line yet with pulse engines?"
     "Can give you maneuvering thrust."
     Jason looked back at the lieutenant.
     "Mister, if you don't want to go for this ride, you'd better  clear the
bridge."
     The lieutenant looked at him and a thin smile crossed his features.
     "Good  luck,  sir," he whispered,  snapped  off a salute,  and left the
bridge.
     Jason went over to his old command chair, and sat down, a light puff of
dust swirling up around  him.  He looked around at his  skeleton crew  which
were  manning  the  bridge. Normal ship's  complement  was just  under  five
hundred personnel Ч he had only thirty-five. Nearly three quarters of a full
crew were either  support for the three squadrons the ship would normally be
carrying, or for  the  weapons systems, but even without them,  running  the
ship was going to be a chancy operation. And with only three  Ferrets, and a
Sabre on board that had yet to be transferred off, he felt very naked.
     "The Lieutenant has cleared the  landing bay,"  Sparks announced on the
comm, "and is back aboard the docking station."
     "Close off the docking collar, Sparks, and disconnect external power."
     "Already done, sir, docking collar disconnected, external power cut and
withdrawn."
     Jason looked over at his helm crew.
     "Take us out of here."
     A barely perceptible  vibration ran through the ship as  Masumi  tapped
into the reactors,  lighting up the  nuclear pulse  maneuvering engines.  He
felt a cold shiver run down his back.
     "Velocity  at  225  meters  per  second,"  helm announced,  "heading 31
degrees, negative 8."
     "By God, we're on our way," Jason laughed, coming to his feet
     A cheer went up on the bridge,  the crew laughing,  slapping each other
on the back.
     "Ship 2291, respond please."
     It took a moment for Jason to realize that the incoming message was for
him, the caller using his ship's decommissioned identification number.
     The  communications  officer looked over  at  him and Jason raised  his
hand, signaling for her not to open a line.
     "Ship 2291, you are  in violation  of  peace commission procedures  for
title transfer. You  are ordered to turn your vessel about and return to the
decommissioning yard at once.
     "Ship 2291, you are . . ."
     "Turn that damn thing off, Jason snapped and the communications officer
switched the speaker off.
     "Helm, set course for jump transit point 17A and let's get the hell out
of here."
     "Come on, you two," Jason said, looking over  at Ian  and  Doomsday and
they followed him off the bridge.
     Picking  up a small  package  he  left the  bridge and started down the
corridor  out to the hangar  bay. ъeaching  the bay  he  paused  and  looked
around. It actually looked big for a change. It was, of course, almost empty
of fighters, and  it seemed strange to see  it  like  this.  He  opened  the
package up and unfolded the commissioning flag of Tarawa. He hung it back up
in its old spot, next to the  roll of honor. A light film of dust was on the
honor  roll and using  his shirt  sleeve he  wiped it off, stepped  back and
without any feeling of self-consciousness, he came to attention and saluted
     He heard a light clicking  of heels and looked over his shoulder to see
Sparks at attention, saluting as well. She came to at ease and smiled.
     "It's good to be back with our friends, Jason."
     He smiled, realizing that for the first time since he had known her she
had called him by his name. It took him a moment to even recall hers.
     "It certainly is, Janet."
     Her features flushed a bit
     Ian coughed in a very self-conscious manner and nudged Doomsday.
     "Come  on, buddy, let's go clean up the pilot  ready room," and the two
left.
     "Funny, folks back home called me by my name of course, but you know, I
can't remember the last time somebody didn't call me Sparks."
     She  had  changed so  much since  becoming  an officer, the hard  edges
polished into a smooth professionalism, the  dirty coveralls and oil-smudged
face  long  since  gone. She was wearing a standard B class jump suit and he
realized yet again that it made her look awfully damn attractive. But he had
to push that away. Even though they were not part of the Confederation Fleet
anymore, he still wanted his ship  run by  Fleet rules, and one  of them was
that no personal relationships were allowed between commanding officers  and
those serving under them.
     He  lowered his gaze  for a  second and then looked back and  her smile
faded a bit
     "Sorry, Jason, I guess we're back to the old routine, aren't we? Funny,
I couldn't  wait to get  back, but  I knew  if  I did, I'd  have to  give up
something to do it, a chance for you.
     He nodded. He knew she was  interested but maybe it was simply that the
sharp edge of  pain in losing Svetlana  still cut  a bit too deeply. The few
encounters since her death had left him feeling cold and empty.
