
GYRFALCON

Taking Shield 01

Anna Butler

Second Edition, December 2016
_Gyrfalcon_ © 2015Anna Butler

Second Edition, 2016

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, situations and incidents are the product of the author's imagination.

This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the author.

Editing: Val Wolfe at Wilde City

Cover Artist: Adrian Nicholas
**Praise for** Gyrfalcon

This book is so good... a true page turner. Action packed. Many secondary characters that are excellent and add so much to the story... . If you like high action science fiction that is truly believable, I can't recommend this book highly enough.

It's About The Book Reviews

If you like lots of different kinds of spaceships in your sci fi stories, then this is absolutely for you. If you like realistic, relatable characters that will make you laugh, curse, and sob for them, then this is definitely for you. The writing is engrossing to the point you feel immersed into this dangerous world. The battle and fight descriptions are particularly well shown... this is a wonderful start to a new, apparently quite long sci fi series with a lot to offer.

Joyfully Jay's Reviews

I very highly recommend "Gyrfalcon". Having grown up reading Classic Sci-Fi and Fantasy, I'm always thrilled to read a new book that seems like it would fit right in on any sci-fi shelf in any library anywhere, right next to the works by the great sci-fi authors of the past.

Love Bytes Reviews
Contents

****SECTION ONE: SHIELD

Chapter One

Chapter Two

SECTION TWO: BORROWING DREADNOUGHTS

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

SECTION THREE: GYRFALCON

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

SECTION FOUR: T18

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

SECTION FIVE: AFTER THE FALL

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

About My Books

Heart Scarab Teaser
Acknowledgements

For Julie, who christened Flynn; for Shelley, who said "Tell me about those shield-suits!" and forced me to work out how they functioned; for Alice, who doesn't mind being Quist; and for Nan and Sally, who prodded and poked until I got _Gyrfalcon_ into shape. With love to you all, ladies.
GYRFALCON

21 Quartus – 7 Septimus 7486

# SECTION ONE: SHIELD

21 Quartus 7486: Uninhabited planet, designation A2T-486G

## Chapter One

Something broke out of the bushes, wings beating, tooth-ringed mouth gaping wide on a hoarse shriek. The Maess drone appeared so suddenly behind it, plunging through the thick forest undergrowth, that Shield Captain Bennet just had time to hurl himself sideways. The photon pistol built into the cyborg's right arm spat a plasma bolt that smacked so close to his ribs, it punched a grunt out of him. The air stank: burnt ozone, rank vegetation, fear.

Bennet landed rolling, twisting to fetch up on one knee and face the drone, the barrel of his laser rifle slapping into his gloved right hand. No time for finesse. The drone was already moving, the business end of its laser coming around in an arc as it swung its arm. That barrel mouth looked big enough to swallow a space shuttle.

He fired from the hip.

He was faster than it was. Drones were bigger than humans, taller and wider, but slower to move and not nearly as well motivated to survive. Bennet snapped off two shots while it was still turning, laser pulses straight to the chest to take out the cyborg's main processing unit.

The drone stopped dead. The outstretched arm wavered and dropped.

Over to his right came a shout and the shrill whine of laser rifles. Bennet took his third shot with more care, blasting straight though the cyborg drone's simulacrum of a head and tearing through the little group of organic cells that gave it a feeble travesty of life. Almost simultaneously, another couple of laser rifles sounded from one side, hitting the drone square on.

It went down without a sound.

Twenty minutes earlier, the Shield ship _Hyperion_ 's cutter had dropped Bennet's raiding party on A2T-486G, a small planet in the disputed territory between Maess space and the outermost colonies belonging to Albion, his home planet. The Maess had seeded the system with spy satellites, feeding back data to an automated listening post. A2T-486G might be a couple of dozen systems from Albion itself, but this put the Maess uncomfortably close. Almost on the doorstep.

One day they'd be back to blow the place, but Shield's job that day was to sneak around the satellites and scout the listening post as a possible target for the infiltration job that Bennet would be carrying out for the Military Strategy Unit as soon as HQ gave the go-ahead. It should have been an easy run in and out, with no local resistance—A2T-486G had no recorded sentient life forms. The numeric designation on the star charts translated to 'breathable atmosphere, no intelligent life.'

"A perfect place for the Maess," Bennet had said at the pre-mission briefing on the _Hyperion_ as they approached fixed orbit, "given their strategy toward the rest of the galaxy."

As hundreds of human dead and dozens of ruined colonies could testify, the Maess embraced xenophobic paranoia with passion. Out to destroy humanity, the Maess weren't likely to stop until Albion, too, could be reduced to 'breathable atmosphere, no intelligent life.'

And in Bennet's opinion, they probably weren't too fussy about leaving Albion with an atmosphere.

Shit, but he'd been careless, letting the drone get that close. He'd been damn lucky. Bennet breathed out the air he'd been holding, flipped up his face shield and spat to get the acid taste out of his mouth. He looked around to check on his unit.

A second drone was down like the first, lying on its back with its legs kicking and twitching. The unit sergeant stood over it, delivering the coup de grâce with his laser pistol.

Bennet used the pad in his chinstrap to toggle to the command comms channel. "Sit rep!"

Shield Lieutenant Rosamund had her back to the second drone, her rifle still aimed at the one that had almost got Bennet. "Two." She lowered the rifle. "Both down. We're clean. No casualties."

"Stay sharp!" Bennet flicked down his visor and pressed his chin into the sensor control on his chinstrap. The display showed him the all clear for the immediate vicinity. He'd left Second Lieutenant Chivers in command of the _Hype_ , holding her with most of her company and the squad of small Mosquito fighter craft in geostationary orbit a few thousand miles from the listening post. "Chivers! Anything on the sensors?"

"Single energy pulse from the base about forty seconds ago, sir. We're jamming it. Nothing's getting out now."

Shit.

"What happened, sir?"

"We ran into a couple of drones. Keep jamming, Lieutenant. Go to red alert and stay sharp. Tell Dieter to get the cutter warmed up and ready for a fast exit. Keep me posted if anything else happens."

Bennet waited for the acknowledgement and returned his attention to the drone at his feet. It looked both disturbingly human sprawled on the ground, arms and legs outspread, and disturbingly wrong and alien. He rolled it over, never more grateful that the shield-suit came with gloves.

His shot had taken out the featureless face and left the head a truncated knob of melted metal. It had only rudimentary hands with weaponry built into stiff, elbow-less arms. The dark grey plasticised skin of its chest had peeled back, revealing circuitry melted into a puddle of metal and wiring. This one was definitely finished.

Even through his gloves the skin felt clammy, dewed with condensation and some sort of dank, greenish residue. He rubbed a fingertip over it. Algae? Was that even possible?

It shouldn't have seen him. The damn drone just shouldn't have seen him. His close-fitting shield suit generated a dispersion field that should have scattered any sensors the Maess used: infrared and UV light, radar, sonar and heat sensors. As long as his power pack was still active, he should have been virtually invisible to a drone.

Unless there was something wrong with the suit?

The monitoring meter showed green and the wafer-thin power pack between his shoulder blades would drive the suit for three hours; up to four if he were lucky. The only other possibility was that despite the distortion created by the shield-suit, the drone had been so close Bennet had tripped every sensor it had. But he should have seen the drone first. Their shielding wasn't nearly as effective as his. The sensor net built into his helmet should have picked it up from miles away. He should have seen it. That he hadn't until it was on top of him... that was a concern.

He keyed open the command line. "Everyone, check your power. Now."

He was cleaning his fingers on his pants leg when Lieutenant Rosamund darted over to join him. "All suits are green. Are you all right?"

"Just a bit singed." Bennet glanced down at the side of his shield-suit. The kick from the Maess laser had left the outer layer crisped and shredded, with some of the masking circuitry exposed. There was no other damage to the suit, or to him. "Thanks for the assist, Rosie."

"My pleasure." She ran her hand over the hole in his suit, her downturned mouth clearly visible through her transparent face shield. As she took her hand away, she patted his arm. It was the most she'd allow herself in the field and Bennet wasn't certain if the comfort was for him or her. She gave him a slight smile, light years away from her usual grin. "I'm not one to grumble, you know, but Shield is not Infantry. We're supposed to do fast scouting runs in and out of enemy territory, not play peek-a-boo with the drones the way mudbrains do."

"Someone changed the job description." He rechecked the sensor net. Still nothing close up, but a concentration of signals showed up at the Maess base ahead of them that hadn't been there five minutes earlier. He fished a handheld scanner out of his pocket to double-check the readings.

"Bennet," Rosie said, tone low and urgent. "The base!"

"I've got it."

"Sir!" Sergeant Tim joined them, holstering the pistol he'd used on the second drone. "I'm picking up energy surges up ahead."

"Yeah. We've got 'em, Tim. Drone signatures. Chivers jammed a signal out of the base, but that took a few seconds. This whole job's going tits up." Bennet watched the sensor display for a second or two. Close in, all he could see were the tiny tracers that his sensor-net was calibrated to pick up—one for each Shield warrior down there. "There's nothing else moving out here but us, that I can see. So far."

"How in hell did they spot us?" Tim shrugged off his backpack and dug out a maintenance kit. He ran a repair sensor over the gash in the fabric of Bennet's suit. "No damage to the circuits, sir. The dispersion field is still active. Hold still."

Bennet obediently raised his arm and let Tim apply a patch from the repair kit to cover the exposed wiring.

Rosie's mouth twisted. "The damn things just weren't on our scanners. We should have seen them."

Bennet nudged the drone with his foot. "I know. But take a look at this one. It's covered with algae or lichen or something, like it's been standing in that bush for weeks. Maybe they were out here on standby, and we activated them by sheer proximity. Hell, I wasn't as much as a couple of yards from that thing. That close, and not even our suits can hide us fully."

Tim grimaced. "That may mean more of them out here. I'll alert the boys and girls."

"Thanks, Sarge."

"So much for an unmanned listening post." Tim kicked at the drone's foot. "I was kinda hoping for an afternoon stroll sort of job."

"Weren't we all?" Bennet frowned. "Not going to happen, not now. Not with drones stirring at the base. They'll know we fried these two. They'll know we're here, even if they can't see us."

Tim's grimace deepened. "All the suits are green, sir. They can't track us."

"They'll still be waiting, and on alert." Rosie pushed back her helmet and rubbed at the red mark the edge left on her forehead. "They'll have seen two of their own go dark."

Shield's normal operative mode was to sneak in and out of bases fast and unnoticed. That had just gone to hell. Tim blew out a sigh. Rosie glanced at the rest of the raiding party, and Bennet could almost feel her calculating if they'd be enough.

They had to be. They had a job to do.

Bennet straightened up. "I don't know what other defences they have here and standing still waiting for them to shoot at us isn't a good idea. Get Chivers to launch a couple of Mozzies, Lieutenant, and make sure he's warned Dieter to have the cutter ready. I don't want the Mozzies too close yet, but if that signal was picked up and we need a fast extraction with air support, I don't want to be scrabbling around for it later. Get everyone ready to move out, Tim. We'll have to make this fast. Warn 'em we'll be zigzagging all the way to evade motion sensors and the Maess will be waiting for us when we get there. On my mark."

Tim threw him a salute and jogged back to the four warriors while Rosie talked with Chivers. Bennet waited until Chivers acknowledged orders and reported that two Mosquitoes had launched and would take up a holding pattern fifty miles to their south.

"Good. Let's get a move on." Bennet waved at Tim and signalled in the direction of the listening post, a mile ahead of them.

Sergeant Tim waved back and started forward. The four Shield warriors in the raiding party went with him, straggling out in a zigzag line, going forward in fifty yard stages. Some stages they ran and some they walked, varying the length of their stride and speed, and some they crawled on their bellies. All random. The Maess motion sensors would have a field day trying to see patterns in that.

Bennet and Rosie did their own zigging and zagging, Rosie tossing questions to Bennet whenever the zigzags converged. "Where in hell did they come from? They weren't there when the Maurice scouted this system last month. Nothing showed when we did our flyover earlier, either."

She was right. _Hype_ hadn't picked up any anomalous power signatures, or anything more than the usual low-level power outputs Bennet would expect on an automated base. There had been nothing to indicate the drones were here. "Maybe the Maess have improved their shields."

Rosie surged forward. "I hope not. The bastards are hard enough to fight already."

"The alternative is that the drones were all on standby. They wouldn't churn out enough power to register, then. Falling over those two out there... well, that must have relayed back and the drones re-activated to respond to a perceived threat. Odd, that."

Rosie cocked an eyebrow in Bennet's direction. "Okay, we weren't expecting to see them here, today, but a post with Maess drones isn't that unusual. I wish it was."

"It's not their usual MO for an automated post. They normally rely on passive defences. I've never heard of them keeping drones around in the undergrowth as a welcoming committee just in case we stroll by."

Rosie blew out a sigh. Like Bennet, she was on her belly now, inching her way across the forest floor. "They wouldn't leave just drones, would they? I mean, I get that they could be pre-programmed to stand around in bushes or be in sleep mode until there's an alarm, but a drone doesn't have enough brain to be left in charge. Does this mean there's a real one on the base somewhere?"

"Last time I looked, I moonlight with the Strategy Unit as an analyst, not as a psychic. How am I supposed to know if there's a real Maess there?" Bennet relented at the grin she gave him. "The scouting reports all point to this not being a critical base, just a standard listening post. That wouldn't merit much of a Maess presence at all and on past experience, it's unlikely they'd risk a real one this far forward of their lines. Mind you, while I know there's nothing to suggest anything more than a few spare drones here, the situation's not what we expected. Something's changed about the way they're operating."

Rosie's response was most unladylike.

"Yeah. It never changes for the better. If they're building up numbers around here..." Bennet grimaced. "Let's not make too big a deal of it now. When we finish here, we'll take a look around the nearby systems, just in case."

"It changes today's job, though."

"Well, they'll be very suspicious if we waltz in and waltz out and leave the base untouched. With drones there, we'll probably have to blow it." Which was a damn shame, because on paper at least, the base had looked a strong contender for the infiltration mission the Strategy Unit was lining up for him. "We'll decide when we get there."

"What are you planning?" she asked. They were running now, weaving from side to side. "Now we know we'll have to fight our way in, I mean?"

Bennet grinned. "Planning? Who has time to do any planning? It'll be a firefight not a social occasion."

"That sounds a bit, you know, spontaneous."

"What I do best. Let's just keep it simple. We go in, take a look, blow it up, and then we go home. If we're lucky, Chivers'll have the coffee on."

"I like simple." Rosie zigged and waited for Bennet to catch up with her on the zag. "So, we run like hell toward that listening post and knock it out?"

"Sounds like a plan to me."

A hundred yards out, Bennet paused and held up a hand. The Shield warriors slowed, drifting to a stop, staying under cover. From the data collected by previous scouting runs, there wasn't much of a base to speak of, just a small blockhouse in the middle of a clearing giving access to the main installation below ground.

"Mind you," Rosie said in Bennet's ear. "With our luck today, who's going to trust the scout reports? There's probably a base down there the size of Sais City."

But there was only the blockhouse, very small and very insignificant. Rosie expressed quiet surprise, the cynic. Bennet fished out a larger, handheld scanner and held it so they could both see it, checking the readings of his helmet sensors. Four drones patrolled the near side of the clearing. They weren't the only ones.

"Two inside the blockhouse, four here and another four on the other side. Ah, there we are. There's a stronger power reading coming from underground. I guess tripping over those drones out there did wake the baby."

Rosie sighed. "The question is, are there more on standby in the woods waiting to come out to play?"

"Not according to the scanner. Nothing for miles around except our own people. No ships parked anywhere close by, no power sources other than the base."

Rosie merely sniffed, focusing on priming grenades and anti-drone flashbangs. "Not sure I trust the scanner any more than the scouting reports. There could be more of them powered down, below ground or in the trees. What are we going to do? Call up the Mozzies?"

Bennet was tempted. The Mosquito one-man fighters could level the base without putting the rest of the unit at risk. But it was still worth checking out the place even if he did have to take it off the list of possible targets for the bigger mission. "No. Not until we've taken a good look at it and collected what intel we can. We'll take out the drones we can see, then blow it."

Rosie handed him half a dozen grenades. "That's a shit plan, Bennet."

"It's pretty much yours. The 'run like hell and take out the base' plan."

"It's still shit. They know we're here. They aren't going to stand still and let us shoot them."

Bennet shrugged and attached the grenades to his belt. "You take Tim, Kerr and Younis and work your way round to the other side. When you're in position, signal me and cut down the drones on that side when I tell you. Use everything you've got—I want them down and staying down. I'll hang onto Paul and Lydia and get the drones on this side and then meet you at the blockhouse. A nice simple little plan." Bennet reached for the controls to his helmet audios. "Switch to battle frequency."

Rosie nodded and complied. "Be careful."

She worked her way to Tim and within a few minutes she and her small team melted away into the trees. The remaining two warriors closed up to wait with Bennet and get a quiet briefing on what he expected of them. A seasoned veteran, Lydia barely blinked, focused on priming her own grenades and flashbangs, but Paul was a rookie. This was his first job. He swallowed visibly, the fingers around the stock of his laser rifle whitening. Still, he met Bennet's gaze and nodded.

Bennet grinned back. Shield warriors. They were the best, even when they were barely out of school, green around the edges, and scared.

He led the way almost to the tree line at the clearing's edge where they could shelter behind a tree and keep low and watch the clearing where two drones stood in front of the blockhouse. The remaining two paced slowly back and forth.

Rosie's voice sounded in his helmet comlink. "We're in position."

"Fine." Bennet kept the tree between him and the four drones. He glanced at Lydia and Paul. They were ready, watching for his signal. He took a deep breath. "Go now."

Almost before he finished, the flat crack of two explosions and the unmistakable shrieking whine of a plasma rifle tore through the air on the far side of the clearing. The four drones in front of him froze for an instant, probably processing the data they were getting, and turned, too slowly, toward the noise. Bennet took his chance. He lobbed two flashbangs into the clearing and took off across it almost before they had the chance to hit the ground and explode, firing at the drones as he went. His helmet face shield and earpiece protected him from the flashbangs, but they ripped hell into a drone's visual and audio circuitry. The drones staggered. Bennet switched to grenades, tossing them at the disorientated drones.

On his right, Lydia hurled a grenade. One drone went down in the massed grenade explosions, disassembled, and a second was disabled. Bennet got one of the remaining drones with his plasma rifle, the one on the left collapsing with its circuitry fried by a plasma bolt to the head, and as the last drone turned, firing, Paul took it out with a shot to the chest. It fell to its knees, sparks shooting out from its chest circuitry.

Bennet ignored it and continued his mad run up to the blockhouse, yelling at Rosie through the comlink. "All down! Get round here!"

He put a blast from his laser into the door lock and kicked the door open. A flashbang went in first, Bennet following in a smooth dive, landing on his stomach, laser spitting out fire. The answering fire went harmlessly over his head. A drone went down in a shower of sparks but the second... For a split second Bennet stared at the bigger, yellowish drone that swung a laser pistol around with one hand, while clawing at its blank ovoid face with the other.

Hands. It had hands.

Then the adrenaline kicked in and he rolled to one side, taking careful aim for all his speed. He fired once, getting it through the chest. The drone staggered back and went down.

The whole attack had lasted less than thirty seconds.

Paul helped him up, grinning, obviously relieved that he'd got through the little firefight without making a fool of himself.

Bennet grinned back and nodded. "Good shot out there." He let the grin widen at Paul's almost-blush and turned back to the job. His sensor net, both the helmet and the handheld, showed the base was quiet now and empty. "That's the lot, I think." He raised his voice. "Good work, people! All clear inside."

Rosie appeared behind him. She raised an eyebrow at the yellowy-grey drone. It lay on its back, arms and legs twitching, the big head moving from side to side, making the whirring noise of wheels and gears trying to get a purchase on a slippery surface. The hands clawed at air.

Hands.

Shit. An EDA drone. Didn't often come across one of them.

Tim had Lydia and Kerr on guard just outside the blockhouse door, watching their backs. Bennet glanced at his remaining troopers. "Paul, Younis—you're on point. The access to the main post is there." He indicated the back of the room. "Take a look, but be careful. There may be more down there. Usual drill. Photograph everything, extract anything that you can and set charges. I'll be there in a minute."

Rosie poked at the drone with her rifle. "You don't often see this kind. I don't think I've ever seen a whole one."

"No. EDA drones are rare." Bennet crouched beside the drone and studied it for a moment. "There are bits of one or two of these back at the Strategy Unit, but not a whole one. They have better developed arms and hands than usual drones. Look." The hands were fully articulated and he could move and bend each of the fingers. He grasped one of the arms and manoeuvred it. A fully functional elbow joint, too. And it had been holding a laser pistol. That was not usual. He picked up the pistol. Other than the built-in weaponry taken from disassembled drones, the Strategy Unit only had a couple of Maess weapons to study. This was a goldmine. The techs would be kissing his feet in gratitude for months.

"Did you name it?" Rosie asked.

Bennet blinked. He shrugged out of his backpack and stowed the pistol away safely. "No. I have no idea who did. Why?"

"Enhanced Dactyl-Articulated drone, that's why. We don't normally let you name things. You have no imagination."

"Very amusing." Bennet reached for his camera. "EDAs are probably used for tasks that require using machinery, or fine-tuning things anything that needs better manual dexterity than the usual drones. Maybe a bit more intelligence and initiative than the others, too."

"It's not deactivated yet." Rosie took a step backwards, but her rifle came up, ready.

Bennet nodded. He tugged at the head. It would only come partway free from the short neck, but by tilting it forward he could see inside. The small mass of iridescent tissue beneath was wired into the head and body inside a net of crystalline threads. It quivered rhythmically. "You can see where the stuff's wired in. Looks just like every other drone node I've seen."

"Lovely," Rosie said. "Just what I wanted to look at ten minutes before lunch."

## Chapter Two

The underground chamber beneath the blockhouse was about the size of the _Hyperion_ 's hangar deck. A smaller chamber ran off to one side with ten drone recharging pods lining the wall. Careful scrutiny and much rechecking of the sensor data confirmed it was the only one. It looked like they didn't need to worry about waking more drones.

Like all Maess architecture, the chamber looked as if it had been grown, not built.

Bennet laid his hand flat against the smooth greenish-black wall between two arching ribs. Whatever it was—metal? skin?—it was a touch warmer than the air and thrummed under his fingers, giving very slightly when he pressed hard. The surface was unbroken but for one access port to the computer banks behind, with a translucent area above it, about three feet square, running a vertical script. Machine code. Albion's linguists were still struggling to decipher it. It had only taken them a century so far and they were just about at baby-speak level.

Bennet flicked a fingernail against the screen. Its vibration picked up a little, that was all.

"I just don't get how they think when it comes to stuff like this." Rosie had her laser pistol on focused, narrow beam, carefully cutting around the access port to remove it and taking as much of the crystalline wiring from behind it as she could manage. She used her free hand to gesture around the chamber. "There's nowhere to work down here at all."

"It's just more organic than we're used to. Seamless. There's probably a single machine behind these walls, with the chambers hollowed out of it." Bennet glanced into the drone chamber where Kerr and Paul were lacing each pod with explosives. "It's possible the drones get plugged into more than a battery recharger when they're in the pods. I've always wondered if they're more than just foot-soldiers. Parts of a bigger machine, maybe. Moving computer terminals, with attitude and weapons."

Rosie laughed. "Shame we have to strike this place off the list, though." She ignored the sparks spitting and fizzing around her. "It was a good candidate for that job of yours."

"Too small and quiet, maybe." Bennet focused on the screen. It looked like it was sequencing data from the satellites. If they got the chance, he'd destroy the satellites on the way out of the system.

She raised an eyebrow. The port came free into Younis's waiting hands. He wrapped it in clear plastic and tucked it into his backpack. Rosie smiled her thanks at him. "Is it possible for things to be too quiet when you're sneaking into a Maess base?" She packed a primed stick of solactinite into the hole where the access port had been and switched to formal mode. "That's it, Captain. The place is mined and ready to blow."

Bennet followed her back up top. "Too small with only one access port. I may need to make more than one attempt." He glanced at Tim, who sat over the downed EDA drone. Its legs still twitched. "Deactivated?"

"Just about." As Tim gestured to it, the drone stopped moving. Tim grinned.

Bennet grinned back. "You can stop smirking. We'll take it back with us, blow this place and head for home. Move out."

They grumbled a bit—drones were damned heavy—but Younis and Paul took the arms, Kerr and Lydia the legs. Tim rode shotgun, chivvying them along.

A mile from the base, close to where he'd had his own close encounter with the first drone, Bennet called a temporary halt. He handed the remote detonator to Paul. "Rookie's privilege, to celebrate your first job. Blow it up."

Paul grinned and obeyed. The base went up with a very satisfying whump of sound. The warriors greeted the sheet of flame that danced above the treetops with shouts and laughter. It was a cheerful group, still laughing and backslapping, who turned to pick up the heavy drone and resume their trudge back to the cutter.

Bennet breathed out a soft sigh. Shame about scratching the base from his list, but he had other targets and this post had been too close to home for comfort. So, another nose thumbed at the Maess, another base gone, more intel gathered and a whole EDA drone and its laser weapon for the Strategy Unit to take apart. Altogether, a very good day for Shield.

