 
### Table of Contents

The Centaurus Legacy

Copyright

A Word About Cystic Fibrosis

Prologue

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

SAMPLE: The Orion Deception

Tom Bielawski

Heck Thomas Novels

The Chronicles of Llars

About this book

T H E C E N T A U R U S

L E G A C Y

by Tom Bielawski

Copyright 2012 Smashwords Edition
T H E C E N T A U R U S

L E G A C Y

by Tom Bielawski

Copyright 2012 Smashwords Edition

A word about Cystic Fibrosis (CF)

I am a CF dad; someone I love needs a cure.

CF is a genetic, inherited, disease that affects the lungs and digestive systems of about 30,000 children and adults in the United States, and 70,000 worldwide. A defective gene and its protein product cause the body to produce unusually thick and sticky mucus that clogs the lungs and leads to life-threatening lung infections, and obstructs the pancreas stopping the natural enzymes from helping the body break down and absorb food.

This disease used to be a death sentence. Now, more and more people with CF are living into their 30's, 40's, and beyond. And that is thanks in large part to organizations like Cystic Fibrosis Foundation and others who have supported and driven the research community with awesome fundraisers, studies, and media attention.

Please support Cystic Fibrosis Foundation, Cystic Life, Boomer Esiason Foundation, or any other great organization that is helping to fight this terrible disease.

Thank you,

Tom Bielawski
Prologue

In the 1960's, treaties regarding colonialism in space were established, preventing nations from claiming new territory for themselves on the Moon, on Mars, and other parts of the solar system. European communism began its decline in the late 1980's with Poland and culminated in 1991 with the breakup of the Soviet Union. The two largest and most aggressive space programs on Earth faltered. Advances in space travel were few and little importance was placed on human exploration of space, or on exploiting the resources of the solar system around us.

In the early part of the 21st Century, great conflict arose among scientists who were divided over a critical issue. It was difficult to dispute that the Earth's climate was changing. However, agreement could not be found as to the source of these changes. Many scientists believed humans were the cause, or were at least aggravating the situation; while other scientists believed these current climate changes reflected continuing trends of heating and cooling that had taken place over millions of years. This great debate triggered widespread trends in the private and public sectors alike; going green was becoming a popular money-making jingle with corporations and politicians alike. Heavy attention was brought to the use of one of the Earth's most valuable natural resources: petroleum. It was, for the most part, agreed that petroleum was a finite resource and sooner or later dependence on this resource would have to be weaned. The discord stemmed from those who believed the weaning must occur sooner, and at all costs, as opposed to those who felt a later and gradual reduction on petroleum dependency was the optimum course to choose, while viable alternatives were being explored at a safer pace.

By the dawn of the 22nd Century, populous countries like China and India caused a massive drain on the Earth's petroleum resources. Viable alternatives to petroleum energy for transportation had not been found anywhere on Earth. But an interesting discovery was made by an astronomer using an advanced, highly scientific, Earth-orbiting telescope. Exploration of the often overlooked Asteroid Belt revealed several dwarf planets similar in size to Ceres and other large asteroids, which had the potential of yielding large quantities of an element that could be used to create a very efficient fuel cell.

A new space race began, followed by what was called the Energy Rush of the 22nd Century. The great distances of space, and the great lengths of time to travel around the solar system, led to advances in high-speed space travel engines that could run for years on fuel cell technology without interruption. Exploration of space boomed with the discovery of more and more precious metals, gems, and other desirable resources on the Moon, Mars, and in the Asteroid Belt. Massive space stations housing hundreds, thousands, even tens of thousands of people were built to support those who wanted to make their fortunes in space. Colonies were established in the most hospitable places of the solar system as advances in artificial gravity technology and terraforming made the Moon, Mars, Europa, and Titan more Earthlike. Like the Gold Rush of the 1800's, fortunes were made and economies thrived.

But a plague threatened to cripple the great successes made by those notable pioneers of the 22nd Century, and that plague was crime.

The international treaties signed in the 1960's, largely in hopes of averting a nuclear war, had the unintended effect of making space a zone where nations could not 'claim' new territory and therefore could not protect their interests with military might. Piracy was on the rise, and shipping routes were under constant threat of hijacking and theft. Crime families took over, or influenced, companies doing business in areas they 'protected.' Profits were lost, and companies went out of business.

Economies on Earth began to suffer under rising prices. Unwilling to abandon the ancient treaties, governments chose to commission mercenary outfits and privateers to protect their interests. But the job was too dangerous and the privateers were no match for the well-funded and heavily armed criminals in space.

The answer to this problem came in the form of an offshoot of the failed United Nations. This offshoot, called the Commonwealth of Space-Faring Nations (CSN), had originally been created as an entity to oversee trade and economics among its member states. But as things in space became desperate, a move was made to form a military arm of the Commonwealth to police space and interdict crime.

The CSN formed a fleet of large spacecraft capable of projecting a forward military force anywhere in the solar system it chose to go. Following the model of former US President Theodore Roosevelt, the CSN chose the approach of "speak softly but carry a big stick," when dealing with crime in space. The array of spacecraft was impressive, though not large enough in number to secure the entire solar system. As the Inner System became safer, criminals were forced to move into and beyond the Asteroid Belt.

Seeing a rising similarity between the Old West of the United States and the criminal climate of the solar system, the Commonwealth decided to augment their crime-fighting ability in much the same way the Old West did. A force of marshals was commissioned and each Commonwealth Marshal had the power to commission his own Commonwealth Deputy Marshals, fully licensed and empowered to enforce laws and hunt fugitives.

The year is 2190. And this is the story of one those men.

ONE

Marshal Henrick Thomas and his partner Deputy Marshal Stephen W. Doolin strapped into their chairs aboard their ship, which they affectionately called Sixkiller, one of the Old West's most feared lawmen.

"Nav and weapons systems active, Heck."

"Thanks, Dooly. Pilot controls active."

The pair patiently waited as Sixkiller was gently swiveled 180 degrees in their slip aboard the Moon's Roosevelt Orbital Station, also called ROS. Rotation complete, Sixkiller now faced the end of the runway; a long tunnel that led to open space. Stars glimmered into view and the men prepared for what would be the worst three seconds of their flight.

"Hang on..."

Heck grunted at the needless comment, he always hated this part. A series of delicate chimes counted down to the dreaded launch procedure. Five, four, three, two, one.

Sixkiller jolted forward, pinning the men into their seats as it hurtled down the tunnel toward the stars beyond. Each man grimaced as the incredible g-force pinned them to their seats before finally escaping ROS's artificial gravity and shooting out into open space.

"Damn!"

"I know. Every, damn, time," groaned Heck. "I swear it's like being hit in the stomach with a sledgehammer."

The two shook off the pain and disorientation and focused on the task at hand. Heck peered down at the Moon below, its bright green forests and blue seas visible through a blanket of clouds. Freecity, the largest city in New Florida Protectorate, was abuzz with life. Terraforming and artificial gravity plating were a huge business and the Inner System proved to be a very successful testing ground. The Moon and Mars were so successful that terraformers had used their knowledge and devised a way to blast Venus' cloud cover into space, allowing it to cool to more hospitable temperatures. That was still a work in progress, however.

"What's happening, Dooly?" he asked with a sigh.

"First National Bank of Moon Colony in the protectorate of New Florida was just knocked over."

"Police reports?" Heck nimbly rolled Sixkiller as a wayward tour bus wandered off its approved flight path, and cursed under his breath.

"New Florida Police are reporting the Ryevolutzia is responsible. Eye witnesses saw Ryevolutzia cruisers with the old Soviet hammer and sickle emblem fleeing the scene."

"That's a big gang. Who did the job this time?"

"Yulia Kharkov."

Heck grunted in response. Nothing more needed to be said about her. She was the most notorious, and most wanted, felon in the Ukrainian Mafia, which numbered nearly one thousand.

"What about the Bureau?" Heck asked, anticipating a turf war.

"The usual. Commonwealth Bureau of Investigation waited for the local police to gather all the evidence, security records, and witness statements before swooping in to take over the case."

Heck grunted again. Both he and his partner had been local police for years before being deputized by Heck Thomas into the Commonwealth Marshals Service. The CBI, or the Bureau, was the main law enforcement arm of the Commonwealth and was well known for stealing good cases from local and national police in order to take credit for captures and lobby for funding. Not to mention seizing valuable assets from the criminals that would be better served in the hands of local law enforcement. It was a long tradition that went back to the days of the old FBI.

"Some things never change."

"True. But that ain't our problem anymore," Dooly replied with a smile. "We got us a warrant!"

Heck had a gleam in his eye. Whatever the CBI or local police chose to do with this case mattered little to him now. As long as there was an arrest warrant for Yulia, they could bypass the CBI and go after her themselves.

"Dooly, do a full three dimensional point-recognition scan on the suspect imagery and compare it to our known imagery database; I want to be sure."

"Right."

When the Commonwealth was formed, the law enforcement community lobbied for the reinstatement of the use of point-recognition along with DNA, finger print and voice and eye scans; all to catalogue every prisoner who was arrested. These were widely used in the days before space colonization, but fell into disuse with no central authority to control and catalogue the data. But fifty years into the Commonwealth's existence, there was still plenty of data to identify suspects with.

Face-point recognition was a great tool and hard to beat. When a prisoner was arrested, a three-dimensional scan of the entire body would be taken. The scan assigned a grid system which mapped every micrometer of a person's body, cataloging every unique and distinguishing feature. These three dimensional point recognition scans (3DPR) catalogued a suspect's microscopic identifying features across their entire bodies, enabling law enforcement to positively identify a suspect.

"Yulia. Dead to rights."

"Excellent. Please send our regards to Moon Police Service for putting that warrant in so quickly."

"You got it. What's even better is that the warrant was issued under Moon Police Service authority; no mention of CBI jurisdiction at all!"

Heck laughed. "Meaning that the CBI can investigate whatever they want, Moon Police Service will get the spoils no matter what."

"Just got a message in from Moon Police Service Headquarters," called Dooly, his holocomputer dancing with lights and dinging chimes. "They have a vector on Kharkov's ship. Detective Espinosa wants to link up and join us in the chase."

"Fine with me. Moon Police Orbital Station?"

"Yep."

"Ok. But I don't want to waste any time docking and launching from there. I'm sure Kharkov is heading for the Asteroid Belt. Tell Espinoza we will meet twenty clicks out from the station. We can lock on to the MPS cruiser's sally port, load up, and go from there."

"Roger."

CBI Special Agent In Charge Gem Revelier stood outside the office of City Hall, Freecity, New Florida Protectorate. The weather was hot and humid, very much like Florida on Earth. He was sweating in his business suit; and that was one thing Special Agent In Charge Gem Revelier detested. He stalked down the steps from City Hall to his waiting surface cruiser, sleek and black with tinted windows and an impressive array of blue lights behind the windshield. A detachment of special agents from CBI stood protectively around the cruiser, short-barreled automatic weapons in hand.

"I'm sorry, sir. They beat us to it," offered Special Agent David Hall, miserably. Revelier glared at his subordinate as they reached the surface cruiser, waiting for Hall to open the door for him. Hall did as expected and Revelier slid into the back seat of his air-conditioned cruiser, where he loosened his tie and poured himself a glass of brandy. Hall climbed into the front passenger seat and the cruiser slid smoothly into drive, hovering as it moved forward along the Freecity Highway.

"We have five open cases on Yulia's crew, Hall. Five! How the hell did they get that warrant before the Commonwealth Judge without us knowing?" he demanded. Hall studiously avoided answering the question and concentrated on the route, nervously wiping sweat from his brow. Hall knew exactly how it happened but he wasn't about to add to his boss' ire by telling him.

"When I find out who the scumbag was that let this slip by, I'll have him working as a bilge-rat on Commonwealth Fleet cruisers in the Outer System!"

"Yes, sir," Hall agreed meekly. Hall was deathly afraid of Revelier, and with good reason. The man was a brutal tyrant and more than one person who displeased him found themselves dead, or so far from civilization they'd wished they were dead. Revelier haled from Old France, on Earth, and had very high connections in the Commonwealth government. He was short, nasty, mean and many people thought he looked like Napoleon; he certainly acted like him. Neither the Director nor ministers of Parliament would mess with Revelier, and the Director knew Revelier was looking for a promotion.

"Get me the Chief of Police!" shouted Revelier. "I'm gonna chew his ass."

"Yes, sir." Hall sighed. The Chief of Moon Police Service was a shrewd man and a great cop. He'd taken in many of the Inner System's most wanted in his younger years as a Commonwealth Marshal. He was smart too, smarter than Revelier. Chief Reginald Chin would never consent to an ass-chewing by the Bureau, and would very quickly put Revelier in his place. Which only meant that this holographic call would leave Revelier even more pissed off than before.

This is going to be a very long day, thought Hall as he punched in the code to begin holographic call.

Sixkiller slid smoothly alongside the cruiser belonging to Detective Espinosa, Moon Police Service. The cruiser was smaller than his own Marshals Service Cruiser, having enough room for a crew of three and a small cell that could accommodate two prisoners. Sixkiller could operate at full capacity with a crew of five Marshals. It had heavier weapons and hull armor, a small sleeping and living space for the crew, and a cell that could accommodate five prisoners. It was made for long range missions.

Moon Police Service cruisers were maneuverable and very fast but rarely traveled beyond Roosevelt Orbital Station. They were armed with missiles, harpoons, a pair of automatic weapons, and the Phalanx, which was a newly invented defensive weapon outfitted on all Commonwealth spacecraft. Its purpose was to create a protective shell of plasma energy around the cruiser in the event of overwhelming enemy fire. It could annihilate almost any projectile weapon and the plasma field was strong enough to dissipate most laser cannon fire. Small probes, which could extend from the cruiser's hull on command, would pass the plasma energy to each other along the entire length of the craft creating a grid-like field around it. But the system was very costly in its consumption of fuel cells and could only sustain itself in short bursts; a last ditch, Hail Mary weapon, if there ever was one.

Espinosa's cruiser extended a small tube that latched onto the outer hatch of Sixkiller's hull and locked into place.

"Sally port connected, Heck. Atmosphere and pressurization underway."

"Good."

A heavy clunking sound and chime from Dooly's holocomputer indicated that the atmosphere inside the tube was now complete and equalized for both craft.

Another chime from the holocomputer indicated communication from Espinosa's craft.

"Sixkiller, this is Moon Police Cruiser A94. Over."

"Sixkiller. Go ahead."

"Request permission to board," came the crackled reply.

"Granted!" replied Heck with a big grin. He stood by the hatch as it slid open and prepared to catch Espinosa. There was no gravity in the boarding tube and sliding from zero-gravity to Earth gravity could be injurious if one wasn't careful.

Detective Espinosa pushed off from the police cruiser and hurtled down the boarding tube into the waiting arms of Marshal Heck Thomas. The two embraced very warmly, then kissed passionately. After a moment Dooly coughed, loudly.

"Boss!"

"What?" replied Heck, irritated.

"Yulia Kharkov, that's what."

"Right," he answered. "Wow, it's great to see you again!"

"Once in a blue moon?" she quipped, her auburn hair glowing in the yellow light of the spacecraft.

"Somethin' like that," Heck said as he guided her to a crew chair. Lost in thought, he hadn't even noticed that the boarding tube had been retracted and Dooly had sent the Moon Police Cruiser on its way. Laylara Espinosa smiled radiantly at Heck, her eyes promising there would be some catching up later. He nodded and returned to the pilot's chair, forcing himself to switch his mind into business mode, as he liked to call it. Business mode was how Heck survived all these years. His past was checkered, bloody and depressing. But, being able to turn his emotions off like the flip of a switch was how he managed to carry on. And it was how he managed to put his personal feelings for Laylara aside now.

Dooly called out that the navigation system had been transferred to Espinosa's control.

"Plotting course," she called as she entered the data in the holocomputer.

"What is that?" asked Heck, as he eyed the navigation route appearing on screen before him.

"That's our destination. We held quite a bit of information back from the Bureau, those self-righteous bastards would have the Prime Minister declaring a state of Commonwealth Emergency if we didn't. I'm uploading it now."

"Whoa," whistled Dooly. "The wormhole? They're going through the wormhole?"

"I don't know if they're going through. Our informants told us that the Ryevolutzia is definitely working on technology to create an opening. More than likely they will kidnap someone and send them through the wormhole first, to see if they survive."

"The bastards probably would, too," grumbled Heck. "But what's to stop the Bureau from pulling that 'Commonwealth Security' card to get access to your informant?"

Laylara smiled. "Oh, I'm sure whatever informants they end up talking to will point them towards the Asteroid Belt and the Ryevolutzia Mafia ops base."

"Have I ever told you I loved you?"

"Boss, we got trouble!" Dooly began bringing weapon systems online in a hurry, his hands madly moving and manipulating the holographic images in front of him.

"What is it? I don't see anything on the short-range sensors - oh, I see."

T W O

"Meteor storm from port side, two-seven-zero degrees!"

"Hang on!" Heck quickly accelerated and veered to his right to create as much distance as possible. "Where'd that come from?"

"Don't know. Wasn't on the charts," said Dooly tersely. Small fragments of the storm began to pelt Sixkiller's hull. "Hull contact, no damage. Sensors are showing it's a debris field. Not a meteor storm."

"Well, what the hell created it?" he asked to no one in particular, spinning Sixkiller in and out of large pieces of metal. Hull material from a spacecraft. "How much more of this is coming at us?"

"Scans show we should be clear of it in ten seconds."

Heck continued to silently maneuver the craft into and out of the missile-like debris until they were clear of it. He slowed Sixkiller to a stop and set the scanners to identify the debris more closely. They all sat silently while the computer scanned debris for identifying markings and the makeup of the metal alloys, comparing it to the database of known craft. Finally the onboard computer had an answer.

"Whoa!" said Espinsoa, reading the holographic data in front of Heck. Heck was silent. "That's CS Marauder."

"Scanning for escape pods." said Dooly numbly. The CS Marauder was a Commonwealth Ship that belonged to the Inner System Fleet. It had been patrolling the space between Earth, the Moon, Mars and Ceres for pirates and criminals since the inception of the Commonwealth Fleet. "No pods on scans, Heck."

"Damn."

"Must have been a thousand crew on that ship," Espinosa said quietly.

Heck shook his head at the tragedy of it all. Then more data appeared before him. "This wasn't an accident, we're getting vapor trails. Ruger Class missiles," he said in wonder.

"Ruger class? Ain't that what we use, Heck?"

He nodded quietly. Heck Thomas wasn't a superstitious man, and he sure didn't believe in the idea of coincidence. Especially in space. Heck let out a long sigh as a sinking feeling took hold. He was a survivor and had been through more scrapes, chases and fights than any other Marshal. His survival instincts were strong, always telling him when to push the envelope and when to quit. More times that he'd care to admit, Heck had been set up by the criminals he was pursuing. A few times he'd figured it out before hand and foiled the trap, other times he'd been hit hard. But he always survived. And right now, his instincts were telling him something bad was happening and it wasn't what it seemed. He just couldn't put a finger on it.

"Who uses Ruger missiles?" asked Espinosa. "Beside you Commonwealth types anyway?"

"Never heard of no bad guys using Rugers. Have you Heck?" asked Dooly. He wasn't the subtlest person Heck knew, but he was the best Deputy Marshal Heck had ever trained. He was good in a fight, dependable and meaner than scalded dog.

"No. Any trace of a distress call?" he asked as his mind processed the events. "Remote beacons? Anything?"

"None. I sent a message to the Fleet. They'll be coming 'round soon enough."

Heck watched the debris field disappear from view, then slowly it disappeared from his short-range scanners. Finally, it dispersed beyond even the long-range scanners and Heck had to flip that switch. Business mode didn't allow him to dwell on the loss of innocent life when there was work to do.

"We done our part, Heck. Best we can under the circumstances."

"You're right, Dooly. Laylara, lock in a course for Churchill Drift. It's been a long day and we've got some legwork to do."

Special Agent Hall walked nervously down the polished oak corridors of the Bureau's office in Commonwealth Plaza. Gold framed paintings of all the former Directors of the CBI lined both walls, interspersed with odd wall plants that were remarkably good at recycling air. Hall stopped before one painting in particular, noticing the golden vidplate at the bottom which continuously scrolled biographical factoids about the honoree. Hall took in a deep breath of recycled air, trying to gain a measure of calm and straightened his tie in his reflection on the glass covering this painting. In fact, it was the only painting in the hallway with a glass cover. And an alarm system in case anyone wanted to steal it.

Hall knew something very bad was happening in the Commonwealth government, but he just didn't know what. Revelier had been acting stranger than usual. He was still his overbearing, pompous, tyrannical self, but he was more too. He was becoming paranoid and was taking care to avoid having Hall around him during certain meetings, certain holophone calls.

Hall noted the haggard reflection in the specially alarmed ballistic glass. He was nearing sixty years of age and he was tired. He'd given a lot to the Bureau, his life in fact. Divorce cost him his home, his children, even his friends. During all those years he consoled himself with the fact that he was protecting those whom he'd alienated. But it didn't seem to matter at all now. His children were all grown now and had children of their own. Grandkids whose names he didn't even know. He lost touch with them all over the years because of the Bureau.

The Bureau. Anger began to stir in Special Agent David Hall. The Bureau had cost him everything he cherished in his life. And what had he gained in return? He'd always feared Revelier, but today the ambitious bastard was going to hear from Special Agent David Hall! Today, Hall was going to tell the Bureau where they could stick their Commonwealth Security! Today, he was going to rebuild his life, reconnect with his family.

Even if it cost him his job.

Hall took his Glock sidearm from his holster and smashed the picture he had been looking so hard at. The picture of Special Agent In Charge, Gem Revelier.

Ambitious bastard!

Hall smirked and waited outside Revelier's door. As he'd expected, the pompous fool burst out into the hallway, searching for whoever would dare desecrate his own portrait.

"Hall! What the blazes is happening? Who did this?"

Hall was silent as he stared into the eyes of Gem Revelier and he hesitated. Not for lack of conviction, certainly. No, Hall was so enjoying the sight of the sputtering, incomprehensible fool, that he wanted to prolong Revelier's torment.

"Why, I've no idea. Didn't the surveillance cams catch anything? Sir?"

"No, damnit! Someone must have deactivated them."

"Hmm. Yes, I'll bet the solar system will be rocked to the stone age by this news. Sir." Hall was positively enjoying this. Maybe he wouldn't retire just yet. What did he really have to lose anyway? The Bureau couldn't fire him this close to retirement, not without bringing him up on criminal charges. Not entirely out of the realm of possibility, however it was extremely unlikely. The Bureau's precious Gem Revelier would suffer too great a blow to his reputation should his closest aide's character become suspect. Special Agent Hall decided he would ride this out just a while longer, and get a little satisfaction for all the misery the Bureau had caused him during his thirty five years of service.

