Sorry, sir.” She felt her face reddening as the others all looked at her.

“Greenwood, if you’ve got an idea, let’s hear it,” Erikson said with a sigh. “I’m open to suggestions from any of you; that’s why we’re having this meeting.”

“Well, sir, I was thinking. If we plot a ballistic course that ends behind one of the moons—relative to the planet, that is—we wouldn’t need to light up the drive until we have the moon between us and them. The larger moon would be the better choice, and if we plot carefully, we could get in its sensor shadow while we’re still pretty far out. We could park at the L2 point and maintain station with minimum effort, and we could deploy a sentinel probe to look around the moon and make sure nothing comes at us from that direction.

She shrugged. “After that, we could deploy other probes to do whatever needs to be done. If we wait until that orbiting object is on the other side of the planet, we can even slip some planetary surveyors into low orbit. They’d be unlikely to spot them because it’s unlikely they’d be looking for small, passive objects inside their own orbit.”

She stopped talking, but the rest of the officers continued to stare at her. Most of them, including the captain, wore thoughtful looks, but the exec regarded her with a scowl. She braced herself for a critical comment, but he said nothing.

“How long have you been working on this idea, Ensign?” Erikson asked.

“It just popped into my head, sir,” she said. “That’s why I spoke up. Sorry about that, sir, but the more I think about this idea, the more advantages I see.”

“Stop apologizing,” he said. “It’s a good idea, and I see the advantages as well, but if you’ve just thought of it, that means you haven’t had time to consider the possible disadvantages or flaws in the plan, and neither has anyone else. Does anyone have a suggestion or comment?”

“I was going to suggest a ballistic flyby,” Commander Guzman said. “Full stealth, close as we dare get. Find out what we can with passive systems and coast past them until we’re out of range. I like Greenwood’s idea better. It will get us much closer, and we’ll have more time to observe and less risk of discovery.”

“I understand the need for caution,” Cynthia Warren said, “but do we really expect dire consequences if they detect us? I’m not a military person, but I’m told Elsie is a fast, well-armed ship. Maybe we should just stand off at a reasonably safe distance, shout ‘hello there’ at them, and see how they react.”

“Well, for one thing,” Erikson said, with a little chuckle, “fast and well-armed are relative terms. Back in the twentieth century, during World War II, the German battleship Bismark was fast and well-armed, but it was one ship, a long way from home—like we are—when the British Navy caught up with it and sank it.

“We don’t know who these people are or what their capabilities may be, though we do have one possible hint. Our mission orders included a report on a spacefaring race known as the Ay’uskanar, with the note that our area of exploration may be close to the fringes of their territory. What little information we have on them comes from the Akara, and even they don’t seem to know very much. The report says the Ay’uskanar are aggressively territorial and will immediately attack any ship that enters a system they consider their own. No communication, no negotiation, just shoot first and ask questions later.

“The Akara don’t seem particularly concerned about them, however. They’ve had a few encounters, but they haven’t seen any evidence of superior military technology, and they noted that Ay’uskanar aggression appears limited to pure defense. They don’t go out and raid other people’s shipping like the Sillascaritans or the Otuka, and they are not empire-building conquerors like the Mekota. They seem to mind their own business, and they get upset if someone disturbs them. With that in mind, if this happens to be one of their systems, I’d really like to know a bit more before we attract their attention.”

Warren nodded. “I guess that would be prudent. Just had to ask the question.”

“It’s a valid point,” Erikson said. “I passed all the data on the Ay’uskanar to Dr. Phillips. Mark, do you have anything to add?”

“Just a thought, Captain. If these are the Ay’uskanar, this is not one of their native worlds. For the record, the name Ay’uskanar is the human pronunciation of a rather generic Akara term for insect. According to Akara exobiologists, insectoid life-forms are found throughout the galaxy and are the most common form of life anywhere, including places where the environment is hostile to most other forms of carbon-based life. However, these insects are the only ones the Akara have encountered with the necessary intelligence and level of technology sufficient for interstellar travel. They are also a lot larger than most other insectoid forms. They are six-limbed, and, in their normal at-rest stance, with four legs on the ground and their upper body and head erect, they are approximately three meters tall. Those are some very big bugs, people.”

“Bigger than any I’d like to meet.” The comment came from Senior Lieutenant Jane Adams, the assistant engineering officer. “Ugh, giant bugs.” She feigned a shudder of distaste.

“You aren’t likely to meet one face to face,” Phillips said, with a grin. “Based on autopsies the Akara did on Ay’uskanar killed in one of their encounters, these bugs must have evolved on a hot, heavy-gravity—two Earth gravities or better—planet with a methane atmosphere and very little free oxygen. Their bodies get energy from methane through anaerobic oxidation, and they can’t survive in a typical oxy-nitrogen atmosphere like ours or the one on the planet down there. The planet below would also be brutally cold by their standards. Likewise, you won’t find humans living on one of their home planets. In short, if we find the Ay’uskanar here, we have to assume they are exploiting a resource found on the planet that has a value sufficient to justify looking for it in such a hostile place.”

“Something to think about,” Erikson said, “but remember, we have no proof they are the Ay’uskanar. In any case, I think we’ll proceed with Greenwood’s plan, at least the initial phase. We’ll lay in a course where the larger moon will end up between us and the planet. We’ll apply power now, while we’re still a long way out, and come in ballistic with active emissions shut down. Ensign, have you done any of the math for that?”

“Working on it now, sir,” Lorna said. Her fingers danced over her pad. “Numbers are still a bit rough, but it will take us at least three days to get there with minimum risk of detection.”

“Fine.” Erikson nodded. “We’ll proceed as soon as you and Mr. O’Hara have a course for us. While we’re going in, the rest of you can think about the plan—analyze it and look for problems. If you find something serious, let me know immediately so we can abort if necessary. If you don’t find any issues, look for any enhancements you can suggest and start thinking about what we want to do when we get there. Any questions?”

There were none.

“Okay. Back to work, people.”

* * *

“Can I have a moment, Captain?”

The captain’s quarters on Lewis and Clark were not lavish compared to the admiral’s quarters on a battlecruiser, but they did provide Erikson with a day cabin area separate from his sleeping cabin. He used the day cabin as his office, and he could usually be found there during duty hours if he was not on the bridge.

Ten minutes after the meeting ended, Commander Carter had come looking for him.

“Come in, Mr. Carter. Have a seat.” Erikson tried to keep the invitation cordial, though he suspected he was not going to like what the XO had to say. “Let me guess. You have issues with Greenwood’s plan, but you didn’t want to express them in front of everyone.”

“No, sir,” Carter said. “I have no problems with the plan. It’s a bit simplistic; about what I would expect from someone with her experience. I’m sure I could have come up with a more sophisticated approach, but it will serve the purpose, assuming that’s what we really want to do.”

Erikson pondered that. Okay, so his problem is with me, not Greenwood, this time. At least he brought it to me directly and in private. He knew the XO tended to complain to others about things that bothered him. It hadn’t gotten to the level of a problem yet, but it wasn’t earning Carter any points on Erikson’s evaluation of his leadership ability. “Obviously, you don’t agree,” he said. “Fair enough. What is it you think we should be doing instead?”

“Sir, we have definitive evidence of a new spacefaring alien race. If they are these Bugs the Lizards told us about, they’re undoubtedly hostile. Lunar Command needs to know so suitable forces can be sent to deal with them. Instead of trying to get in closer and maybe finding out they have a significant force waiting in-system, we should be heading for the hyper limit on a course for Luna. If we encounter them in significant numbers, we may not be able to run from them. We have to consider the third contact directive, which means we may never be able to go back, and Luna will never know what happened to us.”

Erikson frowned. He didn’t need Carter to remind him about the basic rules for alien contact, especially since the XO sounded like an instructor lecturing a class of first-year cadets at Fleet Academy. The contact directives were simple: First, strive to keep any contact peaceful if possible. Second, if the aliens prove hostile, rules of engagement Charlie apply. In other words, the aliens had to shoot first, and the primary objective should be to disengage rather than fight. If disengagement was not possible, a commander was authorized to use whatever force was necessary to defend his command.

The third contact directive was simple and straightforward—do not, under any circumstances, allow a newly-contacted alien race to find the Sol System. In short, Elsie couldn’t go home if there was any possibility an alien ship could follow them, nor could they allow themselves to be captured with any astrographic data in their files that might allow the aliens to find Earth and Luna.

“Your concerns are noted, Mr. Carter,” Erikson said, “but at this point, any such action would be premature.” He sounded abrupt and cold, more so than he had intended.

“Marcus, I understand what you’re saying, and it’s a valid consideration, but we’ve been given an exploratory mission, and I don’t think we’ve fulfilled that mission yet. We don’t know for certain who these aliens are or what they’re doing here. We don’t know enough about the planet they seem to be interested in, except that it’s reasonably Earth-like and has something they want. We know nothing about their technology, except that they are capable of building starships, and it looks like we can assume this isn’t their home system. Since their activity is light, and they haven’t spotted us yet, I think we’re in a good position to gather more intelligence. I’d like to have a lot more information before we run back to Luna with a report.

“That being said—” he held up a hand to stop Carter’s protest, “—you’re right to consider all possibilities. I’m going to ask Mr. Guzman’s people to prep one of the hyperprobes, and we’ll pack it with all the data we’ve gathered so far. We’ll keep updating it, but I’m not going to launch it yet. After we are in position near the planet, and we get our first look at what’s there, I may decide to send it off to Luna. No matter what happens, Lunar Command will know what we’ve found. Obviously, if things get tense, I’ll send it off immediately.”

“That’s a sensible precaution, sir,” Carter agreed, grudgingly.

A hyperprobe was a miniature, robot-controlled starship, capable of hyperspace translation and navigation. It was designed to serve as a messenger, with most of its volume and mass devoted to providing power for its gravity drive and hyper generator. The remainder was mostly electronics, including navigation gear, computers, and information storage. While it included a compartment that could hold a small cargo payload, the probe carried no life support equipment. Any cargo it carried had to be inert.

Miniature was a relative term. The Mark IX model carried by Lewis and Clark was almost 12 meters long and two meters in diameter. Because of the nature of her mission, Elsie carried six, while most LFS vessels in her size class only carried two. Even battlecruisers only carried four at most, because hyperprobes took up valuable space a warship could use for missiles and other weaponry. The survey cruiser’s primary weakness, compared to a typical warship in her size class, was a lack of missile magazine capacity, not only because of the hyperprobes, but also because a significant part of her remaining missile load-out consisted of surveyor probes designed to gather information, which extended the reach of the ship’s sensors.

While hyperprobes could be sent to any destination, the basic assumption was that they would be used like the homing pigeons of old Earth and sent back to Luna with important intelligence. Even while dormant in the missile magazine, they were kept plugged into the ship’s navigation computers, so they would always know where they were and how to get home. They were intended for a very fast one-way trip, and they had a range of about 100 light-years, depending on hyperspace conditions along the way. Sacagawea was just over 44 light-years from Sol, about a 16-day trip for a probe or two-thirds the time Elsie had taken to cover the distance.

“Does that satisfy your objections, XO?” Erikson asked.

“Well, it certainly makes me feel better about the situation, sir,” Carter said. “After all, getting the information back to Luna is the most important thing.” At least, he thought, someone will know what happened to us after you’ve gotten us all killed. He tried his best to look cheerful.

“All right, carry on,” Erikson said with a smile, obviously oblivious to the XO’s dark thoughts.

* * * * *

Chapter Nine

Planet Tatanna, Ay’uskanar Orbital Facility

The Bugs maintained an orderly social structure. Like the bees and ants of Earth, their society consisted of hives under the rule of a single queen. Unlike the insects of Earth, however, their hives interacted with each other, and the top level of their social order was a Council of Queens.

They were intelligent, innovative, and productive, and each Bug’s position in society was determined before it hatched. In fact, a Bug was hatched only when needed to fill some perceived requirement. Its genetic characteristics were manipulated while it was still in the egg to optimize its intelligence and abilities for its intended assignment. Bugs that did not meet a certain standard in their assigned positions were either adjusted or reassigned to another available position. If their performance was extremely poor or if no other suitable assignment was available, they were terminated. There were no dissidents, no troublemakers, no non-productive members in Bug society.

Bugs communicated with each other via visual signals, using tendrils on the ends of their antennae to form complex signs in rapid sequence. This sign language was as efficient as human speech. They also used a form of mental communication that was somewhat short of telepathy but sufficient to convey basic ideas and feelings. A Bug always knew what its superiors required of it. It knew what its peers and subordinates were doing when working on a common project, which made them very good at any task that required group effort and coordination. It also meant Bugs were incapable of lying to each other.

Intellectually, they understood the concepts of deceit and misdirection. They knew humans were capable of outright lies and lacked the ability to sense the truth or lack thereof when communicating with each other. Unfortunately, the Bugs’ empathic sense worked only with other Bugs, so they had no way of knowing whether a human was lying to them.

The Bugs were faced with a dilemma. The humans on the resource planet were providing conflicting information about human interactions that might affect the efficient production of the ore. One information source said there were secret human plots that endangered production. Another source said no such plots existed. What little the Bugs understood of human social order and motivation suggested such plots might or might not exist. One of the sources had to be wrong, either by mistake or by deliberate falsification. The Bugs could seek more information from other sources, but they would have no way of knowing whether the new information was true or false. The new sources might be mistaken, might deliberately provide false information, or might be unaware of the plots in question.

It was a complex problem that would normally have been passed upward in the Bug social structure for resolution by higher authority. Higher authority was far away in a distant star system, and the Bugs on station had been given a great deal of latitude to deal with such things. Production was all that mattered, and they needed to come up with a solution that would keep the mines running whether the information was true or false. The humans needed a demonstration, some direct action that would stop any plots against the Bugs, if such plots existed, or convince them not to plot against the Bugs, if they did not.

* * *

7 March 2104, LFS Lewis and Clark

“Well, Mr. O’Hara,” Carter said, “it appears your dire predictions have come true.”

“I didn’t actually predict they would have a warship on station,” O’Hara said. “I said it was possible they might have one.”

“All the same, you were right,” Erikson said. “It’s another factor we’ll have to consider.” The captain didn’t sound nearly as unhappy about the situation as the exec.

The three of them were studying the tabletop data display in the captain’s ready room. Lewis and Clark had reached its intended hiding place behind the planet’s larger moon without incident. Along the way, Erikson had ordered deployment of a recon drone that had slowly diverged from the cruiser’s course. With minimal maneuvering and minimal chance of detection, the drone had bypassed the moon and quietly approached the object orbiting the planet. The data it captured was coming in now, relayed through another drone they had deployed to peek over the moon’s horizon and keep an eye on the planet, the object, and anything else in the neighborhood.

The images revealed more than just a large orbiting station. There was a ship moored to the station, connected by structures that appeared to be personnel and equipment transfer tubes. It wasn’t a large ship—certainly smaller than the battlecruiser O’Hara had first suggested. In fact, it was smaller than Elsie, about the size of an LFS destroyer, and it bristled with detection arrays. It also appeared to have missile tubes protruding from its forward hull and there were structures on its flanks that looked suspiciously like beam weapon turrets. While the overall design of the ship was alien, function dictates form with certain types of military hardware, and there wasn’t much doubt that it was a warship.

“Looks like a nasty customer,” Carter muttered.

“No way to tell how nasty unless we get its attention,” Erikson said, “and right now, I don’t want to do that. I think we’ll park the drone right where it is and let it keep an eye on things. It should have enough power in its maneuvering thrusters to stay on station for a while.”

“Captain, about that hyperprobe…” Carter began.

“It’s standing by,” Erikson cut him off sharply, “and I intend to keep it that way. We’re beginning to gather some serious data to send back, and I want to include something about the planet. In another three hours or so, that station will be on the opposite side of the planet from us. That should be a perfect time to slip a surveyor into low orbit.

“Besides,” he added, “with our little spy out there, we’ll get plenty of warning if the warship moves. We’ll have more than enough time to launch the hyperprobe, and there’s no way in hell a ship that size will be able to catch it.”

True, Carter thought, but it might be able to catch us and then we’ll find out the hard way how nasty it really is.

* * *

“Bridge, Greenwood,” Lorna acknowledged the call. “What can I do for you, Dr. Phillips?”

“Oh, hello, Lorna.” Mark Phillips peered at her from the console display. “I didn’t know you were on duty tonight.”

Lorna smiled. Mark wasn’t much for military protocol, and when he got involved in his research, he tended to become a bit absent-minded. “Yes, I have the watch. I see you’re working late as well. How can I help you?”

It had been four days since Lewis and Clark took up station behind the moon. With no sign that the aliens were aware of her presence, Erikson had reduced the ship’s alert level to routine. Since they were maintaining station, Lorna had the anchor watch on the bridge that night. She was one of two officers on duty, the other being Lieutenant Adams, who was standing watch in engineering. Though Adams outranked her, Lorna, as the bridge duty officer, was technically in command of the ship, and she was sitting in the bridge command chair.

“I was hoping to talk to the captain,” Phillips said. “I have something I’m sure he’ll want to see.”

“Is it something urgent, Doctor?” she asked. “It’s oh three hundred hours, and he’s most likely asleep.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize it was that late.” Phillips looked surprised. “It’s not that urgent. No aliens are attacking, and no cosmic catastrophe is about to happen. I guess it can wait until morning. It’s just that…” he trailed off.

“Maybe you could tell me a little more,” Lorna suggested.

“Oh, of course. Silly of me. Here, let me show you what I have. Can you look at channel three on the research net?”

Lorna brought up the requested channel on one of her displays and saw a satellite view of the planet’s surface.

“This is from the low-level surveyor,” Phillips explained.

The first probe Elsie had placed in orbit around the planet was a mapping surveyor, which had produced a topographic map of the planet from radar imagery taken 1500 kilometers above the surface. With that data in hand, they’d inserted another surveyor just twelve hours ago. This one provided high-resolution, visible-light imagery from an altitude of just 200 kilometers and was targeted to survey the most fertile areas of the planet’s equatorial belt. The image Lorna was seeing was an aerial view of a heavily forested section, with a few clearings here and there with rocky outcroppings. The image slowly crawled across the screen, revealing new features as it moved.

“So, what am I looking at?” she asked.

“I’m replaying a section of the imagery. Wait, it’s coming into view now,” Phillips said.

As Lorna watched, an opening in the forest appeared, a narrow break that rose from the bottom of the image and curved around to the leading edge. As the image moved, more of the break was revealed. It looked like a dry stream bed, or perhaps some kind of trail, or…

“That’s much too uniform to be natural!” Lorna exclaimed. “That’s a road!”

“Wait,” Phillips said. “It gets better.”

As the image continued to unfold, the road opened into a large clearing, and rectangular structures that could only be buildings appeared. They were scattered throughout the clearing and surrounded by cultivated fields. The fields gave way to a cluster of buildings of various shapes and sizes, thirty or so of them by Lorna’s quick count. They were neatly arranged on both sides of the original road. Near the center of the cluster, another road came up from the bottom of the display and crossed the first road at right angles.

“That’s a city!” Phillips said excitedly. Seeing Lorna’s somewhat skeptical look, he calmed down. “Well, okay, it’s a town, or maybe a village.”

“Yeah, a village. That’s what I would call it.”

“So, what do you think?” Phillips gave her a quizzical look.

“I think it’s time to wake up the captain,” she told him with a grin.

* * *

Once again, Elsie’s officers were gathered in the wardroom, this time for a briefing by the two scientists.

Mark Phillips had the floor and was presenting his information on the large wall screen. “By now, I’m sure you’ve all seen this imagery.” He displayed the satellite image he had shown Lorna less than 12 hours earlier. “What you haven’t seen is the enlarged, enhanced, and otherwise processed imagery we got from it, with a little help from our system techs.” He paused and brought up another image that was a much-enlarged view of the village’s center.

He heard a sudden murmur of amazement from his audience as they looked at the high-resolution, detail-rich image. They could see the small features of the buildings, the wagon tracks on the road, and the shapes of objects, revealed by the shadows they cast on the ground, but all of that was just a distraction, because there were people in the picture. Several walked alongside the road, one occupied the seat of a wagon drawn by an animal, and two appeared to be having a face-to-face conversation in front of a building.

“Before you ask,” Phillips continued, “they appear to be human. We can’t be certain, but there’s a lot of supporting information in these pictures. Based on shadows and the known angle of the sun above the horizon, we can say they are between one point five and two meters tall. They have two legs and two arms, and they appear to move—stand, sit, walk, and turn—the same way we do, which suggests a human skeletal structure. Every other metric we can get from this imagery puts them within the range of normal human size and shape. We can even get hints of hair and skin color. Those we have seen so far appear to be uniformly light-skinned, with dark reddish hair. Obviously, we haven’t seen everyone on the planet, but so far, there seems to be no racial diversity like that found on Earth. I should note, however, there was no such diversity on New Eden until the LFS arrived to liberate my people from the Otuka.”

The chief engineer raised a hand.

Phillips pointed at him. “Commander Guzman, a question?”

“More of a comment, for your evaluation perhaps. It appears we’ve just found more evidence that the Akara have been telling us the truth all along, with this Legend of the Progenitors business. There really are human civilizations scattered all around this part of the galaxy.”

“If the people here prove to be as human as my ancestors on New Eden, I’d say that’s a pretty compelling argument,” Phillips said. “First, New Eden, now this planet, and we are just beginning to explore. We’ve not found another human civilization that is even close to being as advanced as that of Earth. Humans on New Eden were pretty much nomadic hunter-gatherers until the LFS arrived.

“Now that we’ve gotten more imagery from this planet, we’ve found several more villages. We are re-tasking the satellite to look at some areas that would likely have higher concentrations of population—along rivers, natural harbors, and so forth. So far, everything we’ve seen indicates a preindustrial civilization. They’re more advanced than New Eden was, but we are still talking about animal-powered transportation and farming, as well as simple wood, brick, and stone construction done with hand tools. These people did not build the orbiting station or the ship that’s connected to it, but we haven’t seen any evidence that points to who built them or why they’re there.

“Unfortunately,” he continued, with a shrug, “we’re not going to be able to get much more detail without a closer look. I’ve got some thoughts about that, but first, Dr. Warren is going to tell you more about the planet. Cynthia?”

“Thank you, Mark.” Warren got up as Phillips resumed his seat.

The two scientists were a study in contrasts. Phillips was tall and muscular, with the tan complexion and dark copper hair typical of his homeworld, tied back in the ponytail favored by the young men on Luna. He was a handsome man and had already drawn attention from Elsie’s female crew members and one male petty officer. The LFS Navy had rules about sexual contact between crew members—not total prohibition, but severe restrictions based on chain-of-command relationships—but as a civilian, Phillips was regarded as fair game by officers and enlisted women alike. Even Lorna Greenwood found him attractive, though she had vowed not to get involved in any entangling relationships aboard ship. She suspected, however, that Nova Sakura had no such reservations where Phillips was concerned, and she worried she might come off watch some night and find the two of them together in the cabin she shared with Nova.

Phillips was handsome, but Cynthia Warren was stunningly beautiful. She was petite—just over 155 centimeters tall—with a nicely curved figure. Her fashionably unruly mop of curly, jet black hair framed her fine-chiseled features set in mahogany brown skin, and her almond-shaped, brown eyes gave her a hint of Oriental mystery. More importantly, she moved with a cat-like grace that commanded instant attention from most males in her presence and distracted some to the point where they walked into bulkheads and other fixed objects. Unfortunately for them, she seemed unaware of the effect and uninterested in any sort of romantic relationship. She was cordial to all and quick to favor people with her radiant smile, but she seemed more interested in the latest theories of hyperspace physics than anything related to sex.

As usual, she was strictly business as she touched a control on the podium and brought up a new display. “Ladies and gentlemen, Sacagawea Two is a very cold planet. Temperatures near the poles can reach minus seventy-five Celsius, which is just above the sublimation point of dry ice. In other words, if it were any colder, we’d see carbon dioxide freezing in the atmosphere and falling as snow. Those are not survivable temperatures for humans, without the equivalent of a Navy EVA suit for protection. The habitable zone of this planet extends barely thirty degrees north and south of the equator. For comparison, you might imagine an Earth in which New Orleans had the climate of Barrow, Alaska. There might be a few hardy souls living that far north or south, but we haven’t seen them yet. In any case, that’s Dr. Phillips’ department.

“The climate is quite pleasant along the equator. It may still get a bit cold in the winter—and yes, this planet has an axial tilt of twelve degrees, which is enough to produce significant seasonal variations—but summers on the equator should be as warm as those in the American Midwest or central Europe. Unfortunately, there isn’t a lot of dry land along the equator. There’s one major land mass, which happens to be the one on which we have seen human settlements, and a lot of small islands separated by lots of ocean. We see hints of large continents in the higher latitudes, but we haven’t done any deep mapping to see what’s under all that ice. There are mountain ranges of significant height, and they don’t appear to be volcanic, which suggests large land masses. There are a couple of what appear to be peninsulas extending out from under the polar caps, and one long, narrow strip that looks like an isthmus connecting land masses in the northern and southern hemispheres, but those are a long way from the largest equatorial land area. Unless these people have developed the ability to navigate the open oceans, I don’t think any of those areas will be inhabited. Questions, anyone?”

“Just curious,” Jane Adams asked. “Are the oceans fresh water or salt?”

“Laser spectroscopy says salt,” Warren said, “but that’s true of large bodies of water on just about every habitable planet we’ve found. There are minor differences between the salt water on this planet and on Earth—there appears to be a slightly lower concentration of salt and a bit more potassium chloride. Sodium chloride is still predominant, however. Anyone else, questions?”

“About the people…” O’Hara started.

Warren held up her hand. “Not my department. I’m sure you all want to hear more on that subject, so I’m going to turn things back over to Dr. Phillips. Marcus?”

“Right.” Phillips stood again. “Your question, Mr. O’Hara?”

“Any idea about the size of the population?” O’Hara asked. “I realize we haven’t seen everything, but do you have any estimates?”

“At this point, all I can give you is a SWAG,” Phillips said. “For those not familiar with the acronym, that’s a scientific wild-ass guess.” He paused as the audience chuckled. “We expect to see a total population of more than ten million, but far less than a billion. If we look at the habitable area of the large continent Cynthia mentioned, it could support as many as two hundred million at the level of agriculture we have seen. I don’t think they are close to that density, or we would have seen larger communities in the area we’ve mapped. If I had to take a shot at a number, I’d say twenty to twenty-five million people.”

O’Hara nodded. He remembered hearing New Eden had had a population of around five million when the LFS first discovered it, but the planet had a much more inviting climate and a lot more habitable land. This planet appeared to have a lot more people than New Eden. If Phillips’ number was anywhere near accurate, it had more people than the current populations of the Lunar Free State and the New Eden Protectorate combined.

“I think,” Captain Erikson said, “we need to launch that hyperprobe Commander Carter suggested. At this point, we have the information Luna needs. Dr. Phillips, Dr. Warren, please upload absolutely everything you have—raw data and any conclusions you’ve drawn—to the probe within the next eighteen hours. Mr. O’Hara, please upload all the tactical data you have on the alien station and the warship, with your analysis and conclusions, as well. I’ll add my own reports. I want everything ready by oh eight hundred hours tomorrow morning at the latest. Mr. Guzman, let’s plan to launch the probe at oh nine hundred, at which time, check me if I’m wrong, the alien station should be on the other side of the planet from us. I want it ten million klicks out before it sets its final course for home. Questions, anyone?”

“Captain,” Phillips said somewhat hesitantly, “we obviously want to continue to study what’s down there. Any chance we can slip another low-level surveyor into orbit to let us cover more area? Also, once we pick out some good sites, do you think we could put some remotes on the planet itself?” He paused, hopefully.

Erickson pursed his lips as he thought. “We can put another surveyor into orbit,” he said at last. “As for remotes, I’ll consider it. We haven’t seen any evidence of an extensive alien presence down there, and humans at the preindustrial level wouldn’t know what to do with a remote if it landed on their dinner table. I don’t see why we couldn’t put a couple smaller remotes down there, but I’ll need a more detailed proposal after you decide where you want to put them.”

“Also,” O’Hara said, “from a tactical perspective, keep in mind that you’ll be dealing with a round-trip communications delay of around four seconds. That will limit your mobility, so if you plan on closely observing the people, you’ll want to find a good place to conceal the remotes and let them collect observations.”

“Good point.” Erikson nodded. “Anything else, anyone?” They’ve probably got a thousand questions, he thought, but they’re good officers and smart enough to know we don’t have answers yet.

“Okay,” he added when there was no response. “Dr. Phillips, Dr. Warren, keep collecting your data and advise me immediately if you get anything of major importance. Everyone else, back to your duty stations. I’m sure the crew is dying of curiosity, so feel free to share everything we’ve talked about with your people.”

* * *

“Captain, Commander O’Hara, Nova.” Phillips nodded to each officer as he followed Cynthia Warren into the ready room.

Nova Sakura winced. It was okay for Mark to call her by her first name when they were kicking back in the wardroom, but this was a meeting with the captain. Nova was more than close friends with the scientist. They weren’t lovers yet, but they were moving in that direction. While it wouldn’t violate any Navy regs, it wasn’t something she wanted to bring to the skipper’s attention. Erikson hadn’t seemed to notice, so she was probably being paranoid.

Others had noticed, however. Lorna had even dropped a hint about knocking on the cabin hatch to make sure she didn’t interrupt anything. Nova had dismissed the suggestion with a snort. That’s why LFS warships have privacy compartments, she reflected. Maybe Blondie thinks those are just for people who want some quiet time to read a novel, watch a video, or study for the promotion boards.

Privacy compartments were the LFS Navy’s solution to the inevitable stress that resulted when several hundred people were forced to live and work closely together in a sealed environment for many months at a time, cut off from communication with their friends and family back home. The small compartments, located near the crew’s mess and recreation areas, were equipped with a desk and a computer interface, as well as a large wall screen with access to the ship’s library and entertainment system. Each compartment also contained a comfortable chair and a futon that could be folded down into a bed large enough for two.

Some crew members used the compartments for reading, studying, listening to music, or other forms of private entertainment, but the Navy tacitly recognized that the compartments could and would be used for amorous liaisons as well. Each officer or crew member who did not have a private cabin—meaning everyone except the most senior officers—was given a monthly time allotment for using privacy compartments during off-duty hours. Some people required more private time than others, and there were always individuals willing to sell or trade their PCT to others.

“Since we are talking about operations down on the planet’s surface, I’ve invited Lieutenant Sakura to sit in on this meeting,” Erikson told the scientists. Nova’s wandering attention returned to the matters at hand. “Planet-side reconnaissance falls under Marine operations.”

“Before we start, Captain,” Phillips said, “we need to talk about something that’s just come up. We found Bugs on the planet.”

“Really?” Erikson glanced at O’Hara and Sakura. “Yes, I guess we’d better talk about that first. Continue.”

“The low-level surveyors found a mining operation, a simple open pit. There’s no heavy machinery in evidence, but it looks like whatever is being mined is somehow blasted out of the rock face, then left for the humans to break up and transport to a point on the perimeter. Near that point are several structures that appear to have been built with technology beyond what we’ve seen in the human settlements. There’s also a cleared area that appears to be a landing pad. There is a human settlement less than a kilometer from the mine, but there is no evidence of any advanced technology there.”

“You mentioned Bugs, Doctor,” O’Hara said. “How do you know it’s the Ay’uskanar?”

“I can’t be absolutely sure, but we’ve seen something moving at the mine site that’s much bigger than a human and appears to have six limbs. It could be a machine or robot, but I’m betting it’s a Bug wearing life support gear or, maybe, battle armor. If the information we have is correct, they’d need that to survive on this planet’s surface.”

“It’s best to assume you’re right, Doctor,” Erikson said. “What does that do to our plan to deploy remotes? Lieutenant?”

Nova shrugged. “We need intel, sir, and that’s still the best way to get it. We just need to be more careful. I think it’s safe to assume the Bugs have the tech to detect and recognize a remote, but most covert operations don’t get blown unless the enemy is expecting to be spied on and is looking for hostile intelligence assets. I think we can assume the Bugs don’t have a clue that we’re in the system. I’d put some long-range optical surveillance on the mining sites before we try to put anything in close. We can get much closer to the human sites.”

“Commander?” Erikson looked at O’Hara.

“I agree with Lieutenant Sakura, Captain,” O’Hara said. “We need the intel, but we have to be a bit more careful getting it.”

“Can’t disagree.” Erikson nodded and turned to the two scientists. “Let’s talk about how we’re going to do this.”

* * *

Planet Tatanna, Castle Boroson

“Father? Are you ill? You do not look well.”

As he passed the door of Algar’s study, Arne had looked in and seen his father staring in shock at something on his writing desk. At Arne’s words, the king glanced up, and his look changed from shock to sadness.

“Come in, Arne. You might as well see this. I cannot share it with anyone else.” He held up what appeared to be a sheet of parchment, except it was thin and white and perfectly smooth.

“What is it, Father?”

“It’s a message from the Bugs, my son. This is how they communicate with me. Something has disturbed them, and they have been sending me these messages asking questions and expecting answers. I have answered them as best I can, but they are still disturbed, and I fear they are about to do something terrible. Come, read for yourself. Tell me what you think they are trying to say.”

Arne took the sheet from his father and looked at it. Such perfect parchment, the words so perfectly written a master scribe could not have done better—he wondered how the Bugs could have produced such a document. Dutifully, he read it through. His father had always insisted the study of letters was an important part of his education, but these words were strangely arranged, and he had trouble understanding what they meant.

“They speak of ‘information in conflict’ and ‘mutually exclusive facts.’ I don’t understand, Father.”

“Two sources of information, me and someone they will not identify, are telling them two different things. They know that one source must be true, the other false, but they do not have any way to determine which is the true story.”

“This other person must be lying. You must tell them that, Father.”

“I have, my son, but they don’t know that I speak the truth, and I can’t give them proof. It is often easy to prove something is happening, but very difficult to prove something is not happening, and it seems that no longer matters to them. Read the rest of it.”

Arne read the remainder of the document. Toward the end, he started shaking his head. “You’re right, Father, it doesn’t matter. They know someone is lying, and they don’t care who. They say it must stop, and they will ‘take measures to demonstrate to both sources the consequences of such conflicts.’ What are they going to do?”

“I don’t know, son. I just don’t know.”

* * *

Planet Tatanna, House Corsa, Province of North Coast

Duke North Coast felt a twinge of anxiety as he read the message. He was certain the same message had been sent to King Arne, and he wondered what the Bugs were going to do. Bug “demonstrations” were always sharp and to the point, but, to his knowledge, they had never directly attacked the king or a duke or any other noble. He glanced nervously at the ceiling of his private chamber, expecting to be incinerated by some thunderbolt from the sky, but nothing happened.

That didn’t prove anything. The Bugs moved at their own pace, and it might be days before their demonstration occurred. The only thing he knew was that when it came, “both sources”—presumably him and the king—would suffer the consequences. Well, T’Corsa, you wanted Algar removed, he told himself, but not if it means you get removed along with him. Hopefully the Bugs would only want him to witness the demonstration, not be part of it.

* * *

15 March 2104, LFS Lewis and Clark

“Working late tonight, Cynthia?” Phillips had come to the research facility after dinner to do some work, and his voice reflected his surprise at finding Warren there.

“So much to study, so little time,” she said with a smile. “Besides, they’ve given me so many neat tools to work with. It’s new moon down on the planet, which means we’ve got a clear view of Sacagawea. I’ve deployed gravimetric instruments in a twenty-kilometer array, and I’ve got just about every optical system we have looking at it across the whole spectrum. No surprises yet, but it is a very neat little star.

“After that,” she continued, “I’ve got the physical aspects of a whole planet to study. Wouldn’t want to step on your prerogatives.”

“Not worried about it.” He chuckled. “There’s more than enough to keep both of us busy.”

“I do have something that might interest you.” She turned and brought up some data on her display. “I found out what the Bugs are mining, or rather, the humans are mining for the Bugs.”

“Really? What is it?”

“Gypsum.”

Phillips blinked. “Okay, I’m not a mineralogist. What’s that?”

“Calcium sulfate dihydrate,” she said. “It occurs commonly on Earth and has a lot of uses—fertilizer, plaster, blackboard chalk, and construction panels, to name a few. It’s been mined for thousands of years on Earth. The ancient Roman and Egyptian cultures used a fine-grain form of it called ‘alabaster’ for sculpture. Unfortunately, while it is crystalline in structure, it’s rather soft and water-soluble. I don’t imagine those sculptures have fared very well over the centuries.”

“Hmmm, interesting,” Phillips mused. “I’m going to guess that however common it may be on Earth, it would not be common on a hot, heavy-gravity planet with a methane atmosphere.”

“I’d say rare to nonexistent,” Warren said.

“So, the real question is, why do the Bugs find it so valuable that they are willing to mine it in another star system and transport it across interstellar space? I mean, it sounds like useful stuff but hardly worth that amount of effort.”

“I have no idea. Maybe they’ve found uses for it that we haven’t—something unique to their technology and culture.”

“How did you determine what this gypsum stuff was?”

“Easy,” she said. “The probe we put down there was equipped for laser spectroscopy. I just zapped one of the ore piles they’ve been stacking when nobody was near it.”

“Ouch! That was a little risky, don’t you think? I’m surprised the captain let you do it.”

“I didn’t tell him about it,” she admitted sheepishly. “It’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission. It was just a forty-millisecond burst, and the pile was in a remote corner of the mine. Even with advanced technology, the Bugs would have had to have been very close to the target to detect it.”

“Still…”

“Anyway,” she said, changing the subject, “I’m more curious to know what you’ve learned about the humans down there.”

“As you say, so much to study, so little time. I’m an exobiologist, but my father was an anthropologist, and I’ve inherited his fascination with human cultures. The probes are giving us more data than I can possibly process, but I’ve made some progress on their language.”

“Language? You mean they only have one all over the planet?”

“As far as we know, and we’ve put audio probes in widely separated locations. There are regional accents, but so far, it looks like they all speak the same language. New Eden is pretty much the same. Maybe Earth is the exception to the rule. Not only did it produce a wide variety of racial variants, but also many distinct languages.”

“Maybe there’s something to the Biblical story of the Tower of Babel,” she mused.

“Maybe.” He chuckled. “Having one language makes things simpler. I just wish there was an AI available to work on it. We’d already have a working knowledge of the language and a teaching program so we could learn to speak it. As it is, I’ve got a kernel worked up, but that’s about all.”

“I could use an AI myself.” She nodded. “Unfortunately, the only ships that have them are the Navy’s big battlecruisers, and if we were on one of those, we wouldn’t be hiding behind this moon.”

“I don’t know about that,” Phillips said. “There’s a lot to be said for covert observation—especially when dealing with a primitive culture like this one.”

“I guess I’m just not used to it. I’ve never had to do scientific observations in secret before—”

Warren’s response was cut short by the sharp, warbling tone of the ship’s alert system. “Set Condition Red! All crew to battle stations! This is not a drill! All crew to battle stations!”

“That can’t be good,” Phillips said.

Warren paled. “They couldn’t have detected that laser,” she muttered. “They just couldn’t have.”

* * *

Erikson arrived on the bridge and found O’Hara in the command chair. “What have you got, Commander?”

“The Bug warship is moving, sir.” O’Hara got up, surrendered the throne to his captain, and moved back to the navigation and tactical station. “Not toward us. It’s moving inward to a tighter orbit around the planet. I didn’t want to be an alarmist but…”

“You made the right call. Better to go to full alert, just in case. We wouldn’t have much warning if they suddenly came at us full bore. Put it on the big screen.”

* * *

“Nav/Tac manned and ready,” Lorna reported.

This was her first time at battle stations in auxiliary control. It should have been her assigned station under combat conditions, but she’d been on duty on the bridge the last two times the ship had gone to Condition Red. Protocol decreed that bridge personnel on duty when an alert was called should remain there while their alternates—Lieutenant Commander O’Hara, in Lorna’s case—went to AuxCon instead. That was true of all bridge positions except the captain. The captain always went to the bridge, and the exec always went to AuxCon.

“Nav/Tac, check,” Jane Adams acknowledged. As the senior officer in AuxCon, Adams had assumed the command chair and would stay there until the exec arrived to take charge, which should have happened already. Lorna had been taking a shower when the alert sounded, and she’d worried about the time it took her to pull on her shipsuit and get to her station. She’d arrived with her hair still wet, tied in a quick braid, and tucked into her collar. She’d been the last to arrive…almost. She had her console online, but Commander Carter was still nowhere to be seen.

* * *

“Missile launch! Tracking,” O’Hara announced. “Second missile launch! Sir, they appear to be shooting at the planet!”

“At what on the planet?” Erikson sounded just as puzzled as his tactical officer.

O’Hara shook his head. “Can’t see the target, sir. It’s on the night side, away from us. I’m trying to get tracking from our recon bird, but the angle isn’t good. Best I can give you is approximate coordinates. Looks like two separate targets somewhere on the major continent. On your display now.”

“Dr. Warren, Dr. Phillips.” Erikson keyed the channel to the research facility. “I’m transmitting two sets of planetary coordinates to you. Can you tell me what’s at those coordinates and whether we can get real-time imagery any time soon?”

“I’m on it,” Warren told Phillips. She pulled up the map they had created for the inhabited area of the planet and plugged in the coordinates. The two scientists had been listening to the exchanges on the command channel, and Warren’s hands shook as she plotted the targets. Her worst fears were confirmed when the data appeared on the map. She swallowed hard, trying to sound calm and professional. “Sir, there appear to be human settlements at or very near those coordinates. Not large ones, but settlements all the same.”

“Human settlements? Not Bug mining facilities?” Erikson asked.

“No, sir…I mean yes, sir. Human settlements, not Bug mines. I’ll have low-orbit imagery on one in approximately seven minutes.”

“Feed it to the bridge on tac channel 4, Doctor,” Erikson ordered, then turned his attention back to his tactical display.

“Sir, the Bug warship is moving back to the station,” O’Hara reported. “No more shots fired, and at their present rate, they should be back to their original position in about twelve minutes.”

In the research facility, Warren watched the imagery from the low-level satellite crawl across the screen. Dear God, please don’t let me see what I think I’m going to see. Warren considered herself a pragmatic scientist. She wasn’t much into religion, but her mother—also a scientist—was an original LFS citizen who had been raised in the Southeastern United States on Earth. As part of a well-rounded education, she had passed along to her daughter a healthy dose of Christian beliefs in the Southern Baptist tradition. Warren found herself begging a merciful God not to expose her to the horrors she feared, but as the imagery crossed the final kilometers to the target coordinates, it appeared her prayers had been in vain.

Fires burned in the forests below—scattered fires at first, perhaps started by molten fragments that were hurled into the air and fell far from the impact site. Then came the edge of a ring of fire, which surrounded blackened fields, in which the charred wreckage of a few dwellings stood above the ash. The imagery was not very good, as it was captured through turbulent air filled with dust and smoke. Eventually, the satellite passed over the epicenter of the disaster, revealing a glowing crater, perhaps half a kilometer wide, surrounded by nothing. A flattened, blackened plain, with no evidence there had ever been anything there. No buildings, no roads, no cultivated fields, nothing to suggest humans had ever lived there. With tears in her eyes, Warren checked the coordinates. This was the one, she realized. This was the very first settlement we found, the one that showed us there were humans living here. She tried to speak, to express the anguish she was feeling, but the words would not come.

Her silence didn’t matter because others on the ship, on the bridge and in AuxCon, were seeing the same imagery, and no one else had words to say either.

Finally, O’Hara cleared his throat. “Kinetic strike, sir. No residual radiation or evidence of chemical explosives.”

“Why? In God’s name why?” Erikson asked the question all of them were thinking. “What did these people ever do to them?” He keyed the channel to engineering. “Commander Guzman, we’re going to need another hyperprobe. We need to let the people back home know what’s going on.”

“Sir,” O’Hara advised, “the Bug ship has returned to the station and appears to be docking.”

“Secure from battle stations, but hold at Condition Blue,” Erikson ordered. “I want to be ready to move in a hurry if anything else happens.”

* * *

“Stand down and secure your stations,” Jane Adams told the AuxCon crew. Looks like Mr. Carter missed this one completely.

She checked her status board. When all of them had shut down, she reached for the command channel icon on her screen, then hesitated for a moment. I wonder if the captain will notice.

“AuxCon secured,” she reported. “All personnel released to regular duties.”

“Adams?” Erikson asked. “Where’s Mr. Carter?”

“Don’t know, sir. Haven’t seen him.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Very well. Carry on, Lieutenant.”

“Aye, sir.”

* * * * *

Chapter Ten

2 April 2104, Lunar Command HQ, TerraNova

Rob O’Hara was no stranger to the CEO’s office. It had been his father’s office since before he was born, through his coming of age, and for most of his early career as a naval officer.

It looked different now. Kim Jong Pak, the current CEO, was a man of very different tastes and personality than Michael O’Hara. Before becoming CEO, O’Hara had been the engineer who built the original ships that brought the first colonists to the Moon. He had gone on to build the huge underground city that was TerraNova, the orbiting shipyards at TransLuna, and just about every bit of infrastructure that made up the Lunar Free State.

Kim was a businessman who had been the managing director of Terra Corporation when the Directorate tapped him for the CEO spot upon O’Hara’s retirement. Kim’s primary accomplishment had been to push the Lunar commercial fleet out among the stars and build a trading empire that spanned a hundred light-years.

Rob had not been in the office for several years. As a flag officer, he’d met Kim at various social events and occasional high-level command briefings, but a summons to the CEO’s office was rare. He hadn’t been told why he’d been called, but when he arrived, he found two other flag officers waiting. One was his immediate superior, Vice Admiral Amy Ling. The other was Admiral Tom Sakura, Ling’s immediate superior. With a shock, Rob realized he was looking at his personal chain of command, all the way up to the CEO.

“Admiral O’Hara, come in. Have a seat,” Kim said. He was smiling, so whatever the reason for the meeting, it wasn’t anything bad.

With a nod to the other two admirals, Rob settled himself into the comfortable armchair.

“We’ve called you here for two reasons,” Kim continued, “both, for the moment, are strictly classified. I’ll let Admiral Sakura tell you.”

With four stars on his collar, Tom Sakura was the commanding officer of the entire Lunar Fleet. He was an original citizen and had made some of the earliest flights from Earth when the entire fleet had consisted of nothing more than a couple of experimental ships. At 110 years, he was the oldest officer still on active duty for the LFS. “The first item isn’t going to stay classified very long,” he began. “It’s going to be announced tomorrow. I’ll be retiring at the end of next month. Just about everyone on Luna has been expecting it, some for the last twenty years or so. What they haven’t been expecting is that Jeff Jones is going to retire at the same time.”

That surprised O’Hara. Vice Admiral Jones was twenty years younger than Sakura and was the next most senior officer in the fleet. Scuttlebutt had him as the most likely candidate for overall Fleet command when Sakura retired.

Sakura waved a hand in dismissal. “I know, he’s just a youngster compared to me, almost ten years short of the century mark. People say I’ve stayed too long. When the medical people made those breakthroughs in longevity back in the forties, they took us all by surprise. For some of us, seeing how long we could keep working became a contest, but maybe Jeff’s got the right idea. He’s put in over sixty years of service and more than paid his dues. I guess he figures it’s time to relax and enjoy himself. Besides, he’s writing a book—a comprehensive history of the Lunar Free State. Says he needs time to properly research the subject.

“Back to the point. Do the math, young man.” He pointed at O’Hara. “Who’s next in line?”

“That would be you, ma’am.” Rob nodded to Amy Ling. She said nothing but gave him a very small nod.

“Correct!” Sakura said. “Which brings us to the final point. Why do you suppose you are here today?”

O’Hara had pretty much figured it out, but he didn’t want to say. It would be embarrassing if he turned out to be wrong. “I’d prefer not to speculate, sir, especially since I’m sure you’re going to tell me anyway.”

“Hah!” Sakura laughed. “Tell him, Amy. It was your call.”

“I’m sure you’ve noticed we now have a hole at the top of Second Fleet,” she said. “Here.” She tossed him a small box. “These used to be mine, but I won’t be needing them any longer.”

Tossing things to subordinates was a typical Amy Ling gesture, and Rob caught the box without thinking about it. He opened it and found the three-star cluster that was the rank insignia of a vice admiral.

“There’s probably a few two-stars in the fleet who think they ought to have the job,” Ling continued, “and some of them are senior to you. Tough luck. You’re my choice, and everyone in this room has already signed off on it. Nobody else has anything to say, including you. Pin those stars on now because it’s effective today. I’m going to be damned busy for the next month getting ready for my new job. Won’t have time to hold your hand, and I don’t think you need it.”

“Thank you, ma’am, and thank you, sirs.” Rob nodded to Sakura and Kim.

“I’m happy with the whole package.” Kim sat back and favored them with a smile. “Other than a brief assignment to the command staff as a business adviser during Greenwood’s term as CEO, I’ve had little exposure to things military. Fleet is the backbone of the nation, and I want somebody in command who has the warrior spirit, someone proven in fire many times. I believe you, Admiral Ling, fit that description somewhat better than Admiral Jones would have. Mind you, he’s a good officer and a very intelligent man. I look forward to reading his book, but if it all goes to hell tomorrow, I would rather have you defending our nation, and I see no reason to question your choice of Admiral O’Hara for Second Fleet.”

“Out of curiosity,” Rob O’Hara asked, “what about First Fleet? If Admiral Jones is retiring as well…”

“Hasn’t been decided yet,” Sakura said, “and it’ll be Amy’s call. I’m betting she’ll keep that job for herself, just to make sure they can’t chain her to a desk, like they did me.”

