Colonel Riuth Rydell, a strikingly tall blonde, thirty-two years of age, and recently transferred to the Military Command Center known as 'Midpoint Haven', stood up from her terminal and stretched. For more than two hours, she'd searched the personnel assignment database, trying to locate two of her 
former crew, Pauli and Friz. Such niceties as record keeping had long been forgotten in the heat of battle. And, contrary to all logic, the civil war was beginning to turn in favor of the civilian authorities. Eventually, she discovered Friz was on Kanchuka. His skills with explosives were now being employed to construct underground bunkers for flight crews and the civilian technicians who had refused to leave. Pauli was another story. His growing disenchantment with the conflict had first manifested itself during a clandestine attack on Ons, three years previously. The purpose of this operation had been to eradicate a group of officers, and their followers, who had remained loyal to the civilian authorities. Pauli couldn't accept the fact that he'd been forced to participate in the killing of 'some of their own', and the act had eventually driven him to leave the armed forces. His whereabouts were not known. For a moment, she was annoyed - Pauli had been a good 'Weapons' man, if a little tense. After giving the matter some thought, however, she decided she'd be better off without him and started a search through the database for flight crews with experience in covert intelligence gathering. There were surprisingly few names on file. From the sixteen the screen presented to her, she selected four: two men and two women. She sent a message to her commanding officer, Admiral Kastor, requesting Friz's reassignment, and appended the other four names, asking that they be transferred to her mission team. She also requested Kalifor - a mid-sized destroyer on which she had served for two years as 'Second Officer' - currently on patrol near Chua Cebris, be ordered to sail for Kanchuka to collect Friz, and then continue on to Midpoint to pick her up. Once receipt of the messages was confirmed, she shut down her terminal and went to bed.
As she sat in a conference room, listening to the five individuals who, with her, would make up the two crews, Rydell began to wonder whether she had chosen well. Friz, familiar with her autocratic - some might say, overbearing - ways, accepted her suggestions without undue comment. The others did not. The two Lieutenants, Kofka Ota and Quin Kanet, were both Rapide fighter pilots - the former with one year's experience, the latter with less than six month's. The women, Sasha Tober and Tiva Lorenz, both 'private contractors', had spent most of their time since the war began ferrying fighters from the construction facility on Bora-Te-Polaris to Altavena, the military's forward fire base, located near the Om'Shin Abyss. Neither had any serious combat experience, though Tober had been involved in a minor skirmish as she was on her final approach to the base, and became an unwilling participant in a running battle between three rebel fighter wings, comprised of Rapide 'Tens', and a group of older, 'Intruder' class fighters flown by pilots loyal to the civilian government. Having finally figured out how to activate the weapons system, she loosed off a couple of shots, narrowly missing the starboard wing of the nearest Rapide, and creasing an engine inspection panel on one of the Intruders. Lorenz had never seen an Intruder, let alone failed to hit one, but she was well qualified as a navigator, having spent six years on an ore freighter. For her part, Tober was highly rated on flight systems, had been born on Europa - a key way point on their upcoming mission - and had a degree in Information Retrieval and Analysis.
At first, Rydell had felt sympathy for the two women, suspecting that they'd been prevented from taking a more active part in the war simply because of their gender - an important issue with her - but she soon discovered she was completely wrong! They had taken a back seat because they wanted to - and the pay in the private sector was a lot better! She switched on her filer and reviewed their records.
Ota and Kanet had flown reconnaissance missions out of Kanchuka, before transferring to other fighter bases, where they qualified on the new Rapide 'Fifteen', so they were familiar with the flight systems that would be used for this mission. Friz had over twenty-one successful missions behind him: seven, with Rydell. Obviously, Ota and Kanet should pilot the 'Fifteens', with Friz and Lorenz as their navigators. That left Tober and herself in the 'weapons' seats. On this mission, they would also be carrying detection arrays and tight beam transmitters, which they would not use, of course, until they re-entered Protectorate space. Fortunately for Lorenz, who had no experience in the use of such arrays, the equipment they would be using was designed to be operated by the pilot of a single-seat fighter. Once it had been pre-programmed with the type of information it was required to gather, the collection of that data became an entirely autonomous process, needing neither human interaction nor supervision. All that remained was to set about teaching Lorenz about the deployment of mines, which they might need to use to cover their retreat if things got too hot and pure speed and agility weren't enough to save their necks!
Kalifor, with the Rapides secure in its hold, left shortly after Rydell boarded. A short run had them in enemy territory within five hours. The telemetry, two previous reconnaissance flights had acquired, had been made available to Rydell. It had, she believed, prepared herself and her crew for what they were going to encounter, but the sheer devastation that greeted them as they pushed further into 'Presidium' space gave them cause to wonder whether they shouldn't turn the ship around and head for the safety of the base. Navigation was becoming increasingly difficult as they moved through the fast moving and frequently massive chunks of planetary rock. Violent plasma storms bombarded them, necessitating frequent course corrections. Their fuel was being expended at an alarming rate. Then, as rapidly as it had appeared, the debris cleared, leaving them with an easy run to Europa and their 'turn point'.
Thirty-six hours had them hidden from the prying eyes of Europa's deep space arrays by the gossamer, blood red veil of a gaseous nebula. On impulse, Rydell checked the navigational charts and discovered that the local name for it was the Rose Nebula. She asked Jenko, Kalifor's Captain, whether he knew what, 'Rose', meant, but he shook his head - said it was probably a 'Local' word - and returned to his plots and charts. The nebula, relatively small at a third of a light-year in diameter, and less than a sixth of a light-year in depth, curved around Europa on one side, forming a half-pocket, in which the sun and its three planets nestled. Kalifor ran parallel to the nebula, using it as a screen, until it was well past the planetary system. Rydell checked with Jenko. He told her the target, Pentsecott, the Presidium's principle dockyard, lay half a day's journey further on. When he signaled they'd reached the drop point, Rydell assembled her teams and ordered them to their Rapides.
The 'Fifteens' they were using were a third generation design, with the pilot positioned in the centre seat, the navigator to the left, set slightly behind the pilot, and 'weapons' to the right, similarly set slightly back. The hull had been reshaped. Instead of a simple wedge, it now had a concave belly, to improve its aerodynamic lift characteristics during atmospheric flight, and to facilitate the attachment of a long-range fuel tank. Its two tail fins were now set at an angle of thirty-six degrees from the vertical, again with atmospheric handling in mind, and the 'fly-by-wire' systems had been modified to re-introduce hydraulic control of the rudders - to improve the 'feel'. The single engine, the sixth and latest variant of the propulsive unit still in use on the Follix class of heavy cruiser, boasted four additional pre-mix chambers and up-rated fuel pumps, which had given it a twelve percent increase in thrust.
Rydell watched as Ota and Kanet clambered into their seats, strapped themselves in and connected their suit pressure systems, air hoses and radio umbilicals. Each member of the crew had his, or her, own air tank: a logical precaution against all three of them being suffocated in the event of accidental damage. An emergency air bottle was also supplied, should an individual tank be damaged. It could keep a crewman alive for slightly less than an hour.
