Star Trek: Dagger

by MorbiusXX

This is a story of the Romulan war based on the Star Fleet museum website. You can view the types of spaceships on that site. I've used characters from Enterprise but the story departs that storyline.

34. Chapter 34

Star Trek: Dagger

Star Trek: Dagger

Book IV: The Neutral Zone

Mustang, Oklahoma, the old United States, earth, Mar 2158

Pearl Decker buttoned up his jacket as if he were a child. Phil wanted to shrug her off but he realized the corollary: She could be sending him on his way without giving a damn about what happened to him. He had made a good choice those many long decades ago when he had asked her to marry him. He seized her hands in his.

"Don't worry Pearl," he said. "These are just a bunch of hoodlums. In a sense they are probably more scared than the people they are trying to scare."

"Why do you have to be the one to do this?"

He looked out the windscreen of his warm utility vehicle. The little truck's seldom used autopilot maneuvered it easily along the straight Oklahoma roads. Last week's snow had melted leaving the bleak, brown Oklahoma winter landscape. Decker hoped that he would not be buried under that; not yet anyway. At sixty years of age Decker still had another forty years with today's life expectancies. He sucked in some air.

"Someone has to step up. History teaches us--,"

"Bull; you don't know history. Phil Decker, don't lie to me: You fell asleep during history and civics' class. You got your freshman Earth History paper off of that little guy with the glasses." His wife snapped her fingers trying to recall their college years.

"Artemis Gill," he supplied. Gill had written the paper with the stipulation that Decker set him up with his sister. Melanie had found her brother's request to meet the shy Gill strange but she had acquiesced. They had never hit it off but Phil had a passable paper on the aftermath of Colonel Green's progressive movement. He had never read it until two nights ago.

"Yeah, that fellow," she answered. The truck was pulling up to the Mustang city hall lot. A few people were milling about. Decker had compelled the hotheads to stay at home. She grabbed the sleeve of his drover's jacket. "Don't distract me. You still haven't answered the question."

He sighed. Decker recalled Gill's passionate explanation for the rise of fascism under the guise of helping the disadvantaged. Arty hadn't been much in the socializing department Decker reflected, but he had been one hell of a writer. He had been chilled to find that the Sons' of Terra were using rhetoric that had been born in old Germany. Decker was sorry that he had thought some of his more politically astute friends were overreacting.

"This has to be nipped in the bud now Pearl," he answered at last. "I read that old paper. The Americans of last century waited too long. All the while government was getting bigger and more nosy they didn't do nothing. They were afraid to appear radical or be labeled some kinda extremist."

"Extreme what?" she asked. She shook her head. "Okay forget I asked. I think I know what that means. So you mean to walk in there and do this?"

"Yup," he answered somberly.

"And if…if you don't succeed then Tommy Drayton is going to be next?"

"That's the plan." Drayton was almost eighty but was as tough as nails. His wife had passed last year prematurely. He had wanted to go first but this was Decker's half-baked scheme.

"Well; screw the plan!" his wife proclaimed with an uncharacteristic curse. "If…if that happens then I'm going next!"

"Now wait a damn minute!"

"No you wait a minute! You're right. I just have a hard time admitting it. But the thing is if its right for you it has to be right for me. Stephen and Matthew are grown men. They'll understand; that's why they are out there in space fighting for us. It's up to us though to fight for them here. It's time to send these antiwar nuts back under whatever rock they crawled out from under!"

Pearl seldom showed her anger but when she did she got it on with a full head. Phil knew that there was no stopping his wife. He embraced her hard. They kissed. He looked past her, to his cohorts out in the cold Mustang morning air. He smelled Pearl's hair.

"It'll be fine," he said. She nodded. Her eyes were wet with tears. They separated and then exited the vehicle.

"I still say I should be first!" Tommy Drayton exclaimed. The rancher was almost as black as a piece of coal and a full head taller than Phil.

"Don't worry none," Decker assured Drayton. "This will be a piece of cake." He smiled and faked bravery. Drayton seemed satisfied but he knew that Pearl was looking right through him. "Well let's get this recall going!" He turned for the city hall. Decker needed a few seconds to quell his fear.

He walked up and banged on one of the large double doors. He looked back. Gavin McCarthy was there with Drayton and Celia Ward. Several other locals; Phil and Pearl's friends going back to their childhood looked on. He banged again. Phil knew that the two Sons' of Terra toughs were in there. Li Chen's small motel was booked full though not a ground or aircar sat in his lot. The door opened revealing the burly male.

"You again!" He remembered that the man was named John. The couple had only spoken to Chen who had told them to find lodging elsewhere.

"Yes me again."

"Don't try nothin' funny pops." John hefted the laser at him. "I don't see all of those guns you were talking about. You know you're gonna lose those if you try anything."

"I don't need no gun." Phil figured now was as good a time as any. He barged past John into the hall. John's pudgy female companion who had been slinking in a shadow behind the door backed away from Decker. She leveled her rifle at him. Decker saw that she was trembling. Decker barreled past her for the voting machines.

"Stop…stop you crazy bastard!" she called out.

He stopped but not before he was standing before the master voting machine controller. Decker had once served as a poll watcher and knew the drill here: He inserted a card and electronic control wand that Salvador Campanella had loaned him. The frail poll warden was not up to this task. Decker punched in a code and confirmed that the machines were on and communicating with the network.

He turned to confront the angry Sons' of Terra couple. Both of them had there lasers pointing at him. He eyed the male half of the team. The woman he thought was near hysterical. There would be no reasoning there. Decker stood before John pressing himself against the rifle's emitter.

"You gonna kill me for voting?"

"We've heard enough from your kind!" the woman shrieked. "You want to take our rights--,"

"Lady you are the ones with the guns telling me I can't exercise the one thing that is a right!" She started to yell again when he hastened on. "You are confusing your not getting' your way, with rights. This count—this planet is free. We're free; but that means free to fall on our asses as well as succeedin' at things. It also means free to be wrong about a issue."

"You think the Birdies just happened to kill all them people on the colonies because of things we did? You think all them people in Florida had it comin'? Well that is your bailiwick I guess. Personally I think you're damn fools. But the way to disagree is over there on those machines, not by making yourself special privileges with guns and phony courts and callin' them rights!"

He stepped back. "I'm going over there and vote; then I'm goin' home. If you plan on killin' me do it now. I'm old and I have to piss."

Decker turned his back and walked over to the machine. He went in and closed the curtain. The machines had retained that centuries old peculiarity. For some damn reason it occurred to Phil that Arty Gill could explain the whole thing to him. Decker inputted his vote. There; you pompous son of a bitch, he thought. He didn't like Hawkins. There had been something about the man that just rubbed Phil the wrong way. There was a clatter outside. Well; he wouldn't have to worry about pissing anymore, Phil thought. He opened the curtain.

The man had the woman in a restraining embrace. Her hysteria had gotten the better of her it seemed. Phil wondered how such a lady, one half of his age, could be in such horrible shape. Some people made one too many trips to the buffet table he thought. He walked over to them.

"It's over Katy," he heard John tell her.

"We…we can't let the warmongers win," she blubbered. "We are right here…aren't we?"

John had dropped his rifle as well. He looked up at Phil. "You're a bastard, you know that."

"My wife has informed me of that fact a few times," he answered with a smile.

John cracked a smile in return. He took both rifles and handed them to Phil. "I'm done with mine and Katy's…" He cast a warning glance to the disheveled woman on the floor. Phil started to refuse when John added: "I need my hands free." Decker took the lasers.

He followed John with his eyes as the SOT man went in the voting booth and closed the curtain. A minute later he opened it up.

"There; I think you're wrong about this. Hawkins is a good man." He looked down at his feet. "Guess this means we are growing up; people I mean."

"Yup," Decker answered; "that is one way to think about it."

"I'm not sure I like it," John said.

"There's good and bad to everything." Decker extended his hand.

"You'd do that after what we did?"

"Just shaking your hand," Decker answered. "Not like I'm asking you to date my daughter."

John returned the gesture. He gave his partner a glance. "I'll gather her up and we'll be out of your hair."

Decker nodded. He went about the business of opening up the polling place. Phil threw the double doors open admitting his friends and a blast of cold air. Pearl stood upon the walk outside. He went to her and hugged her close to him. They stood thus for a minute then kissed.

"Go in there and vote," he told her, "then let's get home: I have to change my pants."

Kiev, the Ukraine, earth, Mar 2158

The snow was caught in the tops of Fred Watson's boots. He regretted again not interviewing this witness by vidcomm. It was all so pointless anyway: This Malcolm Reed seemed to be slipperier than an eel. Watson liked fishing. He had caught his share of eels from the Mississippi basin. He knew where to go to catch the creatures. That was what brought him here.

Watson had narrowed down to two; the number of off world junkets that Naval Intelligence had participated in during Reed's missing time. He was beginning to doubt that the major had even gone off earth. That left the question: Where had Reed been?

Watson stepped carefully. There was ice in places beneath the snow. He found the address that he had been seeking amid a more modern neighborhood. The houses here were designed to look like eighteenth century Eastern European houses. Fred thought that like many decorating revivals the reality was probably that the Ukrainian peasants of that time lived in dirt floor hovels rather than these heated, air conditioned computer controlled marvels. People liked the romance of the past but Watson chuckled when he thought of what would happen if they had to live like people from that century.

Watson stood before the door and banged on it. A short thin, balding man answered the door. Fred judged that the man must be in his fifties. Watson turned on his pocket translator and started speaking. The man held up a hand.

"I speak English," he said.

"Dmitri Yegorovich?" he asked. The man nodded. Watson showed him his credentials. "You were the passenger control officer for off world travel in '56?"