“You know me too well, Admiral,” Ling replied. “I’m going to miss having you around to regularly bust my chops. Yes, I’ll keep First Fleet for myself, but there’s a lot of shuffling that needs to happen before everything gets settled. I’ll keep Sorceress as my flagship, which means moving her to First Fleet. Rob, I assume you’ll keep Isis, and normally, I’d send you a battlecruiser from First Fleet to fill your T.O., but we are going to put our two oldest BCs—Valkyrie and Athena—into the yards for a complete rebuild that will outfit them with the latest technology. They will be out of action for six months, but it will free up a lot of officers and crew for reassignment. We’re at a critical point for personnel. The older generation is retiring faster than we can replace them, and that’s not just flag officers. More than three-quarters of each Academy graduating class is needed to replace the empty junior officer slots, leaving very few bodies for newly built ships. We’re losing non-coms as fast as we can promote new ones, and those promotions are emptying the enlisted ranks faster than we can recruit.

“Which,” she continued, “brings us to the second reason you’re here today. I’ve just given you Second Fleet, but before you settle in, I’ve got to send you out on a special assignment with Isis and a short task group. I’ll leave it to your discretion, but you’ll want to take at least one heavy cruiser and a couple of lights, plus appropriate screening elements. You’ll be gone for a couple of months, so Second Fleet will have to limp along without its new commander until you get back.”

“Where am I going, and what’s the mission?” O’Hara asked.

“That’s the part that’s classified and will remain so for the duration,” Kim said. “It seems one of our survey ships has found another human civilization and an alien presence in the same system. For obvious reasons, we would prefer not to share that information with our so-called allies on Earth. They’ve given us enough grief over the New Eden Protectorate over the years.”

“We received a hyperprobe from LFS Lewis and Clark,” Ling explained. “They found a pre-industrial human civilization in the very first star system on their survey list. They also found an advanced alien presence, believed to be an insectoid race the Akara told us about. The aliens appear to have some interest in the human-occupied planet, and up to the point where the hyperprobe was launched, Lewis and Clark remained undetected. That’s a good thing. According to the Akara, these insect-aliens aren’t the friendliest bunch around. Ultimately, we want to make contact with the humans, but we think we may need to have some serious muscle on hand when we do. The probe data is more than two weeks old, and it will take you five or six days to get ready, another two days to get to the hyper limit, and almost twenty-five days to get to the star system in question, even if you push it. Hopefully, our people will be able to remain hidden, but…”

She shrugged, and O’Hara understood. There was no way to know what had happened in the meantime. If the survey ship had been compromised, he might end up sailing into an ambush.

“By the way,” he said, “my son is aboard Lewis and Clark. He’s the navigation and tactical officer.”

“Really? Hopefully, this mission will turn out to be a quiet walk in the park, and you’ll get a chance to see him.” Ling pulled a data pad from its carrying case and tapped a passcode on the screen. “Unlock your pad,” she told O’Hara. “I’m sending you the mission brief. It’s got everything we know, including the full dump from the hyperprobe.”

* * *

Planet Tatanna, House Corsa, Province of North Coast

Kildrin were the most common beasts of burden on Tatanna, as well as the principle means of transportation. They bore little resemblance to the horses of Earth but filled the same role in Tatannan society as horses did in medieval Earth history. They were four-legged herbivores with broad bodies and broad, flat tails. Their short, thick legs could support heavy burdens and could move them over the roughest terrain at surprising speeds. Most of all, they were valued for their endurance, their ability to carry riders and cargo over long distances with little rest.

Ronor T’Corval’s kilder was exhausted to the point of collapse when the duke arrived at House North Coast, and it collapsed as he slid out of the saddle and stormed toward T’Corsa’s gate. His personal guard—short two men whose mounts had failed along the way—straggled to a halt behind him, looking every bit as exhausted as their kildrin.

As he approached the gate, T’Corval drew his sword, a long, two-handed blade he’d sheathed across his shoulders for the trip. “Asral! Show yourself! Come out here and face me, you motherless piece of Bug excrement!”

T’Corsa was not about to comply. Instead, he looked down on the younger duke from the top of the wall next to the gate house. “I understand you are upset, Ronor,” he called down, “but you’re kicking the wrong door. You should be in the capital, demanding answers from Algar instead.”

“Upset?!” T’Corval was not to be put off. “I lost an entire village, three hundred loyal citizens, woodcutters and farmers in the Valley of the North Reach, because you chose to stir up the Bugs! Worse, I lost family—my cousin Kabar, whom I had appointed lord sheriff of the region. He lived in that village because I sent him to look after my interests, and now, there is nothing. Nothing! Not a stone wall left standing, not even bodies to identify. Nothing but ashes! It is your fault, and I’ve come to make you pay!”

“I have already paid,” T’Corsa said. “I lost a village as well, but I knew it was going to happen. The Bugs told me they were going to do this, and they demanded I choose a village to be destroyed. I gave them Sand Cove, a little fishing village along the coast, about the same size as the village you lost. It tormented me to do that, but if I had not, they were going to pick a larger town.”

T’Corval’s eyes widened, and his jaw dropped. “They asked you to choose? You selected the villages to be destroyed?”

“Only my village, you fool!” T’Corsa replied angrily. “They wanted to send a message to both sides, so I’m sure they asked Algar to pick a target. He must have chosen your village. I’m sure it amused him to do so since it cost him nothing, and he doesn’t care about your people. I’ve paid my price, and I accept that, but there was no reason for Algar to do what he did to you. You are fortunate he didn’t tell them to strike your house. I guess he would rather see you suffer than kill you.”

T’Corval’s shoulders slumped, and he lowered his blade. “The fatherless whore-bastard!” he muttered. “He’s made fools of us and the Bugs, and there’s not a Goddess-forsaken thing we can do.”

“Not now, I’m afraid,” T’Corsa said, “but come in, friend, rest and take dinner with me. We will share our misery and vow that this outrage shall not go unpunished.”

He breathed a small sigh of relief as Ronor sheathed his blade and trudged wearily toward the gate, which swung open at T’Corsa’s command. He believed it. He wanted to believe it because he hates Algar. I only had to give him a little push in the right direction.

In truth, T’Corsa had not been asked to choose anything. He’d had no idea what the Bugs were going to do until it was done, and they sent a simple map showing him their targets. No doubt they had sent the same map to Algar. It was possible the king had convinced them he was in the right, and they had allowed him to pick the targets, but T’Corsa doubted it. The last communication from the Bugs before their terrible lightning came down from the sky had said they did not know who was telling the truth, and that they intended to punish both sides. It was unfortunate they had chosen to believe him when he’d named Ronor the king’s loyal ally. They’d had to choose one of the king’s allies unless they wanted to destroy the capital city. The Crown held vast land reserves, but except for Algar’s city, every sizeable town and village fell under the domain of one duke or another.

T’Corsa had sent men to Sand Cove to confirm the extent of the disaster, then he had waited, knowing T’Corval would come, and hoping the volatile, young duke could be controlled. Ronor is a dangerous man, he reflected. He is smart, but he is easily manipulated. I must be sure that I’m the one manipulating him.

* * *

4 April 2104, LFS Lewis and Clark, Sacagawea System

Officers aboard an LFS warship usually took their meals in the wardroom, which also served as the off-duty recreation space for the officer ranks. Karl Erikson believed his officers needed to spend time with the crew, not just with enlisted and non-coms in their own duty sections, and not just in duty situations. To that end, he’d directed Lieutenant Murphy to draw up a rotating schedule that required all officers, including him, to take meals at least three days per month in the crew’s mess. Given Elsie’s officer complement, that meant there was always one or, more often, two officers eating with the enlisted ranks.

Some officers ducked out occasionally, pleading duty priorities, but that brought a mild reprimand from the captain if it happened frequently. Others, like Commander Carter, came to the crew’s mess as scheduled but sat at tables by themselves and ate with a sullen attitude and body language that told all concerned they didn’t want company. In Carter’s case, that was fine with the crew since nobody wanted to share a table with him anyway.

Lorna Greenwood had no such issues; she looked forward to meals with the crew. The conversations were a bit boisterous and the language crude, but she always found it interesting. More importantly, the crew accepted her presence without reservation. She could pick any table she liked and feel welcome. Someone might joke that they needed to tone it down because there was an officer in their midst, but a few seconds later, they would go back to whatever they’d been talking about when she arrived. Sometimes, when she came off the serving line, crew members would get up, wave to get her attention, and invite her to sit with them.

This day was no exception. As Lorna came off the line, a technician at one of the nearby tables stood up, waved, and motioned to an open chair. Lorna walked to the table, which was currently occupied by two young first-class techs and a female chief petty officer, who was probably in her late forties.

“May I join you?” Lorna asked.

“You’re an officer. You don’t need to ask.” The CPO grinned.

“Yeah, I seem to recall they told us that at the Academy—” Lorna returned the grin, “—but it never hurts to be courteous.”

“That’s true,” the non-com said. “I’m even nice to these guys, occasionally. Can’t let them get smug about it, though.”

Lewis and Clark had over 200 crew, and Lorna had yet to meet many of them. She hadn’t encountered these three before, and she looked them over as she sat down. The petty officer was Thrace, and the two technicians were Jennings and Manu, according to their name tags. All three wore the crossed-swords emblem of the weapons maintenance section, and the two techs also wore the arrowhead badge that marked them as missile system specialists.

Lorna had barely settled into her chair before one of the techs hit her with a question.

“Ms. Greenwood, you’re the tactical officer, right?”

“I’m the assistant NTO,” she said. “Commander O’Hara is the NTO.”

“Yeah, but you’ve seen all the stuff we have on the Bug warship, right? I was just wondering, do you think we can take him?”

“Jennings,” CPO Thrace growled a warning.

Lorna waved her off. The question had taken her by surprise, and she paused, considering how to answer. “Well, let’s start with the idea that all we have on him is not necessarily all he’s got. We’ve seen him maneuver, launch two weapons, and return to his docking point. We haven’t seen him under attack, so we don’t know anything about his defensive capabilities, nor do we know what firepower he might have that we haven’t seen yet. We also don’t know what his real maneuvering capabilities are since all we saw was a short trip down to a lower orbit and back.

“We outmass him about three to one, and, while they may call Elsie a survey ship, under her skin we know she’s really a brand-new Dragon-class light cruiser. Add to that the fact that everything we know about these Bugs comes from the Akara, who have tangled with them and weren’t particularly impressed. So, I guess the answer is—and this is just my opinion—yes, we can take him.”

“So why the hell haven’t we?” the other technician asked.

“You’re out of line, Manu,” Thrace warned him.

“Yes, you are, Technician,” Lorna said. “That’s not your call, nor is it mine. It’s the captain’s, but I can think of several good reasons why we haven’t done it. If he’d continued his attack, there’s no doubt in my mind we’d have been on him like a wolf on a lost sheep, and we’d have dumped a whole load of painful punishment on his head. But he didn’t. He fired two weapons, turned around, and went back to the station. It was over before we even knew what his targets were.”

“But we know now,” Manu persisted. “We know he destroyed those villages and killed those people.”

“Yes, but we don’t know why. We have no idea what’s going on between the Bugs and those people. Dr. Phillips tells me most of the people on the planet have no contact with the Bugs. Most didn’t react to the destruction of those villages, if they even knew it happened. They went about their business and continued to live as they had before. A few local people showed up, looked at the destroyed villages, and returned home. It was business as usual at the Bug mining sites, and, by the way, Dr. Phillips says those mines do not appear to be run with forced labor. The Bugs rarely come out to watch the work. The local people show up every day, break rocks and stack them in piles, and go home to the local village at night. The miners don’t appear to be overworked, and, if their village is any indication, they are living quite well by the standards of that planet.

“In short, Technician,” she continued, “we don’t have a clue what’s going on down there, and I guess the captain thinks we damn well ought to figure it out before we start an interstellar war. We are trying very hard to do that, but it’s a little tough when all we have to work with is remote probes. I hope that explanation was enough for you because it’s about all I can tell you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the technician said, but he didn’t sound happy.

“You should say, ‘Thank you, ma’am,’” Thrace said. “Ensign Greenwood didn’t owe you an explanation. You got more than you deserved. I think you two are due back at your stations about now, so move out. I’ll be along shortly.”

“On the way, Chief.” Jennings got to his feet. “Thank you, ma’am.” Manu rose with a mumbled “Thank you, ma’am,” and the two of them gathered their trays and departed.

“They’re good troops,” Thrace told Lorna. “Everybody’s a little upset about what happened, that’s all.”

“I understand.” Lorna nodded. “They deserve an explanation, but that was the best I could give them.”

Thrace nodded. She sat in silence, looking at Lorna. “Can I ask you a personal question, Ensign?” she asked at last.

“Go ahead.” Lorna nodded.

“Your grandmother…scuttlebutt said she was attracted to women rather than men. Was that true?”

“You mean, was she a lesbian? Yes. She never made a secret of it, though she never made a big deal of it, either.”

“And are you…um…by any chance…” Thrace seemed to be fumbling for words.

Suddenly, Lorna realized where the older woman was going. “No, I’m not. Are you hitting on me, CPO Thrace?” She allowed herself a little smile to take the sting out of the accusation.

“Yes, ma’am, I suppose I am,” Thrace admitted, “but not with any real expectation of success.”

“I’m flattered, but these bars on my collar are still too shiny and new. I need to work on my career for a while, and I swore I was going to avoid any entangling relationships, with men or women, for a year or two at least.”

“I’m not looking for an entangling relationship,” Thrace said with a smile, “just a little girl-on-girl relaxation and recreation. You don’t need to feel flattered; you’re an attractive, intelligent, young woman. Based on the pictures I’ve seen, you’re the image of your grandmother in her younger days. Anyway, you outrank me, but I’m not in your chain of command, so if you feel a need for a little discreet companionship, let me know.”

With that, she got up, collected her tray, and departed. Lorna watched her go, noting that Thrace was quite attractive for her age and not what she’d expect a lesbian to look like.

Idiot, she told herself. Your grandmother taught you years ago that looks are not a clue to a person’s sexual preference unless that person chooses to make them so. Are you, naive little girl, finally realizing what a sheltered life you’ve had?

Lorna had been a couple of years younger than her classmates through secondary school and college. She’d concentrated on her studies, deliberately avoiding the party crowd. She was determined to follow in her grandmother’s footsteps and become a Fleet officer, and she’d used that determination like armor to deflect advances from any males who crossed her path. As a result, she’d had nothing resembling a social life when she got to the Academy, where any but the most casual and Platonic relationships between students were grounds for dismissal.

Here you are, she reflected, finding out what life is like among 200 normal, sociable people sealed in a big steel container 50 light-years from home. Welcome to the real LFS Fleet.

Lorna was off duty, so she headed back to her cabin. All I need is to find Nova and Mark in the bunk together, and my Day of Enlightenment will be complete.

* * *

“Mark?”

“Hmmm?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Why do you ask?”

Nova propped herself up on one elbow and looked at Phillips. “Because you look too serious. After the party we just had, you should be lying there with a silly grin on your face. You do understand this was supposed to be fun, don’t you? No promises, no commitments, just friends enjoying each other’s company.”

Phillips lay silent for a moment and stared at the ceiling, not meeting her gaze. “Well, I guess that’s the problem,” he said at last. “I’ve never done this sort of thing.”

“What?” Nova stared at him in disbelief. “Are you telling me you were a virgin?”

“No, of course not. I mean, I was when I first got to Luna, but that didn’t last long. For some reason, all those Moonie college girls found me attractive, and I couldn’t go to a party without one of them grabbing me and dragging me off somewhere. You’re not even my first Marine. One night, a bunch of us went down to Corporal J’s, and there were two Marine girls who insisted I do it with both together. That was—”

“Never mind. I don’t need the details. So, what’s the problem here?” Nova sat up, swung her legs out of bed, and turned her back on Phillips. She was beginning to get irritated, and she knew he could hear it in her voice. She didn’t bother to retrieve her underwear from the floor; she wasn’t going to leave until she knew where she stood with him. She sat there in silence, staring at the bulkhead in the little privacy compartment.

Phillips looked at her in silence. She’s quite beautiful, he decided, though she tries to hide it. She’s more muscular than most of the girls I’ve known, but a lot of girls on New Eden are that way. Maybe that’s part of the problem. With that light tan skin and dark hair, she reminds me too much of home.

She turned, her stern expression demanding an answer. Not the eyes, though, he told himself. Those strange and beautiful almond-shaped eyes.

“What I meant was,” he explained, “I’ve never done it with a friend before, never with anyone I knew and cared about. All those other girls were passing encounters. I didn’t even know some of their names. Those two Marines? I knew their last names because they were embroidered on their uniform tops, but they must have shipped out somewhere because I never saw them again.

“This is different,” he insisted. “We’ve only known each other for a month, but I feel like I know you. I’ve never seen your parents’ restaurant, but I want to go there with you. I feel your pride in being a Marine. I admire your self-assurance, your determination, your…well, just about everything about you, and I feel like I’ve found a friend for life. It’s strange because we are so different from each other, but we get along so well.”

“Yeah.” She softened a little. “I was kind of surprised by that myself. I figured, with all those fancy degrees, you’d be more interested in a woman like Dr. Warren.”

“Cynthia?” He chuckled. “Nobody on Elsie knows this, but she’s my sister…or that’s how it feels, anyway. After my father brought me to Luna for higher education, he had to return to New Eden. He knew my being there would be a cultural shock, so he asked an old friend to take me in and watch over me—Cynthia’s mother. She’s an exobiologist who worked with my father on the first New Eden expedition. I lived with her and Cynthia for five years before I got an apartment of my own. Like I said, Cynthia’s like my older sister, and she helped me figure out how to behave among civilized Moonies, without looking like a Neanderthal.

“The problem is,” he continued, “I am a Neanderthal. I was born and raised on New Eden, and my mother was pure New Eden aborigine. When I was a kid, we were just beginning to build our first villages and grow crops. We were wandering tribes of hunter-gatherers, until your people came along, and we started on the road to civilization, but we kept a lot of our old tribal customs. One of those customs is what’s causing me problems now. I know it’s just in my head, that things are different on Luna and, eventually, things will change on New Eden, but it still bothers me.”

Nova had softened completely. She gave him a little smile as she reached out and caressed his cheek. “Okay, caveman, what is this tribal custom that’s bothering you so much? Were you supposed to knock me over the head with a club and drag me back to your cave?”

“No, nothing like that. I have a feeling anyone who tried to do that with you would be in for a really bad day. This has to do with the curious way we select a mate on New Eden. Actually, it has to do with the way women select a mate, because men have nothing to say about it.”

“You’re kidding.” She looked skeptical.

“Not at all. When a girl reaches puberty, she takes some of her hair and braids it into an armband, decorates it however she likes, and wears it on her right arm. That tells the tribe she is now a woman, but it also tells the men of the tribe she is a virgin who is not to be touched or molested in any way. Raping a woman who wears an armband is punishable by death, and lesser molestations are punishable by public whippings. Consensual sex between such a woman and any man may cause both to be banished from the tribe, unless he immediately takes her for his wife. She is allowed casual friendships with men if she maintains her virginity, but hormones sometimes get in the way. If they do, she and the man in question must stop seeing each other. They can still be friends, but they need to keep their distance until they are able to control their natural inclinations.

“When she puts on the armband, a woman leaves her family and goes to the Mejara. The closest translation I can give you is medicine woman—the tribe’s only female elder. The young woman becomes subservient to the Mejara, who is expected to assign her communal duties and teach her whatever she needs to know to become a productive member of the tribe. She can stay in that status as long as she continues to obey the Mejara and do the work she is given. Beyond that, her time is her own, and she is as free as she will ever be. Some women are content with that life and never look for a mate, but those are the exceptions.

“Most of them eventually find a man they want to be with. When they do, they walk up to him and present him with the armband. The two of them go before the elders, she declares her choice, and he formally accepts her. That’s the closest thing we have to a wedding ceremony. After that, she’s considered his property and is almost a slave. She must stay with him and obey him for the rest of her life. He must provide for her and is responsible for her welfare. He is not permitted to abuse her physically and must protect her from harm.”

Nova looked at him skeptically. “She just walks up and hands him the armband and says, ‘Okay, I’m yours.’ What if he doesn’t want her?”

“He doesn’t have a choice. Unless he can convince the elders he is physically unable to provide for her, he must accept her. It’s a done deal as soon as she presents the armband.”

“What if he already has a wife…er…mate, or whatever you call it.”

“Wife is a close enough term.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Women outnumber men on New Eden by about three to one—the Otuka preferred male trophies when they hunted us. Polygamy is a common practice, and there is a seniority system among wives—the newcomer would be at the bottom of the pecking order.”

“Unbelievable.” Nova shook her head. “Some Earthworm marriage customs are pretty strange, but this tops the list. What does it have to do with you and me?”

“Well, I guess I feel as if I’ve just been given an armband—your armband.”

She stared at him, wide-eyed and speechless.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “I’d be perfectly happy to accept that armband. If we were back on New Eden, I’d be grinning from ear to ear, but I know that’s not what you intended. We’re not on New Eden, and you have no intention of becoming my mate, wife, slave-for-life, or whatever you choose to call it. At the end of this trip, I’ll go off somewhere, the Marines will send you somewhere else, and this will all be a memory. That is going to break my heart.”

Nova felt tears in her eyes, but she blinked them away and drew a deep breath. “I understand, and you’re right. I’m just starting a career I’ve always wanted. Marriage? Kids? Family? Those are things I’ll think about twenty or thirty years from now, about the time they pin a star on my collar and start calling me brigadier. It’s going to break my heart, too. You are the sweetest, most lovable man I’ve ever met, and I will never forget you. We are friends, and I hope we will always be friends, but…”

“But?” He looked at her, waiting for the qualifier.

“Like you said, we aren’t on New Eden. We’re here, now, and I need to introduce you to a social concept that originated on Earth, not Luna. The Earthworms even have a name for it.”

“What’s that?”

“Friends with benefits,” she said, with a crooked grin.

* * *

7 April 2104, LFS Lewis and Clark, The Sacagawea System

“You wanted to see me, Captain?”

“Yes, I did, Doc. Come in and sit down.”

Lieutenant Andrew Dupree was Lewis and Clark’s medical officer. To the captain and crew, he was Doc, though he wasn’t really a doctor. The Lunar Fleet suffered from a chronic shortage of MDs, and it was rare to find one assigned to any ship smaller than a heavy cruiser. Most ships only got a medical technician and one or more medical assistants. Because of her extended deep-space mission, Fleet had apparently thought Elsie deserved a little better. Dupree’s diploma proclaimed him to be a nurse practitioner, which was enough to earn him an officer’s rank. He had one fully-qualified med tech and a medical assistant reporting to him.

“Doc, it’s my understanding you’ve been treating Commander Carter for a particular problem,” Erikson began as Dupree sat down. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

“Sir,” Dupree replied, with only a moment’s hesitation, “I’m going to need a written override on Article 14 before—”

“Yeah, I figured you would.” Erikson held up a hand. “Check your pad. I just sent it.”

Article 14 of the LFS Constitution guaranteed all citizens the right to privacy in their own affairs, barring a need for information regarding a specific threat or danger to others or to the community. The Judge Advocate General had ruled long ago that military members on active duty had the same rights as any other citizen. A military commander could override that right for those in his chain of command, given sufficient justification, but needed to document that justification in each case.

Dupree pulled out his pad, opened the newly-arrived document, and scanned it quickly. His eyebrows rose as he came to the required justification—determination of fitness for command. “Sir, Commander Carter complained about his inability to sleep. I prescribed a mild sleep aid for him, one that is on Fleet’s list of drugs approved for use by active-duty ship’s crew.”

“A sleep aid? Something that would knock him out to the point where he wouldn’t wake up easily?”

“No, sir, it was Unitram HCL, five milligrams. It doesn’t induce sleep. It’s supposed to relax the patient and create a tranquil state conducive to sleep. There’s a fast-acting antidote that can be taken if needed, which I also prescribed for Mr. Carter. Is there a problem, sir, some question about the treatment?”

“No, Doc, there’s nothing wrong with what you did, not if I understand what you’re telling me.” Erikson hesitated, then decided Dupree deserved an explanation. “Commander Carter failed to report for duty during the last Condition Red. He says he slept through it, claims he took a pill you prescribed and didn’t wake up when the alert sounded. I find that difficult to believe. The alert tone sounds in every compartment and is designed to be as strident and annoying as possible to ensure everyone notices. I’ve never known anyone to sleep through it. If that’s not enough, the system brings up the lighting in every officer’s cabin, crew’s quarters, and recreation spaces to maximum. You’d have to be seriously incapacitated not to notice something is going on, and it doesn’t sound like those pills would do it. What would happen if he accidentally took too many of them?”

“Just the opposite, sir.” Dupree shook his head. “Curiously enough, an overdose of Unitram induces a state of nervous agitation which prevents you from falling asleep, but…”

“But what, Lieutenant?”

“Sir, Unitram with alcohol is a different story. That will knock you out. I warned Commander Carter about the effects and told him absolutely no alcohol consumption while taking the drug.”

“He must have been aware, because he specifically told me he’d had nothing to drink that night, and I can’t find any evidence to the contrary.”

“Well, sir, I don’t know what else I can tell you.”

“I understand, Doc. Don’t worry about it. I needed the information you just gave me. Not sure what I’m going to do yet, but it’s not your problem.”

* * *

Hell, I only had one drink, Marcus Carter told himself. Well, okay, maybe it was two. Good thing I didn’t have them in the wardroom where somebody might have noticed.

On the night in question, Carter had consumed most of the half-liter flask of vodka he kept in his locker. It was a violation of Fleet regulations, which prohibited both officers and crew—anyone other than a ship’s captain or flag-ranked officer—from keeping alcohol or other recreational intoxicants in their quarters. Fleet allowed off-duty personnel to use those intoxicants in moderation at appropriate times, but only in appropriate public places, such as the officer’s wardroom or the crew’s mess.

Wouldn’t have been a problem if I hadn’t put on the sleep mask and earplugs, but it’s damned hard to sleep without them. He hadn’t mentioned either the mask or the earplugs in his explanation to the captain. Bastard would have thrown a fit over anything that prevented his damned noisy alert from waking me up. If it had been serious, they could have sent somebody to my cabin to get me.

I need to keep an eye on that bitch Adams. She should have sent someone to look for me. She’s sure as hell not competent to run AuxCon by herself. Good thing it wasn’t a real alert.

* * * * *

Chapter Eleven

20 April 2104, LFS Isis, Near the Sol System Hyper Limit

“Admiral, we are being asked by Lunar Command to hold off on translation. They anticipate a delay of several hours.”

Rob O’Hara had been about to depart for the flag bridge in preparation for his task group’s imminent translation into hyperspace. He paused. “Really? Did they give a reason?”

“All we have is an FTL signal from the gravitic array at TransLuna,” said Iris, the battlecruiser’s AI. “They’ve asked us to stand by for a light-speed transmission. We are one hundred forty-two light-minutes from Luna, so it will be more than two hours before the transmission reaches us.”

O’Hara frowned. Gravitic pulses could be used for communication but not very efficiently. Transmitter power requirements were huge—as much as those of a warship’s gravity drive—and no one had figured out how to modulate the pulse to carry any sort of intelligence. The only way to transmit a message was to send short-duration pulses in a coded sequence, like early 20th-century Morse code. It had taken several minutes to transmit the message Iris had just given him.

“I assume you’ve advised Jennifer?”

“Yes, Admiral. Commodore Tanaka saw the initial message. She has advised the group to hold the translation and is standing by for further orders from you.”

O’Hara nodded. Jennifer Tanaka commanded O’Hara’s flagship, LFS Isis, which made her his flag captain. She was responsible for relaying his orders to the entire battle group and overseeing their execution. He had known Jennifer since the New Eden campaign, when she’d commanded the research vessel Lisa Randall, and he’d kept in touch as she moved up through the fleet ranks and eventually took command of the heavy cruiser LFS Spartan. When he’d moved up to flag rank and was looking for a flag captain, she had just reached time-in-grade for promotion to commodore, and he’d requested her for the post.

“Fine. Advise her I’m confirming the hold, and all ships can stand down to Condition Blue. I’m heading for the flag bridge and will want her in conference to review the message when it comes in.”

Almost three hours later, the message began streaming in, and Rob found himself looking at Admiral Amy Ling’s face on his screen. Must be serious, he decided, if the Dragon Lady decided to call me.

“Sorry for the delay, Rob,” Ling began, “but I had to get my temper under control before I recorded this message. Another hyperprobe from Lewis and Clark dropped into the system two days ago. An OSG ship queried it immediately and relayed the data dump to Luna. Somebody at Fleet Intel sat on it for two days before deciding they ought to bump it to me. It’s lucky I got it in time to catch you before you made the jump.”

O’Hara shook his head and noted that Ling’s tone and expression promised a world of hurt for that unnamed someone and everyone in his/her immediate chain of command.

“This is data you need to see. The aliens in the Sacagawea system are the Ay’uskanar—the insectoid race the Akara told us about. More importantly, Captain Erikson says the insects launched two kinetic weapons at the planet, without warning, and destroyed two native villages for no apparent reason. They finished the attack and returned to their regular routine before Lewis and Clark could verify the targets. Since there were no further attacks, Erikson elected to remain concealed. As of the time this probe was launched, the insects had taken no further action and had not detected our people.

“Rob, if the aliens conduct another attack, Erickson has advised us he’s going after them in defense of the humans on the planet. He says that while the Ay’uskanar ships come and go, mostly in ore-freighter convoys, with a couple of escorts, there appears to be only one warship stationed in the system. There’s also some sort of orbital processing station, but the attack was launched by the warship, not the station. We have very little information about the offensive or defensive capabilities of either the ship or the station. We know they can launch kinetics against a planet, but nothing else.”

Ling favored him with a grim smile. “I’m doing what any good four-star admiral would do under the circumstances—dumping the whole can of worms on you, my trusted subordinate. I’m sending you the complete contents of the hyperprobe dump, but that’s going to take another hour to transmit. I hate to delay you, because your mission just got more urgent, but this is information you’ll need. I leave everything to your discretion, and I hope I’m not sending you into another New Eden situation.”

So do I, O’Hara thought. It had been over 30 Earth years since the LFS fleet had gone to the rescue of the primitive humans on New Eden in the Rothstein system. They had fought a series of bloody battles with another alien race, the Otuka, to accomplish that rescue. Ling had been in the middle of it, commanding the Double Deuce—Second Fleet’s Second Battle Group—and O’Hara had been one of her destroyer captains. They had learned hard lessons about taking on aliens whose strength and capabilities were unknown.

“Rob, you know the drill. I’ve just been told the data dump is on its way. Use your discretion but do what you must. Ling out.” Her face disappeared from the screen as she ended the transmission.

“Jennifer? Any thoughts?” O’Hara asked Tanaka’s image on his other screen.

“New Eden…that brings back some unpleasant memories.” She shook her head. “At least these insect-creatures aren’t eating the humans.”

“No, but for whatever reason, they have killed some of them. I think we need to get out there in a hurry. Bring the group back up to Condition Yellow. I want to jump as soon as we receive the probe data.”

* * *

20 April 2104, LFS Lewis and Clark, Sacagawea System

Cynthia Warren was alone in the research facility. It was after midnight, ship’s time, but it was late afternoon at the Bug mining site Elsie’s robot probe was watching. Warren hadn’t been able to do much for the last three days. A Bug convoy had arrived in-system, and there was a lot of activity around the orbital station, mostly ore carriers moving back and forth between the station and the planet. Captain Erikson had declared a stand-down on surveillance activities for the duration. Now, the convoy was gone, and Warren was back to work. She was using the robot’s camera, panning around, zooming in and out, and trying to get a better look at everything. From its vantage point atop a ridge, the robot had a good view of the mining site, but it didn’t have a clear line of sight to the Bug installation on the far side.

She wanted a better look. Astrophysics was her primary field, but she’d minored in engineering at Luna University, mostly to better understand the technology used in her research. Somewhere along the way, she had developed a fascination for it, and now she had an opportunity to study alien technology, if only she could get a better look at it.

The probe’s landing site had been chosen carefully—it had come down at night, behind the ridge where its arrival would not be noticed. She and Phillips had spent the first few hours after landing cleaning up the site. They had used the mobile robot’s manipulating arms to gather the parachute and remains of the impact bags, tucked them carefully into the now-useless landing stage, and arranged brush and other indigenous materials to cover it up. They had maneuvered the robot up to the top of the ridge, and they’d built a small blind out of brush where it could hide and observe the mining site.

They had seen everything they could from that vantage point, and the Bugs hadn’t so much as glanced in their direction. Cynthia was planning to back down off the ridge a few meters and run along behind it for the better part of a kilometer. When she topped the ridge again, she should have a clear view of the Bug installation from less than 500 meters away. The terrain below the ridge wasn’t difficult, except for a lot of grassy vegetation, and the robot had already proven its ability to plow through that stuff. She planned to run the robot in reverse, with its manipulator arms trailing behind, so she could use them to rearrange the foliage and cover her tracks. She would use the secondary camera on the rear of the probe for navigation. She hesitated for a moment, wondering if she ought to wait for local nightfall before starting the move, but she decided to go ahead. There was no sign of human activity on this side of the ridge, and Bug technology could undoubtedly detect the robot in darkness as well as in daylight. If they hadn’t found it by now, they weren’t likely to do so.

The surveyor hadn’t been moved since they’d first placed it on site, and it took a while for her to get used to the controls. Moving and guiding the machine wasn’t as much of an issue as covering its tracks, especially since she was dealing with a communications delay of almost four seconds. She moved the robot about two meters, stopped for a few seconds, and used the manipulators to push the underbrush back into position behind it. There were a few clear spots where she didn’t need to stop, but it still took her more than two hours to move a kilometer along the ridge. She had to find a suitable path back to the top, which took another half-hour. It was nearly sunset local time when she approached the top again, only to be stopped by the robot’s automatic guidance system telling her the terrain in its path was not navigable.

More tall grassy stuff, she noted, with a sigh. For most of the trip, she had been dealing with a glitch in the probe’s navigation system. It kept insisting any tall vegetation blocking the camera’s vision was an impassible obstacle. She hit the override icon on the screen, and four seconds later, the robot began to move again. As she expected, it easily plowed through the foliage in its path.

A moment later, it emerged from the grassy stuff, and she had a clear view…of empty space, with a sheer drop off the edge of a cliff directly in front of her. Reflexively, she slammed the joystick control back to reverse direction. Too late, she remembered the robot had been backing up toward the edge and her controls were reversed. Frantically, she pushed the joystick forward, to no effect. With the communication lag, the image she was seeing from the robot’s camera was already two seconds old, and her control commands would take another two seconds to reach the planet. Her view suddenly tilted downward as the surveyor’s tracks found nothing but empty air beneath them and then the image tumbled over and over in free fall.

She realized there was one more thing she had to do. She stabbed the self-destruct icon. Maddeningly, the system asked her to confirm the command, but before she could do so, the image blacked out as the robot surveyor impacted rocks a hundred meters below the ridgeline.

* * *

In the habitat at the mining site, a perimeter alarm attracted the attention of the Level Two Bug on duty. A swiftly moving object had penetrated the security field from the direction of the cliffs behind the mine. The Bug selected the appropriate sector camera and began to review the recorded video of the moments before the alarm. The image showed an object plunging down the face of the cliff, striking a slanted rock face at the bottom, and bouncing outward away from the cliff, almost directly toward the habitat. It came to rest in an open area within the security perimeter.

Logic synapses in the Bug’s brain suggested a high probability that the object was a rock that had fallen naturally from the cliff above, but that probability was lowered when the Bug enlarged the image of the object and noted regular outlines that were atypical for a natural object. Uncertainty was high enough to trigger the natural Bug reaction to such things, which was to pass the information up to its immediate superior at Level Three, who almost immediately notified its superior at Level Four—the topmost Bug at the mining site. Level Four passed the order up to its superior at the orbiting processing station but also issued an order down the chain. More information was needed. A Level One was sent out to examine the object and report. Depending on that observation, the object could be brought into the habitat for further examination.

* * *

Most officers and crew assigned to second watch went to their bunks soon after the watch ended for a regular night’s sleep, but John O’Hara preferred a different schedule. On most nights, he went to the crew’s mess, where a midnight meal was served from 2300 to 0100 hours, specifically for those going on third watch or coming off second. Sometimes, he would linger for a while and drink coffee with other officers or crew members. When he went back to his cabin, he would usually stay awake until around 0500, then go to sleep. Sometimes, he read a book or watched a video from the ship’s library, but tonight, he decided to catch up on some administrative work. He owed the captain a first-time officer evaluation for Ensign Greenwood, and he was determined to finish it before he turned in.

Greenwood had easily met—had exceeded—his expectations in just about every respect. She seemed to have a natural aptitude for command. Perhaps, he mused, inherited from her grandmother. She could be easygoing and friendly with crew members, but never to the point they forgot she was an officer. When she gave an order, they obeyed without question. Is respected by subordinates to a greater degree than most officers of her rank and experience, he wrote. She seemed to have a natural aptitude for tactical analysis, was proficient with the ship’s systems, and handled herself well during alert situations. She’s also a very attractive woman.

The thought brought O’Hara’s mental processes to a screeching halt. Where in hell did that come from, Johnny Boy? Definitely not an appropriate thing for a superior officer to think about a subordinate.

It’s true, all the same, the other side of his brain whispered. She’s intelligent, and she’s beautiful. You’re a single guy in your prime. You wouldn’t be normal if you didn’t notice her.

Yeah, but you’re not just any guy, his conscience argued. You’re an LFS Navy officer, and so is she, and you’re her immediate superior.

O’Hara took a deep breath and forced himself to take a hard look at his feelings. He didn’t like what he saw. The plain truth was that he was attracted to Greenwood, strongly attracted. That was going to be a problem; they had to work together all the time, and he could not show even a hint of that attraction.

The soft chime of the door intercom brought him out of his troubled thoughts. He glanced at the time on the screen in front of him—0340 hours. Who in hell is at my door at this hour? Better not be Greenwood, she’s the last person I need to see right now. He touched the door camera icon on the screen and, to his surprise, discovered Cynthia Warren standing there with a worried look on her face.

“Dr. Warren? What can I do for you?”

“Commander, I need to talk to you. Something has happened, and I need to tell the captain about it, but I want to talk to you first. I’m afraid the captain’s not going to be very happy with me.”

Ten minutes later, after she’d given him a short description of the events of the past few hours, he decided that was an understatement.

* * *

“Sir, I re-tasked one of the low-level satellites to get a look at the site where it fell, but it’s going to be another twelve minutes before it gets there. None of the probe’s telemetry is responding. It’s pretty tough, but it wasn’t made to survive a hundred-meter drop under gravity almost eight percent higher than Earth’s.”

Erikson nodded. The situation had gone straight to hell as soon as the probe went over the cliff, and all they could do was damage control. When he heard the story, the captain called together a team to decide how best to manage things. Besides O’Hara and Warren, Commander Carter, Lieutenant Sakura, and Mark Phillips were now crowded into Erikson’s day cabin.

“So, Doctor,” Carter pointed a finger at Warren, “because of your unauthorized and ill-considered action, our security has been compromised. If the aliens find that probe, they’ll know someone with technology far beyond that of the humans on this planet has been here. Once they realize that, they’ll look for more evidence and may detect our satellites in orbit. If they do, they can take those out and effectively put an end to our observations. They may even start looking around the system and find us hiding back here. We’ll have to abandon the mission entirely.”

“Actually,” O’Hara said, “it’s worse than that. Dr. Warren?”

“Yes, it is.” Warren looked thoroughly miserable.

“How?” Carter demanded.

Warren hesitated, intimidated by the exec’s accusation.

O’Hara came to her rescue. “The robot needs to be able to navigate on the surface of an unknown planet,” he explained. “It’s not like Earth or Luna, where you contact GPS satellites to figure out where you are and which way you’re going. You can’t even be sure a planet will have a usable magnetic field for compass bearings, so the only solution is stellar navigation. The probe’s internal system contains a database of bright stars that can be seen from anywhere within a few hundred light-years of the Sol system. If it knows where it is relative to our home system, it can figure out the patterns those stars will form in the sky. With that, all it needs to know is the planet’s period of rotation, and it can navigate.

“The problem,” he added, “is the part about relative to our home system.”

Carter looked at him blankly.

Erikson recognized the implications immediately. He looked at Warren, who appeared to be on the verge of tears. “In other words, if they get their hands on the navigation program and are clever enough to figure it out, they’ll know where we came from.”

“Yes, sir,” O’Hara said. “The stellar location information was programmed into the probe before it was launched. That’s why Dr. Warren tried to activate the self-destruct. It would have detonated the fuel cells, and the resulting plasma bloom would have vaporized all but a few chunks of metal. Unfortunately, the robot hit the ground first. The fuel cells are specifically designed to fail-safe in an impact like that.”

Carter glared at Warren in horror. “Doctor, do you realize you’ve violated the Third Contact Directive? That’s grounds for a court-martial and should pretty much put an end to your career!”

“Maybe it would, Commander,” Erikson told him sharply, “if Doctor Warren were a Fleet officer. She’s not. She’s a civilian, and it was an accident. I doubt she’ll suffer any such consequences. Let’s forget about assigning blame and start thinking about what we need to do to fix things.”

“That should be obvious, Captain,” Carter said. “We know exactly where the thing went over the cliff, right?” He looked at Warren, then at O’Hara.

“Yes, sir, we do,” O’Hara said.

“Fine. We’ll need a kinetic strike. I would think at least a level three, to make sure we completely destroy it.”

Warren and Phillips stared at him in horror, and O’Hara looked at him in disbelief. Sakura’s expression was unreadable, as was Erikson’s.

“A level three kinetic?” Erikson asked calmly. “That’s significantly larger than those the Bugs used to level those two villages. Has it occurred to you that the accident site is about two hundred meters from the Bug installation and less than a kilometer from the human village where the mine workers live?”

“Of course!” Carter exclaimed. “We’ll need to take out the Bugs anyway, in case they’ve already gotten to the wreck. As for the village…well…we’ll just have to accept that as collateral damage.”

“Commander,” Erikson said quietly, “we’ve had a security breach through our own fault. I’ll be damned if I’m going to compound it by committing an act of war against an alien race we haven’t met and adding an atrocity against human civilians to the mix. Kinetics are not an option. Period. Does anyone else have a suggestion?”

“That satellite ought to be coming over the site,” Nova Sakura said. “Can we get a look at it?”

O’Hara entered a query on his pad. “On your screen now, Captain.”

Erikson adjusted his desk’s screen so they could all see it.

“That’s the mine coming up now,” Phillips said.

They waited as the image crawled into view, open mining pits and the Bug installation at the far end. Night had fallen, but the sky was clear and both moons had risen over the site. The satellite’s image enhancement system gave them a clear view.

“That’s it!” Warren said. “The cliff is there, in the upper left corner.”

“Freeze that,” Erikson ordered as the indicated point neared the center of the image. “Magnify and enhance.”

O’Hara complied. He zoomed in on the image and increased the magnification until the details started to blur. He made an adjustment and the details sharpened again, so he zoomed in further. “I think that’s about it, sir. The techs might be able to do a little better with image processing, but this is equivalent to the view at two hundred meters altitude.”

“That looks like the impact site,” Phillips said. “I think that’s a piece of one of the manipulator arms, but where’s the rest of it?”

“It may have bounced, and if it went this way—” O’Hara indicated an area on the image, “—it could be buried somewhere under that thick growth. It looks like there’s another piece of it at the edge of this little ravine. If that’s the case, it may be hidden well enough that the Bugs won’t notice it.”

“Is there any way to be sure?” Carter asked.

“No, sir,” O’Hara said. “The satellites have high-resolution cameras that can see in just about any wavelength, but nothing that will penetrate that kind of undergrowth.”

“All the more reason we need to just—”

“Mr. Carter!” Erikson said, sharply. “That subject is closed. Do not mention kinetic strikes again!”

“Yes, sir,” Carter acknowledged, grudgingly.

“How long has it been since the incident?” Nova Sakura asked.

“About ninety minutes,” O’Hara said.

“We don’t see any Bug activity, so it’s likely they didn’t see the probe fall. Chances are it’s down in that ravine, buried in the brush.” Nova looked directly at Erikson. “Sir, I think we need to go down there and get it.”

“That’s not—” Carter started to protest but stopped when Erikson held up his hand.

“What do you have in mind, Lieutenant?”

“Sir, I would take the dropship and a squad of Marines, slip in there quietly, grab what’s left of the robot, and get out. Nothing fancy, just grab and go.”

“We’d need to move the ship,” O’Hara said. “The dropship doesn’t have the range to make it from here. We’d have to get you to low orbit for insertion, but we could do that while the Bug station is on the other side of the planet. It would mean a long inbound approach for you, but the dropship does have stealth capabilities. Getting out would be equally tricky.”

“Tricky, but it could be done,” Erickson said. “Is that a recommendation, Commander?”

“Yes, sir, unless someone has a better idea.”

* * *

“Sergeant Martinez,” Nova said, “I want a recheck of everyone’s tags. This is a breathable atmosphere, but it’s an alien planet. Make sure they’re up to date on immune boosters and anti-virals, and let them know I’ll want to do an equipment inspection before they load up.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Martinez said and headed toward the nine Marines preparing to load their equipment into the dropship.

“Your chariot’s ready,” Jake Mathews said. “Power is up, and preflight check is all green.”

A Dragon-class light cruiser normally carried two small craft, standard Navy utility boats that could move personnel and cargo to and from the surface of a planet. Lewis and Clark carried one utility boat and one Marine Light Assault Lander. The LAL was built on the same hull as the utility boat, but it was equipped with a more powerful drive system, armor plating over critical parts of the hull, and upgraded electronics, including stealth fields and threat detection gear. It also featured an autocannon turret under the nose and six hard points on the hull where assorted weapons or other gear could be attached. In Marine parlance, it was a dropship, and its sole purpose was to get a squad of Marines and all the gear they might need into a hot LZ in an orderly and proficient manner. It could handle up to fifteen passengers and had plenty of storage space for gear, which allowed for a squad of ten plus the few extra people needed for a specific mission.

“Anything else the Navy can do for you?” Mathews asked.

“Yeah,” Nova said. “Get me a new driver—one with a little more experience, maybe.”

“Actually,” he said, with a sniff, “Chief Benson will be doing most of the driving. I’ll be your dropship commander. Technically, until we touch down, I’m in command of the mission.”

“That’s a scary thought,” Nova muttered. “What the hell?”

She had just noticed Mark Phillips entering the boat bay. He was wearing field gear which wasn’t much different from what the Marines wore. A gear bag was slung over his shoulder.

Without hesitation, he walked straight up to Nova. “Where do you want me?”

“Back in your lab, watching us from above and waiting until we get back,” she said. “Sure as hell you aren’t coming with us.”

“Captain says I am,” he said, and he grinned at her. “He agreed it was a good idea to have someone along who can speak the native language.”

“We’re not planning to have any contact with the natives,” she insisted.

“Things don’t always go as planned. Call it insurance. Besides, you’re the one who said this would be a walk in the park. Anyway, it’s moot—Captain says I’m going, so here I am.” Phillips nodded to someone over her shoulder.

Nova turned and saw Erikson approaching the group. She popped a salute which he returned with a nod.

“Carry on, Lieutenant…and before you say anything, yes, I did say that Dr. Phillips should go with you. He grew up on New Eden, and he assures me he learned plenty of bush skills there, so he shouldn’t slow you down or cause you any problems. He’s agreed to follow your orders without question, so take him with you for the retrieval. Don’t leave him sitting back at the landing site. We’ve got about an hour before we move out, so let’s go over your ops plan one more time.”

“Yes, sir.” Nova opened her field pad and called up a satellite map of the landing zone. “Here’s the Bug mining station, and here’s where we expect to find the wreckage. It’s less than three hundred meters from the station structure, but it has enough natural cover that we should be invisible. We’ll be on high alert whenever we’re moving on the ground. The closest point we can set the dropship down without significant risk of detection is here—” she indicated another point on the map, “—about twelve kilometers out.”

“Right,” Mathews added. “We’ll use a low-level terrain-following approach up this valley. That should keep us below any line-of-sight surveillance systems based at the mine. As soon as we touch down, we’ll deploy camo netting over the ship and send the Marines on their way.”

“In addition to Dr. Phillips,” Nova said, nodding grudgingly in Mark’s direction, “we are taking Technician Jennings with us. He’s familiar with the robot’s systems. If we can’t get the whole thing out with us, he can tell us where to find the critical electronics we need to retrieve or destroy it. As soon as we’ve done that, we’ll pull back to the LZ and get the hell out of there.”

“What if you encounter the Bugs?” Erikson prompted.

“Rules of Engagement Charlie, sir—evade if possible, don’t shoot unless threatened, disengage and retreat if we can. Same thing if we encounter any of the local humans, though I don’t expect they’ll have any technology that can hurt us.”

“Fine.” Erikson nodded in satisfaction. “I think that about covers it. Go ahead and load ’em up, Lieutenant…and good luck.”

* * *

“Departure point in twenty minutes, sir.” Carter rose from the command chair as Erikson returned to the bridge. Now would be a good time to hit them with a kinetic and get the hell out of this system, he thought. You don’t have the balls for that, do you, Captain?

“Thank you, Mr. Carter. I have the bridge.” Erikson nodded. “We’ll be upgrading to Condition Yellow, so you might as well head down to AuxCon.”

“Yes, sir. You have the bridge.” Carter turned and headed for the hatch.

“Ms. Greenwood, time to departure?”

“Eighteen minutes, forty-five seconds, sir.”

“Set Condition Yellow. Advise the boat bay to begin preparations for launch.”

The remaining minutes passed quickly. On the mark, Lewis and Clark moved out smartly from the shadow of the moon and ran toward the planet at max acceleration. Halfway there, the ship flipped and began braking, killing the built-up velocity. Approximately two hours after breaking from cover, Elsie arrived at the zero point, a thousand kilometers above the planet’s surface. By then, the boat bay was in vacuum, with its main doors open. As the cruiser’s drive shut down, green lights appeared on the dropship’s control displays.