Friz and Lorenz seated themselves, performing the same routine to connect themselves to the ship. Lorenz ran her fingertips over the navigational console and examined them with obvious disgust. Rydell, standing close by, smiled and suggested, tersely, that the maintenance crews weren't exactly up for 'homemaker of the month', and told her to concentrate on the job in hand. A chastened Lorenz and a smiling Friz powered up their navigational systems and straight away conferred with each other, confirming that both sets of inertial guidance co-ordinates and fuel consumption profiles were in agreement. Rydell and Tober took their places and ran through a basic communications test. The pilots closed the canopies and, with their pre-flight checks completed, fired the engines and eased the two Rapides clear of Kalifor's cargo bay.
As soon as they were a hundred metres from the ship, Jenko ordered the navigation lights extinguished, and Kalifor faded into the stellar background. For the first time in a while, Rydell felt a slight twinge of fear, but it was quickly replaced by excitement as she anticipated the rush that came with a 'fifteen' on full power. In all her years as an officer, she had served on every type of vessel, but nothing could compare to the thrill of a Rapide, accelerating 'off the inhibitor' - the huge engine burning fuel at the rate of forty litres a second, double vision as your eyeballs were pushed deep into their sockets, compressing the optic nerves, your guts shoved back into your spine, feeling like they'd turned to mush; struggling to breathe as the pressure suit inflated! She tapped Tober on the helmet and asked, "You okay?"
Tober turned. Her face was drawn and ghostly in the green light from the navigation system's instrument panel as she replied, "Sure."
"You?" Rydell called to Kanet.
"Sure thing," he replied. He sounded nervous.
She checked with Ota, and had a brief word with Friz. Since he was far more used to operating the navigational systems in the confined space of a Rapide, she decided to let him navigate for the both of them, giving Tober more time to adjust. Friz told her they were 'roughly on schedule' and should make Pentsecott within the hour. Rydell turned on her filer and called up the schematics on the dockyard. By her reckoning, they should make their approach on their present course and stop for a final positional check when they reached Pentsecott's sun. Using the star's coronal discharge to obscure them from the dockyard's arrays, and the radar of any patrol craft that might be around, they would drop their long-range tanks and head for the facility at maximum speed, aiming to pass it within a distance of four hundred kilometers. With luck, they should remain undetected, and make their rendezvous with Kalifor in six or seven hours. With luck! She hated to rely on luck. Luck had a habit of turning on a person. She twisted her head, left and right, to ease a knotted muscle and checked the data acquisition system was ready. She also checked the bomb release, flipping the 'safety' off and on, watching the red telltale come on and then go out, confirming the arming circuits were powered. She called Lorenz and instructed her to do the same. Lorenz replied that everything seemed to be fine. All Rydell had to do now was wait. It was the hardest part of any mission. She never had gotten used to it!
Just ten seconds behind schedule, the Rapides arrived at Pentsecott's sun and dropped their tanks as they cleared the 
corona. With their Follix engines 'off the inhibitor', and spewing a five kilometre trail of spent fuel, the small ships blasted clear of the sun and lined up on the dockyard. After a five second burn, they killed the engines. Rydell and Lorenz turned on their data collectors, and armed their bombs. Ota was in the lead, with Kanet a few kilometers behind, and a little to port. They were less than sixty kilometers from the dockyard when Tober told Rydell that three patrol craft had altered course and were heading for an intercept. Rydell, momentarily surprised by the news, said nothing for several seconds. Then she shouted to Kanet that he should veer off. The lead patrol craft opened fire. Ota threw his Rapide into a left turn, spiraling away from the attack. Kanet pulled back on the throttle. It was an instinctive action: the result of countless dogfights. His only thought, that he had to try and save his wingman!
Rydell screamed, "Hit the 'inhibitor', you idiot. It's the information that's important, not them."
Kanet hesitated, twisted and shot Rydell a hard look, then opened the throttle wide and ran for the nebula. Ota with two patrol craft tight on his tail, ordered Friz to drop the bombs. He flicked right, breaking them loose, then, as they got within weapons' range, once more, opened the throttle and flicked the Rapide right, then left, in an attempt to throw their targeting systems off. The first patrol craft collected one of the bombs and exploded. The second pilot instinctively rolled left and away from the blast, causing his ship to touch the other bomb with its starboard fin. The explosion, while it did not destroy the craft, was enough to cripple its drive system. Ota watched - a broad grin on his sweat-soaked face - as it drifted away from their line of flight, rolling and yawing out of control, leaving a trail of fuel and metal shards in its wake.
"Nice shooting, Friz."
"Thanks," Friz replied, between clenched teeth.
"Can we congratulate each other when we get back to Kalifor?" Lorenz asked, soberly. "There's at least one more of those bastards out here, somewhere. Maybe more, if they called for backup."
Ota scanned his radar screen and said, "I think it went after the Colonel."
"She'll know what to do," Friz said, confidently. He checked his navigational display and gave Ota the new heading.
Within half an hour, they spotted the second Rapide. Ten minutes later, they were alongside. Rydell gave Friz a verbal pat on the back, and began to explain why they'd had to make a run for it. Ota replied that he understood and took the lead, once more. They were less than an hour from Kalifor when Ota called Rydell to tell her they had another 'contact' on their radar. At first, she thought it might be their own ship, come to meet them but, as time passed, it became apparent that the radar image was on a parallel course to their own, and heading in the same direction. Rydell asked Friz and Tober to report their fuel readouts. Tober said they were, 'in the green', while Friz suggested it might be 'marginal'. Rydell wasn't overly concerned to hear that, since, with less than fifty minutes to go, they'd not need to throttle up the engines again, and Friz was adamant that they had enough left for 'braking'.
After five more minutes had passed, Lorenz reported that the radar contact was turning in their direction. Rydell checked with Friz and got the same news. "Shit!" she cursed. "Don't these 'mothers' ever let go?"
Tober was about to say they were within communications range of Kalifor, when the 'counter-measures' began to warble. Kanet called to Ota, telling him to turn to starboard, when, suddenly, a large, red colored vessel materialized on their port side. Both Rapides turned right, simultaneously, and fired their engines. Ota and Kanet went for the 'inhibitor' at almost the same moment, but, within a few seconds, the engine in Ota's ship spluttered and died. "We're out of fuel, Boss," Friz radioed. "Get the hell out of here."
Kanet, Tober and Rydell watched, helplessly, as the Rapide was pulled inside the red ship. Kanet flicked the Rapide in a series of rolls and twists as the large ship accelerated after them. Several times, what felt like a 'finger' of gravity caressed them, but each time Kanet moved them out of its reach. With the nebula fast disappearing behind them, Rydell now had Kalifor to worry about. The odds were, the pursuing ship would have them on radar, too, within ten more minutes. "We have to lead them away from Kalifor," she told Kanet. "You keep them off our tail for as long as you can, and I'll try and relay the telemetry to Jenko."
Kanet nodded his understanding, and pulled the Rapide around in a tight left turn, causing the larger ship to overshoot. He then tucked in behind it for a few seconds while Rydell tried, unsuccessfully, to contact Kalifor. "It's no good," she cried. "Try and get 'line of sight', if you can."
"That'll make us an easy target," Kanet said, swinging the Rapide over the spine of the red ship and down along its starboard side. As they closed on what he thought might be the source of the attractor device, he threw the ship to the right, and opened the throttle wide. Another 'finger' lanced towards them, touching one of the tail fins. There was the sound of tortured metal and a rudder panel, complete with its hydraulic actuators, was ripped away. The 'low hydraulic fluid' alarm beeped. "Fuck!" Kanet shouted, as he leaned forward and cancelled the alarm. "Have you reached them, yet?"