"Are you being funny, Hall?" demanded a scandalized Revelier.

"Not at all. Sir."

"No. You don't even know what that is, do you?"

"I am just in awe of your dominance, Sir."

"I know you are, son," said Revelier with a condescending smile, he was the same age as Hall. "I know you are. But don't worry yourself, Hall. I'll have that vandal scouring the docks at Bureau Outpost on Churchill Drift!" Churchill Drift itself wasn't a bad place, but working at the Bureau outpost on the docks was one of the worst jobs in the Inner System. "Come into my office. We have plans to discuss."

"I'm honored you would discuss even your afternoon tea with me. Sir."

"Of course you are, Hall. Sit down."

Revelier reclined back in his chair and tapped the tips of his fingers together, the light of Earth setting in the window behind him. A hologram popped into view on Revelier's desk.

"CS Marauder," whispered Hall.

"You know of her?"

"Of course," he snapped. "She's the most well-known, and the most decorated, ship of the Fleet!"

"Was," corrected Revelier. With the twitch of a finger the holographic CS Marauder exploded in a bright flash, thousands upon thousands of tiny fireballs soaring off in a perfect circle of destruction.

"What happened?" Hall was shocked. Referring to CS Marauder in the past tense was like referring to Earth in the past tense. It was hard to think of. She'd always been there, protecting the Inner System since the earliest days. "So many lives!"

"A tragedy, that's what," growled Revelier. "A tragedy of incredible consequence. It has been the deepest regret of my career that I have had to notify my superiors about this act of treason."

"Treason?" Hall's mind was piecing together all the possible scenarios. "Who would have that kind of firepower? Surely not a saboteur. Was it another warship?"

"A Commonwealth Marshal."

"A Commonwealth Marshal," repeated Hall dully. He was beginning to see how all this was coming together. Hall knew from the beginning how the Yulia Kharkov case had been swiped from under the Bureau's nose. He knew it could only have been Marshal Heck Thomas and his partner, Deputy Marshal Stephen Doolin. Thomas had a unique connection inside the Moon Service Police. His girlfriend, Laylara Espinosa, had been involved in more than one power play where the Moon Police and the Marshals Service had conspired to keep the Bureau out of the loop.

Hall didn't begrudge them a bit, however. He knew how much of a bully the Bureau could be in these cases and he enjoyed the subtle needling that gave his boss indigestion. But today Revelier wore a mask of shrewd determination and Hall began to wonder how much of a dunce the man really was. Well, whatever the case, Hall knew for a fact that Revelier still thought he was slow-witted which would prove to be a very big mistake on Revelier's part.

Yes, Hall's investigative mind put it together very quickly though he was careful to keep a bewildered expression. They were drifting into dangerous waters, and Revelier did have the power to scuttle the life boat. What is he playing at? If he's playing the game I think he is, he'll sacrifice anyone to get what he wants. Even a thousand Commonwealth Fleet personnel!

"Our vast network of informants has revealed to me the identity of the traitor, the only Marshal on this side of the system was none other than our pal, Marshal Heck Thomas and his deputy, Stephen Doolin."

Hall knew his life may depend on his acting skills so he gradually slipped back into the role of Old Hall, the one who feared his boss might fire him at any moment and take away the only thing he had left in his life. New Hall resented this deeply, but survival was paramount.

"But, why?" he asked, seeming desperate. "To what end?"

"That is exactly what you are going to do for me, Hall."

"Sir?"

"Only the Bureau has the power to arrest a renegade Marshal, Hall. I'm assigning you that job."

"A mission, sir? Surely there are more-"

"Nonsense," interrupted Revelier. "You're my sharpest man. My most dependable agent. No one has come close to the records you set when you were a field agent!"

"Sir, I'm honored that you feel that way. But -"

"Good," Revelier cut him off again. "It's settled."

I'm nearly 60 years old. I'm too old for this! Hall thought to himself. I'll retire, then he can't force me out there. How will I reconnect with my family, my children, now? Hall knew this mission would neither be short in induration, nor short on danger. It was bad luck to take a field assignment so close to retirement. He thinks I'm on to him. He knows I'm on to him and now he's sending me off to -

"You'll leave for Churchill Drift on the Bureau transport in the morning."

"Churchill Drift," he repeated numbly.

"Yes, we've had reports that the fugitives' cruiser, Sixkiller," he veritably spit the name, "was seen at the docks of Portside City, New London District, Churchill Drift."

Churchill Drift was a massive space station that occupied an orbital path in the space between Earth and Mars. It was nearly the size of the US State of Texas in dimension and had a population of millions. Churchill Drift boasted tourist resorts, scientific laboratories, farming communities, corporate headquarters and more. It had its own government with local communities and its own police and defense forces; it even held status as a Member State of the Commonwealth. Situated close enough to Earth and the mining industries on Mars, Ceres, and the Asteroid Belt made Churchill Drift an ideal location for everything. Including crime.

"Wow, that thing is big!" whispered Espinosa.

"Drift Tower has control of the navigation."

"Thanks, Dooly. Nice job."

"Weren't nothing, Heck. They're doing all the work now."

Final approach to Churchill Drift was mostly an automated process. Personnel in various control towers along the Drift coordinated flight paths, takeoffs, and landings, much like air traffic control towers on Earth. When approaching craft reached a certain point near the Drift, the crews generally passed controls over to the tower personnel who guided them along designated flight paths to avoid collisions. And now they were coming to the runway completely in the hands of the tower personnel. It was always a bit unnerving to have such a dangerous procedure taken away from your control, but the prevalence of crashes caused Churchill Drift to take action.

The ride was smooth as glass and Sixkiller drifted almost lazily to the runway entrance where the sudden jolt of leaving zero-gravity and entering Earth gravity jarred Sixkiller severely. Once in the runway tube, the craft decelerated to ground speed then landed gently on a moving platform which drove them the rest of the way to their slip. The yellow lights of the runway drifted lazily by, illuminating large windows where people watched spacecraft takeoff and land with their children.

Finally, Sixkiller reached the slip located in the region of Churchill Drift known as the City of Portside, New London District. The craft was transferred to an elevator and rose five stories before settling into a private pressurized slip, just for Sixkiller. Once docking was complete, the 'garage door' closed and the crew made their way out of the confines of the ship where they had spent the last ten hours.

"Where to, Boss?"

Heck climbed out last, secured the hatch and activated Sixkiller's defense and alarm systems. If anyone tampered with Sixkiller, he would know about it immediately. "Let's find a hotel. I need to get a shower and a hot meal."

"I'm so hungry I could eat the backside of a-"

"Dooly!" Dooly caught Heck's expression and closed his mouth. "A lady is present."

Dooly nodded but gave Laylara a sideways glance as he followed them out of the slip and into Portside, New London.

With their official Commonwealth credentials - Heck had sworn Laylara in as a Deputy Marshal too - the trio slipped quickly through the Customs and Borders Police processing point. Heck and Dooly had been to the drift a hundred times and seen more than they'd ever care to. But for the uninitiated, it could be an overwhelming sight. The creators of Portside had gone to great lengths to create an Earth-like feel. Holographic computers simulated the effects of the sun and sky and artificial weather controls modified the temperature to parallel Earth's change of seasons. Since the founders of Churchill Drift had been largely of Old Earth's United Kingdom, the climate was accordingly dreary. Today it was cool and damp and Heck was glad he'd brought his jacket.

Air traffic was not permitted within the confines of Churchill Drift so the founders created a system of roadways with motorized transports, like those used on Old Earth, to move people about. Finding a taxi stand, the trio stood at the curb of a large roadway and Dooly tried to catch the attention of passing cabbies. Finally a sleek black sedan with a yellow light on top slid up to the curb. The back door opened and the friends were glad for the nicely heated cabin.

"Where to, guv?" asked the driver, with a faint British accent.

"Section Ten. Regency Express Hotel." Heck slipped his Churchill Drift fare card into the slot. The computer accepted his credit and the driver nodded, lurching out into the fast moving traffic welcomed by a string of curses and blaring horns.

Laylara nestled her head into Heck's shoulder and he let his mind drift over the events of the day. Portside gave way to a larger city whose name escaped Heck at the moment and tall skyscrapers towered a kilometer or more into the holographic sky. Massive holographic billboards advertised products and services. Vid screens in the cab blared to life every time they passed by a shopping center or superstore. The illusory sun disappeared behind illusory clouds and a cold drizzle began to fall. The hum of the cab's wipers lulled Laylara and Dooly to sleep, the latter snoring softly.

Sirens blared and a bright yellow and white checkered police car with brilliant blue flashing lights sped by the cab, on its way to handle some emergency; an ambulance followed some distance behind. A red double-decker bus eased up beside the cab as traffic came to a stop, a tour guide could be heard pointing out this place of interest and the history of that particular street corner. The illusion was so real that Heck really felt like he was back on Earth, in the UK on vacation.

He shook his head to clear it.

Ruger missiles, he thought to himself. Only Commonwealth craft have those. Are the criminals using Rugers now? Or, did another Commonwealth craft take out Marauder? No signs of a fight. No escape pods. No distress calls or warning beacons. Nothing. Sabotage, perhaps. Perhaps not.

Heck mulled these things over in his head and compared them to his own knowledge of the criminal activity in that sector of relatively peaceful space. None of the regular small-time pirates had the muscle for something on that scale. Their ships wouldn't even be capable of counteracting the Newtonian Effect of firing missiles in zero-gravity; recoil was mean in space.

No, he thought. Much more likely to be a larger mafia or gang. But who? Surely Kharkov's gang aren't resorting to using Commonwealth arms. What would be the point? If they took out Marauder, they'd use their own guns so everyone knew it was them who did it.

A thought occurred to him with sudden force as the taxi slid to a stop in front of Regency Hotel. He quickly coded a message to his ship's computer from his remote control.

"Your stop, guv."

"Thanks."

Heck poked Dooly in the ribs to wake him up and the three exited the cab. A concierge picked up their duffel bags for them and loaded them onto a hover cart while the computer checked them in. Coded keys popped out from a small device attached to the hover cart and the concierge led the trio upstairs. Dooly went into his room directly opposite Heck and Laylara. Heck sat down at the holocomputer in his room and linked it to Sixkiller's own system using a special private networking technology that only the Commonwealth government had.

"What's happening?" asked Laylara, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"I had Sixkiller's computer run a more detailed analysis of the debris scans."

"What for?"

"Missile signatures."

Laylara draped her arms over his shoulders and gently kissed his ear. The problem was, and Laylara instantly knew it by his lack of reaction, that Business mode was still in effect. Heck just couldn't shake the feeling that they were in danger, though it defied logic to think so. "Heck, remember your promise?"

"Hmm?" he asked scanning the signatures.

"You said we would 'catch up'?'"

"I did?" he asked. Then another warning bell hit him before Laylara could and he said, "Yes! I did. We will." The fire in Laylara's eyes died down, a bit, that is; no woman liked being sidelined. And Laylara had a temper to rival a cornered badger.

"Well?" she demanded, in a tone that really said, "This-better-be-good."

Heck blew out a sigh. This was bad.

"What is it, hun?" she asked, her anger abated. She knew by the set of his shoulders and the tension in his neck that there really was something more serious at hand.

"Those missiles were ours."

"Well, we already knew that. Didn't we?" she asked, getting his drift but hoping she was wrong. "Commonwealth missiles?"

"No. I meant our missiles. Sixkiller's missiles!"

T H R E E

Special Agent Hall had arrived at the docks on Churchill Drift, the irony bitter. He'd had only one evening to put his affairs in order and then it was an awful fourteen hour ride aboard the slow-moving prisoner transport known as the CS Leviathan Hulk. The trip was abysmal even though he was allowed to pass the trip on the officers' deck. It was an old ship that had once served as the HMS Leviathan Hulk, a prison ship in the service of the United Kingdom Space Agency before the Commonwealth was formed. It was a simple ship that orbited the Earth, going from space station to space station picking up prisoners who would spend the rest of their lives in space, never to touch Earth again.

The ship stank of death and decay, though no one had died on board the Leviathan Hulk in almost one hundred years. Hall heard more than one crewman naming the ship haunted, mostly with the souls of her sea-faring namesake from the 1800's, the HMS Leviathan. Hall saw no indication that this ship was haunted whatsoever, but it was a very unclean ship. It ran on fuel mined from the Moon and left a trail of smoke in its wake wherever it went. The residue of that awful exhaust somehow found a way into the ship's air circulation system and nearly everyone serving on her was sick.

When they finally arrived at Churchill Drift, Hall was thrilled to see the docks of Portside City and eagerly gave the Customs Agent his credentials, who waived him through the Outpost. Hall quickly realized he was overdressed for this part of Portside and stepped out to the curb to hail a cab. Marshal Thomas and his partner Doolin were shrewd and quick on their feet. They would have informants reporting the arrival of any Bureau agents in town.

Luckily a cab slid up to the curb and he was inside within a minute of arriving on the street. Chances of being spotted were slim, but the arrival of CS Leviathan Hulk from the Moon would have been noticed.

"Where to, guv?" asked the cabbie in his slight British accent.

"I'm not sure. I need a hotel."

"Convention in town today, guv. Most hotels are full up except for them high class ones, eh? I think the Silverton would do you nice though. Lemme check for you, sir."

Hall nodded and the cabbie flipped on his holocomputer. With one hand he flipped images around and settled on the one he needed. A small advertisement for the Silverton Hyde Hotel floated in mid-air for a moment. Then, the word 'VACANCY' popped into view.

"In luck today, sir!"

"Sounds fine. What's near there?" The cab sped off onto the main highway, welcomed into the flow of traffic by blaring horns and angry motorists.

"A short walk to the cinema, if you like that sort of thing. Shopping, restaurants, Chinatown ain't too far neither, sir. If you like, I can show you a real good place to eat. Took me old mum there just yesterday, I did."

"Is it far from the Silverton?"

"No, sir. Bottom floor of the Regency Express Hotel. Next door to the Silverton, St. Alban's Pub."

"No need to show me then. I'll find it myself. Thank you."

"However you like, sir."

Marshal Heck Thomas was in trouble. Before him stood one of the most dangerous adversaries he'd ever faced, one with very good aim.

"Ouch!" he shouted, ducking as a butter knife sailed through the air and grazed his temple. "Knock it off, already!"

"Don't move, ass!"

"What? I'm not gonna stand still while you throw- damn!" A deftly thrown fork sailed through the air and struck the counter top in the kitchen area of their hotel suite. "That almost got me."

"That was the idea!" she shouted. Heck charged in and grabbed her wrists. If Laylara Espinosa was one thing, she was a fighter. Seeing his charge, Laylara waited for Heck to get in close and slammed her knee into his groin. Stunned, Heck fell to his knees and was rewarded with a stinging slap to the cheek. Open-handed, thankfully.

"I...give...up," he groaned.

"Good. Now that I have your attention, we will talk." She stood over him, glaring at him, eyes red with anger. He looked down at her feet, sucking wind. Then, when Laylara turned slightly to build up her next verbal assault, Heck swung his forearm hard and struck her behind the knee. Her leg now up in the air in front of her, and decidedly off balance, Heck threw himself forward and took her down in a bear hug. They landed on the bed, Laylara struggling mightily, and Heck thinking he was wrestling a sixty-five kilo salmon!

Heck squeezed her until she quit struggling, then squeezed a little more. "Are we done?" he asked, tersely.

She answered him with a look that meant he was, in fact done for; whenever she got free.

"Laylara, please-"

"Save it!" she said, a tear rolling down her cheek. Heck relaxed, she relaxed. "Damn you!"

"I'm sorry, baby. I am."

"I know," she whispered. "I understand. It just always happens like this. There's never going to be an 'us' is there?"

"God, I hope so! I've got nothing else to live for, but seeing you again. As long as you're not trying to kill me with a butter knife."

"Heck, I just have a really bad feeling about this. Something awful is going on and obviously you are target."

"Look, I'm safe for now. Nothing's come through official channels. No orders to return to Marshal Base. No warrant for my arrest." Yet, he added silently.

"That's the worst part, Heck, and you know it," she said passionately, tears brimming. "They aren't going to announce to the world that they are coming after the famous Marshal Heck Thomas!"

Heck dropped his head to her shoulder and said nothing. She was right. They were coming after him, it was only a matter of time. "There is nothing I can do about that," he said softly.

"Yes, there is. We can run!"

"Where?" he asked wearily. "Put your emotions down for a minute. The only place in the Solar System we can go and really hide is the Outer System"

"What about Earth? The non-Commonwealth countries? We could go to Argentina or Chile. The Commonwealth wouldn't find us there."

"They would. They have spies everywhere." He lifted his head and looked her in the eyes. "This has to stop here, before it gets bigger. I have to find out what happened to CS Marauder. I'll wager it's connected to Yulia Kharkov."

"She'll kill you, Heck."

"She'll try."

"When she gets finished with you, I'm going to kill you all over again."

"Baby, I love you. When this-"

She hit him in the gut.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. I've heard it from you a hundred times."

"Good, I'm getting tired of saying it," he said with a grin and kissed her. They lay in each other's arms for a while, each afraid to let go. Each knowing what would happen when he walked out the door. There was a good chance he wasn't coming back. "Check out and go to another hotel. Somewhere on the drift, but far from here."

He handed her a small, palm sized, Churchill Drift holophone. Then he gave her a holocard with a pre-paid holophone number on it. "I picked those up today, with cash. Won't be traceable to me for a while. Call me on this number. Tell me where you are in Portuguese. Numbers only, no names. I'll figure out the rest." He slipped her a credit card pre-loaded with Commonwealth dollars.

"Please," she began as he got up. But she stopped herself. The set of his shoulders told her business mode was on. His emotions were locked away in a deep dark corner of his soul now and she'd never reach them. His face a mask of stone, he turned his head slightly and waited for her to continue.

"Be careful. I love you."

Heck nodded, put his hat on and strode out of the room.

"Hall!" David Hall was sound asleep on his very comfortable bed in the Silverton Hyde Hotel. But for some reason, the annoying voice of his boss was buzzing through his dreams. The incessant voice danced around his ears like an angry wasp and he tried to shoe it away.

"Wake up, damnit!" It was no use. The wasp would not go away. Now he would have to kill it. He sat bolt upright in his bed, hand balled into a fist, ready to smash the annoying creature that was interrupting his dreams.

Then he saw a hologram version of Revelier glaring at him and woke up.

"What?" he groaned. There was no use keeping the charade up.

"Oh, feeling a little insolent are we?" he asked in that condescending tone.

"You would too if you'd been on that sorry excuse for a ship."

"I'm sorry you weren't booked with first class accommodations on Emirates Cruise Lines," he said caustically.

"I'm here."

"And you know why you were chosen."

"Yes, and it wasn't the painting."

Revelier laughed heartily. "No, it wasn't. Solve this problem and you can have your old, cushy job back."

"Fine," he growled. "I'll take care of your problem."

"Mine?" he asked, incredulous.

"If you hadn't screwed with the Moon Police so much, you wouldn't be in this predicament."

"Oh," answered Revelier, amused once more. "Is that what you'd like to call it? Fine. Take care of my public relations issue, then."

"How?"

"What? You can't figure this out on your own?"

"Oh, I can. But I know you better. You've already arranged a meeting with one of your informants."

"Right you are," agreed Revelier. "St. Alban's Pub, Regency Hotel. 1700 drift time."

Hall nodded wearily.

"This stays quiet, Hall."

"Quiet."

"I've put a little pressure on the Marshals Service. That should squeeze our prey out into the open."

The hologram flashed and Revelier was gone.

F O U R

The illusory sun was high and bright over Portside City, creating deep shadows in the alleyways of the drift. The air was cool, damp in this particular alley. Heck and Dooly walked amidst a quiet and dangerous looking group of men. Ragged looking, dirty was their appearance. Yet they had an air of confident ability. Neither challenging, nor taunting; merely capable.

Heck nodded to one man in particular, an old acquaintance.

"Hello, Garret."

"What do you want, Marshal?" came the calm response. Heck knew very well that the calmness of these men did not equal the lack of a threat. They were skilled fighters, these men. Many of them veterans of one military force or another. All of them committed to their organization. Committed and capable. "Ain't no warrants in this crowd."

"That's right. All of you are clear. I need to see Virgil."

"Virgil," repeated the man. "Virgil doesn't want to be seen."

"He will want to see me."

"Reckon he might, Marshal. Reckon he might. But I don't reckon he'll want to see that one."

"Dooly is my deputy. He comes with me."

"Marshal Thomas. Way I see it, I owe you one. The boys here know what you did for me when I was on death row. You knew it weren't right, what they done. 'Cuz of you, my sentence was commuted." The other men nearby eyed the duo carefully, a little more respectfully. "I always pay my debts, Marshal, so consider this payment. He should not be trusted."

Heck looked over at Dooly who looked chagrined and shrugged. Dooly?

Heck, unsure what Garret was talking about, looked back at the man. "Why shouldn't I trust my deputy, Garret?"

Garret stuck a wad of chewing tobacco in his mouth, then spit noisily on the ground, splattering his own boot, all the while never breaking eye contact with Dooly.

"Ain't you heard of the Doolin Gang, Marshal Thomas? The one your grand-sire's grand-sire was responsible for breaking up, single-handed?"

"Every Marshal has, Garret. What's your point?" Heck was getting annoyed, every minute of delay would bring the dogs of the Commonwealth closer to him.

"He's got the blood of Bill Doolin in them veins," growled Garret, his eyes still on Dooly. "Your family has a promise to keep, don't they boy?" Heck turned to look at Dooly. The proof, and the shame, was in his eyes. It was true, he was the descendant of Bill Doolin. Still, what could that mean? How did this criminal know and why was he telling Heck?

Heck knew a lot about Garret McKormick and the Tombstone Gang he ran with. They all haled from Tombstone Drift, another large floating city in space. It was the most lawless place in the system and one that was not part of the Commonwealth.

"How do you know so much about him?" asked Heck, noticing his partner's uncharacteristic lack of an emotional response.

"Why, we're neighbors," grinned Garret. "The Doolin family grudge is legendary on Tombstone Drift. Ain't that so, Deputy Marshal Doolin?" Garret let out a laugh and his crew smirked but did not engage. They were still ready for a standoff, though it seemed to Heck they were focused on Dooly. Dooly smiled a dark smile, the promise of violence in his eyes. A look that Heck knew well. So there was more to Dooly than he realized. Was this one of those moments where his survival sense was telling him something? This confluence of events was starting to disturb to him. And what kind of family holds a three century grudge, anyway?

"Fine, consider me warned," said Heck shaking his head. "I need Virgil."

Garret nodded to one of his men, who departed into the shadows. Then he turned to Heck, "Marshal, you and me're from different worlds. But we are alike in one way."

"What's that?"