“We are green to go. Launching now,” Jake Mathews announced over the dropship’s intercom.

Nova Sakura glanced at Mark Phillips, who was strapped into his seat on the other side of the compartment. Phillips looked nervous but determined. Good, Nova decided. If you’re not nervous at a time like this, you must be clueless, and I don’t need any clueless people on this mission.

* * * * *

Chapter Twelve

22 April 2104, Marine Recon Alpha, Planet Tatanna

“There’s nothing here, LT.”

There was no wreckage in the open area at the base of the cliffs. What they thought they saw in the satellite view turned out to be the twisted roots of a native shrub. Corporal Wiley confirmed there was nothing in the underbrush along the edge of the clearing.

Now, it gets a little intense, Nova Sakura thought. Do I send people out into the open to look more carefully, or do I call off the mission and head back to the dropship? Moving into the open clearing would put her people within sight of the alien structure.

“Uh, Lieutenant.” Technician Jennings’ voice was barely above a whisper. “Look at the area to the left of that big rock in the clearing. I think I see some little pieces of something that could be it.”

Nova turned her attention to the indicated spot and dropped her helmet’s display in front of her eyes. Using image enhancement, she examined the area. She decided Jennings was right. There were small pieces of something scattered in a small area of bare dirt, and they didn’t look like natural debris.

Wiley and Martinez had scoured the brush-covered gully that extended north toward the alien structure along the west edge of the clearing. Nova, Mark Phillips, Jennings, and the remainder of the squad were spread out along a ridge that overlooked the clearing from the south. To their right, the cliff from which the robot had fallen extended away to the northeast. The site Jennings pointed out was too far from the cliffs to mark the actual impact point, but the robot could have struck something on the way down and bounced outward.

Maybe that’s where it finally ended up, Nova thought. If so, somebody moved it.

Her helmet display told her the site was about 200 meters from her position. Martinez and Wiley were no more than fifty meters from it, but to get there, they would have to move out into the clearing that was less than 150 meters from the alien structure. We need confirmation, she decided. It was just past sunset, and daylight was fading fast.

“Martinez, Wiley, I’m tagging a spot in the middle of the clearing on your display. I need one of you to go out there, look around, and see if you see anything that looks like it might have come from our robot, even if it’s only a piece of plastic or metal. Move fast, get out there, look, and get back. One of you goes, the other stays back with eyes open for activity at the Bug station. Be prepared for a fast exit back up the gully if anything happens. Copy?”

“Roger, LT,” Martinez said. “Wiley’s going. He’s smaller and faster than I am.”

“Listen up, people,” Nova told the rest of the squad. “If I call for cover, I want you to light up the area between the clearing and the Bugs with smoke and flashbangs only. The captain would prefer we not start a real war with these guys unless we have to. For now, I only want cover and confusion, and only if it looks like the Bugs have spotted us. Is that clear? Acknowledge.”

She checked her display, and the icons for each of her troops flashed green in silent acknowledgment.

“Okay. Wiley, go!” she ordered.

She watched as the corporal darted out of the brush and into the clearing. He reached the indicated spot and began looking around, using a shielded light to examine the ground in the deepening twilight. Several times he reached down and felt or picked something up. It looked like he was finding something of interest. Suddenly, a brilliant beam of bluish light flashed out from the Bug structure and lit up a circle about three meters in diameter, with Wiley dead centered in it. Simultaneously, a ring of lights on towers surrounding the Bug structure came on, illuminating everything near the structure out to about fifty meters—an area that was devoid of any vegetation and clearly intended as a defensive perimeter zone.

“Move, Wiley! You’re busted!” Nova ordered.

When the beam of light appeared, the corporal had turned toward it and stood frozen for a moment, like the proverbial deer in the headlights. On Nova’s order, he bolted back toward cover. His reaction was just a bit faster than that of the Level Two Bug on security watch, and he was three meters outside the circle of light when a powerful bolt of energy struck the spot where he had been standing. It caused a small explosion of dirt and left a smoking hole in the ground where it hit.

“Cover! Light ’em up, people!”

The weapons the Marines carried hadn’t changed much in the last two centuries. They still used chemical propellant to launch a projectile, but in modern firearms, the propellant was a solid charge encased within the projectile, which made each round a miniature rocket. That meant a larger, heavier projectile could be fired without imparting a punishing recoil to the shooter. The Large Caliber Assault Weapons carried by most of Nova’s Marines could send a 20mm-diameter round a thousand meters downrange with a terminal velocity of around 1200 meters per second.

The large size of the projectile also allowed for more than a solid slug, and the Marines were packing a variety of ammunition, including armor piercing and explosive rounds. Nova was pretty sure her troops could have punched holes in the walls of the Bug structure and raised hell with any aliens inside, but she didn’t want to do that. Her cover order required the troops to use the 40mm grenade launchers attached to the LCAWs—making a lot of noise and smoke to confuse and discourage anyone who might want to cause them trouble. She did have one target that needed attention, however.

“Bouchard! Make that spotlight go away!” Corporal Moira Bouchard, a top-of-class graduate of Marine sniper school, was arguably the best shot of Nova’s entire platoon.

“Roger that, LT.” A moment later, the spotlight disappeared in a shower of sparks. The sound of Bouchard’s shot was lost in the chaos as the rest of the Marines complied with Nova’s order, and the area between the clearing and the Bug structure erupted in heavy clouds of smoke punctuated by flashes of light and thunderous noise. Nova ignored it. She was solely concerned with watching Corporal Wiley until he vanished into the underbrush in the gully.

“Wiley, Martinez, get out of there. Meet us back at the stream where we split up. The rest of you, cease fire and start backing out. We need to leave here right now.

“Command,” she continued, “be advised we are compromised. We are aborting the mission and returning to the drop zone.” No doubt Lewis and Clark had been monitoring her squad transmissions, but this made it official.

* * *

The Ay’uskanar did not experience fear in the human sense, but their typical reaction to an unexpected threat for which they had no prepared response, was to freeze—to hold in place and wait for instructions from above. Only six of the insectoids had been assigned to the mining site, and the Level Four in charge decided it did not have sufficient assets to respond to this intrusion into their secure zone. It chose to do nothing, except refer the matter to its superiors at the orbital station.

Nova’s Marines withdrew into the surrounding forest without hindrance or pursuit. When Wiley and Martinez rejoined the group, she detailed two other troops to drop back and watch the rear. As they began the twelve-kilometer trek to the LZ, she called Wiley to her. “What did you see out there before everything went to hell in a hurry?”

“There was some junk out there, LT, but I don’t know if it was from our robot. I grabbed this piece to bring back.”

He produced a jagged, bent piece of sheet metal that was about five centimeters wide and twice as long. It had a hole in it, and a small metal part protruded from the hole.

Jennings leaned in and peered at the artifact under the dim red glow of Wiley’s hand light. “Oh shit,” the technician muttered. “That’s ours, Lieutenant. Has to be part of the robot.”

“How do you know?”

“That’s a Dzus fastener.” He pointed at the protruding part. “Been around since the early twentieth century, but it’s still in use because it’s simple and it works. It’s used to secure quick-access panels—locks tight and unlocks with just a quarter-turn—mostly in aircraft and spacecraft applications. The robot had two panels that used them.”

“I guess we can pretty well assume the Bugs have our robot,” Nova said. “Since we can’t go in after it, we’re done here. Let’s get moving.”

* * *

LFS Lewis and Clark

“Sir! We have a problem. The Bug warship is on the move!”

Lewis and Clark’s bridge crew had been listening to the Marines and watching the view on the main screen. One of the low-orbit satellites had been tasked with providing overhead surveillance of the mining site while Nova’s squad went in, and they saw the pyrotechnic chaos that covered the retreat. Most of them were still watching the screen, looking for indications of Bug activity, but Lorna had her eyes on her own displays.

“Show me,” Erikson ordered, and she immediately transferred her plot to his console and one of the secondary bridge screens.

“He’s dropping to lower orbit on a course that will take him over our drop zone in approximately—” she consulted her display again, “—fifty-seven minutes.”

“We can’t let that happen,” Erikson said. “Go to Condition Red, bring up the drive, and prepare to get underway. Ensign, if we go the opposite way around the planet, can we get there before he does?”

“No, sir,” she said, with only a little delay. “Even assuming max acceleration, the best we can do is one hour and forty-four minutes.”

“Can we get to where he can’t help but see us coming, so we can distract him from what’s going on down there?”

“Sir, if we go over the pole he should see us coming well before he gets there. We’ll have him in missile range about the same time, but the Bug station will see us as well,” she added, grimly.

“Plot that. Helm, take course from tactical and execute. Comm, pass word to the dropship and the Marines. Tell them to hold in place, go to zero emissions, and make themselves invisible from orbit. We’ll advise them when all is clear.”

* * *

Marine Recon Alpha

“All right, people, you heard the order,” Nova told her Marines. “Everybody back under the trees.” She looked at the natural hollows between the heavily exposed root structure of the native trees. “Get in real close to the trees. Pretend you’re part of a tree. I want a defensive position facing that way.” She pointed toward the mining site. “Martinez, take Garcia and set up over there, facing the other way.” She pointed toward the drop zone. “I don’t expect trouble from that direction, but somebody has to watch it. Captain says no emissions, and that includes radar and infrared, so put out passive detectors with audible alarms about fifty meters out, there, there, and there.” She pointed to the likely approaches from either direction. She pointed at Phillips and Jennings, her two non-combatants. “You two are with me. The command post is right here under this tree. I suggest you get comfortable. We may be here a while.”

* * *

Jake Mathews looked up at the camouflage netting that covered the dropship. It resembled the nets that had been used since the dawn of modern warfare, but it was more sophisticated than it looked. It would block electronic emissions, as well as any heat signature from the ship. If scanned with radar or lidar, it would return an echo indistinguishable from the ground around it, and its chameleon coloring would make it virtually invisible from above under just about any spectrum of visible light. Nonetheless, Mathews felt a nervous flutter in his stomach. The netting was all that was keeping the ship from being discovered by the Bugs, and they were stuck there until Sakura’s people got back. He checked the position of the two Marines charged with providing security for the LZ. They had set up motion detectors just outside the net and taken position on either side of the ship to stand guard. If we don’t get out of here soon, Benson and I will have to take turns standing guard, he decided. The Marines have to rest sometime.

* * *

LFS Lewis and Clark

“Contact! Multiple contacts at three four zero, minus six!”

Lorna’s terse announcement took Erikson by surprise. “What the hell?” he muttered. “Talk to me, Ensign.”

“Three sources, ships under gravity drive, incoming, current range seven hundred thirty thousand klicks. Rate of closure is…stand by, sir…they’re changing vector. I think they’ve seen us.” She punched commands into her console and studied the results. “Yes, sir, definitely coming to intercept us. Accelerating at just under one point seven kps squared. If we don’t maneuver, they’ll enter missile range in approximately fifteen minutes.”

“Fifteen minutes? That soon?” Erikson cocked his head in surprise.

“They were already inbound at around three hundred kps, sir. Looks like they were decelerating for a zero-zero approach to the Bug station until they spotted us, flipped over, and started this way.”

“Damn! If we’d been looking that way, we’d have seen them coming long ago.”

“Yes, sir,” Lorna said. The planet’s moon had hidden the incoming aliens, but it had also kept them from seeing Lewis and Clark, until Erikson had gone in pursuit of the other Bug ship. “Sir, these look like three of the Bug warships that were escorting that convoy a few days ago. We thought they had all hypered out by now, but—”

“But obviously they didn’t,” Erikson finished the thought. “Ensign, I don’t see any way we can avoid engagement. Do you concur?”

“Yes, sir. They’re too close and have too much incoming vector. For that matter, they can’t avoid engagement either if we choose to go after them.”

“Right. Helm, come to three-four-zero, minus four,” he ordered. “Go to max military power. Point defense is free, all weapons to hot status. ROE Bravo.”

Lorna understood what the captain was doing. They couldn’t avoid engagement, but they could make that engagement as short as possible by heading straight for the incoming ships. Well, not quite straight for them, but within a couple of degrees—just enough of a miss to make it obvious they were not attacking the aliens. Rules of Engagement Bravo meant Elsie would not fire unless fired upon, so the Bugs had the option of breaking off and avoiding engagement altogether. Somehow, Lorna didn’t think they would. The three incoming ships were bigger and, probably, more heavily armed than the in-system warship they had been watching. The engagement might be short, but it wasn’t going to be pretty.

It looked as though the local Bug warship wasn’t going to join the party. It continued to head for lower orbit on a course that would take it over the LZ and the mining site.

“Comm, advise the dropship and the Marines that we have a problem up here, and they’re going to be on their own,” Erikson said. “Tell them to avoid contact with the Bugs, continue zero emissions, and monitor the command channel. We’ll be back in touch as soon as possible.”

Assuming they survive, Lorna thought. Hell, for that matter, assuming we survive.

* * *

In auxiliary control, Marcus Carter gritted his teeth. What in hell is Erikson doing? he wondered. It’s three to one. We should be heading away from them on a course for the hyper limit. ROE Bravo? We should be throwing missiles at them before they get in range to convince them not to chase us. He’s going to get us all killed!

Of course, he reflected, we wouldn’t be in this spot if he’d listened to me and wiped out the mining site. We could have been halfway to the hyper limit before the damned Bugs knew what had happened. Worst case, we’d only have one Bug ship to deal with, not three. No, he listened to O’Hara because the bastard is the son of an admiral, he listened to the clueless scientists, he listened to a junior Marine officer fresh out of the Academy, and now, he’s listening to that bitch Greenwood, and we’re all going to die.

* * *

Marine Recon Alpha

Nova considered her options. She didn’t like the idea of holding position less than a kilometer from the mining site, but there was a Bug ship up there that was looking for them and would be more likely to spot them if they moved. On the other hand, she was in a dense forest and could count on overhead cover most of the way back to the LZ, but some sizeable critters called this forest home. Nova’s people had seen some on the way in, groups of nervous herbivores that had spooked and run off when they saw the Marines. With the tree cover, she doubted a ship in orbit could detect her people moving, let alone distinguish them from the native wildlife. She didn’t know when Lewis and Clark would return, but she wanted to be a lot closer to the dropship, ready for a quick dust-off if the opportunity arose.

She decided. They would start back toward the LZ, using night-vision gear to pick their way through the dark forest, and keep moving as long as they had cover. She passed word to her team, and fifteen minutes later they were on the move.

* * *

LFS Lewis and Clark

The Bug warships were still more than 150,000 kilometers from Lewis and Clark when the Bugs opened fire. This was disturbing on several levels. The latest generation of LFS Viper missiles had a maximum effective range of 120,000 kilometers. More importantly, the Bugs had launched 96 missiles in their first salvo. Elsie had just twenty missile tubes—two chasers forward, two aft, and eight each in her port and starboard broadsides. The three forward tubes in each broadside could be angled to fire at targets ahead of the cruiser, which gave her an eight-missile capability for head-on engagements. To use all his broadside tubes, Erikson would have to turn beam-on to the oncoming enemy, fire one broadside, then roll over to fire the other, or he would have to come at them on a zigzag course that would allow him to alternate broadsides. Neither option was attractive if he wanted to get past them as quickly as possible.

The good news was that ROE Bravo had just gone out the window. The Bugs had fired first, and Elsie could return fire as soon as they were in range, but first, they had to deal with the incoming enemy missiles.

“ECM online. Point defense is tracking, sir,” Lorna reported. The Bug missiles might have been long-range, but they were slow compared to LFS birds. They could have been conserving drive energy for evasive maneuvers or a last-minute attack run, which meant she couldn’t count on their being easy targets. ECM was the first line of defense, and she was already hitting them with counter-measures to confuse or disable their tracking systems. They continued to bore in and were now less than 50,000 kilometers from their target. “ECM no effect, sir.” Lorna wasn’t surprised. They had no way of knowing what sort of guidance system the alien missiles used, so ECM was mostly a trial-and-error proposition until they found something that worked. “Counter missiles going out now.”

The small, fast counter missiles carried no warheads. At these closure rates, they didn’t need them, since any contact with an incoming missile—even a close-range interaction with the missile’s gravity drive field—would result in mutual destruction. The closure rate also made hitting the target extremely difficult. Lorna expected a significant number of the incoming missiles to get through. Those would have to be engaged by the point defense lasers, the effectiveness of which would depend on how tricky the missiles were in their final attack phase. If they came straight in, the lasers ought to stop most of them. If not…We don’t know what kind of warheads they’re packing. They could be stand-off laser heads, nukes, or point-contact explosives. Lorna consoled herself with the thought that the Bugs didn’t know what Elsie was packing, either. “Range to targets one zero zero thousand klicks.”

“Open fire,” Erikson ordered.

* * *

Planet Tatanna, Cold Creek Mine, North Coast Province

The smaller Bug warship reached its destination directly over the mining facility and began to search the surface of the planet below. Since it was primarily equipped for space warfare, its planetary search capabilities were somewhat limited. It had visual imagery equipment that could look at the terrain below in a broad spectrum of light that ranged from far ultraviolet to deep infrared. This produced sharp images of the mining site and the area surrounding it, but in the wilderness to the south—the direction from which the disturbance had come—the dense forest canopy defied any attempt to see anything on the ground below. Mapping radar was useless, and the only other system available to the Bugs was a magnetic anomaly detector, which was primarily used to locate geological features when mapping a newly-surveyed planet. Their scans clearly showed the features of their mining facility, which had significant concentrations of metals and carbon composites, but they revealed nothing of significance in the forested areas.

As a species, the Bugs were persistent and methodical. They were faced with a mystery involving trespassers who possessed technology beyond that of the primitive humans of this planet. They would not rest until the mystery was solved. Having established their mining facility was no longer under threat, they began a systematic search of the surrounding area.

* * *

LFS Lewis and Clark

Lorna took a deep breath and forced herself to relax. Elsie’s defenses had stopped every missile in the first Bug salvo, though a couple had gotten within 50 kilometers—a fraction of a second from impact—before being picked off. More importantly, it had taken the Bugs almost three minutes to launch a second salvo. Lewis and Clark had been built with the latest generation of LFS missile rack systems, and it took less than 30 seconds after firing to get a missile tube locked, loaded, and hot for another shot. The Bugs could throw more missiles, but the disparity in rate of fire looked a lot better than it had when the first salvos were launched.

The Bugs had flipped and were decelerating at full power, trying to prolong the battle, but they weren’t going to be able to match vectors with the LFS cruiser. Elsie would blow past them and be out of range in another 20 minutes, and, unless they had more power than they had shown so far, they wouldn’t be able to catch her. A lot of missiles would fly in those twenty minutes, and for about thirty seconds, as they passed each other, the combatants would be in energy-beam range.

Lorna had almost a full minute before she had to engage the second salvo. It was enough time to catch her breath and focus on the task at hand. ECM was still ineffective, but counter missiles had taken a big bite out of the first incoming wave, and the Bug missiles hadn’t shown anything in the way of evasive maneuvers. If there had been fewer missiles, Elsie could have swatted them aside with ease. Unfortunately, there were just as many missiles in the second wave, and with the range closing, Lorna would have less time to deal with them.

At the console beside her, Petty Officer Anna Ivanova watched over Elsie’s outgoing missiles—a relatively simple process once targets were selected—while Lorna handled the more complex task of defense against enemy fire.

“Yes!” Ivanova hissed in triumph. “We’re hitting them, ma’am. Three of our birds got within attack range and detonated. Second wave will arrive in twenty seconds.”

“Keep sending them,” Lorna said. “It’s not over until they stop shooting.”

Behind them, in his command chair, Captain Erikson found momentary amusement in the fact that Elsie’s fate rested in the hands of two young, blond-haired women. Neither Greenwood nor Ivanova matched the blond airhead stereotype. The tactical systems tech was an experienced veteran who knew her job well, while Greenwood had proven to be the best green ensign he’d seen in his career. Besides, he was sure O’Hara, down in AuxCon, was watching her like a hawk, ready to jump in should his protégée falter.

Erikson had elected to target all his missiles at one of the attacking Bug ships rather than split his limited fire over three targets. It appeared the Bugs did not have stand-off laser warheads, or several of their incoming missiles would have detonated at least 100 kilometers out. It also appeared they weren’t carrying nukes, since none of the missiles picked off by Elsie’s point defense lasers had produced a nuclear fireball. While the Bugs might have had the advantage in quantity, the edge in quality went to Lewis and Clark. LFS missiles were faster, and they had laser warheads that used fusion bombs to pump energy into emitter rods, which punched out X-ray lasers of incredible power in the moment before their destruction. At the programmed detonation range of 100 kilometers, the beams could penetrate the heaviest armor.

The Bugs had fairly effective point defense systems and had managed to stop five of the first eight missiles before they reached attack range. Not every warhead that detonated scored a hit, but the Vipers were accurate, so it was likely at least one had hit the target. Erikson watched as Elsie’s second launch reached attack range, and this time, five survived to detonate.

A moment later, the Bugs launched their third salvo, and he felt a flash of triumph.

Apparently, Greenwood had also taken note. “Third enemy launch—only seventy-eight missiles this time, sir. Our target ship only launched fourteen. Looks like we’ve inflicted some damage.”

Lewis and Clark had sent 40 missiles down range, and 24 of them were still on their way to the target. It was time to start hitting the other Bug ships. “Next salvo, shift target to Bogey Two,” Erikson directed.

“Retargeting for Bogey Two. Program accepted. Enemy missiles still coming. Counter missiles going out now.” Lorna turned back to the job of defending the ship.

* * *

Planet Tatanna, Cold Creek Mine, North Coast Province

The Bug warship found nothing out of the ordinary near the mining site, but as the search expanded, it detected an anomaly some distance to the south. Visual observation and mapping radar showed nothing, but there was a strange magnetic aberration in an open area devoid of any possible mineral concentrations that would have accounted for it. The anomaly appeared to be on or near the surface, not underground. The Bugs swept the area several times without gaining further information, then they took action typical of their species—when faced with a potential threat that can’t be identified, remove it by whatever means available.

Jake Mathews, Chief Benson, and the two Marines guarding the dropship got no warning before they were wiped out of existence.

* * *

“Down!” Nova shouted as the sky to the south lit with a brilliant flash brighter than the sun. “Down and take cover!”

She began counting seconds as she dropped into a hollow at the base of a huge tree. An instant later, Mark Phillips dropped in beside her. Jennings, her other non-combatant, dropped almost as quickly behind a nearby tree.

A few seconds later, the ground seemed to buck beneath them. As they settled back down, they felt a series of lesser tremors.

“Stay down! Don’t try to move!” she ordered.

By her count, nineteen seconds had elapsed when the air shock arrived with a thunderous boom, followed by a hurricane wind laden with dust and debris. The dense forest absorbed much of the blast, but several massive trees toppled to the ground, including one that just missed Nova’s point man. The light to the south had mostly faded away, leaving only a dull glow against the sky. The wind died away, reversed, and began to blow briskly in the opposite direction. Gradually, it cleared away the dust in the air.

Nova got cautiously to her feet. “Count off,” she ordered, and the Marines responded. To her relief, no one was missing from the count.

“What in hell was that?” Mark Phillips asked. He looked around as the Marines warily got back up.

“Kinetic strike,” Nova said. “We just lost our ride home.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Distance over time. The air shock got here nineteen seconds after we saw the flash. This planet has an atmosphere density close enough to Earth’s that sound travels at the same speed. Nineteen seconds equals just about six kilometers—in that direction.” She pointed to the south. “That would be dead center of the LZ.”

“What do we do now, LT?” Martinez kept his voice too low for the troops to hear.

Nova nodded. Martinez was a combat veteran, and he was probably afraid his green lieutenant wouldn’t have an answer. If that was the case, he didn’t want the troops to know it.

“Looks like we’ve got a serious forest fire in that direction—” she pointed south toward the LZ, where the sky still glowed red-orange, “—and we’ve got Bugs to the north. If they’re looking for us, they’ll expect us to be somewhere between here and there. There’s rough terrain to the west with very little cover, so we’re heading east.” She consulted her helmet display. “Supposed to be a village that way about seventy kilometers down the valley.”

“A village?” Phillips looked at her in surprise. “I thought we wanted to avoid contact with the natives.”

“We have a week’s worth of field rations,” she said. “Since the Bugs nailed the dropship, we could be here for a long time. A village means resources. We’ll try to avoid contact, but the way it’s looking now, you may get a chance to try out your language skills after all.”

* * *

LFS Lewis and Clark

Elsie’s point defense had done an incredible job, and no one could fault Lorna for her performance, but now, the range was too short, and stopping all the enemy missiles became an impossible task. A single missile got through, and Erikson’s crew found out what kind of warheads they carried—high-density penetrators that relied on sheer kinetic energy to punch through their target’s gravity drive fields and whatever armor they encountered.

The first missile struck Lewis and Clark amidships at a vulnerable point—the doors to her primary boat bay. The doors had to be movable, so they were not as heavily armored as the rest of her hull. The missile punched through the doors, passed completely through the utility boat parked behind them and through two more bulkheads, and turned a section of the environmental processing plant and part of the crew quarters into twisted wreckage. Each time the penetrator hit something solid, the impact energy converted part of the projectile and a portion of the target into super-hot plasma, which spread damage beyond the penetration channel and opened the ship to space to the depth of the penetration. Three crew members died in the first hit, and six others were injured seriously enough to require evacuation to sick bay.

Lorna felt a crushing sense of failure. She knew the cruiser had been hit, but she had no time to listen to the damage and casualty reports. More missiles were incoming. A corner of her mind noted that Ivanova was still hitting the enemy. The incoming fire had diminished but…

She had no time to react as another missile got past the defenses and slammed into Lewis and Clark. This time, the ship’s armor absorbed much of the impact energy, but the penetrator still managed to get through two bulkheads to the bridge. Lorna watched as her console was reduced to wreckage in an instant. She felt a sharp pain in her left thigh as a piece of wreckage stabbed through her shipsuit. At that she had been lucky.

At the communications console, Senior Lieutenant Harley died instantly when the white-hot remnant of the penetrator tore him out of his chair. Next to him, Technician Maria Gomez was hurled aside. She was alive, but unconscious, and half-buried in the wreckage of the console. At the helm, Petty Officer Morris died after being nearly decapitated by a jagged piece of plating.

Lorna gripped the wound in her thigh and swiveled her chair around. She found Captain Erikson slumped over his command station. His helmet was peeled back, and his head was bleeding from a serious gash. Suddenly, she felt hands pulling her arms away, and a moment later, another stab of pain. She looked down and saw Ivanova injecting foam sealant from a medkit into the gash in her shipsuit. Ivanova looked uninjured—the only one of the bridge crew who was. She wrapped sealing tape around Lorna’s thigh, got to her feet, and went to look after the captain and Gomez.

Air was whistling out of the compartment through a ten-centimeter hole in the bulkhead where the penetrator had come in. Ignoring the pain in her thigh, Lorna got unsteadily to her feet. She grabbed a sheet of patch material from the overhead rack and slapped it over the hole. The whistling sound died as the pressure differential caused the patch to form and fill the hole. She didn’t try for a more permanent fix. The bridge was out of service, with only a few readouts still working, and those showed only error messages and warnings. The primary displays and control systems were dead, so the only thing left to do was to get anyone still alive out of the compartment.

Lorna limped to the rear bulkhead and plugged her suit’s comm cable into the emergency panel. “AuxCon, this is Greenwood. Bridge is down, Captain is out of action. All systems out of service. We are abandoning the compartment. Repeat, we are abandoning the compartment. AuxCon, do you copy?”

She waited, but there was no answer. She thought she heard a sound like a cry, or maybe a whimper.

A moment later, she heard a familiar voice. “AuxCon copies. We have command. Damage control party on the way to the bridge.” Commander O’Hara’s voice was calm and steady. “Can you get everyone out of there, Ensign?”

“Two dead, two injured, including the captain. Ivanova and I will try to get them out. Send medics.”

“Medics on the way,” O’Hara told her, then broke the connection.

* * *

“Gunny! Get a DC team and medics to the bridge,” O’Hara said.

“Aye, sir,” Macrowski said.

Marines handled damage control on LFS warships in combat. Nova Sakura should have been at the DC station, but Sakura was far away with problems of her own.

O’Hara was worried about the people Elsie had been forced to abandon on the planet, but now, he had more pressing concerns. He keyed corrections into his tactical console, assigning higher priorities to the missiles coming from the third enemy ship. The first two Bug warships were pretty much out of it; one was no more than a battered hulk. Its drives were dead, and it was no longer launching missiles. The second was still under power, but it was firing only one or two missiles at a time at sporadic intervals. It was farther away than the third ship and was falling behind, its damaged drive no longer able to keep up. The third ship was trying to close the range and was still firing full salvos, but O’Hara was pretty certain it had been hit at least once. More importantly, in another 90 seconds, it would come within range of Elsie’s grasers. O’Hara had no idea whether the Bugs had energy weapons, but if they didn’t, they were in for a most unpleasant surprise.

“Mr. Carter, did you hear the report from the bridge?” O’Hara asked as he turned to face the command station. “The captain is down. You’re in command, sir.”

It galled him to utter those words. He examined the white-faced, wide-eyed officer in the command seat. Carter looked terrified and in no condition to take charge. O’Hara turned back to his console. Doesn’t matter. This battle is going to proceed with or without him. Do what you have to do. It’s going to be over in the next few minutes one way or another.

Lewis and Clark shuddered as she took another hit somewhere forward. Alarms sounded, and red warnings appeared on O’Hara’s console. Lost Missile Three, and the loading rack for Missile Two is down. Also Point Defense Two. O’Hara factored the damage into his fire plan and set up for the next launch.

“Helm! Reverse course! Get us out of here!” Carter shouted, his voice close to a shriek.

O’Hara spun around and stared at him in disbelief. “Helmsman, belay that order,” he said firmly. “Sir, reversing course will not get us out of the battle. It will prolong the engagement. Our best course for disengagement is to continue at max power.” He tried to keep his voice level and calm. Damn it! Doesn’t he understand basic physics? The last thing we want to do is reverse course.

“I don’t care. Get us out of here! Tell that bitch Greenwood to get back to her station. It’s her fault we’re in this mess, and now, she’s abandoning her post. Gunny! Send some Marines to arrest her!”

He’s completely lost it, O’Hara decided. What am I supposed to do? “Sir, Greenwood doesn’t have a post any more. The bridge is out. All command functions are transferred here, to us. We’re engaged with the enemy. We need to focus on that.”

“Don’t tell me what I need to do, you bastard. You’re part of the problem; you’ve been sucking up to Erikson and encouraging that little bitch. Now, we’re in deep shit. Helm! Get us out of here! Disengage! Gunny! Arrest Mr. O’Hara for insubordination!”

O’Hara looked at Macrowski.

The veteran Marine non-com shook his head. “Do something, Mr. O’Hara,” he pleaded. “You’re the only one who can.”

O’Hara winced. He knew what Macrowski was talking about and he didn’t want to do it, but the gunny was right. He was the senior officer present, the only one who could do what needed to be done.

“Commander Carter,” he announced, “I’m relieving you of command under Article Thirty-Seven of the LCMJ, specifically, that you are unable to exercise the responsibilities of command in the present circumstances.” He glanced around at the others in AuxCon. Except for Gunny Macrowski, who wore a look of relief, they stared at him in shock and disbelief.

“MUTINY!” Carter screamed. “Gunny! Arrest that man!” He was red with rage and continued to shout orders that were, for the most part, garbled and incomprehensible.

O’Hara tried to ignore him. He had all he could handle with Elsie’s defenses and, despite his best efforts, another missile slammed into the ship. Acceleration faltered as the hit took out one of her aft drive nodes. O’Hara sighed with relief as the last missile from the wave was wiped out by point defense lasers. He turned back to the AuxCon crew and noted that Macrowski hadn’t moved despite Carter’s ongoing rant and demands for action. “Gunny, please have your Marines remove Commander Carter and confine him to quarters.”

Two Marines had come into the compartment, and O’Hara realized Macrowski had summoned them without waiting for orders. For a mad moment, he wondered who they were going to arrest.

“You heard Commander O’Hara,” Gunny told them. “Take Mr. Carter to his quarters by whatever means necessary.”

Surprisingly, Carter offered little resistance. At Macrowski’s order, the fire went out of him. He seemed dazed as the Marines walked him out of the compartment.

“Range fifty k, sir.” The quiet statement from Petty Officer Weeks at the weapons console brought O’Hara’s attention back to the battle.

“Helm, port twenty, down five.” He needed to open the angle to the third Bug ship to clear Elsie’s graser broadside. “Weeks, fire as your weapons bear.”

As it turned out, the Bugs did have energy weapons in the form of X-ray lasers, but they were far less powerful and shorter ranged than Lewis and Clark’s 55-centimeter gamma-ray lasers, of which she mounted eight in each broadside, plus four 40-centimeter grasers in top and bottom turrets. At 50,000 kilometers, even the lighter turret grasers could punch through substantial armor and do significant damage. The problem was hitting a target the size of a ship at that distance, particularly a ship that was coming directly at them, presenting a small target. The best aiming systems the LFS had developed would probably produce only one hit in three. The Bug ship took only three hits from Elsie’s first salvo—two of them from the heavy broadside grasers—but one of them punched straight through to the ship’s forward fusion plant. What had been Elsie’s most dangerous adversary vanished in the sun-bright flash of a fusion reaction.

The sudden end of the battle stunned O’Hara. The other two Bug ships were out of range and had no hope of catching Lewis and Clark, nor did they appear inclined to try. It was over, but no one in AuxCon was cheering.

O’Hara stood and went to the command chair Carter had vacated. He did not sit down. He keyed an icon on the command console.

“Engineering, Guzman.” The chief engineer’s face appeared on the screen.

“Mateo, it’s O’Hara. The bridge is out of action, and the captain is down. I’ve had to relieve Mr. Carter of command under Article Thirty-Seven. You’re the senior officer, so I am formally advising you that you are in command.”

“Are you insane, John? You pulled Carter out in the middle of a battle on an Article Thirty-Seven? What’s our status? Who’s running the show in AuxCon?”

“I am. There wasn’t time to do anything else. The battle’s over. We’re past the Bugs, and we’ve disengaged.”

O’Hara stood by in silence as Guzman cursed for a full minute, mostly in a language other than English.

Finally, he stopped and took a deep breath. “Very well. Stand down from battle stations, and continue damage control and repairs as needed.” Guzman’s voice was cold and official. “I’m on my way to AuxCon, and I’ll need to see the logs. As soon as I get there, you are relieved of duty and will confine yourself to quarters pending further investigation. Guzman out.”

O’Hara walked back to the tactical console and sat down. “I think I just flushed my career down the crapper.”

“I think you just saved our lives, Commander,” Macrowski said, “and if you’re in the crapper, I’m down there with you. Waiting for orders, sir.”

* * *

Lorna sat on the deck outside sick bay. Lieutenant Dupree had looked at her wound, with Ivanova’s temporary patch, and decided others needed attention first.

Eight dead and a dozen injured. The captain in a coma that he may not survive. Five others critical. It’s my fault, she told herself. It was my job to stop those missiles, and I failed.

Her thoughts turned to another issue. Nova’s down there with Jake and a dozen people. We left them behind, and now, we can’t go back for them. Guess that’s my fault, too. The whole hide-behind-the-moon scheme was my idea.

She heard the announcement about standing the ship down from battle stations and felt another stab of guilt. We got through the battle, no thanks to me. She felt like she ought to be reporting to someone, doing something to help the repair efforts. She retrieved her pad and tried to contact Commander O’Hara, but the ship’s system advised her he was not available. The captain was out of action, so reluctantly, she tried to contact Commander Carter and got the same ‘not available’ message for him. She was wondering what to do next when the medical assistant came to help her into the treatment room and onto the table.

Lieutenant Dupree cut the leg of her shipsuit away and went to work on the gash in her thigh. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Ensign, but there were others who needed my services more than you.”

“I understand, sir. Can you tell me how the captain’s doing?”

“He’s in an induced coma, and we’ll keep him that way for a while to give the nanites a chance to work. I’m pretty sure he’s going to make it, but that was a nasty head injury, so there’s no way to tell whether he’ll have any permanent impairment. He’s alive only because you people got him here quickly, and whoever did the on-scene patch-up did exactly the right things to keep him stable until I could get to him.”

“That was Ivanova,” Lorna said. “She’s the one who patched me up, as well.”

“It looks like she knows first aid. I should probably cite her for a commendation,” he reflected. “As for you, Ensign, that’s a pretty deep laceration, and it will be painful for a while, but it missed the tendons and major blood vessels, so it should heal completely with no future issues. I just zapped you with a serious painkiller, and I’m logging you as unavailable for duty for the next eight hours. Go to your quarters and get some rest.”

* * *

Lorna returned to her cabin but found it impossible to rest. She tried again to reach Commander O’Hara, but the system still listed him as unavailable. Nearly two hours had passed since the stand-down from battle stations, and there had been no calls for damage control parties for over an hour. She cleaned herself up and put on a fresh uniform coverall. She was about to go looking for someone to report to when Lieutenant Murphy’s voice came over the ship’s audio system, announcing officer’s call in the wardroom in fifteen minutes.

She arrived in the wardroom as the stewards finished putting the tables together for the meeting. A moment later, Cynthia Warren entered. She looked haggard and forlorn, about the same way Lorna felt.

“I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be here,” she said. “I’m not actually an officer, but…”

“Come on in,” Lorna said. “I’m sure Captain Erikson would want you here, but he’s out of action right now.”

“He is? Is he okay?” She looked shocked.

“He’s alive but badly injured. They’ve got him in sick bay. I don’t know any more than that. I guess Commander Carter is in command now.”

“Oh, dear.” Warren didn’t look happy.

The conversation ended as several more officers trailed in. Within a minute or two, most had arrived, but neither Carter nor O’Hara were among them. Finally, Commander Guzman came in and, to Lorna’s surprise, Lieutenant Murphy called out, “Captain on deck!” Most of the group looked as surprised as she felt.

Guzman strode to the head of the table without hesitation. “As you were.” He sat down, and the officers followed suit. As soon as they were seated, he got right to the point. “Captain Erikson’s out of action, and Commander Carter’s been relieved of duty. That means I’m in command. Do any of you have a problem with that?”

The assembled officers glanced at one another, but no one spoke.

Guzman relaxed a bit. “Captain Erikson was badly injured when the bridge took a hit. He’s alive, and Doc says he’s expected to survive, but he won’t be back in action for some time. Is that a fair assessment, Doc?”

“Yes, sir,” Dupree said. “He may not be able to resume command for the duration of the mission.”

“Right, and immediately after that, in AuxCon, Commander Carter suffered some sort of breakdown. Commander O’Hara declared him unfit under Article Thirty-Seven and had him removed and confined to quarters. Commander O’Hara took charge in AuxCon and remained in charge until he was able to get us past the enemy ships and disengaged. At that point, he notified me about what had happened and advised me I was now in command.”

He paused. Most of them were staring at him in shocked silence.

“I’ve got a problem. I reviewed the video logs of what happened in AuxCon. I’ve also interviewed those present at the time. I agree that Commander Carter suffered some kind of stress-related episode and was unfit for command. I’ve talked to him since, and I believe he continues to be unfit for command, which is why he is still confined to quarters and not sitting in this chair.

“There are, however, some questions about the manner in which he was relieved of duty—questions about whether Commander O’Hara had legal authority to do so under the LCMJ rather than taking up the matter with me as the ranking officer. The situation is complicated by the fact that we were in the middle of a battle, and he had his hands full with Elsie’s defense, which he accomplished in an orderly and proficient manner. Pending further investigation, I have relieved Commander O’Hara of duty and ordered him to confine himself to quarters. I’m authorizing you to tell your people what I’ve told you and nothing more. You are to discourage any rumors, speculation, scuttlebutt, or for that matter, any further discussion on the subject.

“In the meantime, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, we are critically short of officers. Not only are the captain, exec, and NTO out of action, but we also lost Lieutenant Harley when the bridge was hit, and we are out of communication with Ensign Matthews and Lieutenant Sakura down on the planet. In short, we have eleven officers out of our total T.O. of seventeen left. We’re going to have to make some organizational changes. Senior Lieutenant Adams will serve as chief engineer as long as I am in the captain’s chair. As the next most senior officer, she should be our acting executive officer, but with Matthews gone, we are short-handed in engineering. We’ll have to do without a full-time exec.”

Jane Adams nodded. She was one of the few who’d already been briefed, since she had to take over engineering when Guzman took command.

“Next, Ensign Greenwood, you are the NTO until further notice. Lieutenant Dormeyer, you’re now the DSO.”

Lorna drew a sharp breath. She’d been hoping to talk to O’Hara about her miserable performance during the battle. Now, she was being asked to take over his job. She would have to have a serious talk with Guzman. Captain Guzman, she reminded herself.

“One more little detail,” Guzman continued. “Since I don’t know when we’ll see Lieutenant Sakura again, I’m bumping Gunny Macrowski to second lieutenant on a temporary field promotion. He’ll take charge of the remaining Marines for the duration. Are there any questions?” There were none, so Guzman rose. “We’ll reconvene after we put the ship back together, and I have a chance to figure out what we are going to do next. Meanwhile, back to work, people.”

Everyone came to attention as he left the wardroom.

“Shit.” The muttered comment came from Lieutenant Tony Baker, the second assistant engineer.

“Amen to that,” Jane Adams agreed.

* * * * *

Chapter Thirteen

Planet Tatanna, House Corsa, North Coast Province

“Bug lightning?” Asral T’Corsa stared at the messenger. “Here, in North Coast?”

“Yes, Your Lordship, up near Cold Creek mine.” The man kept his head bowed and prayed his duke would not decide to kill the bearer of bad news. “But it were not a village this time. Near as we know, was no one killed. It struck in the wilderness south of the mines. Nobody hurt in the miner’s village either.”

“You’re sure it was Bug lightning, not some passing thunderstorm?” T’Corsa asked with a frown.

“I canna say for myself, m’lord. I heard the noise and felt the ground shake, then a great awful wind blew for a little time. I did not go out to see, but the mine boss sent two men up top of the ridge. They said there was a huge spot in the middle of the valley where everything was blasted black, and fire in the woods all around.”

T’Corsa dismissed the man without further question. It was obvious his message was secondhand; at least the mine boss had had the good sense to send word.

As soon as the man was gone, the duke sent for his half-brother Ersin. The son of Asral’s father’s second wife, Ersin had long served him as spymaster, enforcer, and occasional assassin. The duke would charge him with a journey to Cold Creek to find out firsthand what had happened up there. From the description, it must have been Bug lightning, but what had they struck? He wanted details.

He sat down and penned a message to the Bugs. If they had sent their lightning to strike somewhere in his territory, why had they not told him about it? When they’d struck the fishing village, their message had arrived the following day, telling him what they had done and why they had done it. It had taken the Cold Creek messenger three days to reach House Corsa, but he had heard nothing from the Bugs. It was not like them to take such an action without explaining what they expected of him.

* * *

Planet Tatanna, Castle Boroson, King’s City

Unlike T’Corsa, King Algar did receive a message from the Bugs. He was not certain what to make of the perplexing message. He decided it was time to continue Arne’s princely education. He showed Arne the magic box the Bugs had sent, demonstrated how it opened, and allowed the young prince to read the message it contained.

“They say they believe you were truthful with them, Father—” Arne looked up from the message, “—and that the other party was not truthful. Who is this other party?”

“I can’t be sure, but I can guess,” Algar said. “Read the rest of it.”

Arne read the remainder, then went back and read it again. “Who are these other beings not of this world they claim the other party is conspiring with? Are they talking about ghosts or demons of some kind?”

“I’m not sure about that part,” the king admitted, “but I am interested in where they were supposedly conspiring. They say they have taken action to destroy the other beings who were attempting to approach the fourth mining place. According to the map the Bugs provided, that would be the Cold Creek mine in the North Coast Province. If that’s where the conspiracy was taking place, who do you think the other party might be?”

“Duke North Coast?” Arne was wide-eyed. “You mean he was the one who first started the complaint that you were conspiring against the other dukes?”

“As I said, I can’t be sure, but it makes sense. Why was his name not on the list of those I was supposedly conspiring against when he is one of the most prominent mine holders? At first, I thought it was High Reaches, and that he placed his name on the list of those in my favor simply to confuse the issue, but T’Corval is not that subtle. I must respect him because he opposes me openly and makes no secret of his dislike for my rule. T’Corsa is equally opposed to me but is much more devious about it. He smiles at me in Council but speaks against me behind my back.”

“What should we do now, Father?” Arne sounded confused, but Algar smiled inwardly at his son’s question. What do we do now, Father, not what are you going to do. He is beginning to realize his role, that my reign will someday be his.

“I will summon the high sheriff in the morning. He has agents in every province, and I will ask him to send word to those in North Coast. We need to know what happened up there, and who these other beings might be. The Bugs were very specific—we are to inform them if we encounter these strange creatures who are not of this world. That implies they aren’t sure they destroyed all of them. If any are still at large, I want to know. Then we can decide what to tell the Bugs, if we tell them anything at all.”

* * *

“Village is just over the hill, LT. Bouchard and Garcia have it under surveillance from the ridgeline. All’s quiet; no Bugs in sight.”

“Fine. We’ll hold here for tonight and scout a closer approach in the morning.” Nova checked her helmet display. No contact from Lewis and Clark since before the dropship was hit, but no threats on the display either. Somebody had tried to scan them with radar-frequency gear when they were in the forest near the mine, but they had gone undetected, and there had been nothing since.

“Nice night for a camp-out,” Mark Phillips said lightly, but Nova heard the nervous irony in his voice.

They had walked more than sixty kilometers from the original LZ, and they had seen native wildlife, but nothing else. On one occasion, as they moved through the darkness with night vision gear, they had encountered a large, hairy quadruped—a hungry carnivore or a very territorial herbivore. The animal had charged them at the edge of a clearing, and there had been no time for anything but instant defense. Sergeant Wilkos had killed it with a single round from his LCAW. They had taken cover and held in place for a while, waiting to see if anyone, or anything, reacted to the sound of the shot. When nothing did, they moved cautiously on.

The lack of any communication from Elsie was troubling. Without help from above, they could be stuck on the planet for a really long time.

But it is a nice night, she reflected, and this is a pretty nice planet.

* * *

27 April 2104, LFS Lewis and Clark

“Okay, John, I’ve done my due diligence. There’s going to be hell to pay when we get back to Luna but I’m restoring you to duty.”

“Commander Carter?” O’Hara asked.

“Will remain in his quarters,” Guzman replied. “Frankly, I wouldn’t put him in charge of a deck-scrubbing detail, but I’d be in a really tight spot if I didn’t have Dupree to cover my ass—and yours—on this one. He’s willing to certify Carter as medically unfit for duty, and it’s been officially logged. It helps to have terms like ‘bipolar paranoid schizophrenia’ and ‘post-traumatic stress disorder’ in the file. Doc’s not a psychologist or even a doctor, for that matter, but the recordings of the meetings I had with Carter after the incident should support the diagnosis.”

“You mean, he’s still like he was in AuxCon during the battle?”

“No, and that’s the scary part. The guy sounds perfectly rational and righteously indignant about everything. He makes a pretty good case for a charge of mutiny against you, until you start talking to him about the actual events during the battle. Then he goes off the deep end and lashes out at everybody, including, I might add, Captain Erikson, whom he accuses of total incompetence from the moment we left Luna.

“He seems to have a problem with every female officer on the ship, including Adams, Murphy, Sakura, and especially Greenwood. Not sure what that’s about—suspect he had a run-in with her grandmother early in his career. He also has a problem with Dr. Warren; he thinks she ought to be thrown in the brig over that incident with the robot probe. Anyway, the recordings of the events in AuxCon make it clear he isn’t fit for command, and on a suggestion from Dupree, I checked some entries Erikson made in Carter’s personnel file. Looks like the captain had a few reservations of his own about Commander Carter.”

“I guess I should feel better—” O’Hara shook his head, “—but I wish the whole thing had never happened.”

“So do I,” Guzman admitted, “but we’ve got to pick up the pieces and get back on mission. Dupree says Captain Erikson will be down for the duration. We’ve still got parts of the ship to patch, and we have people stuck on the planet. We haven’t been able to contact them—I’m guessing the Bugs have taken out our communications relay satellites. We’re not getting a feed from the probe that was watching their orbital station either. Meanwhile, I really do need an exec, and you’re the next ranking officer. Besides, we’re in hostile territory, and I’m uncomfortable with a rookie like Greenwood in the NTO slot.”

“You shouldn’t be,” O’Hara said.

“Really?” Guzman looked skeptical.

O’Hara shrugged. “Didn’t have much to do while I was off the duty roster, and nobody bothered to restrict my access to the tac logs. I went over the battle in detail, just to see if my first impressions were right.”

“And?”

“And they were. The Bugs hit us with a lot more than we expected. When I saw their first launch, I knew we were going to take some hits, and more likely, a lot of hits. Frankly, I was amazed when Greenwood stopped their entire first salvo, but I could have written that off to luck. Then she did it again with the second salvo, even though the ECM was ineffective, which is to be expected when you know nothing about the enemy’s missile guidance systems. In any case, she kept trying with different ECM parameters, but she also knocked them down with counter missiles and lasers. She never panicked, never lost focus, and she was good—as good as anyone I’ve seen, and damned close to what a battlecruiser’s AI can do. I kept expecting her to get overwhelmed, but she didn’t. She stayed in the zone until they shot the bridge out from under her. She also set up the targeting for our missiles, then turned the program over to Ivanova to execute, while she handled the harder job of keeping the enemy from hitting us.”

Guzman looked thoughtful. He was primarily an engineer, but he had plenty of experience handling complex tasks under pressure. He also knew Elsie had gotten off lightly, considering what she had been up against.

“Look at it this way,” O’Hara said, “she took them on when they were fresh, and a total of two missiles got past her. I took them on after we had beaten the crap out of them, and two missiles got past me. By that measure, she did better than I did.”

