A Tall Ship . . .

from the Saga of the Black Knights

by the Wing Commander Pilots Club

 The Saga of the Black Knights
“A Tall Ship . . .”
“. . . A Star to Sail By”
“As the Pillars of Heaven Shook”

The Adventures of James Northstar

“LightBringer”

Mission Files: TCS Essex

“Threat Assessment”
“The Last Warlord”

This is a work of fan fiction.

These stories are copyrighted by their individual authors.
This collection is the copyright of the Wing Commander Pilots Club.
The “Wing Commander” universe is the copyright Origin/EA Games, and
is used without permission.
The images included in the biofiles are copyrighted by various sources
and are used without permission.
 I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,

To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a
whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over

“Sea Fever” by John Masefield

 Table of Contents

Stories Page

Biofile - Gabriel McClellan

Loch of Stars 9
by Justin Macumber
The Fires Within 19
by April Nagy and Justin Macumber
Genesis 55
by Justin Macumber
Archeology Mission 81
by Luan Ngo
The Machine 99
by Justin Macumber
Homecoming 143
by Justin Macumber
The Fires Within 248
by April Nagy and Justin Macumber
Boom Town 299
by Justin Macumber
 Gabriel Sean "Reaver" McClellan
"Okay, everybody, listen up!"

Birthdate: 2639
Sex: male
Race: Human
Homeworld: Terra, Scotland
Marital Status: single
Alliance: Black Knights
Military Service: Privateer, TC Space Forces (resigned)
MOS: Command
Height: 6 ft 1 in
Weight: 185 lbs

Background
Gabriel McClellan was the promising heir to McClellan Stardrives until he literally
ran away to join the Navy, a point of contention between himself and his father for
many years. Following tragedy and disillusionment, Gabriel resigned his commission
and shortly thereafter embarked on a career as a Privateer. His Black Knights group
has since built their fortune and reputation on daring, courage, and single-minded
commitment to their ideals.

Psycho/Social Profile

Family, ethnicity: From a long line of Scots, Gabriel's family reaches far into the
past. His father, Angus McClellan, is a strict man with strict ideas, but his heart can
be soft when it needs to be. His mother is Margaret McClellan, a sweet woman of
unending love and compassion. His sisters are Anne and Elizabeth. Both are
younger, and both are married, but no children yet. His older brother, William, died
while fighting the Kilrathi.

Relationships: His relationship with his family is strong, though they do not
communicate as often as any of them would like. His parents are retired, having
passed on the family business, McClellan Stardrives, to his brother-in-law. His two
sisters live on different planets, and he calls them all at least once a month.

Beliefs: He believes in freedom and equality. He believes that everyone deserves a

fair shake, and that no one should be special treatment or derision based solely on
things such as sex, religion, or ethnicity. He believes that humanity is good at heart,
but darkness sits too easily in the mind. He believes in destiny, but also in freewill.
Ultimately he believes in himself, and that gets him through.

Politics: Gabriel stays as far from politics as he can. Both the conservative right and
the liberal left have elements that he agrees with, but also elements that he cannot
tolerate. He trusts individuals more than groups, and he has often found that
intelligence drops as more minds get together, especially when it comes to creating a
body that will rule or govern others. He sees the necessity of government, but on a
personal level he knows that he rules himself better than anyone else could.
Religion: Gabriel is agnostic. He believes that there is an overriding force that exists
beyond the cosmos, but that no one really understands what it is, and anyone who
expresses otherwise is either self-delusional or borderline insane. He believes that the
complexity of a supreme being makes it completely unknowable by human standards.
"It is as alien to us as we are to single-celled life at the bottom of the ocean," he is
wont to say. The concept of "God" in the normal since makes him uncomfortable,
and so he prefers to think of it as a universal consciousness or collective spirit. But,
for the most part, he relies on science to explain the universe he lives in. He will take
a scientist over a shaman any day.

Attitudes: A bit gruff at times, Gabriel tries to be an island for his crew. He is quick
to anger, but also quick to praise. He tries to be a steady person that people can rely
upon, so he is always riding herd on his emotions. He tries not to act superior or
above others, and he always tries to have a smile on his face. Gabriel's only real flaw
is his temper, especially when he thinks that his authority is being questioned or
challenged.

Character Created By: Justin Macumber

 Loch Of Stars
Origin of Gabriel Sean McClellan

Written by: Justin Macumber

Timestamp: 2674.180

The McClellans have long been a family filled with the spirit of battle. Our roots
in Scotland go all the way back to the accession of Malcolm Canmore, as Malcolm III
MacDuncan, in 1057. We fought alongside Sir William Wallace when our people
struggled against England in 1297, and fought with Robert Bruce at the Battle of
Bannockburn on June 24, 1314. And we were there when the regents of Edward III of
England approved the Treaty of Northampton in 1328. Since then we have fought in
every battle and war, always ready to defend Scotland and the Earth from aggression.
I was born on October 22, 2638, on the McClellan's ancestral property in
Scotland's Central Lowlands. Our holdings range from Loch Lomond to the Tay River,
and they have been our lands since time out of mind. Farming takes up a great deal of the
acreage, but roe deer hunting and salmon fishing provide much needed sport.
A severe snow storm accompanied my birth. I should have looked back on that
as the omen it was. Now, I'm not generally a superstitious man, but a storm that came
without warning, and was greater than any in history, beginning on the day I was born has
to mean something. Wouldn't you think?
I had a happy childhood though, blizzard or not. My father, Angus McClellan,
was a hard man, but loving. He taught me how to hunt, how to survive on my own in the
wild, and how to read the stars. I could find Orion and Ursa Minor by the time I was
three, and track a deer through the woods for days by seven.
But most of his time was spent with William Robert, my older brother. They
were inseparable. Father was grooming William to take over the family business,
McClellan Stardrives, so our time together was limited. William was a fine student and
athlete, very intelligent and wise, but too quick to take risks. He was also strong willed.
That eventually drove a wedge between he and my father.
I, on the other hand, was more taken with the arts (much to my father's
disapproval I might add). On most days you would find me reading Milton and
Shakespeare, writing poetry, or playing the guitar. I was a skilled hunter, but I preferred
the feel of a rosewood fret board in my hands over the cold steel of a gun. Secretly, my
mother, Margaret, urged me to continue my artistic endeavors.
After me came my sisters, Anne and Elizabeth. They were beautiful children,
and later grew into beautiful women. Father, an old fashioned man, left their raising to
mother, and she did a fine job.
Then the Kilrathi shattered my quiet home. In a surprise announcement,
10 Loch of Stars

William, who had just turned eighteen, told father that he planned on entering the
Academy to fight as our ancestors had done in the past. Father would hear none of it. "Let
Gabriel go," he said. "You have a company to run. I didn't spend all this time to let my
training go to waste in the loch of stars." That's what he called space. A vast lake of suns
and nova storms. That was as close as he ever got to Romanticism.
"But he's only a child, father," William replied. "He wouldn't know an ion
cannon from a kitchen pipe! You can't seriously consider sending him to the Academy?!"
Father had the look that said he couldn't be more serious. "Don't give me any
sass, laddie!" He never called us that unless he was close to the breaking point. "I said
you aren't going, so you aren't going. That is final."
"I can't believe you would have me shame our family line, father!" William
shouted. "Sending a child to do a man's job!"
"Then neither of you are going!" father bellowed.
"Oh? And instead we should sit here while others fight? Is that it? Should we
turn our back on our heritage? Turn our back on what we are?"
"You are so smart, William," father hissed. "Then pray tell me, what are we
McClellans?"
"Fighters!" William roared. "Warriors! Protectors of those who can't protect
themselves! Or have you forgotten that sitting in the safe confines of your office
building?"
That was the first and last time I ever saw my father hit one of his children.
Before he knew what happened, William was sprawled on the ground, his mouth and
nose bleeding. Mother was next to him within a heart beat.
"I've forgotten nothing, boy," father said slowly. "But you have: your place. I am
your father, and my word is law. Don't cross me again." He turned and walked away, but
before he left, he said over his shoulder, "I will expect you up and ready for work by five
in the morning tomorrow. And I don't want to hear any more about this."
At the time, I was mystified. William was right. We were fighters from a long
line of fighters. Why would father deny us our familial duty? But later that night, mother
came to see William and I in my room. She told us the reason why. Though none us
children knew it, father had once been a soldier. It was something he never spoke of, and
to say it was a surprise to us would be an understatement of the highest order.
Father had been a Marine stationed on a back water planet called Orpheus VII
when the citizens decided they had had enough of the Confederation telling them what to
do. To drive their point home, they took up arms and laid siege to all Confed buildings
and military posts. Everyone was caught off guard. Within hours, all was in chaos. Men
and women on both sides died by the hundreds. And when the dust finally settled, Confed
came out on top, but by a narrow margin. Yet Confed considered Orpheus a loss, so they
transported all its personnel off planet and left the remaining citizens to have what they
wanted: their independence. For them it was a hollow victory, what with everything in
ruin and no ships of their own to bring in supplies. Father retired thereafter at the rank of
Master Sergeant and didn't looked back.
"He never again picked up a weapon to use against another person," mother told
us. "And it left a bitter taste in his mouth where fighting is concerned. So don't be harsh
with him about this. He only wants to protect you from what he was put through. He
means well."
"He has a funny way of showing it," William replied, rubbing his still sore jaw.
The swelling had gone down, but a large bruise covered his left cheek and nose.
Mother looked sympathetic yet stern. "That was a mistake, William, and you
know it. Believe me, he will never forgive himself for hitting you. But you can forgive
 Loch of Stars 11

him. Let it go."

William shrugged his shoulders and looked out the window at the lapping waves
of Loch Lomond. Mother could see no words would put out the fire that raged through
William's soul, or heal his wounded pride. "Very well, William, but know it takes two to
hurt, and two to heal. If you think so lowly of your father, then be the better man and
apologize tomorrow." At that she got up, kissed me on the top of my head, and walked to
William. She put her arms around him from behind, hugging him hard. He stiffened, but
in the end surrendered and hugged her back. She seemed satisfied that everything was
okay, so she left my room. But everything wasn't okay.
William stood by the window for several long minutes, brooding while watching
the stars roll by. Eventually he stepped back, turned, and left my room, all without saying
a word. I had no reason to think anything was amiss, so I got in bed and promptly went to
sleep.
About three hours later, I was awakened by William. He was shaking my
shoulder. I was groggy, but when I saw two packed bags by his feet, I was fully alert.
"What's going on, William?" I asked.
"I think you know, little brother," he said. And at that moment, I did. He was
dressed in a black jump suit with a sash around his waist and chest that displayed our
family's colors. The bags looked hastily packed. His eyes were red and puffy, and his hair
was mussed. At one in the morning, all that can mean only one thing. "You're leaving."
"Yeah," he replied, looking sad but determined. "I don't care what father said.
We are warriors, Gabriel, and I can't turn my back on that. When your time comes, you
won't either. Fighting is in our blood."
"Where are you going to go?"
"Edinburgh first. There's a recruiting station just inside town. From there, I
suppose I'll be shipped to the Confederation Space Fleet Academy in Colorado City,
Colorado... Maybe to one off planet. I'm not sure."
"When will you be back?"
"That, I don't know. Maybe after graduation, if father will allow it. I doubt that
though. But I really can't say if I'll ever be back. This war could last a long time, Gabriel.
I'm not going to kid myself."
"Can I come with you?"
"I wish you could, but you can't." I was sixteen then, the Academy's minimum
admission age. "You'll be needed here to take my place. A little late in the game to start
you in the business, but it's always been run by a McClellan, and father wouldn't think of
allowing one of our sisters to do it. Still stuck in the dark ages, he is."
"You know father is going to hit the roof when he finds out."
"I know, but there's nothing he can do about it. I am of age to do what I feel is
right without his approval. And by the time he sees I'm gone, it will be too late. Once the
papers are signed, you can't back out"
"Don't fool yourself, William. He has connections. He could have you back here
if he wanted, signed papers or no." McClellan Stardrives sold to all sorts of people, from
independent contractors to alien governments. But Confed was our biggest buyer. That
meant father had the ear of many high ranking officers. In fact, a very close friend of the
family was General Taggart, a fellow Scotsman. He could pull William out before the ink
had even dried on the admission papers. But William knew what I meant.
"Gabriel, I hate to say this, I really do, but when he finds out, I don't think he'll
want me back." Tears were filling his eyes as he said that. I could see the situation was
tearing him apart. I knew how he felt. Fighting was a part of who we are. And deep down,
father knew it too. But that didn't mean he had to like it or acknowledge it.
12 Loch of Stars

A spot of light appeared on my ceiling and flashed twice. William turned,

walked to my window, opened it, leaned out, and waved to whoever had signaled him.
"Who's that?" I asked.
William closed my window and turned to face me. "Michael MacDermott," he
said. "He's going with me. His family approves of him going." After that he came over to
stand by his bags. "Give me a hug, little brother."
I removed my covers and stood. We both had tears falling as we hugged long
and hard. A lifetime's worth of emotions were conveyed in that one embrace, but it still
wasn't enough. After a minute, we untangled ourselves and sucked the tears back.
"You'll have to be brave, Gabriel," he said to me. "The next few weeks are going
to be tough. Father will be a bear, but that will pass. Just keep your chin up, do as he says,
and work hard. I'll write you as often as I can. Tell everyone I love them and not to worry.
I'll be okay. We McClellans don't go down easily." He tried to put on a courageous face,
but the tears showed it for the mask it was.
"William, I -." I tried to speak, but the words couldn't get past the lump in my
throat. He patted my shoulder and nodded, letting me know he knew everything I wanted
to say.
"It's okay, Gabriel. I love you. Never forget that."
"I love you, too, William." The light flashed again. "You better get going."
"Yeah, I better," he said. "Remember what I told you and that I love you. I'll
make all of you proud." We had one last hug, then he grabbed his bags and ran. I went to
my open window and saw Michael sitting in his hovercar. It was new, red, and looked
fast as hell. It would have to be to get away before father smelled that something was up.
William was out the front door within seconds, threw his bags in the back of the car, and
got in the passenger seat. Before the car door closed, he reached his hand out and waved
to me. Moonlight shined off of tears streaming down his face. Then the door closed and
they were off, silent as a fox in a hen house, before I could return the gesture.
Knowing William trusted me not to go tell father, I got back in bed and tried to
sleep. It was a wasted effort. All I could think about was William... and the Kilrathi. I had
heard all about them from father, and it wasn't good. They were strong, intelligent, and
had technology beyond ours. The thought of my older brother going up against them
filled my stomach with dread. He was good at everything he did, but even the best
soldiers and pilots get killed. It was a fact we McClellans knew all about.
But after an hour of tossing and turning, sleep found me. The next morning I was
awakened by a sound I hadn't heard in years: my father playing the bagpipes. Wondering
what was going on, I got up from bed and went to my window. What I saw there was
burned into my memory. Father was standing at the end of a pier that led twenty feet into
Loch Lomond, wearing his kilt, tunic, and sash, while playing the bagpipe that had been
in our family for generations. The song was an old Scottish dirge, one that inspired
sadness and loss. He was all alone on that pier, playing with everything he had. I
wondered why, then understanding dawned on me. He knew William had left.
Tears sprang from my eyes again. Wiping them away, I turned and went to my
closet. From it I pulled out a white cotton shirt and brown tweed pants. After dressing, I
left my room and went downstairs to the kitchen. There I found mother and my sisters
crying over a piece of paper. They looked up at me, sadness thick between them. I didn't
have to read the paper to know it was a goodbye letter from William. I just sat across
from them and cried.
"He came to you last night," mother said, her lips trembling as she spoke. It was
a statement, not a question.
"Yes," I replied.
 Loch of Stars 13

"When?"
"About one this morning."
"And you didn't think to stop him? Or to tell us before he could leave?"
"No, I didn't." I looked in her eyes. She wanted so badly to be mad at me, but
she couldn't. Through all her grief, she understood.
Several sorrowful seconds later, she asked, "Who did he leave with?"
I didn't think the truth would hurt anything. "Michael MacDermott."
She nodded, then said, "I thought so."
Anne and Elizabeth held each other as they let loose all their heartache. They
didn't look at me with accusation or scorn. They, too, understood. Didn't make it any
easier though.
Father entered the kitchen soon after. So wrapped up in my pain was I that I
didn't even hear him stop playing. He looked at everyone in turn, with his bloodshot eyes
finally coming to rest on me. He said, "Tomorrow you'll come with me and start learning
the business." Not a word was said about William. His name wasn't even mentioned.
Father just walked past me and went up to his bedroom, not to be seen for the rest of the
day.
So I started learning all about the running of our business. It was hard, and long,
but I took to it after a while, though I could see in father's eyes I wasn't as good at it as
William. We didn't speak of him much. Any time he was brought up, father would turn
away, still in grief, or get angry and make life hard for everyone around.
I followed William's Academy life as much as possible. He sent holo-letters
about twice a semester, usually seen only by me, my sisters, and mother. He was loving
Academy life. It was tough, but he thrived on adversity and challenge. His grades were
excellent, and his instructors thought highly of him. He graduated early, in the top five
percent of his class. Mother, my sisters, and I all went to see him graduate, but father
refused to go. It hurt all of us greatly, but I think it hurt father more. He was as stubborn
as his eldest son. At least William came by it honestly.
The graduation ceremony was grand. All was bright and colorful. Fighters
roared overheard, shooting fireworks and leaving behind them fiery trails. William was
sad to see father didn't come, but not surprised. My letters had kept him updated as to
father's moods and words.
Tears were shed all around when we left. Mother was so proud, and for good
reason. William looked splendid in full-dress uniform. Many of his instructors came up to
us, extolling William's intelligent and ability. And it was with some pride that they told us
his first assignment was as a fighter pilot aboard the TCS Centurion, one of the largest
battleships in the Confederation Fleet, and a vessel of great repute. Only the best served
on her. William glowed.
Back home, the family watched the war unfold with fear and concern. We had
always tried to keep abreast of events, but now that William was in the thick of it, we had
a vested interest. It wasn't going well, and not looking to get better any time soon.
Fighting was heavy, losses substantial. But we were hopeful.
Holo-letters from William were coming more infrequently. He was near the front
lines, and outside civilian communications were reserved for emergencies. But from the
few we got, he seemed to be doing well. He had made a lot of friends, and they were,
according to him anyway, raking up the kills. His squadron was called the "Flaming
Banshees". His favorite line was, "The kitties are getting dipped." Mother always
laughed. His call-sign was 'Warchild'. An ode to our fighting past no doubt.
One time I caught father watching a letter from William when he thought
everyone had gone to bed. Had he seen all the letters sent? I don't know, but I would
14 Loch of Stars

guess he had. Mad as he may have been, William was still his son, and he cared. When
William told about his kills, father would grunt his approval. He even cheered once, but
caught himself and kept it down after that. Luckily he didn't see me watching him, or I
would have gotten an ear full of grief and a back side full of pain. But it did my heart
good to see father still loving his son.
My life, on the other hand, was very boring. Business was not for me. I would sit
in on board meetings, all the while wishing I was playing music or writing under a conifer
near the Tay River. Father knew this, but was firm in my staying on. "McClellan
Stardrives must be headed by a McClellan. It's in the name, my boy! I won't live forever,
and I can't wait on William to come home. It is up to you!"
So I stayed on, learning about all the operations and procedures. On my off
hours, when I wasn't immersed in the arts, I was knee deep in a starfighter simulator.
Hearing about William's adventures had given me the bug. I wanted to be out there with
him, gunning down Kilrathi by the hundreds. Call it the warrior spirit in me crying out for
release. And to my credit, I was good. Father never knew about it. I made sure of that.
But in the Confed Simulation Center in Dundee, I was considered an ace pilot. No one
could match my kill numbers or flying rates. Everyone there called me 'Reaver.' And
though I didn't know it at the time, I was in training for my future.
Two years into his Fleet career, at the rank of Lieutenant, William was killed
over Braven Six in the Battle Of Braven's Hope, in the Troy Sector. It was a once-sided
conflict from the start. Kilrathi ships outnumbered Confed's ten to one. The TCS
Centurion shouldn't have even been there. The wrong coordinates were transmitted, and
she came upon a secret Kilrathi shipyard. They didn't have a chance. But they took down
a great number of Kilrathi. For every Confed fighter downed, six of the Kilrathi were
destroyed as well. Later operations eradicated the base entirely.
The family was devastated, but father did most of his grieving privately. The rest
of us were more open. At his funeral, everyone within a hundred miles came to see
William off on his final voyage. The MacDermott's were especially despondent. They had
always considered William their second son. Michael couldn't attend; he was serving on
the TCS Aries, far from hearth and home, but he sent his heartfelt respects.
When we got home, everyone went to separate rooms to nurse their broken
hearts. After a few minutes of wrestling with my soul, I went into the den, where father
had gone. He was smoking a pipe and staring into the flames of our roaring fireplace. He
saw me come in, and without a word exchanged between us, he nodded his head.
The next day I was en-route to Colorado City. My sisters and mother tried their
hardest to talk me out of it, but father restrained them, telling them it was my duty. How
different than when William left, and I felt somewhat guilty. But he knew I had to go. Not
out of any sense of revenge, but because it was right. "The dead don't need avenging,
son," he told me. "The living need protecting. Knowing that is the first sign of being a
true warrior. Revenge gains you nothing, nor the person you're doing it for. Fight because
you want to make the future better, not to rewrite the past." Those words ring in my heart
still.
So, at the age of twenty-one, I entered the Academy. I graduated even faster than
William, though I don't know if it was because I was an apt pupil, or because Confed
needed more warm bodies in space. Either way, it meant I was in space quicker than I
ever expected.
The Academy was tough! Instruction, drills, tests, simulations, and actual flying,
over and over in rapid order. My head was swimming with it all. I sent holo-letters as
often as possible, but it was hard to squeeze in the time when I was constantly deep in a
text or at the controls of a fighter.
 Loch of Stars 15

I also graduated high in my class, the top two percent, and it only took me two
years. And none too soon, as Kilrah was on the move in a big way.
Everyone came to my graduation, including father. He was so proud I thought he
would burst from his seat in cheers during the Commandant's speech. Thankfully, he
didn't. But afterwards, when all present were mingling, father was at my elbow the entire
time, soaking up all the praise my instructors had to give. "A natural," they called me.
"Must have been born in a cockpit," some said. "Haven't seen a pilot of his skill in a long
time," others informed him. I was careful though to stop any comparisons between
William and I. Luckily, the instructors knew of his death, and only had good things to say
about the both of us.
"You'll do the Clan McClellan proud, Gabriel," father said as the family
prepared to leave. "And remember, you can't bring back William, but you can bring back
yourself. Be safe, be strong, and win this war. We'll be waiting for you." Tears were
falling unashamedly down his bearded cheeks. Everyone was crying, myself included.
My sisters gave me a sash with our colors to wear around my waist. "It'll bring
you luck," they said. It meant a lot to me that they had woven it for me. I put it on, kissed
them goodbye, and saw them off. It was a better ceremony than the last one.
My first assignment was on the TCS Hydra, a fast attack cruiser, as a fighter
pilot, rank of Second Lieutenant. My favorite fighter was the Hellcat, and it suited me.
My squadron was named "The Arch Angels", and that's how we fought. During my time
with them, not one wingman was lost. We were fast, cunning, and deadly. By the time I
was eventually transferred to the TCS Hyperion after being aboard her for five years, my
kill score was 96, with eight of them Ace pilots, and was a Confed Space Force Captain.
The Hyperion, a carrier, was a good ship, as was her Captain, Reginald Walsh.
Under his command I advanced to the rank of Lieutenant Colonel, and was wing leader of
my squadron. My kills increased, as did my ability and understanding of war. 'Reaver'
became a name the Kilrathi learned to hate. I served on her for six and a half years.
From the Hyperion I went to the TCS Beowulf. There I served for six months. It
was part of a new experimental class of capital ship called Insertion Cruisers. These ships
sacrificed shielding and armor for better speed and stealth qualities. They were meant
solely for lightning fast strikes and deep penetrations. Once in place, they would unload
their fighters and run, then later return and pick up those still alive. They themselves were
not to engage the enemy, only the fighters and bombers. I could have told Confed it was a
stupid idea, but they didn't ask me. Those qualities were good in a starfighter, but cap
ships need all the armor and shielding they can get. Part and parcel of what a cap ship is,
if you ask me. No one did.
Our first mission, in the Earhart Sector, was an unmitigated disaster. We were no
sooner in enemy territory when Kilrathi craft were buzzing all around us. The Beowulf
took numerous hits before she could unload her cargo of ships and get away. We did the
best we could though. Being outnumbered almost five to one, with the opposing side
having two capital ships to our none, we took them head on.
For almost an hour we fought. Both cap ships were taken out by our Longbows,
but the bombers were in turn destroyed. Kilrathi fighters came at us from all sides, but we
didn't let their numbers bother us. We fought until our guns were white hot, until our hard
points were empty.
In the end, there were only three ships left: two Hellcats, and one Kilrathi
fighter. I was in one of the Hellcats, and Jacob "Stormy" Stevens was in the other. I didn't
like him. He was a hot-headed braggart, quicker with his mouth than with a fighter.
My ship was in a bad state. Shields were at one/tenth power, fuel was low, and
energy reserves were dwindling. My in-flight recorder was busted, yet somehow my
16 Loch of Stars

communications gear was intact.

Jacob's Hellcat was even worse though. My instruments showed me just how
bad: next to no shields and his armor in pieces. Not good. I tried to raise him several
times on the comm, but no go. His gear was out, so he couldn't hear me calling him. But
that also meant he couldn't hear anyone else. That was unfortunate to say the least.
The Kilrathi fighter was piloted by an Ace, one Krevik'ka Therb'ul'as, a fighter
of great repute and some standing in the Kilrathi Empire. But for all his vaunted skill as a
killer in space, he was even worse off than we were. I could see that his shields were
down completely and his armor was being held on by not much more than a prayer. It was
a wonder the ship was still holding itself together. Also, his guns were gone, and he had
no more missiles left.
Over my comm I heard the Kilrathi shouting, "Attention remaining
Confederation craft! I am Krevik'ka Therb'ul'as, son of Jordin'vek Therb'ul'as, and Prince
of the House of the Red Mane. I am offering you my surrender! Please acknowledge!"
Fear was thick in his voice.
I was taken by surprise. Never in my career had a Kilrathi surrendered, even if
he was out numbered and out gunned. It was a first. Krevik'ka wasn't made of the same
stuff his fellows were. How he had made it to Ace level was something I never
understood.
"Kilrathi fighter!" I called. "I acknowledge and accept your surrender. Cut your
engines and prepare to be tractor-beamed aboard our cruiser upon its arrival."
"Understood, Confed fighter," he replied. "Krevik'ka out."
But Jacob didn't understand. He didn't even know what was going on. With his
radio out, Krevik'ka's surrender went unheard. As far as he knew, there was still one more
Kilrathi to kill. And with the enemy ship looking as beaten up as it did, it must have made
for an inviting target.
Before I could somehow signal Jacob to stop, he was increasing his engine
output to attack speed and zeroing in on the Kilrathi craft. He meant to slay a Kilrathi
who's surrender I had just accepted. To do so, to kill someone who had had their
capitulation acknowledged, was a breach of Confederation Military Law, radio or no
radio. Without knowing it, Jacob was racing toward his own court-martial. I couldn't let
him do that, but how could I tell him to stand-down? His radio was blown, and I doubt
Morse code would have work, especially since he wasn't looking at me. He only had eyes
for the Kilrathi. With only one option available to me, I opened my throttle and raced
after him.
"What is the meaning of this, Confederation?!" Krevik'ka roared. "You have
accepted my surrender! Now you make ready to fire on me?! I cannot believe it!"
"His comm gear is down!" I yelled. "He doesn't know that you've surrendered!"
"Bah!" he spat. "No excuse!" And he was right, but that didn't change the
situation. I had to do something, and fast.
Jacob was half way to being within shooting range. Thankfully, he didn't have
any missiles, or the Kilrathi would already be dead. I was approaching rapidly, and the
only thing I could think of to stop him was something I had never done before in my life:
fire at a fellow Confed pilot. My plan was to fire two shots over his bow, thereby alerting
him that I needed him to stop. The mission clock was almost over, so the Beowulf was
due to arrive in moments. If I could warn Jacob off before then, everything would be
okay. But it didn't end up that way.
I put my targeting box slightly ahead and to the right of his fighter. That should
have put my volley well away from him, but within sight. When I pressed on the trigger,
he accelerated and veered right into the blasts. The Beowulf pulled in seconds before that.
 Loch of Stars 17

Shots that wouldn't normally dent a fighter's shields caused Jacob's heavily
damaged Hellcat to erupt in a fiery display of devastation. Nothing was left. The Beowulf
had arrived just in time to see me fire upon, and destroy, a Confederation ship. As the last
of the Hellcat's debris rocketed away, I felt my stomach turn over and my blood run cold.
Without my recorder, I would have no way of defending myself from the accusations
soon to follow, and Jacob's recorder was nothing but cosmic dust floating on solar winds.
"Reaver!" the Beowulf's Captain, one John Thomason, screamed over my comm.
"What in tarnation do you think you're doing?!"
"Captain, I can -"
"You can shut the hell up and get back aboard this ship pronto, mister!"
"But the Kilrathi -"
"I don't give a good goddam about that Kilrathi fighter! His people are high-
tailin' it here as we speak! So you just worry about getting your ass in here!!"
"Yes, Sir!" I said, dread coiling in my abdomen.
Upon landing, an MP unit was there to take me into custody. The sergeant said,
"Commander Gabriel McClellan, you are here-by under arrest for the murder of Jacob
Stevens." More followed, but I didn't hear any of it. My mind was locked on the sight of
Stormy's Hellcat going up in flames. I was then led to a detention cell and kept under
heavy guard until we arrived at the nearest outpost, the Space Station Goliath. Ironically,
the war with the Kilrathi ended mere weeks later.
The wheels of justice rolled swift and steady. The Beowulf's recorders showed in
vivid color my supposed attack on Jacob. It drew gasps from the assembled JAG officers
and judges. I told them what had really happened, but without my recorder to back me up,
my testimony was all but worthless. Requests were made of the Kilrathi Empire for a
statement from Krevik'ka, but they were denied. No surprise there. I thought I was a dead
man.
But many people spoke on my behalf. All my former commanding officers
attested to my character, as well as several of my old wingmen and instructors. Because
of my exemplary military record, clean history, and no hard evidence other than the
Beowulf's recording, I was found innocent of all charges except Conduct Unbecoming.
My career was ended, but my life was my own. A victory, but empty. After six years of
unblemished service, I was dishonorable discharged.
Strangely, it was my father who took it the hardest. Upon my inglorious return
home, he immediately started a campaign to get me reinstated. Never in my life had I
seen him fight so hard, for so long, against such great odds. I blushed at times, watching
him come to my defense. I was embarrassed by his efforts, but proud of him and his belief
in me.
For two long years he fought. I spent most of that time enjoying all the things I
never had time for during the war: my books, writing, and playing guitar. Not to say I
rested on my laurels, though. I exercised for hours, running along the river, climbing the
highland peaks. Father had a simulator brought into the house, so I was inside it as often
as possible, keeping my skills honed, even though the war was over. I wanted to re-fight
the Earhart mission, but I knew it would only open wounds that were barely starting to
heal. How often did I have to think about it? How often did I have to contemplate what
would have happened if I had led Jacob's ship by just a few more meters? I had enough
nightmares without having to compound them.
For two long years he fought. I'm sure every general and admiral within three
sectors got an ear full of his accusations and demands, as well as his threats to cease
selling the Confederation his engines at contract termination. And in the end, I'm sure
most of them were ready to reinstate me just to shut him up. But it didn't come to that.
18 Loch of Stars

Thankfully.
General Taggart was the one who had me returned to the Fleet. He knew what it
was like in battle, that decisions had to be made, and that drastic actions were sometimes
called for. He knew Jacob's death was nothing more than an accident, and that if I hadn't
tried to stop him, worse things could have happened. Jacob's demise was terrible, but an
interstellar incident such as firing upon a yielding ship would have inflamed the Kilrathi
to heights I tremble to imagine. He, above anyone else in the Confederation, saw to it that
I was absolved of all charges, and honorably reinstated into the Fleet. His desire was
acknowledged, but only under the condition that I return at my initial rank of Second
Lieutenant, and there to rise in station as I had done before.
Father was less than over-joyed. "Damn politicians not only take away your
honor, but also try to take away your position. I would fight on, Gabriel."
I hated to disappoint him, but I was more than willing to accept their terms.
"Father, I made a mistake, and I'm paying for it. Being allowed back in the cockpit again
is more than I dreamed was possible two years ago. Thank you for helping me get there.
But let me go and do what I must."
He nodded, seeing that I was standing firm. "Okay, son. You're right. Get up
there and do your duty."
"I will. Thank you. And, I love you."
His eyes took on a watery sheen. "And I, you. I've always been proud of you,
Gabriel. Always have, always will. You are a fine warrior. A credit to the clan and to
your heritage." I could see he included William in that, though his name was not said.
We said our good-byes, again, and I was off to the Fleet, again. General Taggart
met me at the Edinburgh Shuttle Pad. "Laddie, I had to pull in quite a few favors to get
you back. Your family has always been close to me, and I know you did nothing wrong.
So I don't mind doing what I did. But make it worth it. Get back up there and prove to
everyone else how good and true you are."
"I will, General. I promise you. I won't let you down, or my family."
"Good. Your shuttle will take you to the Aberdeen Space Station. From there,
you will board the TCS Achilles. In two weeks it will rendezvous with the TCS Essex,
your new home. Eisen, it's Captain, is a fine man, full of experience and wisdom to give.
Listen to him. He will not lead you wrong."
The ride to the space station was long and boring. General Taggart had left a
vid-briefing for me, so I watched it as I traveled. It just told about Eisen, the Essex, and
their currant objectives. He also told me all about my reinstatement, that the Conduct
Unbecoming had been permanently removed from my record, and that I was cleared of
any wrong doing. If anyone said otherwise, then they were misinformed and should be
corrected quickly. I smiled at that, getting the double meaning.
On the Achilles, I was met with mixed emotions. Most were supportive, but a
few gave me suspicious glances. I didn't care. My record spoke for itself, and I punished
myself more than they ever could.
When I finally came about the Essex, Captain Eisen was there to greet me.
"Welcome aboard, son."
"Thank you, Captain. I am happy to be here."
"And we're happy to have you. I've seen your record, and a fighter of your skill
is sorely needed out here. And don't worry about the Earhart mission. I know you did
what you had to do. Sometimes fate smiles on us, and sometimes she just spits in our eye.
But it's the real men and women who come back and try again."
"I hope the others see it your way, Captain." I smiled shyly. He patted my
shoulder like a father would his son.
 Loch of Stars 19

"Well, if they don't, I'll see to it they get educated in a hurry."

At that, he showed me around the ship, introducing me to everyone. All were
nice, but a small few didn't seem to like me very much. But that was okay. I was used to
it. Actions speak loudly. I would just have to show them I was a warrior from a long line
of warriors. And if they didn't like me then, well, I could live with that. I was back where
I belonged, and that was all that mattered. Everything else would take care of itself.

The End
 The Fires Within
Part One

Resurgence

Written By: Justin Macumber

Timestamp: 2674.213

Croesus Sector
New Leavenworth Prison
Now abandoned
Warden's Office
Jackob "Nine Lives" Niovelli sat in utter silence, his feet propped up on an oak
desk, his eyes scanning several monitors placed at strategic locations about the office.
The screens were noiseless, displaying only video. Within each screen was a separate
panel, showing information gained from x-ray scans for weapons and defenses. As of yet,
no alarms had sounded.
A light blinked on the desk. With slow grace, Niovelli leaned forward and
pressed an intercom button. "Yes?" he asked the unseen caller.
"Mr. Niovelli," Frank Lansky, his second-in-command, said. "The last hovercar
is approaching the prison, coming from the southeast at 126 kilometers-per-hour.
Instructions?"
"The usual scans, Frank. That's all. Wouldn't want to upset Mr. Orderan, now
would we?"
"No, sir," came the reply. "Sure wouldn't."
"Okay then. Let it land, scan him and his men for party favors, then lead them to
the meeting room. Same routine as before. No deviations."
"Understood, Mr. Niovelli."
The comm light blinked off. As it did, Jackob leaned back, watching the screen
farthest to his right. Within minutes, a hovercar slid into view. Again, no alarms. The car
was clean. The people inside? Well, as soon as the doors opened, that would be
determined as well. But Jackob had no doubts. Everything had gone smoothly so far. No
reason for it to change now, he thought. Soon, it would be show time...

***
 The Fires Within 21

New Leavenworth Prison

Administration Board Room
Eight men sat around a black and chrome-plated table, while their underlings
stood behind them at rigid attention. The air was thick with cigar smoke, ego, money, and
power. Only one chair was left empty, that one at the head of the table, opposite big
double doors.
Charly Serengedo sat to the empty chair's left. He was a short, obese man, all fat
and no muscle. Gold rings encircled his sausage-like fingers, too tight to be good for the
circulation. A cigar drooped lazily in his right hand. His other hand was straightening his
tie, also too tight. Sweat was beginning to form on his flabby brow. "Don't this place have
air conditioning at least?" he asked of no one in particular. "Just 'cause their ain't no more
prisoners here don't mean you can let the creature comforts go to pot."
Sallen "Sally" Mandylor sat next to him, five feet away on the left, which
seemed to be five feet too close for his liking. Physically, "Sally" was just the opposite of
Charly. 150 pounds dripping wet, Sal was tall and lanky without a hint of fat on him. He
wore no jewelry, nor did he smoke. Cybernetic implants covered the right side of his face,
circling the eye and bordering his nose. Neural-jacks dotted his temple. For lack of
anything better to do, he held his hands together, fingers locked, with the thumbs tapping
against each other. His eyes shifted from person to person, mostly coming to rest on
Charly. Nervousness radiated from him in waves. "Yeah," he said. "I could use a drink,
too."
Lucas Gambon was next. Of all the assembled, he looked the most normal.
Medium length brown hair, brown eyes, average height, average weight, average
everything else. Under the skin though, he was anything but average. Biomechanical
enhancements had replaced most of his organs, skeleton, and muscle. Unaided, he could
pick up a tank and hurl it ten meters without even breathing hard. Someone once tried to
saddle him with the nickname "Tin Man." That person met a sad, unfortunate end. Being
shoved out an airlock in deep space can do that to a person. In a rumbling voice he said,
"I didn't see any waitresses on my way in, so I think you're out of luck, 'Sally'."
Sallen looked at him in gloomy sadness. "Shit," he murmured.
Next to Lucas was Gerald Stevens, a mousy little man. Round-framed glasses
perched on the end of his nose, dangerously close to falling off but somehow staying put.
For such a small man, his exploits were legendary. Many an enemy mistook his stature to
also imply a small heart. Suffice it to say, they never made the mistake again. Daring ran
through his veins instead of blood, and he was none the worse off for it. The few baubles
he wore belied a vast fortune. He didn't have to flaunt his wealth. Those in the know
knew. Those not, well, they didn't matter. "Stop your griping, Sal," he said. "I don't think
this meeting is going to last long enough for you to die of dehydration."
Everyone laughed but Sal, who was shooting daggers at Gerald's heart with his
eyes. No love was lost between the two. "I didn't say I would," Sal voiced. "I just said I
was thirsty. A man can be parched, can't he?"
Gerald only shrugged. It was of no consequence to him. His indifference only
fueled Sal's hatred for him.
Close to Gerald was Severo Johann, a long-time friend and associate. But where
Gerald didn't display his riches, Severo was almost covered in it. Enough gold, platinum,
and silver was on him to buy a small moon, habitats and all. With one jewel encrusted
hand he pulled out a diamond-studded cigar case. After withdrawing the cigar, his
attendant bent over and lit it with a crystal lighter. "I, personally, like the heat," he stated
imperiously, waving the stogie around as he spoke. "Speaking of which, I recently bought
22 The Fires Within

a house on Vestib Three, near the Vestib binary star. Talk about hot! But it only cost..."
The rest was lost on everyone, none of whom had any interest.
After Severo came Jimmy "Madman" Mallone. "Madman" had earned his
nickname during the early years of the war with the Kilrathi. As a Marine, he had
personally killed over a hundred of the cats, many of them with his bare hands. In the heat
of battle, he was known to go into berserker rages which lasted anywhere from a minute
to half an hour. Pain could not register in his brain, so he fought on long after most men
would have dropped. Psyche tests found him unfit for duty, so he was medically
discharged. But he still had friends in the military, connections he often called on for
business. "What's taken so long?" he asked. "I didn't come here to twiddle my thumbs."
Next to "Madman" was Anthony Assante, a distinguished older gentleman. A
dapper fellow in a silk suit, he was the quietest of the gathered, and the most powerful.
His wealth was measured in star systems, but none of it could be linked to him. Legions
of men worked for him, but they didn't know it. He was a shadow figure, dealing in areas
few dared to try. He was unknown to most, with no records anywhere proving he even
existed. Those in the room knew of him, but only by his choosing. Anthony was still a
mystery though, shrouded in secrecy, even to his closest colleagues.
Lastly was Roger Orderan, a big man, covered in muscles, but with a mind as
sharp as a razor. A twill suit hid his beefy frame from view, but there was no mistaking
the strength of the man. Having risen from the mean streets of Albion City, where
weakness and stupidity were a death sentence, there were few in the room who would test
his abilities. Having served a 5-year stretch at Devil's Rock Penitentiary, the toughest
prison in existence, also did wonders for his reputation. He sympathized with Sal's
discomfort, finding the heat of the room somewhat stifling. "I'd give my right arm for a
glass of a ice water and a fan," he said, pulling at the neck of his shirt.
"You do that," Lucas followed, "and I know of a great doctor who could replace
it with a better one." He smiled at his little joke.
Roger also smiled. "I bet you do, Gambon. I bet you do."
All the men chuckled, finally seeming to come together. But as the last of the
laughter died away, the main doors opened up. From the entrance way stepped the host of
the meeting, Jackob Niovelli. Dressed head to toe in the darkest suit anyone had ever
scene outside of a black hole, with shoes to match, he strolled in calmly and casually,
owning the joint, followed by two brutes of astonishing size. All eyes turned to look at
him.
As he went around the table, headed for the empty chair, the men started to
stand. Waving his hands down, he said, "Please, gentlemen, stay seated." They complied.
When he was finally in his seat, Jackob looked at each man in turn, sizing them up
mentally. They also looked at him, doing the same.
Placing his hands flat on the table, he breathed deep and said, "Thank you all for
coming. In this room is gathered the greatest criminal lords in Confederation space.
Before now, we each dealt independently of each other, generally staying within our own
areas of interest."
He turned to Charly Serengedo. "You, Charly, traffic in illegal narcotics and
liquor. From one end of the galaxy to the other, you make sure those in need have those
needs met. And with the list of drugs being outlawed growing, you're making more and
more money, gaining power and influence."
Charly only nodded.
Then Jackob turned to Sallen Mandylor. "Sal, you are a hacker without peer, a
maverick on the cyber-frontier. I don't think there's a system designed that you can't get
into."
 The Fires Within 23

"If there is," Sal replied, "I haven't seen it."

Jackob smiled. "And talent like that doesn't come cheap, or without
consequence. How many planetary governments have warrants out for your arrest?"
"At last count, 86. But I always erase the warrants when they come up."
Jackob nodded, respect in his eyes. Next he looked at Lucas Gambon. "Lucas,
you deal in black-market cybernetic parts, with a little time and effort also spent in illegal
upgrades and research. Not a booming industry yet, but things are looking up."
Lucas winked. "And if we can get into another war, I'll be writing my own
ticket."
"I'm crossing my fingers for you," Jackob said. Then he faced Gerald Stevens.
"Mr. Stevens, the list of your illegal activities is longer than my arm. Everything from
drugs, to prostitution, to assassinations. Even industrial espionage."
Gerald motioned his confirmation.
"The same with you, Mr. Johann," he said, turning to look at Severo. "If
anything needs doing, you're the man to go to. Rumor has it you even helped out Admiral
Tolwyn on his last project."
Johann shook his head. "That can't be proven. But if I may, I'd like to have a
moment of silence in respect for the late great Admiral." Everyone around the table
laughed heartily. "Customers like him are hard to come by."
"Indeed they are, Mr. Johann," Jackob responded. From there he looked at
Jimmy Mallone. "Madman, you are the biggest gun runner around, able to get your hands
on anything from handguns to starfighters. Militias and rebels across the cosmos are
indebted to you."
Mallone gave a thumbs-up.
Jackob turned to Anthony Assante. "Mr. Assante, you're... Well, you're Mr.
Assante. I don't think anything else needs being said." Everyone nodded, but several
looked like they would like to hear much more about the mysterious man.
"Finally, we come to you, Roger Orderan," Jackob pronounced, facing the
hulking figure. "The bruisers in your employ are the largest around. From thugs to ex-
covert operations officers, you can supply the brains and muscle for any operation. Very
profitable to say the least."
"Very," Roger confirmed, his face giving nothing away.
"I, on the other hand," intoned Jackob, "deal in illegal gambling, making a good
living doing it. Independently, we are all wealthy and influential. We get things done,
often outside the laws, always fighting the Confederation. But our underground empires,
though powerful, are small next to the might of Confed."
He paused, letting his words sink in. They all knew the facts, but rarely thought
on it, often too busy maintaining their kingdoms to care. After several long seconds he
continued. "Together, we can shake Confed's very foundations. Together, we can turn our
operations into the efficient machines they can be. Think about it. All of us using the
talents and abilities of the others to streamline business. If we want a war, we can start
one. If we want peace, we can get that too. With our combined forces, Confed would be
nothing more than a puppet government. It's all ours for the taking."
Roger spoke up. "But if we combine, we also become a bigger target. That's
what has kept us from trying this in the past. On our own we can elude detection and
capture almost indefinitely. But together, we're like the fat cow waiting to be
slaughtered."
"True, Roger," Jackob said, "but together we have more weapons and defenses
at our disposal. I'm sure many of you are familiar with organized crime from the past.
Hell, human history is rife with it. Back during the early 1900's, it even attained a certain
24 The Fires Within

romanticism. I know I get misty eyed just thinking about the likes of Al Capone, Lucky
Luciano, Bugsy Siegel, and Frank Costello. They knew how to operate, how to use
power. But after the old US government's ATF murdered the Maisino family during the
Christmas Eve Slaughter of 2263, organized crime families died out all together. Since
then there have been small-time clans, but no Mafia families like the old times had. The
reason? Confed keeps a sharp eye out for all criminal activities, keeping us to penny-ante
offenses when we could be running the galaxy. But now, my friends, is the perfect time to
join together. I know we've all thought about it before, and maybe even joined with one
another from time to time, but it never lasted. Why?"
"Because there's no honor amongst thieves?" offered Sal.
"Good try, Sal, but no dice. The reason is because none of us wanted to
relinquish control of our groups. We all want to be the leader. But a beast with many
heads is too busy arguing with itself to be effective. We have to designate a leader."
"And who should that be, Jackob?" asked Lucas. "You?"
"Bingo," Jackob replied. There was a smattering of laughter and winks.
"Why you?" Charly inquired. "Why not me? Or Sal? Or Mr. Stevens?"
"Because I have something none of you have," Jackob told them.
Mr. Johann asked, "And that is?"
Jackob slowly stood up and leaned over the table. His eyes again took all of
them in turn, letting them see his seriousness and conviction. One after the other they
looked, and a gleam from deep within his eyes burst into bright life. With deliberate
slowness he said, "A plan."

Resurgence Part Two:

Weaving A Tangled Web
Croesus Sector
New Leavenworth Prison
Administration Board Room
A long silence followed Jackob's pronouncement. The others around the table,
except for Anthony Assante, looked around, trying to figure out if Jackob was pulling
their collective leg or if he was being serious. After a minute of this, they all turned back
to their host. Roger Orderan was the first to speak.
"Why now, Niovelli?" he asked. "Why is this the time to join together? What
makes today so damn special?"
"Have any of you picked up a news disk lately?" Jackob followed. "Seen the
vids?"
All of them nodded their heads, saying yes they had.
"Well then, it should be obvious!" Jackob's loud words echoed around the room.
Most of the men looked as if it wasn't even close to being obvious. But one man
spoke up, his voice startling everyone present. In hushed tones, Assante said, "War."
Those sitting next to him jumped in surprise at hearing the quiet man speak.
"Yes," Jackob replied. "Exactly. First, it was the war with the Kilrathi. Recently,
the Border Worlds conflict. After long decades of fighting, the Confederation is weak,
tired, and almost broke. Where once they had eyes turned inward, watching for
tribulations from within, now they are looking outward, scanning the heavens for more
trouble. They're too busy running around in the depths of space to worry about
independent criminals like us."
"But that won't last, Niovelli," Charly said. "Give them a year, and it will be
 The Fires Within 25

back to business as expected, rounding up all the usual suspects again. We might make a
few good scores now, but in no time they'll be chasing us." Doubt laced the man's sweaty
face.
Jackob didn't look worried. In fact, he seemed quite serene. "That's where my
plan comes in, Serengedo." He tapped the side of his head with one long finger.
"Well then," Gerald Stevens broke in, "tell us about this marvelous plan of
yours."

***

Data Station Alpha-Zulu

Code-name: The Labyrinth
Earth, Confederation HQ
Sub-Level 72
One hour later...
Brett Larance, Data Operator Twelve, was preparing himself for another exciting
night of shuffling files around and keeping his seat warm. Coffee cups were stacked high
and wide, a veritable castle of nu-foam protecting the walls of his cubicle. As he was
settling into his well-worn chair, an incoming call light flashed on his computer. With
interest, he touched the screen, letting the call come through. A burst of static shocked
him almost out of the room. Cups tumbled from their perches in droves.
When the static cleared, Sallen Mandylor's face filled the screen. He must have
seen Brett's startled expression, because he grinned and said, "At ease, Larance. This call
is code-guarded and totally secure."
Brett sat back down, still traumatized, but relaxing. "Mr. Mandylor, you caught
me off guard. I wasn't expecting to hear from you for another week."
"I know," Sal replied, "but this is a special job, and only you can do it. Ready?"
"I'm at your command, boss," Brett responded.
"Good. This will be a simple seek and download mission, but with a twist. I need
you to look through Confed's Covert Projects files and find anything you can that, if used
by an enemy contingent, would give the 'Feds one hell of a lot of trouble. Think you can
accomplish that?"
"Sure, boss," Brett said. "With those new slicing programs you gave me, getting
into the Black Box Mainframe will be easy-please me. But what do you want me to do
with it once I download the file?"
"That's the twist," Sal said with a wink. "Once you have the bag of goodies, I
want you to slide it on over to your Mandarin pals."
Brett was flabbergasted. "But, boss, they don't know I really work for you! I
don't think they'd like knowing there was a double-agent in their organization."
"Calm down, Larance," Sal ordered. "I didn't say to send it to them with my
regards, did I? No. Just make it look like a random act of good fortune for them. Keep me
out of it. They think you're their lackey, so continue that deception. Tell them you were
looking for something to help the cause, and stumbled onto the file. It'll get you in better
with them, and that is good for all of us."
Brett thought it over, then smiled a big Cheshire cat grin. "I got you, Mr.
Mandylor. Crystal in clarity. Should I offer them any suggestions with the package?"
"Negative, Larance," Sal replied. "Just pass it on to them. If I know Zach
Colson, he'll have plenty of ideas for it on his own."
26 The Fires Within

"Okay, boss. It's priority number one tonight."

"Good deal," Sal said. "Mandylor out."
The screen burst into static again, then went black. Brett leaned back in his
chair, hands laced behind his head. After a few deep breaths, he sat straight up and
plugged a neural-jack into an opening at the base of his skull. Immediately, he was in
intimate contact with the Confederation Mainframe. Cybernetic neural processors within
his brain began their normal operating procedures. Once he was established in the Net,
sub-processors and clandestine programs within his head activated. With one part of his
mind performing the required duties, another secret part broke off . He was a ghost in the
machine, an electronic astral projection flying into areas he didn't ordinarily have the
security clearance to get into. No one knew he was there, not even the Guard Dog
programs which normally kept slicers like him out of the loop.
After searching for almost five hours, he hit pay dirt. From outside, the file
looked innocent enough, but once inside, top-of-the-line Bridge Knight security programs
were layered thick. Surprised at first, and worried Mr. Mandylor's slicer programs weren't
up to the task, Brett began to back out. But the Knights didn't raise shield or sword at his
presence, so he knew he was safe and still hidden. Mentally wiping his brow, Brett
plunged on, knowing that security programs like those guarded only the most sensitive of
files.
Within seconds, he was reading an ambiguous file titled "Pandora." As he read,
he knew beyond doubt that there was his treasure. Making sure his security was still
intact, he downloaded the file to his brain's memory core where it was encrypted and
altered to look like old bytes waiting to be deleted. When that was done, he sneaked out
and joined with his main interface. Like a cat, he thought. In and out with no one the
wiser. A mischievous grin spread across his face. All that was left was to deliver the
goods to his Mandarin buddies, and that would be done momentarily.

***

Paleus System
Secret Mandarin Asteroid Base
Trevor "Bluebeard" Mindle was walking past one of his communications
officers when an incoming message light blinked. Stopping in his tracks, he turned to
look at the officer's screen. The comm officer, Gregory Jones, pressed a button, bringing
the file up.
"What do we have here, Mr. Jones?" Trevor asked.
After reading the relevant information, Gregory replied, "It's a file upload from
'Tripwire', sir."
Trevor nodded. "Tripwire" was Brett Larance's codename. A message from him
wasn't expected for a few days, but if he was early, then it must be important. "Download
it to disk and hand it over."
Gregory did as instructed with haste. He had no love for Mindle, but since he
was Zach's second, that meant he was the boss. When the file was decoded and
downloaded, he gave the disk over.
Trevor took it with a snappy grab. After loading it into his hand computer, he
read the file. As his eyes took in the information, he gasped. The mother lode! his mind
screamed. Without further word, he took to his heels and headed toward Zach Colson's
Ready Room.

***
 The Fires Within 27

Croesus Sector
New Leavenworth Prison
Communications Office
Seconds later...
"It's done," Sal said. Everyone applauded heartily.
"Well done," Jackob told him. "Very well done. Now we can just sit back and
wait for the fireworks to start."
Heads bobbed up and down, all eyes shining and all faces smiling. And what
fireworks it would be! From what they had read of Project: Tinkerbell, and from what
they knew of Colson's hatred for the Confederation, the future promised to be bright and
glorious. But most of all, it promised to be very profitable.

... to be continued ...

 The Fires Within
Part Two

Flashpoint

Written By: Justin Macumber

Special Thanks To: April Nagy for giving me the information I needed to write this…This
one's for you. ☺
Timestamp: 2674.215

Paleus System
Secret Mandarin Asteroid Base
Zachary "Jazz" Colson sat behind an iron desk the color of his mood, black, with
his hands covering his aching ears. Sound cannot travel through space, and for that he
was eternally thankful, because the racket banging at his auricle would have brought the
whole of the Confederation down upon his head. Hammers pounded, drills whizzed, and
ratchets clicked in an unending cacophony of nerve-grating noise. It was all he could do
not to pick up a rifle and end his misery then and there by blasting everyone around him
into mists of blood and bone. A smile crossed his lips at the thought.
Nice as the idea was, though, he knew it would come to naught. The noise, no
matter how abrasive to his tender senses, had to continue. The base he was constructing
was to be his new headquarters, his hidden base of operations, from which he would
strike back at those who had done him, and so many others, wrong: the Confederation.
Every great leader needs a throne and a castle to surround it, he thought. Why use a
derelict space station or abandoned outpost when an asteroid would serve his purposes so
much better? Hide in the shadows... Watch from the nooks and crannies... Those were his
new mottoes. So construction continued, much to his ears' dismay.
And the Paleus System was ideal. No one had ventured into it for years. And
why should they? Two planets were under strict quarantine (failed biological weapons
had been tested on them), and the others were completely bereft of anything of value or
interest. So here he was safe from prying eyes. Here he could mastermind the destruction
of Confed. Here he could find peace... if only those DAMN noises would STOP!! His
teeth ground against each other.
After days of having to put up with the clamoring, the seemingly endless
symphony of construction, he was startled when the din ceased. What was going on?
Why had they stopped (though he wasn't looking a gift horse in the mouth)? He raised
his eyes up from the desktop, shook his head to clear out the ringing in his ears, and
 The Fires Within 29

looked around. Commander Trevor "Bluebeard" Mindle, his second-in-command, was

walking toward him, ducking under lowered beams and sidestepping piles of rock, while
waving the men away from their building stations. He came by his call-sign honestly; his
face seemed to be forever covered in a half-day's worth of stubble, causing his cheeks to
look blue-ish. Plus, he liked being associated with a pirate of old. Though he didn't sail
the seven seas on a rickety boat, he did plunder and pillage as much as he could. At least
that much of the tradition he was living up to.
When the last obstacle was overcome, Trevor came to stand before his superior
officer, Zachary. Confed ranks meant little to the Mandarins, but experience was looked
upon with favor. And of all of them, "Jazz" was the best. And since he had started their
little band of malcontents, he wore the crown.
"Did you call the workmen off for my benefit?" Colson asked. "Or are they
forming a union and stopping work until I pay them what they think they're worth?" Both
men smiled at the joke. To pay a man what he thought he was worth was to be forever in
his debt.
"Negative on both counts, Sir," Trevor replied. "Instead, I come bearing a gift."
From a jacket pocket he pulled out a computer disk, it's amber surface shining like gold,
and handed it to Colson.
"A gift? For little ol' me?" Colson pressed his hand against his chest, trying to
put on an innocent face. He didn't succeed. With his other hand he took the disk.
"Yes, Sir."
"Who's it from?"
"Our boys at Confed Intelligence. They sliced into some pretty deep secrets, Sir.
And I think you'll be very interested in what they found." Trevor's eyebrows went up a
notch, indicating his seriousness.
"I'm always interested in Confed's dirty laundry, Trevor, but why is this so
important you called everything to a halt?"
"That disk holds your dreams, Sir," Trevor said, purposefully obtuse.
"And what dreams might those be?"
"Confed's destruction, Sir."
Colson's eyes opened wide. "Oh, THOSE dreams! Well, why didn't you say so
in the first place?"
"Sorry, Sir." Trevor was all formality, but both men were comfortable and at
ease with each other. They just liked to play as if they were in a regular unit. Gave a
sense of order and normality to the chaos that was their existence. "Won't happen again."
Colson fluttered his hand, dismissing the incident. "Let's see what little goodies
my hackers brought me," he said. He swiveled his chair to face the computer terminal on
the corner of his desk. The asteroid was not completed yet, but the computer system was
online and functioning. That had been a first priority. Cables ran amok through the halls
and over-head, but as rooms were finished, the guts of the machine were hidden away.
Luckily, Colson's office was finished, otherwise he would have all ready hung himself on
wiring.
With a quick jab of his right index finger, a disk bay opened up. He sat the
iridescent disk on the tray, pressed the 'close' button, and sat back, waiting for the
machine to do its job. After several seconds of beeping, a file list popped onto his screen.
Trevor moved to stand behind Colson's chair, allowing him to read the screen
without blocking the view. "The file you want is named 'Pandora,' " he said.
"Like the box?" Colson asked.
"Yes, Sir. Like the box."
Colson searched the screen, found the file, and touched the marker that opened
30 The Fires Within

it. The list disappeared, and in its place was a diagram of a space installation called
'Pandora Station.' As the schematics revolved, a description index rolled, telling the
station's vital statistics. Nothing unusual. "This is my dream, Trevor?" he asked, sneering.
"A small space station in some god-forsaken backwater system?"
Trevor hated when Colson was being difficult. "Sir, look at the purpose of the
station."
Colson leaned into the screen, letting his eyes take in everything. Finally he hit
upon something that caught his attention. "Nanotechnology? But I thought every scientist
from here to infinity said it wasn't good for anything more than a high-priced flea circus?
Correct me if I'm wrong, Commander."
"Well," Trevor said, "if you follow popular thinking, then you would be right.
But it appears someone in Confed's black-box project development team thinks
otherwise."
"I don't give a shit what they think! Give me something they know!" Colson was
getting tired of looking at the screen and the words that ran along its surface like a Mardi
Gras parade. He was better at fighting than scientific theorizing. "Is there something here
we can use?" "Sir, if you'll go to the 'Current Projects' section, I think you'll find
something quite fascinating." Trevor's patience was starting to run thin.
"Better not be a wild goose chase, Commander," Colson warned. But he did as
instructed, and watched as a list of projects came up. There were two dozen titles, all
written in different colors. None jumped out and slapped him. "Okay. What am I
supposed to be looking for?"
"You see the one on the bottom? In black?"
Colson took another long look, then began laughing so hard he almost lost a
lung. " 'Project: Tinkerbell'? That's my dream come true?!" It was just too rich for Colson
to take with a straight face.
Trevor began to loose his self restraint. "Sir, please bear with me. Open the file,
and inside you'll find what I mean." He clinched his fists in mute frustration.
"Okay, Trevor. No need to get testy." Colson touched the screen, causing its
contents to be replaced by a lengthy description of the named project. With a sigh, he sat
back to read text that would probably be way over his head. Surprisingly, it was easily
understood. And as he read, his eyes grew large as egg shells.
Trevor waited silently, letting the implications sink in. He knew what was going
on in Colson's head. The same ideas had come to him, too. It was staggering to say the
least.
Finally, Colson finished reading. Trembling all over, he slowly turned his chair
around to face the Commander. "Jesus H, Trevor!" A feverish glow colored his cheeks
and forehead, and a maniacal gleam shined from his strained eyes.
"Exactly, Sir," Trevor intoned. "But there's a problem."
"And that is?"
"The station is pretty heavily guarded, Sir. On the outside at least. Inside it's only
got a contingent of Marines, but with two squadrons of fighters providing stellar support,
I don't see how we can get in before the whole damn fleet is breathing down our necks."
"You just leave that to me, Commander," Colson said. A fire raged up in his
soul. On that station was the key to his victory over the Confederation, and no piss-ant
fighter jockeys were going to keep him from it. "Like taking candy from a baby."

***
 The Fires Within 31

Kryptos Sector
Patrol-Nav Point Theta
Space is a very cold locale, but Eddie "Casper3" Kupinsky was sweating like a
pig in heat. After three years of patrolling this sector, he never got over the sense of
impending danger. And he could blame that on Pandora Station, the reason he was out
patrolling in the first place. He considered it a target too desirous to be ignored. Its
existence was a secret, but the past showed, if nothing else, that secrets had a nasty habit
of being found out, and he didn't want to be within ten light years of the station when that
happened.
But he had a job to do, so he did it, and did it well. Sweaty as he may have been,
he was still a good pilot with keen instincts. And his sense of doom didn't affect the way
he did his job. It was just something that kept him alert, aware of his surroundings. You
didn't get three letters of commendation and six war medals by being lax on the job.
The patrol route was his most boring assignment to date, and considering the
importance of the Pandora Station, he was glad. When first brought aboard, he'd asked
why there were only two squadrons of fighters protecting the station. "Son," Rear
Admiral Gregory had said, "a whole fleet of ships is too damn conspicuous. A place like
this needs a smaller force to guard it." And he was right. Dozens upon dozens of ships
would have drawn unwanted attention, even this far away from traffic lanes. So they
made do with the two squadrons they had. Thankfully they hadn't had any problems to
date. 'Kryptos' was Greek for hidden. Eddie hoped the sector stayed that way.
With an ear ringing sound, the relative silence of his patrol Hellcat was
shattered. His comm came alive. "Casper3, this is Ghostbase. Casper3, this is Ghostbase.
Come in Casper3." It was Pandora Station. What did they want? Unusual for them to call
him in the middle of his patrol route.
"Ghostbase, this is Casper3. I read you. Over."
"Casper3, listen. Our long-range sensor arrays have detected a ship inbound
from the Dyson Sector. Its speed is slow, around 75 kilometers per second, while pitch
and yaw are practically nonexistent. Plus, its transponder isn't broadcasting, and we can't
raise them on any communications frequencies. We think this ship is damaged and
wandered in through an unknown jump point in that sector. The design is typical of
Confederation Emissary and Medical Transports. But without communications or the
transponder, we don't know exactly what it is. You and your wingman are hereby ordered
to proceed immediately to Patrol-Nav Point Sigma to intercept and, if you can,
interrogate. Do you copy?"
This doesn't bode well, thought Eddie. "I copy, Ghostbase. Casper3 out."
"You get all that, Casper4?" he asked Marcus Trillby, his wingman.
"Sure did, Casper3. And I don't mind saying I don't like it."
"Join the club. Now form on my wing and follow the bouncing ball."

***

Kryptos Sector
Patrol-Nav Point Sigma
They could see the unknown bogey on their radar display before they could hear
it. Sensors indicated that the hull had been breached in several places, with localized
emergency fields being the only thing between the people inside and a one-way ticket to
immediate involuntary cryogenic suspension in the depths of space - if enough of their
bodies remain intact for freezing that was. Shields were nonexistent. Engines were at one-
tenth power, but stable. Beyond that, they were in the dark as to the ship's condition.
32 The Fires Within

The radio signal, upon reception, was weak. The communications gear must
have been banged up pretty good. Video didn't accompany the audio either. At least it
was usable though. A woman's voice, strained and tired, said, "Mayday - Mayday! This is
the TCS Medical Transport Nightingale Seven requesting emergency assistance from any
ships in the area! Please, respond if you can hear me!" She sounded as if she were at the
end of her rope, pulling hairs out by the roots. Eddie could almost see in his mind's eye
tears streaming down her face. "Is anyone getting this?! Damn it!! Where the hell are
we?! I hope those Mandarin pirates die slowly... like we're going to."
Eddie's eyebrows shot up like a salute at the word "Mandarin". What were those
traitors doing now? Were they responsible for the damaged medical ship? Time to find
out and open the comm. "Attention TCS Medical Transport Nightingale Seven," he said,
hoping he sounded official, yet helpful. "This is Casper3. I have you on my screens. How
can I be of assistance?"
The relief in the woman's voice was almost painful. "Thank god! I don't know
who you are, Casper3, but I love you!"
Eddie almost blushed. With a grunt he responded, "Thank you much, ma'am,
but... I think we need to go out a few times before you can be sure of that."
She laughed. It was music to his ears. "It's a date! But first, you'll have to get me
and my ship to a repair station." Her voice was finally calming down. That's better, Eddie
thought. Keep her talking.
"About that, ma'am. What happened to you, and how did you get to be here?"
"Oh, stop with the 'ma'am' business," she replied. "My name is Captain
Thornson. But you, my knight in shining armor, can call me Betty."
Again, Eddie blushed. "Okay, Betty."
"Good. But you asked me what happened. I wish I could tell you! I was part of
an eight ship medical convoy transporting survivors from a terra-forming accident on
Aachen V. Halfway to the Sir Charles Bell Medical Station, we were attacked by
Mandarin pirates. Bastards at least had the guts to tell us who they were. Anyway, they
came at us fast and furious. Three of the transports were destroyed before we knew what
was going on. I pulled up as soon as I saw the first explosion, and since I was in the rear,
I didn't come under fire immediately. I hit the afterburners and tried to contact any
Confederation ships in the area... There weren't any. On my radar screen I could see the
other seven transports taken out. I knew they would come for me next, so I just held on to
the stick, kept the afterburners going, and hauled ass! Unfortunately, they wouldn't let me
go that easily. No sooner did I take a deep breath when they were on me. Shields were
gone in less time than it takes to tell about it, and my hull was weakening. Never in my
life had I been under that kind of fire! They were like animals!!"
Eddie could hear her respiration quickening. Her adrenaline was pumped. He
couldn't blame her though. He had been in situations similar, so he understood and
sympathized. Her bravery was remarkable, all considered. Without any weapons, she had
kept her head and made it through. Though she couldn't see it, he saluted her.
She continued. "But right as I was about to become flotsam, they pulled out.
Don't ask me why. Maybe their conscience got to them. Maybe they realized we were a
medical convoy and not the Spanish Treasure Fleet. I don't know, and I don't care. I've
still got patients in the back; that's all I'm concerned about."
"I don't blame you, Betty." Man, she had guts! Eddie had seen men with more
experience than her freak out under lesser circumstances. But he still had questions.
"Now that we have your current condition explained, can you tell me how you got to be
here? This is pretty far from Aachen V or the Medical Station."
"It might help me, Casper3," she stated, "if I knew just where I've ended up."
 The Fires Within 33

It would help her, but that information was restricted. "I understand, Betty, but I
am not at liberty to give you that information. Isn't your navigational equipment
working?"
"No, it's not. And what do you mean you aren't at liberty? Just what the hell is
going on here...?"
Another voice came over the comm, a male this time. "Captain, think about it.
'Casper3'? A numbered ghost? Come on."
Captain Thornson must have looked like she didn't understand, because the man
with her let out a heavy sigh of exasperation and stated, "We've flown into a restricted
area. This is a secure zone!"
Thornson inhaled quickly. "Is this true, Casper3?"
"Uh, I'm afraid so, Betty. That's why I need to know how you got here."
"Ahhhh shit. Perfect. Just perfect. Well, I'll be god-" Here Thornson went into a
remarkable and imaginative series of expletives and colorful adjectives. A Marine would
have been proud.
The man who had spoken earlier came on the comm to speak on her behalf, for
she was much too busy questioning the ancestry of the transport's manufacturer and
telling everyone within earshot of where they could put the navigational equipment if
they were so inclined.
"Uh, sorry about that, Casper3," he said, all apologies. "The Captain gets this
way sometimes."
"S'ok. Are you her second?"
"Yeah. Commander Cecil Tyson, at your service."
"Glad to meet you, Commander."
"And you don't how glad I am to meet you!"
Eddie laughed. "I'm sure. But can you shed some light on this situation?"
"Yes, Sir. After the Mandarins left, we were pretty much drifting in space, all
our equipment going haywire, the engines not responding for crap. It looked hopeless.
But after four hours of coasting aimlessly, our Navi-Computer came online and said we
were near a jump point, though we couldn't match it to any on our charts. But hey, who
were we to snub our noses at it? And since we weren't headed anywhere near
civilization, it was our only shot. So the Captain coaxed enough juice from the directional
thrusters to move us the eight degrees necessary to get in the jump point. Afterwards, we
just sat back and tried not to break anything. Heck, there was nothing else we could
anyway. Without our computers working properly, we don't know where we are or what's
going on. And that, my savior, brings us to you."
"I see," said Eddie. "Well, we seem to have a problem on our hands."
"You don't know the half of it, Casper3" Thornson said, apparently done with
her diatribe.
"What do you mean, Betty?"
"I think, in all the excitement, we forgot to mention a vital piece of information."
"And that is?"
"Our life support systems are down, and have been for hours. We still have
wounded in our medical bay, some still alive thank god, and they need an inordinate
amount of life support. With what's left, I estimate we probably have about another hour
and a half left before this ship becomes a flying coffin." Betty was beginning to sound
irritated as well as tired and stressed. Not good.
"Understood," Eddie told her. "Please hold your present speed and course while
I confer with base."
"Like we have a choice," Thornson sighed.
34 The Fires Within

"Right." Eddie switched his comm to Marcus. "What do you think, Casper4?"
"Huh. Sounds kosher to me."
"Casper3 to Ghostbase. Come in please."
"Ghostbase here, Casper3. We read you."
"Did you get all that, Ghostbase?"
"Affirmative. And the Captain's story holds water. Confed HQ reports a surprise
attack on a medical convey outbound from Aachen V to Sir Charles Bell Medical Station
by Mandarin pirates a little over six hours ago. Initial reports are sketchy, but debris
analysis concludes that one transport did escape the attack zone. Until now, its condition
and location were unknown. Our scanners also confirm that the transport is indeed the
lost medical ship. Seems the mystery is solved."
"I concur, Ghostbase, but we have another mystery on our hands."
"And what is that, Casper3?"
"The future of the Nightingale Seven."
"Give me a moment on that, Casper3. Hold your position until we contact you.
Ghostbase out." The comm went quiet.
Eddie reestablished contact with the transport. "Captain Thornson?"
"Thornson here, Casper3. What is going on out there?"
"We have confirmed your story."
"Well, congratulations! Now move over here and get my ship repaired!"
"Hold on, Captain. We are looking into that right now."
"Hold on?! Did I stutter a minute ago? I said we are almost out of life support! If
I hold on much longer, we are going to end up ice cubes!"
"Understood, Captain, but you have to understand something; you are in secured
space. You're very presence here puts all of us all in grave jeopardy. This is a restricted
area, not a pit stop."
"I don't give a shit! This could be Never Never Land for all I care! You must
have a maintenance bay out here. Tow me to it and let me get to work. 'Cause while you
and your superiors twiddle your thumbs wondering what to do with us, we are dying."
Eddie's heart twisted in his chest. She was right, of course. He quickly radioed
Pandora Station. "Sorry for the interruption, Ghostbase, but the situation is getting critical
out here. I need orders, fast."
"We copy, Casper3. Orders from HQ read like this: You are to contact Captain
Thornson. Tell her to initiate her 'Slave Protocols.' Once that is done, you are to initiate
your 'Master Protocols.' When the link has been established, polarize her windows to
maximum density. When the ship is blind, begin herding her to Ghostbase. Once aboard,
we'll affect repairs on her transport, with our Marines looking on. They can use the break
in routine anyway. After that, you will guide her to Sector Zulu-Alpha. There they will be
picked up by a frigate and moved to their original destination. Do you copy all that,
Casper3?"
"Yes, Sir. But isn't there a repair ship that can come out here and get them?"
"Negative. The closest is ten hours away. By then, they'll be dead."
"I read you, Ghostbase. Casper3 out." Eddie, in his entire career, had never had
to do what Pandora Station had just instructed him to. But it made sense. 'Slave' and
'Master Protocols' were an offshoot of the Automated Carrier Landing System, in that one
ship, the 'Master,' would take total control of another ship, the 'Slave.' The 'Master' ship's
computer would over-ride the 'Slave's.' In doing that, the 'Slave' ship would have no
record of what was happening or where it was going. That way, they could repair the
medical transport without loosing security. Eddie doubted that the creators of the
Protocols had had that in mind when they designed it, but when in unusual situations,
 The Fires Within 35

unusual solutions were called for. The polarization of the windows was just to keep the
people inside the ship from seeing what they shouldn't. And Sector Zulu-Alpha was the
codename for the Oberon Sector, an innocuous little patch of space nearby.
"Betty, this is Casper3. Do you hear me?"
"Yeah, I hear ya, and you better have good news for me. One more of my
wounded died while you were chatting away with god only knows who."
Eddie's eyes watered. Crap. "Betty, I need you to initiate your ship's 'Slave
Protocols.' "
"What?! You want me to hand over control of my ship to you?! Bub, I don't
even know if you're really Confed! You could be Mandarin for all I know!!"
She had a point. "If I was a pirate, Betty, you'd already be blown to bits. And
besides, your computer won't accept my 'Master Protocols' if I don't have the proper
authorization codes."
In the background, Eddie could hear Commander Cecil yelling for her to listen
and do as instructed, or they would all die. She sighed, thought for a second, then said,
"All right, Casper3. I'm initiating 'Slave Protocols' now." She cut communications
sharply.
Eddie wasn't offended. He understood. He would be hesitant in her shoes too.
But she didn't have a choice. It was either trust him, or freeze to death. Tough call.
With a few button hits, his computer reached out and ensnared hers. Thankfully,
her computer was in fair condition. Some of its systems were down, such as engine
control and navigation, but his ship would take care of those for her. The life support
systems, though, would have to be repaired manually.
When everything was in place, Eddie called Marcus. "I'm ready to roll, Casper4.
You keep to the rear and make sure she stays on track. Clear?"
"Crystal, Casper3. I'm right behind you."
"Very good." The three ships began moving. It was slow at first, but as Eddie's
computer manipulated the transport, its engines increased speed gradually. They would
dock with Pandora Station in less than half an hour.

***

Kryptos Sector
Pandora Station
The chaos the erupted inside and out of Pandora Station was virtually
simultaneous. As soon as the hanger bay doors shut behind the transport, sealing it in the
station, ten fighters uncloaked and immediately destroyed all the communications buoys
that kept Pandora in contact with Confed HQ. Pandora was forthwith incommunicado.
Before the patrol Hellcats could react, the unknown fighters turned their guns on the
station's defensive weaponry. It was disarmed within seconds. After that, the Hellcats and
the enemy fighters went after each other. Even though the Hellcats had the advantage of
superior numbers, the enemy fighters were faster and better armed. The battle was quick
and furious, with the unknown fighters coming out on top... barely.
At the same time the ships uncloaked, the medical transport's doors were flung
open, and two dozen armed men poured out, guns blazing. Half of the station's Marines
were killed in a flash. The other half were chopped down soon after, never knowing who
their attackers were. It was a slaughter. The Marines were tougher, smarter, and better
equipped, but the element of surprise had been their downfall. They had been expecting a
boring couple of hours baby-sitting. Instead they had been sent to an early grave. Five of
the intruders were taken out too, but the outcome was still the same: Pandora Station had
36 The Fires Within

been seized.
When the smoke cleared, Zachary Colson activated a communications band on
his wrist. "Captain Bly to Captain Blood. Come in Captain Blood."
Trevor's voice piped in. "Arg, me matey. Blood here. Just finishing up with the
scurvy dogs now." His voice was low, menacing. My how he loved pirating.
"Keep up the good work, Captain Blood. Bly out." Colson lowered his wrist,
waved some smoke from his face, and looked around. Technicians, scientists, and repair
crews are lying face down on the floor, shaking. The dead Marines were leaking blood in
small rivers. He waved one of his men over and gestured for him to move all the dead
bodies out of the way. The man went right to work.
A red-haired, green-eyed beauty climbed from the transport. She stretched her
back, reveling in the pleasure, and shook her mane of hair out. When that was done, she
sauntered over to Colson. He eyed her the whole way.
"Well, Colson," she said, "that went better than expected."
"Thank the stars for that, Julia," he followed. "Or should I say, 'Betty'?"
She winked and laughed. "No, thank you. Julia is just fine."
A man laying on the floor popped his head up. Several of the invaders swiveled
their guns in his direction. Colson waved them away. "What can I do for you?" he asked.
Taking that as permission to move, the man got to his feet slowly and made his
way over to Colson. "What is this meaning of this?" he inquired, stupefied. "Who are you
people?"
Colson bowed deeply. "Zachary 'Jazz' Colson, in the flesh."
The man didn't look as though he knew the name. "Is that supposed to mean
something to me?"
Colson instantly got irate. "I'm the leader of the Mandarins, you little piece of
shit. And who, pray tell, are you?"
The man squared his shoulders, smoothed the lab coat he wore, and stated
imperiously, "I am Dr. Albert Jordan, chief scientist about this station."
Colson's eyes brightened. "Great! Just the man I wanted to see!!"
The doctor didn't look happy to be needed by this man. "I'm afraid I don't know
what you could want with me." His eyes roamed nervously over the pirates that stood to
rigid attention around him.
"Well, you see," Colson began, "I need you to help me with something."
"And what could that be?" Dr. Jordan asked.
"I heard you have something on this station that could be of great use to me."
The doctor took a step back. "I don't know what you're talking about, sir."
Colson stepped in close and leaned his head near the doctor's ears. "Does
'Project: Tinkerbell' sound familiar?"
Without warning, the doctor lost his footing and fell on his butt. His eyes went
wide as saucers. "My god! You can't be serious!"
"Oh, I'm afraid I am, Doctor. Quite serious."
Just then, Colson's wrist communicator beeped. "Blood to Bly. Come in, Bly."
Colson spoke into the comm. "Bly here. Report."
"The fighters have been keel-hauled."
"Very good. Anything else?"
"Yes, Sir. The hangmen are here and ready to commence transport. Should I
inform them to proceed?"
"Immediately, Blood. And tell them not to spare the gas. Our enemy may not be
aware something is up yet, but it won't take long before they are on to us. Unfurl the sails
and get us moving. Bly out." Colson dropped his wrist.
 The Fires Within 37

Seconds later, the station gave a start. Everyone standing had to shuffle their feet
to stay upright.
"What was that?" the doctor asked.
"Two Super Tugs I liberated a few months ago have latched onto us and are
moving the station to friendlier space," Colson told him. "By the time Confed gets their
heads out of their collective asses, we'll be long gone."
Dr. Jordan just shook his head in misery and helplessness. "I can't believe this is
happening."
"Believe it, Doctor," Colson hissed. "And get this through your high IQ skull;
you will give me what I want, or I'm going to start plugging people."
With a wave of his hand, one of the pirates swung his gun around and fired on a
repairman laying prone on the ground. The man's heart was pierced by the beam of
energy, and he died a split second later. Several of the others on the floor screamed.
Doctor Jordan whimpered, looked at the dead man, looked at the killer with the
gun, and then looked at Colson. He was trembling like a leaf in a stiff wind.
"Is my point clear, Doctor?" Colson asked.
"Yes. Quite clear." His Adam's apple bobbed up and down like a monkey on a
stick.
"Good! Now, why don't we go to your laboratory and talk about this little project
of yours?" Colson circled a finger in the air. The pirates kicked the people on the floor to
their feet and moved them aboard the transport, where they would be held prisoner.
Colson, Julia, and Doctor Jordan all went to a grav-lift and made for more
accommodating quarters. With a final message to Trevor, they were on their way.
"Captain Blood, the crow is in the nest. I repeat, the crow is in the nest. Captain Bly out."

***

Paleus System
Secret Mandarin Asteroid Base
Two Days Later
A cloaked fighter had stayed behind to watch for Confederation ships. Several
hours after the station had been dragged off, a fleet of two destroyers had flown in to find
debris where there should have been a secret space installation. The Tugs, before
attaching tractor beams to the station, had dumped off huge amounts of metal, wiring, and
bodies that they had brought with them. Colson knew Confed wouldn't be fooled for long,
but any extra time was a god send. And as predicted, the Confed ships spent over two
hours sifting through the debris, while short range scouts searched the area.
But the station was far and away. Moving an object of the Pandora Station's size
would normally be a slow undertaking, but the Super Tugs were specifically designed to
move large ships and stations quickly and without damaging them. The tractor beams
were expressly intended to attach to the entirety of a hull, not just a small part. That
meant they could be moved quicker. Also, the Tugs have jump capabilities, and they can
drag their cargo with them. All together, the Tugs were perfect for Colson's needs. It was
fortuitous that he had made a point of acquiring a couple when the opportunity presented
itself those few months past. Fortuitous indeed.
Now the station was hitched to the asteroid base with a combination of cables
and anchor beams. From his office, Colson could see the station floating along on a
closed circuit monitor. He enjoyed looking at his prize, so full of treasure ready for the
taking.
With a smile he had listened as Confed scrambled to find their missing station.
38 The Fires Within

From the sound of it, they couldn't find their asses without a map and a flashlight. It was
not in doubt who had committed the theft. But where they had gone, that was the real
question. False leads dropped anonymously by his people within the Confederation had
them going all over creation, looking under ever rock and pulsar. Sometimes, when the
mood was on him, he would cackle and guffaw with glee. He loved his job.
But now was not the time for joviality. Instead, he had to keep a serious tone.
The second phase of his plan, chaos and anarchy, was about to start. Two message
devices were laid out before him on his desk, and with a steady hand he reached out to
pick one up. The first was to Hralka' nar Sulthik, while the second was for K' Kalia, a
notable leader of the Firekkan. When it was before his lips, he activated its record
function and said, "Hello. Though you do not see my face, hear my words, great Kilrathi
leader..."

... to be continued ...

 The Fires Within
Part Three

The Fires Within

Written By: April Nagy

Special Thanks To: The "God-Sent" Justin Macumber for the corrections!
Timestamp: 2674.229

Pasqual X
The large, cat-like creature walked up the stairs of the new Kilrathi temple. The
building was a shrine, dedicated to their god, Sivar, new and glossy, still in its youth. It
was closed this late at night, yet the Kilrathi had business here with the high priestess.
Breaking in was not a problem for one who had claws that could tear someone limb from
limb.
Inside, smoke stung his eyes. Looking up, he saw his mighty god represented in
marble at the far wall of the building, standing with fierce pride and determination. The
candles were still lit, and the room was foggy, but the worshipers were gone away to their
homes, telling their offspring stories of Kilrathi triumph.
"High Priestess?" he called out. "Miasa?"
Through the fog, his keen eyes spotted her near the altar. The red and black
ceremonial garb hung loosely about her body, and the gold jewelry sparkled as it caught
the candlelight.
"I am here," she answered.
"Do you have news?" he asked quietly.
"Hush, and come here." As he did, she explained, "The other priestesses are
around still." Out of her golden belt she pulled a tiny device, then proceeded to push
a couple of minuscule buttons, but not before taking a good look around.
The device beeped, and the message started. It was audio only.
"Hello. Though you do not see my face, hear my words, great Kilrathi leader.
My name will remain unknown to you, but take this seriously. Five days from now, there
will be a meeting in the Paleus system of three great leaders. You, hopefully; K' Kalia, a
great Firekkan leader; and myself, who will remain unknown. The meeting will take
place on a previously unknown Mandarin asteroid base."
The Kilrathi laughed, a low growl underlying in the chuckle. The Mandarin? he
thought. What fools! Humans that had done all the Kilrathi's spying work for them,
40 The Fires Within

traitors to their own kind. They had helped a great deal in the Kilrathi war, but had been
taken by surprise attack from the humans who had used a new kind of missile, called the
Mace. Still, he found it amusing that this group was in existence after all this time. By
the look on Miasa's face, he saw she thought so, too.
He quickly looked at the date the message was sent. Four more days until the
meeting.
"Look at all that has been taken from you, Kilrathi. Look at the dishonor that
has been laid upon your race the moment Melek signed the Peace Treaty. As if the
destruction of your homeworld, Kilrah, wasn't enough. What do you have to lose? Bring
your greatest possible fleet. Rile the townspeople. Make yourself a group of followers.
For the plan I have against Confed will strike them down, once and for all. All questions
will be answered at the meeting." The message ended.
This put a certain glimmer in Hralka' nar Sulthik's eyes. The mighty Kilrathi
warrior planned ahead what would happen. Many of the townspeople felt the way he did
about the humans--that they should not be allowed to live, after what they had done. Yet
Melek had a good number of followers.
"Surely you will do it for the glory of the Empire!" Miasa whispered urgently.
Hralka looked downcast. "There is no Empire."
"But for the destroyed one, my lord." Miasa ran her claws through Hralka's
mane, and he gave a low growl of appreciation. "Revenge, my lord…"
"But if it is a trap?"
"He told you to bring a great fleet. Would he say that if he planned to attack?
And what if it is a trap? Is staying here on Pasqual, being forced to obey Confederation
regulations, any better?"
"True. Very true. I must gather followers," Sulthik said, as he ambled down the
stairs.
"It will not be a hard task to complete. Only Melek and his nobles keep this
planet in control. If we did not follow Kilrah's old social status, Melek and the nobles
would be beggars on the street."
"I trust you to keep quiet about this," he said sternly.
"I shall even rally warriors for you, my lord," she nodded.
"Good. Four days." Sulthik nodded his head, and proceeded out the temple
doors.

***

Firekka
Butch was finally home. Walking down the stairs of the shuttle, he whistled
shrilly, calling his friends and family nearby. The clean air made him stop and take a
deep breath, and as he smelled the familiar plants and flowers of the tropical world, he
took off into the air, gliding above his three friends, now thirty feet below him.
Second Lieutenant Selak Rikan looked up and smiled. "Cover your heads,
everyone!" he shouted, loudly. Butch said nothing; Rikan didn't think he had heard him.
His colleague, Captain April Nagy, along with Second Lieutenant Gabriel Sean
McClellan, laughed aloud as Butch landed and asked—"What?"
He quickly forgot it. "Ah! It's great to be back!" Butch cawed. A flock of birds
headed his way. He was sure to stick close to his comrades; he wanted them to meet his
family, his friends, and become well aquatinted with Firekka itself! Being a seven and a
half foot tall bird, next to six foot humans, had always made him a bit uncomfortable, but
ironically, now Rikan, Gabriel, and April were the odd ones.
 The Fires Within 41

"Baruk, dear!" a tall Firekkan crowed. By her dark red and brown feathers, she
was obviously a noble. In fact, looking around at his family, most of them were nobles.
Firekkans, like Kilrathi, could be distinguished from one another by their coverings.
Kilrathi with their fur, and the Firekkan with feathers. All the same principle.
Butch's beak twisted into an awkward smile. "Mother!"
His mother flapped her wings, making great chaos, and hopped over to him. He
gave his mother a hug, and she gave him a strange look.
"What are you doing?"
"It's a thing humans do, mother. It's how they show affection. It's called a hug."
"Hug…" she repeated. "They show affection by grabbing another around the
wings, well," she thought better, "arms, so they cannot move?"
He nodded. "Sort of."
"How…different." A perplexed looked crossed her face.
Again, he smiled. "If only you knew, mother. This is Second Lieutenant
Gabriel Sean McClellan, Captain April Nagy, and Second Lieutenant Selak Rikan."
Gabriel and Selak nodded politely, and April smiled, then went back to
examining her surroundings.
A smaller Firekkan, about five and a half feet tall, hopped up to Butch.
"Brother!" she exclaimed.
"Ah, little sister!" He listened as his sister whistled shrilly, and responded
likewise. The crowd began to move toward a large, wooden building down the hill a bit
from the launch pad. The three Terrans stumbled in awe as they examined the beautiful
plants and trees around them.
"What is it like in space, Butch?" his sister asked.
But before he could respond, his mother wrapped her wing around her daughter.
"It's not something you'd like, dear," she said.
It was an ongoing fight within his family. Butch was never supposed to fly in
space. After all, why go where there is no wind to carry your wings? Why be confined
to a metal cage? But after Firekka had joined the Confederation, the influx of humans to
their planet had increased greatly. Sims were put in, and the children excitedly played
them. To most it was a game, and the thought of actually flying some ship and killing
other ships was preposterous. But the Butch, it was reality. And soon he found out that
he had an affinity for flying these metal ships. Off to the Academy he went, against his
parents wishes. But in the end, he knew his parents admired him for his decision. So
here he was, a pilot, but only for a short time, because Butch had found out that not only
did he have an affinity for flying ships, but repairing them, too. And in respect for his
parents wishes of him not flying, he only repaired ships. Still, he knew his parents didn't
agree with any of the space stuff, and it bothered him.
"Mother…"
"Baruk, don't start on me now. Later."
Butch shut his mouth, holding in his anger. The stories he could tell his many
brothers and sisters of space and excitement! He shook off the bad feelings and tried to
think of something else to say that wouldn't make his mother angry. "How is the White
Flower flock? Is K'Kalia around?"
The White Flower flock was a group of nobles that were regarded with high
respect on Firekka. His family, the Red Feather flock, were also nobles, and highly
regarded in Firekkan society. The White Flower and Red Feather flocks were also the
best of friends. Butch had grown up and played with K'Kalia and her other brothers and
sisters in the valley a couple miles from his nest area. K'Kalia and Butch would race to
the end of the valley, where the mountains stood; Butch always won, but K'Kalia never
42 The Fires Within

gave up. Racing was an everyday ritual.

"K'Kalia, a large part of her flock, and many other flocks, actually, left Firekka
the other day for a special meeting."
"Meeting?"
"Maybe to do some trade. All I know is that a good part of the Northeast
territory went with her."
Confusing. "How many people?"
"A lot," His mother emphasized the word.
"Strange."
She shrugged. "I think nothing of it. You know how K'Kalia has to keep the
trade going with the other races. Firekka could not survive without it."
He nodded, knowing that K'Kalia had been a major political figure in the
Confederation's eyes.

***

As the party came closer the wooden building, April smiled to herself. Such a
beautiful planet, she thought. The flowers and trees, the different colored birds, and the
peacefulness of it all was likely to sway anyone to want to stay forever. Eagerly, she
walked ahead of the party to the entrance of the building, and bent down to examine the
tiny flowers decorating the door.
"Look at her," Rikan said to Gabriel. "You think she could be any more
excited?"
"I haven't seen her this happy in all the time she's been on the Essex."
Just ahead of them, Butch gave his mother a surprised look, and glanced away in
anger. His mother put her wing around the smallest of the flock.
"I wonder what's going on," Selak whispered.
"Family problems, I'd guess. Speaking from experience, don't bother them. It's
best to let them work it out."
Rikan nodded.
The murmur of distant chatter filled Gabriel's ears. They were approaching a
local restaurant. April stood up from the flowers at the entrance and opened the door as
the party walked inside.
Restaurants on Firekka were very different than those on Earth. The idea was
taken from the Terrans, and they were made across the planet for tourists, but most
Firekkans caught their own food. Inside, there was a bar with stools, and tables with
chairs, but above were many perches where the majority of Firekkan customers sat.
April reluctantly sat at a bar stool. Turning around, she asked Butch's
mother—"What do you suggest?"
"Drink-wise, Kep-tain?" she cawed in delight.
"Yeah."
"Are you much of a drinker?"
It was her turn to laugh. "Well, I guess not, but I want some of Firekka's finest."
"How…ironic. Exactly the name of the drink we most often give to tourists."
Turning to the large bird behind the counter, she said—"Give the Kep-tain one of
'Firekka's Finest'."
The bartender mixed and swished a red liquid, then set it before April. It
steamed, looking very volatile. She looked up in fright at his mother.
She only laughed. "Drink, child—Drink!"
April took one sip, and gagged. "Firekka's Finest" burned all the way down her
 The Fires Within 43

throat, and the alcohol went straight to work. To stop the immediate burning, she drank
half the glass, then handed it to Rikan. She then ordered one glass of water after another.
Rikan sniffed the drink. It smelled of some hot pepper.
Butch's mother laughed. "It is made from one of Firekka's hottest peppers, the
adule. I have not seen one Terran that could handle this drink yet!"
Rikan snorted. He proceeded to take a sip, then set the glass on the counter of
the bar. He swallowed the drink and immediately gasped. Rikan stole one of April's
glasses of water.
Butch laughed out loud. He picked up the drink and offered it to Gabriel, but he
shook his head with a half-smile. Gabriel knew better.
What was planned to be a night of fun, eating dinner and talking, ended with
April becoming extremely sick. Her stomach couldn't handle the drink, making her ill.
The bartender only gave the Terrans a look of disgust, and muttered "Confed idiots" loud
enough so that all the customers could hear. April, in her world of blurry colors
and pounding headaches, didn't catch this, but Gabriel did. And he made sure that the
group knew.
After helping April to a hammock high in the trees of Firekka, Gabriel
confronted Butch. Rikan was asleep, as was Butch's family.
"Butch, did you hear the comments the bartender made?"
"When?"
"While we were leaving the restaurant."
Butch turned his head. "Don't pay attention the them."
"But why are they acting like that? Don't they like Confed?"
He stumbled for words. "The Firekkan people feel…confined and restricted by
Confederation rules."
"Do you?"
"Well," he said, thoughtful. "Not really."
This was enough for Gabriel. Did he feel bad for the people of Firekka?
Actually, he did, a bit. So he did what he always had when he felt lost or confused—he
sent his father a holo-vid.

***

Bar—Location unknown
Some people never learn.
The scoundrel ran right for him, and he just stepped aside and kicked him into
the chairs.
The tall brute, picked himself up from the broken chairs, and again ran, ready to
tackle him.
He pulled out the tiny dagger in his belt, tripped the man, and stood over him.
Punching him in the face many times, he reconsidered his decision to kill this man. He
picked him up by the collar.
"Apologize."
The man could barely talk. His mouth was swollen and bruised, his nose
bloodied, and one eye was black and blue. His other good eye opened in fear, and the
man bent over him bet that this brute was sorry he had ever wanted to fight over a seat in
the first place.
But still, (and maybe this was a lack of intelligence), the scoundrel refused, and
spit in the man's face.
The man went wild. He took the dagger, stuck him in the stomach, and dragged
44 The Fires Within

it all the way up to his neck. It wasn't the cleanest of cuts, but most definitely the
bloodiest.
He proceeded to wipe off the dagger and his bloody hands on the brute's pants.
Then he stepped into the light, near the bar.
"Now," Zachary "Jazz" Colson began. "Who wants to be next?"

... to be continued ...

 The Fires Within
Part Four

Unseen Eyes

Written By: April Nagy

Special Thanks To: (Of course) Justin, for all the great help with the "tech section".
Timestamp: 2674.243

Kryptos Sector
TCS Essex
Bridge
"S-sir?" First Lieutenant Trumpfeller stuttered. "What now?"
Eisen stood behind the comm officer staring at the view screen in awe. "I don't
know. For once, I really have no idea what to do."
The two stood before an empty viewscreen. A viewscreen which should shown
a majestic, high-tech station in its sights.
"Pandora Station never called for help. Obviously they were attacked, with all
the debris around." The comm officer started his technical explanation of things. Eisen
tuned out, deep in thought, rubbing one side of his face.
"Destroyed. Hmmm."
The two stood in silence a few minutes. Trumpfeller could stand it no longer.
"'Hmmm' what, sir?"
"That was a-- 'Hmmm, I'm thinking about classified information'." In other
words, it was none of Trumpfeller's business.
He knew when to shut his mouth.
"Scan the area for any jump signatures. I'll be in my office. I'm not to be
disturbed, unless you find those signatures." Eisen turned to leave, but stopped. "Oh, and
Trumpfeller?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Keep your mouth shut about this awhile. Pandora was not attacked. It was an
explosion from within of some kind." He looked at the communications officer, as if he
were trying to burn the explanation in his brain.
"Sir, I doubt that an explosion was Pandora's end. What system could have
malfunctioned that would bring down a station that size? And if it was an experiment, I
mean, I seriously doubt that they'd let it…."
"An explosion, lieutenant." Eisen interrupted sternly.
The officer hesitated. "Understood."
With that, the Captain entered the lift.

***
46 The Fires Within

TCS Essex
Eisen's Cabin
Hours Later
"That's right, Admiral."
"Let's look over the situation, Captain. We lost contact with Pandora station
very abruptly. You know what project was held within that station," Admiral James
Nagy said.
"I do…If that fell in the wrong hands, God help us all." Eisen worried.
"Indeed. Have you found anything? Jump signatures, anything in the debris,
something that would indicate their attackers?"
"No. Jump signatures were tampered with and scattered. Any signature we
would find would lead us to a dead end. The debris was all normal. It's Pandora Station,
all right. The debris carried titanium, beryllium, aluminum...all those metals."
"No trace of the…?"
"No, sir. None."
The Admiral let out a sigh of frustration.
"Sir, what makes you think that they were attacked? Why couldn't it be an
explosion?"
Quiet.
"Sir? What makes you think…"
"There are many things. No sign of Project: Tinkerbell, for one. Some medical
convoys were sent to rendezvous with the TCS Triumph two days ago. The convoy was
attacked by…Mandarins…"
An alarm wailed in his head. Mandarins?!?
"…and all were destroyed except one. Which brings up the question-'Why?'
Why would Mandarins, who seriously outnumbered the convoys and their escort let the
last ship live?"
"Perhaps as a message?"
"Doubtful. The medical transport's flight recorder was damaged, so there is a
missing gap of about three hours; the time it came online and was repaired. The captain
of the transport told us that she was heading for the nearest base, which was Alpha Base
412CG."
"So…what's the problem?"
"The transport never arrived."
"Sir, this is a bit outrageous. I think maybe that this should be overlooked.
Perhaps the medical transport was destroyed by the Mandarins, who decided to come
back."
"A small detail, but it can't afford to be overlooked. Not in this case."
"I think I can gather what you're thinking, but a single transport can't take out a
station that size. I doubt it had anything to do with Pandora's destruction."
"That is where we're at a loss. All we know is that the Mandarins are once again
around, which means trouble."
The Captain nodded. Those bastards had always ruined it for Confed. The
Mandarins and all their….Oh God….
"Sir…Is it possible there are Mandarin spies within the Confederation!?"
The Admiral nodded his head, lines of worry crossing his face. "Now you see
why we're so worried. Not only is the galaxy in danger because of missing Project:
Tinkerbell, but we have to resort back to not trusting anyone again." He rolled his eyes.
"And all the Admirals at Confed HQ get regular polygraph tests…"
 The Fires Within 47

His heart dropped. Not back to this. It always seemed that when spies were
around, they always targeted Eisen's ship. Perhaps he wouldn't have to worry this time
around…
Admiral Nagy changed the subject. "Were any of the bodies intact for a proper
funeral?"
"Well, the TCS Havoc is here. Their clean up crew tells me that some of the
bodies were intact, however, most were probably blown up in the explosion. But…"
"But what, Eisen? Speak up." The Admiral was getting impatient.
"Well, the bodies they did find died of…" Eisen sighed. "One was shot through
the heart. A couple were stabbed. Most had laser burns or appeared to die of suffocation.
All the evidence points to an explosion, but the bodies point to something different."
Admiral Nagy thought long and hard over this. "Perhaps boarded, the project
stolen, and the station then destroyed? I will make a report of this and give it to General
Taggart immediately. Headquarters out."
Eisen didn't have a chance to say one thing. He turned off his terminal. He
knew Confed's official report would explain about some explosion within Pandora
Station. But they knew different. They were dealing with Mandarin forces right now;
however, that shied in comparison to the condition of where Project: Tinkerbell and its
location WAS.

***

TCS Essex
2nd Lieutenant Bariq Talon's Quarters
Talon sat on his bed, trying to piece together what he had heard. The Kryptos
sector was a restricted flight area. The Essex was here, so it was obviously important.
About an hour after they had arrived, the TCS Havoc came.
Now, why Kryptos was restricted was never revealed to him. Rumors were that
an important station of some kind was located here, but through some personal
investigating, he discovered that in actuality there was no station. Or none that his
scanning had discovered, that is. But this still left a couple important questions:
1) Why is the Kryptos sector restricted, if there was nothing there?
2) Why is the Essex here?
Hastily, he wrote these down, and went to the rec room.

***

TCS Essex
Recreation Room
Colonel Blair sat at the bar, relaxing with a drink in his hand, talking to Colonel
T'lheth'meq, who was currently standing.
Good lord, the man is so formal. Blair thought. "Colonel, why don't you have a
seat?"
"I would prefer to stand, Colonel."
"Okay. You said you had a question. Shoot."
"Why are we in this sector? Why is this area restricted? Where is the station
that was supposed to be here?"
"Exactly," Talenos said from across the room as he strode toward them, "what I
wanted to know."
Blair looked like an animal trapped in a corner. "Confed…they don't tell me
48 The Fires Within

everything, you know."

T'lheth'meq seemed to accept this answer, but Talenos didn't. "Pardon me, sir.
You seem a bit uncomfortable."
Talenos only got the dreaded look most high rankers gave lowers when pissed
off: A "Question me, and I'll have your ass in the brig" look. He decided to shut his
mouth.
On to the next source of information. The biggest gossip aboard the ship.

***

TCS Essex
Major April "Glitz" Nagy's Quarters
A tiny buzz interrupted her reading. "This better be good," she muttered.
"Come in!"
The doors slid open, and there stood lieutenant Talon. He walked in her room,
obviously uncomfortable, and stood, until she told him to sit down.
"What's on your mind, Tal?"
"I was wondering if you knew anything about our current situation."
"Oh. You mean the fact that we're in the Kryptos sector, with a missing base,
and no idea why?"
"Yes."
"You know…that damned comm officer, Trumpfeller, he doesn't tell anyone
anything. I mean, what comm officer can resist the temptation of giving shock and
surprise to all by telling the unknown?"
Tal only listened to her whine for a while.
"…if Rollins were here, you know that I'd know every detail about this mission
so far. But I haven't a clue why we're here. Sorry. The only thing Trumpfeller did tell
me was that Pandora Station had an accident, and an explosion occurred." She looked at
her nails. "Which is obviously not true, the way he was so skittish about it. That's it.
Sorry again."
"It's okay. I'm about to give up. I've asked Blair, I've asked you…" he paused.
"And if you two don't know, no one does. Besides Eisen and Trumpfeller, who aren't
telling a soul."
An angry look crossed her face. "I hate being left in the dark."
"So do I." He stood up to leave. "Pardon me."

***

Paleus System
Pandora Station
Doctor Albert Jordan's Quarters
Jazz waved his hand, signaling Trevor "Bluebeard" Mindle. Colson's right hand
man nudged Doctor Albert Jordan in the back, with his gun. "Turn around and have a
seat." His gruff voice said. The doctor sat in an easy chair in the corner, a look of
surprise crossing his face.
Zach Colson, sitting on the couch, pistol by his side, gave the doctor a warm
smile. "Don't look so surprised, doc! I'm not a beast, you know. I want you alive and
well. Just don't do anything stupid, and you'll be fine." Trevor pulled up a chair, mere
feet away from the doctor, gun trained on the man's head.
"Now…tell me about Project: Tinkerbell."
 The Fires Within 49

"I think not," the doctor answered.