"Come in agent," the man waved him into his house. "I was. I would still be such but I retired just prior to the start of the war." Watson followed him into the small home. It smelled of cabbage. "I thought that I would be recalled but there was little need to send naval investigators and civilians to other worlds after the shooting started."

"Do you remember some of the people you processed?"

"Of course," Yegorovich answered. "There was more to it than plugging names into a database. I had to interview each one to see that they--,"

"I'm sorry," Watson interjected. "You personally saw the people you sent out?"

"Da," Yegorovich answered. "I had to confirm that their inoculations, wills and such were up to date." The man guided Watson to a comfortable chair. The room was a memento room crammed full of award plaques and old holophotos.

Watson reached into his trench coat and produced a holo still of Reed. "Did you ever see this gentleman?" Yegorovich took the photo. Watson took the opportunity to look around. As a policeman he considered himself a student of humanity and their habits. Pictures showed the Ukrainian with former navy buddies but little else. Watson started to guess that Yegorovich had very little in his life besides the navy until he spied a holophoto of the older man with his arm around a pretty young girl. There was little around the small living room to indicate that the relationship had gone anywhere; there were no feminine touches to the décor.

He turned back to Yegorovich. Watson thought that the man was asleep for a moment. He stretched and produced a manufactured yawn. Yegorovich still did not move. He seemed frozen with the photo in his hand. Watson leaned forward and waved his hand before the man's eyes. He snapped his fingers. Yegorovich jumped. He seemed to see Watson as if for the first time.

"No, I don't recognize the man."

Watson nodded at the picture of the Ukrainian and the girl. "Nice looking lady," he remarked.

A cloud seemed to come over the man's face. "Yes she was; very beautiful, very kind to bestow her love upon a man much older than she."

"You speak in the past tense--,"

"She was one of those killed on Alpha Eridani." Watson watched as the man buried his face in his hands. "I discovered the body myself. There was nothing I could do. I could see the terror in her dead eyes."

"I'm very sorry," Watson said in a consoling tone while making a mental reminder to check the Ukrainian's story further. "You were off planet?"

He raised his head and nodded. "My retirement gift if you will. Thirty years of naval service and I'd never been off world. I was sent on a security junket to Eridani; more of a vacation and a chance to see the final frontier. I thought at the time how lucky I was that Allison got to go with me."

Yegorovich sighed. "All of those security people there and yet all those murders happened." Watson took a proffered holo still from the Ukrainian who went on to explain that the people in the photo were members of the security team that he had traveled with. Watson gave the captioned photo a casual perusal, started to hand it back to Yegorovich then stopped.

"Did you know Adolph Rademacher?" Watson had spied the deceased investigator's name in the caption.

He looked puzzled for a moment. He seemed to recall the name after a moment. "The photo was run through the official database. Rademacher never made it on the trip. His name is there but he was not."

"Anyone take his place?"

The blank look came over the Ukrainian's face once again. Watson wondered if the man had been earthbound his entire long career because he was some sort of daydreamer. Would the navy have permitted that? Yegorovich's face seemed to clear.

"There was…somebody else," he said. Watson thought that the reply seemed forced. He definetly planned on investigating the man further. Yegorovich closed his eyes tightly. "I…can't remember…but there was someone else."

"Err alright," Watson said. He was trying to break the man's strange mood.

"I'm very sorry," Yegorovich declared. "It is cold out. Would you like some tea?"

"Sure thing," he answered. He asked the Ukrainian if he could scan the group holovid. Yegorovich consented. Fred ran his pocket computer over the image while he waited. Watson was unsure of where this was going. He understood Ebenstark's need to ferret out any secret organizations, but only on a slightly intellectual level. History, politics and moral education could lay Watson lower than the best sleep aide ever could.

He did understand murder. Watson didn't like it, but a small segment of the family of man still performed terrible acts. Rather this entire thing involved Reed he did not know. Watson knew that turning over stones sometimes led to unexpected discoveries. He debated telling Ebenstark about this side investigation. Watson decided that he would let it go for now. Ebenstark was interested in these spooks; not in murders committed far away.

Yegorovich returned with the tea. Watson sat and made seemingly innocuous small talk with the man. The more they spoke the more Watson felt that the Ukrainian was not a murderer. He would examine the folder on the Alpha Eridani investigation anyway. He listened with half an ear as Yegorovich rambled on. He did key in on something the Ukrainian said.

"Sorry, what was that?" he asked in a pleasant tone.

"My mother, her mind is going." Yegorovich sighed. "We've learned so much but I suppose that some things are still in God's hands. What I said was that she knew that something serious had happened when I returned. She couldn't guess what it was. I finally told her about the murders. I did not have the heart to tell her that the killer had claimed Ally." Yegorovich gestured at his head. "They tell me it is a form of Alzheimer's that even the Vulcan derived medications can't fight."

"Yes," he agreed. "It's a damn shame. I'm really sorry your mother has to suffer like that."

"Thank you," Yegorovich answered. "I must be bad luck for the women in my life!" Stated in an attempt at gallows humor it struck Fred in the heart. He thanked whatever higher power there was that he had his wife and children.

"Anyway she said that it was the work of redjac." Watson shot him a look that showed his ignorance. Yegorovich smiled. "An old story made into a children's song. You westerners do the same thing! Ring around the rosy?"

"Actually that is just a children's song, the connection to a plague is a misconception," Watson countered, "but I get where you are going."

"Redjac will get you when you are alone in the dark," Yegorovich continued. "It sounds better in my language, agent. Local history; don't you know? Redjac was some sort of killer here in Kiev." Watson shook his head. "He—or she committed the crimes during the twentieth century. Horrible murders such as was done to my Allison."

"I'm sorry it's not something I ever looked at." Watson shook his head. "I studied the twentieth century as part of my criminology curriculum of course. But frankly the thing then was to find a time when people weren't murdering one another."

"That is true," the Ukrainian nodded.

Watson thanked him for the tea and got up to leave. Yegorovich made him promise to contact him if he needed help with rosters or anything else. He was not a killer Fred realized. No killer would make pathetic attempts at begging a policeman for a return visit. Yegorovich was just an old man that life had delivered one too many kidney shots to. Fred assured him that he would contact him periodically. It was a lie, but a lie born out of pity. Yegorovich bid him a farewell. Fred walked out into the frigid Kiev night. He would buy Roslyn a bouquet before he got home.

The Klingon world of V'hAch'c, earth year Mar 2158

"I'm not sure that you're better off down there Kirk," the voice of Captain Marissa Morgan announced out of the laboratory communication panel.

He looked around. His friend David Rand was oblivious to Morgan's words. The doctor along with his Klingon counterpart G'Nar was close to a cure. So they said, Kirk reminded himself. There seemed to be an animated discussion between the two. Augustus was surprised at how much of the Klingon language his friend Rand had picked up.

"I suppose that our friend Ma'aQ has an attack fleet on the way?"

"We've scanned them," Morgan replied. "They are less than an hour out."

"Rand says they are close," Kirk responded. "I'm gathering that the cure may be worse than the disease. Anyway; what makes you think we'll fare any better up there?"

"I'll assist Kaluch's forces as promised," Morgan told him. "But my prime mission was to recover our people. If we survive this encounter then I'll set a course for Rura Penthe. If the Chancellor defeats us I believe from what Kaluch has said that you can expect orbital bombardment."

"You'll whip their asses," Kirk declared in a nonchalant tone. "We'll stay down here." He looked at Soval and Soong. The Vulcan gave him a human nod. Soong shook his head vigorously.

"I'll take my chances up there!" the billionaire yelled.

"What was that?" Morgan asked.

"Just some noisy lab equipment," he quipped. He sighed. "Best of luck to you captain. I know we'll speak again."

"Count on it Augy!" she answered crisply. "Serendipity out," she finished. He hoped that it would not be for the last time.

"You summon me before a battle!" Kaluch barged into the lab with his entourage of guards.

"We are near to a cure!" G'Nar bellowed in turn. "You might engage the chancellor over nothing!"

"This matter between the houses," Kaluch grumbled; "it is time that it is resolved."

"You'll be weaker for it," Kirk interjected. "The only ones who will win are the Romulans."

"Even now these humans propose this federation," Chang interjected. As much as Kirk liked the young Klingon there were times that he wished that he would shutup: This was one of those times. "A rose by any other name, or a galactic empire; the Romulans would be our natural allies. They are hunters."

"Seems to me like they are backstabbers," Kirk countered. "Where is Klingon honor at Chang?"

"Speak to me of this cure G'Nar," Kaluch said. The Klingon eyed Kirk. "The old human is correct: We will only weaken the empire in fighting the chancellor."

"We have ascertained that the virus is age limited." G'Nar continued with his explanation. "We have a possible anti-virus."

"The effects of which may be damning to an older Klingon!" Rand exclaimed.

"What do you mean?" Kaluch asked the human doctor.

Rand started an explanation in what Kirk had labeled pigeon Klingon. He finally shot a glance laced with frustration at Augustus. Kirk acted as translator. He explained that the vaccine had reversed the effects of the human genes in all of the Klingon DNA tested so far. The trouble was that in Klingons over a certain age and for select others the cure could cause massive cellular damage.

"We can test for that factor but it is safe to say that those who enter K'Arc'D'Cha," Kirk stopped. "What is that?" he asked.

G'Nar explained for Rand. The Klingon spoke directly to Kirk rather than through him. "When Klingons age to the beginning of their maturity. There are certain physiological changes."

"You mean like out of…" Kirk couldn't think of the Klingon translation.

"Puberty," Rand added. The human doctor then inserted the Klingon term.