"Good work, everyone. Very good work." He slid his right arm through the strap of his rifle and shouldered it. "Let's go home."

They were still half a mile from the cutter when the sensor net in Bennet's helmet went off like fireworks.

"Incoming!" He spun around to face the threat, watching the heads up display on the inside of his face shield.

Rosie moved fast. "From the north! Scatter!"

A fighter craft. Hell, a fucking Maess fighter craft. Small, fast, sharp-nosed and with curved-back wings, the fighter was another form of Maess cyborg and powered with the same sort of cluster of neural cells as the humanoid drones. It skimmed along just above tree height.

"Warn Chivers," Bennet snapped out to Rosie.

Rosie was already talking urgently with Chivers. "Just the one? Captain, Chivers says they've picked up one fighter, but a Maess cruiser just dropped out of hyperspace at the edge of the system. The fighter has to be a scout. _Hype_ 's shifted to keep the planet between her and the cruiser, and the Mozzies are ready to move on your mark."

Dammit.

The fighter shouldn't be able to see them in their suits, but it might pick up the cutter signature, despite the shielding. It flew overhead again, quartering the area. Definitely a search pattern.

"It's looking for something," Rosie said.

The fighter screamed around in a tight arc, coming back straight at them. It shouldn't be able to see them. It shouldn't... Hell! It could spot the downed EDA drone. It was homing in on that. They were too damned close to it.

"Drop that drone and run for the cutter!" Bennet raised his rifle. "Tim! Bring it down!"

Sergeant Tim unshipped the grenade launcher. Lydia raced to help him steady it on his shoulder, slapping a photon grenade into the breech.

"Fire, Tim! Chivers! Get those Mozzies here!"

Lydia jumped aside and Bennet ducked as the grenade zapped through the air above his head. He only half-heard Chivers' acknowledgment. Overhead the fighter banked into a steep curve, turning for another run at them.

"Missed! Again, Tim!"

The explosion was shockingly loud and shockingly close.

The concussive boom threw Bennet off his feet, cannoning him into Younis and sending Younis flying into Paul, and showering all of them with dirt and splintered vegetation. Paul went down at an angle to Bennet, taking Rosie with him.

Bennet landed face down, his head ringing. His hearing was both too sharp and yet everything was muffled and soft. He could hear Rosie spluttering out something, repeating the same thing over and over: "Get up! Get up!" Chivers' voice in his comlink earpiece, demanding to know what was happening, was sharp. But the shouts from Tim and the other warriors and the raucous shrieks of frightened bird-things were muted, as if they were coming from a mile away.

He lifted his head to look, just as the fighter craft flashed overhead and went into another banking turn. Sergeant Tim yelled something and fired again. This time he hit the fighter full on. It veered off and exploded in a flash of fire and smoke. Bennet curled up, his arms over his head until the shower of sparks and shrapnel died down. Luckily, the main body of the fighter went down a good few hundred yards north of them. The thump when it hit made the ground shudder and the fireball was a brilliant white.

Bennet levered himself up just as a strong hand clamped onto his arm and hauled. Tim. He let the Sergeant steady him for a second, glancing down to make sure that arms and legs were where they were supposed to be. The front of his shield-suit was covered in blood. His visor was fogged, smeared, and the hand he rubbed over it to clear it came away red. It wasn't his blood.

Rosie was down. Paul was down. Younis was struggling to get up. The two Mozzies arrived, too late, to give them air support.

"The lieutenant!" Tim said, urgent, and turned to pull Paul away from Rosie. She scrambled up and scuttled a couple of yards off on her backside.

Chivers' voice in Bennet's earpiece was almost hysterical as he begged for a sit-rep.

"Three down. Launch all Mozzies!" Bennet reached Rosie first. "Rosie? Rosie, are you all right?"

She nodded, dumb. There was blood all over her, too. Bennet passed his hands quickly over her, checking for injuries, half an eye on Tim, and what he was doing with Paul, and another half on Younis. Rosie wasn't hurt beyond a minor wound to her left arm where shrapnel had sliced through her suit and laid the muscle open. She clamped her right hand over it and nodded, already over the shock, the colour coming back to her face.

It wasn't thirty seconds before Bennet left Rosie for Younis. Kerr rushed to help Tim.

A lot of the blood had to be Younis's, but he was moving feebly. He had trouble breathing. His mouth worked, every breath a rasping gasp, his lips already a bluey-purple. Blood bubbled and frothed around the edges of a hole at the bottom of his ribcage. Air whistled in and out. Only one thing to do. Bennet slammed the heel of his hand onto the wound to seal it, pressing hard against the slimy edges of torn flesh. Younis yelped, trying to push his hand away, but Lydia arrived, pushing Younis back and holding him down, talking in a low, soothing monotone.

Bennet glanced at Lydia. "We have to close this sucker. Pressure dressing."

Lydia nodded. Between them, she and Bennet wrangled Younis partially out of his shield-suit without Bennet moving the hand that had the wound partially sealed. Younis was lucky. His suit might be shredded but it had absorbed most of the shrapnel. The wound in his chest wasn't really that big. Messy and noisy with the air whooping in and out around the edges of Bennet's palm, but not too big to deal with. Lydia readied the dressing and slapped it into place the instant Bennet took away his hand. The dressing sealed over the wound better than Bennet's hand could. It sucked in and out as Younis choked and gasped, but it held. With his chest fully closed up again, Younis could at least breathe. He took a couple of shaky breaths before giving them the thumbs up. The blueness faded from his nose and mouth.

"I've got him, sir." Lydia shook out more field dressings from her trauma kit and started to wrap Younis's chest.

Bennet sat back on his heels. Hell, it couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes since Tim had dragged him up. Kerr blocked his view of Paul and he couldn't see much. He wriggled across to join them. Rosie sat nearby, her knees drawn up, keeping out of the way but holding pressure dressings ready for Tim to snatch when he needed them.

Most of the blood had been Paul's. He was unconscious. Or dead. Bennet couldn't tell which.

"He's bleeding out." Tim's hands were skilled and sure, but the dressings he pressed against Paul's chest and side were soaked through with blood. Bennet tore another pack open and slid them under Tim's hands. Kerr added another. The dressings reddened almost immediately. Tim shook his head at Bennet.

Bennet let his shoulders slump. Damn it! Damn it to hell. The kid had barely started out with them. He'd done well this first job, too. Damn. "Hold position, Chivers," he said, quietly. He settled back, waiting. It wouldn't be long.

Private Paul, Shield warrior, died ninety seconds later without ever regaining consciousness.

Rosie was never inclined to let Bennet brood.

When they'd dodged out of the system to avoid the Maess cruiser and dropped into hyperspace as soon as they passed the crunch point, and after Bennet had sent a brief report back to HQ and following the short committal for Paul before his body was secured in the deep freeze at the back of the hangar bay, she crowded him into the tiny commissary and forced food and coffee into him. She didn't outright tell him he was an idiot for blaming himself, but she came close. It was an interesting dynamic they had these days. They'd been friends for far longer than he'd been her commanding officer. If she took a few liberties because of that, Bennet supposed he could live with it. It was usually for his own good.

"I hate it when we lose someone." Bennet pushed the plate away.

Rosie twisted a short red curl around one finger. Bennet had only once called her hair carroty, and it had been like lighting the fuse on a firework. He wasn't stupid. He never did it again.

"It could happen to any one of us," she said. "Shield's no place for the faint-hearted. You always say that."

"Warner used to call it the place between the hammer and the anvil."

Warner had been _Hyperion_ 's previous captain, killed more than two months ago now on a job that went sour. Bennet had been filling Warner's combat boots ever since on a battlefield promotion, until The Management back on Albion—aka Military HQ— either confirmed him in the post or sent him to another Shield ship. It would be nice if they made up their damn minds. He was almost reduced to praying nightly that they'd give him the _Hype_. He didn't want to move to get his captaincy.

Rosie's smile lit up her face. "Warner was far more poetic than you. Point is, though, that Paul knew what he was getting into. We all do. Yes, I'm sorry he died and he didn't really get the chance to show us what he was made of, but don't sell what he did short. He was Shield, and he died like one."

"None of us can ask for more." Bennet looked down at his plate. He wasn't entirely sure what the cook had made that day—an already meagre culinary repertoire was always adversely affected by mayhem and death—but he picked up his fork.

"So," Rosie said. "What's next?"

"We scratch T2 from the list and go check out T6. After that, we see what HQ wants us to do next. There was something in the last transmission about a Maess fleet gathering over toward the Laconia sector and that's a bit too close to Cetes starbase for comfort. The General warned me we might be sent there to poke around and see what they're up to. A couple of our ships are out there now."

"And after that?"

"Albion, home and beauty, I guess, and two glorious weeks' leave." Bennet's gloom lifted at the thought. Home was Sais City, and the penthouse and decent food, warmth, safety—and Joss. His little burst of euphoria died as quickly as it rose.

Rosie snorted. "That's all very well for you. At least you've got Joss to welcome you home. I'd almost rather be out here rather than slouching around all the singles bars in Sais City."

Bennet forbore to comment on the kind of welcome he was likely to get from his partner. "What happened to that guy you were seeing?"

"Bennet, he's an accountant. What do you think happened? There was no way it could work. He has no idea about Shield at all and was forever whining about me leaving to go on jobs." She took a sip of her coffee and appeared to be avoiding his eye. "You know what that's like."

Bennet had always found a kind of obliviousness was the best response to deliberate provocation. He'd had a lot of practice at it. He focused on his meal.

Rosie sighed. "Sorry. It just... well, I know you and Joss have been together for years, Bennet, but he's never struck me as being the perfect military spouse."

It surprised Bennet into a choked laugh. Hell, no! "Your accountant?"

"I dumped him. It's in the war book somewhere. Pre-emptive self-defence, they call it. I did it to him before he could do it to me." She smiled, and it was a challenge. "A sound military strategy, they tell me."

"Yeah," Bennet said. "So I hear."

The EDA drone had been on the edge of the explosion, and a surprising portion of it remained intact. Bennet had taken the head and one articulated arm and stuffed them into Tim's backpack. He left the rest. He'd get hell for not bringing it all back, but there hadn't been much of a choice—take Paul's body home to his family or take what was left of the EDA back for analysis. They couldn't carry both, not with Kerr and Lydia carrying Younis between them and Rosie still unsteady on her feet as they ran for the cutter to get them home, not with a Maess cruiser putting the fear of the gods into them. They couldn't afford the weight of a drone holding them down.

Although the weight of the dead was almost as great.

Still it wasn't a real choice. Shield always looked after its own. He and Tim took Paul between them and brought him home. Paul lay in the freezer in a clean uniform and wrapped in Albion's flag. The drone head sat on a shelf nearby, to preserve the neural node.

Until he could get those fragments of the drone and the pistol back, all Bennet had to send to the Strategy Unit were photographs, data readings and his own notes and observations, but he dutifully assembled them to be transmitted on the next data burst home. If the Maess were continuing to develop their drones, the Unit needed to know about it. They needed every scrap of intel to keep standing against an enemy they'd never even seen.

It astonished him, sometimes, how easily they'd fallen into a war they couldn't win. More than a century earlier, one of Albion's exploration cruisers had been mapping potential planets for colonisation. The planet, tentatively named Maess after the woman who had discovered it, had appeared to be uninhabited.

First mistake.

When first contact happened, the explorers had gone with their usual MO of drawing a metaphorical line in the sand so the inhabitants would recognise the folly of starting a pitched battle. Shaking a spear, so to speak.

Second mistake.

The contact wasn't directly with the aliens that humanity came to call the Maess, but with soldier drones manning a hidden base. The Maess drones responded to metaphorical spear shaking with deadly force. First contact had ended with seven downed scout ships and a crippled exploration cruiser that had barely managed to limp home to report the encounter.

Things had gone steadily downhill ever since. War followed. The most devastating war of Albion's history. Bennet's people had been sucked into a conflict that ranged across half a hundred star systems and dozens of worlds. Someone, somewhere, probably had a body count. Bennet didn't even want to contemplate what it might be. Too high. Far too high. And always the battle was against drones, never directly against the Maess who created them. Sometimes Bennet wondered if the Maess even existed.

Metal and plastic constructs animated by a little node of neural cells, the drones hadn't originally been humanoid in shape. Albion's geneticists theorised that the neural node was derived somehow from Maess genetic material, but how it was done and how it worked was anyone's guess. All the scientists knew was that the nodes were enough to activate the drones and give them a faint sense of animation, but not enough to give them independence and initiative, or any sense of self and personality.

Not that it mattered. The drones didn't need winning personalities to wage war.

Since that first contact, the Maess had reacted by reconfiguring the soldier drones to something humanoid: head and torso, arms and legs. The heads were featureless ovoids, large eggs perched on broad shoulders, the arms were weaponry and the bodies no more than a smooth, grey, armoured covering protecting the circuitry beneath. Drones now looked close enough to human to be familiar, and alien enough to make the gorge rise.

Maybe the Maess did irony. Why else would a race hate humans so much, yet build its soldiers to ape them?

What the organic Maess were like was anyone's guess. If anyone had seen a real Maess, they hadn't lived to report back. Albion's scientists had carried out some genetic mapping using the cells from downed drones, both from the humanoid soldiers and the small fighter spacecraft powered by the same kind of neural node, but extrapolating from there to show what the Maess were like physically... well, the geneticists had tried, but no two of them could agree on anything. They didn't even know what the Maess called themselves or where their home planet was... They knew so little about their enemy, it was laughable.

After nearly four generations of war, all anyone was sure of was that the Maess hated Albion and wanted to annihilate humanity entirely. This was a fight to the death. There was no possibility of negotiation when their enemy would only engage through the means of animated tin cans with little capacity to think for themselves. Of course, as Bennet had been known to remark, humans had more going for them than a neural node the size of a walnut, and far too many of them couldn't think for themselves either.

It wasn't a reflection that filled Bennet with confidence that Albion would prevail against an inimical enemy, despite everything Shield could do.

Despite everything he could do.

# SECTION TWO: BORROWING DREADNOUGHTS

34 Quintus – 15 Sextus 7486

## Chapter Three

Joss had the most expressive back in the world.

If Bennet were looking for a body part to express outrage, resentment, and sheer bad temper, he wouldn't find anything better if he tried for a month. He closed down the comlink, grimacing. Bennet loved Joss, but just once, he'd like to get away without a scene. Just once.

They'd had a lazy day. Joss was supposed to be writing a lecture on one of the legendary leaders who'd got their people away when Earth went dark. But as evening came on, he had abandoned his desk in the window and, for at least the last half hour, his research into Seti-sen-Ankhaten had looked suspiciously more like a nap. He'd been relaxed and quiet at his end of the big sofa in the apartment's great room, head tilted back on a cushion, mouth a little open and a faint, familiar buzzing marking every breath. The last of the evening light pouring in through the wide windows had fallen on his face, mellowing and softening it, glinting on a strand of silvery grey threading through his dark-blond hair. He was beautiful despite the fine lines tugging at the corners of his eyes. He might be almost twenty years older than Bennet, but he could still make Bennet's pulse race.

Joss had woken with a start when the comlink's chime sounded, one hand groping blindly for the link before Bennet could reach it. It was the call Bennet had half-expected: Shield General Martens with his orders. Joss handed over the link in silence. He walked over to the windows, where he turned his back to stare out across the park toward the great dome of the Thebaid Institute and, beyond that, the towering spire of the Theban Cathedral. His head was silhouetted against a sky turning silver as Albion's twin moons rose in the dusk, little Pollux tagging along the heavens behind big Castor and fated never to catch up. Farther up and out, the fixed orbital satellites and weapons installations of the Janus Net, the planetary defence grid, twinkled in lieu of the stars that were yet to rise. Bennet talked to the general while Joss's fingers tapped out furious rhythms on one thigh, the other hand splayed out across the glass, taking his weight as he leaned forward. His back was rigid with discontent, the shoulders set and stiff.

Bennet was closed off on the wrong side of that barrier of spine and muscle, yet again. The gods alone knew what the price of getting away would be this time. There was always a price. Some days Bennet didn't mind paying, some days the cost came too high. He put the comlink back into its cradle and waited. The explosion would come. He'd better be ready to duck.

Joss stalked back to the sofa and picked up the book that Bennet had been reading before the call came, flipping over a few pages before tossing it back against the sofa cushions. The History of the Theban Peoples didn't usually merit such casual treatment, not even poor old volume 67, barely worth the memory space on a data reader much less the printer's ink of this ancient version. But in Joss-world, anything was fuel to keep his anger seething.

He spared Bennet another furious glance. "Whoever wrote that was an idiot."

Bennet hid the smile. It was such a Jossian approach. "It's an old volume. Our thinking's moved on, that's all. It was right in its day."

"It's well out of date." Joss's mouth tightened down. "You don't usually take calls from generals. Does she talk to all her captains when she cuts short their leave? Or is it just one of the perks of promotion?"

"They've lined up a special job for me this time, that's all." Bennet had expected to be called as soon as HQ cleared the mission, but admitting to it would be a colossal mistake. That was when outrage and bad temper would explode into something he'd rather not deal with.

"Uh-huh. One you can't talk about."

Bennet let his hands close, pressing the nails into his palms. "No. No, I can't."

"And somewhere behind enemy lines, I suppose."

"It's my job. Scouting around in Maess territory comes with the uniform."

Joss's derisive sniffs were as eloquent as his back. "And you're going when, exactly?"

Ah, the I'll-make-you-say-it-so-I-can-blame-you-personally tactic, the one beloved of martyrs everywhere. It wasn't as though Joss hadn't heard for himself. He'd been listening, for all he'd been pretending to be fascinated by a view of Sais City he'd seen a thousand times before. But Bennet wouldn't react to provocation. It was the best defence he had. The only defence he had. "I've got to see General Martens, first. She's sending a driver for me. He'll be here at ten." He glanced at his wrist chronometer. A couple of hours.

Joss sniffed again, dropping down onto the sofa beside the poor abused book. He picked it up again, smoothing the covers. His hands were long and elegant, with tapering fingers. Bennet loved those hands and what they could do to him.

Something in Bennet's throat tightened. "I won't have time for supper, Joss. I'm sorry. I'll cancel the reservation at the restaurant."

"I might find someone else to go with," Joss said, still not looking at Bennet.

The reservation was for an hour later. If Joss wanted to go out, then he was cutting down to nothing their time together before Bennet left.

"That's up to you." Bennet gave up and headed for the bedroom to collect his kit. He had no time for Joss's games. Not tonight. If Joss was going to play at being hurt and offended, then he could manage being a martyr without Bennet's help. The gods and all their saints knew that he'd had more than enough practice.

The standard military duffle was stuffed into Bennet's closet, already packed. He checked it out of habit, not because he doubted that everything he needed was in there. It occupied a few minutes he didn't have to spend dealing with Joss. A shower would occupy a few more. He headed into the bathroom. A coward's way out, maybe, but hell, some days being a coward at least lessened the assault on his eardrums.

The hot water was soothing but, as usual after a brisk rub with a towel, his hair looked like a black-spiked bottlebrush. He grimaced at himself in the mirror as he shaved. Make that an anaemic black-spiked bottlebrush, thanks to the grey eyes and pale colouring he'd inherited from his mother. The hair was a disaster. A buzz cut to get the cowlicks under control was a real temptation. Of course, that would send Joss into orbit with rage. Bennet grinned. Yeah. Very tempting.

Joss was waiting when Bennet came out of the bathroom.

"Are you going out?" Bennet asked, wrapping a towel around his waist.

"Are you?"

"I don't have any choice. It's my job."

"It doesn't have to be!" Joss thrust the history volume at him. "This could be your job! You wanted it to be once."

"Once." Bennet put the book into the top of the duffle. "Before I realised that I'm not cut out to be a scholar."

"You were the best. And if you weren't a scholar, why in hell has the Institute asked you to revise that volume?"

Well, that couldn't possibly be the dean needing to keep Joss sweet for another donation, now could it? Without Joss's money, the archaeological research program would grind to a halt. Bennet glanced at Joss and kept his mouth shut. Things were difficult enough without a dose of truth. Besides, it was only partly true. Joss was right: Bennet had been a scholar once, and a good one. He could revise that volume on his own merits and Joss didn't have to buy it for him. The thing was, it wasn't what he wanted any more.

"They'd sell half the faculty to get you back," Joss said.

"We've talked about this before. Often."

"And every time, you ignore me."

"I don't ignore you. I just don't agree with you. I like what I do. Look, the Maess aren't just going to go away. They're real and they're hard. They're damn hard. We have our backs to the wall, Joss. At least in Shield, I'm doing something to help stop the bastards." Bennet paused a second before adding, "And it gives me a lot of time at home. With you."

It was never that easy to pacify Joss. He tilted up his chin and rolled his eyes. "You're still trying to make your old man proud. Stupid. Really stupid. You don't need to be in the military. You don't need to do anything at all, but if you want to work, why not take the fellowship at the Institute? They'd love to have you back."

"Please don't start."

"You spend all your life trying to get his approval. Why join the military at all? Oh wait! Duty, honour, and service. That's it, isn't it? You got that in your mother's milk and they've been drumming the lesson home every minute since."

"Probably. Those things are important to me. They should be important to everyone. We're at war. We're at war with a race so far from human there's no appealing to them. We don't even know what they look like. All we've ever seen are their fighting drones and we don't have anything in common with those. The Maess would swat us aside like you'd swat a spider. Fight or die, that's where we're at. Fight or die."

"We don't all have to be toy soldiers to prove how patriotic we are. Look, if you took the fellowship, you'd be home all the time. I don't like you being away so much. And it's hardly the safest job in the world." Joss poked a long, elegant finger at the scar on Bennet's chest. There was a hitch in his voice. "I almost lost you."

Bennet rubbed at the scar, the legacy of a debacle of a job the previous year. "I know. I know. But I'm fine, and it's my job. I'm good at it and I like doing it."

"Getting killed to please your father isn't a bright career move."

"Still breathing, here."

"No thanks to him! Is it worth it to keep him happy, to earn his attention? To be at his beck and call? His boy in uniform?"

Bennet grimaced. "Look, there are all too many senior officers who can order me around, but he's not one of them. I know you like to pretend you know nothing about the military, but you do know we're in different branches of it. You might even have noticed the difference in the uniform."

Sadly, Joss was not to be diverted. "I don't care about the damn uniform! Why can't you see you were conditioned into joining up? Hell, I'll bet you were conceived as a military manoeuvre."

Bennet grinned. "Probably."

"It's not funny. For the gods' sake, Bennet, cut the damn cord!"

"I don't do this job to please my father."

Joss's snort was a very inelegant sound. "You live your life trying to please him. You live your life the way he wants."

"And what you'd like is for me to live my life the way you want."

"I only want the best for you. You know that."

"Your voice, Dad's words." Bennet couldn't help it. He laughed. "Hell's teeth, Joss, but you and irony are barely acquainted!"

Silence so loud it was deafening. Joss flushed a deep red. Bennet waited, then laced up the duffle, enclosing the book within it. The symbolism wasn't lost on him or, he suspected, on Joss. Despite his best efforts to compromise with it, to make bargains, to juggle the competing demands, the military swallowed up everything in the end.

"I get scared," Joss said at last. "I love you, and you're always in danger, and you're gone for weeks at a time. This place is too big for me on my own. I don't want to be on my own."

Safe to try a little humour. "Come on, it's not as if you won't find some company while I'm gone."

"That's only sex."

"Don't knock it! It's more than I get while I'm away." Bennet smiled, although it still felt wrong to him, this arrangement he'd offered Joss out of guilt at his lover's loneliness. It was irrational to be hurt that Joss made use of it. Stupid that it made him feel unfaithful even though he didn't reciprocate, not in a way that Joss recognised. At least, Joss didn't see any of those pretty boys, the ones he called his consolation prizes, while Bennet was home. And Bennet tried hard to believe him when he insisted that he never brought any of them home to their bed.

Bennet sat on the side of the bed, allowing the towel to slip from his waist. It was so easy to divert Joss. So easy.

"It's not the same." Joss sat beside him. "It's not you. Besides, you told me about that girl you met on Demeter that time. And that one on that ship... what was it, the Scorpion?"

"Two of them in three years. Besides, you said girls don't count."

Joss slid a warm hand under the towel. "No. I guess they don't."

After that, the argument ended the way they all did, the way Bennet was careful to engineer them to end. He'd taken the time to prepare himself while he was in the shower, half despising himself for what he was doing. It wouldn't take much to lose them both in a slow-burning lovemaking.

Joss didn't need much encouragement, touching Bennet with familiar hands, the hands that had teased and shocked, excited and dazzled him into eagerly offering up his unwanted virginity more than seven years ago. And if the body that Joss penetrated in one easy thrust was no longer that of a skinny, scared teenager who'd only just reached the legal age of consent, sometimes that scared, skinny Bennet wasn't far below the surface. Bennet didn't like fighting with Joss. He had enough fighting in his professional life without bringing it home.

They made love twice before the driver got there, but Joss hadn't forgotten his grievances. He was still trying to persuade Bennet to change his mind, even as Bennet kissed him goodbye and walked out the door.