"Look, I can either get it from you in a nice, mannerly way, or get it from your
computer files. In other words, I'm pretty much sparing your life here. I just want a
friendly conversation. Let me rephrase the question—Tell me about Project: Tinkerbell,
now."
The whir of a laser rifle about to shoot was a wonderful thing. Suddenly, the
good doctor became the most talkative man on earth.
"Alright, you bastard. I'll tell you, not that the information will do you any
good." Doctor Jordan sat up straighter in his chair, letting his lungs draw in great
quantities of air for his speech, and pushed his slipping glasses high on his small nose.
"Project: Tinkerbell is a secret undertaking Confed started to build a weapon they could
use against an aggressive enemy force. Simply put, nanites were designed that could
enter a planet's crust, dig their way to the inner liquid core, and there set off a
thermonuclear explosion that would destroy the planet. Nanites are microscopic
machines, and they've been around for a few centuries, mostly in the medical community.
They were used for a variety of functions, from repairing cerebral lesions to cleaning out
arteries clogged with cholesterol. The military took an early interest in them, but due to
their small size and severely limited memory capacity, the nanites were worthless."
Zach started tapping his pistol against his thigh, letting his boredom show.
Doctor Jordan sped up his lecture, knowing he was probably living on borrowed time.
With a loosening of his tie he continued.
"But recently, advances in computer memory downsizing have allowed for
major breakthroughs in nanotechnology. Now we are at the point to where a single nanite
can hold up to five gigabytes of information and programming."
Zach's eyes opened wide. "Five gigs? In one of those tiny suckers?! Amazing!"
"Yes," Jordan agreed, "it is. And that's just singularly. If the nanites group
together, then they can share each other's memory, allowing for more and more
information to be held. Instead of an army of like-minded machines all doing one thing,
you can have a fleet of diversified nanites, all growing and changing to fit any given
situation. Really quite astonishing."
"Quite," echoed Zach, boredom looming in his eyes again. Jordan gulped.
"But I digress. Anyway, when the breakthroughs were made, Confed Special
Operations had Pandora Station built, and put us to work developing nano-weapons. I've
been studying nanites my entire career, so I was naturally chosen to head the project."
"Understood, doctor, but from what I understand of the project, it seems a little...
blood-thirsty," Zach said. "Almost gives me new respect for Confed." Trevor laughed,
startling the high-strung scientist practically out of his chair. Zach picked up the laughter
and carried it for a few more seconds. "Sorry, doctor," he apologized. "Please,
continue."
"Project: Tinkerbell is a doomsday weapon of last resort," the doctor said. "We
lost a lot of lives during the war with the Kilrathi, and it will not happen again. Too many
good men and women died fighting them."
"Yes, so many loyal citizens flinging themselves into the abyss for the sake of
the Confederation." Zach's voice was a sneer of derision. "How tragic."
Jordan, in a sudden expression of contempt, spat on Zach's chest. The spittle
slowly oozed over the Mandarin leader's lapels. Trevor reached over and smacked his
rifle into the side of the doctor's head, making him tilt precariously close to falling to the
floor. Zach just pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped the saliva away.
"Temper, temper, doctor. No need for bad manners. Here, let me help you." He leaned
forward and grabbed the doctor's shoulders, then hauled him upright. When the man was
50 The Fires Within

again sitting properly, Zach shoved his pistol in the man's face, hard. "You do that again,
and I promise, the last thing you're gonna see is your intestines as they spill from your
stomach after I cut it open with a dull knife. You got that?!"
Jordan took a long look in Zach's bloodshot eyes and could see the fury that
danced just around the corner. He knew the promise was genuine. And, as interesting as
the prospect of being gutted might be from a scientific point of view, he could do without
knowing for awhile longer. "I got it."
"Good," Zach replied. "Now, you were saying about it being a doomsday
weapon of last resort." He crossed his legs, leaned back in his chair, and put the pistol in
his lap. No need for it now. The dog was tamed.
"I did?" Jordan asked. "Oh, yes. Well, after the Behemoth debacle, Confed was
wary of building another super-weapon. They cost too damn much, both in manpower
and in materials. And something that big is too much of a target. Not too covert, are
they?"
Zach chuckled softly. "No, they're not."
"But nanites, on the other hand, can do more devastation with a smaller chance
of detection. So small, in fact, as to be virtually invisible. A blitzkrieg in a bottle so to
speak."
"Cute," Zach uttered. "But I'm not interested in that. What I AM interested in is
the technical aspect of the project. How can nanites destroy a planet?"
"Ah. Well, that takes a bit of scientific know-how."
"Humor me, doctor," Zach said, fingering the pistol in his lap.
Jordan's eyes shifted around, but saw no means of escape. Accepting his fate, he
went on. "Most nanites range from one-twentieth to three-twentieths of a millimeter in
length. The Tinkerbell nanites are slightly larger, but not by much, say about one-quarter
of a millimeter long all totaled."
Trevor whistled. Zach nodded his head in agreement. "Impressive."
"Indeed. But the really impressive aspect is their function."
"Now we are getting somewhere, doctor," Zach said, leaning forward.
If he could, Jordan would have moved backwards, but the chair and walls behind
him ruled that out. He continued. "Primarily, the Tinkerbell nanites were designed to dig
through a planet's crust and reach the core. Once there, they would set off a nuclear
explosion that would utterly destroy the planet by causing the core to over-heat and
expand rapidly. The resulting tectonic upheaval would do all the work. Some planets
would detonate like a star, while others would only lose all surface areas under the
flowing magma. It all depends on the amount of core material and radioactive elements
in the crust. But the end result would be the same: total loss of life on the planet."
"What kind of radioactive elements are we talking about, and why?" Zach
asked, curiosity shimmering from him like an aura.
"Well, the nanites can be broken down into sub-categories. First there are
mother nanites, or momnites for short. These can build other nanites from material in the
crust when they are needed. Then there are tracker nanites which seek out and bring in
radioactive elements from the crust. Finally there are construction nanites which, when
the radioactive elements are present, put the elements together and create a casing for
them. When that's done, the bombs are taken to the core, where they are detonated. The
different nanites perform their own duties, but all have similar capabilities, such as
digging. But even if only one momnite is on the planet, it can spawn all the nanites that
are needed, even other momnites. Totally self-replicating. But you were asking about the
radioactive elements. This is hard to describe to a layman."
"Try," Zach informed him, rolling his eyes.
 The Fires Within 51

"About mid 20th Century, Earth scientists developed nuclear weapons that had a
destructive capacity of about 20,000 tons, or 20 kilotons, of TNT, an archaic form of
explosive. As the years rolled on, that was increased to 20 megatons, or 20 million tons,
of TNT. During the latter 21st Century, when newer radioactive elements were created
and better blast casings were developed, a single bomb could cause an explosion
equivalent to several gigatons. Very destructive, but also uncontrollable and chaotic.
The largest recorded explosion was 26 gigatons. This was detonated 156,373 kilometers
from Earth, well away from the planet and far from the orbital paths of the other planets.
The bomb, launched on December 12th, 2085, was called Shiva. Luckily they were smart
enough to know that a weapon of such destructive capacity could never be allowed to
detonate on the planet. The results would have been... catastrophic."
"No shit," Zack replied.
"But that didn't stop them from continuing to develop better bombs and better
elements. In early nuclear weapons, the source of energy was the fusion process, in
which nuclei of the isotopes of hydrogen combined to form a heavier helium nucleus.
The light isotope of uranium, uranium-235, was easily split by the fission neutrons and,
upon fission, emitted an average of about 2.5 neutrons. One neutron per generation of
nuclear fissions was necessary to sustain the chain reactions. Others might be lost by
escaping from the mass of chain-reacting material, or they might have been absorbed in
impurities or in the heavy uranium isotope, uranium-238, if it was present. Any
substance capable of sustaining a fission chain reaction is known as a fissile material.
But that was back in the dark ages of nuclear theory. They were using helium, uranium,
and plutonium for starters. Now we have developed better isotopes and better containers
to charge the reaction. Radioactive isotopes such as berkelium-483 and lawrencium-727
have a much greater yield. As the nanites burrow through the planet's crust and mantel,
they pick up any radioactive elements they can find, such as uranium. When those are
found, builder nanites construct chambers where the elements are 'charged'. By that I
mean, where their inherent radioactivity is increased. Two centuries ago that would have
been almost impossible, but with today's technology, it is relatively easy. When the
elements are charged, their destructive capacity is increased a hundred fold. A one gram
orb of 'charged' uranium is equivalent to a hectogram orb of non-'charged'. And as the
nanites dig, they can gather as much as 200 kilograms of various radioactive elements.
And when those are gathered and 'charged', casings are built to magnify the explosions.
All in all, when the nanites have reached the liquid outer core of a planet and detonated
their payload, an optimum explosion of about 396,000 kilotons is released. Now,
multiply that by any number of times the nanites have broken off and formed separated
bombing teams, which can number anywhere from two to a hundred depending on
available materials, and the destructive force is increased exponentially. Then, add that to
that the already volatile nature of the liquid core and the naturally occurring nuclear
decay, and you can imagine the resulting destruction. Computer simulations speculate a
minimum nuclear nanite-induced explosion of over 250 teratons. An explosion of that
magnitude would blow the Earth into cosmic debris." Jordan slumped in his seat and ran
one hand through his matted hair.
Zach, on the other hand, jumped up in astonishment. "Dear God!" he shouted.
"Jumpin' Jesus!! Confed isn't screwin' around with this one are they?"
"Hardly," Doctor Jordan said. "And I'm not in the habit of creating super-
weapons for kicks either. As hard as it may be to believe, I didn't relish the opportunity
this project offered me. I think nanites should be used for much more humanitarian
reasons. But the Confederation asked me to build a weapon that would save countless
lives, and I was duty-bound to do it."
52 The Fires Within

"Then you are a better man than some, doc," Zach told him. "This weapon
you're describing has to be the single most annihilative implement of war I've ever heard
of. Your place in Valhalla is assured."
"Spare me," Jordan replied.
Zach only shrugged. "But be that as it may, I'm curious as to how the nanites can
dig their way through a planet's crust and mantel. From what I remember, it ain't just a
hop, skip, and a jump to the core, and the rocks separating the core and outer layers are
very dense. Please enlighten me."
Knowing there was no reason he shouldn't go on giving away Confed classified
information, Doctor Jordan said, "I'll use Earth as an example. The crust, which is the
outer-most layer of rock on the planet, extends to a depth of about 100 kilometers. The
next layer, the mantel, is about 2900 kilometers thick. From there you reach the liquid
core, then the rocky core. The crust is mostly made up of oxygen, silicon, aluminum, and
iron. The mantel is much more dense, consisting of iron and magnesium silicates. For
large machinery, digging through to the core would be an almost impossible undertaking.
But for a nanite, the process is easy. Each nanite was designed to utilize a planet's own
gravity as a means of propulsion, with micro-blades cutting away the rock in its path. For
a machine so small, the amount that has to be cut is next to negligible. Pores in the rocks,
along with fissures and fractures, are the most common areas of descent. We look at a
rock and see a solid piece of matter. But a nanite sees imperfections galore. The entire
journey, depending on the planet's size and the availability of materials, would take on the
average of a day or two to make. Smaller planets make for less traveling, but larger
planets have a greater gravity field to work with, allowing them to move faster."
Zach looked nonplused. "A day or two? That long?"
Jordan took it as an insult. "'That long?' In case you can't do the math in your
little head, that means the nanites can move at about 125 kilometers an hour. Factor in
the time it takes for material acquisition and construction, and I'd say a day or two was
excellent. Rome wasn't built in a day. But it can be destroyed that fast. Totally
destroyed. Extreme prejudice of the highest order."
Zach whistled low. "I take back my remark, doc."
Jordan didn't look glad.
"And I have to hand it to you. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine a
weapon so destructive, yet so easy to use. I have only one more question for you."
Jordan slunk lower in his seat. "Yes?"
"Can the nanites be set on a remote activation?" Zach asked. "I mean, can they
do their job, but stop short of dropping the payload in the liquid core, then to wait for a
signal to begin the end sequence?"
"Yes," the doctor answered. "Though thousands of miles separate the nanites
from outside space, the nanites can gather together, making a large antenna. Using a
variation of the hyperspace comm channel, a signal can be sent to them, giving them
instructions."
Zach's eyes gleam maliciously. "Excellent."
Doctor Jordan didn't like the look or sound of that.
An alarm bell wailed through the PA. "What the hell is going on?" Colson
whined.
"Colson to the bridge. Colson to the bridge." The PA whined.
"Excuse me." Colson got up, and started for the door. "I have plans for you,
Doc. Computer, lock all entryways to the room after I leave, and shut down all computer
systems in the room. Authorization code—"Colson-51C2-Alpha-Five"
"Authorization confirmed," the ships systems answered.
 The Fires Within 53

"After you…" Colson nodded to Trevor. Jordan bent forward in his chair and
held his head in his hands.

***

Mandarin Base
Bridge
"What is it?" Trevor asked, rushing in the bridge with Zach.
"Sir, an armada of ships is headed our way. By the specs, they look Firekkan."
Jazz lit up. "Really?"
The comm officer turned around in his chair. "I wouldn't kid about a thing like
that. Do we launch fighters and attack?"
Zach Colson just realized that Trevor and him were the only ones who knew
about "The Plans". "Most certainly not! Let them aboard, and tell them that I want
Hralka nar Sulthek on the bridge as soon as possible, so that I may talk with him."
The comm officer's mouth dropped open.
"Problem?" Jazz said, annoyed. He realized that the rest of the crew were doing
the same thing, only not so openly. "We are the Mandarin, after all! We helped the
Kilrathi out in the war, numerous times."
"But sir, that was a while ago. With a group of ships this large…"
"Enough of this disagreement from you."
The comm officer gave him the look an outsider would give a mental ward
patient.
He immediately pulled out his blazer and shot the comm officer, disintegrating
his body. Jazz walked to the terminal, said something quickly in Kilrathi, and went back
to his position near Trevor. The whole crew quivered with fear. "Someone get a dustpan,
and clean up that mess near the comm station. I'll be in my office. Trevor, you have the
bridge."

***

Mandarin Base
Zachary "Jazz" Colson's Office
"Sir?" the buzzer rang Trevor's voice. "The Kilrathi leader is aboard the bridge,
with numerous guards. He's feeling a bit…uncomfortable. Are you coming?"
"Just a second." He rang into the buzzer. Jazz then turned back to the screen of
his computer.
"Now, K' Kalia…When will the Firekkan crew be here?"
"Within hours, Col-son." Her thickly accented voice answered. There were a
few chirps and clicks in the background—The Firekkan language.
"Excellent. I look forward to our meeting."
"You are an interesting man, Col-son. Worthy of my attention."
"I shall see you soon."
"Acknowledged. K'Kalia out."
Colson leaned back in his chair and rested his chin in his hands. What an
interesting meeting this will be. He quickly leaned forward and dug into Confed's files.
Sure, he had many spies. Many spies, pretty much--everywhere. He was watching
Confed.
Colson wondered if they had figured out what was going on yet. Probably a part
of it, but not the whole situation. The official report, like he suspected, told about the
54 The Fires Within

"devastating explosion within Pandora Station…" Jazz knew better than to believe that.
He knew time was limited, and the time to strike would be soon. And now that his
visitors and crew were here, he could begin the planning of the downfall of the Terran
Confederation…

... to be continued ...

 Genesis

Written by: Justin Macumber

Timestamp: 2674.244-359

Genesis
~ Part One ~
I did not wish to take a cabin passage, but rather to go before the mast and on the deck
of the world, for there I could best see the moonlight amid the mountains. I do not wish
to go below now.
Henry David Thoreau,
"Conclusion"

TCS Essex
Mission Briefing Room
Kryptos Sector
Captain Eisen stood behind a raised podium, his face like a granite monument to
solemnity, and looked upon his pilots. Most of them he had known for some time, but
several new faces peppered the gathering. Times are changing, he thought to himself. At
one time, a captain could count on a steady crew, but those days were long gone. Now,
men and women were transferred on an almost daily basis. As bad as the war was, it at
least kept people at their posts and stations. Eisen thought of his ship as a casino where
the decks were constantly being shuffled. Not good for the morale. But he still had a job
to perform, new faces or not.
"Okay," he said to everyone, "listen up. We are currently in the Kryptos Sector,
and I'm sure most of you know why. But even though a search mission is underway, we
still have to keep our skills sharpened. To this end, we've been allowed to execute a few
standard mock-combat scenarios in the Oberon Sector, right next door. The first hop will
be a four-man operation, two against two, all of you in Hellcats. The objective is for some
of our more experienced pilots to help train the new arrivals."
"Reaver," he pointed to Gabriel, "you'll be on Red Team in Hellcat 1, with
Raven as your wingman in Hellcat 2." Eisen gestured toward the rookie, Brad 'Raven'
Guinness. Gabriel nodded, but Brad looked less than pleased. "Blue Team will consist of
56 Genesis

April in Hellcat 3, and her wingman will be Thorn." April smiled to her newcomer, with
him returning the gesture.
Eisen continued, "This is a pretty simple operation, people. Red Team will leave
the Essex, fly to Nav Point One, and get themselves ready. Fifteen minutes later, Blue
Team will launch, flying the same route. Once they have reached the Nav Point, combat
can begin. But not before. Is that clear, Reaver?"
"Yes, sir!" Gabriel replied.
"Good. Now, the hard-shell on this op will be 50,000 kilometers around the Nav
Point. No combat outside that. If I hear otherwise, then there will be hell to pay. The area
is relatively clear, but a cluster of asteroids does lie along one edge of the shell. I wouldn't
recommend going into it. Other than that, everything is up to you. Questions?"
Brad almost raised his hand, but thought better of it. Gabriel saw the move, yet
kept his mouth shut. He knew what it was about, and he didn't feel like dealing with
problems. Eisen also noticed, but if the kid wasn't going to go say anything, neither was
he.
"Okay then," Eisen stated. "Red and Blue Teams, to your birds. Everyone else,
stay seated. I'll have your mission briefings for you in a moment."
The four chosen pilots stood up, saluted the Captain, and walked off toward the
hanger. Once out of the Briefing Room, April took her wingman's arm and angled away
from Gabriel. "See you at the Nav Point, Reaver," she said over her shoulder. "Don't be
disappointed when I burn you within five seconds of engagement."
Gabriel laughed. "I think you're gonna be the one who crashes and burns, Major
Nagy, not I. They don't call me Reaver for nothing." He winked at her, and she chuckled
as she walked away, Thorn right in tow.
Brad walked ahead of Gabriel, ice practically falling in his wake. When they
reached the Hanger Bay, he went straight to his ship. Gabriel didn't want to cause a scene
in front of all the technicians present, so he went to his own ship and strapped himself in.
After the pre-flight checks were completed, they both took off, with Gabriel in the lead.
"Reaver to Raven, come in Raven," Gabriel said.
"Raven here, sir," Brad replied, disdain thick in his voice.
"Do we have a problem here, Second Lieutenant?"
"No, sir, Reaver, sir, First Lieutenant, sir! Why would you think that?"
"Well, you seem less than pleased to be flying with me, Raven. I was wondering
what your damage was."
"Sir, if you please, I would prefer to not discuss it. You're my superior officer,
and if I said what I wanted to say to you, then I could be brought up on charges. So, let's
just do our jobs and get this done."
Gabriel sighed. "Give me a break, Raven. Just get whatever it is off your chest.
This is between us. You have permission to speak freely."
"Good," Brad hissed. "I don't think you're fit to fly a garbage scow, much less a
starfighter. I know about the Earhart mission, and what you did to Stormy. He and my
older brother were best friends, which pretty much made us friends too. You shot him
down. Everyone knows it. Oh, I heard about the broken radio crap, but it doesn't make a
difference. He was still a Confederation pilot, and you killed him instead of that Kilrathi
scum. You can deny it all you want, but the fact is you fired at him. No amount of high-
ranking support is gonna change that. He's dead, and you're the cause."
Tendrils of anger coiled around Gabriel's heart. That incident was going to haunt
him for the rest of his days, and he would forever have to defend himself. "Listen here,"
he said. "I've had to make excuses and apologies because of that for as long as I care to. I
won't do it anymore. You can think all you want about me, but never question my
 Genesis 57

dedication to my job or to Confed. If I hadn't tried to stop Stormy, he could have inflamed
the war with the Kilrathi Empire beyond the ability to stop. I didn't intend to hit him. He
moved right into my shots. But if you think you're smarter than General Taggart, then
please, go ahead and tell him so."
"A favor to family friends," Brad snorted. "Everyone knows that."
Blood rushed to Gabriel's head. "You're lucky all this is off the record, Raven.
And since it is, let me tell you something. I did my job, and I did it right, for twelve damn
years. I was a Lieutenant Colonel before that incident. When I was reinstated, they busted
me back to Second Lieutenant. I didn't deserve that, but I accepted it. I was allowed back
into the cockpit. That was all that mattered. If General Taggart, Captain Eisen, and
Confed understand what happened, then you can too. And if you can't, well, I really don't
give a shit. You don't have to like me. You just have to obey my orders"
Brad quickly replied, "Yes, sir. But enough of the history lesson. Let's keep this
professional, shall we, Lieutenant McClellan?"
"Affirmative, Raven. And if I hear about this again, you will be held
accountable."
"I copy," was all Raven had to say.
"Good. Now, let's get this house a' rockin'. I have a little surprise in store for
Major Nagy and her sidekick…"

***

Oberon Sector
Nav Point One
April wasn't stupid, but she also wasn't psychic. She knew Reaver would attempt
to set up some kind of trap, but where he would come from and when we would spring it
were things she did not know. In fact, her list of known facts was pitifully small.
"You see anything, Thorn?" she asked her wingman.
"Nothing, Major," he replied. "My scopes are dead."
"Mine too. Hhhmm…" Curious. Reaver wouldn't go outside the hard-shell, yet
she couldn't pick up his or Raven's ship anywhere. He could have cut the power to his
ship, yet that was a very risky gamble. "Thorn, form on my wing, keep your eyes open,
and follow me."
"Yes, sir."
April increased her speed by 50 percent, bringing her velocity up to 275 kps.
Thorn shadowed her perfectly. She increased her radar's range and sensitivity, but to no
avail. Reaver and Raven were gone. "Damn," she seethed. The only objects of interest
within a light year were the asteroids. It was possible he had gone into them, but without
his shields up and guns charged, that was a suicidal tactic. And those systems couldn't be
online; otherwise, he would be showing on her screens. Last she checked, Hellcats didn't
have cloaks either.
"Major, Nagy?" Thorn asked. "You think they might be in that asteroid field?"
"A possibility, Lieutenant. Let's check it out. Stay close."
She veered toward the floating rocks, letting her eyes scan over them, hoping
one of the enemy ships would betray itself. No such luck. About twenty yards from the
field, she turned right and skirted the edge. Not a creature was stirring, not even a Hellcat.
Suddenly, a huge asteroid rolled from its previous path and headed toward her.
"Watch out!" yelled Thorn.
He needn't have bothered. April's reflexes were more than a match for the rock's
speed. She rolled away to the right, angled up, and put on a quick three-second afterburn.
58 Genesis

The asteroid went safely past. When it moved, a red dot appeared on her radar screen
where the chunk of rock used to be. She was too busy dodging the asteroid to notice.
Thorn wasn't so preoccupied.
"Major!" he bellowed. "One just appeared on my screen. He's heading right
toward you!"
Reaver opened his comm and said, "A predictable evasive maneuver, April.
Thank you." He fired his guns and let loose a massive volley of power. Most missed
April's ship, but a few hit her shields. To her credit, she barrel-rolled around to face her
opponent.
"What the hell?" April shouted. "Where did you come from, Reaver?"
Gabriel shoved his throttle forward, letting the engines rocket him away from
April and giving him space to run. "I was hiding behind that asteroid, watching you come
in, Major. A simple matter of nudging it toward you, then capitalizing on your move."
"But how?" she asked as she chased. "Pushing it would mean being powered up.
My radar didn't see you, so how did you do it?" Her ship was closing on him.
"Major, Major, Major!" he taunted. "Don't you remember your Academy
classes? Directional thrusters don't require your ship to be totally powered. All you need
is a pinch of energy to move. Before I powered down, I left my thrusters at their lowest
setting. They had enough residual energy left over to get the job done. The asteroid's own
speed did most of the work."
"Clever, Reaver, and dangerous," she replied. "But after a cold start, your
systems must still be calibrating. Too bad for you." She hammered her right index finger
on the trigger, and all her guns blazed to fiery life. Multiple shots landed on his craft. His
shields had yet to come online. Thorn took her cue and fired as well. His shots went wide
to the left.
"Not really, Major," he said through clenched teeth, evading fire. "You know
what I call a defenseless target?"
"Dead?" she offered.
"Nope. Too good to be true."
Blue Team's demise was twofold. Reaver hit his afterburners, reached maximum
velocity, and performed a burnout-maneuver by releasing the burn and spinning around
180 degrees, then shot toward April head on, his guns blasting like a lightning storm and
his missiles soaring like angry birds of prey. At the same moment, Raven powered up and
streaked from his hiding place beside a huge asteroid slightly to the rear of Thorn. The
rookie never saw him coming, and without knowing what happened, was blown away.
Hellcats three and four were make-believe destroyed with seconds of each other. A
computerized voice came over their comms and said, "Blue Team has been destroyed.
Red Team wins with no casualties. Return to the Essex. Have a good flight home."
"Shit," was April's assessment of the situation. Thorn echoed her.
"Don't feel bad, Major," Reaver said. "I pulled that maneuver many times before,
and never has it failed me."
"Cold comfort, Reaver," April replied. "But it was beautiful. I forgot all about
Raven."
"You were supposed to," Raven informed her. "That's the hinge the whole ploy
swings on."
"Very good, Raven. And Reaver, I'll have to remember that one." April was
smiling in spite of herself.
"Please do, Major. I've got plenty more where that came from."
"No doubt. Now let's get home."
April moved ahead of the pack and took the lead. Thorn flew right behind her.
 Genesis 59

Reaver and Raven fell into the rear. Using a secured comm beam, Raven said to Gabriel,
"You lied back there, sir."
"How did I do that?"
"You don't call a defenseless target too good to be true. What you really call it is
an easy kill. Stormy could tell you that." Hatred and scorn laced his words.
Reaver couldn't think of anything to say, so he kept silent and followed April
home…

***

TCS Essex
Captain Eisen's Quarters
"Captain," Reaver said, "I can't do this any more."
"You can," Eisen replied, tossing Gabriel's Letter of Resignation to the desk top,
"and you will."
"I tried, but still people make accusations against me. How can I be a member of
this crew if the people I fly with don't trust me? I'll answer that for you: I can't."
Eisen looked haggard, his eyes almost closed. With a sigh he said, "Please,
Gabriel, rethink this. It will be final. No coming back."
Gabriel drew himself straight and tall. "I have, Captain. I've thought about it for
a long time. I knew coming back to the Navy would be hard. But I thought people would
accept me back without all this continuing drama. I was wrong. I won't put myself, nor
others, through any more hardship than necessary."
Captain Eisen could see the conviction in Gabriel's eyes, the stern setting of his
chin. He had thought about it, and the decision had not been an easy one to come by. And
as much as it pained the Captain to let the man go, he knew it was probably for the best in
the end. "I hate to see you go, Lieutenant. You were a fine pilot, and those are in short
supply these days." He paused for a moment, looking around as if for eavesdroppers, of
which there were none. "You probably didn't know this, but before the Earhart mission,
while you were still a Lieutenant Colonel on the TCS Beowulf, plans were in the making
for you to be promoted to Colonel and brought aboard the TCS Artemis."
Gabriel was shocked into utter silence. Eisen only nodded.
"Yep. Most of the Confederation's high-ranking officials had you pegged to
become a Brigadier General within a few years. They thought that highly of you. But
though you might not think so now, you were lucky. The Artemis was destroyed a week
before the war was over. If you hadn't been dishonorably discharged, you'd be dead right
now."
After taking a moment to collect himself, Gabriel spoke. "Thank you for that
information, Captain. I had no idea. But that doesn't alter my course. The past is the past.
It's my future I'm concerned with."
"About that," Eisen followed. "Any plans?"
Gabriel rubbed his chin and thought. "Not yet. First thing is getting back to Earth
and my home in Scotland. After that it's anyone's guess."
"Well, if you really feel this is best, then I can't stop you. I just hope you don't
regret this later on." Eisen stood up and extended his hand. Gabriel took it and shook
firmly.
"It is, Captain, and I won't."
"Very well then. Your resignation will be sent in by me, and a transport will take
you to Earth tomorrow morning, first thing. Good luck in your future, Lieutenant. I wish
you the best." Eisen's eyes took on a watery sheen.
60 Genesis

Through a mist of tears, Gabriel replied, "And to you, Captain. It has truly been
a pleasure serving under you." Both men shook hands once more, then parted company.

***

TCS Essex
1st Lt. McClellan's Quarters
Gabriel packed his few belongings in navy-blue duffel bags. As he was finishing
up, a knock sounded against his door. "Enter!" he shouted.
The door whisked open, and in stepped Major Nagy. She looked pissed. "So! Is
it true?"
"My resignation?" he replied.
"Yeah. That."
Gabriel shifted his eyes away. "I'm afraid so, Major."
Her mood did not improve. With a flick of her head she said, "I figured you for
sterner stuff, Gabriel. Not the kind of man who runs when adversity rears its ugly head."
"You wouldn't understand," he mumbled.
"I wouldn't understand? That is a weak defense, pilot."
Without warning, Gabriel exploded. "Weak?! I'm weak?! You don't know the
first thing about me! I did my duty, I flew the best I knew how, and what did it get me?
Discharged, that's what!! And after having my record cleared, I still have to fend off
accusations from every person I come across! I appreciate your support and those others
who believed in me, but that list is too damn short. Every ship I go to, no matter where it
is, I'll face the same shit! And I'm through. I'm done fighting everyone. Just let it go."
April was taken aback by the force of Gabriel's words. She couldn't remember
the last time someone had yelled in her face. "Were you going to leave without saying
goodbye?" she asked.
"No. I would have stopped by to see you and some other people before I left. All
of you were kind to me. It meant a lot."
Still not satisfied, but accepting of the situation, April brushed her hair back.
"That's good. I don't know if you're up for it, but Butch, Rikan, Deathstrike, and I wanted
to have a private little going-away party for you. It'll be in my quarters at 22:00 hours.
Should we go ahead with it?"
"Yes," he said. "I would love it." Blood rushed to his face as he blushed. April
saw it and turned around.
"Good," she stammered, embarrassed for the both of them. "Be there on time,
and wear something casual." At that she left his quarters.

***

Earth
Scotland
McClellan Home
The small party was nice. Everyone present was solemn, the air full of regret,
but they all knew it was for the best. As a going-away gift they gave him a holo-picture of
themselves with an inscription saying, "To Reaver, from his friends aboard the TCS
Essex. May you find happiness somewhere." Afterwards, he cried over it privately.
The transport home was a long and lonely trip. He tried to sleep through most of
it, but resentment flowed too thick in his heart to allow him any rest. His proper place was
amongst the stars, but others wouldn't let him to be there. His accusers were legion,
 Genesis 61

attacking him with a hound's tenacity.

But now he was back home, back in the comfort of supportive friends and
family. It was unfortunate that his father wasn't among them.
"Why in the name o' God did you resign from Confed?" Angus McClellan
asked, his face livid.
"I already went over this with you, father," Gabriel sighed. "I don't want to say it
again."
"Then I fought for two years over you for nothing. Is that what you're saying?"
Gabriel was aghast he would say such a thing. "No! Father! You helped me get
my record cleared! That is what was most important to me, not just being back in the
Space Forces. You helped me get back my honor."
"And you let those know-nothings out there take it away from you again!"
Angus raged.
"Father," Gabriel said, his patience wearing thin, "they did nothing of the sort. I
was just tired of fighting a losing battle. Nothing they can say or do will change the fact
of my innocence. My record speaks for itself. Unfortunately, I can't pin it to my uniform
and let it herald my presence."
Blood and anger still filled Angus' soul, but wisdom filled his son's words. He
knew that. It was just a matter of letting it sink in. "Any plans for the future?"
Gabriel didn't respond for several long moments. He didn't have a clue as to
what the future would hold for him. "Not really. Just getting some rest for now. Think
about my options. See if anything presents itself."
Angus wasn't happy with that response, but knew better than to push the issue.
"Okay, son. Take a break for a while. Cool off. Feel free to stay as long as you need."
"Thank you, father. I appreciate this."
That was the last time they spoke of his resignation for a long time. Weeks went
by, the days passing with all the alacrity of molasses in January. He had offers from all
kinds of prospective employers, ranging from stellar cruise-liners to starship designers.
But he turned them all down, finding them unbefitting for a man of his training and
experience. He wanted battle and excitement, not nagging customers and a cushy desk
job.
But one day, three months into his retirement, a letter came in the mail without a
return address or application form. Instead it contained a note telling him to be at The
Queen's Court, a high-class pub in Edinburgh, the next day at seven in the evening. If
nothing else, the mysteriousness of the note moved him to accept the invitation.

***

Earth
Scotland
The Queen's Court
At precisely 7pm, Gabriel entered the pub, dressed in his finest suit. The hostess
at the door greeted him. "Welcome, sir. Will you be needing a table, or would you prefer
a seat at one of the bars?" Her smile lit up the room.
"I believe I'm expected," he told her. "My name is Gabriel Sean McClellan."
She looked over her reservation list, and her eyes found what they sought. "Ah,
yes! Right here. A reservation for two. Your other party has already arrived. Please,
follow me."
He did, eyeing her the whole way, appreciating the way her uniform both
covered and accentuated her figure. But as he neared the table in a back corner of the pub,
62 Genesis

he looked up to see just who was waiting for him. The face was one he didn't recognize.
She approached the table, but he waved her away with a large credit chit. She accepted it
and left them alone. As she left, the mystery man stood up and offered his hand in
greeting.
"A pleasure, Lieutenant McClellan," he said. "My name is Howard Daniels.
Thank you for coming."
Gabriel shook his hand. "Please, Mr. Daniels, call me Gabriel."
With the salutations done, they both took their seats. "I already ordered a drink
for you, Gabriel. It's a White Russian. I hope you don't mind."
Gabriel fluttered his hand. "Not at all. My favorite drink in fact."
A gleam shone from Daniels' eyes. "Yes, I know. There isn't much I don't know
about you, Gabriel."
He was instantly uncomfortable. "Really? Why is that? And how did you come
by this knowledge?"
Daniels held up a hand. "Please, Gabriel, don't be alarmed. I'm a friend, not an
enemy."
Gabriel sat back in his chair. "That remains to be seen, Mr. Daniels."
A waitress arrived with their drinks. She placed Gabriel's glass before him, while
a bottle of Lomond Stout lager was set in front of Daniels. He tipped her the same as he
did the hostess, with a credit chit of large denomination. She was pleased. "Are you
gentlemen ready to order?"
Daniels shook his head negative. Gabriel wasn't particularly hungry either, so he
informed her that they would only be having drinks. She left, promising to return when
their libations needed freshening.
When privacy was restored, Daniels began speaking. "Here is some of what I
know about you: Your name is Gabriel Sean McClellan, after a great-grandfather on your
mother's side. You were born on October 22, 2638, on your family's ancestral property in
Scotland's Central Lowlands. It was the worst winter on record. Your brother was
William Robert McClellan. Older by a few years, he was expected to follow your father,
Angus, in the family business, McClellan Stardrives. But after a bit of a roe, he left to join
the Confederation Space Force. Graduated with honors. Was a good pilot, but not as good
as you. He died over Braven VI in the Battle Of Braven's Hope. Unfortunate. My
condolences. After that, you joined, and graduated even higher in your class. Thankfully,
your fleet career lasted longer. Served aboard the TCS Hydra, then the TCS Hyperion.
From there you went to the TCS Beowulf, an experimental class of ship called an
Insertion Cruiser. Doomed from the start if you ask me."
Gabriel raised his eyebrows at that. Supposedly, the class of the Beowulf had
been secret. Seemed this mystery man had channels of information above and beyond
those of normal recruiters.
Daniels continued. "We both know what happened during your tour of duty
aboard her, so I won't bore us with tales of courts-martial and false accusations. You were
originally intended to be promoted to Colonel, but instead got a dishonorable discharge.
After that, your father took up a campaign to get you reinstated. His two years of yelling
at every Admiral and General he could find worked. With the help of General Taggart,
your record was cleared and you were allowed back in the cockpit, but at the rank of
Second Lieutenant. Your first ship back in the fleet was the TCS Essex under the
command of Captain Eisen. A good man, that one. You served aboard her for several
months, but then resigned. After that, you came home, and have since turned down every
job offered to you, some of which would have given you a life of luxury and leisure."
Daniels gave Gabriel a long, hard look, the silence between them unbending. With slow
 Genesis 63

deliberation he asked, "Why?"

Gabriel looked him straight in the eye. "Need you ask? You seem to know
everything else about me, Mr. Daniels. The answer to that question shouldn't be hard to
figure out."
Daniels only nodded, his eyes never leaving the man before him. "You don't
want comfort, nor luxury, nor a plush office with a nice view. You want excitement. You
want command. You want to be amongst the stars, making a difference, and not just a
buck. In short, you want your life to mean something."
This time it was Gabriel's turn to nod. "Exactly."
"Well then, Gabriel, I am the man who can give you what you want."
Gabriel was intrigued, but skeptical. "How's that?"
"I represent a Consortium of people who want to make a difference. They are
tired of seeing injustices gone unchallenged, calls for help unanswered. Confed is a large
machine, and often the small parts scream for help but get ignored. And sometimes it is
Confed itself who is the author of the crime. You want excitement? There's plenty to be
had. You want command? I'm going to give it to you. You want to even earn a good
living while doing it? Well, my friend, that is just the beginning."
Gabriel held up his hand, gesturing for Daniels to stop. "What it sounds like to
me is that you want me to be a mercenary. Is that correct?"
Daniels looked offended. "Certainly not! Mercs are a dime a dozen. You can't
throw a stick in a seedy bar without hitting several of them on the head. What I'm offering
is this: I want you to be a Privateer."
Gabriel sat back heavily, astonished at the proposal. Never had he imagined he
would be asked to be a Privateer. "I don't think so, Mr. Daniels. Not much difference
between a pirate and a Privateer if you ask me. And a merc isn't all that different."
Again, Daniels put on an insulted face. "Please, Mr. McClellan! There is a
world of difference! A pirate is only out for his own damn greed, caring little for the
people he has to kill to gain his wealth. And a merc? They'll fight for anyone with enough
hard currency. They sell their souls to the highest bidder." Daniels wiped his hands on a
napkin, as if ridding himself of some filth. "But a Privateer fights for what he believes in,
keeping his dignity and honor intact. He trades goods as he sees fit, not stealing them
from wherever he can. He is his own man, not a whore selling himself to whomever
wants him. Keep those distinctions clear in your mind."
With a sip of his drink, Gabriel leaned back to think. What the man said made
sense, though he'd never thought of it in those terms. And truth be told, he found himself
warming to the idea. But one thing bothered him. "Why me?"
Daniels appeared to think that was obvious. "Gabriel, you are perfect for this
line of work. Your past shows a great leadership capacity, as well as a willingness to get
the job done, even if it means taking risks. You hold your honor sacred. You have faith in
yourself. You want to make a difference. If you want what I'm offering, you will be the
Captain of a ship, out there in the stars, doing what you think is right. We trust you. But
more than that, we need you."
"What is this going to cost me?" Gabriel asked.
"Nothing. We fund all the initial costs. We're providing a ship, but I can tell you
now it isn't top-of-the-line. We are getting a crew together as we speak, and I know they
will be men and women you can trust."
"Will they trust me?"
"That is up to you, Gabriel. But we picked them with you in mind, so I think all
of you will get along just fine." A smile spread across his face.
"Who is in this Consortium you spoke of?"
64 Genesis

Daniels' eyes darted away. "I am not at liberty to discuss that at this juncture in
our relationship, Gabriel, but I can tell you that they are trustworthy and honorable
individuals."
"Will they be my superiors then? Do I have to report to them?"
"Not exactly," Daniels said. "They don't want to rule you. They don't want to
hamper you. They just want you to be the best you can be. They will be funding you in
the beginning, but that will cease once you take your first job. Afterwards, they only ask
for a portion of your profit."
"And how much will that be?" Gabriel asked, now seeing the fine print.
"Five percent, to be transferred to various accounts after each contract or
delivery. And don't worry about repaying the start-up capital. It isn't a loan. Call it a gift.
If you don't make anything for years, then my employers will get nothing. That's okay.
They have faith in you. Don't think of this as some underworld scheme either. It isn't, I
assure you. We don't ask you to break the law, bend the rules, or anything of the sort.
Keep this as clean or dirty as you want. All we ask is that you make a difference out
there. Do with your small band what the big machine can't. Do for the universe what my
employers cannot do themselves. That's all we ask."
When Daniels finished his speech, Gabriel just sat back and thought. In the
silence one could hear the ice melting. The waitress came and freshened their drinks
twice while he mused, yet Daniels didn't disturb him once. After almost half an hour of
deep thinking and soul searching, Gabriel said, "I'll do it."
Daniels nodded and extended his hand. "Thank you, Gabriel. You won't be
disappointed."

************************************************************
 Genesis 65

Stars All Wandering

~ Part Two ~
"Ha, ha, my ship! thou mightest well be taken now for the sea-chariot of the sun. Ho, ho!
all ye nations before my prow, I bring the sun to ye! Yoke on the further billows . . . I
drive the sea!"
Herman
Melville, Moby-Dick

DarkStar Civilian Shipyards

Pluto Orbit
Sol System
Angus McClellan had been less than thrilled at his son's announcement, but not
as upset as Gabriel had feared.
"Your great-uncle, Roderick Callahan," Angus informed him, "had been a
Privateer. If I remember correctly, your mother's family was quite perturbed at his choice
of vocation. They, like the McClellan's, were a family of fighters. They couldn't
understand why he would choose a life of roaming the stars endlessly over that of
Confederation Naval or Marine service. But he went his own path, despite their
objections. We heard from him from time to time. As I recall, he made out rather well, but
never came back to Earth."
He paused, his eyes taking on a lost look, fingers unconsciously stroking his
gray-red beard. Deep breaths echoed deeper thoughts. Long seconds later he said, "I
suppose I should have seen it coming. William had a lot of the McClellan in him. You on
the other hand, my lad, always took after your mother's family more. A thorn in my side, I
don't mind saying." He smiled as the words left his lips.
"So…." Gabriel said, uncertainty in his voice. "You aren't disappointed?"
Angus looked in his son's eyes, warmth radiating in gentle waves.
"Disappointed?" He shook his head. "No. I was never disappointed in you, Gabriel, and I
never will be. You're my son, and you did your best in everything you put your hand to.
It's not your fault others won't believe you. If they won't, then go with those who will.
Make a difference, any way you can. If Mr. Daniels, of whom my contacts know nothing
about I might add, is willing to give you the tools to do so, then follow your heart and do
it. You have my blessings."
The next day, Gabriel was on a transport headed for the DarkStar Civilian
Shipyards. There he was to meet his crew and see the ship that would be under his co-
command. At first, he was offended that the Consortium hadn't trusted him with full and
total control of the ship and her crew, but Daniels explained it nicely the night prior to his
departure.
"Being Captain of a Privateer group isn't the same as it is aboard a Confederation
vessel. On a Confed ship, operations run smoothly, Intel from HQ and various sectors all
being routed through multiple computer systems and trained personnel. But on a Privateer
ship, it's much more harem-scarem. There's no vast database to draw from, no manifold
layers of intelligence, and certainly no top-of-the-line systems. One man can practically
pilot a Confed Frigate. No such luxury for you. Every man and woman works twice as
hard, usually getting things done with more difficulty. You need two people to run that
kind of operation. You, Gabriel, will handle the command functions of shipboard
operations. Your counterpart will take care of the technical side, making sure fighter craft
are functional, the carrier is running properly, computers are online, and day-to-day
maintenance is complete. You handle the people, he handles the machines. Equal in
66 Genesis

importance, equal in authority."

"Who is my Co-Commander?" Gabriel asked.
"Arsin ta Tarmack, nickname Butch. A Firekkan. One of the best Chief Techs
around." Daniels must have seen something peculiar in Gabriel's expression. "Do you
know him?" he asked, perplexed.
"No," Gabriel replied, laughing heartily. "But the Tech aboard the Essex was a
Firekkan, and his nickname was Butch too. Must be popular among their kind."
Daniels laughed along with him. "Must be. You'll meet him tomorrow at the
Shipyards. And don't let his gruff talk fool you. Under those cast-iron feathers he's an
easy going fellow. You and he will get along just fine."
As the transport closed on the civilian dry dock orbiting Pluto, Gabriel tried to
take in all the ships present, and what a hodgepodge collection they were. Everything
from fresh-off-the-showroom-floor yachts to old gas-powered clunkers, all gathered
around a monstrous facility dedicated to providing a full-range of services for civilian
spacers. But as he looked the yard over, one ship in particular caught his attention, mainly
because it was so out of place: a modified Kilrathi cruiser that looked like it had been
ridden hard and put up wet. Carbon scoring marked the hull in several locations, while
blast spots, presumably from missiles, dented the frame. Not the prettiest ship he had ever
seen, but even with all the outer damage it still created a quiver of fear in his heart.
Technicians in spacesuits crawled along its surface, doing repairs and making alterations.
Several minutes later, Gabriel's transport landed amidst a sprawl of other ships,
most in need of serious restoration. When he debarked, Daniels, who had left earlier the
night before, was there to meet him.
"Gabriel!" he shouted, trying to be heard over the roar of the crowd around them.
Gabriel waved to him. As they drew closer together, he could see a large
Firekkan in tow behind him dressed in a gray Tech jumpsuit. The bird-like figure looked
unhappy, his crimson feathers flared and ruffled.
"So glad you made it, Gabriel," Daniels said, this time not having to yell.
"I'm happy to be here, Mr. Daniels."
They shook hands, then Daniels turned around to bring in the Firekkan.
"Gabriel, this is Chief Tech Arsin ta Tarmack."
The Firekkan, standing over a foot taller than Gabriel, stretched out his clawed
hand. Gabriel took it carefully, hoping not to impale his fingers or palm on Arsin's nails.
"A pleasure to meet ya, Gabriel," the bird cawed.
"Same here," was all Gabriel could think of to say in reply to the imposing
figure. "I'm looking forward to boarding our ship. Is she ready?"
The Firekkan's eyes rolled. "Oh, she would be, if Mr. Daniels here would only
let me work for more than a wing full of minutes at a time."
"I'm sorry," Gabriel replied. "I'm keeping you from your work. Please, don't let
us stop you. Mr. Daniels will bring me up to date on all the goings on."
Arsin didn't look as if he was going anywhere. "I don't think so, Mr. Gabriel. He
wouldn't know a ship's stern from his own ass. My boys are hard at work on her, so I can
take a little time to give ya the fifty-cent tour." He stepped aside, allowing them passage
down the walkway. "After you."
Daniels led them to a docking shuttle, and from there they flew through the
inside of the shipyard. Gabriel looked ahead, but various ships blocked his view of their
destination. So instead he turned to face the Firekkan.
"How long have you been a technician?" asked Gabriel.
Arsin replied, "About twenty years or so, give or take."
"Were you a Confed technician?"
 Genesis 67

Arsin looked peeved. "Not hardly. Thought about it a time or two, but they have
too many damn rules and regulations. I prefer not to fill out a hundred pages in triplicate
every time I need a new screwdriver."
Gabriel laughed. "That's two hundred, in quadruplicate, and better not mess up
the spelling."
Arsin laughed then, his beak clacking together. "Yeah, something like that. Most
of my experience has been with Privateers. I left home when I was 18, and ever since I've
been drifting from place to place, ship to ship. Learned a lot out here, more than most of
your Confed certified technicians will ever know. And it was knowledge gained through
sweat and blood, not some fancy tech computer program. I can take a Hellcat apart and
put it back together again, all without even looking at a manual, and with no screws left
over either. I take pride in my work, and in my ability."
"You don't like computers much?" Gabriel inquired.
"Oh! Don't get me wrong. I like them just fine. Pretty handy with them, if I do
say so myself. But you can't let yourself get too dependent on them. G. I. G. O., ya
know?"
Gabriel tried to figure that out, but came up blank. "No, sure don't."
Arsin explained, "Garbage In, Garbage Out. They're only as smart as we are, just
better at remembering things. I use them when I must, yet prefer to do it on my own. But
I'm real handy with hooking them up and getting them on-line. Tech is tech. Plugs and
sockets are the same the universe over. Just gotta know which goes where." Merriment
sparkled in his blood red eyes.
"True enough," Daniels said, silent up to that point. "And when it comes to
machinery, Arsin here is one of the best. Gabriel, you are fortunate we were able to get
him."
Arsin waved his hands. "Not really." He looked at Gabriel. "I was just getting
off a stint with an old group and was looking for a different ship to tinker on. When Mr.
Daniels talked to me and told me they were thinking of bringing you on as Captain of the
ship, I was delighted. Being co-commander of a ship has always been a goal of mine. And
you might not think so, but you have a lot of fans out here. Confed military may give you
a hard time, and I don't doubt you've had your share of run-ins, but out here, we know
you did the right thing. Better that than forty more years of war."
Relief filled Gabriel's soul. "Thank you, Chief Tarmack. I hope the rest of our
crew feels as you do."
Arsin winked. "They do, Gabriel. Otherwise, they wouldn't be here."
Gabriel looked around. "Speaking of the crew, when will I meet them?"
Daniels stepped in. "Most will be here within a couple of days. The rest will be
with us by the end of the week, a few stragglers aside."
"Is the ship ready to sail?"
Arsin squawked. "Hell no! It'll be two more days until the engines are finally in
place, and the hanger isn't completely finished. That alone will take me half a week. And
then there's the mess hall, the reactor-core casing, the cargo bays. Heck, even the toilets
don't flush half the damn time!"
A look of concern crossed Gabriel's face. Arsin saw it and came quickly to the
rescue.
"But don't you worry, Captain. She'll be shipshape and bristol-fashion' in no
time."
The snake of fear uncoiled from around his heart. "Glad to hear it, Mr.
Christian."
"Huh?" Arsin said, perplexed. Daniels laughed cheerfully.
68 Genesis

"From an old Earth movie," Gabriel explained " 'Mutiny On The Bounty' I
believe it was called."
Arsin blanched at the words. "Don't say that, Captain! You'll be hexin' us before
we even take off!!"
Gabriel, startled beyond belief at the Firekkan's unexpected superstitious nature,
apologized immediately. "I think I'll stick to the Errol Flynn movies then."
Daniels winked. "Probably for the best."
After taking a few moments to let the tense atmosphere blow past, Gabriel
asked, "When can I see the ship?"
Arsin looked over Gabriel's shoulder and replied, "If you'll look behind ya, she's
right there." A clawed finger pointed.
Gabriel turned, and when he saw his ship, he almost fell backward. "That
thing?!" It was the Kilrathi cruiser he'd seen earlier.
Arsin stiffened in response to Gabriel's remark. "Yep, and she may not look it
now, but when I get done with her, she'll be more than a match for any Confed ships her
size."
Gabriel detected Arsin's indignation. "Sorry, Chief. Didn't many any offense. I
just didn't expect my first ship to be Kilrathi. Caught me by surprise."
Arsin's feathers settled back down. "I'm hoping she'll have that affect on
everyone else we come across who means us ill. She used to be a Kilrathi Escort Cruiser.
There weren't many of her made, and why I don't know. Not as big as a carrier, but bigger
than a regular cruiser. Right now we're modifying her to be a carrier, outfitting it with a
hanger bay and fighter repair areas. She ain't pretty, but she sure is sweet. We're lucky I
found her. Just driftin' in space, she was, damaged badly, ready to be made whole again.
Five Tugs later and here she is. A Chief Tech's dream."
Gabriel could see the affection he had for the ship. He grew warmer to her by
that fact alone. "Does she have a name?"
"Well," Arsin said, "the Kilrathi name for her was Sivar's Fire. I didn't think
most of the crew would like flying with her under that, so after long thought I came up
with something new."
"And what is that?"
Arsin looked him square in the eyes. "PCS Aurora."
Gabriel rubbed his chin, thought about it a moment, then smiled wide. "I love
it!"
"Well, that's good," Arsin replied, "because I've already had it painted on the
hull." The bird-man winked, full of humor and laughter.
After a moment to enjoy the jovial mood, Gabriel got back to business. "What's
her compliment?"
Arsin heard the serious tone and resumed his normal tech attitude. "250
personnel."
"Fighter craft?"
"When the hanger bay is completed, we'll have space for thirty ships. As of right
now, we have about twenty-one craft waiting to be brought aboard. There are also two
shuttles, but only one is operational."
"Are all the fighters Confed?"
Arsin shook his head. "A conglomeration. Some are Confed, but the rest are
Kilrathi and Border World."
"Border World?" Gabriel asked.
"Yes. A Banshee. Is that satisfactory, Captain?"
A gleam shone in Gabriel's eyes. "Oh, yeah. That's fine. I flew a couple of
 Genesis 69

simulations with that as my craft. Loved it. Great speed and killer turn-rate. I hope I get a
chance to pilot her."
Daniels motioned for attention. "As Captain of the ship, you have the
prerogative of having any fighter you wish, unless it was brought on by one of your crew.
Then it is not an option. But still, if you like their craft, I'm sure you can procure one. Yet
if the Banshee suits you, she's yours."
The docking shuttle was cruising over the Kilrathi ship. Beaten up for sure, but
still menacing. All her angles were sharp, the lines exact. She looked as though a piece of
paper would shear in half if it came in contact with her. Her hull, where the original paint
was intact, was red as a sunset, but technicians were busily changing her color to space
black. The three men in the shuttle took a few minutes to admire her.
Gabriel turned to Daniels. "How much did she cost?"
Daniels only waved his hands, dismissing the subject. "You'll get all that
information when you settle in. But believe me when I say she was a steal. Floating
abandoned like she was in the middle of nowhere, all we had to pay for was towing and a
nominal fee for ownership. Much cheaper than getting one off the auction block or from a
dealer."
Gabriel seemed satisfied. He then turned to face Arsin. "What are her stats?"
Arsin drew himself straight, all business. "She's 590 meters in length, 23,000
metric tonnes. The cargo holds can carry an additional 10,000 metric tonnes. She's
outfitted with 20 Reaper Cannon turrets, and four anti-cap ship missile batteries. Her
maximum velocity is 250 kilometers-per-second, with an acceleration rate of 50
kilometers-per second-per second. The maximum yaw, pitch, and roll is 15 degrees-per-
second. Her armor is 1,000 centimeters all around, while the shields are a simulated 3,000
centimeters. All in all, a fast ship and well protected. Much better than she was originally,
especially speed wise. Thanks."
Gabriel was confused. "Thanks? To me? What for?"
"Her engines are from McClellan Stardrive," Arsin explained.
A blush spread across Gabriel's face. "Oh."
Arsin patted him on the shoulder. "I get only the best, Captain."
Gabriel looked at him. "Well, then you got it. I'll make sure to tell father."
"Do," Arsin said.
Daniels leaned over the shuttle controls. His dexterous fingers manipulated the
instrument panel, and smooth as silk they headed toward a docking portal on the ship.
Seconds later, the clamps set and iris doors whisked open. Daniels brought his arm up,
indicating they should depart. "Please, after you," he said.
The interior of the Aurora was the noisiest place Gabriel had ever been in.
Workmen and technicians scurried about like rats in a maze, building and tearing down,
hammering and cutting. Wires of varying sizes snaked along the floor and ceiling, trying
to trip up anyone careless enough to wander near them. All in all, it was controlled chaos,
but just barely.
Arsin, though, was a moving island of peace in the maelstrom that was the
carrier. Everyone moved out of his way as he walked, and as he strode past his workers,
they redoubled their efforts. His stern eyes took in everything, and they knew it. More
than once one of their numbers had been found lacking, and his rebukes were enough to
humble the strongest of men. Yet his flattering words were also known, and those were
sought with a fevered intensity. Gabriel liked knowing his Co-Commander and Chief
Tech was so respected.
The halls of the craft were extraordinarily large, and this disproportionate sizing
unsettled Gabriel at first. But he realized that Kilrathi once had walked these corridors,
70 Genesis

and they were much bigger than humans. The walls were dark gray, like hematite, while
the lighting was reddish-beige. Arsin said that the light fixtures were being switched out
for a softer white within a few days. Kilrathi might have found the lights easy to take, but
humans and Firekkan tended to develop headaches from the eyestrain. Gabriel was glad.
After a series of halls and lifts, they eventually came to the nerve center for the
entire ship: the Bridge. At first, Gabriel was reminded of a child's playroom. Tools,
equipment, and machinery were laying about like toys, but not carelessly or in the way of
others. Where computer screens and viewing monitors once were, empty pits now stared
out blindly. Consoles and stations were likewise missing.
"As you can see," Arsin said, "we are in the process of changing out the
computer systems. Kilrathi computers are fine machines, but totally incompatible with
Confed's. So, Mr. Daniels here was gracious enough to supply us with cutting-edge Cray
Hyper-Processors and the fastest sub-space modem equipment available."
Daniels only shook his head. "Was nothing. Really. We can't have you people
out here with outdated equipment."
Arsin nodded. "Absolutely not. Unfortunately, the rest of the ship is going to
have to wait for such upgrading. Aside from the engines, the weapons, minor body touch-
ups, and the hanger facilities, this ship is going to have to stay as is."
Gabriel looked at the Chief, puzzled. "Why? If the Consortium is paying for all
this, why don't we get the full-options package deal?"
"I asked him that very same question," Daniels said.
Arsin looked pained and stern all in the same moment. "I won't impose on their
generosity. And, as a famous Earth playwright once put it, " 'Neither a borrower nor a
lender be, for loan oft loses both itself and friend, and borrowing dulls the edge of
husbandry.' Call me old-fashioned, but I want to make my own way as often and as long
as I can. I'll owe the Consortium no more than I have to, even if it is a 'gift.' So, I only ask
them to give us the necessary tools to be Privateers. After that is done, any modifications
or upgrades we make will be paid for by us, not our benefactors."
Gabriel was impressed by both Arsin's knowledge of classical literature and of
his independence. He could see they would get along amiably.
"Where are our Captain's chairs?" Gabriel asked, looking around.
Arsin pointed to a huge metal seat to the rear of the bridge. At a glance, Gabriel
figured two of him could fit within it. "Only one chair, Captain, and it's all yours."
"Why's that?" Gabriel asked. "We are Co-Commanders after all."
Arsin nodded his feathered head. "Yes, but my place is in the Hanger, not up
here. You will lead the ship's command operations from the Bridge, I'll head the technical
aspects from the Hanger. When in negotiations or anything else that requires my
presence, I will stand by you here; but otherwise, leave me to my tools."
Gabriel clapped Arsin on his shoulder. "You keep this carrier running, and I
promise to make all our lives easier. You handle the machines, and I'll deal with the
people. Deal?"
"Deal," Arsin agreed. "Speaking of which, I think I hear a nut about to be turned
the wrong way. If you gentlemen will excuse me, I'll get back to putting Humpty Dumpty
back together again." As the Firekkan walked away, he said over his shoulder, "And don't
worry about that chair. I'll have a new one made for you before we launch. Can't have you
sliding around in that monster can we?" His laughter bounced of the walls and echoed
deep down the ship. Daniels nodded while Gabriel saluted, both laughing as well.
"A good man," Daniels said, watching the Firekkan walk away.
Gabriel had to agree. "And a fine Chief Technician. I couldn't ask for better.
Thank you."
 Genesis 71

Daniels inclined his head. "The least we could do, Gabriel, considering the
Captain who would be standing at this Bridge. But I will have to be leaving as well. Let
me show you to your Quarters, then I must be off."
As it turned out, Gabriel was bunking a short distance from the Bridge. His room
was as spacious as it was empty. Only a bed, desk, computer terminal, and adjacent
bathroom. The rest of the room would have to be outfitted as he went along. Thankfully,
Gabriel was having some of his possessions from home brought in on another transport
which was due to arrive the next day.
"On the computer terminal you'll find all the dossiers on your crew, along with
the ship's specs." Daniels informed him. "It's not hooked up to the ship's mainframe yet
since it isn't in place, but for now it'll have all you need. If there's any more information
you require, feel free to call on me. I'll download it to you."
After a warm handshake, the representative for the Consortium turned to leave.
He stopped at the door when Gabriel said, "Thank you, Mr. Daniels. Your faith in me
means a great deal."
With an air of sincerity, Daniels replied, "No thanks necessary, Gabriel. Or,
should I say, Captain McClellan. Your presence here is all the thanks we need." With that
he left.
Unpacking was a minor ordeal, what with only three bags in his present
possession. First were the clothes. They were laid out in order of color and situation need.
Next were the personal items, such as holo-pictures, medals, degrees, and
commendations. Lastly, and most importantly, came his guitar. It was a NovaGuild
acoustic six-string. It was leaned against the gigantic bed with care.
He contemplated turning on the computer and looking over the crew roster, but
the busy activities of the day had worn him out. So instead, he slid on to the bed, put his
back against the metal headboard, and took up his guitar. After checking its tuning, he
played through a few of his favorite songs. Surprisingly, the acoustics of the room were
magnificent. His notes and chords echoed back at him with startling clarity and warmth,
magnifying the sounds like a cathedral would. The magic of the music worked to ease his
aches, dull his pain. When his fingers were finally too tired to continue, he laid the guitar
beside him and stretched out to take a nice little nap.

***

DarkStar Civilian Shipyards

PCS Aurora
Captain McClellan's Quarters
Five Hours Later
A blaring klaxon blew Gabriel from his bed, and red lights high in the ceiling
flashed like a kaleidoscope gone crazy. Alarmed, he ran his eyes over the room, looking
intently for a comm panel. After a few tense seconds he found it. Leaping from the floor,
he rushed to it. "Chief Tech Tarmack, come in!"
The Captain could feel the seconds slowly ticking away. As he was about to
leave the cabin, Arsin came on the comm. Casually he said, "Arsin here, Captain. Is there
a problem?"
Gabriel looked at the comm as if it was the strangest thing he had ever seen.
"Problem? No, I guess, except for that alarm which just about scared my heart out
through my throat."
Instantly Arsin was all apologies. "I'm so sorry, Captain. Didn't mean to frighten
you. We were only testing the ship's Alert Systems. I forgot you were on board. Won't
72 Genesis

happen again."
A relieved breath blew past Gabriel's lips. "No apologies necessary, Chief," he
said, running a hand through his dark brown hair. "Just give me some advance warning
next time."
Arsin chuckled. "Will do, Captain."
Gabriel shut off the comm. After taking a look around the room, he opened the
door and headed toward the Bridge. He could hear the sound of a woman speaking as he
walked, and when he came into the room he saw a woman in workman's fatigues laying
on her back beneath a computer station. Wires sparked in her hands. "Damn it!" she
hissed.
"Excuse me," Gabriel said, strolling over to where she worked.
No response was forth coming.
"Excuse me," he said louder.
Still nothing.
He stretched out a foot and tapped her on the calf. "Excuse me!"
Startled, she scurried out of the station and jumped to her feet. Gabriel was
instantly breathless. She was, in a word, beautiful. Short-cropped hair of jet black with
blue highlights framed an elfish face. Her skin was pale as snow, but her almond slanted
eyes were as black as empty space. She stood a towering five foot three inches, and
probably weighed all of a hundred pounds fully clothed. Asian to be sure, but where from
exactly was unknown.
"Captain!" she said, blushing a bright red, obviously surprised. A snappy salute
followed.
"Didn't mean to startle you," Gabriel said, returning her salute.
She looked at him quizzically then laughed, it sounding like a crystal wind-
chime moving softly in the breeze. With a waving of hands she bent her head and
removed plugs from her ears. When they were gone she said, "Sorry, Captain. I put these
in when Chief Tech Tarmack informed me he would be testing the Alert Systems."
Gabriel snorted. "I wish I could have done so. Blasted me right out of my nap."
The woman blanched. "I'm so sorry, Captain! I would have warned you had I
known you were here. No one informed me. Then again, I came in without telling
anyone."
Gabriel waved her expression of sorrow away. "There isn't a need for all that. No
harm, no foul."
She looked relieved.
After looking her over again he said, "You seem to know who I am, but I can't
say the same. What's your name?"
She stiffened her back and replied, "Commander Kiato Ashikaga, callsign
Kabuki. I'm your Second-In-Command."
From her name he knew she was Japanese. He pushed forward his hand in
greeting. She took it. "Gabriel Sean McClellan, at your service. But if you don't mind my
asking, why are you working on this station?" His hand stretched out to indicate where
she had just been laying.
"Well, Chief Tarmack's team is a bit shorthanded, so I thought I'd chip in."
"You have experience doing this?" Gabriel asked.
"Oh yes, Captain," she replied. "While I was with Confed, I spent much of my
off-time studying electronics. You never know when that kind of knowledge will come in
handy." She looked around the disheveled Bridge and winked. "Seems it was time spent
wisely."
Gabriel chuckled. "Yes, indeed. But engines are more my area. Runs in the
 Genesis 73

family, you could say."

"I know, Captain. I've read your dossier. McClellan Stardrives. Family owned
and run for several generations."
"You do know your stuff," he said, impressed. "You think Chief Tarmack would
mind me helping out with installing the new engine?"
Kiato thought about it a moment then answered, "Well, I'm sure he would
appreciate the gesture, but I think your time would be better served going over the roster.
Most of the crew will be here by tomorrow."
He saw the prudence of her words. "Good thinking, Commander. I'd probably
only get in the way down there anyway. Want to help me go over the roster?"
She only shook her head. "Thank you, sir, but if I don't get this finished now, I
never will."
"Okay then. Let me know if you need anything."
She saluted quickly. "Yes, sir!"
He returned the gestured, turned on his heel, and walked back to his cabin. He
could hear Kiato scooting back under the station. Once the cabin doors closed behind
him, he sat at his desk and activated his computer.
"Welcome, Captain McClellan," a disembodied male voice said. "How can I
help you today?"
"Computer," Gabriel said, "I need the Aurora's crew roster. Specifically, their
known history and service records."
"How would you like it presented, Captain?"
"Well, I'd like to see Chief Technician Tarmack first, and then give me
Commander Ashikaga."
"Very good. Just a moment please while I bring up the information."
For the next three hours, Gabriel read over the bios of his crew. By the time he
was done his eyes were sore, his head hurt, and his hind end was in desperate need of a
massage. This is going to be good, he thought to himself. Certainly not a Confed
regulation crew, but they've got promise. Not a lot of polish, but certainly plenty of guts
and talent. A ship full of wandering stars, headed God only knows where, with me at the
helm. This should be very interesting.
A smile spread across his lips as he activated the computer again. "Computer?"
"Yes?" the voice said. "How can I further assist you, Captain?"
"Do we have communications capabilities outside of the ship?"
"Yes, Captain. Who do you wish to contact?"
"Get me Mr. Howard Daniels if you can."
"One moment please."
A minute went past, then Daniels' face appeared. "Gabriel! What can I do for
you?" He was in an office, probably on Earth.
"I have an unusual request, Mr. Daniels."
The man looked puzzled. "And what would that be?"
"Can you get an army of couturiers out here A.S.A.P.?"
A sly grin emerged. "I was wondering when you would ask. Consider them
already there."
"Good," Gabriel replied. My crew may not have a lot of polish, but they sure as
hell are going to have some style. . .

******************************************************
74 Genesis

Sail The Solar Winds

~ Part Three ~
"I must have the gentleman to haul and draw with the mariner, and the mariner with the
gentleman . . . I would know him, that would refuse to set his hand to a rope, but I know
there is not any such here."
Sir Francis Drake, speech given on May 1578 to his crew before entering the Magellan
Straits

DarkStar Civilian Shipyards

PCS Aurora
Hanger Bay
Eight Days Later
Captain McClellan stood on a shore of gun-metal gray looking out at a sea of
faces all upturned toward him and Chief Tech Tarmack. He was proud of what he saw,
and glad to see that same pride reflected in their eyes. Wanderers they may be, but stars
every one.
With a puffing of his chest he said, "Black Knights, I'll try to make this as short
and as sweet as I can. My name is Captain Gabriel Sean McClellan, formerly First
Lieutenant, and prior to that Lieutenant Colonel, of the Confederation Space Forces. Next
to me," he gestured toward the Firekkan standing rigidly at his side, "is Chief Technician
Arsin ta Tarmack. We are the co-commanders of the PCS Aurora, and your superior
officers. Before we set sail and launch, I wanted to gather all of you together so I could
clear up a couple of things."
"First: I know that when you signed up, Mr. Daniels was careful to make sure
you were definite on who we are and what our direction is. But in case the point got lost
on some of you, let me drive it home. We are not pirates, nor are we mercenaries. We are
Privateers, and that makes a big difference. Pirates attack any ship they can find, and kill
with impunity. If they want something, they take it. And not one tear is shed in the
process. We are not like that. If you want to seize some fat Merchant Frigate just because
it looks ripe, then go someplace else."
No one moved. Good.
"We also aren't whores, selling our bodies to whomever can pay the price. That's
a mercenary. They don't care who wins or loses, so long as they get cash up front. They
don't care who is wrong or who is right, so long as their coin is paid. If we are asked to
join a battle, we won't just look at the highest bidder and take their side. There are a lot of
ways to make money, people. We will be choosy, selective. If neither side feels right, we
back off. Do I have any whores aboard this ship?"
A sight chuckle rippled through the crew, but no one raised their hand. Very
good. "I didn't think so."
"Second: About the uniforms. I know, I know, it came as a shock to most of you.
For that I'm sorry, but I will not go traveling through space looking like a herd of
ragamuffins. This ship is not a flying orphanage. We are soldiers, pilots, and trained
personnel, and we will look the part. I take pride in my person, in my ability. I hope
everyone else here does, because you have reason to. All of you were hand picked for
your skills and expertise. And since we are professionals, our appearance will reflect that.
The uniforms you are wearing right now will be your normal on-duty clothes, casual yet
effective. On occasions where more formal attire is called for, you will have dress
uniforms available. And when in combat situations, especially you Ground Forces
personnel, you will be outfitted appropriately. Battle fatigues are being readied as we
 Genesis 75

speak, and they will be in your quarters within the hour. I feel that uniforms add a sense
of unity, purpose, and direction. They bring us together, make us one. Are there any
present who don't want to wear these uniforms?"
Heads turned, people looked about, but no one spoke or gestured. "Very well."
Gabriel relaxed his stance. The crowd before him did likewise. "If all of you will
raise your PCTs (Palm Computer Terminals), I will give you some quick information."
Everyone pulled their computers from their belt holders and activated them. Seconds
later, they were ready. "Okay, if everyone will open the 'Black Knight Command
Structure' section, you will find there the hierarchy of the ship. You will see my name at
the top of the Command Crew, with Commander Kiato Ashikaga, callsign Kabuki,
beneath me. Together, we will handle ship's personnel and most of the governing
functions. If I am off-duty or absent from the Bridge, Commander Ashikaga will lead in
my place. Below her is Lieutenant Commander Jerod 'Barrage' Arnett. On the Technician
side, you will see Chief Tech Tarmack's name. He and I are co-leaders, equal in authority
and position. We just handle different areas of shipboard operations. Beneath him is
Assistant Chief Technician Dale Roberts, callsign Gears. Together they are responsible
for the maintenance of the Aurora and all other technical matters. If you have any
questions in those areas, go see them."
"Now for the Sub-Structures," he continued. "Leading the Fighter Operations
will be Lieutenant Colonel Derrick 'Cujo' Marx. For all mission briefings and pilot
assignments, he will be the Commanding Officer. For the Ground Forces unit, Colonel
Lance 'Knight' Brightblade is the Commanding Officer. His duties are the same as Cujo's.
You pilots and grounders answer to them, and they, in turn, answer to Chief Tarmack and
I. Is that clear?"
A resounding, "Yes, sir!" followed.
"Good. Our Information/Sciences division is headed by Major Henry 'Sysop'
Dubois, with Talen 'Guardian Angel' Karran assisting when necessary. The Chief Of
Medicine is Captain Amber Blevens. She has no callsign, so either refer to her as Captain
or Doctor Blevens. Our Flight Deck Crew is led by First Lieutenant Billy 'Green Light'
Robbins."
Gabriel gave everyone a few moments to look over all the names he had just
given out, letting them put to memory as much as they could.
Finally he continued, "All of them are fine leaders, their abilities tried and tested
on the field of battle. If there are any problems, you go to your division leaders. If it isn't
resolved there, then you go on up the chain of command. But I know that won't happen.
None of you are wet-eared newbies. If you were, you wouldn't be in this outfit. I trust all
of you to be professional."
"Now, about the contracts all of you signed. Your required service time with this
ship is one year. After that, you are free to go, or, if your performance warrants it, we will
ask you to stay on for a longer term. If for some reason you feel you can't fulfill your
obligation, come to me and we'll see what we can work out. But these are legal and
binding contracts. I implore any of you to speak to me before we launch if there is a
problem. After we pull up anchor, as the old saying goes, all bills are paid."
"Speaking of which, as you know, your pay will be deposited to your separate
bank accounts at the completion of every job. As of right now, all of you are marked for a
certain portion of our take, the amount in accordance with your rank and skills. On your
off-time, I would suggest that you try to increase your knowledge of the different
divisions. The more you know, the more vital you are, and therefore, the more you will be
paid. But please, don't take on more than you can handle. If there is a certain area you are
interested in learning, go to that section's leader and request to be put in training. If they
76 Genesis

decide to take you on, your off-duty hours will be spent there, setting aside time for sleep,
meals, and other pursuits of course. I admire the person who wants to learn, but I don't
want a bunch of zombies on my ship. If I find you are putting more on your plate than
you can eat, I will rectify the situation. And believe me, I will find out. You are my crew,
and I will do my best to lead you right."
"On a final note, I'd like to request that everyone try to do some personal
research when you can. Being a Privateer means coming in contact, and possibly conflict,
with other groups. Some will be pirates, some mercs, and others fellow Privateers. Fore
warmed is fore armed. There are a lot of units out there, and not all of them will be
friendly. Try to learn about them, study what we have. All of your quarters' have been
outfitted with computer terminals and Net link-ups. There you will find much of what you
need to know."
With that done, Captain McClellan drew himself up straight. "That will be all for
now. If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to ask. Your commanding officers
will be available." He brought his arm up in a stiff salute. The crew mirrored him. "Black
Knights! Let's get to work! We launch in one hour for the Kabala Sector!"
The crew of the Aurora hustled off, preparing themselves and the ship. Gabriel
was exalted to see such speed and determination. And it was with a proud heart that he
made his way for the Bridge. A whirlwind of activity swirled behind him.

***

DarkStar Civilian Shipyards

PCS Aurora
The Bridge
One Hour Later
"DarkStar Traffic Control, this is the PCS Aurora," Communications Officer
Second Lieutenant Darin Thomson said into his head-mounted comm mike. "We are
requesting clearance for launch. Do you copy?"
"We copy, PCS Aurora," Traffic Control replied after a burst of static. "Release
mooring lines on my mark… Mark!"
Helmsman First Lieutenant Beverly Norris immediately pressed a large glowing
button on her steering console. At once, everyone aboard felt a slight rolling in their
stomachs as the energy beams that kept the ship anchored to the Dock were powered
down.
Traffic Control came back over the comm. "We read you are in free-float,
Aurora. Now if you'll please turn to heading one-five-six mark three-two-two and bring
your thrusters up to one-quarter power, you may begin launch. The skies are clear. Have a
good flight, Aurora."
"Thank you, DarkStar," replied Thomson. "Aurora out."
Norris shifted the helm control by a few degrees with a practiced hand, bringing
the ship around to the designated heading, then brought the throttle forward to launch
speed.
In his newly remodeled Captain's Chair, Gabriel looked on the proceedings with
delighted satisfaction, yet his outer expression revealed none of it. To everyone present,
he was all business. "Steady as she goes, Helm," he said in smooth tones.
Beverly smiled back at him. "Aye aye, Captain."
Gabriel returned the smile. Within minutes, the shipyard was trailing out behind
them, and open space beckoned from the front. Pluto, icy blue in the dim light of the Sun,
glittered off to the right, but was soon lost as the Aurora picked up speed and streaked
 Genesis 77

away.
"Helm, lay in a course for the Sol Jump Point," Gabriel ordered. "That will take
us to the Merlin Sector. From there it's just a hop, skip, and two jumps to the Kabala
Sector."
"Aye, Captain," Beverly replied.
Gabriel keyed the ship-wide comm button on his chair. "Attention crew. We
have left the DarkStar Shipyards and are en-route to the Kabala Sector. All non-essential
personnel are hereby ordered to stand down and get some rest. You've earned it. From the
job postings I've seen on the Privateer Net, Kabala has several promising offers
circulating around that are perfect for us. We'll be busy soon enough. You've all done a
great job. McClellan out."
He could hear cheers echoing down the hallways and air ducts. A bright smile
rose on his face. "Helm? I'll be leaving the Bridge for awhile. You have your flight path
programmed in."
"Yes, sir," Beverly replied.
"Commander Arnett, you have the Bridge while I'm gone."
"Aye aye, sir," Arnett said as he stood up from a computer station. Gabriel took
one last look at the view screen before him, then vacated his chair. Arnett slid in after him
and keyed up some statistics on their destination. Gabriel watched him read as he left the
Bridge and entered a lift.

***

PCS Aurora
Level Five Gymnasium
Combat Area
Two Hours Later
Gabriel stepped out of a lift to see Commander 'Kabuki' Ashikaga back up two
steps, kneel on her right knee, and bring up her sword to block the downward swing of
her opponent. The two bamboo swords crashed together with a loud crack. Tilting up
with all her strength, the enemy sword flew high. Taking advantage of the momentum
shift, she stood up, brought her sword around in a lightning fast arc, and aimed for her
opponent's left side. Quickly he dropped back and parried her attack.
"Very good," he said, the voice sounding mechanical coming from beneath his
Kendo head-guard. "You remembered from last time. Now, let's see how you handle
this."
Immediately, Kabuki was put on the defensive, backpedaling under the man's
aggressive attacks. Thrust, parry, dodge, strike, block, overhead, down low, and side to
side they battled. Their moves were like quicksilver and mercury, flowing in a dangerous
dance that didn't seem to let up. Their samurai robes flared up like flower petals under a
noontime sky. Finally, panting, Kabuki managed to tumble beneath a vicious slash and
come up behind his unprotected back. A half-second later the flat point of her sword
thrust between his shoulder blades. The fight was over.
Slowly the man turned around to face his victorious opponent. They stepped
away from each other and bowed deeply. When they rose, he said, "Impressive, Kiato.
We shall see how much better you fair next time."
She bowed again. "Thank you, sensei."
"I will be in your quarters should you want to practice again today," he told her.
"If not, we will meet again tomorrow."
With a final bow, the Kendo instructor walked away and entered a lift on the far
78 Genesis

side of the gym-turned-dojo. As the Commander removed her head-guard, Gabriel quietly
applauded her. Low as the noise was though, it startled her almost out of her skin. She
spun around asking, "Who's there?"
Gabriel stepped from the wall he was leaning against and walked toward her.
"Just me, Commander."
"Captain!" she exclaimed. "I didn't know you were here."
"I just came in a few seconds ago. Saw you working with your teacher and
decided discretion was the better part of valor. I hope you don't mind."
She shook her head. "No, of course not, Captain."
"That's good. I'm impressed Commander." He looked at her red and black robes
and saw a black belt tied around her waist with one white stripe decorating each end of it.
"You're a black belt? That wasn't in your file."
She blushed. "I got it just before leaving for this ship, Captain. No time for it to
be added. If you'd like, I could have Major Dubois update my dossier to reflect the first
dan black belt."
"Dan?" he asked. "What is that? A rank?"
"Yes, sir. All belts start at one dan. As you increase your skill and proficiency,
the dan number increases up to five. Then you go on to the next belt."
"What level is your instructor?"
She started to laugh, but then realized he had no idea. "My sensei has no belt or
dan. He's a Kendo Instruction Droid. My family purchased it for me before I joined
Confed, and I've hauled him around ever since. If he were human, he would hold a fifth
dan black belt. His programming is premium quality. His registration number is 261-KD-
45-1P. But I call him sensei, as is proper. Through him I hope to eventually rise to fifth
dan."
Gabriel raised his eyebrows in admiration. "You'll have to teach me some of
those moves sometime."
She gave him a skeptical look. "No offense, Captain, but the martial arts requires
total dedication. With all of your duties, you won't have the time you'd need to devote to
it. Especially Kendo. A difficult art to say the least."
Deflated, Gabriel tried to turn the conversation around. "Well, how about
another style?"
After giving him a good going over with her eyes, she said, "I suppose I could
teach you a few things. Besides Kendo, I hold black belts in Jujitsu and Tae Kwon Do.
You have a good build for Jujitsu I think."
He put his hands on his hips. "Alright, Commander. When should we start?"
Without warning, she planted her feet, reached out both hands, grabbed hold of
his shirt, and flipped him over her shoulder. He hit the mat with a resounding thud. "We'll
start today. That was your first lesson. Never let down your guard." A smile followed her
words.
"Point taken," Gabriel said from the floor. "But I think we'd better start
tomorrow. The reason I came down here was to tell you we'll be coming into the Kabala
Sector within an hour. I'll need you on the Bridge with me." He rubbed the back of his
head, trying to ease the stinging.
"Tomorrow then, Captain," she said crisply.
Gabriel rolled and got back on his feet. "Tomorrow. Now, go shower and get
dressed. I'll expect you on the Bridge in thirty minutes."
She saluted him, then bowed at the waist. He copied her moves. She took up her
bamboo sword and entered the same lift her instructor had taken. Seconds later she was
gone from sight.
 Genesis 79

Rubbing his back, Gabriel turned and called for a lift. When it arrived, he
stepped in and requested the Starboard Lounge. While he traveled, he worked his fingers
over his spinal column, knowing there would be a bruise down his back by the following
day. She's fast, he thought to himself. Guess that'll teach me not to lower my shields too
quickly.
The lift came to a halt slowly. When the doors opened, Gabriel was immediately
hit by a wave of music and smoke. As he cleared the lift doors, his eyes spotted some of
his pilots sitting around a table playing poker. Captain Kevin 'Flare' Micheals was
dealing, with Major Marcel 'Warden' Pare, First Lieutenant Talen 'Guardian Angel'
Karran, Second Lieutenant James 'Talon' Northstar, and Captain Glen 'Wave' Mitchell
putting their cards into their hands. Major Kyle Carter stood off to the right, observing.
When they saw Gabriel enter, the card game was forgotten as they stood to
salute. He returned it. "At ease, gentlemen."
They nodded and resumed their game. "Care to play a few hands, Captain?"
Kyle asked.
"Yeah, Captain," Talon followed. "Sit by an old crew member of the Essex. I'll
bring you good luck."
Gabriel waved his hands negative. "No thank you. I'd like to keep my money
where it is: in my pockets."
All of them laughed. That was good. Gabriel wanted his crew to view him not
only as their commander, but also as a friend.
"You never know, Captain," Warden said. "Could be you'll walk outta here with
our money!"
"Poker isn't my game, Major," Gabriel begged off. "Besides, we'll be in the
Kabala Sector shortly, and I'll be needed on the Bridge."
Everyone nodded their understanding.
"But catch me again next time," Gabriel said, "and make it Blackjack. Then I'll
be more than happy to clean all of you out."
Flare winked at him slyly. "Sure will, Captain." He looked around at the other
pilots around him. "If we'll soon be there, should we get suited up? You know, in case we
come across some bad attitudes?"
Gabriel shook his head. "Negative, guys. You're off-duty. We have enough
pilots suited up already. I just came down here to see how everyone was making out."
Wave said, "Give me ten minutes and a bit of luck, and I'll be making out just
fine."
First Lieutenant Karran winked. "Make that a lot of luck."
Everyone chuckled heartily. Good attitudes, Gabriel mused. They're getting
along great. Just what I wanted.
Gabriel's wrist comm beeped. "McClellan here," he said into it.
"Lieutenant Commander Arnett, sir. We're coming into the Kabala Sector. Not in
visual range yet, but our sensors are active."
"Thank you, Commander. I'll be right there." Gabriel waved to the pilots. "You
gentlemen have fun, and try not to clean out the whole ship."
"Can't promise you that, Captain," Flare said. "Let's just hope our first job pays
big."
That set off another round of laughter. It was the last thing Gabriel heard from
them as he entered the lift and headed for his command center.
The Bridge was calm, as was his crew. The newly installed monitors and view
screens displayed sensor information about the sector, including solar systems, space
stations, and other ships. Several Information/Sciences Officers took in the information
80 Genesis

and processed it as quickly as they could. Arnett, seeing his Captain was on the Bridge,
vacated his seat. Gabriel settled into it easily, liking the way it felt.
"Several systems are nearby, sir," Arnett said. "Closest to us is the Marigold
System. After that is the Wilder and Berrington Systems. Marigold has two inhabited
planets and three space stations. If you need ship information, it's on the far left screen."
"Thank you, Commander," Gabriel replied. He looked over the monitors, trying
to judge where his best opportunities were. For five minutes he stared at the screens and
listened to his crew as they scanned the sector. Just then Ashikaga came to stand beside
him.
"Any ideas, Captain?" she asked.
"Well, our options are pretty open, Commander," he replied. "I was just trying to
decide where I wanted to go first."
She scrutinized the screens, drinking in information like a woman too long in the
desert. As Gabriel was about to give a course heading to the helmsman, Ashikaga piped
in with, "Well, how does Corona Station sound to you, Captain? She is right in between
Marigold and Wilder."
Gabriel mulled it over. "Why that one, Commander?"
"The Net shows three jobs being offered there right now that fit us like a glove.
Of everywhere we could go, those sound the most promising."
"Lieutenant Commander?" he asked.
The man rubbed his bearded chin. "Sounds good to me, Captain."
"Very well then," Gabriel stated. "Helm, plot a course for Corona Station."
"Aye, sir," Beverly replied.
Gabriel pulled on his goatee. "Let's see what's waiting for us out here," he said,
his mind already plotting and wondering. The possibilities were almost endless…

The Beginning
 Archeology Mission

Written by: Luan Ngo

Timestamp: 2674.360-364

TO: All Privateers

FROM: Corinthian Archeological Firm, Inc., HR@Corinth.net
RE: Job Offer In Kabala Sector

Send To These Privateer Networks: Priv@Confed.Net, ForHire@Civil.Net,

GunPay@BW.Net, Clawmark@KI.Net

Send To These Privateer NewsGroups: alt.bin.privateer

alt.grp.forhire
sys.net.kabala.priv

Privateers,

For all those Privateer Units who have experienced Marines or other ground
forces personnel, we have a job offer that is right up your alley. Our firm is performing
archeological surveys and excavations on Marigold VII, an uninhabited planet in the
Marigold System, Kabala Sector. But due to increased accounts of industrial espionage
and sabotage, we are in need of protection. All orbital surveys have been complete, and
we are ready to begin planetary work. But before we can begin, we must have people able
to safeguard our archeologists and other personnel. If you think this job sounds right for
you, please respond quickly. We will then designate a meeting place where terms of
contract will be worked out. Thank you for your consideration.

James Harrison
HR Director
Corinthian Archeological Firm, Inc.

-----===<<<¤>>>===-----
82 Archeology Mission

Kabala Sector
Corona Station
Sundance Cantina
Lance "Knight" Brightblade looked around the cantina with scrutinizing eyes.
The haze of the smoke, and the smell of volatile liquor, burned at his eyes and nostrils.
The Sundance Cantina was a rundown joint, used mainly for pirates relaxing and
exchanging stories. Tonight, though, it would be the meeting place for the Aurora's first
mission.
"This place is a dump," Lance said abruptly.
"Yeah. Couldn't he choose perhaps a more suitable place to meet?" Arsin ta
Tarmack, aka Butch, said, ruffling his feathers in disgust. "Don't get me wrong. I've been
in worse, but I was expecting these archaeological types to meet in a place more...
elegant."
Captain Gabriel McClellan was obviously also uncomfortable. "Hey, look at it
this way, at least we're getting a job right?"
Lance and Butch both shook their heads in unison.
"Well, let's get something to drink at least while we're waiting," Lance offered.
"Sure, if it's on you," Butch chimed in.
Gabriel smiled. "I'm game."
Lance gestured for a waitress to come over. The waitress was a tall Terran with
long brown hair pulled into a bun on the back of her head. She had dark brown eyes, and
she wore and apron with the word 'Sundance' on it.
"What can I get you boys?" she asked sweetly.
"I'll have a Jack Daniels on the rocks," Lance muttered, staring out the window
next to their booth.
"I don't suppose you have Firekka's Finest," Butch said quietly.
"Well, actually we do. Some pirate sold us some not two weeks ago. I'm sure I
could manage to get some for you if you would like." The waitress smiled sweetly.
"That would be excellent. I'll have one Firekka's Finest then." Butch smiled,
liking the place more than he did when he walked in.
The waitress finished penciling in Butch's order and looked up at Gabriel. "And
you, sir?"
Gabriel smiled. "I think I'll have a White Russian."
The waitress returned his smile. "I'll have your drinks out in a couple of
minutes." She turned and walked across the room, then through some doors into the
kitchen.
A figure clad in a large trench coat and hat walked into the cantina, obviously
trying to hide his identity. He walked straight towards Butch, Gabriel, and Lance,
stopping right in front of their booth, then looked around nervously.
Gabriel stood up. "Can I help you, sir?"
The man pulled back his hat and said, "Captain Gabriel McClellan of the PCS
Aurora?"
Gabriel nodded. "That would be me."
The man stuck out his hand. "My name is James Harrison."
Gabriel took the man's hand and shook it firmly. "Nice to meet you, Mr.
Harrison; we've been waiting for you."
"Ah, yes. I ran into some minor difficulties getting here," Harrison said,
glancing around as if he thought he might have been followed.
Gabriel gestured toward an empty seat next to Lance across from him. "Would
you have a seat Mr. Harrison? This is," he pointed to Butch, "my co-commander, Captain
 Archeology Mission 83

Arsin ta Tarmack." Harrison put out his hand. Butch took it with his and exchanged a
firm handshake. "This," he pointed towards Lance, "is Colonel Lance 'Knight'
Brightblade." Lance nodded and turned back towards the window.
Harrison sat down and thanked Gabriel for the introductions. "Well, let's get
down to business, shall we?" All three nodded their heads. "As you have read, my
archaeological firm has been having some problems with rival corporations trying to seize
hold of our monopoly on the site at Marigold VII."
"Mr. Harrison, perhaps if we knew what was so valuable that you are digging up
that they would resort to espionage and sabotage to get it, we'd be able to help better,"
Lance remarked, turning from his gaze outside to Harrison.
"Yes, I was just about to get to that." He leaned forward towards the center.
Lance, Butch, and Gabriel did the same, and in a low voice he continued, "It seems that
the planet Marigold VII has an interesting past."
"How interesting?" Lance murmured.
"Well, about three thousand years ago, the planet was inhabited by some type of
creatures. Orbital surveys are reporting that some of the homes of these creatures may
still be intact. Now if we could get planet-side and excavate these ancient structures we
could learn a great deal about it. Our rivals also want to excavate, but we quickly got
legal ownership of the planet for one year."
"Wasn't that expensive?" Butch questioned.
"Yes, it was, but the amount of money we could make, not to mention how much
we could learn if we excavate all of this stuff to research back at the lab, will more than
compensate us."
"How come no one else found these 'alien's' homes from space recons?" Lance
asked.
"Well, the traces of minerals in the earth are highly radioactive, but there seems
to be patterns of certain minerals that would show that inhabitants had been living there,
but they have decayed so much that it was nearly missed by our scanners. Even then, it
was just a blind guess if there was something there. We brought in more powerful
sensors to make sure our guess was correct, and by pure chance it was."
"Just how radioactive is this planet?" Gabriel asked, concerned.
"Well, to protect against it, a simple radiation suit should suffice," Harrison
answered quickly.
"Hmm... How long do you think you'll need to dig?" Lance asked.
"Well, we think that in about five months we can get everything we need out.
But we are only writing a contract with you for one month. If your performance warrants
it, then we will extend that time frame. For the first month you will be paid one-million
credits. The rad suits are free of charge. If we do hire you for a longer length of time, then
the payment will be discussed then," Harrison answered coolly.
The waitress came back. "Sirs, your drinks." Everyone leaned back into their
seats to think about it for a bit longer.
Lance took a sip of his drink and felt it soothe down his throat and turned toward
the waitress. "Could I get the bill now?"
"Sure thing," she answered quite simply and headed off quickly to get their bill.
Gabriel took a long drink and looked at Butch who was thinking deeply. He
took a look at Lance who was looking at his drink, and Harrison who was suspiciously
eyeing everyone in the room. "Is there something wrong, Mr. Harrison?"
Harrison quickly regained his composure. "No, nothing at all. Well, what do
you say?" Harrison reached into an inner pocket in his trench coat and pulled out some
papers and a pen.
84 Archeology Mission

Gabriel looked up at both Butch and Lance. They gave him nods of approval.
He nodded his head in agreement and said, "Mr. Harrison, I think you have yourself some
marines to help you out."
"Excellent! If you'll sign here on the dotted line." Harrison pointed near the
bottom of the paper.
Quickly Gabriel perused the contract. Then satisfied, he signed the document.
Harrison quickly snatched it up and said, "Well, report to Marigold VII in three
days and we'll see that your marines get suited with what they'll need, along with your
gear. Now if you'll excuse me, gentleman." He put the papers back into his trench coat
and walked out the door.
"Friendly bastard, ain't he?" Lance commented.
"Yes, I found him acting rather oddly also," Butch commented, taking a drink of
Firekka's Finest.
"Right. Well, let's get out of here." Gabriel quickly downed his drink and stood
up.
Lance put quite a large credit chit down on the table, one that he knew was over
the amount he needed for the drinks, and finished up his Jack Daniels. Butch also
finished his drink, but sat there a moment.
"What's wrong, Butch?" Gabriel asked, concerned.
"I find this rather intriguing. Some alien race supposedly lived on this planet.
Why would some other firms try to sabotage just for excavation rights? I think the good
doctor is holding out on us gentlemen." He looked at Lance. "When you and your crew
are down there, I want you to watch your backs."
Lance nodded. "That's what we do best, now isn't it?"

Kabala Sector
PCS Aurora Docked on Corona Station
Five hours later
Crew Briefing Room
Lance looked across the podium at the small contingent of men and women
standing below him waiting for him to speak. His eyes studied everyone in the crowd. A
few faces looked familiar to him. Talen "Arrow" Arrowstrike and Commander Ashikaga
stood out the most, because he was forced to spend a lot of time with them. Kabuki,
because she was the captain's second, and Talen, because he was one of the leaders of the
technical part of the ship, and he had to stay on communication with him to get his men
supplied.
Lance rubbed his eyes wearily. I can't wait to get this going, god, I need some
sleep, he thought to himself.
Lance stifled a yawn and began, "Okay, gentlemen, we've got our first
assignment as a group. You thirty people have been chosen because you show skills that
we think may be helpful planet-side. What we're doing on the planet is playing 'baby-
sitter' to some group of stuck up pris archaeologists. We have reason to believe that the
leader of the archaeological firm, Mr. James Harrison, might be in some kind of trouble,
and he is hiring us just for the sake of protecting himself and his excavation site. Another
important note is that we'll be wearing radiation suits, provided by the firm, while on the
planet. The planet has some history of... well... to put it bluntly, it has an explosive
history. The radiation shouldn't be too bad if exposed, but we're making sure all of us get
back healthy. Commander Ashikaga, you'll head up the technical team while on the
planet. You'll be working with the archaeologists in finding out what kind of 'tricks' their
 Archeology Mission 85

little espionage friends are doing to them tech wise. You'll be accompanied by Spark,
Howler, Quark, and Strife. Understood?"
An oriental looking woman in the crowd responded, "Understood, sir. When do
we get started?"
"Well let me get to that part. First I've got to assign the rest of the jobs. I'll be
leading the rest of the forces in setting up parameter defenses and in keeping touch with
our small air cover which will consist of Talen and Haste. You guys get to watch our
backs, and make sure any shuttles that want to land aren't hostiles. We'll start tomorrow
morning where we'll proceed to Marigold VII and get outfitted with the radiation suits.
Any questions?"
The crowd was silent.
"Good. I suggest you get some sleep, no drinking, and if you want, you may
leave some messages on the holonet for people who'll miss you. Dismissed."
The crowd dispersed through the doors of the briefing room. As the last person
exited the room, Lance sat down in a chair. He yawned and ran his hand through his hair.
After a moment he walked into a fresher room behind the podium and looked into the
mirror. God I look like hell. I should get some sleep. Right after I make some checks
with the technicians to make sure that we'll be fine down there. He sighed one last time
and walked out of the briefing room, letting the doors shut quietly behind him.

PCS Aurora
Marigold VII
The Next Day
0800 Hours
The ship was full of activity, people running here and there. Lance managed to
weave his way through the crowd to where Senior Master Sergeant Chelsea "Starlight"
Love, his second in command, stood looking at a PDP next to the shuttle Merrimack, the
one they were taking. The shuttle wasn't the best looking ship they had, but it would hold
up in battle. Having been modified a bit with some offensive weaponry and such, it could
blast it's way out of a small skirmish. It also had enough room to hold all twenty seven
marines who were going down to the planet.
"So, how does our equipment checkout look?" Lance asked.
Chelsea looked up and smiled, "Salutations, Colonel. The checkout? Well, it
looks like everything we'll need is here."
"Good. I don't want anything to go wrong down there." Lance looked around at
the tumult surrounding him. "That's an awful lot of people running around for just a small
crew to go planet-side."
Chelsea frowned. "Didn't you hear sir?"
"Lance, call me Lance. And no I didn't hear."
"Well it seems that the pilots onboard have found a way to kill some time too.
As soon as we get dumped, they're heading out. They've got some assignment that pays
back on Earth. They're getting ready to leave momentarily."
Lance raised a brow, "Damn. I knew I slept too long. I've got to go have a talk
with a few people before we head off. I guess this means we'll be orbiting the planet until
the mission starts. That's only in, oh, I don't know, two days! Man, I hate sleeping sitting
up. I'm sure the fighter pilots are gonna love this too. I've had to spent two days in a
cockpit before, and it wasn't pretty. Maybe Mr. Harrison will let us land on another part
of the planet until mission time."
"I'm sure he will, sir," she smiled. "I mean Lance. But be back here in ten
86 Archeology Mission

minutes. That's when we leave," Chelsea said matter of factly.

"Right. I've just got to have a talk with the good captain and a friend of mine."
Lance said. "God damn hierarchy. How come I don't' get told anything." Lance walked
off shaking his head.

Kabala Sector
Marigold VII
Two Days Later
0900 Hours
Lance looked around at the barren landscape. Geeze, this place really does look
like it was blown up, and wiped out. Other then the large cliff face with a cave dug into
it, the place looked totally devoid of any signs of habitation. Lance paced as the rest of
the ground crew were shipping the cargo out of the Shuttle Merrimack that brought them
there. The two Excaliburs flew by high above in the upper atmosphere, as if guarding
their landing. This suit is uncomfortable. I hope we don't end up in a lightfight wearing
these. He'd had ample time to feel it out though. Those two days on an abandoned island
gave his men time to stretch and rest before the mission. After a lot of thought, Lance was
glad they had had it, uncomfortable suits or not. Lance shifted position, trying to find a
more comfortable one, when a familiar face walked out of another of the transports.
"Colonel Lance Brightblade." Mr. Harrison was wearing a radiation suit and a
crooked smile as he walked up to Lance. "I'm so glad you guys got here on time. Not like
those Confed's; they're always late." Harrison looked at Lance shifting in his radiation
suit. "I do hope you find them comfortable enough."
"They're fine, sir. And thanks for letting us land on that abandoned island. I
didn't relish the thought of floating in orbit for two days. Where do you want us to set
up?" Lance asked. His voice was sent through a series of sensors and out through the
intercom that was located on the outside of his suit. Lance hated how the intercom made
his voice sound so robot-like.
Harrison smiled. "Well, we're all set up just outside of the mouth of the cave, as
you can see, because that's where we're going to be doing all of the digging. Other than
that it's really your choice."
Lance nodded and spoke again through the raspy intercom. "Five people from
my squad will be meeting with you and your techs to get a better look at what is going on
and what we can do to help."
"That's very much appreciated, Colonel, and a brilliant idea if I may say so,"
Harrison said cheerfully, but Lance could see a hint of sarcasm creeping into his voice.
Lance turned around and looked at his men who were already setting up north of
the cave. The Excaliburs started heading down from their atmospheric orbit, and began to
land a bit away from the operations.
"I see you have brought air support, Colonel," Harrison said, adding a high
pitched sound along with 'Colonel'.
Lance was annoyed already. This is going to be a long month, I just know it.
Lance hid his contempt and nodded. "Yes, sir. It's standard operating procedure for us to
have some air cover."
"I thought this was your first job?" Harrison asked in a sly tone.
Lance spat, "We're making procedures. If you don't mind, sir, I've got to go see
to my men."
Lance pivoted on his heel and spun around, then added, "Good day, Mr.
Harrison." He added silently to himself, "bigot."
 Archeology Mission 87

Kabala Sector
Marigold VII
1100 Hours
"Lance, I think you should come see this," Chelsea "Starlight" Love said as she
motioned for Lance to come over to her.
Lance walked over to where she was looking at some equipment. He stopped
next to her and said in a tired tone, "What's wrong this time?"
All afternoon Lance had been dealing with problems with broken equipment,
and annoyed men complaining about the archaeologists. He was run ragged about now. I
should really start to do those meditations Glitz taught me.
Chelsea looked up. "I'm sorry to say, but it seems that we won't be able to use
our long range communications. The techs must have dropped it or something. It's
totaled. But I can't see how dropping something could ruin it this much."
She was right. The instrument was smashed. It was made to look like it was
dropped, but the damage was way too extensive. Lance frowned. "Starlight, what did this
crate look like when you got here?"
"It was already opened, Lance. Why?" Chelsea asked, confused.
"Well, find out who opened it, and have then report to me. I've got a bad feeling
about this." Lance looked around. "These archaeologists are hiding something, and be
damned if I won't find out what it is."
Chelsea looked at him and leaned forward, and as best as she could with a
radiation suit on, whispered into his ear, "I'll get right to it." She added in a sarcastic
voice, "sir."
Lance blushed and wandered off looking for the team that were setting up the
tents.