"I can't get a carrier lock," Rydell replied.
"I'm going to try something," he said.
"What's left?" Lorenz demanded, acidly, "You want I should give them a big smile?"
"Let the man drive the damn ship," Rydell hissed. Then, she asked, "Just what are you going to try, Quin?"
"Something the 'old man' said we should never do," he replied, grimly, and killed the drive. The fuel pumps could be heard clearly in the silence that followed his action. Rydell's seat belts still held her hard against her seat. She leaned as far forward as she could and saw Kanet's lips moving.
"Oh, shit, he's praying!" she muttered.
He silently counted 'one', 'two', 'three', then pushed the throttle wide open with his right hand, counted 'four' and moved the thumb of the same hand over the 'ignition' button, braced himself, said, 'five' aloud, and pressed the button.
Rydell screamed, "What the hell...?" There was an enormous explosion from the stern, forcing her head into the restraint. The Rapide leapt forward, leaving the larger ship wallowing in its wake. "Are you doing?" she finished.
"Saving our butts!" Kanet shouted above the noise of the engine.
"Go right ahead!" Rydell cried, rubbing her forearm, which had impacted the seat frame as the ship accelerated.
The 'counter-measures' went silent a few seconds later - indicating they were well out of range. Kanet shut down the engine and secured the ignition circuit.
"What was that 'bang'?" Lorenz asked.
"Fuel flare," Kanet answered, breathing deeply.
"A what?" Lorenz growled, easing her shoulder harnesses and massaging her aching neck muscles.
"A fuel flare," Kanet repeated. "I killed the drive, left the pumps running, flooded the pre-combustion chambers with fuel, then fired the engine." He eased his seat belts and turned to face Rydell. "When I was a rookie, the 'old man' told us it could kill us," he said, smiling. "Guess he was wrong."
"How in hell did we get away with it?" Rydell asked. "We were drifting for a good five seconds."
"I kinda figured they had to cycle that attractor device of theirs," he replied. "It kept flicking towards us, but then it would collapse. It's probably unbreakable once they have you, but the initial range is clearly unsustainable - a bit like a lizard tongue lashes out to catch an insect."
"And in the middle of all that ducking and diving you calculated its re-charge time was five seconds?" Rydell asked, full of admiration for his coolness.
"The clock said, 'seven seconds', Boss," he replied, "or thereabouts."
Rydell stiffened, momentarily. She hated the word, 'Boss'. She'd always hated it! But after the way Kanet had flown them out of trouble, he could have called her 'Mom', if he'd wanted too!
"Are they following?" she asked Lorenz.
"No, Boss," Lorenz replied, grinning.
"They probably think we blew up," Kanet said. "I reckon we've covered more than three thousand 'k'."
"Or we're in another galaxy," Lorenz suggested.
"Let's find Kalifor," Rydell said.
"At least we got what we came for," Lorenz said, patting the data collector, "even if it did cost us."
"We did," Rydell said, sadly. She'd known Friz for over eight years. He was always laughing, always optimistic. She wasn't religious, but she said a prayer, anyway. It seemed appropriate out here, somehow. You felt so small in all this space. It was kind of comforting to think someone, or something, was looking out for you. A lot of people 'got religion' after a prolonged period in interstellar space!
"Kastor's going to throw a fit when we confirm the existence of that new ship of theirs," Lorenz said.
"Probably," Rydell said, dragging her mind back to the mission. "But, not for the reason you think." She took a drink from a water bottle and offered it to Lorenz, who shook her head and passed it to Kanet. "Now they know we know."
A few minutes later, they were inside Kalifor's cargo hold and heading for Protectorate space.
Three days later, Rydell found herself strapped into another 'coffin', on another suicide mission. This one didn't go so well! She was lucky to live through it!
The flight surgeon placed his filer on a nearby table and watched Rydell as she pulled on her uniform. "So," she asked, "what's wrong?"
"Nothing a good rest wouldn't fix." Her look prompted him to add, "Your wrist and two of your ribs are fractured."
"I don't have time to rest," she responded, tersely - like he should have known that. "Besides, I can still do my job."
"How many missions have you flown in the past six months?"
She shrugged.
He read from the filer, "Forty-seven."
"Which means, what, exactly?"
"It means you need a rest." He made an entry in the filer with a touch pen. "And that's an order."
She began to protest, thought about it, then smiled ruefully. "You're pulling rank on me?"
For the first time since he walked into the room, the surgeon smiled. "Go away somewhere... For a couple of weeks. When you get back, we'll run the tests again, and I'll clear you to go flying around the galaxy and getting shot at. Okay?"
"And if I go straight to Kastor?" she asked, clearly testing his resolve.
"He'll back my decision."
Rydell opened the door of the two-seat military transport and threw her carry-all onto the walkway, before easing herself from the seat. She pressed the door close and waved her thanks to the driver as he pulled away. The loading dock bustled with dozens of loaders heading for waiting ships, passengers milling around, porters moving piles of luggage on trolleys, watchful and heavily armed security guards, wearing full body armor, and customs agents moving slowly from line to line as they checked the credentials of everyone arriving at, or departing from, Papskeet spaceport.
Rydell squeezed past several stacks of crates, two of which contained live animals. A paw pushed through the wire mesh of one, almost grazing her leg. She recoiled, colliding with a customs agent. "Don't people realize we're at war?" she growled.
The agent shrugged.
"Well, at least keep that damn thing under control."
The agent pushed past without a word.
She shot him a withering look and headed for the far end of the dock, where the crush of bodies and cargo was less overpowering. It also happened to be where the independent owners were authorized to keep their vessels. She was looking for 'Milo Yoonan's Independent Tours'. It happened to be the last entry on the search list she'd called up as she was waiting to be discharged from the military hospital. Why she'd selected the last name, she had no idea. Perhaps it was the simplicity of the services offered - 'You choose'? Perhaps, she imagined she'd have a lot more in common with the kind of rebellious, self-reliant individual she assumed it would take to fly a ship way off the beaten space ways, than she would with the crew of a regular cruise ship? Whatever the reason, the price for a week's charter was on the low side and, right now, that was an important consideration for her.
She found herself walking past decrepit buildings, stepping over run off water trickling from broken gutters and skirting around an abandoned and badly corroded fuel feeder pump, which looked like it had lain there for years, literally where it had been dropped. Trash was everywhere, stuck to the damp decking, corralled in deep piles in the corners of buildings, or fluttering on the strong breeze. She was beginning to have second thoughts, and made to turn back, when she heard a metallic thud, followed by a stream of invective coming from the other side of a low wall, off to her right. The regular beat of a hammer striking metal started up as she leaned over it and spied a crouched figure. "If you have to force it, it isn't supposed to go in there," she counseled.
The figure stopped pounding, turned on the balls of its feet and stood up, grinning. He was in his late twenties, tall, tanned and lean, wearing shorts, a torn and grease stained sweatshirt and hiking boots - the old fashioned, made of real animal hide, kind. His facial features suggested human ancestry.
"You think I'd let a stupid piece of junk like this defeat me?" His accent had a soft lilt to it. Definitely not from these parts!
"I'm just saying, is all."
He pulled a piece of cloth from his pocket and approached her, wiping his hands before extending the right one towards her. He grinned. "Milo Yoonan."