     Before he could say anything she drew closer, leaned up, and kissed him
lightly  on the lips, the kiss lingering. Startled, he looked at her and saw
the sparkling  in  her  eyes. He  suddenly felt  so tempted to  put his arms
around her Ч but she drew back.
     "I'd better get to work,  sir,"  she  said,  sniffling  slightly. "This
flight  deck  is filthy and I'll  be damned if  I'll  allow a launch from it
before it's been cleaned up,"
     "I'm glad Tolwyn let me take you as my maintenance officer, Janet, " he
hesitated, "and I'm just glad to have you with me as well."
     She looked at him, shrugging a bit awkwardly, and went across the deck,
leaving him alone.
     He exhaled hard and shook his head.
     "Captain?"
     "On the flight deck."
     "We've got a laser hookup from CVE 6 Normandy."
     "Patch it through to flight operations bridge."
     He double-timed over to the flight bridge and climbed up into the empty
room.  The control  positions were all empty and it  seemed eerie with not a
single soul around. He switched on a comm channel and a holo image formed.
     "How're you doing, laddie?"
     "Little complaining from the  decommissioning  crowd but we're away and
clear."
     Paladin smiled.
     "Even though those papers are  nice and legal  like,  we are  bending a
couple of the rules a wee bit," he said with a laugh. "I'm coming up now off
your starboard beam, Iwo and Wake and  Crete are clear as well. How's Tarawa
look?"
     "Everything nominal. We got a bonus of four fighters on  board  her  as
well.  The  mothball  maintenance  seemed  pretty  damn  good,  all   things
considered, but I feel awfully naked without at least one squadron aboard."
     "One  thing at  a time, laddie.  I've got to get  off the line now, I'm
getting a  bit swamped here with calls from those peace  commission buggers,
and  even one now from ConFleet. I tell you  it'll be right good fun telling
an admiral to go  to hell. They've  got a couple of frigates out at the jump
point  who  might try to stop  us, but  we've  got a dozen  lawyers  out  at
headquarters arguing  away  right  now  that the  sale is  legal.  Hopefully
nobody'll shoot. Hell, by the  time  they get  it  resolved we'll be  on the
other side of the universe. And then what are they going to do, sue us?"
     Laughing, he shut down the laser link and the holo screen went dead.
     Stepping down from the flight bridge Jason saw the pinpoint of light of
Paladin's ship moving against the eternal night of space.
     "Captain, this is helm."
     "Go ahead."
     "Cleared  of near Earth orbit, ready to power up to full pulse drive on
course heading for jump point 17A."
     "Get us out of here, then."
     He  felt the surge of power  rumble  through  the  ship  as  nearly all
reactor power was  fed straight into the engines. The ship turned to line up
on the jump point and as he walked up to the hangar bay's  magnetic airlock,
Earth drifted into  view, a crescent blue-green ball hanging  in the eternal
darkness. It gave him a curious sort of feeling. It was, after all, the home
world of his entire race,  the ъussia of his ancestors clearly  visible even
from half a million clicks out, and yet now, he felt strangely detached from
it. He  was a  product of space, born  on a world  five  hundred light years
away. If  he had a home, it  was this ship, a family, the people aboard her.
He  knew that this  insane adventure he  was setting out on was motivated in
part by his allegiance  to the Confederation and  for the protection  of the
world  in  front of him, even for the protection of those people who were so
ready to reject  him  and the military that he served. He knew  that perhaps
that was always the lot  of a warrior, to be  turned to when trouble loomed,
and to be  rejected and hidden  away  when  it was believed  that  peace had
returned.
     He  was  fighting for them but he  realized as well  that  if  he  were
fighting for anything it was for his ship, his comrades, and the fleet which
they  had so  loyally served and  now faced the most serious crisis  in  its
history, a crisis created not so much by  their enemies, but rather by their
friends.


        CHAPTEъ FIVE

     In a swirling cloud of dust, Hunter switched off power  on his engines,
shut down the emergency ejector system, and cracked the canopy open.
     A choking  swirl of  hot dry  air  rushed  into the cockpit, taking his
breath away as he unsnapped his helmet.
     "Damn,  even  worse  than  the  outback,"  he  mumbled, standing  up to
stretch.
     A ground crew team strolled over, lazily pushing a ladder as he waited.
There was no  sense in getting upset  by  their lackadaisical attitude, this
wasn't  ConFleet Ч the base belonged to the Landreich Colonial Air Guard and
a crew working in one hundred twenty plus heat had his sympathy.