Kabala Sector
Marigold VII
Colonel Lance "Knight" Brightblade's Tent
1200 Hours
The folds on Lance's tent came open, letting the sun shine brightly through.
Lance looked up from the datapad he was studying.
"Colonel," Chelsea saluted, "it seems that everyone in our force says they didn't
open it, nor did they see anyone opening it."
Lance frowned. "Ask Commander Ashikaga about the chance that the techs
might have not sealed up the crate properly upon our departure."
Chelsea sighed. "I've already done that, sir. It seems she thinks that the techs are
not sloppy enough to do that. Quite frankly, sir, I agree with her. The techs we have
onboard are very reliable."
"Yes, I figured that." Lance frowned and looked down at his datapad. "Then
what could have destroyed that transmitter?"
Chelsea shrugged. "I'm not sure, but I think we'll be fine. What could go wrong,
sir?"
Lance looked up tiredly. "Maybe you're right. It's just that Harrison guy. He's
got me wound up." Lance shook his head. "I don't know, and quit calling me sir!"
Chelsea giggled. "Right, sir," she began slyly, "but the men want you to know
that-"
Just then a loud explosion sounded outside of the tent.
88 Archeology Mission

"What the hell was that?!" Lance jumped up and ran out through the tent flap
close behind Chelsea.
Outside there were men huddled around something. Lance ran over to them and
looked down. It was one of his men, his face ripped apart and burns all over him. His
hands were gone, leaving bleeding stubs, and his chest was pouring blood. Thank god
he's dead. A large piece of metal lay next to him. It looked vaguely like part of a blaster.
Lance looked up at Kabuki who was standing on the other side of the man.
"What happened?"
"We're not sure. He was checking the blasters when I turned and heard a huge
explosion. When I reached him, there wasn't much left." Kabuki pointed to the piece of
metal. "Something must have gone wrong with the blaster. It must have malfunctioned or
something."
Lance said grimly, "More like sabotage."
"Excuse me, sir?" Commander Ashikaga asked.
"Our long range transmitter was destroyed too. It looked too much like it was
suppose to look like it was dropped. To add, the damage was too severe to have been a
simple drop, and no one has reported seeing anyone open it. Commander, I think we've
got to watch ourselves, have someone do a check on all of the blasters, check the
equipment again, run scans on them. Make sure the Merrimack is fine, and be careful.
Kabuki, you and your team should go meet with Mr. Harrison's people now also."
Kiato nodded and hurried off.
"Okay, men, let's clean this up. Make sure it's all recorded. God. By the way,
who was this?" The man's face was so disfigured Lance couldn't tell.
"Second Lieutenant Mark Helios, sir," one of the men standing around said.
"Have all of this recorded and such so we can have a proper funeral for him. In
the mean time, let's try to get some stuff done, and watch our backs."
"Aye, Colonel" The man saluted and started barking orders to others.
Lance turned around and almost lost his footing. What the hell is happening?
Who's doing this? Lance looked around and then up into the sky. Oh no.
"Commander!" Lance yelled, running over to a communications device that
allowed them to talk directly to Talen and Haste who were giving them air support.
Lance started frantically punching buttons on the console, but nothing happened.
Light should have come to life and started buzzing. The monitor was blank.
Kiato came running up to his side. "What's wrong, Colonel?"
Lance looked up at her with dread in his eyes. "Tell me there is another way we
can contact Talen and Haste. Oh god, tell me there is."
Kabuki looked down at the console that should have been a chorus of colored
lights blinking on and off. "Oh god, no."
Lance nearly fell to the ground, his legs feeling so weak. This can't be
happening. Not to us, not on our first time out. Lance managed to keep his balance as he
watched one of the Excaliburs fly by for a standard pass. A wave of electricity flowed
over the fighter as it started to descend quickly. An explosion in the engines sent trails of
flame blazing behind it. Slowly the Excalibur went into a dull roll and smashed into the
face of the cliff, sending shrapnel and fire blazing down into the camp.
Lance dove onto Kiato and covered her as the explosion rocked the ground and
sent piercing shards of metal in all directions. A sharp blazing piece of metal dug itself
into Lance's back, puncturing his radiation suit. He muffled a scream of pain. After it all
went past, Lance got up.
"You okay?" Lance asked, helping Kiato up.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Something is going on here, something very bad." Kiato looked
 Archeology Mission 89

around, thankful that the canvas on the tents were non-flammable.

Someone from the medical team ran up behind Lance. "Are you okay, sir?"
"I'm fine," Lance said. "Get out of here and help the people that really need
help." Lance waved his arm trying to get the med away.
"Sir, you really need help. Your radiation suit is punctured. We've got to get
you back onto the Merrimack to get you decontaminated and get you a new suit," the med
stated.
"I'll get there myself. Go on, get to the wounded," Lance said, wincing in pain.
"Yes, sir," the med said dully, running off.
Lance slowly made his way over to the Merrimack, shuddering from the
throbbing pain. At least we've still got our shuttle. For now. Lance stumbled, but was
caught by soft hands. He looked over and smiled.
"Thanks, Chelsea. I appreciate your help," Lance managed to cough out.
Chelsea feigned a half smile. "Are you okay, Lance?"
Lance nodded. "Oh, it's just a scratch."
Chelsea frowned. "Nonetheless, I still want to walk you to the shuttle."
Lance shrugged and smiled. "No complaints here."

Kabala Sector
Planet Marigold VII
Inside Merrimack
1230 Hours
Lance looked up at one of the med who was tending to him. He was out of his
radiation suit because the Merrimack's titanium hull and shields protected them from the
radiation. Starlight had left a while ago to attend to some matters that had to be done.
Sighing, he looked over at commander Kiato and said, "What's it look like?"
Kiato stiffened up and spoke. "No one was seriously hurt. We've got three more
that suffered the same shrapnel damage as you. They are under decontamination now,
and will be given new flight suits."
Lance nodded. "Did you check the rubble for any signs of life?"
Haste was a close friend of Lance's. He enjoyed the kid's spunk. He knew how
to make people laugh. His personality was a bit forward, but that's why they called him
Haste; he was always trying to get somewhere fast. Lance sighed. He always listened to
him play the piano. Once he told Lance that he wanted to learn the piano now just
because he was so good at it.
Kiato saw the tension in Lance's face and tried to ease it by saying, "We found
the body, Colonel, and it will be cremated. When we get back to the Aurora we will be
able to scatter the ashes in space."
Lance frowned. Too many people had been hurt on our first mission. I should
have suspected something like this earlier. I might have been able to prevent it.
"What's the word on Talen?" Lance asked.
"There was an explosion, not as large as this one just now, north of here. I went
ahead and sent out a recon team to check it out," Kiato said, loosening up a bit.
"That's good work, Commander. I can see how you got your rank." Lance looked
over at the med dressing his wound. "You 'bout done there?"
"Almost, sir. Just a few more moments," the med said as he began wrapping a
bandage around Lance's midsection.
"Commander, get our people together in thirty minutes. I think I should get them
settled down, and we can see how we should best get things organized."
90 Archeology Mission

Kiato nodded. "That's a good idea, sir. I'll send someone right to it."
Lance stood up and tested his legs on the floor. At least I'm not all disoriented
like I was earlier. "If you'll excuse me, sir," Kiato said.
Lance looked up. "Oh, yes, of course." He saluted.
Kiato returned his salute and heading out the door to the small makeshift
medical station onboard the Merrimack. Just then Mr. Harrison came wondering in
looking around at the interior of the shuttle.
"Mr. Harrison." Lance winced in pain as he stood up, and extended his hand.
"I'm glad you're here."
Harrison took his hand and gave him a firm handshake. "I'm sorry about what
happened out there. What's going on?" Harrison frowned.
"Well, it's really too sketchy to tell, but I think that maybe the same people who
are trying to sabotage your operations may as well be doing the same to us." Lance took
a deep breath. "I'm sure though that we can get it under our control. I'm holding a
meeting in a half hour to discuss it. I'd like it if you were there so you may lend your
thoughts to us."
The doctor nodded. "I think I'll do that. Thank you, Colonel, for offering. I think
this is something everyone should attend. My people have been pretty upset about the
explosions and such. It would be best if we got it all under control."
Lance nodded in agreement. "We've still got work to do though. Did my techs
meet with your people?"
James looked up and let a small smile creep across his face. "Actually, that's
probably one of the good things that has come out of this. Your people discovered a
frequency that our rivals were using to jam our sensors and slice into your computer files.
Your people fixed that for me."
Lance smiled for once in quite awhile. "I'm glad to hear that, Mr. Harrison, and I
hope we can do more of that for you while we're here."
"That's fine, Colonel. I do believe I owe you an apology for how I was acting
earlier." James nodded his head in a small bow. "I hope that you can overlook that."
Lance nodded and smiled again. "It's quite all right, doctor. I understand how
you feel. As for now, I've got to meet with the heads of my crew to get things discussed."
Harrison nodded. "Well, I'll see you at that meeting then, Colonel. If you'll
excuse me." Harrison made his way out of the ship's interior and out into the barren sun.
Lance looked at the med and sighed. "This has been a long day, and I'm afraid
it's going to get longer still."

Kabala Sector
Marigold VII
Lance "Knight" Brightblade's Tent
1300 Hours
Most of the soldiers were a bit edgy, and mingling between them and the
archaeologists was at a minimum. Twenty-two Marines stood awaiting Lance's speech,
along with twelve of Harrison's people.
Lance cleared his throat. "As you know, recent events have cause much
disruption in our project. We do hope though to get it all buttoned down real soon."
Lance paused and waited if anyone would say anything. No one did. He continued.
"Even now, we have a team of three men searching to see if the Excalibur that crashed a
while back away from the camp surrendered a survivor. The blasters have been gone
through checks for the last hour, and so far, we have at least half of the weapons
 Archeology Mission 91

operational." A few looks of relief came across some of the Marines' faces. Lance shifted
his position and looked at Harrison, who nodded to him and seemed to approve. "We
have already begun to get the combat suits out into deployment, if our saboteur would
come out in the open, and to protect out esteemed colleagues the archaeologists." Many
of the archaeologists murmured praise.
A tall Marine with black hair raised his hand.
"Yes?" Lance asked, pointing to him.
"Um, sir. Pardon my ignorance, but battle suits?"
"That's right. The Aurora sent with us Cyrix-17 Blast Suits. C-Tek's for short.
These suits have been equipped with a small shield generator to prevent some lasers and
the radiation. They all have their own blasters mounted onto the wrist of the suit, which
charges by itself from and internal battery charged by a Y22-Incom fusion generator.
They all have closed communications links to all of the other twenty nine C-Tek's, but no
long range communications."
Someone raised their hand.
"Yes?"
"Excuse me for being so blunt, sir, but why the hell haven't we used these
before?" There were many nods in the crowd.
"Well these suits are experimental. So, we didn't want to have to use them
unless necessary so more tests could be run. Sometimes the blaster jams, or sometimes it
just doesn't fire. The suit though, if punctured, will seal down to prevent internal
atmosphere change. We have thirty of these suits, and hopefully they will help us make
sure that everything is safe. Any last questions?"
The crowd was silent.
"Good. A team of four Marines, including myself, Gray Team, will be inspecting
the dig site itself and guarding it. At 1500 hours our team will be relieved by Blue team.
Gold, Green, and Red teams will be setting up parameter watches, looking for anything
out of the ordinary. White team has already been assigned to find the remnants of the
other crashed Excalibur. That leaves us with the techs who will continue to try and
contact the Aurora and make sure the suits are properly working. Let's get to it."
The crowd quickly dispersed, and the Marines were already beginning to find
their suits and lock them on.
Kabuki came strolling up to Lance already dressed in her C-Tek. "Sir, as soon as
you get your suit on, the rest of Gray Team is ready to head in. I'm hoping things go well
as planned."
Lance grabbed his suit from off of a shelf that they were laying on, mounted
onto the Merrimack. "So do I, Commander, so do I..."

Kabala Sector
Marigold VII
The Dig Site
1315 Hours
"These suits are incredibly light," Starlight spoke over the comm to the others.
"Yeah, they are. I'm glad that these also have these comms so that those
archaeologists can't hear us talking," Second Lt. Mark "Freelance" Dalson, said.
They walked together through a dark tunnel, the cave where the archaeologists
were digging.
"Run an atmospheric check in your suit to make sure everything is normal. The
closer we are the to dig site, the more radiation that we're going to be bombarded with,"
92 Archeology Mission

Lance said over the comm to the rest of his team.

The team checked in and said the suits were holding up.
"How about some light in here? How do they see, it's so dark." Kiato said.
"I guess they bring their own light," Lance spoke into the voice recognition
sensor in his suit, and a beam of light came from one of the many gizmos on it.
"There. Much better. Look, there's the dig," Kiato spoke while hurrying her
pace to reach the site.
"Right. Let's go check it out."
Lance made his first pass around the pit where the archaeologists were digging.
The hole was about 25 feet deep so far, and tools were lying inside of the pit. He could
see fossilized bones that resembled that of a humans, yet different. He could also see a
pinpoint of light from something in the dark hole blinking off and on.
"That's funny. No one's here," Freelance remarked.
"Funny, no." Lance looked around. "Odd, yes."
"What's that sound?" Starlight asked.
Surely enough there was a sound coming from the bottom of the pit.
"Sounds like...". There it was again, a faint beeping coming in intervals of about
a second. They were speeding up now. "A timer!"
A huge explosion ripped all four of them off their feet, into the air, and finally
into the wall, knocking them unconscious. The source of the explosion came from the
opening of the cave, causing tons of rock to cave in their only means of getting out of
there.

Kabala Sector
Marigold VII-The Dig Site
?
Lance's vision came as a blur, and his whole body ached. The last thing he
remembered was the explosion that deafened him and threw him against the wall. He
struggled to move his head and look around. It was no use. His body wouldn't respond.
Lucky he was wearing the C-Tek, or the impact would have killed him.
"Diagnostic," he spoke into the voice recognition sensor.
"Shield Generator: Damaged."
He cursed as the pain in his legs grew, but he found that he could move them
finally.
Good. At least I can move now.
He looked around and saw that the hole was fine and undamaged, but his team
was still unconscious, lying on the ground. He managed to stand, and as he walked to
check on his team he heard a voice crackle over the comm.
"Sir..." There was a cough. "The saboteurs... they've come and..." There was
another cough. This time he could hear the blood being coughed up. He winced and
listened. "All of the archaeologists. Dead, our Marines..." The voice moaned in pain "Half
of the numbers gone. Sir, they plan on going into the cave after you." The voice died
away.
"Where are you? Are you okay?" Lance spoke into his comm.
There was no response.
"Are you okay!? Where are you!?" Lance tried again in a more firm voice.
Still no response.
"Dammit! Are you okay?!" Lance was screaming into the comm now. He felt
tears sting his eyes, but he shook them away.
 Archeology Mission 93

One of the members on his team stirred. He couldn't' recognize which one it
was, but nonetheless he hurried over to them.
It was Starlight.
"Are you okay?" Lance asked, helping her to sit up.
"I don't know. There was an explosion and..." she began, but Lance cut her off.
"I know. The cave is sealed off," Lance told her. "Check to see if your systems
are still functional in your C-Tek."
She nodded and said something he couldn't hear. "All systems are operational."
Lance felt a hand touch his shoulder. "Are you okay, sir?" The voice of
Freelance over the comm filled the silence in his head.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Are you all right?" Lance asked, turning around.
"I'm fine, the blast didn't do anything to my C-Tek." Freelance said.
"Go check on Kabuki and make sure she's all right. I've got something I have to
tell you all," Lance said, helping Chelsea up.
Mark nodded and headed over to where Kiato was on the ground just beginning
to stir.
"What happened, Colonel?" Kiato's voice spoke to him through the comm.
Lance cued his comm so all three of them could hear him. "Apparently the blast
was no accident. It was meant to trap us in here. The archaeologists are all dead. Our
Marines," Lance's voice cracked. "We lost half our numbers, and I know nothing about
what is happening to the other half."
"How do you know that, sir?" Freelance asked.
"I received a transmission from one of our Marines just before he died. He told
me, and he also told me the saboteurs were coming in the cave after us. So I think we
should get ready for them."
Starlight asked, "Do you know how many there are?"
"I think that there are at least fifty. Our men could have handled anything less
then that," Lance remarked grimly.
"So, we say that we have at least twenty of them left coming in here after us?"
Kiato asked.
"That's the gist of it," Lance said.
The walls of the cave shook, causing Lance to loose his balance and Chelsea to
fall.
"Wh... What was that?" Chelsea asked as Lance helped her up.
"They're coming..." Lance's voice trailed off.
Lance looked around with a determined face to find something for them to take
cover in. He saw an opening that lead deeper into the cave.
"Look," Lance pointed. "Over there. I think we should follow that. Hopefully
we can stall long enough to find a place to hide in."
The three nodded.
"Keep comm signals so that all of us can hear it, and blasters ready," Lance
spoke as the walls shook again. "Let's go."
Lance started jogging over to the opening. He flipped on the light again, and he
could tell that the three behind him did the same from the points of light lighting up the
surroundings.
The path led down deeper into the cave, until all of a sudden the ceiling soared
up to at least twenty feet. He could hear faint voices speaking basic from where they
were coming from.
Lance whispered into this comm, "Did any of you hear that? They've made it
through the cave-in. We've got to hurry."
94 Archeology Mission

Lance continued to jog further along. Although he had no idea of where he was
going, he was determined to find something that could help them stay alive. The walls
began to twist wildly into all directions until they came to a fork.
There were two paths. Not wanting to slow them down, Lance took the on to the
right in stride until he found himself faced with another five paths.
"What the hell is this?" He could hear Mark's voice speaking over the comm.
"I'm not sure, but if this is what I think it is, we might have a chance."
Lance thought back to his years before being a Marine. He remember stories
being told to him about a colony of people who built mazes underground and used it as
their protection.
"Didn't' you ever hear the stories about the Zenics? They built huge
underground mazes, for protection." Lance said over his comm.
"Yeah, I think they died off quite awhile ago though didn't they?" Starlight
asked.
"That's what I heard to, and this doesn't look like one of the places where they
would have lived anyway, but do you remember the way they built the mazes?"
"Like a hive..." Kiato murmured.
"Exactly. Now all we've got to do is visualize hexagons, and maybe we can lose
these guys, get the hell out of this maze, and back to the ship. That is if the ship still isn't
guarded." Lance said.
"That's an idea, but what if the ship is swarming with these guys?" Kiato asked.
"I almost forgot about our ability to communicate with all of the C-Tek's. Now
is the perfect time to use it."
"I'm already on it," Kiato said as she flew through channels, checking to see if
anyone was still alive.
Lance began again. "We've got to split up here, but we've still got
communications with each other. Remember though, it's most likely built like a hive."
"I've got communications, Colonel. Channel frequency: 00.8459," Kiato said.
"It's one of our Marines, and he sounds like there's more of them."
"Colonel?" the voice cracked over the comm as Lance switched over to the
channel.
"I copy," Lance said.
"We've got ten guys left, including Talen, who survived the crash. He's not hurt
too badly, and we manage to get a C-Tek for him," the voice said.
"Where are you?" Lance asked, letting memories of a talk like this flood through
his mind.
This time the voice answered, "We're held up in a small part of the cave not far
from the dig site, though it's not connected to the dig site."
"How many of them are there?" Lance questioned.
"There were four transports that came in. I guess they were all loaded. I say at
least a hundred of them. We managed to do something to their numbers before we were
forced to retreat in here. At least half of them down," the voice spoke.
"Do you think you can make it back to the Merrimack?" Lance asked, hopeful.
"I'm not sure, sir. There are a lot of them. Wait, I hear something. Request
comm silence," the voice said as he broke off the connection.
"Shit," Lance said.
"What now?" Mark asked.
A figure's shadow loomed from a light behind Starlight. He could distinctly tell
that it was human. The person was wearing a radiation suit, and held a blaster in its hand.
Two blasts came from the blaster, screaming towards Chelsea.
 Archeology Mission 95

Lance dove and knocked Chelsea out of the way, spinning around and pouring
laser's back at the person. The third laser caught the person in the chest and spun him
around like a rag doll. He heard voices yelling orders, and foot falls coming closer to
them.
"Move, split up, and take out as many as you can before getting back to the
Merrimack," Lance yelled into the comm as he took off down one of the paths, as did the
others.
Freelance was with him until the next fork. There they split up.
Lance continued to run as he heard the footfalls of many men chasing them. He
heard barked orders of splitting up.
Lance's instinct took over, his only objective was to kill. He dove behind a large
boulder that sat next to the side of the wall and waited for them to show up.
A long fifteen seconds went by as he waited until he saw the shadows of two
men and their footsteps chasing after him. Lance jumped out of his hiding spot and let
loose a string of blaster fire, catching the first man, but the second dove away behind a
wall.
Lance ran down the tunnel further as he heard the whine of laser fire chase him
down the crude stone hallway.
"Two down, Colonel," Kiato spoke through the comm, "but I've got three more
chasing me."
"Starlight, report," Lance spoke into his comm as he blasted the ceiling of the
cave, letting some rocks fall to the ground to slow his pursuers' pace.
There was no response.
"Starlight?" Lance said into the comm again fearfully.
Nothing.
"Shit! Freelance? You still with us?" Lance spoke into this comm optimistically.
"I'm here, sir. One down, though I have one hot on my trail. Shit, it's a dead
end," he heard Freelance say before the hum of a blaster being fired drowned out the
comm.
Lance spun around, seeing the man round the corner. He fired. The blaster took
a chunk out of the wall as the man ducked behind it.
Lance did the same, diving behind a wall as the man returned fire. Lance moved
from his position and opened fire.
Click. Click. Click.
Shit, it's jammed.
He heard laughing coming from the man.
"Come out now. I know that your gun is jammed," the man yelled. "And slowly,
with your hands up."
Lance thought of no alternative, so he stood up with his hands raised over his
head. The man who stood in front of him was about six foot one, with a moderate build.
I can take him.
Just then another man came around the corner toting a blaster.
"Stay where you are, and we might not hurt you," the first man snickered.
I can take one of them, but the other has me.
Lance cursed as he stood still. The man paced around him slowly and pressed
the blaster against his back.
"Say goodnight, little Marine," the man laughed.
Lance swung his leg around in an exaggerated sweep, grabbed the man's hand
holding the blaster with his arms flipped him around, cleanly snapped his neck through
the radiation suit, and awaited death to come from a blaster.
96 Archeology Mission

He heard the shot and braced himself against it. Nothing came.
He looked up, the man was hunched over on the ground. To the other side,
though, there stood someone dressed in a C-Tek.
"I'm glad you didn't move any, or I would have hit you instead," Starlight's
familiar voice spoke over the comm.
"Wh.. I thought you were?" Lance looked confused.
"Me too. I had to keep communications silence because I had three of them
following me, and they were close." Starlight reached down to help Lance up.
Lance took her hand and stood up. "Thanks." Lance keyed his comm again.
"Kiato?"
"I'm fine, sir. I'm back at the opening where the dig site is. I managed to down
three more of those thugs before I got back. Freelance is with me. We're not hurt. Those
guys blasted him to shreds but they didn't think he had a shield generator," Kiato said
breathlessly.
"We're on our way back out now," Lance said, running along the corridors just
to make sure that there was no one else following them. He made a large loop around the
maze of room, and they were in fact shaped like a hive. Throwing his path around, it
made it nearly impossible for them to track him.
He reached the opening and saw Kiato, with Freelance leaning against a wall
hiding.
"Sir, there are twelve left, and none guarding the Merrimack," the old familiar
voice came through his comm. "So that makes about thirty of them chasing you in the
cave."
"Thanks. Were are you now?" Lance responded.
"They abandoned guarding the Merrimack after they spotted us trying to get to
it, and they chased us back to our hiding spot. We've managed to hold off their attack,
but we lost two more guys because of malfunctions in the equipment."
"We'll see what we can do," Lance said, snapping off the fusion generator on his
C-Tek.
"What are you doing?" Kiato asked him.
"The shield generator was destroyed after that blast, and my blaster died on me.
Nothing else to use this for. I've got and idea though." Lance placed the generator in the
middle of the opening to the maze and pressed a few switches on it.
He looked up at them. "Run!"
Lance took off running as the explosion hit, causing the opening to come down
on itself causing a cave-in. It through him into the hole where the dig was.
Lance landed on his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. "Ugh."
"Are you okay?" he heard Freelance yell.
Lance coughed and straggled for air. "I'm fine. Just got the..." he gasped, "wind
knocked out of me."
Lance looked around and saw that communicator flashing again. He reached
down and picked it up. It was an old-fashioned comm link, built quite awhile ago. He
flipped it on, checking if it still worked, and flipped it back off. Tucking that away, he
also noticed a notebook, underneath it was pieces of yellowed paper with the directions
for something on it. Carefully he took the notebook and hid it away, but as he tried to
pick up the paper, it fell apart in his hands.
He silently cursed and pulled himself up on the ladder that was built into the side
of the hole for access in and out. Reaching the top he noticed that the three of them were
busy talking to someone on their comms.
Lance walked up and laid his hand on Chelsea's shoulder. She turned and
 Archeology Mission 97

looked up.
"What's going on?" Lance asked.
"They've got trouble. They lost another two people, because of more
malfunctions." Chelsea frowned.
"Well, let's do something about it!" Lance started running out of the cave again
and to the Merrimack.
As he got out of the cave, the sun, although bleak, was quite welcoming. He
made his way through the camp, trying not to be seen as he saw the lightfight between his
Marines and the other men about 1000 meters from where he was standing. The other
three filed in behind him.
"What are you doing? If you go out there, you'll get yourself killed." Kiato
hissed.
"I've got an idea. Stay here," Lance said as he made a final break for it back to
the Merrimack.
He ran to the cockpit as the doors of the shuttle closed. Just then a blaster bolt
screamed by his head. He dove for cover, the notebook and the communicator falling out
of his suit. The communicator flipped on as it hit the ground.
God, not again.
The man toting the blaster looked at him and said grimly, "So, you think you
can play hero huh?"
Lance eyed the man with a keen eye. "So, you just going to kill me?"
The man walked forward a bit and pointed the blaster at Lance's head, "Maybe."
Still to far away. Just a little bit closer.
"Who are you guys?" Lance asked him.
The man took three more steps toward him. "Okay, now you've asked too many
questions. I do think I'm going to kill you now."
Lance heaved his body at the man, catching him in the stomach with his
shoulder before he could fire a shot. The man fell backwards as Lance elbowed him in
the side of the head, knocking him out. The blaster fell from his numb hands and rolled
along the floor.
Lance shook his head and started back to the cockpit. He quickly flipped on the
switches, and with the rudders he eased the transport off the ground, turning towards the
lightfight. Normally it would take forever to get a transport started, but no data had to be
fed to it, and the solar batteries were not going to be needed for long, so it didn't have to
charge.
The view from the cockpit's interior showed that the saboteurs were gaining
some ground on his Marines, so Lance did the only thing he could do: he opened fire.
The lasers from the Merrimack lanced their way through the saboteurs, causing many of
them to run and scatter. Lance continued to fire, scattering the rest of the men in all
directions.
Lance quickly downed the shuttle, opened the bay doors, and waited for his men
to get in as soon as possible. He keyed the transport's comm over to a frequency that the
suits could pickup. But so could anyone else.
"Hurry up and get in the transport. We don't have much time before they can
regroup, and I believe they have air support." Lance said over the comm.
Right on cue, three Hellcats flew over the mountain and did a pass over them.
Apparently they spotted the renegade transport moving and heard the short
communication that just occurred, so they did a loop around and began a strafing run.
The first few shots of lasers poured into the shield of the transport, causing no
damage to the ship. The shields were failing fast though, but the Hellcats had to pull up
98 Archeology Mission

and loop around for another pass.

"We're all in," he heard Kiato yell behind him. "Close the bay doors and get the
hell out of here."
Lance closed the doors as fast as possible and brought the shuttle up off the
ground.
We're meat if those Hellcats come again for another pass.
Lance guided the rather slow Merrimack away from the Hellcats and up into
Marigold VII's stratosphere. He could see the Hellcats on the radar coming in behind
him, and they were coming fast.
Lance continued his course out into the atmosphere, letting the Hellcats spray
laser blast in his wake. Just then, he saw what was going to save his life. The Aurora
jumped in system, and Lance hailed them with a message.
"This is the transport Merrimack! We've got hostiles chasing us out here. If you
wouldn't mind but to lend us a hand we'd be grateful." Lance spoke into the comm letting
out a deep breath.
"Roger that, Merrimack, but it seems your friends don't want to play anymore,"
the communications offer said to him over the comm.
He was right. The Hellcats broke off pursuit and were seemingly headed for
their own capital ship.
"Aurora again, this is the Merrimack requesting permission to land." Lance said
again.
"Merrimack, you're clear for landing." The voice came across the void of space
through the ships comm.
Lance switched on the autopilot so it would land for him, stepped out of the
chair, and began to walk to the back of the ship.
He ached everywhere, but he knew he was in for it. It's not everyday that you
lose half a squadron of Marines and all of the equipment you brought along. Although
what brightened his spirits a little was the look of joy on the faces of his men who did
survive.
Ten of them. Ten out of the original thirty men. Lance ran his hand through his
hair and closed his eyes.
All of this happened in a one day. One day, and I lose two thirds of my men.
A hand touched his shoulder. "Are you okay?"
Lance turned and looked at Starlight. "Yeah, I'm fine." He felt the ship rock a bit
as they touched down in the hangar.
Starlight nodded, and Lance continued. "But you do know the one thing that
makes this really bad?"
"Actually, I thought it was just everything that made it bad." Chelsea said.
"Well, that too, but I'm going to have to explain to the captain how I lost all of
his equipment, lost his experimental C-Tek suits, lost two Excaliburs, and two thirds of
my men." Lance sighed. "I guess it's just another day of being a Privateer..."

The End
 The Machine

Written by: Justin Macumber

Timestamp: 2674.362

Oracle Sector
Delphi System
"The Bazaar" Orbital Space Station
PCS Aurora
Command Crew Briefing Room
Beneath barely glowing lights, Captain McClellan stood before a tall window
looking out at the expanse of space before him, his hands clasped behind his back. To his
left was the space station, a small structure floating in orbit around a star of little value.
The Aurora had just finished docking procedures, and crews were waiting to begin
restocking the ship's supplies of fuel, food, water, and all other essential items. Their stay
wouldn't be long, but they could not afford to pass up the opportunity to replenish
reserves. Gabriel followed his father's adage of "'Tis better to have it and not need it, than
to need it and not have it." And the empty depths of space were cruel to those who went
into it unprepared. At the long table that occupied the center of the dark room sat
Lieutenant Commander Jerod 'Barrage' Arnett, a big, well-muscled man. No one else was
present. Commander Ashikaga would have been there, but at the moment she was on a
planet-side mission. Her presence was missed by both men. Captain Tarmack, the
Aurora's Chief Technician, had used their pit stop to leave the ship. An emergence
communiqué from his family on Firekka had reached them only hours before. Not
knowing when he would be back, if ever, he had resigned with the hope of one day
returning. Gabriel didn't hold out hope of that. The look on Tarmack's face was pretty
ominous. In his stead, Assistant Technician Major Dale 'Gears' Roberts was promoted to
Lieutenant Colonel and Chief Technician.
Gabriel stepped back from the window. "I see, Commander," he said. "I'll take
that under strict advisement. Is there any more business for tonight?"
Jerod pressed a series of keys on the tabletop. Within seconds a text image
appeared. He shook his head. "Aye, sir, but it can wait until tomorrow."
Gabriel turned to look over his shoulder. "That's all right, Jerod. Might as well
finish it all up now. No use saving work for later when we have the time at the moment."
Sitting back in his chair, Jerod relaxed. "You're right, sir," he said, drawing a
tired hand across his thickly bearded face. "We received an e-mail from an unnamed
person who wants to join our ranks. All we have is the applicant's initials, 'ALC,' address,
and meeting time. It came in several hours ago. I would have brought it to your attention
100 The Machine

sooner, but the origin of the mail makes it highly suspect."

"How so?" Gabriel asked, taking a seat next to him at the head of the table. Jerod
shifted to face his captain.
"Well, sir, it came in from the Xanadu Sector," Jerod explained. Gabriel raised
his eyes, apparently ignorant of what the name meant. Jerod continued, "From the
Pleasure Dome to be precise." That got the captain's attention.
"The Pleasure Dome?"
Jerod nodded. "Aye, sir."
Forgetting all formality, Gabriel swiveled to place his booted feet on the table,
his posture showing his fatigue. But a gleam in his eyes made bare his piqued curiosity.
"Isn't that where just about every criminal and deviant in the galaxy hangs out?"
Again, Jerod nodded. "That's the one, sir. 'A retched hive of scum and villainy,'
to put it bluntly. And I should know. I've been there."
Surprised, Gabriel's eyes opened wide. "You, Jerod? I'd think a man of your
morals and ethics would find a place like that intolerable."
"It was, sir," Jerod said, his shaggy head shaking. "I thought I'd never clean off
the filth from my skin. But I was there at the request of a friend who was fighting at the
Coliseum. If he hadn't begged me nonstop for two months, I wouldn't have gone."
"The Coliseum?" Gabriel asked.
"Aye. Supposedly, it's the only place in the universe that allows full-contact no-
rules fighting. Since Xanadu is outside the laws of the Confederation, they can do as they
please without fear of being shut down."
Gabriel leaned forward, interested in hearing everything. "You'll have to give me
a bit more, Jerod. My intel on the Xanadu Sector is sadly limited to a few rumors."
Opening his jacket top, Jerod pulled out a small wooden pipe. After filling it
with aromatic tobacco and lighting it, he propped his own feet up, following Gabriel's
example. "You see, sir, Xanadu is not a part of the Confederation. Never has been, never
will be. Because of that, they are under no ones' laws but their own, and those are few and
far between. But they are also outside of Confed's protection, though that's never been a
problem. They have about ten different mercenary and privateer groups under constant
contract, with more on retainer. They are very well protected from outside hostiles. Inside
that sector you can get just about anything you want, from narcotics to prostitution, if
you've got the money. I can't think of anything they don't offer. Deplorable." Jerod closed
his eyes and hung his head, pipe smoke clouding around him. "But Confed keeps a tight
net around it. You can do whatever you like while you're there, but if you try bringing
anything illegal back out, you'll get thrown in the slammer so fast you'll forget your own
name. Xanadu is a paradise for riffraff, thieves, and dregs. I know quite a few criminals
have escaped there where they can't be touched by Confed. If it was up to me, sir, I'd send
in the fleet and wipe that place out for good. But it isn't, so they'll go on doing what they
do, spiraling down into their own hell until they finally choke on all the drugs and
depravity." Disgust was plain on Jerod's face. "How Sam got me to go there is beyond
me."
"Sam?" asked Gabriel.
"My friend," Jerod explained. "The one who fought at the Coliseum."
Gabriel nodded. "Ah, yes. I take it you didn't have a good time." Merriment
sparkled in Gabriel's eyes.
"That's an understatement, sir. I flew in as quick as I could, watched him win his
fight, and took off. I don't think my engines had cooled completely off before I was
among the stars again."
In spite of himself, Gabriel laughed deep and heartily. Jerod looked up,
 The Machine 101

confused. Waving a hand at him, Gabriel said, "No offense intended, Jerod. Just the
thought of you running around some cesspool of a place, huffing and puffing amid all that
corruption, makes me laugh."
Blushing, Jerod laughed along. "No offense taken, Captain. In retrospect, it is
funny. But I swore when I left there that never again would my boots touch its soil."
Turning to look out the window, Gabriel leaned back. "I hate to hear that,
Commander," he said.
Knowing what was coming, Jerod slunk down in his chair. "We're going to
Xanadu, aren't we, Captain?"
"Affirmative," Gabriel replied. "As soon as we're done resupplying, we are off to
the Pleasure Dome."
Jerod lowered his eyes, melancholy thick about him. "And you'll be wanting me
to go with you to the planet's surface."
Gabriel put his feet back on the ground and faced his Lieutenant Commander.
"I'm sorry, Jerod. I really am. But since Butch has left us and Kiato is on a mission far
from here, you're it. I wouldn't want anyone else watching my back down there. If it's as
bad as you say, then we'll both be guarding the other. I need you with me." He reached
out a hand and laid it on Jerod's closest arm.
"Understood, sir. Luckily, Xanadu isn't far from here." Taking a deep breath, the
commander stood up. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go to the armory and see what's
available. Then I'm going to get some sleep. I'd recommend you do the same, Captain.
Once we get there, we'll have to be on our toes."
Nodding, Gabriel stood up as well. "Good advice. I'll let Lieutenant Northstar
know our plans. He'll command the ship while we rest."
Jerod dipped his chin, turned on his heels, and walked toward the exit door.
Gabriel's voice stopped him. "Commander?"
"Yes, sir?"
"No hard feelings?"
Jerod faced Gabriel full on. "None, sir. It's all a part of the job. It wasn't a God-
given promise. More like a wish. I figured I'd end up back there someday anyhow. Comes
with the territory of being a Privateer, sir."
Thankful, Gabriel bowed his head. "So it is, Commander. Sometimes we all have
to do things we don't particularly like. But I think this is going to work out to our benefit.
Something tells me we're doing the right thing."
Jerod saluted. Gabriel returned it. As Jerod walked out of the briefing room he
whispered under his breath, "I hope you're right, sir. I hope to hell you're right."

~*~~*~~*~

Xanadu Sector
PCS Aurora
Approaching Coleridge V
The Bridge
Five Hours Later
Everyone on the bridge of the Aurora was stunned into utter silence. Before
them, on the central viewscreen, were dozens of orderly starships, everything from
destroyer-sized capital ships to shuttles and fighters, with dozens, if not a hundred more,
being tracked by the ship's targeting computer. None of them had seen such a large
gathering of vessels all in one place since the days of the war with the Kilrathi. An
armada of cutthroats, thieves, gluttons, and outcasts, thought Gabriel.
102 The Machine

Before entering the Xanadu Sector, an automated beacon had alerted the crew
that they were leaving the protected confines of Confederation space, and that they would
be at the mercy of whatever wolves were out hunting. Any calls for assistance to Confed
military or police vessels would go unanswered. They could stay in Xanadu for as long as
they liked, but all returning ships would be scanned for contraband. Any ships found to be
carrying said cargo would be seized and the crew imprisoned. The message lasted about
five minutes. "Have a nice day," the beacon stated at the end of its spiel. Gabriel only
nodded his head, told the helmsman to lay in their course, and settled into his chair.
At the heart of the Xanadu Sector they found Coleridge V, the only inhabited
planet in the Coleridge System. The other eleven planets were unlivable, though whether
by design or natural occurrence was unknown. Three had broadcast messages saying that
the planet was under biological quarantine and not to be approached under any
circumstances under penalty of death. Gabriel doubted that disease was the real danger.
Probably more like criminal strongholds that don't want to be disturbed, he thought to
himself. He didn't feel any need to test that theory. He had a mission to complete, and
ferreting out crime lords was not a part of it.
As the Aurora approached Coleridge V, another automated message found them.
The viewscreen image of the collection of ships was replaced with that of a smartly
dressed man, his hair black and slicked back, his eyes sparkling blue, comfort and
intimidation radiating from him in equal measure. Gabriel leaned back to enjoy the
coming speech.
"Attention approaching vessel," the man stated, his eyes seeming to bore into
everyone. "My name is Nathaniel King, Chief Director of Pleasure Dome Orbital Control.
We have ID'ed your ship, and our records indicate that the registered owner has not yet
had the good fortune to visit our fine planet and all it has to offer. If that is incorrect,
please notify Coleridge V's Customs Department immediately."
Gabriel was uncomfortable for a moment, not sure if he was seeing a live
broadcast or if it was automated, but then realized that there were probably multiple
messages available for transmission depending on what the Pleasure Dome's tracking
sensors and computers had on file. He assumed regular visitors got an entirely different
message, while 'honored' guests probably got a live feed. It made sense, and was a
practical solution when one considered the vast number of ships that approached the
planet daily. Live transmission for each one would take too long and involve too many
spokesmen. Besides, the esteemed Mr. King sounded too important to mire himself in
greeting all visitors.
"As you probably know, the Xanadu Sector is outside of Confederation space,
and therefore outside its laws," Mr. King continued. "The Pleasure Dome, Xanadu's chief
locale, is just that: a place of pleasure, be it drugs, sex, black market buying and selling,
or whatever your heart desires. But we do have a few rules you must abide by while in the
Coleridge System's spacelanes. One, all your ship's weapons must stay powered down.
Your shields, of course, are at your discretion. But we will not allow physical or energy
weapons to be armed. Powered weapons have a nasty habit of firing, often by 'accident'.
If that happens, you will be blown out of the sky, accident or not. Be safe. Two, any and
all grudges will be left at the door, so to speak. Space combat will be taken outside of the
Coleridge System. There you may combat each other all you like. But while in-system,
disputes and grievances will not be tolerated. All acts of aggression will be met with
extreme force. Three, there are no taxes imposed on you here, nor are there any handling
or cargo fees, but we do charge an orbiting and landing toll. The tolls are the same
regardless of ship size, and they are non-negotiable. For ships staying in orbit, the fee is
five-hundred credits per day, with prepayment for a longer stay assuring your orbital
 The Machine 103

zone. Each ship landing on Coleridge V will be charged a landing fee of one-hundred
credits per day, with discounts available for visitors staying a week or more. We accept
credits only, up front; no bartering. If you cannot pay these tolls, then turn about now and
come back when you can. If you try to orbit without paying, or stay in orbit past your
paid-for time, then your ship will be confiscated and all crew members incarcerated. The
time of incarceration is one week. If the tolls are still unpaid by the end of the week, then
you will be terminated. If payment is made, then you will be free to go with a non-
entrance penalty applied to you for one month. Your ship will not be returned to you in
either circumstance. It will have become the property of the Pleasure Dome Directorate,
and its status, whether for use or sale, at its sole discretion. This also includes landed
vessels. Ships in berthing slots on the planet that have not paid will be confiscated. You
have been warned. Return visits will make available to you cheaper tolls. And finally, let
me wish you a pleasant stay on Coleridge V. In a few minutes you will be contacted by
Coleridge V Traffic Control for toll payment and given your orbital assignment. Follow
the instructions to the letter. You will be advised of planet-side laws if and when you
make your decent. But while in orbit, rest assured that we are working to make your visit
a safe one. Help us to help you by obeying the laws. Good day." The transmission cut off
sharply.
In the moments following, the bridge crew looked at each other in shock. None
of them had expected this level of control, sophistication, and complexity, least of all
Gabriel. In the back of his mind he had anticipated a slap-happy, devil-may-care scene
around the planet, with ships entering and leaving the planet's orbit like maniacal
gangbusters. But the transmission he had just watched squashed that notion. And, he had
to admit to himself, he was thankful. The last thing he wanted was to try and play dodge
ball with a hundred other ships. His regard for the Pleasure Dome Directorate went up a
notch. The knowledge that Coleridge V was home to the scum of the universe didn't leave
his mind though.
"Is this how you remember it, Commander Arnett?" Gabriel asked, swiveling his
chair around to face his third in command.
Arnett nodded. "Aye, sir, though I think we have come during the off-season. I
seem to remember many more ships when I was here."
Gabriel was flabbergasted. "More?" he asked, incredulous.
"Aye. Twice this if memory serves."
The other crew members were silent, too stunned to speak. Gabriel shook his
head. "Thank heaven for small favors then," he uttered. After taking a few seconds to
collect himself, the captain turned to his Tactical Officer. "Major Tibbit, I trust our
weapons are powered down."
The major, his back stiff as plasteele, saluted promptly. "Yes, sir! I took them
off-line as soon as I heard Mr. King's warning. I've rerouted the power to the shields.
They are now at 150 percent efficiency."
"Very good, Major," Gabriel replied. "Keep a sharp eye out on the targeting
sensors. Notify me if you find any ships out there who aren't being as law abiding as we
are. I don't want any 'accidents' ruining our stay."
"Yes, sir!" Tibbit said.
Communications Officer Second Lieutenant Darin Thomson looked up from his
monitor. "Captain, we are being hailed by Orbital Traffic Control."
Gabriel moved to face the viewscreen. "Please put it up, Lieutenant."
Thomson did. On the screen appeared a busy gentleman seated at a control
station. He wore a black uniform of sharp cut and fit. Around his head was wrapped a
cybernetic device, presumably to assist him in the unenvious task of shepherding
104 The Machine

hundreds of ships a day. "PCS Aurora, I have you on my screens. Since this is your first
visit to Coleridge V, let me tell you how this is going to go down. Before I allow you to
near the planet, I'll need you to transfer five-hundred credits to the account number being
transmitted with this signal. After I have verified payment, you will be given an insertion
vector that will lead you to our holding perimeter. There you will wait your turn for
orbital assignment. When that is available, a Guide ship will meet you and escort your
vessel to its orbital zone. From there you may descend to the planet's surface in
atmospheric craft at your leisure. Planetary Traffic Control will take care of you from
there. Any questions?"
Gabriel shook his head. "None, Control."
"Good. Now, please make your payment for the orbital toll. And remember,
prepaying for a longer stay insures your zone. Control out." The screen blanked.
Using a specialized computer pad dedicated strictly for monetary transactions,
Gabriel keyed in his codes and passwords to access the Black Knight's accounts. When
that was done, he made the necessary transfer to the account number listed on his small
monitor. Five-hundred credits seemed a bit stiff, but his curiosity about the Pleasure
Dome far outweighed any concerns he might have had over the money.
Seconds later the viewscreen flared back into life. "Aurora, we have verified
payment for a one-day orbital zone. You can pay for additional days any time during your
stay, but please do so at least one hour before you are due to leave orbit. After that, if you
wish to stay longer, you will have to go to the end of the line. No excuses. I am
transmitting an insertion vector to your navigational computers now. Follow that to the
holding perimeter. The wait for orbital placement is averaging around six hours. And
don't worry; your time won't start ticking off until you are in orbit. Holding time does not
count against you. But if you will please head toward the perimeter immediately, we can
get underway. Enjoy your stay. Control out." Again, the screen emptied quickly. Gabriel
guessed that the man was already instructing other ships. No rest for the wicked, he
thought with a smile.
"Helm," the captain said, "take us in."
Helmsman First Lieutenant Beverly Norris took the steering control in hand.
"Aye aye, sir. Commencing insertion flight."
"Captain?" Arnett asked.
"Yes, Commander?" Gabriel replied.
"If you please, I want to take this time to get our ships and crew prepared for
landing."
Nodding his agreement, Gabriel said, "Very good, Commander."
With a salute, Arnett left his station and made for the lift that would take him to
the Hangar Bay, hoping Gears had been most productive.

~*~~*~~*~

Xanadu Sector
Coleridge V Holding Perimeter
PCS Aurora
Hangar Bay
Chief Technician Lieutenant Colonel Dale "Gears" Roberts was as busy as a
beaver in Spring. When Arnett exited the lift, he found Gears on his back beneath the
Monitor, the Aurora's second and last shuttle craft. Before, it had been malfunctioning,
but with Tarmack's tinkering and Gear's polishing, it was shaping up nicely. The rest of
the technical staff were engaged in repairing the fighters and keeping the Aurora
 The Machine 105

functioning.
"Colonel Roberts!" Arnett shouted, his voice cutting through the din of the
hangar like a vibroblade on maximum.
Feet twitching, Gears slid out from under the craft, his hoverboard floating mere
millimeters off the ground. Wiping his greasy hands on his coveralls, he stood up to
salute the commander. "Sir!"
Arnett returned the salute. "At ease, Colonel. I'm just down here to check on the
Monitor's status."
Instantly, a smile spread across the technician's face. "All systems are a-go,
Commander. I'm finishing up the last of the touchups right now. Give me another hour,
and she'll be raring to go."
"Great news, Colonel," Arnett told him. "I've felt naked ever since the
Merrimack left with Lance and his crew."
Gears laughed deeply. "Understood, sir. Chief Tarmack pretty much had the
Monitor finished already. I only needed to tighten a few bolts here and there."
Arnett eyed Gears' uniform, and the amount of grease and dust covering it told a
different tale. But he wasn't going to make an issue of it. "Good. Are the three fighters I
requested ready?"
Nodding, Gears said, "Yes, sir. Colonel Marx's Bearcat, Major Micheals'
Centuria, and Captain Sullivan's Excalibur are fully fueled, loaded, and ready to rock."
Gears looked proud of himself and his crew. The reasons were obvious.
"I'm glad to hear that, Colonel," Arnett informed him. "We should be leaving the
ship within a few hours. Make sure the shuttle and fighters are in position by then."
"Yes, sir," Gears replied. "Will do."
"Good. Then get back to it."
Gears saluted, turned, and slid back under the Monitor. Arnett made his way to a
communications panel. "Arnett to Gunnery Sergeant Kyle Carter."
"This is Sergeant Carter, Commander," Kyle said moments later.
"Sergeant, are you and your team ready to go?" Arnett asked.
"Yes, sir. Per your instructions, I have gathered a Ground Forces team composed
of myself and five others. We are in the armory now, getting our gear in order. Are you
sure we'll need this kind of ordinance, sir? This is some heavy stuff."
Arnett nodded at the display. "I'm sure, Sergeant. If I could, I'd take a tank
division with us, but since I can't, I want your men equipped with body armor, force
shields, and EM rifles. Believe me, we might need it. And I'm sure you'll see others in
even more powerful gear."
"Aye, sir. Yours and Captain McClellan's rigging will be waiting for you on the
shuttle."
"Very good, Sergeant. Arnett out."
Keying off the comm, Arnett leaned back against the nearest bulkhead. He
wasn't afraid of the coming landing. Far from it. Seeing some action after so much rest
would do him good. But he was concerned with the logistics of the situation. It was
enough to give a combat tactician fits. Walking around on a planet were most people
would as soon shoot you as look at you, and having no backup or ready means of egress
troubled him. But hell, he had been in worse circumstances. Compared to some of his past
missions, this was a cake walk. But still, he wished they were better equipped and had
more intel. He could only hope that the body armor, personal shields, and guns would be
enough. That, and their skills, should keep them safe. It reminds me of that job on… No,
better not to think about it. All that is behind me. Wiping sweat from his brow, the
commander stood up and walked toward the lift. Time to report to the bridge and see
106 The Machine

what was happening. In the Xanadu Sector, anything was possible.

~*~~*~~*~

Xanadu Sector
Coleridge V
Orbital Zone A-93
PCS Aurora
The Bridge
As promised, the wait in the holding perimeter lasted just over six hours. During
that time, all off-duty personnel stared out the windows, gawking at the mish-mash of
ships around them. Most were normal Confederation craft, ranging from bargain-
basement shuttle craft to top-of-the-line cargo haulers , but there were also some Kilrathi
and Firekkan ships in the mix. But those were only the ones that could be recognized.
Those that couldn't were probably costume made or so altered from original specs as to be
beyond hope of recognition. Some crew members remarked that it reminded them of a
carnival or parade. The comparison wasn't far-fetched.
But when the cavalcade of vessels seemed to have no end, Orbital Traffic
Control informed them that their orbital zone was ready. A Guide ship, looking like a
heavily modified Super Tug, approached them from the planet to lead them in. Their only
instructions were to follow the Guide as tight as they could and not leave the plotted path.
If they did, then the Guide would tractor them back in, with an additional fee tacked on of
course, and take them in under tow. They were warned that some ships had been known
to break apart under the sudden strain. "Don't tempt the fates," the Tug pilot counseled.
"Follow my lead and stick close."
They did, and in less than thirty minutes the Aurora was in its orbital zone,
classified A-93. Tac Officer Tibbit offered to inform them of exactly how many ships
were currently around the planet with them, but Gabriel waved him off. "I'm afraid to
know, Major. Keep it to yourself." Tibbit smiled in response.
When the ship was secure in its circuit, Gabriel turned the ship over to
Lieutenant James 'Talon' Northstar. "James, I've already briefed you on our mission, so
you know the drill. Just keep your eyes and ears open. This place is trouble waiting to
happen. If there's an emergency, contact me immediately. But your first priority is to this
ship and her crew. At the first sign of danger, bug out. You can come back when it's safe
to do so. Are we clear?"
Talon, hating military protocol but knowing Gabriel was strict about it, saluted.
"Aye, sir. The Aurora is in good hands."
"That remains to be seen, Lieutenant." Sharply, Gabriel turned and walked
toward the Bridge Lift entrance. Before entering he looked over his shoulder and said,
"James?"
Sighing, James readied himself for a lesson on the finer points of ship handling.
"Yes, sir?"
"Stay away from any strange jump points," Gabriel said with a wink.
Surprised at the unexpected joke, Talon started reevaluating his opinion of the
captain. "Will do, sir."
As the lift doors closed, Gabriel said, "You have the bridge, Talon."
Saluting, James puffed his chest, suddenly filled with a sense of pride he hadn't
felt in some time. Don't tell me I'm falling for all this military crap, he thought with a
tinge of wonder. As he settled into the Captain's Chair, he wiggled around to get a feel for
it. I could get used to this. I really could… Talon couldn't tell what surprised him more:
 The Machine 107

being put into command of the entire ship, or his growing sense of comfort doing it. With
a light laugh he leaned back and stared at the viewscreen. "Steady as she goes, Lieutenant
Norris," he said.
Beverly Norris sighed deeply. Here goes another ego inflating out of control,
she mused. "Aye, sir. Steady orbit it is."
Laughing out loud, Talon asked, "Is there another kind?"
Seeing it as a joke made with her instead of at her, Norris winked. "There is, but
I think Captain McClellan would disapprove of a crash landing, sir."
"So he would, Lieutenant," Talon agreed. "So he would. I'll make a note of that."
Laughing along with him, Norris eyed Talon with new-found respect. "Aye, sir."
I wonder if he's free for dinner tonight, she wondered.

~*~~*~~*~

Xanadu Sector
Coleridge V
PCS Aurora
Hangar Bay
Lieutenant Arnett and the six-man ground forces unit were standing around the
Shuttle Monitor when Gabriel exited the lift, all of them in armor. The ground forces
personnel were in full battle gear: Cyrix 18R/B armor covering every square inch of
flesh, personal force shield suits beneath their armor, EM rifles strapped across their
backs, and dual blazers at their hips. Arnett wore a simplified version of the armor,
consisting of chest, shoulder, and back plates, gauntlets, boots, thigh guards, and upper
arm shielding, with personal firepower composed of two blazers and the shield suit under
it all.
The EM rifles, more commonly known as rail guns, were new additions to the
ship's armory. Arnett had requested them some time ago, but they had only recently been
procured. The weapons dealer, a 'Mr. Smith,' told them that he had gone to great pains to
acquire them. "Premium quality ordinance and hot off the line. Confed keeps a tight lid
on these babies," he had said. And well the Confederation should. EM rifles were the
most powerful hand-held weapons ever made. Originally developed in the late twentieth
century, the intervening years had seen them improved many times over. The principle
behind the gun was rather simple: instead of using an explosive discharge, say by burning
gelatinized nitrocellulose, to fire rounds, the rifle employed an electromagnetic chamber
and barrel that would fire any type of metal round at near light speed using an
electrostatic field. Early models could only fire six rounds per minute due to long
recharge times for the EM chamber. But the latest issue were capable of firing ten rounds
per second, with the recharge times slowly increasing if the initial burst was sustained.
Snipers preferred EM rifles for their greatly extended range and minimal sound.
Compared to powder guns, EM rifles were whisper quiet.
Bullets for the rail guns were extraordinarily small, the average aluminum round
measuring four millimeters in diameter and three centimeters in length. At first, one
would think that such a small bullet wouldn't be as effective as larger ones, but when the
projectile's speed was taken into consideration, the amount of devastation wrought was
considerable, especially if the round was tipped with mercury-diazodinitrophenol
accompanied by a charge of cyclonite and surrounded in a proton energy field. The
mercury tip provided a highly explosive blast upon impact, while the proton field helped
pound against energy shields. A two-in-one weapon.
The blazers were antimatter pistols, firing high velocity positron packets. The
108 The Machine

packet, upon impact, released positrons which annihilated the electrons of the target,
thereby explosively disintegrating it. The higher the blazer setting, the larger the packet.
Minimal settings provided damage similar to a normal handgun, while the highest settings
could completely obliterate a human body, leaving nothing behind. Ionized body armor
provided some protection at those levels, but even that would weaken under multiple hits.
The armor, though highly protective, was surprisingly light weight and mobile.
After Lance and his crew had departed, the ship's armory had been depleted of battle
suits. To make up for that lack, Gabriel had purchased two dozen new ones from the same
weapons' dealer that had sold them the EM rifles. The new armor were Cyrix 18R/B
models (And, if Mr. Smith was to be believed, not even available to Confederation
Marines yet they were so new. But thankfully these had gone through a much more
extensive testing process and were guaranteed bug-free), slightly more advanced than the
ones Lance had, but with less gizmos. Instead of tricking it out with all sorts of doodads
and whatzits, the armor concentrated on empowering the wearer by enhanced the wearer's
strength, speed, and dexterity five fold. The R/B stood for Reconnaissance/Battle. Black
as sin, quiet as the proverbial church mouse, the metal suits could take a great deal of
pounding without buckling. One word that adequately described them was intimidating.
A newly designed feature added to the armor was a battle assessment computer that could
detect energy and physical weapons and manipulate the outer shell polarities to
compensate, such as ionizing to protect against antimatter weapons. The only drawback
was that the energy that fed the computer was taken from the blasters that used to be
mounted on the palms. New Incom fusion generators were in the works, but the Y-22's
were all that were available.
The personal field suits were pretty straight forward and common. Essentially, a
body suit containing body-wide wiring generated an invisible energy field that
surrounded the wearer, the field extending one inch from the armor. The primary purpose
of the suit was to protect against beam weapons, such as lasers. Only glancing blows by
projectile weapons would be deflected.
Standing near the shuttle, Arnett and the Ground Forces unit looked like a battle
team geared for serious action. "Are we ready to rumble, Black Knights?" Gabriel called
out.
The men saw him and snapped to attention, each one saluting. "Yes, sir!" they
cried in unison.
Taking a moment to admire them, Gabriel liked what he saw. "Red alert!" he
yelled.
Like quicksilver, the men dropped to one knee and pulled their weapons, energy
fields activating with a blue flash. The Ground Forces unit hauled the EM rifles from their
backs and primed them. Arnett whipped out both blazers, pointing each before him. The
entire maneuver took all of half a second.
Gabriel clapped loud and long. "Excellent, soldiers. Excellent. You make me
proud." Taking that as their cue, the men stood back up, holstered their weapons, and
saluted. "Let's board the shuttle, men. It's time to lock on target."
Hustling with trained precision, the seven men turned and stomped up the
boarding ramp. Gabriel followed them in. Arnett, since he was already suited, took the
pilot's seat, while Gunnery Sergeant Kyle stood behind him, his armor making it
uncomfortable to sit in the cramped co-pilot's seat. Gabriel stayed in the back, getting his
modified armor, field generator, and blazers strapped on.
Before initializing the shuttle's engines, Arnett opened the comm. "Escort
fighters, are you set?"
One after the other, the three pilots that would be accompanying them in
 The Machine 109

starfighters replied their readiness.

"Very good," Arnett told them. "You will be escorting us to the planet's surface.
The formation is as follows: Colonel Marx, you will fly point in your Bearcat; Micheals
and Sullivan, you will fly beside us and slightly behind. Remember to power down your
weapons and put that energy toward your shields. Keep it tight and free of mistakes. On
the planet you will stay with the ships, making sure no one messes with them. Is that
clear?"
"Aye, sir!" was the simultaneous reply.
"Good. Arnett out." Switching comm frequencies, Arnett contacted the planet.
"Coleridge V Planetary Traffic Control, this is PCS Aurora. Come in please."
Expecting a long wait, Arnett was surprised when a reply came within seconds.
"This is Planetary Traffic Control, Aurora. How can we help you?"
"Control, I need to request a Pleasure Dome landing window for four ships. We
will be berthing together for one day."
"I copy, Aurora. Transmit four-hundred credits for landing tolls, and I'll see what
I can do for you. Control out."
Arnett turned his seat around to face Captain McClellan. "Captain, Control
needs the landing tolls before we can get our window. Four-hundred credits."
"Understood," Gabriel said. Finished suiting up, he pulled the small computer
pad from a holding pocket behind his chest plate. With nimble fingers he made the
transfer. "It's done, Commander."
Before Arnett could respond, the shuttle's comm lit up. "This is Control, Aurora.
We verify transfer. Thank you for the speedy payment. You're in luck, too, as a landing
window is available. Please launch immediately and follow along the flight plan I'm
uploading to you now. The skies are clear."
"Thanks, Control," Arnett said. "Aurora out."
Gabriel walked to the cockpit and patted Arnett on the shoulder. "Are we ready,
Commander?"
"We will be in a moment, Captain." Arnett opened the comm. "Aurora, Control
has given us our landing window, so we will be leaving presently."
"We copy, Monitor. The boards are green and the lanes are clean. Good luck."
"Copy, Aurora." The comm switched to the Aurora's Flight Deck frequency.
"Deck, are we clear for liftoff?"
Deck Chief First Lieutenant Billy 'Green Light' Robbins ran to stand before the
shuttle. Raising two large batons with flashing red lights on the tips, Robbins spoke into
his head-mike. "You're path is ready, Monitor. Call the ball."
Initiating the shuttle's engines, Arnett said, "We have the ball, Deck."
Walking backwards while waving the batons over his shoulders, Robbins
showed the way toward the Aurora's forward launch door. "I copy, Monitor. Engage
launch drives at your discretion." Robbins ducked down, scurried away from the door,
knelt on one knee, and waved his batons forward quickly. The path to the opening was
clear.
"Escorts, follow us out," Arnett instructed. With a surge of power, the launch
engines kicked in. Seconds later, all four ships were spaced. With remarkable precision,
the escort fighters flew into formation. The nav computers displayed the uploaded
window flight line, so getting planet-side would require little effort. Gabriel, seeing that
everything was going as smoothly as could be, strapped into the co-pilot's chair. He
hoped the rest of the trip went just as smooth. But if wishes were horses, beggars would
ride.
110 The Machine

~*~~*~~*~

Xanadu Sector
Coleridge V
Inside The Pleasure Dome
0015 Local Time
The ride down planet-side was hair raising. Shuttles, fighters, and every other
classification of atmospheric craft anyone had ever heard of were buzzing around like
hornets on an acid trip. Several times Gabriel grabbed onto whatever handle he could
find, swearing softly, wondering if the next near-miss wouldn't be a miss at all. But, with
due credit given to the Planetary Orbital Control and Commander Arnett's skillful
piloting, they eventually landed in the Northern Pleasure Dome Landing Bay, Tau
Quadrant, Berthing Slots 98 through 101 without a scratch.
Getting from the Landing Bay to the Pleasure Dome was a much easier, yet no
less scary, task. A sonic-train arrived at a depot station just outside the Bay's exit gates
with a squeal of brakes applied to a vehicle traveling at just over 2,080 kilometers per
hour. Arranged around the station was a conglomeration of lowlifes out looking for an
easy score, bad ass criminals who thought the universe was their oyster, Gangster types,
and high-powered business moguls with too much money and not enough sense. Amidst
all those people, Gabriel and his crew blended right in. Seeing a monetary exchange
counter nearby, Gabriel walked over and withdrew a few thousand credits from the Black
Knight's accounts. An automated teller behind dozens of layers of protective shields and
armor slid his credit certificates through to him. Arnett and the others flanked him,
preventing anyone from getting close. A few people gazed their direction, but none stayed
to stare. The credits were stuffed into Gabriel's inner chest pockets.
After the train stopped and disgorged its passengers, the populace of the depot
entered and hustled for space on the acceleration couches. Five minutes later, the train
was moving. Within minutes the train broke the sound barrier and hurtled toward the
Pleasure Dome. G-force depressants took must of the stress off the passengers, but not all
of it could be avoided. The acceleration couches did the rest. Once mach one was
surpassed, the train's cabin stabilized enough for moving around. The trip would take a
total of twenty minutes. Choosing not to leave their seats, Gabriel and Arnett hunched
together to talk. The Ground Forces personnel assumed Sentry rolls, eyeing all the
passengers and keeping a blazer close to hand. Most of the other people displayed
weapons on their person, so the Force's bravura wasn't out of the ordinary.
"How long until we meet with our applicant, Commander?" Gabriel asked.
Looking at a chronometer strapped inside his left forearm, Arnett calculated the
time. "Six hours, twenty-five minutes, sir," he replied.
Leaning back, Gabriel looked at the ceiling. "That's a bit more time that I
thought. Any ideas on how to pass it? Staking out the applicant's door doesn't seem like a
prudent move."
Arnett laughed. "No, sir, it doesn't. We should find something to do, and the
Pleasure Dome's nothing if it isn't enlivening. Anything in particular you want to see or
do, sir?"
"As a matter of fact," Gabriel said slowly, "there is." Arnett raised his thick
eyebrows. "I wouldn't mind going to that Coliseum you mention."
Nodding, Arnett replied, "I thought you might. And, thinking ahead, I
requisitioned a Fight Schedule at the Bay depot." He handed the paper to Gabriel after
pulling it from a hidden hip pocket. "Considering the time of day, we should be able to
make the last five bouts."
 The Machine 111

Taking the offered list, Gabriel scrutinized it closely. "Agreed." He looked up

from his reading and studied Arnett. "Will that be all right with you, Jerod?"
Arnett sighed heavily and nodded. "Either I've toughened a great deal in the
twenty years since I was here last, or the Pleasure Dome has grown soft."
If the passenger compliment was any indication, the first option was the more
valid of the two. "You look tough enough to handle anyone here, Commander. Hell, I
don't know why we even brought along Kyle and his men. We can take care of
ourselves."
"Don't underestimate this place, Captain," Arnett said with a stern voice. "The
people on this train are nothing. Once inside the Pleasure Dome, there will be thousands
of guns pointed at us, and even more evil eyes. I only wish we could have brought more.
But what with most of our grounders with Brightblade, these six were the best of what we
had available. And the best is what we'll need. Hope for the best, but plan for the worst.
Words to live by, Captain."
Taking the speech in, Gabriel sat back in his seat. "Understood, Commander. I
trust your judgment in these cases. Your record speaks for itself."
Almost below hearing, Gabriel caught Arnett whisper under his breath, "You
don't know the half of it." Wondering what he meant, but mindful of privacy, Gabriel let
the remark go.
"How far is it to the Coliseum from the northern depot?"
Arnett only shook his head. "I'm not sure, Captain. I came in the east gate last
time. But I'm sure we can get directions anywhere inside the Dome."
Nodding his acquiescence, Gabriel looked up at holo-screens promoting many
different establishments within the Pleasure Dome. Everything from bordellos to
narcotics shops displayed their names and locations. Occasionally, a message would
come on from Kubla Khan, the owner and CEO of the Pleasure Dome himself. The tall
light-haired man gave a short speech on the greatness of his Dome and the other
subsidiary domes around the planet. Kubla Khan was, of course, not the man's real name,
but a title of his position. In the Dome's history there had been eleven Khans, each one
fatally impeached from office. His real name was kept secret from everyone who didn't
need to know, and that consisted of almost everyone in the galaxy. Confed Intelligence
probably knew and kept tabs on his location at all times. If Kubla ever showed his face
outside of the Xanadu Sector, it would never be seen again, at least not breathing.
Shortly, the train's speed decreased as they neared the Dome. Gabriel covertly
eyed the people around him and saw that all of them were priming weapons and checking
clips. Taking that as a sign, he pulled his blazers and made sure they were fully charged.
Extra clips were stored in thigh slips and inside his chest plate. Arnett and the Ground
Forces men did the same, keeping their rifles out and ready. The sounds of metallic clicks
and clacks rang in his ears. When the train came to a complete stop, the holo-screens
flashed the debarking announcement. Gunnery Sergeant Kyle and Staff Sergeants Davis
and Ramirez led the way off the train, with Arnett and Gabriel behind them, and Sergeant
Alvarez, Corporal Dubois, and Lance Corporal Cohen bringing up the rear. There was a
great deal of pushing and shoving, but an EM rifle barrel in a person's face does wonders
for their manners.
After extraditing themselves from the press of bodies, the men stood within the
Pleasure Dome, gawking like the tourists they were, Arnett excluded. The city itself was
over one hundred kilometers in diameter, all of it resting under an energy shield 'umbrella'
that gave the place its name. Using the latest in defensive technology, the Dome was the
largest ever created, a force field of incredible proportions and resilience. Nothing less
than a full scale armada attack would damage it, and even that was debatable. It was
112 The Machine

resistant to all known energy and physical weapons, and it was speculated that if the
dome were extended underground and made into a force sphere, the city could even
survive the system's sun going nova. Gabriel doubted that, but he was still impressed. The
only way into the city was through the train stations, and those were designed to be
closed inside of seconds if need be. If the Confederation ever intended to invade the
Pleasure Dome, they would have one hell of a fight on their hands.
As he stared, Gabriel saw three explosions blossom outside of the field in quick
succession, most likely clueless or drunken pilots not watching where they were going.
The field shimmered crimson with the impacts. Two other ships flew in close, but laser
batteries stationed around the Dome's perimeter took them out before they go too close.
When the blasts ceased, and the exploding ships fell from view, the nighttime sky
resumed its dark appearance.
Coughing loudly, Arnett brought the men back to the mission. "Let's not stand
around like sitting ducks, Captain. If I have to be a target, I prefer to be a moving one."
"That's affirmative, Commander," Gabriel replied, seeing the wisdom in his
words. "Let's… uh… try to get directions somewhere to the Coliseum."
The Ground Forces men stepped into line quickly, surrounding the captain and
commander. Kyle pointed out a restaurant nearby. "We could try there, Captain."
"Looks as good as any, Sergeant," Gabriel told him. "Lead the way."
Walking with determined strides, the men approached the restaurant, a place
called 'Pride Of The Dome.' As they neared, a tuxedo-clad host filled the doorway. "How
many in your party, sirs?" the man asked.
Gabriel shook his head. "We aren't looking for a meal, my fine fellow. We only
need directions."
Snorting, the host turned up his nose. "We are an eating establishment, sir, not a
directory service." He turned to enter the doorway.
"Hold on a moment," Gabriel called out. Gathering his men he asked, "Are any
of you hungry? He might be more accommodating if we get a table." Ramirez and Cohen
nodded that they could stand to have a bite to eat. "Alright then. We can afford to waste a
little time."
Gabriel turned to face the host, who was tapping his feet to hurry them up. "On
second thought, we'll take a table."
Like the sun coming out from cloud cover, the host's face broke into a broad
smile. "Good choice, sir. Is this all of your party?"
Gabriel nodded.
"Very good. Right this way then." The host turned about and led them into the
restaurant. From the outside it looked nice, if a bit drab. But the interior was expensively
decorated. Heavy tapestries hung across the walls, crystal chandeliers lit the place ablaze,
and gold finishings adorned the thick rosewood tables. Men and women in high-priced
clothing lounged in booths, smoking, drinking, and eating in luxury. Bodyguards stood to
unbending attention at their sides, small arms plainly exposed.
The short walk led to a podium that bordered the restaurant's main floor. At the
podium the host stopped and faced his latest customers. "You may keep whatever
handguns you have on you, but I'm afraid you will have to leave your rifles with me. I
will put them under lock and key in one of our vaults and give you a receipt for them.
When you leave, just turn in the ticket and your arms will be returned to you. I'm sorry,
but that's our policy."
Gabriel didn't have to ask what his men thought of that. Instead of handing over
their rifles, the men popped out the clips locked inside. The host saw that and shook his
head vigorously. "That is unacceptable, gentlemen. I must have the rifles themselves as
 The Machine 113

well."
Pulling out two one-hundred credit notes, Gabriel casually felt the man's collar,
pushing the notes into the tuxedo jacket as he did so. "I'm sure we can come to some kind
of an arrangement, sir," Gabriel said smoothly.
The host, without being obvious about it, looked in his jacket to spy the amount
of the 'tip'. Seeing the large amount, the man coolly reached in, took the money, and
transferred it to a pocket in his slacks. "Indubitably, sir. What were rules meant for if not
to be bent a little, no?"
"Indubitably," Gabriel replied.
Reached out a hand, the host gathered the clips together. After locking them
away in a storage box behind the podium, he handed Gabriel a receipt stub. "Right this
way, gentlemen." With practiced grace, the host swiveled on his heels and walked onto
the dining floor. Strapping their rifles on their backs, the men followed. As they walked,
Gabriel noted several guards who also still had their rifles with them. Apparently, the
rules were bent more than just a little. I wonder how much he makes in bribes a night,
Gabriel thought. Probably more than most servicemen make in a month.
Presently they were seated at a booth near the back. Gabriel and Arnett took the
innermost seats, while the armored men sat on the outsides. The seat designers had
obviously taken body armor into consideration when they had crafted the chairs. Kyle and
his men were quite comfortable. The host said that a waitress would be by shortly to take
their drink orders, then left to attend to other patrons of the restaurant. As Gabriel looked
around, the Ground Forces removed their helmets, making themselves as cozy as
possible.
Seconds later a well-shaped woman approached them, her sparkling red dress
and red hair catching their eyes and making Gabriel's heart beat faster. "Good evening,
gentlemen. My name is Debra, and I'll be serving you. What can I get for you to drink
tonight?" After everyone named their choice of poison, Debra informed them of the house
specials. In the middle of her speech, a waiter in shimmering black and white pushing a
heavily laden trolley accidentally bumped into her. He apologized quickly and continued
on his way. Debra, to her credit, never broke stride, but a wounded look filled her blue
eyes. When she was finished, she glanced over at the offending waiter. A troubled air
covered her face.
"Is there a problem, Debra?" Arnett asked.
"I don't think so, sir," she said, unconvinced. "I've never seen him in here before.
Must be a new hire."
The group turned to stare at the man. He was coming to a stop before a booth
occupied by a noisy fat man and what looked to be his girl of the night. Flanking him
were two guards in light armor, pistols holstered. The waiter stood behind his trolley,
waiting for the fat man to look his way. Gabriel strained to hear what was passed between
them.
"Your meal is ready, Mr. Zebrun," the waiter said.
Mr. Zebrun glanced up at the words. Seeing the waiter, his eyes took on a look
of concentration. "Do I know you, boy?" he asked.
"You knew my brother," the waiter explained. "He used to do your books until
he had an 'unfortunate mishap'. Now I'm here to collect."
Mr. Zebrun didn't look as though he had any recollection of the waiter's brother.
"Sorry, son, but I don't know you or your brother."
Lifting a large metal platter cover, the waiter said, "Maybe this will refresh your
memory, you fucking puke." From beneath the cover he pulled two large blasters. The
dimwitted guards next to him didn't even have time to register that something was amiss.
114 The Machine

A second later, both guards were dead, sizzling holes were their hearts used to be.
Amazingly, the fat man tried to drop beneath the tabletop, but his bulk prevented that
little escape maneuver. With his jowls shaking and hands upraised in supplication, the
waiter leveled both guns on him and blew his head off in a grisly spray of blood and
brain. The entire process took about three seconds. The woman next to Mr. Zebrun
screamed and dashed out of the booth. The waiter let her go without a second glance.
Immediately Gabriel reached for his blazers, as did the rest of his unit. But when
they noticed that no one else in the restaurant was paying any attention other that a little
goose-necking to see who got wasted and other guards tightening their grips on their
weapons, they put their blazers back. The waitress winced when the blasters fired, but
didn't dive for cover. She evidently had seen it all before.
The host, in a flurry of indignation, rushed toward the waiter. "What's the
meaning of this?" he demanded.
The waiter, guns still in hand, didn't even turn away from his victim. "Just a little
payback," was all he said.
Without flinching, the host viewed the gory booth. "Look at this mess!" he
shouted.
The waiter pulled out a small roll of bills and dropped it onto the table where
they splashed in blood. "Consider that the cleaning fee." With that the 'waiter' spun
around and walked out of the restaurant as cool as a February breeze. The host pocketed
the credit roll, then motioned for two busboys standing nearby to get to work on the
booth. They did so without fuss.
Heart racing, Gabriel asked the waitress, "Business as usual?"
"Unfortunately, yes," she answered, pulling back a few stray hairs and wringing
her hands. "But it's been pretty quiet lately. I guess we were overdue."
Gabriel whistled.
"You gentlemen new here?" Debra asked, meaning the city.
"Well, yeah," Gabriel replied. "More or less."
With a smile that was half joking and half downhearted, the waitress said,
"Welcome to the Pleasure Dome then." Everyone laughed, though not with total mirth.
One hour and fifteen minutes later, Gabriel's men were back on the street outside
the restaurant. Debra had been kind enough to furnish them with detailed instruction to
the Coliseum, so Gabriel had returned the favor with a large tip. He stayed back a
moment while Arnett and the soldiers exited. When he was alone with her he said,
"Listen, I know this sounds like a line, but I have to ask: are you seeing anyone?"
Blushing, she replied, "No. I don't have any time. I work here as much as I can."
"Why?"
"Oh, the usual story. I came here hoping to make some quick cash in the casinos.
But my luck was bad and I lost everything in the course of a week. The Directorate
confiscated my little ship and locked me up when I couldn't pay the landing berth tolls.
The owner of this restaurant saw me in the lockup and bailed me out. He said all I would
have to do is work in his place for awhile until I had paid him back, but that was six
months ago. He keeps my pay, promising to let me go as soon as he can. I live in one of
his apartments, so I have to pay for that, along with everything else. I know I've worked
enough to more than cover all my expenses plus the tolls, but he won't let me go. And
since he bailed me out, he practically owns me. I would go to the authorities, but the
Pleasure Dome doesn't have any. So I'm still here, working as hard as I can." Her eyes
began misting up. "Hell, I don't know why I'm telling you this. Mr. Corbin would kill me
if he knew."
Seeing her shoulders begin to shake, Gabriel sat her down on one of the booth's
 The Machine 115

chairs. "Debra, you know he's never going to let you go."
"I know," she whispered, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. "But what can
I do? Nothing, that's what. I'm his, lock, stock, and barrel. I suppose I should thank him
from getting me out of that jail, but I can't."
"You should be glad, but not to the point of slavery."
Debra raised a hand to clear her eyes. "You're right. I know. Thanks."
"Don't thank me yet," he told her.
"Then when should I?"
Looking around for eavesdroppers, Gabriel leaned toward her left ear. "When
you're off this hell hole."
Gasping, she looked up. "Come again?"
Leaning even closer, Gabriel told her, "My name is Gabriel, and I'm the captain
of a Privateer ship called the Aurora. She's in orbit right now. I'm down here to meet
someone, but when that's over I'll be taking off. If you want, I can take you with me."
Tears forming again, Debra stared into his eyes. "Why would you do that?"
Gabriel had to think for a minute. Why was he doing it? What was bringing on
such a valorous attitude? He didn't know. But he did know that he was taking a huge risk.
If she was lying to him, then he could be in big trouble. He doubted Mr. Corbin would
worry much about rolling Gabriel and his men over for whatever they had. But something
in the back of his mind, or maybe the bottom of his heart, was driving him. "I don't know
why, Debra. I don't normally make a habit of this. To tell the truth, I haven't talked to a
woman this long in years unless it was related to work. Believe me on that. But, I don't
know, you intrigue me, and that's no mean feat. If you really want to get off this planet, I
can take you. If you want, I can drop you off where ever you like. Or, if you prefer, you
can stay on the ship. I'm sure you have skills we could use."
Turning her face away, Debra stared into space for several long moments.
Finally she said, "I can't believe this, but okay. What do I need to do?"
"I'll be leaving in about six hours. Will you be off work by then?"
"Yes."
"Good. When you do, go to your apartment like you normally would. Then, pack
your things and take the train to the Northern Pleasure Dome Landing Bay, Tau
Quadrant. My ships are at berthing slots 98 through 101. My men there will be expecting
you. Since you've been here awhile, I'm sure you know how to walk around without being
noticed."
Debra attempted a laugh, but it came out more like a sob. "Tell me about it. I
almost got raped seven times my first month here. After that I learned to walk in the
shadows. I won't be seen."
Gabriel almost wept. "You're a strong woman, Debra. And smart. You'll be fine.
Just make sure to be at my shuttle before we leave. I can't promise that we'll be able to
wait for you. If things turn sour, we might be lifting off in a hurry. Can you do it?"
Straightening her shoulders, Debra sat up tall and proud. "Yes. I'll be there."
"Great," Gabriel replied. "Remember: Northern Bay, Tau quad, slots 98 through
101."
"I'll remember, Gabriel," she said, her composure back. His heart thrilled at
hearing her say his name. She smiled
"Okay, Debra. I'll see you then." He patted her hand and stood to walk away.
Before he could go though, she put her tip back in his hands.
"I won't need this anymore then," she told him. Reaching up, she kissed him
softly on the cheek, her mouth brushing the whiskers of his goatee. "Thank you, Gabriel.
I owe you."
116 The Machine

Gabriel blushed. "You don't owe me anything. Just seeing you smile is payment
enough."
It was her turn to blush. "We'll see about that," she said without further
explanation. She winked, turned, and walked away.
Gabriel watched her, his heart falling and raising like ocean waves, deep and
powerful. He looked around after she was gone and saw that no one was around. Walking
toward the door, Gabriel noticed the host looking at him quizzically. Pulling out another
two-hundred credits, Gabriel tossed them to him and said, "Shut up and stop staring."
The host caught the bills swiftly. "None of my business, sir," he said with a
nonchalant air, not the least bit interested in what had transpired.
"You got that right," Gabriel replied and left the building. Once outside, he
keyed his comm. "Colonel Marx, come in."
"Marx here, Captain. What's up?"
"Anything interesting going on at your end?"
"Negative, sir. All clear."
"That's good. Keep it that way."
"Will do, sir."
"Listen, Marx, a tall red-head by the name of Debra might come by there. If
she's alone, usher her into the shuttle. If not, then you know what to do."
"Affirmative, sir."
"Make sure to check any luggage she has with her. Discreetly of course."
"Of course, sir."
"If everything's kosher, comm me and let me know."
"Will do, sir."
"Great. McClellan out."
Arnett stepped from a shadow near the doors. "Are we bringing along another
passenger, sir?" he asked.
Gabriel jumped. "Damn it, Commander. Don't sneak up on me like that."
"Sorry, Captain," he apologized.
Straightening his armor, Gabriel said. "And yes, we do have another passenger."
"The waitress, sir?"
"You heard?"
"Couldn't help it. If it makes you feel better, sir, you're doing the right thing. I
may have left the restaurant, but I could hear everything through your chest comm. You
opened it by mistake."
Gabriel reddened in embarrassment. "Did the others hear it too?" he asked,
indicating the Ground Forces.
"No, sir. It was on the Command frequency. Only me."
Gabriel let out a long breath. "I feel like a little kid… Do you really think I'm
right in doing this?"
Arnett nodded. "I can usually smell out a lie pretty quick. Her words were the
truth as far as I could tell."
"Do you think I should leave one of the guys here to stay with her?"
"No, sir," Arnett replied. "That would only attract more attention to her. She'll do
just fine. You don't live here for six months without learning a few tricks."
"Yeah, I thought so too."
Arnett looked around. "If our work is done here, we still have time for a fight or
two. Shall we go?"
"Lead the way, Jerod," Gabriel commanded, his heart feeling lighter.
"I shall not lead you wrong, sir." With that, Arnett gathered the men together and
 The Machine 117

started in the direction Debra had given them. True to her word, Debra's map took them to
their destination: the Coliseum.

~*~~*~~*~

Xanadu Sector
Coleridge V
The Coliseum
The wait to get into the large arena was short because of the lateness of the hour,
but the tickets were astronomically expensive. After winding their way through multiple
turnstiles and walkways, they found their seats that were midway up the audience
platforms. Since the Coliseum was between bouts, most people were seated or clustered
together in small groups. The sound of hundreds of conversations was a constant
background static. Scooting past a few seated patrons, Gabriel, Arnett, and his crew took
their allocated chairs.
Once he was as comfortable as he could get, Gabriel pulled out the fight
schedule and checked his chronometer. It was four hours until the meeting, so they could
stay and watch all the remaining fights, of which there were three. The next, due to begin
in ten minutes, was between a man named Bloodshed and a female cyborg calling herself
DeadLock. The odds favored Bloodshed three-to-one. After that was a team fight
between the Motor Heads, a group of mechanically enhanced warriors, and the White
Talon, a gang of what sounded like vicious Firekkans. White Talon was the underdog, the
odds against them five-to-one. The last bout was between a man called The Machine, no
description other than 'non-augmented human,' and a Kilrathi warrior named Firemane.
Startled, Gabriel noted that the human was the obvious favorite, the odds eight-to-one in
his favor.
"Commander," Gabriel said, handing the schedule to Arnett who was sitting next
to him. "What do you make of the last fight?"
Arnett took the schedule and looked it over. "I don't know, sir. All it says about
The Machine is that he is human and non-augmented either mechanically or genetically.
If I had to lay odds of an unaided human going against a Kilrathi in hand to hand combat,
I would stack my money on the cat."
A man immediately behind them and slightly higher leaned down and said,
"Then you'd lose a lot of money, man."
Turning in their seats, Gabriel and Arnett faced the stranger. "Why's that?"
Gabriel asked. "It says here that he's a normal human. I've only met a few people who
could take on a Kilrathi in combat, and they were wearing armor and had more weapons
than a dog has fleas."
"You guys must be tourists," the stranger said, sneering. "Yeah, most humans
wouldn't stand a chance against a fleabag Kilrathi, but most humans ain't The Machine
either."
Arnett scratched his chin. "If he isn't mechanically enhanced, then why 'The
Machine'?"
The stranger rolled his eyes. "The name's got nuthin' to do with bionics. It's the
way he fights, man: like a machine. Cold, calculating, unemotional. Like a block of ice."
Gabriel's neck started aching from the strain of twisting it to face the stranger.
"What's your name?" he asked.
Without hesitation, the man replied, "Steve Tasken, Ace mercenary pilot at your
service." He stretched out his right hand to both men.
Taking it first, Gabriel said, "I'm Gabriel. This," pointing toward Jerod, "is
118 The Machine

Arnett."
When the commander and Steve finished shaking hands, the stranger asked,
"And these other guys?" motioning his head toward the ground forces.
"None of your fucking business," Arnett said politely.
Steve laughed. "Yeah, I get your point."
Rubbing his sore neck, Gabriel asked the man if he would sit with them and
explain the business with The Machine. He said sure, so Kyle got up and moved to take
Steve's vacated seat, while Gabriel and the two troops next to him moved down,
providing Steve a place between Arnett and the captain.
When Kyle was in position, he pulled a blazer and pushed the barrel against the
back of Steve's skull. Feeling the unexpected pressure, Steve turned and stared down the
metal tunnel in his face. "What's going on?" he asked, his voice taking on a quiver of fear.
Arnett patted the man's knee. "Nothing to worry about, my boy. He's just making
sure you don't try anything untoward. You understand?"
Steve nodded. "Yeah, I understand. And don't worry; I'm just a spectator."
Gabriel smiled. "I'm sure, Mr. Tasken. Make sure it stays that way."
Feeling that the situation was under control, Kyle removed his blazer from
Steve's head and leaned back, but still keeping the gun aimed and ready to fire.
"So," Gabriel said. "You were about to fill us in on The Machine."
Still shaking but feeling slightly better, Steve nodded. "Right. Anyway. I've been
coming here to watch the fights for almost three years now. Made some money, lost some
money. It all evens out. Most bouts are what you would expect: bloody, slow, ponderous.
To tell you guys the truth, I was almost ready to stop coming all together. The tolls are
just too damn expensive to waste on a hobby that was becoming tiresome. But about six
months ago, all that changed. You see, that night there was a fight scheduled between
Brutal, a Coliseum favorite, and an unknown fighter who went by the name of Blackbird.
What a dumb name." Steve shook his head, snorting.
"The odds on the fight were almost laughable. If I remember correctly, they were
like ten-to-one or somewhere about there. Anyway, everyone in the audience didn't give
the newcomer a snowball's chance in hell. And when we saw the guy come out of the
tunnels, we all started laughing. I mean, he was a big guy, all muscle and a little over two
meters high. But Brutal was huge, over seven feet tall and weighing in at over four
hundred pounds. Man, Brutal had it all over that guy! So's when Brutal and The Machine,
I mean Blackbird, stood facing each other, people started chanting Brutal's name over and
over again."
Here, Steve looked down for a moment. "But I didn't know. I mean, here was
this guy we didn't know from Adam, wearing nothing but loose fitting black pants,
standing toe-to-toe with a monster of a fighter, with people booing and laughing at him,
and he just stands there, his face as collected as someone safe at home. I wasn't laughing
anymore, and some others stopped too. When you looked at his face you just knew that
he was more than he appeared to be. I took my seat and got ready for the show."
Finished examining his shoes, the stranger glanced over at Gabriel. "And I
swear, all this is true. Just ask anyone. They'll tell you. Shit, it's practically legend by
now."
"I believe you, Steve," the captain assured him. "Go on."
"Yeah," the man said, now turning his head side to side, making sure to face
both men as he spoke. "So as I was saying. Brutal and Blackbird were squaring off, with
probably thirty meters or so between them, waiting for the commencement buzzer to go
off. Brutal looked at the guy and chuckled, cracking his huge knuckles and licking his
lips. 'Gonna eat you alive, boy,' he said. When the buzzer sounded, Brutal threw up his
 The Machine 119

head, bellowed loud enough to rattle your fillings, and charged. Blackbird just stood
there, looking like he didn't have a care in the world. I thought to myself, 'This guy must
be stoned.' But then I looked in his eyes, and I knew that he wasn't. Far from it. He was
totally there, focused more than any fighter I'd ever seen. He wasn't in that arena because
he needed the money or thought he was some kind of bad ass wanting to make a name for
himself. He was there because that's what he was: a fighter. More than that, a killer. His
eyes were like cold fire."
Steve's shoulders shuddered at the memory of that night. "If I would have been
in there with him, I would have turned tail and run away as fast as I could. But I wasn't.
Brutal was, and he wasn't even aware of what was building. All he saw was red as he
charged full-steam ahead. Everyone else in the audience, though, could feel the energy in
the air. They weren't so sure anymore. And the closer Brutal got, the more unsure we
became. Because, you see, it was that machine-like quality. You looked at his face, and
you couldn't see one single emotion there. He wasn't afraid, or mad, or psyched, or
anything. Like I said, he was a block of ice. But he was focused, and totally aware of
what was happening. You could see the gears in his head twirling, see him calculating
everything. If the schedule hadn't said he was totally human, I would have thought I was
looking at a computer with legs."
Arnett interrupted the man's tale, a lost look in his eyes. Leaning closer he asked,
"What does The Machine look like?"
That stopped Steve cold. Thinking for a moment, he replied, "Tall. Really
muscular, but not bulky. Not a gram of fat on him. Dark hair cut short. Brown eyes. I
think that's about all. Pretty normal all considered"
"Any scars or such?" Arnett inquired further.
Steve's eyes lit up. "Yeah! He doesn't wearing a shirt, so you can see these three
long scars running from his right shoulder to his left abs. Nasty looking, but old wounds.
Why you ask?"
Arnett waved his hands in dismissal. "Just curious," he replied, but Gabriel could
tell something was wrong.
"Anyway," Steve said, getting back in gear. "Brutal was charging Blackbird,
right?" Gabriel nodded that that was indeed where the man had left off. "Yeah. Well,
when Brutal got within ten meters, Blackbird kinda crouched down. You would think he
would have stepped left or right to draw Brutal off stride, right? Wrong. He stayed right
where he was, but lowering himself a few inches. Oblivious, Brutal stays on course, still
bellowing. Blackbird doesn't move. When Brutal closes the distance to three meters, I'm
thinking that maybe Blackbird is high after all. But then, without any warning, Blackbird
launches himself straight up into the air, probably going as high as two meters. Standing
still no less! But Brutal doesn't see it. He'd working himself into a rage during the charge,
so he's just barreling forward. When Brutal passed beneath him, Blackbird came down
and hammered his foot into Brutal's exposed neck. Man, you could hear the bones
snapping! It sounded like gunshots. Just like that, Brutal was dead, and Blackbird hadn't
even worked up a sweat yet. The crowd went ballistic!"
Gabriel fell back against his seat in astonishment. Steve looked at him, his eyes
sparkling. "Oh, man, it wasn't over yet. When everyone jumped to their feet, yelling and
screaming at the tops of their lungs, some fucker in the stands behind Blackbird pulls out
a dagger and throws it at his back. Those of us on the other side saw it happen. Blackbird,
since he was facing the wrong way, couldn't have seen it. But just as the blade closed in,
he spun, caught it by the handle, and flung it back at the guy. He caught it! Can you
believe that shit?! And not only did he catch it, but he also threw it back at the right
person! All that with him facing the wrong damn way!! Next thing we knew, the guy was
120 The Machine

dead on the ground, the blade buried in his throat. I heard he was bleeding like a stuck pig
with the blood foaming around his severed windpipe. Man! But does Blackbird care? Hell
no. He just walks off and into the tunnels leading toward the dressing rooms. I know there
was more than one person who was checking to see if he had eyes in the back of his
head."
"The next day, people were clamoring to have him tested again for devices or
drugs. The tests come back nada. He's as human as a newborn. Well, suddenly this guy
was like some kind of folk hero or something. He was an unknown fighter, a plain guy
who could take anyone on. People loved him. But apparently no one liked his name, so
they started calling him The Machine. It caught on, and that was the name he went under
from that time on. I've seen him fight about ten times since, and he's won them all in
under a minute without a scratch. He's without a doubt the greatest fighter I've ever laid
eyes on. He's fought everything from Kilrathi, to Firekkans, to cyborgs, and not once
have they gotten a finger on him. Amazing."
"Isn't that boring though?" Gabriel asked.
"Are you kidding?!" Steve retorted. "Yeah, with most fights you want to see
some blows, some blood, some give and take. But with him, the thrill lies in seeing how
fast he can take his opponents out. He doesn't kill them all, but either way it goes, they
are out of it. We also look for the time he finally looses. I'd hate to see it, but there has to
be someone out there who can take him down."
"I wouldn't bet on it," Arnett mumbled.
"What's that?" Steve asked.
"Nothing," was all Arnett would say. Gabriel looked at the commander in
wonderment.
"What do you know about The Machine himself?" the captain asked. "Real
name, planet of origin, that kind of stuff."
Steven only shrugged. "I don't think anyone really knows. He didn't have a
manager during that first fight, but by the time the next one can around, Mr. Robert
Olman was representing him. That man is a true player, the best in the biz. Most of your
great fighters are in his stable. Usually Mr. Olman has an open-door policy on his people
too. You know, so's people won't think he's hiding anything. But with The Machine,
we've heard nuthin'. I don't think even Mr. Olman knows anything. Machine is like a
ghost. Other managers have tried looking into his past, slicing into every known database
in existence, but they've come up with squat."
"Is that unusual?" Gabriel asked.
"Well, not really," Steve said. "I mean, it is, but what the hell. It's not out of the
realm of possibility. Maybe The Machine's from a planet that doesn't log its populace into
the networks. Maybe he's an orphan that was never catalogued. It doesn't happen often,
but it does happen. This is a big universe. Plenty of ways, I guess, to slip through the
cracks, either on purpose or by accident. And really, no one here cares. He's a fantastic
fighter. I don't give a shit where he came from or what his real name is. I think it would
ruin things to know all that. Keep him a mystery, I say."
"I think…" Gabriel began, but the public address system interrupted him.
A deep, smooth, steady male voice said from the PA, "Ladies and Gentlemen of
the Coliseum, can I have your attention please? Our next fight is about to begin. Please
welcome first, in the red corner, the scourge of the Tespik Combat Arenas, the Killer
from Kummings, the bad boy of Xanadu: Bloodshed." The man dragged out the fighter's
name to dramatic effect, his voice rumbling. The crowd went crazy, whooping and
hollering loudly. "And in the green corner," the man went on, "please welcome his
challenger, the lady of death herself, the assassin from Aria Prime, the mother of
 The Machine 121

mayhem: DeadLock!" If the crowd had been loud before, they became truly deafening
when the spokesman finished.
And for the next hour Gabriel was tutored by Steve on all the goings on of the
Coliseum, from who was who to what was what. He told all he knew about the past fights
he'd seen concerning the combatants on the floor, giving their strengths and weaknesses.
For that fight he'd placed a bet of 1000 credits on Bloodshed, the favorite. "Easy money,"
he said. And true enough, though DeadLock was a wonderful fighter, Bloodshed
vanquished her within fifteen furious minutes.
After that, during the half hour intermission, Steve was more than happy to
regale them with stories about his past as a mercenary pilot, each tale no doubt
exaggerated out of proportion, but interesting nonetheless. He said he had flown against
the Kilrathi with the Third Battle Fleet out near Blackmane Sector, but he didn't look old
enough to have flown for more than maybe six or seven months before the war was over.
Then, when pilots were being put in Reserve status instead of Active, he jumped ship and
went to the Border Worlds where he said "the real action was." From there he went to the
fringe systems, pimping himself as a mercenary, making a pretty good living doing it.
"I'm not the best pilot around," he told them, "but I'm not bad either. I've learned more out
here in the past few years than I ever did at the Academy. They say the best way to
become a good criminal is to go to prison and learn from the masters. Well, the best way
to become a cutthroat fighter pilot is to come out here. There are no half-assed jockeys in
the fringe. Kill or be killed. Learn or perish. Out here is where the cream of the crop stay
alive, and the 'know-nothing, dipshit, flash-in-the-pan, more bravado than skill' pilots get
wasted. I'd rather have one of my mercenary buddies watching my six than a Confed
pilot." Steve laughed. "Out here they call the Academy 'The Play Ground'. You know,
where all the kiddies play and make nicee-nicee."
Feeling his cheeks redden, but not wanted to make enemies, Gabriel laughed
along. Arnett, on the other hand, didn't intend on being so cordial. But before he could
tear into the man, the PA came on and started the next fight. Everyone sat back to watch
the gang of underdog Firekkans make short work of the borgs, their claws ripping and
tearing the humans to bloody ribbons. It was a gruesome spectacle, and the crowd loved
every gory minute of it. When the fight was over, automated robotic cleaners came out to
straightened up, making sure to get every drop of blood off the floor so as not to hinder
the next and final fight.
Taking that as his cue, Steve slapped Gabriel on the shoulder and stood up,
Kyle's blazer tracking him constantly. "Well, guys, it's been fun, but I've got to go now. I
want a first row seat for The Machine, so I better hustle. If you ever need a pilot to kick
some ass for you, give me a call." He handed Gabriel a holographic business card with
Steve's name, rank, and e-mail address on it. Tipping his head, the man took off and made
for the ground level.
Gabriel waved as he left, then dropped the card on the ground. He had no need
for that kind of pilot on his ship. Arnett, to Gabriel's surprise, bent over and retrieved the
card. Seeing the captain's puzzled expression, Arnett said by way of explanation, "You
never know when we might need some cannon-fodder, sir." Arnett winked, and Gabriel
laughed softly. You never knew indeed.
During the half hour wait, the two commanders sat in silence, thinking about all
that they had seen and heard during their short stay in the Pleasure Dome. Within the span
of just a few hours they had been snubbed by a presumptuous restaurant host, seen a man
get assassinated not twenty meters from them, fended off countless numbers of prostitutes
and drug-pushers, and watched one woman and a group of men get cut down in an arena.
He was having fun, but Gabriel couldn't wait to get back on the bridge of the Aurora. All
122 The Machine

the craziness was getting to him.