"Can they survive this cellular damage?" Kaluch asked.

"The effects are severe," G'Nar explained taking up the conversation. Augustus was glad for the break.

"Then you have no cure!" Kaluch roared. "The majority of my house is over that age."

"We can test for those who would be affected," G'Nar countered. "It is an involved procedure but it can be done."

"More important though is that after G'rTou the anti virus can be introduced with no ill effects."

"We would then remain this way for most of our lives?"

"Yes Kaluch."

The leader of the House of Kaluch banged his fist down upon a table top. The noise resonated through the lab. "We have little choice. Has this been tested?"

"On a live Klingon no," G'Nar answered. "The process takes some time." He gave Kaluch what he called his best guess.

"Ma'aQ will be here by then and this place will be glassed over."

"The agent must be tested on one of those changed. That is why--,"

"Wait!" Kaluch commanded. "How much time do you estimate, if you give a test treatment starting now?" G'Nar gave him the estimate. "Then I'll be your first subject."

"But…the effects on you Kaluch," G'Nar answered slowly.

"Foolishness!" Chang spat. "There is no magical cure. This is more delays while you ready your forces against the chancellor's fleet. Have you become so human that you stoop to subterfuge Kaluch?"

Chang was standing over an arm's length from Kaluch with Kaluch's guards between them. Yet Kirk did not even see the older mutated Klingon strike out. He did see Chang reel from the blow. Kaluch's guards drew their swords.

Chang rose slowly. "Let every eye negotiate for itself." Kirk was surprised to Chang smile a toothy grin and back away. "We shall conclude this another time." He turned and stalked off.

"Will I be a Klingon again before the chancellor arrives?"

"Provided you live, yes," G'Nar answered.

"Get on with it then!"

"This really is madness," Rand said at last. Kirk knew that he was piecing together what was happening from the Klingon he had learned and his observations.

Kaluch and G'Nar proceeded with the course Kaluch had chosen. G'Nar injected the head of the House of Kaluch with the anti viral agent. Kaluch ordered his guards to establish communications with the chancellor's forces in the meantime. Kirk looked at the Klingon leader and waited for changes. He supposed he expected some kind of Jekyll and Hyde type change; or in this case Jekyll to Jekyll.

"Nothing will happen for a few minutes," Rand whispered to him as if reading his mind.

Kaluch promptly vomited after that. That didn't bother Kirk after nearly a month of Klingon food. He merely smiled and looked at David. "A few minutes huh?" Kirk wanted to chide the doctor further until Kaluch started convulsing violently.

"Open communications with the chancellor!" the Klingon managed to say amid shudders.

An alarm sounded. Kirk looked around. He had hung around the lab long enough to know that it was an automatic system that locked the facility down in case of contamination. Rand went about an examination of everything in the medical laboratory. Kirk stood by anxious to do something. He listened while G'Nar split his attention away from Kaluch long enough to express his bewilderment over the automated warning.

"The seals are in place," Rand said helplessly. "None of the samples are broken. I don't understand it."

"Call out to the main compound!" G'Nar snapped.

"Better yet, establish a subspace link with Ma'aQ's forces," Kirk snapped his fingers and interjected. He had been working the comm system and had familiarized himself with its operation. Kirk moved to do as he had suggested. One of Kaluch's guards looked over his shoulder as he inputted commands into the alien control panel.

Kirk stopped and cast a puzzled glance at Klagh. He recalled the guard's name. Klagh was the one who had warned him about the powder puff creatures. Kirk guessed that the pleasant sounding creatures shot deadly quills out or something on that order. That could be the only explanation for the Klingon's avoidance of them. Klagh returned the glance and reached past Augustus to try the panel. He grunted and smacked his hand down on the controls.

"Is there another communications' station Kirk?" Klagh asked.

"By the cryogenics lab," Kirk answered. He felt useless around this place and decided to go with Klagh and try to get some contact with the world outside. He turned to Soong and spoke in English: "I might need your knowledge of electronics in case there is some kind of malfunction."

"You go on without me Augy old boy," Soong said. "There really isn't much to it; just remember not to stick in your finger in a power supply." Klagh must have been able to read Kirk's human expressions for her strode over and took Soong by the collar.

"Okay, okay!" Soong protested angrily. Klagh released Soong when Kirk gestured to do so. "Watch the threads crinkle head!"

Kirk fell into step with the bigger and younger Klingon. Soong followed as they wound their way through the complex. The trio descended in a lift to the cryogenics area. The lift door parted revealing a darkened stone passageway. Kirk and the Klingon cast a wary eye upon one another: Kirk knew that this section of the research facility was usually well lit; even by Klingon standards. They proceeded out of the lift and down the corridor at a more cautious pace.

"This is where Dracula comes out of the--,"

"Shutup Soong!" Kirk hissed. They rounded a curve into the larger area that housed the cryo lab and containment computer. There was movement. Kirk was knocked off of his feet.

He saw Klagh pull his sword and engage another Klingon. He saw boots running at the Klingon. Kirk rolled into them knocking the attacker onto the floor. It suddenly occurred to Augustus that these Klingons were unaffected by the retrovirus. The warrior that he had tripped struggled to his feet. Kirk launched himself at the Klingon. There was a sound of swords clanging together. The warrior swung his arm at him. He easily knocked Kirk away. Augustus felt his face go numb. He tasted the tang of his own blood. Kirk was determined to continue fighting until he felt the harsh, cold edge of a blade against his bare throat.

"This was the unkindest cut of all," a familiar voice announced. Chang stepped before him. He was holding the short Klingon sword at Augustus' throat.

"What's the meaning of this?" Kirk asked. It couldn't be good. He saw Klagh's lifeless body less than two meters away. The pinkish Klingon blood made a growing pool beneath Klagh's lifeless body.

"Kaluch cannot be permitted this course of action." Chang withdrew the blade and turned to the other Klingons. "There is another human; find him!"

"Who're your friends?" Kirk asked.

"Klingons like me who are interested in the supremacy of the empire."

"You said the Romulans were hunters back there in the lab. How do you know that?"

Chang smiled showing an impressive mouthful of teeth. "Your enemy was always right beside you Kirk."

"You mean the Vulcans?"

"Their distant cousins; they are far more…interesting, shall we say, than their Vulcan relatives."

"You mean to align the empire with them."

"You subscribe great abilities to me—no. I am part of a cadre of ambitious warriors who see the empire becoming the predominant power in this quadrant; perhaps in this galaxy."

Kirk rose to his feet. Chang seemed unconcerned. That was no surprise: Augustus was an old man; he could not hope to defeat the small, powerfully built young Klingon. Kirk knew that he could stall though: He knew that Chang liked to talk.

"The Klingon Empire could ally with President Thorpe's federation."

"Traders and teachers?" the Klingon asked in reply. "We would never ally with the likes of those. Listen Kirk, whichever side wins, we will be in a position to absorb these Romulans. If we stay neutral then we wait while the victor and loser rebuilds their forces. We will face both empires."

"Not if we occupy Romulus."

"Really Kirk, you don't understand military matters. I doubt even the leaders of your alliance have considered an occupation of Romulus. It is a journey of human months for your ships to get there. You will have to constantly resupply your occupation force. The Romulans will not sit idly by while you walk on the surface of their world. Your forces will be involved in a constant struggle there."

Kirk had not considered that. He did not know if President Thorpe had either. Then there was the niggling question: What would happen when it was discovered that a relationship existed between the Vulcans and Romulans?

"Your people will decide finally upon some sort of diplomatic answer."

"You figured out all of that from your time as a scholar of intergalactic politics?"

"That is the assessment of those who I am doing this for."

"Kaluch and Ma'aQ's forces will fight. You won't have much of an empire left."

"Kaluch is a traditionalist: He would have the empire stand alone. The cold facts are this Augustus: The chancellor will win by sheer weight of numbers. Kaluch will be swept aside. Ma'aQ is not adverse to new ideas: He will see the potential of the Romulans. True we shall be weaker—for a brief time. It is likely that the Romulans will be weaker though. They will accept us as allies. Eventually we shall become the dominant force."

"Chang; no one can predict the future," Kirk argued. "It isn't the first time I've heard someone taking the long view. On my world the augments took that view: They're gone. Thorpe's federation isn't an empire. You would keep your sovereignty."

"You are wrong Augustus. We are the future and we need room to grow. It will be glorious. I only regret that I shall not live to see it."

"What do you mean?"

"Even if the cure works we shall hold this part of the compound preventing anyone from leaving or speaking to the outside. Ma'aQ will batter through and bomb this world into dust."

Kirk gulped. He did not like the way this was going. All men ended in dust: He just had not planned on it this soon.

"Report!" Captain Marissa Morgan snapped the one word inquiry.

"The Klingons are deploying two attack wings," Major Lasuda answered. "This chancellor seems to be using the vaq'a approach." Morgan shot him a glance of consternation. "You call them bulls. Ma'aQ is charging in like one. He has arrayed his forces in an offensive half sphere."

"Any word from our Klingon friends?" she asked.

"Chatter coming over linguacode." Lasuda answered. "I think it implies that we should just stay out of this because they are better warriors."

"Chief Chicosky," she turned to the medium built red headed man who was sitting at the helm. "Take up a position near the starboard attack wing." She was surprised at how arrogant these Klingons were even when they were receiving help. Morgan turned to her gunnery officer. "Ensign Wong, load Thunderflash and Narwhal missiles and launch fighters."

"Aye sir!" the ensign responded.

Serendipity had two Minotaurs in its launch section as opposed to the standard five. Morgan had been told that her new command was primarily a diplomatic vessel. The new Star Fleet had seen fit though to ensure that their diplomats were well protected. Marissa wished they could make more ships like this but cost was a prohibitive factor.