Joss had a talent for relieving his feelings. He relieved them in sex, in the way that he sat rigid with anger, in the furious, hurtful words. He had a real talent for relieving them with slamming doors. This one slammed so hard that the percussion rattled Bennet's brain inside his skull.

Joss was not a happy man.

Sais was old.

Sais was very old, the oldest city on the planet, a crescent-moon of streets that followed the curve of a wide, shallow bay cutting into the east coast of the oldest and most venerable of Albion's nine provinces, Aegypta. Everywhere a man looked, Albion's history weighed hard and heavy. The site of the first landfall all those thousands of years before, Sais had it all—the Praesidium where the planetary ruling body, the Ennead, met; Military HQ; the Supreme Court; the Theban Cathedral and the Thebaid Institute; every major financial institution... Albion's society made solid, carved out of ancient buildings and old stone. Sais was the capital of both Albion and Aegypta, and Bennet loved every last stone of it.

It was his city. Everything in it was a part of him, every street and square. Everything from the way that the dome of the Thebaid Institute kept the narrow streets of the Old City in permanent shadow, darkening the buildings whose marble frontages were broken by balconies or by graceful statues in niches, to the dark, oily river twisting its way through to the sea.

The driver chose the road skirting the park, driving past the closed metal gates of the Thebaid, and cut through the side street between the institute and the cathedral. The cathedral never closed. Light spilled out of the open doors. Lowering the hovercar window, Bennet caught the faint sound of the choir singing one of the never-ending services. He grimaced. The eldest son of a deeply religious family, he had spent many a Tenth Day kicking his heels in a pew in their local Theban temple, listening to Father Dio singing that self-same service. The temple was always too hot, the light too dim and the air inside too thick and still, heavy with the smoke of incense and candles. The choir's voices had been thin and reedy, like Father Dio himself.

Bennet had spent most services stupefied and sleepy. He only listened when the Reader chose stories from the Book about the ancestors fleeing Earth thousands of years before. The long exodus across the stars, looking for a new home, always wandering, never knowing what they'd meet in the next system, a time where they forgot so much and learned so much... Well, it was a heck of a lot more exciting than anything else in temple. Earth was just a name now and Albion was home, but tracing their route across the stars had filled the child's imagination with adventure and pushed the man into trying to unpick their half-forgotten history. When casting about to lay the blame for all their conflict later, his father conveniently forgot it was religion that got Bennet so interested in archaeology. But then, his father only ever remembered what was convenient for him to remember.

Bennet closed the window and sat back. It was stupid to get hung up on that. He shouldn't let Joss's taunts get to him.

The hover car moved into the wider avenues of the newer part of the city, still a couple of thousand years old. Past the Praesidium itself and on to the tower that housed Albion's Planetary Defence headquarters, rather than to the Shield Regiment's more modest offices hidden away in one of the quieter northern suburbs. Twenty minutes. The traffic had been light and they were well within time.

A Fleet lieutenant waited for him by the security desk. Once she'd established he was who he claimed to be, she escorted him to the top floor in silence, watching him out of the corner of her eye all the way up in the lifts. Frightened that he'd bolt, maybe. Bennet fixed his medal ribbons into place and gave her a reassuring smile, amused when she started.

An Infantry colonel was the sole occupant of the ornate outer office, sitting behind an imposing desk. Unlike the lieutenant who handed Bennet over with an inaudible mutter, he didn't look scared. He did look disdainful. "I'll tell them you're here," he said, and while he commed through into the inner sanctum, he left Bennet standing.

An arrogant bastard. For an office boy.

"Go on through," the office boy said when the well-remembered voice barked something out through the comlink that might have been consent.

Bennet threw him a salute and obeyed. If the outer office was ornate, the inner was ornate squared—or cubed, maybe. Bennet wasn't enough of a mathematician to care. The desk was at least twice the size of Colonel Office-Boy's and the walk to it seemed to take about ten minutes, along the length of a conference table so vast Bennet reckoned he could land a Transport Fleet shuttle on it.

Small and slight, General Martens sat in a leather wingback chair at one side of the desk; eyes, hair and skin the colour of dark honey, warming the dour black Shield uniform. She wore it plain, with only her medal ribbons to add a little colour. To her right, behind the desk, sat a dazzling array of medals and thick gold braid. On closer inspection, it resolved itself into the well-known figure of Jak, Supreme Commander of Albion's Planetary Defence Forces, military adviser to the Ennead, leader of the Military Council, Director of the Strategic Studies Institute, hero of the Battle of Sheldon Colony, the most decorated soldier in the war with the Maess. And Bennet's godfather.

Hell, but Bennet's father had all too many friends, all too high in the military hierarchy. Having been bounced on the Supreme Commander's knee as a baby made it even more important for Bennet to avoid the suspicion of nepotism and privilege now. Perhaps the most pressing reason for choosing Shield had been because his father had no influence there.

"Shield Captain Bennet reporting as ordered, sir." Bennet came to attention and saluted with far more precision than the office boy had rated. He glanced at his general. "Ma'am."

She nodded back. "At ease, Captain."

"Good gods, you've filled out a bit." Jak hadn't changed that much. Hair more grizzled and as stand-on-end as Bennet's own, and the skin around the hazel eyes more lined than it used to be, maybe, but he was as stocky and solid as ever. "I haven't seen you for years."

"My graduation from SSI, I think, sir. Four years ago, now. I've started my second tour."

"Wouldn't have recognised you. How's your father?"

"Very well, sir, I believe. It's been a while since I saw him."

"He was home four months ago," the Supreme Commander said.

"I wasn't, sir. I was on a job."

"Maybe just as well. Has he stopped complaining yet about you taking Shield?"

Typical. Of course, his father had complained to all of his friends about how unsatisfactory his son was. He never had got over Bennet's refusal to go to the Military Academy, and not even Bennet's opting for the fast-track at the Strategic Studies Institute had mollified him. Of course, there were other and harder things his father had never got over, and Joss headed up that particular list.

Still this was not the time or place to whine about it, and Bennet hoped his expression was neutral. "We've given up discussing it, sir."

"I have to have one or two bright ones, Jak. It's only fair." Martens' voice betrayed she wasn't Aegyptan, the Dacian accent obvious in the way she drawled out vowels and slurred consonants.

Bennet relaxed. "Thank you, ma'am."

"Not for long," Jak said. "What'll he do at the end of this tour?"

"I'd like to stay with Shield, sir."

Bennet was ignored. The Supreme Commander had not, after all, been addressing him.

"Strategy Unit, where he belongs, I suppose." Jak answered his own question.

"We don't have to worry about that yet." Martens gave Bennet a thin, frosty smile. "As soon as Lieutenant Felix joins us, Captain, we're going over everything again."

Bennet glanced at his wrist chronometer. They'd be cutting it fine.

Neither of the eminent beings who ruled his life failed to notice. Jak snorted, but General Martens said, "I've sent your lieutenant orders not to hold the Shield shuttle for you. The sooner she gets back out to Demeter with your crew, the sooner you can reclaim the _Hyperion_ from the maintenance techs. By the time you get there, the ship will be ready to leave without delay."

"Yes, ma'am." Bennet took the straight-backed chair that Jak waved him to. "That leaves me without transport unless I take the scheduled Transport Fleet shuttle in the morning. I'm uneasy about taking the Link out on a regular shuttle."

Not to mention it meant having to wait until dawn. He'd have time to go home for a few hours' sleep. But hell, he couldn't face another leave-taking. His gut was still churning from the first one.

"Your driver's waiting. He'll take you straight out to the field. Requisition a transport when you get there." Martens handed him a data crystal. "You could commandeer the entire Transport Fleet with this. Your orders, signed by the Supreme Commander."

"Thank you, ma'am." Bennet stowed the crystal away.

Felix arrived, carrying a small black case about eight inches square and six deep. He saluted, more or less—the Strategy Unit people being hotter on brains than unthinking devotion to military procedure—and nodded a greeting at Bennet. He managed a conspiratorial wink when their bosses were looking the other way. Bennet hid a grin. He liked Felix. Felix looked much like Joss must have done when Joss was their age—the same spare, lean body, the same blond hair and greyish-blue eyes. More of a sense of humour, though.

It was more than five years now since he and Felix had been partnered on their first day at the Strategic Studies Institute, SSI. They'd stayed working partners ever since. The Link project had been their focus for the last two years, in between Bennet's jobs for the Shield Regiment.

"Here she is." Felix opened the case to display the compact little device inside, packed in foam for its protection. A box of blank data crystals was tucked alongside it. When Felix snapped the locks shut, Bennet pressed each thumb up against the lock plates, feeling the slight sting as Felix configured the mechanism to answer to Bennet's DNA print alone. Bennet took the case onto his lap.

"Right," the Supreme Commander said. "Let's go over it all again. This appears to be mostly your fault, Shield Captain Bennet, so you'd better start us off."

## Chapter Four

They held Bennet in extra mission briefings until midnight, scrutinizing every last dot and comma of the plans that he and Felix had put together. He'd chafed under the delay, but hid it as best he could. It behoved mere captains, especially captains with rank pips so new that they still squeaked, to keep their heads down.

When it was over, the Supreme Commander dismissed Felix. Martens, after a nod in Bennet's direction, left with him, moving briskly despite the prosthetic replacing the leg she'd lost at Steur. Jak held Bennet back for a private word that involved a perfunctory pat on the back and elevating his security clearance to such a height that Bennet was dizzy. "You'll need the highest clearance, reporting back on this job. You and what's his name, Felix, work well together, I hear."

"It seems to be working out, sir."

"You two will be working on the highest-rated projects from now on." That twitch of the mouth might be a grin. "You'll earn that clearance, believe me, and I suppose I'd better bump him up a pay grade to match. It's a good project, this one. The Strategy Unit's complaining again about you being a part-timer. Jorgensen wants you there full time."

Bennet obeyed Jak's beckoning summons and took General Martens' vacated seat, feeling not unlike a man asking a lion to open wide before sticking his head in its jaws. He could only hope his consternation didn't show. Colonel Jorgensen was his nominal superior at the Strategy Unit. He had also been a tutor at the Strategic Studies Institute, and Bennet didn't have a lot of time for him in either role. "I'm a Shield warrior, sir."

A fierce nod. "That's what I told Jorgensen."

Bennet would have loved to blow out a sigh of relief. "Thank you, sir. I like working with the Unit, but I'm probably better at working on these longer term projects, rather than something more immediate."

"That's what I said. You get the best of both worlds, and we get some of the more interesting projects kicked into play. You and Felix are one of the strongest strategy teams I have." Jak added, tone gruff, "Well done, Bennet. I do keep an eye on your progress, you know, from a distance. It's better if I don't interfere too much. I know what you feel about making it on your own merit."

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

"Well, you don't need much help from me, in either role. Martens is pleased with you, too." Jak leaned forward and tapped the tiny captain's pin in Bennet's collar. "She pushed hard for you to get this permanently, you know. Not that you didn't earn it, but you're young for it with only one tour of duty behind you."

Bennet risked a joke. "Shield ages you."

Jak laughed. "It does that. But pull this one off, and I'll do everything I can about keeping you away from a desk when it comes to you rotating out at the end of this tour."

"Thank you, sir."

"I can't promise you'll stay in Shield beyond this tour, because we rotate you people out of it for a good reason. We burn you out, and we know it. But you can have a couple of years in Fleet or Infantry to get your breath back, and then I'll see about letting you back into Shield." Jak grinned. "It'll annoy your father. He wants you in Fleet full time, of course."

"Seeing me behind a desk in the Strategy Unit will annoy him even more."

"Well, unless you two have resolved your differences, maybe you should consider annoying him. The Unit will scream if I let you get away from them again."

Bennet shook his head. He wasn't that desperate to annoy his father. Or, for that matter, to placate Joss.

He arrived at the military space field around 2am. This was the dead time. Unless there was a major push somewhere that needed thousands of personnel transported all over Albion space, the operation ground to a halt after midnight. The waiting area was almost deserted. A couple of Fleet enlisted played cards in a corner and an infantryman lay face down on one of the long seats, snoring. Someone had ended their leave with a good time in a bar somewhere then, not with histrionics and recriminations. Lucky stiff.

Bennet had never before invoked this particular privilege, but armed with the Supreme Commander's orders, he walked up to the sleepy sergeant at the traffic gate, and five minutes later, he was in the Transport Office commandeering a ship. The Transport Fleet officers protested, of course, and moaned that it threw their schedules into disarray, but Bennet stood his ground. They hauled one of the smaller shuttles out of the hangar and assigned him a pilot, all with very aggrieved expressions. If it hadn't meant the loss of one of their precious shuttles, Bennet didn't think they'd mourn if the shuttle engaged its hyperspace engines too early, while still too close to Albion's mass, and imploded with him on it. They really were very put out indeed.

He was the only passenger on the shuttle and he was Shield, an unusual enough combination to have piqued the pilot's interest. The pilot was cheerful and friendly when Bennet came on board, but Bennet met all attempts at conversation with monosyllabic reserve and after a while, the pilot gave up.

They spent the flight in silence until the pilot walked into the body of the shuttle. "Demeter's still a couple of hours away, sir. Do you want some coffee or something?"

Bennet jumped and stared, still in that second of disorientation that came from being startled out of a light sleep that he shouldn't have been taking anyway, reactions a mix of surprise and faint guilt. His hands closed over the small, square black case in his lap. "Do you have tea?"

The pilot looked nonplussed, as if he'd never heard of the stuff. "I'll take a look," he said, in the same tone of voice he'd use if Bennet had asked him for iced sherbet with rose petals scattered on top.

"Thanks." Bennet waited until he'd disappeared into the little galley at the back of the shuttle before checking the case. His thumbs slid against the lock plates, letting the mechanism read his prints and make the DNA match, opening the lock. He glanced inside, half annoyed with himself for being so paranoid. The Link nestled in its packaging, safe and undisturbed.

Relieved, he closed it up and settled back into his seat. Demeter in a couple of hours, where he'd pick up the _Hyperion_ and get this job underway at last. It had been a long time in the planning.

It was one of the most important jobs that Shield had done in a couple of centuries. And it was his. He'd be damned for eternity before he let someone else do his job, the one he'd devised and planned and sweated over. He wouldn't give that up, even for Joss.

Joss knew it, too. And Joss never did like losing.

35 Quintus – 12 Sextus 7486: Shield ship Hyperion

They reached Demeter a little after ten. The pilot eased them through Demeter's defence grid and the station command office directed them into Dock Nine, four down from Shield territory. That wasn't too bad. A half-hour walk.

The Fleet pilot hesitated after relaying the news. "I don't suppose they'll let us dock in your section?"

"I don't suppose so, no."

The pilot shrugged. "They've given us an approach through the Net. ETA eight minutes."

"Thank you."

Fifteen minutes later and he walked through the airlock into the base. Demeter was Albion's major transfer station, used as the transport hub by every ship in Fleet as well as the network of big fixed starbases like Cetes or Joaquin. Sitting in geosynchronous orbit over the moon of a gas giant in a system half a dozen parsecs from Albion itself, Demeter was always crowded. The station was bustling with Fleet personnel moving between ships and home, or companies of Infantry on their way to somewhere where the war was a little more immediate and not as sanitised as Fleet had it, insulated in their ships from the dirt and blood on the ground.

He swung the duffle over one shoulder, tightened his grip on the little black case, and joined the stream of human traffic in the long corridor that linked the docking ports on Demeter's outer rim. He could have taken one of the overhead transport pods, but he was cramped from the long shuttle ride, preferring to walk the kinks out of his legs.

He got more than one sidelong glance and ignored them all. Shield didn't mix much with the other services. The rest of the military liked black and white, to know if a soldier was an airhead or a mudbrain. Shield, sitting somewhere in the middle, doing both flying and ground operations, confused everyone. Demeter was about the only place Shield and the other services had much contact at all.

Docks One through Five were Shield territory. No matter how crowded Demeter got, no other service transports used them. Shield guarded its secrets—another reason for its equivocal reputation with Fleet and Infantry. The corridor was closed off, protected by half a dozen armed Shield troopers who wouldn't let the Supreme Commander past without authorization and who took nothing on trust. Bennet might be wearing the black uniform, he might be wearing those shiny new captain's pips, but his papers were scrutinised and his DNA print checked before the gate was opened for him and he was saluted through.

The innermost airlock doors at Dock Three were closed tight, massive barriers of grey steel emblazoned with the familiar black shield. Bennet hit the intercom and announced himself. "Shield Captain Bennet requesting permission to come aboard."

There was a second's delay while the _Hype_ 's computers verified his voiceprint. He was allowed through into the airlock, the inner doors closing silently behind him before the outer doors opened, letting him into the tube connecting the _Hyperion_ to the Demeter port.

Sergeant Tim waited for him at the _Hype_ 's airlock. "Welcome back, sir. Good leave?"

Great leave. Shame about how it ended.

"Fine, Tim. What about you?"

"Good." Tim relieved him of the duffle, but didn't offer to take the case. "My wife's pregnant again."

"Again?" In the three years Bennet had known him, Tim's wife always seemed to be breeding. To look at him—unassuming, unremarkable, average sort of guy with a receding hairline and a nose that had been broken at least twice—no one would suspect the raging sexual inferno underneath. Bennet said as much, grinning.

The sergeant let out a crack of laughter and looked modest. "It's all these home leaves I get."

"Spare me the details. Well, congratulations. I'm pleased for you. Isn't it time you named one after me?"

"The doc says it's another girl. Is there a feminine form of your name, sir?"

Bennet grimaced. "Benita, maybe? You don't want to go there."

"First boy we get, then. Don't worry. We'll keep trying."

Bennet laughed and went on his way through the narrow metal corridors to the bridge.

"Last, as usual," Rosie said, by way of formal greeting, getting up from the command chair and offering a sketchy salute. The bridge crew all went to attention.

"And my compliments to you too, Lieutenant Rosamund. It's good to be back." Bennet nodded a greeting to Chivers. "Carry on, everyone."

Rosie came to join him, blue eyes warm with laughter and red curls bouncing with every loose-limbed step. She didn't offer a hug, not in front of the children. He'd get that later. But she did touch his shoulder and let the grin widen. "From the message I got not to wait for you, I guess the general kept you?"

"And others even higher up." Bennet hefted the case in his hands. "They wanted to hand over this little going-away present. Let me stow it in the safe and then we can get going."

Rosie gestured to Chivers to take the command chair, and followed Bennet into the little alcove that did duty as his bridge office. "Where are we headed?"

"Over into the neighbour's back yard, for a nosy poke around." It was a tight squeeze to fit the case into the tiny safe. "Everyone on board?"

"The rest of us made the shuttle. I see they took the time to make these permanent." Her hand brushed the captain's pips in Bennet's collar. She tweaked the collar straight in passing.

He grinned. "There's always time for the important things in life."

"Tell that to Tim's wife. Did he tell you his news? He talked of nothing else all the way back."

Bennet laughed. "We should get him seen to, if only so he doesn't single-handedly overpopulate the planet." He squeezed into the chair behind the console and punched in a few co-ordinates. "We're heading here."

"Oh lovely." Rosie frowned. "That area was jumping with Maess last month, all foaming at the mouth to get a crack at Cetes. If they have mouths, that is."

"Cetes knows the attack's imminent. We're going to see if the Maess are still there and if the areas behind them are a little less crowded. Then we'll decide on our target." Bennet switched off the console display. "Time to go, Rosie. Contact Demeter control and get us out of here."

Rosie's hand closed over his shoulder again and squeezed. She went back to the command chair, and opened negotiations with Demeter control about an exit route. Fifty minutes later, they were on their way.

The _Hyperion_ wasn't very big, but she was fast and very well armed, the epitome of a Shield ship. Despite her small size, she carried ten Mosquito fighter/scout-ships and one cutter, all that they could squeeze into her. She was a functional ship, her living accommodation at a minimum to give more room for the Mozzies and their flight deck, and the isometrics and listening systems that were her reason for existence. She was a spy ship, a behind-the-lines fighter and scout. She had no room for luxuries.

Her crew of thirty was the best. Not one of them had complained about their home leave being cut short. But then, they were Shield. They stood in the place their old captain had described, between the hammer and anvil. They were steadfast, focused and efficient. Bennet thought the world of them.

As captain, Bennet rated his own quarters: a cabin not much greater than the length of the narrow bunk he was stretched out on and maybe three times as wide. A closet and tiny bathroom had been squeezed in, and a three-drawer dresser, doing double duty as a desk, had been jammed into the narrow end of the rectangle. Not exactly spacious, and made even smaller by Rosie sitting cross-legged at the bottom of his bunk. Still, it was about the only place on the ship where they could talk, uninterrupted.

"Whatever target we go for, this isn't going to be like our usual jobs." She twisted a short curl around her fingers. Her mouth pulled down at the corners. "No fast in-and-out this time. You'll be down in the base for hours. You'll be at the edge of power capacity for your shield-suit by the time it's done. It's risky."

"I can't see any way around it. Not if we're going to test the thing properly."

"Which one do you want to go for?"

"Depends on what we find when we reach Maess territory. If they're still gathering over towards Cetes that leaves four good targets behind them over in the Magellan sector. I only hope it's not T5. That planet's a nightmare, and I don't want to spend hours inside an environmental suit."

She grimaced and nodded.

"You're sitting on my feet," he said.

"Can I help it if all you rate for a cabin is this shoebox? Be grateful you have one of your own. I hate sharing with Chivers."

"You never seemed to mind sharing with me."

"You don't snore." Rosie glanced at the flat leather case on the shelf above Bennet's bunk that held photographs of Joss. "And I was reasonably sure you weren't lusting after me. I'm not so sure about Chivers." Bennet's expression must have been an accurate reflection of his reaction to that, because Rosie grinned. "It's nothing serious and nothing I can't handle."

"I know that. Permission granted to break both his arms if he gets past the thinking about it stage."

"When did I need permission? He knows better than that, anyway. I'd better get back to the bridge. I left him in command up there, and he's probably got us headed straight into a supernova." She uncoiled her legs and got to her feet. "I'm glad they gave you the _Hype_ permanently, Bennet. The crew... well, we've all been worried they'd post you somewhere else. This ship wouldn't be the same without you."

"I didn't want to go anywhere else." He never wanted to leave Shield, and the _Hype_ was home.

She smiled. "Get some sleep," she said, and left him.

He was tired. All he'd been able to do on the shuttle was catnap, but when he closed his eyes, rest eluded him, his mind going over the last argument with Joss. He shifted on the narrow bunk, curling over. The slight tenderness and discomfort was as familiar to him as breathing, his body's memory of Joss. Joss would be feeling it too, from their second lovemaking when Bennet had come deep inside him; and Bennet wondered if Joss hugged the sensation to him or if he'd already found consolation elsewhere. Bennet slid a hand into his sleep pants, soothing himself into sleep, remembering Joss's intense expression as they'd made love, the endearments, the pleasure—and trying to forget the petulance and the emotion.

Great leave. Shame how it ended.

Shame how it always ended.

It was a nervous business, tracking Maess ship movements behind the lines.

The _Hyperion_ sneaked from system to system, her Mozzies spread out before her, spying out the land, using everything from a cloud of cosmic dust to a gas giant to hide behind to supplement her distortion fields and mask her approach. They moved in a huge arc across Maess space, checking what was left behind the main force of enemy battleships massing over towards Cetes.

They weren't tracking the main attack force; other Shield ships were doing that. Their task was to assess the situation far, far back, deep in Maess territory, to decide which base they'd target for Bennet's mission.

Over the next two weeks Bennet managed a couple of Mosquito flights, overflying one key base to see for himself that the battleships it serviced were all deployed elsewhere. Mostly he spent his time on the _Hyperion_ 's bridge at the computer console in the tiny office, reviewing all the information he had on the potential targets and mapping that against the data his pilots were bringing him every hour, constantly working on the overall plan, analysing and refining it.

"General Martens for you." Rosie swivelled the command chair to face the bridge office.

"On my way."

Bennet pulled his uniform jacket straight when he stood up, slipping into the chair at the comms desk. He glanced at the communications array, reading the settings on the display to see which pre-set frequency pattern they were cycling through that day to avoid detection while they were on stealth running.

"General," he said. "We're using the fourth modulation today."

"Noted and implemented." Martens went straight into it. "We've got a problem, Captain. We've lost the _Good Hope_."

"Lost?" Shocked, Bennet stared at the comlink, half-hoping the general would laugh, point a finger and yell she was joking. The _Good Hope_ was one of _Hyperion_ 's sister ships, another sleek scoutship, and captained by a friend.

"Not completely. However, she's out of this game. She ran into a battleship and took some heavy damage and casualties before getting free. Captain Leanda lost half her crew. She has her limping home, trying to hide in every passing asteroid field."

Bennet felt the kick in his gut. Dear gods, never let it be him who lost half his people. "That's bad news."

"You know how stretched we are right now, Captain. I've got four other ships watching the Maess, but without the _Good Hope_ , the alpha segment flank is exposed. I've got nothing in reserve to track the Maess on that side. I can't afford not to keep an eye on them. We have to know if they change up a gear into attack mode. We have to be able to warn Cetes."

Disappointment hit hard. She was going to order _Hyperion_ to take the _Good Hope_ 's place in shadowing the Maess forces. He could understand that. They'd get another chance at an infiltration mission, and they couldn't afford to leave Albion's main starbase at the mercy of a massed attack. But it was still disappointing.

