Disclaimer: I own none of the universes this meanders through and make no claim upon them. This is written entirely for entertainment and to get the bloody plot bunnies out of my head so I can concentrate on other things.

Chapter 4

Even in broad daylight, the forest looked foreboding.

Staff Sergeant Tomas Aston was quite glad they'd decided not to do this after dark. There was a subtle pressure that seemed to prevade the entire area, and it had been getting stronger for the last few minutes, as the closed on what Ranma assured them was Ryoga's position. Saotome was ghosting along, movements smooth and silent, raw skill and grace proving superior to the sound-dampening spells the mages were using. If he'd had any doubts about Ranma's tales of training since the age of five, they were banished now.

The martial artist was looking around with a cautious expression. "Man, Ryoga's up there, all right. An' I ain't seen him in this kinda state in ages."

Aston frowned as he extended his mystic senses. The A+ ranked mage was a combat specialist, not a scryer, but now that he looked, there was a distinct energy pervading the area, heavy and dark. "This his aura we're feeling?"

"Yep. He can draw ki from depression, an' he's real depressed right now." Ranma frowned. "You guys might wanna wait here..."

One of the other marines muttered something rude. Ranma shot him a look and ghosted forward.

Aston followed. "Now, what kind of Marines would we be if we let you do all the work, Saotome?" He gestured to his men, heard them fall in.

"Just sayin.' He's dangerous when he's like this."

"So are we," Aston's grin was wide. "It's in the job description, lad."

Ranma smiled lopsidedly. "Heh. I guess I ain't used ta havin' good backup. Still, let me go into the clearin' first – might be able to talk him down."

The marines gave him some room. Clearly guessing the martial artist to be out of earshot, Private Maler muttered, "Stuck up indig prig. Who's he think he is?" Dai shifted his Device to Support Mode, the staff shaping itself into a carbine and goggled headgear forming. He slid the goggles out of his unruly green hair and into place.

"He's the fellow we've been ordered to follow for this, Dai. Ours not to reason why."

"Sergeant, he's not even a mage. I know his file says he's equivalent to a B rank, but most of us are Bs or better." Dai sneered. "You could probably take him with both hands behind your back. Same with his buddy."

"Admiral said to play nice. We're playing nice. Now shut up and keep moving." Dai muttered something uncharitable. "And private? Something else to keep in mind. The TSAB Agent who decided to recruit Saotome? Was the White Devil. Remember that before you decide to dismiss him as worthless."

Nearing a clearing at the base of some hills, Ranma shifted from ghosting into a more relaxed walk, deliberately making some noise. "Yo! Ryoga, you there?"

From the clearing came a responding, ragged shout. "Ranma? What do you want? Come to torment me further?"

He's twitchier than I expected. You might not wanna pop out, thought Ranma to Aston, who sent out telepathic orders to his men. He had an uneasy feeling, well honed instincts telling him that it was about to drop in the pot. The marines slowed, stopping short of the edge of the clearing. He saw Hibiki walking from a cave. The martial artist looked disheveled and ragged, a manic look in his eyes.

Ranma spoke without missing a beat. "Remember that thing with you dimension hopping?"

"Hard to forget it."

"Someone's makin' a mess out in space, an' he's settin' it up to make it look like it's yer fault. Wanna go kick his head in?"

Hibiki's gaze narrowed dangerously. "Are you blaming me for another of your problems, Ranma?"

"Nah, I know it ain't you – yer here, ain'tcha? Wanted ta get ya in on takin' the guy out, is all." Ranma spoke telepathically to Aston, Ain't seen him this bad inna long time, gonna try to talk him down but this is probably gonna get ugly. Lookin' at him, I doubt he's slept in a couple days, an he don't sound like he's thinkin' straight.

We've got your back if he starts something, Saotome.

Ryoga looked wary. "How do I know this isn't some trick, Ranma? You've spent years trying to destroy my life." His eyes narrowed and took on a manic gleam. "Because of you, Akane hates me! Because of you, so does Akari!" He began to advance, fists clenched.