"Missile room reports loaded," Wong snapped crisply.

"Fighters away," Lasuda added.

"Thirty thousand kilometers until contact, sir," Ensign Karen Lockley reported.

Morgan turned her chair slowly. She liked this bridge design: Gone were the darkened alcoves where the bridge staff performed their individual functions. In place of that design was the circular bridge with the captain's position occupying the center. It was good that Marissa liked it: This was the future, according to the engineers.

Morgan remembered Kurn's advice concerning Klingon tactics: Amongst themselves they preferred close-in fighting using rail guns and lasers. Morgan ordered the display switched to tactical. The Klingon had not been lying: She watched as the ships closed past ten thousand kilometers. Were their missiles limited in range she wondered?

"Two D-2's making a run at us, sir," Lockley advised. "Missiles on the fly!"

"They don't seem reluctant to use their missiles on us. Lasers and Pitbulls!" she ordered.

The new anti-missile missiles intercepted the threats with terrifying accuracy and speed. The old Spiders were fast but not that fast Morgan thought. Four of the data streams showed peaks in energy then they dropped off to zero. Lasers finished off the remaining two threats. Alarms sounded. Lights flashed on the engineering status board. Morgan hit a stud on the armrest of her chair.

"Bridge, engineering, damage report!" she snapped.

"Hull breaches on decks four and seven, outer sections," Lieutenant Commander Karla Swenson announced. "They must be raking us with rail guns!"

Morgan watched three D-2's close past five thousand kilometers. Her lips pulled back in a feral grin. "Deploy starboard Merculite rocket battery."

Three bat-like D-2's broke away from their support group. They made a pass against the Star Fleet cruiser. Three pockmarks illustrated by escaping gases showed where the Klingon weapons hit Serendipity. A large door slid open on the side of the Star Fleet ship. Merculite rockets blasted out of the compartment. A concentrated barrage of small rockets tore through the three attackers.

The first D-2 was obliterated within seconds. The second tried turning away only to suffer the same fate. The last of the three managed to turn away exposing only an aft quarter to the deadly projectiles. Small explosions blossomed on that quarter. The D-2 tumbled out of control through space.

Pitbulls shot out from under Serendipity to intercept three more inbound missiles. One Klingon device exploded, incinerating the Pitbulls. A missile emerged through the blinding explosion. It detonated short of Serendipity causing the cruiser's hull plating to spark. Two D-2's manned by Kaluch's warrior's engaged Serendipity's attackers. The ships pivoted, ejecting smaller missiles and rail gun fire as they fought. A D-2 split from its thick neck to its stern. The two halves rolled through space.

Serendipity fired again, this time destroying a D-2 with a Narwhal. The forces of Ma'aQ, superior in number managed to hit the Star Fleet ship with another proximity burst. The two hundred and thirty five meter long behemoth reeled. Serendipity's port nacelle leaked a trail of glowing plasma. A single enemy D-2 evaded Klingon and Star Fleet weapons in an attempt to make a close pass against Serendipity. A Minotaur shot between both ships firing an Amazon. The smaller nuclear armed Amazon missile turned the D-2 into a short-lived fireball.

The battle raged on but it was apparent that the chancellor's fleet was winning. Five D-2's accompanied by a smaller number of bat-winged ships wheeled on one of Kaluch's D-2's. The D-2 evaded but at a terrible price: The craft slowly shredded itself. When a missile finally exploded it destroyed only twisted wreckage. Kaluch's ships destroyed many of Ma'aQ's but the loss of a single ship from Kaluch's house was worse than the loss of five of the chancellor's.

"You want to wipe out a third of the Klingon Empire," Augustus Kirk argued. "Aren't you interested in seeing a cure instead?"

"The move will consolidate power among another group." Chang leaned casually against a wall. Kirk saw his older son Sam for just a moment.

"The chancellor is as much a pawn in this as Kaluch is." Kirk said it more to himself than to the Klingon youth.

"The empire is on the threshold of becoming a galactic power." Chang stood erect as if to make a presentation. "Kaluch and the chancellor are mired down in council politics. We shall guide them in another direction."

"Your group and the Romulans?" he asked. "Tell me Chang; did it ever occur to you that these Romulans might end up on top?"

"That is absurd." Chang replied. "I will tell you this Augustus: I've met some of them. Their admiral believes in some mystical reunion with their Vulcan brothers as they call them. Like many beliefs it denies the pathetic nature of what lies beneath: It is a drug to keep the lesser of their people in line."

"And Klingons have no such beliefs?"

"We have legends and stories. They guide us, but not toward foolish dreams."

"Stand ready Chang!" one of the Klingon's cohorts announced. "The lift is moving again."

"Ah," Chang said and smiled. "Some of your friends are concerned about you Augustus."

Kirk knew that those coming down the lift would be ambushed as had he and Soong and Klagh. Where was Soong he wondered? The man did have a penchant for saving his own skin. Kirk heard a noise that did not fit in with the planned ambush. Chang pulled his pistol as one of his warriors staggered back into the lab; his abdomen was torn open from his chest to his stomach. Blood and gore spurted in a sickening trail behind the Klingon.

Kirk threw himself at Chang's gun hand. He and the Klingon wrestled. Chang twisted away and gained the upper hand. He spun and kicked Kirk. Augustus gasped. He was slammed against a wall where he slid down to the floor. He had heard a harsh snap and knew that some of his ribs were broken. He felt a fire in his chest. He looked at Chang who was pointing his pistol at Kirk's head.

"I go and it is done, the bell invites me," the Klingon quoted.

"It ain't over till the fat lady sings!" a voice spat out in rough Klingon

Kirk saw a shadow behind Chang. Adrik Soong swung a large object at the youth's head. Kirk realized that it was some kind of beaker. It exploded in a shower of smoking glass. Chang collapsed in a heap. Augustus realized it was not smoke: It was condensation from something cold. Despite the fact that Chang had been about to kill him, Kirk still wanted to go to him. He got up and started toward Chang when another warrior came at them. Soval rounded a corner just behind the Klingon. Kirk was not sure but somehow the Klingon seemed to faint after the Vulcan grabbed at his neck.

"What took you so long Smiley?" he asked the Vulcan. Kirk winced in agony.

"You are hurt," the Vulcan declared. He moved to help him.

Kirk held up a hand. "Don't worry about it; nothing that a few shots of Jim Beam won't help; or a visit to the doc," this last he mumbled. G'Nar joined the group as Kirk knelt beside Chang. Kirk saw the bloody batleth that the Klingon scientist held.

"Shouldn't you be tending to Kaluch?" he asked the scientist.

"The treatment was a success." For the first time Kirk saw what he thought was sadness, expressed by a Klingon. He wondered what had happened. He looked at Chang.

The youth's head and face appeared burned. Kirk touched the burnt flesh. He could still feel the cold of whatever was in the container that Soong had broken over Chang's head. Most of the Klingon's proud mane of hair was gone. Pieces of glass protruded from the ruin of Chang's left eye. He asked G'Nar if he could attend to the Klingon's wounds.

"Kirk, he tried to--,"

"Shutup Soong!" he hissed. Augustus took up Chang's gun and leveled it at Soong.

"Chang sabotaged--," Soval began.

"No!" Kirk spat. "Chang was working against this…" He looked at the dead and unconscious warriors. G'Nar went about the deadly business of taking care of the warrior that Soval had pinched. Kirk wanted to know how the Vulcan had done that.

G'Nar moved toward Chang. "Wait!" he exclaimed. "Chang was trying to stop the saboteurs. When you got here I managed to get loose. I don't think Chang knew who I was in all the confusion."

Augustus didn't know why he was protecting the Klingon—yes he did: Chang did remind him of Sam. Headstrong and independent; his oldest son had been the cause of many sleepless nights for Augustus. It wasn't until Sam moved away after one of many explosive arguments that Kirk came to understand the source of the friction: He and Sam were too much alike.

"Very well," the Klingon lowered his lethal blade. "Communications must be repaired."

Kirk lowered the pistol. He saw Soong's appraising look. Soong knew the truth. Much to Kirk's surprise he offered an apology and admitted a mistake in identity. He didn't understand this sudden aid from Soong but he decided it was not the best time to ask why. "Can you fix whatever," he started in English.

"You have it," Soong interrupted. "When the blood started flying I squeezed into a ventilation shaft. I've been working on and off down here; skulking and poking my nose where it doesn't belong." Kirk had accused Soong of that on occasion. "The crinkle heads route some of their tertiary control circuits through there. You should be able to talk to anyone you want."

"Then we should inform the chancellor that a cure has been obtained." Soval was as somber as ever. Was that a gleam of suspicion directed at him from the Vulcan, Kirk wondered? Had Soval seen or heard anything? If so, he was keeping his mouth shut too.

"Minnie Two had to eject their missiles!" Lieutenant Commander Russell Hargreaves shouted. An environmental transfer line had ruptured sending a hissing blast of steam onto the bridge of Serendipity.

"Tell them to use their remaining antimatter packets to jump for allied space!" Morgan retorted.

They had torn a hole into the number of Ma'aQ's ships. But Morgan knew that it had not been enough. Kaluch's appointed squadron commander was dead: He had gone to warp directly in the path of two of the chancellor's D-2's. Kavon's successor had actually opened a dialogue with Serendipity. Kaluch's fleet was reduced to a quarter of what it had been. Morgan knew that this was the final stand; no use in sacrificing the crew of Minotaur Two over a lost cause.

"What are your plans, captain?" Major Lasuda asked without ceremony.