It was a second before he was sure he could keep his voice steady. "You're aborting the job, ma'am?"

Martens shook her head. "No. This is too good a chance to pass up. But we are going to have to change the game plan. I need to divert the _Hyperion_ to watch the Maess. We've come up with another way to get you in for the penetration run."

"Yes, ma'am?"

The general coughed, sounding a touch embarrassed. "We're borrowing a ship from Fleet."

"From Fleet?"

"Yes. We're borrowing a dreadnought."

A dreadnought! All Bennet had ever commandeered was a measly shuttle. Maybe his father was right after all, and he lacked real ambition. "They aren't used to operating this far behind enemy lines, ma'am."

"Which is why I can't get a Fleet ship in to shadow the Maess. They couldn't do that without setting off every alarm for a parsec. But they could get in behind the Maess forces and give you a lift in to the target."

"Maybe."

"Dreadnought pilots are the cream of the crop, Captain—which is why we went for one and not something smaller. The Hornet fighter is almost as good as our Mosquito. They'll get you in."

Bennet nodded. "I know they're good, ma'am. I've never doubted that. But even Hornet combat pilots aren't used to the way we operate. They don't know how to sneak."

"They'll have to get used to it. They have distortion shields as good as ours, after all." Martens fingered the silver braid at her collar. "I've read your daily reports. You've had a quiet couple of weeks."

"Yes, ma'am. They're definitely gathering for an attack on Cetes, though."

"Cetes isn't your problem. Cetes is ready, and the First and Fifth Flotillas are moving up in support. Your problem is executing this mission."

"Agreed, ma'am."

"With things that quiet where you are, there's got to be enough space for you to bring the Fleet ship in safely. We're not asking them to do anything that they don't do every day of the week. The fact it's behind the lines doesn't change what Fleet is tasked to do, just where they're going to do it."

Bennet frowned, thinking about it, running over the possibilities in his head. He had more facts at his fingertips—size, density, geography, geology, atmosphere composition, weather patterns, flora and fauna—regarding the twenty possible target bases than he did about his home planet. He'd spent much of the last year scouting them, getting to know them. "In that case, I think our odds are better if we take the base farthest away from Cetes. It had better be T18."

Martens nodded. "I'm transmitting the coordinates now for your rendezvous. _Hyperion_ can swing that way and drop you off, then cut back in to take up the Good Hope's position flanking the Maess. You will rendezvous with the _Gyrfalcon_ in three days. You'd better use the time to revise the plan and transmit to me the revisions, and the rationale for your choice of T18. I'm sure you're right, Captain, but I'll need to discuss it with the Supreme Commander and the Strategy Unit."

"Yes, ma'am," he said. Hell's teeth, he'd have so much work to do to refine the infiltration plan and gear it to T18 and using Fleet backup rather than the _Hype_.

Wait—what the hell?

"The _Gyrfalcon_?"

The grin on Martens' face was wry. "I thought you'd like that. Three days, Captain. Transmitting coordinates now."

Rosie waited until the general had cut the connection. Her hand rested on his shoulder, fingers soothing as they pressed. Stooping, she rested her head against his, her breath warm on his cheek. "Well now," she said. "That should be interesting."

# SECTION THREE: GYRFALCON

15 – 29 Sextus 7486: the dreadnought, **Gyrfalcon**

## Chapter Five

"The captain doesn't look happy."

First Lieutenant Flynn nodded towards the _Gyrfalcon_ 's morose flight captain, just then coming into the briefing room. The captain's entrance coincided with the commissary steward making his usual slow round of the conference table with a tray of coffee, and diverting Flynn with something of far more immediate importance than emotional captains. Coffee. Thank the gods. Without coffee, the morning briefing would be a miserable experience. Flynn twisted in his seat to take two cups, putting one on the table top in front of Cruz. She had both her hands behind her head, trying to get her hair confined into a band. She'd put her hair into a myriad tiny braids while she grew it long.

"Looking good." Flynn said, approving, but Cruz's new hairstyle was a minor diversion and he returned to the issue of Captain Simonitz's glum looks. "Mind you, I don't blame him. Having to see the commander every day before you've even had the chance of breakfast is enough to make anyone unhappy, and adding dear Colonel Quist into the equation tips the balance towards outright misery."

Cruz paused in her efforts, holding the braids with one hand and using the other to grab a hurried mouthful of coffee. She made a pfft-ing sort of noise. "Simonitz never looks happy and he'd get breakfast if he got up earlier. Why should it worry you? You'll be out of here in another twenty hours."

"Yeah, my last briefing for six long, long weeks."

"Shut up, Flynn."

Flynn stared at her over the rim of his cup. Had there been a touch of chagrin there? "Will you miss me?"

She stared back. Damn, but she was good at keeping her face straight, and that dark skin of hers, several shades darker than Flynn's own, didn't show the blushes. It was sometimes damn hard to tell what she was thinking. "No. Shut up, Flynn."

Flynn didn't hide his grin. "Envy is a very corrosive emotion."

"I like rust. It's a good colour on me."

"I'll send you a nice postcard when I get there."

Cruz said pffft again and, shrugging, Flynn gave it up as a bad job. He turned his attention to the other flight leaders in the room. The latest ensigns, so fresh out of the Academy their uniforms still squeaked, were herded in by Lange, a flight leader in Alpha squadron who had the dubious honour of doubling up as pilot training officer with responsibility for the rookies' orientation. Today must be the 'come to watch your bosses at play' training session. No wonder Lange looked as harassed as a mother duck with her ducklings all about to try their wings. Nairn, the duckling Flynn was most familiar with since he was assigned to Cruz's flight, sidled up to take a seat beside her. Nairn looked relieved to see a few faces he recognised.

Simonitz, coffee cup in hand, had been cornered by his deputy, Kyle, the Beta Squadron Leader. They were good friends, those two, but this morning Simonitz brushed off Kyle's attempts at conversation and slouched towards his seat at the head of the long conference table in the _Gyrfalcon_ 's main briefing room, calling to all the flight leaders to get into their damned seats, already. A big man, as big as Lieutenant Carson in Flynn's own squad, he squirmed into his chair. Despite what Cruz had said, he looked more glum than usual. Whatever he had to pass on wasn't to his liking. Flynn could empathise there. A meeting with The Management wouldn't be to his liking either.

After a minute of concentration on his coffee, Simonitz said, "We're on special alert."

"What do you mean, sir, special?"

Flynn twisted to look down the table at the questioner. Powell, of course. Powell sat beside Kyle, his squadron leader. The man liked being close to the bosses. It was a wonder Kyle was ever allowed to go to the head alone in case he did something without Powell knowing about it. Frowning, Powell chose an exact spot on the table to put down his coffee cup, as if a fraction of an inch either side would bring catastrophe. Tense, that one. Always tense.

"As in not ordinary. Not your ordinary little alert, ordinary little battle or even ordinary little war. Special." Simonitz, in contrast to the alert attention of the pilot officers, slumped even farther in his chair, as if he were trying to shrink out of sight. One hand rose to stroke his moustache, a sure sign of perturbation.

Flynn grimaced. He settled back, blowing out his breath in a silent sigh. Well, all the signs were there. Simonitz was so damn uneasy that something big had to becoming down, and Flynn would have to be comatose not to work out what that meant. He glanced at Cruz out of the corner of his eye. She grinned at him and smirked. Oh yeah. She'd guessed it too and was revelling in it. Some days, there wasn't a sympathetic bone in the woman's body.

"We're picking up a passenger tonight and then we're off. I don't know the details, so don't ask me. All I know"—Simonitz's gaze caught Flynn's, then moved deliberately to Powell—"is that all leave and transfers are cancelled, pending our return."

Well, pretty much what Flynn had expected, but a certain amount of protest was obligatory. "C'mon, Skipper! I put in for this leave weeks ago."

Powell's mouth tightened. His face was red. It usually did get red at times of high emotion, Flynn had noticed, such as getting his transfer delayed or—and Flynn grinned—getting laid. "And the Third Flotilla! I'm supposed to join the _Caliban_ and Third next week."

"Third Flotilla and the fleshpots of Albion will have to wait."

Flynn groaned. Cruz turned to him, shit-eating grin huge, the malicious bitch. Flynn scowled at her. The grin widened.

"How long?" Powell's voice climbed up another few decibels.

"The commander said he expected this would last at least a couple of weeks. He wasn't anticipating anything shorter than that, and it may be longer." Simonitz's mild brown eyes met Flynn's. "It could be worse."

Flynn couldn't resist taking a jab. "A couple of extra weeks of Powell is worse." But Powell shot him a dirty look and he sighed, cursing his big mouth. It hadn't come out like the joke he'd intended. Sort of intended. Maybe intended.

"What about the rest of First?" Cruz asked. "Is it the whole flotilla?"

"Just us. The rest of First continues on to Cetes under the command of Captain Sergei."

"That's if Sergei can find Cetes." Like most dreadnought pilots, Flynn felt a kindly contempt for the lesser ships of the First Flotilla that followed in the _Gyrfalcon_ 's wake, even big destroyers like the _Patroklus_ , Sergei's command. "Maybe we should draw him a map."

Jillia, Gamma Squadron Leader, cut through all the shit as usual. "What's going on, Sim?"

"I've told you all I can."

"But not all you know," Cruz said.

"All I can." Simonitz paused, frowned and elaborated slightly. Very slightly. "But you might as well know one thing. You might as well know, this is a Shield operation."

Disconcerted, Flynn looked at Cruz. She grimaced and shrugged. Almost everyone around the table grimaced and shrugged. Shield? What in hell did Shield want with a Fleet dreadnought?

"They don't usually work with us, do they, sir?" Nairn, evidently emboldened enough by Cruz's presence to dare ask questions, had that earnest seriousness that marked the very young and newly graduated. Cruz maintained that Nairn's innocence was sweet, and wouldn't let Flynn rub off the bloom. She loved spoiling his fun, Cruz did. She wouldn't even let Flynn tease about the kid's crush on her. Thwarted maternal instinct, maybe.

"No." Simonitz looked sour. "Not usually. They don't usually work with anyone."

Cruz leaned over to speak in Flynn's ear. "Losing your leave to a Shield operation? That'll be fun. Different."

Flynn shrugged. Albion would still be there when they got back from this little detour. But Shield now... that was intriguing. Secretive bastards, Shields.

Simonitz closed his datapad. "I'll pass on the details as soon as I know them myself. In the meantime, get your flights together and pass on the word. The one thing that you can tell them is that communications close down in exactly two hours, and they'll be allowed one message home. Those on picket duty will have their email links patched through to them. You'll all be given the text of a message you can send to your families to tell them you'll be out of contact for a while. That message may not be altered by so much as a comma, and, believe me, all communications will be monitored. You can put Dear Mother at the top and send her your love at the bottom, but anyone trying to alter or add to the text in any way will spend the next thirty days in the brig regretting it. Am I clear?"

They all nodded.

"Good. Make sure everyone else in your flights gets it. Any transgressions and you will be held responsible. Get to it."

Cruz pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow, the teasing malice over Flynn's cancelled leave gone. "Interesting."

"Yeah." Flynn had plans for his time on Albion, now tossed aside without so much as a by-your-leave. That rankled. And even with the added excitement of getting involved with Shield, two more weeks of avoiding Powell was a depressing prospect. "Too interesting."

Cruz let the elevator doors close in the face of those officers who hadn't sprinted fast enough to catch it, smiling sweetly at them as the doors whooshed shut.

The computer-generated voice was honey soft. _State level._

"Troop deck." Cruz turned to face them all, her back against the doors. She focused on young Nairn until the kid flinched. Huh. Looked like she didn't object to rubbing off the bloom if she got to be the one to do it. "What do we know about Shield?"

Nairn held up his hands in surrender. "I've never even seen one."

Kyle snorted. "I have. Last home leave I got, I was bumped off my connecting shuttle at the Demeter transfer point so some Shield grunt could have my seat. He got a nice ride home and I got to sit around Demeter for sixteen hours until they could be bothered to find me a slot on another shuttle."

"One less thing for Flynn to worry about." Cruz really could be an unsympathetic bitch. Anyone would think she was tired of listening to Flynn's holiday plans. "What else?"

Powell must have decided to stop sulking. "They're not Fleet and they're not Infantry. I'm never sure where they fit in with the rest of us."

"They fly their own fighters," Cruz said.

"But they do mostly ground operations, don't they?" Jillia said. "Behind the lines."

Flynn considered all this. "Point is, they're a different service, right? Do we have to salute 'em?"

Kyle nodded. "If he, she or it outranks us, then I guess we do."

"We need some advice on etiquette here." Flynn looked about, but he wasn't going to find it with this lot.

Jillia shrugged. "I've no doubt that if we get it wrong, Colonel Quist will be happy to oblige with a lesson or two."

"Nairn is one helluva lot closer to those Academy lectures than we are. He should know more." Flynn grinned down at the ensign, half a head shorter than he was.

"I'm only three or four years younger than you, Flynn. Sometimes you act like you're my grandmother."

On the other side of the lift, Powell laughed. It wasn't a pleasant sound.

Flynn glanced at him and away again. Annoying bastard. "Being on this ship ages anyone. It's the company I'm forced to keep. C'mon Nairn. What do you remember about Shield?"

Nairn grinned and complied. "They don't do ordinary ground operations. That's Infantry's job. They do infiltration stuff, mainly; intelligence work. They're scouts and spies. They have nifty armour of some sort that they don't share with the rest of us."

"That's it?"

Kyle snorted. "How about adding that they think they're the cream of the crop and they can bounce you off your shuttle home whenever they want?"

Flynn grinned at Kyle. "My, you are a bitter and unforgiving man."

Kyle didn't deny it. "I most certainly am. Listen, though. Remember last year when we hooked up with the _Caliban_ and we gave Commander Warwick a reception in the Officers' commissary?"

The pilots could have won medals for synchronised eye rolling.

"Shit, yes." Cruz heaved a sigh. "How many times did he tell us how he won that Shiny Lion of his at Taxos?"

"I lost count," Jillia said. "I couldn't concentrate on boring things like the man's medals. I was too busy trying to keep out of range of his hands. He's worse than you, Flynn. At least you take no for an answer."

Powell scowled. "Warwick's a hero!"

"As he never tired of telling us." Flynn grinned at Powell. "As you'll experience for yourself when you join the _Caliban_."

"When." Powell's scowl intensified to a thing of real majesty. Hell, was he pissed off.

Kyle was not the man to be deflected. "Well, the Shield warrior could be worse. They do stuff like Taxos every other day for ordinary, and twice on Tenth Day for the gods."

The turbolift stopped on the _Gyrfalcon_ 's huge troop deck.

Nairn nodded. "Oh yeah, that's the other thing the Academy said. They're good at blowing shit up."

It was crowded, people jostling in the doorway as pilots coming in off patrol tried to get into the lift at the same time as people were getting out. Powell brushed up against Flynn as he passed, with a glance and a muttered apology. Cruz gave Flynn a knowing look. Flynn shrugged.

Swinging right towards the starboard flight deck, Cruz grimaced, and commented, "They have to be as mad as coots, if half the rumours are true."

"Always the optimist." Flynn grinned with anticipation. "You know, I think this could be fun."

Cruz patted him on the arm. "You were hired for a lot of things, Flynn. You're a damn good pilot, and you're a dashing and handsome young blade who charms the ladies"—she grinned at the whistles and derision—"and we all love you, but please don't try and think. It worries the rest of us and you really aren't qualified for it."

## Chapter Six

The _Gyrfalcon_ filled the entire sky.

Her colossal, delta-winged bulk blotted out entire star systems. Massive engine vents, glowing like a couple of suns, were held out on the tips of broad, stubby wings. The Hornet landing bays sat at the stern, flickering with the silvery sheen of force fields.

She was so damn enormous, Bennet was running out of adjectives.

He brought the Mosquito in past the rest of the First Flotilla, past the frigates and corvettes that moved in the _Gyrfalcon_ 's wake, angling in past the _Patroklus_ , the destroyer that was the biggest of the subsidiary ships. The destroyer was tiny in comparison to the _Gyrfalcon_ , but she had to be ten times the size of the _Hyperion_. His brain refused to compute how many _Hyperion_ s would make up the _Gyrfalcon_. Maths never had been his strong point.

He opened up a comms channel. " _Gyrfalcon_ bridge, this is _Hyperion_ Mosquito One requesting an approach path."

A minute's silence, then a woman said, "Acknowledged. Transmitting approach for the starboard bay."

The Mozzie's systems locked onto the navigation beam, dipping the little craft's nose a couple of degrees to get her into the right approach. "Received and locked in. ETA three minutes."

"Confirmed. You have the blue lights, Mosquito One. Follow them to your landing area."

"Acknowledged."

The landing bays were vast, separated by the enclosed cutter deck that sat exactly amidships. Bennet brought the little fighter into the starboard bay through the force fields, the incandescent fireflies of the decontamination field dancing over the Mozzie's skin. A line of blue lights flashed in the floor, guiding him to a landing pad to one side of the flight deck, near the cutter deck wall. He set her down where the lights indicated.

Half a dozen ground crew rushed up with a mounting platform. Bennet waited while they adjusted it for the Mosquito, keeping the canopy closed so that his awe at the sheer scale of this ship wouldn't be apparent to anyone watching him.

A group of Hornets must have landed a few minutes before him. Hoists lifted the fighters onto the overhead rails that took them forward to the hangar for their routine checks. On the other side of the hangars, towards the prow of the _Gyrfalcon_ , were the launch tubes. Thirty on each side, as he remembered it. She was a formidable ship.

Someone slapped on the canopy bringing his attention back to the waiting ground crew. Beyond them stood his welcoming committee, a colonel in navy blue command uniform and a captain—GyrLeader, probably, aka the flight captain who commanded the Gyrfalcon's pilots. He opened the hatch, taking a deep breath. _Gyrfalcon_ wasn't as smelly as the _Hype_. The air scrubbers were more efficient, leaving only a slight metallic tang to the air.

"Need a hand?" the ground crewman asked.

"Thanks." Bennet climbed out of the Mosquito. He tossed his helmet back inside, dumped his duffle at his feet and carefully lifted out the Link in its case. He gestured to the bigger case stuffed in behind his seat, the one that held his shield-suit. "Can you manage that?"

"I'll get that and your kit, sir. No worries."

"Thanks." Bennet left the man to it. On the deck, he transferred the Link to his left hand to salute the colonel. He'd heard a little about Quist, and none of it had come through official channels. She was divorced, no children; effectively married to Fleet now, career through and through. She'd been the outstanding fighter pilot of the previous generation, and had combined that with an eye for administrative detail that had her commanding officer swearing on every god in the pantheon that he couldn't run the _Gyrfalcon_ without her. She was formidable, respected and admired—the latter, said Bennet's informant, from a safe distance. A very safe distance.

Quist introduced the flight captain, Simonitz, and they got through the usual courtesies under the curious gazes of a crowd at least twice the size of _Hyperion_ 's entire crew. Bennet made a quick check of uniforms... pilots, ground crew and techs all staring at him like they'd never seen a visitor before. Bennet's duffle and the shield-suit were handed over to a waiting sergeant to transfer to guest quarters, while he and Simonitz followed Quist to the travellators at the back of the landing bay. Aware of so many curious gazes, Bennet hoped to every god mankind had ever worshipped that he wouldn't trip over his own feet. The honour of the Shield Regiment was at stake here.

Quist ushered him through to the starboard travellator. As it took them forward through the troop deck, past vast hangars and launch bays, she kept up a running monologue of facts and figures about the _Gyrfalcon_. Bennet only had to nod and listen. So, a kind attempt at induction and orientation, or a less kind attempt to intimidate him by the sheer size of the numbers? He glanced at the flight captain for a clue, but Simonitz was no help. He got a stony look back and silence.

"She's huge," Bennet said, casting about for something to say when they transferred to an elevator to get them up to the command level. Quist must think he was a mute idiot and it didn't do to let the other services think they could awe the Shield Regiment. "You could fit the _Hyperion_ inside that landing bay."

"And still have space to spare, I expect." Simonitz made a rare foray into speech. He sounded damned smug.

"Yes." Bennet kept his tone light. "Lots of space to spare."

The elevator opened out onto the _Gyrfalcon_ 's bridge, a huge oval space packed with consoles and workstations. At the back was a smaller oval, raised a yard above the decking and stretching right to the back of the bridge. This dais—the flag command centre, which tracked, co-ordinated and commanded the smaller ships in the _Gyrfalcon_ 's wake—was, like the main bridge itself, kitted out with consoles and work stations except for the wide clear space around the command chair at the pointed end at the front. The corresponding command chairs for the _Gyrfalcon_ 's bridge crew were sited immediately below and in front of the dais. There was no hiding who got the best seat in the house. There had to be forty people on the bridge, with another half dozen in Flag Command. More than his entire crew on the _Hype_.

The captain on duty on the lower level bridge leapt to her feet when Quist walked out of the elevator onto the bridge. Quist led Bennet up onto the dais, she and the captain trading formal salutes.

Quist came to a halt and nodded towards a door at the back, where the flag command dais met the bridge wall. She put out a hand to hold Simonitz back. "Commander Caeden is in the bridge office, Shield Captain. We'll give you a few minutes with him and follow you in shortly."

"Thank you, ma'am." Bennet, more than a little uncertain about the honour, gripped the Link a little tighter and knocked on the office door.

"Come."

Bennet hit the door release with his free hand and stepped inside, letting the door close behind him. The commander sat behind his desk, studying a datapad, and it was a second or two before he glanced up to look at his visitor. Bennet stared back, keeping his face as expressionless as he could. The commander looked pretty much as he always had. His once-dark hair was silver these days and kept buzz-cut short, and there were more lines than Bennet remembered around the dark blue eyes that gave life to a face that was otherwise splendidly patrician. Caeden studied Bennet with the same coolness that he'd accorded the datapad.

Bennet gave him a snappy, by-the-book salute. "Shield Captain Bennet, sir, reporting as ordered."

"So I see." The commander looked him up and down. "I suppose you're here to explain to me why you've had the unmitigated gall to hijack my ship and divert it from the defence of Cetes?"

Bennet sighed and made sure Caeden heard it. "And it's good to see you too, Dad."

Caeden's mouth relaxed into a smile. "Well, I suppose I can hardly hold you responsible for Jak's indiscretions."

"No, sir. Hardly."

"And I suppose that I'm stuck with you." Caeden got to his feet and came around the desk. "You look well."

Caeden raised his arms. Hell, he wasn't going to offer a hug, was he? Bennet froze. It had been a long time, more than seven years, since Caeden had seemed to feel comfortable with touching him. A hug was unprecedented. But Caeden let his arms fall again. All he did was put his left hand on Bennet's shoulder and even that was more than Bennet had ever expected, before offering his right to shake.

"I'm fine. You're looking good." Bennet took his father's hand for a moment. It was weird, doing that. As if they were strangers.

"For an old man," Caeden said.

Bennet grinned. Caeden had heard he was to be a grandfather, then. "You've heard from Thea?"

"Your mother. You children are dreadful correspondents." Caeden stood back, regarding him carefully. "It's been a while since I saw you last."

"Not since Thea's wedding."

"Yes. More than a year."

"Well, I was on a job when you had your last home leave."

"I know. I'm sorry I couldn't get back last year when you were hurt. Are you all right? You scared your mother, you know, and I wish I could have got home. I wanted to be there."

Had he? Bennet stared. "I'm fine. I know you couldn't be there. You were in action over Accor. Besides, you didn't need to rush home. It wasn't that bad. They patched me up, gave me a new rib, and I was out of hospital within a couple of weeks."

"That's not your mother's recollection of the experience."

"She fusses a bit. She and Joss drove me crazy between them, but really, it wasn't as serious as all that. At least Thea was there to keep them under control by reminding them she's the only medic in the family."

"Mmn," his father said. "And how is Joss?"

Shit. Bennet shouldn't have mentioned Joss. "He's fine too."

"Good." Caeden lifted his hand from Bennet's shoulder and touched the captains' pips. "I didn't know about these being made permanent."

"Brand new. You heard I got the field promotion four months ago when our captain bought it? They decided to make it real." Bennet grinned. "I guess they thought this job's such a sweetheart, it'd look good on the tombstone."

Caeden winced. "Well, I'm delighted for you."

"So am I. They backdated my pay."

"Your mother didn't tell me."

"She doesn't know yet. I didn't get the chance to tell her. She's out at the country house, you know, and I didn't see her when I was at home last month between jobs. I only had a few days and there wasn't time."

Caeden nodded, turning back to business. "I don't think we should keep Quist and Simonitz waiting too long. Have supper with me tonight in my quarters and we'll catch up there."

And what could a man say but _I'd like that_ , even if he wasn't sure it was true? Without his mother there to mediate, it might be difficult at best. So Bennet said it, tried to mean it, and followed his father's example in focusing on the job he had to do. He hefted the Link in its case. "Can I lock this into your safe?"

"Is this the Link?" Bennet froze again. Caeden must have noticed, because he laughed and added, "I'm a member of IntCom and Vice-Chair of the Military Council, Bennet. I do have a certain level of security clearance. It's rather hard to have a higher one, as it happens. And of course, I had the briefings on this project before IntCom gave it the green light. Can I see it?"