Ranma circled to the right, trying to keep the distance between himself and Ryoga open. "Not my fault, bacon breath. I ain't the one magic'd up the water-"

"But it was aimed at you! I got hit because you dodged! And how DARE you try to blame the Senshi for your own twisted cruelty? You have no honor! DIE!" Then the enraged martial artist charged, with a speed that Aston knew he couldn't match, even with the best speed-boosting spells he knew.

And with a speed that made that look average, Ranma met him halfway. For a long moment, the Marines could only watch in silent surprise as the two martial artists dueled, moving impossibly fast, darting all over the clearing as a pair of blurs – one red-and-black, the other yellow-and-brown. Stray punches shattered rocks and trees, and the marines collectively slipped back a little deeper into their cover.

Oh, ya, I ain't seen him like this in a while. You got anythin' ta lock him down?

If you can make him sit still for a few seconds. And get a little separation so we don't catch you in it.

Done.

Ranma shot straight up, with something that felt like a pressure wave blasting out beneath him. Blue-white energy gathered in his palms and shot downward. Ryoga dodged the blast and it carved a furrow in the ground, blowing small chunks out of the rock as Ranma's ascent caused it to drift to the base of the hills.

The two fighters raced through the air; the distance between them opening but their speed, if anything, increasing.

"Damn," said Maler in a tone of sudden respect, pushing his goggles up as he watched them fly.

"Still think he's a worthless indig prig?"

"No, Sergeant," said Maler with exaggerated patience, "I think the files on both of them need updating. Badly."

"Yep. Knew that since yesterday." Ranma, impressive as this is, it's not making it easier for us to lock him down.

Just tryin' ta set it up without hurtin' him too bad. One second.

Ranma suddenly reached through the fanged boy's defenses and got both hands around one of his arms. A twist, and Ryoga was flying earthward, off balance.

Blasting around in midair didn't give one the best of leverage for a throw – Ranma hadn't gotten so much momentum on Ryoga's flight that the other martial artist's flight would only end in the earth. Ryoga got his feet under himself and stopped his descent, a wave of force seeming to push down from his feet like the exhaust from a reaction drive. He had beaten gravity about five feet off the ground, and was about to start back up. This had the side effect of holding him effectively stationary for about half a second, in which moment ten magical binds snapped into existence around his arms and legs.

Ryoga jerked to a halt, started to thrash, but the binds pulled his limbs to full extension. He struggled against them for a moment, then slumped, glaring and growling. "Damn you Ranma. You make my life hell, and you're probably going to do the same to these people."

The pig-tailed martial artist landed next to Aston. "Ryoga, we need yer help. Didn't want ta do it this way."

"It's just so unfair," said Ryoga with a wracking sob.

"That guy has serious issues," said Maler.

Ranma snorted. "P-chan here has entire subscriptions."

Ryoga's voice came out as a scream. "It's just so unfair! Shi Shi Hoko-"

Ranma blurred towards the suspended martial artist, making quick, precise strikes to a few points on his torso. Hibiki slumped against his restraints, unconscious.

"Nice trick," said Aston.

"Thanks. He's gonna be mad when he comes to, though."

"We can deal with that." Aston sent his thoughts to the ship. Marines to Claudia, we've got the package. Request extraction.

Ryoga lay on a bed in Claudia's medical suite, sedated but still twitching in his sleep. Ranma looked at his friend and rival with a troubled expression. "He gonna be okay, doc?"

The ship's doctor glanced over. "Eventually, he should be. From what I can tell he hadn't slept in several days prior to this, which is probably why he reacted so... extremely. I'll be keeping him sedated for the next twenty-four hours or so, which should give him enough rest."

Ranma nodded. "Thanks, doc. Anything I can do to help?"

"I don't think so, but thank you."

Ranma left the medical suite, thinking hard. Didn't think he would get so bad, anymore. Wish I could do more...

Without warning, the Admiral made contact with him. Agent Saotome, please report to the bridge.

Gotcha, boss. On my way. He'd deal with Ryoga later. There were bigger concerns afoot.

Seven of Nine worked quietly in Enterprise's science lab.

She and the Android, Data, had been working for hours, collating information and scans gathered by both Enterprise and Copernicus. They worked in silence, neither feeling the need for any kind of small talk. She appreciated that, especially since she was reasonably sure it was out of a genuine desire to concentrate on their work and not yet another iteration of 'shun the Borg! SHUN!'