Arnett, on the other hand, was thinking other thoughts, but not feeling the need
to share them with his captain. His brow was furrowed, his eyes squinted, his right hand
twirling strands of his beard, a sure sign that something was wrong. Gabriel respected his
privacy too much to ask questions. For that, Arnett was thankful.
When the PA system came on, Arnett was instantly alert and watching the arena
area closely. His ears took in every word the MC said. "And now, patrons of the
Coliseum, I am proud to present our final fight of the evening. In the red corner, wearing
full battle armor and carrying the battleswords that have become his trademark, I give you
Firemane, the deadliest Kilrathi fighter in existence. He is undefeated, and has ten MDKs
to his record. Rise up and give him his due."
The crowd did, all of them standing and shouting, raising their hands, proudly
calling out his name. The Kilrathi stepped from the darkness of the tunnel and came to
stand before them, resplendent in golden plate armor strapped about his body, the swords
belted to his back crisscrossed. The cat was monstrous in his size and bulk. He turned,
taking it all in, letting the crowd's energy fill him. He tilted his head back and howled
savagely. Gabriel's blood turned to ice hearing it, that dreadful sound from childhood
nightmares of invasion and wholesale slaughter. And there, before him, was the epitome
of what he had feared as a child; the Kilrathi proud in his savagery and strength, noble
and majestic, yet also so heartless and beastly.
"And in the green corner," the MC shouted, "wearing only modified
Confederation Marine body armor and a single dagger, I present the pride of the
Coliseum: The Machine!" The crowd's energy level and enthusiasm reached new heights,
their fevered voices threatening to bring the roof down. "During his short tenure here he
has amassed an unbeaten record of twenty wins, no losses. Twelve of his wins have been
TKOs, while the remaining eight are MDKs. Never before have we at the Coliseum seen
such an untarnished record, and I don't think we ever will again. Please welcome him to
the floor!"
From the tunnel walked a man dressed in light armor, the style similar to what
Arnett was wearing, and what the commander had picked out for Gabriel. The dagger was
kept in a hip holster, the leather an oily black. His skin was deeply tanned, the muscles
beneath steely bands that moved and shifted with power and grace. His hair was cut
close, a lustrous deep brown. His eyes, though, were like flint, hard and ready to ignite an
inferno. His face was calm, almost to the point of looking uninterested. The thing that
stood out the most to Gabriel was the man's focus. As calm as he might have been, below
all that was a thick layer of concentration, his mind working quickly, taking everything in
and extrapolating it.
A cold shiver ran up Gabriel's spine. He looked over at Arnett and saw that the
commander was sitting down, his head hanging low. Gabriel sat and looked at him.
Arnett appeared as though he had seen a ghost, his face bleached of all color, his fingers
trembling slightly. "What's wrong," Gabriel asked, putting his hand on Arnett's shoulder.
The commander didn't respond at first. But eventually he came out of it and
looked up, the lost look in his eyes still present. "It's nothing, Captain," he uttered.
"Don't bullshit me, Jerod," Gabriel forced out. "Something's going on here, and I
want to know what it is."
Arnett shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir, but I can't."
"Can't?!" Gabriel exclaimed. "You can, and you will, Commander!"
Instantly Arnett was all business, his eyes hardening. "Don't push me, Captain,"
Arnett hissed, taking Gabriel by surprise. "It's nothing important, and certainly nothing
that concerns you."
 The Machine 123

Gabriel was taken aback. He tried to say something, to reprimand the

commander, but nothing would come out of his mouth. Arnett saw it and his expression
softened.
"Sorry, Skipper," Arnett said, his voice trying to soothe things over. "I didn't
mean to come off like that. But it's really nothing. Don't worry about it."
Nonplused, but knowing nothing he could do, Gabriel looked away. "If you say
so, Jerod."
"I do," Jerod followed. "Now let's watch the fight. I think it will be a good one."
Gabriel slowly turned to face the commander. Arnett was staring at the two
combatants in the arena. The captain looked for anything that would explain what the hell
was going on, but Jerod's face was inscrutable. Giving up for the moment, Gabriel instead
turned to the arena. Everyone else had settled down into their seats, except for those on
the ground level. They were plastered against the wall and force field, the energy shield
glimmering if one of the men hit it too hard.
"Must have installed that after the knife incident," Arnett said. "The field I mean.
Now the fighters don't have to worry about blades in their back from the spectators."
Gabriel nodded, not taking his eyes off of the arena. The two warriors were
standing still, waiting for the commencement buzzer. As they stood, so still and ready,
they eyed one another. The Kilrathi, a golden god in his armor, looked angry, his teeth
gnashing together and his fur standing on end. His clawed hands flexed, aching to draw
sword and blood. He wanted the human in a very bad way. The Machine, to Gabriel's
astonishment, had an emotion on his face: happiness. Some of the patrons of the
Coliseum noticed and made a great deal of it. A slow smile spread across The Machine's
face, the cold fire in his eyes burning brighter. But there was still the concentration, the
focus. He was happy, but he was also ready. Making an intuitive leap, Gabriel figured the
two warriors had a past, and tonight it was going to be finished one way or the other.
Without preamble, the buzzer went off. Instead of leaping into flurried combat
though, as the former combatants had done, the human and Kilrathi started circling one
another slowly, stepping sideways, looking for the first opening. Without taking his eyes
off his opponent, Firemane reached behind him and pulled his huge swords, the metal
gleaming darkly. The Machine pulled his dagger, a puny weapon in comparison. For a
good thirty seconds they went round and round, neither moving forward. But then The
Machine's left foot slid in the dirt. He warbled slightly under the unexpected skid. Seeing
this, Firemane quickly launched himself forward, his swords slashing out.
Gabriel thought the fight was over. As the old saying goes, "For want of a nail,
the kingdom was lost." In this case it was, "For want of good footing, The Machine was
killed." But not so. As the Kilrathi closed the distance in hurried strides, The Machine
dropped to his right knee, smiling. Seeing his error but having no way to stop his forward
momentum, Firemane brought his swords out and down, hoping brute strength would
cover his mistake. It didn't. The Machine dropped right, out of the way of the monstrous
blades, and slashed upward with his dagger. The small cutting edge sliced through
Firemane's armor straps, causing them to fall away from him, and drew a straight bloody
line up the Kilrathi's side from his hip to his armpit. The Machine's left foot lashed out
like lightning and caught Firemane on his shins. The Kilrathi, still moving forward,
tripped and crashed to the floor, his useless armor now lying beside him on the dirt.
Gabriel assumed The Machine would now leap on the Kilrathi's unprotected back and go
for the quick kill. He was wrong. Instead, The Machine just stood up and brushed loose
dirt from his armor, then walked a few steps away, letting Firemane get back to his feet.
"What's he doing?" Arnett asked, his voice unbelieving.
Gabriel let a sly smile cross his face. "Looks to me like he's drawing this one
124 The Machine

out. I think he's enjoying it. There's some history here between them, Jerod. Can't you see
it?"
Arnett nodded slowly. "Oh, I see it, sir. There's history all right." Gabriel knew
that there was more, but the commander clammed up, looking guilty. The battle began
again.
When Firemane drew himself up, he growled low, the sound full of rage. He
took his swords in hand, flexing his titanic muscles, gathering strength and shaking off
the humiliation he had just endured. The Machine, losing his smile, crept around the
periphery of the arena. He knew the battle was truly on now, and his emotions were put
under lock and key. Once again, only concentration was there. Once again, he was purely
The Machine.
As one, the two fighters rushed each other. Firemane's right sword swept in to
cut into The Machine's left side, while the left sword slashed toward his head. To
Gabriel's utter astonishment, The Machine quickly holstered his dagger and went for the
Kilrathi bare handed. The crowd roared its approval. Firemane, seeing his advantage,
brought his weapons into range, their speed almost too fast to see the blades. But The
Machine stepped inside instantly and reached out, catching Firemane's arms at the wrists,
keeping the killing blades away from him. And there they stood, grappling one another
like the gods of old, Firemane towering over the much smaller human, but The Machine
standing his ground, every muscle in his body straining. Their eyes, mere inches away
from each other, bore into one another, the battle transferred from the physical to the
mental. In the end, Firemane lost. Risking his balance, The Machine brought up his left
knee and crashed it into Firemane's crotch. Stunned, the Kilrathi stumbled. Letting go of
Firemane's wrists, The Machine rabbit punched the Kilrathi's solar plexus, then punched
his wrists, sending the swords flying. Defenseless and hurting, Firemane staggered
backwards. The Machine drew his dagger, stepped in quickly, and plunged it into the
Kilrathi's stomach, then wrenched it out, blood trailing the exit. The Machine went to
attack again, but the wounded Kilrathi lashed out, punching the human savagely.
Firemane crawled to one of his swords and brought it up. Still reeling from the punch,
The Machine nevertheless made his way toward his opponent.
Staggering to his feet, blood pouring from his side and stomach wounds,
Firemane lunched toward the human. The sword came around, the metal whistling in its
speed. The Machine saw it at the last moment and brought his arm guard up and out. The
sword crashed into it and was deflected up. The shock numbed The Machine's left arm,
making it useless. Firemane's left hand reached out to rake The Machine's chest open, but
the armor stopped the deadly claws from making contact. The Kilrathi fell forward,
drained of energy, more blood flowing from him. The Machine stepped backward to
avoid the falling cat. When Firemane was on his knees, his shaggy head bent, The
Machine gripped his dagger tightly, then grabbed a handful of fur. Yanking brutally,
Firemane's head snapped back. When his throat was fully exposed, The Machine leaned
in and whispered in his ears. The Kilrathi's only response was to close his eyes and accept
his fate. Without making it any more painful than it had to be, The Machine slashed
Firemane's throat open from ear to ear.
Gabriel was stupefied. The Machine was the fastest man he had ever seen, and
maybe one of the strongest. His moves were deadly poetry, his concentration like a laser
beam. He was efficient, cold, ruthless, and motivated. Gabriel didn't feel as though the
man were bad or evil. Just… good at what he did. He was obviously a born warrior. He
didn't kill for the pleasure of it, but because that was who he was. Gabriel respected that,
and somewhat envied his ability.
Like a tsunami unleashed, the crowd was jumping up and screaming in a crazed
 The Machine 125

haze of bloodlust. People stomped their feet, shook their fists, and generally turned into a
mob. Dozens leaped against the field, trying to get through and either carry The Machine
on their shoulders or rip him apart, Gabriel couldn't tell which, their frenzy was so great
and chaotic. And they wanted more. Several of them yelled for another fighter to get in
there, preferably another Kilrathi. Blood was all they wanted. Vampires, Gabriel thought,
shaking his head. So hungry for blood that they forget their own humanity… if they even
have any left in them.
Kyle tapped Gabriel and Arnett on the shoulders. "I think it's time we got going,
sirs," he warned, pointing at the horde. Both commanders nodded their agreement.
Careful not to get in anyone's way, the men left the Coliseum. Five minutes later found
them in relative peace several blocks away from the craziness that was the arena.
The Ground Forces men surrounded Gabriel and Arnett as they walked
aimlessly, not caring where they went so long as it wasn't near the Coliseum. When they
were far enough away to not hear the crowds still screaming, Gabriel asked, "Is it just me,
or does anyone else need a stiff drink?"
All of his men nodded. Without being choosy, they picked the first bar they
came to, a respectable looking place called "First Class." A sign beneath the bar's name
advertised that Privacy Cubicles were available. Gabriel knew those to be small rooms
where people could discuss sensitive matters without fear of being overheard. A static
energy field surrounded each room, making them impervious to listening devices or any
other kind of spying equipment. Perfect, he thought.
Upon entering, they noticed that the bar's clientele was made up strictly of what
looked to be business men and women. Most of the tables and booths were filled with
people in suits, movers and shakers of unknown industries, and all of them looking at
Gabriel and his men with suspicion and a tinge of alarm. The seven men stuck out like
sore thumbs, but none of them cared. When they approached the bar, the bartender looked
at them long and hard. "I don't want any trouble here, guys." His name tag read 'Frank'.
Gabriel shook his head. "We aren't here for trouble, sir. We just want a few
drinks. There'll be no problems."
"You aren't here for a hit?" the bartender asked, fear dancing in his eyes.
"No," Gabriel told him, trying to bring out a reassuring smile. It didn't come, but
something in his eyes must have assuaged the good bartender's concern. "Alright. What
can I get for you?"
One at a time, the seven men ordered their drinks. When they had them in hand,
Gabriel told them to get an empty booth. But instead of following, Gabriel turned to the
bartender. "Frank? I need a Privacy Cubicle. Is one available?"
"We only have one left open, sir, but it's broken," Frank said, lying through his
teeth.
"What would it take to fix it?"
Screwing his mouth and eyes up in concentration, Frank replied, "Oh, I think
three-hundred credits would fix her right up."
Laughing softly, Gabriel forked over the required credits. Frank's eyes lit up in
surprise.
"Well, sir, it looks like that cubicle has been repaired. But I think it will only
stay that way for an hour. After that, who knows?"
Both men knew, and they nodded at each other. "Thanks," Gabriel said. Frank
nodded and began washing out some glasses. Gabriel walked toward his men, stood
behind Arnett, and tapped him on the shoulder. Arnett looked up, saw the captain gesture
toward the cubicles in the back, and sighed. "Wait here, men," Arnett said. "We'll be
back."
126 The Machine

Scraping his chair legs on the wooded floor, Arnett stood up and followed
Gabriel into the vacant cubicle. Once they were inside and the door was closed, the field
automatically went up. They could here it humming gently. Gabriel pulled out a little
scanner from a chest pocket and swept it over the room, making sure there were no
recording devices in place. "You can't be too careful," he said. Arnett only nodded.
When that was done and the room was certified clear, the two men sat in plush
seats on either end of a small oak table. Gabriel didn't say anything, his eyes resting on
the commander, giving him time to work things out. Arnett looked at Gabriel for long
minutes, but eventually dropped his eyes and looked at the table, his hands clasped before
him. Though he was over ten years older than his captain, he felt like a child before him.
When eight minutes passed in utter silence, and Gabriel was afraid he'd have to start
issuing orders he would undoubtedly later regret, Arnett opened his mouth to speak.
"What does my bio tell you about me, Captain?" he asked.
Thrown off stride by the unexpected question, Gabriel searched his mind for
Arnett's dossier. "Your full is name Jerod Ashley Arnett, callsign Barrage. You were born
and orphaned on Cloutius III, in the Vermiliun Sector, one of the so-called fringe areas,
living on the mean streets. When you were eighteen you tried to enlist in the
Confederation Marine Corps, but since you didn't have any legal documentation declaring
you a Confederation citizen, you were turned down. So instead you hitched up with a
mercenary group and left planet. From there you moved from group to group, alternating
between Privateering and mercenary work, never really making a name for yourself, but
learning as you went. Eight months ago you fell in with the Consortium who finally
recognizing your skills and talents where others had not. I came along soon after, and you
were made my Lieutenant Commander." Gabriel held his hands up. "That's all I really
have. Not a lot there. Life in the fringe I suppose." He gave Arnett a crooked smile.
Gabriel desperately wanted to know what was going on, but he didn't dare push his
commander into it. He would talk when he was ready.
Breathing deeply, Arnett sat and thought to himself for another long series of
minutes. At last he said, "It's all a lie, sir."
"What?"
"My bio. It's false."
"What part, Jerod?"
"All of it, sir. Every last word."
Gabriel was stunned. "Why?"
Arnett straightened in his seat before replying. "Before I go on, Captain, I need
you to do something for me."
"What's that?" Gabriel asked.
"I need you to make an oath that everything I'm about to tell you will be kept in
the strictest confidentiality, sir. I mean, you will never, without my permission, repeat any
of this to anyone."
Gabriel was confused. "Why do I need to do that, Jerod?"
Arnett almost screamed. "Because I'm about to break Confederation Military
law, sir! In effect, I'm about to become a traitor."
That stopped Gabriel's heart cold. "Now, Commander, just stop here. If it's as
bad as all that, then I don't want to know."
Arnett shook his head. "You're wrong, sir. Having this information could prove
fatal, but if I don't come clean, then it might be worse. You do need to know. "
"Why's that?"
"Because it concerns our applicant."
"How do you know that? All we got were initials and an address."
 The Machine 127

"I know, sir. Trust me."

"Okay, I trust you." Gabriel sat up in his seat, straightened his gear, and said, "I
solemnly swear that everything you say to me here will be considered top secret and
confidential. I won't repeat it ever again without your say-so. You have my word on it.
Good enough?"
Nodding, Arnett indicated it was. "Okay," he sighed. "Eleven years ago, I ceased
to exist." He held up a hand, warding off the questions that were rushing to Gabriel's lips.
"Please, sir, let me get this all out. My real name is Eric Lewis Kelsey, and I was born on
Venus' AlphaRed terraforming station. I was an only child, my parent's viewing me as a
miracle that almost didn't happen. In school I was rather bookish, preferring my studies to
playing with other children, of which there were few anyway. When I turned eighteen, I
signed on with Confed Marine Corps. My parents were proud and scared all at the same
time. They didn't want to lose their only child, but they also respected my decision to
fight. Classic story. Three years later they died in an equipment accident." His eyes
watered for a moment, his throat tightening up. But he got himself under control.
"After five years, at the rank of Sergeant, I requested to join Covert Operations.
After the usual background checks and tests, I was admitted. I served there with some
distinction. But two years later I was ordered by my commanding officer to meet with an
informant who had knowledge of an illegal gun running operation that was selling stolen
Confederation arms to local militias. I was sent alone. On the planet, I went to my
rendezvous point. But instead of meeting an informant, I was greeted by a man who
flashed a badge at me. When I looked at it I saw that he was from the Stellar Security
Advisor's office."
He must have seen a stunned expression on Gabriel's face, because he smiled.
"Yeah, that was my reaction. I was like, what the heck is going on? Here was an agent
from one of the highest Intelligence offices in the Confederation government, an office
that answers only to the President himself, and he wanted to talk to me. My stomach
sank."
"Well, what he talked to me about was as far removed from what I had
anticipated as you could get. The gist of it was this: the Stellar Security Advisor's office,
in conjunction with high ranking Confederation Defense Intelligence officers, was
creating a unit of elite SpecWar (Special Warfare) operatives who would be members of
an operation code named Damocles. We would be treated as Top Secret/Highly
Classified, and I don't think more than a hand-full of people outside of the operation were
even aware we existed. And that was intentional. A group like ours needed total secrecy
to work. Covert Ops? You have no idea. We did the jobs no one else could do, and we
did it without being found out. No records were kept on us, and all communiqués or
orders were written down on paper, then destroyed. Not one computer anywhere within
the Confederation had information on us. Not one. Everything was subrosa, meaning
under the table. We needed fighters? They were misplaced from a hangar bay and never
found. A carrier? Same thing. I know, how the hell do you misplace a carrier? Right?
Well, in wartime, it ain't that hard. You just find one that's about to be decommissioned
and slip it out before they tear it apart. Orders get canceled. No one knows. If we needed
money, it was transferred from dummy corporate accounts. If you stop and think about it,
it wouldn't be that hard. Shit like that has been going on for centuries where SpecWar is
concerned.."
Jerod stopped to catch his breath and sip from his drink. Gabriel didn't say a
word. "But I'm getting off track. Sorry. Anyway, the SSA agent took me to a place much
like this cubicle and laid out the offer. I asked him what would happen if I said no. He
looked at me and said that that would be 'unfortunate'. But neither of us was worried. I
128 The Machine

accepted without hesitation. He then whisked me into a hidden shuttle craft and took off.
As we flew away, I looked back and saw the building I was just in go up in a huge blast.
Thankfully no one had been in it."
"I was then locked in a room on the shuttle. There were no windows, holovids,
or computers in it. So, with nothing better to do, I laid out on the bed. They must have
pumped sleeping gas into the room, because I fell asleep fast and didn't wake up for I
don't know how long. When I did awaken, I was in a medical facility. A nurse saw me sit
up, and she walked quickly out of the room. Minutes later the agent who had recruited me
came in. He sat down on the side of my bed and handed me a ream of papers. Curious, I
read them all. Simply put, Eric Lewis Kelsey was dead. He had been killed when an
informant detonated a bomb after a deal went sour. He was buried with full honors. My
new name was Jerod Ashley Arnett, but I was never to use that name outside of the unit."
"The agent then handed me a mirror. I looked in it, and looking back at me was
the face of a stranger. Apparently, while I was out, they had performed plastic surgery on
me, totally changing my face and altering my finger prints. I also learned that all of my
former medical records had been wiped out. My DNA, blood type, prints, everything.
Gone. I was a new man."
"When I was fully recovered, I was sent to training. The stuff they taught me at
that place was beyond anything I had ever imagined! Marine Corps Boot Camp was like a
day in the park compared to it! I thought I was going to die. They didn't stop pushing me
until I was the fastest, deadliest, strongest, meanest son of a bitch in space. Covert Ops
training fell short too. There they taught me everything I would need to know to kill,
maim, pillage, burn, shoot, loot, sneak, and fight my way through any type of mission. I
tell you now, sir, I've used every bit of that training too. I won't give you any mission
particulars, but I will say that I've been to places no human's ever seen, much less cared to
go to."
"But you're probably wondering what all this has to do with you, right? Well,
I'm getting to that. You see, my instructor was Colonel Alexander Lucien Crow. And
after me and the others in my unit were done training, he was also our Operations Leader
and Commanding Officer. I served under him for seven years. We called our unit 'Team
Crow'. I know there were other groups out there, but we were never given any
information about them, for our benefit of course. What you don't know, you can't tell
others. You see?"
Gabriel nodded, fully understanding.
"Operation Damocles' SpecWar missions profile was simple: do the dirty deeds
no one could. We went further into enemy lines than anyone else did, hopping and
popping on Kilrathi planets who never saw it coming. We took out weapons facilities,
strongholds, covert bases, you name it. And we didn't stop at the Kilrathi either. Some of
our missions involved dealing with domestic terrorism. No one was safe from us. That's
why they used Damocles as the code name for the operation. Do you know the story, sir?"
Gabriel replied that he did. Thinking back to his history lessons in school, he
called up the information and recited what he knew aloud. "Damocles, born around 370
BC, was a courtier of Dionysius the Elder, the tyrant of Syracuse in Sicily. According to
the legends retold by Horace and Cicero, Damocles once commented to his sovereign on
the grandeur and happiness of rulers. Dionysius soon after invited him to a lavish
banquet, where Damocles enjoyed the delights of the table until his attention was directed
upward and he saw a sharp sword hanging above him by a single horsehair. Through this
Dionysius made Damocles realize that insecurity and danger threatened those who
appeared to be the most safe and fortunate."
Arnett smiled sadly. "Yes, sir. That's it. We were that sword, Captain. We
 The Machine 129

threatened, and most of the time killed, people who thought they were beyond reach, be it
human terrorists or Kilrathi nobles. And we did it every way there was to do it in every
theater of operations conceivable; in space, under water, on the ground, far away, and
wetworks close."
"But my last mission was four years ago, just after the Kilrathi were defeated.
We had received intel that a splinter group of Kilrathi were hold-up on the small planet of
Merlin VIII. Never heard of it? Good, you weren't supposed to. Back then it was a
research facility testing radical weapons designs. Somehow, these Kilrathi, who didn't
want to go gently into that good night, had found out about it and taken it over, using the
humans there as hostages. Our mission was to get in there and take them out. We didn't
know how many of them there were, nor what their gear was composed of. They could
have had anything from a slingshot to tachyon cannons. But that didn't matter. Getting
those hostages out and securing the facility's secrets was. So, without further adieu, Team
Crow was in a shuttle and on our way, loaded for bear. When we landed on the planet,
about one kilometer from the facility, Colonel Crow, as was usual, went out the door first.
He didn't move farther than ten meters before a mortar round exploded between him and
the shuttle, sending him flying. Then blasts were coming from all over, dozens of
explosions, mortars and particle cannons, bullets and lasers. What had been a quiet scene
only seconds before had turned into a war zone. The captain of the shuttle sealed the
hatch, lifted off, and flew away from the planet as quick as his engines would carry him.
We were pissed. One of our guys practically threatened to blow his head off if he didn't
turn around to get Crow. But he refused, saying that going back was suicide. If Crow was
still alive, he wouldn't be for much longer. That hit us hard. But still, we didn't want to
leave his body to those fleabags. The captain wouldn't hear any of it. He just found our
jump point and got us to our carrier."
"Well, a return op was immediately in the works. Every member of Team Crow
vowed to get revenge. The second attempt was scheduled for a week later. Why not
immediately? Because they would be expecting us to come right back. We had to give
them some time to loosen up and get comfy. Then we would land on them like a ton of
bricks at terminal velocity."
"Fast forward one week. We head toward the planet, but this time we've got air
support, and the shuttle was one of those new stealth models. But when we landed, the
hostages came running up to meet us! What the hell had happened? None of them knew.
All they could tell us was that for two days all they heard was fighting and some
explosions. When the last of the sounds died out, the door to their holding pen was
opened. But they didn't see anyone outside. They never got a glimpse of who had saved
them. The only thing they heard was one of the Kilrathi fighters taking off behind the
complex. But they were too afraid to go look. Since then they had waited for a rescue ship
to pick them up. They would have called for one, but the Kilrathi had destroyed all their
communications equipment."
"After getting them off the planet, we did some investigating. Inside the facility
we found over two dozen dead cats, most of them having died from knife wounds or other
close-quarter combat injuries, such as snapped necks, broken legs and arms, and
punctured organs. But no Colonel Crow. Behind the facility were six more dead cats. It
took some doing, but we figured that ten Kilrathi craft had been parked out back. None
were left. When we got in orbit and checked around, we eventually found the escaped
ships' vapor trails. We followed it and found the remains of seven fighters and one
shuttle, their pilots floating in space. That meant two more were missing. But the trail
ended there, so we couldn't find them."
"Back on the planet we located a Kilrathi computer. In it was the names of all
130 The Machine

the splinter faction's members and the craft they used. By checking the bodies and ship
serial numbers we had against the computer's information, we discovered that the two
missing ships were both Sorthak heavy fighters. One of them belonged to a corpse behind
the facility. Do you know who the other belonged too?"
It didn't take great deductive skills to figure that one out. "Firemane," Gabriel
replied.
"Exactly. Since he was a part of the splinter faction, he was persona nongrata on
Kilrah. And since his faction was destroyed, what was he to do? Now we know."
"Yeah," Gabriel said. "So Colonel Crow, having taken out everyone he could on
the planet, jumped in the only Kilrathi ship left and chased after them. Eight he got, but
one somehow escaped. After spending four years of living and operating on his own he
found the last remaining member of the faction and fulfilled his mission. All on his
own… Incredible."
"You ain't kidding, sir," Arnett told him. "Since there was no body, we couldn't
write him off as dead. But we also couldn't say he was alive either. Ultimately they just
wrote him off and moved on. Even if he was alive, they wouldn't find him if he didn't
want to be found. Their training made sure of that. We were better than anyone else, and
of all of us in Damocles, he was the best."
"But that was it for me," Arnett went on. "I told them I was done, stick a fork in
me. Seeing them write Crow off like that, as though he didn't matter, finished it for me.
To the rest of the universe we might not have existed, but I'd be damned if I was going to
work for people who would treat us the same way. Before I left, they gave me a briefing
on my new life, pretty much telling me everything you have on my bio. I spent a month
working it in my brain, getting it right. They made damn sure I knew it up, down, and
sideways before I left. Afterwards, I did as the last of my bio said, hanging and fighting in
Privateer groups. I did it for four years. And that brings is to you, Captain."
"So it does," Gabriel said, leaning back. "And that brings us to Crow, the
mysterious ALC."
Arnett nodded.
"Did you have any clue about this before we touched down, Commander?"
"Not in the least, Captain." Arnett said, shaking his head. "I hate to say it, but I
tried to put Colonel Crow out of my mind. He was a great man, and almost like a father to
me. But he was gone, and I didn't have the first idea on how to find him on my own. SSA
sure as hell wasn't going to help. I had to get on with my life and let him lead his."
"When did you figure it out then?"
"Well, when that mercenary pilot started talking about The Machine, his
description of him was classic Crow. No emotion, no distractions. Just pure concentration
and calculation. And then I looked at the Kilrathi fighter's name. I'd forgotten about that.
It all came home after that."
"Hhmm," Gabriel hummed, kicking back. "What do you think we should do
then?"
"About signing him aboard, sir?"
"Yes. That."
"You won't find a better warrior anywhere, sir. And you won't find a better man.
I would trust him with my life. I remember a list of Ten SpecWar Commandments he
drilled into me. He said it was a list that had been handed down for generations. I don't
remember who originally wrote it though. They went:

1: I am the War Lord and the wrathful God of Combat and I will always lead
you from the front, not the rear.
 The Machine 131

2: I will treat you all alike - just like shit

3: Thou shalt do nothing I will not do first, and thus will you be created Warriors
in My deadly image.
4: I shall punish thy bodies because the more thou sweatest in training, the less
thou bleedest in combat.
5: Indeed, if thou hurteth in thy efforts and thou suffer painful dings, then thou
art Doing It Right.
6: Thou hast not to like it - though hast just to do it.
7: Thou shalt Keep It Simple, Stupid.
8: Thou shalt never assume.
9: Verily, thou art not paid for thy methods, but for thy results, by which
meaneth
thou shalt kill thine enemy by any means available before he killeth you.
10: Thou shalt, in thy Warrior's Mind and Soul, always remember My ultimate
and final Commandment: There are No Rules - Thou Shalt Win at All Cost.

"To this day those words ring in my ears, sir"

Gabriel understood. "But I wonder why he wants to join the Black Knights?"
Arnett said, "I've been giving that one some thought. The only plausible reason I
can come up with is me. He must know I'm on your ship, and maybe he wants to follow
my lead. Maybe he wants to rehash old times. Hell, I don't know, maybe it's all just
coincidence. But I learned long ago that there's no such thing."
"You're probably right," Gabriel responded. "But the only way we'll know for
sure is to go ask him in person."
Finally, Arnett broke from his unhappy mood and smiled. "Let's get going."
Gabriel stopped him first. "Should he know about what you've told me?"
It was like cold water had been splashed in the commander's face. "Ohhh….
Well, better let me talk to him alone first. I'll inform him of your knowledge, and see what
he thinks. Don't say anything. But if he knows about me being on your ship, then he's
probably already factored in my telling you all this. But either way, let me handle it."
"Good plan," Gabriel said. He checked his chronometer. "And we better get
moving. Time waits for no man."
"You got that right."
"And, Commander? Thanks for trusting me. I know that if Confed ever finds out
I know about this, they'll most likely kill me. But that doesn't matter. Your trust and
dedication does."
Arnett was at a loss for words, so he only nodded and opened the door. Outside
they gathered together and headed off. Crow's apartment was a good ways away, and they
had an appointment to keep.

~*~~*~~*~

Xanadu Sector
Coleridge V
The Pleasure Dome
0715 Hours Local Time
The ride to the apartment complex indicated in Crow's e-mail was easier to get to
than Gabriel thought it would be. Finding a cabby was one thing; finding one that would
transport seven armed and armored men was another. But eventually they literally
stumbled upon one that would.
132 The Machine

The driver was slumped in front of his cab, his breath reeking of booze. One of
the Forces men accidentally kicked him as they walked past. When the driver's head
banged against his bumper, he jerked awake and reflexively asked, "Ya need a ride?!"
Gabriel stopped in mid stride, turned, and gazed at the half slumbering man.
"Why yes, we do," the captain said.
Arnett grabbed Gabriel's arm. "No offense, Skipper, but are you insane? He's
three sheets to the wind and lookin' for a fourth!"
The captain almost laughed. "No offense taken, Commander. But we are running
out of options. Time is growing short, and we are still far from our destination. If this…
man… can get us there in one piece, I'll be happy."
The commander sniffed and turned away, unbelieving of the situation.
Unperturbed, Gabriel knelt down before the cab driver. "Hey? You awake?" The cabby
didn't respond, having fallen asleep again. Not taking no for an answer, Gabriel slapped
the man's chubby cheeks. Amazingly, the man slept through it. "Aw, fuck this," the
captain said. "Corporal Dubois, hand me your rifle, please." The corporal did as
instructed without question. Taking the weapon, Gabriel looked around. After spotting
what he wanted, he pulled the rifle to his shoulder, primed the EM chamber, shouted,
"Fire in the hole!" and fired. The charged aluminum slug zipped out at the speed of light
and smashed into a broken down truck forty meters away. In an impressive display of
pyrotechnics and sound, the truck exploded, flames and debris shooting into the sky.
That finally woke the driver up. Like an antique jack-in-the-box he was up on
his feet and bouncing, all traces of drunkenness wiped away. "What the hell?!" he
shouted, his eyes darting around, half expecting to see an invasion force coming toward
him. Instead he was greeted by the sight of seven men, five in full armor, and the other
two with enough attitude to make up for the lack of protective covering. The one closest
to him had a strange-looking rifle in hand, the butt of it resting against his hip. A
conniving smile was plastered in the middle of his goatee.
"Sorry to wake you, kind sir," Gabriel said, "but I was wondering if we might be
able to hire you for a short excursion?" Sarcasm fairly dripped from his words.
"You?" the driver asked, incredulous. "Hire me? For what? To take you to some
war zone? I don't think so. Go hassle somebody else. I'm not in the mood to die tonight."
He bent to settle back onto the ground and resume his nap.
"Not a war zone, friend," Gabriel said, forcing his voice to speak with the
smoothness that had gotten him out of many a jam. "We just need a ride to an apartment
building. Nothing major or hazardous."
The cabby gave him the middle finger salute. "Eat me."
Slightly miffed at the man's discourteous behavior, Gabriel pulled out one-
hundred credits and tossed them in the man's lap. "Does this help, friend?"
Unbelievably, the man brushed the money away. "You could pay me a million
credits and I wouldn't do it. I know your kind. You lure some helpless cabby with money,
then use him and his cab as cover while you blast away. Well I won't do it. So fuck off."
With a simple head gesture, Gabriel had Kyle pick up the man by the scruff of
his neck. Now able to talk eye to eye, man to man, the captain stepped in close. "Listen,
cabby, I'm not interested in getting into fights. Me and my men here just need a lift to an
apartment complex. I promise you it's a safe job. It just seems that other drivers refuse to
pick us up. Now I know why. But I swear, just drive us where we need to go, and then
you can split. No fire fights. Scout's honor."
The man looked at Gabriel skeptically. "I have your word on that?"
Gabriel bowed slightly. "My word is my bond, friend driver."
"Yeah," the hanging man said. "That and a half credit will get ya a cup of coffee.
 The Machine 133

Get your goon here to let me go, and I'll take ya." Gabriel waved his hand. The man fell
to his feet, swaying slightly. "And make it two-hundred credits. I got kids ta feed."
The only children Gabriel figured the man might have were the cockroaches in
whatever hovel he called home. The type of woman that would sleep with him, much less
bear his children, was too alien to think about. "Very well. Two-hundred it is."
"Up front, bub," the man said, holding out his hand. Gabriel drew out the money
and laid it on his palm. "That's better. Now, where did you say you needed to go?"
"I didn't," Gabriel replied. "But the address is 221 Alexis Avenue, West
Territories, High-Rise Center. That a problem, friend?"
The cabby's eyes lit up. "High-Rise Center? Well why didn't ya say so in the first
place? That area is almost gun free! Get in! And stop calling me friend. My name's
Benny."
"Okay, Benny," Gabriel replied. "Thanks."
Hastily the men got in the cab, cramming their bulky bodies and suits in tight.
Benny opened his door and settled in. With little fanfare he started his car and took off,
the anti-grav units sputtering under the weight. The cab careened around for fifteen
minutes as the man, still a touch inebriated, drove through the air. Dawn was beginning
the fill the sky, its soft pink and yellow lights kissing away yet another night. Gabriel
would have enjoyed it if he hadn't been holding on for dear life, seeing buildings whip by
close enough to touch.
But finally they came to their destination, all dread-filled thoughts to the
contrary. The men exited the car briskly, almost wanting to smooch the ground beneath
their feet. On shaky legs Gabriel turned and gave the man another hundred credits. "Can
you wait here a few minutes?"
Benny pocketed the money, gave the question careful thought, then replied,
"Nope." Gabriel almost lost his hand when the cab lifted into the air and took off for parts
unknown.
"Guess we'll have to find another one when we leave," Arnett said.
"Guess so. I hope the ones here are more friendly." The captain gazed around his
new surroundings, surprised. No where in sight was there a hooker, drug dealer, or bar.
The streets were clean, the walls graffiti free. The only sounds were those of vehicles in
the distance, but the noise was muted. Here it was peaceful, almost tranquil. The men
stood still for a moment, absorbing all they could. Serenity had been in short supply the
past several hours. When Gabriel felt refreshed he said, "Well, let's go. It's time."
They walked orderly into the apartment complex and went to an elevator center.
Around the walls were situated three elevator doors, one on each compass point except
for south. Reaching out a finger, Gabriel called a lift for his desired level. As they waited,
several residents of the complex walked by, their eyes boring into the armored men. "Tsk,
tsk, tsk," they clucked. Gabriel ignored them. A minute later the lift door in front of them
opened and a young couple exited wearing exercise clothes of shorts and tank tops. As
they passed each other, the young man said, "Nice EM rifles. They for sale?" As the lift
doors closed, Arnett told him no. The man shrugged and walked off with his girlfriend.
Alone in the lift, a disembodied voice asked, "What specific level, please?"
"Level twenty," Gabriel said.
"Thank you. Have a good day." The computer voice was almost repugnant in its
sappy cheerfulness.
"If I don't get shot at I will," Arnett said low.
Gabriel and the Forces men laughed. "Have no fear, Commander," Gabriel said.
"The day is just beginning." He clapped Arnett on the armored back. Everyone busted up
laughing again.
134 The Machine

Suddenly, the captain's comm beeped. "McClellan here."

Colonel Marx answered back. "Morning, Captain. Just thought you should know
that your package has arrived."
"Great," Gabriel said, letting one of the night's worries go. "Were there any…
complications?"
"None, sir," Marx replied. "Everything's clear."
"That's good to know, Colonel, but keep an eye out. We should be leaving
shortly, so you might want to start getting ready."
"I copy, Captain."
"Good. McClellan out."
The lift's doors dinged and whooshed open. Arnett leaned his head out and
checked the hallway. Nothing. There was only one direction they could go, and that led to
a door at the end of the hallway. No other apartments were on that level.
"All clear," he said, waving them out. They followed his lead, leaving the lift
one at a time. As the last man exited, the doors closed swiftly. When they finally reached
the apartment door, Gabriel stepped to the front and pressed the in-house comm panel. A
sign lit up telling him to speak. "I'm Captain Gabriel Sean McClellan of the PCS Aurora.
I'm responding to an e-mail you sent me asking to join my ranks."
Not expecting to be kept waiting long, Gabriel wasn't surprised when the door
opened seconds later. What did surprise him was the fact the man opening the door had
an over-stuffed duffel bag in one hand and an EM rifle similar to theirs in the other, while
still wearing the same light armor he had worn at the Coliseum.
"Wha-?" Gabriel started to say. But Crow only ushered them backwards.
"Sorry, Captain," he said, his voice deep and gruff, "but we need to move. Fast."
"What's going on?" the captain asked. "We need to talk."
"No time," Crow voiced. "Company's on the way."
Just then, the lift doors back down the hall chimed and opened. From it stepped
three men, one short and pudgy dressed in a three-piece silk suit, the other two big as
mountains wearing heavy assault armor and sporting cutting edge photon cannons. Upon
seeing the crowd of men at the apartment door, the pudgy man's eyes narrowed.
"So," he said, his voice too high for such a thick body. "This is the thanks I get
for taking you from an unknown loser to the highest profile fighter the Coliseum ever
saw?"
This must be the illustrious Mr. Robert Olman, Gabriel thought. Manager to the
stars. "Is there a problem, sir?" Gabriel asked, playing ignorant.
"Who the fuck are you?" Olman demanded. "Did I ask you to speak?"
"No," Gabriel replied, too stunned at the man's self-importance to think of
anything more.
"Then shut up," Olman told him. "You open your cake hole when I tell you to.
Until then, zip it." Olman pulled at this slacks, drawing the waist higher. "Now, Machine,
we need to talk."
Crow didn't move. "We have nothing to discuss, Mr. Olman."
"Oh, I think we do. What's this e-mail business anyway? 'I no longer have any
need of your services'? What's that shit?" Olman's face was starting to flush, his anger
building. "You leave when I tell you you can leave. You do as I say. When I'm done with
you, believe me, you'll be the first to know."
"I'm sorry you feel that way," Crow stated. Slowly, Gabriel noted, he was raising
the barrel of his rifle.
"Sorry?!" Olman screamed. "Sorry?! You don't know the meaning of the word,
son. But I'm about to teach it to ya.. Boys, clean this mess up."
 The Machine 135

The words were barely out of his mouth before the two brutes were bringing
their weapons to bear. Crow, though, was ahead of the game. Seeing the fighter tense,
Gabriel pressed himself against the wall and shouted, "Heads up!" Arnett and his men hit
the deck.
Crow's EM rifle barked softly, but its bite was killer. The metal slug hammered
into the man on Olman's right, sending him flying backwards, undamaged save for a
bruised ego. The guard's armor and shields took the brunt of the hit.
The guard to Olman's left was more quick-witted. His photon cannon fired and
sent sizzling energy at the apartment's door. To everyone's amazement, it held.
Gabriel pulled out his blazers and got to work, firing at full charge. The positron
packets flew like mad birds, blasting against the standing guard's shields. Arnett got to
one knee and did the same.
But still the guard stayed on his feet. He leveled his cannon and fired again. This
time part of the blast caught Arnett and Ramirez. Their shields deflected most of the
energy, but Ramirez buckled, his face slightly burnt.
The other guard was getting up, but the bulky armor tried to hold him down.
Gabriel, sizing the situation up, shouted orders. "Dubois and Kyle, get up here and start
hammering! Davis, Cohen, back them up! Arnett and Alvarez, get Ramirez and follow
me! Crow, open your damn door and get us inside! We need cover!" The men did as
instructed, firing charged projectiles at the guards. Unfortunately, Olman had dashed to
safety in the lift when he heard the orders given. The sound of explosions was deafening
in the close quarters. Gabriel knew the mens’ armor would protect them long enough to
find the cover they needed.
Gabriel's unintentional use of Crow's name, a name he shouldn't have known yet,
wasn't overlooked by the fighter. He glanced over at Arnett. The commander just looked
up and nodded. Crow then looked at the captain. "You know?" he said, shouting to be
heard.
"Yes," Gabriel replied.
Crow shrugged. "Okay. I figured so. Understandable. Let's move." Like
lightning in the flesh he entered his access code into the door's security panel. A heartbeat
later it opened. Crow stayed outside the door to direct Gabriel through, then helped Arnett
and Alvarez carry the unconscious Ramirez inside.
"We're clear!" Gabriel shouted into his comm. "Fall back!"
Using measured steps, the remaining four Forces men retreated, covering
themselves with multiple shots. Both the guards were pinned down on the floor, helpless
for the moment. If backup arrived, that would change.
When everyone was inside, Gabriel asked Crow, "Any back doors out of here?"
Crow pointed to a large window facing the rising sun.
"Great," Gabriel hissed. Just then explosions ripped at the door. The guards had
apparently noticed that they were alone.
"Hold long will that door hold?" the captain asked.
Crow shook his head. "I don't know, sir. I've never felt the need to test it against
photon cannons before."
Gabriel tilted his mouth into a frown. "Cute. Any ideas?"
In response, Crow walked to the east window and looked out. Not liking his
angle, he slowly opened it. Having enough room to push his head out, he spied the street
below. There he saw a long stretch limo eight meters from the building's entrance, while
ten meters behind it was a van full of soldiers. Olman was walking from the building on
his stubby legs, heading for the van. "What a bunch of assholes," Crow sneered. "Like
ducks in a pond." Shoving the window open, he leaned out and pointed his rifle at the
136 The Machine

van. He was about to fire when Gabriel leaned out with him. "Do you mind backing up,
sir?" Crow asked.
Gabriel looked at Crow sternly. "There are civilians out there, Crow. You blow
that van, and some of them will get killed."
Crow looked deep in the captain's eyes. Seeing his resolve Crow said, "Sorry,
sir. Guess it's been a long time since civilians were a part of the equation. What do you
want me to do then?"
Instead of responding, Gabriel leaned back out the window and shouted, "Hey,
Olman! Up here!"
The fat little man, about eleven meters away from his target, heard and looked
up. When he saw Crow aiming his EM rifle at him, he turned tail and practically dove for
his limo. Pedestrians on the street also heard and looked up. Their reaction was much the
same, all of them running for safety. It took almost three seconds to clear the area.
"Thank you, Captain," Crow said, then let loose. His rifle jerked as ten rounds of
hellish fury leapt out and rained on the van's roof, the brutes inside unaware of the
danger. Nanoseconds later the van exploded like the Fourth Of July, metal and body parts
flying everywhere, fire leaping and dancing. People screamed, but no civilians appeared
to be hurt. "That takes care of that," Crow said.
Photon blasts still pounded against the apartment door, reminding them that
there was still some unfinished business. "That's great, but what do we do now?" Gabriel
wondered aloud.
Crow, not resting on his laurels, opened his duffel bag and rummaged through it.
Precious seconds later he found what he needed. Standing up, he held a rolled up bundle
of titanium/nylon rope. The stuff was great for repelling because it was as flexible as
normal rope, but couldn't be cut without using laser-enhanced cutters. Crow bent and tied
one end around a column near the window, then tossed the rest outside. Gabriel looked
out and saw that the rope ended about four floors from the ground.
"You're a bit shy there, Crow," Gabriel said.
Crow shrugged. "It'll do." Walking toward the window, he wrapped a length of
rope around his waist and slung his rifle over his back. "Keep a watch on that door. It
won't hold much longer." Then he sat on the window ledge, swung his legs out, and
dropped. "I'll be back," he said before he disappeared.
Gabriel ordered Davis and Kyle to train their rifles on the doorway while he
went to watch Crow. Sticking his head out, Gabriel saw the man repelling down the
apartment building in long kicks. Arnett joined him in watching the show.
"Same old Crow," the commander said, smiling. "All guns forward and devil
take the hind most."
Behind them, the door was starting to buckle. How it had survived up to that
point was anyone's guess. "Kyle, we need to stop them for a few minutes. If they keep
hammering, we're goners. If you would care to help me, I'll remedy the situation."
Kyle smiled. "I'd be more than happy to, Captain. What's the plan?"
Gritting his teeth, Gabriel went over and took two EM rifles, one from Ramirez
who didn't need his for the moment, and the other from Alvarez. Checking both weapons'
ammo supplies, he walked toward the foyer. Kyle accompanied him. To everyone's
surprise, Gabriel laid down on his rear and pressed his back against the wall that was
opposite the door two meters. Then he closed his eyes and listened. Everyone else
followed his example. Slowly they began to notice a pattern emerging. They guards
would fire nonstop for several seconds, then stop to let their guns recharge. If they were
smart they would have alternated their blows, but being the overpaid-underbrained thugs
they were, they fired in unison. Good for Gabriel, bad for them. When Gabriel counted
 The Machine 137

off the explosions and knew they were about to stop, he told Kyle to get ready. Three-
quarters of a second later he shouted, "Now!"
As the door flew open, the firing ceased. On his back, Gabriel saw the two
guards standing with their rifles at point, waiting for the charge to build back up. When
they saw Gabriel aiming two EM rifle barrels at them, their eyes opened wide in shock
and sudden fear. Without making the usually obligatory opening statement, the prone
captain pressed both triggers. In the tight confines of the foyer, the sound of both rifles
firing ceaselessly was like a freight train running at top speed with a bad piston. The
steady stream of aluminum slugs tipped with explosives hammered into the guards,
sending them flying backwards. Gabriel didn't stop though; he just kept the triggers
pressed. Eight seconds later, when the smoke finally cleared and the rifles had run out of
ammo, Gabriel viewed the devastation. "Dear god," he whispered, his heart pounding in
his ears.
Feeling that it was safe to look as well, Arnett and his men, sans Ramirez of
course, ran over. What they saw took their breath away: the other end of the hallway was
destroyed, the demolished wall now a window looking out into open air. Both guards
were on the ground, dead. One was blown in half, while the other was missing his right
arm. Their armor was dented and shattered, their rifles smoking rubble. It reminded them
of a demilitarized zone.
"Stupid, stupid," Gabriel said to himself.
Arnett heard him. "What's stupid, sir?"
Gabriel looked at him with tears in his eyes. "Me."
Taken aback, Arnett knelt down beside him. "How do you figure that?"
Gabriel waved his hand at the smashed wall. "There could have been people on
the other side, Arnett. I could have killed innocent people. I was stupid!"
Patting his knee, Arnett said, "Well, first, Captain, there aren't any other
apartments on this level. Second, they didn't give you much choice. And third, sometimes
shit happens. Sad as it may be, innocents die all the time. It's the danger of living. And for
these people, living in the Pleasure Dome, that danger is a hundred times greater. They
know the risks, yet they stay. Don't feel bad. You did what you had to do. Don't beat
yourself up about it. Besides, no one other than those assholes got hurt."
Gabriel nodded and wiped the tears from his eyes. "Yeah, you're right. Thanks."
"No problem, sir," Arnett said. "Now let's get going. Our ride is here."
"Ride?" Gabriel asked. The commander motioned his head back toward the
apartment's eastern window. Outside it was Olman's limo hovering in place, Crow at the
wheel. Gabriel laughed. "Curb-side service. I like it. Let's move, people!"
Everyone raced to the window. Three minutes later they were off and running.
Fifteen minutes after that, Crow parked at the Northern Bay's train depot lot. When they
arrived, Ramirez woke up. Groggy and confused, he asked, "Did I miss anything." The
resulting burst of laughter threw him off, but he smiled wide. "Damn. I guess so."
Gabriel slapped him gently on the shoulder. "We'll tell you all about it on the
flight home, soldier. But for now I think we need to get moving."
Extraditing themselves from the luxurious interior of the limo, the men stood
outside looking around. Crow was pulling his duffel bag from the front passenger seat.
"I'm glad that's over," Arnett said. "Now we can get to the Aurora and leave this place far
behind."
"Not yet," Crow told them. "There's still one more thing."
Not knowing what to expect, they followed the colonel to the limo's trunk.
Keying it open, Crow lifted the lid. Inside was the bound and gagged Mr. Olman, his face
livid. Crow reached in and pulled the thick tape from his mouth. Immediately the
138 The Machine

manager was shouting.

"You fucking piece of shit! When I get out of here I'm gonna-"
Crow slapped him good and hard. "You're not going to do anything, Mr.
Olman."
Olman wasn't phased. "Oh yeah?! Well, think again-"
Crow slapped him again, harder. "You know, for such a supposedly smart man
you sure can be a stupid ass. Let me lay out the law for you, and I'll speak slowly so you
can understand. You ready? Good. I'm leaving. My job here is done. I thank you for your
services, but I don't need you anymore. My e-mail should have convinced you of that.
From here on out, you don't think about me, and you don't look for me. I'm gone. But if
this doesn't convince you, then perhaps the pictures I have of you with Kubla Khan's wife
might be more persuasive. If I find out you're sniffing after me, then those pictures will
find themselves in Khan's hands. I pretty much doubt he would appreciate knowing you
were keeping his wife 'company' while he was out of town."
Olman was silent as a rock, trembling with fear and rage. "You're bluffing,
Machine."
"Am I?" Crow pulled a sheaf of photos from his bag and tossed them on Olman's
chest. Everyone could clearly see what they contained: Olman with Khan's wife, in bed,
engaged in various nocturnal pursuits. Olman's eyes practically flew from his head. "And
I have more, so don't worry. You can keep those for your viewing pleasure." The fat
shivering man could only stutter in impotent fury. "Yeah, that's what I thought you'd say,"
Crow said without a hint of humor. "Remember what I said. You forget all about me, and
I'll forget all about these pictures. You mess with me, and Khan is going to mess with you
more. Normally I would just kill you and be done with it, but you've caught me in a good
mood. Blowing up a van full of people wanting to kill me at seven in the morning does
that to me. Besides, you aren't worth the ammo. Now take my words to heart, think about
it, and be smart. Goodbye, Mr. Olman." With that he slammed the truck lid shut. Olman
was screaming and pounding against it.
"Is it all right to leave him in there?" Gabriel asked.
"Yes," Crow answered. "There's a tracking device inside the car. His people will
find him soon enough. He'll be okay."
Nodding, Gabriel gathered his men and made for the train depot, the muted
sounds of Olman's ranting and raving fading into the distance. A sonic-train arrived
within minutes to pick them up and transport them to the Northern Landing Bay, Tau
quadrant. Once there, it was only a matter of a few hundred meters to their berthing slots.
On the way, Gabriel had contacted Marx to inform them that liftoff would be
commencing shortly. So, when they arrived, all three fighters were revved to go and the
shuttle was idling. Gabriel gave a thumbs-up to Marx, ushered his men aboard, and closed
the hatch. Inside they met Debra. The ground forces men were surprised, but Arnett
quickly told them a slightly edited version of the situation. They nodded and did
everything possible to make her comfortable.
"You want me to takes us out of here?" the commander asked.
After a little thought, Gabriel replied, "No, but thanks. I think I'll do it. It'll be
nice to be in space again." Arnett nodded. Gabriel turned to Debra. "Would you care to
join me in the cockpit?"
"That would be nice," she said, slightly blushing. She had changed her clothes,
choosing to wear non-revealing attire to make her less attractive. But Gabriel remembered
how she had looked those many hours ago, and his pulse increased.
"Then follow me," he told her. Together they settled into their seats, strapped
themselves in, and got ready. Keying the comm, Gabriel said, "This is Aurora landing
 The Machine 139

craft Alpha, requesting permission for liftoff for ships Alpha, Bravo, Delta, and Kappa.
Come in Planetary Orbital Control."
"This is Control, Alpha. We are clearing a window for you now. Please hold."
The comm shut off.
"Did you have any trouble getting here, Debra?" Gabriel asked.
The woman shook her head. "None. One of the quietest nights I've ever seen."
Gabriel blanched. "Quiet? I'd hate to see what you'd consider busy."
Debra giggled. "Maybe, but I'm sure you could handle it." She reached out and
fingered his armor. He looked down and saw that it was scorched in several places from
photon blasts and had a smattering of blood. "How was your night?" she asked
sarcastically.
Gabriel shrugged, a smile filling his face. "Oh, you know, just another night out
on the town." Both of them burst into raucous laughter.
The comm interrupted them. "Aurora Alpha, we are ready for your departure."
"Thanks, Control," Gabriel responded.
"We've downloaded your exit vector. Follow it precisely. And we hope you had
a pleasant stay here at the Pleasure Dome. Come again anytime. Control out."
Everyone on the shuttle exchanged glances, then burst into laughter again. Marx
came over the comm asking, "What's so funny over there?"
"Marx," Gabriel said, "if you get me a drink back aboard the ship, I'll tell you the
whole story."
"It's a deal, Captain," Marx replied. "Now let's get outta here."
"Affirmative. Take us out, Colonel."
Gabriel saw the pilot give him a thumbs-up, then he rocketed forward. Gabriel
followed his example and opened the throttle. The shuttle screamed out if its slot and
headed for the sky. Sullivan and Micheals were hot on their trail. Moving into formation,
the four ships raced away from the Dome and didn't waste any time looking back. No
tears were shed as they left.
As they neared the Aurora, Gabriel opened the comm. "PCS Aurora, this is
Shuttle Monitor. We are requesting clearance to land."
Communications Officer Second Lieutenant Darin Thomson was quick to
respond. "This is Aurora, Monitor. You are cleared to land."
"Thanks, Aurora"
"It's good to have you back, Captain," Lieutenant Northstar said. "Is everyone
alright?"
"Just a few bumps and bruises, Lieutenant. Nothing major. But let Doctor
Blevens know that Ramirez will be heading her way. He's okay, but I want him looked at
just in case."
"Will do, sir. Northstar out."
Coming finally into close range, Debra was able to tell which ship they were
heading towards from the dozens that floated nearby. Her breath hitched. "That's the
Aurora?" she asked, seeing the former Kilrathi cruiser-turned-carrier.
"That's the one," Gabriel replied. "Is there a problem?"
"No," she said, shaking her head slowly. "I just didn't think it was going to be
so… big! And it's yours?"
Blushing, Gabriel nodded. "Yes, sorta. It's a long story. I'll tell it to you some
day when we've got the time."
"Kilrathi, isn't it?" she asked.
"Good eyes, Debra. Yes, it is."
"Not hard to guess, Gabriel," she told him. "Not many ships made with that
140 The Machine

many points on it."

Gabriel had to agree. "It's ours now, though. She's a good ship with a fine crew. I
hope you'll choose to stay with us."
Debra looked away, staring out her side window. "We'll see," she said softly.
"We'll see."
Swallowing the lump in his throat that had suddenly developed, Gabriel kept his
eyes forward. The four ships landed five minutes later.

~*~~*~~*~

Oracle Sector
Aegisthus System
PCS Aurora
En-Route To The Kabala Sector
Four Hours Later
When Gabriel and the other ships had finished landing, Lieutenant Northstar
wasted no time in leaving the Xanadu Sector. They were practically out of the Coleridge
System by the time everyone was out of their craft and removing whatever belongings
and gear they had brought along.
Gabriel's first order of business was getting Ramirez to Sick Bay. Thankfully,
Doctor Blevens was standing by with a floating stretcher and two nurses. Ramirez scoffed
at the offer to carry him, but Blevens wouldn't hear any of it. Ultimately, the good doctor
won out, and Ramirez was taken away on his back, bitching about the 'damn silly rules'
doctors always seemed to come up with. Arnett and the captain chuckled to themselves.
Next came Debra. Arnett offered to take care of Crow for a while, so Gabriel
was liberated to show Debra around. The captain told Crow to meet him in his quarters at
1200 sharp before the two groups separated. Crow saluted and said he would be there. A
spacehand was standing around, looking for something to do, so Gabriel handed Debra's
bags to him and told him to take them to Stateroom 125, Deck 4. The spacehand, eager to
please, took the baggage and departed quickly.
The remaining pilots and Ground Forces men wondered off on their own, some
straight to bed, others to the gym, while the rest went for the lounge, thoughts of
bottomless drinks dancing in their heads. Northstar was informed that he would remain in
command of the bridge for a few more hours, but that they should head back to the
Kabala Sector without delay.
So, without any more pressing constraints on his time or attention, Gabriel was
free to give Debra a tour of the ship. They visited Engineering, the Sick Bay (Ramirez
would be fine - just slight burns and a light concussion), the Lounge (where several
exaggerated stories were told by Davis and Alvarez, especially about Gabriel's fire fight
on the floor), the bridge, the gyms, and finally to Debra's room.
"This was originally where visiting Kilrathi nobles would stay. We changed
them a little and decided they would be good for important guests and such. I think you
qualify."
She smiled. "That's a lie, but thank you. It's a mighty big ship you've got here,
Gabriel. All your people seem to respect you. You should be proud."
Like a schoolboy, Gabriel blushed. "I am." Then he started shuffling his feet.
"What is it?" Debra asked.
"Have you decided if you want to stay or not?" he asked, unable to look at her
for fear of things she would see in his eyes, fear that she might get scared and run.
She reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. "I think I'll stick around,
 The Machine 141

Gabriel. There's not much I can do to help out, but if you need any waitresses in the
lounge, I'd be happy to do it."
The blood drained from his face. "I didn't mean- You don't have-," he
stammered.
She laughed softly. "I know."
Not knowing what else to say, Gabriel pulled at the light armor he was still
wearing. "Well then, you can stay here as long as you like. Let me know if there's
anything you need or want. We don't have a lot of frills here, but I'll see what I can do.
Get comfortable, and call me if you want to have dinner tonight. I better get going. I have
a meeting soon, and I want to get showered and out of this suit."
Saving him from making a complete fool of himself, Debra lifted his chin with
her right hand and looked in his eyes. They didn't say anything for long seconds, then she
leaned over and kissed him deeply. Electricity thrummed throughout his body. When she
was done, he swayed and leaned against a wall, weak in the knees.
"Thank you, Gabriel. Thank you for getting me out of there. I know you didn't
do it for any reason other than it's your nature. That makes it even more sweet and noble.
I'm no damsel in distress, but you are a true knight. Why don't we have dinner together
around seven this evening? I'm also no chef, but I think I can whip something up."
Gabriel was shocked. "You mean have dinner in your quarters?"
"Yes, silly," she said softly. "I don't think I want to go the mess hall just yet. I've
had my fill of dining rooms for awhile."
Nodding, Gabriel replied, "All right. Seven it is. I'll bring the wine."
"You do that," she said, then kissed him again. Seconds later she left his lips and
entered her room, leaving Gabriel to stand alone in the hallway, his eyes closed and his
cheeks flushed.
The chronometer on his arm chirped, alerting him that he had one hour until his
meeting with Crow. Opening his eyes, he turned on his heels and made his way toward a
lift that would take him to Deck One. From there it was a short walk to his cabin. Once
there, he stripped off his gear and entered the shower. He stayed in it for thirty minutes,
the steaming water cleaning off all traces of the Pleasure Dome, removing the filth and
grime. When we felt refreshed and rejuvenated, he dried off, shaved, and combed his hair
which was starting to grow too long. He wondered if he should cut it or let it go, maybe
grow it out to his shoulders. Feeling the question was too taxing, he let it go for future
contemplation.
After donning his uniform, a black outfit with a long silver and red strip running
across his chest and down his right leg, he lounged in a deep chair, the only piece of
Kilrathi furniture he had kept, mostly because of its size and comfort. His guitar was
close at hand, so he decided to while away the remaining few minutes running through a
couple of songs. As the notes of the last song echoed away, the door to his cabin chimed.
"Enter," he said, his voice command opening the door.
From the hallway outside stepped Colonel Crow. He was also dressed in a Black
Knights uniform, but his had a long gray and red strip, signifying that he was ground
forces but with pilot training. Gabriel thought that there should be a black strip running
down the center, but since covert operations wasn't a part of the ship's skill groups, one
wouldn't be put there.
"Have a seat, Colonel Crow," Gabriel said, motioning toward an empty chair
nearby. Crow walked over to it and settled in. "What do you think, Colonel?"
Crow was long in answering. "I like it, Captain. You have a good ship and crew.
They are tight, motivated, and skilled. You're a lucky man."
"Thank you," Gabriel said. "I know. But I guess since you're wearing a uniform I
142 The Machine

don't have to interview you. If Arnett says we should have you, then we will. He's a good
man."
"Yes," Crow replied, "he is."
"Speaking of which, is he why you asked to join this particular ship?"
Crow nodded. "Mostly. When I found out that Firemane was on Coleridge V and
fighting in the Pleasure Dome, I went there and inserted myself. I've been told you know
the basics of that story, so I won't bore you with it. But I knew that when I was done, I
really didn't have anywhere to go. I was a non-person, so that gave me a lot of freedom,
but it's useless if you don't also have direction. So, I figured I would join up with a
Privateering group, maybe become a mercenary. But when I found out Commander
Arnett was on your ship, I knew that was where I wanted to go."
"How did you find that out, Colonel? Information on crew members like that
isn't available to the public."
"I have my ways, Captain," Crow said slowly. "You don't get to be a Colonel in
the Confederation Marine Corps and team leader of a highly covert unit without knowing
where all the back doors are. Information is out there. You only have to know where and
how to look for it."
"I see," Gabriel said.
"I don't think you do, Captain," Crow told him. "You need to understand the full
ramifications here. I'm good at my job and will undoubtedly prove to be an asset to you,
but I'm also a liability. If the Stellar Security Advisors office or Confederation Defense
Intelligence finds out that I'm here, then the shit could hit the fan in a major way.
Especially since Arnett's here too. They would have no qualms about killing all of you.
Believe me."
Gabriel did, but he had made up his mind. "Be that as it may, Colonel, you are
now an official member of my crew. That means we all watch each other's backs. There
are others here who are somewhat dangerous to have as well. But we need them, so we
take the risks. You are no exception. Now, the information I have about you and
Commander Arnett is strictly confidential, and as such, your past is safe with me. No one
will know. As far as they are concerned, you were a Border Worlds Marine who got fed
up with it and wanted to come here after a successful stint as a fighter at the Coliseum. Is
that satisfactory?"
Crow nodded. "Completely, sir."
"Good. Now, I think it's high time I got back to my bridge. If you want, you can
head down to the armory or gym and get familiar with everything. If not, then go where
ever you like. We'll be meeting with Colonel Brightblade soon in the Kabala Sector. He's
been away from us for a few days, and I'm anxious to see how he's doing. He is the CO of
Ground Forces Operations, and therefore your superior, even though you are at the same
rank. I hope that won't be a problem."
"Negative, Captain," Crow assured him. "I didn't come here for command. I just
want to get back in the action."
"Good. Well, if there's nothing else, you're dismissed."
Standing up, Crow saluted Gabriel, Gabriel salute back, and both men left the
cabin, each going a different direction. Gabriel made his way toward the bridge. Once
there he relieved Lieutenant Northstar and took his seat. Marigold VII was only an hour
away, and he was anxious to see how his people were doing. Hopefully, they had had an
easier time of it. But then again, the universe was a wild place, danger and excitement
waiting around every corner.
The End
 Homecoming

Written by: Justin Macumber

Timestamp: 2675.001-012

Homecoming
* For the sake of easier reading and understanding, all C'Kuthra words and phrases,
save for the names of people, places, and ships, will be translated into Confederation
Basic. Please contact Confederation Library Archives for a non-translated version.
Thank you.

*****
Never weather-beaten sail more willing bent
to shore.
Thomas Campion (1567 - 1620), Never Weather-beaten Sail

*****

Ascendant Combine Infinitum

Dolrical-Phesius Cluster
C'Kuthra Accrual Ship Pal'kota
The Bridge
"Fire!" shouted Den Leader Quenda'Vorssh, his tail lashing mightily against the
metal of his chair. His scaled nostrils opened wide, inhaling the battle-tainted air,
smelling the fear and excitement that emanated from everyone on the ship. His adrenaline
was running higher than ever before. This was to be one of the last battles in a war that
had lasted twenty-five slumbers, and he was going to be on top of it the entire time. The
death of the Ascendants was finally at hand. No more would they enslave other helpless
species to do their bidding. He would see to that personally.
The Ascendant Ship Privio-ul was hit dead center, and it exploded in a blinding
144 Homecoming

flash of vaporized metal and energy, reminding Quenda'Vorssh of the suncatcher flowers
back home on C'Kuthrian.
Home, he thought. Will I ever get to see it again? Will I ever get to run through
the dens of my youth? Will they never call us… home? His eyes began to mist at the
thought. For many slumbers he had pushed all thoughts of home away, knowing that to
think on it would only serve to distract him. He did not know how much time had passed
since he and his chosen ones had left C'Kuthrian, and no amount of guessing would gain
him the answer. If only the StarDen ship's computers hadn't been damaged, then they
would know. But the Ascendants had wiped all their computer memory cores away.
Because of the Ascendants, everything that the C'Kuthra had taken with them had been
lost. Everything, that was, except for the beacon. The beacon was their only hope at ever
getting back home again. It was their last chance at final and enduring peace.
A sudden attack on their starboard side broke him from his reverie. "Weapons
Master, what hit us?" he yelled.
Sel'thorm, seated at the tactical station, studied his boards. "A second Ascendant
ship has folded in. It's the Betral-vo. Local spatial-fabric distortions indicate three more
are incoming, but a little further away."
Quenda'Vorssh barred his fangs. "Call in the Kura'shan and the Suren'val to
tight formation. These pathetic Ascendant ships are no match for us."
And he was right. The Ascendants were throwing the last of their reserves at the
C'Kuthra. Even alone, the Pal'kota, named after the ancient mythical C'Kuthrian hero
who had saved the stars from being consumed by the Beast of Shadows Born, would
make short work of them. Quenda'Vorssh's ship had once been the pride of the Ascendant
Contention Group, but through skillful theft and treachery, the ship was in the hands of
those who had needed it more. Its mighty guns and shields would serve the cause of all
those who had been subjugated, killing the slavers and freeing the slaves.
"Kura'shan and Suren'val are moving in, Den Leader," Sel'thorm said, his fangs
now exposed as well. "They report full readiness."
"Good," Quenda'Vorssh replied. "If you discover anymore distortions, contact
the Ku'lock, the Nibr'thun, and the Dor'Su'Kall. They should be done mopping up the rest
of the Ascendants in the Vackren-Gretta Belt soon." The den leader's mouth stumbled
over the alien words, familiar to the mind but still so strange to the lips.
"Understood, Den Leader," Sel'thorm said.
With that done, Quenda'Vorssh sat back to relax and watch as his ships delivered
blow after blow to their oppressors. He had seen it all before, but the sight never grew
tiresome. Lights from battle stations and monitors flashed, alarms and bells rang from
every quarter. It was a concerto of combat, a dizzying kaleidoscope of warnings and
sensors. He was familiar in the midst of it, knowing what each light and sound meant. For
almost four of the last twenty-five slumbers of the war, the Pal'kota had been his ship,
and in that time he had grown quite accustom to her.
As he watched, the Betral-vo was dispatched quickly by the Kura'shan, the
C'Kuthra ship taking little damage in the skirmish. "Hail the Kura'shan and tell them job
well done," Quenda'Vorssh ordered.
Sel'thorm looked up from his station again. "Den Leader, the three incoming
Ascendant ships are nearing our position. Do you want me to call in the Nibr'thun, the
Ku'lock, and the Dor'Su'Kall?"
Quenda'Vorssh shook his head, the reddening scales rising to release pent-up
heat. "No, Weapons Master. Tell them to proceed to our next engagement site. We can
handle these miscreants." Quickly obeying, Sel'thorm did as instructed, trusting in his den
leader.
 Homecoming 145

As the three Ascendant ships closed, Quenda'Vorssh studied the battle

schematics on the main monitor. He estimated victory over his enemies would be swift.
But as he sat, he noticed a new light that was flashing above the monitor, accompanied by
an unusual sound. He racked his brain trying to remember what it indicated, but came up
blank.
"Weapons Master?" he said. "What is that alarm for?"
Sel'thorm glanced up, seeking the object of his den leader's question. Of
everyone on board, he would know what the light and sound implied. But when he found
the new alarm, instead of instantly answering, Quenda'Vorssh saw his weapons master
blanch, his scales turning from a battle-induced red to a shocked bluish white.
"Weapons Master?" the den leader asked. No response. "Sel'thorm? What is it?"
Slowly, not taking his wide eyes from the alarm lights, the weapons master
opened his mouth to speak. "Den Leader… It's the… It's the… the… beacon." He moved
to face his commander. "We're being called home, Quenda'Vorssh."
The den leader could feel his own scales draining of color, the heat within
evaporating quickly, and with quick glances around noticed that the other bridge crew
were doing the same. Sel'thorm's words were the last ones they had imagined they would
hear. "Is it a trick?" Quenda'Vorssh asked.
Gathering his wits, the weapons master checked his screens. "Unsure, Den
Leader, though I don't see how. When we installed the beacon to this ship, we routed its
receiver through the Fold engines to enhance its range, enabling it to receive the message
from home from almost anywhere in the galaxy. The Ascendants have no knowledge of
this. And if they don't know what we are looking for or how we are looking for it, logic
would dictate that they wouldn't know how to create a false signal. This must be the real
thing, Den Leader. Home is calling us."
Quenda'Vorssh sat back heavily, his tail swishing around slowly beneath him,
limp in shock. Thirty slumbers we've waited. Thirty slumbers since the Ascendants tore us
from our frozen hiber-pods and enslaved us. But how long before that? Ten slumbers?
Twenty? A hundred? How long exactly? Damn the Ascendants! Damn them all to nether
space! "Bring up a navigational map and try to pinpoint the source of the signal," he
ordered.
Sel'thorm worked quickly, his eight clawed fingers dancing across his boards. As
he did, a map of the known galaxy appeared on the main monitor. Everyone watched,
expecting to see a blinking dot emerge, indicating signal source. But it didn't come. "I'm
sorry, Den Leader," he said, "but the signal is coming from outside known Ascendant
space."
Not giving up hope yet, Quenda'Vorssh stood up and walked to the monitor.
"Pull the last recorded galactic images. The Ascendants haven't flown the length and
breadth of this galaxy, but they surely have taken pictures of it. Pull those images and
overlap them with the map, taking into account galactic rotation and independent system
displacements."
Sel'thorm nodded his scaled head and went to work. Less than a minute later, the
monitor was filled with a galaxy-spanning map. One-quarter of it was highly detailed,
with separate indexes listing known planets and solar systems, categorizing them by slave
populations and resource abundance. But fully three-quarters was much darker, with no
indexes at all. Those were the regions the Ascendants had yet to invade, hence the limited
knowledge. But there were stars charted and numbered, some with flashing notes
indicating possibly inhabited systems. Yet, the further from Ascendant space they went,
the less was known and shown. And as they stared, on the far side of the galaxy some
one-hundred thousand light years away, practically hanging from the galactic rim of a
146 Homecoming

spiral arm, a dot began to blink, its red light pulsing to the same beat as the C'Kuthras'
hearts. Home, they thought as one.
"Using this signal fix," Quenda'Vorssh said, "can we enable the Fold drive and
use it as a homing guide?"
Sel'thorm was quick to reply. "I'm not sure, Den Leader. The signal is coming
from the opposite side of the galaxy. Between it and us is the core. That could pose a
problem."
Quenda'Vorssh fingered the scales on his chin. "Why is that?"
"The black holes, Den Leader," Sel'thorm explained.
Quenda'Vorssh was unconvinced. "That shouldn't be any trouble, Weapons
Master. The Ascendants have encountered many of them in their space. Their drives have
never had a problem folding through them."
"That isn't entirely correct, Den Leader. My studies find that their first attempts
at folding through the dense gravitational masses were failures. They had to totally
redesign the drives to withstand the severe stresses imposed by the singularities. But yes,
they did eventually enable themselves to fold through black holes."
"Then where is the problem?"
"The galactic core isn't your average black hole, Den Leader. Best estimates
conclude that it is a cluster of hundreds, maybe thousands, of black holes orbiting each
other in a wide area of space. I don't believe the Ascendants ever tried folding through
more than one at a time."
"Well," Quenda'Vorssh said, laying his right fore claw against the blinking red
dot, "we are about to find out for them."
"Should I lay in the course, Den Leader?" Sel'thorm asked.
"No. We still have a battle to fight, Weapons Master. We may have found our
home, but there are millions more behind us who haven't. This war is for them as much as
it is for us. Relay all our information and the signal navigational points to the Kura'shan.
She will investigate for us and report back her findings. Since she is the smallest of our
fleet, her presence won't be greatly needed. As much as I want to go home, I want the
Ascendants to be eradicated first. But fear not. Homecoming is upon us."
"Doing as ordered," Sel'thorm said, uploading everything to the Kura'shan. He
understood his den leader's reasoning, but he couldn't suppress a pang of grief at not
being the first to return to C'Kuthrian. "Kura'shan reports she has received the
information and nav points. She will depart immediately, Den Leader."
With regretful claws, Quenda'Vorssh wiped the monitor clear of the galactic
map so they could watch the C'Kuthra ship fold out. The three approaching Ascendant
ships wouldn't be within weapons range for another few moments, so they could afford to
watch. As one, the bridge crew held their breath, watching in a mixture of hope and
sadness as the Kura'shan's Fold drive engaged and the ship disappeared stem to stern, as
if the universe itself had folded around it. Tears fell gently from the moisture sacks above
their eyes.
Find your way home, my brothers, the den leader thought. Find our lost dens, my
sisters. Then come back and lead us back home, too. Take us all… home. More tears fell,
and the den leader did not try to hide them. He felt no embarrassment at the show of
emotion. Surrounding him were others who felt the same way. They all wanted to go
home as badly as he.
"Ready weapons," Quenda'Vorssh said, shaking his head, pulling himself into
the present and the mission at hand. "We still have a revolution to continue. Everyone,
brace for battle. Let this mark the first step in freedom for everyone. And… the first step
home."
 Homecoming 147

The bridge crew rallied themselves together admirably, performing their jobs
with everything they had. Quenda'Vorssh had no doubts they would win their freedom.
And he had no doubts that the Kura'shan would come back with good news. He just had
to do what he could until then.
But his wait was longer then he expected, and the news was not what he had
hoped for. His battles were far from over…

~*~~*~~*~

Kabala Sector
Marigold System
Orbiting Marigold VII
PCS Aurora
Captain's Briefing Room
Eight Hours After Orbital Insertion
Captain McClellan sat in obdurate silence behind his desk, his chair turned away
from the slightly shaking Colonel Lance 'Knight' Brightblade, CO of the Black Knights'
Ground Forces Division. Brightblade could have taken a seat as there were three before
him and a couch behind, but he had not been given leave to do so, so he stood rigidly at
attention, waiting for his captain to speak. The previous hour had been filled with
Brightblade giving a verbal account of the activities that had occurred on Marigold VII
the day before. A more detailed written account would follow, but the captain had
requested an oral debriefing when he saw the sorry state his men were in on return from
the planet. Dread had coiled around Brightblade's heart as he spoke, knowing the captain
would be displeased at him for having lost all of his equipment, the experimental C-Tek
suits, two Excalibur starfighters, and two thirds of his men. And the dread tightened as he
waited for what Captain McClellan would say in response. He expected to at least be
demoted in rank and to lose his command of Ground Forces, and at the most be fired from
the Aurora all together, most likely from a torpedo tube. Come on, Captain, he thought.
Get this over with.
Without turning, the captain said, "Good job, Colonel."
Lance's eyes opened wide in shock. "Excuse me, sir?"
Shifting his feet, Gabriel swiveled his chair to face the colonel. "I said, good job,
Colonel. What part of that didn't you understand?"
"I, I, uh…" Lance stuttered, his legs draining of strength at the unexpected turn
of events.
Gabriel gestured toward an empty chair before his desk. Lance took it, grateful.
"Did you expect me to chew you out, Lance?"
Blood flushed Lance's face, the blush telling Gabriel that that was exactly what
he had expected.
"Well, I'm not. Far from it. You did the best you could down there. Before you
came in here I read over Commander Ashikaga's report." The captain held up a data pad,
showing the text that filled the screen. "She keeps excellent records, and according to her,
what happened was beyond your control. So please, calm down, and don't worry."
In a sudden surge of emotion, Lance was deeply grateful for the commander and
her meticulous notes. He would have to remember to thank her when next he saw her.
"Thank you, sir."
Gabriel waved the words away. "Don't thank me, Colonel. Hell, if we had stayed
here instead of chasing off after another job, then none of this would have happened."
"That's unfair, Captain," Lance said. "You had no clue that anything like this
148 Homecoming

would occur. With the equipment we had, it shouldn't have happened at all. But
sometimes things just go bad. You were right in going. We need the capitol."
"We do at that," Gabriel replied. "And besides, if I hadn't gone, then we never
would have gotten Crow."
Lance frowned in confusion, unaware of the name. "Crow, sir?"
The captain leaned back in his chair, remembering that Lance hadn't been
briefed on the Pleasure Dome mission. "Yes, Lance. Colonel Alexander Lucien Crow.
We picked him up in the Xanadu Sector. He's the newest member of your Ground Forces
personnel. I think he will be an… interesting addition. His bio is on the ship's computers
for your perusal."
The colonel couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw a mischievous smile playing
at the corners of the captain's mouth for a moment. "Is there something else I should
know about him, sir?"
Straightening his uniform, Gabriel resumed total control over himself. "No,
Colonel. His bio has all you need to know. If you have further questions, I would suggest
you take them up with him. I think he's in the hangar now, getting ready to go."
"Go, Captain?" Lance asked, again confused. "Go where? Are we terminating
our contract and leaving system?"
"Of course not, Colonel," Gabriel informed him. "You and your men will be
heading back to the planet presently. I don't leave missions unfinished if I can help it."
Lance understood. "What about my written report, sir?"
Again, Gabriel waved his hand. "No need, Colonel. Your oral report will suffice.
I have the commander's written one right here. Together that is more than enough. We
aren't Confed, Lance. I don't need a mountain of paperwork for every move you make."
Lance had to smile at that. "Thank you, Captain."
Gabriel nodded. "Dismissed, Colonel," the captain told him, turning his chair
back around to look out his window, Marigold VII filling more than half of it.
Taking that as his cue, Lance pivoted sharply and made for the door.
"And Lance? Try not to lose the new battle suits," Gabriel said behind him,
serious and joking all at the same time. "They cost a small fortune."
"I'll try not to, sir," Lance said, stopping before he exited the briefing room. "If I
do, you can take it from my pay."
Gabriel circled back around. "I will, Colonel, believe me. Now get out of here.
Those archeologists are anxious to get started again. With us in orbit, I don't think we'll
have anymore problems."
Tightening his stance, Lance saluted deftly. Gabriel returned it, smiling.

~*~~*~~*~

Kabala Sector
Marigold System
Orbiting Marigold VII
PCS Aurora
Hangar Bay
Colonel Brightblade stepped out of the lift and into the midst of a storm of
personnel moving in pell-mell currents, some loading the Aurora's two shuttles, others
readying fighter craft for possible emergency scramble. After wading through most of it
he came to stand by the rear cargo doors of the Monitor. Directing loaders was a man
Lance had never seen before, but who seemed perfectly comfortable giving orders and
having them obeyed without question or hesitance.
 Homecoming 149

At a glance, Lance figured the man to be around forty-five years of age, a few
inches over six feet tall, and weighing approximately two-hundred and forty pounds. A
big man who looked as though he exercised on a constant basis to keep his thickly-
muscled physique in shape. His hair was a plain brown color, cut close to the skull, but
his eyes were a much darker shade, almost black, obsidian chips in a stony-hard face
unblemished by whisker stubble. Small scars marred his forehead and left cheek, but they
were barely noticeable, though Lance doubted the man cared much about good-looks.
From top to bottom he looked and acted like a warrior, a man of action. Lance admired
that.
"Colonel Crow?" Lance asked, tapping the man on his right shoulder.
Crow looked over his shoulder sharply. "Be with you in just a moment, Colonel
Brightblade," the man replied. Then he raised his datapad, scrolled through the equipment
list, and highlighted several rows. "Dix! Hampsten!" he yelled, barking like a drill
sergeant on a Parade Field. "Get my team's Cyrix 18R/B suits loaded now! Double time
it!" The indicated men hopped to it with haste. Seeing his orders were being carried out
most expeditiously, Crow lowered his pad and turned to his CO. "Colonel Brightblade,"
he said, "it is nice to finally meet you." Both men saluted in unison.
"Likewise, Colonel," Lance replied. "And please, call me Lance."
Crow nodded. "Will do, Lance. You can call me Crow or Lucien. Most people
prefer Crow. I never go by my first name. But anyway, what can I do for you?"
Lance looked around the hangar bay, seeing that everything was being taken
care of for him. "Well, not much, Crow. You seem to be doing okay on your own here."
Crow nodded. "Affirmative, Lance. I hope it wasn't presumptuous of me to get
the loading and launching preparations started without you."
"Not at all," Lance replied. "I've been a bit… busy the past few hours, so I didn't
even have time. Hell, I just found out we were returning to the planet."
Crow looked at Lance in sympathy. "The captain issued the orders while you
and your people were debriefing. I knew it would take you awhile to get everything taken
care of, so I took it upon myself to get the ball rolling down here. No use wasting time."
"Good thinking," Lance said, clapping him firmly on the shoulder. "I think we're
going to get along fine. I just hope we don't have the same problems we had before with
our equipment being sabotaged."
"I've already taken care of that," Crow informed him.
Lance was impressed in spite of himself. "How did you manage to do that?"
In response, Crow held up his hand. "If you'll hold on a second I'll tell you."
Then he turned and started barking more orders in rapid fire shots. Personnel jumped and
did as they were told immediately. Maybe he can teach me that tone of voice, Lance
thought.
As the people got to work, Crow led the CO to a flight deck office. It was empty,
so they closed the door and settled into chairs, for some reason already very comfortable
in each others' presence. Crow began speaking in hushed tones. "You had two saboteurs
in your midst, Lance."
Stunned, Lance didn't know what to say.
"After I heard about your problems," Crow continued, "I started investigating.
Two things were on our side. One: the Kilrathi were paranoid. Two: the saboteurs were
stupid."
Lance looked at Crow in wonder. "What exactly do you mean?"
"Well," Crow said, leaning back, "it's not common knowledge, but the Kilrathi
had a policy of installing surveillance cameras in all vital areas, such as hangar bays and
armories, to keep a watch on possible theft or tampering. I had hoped that the repair
150 Homecoming

crews who refitted this ship had found them and seen fit to repair them. Captain
McClellan informed me that they had, but to keep a tight lid on it. Anyway, all I had to do
was review the surveillance disks to see who had access to your crates. Final count came
to ten people. Then I checked the comm logs for the time after this mission was accepted,
and cross referenced that to my list. I found that of the ten, four had used the comm. One
had sent an e-mail to Earth, while another had accessed the Weapons Market Net. But
two of them had received an e-mail from an unknown source, then tried to delete the mail
after they got it. A smart move normally, but the idiots must not have known that all
unsecured comm-line usage is logged separately, the person's name and their time of
access recorded. I didn't know anything more than that, but I didn't have to. I had my
saboteurs. I went to the captain with my discovery, and together we apprehended them.
Unfortunately, since the brig hadn't been in use since the refit, nobody thought to lower
the energy levels coursing through the Kilrathi-designed brig. The cats aren't known for
their mercy or safety measures when it comes to prisoners. When they grabbed onto the
bars to protest their innocence, about one-million volts of electricity went through them."
Lance was stunned. "Are you sure you had the right people?"
Crow nodded. "We searched their quarters and found printed bank inquiries.
They showed that two-thousand credits had been deposited into their accounts one day
ago. I went back and checked their bios, too. Apparently, both of them had transferred to
this ship together from a mercenary group known as The Bloodhounds. I checked the
ship's sensor records, and the Hellcats that were chasing you had Bloodhound markings.
We got our guys."
Satisfied that innocent people hadn't been wrongly… charged, Lance relaxed.
"All that in less than eight hours. How did you know about the cameras?"
Crow looked away at the question. "Let's just say… I have experience in these
matters and leave it at that."
Lance thought he could live with that. "Captain McClellan said you would be an
interesting addition to the Ground Forces crew. Seems he was right. I'm glad to have you
with us." He reached across to shake Crow's hand.
Taking the CO's hand, Crow replied, "I'm happy to be here. But I think it's time
we got going. Most of the loading should be finished by now."
"Are there any other members of the crew we should be checking on?" Lance
asked. "You know, so we don't have to go through this again?"
Crow stood up and stretched his back. "I've already started looking into the rest
of the crew's bios. So far everything seems to check out. But you can never totally protect
yourself from treachery. Anyone can be bought, if the money's right. But I think we're
safe for the moment. Other than those two, I don't think we should worry. The captain and
the Consortium picked good people. Only time will tell though. I would feel more secure
if we had a Security Chief. Next time we get a minute of peace, I'm going to recommend
it to the captain. I don't want a police force per say roaming the ship, but a security
section would lessen the chances of this happening in the future."
Feeling better about the situation, Lance took to his feet and headed for the door.
When both men were in the hangar proper, Lance asked, "Will you be flying with me,
Crow?"
Crow shook his head. "Negative. You and twenty men will take the Merrimack
to the planet immediately. I and a few more will follow along in the Monitor as soon as
you land. There are still a few crates to be loaded, and I don't want more than one shuttle
exposed in space at a time. If those guys do come back, I don't want to take the chance on
losing both shuttle craft."
"That sounds like a good idea," Lance replied.
 Homecoming 151

"Thank you," Crow said. "But I think your people are ready. Those archeologists
are pretty antsy to get back to their holes." Crow pointed at the Merrimack. The shuttle
was in position to take off as soon Lance was ready.
"Yeah. They can be pesky when they want to be. You have a good flight down
and I'll see you on the other side." Both men saluted each other, then Lance headed
toward his shuttle. Minutes later it lifted off and made its way to the planet.
Crow supervised the last of the loading, then settled into the Monitor's cockpit.
After everyone was strapped in, he notified the Aurora that he was ready to leave. When
he received the all-clear, he pushed the throttle forward and exited the ship. Mid-way to
the planet, his worst-case scenario came true: the mercenaries came back in their ship, the
MCS Stranglehold, and started firing. After that, in the days that followed, the space
around Marigold VII became a war zone that no one in the Confederation would soon
forget.

~*~
152 Homecoming

Heaven On Fire
~ Part Two Of "Homecoming" ~
*****
The world, an entity out of everything, was created by neither gods nor men, but was, is
and will be eternally living fire, regularly becoming ignited and regularly becoming
extinguished.
Heraclitus (535 - 475 BC), The Cosmic Fragments, no. 20

*****

Kabala Sector
Marigold VII
PCS Aurora
The Bridge
If the fabric of the universe could be made to burn, then the space around
Marigold VII would be hell itself. Mere seconds ago it had been as tranquil as a
backwoods pond in the still afternoon of a summer's day. But now that solitude was
shattered beyond all hope of repair. Lightning had flashed, and the thunder was rolling.
"Get that damn shuttle back in here!" yelled Captain Gabriel 'Reaver' McClellan
over the din of red-alert sirens wailing. "Crow," he bellowed, slamming his hand on the
comm panel located on the arm of his chair, "I want the Monitor docked immediately! Do
you hear me? And somebody turn off that damn alarm!" The alarm ceased sounding in
the bridge, but he could hear it echoing in the corridors outside.
"I read you, Captain," Crow said, his voice satiny smooth, not the least bit
surprised or fearful. "I am turning about now. Docking will be in three minutes. I would
appreciate some covering fire, sir, until then."
"That's affirmative, Crow," Gabriel replied. "Tac! I need a sit-rep now!"
Tactical Officer Tibbit looked up from his station. "I read one incoming carrier,
IFF designation MCS Stranglehold, and she's just released thirty fighters: twenty Sabres,
eight Hornets, and two Broadswords. They are moving in fast."
Gabriel didn't have to hear it twice. With a quick snap of the ship-wide comm he
said, "All crews to battle stations. Repeat, all crews to battle stations. This is not a drill.
All pilots to the hangar bay for immediate scramble. Time to get out there and earn your
pay, people. Move out!!"
Within seconds, Gabriel could see ten fighters leaving the hangar, the pilots
already aboard their craft and awaiting orders. Thank god for active-standby pilots,
Gabriel thought darkly. They should keep those damn Bloodhounds busy until our other
fighters can launch. At least they waited until after my dinner with Debra to start this
shit.
"How do we measure up, Tibbit?" Gabriel asked, unsure of their chances.
"We outgun then, but they out-man us, sir," the tac officer replied. "The
Stranglehold is armed with four mass driver cannons, two meson blasters, two ion
cannons, and four particle cannons. Projected fighter complement is sixty. We only have
twenty-one fighters. At least our weapons and shields are stronger, sir."
"Thank you, Mr. Tibbit," Gabriel told him, not liking the news. "Helm, lay in an
intercept course with the Stranglehold. Let's see if we can't force them to rethink their
position. Mr. Tibbit, what's the status on our other fighters?"
"They are preparing for launch now, sir," Tibbit informed him. He looked back
at his boards. "They're away!"
 Homecoming 153

Gabriel turned to watch the eleven remaining fighters rocket away, heading
toward the enemy ships. "Is Crow docked yet?"
"No, sir," Tibbit said. "He had to wait until the fighters were gone. He's entering
now."
"Good. Now let's try to get Brightblade and his men off the planet."
Almost as if his words were a catalyst, the Stranglehold began firing its mass
driver cannons at Marigold VII. Seconds later, Brightblade was on the comm.
"What the hell is going on up there, Captain?" he shouted.
"Get to the Merrimack, Colonel, and get back up here on the double," Gabriel
told him. "Your tangos have come back, and I don't think they're happy. I would suggest
you take the long way around and approach us from the aft. We'll keep them busy while
you do."
"I copy, Captain, but what about this equipment?"
"I don't give a damn about the equipment, Colonel!" Gabriel was red in the face.
"You just get your ass up here. We'll retrieve it later. McClellan out!"
The captain sat back in his chair, breathing slowly. "Distance to Stranglehold,
Tibbit?"
"Estimated time for weapons' range is one minute, sir."
"Have the fighter's engaged yet?"
"Yes, sir. The enemy has lost three Sabres, two Hornets, and one of the
Broadswords. Our casualties are zero. More enemy fighters are launching though."
Gabriel looked at the tactical display before him. Lieutenant Colonel Derrick
'Cujo' Marx, flying his ever-trustworthy modified Bearcat, had managed to knock out one
of the Sabres and the Broadsword, while Captain Kevin 'Flare' Micheals in his Centurion
and Captain Ryan 'Raptor' Kanczuzewski in his Excalibur took out a Sabre a piece. First
Lieutenant James 'Talon' Northstar managed to tag both of the Hornets with his Tarsus.
So far they were holding their own. But as more enemy fighters scrambled out, their
chances were diminishing. Yet, as his spirits started to sag, he saw the Aurora's second
wave of fighters close and engage, led by Major Kyle Carter in a Skecis Mk II and
Commander Ashikaga in a Hellcat, with 'Guardian Angel' in his Avenger following close
behind. They began mixing it up immediately.
"What's the status of the Merrimack?"
Tibbit switched screens. "She is rounding the far side of the planet now, sir,
engines at maximum output. So far she hasn't picked up any resistance."
"Let's hope our luck holds," Gabriel said. "At first opportunity, begin firing on
the Stranglehold. I don't want her damaging our equipment or the ruins anymore than
she's already done."
"Affirmative, sir," Tibbit said, his eyes glued to his screens. Two seconds later
his eyes started bulging from their sockets. Gabriel didn't like the look of it.
"What's wrong, Tibbit?"
With a stunned expression the tac officer faced his captain. "Sir, I'm reading
massive power readings four-thousand meters off the starboard bow. Off the scale!"
"Is it a weapon, Tibbit?"
"Sir, no, sir," Tibbit replied. "There's nothing there! But the energy is continuing
to build!"
"Put it on the main screen," Gabriel ordered. He swiveled his chair around to
face the viewscreen at the fore of the bridge. There he saw empty space. "I don't see
anything, Tibbit. Are you sure?"
"Yes, sir!" Tibbit was bewildered by his readings. "Computer diagnostics check
out. These readings are correct."
154 Homecoming

"Then what's causing-" Gabriel didn't get to finish his question before it was
answered. With dazzled eyes he watched as a ship of alien design half again the size of
the Aurora appeared from out of nowhere, seeming to unfold itself from space, like an
invisible origami bird coming to life. The ship was shaped like a double crescent, one
crescent crossing the other, with the four points coming close together. It was a ship
unlike any other ever seen. "What the hell?"
"I… I don't know, sir," Tibbit confessed. "I've never seen anything like it, and its
transponder isn't transmitting on proper frequencies."
"What are our readings on it?"
Tibbit scanned his monitors. "My word! These shield readings are fantastic!
Very few cannon or turret emplacements, but there are enough missile batteries for three
ships its size!" He leaned in for a better look. "It seems to be ignoring us, sir, and going
straight for the Stranglehold. Look out!!"
As the tac officer's words left his mouth, the alien ship opened fire. Dozens of
missiles blasted away and streaked like mad birds toward the mercenary carrier, which
was still firing on the planet. Seconds later it exploded, its shields and armor no match for
the strange weapons. Gabriel figured his ship was next. "All fighters report back to the
Aurora immediately!" he screamed into the comm. "Move, move, move!"
His orders were instantly obeyed. The twenty-one fighters turned around and
made for the hangar.
"Is Colonel Brightblade docked yet?" Gabriel asked.
"Affirmative, sir" Tibbit said. "They just locked down."
"Good. Move us in closer to our fighters so they have less travel time. Set up the
emergency landing lattices. Transfer all available power to shields. I don't want to stand
around fighting that thing. If it can make short work of the Bloodhounds' carrier, I'd hate
to see what it can do to us. Mr. Thomson, try to hail them and find out why they are
attacking!"
Helmsman Beverly Norris complied quickly. "ETA for all fighters landing is
forty seconds, Captain."
Comm Officer Darin Thomson turned in his chair. "Sir, I can't raise the alien
vessel. It seems to be using a different communications system than we do. The
Bloodhounds' fighters are also requesting permission to land."
Gabriel would have laughed had the situation been less grave. "They must be out
of their goddam minds if they think I'm going to let them in my ship! For all I know
that… vessel… out there is here because of them! Old enemies or something. I want no
part of it. Tell then to go land on what's left of the Stranglehold."
"Aye, sir," Thomson said, not the least bit sorry. He turned back to deliver the
message.
"The new craft is turning in our direction, Captain!" Tibbit yelled.
"How long until the fighters are docked?"
"Fifteen are already aboard, sir," Tibbit said. "We need about twenty seconds."
"Shields at maximum?"
Tibbit nodded emphatically. "Yes, sir! One-hundred and thirty percent!"
"That should hold-" Gabriel started to say before he was interrupted loudly.
"We've got incoming, sir!" Tibbit yelled. Sirens on the bridge began wailing
again. "Ten ICBMs are headed toward us!"
"Brace for impact!" Gabriel bellowed into the ship-wide comm. Two seconds
later the ship was rocked, sending everyone not strapped in to their knees. "Damage
report!"
Tibbit, still in his seat, rapidly scanned his station. "Shields down to sixty
 Homecoming 155

percent! Minor structural damage on starboard decks three and four!"

"Are the fighters in yet?" Gabriel asked.
"Yes, sir. The last one just came in."
"Great. Now let's get out of here. Lay in a course for the nearest jump point at
maximum speed!"
Beverly nodded. "Aye, sir!"
"Incoming!" Tibbit yelled again. "Twelve missiles closing fast!"
"Helm, evasive maneuver Bravo-Tango-Three! Gunners, just start firing and
hope we get lucky! Release decoys!!"
Luck was with them, as four of the incoming missiles were destroyed before
impact and three more missed. But five found their mark on the ship's aft section.
"Status!" Gabriel barked, his hands holding the arms of his chair in a white-
knuckled grip. Smoke drifted around him from computer stations that had overloaded.
"Shields are at thirty percent, Captain," Tibbit replied. "Engines are at one-half
power. The jump drive is… out." Horror laced his words. "We can't initiate a jump, sir."
"Damn," Gabriel growled. "How far are we from the alien ship?"
"Five kilometers and growing, sir," Tibbit said. "Right now she's mopping up the
rest of the Bloodhounds' fighters."
"Thank heaven for small favors," Gabriel whispered. "Open the comm,
Thomson. I need wide-band now."
"Aye, sir," the communications officer replied. "The comm is yours."
"Thanks," Gabriel said. He pressed the activate button on his chair and began
saying the words he had hoped he would never have to say. "This is Captain Gabriel Sean
McClellan of the PCS Aurora requesting immediate assistance! We are under attack by
unknown hostiles and our engines are damaged! Anyone, please respond!"
Commander Ashikaga and Lieutenant Commander Arnett exited the Bridge Lift
behind him. The commander had rushed straight from the flight deck where Arnett had
been helping with the shuttles.
"Is that wise, Captain?" Ashikaga asked. "We could be asking for more trouble.
What if there are pirates out here?"
Gabriel's eyes burned into her. "Commander, I'd gladly take my chances with
them instead of that ship back there."
"Agreed," Arnett said, digesting the information he could see on the tactical
screens.
"You're right, sir," Ashikaga replied. "My apologies."
"No need, Commander," he told her, then pressed his comm button again. "This
is Captain Gabriel McClellan of the PCS Aurora requesting-"
His call for help was answered in mid-speech.
"Transmission received, Aurora," an unknown voice called out. "We are on our
way. ETA to your location: ten minutes."
Relief flooded everyone on the bridge. "Thank you, whoever you are," Gabriel
said.
"No thanks are necessary… Captain," a familiar voice said, different from the
first. "It will be my pleasure."
Gabriel sat back in his chair, his mind working overtime. "Captain Eisen!?"
Laughter bellowed from the comm. "You got that right, son! The Essex is on her
way. You just hold tight and try not to get blown up. Eisen out."
There wasn't a person on the bridge who hadn't heard of the captain of the Essex.
Gasps of awe and gratitude sounded from the different stations. Gabriel, though, was
quick to his senses. "You heard the man, people! Let's keep this ship in one piece so
156 Homecoming

Captain Eisen can have the pleasure of saving our asses! I'm sure he's loving this."
The circumstances were dire, yet Gabriel couldn't help but smile. Of all the
people he had imagined would receive his distress call, none were farther from his mind
than Eisen, but he couldn't image anyone he'd rather have at his side. It appears I'll be
seeing the Essex sooner than I'd planned, the captain thought with a light laugh. Well,
better sooner than later. Gabriel felt better already.

C'Kuthra Accrual Ship Kura'shan

The Bridge
Sub-Den Leader Wrak'Korvalish, commander of the Kura'shan, sat fuming in
his chair, the scales across his temples and chest rising quickly, venting excess body heat.
The air around him was thick with humidity and barely repressed fury. "How dare these
aliens attack our homeworld!" he raged, his knifelike teeth gnashing together over the two
tusks that protruded from his lower jaw. "The… the… impudence!!" He smashed a fist on
the right arm of his chair, warping the metal. "Weapons Master, target the larger vessel
again. I want it removed from my sight. And get these damn vaporflies away from my
ship!"
"Your will is done, Leader!" the weapons master replied, his emotions running
hot as well. The Kura'shan's few energy weapons lashed out at the small craft that buzzed
around the C'Kuthra ship like gnats, destroying them in seconds.
"Contact Chief, try to hail the planet. See if there are any wounded."
"Trying now, Leader."
Not satisfied that all was being done, Wrak'Korvalish leaned forward, his eyes
trying to look everywhere at once, from the tactical displays, to the science stations, to the
contact boards. It was a role he had played many times, and there was nothing new in it
for him, yet now he was on the threshold of his home, and that raised the stakes higher.
"Leader, we aren't receiving anything from the planet, but the second alien ship
is sending some strange form of radiation at us. It appears harmless, but I don't like it,"
the Contact Chief said.
Wrak'Korvalish was confused. "That makes no sense. They called us home only
to ignore us on our arrival? Try again. And find out what that other ship is trying to do."
The Contact Chief did as instructed, but he raised his head seconds later with a
no-joy look in his eyes. "Leader, would you like for me to try and contact the alien ship?"
"No. They have already broadcast their intentions by firing on our planet. No
words are necessary. Sciences Leader, do an intensive scan. See if maybe there was
damage to the communications stations on C'Kuthrian. Perhaps that first alien ship we
dispatched did more harm than we supposed." Twirling his chair around, the sub-den
leader faced his weapons master. "Plot an intercept course for that other ship and open
fire at first lock. System engines at maximum."
"So commanded, Leader. Intercepting now."
"Very good." Wrak'Korvalish leaned back a bit, somewhat pleased.
"Leader, I have a preliminary report," the sciences leader said, his scales
lightening in color. It was not a good sign.
"What is it?"
"I find no traces of life on the planet, Leader. The upper and lower atmospheres
are heavily choked with residual nuclear radiation, with small amounts of biological
contaminants lacing the planet's surface. All buildings are rubble, patterns indicating
massive weather erosion and fusion blast patterns. Subsequent mountain dwellings are
likewise deteriorated."
 Homecoming 157

Feeling his own scales cool, Wrak'Korvalish went limp in his chair. "Was this
wrought by the alien ships? Did they cause this destruction?!"
The sciences leader shook his head. "No, Leader. The particle decay from the
radiation in the atmosphere dates original nuclear detonation at almost three-thousand
slumbers ago. This is reinforced with the blast patterns and structure erosion."
"What does all that mean?"
"It means that we are too late. Our people destroyed each other in the Den Wars.
There's no one left."
Wrak'Korvalish was overcome. Three-thousand slumbers! Have we been gone
that long?! How in the name of the Higher Realms did this happen?! Are we all that
remain?! But the sub-den leader tried to compose himself. "Then who activated the
beacon?"
The sciences leader could only lower his head. "I know not. Perhaps it was the
aliens. We tracked a ship leaving the planet when we arrived."
Clinching his fists, feeling his claws scrape against his scaled palms,
Wrak'Korvalish said, "Then this is an ambush. We were lured here."
"Coming up on stinger range!" the weapons master shouted.
"Full salvo then," Wrak'Korvalish grated through clinched fangs. "Send them
back to the dust from whence they came."
"So commanded."
The sciences leader came around from his station. "Leader, can you be sure this
is a trap? If so, why? It looked to me as though the aliens were fighting themselves when
we arrived. Why do that?"
The sub-den leader was not having any of it. "To sweeten the trap of course.
Give us reason to question ourselves, then dive in on us while we thought it over. No, the
beacon was activated for a reason. Why would it be otherwise? But I see past their
illusions. We have destroyed one of their large ships and many of their vaporflies. Now
we have just to finish the job. Then we can go back and report. I'm sure Den Leader will
think as I do. When we are done in Ascendant space, be prepared to return in force. Our
people may be gone, but we cannot allow this filth to trespass on our home. As sad as I
am for the loss of my brothers, I cannot let that distract me. Return to your post and await
my orders."
The sciences leader bowed quickly. "As you order, Leader." He scampered back
to his station.
"Are we ready to launch, Weapons Master?" Wrak'Korvalish bellowed.
"Stingers are primed, Leader. Give me a bit more time to lock on. I want to
destroy them in one fell swoop."
Wrak'Korvalish grinned a wicked grin, the needle points of his fangs glimmering
in the dim light. "You know your duties well. Fire at your discretion."
"Lock in ten… nine… eight… seven…" An alarm began sounding. "Leader, I
read another ship closing in! It's bigger than this one, and of a different design. Should I
target it instead?"
Thinking it over, Wrak'Korvalish nodded his head. "Yes. This one is almost
done in. Nowhere to run. We have bigger bugs to swallow. Lay in a new course and
engage."
Feeling the familiar sensations of battle pulsing through his veins, Sub-Den
Leader Wrak'Korvalish sat back to enjoy the show.
158 Homecoming

TCS Essex
The Bridge
Bright red lights flashed maddeningly all around the bridge, the ship on high
alert. In the midst of this, Captain Eisen didn't know what to think. With wide eyes he
viewed his radar officer's screens, and what he saw gave him pause. What in the name of
god is that thing? he wondered, his mind racing in circles. "Science Officer, search the
Confederation data banks for anything resembling that ship. I want to know what it is,
and I want to know now."
"Aye, sir," the officer replied.
Pointing to the center monitor, the radar specialist said, "Sir? The unknown
hostile, designated Yankee 1, is turning in our direction and readying her weapons. I can't
make heads or tails of most of these readings, but I can tell that the missiles and guns are
priming. I've never seen this amount of power in one ship before. I don't know her range,
so I would suggest we try to come around on her six and launch our fighters. She doesn't
appear to have launch bays, so we do have that advantage."
Eisen nodded. "Do it. Emergency scramble the White Falcons and the Red
Devils."
"Captain?" the sciences officer asked. Eisen turned. "I've searched everything we
have, but nothing matches Yankee 1. It may be a bit premature, but I think we've found a
new alien race."
Nodding, Eisen said, "Contact the Aurora and see if they'll give us what they
have on her. Maybe we'll find a clue as to where she came from. I don't like dancin' with
a stranger; they always step on your toes."
First Lieutenant Shawn Trumpfeller, the ship's communications officer, did as
ordered, calling the Aurora quickly. "PCS Aurora, this is the TCS Essex requesting any
information you have on the unknown hostile, please respond."
While Trumpfeller performed his duties, Eisen positioned himself to where he
could see his tactical screens easily. What they showed wasn't pretty. The alien ship was
as large as the Essex, but its power readings were off the charts. It had very few energy
weapons, which was surprising given the amount of power it had at its disposal, but
scores of missile batteries made up for any perceived lack of offensive weaponry. The
alien ship's shields were stronger than anything he had ever seen, completely
overshadowing what Confederation vessels had available to them. It had no hangar bays
or fighter launching areas, so at least Eisen had that over them.
"Captain, we have downloaded the information from the Aurora," Trumpfeller
said. "Not much, but it may help."
"Lieutenant Hart, feed all these readings into the Combat Analysis Computers
and see what comes up," Eisen ordered, at a loss.
"Aye, sir," she replied. "Hostile ship is approaching quickly, Captain. Squadrons
are on an intercept course and will be within firing range in forty seconds."
"Thank you, Ms. Hart. Pull us back a bit to a safe distance. Trumpfeller, tell the
bombers to stay back a moment. Let's see what the more agile fighters can discover
before we send them in. And get me Colonel T'lheth'meq on the horn. He should almost
be in range of the ship."
"Aye, sir. Colonel T'lheth'meq online now."
"Thank you. Colonel! Time to earn your keep, son! I'm holding the bombers to a
stand-by perimeter until we get more intel. I want half of the fighter squadron to engage
the ship, while the other half strafes it with scanners only on full active. We'll advise.
Over."
"I copy, Captain," the wing commander said, his respiration and pulse increasing
 Homecoming 159

for battle. "Scanning now. We'll keep to evasive maneuvers unless a clean shot presents
itself. Let's see if we can rattle these guys. Deathstrike out."
Bending over the radar consoles, Eisen watched in anticipation for the fireworks
that were about to begin. He only hoped it was that alien ship that would provide the
pyrotechnics and not the Essex or her fighters.

PCS Aurora
The Bridge
"Captain!" Thomson shouted. "The Essex is launching fighters and bombers to
engage the enemy."
"Okay. That should keep them busy while we move to a more tactically secure
location. Helm, bring us in along side the Essex," Gabriel ordered.
"Aye, sir," Beverly replied. "Moving in now."
With one eye on the tac screens, Captain McClellan watched his ship move as
fast as it could to relative safety. "Rescramble the fighters, Mr. Tibbit. I want them
reinforcing Confed. Save the bombers though. If this first strike fails, we'll need them,
and I don't want to clutter Eisen's attack pattern."
While the tactical officer complied, Lieutenant Commander Arnett stepped close
to his captain. "Sir, don't you think we should get out of this system? With all this shit
going on, our mission here is bust. And if there's no mission, then there's no credits. All
we can do now is further weaken our assets. I say we cut our losses and count our
blessings, skipper."
Gabriel looked at the man with a stern expression. "Commander, we're not
running. The mission may be over, for the moment anyway, but there are people out there
putting their lives on the line because of us, and I'm not going to cut out on them. If it
wipes us out, then it does. But so long as we have a ship in our arsenal, then we're staying
here. Besides, I owe Captain Eisen that much at the very least."
Nodding, Arnett took a step back, saluted, and said, "Understood, sir. My
intentions were for the good of the ship and her crew, not out of any sense of cowardice."
Gabriel returned the gesture. "I know. Anyone else I might have questioned, but
not you. Never even crossed my mind." Gabriel turned to face Kiato. "Commander, we
need you back in a fighter. Arnett will stay here with me on the bridge."
Commander Ashikaga saluted and left quickly with a "Sir, yes, sir!" in her wake.
"Mr. Thomson, get me the Essex on the line," Gabriel ordered. "Tell them we'll
coordinate our attack with theirs."
"Aye, aye," the comm replied.
Taking his seat, Gabriel settled in for a long and busy day.