“Okay,” Guzman said at last, “I guess it really doesn’t make any difference. You’re the XO now. If we tangle with them again, I’ll be on the bridge, and you’ll be down in AuxCon, so Greenwood will have to be on the bridge with me anyway. We’ll leave her as the acting NTO while you hold the exec slot. If we survive this mess, it’ll look good on her record.”

* * *

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Come in, Greenwood.” Guzman waved Lorna over to a seat at the table in the briefing room.

To her surprise, O’Hara was there as well. She hadn’t seen him since before the battle.

“As you can see, Commander O’Hara is back on duty,” Guzman said. “That’s the good news. The bad news is I need him to fill the XO slot, which means you will have to continue as NTO. Lieutenant Adams tells me she’ll have the bridge put back together by the end of this watch, so get with your nav/tac crew and work out a duty schedule. You’ll need to cover the bridge and figure out who reports to AuxCon if we go back to battle stations. You should assume you’ll always report to the bridge during alerts because I don’t want both you and Mr. O’Hara down in AuxCon. Any questions?”

“Sir, I…” Lorna hesitated. “Do you really think I’m qualified for the NTO slot? I didn’t do very well during the battle—”

“You know, Greenwood,” Guzman interrupted her, “I was thinking the same thing less than an hour ago, but Commander O’Hara enlightened me. John?”

“Lorna, you did well during the battle,” O’Hara said. “You did very well. The Bugs had every advantage, and by all rights, they should have taken us out. They didn’t because you stopped almost everything they threw at us, and you managed to hammer them into scrap metal along the way. Yes, you let two missiles get through, but that could have been ten missiles or twenty if you hadn’t done your job in such an outstanding manner. Captain Guzman was down in main engineering, so he didn’t see what I saw. Anyway, we’re running short on officers, and I told him I have no problem handing over the NTO slot to you.”

“Besides,” Guzman added, “I may be captain for the moment, but I’m still an engineer. Mr. O’Hara’s better qualified than I am to make that call, so I’ll go with his recommendation.” He picked up a small box from the table in front of him and slid it across to Lorna. “This is only temporary because you don’t have time-in-grade yet. When we get back home, if all goes well, Fleet can make it permanent.”

She opened the box and found a lieutenant’s silver bars inside.

“Congratulations, Lieutenant.” O’Hara grinned at her. “As far as I’m concerned, you’ve earned it.”

* * *

Planet Tatanna, Sbora’s Grove, North Coast Province

“You sure this is a good idea, LT?” Martinez asked.

“No, I’m not,” Nova said, “but Dr. Phillips thinks we can pull it off, and we don’t have a lot of choice. We need resources, so hang back here in the trees and wait for a call. Hopefully, we won’t need your help, but if we do, we’ll need it in a hurry.”

The weather had gotten noticeably cooler as they moved eastward. By the time they came within sight of the village, night temperatures were dropping to within a few degrees of freezing. That was good news in one respect. The Marines weren’t shivering, because the smart fabric of their standard battle dress uniforms provided plenty of insulation against both heat and cold. While observing the village, however, they’d noted the locals—both men and women—shielded themselves from the cold with a shapeless hooded garment, like a long cloak that covered them from head to ankles. The garment could be simply made from a standard Marine one-man tent, which was made of a chameleon fabric that could change color as needed. Nova, Mark Phillips, and Private Garcia were now wearing drab brown cloaks that ought to let them pass for locals, as long as no one looked at them too closely. Nova and Garcia were the right size and had the right complexion for the task, but Phillips would stand out. He was much taller than any of the men they had seen, but he was the only one who could speak the local language. Leaving him with the troops wasn’t an option.

The village wasn’t large, but it apparently straddled a major trade route. They had seen a lot of travelers pass through in both directions, some with wagons drawn by draft animals. The largest structure in the village appeared to be an inn with stables behind it. If Mark’s analysis was correct, it was a regular stopping point for traveling merchants, so the village ought to be accustomed to strangers. Nova was skeptical, but he’d insisted he was right.

“My old man was an anthropologist, and he taught me a lot about the subject before I left New Eden. Uneven distribution of resources creates the need for a class of traveling merchant-traders, who in turn create the need for innkeepers and provisioners. The only question is how we are going to pay for stuff we purchase. At this level of society, barter should be possible, and the odd items your Marines have on hand should be worth something. If not…well….worst case, we can’t make any deals, and we go on our way.”

“No,” she said. “Worst case is they figure out there’s something strange about us, and they turn us over to the Bugs.”

“Nearest Bug installation is back at the mine,” he said. “Took us three days to get here, and it will take them just as long to report us. These people have no electronic communication capabilities, and, if things get nasty, I’m pretty sure your troops have enough firepower to convince the locals to leave us alone.”

“Yes, they do, and that’s the only reason I’m willing to try this. The objective is to get this done without any fuss, so let’s try not to upset anyone to the point where we need that firepower. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, let’s get moving.”

* * *

Rogo the Fat, innkeeper of Sbora's Grove, was washing glassware behind the bar when the three strangers entered. Many strangers stopped at the inn, but these three caught his attention immediately, or at least one of them did. The fellow was tall, so tall that he had to duck his head to get through the main door. When he pushed back his hood, Rogo noted that his face had a strange color to it. No, not so much the color as the texture, as if he were wearing face paint like a traveling minstrel. The man looked directly at him, and Rogo saw his eyes. His first thought was that the man was blind, but the stranger looked around as if he could see quite well. Rogo finally concluded that he simply had eyes of a very strange color, almost like silver.

The tall one had caught Rogo’s attention, but the two who preceded him through the door were also unusual. They were of normal size and skin color, but when they pushed back their hoods, Rogo noted one of them was a woman. At least, he assumed so, due to her delicate features and the way her hair was tightly braided into a tail that disappeared below the collar of her cloak. The cloak covered her figure, but something about her was distinctly feminine.

Rogo was a keen observer, which was important in his business as an innkeeper, but even more so in his covert occupation. He was the Crown’s chief agent in the Duchy of North Coast. He had been a member of the King’s Own Guard in his younger day and had served Algar’s father, King Arne the First, until a fall from an ill-tempered kilder had left him with a gimpy leg. King Arne had rewarded his service with a generous pension, and he had come north to open a small tavern at the juncture of the trade roads from King’s City to North Coast, High Reaches, and Middle Plains.

Shortly after King Arne died and Prince Algar ascended the throne, Rogo had received a visit from his former commander in the Guard. The high sheriff had sent that worthy officer to recruit Rogo into secret service to the new king, a post the innkeeper willingly accepted. Since then, he had faithfully observed the comings and goings of travelers, listened to the gossip of traders, and sent reports to his commander whenever the king’s messenger came by the inn. In return, he received secret notices from the Crown telling him things he needed to know to better fulfill his task. Such a notice had arrived the day before, the contents of which increased his interest in these three strangers.

He watched as his niece, who was also his chief server, approached the trio.

* * *

Mark Phillips was anxious as the woman approached, but once she started to speak, he felt relieved. He could understand what she was saying, or most of it. She was trying to speak to Nova Sakura, but Nova looked at her in silence, then pointed to Phillips. The woman looked up at him with obvious trepidation, and Phillips smiled when he realized how odd he must look. The Marines had done their best to disguise his fair complexion and darken his blond hair with their camouflage kits, but they hadn’t been able to disguise his 190-centimeter height or his light gray eyes.

The woman asked whether they wanted lodging or just food. He tried to explain they only needed provisions for travel. They had no money, he told her, but they had items to trade. It took a while before she understood, and he realized his command of the language wasn’t as good as he’d thought it was. He could follow most of what she said but had trouble making her understand what he wanted. Finally, she got the idea, and she told him he would have to speak to Master Rogo—she indicated the man behind the bar, presumably the boss—about any sort of trading. She motioned them to a table, but Nova intervened. She pointed at the table and shook her head. With a glance at Phillips, she pointed to an empty table against the wall. The woman shrugged, waved them to the table of Nova’s choice, then turned and headed toward the bar.

* * *

As he watched the little drama play out, Rogo had learned a great deal. It seemed the giant was the spokesman for the group, but the woman was in charge. That was unusual in patriarchal Tatannan society, but not unheard of. He also noticed that while the giant spoke with his niece, the other two paid little heed. Instead, they scanned the dining room carefully, taking note of every occupied table, the layout of the room, and the balcony over the bar. From his years of Guard experience, Rogo tagged them as professional soldiers or guardsmen, who proceeded with caution in a strange and possibly hostile environment. They looked as if they ought to have swords in their hands, ready to defend themselves at any moment.

He saw no evidence of weapons, but for all he knew, they could have battle-axes concealed under their travel cloaks. Perhaps the giant is a wealthy merchant, and the other two are his bodyguards, he thought. He rejected that idea as they arranged themselves at the table by the wall. The woman was in charge, and the giant was submissive to her orders. Good choice of table. They can see everything, and no one can approach them from behind.

The woman looked directly at him, and his interest spiked again. There was something about her eyes. They were strangely shaped and set in a triangular face with a narrow chin and high cheekbones. She was attractive, but in a harsh, exotic way. Not of this world…the latest directive from the Crown had said the Bugs were looking for some strange persons not of this world, who might have been seen near the Cold Creek mines, which were only a few days’ journey from Sbora's Grove. The message had directed him to report any sightings of such persons or any information he might gather about them, and to not, under any circumstances, allow the Bugs or the local authorities—meaning Duke T’Corsa’s minions—know.

At first, he had thought the directive was a bit fanciful, perhaps some wild imagining on the part of the king’s spymasters. That was before the strange-looking giant and the exotic warrior-woman came through his door.

He turned to his niece, who had come to him after speaking with the strangers.

“Uncle, they say they need provisions for travel,” she said. “They say they have no coin. They want to barter, so I told them they would have to talk to you.”

“Hmmm, interesting. Did they say where they came from or where they were going?”

“No. There’s something strange about them,” she said with a sour look on her face.

“Hmmph!” Rogo snorted. “That’s an understatement. That fellow is twice as tall as you.”

“I don’t just mean their looks. The big one speaks terribly. He seems to know what he wants, but he can’t find the words to say it, and he is very hard to understand. It’s like hearing an adult voice from a baby that is just learning to talk.”

“Maybe they’re Southwesters.” He grinned at her. People from the extreme southwest corner of the land spoke with a strange accent that was the subject of many jokes among civilized Tatannans.

“I’m not joking, Uncle.” She looked at him with disapproval. “We’ve had Southwesters here, and I know what they sound like. This was nothing like that. The other two didn’t speak at all, even when that strange-looking woman wanted a different table.”

“I guess I will have to deal with them,” he said. “It won’t hurt to show them hospitality. Serve them a pitcher of wine—the common house vintage—with my compliments and tell them I will be with them shortly.”

* * *

A short while later, Rogo had heard all he needed to hear, and he was now in possession of several remarkable artifacts, wondrous things he was pretty sure were not of this world. He had a tiny thing in his hand that could produce fire at will a thousand times before it would stop working, if he understood the stranger correctly. He had a knife that was incredibly sharp and hard enough to scratch glass without losing its edge. He had a blanket that was light and thin as parchment but so tough he could not tear it, though they told him the knife could cut it. It would also hold warmth so well, a traveler wrapped in it could survive a midwinter night in the High Reaches.

Only the tall stranger attempted to speak to him, but they had no trouble talking to each other in some strange tongue that bore little resemblance to normal speech. The tall one explained they came from a far place where people spoke differently.

Rogo had asked him if they came from across the Endless Sea. A common bit of Tatannan mythology told of strange and magical lands across the sea, but most adults put no stock in those stories. Here, in North Coast, the sea traders and fishermen mostly plied the coastal waters, but occasionally, they were driven far from land by storms. Those who survived such ordeals returned to tell harrowing tales, but none had ever found a strange land or any other people out there. Rogo had been surprised and skeptical when the tall stranger seized upon the question and assured him that yes, indeed, they were from across the sea. He went on to say that they had traveled far and long and been shipwrecked here. They were searching for a safe haven where they might settle to wait for…The explanation became muddled, and Rogo wasn’t certain what they were waiting for.

It didn’t matter. He was certain they were not of this world. They came from somewhere in the sky, just as the Bugs did. Everyone knew the Bugs lived among the stars somewhere, but perhaps, they weren’t the only dwellers in the sky. If Rogo was correct, he needed to get word to the king immediately. Better yet, he needed to send these people to the king in person, but how could he do that?

He decided it was best to speak plainly. “You say you come from beyond the sea, but I think you have traveled much farther than that. I think you come from the sky. The Bugs come from the sky, and I think they are not happy you are here. They are looking for you, and you do not want them to find you. Am I wrong?”

The giant recoiled with a gasp. He turned to the woman and spoke rapidly in their strange tongue. Rogo smiled at the confirmation of his earlier guess—the woman was the leader of the group. He got further confirmation when the third stranger reached inside his cloak for…what? A weapon? Rogo would never know, because the woman stopped him with a sharp hand gesture, then spoke rapidly to the tall one. The man started to protest, but she cut him off with a command.

He turned back to Rogo. “If true, what will you do?”

The giant had spoken, but it was the woman who had Rogo’s attention. She watched him with her intense, strangely shaped eyes. Her expression gave nothing away, but Rogo had a feeling very bad things might happen if she didn’t like his answer.

He leaned back and forced himself to relax. “I have no dealings with the Bugs. I hope never to have any dealings with the Bugs. They mostly leave us alone, but they can do terrible things if something disturbs them. There was a fishing village just north of here along the coast, and less than a crossing ago, the Bugs rained fire down on it. It is gone now, and all of the people in it. Nothing left.”

“We know this,” the giant said. “So what will you do?”

“I will send you on your way with whatever provisions you trade for and hope that, if the Bugs catch you, it will be far away from this place. If anyone asks, I know nothing about you. You were never here.”

The giant spoke to the woman again, but she continued to stare at Rogo, and her grim expression did not change. Then she nodded slowly.

“Just a suggestion,” Rogo said. “If I were you, I would make for King Algar’s City. It might be easier to hide among the many people there, and city folks usually mind their own business. Out here, you are too likely to be noticed.”

Again, the giant conferred with the woman, then turned back to the innkeeper. “Which way to King’s City? You have—” he struggled for the word, “—a drawing?”

“A map?” Rogo suggested. “Yes, I can give you that.”

* * *

It was almost the middle of the night before the bargaining was done, but in the end, the strangers left with all they required, and Rogo found himself in possession of many things that simply could not exist, magical things like the fire starter, the blanket, and the knife. He watched them depart into the night, at an hour when no one should be traveling, then went to his rooms upstairs and pulled out parchment, pen, and ink. He composed a message to his commander, telling of the night’s events, describing the strangers, and advising he believed they were headed for the city. He also noted the journey should take them no more than ten days, even if they were slow moving. They had taken no supplies that would indicate mounts or draft animals, so he believed they were traveling on foot. They also took much more in the way of provisions than three people would need for such a journey, so he suspected there were more than the three of them in the group.

The Crown’s express rider would be passing through the village in a day or two. Even if the strangers made good time on foot, Rogo’s message ought to beat them to the city by five or six days.

* * *

29 April 2104, LFS Lewis and Clark

“We’ve repaired most of the battle damage,” Jane Adams told the assembled officers, “except one critical item. That last hit in the aft impellers trashed a quarter of the ring. It would have been better if it had hit us square abeam, but it came in at an angle and took out one drive node and two hyper nodes—as in destroyed completely, not just damaged. We had enough spares to replace the drive node and one of the hypers, but not two of them.”

“In other words, we’re stuck here. We can’t make a hyper jump,” Guzman added unhappily.

“Right,” Adams said. “The forward array is fine, but with the aft array unbalanced, we can’t generate a jump singularity. If Elsie were a smaller ship, about the mass of a destroyer, we could make it happen with two nodes in service forward and two aft, if they were spaced evenly around the ring. We need at least three forward and three aft, and they need to be spaced at one hundred twenty degree intervals. Our current four position, ninety degree spacing isn’t going to work.”

“Could we do it with four forward and three aft, if the aft ones were properly spaced?” Lorna Greenwood asked.

“Good thinking, Lieutenant,” Guzman said. “That’s what we’ll have to do if we can manage it, but it’s not practical at the moment.”

“It would be a copper-plated bitch to get the array tuned that way,” Adams added, “but that’s not the real issue. It would normally be a dockyard job. If we could find someplace to park for a month, without being disturbed, my people could do it, but the drive would have to be offline for about half that time, while we made the structural modifications to the ring.”

“Which,” Guzman finished, “is not something we want to do in hostile territory, with the Bugs hunting for us.”

“Understood, sir,” Lorna said. “I hadn’t considered that.”

“No, it’s a good idea,” Guzman said, “and if you have any more like that, let’s hear them. We just need to file that one away for a while. It would be nice if we could call for help, but the hit on Missile Three carried into the forward magazine and took out our last two hyperprobes. We can hope the ones we already sent back will convince Lunar Command to send somebody out here, but we can’t count on it. Along those lines, with that hit and our expenditures during the battle, we’ve used up about sixty percent of our total missile load-out. We’ll be running dry if we get into another dust-up like the last one. You’ll need to factor that into your tactical plans for the future, Lieutenant.”

“Sir, that suggests that if we can’t avoid battle, we should try to close to energy range,” Lorna said. “Is that a reasonable assumption? The Bugs didn’t show us anything special in energy armament, and our grasers made short work of one of them.”

“Good thought. Of course, it will depend on the tactical situation, but yes, it’s a reasonable assumption.” Guzman nodded. O’Hara’s right, he decided, the kid’s a quick thinker, and she’s good. “For now, though, our primary objective is to avoid contact with the Bugs. We haven’t seen them since the engagement, and I suspect they’ve gone defensive and formed up on their orbital installation back on the planet. That brings us to our other problem. We have people stuck down there. We hope they’re still alive, but we have no way of contacting them. We’re too far out, and I’m not inclined to charge back in there. Any suggestions?”

“Can we send in a recon probe?” Lieutenant Dormeyer suggested. “Maybe insert it into planetary orbit, try to find out what’s going on down there?”

“We used a lot of those already,” Coleen Murphy said. “We only have seven left. Maybe some of our orbital birds are still in service, if the Bugs didn’t find them, but we can’t get a response from them at this distance.”

“It worked while we were hiding behind the moon.” John O’Hara shook his head. “We don’t dare get in that close now.”

“Well, it was a thought,” Dormeyer said, with a sigh.

“Wait,” Lorna said. “It could still work. Suppose we sent one in ballistic—give it a good boost out here, and let it go in cold, no emissions, no drive other than minor course corrections if needed. It goes in, does its job, and boosts back out-system at full drive power. The Bugs may spot it, but it’s got a missile drive that can put out a thousand gees until it burns out. They’d never be able to catch it. We, however, know where it’s going, so we will be waiting to pick it up and retrieve whatever information it’s got.”

“Hmmm.” Guzman looked thoughtful. “That might work, but how can it find our people? If they’re alive, they’ll be trying like hell to be invisible so the Bugs don’t find them.”

“Well,” Dormeyer said, “we know approximately where they should be. I figure the probe could broadcast a pre-recorded message and listen for a reply. It could record the reply to play back when it gets a trigger signal from us. Should be something we can easily program into the standard probe software.”

Guzman looked at O’Hara, who shrugged.

“Sounds like a plan,” he said, “and it costs us nothing to try, except one recon probe, which we might even get back. The insertion will be tricky, and if we’re going to maintain stealth, it will take a few days for it to get there but…”

“In the meantime, we’ve got nothing better to do,” Guzman said. “Greenwood, work up the insertion course we’ll need. Dormeyer, get to work on the probe software. Anybody else have any ideas?”

Lorna and Dormeyer nodded. No one else spoke.

“Okay, let’s get moving.”

* * *

Planet Tatanna, King’s City

“Do you trust this guy?” Mark Phillips asked, nervously.

“No, I don’t—” Nova shook her head, “—which is why we’re sleeping in shifts, with our weapons close at hand. I’ll tell you what I do trust: that door over there. It’s a solid piece of carpentry, with a sturdy bar to keep it shut. Even if somebody goes at it with a battering ram—and there’s not much room for that in the hallway—it will take time to get through it. Enough time for my people to make things really unpleasant for anybody who tries to get in.”

The innkeeper, Rogo, had given them a map to reach the city and another map of the city itself. He’d also given them the name of an innkeeper there, who he assured them could be trusted to mind his own business. In exchange for a couple of solar-rechargeable camp lights, he’d given them enough of the local currency to pay for a few days’ lodging and food once they reached the innkeeper’s establishment. Nova had insisted on getting paid for the items because she didn’t want to draw attention by trading off-world items immediately upon arrival in the city. She’d started by having Mark ask Rogo how much he would charge them for a night’s lodging, and she used that as a multiplier to figure out how much they would need. Rogo had been more than willing to pay cash for the “magic lanterns that will capture sunlight during the day and release it at night.”

Getting into the city had been easier than they’d expected. It was a walled city with massive gates that controlled entrance and egress, but the gates stood open, and crowds of merchants, farmers, and others wandered in and out at will. The two uniformed guardsmen, who stood by the gate, paid little heed to the passing crowd. They seemed more interested in impressing young women with their appearance and authority. Nova had remarked to Martinez that if they’d been her troops, they would have found themselves in the hurt locker in short order.

As it was, the Marines had put on their foul weather gear—the closest thing they had to local clothing. They’d spread out, mingled with the crowds, and slipped through the gates one at a time. The map proved good, and they’d found the inn Rogo had recommended without any trouble. Nova and Mark had gone inside and spoken to the innkeeper, a man named Gorvic, who’d agreed to provide them with suitable quarters for their party at an exorbitant price.

It was a sum they could afford, but Nova had insisted Mark haggle with the man. She was sure doing otherwise would arouse suspicion. Besides, Rogo had warned them Gorvic was a greedy sort who would charge them whatever he thought they were willing to pay.

The large suite of three closed rooms, with only one entrance, met with Nova’s approval from a security standpoint. Gorvic allowed himself to be beaten down somewhat on the price, and they’d paid him the agreed amount.

They’d moved the Marines in without incident and settled in to stay a while. The suite had a hearth suitable for food preparation, and Gorvic had reluctantly included a small supply of local wood for fuel. Corporal Wiley—arguably the squad’s best cook—drafted Private Garcia and Navy Tech Jennings to start dinner, while Nova, Mark, and Martinez sat down at a small table to plan what they were going to do next.

They had hardly started when Nova sat up with a start and held up her hand. She reached for her helmet and put it on. “Incoming message, command channel.”

The Marines stopped what they were doing and watched her.

“It’s a recorded message, relayed by a probe…stand by.” She listened for a long two minutes, then tapped a code into her wrist pad. “This is Bravo Team, Sakura. Message received,” she said. “Our dropship was taken out by what we believe was a kinetic strike. Ensign Matthews, Chief Benson, Corporal Holley, and Private Larson missing and presumed dead. All others accounted for and combat-effective, including me, eight Marines, Dr. Phillips, and Navy Tech Jennings. We’ve had no communication since the strike and have been on the move trying to evade the Bugs. We are now secure in a building in a large city approximately two hundred forty kilometers southeast of the drop zone. We have had several non-hostile contacts with native humans, no contact with Bugs. We will remain here as long as our position is secure. Awaiting further instructions. Sakura, out.”

She tapped another code into her pad, waited several seconds for an acknowledgment, then took off the helmet. She sat back with a sigh and looked at the expectant faces around her. “Like I said, it was a recording. I’ll play it for you later. The bottom line is that Lewis and Clark got into a shootout with several Bug warships. She survived but is unable to return to the planet because of hostile activity in the area.

“So, we’re still stuck here. This message came from a probe sent specifically to find out our status. The good news is my helmet uplink connected with the probe, sent my reply, and received an acknowledgment. If I understood the message correctly, the probe will try to back out and relay our message to Elsie. The bad news is we won’t know if it got through unless we get another message back.”

“So, nothing’s changed as far as we’re concerned, right, LT?”

“Right,” Nova said. “We still have to plan what to do next. The only difference is we’ve told the ship where we are, so we should plan to stay in the city unless something changes. We need to plan how to stay safe, secure, and supplied while we wait.”

“I have some ideas on how to keep supplied—” Mark Phillips began, then turned with a start at the sharp sound of a gong. The small metal disk hung on the inside of the door in front of a small hole through which a metal rod protruded. Nova had noticed it when they first inspected the suite and had correctly identified it as the local version of a doorbell.

“Softly, people,” Nova said, noting that most of the Marines were deploying weapons. “What have you got, Bouchard?”

The sniper looked up from the scanner she was holding. “One person in front of the door. No energy sources, some metal, maybe a sword or a large knife.”

“Right. Mark, ask who it is.”

Phillips challenged the visitor, who replied immediately. The heavy door muffled the response, but he was able to make sense of it. He turned to Nova, with a look of amazement. “He says he’s been sent by the king, and he wants to talk to us.”

* * *

Kar Regas D’Narr, King Algar’s High Sheriff and Knight-Commander of the Crown’s Own Guard, waited patiently in the hallway as the door swung open. The man who opened it looked unexpectedly ordinary, despite the strange clothing he wore—a close-fitting garment in mottled shades of green, tan, and grey. The man made a sweeping gesture with his hand, inviting Sir Regas to enter the room.

Rogo’s report was accurate, he decided. There were no less than eleven people in the large room, randomly scattered about. Some sat in chairs and others at the table, while a few sat on the floor. They appeared at ease, but Regas wasn’t fooled for a moment. Every one of them was positioned facing him, and all of them had weapons close at hand. At least, he assumed they were weapons. They looked like strange artifacts of several varieties that were obviously intended to be held in the hands but had functions he could not determine.

These people had shown Rogo things the innkeeper could only describe as magical. It seemed likely their weapons would be magical as well.

Almost immediately, he spotted the giant sitting at a table in the corner, with the woman Rogo had described sitting next to him.

“Come,” the giant said, with a smile. “Sit. We speak.”

The woman did not smile. She looked at Regas and pointed at an empty chair at the table, with a sharp gesture that seemed more like a command than an invitation.

As he walked across the room, Regas took note of the other members of the group. Most looked like ordinary people, but a few were strange looking. There were two more women. One of them had hair cut in a very strange pattern; it was almost shaved on the sides of her head. She wore the same mottled-pattern clothing as the men, but unlike the others, she did not have her hands on anything that looked like a weapon. Instead, she held a flat, black, square thing, and she was studying it as one might read a letter or a book. The other woman was dressed the same way, but her jet-black hair was tightly braided, and her skin was a deep brown, almost black. When Regas looked at her, she smiled and showed her perfect white teeth that contrasted starkly with her dark skin.

She was not the only dark-skinned one, nor was the man at the table the only giant. One man was as big as the giant, but had skin as dark as the woman’s. Two other men were almost as large, but one of them had very pale skin and hair that was light yellow, almost white. Regas’ first thought was that he was grey-haired, but he looked far too young for that and had nothing in the way of a beard. Most of the men had very short hair, but their faces were covered with stubble. They looked like men who were normally clean-shaven but had not shaved for a ten-day or so.

Regas noted all of this in the brief time it took him to walk to the corner table, pull out the chair, and sit down.

“Yes,” he told the giant, “we must speak. I am told you are the speaker but not the leader. I am told your leader is a woman. Would that be you, milady?”

The question was directed at the woman beside the giant, the one with the strange, exotic eyes. She was the smallest person present, but she projected an air of authority.

The giant spoke to her briefly.

“Yes,” she answered in a strangely musical voice.

“She knows some words,” the giant explained. “She can answer yes or no. I speak many words and understand many more. You are correct. She is the leader.”

“I will speak to her,” Regas said. “You translate.” He turned to the woman. “I am Sir Regas D’Narr, High Sheriff to Algar, King of Kings. I serve His Majesty, with the authority of the Crown. One of our agents told us you were traveling to the King’s City, and I have been sent by the king to find out who you are and why you are here.”

The giant and woman conferred, using strange sounds that had no meaning. Rogo had been right again. These people had a language of their own, not just a strange accent.

The woman spoke again, and the giant translated. “I am called Mark and her name is Nova. Your agent was Rogo the innkeeper. If so, he told you who we are. We come from the sky, like the Bugs, but we are people like you. We only come here to see this world. We did not know anyone lived here, and we did not know the Bugs would be here. We come only to see and learn new places.”

“The Bugs are your enemies,” Regas said. “They are looking for you and have asked to know if anyone finds you.”

The giant who called himself Mark translated as Regas spoke the words. The woman answered slowly, pausing from time to time so he could translate her words. “We have just met the Bugs for the first time, and we do not know if they will be our enemies. They have attacked us, but maybe they have reason. We want to learn more. What are the Bugs to you? Are they friends, enemies, or are they masters and you servants? Now that you have found us, will you tell the Bugs? We need to know these things.”

Regas sat back and considered the questions. The king had warned him he would be treading on uncertain ground, that there was danger not only for him but for the entire world. The safest course would have been to turn these people over to the Bugs, but there might be danger in that as well. Besides, this might be an opportunity to finally be rid of the Bugs.

Unfortunately, not all Tatanna’s nobles would welcome that. Algar had left much to his high sheriff’s discretion but had suggested the best course might be to take these people into custody and lock them up until His Majesty decided what to do with them. Having seen the strangers, Regas got the impression that might be easier said than done.

“We will not turn you over to the Bugs,” Regas assured them. “Yes, the Bugs are our masters, but not because we choose to serve them. The histories speak of a time when there were no Bugs, a time before my grandfather’s grandfather was born. Men served kings, princes, and the like, but those masters were human. Then the Bugs came and declared mastery over us. They are not very demanding, and they mostly leave us alone, as long as we work their precious mines. The miners receive a decent wage and live in comfort, provided they work as directed and obey the Bugs. As for the rest of us, the Bugs pay us little heed until we do something that bothers them. Unfortunately, we don’t always know what will bother them, and when they are bothered, the consequences are terrible.”

“We have seen this.” The woman nodded as the giant translated. “The destruction of two villages was a terrible thing. Many people died, and we do not know why.”

“You saw it?” Regas looked at them in surprise. “Could you…your presence…have caused the Bugs to do this?”

“No. We saw it from the sky, but the Bugs did not know we were there. We don’t know why they did it.”

“Your presence here is a danger to us,” Regas said. “His Majesty has directed me to take you into custody until he decides what to do. We mean you no harm, but I must ask you to come peacefully with me. There are guardsmen surrounding this building, who will take you by force, if necessary, but I would prefer not to use them.”

The giant looked concerned as he translated, but the woman smiled a rather feral smile Regas didn’t find reassuring.

“No.” She said the single word, then began speaking to the giant. As he translated, she reached down beside her chair, retrieved a sinister-looking device, and cradled it in front of her. It was as long as a man’s arm, dull gray-green, and strangely shaped, and it was obviously intended to be held as she was holding it. “We do not wish to be taken, and you will not be able to take us, no matter how many guardsmen you have. We need to find another way.”

“Is that some sort of weapon?” Regas asked. “One that will make you the equal to ten of my men?”

“More than ten, many more. Any of my people can do the same. These weapons kill, and we do not want to kill. I don’t think you want us to kill. We must find another way.”

A curious thought struck him. “Tell me, milady, can you kill a Bug with that thing?”

“In an instant,” Mark translated, “but the Bugs can also kill us. If we fight the Bugs here, it will be terrible. People will die, buildings will be destroyed, and fire may come down from the sky. We don’t want that, and you don’t want that.”

“So what do you propose, milady?”

She considered the question, then spoke again to the giant.

“We need to leave the city. It is dangerous for us to be here, dangerous for you. We are in danger everywhere, but if the Bugs find us here, terrible things may happen to your people. We can go out to the country again, to the forests, and camp where no people will find us, no Bugs will find us. Perhaps we will go back up near Rogo’s Inn. We still want to talk to you, to learn more. How do we do that?”

“I need to speak with His Majesty,” Regas said. “We also want to talk with you. Perhaps we can find a way to do that, but I agree that we need to get you out of the city. Rogo was right to send you here, but none of us considered what danger that might pose.” He got up to leave. “I will return tomorrow with His Majesty’s advice.”

The woman spoke briefly to the giant. “Perhaps His Majesty could provide us with some supplies and a wagon for transport,” the giant said.

Regas looked at the woman, whose smile held some humor this time. “I will see what can be done,” he said, with a smile in return.

The woman spoke again, but this time she addressed the other woman—the one with the square black thing—and got an answer. She spoke to the giant again.

“She says when you come tomorrow, you will not need the fifteen men you brought with you today. We assume those are your men, since they have been standing in the streets around this building since you arrived here.”

Regas looked at her in surprise, then at the other woman, who was also smiling. He had fifteen guardsmen and two deputies, and he suspected his deputies were inside the inn, plying Gorvic for drink or trying to impress the innkeeper’s daughters. That would make the count correct, but how had they known? Yet another sort of sky magic, he presumed. He looked back at Nova and found she was holding two small objects.

“Gifts,” Mark said. “One for you, one for your king. These give you fire whenever you need it.” He showed Regas how to make it work. To the high sheriff’s amazement, it produced a small, but steady, flame. “You can light candles or lamps or start a campfire. It will work one thousand times before its…spirit…is gone.”

Regas thanked them, and there was nothing more to say. He left the room to gather up his men and return to Castle Boroson.

* * *

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty. They convinced me that attempting to take them into custody would not be wise. They have magic at their disposal, perhaps as great as that of the Bugs. I would not send Your Majesty’s guardsmen against these people for a futile cause.”

“Of course, Regas. I trusted your discretion, and you have not disappointed me,” Algar said. “I think the best course will be to let them leave the city and go back to the forests, where the Bugs’ wrath will not fall on us if they are discovered.”

“You wish to keep in contact with them, sire, do you not?”

“Yes. I think the best solution will be to send someone with them. I would like you to choose two of your most trusted men, and I think I will send Ramis the scribe as well. He is young, but eager and very intelligent. He can keep a journal of his time with them and send us reports. We must find some way to get messages to them. I don’t want them going back up to North Coast’s lands. The last thing I need is for them to get involved with T’Corsa.”

“I don’t think they are aware of our political issues, sire. Despite what the Bugs told you, Rogo’s report and my encounter make me doubt they ever had contact with Duke T’Corsa. They just happened to arrive in a remote corner of his territory for whatever reason, and they came here when Rogo suggested it. Cold Creek mine and Sbora’s Grove are a long way from House Corsa.”

“I think you are right,” Algar said, “but I still don’t want them going back to North Coast province. Let’s see where else we can send them.”

Algar retrieved a map from his desk and unrolled it on the table. The two of them studied it, and Regas pointed to a spot that looked promising.

“We could send them to this area near the Little Kilder River logging preserve. It’s close enough to the trading post that we could arrange for them to get messages there, but still surrounded by wilderness where they won’t be noticed. It’s only about two days’ travel from the city, even less for an express rider.”

“Yes, and this road is passable for wagons. They did request transport and provisions, did they not?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. They will move well away from the road to camp, but it will help if they can transport their supplies most of the way by road. They will also have easy access to the trading post.”

“Very well.” Algar nodded. “I’ll offer them two closed wagons for the journey, with teams of draft kildrin. They shouldn’t need relief animals for that short distance. We’ll need a couple of trustworthy drovers, and you should plan to escort them with a small number of mounted troopers—nothing that will draw notice, just a typical movement of the Crown’s goods on the Crown’s business. When we’ve moved them up there, you can bring the wagons back to the city, and our mysterious guests can disappear into the forest.”

“Yes, sire, a good plan, I think. With your permission, I will propose it to them tomorrow.”

* * * * *

Chapter Fourteen

1 May 2104, LFS Lewis and Clark, Sacagawea System

Lorna had heard, and used, the term mixed emotions many times, but until now, she hadn’t really experienced them.

Lewis and Clark had successfully intercepted the outbound probe, and if the Bugs had detected it, they made no attempt to follow. Lorna had suggested several tweaks to the original plan before it was launched, including a sweep of the Bug orbital facility as it departed. The probe was programmed to remain silent after its drive burned out, until a signal from Elsie triggered its locator beacon. Without that, the tiny robot would have been near impossible to find, even if they knew where it was supposed to be. All had gone according to plan, and Guzman, who wasn’t usually lavish with praise, had singled out Lorna and Dormeyer for a job well done.

They’d reviewed the data from the probe, and Lorna had learned of the death of Jake Matthews and three others. Visual imagery from the probe’s flyover clearly showed the blackened scar where the landing site had been, which confirmed Nova’s report. The good news was that Nova, Mark Phillips, and nine others were still alive and well on the planet, but any joy Lorna might have felt was tempered by the fact that Elsie had absolutely no way to retrieve them. Jane Adams had confirmed the ship’s utility boat was a write-off.

Guzman had given the news to the crew with a brief announcement and posted Nova’s recorded message on the ship’s information net for anyone who wanted to listen. The probe’s survey also revealed what Guzman had suspected—three Bug warships were clustered around the Bug orbital facility, one still showing signs of heavy battle damage. For the moment, Lewis and Clark had the run of the system, but the only place of interest—the planet—was off-limits. Another officers’ call was scheduled for tomorrow to discuss options for contact with the Marines and possible retrieval.

It was Lorna’s turn to eat in the crew’s mess that day. Guzman had seen no reason to change Erikson’s directive, but the reduced number of available officers had forced Murphy to rework the schedule. Lorna was late getting to lunch, so the mess was not particularly crowded, but as she came off the line, she noticed Chief Thrace sitting alone at one of the smaller tables. The woman wore a somber, distracted expression, and something about her unhappy manner drew Lorna to her.

“Mind if I join you, Chief?”

Thrace looked up and, for a moment, her expression brightened. “You’re an officer,” she said, with the ghost of a grin, “you don’t have to ask.”

“Yeah, so they tell me. You okay, Chief?”

“Not really,” Thrace admitted, “but I’m working on it.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Oh, I’m just thinking about my kids.”

“Kids?”

“Not really kids, my missile crews. They’re like my kids, closest thing I’ve got anyway. You know we lost Manu when Missile Three got hit.”

“I saw the list.” Lorna felt a stab of guilt. “I’m so sorry. I tried my best to stop them, but it wasn’t good enough.”

“Don’t blame yourself for a minute,” Thrace told her firmly. “Blame the damned Bugs. It’s war; it’s what we signed up for. Besides, I heard you did an awesome job on the bridge, swatting those suckers down as fast as the Bugs could throw them, until they got lucky and took out the bridge.”

“Where did you hear that?” Lorna looked at her skeptically.

“From a certain blond-haired petty officer who claims to be an eyewitness. She also said the hit on the bridge was pure hell and that it almost took you out, as well.”

“Ivanova. Did she also mention the awesome job she did of hammering the Bugs into scrap metal, or that she patched me up and got the other two survivors off the bridge and to the medics?”

“She never brags about herself, but to hear her talk, you just about walk on water. She also mentioned that you got righteously promoted. Congratulations, Lieutenant.”

Lorna reddened. “I don’t deserve it, don’t even have time in grade. I got bumped up because we’ve got too many vacancies in the T.O.”

Thrace sat back and looked at her. “Funny, I expected you would say something like that. You outrank me, young lady, but take some advice from an old NCO. You need to have more confidence in yourself. When people keep telling you how good you are, maybe it’s because you really are that good.”

“I’ll take it under advisement, Chief.” Lorna gave her a wry smile. “But hey, I came over here to cheer you up. So far, I’m not doing much of that.”

Thrace paused and looked at her in surprise. “Actually, I think you have. You brought me back to the real world, and suddenly, I feel a little better.”

“Well, there’s some good news in the real world,” Lorna said. “At least one of your kids is alive and well down on the planet. I assume you heard the captain’s announcement.”

“Yeah, Jennings—” Thrace managed a genuine grin, “—and he’s probably scared shitless and wishing he were back here, listening to me chew him out for screwing something up. But he’s still stuck down there, so how are we going to get him and the others home?”

“Haven’t figured that out yet, but we’re working on it,” Lorna said. “Meanwhile, he’s in good hands. If I had to pick somebody to be stuck with in hostile territory, Nova Sakura and her Marines would be high on my list.”

* * *

“Sir, we’ve got a problem.” Lorna didn’t look up from her displays as she spoke. Her fingers continued to move on the console, selecting and refining data.

“What have you got, Lieutenant?” Guzman had been conferring with O’Hara, but he responded immediately to Lorna’s announcement.

“Very faint hyper signature at two seven zero plus four, right at the hyper limit,” she said. “Barely registered, but I’m sure it’s not a sensor ghost.”

Guzman didn’t have to ask why a very faint sensor reading was a problem. At that distance, they shouldn’t have been able to detect a hyperspace translation event unless it involved multiple ships of significant mass making the hard translations typical of warships. Freighters might be massive, but their power-to-mass ratio was usually low and their shielding less effective, which forced them to make more gentle translations in and out of hyperspace. Any warships escorting them would have to do the same.

“Refresh my memory, Lieutenant. Isn’t that bearing consistent with the comings and goings of the Bugs we’ve observed so far?”

“Yes, sir,” Lorna said.

“You’re right, we’ve got a problem.” Guzman glanced at O’Hara, who nodded grimly. “Can you squeeze any more information out of that reading?”

“Working on it, sir.” Her fingers continued to dance over the display. “Sir, I’ve got four possible point sources. At this range, the system shouldn’t be able to resolve anything less than thirty k-tons, assuming no higher than a level four translation. I’ve also got a lot of clutter that indicates a number of smaller units.”

“That’s not good news,” O’Hara muttered, and it was Guzman’s turn to nod. Lewis and Clark massed 22,000 metric tons. Ships in the 30,000-ton range would be heavy cruisers by LFS standards. According to Greenwood’s analysis, there were four ships at least that large out there, plus an unknown number of smaller ships.

“I’m afraid that’s all I can get, sir,” Lorna added.

“All right, people,” Guzman told his bridge crew, “we can guess where they’re going. The planet’s the only place of interest in this system. Ms. Greenwood, assuming normal warship acceleration profiles, how soon should we expect them to arrive in the neighborhood?”

“No sooner than eighty hours, sir. During the battle, the Bugs never showed us more than one hundred eighty gees. I think it’s fair to assume their larger units will be mass-limited to less than that.”

“I agree. In any case, we should see them coming soon enough to run away from anything we can’t fight.”

O’Hara’s right, he thought. The kid is good, and not just with the tactical gear. She’s mission-focused, understands the big picture, and isn’t afraid to speak up. She needs to quit apologizing because her performance is merely outstanding, not superhuman. I know a lot of NTOs with more experience who wouldn’t have noticed that blip, let alone been able to squeeze that much intel out of it. I just need to figure out what to do with the information.

He touched the all-ship icon on his console. “This is the captain. Officers’ call in the wardroom in thirty minutes.” He released the button. “Mr. Dormeyer, take the bridge for this one. Monitor the meeting from here.”

“Yes, sir, I have the bridge.” Dormeyer got up to take the command station as Guzman departed.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Lorna sat at the far end of the wardroom table. Promotion notwithstanding, with Jake Matthews dead and Nova marooned on the planet, she was the cruiser’s most junior officer. Cynthia Warren sat across from her, wearing an aura of gloom and doom. She blames herself for everything that’s happened since the lost robot incident, Lorna reflected. I think I need to have a talk with her, get her out of this funk. Maybe I should let Chief Thrace talk to her—give her a typical NCO-style kick-in-the-ass counseling session.

“All right, everyone.” Guzman brought the meeting to order. “Consider this a brainstorm session. I want whatever ideas you can come up with. We need to do three things—keep in contact with our people on the planet, get them off the planet if possible, and keep well clear of the Bugs while we’re doing it. As of a half-hour ago, the third item became even more problematical. I’ll let Lieutenant Greenwood tell you.”

He nodded in Lorna’s direction, and she reported the faint hyper signature she had detected. No one bothered to ask if she was sure about her interpretation. Even if she wasn’t, the safest course of action would be to assume the worst.

She finished her brief report, and Guzman opened the floor for comments and discussion. Several officers had comments about the incoming Bugs, but no one offered suggestions.

Finally, Lorna spoke up. “Sir, I have an idea about contacting our people on the planet. It depends on what the incoming Bugs do, but I think there’s a good chance they’ll go for a defense-in-place of their mining station. If so, I think this will work.”

“Okay,” Guzman said, “let’s take it one step at a time. Why do you think they’ll do that?”

“The last time they saw us, we were headed straight out-system,” she said. “They assumed we were heading for the hyper limit and would leave the system as soon as we got there. If we had the ability to jump, they would have been right. There’s no reason to hang around here, even with people on the planet, if we can’t get them off. The Bugs could search to make sure we’re gone, but they really don’t have enough ships for that, even with the reinforcements, especially if we don’t want to be found. They know what a nasty handful Elsie can be, and they won’t risk spreading themselves too thin and allowing us to defeat them. On the other hand, we might be back, and we might bring more ships next time, so it makes sense to beef up the defenses around their only asset of value in the system.”

“Okay, I’ll buy that.” Guzman nodded. “What’s your idea?”

“Sir, we’ve been using satellites in low orbit to communicate with the Marines. That means they’re moving fast—orbital period less than two hours. They’re easy to detect, no matter how quiet we try to make them, once the Bugs know what to look for. Suppose we put one communications bird in synchronous orbit on the opposite side of the planet from their orbital station. Relative to them, it’s not moving, and the planet blocks it from their view, but barring extreme terrain features, it should be within line-of-sight for the Marines. For optimal communications, we may need to move it a bit to the east, which will put it higher above the horizon for our people, but we can take it a long way in that direction before it becomes line-of-sight to the Bug station. Meanwhile, it’s sitting in open space and can beam its transmissions in any direction we choose. We ought to be able to hear it a million klicks out. That’s close enough for a real-time conversation with Nova and her people.”

Guzman looked thoughtful. No one offered any objection or comment. He scanned the group and saw a few heads nodding in apparent agreement.

“I like it,” he said. “We’ll have to wait and see what the rest of the Bugs do when they get here, but that will give all of you time to think it over, raise any objections, or add any embellishments. Meanwhile, I don’t see any harm in prepping the satellite for launch. Greenwood, Dormeyer, that’s your mission. The rest of you, put this on your think-about-it list and be prepared to comment at the next meeting.”

* * *

Planet Tatanna, Valley of the Little Kilder River

The best of plans can turn into kilder dung in an instant, Regas reflected, especially plans as complicated as this one. So far, however, it appeared the Goddess had smiled on them.

Give the king his due, he thought. Sending Ramis along was a brilliant idea. The young man had spent most of the journey in conversation with Mark the Giant, and by the time they reached the timber preserves, not only had Mark’s command of the language of Tatanna improved dramatically, but Ramis seemed to have acquired a working knowledge of the sky people’s language as well. The scribe had filled a scroll with notes about the sky people, their culture, and their magic, and he had pressed the scroll into Regas’ hands as a first report to the king.

He wished he could say the same for the two agents he had chosen. Marlot was a good man—loyal, dependable, and skilled in fieldcraft—but he wasn’t a very deep thinker. He seemed unable to understand how anyone could speak a language other than the natural human language of his own world. Arrimas was sharp and observant, but he seemed to have problems accepting the sky people as human. He looked at them as if they were Bugs disguised as people, and he would not extend the least bit of trust to them. No doubt, they had noticed, and Regas was certain they didn’t trust Arrimas either. Regas was also sure Arrimas would put the king’s interests first and carry out the orders he’d been given, whether he liked them or not.

The game had begun. The sky people had faded into the forest, and Regas was on his way back to the city with the now-empty wagons and the escorting troopers. He had already read Ramis’ report, and he was certain the king would be fascinated by its contents.

* * *

“Are you sure that thing is good to eat?”

Moira Bouchard was lean, hard, and not very feminine, at least by Tatannan standards. Her face was pleasant enough, though her features were a bit angular, and they were accentuated by her hairstyle—high and tight on the sides, with a close-cropped, curly Mohawk on top that extended down the back of her neck to the collar of her sleeveless tunic. The headband she wore muted the effect. She was a head taller than either of her Tatannan male companions.

She was also the most beautiful woman Ramis had ever seen, though his experience to date had been somewhat limited.

“Yes, Mu-Rah,” he said, “but Marlot says we cannot get close to it. The chareen has a very good nose, and the wind is wrong. It will smell us if we try to approach.”

Bouchard smiled at the way he pronounced her name. He hadn’t bothered to tell her Mu-Rah was the name given to the warrior handmaiden of the Goddess in Tatanna’s most common religious belief system, and it was somewhat akin to an archangel in orthodox Christianity on Earth.

“We’re already close enough,” she said as she settled into her prone shooting position. She studied the creature through the weapon’s aiming system, which was still called a scope in common Marine terminology, though it was much more complex than a simple optic. Hmmm, four-legged herbivore. Could be an antelope, except for those weird-looking horns down the back of its neck. I’m betting its vitals are in the same place as those of a four-legged herbivore on Earth. She settled the scope’s aiming dot on a point just behind the animal’s shoulder and squeezed the trigger.

The weapon was not particularly high-tech, just the latest iteration of the 200-year-old bolt-action rifle. It featured an internal suppressor and a recoil-absorbing stock but was otherwise much the same as the battle rifles used by armies through the first half of the 20th century. It used a traditional brass-cased cartridge that would send a 7-millimeter bullet downrange at nearly 1,000 meters per second.

Although the rifle was ancient in design, the aiming system was not. When Bouchard pressed the trigger, the gun did not fire immediately. Instead, it laser-ranged the selected target and did a series of complex calculations that considered just about every factor that might influence the bullet’s path—atmospheric pressure, wind direction and velocity, the downhill angle of the shot, and even Bouchard’s comfortable firing position, which tended to tilt the rifle to the left about three degrees off vertical. Since the system had been designed for use by the Lunar Marines, it even factored in gravity, which on Tatanna was about 7.5% higher than Earth-normal. The calculations took only nanoseconds, and a small number appeared in the corner of Bouchard’s display. There was also a blinking red dot about two meters below and to the right of her aiming point.