She understood that attitude, in all honesty. She knew what the Borg had done to the Federation, in greater detail than anyone else aboard the Enterprise save perhaps her Captain. She got it, when they glared at her. Since returning from the Delta quadrant, she had had any number of unpleasant encounters, and had observed that for all they were 'terrorists, thugs, and self-glorifying thieves,' many of the Maquis she had worked with on Voyager seemed rather more forgiving and open-minded than the Starfleet personnel she worked with now.

Oh, some of them at least tried, but for the most part her best-case scenario was cold professionalism. Unsure of how to deal with such reactions, she had retreated back into her shell somewhat – which annoyed her, as she understood that it was not an ideal response. She had, at the suggestion of one of her fellow scientists, sought help from counselors. They had varied greatly in approach and quality. She frowned at the memory of one who had so innocently suggested that she try to assume her old human identity again.

That was simply... unworkable. She had been Seven of Nine since she was six years old; and had very few memories of Annika Hansen. Not enough to use as the foundation of a life. She found the idea... frightening in a way she could not adequately quantify.

She shook herself, returned her attention to the scan results. Now was not the time to attempt to sort out her personal life and issues. She made a mental note to schedule an appointment with Counselor Tigan later.

Having another starship, especially one with the sensor capacity of a Magellan-class science vessel, standing by when they jumped was utterly invaluable. Between their data and that Enterprise's own sensors had collected, they had a strong font of data from which to draw some initial conclusions. She would have to confer with Commander Data, of course, and compare their conclusions with those of Copernicus' analysts, but she felt that at least two points would be born out:

1)The Interdimensional Bridging Propulsion Device undoubtedly worked. It would simply be a matter of plotting one's course more accurately.

2)It seemed to create lesser subspace anomalies and radiation bursts than their travels with Ryoga Hibiki had, despite the significantly greater mass of a Sovereign-class starship compared to an Intrepid-class starship.

She was not yet sure what all this would, in the end, mean, but she was eager to find out. It was quite pleasant to have a project to work on again.

"What's up, Admiral?" asked Ranma as she walked onto the bridge, twisting water out of her red pony tail.

"What happened to you?"

Ranma scowled. "Somebody came around the corner an' walked inta me, spilled his drink." A shrug. "I suppose it hadda happen sooner or later. The water always finds me."

"Well. We'll be breaking orbit shortly; another anomaly has been detected and we need to start running them down."

"These are doing the kinda damage Ryoga was the last time 'round?"

"Yes, or perhaps more. These anomalies are a lot more complicated and there seems to be more raw energy going into their creation."

"Goodie. Got a plan ta wreck the guys responsible?"

"We'll certainly be having a talk with them. If it's going to involve 'wrecking' anything remains to be seen."

Ranma nodded slowly, appearing to be thinking hard. "Think the Bradesons are involved?"

"Not in the anomalies, but they're almost certainly going to be tracking the things down."

"Got room for one more?"

"Excuse me?"

Ranma cracked her knuckles. "If you're gonna be dealing with the Bradies I want in. I wanna chat with 'em about attackin' my home."

"Agent Saotome, depending on what we find a fight with them might be best avoided. This could be a new player on the interdimensional scene. We honestly don't know what we're dealing with."

The martial artist nodded slowly again, lost in thought. "Okay, I c'n see whatcha mean..." She sighed. "Yeah, okay. Guess I should probably head back t' the med bay. Ryouga should have a friendly face to wake up to."

"Despite the fact that he attacked you without warning or provocation in the forest?" Chrono suspected he already knew how Ranma would answer, but he thought the answer would doubtless be enlightening.

Ranma paused, and looked back over he shoulder. "I don't got many friends, Admiral." Then she continued off the bridge.

Flight Officer Benjamin "Bloodhound" Jones pulled his Ferret class Patrol Fighter through a long, lazy turn, its sensors banging away on full actives. While those sensors being active would improve his odds of actually spotting the sensor ghost he was trying to hunt down – assuming it was anything other than a damned sensor ghost – it was more or less the equivalent of hanging a large 'KICK ME' sign off the back of his fighter. He took some small comfort from the fact that while the list of fighters and starships that could easily kill a Ferret was long, very few things on it could outrun one.