Bearcat Fighter
Wing Commander Deathstrike
Damn she's weird looking, Colonel T'lheth'meq thought as he raced in towards
the alien ship, his eyes tracing over the contours of the double crescents. Never in my
four-hundred plus years have I seen a vessel like that. Where did it come from?! But this
was a question better considered at a later date, so he focused back on his mission. "We're
almost in range White Falcons, so listen up. We're going to split into two teams, Echo and
Zulu. Team Zulu is made up of myself, 3Ring, Furball, Demon, Specter, Diamonds,
Hollywood, and Kitty Kat. You will follow me in to scan target Yankee 1. Keep your
heads up for enemy fire. Speed, Red, Tornado, Terry-Time, Bibbo, J.J., and Crossbow
160 Homecoming

make up Team Echo, with Jade in command. You run interference and try to keep them
busy. Let's make this short and sweet. The Red Devils will approach when our mission is
complete. Now, heads up!"
The last word was barely out before energy blasts were slashing around them.
"Echo, follow me!" First Lieutenant Jade 'Bodycount' Marx, XO of the White Falcons and
leader of Echo Team shouted. "Attack pattern Charley Blue!!"
With that, eight Bearcats peeled away and began turret runs, twisting and turning
as they went. Under their cover, Deathstrike lead his eight-man team in. The quarters
were close, but the rewards were great. Instantly the fighters' close range sensors began
receiving and transmitting data to the Essex.
Second Lieutenant James '3Ring' Binder, flying alongside Deathstrike, was in
awe. His limited fighting experience hadn't prepared him for an encounter such as this,
flying against a mysterious ship that was more alien that he could have imagined. He was
confident in his abilities and those of his fellow pilots. He only hoped that that confidence
was backed with results.
But it didn't take long for casualties to start mounting. "Things are gettin' hot
over here!" Captain Robert 'Bibbo' Genelle shouted. "Two missiles incoming!!" Jade hit
his afterburners, but he was too late. As he rounded the rear of the ship, Bibbo's fighter
exploded violently.
"Holy shit!" the XO said. "Those are the fastest missiles I've ever seen! Keep
those chaff triggers handy, people. You'll need them."
The warning came too late for some. Seconds later, Major Hotaru 'Demon'
Kimisawa and First Lieutenant Neville 'Hollywood' Klemperer were gone, but luckily
Hollywood had ejected safely.
"Essex, this thing is just pickin' us off," Jade said into his comm. "Request some
assistance, over."
"That's affirmative," Essex replied. "The Aurora has launched all her fighters.
They will be with you in six-zero seconds."
On the far side of the alien ship, Deathstrike said, "Essex, mission accomplished.
We've got everything we're going to get without cutting her open and digging through her
guts. Permission to arm weapons and assist Echo?"
"Negative, Zulu Leader," Essex responded. "Pull out and form up on the
Longbows. McClellan's people are almost on you. Let them help Echo. I want you to fly
cover for the Devils."
"Understood, Essex," Deathstrike said. "We're on our way."
The six remaining Zulu Bearcats throttled up and streaked away, but not before
Captain Timothy 'Diamonds' Jouler's fighter went up in a ball of flame and metal shards,
taken out by a missile who's speed had to be seen to be believed. The captain tried to
shake it off with multiple chaff pods, but the enemy bird ignored them all and struck. If
not for its implications, the sight would have been beautiful.
"You have crossed Deathstrike, Steltekian Knight, and you shall pay dearly for
it," the wing commander vowed, a dark point opening in his heart at seeing another
comrade in arms killed.
As Zulu neared the Longbow bombers, they past the Aurora's fighters, a jumble
of Hellcats, Excaliburs, and other ship types.
"Thanks for the assist, Zulu Leader," Commander Ashikaga said from her
Excalibur. "We owe you one. Now go cover your hens so they can lay their eggs. Kabuki
out."
The callsign struck Deathstrike as familiar, but he couldn't place it. "Just doing
our jobs, Kabuki." He almost waved, but the gesture would have gone unseen, so he kept
 Homecoming 161

his three hands on his controls. Seconds later he was in position. "Okay, Major Charger,
we're here. What's the sitrep?"
"Intel coming in now, Colonel," Charger replied. "Ah. Okay. Sensors indicate a
minor shield fault along the rear, near the engines. She seems to have seen a lot of action
lately. Those shields look like a tough nut to crack, but we might be able to do something.
Red Devils, get into formation. Zulu, you know what to do. Let's go."
Engines ignited in a blaze of nuclear glory, and the twenty-one ships rocketed
forward, sweeping wide to approach the capital ship's aft. As they moved, the
combination of Essex and Aurora fighters fought a losing battle. Already the casualties
were too high. None of them had anticipated a fight like this against a ship that seemed
almost immune to their weapons. Some minor damage was done, but no enough. Not
nearly enough. Of the eight fighters in Team Echo, only four remained: Major Michael
'Tornado' Fequelius, Jade, and Second Lieutenants Phillip 'Speed' Reed and Mari 'Red'
Radborn. Wreckage was floating around in a loose orbit, almost like a thin cloud. The
Aurora's ships weren't fairing much better. Sixteen fighters had launched, and four were
nothing more than vapor trails in the cosmic ether. Deathstrike was seeing more death
than he ever cared to see.
"Echo and Aurora fighters, listen close," he ordered. "We're making our attack
run, so start moving away. Engage if you can, but get some distance between you and that
ship. If and when she blows, I don't want you getting caught by the explosion. Stay on the
far side and draw attention away from us. Deathstrike out."
On his radar screen he could see the blue dots drifting out, the large orange dot
sliding alongside and around to his rear. No friendlies disappeared, and that was good.
"Okay, Devils, time to set up. Turn and lock your torpedoes on the target. Launch when
you get tone. No prisoners."
As the ships steadied themselves for acquisition, the alien vessel took notice.
Immediately a dozen missiles were thrown at them.
"Here we go, Zulu!" Deathstrike shouted. "Stop those missiles! Devils, you
better hurry it up!"
The colonel and his four wingmen took off to destroy the incoming birds. Three
seconds later Major Charger said, "Locked on! All torpedoes away!"
Deathstrike could see the new blips on his radar screen as he closed on the
rapidly approaching enemy missiles. He took out two, 3Ring got two, with Captain Jose
'Specter' Contaurez, Harry 'Furball' Allen, and Second Lieutenant Katherine 'Kitty Kat'
Oliver getting one each. That left five more. "Red Devils, you've delivered the packages,
so get outta here!!" he ordered. "Five, say again, five got past us and are incoming!
Scramble!"
Charger didn't have to be told twice. As soon as his fish were in the water he had
begun evasive maneuvers, with Second Lieutenant Bariq 'Talenos' Talon and Captain
Andrew 'Snake' Howes following close behind. The rest of the squadron hurriedly tried to
catch up. Sadly, the incoming missiles were much too quick. Of the five that get past Zulu
Team's screen, two were decoyed successfully by multiple chaff pods. The other three
closed fast and took out the rear of the convey; Major Charles 'Itty-Bitty' Stevens, Captain
Edward 'Snapper' Powers, and First Lieutenant Jason 'Grease' Garfield.
Zulu Leader Deathstrike also didn't wait around for the alien ship to try again.
As soon as he saw that the bombers were moving out of what he thought was Yankee 1's
missile range, he ordered his people to hit afterburners and head toward the Essex. A split
second later the Red Devil's torpedoes hit.

~*~~*~~*~
162 Homecoming

C'Kuthra Accrual Ship Kura'shan

The Bridge
Wrak'Korvalish watched the enemy's sixteen large stingers approach his ship,
but he didn't bat an eye or flare a nostril. He wasn't worried in the least. "Is there any need
for evasive maneuvers, Weapons Master?" he asked casually.
"None," the weapons master replied. "Quick scans show that the weapons have a
limited damage potential. Our shields will hold."
"Very good," the sub-den leader said. "I didn't think so. But to be on the safe
side, let the gunners try to pick them out. Good for practice."
Everyone on the bridge smiled, their sharp teeth and tusks glimmering. A short
series of explosions followed, bright flares of light illuminating the windows. Then the
shields shimmered upon impact with several of the stingers. Silence followed for a few
seconds.
"How many did we get early?"
The weapons master looked at his screens. "Seven, Sub-Den Leader," he
responded.
Nodding his head, the captain of the ship said, "We'll have to work on that some.
Should have gotten all sixteen. But it's of no consequence. Our ship is still intact."
"That's true, Leader," the weapons master said, "but those vaporflies concern me
a little."
"How so? Our stringers are faster and more agile. We can get them."
"It's not the ships, Leader, but the beings at their controls. Our technology is
superior, but not our tactics or skills. I've never witnessed such daring and ability. If the
numbers were even, I don't know who would prevail."
Wrak'Korvalish waved his hand. "Be optimistic, Gravish'kak! This a small force.
If it's a trap as I believe, then they would have sent everything they could. And if this is
an example of their best, then victory here is assured."
But the weapons master wasn't so easily assuaged. "I have to go on record,
Leader, saying that I still think this isn't what it appears to be."
Slowly rising from his chair, Wrak'Korvalish stood tall before his underling.
"Are you questioning me, Gravish'kak?"
Blanching, the weapons master replied, "No, Leader. Certainly not. You are our
commander, and you lead us well. I only state that we should consider all the
alternatives."
"I have, little one," the leader said, his scales deepening in color. "I have thought
about it and come to my conclusions. You would do well to remember who I am."
Fearing a further public dressing down and the humiliation it always brought,
Gravish'kak lowered his eyes to his control station. "Yes, Leader. As you command. Shall
we report back now or continue the battle?"
Taking his seat once again, Wrak'Korvalish thought about the question. "Not
much of a battle," he eventually said. "But we should finish this before we go. No sense
leaving them here to desecrate our homeworld any further. Den Leader would want that.
Chart an intercept course for the nearest enemy ship and open fire at the first
opportunity."
"Yes, Leader," the weapons master said, still looking down, feeling his internal
heat build. "Coming to course one-six-five mark zero-nine-one. Engaging non-Fold
engines."
 Homecoming 163

TCS Essex
The Bridge
"What do you mean, 'No damage,'?" Eisen asked, unbelieving. "We sent sixteen
high-yield Tsunami IV torpedoes at that thing, and you're telling me we didn't even
scratch it?"
Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, the radar officer nodded. "Aye, sir. Seven
were destroyed before they could detonate. The others hammered the shields, but got
nothing. It didn't even list."
Stymied, Eisen was at a loss for words. How could that be?! his mind raged at
itself. Even nine of them should have been enough to turn that thing into debris. Save for
those odd occurrences, even a Kilrathi capital ship only needed one or two to bring it
down! Where do you get shield strength like that? All those pilots' lives… wasted, their
deaths in vain. What am I going to tell their families? I think we're in real trouble here.
Pressing a comm button near him, Eisen said, "Chief Tech Buckels? I want you to load
torpedoes on everything you can and launch them on the double!"
"Yes, sir," Robert said from the hangar bay.
"Get me the Aurora."
"Aurora online, Captain," Trumpfeller replied.
"Gabriel, I want you out of here. Now."
"You know I can't leave you out here all on your own, sir," the captain of the
privateer ship told him. "I saw what didn't happen with those torpedoes. You need us."
Eisen closed his eyes, thankful for old loyalties, but sad that he needed to call
upon them at such a time. "Alright. I can't order you around anymore, son, so I guess I'll
just have to ask you to put yourself in harms way. Move your ship up next to us facing
the aliens. I'm sending out all my fighters to try and bomb it again. You should do the
same. Put torps on whatever you can. If our bad-guys survive that, then this will be cap
ship against cap ship, and I don't like our odds."
"Yankee 1 is inbound, Captain!" Lieutenant Hart shouted from her radar station.
"ETA to terminal closure is three point seven minutes!"
"Damn," Eisen said in way of a reply. "You heard the woman, Gabriel. The
bogey is on her way. Follow me and we'll try to put some distance between us and them
while we load up our fighters. This is going to be close. Eisen out."
Trumpfeller approached his captain. "Sir, Chief Buckels reports conversion
almost complete. The bombers are loaded for bear, but the fighters still need a several
minutes. Should we launch what we can now to stave them off?"
"Negative," Eisen told him, shaking his head. "Going out in small numbers
would be suicide. When we fire off the torpedoes, it'll have to be all at once. Those
shields can take a lot, and I imagine they regenerate pretty damn fast. A series of
poundings would only tick them off. One hard hit should do it. It's all or nothing. You a
gambling man, Shawn?"
The communications officer shook his head. "Not when the odds are this slim."
He smiled in spite of himself. "But then again, they don't have you, sir. We'll win this
yet."
Eisen knew the compliment was genuine. "Thank you, son. But update Naval
Command and let then know to send in the cavalry. I only hope we'll be here to meet
them."
"Aye, sir," Trumpfeller said as he went to his duty station, unsure of whether
there would be a tomorrow for him and his crew. During the war with the Kilrathi, every
day was a blessing. Those had been the hardest and scariest years of his life. When it was
over, he had hoped that his fighting days were primarily over. But now it looked as
164 Homecoming

though they might be just beginning. Could Confed afford another war? He didn't know,
but he knew that he had a job to perform. He'd let the tacticians and engineers worry
about that for him. It was their job. His was communications, and at the moment he had
an urgent one to send out. Please let there be ships nearby, he prayed to himself. If not,
then may whatever god is out there have mercy on us all…

~*~~*~~*~

Terran Sector
Sol System
Confederation Headquarters
"Incoming transmission from the Essex, sir!" Communications Officer First
Lieutenant Darrin Jones said. "Marked 'Urgent'."
Major Larry Timmons was the duty officer at the Strategic Communications
Center at the moment. "Put it through to my screens, Lieutenant."
"Patching through now, sir."
Five seconds later saw the flash-communiqué on the Major's computer. It read:

GST201612NOV
KABALA SECTOR, MARIGOLD SYSTEM, P7
FR: TCS ESSEX
TO: CONNAVCOM

**URGENT**URGENT**URGENT**URGENT**

*RECEIVED DISTRESS CALL.

*INVESTIGATED AND CAME INTO CONTACT WITH
ONE UNKNOWN ALIEN HOSTILE CAPITAL SHIP.
*ATTEMPT AT COMMUNICATION UNANSWERED.
*ALL ATTACKS SO FAR HAVE PROVED FUTILE.
*CONTINUING COMBAT.
*WE ARE BEING ASSISTED BY PCS AURORA,
SENDER OF DISTRESS CALL.
*REQUESTING IMMEDIATE REINFORCEMENT.
*DATA FILE ACCOMPANYING TRANSMISSION.

*****END OF MESSAGE*****

Timmons' face drained of color. Two ships against one, and the greater force is
losing. What is going on out there? And what's this about an unknown alien? Why haven't
I heard of this before now? He called up the accompanying data, and if he was white
before, any passing person would have thought a ghost inhabited his station now. Oh my
god.. With all due haste Timmons sent everything to the Confederation Naval High
Command's office on the red line and tagged it Alpha Priority. Five minutes later it was
before the eyes of one of Confed's greatest heroes.
 Homecoming 165

Confederation Naval High Command

Space Marshal James 'Paladin' Taggart's Office
"Aw, bloody hell," the space marshal said, his right hand fingering the dark hair
that capped his head. "Looks like we got a wee bit o' trouble brewin' out there, laddy.
Take a look at this."
Spinning the terminal around, Taggart's XO, Colonel George 'Cinders' Bryant,
leaned forward to read the document on the screen. Frowning, he reached out and pulled
up the data that came with it. When that was done, he leaned back and let out a long
breath.
"What do ya think, George?" Taggart asked, his tone serious and brooding.
"I don't know," Bryant admitted. "If this data is to be believed, then that alien
ship is tougher than all hell and twice as nasty. If not for the fighters, the Essex would be
destroyed already. We need to do something, fast."
Taggart nodded. "What do ya know about the PCS Aurora?"
Bryant could only look back at his commander with a blank expression.
"Nothing. The name is new to me. You?"
"Oh ya," Taggart said. "I know 'er Captain well. Lad by the name o' Gabriel
McClellan."
Bryant's face lit up. "McClellan? Now that's familiar. Something about firing on
a Confederation pilot and it resulting in the loss of the ship and the pilot's life a couple of
years ago. Dishonorably discharged. Didn't he eventually get back in the Navy with the
help of his father, Angus, the CEO of McClellan Stardrives?"
"Aye, 'e did. I helped get 'im there too. It wasn't his fault. I know his family.
They've owned and operated McClellan Stardrives for years. Figured it was a favor I
could do for them and for the Confederation. We need good pilots. But 'e found it too
hard, lots o' people still accusing 'im of murder and treason. 'e left a little while ago and
fell in with some people that helped 'im finance a ship and get a privateering group
together. That's about all I know."
"I wonder what he was doing out there with these aliens then," Bryant pondered
aloud.
"I'll get some people to look inna that," Taggart said. "But our first prerogative is
'elping the Essex. What do we have available out 'er way?"
Pulling out his palm computer, Bryant began looking. "Well, the closest ship is
the TCS Oracle, but she's tied up in a system dispute. Local planets threatening to war
against each other. Her presence there is vital. Umm… There's the Wolverine, but she's in
dry dock having her engines looked at. Out of service for two weeks it says. The closest
ship to the Essex that can assist her is the Delaware, but she's almost three days away.
Marigold is pretty far from most jump point routes, sir. Supposed to be a quiet little
sector. We don't even have a support station there. Wonderful." Deflated, the colonel
slumped in his chair, thinking. When he finally looked back up, his eyes were on fire and
he was smiling. "Sir! What about the-"
Taggart raised a restraining hand. "Sorry, George, but that's a negative. Half 'er
escorts are under repairs from some computer glitch, and the rest are untried. She's the
only one fit for battle."
Again, Bryant was disheartened. "Sir, can't we send her in without them?"
Taggart looked at his XO with a critical eye. "Would you, laddy? I dinna think
so. Remember what 'appened last time we sent a ship like 'er out without proper support?
I do. Clearly. It won't 'appen again. There's too much time and effort invested in 'er. Try
again."
Thinking hard, both men slouched in their seats. After a minute of that, as one
166 Homecoming

they leaned forward and said, "The Blacksmith Task Force!"

Laughing, Taggart asked, "Are they fit for duty?"
Scanning his computer quickly, Bryant replied, "Affirmative, sir. All the ships
have been shaken down and given clean bills of health. They're scheduled to raise anchor
and start patrolling the edge sectors in three weeks. Most of the crew are on shore leave,
but they can be reassembled in short order. Two, maybe three days on the outside given
no complications."
Nodding vigorously, Taggart rose from his chair saying, "Then get on the lines
and start calling 'em in. Tell Valhalla to get those ships ready and fully loaded. I want to
see some action on this quickly. If Essex and Aurora 'ave to wait on reinforcements, let's
at least make their wait worth it."
"What about the other option, sir?"
Taggart shook his head. "Only as a final alternative, George. Put them on Stand-
By Level Two. Crew together, but in port unless called. I 'ope the situation doesn't get
that desperate."
"Understood, sir. I'll have Blacksmith assembled as soon as possible."
With that, they left the office and went about the process of gathering together
the newest and greatest collection of ships the Confederation had to offer: the Sixth Battle
Fleet, Lightning Division, Blacksmith Task Force.

~*~~*~~*~

Kabala Sector
Marigold System
PCS Aurora
The Bridge
"Please tell me you're almost finished down there, Gears," Gabriel said into the
comm on his Captain's Chair.
The sounds of drilling and hammering answered back loudly, then Chief Tech
Dale 'Gears' Roberts came through the speakers. "Sorry this is taking so long, Captain,
but I wasn't prepared to modify every fighter in our inventory so quickly. I've got every
set of hands I could get working on it, but I'll need a few more minutes yet. I have the
medium and heavy fighters completed, but the Excaliburs and Strakhas are still to go. The
Banshee is too small to convert though. Sorry."
Pondering this, Gabriel asked, "Have the cloaking devices been fixed?"
"Aye. It was a real bitch, but I jury-rigged them. Wouldn't count on more than
ten minutes of cloaking power though. I've uploaded the modulation frequency to your
computer. Anything else, skipper?" Gears sounded impatient. Gabriel sympathized.
"Negative. Keep up the good work. Just have them ready to launch soon. If they
can't, then all your hard work will be for nothing."
"Understood. Gears out."
Pressing a button, Gabriel called on Eisen. "Aurora to Essex, come in please."
"This is Essex, Aurora, over."
"Essex, we're almost done over here. Give us a few more minutes and I can give
you sixteen ships with torpedoes ready to launch."
"Wonderful, Aurora. We have thirty-seven fighters torp capable. That should be
enough to do in Yankee 1. If not, then we're dead ducks."
"Affirmative, Essex. Turn me over to Eisen. I have something I want to bounce
off him."
"I copy, Aurora. One moment please."
 Homecoming 167

Several seconds past as the communications officer flagged down his captain.
"This is Eisen, Gabriel. We're kind of busy over here. What can I do for you?"
"Captain, I think I have a idea on how we can get in on them without losing too
many torpedoes."
"I'm listening."
"Well, Captain, I was thinking that even though they may have technical
superiority over us, we don't know if they've ever developed cloaking technology. I've
had 'Sysop', my sciences officer, looking over the data we've accumulated so far, and he
theorizes that where ever these guys came from might be a high radiation zone. If so, then
cloaking would be nearly impossible. Too much energy to move around and all that. And
it would account for their increased shield strength. If all this is correct, then having our
cloak-capable ships being invisible and striking from the opposite side of the ship could
really throw them off. I suggest that we use our medium, heavy, and bomber fighters to
strike from the front, while the cloaking ships go behind the aliens, and our cap ships
close from the side. Our light fighters could then run interference for the torpedo carriers
in a smaller area. What do you think, sir?
"Brilliant work, Gabriel," Eisen said seconds later. "I was thinking about
cloaking too, but boxing them in like this is even better. They'll be so busy fending off us
and the frontal attack that the fighters behind it can slip in unnoticed and drop their load
without any initial resistance. How many cloaking ships do you have?"
"Only four, Captain," Gabriel answered.
"Only? Four is a decent number, son. Still pretty new technology, especially for
civilians. No offense."
"None taken."
"But you know I can't give you our modulation frequency, Gabriel. Confed
would have my head on a platter if I did."
"I wasn't going to ask, sir. Just give our cloaked pilots precise directions to
follow. We'll be okay."
"Sounds good. That will give us a total of twenty. Major Nagy will lead them in.
I'll go update her right now. Tell your pilots that will fly the cloaked ships to go to the
direct aft of the alien ship, and then to come to a stop five-thousand meters out and ten
degrees below its central axis. That will place them below April's squad. You get
prepared yourself. Yankee 1 is gaining on us quickly, so time is of the essence. Tell your
pilots to follow our lead. Don't mean to step on your toes, but this is a military operation.
Just do as we do and everything should be okay." Eisen mentally crossed his fingers. "My
people tell me that we need to have at least thirty torpedoes to strike for there to be any
noticeable effect. Never thought I'd see the day where a single ship could take that kind of
pounding, but times are changing. We'll be ready to launch in three minutes. Get your
crew set. Eisen out."
Switching the comm over, Gabriel shouted, "Battle stations, everyone. Time to
combat is three minutes! The iron is hot! Prepare for hostile contact! McClellan out!"
Rising from his chair, the comm beeped at him. "Captain," Gears said, almost
out of breath. "We're ready down here. All our birds are a-go. The bombers are pulling
into launch position now. Further orders?"
"Just get ready to receive them when they get back. I imagine we'll have our fair
share of damage to repair. Until then, get back to work on the jump initiator. There'll be
time enough for rest when this is over."
"Got you, sir," Gears replied. "I'm all over it. Gears out."
Breathing a little easier despite the hard ball of lead in his stomach, Gabriel
contacted his pilots in their ships and instructed them to follow the instructions given
168 Homecoming

them by their Essex counterparts. Wing Commander Derrick 'Cujo' Marx grumbled a bit,
but he followed his captain's orders. That done, Gabriel sat down heavily, exhaustion
pouring into every cell of his body. Please let this work, he thought. Please let this
nightmare end without losing even more of my crew. If nothing else, just give me that.
Knowing that there was nothing else he could do, the captain ordered his ship to begin
coming around toward the alien ship that hovered behind him like a killer juggernaut just
waiting to crush him. When it filled his forward viewscreen, the lead ball melted, and in
its place was white hot fury, a fury that could melt stars and burn away the heavens
around him.
"Captain, Essex reports battle readiness," Thomson informed him.
Drawing a deep breath, Gabriel said, "Then engage the enemy!"

~*~~*~~*~

Mariner Sector
Vienna System
Vienna Three
Eastern Tamorin Ocean
30o North Latitude, Five Minutes, Thirty-Eight Seconds
90o East Longitude, Sixteen Minutes, Twenty-Two Seconds
Private Sea Vessel Polaris
Vice Admiral Paul "Bulldog" Davenport was in the middle of an alien ocean, the
nearest landmass about one-hundred and seventy kilometers due south of him, bereft of
any digital compasses or global positioning satellites, with a vicious storm brewing
behind him, thunder and lightning lashing out like angry gods in need of release, salt
spraying in his face with almost sandblasting force… and he couldn't have been happier.
I'm going to beat you yet, you old bitch, he mentally taunted the tempest to the north.
Thankfully, the sea had yet to get too choppy (the waves rising only between one-and-a-
half to two meters high), but he knew that would change soon enough. Strong thirty-five
knot winds gusting out of the north pushed against his sail, the trim set perfectly to catch
it, propelling the small wooden ship quickly, cutting through the water with razor
precision. All in all he was moving at a good clip, reaching speeds of up to twenty knots,
sometimes twenty-three if the seas flattened out for a moment. Certainly not the speeds he
usually traveled at in space, but on a sailboat it was really racing along.
As his hands instinctively guided the wheel, his light blue eyes looked over the
port bow and searched the waters for his friends, what he had came to think of as his
escorts on this long overdue excursion into his favorite realm. After a minute of hunting
he found them: four Prepanis dolphins. They weren't true Earth dolphins, but were the
closest aquatic species ever found on another planet, genetically and physiologically
speaking. Paul had watched them swim with him for almost seven days, their smooth
large bodies a graceful counterpoint to his ship. Each of them easily over five meters in
length, they outweighed their Earth-bound cousins easily, and they could swim at speeds
reaching an astonishing fifty kilometers per hour using four fins and an elongated tail.
The four flukes, two resting just above the belly toward the head and two more further
back and along the midline, were the greatest aberration from his homeworld's species.
Their presence gave him a sense of peace, of oneness with the ocean and the world
around him.
"Do you think she'll catch us?!" he yelled over the bow. As if in answer, the two
males in front dove, then burst into the air like ballistic missiles, their jump taking them
twelve meters up. At the apex they flipped end over end twice, apparently in a playful
 Homecoming 169

mood. The admiral laughed good and deep, the sound carrying with it much of the stress
that had built up over the past few years. But as he watched them, their light gray skin
glistening in the early afternoon light, he was suddenly reminded of his starship and the
others under his command. So like these creatures of the sea, he mused.
Lost in momentary reverie, his hands loosened their grip, and the wheel began to
slowly turn, the rudder below being pushed by oceanic currents. A hard thump awoke
him, reminding him of where and when he was. Wondering what had caused the bump,
he looked and saw the two females swimming against his ship, steering him back on
course. When he resumed control, they moved off, carry on their own role as flank guards
and ever-vigilant navigators. He raised his right hand and waved. "Thank you, dear
ladies!" he shouted.
Turning on their sides, they waved their flippers at him in return. Wake up, you
old fart, they seemed to be saying. Our destination lies ahead, not off that way. Do we
have to do everything? He laughed at the thought. Taking that as their cue, the females
increased speed and caught up with their mates, all four of them flying along before his
bow, occasionally leaping into the sky.
But as he sailed, watching his friends at play, a growing sense of… something…
filled him. "By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes," he said to
himself, and he didn't mean the storm building in his wake. As he tried to ferret out the
dark emotions that grew within his soul, the communication band he wore around his
wrist chirped. He tapped the display seconds later, the act feeling like destiny in motion.
"Birdcage to Raven Hawk," the comm said. "Come in Raven Hawk."
"This is Raven Hawk, Birdcage, over."
"Mardi Gras. I repeat, Mardi Gras."
Swearing silently, Davenport replied, "Acknowledged and wilco." Grumbling to
himself, the admiral switched frequencies. "Raven Hawk calling Northern Cross."
"Northern Cross here, Raven Hawk. Birdcage?"
"Affirmative. Come get me." Paul shut the comm off with an angry finger.
"Damn it all to hell."
Resigning himself to his duty, the admiral locked the wheel in place so that he
could lower his sails. With the fabric stowed away, the ship slowed its speed, soon
coming to a near rolling stop. Ten minutes later, two shuttles appeared on the horizon, the
figures like a blemish on the perfection all around him. As they approached, the four
dolphins turned about and neared his ship. Their loud clicks and squeals were like
protests, the sound pulling at his heart strings.
"I'm sorry, my friends," he told them. "But duty calls. I have to go."
He wasn't sure if they understood him (marine biologists had yet to study them
in depth, and Paul hoped they never would. Where ever man went, he tainted all he
touched. The admiral wished for nothing more than this planet to remain unsullied by
further human interference), but in a display of apparent aggravation the four mammals
tossed onto their backs and started splashing copious amounts of water at his ship, crying
out even louder than before.
"Don't make this harder than it has to be," he told them.
It did little good. They continued to splash and squeal until the shuttles came
within fifty meters. Then they darted below the water's surface and disappeared. It was
one of the saddest sights the admiral had ever seen.
The smaller of the two vessels approached first, coming to hover on his
starboard side less than a meter away, the expert pilot matching the ship's rise and fall.
Taking one last look around, Paul approached a hatch that had just opened and entered,
the smells of the sea replaced by those of machinery. He crinkled his nose in distaste. The
170 Homecoming

hatch closed when we was fully inside, cutting him off from a hasty retreat, not that he
would ever have done so. He was a Navy man. He knew his place in the scheme of
things. The sea was his home, but space was his field. In another life, another time, he
might have been a seaman, a captain of old, with only the wood beneath his feet to carry
him and the stars overhead to guide him. Maybe someday, he thought with hopefulness.
"Valhalla, Admiral?" the shuttle's pilot asked.
Paul nodded. "And make it snappy. This is serious. Make sure they take care of
my ship. When my business is done I'll be returning."
"Aye, sir. They will. But you better strap in. With the wind this hard it'll be a
bumpy ride."
Paul complied, finding a seat nearby and falling into it. Behind him, the larger
shuttle was tractoring in the Polaris, taking care not to damage it in any way. If the
admiral found one little scratch on it, heads would roll far and wide.
"A transmission came while I was heading in," the pilot informed him. "It's been
routed through to your computer, sir."
"Thank you, Captain," Paul said, then pulled down the computer terminal before
him. He barely got through one page before he was awestruck. "Captain, get me to my
ship as fast as you can. No frills."
"No frills it is. Aye aye, Admiral."
When the ship exited the planet's gravity well and was well past the system's
orbital planes, hidden wings unfolded from all sides. Bright pink lights began to pulsate
along their edges, and a deep throbbing hummed in the shuttle's occupants' bones.
"We have a tone, sir," the pilot said from the cockpit. "Preparing for hyperlight
speed, harmonic at maximum. Engaging in five… four… three… two.. one.. Engaged!
We are away!"
Nodding to himself, Paul ignored the awesome sights that went past him, bright
swirls of rainbow light flashing outside his window. The text and images on his computer
had him totally enraptured. Like a man dying of thirst, he drank in knowledge deeply,
craving more and more. When the shuttle began its approach run on the Valhalla
Shipyards four hours and seven sectors later, his mind had already begun turning over
plans and tactics. And it was with no small haste that he made his way toward his ship,
the carrier TCS HammerStrike, the flagship of the Blacksmith Task Force. Destiny drew
closer by the second.

~*~~*~~*~

Kabala Sector
Marigold System
Lead Dark Angel Fighter
Dark Angel's CO Lieutenant Colonel April 'Glitz' Nagy was pissed. Fuming, she
sat in her cockpit with a white-knuckled grip on the flight stick, her thoughts darker then
the space around her. I can't believe we sent the White Falcons out first!! she raged
inside. Should have been us. You come across an alien ship, you send me and mine in to
get a look-see without alerting them. Just one more Confed screw up that I'm going to
have to fix..
Eisen had come to her and told her the reason he hadn't sent them in, but it did
little to assuage her anger. "Colonel, if we send you in first, we could be tipping our
hand," he explained. "We don't know anything about them, and if they have a means of
detecting you, then you'll be sitting ducks. Once you get close in, they will have ample
time to fire on you, and while cloaked you can't fire back. Coming out of cloak takes a
 Homecoming 171

few seconds, and during that time you'll be as vulnerable as newborn babies. I already
have enough unknown variables without risking the Dark Angels. Better to save you and
go with conventional fighters right out of the gate. Don't worry, you'll get an opportunity
to fight." She saw the logic, but in her soul it didn't matter much.
And to make matters worse, now she had to deal with a bunch of invisible loose
cannons flying somewhere near her. She knew they were good pilots (Gabriel wouldn't
have slouches on his ship, her heart said), but that didn't mean someone wouldn't fuck up
and get her or one of her wingmen killed.
"Keep things tight, people," she said into her comm mike, noticing Major Gi
'Athena' Tomar drifting off course a few degrees. "I already have enough problems
without one of you wondering off and maybe hitting Ghost Team Two. Stay in
formation."
The only thing that made the CO happy was knowing that so far the present
mission was going according to plan. After the Essex and the Aurora had begun peeling
away in different directions, both cap ships had disgorged its fighter complement. Yankee
1 had, as expected, started following the Essex, what it must deem the greater threat, if it
were a threat at all. As the cap ships moved, the fighters and bombers moved to station
keeping positions, with Ghost Team One and Two hitting full throttle to circle around and
come in from the rear. If things continued to go so good… No, her mind said. Don't leave
out Mr. Murphy and his habit of popping up when you least expect it. If things can go
bad, then most times they will. Many times that old phrase had been proven correct time
and again.
"Alright, folks, let's get into position," she said when she saw the five kilometer
mark click past on her HUD. The alien ship, and in her mind it was as alien as alien could
be, was well behind her, and so far it hadn't detected a thing. The members of her team
reported in that they were falling in line.
"Ghost Team One to Spook Central," she said, calling the Essex.
"Spook Central here, Ghost Leader. Report."
"We are moving into position."
"Good. The other pieces are moving in now. We should be ready for checkmate
in one minute. Keep yourself high and out of sight until we give the order for attack.
Spook Central out."
Whistling softly, April switched frequencies. "You heard the man, people. Let's
do this one by the numbers. Until then, stay off the comm. Ghost Leader over and out."
Well, we're in the shit now, she thought to herself, almost laughing. Once more
unto the breach, dear friends, indeed. Knowing that the action would start soon, she
began calming her body and mind, breathing deep and slow. When she was as ready as
she could be, her comm came alive, the sudden noise bringing her into sharp focus.
"All units, light 'em up!!" Trumpfeller shouted. "Smoke this sucker!!"
Pressing a button, April and her crew disengaged their cloaking devices and
threw everything they had at the alien ship before them. She hoped it would be enough.

C'Kuthra Accrual Ship Kura'shan

The Bridge
Minutes Earlier
With rapt attention, Weapons Master Gravish'kak viewed his tactical monitors as
his ship pursued the larger of the alien vessels. What he saw gave him reason to worry. A
feeling began creeping over him, one that hadn't been in his heart for a very long time:
fear. The Ascendants were an aggressive species, but quick to turn coward if things didn't
172 Homecoming

go their way, and the C'Kuthra, after rising from their shackles and fighting back, had
truly made things go against their slavers. The war with them had lasted a long time, but
only because the Ascendants had a great number of ships to throw at them. If their
numbers had been fewer, then perhaps the war would only have lasted a shorter period of
time. But that was neither here nor there. What concerned Gravish'kak were the vaporflies
that had begun swarming before them.
"Leader," he said, calling the sub-den leader over.
"What is it, Weapons Master?"
"Leader, the enemy is changing tactics." Could his superior hear the fear in his
voice? He didn't know, and hoped that he could not. Fear was not tolerated on
Wrak'Korvalish's ship.
"How so?"
Pointing toward his screens, Gravish'kak said, "They have drastically increased
the number of vaporflies to fly against us, and the two larger ships are starting to move
around in a flanking maneuver."
"What is the total number of gnats in our way?"
Counting them off in his head, the weapons master replied, "Fifty-one, Leader,
and most of them are armed with large stingers. They are just flying around, no
discernable pattern emerging. I do not know if the larger ships are armed with stingers as
well. The computer says we cannot survive a direct hit with all of them." What he failed
to mention was that they had barely survived being hit by nine of them the first time.
Luck had been with them, and most of the stingers had hit stronger portions of the
shields. If they had hit the shields protecting the engines, then he might not be here facing
the new threat. The ship's chief builder was quickly trying to repair the damaged rear
shields, but the out-dated Ascendant technology wasn't cooperating.
"What is the projected number of stingers to get past our defenses?"
"Twenty, Leader, if the larger ships do not fire any they might have. That's a
conservative estimate."
"Do you think we should we initiate the Cascade Defense?"
Inhaling sharply, Gravish'kak looked at his leader in surprise. The Cascade
Defense was a last ditch effort at self-preservation, one used only when all other options
were moot points and the situation was dire. "I can't make that decision, Leader. Shouldn't
we call in reinforcements first?"
"Of course not!" the leader said in response. "What, and look like a coward? I
don't think so. We can handle these creatures on our own. Let them come in close, and
then unleash all our weapons. That will destroy most of them. When that's done, we'll
report back to Den Leader and tell him of our victory here. After the Ascendants are
finished, we shall come back here and take what is ours by right of birth. But I won't go
back to Quenda'Vorssh without cleaning up here first."
The sciences leader thrust his head from his station. "Leader, I've finally figured
out what that strange radiation the aliens shot at us was! When I detected the same type
being used amongst the larger ships and the vaporflies, I narrowed my range search, and
it appears to be a carrier wave of some kind."
"Carrier wave?" Wrak'Korvalish replied. "Then why didn't we initially detect it
as such?"
"Because it's a very low-band wavelength, and our communications equipment
uses high-band waves. This sector of space is cool, radiation wise, so they can use the
lower bands without it being distorted. Ascendant space is much hotter, so we use the
stronger high-bands. If you would like, I can slice into their communications and put it
through our speakers."
 Homecoming 173

"Then do so," the leader order him. "Let's hear what these creatures sound like."
Seconds later, the speakers in the bridge issued the strangest sounds any of them
had ever heard, the noises like harsh grunts. They couldn't understand a word of it.
"Animals," Wrak'Korvalish said, sneering. "They sound like tree jumpers."
"Perhaps they were trying to communicate their true intent earlier, Leader,"
Gravish'kak supposed.
Pointing to the tactical screens, the sub-den leader replied, "THAT is their intent,
Weapons Master. Look at the way they line up against us, their larger ships moving to
take us on our sides. When they fired on our planet, they told us all we need to know. The
earlier communication was probably just taunts. My eyes tell me everything. Their intent
couldn't be more clear."
Shaking his head slightly, Gravish'kak looked back down at his boards, copying
files over to a secret directory that he would present to the den leader when they returned.
It was the weapons master's hope that Quenda'Vorssh would see the situation with clearer
eyes, eyes that didn't see treachery and aggression behind every planet. Gravish'kak loved
his leader, serving with him since they had taken the ship over from the Ascendants, but
that didn't mean he had to follow every order blindly and leave his brain and common
sense back at the orbital dens they had launched from. He knew that things were not as
they seemed.
In the top right corner of the central screen Gravish'kak was using, a warning
light was flashing. Tapping the screen, the light became text. It was a warning that an
unknown form of radiation was being emitted behind them. Magnifying the scan, the
weapons master saw that there was nothing in that sector of space that could account for
the radiation. Scrolling back through the sensor logs, he tried to see where it might have
come from. The computer showed him that the sensors hadn't detected it until a few
minutes ago, the originating point near the large hostile ships. He watched in awe as the
sensors displayed the radiation first appearing at their front, high diffused, then sliding
past them on each side, finally grouping together at the rear of their ship. Focusing
further, he tightened his scans behind them. And before his amazed eyes, twenty distorted
shapes came into being. They were still invisible to the naked eye, but their enhanced
scanners could now see them. The pulse of his heart increased as a sinking feeling filled
his stomach. "Leader, I think we are in trouble."
But the ship's leader barely turned around before the science leader was
shouting.
"Increased burst communications among the alien ships, Leader! I think they are
beginning to attack!!"
Not knowing where to look, Wrak'Korvalish took his seat. With a stern
expression he said, "Begin Cascade Defense preparations. Let's destroy these animals
quickly and report back to Den Leader."
Watching his screens, Gravish'kak saw the vaporflies begin filing into columns
and moving to place themselves all around them. "Leader, the flies are taking up positions
in front of us, as well as on top and below, all of them pointing right as us. The large
ships are staying back, but they can move in quickly. What are your orders?"
Leaning back, Wrak'Korvalish responded, "They made a mistake in not trying to
get behind us. Let's capitalize on that. Engines full reverse! When they get close enough,
fire."
"Uh, Leader, I don't think-" but the weapons master was cut off by a sudden
alarm on his boards. Looking, he saw the twenty hidden constructs behind them unveil
themselves. Vaporflies! All of them! And closing quickly! "We're boxed in, Leader!!
Invisible ships behind us have just appeared!"
174 Homecoming

"How many?"
"Twenty, and all armed with stingers!"
"How did this happen? Didn't we detect them?"
"I only just saw-" the weapons leader tried to say, but Wrak'Korvalish waved
him off.
"Your incompetence doesn't matter. Are our weapons ready?"
Lowering his eyes with burning shame, Gravish'kak checked his screens. "Yes,
Leader. Energy guns and stinger mounts are prepared."
"Then initiate Cascade Defense. Full salvo, wide spread firing. I don't want
anything getting through. Begin!"
Pressing the necessary keys, Gravish'kak started the end-run weapon firing
sequence. Under his feet he could feel the ship going through its radical maneuvers.
Closing his eyes, he hoped with all his hearts that it would work. But above all that, he
hoped that they weren't making a grave mistake. Wrak'Korvalish was a great military
leader, but once before he had been called to the carpet for firing when he should instead
have been thinking.
Shrill alarms called his eyes open, and on his screens he saw dozens upon
dozens of stingers approaching his ship, their doom written on the head of each one. Their
defenses had been good, but not good enough. "Prepare for impact," he said, not that it
would do any good. No one was listening. All of them were watching their screens,
hoping against hope that they would make it. If they did, then Leader be damned. If he
had to, Gravish'kak would take out his superior and initiate their Fold Drive, taking them
back home. Wrak'Korvalish's pride would not be the death of him and his crewmates. Not
while there was breath left in his body. But the weapons master held that breath in
anticipation of the explosions that were to follow. He didn't have long to wait.

Dark Angels Squadron

Todd Marshall's Ship
"That's the craziest lookin' thing I ever saw!" squadron XO Todd 'Maniac'
Marshall shouted into his comm, and for him that was a bold statement. After firing off
his torpedo, per orders, he had recloaked his ship, moved one-thousand meters back, and
then slowed to keep watch on Yankee 1 should it try to exit his way. The other fighters
would have to rely on the Banshees to cover for them. The Excaliburs would be better
served to just cloak and stay out of harms way; sixty-six scrambling craft in a small area
of space were more dangerous than fifty trying to evade missiles.
Everyone had anticipated that Yankee 1 would perform some kind of defensive
maneuver, such as launching anti-torpedo missiles or blasting at them with energy
weapons, but what he saw before him defied understanding and belief: after the torpedoes
had been launched, the alien ship had begun spinning, slowly at first but quickly gaining
speed, like a gyroscope in a whirlwind, end over end, cutting across diagonally, all the
while shooting missiles and energy beams into space. It seemed like an insane stratagem
at first, but as the torpedoes began being destroyed two then three at a time, the brilliance
of the plan became clear.
"How can something that… big… move so fast?!" Maniac asked of no one in
particular.
"I don't know, and I don't wanna know," Major Michael 'Striker' Bayles replied.
But then fighters began getting caught in the maelstrom of motion and
weaponry. The slow moving bombers took the greatest losses, but the heavy fighters took
their lumps as well. Even the lightning fast Banshees, for all their speed and dexterity,
 Homecoming 175

weren't immune, many of them nobly sacrificing themselves to keep their larger brothers
safe.
"What's going on?!" Captain Suzane 'Badger' Polus shouted from her Banshee,
seconds before a missile slammed into her. Her question went unanswered.
"Everyone get as far as you can from Yankee 1!" Eisen shouted. "Move, move,
move!! We show that she's going critical!"
And he was right. Even though it's radical maneuvering had destroyed a goodly
number of the torpedoes, enough of them must have slipped through to hit the target.
Small explosions blossomed all along her hull, especially near the engines. Bright cracks
highlighted seams in the metal, pieces of armor blasting off.
"Alright!!" Maniac yelled, his face grinning ear to ear. "We nailed it! Yeah!"
But if he had expected a spectacular explosion to punctuate his words of joy,
then he was sadly disappointed. The detonations continued, but instead of lighting up like
a star, the ship slowed its spin and began moving toward him and his squadron.
"What the hell?" he asked. "Isn't she supposed to go boom now?"
In response, Eisen came over his comm and said, "Ghost Team One, get the hell
out of the way of that thing! We still show intense energy readings from Yankee 1, and I
don't like it one bit."
Maniac, in a rare display of proper military conduct, followed his orders to the
letter, shoving his throttle forward and moving away as quick as he could. "Understood,
Spook Central! I'm outta here!" Forming up on Lieutenant Colonel Nagy's wing, the Dark
Angel Squadron sped from the alien ship's path toward home.
"Readings are maxing out!" Eisen informed them. "At this rate I don't know if
any of us are going to survive. Take cover and hold on!"
Knowing in his heart that his life was over, a tear forming at the thought of all
those women who would never know his charms or be dazzled by his stories of bravery
and heroics, Maniac boldly looked his fate in the eye. "At least it'll be a fiery death," he
mused aloud. "A fitting end for my… sparkling career." Rare sadness overwhelmed him,
sorry for a universe that would surely mourn his passing and miss him dearly.
Unfortunately for his dreams of a radiant demise, the ship didn't explode. Instead
it disappeared just as it had first arrived, seeming to fold up front to back, space
overlapping it until it was no more.
"Now what the hell?" he asked, blinking his eyes in wonder.
"Are you disappointed, Todd?" April asked.
"Yes," Maniac replied. "I mean, no. I mean… Aw forget it You wouldn't
understand."
"That's affirmative, Todd. Let's go home. Pronto." April swung her Excalibur
around and headed toward the Essex. "Captain Eisen, what are our casualties, sir?"
With a saddened voice, Eisen said, "Reports are coming in now, and it doesn't
look good. That damn… whatever-you-call-it stunt they pulled was devastating. We lost
seven Banshees, two Bearcats, and six Longbows, most of the pilots in them gone with
their ships. Three Longbows were damaged, as were four Banshees and five Bearcats,
though none of them critically. Your squadron was the only one to go undamaged."
Feeling guilty but knowing there was nothing she could have done about it,
April asked, "What about the Aurora, sir? Any casualties there?"
"Yes. They lost their only Banshee, plus a Hellcat, a Danrk, a Strakha, two
Broadswords, and an Avenger, with an almost total loss of hands on them. I think two or
three might have ejected in time. Not sure on that though. We'll have a formal assessment
as soon as we can."
"Understood, sir," April replied. "We should be docking in a few minutes. Ghost
176 Homecoming

Leader out."
"Do you think they'll come back?" Maniac asked.
With a growing sensation of rage and impotent fury growing beneath her breasts,
April opened her comm and said, "I hope so, Todd. I really hope so. And when they do,
I'll give them something to think about. You don't come in our space and start killing our
people then get away without paying the price for it. A reckoning will come, and I'm
gonna give it to them personal like. Form up and let's get going. I wanna be ready for next
time."
With one half of their bodies cold with sadness, yet the half side hot with anger,
the Dark Angel Squadron followed her lead, many of them echoing her statement. Blood
was the price for the actions of the aliens, and they were going to pay with interest.

~*~~*~~*~

Halfway Across The Galaxy

C'Kuthra Accrual Ship Kura'shan
The Bridge
Smoke filled the air and fires and sparks emanated from several stations.
Damage control teams were working quickly to control the destruction, while repair
teams scurried about in a vain attempt to save the life of their ship. It was a brave effort,
but ultimately all for naught.
"What's the currant damage report?!" Wrak'Korvalish shouted.
In the engineering section, the chief builder replied, "It's not good, Leader. All of
our communications are out, and the sub-fold engines are completely off-line. I don't have
the parts to repair them completely. Give me two hunts and I might be able to give us a
quarter power."
"Can we use the Fold Drive?"
"No! That first time almost blew us up! I'm glad it worked, but we can't risk it
again, not without the great possibility of folding right into the galactic core or ending up
on the other side of the universe. We have to do some major repair work on it and then
recalibrate."
Sighing heavily, the sub-den leader slumped in his chair. "Damn those vaporflies
and their stingers!!" His left fist smashed against his side. "We had them! What went
wrong?!"
Daring the fury his words might bring upon him, Gravish'kak said, "Leader,
there were just too many variables for the computer to track."
"Variables?!" the leader shouted. "My ship is falling apart around me and all you
can say is variables? I'll have your head for this, Weapons Master, as soon as we get
back. Consider yourself demoted and on probation pending further investigation on this
matter!"
"As you order, Leader," Gravish'kak replied. "But if you'll look at the computer's
logs you'll see that we did the best we could. There were just too many targets to-"
"I don't want to hear it!" Wrak'Korvalish raged. "Your incompetence knows no
bounds, and I won't waste my time on your excuses. I would suggest you spend your time
thinking on your failure and what it will cost you. Now, everyone, get back to work! I
want to be with the Den Leader in no less than four hunts! If not, then there better be a
damned good reason why!"
With those words ringing in their ears, the crew of the Kura'shan redoubled their
efforts and repaired all that they could in a surprising three hunts time. Wrak'Korvalish
was proud.
 Homecoming 177

"You have done well," he told them all. "Repairs are as complete as they can be,
so now we'll return to Ascendant space. Since our long range communications are still
down, I don't know the condition of our fleet, but we have located them and are about to
engage the Fold Drive. I don't expect anymore complications. Man your stations and
prepare to engage the Drive. Sub-Den Leader Wrak'Korvalish out."
That done, the ship and its crew folded from normal space and reappeared next
to the Pal'kota, right into the heat of battle. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. Ten
seconds later, the Kura'shan was destroyed, its death brought about by three enemy
missiles that normally wouldn't have even dented it. But with most of the ship already
held together by not much more than a prayer and a dream, it was an easy target.
Everything they had learned went with it, and any hope that Den Leader Quenda'Vorssh
might see and understand things Wrak'Korvalish had not was gone. What might have
become nothing more than a small skirmish based off of a rash captain's actions was soon
to become a battle that would consume the lives of hundreds. The only message
Wrak'Korvalish had time to transmit was one word, and it would inflame his den leader
as never before. If the galaxy could have wept, it would have.
178 Homecoming

The Eye Of The Storm

~ Part Three Of "Homecoming" ~
*****
"A soldier's duty…" Taylor intoned the last word in a voice of granite, "is to do an honest
day's work in dishonest times… and to make the best out of the worst fucking mess
imaginable. It means… believing in your heart that some things are more important than
your personal devils… or even your personal beliefs. It means the willingness to give
up… everything." Taylor sat back in his chair, never breaking eye contact. "And
sometimes it just means lacing up your boots one more time when the whole world's
going to shit."

Ralph Peters, "The War In 2020"

*****

Kabala Sector
Marigold System
PCS Aurora
Hangar Bay
One Day After The Battle
"And so we commit the bodies of our friends and crewmates into space,"
Captain McClellan said, his voice strong, his back straight, his eyes watery yet
unwavering. "From star dust did we come, and so back to star dust shall we go. And with
their bodies go our hopes that their deaths, though tragic, have in some small way brought
the galaxy closer to everlasting peace. Let us also not forget the lives lost among the
Essex's crew. They too have died in the service of their beliefs and convictions, and
because of their sacrifice we are able to be here today. Please, lower your heads in respect
for all the brave souls who can no longer be with us."
Everyone aboard the Aurora was in attendance for the funeral in the hangar bay,
and as one they bowed their heads and closed their eyes, some thinking of all the good
times that would never be. The setting wasn't the best they could have hoped for, but it
would have to do. At a large podium near the front exit portal stood the captain and
Commander Ashikaga. Lieutenant Commander Arnett had left his regards, but for reasons
no one was clear on, he and the newly arrived Colonel Crow were curiously absent. A
few eyebrows had been raised, but stern rebukes from Gabriel had silenced any unwanted
questions. So, with the ship's two commanders leading the ceremony, the crew paid its
respects to those of their number that had died in the Marigold System, both on the
seventh planet and in the space around it.
Before them, on the floor, rested twenty-eight coffins, some of them with bodies
inside, the others there as a symbol, their occupants beyond retrieval in the wreckage that
floated in orbit with them. Twenty men had died with Colonel Brightblade on his mission
planet-side, while the other eight were pilots who had perished in the battle with the
aliens. Two others had been shot down, but they had thankfully ejected in time. The
coffins were made of a dark metal that had a dull shine to it, with the Black Knight's crest
engraved on the lids. Gabriel wished he had better final resting homes, but he hadn't
anticipated needing so many so soon, and the guilt he felt over needed them now was
almost more that he could bear. My fault!! he shouted to himself. All this is my damn
fault!! If I would have listened to Arnett, then we would be halfway to Earth right now, or
maybe somewhere else, somewhere safe, somewhere far from the death that fills this
 Homecoming 179

place. My own damn sense of pride brought us to this! But not again. This time I will
leave the decision up to everyone, and not just take it upon myself.
Hearing Ashikaga start to sniffle, Gabriel raised his head. "Let us all stand tall
and watch as our brave brothers and sisters make their final voyage." In unison, heels
clacked together as the crew snapped to unbending attention, their backs and heads held
stiff. Gabriel pressed a button on his podium, and everyone watched as the lines of coffins
rose into the air and drifted out of the ship. Once past the environmental shields, small
engines kicked in and the metal caskets blazed into the distance, their destination
unknown. A row of seven Marines, all dressed in their finest uniforms, raised their blaster
rifles and pointed them out of the ship. When Gabriel gave the gesture, the seven men
fired, the sound echoing loudly in the hangar. Many of the people inside flinched,
whether because of the rifle reports or because of what they meant was uncertain. Again
they discharged, and again, in all firing twenty-one times in proper military tradition.
When the sounds of the last shot died out, Gabriel straightened his uniform, then
stepped as close as he could to his microphone. "Before we close, I need to make an
announcement. Captain Eisen has received notice from Confederation Naval
Headquarters, and the word is that it will be three more days before reinforcements arrive.
Until that time, he and his ship will remain here, alone. He has asked me if we could wait
with him until then. I don't think I need to remind anyone what a swallowing of pride that
request must have been. But I didn't want to speak for all of you, so I told him that I,
myself, would stay. For those of you who wish to leave, transportation will be made
available to you, either from our stock of ships or from the Essex. If you do leave, your
contracts will be canceled out, your debt of time served made null. The Corinthian
Archeological Firm has wisely chosen to call off their contract with us, feeling that the
situation around Marigold VII is too hot to consider further exploration on the planet. In
accordance with Confederation laws concerning private contracting, we will be paid our
full fee since they are the ones pulling out. All of you will of course be paid your proper
percentage, whether or not you stay. Having been told that, those of you wanting to leave
may do so now or within the next three hours. After that, I will consider your continued
presence on the ship as your desire to stay as well. I hope none of you chooses to leave,
as I feel like you are my family, but I will not pressure you into staying. The decision is
yours alone." Drawing a deep breath, Gabriel concluded the funeral. "That is all.
Dismissed."
"That was a fine ceremony, Captain," Ashikaga said, reaching out and taking his
right arm in her hands. "You did the right thing in giving them the option to stay or go.
Gives them a sense of empowerment."
"Thank you, Commander. That means a lot. I just hope we don't lose too many."
Together they watched the crew file out, some alone, others clumped together in
small groups, their conversations low, almost hushed. His heart went out to all of them.
"Will you be staying, Kiato?" Gabriel asked.
"Certainly, Captain. Despite what you may think, this isn't your fault. Your
actions have shown you to have a high sense of honor and loyalty, and I admire that,
especially in our business where those attributes are in such low supply. Most of the
people I've come into contact with who were privateers would have cut and run long
before now. But you didn't, and neither will I. I gave my loyalty to you, and you shall
have it. And just because I gave it in the form of a signature on a dotted line makes it no
less valid."
The surge of emotion that rose up within the captain almost made him swoon.
"Then we're in this together. Let's hope others feel the same as you."
"I don't know," she said, "but so long as hope's alive, there's always a way."
180 Homecoming

Shaking his arm firmly, Kiato turned and left the hangar, leaving him alone with
his thoughts. Sinking in a seat, Gabriel closed his eyes and wondered what he was going
to do. He didn't hold out hope that many would stay with him, and he didn't know how
the ship was going to function on less than a skeleton crew. Not wanting them, but not
knowing how to stop them, tears sprang out and rolled down his face, slicking the palms
that cupped his cheeks. He was glad to be alone, it not being good for the crew to see
their leader losing control of himself.
"Gabriel?" a soft voice said from across the hangar.
Looking up sharply, the captain saw Debra walking toward him. "You better got
your things packed, Debra," he told her. "The transports out will be leaving soon."
"Who said I was going anywhere?" she asked in all innocence.
"No one said. But it would be unwise for you to remain here. We may have won
the battle, but that alien ship could return at any moment, and I would bet hard credits that
she won't be alone when she does. And until Confed gets some help out here, there's only
going to be the Essex and what remains of the Aurora's crew to fight them."
"Then why don't we leave?"
"Because doing so would mean giving up this system. Confed can't afford to do
that. Those aliens came here for a reason, what that is I don't know, and there has to be a
Confederation presence here to meet them. Leaving this system open only gives them a
opening to all of Confed space."
"I mean, why doesn't the Aurora leave? I heard your statement, but I don't
understand why you want to stay. You're not in the navy anymore. You don't owe Confed
anything. Why risk your life?"
Shaking his head, Gabriel ushered Debra to sit beside him. "Remember when I
told you about being dishonorably discharged from the navy? And then I was allowed
back in?"
Debra nodded her head but didn't say anything.
"Well, the Essex was the ship that I was placed on." Understanding lit up her
eyes. "It was pretty rough. I mean, some of them really gave me shit. But Eisen didn't. He
and a few others did their best to take me in and make me feel at home. In the end it
wasn't enough, but I can't betray their friendship, their acceptance of me. If I did that, then
I would be no better than most people think I am. So you see, I owe it to them to stay. If
that means I die, then that's the way it is. Better to die with my honor and pride intact than
live knowing I turned my back on the few people who believed in me."
Nodding, Debra leaned forward to wipe the few stray tears that glimmered on
Gabriel's cheeks. "That's why I'm staying too, Gabriel. I won't give you some song and
dance about me owing you my life, but if you hadn't come into that restaurant when you
did, I would still be there, a slave to that pig. And if that means dying with you out here,
then as you said, that's the way it is. I didn't have much of a life before you came along,
so I won't be losing much if it's taken away. You have faith in your friends. I have faith in
you. If we all stick together, then maybe we'll get through this yet. And who knows? We
might just come out on top and better off than we were before."
How she could summon up such positive energy was beyond Gabriel, but he was
glad she could. Someone had to be able to.
Trying his hardest to smile, Gabriel said, "Well then, let's get cracking."
"Can I come with you to the bridge?"
"I don't know about that, Debra," he replied, unsure.
"I won't get in the way. I promise. You won't even know I'm there. But I was
scared senseless in my cabin, those loud alarms and flashing red lights going off all the
time. I didn't know what was going on! I can't go anywhere else without people having to
 Homecoming 181

step over me. And if I am to die, then I would like to at least see it coming."
Thinking it over, Gabriel finally said, "Alright. We'll find you an empty seat in
the back of the bridge."
Clapping her hands softly, Debra took his face in her hands and kissed him
deeply. He responded in kind. When they eventually separated, Gabriel whispered,
"Thanks. That really helps."
"It was my pleasure," she said.
Feeling that he had spent more than enough time wallowing in self-pity, Gabriel
gathered himself together, took Debra's hand, and led her out of the hangar. His duty was
on the bridge of his ship, and he knew his people needed to see him where he belonged.
He hoped his show of confidence would bolster them. If his instincts were right, then they
would need it.

~*~~*~~*~

Prometheus Sector
Valhalla Shipyards
TCS HammerStrike
The Bridge
Pacing, Vice Admiral Davenport ran his hands through his thinning hair.
"What's the sitrep on crew arrivals?"
Captain Dallas, the admiral's XO, punched up the information on his data pad.
"So far we are up to thirty percent, with twenty more due in within the day. Five have
reported in that they can't make it, four of them because of injuries sustained during shore
leave."
"Damn. And the other one?"
"Captain Erikson, commander of the DarkForge, was re-routed to an unspecified
billet."
His eyes looking up quickly, Davenport said, "Unspecified? What does that
mean?"
Dallas shook his head. "I don't know. It's classified. Need-to-know only."
"Who's his second then?"
"Commander Leahy, sir. She's already aboard her ship and getting the
preparations for launch under way."
"Good," Davenport intoned. "The other four. Essential personnel?"
"No, sir."
Nodding, Davenport strolled along the railing that ran around the cavernous
bridge ten meters up, halfway between the floor and the ceiling, circling the entire room,
traditionally known as the Captain's Walk. Windows graced the front of the bridge, the
walls, and the dome overhead. Instead of a forward viewscreen, the ship employed an
intricate holographic projection system that rested in the middle of the room. The system
could mimic a two dimensional viewscreen if that was required, but it could also produce
three dimensional images, maps, video, and many other types of informational displays.
Truly a marvel of modern technology.
One of the largest bridges ever built, the walkway commanded an astonishing
view. Below him, in station pits aft of the holo-emitter, his bridge crew worked furiously
to ready his ship and the others in the task force. The design of the bridge was new, as
was the design of the entire ship, but all the ships currently being built by the
Confederation were similar to this. Resting his hands on the railing, Davenport viewed
the world around him, and he liked what he saw.
182 Homecoming

"How long until we are ready to get underway?" he asked.

"If we fly with minimal support staff, then I'd estimate twenty-two hours
maximum. But I wouldn't recommend that. Give me two days, and we'll be fully
prepared."
"Agreed. If there's nothing else, then you're dismissed. Go… write a letter or
something."
Seeing his commander's need for solitude, Captain Dallas saluted, turned
sharply, and left the Captain's Walk by way of a secured lift on the starboard side of the
Walk. Once he was alone, Davenport clasped his hands behind him and stared into the
stars that hung overhead. His seclusion was short lived.
"Davenport here," the admiral said, tapping the chirping comm badge that
encircled his wrist.
"Sorry to disturb you, Admiral," the HammerStrike's Communications Officer
Major O'Malley said, "but you have an urgent transmission coming in coded Alpha
Security."
"Understood. I'll take it in my ready room. Give me a minute" With that,
Admiral Davenport walked to his chair at the aft end of the Walk, and once properly
seated he was lowered to the bridge. From there he rose and entered his ready room that
was nearby. Seating himself, the admiral activated his computer. "Davenport, security
code Foxtrot-Charley-Niner."
His screen came alive immediately, with Space Marshal Taggart filling it.
"Paul, I 'ave some good news and bad news for ya," Taggart said.
"That's not what I wanted to here, Paladin," Davenport replied, no formality
between them. Too much had happened in the war with the Kilrathi for there to be any,
both of them old friends who had protected each other time and time again. "Give me the
good news first."
Laughing, Paladin said, "Well, the Essex and the Aurora managed to run off
those aliens for ya. Bad news is that they dinna destroy it, so we can expect it to return,
and most likely in force."
Drawing a ragged had down his face, Davenport said, "I feared as much. Heaven
forbid we get a break so early on."
"I understand that 'un, Paul. I'm sendin' over what the Essex sent us of the battle.
Maybe you canna come up with somethin' while you wait for the rest of your crew to
arrive."
"I'll do my best."
"I've already seen the information, Paul, and your best is what it will take."
"Try not to be so cheerful, Paladin," Davenport retorted dryly. "You know how
it makes my teeth hurt when you get all sweet and gushy on me."
Paladin laughed again. "Sorry, old friend. I hate bein' the bearer of bad news, but
I'd be lyin' if I said ya was in for an easy time of it."
"I got you. What's the status on our second option?"
Paladin's face turned grave. "Bah! The big girl 'erself is ready to go, but the
damn escort ships are 'aving problems of every kind. We might 'ave twenty percent of the
battle group ready to move inna few days, but that is askin' for a miracle."
"Hey, I got nothing against miracles. Pulled a few off a few in our day, too.
Remember that fight out in the Clovis System?"
"Remember?! How can I forget? The two of us in Hellcats against a Kilrathi
capital ship and two whole squadrons on her finest fighters, and we got them all! It is a
day that will live in my heart for the rest of me days."
"Mine too. I'm just saying not to rule out anything. If we can defeat the cats, then
 Homecoming 183

we can do this."
Nodding, Paladin said, "True enough, Paul. You keep those spirits up, and I'll try
ta help ya all I can. Review the data I'm sendin' ya. It should 'elp. My prayers go with ya.
Paladin out."
As the image faded, Davenport brought up the data transmission. After it was
decrypted, he read and watched it in its entirety. When he finished, all he could do was
shake his head. "Holy hell. I hope that was the biggest whoever they are had. If not, then
this is going to be one wild ride."

~*~~*~~*~

Kabala Sector
Marigold System
PCS Aurora
The Bridge
In his youth, Gabriel had taken to making wishes on stars. As he had grown
older, the habit died out, going the way of most childhood things. On rare occasions they
came to pass just as he had wished it, but a vast majority of those long-ago dreams had
not come true, his brother's death a mute testimony to that fact. But when three hours had
gone by since the funeral, the captain felt that all those ungranted wishes were being
fulfilled at one time.
"Tell me again how many people we're losing, Commander?" he asked.
Beaming to the point of almost glowing, Kiato replied, "Twenty people, sir,
none of them in pivotal positions."
Reaching out his hand, the captain took the crew manifest and looked it over
with thankful eyes. On it was listed twenty individuals, their names, ranks, and positions
listed first. Pressing the touch-screen keys, Gabriel read the reasons some of them had
given for leaving. The predominant explanation was the lack of need for them in the
coming days. They knew their presence wouldn't make a difference one way or the other,
so they didn't see a reason to take a chance on losing their lives when it would be
pointless and profitless.
"Commander, send all of them thank you letters, but let them know that once
gone they won't be able to join with us again. I understand their rationale on leaving, but
that doesn't mean I have to like it, and I know that I can't depend on them when the chips
are down. When this is all over, we'll hire replacements."
"Aye, sir. Anything else?"
Shaking his head, Gabriel said, "Not right now. Why don't you put in some sack
time. You've been working pretty hard lately, so get rested. We'll work alternating
commands."
Kiato bowed deeply, then turned to head off for her cabin. Watching her go,
Gabriel swiveled to face Debra. She was sitting quietly in the back with her hands in her
lap, the fingers folded over one another. Looking at her, he knew she needed something
to do to keep her mind occupied. When he caught her eye, he gestured her over. She rose
quickly and approached him.
"Debra, we're in pretty good shape. Not too many people left, and those who did
aren't essential. But some of them worked in the galley, so we're kind of short-handed
there. I know I told you you wouldn't have to do anything while aboard, but maybe you'd
like to help out in there. If we can keep the mess hall operational, then that will make
everyone's day. Like my mother always said, 'Happy tummies make for happy people.' If
you wouldn't mind, then I'll let our Chief Cook know you're on your way."
184 Homecoming

"That would be great, Gabriel. Thanks. I thought waiting on the bridge would
help, but it's not. All of you are working so hard that I feel like a fifth wheel. Tell your
cook to expect me."
Gabriel nodded. After patting his shoulder, Debra left, in her wake was left a
feeling of purpose. Once she was in a lift, he pressed the ship-wide comm button. "This is
the captain speaking. I just wanted to let all of you know that you have my sincerest
thanks for staying with Eisen and I. You have no idea how much it means to me. So, for
right now, keep working hard. When reinforcements arrive, I promise that we'll all take a
vacation. You deserve it. For those of you leaving, a medical shuttle is taking off from the
Essex in ten minutes. Seriously wounded pilots that are beyond the help of the ship's
sickbay are being taken to the nearest medical station. I would suggest you be on it. That
is all."
When the comm died out, the bridge crew clapped enthusiastically. Blushing,
Gabriel shushed them as best he could. "All right. That's enough now. Get back to work
and be quiet." They laughed with him, the whole room filled with good vibes, a limited
commodity of late.
"Captain," Thomson called out. "I have a message from the Essex, sir."
"What is it?"
"A Lieutenant Colonel Nagy is requesting to come aboard, sir."
Surprised, Gabriel replied, "Permission granted."
The communications officer nodded then bent to his work. Before rising from
his chair, Gabriel opened his comm again. "Lieutenant Northstar to the bridge," he said.
Two minutes later he arrived.
"You called for me, Captain?" James said, wearing technician overalls with
grease all over them. Gabriel gave him a cynical look.
"Lieutenant, I was about to hand over the ship to you while I took care of some
business, but we can't have you commanding looking like that."
James couldn't tell if the captain was kidding or not, but he knew he had better
cover all his bases quickly. "Sir, I was just working on my Tarsus. I want her fully loaded
should those aliens come back. Give me a minute to change clothes."
Waving his hand, Gabriel smiled. "No need, James. I shouldn't be too long.
Just… try not to get everything all greasy. Okay?"
James snapped a stiff salute. "Understood, Captain. No grease."
"Very good. Well, you have the bridge until I return. Notify me immediately if
anything out of the ordinary happens." With that the captain turned and walked toward a
lift that would take him to the bridge. He's really turning into a first-rate officer, Gabriel
thought to himself, amused as the lift doors closed and whisked him away. I wonder if he
even realizes it. Probably not or he'd try harder to hide it. He'll make a great captain
someday… with the proper guidance. I hope I can give him that.
As the doors opened, the captain corralled his thoughts and stepped out. The
hangar was the second busiest place on the ship next to the engineering section, and he
had to watch his step as he moved to wait on the arrival of his friend from the Essex. Five
minutes passed as he watched his crew work feverishly on the fighters that remained in
his arsenal, the one shuttle they had left, and the equipment that kept them all running
properly. Beginning to feel guilty about not working beside them, Gabriel was about to
wait in the hangar's control office when April's Excalibur flew slowly inside the ship and
settled into a birthing slot that no longer had a ship to fill it, the previous occupant
floating in pieces around Marigold VII. She jumped from the opening canopy as soon as
the ship settled.
"April!" Gabriel shouted in greeting, raising his voice to be heard over the
 Homecoming 185

clamoring of the active hangar.

She heard him and started running toward him, waving her hand, yelling in
return, "Oh captain, my captain!"
Gabriel shook his head and laughed. "We'll have none of that, Lieutenant
Colonel. I'm having a hard enough time getting used to being called that without old
friends doing it too."
"Old friends?" she asked, tilting her head, letting her dark hair frame the right
side of her face. "I didn't know I could be considered old just yet." A sparkle in her eyes
made plain her amusement.
"You know what I mean, Nag," Gabriel replied, using the old nickname he had
created for her that she never seemed to take a shine to, "so don't play the wounded lady.
We're not old yet, but someday I hope to be, and with all my vital organs in their proper
places."
April smiled, the grin lighting up the clamorous hangar. "I'll drink to that.
Speaking of which, where can a pilot get a little libation around here? I got a big thirst
and a few credits to spend on it."
Reaching out to hold her shoulder, Gabriel said, "Usually I would be more than
happy to relieve you of your ill-gotten money, but since you're on my ship, it'll be my
treat."
"My money not good enough for you?"
"Not at all. But I know how much you make, April, and if it's all the same to
you, I don't need the guilt of breaking your bank account on drinks. We just got paid on
our job, so this will be on me."
"Oh yeah? What was the score?"
Gabriel turned slightly away. "That's… uh, classified. I could tell you, but then
I'd have to kill you, and that would be even more guilt on my poor soul."
"Alright," April said, coming to his rescue. "I'll let you be the big-spender this
time. But next time the bill's on me."
"You got it. Now, let's go. The lounge is a couple decks up."
As they began walking toward a lift, April asked, "Why don't we drink in your
room? I really don't feel like shouting over a bunch of privateers in a bar. Gives me a
headache."
Considering it, Gabriel replied. "Sure. But we'll still have to swing by the
lounge. I don't keep alcohol in my quarters."
"Thank ums!" April said, smiling again.
With that they entered a lift to begin their ascent. As the doors closed, Gabriel
asked, "What's your favorite drink again? Firekka's Finest?"
Hitting him in the shoulder, April shouted, "You give me that stuff and I swear
you'll regret if for the rest of your short, miserable life!" They both laughed at that, the
sound echoing after them.

PCS Aurora
Captain McClellan's Quarters
One Hour Later
"Come on, April, you know you want to do it."
"No, Gabriel, I don't."
Sitting on the side of his bed next to her, the captain looked her deep in the eyes.
"Your mouth says no, but your body is saying yes."
"Gabriel, my whole being is saying no. Get over it."
186 Homecoming

"Don't make me beg, April."

"If I would have known this is all you wanted out of me, then I wouldn't have
requested to come over." She angrily rose from the thick mattress and took a seat in a
chair too large for her small frame.
"Have another drink," he told her. "A few more and you'll see reason."
"You think getting me drunk will make me give in to you?"
"It couldn't hurt."
"Maybe not, if you ask me again, I'll kick you in the balls, and I'm sure as hell
that'll hurt plenty."
Falling to his knees before her, Gabriel held his hands together and placed them
on her knees, as if praying. "Okay. Now I'm begging. Kick all you want, but I have to
have you."
With a rough gesture, April swept his hands away. "I'll only say this one more
time, Gabriel, so listen close. No, I'm not going to become a privateer on your ship."
Falling back on his bottom, Gabriel looked at her with wounded eyes. "And why
not? Give me one good reason why you would stay with Confed when you could be with
us. The money's better, as are the hours. Fewer regs, fewer rules. We play by our rules.
We pick and chose where we go and who we fight. My life's never been better!"
"Oh yeah? Then explain why we had to come in and pull your ass out of the
fire."
"That's a low blow, April," Gabriel told her, rising from the floor to resume his
seat on the large bed.
"Low, but true. Besides, I like the rules, the regs, all the standard operational
procedures. Gives my life some structure."
"You wanna know what else is true?" he asked, his anger growing. "The only
reason we're still here is because of my friendship with you and a few others on the Essex.
If not for that, then you'd be here all alone, waiting in the dark for help that won't get here
for days. Where's Confed now? Where is your vaunted Confederation when you need it?
I'll tell you, out there somewhere jerking you around, that's where."
"Gabriel, we wouldn't even be here if you hadn't call for help, so don't get
pretentious on me. Your offer is very tempting, really, but I would have to be royally
screwed over by Confed before I left."
"By then it might be too late."
April sat back heavily in her chair, keeping silent. Gabriel did the same on the
bed. When several slow minutes passed that way, April leaned forward and said, "Tell
you what. I'll keep what you've said in mind. I'm not promising anything, but I'll think it
over. It's all I can give you for now."
"Okay," Gabriel said, knowing that was the best he was going to get. "No
pressure. Think it over. Just know that you'll always have a place on my ship."
"I will. I know. You're the best."
The captain grinned wickedly. "So I've been told."
April's mouth opened wide at the risqué turn of phrase, and she playfully
punched him on the arm. "That's not what I meant! And how would I know?! Geez,
Gabriel, you have a filthy mind."
"Been told that too. But that's neither here nor there. Listen, why don't we go to
the observation deck to finish off this bottle of Chaves?"
"And no more about joining your ship?" she asked with a cynical expression.
"No more. I promise." Gabriel put on an angelic face, his best I'll-be-a-good-boy
look. "Cross my little heart."
"Alright," April replied, still not sure of his intentions. "Then that'll give us
 Homecoming 187

plenty of time to discuss getting a woman in your life."

Crossing one of his arms with one of hers, Gabriel said, "Always the mother
hen. Don't worry. That might be taking care of itself."
April turned on him quickly, surprised. "Really?! Tell! Tell!"
The captain laughed. "All in good time, my pretty. All in good time. Let's just
get to the observation deck before I drink my feet out from under me."
And so they walked, both of them talking over old times, knowing that this
might be the last time they saw each other for a very long time to come. The ship's night
progressed, and as it did, two more bottles were consumed, and before it was all said and
done, the two of them were passed out in his quarters, her on the bed, him on the floor.
The next day would bring hangovers galore for them, but they didn't care. They had
survived a battle, and devil damn those who would stop them from having a good time
after the fact.

PCS Aurora
The Bridge
The Next Day
Hundreds of ships swarmed around each other, energy blasts and missiles flying
thick through the fleets. Explosions erupted, stars went nova, fires raged, and loud drums
hammered. It was a battle to end all battles, and Gabriel trembled before it, sweat coating
his pale face. His hands shook as they gripped the arms of his chair. Never had he felt as
bad as he did at that moment.
"Could someone please turn down the lights?" he asked. "And what's that damn
noise?"
Giggling to herself, Helmsman Norris looked on her captain with sympathy and
scorn in equal measure. "Just a proximity alert. Rough night, Captain?" She reached out,
and the bright lights of the bridge dimmed, as did the sound.
"Very," the captain grumbled. "I thought I had that last bottle by the tail, but it
seems it got me instead."
Thomson, manning his communications station, looked up. "Don't they always,
sir?" he asked.
Nodding oh so slowly, mindful of his throbbing head lest it fall off from the
force of the movement, Gabriel agreed. "Indeed they do. A losing battle every time. Let
that be a lesson to you all. Never go into combat with liquor without a doctor and some
painkillers in your holster."
The bridge crew laughed. "Aye aye, skipper," Tibbit said from his tactical
position.
"Did Colonel Nagy make it back to the Essex okay?"
"Yes, sir," Thomson replied.
"Good. How are repairs going?"
"As good as can be expected, Captain," Tibbit responded. "Gears said it would
be another day before all the fighters we have left are fully operational. The jump drive
will take another two days at the least. Everything else is on a minute to minute basis."
Slouching in his seat, Gabriel took the news in stride. "If all else fails, I guess we
can get out and push us through a jump point. Shit." Moving his right hand, the captain
tapped his comm. "Doctor Blevens, this is the captain."
A second later, the ship's doctor come on-line from sickbay. "Blevens here, sir.
What can I do for you?"
"Doc, my head is about to split in half, and I was wondering if you might be so
188 Homecoming

kind as to send up a nurse to put a bandage on it for me before it spills what's left inside
to the floor."
"Captain?!" Blevens shouted, shocked. "What's going on up there?!"
Covering his ears at the outburst, Gabriel regretted his little joke. "Don't be so
loud! It's just a hangover, doctor. Nothing serious."
Five seconds went by with chilly silence. "Captain," the doctor finally said,
"don't make jokes like that. And it's not my place to say it, but shame on you for drinking
so much. I would expect it from a raw recruit, but not from a man of your position and
stature. Tsk tsk tsk."
Gabriel rubbed his aching forehead. "Save the sermon for another time, doctor.
Just get me some painkillers on the double."
"I'll be right up," she replied, her tone blunt. "Try not to puke all over the
bridge."
"Yes, doctor. I'll do my best to comply." The comm deactivated a second later.
"Captain, the Essex is requesting to speak to you, sir," Thomson said.
"Put it through, Lieutenant."
The words were barely out of his mouth before the forward viewscreen lit up,
Eisen's angry face filling it. "Gabriel McClellan, what is the meaning of this?!" he
shouted, his eyes wide and on fire.
"What's the meaning of what, Captain?" Gabriel replied. "And don't shout.
Please."
"Don't play coy with me, son! You know what I'm talking about. What's the
meaning of you getting the commanding officer of the only intact fighter squadron I have
drunk?! We could be attacked at any moment, and right now she's useless to me with her
hangover! This is a disgrace!"
Lowering his head, Gabriel searched for a quiet hole he could curl up and
disappear into. None were to be found. So instead he said, "Hold on a moment, sir. Let's
finish this in private." Cutting his fingers across his throat, Thomson shut off the comm.
"Transfer that to my ready room, Lieutenant."
"Aye, sir."
Getting up slowly, the captain shuffled to his office and sat heavily in his seat.
Activating his viewscreen, Gabriel said, "Before you blow up again let me say something.
I don't want you to ever berate me in front of my men again, Captain. I was under your
command once, but not anymore, and I won't tolerate being treated like a child, especially
in front of my crew. I won't have it. I'm the captain of this ship, and what goes on here is
under my discretion. Now, I'm sorry about April. I didn't mean for that to happen. We
only had a few drinks, and they led to more, and you know how it goes. Blame me for it. I
bought them after all. But that gives you no right to act as you did. I understand how
serious the situation is, believe me. I was here when the action started. If I would have
felt a little drink would be dangerous, then I wouldn't have done it. I may be a greenhorn
at this captaining stuff, but give me a little credit. If the aliens show up and we get blown
to hell because April and I were not fully fit, then let history record that I was to blame.
But until that happens, don't forget who you're talking to. You are my friend and a
mentor, but this is my ship, I am the captain, and I will be accorded a little more respect."
Eisen didn't say anything for a moment. Finally he nodded and said, "You're
right. My apologies. I shouldn't have done that. But you know I don't allow that kind of
behavior on my ship, especially while we're in dangerous waters. Maybe you forgot, but I
know April didn't. She should have known better. Either way, it's too late for anything
now. Just try not to let it happen again, son."
"It won't, Eisen. Promise."
 Homecoming 189

"Alright. I have your word. And thanks for staying here with us. I don't know if I
said it before, but I'm in your debt. CONNAVCOM says they'll have replacements out
here in a day or two. Let's stick close until then and try to keep alert."
The door to Gabriel's ready room chimed. "Will do, sir. But if you'll excuse me,
I have an important visitor. We'll talk in a few hours."
Nodding his head, Eisen closed the comm line. As the viewscreen darkened,
Gabriel turned the computer off and said, "Enter."
At the voice command the door opened, and standing there was Doctor Amber
Blevens, a hypospray in hand. "House call," she said, her mouth twisted into a grin in
spite of herself.

~*~~*~~*~

Dravego Sector
Corru-Kashik System
C'Kuthra Accrual Ship Pal'kota
The Bridge
For almost four long hunts Quenda'Vorssh had trembled in rage and ignorance.
One moment he had been on top of the universe, the Ascendants on the run in every
system, his captive allies taking up arms to fight alongside them, his homeworld calling
him back. Everything had been coming up suncatchers. And the next moment his scout
ship had returned looking worse than he had ever seen it, only to be destroyed before any
of its secrets could be learned. Because of the confusion caused by the sudden appearance
and subsequent destruction of the Kura'shan, his fleet had lost two warships, over a dozen
Starfire craft, and an unknown amount of individual personnel casualties. All for what?
But everything was not lost. The Ascendants might have a momentary reprieve, but they
would soon fall.
"Replay the sensor recordings again," the den leader ordered for the twelfth time
that hunt, making full use of the quiet time between battles.
"Yes, Leader," his underling replied, already weary of seeing it over and over
again.
But it played all the same. Quenda'Vorssh leaned forward, his eyes straining to
absorb every aspect of the video, all the subtle nuances, the harsh lights, the dark curves,
every last pixel of it burning into his mind and heart. He didn't want to ever forget it,
forget seeing his scout ship come from who only knew where, beaten to a metallic pulp,
stray energy flashes discharging from systems that couldn't contain them, and then the
sub-den leader of the ship transmitting his short message: Aliens. Only one word, but the
implications were staggering. What more he might have said was lost to the stingers that
had slammed into the weakened ship, destroying it as quickly as it had appeared.
"What do you make of it, Weapons Master?"
Sel'thorm drew himself straight in his seat, locking his tail around the base of the
chair to hold him steady. He was too tired to think clearly. "I don't know, Leader. It could
mean a great many things. The most obvious is that aliens have infested C'Kuthrian and
that they fought off the Kura'shan when she arrived. Maybe he meant that aliens stopped
him from ever getting there. I wish I knew." Despite his attempts at stopping it, a soft
yawn escaped his scaled lips. Luckily he was able to hide it from his commander.
Quenda'Vorssh tapped a claw against his right lower tusk, deep in thought.
"How long until we can break away and fold to C'Kuthrian in force?"
Shaking his head to clear away the cobwebs that had grown in his brain,
Sel'thorm examined his tactical screens. "Four hunts, Leader. We've almost finished
190 Homecoming

arming and training the Grevickks, so they can take up where we leave off pretty well.
Not the brightest of people, but they've strong muscles and enough smarts to get the job
done. Not much really left to do anyway. The Vashorians have cleaned out both the
Lomithnias and Abrokia sectors. If we keep our forces healthy, I estimate we can have six
ships, including the Pal'kota, ready to head off in hour hunts time."
"Will six ships be enough?"
"I don't know, Leader. We don't have enough information. But in our defense,
the Kura'shan was a small ship. The five that will be going with us are much bigger, one
of them, the Droko'zed, is almost as large as ours. If we run into resistance, I don't think
we'll have much of a problem. At least we will be expecting it. If the odds are against us,
we can always return here and gather more forces."
Pulling out a smoothing stone, Quenda'Vorssh began polishing his tusks,
running the curved rock slowly along the black outer layers in circular motions. "Very
well," he said around his hands. "Four hunts. I'll give you four hunts, and then we are
going to crush whoever is standing in our way of getting home. They may have beaten a
small ship, but they won't be able to stand against us all. Home is calling us, my people,
and I won't deny her. Now get some sleep. We will remain out of the fight until our
departure. You've done well, all of you. Rest yourselves for the fight we have ahead of us.
I don't think it will last long, but it will certainly be glorious."
Dipping their heads, those who's presence wasn't absolutely critical left the
bridge and shuffled off to their small dens, thankful for the respite given them. But back
on the bridge, Quenda'Vorssh watched the video again, and again, and again, and again,
his fury increasing with every viewing. Venom oozed from his gums, coating his fangs,
causing them to gleam red in the soft lights. The C'Kuthra around him trembled, smelling
his aggression in the air. They feared not for themselves, but for those who would soon
come against him. Never had they seen their leader so enraged, and they hoped to never
see it again. The aliens would pay for what they had done. Den Leader Quenda'Vorssh
would see to it, of that they had no doubt.

~*~~*~~*~

Prometheus Sector
Valhalla Shipyards
TCS HammerStrike
The Bridge
"And those, people, are your orders," Admiral Davenport said to the nine
holographic images before him on the bridge. Saluting, the captains of the other ships in
the Blacksmith Task Force vanished from view, the air sparkling in the wash of charged
particles. Davenport himself stepped from the imaging pad as soon as the last
transmission ended.
"Everything seems to be going well, Admiral," Captain Dallas said, smiling at
his superior.
"And that is what's worrying me," Davenport grumbled.
"Excuse me, sir?"
Turning, Davenport sized up his executive officer. "Sam, you know how to tell
when a battle is comin' your way?"
"No, sir," Dallas replied, unsure of whether this was a joke or not.
"It's when everything starts falling apart. One of my old commanding officers
taught me that, and it's stuck with me ever since. Things are going too good for us, and
I'm worried."
 Homecoming 191

Thinking the admiral was being too hard on himself, Dallas said, "Well, if it'll
make you feel better, sir, Option Bravo is doing horribly. They only have four escort
ships fit for battle, and two of them are iffy."
Davenport shook his head. "Thanks for the good word, son, but it doesn't help.
As soon as we set sail it'll get better. I think it's the waiting around that has my dander up.
What's our status?"
Pulling out his datapad, Dallas called up the information. "Almost ready, sir. The
final convoy of Tigersharks is due in in twenty-three hours, and the Warhammers are
getting loaded now. Our support destroyers are receiving the last of their supplies. The
Resistance is almost finished being refitted with those Typhoon launchers you requested.
The technicians found a glitch in three of our Blind-Boy batteries, and fixing them will
take a day and a half. Other than that, and barring further problems, we should be ready to
make tracks in no later than two days."
"What's wrong with the Blind-Boys?"
Dallas pushed a button. "Um, looks like there's a little bug with the switchback
communications systems on them. Nothing major. Just a hardware problem that wasn't
found earlier. We're on top of it."
The Blind-Boy missiles were a new innovation in projectile technology. In the
past, the two main components of a missile were the tracking gear and the warhead. The
better the tracking systems were, the more likely it was that the warhead would reach its
target. But that increased ability to home in meant decreasing the size of the warhead, and
thereby lessening the amount of damage done. But the Blind-Boys, which were strictly
outfitted to cap ships, didn't have any tracking gear at all. Instead they relied on their cap
ship to send them tracking information by means of communications systems which took
up far less space. The cap ship, able to track hundreds of targets at a time, would lock
onto a bogie, then fire a Blind-Boy at it, constantly sending it directions. That meant that
the missile could be small enough for the superior speed and maneuverability needed to
take out a fighter, but have enough room for a much bigger warhead. All current tests
proved them to be ingenious weapons.
"I trust your judgement, Sam," Davenport said, nodding. "I'm going to go write a
couple of letters to Davy and Cheryl. They probably think their old man has up and died
on them. If you need me, I'll be in my cabin."
Dallas saluted stiffly. "Very good, sir."
"The bridge is yours then. Have a good night."
"You too, sir."
Davenport began walking away, then stopped and turned back to look at his XO.
"And Sam?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Stop the 'sir' business already. We've been together for five years. I think we
can cut that crap by now. Don't you?"
Laughing, Dallas replied, "Yes, sir. No more, sir. Cutting the sir, sir."
"Have I told you how much you get on my nerves lately?" Davenport asked with
a smile.
"Not lately, sir."
"Then consider it said."
"Will do, sir."
The admiral smirked, wondering if he should try again, but decided in the end
that it was a battle better left for the next day when he had more energy. Dallas watched
him go, his eyes following him as he went. As the doors closed between them, the captain
whispered, "Good night, sir. Sleep well. It might be the last night of it we get for a while."
192 Homecoming

With that he turned around and took a seat next to the admiral's command chair. From
there he watched as the battle fleet was prepped and readied. He hoped it would be
enough.
 Homecoming 193

Day Of Reckoning
~ Part Four Of "Homecoming" ~
*****

Rain fell on the roofs of the just and the unjust, the saints and the sinners, those who
knew peace and those in torment, and tomorrow began at a dark hour.

Robert R, McCammon, "Mine"

We ride to the death of someone. God alone knows who, or where, or what, or when, or
how it may be…

Bram Stoker, "Dracula"

*****

Kabala Sector
Marigold System
PCS Aurora
The Bridge
For forty-six hours, absolutely nothing happened, and Gabriel grew more tense
as each minute passed. He felt like a lion locked in a cage, a runner crouched at the
starting blocks for a race that would not begin. His muscles knotted painfully in his back,
sweat oozed from his pours. Battle was hell, but waiting for it was worse by far.
"Any changes?" he asked Tibbit, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair.
Major Tibbit gave his screens a cursory glance, noting that there were no
deviations. "Negative, Captain."
"Thomson, anything from the Essex?"
"No, sir. Quiet as can be."
Gabriel opened his comm. "Colonel Roberts, report."
"Roberts here, sir. Nothing new to report. All our fighters are repaired and ready,
but the damn jump drive is still off-line. If it's not one thing it's another. Those missiles
really did a number on us."
"Can't the Essex give us a hand?"
"Sorry, Captain, but that's out of the question. This is a Kilrathi ship, and
Confederation vessels don't normally carry around spare parts for these babies. I've been
able to do some jury-rigging, but I can't guarantee anything. Give me a few more hours,
sir. If we're lucky, and I mean really lucky, then I might be able to give us enough power
for one jump, two at the most, but I wouldn't bet the farm on it."
"Just do what you can, Colonel. McClellan out."
"Captain?" Kiato asked. "Would you like the pilots to go through some
exercises? It might relieve the tension."
Gabriel shook his head. "And risk having them exposed if the aliens return? Not
on your life. They can work in the simulators if they need to, but no craft are to leave this
ship."
"Understood, sir."
Sitting rigidly in his chair, Gabriel tapped his fingers together, keeping silent,
mulling over his options. Finally he said, "Get me the Essex on the line. If those aliens
haven't returned by now, I don't think they ever will."
194 Homecoming

"Hailing the Essex, sir. The comm is open."

"Essex, this is-"
Before the next word could leave his mouth, blaring alarms rang out in a shrill
voice. "Captain!" Tibbit yelled. "I've got multiple energy readings developing three-
thousand meters off the starboard bow! They're the same energy signature as before!"
"How many?"
"Six, sir, all in close formation! Energy building!"
"Six?! Aw, shit! One was bad enough. Helm! Get us out of here, maximum
speed! Comm, tell the Essex to form up on us and to get moving if they haven't already!
Waiting was a valiant effort, but staying here without backup is suicide, and I'm in no
mood to die!"
"Aye aye, sir!" Thomson replied.
"Engaging engines now, Captain," Norris said, surprisingly cool.
Tibbit looked up from his station. "Captain, I show one… no, two, wait, make
that… Captain, I have six, repeat, six ships coming out of… whatever the hell it is, all of
them larger than the previous alien craft, but made in the same double crescent design.
The largest is over sixteen-hundred meters in length!"
The blood drained from Gabriel's face. "Sixteen-hundred meters? Six of them?
Mother of god."
"Affirmative, sir."
"Distance?"
"Four-thousand five-hundred meters and widening, Captain. I don't think they've
detected us yet."
"That won't last long. Gears! I need all the power you can give us to engines!
Helm, I want us past the red-line! Move it!!"
Scurrying like ants disturbed from the mound, the two human vessels ran flat-out
from the six larger alien ships, their engines glowing bright. The aliens, once totally out
of the energy field created by the Fold Drive, started scanning the space around them.
When they didn't find anything at first, all of them were disappointed. Where was the
great alien threat? But then they found the two ships moving away. No sooner were the
targets registered then the chase was on.
"Captain, the aliens are in pursuit!" Tibbit shouted. "Distance is six-thousand
three-hundred-fifty meters and closing quickly! We can't outrun them, sir!"
"What about the Essex?"
"Yes, sir. Her engines are better than ours, so she should be able to get away to a
jump point."
"Alright. Comm, hail the Essex. Tell them to keep going. We'll… try to hold
them off for as long as we-"
"Enemy ships are powering up weapons, sir!"
"Then I guess this is it," Gabriel said with an air of finality. "It's been a pleasure
serving with all of you." Switching on his comm, the captain said, "All hands, prepare to
evac-" But before he could finish what he felt was his final order as a captain of a
starship, more alarms began sounding. "Now what," he muttered, exasperated.
"Captain, now I'm reading ten more energy readings in front of us in a wide
field!" Tibbit yelled, obviously at the end of his tether.
"Same signature?"
Tibbit, deeply engrossed in his readings, shook his head slowly. "That's a
negative, sir. It's an unknown energy type, highly diffused, but coalescing rapidly."
"Put it on the viewscreen!"
The order was obeyed quickly. As Gabriel watched, the star fields before him
 Homecoming 195

seemed to be wavering, slightly at first, like heat rising from a road, but as a couple of
seconds ticked past, all of space itself seemed to be vibrating. "What is that?"
Before anyone could consider the question, ten points of light burst into brilliant
life with a rainbow-like glimmering. Everyone on the bridge rubbed their eyes,
dumbfounded. When their vision cleared they saw ten ships unlike any previously seen
rushing toward them at speeds that were unbelievable.
"More aliens?!" Gabriel raged, though he had his doubts. The designs of the new
ships were vastly different than the ones behind him. These were more organic looking.
They were rounded, curved, with wing-like protrusions coming off from the sides, tops,
and bottoms. Each was slightly different in overall shape, but all of them conformed to a
basic look.
Staring awestruck at his screens, Tibbit replied, "No, sir. I don't believe it… but
these ships are transmitting on a Confederation IFF wavelength! Those are Confed ships!!
And they are traveling at over five-thousand meters per second and slowing!!"
Gabriel didn't know if he could believe that. "Confed? But these don't look like-"
Piercing alarms cut him off. "Missiles are loose!" Tibbit said. "The aliens have
fired! Thirty missiles are inbound and closing fast!"
Gabriel was about to order evasive maneuvers and to drop pods, but the new
arrivals were already sweeping past him rapidly, their energy guns lashing out to destroy
the incoming projectiles.
"All missiles destroyed, Captain," Tibbit informed everyone with obvious relief
in his voice.
Thunderstruck at the accuracy of the Confed ships, Gabriel breathed easier.
Settling into his seat, the captain kept watching his viewscreen. With unbelievable
alacrity the two forces were closing on one another.
"Captain, the largest Confed ship is hailing both the Essex and us."
Gabriel ordered the call put through immediately. On the viewscreen appeared a
man in his late fifties with thinning gray hair but an expression that implied steel for
bones and fire for blood. "This is Vice Admiral Paul Davenport of the TCS
HammerStrike," the man said, stern of face and stance. "TCS Essex, you are hereby
ordered to move out to a safe distance and then to hold to a station keeping position.
Aurora, I can't order you around, but if you could continue to stay with the Essex until
this is resolved, I would be grateful. We'll take care of these guys for you. If we need
additional firepower, we'll contact you. Until then, keep the comm lines clear. This is a
Confederation naval operation, so please stay out of the way. HammerStrike out." The
comm deactivated abruptly.
The bridge was silent for a moment, then Thomson asked, "Captain, do we
comply?"
Gabriel didn't even have to think about it. "You got that right. Keep on the
Essex's bow and do as she does. Tibbit, I want a rundown on the ships out there, and I
want it yesterday. We may not be in the fight, but that doesn't meant I want to be clueless
about it."
Cataloging all he saw, Tibbit began reading off the list. "The Confederation
ships are branching off into two groups. In the larger group are six vessels, and in the
other are four, but all of them are transmitting under the heading of something called the
Sixth Battle Fleet, Lightning Division, Blacksmith Task Force. The larger group consists
of…" Tibbit double checked his screens. "Okay. The flagship is the TCS HammerStrike,
a super carrier. Next is the TCS DarkForge, a cruiser, the Morningstar, the Claymore,
and the Halberd, all of them destroyers, and the Resistance, a frigate. In the smaller group
is the TCS StarAnvil, a light rapid attack carrier. With it is the cruiser IceFire, and the
196 Homecoming

destroyers Cutlass and Battleaxe. Don't ask me to explain how they got here so fast or
why they look like that, because I don't know."
Tibbit continued with, "In all there are six alien ships, but if they have names, I
don't even know where to begin finding them. The largest is over sixteen-hundred meters
in length, with the second biggest not far off from that. The other four average between
eight-hundred and a thousand meters. Again, I don't know how they got here, so don't
ask."
Taking that all in, Gabriel asked, "Alright. Put up the Confed ships' stats on the
screen. Just what are we sending against these aliens?"
Tibbit complied quickly. At the top of the screen was the HammerStrike. It was
1300 meters long, 115,000 tonnes. The StarAnvil was smaller, coming in at 775 meters,
52,000 tonnes. The cruisers were 826.3 meters, 68,000 tonnes each. The destroyers were
smaller, 550.2 meters, 20,590 tonnes a piece. The sole frigate was 652.8 meters, 49,300
tonnes. Individual weapon and fighter complement statistics would take a closer scanning
to determine, and Gabriel didn't want to get that close just yet.
"What do you think?" Commander Ashikaga asked at Gabriel's side.
Fingering his goatee, the captain replied, "I… don't know. Some of the biggest
Confed ships I've ever seen, but it took two of us just to fend off one of the aliens, and it
was a smaller craft. But these guys look tougher than nails. Let's just see. Sysop, I want
you to go over the logs and see what you can tell me about them, like how they got here
this fast and what that light show was all about."
With that done, Gabriel sat back to watch and wait to see what happened. His
heart was lightened to see the reinforcements, but he still had his doubts. "Let's just hope
these guys can do it. If they can't, then heaven help us, because I don't think we have
anything else that can.

~*~~*~~*~

Epoch Sector
Knight Flight Shipyards
Control Center
Pacing like a caged animal, Rear Admiral Strickland felt as if he was about to
pull out every hair on his head handfuls at a time. His leather-clad feet stepped heavily on
the metal of the deck below him, moving in a pattern that repeated over and over again,
going from one bank of computer monitors to another, in the midpoint passing by a wide
expanse of windows that looked on fully one half of the shipyard. As he stomped past, his
eyes invariably glanced out the transparent portals to his practically defenseless pride and
joy: a two-and-a-half kilometer long monster of steel and scientific genius, the TCS
Leviathan, without a doubt the greatest ship the Confederation had ever developed, and
certainly the most destructive. But for all its power and presence, the thing was about as
useless as a gimp leg in a footrace. Not because of any defects the ship itself might have,
but because of its escort ships. The Leviathan was fully fit and ready for battle, yet the
ships that were supposed to safeguard its existence were having problems beyond the
ability of any sane man to cope with.
"What's the status on the Fletcher and the Madison?" he asked a haggard
technician who was sitting wearily at a complicated set of controls. At the sound of the
admiral's voice, the man flinched and swore silently.
"Still off-line, Admiral. Crews are doing all they can."
"I'll bet they are," Strickland said, sneering the remark. "Goddam civilians
wouldn't know haste if it came up and bit them on the ass wearing a diamond tiara and
 Homecoming 197

waving a friggin' flag on fire. Probably out there having a drink in one of the torpedo
tubes, laughing it up at the Navy's expense."
The technician, David Lewis, almost popped his top, being a civilian himself.
He, along with several dozen others, had been pulled from various civilian shipyards to
perform emergency maintenance on the ships stationed at the Knight Flight Shipyards, a
place none of them had ever heard of before. The usual security programs, which would
have consumed valuable time, had been forgone so that they could get to work
immediately. They would be cleared and briefed when the job was finished. The people
had been chosen for their expertise in diverse areas, such as high-energy channeling and
exotic power transference, areas of work that most people didn't practice in. The shipyard
already had some of the most brilliant and talented people in the Confederation military
working in it, but because of the rush to get these ships ready for combat, civilians had
been called in. An unusual procedure, but not without precedence. To calm himself,
David mentally reviewed the joule consumption rates of standard fighter weaponry.
"Are you listening to me, son?" Strickland asked with an accusatory tone. "If
you've forgotten, let me refresh your memory. You see these stars here?" Strickland
pointed to the boards on his shoulders, on them the gold stars in question. David nodded
slowly. "Good. They mean that I'm an admiral in the Confederation Navy, and that when
I say jump, you don't only ask how high, but when you get there, you also ask for
permission to come back down. You got that?" Again, David nodded. "Well then, jump!
You jump on these people to get my ships up and running, or I'm going to jump all over
you, and believe me, son, you don't want that. My call sign isn't 'Shredder' for nothing.
Now get to it!"
Braving the verbal blast full in the face, David gave a half-hearted salute and
turned back to his station. Strickland, nonplussed at the response, stomped off to a comm
panel, muttering about the inefficiency of "goddam civies" and just what they could all do
with themselves when their work was done at Knight Flight. David only shrugged his
shoulders, knowing that he was doing all he could, trying to coordinate over two-hundred
technicians and engineers who were working on the lame starships. At the bottom of his
heart he was glad that he didn't work full-time for the tyrant in the blue uniform with the
almighty majestic stars.
"Get me the chief tech!" Strickland shouted into the comm.
Thirty tense seconds later, Chief Technician Captain Albert Ortega said, "What's
wrong now, Admiral?"
"What's wrong?! I'll tell you what's wrong! I've got a battle group under my
command, and only two ships are worth a shit! You tell me a virus somehow got into the
system, and I tell you to fix it. You say okay, you're on it, but what do I see? I see that
crap isn't getting done! If I'm called to go fight those damn aliens, what do I have to fight
them with? The Leviathan and the Halsey! Sorry, Chief, but that isn't enough!! I'm sure
you remember what happened when the fucking Behemoth went out without proper
support, so believe me when I say that I won't suffer the same humiliation! Now please
tell me that everything is going to be okay. Tell me that, and you'll have made me a happy
man. Say otherwise, and I swear the only ships you'll see for the rest of your life will be
the waste haulers they bring in with too much shit stuck in the gear shafts!"
"Well," Ortega began, "I hope you can settle for being partially happy, Admiral.
As of this moment, I can hand you the Jedora Andropolos, the George Washington, and
the Thomas Jefferson. They're almost finished. But the John Adams, the James Madison,
and the Frank Fletcher won't be leaving here any time soon. The virus totally wiped out
their computer cores and because of that, improper calibrations caused mechanical
damage when the engines and weapons systems tried to cycle through their operations."
198 Homecoming

"So you're telling me that out of eight ships, I can only use five? That's what I'm
hearing?"
"Sorry, Admiral, but that's the sitrep. I told Naval Technical Command to install
tighter virus screens on the shipyards' incoming transmission filter guards, but no one saw
fit to do so. Now we're paying the price. I've done the best I can. Give me a few more
hours to finish up last minute repairs."
Strickland, his face red, felt impotent, and it was an emotion he wasn't used to
having. But he knew that all the yelling in the universe wouldn't make matters better.
"Alright. Tidy up your loose ends and then get your people out of my ships. I'm going to
launch as soon as I can."
"Did CONNAVCOM green-light this departure?" Ortega asked, knowing the
question might bring the wrath of Strickland down on his head.
"You just worry about my ships!!" the admiral screamed into the comm, spittle
flying. "I'll take care of the pencil-pushers at HQ!! Now stop jawing with me and get to
work!" Strickland shut the comm off with a shaking finger. "I swear," he said to himself.
"These damn techs are going to be the death of me. I just know it."
Turning in his chair, David asked, "Admiral? Perhaps you'd like to go to the
Leviathan's bridge and contact Confed Headquarters? The comm would be more secure,
and it'll decrease the time it would take to launch."
Strickland spun around to yell at the technician, but at the last moment saw the
wisdom in his words. "Finally, a bright idea. And from a civie no less. You keep that up,
and I might just keep you on with me." The admiral then stomped off, heading for his
ship.
When the doors closed behind him, David said, "That'll be a cold day in hell."
The other technicians around him that heard laughed. Blushing, David returned to his
work, thankful that his little suggestion had finally gotten the raving admiral out of his
hair. Now he could work in relative peace and quiet.