Rydell extended her own hand and shook his firmly. "Riuth Rydell." A thought struck her. She needed to set the ground rules. "Colonel Ruith Rydell."
Yoonan's face broke into a wide smile. "Well, aren't you the fair lady I'm taking to the stars?"
She returned the smile. "Already been there." What the hell was she up to, here? Had it really been so long since she'd been 'in the wild' (as she called any time spent away from her duties), that she'd forgotten how to interact with normal people?
Her stiffness clearly affected him. His smile narrowed. "Perhaps we can find somewhere you haven't been?"
"I've traveled a lot," she said, consciously lightening her tone. "But not everywhere."
He bent down and collected his tools. "So, do you have any idea where you'd like to go?"
"I thought I'd stick a pin in a Nav. chart, so to speak."
He struck his forehead with the heel of his right hand. "Damn, I knew there was something I was supposed to do this morning."
She laughed. "You're telling me you don't have a Nav. unit? How in hell do you intend to make it out of port?"
"It's nothing. Just a damaged amplifier in the spatial generator." He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a small, plastic box. It was red in color, with a dozen wires and a connector block attached to it. "I have a spare." He studied the object briefly. "Should be okay. I'll fit it while you're settling in."
She looked around. "Where's your ship?"
He pointed. "It's over there."
Never judge a book by its cover. And, NEVER, pre-judge a ship by its owner! Rydell was used to spit and polish, the relatively bottomless pit of defense allocations and technical/engineering support teams numbering in the hundreds. A problem with a piece of equipment, during a mission, nearly always cost lives - or, at the very least, placed the mission objective in jeopardy. The technician responsible would feel some serious heat when the crew returned - if they returned. Loyalty to one's fellow soldiers infused everything one did. You checked, not once, not twice, but as many times as it took. The civilian world was, from her point of view, chaotic and inefficient - permeated with an arrogant casualness best described as: 'I really don't give a shit! K?' She was, therefore, completely taken aback when her eyes fell on Yoonan's ship. It was fairly small - likely a military surplus transport of some kind - and well maintained. The nameplate on the highly polished bow plating said, 'Sun Dancer'. She nodded approvingly.
"I guess you were expecting something a little more...."
"Crappy?" she offered. Was this guy psychic or something?
He patted the hull plating as he opened the air lock. "Treat her like a lady," he said, "and she'll treat you like a lover." The word, 'lover', prompted a blush.
Rydell felt bad. She was also touched by his apparent sensitivity. Mixed emotions! She was on thin ice, here. Could be an interesting trip!
He led her to the rear of the ship and opened a door. "This is yours. It's a little cramped, but everything is there." He pointed. "Shower and head. The bunk pulls down." He showed her how.
"You did time?" she asked. "In the military, I mean."
"Eighty-first transport, based at..."
"Chine?"
He nodded.
She looked around. The cabin was small and smelt stale. But, she'd slept in worse. "Why'd you leave?"
"Difference of opinion."
Rydell turned and looked at him, questioningly.
"I borrowed a tender and took a couple of buddies along on a... sort of... vacation."
"You stole it, you mean?"
"That's what me and Major Ortissa disagreed on." He laughed. "Maybe it was the girls we took with us that did it?"
Her lips turned down, disapprovingly. "Probably."
"I'm not soldier material," he added. "Too many rules."
"A person needs guidelines," she said. "An anchor with reality."
"Do you know Major Ortissa, by any chance?"
"No. Why?"
"That's word for word, what he said to me, just before he threw me out of his office."
She pulled down the bunk and threw her carry-all onto it. "Shouldn't you be preping this thing for departure?"
"It's done," he said. "All I need to do is submit a flight plan, get it screened by the local Army Big Wig and take on enough fuel for the trip."
"I need to make up my mind, I guess."
"No rush." He started to leave. "Want something to eat?"
"No, I'm good," she said, unzipping the bag. "I'll get squared away."
Yoonan nodded his understanding and left to replace the spatial generator amplifier.
Author's Note: Of all the natural phenomena, the discovery of 'connectives' ranked among the most significant. First described by Professors Lieberman and Walker, at the Institute of Astrophysics, Ra Timu, some five hundred years previously, they could best be thought of as a kind of safety valve: a network of 'tubes' that crisscrossed space and time, smoothing out the gravitational stresses resulting from the uneven distribution of matter. Each was a unidirectional matter stream, moving outside normal space and time, but with each end fixed in normal space. Supernovae and collapsing stars, it was said, frequently resulted in the formation of new 'connectives' and, occasionally, their demise. While traveling through a 'connective', nothing outside the vessel is visible. This period of darkness, or occultation, became known as the 'dark time'; the length of a journey involving the use of several connectives being measured in 'dark times'.
"So, this is what all the fuss is about?" Rydell observed, drily, as she jumped the last couple of steps to the ground. The impact jarred her ribs. She winced and held her side.
Yoonan looked concerned. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," she replied, through clenched teeth.
Yoonan sprinted up a slight incline to the top of a low mound. "You should see this," he enthused.
Rydell walked slowly, as her breathing, in the slightly thinner atmosphere, put a strain on her ribcage. The pain subsided once she was alongside him. It had been worth the discomfort, though, because the panorama that lay before her was breathtaking! A large herd of herbivores was moving across a broad sweep of savannah to her left. The grasslands in front of her were littered with trees. Those close by grew alone, or in small groups. Further away, the groups became larger and closer together, until they eventually merged, forming a forest. The occasional herbivor moved away from the herd and stopped to munch the vegetation between the trees. The herd seem to sense that there was good eating among the trees and it slowly broke apart. Soon, the spaces between most of the nearby trees were dotted with individuals, alone, in pairs, and females - she assumed they were female - with young. It was a tranquil scene that would have left the average person transfixed. Rydell found herself getting edgy. Already, she'd become bored by the whole vacation thing. Yoonan was entertaining enough, a competent pilot, a pretty good cook, and a well informed guide. He couldn't have done more to make her comfortable.
"Come on," he said, "I'll take a picture of you."
"Forget it," she snapped. She felt his hurt. "Sorry, my ribs are killing me. That's why you're blessed with my company."
"You're on medical leave?" he asked.
"Training accident," she lied.
You should have said something. I'd have..."
"What? Tucked me in?"
He fell silent. 'Couple more days and she's gone,' he thought.
She inwardly cursed herself for being so fucking angry all the time! She smiled, though her ribs really were hurting, now. She clamped her teeth and struck a pose. "Take your stupid picture, if you must," she said, forcing a grin so he'd see she wasn't about to bite his head off. Well, not this time.
He raised the camera to his eye and took several. "You want some of the view?"
"Sure." She stepped closer to the edge. "Do you know what they are? The animals, I mean?"
"Cervidae," he replied, without hesitation.
"Cervi..?"
"Cervidae. They're not from around here."
"Not indigenous, you mean?"
"The whole herd was moved here," he said. "Well, it wasn't so big, back then, of course. Anyway, it was re-located as part of the 'Endangered Species Protection Protocol', set up by some politician or other. Way back when. The guy's probably forgotten about it, by now; or he's dead. Either way, they're pretty much left to their own devices.
She looked impressed. "How do you know all this?"
"I brought a bunch of biologists here a couple of months back. They took DNA samples, did a census... That kind of stuff. Because it now lives here, they renamed it, Cervidae Arrapkhai. I guess the name'll get longer, the more places they move them to."