On his wing, in loose formation, flew Leeroy "Kingfisher" Maxwell. Kingfisher's Ferret was also banging away with its actives. Neither recon pilot was terribly happy with the situation, though between them they'd probably spot anything trying to sneak up on them.

The comm crackled. "Concordia to Bloodhound – any luck running down that signal?"

He thumbed the comm. "Bloodhound to Concordia, nothing yet. I keep getting a ping, but it's faint." He shook his head, though he knew his listener couldn't see the gesture. "I got no idea what this is, if it's not just a sensor ghost."

There was a delay. "Concordia to Bloodhound – be advised; this signal may be a Kilrathi Stealth Fighter. We will dispatch a wing pair from the CSP to your position to assist. Remain on station. Concordia out."

Stealths. Fuck. Maverick's damned old wives' tale come to life. Bloodhound sat back in his cockpit, let out a breath. He'd much prefered the Stealths when they'd been some nonexistant phantom to needle Colonel Blair about. The things were damn scarey in the real world. Well, if nothing else, a couple other ships might help run this ghost down, or prove it ain't there... more ships for triangulation ought to help.

He thumbed the comm once more. "Kingfisher, you catch that?"

"Yeah. Backup is good, especially with us sitting with our asses hanging out. We gonna stay on course or hold in place?"

"Stay on course, but let's not hurry. Gotta wait for the slowboats." The two recon fighters dropped below cruising speed as both pilots kept a close watch on their surrounds. The more he thought about it, the more Bloodhound suspected they were chasing a ghost. They were on the fringes of the Enigma sector, and that place was well named. He hoped Thrakhath choked on it as he tried to pacify the place.

Idly, he looked at the stars, eyes not searching for anything in particular, just marking the time while he waited for the CAP or a ping on the ol' sensor board. Looking to port, he caught sight of movement out of the corner of his eye, and instinctively looked closer.

He couldn't quite make out its shape – his eyes didn't want to focus on it somehow – but there was something there, obscuring the starfield. For a moment, he stared, uncomprehending, until a memory twigged.

He hit the comm. In a carefully neutral tone he said, "Kingfisher, I think I spotted our bogey. There's something blocking the starlight at my seven o'clock position." He took a breath, fighting to stay calm as he felt his neck dampen with cold sweat. If that really was a Stealth, panicking would get him killed messily. "Can you drop back from me a bit and take a look-see?"

"Flying casual, mark-one eyeballs on the job and one hand ready to firewall the throttle. Hope like hell you're wrong, boss."

"That makes two of us." Where the hell is our backup? He thumbed over the comm again. "Bloodhound to Concordia, I have a possible contact – any ETA for our backup?"

"Concordia to Bloodhound, two Sabers outbound to you now, ETA three minutes."

"Rodger that, Concordia. Bloodhound out." His own hand drifted over to the throttle. Three minutes. If they could bluff this Cat for another three minutes, they'd have him dead to rights.

"Bloodhound, I'm looking, but I'm not seeing anything. An' the last sign of our ghost on my sensor board would be off to starboard."

Jones let out a breath. Must be nerves. Shit, I need to get landed and hit the O-club. "Thanks for looking, Kingfisher. Let's just keep-."

Suddenly, the sensor board pinged and he jumped in his seat. Swearing under his breath he looked it over – a definite contact below and to starboard. "Kingfisher, you just get something?"

"Yeah, boss. The gods are just messing with us now. Contact to starboard – move in?"

"Yep. Get on my wing, I'll lead."

The two recon fighters accelerated to full speed as they swooped towards the contact, both pilots alert and cautious. By old habit, Kingfisher sideslipped away from Bloodhound, opening up the two-fighter formation a little. Soon enough, the contact was in visual range.

They still didn't know what it was – their sensors couldn't say anything about it save that it was there – but as it came into view, it seemed less like a ship than some kind of creature.

The comm crackled. "Bloodhound, does that thing look like a giant squid to you, or am I losing it?"

"If you're losing it, so am I. Hang tight- I'm going for a closer look." He punched the afterburners for a moment, closing on the... thing.