"Status of the redshirts?" she asked.

She waited patiently while Hargreaves called the shore party. "Ensign Patel reports that they ran into an ambush. The Klingons didn't look human she said. Some of Kaluch's warriors helped our people, but now there is another problem." Morgan waited while Hargreaves listened. "Our people are in the lab but it is sealed up."

"Could have been some of Kaluch's people who weren't affected," Lasuda interjected. She looked sidewise at her first officer. "Perhaps not," he added. Morgan knew that the Tellarite was gathering a status report. It was not long before he delivered: "They had better get Kirk and team up here fast. The chancellor must not appreciate the beating we just gave him: His forces are assembling behind a screen of patrol craft."

"We'll give Kirk a few more minutes," Morgan declared. She studied the position of her ship: She didn't plan to fight against a gravity well. In making what was essentially a battleship class of vessel Star Fleet and Micah Brack's engineers had sacrificed maneuverability. Serendipity was a deep space vessel, not an explorer. She saw her opportunity. "Chief Chicosky," she said, addressing her helmsman. "Prepare to warp between those groups at 176 mark 15. I want to enter normal space at a minimum of eleven thousand kilometers from that main group."

Morgan had determined that one of those D-2's was acting as a command cruiser. Rather the chancellor was aboard or this Kurn was in command she did not know. She had spoken to Kurn. She would regret having to kill him; he was a noble warrior, but that was the nature of war. All sections reported ready. Morgan planned on giving them her last volley of Merculite rockets when Ensign Lockley chimed in.

"Communications from the surface sir!" the ensign said. Morgan snapped her head around. "Voice and video in the clear," she added.

"Show me!" she snapped. Morgan flipped the intercom. She regretted sending Soval to the surface but the green Orion woman had demonstrated knowledge of Klingon. Marissa would have liked to have her on the bridge but the Orion but she had proven to be somewhat of a distraction for her male crew members. She had instead assigned her quarters and put her on a restriction. Morgan called Miasa and started to inform her of the situation. She stopped abruptly when an image appeared on the bridge viewer.

She heard Lasuda ask who the Klingon on the viewer was. Morgan had wondered the same for a few seconds until she realized who it was: It was Kaluch. The warrior was changed. His proud ridges were back; beneath a mane of silver hair. Morgan tried to recall Rand's explanation of Klingon aging—normal Klingon aging. She did some calculations: Kaluch looked like he had aged at least a human century. He was speaking. Morgan prompted the Orion to translate.

"He says that they have reversed the effects of the retrovirus." Morgan put her voice over the bridge speakers as Miasa translated word for word.

"The cure will act as inoculants for the young and a cure for older Klingons. Those of us who were effected between the ages of K'Arc'D'Cha and Da'ChA; you see the effects of the cure. G'Nar says that it can safely be administered after Da'ChA but you see what happens if it is given too early."

"This war between the houses must cease. Ma'aQ, we've had our disagreements but we must not permit them to destroy the empire. There is no retrovirus. You have no reason to press forward with this attack. Those of my house who must bear the scars of the retrovirus will pledge ourselves to the empire. We shall be at the leading edge of expanding Klingon power in the galaxy."

Kaluch fell silent. Seconds later Lockley reported that the chancellor's ships were holding station. That was something, Morgan thought. She continued with preparations for a counter attack however. Marissa wondered how killing the Chancellor of the Klingon High Council would look on her military resume. A moment later Chief Calloway notified her that a response was being sent out.

Once again a Klingon face filled the viewer. Once again Morgan called upon the Orion as the Chancellor of the High Council rendered his response. She sat back and breathed a sigh of relief as Ma'aQ called a halt to the fighting. Morgan knew that at some point the chancellor had to be looking at his overall military picture: This battle had weakened the empire.

Morgan's personal assessment of the Klingon Empire was that every so often they battered one another to pieces over who had the most honor. Except that they seemed to find ways around that honor on occasion. She was wondering at how different they were from humans at the same time that she was thinking of how similar they were to humans. At least the shooting seemed to be over.

"Send a subspace message to Minotaur Two asking if they have enough anti matter packets to warp back to us," she ordered. "In the meantime we'll remain at battle stations until things really do quiet down."

San Francisco, California, the old United States, earth, Mar 2158

"They are going to vote me out," President Pro Tempore Mark Hawkins declared in a sad tone. His people were walking away for the most part, after that damning episode in Oklahoma. Hawkins wished that his enforcers had shot that old bastard.

He was looking at a portrait of the original signers of the World Charter. They had signed the document in this very underground office; so great was the fear of further nuclear attack. History mattered little to Hawkins who saw the figures on the canvas as rich, spoiled brats. He wrung his hands and crumpled a piece of old writing paper that was on the desk top.

"You still have options to implement against Stiles and her lackey." Dominique Catères looked out of place in the dry musty smelling underground bunker. It was she who had advised him to operate out of here after the assassination attempt against him. She sat opposite him dressed in a revealing evening gown.

"I've put those into action," he answered. "The authorities tracked her to France but she escaped from them. Some kinda whacko in a souped up aircraft pulled her and her gimp campaign manager off the ground there."

"This world is far too free," Catères said. Hawkins noticed how she did not nod or shake her head. She was odd that way. Come to think of it she was strange in many ways. He watched her stretch. Hawkins could not help but to see the movement of her highly articulated fingers. They were almost alien looking. She noticed his glance.

He felt a curtain of dread descend over him. It was as if young Mark was receiving one of his mother's periodic belittling rebukes. He jerked away and fixed his eyes elsewhere. Hawkins felt the terror subside. It was replaced with a warm blanket of security. He turned back to her reluctantly.

"We…we agree about that," he answered. "The fools aren't even afraid of authority anymore."

"With the way that the polling went it will be a few days before Stiles replaces you," she declared coldly. "There is time to accomplish some things. You must expedite the return of your home fleet. It is apparent that the delay in its return is deliberate."

"That goddamned admiral or whatever he is doesn't even speak English! He is some kinda Frenchman."

"French Canadian," Dominique corrected him.

Hawkins had been frustrated by the big naval officer. He had even tried to dismiss the officer. Much to Hawkins anger and dismay the officer…Goulete if he recalled properly, Goulete had smiled and babbled away in his native language. He had cut the circuit on his end as Mark screamed into the comm.

"The fleet issue is marginal. A few simple orders can speed things up," Catères said. "What is your progress on the other situation that I asked you about?"

"Nothing!" he retorted angrily. The signers of the World Charter had been careful to make sure that no one governing body had too much power to abuse.

Hawkins had thought that by being president he had now only to waggle his fingers to get results. He was discovering that he didn't have much more power than when he was breaking his back in Georgia. He had pushed the military as far as possible. The Sons' of Terra primary legal expert had told him that anything more and he could be removed from office.

He shook his head. "Thorpe was conducting investigations into rogue spy agencies through the Unified Intelligence Service. I went through every goddamned memo, paper and data. There just isn't anything there! They cain't find anything. I don't think that anything is there."

She sprang lithely out of her chair, reached over his desk and slapped his face. His hearing went numb on that side. He started to pull back when he felt himself frozen in place. He realized that he was panting like an animal. He felt wetness on his face and thought that he was sweating. He wiped at it and discovered that blood was dripping out of his ear on the side that she had struck him. His heart was thumping madly. She reached out and stroked his hair gently.

"There now," she cooed, "I need you to compose yourself." She smiled at him. "I know that whoever tried to kill you was someone…special. That individual is far more dangerous than you realize; perhaps even more than his keepers know."

"Is that why you wanted an inquiry into mass murderers?" he gasped out at last. He was starting to calm down.

"Yes," she replied.

He sighed. "There were a lot before the Third World War, but you asked about more recent times. The worse case was on Mars at the beginning of the century; eleven women were for all intents and purposes, gutted. They never figured out who did it." She asked him for the official record. He handed her a paper copy. He waited while she looked through it. There wasn't anything in a decades old report he thought.

"The official record tells of an officer chasing a suspect over the surface." She looked from the report to him. "The suspect was incinerated in the explosion of a hydrocarbon ejector."

"So?" he asked. "That was a long time ago."

"Did you not read this?" she snapped. He recoiled as if she had struck him again. She took a breath and continued: "The officer, who was carrying photographic equipment, got to within ten meters of the suspect, in a pressurized area where neither was suited, and yet never recorded an image of this possible killer or could identify the person. This naval officer couldn't even say if it was a man or woman."

"There was some kinda power outage," he mumbled quietly. "Maybe it was too dark."

"Further," Dominique continued as if he had not spoken. "The naval officer escaped from an explosion made by the ignition of hydrocarbon vapors: An explosion that burned away all of the suspect's remains. Yet this officer was unhurt."

He shrugged his shoulders. Hawkins winced as she shot a glance toward him. "I'm sorry," he answered haplessly. "I just don't see what murders that happened over fifty years ago, has to do with anything today."

"Perhaps nothing," she smiled seductively at him. He was beginning to feel relaxed. She handed the file back to him. "I've left it open on the name of that officer. Use what resources you can and pull up his service record and personal data. I wish to know where he lived after this incident and…who his descendents are; if any."

"Sure thing," he answered. He grinned at her.

"We must plan the next steps," she said.

"The warmongers have won!" he spat out in return. "The fools on this here world buy everythin' that Thorpe says hook line and sinker!"

"That may be so," Dominique stood up and strode over to a map of the world. "But say this assassination was engineered by this Star Fleet? The people have a reverence for the military. Were that reverence called into question then the Sons' of Terra could gain some momentum."

A chime sounded. Hawkins looked to Dominique. "Let him in," she commanded.