"We both know that when something ain't right, it needs right fixin'. Your friend there, needs right fixin.' You did it for me, I'll do it for you."

"Thank you for the generous offer, Garret." Marshal Thomas extended his hand to the man whom he had helped to escape the gallows. Garret took his hand and shook it warmly and nodded at the silent communication that passed between the two. Thomas would take the warning seriously. "But I need Deputy Marshal Doolin for a while longer. Whatever side of the law his ancestors were on three centuries ago, doesn't matter to me now."

"It should, Marshal. It should."

Garret's man returned. "Seems that Virgil wants to see you after all Marshal."

Heck Thomas and Stephen Doolin followed Garret's man deeper into the alleyway, winding through piles of refuse and sleeping vagrants. Finally they arrived at a nondescript door. With a whispered word, the door slid open and the pair left the dark alley behind. Inside was a world of light and warmth and opulence. It was crowded and lively with music and dancing. There were also drugs and prostitutes, but the room was remarkably peaceful. Virgil ran a tight ship.

A few glances came his way but no one took particular notice of the pair of lawmen as they walked through the crowded room. Dooly looked longingly at pretty Asian girl in a mini-skirt at the bar. She looked back at him smiling, her open blouse suggesting a good time would be had. Heck laughed at his partner and the pair continued on.

"How come no one's comin' to mess with us, boss? It can't be everyday a pair of lawmen walks into the lair of Virgil Vargas, Viceroy of the Portside City Domain."

"Everyone already knows why we're here. They know we're here for information, not to arrest anyone," Heck held his breath for a moment as the pair walked through a cloud of blue smoke, the kind that causes hallucinations. The last thing he needed now was a cloudy mind.

Safely on the other side of the crowd he said, "They know my reputation. I don't take on crap cases. If I come after you, you deserve it. If I come after you, I'll be honest and fair and I'll help you figure out how to get your trouble righted without too much pain. They respect me because of that."

"And because you ain't afraid to use your missiles!"

"That too."

"Well, well. If it ain't my pal Marshal Thomas." the baritone voice carried across the room.

Virgil, as the head of his own very successful gang, liked to hold court. So much so that he had a throne room designed just for his meetings with his underlings and those wishing to do business with him. Virgil played the part, too. He was an imposing figure, large framed and black skinned with short hair. He wore a fine suit of dark gray with a white shirt and a royal blue tie. A circlet of gold with a few modest sapphires and rubies adorned his brow. Contrary to the appearance of his back-alley underlings, Virgil paid his men very well.

"Lord Virgil," said Heck respectfully. He and Virgil went back a long way and Virgil was one of Heck's best informants. "You're looking well."

"Thank you. You as well, my friend," Virgil replied warmly. With a nod at Dooly he said, "Who is this?"

"Deputy Marshal Stephen Doolin, my partner." With that the warmth vanished from Virgil's face as Dooly bowed. "Well met, Deputy."

Heck didn't like the fact that so many of these criminals knew Dooly so well. Heck knew Dooly had a spotty past, but there was nothing criminal there. Nothing at all that would have precluded him from going to the Academy and becoming a full-fledged Marshal like himself. A fact that Heck had wondered about, but not given much thought to. Now he was beginning to wonder.

"Guards, clear the room please. The Marshal and I have some business to attend." The gathered throng of underlings and 'clients' looked at Marshal Thomas in awe as they were ushered out by the armed guards; it was very rare that Virgil met with anyone alone.

"I need some help, Virgil," he offered after the room cleared.

"I should say you do!" Virgil exclaimed, stepping down from his throne and urging the lawmen to be seated at an ornate table covered with hot food. "The destruction of the CS Marauder was an incredible feat."

"That wasn't me!"

Virgil was definitely impressed by the destruction, which irritated Heck. But Virgil was a criminal after all, compunction was not a trait well respected in his field.

"I never said it was, Marshal. In fact, I know it wasn't."

Virgil sliced off a piece of a giant stuffed turkey that looked like it was made especially for a Thanksgiving feast. Dooly loaded a plate with hunks of meat and gravy and took an ice-cold beer from a bowl on the table. Heck wasn't in the mood to eat.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence. What's happening?"

"You're being set-up. From the inside." Virgil's sideways glance wasn't lost on Heck.

"How much time do I have?"

"Way I see it, you got about a day before they put you on the most wanted list," Virgil was trying hard not glare at Dooly. "My sources tell me they want to keep this quiet if they can. But not much is going to stop the whole Commonwealth Fleet from hunting you down once they figure out CS Marauder's destruction was tied to Sixkiller's missiles."

"Why do you want to help us, anyways?" asked Dooly, eying Virgil dangerously. Heck could already tell Virgil didn't like Dooly, and that wasn't going to be good for Dooly's health if he kept on questioning.

"The Marshal and I have an understanding. And I am not helping you, I am helping the Marshal. If you want to leave my kingdom alive you'd do well to remember that, Stephen William Doolin!" Dooly flashed a dangerous look at Virgil but Heck put a hand on his partner's shoulder.

"Easy, Dool. Virgil is a friend." Dooly settled down and contented himself to downing another beer. Heck noted Virgil's emphasis on Dooly's middle name, another subtle warning about his partner. "And, if I'm wanted, you are too.

"Virgil, I hate to admit this. But, I've never been in this kind of trouble before," Heck said, genuinely disturbed. It was a bad feeling going from one of the Service's best Marshals to the most wanted list. "I'm not sure how to proceed."

"You know there's always a place for you in my kingdom," he jested.

"Thanks, but I need to clear our names."

"Well, I can't do that for you. But I can help you escape Commonwealth notice," Virgil stopped eating for a moment as one of his men entered and whispered into his ear, then departed. "Heck, how long has it been since you left the Regency?"

"A few hours, why?" The dark man's skin seemed almost pale at that moment. "Why, Virgil?"

"Call Laylara," was all he said. Heck whipped out his holophone and called the one he had given to Laylara. The holophone beeped in that strange way that all phones did on Churchill Drift, before it was answered. Relief flooded through him when the holophone clicked on. Then dread filled him when an accented voice answered.

"Tak?"

"Where is Laylara?" Heck demanded in his intimidating Marshal's voice. He didn't notice at the time, but later he would recall Dooly hadn't seemed surprised.

"Ah, Marshal Thomas," the condescending voice seemed happy to Heck, making him angrier.

"What have you-"

"Spare me," the voice interrupted, a female voice. "Your girlfriend's life is important to you. Tak?" Heck's heart was racing. What had he gotten her into? How was he going to get through this? Kidnappings almost never went well in situations like these. Business mode.

"Fine," he said, emotion dropping away. "What do you want, Yulia?"

"Ahh, you begin to see. Good. I am in control, not you. If you want to see your pretty khokana again, you will dispense with your lawman talk, tak?"

"Fine. How do I know she isn't dead?" There was a muffled sound on the other end and the holophone was passed to someone else.

"Tell her to stick it, Heck!" came Laylara's feisty voice.

"Lay-"

"She is alive. For now, tak?"

Heck wanted to nothing more than to kill this woman. Forget bringing her to justice, he was going to kill her.

"You will do three things for me, Marshal Thomas. Three. Or you will find what's left of her carcass strapped to your cruiser."

"Enough threats, Kharkov! Get on with it!"

"Tak. First I need some enriched uranium, five kilos to be exact."

"Hell, is that all? I've got that in my cruiser!" he answered in his best smart-ass voice.

"Good," answered Kharkov. "Because you have one Earth-day to deliver it to Ceres Drift."

"Damn. What do I do after that?"

"We will call you. Do not delay, Marshal. You are wanted for destruction of CS Marauder and the murder of its crew. Such a terrible act of cowardice!" the holophone clicked off, the remnants of Kharkov's cackling laughter echoing in his mind. Heck swore softly, Kharkov knew about CS Marauder. Had she done that? Where did she get his missile signature?

"What do we do now, boss?" asked Dooly. Heck eyed him, analyzing, wondering. None of his missiles had disappeared. How had she gotten the signature? It didn't matter now. He had to get Laylara back.

"We get some enriched uranium."

"Damn, Thomas!" exclaimed Virgil. "You just going rogue, then?"

Marshal Thomas looked away from his partner and gave Virgil a serious look. "Yes, and I need your help."

"Me? How the hell am I supposed to get you enriched uranium?" he demanded as Heck smiled. "You know that isn't used anywhere but on certain Commonwealth spacecraft!"

Heck kept smiling.

"Yeah, boss. How is he going to get that?"

"Because Virgil is the king."

"Well, I suppose it might be I know someone who knows someone," he said, a smile playing at his lips. "The problem is, my person won't transport something like that. You're going to have to go and get it yourself."

"Fine. Sixkiller can store it safely in its vault."

"Good." Virgil nodded and tapped a button on his table. Then a hologram of a person appeared. "Xenon! How are you?"

"Cut the crap, Virgil," came the staticky response. "I'm busy, what do you want?"

"Let's say I have a friend who needs something you can supply. Something in warehouse five, perhaps?"

The hologram was silent. Heck couldn't see any identifying features of the person, but he doubted the image was anything but an avatar anyway. These guys were too smart to put their real faces over the comm waves.

"Then I'd say you're out of your mind. No way."

"It's very important, Xenon. Name your price."

Heck was taken by Virgil's words. Virgil hadn't stayed alive and been successful by being generous. Yet he was risking a lot for Heck Thomas right now. He looked at Virgil questioningly, but Virgil waved him off.

"Name it, Xenon. I don't have all day."

"How much are we talking about?"

"We need enough to fill one of my armrests with."

Dooly looked at Heck questioningly. Heck just nodded. They were talking in codes that only the two of them understood.

"Ten."

Virgil exhaled deeply. "Seven."

"No bargains, Virgil. Ten."

"Fine," nodded Virgil, this was going to be very dangerous. Heck wondered how he was going to pay Virgil back. He put the thought from his head. He'd come and work for Virgil as a bodyguard for the rest of his life if it meant getting Laylara back safely. "Ten it is, Xenon. Where and when?"

"You know where. As for when..." Xenon paused. "Seven," drifted Xenon's voice as the hologram clicked off.

"Do you know where Alamo Drift is, Heck?"

"Alamo Drift?" demanded Dooly. "That's a deserted reactor from two centuries ago. Unstable as hell!"

"And," said Heck. "Exactly where we might find five kilos of enriched uranium."

"What do you think they want with that, boss?"

"I don't know," he sighed. "There are far better and safer ways of creating nasty weapons without using enriched uranium. That practiced died out nearly a hundred years ago."

"I've been hearing rumors about the Ryevolutzia, Heck." The lawman looked at Virgil, question in his eyes. "Have you heard of the wormhole?"

"Between the Asteroid Belt and Jupiter?" Heck responded. Virgil nodded in response. "It's a legend, a myth. No one has ever proven it's even there."

"Right," said Virgil. "The word is that Ryevolutzia has scientists that have proven its existence and are preparing a device that will control it."

"That's ridiculous," offered Dooly, wiping beer from his chin.

"Maybe, Dool. But maybe that is why they need enriched uranium."

"It all but disappeared after that failed expedition through the wormhole centuries ago. It was outlawed on Earth and you can only get it now by scavenging abandoned drifts, or from some rogue nation on Earth. Even then, it's rare. Terrorists won't even touch the stuff anymore."

"That certainly adds a piece to the puzzle, Virgil."

"We'll talk about how you're gonna pay me back later, Marshal. For now, take these cards." Virgil handed Heck some small vid cards. "Those are your new identities and a data card that will mask Sixkiller's vapor signature and change her comm signatures. Good thing she's unmarked."

Heck nodded. His stomach twisted as he took possession of the cards, his life was gone. He was about to become an outlaw, one of those men hunted by people like himself. He'd never be Marshal Heck Thomas again. Ever. He looked at Dooly.

"I'm in boss."

Of course he was. Then he angrily reminded himself that he shouldn't be angry. Cold and calculating, that's how you win. "Thank you, Virgil. I may just take you up on that job offer after this is done."

Virgil laughed, heartily. "Like hell you will, Heck."

"Like hell I will," agreed Heck Thomas.

David Hall climbed out of the cab on Baker Street and closed the door. He walked along the sidewalk in the dreary overcast day, head down but peering this way and that from beneath the brim of his hat. He was angry. Angry at himself for being duped by Revelier's shrewdness and angry at Revelier for being, well, himself. Just when Hall had finally decided to stand up to Revelier, the sneaky little man duped him into a terrible assignment.

Hall read all the reports from informants working on the drift. Something smelled funny to him. Why would someone like Heck Thomas all of a sudden go rogue? What sense was there? He guessed that some of the reports had been doctored, probably by Revelier. But why? To get back at him for stealing a case from the Bureau? That hardly seemed a logical response, even for the vindictive Revelier. No, there was a piece missing here.

Hall nearly tripped over a bum lying on the sidewalk, "Sorry, pal." He stepped over the man and then something caught his attention. The way the man was laying down, sprawled out. Most street peddlers would have had a basket or a cup, asking for coins. One arm was twisted under him, awkwardly. His neck was bent oddly, even though it was covered by an old news holotablet.

He bent down and moved the holotablet. Sure enough the man's neck wasn't broken, but was definitely in a position no living person would assume. Turning him over, he saw a bullet hole in the man's chest, blood staining his brown leather jacket. The clothes were finely made, not likely to be found on any established vagrants in Portside. Hall's mind raced, but he had a duty to see what was happening here, and at least notify the authorities. Sirens blared in the distance and he suspected he wouldn't need to call them. Even though it went against every fiber of his police officer's being to disturb a crime scene that wasn't his, Hall decided to check the man's wallet.

He quickly slipped the ID vid out and into his pocket, then stood up. He retrieved his own holophone from his pocket and dialed 999 to get the police. As he suspected they were on the way already. Odd, considering no one around seemed to even notice the man was there.

He stepped back away from the scene and decided to leave before the constables arrived. By the time the police had located the scene, Hall was two blocks away. The city's surveillance sensors would have recorded his presence but he knew how to change his identity easily enough to avoid any confrontations. He ducked into a nearby fast food joint, mingled in the crowd and casually tossed his hat into a waste bin. He ordered some food from the counter and walked to the back where he set it down on an empty table and proceeded to the rest room. When he came out, he had a mustache and had reversed his outer and undershirts. He was wearing a jacket someone had left unattended on a hook in the restroom.

Hall left the restaurant and walked quickly away as a pair of constables entered. He wondered why he let himself get sidetracked. He glanced at the dead man's ID and stopped cold. That was the informant he was supposed to meet! His heart raced and he cursed himself for a fool. He had just tampered with evidence, left the scene of a crime, eluded police, and stolen someone's jacket.

What does all this mean?

His holophone rang. He looked at the caller identity, it was Revelier. Against his better judgment, he answered it.

"Yes?" he tried to sound casual.

"Don't 'yes' me, Hall!" barked Revelier. "What the hell did you do?"

Hall hesitated. How had he known anything happened at all? Revelier was supposed to be far away, on the Moon.

"Something happened to the contact, sir."

"Heck Thomas happened."

"How-"

"Don't ask, Hall. Plans have changed. Marshal Thomas is now wanted for murder by the authority of Churchill Drift for kidnapping a Moon Police detective, and on Commonwealth charges for murder and for the destruction of Commonwealth property. Heck Thomas has gone dark."

"Wait. What detective?"

"Laylara Espinosa, Moon Police Service. She met with Thomas and Doolin not long after the bank job there, ostensibly to help the Marshals track Yulia Kharkov."

Hall was silent. This was all moving way too fast. Wasn't Espinosa his girlfriend? What could he gain by kidnapping her?

"You did the right thing, Hall."

"What?" he asked, bringing his mind back to the present.

"Staying low. Staying out of the local investigation. That was wise."

"You're monitoring Churchill Drift, aren't you? We don't have authority for that-"

"Stow it, Hall. This is bigger than that. Commonwealth Security Clause allows us to intercept comms, even from subordinate authorities."

Hall had been wondering when Revelier was going to pull that card. Revelier had high connections in Commonwealth government, even within the Intelligence Directorate. It was only a matter of time before that happened.

"As I said, you did the right thing. We can't get bogged down in the bloody trail Heck Thomas leaves behind him. We have larger concerns."

"Sir, if you could only tell me what they are. I might be able to help you more," pleaded Hall.

"Better if you don't know. I'm working this from every angle. It should suffice to say that Thomas must be brought in. Keep working on leads there, I'll direct you when I learn where he's going."

"Why would he kill the informant?"

"Isn't it obvious, Hall?" Revelier asked in that condescending tone. Hall already knew the answer, he just wanted his boss to say it. "Thomas and Doolin knew we would be coming to talk to their source. So they killed him. Dead men, Hall. Dead men..."

The holophone clicked off and Hall continued on, avoiding authorities wherever he could. He grabbed a taxi and hurried back to his hotel to clean up and change his appearance. Then he slipped out and checked in to another hotel, all the while wondering what Revelier was up to; and how Revelier expected Hall to find out anything at all on the drift. Sure, he had a list of some of Thomas' known informants. But a good cop never disclosed his best ones. Doubtless, Thomas wasn't visiting any of the petty informants on Hall's list. And it was even less likely Hall would kill a bottom-rung con like Billy Campbell, whose list of crimes included retail theft, gambling, and rum-running.

Disgusted, Hall tossed his holotablet on the bed. Maybe I shouldn't ask. Maybe I just follow along blindly, like Revelier wants. Then I can retire and find my family. But Hall rejected those thoughts as they entered his head. That was the Old Hall. New Hall was disgusted with the way he had been acting and was determined to end his career with some backbone. He was going to have a hard enough time breaking down the walls between himself and his children, how would they feel if they knew what kind of person he had become? Didn't he want his family to take pride in the work he did?

Knowing what had to be done, what needed to be done, Hall decided to act. To catch a fugitive you had to think like one.

F I V E

Thomas strapped himself into Sixkiller's pilot seat. Business mode was engaged, but it was hard to stay on task. He found himself constantly battling to knock back the perpetual questions. What was going on? Why was the Commonwealth targeting him, and why now? Too many coincidences for his liking, which only reinforced his distinct lack of belief in matters of coincidence.

"Ready?"

"Ready. All signatures disguised," said Dooly.

Heck nodded in return, engaged the launch sequence, and braced himself. The automated controls of Churchill Drift gently carried Sixkiller along the corridor to the runway and deposited the craft there. Ten amber colored lights turned off, one by one, marking the countdown to launch. The final light, green, turned off and Sixkiller hurtled forward along the runway, catapulted into open space beyond.

Heck righted his brain, aligned his holographic instruments, and set on the course for Alamo Drift. Then an explosion rocked Sixkiller and sent the cruiser into a deadly spin, careening off into deep space and away from their course. Heck shook his head, barely aware of a stream of curses from his partner signaling that Dooly was alive, and fought the ship for control. Holo gauges and gyro spheres were spinning wildly and all of space seemed to be roiling around him.

Another explosion rocked the craft.

"Dooly!" he called through clenched teeth, fighting for control of the craft.

"I'm trying!" he answered. "Hold still so I can shoot, dammit!"

The automatic correction controls began to kick in, firing engine bursts at the precise moments to augment Heck's efforts at stopping the deadly spin. A hoot from Dooly told Heck that someone was paying for this mistake.

"Pirates!"

"How many?" Heck growled as the craft finally came back under control. His holo scanners populated the enemy positions in space relative to his own craft and he veered toward the nearest enemy cruiser, particle trails from missiles streaking past the bow.

"Two now."

A small red triangle racing around his sensors showed Heck that Dooly was trying desperately to lock onto one of the two pirate craft while Heck pursued and dodged missiles at the same time.

"Damage?"

"Two reactive armor plates damaged, that's all-" Dooly paused a moment then yelled, "Yes!"

"One left?"

"One left. Correction, one fleeing."

"Ok. Enter the course corrections, we need to get to Alamo Drift."

"Uh, boss?" said Dooly, his voice quiet. Heck pulled up the long-range sensors.

"Damn," he whispered. The holocomputer flashed seemingly random images of ships, big ships, on the screen in front of him. Then it stopped, leaving one image suspended before his eyes.

"Trouble."

"Is that CS Revenge?" came the question, the very quiet question.

"Uh huh. All stop and go quiet, please."

Heck hit an emergency All Stop command on his holodisplay and Sixkiller quickly came to a halt in space, floating. Dooly reached back and hit a switch over his head which cut all systems off, including gravity and life support. Everything went dark except for a pair of glow strips on the overhead which needed no power to illuminate the cabin. A can of compressed air drifted across the zero-g cabin to Heck's waiting hand. He quickly donned the mask and breathed in the stale, malodorous air.

"Damn it, boss. That's the baddest ship in the Fleet!"

"I know it."

"She's three times the size of CS Marauder! What do we do?"

"Nothing we can do. We sit. She's on patrol. Maybe looking for us, maybe not. She's big and very, very bad; but she is also very, very, old. Our long-range sensors are probably better than hers. She may not have seen us."

"What if she has?"

"Then we're dead. She'll launch a hundred fighters to overwhelm us, then grapple us."

"Then she'll board us."

"Right. So, best stay dark. Hope she hasn't seen us," Heck said calmly. Inside, he wasn't so calm. Business mode was about to be overrun by Panic Mode. Every minute wasted here was another minute off the clock, Laylara's clock. "How far off course are we from her?"

"If she kept on the same course she was on before we cut power, and if she doesn't see us, she'll pass over top by fifty kilometers."

"Fifty kilometers," he whispered. "A long way, but not long enough to avoid a sensor sweep."

"If she's sweeping," offered Dooly hopefully.

"Bet on it, Dool. The Fleet knows about us by now, and they're gonna want revenge. They're sweeping."

Dooly sat in his chair, shivering. Space got cold very quickly when life support was turned off. Heck pulled a pair of blankets from a compartment near his feet. He balled one up as best he could and shoved it, sending it drifting across the cabin to Dooly. Then he wrapped himself up and waited.

"Dool," he said quietly. "Engage Emergency Power-up Protocol when I say and not a second before."

"Ok," he said between shivers. "What's that do?"

"Just be ready, and hang on."

Heck watched Revenge drift closer and closer through the cockpit window. She was almost directly overhead.

"Ok, we are going to be picked up on scans any second now."

"And then all hell breaks loose!"

"Only if they ID us right away. Our hull numbers are facing away, so they can't read them. And the signature mask works off the plasma shields, which need no power to operate."

"That won't fool her for long."

"We don't need long. We need long enough."

"I see," said Dooly as the Heck's plan appeared in his head.

"Ok, Dool. On three," said Heck.

"One, two, THREE!"