     The  crew  hooked  the  ladder  against the side  of his  Sabre  and he
scrambled down out of the cockpit
     "Where's fleet headquarters?" he asked
     "Over there," one of the crew  announced, trying to be  heard above the
cacophony of ships landing and  taking off, and  the sudden  sonic boom of a
Ferret  snapping  by  overhead,  the  shockwave  causing  him  to  wince and
instinctively look for cover.
     He looked up and saw the Ferret  climbing straight up, standing  on its
tail. The  Ferret  punched a hole through the high thin overcast and then he
was gone, the ship's vapor trail climbing and then winking out as the Ferret
crossed into  the  far  reaches  of  the  upper atmosphere. The  crew barely
noticed the show and obviously weren't running to combat positions.
     "Is there a scramble on?"
     "Nay, Charlie Boys just having a little fun."
     "Who's Charlie Boy?"
     "Why, he's the head of the squadron here."
     Ian wanted to comment that at any  fleet base  punching sonic without a
scramble on  would have  cost  Charlie  Boy a  month's  pay and  a  possible
grounding. He had a feeling it was, if anything,  a  thumbing of the nose at
all the outsiders gathering on  the base  and he started to  smile. Hell, he
might even like this place after all.
     The  ground  crew looked  at him  and  Ian was suddenly  aware his  old
ConFleet flight suit made him stick out like a sore thumb.
     "A  lot  of  you  Fleet boys showing  up  here today," one of the  crew
drawled.
     "The usual gab session," Ian replied. "You know how it  is, ConFleet or
Colonial, the big wigs always like to have their meetings."
     "And I suppose we oughta salute you, is that it, captain?"
     Ian laughed and replied with a universal rude gesture.
     One of the crew members smiled, reached  into a tool box and pulled out
a can which was dripping with moisture.
     "Have a cold one on us, cap'n."
     Ian grinned with delight as he popped the lid. Landreich beer was rated
almost as good as the Outback Lager and Fosters of home. He took a long deep
pull on the can  and then another, draining it off. With a contented sigh he
tossed the empty back to his benefactor.
     "Ah, thanks,  mate, now take  care of  my ship  and  by the way, if you
don't tell those customs people,  you'll find a pint  of Vega's best stashed
in the carry bag strapped behind my  seat and I don't want to find  it there
when I get back." The crew grinned.
     There was nothing like a little  gift  giving with the locals  to  make
sure that things were taken care of right.
     Turning, he  started  across the  landing field,  eager  to get  to the
shade.  The  twin suns of the planet were murder when both were at noon, the
red  giant  and white dwarf combining  to cast a strange pattern of  colored
shadows.  He  looked around, realizing that  this  military  outpost  of the
Landreich colonial  worlds was definitely at the butt end  of the  universe.
There were a few  modern  buildings on the base, made of the standard poured
plasta-concrete.  But most of  it, and  the small  garrison  and mining town
beyond the base, was made of either  adobe  or rough sandstone. If it wasn't
for  the  rich titanium deposits  underneath the surrounding mountains  this
world would have  been  bypassed except for the usual crop of hermits, crazy
cults, and freebooters  looking for  a place  to hide.  Buford's World  they
called this place, after the first prospector to  land here, but it was more
commonly referred to as  the  Hell Hole. Its inclination of axis was exactly
at zero degrees  and there was  no  season  except  red hot  summer  with 90
degrees passing as a cool day.
     It  had  but  two jump points in the system, one heading away from  the
demilitarized zone towards the capital world of Landreich, the other leading
off on a long lopping pattern through half a  dozen uninhabited systems into
the flank of the  Kilrathi Empire. Both in a strategic and tactical sense it
was nothing more than an outpost at the very  edge of  the  war  and totally
ignored  by the  main fleets of  both sides.  Thus space  in this region was
controlled, if at all, by colonial guards of  both sides, and more  often by
freebooters which, in the eyes of the Confederation,  was what the Landreich
system was anyhow.
     He passed a  plasta-concrete bunker, the lid partially open to reveal a
cluster of surface-to-space point defense  missile-anti-missiles, the latest
Sprint  8s, no less.  He paused to look  in at the crew which  was running a
service check.
     "Got a lot of those, mates?"
     "Who the  hell wants  to know?"  and a  tech  sergeant wearing  the tan
coveralls of a colonial guard non-com looked up at him, shading his eyes.
     "Hey, just curious, that's all."
     "Curiosity  like  that  will  get you  in the  brig  right quick,"  the
sergeant growled.