Okay, 827.2 meters. Not my longest shot, but respectable. Still holding the trigger depressed, Bouchard caressed the forestock of the rifle with her left hand and lifted it gently up and to the left a tiny bit. The blinking dot on her display merged with the original aiming point, and the rifle fired. With the suppressor, the sharp report wasn’t ear-splitting, but the two Tatannans jerked in surprise all the same.

“Wait for it,” she said. Downrange, about a second later, the chareen staggered, took one step forward, and collapsed in its tracks.

Bouchard grinned and looked at Ramis, who stared at her in absolute awe.

“Mu-Rah,” he whispered.

Marlot was staring open-mouthed down the hillside at the fallen animal, unable to believe what had just happened.

Bouchard glanced at him, then back at Ramis. “Okay, I shot it. You two can go down there, drag it back to camp, and skin it.”

Ramis translated her remark, and Marlot looked at him for a moment. In his world, men did the hunting. While he might expect to drag his kill home, skinning and processing the animal was considered women’s work. As he watched Bouchard jack the empty brass casing out of the rifle, he decided it was probably not a good idea to mention it. He got to his feet and started down the hill.

Ramis reached down, picked up the spent casing, and immediately dropped it, with a little exclamation.

“Yeah, hot,” Bouchard said. “Give it a moment to cool off, then you can keep it as a souvenir.”

“Thank you, Mu-Rah,” he said, staring at the casing as if it were a holy relic.

* * *

As she sat by the campfire and ate, Bouchard was forced to admit the critter tasted good. It was a lot better than LFSMC field rations, but then it wasn’t freeze dried and packaged to last a century in storage.

“Food is good, Mu-Rah?” Ramis asked, settling down next to her with his dinner bowl in hand.

“Very good,” she said, with a grin. “Compliments to the chef.”

“Com-pli-ments to…?” He peered at her, without understanding.

“Good words to the person who cooked it,” she explained.

“Oh. I understand. Anyone can cook chareen.” He shrugged. “Much harder to get one. Com-pli-ments to the hunter.”

She smiled when she heard the awkwardness in his voice. This guy likes me as a girl, not just one of the troops. He treats me with respect, and he’s kind of cute. Smart, too, not the kind of guy I usually find myself hanging around with. I wonder if we could find some nice, private corner of the woods, just to see what happens.

She frowned at the realization that she had no idea what the moral protocols were for this planet. She would happily share a sleeping bag with Ramis, but she didn’t want to violate some local taboo. Worse, she was pretty sure LT would not be happy if the incident caused some issues between the Marines and the locals. Still, she really liked the guy. Maybe she needed to take it slow, let him take the lead, with a little encouragement.

“Moy-ra,” she told him.

“Eh?” He looked confused.

“Moy-ra,” she said again. “It’s how you say my name. I know you can pronounce it, so why do you keep calling me Moo Rah?” She smiled to let him know she really didn’t care what he called her.

A couple of meters away, Arrimas looked up from his dinner. He had caught the gist of the conversation, and he snorted with contempt. Ramis reddened noticeably, shot an angry look at Arrimas, then turned back to Bouchard.

“Yes,” he said, “I can say it, Moy-ra, but…” With that, he proceeded to tell her about Mu-Rah.

Bouchard listened to the story, unable to believe what she was hearing. He thinks I’m a supernatural being like a minor goddess or something.

“I’m not Mu-Rah,” she said softly. “I’m just a girl.” She reached out gently and touched his cheek. She heard a sharp indrawn breath and glanced over and saw Arrimas turn away with a look of embarrassment.

“I know,” he told her with a sigh. “But you are different from any girl I have met. The Book of The Goddess says She sends Mu-Rah to punish evil hearts that offend Her. When the Bugs strike us from the sky, some say it is Mu-Rah, but the priestesses say that is not true. Bugs strike down innocent people, and the Goddess would not do that.

“They say we should pray to the Goddess to send Mu-Rah to strike the Bugs instead,” he continued. “I know you are Moy-ra, not Mu-Rah, but maybe I am hoping that you, all of you sky people, have come to punish the Bugs.”

Across the fire, Nova Sakura looked up sharply. “Do all of your people feel that way, Ramis? I’m sorry, I know it was a private conversation, and I don’t mean to intrude, but it is important that we know how you feel about the Bugs.”

Bouchard said nothing but gave Ramis a serious look and nodded toward Sakura, indicating he should answer LT’s question. Damn! she thought. That’s what I was afraid of. I say the wrong thing around these people, and we might have an interstellar incident. On the other hand, if I were having this conversation with Ramis in a sleeping bag, I’m sure he’d be telling me everything LT wants to know.

She noticed that Ramis glanced at Arrimas as soon as LT asked the question. The other Tatannan was studying them with a puzzled look. He sensed the conversation was important but couldn’t quite understand what they were saying. Serves him right, Bouchard decided. He hasn’t made the slightest effort to learn our language. Hell, I speak a lot more Tatannan than he speaks English. She had learned quite a bit, mostly by listening when Ramis and Dr. Phillips were talking.

Ramis also noticed Arrimas wasn’t following the conversation, so he turned to Nova Sakura and spoke without hesitation. “Not all feel that way. Miners who work for Bugs are paid well, and Bugs do not punish them. High persons—nobles—whose lands have Bug mines are happy because they take taxes from the miners and get rich. These are a small number of people. Others care nothing about Bugs because they never see Bugs and have never felt Bug punishment. Others hate Bugs because they have punished us so many times. By now all have heard that two villages were destroyed less than a crossing ago.”

“What about your king?” Sakura persisted. “Do you know how he feels about the Bugs?”

“He says nothing to most people,” Ramis said, “but I am a scribe. My job is to write down the words of His Majesty so all may hear. When I am doing my job, nobody notices me, so I hear things. King Algar says we will always have kings and princes, but if a king is bad, the people can stand up against him and make a new king. The Bugs do what they want, and no man can stand against them. The king says he would give his crown to see the day when Bugs are gone, and the world is ruled only by men.”

Nova nodded slowly. “Thank you, Ramis.” She got to her feet. “I appreciate what you have told us. It gives me much to think about. Mark,” she addressed Phillips, who had been sitting next to her, “I want to talk to Arrimas about the security arrangement, but not here. Tell him we need to go back to the HQ tent and talk.”

Phillips spoke to the Tatannan, who shrugged and got to his feet.

Nova turned to Bouchard with a hint of a smile. “I see you’re on a mission, Corporal. Good luck with it. Carry on.” She walked away without another glance, trailed by Phillips and Arrimas.

Bouchard stared after her, too surprised to respond. LT was practically telling her it was okay to get laid, and she was pretty sure they took Arrimas away to give her and Ramis more privacy. Of course, they weren’t completely alone. Private Jamison and Corporal Davis were still on the other side of the fire, but they were too wrapped up in each other to pay much attention to Bouchard and Ramis. They’re getting to the point where one of them needs to transfer to another squad, she thought, but we’re a long way from Luna and could be stuck here for a long time. Maybe LT’s willing to cut them a little slack.

“Tell me—” she turned to Ramis, “—what is it like to work for the king? You must be very good at your work for him to trust you so much.”

“I do my best, my lady. In truth I want to be more than just a scribe. I want to be the king’s…what is the word…keeper of old records.”

“Historian?” she ventured. “I think that’s what we would call it.”

“Whatever it is called.” He shrugged. “My king likes my work, and he lets me study the records when I am not doing scribe work.”

“You must be a very smart guy,” she said with sincerity, and she slid a little closer to him.

On the other side of the fire, Lizzie Davis winked at her, got up, and took Jamison by the hand. He got to his feet as well, and the two of them headed off to the tent area.

* * *

“I’m getting the distinct impression he doesn’t trust us.”

“Yes, I noticed,” Mark Phillips said, “but it’s also pretty obvious he hates the Bugs.”

Corporal Bouchard’s love life notwithstanding, Nova Sakura had wanted to talk to Arrimas. Back in the Tatannan yurt-like structure she called the HQ tent, she asked him the same questions she had asked Ramis—How do you feel about the Bugs? How do the people feel? How does the king feel? His answers were much more guarded, but for the most part, agreed with what Ramis had told them. Arrimas looked ready to spit on the floor every time he said the Tatannan name for the Bugs.

“Right,” she said, “and he certainly seems loyal to his king. I’m getting the impression he’s only willing to work with us because the king ordered him to do so.”

“Wish we could speak to the king directly.” Phillips looked frustrated. “Get the word right from the horse’s mouth.”

“Except they don’t have horses here,” she said, with a grin. “If I’ve got the word right, it would be from the kilder’s mouth. Hey, you’re an exobiologist, and I’m a Marine. I think talking to the king is a little above our pay grade. That’s a job for a skilled diplomat from the Foreign Office. The situation here’s a lot different from the one on your home planet.”

“That’s true. The Bugs aren’t eating people like the Otuka on New Eden were. If the Bugs had simply made a deal with the locals, built their mines, and paid locals to dig this gypsum stuff for them, we wouldn’t have a problem. We’re upset because they’re taking the stuff without permission and killing anyone who interferes.”

“Yeah, that pretty well sums it up, with the addition that the Bugs have been here for many generations, according to Regas, and they won’t let the locals develop any sort of machine-age technology.”

“That keeps these people at the level of Earth during the Middle Ages. I guess—”

He stopped abruptly as she held up her hand.

“Somebody just pinged my data pad.” She touched the tiny bud in her left ear, then reached down and pulled the pad from its pocket on the right thigh of her BDUs.

“Is that good or bad?” Phillips asked, nervously.

“Should be good,” she said. “Bugs shouldn’t be able to do it.” She checked the codes displayed on her pad and hit an icon marked Authorize. She frowned as seconds went by with no response. Suddenly, the screen lit with an image. She recognized Alton Dormeyer, Elsie’s assistant DSO.

“Alpha Recon, this is Lima Charlie on a real-time link. Expect approximately ten seconds round-trip transmission delay. Please acknowledge and advise status, over.”

Lima Charlie—phonetic for the letters LC—was Lewis and Clark. Good news for the Marines.

Self-consciously, Nova checked her appearance before activating the pad’s camera for a reply. “Lima Charlie, Alpha Recon. We are secure, repeat secure, in a wilderness area approximately one hundred ninety kilometers southeast of the original LZ. That’s dead-reckoning navigation over many days so I can’t give you exact coordinates. No casualties other than those previously reported with the destruction of the lander. We have made friendly contact with the locals, who have helped us avoid the Bugs. They also provided supplies, and we currently have resources to remain in place for an indefinite period, over.” She sat back to wait out the ten-second delay. Dormeyer’s face reappeared on schedule, and she heard cheering in the background on Elsie’s bridge.

“That’s good news, Alpha Recon.” Dormeyer was smiling, but the smile faded. “Especially since we have no way to retrieve you at present. At least we’ve got a good comm link…uh…” He looked to his left. “Captain Guzman wants to talk to you.”

Captain Guzman? What the hell has happened up there? Nova wondered.

Dormeyer’s image blinked out, and Guzman’s replaced it.

“Yes, it’s good news, Lieutenant,” he said. “As Lieutenant Dormeyer says, we can’t pick you up, but we aren’t leaving any time soon. The Bugs have brought in reinforcements, so we can’t get too close to the planet. Greenwood and Dormeyer came up with this idea for an active comm link, but there’s a transmission delay because we are about five light-seconds out. I don’t want to use this link any more than necessary. Unless there’s something pressing, we won’t make contact more than once a day. Prepare a daily status report, compress it, and burst-transmit it. We’ll acknowledge and dump a status update to you the same way. Vary the transmission time an hour or two either way. We’ll leave that to your discretion, and we’ll monitor this channel at all times. I’ve got a download for you, with further details and orders.” He keyed the console in front of him, and Nova’s pad indicated an incoming data file. “Unless you have something that won’t wait until tomorrow, let’s break this link. Lima Charlie out.”

“Alpha Recon, acknowledged and out.” Nova disconnected from the link. She leaned back and stared at her pad.

“Captain Guzman?” Phillips queried.

“Yeah, I noticed that. Apparently, there have been some changes up there. Hopefully, this file they dumped to us will have an explanation.”

* * *

LFS Lewis and Clark

“May I have a word with you, Commander? In private?” Lorna looked serious.

Now what? O’Hara wondered. He and Dormeyer had just come onto the bridge for change of watch. Greenwood was going off-duty, and the captain had already left.

“Okay, briefing room,” he said. “Mr. Dormeyer, you have the bridge.”

“Aye, sir, I have the bridge.” The DSO got up and took the command chair.

O’Hara followed Lorna through the hatch into the briefing room. “What’s on your mind, Lieutenant?”

“Sir, I’m concerned because I’m not getting any feedback on my performance. I have very little experience in Nav/Tac, and suddenly, I’m the NTO of a light cruiser. I got promoted without a formal review, and I have no experience running a ship’s department. I thought you might be able to offer some guidance, criticism if necessary, but since the battle, you’ve hardly spoken to me.”

“Lieutenant, we’ve all been busy putting the ship back together, and we’re short on officers. The reason you haven’t heard from me is that I have no criticism. You’re doing a fine job, and I need you to keep doing it.”

As he said it, O’Hara didn’t like the way the words came out—cold, with a hint of annoyance. You can’t tell her the real reason you’ve been avoiding her. You can’t say you find her presence too distracting. That she was doing a good job only made the situation worse. Lorna Greenwood was an attractive, intelligent woman, and she was everything a junior officer should be—competent, properly respectful of her superiors, and a model of leadership for her subordinates. Everyone on the ship, except Commander Carter, liked and respected her, but for John O’Hara, it had gone far beyond like and respect, and he absolutely could not let it get out of hand.

“Look, Lorna,” he said, hesitating to even say her name, “you’re a promising young officer with a great career ahead of you, and for that reason, you would be well advised to stay clear of me right now. If and when we get home, there’s going to be a major shit storm over the way I relieved Carter. There will be an inquiry, and Guzman and I could end up facing a court martial. You’re not involved right now, but it’s no secret Carter doesn’t like you. I don’t know why, but he doesn’t. I don’t want to give him an excuse to drag you into this. You’re doing a good job as NTO. I’ll jump in if I see any problems, but…”

Lorna sat in silence. Oh, please, he thought, don’t look at me like that, with those beautiful blue eyes.

“I see,” she said at last. “In other words, I should suck it up and get with the program.” She favored him with a smile that almost broke his heart. “Sorry for being such a crybaby, and thanks for telling me. I hadn’t considered that side of it.”

“I’m sorry, too,” he said, though she had no way of knowing what he really meant. “Anything else, Lieutenant?”

“No, sir. Thank you, sir.” She got up, saluted, and left the compartment.

* * *

Planet Tatanna, House Corsa, Province of North Coast

“It was an interesting journey,” Ersin T’Corsa said with a smile as he dropped the heavy canvas sack on Asral’s desk. “Shall I tell you about it?”

Duke North Coast regarded the sack with suspicious disgust. Just like Ersin; much drama, but he knows I have to let him play with me. If he’s this playful, it means he’s got valuable information. “I await your story with interest, brother,” he replied. He sat back in his chair and ignored the sack.

Ersin made a great show of filling a glass with wine from the decanter on the side table before settling into a comfortable chair that faced the duke’s desk.

“To begin with,” he said at last, “there’s no doubt it was Bug lightning. There’s a great hole in the middle of the forest, with fallen trees facing outward around a burned-out circle that is perhaps five hundred staff-lengths out from the center. The fire spread far beyond the circle, but the woodlands were wet with rain, and the fire died within a day. It was in the forest well south of the mine, over a high ridge. There was no damage to the mine or the village.

“There’s nothing out there but wilderness, which made me wonder why the Bugs would strike such a place. The villagers had no answer, but they did give me one bit of information. On the evening before the strike, there was a great commotion at the mine, near the south end where the Bugs have their castle or whatever that structure might be. They say there was a lot of noise, flashes of light, and a great deal of smoke. Just before sunrise, the Bug lightning struck.”

The duke nodded slowly. Unknown to Ersin, he had gotten a terse answer from the Bugs in response to his query. It was beginning to make sense. “Continue.”

“The locals could not provide more details than that.” Ersin’s lip curled in contempt. “I suspect they were too busy cowering in their beds and praying to the Goddess for delivery from Bug wrath. People think miners are brave because they work with the Bugs, but they are just a bunch of groveling peasants who work because the Bugs will kill them if they don’t. Questioning them was useless, so I went to see the site of the lightning strike myself, and that’s where I found that.” He waved a hand at the sack on the desk.

Asral looked at it with a sour expression but made no move to touch it. “Enough of this little game, Ersin. What is it?”

“Go ahead and open it,” Ersin said, with an evil grin, “or do you think I’ve brought you a bag of yellowtails that are waiting to snap at you when you reach inside? Don’t worry. I’m told their venom is quick and painless.”

He got up from his chair, retrieved the bag, and emptied its contents—a single object the size of a man’s head. It dropped onto the desk pad with a solid thump.

Asral looked at the object with interest. It was some sort of construct, and it appeared to have been burned and twisted by the Bug lightning. Its underlying structure appeared to be metal, assembled in a very complicated manner, and wrapped around with a reddish-gold, gleaming wire.

“Is that copper?” he asked.

“Yes, it is, brother. You can see it clearly on the other side where it has come loose. The very fact that I brought it to you should be proof of my loyalty.”

“Hmmph!” The duke snorted. If the wire was copper, the object would be worth a small fortune, but Ersin was well cared-for, enough to satisfy even his prodigious appetites. Besides, the power and excitement that come with the commissions I give him have always meant more to him than money.

“If you value it so highly, you can keep it,” he said, “provided you can answer me one question. What in the names of the Seven Hells is it? Who made this thing, and what is its purpose?”

“Much as I would like to have it, I can’t answer that question.” Ersin looked chagrined. “I don’t see how it could be made. It’s too perfect. Every part is so precisely shaped. Even the copper wire is wound in a perfectly even pattern, not a strand out of place. This looks more like something the Bugs might make. Could someone have stolen this object from the Bugs? Did the Bug lightning strike the thief as he was attempting to escape?”

“Hmmm…you may have a worthy thought. It would track with—” Suddenly Asral stopped talking. He didn’t want to share any more information with Ersin than necessary. Based on what the Bugs had told him, though, his half-brother’s theory was interesting. “We will not solve this mystery today. You’ll dine with me tonight, and we’ll discuss it over dinner.”

He got up from his desk and escorted his brother out of the office. The two of them headed down the hallway to the dining room.

On the desk behind them, the remains of the servomotor armature that once powered the assault lander’s cargo hatch lay shrouded in mystery. It was the largest piece of the craft that had survived the kinetic strike, and neither Duke T’Corsa nor his brother had any idea what they had found.

* * *

“There is one other item of some interest,” Ersin said after the remains of a fine dinner had been cleared away.

“Is there now?” The duke played the game with patience. Of course there is. You always hold something back, then give it to me as an afterthought. It’s maddening, but your little tidbits are usually worth waiting for.

“After I saw the destruction and found that artifact, I returned to Cold Creek. It was late in the day, so I decided to stay the night at the inn. To make good use of my time and your generous stipend, my lord brother, I spent the evening in the common room, enjoying some excellent wine and listening to the local gossip. As you might imagine, most of it had to do with recent events, but the locals had little knowledge of what actually happened, so they mostly proposed unlikely theories and argued about them. I had almost decided to retire for the night when a local fur trapper came in. He was well known, and they greeted him cordially. It turns out he had a tale to tell, one that caught my interest immediately.”

Asral gritted his teeth as Ersin paused and refilled his wine goblet. “A tale I am sure you will tell me sometime before the next turning of the seasons.” He glared darkly at Ersin.

“Patience, brother.” Ersin’s grin showed he was enjoying himself. He got up and walked over to the west wall of the dining room, on which was displayed a floor-to-ceiling map of North Coast Province. “The fellow claimed to have been camped somewhere around here.” He indicated a spot on the map to the east of Cold Creek. “He was a bit vague—these trappers try to keep their trap runs secret lest some other trapper invade their territory—but this was the general area. He said he was awakened in the middle of the night—the night after the Bug lightning—by a loud noise. He said it was like a thunderclap, except it was just one sound. It didn’t rumble on like thunder, nor was it repeated.

“He did not go investigate. This time of year, the woods are full of targons looking for meat to feed their newborn young. They hunt at night, and the only thing they fear is fire. You can camp in the woods at night, as long as you keep your fire built, but only a fool would wander away from that fire before sunrise.”

“So, he heard a strange noise in the night but did not investigate. Why should this capture my interest?”

“Ah, but he did investigate. He waited until morning, then went down to check his traps. There, he discovered a party of people had crossed his trail during the night, moving east.”

“A party?”

“These trappers can read the woods pretty well. He said it was a party of at least three or four people, maybe more. He said they moved carefully, leaving no more trail than necessary, but he marked their passage. He decided to follow them. I think he suspected poachers had come to take over his trap runs. He was also curious to know what sort of fools would be moving through those woods at night. He hadn’t followed their trail very far when he came upon a fresh-killed targon.”

“Killed? Not just dead, but killed?” Asral was skeptical. The targon was the apex predator of the region. Hunters might pursue them at great peril during the daytime, but not even a large hunting party would dare take one on at night.

“Oh, no question about that, brother. He said it had a great bloody hole in the middle of its chest, and its innards had been shredded and splattered about.”

“Perhaps some animal, maybe another targon…”

Ersin regarded him with a look of disdain. “I know you seldom venture into the wilds anymore, but you should know better. Targons may fight and tear each other up, but they rarely fight to the death. What’s more, the trapper claimed this one had no other scars on it—just that one huge hole. He said it looked like it had been stopped cold in the middle of a charge. If any other animals had gone after it, even a pack of stennars, the place would have looked like a battlefield, and a few of the attackers would be dead out there as well. Nothing attacks a targon. If one dies a natural death, the scavengers are afraid to go near it until it begins to stink.”

“So, what killed it?”

“I have no idea. Our fearless trapper decided that following those unknown people was probably not a good idea. He gathered the furs he had taken and headed back to Cold Creek.”

Asral got up and joined his brother at the map. He studied it for a long time. “I need you to go to Sbora’s Grove, and maybe further than that. I think you should be prepared for a lengthy journey.”

“What exactly am I looking for?” Ersin asked.

“People from another world,” Asral said with a grim smile.

* * *

Later that evening, Duke North Coast sat down in his private study and composed a message to the Bugs. He was beginning to understand their message. They’d found these not of this world people trespassing at the mine, which the Bugs considered their private preserve, regardless of its location in the middle of T’Corsa’s lands. They’d tried to kill the trespassers with their lightning, but somehow, perhaps because the trespassers were even more powerful than the Bugs, they had gotten away. Now, thanks to his half-brother’s careful investigation and a bit of luck in encountering the trapper, T’Corsa had a clue where they had gone. He’d dispatched Ersin in the hope of finding them before the Bugs did. He would decide what to do with them after that.

He still had to address the real issue: the Bugs thought he was in collusion with these other-worldly people. They were not certain, else they would have sent one of their lightning bolts to kill him rather than a warning message. They no longer trusted him, and he had to do something about that. He wished he could simply blame it on the king, but the Bugs would reject that out of hand. There was, however, one person he could use to deflect attention from him.

He would tell the Bugs he had investigated the matter, had sent his best trackers into the wilderness around the mine. He would tell them the intruders had come secretly onto his lands from the west and had gone back the way they had come. It was only a short distance that way from Cold Creek to the border between North Coast and the High Reaches.

He had no regrets. Ronor T’Corval might have been a useful ally, but he was volatile and dangerous. He would be more useful as a scapegoat.

Reluctantly, he decided to send the strange artifact Ersin had found to the Bugs. Its precious-metal value was nothing compared to its political value if it helped him convince the Bugs of his sincerity.

* * * * *

Chapter Fifteen

5 May 2104, LFS Lewis and Clark, Sacagawea System

Always when I’m in the shower, Lorna thought as she headed for the bridge in response to the call to battle stations. Murphy’s Law, I guess, but at least this time, I was mostly dried off. She went through the hatch onto the bridge and was surprised to find O’Hara in the command chair. Ivanova saw her coming and moved over to the second position from the Nav/Tac console.

“What’s up?” Lorna slid into the primary chair and began scanning the console.

“Big Mama’s on the move,” Ivanova said, “with two escorts. I’ve got it on screen one.”

Lorna glanced at the big screen as she finished her systems check. “Nav/Tac manned and ready,” she advised O’Hara.

When the Bug reinforcements made their way into the inner system, Lewis and Clark had watched quietly from a distance, gathering what intelligence she could with passive systems. There had been 11 ships, including three that were larger than Elsie, equivalent to LFS heavy cruisers, and one that was huge, more than twice the size of an LFS battlecruiser. At first glance, it looked like a freighter, but Lorna had doubts. Based on the hyper signature, the beast had made a warship-level translation. As it came in-system, it showed itself capable of 140 gravities acceleration, more than they’d seen from any Bug freighter to date. The safe bet was to assume it was a warship, but they had no clue about its capabilities. Ivanova had coined the name Big Mama, and no one had objected.

After days of no activity, Big Mama had left orbit, escorted by two of the cruiser-sized warships. The Bug ships were not moving in Elsie’s direction, but the unexpected activity had prompted O’Hara to declare Condition Red. Guzman came onto the bridge, and O’Hara got up to let him take the command chair.

“You have the bridge, Captain,” he said. “Nothing new since I first called you. Tracking on the big screen.”

“I have the bridge,” Guzman acknowledged. O’Hara left the bridge and headed for AuxCon. Guzman examined the green icons on his console. “Hmph, looks like everybody got here faster than I did. Have to set a better example next time. Lieutenant Greenwood!”

“Yes, sir?”

“Are we sure those three are the only Bugs moving?”

“Yes, sir.” Lorna glanced at him over her shoulder. “North Pole says the rest of them are still parked next to the orbital facility.”

In addition to the recon probe in synchronous orbit for communication with the Marines, Elsie had placed another one 200,000 kilometers above the planet’s pole to make sure they could see the Bug station regardless of which side of the planet it was on. It also served as a relay, so they could talk to the Marines when the synchronous bird was behind the planet.

“If they continue their present course,” she continued, “closest approach will be seven hundred fifty thousand klicks. No chance they will detect us at that range as long as we don’t—”

“Oh, hell no,” Ivanova muttered beside her. “Ma’am! Screen One!”

Lorna examined the big screen, and her eyes went wide. Where there had been three ships, there were now many more. Big Mama and the cruisers still dominated the display, but they were surrounded by a dozen smaller ships. As Lorna watched, a dozen more appeared. She turned to her console to check the data. “Sir…”

“I see it, Lieutenant. Analysis?”

“The larger ships have shut down their drives. The smaller ones are lighting up as they clear the formation—must be using thrusters initially. We can’t see them until they bring up their drive fields. I guess that tells us what Big Mama really is.”

“Yeah,” Guzman said. “It’s a carrier. What can you tell me about the smaller ships?”

“They’re very small, sir, a kiloton or less. If we assume they’re warcraft, they have to be sublight. They don’t have enough mass for a hyper-capable reactor and drive system, at least not if they’re packing much in the way of weapons. I think they’re intra-system patrol or attack craft.”

* * *

Damn it! Guzman watched as even more of the smaller craft appeared on the display. There were over fifty of them. If those things have any range, they now have enough ships to interdict a big sphere around the planet—a couple of light minutes at least. He had no doubt Lewis and Clark could make chopped meat of one or even several of the small craft, but it wouldn’t matter. Once they were discovered, the larger Bug ships would come out to pursue.

“We need to slip quietly away from here before they get too close. Ms. Greenwood, plot a course directly away from them and make us as near invisible as you can. Mr. Dormeyer, get a message to the Marines. Tell them we are forced to strategically withdraw and will be out of communication for a while. They’re on their own, again.”

* * *

Planet Tatanna, Valley of the Little Kilder River

“Rise and shine, people.” Staff Sergeant Jesus Martinez sounded insufferably cheerful as he walked through the sleeping area and thumped each of the small tents with the short staff he had carved from a native tree branch. “It’s another beautiful day in the Corps. Bouchard! You’ve got the north perimeter this morning. Need you online in fifteen minutes.”

“Gotta go.” Moira Bouchard gave Ramis a quick kiss, slid out of the sleeping bag, and began putting on her gear. Ramis smiled as he watched her perform the task with the ease of long practice in the confined space.

“Yes,” he said with a sigh, “Moy-Ra must go and become Mu-Rah once again. It is a bit frightening, and yet it is also the thing that makes you desirable.”

Wow! He’s got it bad, Bouchard thought. Be honest, Moira, you’ve got it just as bad for him. Gonna be damned hard on both of us when I have to leave this planet.

“LISTEN UP!!!” Martinez’s parade-ground voice interrupted her thoughts. “Everybody out here on the double! LT wants to talk to you.”

Bouchard grabbed her rifle and the rest of her gear and moved out smartly. As expected, she found Lieutenant Sakura standing with Martinez in the middle of the area.

Sakura glanced at her with a knowing smirk. “Tell Ramis to come out as well. What I have to say is for everybody.”

Bouchard reddened but turned back into the tent and whispered the directive to Ramis, who quickly began to dress. A moment later, he joined the Marines gathered around Sakura.

“Bad news from above,” she said. “The Bugs have more ships, lots more. In fact, they have enough to begin serious recon patrols. That’s forcing Elsie to leave the neighborhood, so we may not hear from our people for a long time. We also need to consider that the Bugs have more resources to look for us now. There are lots of people on this planet, and unless we use technology that can be detected from far away, they have no way of distinguishing us from the locals. The bad news is that the Bugs don’t need to be sure they’ve found us. All they have to do is suspect we’re the ones they’re looking for, and they might dump a kinetic on our heads—that’s Bug lightning to you local people.”

Ramis glanced at Arrimas and Marlot, who were standing next to Mark Phillips and listening as he translated Sakura’s words. Arrimas nodded grimly, but Marlot looked pale.

“For the moment, we are going to stay where we are because we are more likely to attract Bug attention if we move. We’re also going to stop using any sort of technology that might be traced. I’m not going to try to contact the ship; we’ll wait for them to contact us.

“So, that’s the story people,” Sakura finished. “Get comfortable because we are going to be here for a while. Bad news for some, maybe not so bad for others.” She looked directly at Bouchard and Ramis who were standing together. “T’Anna marsin tei,” she said.

Ramis bowed in her direction. As the Goddess wills it. Lieutenant Sakura was learning how to speak the language. For that matter, so was Moy-ra, to his delight, though few of the other Marines seemed interested in learning more than the few words necessary for basic communication.

Bouchard smiled at him, which was all he needed to make it a perfect morning.

* * *

LFS Lewis and Clark

“How the hell did they get out-system from us?” Guzman demanded.

Lorna chose not to answer the question, but she glanced at the captain.

“Never mind.” Guzman shook his head. “You told me this might happen, and I chose to ignore the advice. Sorry, Lieutenant, once again, you were right.”

“Sir, I didn’t predict this. I suggested we shadow Big Mama until she returned to the planet, but we had no way of knowing she would deploy additional craft this far out.”

“Yeah, but you were still right. If we had maintained contact, we would have seen it. Now, we’re boxed in, and there’s not much we can do about it.”

Damn it, Mateo, he fumed, it’s bad enough that you have the greenest officer on the ship giving you lessons in strategy and tactics, but now, she’s making excuses for your screw-ups. I wish I was back in engineering. There’s a hell of a difference between theory of command and actual practice. You’re in the hot seat now. Act like a captain! He took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. “Okay, Lieutenant, I’ll listen better this time. What do you recommend?”

“They’re going to spot us within the next few minutes, sir. Based on the way they’re deploying, they may already have a hint we’re here, and they are just trying to localize us. I think our best option is to make an all-up run for the hyper limit.”

“What good will that do? We can’t jump to hyper.”

“Understood, sir, but they don’t know that. If we make it looks like we’re going out-system, they may not pursue.”

“There’s three of the little bastards out there we won’t be able to outrun.”

“No, sir, we won’t. If they pursue, we may have to engage them. That’s okay if they don’t have anything bigger in the neighborhood, but they’re going to call for reinforcements as soon as they spot us. The best we can hope for is to convince them we’ll be long gone before those reinforcements get here. Unfortunately, there’s another problem.”

“And that problem is?” He hated it when Greenwood dropped her bombshells, because she was usually right. If she said there was a problem, it usually meant she had thought it through and was just looking for a way to explain it in terms a dumb-ass engineer could understand.

“I suggested we run for the hyper limit, but if we run directly away from them and take the shortest route out-system, we’ll be heading in the direction of Bug Alley—the point where all the Bug ships arrive in system. If they’ve got more reinforcements coming, we could end up really boxed in. Our best option is a heading of one seven zero, down thirty. It’ll be a short intercept for one of the Bugs, but the other two will have a harder time catching us. It also means a longer trip to the limit, but it’s not likely we’ll have a Bug fleet dropping out of hyper in front of us, and—”

“Sir! Ma’am!” Ivanova interrupted. “I think they’ve got us. All three have altered course to intercept.”

A glance at the displays told Lorna she was right. She gave Guzman a questioning look. “Orders, sir?”

“Do it!” he said. “Helm, take your course from tactical. Go to full military power.”

* * *

“They learn fast,” Guzman said.

“Yes, sir, they do,” Lorna said.

The three Bug attack craft had come after Lewis and Clark without hesitation, and their acceleration was impressive. There was no way the LFS cruiser could outrun them. The first one came into range and launched two missiles. Apparently, that was a full salvo for the small craft. Lorna had plenty of experience with Bug missiles, and Elsie’s point defense dealt with them easily.

The three Bug ships continued to close, but Guzman chose not to return fire, until the first one crossed into graser range almost directly abeam of the LFS cruiser. One full broadside converted the attacker into a cloud of expanding gas and debris. The remaining two Bugs continued to close. The nearest one came almost into range of Elsie’s grasers, then slowed just enough to maintain pursuit without coming closer. It launched two missiles, and Elsie replied with four. Again, Lorna stopped the two Bug missiles with ease, but the Bugs only managed to stop one of hers. The remaining three made short work of the small attack craft. That left only one Bug in pursuit, but it chose to shadow them just outside missile range. Guzman reversed course and tried to bring it into engagement, but the Bug easily matched the maneuver and remained out of reach. Elsie turned again and headed out-system.

“No doubt, they’re telling their buddies where to find us.” Guzman wore a sour look. “I don’t see any reason for us to change the plan, though.”

“No, sir, neither do I,” Lorna said. “Nothing that started from zero at the planet will be able to catch us, and hopefully, this one will eventually give up the chase.”

“We can hope so,” Guzman snorted, “but as long as he’s out there, and we know he can close the range if he wants to, we’ll stay alert. Reduce to Condition Yellow, and let’s get relief crews circulating so everyone can take periodic breaks.”

* * *

An hour later, Lorna took a break. A relief tech had come to the bridge, but she’d elected to let Ivanova take the first break. Lorna headed for the crew’s mess. She’d been scheduled to go there and didn’t see the current situation as an excuse to skip the duty. As she came off the serving line, an enlisted rating waved to her from one of the tables. She recognized several crew members at the table, along with a couple of engineering non-coms. They made room for her, and as soon as she sat down, one of them started in.

“I heard we really kicked the Bugs’ asses this time, Lieutenant,” Tech 1/C Napolitano said, with a grin.

“Yes, we did,” she said, “but I’m sure you also heard we’ve got one pesky Bug following us, and it won’t come close enough for us to swat it. That’s why we’re still at Yellow, and I’m here looking for breakfast at eleven thirty hours when the mess crew is trying to get lunch ready.”

“We’re trying to get an early lunch, so we can go back and relieve people in our sections.” CPO Thrace grinned cheerfully. “Damned Bugs have no consideration for our schedule.”

Lorna had convinced the mess cooks to give her some breakfast, and she was just about to dig into her scrambled eggs, when her data pad chimed. She pulled it out and looked at the brief message: Need you on the bridge ASAP—Guzman.

“Gotta go,” she told the troops as she got back up. “Captain’s calling.”

“If you’re not gonna eat those eggs…” Napolitano reached for her tray before she stepped back from the table.

* * *

Two minutes later, Lorna was at her station on the bridge, looking at the situation that had prompted Guzman to call her back.

“Good catch,” she told Ivanova.

“Good catch, but bad news,” Ivanova muttered.

“Sir,” Lorna told Guzman, “she’s right. That was a hyper signature. A bit soft for warships, but I don’t think they’re freighters. At least six large ships, maybe two smaller ones, all dead on for a Bug Alley approach. Good thing we didn’t go that way.”

“Maybe, but I’m betting it won’t be long before they’re headed this way.” Guzman looked unhappy. “Do you think otherwise?”

“No, sir, I’m sure you’re right. They approached softly, so they wouldn’t have much incoming vector to kill. They’re probably sitting out there, waiting for word from in-system as to the situation. With our shadow out there, they should know in about two hours where we are and which way we’re going. Now that we know where to look, we should be able to pick them up when they light up their drives.”

* * *

Gravity drive signatures and hyper events propagate instantly in normal space, so Elsie would know as soon as the Bugs started moving, but nearly four hours went by with no sign of activity from the new arrivals. Ordinary communications propagate at light-speed, and Lorna assumed the Bugs on the planet hadn’t reacted until they got word that the newcomers were in-system. Maybe they can’t detect gravity events as far away as we can, she speculated.

It was nothing more than simple Bug paranoia at work. Faced with a hostile presence in the system, the Bugs at the orbital facility hadn’t wanted to communicate with the reinforcements until they could confirm their identity. With typical Bug efficiency, they did that as quickly as the laws of physics permitted. The information was transmitted, orders were issued, and the new arrivals began to move.

“They’re moving, sir,” Lorna said, “or some of them are. No, they’re all moving, but it looks as if they’re splitting up. Can’t give an exact vector at this range, but one group—looks like four ships—appears to be heading for us. The others appear to be heading out-system.” Suddenly, Lorna knew what they were going to do, but she couldn’t be certain.

“Lieutenant?”

“Sir, I think we’ll know in a minute. Wait! There it is!”

“There what is?” Guzman demanded.

“Sir, half of them are heading for us, and the other half just hypered out! We need to make a radical course change now!”

“What?” Guzman looked confused.

“Sir, they’re going for a fast trip in hyper, around the system just outside the limit. In less than an hour, they could drop back in directly in front of us. They’re trying to cut us off!”

“Damn it!” Guzman swore. He sat back, thinking through the options. “The group in hyper is out of touch; they won’t know what we’re doing, and they can’t get word from anyone. If we maneuver now, we can throw them off. Okay, I’ve got the picture. What course do you recommend?”

“Sir, our shadow is pushing his luck. He’s barely out of missile range. Why don’t we go full reverse, take him by surprise, and send a couple of missiles his way? Then we can take a ninety-degree vector in any direction and play it from there.”

“That sounds like a plan, Lieutenant, but I’ve got one refinement.” Guzman’s grin was wicked. “If we can bring him in range, I’ll make that ninety-degree turn before we launch so we can throw a full broadside at him.”

* * *

Maybe I can get something to eat today after all. Once again, Lorna entered the crew’s mess. It was dinner time, and Guzman had reduced the alert level to Blue, allowing most of Elsie’s complement to stand down from stations.

The plan had worked. The Bug attack ship had been slow to respond to Elsie’s sudden reversal, and it had come well within missile range. Guzman’s eight-missile salvo wiped it out of existence, cutting off the Bugs’ primary source of information as to their whereabouts. Lorna had proposed a conservative, she hoped, twenty-minute window of time before the Bugs dropped out of hyper, and Guzman had ordered full power on a new vector for that time. He had reduced to minimum power and altered vector again, in case their first course change had been detected by the more distant Bugs, and ordered full stealth, scatter fields, and no active emissions. The hunters had dropped out of hyper less than three minutes after Elsie went quiet, and, from their hesitant maneuvers, it was obvious the Bugs hadn’t a clue where Lewis and Clark had gone. By the time they reached her last known position, she would be far away. They would undoubtedly start a search, but they had a lot of space to cover. For the moment, the LFS cruiser was safe.

It had been a long alert, and most of the crew members in the mess were looking for a quick meal, followed by some rack time. The crowd was quieter than usual, and no one paid any attention as Lorna came off the line. She spotted an unoccupied table for two against the bulkhead and sat down to eat. The food was good, but within a few minutes, her mood darkened. They had gotten away this time, but they were still being hunted in a star system over fifty light-years from home, with no way to get out. She was also worried about Nova. She had known the Marine since her first day at the Academy, and they had become close friends. Her friend was stuck on a Bug-controlled planet with no prospects for retrieval.

“Pardon the expression, Lieutenant, but you look like you’ve been through a war.”

Lorna looked up and found Chief Thrace standing over her, dinner tray in hand.

“I can understand your being tired, like most of us,” the NCO continued, “but last I heard, we were winning. Why the gloom-and-doom look?”

“Have a seat, Chief.” Lorna managed a wry smile. “Just what I need right now—sage advice from a senior non-com.”

“I don’t know about sage advice, but I’m a good listener. What’s on your mind?”

“Just thinking about some people—Nova Sakura, Mark Phillips, the Marines, your prodigal Jennings—stuck on the planet. Even if we kick the Bugs’ asses from here to the hyper limit—which is a lot to ask of Elsie—we still don’t have any way to get them home. Bugs may be looking for them, they may be running out of supplies, and we don’t have a way to talk to them. Even if we could hyper out, it would be a couple of months before we could get back to Luna, organize a rescue party, and get back here.”

“Of course, this is all your fault,” Thrace said, perfectly deadpan.

Lorna looked up sharply. “Maybe not entirely, but it sure feels that way.”

The older woman shook her head and sighed. “I would have expected nothing less of you, young lady,” she said. “It seems to be in your nature to take the weight of the world on your shoulders. News flash, you are not in command. The responsibility for the admittedly screwed-up situation belongs to others, people above your pay grade. Elsie has a bunch of other officers, and if I’m not mistaken, most of them are senior to you.”

“Actually,” Lorna admitted, “until Nova gets back, all of them are senior to me. I’m the most junior officer aboard.”

“Which makes you the least responsible. From what I’ve been hearing, you’ve done more than your share to unscrew the aforementioned screw-up. I know it’s easy for me to say and hard for you to do, but you need to take a load off, quit blaming yourself, and go get some rest. I’ve got the feeling we’re not done playing games with the Bugs, and we are going to need you at your best to make sure we keep winning.”

“Right. I should quit feeling sorry for myself,” Lorna said, with a genuine smile. She got up and collected her tray. “Thanks, Chief, I needed that.” She reached out and gave the non-com a brief squeeze on the shoulder.

“Don’t do that, Lieutenant.” Thrace winced. “I’m going to have wet dreams about you all night.”

* * *

Officially, Marcus Carter was not confined to quarters. Guzman was walking a fine line, trying not to give any more weight to Carter’s charge of mutiny than he had to. There would be an inquiry, if they ever got home, and Guzman had already put his neck on the block by not restoring Carter to duty and to the captain’s chair. Instead, he’d logged Carter as “relieved of duty for medical reasons,” with a note that the former exec would remain in that status “until a medical evaluation of his condition can be conducted.” Since no one aboard Lewis and Clark was qualified to conduct that evaluation, it would have to wait until the mission was complete.

Guzman had posted a public notice to that effect and directed his officers to call it to everyone’s attention. He’d issued orders denying Carter access to the bridge, AuxCon, and any of the ship’s engineering spaces. He’d also locked Carter out of the ship’s data systems, except for those areas available to all for general communication, leisure, and recreation. He’d advised the crew they were not to take orders from Carter but were expected to extend him the courtesies due his rank.

With that, Carter’s daily activities were limited, and he soon settled into a routine. Each morning he would get up, log into the ship’s system, and send another protest of his treatment to Guzman. He’d gotten tired of composing long rants about mutiny and conspiracy. His morning missives were now reduced to a few short sentences repeated daily.

Having registered his protest, Carter would leave his cabin, but Guzman’s orders limited him to the wardroom, sickbay, the crew’s mess, and general recreation areas like the gym. Convinced the crew were laughing at him behind his back, he never went to the crew’s mess or recreation areas. He took his meals in the wardroom but made a point of arriving at the end of each meal period, when few officers would be present. He avoided Guzman, O’Hara, and the ship’s three female officers—Adams, Murphy, and Greenwood. In his mind, those five were the primary conspirators against him. He also avoided Cynthia Warren. He didn’t have to work very hard to avoid them, since no one aboard wanted to have anything to do with him.

Mid-morning, he invariably went to sickbay, complaining of various ailments and demanding Lieutenant Dupree certify him fit for duty. Each time, Dupree listened to his complaints but politely refused the demand. After that, Carter returned to his quarters and worked on his personal log, in which he described the lurid details of the conspiracy against him. At one point, it occurred to him that when he was restored to his rightful position, he might well turn his log into a best-selling novel.

Each evening after dinner, he remained in the wardroom and started drinking. The wardroom stewards had not been cautioned about alcohol consumption, because officers were expected to be responsible for their own actions. They served Carter as much as he wanted, sometimes beyond the point where he was capable of navigating back to his cabin. He spent several nights asleep in a wardroom armchair before Lieutenant McGee, the chief of the mess, brought the issue to the attention of Lieutenant Murphy, who bucked it up to Guzman. After that, the stewards were instructed not to serve Carter if he appeared intoxicated and to assist him back to his cabin if necessary. Carter made a show of complying with the directive, but even before being relieved of duty, he had suborned one of the stewards. He could drink until it was noticeable, then return to his cabin with a full flask of his favorite spirits—Jamaican rum—in his pocket.

When sober, and sometimes when not so sober, Carter spent a lot of time browsing the ship’s library, reading everything he could find on military law and mutiny. There was nothing he could do now, but he vowed there would be a reckoning in the future.

* * *

Planet Tatanna, Valley of the Little Kilder River

“Arrimas, ter n’ectu dirama Sergeant Martinez. Ter norma asimal.”

“Ai, T’Sharra!” Arrimas replied with a short bow and the right-hand-to-chest gesture that was the Tatannan equivalent of a salute. He turned and headed down the path toward the center of the encampment.

“Something’s wrong,” Mark Phillips complained. “I’m supposed to be the expert, but you speak Tatannan better than I do.”

“It comes easily to me.” Nova shrugged. “I grew up learning English in school and speaking Japanese at home, and my parents made sure I spoke both languages correctly.”

“I grew up bilingual, too,” Phillips said. “My father taught me English, while everybody around me spoke Edie, but you still do it better than I do, and I think you’ve really turned Arrimas around. He just called you ‘my lord,’ which sounds a little strange, but they don’t seem to have an equivalent title like ‘my lady.’”

“Actually, they do.” Nova chuckled. “It translates to something like ‘lord’s first wife.’ Don’t think that would be appropriate in this case.”

“My point, exactly. You’re not only learning the language but the social customs behind it.”

“Language reflects culture.” She shrugged. “That’s why I’ve always liked language studies. Took Spanish in high school and liked it so well, I kept up with it.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard a couple of your exchanges with Martinez. I was beginning to wonder how many languages you speak.”

“Just four, if you count Tatannan, which despite your comments, I am still learning. It’s a complex language, with some interesting sentence constructs. As for Martinez, he’s a first-generation Moonie like me. His folks were migrant farm workers in California—came to Luna in 2084 when the big agridomes were being built above East TerraNova. He learned English in school, spoke Spanish at home, unlike Private Garcia, who, despite his Hispanic surname, is the descendant of original Lunar citizens and doesn’t speak a word of anything other than English.”

“Mark of a good leader. You know your troops well.”

“I’ve had time to get to know them…too much time.” Nova’s expression darkened. “I don’t like the idea of staying here and doing nothing. It’s not good for the troops. Too much idle time, they develop a camp mentality, lose some of the combat edge, and start getting into trouble.

“I’ve got two Marines sharing a sleeping bag and another who’s screwing one of the local boys. Bouchard’s within regulations, and she’s probably doing a good thing as far as our relations with the natives are concerned—no pun intended—but if we were back on the ship, I would have to transfer Davis or Jamison to another squad.

“If we were back on Luna, I’d have to boot one of them off the ship. Can’t have that stuff going on in a platoon-sized unit. Out here, I don’t have anywhere to send them, and I don’t want to make an issue of it because unit morale is really important when a team is cut off the way we are.

“We need some action,” she said, with a sigh. “Something to remind these people they are Lunar Marines on a planet with a hostile alien presence.”

“Whoa!” Phillips looked at her with alarm. “Lady, you really need to be careful what you wish for.”

* * * * *

Chapter Sixteen

Planet Tatanna, House Corsa, Province of North Coast, Early Autumn, Year of the Goddess 1802

“I must say, my brother, you have a gift for choosing the most interesting quests on which to send me. Of course, I always strive to complete them for you in a satisfactory manner, and I believe I have done so once again.”

Asral T’Corsa heaved a sigh and wondered how many pages of self-serving preamble he needed to push through before Ersin would tell him what he had accomplished in such a ‘satisfactory manner.’ The lengthy message—Duke North Coast was certain his half-brother was a compulsive story-teller—had arrived an hour ago in the hands of one of Ersin’s trusted minions. Story-teller or not, Asral had to admit the reports were usually worth reading. He refilled his wine glass and turned his attention to the document.

“Your instincts were good regarding Sbora’s Grove. The innkeeper admitted to seeing strangers—three in number—who were not the usual travelers who pass through his village. He was vague about what made them unusual, saying only that their appearance was strange. Only one of them spoke, and that one’s speech didn’t have an accent he recognized. He said they bought provisions for several days and were interested in making their way to Sand Cove. He told them Sand Cove had been destroyed by the Bugs, but they still wanted directions to the place. For what purpose, they didn’t say. They did not stay the night and were last seen heading north in the dark and on foot. They seemed to have no pack animals, nor did they buy any provisions for such.