Dooly slammed the red switch on the bulkhead behind him and Sixkiller's systems all burst to life at once, including the propulsion system. Two seconds later, Sixkiller was hurtling away from CS Revenge at full speed. That desperate move would cost them dearly, but Heck didn't want to think about that now. He had to escape. Sixkiller was shaking violently from the strain of such rapid acceleration, hull beams were groaning and the engine was running very hot.

"Whoa! Revenge is coming about!" called Dooly. "I'm getting lit up with a crap-load of long range missile locks!"

"Don't worry," said Heck calmly.

"Don't worry," mimicked Dooly in a childlike voice. "The baddest ship in the Commonwealth Fleet, CS Revenge, is after us and he says, 'don't worry'!"

"Are they fighters, or long range cannons from Revenge?"

After a moment of computer analysis he said, "Definitely not fighters."

"Good. We're going to outdistance them. Scan Commonwealth frequencies. Have they identified us?"

Dooly engaged the communications scanner so both could listen in. Luckily, the Fleet had yet to change their encryption codes.

After a few minutes, the pair determined that Sixkiller had not been positively identified. Revenge only saw an outline of an unidentified cruiser with an indistinct signature. Revenge transmitted a 'look-out' report to the rest of the Fleet and resumed her original search for a fugitive Marshal's cruiser. Sixkiller.

"That was too close, Heck!" growled Dooly.

"Yeah, it was. Put us back on course for Alamo Drift. How much time do we have left?"

"Twelve hours."

Heck nodded grimly. They had wasted a lot of time activating their disguises, fighting pirates, and dodging the Commonwealth Fleet. Luckily, Alamo Drift wasn't far away. They'd be there in one hour at top speed. He didn't want to risk crippling Sixkiller's engines by maintaining that speed so he powered down to normal speed bringing their arrival time to just under two hours.

The time drifted unbearably slow for Heck Thomas. There was little to do except monitor long and short range scanners for collisions or the approach of anyone who might want to do them harm.

"Tell me about Tombstone Drift, Dool."

Dooly looked up from the floating holograms in front of him, a shrewd look on his face. "Nothing to tell," he said, returning to his work.

"Why is it that Virgil and his men seemed to know more about you than I do?"

"Maybe you outta do better background checks," growled Dooly.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You tell me, Heck. Why are you interrogating me?" Dooly was angry, very angry. Heck had seen that look in his eyes before; he was on to something here. But what? Dooly could simply be protecting something about his past that he wasn't proud of. But was it criminal? Or was it emotional?

"All right, Dool," conceded Heck. "You're right. I was outta line,"

"Damn right it was," he grumbled, somewhat mollified.

"Let me ask you more politely."

Dooly looked skeptical.

"Would you mind telling me about your family's connection to the Doolin Gang of the 1800's?"

Dooly let out a big sigh, accepting Heck's question for what it was.

"Ain't much to tell," he began. "Late 1890's, Old West, USA, my ancestor was part of a gang."

"The Doolin Gang," offered Heck.

"The Doolin Gang. It was one of the most dangerous, most violent gangs in the history of the United States. Bank robberies, train jobs, cattle theft, murders, lynchings, it was all the same to them. Their leader, Wild Bill Doolin, was responsible for killing fifteen lawmen; US Marshals, deputy sheriff's, policemen, and even a Pinkerton Detective."

"In 1893 US Marshal Ed Nix formed a task force of over a hundred lawmen to hunt down and kill the Doolin Gang. Over the next ten years all of the Doolin Gang were hunted down and killed in gunfights with lawmen. None were taken alive."

"Bill Doolin was killed in the Oklahoma Territory, 1896, attempting to escape capture by a trio of Marshals calling themselves the 'Three Guardsmen.' They were Marshal Chris Madsden, Marshal Bill Tilghman, and Marshal Heck Thomas."

"Dang, Dool. I had no idea you were related to Wild Bill Doolin. Man the history between our families-"

"Is nothing to be proud of!" Dooly said passionately. "Bill Doolin had more kids in more towns than he could count, but my line runs through Bill's brother, Ned. A nobody deputy sheriff in a nobody town. Everybody thought he was in Bill's pocket because Bill didn't kill him.

"Maybe he was a coward for not going after his brother. Maybe that made him a hero among his own clan, the Doolins. No one really knows. But the Doolin Clan soon forgot about Ned Doolin and old Bill was idolized. A mafia of sorts sprang from Bill's loins that started in the West and reached into Chicago, Boston, and New York City in the 1920's."

"Over the centuries, Doolins and their extended family were part of every kind of crime ever conceived. Back when Tombstone Drift was established, my more recent ancestors went there looking for more ways to get into trouble. My old man was one of the worst criminals you can imagine. He was a hit man for the new mafia on Tombstone Drift. And he was good. But one day he pulled a job that ended his life," Dooly was silent for a moment, lost in thought. Heck didn't disturb him. Then he spoke, "He killed my baby brother."

Heck didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything. He just waited for Dooly to continue.

"My dad, William Doolin, shot and killed my brother, Ned Doolin." Heck was amazed at how Dooly's family could have stayed involved in crime for so long. And worse, commit fratricide.

"You wanted to know why Virgil knew so much about me? Because I killed William Doolin! I killed that son-of-a-bitch! The most famous killer on Tombstone Drift; I killed him."

"I see," said Heck. "I'm very sorry, Dooly."

"Don't be," he replied harshly. "Don't matter anyway."

"Sure it does. You honor Ned's memory everyday by fighting for what's right and being the lawman he aspired to be. There's honor in that, Dool."

Dooly said nothing. Heck didn't push it. Now he understood. In places like Tombstone Drift, anyone on the side of the law was not to be trusted - unless they were on the payroll. Which may have been Ned's problem. Perhaps Ned had a backbone, and his old man had to go and break it for not being loyal to the family? When a man like Dooly goes against his family, and the criminal culture of his homeland, he's viewed as a traitor. Not to be trusted. Yet, Virgil trusts me. Maybe it's because all I've ever been is a lawman. It's what they expect me to be, what they trust me to be.

He shook his head at the irony.

"Alamo is coming into long-range scans," said Dooly, all business.

"Ok. What's our best approach?"

"Hard to say," he paused. "There is a field of debris around it. Looks like Alamo's been used as a bone-yard for old ships."

Heck digested that and pulled the long-range scans up on his holodisplay. There was indeed a debris field, a massive debris field.

"Can't use auto for this one, boss."

"I was just thinking the same," murmured Heck. "Gonna have to do this solo."

"Virgil said to link up with his contact at Platform Ten. That appears to be on the stern. Section Alpha Five."

Heck slipped Sixkiller in and out of the debris field with much more ease than he'd expected. There was a lot of debris but a path seemed to have been partially cleared that he was barely able to squeak through, with only a few bumps along the way. Heck was suspicious at first, but realized that the criminals operating on this radioactive waste-heap needed some way to get in and out.

Alamo Drift loomed large in front of them. Though not nearly as large as Churchill Drift, it was far older, Alamo was an eerie sight. It had been officially abandoned by the United States government in the late 22nd Century due to the inability of the government to control the radiation and the abundance of deaths attributed to radiation sickness. So the drift was turned loose near the Asteroid Belt and forgotten. That is until technology, and crime, caught up with her many years later.

Alamo was dark. Depressingly dark. But there were some signs of life. Small craft moved to and fro, a few intrepid scavengers walked on tethers around the surface of the drift fixing this or taking that. The drift itself was not inhabited, there was far too much radiation for that. But its basic life support functions had to be maintained for the salvagers and criminals who ran various enterprises from its strategic location.

"Notice anything about those worker pods, Heck?"

"Yeah. None of them are near Platform Ten. Nothing there but high levels of radiation."

"Rad suits?"

"Yep, Virgil was nice enough to update the protection levels. Said he'd been here a time or two," offered Heck wryly. "Patrol craft?"

"Nothing. Not even a Gesellschaft patrol. Those guys are always up to something out here."

"Maybe they're busy rescuing little old ladies who've fallen and can't get up," quipped Heck.

Both men laughed heartily at the idea of Gesellschaft doing anything nice.

"I'm glad they aren't here. I'm not in the mood to deal with those wack-jobs right now."

"Rad sensors going haywire," commented Dooly as they approached the platform. Heck glided Sixkiller slowly over the dark platform, ready to switch on his infrared vision when two very dim landing lights appeared and guided him in. Heck landed Sixkiller gently on the platform between the lights and a conveyer belt which guided them inside a massive sally port. Once inside, the sally port hatch closed hard, jarring the men inside their craft.

"Radiation countermeasures on?"

"On."

"Ok, let's suit up and get some atomic sludge."

S I X

Heck and Dooly stepped out into the dimly lit chamber. The artificial gravity systems on Alamo weren't very good even during its heyday, and clearly hadn't been improved. The pair bounded along through the cavernous chamber, sailing through the air in great leaps, and Heck assigned the gravity scale to about .3-gravity. That was roughly one-third the gravity of Earth and equal to that of the moon before terraforming and artificial gravity advancements.

"You're having way too much fun, Heck!" Dooly's voice clicked on the comm system in his helmet.

"Yeah, right. Now where is our man?" Heck drifted to a stop and landed gently next to Dooly. The pair was facing a large hatch that looked like it opened by a power mechanism and should slide from left to right. It was heavily stained with carbon deposits and any writing there may have been had faded over time. "Think it works?"

"Ahh, Herr Thomas!" clicked a voice over his helmet comm. Heck looked sharply at Dooly, who shrugged, and the pair looked around with their rifles at the ready.

"Who's there?" answered Heck. Someone had hacked his comm frequency.

"Do you not remember me, Herr Thomas?" came the smooth voice, accented slightly in Earth German.

Gesellschaft!

"Can't say as I do."

Dooly looked panicked. Gesellschaft were a gang of criminals who had control of large asteroids, a dwarf planet, and several drifts. They had an armed force the size of a Commonwealth Fleet infantry division. Nobody picked a fight with Gesellschaft that didn't have an arsenal at their disposal; and Gesellschaft rarely picked a fight they couldn't win.

He wanted to head back to Sixkiller, but the clock was ticking. Laylara had less than ten hours to live if he didn't come through.

"You injure me, Herr Thomas. We are old friends you and I. Why have you come to my drift?"

"Your drift?" answered Dooly, nervously looking to Heck for a plan and nodding forcefully toward Sixkiller. "So very, very, sorry Sir Gutentaag. Sir. Didn't know it was yours. We'll just be on our way, now."

"No, I don't believe you will," came the maniacal voice. Heck knew they were in deep trouble. But the question was: where was the trouble coming from? Within, or without? "And my name is Frederick Von Schwarz. Herr Thomas was kind enough to provide me with shelter for fifteen years on a Commonwealth prison hulk. Isn't that right?"

Dooly cast Heck a furious look. "You arrested Frederick Von Schwarz? Frederick the Black?"

Heck shrugged and looked back at the hatch. Von Schwarz and his goons were clearly not near enough to kill them, which meant they were probably on their way in short range assault craft. Heck pointed a small remote control at Sixkiller and armed the Phalanx system, there was enough in his fuel reserves to sustain Phalanx operations continually for two hours. The incredible drain of energy would result in the loss of seventy-five percent of his fuel cell stores. But Heck was looking at his future in terms of surviving the day and saving Laylara. Then Heck turned back to the hatch and began manipulating something that Dooly couldn't see, but Heck motioned him to keep talking to Schwarz.

"Uh, look. Mr. Black, sir. We are really, really, sorry about that. I think Marshal Thomas regret's sending you to prison," he finished lamely.

"I will personally see that he does, Herr Doolin. And you as well. You see, I always repay my debts!" the voice drifted off into maniacal laughter.

Heck lunged at Dooly and the two sailed ten meters through the air, landing harshly on the deck. But not as harshly as they would have in Earth gravity. It was then that Dooly saw the gaping hole in the hatch where they had been standing; Heck had blown open the door! The silence of the vacuum on Platform Ten prevented Dooly from hearing anything outside the comm signal in his helmet. He nodded his thanks to Heck, but remained silent. The pair got up and Heck led them quickly through the open hatch into the darkness beyond.

They walked silently down the darkened corridor. Due to the low gravity of the drift, they were able to move very quickly with little effort. It was apparent to Thomas now that Virgil's contact didn't actually have possession of the enriched uranium. Nobody did, because this part of Alamo Drift was disputed space. Meaning it was very likely that right now another gang was on its way to assert dominance over the uranium enrichment facilities. Perhaps even two or three rival gangs. It was going to get very crowded on Alamo Drift.

Lacking any other information, Heck went in whatever direction the rad sensors showed was strongest, hoping that would be the place to find his uranium. As luck would have it, the direction he needed to go was straight ahead. The pair came to a point where the rad levels neither strengthened nor weakened and Heck had to maneuver around for even a tiny fluctuation in the signal strength. Dooly aimed his rifle down the passageway the came from, waiting for signs of pursuit. None came.

A tiny increase in signal strength appeared on the screen of Heck's rad sensor when he lowered it toward the deck. He looked around quickly and spied a hatch in the deck. He strained against the stiff lever of the hatch until finally it lurched open. Heck lowered his sensor into the shaft and confirmed that the signal was emanating from below and dropped into the shaft.

Dooly wasn't overly fond of drop shafts like this but he didn't think there was much choice. Gesellschaft soldiers were going to overwhelm them very soon and he didn't want to be captured by those maniacal men; not alive anyway. Dooly hurried to the opening and dropped down after Heck.

Heck landed gently at the bottom of the shaft and surveyed the area. It was dark, darker here than one level above. He flipped his goggles' infrared vision system and was able to navigate by the glow of infrared light strips. The wall markings were clear here, and he was grateful they were in English. This drift dated back before the Commonwealth, to the early days of space colonization and habitation. There were people from all over Earth trying to make their fortunes in the remote operations of Alamo Drift; the markings could have easily been in Chinese.

He was in a small chamber with a hatch in each direction. The one directly in front had the universal radioactive hazard placard on it and that was where the rad signals were strongest. About the time he opened that hatch, Dooly dropped in behind him breathing hard. Dooly quickly activated his infrared vision and Heck motioned for continued silence, though nothing more could be heard on the comm system. The pair entered another long corridor which ended in a sally port. There was atmosphere and pressure beyond. Heck hesitated, but there was nowhere else to go and no other way to get there.

In they went.

On the other side of the sally port the pair emerged in what must have once been a hospital ward. It was arranged very much like any other hospital yet its purpose had been singular, treating radiation sickness. Neither of the men trusted that the atmosphere and the rad signals were still very high. Taking off their helmets was out of the question, though Heck always found it easier to think and move without the darned thing on.

As they moved down the hallway, Heck began to see what Gesellschaft's interest here was. He looked into one of the patient rooms and saw a corpse strapped to the bed and that corpse wasn't old. There were open sores and caked blood all over the body, the sheets were discolored and stained, and there was blood on the floor. Each room they passed possessed a corpse of its own, in various states. Some had sores, other had open cuts. Some had incisions, others were missing limbs. One or two seemed a hodgepodge of mismatched limbs, not unlike a Frankenstein experiment.

The experimentation rooms of the Gesellschaft.

Heck grabbed Dooly by the shoulder and held up a hand of warning, Dooly's heart rate was climbing; the grisly scene and the danger creeping up behind them was getting to him. Dooly nodded, but Heck could see fear in the man's eyes.

They continued on down the passageway, not stopping to look in any more rooms, until they found a large hatch of reinforced steel. It took both of them to get the hatch open and they were rewarded with being knocked off their feet. The pressure difference between the hallway and the chamber on the other side had been very great. Getting up, Heck noticed an odd reading on his life support monitor. Radiation inside his suit was climbing!

His heart raced with the realization and he had to force himself to calm. The suit must have been damaged and the rad shielding was not holding up. Or the rad forces on this miserable drift were just too impossibly high. Either way, panicking wouldn't help. There were a few hours left before radiation poisoning would be irreversible. He had to focus on finding the uranium.

Heck entered the chamber while Dooly stood guard outside. This room was full of pressurized lockers, each marked with a radiation hazard placard. Each one had a different element written on it.

Damn, which one is uranium? And is any of it enriched?

He looked around from locker to locker examining each sign, trying to remember what kind of uranium he needed. He saw several lockers marked with a 'U' but some had numbers: 234, 235, 238... and so on. Reasonably sure that uranium was indicated by a U, Heck just had to figure out which number was the type he needed. Karkov hadn't been specific.

"Have my little thieves found what they are looking for?"

Heck took a deep breath and focused. He didn't want to turn off the comm system, because he could at least try to read his opponents; for what that was worth.

"Have my little creations scared you?"

Heck glanced dangerously at Dooly, he could tell by Dooly's bio signs that he was very close to talking. If they didn't transmit, then it would be harder for Black to find them. He nudged Dooly to get his attention and warned him to silence. Then went back to work. All the way to one side, on ground level, was a locker with an unusual marking. It read, 'U-999.' And that rang a bell. Suddenly he remembered that U-999 had been discovered and mined on a dwarf planet called Liber, and some of the larger bodies in the Asteroid Belt nearby, during the early days of Alamo Drift. But scientists soon learned that this strange new element had some very frightening properties.

"They will..."

U-999, even in very small amounts, had bizarre and unpredictable effects on the laws of physics in its immediate vicinity. There had been reports of severe mental trauma, even on those shielded from its influences, and perceptions that time and space were being altered. The wormhole. That's why Kharkov wants U-999, to power her wormhole device. And she knew that Gesellschaft had some. The woman was clever.

Heck used his holophone computer's hacking capabilities to send a signal to the computerized locker controls, and the locker opened; he was thankful that no one bothered to update the simplistic 21st Century technology. Hacking it took a few minutes longer than blasting it would have, but he had no idea what effects an explosive charge would have on the radioactive material. He had no idea what enriched uranium would look like. Luckily, the U-999 came in nice tidy little bars which he slipped into a radiation-proof container and strapped to his back.

He stepped out into the corridor with Dooly and nodded down the hall the way they had come, Time to go!

Dooly nodded agreement and the two eagerly made for the hatch at the far end of the passageway, twenty-five meters ahead.

"Have you met them yet?"

What the hell is he talking about? Heck wondered. The Gesellschaft were creepy, diabolical and evil. He knew better than to ask Black; anything that man had in store for them was going to be very unpleasant. Maybe that was why they hadn't pursued yet.

"You won't escape, little thieves. My pets will see to that!" again the voice drifted off with diabolical laughter. Heck's survival instincts were on high alert, he looked back and saw a person standing there. Then another person shambled out of one of the patient rooms and stood by the first. He bumped into Dooly who had stopped for the same reason: there were people in front of them.

Heck was grateful at that moment that he was only seeing these people in the somewhat dull vision of his infrared systems, and even that was bad. They were corpses. The same walking, rotting corpses they had seen only minutes before, seen lying atop hospital gurneys in various states of decay! Heck pulled his rifle to his shoulder and fired, thankful that the corpse-things were not carrying weapons.

Dooly, armed to the teeth, fired a shotgun designed for close-quarter combat on spacecraft. It was terrible at long range, but great in a narrow corridor. One blast from that shotgun and three of the five shambling figures were missing their midsections. Much to Dooly's horror, the things slowed but did not stop their advance. Heck was noticing the same problem. There were at least five advancing on the pair from behind, and three of them now had perfectly placed bullet holes in their foreheads; but they kept coming.

"Having trouble, Herr Thomas?"

Heck's mind was racing. Dooly's weapon was having a better effect, tearing off limbs and blowing off gobs of flesh. But the creatures were still advancing. He quickly grabbed a pair of stun-grenades from Dooly's belt and rushed toward the first corpse. Using his rifle like a fighting stick, he very quickly jammed the barrel of the rifle into the first creature's head. The rifle sank into the soft forehead, bringing gobs of brain matter and flesh out with it. The corpse-thing took a swing but it was clumsy and Heck ducked to the side, keeping the first creature between himself and the others. As he fought, he realized that the greatest threat these creatures possessed was their intimidating appearance, and the threat of radiation sickness; they were slow and obviously being controlled from elsewhere, with no mind of their own. Heck surged forward into the waiting arms of the first corpse-thing, taking by surprise whoever was operating it. He bowled into the thing's shambling friends and found himself amidst a putrid heap of flesh and limbs. Then, shoving a stun grenade into the open body cavity of the first corpse-thing, sickened by the amount of putrid slime that poured from its innards, Heck leaped away in the low gravity and landed near Dooly.

The explosion from the stun grenade in such close quarters created a powerful shockwave that knocked Heck and Dooly into the writhing mass of bodies ahead, and toward their exit. Heck rolled off Dooly's back and thrust another grenade into a gaping wound in the chest of the nearest corpse-thing. He grabbed Dooly by the shoulder, grateful for his greater strength in the lower gravity, and leaped over the shambling mass on the deck. Dooly trailed along behind, firing at everything that moved or wiggled, and reloading with lightning reflexes.

The stun grenade exploded, ripping apart its victim, and causing serious injuries to the other corpses, though they didn't know they were injured. Their tactic worked. Dooly and Heck were able to reach the sally port hatch at the far end of the passageway and seal it behind them as they passed through. Heck leaned up against the hatch, thankful that the suits they were wearing had protected them well enough from the concussive force of the stun grenades. He hadn't thought about that possibility when he threw the first one. A fragmentation grenade would have worked better, but would have killed them all.

Then a scratching and pulling sound from behind the hatch warned the pair that the corpse-things were not dead. Dooly punched the controls that depressurized the chamber and the second hatch opened. Dooly grabbed Heck and pulled him through, shutting the hatch behind him. Heck punched in a few commands on the sally port control, allowing the inner hatch to open, then overrode its systems. The atmosphere from the room of horrors was being vented and would soon be a vacuum. He didn't know if a vacuum would do anything to the corpse-things, but it sure was pleasant to think about them exploding into pieces.

When they reached the shaft that led up, Heck put his foot in Dooly's hands and lurched upward in the low gravity. He grabbed onto the lip of the hatch above and swung himself up and through. Dooly pulled himself up right behind Heck and the two were running down the corridor toward Platform Ten and, they hoped, Sixkiller.

When they reached the damaged hatch they stopped and took flanking positions on either side, switching off their infrared vision in the slightly better light of Platform Ten's hangar.

"So, you escaped my pets. Ya?" came the voice in their helmets. "I hope you did not hurt them too much, they are merely children after all!"

Heck saw Dooly's eyes, the man was ready to lose his mind. He shook his head at Dooly, forcefully, reminding him to be quiet lest the Gesellschaft home in on their signals. Then he peeked out into the hangar area of Platform Ten and all appeared to be well. Sixkiller was there and the Phalanx system was armed and operational. The computer systems from Sixkiller reported no attempted intrusions. He nodded toward Sixkiller and the pair moved out, cautiously, weapons ready.