Bennet hesitated, but opened up the case. There was no point in arguing, and his father did have top clearance. He'd had it much longer than Bennet had.

Caeden looked down at the Link with an air of slight perplexity. "From what I heard at the briefings we had—from Colonel Jorgensen and Lieutenant Felix, as I recall—the Unit techs dismantled virtually every intact Maess fighter craft we ever managed to bring down to create this thing. I expected something bigger and more impressive as a result. Are they sure it'll work?"

"The techs got it to link successfully to the smaller systems on a downed Maess fighter," Bennet said, closing the case. "So yes, we know it works. But, of course, they're small systems compared to what I hope to get into."

"Mmn. And of course, I'd expect Shield to test it and I suppose you make the best candidate there, with your links to the Strategy Unit. I wasn't aware, though, that you were involved with this project. Actually, I hadn't realised you were still working all that closely with the Unit."

"They didn't entirely let me go, you know, when I left SSI. Their argument is that there have to be a couple of hours in the day when I'm not actively sneaking into somewhere and blowing it up, and they regard those two hours as theirs. I work on some of the longer-term projects. This one's been mine for a couple of years."

"I see." Caeden opened the safe set into the wall. He took the case from Bennet and locked it away.

"Felix is my work partner at the Strategy Unit. Jorgensen's sort of in charge of overseeing our projects." Bennet obviously hadn't kept the disdain from his voice if the way his father's mouth twitched was any indication. "Felix, though, is damn good. He's the engineer who developed the Link. He's a captain now."

Caeden's mouth twitched again. "Yes, I see. I'm to listen to his opinions, then, when it comes to future briefings."

They grinned at each other. At least, Bennet grinned and Caeden looked amused. He was too patrician to grin.

The camaraderie lasted only a moment. Caeden turned back to business soon enough. "No one else knows what this is about, of course. It's entirely up to you what you tell Quist and Simonitz."

"Sure." Bennet let tense shoulder relax now that the Link was safely stowed away. "Do they know that... you know, you and me?"

"That you're my son? Quist does, of course. She's known me for years. Simonitz doesn't unless he's far more observant than I've ever given him credit for."

"Huh?"

Caeden nodded to the framed photographs on his desk.

"You have one of me?"

His father raised an eyebrow. "Of course."

Bennet opted for a shrug and silence. Well, that was unexpected. Caeden displayed a photograph of him, despite being so disappointed, so angry and disgusted, that they'd been virtually estranged for the last seven years? What in hell did that mean? That he was sorry things had ended up the way they had? That Bennet was still family? That was a laugh. Bennet hadn't felt like he was family for a long time.

After a minute, he said, "Can we keep it this way, that only Quist knows? Things are going to be complicated enough, and really it has no bearing on this job."

"If you like," his father said, with the stony inscrutability that had always disconcerted Bennet when he was a child. He refused to let it disconcert him now. "I'll call them in." Caeden hesitated, his hand hovering over the desk communication unit. "Bennet, I'm really glad to see you, you know."

"I'm glad to be here."

"On a Fleet ship, at last."

Bennet let the smile through, then. "Temporarily."

"This is an infiltration mission," Bennet said. "The most I can tell you is that it isn't the usual sort of mission where it's a fast run in and out to blow something up. I'll have to be on the ground for a while. I'll need a ride there and back."

Quist watched him, the stern expression in place. Did she ever smile? It was like trying to read a slab of granite. Simonitz, now, was easier. He was angry and resentful. Professional jealousy, maybe? Bennet wouldn't like it himself if Simonitz had been dropped into the _Hyperion_ and Bennet had been told that he was to offer full co-operation. It would have stung to be told that whatever it was that Simonitz was up to was far more important than anything the _Hyperion_ was doing. He wouldn't like that. So he was conciliatory when Simonitz asked why Shield had effectively commandeered Albion's leading dreadnought.

"There are too few of us to do everything that HQ demands of us." Bennet shot a sidelong glance at his father. "I suppose too many people think that Shield's a dead end for a career officer. So we're overstretched—"

Simonitz didn't even bother to hide the scowl. "Maybe you could loosen up your recruitment criteria."

Bennet's internal alarms had the spot between his shoulder blades itching. He ignored the comment. "We're spread so thin you can see the light through us. Our original plan was for the _Hyperion_ to have taken me in, but we lost one of our ships. The general had to divert my ship to cover that flank."

"What's the plan?" Quist asked.

"It's still being worked on. But really we're keeping everything simple. You get me in, I do the job, you collect me when it's over."

His father's cough was admonitory. "A little detail would be useful, Shield Captain."

So much for it being up to him to decide how much to say. But there was no point in antagonizing the _Gyrfalcon_ 's officers. He needed them to do this. "Yes sir. We have the choice of four Maess bases in the area behind the sector where their forces are massing over against Cetes. At this minute, I honestly don't know which one we'll go for, although I've made a recommendation that it's T18. It's the farthest back and the one with the best environment to work in. I could breathe on T7 and T11, but not for long, and I'd need a full environmental suit for T5. I'm likely to be on the base for at least a couple of hours, so that's a major consideration."

Quist hitched up an eyebrow. "That long? You want to sit for hours on a base that will be packed wall-to-wall with Maess drones?"

"Drones don't have much initiative and they don't think fast, Ma'am. And I'll be wearing a shield-suit. With luck, I'll stay below their radar."

The eyebrow hitched higher, but she only shook her head. She was right to be sceptical. Sure, drones were slow, but still damn dangerous. Whichever base ended up as Bennet's target on this job, there would be dozens of the damn things, both drones and fighter craft. Not to mention the chance of at least one real Maess being there. It was hard not to extrapolate from human behaviour, and since no one would ever trust a base to a drone's command, a real Maess might be there, in charge. It was unlikely to be as dull-witted as its foot soldiers.

Simonitz sniffed. "I suppose you walk in and out of Maess bases every day of the week."

Bennet shrugged. To hell with being polite and conciliatory. "It's what they pay me for."

"When do you expect to hear from HQ?" Caeden gave Simonitz a quelling look.

"In a couple of days, most likely. They want to think over the revised job plan before giving the go-ahead. I think it'll be T18, though."

"Where is it?" Simonitz muted the hostility a little. "Where are they all?"

Bennet took a data crystal and nodded towards the console set into the conference table. "May I, Commander?"

"Be my guest," Caeden said.

Bennet dropped the crystal into the slot, and activated the screen. He gestured to the star map projected onto the screen. "Cetes is here, with the Maess fleet congregating in this area here, and here, and here. The _Hype_ was checking this sector behind them. It's pretty empty. Most of the forces have joined the main body over at Cetes."

Quist stirred out of complete immobility. "Is there a real risk of an attack?"

"Yes. They're there in force. You were on your way there, weren't you?"

"We were," Caeden said. "The _Patroklus_ will continue there with the rest of First to support Cetes. Fifth Fleet is already there."

"They'll probably be needed." Bennet used the pointer again, to indicate each potential target. "This is T5. T7 and T11 are in the same system... here. T18's way back here."

"We're quite some distance from it," Caeden said. "We told the _Gyrfalcon_ 's crew this morning that it would take two or three weeks."

"Yes sir, that's about right. Closer to three if it's T18. And whichever base it is, I want to take the long way around, coming at the target from behind from the Maess' own space. It's not much of an advantage, but every little helps."

"Sensible," his father agreed.

"It will be hard on the pilots. I suppose you'll want them on battle alert, on quiet running? That means them sitting out most of the journey in the launch tubes and close-in pickets." Quist gave Bennet a thin smile, and Bennet decided that he preferred the stern immobility. "They don't like it. It makes them restless."

Bennet had been brought up to be polite. He felt compelled to apologise.

Caeden granted that a magisterial nod. "And when we get to whichever one it is?"

"The idea is for me to do the job, blow the base and get back out again. I'll parachute in, unless it's T5, so I'm going to need one of your cutters and a pilot to take me in, then come back and pick me up."

"Will a cutter be fast enough?" his father asked.

"We could modify one," Quist said. "The techs can strip all of the weight out of one of the smaller cutters, and add extra boosters."

"Good idea, yes." Caeden nodded. "Use my own barque, Colonel. Please arrange it with Engineering."

"Yes sir," Quist said.

"Thank you, sir. I don't expect you to sacrifice your own cutter. That's very kind of you." And it spoke of something else, perhaps. That Bennet's father was determined to offer every assistance. That was a good omen.

"It's the smallest and fastest," Caeden said. "And we can use our time until we reach the target getting it ready."

"Who do we get to drive it?" Simonitz looked at the commander.

"We could draw up a shortlist," Caeden suggested. "We have some fine pilots."

Bennet looked away from the map he'd been studying for the hundredth time. "Excuse me, sir, but what would be most helpful would be access to all your pilot records so I can make a choice." He caught the beginnings of a frown, and amended that to a hasty "A shortlist of pilots to discuss with you, sir." He tried the smile that Joss always said melted his bones, and although he wasn't expecting quite the same response from his father, some effect would be good.

Caeden gave him a long look from eyes that were coolly appraising, as if Bennet were a stranger. The smile didn't seem to move him. "I suppose that you know what you're looking for. What do you want?"

"Everything, sir, from mission reports to their dental records." Bennet let the smile die away. It was too good a weapon to overuse, especially on someone for whom familiarity had evidently bred immunity. "Thank you."

"I'll arrange for you to have access," Simonitz said when Caeden nodded, the first helpful thing he'd said since Bennet had come aboard. "Engineering Captain Keene runs our IT. I'll get him to give you the same access rights as me."

"Thanks," Bennet said, privately resolving to get higher access if he could. His security clearance level would be enough to persuade their systems controller to allow it. He doubted that Simonitz could see everything and he didn't want to have to go and ask his father.

"I suppose," Caeden said, "that the full detailed plan will only be finalised when you know which of the four targets we're going into?"

Bennet nodded.

"Well then, there's little to be gained by discussing this ad nauseam before HQ makes its decision. Quist, I'd be grateful if you'd oversee the work on the cutter, please. I can rely on you to impress Engineering with the importance of the task. Simonitz, you'll work with Shield Captain Bennet on pilot selection." Caeden turned his attention to Bennet. "We meet here every morning at seven for the regular command meeting. I'd be pleased to have you join us, Shield Captain."

It was an order, and Bennet bowed to it. "I'd be honoured, sir."

"And then Simonitz briefs the flight leaders. Perhaps you would wish to attend."

"I'd like that," Bennet said, with more enthusiasm. He needed to get to know the pilots, starting with the thirty or so flight leaders who should be the pick of the crop.

"You'll have all normal officer privileges while you're on board, including membership of the officers' club. We'll give you a formal commissary dinner, of course."

Bennet's heart sank down to the region of his combat boots. "How formal, sir?"

Caeden's expression was questioning.

"I mean, sir, that I don't travel with my dress uniform. Not when I'm on a job."

His father said, acidly, "You do have one?"

In the closet at home, sure. "Yes sir, but it's not normally something I need in the field."

Caeden frowned. "Then I suppose we'll have to give you an informal dinner." He glanced at Bennet's plain black jacket. "I'd noticed that you were improperly dressed, Shield Captain. Don't you wear medal ribbons, either, on a mission?"

"Very few Shield personnel wear them in the field, on a job." Bennet chose to use the more plebeian word that his father had avoided. They were a different service, for the gods' sakes, and he wasn't in Fleet's chain of command. He wasn't going to pretend he was ashamed of Shield or the way Shield did things, not even to placate the old man. He met his father's gaze squarely. "It's not required of us."

Caeden didn't pursue it. "I see. Well, I'm sure Captain Simonitz will show you where your quarters are, and arrange for you to be loaned a communications link."

It was a dismissal. Bennet and Simonitz rose to their feet.

"Thank you, sir." Bennet added, formally, "I'm pleased to be working with Fleet."

Caeden nodded. "We'll do our best to make it a success, Shield Captain. I'll page you about supper."

"Sir." Bennet saluted again, and followed Simonitz out of the room, relieved to have that first meeting over. He hated the way his father made him feel like a scrawny, rebellious teenager.

"Supper?" Simonitz said.

Bennet shrugged.

Simonitz grunted. "Favourite son or something?"

So, Simonitz wasn't as unobservant as Caeden had thought. But way, way off beam there.

"Doubt it," Bennet said, reckoning that in the region of poor choices, Caeden preferred his younger brother Liam's heterosexual wildness to homosexuality, any day of the week. "But then, he hasn't many options."

## Chapter Seven

The starboard flight deck was teeming when the Shield officer arrived.

The shift change was the busiest time, with Hornets coming from patrol at the landing bays at the _Gyrfalcon_ 's stern and the new shift launching from the tubes at the prow. Gamma's starboard squads were on swing shift that month. They should have been in the launch room instead of milling about the landing bay, waiting on developments. Even some of Beta squadron were there, and they weren't on duty until midnight. Flynn and his colleagues in Alpha squadron had just come off shift, so at least had some sort of excuse for being in the landing bay. Although that wouldn't stop anyone in authority demanding to know what they were doing hanging about there when they should be making their reports to whoever was sitting in Simonitz's chair in the duty office. It wasn't Simonitz. He was down here too, standing near the bulkhead doors that led to elevator bank and the high-speed travellators to the front of the ship.

Most made at least some pretence at being on the wrong side of the flight deck doors because of official business, while they waited for curtain-up and the show to start. Flynn didn't bother. He lounged up against a bulkhead, openly curious.

Some of the pilots were nervous, Jillia among them. "We can't wait much longer. I'm not having my lot cut their pre-flight checks, not for every Shield captain in the regiment."

Flynn shrugged. "You have fifteen minutes before you need to worry. He's due in before then."

Cruz jabbed him with an elbow for being a sexist jerk. "Or she. They're mixed, aren't they?"

"I know as much about them as you do, and that's only what Nairn was able to remember this morning. That's about two minutes worth of a lecture at the Academy, and all the rumours since."

Another of the Gamma squadron pilots shifted his weight, glancing at the big chronometer set in the wall of the deckmaster's office. "I think I'd better go. We're going to be late."

Flynn grinned. "Don't you want to meet the author of our misfortunes?"

"I don't want to be hauled up in front of the captain for missing patrol, thank you."

"Besides," Cruz said, "it's the author of Flynn's misfortunes. Don't tell me that you're not mad at having your leave cancelled."

Flynn shrugged. "It's not like I have a family to go see. I'd planned to spend my time in the nightclubs and dance halls, in bars and restaurants, in casinos and—" He broke off and sighed at the sniggering. "Remind me to kick him when he gets here."

"Now's your chance," Kyle said.

"Here he is." Cruz spoke in the same instant. "That is one neat little ship! I've never seen one up close before."

The Mosquito shimmered through the force fields, the decontamination field outlining it in flickering white light. It was barely two-thirds the length of their Hornets, but looked every inch as deadly. It was the same general design: delta winged, with the engine vents at the tip of each wing, painted black to make it visually more difficult to detect in space. It bristled with laser cannon and missile nacelles.

Lieutenant Carson went up on tiptoe, presumably to see better. "It's carrying one helluva lot of armament."

"Mmmn." Flynn watched as the ship came to a gentle landing on the apron. "It's cute. D'you think they'll give us a go in it?"

Cruz laughed. "Not in a million years."

One of the travellator doors opened and someone in the crowd of pilots hissed a warning. "Quist!"

The colonel joined Simonitz, who took one glance at Quist's face and straightened out of his customary slouch.

Flynn grinned. Damn, but they looked unenthusiastic. "Ah, the welcoming committee. From the look of her, maybe the colonel will do the kicking for me."

The nervousness of the pilots increased. If anyone would question why they were there at all, it would be Quist. As Flynn had once said, the odds were her blood had been replaced with a chemical solution into which the regulations had been dissolved, the better to bathe and solidify her internal organs. He'd laughed when he'd said it, but the laugh had been rueful.

Prudence won out. The Gamma pilots faded back out of sight, Jillia herding them towards the launch bays. "Tell me later. And I want details!"

There was a bit of an unseemly scramble while the ground crews adjusted the height of a mounting platform. Quist pursed her lips and clasped her hands behind her back. Bad sign, that. It usually meant, in Flynn's opinion, that she'd rather like to box someone's ears and she was dealing with the temptation. She did it a lot when she was reaming Flynn out. It was unfair of her right then, though. It was a challenge for the ground crews to handle the ship, given that all the hangar systems were geared to the bigger Hornets. But Quist didn't like _Gyrfalcon_ to look inefficient, and she didn't do excuses.

The pilot waited until the platform was in place before letting the clear hatch of the Mosquito retract, and climbing out. He dumped a standard military duffle at his feet while he lifted a small case from the cockpit holding onto it as carefully as if it were made from spun black glass and breathing on it would break it. He got a ground crewman to pull out a bigger case before closing up his machine one handed. He dropped lightly from the platform, the case cradled in his arms.

"Welcome aboard." Quist returned the Shield's salute with her usual precision. "I'm Quist, the _Gyrfalcon_ 's Exec Officer and this is GyrLeader, Flight Captain Simonitz."

"Shield Captain Bennet." The Shield offered his hand.

Quist looked him up and down and nodded, face giving nothing away as she shook hands. The Shield withstood the ordeal with apparent equanimity, but then, he'd probably faced worse scouting behind enemy lines. Maybe. There wasn't much worse than Quist in a snit, and that stern expression indicated that the colonel wasn't thrilled by developments. The Shield captain shook hands with Simonitz.

"You've been assigned quarters on the command level, Captain." Quist gestured to one of the bridge non-coms who'd arrived with her. "Sergeant Barton here will take your things to your quarters. The commander is waiting for you in the bridge office."

"Thank you, ma'am." The Shield captain glanced around the deck. "Busy place."

"Curious crew who shouldn't be here and who are going to be on report if they don't get to where they should be," Quist said, pitching her voice to be heard across the deck.

A strong sense of self-preservation was a necessity of life on the _Gyrfalcon_. Pilots and ground crew scrambled to get out the colonel's line of sight while she led their guest to the access doors at the back of the bay, and even Flynn decided it would be better to fade out of view. Simonitz trailed along behind Quist and the Shield, looking morose.

So, that was the Shield officer. Flynn would give a week's pay to know what was in that little case the Shield had cradled so carefully and had taken with him, and maybe even a month's worth to know what in hell this little visitation was all about.

Flynn liked the daylight shift. It meant that he was off duty in the early evening and had the rest of the night to himself while, in this rotation, the Gamma pilots took over the routine pickets and patrols, holding the fort until midnight when Jillia would transfer strike command over to Kyle. Gamma had the worst of it. The most they would get in terms of decent R&R for a month was the scant hour between midnight and one, when the officers' club closed.

Usually Flynn had plenty to keep him occupied, but the wait until the OC opened at eight felt interminable. A visit to the gym and a half-hour Tierce practice weren't enough to distract him, even with Cruz and Carson bouncing him and Nairn all over the court in a mixed tag-team game. Cruz crowed over the unexpected victory all the way through the showers afterwards, she and Carson doing an obscene victory dance around the locker room wearing nothing but highly inadequate towels and smug expressions. Flynn had laughed with the others, but his mind was on other things.

Once he got out of the Tierce court, he took a trip back to the starboard-landing bay, only to be disappointed there. The little Mosquito was locked down under a tarp with two security men standing over it while the ground crew cleared out one of the smaller hangars to store it away. Flynn couldn't get anywhere near it. Even the ground crew hadn't seen much under the tarp yet and they were busy, meeting his enquiries with impatience. He got the distinct impression that his absence wouldn't be lamented.

"This is beginning to get frustrating," he said to Cruz, when they met up again and he was forced to confess that he hadn't even managed to get another glimpse of the Mosquito.

"Doesn't Captain Keene owe you money?"

"Cruz, almost everybody on this ship owes me money. But that? That is a good idea. You coming?"

"May as well." Cruz was all gracious acquiescence. "I don't have anything better to do."

Keene, the technical officer who managed the _Gyrfalcon_ 's computer networks, didn't hesitate to give Flynn access to the main computer banks. The offer to have his hefty gambling debt written off was too good to refuse, since to pay it would jeopardise his pension, and retirement was only a few months off. But though Flynn managed to get at the records database in Military HQ, it told him nothing. The data confirmed that a Shield Captain Bennet existed, but gave no information about his background or service history. Everything was encrypted and protected. Balked yet again, Flynn was forced to amuse himself by checking his own personal data and trying to persuade Keene to add a few enhancements and clarifications. But he had to admit defeat on the Shield captain.

He shrugged off the disappointment. "Well, there's the commissary and the OC. We'll have to try the direct approach, and ask." But when they arrived in the commissary, there was no sign of either Simonitz or their visitor. Flynn had to content himself with an early dinner with Cruz and Rafe, another of Alpha's lieutenants.

"Simonitz must have taken him straight to the OC." He prodded the food on his plate with his fork to ensure, he said, that it had stopped breathing before he tried to eat it. The commissary cooks were not famed for having a deep understanding of the finer elements of gourmet cuisine.

"Could be," Cruz said. "We'll find out when we get there."

However, the OC was half-empty. Beta's officers, including Powell, were there, being abstemious about the drink seeing that they'd be on duty in less than four hours. Simonitz was at Alpha's usual table, drinking what the Regs quaintly described as spirituous liquor, and looking dour. Shield Captain Bennet wasn't there at all.

Flynn was beginning to feel that the man was deliberately avoiding him. It was irritating.

"He's at the hard stuff again." Cruz nodded towards Simonitz.

Waiting his turn at the bar, Flynn shrugged. "What's new?"

"I hope we don't have to do anything about it."

Flynn shook his head. "Not our business," he said, and went to join the flight captain, Cruz following him. "Where's our guest, then, Skipper?"

Simonitz took another sip. "Having supper with the commander."

Well now. That was new. The ship's crew prided itself on the hospitality they offered. Visiting officers were accorded a formal reception with everyone resplendent in full dress and medals, but the commander wasn't noted for offering suppers. Well, maybe to the odd passing general or people like Warwick or the Supreme Commander, but Flynn didn't remember anyone else coming in for what could be a dubious honour. The commander was the best—as far as commanders went—but even Flynn's imagination balked at seeing him in a social setting. "Quist as well?"

"Don't know. Don't think so."

A few of the other pilots joined them. "Kyle says there's been no sign of him in here," Nairn reported.

"He's with the commander," Cruz said, when Simonitz said nothing.

"Oh." Nairn was downcast. "Will we get to see him then?"

Simonitz poured himself another drink. When he lifted the glass, his hand was steady. "Tomorrow. He'll be at the briefing tomorrow."

"Right," Rafe said. He looked around. "What d'you all think?"

"Of the Shield? We don't exactly have a lot to go on." Cruz settled down beside Flynn.

"He can get out of his fighter without falling over," Flynn said. "That's a good sign, but even Nairn can do that."

Nairn offered a two-finger salute.

"He's young," Cruz said. "Younger than I expected. He can't be any older than me."

"Or me." Flynn frowned. He added, for the benefit of the rest of the pilots, "We checked the database back at HQ, but there's nothing useful there."

"Nothing?" someone asked.

"Well, the man's name and rank are listed, so he's real. We can be sure we weren't suffering from mass hallucinations and we didn't imagine his arrival. Apart from that, zilch. Keene didn't have enough security clearance for more. So all I know is that he wasn't in our year at the Academy."

Cruz nodded. "Or the two years above us or below us, that I can remember. I didn't recognise him at all. I wouldn't have thought that he was more than two years older than us."

"Or younger," Nairn said.

Flynn grinned at the ensign. "Nairn, if he was that much younger he'd have been there when you were, and made captain before the backs of his ears were dry."

Simonitz grunted. But when Flynn glanced at him, the captain appeared to be more interested in the contents of his glass than the conversation.

"Oh. No, I don't recognise him either." Nairn took Flynn's comment seriously.

"Oh ho! Do you smell one of the godlings of the great and noble Strategic Studies Institute?" Jaime, another Beta Squadron lieutenant, made a deep obeisance.

"And here's me without a forelock to tug," Rafe said.

Cruz gave a most unladylike snort. "I think he'll expect more than forelock tugging. Get that tongue ready for some serious bootlicking."

"As long as it's just his boots," Flynn said, wryly, and they all laughed.

"Although," Jaime said, "I'm surprised SSI types are let out where they may have to dirty their lily-white hands. Aren't they usually kept under glass in HQ where it's safe, until they grow up into Supreme Commanders?"

"I guess a few of them have to do some real work now and again," another Beta officer said. "It would explain the early promotion, if he was SSI. They go straight to First Lieutenant rank, don't they? Unlike the rest of us who have to work for it."

Flynn took another sip of ale, and looked at Simonitz. "Apart from that, what do you think, Skipper?"

Simonitz shrugged. It was evident that he was labouring under a feeling of ill-usage, but whether it was the apparent youth of his Shield colleague or his exclusion from that private supper that offended him, Flynn couldn't tell.

Cruz took over the interrogation. "What happened when you got upstairs, Captain?"

"Nothing much. He went into the bridge office."

"Alone?"

"At first. Quist and I were called in after a few minutes, and... and we talked. And that's all I'm saying."

"What about that case he had with him?" Rafe asked.

"You people don't miss much."

"It's the way you train us, Skipper." Jaime gave Simonitz a dazzling smile.