It's a squid, he thought as the distance closed. The main body roughly twenty meters long, tentacles trailing half again as far behind it, the entire thing moving with a serpentine motion that was so utterly organic it simply couldn't be a ship. He manually triggered his gun cameras, capturing as much data as he could by sheer rote, as his mind did not, could not accept that it was actually seeing a living creature floating in the void.

Then it seemed to notice him. It whirled towards the Ferret, exposing some inhuman face, eyes glittering in the distant starlight. And then it opened its beak and loosed an impossible scream that he heard despite the vacuum.

Bloodhound swore, instinctively rolling the Ferret away from the creature and kicking in full afterburners, clawing desperately for distance. It triggered some deep-seated, primal fear in him; he didn't want to stay near that thing for a second longer than he had to. Vaguely, he was aware of Kingfisher calling him, the ping of his sensor board as the creature closed. Involuntarily, his eyes were drawn to the aft camera, and he saw the creature extend four tentacles towards him, held as if in pairs, and saw lightning begin to crackle between them like some massive Jacob's Ladder.

And then there was a flash, and blackness.

Christopher "Maverick" Blair's eyes widened as his Sabre approached the last known co-ordinates of the two recon fighters. Kingfisher's last transmission had been a panicked jumble that ended in a none-too-reassuring crack and a rush of air, a minute and a half ago. His wingman, Hobbes, was just behind him, tucked in tight, and though the commline was closed, he could almost hear the Kilrathi swear at the sight.

Something that looked like a nightmarish parody of a squid was wrapped around one of the Ferrets, a beak crunching into the fuselage just aft of the shattered ruin of the cockpit. In the distance, the front half of another Ferret drifted, tumbling slowly. He flicked on the gun cameras, trying to get a decent look at the thing. It seemed... absorbed... by what it was doing and didn't react until he and Hobbes had closed to short range, then it unwrapped itself from the remains of the Ferret. It jetted towards them, and loosed some impossible roar of challenge that started Blair's heart pounding.

Over the comm, Hobbes roared a challenge of his own in Kilrathi, goosing his throttle and opening up with his guns. A volley of mass driver shot severed a tentacle, and the roar of challenge became one of pain, still somehow being heard despite the hard vacuum. Blair shook himself, opened up with his own guns. The creature raised its remaining arms in pairs, and energy began to crackle between them.

Then Hobbes hit it in the eye with a dumbfire missile. Flesh and viscera fountained from the blast, and the creature's scream died abruptly.

For a long moment, all Blair could hear was the pounding of his heart and his breath in his mask. Finally, he calmed himself, and somewhat shakily, opened his comms. "Maverick to Concordia, we've reached the last known position of the recon flight. You're not going to believe this..."

Captain Garik "Face" Loran smiled as his X-wing settled on Mon Remonda's flight deck and he saw the welcoming committee waiting for him and his squadron. Locking down his engines, he popped the canopy and bounded down to the deck, eliciting a disapproving frown from the ground crew who'd been bringing over a ladder. "Wedge!" he shouted with a grin as he walked up to his former commander. "Been too long."

They shook hands. "Way too long, Face. I'll admit I'm a bit surprised to see you, didn't think Cracken would let the Wraiths get out from where he could see them."

"He thinks we'll behave ourselves."

"He must be slipping." The rest of the Wraiths joined them, and more handshakes and greetings were exchanged. "Well, I suppose you people are my problem now, so let's head down to pilot country and get you settled." As they walked, Wedge and Face took the lead. In low tones, he asked his former subordinate, "Can you tell me what's going on?"

"Heard about the latest Imp raids?"

"With the impossible Interdictors? Yeah. They transfered us here instead of to Ando to go looking for the things."

"Cracken wants us in the field to help look into things, I think. Not totally sure what he's planning – I still mostly get the fungus treatment when it comes to assignments."

"You'd think he'd tell his spooks what he wants them to do."

Face feigned outrage. "Spooks? Spooks? Us? Wedge, you wound me. Spook is such an ugly term."

"Accurate, though."

The actor turned fighter pilot/spy grinned ruefully. "Well sure, but we like to pretend otherwise. We're way too happy to be proper spies."

In lower tones, Wedge asked, "And what about those rumors about the new Imp boss?"