Heck was nervous. Where were those blasted Gesellschaft? It wasn't at all like Frederick Van Schwarz to remain on the sideline. Sooner or later the man would appear with his thugs. Sixkiller greeted them with an open hatch. Heck went in first and Dooly followed close behind. The outer hatch closed and Heck placed the box containing the U-999 inside a locker specially designed to store highly dangerous radioactive fuel cells without danger to the crew. The technology behind the material lining that locker was cutting edge and had been installed only last year when the Marshals Service outfitted their fleet of cruisers to operate with the new, highly efficient, yet highly radioactive, fuel cells.

"You think they're afraid of the uranium?" Dooly asked what Heck was thinking as the two decontaminated themselves and jettisoned their rad suits.

"Maybe so. I don't like to look a gift horse in the mouth, we should get outta here. Fast!"

"Right on, boss."

As soon as the pair was properly decontaminated they got into their seats and readied for takeoff. They could see the debris field floating in space beyond Platform Ten and Heck was optimistic that they would make their deadline. But he just had a funny feeling about the Gesellschaft.

"It just ain't like them to give up, boss," called Dooly. "I expect a world of trouble once we clear the platform." But Heck didn't answer, not even a growl or a harrumph. Then Dooly looked over at Heck and saw what had his attention.

"There's that world of trouble I was talking about..." Dooly said quietly.

"Gesellschaft!"

S E V E N

"Nothing like looking down the barrel of a gun," whispered Heck as he flicked the Phalanx system back on.

"Held by a maniac with an itchy finger," Dooly grimaced. "Or, about thirty maniacs in this case."

"Thirty-one, actually."

"Funny," said Dooly.

"We're about to die, thought I'd lighten the mood."

"Why ain't they firin'? I wanna kill some of these 'superior' bastards. How many you think we can take 'fore they get us?"

"None," said Heck, his mind elsewhere. Dooly had a point. They weren't firing. Perhaps they were afraid of the U-999. Heck smiled, much to Dooly's discomfiture. He had a plan.

"We're gonna go now," said Heck.

"Just like that?"

"Just like that," he replied. "I believe they're afraid of our cargo."

"What if they ain't?"

"Then we have a problem."

Heck glided Sixkiller toward the squadron of Gesellschaft fighters. They were mean looking. They were sleek and long and painted in stripes of black and gray that made them look like a bizarre hornet.

"Hi fellas. Don't mind us. Coming through."

Heck piloted straight at the fighter that he assumed was carrying the squadron commander. As Sixkiller drifted closer and closer, Heck began to doubt his plan. It didn't look like the Gesellschaft fighters were going to make way for him. But neither did it look like they were going to attack.

Then a flash of light from above and the streak of smoke announced one of the Gesellschaft had opened fire.

"Nice plan boss!" Dooly shouted.

"That's wasn't part of the plan!" he returned taking evasive maneuvers as Dooly unloaded on anything that moved. Before long the entire area was criss-crossed with smoke and vapor trails, it was almost impossible to see.

"Dooly, I need-"

"More trouble, boss!"

"What now?" he demanded, trying like hell to avoid missiles and cannon shot. Fragments from exploding Gesellschaft fighters and debris from the drift pelted Sixkiller's hull. Yet somehow they weren't taking very many hits.

"Another fifteen assault craft, big ones, are out there now. And they're firing!"

"Hell!" Heck turned Sixkiller back toward Platform Ten with the intention of locking himself inside the drift and taking his chances with the corpses that weren't carrying weapons.

"Sensors have been scrambled, Heck! I can't see a thing! Get us back to the platform!"

Shockwaves generated by explosion after explosion, above and below and all around, rocked Sixkiller through the deadly space around Alamo Drift. It seemed to go on forever and it was all Heck could do to avoid being slammed into the side of the drift by the powerful forces. More than once an unknown object careened off Sixkiller's hull, or engines, even the cockpit. Heck was just trying to survive whatever battle they'd been sucked into, for it certainly appeared that there were two opposing forces at play. But what were they fighting over?

Then the fighting stopped.

"Sensors still offline?"

"No," said Dooly amidst the chimes of his holocomputer. "They just came back on."

"Nav systems?"

"Back online."

"Good. Set a course away from this drift but close to a long-range comm station. We need to call Kharkov."

"What's out there, anyway?" asked Heck, keeping his cruiser tight alongside the drift so as to attract little attention.

"Scanners are still trying to identify. Got ten of 'em, whatever they are."

Heck allowed Dooly a few precious moments to get all of the systems back online and ready for departure. Fuel was low due to the excessive use of the Phalanx defense system, but they had enough for one fast-burn of the engines to get away from Alamo drift as quickly as possible. Then they would have to find someplace to get more fuel cells. And that was going to be a challenge since he was now, technically, an outlaw.

"Ready, boss," said Dooly amidst the glow of floating holographic gauges and data streams. "But whatever you do, do it quick like."

Heck let out a deep breath, as he stared at the smoky haze that seemed to be concealing them. "They're all around us, aren't they?"

"It's hard to say due to all the debris from blown up ships, and the radiation, and the vapor trails; but it does look like they're all around us."

Heck nodded and Sixkiller very gently coasted away from Alamo drift. If his own sensors were limited, then so were everyone else's. After a few seconds of free drifting away from Alamo, Heck steered Sixkiller slightly up toward the topside of the drift. Rising gently in the cloud of still moving smoke and debris, Sixkiller's ascent was fairly well disguised. Finally, when they reached the upper levels up the drift, Sixkiller slowly floated free. Smoke and residue spilled off the cruiser's hull like water as it cleared the cloud.

When Heck looked out at what was before him, hope slipped away.

"I thought you said there were 'ten,' Dool," Heck said quietly.

"Hell."

A massive cruiser nearly the size of the CS Marauder, and just as heavily armed was just beyond the cloud and oriented directly at Sixkiller. A swarm of smaller fighters and cruisers hovered protectively around the larger craft, all of them oriented on the cloud that Sixkiller had just risen from like an alligator raising his head above the murky waters of a swamp for a breath of air.

"Forty-five."

"What?"

"Forty-five," said Dooly lamely. "If you were...wondering."

Heck grunted and gave his friend a half smile.

"Think there'll be zombies in there?"

Heck laughed, casually engaging Phalanx defense system.

Then the great spacecraft, armed with missiles the size of his own cruiser, drifted slowly forward toward the lawmen. A large bay began to open and a bright light from inside the hangar beamed out into space, helping to illuminate the plethora of well-armed ships that could now see Sixkiller very clearly. But the rays of light illuminated something else, a red flag with the Soviet hammer and sickle emblem painted on the hull of the great warship.

"Ryevolutzia flagship," whispered Dooly in awe. "The Stalin."

"You just love giving me data late, don't ya?" Heck said wryly, grinning all the same.

"I reckon we don't need to make that long distance call after all."

It didn't take an astrophysicist to figure out what Ryevolutzia wanted, so Heck complied. He drifted Sixkiller gently into the open bay, braced for the sudden transition to full gravity, and set Sixkiller down in the hangar. As the bay door closed, the hangar was pressurized and a squad of heavily armed soldiers in black and red armor and uniforms filed in.

"Let's go meet the welcoming committee," said Heck as he unstrapped and stepped over to the hatch. Dooly was right behind him as he walked down the ramp and touched his feet on a deck that wasn't bleeding harmful radiation. Well, he reminded himself. This is a ship from the old socialist alliance....communist bastards.

A woman with jet black hair and a beautiful oval face stalked around the squad of soldiers. She wore a long coat, not unlike the leather trench coat Heck was fond of, with a pistol strapped to her thigh and a short-barreled rifle slung across her back. Her dark glasses prevented him from seeing the color of her eyes, but Heck already knew that; ice blue.

"You have uranium, tak?"

"You have Laylara, tak?" he quipped back at her. She wasn't amused. She raised her hand in the air and a large vid screen on the upper level of the hangar flicked on. Laylara was standing there, looking completely pissed off but otherwise in good health.

"How do I know that isn't a recording?"

"It's not a recording, Heck," said Laylara, her voice echoing through the cavernous hangar. "Tell them to eat it!" That earned her a cuff from whatever guard was standing nearby. But she took it well and spit at the feet of whomever her captor was.

"You see? She is alive. Impudent and a little worse for wear, tak? But alive."

"I'm gonna get you outta here, baby-" Yulia waved her hand and the vid switched off.

"Touching," she said, indicating she thought it was anything but. "Considering you only gave her two hours to live. Now, where is my U-999?"

"In there. Port side, in the radioactive fuel cell locker." Yulia nodded and two soldiers wearing rad suits stalked past the lawmen, giving them a scathing glance. "Hey, Ivan and Igor! Port side means left!" he called out in as snide a voice as he could manage. Then he realized they probably don't speak English anyway. Waste of a good insult.

After a minute the pair of well-disciplined thugs marched out carrying Heck's radiation locker between them.

"I'm sorry," he quipped. "I should have warned you it was heavy. I know how you Russian's have trouble with heavy things." Then there was a loud crack and, belatedly, he realized it had been made by Yulia's gun striking him on the head. Stars danced in his vision as he stared up at Yulia's shapely legs from where he landed on the deck. Then, realizing her booted feet were too close to his head he rolled over and got up, slowly.

"We-are-not-Russian!" she said vehemently, threatening to strike him again. "Ukrainian!"

"Right, right. Ukrainian. Got it."

"I knew that," offered Dooly, smirking at Heck. "I knew that."

"Tell me, Kharkov. Why didn't you just go and get this thing yourselves?"

She smiled, a dark and dangerous expression on her face.

"The great Marshal Thomas doesn't know?" Kharkov was enjoying patronizing the lawman, especially with a squad of armed men at her back and his girlfriend held hostage. She reached for his face, patted his cheek and said, "We didn't want to get our hands dirty with Von Schwarz' little toys."

"You didn't know where it was. You needed my informant network to help you find it. If there was one place in the Inner System where Ryevolutzia doesn't have any teeth, it's always been here on Alamo Drift."

"And you Key-evers hate them Kraut Gesellschafters don't ya?" said Dooly, grinning. "They got a bigger fleet than you and they'd love to blow your Key-ever asses out of the System! Which reminds me. Should you be going? I mean the Krauts might be coming back soon."

"Gesellschaft has been largely defeated. Thank you for luring them into the open for us. It was very imprudent of them," she said in her best silky voice. Then she added, "You should be more prudent as well, Mr. Doolin. Marshal Thomas is capable of flying that cruiser without you."

"Feel free to pistol whip him, Kharkov," said Heck, grinning at Dooly. But Kharkov didn't rise to the bait. "So. What's next for your little wormhole device, Kharkov?" he said rubbing his head.

"You will like what is next, Marshal Thomas. Or should I say, Outlaw Thomas? You've left quite a trail of destruction behind you."

"Get on with it Kharkov. Or should I say, Ruskie?" Kharkov glared at him but didn't strike.

"I need information. Information that only one person in the System has."

"Oh yeah? Who's that?"

"Doctor Thaddeus Uzefski."

Heck stared at Kharkov, hard. How was he going to get anything from Uzefski?

"You can't be serious."

"I have no time for jokes, Thomas. Uzefski has something I need. You will bring him here."

"Here?" he exclaimed. "Here? You want me to fetch the most famous astrophysicist in the Solar System, out from under the nose of the Prime Minister of the Commonwealth, and stroll on back here?"

Kharkov did not respond. She simply glared at him.

"And what would you like from me after that? Shall I pull a faster-than-light engine out of my ass?"

Kharkov swung her fist at Heck's head, but Heck saw it coming and stepped into her swing. He blocked her punch easily and threw her arm out wide. Before he could do anything else, the soldiers all drew the rifles and took aim at Heck. Dooly stepped back quickly with his arms up.

"Hey! Easy, now," said Dooly. "Let's be reasonable and point those things at Heck Thomas. He's the one who offended your lady-friend."

"I think you are going to die, Thomas," whispered Kharkov, her face next to Thomas' ear.

"I think you need me, Kharkov. Or else you'd have done all this dirty work yourself. Call off your dogs," he said, shoving her back. Kharkov said something in Ukrainian and the soldiers lowered their weapons. Kharkov gave him a look that held a promise of violence to be repaid.

Kharkov turned on her heel and paused, "Twenty four hours, Marshal." Then she stalked away.

Heck Thomas watched the maniac and her soldiers vacate the hangar.

"Here we go again," grumbled Dooly. Heck nodded in agreement as the pair climbed into Sixkiller and prepped for launch.

It was time to engage business mode.

E I G H T

Special Agent Hall of the Commonwealth Bureau of Investigation turned off his holophone. He knew, somewhere, his boss was cursing him. Perhaps he was even angry enough that an 'accident' might be arranged on Hall's behalf. He smiled grimly at the thought, perusing data files at a computer station in the Marshals Service headquarters on Palace Drift.

David Hall was a good cop, and Revelier knew it. But Revelier wasn't counting on something, and that was Hall's unwillingness to bend to his master's will of late. Revelier was Revelier and he would think that he could find a way to intimidate or browbeat Hall into doing what his boss wanted. Not anymore. Hall knew that something big was happening and it involved Special Agent In Charge, Gem Revelier.

Hall had been the lead agent in the Technology Crimes Division of the Bureau for most of his career, before being scooped up for administrative work by Revelier. In his youth, Hall had been a bit of a vigilante hacker. Eventually he got bored with only seeing one side of the data streams and wanted to become part of something more adventurous. In his late teens he enlisted in the Commonwealth Fleet. Due to his incredible technological skills and his brilliant mind, Hall had been quickly recruited by the Fleet Intelligence Directorate and was put to work in the Signals Division. Signals Division monitored communications of all types to detect threats to the Commonwealth, and developed cutting edge encryption algorithms to protect Commonwealth communications. But there was something else Signals Division was well known for: designing - and breaking - every technological security protocol and standard used by the Commonwealth government. From there it was a straight path to the Commonwealth Law Enforcement Academy and on to the Bureau.

As he sat in front of the holocomputer, Hall's conscious wrestled with what he was about to do. Not for fear of getting caught. No, Hall had no doubt about his skills to disarm the security features and access the virtual tunnels to higher systems that many did not know existed; or denied that they did. Rather it was the fear of what he might find. Anything Gem Revelier was involved with could, easily, go to the highest levels of government. If that were the case, there would be little he could do stop whatever was coming. Eventually, patriotism outweighed prudence and self-preservation. Were there any ideals of more importance than that?

Hall didn't think so.

Within seconds he'd established a dummy data stream running programs and applications pertaining to the financial and economic trends of the late 21st Century; a topic so incredibly boring he needn't worry about shoulder surfers peeking at his business. A few seconds more and he was accessing the hidden tunneling protocols that were not supposed to exist, which led him to hidden computer systems that were not supposed to exist.

Before his eyes lay a virtual desktop with seemingly innocuous virtual file cabinets. Some of these little cabinets had virtual drawers that popped open when he tapped them with his finger. Hall wasn't fooled by the names, they were neither innocuous nor randomly generated. Each name was a complex cipher. To any person who hacked this far into the system, these cabinets and files would be utterly meaningless without the key that would allow them to decode the names. Then, there would be self-destruct defenses in place should the cipher be cracked improperly. Finally, the data itself would be encrypted and further hidden within layers of truly innocuous data.

Hall knew all this because he'd helped to design it. He knew the key to the cipher, he'd created many of the self-destruct defenses, and he'd personally written the algorithm used to encrypt the data. In minutes he was inside the virtual cabinet containing a file called Centaurus Expedition. Of course, the file wasn't titled so until he'd broken through all the defenses and encryption. He remembered creating this very cabinet so long ago when he was a youth in the Commonwealth Fleet writing protocols; he hadn't been allowed to read any of the data, of course.

When he'd examined the data on the dead informant's holotablet, buried very far down, he'd found obscure references to a wormhole. At first Hall hadn't given it much thought. Wormholes in space had never been proven to exist. When Revelier revealed that Marshal Thomas had helped the Ryevolutzia gain control of Alamo Drift, Hall was shocked. Everyone knew that Gesellschaft was using it to conduct their illegal mining operations. Admittedly, Gesellschaft was an anomaly. No law enforcement or intelligence entity had ever successfully penetrated Gesellschaft beyond the lowest levels of the organization. So a true understanding of them was lacking. Gesellschaft literally meant 'Perfect Society.' The goal of the group was to create a super-race from the stock of certain ancient Earth bloodlines. It seemed that being a true sociopath with sadistic and cruel tendencies was a requirement for membership, along with being from whatever 'pure' gene pool they thought appropriate. Their initiation rights were so barbaric and brutal that many didn't survive them. And no one wanted to volunteer to spy on those crazy bastards.

With Alamo Drift's inhospitable location, deadly radioactive waste, and alleged haunting, the rest of the criminal world was content to leave it to Gesellschaft. As had the Commonwealth.

Hall thought it was curious that Ryevolutzia was interested in taking that away from Gesellschaft, so he decided to research the drift's history. And what he found was utterly useless. Strikingly useless, in fact. It was so useless as to make Hall think that perhaps that was the intent of whoever created the files pertaining to it. After hours of scrutiny, Hall had found only one cabinet that seemed suspicious enough to possess hidden data. When he cracked a new file he found obscure references to an element called U-999, which had been the focus of the mining operations of the ancient drift. The data were incomplete and there were many gaps. There wasn't enough information there for him to understand anything beyond the obvious; the U-999 was being mined to study its effects on wormholes. But no one had ever seen a wormhole or proved that they existed beyond science fiction novels and movies.

Until today.

Revelier had enough data in his 'secret' virtual cabinets to fill in all the holes. The early years of space exploration had been driven by the desire to move Earth's population beyond our solar system. The fear was that the population would outgrow the planet and its resources triggering war, famine and destruction. Along with the movement to seek naturally occurring resources within our solar system was a project whose goal was to explore and colonize worlds thought to be habitable by the space telescopes of the 21st Century. It was a commonly held belief, and all the history books supported the belief, that all such experiments had failed.

What Hall was reading now, however, seemed to dispute those long held truths. A great experiment, called 'The Centaurus Project,' had been conducted in a suspicious area of space located between the Asteroid Belt and Jupiter. It had been called 'suspicious' because several space telescopes had recorded the inexplicable appearance of two asteroids from that location. These asteroids seemingly appeared from nowhere and subsequently disappeared into nowhere. The event had been classified at the highest levels of all the governments involved at the time.

Unmanned expeditions to the region confirmed the suspicions of scientists that something was very bizarre about that place. Scientists began to theorize that perhaps the anomaly was a wormhole, a place where time and space joined physically and theoretically allowed one to travel vast distances in brief moments of time. Several manned expeditions followed where data was collected but scientists had been unable to force the wormhole to open. Finally, a discovery had been made that enriched uranium seemed to trigger noticeable effects on the wormhole but failed to control it. After experimenting with various forms of uranium, scientists learned enough to theorize a way to operate the wormhole; at least enough to cause it to open. And what they needed was a form of uranium with very specific properties, one that was as yet undiscovered.

When discoveries of naturally occurring variants of elements found on Earth were made in the Asteroid Belt; officials in charge of the Centaurus Project watched very closely. Finally, government forces took over one particular mining operation from a drift called Alamo Drift.

Hall sat back a moment and pretended to rub his eyes and stretch. No one was paying him any attention. He dwelled a moment on what he'd found. Clearly, Ryevolutzia found the connection between Alamo Drift and the Centaurus Project. How they knew was something of a question. Perhaps the Ukrainians or Russians had been part of that project, neither of those nations had ever been very good at keeping secrets. Another possibility, one which Hall wished fervently wasn't true, was that someone sold the information to the Ryevolutzia. That was unlikely due to the very high level of security, and low level of knowledge surrounding the information. But, once something entered a person's head, it could easily exit their mouth. So however distasteful it was, Hall had to admit the possibility. And the only person he knew of with the knowledge was his boss, Gem Revelier.

It didn't really matter at this point, however, as Hall's goal wasn't the indictment of his boss. Right now he had to see where this plot went and what its purpose was. In any case, a functional wormhole device could easily shift the balance of power in the solar system. In the hands of a rogue state, or a non-Commonwealth state, the very existence of the Commonwealth could be threatened. Hall envisioned warheads equipped with wormhole devices that could cause a target to disappear into a void of time and space. He didn't know if such a thing were possible, but he knew that he couldn't be the only person thinking it.

He continued reading.

The Centaurus Project advanced in leaps and bounds with the discovery of various forms of uranium. Each experiment seemed closer to having success with actually manipulating the wormhole. Experiments in other areas where there had been no suspicious activities yielded results encouraging to the project staff. It seemed that the wormhole effects could be manipulated in places where there were no known wormholes. Finally, the introduction of the newest element discovered yielded the results that the project staff really wanted. The wormhole could be manipulated at will. The new element was uranium 999, or simply U-999. It was given this strange designation due to the unbelievable array of never-before-seen properties it possessed. The element had the potential to affect standing matter, to manipulate time and space, to disturb gravitational fields and more. But it had a terribly negative side effect: intense and deadly radioactivity.

The counter radiation technology of the time was sophisticated enough to withstand the powers of U-999, but only for short periods of time. Large amounts of money were spent on endless replacements of radiation suits and plating. Casualties were reported as being too horrific to disclose and corpses had been launched into space to prevent further destruction. Hall found that bit of information odd.

Not wanting to be bogged down with minutia, Hall scanned the data for more pertinent information. Finally he found it.

Two spacecraft named after the famous Mars rovers of the early 21st Century, Spirit and Opportunity, were built and equipped to enter the wormhole. Due to the incredible nature of the Centaurus Project technology and the bizarre effects of U-999, the mission remained classified at the highest levels. Scientists estimated that the spacecraft would emerge from another wormhole near a planet located within the Centaurus Constellation. Centaurus had the distinction of possessing the nearest star to Earth, Proxima Centauri, which had been thought to be devoid of habitable worlds. But imagery captured by deep-space probes bearing powerful telescopes revealed new possibilities for habitable worlds.

Hall shook his head at that, even today the fastest spacecraft could barely attain one-quarter the speed of light in short bursts. With the fears of impending global devastation at the time, it was no wonder governments were eager to see how this technology played out. If they couldn't use it to travel the stars, perhaps they could use it to wipe out their enemies in the coming armageddon.

Immediately after Spirit entered the wormhole, all contact with the ship had been lost. The same had been true of unmanned expeditions through the wormhole prior to this point and so this was not unexpected. What they had hoped was that the large crew could travel through the wormhole and conduct experiments and record data from the planet beyond and return one month later using the wormhole device. When a month had passed without contact, Opportunity was tasked with going through the wormhole after Spirit to rescue the crew and return with the necessary data.

Opportunity failed to return within the allotted time as well. Hall read that several more manned ships were sent through the wormhole, along with a number of probes and satellites, but nothing ever returned. Finally, the casualty rate and odd effects from exposure to U-999 coupled with the loss of the explorers, caused the Centaurus Project to be shut down. The terrible side effects of the element known as U-999 had been determined to far outweigh the positive benefits. All of the government entities involved deemed it best that the Centaurus Project and U-999 be forgotten.