"Well, it's amazing you can remember a mouthful like that," she said.
He smiled. "I heard them say it so many times, I guess it sank in."
"Do they have any natural predators?"
"Not that I'm aware of."
"Then what's to stop them destroying their habitat, over time?"
"Sometimes, hunting parties come here. I guess that's enough to keep their numbers in check." He put the camera in his pocket. "Seen enough?"
She nodded and followed him back to the ship.
One more day had them approaching one of the most visited sights in the quadrant. The moons were both originally free moving asteroids, before they were captured by the gravitational pull of Tusratta, a super-dense 
cloud that was still coalescing into what had already been categorized as a 'yellow dwarf'. Though it was well defined, Tusratta remained engulfed by the wispy fingers of the vast nebula from which it was forming. Many new stars would emerge from this 'nursery' over time, forming, with Tusratta, a complex stellar grouping of upwards of thirty stars. The nebula bathed the moons in a soft, red glow.
In spite of herself, Rydell was moved by the majestic beauty. Nature had constructed, from a random selection of color, light, solid rock and a cloud of interstellar gas, a veritable masterpiece! An accident? Surely, there had to be more to it! She thought of Friz, Ota and Tober. Her eyes welled.
Yoonan caught sight of the tears. "Get's to you, doesn't it?"
Rydell nodded.
"Me, too."
Yoonan moved the ship away from Tusratta and dialed in the coordinates of the next destination. As the ship accelerated, he made them both a meal of pickled meats, fresh salad and a bottle of wine. There was little conversation between them. Rydell went to her room early, still in a great deal of discomfort.
As Yoonan cleared away the plates and glasses, the navigational system sounded an alert, calling him to the bridge. It was a routine occurrence. The powerful spatial generators in the bow of the ship had located the connective leading to their next destination.
Situated in a remote section of the galaxy now under the control of the Protectorate, the Brahma Singularity is one of the more unusual phenomena in the scientific catalogue. It is a blind 'connective', the open end of which is fixed in this area of space. From a scientific viewpoint, it's an anomaly. From a visual perspective, it's - at the risk of mindless repetition - breathtaking! A maelstrom of matter, some three light years across, circles this massive drain hole, spiraling slowly into oblivion.
Every now and then, matter is expelled in a violent act of regurgitation - as if the connective has swallowed too much, too fast.
Because it produces such a powerful gravitational effect, only vessels carrying sightseers approach it, but not before their Captains have obtained waivers from their passengers. Yoonan was confident. He hadn't asked Rydell to sign one!
"Jeez, that's pretty," Yoonan enthused.
Rydell nodded.
"I'm running a video capture." He smiled. "I thought you'd like a keepsake."
She smiled. "Thanks."
The navigation system bleeped its concern at their proximity to the phenomenon. Yoonan canceled the warning and turned to her. "You know, more than a hundred ships have been lost here?"
"Comforting," she observed.
He laughed. "Just giving you the background, is all."
"Some things should not be mentioned," she retorted.
"Not scared, are you? Bein' a flag officer an' all?"
"Not scared. Just not needed. I know space is dangerous."
"So, danger's your middle name? Huh?" He grinned, broadly.
That irritated the hell out of Rydell, who'd begun to relax in his company. "I do the job I'm given. Nothing more, nothing less."
Yoonan looked sheepish. "I didn't mean anything by it."
"Forget it," she said. She checked the chronometer. "We should be heading back to Papskeet."
Yoonan glanced at the device. "Guess so."
Rydell was dreaming, reliving a near disastrous mission some three months earlier. A plasma bolt had hit her ship, running through it like a nervous twitch. Alarms were sounding. They dragged her back to semi-consciousness. She was waking up and alarms were sounding! She sat up in bed. They were still sounding.
Yoonan appeared in the door without knocking. He turned away as she pulled on her coveralls. "We're in the crapper!" he reported.
She frowned. "What?"
"Well, not the crapper, exactly. We've lost the spatial generators."
"Where are we?" she growled.
"Oh, I'd say about fifty-two years from Papskeet," he said, smirking.
"So, what's the bad news?"
"That's it. Nothin' more. Nothin' less."
She made to bite his head of for mocking her, but she kept quiet. "You have any spare parts?"
"Already used them."
"So, you're saying we're limited to running at sub-light, and will be sharing this bucket of bolts for the next half century?"
"I won't be having you call my ship a bucket of bolts," he protested, "but, yeah, that's a fair description of our situation."
"So, what are our options?"
Her coolness under stress impressed him. He was lucky not to have a tourist with him, right now. A quivering mass of terrified jelly would be less than helpful! "We can try to intersect the nearest space lane and hope to flag down a passing ship, I guess. They could have the spares we need."
"How far?"
"Three, maybe four light years."
She pondered. "That's.... What speed can you make?"
"We'd make it in three weeks or so... Give or take."
She sighed. Not quite the length of break she'd had in mind, but it would give her more time to heal. "What about supplies?"
"The wine will run out, but there'll be enough water from the recycler."
"And food?"
"Enough fresh stuff for another day or so. Then it's emergency rations."
"They'll do."
"I'll make the course change then... Yes?"
She nodded.
The stars crawled past the port hole she was sat near. Without the transitions from space-normal to connective back to space-normal as the ship would have normally progressed from dark time to dark time, an eerie silence enveloped them. They were drifting, in effect, at ten-percent of light speed. Yoonan fussed over the power systems for the spatial generators and could be heard, occasionally, cursing under his breath. She sipped some water and joined him on the deck directly below the cramped bridge.
"Have you tried hitting it with a hammer?" she asked, dryly.
He was laying prone, half under a large metal cabinet. He slid out from under it and twisted his head. "Not enough room to swing one, dammit!"
"Any joy?"
"I just tried rerouting the power couplings," he told her. He got to his feet and moved to a switch panel, nearby. "Hold your breath," he said. He cranked a lever, pumping up the hydraulic assist mechanism for the main breaker, then kicked in the power. A thump confirmed the breakers were closed. "Let's go try it."
On the bridge, he tapped keys on the navigation system keypad and hit 'Exec'. Nothing happened. The spatial generators refused to fire up. He sighed heavily and sat down, biting his lip.
"Let's stick with the plan we have," Rydell suggested.
"Like we have a choice," he mumbled.
"We do," she said. "We stick with the plan we have."
He nodded his understanding. "Positive thinking?"
"Good to know the training took hold," she observed. A thought struck her. "Do you ever miss it?"
"The army?"
She nodded.
"Not often."
"But, you do, sometimes?" she persisted.
"If I'm honest." He smiled. "They had some pretty neat stuff."
She laughed out loud. "I thought this ship was enough for you."
"It's a good ship," he mused, but she could tell, as he'd already admitted, there were times when it wasn't enough for him.
"We're always looking for good men," she said.
"They threw me out, remember?"
"It's different, now," she replied. "Spit and polish went out the air lock the moment the first missile hit Kanchuka."
Yoonan said nothing and started tapping keys, again. The navigational display refreshed. "We're getting there," he said, picking up a metal jug from the console. He unscrewed the small cup attached to it and poured himself some water. He replaced the jug, turned towards her and sat staring into space.
"What's that?" she asked, pointing to the navigational console, where a small red box was flashing on the screen.