The door opened admitting Joshua Grant. He gave a tight-lipped smile to Catères and Mark. Mark liked the twentysome ex-actor despite Grant's wealth. He supposed it had to do with Grant's portrayals of the downtrodden. Grant had come to the movement after sales of his holovids had dropped off. But he was dedicated and wanted to do something for the cause of peace.

"There is news," Grant declared dramatically. Hawkins always wondered how, when Grant's characters sounded so forthright and brilliant the actor himself put Mark in mind of a simpleton.

"Don't keep us all waitin'!" Mark exclaimed.

"The deep space receivers have picked up a transmission from Thorpe's entourage." Grant looked down at a piece of paper he was holding. "Those dumbasses in the army couldn't get the whole message," Grant continued. "They must let the stupidest people in there."

"We know that," Mark interjected. "What did they pick up?"

Grant turned to his recitation. Hawkins was somewhat surprised that he seemed to have trouble reading. "Vulcan…per…prefect…I can't read these stupid Pointie names! Anyway this person says that Vulcan won't be neutral anymore. Something about shunning violence but they will give our ships a port. Also something about opening up some college?" he asked in a puzzled voice.

"The Vulcan Science Academy?" Dominique asked sharply. She hastened over and seized the paper from Grant's hands.

"It's just some college," Grant objected; "just another place churning out engineers and science majors. That is the trouble with those people; if they taught drama classes--,"

"You fool!" she exclaimed. "The Vulcan Science Academy started to gather knowledge over four thousand years ago. Humans were urinating in their water supply and wondering why they fell ill during that same time in history. The Vulcans have never opened the academy to any alien race they've encountered—never until now."

"This is serious?" he asked. Hawkins was as puzzled as Grant over Dominique's agitation.

"Thorpe seems to have done what no other world leader has," Catères said softly. "We must move quickly!"

UES Salamunga, near Sol, Mar 2158

"It is a beautiful sight sir," Crewman Elaine Scott declared softly. Her eyes were pressed against the sensor hood.

Chief Georgi Tatlin had directed one of old Sal's telescopes so that the crew could make a close examination of their native sun. He was pleased to find that he still had the same awe of the view as did his younger crewmen. Tatlin heard the hatch of Sal's bridge slide open. He walked the two meters to the hatch to meet Chief Lou Baxter.

"Giving the kids a little show?" Baxter said softly. Most of the crew had already filtered through the small bridge to see the video images.

"Why not; that is what we are out here for."

"Who knows, Cap'n Pudgy?" Baxter leaned against the metal frame and struck a cigarette. "Maybe this war will turn out to be a good thing."

"Русский," Tatlin mouthed the Russian word denoting a mentally ill person.

"Not as crazy as you think Georgi," Baxter replied. "What if this war hadn't happened? The pols were all ready to dismantle what was left of the navy in '56. What if they had succeeded?" Baxter continued, answering his own question. "We would have been out here with a few lasers and little else when we ran into someone else who wanted to fight."

"Ironic isn't it?" Tatlin declared. "I remember the anti exploration crowd crying endlessly about how man shouldn't be out here because of our warlike nature. We seemed to be the fault of every ill in the galaxy just because it is our nature to go out and overturn stones."

"Well Georgi there is a grain of truth there," his old friend said. He drew hard on his cigarette. "There will be many who want a bigger more aggressive fleet after this. I hope we don't inadvertently cause the next war because of a few hotheaded notions left over from this adventure."

"Hopefully this Star Fleet Academy will strike a balance between explorers and fighters." Tatlin motioned at his fellow chief petty officer.

"I thought you swore off smoking Georgi?" he asked handing Tatlin a cigarette.

"I just swore off buying my own!" he smiled as Baxter lit the smoke. Tatlin drew in a long draw of the sweet tasting tobacco.

"Don't forget about the alien influences!" his friend interjected. "It seems like the Andies and Tellars like looking under rocks too."

"Captain Tatlin," Crewman David McKidd's voice sounded tinny coming out of the small overhead speaker. The youth sounded nervous to Georgi. "Utopia Planitia just issued an attack warning."

"Christ!" Baxter exclaimed. "I thought that the Birdies were pushed back for awhile." Tatlin caught his old friend looking at him. "We aren't in any shape for a fight."

Georgi's mind raced. A few days ago he had been an enlisted man on the edge of retirement. Today he had a fleet of warships under his command. He came to a decision that he felt that any officer would arrive at:

"Sound battle stations," he said.

"We only have four working Amazons Georgi," Baxter whispered. The chiefs could see Scott and Crewman Geeta Dutt listening intently to their conversation. "The rest of this," Baxter sniffed, "taskforce is not in much better shape."

Tatlin never liked being on a ship where secrets were kept. He turned to Dutt and Scott as he flipped on the ship's intercom. "This ship has received notice of an attack on our shipyard over Mars." He looked at his young charges and then at Baxter. "I know you'll want to jump into the fight—so do I. But we have our orders." He nodded at the dusky skinned Dutt who was seated in the pilot's chair. The crewman initiated the alarm as ordered.

"I'll get to the engine room captain," Scott declared in a heavy brogue. He nodded as she scrambled by him.

"I'll code this over to the rest of the force sir," Baxter said. There was no sarcasm attached to the honorific.

He took his fellow chief's arm. "McKidd can send a coded dispatch. I need you to ramrod things in the engine and missile spaces. Scotty is competent but she lacks experience."

"You saying I'm an old fart, captain?" Baxter retorted with a smile.

"Why, you're not old at all number one."

Star Fleet heavy cruiser Hastings, moored at Utopia Planitia, Mar 2158

"Sons a bitches came in on one of the twists of the heliospheric current sheet," Lieutenant Commander Kelvin Merrick proclaimed. Oulette had almost asked for Lieutenant Talas. The pain was an empty spot that was still raw. Merrick was a capable officer. Oulette just wished that he had not been pushed so far so soon.

"Sensors readings are still garbled sir," Lieutenant Aroz stated. The Tellarite Defense Force had replaced Chief Traz. Aroz struck Grizzly as slightly odd for a Tellarite. The lieutenant was quiet and downright conciliatory. Oulette guessed that there were all sorts of types of Tellarites as there were humans.

Commodore Pierre "Grizzly" Oulette shelved his thoughts concerning alien psychology as he studied Hastings's tactical plot. He had ordered the bridge lighting subdued despite advice that the command center should be brightly lit. Old habits died hard.

He spun around slowly and soundlessly in his new seat. Hastings was a Tannhauser that had adopted the circular bridge module design rather than the old system of control alcoves. Grizzly missed Fearless. But the new Naval Construction Catalogue didn't call for a Fearless in any of its specs save for a hull designation that Oulette thought must be pure speculation: Daedelus. Oulette had been unable to find any information out about the proposed class of vessel.

"Thermopylae and Shalki report in position," Merrick reported. "Feuerstein and Weehawkin are maneuvering. They should be in pace before the Birds scan us, commodore."

"Tubes are loaded and decoys are in place, sir," Lieutenant Sylvia Moran advised him.

Oulette could see Merrick looking at the tactical display. He could see that his first officer was disturbed. "You want to go out and meet them?" he asked about the thirty plus enemy ships approaching the red planet.

"I'm sorry sir, no we should stay here."

Oulette knew that he had some time to indulge young Merrick. Besides, the navy needed officers who asked questions. Mindless marionettes were everywhere and likely to lead a crew just enough to die with them.

"No, voice your concerns Kelvin."

"Sir, with all due respect, our strategy has been to go out an engage the Romulans first hand."

"Yes,' he answered slowly, "it has been," he emphasized his last two words.

"Do you think that the Birds are here for a system wide attack Mister Merrick?"

"No sir. They are angling for Mars. Especially since the reports are that the--." Merrick stopped abruptly.

"Are that the bulk of our heavy cruisers were redeployed about earth?" he asked completing his first officer's statement.

"I wouldn't say that sir," Merrick answered. "That would imply that someone in our government was lending support to the Romulans."

"That remains to be seen," Oulette answered. He sighed. "It is not our place to ask of such things."

"Solid contacts on sensors and radar," Aroz declared.

Oulette pressed a stud on his armrest. "Engineer, bring up the mam reactor."

"Engaging start-up sequence," Lieutenant Commander D'Arcangeles replied. "Full power available on the fusion reactor commodore," the engineer added.

"Romulan taskforce consists of thirty-three Cabbages and fourteen Jellyfish." Aroz's face was pressed against the hood of his sensor screen. "They have gone to warp—estimated time until they are in plasma cannon range is four minutes."

"Very good, this is the time that our poor human sensors should have gotten good resolution on them. Let us begin the show." Oulette strapped in his seat as he ordered Crewman McGivers to take Hastings away from the yard and out beyond the orbit of Mars. He had read in the Journal of Space Power and Exploration that seats in ships of the future might do away with restraining harnesses. Oulette thought that that was madness.

"Helm answering, clearing umbilicals, sir," McGivers announced. "Two minutes until we leave orbit," he added.

"Vincennes is maneuvering with us," Aroz stated. "Portsmouth is leaving the yard."

"They have to have a manufacturing facility on Topaz," Merrick said quietly.

"Nothing has been scanned along their expected deployment lanes. I would tend to agree with you Kelvin," Oulette said.

He raised his voice to cover the entire bridge. "Let us keep up appearances here. We need to engage them for at least thirty seconds."

There was a chorus of ayes in return. Easier said than done Grizzly knew. They were facing a far superior force. But he had to go out and meet them. As his first officer had pointed out that was something that the Romulans would expect. Grizzly hoped that was so.