     The sergeant turned back to his work and Ian realized that maybe it was
best to simply move on.
     Tucked into the  hangars  lining the field was a bizarre  assortment of
ships.  The  heaviest  was  a  medium  corvette  and it took Ian a moment to
recognize it as an old Granicus-class, a line discontinued more than  twenty
years  ago.  The ship, however,  was  refitted  with a couple of E-8 engines
attached to  anchor points on  the side of the hull, with half a dozen  mass
driver turrets  patched on as well. It was a hell of a smuggler's craft with
the firepower of a light frigate thrown in. A number of fighters were on the
field as well and  it was  easy to see which  ones  had ferried in the staff
attending  today's meeting, their Confed  insignia simply painted  over with
standard fleet gray.
     It was the other  ships,  however,  that caught his eye. It looked like
the Landreich was planning  to set  up  a museum, with some of the  fighters
actual prewar ships of more than thirty years vintage. All of them, however,
were no  longer  spec  in any way  whatsoever. An  early Ferret A  had a new
engine housing with of all things a Mark 10  engine off an  old Falcon light
corvette.  It looked absolutely absurd, like nothing but  an  engine with  a
cockpit  up front, with a gatling mass  driver gun strapped  on  underneath.
It'd be a hell of a ride, he realized.
     Most  of the  ships were painted  Stealth black  without identification
numbers  or even  the  blue  circle  and red Saint  Andrew's  cross  of  the
Landreich.  He  slowly  walked  past the  hangars,  noticing  the  less than
friendly stares of  most of the crews.  He wanted to take the time to go  up
and chat, to ask about  the specs on  the strange array of ships, maybe even
try  a  climb  into the  cockpits but thought  better of it. Ever since  the
armistice the uneasy cooperation of the Confederation with the colonials was
now  strained even  further.  He  couldn't  blame them,  for when the  stuff
finally hit the fan, it would  be the outpost worlds that  would get covered
by it first.
     "Iannn!"
     The high pitched voice  was unmistakable and startled he looked around,
and then  noticed a shadow cross  over him. He looked up and  saw a  Firekka
hovering overhead.
     "K'Kai, how the hell are you!"
     K'Kai, folding her wings, landed beside him  and moved up close, pecked
him lightly on the head and around the back of his neck in what he  now knew
was  a  grooming  which  served  as the Firekka equivalent  of a  handshake.
Overjoyed at seeing an old friend he threw his arms around her.
     "Last  time I saw you was when  your niece told the Confederation to go
to hell."
     K'Kai clicked  her beak and he knew that it  was the Firekka equivalent
of an expression of pride.
     "That speech was hers  alone,  a fine accomplishment for  not much more
than a hatchling."
     "How goes it on Firekka?"
     "A lot of harassing  raids, skirmishes, ships disappearing, not  really
outright  war, but definitely not peace." She cocked her head  and looked at
him closely, an act which he always found a bit disturbing  when  an eyeball
the size of an orange aimed in straight at him.
     "So you're part of this Landreich colonial fleet?" she asked.
     "That's what I'm here for, and you?"
     "Sent as a representative."
     "Well, I think we're late," and he motioned for her to follow along.
     They finally  gained the shade of a broad veranda  and he drew a breath
of  relief.  Two  guards  stood at  the  door  and  again it struck him  how
different the colonials  were. The men looked  sharp enough,  with  standard
M-48 laser  rifles on their  shoulders. But the uniforms  looked like they'd
seen better days, the tan coveralls faded from sun and  washing, top collars
unbuttoned in the  dry desert heat. They lacked the spit and polish of fleet
Marine guards and he found it appealing.
     Both looked with open curiosity at K'Kai.
     "Firekka,  they make the best  drink in the universe,,"  Ian announced,
and the guards grinned weakly.
     "I take it this is headquarters?"
     "This is the place."
     "Well, I'm here to see Kruger."
     A sergeant stepped out from inside the doorway, took  their papers  and
IDs, then handed them back.
     "Down the hall, you can't miss it."
     Ian opened the door for K'Kai and followed her  in. At least the  place
had cooling, but it seemed to  be  barely  working. He strode down the  open
corridor which angled down below the surface, K'Kai at his side. They turned
through a double set of blast  doors  and into the  situation room which was
packed  nearly  to overflowing. They were stopped by what  he assumed  was a
security  officer, though  it was hard to  tell  by the  uniform. He checked
their IDs once again and then marked off his and K'Kai's name on a list.
     Ian  immediately recognized more  than one  of those present: Ja