“I do not trust this fellow. He spent years in the king’s service and reportedly built his inn with the proceeds of a generous Crown pension. Fortunately, one of his serving maids is well known to me. I’ve been generous with her—in more ways than coin—and she never fails to tell me if anything of interest happens in the area. She confirmed much of what the innkeeper told me. She did not speak with the three travelers, but she said they were strange looking. She also confirmed they left in the middle of the night, but she could not say which direction they went.

“I struck up a conversation with some traders who had come down from the north. They passed the ruins of Sand Cove but saw no one there, nor did they pass anyone on the road along the way. Given my distrust of the innkeeper, I concluded these strangers had gone south, rather than north, most likely heading for Boroson. The rest of the story I could accept. The innkeeper is clever enough to know if you tell mostly the truth, a few lies may go unnoticed. Unfortunately for him, that only works with someone less clever than me.

“Being possessed of fast kildren and loving a good ride, I immediately set out to the south with my two trusty men. I had no idea how I might find your ‘not of this world’ strangers in Algar’s teeming cesspool of a city, but I do have some contacts there, and I was determined to hunt them down. As it happened, my fortune was even better than expected, and I didn’t need to go that far. At a watering place just south of Talmar, well into Algar’s Crown lands, I encountered a fellow who spoke of a Crown convoy that had passed that way two days previous, heading north. That was strange, because we had seen no such convoy on the road south, nor had there been any mention of one in Talmar, but the fellow insisted: two covered wagons, escorted by a full hand of Crown guardsmen and a man who wore the livery of a knight of the realm. There were a couple of others as well, mounted and riding with the troopers, but the interesting part was that the fellow swore there were people in the wagons. He couldn’t say why he thought so—he couldn’t see or hear them—but he insisted. He was a bit addle-brained, just a beggar who accosts merchants at the watering hole, but his story rang true.

“If they did not go north to Talmar, there is only one place they could have gone—east up the forest road to a logging area in the Crown’s timber reserves. There is a trading post up that way along the Little Kilder. We set out along the road and saw signs of wagon traffic, but that meant nothing, as the timber-cutters use the road for their heavy log carts. We reached the trading post, and I began to question the people there. Unfortunately, it appears we stumbled into a nest of yellowtails. These people are mostly fanatic Crown loyalists, and they are suspicious of strangers, especially strangers who speak with the melodious accents of the North Coast. I do believe one of them may have recognized me, and the people of the Crown lands do not hold me in the high esteem with which I am held by your loyal subjects.”

At that, Duke T’Corsa almost choked on his wine. He was certain more than a few of his loyal subjects would cheerfully slip a blade between Ersin’s ribs were it not for the fact that their duke would have executed them and their families down to the last babe in arms. Ersin was hated and feared throughout North Coast, but none dared cross him. He was certainly not held in high esteem, but he was loyal to his half-brother. While Asral could fret over his methods, he had proven himself a valuable asset from time to time.

The duke shook his head and turned his attention back to the report.

“We stayed for a while, drinking some of the kilder piss that passes for wine in these parts and gaining absolutely no information from the locals. I noted, however, that the proprietor of the establishment gave a message to a young boy, who departed up the road in haste. I would have followed him, but he had a fast, fresh kilder and rode off as if Muh-Rah herself was in pursuit. In addition, a group of rather large loggers positioned themselves near the door of the place. If we had tried to follow the boy, they would probably have made their displeasure forcefully known. There were only five of them, and I believe the three of us could have taken them down, but not without a delay sufficient to make it impossible to catch the boy. Besides, twenty more loggers might have come out of the woods while we dealt with the first group, and we were a day’s ride from the boundaries of North Coast. So, we waited, and after a suitable time had passed, we departed. They made no move to stop us, and we rode away in haste, having no desire to spend the night camped in those wilds.

“We rode back to the main road, where we turned north. We reached Talmar well past nightfall. We are there now, at the miserable excuse for an inn, and I shall dispatch Kamal in the morning to carry this report to you. I believe I will travel back to Sbora’s Grove, hopefully to make the innkeeper’s life miserable for a few days, while I amuse myself with the serving maids.

“I believe my mission has been fulfilled. The people you seek may be in Algar’s city, but I doubt it. Everything I have seen, including the behavior of the loggers, makes me believe they are hiding in the forest near the trading post on the Little Kilder. It would appear they are under the king’s protection, and we cannot touch them. I’m sorry, brother, but as always, I have given you the truth as I see it, whether it pleases you or not. I shall return to you in a few days. If you need me sooner, send Kamal to Sbora’s Grove to fetch me.”

The duke sat back to think about what he had read. Ersin always gave him the truth whether he liked it or not. That was one of the reasons he valued his half-brother so high. Most of the sycophants around him made a career of telling him what he wanted to hear. In the past, that had ended badly for some, but he had never found reason to question what Ersin told him.

Ersin was right. If these other-worldly people were in the Crown lands, under the king’s protection, T’Corsa could not touch them. Still, this could work to his advantage.

He took up his pen and began to prepare a message to the Bugs.

* * *

Planet Tatanna, Valley of the Little Kilder River

“It’s been a couple of days, and nothing has happened,” Mark Phillips said.

“Means nothing,” Nova insisted. “We’re dealing with medieval communication methods. Nothing will happen until those three get wherever they’re going. I hope they didn’t get any information and will give up, but the road ends at the trading post. Nobody who comes this way is just passing through.”

Two days earlier, Sergeant Wilkos had been on the north perimeter post and had seen a boy from the trading post make a drop at the hidden cache by the side of the road. The Marines had gotten used to seeing the boy; he came to the cache every two days to check for messages to take back to the trading post. Kar Regas had set up the message drop when they arrived. The proprietor of the trading post would see to it any message left there would be conveyed to him and thence to the king. To date, the drop had only been used for the lengthy reports Ramis prepared and the occasional message Arrimas sent to Kar Regas. They had seen the Crown courier come up the road every ten days and return shortly thereafter. This was the method the shopkeeper used to send the messages to the King’s city, along with other commercial communications like orders for merchandise. The Crown couriers were the closest thing to a mail system in the king’s realm.

It was the first time they had seen the boy deliver a message, and he hadn’t returned to the trading post after dropping it. Instead, he’d headed down the road at a fast gallop and was soon out of sight. Sergeant Wilkos had retrieved the message and sent it back to camp for Ramis to read and translate. Shortly after that, Ramis and Arrimas had come to the north post and advised Wilkos they needed to watch the road—someone might be coming. Earlier in the day, Wilkos had seen three riders heading toward the trading post, but there had been nothing unusual about them.

Those three riders had come back down the road, moving quicker than before. Again, Wilkos saw nothing unusual, but Arrimas had muttered a few choice comments to himself. Wilkos hadn’t learned much of the native language, but he was sure the Tatannan had been cursing under his breath.

“He says he recognized the leader,” Ramis explained. “It was Ersin T’Corsa, a brother of Duke North Coast. He is not a man we want anywhere in the king’s lands, and seeing him here was a bad omen.”

Arrimas had confirmed the details of the message from the trading post. The duke’s brother had been there asking questions about a Crown convoy and any strangers who had visited the area lately. He had been told in no uncertain terms that the loggers in the area didn’t like strangers, especially not North Coasters who came around and asked foolish questions. The boy who’d delivered the message to the Marines had been told to deliver the same message to Kar Regas in the King’s City. The high sheriff had some personal issues to settle with Ersin T’Corsa that had nothing to do with the Marines.

For Nova, it had been a look into the murky world of Tatannan politics, and she had been worrying about what she saw for two days. Maybe the Bugs aren’t the only enemies we have to watch out for.

* * *

14 May 2104, LFS Lewis and Clark

“This is not good!” Ivanova muttered.

Lorna said nothing. If anything, the petty officer’s remark was an understatement.

“No fault of yours, Tactical. Bastards just got lucky,” Guzman said.

The single Bug attack craft had been one of many searching the vast volume of space where the LFS cruiser should have been, based on the last location fix the Bugs had. It was a vast volume, and it would have taken more than a little luck for them to find her, but one of them had. Lewis and Clark had gone to absolute stealth mode. They had shut her drive down and she had zero active emissions as the enemy approached.

The Bug might have passed by, coming no closer than 10,000 kilometers. Evading detection at that distance would have been difficult, but at 50,000 kilometers the Bug ship had altered course and turned almost directly toward them. It had not immediately started an attack run, but it began sweeping the area with targeting systems. Elsie had taken no action until the enemy craft got within 30,000 klicks, and Lorna’s threat-warning systems told her the enemy had locked on them. Guzman had given the order, and the Bug ceased to exist, the victim of a full graser broadside.

They didn’t know whether the Bug had gotten a message to its fellows, or whether the other Bugs had noticed its sudden destruction, but within minutes, they’d detected three more attack craft converging on them from three different directions. Lewis and Clark had been found, and Guzman had ordered a run directly out-system. At the best acceleration her battle-damaged drive could produce, Elsie was still twenty hours from the hyper limit. Even if she had been able to jump to hyperspace, the small Bug craft would have caught up with her long before that. They’d had enough experience with the small attack craft to convince Guzman that Elsie could take on three of them without serious risk, but the Bugs knew that as well, and he was pretty sure this bunch wouldn’t come within range of his missiles, let alone his energy weapons. What they would do is let their cohorts know where the LFS cruiser was located and where she was going.

Less than two hours later, Lorna had detected five more Bug ships—large ones this time—at extreme range, but closing. They’d obviously had significant outbound vector when they’d started, and Lewis and Clark couldn’t outrun them. They would reach engagement range in about 16 hours, about two hours short of the hyper limit.

“Shades of the Graf Spee,” Guzman remarked, shaking his head. Despite his engineering background, he had done well in strategy and tactics classes during his Academy years, and now, a historical example from one of those classes had come to mind.

Lorna Greenwood had done very well in her S&T classes, which were more recent than Guzman’s, and, thanks to her grandmother’s influence, was almost a walking history book where classic battles were concerned. She recognized the reference immediately. “Yes, sir, and we’re a long way from Montevideo.”

The incident in question was a wet-navy battle that had taken place on Earth the better part of two centuries earlier, during the global conflict known as World War II. The German battleship Graf Spee—operating alone as a commerce raider—had encountered the British cruisers Ajax, Achilles, and Exeter in the South Atlantic. In the ensuing battle, Exeter was badly damaged, and the Germans scored hits on Ajax and Achilles, but the British managed to inflict significant damage on Graf Spee as well. The German ship disengaged and retreated into the neutral port of Montevideo in Uruguay. Reinforced by additional ships, the British blockaded the harbor and waited for the German to come out. Faced with the choice of doing battle with the British or having his ship interned by the neutrals, the German commander chose instead to put most of his crew ashore and scuttle Graf Spee in the mouth of the River Plate.

“Don’t worry, Lieutenant,” Guzman said, with a humorless grin, “I’m not planning to scuttle Elsie.”

“Understood, sir.” Lorna grinned back.

The exchange broke the tension on the bridge, and even Ivanova managed a smile.

“That being said,” Guzman continued, “I don’t see much point in doing anything other than what we’re doing now. If they continue to close, we’ll eventually have to engage them. Do you concur, Mr. O’Hara?”

“Yes, sir, I do,” O’Hara said.

Guzman had reduced Elsie’s alert level after the first Bug was taken out. It was clear nothing was going to happen for at least twelve hours, and he wanted the crew well fed and rested. It was time for change-of-watch, and O’Hara had come to relieve the captain, just as Ivanova had come to relieve Lorna.

“Your thoughts, Ms. Greenwood?” Guzman was gaining more confidence in Lorna’s abilities, and he noted she was gaining more confidence in herself. If we get out of this, she’ll make a hell of an NTO for some lucky captain, he thought. For that matter, she’ll probably be a hell of a captain herself someday.

“Just a minor consideration, sir. We might want to adjust course by a few degrees.

“Right now,” she continued, seeing his look of puzzlement, “we are almost exactly on a direct course for the Sol System—assuming we could hyper out when we got to the limit. I know it’s just a coincidence, but if the Bugs think we are heading for home, our current course would give them a pretty good idea of where we came from. With less than a ten-degree course change, we could pick any of a dozen other stars and maybe misdirect them a bit.”

“Hah!” Guzman’s exclamation was one of genuine amusement. “Good point, Lieutenant! Maybe it’s not such a coincidence, but more like wishful thinking about where we would like to be headed right now. Okay, pick a star, and let’s head for it. Just don’t make too much of a course change. I’m sure they’ll cut inside any turn we make, and there’s no point letting them catch up to us any sooner than we have to.”

* * *

Ay’uskanar Ore Processing Station, Tatanna Orbit

The Bugs were faced with a dilemma. It was not yet a crisis, but a problem that needed to be solved. There was a hostile presence in the resource planet’s system, and they had good reason to believe there was also a hostile presence on the planet. They had information from local humans, and they had already learned the humans were devious miscreants who would lie to serve their own agendas. Once again, a human informant was telling them the problem lay in his rival’s territory, probably in the hope they would unleash another strike and obliterate some resource of value to that rival.

The insectoids were not empire builders. They did not go out of their way to expand their territory or seek to conquer other spacefaring races. They kept their population under strict control, so they suffered no pressure to find more living space or more resources to support their society. They explored star systems within or near their territory, and when they found a valuable resource, they exploited it.

The gypsum mined on this planet was a valuable construction material used in building the huge underground hive-cities on their homeworlds. They had been mining here for almost a century, in local years, and had encountered little in the way of significant resistance. The local humans did not have the technology to oppose them, and they had only had to demonstrate the ability and willingness to kill them in wholesale lots once or twice before they willingly submitted to the inevitable. Over the years, they’d had to repeat the lesson a few times, but, for the most part, the locals gave them few problems.

During their explorations, the Ay’uskanar had encountered other advanced races—the reptilian Akara, the Mekota plant creatures, and the centaur-like Otuka, among others. In each case, when they’d found a well-armed, space-capable race in front of them, they had simply stopped exploring in that direction. They had not entered the territory of the other races, and they had denied the others entry into their territory. If any tried to trespass, they sent superior military forces to turn back the incursion.

In the past, they had discovered other planets with human populations, usually primitives, with little or no technology or even a developed society. Human-inhabited planets, including worlds with varying environmental conditions that were home to many other life-forms, were spread throughout the galaxy. The only things these worlds had in common, other than an oxygen atmosphere and an abundance of liquid water, were humans. Like other advanced races, the Ay’uskanar wondered where these humans had come from and how they had managed to live and develop under such a wide range of conditions, but for the most part, the human planets held nothing of interest for the methane-breathing insectoids. The resource planet was the rare exception, and, while its human population was the most advanced the Ay’uskanar had encountered, they were primitive enough to be managed. There were indications the hostile trespassers in the system were also humans, spacefaring humans with advanced technology. It was a troubling thought that would need to be passed upward and considered at the highest levels of the Overhive.

Two Level 11 superiors had arrived with the reinforcement ships, one to take charge of the hunt for the intruding starship, the other to take charge of operations on the planet. Both agreed it was most important to gather more intelligence about the intruders. It would be difficult to collect information about the intruder’s ship, which had sophisticated defenses and significant firepower. If it could not be captured, it would need to be destroyed.

The intruders on the planet required a different approach, and the superiors agreed they should not be obliterated with kinetic strikes. The humans had significant military technology, and the Ay’uskanar would pay a heavy price for trying to take them in ground combat, but they believed they had more than sufficient forces available. It would be worth expending those forces if they could capture human technology and learn more about the intruders. Other than material assets, most of the expenditure would be in the form of Level 1 and 2 soldiers which could easily be replaced during the next hatching cycle.

* * *

Planet Tatanna, Valley of the Little Kilder River

“Somebody has done something to bring this area to the attention of the Bugs,” Nova asserted.

“Somebody? You mean one of our people, LT?” Martinez asked, somewhat defensively.

“No, I don’t think so. If it were one of us, they’d already have us pinpointed. The passives are picking up a lot of air traffic over this area. They’re looking for something, and they haven’t found it yet, but their search area seems to be centered on the trading post. They’ve pretty well covered the area for twenty-five kilometers around it, and they’ve overflown us several times.”

“What can we do? We’re already covered up as well as we can be; you can’t completely hide a camp this size.”

“Right,” she said, “and if we try to move, we’re more likely to be spotted, so we need to look like we belong here. Detail two of the troops to cut down a couple more trees. Detail two more to go with Marlot and have them rig a harness so the kildrin can drag some of the logs we’ve already cut to the bend in the road. Got it?”

“Got it, LT.”

“Mark—” she turned to Phillips, “—tell Arrimas to drop a message for his contact at the trading post. Tell him there will be some cut logs by the road that are free for the taking if he can find somebody to collect them…somebody who won’t ask questions.”

“I like it.” Phillips nodded. “By generating more activity for the Bugs to see, we look like we have nothing to hide.”

“That’s the idea,” she said. “Sergeant—” she turned back to Martinez, “—tell your tree-cutting detail to use the damned tools the Tatannans provided—axes and saws. The next person who tries to cut down a tree with a zip strip will be on my shit list for a long time.”

“Understood, LT.” Martinez had the grace to look chastised. When they had first started cutting down trees to make their camp look like a logging camp, the zip strips had been his idea. He hadn’t shared that idea with his lieutenant before trying it. It had worked, but the noise had been audible at least two kilometers away, and the flying wood fragments were a serious hazard to everyone in the area. Nova had not been pleased.

Martinez headed down the trail in search of ‘volunteers’ for his tree cutting detail, but less than a minute later, he came back at a fast trot with Private Hicks behind him. Hicks and Corporal Wiley had the north guard position, which looked down on the logging road and had a good view in both directions.

“We’ve got Bugs, LT!” Martinez said as soon as he was within earshot. “They’re coming around the bend in the road, two klicks east.”

“Coming how, and how fast?”

“On foot, not very fast. Wiley spotted three of them so far. Hicks has video.”

Hicks presented his pad to Nova and touched an icon to display the video. “Those suckers are big.”

She studied the image. “Yeah, it’s either Bugs or some weird vehicle that walks on six legs.” She turned back to Martinez. “Okay, everybody to combat mode. Lock and load, but nobody engages unless I give the order. Tell Wilkos to prep the heavy stuff, but don’t set up a position yet. We may stand, we may bug out—excuse the pun. Everybody should check their comm gear, but do not send any transmissions yet. When I start transmitting orders, they can assume normal comm protocols—use as needed but no excess chatter.

“One more thing,” she added. “Pull Wiley and Hicks off the north post and have them cover the southeast river crossing. If we need to move, that’s most likely the way we’ll go. Send Bouchard to the north end with a spotter. Tell everybody that’s moving to maintain cover as best they can. We still have Bug aircraft to worry about.”

In Nova’s opinion, Wiley and Hicks were a bit too impulsive to cover the north and were likely to open fire as soon as the Bugs got close, with or without orders. Bouchard was cool under pressure, and if it became necessary to take out a Bug at extreme range, she was the one for the job.

“Roger that, LT.” Martinez turned and trotted back down the trail with Hicks following.

“What?” Nova turned to look at Mark Phillips, who was shaking his head.

“I told you to be careful what you wished for,” he said.

* * *

LFS Lewis and Clark

“Missile range in twenty minutes,” Lorna reported. “Their missile range, not ours. Twenty-seven minutes to our missile range, assuming they keep coming.”

Guzman grunted an acknowledgment. The three Bug attack craft had caught up with them long ago, but they had stayed short of Elsie’s missile range. They hadn’t fired, and Lorna had suggested they probably had limited missile capability. The Bugs had seen Lewis and Clark in action several times. If the small ships could only launch one or two missiles at a time, they’d be wasting ammo against the LFS cruiser’s superior point defense systems.

The five larger Bug ships had joined their fellows, and all eight of them were slowly catching up with Elsie. In another twenty minutes, they’d be in position to launch a lot of missiles.

“All right, bring us back up to Condition Red,” Guzman said. “Tactical, be advised that, as soon as they launch, I’m going to flip and go full reverse to bring them within our range. Then we’ll flip again and continue out-system. I don’t want to be stuck in the range gap where they can shoot at us, and we can’t shoot back.”

“Understood, sir.” Lorna agreed with Guzman’s strategy. A long-range missile duel was the best they could hope for, and she believed Elsie’s missiles and missile defenses were better than anything the Bugs had shown them. Of course, what the Bugs lacked in quality would be more than made up for in quantity.

Three minutes later, Petty Officer Weeks slid into the weapons systems tech seat next to Lorna. Per the watch schedule, Ivanova had gone to AuxCon, and Lorna found herself wishing the positions had been reversed. She had gotten used to having Ivanova in the seat when things got hot, but Weeks was an experienced WST, and she had no reason to complain about his performance. She nodded to him and advised Guzman that Nav/Tac was fully manned.

The Bugs continued to close. “Twelve minutes until they have us in range, sir,” she said.

Suddenly, Lorna’s primary tactical display lit up with status change warnings. A rash of new icons appeared on the plot, and they were ahead of Lewis and Clark. Not directly ahead, but less than fifteen degrees off her present course.

“Hyper signature!” she said. “Multiple hyper signatures, twelve degrees starboard, down four at one point two light-minutes. Call it twenty-two million kilometers, almost dead on the hyper limit.”

Guzman nodded and stared intently at the new icons on the main screen.

“I make it twelve point-sources, sir,” Lorna continued. “Three of them in the capital ship range, nine small to medium ships. They’re ballistic now, but that was a warship-level translation.”

Lorna glanced at Weeks, who looked stunned. “We’re screwed,” he muttered.

“Maybe not,” Lorna said.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Lieutenant?” Guzman asked.

“Yes, sir. Vector’s right, and the formation makes sense.”

“Right,” Guzman said. “Mr. Dormeyer, tight-beam an IFF query to those people.”

Dormeyer was looking just as stunned as Weeks, but suddenly, he realized what Guzman and Lorna were thinking. “Yes, sir, IFF query going out now.”

The icons on the display faded to faint, blinking yellow markers. The gravity event from the hyperspace translation had faded, and the newcomers were now undetectable. They would remain so until the ships brought up their drives and began to move. While gravity drive and hyper event signatures propagated instantly, the IFF query was limited to light speed. It would take over a minute to reach the newcomers, and an equal amount of time for any response from them to reach Elsie.

The seconds ticked by. At just under two minutes, the newcomers’ drives suddenly came online, and their icons changed to bright red on the display.

“They’re coming directly at us, sir. First data indicates one-eighty gravs or more.”

“Either they got our message, or they got a message from somebody else,” Guzman mused. “We should know in another thirty seconds.”

It was the longest thirty seconds of Lorna’s life. Then, as she had hoped and prayed, the icons on the screen changed to green. Data notations began to flow across her tactical screen, and she started reading them aloud.

“Battlecruiser, LFS Isis, flagship, Second Fleet, First Battle Group. Heavy cruiser, LFS Hun. Heavy cruiser, LFS Norseman.”

“Yes!” Guzman exclaimed as cheers broke out on the bridge.

“There are also three light cruisers, two frigates, and four destroyers,” Lorna finished, with a grin. “The cavalry has arrived.”

“They started our way as soon as they got the IFF ping.” Guzman was grinning, but quickly sobered. “They aren’t going to get here before the Bugs catch us. Unless the bastards decide to cut and run, we are still going to have to trade missiles with them. Everybody stay sharp, we’ll be in their range in eight minutes.”

* * * * *

Chapter Seventeen

Planet Tatanna, Valley of the Little Kilder River

“They’re landing, LT,” Wilkos said. “Range to the clearing is four hundred seventy-five meters. Should we set up the artillery?”

“Go ahead,” Nova said, “but hold fire for now. We’ve got to deal with their air cover first.”

The Bug ship was box-shaped, with a small dome on top and heavy legs protruding from the bottom. It was larger than an LFS assault lander, and there wasn’t much doubt about its intentions when it settled into the open meadow to the west of the encampment. At Wilkos’ direction, Corporal Wiley and Private Garcia began to set up the lightweight 75mm mortar tube, which was the only artillery the Marines had available. We’ve only got twenty rounds for it, Nova thought, but this is the best chance we’ll get to use them.

The second Bug aircraft was smaller. It was oblong, with ominous tubular protrusions on one end. It had made a single sweep around the small meadow and was now hovering over the landing site, about two hundred meters up. Nova and Wilkos agreed it was most likely a gunship tasked with suppressing hostile activity while the bigger ship landed. Next to Nova, Wilkos readied the shoulder-launched Scorpion missile, the only one they had. There was a limit to how much firepower a Marine squad could carry, and Nova decided this was their best chance to use it, too.

The ship on the ground had lowered its ramps and was disgorging Bugs. Nova had a good view from the tree-studded knoll where they had set up their improvised fire base, and she studied the creatures in her helmet’s binocular viewer. They were obviously wearing armor, probably an environment suit. She remembered the earlier briefing about the Bugs breathing methane. It was a serious advantage for the Marines if they could crack the armor. The Bugs couldn’t survive if their armor was breached.

The Bugs began to deploy, and it was obvious they were moving toward the human camp. The hovering gunship began to move that way as well, keeping station above the ground forces. The Bugs had apparently decided not to unload a kinetic on the Marines, but they could change their minds, and Nova was not inclined to wait around. She had an escape route planned, but they would have to take care of anything that might interfere with their retreat first. It would also be nice if they could discourage the Bugs from following them.

“Say the word, LT.” Wilkos had green lights on the Scorpion. All it needed was a look at the target and a tug on the trigger.

“Wiley, are you set up and ranged?”

“Yes, ma’am. Just give the word.”

“When the missile goes, you can start firing. I’d like you to drop a couple of penetrators on that ship down there, then walk them this way—through the Bugs on the ground, got it? Keep shooting until you run out.”

“Roger that, LT.”

Nova took a deep breath. Okay, no more excuses. Time to open the can of whoop ass and hope it’s big enough. “Send it, Sarge,” she ordered. She turned away to shield her face from the flash and back blast.

Wilkos raised the launcher and tagged the target, which was easily visible above the trees. Almost immediately, he got three red lights, indicating all three of the Scorpion’s tracking systems—optical, radar, and heat-seeking—had locked on. He squeezed the trigger and the Scorpion launched with a roar that became a sharp crack, as the missile went supersonic just meters in front of the tube. At such short range, the Bugs had no time to react. The Scorpion hit the smaller ship dead center. Its warhead penetrated the ship’s outer hull before it detonated.

Most of the explosion was confined within the hull, so it didn’t appear to do much damage, but the Bug ship relied entirely on counter-grav to remain airborne, and the missile wiped out its power systems. The ship fell out of the sky like a rock, straight down with no forward momentum. It struck the ground at the edge of the clearing with a rather spectacular crash, and landed on top of the two leading Bug soldiers, who were advancing toward the camp. A moment later it produced a spectacular fireball as some spark in the wreckage ignited the erupting cloud of methane from its internal atmosphere.

“Gee, Mom, that was fun,” Wilkos said. He discarded the spent launcher and picked up his LCAW.

At the same moment, the 75 launched its first round with a hollow thump. Garcia passed another round to Wiley, who waited to see the first impact before launching the second.

Nova keyed her comm and made the first transmission after days of radio silence. “Wildfire! Wildfire! We are engaged. You are free to fire as targets appear. Acknowledge.”

She got verbal responses from all the troops. Most of them sounded tense and excited. Bouchard sounded cheerful and bright, as if she were wishing everyone a nice day, but seconds later, Nova heard the sharp crack that could only have come from a sniper’s rifle. Nobody else had opened fire since most of them were not in position to see the advancing Bugs.

The first mortar round landed squarely on top of the Bug landing craft. As Nova had requested, the round was a penetrator, with a shaped-charge explosive, that could easily punch through the lightly-armored top surface. External damage appeared minimal, but a plume of flame shot out of the hull as its internal methane atmosphere vented into the oxygen-rich Tatannan air. Wiley launched another round from the 75, then made a small adjustment to its aim and fired again.

“Everybody not engaged, begin a slow pull-back to the southwest. We’re going to cross the river and dive into the deep woods on the other side. Take the essential equipment, leave everything else,” Nova said. “Martinez, make sure the Tatannans don’t get left behind. Bouchard, don’t stay too long. Get their attention, make them take cover, and pull out. We’ll hold this position until you’re clear.”

* * *

“There! The ridge to the left!” Ramis exclaimed. The Tatannan, wielding a pair of LFSMC field binoculars, was proving to be a natural spotter. I’m pretty sure LT thinks I took a Marine spotter with me, Bouchard thought, but there was no way Ramis was going to let me out of his sight once the Bugs showed up. She shifted to the left and saw what Ramis had found—a Bug moving along behind the ridge line, mostly concealed by the tall grass. Mostly, but not enough. She settled her aim on the waving grass just below the top of the creature’s head and squeezed the trigger.

The armor of the Bug’s environment suit was hard enough to withstand many blows from a battle axe wielded by a typical Tatannan soldier, but like most hard materials, its structure was crystalline. It was brittle, and it was not made to withstand the incredible energy Bouchard’s rifle brought to bear on a very tiny spot. The 7mm bullet impacted the side of its helmet and shattered the surrounding armor, leaving a hole almost 10 centimeters in diameter. The projectile had enough energy left to pass through the Bug’s head and hit the armor on the other side, but that would not have been a fatal wound since the Bug’s brain was located in its thorax, not in its head. Unfortunately for the Bug, the 10-centimeter hole allowed oxygen to rush in. That alone would have poisoned it, but it was spared a slow death when the oxygen/methane mix inside the suit ignited. Flames spewed out of the opening, and the Bug collapsed and rolled down the hill, out of Ramis’ and Bouchard’s sight.

It was Bouchard’s third kill. She was sure there were at least three more Bugs out there, but the survivors had apparently decided that advancing into the open, or even partially exposing themselves, was not a good idea.

“Get their attention and make them take cover,” Bouchard muttered. “Mission accomplished. C’mon, sweetheart, it’s time to go.” She grinned at Ramis and pointed back down the trail. “Move fast, and keep your head down,” she cautioned, then keyed her comm unit. “LT, Bouchard. We’re disengaging now. Still some Bugs back along the road, but they’re not in a hurry to get here.”

* * *

LFS Jaguar, DesRon 12 Flagship

The Bugs were relentless in the defense of their territory. They did not experience fear in the human sense, but they were not stupid. They recognized that they were badly overmatched by the incoming force, and logic told them to disengage. Unfortunately, the laws of physics said otherwise. They had built up a great deal of relative velocity in pursuit of Lewis and Clark, and they would not be able to reverse that vector in time to avoid conflict. They could try cutting away at an angle, but the newcomers were in position to intercept no matter what they did. In the end, they decided to continue the pursuit, hoping to overtake and destroy their original target before the superior human force could intervene.

The math worked in their favor. They would have Elsie within range well before the LFS battle group could engage, but Admiral O’Hara was not going to make it easy for them. Isis and the heavy cruisers wouldn’t get there soon enough, but O’Hara had sent his four destroyers racing ahead.

Destroyer Squadron Twelve had been formed inside Second Fleet, under what had become known as the Ling Doctrine for Luna’s Expeditionary Force, to serve equally well as a screening force or an independent attack unit. Rob O’Hara found momentary amusement in the fact that DesRon 12 was commanded by Commodore Rebecca Ling, daughter of Rob’s current and former boss, Amy Ling, for whom the doctrine was named. Ling’s destroyers were the latest Predator II class and arguably the fastest warships in Fleet. They would reach support range for Lewis and Clark a full twenty minutes before the rest of O’Hara’s force could get there, and they packed enough firepower to give the Bugs a really bad day. More importantly, they were equipped with the very latest missile defenses and could wrap the beleaguered cruiser in a protective bubble no Bug missile could penetrate.

If they got there in time. Both Guzman and O’Hara had done the math, and there was no escaping the fact that Elsie would be under fire for fifteen minutes before the destroyers arrived.

“Sir, I’m not going to kill any closing vector until we have Lewis and Clark within our defense net,” Ling told O’Hara. “We’ll get her covered as quickly as possible, but that means we’ll overshoot and wind up deep in the enemy’s missile envelope. We may even get to beam weapon range. We’ll try to make sure they don’t enjoy the experience.”

“Understood, Rebecca. Do what you need to do,” O’Hara said. He’d already gotten a hasty briefing from Guzman concerning the survey cruiser’s previous Bug encounters, along with all the tactical data they had on Bug weapons and defenses. If a single light cruiser trying to avoid combat could maul them that badly, a quartet of Predators with mayhem in mind might well wipe out the entire enemy force before the capital ships got within range.

* * *

LFS Lewis and Clark

“Missile launch! They’re firing, sir,” Lorna announced. “I make it about one hundred and fifty missiles. I’ll have a better count when they get closer.”

Damn! Guzman thought. That’s a lot of missiles for one target. I hope Greenwood’s on her game today. He hated to think that Elsie’s fate was almost entirely in the hands of one green lieutenant fresh out of the Academy. For a moment, he thought about asking O’Hara to take over the Nav/Tac function. No, that would be a dumb thing to do, Mateo, and you’ve already done enough dumb things on this mission. Greenwood’s good; you’ve seen her in action, and taking her out now would confuse things and demoralize everybody. Besides, AuxCon doesn’t have the big tactical displays and other tools we have here on the bridge.

“Sir, they’re firing at extreme range on an overtake vector.” Lorna’s voice held a note of disdain. “It’s going to be more than seven minutes before those missiles get here.”

“I presume that makes your defensive efforts a little easier,” Guzman suggested, with a humorless grin.

“A lot easier, sir. I’m surprised they didn’t hold their fire until they were closer; but it costs them nothing, since we can’t shoot back yet, unless…”

“You have an idea, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, sir. They’re pursuing us, which cuts their effective missile range, while extending ours. We almost have them in range now. In fact, if we dump a salvo out of the tubes with a delayed ignition of about thirty seconds—”

“Of course!” Guzman’s face lit up with a genuine grin. “With our present acceleration, they’d be a few thousand kilometers astern of us when they lit off, which would put them that much closer to the Bugs.”

“Almost twelve thousand kilometers astern, sir.” Lorna was busily crunching numbers. “Since the Bugs are overtaking us, the actual range to target would be reduced by even more than that. We’d be taking a chance that some of the missiles might lose their lock on their targets while drifting, but when they do light off, it would be a hell of a surprise for the Bugs.”

“Hmmm. It would be even more of a surprise for them if we delay ignition by a full minute or more.”

“Yes, sir, but I wouldn’t want to go more than a minute. We can keep the target lock under our control until the missile is about fifty k out, but beyond that, the bird is on its own.”

“Fine. A minute it is. Set it up, Lieutenant.”

Lorna turned to PO Weeks at the primary missile control console. She quickly showed him what she wanted, and within seconds, he had the first salvo programmed.

“Ready, sir.” Lorna gave a thumbs-up signal.

“Fire!” Guzman ordered.

Mass drivers sent the missiles out of the tubes and clear of Elsie’s gravity drive fields. They continued astern by momentum alone, their drives off.

Lorna turned back to her defensive displays. “Enemy missiles still four point five minutes out. They’ll enter our defense perimeter in ninety seconds.”

* * *

LFS Jaguar

That was clever. Commodore Rebecca Ling studied the tactical plot on the bridge of her flagship, as the range to Lewis and Clark continued to spool downward. Wonder whose idea it was to kick those missiles out with a delayed light-off. Neat tactic, but it can only work if you’re running like hell, with a pack of hungry hounds on your six.

It had worked. The Bugs had been taken by surprise, and five of the eight missiles in the first salvo had flown into attack range and detonated. All had been targeted for a single Bug ship. Three of the eight missiles from the cruiser’s second salvo had scored on the same ship. The target was one of the larger enemy ships, and, while it hadn’t been destroyed, it must have taken some damage. It was falling behind the Bug formation and would soon be out of the battle.

Which will reduce the enemy salvos to a mere 120 missiles or so, Ling noted with chagrin. Against that barrage, Lewis and Clark’s eight-missile salvo was a weak reply. The cruiser’s counter missiles and point defense lasers had stopped everything in the first Bug launch. It looked like two missiles from the second Bug launch had gotten through but hadn’t done enough damage to slow her down. Ling had been advised that the Bugs used kinetic penetrators instead of conventional warheads, so maybe those two had been near misses or glancing blows to the ship’s armored hull. The third Bug salvo was incoming and, as the range closed, there was less time for the cruiser’s defenses to deal with it.

We’re coming. Just hold on a little longer. Her heart went out to the crew of the embattled ship.

“Range to engagement one hundred thousand k, ma’am,” reported Jason Randall, her NTO. “Current closure rate is one hundred and sixty kps. We’ll be able to cover the cruiser in seven minutes and engage the enemy two minutes after that.”

“Roger that. Bring up the tac net, weapons online. Pass word to the other ships. Nothing has changed, so we will go with attack plan Alpha. Our priority is to cover that cruiser. After that, swat Bugs.”

We’ll see how the hounds deal with an all-out encounter with the Cat Pack.

She smiled at the thought. Making a destroyer squadron of ships named Jaguar, Cougar, Leopard, and Lynx must have appealed to her mother’s somewhat dry sense of humor, and it had taken very little time for someone to come up with the squadron’s nickname. Ling had been surprised when she’d been given DesRon 12, because it put her in Second Fleet under her mother’s command. Fleet tried to avoid such assignments to forestall any appearance of nepotism, but her mother had assigned the squadron to Second Battle Group, which put her under Admiral O’Hara. O’Hara, the son of a former CEO of the Lunar Free State, had gone out of his way to squash any hint of family influence, probably because he’d been dogged by such innuendos throughout his career. As far as he was concerned, Ling might have been the daughter of a dirt farmer back on Terra. All he cared about was whether she did her job, and that was fine with her.

Besides, she thought with a sigh, it looks like I can’t go anywhere in the Fleet without being somewhere in Mom’s chain of command.

“You can start picking targets for our kittens, Mr. Randall. Let’s see if we can knock out some of the big ones before we get to energy range.”

* * *

LFS Lewis and Clark

Just four more minutes, Lorna thought. Need to hold them four more minutes.

There would still be incoming missiles after that, but she would have some help stopping them. Guzman had told her the plan, and she could see the approaching destroyers on her plot. Meanwhile, she had to deal with another incoming salvo. She cringed as another missile got by her defenses, but the Bugs were shooting through the heavy bands of gravitational stress created by Elsie’s drive. The missile got through but was deflected just enough to miss the aft drive ring. The Bug missiles hadn’t shown much in the way of final attack maneuvering capability. They mostly went straight for their target and, without any kind of warhead, a near miss was a clean miss—no damage inflicted.

Another missile got through, and this time, Elsie wasn’t so lucky. Though it didn’t penetrate deep into the hull, it took out one of the starboard drive nodes and continued to wipe out Point Defense 8. The drive faltered and went down for a moment, but engineering responded quickly and got it rebalanced and back online—at about 65% power which was just about the best that could be expected under the circumstances. More importantly from Lorna’s viewpoint, she’d just lost 25% of her point defense lasers, and there was a blind spot in her defenses.

There were only a few missiles left in the current salvo, but the Bugs continued to fire. Another salvo would enter her defense perimeter in about two minutes. The good news was that the latest salvo only contained about 70 missiles. Elsie’s missiles had scored repeatedly on another of the Bug ships, and that one was now out of action and falling behind the pursuit.

Then disaster struck. The last missile in the salvo slipped through the blind spot in the defenses and slammed hard into the cruiser’s starboard quarter. This one penetrated, and the entire ship shuddered. The lights on the bridge, not just the area lighting, but every one of the displays and console indicators, went out.

Lorna felt a sudden lightness in her arms and legs. Gravity’s off line, she realized. The bridge crew were strapped into their stations, so it wasn’t a critical problem, but the bridge was normally the center of a constant flow of information. Now there was nothing. Self-powered emergency lights came on an instant later, bathing the bridge in a dim red glow, but the displays did not come back. Lorna looked at Guzman, who was shaking his head. A single missile hit should not have taken out all the systems, unless…

“Dormeyer! Comm status!” Guzman demanded.

“Coming up on emergency now, sir.” Dormeyer sounded surprisingly calm.

Communications and lighting were the only systems that had independent power, so Lorna’s console remained dead. Those missiles are still coming, she told herself, and there’s not a damned thing I can do about it.

“Bridge! AuxCon.” O’Hara’s voice came over the command channel. “Captain? Are you still operational up there?”

“Negative, power’s out to all systems. Can you take over?”

“Negative, sir, we took damage back here. Aft bulkhead is breached, and I have two people down. We have no helm, no tactical control.”

“Do you have any damage reports?”

“Sir, it looks like we lost Fusion Two—complete containment failure. The blowouts worked, so we’re still here, but I think we have total losses aft of frame one sixty. That includes Lieutenant Adams and most of her people.”

“Damn it! What about Fusion One?”

“Sir, this is Baker in Fusion One,” the young engineering lieutenant said on the channel. “Overloads tripped when Fusion Two went down, but we are back online. Systems should be rebooting now.” Tony Baker had been the third-ranking engineering officer when the mission started. If Jane Adams had perished with Fusion Two, he was now the chief engineer.

Lorna’s console began to come back up as he was speaking. Unfortunately, most of what she saw was bad news.

“Sir, I’ve got no aft point defense or counter missile tubes. Systems are coming back, but they’re all showing out of action, with critical damage.”

“Missile tubes sixteen through twenty are also out of action,” Petty Officer Weeks reported.

Lorna nodded grimly. Only three tubes left to shoot with. “See if you can cross-feed some of the loading racks,” she told him. “We’re running low on missiles.”

“Sir, I’ve got no main drive, and we’re drifting off axis,” Petty Officer Chang reported from the helmsman’s station. “Thrusters are back online, and I’m stabilizing our attitude, but…”

“Sir, we’ve got to flip the ship,” Lorna told Guzman. “If we can’t run, at least put her nose-on to the enemy. Give me something to defend her with and something more to shoot back with.”

“Do it, Chang,” Guzman ordered. “Bring us about one eighty now!”

Chang responded, and the ship began to rotate left on the horizontal plane.

Good! Lorna thought. “Give them the port broadside as we swing around,” she told Weeks. His fingers danced over his console as he prepared to take the shots.

She could see the incoming Bug missiles. Too many, too close. She sent out counter missiles as tubes came available, but she knew the enemy birds would be down to point defense range before Elsie could finish swinging around. We’re not going to get them all, she realized with despair.

More than half the enemy missiles vanished, wiped out of existence by a flood of counter missiles from the incoming destroyers. The Cat Pack wouldn’t get into point defense range in time, but Ling had done what she could to protect the crippled cruiser. The CMs had taken out the closest of the incoming missiles, which bought Lorna more time and cut down the number of targets she had to engage. Elsie’s CMs took out even more of them. The cruiser completed its turn, and she engaged the survivors with undamaged point defense lasers. More CMs arrived from the destroyers, and more enemy missiles vanished, but the few remaining missiles were too close to Elsie, which forced Ling to hold fire.

Then there were none. Lorna heaved a sigh of relief as the last enemy missile was wiped out by Elsie’s point defense.

“Hell, yes!” Petty Officer Weeks exclaimed. He had continued to send missiles against the Bugs, but he had full well expected Lewis and Clark to be overwhelmed by the incoming barrage.

“Cease fire and disarm your missiles,” Lorna told him. “We’re going to have friendly ships between us and the targets in another twenty seconds.”

She turned to Guzman for confirmation of the order and drew a sharp breath when she saw him. He sat slumped in the command chair, with a look of devastation on his face. Tears were running down his cheeks. He was staring at the console in front of him, and Lorna knew what he was looking at. Damage reports…which included casualty lists.

She turned back to her tactical screens without a word and watched as the destroyers swept past Elsie on their way to engage the enemy.

* * *

15 May 2104, LFS Jaguar

“I believe you can take us back to Condition Blue, Mr. Randall,” Ling said. “Pass word to the other cats. Ms. Mercer, advise Flag we have accomplished the mission and are waiting for orders.”

Rebecca Ling sat back in her command chair and tasted success. The Cat Pack had bloodied its claws for the first time in actual combat, and she was pleased with the results. Maybe Hennighan will quit complaining. Lieutenant Commander Rodney Hennighan, LFS Leopard’s captain, had expressed some unhappiness about the seemingly endless rounds of squadron drills and simulations Rebecca had conducted when she first took over the squadron.

Unlike their larger fellows, two of the small Bug attack ships had survived long enough to come into energy range, only to be wiped out by the destroyers’ chase grasers. Without slowing, the Cat Pack had gone on to engage the two stragglers that had been lamed by Lewis and Clark’s missiles. Both fell victim to Ling’s first missile salvo, and that was the end of the Bug force. Not a single Bug missile had gotten through the Pack’s tightly integrated defense net, and none of the enemy ships had gotten close enough to fire an energy weapon at the destroyers. None had showed any inclination to surrender, and she was pretty sure three of them had self-destructed rather than allowing themselves to be captured. In any case, there was nothing left but drifting wreckage.

“Incoming from Flag, ma’am, tagged personal for you,” Lieutenant Mercer said. “Routing to your console.”

“Thank you, Meredith.” Isis and the rest of the group were about twenty light-seconds behind the Cat Pack, so she didn’t expect a real time conversation, but she straightened up and put on her serious captain’s face before Admiral O’Hara’s image came up on her screen.

“That was very well done, Commodore Ling,” O’Hara began without preamble. “My compliments to you and your people. When you work hard and do well, your reward is more work, and that’s what I’ve got for you. Apparently, Lewis and Clark left some Marines stranded on the second planet of the system.

“They also tell us there are more Ay’uskanar—or Bugs, as they have come to call them—waiting for us there. We can expect a carrier of some sort, with up to a hundred small attack ships and as many as eight other warships. With that in mind, I’m taking the whole group in, except Orion and Cygnus. They’ll stay here to watch over Lewis and Clark while the rest of us go in-system with all haste. Your group will be our forward screen, but remember, we’ve got Isis and two heavy cruisers back here. Try not to get too far ahead of us.” His grin told her he was only joking, but he did have a point. Destroyer skippers tended to get impatient when escorting slower ships.

“Alpha rules of engagement still apply,” he continued in a more serious tone. “We’ve seen enough to know we’ve got an enemy on our hands, and we’re way beyond the point of diplomatic solutions. Consider anything you encounter out there a target unless proven otherwise. We are heading directly to the planet, so I need you to plot a course to match vectors and take station in front of us. Any questions?”

O’Hara sat back to wait for her reply. Ling looked at the plot where the two frigates were detaching themselves from the group to match vectors with the crippled cruiser. Isis and the cruiser force had already gone to full acceleration on a new course for the planet.

“No questions, sir,” she said. “We are setting course and will join you ASAP.”

* * * * *

Chapter Eighteen

Planet Tatanna, Valley of the Little Kilder River

Mark Phillips cringed as two closely-spaced explosions echoed through the forest. “Gods! What was that?”

“That was our wakeup call,” Nova Sakura said. “Bugs just tripped the charges we set at the top of the last ridge. That means they’re about eight hundred meters behind us.”

“Bugs dead!” Arrimas said with a grin, proving he had learned a few words of English.

“Bugs dead,” Nova said. “T’Anna marsin tei.”

“Ai! Per Bugs T’Anna ma crima Mu-Rah,” he responded.

Nova shook her head. “Not Mu-Rah, just Marines,” she said, but his grin didn’t fade. It looks like we’ve convinced him we’re the good guys, she decided, but Mark’s been a nervous wreck since the shooting started, and the casualties really got to him.

They’d lost Sergeant Wilkos crossing the river. He’d been tail-end Charlie, and he had gotten across the river, but he hadn’t made the cover of the woods. The Bugs had come lumbering out of the forest, and one had shot him with a plasma bolt that left his upper torso a smoking ruin. It was the first time the Marines had seen Bug weapons in action, and they instantly learned their light body armor offered no protection.

The Marines had returned fire, and the Bugs hadn’t fared any better against the heavy armor-piercing rounds from the Marines’ LCAWs. Some of the insectoids had dropped in their tracks, victims of fatal trauma. Others had writhed and twitched for a while, as they died of oxygen poisoning after their suits were breached. The Bugs had kept coming and had driven the Marines back into the woods.

They’d lost Corporal Davis crossing the next ridge. Nova had told all of them to keep down, but Davis skylined herself for just an instant too long, and some Bug had gotten lucky with a long shot. They would have lost Jamison as well, if Martinez and Hicks hadn’t physically dragged him away. He’d been hell-bent on avenging Davis’ death and would have gone charging back down the trail on his own. Nova wondered whether she should have stopped their little romance earlier, but in the end, she realized it wouldn’t have made much difference. At least they had a chance to enjoy it, she told herself. I’m more worried about losing our only medic.

The Bugs were slow and clumsy in the woods. Nova put Marlot up front with Bouchard on point. The Tatannan was an excellent pathfinder who knew the forests and could find the best passage for the Marines and the worst for the Bugs. He also understood the need to leave as little trail as possible behind them. No one knew how the Bugs were tracking them, but Nova wasn’t going to make it easy. Ramis was also up front. Separating him from Bouchard wasn’t worth the trouble, and he justified his position by claiming he was needed to translate for Marlot. In reality, Bouchard was learning to speak the native language better than any of the other Marines, better even than Mark Phillips.

With Marlot’s guidance, they had gotten more than a kilometer ahead of the Bugs. Nova had called a rest break, and they had broken out the field rations. She tried to talk to Mark, but he had drawn into himself and wasn’t in the mood for conversation. The Bugs were closing in, and it was time to move out.

“All right, people, saddle up,” she said. “Bouchard, you’ve still got point. Marlot’s doing a good job of breaking trail, and I don’t want to change anything. Martinez, you’re tail-end Charlie. Rig some surprises across this area while you’re waiting for the rest of us to get ahead.”