. The Tannhauser class cruiser moved silently through space. Its supporting Powhatons took up formation with the big ship. Behind the ships the great disk of Mars dominated the sky. Utopia Planitia formed a great network of support structures and mooring points creating the appearance of a great spider web over the red planet. The ships moved steadily.

Thousands of kilometers away the Romulan group flashed into normal space. They immediately maneuvered to establish some distance between each. The first exhaust trails of missiles, a brief creation of their small chemical thrusters, were visible as the green ships fired at their outnumbered foes. Plasma cannon fire outraced speeding Romulan Mambos and Moolahs.

Nuclear weapons exploded in the space between the two hostile groups. Most of the plasma beam fire was consumed in the reaction of the blasts, still some made it through. The Star Fleet ships maneuvered to escape with only Vincennes taking a glancing blow of plasma fire. Electric blue discharges ran down the Powhaton's hull. The ship launched a spread of Spiders and Narwhals as it turned back toward Mars. The Romulans followed.

One Narwhal launched by allied ships made it near to a Romulan ship. Plasma spewed from the nacelle of the damaged Sabinus. The Romulans continued in their tight formation defeating yet another volley of Narwhals. Allied missiles, perfected since the outbreak of war flew corkscrewing courses designed to evade enemy laser fire. The projectiles' flight path did not render them immune from neutronium pellets. Most of the Narwhals were turned into so much space debris after impacting the dense pellets.

Hastings and her escorts continued a steady retreat. The outermost pursuers turned about and started laying down sequential plasma cannon fire against oncoming Hercules missiles. One Veronus was engulfed by a detonation from one of the big antiship missiles. But Romulan counter measures and tactics seemed to be uncannily accurate when it came to defeating the Hercules'.

The great red disk of Mars filled the sky. The web of Utopia Planitia seemed to be breaking up. Small pieces of it floated apart against the backdrop of the great Martian canals. The pieces seemed to move slowly then they accelerated and took up formation. The distant sun shined off of the apparent debris.

The sun illuminated the speeding deadly shapes of Star Fleet Minotaurs. Painted garishly and with pride by their maintainers the Minotaurs quickly formed up and proceeded toward their intended Romulan prey. The four pulse lasers protruding from the stubby ships' noses started about their deadly business. Romulan Aeons exited their launch bays in great droves to counter this new threat.

"How in the hell are they taking out our Hercules's like that!" It was one of those rare times that Oulette's mild first officer raised his voice.

Almost like someone had passed along specifications to the Birds. Oulette did not give voice to his thought. The United Earth Government was on shaky ground right now. He didn't want to add to what was becoming an increasingly unsettled situation at home. James Leonard had sent a long letter to Grizzly just after his dismissal from the command of earth's home guard. The letter had apparently been about the problems that Jim was facing with a particularly nasty gopher that would return every spring to wreck havoc on his wife's garden. Oulette knew that Leonard and his wife had no such problems.

The suspicion that the acting president was actively aiding Romulans chilled Oulette. He worried after his family, his fiancé and adopted daughter. He had felt that he could protect them so long as earth had a leader determined to fight the enemy. That was no longer true Pierre lamented.

"Fixed fortifications died when artillery came about," he said quietly. "I expected the Romulans to adapt." Somewhat of a lie; he was sure that their enemies had information from the highest levels. "We shall see how they adapt to the extra Minotaur squadrons."

"They've already lost two cabbages commodore," the Tellarite Aroz announced. "Our ships are moving according to your orders." Oulette was no expert on Tellarite moods but he detected that something was troubling his sensor chief. He would have appreciated a little Tellarite candor right about now. He asked Aroz what was wrong.

"Three of the Sabinus class ships are returning strange readings," Aroz answered. "I have been conducting narrow beam scans on them. They are reading as more massive than ships of that class should be. Their hulls seem to be thicker."

"Show me!" Oulette snapped.

The Tellarite caused three of the data streams to become larger. "As you can see sir if we highlight the z-axis and extrapolate--," Aroz began.

"Stop," Oulette interrupted. He eyed his sensor chief. "You don't happen to have any Vulcan relatives; do you?"

"I don't believe so sir," the chief answered.

The bridge lights flickered. The standby engineer reported minor damage after a plasma cannon hit. The hull plating was vastly improved over the old Pioneer class. Maybe giving up restraint harnesses in favor of better shielding and structural integrity fields would not be such a bad idea. Grizzly would read the article again: Provided he lived. Still; all of this new technology could not survive repeated attacks. Oulette turned his attention back to the viewer.

Three of their intended targets did indeed read as being several metric tons heavier than the average Sabinus class cruiser. Grizzly did not know why. He did know that he did not like it. The Romulans had split the Andorian forces according to the first sketchy reports that were filtering in over subspace. Oulette wanted to make sure that did not happen. He had only to convince the Birds of his intent.

"Sir, they are making for point near the starboard hemisphere of their defensive sphere," Aroz said. "Utopia Planitia is adding to the defensive fire."

"Mister Merrick, order two squadrons of Minotaurs to attack the Romulans from that position," Oulette ordered.

"They are moving away," Aroz stated. "Power buildup! Warp field forming!"

"Direction?" he asked. Oulette had a dreadful feeling in the pit of stomach that he already knew.

"Cabbages jumping to warp, on a direct heading for the shipyard," the Tellarite declared.

"We shall see," Oulette said in a grim tone.

The tactical plot showed the three Romulan cruisers making for the great bulk of the shipyard. Smaller readings, showing high speed compact objects appeared opposite the approaching enemy ships. The swarm of outbound Hercules missiles were about to overwhelm the Romulan cruisers when Oulette watched the cruisers' power usage graph go off scale.

Hastings artificial gravity burbled. Grizzly reeled in his seat. The lights went dark for a few seconds. When power was restored sparks and flames shot out of several instrument panels. He was aware that the detonation was powerful: The Bird ships had been over eight thousand kilometers away. Oulette watched Lieutenant Takuya Han examining the engineering reports while he fought an electrical fire at his station.

"Mam is running at one hundred percent commodore! Weapons and sensors are coming back on line. Secondaries have picked up the losses." the engineer reported. "There are sporadic electrical fires on several decks, but they are under control." Han extinguished the last flames at his station as if to make that point.

"Counting fifteen pirate ships going to warp!" his sensor chief exclaimed.

"Heading?" he snapped.

"Angling across the system on an approximate heading for earth," Aroz answered. "Sensors are obscured by…a large expulsion of drive plasma."

"Notify the taskforce to form up," Oulette spat out instructions. "Order a pursuit course--,"

"Sir!" Han interjected. "Alf is reporting that we can't form a warp field in this plasma!"

"Full impulse to a location where we can," Oulette ordered.

That was it: They weren't going to throw themselves against the shipyard. The Birds must have realized that was a losing proposition. Perhaps Pierre had exposed the concealed missiles too soon. Perhaps this had been the Romulans plans all along. He reminded himself that two years into this war they still did know the face of their adversary.

"Ensign Wilson," he turned to his comm officer. "Open a channel to Star Fleet Command on earth."

Master Chief Petty Officer Georgi Tatlin sat between and behind Crewmen David McKidd and Geeta Dutt. Salamunga's bridge was that, only in name. It was fashioned more like a large aircraft cockpit. Tatlin was seated in the slightly higher captain's chair. The seat offered immediate access to helm and weapons. It was a cramped fighting ship but that was no problem for Georgi who had served almost a decade aboard the little patrol craft. The crews tended to be closer than on larger vessels.

One thing that did bother Tatlin was his itchy head. He wished that he could do something about it but his helmet precluded that. His balding head of curly salt and pepper hair seldom itched until he put a space helmet on it. Tatlin knew that his small force was no threat to the reported number of Romulans. Yet he felt it his duty to go through the motions. Commodore Oulette, he knew, had some surprises for the Birds. That was why he was surprised when he heard Lou Baxter's voice over the private command network.

"Georgi," Baxter began. His voice was hushed and tension filled. "The taskforce is reporting that around a dozen Romulans broke away on a heading for earth. Their escape vector would put them along a close path to where we are."

Tatlin had chosen to hide his Currans at the top of the sun's gravity well. The fold that created in subspace limited the new sensors and the old subspace radar. The sun's heightened electromagnetic signature played havoc with conventional sublight systems. In fact; the Sol System Navigation Journal had specifically listed the coordinates of Tatlin's ships as a place not to go.

"The orbital batteries around Terra will take care of those," Tatlin replied. He had been careful to turn command over to McKidd and step back toward the rear of the bridge.

"That's another reason I called you capt'n," Baxter replied. "I sent a tight-beam crypto transmission toward the Star Fleet C n' C net." His old friend's pause sent a chill up Tatlin's spine. "Nothing," Baxter concluded in a somber tone.

He was about to confirm that Lou had run through all the code packets, but he knew that he had. Georgi went from chill to warm. "Is their carrier wave energized?" he asked.

"Yes," Baxter answered. "I checked that after I ran through the codes. They are up and running: They just aren't listening. I tried Star Fleet HQ direct at San Francisco; same result."

"Why aren't they listening?"

"Remember your time as a file in the radio room Georgi? What are the three instances that the emergency network can go down?"

"Broken codes," Tatlin started to recite. He knew that a coded seeming random pulse would be generated if that happened. He asked Baxter about that. His friend answered that that was not the case. "The network was attacked and is gone," Georgi ticked off.

"I've been scanning the vidnet. If there is an attack the news people aren't saying anything about it. By the way: Denmark beat Russia and Casper and Kristin are reunited, but that is not Casper's baby she is carrying."