The project was deemed such a failure that all of the equipment, data, space craft and the wormhole devices, were jettisoned through the wormhole to be forgotten. And at about the same time, breakthroughs in terraforming and artificial gravity made the need for manned extra-solar exploration unnecessary. The project was dead.

Until now.

Hall backed out of the virtual cabinet and searched around Revelier's other cabinets for anything that might cement the connection. He felt like he was wasting his time and risking apprehension for treason for nothing. Certainly the Centaurus Project amounted to a record-breaking cover-up, but it had occurred before the existence and jurisdiction of the Commonwealth. There was no one alive today who had anything at all to do with it.

Then Hall did find something suspicious. It was an official report from Moon Police Service regarding the bank job that triggered this entire fiasco. There wasn't anything strange about the file or its name, other than that it was odd for it to be so heavily safe-guarded. Hall decided to read the report to satisfy his curiosity and end the session. But when he read the report he was shocked to the core.

That's it! He'd figured it out.

"Is everything OK, Agent Melrose?" Hall's heart lurched in his chest, as he looked up into the questioning eyes of a Commonwealth Marshal.

Sixkiller floated out into space beyond the behemoth ship owned by Ryevolutzia. Heck and Dooly watched the beast drift slowly by until it was out of sight. Mafia patrol craft, having won their little turf war with Gesellschaft, remained in the area of Platform Ten, Alamo Drift. Presumably the patrol craft were there to retain their claim on the hellish place while Ryevolutzia moved its personnel, supplies and defenses into place.

Heck watched it all numbly. He had been so close to Laylara, on the same ship even. But he'd been so caught up in the moment, in keeping business mode running, he hadn't really thought about Laylara all that much. And that thought upset him. What was happening? Was he becoming an unthinking, unfeeling, machine? No, deep down he felt very strongly for Laylara. But he never allowed himself the time to explore those feelings, to see where it led and what it all meant.

And now there was every possibility he might never see her again. He might not have the chance to really see what 'us' was all about. What the attraction was to settling down, getting married; having kids, even. All of these things buzzed into and out of his head while he sat, unmoving at the controls.

"Boss," said Dooly.

Dooly. Stephen William Doolin. Descendant of the head bastard of the Doolin Gang. And here he was partnered with Heck Thomas, descendant of the lawman that killed Bill Doolin. Heck had to admit moments of doubt about Dooly, especially when Virgil and his gang of criminals seemed to know so much about him.

"Yes," he answered.

"Time to go."

Heck engaged the drive systems and piloted Sixkiller away from Alamo Drift, and away from the pain in his heart.

"How do we know where to find Uzefski?"

"The First Minister of Science will be where he always is: the Palace of the Prime Minister."

"The Palace of the Prime Minister?" Dooly said, incredulous. "As in the Prime Minister of the Commonwealth?"

"That would be the one."

"The one with an entire regiment of troops guarding it?"

"Yep."

"The one with an array of orbital and ground defenses missile batteries?"

"Yes."

"With a combat carrier full of nasty attack craft on patrol around it at all times?"

"One and the same."

"You're crazy. How are we gonna get him outta there?"

"The first question is: how are we going to get in?"

"Do you have a plan?"

"Not yet."

"Yes, Marshal DiNova. I'm fine," he answered hurriedly, trying to sound nonchalant. "I'm sorry for taking up your time, I'll wrap it up now and leave."

Hall cursed himself for a fool, he'd completely lost track of time and had forgotten that he was borrowing someone else's workstation! Although he had been a top notch investigator for most of his career, Hall had not needed to do much undercover work on his own. Most of his arrests came from skillful suspect and witness interviews and good evidence collection. He was unused to assuming someone else's identity and he hoped that the mistake wouldn't cost him.

The Marshal left the area, but didn't go far. Presumably he was waiting for Hall to shut down the computer and leave. Hall did exactly that, but left a few decoy trails in place in the event someone decided to analyze Marshal DiNova's system browsing habits, particularly Marshal DiNova's apparent use of Commonwealth computers to operate a side business of selling data to non-Commonwealth states. Hall managed to figure that little tidbit out in the first five minutes, and he had not been looking. DiNova wasn't a true traitor, the data he was selling was insignificant and unclassified. But a crime is a crime. And it would serve as a nice distraction in the event some of his snooping had been linked to this holocomputer station.

Hall left the Marshals Service Headquarters disguised as Special Agent Melrose without a second thought. He wandered down the long palm tree lined sidewalk in the comfortable artificial light of Palace Drift, his mind gone astray with the information he had just learned.

Now it makes sense!

Hall was in a complicated position. He now knew the nature of the sinister plot that would shake the foundations of the Commonwealth, and he knew who was involved. His evidence was sketchy, however. And if he reported any of it he would be immediately arrested. That would only make matters worse. Not to mention that as soon as word got back to Revelier, the self-destruct systems protecting his data would very quickly be engaged. Hall made certain to make backups of the data he read in Revelier's computer files, but that still wouldn't excuse him from the crimes had had committed to get that data.

He needed something more tangible, more damning. But the only way he could think of to get it was to capture a conspirator in the act of treason. He mulled over exactly how he planned on doing that when he came upon a large crowd of protesters violently clashing with each other. Riot police stood guard at the periphery, knowing better than to get in the middle when the protesters seemed only to be hurting themselves. Hall decided to take another path and continue to work through his plan in his mind.

If he was going to stop this plot, he had to find Heck Thomas.

The Palace of the Prime Minister of the Commonwealth of Spacefaring Nations was an impressive fortress. It was guarded by a host of military forces from the ground, from space and in the air. It was protected by a variety of cutting edge weaponry including orbiting satellite missile batteries and regular patrols by Commonwealth ships like CS Revenge, CS Stalker, and CS Retribution.

But the most interesting part of the Palace was that it was a drift; a drifting space station that was, like Churchill Drift, a country unto itself. It was the most luxurious drift in the Solar System and only the most affluent could afford to live there. Ministers of Parliament, department directors, Cabinet Officers, high ranking military officers, lobbyists, and corporate executives lived on Palace Drift. It was also the home of the Commonwealth Houses of Parliament and all the functions of Commonwealth government were carried out there.

Before Palace Drift was Palace Drift, it was a large drift housing the communities that supported and outfitted the forward mining operations in space. Over the years it had been rebuilt and refurbished. But deep in the bowels of the drift was the one place no one liked to go: the prison. Marshal Heck Thomas had been to Palace Drift a number of times picking up or dropping off prisoners, participating in judicial hearings, and attending official functions of the Marshals Service. The Marshals Service used Palace Drift as their prison hub, where fugitives from across the system were brought and held for processing, court hearings, and sentencing.

"This is your plan?"

"Yep. You got a better one, Dool?"

"Well-"

"Then shut up and play along. We've both been here before and we know the layout."

"Do I really have to do this?"

"No. You can leave now if you want," said Heck with no trace of animosity. Dooly heaved a great sigh. He wasn't leaving.

"Speak up, Dool!"

"We want change," he mumbled, waving his sign halfheartedly. "We want change."

"Louder, Dool!" said Heck, keeping up with a crowd of protesters. Then Heck joined in, "WE WANT CHANGE!"

"WE WANT CHANGE!" the protesters chanted. "WE WANT CHANGE."

"WHAT DO WE WANT?" someone shouted with a megaphone, inciting the crowd.

"CHANGE!" came the reply from scores of protestors, including Dooly and Heck.

"WHEN DO WE WANT IT?" called the instigator. They were standing outside of the Justice Hall, where the Prime Minister was meeting with the First Minister of Justice over some controversial investigations conducted by the Commonwealth Bureau of Investigations.

"NOW!" demanded the crowd, carrying signs.

"Damn, these guys stink!" Dooly said in Heck's ear. "Don't protesters take showers?"

"Most of them are career protestors. See the shirts they're wearing?"

"Yeah, 'PRO-TEST Inc.' Very original."

"Today they protest against the Prime Minister and the First Minister of Justice, but tomorrow they might protest in support of them."

"What's the system coming to?" said Dooly, shaking his head. "Folks are so lazy they can't even protest for their own causes, they gotta pay someone else to do it for them.?"

"WHAT DO WE WANT?"

"CHANGE!"

"Come on, now's our chance." Heck and Dooly maneuvered through the crowd of protesters for hire to the very front, near the agitator. Once they got near the agitator, Heck body slammed him and the pair rolled to the ground. The agitator jumped to his feet and glared at Heck as the man rose to his feet.

"What's your problem, pal?" demanded Heck, moving in closer.

"What's yours?" asked the man, his voice barely heard above the din. "My people will kill you if I tell them to."

"Ah. Well, I suppose that counts for change," said Heck as belligerently as he could. "I admire your convictions!"

Before he realized what happened, the crowd descended on him, kicking and punching and swinging signs. Dooly waded in flinging protesters away until he was near Heck, who was egging on the crowd. Seeing that the protest had once again become dangerous, police in riot gear came out to break it up. Many of the protesters fled from the heavily armed men who also wore body armor, riot shields, and shock batons.

But Heck and Dooly made a point to continue taunting and provoking the crowd, drawing a group of angry protesters closer to the rigid line of riot police.

"Come on you hippies! Is that all you got?" shouted Heck, he wasn't very good at taunting.

"You're a bunch of filthy little cowards! Come on you..." Heck marveled as Dooly launched into a string of curses and epithets, some of which Heck hadn't even heard of before. But it worked. Five protesters closed in on the pair as chaos reigned all around. The police were standing in a line, not willing to be drawn into the fray individually. Every few seconds, the police took one step forward in and simultaneously banged their shock batons on their shields creating a very loud crack.

Dooly relented from his taunting. The five men who had fallen prey to Dooly's skillful taunting were still advancing. Then, one of them charged at Dooly and the rest followed. Dooly and Heck backed up some, toward the police, to diminish their attacker's force. Dooly caught his attacker in a bear hug and using the man's own forward momentum, he spun around toward the police line and plowed into two police officers. Heck tried the same tactic but fell short, and tried to bring the fight closer to the police who were refusing to step in.

Dooly's world turned very quickly into pain and darkness as blows from shock batons stunned him senseless. Heck's fighting partner saw what fate had befallen his friend and Dooly when they fell beneath the shock batons and he retreated to the safety of his friends, leaving Heck standing close the police but nowhere near Dooly. The protesters tried to goad Heck into stepping away from the police so they could, 'fight fair,' but Heck just gave them an obscene gesture and looked for Dooly. Finding him behind the police line with booted foot on his back and unconscious, Heck tried to taunt the police into coming after him. But that proved futile. Palace Drift Police were the best officers taken from the best agencies in the Commonwealth, they were not easily taunted.

Heck knew what he had to do next. There was no other way to get in there with Dooly. Unfortunately, he also knew that the beating Dooly received from shock batons would pale in comparison to what he was about to get.

It was time to assault a police officer.

N I N E

When Heck awoke he was in a small holding cell with several other malcontents arrested during the riot that he had started. He recognized his surroundings. This cell was located near the Marshals Service Detention Area and was sometimes used as an overflow for the Marshal's prisoners. And here was exactly where he'd hoped they would put him and Dooly. There were no surveillance systems in this part of the drift. It was so far from the surface that, even if someone escaped, they would never make it past all the Marshals, Bureau agents, and other federal officers that they would have to pass by to escape.

Pain shot through his side when he stood, probably a bruised rib, and one eye was swollen. When the lightheadedness passed, Heck made his way around the cell until he found Dooly who was asleep on a bench.

"Dool!" he whispered, poking his friend in the shoulder. The movement caused him more pain and he amended his earlier assessment. Broken rib. "Wake up!"

Dooly looked remarkably well, though Heck wouldn't know until his friend decided to get up. No bruising or apparent broken bones to speak of.

"What?" he groaned, opening one eye. Then the other eye opened. Wide. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Never mind. Get up." Dooly started chuckling softly. "What's so funny?"

"You," he said stifling his laughter. "You got an ass-whippin'!"

"Ok, fine. I got an ass-whippin' and you didn't," he growled. "Happy? We have work to do."

"How much time?" asked Dooly as the pair made their way to the front of the cell.

"Twelve hours," Heck said, eyeing the clock on the wall.

"Is that enough time?"

"It has to be," he whispered.

"I hope this works. Once they figure out who we are, we're dead meat!"

"It will work, Dool," he said with confidence. It was high time to get the plan moving. "GUARDS!"

Dooly started walking around in the cell, looking this way and that, poking other prisoners and making them mad. Then he started rambling incoherently.

"GUARDS!" he shouted again. "This guy is nuts! Get him outta here!"

"Don't parking lot that I-beam with stratus clouds! I'll kill you!" Dooly accentuated his ramblings by crossing and uncrossing his eyes and occasionally pointing at the wall. "Answer me, you insolent utensil!"

One of the prison guards sidled up to the bars, amused by Dooly's antics. "What's his problem?"

"He's crazy!" said Heck, as Dooly poked a sleeping prisoner in the gut. The man jumped up to face him but backed down when Dooly started babbling again.

"You're a damn tobacco stamp! That's what you are!" Dooly followed the now cowering prisoner around the cell. "Your plastic earlobes have cost me some serious candles!"

The guard seemed content to watch the Dooly's antics until Dooly had the other prisoner cowering against the bars, begging the guard for help.

"Knock it off, freak!" the guard said in his best, stern guard voice. "You don't want me to come in there!"

Dooly looked at the guard as if he had never seen one before and cocked his head sideways, not unlike a dog when it hears a police siren. Then, dragging the hapless prisoner along by his throat, he put his face against the bars where the guard stood and whispered, "I like brain matter. I'd like yours, but I don't think you have enough."

The guard fell for Dooly's taunt and shoved a shock baton between the bars, trying to strike Dooly. Heck grabbed the guard's arm and held it fast against the bars. Dooly slugged him in the face, knocking him unconscious and pulled his limp body tight against the bars. Heck started fishing around inside the guard's pockets until he found what he wanted, an access key. Then he took the shock baton and set it to its highest setting and shocked the guard to ensure he would remain unconscious for a while.

By now all of the prisoners were intently watching the drama play out before them. These weren't hard core fugitives, they were paid protestors who got caught acting up. It was a job for them. And, in all likelihood, their boss would be around soon to get them out.

The man that Dooly had traumatized walked over to Heck and shook hands with him. "Thanks, mister. That was more fun than protesting! It was great how that guard just shoved his baton in between the bars. Don't they teach these guys anything in guard school?"

Heck shared a laugh with the man as he opened the cell door. His fellow prisoner and conspirator followed Heck and Dooly out of the cell then began to fish around in the pockets of the guard. Finding a small holocard, the man smiled and went back inside the cell. Heck and Dooly dragged the guard to a small anteroom, presumably an interrogation room. Heck put on the guard's uniform, then dressed the guard in his clothes and locked him in the cell with the others.

"Take it easy fellers!" said Dooly jovially. "Maybe we'll see ya at the next protest!"

Heck handcuffed Dooly with his hands behind him and held the shock baton at his friend's back. Then they proceeded along a passageway that led to an elevator, passing a few guards along the way. Heck hurried along after passing the guards, knowing it wouldn't be long before their absence was discovered. He used his victim's access card to open the elevator doors and hurried inside. Heck could see a pair of guards walking quickly toward the elevator. He didn't know if they were on to him or if they simply wanted to share the elevator but he wasn't taking chances. The door slid closed and the elevator began its rapid descent.

"These cuffs are too tight," Dooly complained. "Can you loosen them?"

Heck stuck his pinky in between the handcuff metal and Dooly's wrist and said, "Nope. They're just right." Then he gave the cuffs a bit of a twist, eliciting a string of curses from Dooly while he smiled at the tiny surveillance camera hidden in a screw hole above the door. The pain was Heck's way of telling Dooly to keep acting.

The door opened and Heck stepped out into the Marshals Service Detention Area. This was the biggest risk to their plan. Any number of Marshals or employees of the Service would recognize Heck Thomas, as he was a longtime veteran and well known among his peers. The convicts might present a problem for Heck too, because he was just as well known among the criminal community. Many of the fugitives he'd caught were decent enough folks and didn't resent him for doing his job. Others resented him. A lot. Those were the ones who would know he'd gone dark and might turn him in out of spite. But they would cross that bridge when they got to it. Dooly wasn't nearly as likely to be recognized by anyone, other than the criminals.

Heck kept moving Dooly along. Being a good deal taller, Dooly provided Heck with some anonymity. That and the prison guard uniform would be, he hoped, enough for them to survive any cursory looks. If they encountered any close scrutiny, however, they and Laylara were as good as dead. Thinking of Laylara forced Heck to focus, he had purpose. This was no different than any other mission, only the stakes were higher. Much higher.

The Marshals Service had a very nice reception area. The lighting was warm, the floors were carpeted, and portraits of famous lawmen from all of the participating Commonwealth nations adorned the wood paneled walls. But the empty spot where his own portrait once adorned the wall leaped out at him. He was glad of one thing, though. They hadn't put his image up on the Commonwealth Most Wanted List, which was prominently displayed in the Detention Area. It was one less way for someone to recognize him.

The fact that his portrait hadn't been replaced by that of another lawman, warmed his heart somewhat. The Chief Marshal knew Heck very well. And while they could do nothing to help him now, the Service hadn't given up on him.

The pair approached a desk that was so tall they had to look up to see the Marshal seated behind it. "What's your business, guard?"

"Prisoner for Block 14." Heck thought the voice sounded familiar.

"Charges?" asked the Marshal as he peered down over his desk at the prisoner and Heck.

Heck tossed a small holocard up and onto the ridiculously tall desk. The Marshal plugged the holocard into his computer and a holographic data stream appeared before his eyes listing Dooly's counterfeit biographical information and a DNA sample that was linked to his false ID. The man read the charges and nodded to Heck as he tossed the holocard back.

"You need directions, Guard?"

"No, sir. I know the way."

The Marshal nodded and went back to his work, the computer having already registered the presence of the new prisoner and his cell assignment.

Heck and Dooly proceeded through a few passages until they reached the area known as Block 14. Block 14 was guarded by two Marshals Service prison guards who were well trained. A large steel door with the number '14' in bold red was the entrance to the sally port that led to the prison inside. The walls were bleak and painted a neutral tan color, the floor was dull gray tile and the lights were bright and harsh.

Heck did not want to go in there. That was where the real prison began. It was a prison that held some of the Commonwealth's most wanted criminals. Even though housing for prisoners here was typically not long term, it was high security. Too high security.

Dooly doubled over in pain, groaning and he dropped to one knee. "I need a doctor!"

"Sure you do, now that we're here! Get up, slug!" Heck shoved Dooly who fell over on his side, still handcuffed. The guards, who had clearly seen ineptness from the regular drift prison guards before, walked over to assess the situation.

"What's his problem?"

"Him? He don't want to go in there is all," Heck answered with a sneer while Dooly drooled on the floor.

"You should take him to sick bay, Guard."

"Why?" Heck said belligerently. "You know he's faking."

"And you know, Guard, that we follow procedure in the Marshals Service Detention Area," said the Marshals Service guard with irritation. "Nurse's station determines if they are faking. Not me. Not you. Got it?"

"Okay, big man. Whatever you say," Heck nodded, and shook his head. "On your feet, toad!"

When Dooly didn't respond, Heck reached down and jerked him up by the crook of his arm. Dooly dropped a well-placed kick to his shin and it was all Heck could do not to register the pain. He did his best to look angry instead and hoped the guards just wrote him off as being an unprofessional Drift Guard.

"What was that for?" he asked Dooly through clenched teeth.

"For tweaking my handcuffs, that's what!" he retorted. "Or would you rather take these cuffs off and we settle this like men?"

"Easy, killer. You can lay off the acting, now. We're almost there."

"Who's acting?" he muttered grimly.

Before they reached the nurse's station, Dooly started complaining about his handcuffs again. "Come on, you know the nurses don't like us bein' cuffed from behind. Lighten up!"

"Fine. You whine worse than a three-year old!" he grumbled. "Stand still!"

Heck moved Dooly's handcuffs to the front, left them unlocked. While Dooly muttered truthfully about losing feeling in his fingers, Heck steered the pair toward a break room he had used in the past. Heck thought it was about time for things to heat up, he couldn't believe they'd made it this far without getting caught.

Heck rapped the tip of his shock baton on the door. The effect of the electric charge as the baton struck the door made an unnaturally loud noise. An irritated nurse in a red jumpsuit poked her head through the door. Heck's heart lurched, he knew this woman. He knew her very well.

"What is it?" she asked, her blue eyes peeking out from her blond hair. Most nurses kept their hair pulled back tight and out of their face, but Heck knew one who always let her hair down in the break room.

"Uh, disturbance at the nurse's station ma'am. They need all nurses there right away." Heck tried to keep Dooly between himself and the nurse, but it was no use. The nurse was more intent on the voice she recognized than on what Heck was saying. Dooly scowled and rolled his eyes.

"Really? My alert isn't going off." This was a problem. If Chloe recognized him, she could ruin everything.

"Just came from there ma'am. They told me to knock on the break room door. Sorry to bother you." Heck turned and acted as though he were taking Dooly back toward Block 14.

"Wait!" she said, staring intently at the pair. "I know who you are."

Heck froze in his tracks. "You really should go to the nurse's station, ma'am."

There was a long pause as the nurse walked up and stood in front of him. She searched his eyes and saw Heck's silent plea. Nurse Chloe knew Heck Thomas very well. They had a romantic relationship that Heck had ended when things began to get serious. He hated himself for doing it, but he couldn't commit to her and that was what she needed. Heck had sensed that Chloe would want him to retire and settle down, and that was something Heck Thomas wasn't going to do. For anyone.

"Alright then," she said quietly. "I think I'd better go to the nurse's station. Why don't you grab a snack in the break room for you and your dep, I mean your prisoner? It's nice and quiet in there and you can relax. No one will know you took a break from your duties."

"Thank you, ma'am." Heck said with heartfelt gratitude. "That means a lot." He watched as Chloe walked away from the break room and he wondered if he'd ever see her again to thank her for turning a blind eye. As she left he saw something sparkling on her left hand and knew she'd helped him out of the kindness of her heart. She had moved on.

"Come on lover boy!" Dooly shoved him with his shoulder. "I'm hungry!"

Heck and Dooly slipped into the break room and locked the door. Dooly took off his handcuffs and shoved some snacks into his pockets while Heck walked looked for the trash chute.

When he found it he looked at his partner. "Would you like a glass of wine with that, sir?"

Dooly glared at his boss as he shoved a donut into his mouth, he didn't bother to answer the smart-ass comment. He wiped the back of his hand across his face and stood beside Heck.