Yoonan swung around and palmed the trackball until the box was center screen. With his index finger, he pressed one of the control paddles, causing the box to enlarge. A small point of light, surrounded by the box, grew in size and clarity as the box itself grew larger. At length the image of a small moon was revealed.
Rydell leaned closer. "Seen it before?"
"Can't say I have."
"Is it moving?"
He tapped a few keys, calling up a ranging and closing velocity readout. "No. Seems to be just sitting there."
"Something must have captured it at some time," she opined.
"I guess so," he said. "There are no gravitational footprints, hereabouts, though. Maybe it got dragged through a connective by a passing ship? Happens all the time."
"Something that big?" she asked, doubtfully.
He shrugged.
"Besides, wouldn't it still be moving? If it was pulled in and dragged behind a ship as it traversed a connective?"
"Maybe the ship stopped, then left, leaving the moon behind it..." Her twinkling eyes, signifying, he assumed, that she thought he was talking total bull, gave him pause. "It could happen."
"Yes, I suppose it could. But it's hardly likely, is it?"
He pointed at the image on the screen. "Well, there it is, larger than life."
"Can you boost the image?"
He palmed the trackball, again, then tapped the paddle, twice. The image grew tenfold. Some surface detail was now visible. What appeared to be a large, single-story building grew out of the rocky surface, as if embedded in it. A deep space communications array had been erected a short distance away from the building. Exhaust wash, from powerful engines, had blown away the surface in a circular pattern, revealing a lighter material beneath. "Well, that's not natural," he said.
"The master of the understatement," she said, allowing a slight smile to crease her eyes. "Smugglers? Maybe?"
"Maybe?"
"Do we have enough fuel to spare for braking?"
"You wanna take a look?" he asked.
"If it's smugglers, they could be dealing in weapons for the other side," she said.
"I'm not sure," he said, moving back to the Master Control Panel, where he entered a short phrase on the computer keyboard. A brief moment passed before he turned to her. "I guess we can slow down for a fly by."
"Not good enough," she snapped. "I want to check the place out."
"And if it's occupied?"
Years of giving orders that were instantly obeyed had rendered both repetition and explanation unnecessary in her mind. She sat in silence, waiting for his acquiescence.
He sighed, more heavily than usual, and grasped the clamshell control, easing it forward. He looked at her for a second or so, then moved his hand to the isolator switch for the three fuel feeder units and twisted it all the way to the right. A deep vibration started up, somewhere in the rear of the ship.
"Better take a seat," he said. He waited until she was settled, then pressed the Master Engine Start. Another deep vibration announced the firing of the three engines. He moved the group throttle lever forward. The ship slowed as the thrust of the engines was directed forward by the clamshells. After ten seconds, he pulled the throttle lever towards the shutdown position, stopping short at the graduation marked 'Idle'. "Just giving the nav. a moment to check our closing speed," he said.
She said nothing.
He gave the engines one more short firing, at one-third throttle, then closed them down. "We'll slow down the rest of the way on the braking thrusters," he explained, resetting the clamshells to their normal flight configuration and turning off the fuel isolator.
She stood up. "Now, where are the suits?"
The satellite they had landed on was almost five hundred kilometers in diameter. Yoonan's instruments had detected a large, nickel-iron core. Its gravitational field was weak. It would be difficult to move around on the surface without drifting off into space. As a precaution, they parked the ship within twenty meters of the building and attached safety ropes to eyes set in the hull, close to the airlock.
There had been no response to their landing. Perhaps the building was empty? Rydell looked up at the large communications array. It was clearly military, but that meant nothing. Equipment disappeared all the time, vanishing into the rapacious maw of a burgeoning black market, which had sprung up immediately after the war began. Even patriotism had its limits, Rydell mused, as she recalled being approached, almost daily, with offers of perfume, makeup, ground vehicle spares - even a container of furniture, sufficient to fill the small apartment she'd kept going three times over. As she entered the building airlock, she knew, beyond a doubt, that this was a military installation!
"Did you ever hear about a facility this far out?" she asked, having removed her helmet the moment the inner air lock had closed."
"Not a word," Yoonan replied.
"Perhaps it's an observation post?"
"Unmanned?"
A closed circuit camera moved in their direction.
She set her helmet on the ground. "Could be." She looked up. "Smile for the camera," she said.
Yoonan looked nervous. "We might have set off an alarm and not know it."
"It'll be a while before anyone gets here, if we have."
"And they'll know what we look like."
She ignored him and looked around the vestibule, noticing a rack of overshoes. She selected a pair and examined them. They had thousands of tiny hooks on the soles which would provide adhesion to the heavy carpeting on the floor. She showed a pair to Yoonan. "Cut price anti-grav.," she said.
After they'd slipped the overshoes over their boots, she walked a short distance to a door marked, 'Communications' and pushed it open. The room contained an array of tall cabinets, power consoles, which had been powered off, and a large control desk. The chair had been pushed back, when its occupant had left, and was several meters from the desk. An equipment cabinet was fixed to the wall nearby. A red LED suggested it was still powered on. In the lower left corner, a yellow LED pulsed on and off.
"Looks abandoned," she suggested.
"Could be energy saving," he said, pulling the chair up to the desk and sitting down. He searched each of the two desk draws in turn. They were empty. "No 'solar' out here," he suggested, absentmindedly. "The place must run on batteries or a generator."
"Or fuel cells?" she offered.
He shivered. "Air conditioning is off, too."
She made for the door. "Well, let's take a look around. It'll warm us up."
The corridors echoed to the ripping sound of their overshoes as they grabbed, then released the carpet tufts beneath their feet. It was tiring to walk quickly, so they took their time checking each of a dozen rooms in turn. In the last one, the door of which bore no identification, they found another control desk and several more power cabinets. Unlike those in the 'Communications' room, their front panels were open, disconnected wiring harnesses revealing that their contents had been removed. A desk was against the wall opposite the doorway. Inset into the wall behind it was a clear, Plexiglas panel. Rydell pointed her torch at the panel, trying to make out what lay behind it, but it was dark beyond and she could only see her reflection.
Yoonan checked the desk drawers. A filer lay at the back of the second draw, partially concealed by a couple of packs of spare power cells - one opened, with two cells missing - crumpled candy wrappers and a pack of paper handkerchiefs. He removed the filer and flicked it on with his thumb.
She moved to the left of the desk and pushed against a heavy door. It refused to move. "Give me a hand," she called out.
Yoonan joined her and, between them, they managed to swing the door away from them, creating a space they could squeeze through. They were standing in a large circular cavern, about forty meters in diameter, which had been roughly carved from the living rock. As Rydell moved her torch from right to left, its beam fell on something metallic in the center of the room. She approached it and squatted down to examine the object. It was cylindrical, about a meter high and a third of a meter across. She wiped a layer of fine dust off its surface and noticed there was another cylinder inside the outer one. "This looks like it might be some kind of telescopic device," she said.
Yoonan came across and looked down. "Could be?" He turned away and moved towards the cavern wall. "You should take a look at this".
She got to her feet and made her way over to him. Her torch was angled down, so she could see where she was stepping. The light from it was reflected by something laying on the carpet covered floor. She bent to pick it up and examined it closely. Yoonan turned to see why she'd not joined him. He came back to her. "Dog Tag?" he asked.
"Dog Tag," she replied. "But, not Protectorate."
"Then whose?"