"Besides, it was cases. In the plural." Rafe finished his ale and looked around hopefully for a refill. "When he hauled out that big case, I wondered if he was thinking of staying for a month."

Flynn rolled his eyes at their obtuseness. "That would be his shield-suit. I'd like to see one of those. I've heard they're incredible. But, no, Skipper, we really want to know about the little case. The one he cradled like a baby."

Simonitz let the words out as if he resented having to speak at all. "I didn't see it after he went into the bridge office. He didn't have it when we left and I took him to his quarters." He closed his mouth, and applied himself to the glass of liquor.

The pilots glanced at each other, and then turned as one to Flynn for the summing up.

"There's nothing on the HQ database, which means he's only done the spooky, secret, can't-tell-you-or-I-have-to-kill-you work in Shield that's probably a lot more fun than our humdrum lives. Let's see what else he's got." Flynn ticked the items off on his fingers. "No one can remember him from the Academy, right? He's about twenty-five, I'd say, so either he's young to be a captain and that means SSI, or he's older than he looks and clean living and a blameless conscience account for the youthful appearance. I reckon on SSI, myself. Kyle moans about a Shield commandeering his seat on a shuttle, but this man commandeers entire dreadnoughts. That shows some real vision. This guy does not think small and whatever we've been commandeered for is big. It's very big. It's as big-as-this-ship big. The commander seems to be the only one who really knows what's going on and maybe even Quist is out of the loop, and that mysterious little black case is probably locked in the safe in the bridge office where no one, not even me, can sneak a look at it. And the Shield's important enough for the commander to offer him a cosy little supper for two. Did I miss anything?"

"There's no one you can blackmail to get access to the bridge office safe, then?" Simonitz sipped at his drink. "You're slipping."

"I have my off days."

"Sadly," Cruz said, with a grin. "Well, all that's interesting, but inconclusive."

"It doesn't get us much further forward, that's for sure," Flynn agreed, and a few minutes later he excused himself and wandered away. Powell had only a soft drink for company, the poor sap. Flynn collected a second drink for both of them and took the seat beside him. He slid the soft drink across the table. "Hey."

Powell grimaced. He avoided looking at Flynn. "Hey, yourself."

Flynn swallowed down a sigh. "I guess you're mad about the delay?"

Powell did look up at that. "I want out of here, Flynn."

"I know, but honestly, I can't see that _Caliban_ and the Third Flotilla will be all that much better than here. Swapping one smelly dreadnought for another doesn't seem all that much of an advance."

Powell said nothing, but the pale hazel eyes studied Flynn. They reminded Flynn of the glass marbles he used to play with as a kid.

"You're setting your career back, and you know it. You've made your mark here. You go to the _Caliban_ and you'll have to start all over again, prove yourself all over again. I don't see the point."

"You won't be there." Powell's voice was rough. "It gets me away from you."

Flynn sipped at his ale and said nothing. They'd been through all this before, more than once. He'd have been better leaving Powell to his own devices.

"I wouldn't go for any other reason," Powell said, and the roughness in his voice was more noticeable.

"I'm not that important. I shouldn't be that important."

Powell shook his head. After a minute or two, he jerked his head towards the Alpha table. "What did Simonitz have to say?" Flynn told him, and Powell nodded. "I wouldn't mind so much if I knew what the hell is going on. Well, maybe I owe the Shield something. Your little plan to avoid my farewell party backfired on you."

"Hey, I take my furlough when I can get it," Flynn protested. But, dammit, Powell wasn't wrong. They were both running away. Flynn had been delighted when Simonitz had approved his leave application. But he suspected the flight captain knew more than he was saying publicly and was as eager as Flynn to avoid a situation ripe with disastrous potential. Simonitz never said a lot and he drank too much, but he didn't miss much that happened on his watch and with his pilots. Flynn finished off his ale and nodded at Powell's mug. "Want another one?"

"Buying me a drink doesn't make it any better."

Flynn tightened his mouth against the little spark of anger. "I'm not trying to make it better. It's not my responsibility to make it better. We had a good time, right? Let's leave it at that. It's not like it was up there with the greatest love affairs of the century."

The look Powell gave him made him regret saying it, true as it was. "No, I guess not."

Flynn softened his tone. "We had fun, and I enjoyed it, but—"

"Because you wouldn't know love if it held you up with a laser."

Flynn took a deep breath. "No."

"It could have been. It could have been up there with the greatest if you'd given it a chance."

Flynn avoided the intense gaze.

"I'll stay, Flynn, if you will."

Flynn pushed his empty beer mug aside, and shook his head, getting to his feet. "Sorry," he said, and walked away.

## Chapter Eight

Supper started well. The food was better than anything Bennet had eaten in three weeks and to begin with, at least, he and his father avoided talking about anything that might rake up old grievances. They talked about family—Meriel, Bennet's mother, and her political aspirations, his elder sister Thea's impending baby and her work as surgical resident at the military hospital in Sais, Natalia's progress as an engineering cadet at the Military Academy, and the latest escapade that had Liam on the edge of being suspended from school ("Again!" Caeden said in despair). Nothing personal, nothing dangerous. Joss wasn't even mentioned for quite some time.

Bennet told his father of Simonitz's good guess. "He said he wouldn't say anything, but I don't think it's improved his opinion of me. What's his problem, apart from me dropping in and disrupting everything and being related to you?"

"I noticed that too," Caeden said. "There was something he said that intrigued me, so I checked his record after the meeting. It seems he tried for Shield a few years ago, after his first tour of duty. He didn't get in."

"That explains the sour reaction to me, then."

"I normally wouldn't have breached confidentiality on something like that, but it's better that you know, so you can deal with it."

"It's depressing to be disliked for the failings of the institution I belong to. It's insulting. The least he can do is dislike me for myself." Bennet occupied himself with dessert for a few minutes. It was his favourite.

"Is it all right?" his father asked.

Bennet looked up, to find Caeden smiling at him. "It's fine."

"I hoped that it would be good. You used to love that when you were younger."

"I still do," Bennet said, surprised that Caeden had remembered. "All the food's great."

"It's not too bad." His father was suitably modest about his ship's culinary achievements. "Are your quarters comfortable?"

Bennet managed not to smile. His father doing the solicitous host routine was difficult to take seriously. "Very." He took a sip of wine and, emboldened, said, "And who was it you accused of making career choices based on hedonistic principles? This is absolute luxury."

Caeden's smile faded. "I caught the little dig earlier, too, Bennet. You know why I objected to you taking the Shield oath."

Bennet certainly did. Caeden had been disdainful that Bennet had given Joss as much thought and consideration in deciding his future, as he had about the tenets of service that Caeden lived by. Bennet had compromised, as far as it was possible to compromise, between the demands of family expectations and upbringing and his own deeply held belief that in times of war everyone should do what they could to prevent defeat, and the demands Joss made of him. Compromise was a word that didn't live in Caeden's lexicon any more than it did in Joss's.

He should have kept his mouth shut. And while he was at it, maybe it was time to outgrow the tendency to pick at old sores. "I'm good at what I do, Dad."

"I'm sure of it."

"What Shield does is absolutely essential, you know that."

"Yes."

"That was a 'yes, but', I think."

"But it's not going to get you senior command. It's too small and too specialised."

Bennet touched the pips in his collar. "I've not done too badly out of it."

"No," Caeden's expression softened. "I'm pleased about that. I'd hoped, though, that you'd move when your first tour of duty came to an end. Shield can't be your whole career, Bennet."

Any intention to avoid argument fled. The can was open and the worms wriggled vigorously. All they needed was a little prodding.

"Because in your view it's a career dead end, only fit for—what? The unambitious types who like the risky, dirty jobs of walking in and out of Maess bases every day of the week, but who can't be trusted with a strategic command?"

"I didn't say that and I don't want to argue with you."

"I don't understand it, sometimes. I thought that what motivated you was the duty and honour argument, not personal ambition."

"Maybe we should talk about something else."

"It's inconsistent to despise me for choosing Shield on the grounds I ignored the demands of duty and honour and only did it so I could spend a great deal more time with Joss than you've ever had with the family. And then, on the other hand despise me for choosing Shield because it's so steeped in duty and honour that we're not interested in personal ambition, but in service. We get all the filthy jobs that Fleet and Infantry can't or won't do." Bennet poked a disrespectful finger at the medal ribbons on his father's chest, and the scarlet-gold of the Order of the Lion of Thebes. "You got all the razzamatazz when they gave you your Shiny Lion and mine virtually came to me in the mail. So you tell me who's the most motivated by ambition?"

"I don't despise you!"

"No? What's changed your mind?"

... so filthy and disgusting that you make me sick, and so help me if you've ever touched Liam, I'll tear you apart...

"Bennet," Caeden said, helplessly.

"Hell, even Uncle Jak knew how mad you were about it. When was the last time you sat there with all those good friends of yours and boasted about 'my son the Shield officer?' Do I even figure in your universe at all? Of course, it would help if I wasn't queer and you didn't have that to hide." Bennet stopped dead, biting back the words. Where in hell had all that come from? He'd accepted long ago that it was easier to earn his father's disapproval than praise and respect. He pushed away his half-eaten dessert. "I'm sorry. I don't want to fight with you. All we ever do is fight."

Caeden stared down at his plate. "I admire Shield greatly, Bennet, and I really don't know where you got the idea that I don't. If I think that you took Shield for the wrong reasons, then what can I do about it? It's been a very long time since you cared anything for my opinion, so we just have to get on with it, don't we? That doesn't stop me wanting the best for you. You're still my son."

Bennet said nothing. Shit, shit, shit. Why in hell couldn't he learn to do things on the surface and stop thinking about what went on underneath? The meal had been cordial enough until he'd opened his big mouth. But some memories had burned very, very deep, and the scar tissue was thin and tender. He'd been just eighteen when his father had found out about Joss, and he hadn't felt much like Caeden's son since.

"I don't want us to fight, either." Caeden sighed, passing his hand over his eyes. "I wish your mother was here. She seems to be able to keep us under control." He took a deep breath and straightened. "I don't like this breach between us, Bennet. I never have. What I said all those years ago, I regret bitterly, and I think you know that. I was hurt and shocked, and too angry to consider what I was saying."

Appalled, was closer. But then, Bennet had never told his father about Joss. Caeden had found out for himself and in the worst possible circumstances. Maybe it would have been better if Bennet had tried to tell him but Caeden was hardly ever there to talk to about anything. It boiled down to the fact they didn't know each other very well.

Bennet said nothing, because the only thing that sprang to mind wouldn't have helped matters. He could hardly tell the his father they fought because Caeden hadn't the faintest idea who his own son was, or what he wanted. No. That wouldn't end well.

"That's not an excuse, Bennet," his father said into the continuing silence. "I didn't react well. If you asked me now what I think, I won't pretend I'm ecstatic about it. But it's been more than seven years and you and Joss are still together." He tried a smile, but it looked strained. "I'd say that means it's not a passing phase."

"No," Bennet said, surprised into a faint smile.

"So we go on from there. I'd hoped that working together on this would give us a chance to do something to heal that breach. I'd really like that chance. It's been years since we spent any time together."

Despite Joss's petulant little digs about his need for parental approval, that appeal touched Bennet. He nodded. "I'd like the chance, too. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have started on you."

"Maybe we can work on it a little, then." Caeden smiled, but Bennet could see the effort it cost him. "Let's rewind the conversation a bit." He pushed the half-eaten dessert towards Bennet. "Eat it. I went to quite a bit of trouble to get that for you, and I don't like to see it wasted."

Bennet pulled the dessert bowl closer and choked a mouthful down. "It's good."

"So," Caeden said, watching him with an intensity that had Bennet imagining a dozen wild possibilities, each one ending in the unlikely scenario of him being assured of undimmed parental love and affection. "What Shiny Lion?"

Bennet breakfasted alone the next morning, spending the time studying the ship's schematics. He'd been delighted to find a tiny galley kitchen attached to his quarters, and Simonitz had pointed him in the direction of the Quartermaster's stores so he could stock it. It was in the nature of self-defence, Bennet reckoned. He didn't think that Simonitz wanted to ask him to breakfast in the commissary any more than he wanted to be asked, but the flight captain's helpfulness allowed at least the semblance of hospitality. He and Simonitz were not destined to be soul mates.

The ship schematics reinforced Bennet's hazy memories of his last visit more than eleven years before. It had been a birthday treat, a chance to spend a few days with his father, who'd brought the _Gyrfalcon_ into close proximity to Albion for some routine maintenance. Back then, it mattered, getting his father's attention with no demanding siblings to get in the way.

It had been a great visit. He'd explored the ship from stem to stern, indulged by his father and spoiled by the crew. He'd fallen in love for the first time, too. What had that pilot's name been? Gerrant? Geraint? Something like that, anyway, and now no more than a memory of someone tall and dark and the object of uncomfortable dreams for some months afterwards. The pilot had been assigned to keep the Boss's kid amused; probably as punishment for some misdemeanour. He'd taken Bennet on a couple of Hornet flights, sealing a boy's love of flying with a passionate and inarticulate admiration for the man piloting him. Whatever had happened to him?

He'd better not ask his father. He'd hate to have to explain his interest. He was in enough trouble there as it was. Better to drink his tea, study the schematics, marvel at how big this damned ship was, and plan on getting this job over with as soon as humanly possible.

The morning command meeting was a revelation. His father and Quist missed nothing. No event was too small or too insignificant to escape their attention. They fitted everything into the picture they had of how this big ship was operating, alert to anything at all that smacked of a departure from the norm and might threaten its stability.

Simonitz performed well. Bennet hadn't been impressed the previous day by the flight captain's barely-hidden hostility, but the man knew what he was doing when it came to running his pilots. He was more efficient than he looked. He'd already arranged for Bennet to see the _Gyrfalcon_ 's technical officer, Captain Keene, to get access to the ship's IT network.

Caeden watched Bennet throughout. It was unobtrusive, but Bennet was aware of it. Supper had ended on a happier note. They'd gone back to talking about safer topics after Bennet had managed to contain that infelicitous outburst, and Caeden had even laughed at some of the stories Bennet told him about the _Hype_ , but it had been strained, for all that. Caeden's reaction to Joss still sat between them like a cancer, something to be excised. The problem was, neither of them had any idea how to go about it.

It was a relief when he and Simonitz were dismissed and sent off to the larger briefing room to meet the flight leaders. They didn't talk much on the way. Simonitz was back to a sulky silence and Bennet didn't give enough of a damn to try and win the man over. They reached the door at the same instant as one of Simonitz's lieutenants, colliding in a momentary confusion about who went first. The lieutenant stared at him from startlingly green eyes under a riot of brown hair shot through with the same dark tawny gold as his skin, saluted smartly, and let them precede him into the room. Bennet ducked his head to hide his grin. That had been neatly done.

Simonitz ushered Bennet to a chair beside his, at the head of the table. Bennet settled into it, aware that everyone was staring at him with the same frank curiosity that the lieutenant had shown. Since childhood, his instinct in a crowd of strangers was to disappear into himself, but he'd had to learn to deal with it, to learn when he couldn't retreat into remote politeness. He couldn't retreat here. He needed these people. Bennet met the stares with the friendly, open, look-how-harmless-I-am expression he'd practiced in his mirror that morning.

"At ease, everyone. This is Shield Captain Bennet." Simonitz did a quick round of the table, naming them all and giving their squadron designations. There was no formal salute, but they murmured polite greetings.

They were the usual mix of races, representing all the Nine Provinces. At the moment, they were just names and faces, nothing more. They'd become real when he started researching their records. One of them had already made an impression, of course: Flynn. First Lieutenant Flynn, Alpha Squadron. Macedonian, by the accent, although given his hair and the dusky-gold skin, of mixed race; possibly half Achaean or Dacian. He had the same dark-gold look as General Martens. Bennet found himself putting names to faces, according to where their owners sat in relation to Flynn. He had to hide another grin. He was a touch susceptible there, maybe, to a handsome face and green eyes.

"Thank you," Bennet said when it was all over. He smiled at them, not his best melting-Joss's-bones smile but the one that proclaimed his essential harmlessness. He allowed the slight hesitation in his voice to slip through, the hangover from the childhood stammer that had taken years of speech therapy to control. It helped the harmless smile along. "I'm very pleased to be aboard. I haven't been on a dreadnought since I was about fourteen. Can someone explain to me how you're organised?"

Most of the pilots showed their surprise, but then they couldn't have anticipated so basic a question. Well, they couldn't know what he was looking for with the answer, either.

Simonitz cleared his throat. "Well, we have one hundred and eighty pilots divided into three squadrons—Alpha, Beta and Gamma. This lot here are my senior lieutenants, my flight leaders. Each one of them is responsible for a flight of five junior lieutenants and ensigns. Alpha squadron is Commander Caeden's personal strike wing, by the way."

"He has a personal strike wing?" Bennet blinked. He hadn't thought his father was quite that self-important.

"Made up of the best." Flynn grinned at the looks he got from the other pilots. "Of course."

"If the mouthy lieutenant will let me finish?" Simonitz said.

Flynn held up his hands. The pilots grinned, the tension easing and Bennet had to hide another smile. This was the joker in the pack, then, the potential misfit. Somehow, he wasn't surprised.

Looking put upon, Simonitz explained how the squadrons were organised and talked through the duty roster. There was nothing that Bennet didn't already know.

"Thank you. That's very interesting."

"But pretty basic," Lieutenant Flynn said. "What's all this about?"

Bennet studied him, interested. Well, he'd hoped that Simonitz would let one or two of them speak so he could start to gauge them when they were provoked out of their polite reserve. It didn't come as a surprise that this one didn't need much provocation.

Simonitz directed an unfriendly glare at Flynn. "First Lieutenant Flynn has no qualms at all about planting his size tens where more heavenly beings fear to tread."

"Ah." This time Bennet didn't hide his grin. "Your resident subversive?"

It earned him the first smidgen of fellow-feeling from Simonitz. "Oh, yes."

"I just think we should know what we're getting into, that's all." Flynn didn't look too upset at the description Bennet bestowed on him.

"I can't tell you yet, Lieutenant."

Flynn locked gazes with him and persisted. "It's not much of a security risk. Who the heck am I going to blab it to?"

"I'll do a briefing in a few days."

Most people would have let it go at that, but not, apparently, this lieutenant. He didn't give up at all. "Well, if you can't tell us what it's all about, maybe you could tell us why Shield is working with regular troops."

Simonitz lost patience. "Flynn!"

Bennet's grin faded. "It's about numbers, Lieutenant. There aren't that many of us who take Shield, and there's a lot going on. My own ship is needed elsewhere and the Supreme Commander decided that you'd take her place to help support me on a job. I'll tell you more about that when I can."

Flynn nodded and this time he let it go. After a minute, Simonitz resumed the day's business, glaring at Lieutenant Flynn throughout. But the lieutenant was a model of decorum now, joining in the discussion but letting others have their say. Bennet listened to their debate and made mental notes about who joined in and who stayed silent, who was willing to voice an opinion and who went with the flow.

When Simonitz dismissed them and they milled out, Bennet sat back, watching them go, thinking about them, and noting one more glance from those bright green eyes. Already he had a mental list of one or two that would bear further consideration. The lieutenant was one of them, of course, and Bennet laughed. First Lieutenant Flynn would expect to be on the radar, and would be outraged if ignored.

When Simonitz slouched off to do whatever it was flight captains did for the day, Bennet found Captain Keene and got the clearance he needed to trawl through the _Gyrfalcon_ 's records. He was given a datapad already keyed into the _Gyrfalcon_ 's systems and the same security level as Colonel Quist. It would be enough for now. Bennet thanked Keene and wandered away, tucking the datapad into his jacket pocket. Time to find the gym and, probably, sign up for pain and torment in the name of getting ready for the job.

Some days, being in Shield sucked.

The gym was empty but for a small middle-aged man, who looked up sharply when Bennet walked in.

"Sergeant Pershing?"

The small man looked him up and down, and nodded. "You'll be Shield Captain Bennet."

Bennet offered his hand. Pershing had a hard, strong grip, his calloused palm like leather. "I'm glad to meet you, Sarge. I think I might need your help. In a couple of weeks, I'm likely to be running about on a planet that's got a gravity about a fifth more than standard, a mean temperature of around ninety-five degrees, almost one hundred percent humidity and air that's barely breathable. I'm pretty fit, but I'm going to have to build up some stamina."

Once more Pershing looked him up and down. "Strip," he said, so terse that Bennet blinked. The sergeant turned away into his little office.

Bennet stared after him for a moment, then shrugged and did as he was told. He might outrank Pershing, but in this place, the sergeant was king. He was down to his shorts when Pershing came back, carrying his own datapad.

The gym was bloody cold. "I hope this is far enough."

Pershing, serious, nodded and walked around Bennet, examining every inch. "You've got reasonable muscle development. You work out?"

"Yes. You have to be fit to be in Shield."

"Some of the officers on this ship seem to think that's beneath them. I have to have them dragged in here some days." Pershing's stern face relaxed into a smile that surprised Bennet with its shyness. "They think I'm too tough on them."

"Are you?"

"It's my job. You could stand to lose a couple of pounds." The smile brightened. "I can guarantee that you will."

Bennet grinned back. "I believe it."

Pershing fed some more data into the pad, and reached out one hand to touch Bennet's scarred right side. "When was this?"

"About this time last year."

"You've healed well. Does the scar tissue pull on you?" The sergeant's fingers probed at the scars. Hard.

"Not much." Bennet hoped he'd hidden the wince. "I feel it sometimes, but it's not been too bad."

"We'll have to watch it. You'll be putting a lot of strain on those muscles, if the air's as bad as you say. In that heat and gravity, you're going to find breathing a strain even before you start running around. How heavy is your shield-suit?"

"Not bad. About thirty pounds. That's mostly the power unit."

"Bring it with you tomorrow and we'll do some training with it." Pershing put the datapad down. "All right, I'll sort out a daily program for you and I can get the engineers to rack up the gravity and temperature in here to mimic what you'll be going into. We'll have to close the gym to everyone else while we do it."

"I'd be lying if I said I thought that was great, but I am grateful. Thank you."

"Are you busy now?"

"I'm at your disposal."

"Good. I'll need to do an assessment, and there's no time like the present." Pershing indicated a nearby running machine. "We'll start you easy. Ten miles, Captain. Start running."

## Chapter Nine

Bennet ate in his quarters that night, working through it. His father didn't invite him around again. Caeden probably felt that they both needed a breather after the previous evening. Caeden wasn't wrong.

The commissary delivered a reasonable meal, but a beer chaser would taste pretty good. He put aside his datapads, picked up the book that Joss had so mistreated, and headed for the officers' club. He'd promised Professor Bachman at the Thebaid Institute that he'd think about taking on the revision, and he'd not yet had much opportunity to study it. Well, that's to say that he'd read it over a couple of times on the _Hype_ , and started a list of glaring errors and outdated analysis, but he hadn't done much revision.

It was early, and there weren't many people in the OC, just a few pilots, and one or two technical and bridge officers. Simonitz must have had a burst of thoughtfulness and had set Bennet up with a bar account. He ordered his beer and retired to a corner table to read.

It wasn't his best period, the Third Wave of Migration. He was an early history man, himself. All modesty aside, if there was anything he didn't know about the First Wave then it had never happened. But he'd done a lot of original work with Dean Bachman on this period when he was doing his degree at the Thebaid. It was nothing he couldn't handle and it was nice to lose himself in academia for a little while.

A shadow fell over the page. Someone was standing in front of his table. He shot a fast look up through his lashes, and returned his gaze to the book. Thought so.

Bennet turned the page. "Good evening, Lieutenant."

"You don't often see one of those outside a museum," Flynn said. "Most people use datapads."

Bennet smiled. "Me too, usually, but this was a present."

Flynn mimed interest and Bennet obligingly turned the book so that he could see the spine. Flynn made an exaggerated wince. "A bit of light reading, I see. A History of the Theban Peoples, Volume sixty-three." He looked blank. "How many are there?"

"Volumes? Eighty seven."

"And you have them all?"

Bennet nodded. "A graduation present from my parents."

His mother's idea, probably, since he and his father still hadn't been on good terms. There were too many sharp words between them about Bennet's selfishness and perversion. To Caeden the books symbolised what he considered to be Bennet's fall from grace, every selfish choice Bennet had made from refusing to go to the Military Academy when he left school, to falling under Joss's spell at the Thebaid.

Caeden hadn't come to his graduation from the Thebaid. On a mission, Meriel had said, but Bennet hadn't been fooled for a minute. He reckoned that his mother had forged his father's signature on the card that came with the books.

"That's not how it's supposed to go," Flynn said. "They're supposed to buy you a fast red sports car. If I were you, I'd complain and make them do the right thing."

Bennet laughed. Joss had looked like a cat with its head in a cream jug when they'd come out of the Thebaid together, the day of his graduation, and there it was, parked directly at the foot of the wide, sweeping stairs at the main door: the shiniest, reddest, fastest sports car that Bennet could ever have dreamed of. He still had it. "I got the car from someone else."

"Red and fast?"

"Very red and very fast. Are you joining me, Flynn?"

"I came over to invite you to join us." Flynn nodded at a table where a number of officers were sitting. "Thing is, this morning was a bit basic. We didn't buy your artless performance, by the way."