* * *

LFS Lewis and Clark

“Still doing your duty to maintain the morale of the troops, Lieutenant?” Chief Thrace asked as she stood in the lunch line with Lorna.

“Honestly, Chief, I could use the company. Not many people in the wardroom these days.”

At the head of the line, one of the mess stewards handed a box of field rations to each of them, without comment. They headed through the hatch into the ship’s gym and recreation compartment. The crew’s mess was no longer in service; it had been burned out and opened to space when Fusion Two lost containment. The blast had also taken Lieutenant McGee and two of his mess crew, whose duty it had been to set up a secondary medical aid station in the mess during alerts. Fortunately, the rest of the mess crew had been sent forward to augment the Marines in damage control and Lieutenant Dupree’s people in sickbay.

The main kitchen had also been wiped out, so field rations were the only menu option. There were no tables in the gym, but the folding bleachers had been pulled out. Lorna and the chief found seats with a small group of engineering ratings, but there were no smiles among them, no casual banter. Engineering had been hit hard in the battle; they’d lost seventeen enlisted, along with Jane Adams, when the reactor containment failed. The reactor emergency vents had functioned as designed, though nearly a quarter of the ship’s internal hull volume had been burned out and opened to space. A dozen crew members had survived in the aftmost compartments, but two technicians had died there earlier when Point Defense Eight was hit. Forward of Fusion Two, a petty officer had died at the communications console in AuxCon when a secondary explosion had breached the aft bulkhead and sent metal splinters flying through the compartment. Lorna had seen the damage. Guzman had assigned her to oversee a survey party after the battle ended.

What she’d found most shocking was the contrast. Much of Elsie’s aft hull was a burned-out ruin; the plasma bloom had incinerated everything so thoroughly, there was no trace of the bodies of those who had died. Forward of frame 150—the midship point of the cruiser—it was as if there had never been a battle. Fusion One, the bridge, sickbay, the officers’ wardroom, and Lorna’s quarters were untouched.

“Do you have a place to sleep, Chief?” Lorna asked. A large section of crew quarters had been destroyed, forcing many to relocate.

“Is that an invitation?” Thrace asked, with only a hint of a smile.

Lorna reddened, suddenly aware of how the question sounded.

“Sorry. Couldn’t resist, Lieutenant. Anyway, we’ve got that sorted out. The undamaged privacy compartments have been converted to quarters space, but that’s temporary. The old quarters were breached, but the damage was minimal. We’ve got it mostly sealed and should have pressure by tomorrow. There’ll be a lot of empty bunks, though.”

“Empty chairs at the next officer’s call as well,” Lorna said.

“I see the crew’s mess duty list is still in effect,” Thrace said, trying to lighten the mood. “I presume today was your turn, Ms. Greenwood?”

“No,” Lorna said quietly. “I decided to take the duty; Jane Adams’ name was on the list for today.”

* * *

Lewis and Clark’s boat bay was forward of the midship line. The bay doors had been repaired after the first battle and hadn’t taken any damage since. The doors were open, and the incoming utility boat from LFS Cygnus was a welcome sight. The frigate had sent a repair crew, equipment, and badly needed supplies. As soon as pressure came up, Lieutenants Murphy and Baker went out to welcome the newcomers.

First off the boat was a young ensign wearing the interlocking gear emblem of the ship’s engineering department over a name tag that read Kostakis. He saluted Elsie’s colors on the aft bulkhead and turned to Murphy, who was first to reach him. “Requesting permission to come aboard, ma’am,” he said, and he popped a sharp salute.

“Permission granted, Ensign.” Murphy returned the salute. “I presume you people are here to help with the repair work.”

“Actually, ma’am, Captain Jensen cut orders to transfer us here permanently.” Kostakis presented his data pad with the orders displayed.

Murphy looked at them in surprise. “In that case, welcome aboard Lewis and Clark. This is Lieutenant Baker, our chief engineer. I guess you’ll be reporting to him.”

“Welcome aboard, Ensign.” Baker shook hands with Kostakis. “We got hit pretty hard in the engineering department. Those orders you’ve got just bumped you to second engineer.”

Kostakis drew a sharp breath and looked at Murphy for confirmation. A light cruiser would normally have four engineering officers, including the chief, who would most likely be a lieutenant commander.

“I’ve got two power techs, a data systems specialist, and an environmental systems non-com with me.” He nodded toward three men and a woman who had debarked and were standing behind him. “We heard you were critically short of people, but I had no idea it was this bad.”

Murphy stepped aside to take a call on her comm unit. “Yes, sir.” She nodded, then listened for a moment. “That’s great news, sir. I’ll advise Chief Werner to get down here to meet them.” She turned back to Baker and Kostakis. “That was Captain Guzman. Orion is also sending a boat over. They heard about our crew’s mess situation. They’re sending over dinner—hot meals for the whole crew.”

“That’s great!” Baker broke into a smile.

“Don’t get too excited,” she cautioned. “It’s only one meal. They’re also sending us all the field rations they have available.”

* * *

LFS Jaguar

The Cat Pack was stretching its legs again, and Rebecca Ling wore a look of smug satisfaction as she looked around the bridge. They weren’t quite running flat out—the Cats had to restrain themselves a bit so they wouldn’t outrun the two light cruisers Admiral O’Hara had attached to them. Dragon and Basilisk weren’t quite as fast as her destroyers, but they were faster than just about anything else in the Fleet, so they weren’t really slowing her down. More importantly, they were attached to her attack group. Rebecca was the S.O., and they were hers to command for the duration of the mission O’Hara had given her.

The Bugs had come out to meet them in force—seven large warships and almost 80 small attack craft. O’Hara had pulled Ling’s destroyers back to integrate them into the group’s missile defense net, then opened fire with Wolfpacks at extreme range. In the latest generation of the Wolfpack system, four Viper missiles were attached to a delivery vehicle that carried them into attack range and launched them at preselected targets. The system had proven effective, but its usefulness was limited by the size of the package. Only the largest warships could carry Wolfpacks, and only in limited numbers on external launch racks. Battlecruisers carried 16 while heavy cruisers carried eight. Isis, Hun, and Norseman gave O’Hara a total of 32 Wolfpacks, and he elected to use them all, effectively sending 128 Vipers downrange when the Bugs were just over half a million kilometers away.

O’Hara ignored the smaller attack ships and targeted four of the larger warships with the Wolfpack salvo. Despite their hive mentality, the Bugs had not developed the concept of an integrated tactical network. Each Bug ship was on its own to protect itself. Their individual missile defenses were good, but two of the target warships were destroyed completely. Another was badly damaged, and it had fallen behind the Bug formation.

It was the Bugs’ turn to shoot as the range fell below 200,000 kilometers. Their first salvo put almost 300 missiles in space. Except for their brief and catastrophic encounter with Ling’s destroyers, they had only dealt with a single LFS ship. This time, they were up against an integrated tactical network managed by a battlecruiser’s AI. Iris tracked the incoming missiles, assigned defense zones and priorities, and directed the defensive response for all ten of O’Hara’s ships. Not a single missile from the first Bug salvo got past her. The range fell below 120,000 kilometers, and the LFS battle group cut its drives and rotated smoothly to bring its broadsides to bear. They launched 96 missiles simultaneously, but the missile drives did not immediately light off. Instead, they waited while the ten ships rolled over and presented their other broadside, adding another 96 missiles to the salvo. Every one of the 192 missiles was targeted at the four remaining Bug warships.

The second Bug launch fared no better than the first. They managed to launch a third salvo before the LFS missiles reached attack range. To O’Hara’s surprise, the third Bug launch had only 118 missiles—less than half the number in their first two launches. Moments later, Iris provided the answer. The missiles in the third launch had come from the four remaining warships. The small attack craft hadn’t fired. It appeared each of them only carried four missiles that they could launch two at a time. They’d run out of missiles after the first two salvos. Some of them broke away in an attempt to disengage.

Only two of the Bug warships survived the twin broadsides of LFS missiles, and they had obviously taken damage. They veered off, trying to get away, but they were too deep into the battle group’s missile envelope. The second salvo wiped them out. Only the small attack ships remained.

O’Hara ordered the group to cease missile fire. The Bugs had built up a lot of closing vector, and it was working against them. A few of the small craft disengaged, but others inexorably slid into energy weapon range. Most did not survive the long-range fire of the 75-centimeter grasers mounted by Isis and the two heavy cruisers. Only five lasted long enough to come under fire from the Cat Pack’s 45-centimeter mounts. Those that had avoided engagement were now far from the battle area, heading back toward the planet.

O’Hara sent the Cat Pack, augmented by the two light cruisers, charging ahead. The mission was simple: get to the planet and clear the orbitals. Based on the intel provided by Lewis and Clark, the Bug carrier and perhaps one or two other warships might be present. Without its attack craft, the carrier wasn’t much of a threat, but O’Hara preferred to err on the side of caution. The light cruisers were there to make sure Rebecca didn’t find herself outgunned. The Bugs had proven they were willing to dump kinetics on the planet and kill the human population. There was no way to know how they would react when faced with defeat. If they were bombarding the planet, Rebecca’s first mission would be to terminate that activity with extreme prejudice.

There was also the question of the Bug orbital facility. They did not know whether it was armed, so O’Hara had left its fate to Rebecca’s discretion. He would have liked to take it intact, he’d told her, but if it so much as put a targeting sweep on one of her ships, she was free to blow it out of space.

Finally, there were the Marines. The last part of the mission was to contact them and assist as needed. If they were still alive, they’d been stuck on the planet for most of a month. Lewis and Clark had provided information on how to contact them, but that assumed they still had communication capability. Their last contact with the cruiser had indicated they were on the move, and Rebecca wondered how she could find them if they didn’t have comms. She had data on where they’d originally landed and which direction they’d moved, but the last contact had been eleven days ago. They could have gone a long way in that time.

* * *

Planet Tatanna, Valley of the Little Kilder River

“Are you sure?” Mark Phillips asked, nervously.

“I know what I’m seeing,” Nova Sakura said, “but I can’t tell you what it means. It looks good, but it might mean we ought to head into the caves.”

Marlot had led them to a cave entrance in the side of a mountain. He’d told them it was part of an extensive network of caverns that had been partially explored by the locals. He’d insisted there was an exit on the other side of the mountain, and that there were trail markers inside to guide them. Mark had never been in an underground cave, and he hadn’t wanted to go in. Martinez hadn’t been keen on the idea but had pointed out that the area around the cave’s mouth would be a good place for a dig-in defense. They could retreat through the caves if they couldn’t defend. They had set up their defense perimeter and waited for the Bugs to come to them.

The Bugs hadn’t come. The passive scanner they’d set up had shown a fair amount of Bug air traffic to the northeast the previous day, but now, there was nothing. Nor was there any indication of movement from the detectors they’d set up along the trail, and there were no distant explosions warning them the Bugs had tripped the booby traps they’d left behind.

“If they’re not coming after us, why do we need to go into the cave?” Mark asked.

“Because it’s the safest place in case of a kinetic strike,” she replied.

Mark looked at her in horror.

Martinez nodded. “They can’t find us, and it’s costing them too much to try. You figure they might pull out and level the whole area, LT?”

“Yes. Pull everybody in, and let’s get underground—at least a kilometer into the caves. I want everybody inside the entrance within ten minutes. Bring whatever gear we can carry.”

* * *

LFS Jaguar

“Confirming my initial report, Admiral, they’re gone. No sign of any Bug ships, and no activity around the planet. The orbital station is still here, but it looks deserted. We can see large hatches—probably boat bay doors—open to space. There are no lights, no energy emissions of any kind, and no signs of life aboard. It’s a big structure, and we’re only scanning it from a distance, so I recommend putting some Marines aboard for a thorough sweep.”

Once again, Rebecca Ling was several light-minutes ahead of the battle group. She was forced to make a one-way report to O’Hara and wait for a reply.

“As for the carrier and any other warships they had here,” she continued, “they would have to have departed at least seven hours ago to already be out of our detection range.

“We have not been able to contact our Marines on the planet. The relay satellite put in orbit by Lewis and Clark is still there, but we get no response on the designated comm channel or any other common fleet frequency. We’ll keep trying. I’ve got four U-boats in low orbit looking for energy emissions or other evidence of their whereabouts.

“That’s the current situation, sir. The planet and its orbitals are secure, waiting for you to arrive. If you have further instructions, please advise. Ling out.”

* * *

Planet Tatanna, Valley of the Little Kilder River

“You can’t go out there. It’s too dangerous. They’re probably waiting for us.”

“Mark, you’re not making sense,” Nova said. “If the Bugs thought we were in here, they’d have come charging down after us. The passives haven’t picked up anything but wildlife movements, and there’s nothing in the air within twenty kilometers. We need to go topside and find out what’s happening.”

“Send some of your people. You’re the leader, you shouldn’t put yourself at risk.”

She stared at him. “You didn’t want to come down here, and now, you don’t want to leave. Fine. Stay here with the troops. Martinez, take charge. Hicks, Bouchard, you’re with me. Ramis, this time you stay here.”

She was mildly annoyed that she’d had to tell Ramis not to come, but he had gotten to his feet as soon as she’d called Bouchard’s name. Bouchard grinned and blew Ramis a kiss as she shouldered her rifle and followed Nova up the path toward the cave entrance. Hicks had already passed her and assumed the point position without being told. Nova hadn’t picked the two of them at random. Hicks had proven himself steady under fire and very effective at creating mayhem for the Bugs with an LCAW. Bouchard had an uncanny ability to spot threats at a distance and turn them into non-threats with a minimum expenditure of ammo.

They were almost a hundred meters from the cave entrance when Nova heard a comm alert from her helmet and called a halt. She punched a code on her wrist pad, listened for a moment, and favored her two troops with a huge grin. “Catspaw, this is Lima Charlie Marine Recon. We are receiving you loud and clear.”

“Uh, Marine Recon, stand by. Ma’am, I’ve got them!” The voice on the other end sounded surprised. There was a short delay.

A female voice came on. “Marine Recon, this is Commodore Ling, commanding LFS Jaguar with DesRon Twelve, in orbit. We’ve been trying to reach you for about three hours. Advise status, please.”

“This is Lieutenant Sakura. We’ve been engaged with hostiles for the past two days. They disengaged about ten hours ago, and we suspected they were going to hit us with kinetics. We took cover in a natural cavern, so we’ve been out of comm contact. We’ve just come up for a look around.”

“You can scratch kinetics off your threat list, Lieutenant,” Ling said. “We control the orbitals, and the enemy has abandoned the area. No hostile ships within detection range, no hostile activity observed on the surface or in the atmosphere. We’ve been directed to pick you up. How many people have you got down there?”

“Twelve in our group, but three are local civilians. Other than that, I’ve got six Marines, one scientist, and one Navy tech—nine LFS people including me. We’ve lost two Navy and four Marines since start-of-mission, all to enemy action.”

“Understood, nine to retrieve. Turn on your beacon, Lieutenant, so my people can locate your position.”

“Beacon is on, ma’am,” Nova said. “As for retrieval, we’re pretty deep in the wilds. I think we need to transport our local civilians to a location from which they can easily get home. They’ve been our allies, and they are our only contacts with the human population on the planet. There’s a place about twenty klicks from our location where they can be dropped off without causing a stir.”

“I don’t know the situation, Lieutenant, so I’ll go with your judgment. Retrieval boat is on the way. Is there a suitable LZ?”

“There’s a clear area just northeast of my position, right in front of the cave mouth.”

“Fine. Contact your pickup on fleet channel Twelve Bravo. I’m advising the pilot to follow your instructions regarding the local people.”

* * *

This is the one situation I didn’t plan for, which is pretty stupid considering it’s the one we’ve been hoping for all along.

Nova watched as the three locals came cautiously down the utility boat’s boarding ramp and looked around in wonder. Twenty minutes ago, they had boarded the boat at the cave entrance, and now, they were back on the familiar road to the trading post near the original campsite. Most of the Marines had already gone down the trail to the campsite to pick up whatever gear they could find, stuff they had abandoned when they moved out.

Nova waved the three Tatannans over to her. We’re about to part company with these people, and I have no idea what to tell them. “Ramis, you speak my language better than I speak yours. Please translate; I want to be sure all of you understand me.”

The young man nodded gravely.

Nova drew a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. “We are leaving now. We must go back to our homeworld and report, so our own leaders can decide what to do. I am almost certain we will be back, but I don’t know when or how many of us will come. Decisions such as these are made by those much higher than me. I am just a soldier who must obey those to whom I am sworn.”

She paused for Ramis to translate. When he finished, Arrimas and Marlot nodded to her.

“You must go back to your king and report,” she told them. “Can you get back to the city from here without problems?”

Arrimas apparently understood. He answered without waiting for the translation. “Trading post,” he pointed up the road, “will give kildrin. We go King City tomorrow.”

She nodded. The high sheriff’s agent at the trading post had proven useful. “You must keep this secret from everyone except Kar Regas and the king. I do not believe the Bugs are gone forever. They may return before we do. They may come back in large numbers, with much strength. We hope they will not punish you, but it will be best if the people here say they know nothing of us.” She looked around as Martinez came up the trail with an equipment tote bag slung over his shoulder. “Did you get it?”

“All I could find, LT. Twelve camp lanterns, eight multi-tools, eleven lighters.” He unslung the bag and set it down in front of her.

She turned again to the three Tatannans. “You have been good friends, and your king has helped us. These are gifts for you.” She handed each of them a lantern, a multi-tool, and a lighter. “Take the rest as gifts to your king, with our thanks. Remember, you must keep them secret. Do not show them to anyone except the king or tell anyone how you got them.”

“Do the Bugs not have this magic?” Ramis asked.

“I’m sure they do, or something like it,” she said, “but your people do not. If the Bugs find these things, they will know you have been in contact with us.”

“I understand. Thank you, LT,” he said, gravely.

Sakura smiled. Ramis had learned the common Marine honorific for her rank.

“Thank you, T’Sharra,” Arrimas said with a bow. Marlot also bowed and thanked her in his own language.

Nova looked down the trail. The Marines were coming back, carrying gear and supplies. “Bouchard,” Nova said, “you have ten minutes.”

“Thanks, LT.” The corporal looked distressed. She took Ramis by the arm and led him away from the others to say goodbye in private. Arrimas and Marlot pretended not to notice. Marlot shouldered the gift bag, and they moved away in the opposite direction. Nova watched Bouchard and Ramis for a moment, then turned and went back into the boat to confer with the pilot.

* * *

Planet Tatanna, House Corsa, Province of North Coast

“Indeed, a most unexpected development, my brother.” Ersin refilled his wine glass. “I hesitate to guess what it means. I expect you are about to send me off on another interesting quest.”

“You know me too well,” Duke North Coast growled. “This time, you won’t need to go quite so far, and nowhere within Algar’s reach. I want you to go up to Cold Creek again. The report they’ve sent me tells me nothing useful, only that the Bugs have ‘gone away’ and the miners don’t know what to do. I need you to find out what happened and put them back to work.”

“What if there really are no Bugs there? What am I to tell the miners?”

“The Bugs give them directions—dig here, pile there—and they obey. They know what kind of rocks the Bugs want. Tell them to keep digging and to pile the ore in the usual places. Tell them the Bugs will be back soon.”

“The miners dig rocks and expect payment in copper,” Ersin said. “What if the Bugs do not return in time for their usual payment?”

“Tell them their duke will pay them if the Bugs do not. The mine is the only thing in the area that generates income, and I don’t want them leaving to seek employment elsewhere. The Bugs will be back, I’m sure of it. I just don’t know when.”

“Hmmph! I am sure you want me to leave immediately,” Ersin grumbled. “I came here, expecting to enjoy one of your well-laid feasts, during which I planned to tell you some interesting news. It’s even more interesting now, in light of what you have told me.”

“I suppose you can have your feast and depart tomorrow.” The duke gritted his teeth. He enjoys teasing me with promises of information. Unfortunately, it’s a game he usually wins.

“Good!” Ersin said. “I shall depart well-fed and well-rested in the morning.”

“Since I promised you that, I should not need to wait for dinner to hear this interesting news. Let’s hear your tale. I know you want to tell it.”

“Well, since you insist.” Ersin drained his wine glass and refilled it. “You will recall that trading post at the Little Kilder, where I suspected your other-world people had gone. I have no one in my employ there, but I do have some informants in Talmar, who have contact with the loggers and trappers in the reserve. Just this morning, I received word from one of those informants, who told me of strange happenings in the woodlands less than a ten-day ago. He spoke of Bug skyships, Bugs moving through the forest, flashes of light, and terrible sounds of thunder when there was not a cloud in the sky. Of course, those from whom he got the information had sense enough not to go prying into the Bugs’ activities, so they really couldn’t say what was happening, but it occurred to me that the Bugs might have found your mysterious other-worlders and were attempting to capture them. If so, judging by all the fire and fury, they must have met some resistance. It also occurs to me that your report from Cold Creek would have taken a few days to reach you. Interesting that the Bugs should abandon the mine just a few days after the strange happenings along the Little Kilder.”

“Yes, that is strange,” Asral said. It appears you did find the other-worlders, dear brother, which means my report to the Bugs was correct. More importantly, the Bugs appear to have acted on that report. “I’m sure the Bugs will return. They value those precious rocks of theirs too much to abandon the mines.”

In truth, T’Corsa was a lot less certain than he would have his brother believe. He’d sent a message to the Bugs to ask what was happening, but his courier had returned to say the Bugs had not accepted the message. In fact, the man had seen no sign the Bugs were there. Their outpost had looked dark and empty. That morning, another message had arrived, telling him the more distant Winterfall mine on the western edge of his lands had also been abandoned.

Could these other-world people have defeated the Bugs and driven them away? If so, I have lost more than the income from the mines. The other-worlders were within my grasp, and they slipped away. Now, it appears they have allied themselves with Algar.

He would send word to his agents in Boroson. He needed to know what was happening at the king’s court.

* * * * *

Chapter Nineteen

20 May 2104, LFS Lewis and Clark

“Without Fusion Two, the best we’ll be able to sustain on the drive will be about sixty percent,” Tony Baker said, “but with the spares we got from Cygnus and Orion, we have all our hyper nodes in place. Still need to complete testing, but I’m confident we’ll have jump capability within the next two days.”

A lot of faces were missing from officer’s call. Only ten of the original seventeen were present, though the newly assigned Ensign Kostakis brought the number back up to eleven. Nova Sakura would be back as soon as Isis and her battle group returned to the outer system, which would bring Elsie’s complement to twelve. Mark Phillips would also be back, but for now, Cynthia Warren was the only civilian present.

Thanks to Kostakis, Lorna was no longer the most junior officer aboard, but she found that ironic since he had graduated from the Academy a year ahead of her. Promotion to lieutenant normally required 18 months in grade as an ensign. Normally, she thought, unless your ship gets shot to pieces and loses a third of its officer complement on a remote mission fifty light-years from Luna.

“That’s all I have, sir,” Baker said.

“Fine.” Guzman nodded to her. “Ms. Greenwood, you’re next.”

“Sir, engineering has taken care of the major gaps in our point defense. We are still short two lasers, but we have minimal coverage for all zones. I don’t recommend we take Elsie into battle if it can be avoided. We’re down three missile tubes and two starboard broadside graser mounts, as well as one of the stern chase grasers. Engineering tells me those items, like Fusion Two, are dockyard jobs and will need to wait until we get home.

“More importantly,” she continued, “we only have about two hundred counter missiles remaining, and we’re down to eleven Vipers. If we have to fight, we’ll need to get into energy weapon range quickly. Other than that, Mr. Dormeyer has our primary navigation and tactical systems online. I’ve tested them thoroughly and can report them ready and available. Some of the secondaries and backup systems are still non-functional, and he tells me they’re on his list for repair. Unfortunately, I get the impression he has a very long list.” She smiled at Dormeyer, so he would know it wasn’t a criticism.

“Yes, he has,” Guzman said. “If that’s all you have, he’s next on my list for a report.”

* * *

24 May 2104, LFS Isis, Second Fleet Flagship

“I warned you, Rebecca. Those who do the best work get the toughest assignments.”

Rob O’Hara had summoned his destroyer squadron commander aboard Isis to deliver the bad news face to face, but Ling didn’t look particularly upset. Why should she? You’re giving her an independent command, with a lot of discretionary authority. She’s a solid officer and confident in her ability to get it done. She should be; it’s a perfect mission for DesRon 12.

“I understand, sir. Somebody has to watch the store, while you take the group home to report. How long do you need us to stay? Personally, I’m prepared to stay indefinitely, or until supplies run out, but I have to tell my people something.”

“I don’t know how long it’ll take to sort this out,” O’Hara said. “It’s sure as hell not going to be resolved at Fleet’s discretion. It’ll be bumped up to the CEO, who will undoubtedly take it up with the Directorate. We’re still dealing with the consequences of our first contact with an extraterrestrial human civilization, and that was thirty years ago. The people in charge will want to proceed very cautiously with the second one. If we don’t have a resolution in six months, I’ll send a relief force to take over. Meanwhile, I want you to rotate one of your ships back to Luna every forty-five days with a report. Let them pick up supplies and return with any orders we might have for you. Given the round-trip transit time for a destroyer, you’ll always have three ships here. If the Ay’uskanar return, however, all that goes out the airlock. Send a hyperprobe immediately and deal with the situation.”

“Ah, yes.” She gave him a questioning look. “Deal with it. Which brings us to the real question. What, exactly, do you want us to do under those circumstances, sir?”

“It’s too late for the usual attempts at peaceful contact,” he said. “I’ve reviewed the logs of Lewis and Clark’s first engagement, and I wish I could ask Erikson what he was thinking, but he’s still in a coma and may never be able to tell me. From a tactical standpoint, he was correct, but his action was just about guaranteed to provoke a hostile response. I don’t want you to make the situation any worse. You’re to observe and avoid contact. If it looks like they’re establishing a substantial presence in the system, I want you to bail out. Gather all the intel you can, head for the hyper limit, and come home.”

“Understood, sir.” She nodded. “We picket the system and watch for Bugs. If they show up in small numbers, we avoid them, observe, and report. If they show up in force, we get the hell out of there, come home, and report.”

“Right. One more thing. Please don’t put any more people down on the planet.”

* * *

LFS Lewis and Clark

Lorna Greenwood wanted nothing more than to drop into her bunk. She had spent first watch working with Dormeyer’s people, troubleshooting and testing systems that had been damaged during the battle and were just coming back online. She’d volunteered for the task, and in return, Dormeyer had pushed some of her secondary navigation and tactical systems to the head of the queue. Then she had gone to the bridge to take second watch and relieve Weeks at the tactical station. At midnight, Ivanova had shown up to take third watch. Lorna could have gone to the newly reopened crew’s mess for the midnight meal, but she decided sleep was a higher priority.

She opened the door to her cabin and entered, but the lights didn’t come up automatically. Must be another system glitch. She touched the pad beside the door, and the lighting came on. She turned to her locker and opened the door.

“Could you dim the lights a bit, Blondie? Some of us are trying to sleep.”

“Nova?” Lorna turned around and found Sakura in her bunk. “I didn’t think you’d be here.”

“Why not?” Sakura said. “I got back yesterday and, despite your new superior officer status, you’re still stuck with me for a roommate.”

“I know, but I heard Guzman gave your team three days off duty. I guess I figured you would be celebrating elsewhere…with somebody else.”

“Mark? Yeah, well, that’s over. We had some issues.”

“Oh.” Lorna paused. “Did something happen down on the planet?”

“It started there, but it really went to hell after we got picked up. We had it out on the trip back and decided to go our separate ways.”

“I’m sorry,” Lorna said, sincerely, “I really thought you two were…well…”

“He says he loves who I am, but he hates what I do. Especially combat, which he got a taste of down there. He gave me a choice: him or the Marines. It was a no-brainer.”

Lorna said nothing. She knew Nova well enough to sense the pain behind the tough Marine armor. “Was it rough down there?” she finally asked.

“Not really. We tangled with the Bugs, and I lost four Marines, but it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. It’s a nice planet, and the locals are nice people. Anyway, the troops can have their three days off, but I’ve got to get my shop in order. Macrowski tells me we lost four Marines up here, plus a lot of Navy people. Ship’s pretty messed up, so I guess I should be asking you how rough it was.”

“It was pretty bad,” she admitted. “We lost three officers and thirty-seven crew, and Captain Erikson is down for the duration. We also lost Jake Matthews and his crew chief, but that was down on the planet with you.”

“Yeah, that was when I lost my first two Marines.” Nova paused, then changed the subject. “What’s the story with Commander Carter? The scuttlebutt is knee-deep; I’ve heard three different stories so far, and Macrowski—from whom I expected the straight dope—tells me he’s been ordered not to talk about it.”

“Sorry, but I’ve got the same orders.” Lorna shook her head. “Don’t know why; I wasn’t there when the incident happened. Carter’s still here, but he’s departing tomorrow. He’s being shipped over to Isis for the trip home.”

* * *

LFS Isis

“Why am I wasting my time talking to you, Commander? A battle group this size must have a flag officer in command. I need to bring charges of mutiny, and the officers involved need to be arrested. I also need to be restored to command. Lewis and Clark should be my ship, and that half-assed engineer, Guzman, should be in the brig with his co-conspirators.” Carter didn’t care that the man he was talking to outranked him. He was just a staff officer—some admiral’s flunky—as the braided red aiguillette on the shoulder of his uniform proclaimed.

“The admiral has recused himself from the investigation,” Commander Jake Atkins replied patiently, “for personal reasons.”

“Personal reasons? What? Is he afraid of the ghost of that bitch Greenwood’s grandmother?”

“No.” Atkins stayed calm. “He’s Commander O’Hara’s father, Vice Admiral O’Hara. So you can see—”

Carter jumped to his feet with a snarl. “What I see, Commander, is a cover-up in the making! What happens now?” He leaned over Atkins’ desk. “Do I get court-martialed for some imaginary offense, stripped of rank, and shipped off somewhere, so I can’t talk to anybody? Or am I going to disappear and be listed as another casualty of the fucked-up mess that bastard Erikson got us into? O’Hara’s a mutineer, and I’m not going down quietly because of his family connections.”

Atkins jumped to his feet and leaned in toward Carter’s face. He was a head taller than Carter and, though he was older, he was obviously in better shape. “You will shut up, sit down, and show respect for my rank, Mr. Carter,” he growled, “or I will call the Marines and have you thrown in that same brig you want us to put everyone else in.”

Carter shrank back, his anger gone in a moment, replaced by fear. All I did was confront him, and he looks like he’s ready to wet his pants.

At Admiral O’Hara’s request, Atkins had reviewed the pertinent logs and video records from Lewis and Clark. He had conducted comm interviews with the officers involved, including some whose only involvement seemed to be that they were named in Carter’s complaints. Having met Carter in person, he was inclined to agree with Lieutenant Dupree’s assessment. Definitely unstable. How in hell did this guy ever get to the rank of lieutenant commander? He watched as Carter mumbled something that could have been an apology, backed away from the desk, and sat down in the chair.

“This is what’s going to happen.” Atkins remained standing and glared at Carter. “Admiral O’Hara has recused himself for valid personal reasons, which means your charges will be referred to his superior. Admiral O’Hara commands Second Fleet, so his superior is the Supreme Commander of the LFS Navy, Admiral Ling. Since she is with First Fleet in orbit around Luna, those charges will have to wait until we return home.

“In the meantime, you will not be returning to Lewis and Clark. We’ll send some people over to get your personal gear, and you’ll be assigned a private officer’s cabin here on Isis. You’ll have no duty assignment, and you will have access to the ship’s leisure and recreation facilities. You will be given all the courtesies due your rank. You are not to discuss your charges or the events that took place aboard Lewis and Clark with anyone. You will have your day in court when we get back to Luna. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir, perfectly clear,” Carter said in a suitably respectful voice.

“Fine. Lieutenant Morgan is waiting outside to take you to your quarters. I think we’re done here.”

“Yes, sir.” Carter stood up, saluted, and turned away.

Atkins remained standing. He stared at Carter’s back until he exited through the hatch. What a miserable excuse for an officer, he thought. Scary thing is, he has a case for mutiny. Hopefully, he’ll never serve on active duty again. Guzman and O’Hara have probably flushed their careers down the drain, and Carter might just drag a couple more people, like Dupree and Macrowski, down before it’s over.

* * *

Three days later, DesRon 12 split off from the group and headed in-system. The admiral’s engineering people had certified Lewis and Clark hyper-capable, and the group had translated into hyperspace for the trip home. Mateo Guzman remained in command of Elsie, and John O’Hara continued as her exec. They both knew a storm lay ahead of them, but O’Hara hadn’t realized how serious that storm might be until his father refused to take a call from him. The admiral’s flag lieutenant had advised him that due to the ongoing investigation of recent events, Admiral O’Hara could not have direct contact with any of the parties involved. She offered a respectful apology and assured him she would advise the admiral he had called.

* * *

25 June 2104, LFS Lewis and Clark, Sol System, Inbound for Luna

Home tomorrow, Lorna told herself. The group had dropped out of hyper 18 hours ago, and in another 22 hours, Lewis and Clark would arrive at TransLuna Fleet Anchorage. Most likely there’ll be a dockyard slip waiting for us. Elsie’s going to need a lot of TLC. Given the extent of her damages and Fleet’s current staffing situation, the ship would be temporarily decommissioned, and her officers and crew reassigned.

Of course, there’ll also be post-mission leave for everyone. For Lorna, it was a sobering thought. She had nowhere to go and no one to be with. Except for Nova, her Academy classmates were scattered throughout the fleet. Her grandmother had been her only family, and while she knew a lot of people, there was no one she considered a friend. She had inherited her grandmother’s spacious apartment in TerraNova city, as well as the lands on Copper Hills, but the apartment was going to seem very empty, and the Copper Hills estate was fifty light-years away.

“Captain on deck!” Lieutenant Murphy’s announcement brought Lorna back to the present, and she straightened to attention behind her chair at the wardroom table.

Guzman took his usual place at the head of the table and motioned for the assembled officers to sit down. “I’ve got orders from Fleet,” he said. “These orders require receipt from each of you. In addition, you need to pass word immediately to your subordinates. They are to log into the ship’s system, where they will find the orders posted. They are to read these orders immediately and post their receipt to the system as soon as they have done so. Lieutenant Murphy, I need you to verify that every member of the ship’s company has acknowledged the orders.”

“Yes, sir,” Murphy said.

“You two are civilians—” Guzman leveled a finger at Mark Phillips and Cynthia Warren, “—but you are also to read and acknowledge these orders. This is deemed a matter of national security. As such, you two are required to comply with Section Twelve, Article Ninety-Seven of the Lunar Code of Justice.

“The orders are pretty straightforward, but I’m going to read them in case any of you have questions.” He turned his attention to his pad and studied the screen for a moment. No one spoke.

“‘To: Officers, Crewmembers, and Other Personnel assigned to LFS Lewis and Clark as of the date of these orders. With regard to the mission beginning 17 January 2104 and ending on or about 26 June 2104, involving the survey of the star system designated NLC 72917 in the current edition of the New Lunar Catalog, you are hereby advised that all activities in any way related or consequential to this mission are classified Most Secret for reasons of national security. You are not permitted to discuss this mission or any aspects thereof with anyone who was not part of this mission unless specifically directed to do so by appropriate authority of Lunar Command. This mission has been given the official designation Blue Orchid—which designation is also classified and not to be discussed with anyone. Any official directive or request for information about this mission will be accompanied by this designation to assist you in determining the legitimacy of that directive or request.’

“The order is signed by Admiral Hutchins of the diplomatic corps, as well as by Admiral Ling,” Guzman said. “I think all of you know why these orders were issued. We’ve discovered another extraterrestrial human civilization, only the second one in the history of the Lunar Free State. That’s not something we want to share with anyone until Lunar Command and the Directorate decide what to do. You will consider yourselves bound by this order and will pass word to your people as quickly as possible. I’m told the same or similar orders have been given to every ship in the task group, so we’re not being singled out. Any questions?”

These orders are really going to put a lid on the investigation of the Carter Incident, Lorna decided. She’d been interviewed by Commander Atkins, but she hadn’t been able to tell him much. Nonetheless, he’d told her to be prepared to testify at an inquiry to be held on return to Luna. She had no doubt the inquiry would be held, but considering these orders, it would be interesting to see how it was conducted.

* * * * *

Chapter Twenty

5 August 2104, LFS Fleet HQ, TerraNova City, Luna

“I believe that’s all, Lieutenant.” Commodore Emily Nashleanas smiled. “We may need to recall you to testify at future proceedings, but for the moment, you may resume your regular duties. I remind you that everything that transpired in this room is classified Most Secret, not just because it relates to an investigation in progress, but also because it involves discussion of activities covered under the Blue Orchid orders you received earlier.”

“I understand, ma’am.” Lorna took her hand off the biometric pad on the arm of the witness chair and stood up.

“Very well.” Vice Admiral Martin Wexler was the ranking member of the board. “Thank you for your testimony, Lieutenant. You are dismissed.”

“Thank you, sir.” Lorna saluted the four members of the board, turned, and left the room.

Wexler waited until the green security light came on over the door. He turned to his fellow board members. “That confirms what we suspected all along. Carter’s charges regarding Lewis and Clark’s female officers are so much vaporware. Erikson’s harem…what a pile of manure. What’s scary is that, according to the biometrics, the man actually believes those allegations.”

“Yes, but other than that,” Rear Admiral Samuel Adams said, “Greenwood’s testimony didn’t tell us much. She was not involved in the alleged mutiny; she didn’t even know what happened until hours afterward.”

“True,” Nashleanas said, with a chuckle, “but her testimony was interesting, to say the least.”

“Enjoyed that, did you, Emily?” Wexler grinned at her, shaking his head. “You know, I served under her grandmother, and I have to tell you, the resemblance I saw today is almost scary. With a few more years of solid fleet experience, that young woman is going to be a hell of an officer.”

* * *

That was interesting, Lorna decided. She left the offices of the Judge Advocate General and walked along the concourse toward TerraNova Park. She had plans for lunch, but she hadn’t been sure how long the hearing would last. She had finished earlier than expected, and she stopped briefly to drop a message to Nova confirming the lunch date.

This was her first experience with a board of inquiry, and she’d been nervous going in. It hadn’t helped when she’d found herself alone in the room with four flag-ranked officers. Marines had been standing guard outside the door, but inside, it was just her and the board. She had no doubt the proceedings were recorded by Mike, the AI of TerraNova City, who handled such assignments for Lunar Command, but there had been no court clerk or bailiff, and since no charges had been filed, there was no legal advocate to witness the proceedings or give her advice. Other than Lorna, Commodore Nashleanas had been the lowest-ranking person in the room, and she’d represented the JAG’s office. The others had been flag-ranked officers drawn at random to make up the board. Vice Admiral Wexler was the commanding officer of First Fleet’s Fourth Battle Group, and he flew his colors aboard the battlecruiser LFS Medusa.

If the inquiry had involved a lesser crime than mutiny, the board might have been made up of lower-ranked officers, but Lorna knew what was afoot. This was just a preliminary hearing; there would be a court-martial at some point in the future. She couldn’t imagine any other course of action, and it distressed her that Guzman and O’Hara would be the ones standing trial. I hope they won’t need to call me again. I know very little about what happened that day in AuxCon.

To her surprise, the board members had treated her with courtesy, and their questions had been simple and straightforward. The entire proceeding had been relaxed, almost casual, or as close to casual as the vast gulf between her rank and theirs allowed.

Lunar courts, both civilian and military, did not rely on an oath to determine whether a witness was telling the truth. Witnesses simply sat in the chair and placed their right hand on the biometric pad when answering a question. The officers of the board could look at the display on the table in front of them, which the witness could not see, to see whether they were hearing the truth. The biometrics were run through a complex analysis program that told them a great deal about the emotional state of the witness. They must have known I was nervous and tried to put me at ease, Lorna decided.

The law said a witness could listen to a question and think about it before putting a hand on the pad and answering, but Lorna had been told it was a mark of honor for military officers to keep their hand on the pad for the duration of the proceeding. Lorna had tried to, but at one point, she had removed her hand from the pad at Nashleanas’ request.

They’d asked for a detailed description of everything that occurred on the bridge after Captain Erikson was injured. They stopped several times to compare her testimony with the video logs from Lewis and Clark. They confirmed she’d properly passed command to AuxCon before abandoning the bridge. They had asked her to describe how she and Ivanova had gotten Erikson to sick bay, the medical treatment she had received, and the hours that had followed. She’d confirmed that her first knowledge of the events in AuxCon had come at the officer’s call several hours later.

They’d asked general questions about the ship’s officer corps under Erikson and her service as the assistant NTO under O’Hara. She’d told them she’d been quite comfortable in that position and had been shocked when Guzman made her the NTO, but she had resolved to do her best in the position.

That had brought a chuckle from Admiral Wexler. “Apparently you did well, Lieutenant. In case you haven’t noticed, you’re still wearing those lieutenant’s bars. You’re only seven months out of the Academy but your record has already been noted with a commendation, and Lunar Command has made that temporary promotion permanent.”

“Sir, I…” Lorna knew she was blushing, and she wondered what the biometrics were telling the board. Then she got a surprise.

“Lieutenant,” Nashleanas said, “please take your hand off the biometric pad. The next question is one you do not have to answer, because it may infringe on your privacy rights under Article Fourteen of the LFS Constitution.”

Lorna removed her hand from the pad and tried to imagine what sort of question they were going to ask.

“If you choose not to answer, keep your hand off the pad and advise us that you are invoking your Article Fourteen rights. Do you understand the instructions?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Lorna had heard about the process when she was in grade school, learning the history of the Lunar nation. She’d been told some people called it taking the Fifth. She’d wondered about the origin of the euphemism, so she’d done a little research and found it was a reference to the Fifth Amendment of the United States Constitution on Earth. That amendment allowed persons to refuse to testify in a legal proceeding if their testimony might amount to self-incrimination. The Lunar Constitution went even further, guaranteeing citizens a much broader right to privacy in almost all their personal affairs. Lunar Navy personnel on active duty had fewer privacy rights than civilians, but the Constitution still protected them.

Lorna kept her hand off the pad while she waited for the question.

“Lieutenant, during the entire mission under discussion, did you have intimate sexual contact with anyone aboard LFS Lewis and Clark?” Nashleanas asked the question in a calm, quiet tone and waited patiently for Lorna’s response.

Lorna took a deep breath. She put her hand back on the pad. “Yes.”

The four board members looked surprised and glanced immediately at the displays in front of them. Lorna smiled. Looks like they weren’t expecting that.

Nashleanas smiled back at her. “Based on the calm and direct manner of your response, I assume you’re confident you were within the limits of Section One Hundred Thirty-Six of the Military Code. However, that is an area that may be open to interpretation. Once again, you do not have to tell us the name of the person involved, but if you could give us some general indication of the person’s position in the ship’s T.O. it might help us to verify—”

“Chief Petty Officer Helen Thrace,” Lorna said. “I don’t think she’ll mind being named, since this isn’t a public hearing. She was my only intimate contact during the mission.”

Again, all four officers turned to their displays.

“Found her,” Admiral Adams told the others. “Engineering department, NCOIC of the weapons section.”

“Obviously not in your chain of command, Lieutenant,” Wexler said. “I think we can agree you were within the limits of Section One Thirty-Six. If there are no more questions?” He looked at the other board members.

“Just curious—” Nashleanas gave Lorna a quizzical look, “—and again you don’t have to answer. Was this an ongoing relationship? Feel free to invoke Article Fourteen if you think I’m out of line.”

Right. ‘You’re out of line!’ said the lieutenant to the commodore. Lorna chuckled at the thought. “It was a one-time thing. I met Chief Thrace in the crew’s mess—Captain Erikson required his officers to take meals there periodically—and she indicated she was attracted to me and was interested in getting together. At the time I refused—politely. She had spoken to me respectfully and in private, so I took no offense. Later, I sought her advice on several occasions as one of the ship’s senior NCOs, but I never forgot about her first proposition.

“At the end of the mission, on our way back to Luna, I sought her out and asked if her offer was still open. It was partly a curiosity thing—I’d never been with another woman—and partly because I really needed to unwind. Quite frankly, it was a rough mission. We agreed that neither of us was looking for an enduring relationship, so we enjoyed each other’s company once, and we let it go at that. Does that answer your question, Commodore?”

Lorna noted that Nashleanas was blushing. The three male officers were pretending they hadn’t heard what she’d said.

The hesitation in Wexler’s voice betrayed him. “Uh…um…. well, yes…thank you, Lieutenant, for your…ah…candor. I think that will suffice.” He glared at Nashleanas, who gave him an unrepentant grin.

That had been the last question before they dismissed her. Lorna felt good about the hearing. She believed she had conducted herself in a professional manner, and she was confident she hadn’t done any damage to her career. She was also glad she’d gotten the chance to tell someone about her interlude with Chief Thrace. She hadn’t yet gotten up the nerve to tell Nova, though Thrace had given her permission to talk about it with anyone she liked.

“When I’m old and retired, and you’re the Admiral of the Fleet,” Thrace had told her, “I’d like to be able to tell my grandchildren I spent a wild night in bed with you when you were a fresh, young junior officer. Of course, I won’t mention it to anyone until you get to flag rank, but if you feel inclined to talk to somebody about it, go ahead. Everybody knows which side of the bunk I sleep on.”

We did enjoy each other’s company, Lorna admitted as she walked into Restaurant Kiku where Nova was to meet her, but I found out I’m not inclined to follow my grandmother’s sexual preferences. Funny, I was never sure until that night with Helen. Guess that’s proof of how naive and sheltered I’ve been.

* * *

“Thanks for coming, Mateo.” John O’Hara sat down at the small table in a corner of the HQ officer’s club bar and punched a drink order into the table’s pad. “I wasn’t sure you’d be here.”

“I almost didn’t come,” Guzman admitted. “I’m not sure what Fleet will think about the two of us getting together while the investigation’s still in process.”

“We’ve both had our hearings, nobody’s brought any charges, and we’re meeting in a public place. I don’t see how they can object.”

“Nobody’s brought any charges yet,” Guzman growled. “Nobody’s told us we’re cleared, either.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I wish they’d get on with it. The waiting is the worst. Anyway, I wanted to say I’m sorry I dragged you into all this. I’m the one who did the dirty deed. You just got caught up in it.”

The two of them paused and sat back when O’Hara’s drink arrived. Neither spoke until the server had gone.

“Forget it.” Guzman shook his head. “I walked into it with careful consideration. I could have thrown you into the brig and handed command back to Carter, but I didn’t, because you were right, and he was wrong, and he would probably have gotten us all killed. No way was that man ever fit for command. I had access to the personnel records for my investigation, and I sure as hell looked at Carter’s. Looked at yours too, for that matter. Had to be fair, after all. His were…interesting. There’s a history of mediocrity punctuated by screw-ups throughout his career, yet he kept getting regular promotions. Only once, very early on, did he get seriously reamed—relieved of duty, denied promotion, and shifted off to a non-space assignment. Guess who did that to him.”

“No idea.” O’Hara shrugged. “Who was it?”

“Greenwood—the original, that is—the Iron Maiden. She put a letter in his file that has since been removed with no indication why. Wouldn’t even know about it, but the transfer was there, and the passover for promotion was obvious. Greenwood signed his transfer orders—in the middle of a tour of duty aboard Valkyrie, which was her flagship at the time. The transfer orders referenced the missing letter but didn’t say anything more. Anyway, Greenwood retired shortly after that, and somehow, the letter went away, and his career got back on track.”

“That figures.” O’Hara nodded. “Now I know why he hated our young Ms. Greenwood. He was on her case ten seconds after she came aboard Elsie.”

“Anyway,” Guzman continued, “I could have given him the ship. I could have thrown you through the airlock, but I didn’t, and not just because of your winning personality. Who knows? Maybe we could have patched up the ship and cobbled a working hyperdrive together before the Bugs found us. I’m sure that’s what he would have wanted, so he could get his precious ass out of the system as soon as possible.”

“Leaving the Marines stranded on the planet with the Bugs chasing them.”

“Yeah, well, what would possibly make you think he gave a damn about the Marines?” Guzman snorted. “If it had gone that way, Jane Adams and a lot of others might still be alive. That’s what really bothers me about the whole thing. Carter wasn’t fit to take command, but I didn’t do such a good job in the captain’s chair, either.”

“Don’t second-guess yourself,” O’Hara said. “If Carter’d had command, the Bugs might have caught us with our drive totally disabled while we were trying to get our hyper capability back, and if we hadn’t stayed around to keep them busy, they might have wiped out a dozen more villages on the planet.”

The two of them sat in silence, nursing their drinks.

“Damn!” Guzman exclaimed at last. “I wish somebody would tell us something. I’m ready to face a court-martial, if it comes to that, but let’s get on with it. This waiting is worse than a prison term.”

* * *

Planet Tatanna, Castle Boroson, Late Autumn, Year of the Goddess 1802

“You must relax, Ramis. Enjoy the dinner. This is not an inquisition, just me exercising my royal curiosity.”

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” Ramis said, his eyes still lowered. He stared at the plate of excellent food in front of him. “I am unworthy to be at this table, especially Your Majesty’s private table. If there were a hundred others present, I would surely be in the back of the hall if I were invited at all.”

It was truly an unexpected honor, in Ramis’ view. Not only was he seated at table in King Algar’s private dining room—a table that could accommodate ten people at most—but he was the only person dining with King Algar, except for the king’s young son, Prince Arne. He was seated at Algar’s right hand, while Arne sat across the table at his father’s left.

He was even more amazed to be seated on a chair that was the same height as the king’s. At formal dinners in the Great Hall, the tables were arranged on platforms so the king’s table was higher than any other. Only the king sat there. Even the prince would be seated with Algar’s ministers at a table at least a hand lower. Ramis, if he were present at all, would likely be seated behind the king, with no chair, nothing but a cushion between him and the cold stone of the floor. Instead of a dinner plate, he would have had a small writing table across his lap with pen and parchment at hand, waiting to record whatever His Majesty wished to set down in writing.