~*~~*~~*~

Kabala Sector
Marigold System
TCS HammerStrike
The Bridge
Things were heating up.
"Okay, here's the drill, so listen close!" Admiral Davenport said from the
holographic-imager he was standing on. "Alpha Group, we will engage the enemy head-
on. DarkForge, you will take point, while Morningstar, Claymore, and Halberd ride
flank with us. Resistance, you hold the rear. Bravo Group, I want you to provide
interference for us, striking all targets of opportunity. Release your fighters as you see fit,
but I will advise as needs be. You know your objectives, so get to it. HammerStrike out."
"ETA to target is forty seconds, sir" one of the tacticians said from his pit
station.
"What's the enemy's status?" Davenport asked, taking his command seat.
The holographic display lit up instantly. In it was a three-dimensional view of
the battle area. From her station, another tactician began relaying the requested
information. "Admiral," she began, "as per our daily operational orders, the enemy ships
have been coded according to size, largest being first. That said, let me continue. Whisky
1 seems to be staying back, holding to an orbit around Marigold VII. Whisky 2, 3, and 4
are moving toward us, while Whisky 5 and 6 are forming a protective layer around
 Homecoming 199

Whisky 1. All of them have powered up weapons and shields. The readings I have are
similar to the reports of the previous ship, but much stronger."
"Alright. Do we detect fighter complements?"
"No, sir, but we have found what looks to be hangar portals on Whisky 1 and 2.
Whether or not they have fighters within is unknown."
"Not any longer," the first tactician said. "Whisky 2 has launched fighters. I read
ten ships, now twenty… thirty… forty… fifty… make that sixty ships. They are within
range of DarkForge's weapons."
"Launch fighter squadrons five and six," Davenport ordered. "Back them up with
bomber squads one and two. Let's begin."
But it had already begun. DarkForge, being the lead ship, started firing on the
incoming alien fighters. They were quick, but the new Confed ship's enhanced energy
weapons started plucking them out of the sky. It wasn't as devastating a start as
Davenport would have liked, what with the aliens possessing a shield technology greater
than his own, but he had drawn first blood. That counted for a great deal.
"Have Morningstar move in to assist DarkForge. When will our fighters and
bombers engage?"
"Fifteen seconds, sir."
"Good. Let's hope these new ships are as good as Russell Arms would lead us to
believe."
"Whisky 3 and 4 have launched torpedoes, sir!" the female tactician shouted, her
calm demeanor gone for the moment. "They are closing on DarkForge!"
"How many?"
"Twenty, sir! All moving in fast!"
"Tell her to pull back and employ the electronic countermeasures suites."
"She already has, sir! Chaff is in the air! Anti-torpedo missiles have launched!
Jammers on-line!!" Several seconds ticked past, then the display lit up brightly.
"Seventeen torpedoes down, but three hit! Damage reports coming in now!"
Davenport ground his teeth together. "Tell Morningstar to move her ass! And I
want our fighters to run intercepts on all torps. The bombers can fire as they see fit, but
let's try to coordinate things if we can."
The communications officers went to work, relaying the orders. As they did so,
Davenport stared fixedly at the holographic display. Bravo Group was moving in along
the port side of the enemy formation, forming a widely spaced picket line. Whisky 2 saw
it and turned toward them. "I want StarAnvil to launch everything she's got. The alien
ship is big. Let's not take chances here." He saw that his orders were obeyed as more blips
appeared, indicating the fighters from the light carrier. It was a complex scene, but
Davenport had seen worse. He just hoped all the sophisticated hardware he had at his
disposal was up to the task.

CO of Amber Squadron
(Squad Five From HammerStrike)
Colonel Thrask was grinning despite the explosions that surrounded him, his
teeth shining in the darkness.
"Amber Five, form on my wing," he ordered.
"Yes, sir. Forming now."
Thrask looked out his canopy to the right and saw the other Tigershark close on
him. "Everyone else, buddy up. The evasive maneuver we practiced won't work without a
wingman, so I want to see a lot of hand holding out there."
200 Homecoming

Affirmatives came through the comm quickly.

"Okay, Amber Five, let's take it to them. Full throttle!" Thrask laid his hand on
the throttle and slammed it forward. Instantly he was shoved back into his seat, the burst
of speed too much for the gravity defusers to compensate for. Feeling his skin stretch
across his face, the colonel looked at his speed indicator, waiting for it to reach five-
hundred-and-ninety kilometers per second. When it did, he lined his sights up on Whisky
2. But as he neared it, his lock-on alarms sounded.
"Colonel, fighters from Whisky 2 are moving to intercept and firing missiles at
us!" Thrask's wingman shouted.
"This is what they pay us for, Five, so get a grip! Now tighten up on my
starboard side and let's try this new defense." On his radar screen, Thrask saw his
wingman's ship come in as close as it could without clipping his wing. "Alright. Distance
from missiles?"
"Two-hundred meters and closing fast!"
"Sounds about right. Okay, begin the tandem-interlace defense… Now!!"
With the press of a button, the computers aboard Amber's One and Five linked
together and began the complicated defensive maneuvers that would hopefully save them
from the missiles closing on them. Thrask would have preferred to do it manually, but he
and his team hadn't had enough time to perfect it on their own. So, with one mind, the two
fighters started moving, twisting and barrel-rolling around one another so close they
could see each others face. Wing tips missed wing tips by scant centimeters, each ship
changing places with the other, juking up and down, left and right in tight formation,
dropping a decoy as they crossed.
The premise of the maneuver was rather simple: to confuse incoming missiles
long enough to get away. The way it worked was to mess with the electronic mind of the
projectile, to baffle it into either self-destructing or into missing the target altogether by
confusing it on which fighter it was to attack. Most missiles can't acquire a target on the
fly, having to lock it into its brain at time of launch. So, if you give it too many targets
and try to hide its original one by means of radical maneuvering and decoys, it was hoped
the missile would fly off without delivering its payload. And it worked. Marvelously. No
matter what type of lock it used, be it heat-seeking, image recognition, or plain old radar
lock, the close flying ships would weave around each other, lacing so tightly that the
incoming missile didn't know which ship it had originally locked onto. Heat patterns
mixed, the images meshed, and the radar signatures joined, with the decoys adding to the
perplexity. The strain on the pilots was great, but getting hit by a missile would be far
worse.
Ten seconds after the alarms sounded, they quieted.
"Amber One, the missiles have detonated!" Thrask's wingman said, jubilant. "It
works!!"
"So I see. Now can the chatter and find those alien bogies. Let's see if our
missiles are any better."
"Aye, sir. Targets are behind us and to port twelve degrees."
"Then let's go. Move out!!"

TCS DarkForge
The Bridge
All was chaos around Commander Leahy, the captain of the heavy cruiser
guarding the HammerStrike. I shouldn't be here, she thought. This is Captain Erikson's
chair I'm sitting in. He should be the one leading us into battle. Where the hell did
 Homecoming 201

Confed send him that was more important than this?!

"Damage reports coming in now, Captain," Major Shriver said from his tactical
station.
"Give me the bad news first, Mr. Shriver." Leahy gritted her teeth in
anticipation.
"The bad news is that we have a twenty percent drop in harmonic power in the
central starboard wing due to a torpedo taking a huge chunk out of it. It won't affect the
sub-light engines, but we'll be under reduced speed to compensate once we go hyper.
Three flux-phase cannons and all of our Blind-Boy batteries are out on the starboard side
as well." Shriver looked up from his station and gave Leahy an I'm-sorry-sir expression.
Leahy, still trying to get comfortable in the seat her rear was occupying, let out a
long sigh. "Well, I don't suppose there's any good news to speak of."
"Actually," Shriver replied, "there is. Our shields took a beating, but now we
know our tolerance levels against the alien torps, and it's better than we figured. Since we
can re-route the power our damaged weapons were going to use, we can channel it into
the shields, boosting them. Shield integrity is down to seventy-seven percent, but with the
added energy we can get them back up to ninety-four percent."
"Talk about robbing Peter to pay Paul," Leahy said with a bemused tone.
"Alright, do it. And turn us about so our port side faces them. No use pointing guns that
won't go boom at them. Is Morningstar here yet?"
Studying his screens, Shriver nodded. "Aye, sir. She's pulling alongside now."
"Great. What about enemy fighters?"
"So far they've been drawn off by our fighters, but I don't think that'll last long.
Whisky 2 is big enough to hold three times what it's already launched, and Whisky 1
hasn't even launched hers yet, so I'm sure the party will get more crowded before the band
finishes playing."
Grinning in spite of herself, Commander Leahy winked at the major. "You better
believe it, mister. When this girl comes to play, you know it's going to be a packed house.
But I think it's time we started dishing out some of the beat-down ourselves. Target
Whisky 3 and engage with torpedoes. I want some fish in the water, and I want it now.
Tell Morningstar to make for Whisky 4. Let's see if we can rattle these guys. Lock on and
let 'em fly!"
"Aye, sir," Shriver said, warming to his commander quickly despite her newness
to the chair. Erikson was missed, but his spot was being filled admirably. A warning light
then drew his attention. On his screens he saw that Whisky 2 had launched multiple
torpedoes at StarAnvil. The light carrier attempted to maneuver away safely using all of
its countermeasures, but eight of the superior projectiles made it through the screen to hit
the ship. Initial damage reports were sketchy, but it appeared as though the StarAnvil's
sub-light engines were badly damaged and it's weapons arrays were off-line. And the hits
just keep on comin', Shriver thought. Thank god its destroyer escorts are moving to help.
Heaven help is if the aliens get the upper hand…

TCS StarAnvil
The Hangar
"That's got to be the biggest ship I ever laid my sorry eyes on," the chief flight
deck officer of the StarAnvil said, his words coated with awe, as he looked out of the
ship's frontal hangar opening, the hanger itself emptied of craft. Damage alarm lights
throbbed in every corner. Before him, close enough to see clearly without the aid of
special optics, was Whisky 2, a ship of such alien design that he could barely credit his
202 Homecoming

own senses. Captain Davis wavered between fear and humility. Around the ship were
flashes of light, the Confederation fighters mixing it up with the alien fighters and the
capital ship itself.
"Got that right, Chief," replied Saul Williams, Davis' assistant. "Who the hell
would have ever come up with a design like that? Not a human, I tell you that for sure."
"Yeah, but it's got its advantages. I mean, look at the way the crescent points
cover the hangar exit." Davis stretched out his hand to indicate what he meant.
"Maximum coverage while the fighters are most vulnerable. We should have thought of
that ourselves."
"I dunno. There's something to be said for tried and true designs."
Davis turned on his subordinate. "You call this ship standard?"
Williams blushed, realizing what we had just said. "You know what I mean,
Chief."
Resting a hand on Saul's shoulder, Davis nodded. As he was about to point out
more of the finer points of the alien ship, alarm klaxons blared out, the tones different
than the damage control sirens that were continuously wailing in the background.
"Warning!" the comm speakers shouted in the hangar bay. "Whisky 2 has
launched more fighters! Inbound and closing!"
Davis quickly brought his eyes to bear on the alien ship before them. From it he
could see the tell-tale flare of fighter engines blazing in the darkness. Scanning rapidly he
counted over two dozen.
Saul, who's eyes were better than his chief's, took in a quick breath. "Chief!
Those are larger than the other fighters they launched earlier!"
"Are you sure?"
Squinting, Williams nodded, his head bobbing up and down furiously.
"Bombers?"
"I hope not." The chief dropped to his heels, his knees cracking like dry kindling
on fire. "Shit. Our fighters are tied up with Whisky 2's fighters, and our bombers seem to
be having no luck at all in penetrating the ship's powerful shields. If those are bombers on
the way, they'll have a clear run right at us with our engines damaged and weapons out.
The fight's barely started, and we're just listing along like crippled."
"Can our bombers catch them?"
"Maybe. I hope so. Shit, I don't know. Let's just pray the people upstairs are
doing their jobs and crunching the numbers."
Walking to stand within centimeters of the frontal environmental shields,
Williams breathed deep and slow. After a few seconds he said, "They better do it fast,
Chief, because those ships are getting close enough to read off the tail numbers." As the
last word echoed off the hangar walls, a rapid series of flares ignited along the line of
incoming bombers. The alarms didn't have to sound for him to know what was happening.
Looking over his shoulder, Williams said, "Grab onto something, Chief. Hell's on its
way."

TCS Cutlass
The Bridge
Captain Rothchild could feel doom settling around his shoulders like a heavy
wet cloak, as dark as the space around him and just as cold. "ETA to StarAnvil?"
"Eighteen seconds, sir."
"Are we going to make it to weapons range?"
The tactician read his boards with a practiced eye. "Aye. Barely."
 Homecoming 203

"Lock our weapons on the torpedoes. Fire at first tone."

Moving his hands like a maestro before his musicians, Lieutenant Colonel Perry
turned his guns on the incoming torpedoes and attempted to lock them on target. But as
he worked, his computers started flashing red. "I can't, Captain!" he shouted. "The
torpedoes are somehow evading our targeting computers! We can't get a positive lock!
All fifty of them are slipping past us!"
His hands shaking, Rothchild leaned forward in his seat. "What?!"
"I don't understand it, sir! We see all of them, but we can't lock on! The bastards
are going to hit the StarAnvil dead on, and her countermeasures won't be able to take out
enough for it to matter!"
Turning over his options quickly, Rothchild came up with only one. "Helm, hop
and pop! Now!"
"Sir?" Helmsman Brionis said, confused.
"You heard me!! Now!! Get us in front of the StarAnvil!!"
With a pocketful of fear and a bellyful of anxiety, Brionis did as ordered.
Instantly the destroyer's Harmonics Drive kicked in and propelled the ship one-thousand-
fifty meters in the blink of an eye. Once at its destination, the destroyer came to a full
stop right in the path of the fifty inbound torpedoes.
"Now divert all power to the shields and hang on!!" The doom cloak coiled tight
around Rothchild's throat. He knew his order would most likely result in his ship's
destruction, but the light carrier StarAnvil was of more value than his destroyer, and a
captain's first priority was to the fleet, and not to his or his crew's safety. The fleet was
all. Thankfully for him, he didn't have long to wallow in silent bootless cries, bemoaning
his fate.

TCS StarAnvil
The Hangar
"What in god's name was that?" Saul Williams cried out, his eyes adjusting to
the flash of rainbow light and sudden appearance of a Confed ship floating still in space
barely one-hundred meters in front of him.
"Hop and pop, Saul," Captain Davis replied.
"What?"
Davis, knowing in his gut what was about to happen, didn't answer again. It
wouldn't matter. No words would be able to convey the true meaning of what they were
witnessing. Instead he pointed out the hangar. Saul, beginning to grasp the dire situation,
turned to look. Seconds later he saw multiple flashes blaze on the far side of the Confed
destroyer, the fire and light shining like a corona around an eclipsed star. Initial
shockwaves buffeted the carrier. But as more torpedoes slammed into the destroyer, the
StarAnvil began turning about. The view from the hangar emptied to display silent space.
Both of them could feel the damaged sub-light engines opening up, trying to move them
to a safe distance with minimal power, leaving their savior to its fate. The men then
turned to look out the rear of the hangar. From it they saw the destroyer shaking, the hull
vibrating from the explosions. Then suddenly it erupted in a blinding flash, the once
mighty Confederation ship becoming a star. Power waves rippled out from it in its death
throws, and the StarAnvil's shields and hull shuddered at the force. The only evidence left
that the destroyer had even existed was spinning clusters of hull fragments, their edges
sparkling with remnants of electricity.
"What ship was that?" Williams asked with a shaky voice, knocked to his knees.
A tear rolled down the side of Davis' face as he replied, "I think it was the
204 Homecoming

Cutlass. Maybe the Battleaxe."

"Shouldn't we do something?"
Turning on his heels, Davis walked away toward a hangar office, his head hung
low. "We are, Saul. We're running. By thankful we can still do that."
"But what about our fighters?!" Williams shouted after him. "They're alone out
there!"
"Aren't we all?" the chief grumbled softly to himself. "In the end, aren't we all?"

C'Kuthra Accrual Ship Droko'zed

The Bridge
Sub-den Leader Brack'n'Voxs wasn't happy.
"What just happened?!" he yelled at his subordinates. Many ducked their heads,
trying to avoid his eyes, but the weapons master knew he had to respond.
"Leader," Amden'Lovisk said, "it would appear that the destroyed alien ship
used its hyper-energy engines to move into the path of our stingers."
"I can see that, Weapons Master. It was more of a rhetorical question."
Amden'Lovisk breathed a deep sigh of relief.
Raising his hand in a flourishing gesture, the leader said, "It is of no matter. One
ship is as good as another. Death to one means death to all. We'll get them in good time."
"Shall I lay in a pursuit course for the original target?"
"Yes, please. But there's no haste. That ship is as good as dead. And get these
damn vaporflies off of us. Launch more Starfires if you need to, but save our Vipers for
the larger vessels. Do the Vipers in flight have enough ordinance to take out the target?"
"No, Leader."
"Then recall them and load them up. But make sure they get in closer next time
before biting. I won't have my victims getting away again."
"As you order, Leader."
Taping his lower tusks, Brack'n'Voxs smiled. "Those new stingers really did
well in evading the enemy sensors, didn't they?"
The weapons master smiled in return. "Marvelously well. The special coating
makes them harder to grab onto than a Terasian snort beast in slime."
The sub-den leader laughed good and hard. "Well said! And thank the ancients
we have plenty to go around. Let's take out the small enemy fly carrier and then move on
to the rest. So many targets to choose from, I don't know where to begin." Then the leader
laughed again, the sound rumbling up from deep inside his chest. The other bridge crew
members joined him, looking forward to the slaughter to come.

TCS HammerStrike
The Bridge
Admiral Davenport wasn't happy.
"What just happened?" he shouted at his tacticians. Busy correlating their data,
none of them had an answer, so Captain Dallas came to their rescue.
"Sir, it would appear that the Cutlass sacrificed herself to save StarAnvil. With
her weapons and engines reduced, the light carrier was a sitting duck."
"Thanks for the sitrep, Sam," Davenport said, "but my eyes are still working just
fine. What I meant was, why didn't Cutlass shoot the torpedoes out of the sky?"
"Reports are hazy," the lead tactician said. "But it seems that the torpedoes have
some kind of hull that defeats sensor locks."
 Homecoming 205

"Wonderful," the admiral muttered. "And here I thought this was going to be a
walk in the park. Foolish me." Davenport sat back into his chair and gazed into the
holographic tactical display. On it he saw that DarkForge and Morningstar were
beginning to engage Whisky 3 and 4, while Whisky 2 was slowly homing in on the
damaged StarAnvil. Claymore and Halberd were moving in to assist DarkForge and
Morningstar. Whisky 1, 5, and 6 were still orbiting Marigold VII, staying out of the
action. IceFire and Battleaxe, both ships captained by competent people, were steering to
protect StarAnvil. The light carrier was trying to recall her fighters and bombers, the
bombers having had no luck in penetrating Whisky 2's shields, so that they could run
interference on any more torpedo launches until the cruiser and destroyer of Bravo Group
could play nursemaid for them. If Whisky 1, 5, and 6 stayed away for awhile longer,
Davenport figured victory could still be his.
"Captain, do we have anymore squadrons left in the ship?"
Looking up from the screens next to his chair, Dallas replied, "Aye, sir. We've
held in reserve Cyan and Rouge Squadrons. All of them are ready to fly."
"Good. Scramble them immediately. Tell the fighters, Cyan, to make for
StarAnvil at maximum speed and to keep her safe until her fighters can fully disengage
Whisky 2 and return. I want Rouge Squadron to hammer at Whisky 2. I doubt they'll do
much damage, but they might be able to delay it a bit if they can stick together and fire
torpedoes in unison. When StarAnvil's bombers dock and reload, then I want them and
Rouge to work together at blasting it. The fighters will stick to chasing enemy torpedoes
and fending off the alien fighters. While they're doing that, have Bravo Group come back
to the nest next to us. When we're all together, I want DarkForge to pull back. She's
damaged, and I don't want her to get into a compromising position if I can help it. I
thought spreading ourselves out might give them too many targets to fire at successfully,
but those damn sneaky torpedoes give me the willies. The more guns we have firing at
them, the better our chances, and being spread out makes for poor coverage. I hate
clumping up like this, but it's our best chance at protecting one another."
"Aye, sir," Dallas said, agreeing whole-heartedly. "Sending orders now on the
secured lines."
Knowing he had done all he could for the moment, Davenport leaned back,
keeping both eyes locked on the display, hoping he was doing to right thing. "And tell the
Essex to stand by," the admiral said, giving one more order before he waited to see if his
plans would work out. "We might just need her. It'll be like throwing stones at the aliens,
what with her now outdated weapons and technology, but the more warm bodies we have
on our side, the better."

PCS Aurora
The Bridge
"Captain, we've done all we can here," Kiato said. "Staying here longer is
dangerous, not to mention unprofitable. You've done your honor-bound duty. The Essex
is safe and out of the action. These new Confed ships can take it from here. I think we
should pull out, find a spacedock, and get our ship repaired while there's still a ship to
repair."
Running his fingers through hair that was growing longer than he'd ever let it,
McClellan sat solidly in his chair. "Duly noted, Commander, but I think we'll stick around
a bit longer. Essex may be out of the action for now, but that doesn't mean some of those
aliens won't slip past the fleet and move on her. Until this is all over, we're staying put.
Besides, I don't want to make a move without our engines fully functional, because once
206 Homecoming

we light the fires, we'll be targeted again, and I want us to have maximum speed available
to us."
Kiato knew he was right on that point, but it didn't make her feel better. "Sir, you
saw how easily they destroyed the Cutlass. They can do that to us too. I still love the
Navy, but I don't think they stand a chance against those aliens. Not unless they've got an
ace up their sleeves." Kiato put on a smirk, telling everyone what she thought of that.
Gabriel could feel his temperature rising. "I won't say it again, Commander. You
know my mind. If you don't like it, then leave! Take one of the fighters and haul ass out
of here if you want. One less won't make a difference anyway."
Blushing, Kiato took a step back. The other members of the bridge crew took
quick glances at her out of the corners of their eyes, wonder what she would do. "I… I
meant no disrespect, Captain," she stammered. "I was only thinking of our safety."
"Then don't question my orders again, Commander." Turning, he looked at her
directly. Seeing the wounded expression she wore, his anger shifted to regret. "I'm sorry,
Kiato. I didn't mean to snap at you like that. Please, let's go to my briefing room."
Together they left the bridge and stepped into Gabriel's office. When the doors
closed, he ushered her into a chair. After both of them were seated, Gabriel reached out
and poured two cups of coffee from a decanter on his desk, the dark elixir still warm after
being there for hours. She took hers black, but the captain spooned one helping of sugar
and cream into his. Taking a test sip, the two leaders of the ship leaned back, already
loosening up.
"Kiato, I'm really sorry about that." The commander opened her mouth to protest
the apology, but Gabriel held up a restraining hand. "Let me finish. Please." He took a
long sip of his coffee, letting the sweet warm liquid play around his tongue. Swallowing,
he said, "I still feel so new to this… captain stuff. It's like a coat you buy right off the
rack. The fit is close enough, but the damn thing just doesn't feel comfortable. But you
know that if you can go on wearing it, eventually it'll stretch out. Right now I'm stretching
it. I'm pulling at it. I know I can wear it, but at the moment it's fighting me. Give me time.
But it doesn't help when my orders are challenged by you. I took this job thinking I would
have a partner to help me, but Butch left for home, so now I'm alone. I don't begrudge
him that. And you and Arnett have been great. I couldn't ask for better commanders. All
I'm asking is that you allow me the time to work out the kinks."
Lowering her mug, Kiato brushed back her hair. "It's me who should apologize,
Captain. I had no right to question you. My only concern is for the ship and the crew.
Being here is dangerous. All of them know that, and they wouldn't have stayed unless
they believed you could lead them out of it. I believe you can, too. I know you have a
duty to the Essex. Honor and loyalty are virtues I fully understand. And like you, I'm
trying to fit into being a commander. Let's both help each other wear our new clothes
better."
Smiling, Gabriel swished back the last drops of coffee. "Agreed. And keep on
concerning yourself with the crew. They need it. I need it. But right now we have a duty
not just to ourselves. Confed saved our asses. We owe them a bit more time."
"Understood, Captain. I trust you to know what's best."
Gabriel laughed as he stood from his chair. "I'm glad you do, 'cause sometimes I
doubt my judgment. Now let's get back to the bridge and see if anything new is
developing."
Kiato rose from her chair, leaving the mug on the captain's desk. When the door
opened and both commanders were smiling, the bridge crew breathed a collective sigh of
relief.
"Anything interesting to report, Mr. Tibbit?"
 Homecoming 207

The tactician nodded. "Aye, Captain. The task force has successfully bunched
themselves together, giving the aliens a nice fat target to fire at. The largest alien cap
ship, Whisky 1 according to Confed, has just launched what look to be shuttles to
Marigold VII's surface. I wonder what they're up to. Anyway, Whisky 2, 3, and 4 have
begun moving on the fleet, with 2 coming in from the front, and 3 and 4 flanking them. If
the ones in orbit stay where they are, Confed might be able to hold out. Essex called and
told us that they've been ordered to stand ready to move in. If they do, I'd consider it a
bad sign. That's about all, sir."
Taking his chair, Gabriel said, "Well, I guess things could be worse. At least
we're out of the line of fire for awhile. Keep holding position here until I say otherwise.
Commander." Gabriel swiveled around. "Why don't you head down to the hangar and see
what's going on. Have the ships we've got with tractor beams launch to pull out any
ejected pilots they can find along the edges. Give them a thumbs-up for me."
Bowing, Kiato turned and left.
"Thomson, call Eisen and let him know that we'll stay for a while longer, but if
he's called in, I can't promise our support."
The communications officer nodded and bent to his work. With that, Gabriel
turned to face the forward viewscreen. I hope Confed knows what it's doing, he mused.
And if you have an ace in the hole, I suggest you get ready to lay it out. These aliens are
playing for keeps, so you better be too.

~*~~*~~*~

Epoch Sector
Knight Flight Shipyard
The Control Center
In a rare display, Admiral Strickland smiled, the expression shining from
monitors all across the shipyard. Technician David Lewis could barely credit his own
eyes. His gut tightened, the smile reminding him of a predatory animal about to strike, its
jaws opening wide for the kill. But his fears were quickly whisked away.
"It pains me to say it," Strickland said, his booming voice rebounding off of the
metal walls, the smile still stuck on his face, "but you people did good work. Bad fucking
luck about Adams, Madison, and Fletcher, but shit happens. It'll just make my victory
sweeter when I take out those friggin' aliens with only half my battle group anyway. What
are ya going to do? You know? Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks for giving me what
you could. I'll make sure all of you are rewarded. But now we are leaving, destination
classified. Pat yourselves on the back for me. Admiral Strickland out."
As the comm screens blinked out, a technician asked aloud, "You really think
the old man is going to have us rewarded."
David, keeping his eyes on the screens that monitored the shipyard, replied,
"Yeah, sure. Right. My bet is that the commendations will get 'lost' in transit."
The technicians in the room snickered, but he didn't hear it. His attention was
riveted on his station. On the monitors he watched as the five new Confederation ships
released mooring beams and moved out. No matter how many times he saw it, the
Leviathan always took his breath away. "That's one big son of a bitch," he whispered
under his breath. Before his eyes, two-and-a-half kilometers of metal and pure destruction
slid from the specially made birthing slot and slipped into empty space. Lights from the
shipyard played along its lines, highlighting the large rear under-wing and the ship's main
weapon, the Matter-Energy-Conversion (MEC) Cannon. David couldn't decide if we was
happy or regretful in never having seen it fired. A weapon like that must be something to
208 Homecoming

behold, he thought.
As the Leviathan cleared the shipyard, the heavy cruiser William F. Halsey ran
to take the lead, protecting it from any threats that might appear, while he light carrier
Jedora Andropolos took the rear, and the destroyers George Washington and Thomas
Jefferson rode shotgun on either side. Once all five ships were safely away, space began
wavering chaotically, indicating that the Harmonics Drives were gearing up. Then
suddenly there was a burst of multi-colored light, and the ships were no more, traveling at
speeds the very universe couldn't match.
Only then did David begin breathing easier. Since his charges were away, his
duty was done. In a few hours the debriefing would commence, then the civilian
technicians and engineers would be taken back to their regular jobs, lips sealed tight
under penalty of imprisonment and possible death. He knew he had been privileged to be
a part of the repairs, but David knew he'd never look back. Classified work may seem
glamorous to some of the younger hotshots, but he knew that it was really just a pain in
the ass when all was said and done, Admiral Strickland a case in point. Just let me get
back home, and I'll consider myself privileged enough for a life time…

~*~~*~~*~

Kabala Sector
Marigold System
TCS HammerStrike
Flag Ready Room
Shocked was the only word that could describe Admiral Davenport's condition.
"So you're telling me that the Leviathan Battle Group is ready?" he asked, still
disbelieving.
"I wunna lie to ya, Pauly," Paladin said from the safe confines of an office
thousands of light years away. "She inna up to proper specs, but if'n ya need 'er, she's
there. Right now the battle group is 'olding to a standby position two sectors away. If you
can 'andle the situation, then we won't bring 'er in. No use tippin' our hand just yet. But
she's prepared to assist you if'n you call. I 'ope it makes ya feel somewhat better."
The relieved expression on Davenport's face would have been enough to convey
his thanks, but he felt compelled to verbalize it. "James, you have no idea how much
better I feel. I think we can lick these guys, but it helps knowing backup is only a call
away. How long would it take them to mobilize and arrive?"
"From time o' call, Pauly, she can be with ye in no more than one hour."
"An hour? No sooner?"
"Sooner?! Pauly! Do ya remember how long it took sometimes to get 'elp durin'
the Kilrathi war? Hell, man, we had to hold our positions for days in some cases! So don't
go gettin' all soft on me. But… We're monitoring your situation, so if we feel it's
warranted, we'll bring 'er a sector closer. That will cut the travel time in 'alf. But no closer
without your call! Is that understood? I won't put 'er in danger unless it's absolutely
necessary. Especially since she isn't fully escorted."
Davenport rubbed his chin. "Understood, James. And yes, I remember the old
days. We'll take care of this, and if we need the Leviathan, we'll hold out until she gets
here. Thanks for speeding the battle group's repairs up."
"It was the least we could do for ya, Pauly. Think nothin' of it."
"I think plenty of it, James. But I won't argue the point. Just wish us good luck
and godspeed getting home safe and sound."
"All my wishes are with ya. Now get back to work, ya lazy mutt! Taggart out!"
 Homecoming 209

Paladin was smiling widely as he closed the comm.

Davenport was about to pour himself a glass of tea, preparing for a few minutes
of silence, when his wrist comm activated loudly. "Admiral Davenport to the bridge!"
Tapping the comm, the admiral replied, "Davenport here. On my way." Putting
the glass back in its holder, he rose from his cushy chair and made for the bridge. As he
walked toward his command seat he asked, "What's the sitrep?"
Captain Dallas, standing in the lead tactician pit, looked up and walked onto the
main bridge floor. "Sir, Whisky 1 has begun launching fighters. She's still in orbit around
Marigold VII, as are Whisky 5 and 6, but the fighters are heading our way with extreme
haste. With those, and the ones launched from Whisky 2, that puts exactly two-hundred
and seventy-eight alien bogies in the air. Both alien carriers might have more to launch,
but I don't see how they could squeeze them in."
"How long until they reach us?"
"At current speeds, it will take them two minutes, twenty-nine seconds, give or
take."
"And how many fighters do we have available?"
Consulting his data pad, Dallas replied, "Almost half of StarAnvil's fighters were
destroyed assaulting Whisky 2, mostly do to energy cannon hits, and a few of ours have
been taken out. As of this moment we have one-hundred and eighty-five ships in working
condition."
"Then get them all to intercept the alien fighters. Now."
The order was relayed and the Confederation fighters scrambled to meet their
enemy head on.
"But tell me, how have our fighters and bombers been fairing overall against
their alien counterparts?" Davenport asked.
"Surprisingly well, sir. The aliens are faster, more agile, and have much stronger
shields, but they seem to rely more on missiles than on energy weapons, and our tandem-
interlace defensive maneuver has worked out pretty good for the most part. So I would
say that overall we are holding our own. The Tigersharks are everything Russell Arms
said they would be, if not more, and the Warhammer bombers are outstanding. I'm just
sorry our torpedoes haven't been very successful against the alien cap ships."
"What's the status on that anyway? How have our attacks been fairing? I've been
looking at the big picture so long I've missed a lot of the details."
"We'll, sir, concentrated torpedo attacks have yielded some results, but every
time we get within locking distance, the damn cap ships open fire, and their energy
weapons have a range I've never seen before. Then you add in the alien fighters buzzing
around, messing up our attack runs. Put all that together and it makes for harum-scarum
attacks. We can never get more than one or two torpedo runs before they wise up and
start brushing us off. Maybe if can lure them in a bit, then our cap ships can keep them
busy while the bombers try again. We'll just have to see."
Davenport lowered his head. Dallas, knowing that the admiral was in deep
thought, stepped back to a respectful distance. After a few moments went past, Davenport
looked up with a shit-eating grin all over his face, his eyes sparkling mischievously.
"How are DarkForge and StarAnvil doing?"
"The majority of repairs are complete, sir, on DarkForge," Dallas told him.
"Most of it was superficial, thank goodness. But StarAnvil's weapons are still off-line, and
her engines are running at quarter-power. She's in bad shape."
"Is everyone formed up on us?"
"Aye."
"And the enemy?"
210 Homecoming

"Whisky 1, 5, and 6 are still out of the way, and 2, 3, and 4 are moving to attack
us from the front and both sides."
"How long until then get into position?"
"If we keep to our currant location, they will be in attack formation in a little
under three minutes."
"Our chances of victory over them?"
Dallas looked away at that. "Unknown, sir. Our fighters are outnumbered, but
cap ship wise it'll be nine against three. Ordinarily I'd say that was fantastic, but against
the aliens it'll make us about even. In the end I'd have to say the odds favor the aliens,
especially if the orbiting group joins in."
"Then I'd say it's about time we started retreating, Dallas."
"Sir?!" the captain said, his jaw opening wide. "So soon? We may not be able to
match them one on one, but that doesn't mean we can't win. Our chances may be bad, but
I've seen much worse. Hell, I've fought my way out of tighter scraps than this. We can do
it, sir. This is our space."
Davenport laid a restraining hand on Dallas' shoulder. "Calm down, Sam. I didn't
say we were giving up. We're just going to do as you suggested."
"Huh?" Dallas was confused.
Winking, Davenport said, "We're going to lure them in."
"With what?"
"An opportunity they can't refuse."
"And what would that be, sir?"
"Just trust me. Now get Captain Blake on the comm."
Not knowing what was going on, Dallas trusted his commander and did as
ordered. Ten seconds later the captain was speaking to Davenport. In the end, both men
were smiling. They were tense grins, particularly on Blake, but tough circumstances
demanded tough decisions.

C'Kuthra Accrual Ship Droko'zed

The Bridge
"Leader, you should take a look at this," Weapons Master Amden'Lovisk said
from his station. The sub-den leader rose from his command chair and walked over, his
tail swishing back and forth.
"What is it, Weapons Master?"
Pointing a claw at his central screen, Amden'Lovisk replied, "Leader, our
sensors have picked up strange power fluctuations in one of the large alien ships."
"Which one?"
"Our initial target. The smaller fly bearer. It looks like our attack did more
damage than they could repair."
"What do you mean specifically, Weapons Master?" the leader asked, his fangs
gleaming with poison that oozed from sacs within his black gums. It was a sure sign of
increased aggression.
"Well, I can't really tell exactly, but in the area of the ship that seems to hold
their engines, the background radiation levels and power outputs have started spiking."
"Is that a danger to us?"
"I… don't know. These energy readings are unlike what we are used to, so I
would only be making assumptions, Leader."
"Assume away then."
Smiling at the faith his leader was putting into him, Amden'Lovisk said, "Okay. I
 Homecoming 211

don't think we are in any danger. If these readings indicate what I think they do, then the
ship is about to lose all engine power. It'll be dead in space. These are just death throws
before total ship-wide shutdown."
"So we can take it? Intact?"
The weapons master thrust his tusks into the air, gesturing affirmative. "It would
appear so, Leader. But even if the engines explode, these power levels I'm getting aren't
nearly strong enough to penetrate our shields. We're safe."
Deadly viscous fluid dripped from Brack'n'Voxs' mouth. "How close are we to
it?"
"Twenty greshias and closing," Amden'Lovisk replied, looking at his monitors.
"As we speak the ship is losing speed quickly, and the other alien ships are leaving it
behind. They know a lost cause when they see it."
"Very good. Tell the Suren'val to pull along side it fast. I want this prize,
preferable with its crew still aboard. We'll come in on the other side and protect them
both."
"What about the other aliens? Are we letting them go?"
"Of course not. The Ku'lock will continue the chase in our place. The Pal'kota,
Nibr'thun, and Dor'Su'Kall are almost finished at C'Kuthrian." At the name of their dead
and barren homeworld, the leader closed his eyes and stopped breathing. Everyone else
on the bridge did so as well, feeling the same pain. Eventually the leader continued.
"When they finished the survey mission… they will leave orbit and join us. And as soon
as we've secured the alien ship, we will to. But even if they escape, we've locked onto
their ships with our sensors, targeting the individual energy signatures and molecular
makeup. There's nowhere they can go that we can't follow."
"As you order, Leader." Amden'Lovisk touched a few keys, enhancing his view
of the system. As he tightened his scans, he leaned forward. "The damaged ship is now
free of the pack. Look at them, running like scared worshas with their tails on fire,
leaving their damaged ship as far behind as they can. Pitiful. Suren'val has increased
speed to overtake it. It'll be nuzzled up next to it in less than five graviks. Shall we follow
now?"
"With all haste, Weapons Master. Take me to my prize." At that the leader
turned and marched back to his chair. Seating himself, he wiped the venom from his
lower lip and tusks. He was one step closer to victory. He could feel it in both his hearts.

TCS StarAnvil
The Bridge
"Whisky 3 is closing, Captain!" the ship's tactician officer shouted over the
bellowing alarms.
"What about Whisky 2?"
"No… Yes! Her engines are increasing power."
"What about the weapons systems?"
The tactician shook his head. "No, sir. Weapons are powered down. They want
to take us intact."
"Over my dead body," Captain Blake growled, opening his ship-wide comm.
"Alright! Everyone! This is it. All crew to escape pods now! The courses have already
been laid in, so just strap yourselves in and hold on! It's gonna be a bumpy ride! Abandon
ship now, now, now!!"
Breathing deep, feeling his stomach tighten up, the tactician, Major Keller,
asked, "Sir? Are you sure this is the right thing to do?"
212 Homecoming

Unaccustomed to being questioned, Blake turned sharply. "I don't like it any
more than you do, Major, but we're already half dead as it is. Yes, we could probably
survive long enough to get to spacedock and get repaired, but then again, maybe not.
When the odds are against you, sometimes you just have to bet everything you've got and
let it ride. And if this ship is meant to die, then let it at least not be in vain. If we can do
some damage, then we have to try. Now get up from that seat and hustle! I want you out
of here! Go!"
Ducking his head, Keller gathered up a few disks and ran for the nearest escape
hatch. But as he closed on it, he saw that Blake wasn't with him. "Sir? Aren't you
coming? They'll be here any moment."
Blake nodded. "In a minute. I still have to do a few things before I leave. Gotta
stick it to them, you know? Now get out of here. That's an order."
Obeying, Keller pressed his palm against a wall panel. Instantly a portal opened
up, leading to the escape pod. Without turning around for one last look, the tactician
plunged in.
Left alone on the bridge, Captain Blake took his chair one last time. Running his
fingers along the smooth contours of the armrests he said, "Computer, initiate self-
destruct and terminal sub-light engine core meltdown now, authorization India-Kilo-
Niner-Niner-Alpha. Try to hold the energy bleeding as long as possible."
"Code confirmed. Engine core shutdown in process. Terminal overload in one
minute."
"Computer, now begin Harmonic crescendo and match its detonation to that of
the sub-light engines."
"Begun, sir. Destruction in fifty-four seconds."
"One final order, computer. Ten seconds before detonation, lock all weapons on
Whisky 2 and 3 and fire continuously, full spread."
"Acknowledged, Captain. Destruction in forty-six seconds."
Knowing there was nothing more to do, Blake slowly rose from the chair and
walked to his escape pod. As he stepped across the threshold, he turned quickly, taking a
final look at his bridge. A tear welled up and rolled down his left cheek. "Good bye, girl.
Sorry we have to cut our date short, but sometimes it happens. We didn't get to know you
very well, but I'll miss you so much. Sweet dreams…"
Patting the wall, Blake ducked inside the escape pod. Once he was belted safely
inside, holding clamps exploded and the engines kicked in. At almost eight-hundred
kilometers per second the pod rocketed away from the light rapid attack carrier. The
extreme g-forces slammed the captain against his seat, his face stretching. After moving
away in a straight line for three kilometers, the pod quickly changed course and made for
the remaining ships in the task force. But when the engines finally began to let up, a new
force shoved the pod angrily from the aft-starboard side, hurtling it into space at an odd
angle, tumbling the little craft end over end. Feeling as though his insides had been
rearranged without his consent, Blake knew what had happened. More tears fell. "I'm
sorry, girl. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean this to happen. Forgive me." The rest of his words
were lost to the rattling and shaking of the escape pod.

C'Kuthra Accrual Ship Droko'zed

The Bridge
Seconds Before
"It's a trick, Leader!" Amden'Lovisk yelled, watching dozens of small craft jet
away from their prize.
 Homecoming 213

The sub-den leader swiveled his head around sharply. "Clarify!"

"The readings from the engine cores have risen drastically! I can't make heads of
tails of some of it, but we're reading massive power buildups in multiple parts of the
ship!"
"Are we in danger?"
"Leader, information is inconclusive, but-" He didn't get a chance to finish his
statement before new alarms began sounding. Looking down instantly, Amden'Lovisk's
eyes opened wide. "Leader, the ship is firing on us!!"
Explosions began blooming all along the sides of the C'Kuthra ships facing the
StarAnvil as Blind-Boy missiles, torpedoes, and energy weapons ignited an inferno. With
the aliens only fifty-meters away, every weapon struck home. Shields began flashing
furiously. The lamb became a wolf.
"Move us out!" the leader shouted at the tops of his lungs. "Get us out of here!"
The two alien ships began listing away, but it was too late. They had been lured
in close, and now they were paying the price for it. No sooner had they begun to move
than StarAnvil exploded. Energy shockwaves and metal fragments blasted into space. The
sub-light engine cores alone would have caused enough destruction, but the Harmonic
Drive power cores released massive amounts of paraphasic energy in a blinding flash, and
the quantum energy lashed against the aliens' shields, shattering them. It was over almost
before it had begun.
Twelve seconds later, of the three ships that had once occupied the small area of
space, only one remained, the Droko'zed. The Suren'val, a smaller ship with weaker
shields and hull, had succumbed quickly to the power of the Confed ship's destruction.
"Damage report!" the leader said, his claws dug deep into his command chair.
Smoke, fire, and sparks erupted from duty stations that had overloaded from power surges
caused by the alien's weapons and destruction.
Lifting himself from the floor, Amden'Lovisk scanned his screens which were
thankfully still intact - for the moment at least. "Our shields are down! Hull integrity
down to thirty percent! The computers are off-line in most areas! Life support is failing!
We're losing it, Leader!"
Gnashing his fangs, Brack'n'Voxs cursed his own stupidity. "Damn them!! They
fooled us! But I'll have my revenge! Get the damage control teams moving and try to
resume full control of the ship. I want us hammering at the aliens now!!"
Amden'Lovisk, as full of rage as his leader, took another look at his screens. The
blood froze in his veins. There on the right-most monitor were twenty red dots swarming
in rapidly. "Leader, it's not over yet! Twenty enemy Vipers closing!"
"Raise shields!" The leader ripped the right arm off of his chair.
"I can't!!"
"Then fire at will! Strike them until they're nothing more than dust!!"
"Weapons are off-line, Leader! We're defenseless!"
Throwing the chair arm to the floor, Brack'n'Voxs resigned himself. "Then
prepare yourselves. We'll be meeting our ancestors soon. Stand proud!"
As one the bridge crew took to their feet, each knowing that their fighting days
were over. Some of them were even relieved. The end came for them not long after.

Colonel Bradley Hampton

CO Of Rouge Squadron
Lead Warhammer
"Yee Haw!!" Colonel Hampton shouted, exhilarated. Seconds before he had seen
214 Homecoming

Whisky 2 fall victim to his squadron's torpedoes. Firing in synch, the large projectiles had
flown to their target with ease. Since the ship was still reeling from the destruction of the
StarAnvil, it wasn't able to fight back. He couldn't remember an easier kill. Too bad it
came at such a price.
The ride in had been rough. Timing their launch exactly, the Warhammers had
approached the alien ships just as the shockwaves were thinning out. That was not to say
that it had been smooth flying! Even diminished, the energy ripples were awesome. Then
came the hull fragments. A few of the Warhammers had been slightly damaged, but none
badly enough to cause them to turn about. Riding the waves like cosmic surfers, the
newly built bombers had streaked in to take out the alien ships should they survive the
initial explosion. Luckily, only the larger one had made it.
"Scratch one flat-top!" the CO said, using the old famous line from Earth's
World War II when an American pilot had downed a Japanese carrier in the Battle of
Midway.
"I read you, Colonel!" Davenport replied. "But watch your six. There's still
another alien out there nearby. Whisky 4. She's stopped approaching, but that doesn't
mean anything. Get back here and reload. Davenport out."
Not letting the warning spoil his good mood, Hampton called his squadron and
ordered them back to the HammerStrike. With glad hearts they did as instructed.
Everyone in the fleet was overjoyed at the victory. The StarAnvil was no more, but the
fleet would go on.

TCS Essex
The Bridge
Everyone on the bridge was speechless. Having just witnessed the selfless
sacrificing of the StarAnvil, none knew what to say. Should they be sad for the loss of
another Confederation vessel? Or instead should they cheer the destruction of two alien
cap ships? No one knew, so silence reigned. Eventually, Captain Eisen brought them
together.
"What's the status if the task force, Ms. Hart?"
Julia, the ship's radar specialist, dropped her eyes from the main viewscreen and
looked at her monitors. Taking a few seconds to gather the information she said, "Alpha
Group and what remains of Bravo Group are moving forward again toward Whisky 4,
which has begun to reverse course. Aside from DarkForge, the task force is in good
shape."
"And the alien ships? What are all of them up to?"
"Whisky 1, 5, and 6 are still in orbit around Marigold VII, but the shuttles
Whisky 1 launched are returning. If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say they were preparing to
join the fight. With the sudden loss of two ships, Whisky 4 is all alone in enemy country."
"Will the task force catch up to Whisky 4 before the other alien ships get there?"
Julia nodded. "Aye, Captain, but only for a minute."
"Alright. Let's just-"
Communications Officer Trumpfeller interrupted him. "Captain, Admiral
Davenport is ordering us to mobilize, sir."
"What are our specific orders?"
"To join them in the battle. We are to approach and hold station keeping position
with the frigate Resistance. What they need most from us are our remaining fighters and
bombers, sir."
"Then let's get moving. Helm, take us in a maximum speed."
 Homecoming 215

"Aye, sir," Helmsman Second Lieutenant Kris Regata replied.

"Mr. Trumpfeller, send my thanks to the Aurora, but tell them to head out for
safe waters. There's no use in them sticking around any longer."
Trumpfeller nodded and went to work.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Eisen said, "let's do our duty. Prepare to engage the
enemy!"

PCS Aurora
The Bridge
"Are we leaving now, Captain?" Commander Ashikaga asked, tense.
Gabriel thought the question over for a minute then replied, "I don't think so.
We're plenty safe back here. If real trouble starts, we have ample time to move out. And
Kiato, you have to admit, this is the best show in town."
Smiling grimly, Kiato nodded.
"Colonel Roberts, what's the status of our jump drives?" the captain asked,
flipping his comm over.
"Well, if we don't get into any more fights, we will be able to make one jump.
I'm babying the drive right now. We might be able to make a second. Hell, I don't know.
I've done all I can, sir. But I can promise you at least one jump."
"Very good, Colonel. McClellan out."
"Shouldn't we move back a bit further, Captain?" Tactical Officer Tibbit asked.
The captain gestured affirmative. "Helm, move us around to the other side of the
planet from the battle. That should get us out of harms way."
The helm saluted and began steering the ship about.
"Where's Lieutenant Northstar?" Gabriel asked Kiato.
"He said he was going to try and get some information on what all's going on.
He was pretty cryptic about it."
"Cryptic? What does that mean? Ah, forget it. Have him board Merrimack and
start gathering up escape pods. One of them was damaged when StarAnvil went up and is
just spinning around out there. With the rest of the task force busy, I don't know if they'll
get to it in time. Northstar is to retrieve as many as he can, especially that one. I bet it's
the captain since it was the last one out. I want two fighters guarding him."
Kiato relayed the order to the lieutenant.
"Captain, the task force has closed on Whisky 4, sir," Tibbit said. "The rest of
the alien ships have moved from Marigold VII and are inbound."
"Put it up on the viewscreen, Tac."
A second later the forward viewscreen lit up and displayed the battle. Gabriel
hunkered down to watch, praying more ships wouldn't have to sacrifice themselves in the
name of victory. Knowing what a hard decision it must have been for the admiral, Gabriel
hoped he would never have to make it.

TCS HammerStrike
The Bridge
"Launch all fighters and bombers!" Davenport ordered. "IceFire, I want you to
circle around Whisky 4 to attack from behind. Morningstar and Claymore, take the
flanks. Halberd and Battleaxe, come in from the front. The Resistance, DarkForge,
Essex, and us will stay back to coordinate."
"Bombers are at the target and firing, sir!" the lead tactician said.
216 Homecoming

"Damage report!"
Waiting a few seconds, the tactician let the first strike finish before replying.
"Wave one ineffective. The ship shot down most of the torpedoes. Halberd and Battleaxe
have closed the gap and are now firing their own torpedoes and Blind-Boy missiles.
Energy weapons are firing, but to little effect… Whisky 4 taking damage! It can't blast
everything coming at it. Morningstar and Claymore have reached flank positions and are
joining the fray! IceFire still en-route… More damage!! Whisky 4 is being taken apart!!
Halberd has sustained moderate damage to shields! Battleaxe is having some engine
difficulty!" But then the tactician stopped speaking. His eyes watched the screens in awe.
Blood drained from his face.
"What is it?" Davenport asked, fearing the worst.
"Whisky 4 is critical! All systems show damage! But now she is starting the
same maneuver as the first alien ship Essex and Aurora came into contact with! The ship
has begun spinning and firing all weapons!"
Lunging from his seat, Davenport marched to stand before his holographic
display. Centered on it was Whisky 4. In vivid detail he could see the large ship slowly
twirling about, torpedoes and energy weapons discharging constantly. "Move our ships
out!" he order. "Estimated time to destruction?"
"Nine seconds!"
"Then move, move!!" Instantly the Confed ships began removing themselves
from the area, weapons trailing them as they went. Those closest to it, Halberd and
Battleaxe, taking the most damage. Then suddenly the alien ship exploded. Davenport
had to shield his eyes from the glaring light. When his vision finally cleared, Whisky 4
was no longer in the display. For that he was grateful. But then he saw two of his ships
leaning about, wounded. "Damage report!!"
"Halberd has taken massive damage to shields and engines, sir! She's dead in the
water. Battleaxe's engines are also down. Morningstar's shields are at thirty percent."
"Time to intercept by Whisky 1, 5, and 6?"
"Ninety seconds, sir."
"Then move us in to protect our damaged ships!"
"Aye aye, sir."
"Captain Dallas, get on the comm and tell the Leviathan Battle Group to get their
asses over here!"
"Yes, Admiral."
Turning to take his seat, Davenport walked with a weary step.
"Sir, Rear Admiral Strickland reports arrival in five minutes."
Davenport was confused. "Five minutes? That soon?"
Dallas smiled. "You know Strickland, sir. He's never been one to stay a safe
distance from the action. He was monitored our battle and had entered our sector several
minutes ago. A glory hound if ever there was one."
Normally such behavior on the part of a flag officer like Strickland would have
made Davenport furious. But now he was glad. "Then let's hold this position until he gets
here. He can have all the glory he wants."
"Aye, Admiral," Dallas replied. "ETA to weapons range is fifteen seconds. All
fighters and bombers are converging on the enemy now. We've begun engagement with
Whisky 1."

~*~
 Homecoming 217

The Cavalry
~ Part Five Of "Homecoming" ~
*****

Hence that general is skillful in attack whose opponent does not know what to defend;
and he is skillful in defense whose opponent does not know what to attack.

Sun Tzu, (6th-5th century BC), Chinese general. "The Art of War", chapter 6, Axiom 9

"I know not which I prefer the look of - those who attack us or that which defends us!"

Michael Moorcock, "The Sailor On The Seas Of Fate"

*****

Kabala Sector
TCS Leviathan
En-Route To Marigold System
The Bridge
Traveling at 1,286 times the speed of light, the Leviathan Battle Group had it's
Harmonic Drives operating at maximum output. Space for a hundred kilometers on either
side of the formation was vibrating fiercely, the fabric almost tearing from the thunderous
changes.
"I don't know how much longer we can keep this up, Admiral!" First Helmsman
Lieutenant Patrick Hummel said.
Because the ships were flying at critical speed, all stellar communications were
out. Hence, Strickland was deaf and blind to what was happening at the battle site.
"Maintain course and speed, Helm. I'm not letting my foot off the gas until we are at the
zone."
"Aye aye, Admiral."
Feeling the floor humming beneath his feet, Strickland rose his chair up until it
locked into place at the Captain's Walk overhead. From there he stood and paced toward
the frontal windows.
"It's so beautiful," he whispered as he watched stars and heavenly bodies streak
past. He couldn't see them per say since their light could never dream of keeping up with
him, but he could see the residual energy they left behind as his ship blasted partially
through the higher dimensions. "But not half as beautiful as it's gonna be when I turn this
ship on those aliens and rip them a new ass. Time to intercept?!"
"Two minutes, Admiral!"
"Good. Have the loaders prime the MEC. I want this puppy ready to fire at first
sighting."
"Mass to digitize, Admiral?"
Thinking it over, Strickland decided it was better to over do it than be cautious.
"Five tons."
Strickland's XO, Captain Skyler, looked up at the Admiral quickly, surprised.
"Are you sure, sir? Five tones is a lot of mass for one ship."
"Don't second guess me, Captain," Strickland replied, glancing down with
disdain. "If the aliens are fast enough, then one shot might be all we get, so let's make it
count. Five tons, in the chamber, now. Do I make myself clear?"
218 Homecoming

"Crystal, Admiral. Loaders!" Skyler shouted into his wrist comm. "The admiral
wants five tons injected into the T-Chamber now! Begin initial digitization process
immediately, with authorization to fire at his mark! Get moving!"
Smiling like a proud pappa, Strickland clasped his hands behind his back and
stood with feet spread apart.
"One minute to battle zone, Admiral!" Lieutenant Hummel said.
"Then let's get ready. Enemy engagement about to commence."

TCS HammerStrike
The Bridge
Vice Admiral Davenport didn't know if he could stand another warning light or
klaxon, what with fighters and bombers zooming all around him, Confed and alien cap
ships blasting at each other, torpedoes and missiles flinging themselves hither and yon,
but he had no choice in the matter.
"Admiral, I'm picking up paraphasic energy coming from behind us!"
"Must be the Leviathan Battle Group," Davenport informed Captain Dallas.
Looking at his pad, Dallas nodded. "Sure is, sir, and moving in fast. They must
be traveling at top speed."
"He wants to get here while there's still enemy to fight."
"Have you seen it in action yet, sir?"
"No," Davenport replied, shaking his head. "And I had hoped that I never would.
A machine like that is… well… dangerous. They've got the hand of god in that thing.
And with Strickland at the helm, that makes it twice as deadly."
"Then why did Confed put him in command?"
"Because he was the only one with so little conscience that he'd have no problem
controlling it. He has no compunction at all in firing it. They offered it to me, you know."
Dallas was too shocked to respond. "But I said no. I'm a man of war, I know that, and I
don't mind using weapons against my enemy, but that ship is too much. I won't say we
shouldn't have it. I leave that one to the philosophers and Confederation Naval Command.
But I won't be responsible for it if I can help it. No sir."
"I just hope it does the trick."
"Me, too. Now let's get prepar-"
The lead tactician cut in right then. "Admiral! Leviathan Battle Group is here!"
Glancing up quickly, Davenport saw five blips flare into brilliant life on the
display. Still traveling at incredible speeds, the new arrivals charged into the fray. "Visual
display!"
The holographic projectors altered from a symbol display to visual in
nanoseconds. When it did, everyone who looked into it was breathless.
"My god!" Dallas shouted. "Look at the size of that thing!" The captain had
never before seen the Leviathan, and it's bulk astonished him as nothing ever had.
Davenport could only agree. "Two-point-five kilometers in length and almost
one-point-five kilometers in height along the rear tail wing, it is the single largest
Confederation ship ever built. People, meet the Leviathan."
True to its nomenclature, the Leviathan was a monster, the ship most resembling
an oversized gun, with a barrel opening that could swallow some vessels. It was terrifying
and wonderful to behold, both at the same time. Awestruck, the bridge crew stopped what
they were doing for a moment. Luckily, one of the tacticians had the presence of mind to
keep one eye on his screens.
"Sir?! The Leviathan is powering up to fire!"
 Homecoming 219

Dear god. And we're right in its path. "Scramble! Get out of the way! All ships,
clear the area!"
Looking at the display, Davenport could see energy flashes erupting from the
business end of the Leviathan, indicating eminent release. Quickly the flashes increased
until the front of the ship was shining brighter than the sun. Then all at once it fired, and it
seemed as though Hell had opened its doors into space.
"Take cover!" But the admiral's words were lost on everyone, all of them already
ducking their heads in a knee-jerk reaction ingrained in them by centuries of warfare. Of
the entire bridge crew, he was the only one to witness the Leviathan's first wartime firing.
Watching closely, Davenport saw the ship's rear engines kick in at maximum power,
shoving the vessel forward in anticipation of the violent recoil the MEC Cannon would
produce. Then the cannon fired, releasing 110 teratons of explosive pure energy. The
mammoth beam of power surged from the Leviathan and struck right into the heart of the
enemy formation. Whisky 1 and 6 had managed to distance themselves a bit, but Whisky
5 took the blast full on. At first it looked like its shields would miraculously hold, but
then they buckled, and the energy beam continued on unhindered, atomizing the alien
ship within seconds. Nothing remained of it in the end. Not even dust. It was completely
wiped away.
As the lights dimmed, everyone looked up. All were sorry they missed it.
"Where's Whisky 5, Admiral?" Dallas asked.
Breathing slowly, Davenport replied, "She's… gone. Taken out. Just like that."
The admiral snapped his fingers.
"Then we've got them!" Captain Dallas was ecstatic. "We can nail them!"
"Don't be so hasty, Sam." Davenport warned. "You didn't see it, but Whisky 5's
shields almost held."
Dallas' face went white. "No way."
"I saw it. Check the sensor logs if you like. That ship almost made it, and it's not
even the largest one. We might not have such an easy victory over Whisky 1. Now get me
Admiral Strickland on the comm. I won't have him aiming that thing at me again."
Grinning ear to ear, the bridge crew went back to work, coordinating the
numerous ships.

C'Kuthra Accrual Ship Pal'kota

The Bridge
Den Leader Quenda'Vorssh was shaking, but whether it was in fear or rage no
one on the bridge could tell.
"Someone tell me what just happened! What is that thing?" The leader pointed a
claw at the newly arrived alien ship that dominated local space. Never in all his slumbers
had he seen a ship of such size and power. He had thought his vessel was the greatest, but
now that opinion was being changed.
The station officers started compiling the requested information hastily.
"Driver, move our ship back and keep to evasive maneuvers. Have the
Dor'Su'Kall come alongside. We'll merge our shields. That should hold them off.
His eyes tracked the aliens as his ship turned. They were closing on him, herding
him like the Ascendants once did. His fury increased.
"Dor'Su'Kall is with us, Leader!" the weapons master shouted. "Shields are
merged and at two-hundred percent!"
"Good. Now let's take the fight back to them. Full speed ahead and fire! Tell the
Vipers to attack the other alien ships!"
220 Homecoming

Just then the large alien ship fired again. The massive amounts of power
pummeled at him, but didn't break through.
"Still holding!" Sel'thorm said.
His scales deep red, Quenda'Vorssh smiled a deadly smile.

TCS Leviathan
The Bridge
"I don't believe it!" Strickland yelled. "Loaders, I want an eight ton mass pile in
the chamber quickly! Fire at will on Whisky 1!"
Ten seconds later, the MEC Cannon discharged. Everything was silent on the
bridge. Following a MEC firing, all sensors drop out for a few moments so that they don't
fry themselves out from the titanic energy emissions. When sensors came back on-line,
they saw that the two ships were still standing. Strickland was at a loss.
"How can that be?! We blasted them with enough force to shatter a large moon,
and there they are, still coming! Loaders, upgrade the mass injection to ten tons!!"
Captain Skyler's jaws dropped. "For just two ships, Admiral?"
Strickland whirled around angrily on his XO. "What would you suggest,
Captain?! Tell me! I want to hear it! Five tons wasn't enough! Eight tons wasn't enough!
When all else fails, throw a bigger stick at them!"
"But, sir, that's enough energy to destroy a planet! We might accidentally
damage one of our own."
"Then tell them to get the fuck out of my way and run behind momma's skirts!
Now fire when we're ready!" The admiral's face was flushed.
"Admiral, I have an idea," the lead tactician said.
"Give it to me, and it better be good."
"Sir, if we fire between the ships instead of at one of them, then I think we can
separate them. Sensors show that their shields are laced together, giving them added
power. If we hit in the middle, at the convergence point, then we might be able to force
them apart."
"Worth a shot. MEC Control! You heard the man! Change target and fire!" On
the holographic display, Strickland watched his ship turn a few scant degrees while the
other Confed ships scurried to get out of the way. "Fire in the hole!"
Everyone watched a colossal lance of light reach out to strike amid the alien
ships. Applause erupted when Whisky 1 and 6 were blown away from each other.
"That got 'em! Now target Whisky 1 and let's end this!"

C'Kuthra Accrual Ship Pal'kota

The Bridge
"Damage report!"
Holding onto the sides of his stations with a blue-knuckled grip, Sel'thorm
reviewed his screens. "Leader, our shields are down to twenty percent! Life support is
fluctuating! Fold Drives are off-line! Other than that we're okay!"
"And the Dor'Su'Kall?"
Pulling up the data, Sel'thorm's breath hitched in his throat. "Leader, it's not
good. Her shields are failing quickly, her weapons are on reduced power, and her Fold
Drives are smashed. I don't know if she'll make it."
Where once had been a grin of eventual triumph, Quenda'Vorssh now wore a
mask of impotent anger. "If not for that… thing… then we would be smashing them out
 Homecoming 221

of the sky. Let's take it away from them if we can. How long can we last without life
support?"
"Not long, Leader."
"Hopefully we won't need to go without them too long. Divert all life support to
shields. Reroute all power from non-essential sections to the engines and weapons. If we
can move fast enough, then they won't be able to keep us in sight to fire. All Vipers to
target the larger vessels. We'll sweep in on one side, the Dor'Su'Kall the other. I want her
moving and firing for as long as she can. If her crew can get her Fold Drive up, then she
is to leave and gather available reinforcements. But for now, fire on the go!"
With her shields at almost half power, the Pal'kota engaged her system engines
and began taking the fight back to the aliens. The Dor'Su'Kall, badly damaged but still
able to mix it up, did as ordered. It was now to be a full-fledged battle again.

StarAnvil Escape Pod A-01

From his wounded escape pod, Captain Blake could see everything. Since it was
a flagstaff escape pod, it had been outfitted with long-range sensors and computer
equipment that the others hadn't, allowing the officer to still control the battle even
though he was no longer aboard a ship. His life support was failing, and because of that
he was freezing, but he could still see what was going on.
Awhile ago he had wondered why he hadn't been picked up yet, but a quick
damage assessment had given him the bad news: his transponder was out, damaged
beyond repair, as was his communications gear. For all intents and purposes, the escape
pod was just a hunk of debris floating in the cosmos. Eventually he would be found (all
escape pods had to be accounted for before a task force or battle group could leave
system), but he didn't know if he would last long enough to enjoy the rescue.
But he had more pressing matters to attend to, namely the ongoing battle. From
his vantage point he had a birds-eye view of the proceedings. Whisky 1 was taking on
over half of the Confed ships head on, the large alien vessel dishing it out as well as it
took it. Whisky 6, clearly heavily damaged, was also engaging. Dozens upon dozens of
fighters and bombers were zipping around, doing what they could against both sides. The
Leviathan, of which Blake had heard rumors but had never believed existed, tried to line
up on Whisky 1, but was stymied. The alien ship was just too fast for the monstrous
vessel to track. So instead it dropped back into the safety of it's escort ships, letting the
Blacksmith Task Force remnants do the lion's share of the fighting. But that was okay.
The HammerStrike and the others were holding their own just fine.
Suddenly Blake noticed that one of Leviathan's escorts, the light carrier Jedora
Andropolos, which was basically the same ship as the late StarAnvil, was leaving the
protection area and heading for Whisky 6, launching fighters as it went. With the infusion
of new craft, it was only a matter of minutes before the smaller alien cap ship was
destroyed, adding more wreckage to the already congested area. How the fighters could
fly without falling prey to the numerous metal pieces that spun through the system was a
mystery. What wasn't a mystery was the next target for the task force: Whisky 1.
But as he watched, Blake could feel the air in the pod growing stale. Losing
oxygen because of the damaged life support systems, Blake soon blacked out. The last
thing he felt was a soft bump, his pod jarring against something. Wondering what it was,
the captain released his hold on reality and fell into an unconsciousness that he wasn't
sure he'd ever awaken from again.
222 Homecoming

C'Kuthra Accrual Ship Pal'kota

The Bridge
"Recall the Vipers!" Quenda'Vorssh shouted. "I want them flying a defensive
pattern around us. Channel all remaining power to shields and engines."
"Leader," Sel'thorm said. "Should we initiate the cascade defense?"
Giving the weapons master a venomous look, Den Leader Quenda'Vorssh shook
his head. "I won't give them the satisfaction."
"But there's nothing else we can do, Leader! Our Fold Drive is being repaired
now, but that doesn't mean it'll be up anytime soon, so we can't communicate with our
ships in Ascendant space. Our shields are weakening. We are almost out of ammunition.
The only honorable thing left to do is begin the cascade and then auto-destruct."
"The perhaps you forget our early battles, Sel'thorm, when the Ascendants were
the ones on top, dealing out death at every turn. We were losing, but did we give in? Did
we just throw up our claws and admit defeat by blowing ourselves up? No!! We fought!
Sometimes we had to run, but we lived to fight another day! No, my brother, we will not
die today. Many slumbers from now we will look back on this and remember what we did
here. Remember our ancestors and how we tried to protect our home."
Feeling his hearts grow heavy, the weapons master nodded. "Then what are your
orders?"
"We can do no more good here, so let's leave. Use every bit of power we have
for shields and engines. Reverse our course and take us in on C'Kuthrian. We'll use it's
gravity to sling shot us out of here at greater speed. How long until our Fold Drive will be
operational?"
"A quarter of a hunt, maybe less."
"Then we'll just have to stay alive that long. Order all Vipers to attack that
monster ship and try to disable it if they can. Once it is out of the way, then we might be
safe. Now get to work and preserve our lives." With that the den leader sat in his chair,
praying to his ancestors that he would survive and trying to push out of his mind the fact
that thirteen alien ships were breathing down his neck scales.
My people destroyed themselves, he thought to himself. Why? What for? Oh,
Quenda'Vorssh, don't fool yourself. You know why and what for. Power. Land. Control.
Damned Rift Dens!! If only they would have seen reason!! Why did they have to take from
us what was rightly ours? We never hurt them. We never tried to take from them. We
were content to let things be as they always had been. But no… The Rifters had to have
more. And they paid for their avarice. We all did. My den, their den, all of the dens.
Dead. Dust on the winds. My home, gone. The pools I once swam in, dried up. Everything
wasted. And all because of greed. If not for my den seeing what might come, none of the
C'Kuthra would be alive today. But we, the SeaDweller Den, had the foresight to
preserve some of our number. And so the StarDen was built, the ark that would carry the
hundred-thousand strongest and brightest of us away to safety, hopefully to return when
the beacon was activated. In our hiber-pods we slept, unknowing of what was occurring
behind us, frozen to keep us alive no matter how long it took to find home again. Today I
find out that it was for three-thousand slumbers we slept!! And what finally awoke us?
The damned Ascendants! On the other side of the galaxy! They found us floating in space,
the ship on the last of its reserve power, and they took us. Ripped from frozen sleep, our
ship all but destroyed, we became slaves to do as they pleased. For five long slumbers we
worked for them, doing as we were told, toiling beside many other races that had
succumbed to a similar fate. Then we rose up! Those of us working on Ascendant ships
broke our chains and took control. The C'Kuthra had always been good with technical
matters, so the Ascendants thought they could capitalize on that by having us work on
 Homecoming 223

their precious ships, not knowing that we were plotting, learning, waiting. And when the
time was right, we fought back! We took one ship, then another, then another. Soon the
Ascendants were realizing that their mastery was slipping. And now, thirty slumbers
after we were awakened, the Ascendants are all but vanquished! We are the victors! We
are free!! But where am I now? In a system I barely remember, surrounded by aliens
flying monster ships, trying to protect a dead world. Will we finally be destroyed? Will all
of our fighting be for naught? Please, ghosts of my people, let it not end this way.
Preserve me and mine so that we may return to our homes on the other side of the galaxy.
If I never see C'Kuthrian again it'll be too soon. The aliens can have it. It is nothing now.
Just a withered husk of what we remember it to be. Better that the C'Kuthra still in
Ascendant space never see it. Please, deliver me back home…
In a moment of clarity, Quenda'Vorssh realized how quickly his perception of
home had changed. Just two hunts ago it was the planet he was closing on. Now… Now it
was Ascendant space, with his people and the other races that were fighting back. As the
old saying went, home was where you cleaned you tusks. The den-leader finally
appreciated that.
"Weapons Master, launch a communications beacon at C'Kuthrian."
Startled, Sel'thorm asked, "We'll be in range in a few moments. What do you
want it to transmit?"
The den leader ran his claws across his chest, smoothing the scales, making
himself presentable. "Begin recording a message… Now." A light in the ceiling shown
down on him instantly. Coughing to clear his throat, Quenda'Vorssh said, "C'Kuthra, we
were wrong. Our people did not call us back. They're… They're dead, and have been for
three-thousand slumbers. The Den War destroyed them. We are all that is left. The
beacon was activated by accident. Please return to Ascendant space immediately. The
aliens here are NOT to be attacked or confronted in any way. They had nothing to do with
the death of our ancestors, and it is my belief that they have been wrongly accused by us
concerning the destruction of the Kura'shan. We, the crew of the Pal'kota, are all that
remain of our small fleet. We are attempting to reach safe space, but we might not make
it. But whether we do or not is irrelevant. Turn about now and return to Ascendant space.
Look for us if you can, but IN NO WAY are you to confront the aliens here!! Leave this
system and do not return. There is nothing here for us. Our home is far from this place,
back in Ascendant space. That is all. Den Leader Quenda'Vorssh… out."
The overhead light was extinguished.
"Leader? Are you sure we were wrong in accusing the aliens of destroying the
Kura'shan?"
"Yes," the den leader replied, shaking his heavy tusks.
"Why?"
"Think about it a bit, Weapons Master. You saw the reports our ship brought
back from C'Kuthrian. If the planet has been dead for three-thousand slumbers, then why
would aliens be there? To set up a colony? Make it a base? Maybe, but not probable. The
atmosphere is still choked with radiation and biological contaminants. Why settle there?
It would be easier to use another planet for all that."
"Perhaps their bodies are better able to handle the radiation, Leader."
"It doesn't fit. This area of space is quite cold. Their energy weapons and shields
are designed for it. That would in turn mean they come from this area. And if that is true,
then their bodies wouldn't be able to handle it. We came from here, and without some
cellular engineering, we would die on the surface too. And the biological contaminates
just add to the misery there."
Not wanting to believe that he could have been so wrong, Sel'thorm hung his
224 Homecoming

head.
"And look at what we found of the aliens on the planet. Scanning gear.
Recording devices. Dating equipment. It may be alien equipment, but their functions are
universal. They were trying to learn about what happened, not build a colony. They were
archeologists, Sel'thorm. We had it wrong."
"Then why did the Kura'shan come back to us as it did?"
"Because Wrak'Korvalish is a fool!!" Sel'thorm stepped back at the anger his
leader was now displaying. "He came here, saw the state of the planet, and automatically
assumed the aliens here were responsible! Just as we did when his ship returned! I should
have known not to send him. I've had to reprimand him once before for acting rash. But
how could I know? How could I know that it wasn't our people calling us home? I
couldn't, and now all of us are paying for my ignorance and Wrak'Korvalish's
impertinence."
"We'll be in firing range of C'Kuthrian in a few graviks, Leader," a bridge
crewmember said.
"Then fire the beacon and get ready to exit the system using the planet's gravity.
Take me home, my people…"

PCS Aurora
The Bridge
Having finally rounded the planet, the Aurora's sensors began relaying data
again on the battle. Marigold VII's radiation charged atmosphere had blocked everything
occurring on the far side, and Tibbit was glad to be able to see again. But seconds later
his happiness turned to shock. "Uh, Captain? I think you need to see this!"
Looking up from the data pad Sysop had given him concerning the new drives
Confed was employing, Gabriel glanced at the forward viewscreen. At once his eyes
widened and all the blood left his face. "Ohhhh shit. Red alert!!"

TCS Leviathan
The Bridge
"Get these damned fighters off me!"
Strickland wasn't in a good mood. Ever since Whisky 6 had exploded, things had
gone downhill. First, Whisky 1 had wised up, reversed course, and poured on the speed to
get away, all the while juking left and right as fast as the large ship could. Then the alien
fighters and bombers had zoomed in to attack the battle fleet, especially Leviathan. The
sudden surge of alien vessels caused the task force to bunch up in order to get a decent
covering fire laid out. Then Confed fighters jumped into the fight, further clogging up
local space. That in turn had slowed down the chase considerably. Which, ultimately, had
resulted on Strickland's currant foul disposition.
"Escort ships are trying to destroy them now, sir, but with them so near us, it's
hard to fire without taking the chance of hitting us too." Captain Skyler was almost
apologetic. "But the Blind-Boy missiles are doing a pretty good job so far."
"A small enemy fighter group has broken through our defenses!" a tactician
yelled. "I count eight bombers inbound!"
"Kill them! Now!"
"We're trying , sir, but they're sticking close to the MEC Cannon's opening! Our
energy weapons there aren't having much luck getting past their speed and shields!"
Looking down at his screens, the frazzled tactician blanched. "Oh no. Sir! Enemy
 Homecoming 225

bombers are entering the cannon opening!"

"What?!" The very idea was ridiculous to the admiral. They're flying into the
cannon?! Are they insane?! "Then clear them out! Fire the cannon!!"
"Admiral!" Skyler said. "I don't think that's a good idea, sir! The Dark Angel
Squadron from the Essex is in the line of fire! We don't know-"
Turning on his XO, Strickland let loose his fury. "I don't give a good goddam
what you think!! This is my ship, and when I say fire, I mean FIRE!! Now open this bitch
up and get them out of there!! Do it!! And screw those Essex pilots! They shouldn't be in
our way to begin with! Call them casualties of war and get on with it!!"
Shaking his head in exasperation, Skyler signaled the MEC controllers. In his
eyes they saw what he wanted.
"Admiral, we are injecting mass now," one of them said, lying through their
teeth. The digitizing chamber was already loaded. "Firing in… ten seconds."
Together the MEC controllers looked at Skyler, who was himself watching the
tactical displays. When he saw that the Essex's Excalibur fighters were clear, he gave
them a nod, a nod Strickland failed to catch. Seconds later a gout of energy erupted from
the cannon, the power shooting uselessly into empty space. But this time there was actual
fire to go with it, something that hadn't happened before. Immediately new alarms were
sounding.
"Now what?!" Strickland asked, at the end of his rope.
Consulting her screens, the primary MEC Control Officer, Major Bethany
'Firewall' Moore, sighed deeply. She knew that firing with the alien ships inside would be
bad. Just how bad had been unknown. Now she knew, and that knowledge chilled her.
"Sir, internal diagnostic sensors show structural damage inside the barrel of the MEC
Cannon! The electrostatic fields and linear force shields have been breached in several
locations!"
"Dammit! Can we still fire it?"
"Yes, sir, but I wouldn't recommend digitizing more than three tons. I'm
reconfiguring the fields to compensate, but any more than that and we risk causing a
containment breach within the channeling barrel, and that would destroy this ship."
"Three tons? That's it? It took five tons just to take out one of the smaller ones!
How am I supposed to destroy Whisky 1 with that little power?"
"I don't know, Admiral," Moore replied, at the point of not caring anymore what
Strickland thought. "But I would suggest we find a way, because this cannon isn't firing
more than that."
Wanting to strike her for her insolence, the admiral clenched his fists tightly.
"Watch your tongue, Major. I'll have your ass if you speak to me like that again. Now,
everyone, get me past this traffic jam and lock onto Whisky 1. We don't have a moment
to waste."
And he was right. At that moment, Whisky 1 was nearing Marigold VII and
beginning to get up enough speed to clear the system. But a surprise was in store for
everyone.

PCS Aurora
The Bridge
"Tell me this is all a nightmare," Gabriel pleaded. "Tell me I'm going to wake up
in a minute, in bed, and all of this will have been just a bad dream brought on by too
much Andralian Firewater."
"No can do, sir," Tibbit replied, though deep in his heart he shared in the
226 Homecoming

sentiment. "I show Whisky 1 is inbound, closing fast. ETA to weapons range: three
minutes."
"Can we get out of here without being spotted?" Gabriel felt like a coward for
asking, but his first thought was to protect the lives of his crew, not to grandstand for the
Confederation. Besides, his ship didn't stand a chance against the large alien vessel.
"Maybe, Captain, but at its current speed she'll be able to overtake us at any
time. The ship's damaged, but still more than a match for us."
"Then I suppose running for it is out of the question."
"Sorry. Even if our engines were up to full, the planet's gravity will slow us
down, while at the same time speeding the aliens up. We can't run."
Tapping his fingers nervously, Gabriel called over Commander Ashikaga.
"Well," he told her, "looks like I got us in a fine mess, Kiato."
"It's not your fault, sir. How could you have known they would come this way in
trying to escape?"
"It is my fault. You were right. We should have left this system when we had the
chance. But oh no. I had to stay around to watch the fireworks! Now that thing is going to
wipe us out if we don't do something. I'm open to any suggestions you might have,
Commander."
Laughing sadly, Kiato said, "I… don't have any, Captain. All we can do is
abandon ship and hope for the best."
Gabriel didn't like that option in the least. "Helm, move us away from Whisky 1
as far and as fast as you can. At least give me time to think."
"Aye aye, sir."
Leaning back, Gabriel began to think over everything, looking at the situation
from all angles. It was a complicated task, but his mind did it quickly. In the end he knew
Kiato was correct. They had to abandon ship. As soon as the aliens spotted them, the
Aurora would be living on borrowed time. It was too tempting a target to pass up. But…
There has to be another way. Something I'm missing… Abandoning ship isn't very
Privateer-like. No profit in it. Then he had the answer. That's it!!
"Kiato, what do you think of this?" At that the commander leaned over to listen
as Gabriel whispered into her ear. At several points her breathing quickened, but she
never said anything. When he was done, she stood up with an amazed expression on her
face.
"Do you really think it'll work, Captain?!"
"We've really got no other choice."
"Then I say we go for it! What do we have to lose? Aside from the obvious that
is. Gabriel, you are a genius."
The captain blushed. Turning, he looked at Thomson at his comm station.
"Lieutenant, get me Admiral Davenport on the line quickly."

TCS HammerStrike
Davenport's Office
"You have to be kidding me, Captain McClellan," Davenport said. "If you have
this so-called secret weapon, then where is it? Why haven't you used it already?"
On his screen Gabriel put on a stern expression. "Because it wasn't in my best
interest to do so before now. I am a privateer after all. I don't make a move without being
paid for it. And don't you worry about where it is. You just worry about how I'm going to
use it."
"Is that a threat?!"
 Homecoming 227

"Not at all, Admiral," Gabriel said, all apologies. "That came out wrong. What I
meant was, you should worry about whether I'm going to save it, and my ship, or use it
for your benefit."
"My benefit? What do you mean?"
"I mean, sir, that if I'm going to employ my secret weapon, then I expect to be
paid handsomely for it. No dough, no show. I can get out of here at any time. You, on the
other hand, have to finish this battle. I'm doing you a favor here, really. You should be
thankful."
"That's.. bribery!!! Extortion!! How dare you!! If you can stop them, then do
so. It's your duty as a Confederation citizen!!"
"Not last I checked, Admiral. Fighting hostile alien threats is your department.
This is a Confederation naval operation after all. Why, you said so yourself when you
flew in here all full of might and right. Correct me if I'm wrong, sir."
Gabriel wasn't wrong, and Davenport knew it, but that didn't mean he was going
to get screwed over by some upstart captain who was getting too big for his fatigues. "No,
you're right, but we don't need you. We will catch up to Whisky 1 and finish her off
ourselves."
"Who are you fooling?" Gabriel asked, laughing. "We may not be big shots like
you, but that doesn't meant we're stupid. I've had my science officers going over
everything that's happened so far, and they tell me the aliens are leaving you behind. And
that fancy drive you've got that moves you faster than light? Well, from what our sensors
tell us, it appears that if you're close enough to a large gravitational body or energy
source, it isn't worth crap. Superstring oscillations and what not. Too complex for me
really. But what it all boils down to is that until the energy from all these weapons die
down and Marigold VII gets farther away, you're stuck to sub-light engines. Tragic,
Admiral. But we're wasting valuable time. Tell me now, are you in or out? Either way is
fine with me."
Still so unsure of what was really going on, Davenport didn't know if he could
afford to pass up McClellan's offer. What if he's telling the truth?! What if he does have
some secret weapon that'll help us win this?! Dammit, I can't refuse him! If I do, and
Whisky 1 gets away, then CONNAVCOM will have my head. That man's just like his
father, always driving the hardest bargain he can for maximum advantage.
"Alright, Gabriel, you win. Transmit the contract. I'll sign off on it. Just make it
fast." Precious seconds ticked past as Gabriel reached off screen for something. When he
had it in his hand, a disk, he inserted it into a drive and sent the document over.
Davenport impatiently activated the document to read it. When he finished, Davenport
said, "This is bad comedy, Gabriel. You know I can't agree to this. The money allowance
is outrageous. We've never paid anyone this amount of credits."
Smiling serenely, the far away captain replied, "Oh, but you can. You have no
other choice. You're authorized for it, and Confed is legal-bound to pay it. There's
nothing there that is against contract law, so stop stalling. This is all above board and
legal as can be, and you know it. Now read it aloud in its entirety so that we can have a
verbal copy, then sign it, give it your coded seal, and send it back. Then I can get to work
saving your ass. Just have the Leviathan ready to fire after we use the weapon. You won't
have a long window of opportunity, so make it count."
Resigning himself to the indignity, Davenport began reading. "Contract is as
follows… I, Vice Admiral Paul Winslow Davenport, in accordance with the powers and
authority vested in me by Confederation Naval Command and acting as a fully authorized
agent of the Confederation Space Fleet, do hereby contract the services of Captain
Gabriel Sean McClellan, the PCS Aurora, and the Black Knights Privateer Group, the
228 Homecoming

hiring of which is allowable under Confederation Military Law, statute 114-8B, article
506-C, subsection 32. The contractual mission terms are these: The Black Knights, in part
or in whole, are to assist the Confederation Navy in combating the alien hostiles in the
Marigold System, Kabala Sector, until such time as the alien capital ship, designation
Whisky 1, is destroyed or rendered otherwise inoperative. Payment upon contract
fulfillment is as such: One, the Confederation shall, at its own cost, replace all Black
Knights equipment lost or damaged while in combat within the Marigold System, Kabala
Sector, with current standard Fleet and Marine Corps equivalents. Two, the
Confederation will deposit the sum of one-hundred-million credits into the Black Knights'
private bank accounts, the account numbers of which are listed within and not to be
publicly disclosed. This ends the reading of the contract."
Finished, Davenport applied his signature to the document, attached his
classified authorization codes, and sent it back to where it came from. Sweating he said,
"Just because this is legal and binding, that doesn't mean I have to like it. Now you do
your part and get after Whisky 1. Davenport out."
Captain Dallas came from around the large desk to lend his support. "Don't feel
too bad, sir. You really had no other choice. It was a lose/lose situation either way. He
just got lucky and had us over a barrel."
"Then why do I feel like I just signed my soul away?"
Dallas tried to summon up a smile. "You'll get over it, sir. I had to do this once,
and I felt like that too. Sometimes it's just the name of the game."
"Well, be that as it may, we better tell the Leviathan to get ready. Time is short."
With that Davenport opened his comm and gave Strickland the sitrep. The rear
admiral was disgusted that the task force had lowered itself to such depths as to requiring
the services of privateers, but since the contract was already signed, there was nothing he
could do about it but make the best of the situation and fire when the secret weapon was
used. What that weapon was he had no idea, but he knew he'd know it when he saw it.
His was not to wonder why, his was but to do and die. At least, that's what the poets used
to say…

PCS Aurora
The Bridge
"All hands, abandon ship!" Gabriel yelled into the ship-wide comm. "I repeat, all
hands abandon ship! Escape pods are programmed to deliver you to Marigold VII's
surface, so once you're planet-side, just stay put and wait for pickup. Do NOT leave your
vehicles!! The radiation will kill you if you do. Retrieval will hopefully be quick. That is
all. McClellan out." Then he switched over to the fighter/shuttle frequency. "All pilots,
head for the nearest Confed carrier for pickup! Do not, I repeat, do NOT approach
Aurora! That is all!"
Rising from his chair, the captain walked to stand before his bridge crew.
Solemnly he addressed them. "I need you out of here fast, so I'll make this brief. I don't
know what's going to come over the next few minutes, but whatever happens, you'll be
provided for. If Commander Ashikaga and I don't make it, then Lieutenant Commander
Arnett will take my place as commanding officer of the Black Knights. If for some reason
he and Colonel Crow never make it back from their… mission… Colonel Brightblade is
next in line. When I took this job, papers were left with my father that will give any new
commander access to the bank accounts and other resources. At confirmation of my
death, those papers will be delivered to the new commander. Don't worry about anything.
I've taken care of all of it. Now, get to the escape pods and get out of here. Double time
 Homecoming 229

it! Dismissed and good luck."

Everyone on the bridge gave stiff salutes, with a few tears peppered here and
there. Gabriel returned them. Debra, back up from the galley, stepped close. She tried to
speak, but the captain laid a finger against her lips and shook his head. With a soft kiss
and warm eyes he nudged her toward a hatchway. After that the men and women ran for
the escape pods located around the periphery of the bridge, leaving only one left open for
Gabriel and Ashikaga. Debra took one last look back, her watery eyes saying so much
more than words ever could. The captain bowed to her and blew a kiss. Snatching the air,
she blew her own kiss, then turned and ducked inside her escape pod. As soon as the
hatches were closed, the escape pods blasted off. Gabriel could feel the deck beneath his
feet shudder.
"Let's get to work, Captain," Kiato said, all business.
Taking the helm, Gabriel asked, "Has everyone left the ship?"
"Affirmative, sir. Whether it was by fighter or escape pod, I read no one left on
board."
"Thank god for that," the captain said with a sigh of relief, pent-up breath easing
from his throat. "Then we're safe to start Operation Barn Burner." Gabriel laughed at the
name. Feeling that the situation was grim enough already, he was glad he could still
interject some humor into it. "Alright, Commander… Reroute all power to frontal
shields."
From the tactical station, Kiato did as ordered, draining every available system
of energy; life-support systems, weapons, secondary computer controls, even jacking in
the auxiliary power. "Shields are at two-hundred percent and holding, Captain, but I
estimate shield-generator overload in three minutes."
"That's okay. We won't need them for that long. The engines will explode before
then." Bending over, Gabriel keyed up engineering. From there he began mass-feeding
the engines. At once the fission reactor went into over-drive, slamming the old Kilrathi
vessel forward at greater than maximum speed. It was a suicidal tactic, but the captain
needed the added speed. Mass-feeding the engine cores would cause a total meltdown
within two minutes, but Gabriel wasn't worried about destroying the ship. The aliens
would take care of that for him. His plan was to rocket his ship toward Whisky 1 at top
speed, letting the enhanced shields protect it long enough to reach the target, then for the
Aurora to auto-destruct. The resulting explosion would drain the aliens' shields and stop
them in space. After that the Leviathan would have no trouble locking on and firing its
massive cannon. A simple plan, but the danger level was off the charts.
"Do we have Whisky 1 in sight?"
Gabriel nodded, then programmed the helm controls to run the ship straight at
the aliens. "Target is locked in, engines to maximum-plus power. Barn Burner is a-go."
Standing, the captain tried to calm his hammering heart, the pour organ beating wildly.
After regaining some of his composure he said, "Computer! Initiate auto-destruct,
authorization code Alpha-Seven-November-Romeo-One. Set destruction for a…" he
glanced down at the helm station and noted the ETA to Whisky 1 "… one minute-thirty
second countdown. Begin……. Now!"
"Auto-destruct enabled," the computer replied. "I have control of the helm.
Target laid in and verified. Will track accordingly. Please evacuate the ship immediately.
Eighty-two, eight-one, eighty, seventy-nine…"
Trying to block out the sound of the ship counting out its own death, Gabriel
took Kiato's hand and ran with her to the last remaining escape pod. Once inside they
sealed the hatch, strapped in, and held themselves together as the pod jettisoned itself
from Aurora. Barely able to turn their heads, much less do anything else in the ballistic
230 Homecoming

pod, both commanders somehow managed to look behind them at the quickly shrinking
ship. Alien torpedoes were already reaching out for it, a few of them streaking past the
escape pod by mere meters. The shields shook off the torpedoes, and Aurora continued
on her end run.
"There's our secret weapon!" Gabriel yelled over the roar of the escape pod's
engines, meaning his ship.
"Do you think Confed is going to live up to their end of the bargain?!"
"They have to! A contract's a contract!! Brilliant work by the way!! You really
gouged them with that credit fee!!"
"That's not the half of it, Captain!! If I've assumed right, then one-hundred-
million credits is just the beginning!!"
"What?!!"
"Forget about it!! Let's just hope I wrote everything out right!!"
Taking her advice, Gabriel kept quiet. Seconds later it wouldn't have matter
either way. As soon a they entered the atmosphere of Marigold VII, the shaking and
rattling of the escape pod drowned out all other sounds. Watching the frontal windows
begin to glow red from the heat of entering the air, the captain prayed to himself that he
hadn't made a huge mistake.

TCS Leviathan
The Bridge
"Where's this secret weapon of his?" Strickland asked of no one in particular. "If
he's gonna use it, then he better hurry up! Whisky 1 is getting away!"
The lead tactician shook his head. "I don't read any secret weapon, sir! All my
sensors show are increased shield strength and engine output. They better lay off on it,
too! At this rate they'll blow up within less than a minute!"
Hearing a gong go off in his head, Admiral Strickland jumped to his feet from
the command chair. "That's it! They don't have some convert weapon on that old rust
bucket! They were bluffing! It's the ship itself! Geez, why didn't see that before?!?! I
must be losing it. Controllers, are we ready to fire?"
"Affirmative, sir," Moore replied. "Three tons is digitized and ready to fly on
your mark!"
"Tac, is everyone out of our fucking way now?!"
"Aye, Admiral. The lane is clear."
"Then get us into a prime-fire position. I don't want anything to mess this up."
Seconds trickled past, to Strickland as slowly as molasses in January, as
everyone watched the old Kilrathi converted carrier zero in on the alien cap ship. Whisky
1 tried some evasive maneuvers, but being so near the planet caused their steering to be
limited, so Aurora went straight at it with minimal course changes. Then suddenly the
distance between them vanished, and the Aurora erupted in a violent explosion that shook
everything near it. Strickland could see the aliens' shields shimmer and crackle in
response to the attack. It was time.
"Fire!!!" Now he just prayed that three tons of digitized mass, plus the
destruction of the Privateer ship, would be enough to do the job. He got his answer soon
enough.

C'Kuthra Accrual Ship Pal'kota

The Bridge
 Homecoming 231

A Minute Earlier
"We can't evade the incoming ship, Leader!" Weapons Master Sel'thorm
shouted.
"Then keep firing!!" Quenda'Vorssh ordered, standing before the viewscreen,
watching the alien ship close on him with terrible speed.
Sel'thorm continued to press his launch button, but after three more times he just
got an 'Ammunition Depleted' message. "Leader, we're out of stingers!"
"Fire the energy weapons then!"
"We can't!! That energy is being used by the shields and engines!!"
"Recall the Vipers!"
Shaking his tusks back and forth, Sel'thorm knew they were defeated. "Leader,
we can't. Even if the few we have left could get here in time, there's nothing they could
do. It's over."
Quenda'Vorssh dropped his head. I've failed… I led my people out of slavery,
brought them a chance at peace, and now I die for no other reason than misplaced ideals.
At least I'll die on my feet, in battle, and not in some empty den with nothing but my
memories and aged body to keep me company.
"Any final orders, Leader?" the weapons master asked, his fangs dry and eyes
misted over.
"Yes." Turning about, the den leader said, "Make peace with yourselves and
with your destinies. Know that, though it ends here, our lives meant something. Because
of us… many races once consigned to servitude are free. Our legacy lives on in those of
us who still live in the other side of the galaxy and in those who's lives were bettered by
our efforts. Find peace in that. You've all made me very proud. Now sit with me and let's
go on to the next realm together." Bowing to his crew, tail coiled around his legs in the
age-old C'Kuthra sign of respect, the den leader took his seat, finally ready to die. A
nanosecond later the ships collided, and the alien vessel exploded.
"Shields are down!" Sel'thorm said, using his tail to balance himself as the ship
trembled violently. "Engines are gone! Ship-wide hull breach in progress! Reactor core is
overloading!"
Quenda'Vorssh then noticed popping sounds erupting around him. As he was
about to ask what the sounds meant, Sel'thorm looked up from his sparking station in
awe.
"Leader! We are-"
But he couldn't finish his statement before the floor beneath them shuddered.
Instantly everyone was thrown downward, pushed by extreme forces from above. Smoke
filled the bridge, but that was all. No raging fires, no energy backlashes, nothing. If he
didn't know better, Quenda'Vorssh would think he was safe. After several tense moments,
the bridge smoothed out.
In the silence that followed, the den leader asked, "What was that?"
Drawing himself up from the ground, Sel'thorm consulted his screens. He had
known at the last second what was happening, but the shock of it still amazed him. Before
he replied he had to verify it. When that was done he said, "Leader, the bridge ejected
itself from the ship. I'm not sure of the specifics, but it appears as though the Ascendants,
when they built this one, programmed the computer to jettison the bridge if the reactor
core ever went critical. I've never seen that before, so I had no idea the capability was
there."
"But the rest of the ship…?"
"Gone. All of it. That alien monster weapon fired on us as soon as our shields
went down. We were defenseless against it."
232 Homecoming

"Then… we're the only survivors?"