"Romance dashed upon the rocks!" Tatlin chuckled. He appreciated the humor given how serious things were becoming. He took a deep breath. "The emergency network can be shut down by executive order."

"What do you bet that wingnut Hawkins didn't do something here?"

"Even if he did the navigation controllers would read the approaching bogeys," Tatlin protested.

"So?" his friend asked. "There are dozens of allied convoys in and out of this system, Georgi. And you know that the president holds the keys for any orbital nuclear weapons."

Tatlin gave the problem some thought. He needed some time but McKidd's voice told him that time was to be denied him:

"Sir!" the young man spoke up. Tatlin could hear his excitement. "Fifteen unidentified contacts have entered radar range. They aren't squawking--,"

"I'm aware of them crewman," Tatlin said calmly. A sudden thought seized him. "David; do you have time to run calculations on an arcing missile shot designed to bring them out of warp?" The crewman thought about it for almost a minute. Tatlin wanted to rush him but dare not. Finally McKidd spoke up:

"Taskforce 25 did that at Hell's Gate." McKidd was thoughtful. Georgi knew that the crewman had been a mathematics major before the war. "The missiles would have to detonate within five hundred kilometers of one another to generate that big a subspace resonance wave. Amazons warheads have smaller yields; we'd need to fire at least twenty or thirty of them to be effective."

Tatlin did some mental math: That would leave his small taskforce with twenty or so missiles. He looked at Dutt and McKidd. No one had forced them to sign up. Yet they could not know what combat was like. Too often kids at that age had a romantic idea of war. Georgi had shared that notion longer than most. But even in the absence of war the reality of modern space travel: Accidental radiation exposure, pressurization accidents, single small mistakes that were instantly fatal; those things acted to take the romance out of the whole thing. He had inherited command and an attack was aimed at earth. Tatlin made his decision.

"Run those calculations Mister McKidd," he said as he resumed his chair. A quick look at the tactical plot showed him that the Romulans would approach to within three hundred thousand kilometers. He ordered Dutt to deploy them to a new position that would put them under five thousand kilometers from their enemy. He passed his orders through Baxter to the rest of his taskforce.

"They are counting on using this blind spot Lou," Tatlin said over their private channel. Baxter grunted his assent. "That may be what saves us. We'll get a shot in on them before they know what hit them."

"You have the tally captain," Baxter replied. "I heard over the common what you are planning. That won't leave us many offensive missiles."

"We just need to get them out of warp," Tatlin said. "The taskforce should be able to get here by then."

"I'm getting garbled transmissions but I think they made it into warp about ten minutes ago. That is just time for the Romulans to blast us to pieces and continue to earth."

"We'll hold them Lou," Tatlin answered. His voice carried a note of conviction that he did not feel. "We have too."

"In position Captain Tatlin," Dutt informed him. He asked the Indian to ensure that the rest of his group was in the proper formation.

"Calculations complete, sir," McKidd announced.

"Taskforce is in formation and ready sir!" Dutt barked out.

"Zip up your data and have Mister Baxter shoot it out to the group."

"Contacts one minute away and closing," McKidd informed him.

"Firing solution is downloaded sir," Baxter's voice came over his helmet speakers. "All ships answer ready."

"Let's look sharp," he announced. It sounded like something a command officer would say; just a silly reminder for people doing a job to do that job.

"Targets approaching position sir," McKidd announced.

Georgi looked at the small viewer that sat less than two meters from his helmeted head. It was near time for launch. Despite the technology of super computers and subspace sensors there was still something to be said for instinct. He listened with half an ear as McKidd reminded him that the Romulans would pass the critical point. Not yet Tatlin thought; now.

"Fire," he commanded. His voice went out to the other Currans and Archers of the group.

"Firing and away!" Dutt squeaked. Tatlin knew that he was afraid; so was he.

The small taskforce was barely visible against the backdrop of Sol. Missiles belched forth from the keels of the small patrol craft. The darts accelerated away in the silence of space. The flight of nuclear tipped Amazons curved gently as they continued along. Their explosions, fifty kiloton yields, appeared as small dots before the great nuclear furnace of the sun. They appeared insignificant.

But not to the Romulan group. The green hulled ships flashed into normal space. One of their number trailed glowing plasma and debris behind before itself erupting in an explosion. The Currans and Archers sped toward their larger opponents. Despite canisters of metallic particles ejected before them and the erratic maneuvers possible only in space, three of the earth ships fell to Romulan missiles. The rest continued on, firing as they went.

A Veronus and Sabinus class ship each fell to Amazon shots. The deadly exchange of missiles stopped as the Currans and Archers closed to less than twenty kilometers of the Romulans. Invisible laser fire crisscrossed the black void. The only evidence of the fire was red hot tears opening in the hulls of the Romulan ships. The attackers paid dearly though. Heavier more powerful cruiser mounted lasers fired from Romulan ships cut one Archer into two. The two halves twisted wildly as their vented atmospheres acted as thrusters. The Currans and Archers were fighting a valiant but losing struggle.

Tatlin had swung his visor before the battle had started. That was lucky as it hadn't taken long for the Birds to hole his ship. He was angry but happy that his crew had been suited up. They lived to continue the fight.

"Missiles exhausted!" Baxter exclaimed. His old friend continued the conversation on the command net. "We are being hacked up here Georgi!"

"Any replies to our messages?" he asked, hopeful of the answer.

"Birdie jamming has us stifled," Baxter replied. "I can't say if we'll see relief or not. Georgi the rest of your taskforce has shot their missiles off. We can't inflict anymore damage."

Maybe not, Tatlin thought. He looked at the small viewer. "Maybe so," he mumbled.

"Sir?" his pilot David McKidd asked.

"Set course three-oh-one mark fifty four and engage at full impulse."

"Sir; that will take us out to where they can use their plasma cannons on us!" McKidd fed the necessary sequence into his board and sent Salamunga on her way.

"I sincerely hope so Crewman McKidd." Tatlin continued: "Head out to a point nine thousand kilometers from the Cabbage we've been attacking. Start to slow out there."

McKidd did as instructed. It wasn't long before Dutt chimed in with the information that energy readings on a Veronus indicated an impending plasma cannon shot. Tatlin put the rest of his scheme into motion.

Salamunga seemed to be alone although it lay at am apex of a triangle completed by two Romulan cruisers. The little ship changed its vector creating a slight curving turn. It approached a bright point in space that grew into the shape of a Romulan Sabinus. The sun blazed off of the garish bird of prey emblazoned on the primary hull of the Romulan ship. The small Curran avoided several missiles as it made a close approach to the cruiser.

Plasma ejected from the Veronus hit Salamunga a glancing blow on her portside aft. The Curran's aft section disappeared but the plasma continued on: Directly into the Sabinus' bird of prey emblem. The Sabinus briefly separated into two pieces before its fusion power plant consumed it. Salamunga spun out of control.

Between Tatlin and McKidd they managed to stabilize the Curran. Georgi could see that his ship was severely crippled. He was proud to see that Dutt, the greener of the two crewmen, had gone about the task of depressurizing the rest of Salamunga. Georgi listened as Scott spat out a stream of bad news. The magnetic containment for the antimatter packets that powered the Curran's single Ergomesh warp nacelle were deteriorating. With a packet jammed in the breach there was nothing she could do.

She had rigged a magnetic field powered from Old Sal's fusion reactor but that was rapidly dying as the automatic shutdowns had kicked in. Tatlin knew a losing proposition when he saw one: It was time to leave. He sent McKidd and Dutt to the airlocks while he found a Romulan Cabbage that was still firing. The Romulan was well over ten thousand kilometers out but it was heading along a vector that would intercept Sal's course. That was with a little help from Tatlin and Sal's thrusters.

Georgi set a time delay into the guidance and navigation controls. He had read that this new Star Fleet planned on building star bases out in the black. Stellar Navy bases on earth frequently had streets and buildings named after those killed on active duty. Tatlin finished inputting the sequence, gave himself a minute then floated out of his seat. He did not plan on having a building named after him. Georgi propelled himself off of bulkheads until he arrived at an airlock. The lock was open. Tatlin pushed himself out into space and away from Salamunga.

There were no lifeboats on Currans and Archers. Tatlin knew that their suits could provide environment for several days. The trouble was that the self-contained pressure suits lacked a large water supply. Tatlin knew that he could stretch things out for perhaps three days. He wondered what would come of them. He did a brief roll call. He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard all of his crew report in. Tatlin waited and grew apprehensive when one voice did not answer. Where was Lou Baxter? Had his fellow chief and old friend died in the evacuation? Tatlin reached into a pouch in his suit. He removed his great grandmother's rosary and prayer beads.

Tatlin muttered the ancient words under his breath. Did they mean anything? He didn't know the answer to that. He knew that he would find out in a few decades. Perhaps sooner if there was no rescue. He prayed for his friend nonetheless. Georgi finished and put the rosary away. A glint of light had caught on it before he had stuffed it in his pouch. Tatlin turned over slowly. The Sinjan class shuttle sidled silently up to him.

"You looking for a ride gorgeous?" a female voice asked over his headsets. The pilot had matched speed and direction exactly. Tatlin seized a line thrown from the Sinjan's small airlock.

"About time you wake up Capt'n Pudgy," a familiar voice declared.

"So the Birds missed you Lou?" he asked in reply. "I tried to make sure they captured you too. Once they examined you they would have concluded that men must be crazy and given up."

"He's the last," the female voice supplied. "Hurry up! He has an appointment with the commodore."

"What is that about?" he asked sharply.

"Probably wants to give you a medal Georgi," Baxter said. "Something about delaying the Birds and saving earth; I don't know."

Tatlin sighed. Having a building or street named after him didn't seem so bad now.