"Presidium, I think." She rubbed the tag with her thumb. "Name of, Tibor Kasinski. Lieutenant. Service number, one-one-seven-oh-two-four-three-six."
"What in hell is a Presidium officer doing on a Protectorate base?" he demanded.
"Do we know this base belongs to us?" she asked, handing it to him.
"All the equipment looks to be ours," he said. He showed her the filer. "This is definitely ours," he said, at length. "Third Logistical Transport Group." He paged down some more. "The last entry is.... a year ago, almost to the day."
"What were you going to show me?" she asked.
A soft beep came from the filer. He looked at it, frowning. "Damn it."
"What?"
"Blue screen of death." He chuckled. "A thousand years we've had computers, and we can't get rid of the...."
"Blue screen of death," she echoed, joining in the laughter.
He turned off the filer and slipped it into one of the leg pockets in his suit. "I'll see if I can switch the data store to one of mine, back in the ship."
"You were going to show me something?"
"Yeah. It's over here."
She followed his pointing finger. "What is it?"
"Some kind of shadow."
She moved her torch around. "It doesn't look like a shadow. It seems..." She rubbed the surface of the wall with her glove. Some of the darkened area rubbed off. "It seems like a residue of some kind."
Yoonan duplicated her action. He studied the dark substance on the fingers of his glove. "It's kinda like soot."
"From a fire, you mean?"
"Not unless they lit a load of them," he said, moving to another shadow. He brushed it with the tips of his other glove and studied it.
They walked slowly around the room and counted the 'shadows'. There were forty-two of them. None was the same as another. Their heights were different, their widths were different and their density varied slightly.
Rydell slipped the tag into her suit pocket and started for the door. Yoonan followed a few seconds later.
As they approached the air lock, Rydell stooped and collected her helmet. She reached out to press the 'Cycle' control, hesitating as Yoonan touched her arm. She twisted to look at him.
"Can we look around a little more?" he asked.
"Why?"
"It's a military base. It might have spare parts."
She looked confused. "Parts?"
"For the spatial generators."
She nodded her understanding. "Your ship is military surplus?"
"Dura Class Transport," he confirmed.
"I figured it was when I first saw it." She extended her hand. "Lead on."
"Will it work, do you think?"
Yoonan closed the panel door and started packing away his tools. "Well know soon enough," he replied.
Back on the bridge, he tapped keys on the navigation system keypad and hit 'Exec'. A green telltale lit. He held his breath and tapped a few more keys. A second telltale lit, orange this time. A second later, an alarm buzzed.
She seemed resigned to its failing. "Gone again?"
"Connective detected, approach vectors computed, course...." He tapped three more keys. Two purple telltales lit and the navigation system screen updated. "Calculated and laid in. Engines..." He pressed a button. "On stand-by. Autopilot..." He pressed another button and turned two switches clockwise. "Engaged."
He beckoned her over. "You wanna do the honors?"
"Which one?"
He pointed to the 'Exec.' key.
She pressed the key gently - like it might break and leave them stranded, once more.
The ship eased over to port and began to accelerate.
"Papskeet in a little under two days," he announced with a flourish.
"We should celebrate our good fortune," she said, smiling.
"Sorry, but the wine's gone."
"Water is good." She poured him a cup. It was re-cycled and tasted slightly metallic, but she'd had worse.
He reached for the damaged filer he recovered from the base. "I'll see what I can do with this," he said.
Twelve Hours From Papskeet Spaceport.
Yoonan closed the back of the filer and powered it on. The filer beeped, twice, and the display lit and the Protectorate Logo appeared. "It looks like it's working," he said.
Rydell moved closer and looked over his shoulder as he moved through several menus and submenus. At length, he found one that read, 'Project Ring Fire - Final Status Report'. He selected the directory and studied the content list. Several of the file names began with the name of the author - he assumed. "Cargill," he said aloud. "Mean anything to you?"
She shook her head.
He tried a couple more files. "What about T.T.C.?" He paged down. "According to this, they're based on Toochar-Caribu. Hang on. Okay. That's Toochar Thermodynamics Corp.."
"I think they make high energy plasma systems," she replied. "Anti-missile defense. That kind of thing.
"Well, whatever they do, they're involved with some kind of research listed on this data store," he said.
She held out her hand. "Can I see?"
He passed the filer to her.
"Wasn't the data encrypted?" she asked.
"Basic level," he replied. "It was probably a personal notepad. Guy likely figured it was safe in his pocket."
"And clean forgot about it when it failed."
"He copied the data and stashed it in the draw. I guess they pulled out in a hurry."
"Or they go back from time to time." She started reading aloud. "Trial number four-seven-three. Test Supervisor: Lieutenant General Mika Harriz. Test Equipment: As formally agreed at the meeting held with Admiral Keefer Frenk (Minutes Filed Under: four-two-dash-eight-dash-eye-seven) and, under order two-three-six-oh-seven-gee, only one variant of the Electron Spiral Toroid - model twenty-one, revision 'C' - using the redesigned Hydrogen-Boron Fusion Source (HBFS), Version 'E', was evaluated. This variant had been proven, by previous tests, to provide a sustained, high-ion-density plasma, in the four thousand electron volt range, that also remained stable at normal air density for up to 0.6 seconds. Test Summary: Two groups of three subjects to each group were given exposures at a range of nineteen point six meters." She exchanged a knowing look with Yoonan.
"That's the radius of that chamber, isn't it?" he asked.
Her face was expressionless. "The first group's exposure for two hundred milliseconds, at seven hundred fifty electron volts, resulted in significant cellular destruction in the epidermal and dermal layers of any and all exposed flesh. Some damage to the epidermis covered by clothing was evident. The overall appearance of the exposed skin was consistent with a harsh sun burn. Some damage to the lower dermal layer was evident, post mortem, where the skin had been exposed. The second group, subjected to an exposure of three thousand, five hundred electron volts, for three hundred milliseconds, sustained external and internal cellular damage consistent with a short range exposure - that is, within one kilometer - to a high yield fission device in the fifty kilo-ton range. Death was immediate!"
Yoonan slumped back in his chair. "Holy shit! They were doing tests on people?"
"Animals don't wear clothing," she replied, tersely.
She resumed reading, "Addendum. The dispersion mirror system, variant fourteen-dash- emm, was used during both tests. Subjects were positioned at one hundred twenty degrees around the periphery. No variation in plasma energy delivery was detectable. Conclusion. The test configuration performed as anticipated, and produced consistent energy delivery within a three hundred sixty degree field of fire. Recommendation: Proceed immediately to the testing of the six thousand, electron volt HBF Source: Variant 'G', prior to moving to full scale Field Reliability Test. Full tabulation of results appended."
"It looks like they already tested this Variant 'G'," Yoonan said. "This time, it vaporized forty-two of the poor bastards."
Rydell threw the filer at the desk. It skidded across the surface until Yoonan trapped it with his hand. "Fucking bastards!" she screamed. She sat in silence for a brief moment, before adding, "We have to bring those sons-of-bitches down.... Hard!"
"Who?" Yoonan asked.
"The Presidium, of course."
"The Presidium?"
"Who else?"
"And the Dog Tag?" he asked.
Her nostrils flared. "What about the fucking Dog Tag?"
"It was from a Presidium officer."
"So, they tested it on their own people. Criminals, maybe?"
"Who's this Admiral... what's his name?"
"Science Directorate," she muttered.