"Yes. All of our Vipers are dead as well. We are all that remain."
Quenda'Vorssh cursed the Ascendants, cursed them for their cowardice. Because
of their ejecting bridge, he couldn't join his departed people. Now he was truly helpless,
floating in space with no weapons or defenses, surrounded by enemy ships.
"Are we being targeted?" he asked.
The sensors were badly limited without the rest of the ship to rely on, but from
what the weapons master could see, he didn't think they were. "Enemy ships are closing
on us, but their weapons are powered down. I believe they mean to capture us."
"Then perhaps we can still make amends and set things right. So long as we're
alive… there's always the prospect of a better tomorrow. Never forget that, brothers and
sisters. Life means hope."
Two hours later they were tractored aboard HammerStrike and the ejected bridge
was held in a secured cargo hold until reaching Starbase Omicron-Seven. Then, and only
then, was the bridge allowed to open. When the C'Kuthra finally exited, all the Confed
security personnel fell back in shock and fear. Before them, only five meters away in a
shielded containment area, were the largest beings they had ever laid eyes on, even bigger
than the Kilrathi. Like nothing more than monstrous lizards, the C'Kuthra stood over three
meters tall, all scales, claws, tusks, and tail. Individual coloring was different, but all of
them shared basic blue and green patterns that shifted like a chameleon. An unusual
aspect of their appearance were tufts of fur that circled their necks, wrists, and ankles.
The hair was course, long, and brown. In all, Confed didn't know what to think.
But the first order of business was bringing in linguistics experts and computer
hackers. Working together they hoped to find a way to communicate with the aliens, with
the language experts talking to the aliens themselves, and the slicers working on the
bridge's computers. But after two days went by with no success, one of the team members
wondered aloud if maybe Marigold VII might have something to do with what happened.
It was like a light had gone off over everyone's head. That was it! they all shouted. That's
why Whisky 1 had stayed near the planet! The reason for their orbiting the planet had
been a mystery until then. Instantly calls were made to the Corinthian Archeological
Firm, and all their records were sent over. It was a windfall of information. Records that
contained pictures of words were cross-referenced with the bridge computers, and several
matches were made. Then the words were shown to the aliens, and at once they grew
excited, their mouths hissing out strange sounds no one understood. But that was okay.
Phase one was complete. The linguist team knew they were on the right track.
Phase two, which had been perfected over the many years of alien encounters,
centered around word/picture association. Each alien was placed into an individual cell,
and there a linguistic expert, with the help of complicated language decryption computers,
would show the alien one of their words, then a rapid series of pictures would flash on a
screen the alien could see. If the word could be associated with the picture, the alien
would gesture. Using that technique, a basic written vocabulary was created within a day,
and one of the first things the aliens wrote down that Confed could understand was, "Go
home now danger." It came from the alien who seemed to be the leader, a huge specimen
of the species.
"What mean?" the linguists wrote back.
"Go home now. Sky danger great."
When the alien could see that he wasn't getting his point across, he took up a pen
and drew dozens of double-crescent shapes, then pointed at a picture of Marigold VII.
THAT was understood enough.
"Sir," Doctor Snyder, the contact team leader said to the starbase's commander,
 Homecoming 233

Commodore Alverado. "We need to get these aliens back to Marigold VII immediately."
"That's out of the question, Doctor. Until we can understand these people enough
to know why they attacked us, they're not going anywhere."
"I understand that, Commodore, but if I'm right, then we might have an even
bigger problem coming."
"And what's that?"
"About two dozen more alien capital ships."
Blanching, Alverado replied, "Are you sure?"
"Yes, sir. The lead alien indicated that those ships would be arriving soon at the
planet. I asked what he could do, and all he said was 'Peace'. I don't know if we can trust
then, but everything we've gathered so far seems to indicate that they are sincere in their
words of non-aggression. If I didn't know better, I'd say they were… sorry."
"Well, I don't know about that, Doctor, but if he's saying that more ships are
coming, then we have to do all we can to make sure another battle doesn't start up. The
Blacksmith Task Force is still here doing minor repairs and stocking up on supplies. I'll
talk to Admiral Davenport and see what he thinks."
A day later Davenport and the aliens were back where they had started from,
orbiting Marigold VII, and it was none too soon. Hours after their arrival, fifteen alien
ships folded in. Using the ejected bridge located in one of HammerStrike's cargo holds,
the lead alien and his assistant began contacting their people on the other ships, all the
while under the supervision of the linguists who were beginning to grasp the aliens'
verbal language as well as the written, which was now up to a thousand words and
growing by the minute. The lead alien had given them their communications bandwidth,
so now Confed could listen in (which, though Doctor Snyder didn't know it, Confed had
already discovered from the probe Whisky 1 had shot at the planet. Not knowing what to
do with it since it could be anything from a weapon to a drink dispenser, Confed had
stuck to strictly analyzing it. The only thing they could see coming from it was an unusual
radiation transmission in the upper bands, communications by the look of it, but because
they didn't know how to decrypt it, they had been at a loss to understand it). As the aliens
spoke to each other, Doctor Snyder tried to translate.
" 'Family… wrong…' 'No stingers…' 'Scales… um… gone?' No! 'Scales down.' I
think he means shields. Anyway… Um… 'Stay here…' 'Home no home…' 'Diggers?' I
don't know what that means. Let's see… 'Sunset…' 'Broken chains' 'Hands… held.' 'Help
talk.' That's it, Admiral."
"What are the other ships saying?"
"Let me listen… 'Sunrise mind…' 'Claws… extended…' 'Chains… eaten?' No..
'Chains destroyed.' Sorry. 'Home no home new home' 'Will… here… den say go.' They're
finished talking, sir."
"Have they powered up weapons, Dallas?" Davenport asked his XO.
"No, sir! All ships are powered down. No weapons, no shields, nothing. Even
their engines are off-line. They just seem to be waiting as peaceful as can be. I think
we've done it!"
Nodding, Davenport told the linguists to get back to work. Within hours even
more words were discovered, and it wasn't long until Confed could easily communicate
with their new friends. Quenda'Vorssh wasted no time in telling the humans what had
happened, explaining the misunderstandings. Before long, a peace accord was struck
between the C'Kuthra and the Confederation. It was a great day.
But the C'Kuthra had to return to their part of the galaxy and finish the fight for
their freedom from the Ascendants, and it was with some regret that they were let go, but
not without a promise that they would return as soon as they could to continue talks.
234 Homecoming

Quenda'Vorssh agreed quickly, hoping to make amends for his peoples' rash actions.
Shaking hands, both races parted ways, knowing that where once had been enemies there
were now friends.
Davenport watched the alien armada fold out from the Captain's Walk. Beside
him was Dallas.
"Sir? Do you think we did the right thing letting them go?"
"We didn't have much of a choice, Sam. With fifteen of those ships out there
waiting, I don't think our entire fleet could have stopped them. Besides, they weren't our
prisoners. You heard about what happened. It was a mistake, one that I can understand
easily enough. Their Wrak'Korvalish reminds me of Strickland. Too head strong, letting
his guns do the thinking for him. If the C'Kuthra had meant to do us harm, then
Quenda'Vorssh could have instead ordered them to fire. He didn't. That says a lot about
him and his people. No, we did the right thing."
Dallas nodded slowly. "It's good thing we learned to communicate with them so
fast. You have to give those linguists credit, don't you? But then again, they've been
doing it for years, and the computer equipment they have really works fast at making
matches and analyzing that aliens do and say and how that correlates to their
communications. A day later and we might be in the hot seat again."
"No. We would be safe enough, but Quenda'Vorssh and his crew would have
been with us for awhile longer."
"Huh?"
Davenport smiled. "After we learned enough of their language, our slicers
decrypted what the probe on Marigold VII was saying. It was an order for any C'Kuthra
ships coming into the system to turn around without firing and leave, never to return
again. Before his ship was destroyed, he knew he had to stop the madness, so he sent out
that probe. Quick thinking. I like that."
"You mean he risked eternal isolation?"
"Yep. Takes balls, don't it?"
"That is does, sir." Dallas shuffled his feet then, unsure of whether or not he
wanted to ask the question that was foremost on his mind.
"Spit it out, Sam," Davenport ordered, reading his XO like an open book. "No
secrets between us."
"Well, sir… I was just wondering what you're going to do now. Since the task
force is fully operation and battle tested, is CONNAVCOM going to ship you off to
another assignment? I know it's your prerogative as an admiral to stay with this one, but
I've noticed lately that you seem… how shall I say… distant?"
Davenport sighed deeply. He knew this conversation would come sooner or
later, but he had hoped for later. "Sam, I won't bullshit you. Yes, lately I've been
rethinking my life. My years with Confed have been good ones. I don't mind admitting
that the pay and status are very nice. But… I need more than that. I need… fulfillment.
Not in my bank account, but in my heart. All this," he pointed toward the task force ships
around him, "isn't for me anymore. It's a younger man's game now. I'm gettin' too old."
Dallas was shocked. "Sir! You are not too old for this! If any other man had
been in command of this battle, I shudder to think what might have happened! We need
you, sir!"
"Thank you, Sam," Davenport replied, shaking his head. "But we both know that
isn't true. I did alright out here, but this fleet needs someone who's used to the new
technology. These Harmonics Drives add all kinds of new dynamics to the battlefield, and
my mind is still stuck in the past, using old tactics. You can't teach an old dog new tricks.
Not this late in life anyway. Better to have someone who's trained with it."
 Homecoming 235

"Then what will you do, sir?" Dallas asked, resigning himself to the inevitable.
"I think it's time I returned to the sea, where I belong. My sailboat is still on
Vienna Three in the Mariner Sector, so I think that's where I'll go first. I've got some
'friends' there who must be worried sick about me. After that…? Who knows? I'm sure I
can keep myself busy and out of trouble somehow."
Not wanting to let his tears be seen, Dallas looked straight ahead, his watery
eyes staring into space. His heart was heavy, but he knew the admiral was doing what
was right for him. "We'll miss you, Paul."
Shocked that Sam had finally used his first name, Davenport replied, "I know,
Sam. I'll miss you too. Now get back to work. You still have a galaxy to safeguard, and I
know you'll do a fine job at it. So long as all you people are up here, I know I can rest
easy." Then he turned and left the Walk for the last time, knowing his future was in good
hands.
236 Homecoming

Finishing Touches
~ Part Six Of "Homecoming" ~
Terran Sector
Sol System
Confederation Headquarters
Visitors Lounge
One Week Later
They'd finally tracked him down. The vultures. The parasites. The.. the…
animals!! Backed into a corner, Gabriel was ready to pull out his blaster and start firing.
But the empty holster at his side denied him that tactic. Having nothing left to defend
himself with, he thrust his chin out and prepared himself for the assault.
"Captain McClellan! Can you please tell us about your encounter with the
C'Kuthra?! Captain, please!! What are you going to do without your ship?!"
Like a herd of buffalo stampeding, over a dozen reporters rushed into the lounge
and started shooting off more rapid fire questions. He had avoided them successfully for
an entire week, ever since he and his crew had been picked up on Marigold VII and
brought to Earth along with his pilots. Upon stepping off the Confed shuttle, Mr. Daniels
of the Consortium had met them and advised the crew to just hang loose in the hotel
rooms that had been procured for them on Earth until they were called. Since the
accommodations were plush and the surrounding areas full of interesting things to do and
see, everyone had no trouble following instruction. Debra had been a great help whiling
away the time in pursuits better left unsaid. But the entire time reporters had been lying in
wait, trying to trap him at every opportunity. Earlier that morning, Howard Daniels had
called Gabriel and told him to go with Commander Ashikaga to the Visitors Lounge and
then to wait on a 'friend'. Not understanding, but ready to cooperate, Gabriel said he
would. And now, here he was, under siege. He knew his luck was bound to run out
sooner or later.
"No comment," he replied.
"What are your plans for the future?"
"Have you been named Ambassador to the C'Kuthra?"
"No comment."
"Will McClellan Stardrives be opening up trade negotiations with the new alien
races?"
"What's the status of your privateer group since you no longer have a ship?"
Cameras were being jammed in his face, sending his countenance all over the
Confederation. He hoped he looked all right, and not ready to blow his stack. Looking
over his shoulder, he saw that Kiato would be of no help. She was smiling at him, but her
expression said that she wasn't about to jump into the dragon's den. That's what he loved
about her. She was always ready to take the bullet for him.
"No comment."
"What about the rumors that you signed a contract with Naval Command? What
were the terms and payment?"
"Had you been in contact with the C'Kuthra before?"
"Will you be spearheading further talks with the aliens on the far side of the
Milky Way?"
"Please, Captain, give us a statement!"
Bunching up his fists, Gabriel took a menacing step toward the closest reported.
"I've got a statement for you alright," he muttered, gathering his energy. But before he
could strike the first blow, a loud voice at the back of the room caught everyone's
 Homecoming 237

attention.
"That'll be enough of that, goddamit!! Y'all just simmer down now!!"
The entire room turned and looked at the owner of the voice. What they saw was
an older man, mid to late fifties, a touch under two meters in height, trim, dressed in a
dark black suit and matching duster that came to his heels, split up the back half a meter.
Hanging from his right hand was a metal briefcase, while in his left he held a black
cowboy hat, well worn in, as were the black boots that adorned his feet. The leather of the
footwear shined like new, but they had that unmistakable lived-in look. A long salt and
pepper colored moustache draped beneath his nose, which was tilted slightly to the right,
as if once broken and never set right afterwards. His skin was deeply tanned but
otherwise unmarked. His hair was the same shade as his moustache, grown down to the
just beneath his shoulders and braided tightly. Small glasses sat in front of eyes that were
the color of a summer cornflower sky. All at once he was fatherly and authoritative,
dominating yet friendly. He radiated power, his presence commanding astute attention.
And to Gabriel he was a complete stranger. The reporters though seemed to recognize
him immediately, because they lunged after him with the same zeal they had just given
the captain.
"Mr. Garrett, what brings you here?"
"Whom are you representing this time, Mr. Garrett?"
"Are you here in an official capacity?"
Brushing them aside, Mr. Garrett walked through the field of reporters toward a
surprised Gabriel. "Just what part of 'no comment' don't y'all understand?" he asked them
in a thick southern accent. "When a man says he don't wanna answer no questions, he
means just that. Now y'all just back off and leave us alone awhile. We'll have a statement
for ya in a few hours. But for now, skedaddle."
To Gabriel's amazement, the reporters did just that. With hangdog expressions
the ravenous press members filed off, ready to stalk their next victims.
"That's better," Mr. Garrett said, approaching Gabriel. When he got within two
meters he stopped, set his briefcase on the floor, and put out his right hand. Gabriel,
knowing of nothing else to do, took the hand and shook it firmly. The man's grip was
iron. "Nice to finally meet ya, Cap'n. My name's Clayton Garrett, of the law firm Garrett,
Garrett, and Whitney. But my friends just call me Clay."
"And I'm Gabriel McClellan, Mr. Garrett. Are you the 'friend' I was told to wait
for?"
Clay's eyes sparkled. "Yep. Please, call me Clay. That Howard sure loves his
little mysteries, don't he? But who in tarnation is this beautiful woman you have with
you?"
Turning around, Gabriel saw Kiato rise from her seat to approach the two men.
"My name is Commander Kiato Ashikaga, Mr. Garrett," she told him.
Bowing deeply, Clay gently took her left hand and kissed it. A true gentleman.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Ashikaga. I would tell you to call me Clay as well, but
my name sounds too good comin' from you. Like crystal bells."
Blushing a bright red, Kiato slowly withdrew her hand and returned his bow.
"And where is Lieutenant Commander Arnett?" Clay asked.
Shifting his eyes away, Gabriel said, "He's… uh… on a personal mission right
now and we're not sure of when he'll return."
"Then I guess there's nothin' we can do about that, Cap'n," Clay replied with a
skeptical look. "You can bring him up to date when he gets back. But if y'all will follow
me, there are several things we need to discuss."
Bending over, Clay took up his briefcase and began walking down a hallway on
238 Homecoming

the left. Signs around the entrance said it was for military personnel only, but they were
allowed through with no objections.
"Have there been problems, Clay?" Gabriel asked, almost out of breath as he
hurried to keep up with the man. He may be older than me, Gabriel thought to himself,
but he's in good shape!
"Problems?" Clay replied over his shoulder. "No, not unless you count every
damn attorney in the Confederation's employ crawlin' all over my ass like a rattlesnake
lookin' for a bite to eat a problem."
"Then they aren't going to pay up on the contract?"
At that Clay stopped and turned around. "Oh, they paid up alright. In spades! I
saw to that myself. But it wasn't for their lack of tryin'!" The man laughed deeply, the
sound booming down the hallway. People around them looked at him sharply, their eyes
scathing in their disapproval. "But this isn't the best place to discuss it. Let's go. We're
almost there." Clay took off again, the duster billowing out. Huffing, Gabriel and Kiato
followed. Shortly Clay came to a closed door on the left side. Shoving a card into the slot
next to it, the door opened. Stepping inside, Gabriel found himself in an expensively
decorated office. Dominating the room was a large oak desk, a computer terminal resting
on top of it, and Tiffany lamps gracing the corners. Before it were two large chairs, the
cushions fluffy and inviting. On the right hand side, against the wall, was a couch the
same color as the chairs. It was wide, deep, and soft to look at. On the other side and
behind the desk were wooden bookcases that went from floor to ceiling, every shelf filled
with texts both ancient and recent. Beside the desk on the right was a old globe of Earth.
It looked older than some of the books, but carefully preserved. To the left of the desk
was a short wooden filing cabinet. Beneath their feet was a carpet of several subdued
colors. Overhead was a crystal light fixture which shed just the proper amount of
illumination. Everything in the office looked like it cost more than most people made in
year, and Gabriel was instantly envious.
"A nice office," the captain commented, trying to sound unimpressed.
"It's alright," Clay replied, taking off his duster and hanging it on a coat rack to
the right of the door. Since both Black Knights commanders were in their formal
uniforms, they too removed their coats and hung them up as well. "I only use it when I'm
here on business. I call it my decompression chamber." Everyone laughed. "Now, take a
seat and get comfy."
Loosening his tie, Clay walked around the desk, pulled out the leather chair that
rested behind it, and sat down. From the bottom drawer of the file cabinet he removed a
bottle of brandy and three crystal glasses. Filling them to two fingers in depth, he handed
the captain and Kiato one each. All of them sipped, letting the liqueur warm in their
mouths. After he swallowed, Clay brought up his metal briefcase and sat it on the desk.
Opening it, he extracted a thick sheaf of documents, pictures, and thin data pads, then laid
them out next to the brandy bottle.
"I know y'all ain't here for your health, so let's get down to business."
"Can I ask you where you're from, Mr. Garrett?" Kiato asked, curious.
"Sure, little lady." Clay was beaming at the attention of a beautiful woman. "I
was born and raised in Abilene, Texas. Still live there as a matter of fact. When I'm not on
call you can usually find me breakin' in my horses on the little ranch I got out there.
Keeps me sane."
Gabriel figured this man's idea of a little ranch was a ten kilometer mansion.
Clay probably owned the whole state!
"Thank you, sir. The accent was throwing me."
"Aw, heck, Ms. Ashikaga. You can ask me anything."
 Homecoming 239

Kiato blushed again. He's a real charmer, Gabriel admitted. I bet that drawl just
sweeps women off their feet all the time. But I hope he's as good an attorney as he is a
ladies man.
"Anyway, to the business at hand. First, I want to ask who drew up that
contract."
"That was me, Mr. Garrett," Kiato said. "Did I do it right? It was very spur of the
moment."
"It was more than alright, Ms. Ashikaga! It was outstanding! A real piece of
work. When I got my hands on it I knew Confed was in for it. Was the wording
intentional?"
The commander nodded. "Yes. I was working off a few assumptions, but even if
I was wrong I knew we would we come out on top."
"You got that right, ma'am! Y'all sure did! You have my congratulations and
thanks. It made my job a lot easier. Now, take a look at this here." Clay grabbed one of
the data pads, activated it, pulled up a file, then handed it to Gabriel. Taking it, the
captain saw a ship. The design was very similar to the smaller carrier from the Blacksmith
Task Force. But this one was still on one piece.
"What's this?" Gabriel asked.
Winking, Clay replied, "Your new ship, Cap'n."
"Huh?!" Shocked beyond reason, Gabriel almost dropped the data pad. Catching
it quickly, he locked his eyes on it again. Kiato leaned over to look with him, but she
displayed no surprise.
"It's a Light Rapid Attack Carrier, December class. The name for her right now
is TCS Medusa, but y'all can christen her whatever you like, though I'm kinda partial to
Lonestar. That's my ship's name."
"Is she…?" The captain couldn't finish the question, afraid to jinx it.
Clay winked. "Sure is. Fully outfitted with the new Harmonics Drive."
"But… but… how? I don't get it."
Nodding to Kiato, Clay said, "That was one of the beauties about the contract.
Ya see, under Confederation Contract Law, all contracts are read and interpreted strictly.
What they say is what they say. No gray areas. Nothing implied. Every word is carved in
stone. I've done this a hundred times, and I know just what you can and cannot do with
'em. When Howard first asked me to work for y'all in the contract fulfillment negotiation,
I didn't know what all I could do. But after I read the contract and saw what it said, I was
like a kid in a candy shop with a pocket full of money and a sweet tooth that wouldn't
quit."
"Clarify please," Gabriel pleaded.
"Okay. It says here," Clay grabbed a piece of paper and read from it, " 'One, the
Confederation shall, at its own cost, replace all Black Knights equipment lost or damaged
while in combat within the Marigold System, Kabala Sector, with current standard Fleet
and Marine Corps equivalents.' Now, if this had happened a couple months ago, the ship
you see before ya would've been a plain-jane carrier equipped with regular engines and
jump initiators. But, and this is a stroke of luck I've never seen before, last month the
Navy logged into its records that the Harmonic ships were the new standard classes. Let
me say that again: new standard classes. And because your contract stated that word
exactly, Confed was legally bound to give you just that."
Gabriel kissed Kiato on the cheek quickly. "Brilliant, Commander." Kiato
fluttered her eyelashes in response.
"But the fun don't stop there, Cap'n! No sirre! If I may. 'Equipment lost or
damaged while in combat within the Marigold System, Kabala Sector.' Can you tell me
240 Homecoming

what's special about that line, Ms. Kiato?"

"No, Mr. Garrett. Just an easy way of saying our fight with the aliens in that
system. I was afraid to say anything else. Any more loose with the wording and it could
have been read any number of ways. I wanted to be safe and specify the location."
"You specified the location, alrighty. No question there. But what you left open
was the time span. The contract saves ya later on when it states that the contract will be
fulfilled when Whisky 1 was destroyed or put out of commission. My concern was the
time before hand. See, you didn't just say 'while fighting the aliens in the system'. You
said, 'while in combat within the Marigold System, Kabala Sector.' That includes all the
fighting y'all did against the Bloodhounds mercenary group, both on the planet and in the
space around it. So, all of the ships and Ground Forces equipment you lost or had
damaged while combating them was covered under the payment terms of the contract. I
don't mind tellin' y'all that Confed really fought me on that one! Boy howdy!" Clay
erupted into fits of laughter. "We spent two days on that point alone. But in the end they
knew we had 'em. It was in the contract, all legal-like, and signed by an authorized
officer. They had no choice."
Almost feeling guilty, Gabriel said, "Wasn't that a little harsh, Clay? I mean, I'm
all for fulfilling legal obligations and all, but wasn't that a bit much?"
Clay took on a fiery expression, his blue eyes shining. "Let me tell you
something, Cap'n. Confed has made a business out of screwing people like you. They've
been doing it for years. That's why they're so strict with the wording. Nine times out of
ten, it's Confed who's coming out the winner. For example, eight years ago the Navy
hired the services of a little known mercenary group called the Lost Dogs. The contract
stated that the Lost Dogs were to fly a patrolling cover pattern over a civilian planet in the
Kayla System until such time as CONNAVCOM deemed the area secure. It was a quiet
patch of space, not known for any Kilrathi incursions, so the Lost Dogs figured they'd just
do their duty, fly around for a few days, maybe a week, then get paid and go find more
easy work elsewheres. A month later they were still there, scootin' around in their fighters
with their thumbs up their butts, wondering what the hell was going on. Eventually they
called Naval Command and asked just when they'd get paid. You what they were told?
Command told them that they didn't think the area was secure yet, and for them to stay
put. So they did. For two more months they stayed put. I was doing some pro bono work
at the time, so when they called my office, I looked their contract over. When I was done
I told those boys they were up shit creek without a paddle."
"What do you mean by that?" Kiato inquired.
"Ms. Ashikaga, CONNAVCOM was never gonna call that area secure. Legally
they could have had the Lost Dogs patrolling the planet for eternity, and there was
nothing they could do about it."
Curious, Gabriel asked, "So what happened?"
"They quit, of course! While Confed was off busy fighting the Kilrathi, the Lost
Dogs pulled up stakes and took off. Without being paid of course. The Navy threatened to
sue them for breach of contract, but I told them if they did I'd talk to some media groups
and start a damaging campaign against them. Public opinion kinda stuff. So it was all
forgotten and swept under the porch. But this is just one story out of hundreds.
Mercenaries and privateers enter into contracts with Confed all the time, usually without
proper legal representation or good contract software, and they end up getting the short
end of the stick most the time. Tragic, but common. Cap'n, you got lucky. If Kiato had
written your contract just a little different, then you might be crying over everything you
lost rather than haulin' in a whole slew of goodies."
Nodding his thanks to the commander, Gabriel asked, "Just what all are we
 Homecoming 241

getting?"
"That was my next subject." Clay handed the captain another data pad. "That
gives you everything, but I'll quickly give you the highlights. Now, don't be surprised if
you notice that some things are missing from that list. I had to do some tough negotiating,
and some pieces of equipment were traded for others. But I did my best to get you as
much as I could, especially when it came to critical privateer hardware. I told you earlier
that I had done this before, and I meant it. I know what I'm doing here. The credit
amounts all evened out, so no one really lost."
"We trust you, Mr. Garrett," Kiato said with a heart-warming smile.
Clay coughed, embarrassed. "I'm much obliged, Ms. Ashikaga, at your faith in
me. But let's look a bit at what we got for you. First, all the armor suits you had in your
inventory have been replaced with Cyrix 18-A R/B models. These are the next grade up
from what you had before, with some added bells and whistles that you can look into
when you get the time. There are fifty in all in your inventory, plus spare parts,
replacement energy packs, and ammunition. Next, y'all lost a total of twelve fighters, their
classes ranging from light to bomber, with the rest taking damage of some kind, be it a
little nick in the paint or a fully blown out turret. Either way, the ships had to be replaced
per your contract wording, so you have thirty-two brand new fighters after I did some
major wheelin' and dealin'. Take from here to give to there, that kinda thing. To make
things simple we replaced them with a squadron each of them Tigersharks and
Warhammers. Add those to the ones y'all still have on one piece, and that amounts to
forty-four ships. Of course, your original fighters will have to be repaired by you, at your
cost, but we're still making out like bandits here. I've seen the specs on your new ships,
and I have to say I am impressed. As a bonus, I wrangled it so that if they get damaged,
you can have them repaired at any Naval installation y'all come to that isn't classified as
off limits. For a cost naturally, but hey, nothin's free." Clay smiled. "You'd have to do the
same at a civilian shipyard, so what the hell. But only those ships. Original fighters will
not be repaired."
"Still sounds like a great deal, Clay."
"Yep, but let me finish. I feel like Santa Claus, you know? Anyway. With the
new fighters come the obligatory spare parts and etc. Oh! I almost forgot! The Essex
dropped off your fighters and the shuttle at the Tycho Civilian Shipyards near Lunar City
on the moon. They're in private birthing slots, so don't worry, but I'd get them out soon.
They charge an arm and a leg out there!"
"I already knew, Clay, but thanks anyway. One of my friends on the Essex told
me."
"That's good. I didn't know if anyone had informed ya. Then we can continue.
Both your shuttles have been replaced. I know that one of them wasn't aboard your ship
during the alien battle, but since it was in operation within the system while you battled
the Bloodhounds, Confed was gracious enough to replace it."
"From what you've told me, Mr. Garrett, Confed doesn't seem to be in the habit
of being gracious when it comes to privateers," Kiato said. "So where did this charitable
streak come from?"
"You know, I wondered about that myself. When I asked them if they knew
where the shuttle was, they got all shifty-eyed on me. Heck, some guy I never saw before,
but with enough ribbons on his chest that you could use them for a dinner plate, came in
and 'requested' that I stop making inquiries into areas that were none of my business. I
still don't know what it was I said or anything, but I'm not lookin' a gift horse in the
mouth! If they want to hand out gifts at the door, then who am I to argue?"
Kiato looked over at Gabriel, but the captain kept his eyes forward, not saying
242 Homecoming

anything that would illuminate what was going on. Taking his silence as an order not to
butt in, the commander dropped the matter, as did Clay.
"Well, be that as it may, y'all now have three shuttlecraft in your possession,
with another to join them… whenever. Aside from the ship itself, the fighters, shuttles,
and armor, the rest of your take includes assorted hand weapons, scanning equipment,
communications gear, medical supplies and equipment, etc., etc., etc. Like I said, it's all
right there in the data pad. Some personal effects, such as clothing and other belongings,
that weren't logged won't be replaced, but I tried to have them throw in what I could
based off of logic and need. Believe me, it all evens out. What they wouldn't replace,
people will just have to replace on their own. With the credit fee you got, that won't be a
problem."
"What about the carrier, Clay? What can you briefly tell me about it?"
Looking at his notes, Mr. Garrett said, "Well, your ship is as fast as the other
naval vessels out there. In a few months Confed is going to start selling a slower model to
the public, but you'll have the top of the line. They were going to take it out and replace it
with the civilian model, but I told them that since the faster one was standard equipment,
it was automatically included with the ship. Honestly, they could have fought me on that
and probably won, but with the months, maybe years that all of us would have been in
litigation over it, they did the smart thing and kept it in, saving themselves and you a lot
of time and money. The only downside is that y'all, and that includes your whole crew,
will have to sign non-disclosure forms, swearing an oath that you'll never turn over the
Drive's secrets upon penalty of death. More of a formality than anything else, but if that
oath is broken, no one in the universe will be able to save you. It could also have
repercussions on crew hiring. And, if the Drive is ever damaged beyond your ability to
repair, you have to take it to a naval shipyard. If anyone other than your crew looks at
that engine, and they aren't Confed Navel engineers, then you will have violated the oath
and be apprehended. Now, if you want, I can have Confed remove the military-grade
engine and replace it with the civilian one. It's up to y'all."
Thinking it over, Gabriel and Kiato agreed that they could live with it. And if
other crew members couldn't, well, the Black Knights would find those who could and
who could be trusted.
"Alright. That settles that then. That was the most important thing. The
Warhammers have Drives similar to the civilian one, so they can be repaired where ever
you like."
"Just how fast is this thing?" Gabriel inquired.
"At top speed, your ship can go up to 1,286 times the speed of light."
Dropping the pads, the captain and Ashikaga were astonished.
"I know how you feel. I had the same reaction. Pretty damn fast. Too fast if you
ask me, but I have no say in these things. The Warhammers go up to 823 times the speed
of light, same as the civilian grade. Couple that with jump points, and you're really
moving."
"I'll say!!" Gabriel exclaimed.
Plunging ahead, Clay said, "The ship can hold ninety fighters, so y'all have
plenty of room for expansion, plus there's space for eight shuttles and other small craft.
How you lay it all out is at your discretion since the birthing walls are fully movable,
allowing for quick changes depending on the circumstances. The ship is well protected
with a variety of defensive and offensive weaponry, the particulars of which you can read
about later. Other than that, there's really nothing more I can tell you that you won't find
out about on your own when you digest everything in those pads."
Thinking for a moment, Gabriel knew there was something missing. "Clay, I
 Homecoming 243

trust that you've done everything in your power to get us the best deal possible, and I
know that we really own you a great debt of thanks, but something's not right here. I
mean, Confed sure seems to have made some great concessions on our behalf. Some of it
I can understand, but what's really going on?"
After pouring everyone another drink and handing them out, Clay said, "Gabriel,
I'm not gonna shit you. Much of your good fortune can be traced to Ms. Ashikaga's
wonderful contract and my superior negotiating skills, but Confed wants something from
you. It's not like they can take anything back at this point. I mean, it's already changed
hands and everything, but they can sure make your life hell if you don't agree to this. I'm
sure they can tie y'all up in repairs for a few centuries if that fancy-pants Drive gets
damaged." Clay took a long swallow of his brandy before continuing. Gabriel was going
to interject, but he felt discretion was in order. Clay was glad.
"Listen, Cap'n, y'all did good work out there. In risking your lives for the
Confederation, y'all turned what could have been only a partial victory into a massive
home-run hit for the hometown boys. Sure, the task force and battle group did most of the
work, and I have no doubt that they would have finished things up on their own, but you
stepped in and really saved the day. Confed knows this. Right now you could steal a lot
of their thunder, and that isn't something they want."
"I don't care-" Gabriel said before Clay stood up with a hard glint in his eyes.
"Listen to me, son, cause this is for your own good! Now let me finish." Clay
resumed his seat, smoothed out the wrinkles in his shirt, and continued speaking, back to
normal. "This is a big day for the Navy. Not only did they unveil their latest hardware, a
stellar event at any time, but they also proved that it works in a major way. Those
C'Kuthra had better technology than us, yet we were able to smother a potentially
explosive situation before it got out of hand, with minimal lose of life and equipment.
That's huge! People will be talking about it for decades! But if you leave my office and
start splashing your face across every news show and e-mag, telling everyone how you
threw yourself into danger against great odds to save the Confederation, the Navy won't
look so good, and that is something they don't need after that whole Black Lance
nightmare. Shit, they still get bashed at for it. This, Gabriel, will help give them some of
their nobility back. They'll be able to stand a little taller in the saddle. Is that such a bad
thing? I don't have a lot of love for some of the people who run the military, but this will
help all of them, from the ensigns and privates on up. It's a small price to pay for what
you're getting."
The captain knew in his heart of hearts that everything Clay had just said was on
the money. The man was completely right. Then why did he feel so… deflated? "Then
they want me to not give any interviews at all? No reporters? Nothing?"
Clay shook his head. "Not at all, son. Y'all did good work too, and you should
get some recognition for it. Give a few interviews, talk to some of the press, but… played
it down a bit. Okay? Don't lie! But… well, tone it down. Tell them that you were just
lucky to be at the right place at the right time to assist the fleet. Talk about how well you
fought and all that, but don't hog all the glory. They know you had a contract, so don't lie
about that either. Just say that, because of your help, Confed was very grateful. Hell, you
let people know how bad you screwed the Navy over, and every two-bit merc and
privateer who ain't worth their weight in manure will be trying to rake them over the
coals. And if that happens, I promise you that the military will make times tough on
everyone. Give them a 'no comment' if they ask for equipment particulars and leave it at
that. It ain't their damn business anyway. You let Confed bask in the sunshine with this,
giving them their due and saying how impressed you were with their performance and
ships, and off y'all will ride with more goodies than most private contract groups could
244 Homecoming

ever dream of having. This is a win/win situation. I wouldn't pass this along to you if I
felt otherwise."
Gabriel nodded. "It's a deal. I never wanted much to be a celebrity anyway. I'll
keep it down some. I promise."
"That's all they want, Gabriel. And as for your other crew members, they can say
whatever they like. It's you that the press is going to look to more, and it's your words the
public are going to put more weight to, being the cap'n and all. And I don't know if you've
thought about this yet, but this is really gonna help your reputation with those people who
had a problem over your past. I won't say it'll wipe the slate clean, but it'll certainly
balance the books. This is a big day for all the Confederation! Plus, this is Confed's way
of sayin' thanks for gettin' so many ejected pilots and escape pods gathered up, especially
the one that had Cap'n Blake in it. They could have replaced your fighters with Hellcats
and shit since those are still the standards for their weight class, but you got Tigersharks
and Warhammers instead, which are much better, and you got them in greater number.
The way that damned Admiral Strickland was shootin' up space, some of their boys
floatin' around coulda gotten blown away! But they didn't because y'all risked your necks
to get them out of there. You did it without being asked, and you did it without even
inquiring for payment. They coulda lost a lot of good people, but because of y'all, that
was minimal. The Navy knows that and is much obliged, as you can see from the
generous compensation. Then again, I am a great negotiator, so some credit can go there
too." Clay laughed good and hard at himself.
With that everyone stood up and shook hands. "It's been a pleasure, Cap'n. You
too, Ms. Ashikaga. And ma'am? If you ever get back to Earth, give me a call. I'm sure
you'd love the ranch."
"I will, Mr. Garrett," Kiato replied, a look on her face that said she would like to
see him again anyway, and not in any official capacity either. Gabriel was shocked, but
understanding.
Clay placed most of the briefcase's contents back in it, locked it, then handed it
to Gabriel. "This is for you, son. In it's everything you'll need. If not, my number's inside.
Just sign this here little piece of paper and our business will be finished." Clay moved a
document across the desk and placed a pen on top of it.
"What is it?"
"Just a form sayin' I negotiated the contract payment for ya. Confed needs it for
their records, and I always keep a copy. More paper work for the bureaucracy. Nothin'
more."
Glancing over the paper quickly, Gabriel signed it and pushed it back. "By the
way, how much do I owe you?"
"Think nothin' of it, Gabriel," Clay replied, waving his hands. "I owed Howard a
favor, so this was my way of paying the bill. And it was fun gouging out Confed's
pockets again. I probably would have done it for free anyway just because of that. Ms.
Ashikaga is a shrewd contract writer, but I would suggest you get a professional lawyer
on board. If you need, I can suggest a few. Either that, or get some good legal software!"
"Send their names to me, Clay," Gabriel offered. "Hearing you talk already
convinced me to get one at any rate. I don't want to rely on luck again when it comes to
these matters."
Smiling, Clay winked and said, "There's an old lawyer joke that goes, 'Any man
who represents himself in court has a fool for a client.'. Wise words, son. Get you a
lawyer. Fast. I'll send ya a few names. Now get outta here and go see your ship. It'll be
pulling in at Repair & Refit, Inc. later today. That Earth orbiting shipyard gets plenty
busy in the evening."
 Homecoming 245

"Thanks again, Clay."

"Yes, Mr. Garrett. We are in your debt."
"Aw, 'twernt nothin'. It was my pleasure entirely. Now scat! I got other clients to
help."
With smiles all around, Gabriel and Ashikaga left Clay's office and walked back
to the Visitors Lounge. Waiting there was Lieutenant Northstar. The man was fidgeting
fit to bust, holding onto a data pad tightly. Upon seeing them, James burst from his seat
and rushed forward. "Captain! I'm glad I found you! Mr. Daniels said you would be
here."
"Calm down, James, and tell me what's wrong," the captain advised.
Breathing deeply, James relaxed a bit. "Sir, I found something I think you should
see."
"What is it?"
Looking around suspiciously, James leaned in and whispered into Gabriel's ear,
"It would be best of we did this… in private. Come on. I have a shuttle waiting outside to
take us back to the hotel."
Nodding, Gabriel gathered his two crewmembers together and herded them to
the crowded docking platform. From there they entered the shuttle and made the trip back
to Earth. When finally they entered Gabriel's suite at the Plaza in New Los Angeles,
Kiato and James took a seat, the lieutenant nervously tapping his fingers against the data
pad he held in his sweaty hands. Walking through the rooms with a palm scanner, Gabriel
checked to see if there were any recording devices hidden or if Debra was around. A note
on the bed said that she had gone shopping for some new clothes and wouldn't return for a
few more hours, and the scanner read negative.
"Alright, James, we're alone and secure. Now what has got you so flustered?"
James jumped from the bed and handed the data pad over. "Sir, you know how I
was looking into a few things?"
"Yeah?" Gabriel replied as a hole opened up in his stomach.
"Well, uh, I was… I was hacking into those new Confed ships."
Ducking his head, James prepared himself for the verbal blast. He didn't have to
wait more than a second.
"Dammit, James! I've told you before not to start hacking into systems like that
without my permission!! How could you do that?!" Catching himself before he flew
completely off the handle, Gabriel went through his stress-relief exercises. A minute later
found him in a more calm frame of mind. "Okay. Sorry. I'm better now. What's done is
done and can't be undone. Spilled milk. Just promise me you won't do that again."
"I swear, Captain. Cross my heart. Never again."
"Alright. Then what is it you want me to look at?"
"Sir, after I got into their system, I started searching through their files, looking
for anything… you know… interesting. When the Leviathan showed up, I dove right in.
Their systems are so easy, sir." Almost about to laugh, James saw that Gabriel wasn't in a
joking mood, so he coughed and continued. "Anyway. The action started to pick up about
then, so I just started downloading all the files I could for later decryption. Then you
ordered me to go pick up escape pods, so I severed my link. Ever since then I've been
rummaging through what I got, seeing what was important and what was just daily menu
list bullshit. Most of it is pretty boring, but three hours ago I unscrambled a recording I
got from the bridge. Sir, I think you should watch it. Nothing we can do about it now, but
maybe you can use it somehow."
"Alright. How do I pull it up?"
"It's already primed, sir. Just press the upper-right key. It'll go from there."
246 Homecoming

Gabriel did so, and for the next two minutes sat in stupefied awe. There, on his
screen, was Admiral Strickland ordering his MEC controllers to fire, even though April
and her squadron were in the way. Everyone in the room clearly heard him say, "I don't
give a good goddam what you think!! This is my ship, and when I say fire, I mean FIRE!!
Now open this bitch up and get them out of there!! Do it!! And screw those Essex pilots!
They shouldn't be in our way to begin with! Call them casualties of war and get on with
it!!"
"Oh shit," Gabriel whispered, thunderstruck.
"I agree, Captain," Kiato said, now sitting next to him so that she could watch
the video.
"Now you see why I wanted you to see it?" James asked, feeling righteous.
"Yes, James. But you shouldn't have been in there. If you would've been caught,
all of us would have been arrested and thrown into the deepest pit Confed could find.
They don't like snoops in their systems. But… all's forgiven. And thanks for giving me
this. I know someone else who should see it too. Just leave this with me and forget about
it. I'll return it when I'm done."
"Whatever you say, skipper. I'll uh… be in my room if you need me."
Getting up to leave, Gabriel stopped him. "James, go ahead and get everyone
together for me. We'll be checking out in about an hour, and I don't want any stragglers."
"Aye aye, sir. Mother duck Northstar is on the case!" Back to good spirits, James
opened the suite's doors and exited the room smiling.
"He'll never learn," Kiato commented, smiling too.
"I know, I know. He just can't keep his nose clean. But what can I do? Take out
the neural implants?"
"You could fire him, Captain," the commander offered, not really meaning it.
Gabriel shook his head. "Not hardly, Kiato. He's get too much potential to lose
him now. I'll just have to ride herd on him a bit tougher in the future."
Considering the matter closed, Kiato asked, "What are you going to do with that
video?"
"I'm going to send it to a friend of mine. She deserves to see it."
"Colonel Nagy?"
Knowing that lying to her about it wouldn't help anything, Gabriel nodded. "Yes.
She came close to being taken out by friendly fire, and she has a right to know."
"Agreed. Maybe it'll help her make up her mind and join us."
Surprised, Gabriel said, "You know about that?"
"It's kind of hard to keep secrets when you're drunk off you ass, Captain. No
offense. But some people heard you two talking about it on the observation deck. Word
got around. She said no, so I heard. This might show her the light and reconsider."
Thankful for the support, Gabriel nodded again.
"If there's nothing else, Captain, I had better start packing my things. What little
there is of it."
"Sorry about that, Kiato."
"No problem, sir. You had no choice. We just have to play the cards we're dealt.
No one blames you."
Taking her hand and kissing it, Gabriel said, "That really means a lot. But yeah,
you better get ready to go. I'll just send the e-mail to April, call Debra on her comm, and
then we can leave."
Bowing, Kiato turned and left. Alone, Gabriel pulled out his data pad,
transferred the video from Northstar's to his, then sent it to April with a short message
that read, "Remember what I said about it maybe being to late before you decide to come
 Homecoming 247

over? Well, it almost was. Hugs and kisses, Gabriel."

That done, the captain contacted Debra and told her to meet him at their
departure station, then gathered up their few belongings and left. His crew was waiting
for him when he arrived at the checkout counter, all of them ready to see just what
Confed had replaced the Aurora with. Together, Kiato and he knew that whatever it was
they were expecting, the real thing would be more than they could possible imagine.
"Alright, people, let's move out," Gabriel said. "It's time to board our new home,
and I think you're all in for a surprise."
So, with the sounds of loud cheers left echoing in their wake, the members of the
Black Knights Privateer Group left the hotel and headed toward the future with their
spirits high and hearts shining bright. A new day was dawning for all of them…

~*~ The End ~*~

 The Fires Within
Part Five

Dead Reckoning

Written By: April Nagy

Special Thanks To: The "God-Sent" Justin Macumber for the corrections!!
Timestamp: 2675.003-013

Kabala Sector
Marigold System
PCS Aurora
Hangar Bay
The hangar bay of the Aurora was a whirlwind of fevered activity. Technicians
raced hither and yon repairing fighters, checking on the carrier's systems, moving
equipment to needed areas, and generally reminding Colonel Crow of chickens running
around with their heads cut off, though the bustling had an almost choreographed feel to
it. With his knowing eye he saw that the crew was good, each member doing what was
needed without having to be hand-held and babied. He was thankful for that, because the
list of things to do was staggering.
Almost to make that point more clear, Crow's personal PCT beeped, notifying
him that a message had been logged. Sighing at the distraction, but knowing it might be
important, he pulled out his pad, checked the Net link, and saw that one e-mail was
waiting to be read. At first the name of the sender drew a blank in his mind, but as he
stared, old memories resurfaced, and ice began flowing through his veins. "I figured this
would happen sooner or later," he muttered under his breath. After he read the mail, his
blood turned from ice to liquid fire. "Damn."
Putting the PCT away, he strode to a comm panel nearby. "Colonel Crow to
Lieutenant Commander Arnett."
"Arnett here," the commander said mere nano-seconds later. "Meet me in my
cabin." The comm deactivated sharply. Crow was not put-off by the abrupt ending;
without a doubt, Arnett had received a similar e-mail. Nothing more needed being said.
Taking care to avoid running into scrambling techs or tripping over equipment,
Crow made his way to a lift. When safely inside, he pulled the PCT and read the mail
over again, hoping against hope that he was mistaken. He was not. The mail was short, to
the point, and a gigantic fabrication. Only someone properly trained could decipher the
seemingly ordinary message. What it said was this:
 The Fires Within 249

Dear Nephew,
My, but it's been a long time since we talked! You never come around anymore,
and I have to say that it disappoints me no end. I hope you're not still upset over that
misunderstanding. If you are, then let me see what I can do to make it up to you. You
know how I hate to lose touch.
Everything around here is pretty much the same since you left, but there have
been a few interesting developments. The Johnson family finally moved. You remember
them, don't you? Anyway, Mr. Johnson lost his job at the quarry, so they left for Vernon
Seven where a new titanium mine was opened. It broke my heart to see them go. Those
twins of theirs are such a joy.
Old Ms. Havashem celebrated her 98th birthday yesterday. I do believe she will
outlive us all! You should send her a card, you know. She asks about you constantly.
That good-for-nothing Andy Collins finally got caught by the police. Seems as
though he was where he shouldn't have been, doing what he's always doing (breaking the
law), and he was apprehended. The courts said they would go easy on him though if he
fessed up and plead guilty. I can't believe they are willing to give that scoundrel
community service! But such is life, no?
Not much else to tell. If you'd come by more often, then I wouldn't have to resort
to filling you in like this. Believe it or not though, I understand. If I didn't, you would
know. Just make it up to me with a visit.
Well, I better go. My stew is starting to boil over. You take care of yourself and
try to get in touch when you can. May your stars shine brightly.

All my love,
Aunt Connie

Crow put the pad away as the lift doors opened. Seeing the hallway was empty
of people, he stepped out and walked the thirty meters to Arnett's cabin. After pressing
the cabin's buzzer twice, the door opened with a hiss. The room beyond was dark, but
Crow could see a large man seated at a desk to the right. Without being invited, the
colonel entered and took a chair on the other side of the workstation. The door hissed
closed behind him, but the lights stayed off.
"Security protocols Delta-Niner-Foxtrot," Arnett said.
"Protocols initiated," a computer voice said in the darkness. "Code confirmed."
"Are you sure we're shielded?" Crow asked.
The shadowy head nodded. "I installed the fields myself. We're safe in here."
"Good," Crow said, slouching in his seat. "Aunt Connie?"
"Yeah, good old Aunt Connie," Arnett confirmed. "Seems she misses me."
"Me too."
Arnett almost laughed. "I bet. Surprised she found you?"
Crow shook his head. "Not really. On Coleridge V I spotted three SSA agents. I
knew I was taking a risk fighting at the Coliseum, but I couldn't think of any other way to
get at Firemane without blowing up half of the Pleasure Dome in the process. I figured
they had me under surveillance as soon as I walked into that arena. Just because it's
outside of Confederation territory doesn't mean there aren't eyes and ears all over it."
Arnett nodded in the darkness. "I saw two myself, though I don't think they
spotted me."
"Never assume, Arnett," Crow admonished. "I taught you better than that. It's a
Commandment. 'Thou shalt never assume.' Have you forgotten that?"
To the commander's surprise, his anger suddenly flared. "No, Colonel, I haven't.
250 The Fires Within

Here's one maybe you forgot though. 'I am the War Lord and the wrathful God of Combat
and I will always lead you from the front, not the rear.' Sound familiar, sir? You used to
tell us that before every mission. Before you left without so much as a by-your-leave."
Holding his own anger in check, Crow leaned forward. "I did what I had to do to
get the damn job done. If I'd have waited for the team to get back, the entire mission
would have been FUBAR. I was the one left dangling out in the breeze without backup. I
was the one who had to take out those cats alone. So don't preach to me about leading
from the front. I did my job. And don't start bitching that I didn't send you a postcard
either. Life's tough like that. We don't all get what we want."
Slowly, Arnett leaned back and felt his sudden hostility ebb away. He knew the
colonel was right. He knew it in his gut and in his heart. "Sorry, sir," he said, falling back
into the old ranks they had held during the Damocles project. "I didn't mean to…"
"I know," Crow said, filling in the silence. "I could have handled things
differently. But doing so would have meant compromising the mission. You know I
couldn't do that."
The commander nodded his understanding. "Should we call old Aunt Connie
now?"
"Affirmative," Crow replied, getting up to stand behind Arnett at the computer
terminal.
"Computer on," Arnett ordered. The monitor came to life, shedding light into the
darkness of the cabin. Both men squinted to let their eyes adjust.
"Good day, Lieutenant Commander Arnett," the computer said. "What can I do
for you this evening?"
"I need a secured communications line established," Arnett instructed.
"Who is the receiver, sir?" the computer asked.
The commander hesitated a moment before answering. "Earth, Confederation
Headquarters, Stellar Security Advisor's office, entrance code Juliet-Victor-Hotel-Two-
Seven-Eight-Eight."
"Secured communications are for Command Crew personnel only. Please give
your authorization code for use, sir," the computer said, obeying Arnett's order that all
security programs and protocols require code clearances. That had been one of the first
priorities given to the technical staff when the Aurora was refitted. No matter that he had
not but a few minutes ago given the code to place a security field around his cabin. Each
different command needed to be verified. Captain McClellan had seen the wisdom and
agreed to it.
"My code is my voice, my word is my name, Arnett Zero-Three," the
commander recited from memory.
"Your voice is so coded, your name is so given, the word is Zero-Three," the
computer recited back. "Secured line established."
The monitor image changed from the normal idle graphic to that of the Earth
with Confed's star protectively laying over it. The words 'Please wait for clearance'
blinked off and on below it. Three seconds later, in a burst of static, a man appeared on
the screen. He looked to be in his late fifties, dressed in a brown treed suit, with his hands
clasped before him. Both the commander and the colonel inhaled sharply, shocked.
Before them was the Stellar Security Advisor himself, General Gregory Marcus Overton.
"Good, the two of you are together," the man said. "I'll only have to say all this
once then. Damocles is being reactivated."
"Pardon me, General?" Crow said.
"You heard me, Crow," the general replied. "Or has all your time away from the
nest dulled your senses?"
 The Fires Within 251

"No, sir."
"That's good to know, Colonel, because I'm going to need you to listen closely
right now."
"I hate to interrupt, General," Arnett stated, "but I'm not with the project
anymore. And last I saw, Colonel Crow was listed as a non-person. Am I correct in that?"
Overton drew himself straight. "Major Arnett, you're being put back into active
status. And Colonel Crow? Let's just call this a favor for a favor."
"What do you mean?" Crow asked.
"That should be pretty clear from the mail you received, Crow. You may have
shaken us for awhile, but it didn't take long before we knew where you were. And since
you felt like you could handle everything just fine on your own, we went ahead and let
you. You're not listed anymore, but that doesn't mean we've forgotten about you. SSA has
a long memory."
Crow didn't doubt that in the least. "But if I'm off the record, then there's nothing
you can do to me. I'm a ghost."
Overton just shook his head. "You may be a ghost, Colonel, but the ship you're
haunting isn't. I would hate to think of anything happening to it or its crew."
Crow seethed. "You wouldn't dare." Arnett reached back to lay a restraining
hand on him.
"Oh wouldn't I?" Overton asked, raising his eyebrows. "You used to be one of
us, Crow. You should know there's nothing I can't or won't do. McClellan's got a lot of
enemies out there, and I'm sure any one of them would be more than happy to take him
out. Besides, Privateer ships are dangerous places. All kinds of nasty things can happen."
The general waved his hands in dismissal. "But I didn't contact you to make
threats. We at the project are willing to extend your 'leave of absence' indefinitely,
providing of course that you do us a favor in return. And Arnett? You too. After this, you
are out completely as well. No active or reserve status at all. Off the books and clear."
"What's the favor then?" Arnett asked.
"We need you two to complete a mission for us," Overton explained. "One last
Damocles mission."
Pulling the chair around, Crow sat next to the commander before the monitor.
"What's the mission?"
Overton leaned forward. "The mission has three objectives. One: locate the
stolen Pandora Station. Two: either commandeer it and return it to us with all of its
secrets aboard and secured, or destroy it utterly. Three, take out all the tangos associated
with its theft."
Arnett rubbed at his beard, thinking quickly. "What is the Pandora Station?"
Overton didn't flinch from the question. "That is need-to-know only, gentlemen.
Sorry."
Crow wasn't buying. "I'm sorry too, General, but we can't perform the op if we
don't have all the intel."
Both men locked eyes, engaging in a battle of wills. Finally, the general looked
past his computer to an unknown number of people purposefully out of visual range, most
likely the CNC of Confederation Defense Intelligence and the commander of Covert
Operations. No words were passed, but Overton looked as though he had been given
permission to relay the requested information.
"Alright. Pandora Station is a research and development base for various
classified weapons projects, the most notable of which is Project: Tinkerbell, a nanite
weapon capable of destroying an entire planet from the inside out. At last communication,
Doctor Jordan, Chief Scientist aboard the station, had reported that the project was nearly
252 The Fires Within

completed. That was about two hours before the station went off-line."
"Why do you believe the station was abducted, General?" Crow asked. "If it's a
weapons R&D base, then maybe there was a malfunction. Wouldn't be the first time that
happened."
Overton shook his head. "Preliminary reports were sketchy. Could have been
either one. But two things point to theft. One, we were able to retrieve a recorder
blackbox from one of the fighters that guarded the station. The tangos were pretty
thorough in their cleanup, but one box was missed. Two, none of Project: Tinkerbell
could be found in the wreckage. Now, that last one in and of itself would be inconclusive.
If the station had self-destructed or malfunctioned, then the nanites could have been
vaporized. But the blackbox confirmed that it was theft."
"Do we have any ideas who the tangos were?" Arnett questioned.
"We have a… possibility," Overton said slowly, leaning back a bit. "The
Mandarins."
Arnett and Crow were stunned. "Mandarins?" they asked in unison.
Overton nodded. "Not long before the station was abducted, a medical convoy
was attacked by the Mandarins. All of the ships were destroyed except for one, the TCS
Medical Transport Nightingale Seven, which appeared to escape. We've never seen the
Mandarins attack medical ships, and we've certainly never seen them let a possible kill
get past them. Soon after, the transport wandered into the Kryptos Sector on her last legs.
We wanted to have them wait in space for a repair ship to come out and get them, but the
nearest available ship was several hours away. According to the Nightingale Seven's
captain, one Betty Thornson, the patients aboard her ship would die in less than an hour.
Their life-support systems were failing fast. So, with nothing left to do, the ship was told
to dock under Slave/Master protocols at Pandora Station where it would be repaired and
sent on its way. But as soon as the shuttle docked, we lost all contact with the station."
When the general stopped to catch his breath, Crow jumped in with a question.
"If you knew there was a possibility of the transport's security being compromised, then
why let it anywhere near the station? Pretty sloppy work, General."
"They didn't come to me about it, Colonel," Overton replied. "I agree; it was
sloppy. I wasn't even in the mix until a week ago. But if the transport was okay, then
leaving it to wait would have meant the deaths of dozens of people. In weighing the
choices, and after review the blackbox, I can understand why they did it. I wouldn't have,
but I'm a cold-hearted son of a bitch. Just like you, Crow."
Crow nodded. "Who's blackbox was recovered?"
"Captain Eddie Kupinsky, Pandora designation 'Casper3.' He was the one who
first came into contact with the transport. From what we can gather, as soon as the shuttle
was inside the station, ten starfighters uncloaked and took out all the communications
buoys that kept Pandora in touch with Confed. Then they took out the station's weaponry
before engaging the patrolling Hellcats. Kupinsky was a good pilot, and he lasted longer
than most of his unit. At the end of the recording there were only two Hellcats left, with
five hostiles still fighting. We can't identify the enemy fighters, but they look like
modified Sabres. How the tangos got their hands on cloaking devices we don't know."
"Just how much do we know, General?" Arnett asked, pulling at his beard.
"More than nothing, but not by much," Overton admitted. "Up to this moment,
we are pretty much flying blind."
Crow didn't like the sound of that. "Understood, General. But what I want to
know is why you want me and Arnett in on this? I'm sure you have people who are
capable of looking into the theft."
Overton ran a tired hand over his balding pate and grimaced. "We do, but there's
 The Fires Within 253

been a… slight problem."

"And that is?" Crow asked, already back in old form.
"The aliens you ran into," the general explained. "The ship we had doing the
investigation was the Essex, and luckily it was close to your location. Right now things
are stable in your neck of the woods, but we can't afford to pull out of the Kabala Sector
just yet. If the aliens return, then we have to have a ship there to defend our territory."
"Can't you send a replacement ship?" Arnett asked.
"We're working on that, Major," Overton told him. "We have a… little surprise
in store for them if they come back." The general almost smiled at the secret thought.
"But it won't be ready and in your area for several days. Kabala Sector is pretty far from
most of our bases, and we weren't prepared for an alien attack. We have to continue
investigating the Pandora Station's theft. Time could very well be of the essence, and we
don't know how long we might be tied up with the alien threat. If the Mandarins do have
the Tinkerbell project, then no planet is safe. Hell, Earth could already be a ticking time-
bomb. This problem has to be corrected now."
"But why us?" Crow asked again. "You can't spare anyone else at all?"
Overton's face reddened. "Colonel, I don't have to explain myself to you," he
said, frustration coating his words like a thick oily sludge. But he calmed himself quickly.
"The Essex was in the Chronos Sector, right next door to Kabala, when she got your
emergency call for help. The reason? Debris we found at the Pandora Station's former
locale gave us our first solid clue. Seems the Mandarins wanted us to think that the station
had exploded from a malfunction, so they left tons of metal and other debris behind. Their
ploy worked at first. The preliminary investigative crews took almost a week sifting
through everything in the immediate area. In the end we came up with a few things. One
was the blackbox. Next were the bodies of the station's crew, all of them shot with energy
weapons. The last was metal debris with the foundry stamps still intact."
"What are those?" asked Arnett.
"Well," began Overton, "when a metal-working foundry pours and sets a beam
or any other piece of material, they are required to mark it with an internal magnetic
stamp. The stamp indicates where and when the piece was made. Then, when those pieces
are used in any Confederation construction, the stamp is logged. That way we know
where each and every piece is in case they ever have to be recalled for some reason. It
doesn't happen often, but I can think of two ships and a lunar base that had to be
dismantled when it was found that beams in them had a slight structural defect. We
normally put each piece through our own tests, but on rare occasions a fault or
abnormality will arise."
"And what did the stamp tell you?" Crow inquired.
Overton looked at a computer monitor on his desk that was facing away from
Crow and Arnett. "Well, one beam used to be a part of a carrier, the TCS Istanbul. That
ship was decommissioned two years ago. A small metal panel we found was from an
asteroid mining station, designation 10-B-1174, but the miners who used to work there
laughingly called it 'The Blarney Stone.' The metal parts from both the 'Stone' and the
Istanbul were sent to a depository in the Chronos Sector, there to wait until being melted
back down and recast."
"I don't know much about metal depositories," Crow stated, "so you'll have to
tell me how these metal pieces found their way to the Kryptos Sector."
General Overton shook his head. "That was what the Essex was going to try and
find out. But I do know that civilians can purchase metal from the depositories. A quick
guess of mine is that the Mandarins went to this depository and bought the metal there,
figuring to use it as debris for the Pandora Station. That is only a guess, but since the
254 The Fires Within

depository never reported any theft or attack, then they must have sold it. Perfectly legit
and within their rights."
"Isn't the stamp logged again when civilians purchase the metal?" Arnett
inquired
"No, only for Confederation craft," Overton told him.
"What else was the Essex going to investigate?" Crow asked.
"Well, we're not sure if this is related or not, but we can't afford to overlook it,"
Overton said. "Five weeks before the station disappeared, two Super Tugs were stolen
from a civilian shipyard in the Dulcimer Sector, out near the Border Worlds. It could be
just a local militia kicking up some fuss, but then again it could be something else
entirely. Like I said, we can't overlook the possibility."
"Understood," Crow replied, then he leaned back in his seat. Arnett looked over
and saw that the colonel was in deep thought. Overton could also see it, but he wasn't in
the mood to put up with introspection at the moment. He coughed several times, hoping
to get Crow's attention, but it was for naught. For nearly three minutes Crow sat in
silence, his eyes unfocused. But as the general was about to demand someone speak up,
the colonel leaned forward. "There's a mole," he finally said.
Overton's reaction was immediate and telling. All color drained from his face,
and his hands twitched on the keyboard. "What do you mean?" the general said, his voice
slightly shaking. Arnett could tell that Crow had hit the target perfectly. There was a
mole, and the general knew.
"I mean, you have a spy in your midst," Crow explained.
"I- I don't know how you figure that, Colonel," Overton tried to say with too
much conviction. But his body was betraying him. Every tell-tale indication of a person
surprised and lying was plainly evident.
"Don't play games, General," Crow told him. "For one, you don't just stumble
on a secret weapons base in the middle of absolutely nowhere. 'Kryptos' is a Greek word.
It means 'hidden'. The odds of the Mandarins finding it on accident are about a trillion to
one. So they had to have inside information. Secondly, you're asking us to do this job. I'm
assuming this will be the same modus-operandi as the old days: no evidence, no
paperwork, no records. That means that the mole won't know who's after the Mandarins,
and therefore can't warn them off or dish out misinformation. How am I doing so far,
General?"
Overton was back to normal, his composure intact. "Pretty good, Crow," the
general admitted, looking impressed. "You haven't lost your touch. Now I remember why
you were so good at your job."
"Flattery gets you nowhere, General," Crow said. "Just give me the straight
skinny."
The general started blushing, blood rushing to his head in mild annoyance.
"Alright, Colonel. Yeah, we have a mole. We don't know who it is or where they are, but
we're closing in. Until we get them though, we have to do everything we can to assure our
secrecy. That means working off the books, no paper trail. In the end, that means you.
The Damocles project ended eighteen months ago, so now we don't have agents readily
available for this kind of work. We could pull them together, but you are better than
anyone else, and you're already close to where the action is, in a matter of speaking. If
you're wondering why we're taking the risk of using comm lines, it's because this line is
on a new encryption scheme developed just for this little talk. Afterwards, the scheme is
destroyed. No traces whatsoever. It's too dangerous to try this more than once."
Overton shifted in his seat, then continued his speech. "I've already stated the
terms, but let me refresh your memory. You two pull this off, and we drop all ties.
 The Fires Within 255

Everyone comes away a winner. You get your freedom, and we get our bad guys. If you
don't agree, well, shit happens."
Crow didn't have to deliberate much. "Okay, General, I'll do it."
Arnett was surprised, but didn't say anything. It would wait for later. "I'm in
too."
"Good," Overton said, smiling.
"On one condition though," Crow told him.
The smile vanished. "What is it?"
"I want Team Crow back, and I want us to have all the equipment we'll need.
That means cloaked shuttles, new stealth battle suits, rail guns, our small carrier, and all
the intel you've gathered so far. I'm not going to be left hanging in the wind again. You
give me that, and you've got a deal. You don't, and anything happens to this ship or her
crew, all the mountains on Mars won't keep you safe from me."
Overton's head almost exploded from the rising blood pressure. "Are you
threatening me, Colonel?" he asked, shivering in rage.
Crow only leaned back, calm and collected. "I never threaten, General. I only
state facts. You know that."
The general did, though that didn't make him any less angry. But he sat silently,
getting control of his emotions. After half a minute he was once again normal. "Okay.
Your old carrier, the Clandestine, has been put on the inactive list. I'll pull your former
crew together and get them to work on it. I'll also have your other ordinance
'requisitioned' for you. It shouldn't take more than a week to get it ready and to you. Use
one of the Aurora's shuttles until then. By the time you get finished at the depository,
everything will be in order."
"Make that three days," Crow stated simply. "It shouldn't take long for me to get
what I need in Chronos."
Taking his time to consider it, Overton finally said, "Alright. Three days. It'll
meet with in the sector. You know the drill on finding it. After the mission is complete,
you leave your equipment and all of us behind. Deal?"
"Deal," Crow concluded. "We'll have your bad guys trussed up and gift wrapped
for you within a month."
"Don't make promises you can't keep," Overton warned.
Crow wasn't worried. "Like I told you, I only state facts. The Mandarins have
already tripped themselves up. Just a matter of following the trail of mistakes they left
behind."
Whether he believed Crow's words or not, Overton didn't let on. "You know
your job, Crow. I trust you to get it done. You stick to your end, I'll stick to mine."
Crow was the same. Arnett couldn't tell if the colonel fully trusted Overton, but
he was willing to accept the mission. "What are those foundry stamps?" Crow asked.
The general turned his monitor around. On it were two sets of letters and
numbers. Both men studied the screen for a few seconds, committing the stamps to
memory. Seeing the information had been absorbed, Overton turned his screen around
again. "I trust that is sufficient?" he asked.
Crow nodded. "More than sufficient, General. We'll get on it immediately."
"What are you going to tell McClellan?" Overton inquired.
"He won't be a problem," the colonel said.
Squinting his eyes, Overton eyed the two men accusingly. "I see. I trust dirty
laundry isn't being aired inappropriately."
"Just trust, General," Arnett stepped in and said. "You used to at one point in
time. Do so again. Trust us to know our jobs and responsibilities."
256 The Fires Within

"Alright," Overton said, leaning back slowly. "You have a point. If there's
nothing further, I have an encryption code and conversation to destroy. Have at it."
Before the general could terminate the transmission, Crow said, "General, tell
my boys, when you contact them, that I said it's time to circle the wagons." Overton
looked confused. "They'll know what it means."
Nodding, Overton leaned forward and ended the comm link. Arnett immediately
scanned the ship's computers for a record of the transmission, but there wasn't any. The
encryption code had already wiped it out, if it had been there at all.
"Good coding scheme," Arnett said, whistling.
Crow nodded his head. "I didn't doubt his words on that."
"But you think he's going to try and double-cross us?" the commander asked,
meaning the coded phrase for a suspected internal screw over.
"Like I said, Jerod," Crow replied. "Circle the wagons. There's enemy around."
Arnett stood up, stretched his legs, and laughed lightly. "Well, they won't get us
without a fight, Colonel. I guarantee you that."
"I know," Crow said, patting the commander on his left shoulder. "Forewarned is
forearmed. Now let's go talk to Captain McClellan. We've got a shuttle to borrow."

~*~~*~~*~

Chronos Sector
Shuttle Monitor
En-route To The Gossard System
Convincing Captain McClellan to let them go with one of the Aurora's shuttles
had taken surprisingly little effort. When he saw both men walk toward him on the
bridge, their faces stern and their strides purposeful, he had it all pretty much figured out.
Without a word he turned the ship over to Lieutenant Northstar and ushered them into the
his personal Briefing Room. After initiating the proper security codes, everyone sat down
to talk.
Gabriel spoke first. "How long will you be?"
"We're not sure, sir," Crow told him, his heart thankful that the captain hadn't
started asking them questions they couldn't answer. "Could be a week, could be a month,
maybe longer, but I doubt it."
Gabriel thought that over. "What do you need from me?"
"All we need is a shuttle, Captain," Arnett said. "Nothing else."
The captain nodded. "Take the Monitor. She's fully fueled and ready. Unload
what you don't need. Just try to return her to us if you can, preferably in one piece. I don't
want to know what's going on, so if there's nothing else, you're both dismissed."
The conversation was brief, but the things that weren't said could have filled
volumes, the messages and their meanings conveyed without words. Gabriel trusted them,
and they in return did the same. The last thing the captain said was, "I hope this doesn't
become a habit." Crow had shaken his head in response. That was good enough for
Gabriel.
Three hours later, the Monitor was entering the Chronos Sector, heading toward
the second planet in the Gossard System. On that planet was the depository where the
metal in the Kryptos Sector had been purchased, a place by the name of MetalWorks. It
was a Confederation owned operation, but all of the employees were civilian, and much
of its business was in the private sector. Its principle reason for being was to hold scrap
metal for Confed until it was needed, but on the side it sold its wares to whoever had the
need and the credits. It wasn't a booming business, but any sale, no matter how small,
 The Fires Within 257

yielded more of a profit than most businesses saw in a year. Metal was by no means
cheap, but it was certainly necessary. Without it, humanity would still be sailing the seas
on wooden ships. And where ever there is a need, there is a profit to be made.
As they traveled, both men took stock of their situation. Before leaving, Crow
had stuffed two duffel bags to the brim with gear from his quarters and loaded them into a
cargo hold. Arnett didn't need anything more than a few spare sets of clothes since Crow
would bring the necessities, so he had instead prepped the shuttle. They got a few queer
looks from the flight deck crew, but a call from Gabriel had smoothed the road. What he
told the crew, Arnett didn't know, but it got them off the Aurora without having to
complicate things. Once in the clear, they had made for the nearest jump point to the
Chronos Sector. Two jumps later, and they were autopiloting toward the Gossard System.
When everything seemed to be progressing as well as could be expected, Arnett
stood from the cockpit and entered the shuttle's main holding area. There he found
Colonel Crow laying out the contents of his bags. Arnett was surprised at the variety of
gear he saw, some of it familiar from his days in Damocles. A quick once-over showed
him that Crow had brought two sets of street clothes, one light gray business suit that
shimmered in the light, two sets of covert fatigues (dead black and tight), one pair of
casual shoes, one pair of dress shoes the same color as the suit, two pairs of boots
(Damocles issue of course), two combat web-vests with pockets aplenty, two Cromson
field knives, two latest-issue Marine vibroblades, two hypoguns, four vials of
tetraclerdazine (a fast acting sedative) for the aforementioned hypos, two blasters with
accompanying holsters, two palm tazers, a heavy scanning unit, a laser resonance
listening device, flat black body paint, computer decryption modules, a pair of stylish
cufflinks with recording cameras and mikes hidden on them, playback gear for the
cameras, a set of electronic and metal lockpicks, an alarm bypass unit, and six static
grenades. If it had been anyone other than Crow laying everything out, Arnett would have
laughed. But the commander-turned-major knew that Colonel Crow wasn't known for
packing without reason.
"I take it you don't think MetalWorks is just gonna cough up what we need by
asking nicely," Arnett said.
Crow looked over his shoulder, still sorting the gear. "Would you?"
That silenced Arnett. No, if they were going to find out who had purchased the
metal scraps, then it would have to be done on the sly. But that was nothing new to either
man. Most of their careers had been spent in the dark, doing what few could do. They
were part assassin, part spy, part warrior, and part cat-burglar.
"What's the plan then?" Arnett asked.
Crow tilted back to rest on his heels, a tazer in hand. "Well first, after we dock
this shuttle, I want to find a city map. Hopefully, the city will be small and compact. We'll
rent a room as far from MetalWorks as possible, then change into street clothes to do
some surveillance work. The usual procedures: walk the street, check out what's near the
depository, find possible reconnaissance points. Then, when night falls, we'll take a roost
and snuggle in. I think two days of observation should be sufficient. On the third day I'll
pose as a businessman and enter the depository. Once inside I'll take pictures and sound
samples. When that's over, we'll go back to the room and look over everything. Once
we've established our methods and routes, we'll suit up and do a little breaking and
entering. The computers shouldn't pose too much of a problem. After we get the intel, we
leave with as little aftertaste as possible. No sweat."
Crow's overconfidence unsettled Arnett. "Don't you think you're making this out
to be too easy? This is a Confederation installation as I recall."
"Confederation owned, civilian run," Crow pointed out. "We're not talkin' Fort
258 The Fires Within

Knox Prime here. Besides, who would want to break into a metal depository office? The
holding areas will be where the real security is. All we want is the office. We've cracked
tougher nuts before."
That was true. Arnett instantly recalled a dozen missions where the planned
security and resistance factors were ten times their currant objective. But he was still
uneasy. "Who would want to break into the office? Well, we do for one."
Crow laughed. "You have a point. But listen, in two days we'll have all the
information we'll need to break in nice and easy. I have everything we'll need. Keep your
spirits up. We will be in and out real quick. This is KISS simple. Save your worries for
the Mandarins. When we find their base, that's when the real work begins."
Arnett nodded. "Aye aye, sir. You're the boss."
"Then get over here and help me split this stuff up, Major," Crow said with a
laugh. "I want us off and running as soon as we've got dirt under our feet."

~*~~*~~*~

Chronos Sector
Gossard System
Gossard II
Northern Parallel
SilverCity
An Abandoned Office
Across From MetalWorks
Three Days Later
0135 Local Time
As hoped, SilverCity was a small metropolis. Local business was prospering,
especially MetalWorks. After the Kilrathi War had ended and trade routes became safer,
the need for metal beams, panels, and ship parts skyrocketed. Buildings around the
depository were filled with companies, all of them in some way associated with
MetalWorks, but Crow and Arnett found one group of rooms that had been recently
vacated. After their first cursory walk-through, they decided that the best means of entry
was to go to the roof of a hotel three buildings south, then go from rooftop to rooftop until
they came to their destination. From there they would slip in through the structure's air
vents and wiggle into their roosting spot, all under the cover of night of course, and after
checking each ceiling for sensors. Two days and nights of constant round-the-clock
surveillance gathered them quite a bit of intel.
Day one: Foot and vehicle traffic in front of MetalWorks was brisk. Twenty
people entered the depository's office, most of them dressed for success. Daytime security
was lax. At precisely 1830 hours the office closed, the civilian workers exiting the front
door. In-house security would escort them out, then lock the place up tight. Gossard's sun
set at 1925, with true night falling at 2015. Their scanners located two guards who
patrolled the main office and back rooms. One took his first break at 2300, then another at
0300, leaving the other alone to walk the route while he watched the vid in a lunchroom.
The second guard breaked at 2330 and 0330. Laser pickups aimed at a corner of glass at
the front right of the office detected constant conversation between them, mostly
alternating between bitching about their boring assignment and the obvious physical
virtues of the Chief MetalWorks Secretary, a Ms. Susan Hamilton, whom both seemed to
think was a frigid prude who would inevitable melt under their combined charms. Street
lights were spaced ten meters apart along the street's edge, with one shining right on
 The Fires Within 259

MetalWorks' front door. Nighttime traffic was practically nonexistent. Only two vehicles
passed by, both of them unmarked and presumably just civilians.
The building they were in wasn't quite as busy, and it was vacated at the same
time as their target. Cleaning crews came at 1900, then left three hours later. After that,
the building stayed empty until 0600 the following day. No one came near their office
group.
Day two: Almost identical in every respect, but MetalWorks had a few more
customers. The sun set a minute later than the day before, with true night following
exactly as scheduled. The guards took their breaks right on time, taking their time
dunking donuts and sipping free coffee. Other than the increased customer load and
sunset change, there were no deviations.
Figuring they had what they needed, they discussed problems. The first was the
street light before the door. It would have to be taken out. Crow said he would take care
of that. Second was the office door locks. They were a combination physical/electronic
number. Not a real bitch, but would take time. Third were the two guards, but they would
be handled easily enough if they got in the way. Other than that, nothing major.
At 0425 of the second night, Crow left their roost and headed back to their room
at the hotel, taking the highroad as much as possible. Eight hours later, Arnett watched
Crow waltz into MetalWorks, dressed much like the other businessmen and women they
had seen. Thirty minutes later, he came back out smiling. Instead of heading off for their
hotel room, he walked up and leaned against the accursed lamppost. Looking around as if
observing the weather, he drew his middle finger across his brow. Arnett knew the
gesture to mean laser pickup. Then Crow quickly glanced up at the unpowered light
above him. Arnett, knowing exactly what he wanted, set the laser listening device up and
pointed the beam at the lamp's light fixture. Through his headphones he could hear the
sound of minute amounts of power being drawn through the wiring, waiting for the
photoelectric cells atop the lamp to tell it to energize the filament within. Then Crow
backed away a few centimeters, his right hand reaching casually into a pocket in his
slacks. Looking as if he didn't have a care in the world, he pulled out his hand and laid it
against the lamp. Arnett could then hear a sudden snap and sizzle, the filament
overloading with power. The major looked close, but couldn't see any marks on the bulb.
Crow had used a palm tazer to send a slight power surge up the lamp and burn out the
light's filament, all without drawing attention. People who passed by didn't even notice.
The light problem was taken care of, unless a city crew was alerted and sent out to repair
it, though the likelihood of that happening was almost nil.
After Crow was finished, he put his hands in his pockets and strolled off. Arnett
stayed in the roost, making sure the MetalWorks' employees left on schedule and the
guards were performing their regular duties. When that was established, the major packed
their remaining gear and left, leaving nothing behind to tell that anyone had been there.
Crow was already dressed in his covert ops fatigues and body paint when Arnett
entered their room. He had playback machines set up, with the vid ready to start.
Exchanging no words, Arnett stripped from his clothes and showered off the grime and
sweat that had collected over two days of unceasing surveillance. They had alternated
watches, but neither left their post until Crow had made his foray into the target.
When he was as clean as he could get, the major suited up. Both men sat before
the playback equipment to watch and learn. What they saw was very promising:
MetalWorks was just begging to be violated. With that done, they strapped on their
weapons, pocketed gear, and went off like the thieves in the night they were, using the
same second floor window exit they had used before that faced into an abandoned alley.
At 0130 in the morning, the city's streets were remarkably bare. But those who
260 The Fires Within

were still out never took notice of the two men in dark clothes that walked past them in
the shadows. Over the years, Arnett had discovered that most people went through life
with blinders on, never seeing what was outside their tunnel vision. Much of the time it
was by choice; why bother yourself with things that weren't your business? Seeing meant
knowing, and knowing meant trouble. So they saved themselves the hardship and
concentrated on what they wanted to see, neglecting everything else. Most criminals
would tell you the same thing. If not for that, they would be out of business.
The covert ops fatigues helped greatly though. The material was dead black,
totally non-reflective, absorbing light without giving it back. In darkness, they were just
another shadow amongst shadows. Their boots didn't make a sound, and the web vests
kept the gear from rattling around. Everything was dark and silent, as it should be. Not
one soul marked their passing.
When they made it to the street where MetalWorks was located, they saw that
the street light was still out, the door to the building shrouded in an ebony cloak. Together
they skulked down the other side of the street, stopping when they were directly across
from the doors. Arnett crouched down and kept his eyes on the road while Crow checked
for witnesses. Both men saw nothing, so the colonel ducked down and made for the
entrance. Once there, he scrutinized the door frame. Ten seconds of careful observation
awarded him with an alarm plate hiding above the door, barely a millimeter of brownish
metal peeking out. Crow smirked and attached his highly illegal Damocles issue alarm
bypass kit to it, nullifying the threat. After that he pulled out his electronic pick and
settled it over the computerized lock. A minute and a half passed as it broke the code.
From there he set to work on cajoling the mechanical tumblers from their resting slots,
silently swearing as the seconds ticked past. But finally he heard the gratifying sound of a
barely audible click from within the lock. The parapets had been scaled. When the bypass
kit was removed, Crow gave Arnett a come-hither finger gesture. The major took one last
look around then scurried over.
The chronometer Crow wore didn't have a screen to display time (the lights
would attract attention that wasn't desired), instead employing small thumpers that tapped
the time out on his wrist. He pressed a button and felt one tap, then four, then six. That
left them twenty minutes until the guards were due to check the office.
Opening the door oh so slowly, they entered in silent steps. Arnett stepped to the
right, and Crow closed the door, then went left. A half turn brought him face-to-face with
the internal alarm unit. On it was a key pad and digital display. It read, "Main Door
Opened. Fifteen Seconds Until Alarm Activates." Using the electronic pick, he inserted a
probe lead and fed it into a small hole at the side of the alarm unit. The hole led to the
computer brain of the alarm, its purpose to save stupid shits who couldn't remember the
deactivation code. If someone forgot the code, then they could use a device similar to the
electronic pick and have the machine put in the code for them. It was meant to be a
failsafe, but it was also a means of criminal overrides. The danger you took when you
bought civilian alarms. Crow had seen it while in the office and had almost laughed. His
one big worry had been a hidden or high-tech internal alarm. He needn't have troubled
himself. The electronic pick did its job in record time. The alarm display read, "Alarm
Deactivated. Please Reset Before Leaving."
Circling his finger in the air, Crow ordered Arnett to do a quick recon of the
office while he went to the secretary's desk he had sat at earlier that day. Crow had
chosen it because its monitor faced away from any windows, doors, or hallways, so when
it was on it wouldn't shine like a lighthouse on fire, calling the guards.
Arnett disappeared down a branch of hallways, leaving Crow to his work. The
colonel sat at the desk's chair and turned the computer on. Seconds later it was booted and
 The Fires Within 261

ready. On the screen he saw that a password was required. Knowing that was a
probability, he had brought along his computer decryption and override modules. When
he slid a disk into one of the drives, the computer tried to ascertain what was on it. When
that happened, the modules' programs slipped in and immediately took over. Seconds
later the computer was at his command.
It took him ten minutes to find what he needed from the confusing database of
the MetalWorks mainframe. Apparently, five weeks ago a man by the name of Thomas
Dorsey had come in and purchased several tons of metal, most of it in beams and plates
taken from dismantled space stations. A company wasn't associated with the man, and he
paid in straight credits. The trail stopped.
But Crow knew there had to be more. There was. MetalWorks, suspicious of
such a large purchase paid for in credit chits instead of account or monthly payments, had
installed a micro-tracer on one of the beams. The company didn't want to be liable if the
metal was used for illegal purposes, so it was trying to cover its ass. The last recorded
location after a winding travel path was in the Helena Sector, an out of the way patch of
space. But days later Mr. Dorsey came back and purchased a few more tons, that time
using a credit account. The account checked out, so the tracer was deactivated. No
mention was made of the tracer to Mr. Dorsey, MetalWorks evidently embarrassed by its
own actions. Typing quickly, Crow unearthed the tracer's frequency and activation
number. Jackpot, was Crow's only thought.
Arnett, in the meantime, had followed the guards on their patrol. Their
conversation was the same as it had been the nights before, their observational skills still
as lax. When fifteen minutes past, he tiptoed away and made for the office. There he
found Crow putting his modules in webbed pockets. Giving the major a thumbs-up, Crow
reset the internal alarm. Together they exited the building and walked off as easily as they
had come, no one the wiser.
They didn't exchange words; instead they sneaked into their hotel, changed
clothes and washed off the body paint, then left. Forty minutes later they were in orbit.
Crow told him everything he had discovered in the computers. Arnett was pleased, but
hesitant.
"We still don't have what we need, Colonel," he said.
Crow nodded. "But at least we have a start. When we get on the Clandestine, I
want to do a file search on Mr. Dorsey, see if there's a record on him. Then we'll go to the
Dulcimer Sector and snoop around."
The major was moderately satisfied. "That should get us going at least. Are we
heading to the ship now?"
"Affirmative," Crow replied. "If memory serves, she should be at the core-most
corner of the Sector, ten degrees below the galactic horizon line."
Arnett thought for a moment then confirmed. "Yep. At the time of your last
mission, that was the next rendezvous spot."
With a quick nod, Crow engaged the shuttle's engines and took off. Next stop:
the Confederation Covert Ship Clandestine, though any passing ship would register it as
the Civilian Cargo-Hauler Indigo Blues…

~*~~*~~*~

Chronos Sector
Shuttle Monitor
En-Route To Clandestine
"This is the Good Shuttle Lollipop requesting clearance to dock with Cargo-
262 The Fires Within

Hauler Indigo Blues," Crow said into his comm mike. "Do you copy, Indigo?"
"We copy, Lollipop," Indigo replied. "Docking doors opening. Please stand clear
until procedures complete."
"Affirmative, Indigo. Lollipop out."
Crow throttled back the engines until the shuttle was fifty meters from the cargo-
hauler. As the small ship came to a stop, he and Arnett watched the rear loading doors
open from the top and crank down. When the bay was open, the colonel nudged the
throttle forward. At a leisurely pace he brought the shuttle inside the cavernous bowels of
the cargo-hauler.
Most haulers are built to where each individual cargo bay is separate from the
others. But with the Indigo, those walls had been cut down and the side doors welded
shut. Of course, from the outside, these modifications couldn't be seen. To passersby, the
hauler looked like any other cargo ship. But inside, with the walls removed, it was a
carrier capable of holding several fighters and shuttles. Forged transponders and a
falsified manifest fooled anyone who might fly by to see what the hauler was carrying. To
date, no one had yet seen past the screens and deceptions. Damocles was good at its job.
When the shuttle was docked and the bay doors were closed, Crow and Arnett
picked up their bags and exited the little ship. As they stepped off, a small crowd of men
gathered to meet them, all of them staring in disbelief.
"Well I'll be a son of a bitch," one man said, his eyes wide. "It's really you."
Crow winked at the comment. "You better believe it, Rattler."
Without warning, a loud cheer erupted from the throng. Taken aback, Arnett and
the colonel stopped. As one they turned to eye each of the gathered men, their old team…
Team Crow. Going from left to right they saw Jimmy 'Wraith' Sparks, Sam 'Tremor'
Newman, Joshua 'Deadeye' Clausen, Max 'Ironside' Dickinson, Andrew 'Chaplain'
Rogers, Randol 'Wendigo' O'Leary, and Zachary 'Rattler' Combs. They were a motley
group of men, but more deadly you'd never find in all the universe.
"What the hell rock you crawl out from under, Colonel?" Wendigo said,
merriment sparkling in his eyes.
"The same one you're gonna be bunkin' beneath you keep that lip up," Crow told
him, throwing a half-hearted punch,
Wendigo easily sidestepped it and grabbed the duffel bag Crow was holding.
The other men broke from the semi-circle they were in and started welcoming the newly
arrived members of their team. Backs were slapped, hands were shaken, and preliminary
pleasantries were exchanged.
As Crow looked over his men, he noticed that one man was missing. "Where is
Gunny?" he asked.
Several stopped talking to answer, but a blaring shout from the comm did it for
them.
"Don't start the party without me!!" a loud voice cried out.
Immediately, alarm lights began flashing all around the docking bay. The rear
doors started lowering, and a mechanical voice said, "Warning! Warning! Collision
imminen-" That was as far as it got before the same voice as before interrupted it.
"Incoming!!!" he announced.
The men in the bay looked at each other in shock, then started diving for cover.
And it was just in time, as scant seconds later a small one-man craft shaped like a long
spear head screamed inside the hauler's belly, stopped sharply when it was fifteen meters
past the door, then slowly descended. Dusting themselves off, the team stood up to eye
the rocketing interloper.
Beside the shuttle was a vehicle unlike any they had ever seen. It was nine
 The Fires Within 263

meters long, and all engine from the look of it. Four small laser barrels protruded from the
front, while along the aft top were two missile batteries, each holding two missiles, most
likely heat-seekers or friend-or-foes. Half hidden in the middle was a man wearing a
deep-space armored suit laying completely horizontal. Grabbing hand-holds fore of the
tiny instrument display, the man pulled his legs from their chamber and climbed out. With
a flourish he unlocked his helmet and removed it. Underneath was a handsome face
almost split in half by a wide grin. "Now that's what I call an entrance!" he said, his smile
impossibly growing even wider.
"Gunny!" Crow shouted, then ran forward to embrace his former teammate,
Matthew 'Gunny' Bell. Arnett followed close on his heels. The three men grabbed each
others' forearms in greeting.
"Colonel Crow, you are a sight for sore eyes," Gunny said, tears forming in his
green eyes. In the company of old friends, he didn't feel any need to hide them. No one
else did either as they came together again, this time as a complete unit.
When the babble died down to a dull roar, Crow pointed a finger at the
diminutive craft. "You mind telling me what that thing is?"
Gunny cocked an eye over his shoulder. "You mean Mabel?"
Crow nodded.
Laughing, Gunny replied, "Well, I figured since it's the second best ride I ever
had, I might as well name it after the first."
Crow pursed his lips. He had never felt sexist remarks like that were warranted.
But boys will be boys, he knew, and they just had to come to their own thoughts on that.
"Seriously," Gunny continued, seeing the look on Crow's face, "she's a little
invention of mine. After I left Damocles, I became a planet racer. But they don't allow
weapons on their ships, so Mabel is a special craft I built on the side from Hellcat and
Arrow spare parts. She can outrun anything you can think of and has more moves than a
whirling dervish. The guns aren't that great, and the missiles are untested, but if things get
a bit hairy, I have a little trick up my sleeve." Gunny winked and tapped his temple.
"Alright," Crow said. "I'll bite. What?"
"This," Gunny told him, turning around. He pressed a button on his right
armored arm, and before everyone's unbelieving eyes, the small craft vanished.
"She's cloaked?!" Wraith asked.
Nodding, Gunny hit the same button. Mabel once again appeared before them.
"Yep. Damn thing cost me a fortune and just about every favor owed me, but it was worth
it. I can go anywhere I want. If I can't outrun or out-fly you, then I don't want to play." He
broke into hysterics. Everyone else did as well.
"What classification is she?" Arnett asked.
"Well," Gunny began, "most planet racers are called skiffs. But since my baby is
a modified version, I call it a Vector Incursion Skiff., or VISk. Not really catchy, but
then, I don't plan on patenting her."
Crow reviewed his knowledge of planet races. They had began about fifty years
ago, just before the Kilrathi reared their ugly heads. In the beginning, the races were held
in out of the way solar systems; that way accidents wouldn't have a chance of harming
populated planets. When the war ended, racers were back in demand, and planet races
always drew big crowds. Simply put, the racers would start near the outermost planet of a
small system, then take off and follow a set pattern around a couple of planets, then come
back. During their route they had to pass through large rings, slalom around buoys, plow
through holographic projections, and generally try to avoid colliding with each other and
the planets they passed. It was fast, dangerous, and suicidal, but it was also lucrative.
Flying ships that could outrun anything else manmade could only attract the craziest of
264 The Fires Within

people.
"What's she rated?" Deadeye asked, always more concerned with a ship's stats
than anything else. The Team's technician had to always keep abreast of the latest in all
areas technical.
Gunny walked over and sat on her starboard canopy ledge. "Let me think," he
said, as if the information wasn't already on the tip of his tongue. Crow remembered that
Gunny was nothing if not theatrical. Planet racing fit him perfectly. "Most skiffs average
around 800 kps, but if you give me a nice flat stretch of space, I can get her up to just
over 1500 kilometers per second."
All the men gasped, thunderstruck. "No way!" Tremor shouted, his voice
showing his awe.
Gunny only smirked. "That's nuthin'. With afterburners we're talkin' almost 2800
kps."
"How does it go that fast?" Deadeye asked, not truly believing it.
"Can you guys keep a secret?" Gunny asked in return, winking. "Okay. Confed
is about to unveil a new standard fighter for the fleet, a replacement for the aging Hellcat
line. It's a heavy sucker too, and more powerful than any fighter I ever saw. Some of my
contacts in the races work for Lock-Martin, one of the aerospace firms Confed contracts.
Anyway, I did one of them a… service… and he was so grateful he smuggled me three of
their latest prototype engines: the Lock-Martin NovaStorm V-III's, one generation past
the ones they use in that fighter I mentioned. Super fast engines, but too powerful for
bulky fighters that have to maneuver all over the sky. They're working on correcting that
though. I modified them for racing, so these babies kick the hell out of anything else, and
since Mabel's so small and light, the engines really let loose. The only major modification
I made allows it to use racer compact fuel. Fighters can't use it because it's a highly
volatile mixture, and if you get hit, even a glancing blow, the stuff will erupt like a
volcano. Racers use it because they need it for the speed, the long distances they have to
travel, and because they don't have to worry about being fired on, so it's okay, though I've
seen a few go up when the skiffs accidentally bumped each other. I really shouldn't use it
on my VISk since I might have to someday use it in a battle situation, but I just can't seem
to let go of the extended range and speed the compacted fuel gives me. Someday, when I
have the time, I'll put in a double fuel system that'll let me switch between tanks to fit
different circumstances."
Crow was instantly on alert. "I trust this fellow wasn't too curious on how you
were able to perform this 'service'?"
Gunny shook his head. "Negative, Colonel. In most of the circles I've been
running with, they don't ask questions. Trust me. Discretion is my middle name."
"I thought it was 'Asshole'," Ironside said from the back.
The team laughed at the old joke. "Same to ya," Gunny replied. "But seriously, I
put her together with my own two hands. The weapons are retractable, and panels can
drop to cover the engines. No one but me and you guys knows what she really is. I just
wanted to bring her here in all her glory."
Crow patted him on the back. "That you did, son. But now that I've seen her, I
think I might borrow your idea. The people I'm with right now could use some ships like
this."
"Speaking of which, where have you been?" Chaplain asked. The rest of the
men, aside form Arnett, nodded at the question.
"That's a long story," Crow told them, "and one for another time. Right now
we've got work to do. Let's find a briefing room and get down to business."
Another cheer went up, the men glad to be back in action. All of them started for
 The Fires Within 265

lift doors, but Crow held back Tremor, placing a hand on his arm. Sparks looked at the
colonel, but all Crow did was blink. That was enough, though. Tremor knew what to do.
With that, all ten men headed off to begin their final assignment together, the last
sanctioned mission for Team Crow.

~*~~*~~*~

CCS Clandestine ( aka CCH Indigo Blues)

Chronos Sector
Captain's Briefing Room
Crow needed to have a little chat with the ship's captain, Mr. Paul Erikson, so he
let his men stow what gear needed stowing, catch up on some old times, or check out
their former ship. Arnett, lugging his duffel bag to his cabin, found himself ambushed at
the door, the price for his freedom being information on Crow and his recent activities.
The major felt like a pump being primed, Wendigo and Rattler more than happy to use
their elbow-grease to get the gossip.
Crow found Erikson in the captain's briefing room. The two men knew each
other from way back, so there wasn't the usual getting-to-know-you bullshit to get passed.
Instead, they sat down to jaw.
"Why in the hell did you ask for this misbegotten ancient rust-bucket?" Erikson
asked, always the one for polite conversation.
Crow gave him a twisted smile. "It's nice to see captains fawning over their old
commands like this. Warms my heart no end, let me tell ya."
Erikson puffed his chest out, though Crow noticed the waist below had
developed a bit of sag. "If you had seen the ship I was on before SSA pulled me out, you
would better understand, Crow. Compared to my new ship, this heap is a jalopy."
"Oh yeah?" Crow asked. "What's Confed got you in now?"
Erikson eyed him closely, but eventually shrugged his shoulders. "Heck, the
secret will be out soon enough, and you're cleared, so I don't see the harm in telling you.
Those aliens you tangled with are about to meet Confed's latest task force, the new
standard in naval hardware."
"Really?" Crow remarked. "What's the scoop?"
His chest swelling further, Erikson said, "In a few hours, from a starbase I'm not
at liberty to disclose, the Confederation's Sixth Battle Fleet, Lightning Division,
Blacksmith Task Force is about to raise anchor and fly to the Kabala Sector. I know that
the aliens haven't returned, but if they do, they are gonna wish they hadn't."
Crow looked at the captain suspiciously. "Well, I hope that starbase is close,
because those aliens mean business. It took both the Aurora and the Essex to fight that
one ship off."
Erikson laughed. "Sorry to tell you, but the closest jump point to it is about two
day's travel at this ship's maximum speed."
"Two days?!" Crow shouted, jumping to his feet. "Then how is this new task
force supposed to help out? Those aliens will probably return in force way before that!"
"Don't worry, Colonel," Erikson told him. "It won't take the task force more than
six hours to make it to the Marigold System from the base."
Crow's eyes narrowed, skepticism flashing in the dark orbs. "Six hours? But you
said the nearest jump point was two days away. Has Confed learned how to twist time
now?" That was supposed to be a joke, but it failed.
"You really don't know, do you?" Erikson asked.
"Know what?"
266 The Fires Within

"Have you had your head in the sand, Crow? No news vids out your way? I can't
believe you haven't heard about the Quantum Harmonics Drive yet."
Crow's face drooped for several seconds, then lit up. "The harmonics drive? I
thought that was some tabloid garbage! At the time, the notion was too ridiculous to
consider realistic. I just brushed it off."
"Then change your ideas of realistic, Crow," Erikson told him sternly.
Crow brought his shoulders up and gave a childish smile. "Hey, give me a break,
okay? I've been out of Confederation space for awhile, and too damn busy to look closely
at the news grids."
Erikson looked as if he had a few questions about that, but was willing to hold
them for awhile. "Okay," he said. "Public domain: Six months ago, at a symposium held
at the Stephen Hawking University For Advanced Sciences, Confed unveiled it latest
engine, the Quantum Harmonics Drive, developed by a Doctor Jallen Rothman.
Essentially, the drive alters the oscillations of superstrings around a ship. I don't have the
time to go into the specifics for you, but I can tell you that at maximum tone, the engine
could go as fast as 8.795 times the speed of light."
Crow's jaw came unhinged, a most uncharacteristic look for him. "Wha?"
Erikson waved his hands. "I know, I know. 'The speed of light cannot be
surpassed by a man-made ship.' Blah blah blah. Yeah, and I've got some great beach front
property on Mercury for you. I'm telling ya, breaking the light barrier is unlike anything
I've ever experienced. And the drives are so… quiet. All you feel is a humming in your
bones, almost like music. Peaceful, Crow. Just… peaceful. I hope you get to experience it
yourself."
The colonel rubbed the back of his neck. "I do too. But you said that was public
domain?"
"Yes, I did," Erikson told him. "If you're back in action as a Damocles member,
then you have the clearance for classified knowledge, so I can go ahead and tell you.
Restricted information: The Confederation Navy has had the Harmonic Drive for almost a
year, and we've been building a small fleet of ships that use it, with more in the works.
But to draw possible attention away, Confed revealed the TCS Kestrel, a supposed
'prototype,' to the public at the symposium. In reality, the Kestrel had been fully
functional for months, but everyone else didn't need to know that. But the Kestrel is fitted
with what we call a Civilian Class engine. The Harmonics Drives we'll have on naval
ships is accompanied by a Wave Pulse Generator that creates a controlled constructive
flutter within the superstring oscillation field, kind of like an overdrive system. Really
kickstarts the engine. That flutter, along with an already enhanced drive system, helps the
engine to go way beyond the 8.795 times lightspeed rating."
"Just how far are we talking, Captain?" Crow asked.
"Oh, up to 1,286 times the speed of light."
The colonel almost fell over. "I don't believe it!"
Erikson laughed deeply. "I don't blame you. I didn't at first either. But, Crow,
I've seen it. I've flown it. At max tone we were able to as fast as 383,273,267 kilometers
per second, but that was really pushing the limits. Average cruising speed is around 134
million kps. Now factor in the use of strategic jump points, and you're talking massive
amounts of distance covered in fractions of the time. It will still take numerous decades to
cross the width of the galaxy, but the door to that option is now viable. We don't need
civilian ships to have this kind of speed though, so we only released the Kestrel's ratings.
We figured that should keep the public happy for awhile. And while the Kestrel was out
doing the usual 'look at me' tour across Confederation space, the navy was building the
Blacksmith Task Force. With the appearance of these aliens, Confed figures this is as
 The Fires Within 267

good a time as any to show off its new hardware."

"A dangerous time to shake down experimental ships don't you think?" Crow
asked.
Erikson shook his head. "Negative. The task force has already gone through the
shake down process. We know they work. The wargames we played showed that. But this
will be the first time we've gone against live hot targets."
"Then what's the hold up? Get those ships out there now."
"We're trying, Crow," Erikson said. "But we didn't expect to be put in action this
soon. The task force has been operating on a skeleton crew. You don't need much to
shake a ship down. But in a fight, every station needs manning. Since word got out on
your bad guys, we've been calling in the crew. But that takes time. I was on my way to
my ship when SSA transferred me here."
Taking that in, Crow leaned back. "Sorry about that. I know your new ship must
be important to you, but I need you here. This mission may turn into a real mess. I need
people I can depend on with me."
Erikson nodded. "Understood, Colonel. They won't miss me too much. My XO,
Commander Leahy, is a fine officer and knows the DarkForge as well as I do.. She's a
born leader. They'll do okay."
"That's good to hear, Captain," Crow told him. "But I think we need to start
worrying about our particular mission right now."
"About that," Erikson said. "What's our first destination?"
"The Dulcimer Sector. Two Super Tugs were stolen from a civilian shipyard
there. Could have been local trouble, but it might not. I want to check it out and see
what's what."
The captain nodded his head. "General Overton mentioned something about that.
I already have the nav points laid in. You fellas go headshed while I crack the whip on
my crew."
Crow laughed good and hard. "Now that's the Captain Erikson I remember!"
Both men stood up to leave. Erikson patted Crow in the back. "Ships may
change, Colonel, but the captains stay the same. Now if you don't mind, I have some old
lash wounds to open on the bridge."
Crow laughed again. "Aye, sir. Be gentle."
Erikson winked then headed for the bridge. Crow looked around for a moment,
then made his way toward the Damocles Tactical Room. Hopefully, Rattler had given it a
once-over and found it bug free. It was last time Crow was on the ship, but in five years
lots of things can change.

~*~~*~~*~

Bacchus Sector
CCS Clandestine
En-Route To Dulcimer Sector
Damocles Tactical Room
"Alright, gentlemen," Crow stated, his hands flat against the top of the dark
metal table before him. "Confed is in the shitter once again, and it's our job to get them
out."
A smattering of laughed burst from around the room. "Tell us something new,
Crow," Tremor retorted.
Crow winked at the man, agreeing with him. "Okay, how's this? It's the
Mandarins."
268 The Fires Within

That got their attention quickly. The men glanced at one another, some in shock,
some with a look that said 'Figured they'd show sometime.'
"The situation is this," Crow told them, standing straight. "Several weeks ago, a
secret Confederation weapons R&D base, the Pandora Station, was absconded by
unknown tangos. All the evidence we have points toward the Mandarins. The TCS Essex
was in charge of the investigation, but with the arrival of the alien hostiles, they had to
abandon their work. We are going to pick up where they left off. Barrage and I have
already started." Crow stopped speaking and leaned back next to a viewscreen on the wall
behind him.
"When the station was taken," Crow went on, "the Mandarins left behind a huge
pile of debris, more of a delaying tactic than anything else. They had hoped to confuse us
long enough to get away with their loot. But they made an error, though I doubt they even
knew it. You see, some of that debris was marked with an internal magnetic stamp. These
stamps are logged by Confed, telling where the material was manufactured and its current
location. The stamps on the debris found said it should have been at a depository in the
Chronos Sector called MetalWorks. Barrage and I did some recon, and we found that a
man by the name of Thomas Dorsey had purchased the metal, paying in straight credit
chits. MetalWorks got suspicious and planted a tracking device on the metal. The last
known position of that tracker was the Helena Sector. Not long before the metal was
purchased, two Super Tugs were stolen from a civilian shipyard in the Dulcimer Sector.
We're not sure if there is any connection, but we have to check it out. Super Tugs would
have been perfect for moving the station and dropping off the debris in its place."
Wendigo leaned forward. "Crow, do we have any intel on this Thomas Dorsey?"
Shaking his head, Crow replied, "Negative. I pulled everything I could find in
the ship's computer, but there's no Thomas Dorsey listed in current records."
Deadeye raised his hand and spoke. "It's probably a pseudonym, Crow. Maybe
an acronym."
"We're working on that too," Crow informed him. "But it might be awhile
figuring it out."
Rattler, looking lost in thought and slouching in his chair, slowly held up a
finger.
"Yes, Rattler?" Crow asked. "You have something to add?"
"I dunno," Rattler said, "but I might."
"Well, what is it?"
Rattler scratched his right cheek, still thinking. "I'm not sure. But, you see, that
name sounds familiar to me. For some reason it makes me think of my mother."
"Your mother?" Arnett said. "Explain."
Rattler sat up and leaned forward. "Yeah. I know she mentioned the name to me
on several occasions, but she always said 'Tommy,' not 'Thomas.' If I remember correctly,
he was a musician of some kind, maybe an actor. Old, too. Real old. Mom always had a
penchant for that stuff. A real retro when it came to entertainment." He made a wry face.
"Computer," Crow said to the air. "Access the database and find me anything
you have on a Thomas or Tommy Dorsey, please."
"Accessing," the computer said. "One moment please."
Everyone relaxed while the computer worked, sifting through their brains for
anything extra. But before they could come up with anything, the computer finished.
"Inquiry complete," it said. "Dorsey, Tommy, born 1905, died 1956, was an
American band leader during Earth's early and mid 20th century. He and his brother
Jimmy, born 1904, died 1957, were known for their swing bands that were particularly
popular in the 1930's and 1940's. During the 1920s, large groups of jazz musicians
 The Fires Within 269

began to play together, forming the so-called big bands. The time period was known as
the 'swing' era of jazz music."
Not one man spoke after that pronouncement, all of them stunned. But after
almost a minute of silence, Crow said, "Colson. That son of a bitch. Jazz Colson. He's
Thomas Dorsey."
Arnett was quick to speak up. "But he's dead, Crow. We all know that."
"Do we?" Crow asked in return. "We know that Jazz and Colonel Blair had a
dogfight at the jump point near Ayer's Rock, and that Blair beat him, but we never got
his body. Everyone just assumed that when his Morningstar exploded without him
ejecting, he had been turned into crispy critters. Under normal circumstances I would
think the same thing, but where Colson's concerned I never give the benefit of the doubt.
For all we know he was wearing an armored suit that protected him from the explosion.
Hell, maybe he even staged it, just to get Confed off his ass! Wouldn't be the first time
someone pulled a fast one on the Confederation."
Deadeye slouched back in his chair. "Remember that time I was being chased
from the Fifth Naval Armory in the Chrysalis Sector after we pulled that little
unannounced security test? Ten fighters were tearing after my ass while you guys just
watched from the shadows!"
Everyone laughed at the memory.
"I remember that," Ironside said, tears in his eyes. "No matter what you did,
they wouldn't let go. Like a pack of dogs in heat!"
Deadeye pointed his finger at Ironside and mockingly shot him. "Yeah, and I
was the bitch. But you remember how I finally got them to let go? I had to let them blow
up my ship, hoping the armored suit I was wearing to break into the armory would keep
me alive long enough for all of you to get me. As soon as I went up, they turned around
and left. It was a close call, but I made it. Jazz could have done the same thing."
Crow nodded. "That's a distinct possibility. But for the moment the point is
moot. If the reports of his death are greatly exaggerated, then we will correct that soon
enough. For now, let's concentrate on our next step."
The men around the table perked up and leaned forward.
"What's the plan, Colonel?" Wraith asked.
Crow turned to the viewscreen and pulled up the image of a shipyard. "This is
the Star Bright Civilian Shipyard in the Dulcimer Sector where the Super Tugs were
stolen from. Since it isn't a Confederation yard, its records aren't available to us directly.
We'll have to sneak in there and get what we need. Our objective: to find out if the
Mandarins were the ones who made the attack. We know what kind of ships they've
been using, so hopefully that will be of help. I don't know what kind of resistance we
can expect, so I will be going in alone for recon first."
Chaplain held up his hand. "Crow, why sneak in? Why not just ask them for
it?"
Crow looked at the man curiously. "I already said its records are not a part of
the Confederation. It's totally civilian. And since we're subrosa, we can't just walk in and
demand it."
"Then we'll do to them what we did to the people at Listening Post 11-A6,"
Chaplain explained.
Sitting down, Crow thought it over. "Does the ship still have the facilities for
it?"
Tremor winked. "You better believe it, Crow. All our old equipment is still
here. No problem at all getting what we need."
"Good," Crow said. "Then you men get to work on it. I'll want a sit-rep in one
270 The Fires Within

hour. By then we'll be in Dulcimer."

The men at the table stood up and began filing out the door.
"I'll research the current Peacekeeper procedures," Gunny told Crow.
Crow nodded his head, glad the man was with him. If you needed a computer
fixed, you got a programmer. If you needed good acting, you got Gunny. His theatrics
sometimes had their uses.