Face looked away. "Wedge, you know I can't talk about that kind of thing."

"Sorry. Didn't mean to put you on the spot. I just keep thinking about how the last few weeks went down, and that thermal detonator of news Captain Solo dropped on the Senate... it makes too much sense. Scarey sense."

"I know what you mean, Wedge. Look, I can't say anything, even if I did know anything definite... but Solo's source has a rep for being reliable when it comes to info."

"Great. Interesting days ahead."

"Always."

Admiral Geoffery Tolwyn looked up from his desk at the sound of a knock at the door to his office. Very few people on Concordia could just walk in. Even fewer would do so – his subordinates knew he did not appreciate it. The man at the door, unfortunately, wasn't one of them.

"Colonel Taggart. What brings you here, unannounced?"

Colonel James Taggart, formerly a fighter pilot who went by Paladin, now a Special Operations field agent, took the statement as an invitation to enter. "Some interesting developments today, Admiral. 'Ave ye seen the reports about that thing Hobbes killed?"

"The preliminaries, though the complete report hasn't been filed yet so far as I know. I assume you think this is Special Operations business?"

Taggart's affected accent vanished as he became serious. "An unknown hostile that attacked one of our ships on sight seems like the sort of thing I ought to look into, yes." He paused. "Talking down in pilot country, the recon squadron's canvased the area where Bloodhound and Kingfisher were attacked. They found something that reads like a jump point."

"I know. I assume you'll be taking the Bonnie Heather and investigating further?"

"Something like that, yes."

"I suppose you'll want to borrow a few pilots and fighters to take along?" Tolwyn felt himself quirk a smile. "Take Maniac. You don't even have to give him back."

Taggart returned the smile for a moment, then pulled a datapad from his pocket. "As to that, I had something more... ambitious in mind." He handed the datapad to the Admiral. "As per the Special Operations emergency procurement regulations, I'd like to requisition Concordia herself for this."

"You wouldn't." Tolwyn's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Admiral, I've been in this business almost as long as you. This feels like the kind of danger that needs to be dealt with, and quickly. I can't deal with it with a Q-ship and a handful of fighters."

"But the situation in Enigma sector-"

"Will wait. It's going to be months before the Confederation can put together enough of a force to kick the Cats out of there, and about as long before they can continue their advance. This anomaly, whatever it is, has the feel of something that will get more dangerous the longer we wait before dealing with it. I want to nip this in the bud, before it becomes another threat to the very existence of the Confederation."

Geoffery Tolwyn let out a slow breath and sagged in his chair. At last, he hits on the crux of the thing. And you know it, Geoff. "Damn it all," he sighed. "I see what you mean. And given Special Operation's authority in these matters, I suppose I've no choice. Though I'll admit, it'll be nice to be acting on a problem and not just reacting to it." He paused a moment, then finished. "Given the current strategic situation, I'll be adding my objections to the ship's log."

"Of course." Taggart quirked a smile of his own. "And don't worry, we'll send Maniac through the jump point first, to see if it's safe."

Captain Joffery Hoss was waiting for the hammer to drop.

It had been a long time since anything had gone right for him. He'd gotten what was left of the Expeditionary Force back to friendly territory and managed, somehow, to get keep everything together amid the fractured chain of command and utterly shattered morale. Kallson had been a well liked, well respected flag officer, and the reaction to his horrifying actions after calling a retreat had rocked the fleet almost as much as their losses.

The debriefing had gone poorly even before they covered the final phase of the battle and subsequent retreat. The officer in charge of the debriefing, Admiral Dominic Agrale, put a gag order on the information at first, trying to keep the lid on things until he could confer with more of his fellow Admirals. Orbital bombardment was a tactic that hadn't been used in generations, not since the Five Sided War and the destruction of Dantulen, Sorosa and the partial destruction of Sirosa. It was still utterly hated by military and civilian thinkers alike, and with ample justification. Hoss had appreciated Agrale's willingness to give him the benefit of the doubt – that he honestly hadn't known Kallson intended to do what he'd done.

The gag order had worked for less than a day. The news spread and found its way to the media, and it had escalated almost instantly. They wanted blood. And with the man who'd committed the crime dead, they weren't terribly discriminating about whose blood they got. Hoss had thrown himself into the path of the investigation, trying to shield his subordinates. They were no more guilty than he was himself, but it was the least he could do. General Jiiral had done the same for his own men.