Bennet nodded, fighting to keep his mouth from curving up. "You think I was up to something?"

"Of course you were. I'm just wondering what you were looking for."

"And if I got what I wanted?" Bennet issued a fair and friendly warning. "I should tell you, Flynn, that I don't drink very much and I'm trained not to say a lot even when I do."

"I don't know whether to be more appalled at your lack of trust in your fellow man or at how transparent I am." Flynn grinned at him and it was remarkably attractive, slightly lopsided, and only the sheer good humour kept it this side of insolent. "I'll be good."

That grin decided it. Flynn was altogether too pretty as it was and that grin should have carried a health and safety warning. Bennet closed the book and stood up, picking up his beer. "Sure you will. Which one of them have you set up to be bad?"

"Have you been talking to Colonel Quist? She always tells people that I may be a Lieutenant, First Class, but it's better for everyone if they don't expect a first class lieutenant." The tone was light on surface. But not underneath. That comment had rankled.

"I'm just naturally observant." Bennet slipped the book into his jacket pocket, and followed Flynn.

"I'm relying on young Nairn. He's naïve enough to ask the right questions." They reached the table and Flynn waved Bennet into a chair. "Don't worry about remembering who any of this lot are, Shield Captain. Apart from me, they're not that memorable."

Simonitz's lip curled. No prizes there then for making the stranger welcome. The flight captain had a glass of hard liquor in his hand. A little early for it, but it was none of Bennet's business. Simonitz looked very sour but it seemed to be aimed at Flynn, since he threatened to pin the lieutenant to an asteroid and use him for target practice.

Flynn laughed. "They'd miss," he said to Bennet, settling into the chair beside him.

A brief silence fell. Bennet sipped at his ale, waiting. He didn't have to wait for long. A very young man wearing an ensign's pips leaned forward, his eyes shining. "Captain, I know you can't tell us what all this is about, but... well, I'm a bit curious about the Shield regiment."

Bennet smiled. "You'll be Nairn, then."

The ensign blushed and looked puzzled. "Oh. Er... You know my name?"

"You were described to me." Bennet glanced at Flynn, who grinned and shrugged.

And then, as expected the kid asked him about Shield missions. From the way everyone else looked, they were cheering him on. They had every right to be curious, but there was no way he'd talk much about work.

Bennet let Nairn down gently. "It all comes under the classified heading. Sorry."

"And we aren't Shield." Simonitz took another pull at his liquor. "Shield sticks to Shield."

Bennet glanced sideways at Simonitz. Shit. The man had no time for Shield at all, did he?

Nairn sighed. "That's a shame. Can I ask you something else then?"

Bennet nodded. Damn Simonitz. There wasn't any reason in the world why Bennet shouldn't satisfy the boy's curiosity. As much as he could, anyway.

"What do you have to do to get into the Shield Regiment? What's special about it?"

"Special?" Bennet stared, astonished. Was the kid taking the piss? Nairn looked all innocence, but then Liam could look shinier than a choirboy when he was up to something. "Hell, nothing! We're all totally ordinary. Anyone can join Shield."

"Not anyone," Simonitz said.

Bennet glanced at him. "Okay. Let's be more accurate, then. Anyone can apply to join Shield. Very few do, and not all of them will be accepted. The entrance tests are pretty tough."

Flynn looked interested. Definitely a man who liked a challenge. "How tough?"

"I wanted to die by the end of the first day." Bennet was still watching Simonitz. "By the end of the second, I was convinced that I had."

"Sounds appalling." The dark girl who'd sat beside Flynn at the briefing laughed and pulled the sort of face that said she wouldn't be fool enough to try it. Achaean, by the look and sound of her.

Simonitz grunted.

"Could I do it?" Nairn asked. "Could I apply?"

"Of course." Bennet paid the boy the compliment of taking him seriously. "But I assume that if you've just graduated from the Academy, then you've signed up for a three year term with the _Gyrfalcon_. Shield won't take you until that's completed."

"Oh?"

"Our reputation with the other services is bad enough without us stealing all their best people. Besides, breaking your word to your own service wouldn't be seen as a plus point with General Martens. She's a bit of a stickler for things like that. You know. Honour, duty, keeping faith—the kind of thing that generals always get sentimental about."

The dark girl grinned at Nairn. "Looks like we're stuck with you then." She glanced at Bennet. "I'm Cruz, by the way."

Bennet acknowledged that with a silent toast and a grin.

Nairn was nothing if not persistent. "But I could, when I get to the end of this tour?"

"Sure, for two tours. Then they'll rotate you out for a tour to give you a breather and command experience in one of the regular services."

A tall pilot leaned over the back of Nairn's chair. Whoa, but that was a stick insect on two legs, so tall and attenuated that he must have to be folded in about six places to fit inside a Hornet. He tapped his chest. "Rafe, Alpha Squadron. What was your first service, sir?"

"I've never been in the regular forces. I joined Shield when I graduated."

Cruz looked up at that. "Talking of that, you weren't at the Academy, were you?"

Bennet shook his head. Oh, great. Another age-old rivalry to worry about. "No. I went to SSI."

She grinned, tucking wayward black dreadlocks behind one ear. "We'd guessed that."

"We should send you back to that table in the corner," Flynn said.

"I'm sorry." Bennet made it meek and mild, taking a couple of minutes of gentle ribbing about SSI geeks with as much good nature as he could. It was hardly his fault that SSI had allowed him a fast track through into the services, faster than the more traditional Academy route. He'd have been a fool not to take it.

A pilot wearing Beta squadron insignia said, "I'm surprised they let you join Shield, sir."

"Call me Bennet."

"Bennet, then." The pilot gave him a quick smile, laden with such significance that Bennet blinked. "I'm Powell, Beta squadron. So, how did you get into Shield?"

"Well, I had to argue for it." And a helluva understatement that was. Strategic Studies Institute graduates were meant to go into the Military Strategy Unit and win the war from behind a desk. Even though that would have meant he could live full time at home and yet still serve in the military, which really appealed to Joss, it hadn't come even close to what Bennet wanted. His solution had ended up pleasing no one but himself. "They don't like it if we don't take a commission after we graduate, so in the end they gave in rather than let me go back to the Thebaid. I did my degree there before I went to SSI."

"That explains the history books," Flynn said.

Bennet grinned at him, amused at this effortless assumption of some kind of inside knowledge. Flynn grinned back, that lopsided smile lighting everything up.

"There must be a few perks in it," Kyle, said. The Beta Squadron Leader, if Bennet had that right from his first foray into the _Gyrfalcon_ 's pilot records. "Like getting priority transport."

Before Bennet could say anything, Powell leaned forward and briefly touched his arm and said, voice warm, "Kyle got tossed off a shuttle once so a Shield warrior could get home. It happened years ago, but he likes to nurse a grievance."

Bennet smoothed the sleeve that Powell had touched. Hmmmn. He glanced at Kyle. "You got bumped for a Shield?"

Kyle nodded.

"We don't often use Fleet transports." Bennet sipped at his beer. "And yeah, I do realise it's ironic, since I've just commandeered you people." That got a general grin and even Simonitz's mouth twitched. "When we do, though, we get priority. It's not much of a perk, Kyle. Whoever got your seat would have earned it the hard way."

Kyle nodded and settled back, and the talk moved on to something else. Bennet glanced at Powell a couple of times. He hadn't dreamed the touch on his arm, the confidential tone, but it wasn't him Powell was looking at. Flynn was the focus. What the hell was that about?

After a little while, he'd had enough. In the gym, he'd only started with the ten mile run and things had gone rapidly downhill. What Bennet's over-exercised muscles needed was another hot shower. His quarters rated a real water shower, and he couldn't get enough of that particular luxury.

He finished his beer and made his excuses, leaving to a chorus of goodnights that all had an unsatisfied sound to them, as if the pilots were disappointed at not finding out more. He enjoyed that. A man could get to like this kind of celebrity.

Bennet didn't take much active part in proceedings at the next morning's briefing, content to watch and listen and take mental notes about the officers to add to the research on their records that he'd started the previous day. He'd spent much his time reading through mission reports, looking for the mavericks, the ones who didn't blindly follow orders but who analysed situations and made good decisions on the fly, trying to identify a pool of potentials in the hope the he'd be able to avoid having to plough through the personnel records of all 180 pilots. Not that he was any good even at fooling himself. Of course, he'd still end up doing the ploughing, to double check.

There was unfeigned delight at the news that the ship's gymnasium would be out of bounds for three hours every afternoon, from one until four. The Gamma Leader, Jillia, was the most vocal about the unexpected treat; she favoured Bennet with a smile so bright it could have burnt its way through bulkheads. She downright sparkled at him. That was a hit, and no mistake. Well, Joss always said that casual sex with girls didn't count.

"Sergeant Pershing oversees our physical training." Simonitz eyed Jillia's sparkles with gloom. "He's ex-Infantry and damned hard arsed about it."

Bennet nodded. "I met him yesterday. He was very helpful."

"He despises airheads," Powell said, using the Infantry's less-than-affectionate term for Fleet pilots. He grinned at Bennet. "You'll almost count as Infantry with him, I guess."

"Almost." Bennet ignored what had to be another little attempt by Powell to catch his interest. He glanced at Jillia again. She was still giving him coy come-hither looks. It was a new experience, having people competing for his attention. Flattering. His attractiveness quotient must have doubled when he wasn't looking.

Powell didn't sparkle nearly so well as Jillia. "He doesn't give us much quarter when it comes to hand-to-hand or keeping us fit."

"Usually because he's battling against our baser instincts," Flynn said.

"In your case, yes." Powell's tone had a distinct undercurrent of malice.

Flynn just smirked and sat quiet, until Simonitz announced that Bennet would be their guest in the commissary that evening. When Simonitz told them it would be informal, normal battledress to be worn, Flynn straightened up. "Oh, that's a shame. I look so good in dress uniform."

Bennet was assailed by a sudden vision of Flynn in Fleet dress uniform. The breath hitched in his throat. Whoa. Where in hell had that come from? He managed a quick grin. "Sorry, it's my fault. I don't normally travel with dress uniform. Commander Caeden has already pointed out what a social gaffe that is."

Another grin from Flynn, this time one with a lot of fellow feeling in it.

After that, Bennet sat quietly beside Simonitz, watching as they went through their usual discussions of the day's business, weighing them up, measuring them. He had to trust one of them with this mission. And his life. It wouldn't be a decision to make lightly.

When Simonitz left for the duty office, Bennet went back to the bridge. Caeden had suggested that a couple of hours with the command staff would help Bennet understand better how the dreadnought operated. His main motive might not be to inspire his son to return to the fold by showing Bennet what he was missing not being in Fleet, but Bennet was willing to bet the idea wasn't far from his father's mind.

Caeden took him into the bridge office first, leaving Quist in command. "I suppose you'd prefer tea?"

"Yes. Thanks." Bennet took the cup Caeden handed him.

"How's it going with Simonitz?"

Bennet considered it. Simonitz wasn't his greatest fan and he suspected the man drank too much, but he could live with the first problem and the second was absolutely none of his business. If it hadn't been noticed by the _Gyrfalcon_ 's most senior officers, it wasn't Bennet's place to enlighten them.

"Fine. He's not over friendly, but he's being professional. He's co-operating, and he knows his people. I had a long talk with him yesterday, after the meeting with the officers, and he had a lot of insights to pass on." Bennet grinned. "You've got some characters down there."

"I know it. Don't I know it! I'm glad Simonitz is co-operating. I'm not really surprised, though. He's not the most imaginative GyrLeader I've ever had, but he's solid and efficient despite—" Caeden stopped, and shrugged.

Ah. So his father knew about that. That meant that Simonitz's drinking was noticeable, but not yet so huge a problem as to affect his work.

Bennet ignored the pause and the shrug. "I've watched him get through two briefings with his officers. They respect him, look to him for a lead and trust him. That tells me a lot."

Caeden nodded. "Sergeant Pershing said you'd made arrangements with him to get into training."

Did anything ever happen on this ship that its commander didn't know about? Bennet nodded. "I think it will be T18. I'm pretty fit, but T18's a horror, very hot and a higher gravity than home. I don't do high temperatures well, and I need to get acclimatised. Pershing will help. He's one of those characters I mentioned, by the way."

"He most certainly is," Caeden said. "He told me he was a little bit worried about the scar tissue."

Ah, so that's what this was about, at least partly. "It pulls a bit after I've run a few miles, but it's really pretty good."

His father looked doubtful, but contented himself with exhorting Bennet not to overdo things. Bennet's amusement shaded into a faint surprise. What had brought this on then, this parental concern? He was so used to doing without it, how the hell was he supposed to react?

"I'm looking forward to this evening," he said, trying to find a fairly neutral topic. "I'd like the chance to see a dreadnought at play."

Caeden laughed. "It won't be that entertaining."

"I don't know about that." After all, there were Jillia and Powell and Flynn all vying for his attention. That was a triangle to conjure with.

"Well, I hope you enjoy it. And you will wear medal ribbons, won't you? Give me that much satisfaction, at least."

"All right." Bennet frowned. "I hope I can find them."

"You'd better." Caeden glanced at the wall chronometer. "Well, time to get back to the bridge. I hope you enjoy the next couple of hours, Bennet."

"I thought I was meant to find it instructive? In case it came in handy one day." Bennet softened the words with a grin.

"That as well." Caeden refused to rise to the bait.

Bennet followed him back to the bridge, still grinning. That had been the most comfortable conversation he'd had with his father for years. He wished there were more like them.

## Chapter Ten

As advertised, the Shield officer was proving to be the enigma that everyone had expected.

Flynn had worked it that first briefing so he got a good look before anyone else. He liked what he saw. In his black uniform, the Shield captain stood out in the crowd of Fleet pale grey. Everything about the Shield rig was plain. The rank pips in the stand-up collar of the tunic under his flight jacket were a dull silver, and only about half the size of the ones Simonitz wore. There wasn't a medal ribbon in sight. Only the tiny, ornate Shield badge at his throat was a bright silver.

The monochromatic look suited the Shield captain, matching his black hair and the pale grey eyes. The Shield's hair had more cowlicks than a field full of heifers, spiking up despite it being worn longer than was strictly regulation. Flynn took note, too, of cheekbones so sharply defined that they looked like they'd been machine cut, and a strong mouth. The face was youthful, except for the eyes. They'd seen a lot. Altogether, the Shield captain was definitely one of the pretty people in life. Almost as pretty as Flynn himself.

Cruz, to whom he imparted this insight in the OC after Bennet's first visit, rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder the girl didn't have to grope about on the deck for them. She had never appreciated his true worth. He had to guilt her into buying him a beer in reparation.

He sipped his beer appreciatively. It always tasted better when someone else was paying. "What d'you think of him?"

"Seems pleasant enough." Cruz shrugged. "He didn't tell us much, though. I didn't think he would."

"No. And that first briefing was a bit basic. Wonder what he was fishing for there."

"We'll likely find out in time."

"I'd rather know now." Flynn took a pull on his beer. "Simonitz doesn't like him."

"Did Sim ever apply for Shield?"

"You picked up on that too, did you? I don't know, but there were a few hints there. I thought the Shield was pretty gracious about it, with Sim sitting there glowering all night."

Cruz nodded. After a minute, she said, "He was good with Nairn, taking him seriously. Some people might have laughed or slapped the kid down."

"Nairn's a question mark on legs, some days."

"He's young for his age."

"And getting a severe case of hero worship," Flynn said, laughing.

Cruz looked at Flynn, brown eyes warm with affection and amusement. "He's not the only one, I'd say." She smiled. "Would you?"

The Shield captain joined them again for the briefing the next morning. He didn't take an active part in proceedings, but he looked self-conscious when Simonitz announced that the ship's gymnasium would be out of bounds for three hours every afternoon. Bennet's reaction had a couple of Flynn's fellow pilots indulging in a fair amount of flag waving, because, hell, that modest look the man had going for him was pretty damn hot. They should have known better. Well, Jilly was all right but Powell really should know he didn't stand a chance. He looked stupid, anyway, trying to flirt the way Jilly did. Fool.

Bennet met Jillia's flag waving with a polite smile, but didn't react the way that, for example, Commander Warwick had reacted the year before. A little bit of interest, maybe, but Jillia didn't have to beat him off with her laser. Of course, the man was trained to be discreet in public and it wasn't as though the honey trap that Jillia was offering was inconspicuous. His reaction to Powell was just as muted.

Instead, Bennet sat quietly beside Simonitz, watching as they went through their usual discussions of the day's business. He had to be weighing them up, measuring them, looking for something. With the exception of Gamma's pilots, who hadn't had much chance to get to meet the Shield captain, the officers were less inhibited than the first day, more their usual argumentative and opinionated selves. Flynn still wasn't sure what Bennet was looking for. He wasn't any surer when the briefing broke up and he went to join his squad out on point.

He got back from the morning patrol at lunchtime. Bennet was in the commissary, sitting alone at a corner table, studying a datapad and eating with one hand. A couple of times he was so intent on the datapad that the fork sat suspended in mid-air, forgotten. Flynn hesitated, but veered off and joined Jillia and a couple of Gamma pilots at a central table.

Hell, but he wanted to be in on whatever the Shield was up to. He couldn't crowd Bennet, though. Not if he was going to get this. He couldn't afford to be an irritant, to give the impression that he was begging or trying too hard to impress. Shit, he wasn't Powell. As for Cruz... well, he'd be damned before he gave her any chance at all to repeat the baseless remark she'd made the night before. The Flynns of this world did not do hero worship.

He joined in the usual bantering conversation, but more than half his attention was on Bennet, across the room. "Losing your touch?" he said to Jillia. "I didn't see much reaction this morning."

It was astonishing how she could do a little flounce and still be sitting down. "I think he's shy. And before you say it, Flynn, no. No one would ever believe that you're shy too."

Flynn grinned. "You got the hots for him, Jilly?"

She widened her eyes. "All I'm offering is a little friendly reception to the _Gyrfalcon_. Seems only polite."

She gave him a beaming smile, and Flynn laughed and let it go. At ten minutes to one, Bennet closed down the datapad and got up, heading for the door. He nodded at Flynn as he passed. Flynn notched that up as a victory.

Bennet arrived at the commissary that evening in the company of the commander and Colonel Quist. The dinner was pretty low key. Flynn got the impression that suited their guest, whose battledress, crisp and freshly brushed, was embellished with an impressive array of bright medal ribbons, including the scarlet and gold of the Order of the Lion of Thebes. Flynn poked Kyle in the ribs and pointed out the Shiny Lion.

"Oh-oh," the Beta Squadron Leader said. "I can feel a Warwick moment coming on."

"He's not Warwick," Flynn said. "He gave Nairn the brush off last night when the kid tried to get him to talk about what he'd done in Shield. Warwick wouldn't have done that. Warwick would have leapt on the chance to boast."

Kyle didn't argue. "True. But I need to get some alcohol as insulation between me and the possibility, just in case."

Flynn laughed, and snagged a couple of glasses from a passing steward, offering one to Kyle. He stuck with the Beta Leader for a while, talking.

The game plan was to play it carefully, so while he grinned a greeting at Bennet when the Shield captain came in, he didn't make an approach. Apart from the fact that suns would go out before the commander would welcome Flynn's intrusion, Flynn reckoned his best tactic was to be noticed, not obsequious. Instead, he waited until Bennet escaped to do some social circulating. It took a little while—the commander had monopolised Bennet's attention throughout most of the pre-dinner drinks period, and reclaimed it when they sat down to the best the _Gyrfalcon_ 's chefs could offer.

Which was not, as Flynn remarked to Bennet afterwards when the Shield captain finally worked his way around to him in the post-dinner socialising, saying very much.

"Beats what I'd get on the _Hype_." Bennet was still sipping at the one abstemious glass of wine that Flynn had seen him take at dinner.

"Not very social, then?" Powell asked.

"Not very much opportunity."

"Well, then," Jillia said. "We shouldn't waste this. The commander and Quist will leave us on our own in an hour or so. We should have a little party. We've got until midnight when Beta goes on duty and we could get Powell to do the music. He's good at that. We could decamp to the officers' club and have an hour or so of dancing. Have some fun."

Bennet was apologetic. "I've got two left feet."

"I don't mind. It'll be fun. First dance is mine, all right?"

"They're your toes."

"It's that bad?" Cruz joined them.

Bennet shrugged. "Well, it's better than it used to be when I was at the Thebaid. I took lessons. It was that or stay at home every weekend while"—there was the merest hesitation—"everyone went out dancing all night."

"You took lessons so you wouldn't shame your friends?" Cruz sounded impressed.

"Oh yes. I got an ultimatum or two—dance or get dumped."

"You need a more sympathetic girlfriend," Jillia said.

Bennet finished his wine, turning away to deposit the glass on a nearby table. Flynn signalled to a steward.

"Well, I can't wait to see how much you learned. Excuse me a minute. I've got my squads out at the moment and I need to check on them. See you later." Jillia gave Bennet the full-wattage smile and drifted off. Bennet smiled back, but managed not to rock back on his heels under the impact.

Flynn nodded towards Bennet when the steward arrived, indicating who needed a refill, and, after a second's hesitation, Bennet accepted it.

"Thanks." The grey eyes were both wary and amused.

"I know," Flynn said. "I'm not trying to get you drunk and even if I was, you still won't say anything."

Bennet smiled.

Powell picked up on the conversation, ignoring Jillia's parting shot and the little byplay with Flynn. "So now you've got two trained left feet? To see that, I'm willing to play DJ." He glanced at Flynn. "How will you manage when I'm gone?"

Flynn shrugged. "All you got to do is shove a disc into the machine and press the play button. How hard can it be?"

"Are you going somewhere, Powell?" Bennet glanced from one to the other.

"I'm supposed to be transferring to Third Flotilla next week," Powell told him, a little dagger glare in Flynn's direction. "To the _Caliban_."

"Sorry to hold you up," Bennet said. "Warwick's ship?"

Powell nodded. "I can't wait. I only hope Commander Warwick will."

Cruz cleared her throat, and cut in to fill yet another tense silence. "Have you worked with Commander Warwick, Bennet?"

"No, but I know him. He's a friend of my father's."

"What do you think of him, then?" Flynn asked. "We hooked up with the _Caliban_ a year or so ago for a joint operation. That was our only experience of him."

"He's had a colourful career."

Oh, but that was good! This time Flynn couldn't hold in the smirk. Powell glared at him, but he concentrated on Bennet. Flynn tapped the rows of medal ribbons on the Shield captain's chest, flattened his palm and let it rest up against them. "When we saw these, we thought we were in for another seven hours of 'How I won my Shiny Lion and saved the universe'. That's all Warwick talked about. We figured that if the duty captain hadn't saved us by calling him and Commander Caeden up to the bridge, we'd have had the entire battle re-enacted with full orchestral score and fireworks."

"Flynn!" Powell's ears were red with bad temper.

"And patriotic tableaux for the finale," Flynn added, defying the glare.

"I can't act," Bennet said. And after a few seconds, longer than Flynn would have expected, he moved fractionally so that Flynn's hand fell away.

Flynn took a mouthful of wine, still grinning, pondering that reaction.

"We noticed that you don't wear your ribbons all the time." Poor Cruz, peace-making like crazy as usual.

"They're a bit conspicuous on an all-black uniform, and wearing them right over the heart is a bit like painting a target on my chest. And of course, they aren't as important as this." Bennet fingered the shield at his throat.

Flynn eyed the little badge. "And here was me thinking you were naturally modest and retiring, and all the time it's a ploy to save your skin."

"I'm cautious, Flynn. I never walk into anything with my eyes closed."

Just what did he mean by that? The look Flynn got was half-amused, half a smirk. Flynn nodded and stepped back when Quist came over and reclaimed the Shield captain for a few minutes.

Cruz put her glass down so hard it was a wonder she didn't snap the stem. "You two are worse than a pair of kids! What sort of impression to you think the Shield will have of this ship if two of her senior lieutenants can't get through a simple reception—in his honour, mind you!—without sniping at each other?"

"Flynn's always having a little dig and I've had enough of it."

"What are you? Five?" Cruz couldn't look sourer. "You know what he's like. Deal with it."

Powell glowered at Flynn. "I wish you'd stop griping about Warwick. He's a brilliant warrior."

With Cruz's cold stare to goad him on, Flynn tried to make nice. "Sure he is, Powell. Sorry. Making conversation, that's all." Powell snorted, and Flynn glanced at him with faint dislike. The man snored, too. "How d'you think his father knows Warwick?"

"Good gods, Flynn, how many people do you know? Warwick's probably got the same mix of friends as anyone else. For all you know, his father could be Warwick's tax accountant or something." Powell snorted again and with one last glare, he moved away to join Kyle a few yards away.

Quist had taken Bennet over to Kyle. Flynn frowned as Powell insinuated himself into the group. Quist's expression wasn't exactly welcoming, but given that he was already on the way out to another ship, Powell didn't have much to lose by persisting. Powell got in close to Bennet, laughing and talking with animation. Flynn's frown deepened.

"Looks like Jillia's not the only one flying flags tonight. She's got competition."

Cruz, good humour restored by her outburst, laughed and turned to watch. "He's trying to make you jealous, you know. He's got it pretty bad."