~*~~*~~*~

Dulcimer Sector
Moon Shadow System
Star Bright Civilian Shipyards
Security Office
Chief Security Officer Richard Keller ushered two plainclothes Confederation
Civilian Investigative Peacekeepers, Detective Grade, into his suite, gesturing at chairs
arranged before a cluttered mahogany desk. The Investigators, Killroy and Fitz, took the
offered chairs. Killroy was dressed in black jeans, a dark blue shirt, boots, and a brown
floor-length duster, looking very much like a cowboy riding the range a few centuries
too late, though some frontier farmers on fringe worlds still affected the same dress.
Fitz, on the other hand, looked dapper in a charcoal gray suit and black dress shoes. The
two men were opposites in appearance, but one look said they were as close as brothers
in spirit and friendship.
Keller walked around his desk and settled himself into the plush leather-bound
chair behind it. When everyone was comfortable, the security chief lit a cigar that he
pulled from a beautiful cedar humidor on his desk, then leaned forward to hand the
detectives one if they were inclined to join him. Killroy begged off, but Fitz was only
too happy to accept. When Fitz's was lit, everyone leaned back.
"So," Keller said, blowing acrid smoke from the corner of his mustached
mouth, "what brings you guys out to my neck of the woods?"
Crossing his legs, Killroy tugged at the hem of his duster. "We're here
investigating the Super Tugs theft." The CCIP leaned forward and handed the security
chief a standard police-issue datapad. Keller took it and read over the short investigative
summary on it. When that was done, he handed it back. Killroy stuffed it into his coat.
"I hope you don't mind," Keller told them, "but can I see your ID badges again?
I wasn't notified of this inquiry, and I like to keep everything above board."
Both men smiled, saying 'Hey, we're brothers in law, we understand,' then
handed over their individual IDs. Keller grabbed them up and looked over each one
closely, comparing the holopics on the badges to the men before him. Identical. Then he
swiped each through a card reader next to his desk. A few seconds shuffled past, then
the machine beeped, pulling up a page of text and pictures. Keller turned his head and
read what was on the screen. When that was complete, seemingly satisfied that all was
clear, he turned back to face the Peacekeepers.
"Everything's in order, Detectives," he said. "But I still don't understand why
you're here."
Fitz, puffing on his cigar, said, "What's not to understand? You were robbed,
and even though this isn't a Confederation shipyard, we are still obliged to check it out."
He held up his hands, palms up. "Seems clear enough. I mean, Confederation citizens
were killed in the theft. We are limited in what we can do, but we do all we can." He
smiled a beatific smile, his teeth shining in the light.
Holding his hands together, Keller leaned forward. "But some detectives
 The Fires Within 271

already came out to investigate," the chief told them. "They looked over everything, left
no stone unturned. They said it was a professional hit. Not much they could go on. They
seemed pretty bleak when they left." Keller leaned backward, taking in both men, sizing
them up. "Has new evidence surfaced?"
Killroy leaned back as well, nodding. "There have been some… new
developments, Chief, but I'm not at liberty to talk about that at this juncture.
Investigative Security rules are in effect. Sorry." Killroy gave him a helpless shoulder
shrug.
"Hhmm," Keller replied. He thought long and hard, but could come up with no
reasonable way to get past that. "Well, never let it be said I'm uncooperative. Five of my
men died, and I want the bastards who did it. If your lips are zipped, then I'll just have to
live with that, so long as I get the info when the case is closed."
Fitz slowly nodded. "Certainly, Chief. We won't keep you in the dark much
longer."
Patting the desktop, Keller stood and pointed to a computer monitor on a side
table. "Okay then. The disks from the security cameras that recorded the theft are
already loaded and ready to roll. I'm sure you know how to operate the equipment. If
you need anymore information, just access it from the mainframe. Some of the areas are
restricted, but you won't need what's in those anyway. Let me know when you're done.
I'll be outside going over duty rosters until then." With that he walked around his desk
and left the room, tipping his cap as he went, cigar smoke trailing behind him.
When they heard the door close behind them, both men pushed their chairs
over to face the monitor. Fitz brought up his wrist and faced the cufflinks of his coat
toward the screen while Killroy reached out and typed on the computer's keyboard. For
almost an hour they sat in silence, watching the footage from the security cameras,
zooming and panning when needed. After that, they pulled up the system tracking logs
and made note of different ships coming and going, paying particular attention to jump
point activations. After they recorded all that was available, they turned the computer off
and exited the room.
"Thank you for your assistance, Chief Keller," Killroy said. "This will really
help our investigation."
Keller tipped his cap again. "The least I could do, Detectives," he replied. "I
just hope you can catch them and return our Tugs."
"We'll try our hardest," Fitz told him.
Amenities completed, the two men walked back to their unmarked shuttle and
left. Two jump points and fifty minutes later they were back aboard the Clandestine.
Crow met them at the lowered gangplank.
"Mission successful?" the colonel asked.
Gunny smiled and nodded, peeling the brown duster from his shoulders. "You
bet your ass, sir. It was the Mandarins."
"You're sure?" Crow asked.
"Yes," Wendigo replied, unlatching the cufflink cameras from his wrists. "You
want it all now, or should we show you what we recorded?"
Waving his hands, the colonel said, "Just give it to me now. I'll review your
records later." Both men nodded, then started walking toward the briefing room, talking
as they went.
"One hour before the theft, Shadow Moon jump point alpha opened and
disgorged a small private carrier, designation Dixieland," Wendigo said. "I wouldn't
have thought anything of it if we hadn't already established Colson's predilection for
jazz oriented shit." The man shook his head. "Talk about careless. I don't know how he
272 The Fires Within

ever got to be such a thorn in the Confederation's side."

Gunny echoed the sentiment. "Me either. But since it leaves a nice little trail for
us to follow, I can't complain too much."
Wendigo continued his speech. "After the Dixieland entered the system, I
noticed that there was an extended warp in the jump field. Could have meant that the
carrier had a faulty jump drive, but it could also mean a cloaked ship came in with it.
That was my first thought. Later I was proven correct, though you have to really look
close to see it. Since we have more information to go on than former investigators, I'm
sure we saw things they didn't."
Crow and the two men finally made it to the briefing room. The rest of the team
was crowded around the table. Wendigo told them what he had just told Crow, then
went on with the rest of the story.
"When the Mandarins docked at the yard, twelve men exited. Where they went
I don't know since there aren't security cameras in every area. But about five minutes
after docking, a modified Sabre uncloaked and started firing on the shipyard. Alarms
went off, and everyone in the station either took off in their ships or headed toward
escape pods. A minute later the ship recloaked. If you didn't know where to start looking
or what to think, the attack would seem pointless."
Gunny stepped forward. "But we did know what to look for. Of the twelve men
who exited the Dixieland, only eight returned to it. In the rush to escape, dozens upon
dozens of people were running around screaming. We had to watch the tape three times
before we got the count right. When they were back aboard, the attacking fighter
cloaked itself. Its intent: to create confusion and panic. Result: the same, and very
successful."
"When things quieted down," Wendigo added, "five security officers were
found dead near the entrance ports to the yard's Super Tugs, the Tugs themselves gone.
The yard's sensors recorded the launch of the Tugs, but that was all. Who took them and
why was unknown. Until now.
Gunny raised his hand. "Another thing to point to the Dixieland is this: right
before the ship entered the jump point it came out of, the yard's sensors detected a dip in
the rear environmental shields on the carrier's hangar bay. Now, that could have been
anything from a power regulation surge to a field integrity test, but it could also indicate
a cloaked ship passing through. But again, if you weren't looking for it, you'd miss it.
Individually, all of it seems innocent enough, but taken as a whole, its an almost
flawless theft. Previous investigators didn't have the benefit of our intel, so I'm not
surprised they overlooked everything."
Crow leaned back in his seat, thinking. Thirty seconds later he activated a
comm switch. "Crow to Captain Erikson."
"This is Erikson, go ahead."
"Captain, our investigation is done here. Take us to the Helena Sector."
"On our way, Colonel."
The comm closed.
"Alright, gentlemen," Crow said, stretching his back. "You've done good work,
especially on those badges. Genius. But now try to get some shuteye. After we get done
in Helena, I think we'll have a good idea where Colson and his people are. I want all of
you bright eyed and bushy tailed when the action starts. Jazz has done a good job, but
his craziness has caused him to make mistakes. Thank the gods for small favors."
Arnett stood up. "You heard the man, team. Hit the bunks. Helena is about a
day from here, so there's plenty of time to get rested. I want a weapons and equipment
check done before we move in, just in case we get lucky and they are still there. Proper
 The Fires Within 273

previous planning prevents piss poor performance, ladies. Remember that. Now move
out."
As the men left, Arnett and Crow stayed behind to view the footage for
themselves, checking to see if anything was missed. In the end they had to agree with
Gunny and Wendigo. The Mandarins had attacked the shipyard and stolen the Tugs.
Where they had gone afterwards was the big mystery, and Crow loved nothing more
than unraveling mysteries.

~*~~*~~*~

Helena Sector
CCS Clandestine
The Bridge
26 Ship Hours Later
As soon as the Team entered the Helena Sector, Crow had initiated the tracking
device's transmission frequency. Within seconds, a deep gonging sound emanated from
the comm speakers, sounding loudly at first, then echoing away, the sound repeating
over and over again. The signal originated almost a million kilometers away, so to stay
on the safe side, Crow and Arnett took a high-speed shuttle with cloaking capabilities to
investigate in case there were hostiles around. The colonel already had an idea of what
they would find, but caution was foremost on his mind.
In the end, they needn't have bothered with the subterfuge. When they came to
the origin of the signal, all they found was empty space. A tight-beam sensor sweep
awarded them with the tracking device, floating in the depths of space, sans Dixieland of
course.
"I can't believe they found something that small," Arnett said, incredulous.
Crow looked at him out of the corner of his eye. "It's not the size of the device
that matters, but the signal strength. That transmitter is powerful enough to transmit
across several sectors. I'm surprised it took them as long as it did to spot it. A routine
internal sweep should have alerted them to it long before they came out this far. But
then, Colson isn't the brightest of fellows."
"Maybe they took it out here as a decoy," Arnett told him, his right hand
pulling at the strands of his beard. "You know, to give us a false trail."
Crow thought about that. "Could be. But it couldn't have been too far from their
original course. An unnecessary expenditure of resources. If they found it early, then the
wisest course of action would have been to ditch it immediately. To carry it out here
meant they wanted to give misinformation to the trackers. But, and this seems more
plausible to me, they could have just found it while out here and took it off then."
"Why is that more plausible?" asked Arnett.
Crow turned in his seat to face the major. "Think about it. Colson goes to
MetalWorks and buys a shit load of metal parts. Stealing it would have been more cost
effective, but also would have alerted the Confederation. He didn't want that kind of heat
generated, so he just dips into his blood-soaked pockets and pays for it in straight credit
chits. After the metal is picked up, he takes a pretty circuitous exit, eventually leading to
here. Then, a few days later, Colson goes back to MetalWorks to buy more metal, this
time in a more conventional fashion. What I figure is this: he gets all the way out here
with his metal before he realizes that he's being tracked. So, knowing he's being tracked
and the records of that tracking are being recorded, he decides to throw off suspicion by
making another purchase with a credit account. Then, feeling safe, he ditches the device
and heads off to his original destination with all the metal parts."
274 The Fires Within

Arnett nodded, seeing the man's logic. "That sounds right. But why ditch it
here? Why not take it to another sector, leading possible future hunters astray?"
"Because that tracer is hot," Crow said, "and he doesn't want the heat near him
longer than it has to be. Leaving it here doesn't really give any indication on his base
anyway, so why go through the bother? Besides, something could happen that brings the
authorities down on him fast, and that tracker is nothing but a bullseye. Ditch it and cut
your losses."
Nodding, Arnett turned the shuttle around and headed off for the Clandestine.
After they debarked, the two men went immediately for the tactical room, the rest of the
Team waiting for them.
"What did you find?" Rattler asked.
"A speck of metal floating in the big empty," Crow replied.
All the men at the table nodded.
As Arnett took a seat, Crow walked to stand at the table's control panel. "We've
done all the detective work we can in the field, so now it's time to take what we've
learned, throw it in the kettle, and see what boils over. Computer!"
"Ready, Colonel Crow," the ship's computer replied. "What is your command?"
Crow lightly scratched at his stubble-covered jaw line. "Computer, give me a
tactical star map, and center it on our past three sector destinations. Then, increase the
map by, say, ten sectors per side."
The table's upper surface shimmered, then a large grid-lined map appeared.
"Okay, now highlight all star systems."
Hundreds of lights blinked on, the dots flashing.
"Remove all systems within our destination sectors, Computer."
Groups of lights winked out, leaving vast holes on the map.
"Now remove all inhabited systems."
More lights winked out.
"Computer, remove all systems within ten light-years of civilian traffic
spacelanes."
Yet more lights winked off, the ones remaining few and far between.
"Alright, now remove all the systems within twenty light-years of known
military lanes."
As the lights went out, the men around the table leaned over to get a better look
at the map. Of all the lights that had once been on the map, only a dozen remained.
"That's good, Computer. Now please display jump point lines."
Color coded bars flashed onto the table, intersecting each other or standing
alone.
"Now theorize," Crow stated.
"What are the parameters, Colonel Crow?" the computer asked.
"I am the leader of the Mandarins, and I want to build a stronghold in an
uninhabited system," Crow said. "I want it far from prying eyes, but not far from at least
two rarely used jump points. These points should in turn be within one day's travel at
maximum sub-light engine output to other jump points leading to civilization, but not
near any traveled spacelanes. Extrapolate where such a base might be located within the
sectors on this map."
"Processing," the computer replied. "Please hold."
"You sure that's specific enough?" Chaplain asked, his mouth twisted up.
Crow rubbed his eyes. "If I make the criteria too narrow, then we risk the
chance of removing possible locations. I think these specifications are broad enough to
give us a good starting point. If I were a criminal, these would be my basic
 The Fires Within 275

requirements."
"Then you figure he's somewhere on this map then?" Ironside inquired.
Nodding, Crow said, "Further away than this and he is in danger of making his
operational distances too great. Tugs are good ships, but they're not know for their high
speeds. Keep it simple. A rule everyone should live by, especially militants. Remember,
never over-extend your supply lines."
"Process complete," the computer finally said. "Possible star systems are
highlighted. Information available on all locations at your request."
Looking, the men counted five systems that met the criteria Crow had laid out.
"In order of distance from us, closest first, please give us a basic rundown on these
systems," the colonel requested.
"Chimera System, Ottoman Sector," the computer said. "Eight planets orbit a
class O-type star. Preliminary investigations report that it is an uninhabitable system due
to the star's intense heat and high radiation. No known stations present."
"Primius System, Ottoman Sector. Ten planets orbit an F-class star. No known
inhabited planets, but Primius Four and Five are suitable for colonization. All radiation
levels are nominal. No anomalous readings or objects known."
"Clancy System, Goshawk Sector. Nine planets revolve around a G-type star.
The system is currently uninhabited, but the Confederation Expansion and Immigration
Department has it marked for colonization within five years. All readings nominal."
"Paleus System, Vitruvius Sector. Five planets orbit a class K star. Two planets
are under strict quarantine resulting from early Confederation biological experiments,
and the other planets are uninhabitable. Nominal readings."
"Thor System, Vanguard Sector. Six planets orbit a G-type star of average mass
and energy. Uninhabited, but Thor Five is capable of sustaining humanoid life with only
minor terraforming modifications. No plans or claims are made on the planet at this
time."
The men sat back to think and discuss.
"Well, we can rule out the Clancy System right now," Wendigo stated matter-
of-factly.
Crow agreed. "Yeah, too inviting. And what with the CEID having latched on
to it, that only reduces the likelihood of Colson choosing it further. Why create a base
only to have to move it when the new owners come knocking?"
"I think we can forget about the Chimera System too," Arnett said.
Gunny replied, "Those radiation readings would make building and maintaining
a station there virtually impossible. They could do it, but the shielding would have to be
monstrous. Sounds like too much trouble, if you ask me."
"I concur," Crow said. "Don't ask for more trouble than you have to."
"Then that leaves Primius, Paleus, and Thor," Rattler counted off.
"Scratch Primius," Chaplain told them. "If it has habitable planets, then you
might as well put a big ol' welcome mat out for settling."
"Agreed," Crow replied. "Thor has a usable planet, but only if it's modified, so
that system is still viable for Colson. Paleus seems the most promising."
Arnett nodded. "Computer, please give more information on the Paleus
System."
"Accessing," the computer replied. "Paleus Three and Four, previously code
named 'Diamond' and 'Sapphire' respectively, were once the staging areas for secret
biological experiments conducted by the Confederation during the middle of the war
with the Kilrathi. The experiments, Project: Spotlight and Project: Brush Fire, were
failures, and both planets had to be quarantined in case of undetected contamination."
276 The Fires Within

"Between the forth and fifth planets," the computer continued, "is an asteroid
belt. Popular theory says that the asteroids occupy a place in the solar system where a
sizable planet could have formed, but was prevented from doing so by the disruptive
gravitational influences of the nearby gas giant planet, Paleus Five. Originally perhaps
only a few dozen asteroids existed, which were subsequently fragmented by mutual
collisions to produce the population now present. There are thousands of asteroids in the
belt, most of which are C, S, and M types, but there have also been several achondrite
classes charted."
"That's enough, computer," Crow said, holding up a hand. "I think we have our
location."
All the heads around the table nodded in agreement.
"But can we afford to ignore Thor?" Wraith asked?
"And what about the other systems?" Deadeye said. "Colson could have
anticipated that people would start looking for him and so chose a base of operations
that we wouldn't think he would take up. You know, the old 'I-know-that-he-knows' run-
around."
The colonel nodded, but wasn't going to get caught up in the vicious circle of
second-guessing himself. "Deadeye, if he's smart, then he's chosen his HQ along the
lines that I did for making this chart. Anything else would only leave him too close to
the enemy for safety and secrecy or too far away to be viable. He has to pick a spot
somewhere in between those extremes, just as I did for this. And with the systems open
to him, his choices are severely limited. On one hand you've got a couple of systems that
are probably going to get crowded in a few years with settlers, and on the other you have
a system that is way too hot. If he had the time and the resources it would take to build a
station that could withstand the radiation from the O-type star, then it would be perfect.
But a shield like that is expensive as hell and hard to get. Plus, all the ships he might
have would need to be shielded too. Gentlemen, that ain't easy to do. A whole lot of
trouble when there are other systems that could work just as well without all the hassle.
Of course," Crow conceded, "Colson could be a total nut-job and do something really
stupid. I wish we could check all these systems, but something inside tells me that time
is running out."
"I hope you're wrong, Crow," Tremor said. "I don't like putting all my ammo in
one clip."
"There's an old nautical term for this, Tremor," Crow told him, putting on a
fatherly face. "It's called 'dead reckoning.' Basically, it's a method of navigation in which
the position of a ship or aircraft is determined by calculation from a previous position of
the craft, the direction of travel from the previous position, the speed of the craft, and the
time traveled. But instead of trying to find our location, we're trying to find Pandora
Station and the Mandarin base of operations. With all his known previous locations and
the info we have on the systems available to him, I think our chances are good on
finding him in the Paleus System. It's a gamble, but what else are we going to do? It's
now or never, double or nothing. He's out there, somewhere, with the power to destroy
planets at a whim, and he's crazy enough to do it. We're the best there is at this. Now
let's get out there and do the deed. Assholes and elbows time, gents. Move it."

~*~~*~~*~
 The Fires Within 277

Vitruvius Sector
Far Outside the Paleus System
CCS Clandestine
Hangar Bay
Eighteen Hours Later
"Okay, Gunny," Crow told the younger man, "you know the drill. Once you get
within one-hundred-thousand kliks of the system, I want you to cloak. That should put
you outside their sensor range. Hit the afterburners when you get to the asteroid belt.
Don't go in, but try a nap-of-the-earth maneuver along the outside. I figure he'll be on
the exterior since an asteroid belt is too dangerous for a lot of ships to maneuver in, and
he'll most likely be in a synchronous solar orbit with the gas giant. That way he'll know
where his base is without having to waste fuel flying all around the belt. If you pick up
anything in it, you can go in a ways, but not far. Don't be a hero and buzz the tower,
okay? If your power starts running low on the cloak, lay in a course to the gas giant and
park in one of its poles, then de-cloak. The electromagnetic radiation from the planet
will mask you from them. After your solar-cells recharge, cloak again and move. We'll
meet you back here. All clear?"
"Crystal," Gunny replied, putting on his armored helmet. When his suit was on
and locked down, he climbed into the small ship, powered up, and lifted off. The
carrier's rear door lowered, then Gunny rocketed out in a blaze of energy, the men
behind crossing their fingers.
"Alright, let's get things ready," Crow said. "Operation: Hide-And-Seek
commencing."

~*~~*~~*~

Vitruvius Sector
Paleus System
VISk Mabel
Outer System Perimeter
Gunny had been cloaked for only a minute and ten seconds when he came upon
the outermost planet, Paleus Five. Not wanting to push his luck with the cloaking power,
he pulled into a fixed polar orbit to recharge. The batteries were almost full to begin
with, so he only stayed there for two minutes.
From there he re-cloaked, sped from the planet's gravity well, and resumed full
throttle to the asteroid belt. Quick mental calculations told him that it would take him an
hour and forty minutes to reach the belt some nine million kilometers away.
Afterburners would get him there in almost half the time, but it would be a waste of fuel,
fuel he would need for skirting the rocks. So instead, to break the monotony, he went
through a few evasive maneuvers, testing his craft out further. Stars twirled and bobbed,
dipped and streaked across the dark visor of his helmet.
As he reached the halfway mark, a loud beep drew his eyes to the HUD before
him. There he saw four bright red dots homing in on his position fast from his nine, the
unknown ships coming out of cloak. "Holy shit!!" he yelled, sweat springing to his
forehead. To avoid a collision, he lowered his nose and hit the afterburners. Over his
head raced a modified Kilrathi Dorkathi military transport and three Jalkehi heavy
fighter escorts. "What the hell are the Kilrathi doin' here?!" he asked the cosmos around
him. No answer was forthcoming.
But as his mind wondered, a second set of red dots appeared on his HUD, these
coming in much slower. Curious to see who the other party crashers were, Gunny
278 The Fires Within

throttled back and let the four blips overtake him, this time from his three o'clock. A
minute later he saw a Fraltha-class Firekkan transport and three newly developed
Firekkan Thrasko medium fighters, all of them looking like eggs gone AWOL from their
crates. Gunny had to smile at the innocent looking ships until he saw missiles and
energy weapon barrels protruding from their hulls. "Guess our feathered friends are tired
of being the weaker members of the Confederation," he uttered. He couldn't blame them.
The Kilrathi had almost pulled a deadly number on them in the past, and it was only fair
that they get to tote around their own weapons.
"I got cats on one side of me and birds on the other, with a crazy-ass bunch of
humans right in front," Gunny murmured to himself. "It don't get much better than this."
Keeping twenty meters behind and above the Firekkan convoy, Gunny tailed
them as they moved through space. Their speed was much less than his, but he didn't
mind. Having four ships to watch was a lot more interesting than looking at emptiness.
Comm traffic was nonexistent between the two groups, and Gunny had to wonder about
that, but after following them for two and a half hours, he suddenly had more than
enough to occupy his mind with. Before him, slowing growing larger and larger, an
asteroid of extraordinary size along the outskirts of the belt opened hangar doors where
no doors should be.
"Well I'll be damned," Gunny whispered. "A dugout asteroid base. Not too
shabby… for a bunch of lunatics." He peeled away from the Firekkans and zoomed in
on the base, intending to circle around it and let his sensors record all they could. As he
went around the starboard side, his eyes fell upon a large space station secured to the
asteroid. "Must be Pandora Station. Hhmm… Seems to be held in place by anchor
beams and cables. Nice job."
He was counting his good fortune when he looked down at his status board and
blanched. "Aw shit," he growled. "Damn Firekkans took too long! Now I don't have
enough cloaking power to make it out without being seen. Fuck me." Mentally turning
his limited options over, the only thing he could think of to do was a risky wager at best.
Moving his VISk in along side one of the anchor beams on the dark side of the asteroid,
he let the stray energy suck him in against the rock. Anchor beams are very strong
magnetic fasteners, and they could hold him in place even if he was five meters away
from the beam's portal. As soon as he was snuggled in, he lowered the cloak and waited
for fighters to scramble toward his position, keeping one eye on his comm monitor.
After watching for three minutes, he knew that he had guessed right: he was inside the
asteroid's sensor range. In effect, still cloaked. No enemy ships moved in, and his comm
stayed clear. With a trembling hand he reached out and initiated his solar-cells to
reenergize the batteries.
For three hours he sat latched to the asteroid's dark side, waiting for the meager
amount of energy from the system to charge his ship. His line of sight was awful, but the
ship's sensors tracked four Sabres flying a distant patrol around the base and station, and
after the second hour of sitting past, he noted the Firekkan and Kilrathi convoys take off
in different directions. When his batteries were fully charged again, he cloaked and left,
anxious to make his report. He didn't know if Crow would be pleased with all the traffic,
but better to know and plan than to blunder in blindly. Knowing time was of the essence,
Gunny hit his afterburners and scorched across the sky to rendezvous with Clandestine.

~*~~*~~*~
 The Fires Within 279

Vitruvius Sector
Paleus System
Secret Mandarin Asteroid Base
Control Room
"That's odd," Science Officer Lieutenant Jeff Roberts said, leaning over his
console.
Commander Trevor 'Bluebeard' Mindle stood from his chair and walked toward
the officer. "You have something to report, Lieutenant?" Trevor asked in an
authoritative tone.
Jeff tweaked his controls. "I'm not sure, sir," he replied. "About three hours ago
I noticed a two-percent drop in power for anchor beam B-5. It restored seconds later, so
I didn't feel any need to mention it. But it just dipped again."
"Is the anchor stable?" Trevor inquired.
Consulting his readings, Jeff said, "Yes, sir. A dip, then back to normal. All
readings are green."
"Do we have a camera on that sector?"
"No, sir."
Trevor ran a hand through his dark hair. "Okay. I'll send a Sabre and technician
crew to investigate just in case. We're about to enter Stage Three of the operation, and I
don't want anything messing it up. Keep me posted, Lieutenant."
"Will do, sir," Jeff replied.

~*~~*~~*~

Vitruvius Sector
Far Outside the Paleus System
CCS Clandestine
Tactical Room
"Thank you for your report, Gunny," Crow said. "Good work."
Gunny beamed, a wide smile cracking his face.
Colonel Crow stood from his chair and laid his fingertips against the edge of
the tactical table. "Your thoughts, gentlemen?"
"I don't like it, sir," Wraith said, scowling. "Mandarins were bad enough. Now
we've got the Kilrathi to worry about, and the Firekkans just muddy up the works. It
stinks of something major, and none of it good for the Confederation."
"I don't like it either, Wraith," Crow said, "but it doesn't change anything. Our
job is to get back or destroy Pandora, and to wax the Mandarins. Let Confed deal with
the Kilrathi and the Firekkans. It's their problem, not ours… unless they get in my way."
A wicked gleam appeared in his eyes.
"It seems our initial objective is two fold," Rattler said from the end of the
table. "For maximum effect, I think we should try and overtake both the station and the
asteroid base at the same time. If we take only one, tangos on the other will have ample
time to form a resistance or escape. To get them all, we most go after both platforms."
"Agreed," Crow replied.
"And we need to get to the control centers of each platform as quickly as we
can to lessen the amount of time they'll have to coordinate a counter-attack," Wendigo
followed. "To expedite that I think we should employ the stealth suits."
"That would be most… expeditious, Wendigo," Crow told him, smiling a wry
smile.
"I think I should remind the colonel that the suits only have a max cloak time of
280 The Fires Within

one hour before they lose tachyon field integrity," Deadeye said, the Team's technical
expert once again showing his obvious worth.
Crow nodded. "Noted, Deadeye. But I think it would be too dangerous to try
and infiltrate the platforms without using them. If we had more intel on their layouts,
then I wouldn't hamper us with them, but as it is we're gonna be flying blind. These suits
aren't much on stopping power, but the enemy can't shoot what they can't see."
Chaplain chimed in. "Colonel, how do you propose we get into the platforms?
The station is no problem; we just cut through the hull. But that asteroid will be a bitch,
even if we can get through the rock. And there's no guarantee that we won't get through
only to face an army of tangos who were waiting on us to come to them."
"I figured we'd just fly into the hangar bays, Chaplain," Crow informed him.
The Marine raised a skeptical eyebrow.
"Hear me out. We take two of the stealth shuttles and fly to the asteroid belt.
There we wait and observe who is coming and going. If and when we see a group of
ships entering the Mandarin's asteroid base, we'll tag along and land with them. They
won't see us, and the noise of the other ships will mask ours. The shuttles are pretty
small, so I don't foresee any problems finding a parking spot in a far corner; both the
asteroid base and the station have large hangars. Then, when everyone if hustling
around, we slip out and start staking the place out."
"But what if no one enters Pandora?" Ironside asked.
"I'm about to break one of the Commandments, people," Crow said, "so bear
with me."
The men around the table leaned forward to hear what the colonel had to say.
"I'm going to assume that the asteroid base is the more trafficked of the two
platforms," he told them. "If that is so, then Blue Team will penetrate it and start
checking things out. If ten minutes have passed and Pandora hasn't cracked, then Gold
Team will latch their shuttle onto the station and use the keel hatch's cutting laser to
break in. If that happens, then our presence will be known. But I figure by then we'll
already be well into the danger zone, so that won't matter much. If shit isn't flying by
then, it won't at all."
Several of the Damocles Team members broke into smiles.
"Here's how the Teams will be broken down: Blue Team will be Barrage,
Wendigo, Gunny, Chaplain, and myself. Tremor, you and Deadeye, Ironside, Wraith,
and Rattler will be Gold Team. I want everyone outfitted with stealth suits, rail guns,
blazers, and any other weapons you prefer. Don't try to carry a tank on your backs
though, ladies. These suits come with photon blasters installed on the palms, so you
should already have plenty of firepower."
Deadeye raised a hand.
"Yes?" Crow asked.
"Well, Colonel, I thought I might bounce something off you."
"What's that?"
"Remember those particle cannons I was working on right before that last
mission?"
Crow had to search his brain for a few seconds. "Yeah, I remember. Shoulder
mounted cannons that fired charged particles. Still on the drawing table last I recall."
"Well," Deadeye said, "that was four years ago. While we were on Merlin VIII
looking for you and cleaning up the wreckage you left behind, I talked with some of the
developers there. They liked my designs and helped improve them. When I left
Damocles, I took them with me. Resources have been pretty scarce, but I've been able to
build two of them, never knowing when I might need the firepower. I think one member
 The Fires Within 281

of each Team should have one. If you come up against something the other weapons
can't handle, the cannons will take care of it."
Crow was intrigued. "Tell me more."
"The ammo for the cannons is a highly charged group of elementary particles,
baryons to be exact. I wanted to use mesons, but they take too much energy to accelerate
and fire. Only starships have the power for those suckers. But baryons work nicely.
Upon impact, they deliver an enormously powerful blast. I field tested them against a
scrapped Hellcat, and one shot punched right through the outer hull. That's without the
shield in operation of course. But even then I figure these cannons are probably one of
the most powerful weapons you can carry without needing a crane to hold you up."
The group of men laughed.
"That's great work, Deadeye," Crow said, clapping the man on the back. "Since
you'll be in Gold Team, you should carry one, while Barrage carries one for Blue
Team."
"Each cannon can be switched from semi to fully automatic," Deadeye
instructed. "Semi gives you a bigger yield, but it only fires once per second. Full-auto
fires three times per second, with a decrease in damage per shot by over half. More of a
safety precaution than anything else. You go to firing this baby at max power in full-
auto, and the house will come tumbling down on your head real fast."
"So noted," Arnett replied.
From there, Crow went on to brief them on his suspicions and accusations.
Through it all they listened, coming to see the situation as he saw it, believing in his
particular brand of paranoia. In the end they had to agree. A plan was laid out, a plan
that would hopefully get them all clear without the Confederation being any the wiser.
"Now that that's over with," Crow said, "let's go to the armory and get prepped. I want
everyone outfitted in one hour. We'll take two hours to test the suits, engaging in a
couple of mock battle scenarios on the ship. After that, if everything checks out okay,
we'll load up and take off. I'd hate for the party to start without us. Get ramblin', men."

~*~~*~~*~

Vitruvius Sector
Paleus System
Shuttles Laredo and Odessa, Cloaked
Arrayed Before Mandarin Asteroid Base
Once the shuttles had reached their objectives, Crow had everyone change into
their stealth suits. When the last of the outfits were locked down, Crow opened his
comm.
"Deadeye, I trust these communications lines are secured."
In the other shuttle, Deadeye replied, "Yes, sir. As soon as you picked out the
shuttles and loaded the suits, I went ahead and re-modulated the cloaking fields on the
shuttles to the one the suits were on. Changing two tachyon modulation fields is a heck
of a lot easier than ten. Now we can talk without fear of being overheard by the
Mandarins and whoever else may be out here. Plus, we can leave the shuttles cloaked on
the platforms and still see them."
"That's good news, soldier," Crow praised. "Was Clandestine made aware of
this?"
"Yes, sir. As per your instructions."
"Good. Now let's cut the chatter and see what's going on."
So for three hours the men sat in cramped shuttles, observing the different ships
282 The Fires Within

that came and went. At the end of the third hour they saw a small group of Sabres head
toward the asteroid after finishing their patrol route. Taking that as his cue, Crow had
Arnett power up Laredo and follow them. Odessa would wait until they could find an
entrance group of their own for Pandora. If one didn't present itself, then they would
lock the shuttle against the station's hull and cut their way through.
Getting into the hangar bay of the asteroid base proved tricky at first, what with
having to maneuver around four fighters slipping into their landing births and then
spotting a corner that looked little used. When the shuttle finally settled down, the men
inside thanked their lucky stars and patted Arnett on the back for a job well done.
"Time to earn our keep," Crow told everyone.

~*~~*~~*~

Vitruvius Sector
Paleus System
Secret Mandarin Asteroid Base
Hangar Bay
Things were really heating up for Mark Brigant, a former Confederation
Spacehand, 2nd Class, now a Mandarin Hangar Technician. In the past two days, the
traffic in and out of the base had increased five fold, and things didn't look to be
slacking up anytime soon. Colson had informed all of them that he was entering into the
third stage of his master plan, a plan no one but a few chosen people really knew
anything about. All Mark knew was that instead of only servicing the Sabres and other
Mandarin ships he was used to, he was now being asked to also take on the duties of
looking after Kilrathi and Firekkan ships as well. He didn't like it, didn't like being kept
in the dark, didn't like being told what to do without so much as an explanation or a hint
of what was really going on.
As he was entering into the home stretch of his usual daily bitch, careful to
keep his thoughts hidden lest he find himself on the business end of Colson's fury, the
four patrolling Sabres that had left several hours ago were coming in for fuel and minor
maintenance. It was a routine he knew well, having performed the same duties nonstop
for over a month, and it was with some surprise that he found himself locked in place,
not moving as he had always done before. Something's wrong, he thought. I don't know
what it is, but something's… different. He looked around the hangar, but it was as it
always is: cluttered, too bright in some areas, too dark in others, and noisy. That's it! The
noise! It's off somehow.
Staff Sergeant Bill Hammond, Mark's supervisor, ran over to see why his little
worker bee was standing around like a dumbshit with one finger up his nose and another
up his ass. "Mark?!" he yelled to be heard over the fighter engines. "You gonna do some
work today, or do I have to plant my size 13 boot in your behind again?"
Mark turned slowly, like a man mesmerized. "Sarge, do you hear something?"
he asked, one ear cocked out.
Hammond pursed his lips and looked around in exaggerated motions. "And
what the fuck am I supposed to hear?" he said, his voice dripping sarcasm. "All I hear
are four starfighters screamin' all to hell and you asking me dumbass questions."
Mark didn't catch the none-too-subtle innuendo from his boss. "That's just it,
Sarge. I hear five engines, not four, and one of them isn't a fighter. More like a… shuttle
or something."
Hammond reached out an iron-hard hand and clamped it on the young
technician's shoulder tightly, looking around. "Do you see a fuckin' shuttle, Brigant? I
 The Fires Within 283

don't see no fuckin' shuttle. What I do see are four Sabres that need servicing. And I if I
don't see your ass moving in three seconds, then I'm gonna watch it as it flies out an
airlock, I shit you not."
Mark, feeling the vise-like grip of his boss, decided discretion was indeed the
better part of valor. "I see your point, Sarge. Must be an acoustical problem."
"Yeah," Hammond replied dryly, "an acoustical problem. I don't give a shit
what it is. Just get to work and don't stop until I tell you you can stop. Are you reading
me, Brigant?"
"Loud and clear, Sarge."
"That's good. Now move it before I decide to space your ass just for the hell of
it."
Mark, having too late second thoughts about joining the Mandarins, did as he
was told. The forth and final fighter came to a rest as he neared it, the ship's drives
winding down. When he walked toward a mobile fuel pump, he heard a metallic clank in
the dark nether regions of the hangar bay, then the mysterious engine noise died out as
well. He craned his neck up to look at where the sound seemed to originate, but all he
could see was dark metal and shadows, not a shuttle or whatever his mind had created to
fit the engine signature. "What the heck is goin' on around here?"
But he didn't want to bring the wrath of Hammond down upon himself, so he
went about his job, fueling and repairing the Sabres, with one eye and ear peeled for
anything else out of the ordinary.

~*~~*~~*~

Vitruvius Sector
Paleus System
Secret Mandarin Asteroid Base
Hangar Bay
Shuttle Laredo
"Chaplain," Crow said in the close quarters of the small shuttle, "we stick to the
plan. You stay here and watch over Laredo. When I give you the word, start the shuttle's
engines and warm her up. But while you wait, if you think you can get away with it
without being found out, I wouldn't object to a little sabotage; say, a remote-detonation
grenade in a fuselage here and there, maybe one or two near the fuel pumps."
Chaplain nodded, his eyes sparkling at the mischief he could create.
"The rest of you, follow my lead. I want us in and out of here as quick as we
can. First objective: the control room. Second: any and all intel on the Station they have
on their computers. Third: trash this dump. Are we a-go?"
"Go, sir!" the four men said sternly.
"Odessa, do you read me?" Crow asked.
"This is Odessa, we read you," Tremor replied.
"Any luck?"
"None, sir."
"Alright, go ahead and maneuver for manual insertion. If you don't get an
invitation within ten minutes, get to cuttin'. You know your orders. Laredo out."
Crow took a few seconds to reposition his gear, then made a fist with his
armored hand, signaling his readiness. "Disappear, ladies."
The other four men activated their cloaking devices. When they were gone
from normal sight, the computer in his helmet provided him with an artificial image of
them on his HUD, the stealth suits dark gray outlined in white, and a name stenciled
284 The Fires Within

over them.
Crow was thankful for the genius of Confederation scientists. Since his
cloaking device was modulating at the same frequency as theirs, his computer could still
see them. With tachyon frequencies numbering in the hundreds of billions, the chances
of someone else using the same frequency was almost nonexistent. The wonders of
modern science never ceased to amaze him. He activated his own cloak when he was
sure his equipment was working properly. "Peek-a-boo," he said.
The men laughed.
"Let's go."
Chaplain hit a button, and the rear gangplank lowered, opening up to a
shadowy wall. When it slowly touched down without a sound, the five Damocles
members walked out and formed a perimeter around the shuttle. Men and women were
rushing around the hangar, but none of them were looking at the cloaked shuttle or the
men who stood guard around it. But Crow did notice that one person, a young man in
technician overalls, periodically glanced up at their location, then would shake his head
and go back to his work, muttering to himself.
"Chaplain," Crow said softly, "keep an eye on that guy." The colonel pointed.
Chaplain followed the gesture. "Will do, Crow."
Taking one last look around, Crow twirled a finger in the air and started
moving toward a large doorway, his rubber-soled boots whisper silent. Barrage,
Wendigo, and Gunny followed him out. Chaplain stood his ground, keeping watch,
plotting his roguish games. So many ways to wreak havoc, so little time…

~*~~*~~*~

Vitruvius Sector
Paleus System
Secret Mandarin Asteroid Base
Level Seven
The going had been easy so far. The hallways were wide enough to allow the
men to walk single file while dodging past others like the base was an obstacle course.
As they walked they listened to the conversations that passed them, hoping they could
get a clue as to what was happening. Mostly they heard people griping about Colson and
his little secrets. Signs on the walls pointed toward lifts, and signs at the lifts showed
what the various levels housed. In all there were seven levels. The lowest and largest
was the hangar, with the one right above it dedicated to the hangar's crews and supplies.
Level Three was general storage, including food-stuffs and the armory. Levels Four and
Five housed the rest of the asteroid's crew. Level Six was were most of the Mandarins
kept their computer cores, sensors, and other vital pieces of equipment. Level Seven was
the Command Level, Blue Team's destination.
Riding up the lifts had been the hardest part. To minimize accidental detection,
they had used them one by one when the asteroid's crew used them. They had come
close to being found out several times when the lifts started to get crowded. Thank
whatever god is out there for large lifts, Crow thought to himself on more than one
occasion. But within six minutes they had reached their objective.
When the last of Blue Team arrived, Crow immediately had them spread out
and quietly search the cavernous Command Center. Technicians and programmers
hustled about, watching screens or fielding comms. Crow rounded a far port-side corner
and almost ran right into Colson, the man walking hurriedly with a small entourage
trailing behind him. The colonel rushed to flatten his armored body against a bulkhead.
 The Fires Within 285

As Colson walked past, he felt the air before him swish madly. He stopped and looked
around, but could see nothing. Shaking his head, he continued on. Sweat sprang out on
Crow's forehead. That was close!! Colson had looked right at him, the man's beady eyes
boring through him, a maniacal light filling them.
"You okay, Colonel?" Arnett asked.
"Yeah," Crow replied. "Just a close call. Get to work."
Wishing he could wipe the sweat off, Crow activated his internal air
conditioner, letting the light blast of cool air dry him off. That done, he turned and
resumed his search. After walking around for another two minutes, he saw a man in a
secluded niche of computer banks leaning back in his chair, oblivious to the world
around him. Bingo. The colonel tip-toed over toward the tired worker. As he reached out
a hand, prepared to snap his neck, he heard the man's pocket comm activate.
"Joe, come in," a voice snapped over the speaker.
"This is Joe," he said in reply. "What do ya need, Mike?"
"Listen, I need you to go down to Sensor Grid 15 and check it over."
"I can't, Mike. There's no one to spell me here, and I don't want to have Colson
find my station unmanned."
"Don't worry about it. Colson cleared it. I'll have two of my boys overlap their
fields with yours while you do it. You installed that grid, and since we seem to be
having trouble with it, it's your job to fix it. It shouldn't take more than ten minutes."
Joe pinched his nose below the glasses he wore, feeling ever second of the
eight hour shift he had been working. "Alright, Mike," he said. "I'll be right down."
"Thanks, Joe. Out."
Swearing softly, the man pushed his chair back on its wheels and stood up.
After stretching his back, he grabbed the jacket that was hanging from the back of the
chair, slipped it on, and walked away. The glow of his computer screen shimmered in
the emptiness of his station. That emptiness was about to be filled.
"Crow to Blue Team. Hold your positions. I think I have target acquisition."
Taking a long look around, Crow deactivated his cloak; the tachyon field might
play havoc with the delicate computer equipment. Quickly the world reverted from black
and white to vivid color. Pushing the chair out of his way, Crow knelt in front of the
computer and looked for a disk bay. Finding one, he removed his trusty decryption and
override modules from an internal pocket and inserted them. Luckily, the asteroid's
security programs didn't go ballistic. A minute later he had full access.
Looking around again to make sure he was undetected, Crow typed, Find and
copy all database information on Pandora Station, Project: Tinkerbell, and all other
relevant information pertaining to those objectives. The override modules immediately
went to work. As they pulled up information, he read what he could. Two minutes later,
his search and download was complete. "Oh my god," he whispered, thunderstruck at
the implications. Activating his comm, Crow spoke to Clandestine. "Captain Erikson,
send a flash communiqué to Confed HQ! Tell them a private ship by the name of Bounty
is heading toward Earth fast from the Chronos Sector. If it gets to the Sol System, Earth
is dead! Tell them to destroy it on sight, no questions asked! Hurry!!"
"I read you, Crow," Erikson replied. "Message being sent now."
The near-silent words were no more spoken when he heard heavy footsteps
rounding the corner of his little hiddy-hole. "Freeze, asshole!" an authoritative voice
shouted at him.
"Blue Team," Crow whispered into his comm, "I have the data we need. Fire at
will."
Multiple explosions roared seconds later…
286 The Fires Within

~*~~*~~*~

Vitruvius Sector
Paleus System
Secret Mandarin Asteroid Base
Computer Control Station Alpha-One
Two Minutes Earlier
"Mike!" Lieutenant Wang shouted out over the hubbub of other people around
him, all of them busily at work and damned noisy doing it.
"What is it, Wang?" Mike replied, working at the far end of the control station.
"I'm busy!"
"I thought you told Joe to go check Sensor Grid 15!" the lieutenant said.
"I did!" Mike retorted. "Why? It not fixed yet?"
"That's not what I meant!"
"Then what?" Mike sat up and looked over at the lieutenant, the two of them
separated by twenty feet of loud and obnoxious technicians. "Hold on! I'll be right
over!" Checking his screens one last time, Mike snapped his monitor off and made for
Wang's section of the station. "What is it?"
Glad he didn't have to shout anymore, Wang pointed at one of his screens.
"Joe's computer is still activated and working, pretty busy too by the look of it. Why
hasn't he left yet?"
"I don't know, but I'll find out." Mike stretched out and opened a comm relay.
"Joe, this is Mike, come in please."
Seconds later a voice replied, "Joe here. What is it this time?"
Wang and Mike looked at one another in surprise.
"Joe, why aren't you working on the grid like I told you?" Mike asked
"What are you talking about? I'm looking at it right now. And let me tell you,
heads are gonna roll! Whoever was supposed to be taking care of this has been
sloughing it off."
Wang tilted a hand up to his mouth, thumb towards his lips, parodying
drunkenness. Mike nodded. "Have you been tipping the bottle again, Joe? A little hair of
the dog that bit ya?"
Shock and disbelief filled Joe's words as he said, "Certainly not! You asked me
to check on Sensor Grid 15, and that's what I'm doing! Why? What's going on?"
"Well, our computers show that your station is still active," Mike informed
him.
They could hear the far away technician slapping his forehead. "Dammit! I
forgot to turn it off when I left! Sorry. I'll go take care of that now. Just… don't mention
this to Colson. I don't need the grief right now."
"Joe," Mike said, tired of the game. "Your computer is on and working hard,
dredging through the entire database from what I can see. Come on, fess up. You never
left."
"I'm telling ya," Joe implored, "I'm not at my station. If the computer is
operating, then it's not me. Check for yourself. The base's computer knows where I am."
"Alright, Joe, just a sec." Standing straight, Mike asked, "Computer, where is
Lieutenant Joseph Delgado?"
"Lieutenant Delgado is at Sensor Grid 15, Level Six," the computer replied.
"Oh shit!" Wang shouted.
Mike nodded in agreement. "Listen, Joe, we've got a situation. Someone is
using your computer without your authorization."
 The Fires Within 287

"Who is it?" Joe asked, suddenly very frightened.

"I don't know since it's still logged under your password," Mike told him. "Let
me see what they are looking for." Wang typed in the commands to find out the subject
of the mysterious person's search. When he got the results, both men at the computer
station went wide-eyed. "Oh my god! Joe, whoever it is that's using your station is
searching for and downloading everything we have on Colson's plan! Pandora, the
nanites, everything!"
"Go to red alert then!" Joe shouted.
Wang waved that off. "Negatory. I don't want to start a bunch of fuss if this is
only a misunderstanding. For all we know, that could be Colson just using an available
terminal."
"Alright," Mike said. "I'll send some guards to check on it. Joe, you better get
up here on the double. Mike out."
Half a minute later a group of armed guards were on their way. Seconds after
that all hell broke loose…

~*~~*~~*~

Vitruvius Sector
Paleus System
Secret Mandarin Asteroid Base
Command Level
When the first shot was fired, the asteroid base went to red alert, alarm lights
and blaring klaxons screaming out. The five guards that came upon Crow at the
computer station were all dead within three seconds, most from photon blasts to the face
and chest. As the last body fell, the colonel stretched out and retrieved the modules
containing what he needed on Pandora and Colson's plans. After that he got to his feet
and ran to where the guards were laying. He didn't shed a tear or waste a second in
regret. They were terrorists working for a madman who was about to destroy everything
the Confederation had fought and struggled for. They deserved what they got.
"Crow to Gold Team, come in."
"This is Gold Team, Crow," Tremor replied back.
"What's the sit-rep?"
"We're cutting into Pandora now, Colonel."
"Good. Let me know when you reach your target."
"Will do. Gold Team out."
Crow began running down a walkway, computers flashing past on his right.
"What's your situation, Chaplain?" he shouted.
"It's all under control here."
"No birdies leaving the nest?"
"Negative. Some tried, but they had a little accident when they got outside.
Some kind of problem with grenades in the cockpits."
Crow could hear the smile on Chaplain's face. "That's too bad. Now see if you
can get that hangar door shut. I don't want reinforcements showing up. We'll open it
when we leave."
"You got it, Colonel. Chaplain out."
Three armed guards skidded around a corner ahead of Crow. In a flash he
dropped to his right knee and leveled his palm photon blasters on them. The two in front
died instantly, with the one behind them getting a shot in the back when he turned to
run. Two laser blasts streaked past Crow from his six. Without thinking he snatched the
288 The Fires Within

rail gun from his back, swung around to lie flat out, and let fly four charged aluminum
shells. The men exploded in a spray of blood and bone.
"Blue Team, what's your situation?" he shouted into his comm.
"Barrage here, Colonel. I'm on the sixth level now, making a sweep of the area.
I'll proceed to Level Five next."
"Crow, this is Wendigo. I'm heading to Level Two. No significant resistance
has presented itself yet. I got lucky and found Doctor Jordan in one of the holding cells.
He's with me."
"I'm still on Level Seven, Colonel," Gunny said. "Most of the security forces
are concentrated here, so I figured I'd help you out."
"Good," Crow told them all. "Keep jukin'. Gunny, find or create a free weapons
station. I want you taking out any ships that try to get close and board either platform."
"Consider it done, Colonel. Gunny out."
Crow's next objective was to find Colson. That bastard would pay up close and
personal. Killing him would be easy; finding him would be the hard part. As he ran,
firing from the hip at all opposition, he found a cache of technicians all trying to enter a
jammed lift. Hoping they could point him in the right direction, he delayed their
execution.
"Where's Colson?" he asked, his voice bassy and throbbing coming from his
helmet's speakers.
The technicians turned to see an armored man, almost a foot taller than any of
them, stomping toward them. His armor was flat black and smooth, covering his entire
body. A rifle was in his hand, and a large pistol was holstered at his side.
"I don't know!" one of them screamed.
"Then you're of no use to me," the hulking figure told them, raising his
powerful looking rifle.
"Wait! Wait!" another shouted. "I saw him running down that hall." The man
pointed to a hallway on Crow's left. "It leads to his personal control room."
"Thanks," Crow said. He raised the gun further.
"Please don't kill us!" the first man said. "We're just computer programmers.
We haven't done anything!"
The barrel of the EM rifle didn't waiver. "You've helped that lunatic in his
mission to try and destroy the Earth, and that makes you accessories. I know that you're
well aware of his plans, so don't act all innocent. You're as guilty as he is. At least take
your sentencing like men. Justice will be served."
"Oh yeah?" the second to speak said. "Well fuck you, fuck your justice, and
fuck the Confederation!" The men around him put on stony expressions, in agreement
with him.
"I thought you'd see it that way," Crow told them, then let loose. Their deaths
were quick and messy. Turning on his heel, Crow took off down the indicated hallway.
"Crow, come in!" Tremor shouted.
"This is Crow. Report."
"We're getting heavy resistance here at Pandora, Colonel! More than we
anticipated!"
"Then fire on the fly, Tremor! We have to secure that station!"
"I know, Crow." A loud explosion came over the comm. "Oh shit! Wraith just
got fragged! Take this you fuc-" The comm screamed with static then cut off. Crow tried
raising them several times, but there was just too much interference.
Soon Crow arrived at a closed metal door. Not seeing a panel next to it, he
decided he should knock and see if anyone was home. 'Bang bang bang' went his metal-
 The Fires Within 289

clad fist against the door.

"Identify yourself!" a voice screamed from behind the metal hatch. It was
Colson.
Crow didn't feel a reply was necessary. Instead, he walked backwards ten
meters, brought his rail gun up to his shoulder and targeted the doorway.
"I said identify yourself!" Colson raged again.
Smiling a wicked grin, Crow pressed the trigger. A shell tore from the barrel at
nearly the speed of light and exploded against the metal, sending pieces of debris flying
everywhere. As smoke curled and eddied around him, Crow cloaked.
Inside the control room, Mindle and Colson dragged themselves from the floor,
coughing and throwing off metal fragments.
"What the shit happened?" Mindle asked, his clothes burnt and torn.
"I don't know," Colson replied. "But I think our party has some gatecrashers."
"You can say that again, Jaz-" Mindle said, but the last word was cut off when
an invisible fist sent him flying into a bulkhead, his face mashed, the nose busted open.
He was unconscious before he hit the floor.
"Who's there?!" Colson yelled, twirling around, looking for the unseen
assailant. His gun, a blazer, pointed everywhere.
"Your doom, Jazz," a voice said from nowhere, the sound bouncing around so
much in the close confines that Jazz couldn't tell where it was coming from.
"Who?! What?!" As he turned, eyes red, he thought he saw a swirling mass of
smoke near the destroyed doorway. But that was all it was. Smoke. He continued
looking around.
"Come out where I can see you, chicken shit!"
"Shouldn't call people names, Jazz," the voice told him. "I could call you some.
Liar. Traitor. Murderer. Thief. How do those sound?"
"I don't care what you think, asshole!" Colson replied, his voice quivering.
"Sure you do. Each man should care what his judge and jury thinks. Your life
hangs in the balance. Show some respect."
Colson's gun was wrenched from his grasp, his flesh tearing. Spinning around,
Colson saw that the mass of smoke was right behind him. Stunned, he started to fall
backwards. A hand without form caught him by his shirt front. When he looked at the
bunched material, he saw that it was wavering in and out of sight. "What the hell?"
"I think our play time is over now, Colson," the voice told him. As Jazz
watched, an armored body shimmered into existence, the smoke trapped around the
tachyon field dispersing.
"Who the fuck are you?" Colson asked the man before him.
"Like I said, your doom."
Colson shook his head. "No you're not. I'm doom. I'm the ruination of the
universe. 'I am become death, the destroyer of worlds.' You're nothing." Colson spat on
the man, his spittle hitting the armored chest and slowly trailing down.
"I'm the man who's brought down your house of cards, Jazz," Crow said. "You
may think you're something great, but you're really just a little man with grandiose
dreams. Hell, you aren't shit on my boots. I've taken down petty tyrants like you before.
You like to shout and rage and think you're such a terror, but in the end you cry like a
baby when your power is taken away. You think you've shaken the pillars of heaven?
Jazz, the universe rolls right on past you, grinding you up as it goes."
Colson's face was livid, growing more red by the second. "Fuck you!! You
don't know anything!! I'm Zachary 'Jazz' Colson, you moron!! The Confederation
trembles at my name!! You may have screwed this operation up, but I will go on! You
290 The Fires Within

haven't stopped me."

Crow nodded his head. "Yes, I have. The Bounty is being destroyed as we
speak, and your computer cores will be wasted momentarily. It's over, Jazz."
Colson lost all strength in his legs, with only Crow's grip holding him up.
"No… It can't be. I had everything planned out. It was going to work."
Not feeling the least bit sorry, Crow tossed the man down. "The dreams of mice
and men, Jazz. Everything falls apart in the end."
Looking up from the floor, Colson asked, "You going to take me in now? Put
me in prison?"
Crow thought the man looked almost hopeful. He shook his head. "You know
that isn't how this plays out, Jazz. There's no need to waste anymore of the
Confederation's time or effort on you. Besides, you'd only find a way to escape anyway.
Leaving you alive is just asking for trouble in the future. You're a threat to everyone so
long as you draw breath, a threat to the innocent and good in the galaxy, and I can't have
that."
Colson slowly nodded, then looked up. He stared at Crow for a moment, then
looked at his fallen comrade, his eyes opening wide. "No, Mindle, don't!" he shouted.
Crow, knowing it was the oldest trick in the book, decided to fall for it anyway,
giving Jazz a fighting chance to meet his maker like a man. He turned toward the
unconscious man on the floor.
"Stupid asshole," Jazz hissed as he dived for his blazer. Scooping it up in one
hand, he rolled over and started firing.
Crow jumped to his right, tumbled to the floor, and brought his rifle around.
Colson, unbelieving of the man's speed and dexterity, tried to track him. He couldn't.
The last thing he ever saw was a blast from the rifle's barrel, then his world was
destroyed in a painful wave of fire and darkness. Colson would dream his dreams of
destruction no more.
Picking pieces of flesh from his armor, Crow surveyed the damage. Jazz was
nothing more than a smear, his blood coating a gaping hole in the wall and floor.
Mindle, still laying where he had dropped, was now skewered by dozens of metal shards
from the explosion. His face, chest, and legs were all run through. Taking off his right-
hand gauntlet, Crow knelt to see if the man was still alive. He could feel no pulse
beneath his fingers. Putting on his glove again, the colonel stood.
"Crow to Blue Team. Colson has been sanctioned. Our task here is done. Finish
mopping up and head for the shuttle. Evac in five minutes. Crow out."
Running down the hallways, Crow tried to reach Gold Team. Finally he got
through.
"Colonel, this is Deadeye," a raspy voice said. "The rest of my team is dead.
All of them. I'm wounded pretty bad, but I've made it to the station's command room.
The auto-destruct has been initiated. All I'm waiting on is your word."
Crow stopped moving. "Can you make it back to Odessa, Deadeye?"
"Negative," Deadeye said, coughing up what sounded like blood. "I don't know
how much longer I have left. Feelin' real weak… and cold. Vision is starting to go, too.
If it wasn't for my cannon, I wouldn't have made it this far. Nice to know it works
though." He laughed through blood, coughing more. "Sorry I couldn't be of more help,
Colonel. You deserved better."
Tears falling unhindered down his cheeks, Crow breathed deeply,
unaccustomed to letting his emotions out. "You did just fine, soldier. The Confederation
owes you a debt it can never repay."
"Then you do it for them, Crow," he replied. "Repay me and the others by
 The Fires Within 291

staying alive and doing us proud. Keep fighting for the good guys. That's all we really
want. Keep the children safe from bastards like this."
Crow said through heavy lips, "Affirmative, Deadeye. That's a promise."
"Good." More wet, hacking coughs. "I'll set this for ten minutes. That should be
long enough for you to get away. I can keep these assholes tied up till then. Deadeye…
out."
Keeping his emotions under wraps, Crow started running for the lifts that
would deliver him to the hangar, blasting everyone that got in his way, dodging weapon
discharges that meant to end his life. He was a blur of killing motion, ruthless and
efficient. Two minutes later found him next to Laredo. The hangar bay was a
demilitarized zone. The walls were scorched, fires blazing out of control, Sabres and
other craft destroyed. Chaplain had done his job well.
Once out of the asteroid, they flew away from the belt, stopping when they
were one-hundred kilometers out. Turning, they waited to watch the station explode. It
did one minute later, the cold fusion reactor core overloading. The resulting explosion
was bright and brief, like a tiny star being born and dying out in the span of a heartbeat.
The men watched in silence, all of them with tears glimmering in their eyes. When it
was over, nothing remained of the station or the asteroid base but small chunks of rock
and metal. Their friends, comrades in arms, were atoms spiraling away into the cosmos,
finally at one with everything. With a heavy heart, Crow ordered the shuttle back to
Clandestine.
"Will someone please tell me just what the hell is going on?" Doctor Jordan
asked several times, but was only met with hardened silence. The man finally flung
himself into a seat in exasperation. "At least I'm out of that hellhole," he whispered.
Erikson met them in the cargo bay. When his sensors had only picked up one
ship, he knew something was wrong. He tried asking Crow what had happened, but the
colonel was silent, as were the other men. Erikson didn't have to be given a hundred
page brief to get the picture. But he had to ask one final question. "Is the mission
complete?"
Looking up through sweat and tears, Crow replied, "Yes. Pandora is destroyed,
the Mandarins are no longer a threat. Mission successful. Get us back to Earth as soon as
you can."
Feeling the man's pain, Erikson made for the bridge, saying over his shoulder,
"We got the Bounty, Colonel. Thanks for the warning."
Crow nodded. He turned to his men. "You guys get showered and then hit the
bunks. SSA will want to debrief us as soon as we get back. I don't know about you, but
I'm tired."
With that, the remaining members of Team Crow headed off, downcast and
numb.

~*~~*~~*~

Terran Sector
Sol System
Earth
Confederation Headquarters
Defense Intelligence Department
Debriefing Room 21
When Crow settled into his chair, General Overton came into the room. The
man was uncharacteristically quiet.
292 The Fires Within

"I've reviewed the suit and shuttle recording logs, Crow," Overton said, his
tones hushed. "I must say that I've never seen you show such emotion before. I'm sorry
you lost some of your men. It's a fact of war, but that doesn't make it any easier to take. I
remember when I lost my first man. It was… hard."
"Spare me your platitudes," Crow replied, his face hard. "This isn't the first
time people under my command have been killed in the line of duty. But these men were
good and true, warriors to the last. If the Confederation hadn't gotten sloppy, then they
would still be alive. I blame myself, but I also blame you, and CDI, and everyone else
who let the situation out of control. Their deaths are on all our heads."
Overton didn't know what to say, so he got off the subject as best he could.
"But that's neither here nor there. What I need from you right now are the activation
codes for the nanites. I know they're down there, in Earth's liquid crust, just waiting. The
codes were erased from the modules you gave me, and your logs don't have them
either."
"That's 'cause I deleted them," Crow said.
"What?!" Overton shouted. "Why?"
Raising his chin up, Crow told him, "Because of arrogant assholes like you,
always searching for ways to get more power and prestige. To tell the truth, there's not
much difference between you and Colson."
Overton's face blushed, his anger starting to boil over.
"So I deleted the codes before anyone else could get them. If no one has them,
then they can't activate them. Call it a safety catch."
"But you know them," Overton accused.
"That's right, I do. But I trust myself. I don't trust you."
Overton walked to stand behind the colonel. "You know this means I can never
allow you to leave this facility," he said.
"On the contrary, General," Crow replied. "This means you have to let me go.
You see, before I got here, I contacted a man I know and sent him a computer program.
If I don't contact him at designated times, he has orders to initiate the program."
"What is the program?" Overton asked, his gut already aware of the answer.
"It activates the nanites. Not Earth's mind you, but others. Colson was a busy
little beaver. He planted those machines on numerous planets, all of them inhabited. You
have the list, so you know the ones I'm talking about. Some are Confed planets, others
Kilrathi, Firekkan, and a few civilian worlds."
"And you call me a monster," Overton admonished. "What makes you think
you're any better than the rest of us?"
"Because I do what I do out of a sense of preservation. You do it because it
makes you powerful. I don't want power. I just want my life, and the lives of my men.
It's an insurance policy. You let me go on about my way, and you never need to worry.
You screw with me, and, like you once told me, shit happens."
Overton almost struck the colonel in his fury. "How dare you! And what
happens if you get killed by accident? Do we just say, 'Well, so sorry, shit happens.'?"
Crow had to hide a smile. "I would suggest you try your hardest to not let that
happen."
"What does that mean?!"
"It means that if I need information, assistance, or equipment that would help
safeguard my life, then you're my go-to guy."
"That's… that's… bribery!!" Overton fumed.
"Maybe so, but it's a fact of life for you now. Get used to it."
Storming around the table, the general faced Crow. "I won't be threatened like
 The Fires Within 293

this, Colonel. We'll keep you here, and you'll notify your contact to send back the
program. Now."
"No can do," Crow said, shaking his head. "My contact has been told to never
give it up. They know better than that. The rules for this game are simple and few. Just
play it as I tell you, and everything's peachy. You don't, and billions of lives will be lost.
I'm a reasonable man, General. But I knew I couldn't trust you from the start. I'm not
stupid. You figured we would complete your mission, then when we were being
debriefed, you would kill us loose cannons. I bet right now there's an army of guns
trained on me, just waiting for your word."
Overton's face twitched. Crow had him. "You better think about retiring,
General. Your poker face is slipping. Time to put yourself out to pasture before someone
else does. You know the situation. You have what you need. The name of the spy is in
those records, as are the names of everyone Colson dealt with. And we got your Doctor
Jordan for you too. So it's time me and my men were leaving. Just say thank you and let
it go. If I need you, I'll be in touch. Otherwise, don't ever let me catch you or your
people around. You know I can sniff them out, so don't test me." Standing up, Crow
walked toward the door. "Have a nice life, General."
Barely containing his volatile emotions, Overton said, "Thank you, Crow. But
know this: it ain't over yet."
Stopping with his hand on the door panel, Crow replied, "Yes it is. You would
do well to remember that. It ends, here and now." With that Crow opened the door and
left, leaving Overton to fume and rage in impotent fury.

~*~~*~~*~

Terran Sector
Outside the Sol System
Personal Cargo Shuttle Chimera
En-Route to PCS Sentinel
In the shuttle Overton had 'given' them on Earth, the remainder of Team Crow
made way for Captain McClellan's new carrier with Gunny's VISk secured in the rear
hold. Monitor was still with the Clandestine, and the chances of getting it back were
slim to none. They were all tired, but glad everything was behind them. Before they left,
Wendigo had swept it for bugs and recorders. There were none. They could speak
freely.
"You really think Overton bought it?" Arnett asked.
"The enigmatic 'program' you mean?" Crow said back.
"Yeah, that."
"Oh yes. Hook, line, and sinker. He can't afford not to."
"Then no one really has the nanite activation codes?" Gunny inquired.
"Nope. I erased them all. No trace. Even I don't have them. But so long as
Overton thinks I do, then we're safe from him and his trained dogs. I wouldn't take the
chance of those falling into the wrong hands. But since I erased all traces of them, the
galaxy can rest easy."
"Are you sure the Kilrathi and the Firekkans don't have them?" Chaplain asked.
Crow nodded. "Colson was too paranoid and greedy. He kept them all to
himself. The Bounty was just a special relay ship. It didn't have the codes themselves,
but would allow him to activate the nanites remotely."
Everyone breathed easier.
"We're coming up on Sentinel," Arnett said from the shuttle's cockpit. Five
294 The Fires Within

seconds later he shouted, "Hey, guys! Come up here and take a look!! I've never seen a
ship like her!!"
Crow and company rushed forward to see what all the fuss was about. What
they saw took their breath away. McClellan's new carrier was unlike any ship they had
ever seen. Instead of the usual boxy designs of previous Confederation battle ships, this
one was rounded, smooth, and curvy, with unusual wing-like protrusions along the
sides, front, and back. It was a shiny white/gray, with streaks of reddish-pink running
along the wings. In a word, beautiful. And beneath her, between the frontal wings, was a
barely visible smaller ship latched tightly onto a docking clamp.
"Will you look at that?" Wendigo said breathlessly.
"I'm lookin', but I'm not believin'," Crow replied.
Arnett asked over his shoulder, "How did Reaver get this ship again?"
Dropping to one knee so he could still look at the ship, Crow said, "Well, from
what I can gather, he really screwed Confed over. Had them sign a contract that stated if
any of his ships were damaged or destroyed while fighting in the Kabala Sector, Confed
would replace them at its own cost. When he sent the Aurora after that lead C'Kuthra
ship and scuttled her to bring down its shields, Confed had to replace it with a currant
Fleet equivalent. Since the Fleet is now using the Harmonics Drive as its standard, they
had to replace it with a new carrier. Man, he did good." Crow smiled wide.
"He sure did," Arnett echoed. "I can't wait to give her a once-over."
"You'll get your chance, Barrage," Crow told him. "For now, let's just call her
and ask for clearance to land."
"Yes, sir," Arnett replied and opened the comm. "Shuttle Chimera to PCS
Sentinel, come in please."
"This is Sentinel, Chimera," Gabriel said, having tracked the shuttle since it
appeared on their scopes. Through previous communiqués he knew who was on it. Crow
had contacted him earlier with his ETA. "What can I do you for today?"
Arnett laughed. "Well, for right now, skipper, you can give is permission to
land."
"Permission granted, Chimera." Reaver replied happily. "Welcome home."
"Thank you, sir," Crow said. "It's good to be back. We'll be docking
momentarily. Chimera out."
The men took the remaining seconds they had left outside the ship to look and
drink her lines in.
"Man!" Wendigo said. "I wish I were a member of her crew. You've got a fine
ship, Crow and Barrage, and from what I hear a fine captain. I envy you."
Crow turned around. "Then join us. All of you can. Captain McClellan, I'm
sure, would be happy to have you."
Gunny shook his head. "Sorry, Colonel, but I've had my fill. I just want to get
back to the racing circuit. If I never see a gun again it'll be too soon. Put a fork in my
'cause I'm done. Speed is all I crave now."
Crow laughed. "I understand. But this is in my blood. It's what I do, what I
am."
"I'm with you," Chaplain told Crow. "Being in retirement was getting on my
nerves. If McClellan would like an extra set of hands around, then I'm game."
"Me too," Wendigo echoed. "The Mandarin mission got my blood pumping
again. I missed it."
"Well then," Crow said loudly. "Welcome to the Black Knights. I'll talk to the
captain as soon as I can."
As he spoke, the shuttle slid into the Sentinel's hangar bay, lights shining on
 The Fires Within 295

new fighters, bombers, and shuttles, the flight deck crews swarming around. It's good to
be home, Arnett thought to himself.

~*~~*~~*~

Terran Sector
Outside Sol System
PCS Sentinel
The Hangar Bay
Reaver met the men as they walked out of the shuttle. "Crow, Arnett, glad to
have you back!" he said excitedly.
"Good to be back, sir," Crow replied.
"We're about to head out, so let's go to the bridge," Reaver told them.
Before they moved, Crow said, "Sir, if it's not an inconvenience, could we plot
a course for the Tejas Sector?
Reaver scrunched his eyes. "I suppose so. Any particular reason why?"
"I can't say at this time," Crow explained. "But I would consider it a great
personal favor if you would."
Always desiring to foster good feelings with his crew, and not having any other
pressing engagements, Reaver agreed. "What are the coordinates?"
"159 mark 637 mark 284," Crow replied.
"You get that, Norris?" Reaver asked into a wrist comm-band.
"Coordinates locked in, sir," Helmsman Beverly Norris said. "What speed, sir?"
Reaver thought that over. "Harmonic Factor of Eight."
"Very good, sir. We are under way." The comm shut off.
Immediately the men could feel a low humming in their bones, like music
playing in another room.
"What is that?!" Gunny asked, almost jumping.
Reaver laughed. "That's the Harmonics Drive. Peaceful, isn't it?"
"I guess so," Gunny said, skeptical, but coming to enjoy it the longer he felt it.
"How fast are we going?"
Knowing the speed, Reaver told him, "149,613,670.4 kilometers per second, or
502 times the speed of light."
Gunny almost swooned. "I don't believe it."
"Well, come on up to the bridge, and see for yourself."
As one they left the hangar bay, looking forward to seeing all the new
equipment.
"I think I might join after all," Gunny whispered to Crow. "What I really love is
speed, and it don't get much faster than this. Think he might need a new helmsman?"
"We'll see, Gunny," Crow laughed. "We'll see."
On the bridge everyone was staring with awe at the viewscreen, watching
rainbows of light and energy play across the large monitor. Reaver seated himself into
his new throne. "So beautiful," he said under his breath. His words were heard by those
near, and their heads nodded in agreement. Faster-then-light travel was one of the most
gorgeous things any of them had ever seen.

~*~~*~~*~
296 The Fires Within

Tejas Sector
PCS Sentinel
The Bridge
"We are at the designated coordinates, Captain," Norris said.
"Good," Reaver told her. "Bring us to full stop. Crow, we're here. Now what?"
Standing behind the captain, Crow asked, "Do sensors read anything around?"
"Negative," Tactical Officer Major Tibbit replied. "All screens are empty."
"That's what I wanted to hear," Crow voiced. "Captain, if I could ask another
favor, I need you to clear everyone from the hangar bay please."
Curious as to what was going on, Reaver opened his comm and said,
"Everyone in the hangar, please exit immediately and do not return until I give the
word."
A minute later Reaver got the green light. "Okay, Colonel, the bay is clear.
What now?"
"We just wait," Crow answered. "This shouldn't take more than five minutes."
"What will?"
"Trust me, Captain. You'll find out."
"Captain!" Tibbit said, shocked. "I read a fluctuation in our fore hangar bay
environmental shields! It was there, then gone."
Reaver looked at Crow. "Is this a part of the plan?"
Crow nodded.
"Disregard that, Mr. Tibbit."
Tibbit did so, still puzzled.
To while away the time, Crow looked around the bridge some more. He was
impressed. All the equipment was new and in pristine condition. Chrome-plated metal
mixed with soft gray and black paneling nicely, giving the bridge a distinctive military
look and feel.
Five minutes later Tibbit shouted again. "Sir, now I'm reading the same
fluctuation in the aft shields! Same pattern as before."
"Thank you, Captain," Crow said. "That's it."
Rubbing his chin and mouth, Reaver replied, "If you say so. Norris, plot a
course for the Mobius Sector, Seventh Harmonic."
"Aye, sir," Norris said. "Harmonic Seven, Mobius Sector. I have tone. Pitch
locked in. Drives engaged."
"Very good, Norris. Carry on."
The bone-deep humming started again, the feeling so light that it was almost
not there at all.
"Captain, let's go down to the hangar," Crow advised.
Nodding, Reaver handed over the ship to Lieutenant Northstar and made for the
hangar bay with Crow, Arnett, Wendigo, Gunny, and Chaplain in tow.
"I want to thank you for signing on my guys, Captain," Crow said. "Though
now I should start calling them your guys instead. It means a lot to me. I know you
won't be disappointed, sir."
"They came with the best of recommendations, Colonel," Reaver replied. "How
could I say no?"
"Well, thank you again, sir."
"Not a problem. I hope your quarters were to your liking, gentlemen."
The new crew members nodded enthusiastically.
"Great. Tomorrow we'll get you worked into the schedule. I'm sure Colonel
Brightblade is looking forward to shaking down our new recruits."
 The Fires Within 297

The lift doors opened onto the hangar, vacant of crew. Crow ushered everyone
out, leading them toward a large crate standing all alone in the middle of the floor. Using
their bare hands, Chaplain and Gunny pulled it open. Inside was a mess of shredded
paper. Clearing that aside, Reaver peeked in and saw five big suits of battle armor laying
like dead bodies in a coffin. A few scorch marks dulled the finish on three of them, but
other than that they looked new. Nothing else was in the crate.
"What are these, Colonel?" the captain asked, perplexed.
"Just a gift from old friends, Captain," Crow explained. "Just a… gift, though
highly classified ones."
"Do I want to know who these old friends were?"
Crow shook his head. "No, sir. Better if you don't. Just enjoy the fruits of their
labor. I think Gears will be pleased."
"I would imagine so. Get these repacked and we'll send them up the armory. Is
there anything else I should know about?"
"No, sir," Crow replied. "This is it."
"Very good. Now I think I'll get back to the bridge. You fellows… well, do
whatever it is you do. Just be ready for work by 0500."
"Aye, sir!" they said in unison, saluting. Gabriel returned it smartly, then left,
the lift doors closing with a quiet swish.
When the captain was gone, Crow bent over and flipped the crate's lid on it's
back. Secured there was a note. Crow pulled it off, stood, then let his men gather around
to read it with him. It said:

To Blue Team,
Well, we made it. Pandora was a synch to crack. Only had a handful of guards,
and those fought like first-year cadets. We never had it so easy.
Here are the suits you wanted. You'll need them more than us anyway since
Confed thinks they went up with Pandora, they won't be missed. We took the liberty of
leaving all the tracking devices on the station before it blew.
Brilliant idea on remodulating the tachyon fields, sir. When we flew past the
Clandestine, I thought they would see us for sure. But they didn't, as I'm sure you were
well aware they wouldn't. Crow, you should have been a general or something. Haha.
I guess this is goodbye. I know that all of you will be under surveillance, so
we're considering you all hot. Maybe in a few years we'll be able to get together for a
few drinks and laugh. We want to say thanks. Confed would have terminated all of us if
we had come back as a full unit. I don't know how you're going to keep them from killing
you too, but since you're out here picking this up, I can only assume you figured out a
way. Leave it to Colonel Crow to slip the jaws of death yet again. You'll never change,
and we are glad for it.
To the rest of Blue Team, we will miss all of you. We've had some great times,
you know? Good memories to last a lifetime and more. We wish we could join you, but
we all have our own paths to walk. You are in our hearts. Have fun and fight the good
fight. It's been a pleasure serving with all of you. Keep those stars shining.

Your teammates,
Tremor, Deadeye, Ironside, Wraith, and Rattler
PS: Give General Overton our best…

The men stood in silence for a moment, thinking about the past. A tear or two
was shed in the remembrance. When it was over, Crow crumpled the paper up and
298 The Fires Within

shoved it in his pocket to be disposed of in the safety of his cabin.

"Let's get this crate to the armory, guys," Crow ordered. "Then go take a
shower. You men need it."
The men laughed heartily. That was good.
As one in body and mind, the men picked up the heavy crate and totted it
toward a cargo lift. As the doors closed, Crow thought back one last time to the men he
was leaving behind, probably for the rest of his life. You guys be safe now. You made me
proud to be your leader. Fight the good fight. And though you might not know it, I'll
miss you dearly. I've never fought along side better soldiers. Just take what you've
learned from me and pass it on. Stay warriors, good and true. If you even need me, I'll
be out here… amongst the stars. Godspeed you where ever you go.
"You okay, Colonel?" Arnett asked, seeing the single tear that were falling.
Crow wiped it away. "Yeah, I'm alright. Just thinking."
"Me too," the commander said. "They'll do okay. You trained them well."
"I hope so, Arnett. I really do."
"You did," Gunny said, patting him on the back. "Now let's get this put away
and get some chow. I'm starving."
Crow laughed good and hard, letting all the emotion go in the sound. "And you
stink too. Let's go. We've got a new ship to check out, and new battles to fight. Pandora
may be over, but there's still excitement to be had. It ain't over till it's over."

The End
Anomaly Magazine
==============================================================
New Developments
____Boom Town____
The Art Of Creating
Success From Failure
By Rachel Radcliff
If you were to go and research the origins
of most of the greatest scientific
developments in the history of humankind,
you would find that many of them were the
byproducts of failures, either in theory or
experimentation. Today's great successes
are no different. You would also find that
these eventual achievements wouldn't have
happened had there not been a great
motivating factor involved; mainly war. Of
all the reasons in the universe to create new
technologies and sciences, safeguarding the
existence of humanity is by far the greatest.
The need to know and build is a noble
pursuit in and of itself, but it pales when
compared to keeping yourself alive in the
face of total annihilation. And nowhere in
the galaxy is the failure-to-success ratio
greater than at the Stellar Center For
Hazardous Experimen t a tio n and
Implementation, official designation XB-12,
lovingly called by its inhabitants "Boomer
Station". The nickname is justly deserved.
Though its exact location is highly
classified, Boomer Station was built almost
two decades ago in a backwoods sector of
the galaxy, far from everyone and
everything. In this day and age where
humans and alien races seem to proliferate
in every nook and cranny of the known
galaxy, it seems odd to think that there are
still patches of space devoid of a living
presence. But the Milky Way is a big place.
Cubbyholes and hideaways still abound
beyond number, so bases dedicated to
Skunk Works projects are easy to hide.
Up to now, jump points have been
the dictators of where we go, choosing our
homes and bases for us, often forcing us to
January 12, 2675
turn away from valuable or important
systems because the distances involved
were just too great to even contemplate.
That fact has been the bane of the
Confederation since we started exploring
space, and especially during the war with
the Kilrathi. That will soon change with the
addition of the Quantum Harmonics Drive,
a faster-then-light engine developed by
Doctor Jallen Rothman, to all Confederation
naval vessels. In the near future, this drive
will be available for purchase by the public,
though the private sector engine will be
much slower. When asked why this is, a
spokesman from the Confederation
Advanced Propulsion Division said, "The
very idea of civilians zipping around the
galaxy at speeds comparable to naval ships
gives me the shakes. It would be too
dangerous. Their navigational systems
aren't centralized, so the probability of
accidents happening at hyperlight speeds is
too great to overlook. The engines they'll be
able to purchase will be fast enough,
believe me, especially since jump initiators
can still be used as well. They won't lack
for speed." The logic is sound, and we
cannot fault the Navy for wanting to keep
some advantages to itself.
But before we get into the
Harmonic Drive's workings, let us first look
into its origin. According to Einstein's
theories of relativity, it is impossible to
travel faster than light, since light will
always surpass a starship at 298,035.2
kilometers per second, no matter how fast
the ship itself is traveling. Quantum
physicists say there is a slim chance of
breaking the lightspeed barrier, but the
300 Boom Town
energy required to do so is far beyond what great on paper doesn't always work out that
we are currently capable of producing, and way in the real world. But I was determined
the technology for greater amounts won't be to do it. I mean, my reputation was on the
available for several centuries, if even then. line, as was the possible future of the
Jump points provide us a means of traveling Confederation. Our dependency on jump
faster than light, in a round-about way, but points was stunting our growth as a people.
worm holes are by their very nature The lightspeed barrier had to be broken, and
unstable, and the Confederation doesn't I was the man with the gumption to do it.
want to be left holding the bag when one of Sometimes I think piss and vinegar runs
them closes us off to a vital system. But if through my veins instead of blood. As long
the lightspeed barrier is unbreakable, then as it gets the job done, that's fine with me."
what can be done? In Doctor Rothman's But for all his vigor, the beginning
paper, "A Theory For Superstring of the project, dubbed 'Quicksilver,' was
Unification," which was an expansion of the sadly bereft of positive results. The main
'Theory Of Everything' from the late problem was finding a way to override
twentieth century, he proposed that Einstein's theories. Unlike many things in
hyperspace theories might hold the key to life, established and proven theories can't be
hyperlight travel. bypassed or ignored.
Published eleven years These are solid facts,
ago, the paper almost immutable to any
made Rothman the
“If I had been asked to desires that things
laughing stock of the climb the mountains on were otherwise.
scientific community Mars with nothing more Wishing can't undo the
by suggesting that than a short rope and principles that the
superstrings could be sandals, I would have universe is founded
humanity's gateway to on. Rothman says, "I
hyperlight travel. His thought it an easier task.” was between a rock
credentials were and a hard place.
impeccable, but his Before me was the
theories were untestable, and therefore not wall Einstein erected centuries ago,
worth serious consideration. But when blocking any move I could think of. Behind
Rothman disappeared, rumors began me were my theories, pushing me forward.
circulating that he had been asked by the Between the two I was crushed, stopped in
Confederation to turn his theories into place." Rothman spent three years trying to
reality. In effect, they wanted him to create scale that wall, three years of agony and
a hyperlight engine. To any other person, aggravation. When inspiration finally came,
this would have been a near impossible it was from the unlikeliest of places: his
endeavor. But Doctor Rothman isn't any nine-year-old son, Alek.
other person. "My family was with me on
In his upcoming book, Untangling Boomer Station," Rothman writes. "I
The Knot: My Battle With The Superstrings, doubted the safety of that, but I couldn't
Doctor Rothman explains it this way: "If I bring myself to leave them for the duration
had been asked to climb the mountains on of the project, the length of which I had no
Mars with nothing more than a short rope clue of. It could have been a few years, or it
and sandals, I would have thought it an could have been a few decades. I love my
easier task than building a hyperlight work, but I love my family more. They had
engine. I knew the theory was accurate, but to be with me, and in the end I'm glad they
the difference between what you think is were. Without them, the Harmonics Drive
right and what actually is right can be as might never have come about. One night I
dissimilar as night and day. What looks was bathing my son, an activity I greatly
 Boom Town
enjoy for the quality time it gives us
together. As I helped him in the tub, my
mind was mulling over my lack of progress.
The wall was so high that I couldn't climb
over it, and so wide that I couldn't go
around it. In chess terms, I was in check at
every turn. But as I watched my son playing
in the water, I started listening to what he
was saying. In one hand was a toy
Confederation carrier, the Tiger's Claw I
believe, while in the other was a Kilrathi
cruiser. The Confed ship was in dire straits,
the Kilrathi blasting it to pieces. To get
safely away, Alek dove the carrier
underwater, saying, 'We must escape into
the negative zone, Captain! It's the only
way!' So down went the ship, the water
simulating this so-called negative zone.
When he said that, it was like a thunderclap
going off in my head. Leaving him to the
tender mercies of my wife, Cathy, I rushed
to the labs yelling my head off. I must have
made quite a spectacle with soap suds and
water dripping from me."
The idea Rothman had, put simply,
was this: to get past lightspeed he would go
under it by means of the six higher
dimensions curled up within the
superstrings, the building blocks of the
universe. Within our four dimensional
universe, Einstein's laws are unchangeable.
Rothman theorized that the laws within the
higher dimensions wouldn't be so
constrictive. But since he had no means of
probing those higher dimensions, it was
pure speculation.
Then came news of breakthroughs
made at the Celestial Planetary
Supercollider, the largest particle
accelerator ever built. The main complex
covers over ten square kilometers, while the
particle pathways themselves encircle the
planet. Capable of generating more power
than a star going supernova, discoveries
into the makings of the galaxy are almost
commonplace. In one particularly explosive
collision, mankind got its first peek at the
higher dimensions. But the insight only
lasted for eight nanoseconds. Five more
collisions were conducted, and more was
301
learned each time, but the experiments were
too stressful and power hungry on the CPS
to continue. The administrators of the
facility felt that their time and energy would
be better spent on experiments with more
practical applications. A sad loss for the
scientific community, but the initial results
were just what Rothman needed. His
theories were now proven correct, and the
information he needed about higher
dimensions was available.
Rothman says, "I was almost
beside myself in joy. There was the proof I
needed! Higher dimensions would allow me
to go beyond the speed of light. Our laws
do not apply there. In effect, I could cheat
my way past Einstein. The dimensions
curled up within the superstrings were my
keys to ultimate victory. Why trudge
through normal space when you can slip
past it into a much easier realm? I liken it to
old naval ships. Submarines traveling
underwater were never as fast as surface
ships because they were constantly fighting
against oppressive aquatic friction. Water
was all around, holding you back! But on
the surface, with water only beneath you,
your speeds could be far greater. Air is a
much easier medium to travel through."
But there were a few problems.
One, totally leaving our normal four-
dimensional universe meant also leaving
behind our knowledge of system and sector
locations, not to mention everything else
that goes into piloting a starship. Two, since
we still knew practically nothing about
these higher dimensions, designing
computers that could pilot us through them
safely would take decades to perfect. And
three, opening these higher dimensions was
still out of reach. A supercollider could do
it, but only for fractions of a second, and
they had more power than a starship could
ever hope to produce. Rothman was faced
with a brick wall again. But this time he
knew he was on the right track.
During the war with the Kilrathi,
Confederation leaders were worried that
resources in valuable materials might run
low, especially heavy and precious metals.
302 Boom Town
Planets can only provide so much, and the surpass each other was of the former case.
Universal Protectionist Society was Rothman, at a standstill in his own
constantly hounding Confed to stop "raping project, felt watching a different field of
the planets of the galaxy like some drunkard study at work might refresh him, maybe
in a dark alley" for wartime materials. In a give him his second wind, so he accepted
gracious gesture, Confederation the invitation. The following day he stood
Commodities Management officials said next to his friend as the Midas Project was
they would look into ways to lessen the put to the test. What resulted from the
amount of assets they took from planets. experiment came as a surprise to everyone,
Enter the Midas Project. not the least of which was Rothman: gray-
Put simply, the goal of the project matter. In one fell swoop the Midas Project
was to transform anti-matter into normal was found to be a failure, while Project
matter. How was this to be achieved? The Quicksilver gained new life.
exact specifics of the project are still Let's first understand what gray-
classified, but a brief description is matter is. In the universe there are only two
available. Apparently, small amounts of types of matter: normal and anti-matter, also
anti-matter, say a one gram mass, would be called dark matter. No other type of matter
placed into a chamber, and there it would be exists that scientists know of. The
b o mb a r d e d w i t h difference between
massive amounts of these two types is the
ions and gravitons. charge of the particles
“. . . the goal of the project
The tremendous within them. When they
infusion of ions was was to transform anti- come into physical
supposed to matter into normal matter . contact with particles of
temporarily reverse . . in one fell swoop, the opposite charge, they
the charges of the Midas Project was found to destroy each other in a
particles within the violent display of
anti-matter, and when
be a failure . . . .” released energy.
t h a t w a s Because of this, anti-
accomplished, the matter makes for great
heavy shower of gravitons would cement weapons. But when Puig tried to reverse the
the change, thereby creating normal matter charge of the anti-matter by the use of
from the anti-matter. In theory, it should concentrated ion bombardments, he forced
have worked. But as it's been stated before, it into a transitional phase, a phase that isn't
the difference between what should work naturally occurring. When the anti-matter
and what does work can be kilometers phased, it became gray-matter. Since this
apart. transition isn't natural, the gray-matter
When all the studies were became highly unstable. As the gravitons
complete and actual experimentation was were slammed into it, that instability
about to commence, the leader of the Midas increased until it exploded violently, and
Project, Doctor Albert Puig, invited his since gray-matter isn't natural, neither is the
friend and fellow scientist at Boomer energy it releases when it detonates. This
Station Doctor Rothman to watch the first new energy, named 'paraphasic energy' by
series. Many people do not realize it, but Puig and Rothman, was the first pure
there is intense contention and rivalry quantum energy ever seen before.
within the scientific community. This is When the anti-matter exploded,
normally mild and more in the spirit of Puig and Rothman quickly went over all the
friendly competition than any sense of test results and sensor recordings. What
aggression, but occasionally it does get they discovered was the phase into gray-
rather bitter. Rothman and Puig's struggle to matter and subsequent quantum energy
 Boom Town
release. They also found subtle fluctuations
inside and around the charging chamber on
a subatomic level. These fluctuation weren't
enough to destroy the chamber, and they
quickly reverted to normal, but it deeply
concerned Puig. Rothman, running purely
off of a gut instinct, recommended that his
friend install high-level subatomic sensors
inside the chamber. Seeing no reason not to,
Puig agreed and performed the experiment
again. Later, the first quantum explosion
was called 'The Gray Event' by Puig.
"I don't know how I contained my
excitement," Rothman writes in his book.
"Doctor Puig was almost devastated over
the initial failure of his project, and there I
was seeing my own future growing brighter.
I didn't want to let on that his doomed
project was the savior of mine, so I just
encouraged him to try again. It seems like a
greedy move, but I didn't want to take the
chance on offending him or letting him stop
his work. When the dust finally settled and
all the results were in, I took him into my
confidence. He was upset at my ulterior
motives, but when I told him that his work
might be a success after all, but of a
different kind, he forgave me and came
aboard Quicksilver. With his help, my work
moved forward again."
What the final results showed was
that paraphasic energy directly affected
superstrings. It wasn't a prolonged affect,
but long enough to do what needed being
done. Up till that point, Rothman was
concerned that he would never be able to
generate enough power to move a ship at
hyperlight speeds. Superstrings are only one
billion billionth of an electron in size, and
the energy required to affect things that
small is enormous. The CPS could do it, but
only for nanoseconds, and it had more
power than any fleet of starships combined.
But now he didn't have to worry about the
amount of energy; instead it was the type of
energy, and that type was paraphasic. The
door to hyperlight travel was opening.
But there were a few refinements
to be made before the Quicksilver Project
could be seen as a success. First was to
303
increase the quantum properties of gray-
matter, and as a result also increasing the
usability of paraphasic energy. This was
accomplished by added another step to the
conversion process. That step was a tachyon
barrage. In the chamber Puig and Rothman
designed, called an EMP Core
(Electromagnetic Phase Collision Reactor),
the anti-matter was first saturated with ions.
When the phase-shift process had begun,
the tachyons were then sent in. Since the
anti-matter was in a state of flux, the
tachyons were absorbed and their quantum
properties purified and distilled. When this
was complete, the gray-matter was
hammered with the graviton particles. This
"enhanced" gray-matter then exploded,
releasing copious amounts of paraphasic
energy. Doctor Rothman called the
conversion process a Tri-Hammer System.
The next refinement was containing the
paraphasic energy and stalling its altering
affects until it was well outside the ship.
This was easily done using multi-phase
electrostatic force fields. Using these fields,
the energy could be retained and channeled.
The third refinement involved manipulating
the paraphasic energy into affecting
superstrings exactly as Rothman needed.
This proved to be a daunting task.
Doctor Rothman, studying the
results of his tests and calculating desired
superstring influences, found that he needed
the paraphasic energy to do several things
simultaneously. First he needed it to
temporarily open the higher dimensions
within the superstrings. This was readily
accomplished since the paraphasic energy
seemed to naturally do this without outside
coercion. Next was to alter the oscillations
of the superstrings. He discovered through
computer models that if superstrings were
hyper-accelerated, they would create a
transitory intense gravitational field, almost
as powerful as that of a black hole. This
was attained by slightly remodulating the
paraphasic energy signature through the
further use of tachyon and ion particle
showers inside what would later be called
tuning cells. Initially the paraphasic energy
304 Boom Town
would pass through the tachyon streams,
then through the ion fields. If the cascade
procedure were inverted, then the energy
would cause the superstrings to reverse their
oscillations and create a repulsive field.
That was the third thing Rothman needed.
In all, the testing process took
almost two years, with both Rothman and
Puig working round the clock. When all the
laboratory work was completed, Rothman
showed his results to his overseers at the
Confederation Advanced Propulsion
Division. "They were like children on their
birthdays getting everything they asked
for," Rothman writes. "I'm embarrassed to
say that they gave me a standing ovation. I
think I could have asked for the Presidency
of the Confederation and they would have
given it to me, they were so pleased. But
my needs were much simpler. What I
needed was a specially designed starship,
one that would incorporate my engine.
When they asked me what I called it, I told
them that Puig and I had thought 'Quantum
Harmonics Drive' was an appropriate name.
Without blinking they clapped and
promised I would have my ship. One year
later I was standing in the Engineering
Section of the TCS Kestrel."
But why does the Harmonics Drive
use anti-matter instead of normal matter?
One reason is that anti-matter was first
tested upon, and proven results don't need
to be further tested by using another matter
type. Second, anti-matter is more plentiful
in the galaxy, so it is a greater source of
fuel. Normal matter would work, but it
would mean spending a great deal of time
on further experimentation, and all the EMP
Cores in existence would have to be refitted
for the change. "Go with what you know,"
is a saying all engineers live by.
The Harmonics Drive consists of
many parts. First is the EMP Core. Leading
into that are anti-matter injection modules,
ion radiators, tachyon feeders, and graviton
dischargers. When the gray-matter enters
into its critical phase, electromagnets shuttle
it upward where it detonates in the collision
chamber. There the paraphasic energy is
collected and forced into resonance tubes.
The tubes channel the energy into
intonation emitters and tuning cells along
wing tips that protrude from the ship in
several key locations. The emitters release
the energy in a pure form so it can open the
compactified dimensions, and the cells alter
it to affect superstring oscillations. Arrayed
around these are feedback sensors which
warn of improper tunings. Another crucial
aspect of the Drive is wave pulse
generators, but these are classified and not
a part of future civilian engines. According
to what little we know, these generators
create a controlled constructive interference
flutter within the superstrings that give the
Drive such astonishing speeds. How it does
this though is classified.
For those of you who missed
Doctor Rothman's speech at the Stephen
Hawking University For Advanced
Sciences, here is a brief synopsis of how the
Harmonics Drive actually allows hyperlight
travel. As the ship travels through space
using its sub-light engines (or also at rest, it
doesn't matter), sensors located all over the
ship detect exact local superstring
oscillation frequencies. In deep space, these
frequencies are greatly uniform, meaning
less work on the Harmonic Drive's
computers. When the frequency is locked in
(this process is called 'tuning' or 'getting a
tone'), the emitters and cells start releasing
their paraphasic energy and thereby moving
the ship. When the higher dimensions open,
the ship partially enters into them. Why not
all the way? As we said before, doing so
would be extremely difficult since we are
not ten-dimensional creatures, and our
computers are not accustomed to dealing
with a ten-dimensional universe. If we only
go into them partially, we gain the
advantage of bypassing the normal laws of
physics without having to give up our
knowledge of sector and system locations.
The intense gravitational field before the
ship, and the highly repulsive field behind
it, hurtle the ship in the required direction.
Bearing changes while in hyperlight transit
are very quick. The maximum speed
 Boom Town
Confederation naval ships are capable of is
top secret, but we've heard rumors that it's
somewhere around 1000 times the speed of
light.
But some of you are wondering
why the ship isn't affected by the Twin
Paradox. It's rather simple, and a stroke of
genius. As the paraphasic energy opens the
dimensions of the superstrings, it also
affects the dimension of time, using the
ship's time as a basis. It is a simple process
of keeping the temporal vibrations at a
constant with those of the ship. Could this
Drive be used for time travel? Rothman
writes, "One of the first questions that came
up when I showed my engine to the
Propulsion Division was whether it could
somehow vastly alter the temporal
dimension. I wasn't sorry to tell them no.
For one thing, the energy and technology
needed to do that is
far beyond what I've
developed. My Drive
only keeps the
temporal vibrations
at a constant with the
ship, using the ship's
superstring
frequencies as a
template. Secondly, I
think time travel,
though possible,
should never be attempted. The chances of
destroying everything we've accomplished
is too great. That's playing God with the
universe, and I won't be a part of it."
One great aspect of the Drive is
that as it works on moving the ship, it also
works to protect it from both the stresses of
hyperlight travel and from debris in the
ship's path. Rothman calls this protective
layer the 'Hyper Field'. The field extends a
short distance from the ship, and it keeps
the ship safe from heat and other stresses.
Since the Drive is already tinkering with the
superstrings around it, it's a small matter to
move debris that would ordinarily destroy
the ship while traveling at such high speeds.
But there is a limit to how much it can do. If
an asteroid or comet for example were to
305
enter the ship's path, then the ship would
have to go around it. Luckily, sensors on
the ship can probe far enough ahead to
detect these menaces and alter the ship's
course accordingly, even at maximum
speed.
One question most people ask is
whether or not the Harmonics Drive can be
used as a weapon. Rothman gives an
emphatic no. "My engine can never be used
as a weapon. The reason is simple: innate
high-end oscillations. To truly understand
what paraphasic energy does to
superstrings, think of a small child jumping
rope. If the children holding the ends of the
rope are spinning it slowly, then the third
child can easily enter into the rope's
circumference and begin jumping. But if the
rope is spinning quickly, it is nearly
impossible to get inside. Superstrings are
like that rope. If they are
oscillating slowly, as
they do in deep space for
example, then it is easy
for the paraphasic energy
to increase that
frequency. But if they
are already vibrating
quickly, as they would
near a large gravity
source for example, then
the energy can't get
inside to do its magic. Maybe in a hundred
years, when computers are much faster and
the Harmonic process has been further
refined, then it might be possible. I hope
that day never comes."
The Drive is primarily a deep
space engine, working well with the slow
superstrings located there. It can be used in
a star system, but the nearer the ship gets to
a planet, the harder it is to work properly.
Safety protocols within the drive will shut it
down if the computer can't get a proper lock
in the frequencies. If the Drive were to
misjudge what frequency was needed for
movement, the results could be disastrous,
maybe even creating a rip in the fabric of
space/time. For that reason, the Drive's
safety measures are permanent and not
306 Boom Town
removable. Without them, the Drive will
not work. Period.
In conclusion on this discussion of
the newly developed Harmonics Drive,
Rothman says it best when he writes, "It is
with the greatest humility that I say my
Drive is one of the finest achievements of
humanity. Not but a few thousand years
ago, humans had no means of locomotion
other than their own two feet. Then came
the use of animals such as horses, then
boats, then much later came trains. Those
allowed us to cover long distances in a
rather short period of time and in relative
comfort. But then came automobiles and
planes, and the freedom humanity always
searched for was available. But we were
locked on the planet, looking up at the
frontier of stars overhead, wondering what
sights and discoveries awaited. When
spacecraft were finally developed, they
were clunky things, barely able to get out of
our own gravity well. But when we
discovered jump points centuries later, the
universe seemed to open up. But it didn't,
not really. We didn't have the means to
travel great distances away from our
beloved jump points, so we just went where
we could, knowing in the backs of our
minds that great things were just out of
reach. The time for that is over. My Drive
will allow humanity to further explore the
stars as we were meant to. No more will we
be confined. And as we explore, we will
learn and grow, becoming more than we
are. We will evolve, and what awaits us I
can only guess at. So I give my Drive to
those who's vision is more clear, who's
desire to learn is keen. And as we move
outward, let us remember that we are all
members of the universal race, children of
the stars. Though our bodies may differ, we
are still living creatures bound together by
more than we realize. Let's try to grow
together, becoming one with all there is.
That is my dream. I hope the Harmonics
Drive allows that dream to be fulfilled."
Amen to that.
Now let us look at another failed
Boomer Station project that ultimately led
to great success. Most people are aware of
the destroyed TCS Behemoth, but what
wasn't known up till now was that it had a
sister ship, the TCS Leviathan. When the
time came for one of them to be used, only
the Behemoth was prepared, and even that
ship wasn't fully functional. Because of that
lack of readiness, the ship was annihilated
by the Kilrathi. But, in full secrecy, Confed
was working on another monster ship that
would be even more powerful. The basis for
it's destructive power was a failed project
code named Looking Glass.
In 1905 Albert Einstein published
his special theory of relativity. According to
this theory, the relation between mass and
energy is expressed by the equation E =
mc2, which states that a given mass (m) is
associated with an amount of energy (E)
equal to this mass multiplied by the square
of the speed of light (c). A very small
amount of matter is equivalent to a vast
amount of energy. To understand what this
means, suppose you take one kilogram of
matter and convert it into pure energy. That
energy would equal the amount of energy
released by exploding twenty-two megatons
of TNT. Pretty impressive.
The objective of Project Looking
Glass was to perfect teleportation, or the
ability to move an object from one point in
space to another without having to
physically cross the space in between. It
seems the stuff of science fiction, yet
progress in different scientific fields has
made that fiction look more like reality. The
overall process was to learn how to convert
matter into energy, sending that energy out,
and reintegrating that energy back into
matter. Surprisingly, the initial operation,
converting matter into energy, was quickly
accomplished. How it was done is kept
secret, but we don't need to know how they
did it to see what resulted. Sadly, that
energy could not be controlled once it was
released, and the reintegration process was
impossible since current computer
technology can't handle that massive influx
of power. After the matter was converted
(or as they called it, digitized), the energy
 Boom Town
fried the system and tore the testing
chamber apart. And no matter how often it
was tried, the massive quantities of energy
couldn't be contained.
When Looking Glass was
ultimately found to be a failure, the
Confederation's Weapons Development
Department stepped in and started trying to
use it as a weapon under the name of
Project Heavy Hand. Think about it. If one
kilogram of matter equals twenty-two
million tons of detonated TNT, then what
would one metric ton provide? Or five
metric tons? Don't pull out your calculators;
I'll tell you. Five metric tons digitized into
energy equals 110 teratons of destructive
power. And if you double the matter, you
double the energy. Ten tons is easy enough
to carry around on a ship, and if it was
digitized, the energy let loose could destroy
a planet. With a ship the size of the
Leviathan, the possibilities are almost
endless.
That is what the TCS Leviathan
was built for: to be a mobile super weapon
with the capability to atomize anything that
got in its way. Calling that weapon a MEC
Cannon (Matter Energy Conversion
Cannon) or T-Gun (Teleportation Gun), the
Leviathan was to become the
Confederation's most powerful implement
of war ever developed. As of this writing, it
is. During the brief skirmish with the
C'Kuthra, it was used to destroy the aliens'
flagship, which seemed impervious to any
conventional weapon. In conjunction with
the self-destruction of the PCS Aurora, the
MEC Cannon plowed through the alien
ship's shields and decimated the hull,
thereby stopping a battle that could have
escalated into a war.
Channeling the released energy is
307
a combination of electrostatic fields
(created by placing electrodes with a large
potential difference at each end of the
cannon barrel) and pulsating linear force
shields. When the weapon begins to charge,
two things occur. First, rear intonation
emitters start building up a repulsive field
that will hold the Leviathan in place, and
flashes of light burst from the tip of the
barrel, like a fireworks display heralding
Armageddon.
Anti-war protesters see the
Leviathan as nothing more than a means of
holding the galaxy hostage, a tool for
forcing alien races to bow to our every
whim. The Confederation Navy, on the
other hand, calls it a peacekeeping weapon.
If hostile aliens ever threaten to overtake us,
then the Leviathan will be used, but only
then. Either way you look at it, it really
boils down to peace through superior
firepower. If we would have had it at the
beginning of the Kilrathi War, then it might
have been stopped early on. Or, it might
have meant that aggressions would have
increased more rapidly. But these
wonderings are better left to the
philosophers.
In the end, Boomer Station proves
that failure is never the end. Progress is
usually the end result of failure after failure.
You experiment, see where you went
wrong, and you try again. If it doesn't
ultimately work out, then what you tested
might be usable by someone else. The only
person who fails is the person who stops
trying. The scientists at Boomer Station will
tell you that.
written by: Justin Macumber