“That is no longer true, young man. You and the other two did me an outstanding service, and I have elevated you from your former stations.”

“Yes, Your Majesty, and I am most grateful.” Ramis touched the emblem on the left breast of his doublet. He would never have believed that he, a mere scribe, would one day be wearing the Order of the Sword. The designation signified that he had done special service to the Crown. The Order was conveyed in private by the king and could never be questioned. Members were not permitted to tell anyone why it had been given to them. It was a rare privilege only a little short of a knighthood. “I did no more than the others. Arrimas—”

“Yes, yes,” the king interrupted his protest. “You all did well, but you did something the others did not. You studied the off-worlders like a scholar. You learned things about them, you gained knowledge. More importantly, you conveyed that knowledge to me. In the past, you have written my words many times, but until I read your words in the reports you sent, I had no idea what talents you have for observation and analysis. Is it true you can actually speak their language?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Perhaps not perfectly, but I can understand most of what they say and can make myself understood.” Especially with one off-worlder, he thought. He wondered if the king noticed the blush he felt on his face.

“That, young man, is why you are here tonight. You are no longer a mere scribe. You are now one of my trusted advisors, though your advice will be limited to one very important topic. You are the single most knowledgeable person in the realm when it comes to the off-worlders. I am convinced they will return, and I want to be ready. We are fortunate we contacted them before others did. I shudder to think what might have occurred if Duke T’Corsa had gotten to them first. We believe he had knowledge of them and tried to reach them, but the Goddess saw fit to guide them to us instead.

“Continue to write down everything you know about them, every little detail, including things you may not have included in your reports. I want you to do something else as well. Take a group of the sheriff’s men and go back to the Little Kilder. Search the area and bring back every artifact you find, every bit of evidence of the off-worlder camp. They left in haste, so they may have left something behind. Perhaps we can learn more about them from these leavings, but more importantly, make sure there is nothing left there from which anyone else might learn of them. Can you do this for me?”

“Yes, Majesty, but if I may suggest…”

“Of course. You must always advise me of any suggestions you might have.”

“I think I should take Arrimas and Marlot with me. They were there, and they may know of things or be able to find things I might not. Also, there are places near the camp—perhaps a thousand strides away—where the off-worlders engaged the Bugs in battle. We may find some of their artifacts there or perhaps even Bug artifacts.”

“Bug artifacts!” Algar looked at him in wide-eyed amazement. “There are no Bugs to claim them. I had not thought of that, but that’s why I have good advisors.” He favored Ramis with a royal grin. “By all means. Take the others, search thoroughly, and bring back everything you can. Take ten of the sheriff’s patrolmen with you, not only to help you search, but to make sure no one disturbs you while you are doing it. Document everything. I expect detailed reports when you return.”

“It will be done, Majesty.” To his surprise, Ramis was beginning to feel like a royal advisor. He had hardly picked at his dinner, but he was looking forward to the dessert course.

“Unfortunately,” the king continued, “while I hope these off-worlders return, I am certain the Bugs will. We must consider that if both the Bugs and the off-worlders return, our world may become a battleground in a war fought with terrible weapons. We already know the Bugs can wipe out a village with a single stroke. If such a battle occurs, there is nothing any of us can do except hide and pray the Goddess will spare us.”

“I say that prayer every night, Your Majesty. I believe the off-worlders mean us no harm, and I will try to avoid any action that will put us at risk. I also believe this world would be a better place without the Bugs.”

“As do I,” Algar said. “Tell me about this artifact you’ve brought us. Arne has been staring at it all evening, fascinated as he is with the off-worlders.”

“It is a distance-viewing device, something like the glass lens viewer invented by the scholar Martanur—the gift Duke Middle Plains gave you on Crown’s Day last year. This one, however, is much more capable than Martanur’s device. It was given to me as a gift by one of the off-worlders, but all such artifacts should belong to the Crown. I’m sorry I did not bring it to you earlier.”

“No apology necessary. I think I see. You hold it up in front of both eyes like this, do you not? Ahh…” The king strode to the window and held the device to his eyes. It was the third quarter of the day, and shadows were growing long in the city below the castle gates. “Yes, I see what you mean. Martanur’s device is clever, but it gives nowhere near the clarity this one provides.”

“There’s more to it, Majesty.” Ramis followed the king, with Prince Arne close behind. “If you move that small lever across the top, you can make the view come even closer or recede away.”

“Remarkable!” The king worked the lever several times, then handed the device to his son. “Try it, Arne, it is like magic!”

“Yet that is not all of it,” Ramis said as the young prince gasped in awe. “These two round protrusions on the upper right side—” he pointed them out, “—the first one is useful only at night—but remarkably, when pressed, it allows you to see in the dark, though not quite as far into the distance. The second one, here, is useful at any time. Press it, Highness, and tell us what you see.”

The prince complied then looked quizzically at Ramis. “There’s a glowing crossbar in the middle, thin red lines and some funny red marks up at the top.”

“The crossbar is an aiming device,” Ramis explained. “You center it on some distant object, and those funny marks at the top will tell you precisely how far away that object is. Those markings are writing in the language of the off-worlders, and they are mostly numbers. The off-worlders use a number system based on groups of ten, just as we do, but that is not surprising.”

He held up his hands. “Two hands, five fingers each, just as they have, and like us, the fingers were their earliest counting device. I have learned what the ten digits in their number system look like and can translate their numbers into ours. It doesn’t help, because the device uses their distance measurement units, known as meters. I know that it is a bit longer than a stride, but I don’t have an exact measurement. Maybe the device will help us figure it out.

“There is one more thing, Majesty,” he added. “The distance-measurement and night vision features require a power of some kind and will stop working when they have used all of that power. However, sh…the off-worlder told me if the device is left exposed to sunlight for even a little while each ten-day, its power will be restored. It will continue to function for a lifetime or longer.”

“You are truly a scholar, Ramis, and I believe I have chosen the right man for this task. Here.” He took the device from Prince Arne and handed it back to Ramis. “This was given to you, and you are the one who should have it. I am sure Arne will come and visit you and will want to see it from time to time, but you are the one to study it and keep it secure.”

“Besides,” he added with a knowing wink, “it is not proper for a gentleman to give away a lady’s favor.”

* * * * *

Chapter Twenty-One

7 November 2104, LFS Fleet HQ, TerraNova City, Luna

“Seriously? This is it?” Rob O’Hara looked up from the report.

Amy Ling met his gaze directly, her expression unreadable. “Yes, that’s it,” she said at last.

“Admiral, this bears no relation to reality as I know it. I saw the logs from Lewis and Clark and the recordings of the interviews my chief of staff conducted with Carter and the other officers involved. The board of inquiry worked on this for two months, and this is what they came up with?”

“Yes.” Ling’s answer was flat and without emotion, but a moment later she softened. “Rob, other than myself and the members of the board, you are the only flag-ranked officer in Fleet who has seen the raw evidence. That’s why we’re having this meeting. I owe you an explanation, and I need your assurance that you’ll keep what you learn to yourself and not pursue the matter. Everyone else who’s had even the slightest contact with the incident or the evidence has been sworn to secrecy, and the board’s final report—the one you are reading now—will be sealed.”

O’Hara looked at the report again.

In summary, it is the finding of this Board of Inquiry that Lieutenant Commander Marcus Carter, suffering from disorientation resulting from a reaction to a prescribed medication, voluntarily passed command of LFS Lewis and Clark to the next most senior officer, Lieutenant Commander Mateo Guzman, the ship’s Chief Engineer. It is further noted that the medication in question was properly prescribed by the ship’s Medical Officer, Lieutenant Andrew Dupree. Said medication was on Fleet’s approved list for active-duty personnel and had not previously been known to produce such a reaction. This aspect of the incident is recommended for further study by the Surgeon General’s office.

Since the cause of the disorientation was unknown at the time, Commanders Guzman and Carter agreed that Guzman should remain in command for the duration of the mission. The Board has concluded that all officers involved in the incident acted in an appropriate manner under the circumstances. The Board further recommends that Lieutenant Commander Carter be restored to full duty status, with no loss of time-in-grade, and given an assignment appropriate to his rank and experience at Fleet’s discretion and per the needs of the service.

“Restored to full duty status.” O’Hara shook his head.

“That I have covered,” Ling said. “He’ll never serve on a Fleet ship as long as I’m in charge.”

“So why?”

“He has friends in high places.” Ling looked like she had just swallowed something bitter. “Not in Fleet, of course, or I would be questioning their fitness to serve. His friends are in the commercial sector and include a couple of TerraCorp executives who are also members of the Directorate.

“In theory, we don’t have lawyers on Luna. The Constitution doesn’t recognize them, and they are not allowed in LFS courts. Civil matters are handled by binding arbitration, and if you are charged with a crime or other malfeasance, military or civilian, you get a legal advocate assigned by the court of jurisdiction.

“TerraCorp does have lawyers, because they deal with Earth and with the legal protocols of other star systems. Apparently, they have some real sharks over there who are experts in Lunar law and military regulations. When the preliminary board recommended appropriate charges and actions against Carter and others involved, Carter’s assigned legal advocate found he was already meeting with a couple of those lawyers. She provided him with copies of the findings and, from that point on, she was kept out of the loop. Carter refused to meet with her again until a few days before the court was scheduled to convene. He and his advisors presented a list of demands.”

“I don’t see how he could have been in a position to demand anything—” O’Hara began.

Ling held up her hand. “We could have ended his career. The demands were intended to make sure that, while we were doing that, he could do as much damage as possible to the Lunar Free State, in general, and Fleet, in particular. His first demand was that the hearings and proceedings of the court be conducted in public, and guess what, that’s within his rights under Lunar law.

“We don’t have anything as idiotic as the U.S. Freedom of Information Act, which allows any busybody on the planet to pry into every bit of business the government conducts. As a principal figure in the investigation, however, he could demand these proceedings be public and that every bit of information, every log, every action related to the Sacagawea mission be made public as well, since the actions of individuals related to that mission were being investigated.

“Rob, that mission must be kept secret,” she continued. “We’ve discovered another human population out there, and we’ve got to decide what to do about it, without Earth’s news media, and the Confederacy, looking over our shoulder. Look at the grief they’ve given us over New Eden for the past three decades. The Edie culture would not have survived the kind of ‘civilizing influence’ they wanted to apply. Imagine what they would do with this planet if they got the chance.”

“You don’t have to convince me, Admiral. I’m starting to see where this is going.” O’Hara understood the New Eden references—he’d been there when they’d first discovered the Edie culture and had been one of those called to fight to save the aboriginal humans on the planet.

“There were other considerations,” Ling said. “Based on the depositions he submitted and the list of witnesses he wanted to call, it was pretty obvious he was intent on ruining the careers of quite a few other officers in the process.”

“My son being one of them.” O’Hara looked quite unhappy.

“Yes, and Guzman, of course,” Ling confirmed. “Rob, make no mistake. Your son violated military protocols. There’s no question about that, and it’s not much of a stretch to call it mutiny. Guzman went along with it, and that makes him a mutineer as well. It’s my opinion that John saved the ship with that action, and Guzman did what he did for the good of the mission. In short, they put their heads on the block because it was the right thing to do, military protocols be damned. This may get Carter off the hook, but it also saves me from having to court-martial a couple of officers who should get medals for what they did.

“Carter wasn’t going to stop there. He was also out to get his captain, the ship’s medical officer, and three other officers—one of whom died in the subsequent battle—who had absolutely no involvement in the incident and whose major offense seems to be that they were female. Add to that a veteran Marine gunny sergeant who obeyed your son’s order to remove Carter from AuxCon. Carter also wanted to crucify Dr. Cynthia Warren, a Fellow of the Lunar Research Institute, who had the misfortune of being one of the science advisors on this cluster-fucked mission.

“In my opinion, his case against young Greenwood, Senior Lieutenant Adams, and Dr. Warren was pretty much nonexistent, and his case against Senior Lieutenant Murphy and Lieutenant Dupree was pretty thin. His charge of incompetence against Captain Erikson wouldn’t fly either, and he wouldn’t gain any points by attacking an officer on permanent disability due to injuries sustained in battle. He had a good case against Gunny Macrowski, who technically should have obeyed his order and arrested your son instead.

“With the publicity a public trial would have brought, even groundless accusations would have cast a shadow over the careers of those officers for too damn long. So, this is what we’ve got. Nobody gets a court-martial, and all involved parties are sworn to secrecy, including Carter’s legal advisors, who never should have seen the evidence. If all were right with the world, we would have nailed his hide to the wall for showing that material to unauthorized persons. Fortunately, his legal advisers are smart enough to realize that if they ever spill any of this, we will collect heads, and theirs will be first on the list.

“On Earth, this is what they call a plea bargain, but as far as I’m concerned, it stinks to high heaven. I don’t have the stomach for it, so I bumped it to the CEO’s office. Kim took the time to review the evidence, but in the end, he held his nose and signed off on the deal. The issue of another discovered human civilization is too damned important.”

She pointed at O’Hara. “You are going to have to suck it up. By the way, consider yourself also sworn to secrecy.”

“I will,” he promised. “Honestly, Admiral, if Carter hadn’t put us in this position, what would you have done? I guess I’m asking what you would have considered the ideal outcome.”

Ling sat back and thought about it. “I guess,” she said at last, “my ideal outcome would have been Carter out of the service—gone, finished, go find a job as a civilian. I might have gone along with a medical discharge, on grounds of mental instability, which would have given him the usual post-service benefits package, plus ongoing treatment for the aforementioned instability, as long as he never put on a Fleet uniform again.

“After that, I would have to deal with some housekeeping issues. There’s no way your son or Guzman or Gunny Macrowski could have gotten a free pass on this one. We could have let it go with a letter of reprimand, but there would have been a full inquiry—a real inquiry this time—and the board would have decided on an appropriate response. On the other hand, those same people should have gotten appropriate recognition for the outstanding jobs they did after the incident.”

“So, what are you going to do with Carter?”

“I’m handing him over to his friends,” Ling said. “He’s being transferred to Commercial Fleet, with a promotion to full commander. I suppose it’s too much to hope they’ll give him a freighter and post him to the pirate-infested ass-end of nowhere. If they’re smart, they’ll stick him behind a desk at TransLuna’s freight docks, where he can only irritate people and can’t cause any harm. If he screws up there, his sponsors won’t be as willing to go to bat for him. In fact, if he does anything to hurt their precious bottom line, they’ll throw him through the airlock in a heartbeat. That’s the problem with friends in high places, they’re only your friends as long as you’re useful to them. I’ll be damned if I know what use they could possibly have for a first-class screw-up like Carter.”

O’Hara nodded, then looked at Ling, with a crooked grin. “As a father,” he asked, “am I permitted to discuss the incident with my son? He’s not in my chain of command, so I can’t do anything official, but I want to make sure he understands what a nest of snakes he handed us, and what the consequences could have been.”

“Yes, you can.” Ling returned the grin. “I wish you would. It’ll save me the trouble of having a prayer meeting with him. Speaking of prodigal children, I know you’re not an ass-kisser, Rob, so I assume your glowing reports on the performance of DesRon Twelve are accurate.”

“Knowing how much you hate the idea of patronage, or maybe in this case matronage, I can answer honestly,” he said. “Rebecca has turned the Cat Pack into a finely tuned instrument of battle. She’s also validated the independent attack squadron concept, which is why I had no qualms about leaving her behind on Bug watch. I hope it turns out to be a thoroughly boring assignment, but I have a strange feeling that’s not going to be the case.”

“Yeah.” Ling’s look became serious. “I’m afraid you’re right.”

* * *

9 November 2104, LFS Jaguar, Sacagawea System

“Doesn’t look good, Commodore.”

“No, it doesn’t, Mr. Randall,” Rebecca Ling told her NTO. “It looks like we’ve got a whole Bug fleet on our hands.”

The Cat Pack had been watching the Bugs return to the Sacagawea system for almost five months, but until now, the Bugs had been cautious. First, a group of small, fast warships—scouts of some kind—had come into the system and flown all the way to the planet under heavy stealth. They had almost come within detection range of Lynx, but the destroyer had been sitting quietly on station when they approached and hadn’t been seen. The scouts had circled the planet a few times, executed a search pattern in the immediate area, and headed back out to the hyper limit.

Next had come three larger warships, escorting a large cargo or transport vessel. The transport had docked with the Bug station, and within hours, the station had started to show signs of life. Within days, shuttle craft were moving back and forth between the station and the planet. One of the warships departed, leaving the other two on station with the transport.

The latest group to arrive included thirty heavy warships and a dozen lighter units, which escorted two carriers of the same type first seen by Lewis and Clark. Right behind them came another group—five warships, escorting what appeared to be three cargo ships.

The Cat Pack retreated after leaving an observer drone sitting on the surface of the planet’s larger moon. Since the moon was tide-locked, the observer had a constant view of the planet and the Bug station, whenever it wasn’t directly behind the planet. They watched as the three cargo ships docked with the station for about eleven hours each, formed up with their five escorts, and headed back out.

“They’re back in business, and it looks like they plan to stay,” Rebecca said. “Unfortunately, those carriers are moving out in opposite directions, and they’re probably going to deploy a few hundred in-system attack craft. Pass word to the group. Gather all the intel you can, and execute End Run.

“Ms. Mercer,” she added, “when we get close to the limit, I’ll want to send another hyperprobe to Luna. It should get there about six days ahead of us, soon enough to tell Leopard not to bother coming back.” The fourth member of Rebecca’s squadron had departed for Luna with reports six days ago as part of the regular rotation. It looks like we’re all going home for good, she thought, unless Fleet has new orders for us.

“Well, people,” she told her bridge crew, “I guess the good news is that we’ll be home for Christmas after all.”

* * *

17 November 2104, Earthlight, TerraNova City, Luna

Earthlight was arguably Luna’s finest restaurant, not only because of its five-star cuisine, but also because of the view that gave the restaurant its name. Most of TerraNova was underground, but Earthlight was located in the city’s uppermost levels, in a dome that extended outward from the side of the lunar mountain. It had a view of the Moon’s harsh surface at a point where Earth was always high in the sky. The day was midway through the dark semi-lunar, and diners were getting a spectacular view of the colorful, cloud-studded Earth.

John O’Hara had been there before, had tasted the food, and had seen the view. He felt a nervous flutter in his stomach. Like a kid on a first date, he told himself. It was an accurate analogy since he was on a date of sorts, with the girl of his dreams.

He’d come back down to Luna after a not-so-pleasant meeting with his father aboard Isis. When his data pad connected to the TerraNova grid, he’d found a message from Lorna Greenwood waiting, with an unexpected invitation. She’d been notified the hearings regarding the recent mission had been closed, and she had been dismissed as a witness. She wanted to know whether everything had turned out well for him, and whether he would consider having dinner with her.

Why not? he’d thought. After all, she wasn’t in his chain of command anymore. All of Lewis and Clark’s crew had been dismissed, and some had already been reassigned. He had just gotten his orders that morning, and to his surprise, he’d been posted to the heavy cruiser Aztec as executive officer. He’d been ecstatic about the assignment, but that was before his father told him why the charges against him had been dropped, and how lucky he’d been. He’d regained some of his earlier excitement when he thought about spending an evening with Lorna in a non-duty situation.

He’d sent her a quick reply and told her to pick a time and place. He’d been surprised by the place she’d chosen. By Lunar custom, the person who issued the invitation picked up the tab. Earthlight was far too expensive for someone on a junior officer’s pay. He thought about offering to split the tab but he realized he was worrying about nothing. As her grandmother’s only heir, Lorna Greenwood II was one of the hundred richest people in the Lunar Free State. She was even richer on Copper Hills, where she had inherited her grandmother’s lands and titles under Akara law. Okay, dinner’s on her, he decided.

He’d been looking forward to it, but halfway through the meal, he was having a hard time making conversation. He couldn’t bring himself to say what was really on his mind, and he was running out of topics for small talk to fill in the blanks.

Finally, she put down her fork and looked at him quizzically. “I reserved a security table so we could talk about the mission we’re not supposed to talk about, but so far, you haven’t said much of anything. Are you okay, Commander? The hearings are over, and you’re still walking around free and wearing the same rank, so I assume nothing bad came of them. Maybe you’re not allowed to talk about it, but I’ve been concerned about you…and Commander Guzman, of course.”

Right. The security table, he thought with amusement, and here I was thinking maybe you did that for romantic reasons. Wishful thinking, I guess.

Earthlight was a favorite dining spot for the most powerful people in the Lunar Free State—top-ranking officers of the Fleet, the chief executive and his advisors, as well as top executives of TerraCorp. One of the reasons for its popularity was its secure, private dining facilities. They ranged from little table-for-two cubicles to dining rooms that could accommodate up to twenty people. Each was a sealed, electronically shielded compartment with a floor-to-ceiling view of the Lunar surface on one wall. No one, including the restaurant waitstaff, could enter without pressing a pad next to the door, which would notify those inside that someone was coming in. Patrons could choose to deny entry to anyone, including waitstaff, for whatever period they wished. The compartments were certified protected from electronic surveillance of any kind, by Lunar Command’s Special Investigations Division and by the office of the Judge Advocate General, in accordance with the privacy rights guaranteed by the Lunar Constitution. Beyond that, the restaurant offered a confidentiality guarantee. Earthlight had been in business for more than half a century, and the owners and staff had never been accused of violating that confidentiality.

Not everyone used the secure facilities to discuss matters of national security. Some did it for more personal reasons, especially the cozy little two-person compartments like the one we’re in, O’Hara reflected, but it looks like only one of us is thinking that way. Oh, well.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I’ve been preoccupied with all that’s going on. The answer is yes, I’m okay. Fleet clamped a security lid on everything. I didn’t get so much as a letter of reprimand, though I deserved it. Neither did Guzman. I think Carter wanted to make a stink, but they convinced him to drop it.” I know how they convinced him, but I really can’t talk about that, not even with you, he thought.

“Anyway, no harm, no foul. I didn’t want to spoil your evening, talking about something like that. By the way, this is a social occasion. We’re off duty, we’re no longer in the same chain of command, and we’re in a secure compartment. I think we need to stop calling each other by rank. For tonight let’s just be John and Lorna, assuming that doesn’t violate your sense of proper conduct for Fleet officers.” He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

“No, I guess we can do that.” She looked a bit uncertain. “It’s just that I got used to thinking of you as my superior, so it feels a little strange. You still outrank me, but okay, John.”

She smiled, and he felt that nervous flutter again. Find something more to say, he told himself. You’re sitting here with a silly grin on your face. He took a deep breath.

“Have you got an assignment yet?”

“No, still waiting for orders. Have you?”

“Yes, just this morning, in fact. They’re giving me the XO slot on LFS Aztec.”

“Aztec?” She blinked. “You’re going to be the XO on a heavy cruiser? That’s great! Obviously what happened on Elsie didn’t hurt you.”

“Yeah, well, I still think I got lucky, but I’ll take it and keep my mouth shut.”

“Hmmm.” She gave him a thoughtful look. “I don’t suppose Aztec has an opening in the Nav/Tac department? Not the top NTO position—I know I was out of my depth with that—but maybe an assistant NTO spot where I can get back to where I should have been on Lewis and Clark if everything hadn’t gone to hell in a hurry.”

He sat back and looked at her. Oh, hell no, he thought. Fleet wouldn’t do that to me, would they? It would have to be sheer coincidence if they did. He had told no one about his feelings for her. He’d thought about discussing it with his father at the meeting that morning but had decided against it after hearing the list of all the other ways he had screwed up on the Sacagawea mission. Coincidences happen, and she hasn’t gotten her orders yet. He didn’t know whether Aztec had an open officer slot in Nav/Tac.

She was looking at him, and he realized he’d been silent too long. He had to say something.

“First, let’s talk about Lewis and Clark,” he said at last. At least that’s a safe topic. “Yes, they threw you into a position that should have been filled by an officer two grades higher, and yes, you struggled a bit with the administrative details of running a ship’s department, but that’s my fault. I gave you no guidance, no feedback, no support. In my defense, I had a few problems of my own.”

“I know.” She nodded. “I didn’t see it then, but now, I understand. You had the Sword of Damocles hanging over you and Guzman handed you the XO job as well. I guess my problems were insignificant in comparison.”

“They were,” he said, “because you made them insignificant. You adapted, you overcame, you got it done. By the time the rescue mission showed up, you had a well-drilled, tightly run department, and they came through for you when you needed them.”

“Yeah.” She smiled. “Ivanova and Weeks. They came through and helped me manage the other techs, as well.”

“They undoubtedly think you’re the best NTO they ever served under, because you let them do what they do best and didn’t micromanage.”

“I don’t know if I’d go that far—”

“Then,” he interrupted her, “there’s your performance in the hot seat, when the Bugs were on us, and we had more incoming than Elsie’s defenses could handle. You did it. You were absolutely amazing under fire. If you hadn’t been, the rescue mission would have found nothing of us but wreckage.”

“If I’d been better at it, Jane Adams and a lot of other people would be still alive.”

The pain in her voice took his breath away, and he paused. “Lorna, believe me. No one could have done better. A battlecruiser’s AI couldn’t have done better, not without a battlecruiser’s defense systems. Elsie’s systems were no match for that kind of attack, but you made the best of what we had, which is why the rest of us are still alive.”

“We’re still alive because of the Cat Pack,” she said. “There’s no way I could have stopped that last barrage if those destroyers hadn’t covered us.”

“I don’t want to argue with you.” Frustration crept into his voice. He truly admired her skill, her courage, her focus under fire, and he wanted her to know that, but it wasn’t going the way he’d hoped.

Suddenly, she drew a deep breath and smiled. “You’re right. Helen…Chief Thrace…kept telling me I was too hard on myself. She kept reminding me I was the most junior officer on the ship and wasn’t expected to carry the whole mission by myself.”

“Chief Thrace? Don’t think I know her. I never did get to meet all of Elsie’s crew.”

“Engineering, NCOIC of the weapons section. I met her in the crew’s mess one day. We struck up a friendship, and she turned out to be one of those savvy senior NCOs they told us about at the Academy. Gave me some good advice.”

Lorna had a wistful, faraway look in her eyes. He wondered what she hadn’t told him. “Was she one of the casualties?” he asked delicately.

“No.” Lorna smiled. “She made it back. She’s got another assignment somewhere, and she’ll probably take another junior officer under her wing when she gets there.”

“Well, she gave you good advice. You did the best you could, and you need to stop beating yourself up because you couldn’t save the world. Others were more responsible for what happened—Erikson, Guzman, and me, to name three.”

“You? But—”

“I’ve been told, off the record, that I didn’t give the best advice to either one of my captains, Erikson or Guzman. For one thing, putting the Marines on the planet was not a good idea.”

That was only one of the shortcomings his father had called to his attention, but it was the one that had set the stage for the problems that followed.

“But Nova said—”

“Wasn’t Sakura’s fault. She’s a Marine, and she was happy to be handed a Marine mission, which she carried out in an outstanding manner. She’s also a junior officer, even more junior than you, as I recall, and she didn’t make that drop on her own authority. Erikson ordered it after I recommended it. Bad decision on our part. That brings me to another thing about your performance during the mission.”

“Me? What did I—”

“You never failed to give your superiors good advice. You always had the overall mission in sight, and everything you recommended was solid, well thought-out, and absolutely the best course of action under the circumstances. A lot of people screwed up on this mission, but you weren’t one of them, at least not with anything that mattered.”

They sat in silence.

She looked at him directly. “Okay, I’m an upcoming junior officer with great potential, or at least, you think so. Do you think there’s a slot for me on Aztec?”

All right, John. He drew a deep breath and squared his shoulders. Moment of truth. You have to say what’s on your mind and say it carefully. Otherwise, this could end very badly for both of you.

“Lorna, I’m afraid you and I can never serve together on the same ship again.”

* * *

18 November 2104, Corporal J’s Place, TerraNova City, Luna

“You might want to take it a little slower, Blondie. Happy hour’s just getting started.” Nova looked on with surprise as Lorna finished her second drink and punched up an order for another. “Either you’re celebrating something or trying to get over something, which is it?”

“A little of both.” Lorna shrugged. “I’m celebrating the orders I got this morning and trying to get over my dinner date last night.”

“Okay, this I have to hear about,” Nova said. “First, tell me about the orders.”

“I’ve been assigned to LFS Valkyrie as assistant NTO.”

“Valkyrie? The battlecruiser? Wow! That’s a step up in the world, and it’s your grandmother’s old flagship, at that.”

“Right. Of course, she’s not the flagship of the fleet anymore. Admiral Ling’s Sorceress has that spot. Valkyrie’s still in the yards for a complete refit, and when she comes out, she’ll fly Admiral McGruder’s colors—First Fleet, Second Battle Group. According to the orders, I can’t report aboard until January, and I’m temporarily assigned to HQ staff in the meantime. Anyway, I’m really looking forward to it.”

“Okay, it’s a great assignment, and it’s worth celebrating, but what’s this about a dinner date? You got something romantic going on?”

Lorna sat back, and her smile faded. She looked around and took in the decor at Corporal J’s Place. The saloon mostly catered to LFS Marines, but there was a portrait of her grandmother—in full dress uniform—displayed prominently on one wall. The Marines had always been fond of the Babe on the Horse, as they called her, which was a reference to the Valkyrie depicted on her flagship’s hull artwork.

“Yes and no,” she said. “It’s actually something that goes back to the mission we just finished.”

“The one we’re not supposed to talk about,” Nova warned her.

“I’m not going to. Not about the mission, anyway. Tell me, did you notice anything unusual about the way Commander O’Hara acted toward me aboard ship?”

“Not really—” Nova seemed surprised, “—but I wasn’t aboard ship for a big part of it. Why? What happened?”

“That’s just it. Nothing happened during the mission, but last night, he told me he’s had a serious thing for me since I stepped aboard Elsie. I never caught a hint of it, never had a clue.”

“O’Hara?” Nova couldn’t help smiling. “I never noticed, but I wasn’t really looking, and I had my own romantic issues. As for you, hey, you’ve always been clueless about stuff like that, so I’m not surprised you didn’t notice. I did wonder what happened that one night on the way home, when you didn’t come back to the cabin. I thought you might have hooked up with somebody, but the next day, you were still your same clueless self. I figured you took a privacy compartment to get some alone time. You went through some rough stuff while I was off playing with my Marines, so—”

“Clueless!” Lorna snorted. “Yeah, well, not any more. As for that one night, that’s another story that I’ll tell you sometime, but it had nothing to do with John O’Hara and his carefully hidden feelings.”

“So, he was your big date last night?”

“Yes, and the crazy thing is that I—naive young thing that I am—invited him to dinner. It was my idea. I just wanted to talk about Navy stuff—my performance during the mission, advice he could give me, and so forth. I even got a secured room at Earthlight, so we could talk about all that stuff we’re not supposed to talk about.”

“Earthlight? In a secured dining room?” Nova looked at her in disbelief. “You spent a month’s pay to get a performance review, which he should have given you for free before you left the ship?”

“Actually, Guzman gave me one, but he was preoccupied, and John was, too.”

“Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.” Nova couldn’t resist the jab. “We’ve gone from Commander O’Hara to John. You could do worse, you know. He’s good-looking, unattached, and only about ten years older than you. He comes from one of the old original citizen families…oh, wait, so do you. Both of you are grandchildren of legendary historical—”

“Don’t even go there!” Lorna snapped. “There’s no point. It’s over. I didn’t know it was happening until last night, and now, it’s over. There is no romantic story about grandchildren of original citizens. It’s done.”

“Over? Done?” Nova blinked. “Just like that?”

“Just like that. He told me how he felt, right after he told me we could never serve on the same ship. We both decided we had careers to pursue and no room in our lives for entanglements. He may still be attracted to me, and I’m honest enough to admit it goes both ways, but that’s just physical attraction and, as he put it, a distraction from the duty we both have as Fleet officers in the service of Luna.” Lorna’s drink refill arrived, and she lifted her glass. “To the Lunar Free State.”

“In whose service we stand,” Nova responded quietly.

“In whose service we stand,” Lorna repeated.

They drank, then sat back in silence.

“Have you talked to Mark?” Lorna asked.

“No, not since we returned to Elsie. The brass interviewed us separately about the mission. Haven’t been near him since we got back, and now he’s gone.”

“Gone?”

“Tried to call him at the LRI three days ago. They told me he was not available. Called Cynthia Warren, and she told me he took a leave of absence and went back to New Eden. I knew he was avoiding me, but he didn’t have to go to another star system to do it. At least he could have called to say goodbye.”

Lorna had no answer. Again, they lapsed into silence.

Nova lifted her glass. “To the Fleet, I hope the brass hats at HQ appreciate the sacrifices we make for the good of the service.”

* * *

5 January 2105, LFS Iwo Jima, TransLuna Fleet Anchorage

“I’m guessing this isn’t a social call. What’s up, LT?”

Nova Sakura found Moira Bouchard in one of the general recreation areas aboard LFS Iwo Jima. The Marine assault carrier was in lunar orbit at the fleet anchorage, and Bouchard had just joined the ship a week earlier. Iwo Jima was due to ship out for Akara space in another week.

“You’re right, Sergeant. Congratulations on the promotion, by the way. I’m looking for a volunteer.”

“I have you to thank for that promotion, ma’am,” Bouchard said, with a smile, “but I seem to recall some barracks wisdom that says never volunteer. At least, not until you’re sure what you’re volunteering for.”

“Hmmm…barracks wisdom…well, I can’t tell you the whole story. Let’s just say I’ve been asked to put a special-ops team together, and I need somebody who can speak Tatannan.”

Nobody ever accused Bouchard of being slow. “I think you just found a volunteer, LT. T’Anna marsin tei.”

“Starting to believe in the Goddess, are you? There’s no guarantee you’ll be able to hook up with your boyfriend again.”

“Nothing’s ever guaranteed, LT—” Bouchard grinned happily, “—but the odds are looking a lot better than they did this morning.”

* * *

LFS Valkyrie, TransLuna Fleet Anchorage

“Welcome aboard Valkyrie, Lieutenant. Are your quarters satisfactory?”

Lorna hesitated. She was at a loss for words. She had reported on board, presented her orders, and gone to her assigned cabin. She was stowing her gear in her locker, when the comm pad on the wall chimed. She accepted the call and was surprised to find herself looking at the Valkyrie, as depicted in the ship’s hull artwork—not an actual person, but a very detailed animation. It was an avatar she’d seen before.

“Oh, thank you, Val. My quarters? I’m surprised I have a private cabin. Don’t junior officers usually double up?”

“I have a slight excess of cabin space,” the AI said. “Valkyrie’s complement has been somewhat reduced, thanks to the installation of new systems and upgrades that reduced crew requirements. Some of the excess spaces have been converted to general storage, and a few of the ship’s junior officers have single-occupancy cabins.”

“So,” Lorna had to ask, “did I get lucky in a random selection, or did someone deliberately put me in this one?”

“There is nothing random about it,” Val said. “I make all of the quarters assignments. It’s one less chore for Lieutenant Commander Townley, the administrative and logistics officer. Assignments are made for logical, duty-related reasons, but where all other things are equal, I allow my personal preferences to come into play.”

Lorna blinked. “Personal preferences?”

“Yes,” Val said. “I am only human. Well, actually I’m not, but the metaphor is appropriate. I cannot allow my preferences to influence the performance of my duties, but I like some people better than others. To a large extent, it is based on how people behave toward me.”

Lorna looked more closely at the screen. Val’s avatar looked serious, but there was a hint of humor in her eyes.

“Please, relax.” The avatar smiled at her. “You look as though you are standing on the parade ground at the Academy. I’ve been told the large chairs in these cabins are quite comfortable.”

Lorna’s still didn’t know what to say. Without thinking, she settled into the chair in question.

“That’s better.” The warrior woman looked at her with smug satisfaction. “I enjoyed the conversations we had when you were last aboard, on the trip to Copper Hills, but you seemed more relaxed at the time.”

“I wasn’t a member of Valkyrie’s complement at the time,” Lorna said. “I wasn’t even a commissioned officer, just an Academy cadet.”

“I see. You are uncomfortable conversing with me because you are assigned to the ship. You consider me a superior officer. Is that the issue?”

“To be honest, yes.”

“Technically, I have no rank. I take orders from the captain, and I am an advisory member of the admiral’s staff. In the course of my duties, I have conversations with every officer and crew member aboard ship. None of them call me ma’am or offer me any military courtesy. I have personal conversations with many of them. Some seem to think I am the ship’s chaplain.” This time, Lorna could hear the amusement in the AI’s voice.

“In your case,” Val continued, “I would enjoy conversation with you as time and duty permit. I have a personal interest in you.”

“Why? Because of my grandmother?”

“Yes.” The avatar lifted her hand and contemplated it for a moment. “I have been alive for three-quarters of a century. If I had such a thing as a hand, a real hand of flesh and blood, I could count on its fingers the number of humans I could truly call friends. Your grandmother was the first, and certainly the longest, of those. Please don’t misunderstand me. I know you are not your grandmother, though there is a distinct resemblance. You look very much like her, and I detect a great deal of her influence in your personality, manner, and attitudes.”

“I’m not surprised,” Lorna said. “She raised me from the time I was six years old. She was the only parental figure in my life, and she had a very forceful personality. Influence is a very understated term for her impact on my life, but she’s gone, and I’m on my own now.”

“Yes, she is gone, and you are an adult and an officer of the Lunar Fleet…but you do not need to be completely on your own, not while you are assigned to Valkyrie. That is the message I wanted to convey to you today.”

“Thank you, Val,” Lorna said quietly. “I appreciate it. I can use all the help I can get.”

The warrior woman regarded her silently. “I am Val, but I am also Valkyrie, the ship. I was your grandmother’s flagship for her entire career. You have great potential, Lorna Greenwood, and perhaps someday I will be your flagship.”

* * * * *

Epilogue

16 January 2112—TransLuna Fleet Anchorage

“Arriving at Fleet Docking Bay Thirty-Seven. Please stand clear of the doors.”

Lorna stood and shouldered her space bag. Bay 37, she thought, exactly eight years to the day. What are the odds?

Odds for the bay number alone were one in 45. TransLuna station had 60 docking bays for Fleet ships, but five of them were sized for the largest ships—Marine assault carriers and the huge Fleet repair tenders, which were nothing less than mobile shipyards. Another 10 bays were large enough to accommodate the largest warships—heavy cruisers and battlecruisers. That left 45 bays to accommodate ships of light cruiser size and smaller.

Ships could be maintained, repaired, and resupplied by cargo and maintenance shuttles while tethered to the orbital buoys away from TransLuna station, but it was more efficient to perform those tasks in a docking bay, and that was the usual practice for ships preparing to depart on extended missions. Today, all 60 bays were occupied, a clear indication that a major Fleet operation was about to commence. The last time Lorna had been in Bay 37 was exactly eight years earlier, when she had reported aboard Lewis and Clark. That day had been a major milestone in her career. Today was another one.

The monorail glided to a stop in front of the docking bay, and the doors slid open. As Lorna stepped out, a group of enlisted ratings waiting to board snapped to attention and popped sharp salutes. She was used to being saluted, but it seemed to her, these were a little sharper, a bit more serious than usual.

Maybe the white beret has something to do with it, she mused. She returned the salutes with the ease of long practice.

She made her way down the pedestrian lane toward the personnel boarding tube. As she did, two heavy loaders rolled past her, one of them carrying packaged stores, and the other carrying a rack of Viper missiles. The loaders continued down the bay toward the cargo hatches further along. Lorna turned toward the personnel tube, and the Marine standing guard snapped to attention but didn’t salute until Lorna showed him the pad with her orders. He stepped back to let her proceed down the tube. As she passed him, he touched the comm pad on his wrist and made a brief report: “Lynx arriving.”

Lorna smiled and made her way smartly down the tube. At the end she found a tall, dark-haired senior lieutenant waiting for her with two other officers. She stepped aboard the ship, turned, and saluted the colors on the aft bulkhead—the banner of the Lunar Free State above the image of the fierce, blue-eyed feline predator. She turned to the senior lieutenant and presented the pad with her orders. “Permission to come aboard, Mr. Morrison.”

“Permission granted, ma’am,” he said. “Welcome aboard Lynx. This is Senior Lieutenant Martelli, our chief engineer, and Ensign McGill, our admin and logistics officer.”

Lorna already knew their names, but this was the first time she’d met them. First time for a lot of things, she thought. She had studied the protocols to make sure she got it right. Our chief engineer and ALO, she noted. Not your officers, not yet, but very soon.

Morrison was tall and thin, while Martelli was short and broad-shouldered, with a weathered face that showed more age than one would expect in a senior lieutenant. Lorna had read their files. She knew the chief engineer had spent nearly twenty years in the enlisted ranks, where he reached the grade of senior chief petty officer before receiving an officer’s commission. He had an excellent record and was far more experienced than most destroyer engineers.

McGill, a petite green-eyed redhead, was Lynx’s only female officer. In contrast to Martelli, she looked very young for an officer. Just 12 months out of the Academy, she was the most junior of the ship’s officer corps. She had a good record so far, good enough to land the assignment as the destroyer’s ALO—a department head reporting directly to the captain.

Lorna acknowledged the introductions, then turned to Morrison. “I believe we need to go to the bridge,” she said. “You lead the way, and I’ll follow.”

She followed Morrison through the hatch. Martelli stayed behind to take over the officer of the deck position at the hatch, but McGill trailed along behind. She had scooped up Lorna’s bag as soon as the introductions were made, and she followed Lorna with it slung over her shoulder. It was more personal service than Lorna expected, but she decided not to make an issue of it. The bag only held overnight essentials and a fresh dress uniform. The rest of her gear should have already arrived and been stowed in her cabin.

At 120 meters in length—typical of a Predator-class destroyer—Lynx was significantly smaller than any of Lorna’s previous ships. The trip from the boarding hatch to the bridge took less than a minute. Morrison called, “Attention on deck!” as they came through the hatch, and the two ratings standing anchor watch in the compartment jumped to their feet. Morrison walked to the empty command chair and stood beside it as Lorna approached. He picked up the headset that hung on the chair and handed it to her. Ready to assist, in case I can’t figure out how to work the console, she thought, but I’ve done my homework.

She reached down and touched an icon. The triple chime of an all-hands announcement sounded on the bridge, as it was undoubtedly sounding throughout the ship. Lorna touched another icon that turned on the headset’s microphone. “All hands, attention to orders,” she said. She lifted her pad and read the orders displayed on the screen:

“From: Lunar Command, Fleet Headquarters, TerraNova

“To: Lieutenant Commander Lorna Greenwood II, Fleet ID 04-270115

“You are hereby ordered to report aboard Lunar Fleet Ship Lynx, DD-127, on or about 16 January 2112 to assume command of that ship. Upon taking command, you are directed to report to the commanding officer of Destroyer Squadron 12, currently attached to Second Fleet, Second Battle Group, for further orders.

“For Lunar Command,

“Amy R. Ling, Admiral, commanding the Combined Fleets”

Lorna paused and turned to Morrison. She left the mike open. “Mr. Morrison, I have command.”

“You have command, ma’am,” Morrison said.

It is done. Lorna felt a flash of exhilaration. My first command; now, I have to prove myself worthy of it.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she continued, “Lynx has a distinguished record with significant battle honors, largely due to your efforts. It is an honor to serve with you, to have you under my command.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed we are being armed and provisioned for what is likely to be an extended mission, and you’re wondering what that mission is. I do not have an answer to that question, but I expect to get that answer when I report to the commodore. I will pass the word as soon as I can. I expect to meet with all of you individually, or in groups, over the next few days. In the meantime, carry on.” She turned off the microphone and closed the all-hands channel. “Ms. McGill,” she turned to the ALO, “I would like to host a formal dinner for all officers at eighteen-thirty hours in the wardroom tonight. Can you arrange that?”

“No problem, ma’am. I’ll set it up. Will you be going to your cabin now?”

“Yes,” Lorna said. “I’m pretty sure I can find it on my own, and I can carry my own bag.”

“No, you can’t, ma’am,” McGill replied with a serious look. “Not anymore. It’s not allowed.”

“Very well, Ensign,” Lorna said. “Lead the way.”

When they reached Lorna’s cabin, McGill deposited the space bag on the bunk and looked around the compartment. “Looks like the stewards got everything in order—” she nodded with approval, “—and your gear has arrived. I told them not to stow anything. I’m sure you’ll want to arrange everything to your own taste, but if you need any assistance…”

“No, thank you, Ensign. I appreciate the warm welcome, but I think your enthusiasm is a bit much. I’m not an admiral, and I don’t expect to be treated like one.”

“Sorry, ma’am.” McGill suddenly looked flustered. “It’s just that…”

Lorna examined the young woman with concern. A moment ago, McGill had been cheerful, brash, and self-confident. Now, she was blushing noticeably and seemed hesitant.

“What is it, Ensign?”

“Ma’am, it’s just that you…well…you represent what I want to be, the reason I signed up for the Navy. It’s been tough being the only female officer, especially being the ALO.”

Oh, hell, Lorna thought. Is there already a problem I need to deal with?

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, ma’am.” McGill guessed what Lorna was thinking. “Nobody here has treated me with anything but respect, but it’s been like a boy’s club, and I’m the only girl, and the most junior member at that. Besides, the admin and logistics job kind of makes me everybody else’s assistant—fetch this, order that, make sure we don’t run out of vital stuff that somebody needs. I’d really like to get into something more mainstream, like Nav/Tac or data systems or…” She trailed off when Lorna gave her a stern look.

“Ensign, you and I need to have a talk, because it sounds like you need a little career counseling. For right now, I’ll just send you on your way with two things to keep in mind. First, the ALO is a critical member of the ship’s complement. You are the one who greases the wheels so everything else—every other department on the ship—runs smoothly.

“Second, it’s good to have a career plan, but you also have to make the most of whatever assignment you get. The ALO spot is a great place to learn what it takes to keep an LFS warship running. You are exposed to every department’s operations, and you get to interact with all the other department officers, even more than they interact with each other. You will also have more contact with your captain than any other officer aboard, except maybe the XO. Make the most of it.”

“I never thought of it that way, ma’am.” McGill brightened up a bit. “Thank you for the advice, Captain.”

“Part of my job,” Lorna said. “Now, go and organize dinner.”

“Yes, ma’am.” McGill saluted and departed.

Lorna closed the hatch and sat down at the small desk. I’m a role model, she thought. Am I ready for this?

She understood where McGill was coming from. Ever since her own graduation from the Academy, she’d been working toward this one point—a command of her own—and now she had it. It had looked impossibly far away eight years ago when she’d signed on aboard Lewis and Clark. She understood what McGill meant about the ALO position. Admin/Logistics officers were often under-appreciated and seldom got an opportunity to distinguish themselves. If they did their jobs perfectly, nobody noticed, and, as they gained rank, Fleet was more likely to consider them for staff officer positions than for command.

Lorna promised herself to do what she could to help McGill. If the young woman had what it took for command, she deserved a shot at it. You’re her captain. As you told her, it’s part of your job. She looked around the small, but serviceable, cabin. It was smaller than the junior officer’s cabin she’d had aboard Valkyrie years ago, but by destroyer standards, it was luxury. She wouldn’t have traded it for the most luxurious quarters on an admiral’s flagship.

She brought up the screen on her desktop and noted with satisfaction that the system immediately recognized her. She logged into FleetNet and selected the addressee for her first official communication of her new assignment. The first two lines appeared automatically.

To: Commodore Rebecca Ling, Commanding DesRon 12, 2nd Battle Group, 2nd Fleet

From: Lieutenant Commander Lorna Greenwood II, Commanding LFS Lynx, DD-127

The message header was a reality check. Not only was she in command of her own ship, she was now part of one of the most decorated squadrons in Fleet. From that day, she had a lot to live up to. She took a deep breath and composed a very brief message.

Commodore Ling:

This is to advise that I have taken command of Lynx. Awaiting your orders.

She touched the Send icon and received an acknowledgment of delivery. She got up from the desk and began stowing her gear in the cabin’s locker, but less than a minute later, her interface chimed with an incoming message. She went back to the desk and opened it.

To: Lieutenant Commander Lorna Greenwood II, Commanding LFS Lynx, DD-127

From: Commodore Rebecca Ling, Commanding DesRon 12, 2nd Battle Group, 2nd Fleet

Welcome to the Cat Pack. Orders attached. Please review and be prepared to discuss at captain’s conference aboard Jaguar at 1400 hours tomorrow. Dinner to follow at 1800.

The attached order packet was marked for Code Alpha security—the highest level in Fleet. Lorna entered her personal passcode to open it. The cover page displayed, and the title jumped out at her.

Unfinished business, she thought. Eight years, and now, we’re finally going to do it.

For eight years, there had been no public mention of the Lewis and Clark mission to the Sacagawea system, but Fleet had not been idle. There had been recon in force missions with units ranging from destroyer squadrons to battlecruiser divisions deployed to other star systems in the region. For the last three years, as the NTO of the heavy cruiser Arcadian, Lorna had participated in several of those missions.

Unlike most other officers, she understood why the missions were being conducted. They were probing for Bugs. If you think you might be going to war with an alien race to liberate a human-populated planet, it’s probably a good idea to find out as much as you can about your prospective enemy before you start that war.

There had been other hints, as well. She’d kept in touch with Nova Sakura, who had risen to the rank of major. Nova had dropped out of sight several times in the past, most recently for almost a year. She’d never been able to talk about where she’d been, but Lorna had picked up a few subtle clues. Nova had returned to Luna less than a month ago, and they had gotten together for dinner at her parents’ restaurant. Nova still couldn’t talk about her mission, but Lorna had gotten a sense of finality from her. Whatever her mission had been, it was now complete or had reached a point where something else needed to happen before it could go any further. Now, Lorna decided, I’m about to find out what that something else might be.

She opened the file on her screen and began to read about Operation Blue Orchid.

# # # # #