"Ready for the fun part?" Heck asked.

"Why the hell not? I've been beat up, shocked, cuffed, and humiliated today. Why not die in a heap of biological waste?"

"That's the spirit!"

Heck climbed into the chute first and was thankful that it was more of a slide than a shaft. The chute was steep and straight and large enough to accommodate himself and even the large framed Dooly. The shaft smelled horribly and the darkness was somewhat terrifying.

What a way to find out that you're mildly claustrophobic, he thought wryly.

After a few seconds of sliding through the pitch black garbage chute, Heck found himself falling through the air very far above the trash strewn floor. Having served on several protection details for the Prime Minister and other government officials, Heck was very familiar with the layout of Palace Drift. Part of the responsibility of being on those highly esteemed, yet laborious, protection details was the planning phase. Every nook and cranny of the drift had to be mapped. And after it was mapped it was mapped again, and again, and again, by an actual agent, or Marshal, or officer; even the garbage chutes and containment areas had to be mapped and any likely infiltration or escape route had to be watched.

On Heck's first detail he'd managed to pull the odious duty of watching this very route, personally. He'd been here before and knew that this chamber was close to the gravity plating control room which was, by its nature, possessed of a much lower gravity field. The effects of the lower gravity spilled over in the surrounding areas and gradually increased the farther away from the control room until Earth gravity was reached.

So when Heck landed on the piles of refuse and waste, it was in fact a soft landing. Heck quickly rolled to the side and waded through the waist deep piles of refuse as Dooly fell gently behind him. Once they got used to the lower gravity, they were able to vault over the trash piles and minimize their contact with the filth.

"If they know this is an infiltration route, why ain't it guarded or watched?"

"It's only guarded or watched when VIPs are moving around. And it's too much trouble to place surveillance sensors down here. Nobody guards the sewer system, or even cares that it's there until somebody important comes to town."

"So what's next?"

"Next, we kill the Prime Minister."

Dooly tried to speak, but nothing came out. Heck grinned, knocked some trash off Dooly's head and walked towards a maintenance tunnel.

"I didn't come all this way, and go through all of this...crap...to get killed for killing the Prime Freaking Minister!" Dooly said as they entered the tunnel, voices echoing loudly. "What about Uzefski? Ain't we gonna kidnap him?"

"Yeah, that too," said Heck shining the little flashlight he stole from the guard he and Dooly assaulted earlier.

"How is killing the PM going to help us?"

"Trust me, Dool!"

"Yeah, right," he grumbled. "Your girlfriend's life is being measured in hours and we're wandering like rats in the dark in the middle of Palace Drift. And by the way, how the hell are we supposed get out?"

"I got that covered too."

After walking in the dank tunnels for nearly an hour in silence, Heck found the shaft leading up that he was looking for. They climbed up for a long time, far longer than he'd anticipated. His plan had to go off without a hitch. One misstep and the game was over.

Finally, they reached the end of the shaft and they could see the drift's artificial daylight peeking through the cracks in the grate.

"Ok, Dool. Here goes everything."

With a tremendous heave the grate slid to the side and bright artificial sunlight greeted them. Dooly and Heck climbed out into the daylight and waited a moment for their eyes to adjust. That's when Heck realized he was surrounded.

"The great Marshal Heck Thomas and his sidekick, Stephen William Doolin."

"Hey, I'm a Deputy Marshal. I ain't no sidekick!" Dooly said, indignant. "Jacka-"

"Easy Dool. This is part of the plan."

"This is why I don't ask you for too much detail about your plans."

Heck and Dooly were seated in a gray interrogation room on a hard steel bench, manacled hand and foot. A man in a dark suit sat across a steel table from the lawmen turned outlaws and a cheap light hung from the ceiling. Heck recognized the man as the Chief of the Secret Service, the agency responsible for protecting the Prime Minister and all high level dignitaries.

"Well," said Chief Ronald Huber in his Oxford, United Kingdom, accent. "What plan is that?"

"That would be my plan to kill the Prime Minister."

"Heck," Huber began, exasperated. "I don't for a minute believe you're here to kill the PM. Nor do I believe this rubbish that you destroyed CS Marauder, committed murder on Churchill Drift, kidnapped a Moon Police Detective, and joined the Ryevolutzia. It's rubbish!"

Heck tilted his head and smiled. He knew Chief Huber from his experience on many protection details and the man was a straight shooter.

"You wanted to see me, didn't you?" Chief Huber said quietly.

"Yes, desperately."

"And you didn't just knock on my door because...?"

"Everyone in the solar system would know and I wouldn't make it past the guards at the front door. I'm wanted for all that 'rubbish' you just mentioned."

"Hey," interrupted Dooly. "Ain't we here to get Uzefski?"

"Something vital to the security of the Commonwealth is happening and you need to warn the PM!"

"What's happening?" asked Huber.

"Your government is compromised. Someone high up wants to cripple your government and they want me, a rogue Marshal, to take the credit. I don't know why. All I know is that it involves wormhole technology and Dr. Uzefski."

"The First Minister of Science?"

"The same."

"Where is Laylara Espinosa?" asked Ron suddenly. It was a typical tactic used by investigators to keep a subject off guard, and to see how truthful they were being. Ron was no slouch, and neither was Heck Thomas, but Heck knew better than to do anything other than play along. Lives were hanging in the balance.

"She was kidnapped by the Ryevolutzia. Last I saw she was being held onboard some old Socialist Alliance warship near Alamo Drift."

"I'd heard that the Ryevolutzia succeeded in ousting the Gesellschaft from there."

"Look. They have the U-999 from Alamo Drift and they need Uzefski to complete the device for them."

"So you're here to kidnap Uzefski?" asked Huber, skeptical.

"Something like that," Heck answered evasively.

"And I'm just supposed to let you waltz out of here with him," Huber exhaled deeply. "What's stopping the PM from sending the fleet to the wormhole and destroying Ryevolutzia?"

"If that happens, you will never get the device and you will never get the traitor that set all of this in motion," said Heck passionately. "You know me, Ron. You know what a patriot I am. I would never sell out."

"Not even for Laylara?" he asked.

"Not even for her," he said coldly. "Not even for her."

Huber leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands in his lap, thinking.

"I'm sorry, Heck. Looks like you're going to prison."

Dooly's jaw dropped. Huber got up to leave.

"Don't I get my phone call?" asked Heck, sarcastically.

Huber paused, then fished something from his pocket and tossed it on the table. "Use my phone."

T E N

Heck Thomas marveled at the efficiency of the Secret Service's detention system. In only thirty minutes he and Dooly were booked, processed, bio-scanned, and on a transport ship bound for an off-drift prison hulk.

Heck could tell Dooly was seething and he was wondering if the man was planning to murder him. He couldn't blame Dooly. He'd kept Dooly in the dark and forced him to go along with his wild scheme to save Laylara and the Commonwealth. And the only complaints the man had made were in jest, or half-hearted. Heck promised he would make it up to Dooly by politicking for an academy slot, if he wanted it. A man like Dooly might just be happy to remain a deputy marshal. In a lot of ways, Heck was like that. He never took part in politics and never competed for promotion. Some of his peers passed him by and were soon in a position to give him orders, but that never bothered Heck. He always managed to get around those when it suited him.

At the risk of a smack on the head from a shock baton, Heck nudged Dooly to wakefulness. He was rewarded with a bloodshot, watery eyeball glaring back at him. Heck had finally exhausted his generous supply of trust with Dooly. He nodded and turned away, letting a sigh of regret escape his lungs. There wasn't anything he could say that would replace the trust in the eyes of his friend. He had to remain confident that the unspoken communication between he and Chief Huber had been clear and understood.

He prayed that the unspoken communication that took place over the holophone when he made his 'one call,' had been clear and understood as well. Everything hung on that. Laylara's life, Heck and Dooly's lives too. A prison hulk was no place for a lawman to be on the wrong side of a set of vertical steel bars. They would likely die there within a day. Doubtless, that's exactly what Dooly was thinking.

Mercifully, the prison hulk was only a short ride from Palace Drift today as it made its rounds picking up the condemned; the wait that spelled out the fate of former Marshal Heck Thomas and his partner Deputy Marshal Stephen W. Doolin would be short.

Very short.

The transport ship lurched to a sudden halt and the prisoners became restless; Heck and Dooly included. The guards had been merciless with their shock batons every time someone so much as whispered and the prisoners had been subdued to silence. Until now. Even the guards were distracted. The transport ship wasn't very big. Long and slender, it was more of a shuttle than anything else. In fact, a lot of prison shuttles had once been civilian shuttle busses used to ferry citizens around on a drift, or short distances away from a drift. The seats on this shuttle were in pairs on either side of the cabin with a walkway down the middle; all sixty seats on the shuttle faced forward. Even though he was chained to a metal bar that was welded to the seatback in front of him, Heck strained in his chair to see behind him.

A guard hustled swiftly past, absorbed in his task and didn't even strike Heck for his violation of prisoner protocol. Then a loud clunk sounded, followed by another, and yet another. Dooly roused himself from his trance and looked questioningly at Heck who shrugged and smiled innocently. Dooly shook his head and grimaced. "I should have known you'd have another trick up your sleeve," he whispered.

"There wasn't time to tell you. I couldn't risk tipping anyone off."

Dooly nodded, but it was a nod that said, "I understand your reason, but you could have found a way." Maybe he was right. Maybe Heck was being paranoid, because somewhere deep inside that little warning system that always helped him survive impossible situations, still didn't entirely trust Stephen William Doolin. And for that, Heck Thomas despised himself. It was that same self-preservation trait that had lost him Chloe and other women before her. And that same trait that would probably cause Laylara to slip free of him and find someone else, if she survived Yulia Kharkov.

"Grapplers?" asked Dooly. Heck nodded. Any minute now their rescuers would be boarding the shuttle. He only hoped they wouldn't hurt any of the guards, despite his desire to give them each a little shock baton therapy. They were doing their jobs after all, and their job was one of the toughest in the solar system. In all the years of Heck's career, he never had to serve as a full-time prison guard. People like Heck caught the bad guys, delivered them to the care of people like these men, and then went about their business. These men were outnumbered every shift they worked, sometimes a thousand to one. And every one of those who outnumbered them were waiting for the chance to stick a shank in their side.

He genuinely hoped these guys survived. The guards knew what was happening and some were trying to communicate with the shuttle pilots who were necessarily locked in their cockpit. Their comm links weren't working, and the guards were beginning to panic. Rifles were taken from the lockers and distributed to the guards. Then the power failed and the temperature dropped quickly.

And Heck noticed something very odd. Dooly was snoring. In fact, so were several other prisoners. Then he was dimly aware of the sound of bodies falling down, presumably guards. As the blackness took him, he wondered if they had all been poisoned. Would he see Laylara again? Was there a Heaven?

Heck woke up groggy and, once again, with a splitting headache. He had been living on pure adrenaline for most of that day and that had, thankfully, masked much of the pain he was feeling. His ribs hurt badly and so did his sides and his back. His tongue felt like it was too large for his mouth, and made of dry cotton.

"I'm gettin' tired of this, Heck," growled Dooly.

"Me too," he said.

Heck and Dooly were back in their chairs on Sixkiller. Strapped in and drifting in space. He looked at the clock and his pain filled mind registered four hours until his deadline. Whoever had rescued them had flooded the cabin with sleeping gas, respecting Heck's desire to avoid killing any guards. Presumably, the guards and the other prisoners were waking up about now, to discover only that two of their prisoners were gone. And hopefully, no innocent casualties.

"Virgil," said Dooly.

"Yes. I'm sorry, Dool." he answered, as he began the flight sequences on Sixkiller's computers. "I called Virgil from Huber's holophone. And he came through."

"Virgil," said Dooly again. "Is here."

"What? I don't see him on the scanners."

"That's because you ain't scanning the inside of your cruiser!" a hand gripped his shoulder warmly. "Well, are we going or what?"

"Damn, Virgil. You scared the sh-"

"Come on," interrupted the crime lord. "You never swore before, why start now?"

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to protect my investment, Marshal. To be frank, you owe me."

"I suppose that's true," said Heck. He was truly amazed at how his entire career had been turned upside down. An outlaw lawman in debt to a very successful crime lord, one whom he had used as an informant on many occasions. Now he has me by the short hairs. "Let's get on with this."

"Boss, we don't have Uzefski."

"No, we don't have him," agreed Virgil. "But we have this." Virgil handed Heck a small holocard. He slipped it into his computer and a holographic data-stream appeared suspended in the air before him.

"Is that the formula?"

"That's the formula," confirmed the crime lord.

"What if Kharkov and her gang don't believe you?" asked Dooly. "They told you to get Uzefski."

"He has a point," offered Virgil. "They might just kill you and Laylara for not complying with their orders."

"They were going to do that anyway," replied Heck. "Uzefski is dead, there's no way we can comply."

"Then why the hell did we go through all of this, Thomas?" demanded Dooly angrily. The day's events had worn him down, physically and mentally. He wasn't in much of a mood to think that the physical abuse he'd endured had been for naught.

"Because I didn't know it until the meeting with Huber."

"Huber never said Uzefski is dead, Heck."

"He did, you just didn't know what to listen for. I've known Huber a long time. He didn't come out and say it, but there's no reason he wouldn't have introduced me to Uzefski. With Uzefski dead, there is no other way to prove the fact that Ryevolutzia is working on a potentially working functional wormhole device."

"That's crazy!"

"Is it? How did we survive, then?" asked Heck. "Virgil didn't just happen to stumble on the transport shuttle's classified route. Huber let me use his holophone so he could make sure whoever came to the rescue was going to do it right and do it his way. Clean."

"I wasn't surprised when I heard from Chief Huber," said Virgil. "As I said, I'm here to protect my investment."

Heck looked at the cross hanging above the window in the cockpit and realized just how remarkable the past two days had really been. How remarkable it was that he'd even survived one of those scrapes, let alone all of them. Heck made a silent promise to God to make up for lost time.

"That still don't address why Kharkov won't just kill us."

"She won't kill us. She has something else in store for us."

"Incoming message," stated Dooly amidst the chimes of his computer. "It's Kharkov."

"Play it."

A holographic image of the beautiful and deadly Yulia Kharkov appeared in front of Heck. "Congratulations, Marshal. You've guaranteed your lover another day to live. Return to Alamo Drift with our package immediately."

"Great," said Dooly with a growl. "I hope there ain't no more damn zombies to deal with."

Much to the relief of Stephen W. Doolin, the great warship operated by Ryevolutzia was where Kharkov intended to receive Sixkiller and her crew. Heck piloted the sleek and deadly cruiser into the open hangar bay in the massive ship and waited for it to pressurize. When systems showed the outside air was safe and breathable, Heck and his friends walked down the ramp from Sixkiller's cabin to the deck of the Ryevolutzia ship.

Kharkov stalked out into the hangar and up to the waiting ex-lawmen and their crime lord friend. Her contingent of guards was following smartly along behind, their boots striking the deck in cadence echoed loudly in the cavernous hangar. She stood with her hands on her hips, still wearing her dark glasses, her soft hair tumbling from her shoulders. She didn't seem surprised or concerned that King Virgil was present on her ship. But why would she care who Heck Thomas brought with him on her massive warship? Especially this one, with a crew of over a thousand very bad Ryevolutzia.

Heck handed the holocard with Uzefski's data. Kharkov snatched it from his hand and plugged it into a holotablet computer. Within seconds a holographic data-stream containing Uzefski's wormhole theory was blazing through the air in front of her. Nodding to herself, she placed the computer in the pocket of her leather coat.

"We will know if this is a fake, Marshal. Our scientists will run the algorithms and assess the data." There was no need for Yulia to elaborate. She was not making a threat, but was stating a fact. And it was quite clear to the lawmen what would happen if it proved to be counterfeit.

"What now?"

"Return to your craft and get comfortable. We go to wormhole."

"Fine, we've done what you want. Where is Laylara?"

"Have you forgotten our bargain, Marshal? There is more to come later." As Yulia Kharkov walked away, Heck imagined the crack of his rifle as the bullet sailed gracefully through the air and pierced the back of her head, forcing its way through her brain, to exit through a very large hole in her pretty face. He was startled from his fantasy by the soldiers who remained behind, indicating that he was to return to his cruiser with the barrels of their rifles.

"Ok, Ivan, or Igor, or Ingrid. We're going," he said placatingly.

E L E V E N

The Ryevolutzia ship finally arrived at the location of the wormhole's existence. Heck and Dooly were exhausted and managed to get some sleep onboard Sixkiller, though Heck's dreams were plagued by the constant recounting of the past few days events. When Kharkov's guards came to Sixkiller to escort the three men to the observation deck of the Stalin, he was no more rested than before. He was weary, very weary. If anything, the short sleep had only served to make him wearier still.

After being forced to disarm, the men walked silently through the corridors of the ship which had been built and commissioned to honor the memory of the Soviet Union of the early 20th Century. The ship was old and in disrepair but its archaic tributes to the failed governmental system known as communism were everywhere. The Alliance that had preceded what was now the Ryevolutzia had flirted with the ideals of a new, stronger, space-faring USSR. The movement had some momentum and the Socialist Alliance existed with strength for a period of twenty years, before interest died off. The Socialist Alliance had accomplished little of significance, other than projecting a very dangerous presence in space and had provided no solutions to the problems plaguing Earth.

Although Heck Thomas had no direct experience with the evils of communism, he still possessed an inherent dislike for it and couldn't help but scowl when he saw pictures of people like Stalin, Lenin and Khrushchev.

Finally they reached the observation deck of the Stalin, lavishly decorated and in a much better state of repair than the rest of the ship. The observation deck had a great viewing window where one could look out over the dark behemoth as it sailed the solar system.

"I hope you enjoyed our hospitality," said Kharkov with false sincerity as she stalked into the room and waved at the viewing window. Heck wondered if she stalked everywhere she went.

"It was as warm and enjoyable as you, Kharkov," Heck was doing his best to get under her skin. If he succeeded, she didn't show it.

"Well, then you will enjoy our next stop." Kharkov led the group through a door in the side of the observation area. This was the scientific laboratory where Ryevolutzia's scientists, willing and unwilling, labored to revive the Centaurus Project.

The laboratory was a model of state-of-the-art computer systems integrated with scientific equipment. A quick count revealed nearly twenty scientists in their white lab coats laboring at their holographic interfaces, recording data, or making observations.

"Can you see it Marshal Thomas?" asked Kharkov in a whisper of awe.

"I'm sorry, your big head is blocking the way. I can't see a thing."

Dooly chuckled and Heck took a shot to the ribs from a guard, forcing him to double over.

Satisfied that Heck's insolence had been punished, Kharkov smiled, continued. "That is the wormhole, Marshal. That vast empty space which is anything but. It is our destiny! Our wormhole device will expand the limits of humanity beyond our solar system. Perhaps we will make first contact with another sentient species.

"The wormhole devices we have created will also be made into weapons! Ryevolutzia will be invincible!"

"Alright, Kharkov," said Heck angrily. "I don't give a rat's ass about the grand tour or your maniacal motives. Where is Laylara?"

"She is in there," she said dismissively, waving at the viewing window that looked out over another area of the Stalin. Then he saw what Kharkov was pointing at. There was a small gray shuttle poised on a launch pad. Its engines had been warmed up and Heck could see a glow from the exhaust ports. "She is getting ready to make history!"

"You bitch!" he seethed. "I'll kill you!" Heck received a blow to the back of his thighs with a rifle by one of the guards.

"Ah, Marshal Thomas," she said patronizingly. "You are not permitted to make threats here. I hold the key to your lover's survival, tak?"

"Tak?" he mimicked her, returning the patronizing tone. Then he got to his feet with a promise of violence in his eyes. "And I hold the key to your survival, Kharkov."

"I think not, Marshal Thomas. You are not good at bluffing. My scientists used the formula of the late Uzefski, which you so thoughtfully provided." Kharkov walked slowly, speaking methodically. Then she turned away from Thomas and looked out the window. "We thought, perhaps, you might have a difficult time handing over something so critical.

"And now we come to the third task, Marshal Thomas. Miss Espinosa will be my guarantee of your good will."

"You don't know where you're sending her!" he shouted. "She could be lost forever!"

"Perhaps," said the powerful woman, unsympathetically. "Perhaps not. If you provided me with the proper formula, you need not worry. I will even be so kind as to let you go through the wormhole after her if she does not return immediately."

"What about the radiation from U-999?" he demanded. "That substance is evil!"

"Ah, well," she said with a guilty smile. "Perhaps you should worry about that."

"You won't get away with this," he growled.

"Somehow I think it is you who won't get away with this," she countered. Enjoying the questioning look in his eye she continued, "Marshal Thomas. You are the mastermind of the new Centaurus Project! Thank you so much for your services to the goals of the Ryevolutzia! It is so sad that you will be arrested for your good work. But you will be remembered if it is any consolation."

Then the door to the lab opened and in walked the last person Heck Thomas thought he would see aboard the Stalin.

"Well, Marshal Heck Thomas. How good of you to join us!" said Gem Revelier. "And you even brought another of my favorite criminals with you. That was very thoughtful. So much easier for me to kill two birds with one stone."

Heck stood tall next to Dooly. "I thought I smelled the Bureau's stink in this," he seethed. Then he spit on the floor at Revelier's feet. "Do you think we are going to let you get away with this?"

"Which 'we' are you referring to?" he asked innocently. "Did you mean you and 'King' Virgil, or perhaps you and Mr. Doolin?"

Heck's eye twitched dangerously as he looked from Revelier to Dooly to Virgil. Dooly gave Thomas a shrug and walked over to stand beside Revelier.

"There," said Revelier with a grin. "So glad that's settled. Deputy Marshal Doolin here is going to get a 'Heck' of a promotion for bringing you in. I think a commission as a full Marshal and his very own cruiser are in order."

Thomas said nothing. There was nothing to say. Business mode funnelled his rage and stored it. Laylara was still at risk. He had to think, had to come up with a plan to survive the next few moments and rescue Laylara. He looked at Virgil and noticed, for the first time, that Virgil didn't appear to be the slightest bit concerned. Then Virgil gave Heck a wink.

"Enjoy Sixkiller, traitor," said Heck in a very low, very unstable voice. "If you set foot in there without me, it will be the last thing you ever do."

"Again with the threats, Marshal Thomas!" chimed Kharkov.

"A promise," he corrected grimly. But Dooly seemed amused more than threatened. Heck promised himself not to ask Dooly why he turned. Now, he just wanted to kill the man.

"Your attention, gentlemen!" said Kharkov. "We begin the countdown sequence...now!" A timer on the wall began to count down from five minutes. Poor Laylara. There was nothing he could do for her now. He wondered how she was faring, knowing that he was here. She was probably expecting him to rescue her. But she was tough, tougher than many men he knew and brave as any.