They'd lost their ranks, they'd lost their commands. Hoss' wife had left him, her lawyer skinning him alive and salting the wounds, though the simple fact that he would likely never see his sons again had hurt more than the loss of everything else. The simple fact that he was personally innocent of anything other than being unable to win a battle that was, at that point, manifestly unwinable, had kept him in the service despite the cries and screams of the mob and the Opposition. He'd lost the Admiral Veer and had spent the bulk of the last year and a half on antipiracy duty in the farthest reaches of the Republic, thrown aside in the hopes that he would be forgotten.

There'd been a few nights, just after the divorce and the court martial, where he'd very nearly ended it all. He was still alive, now, because too many people had died keeping him alive in the tail end of that battle, and others in the past. It would be a disservice to their memories to take the coward's way out. He'd soldiered on, done the best he could to protect the frontier, and serve out his sentence to somewhere Out Of Sight Of The Media.

So when a summons to the capitol had reached him three weeks ago, he had been understandably unnerved. In general, it was a Bad Thing when the mighty noticed someone like him. He suspected that he was going to be thrown to the jackwolves once more for the sake of the service. And while he didn't much like that idea, if it would help the service as a whole he couldn't complain too bitterly. And so here he sat, in his Dress Blacks, outside the office of Admiral Gumthrun Husaberg, wondering what in the ice hells was about to happen to him.

It was almost a relief when the Admiral's secretary looked up from her dataslate and said, "The Admiral will see you now, sir."

Self-consciously, he smoothed his uniform as he nodded to the secretary and walked to the doorway. Forcing himself to at least appear calm, he entered and snapped a crisp salute. "Captain Joffery Hoss, reporting as ordered, Sir."

The Admiral saluted in response – not the quick, perfunctory sketch of a salute he'd expected, but the sort he'd give to another flag officer. Hoss blinked, knew his jaw was dropping, couldn't stop himself. "Captain Hoss. Welcome. I've been reading your reports, and I'm impressed with your recent efforts. You're doing a fine job out on the frontier. A damn fine job."

"Ah, thank you sir." Merciful Goddess, he thought, of all the things I expected to hear...

Husaberg seemed to recognize his confusion. "I'm telling you this for a few reasons, Captain. First, because contrary to popular belief, we actually give a tinker's damn about the safety and security of the frontier. And second, because you got thrown to the jackwolves after the Earth incident for the least palatable of all reasons." He paused, expression and tone turning ugly. "Political expedience."

"Ah, I'm not sure how to respond to that, sir."

Husaberg's expression softened. "Captain, I am in a position to help correct what I see as an injustice. I need a volunteer for a sensitive and possibly dangerous mission. Looking past everything else, you demonstrated an ability to think under pressure and react to the unexpected when you lead that extraction. Those qualities are nowhere near as common in our officer corps as we'd like to think."

By now, Hoss' brain had begun to operate again. "What sort of mission do you have in mind, sir?"

"We've been detecting anomalies that imply a new power emerging on the interdimensional stage. Our people are still trying to trace them back to their source, and it's been decided to put together a proper task force for the job rather than having individual ships look around scattershot. You've demonstrated the attributes we need in a field commander for this kind of mission, and frankly, what happened to you was a travesty."

"This is a second chance, sir?"

"Absolutely. I think you deserve one. The way you tried to shield the rest of the Expeditionary Force alone merits the chance." He gave a thin smile. "It's a poor apology after what's been done to you, but it's the best I can do. Just don't screw up."

"I've no intention of doing so, sir. When do I leave?"

"Tomorrow, at 0600 hours. Proper orders and a full briefing package will be in your private message queue within the hour." He pulled open a drawer in his desk, pulled out a small box. "You'll need these, Commodore Hoss."

Joffery Hoss opened the box, saw the circled starburst of his new rank. Not the paired stars he used to wear, but closer than he'd ever thought he'd see again. Voice slightly husky, he pocketed the box and said, "Thank you sir. This is an honour." He saluted sharply.

Husaberg returned it. "The honour is mine. Do us proud."