"Ours, or theirs?"
"Ours. Admiral Frenk must have found out about this place and set up an investigation."
Yoonan hesitated. She wasn't going to like what he was about to say. He took a deep breath. "That was our facility, Colonel, not theirs."
Rydell's eyes grew wide. "You think we did this? That's bullshit! We're the good guys. Remember?"
"This report isn't about some investigation. It's to one of our Admirals, outlining the results of a test program, on that asteroid, and making a recommendation about what the next action should be. It us doin' this, Colonel!"
Rydell's chest tightened. She couldn't breathe. She left the room without another word.
Yoonan eased his ship into the berth they'd vacated a week or so ago. Rydell had said nothing since their last conversation. She walked behind him as they exited the open air lock and stood on the loading dock. Three Protectorate Marines approached them. Yoonan shot a glance at their weapons. They were standard, military issue, forty-kilowatt lances. The green power indicators showed they were 'hot'! "Looks like we might be in trouble," he whispered.
One of the marines, a sergeant - according to his shoulder patches - saluted. "Colonel Rydell?"
Rydell returned the salute and replied, "Yes."
"Admiral Kastor's orders, Ma'am. We're here to escort you to him."
Rydell turned to Yoonan and extended her right hand. "Thanks," she said, softly.
"You're welcome," Yoonan replied, smiling broadly. "If you wanna go sightseeing again... Well, you know where I am."
She smiled and left with the sergeant. The other marines remained on the dock.
'Lorix' Class Cruiser: 'Night Passage'
The sergeant escorting Rydell knocked on the door of Admiral Kastor's quarters and opened the door for Rydell, closing it behind her after she'd entered.
Admiral Jerom Kastor, a large, heavy set man in his late sixties, with greying hair, was seated behind an imposing and cluttered desk. He waved in the direction of a chair. "Sit down," he said. His face was without expression.
"Thank you, Admiral," she said.
"How are you feeling?"
"Fine, Sir. Thank you for asking."
Kastor selected one of six filers laying on his desk and thumbed the controls. "Your record is exemplary, Colonel."
Rydell felt herself blushing.
Kastor looked up and regarded her through hooded eyes. "Colonel..." He paused, as if reluctant to say what was on his mind.
Rydell felt a chill.
"It's come to my notice," Kastor continued, "that you made an unauthorized entry into a sealed facility."
Rydell, who'd managed, over the last twelve hours, to convince herself that the facility they'd discovered was, indeed, run by the Presidium, now had nowhere to go. The truth silenced her.
Kastor, mistakenly took her silence as an admission. Not that he'd needed her confirmation. The security system had flashed hers and Yoonan's images to 'Midpoint' the moment the camera had them in focus. "Why did you enter the facility, Colonel? In fact, how did you come across it in the first place?"
Rydell told him everything! She deliberately made a great deal of the fact that Yoonan's ship had experienced a malfunction and that they had entered the facility in the hope of locating the necessary parts to fix it. She hoped it would spare Yoonan any repercussions.
A knock at the door prevented Kastor from responding. "Enter," he boomed.
A marine entered, saluted and approached Kastor. Rydell recognized him. He'd been on the loading dock when they berthed. He bent to place a filer on the desk, straightened and said, "You ordered this be brought to you, Sir."
Kastor nodded.
The marine saluted, let himself out the door and closed it quietly behind him.
Kastor held the filer aloft. "You recognize this, Colonel?"
"Yes, Sir," she replied. "If I can explain...."
"No explanation is necessary, Colonel," Kastor soothed. "Tell me, what do you know about 'Project Ring Fire'?"
"Only what's contained on that datastore, Admiral."
Kastor placed the filer on the desk and brought his hands together, fingertips brushing his nose. At length, he said, "I'm sure I don't need to impress upon you the need for absolute secrecy in this matter?"
"You're asking me to keep quiet about the fact that we've been experimenting on prisoners of war?"
Kastor's eyes narrowed. "I'm suggesting that you forget you were ever in that facility and that you ever came into possession of this filer."
"Then it's true?" she demanded.
"Whether it's true or not is not the issue, Colonel. Will you put it from your mind, in the interests of security?"
"How can you possibly sanction a war crime, Admiral?"
Kastor stiffened. "Will you remain true to your oath?"
Rydell looked down for a moment.
"I'm waiting, Colonel."
She raised her eyes and looked directly into his. "Is that an order?"
"Does it need to be?"
"No, Sir. I guess it doesn't."
Kastor smiled and placed the filer in his desk drawer. "Then, we need not mention this incident again." He pulled another filer towards him and thumbed it on. Without looking up, he said, "Dismissed, Colonel."
Rydell got to her feet and saluted to the crown of his head. She left the room with her mind churning.
A strong breeze ruffled her hair as she left 'Night Passage' and retraced her steps back to the loading dock. The tone of the meeting with Kastor had left her concerned for Yoonan's safety. If nothing else, she had to make sure that he didn't pay for what had been her idea. He'd only wanted to set up a fly by, after all.
When she arrived at the dock, Yoonan's ship was no longer there. She looked around and saw an elderly man, sitting on a luggage trunk. He looked tired and disheveled. 'Probably just got off a ship,' she thought to herself. She approached him. "Did you see what happened to the ship that was berthed here?" she asked.
The man looked up. "A civilian went inside with a couple of soldiers," he said. "One soldier came out, carrying something. The ship left after that."
"One of the soldiers stayed on board?"
"He must have," the man replied. "I didn't see him come out."
Rydell thanked him and left the dock, looking for a taxi to take her to her base. She felt eyes on her the entire time but, when she turned to look, there was no one there. She convinced herself that the meeting with Kastor had shaken her more than she'd imagined.
She worried about what might have happened to Yoonan. But, what could she do? Kastor's erection of an additional security cordon around 'Project Ring Fire' would obviously preclude any effort on her part to ask questions as to his, Yoonan's, whereabouts. Besides, any attempt to do so would be 'flagged' by any one of a dozen oversight protocols, implemented since the commencement of hostilities with the Presidium. Everyone, be they civilian or military personnel, was under constant surveillance. No one could be trusted! She, above all, would come in for particular attention, at least until Kastor was convinced that she was back on side and could be trusted, again. In the final analysis, she was responsible for what had happened! She couldn't avoid that. It preyed on her mind during the thirty-six hours she had to wait before being given medical clearance to return to duty and leaving on her next mission.
An orderly marched along one of the corridors that made up the rabbit warren known as 'Midpoint Haven'. In his right hand, he carried the daily casualty report. He stopped at a door and knocked, before entering. The occupant of the room, Major Evlin Brandt, took the report and scanned it. His eyes were drawn to a name he recognized. He paled and picked up his communicator. It was answered at the other end after two beeps. "Jonjo," he said. "I've got some bad news. Riuth Rydell was killed in a fire fight off Yenoon, a couple of days ago." He hung up, got to his feet and poured two fingers of Rüm. He raised the glass and offered a silent toast to a 'damn fine officer'.
Two days later, a ship was found by a deep space reconnaissance vessel, the Tambura. It had, apparently, crash landed on a deserted planet in the Argoyne system. The crew of the Tambura examined the wreckage and found one body. The ship's flight recorder was missing. The crew placed the body in a body bag and returned to their ship, leaving 'Sun Dancer' to slowly dissolve in the planet's corrosive atmosphere.