"Can I talk to her?" he asked, feigning defeat.

"Whatever for?" asked Revelier.

He was surrounded by armed men and badly outnumbered. It was him and Virgil now, he laughed grimly at the irony. Frantically he scanned the room, assessed the situation, looked for options. There had to be a way out of this. There had to be a way to save Laylara and stop this from happening.

"Are you that stupid, Revelier?" he asked, stalling. "Then again, you are with the Bureau." Three minutes left.

"You wound me!"

"What do you get from all this, Revelier?"

Revelier didn't get to answer the question because an explosion rocked the ship.

The doors that led from the observation deck to the laboratory blew inward, instantly killing the guards and sending others sprawling. Heck took advantage of the moment and grabbed a rifle from a downed soldier as he ducked behind a desk. Some of the scientists panicked but most simply dropped to the floor to avoid bloodshed. Virgil ducked behind him.

Before he could say a word, another explosion and a surge of flame stunned his senses. Luckily the desk they were behind shielded the pair from much of the blast and Heck was able to recover his senses quickly. Then gunfire erupted and Heck strained to see who was fighting whom. Then he saw Virgil beaming with pride.

"What's going on, Virg?"

"It's good to be the king, Heck!" he replied with a grin. "Those are my royal troops!"

Heck smiled and slapped Virgil on the shoulder, "I love you, man!"

"Awe shucks!" quipped Virgil. "We got this! Now see what you can do about saving that girlfriend of yours."

Heck moved cautiously through the broken equipment, ducking when a spray of bullets peppered his surroundings, then moved on. His heart sank when he saw the countdown clock had been destroyed. Laylara was still inside the shuttle and the shuttle was still on the launch pad, so Heck hoped against hope that he could stop the launch. He searched for a means to stop the launch sequence. The scientists who were not dead had managed to escape the lab, he could find no help there.

He searched frantically for Yulia, she could stop the launch! He would force her to stop it or he'd kill her. Virgil's forces were doing quite well against the Ryevolutzia, but the fighting was intense and both sides were still engaged fully. That Virgil's men were here at all meant that the rest of the ship was under his control. The Ryevolutzia forces were fighting for their lives and nothing else.

Heck spotted Kharkov behind an overturned steel table with Doolin and Revelier. He had a good line of fire on their flank and took aim with his rifle. He had to choose his target quickly. He desperately wanted to kill Revelier and Dooly, especially Dooly. And Kharkov presented a good target too.

He fired. Kharkov dropped her rifle and fell, holding her side. Dooly looked around and locked in on Heck's position while Revelier cowered on the floor behind the now injured Kharkov. Heck quickly aimed at Dooly as his ex-partner and friend did the same, but a billow of smoke blew through and impeded his view. Knowing that he was no better protected than Dooly was, Heck chose to move away and get behind cover.

He glanced out the window and saw that the shuttle was still there. He was desperate now. How long did he have? Seconds? He had two choices. He could try to get to the shuttle before it launched and extricate Laylara, or he could beat the control codes from Kharkov's miserable body. Judging the distance to the shuttle, beating Kharkov seemed the more likely scenario of success. He said a quick prayer to God. Right now, God, all I need is a way to rescue Laylara. She's all that matters; I know that now. I need to save her!

He ran across the room towards Kharkov amidst a hail of gunfire and obscuring smoke.

As he slid through the smoke, life seemed to shift into slow motion. The shooting stopped, but the shuttle was beginning to lift away from Stalin's launch pad. He saw Yulia on the ground, holding her profusely bleeding side. He saw Revelier cowering, the reflection of death in his eyes. He dropped to Kharkov's side.

"Stop the shuttle!" he shouted at her, the words leaving his mouth like molasses from a cold bottle.

She shook her head, slowly. Her eyes were glazing over. "Can't," she said slowly. Too slowly. "Launch...irreversible." Then she died.

Emotions roiled and threatened to overwhelm him again. He wanted to sink into despair and futility, but he couldn't. He wasn't wired that way. Cops never are.

"Heck Thomas!" a voice drifted through his awareness. "Don't kill him!"

Kill who? Then he looked down at Revelier. The man had wet himself for fear of being killed by Marshal Thomas. Then he realized just how much he wanted to kill him, and thought he might oblige the miserable agent. But the sight of the shuttle clearing the pad and rocketing toward an enigmatic point in space stopped him cold. He watched powerless, helpless. Then a point of light expanded before the shuttle, growing wider and wider until it swallowed up the shuttle completely. Then it went out.

"Heck!" that was Virgil.

His grip on his weapon tightened and loosened over and over as he stood there, debating whether to kill or not. He was angry and sad and alone all at once. Profoundly so. He wanted to assuage his emotions with violence. The ship's ventilation systems quickly cleared the room of the smoke and the smell of gunpowder. He looked around for his ex-partner but Dooly was nowhere to be seen.

"Heck, stop!" said Virgil. "It's done. It's over. Ryevolutzia is done."

"Laylara..." he began, his eyes welling.

"Gone," said Virgil softly. "Gone. I'm sorry."

"Ok, so now what? Are you taking over the mafia?" he asked, wearily.

Before he could answer, another man walked up to the pair. A man in the combat uniform of the Commonwealth. "Marshal Thomas," said the man gently.

It was then that Heck noted that Virgil's men were attired the same way. They were all wearing the Commonwealth combat uniforms in the colors of blue and silver, the colors of the fleet. Each man or woman had the flag of the Commonwealth on one shoulder and Virgil's personal coat of arms on the other. On their backs in reflective block lettering read, 'KING'S MEN.'

"King's Men?" he asked Virgil. His friend shrugged.

"It's good to be the king!" laughed Virgil. "We are privateers now, working to help the Commonwealth to police the wilder areas of the solar system."

"Marshal Thomas," the other man repeated.

"Do I know you?"

"No, I am Special Agent David Hall." Heck's face tightened and he seriously considered shooting this man. But at Hall's direction, the cowering Revelier was brought to his feet and handcuffed. "Please understand, this piece of trash and I are not of the same cloth."

Heck nodded but said nothing. He was curious as to how this group of commandos managed to find him and takeover the ship at precisely this moment. But his mind was partly on what he had to do next, and on locating Stephen William Doolin. Hall seemed to read the question in Heck's eyes and nodded. Revelier stood with eyes down, every time he tried to speak he was silenced with the butt of a rifle.

"I am so sorry we couldn't get here in time to rescue Laylara," he began. But the look in Heck's eyes warned him not to continue on that path. "Revelier sent me to find you, but I was suspicious of my boss from the start. When the word wormhole popped up more than once, I did some digging.

"I found out what the Centaurus Project was, so I'll tell you the key points. In the early days of space exploration the wormhole was discovered. Governments established secret projects to study and learn to control it. With the discovery of U-999 they found they could do just that. Heedless of the dangers that U-999 presented, they created a device that opened the wormhole.

"Several manned and unmanned ships were sent through the wormhole, the most notable being Spirit and Opportunity which were named for the Martian rover probes. None ever returned. The project was scrapped, the evidence destroyed, and Alamo Drift was set free in the Asteroid Belt to be forgotten."

"What does that prove?" growled Revelier, right before being struck in the gut again. Hall smiled.

"In and of itself...nothing." Revelier was feeling more confidant now that the gunfire had stopped. "But, the falsified Moon Police Service report dated before the robbery, located in your secret files, proves a bit more." Hall enjoyed the shocked look on Revelier's face.

"It's all there. The robbery, the false witnesses, the involvement of Moon Police and the Marshals Service."

"So? I do some time for making a false report. Big deal, my lawyers will get me out in no time."

"Hmm. Then there's the dead informant on Churchill Drift with a wormhole file in his holophone. A holophone that received calls from you. How unlucky for you that I am one of the most brilliant forensic technology experts in the Commonwealth; there is almost nothing that I cannot get data from. Not even a holophone with a self-destruct sequence."

Revelier paled but said nothing more.

"And while you were watching Ryevolutzia closely, the Secret Service was watching you. They knew you had been in contact with them, but they just couldn't pin down what you were up to. Until you had their agent murdered. That dead informant was a Secret Service agent.

"With Revelier's connections in government, the Secret Service was worried that any military action would be compromised by leaks from the inside."

"So you enlisted Virgil's help, made them official, and came after the Ryevolutzia," said Heck.

"Yes. The Secret Service has the power to issue Letters of Marque, signed by the PM, to aid in policing the solar system. With Virgil's sizeable fleet, and his willingness to help you, it was the logical choice."

"What was the payoff?" Heck said as he turned and faced Revelier. "What could possibly motivate you to sink this low, selling weapons and secrets to criminals?"

"Power," began Hall when Revelier wouldn't respond. "Once the Ryevolutzia had succeeded in building a working Centaurus Device, Revelier was going to try to use the Bureau to destroy them and get back the Centaurus Device. After gaining possession of the device, there is no telling what his twisted mind would have convinced him to do."

"And Doolin was feeding you my information all along, wasn't he?"

Revelier smirked.

"The missile and identity signatures, the CS Marauder, Espinosa. All of it was coming from him."

Heck reached out as if to grab Revelier by the throat, but stopped when he saw something on the launch pad that he hadn't seen before.

Another shuttle.

"Hold it, Dooly!" shouted Heck as his ex-partner tried to open the sally port leading to his freedom. "You do it and you're a dead man."

"I'm sorry, Heck," said Dooly, his hands high. "For what that's worth."

"It's worth nothing," said Heck, his finger itchy. "And so are you, now."

"Just trying to get my freedom, Heck. That's all."

"Nope. There's a Centaurus Device on that shuttle and you plan on selling it to the highest bidder."

"Oh, I get it," he said, laughing as he slowly turned to face Heck. "You think you're going to go and rescue her?"

"The thought crossed my mind."

"Be reasonable," he said.

"I'm listening."

"Look, that device could earn us enough money to buy an entire drift. Palace Drift even!"

"You're not convincing me yet, Dool."

"You'd really throw that away?" he asked. "For what? A piece of ass?"

For some reason, that smug, condescending statement had the effect on Heck that nothing else had over these past days. Over his entire life, in fact. It caused him to intentionally put business mode in the 'off' position.

CRACK!

And Dooly was dead.

Footsteps sounded in the corridor leading down to the shuttle craft as Heck returned to Stalin, the sally port closing with a loud CLUNK behind him. The Centaurus Device was now in his possession and he walked, grim faced and determined, back up the corridor that led to the laboratory. Virgil and Hall met him in the corridor.

"Where's Doolin?" asked Hall.

"Dead," he replied simply. "You are in my way."

Virgil knew Heck Thomas well enough to know when not to tangle with him, he stepped to the side.

"Where are you going?"

"To finish this," he said simply, evasively. They would try to stop him but he couldn't let them do that.

"Marshal Thomas," said Hall. "You have been reinstated. You have your life and your career back. You'll even receive a medal for thwarting a plot to overthrow the Commonwealth."

"No thanks."

"What?"

"No thanks. Now, if you will excuse me I have somewhere to go."

"Well, I won't stop you. But I'd like you to leave that device with me."

"Why?" he demanded. "So you can bring it someplace 'safe'? Someplace where it will be studied and put to 'good' use?"

"That was the idea," Hall said, nodding. "But when you put it that way..."

"Maybe the Centaurus Device needs to disappear forever," offered Virgil. "At least one made from that God-awful U-999 crap!"

Heck nodded, quiet determination plain on his face.

"What will you do?" Hall called as Heck stared up the corridor. "Where will you go?"

"It's better you don't know, Agent Hall."

"Heck, please," he said. "You're about to go down a one-way road. There's no coming back."

Heck nodded, then continued back along the corridor. He thought about the events of the past few days and he had regrets. He regretted not giving himself to Laylara, not letting her get inside his wall of protection. He regretted not finding a way to save her. But the past was over. Business mode had been turned off. Perhaps for good.

Heck Thomas was going to put a few things right.

Follow the further adventures of Heck Thomas in The Orion Deception.
The Orion Trilogy Volume I: The Orion Deception

P R O L O G U E

Heck Thomas sat at the controls of his cruiser, Sixkiller, drifting away from the Stalin as he watched the remnants of the wormhole disappear from his scanners. Gone. Just like that.

Why, God? he demanded silently. Why couldn't I save her?

Anger surged through his veins as the ship's sensors lost the final traces of the wormhole. Anger at God, at the terrorists who did this to him, at himself. Then he became torn by emotions that conflicted with his savage fury. Grief, sadness and anger; all ripped his spirit to shreds along with his rapidly slipping grasp on his self-control. Sixkiller was a powerful cruiser and it was very capable of delivering the wrath of his fury upon the nearby Stalin, the flagship of the modern criminal organization dedicated to replacing the Commonwealth with a communist dictatorship state.

The Stalin was the place where his girlfriend, Detective Laylara Espinosa of the Moon Police Service, had been held prisoner over the past few days and used as leverage to force him to recover the lost technology known as the Centaurus Project. At the same time he was framed for the destruction of the CS Marauder and the murder of her crew, as well as the murder of a Secret Service agent and the kidnapping of Detective Espinosa, and became a wanted fugitive. His career and his life had been destroyed.

He had a lot to be angry about.

Slowly his breathing came back under control and he was able to reach through the red haze of hatred and flip the switch on Business Mode, that state of mind where the career lawman forced all his emotions into a mental strongbox, surviving solely on cold logic. Finally, he could think again. This was no time to get lost in a panic of emotion; it was a time for revenge. Cold, hard, revenge.

Sixkiller's scanners had recorded the exact location of the wormhole before it vanished. Now there was just cold, empty, space taunting him with gently flickering stars and drifting asteroid debris. The Centaurus Device beckoned to him from its place on his console, its activation light blinking ominously. Heck held his finger amid the holocontrols of the Centaurus Device, thinking about the choice before him. Could he do it? Could he brave the unknown for her? Did he really love her that much?

Truth is, I just don't know.

And the not knowing was what shamed him the most. The wormhole was gone, but the device that he now possessed would reopen it for him. He just didn't know what would happen when it did. No one did. The Centaurus Project had been a secret project to explore wormhole science long ago. Several manned and unmanned expeditions went through the wormhole, and nothing had ever returned. The project had been scrapped.

What would happen when the device activated and ripped a hole in the very fabric of time and space? What would happen when he passed through that very hole? Would his ship be torn to pieces? Would he be transported to the Centaurus System as most scientists of the time had thought? If so, only God knew what he would find there.

He thought about that for a while, slowly drifting toward the location of the wormhole. The adventurer in him wanted to go through with it. He had no family left in the System, and his closest friend had become a traitor. A dead traitor. But the cop in him was a bit more practical and warned of all the different ways this could end badly. Did it matter? Did he really want to continue policing for a government so troubled with corruption?

Just then his sensors went wild, and alarm chimes activated indicating hostile missiles were inbound from three directions at once. He quickly shoved the throttle forward and engaged his thrusters. The missiles were inbound fast and he didn't know enough about the workings of the Centaurus Device to trust that the wormhole would offer him an avenue of escape. So he trusted in Sixkiller and took evasive action.

The holocontrols scanned and identified the inbound missiles as Commonwealth Ruger Class missiles, the same used by the Marshal's Service and the Bureau.

"Attention, this is Commonwealth Marshal's Service Cruiser Sixkiller Sam! Stop firing!" he shouted over the Commonwealth hailing frequency.

When he received no response he activated his missile countermeasures, hoping to fool the missiles with false signatures and radio jamming.

"Stop firing dammit!" he shouted over the hailing frequency as he spiraled and rotated his craft to avoid the missiles.

But the only answer came in the form of concussive blasts of cannon fire. The cannons used by the Commonwealth Fleet and police services were used mainly to create explosive forces to alter a fleeing spacecraft's trajectory and interfere with its maneuvering capabilities. Heck was having a difficult time keeping his cruiser under control from the barrage of cannon fire, even though he had not suffered a direct hit. A direct hit from one of these cannons could have devastating consequences.

"What the hell?" he shouted. "I am a Commonwealth Marshal! Cease fire! Cease fire! Cease fire!"

The countermeasures he deployed from Sixkiller seemed to be working and the missiles were drawn away from his cruiser. But the cannon fire was still doggedly trailing him, making it exceedingly difficult to get his cruiser up to top speed. Heck suspected his pursuers were, in fact, Bureau agents sent after him. But why wouldn't they at least talk to him on the radio? Why not demand his unconditional surrender? He knew what the Bureau was after, though he was genuinely shocked that they would resort to murder to get it.

"So you want the Centaurus Device after all, eh Director Hall?" he snarled, deciding that he might as well get in a parting shot over the hailing frequency. "And I thought you were better than that slug, Gem Revelier!"

The enemy didn't rise to the bait, however, and the disciplined foes maintained their radio silence. Heck was in trouble, he was outgunned and outnumbered. Bureau cruisers were every bit as powerful as his own, and there were at least three of them on his scans. They should have killed him by now.

"You can't have it, Hall!" he shouted. "And you won't risk destroying it along with my ship. So why don't you just force someone to make you a new device?"

He was answered by a barrage of heavy machine gun fire from a pair of the Bureau cruisers. While he had been able to dodge most of the 50 millimeter bullets, a few got close enough to Sixkiller for the Phalanx Defense System to activate and vaporize them.

That was close, he thought grimly, wiping sweat from his brow. If they can't have it they might just take my advice and blow me away!

Heck took advantage of the brief lull to go on the offensive and turned off the radio. He singled out one cruiser and flew straight at it while he launched a barrage of missiles at the other two. He fired Sixkiller's 50mm cannon at the ship before him and chased it as it maneuvered out of his path. Heck had no desire to engage all three of those cruisers in a dogfight he could not win. But his furious, if brief, offensive forced his attackers to react to him instead of continuing their own barrage. His plan worked, and the enemy cruisers were forced to flee and evade the missiles and bullets that Sixkiller Sam sent toward them, giving him the precious seconds he needed to reach open space. As he zoomed out from between the three enemy ships now coming about to attack again, Heck vented Sixkiller's empty fuel cells.

A cloud of nearly invisible vapor spilled out behind Sixkiller just as a Ruger missile homed in on Heck. As the lawman had expected, his enemy was still trying to incapacitate his ship with concussive forces rather than destroy it. And when the missile detonated in the vapor cloud, the ensuing explosion created a blinding flash of light and a burst of spectrum interference that made the enemy ships' sensors simply go offline.

Heck Thomas rocketed away from the wormhole at Sixkiller's top speed and headed into the perilous and ever moving debris cloud of the Asteroid belt. As he had hoped, his pursuers had not followed. He piloted Sixkiller into a crater on a large asteroid and anchored the cruiser to the surface, shutting down all systems but basic life support. The temperature inside the cabin grew colder and his nose and ears grew chill. Heck wondered just what the hell was he going to do now.

T O M B I E L A W S K I

I'm a veteran of the US Marines, a career law enforcement officer, a husband, a father of two, and a CF dad. I love the outdoors. When I'm not spending time with my family I'm usually out on the lake, or knee deep in a creek, fishing.

I am also a graduate the online workshop of NY Times Best Selling Author, Tracy Hickman, known as Scribe's Forge. As Tracy was in large part responsible for inspiring me to write, this was an amazing experience. I highly recommend Scribe's Forge for aspiring writers, and I recommend anything written by Tracy and Laura Hickman for avid fantasy readers like me.

The names and artwork from these books are inspired mainly by Celtic and European artwork and mythology. The wheel on each chapter is a derivative of the Celtic Sun Wheel. Each space represents one of the Sigil disciplines: Flame, Air (lightning bolt), Earth, Water, Shadow (skull), and the empty space is reserved for the lost discipline of Spirit.

Feel free to give me a holler!

Facebook ~ Twitter @tombielawski ~ My Lair

THE CHRONICLES OF LLARS

I - A TIDE OF SHADOWS

II - THE BLACK KEEP

III - SHADOWBLADE

IV - TOMB OF THE DARK PALADIN

V - CROWN OF POWER (2016)

VI- TBD

PRELUDES OF LLARS

PATHS OF DARKNESS

THE BLACK BARON (2017)

HECK THOMAS

0 - THE CENTAURUS LEGACY

I - THE ORION DECEPTION

II - JUGGERNAUT (2016)

About this book:

Thank you so much for buying and reading my book. The Centaurus Legacy was written to be a segway into the world of Marshal Henrick (Heck)Thomas. Although the characters called Marshal Heck Thomas and Deputy Marshal Stephen W. Doolin are purely fictional, there was in fact a Marshal Heck Thomas and a William Doolin. Marshal Heck Thomas was a hero of the American West while William "Bill" Doolin was the leader of one of the worst gangs in Old West American history.

Marshal Andrew Henry (Heck) Thomas was a United States Marshal in the late 19th Century. A Georgian by birth, Heck served as a courier in the Civil War at the age of 12 under his uncle, General Edward Thomas. Heck later became a member of the Atlanta Police where he earned a reputation as a fearless fighter.

In the 1870's Heck had moved to Texas where he worked for the Texas Express Railroad and later became a member of the Fort Worth Detectives Association. Following his appointment to the Marshals Service, Marshal Thomas was assigned to police the lawless Indian Territory. By 1889 the lawman had partnered with fellow Marshals Bill Tilghman and Chris Madsen; the trio became known as "The Three Guardsmen," and were largely responsible for bringing law to the lawless territory.

The Doolin Gang (AKA the Doolin-Dalton Gang) was one of the most violent gangs of the time. For four years they robbed trains and committed other crimes in Kansas, the Indian Territory, and Texas. In 1896 the Three Guardsman caught up to the gang and the notorious Bill Doolin. Eventually every member of that gang died fighting, refusing to surrender to the law. Bill Doolin was killed in 1896.

The Three Guardsmen were credited with arresting 300 wanted men during their tenure. Heck Thomas retied in 1909 and died in 1912 of Bright's Disease. He was buried in the Highland Cemetery in Lawton Oklahoma where his grave remains today.

\- "Heck Thomas," Wikipedia: the Free Encyclopedia Information retrieved 15 December, 2011 <http://en.wikipedia.com/wiki/heck_thomas> copyright 2012 Wikipedia

\- "Wild Bunch," Wikipedia: the Free Encyclopedia Information retrieved 15 December, 2011 <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Doolin-Dalton_Gang>

## Table of Contents

  1. Table of Contents
  2. The Centaurus Legacy
  3. Copyright
  4. A Word About Cystic Fibrosis
  5. Prologue
  6. ONE
  7. TWO
  8. THREE
  9. FOUR
  10. FIVE
  11. SIX
  12. SEVEN
  13. EIGHT
  14. NINE
  15. TEN
  16. ELEVEN
  17. SAMPLE: The Orion Deception
  18. Tom Bielawski
  19. Heck Thomas Novels
  20. The Chronicles of Llars
  21. About this book