"I didn't ask him to get anything at all." Flynn may have admitted to feeling a little jealous, but not in the way that Powell was looking for. The Shield captain was his personal project and Flynn didn't share.

"And that's why he's heading for the _Caliban_. Give him a break, Flynn. It'll only be a couple of weeks, and then he's out of your hair. You miscalculated with that one."

"How was I to know he was going to go all wronged village maiden on me? I wish he'd get over it." Flynn shrugged his indifference.

Cruz took another glass of wine from a steward. "If he's not careful, Simonitz will have to take official notice, and then there'll be trouble. I can't see the commander ignoring it, or his upright Theban morality condoning it."

"It's not illegal, for fuck's sake. A minor misdemeanour."

"One you're keen to hide. It amazes me that you manage it, but you're usually very discreet about those sorts of conquests."

"I have a reputation to maintain. And how many openly bi or gay officers do you know in the service? We have to be discreet. They might not bust me, but I don't want to be a squad leader in Alpha for the next twenty-odd years."

Cruz grinned and toasted him. "Yeah, I wasn't saying I didn't understand why you're quiet about it, but how you manage it. With you, that makes for a whole new definition of unnatural practices."

The dancing in the OC had been energetic. Jillia monopolised the Shield captain for most of it, and Bennet had let her, appearing to enjoy her company. For all his protestations about two left feet, he wasn't that bad. Jillia hadn't been limping when she left just before midnight to oversee the duty handover, and she was still lit up like she was in an energy surge. If he wasn't careful, Bennet might have to chase her off with a stick.

"Seems to me those two left feet of yours are pretty reasonably trained." Flynn had come to a halt in the dancing just as Bennet got to the bar for a last drink, and found himself the recipient of the Shield captain's generosity. "You should thank whoever it was guilted you into taking lessons."

Bennet just grinned. "Beer? Or something stronger?"

"Oh, stronger. I wouldn't say no to a nightcap. Thanks."

Bennet bought himself one as well. They wandered over to the table where a beatific Cruz sat smiling gently upon all and sundry. She always was a lightweight when it came to booze, although the upside was she was never hung over, either. A few others gathered round, and Powell came over quickly.

Bennet raised his glass in salute. "Thanks, Powell. Most commissary dinners I've had to go to haven't been nearly as much fun."

Powell flushed. "My pleasure, although next time I wouldn't mind getting the chance to do some dancing myself."

"Take it from me, Powell really does have two left feet." Flynn grinned to take the sting out.

Powell ignored him. "I have to go. I'm on duty in five minutes." He leaned over them, resting one hand on the arm of a chair and putting the other, lightly, on Bennet's shoulder. Flynn was faintly impressed. He would have done it better himself, of course, and with more grace, but it wasn't a bad move for an amateur. "Good night, all. See you at breakfast."

"Good night." Bennet didn't seem to notice Powell's closeness, and settled back, nursing his glass of liquor.

Flynn shook his head, watching Powell and his Beta flight mates leave. Powell was going to be a nuisance. "So, time for a progress check. What more have we learned about our guest, here?"

Bennet looked startled. "Are you all checking me out?"

"Of course," Flynn said. "You're being discreet and reticent, and I like a challenge."

"Maybe I should have a word with Commander Caeden about appointing an entertainments officer or something. I'm getting worried about you people." Bennet smiled, but his eyes were wary. "So what have you learned today? That I know Commander Warwick and I've had dancing lessons in my dim and distant youth?"

"And you're commandeering the gym for something," Rafe said.

"And you're a generous man." Flynn lifted his liquor in a silent toast.

Bennet laughed. "Not a lot to go on there."

"I'm waiting for Nairn to wake up, and ask the questions." Flynn dug Nairn hard in the ribs. "You're indulgent to the young and you won't snap his head off."

"I've got a kid brother," Bennet said. "I'm used to it. But I warn you, Liam interrogates me like a professional, and he never gets anything out of me. You'll have to be very good to be better than him."

"Is he in the service?" Rafe asked.

"Not yet. He'll be going to the Academy next year, and then into Fleet."

"So," murmured Flynn. "He must be seventeen, and about eight years younger than you. Nine, maybe? Can't be more than that."

Bennet laughed. "All right. I'll be indulgent and let you have a snippet of information, if you're that desperate for stimulation around here. I was twenty-five last Secundus."

"Hell," Nairn said. "Why do you all act like you're older and wiser than my grandmother? You're not that much older than me."

"We're years older. You will be too in a few months. The war ages you fast." Bennet gave Flynn a very appreciative look. "You really enjoy this detecting stuff, do you?"

"I certainly do. Nairn's job is to get out of you why you joined Shield. Off you go, kid."

Nairn sighed, and waved a hand. "What he said."

Flynn winced. "Oh come on! I rehearsed you for hours!"

Bennet laughed. His hand rested on Flynn's arm for a second, the first time he'd taken the initiative and touched him. "There, there. The young have no finesse."

Flynn looked down at his sleeve. Something inside him jumped. "It just proves that if you want a job doing well, you have to do it yourself," he said, feeling the heat of Bennet's hand through the cloth of his jacket and tunic. He grinned. "Why did you join Shield, Bennet?"

"Gods, but you're incorrigible!" Bennet laughed, and took his hand away. "The days off."

"Huh?"

"The days off. I get a lot of them." They all stared at him. Bennet grinned back. "Every job I go on lasts as long as it lasts, but averages six to eight weeks. And then I go back to our HQ. Which is where?"

"Sais," groaned Flynn, seeing what was coming.

"Correct. I go home to Sais, I do the debrief, they pat me on the head and they give me a couple of weeks leave before the next job. I'm Aegyptan and I live in Sais, so I go straight home. I get in a helluva lot of dancing practice." Bennet smiled and finished his liquor. He glanced at his wrist chronometer and stood up. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd better go. Commander Caeden is expecting me on the bridge. I'll see you all tomorrow. Good night."

Taken aback by the suddenness of it, Flynn joined in the chorus of goodnights. He watched Bennet thread his way through the tables to the door.

"He's okay," Cruz said, beside him. "He loosened up a bit tonight."

"Not about anything important," Rafe said.

Flynn shrugged. Everything he was learning was important. The door of the OC slid shut behind Bennet.

"And then he blindsided us with that bit about going to the bridge," Rafe said. "He's not as loosened up as you thought, Cruz."

Flynn fingered his sleeve, at the place where Bennet's hand had closed over it. He put his right hand over the same place, and waited. The thick sleeve of the jacket cushioned his hand so that although he felt the weight, it was a minute or two before the faint warmth worked its way through. Longer, by far, than Bennet's hand had rested there.

Yet Flynn could have sworn he'd felt the heat.

## Chapter Eleven

Caeden was already in the bridge office. Bennet got an approving nod for being early. "We have a few minutes yet. So, did it turn into a drunken orgy down there?"

"A little dancing, that's all. They're very restrained. Do you realise I seem to be their main source of entertainment? They're trying to find out about me."

"I'd have thought you'd relish that. Isn't it why Shield insists on so much mystery, to keep us lesser mortals guessing?" Caeden indicated his glass of liquor. "Do you want one?"

"I've had one already. I'd better not have any more before we talk to the Supreme Commander. I don't think it will inspire him with confidence if I fall over."

Caeden smiled. "You've had that much already? So what did happen down there?"

"Like I said, a little dancing and talking, and that's about all. Warwick came up in the conversation, by the way. I hear you did a job with him last year."

"It took years off my life."

Bennet laughed. "I think that goes for most of your crew as well. He seems to have been too bracing for them."

Caeden shook his head. "Warwick's one of my best friends, but I don't have any illusions about him. He got that reputation of his by winging his way through every situation he finds himself in. He ignored every plan we came up with. He prefers what he calls gut instinct. Drove me mad."

"Then thank the gods that General Martens didn't commandeer the _Caliban_. I don't think that Warwick and I would have got on."

And wasn't that an understatement. The last time Bennet had spent any time in Warwick's company was during the week following Bennet's announcement that he was going to the Thebaid to do his degree and not to the Military Academy, as Caeden had planned. Warwick visited with his wife and daughter while Caeden was still sulking, and had proved a ready sympathiser. _A pity he hasn't got what it takes_ , Warwick had said to Caeden in voice meant to be overheard. _Sioned's desperate to get to the Academy. She has more balls than he has._

Thank every god in the pantheon that the Warwick family had been gone the week after that, when Caeden, paying an unexpected visit to the Thebaid, had found Bennet in an unmistakable embrace with a man nearly twenty years his senior. Not the best introduction his father could have had to Joss, particularly given where Joss's hands were. There had been no chance at all of explaining that away.

Bennet hadn't been across his parents' threshold since. He figured missing Warwick's regular visits was definitely one of the perks of being cut out of the family.

Consequently, his father's next words astonished him.

Caeden looked rueful. "I always thought you admired him."

"When I was a kid, maybe. He's what every kid thinks a hero should be."

"I used to be jealous of that."

Bennet stared. Jealous?

"I still think he's achieved an amazing amount, but I'm like you. I prefer not to have to wing my way around and trust to luck. And when I got older, I realised that his personality annoys the fuck out of me. He's so hearty and heroic he makes my teeth ache." Bennet grinned at his father's expression. He suspected that only loyalty to an old friend prevented Caeden from agreeing with him whole-heartedly. "And I don't think it's anything but a front. You know what I mean. Someone told him sometime that's what the public thinks a hero looks like, and he's played the role ever since."

"Are all junior Shield officers so censorious?" Caeden hitched an eyebrow.

"I grew up privileged." They shared a smile, and Bennet went on, "I do like Aunt Bethany, although I have no idea what made her marry the man. She's worth ten of him. Did Sioned go to the Academy, by the way?"

"She's in the year ahead of Tallie, but I don't think they share many classes. They used to be close friends when they were younger. I'm not so sure now."

"They're not very alike."

"Well, Sioned seems to be a chip off the old block. She opted for combat training, of course."

"Ah, but then she has what it takes," Bennet said, softly.

His father didn't react. "If she's anything like Warwick, she has enough for an entire squadron and then some to spare."

Maybe Caeden didn't remember. Why was that? Warwick was so obvious that day, so contemptuous, that Caeden really shouldn't have missed it. He couldn't have missed it. Of course, he was still angry and disappointed, so maybe he shared Warwick's opinion. He certainly hadn't spoken up for Bennet. His mother had been the one to put a stop to it. Like Bennet, she found the reality of Warwick to be far less admirable than the legend. She'd never really liked Sioned either, he remembered.

But Bennet said nothing more. This had been an unexpectedly harmonious day. It would be a shame to spoil it because of Warwick's clumsy spite and his father's disappointed silence seven years before.

Quist arrived. "The signal's just coming through," she said, turning the desk monitor to face them at the conference table. She joined them, accepting the glass of liquor that Caeden pushed towards her. Bennet was mildly surprised to see the colonel unbend this far, especially with a junior officer present.

It was a three-way split-screen conference call, with Martens and the Supreme Commander in two separate offices back home on Albion. Jak didn't waste time. "We've agreed to your recommendation, Captain. T18, it is. What's the ETA?"

"Eleven days, sir. We'll be taking an elliptical course that will bring us up to T18 from inside Maess space."

Jak nodded. "Seems sensible. The Strategy Unit has approved your plan. Not that that means much, given that you're the one risking your neck and it seems a bit churlish to let them disagree with you. Captain Felix is a little concerned that you intend to parachute in."

Bennet felt his father stir uneasily beside him. "As you said, sir, it's my neck. And I think it's necessary."

"Agreed. But it's a risk if you can't fool them," General Martens said.

Bennet glanced at Caeden and Quist, and said, rather apologetically, "We can't make Fleet look like Shield, ma'am. They don't know how to do it. I can't take the _Gyrfalcon_ too close in. The Maess won't be fooled for a minute if they detect a dreadnought, and any Maess forces in the neighbourhood will be alerted and come to the rescue. And, of course, T18 itself would be humming. For this to work, for things to be quiet enough for me to spend a couple of hours down there without them hunting for me, they've got to think that all that they saw was the usual fast Shield scouting run."

"I understand that," she said. "I only hope that you can bring it off."

"Me too, ma'am."

"Well, good luck. I don't expect to hear from you until you're ready to go in."

Bennet nodded. "Yes, ma'am. We'll signal you."

"Yes. Good luck. You'll need it." Jak nodded at Caeden. "Commander."

He broke the connection. An instant later, Martens, too, closed down the link.

"Short and sharp." Quist sounded slightly offended.

"Jak never changes." Caeden's expression was a touch sour. "I wish you'd trust us to do more than just ferry you in and out, Bennet. Although I do understand why we have to make the Maess believe that the approach to T18 is a normal scouting run."

"It's about experience, sir, not distrust. With luck, they'll have no idea I'm down there, and that gives me enough time to get the job done. There'll be more than enough for your pilots to do, you know. The transport taking me in will almost certainly end up being chased by some of the fighters from T18's squadrons." Bennet grinned. "I expect you'll keep them busy for me."

"I guarantee it."

"I'll short list about six pilots," Bennet said. "I've downloaded a lot of data."

"I hope Simonitz is being helpful there. He can help you choose the best."

Bennet nodded. He had no problem at all, listening to advice. He didn't have to take it, after all.

Quist looked from one to the other. She finished her drink and got to her feet. "I'll formally transfer Flag Command to the _Patroklus_ , and go and give Helm the new heading, if you'll excuse me."

"Very discreet," Bennet said, waiting for the storm.

It broke the moment the door closed.

"I suppose you know what you're doing. I'd rather thought—hoped—that we would be giving you more support than that."

"You'll be getting me in and out and keeping the Maess off my back. That's all the support I need or expect."

"You won't take any of my people in with you?"

Hell no! They wouldn't have the faintest idea. "I'm better working this one on my own. The fewer of us moving around down there, the less chance of being spotted."

His father wasn't fooled by that for a second. "And, of course, we don't know how to do it."

And may the gods bless the old man for running true to form and remembering that! Typical. Damn typical. "In the same way that I don't know how to handle the _Gyrfalcon_ in a firefight," Bennet said, tone honey sweet.

Caeden snorted. Bennet smiled, reckoning that particular exchange was his on points.

"Are you worried about it?" Caeden asked, abruptly.

"The job? No, not the job. Waiting around for the next ten or twelve days, that worries me. It's a bit like having to wait around to have a tooth extracted. The delay doesn't improve matters."

"Or because you're spending it here, on my ship?"

"It's a distraction," Bennet said, cautious.

Caeden nodded. "I know. I'm sorry about that. I'm sorry that we've got so far apart that spending a few days with me is the equivalent of waiting for an extraction."

"Don't start." Hell, it was appalling how quickly this had leapt up to ambush them. The way it always leapt up when Bennet tried to talk to his father. "Today's been a good day, so please don't start."

"Has it?"

"Yes." Bennet tried to get a little lightness back. "Pershing's torture aside, yes, it has. I enjoyed it."

Caeden smiled faintly. "I did too."

"Well, then, don't push it. It was okay because we neither of us pushed it. Just let things be."

Caeden sighed. "That's not getting us anywhere near a resolution, Bennet."

Bennet pushed his hands through his hair, so impatient that he felt like tearing at it. "What can we resolve, Dad? I can't change the way I am, even to please you. You can't accept that. I can't see any chance of resolving anything. Just leave it. It's only a few more days and then I won't be around to keep reminding you what a fucking disappointment you have for a son, and we can go on being polite to each other whenever we meet. It's the best we can do."

Caeden had paled. He poured himself another glass of liquor, and this time when he silently offered a glass, Bennet took it.

"Is that what you think? That I'm disappointed in you?" Rather surprisingly, Caeden ignored a profanity he would normally deplore.

Bennet didn't bother with sipping the liquor. He tossed it back, welcoming the fiery burn at the back of his throat. "Is this a Fleet uniform and do I look like a man about to father a dozen children? Of course you're disappointed. You said so often enough."

"I was disappointed that you didn't go to the Academy. I'd have been lying if I said anything else even when you told me you had a place at SSI, and you'd have known that I was lying. I didn't want to see you fighting the war from behind a desk, and that's where nearly every SSI graduate ends up."

Bennet forced himself to cool down. If he kept his temper, didn't pick at things... "Ah well, it's not everyone who uses it as a fast track to a fighting commission."

"And even it was the Shield Regiment you chose, I'm delighted that you're out here, making a difference."

"But you'd rather that this was a Fleet uniform."

"Well, of course I would! Our family's always been Fleet."

"You'll have Tallie to follow in your footsteps. Not to mention Liam, and he's as straight as they come."

"A little too aggressively so," Caeden said, sourly.

Bennet stared. He couldn't hold back the laugh. "Oh dear. You heard about that girl then? I thought we'd done such a good job at keeping it quiet. And Liam's everything you ever wanted!" He laughed again. "A heterosexual son at the Academy may not be all unmixed delight then."

"I'll be surprised if he gets in."

"He's a little bit wild, Dad, but he's smart. Smarter than me, I think. He'll be fine."

The rush of protectiveness towards his siblings surprised Bennet. He saw much less of them than he'd have liked. It was inevitable on moving away from home, especially in the circumstances. Only Thea, three years his elder, had been old enough and independent enough to refuse to let him vanish. His relationship with Tallie was much more tenuous, although he got on well with Liam, now the kid was older.

"He's certainly wild. And yes, I do know about that girl. She wasn't the first he's been entangled with."

"Nor the last, I'd guess." Bennet pulled the liquor towards him and refilled his glass, feeling like he deserved it. The mood had changed again, and he was getting dizzy with trying to track it. In comparison to Liam, his love life was positively tame, but better not say so. He toasted his little brother silently. Liam had unwittingly averted another full-scale fight.

"Probably not," his father said. He added, speaking with such care that Bennet was again amused, "And Joss—yes, that's something I still find difficult, but you've been together long enough for me to get used to the idea."

The amusement vanished immediately. Well, that's big of the man. Damn big of him to get used to the most important part of Bennet's life, and with such enthusiasm, too. "A little more stable than Liam, anyway," was all Bennet said, and even to his own ears, he sounded icy.

It was a moment before his father said anything. "Yes." Caeden sighed. "Nothing I say ever comes out right, does it? I make things worse. You're right, Bennet. I suppose there's nothing more to say."

"No." But Bennet was conscious of feeling a little empty. Disappointed. He supposed that the suns would stop in the heavens before his father said that he was proud of him, both for being Shield and being himself. "No, I guess not."

Caeden said nothing, concentrating on his drink.

Well, seemed he'd disappointed Caeden again, although he wasn't entirely sure why. Just as well he was used to the sensation. Bennet got up. "I'll say good night."

"Yes."

"I'd better brief the officers tomorrow."

"Yes." Caeden glanced up. "Have breakfast with me?"

"If you like."

"I do like. My quarters at six-thirty, all right?"

"Yes," Bennet said, wondering why he'd agreed. Even on their best days, they found some way of rubbing those old wounds open. "That'll be fine."

It was a curiously unsatisfying end to the day. He should have been pleased that they'd got through a very good day together and he should have been keyed up and excited that he had his target confirmed, that he was in the final stages of the mission prep. Instead, he was... unsatisfied. Yes, unsatisfied. There was no other word for it.

## Chapter Twelve

Bennet took the briefing meeting with the officers next day, with Simonitz's full agreement. His father and Colonel Quist accompanied them after the morning command meeting where Bennet had brought Quist and Simonitz up to date. Usually Caeden and Quist stayed out of the daily pilot briefing but he wanted, Caeden said, to impress upon the pilots how important this was.

Bennet had suppressed a sigh. Caeden feeling the need to be directive and heavily parental was always hard going. His apparent acquiescence in the relatively minor role that Bennet had planned for the _Gyrfalcon_... well, no way was that real. But this was Caeden's ship, and Bennet had to play it carefully. If the old man wanted to come along to the briefing, there wasn't a thing Bennet could do about it. He gave in as gracefully as he could.

Bennet took a small computer that he'd borrowed from Captain Keene. He'd only be giving the pilots the bare-bones outline, but still needed something a little more powerful than the handheld datapad, something capable of processing complex data faster and more easily. He set the computer into the docking station built into the briefing table and switched it on, linking it to the screen inset in the wall behind him.

Bennet hated doing presentations. He wasn't at ease talking to large groups of people, even on a topic that he was so much the master of, he had written the handbook. To cope with the nerves, he grinned at them and gave his standard _I'm not into formal presentations and please ask the questions as we go along_ speech. It had the pilots relaxing a bit, but Colonel Quist looked sour.

The data crystal was in a zipped pouch in his broad leather belt, where he'd been carrying it for safety ever since Felix had handed it over. He inserted it into the computer, the screen flickering as the data was read. The familiar star map flashed up on the computer screen, and a glance over his shoulder assured him that the big wall screen was carrying it too.

"I'm sorry that we've had to delay telling you what this is all about, but the final go-ahead didn't come from HQ until midnight. An hour later, we left Albion territory for the Border Zone. We're now well inside Maess space, behind the lines." He touched the computer's little screen with the stylus. The computer tracked the movements and projected them onto the screen. He circled the T18 system. "We're headed here. Our target is the second planet, T18, in a system of six major planets around a Class three sun."

Most of them still looked hopeful and expectant, but one or two were frowning.

"We're taking an elliptical course that will bring us up to target in eleven days' time." Bennet let the stylus describe a rough ellipse from their current position, ending up back on T18. "We'll come up on it from behind, as if we were coming from deeper inside Maess space. It's not much in the way of cover, but they're unlikely to expect an attack coming from that direction. Our course takes us through several Maess systems. They're patrolled, of course, but uninhabited. That decreases the risk of them detecting us, but we're going to have to sneak in. It means that for the next eleven days you'll be on full battle alert. You'll continue with your normal shift pattern, but fly close-in pickets only—no patrolling—to reduce the chances of us running across the Maess." He remembered Quist's words the day he'd arrived on the _Gyrfalcon_. "I'm sorry, but that means that you'll be sitting out most of your duty time in the launch tubes and the ready room."

It was obvious from the grimaces and muttering they didn't like that. What was it Quist had said? That they got bored and restless. Well, he was sorry, but they were going to have to learn to sneak.

Bennet waited to let the murmurs die down, then said, quietly, "We've been waiting for more than a year to mount this mission. I can't tell you all the details, but as you'll have guessed, there's a Maess base on T18. It's my job to get into it. The Maess have been slowly massing forces over towards Cetes for some time, and it's only been in the last month that we were certain that enough of their resources have been moved out of the area to make an infiltration run possible."

"How can you be sure?" It was, of course, Flynn who challenged him.

"Because I've just spent three weeks there, Lieutenant, making sure."

A nod of acknowledgment from Flynn, and that half-grin again.

"But they're going for Cetes!" someone protested. "I thought we were just going there on exercises."

"We've known about the threat to Cetes for some time. The base is well defended. The rest of First Flotilla is there in support. Fifth's moving up too. Five Shield ships, including mine, are tracking the Maess fleet and will be able to warn Cetes if an attack is imminent." Bennet glanced at the little computer screen again and the little pixel of light that was T18. "Their focus on Cetes gives us a chance to sneak in behind it all. Until we were certain that their forces were moving, I couldn't be sure which base we'd go for. I opted for T18 in the end, but as I say, it was only last night that HQ sanctioned the final plans." He looked up at them all. "Your job, quite simply, is to get me in there. One of you will take me in and retrieve me later. Preferably in one piece."

Again it was Flynn who spoke. "You're not using the Mosquito?"

"No. I'm going to be down there at least a couple of hours, maybe not. T18 is barren wasteland. There's no cover where I can hide the Mozzie and I can't afford for it to be found and for me to be left without a way home." He grinned, glancing sideways at his father. "I'll be bringing something back with me. I can't say what, but it's even more important than a deep desire on my part to keep on living. If you don't get me back, then even if the base gets atomised, the job will have failed."

His father stared back at him, his face expressionless.

"What can we expect, sir?" Kyle asked.

Bennet turned his attention back to the officers. "T18's a forward staging base and it has a standard laser defence system. Nothing we haven't seen before, so no surprises there. There are several squadrons of Maess fighter craft based there—probably the equivalent of taking on a battleship."

Now they all looked sour as the job became clearer. They would spend eleven days bored witless inside the launch tubes, and when they got to T18, they'd have to fight their way in and fight their way out again. More than one slumped back in their seats grimacing, despite the presence of the top brass. Bennet didn't blame them.

"What about the other Maess forces, Captain?" Powell asked. "Is there any possibility that they'll be near enough to support the base?"

No point in lying about that one. "Not the ones heading to Cetes, no. But there are other Maess bases a few hours flight away. We have to hit hard and fast."

"And it's our job to keep them all off your back?" Flynn said.

Bennet's eyes met his. "Yes, please." He punched up more data: photographs, taken from the inner atmosphere. "The base is on the edge of an escarpment, about six hundred feet high, with the scarp face a one-in-eight gradient. Most of the base is underground. You can see the exit ports for their defence squadrons here, and here."

Bennet studied the pictures on the small screen. He could have drawn the grainy images blindfolded, but he still spent every minute he could spare studying them.

"T18 has some atmosphere, although it's a little short of oxygen. Gravity is higher than standard—manageable, but enough to be noticeable. But mainly it's hot and humid." Bennet switched off the computer. "You'll each be given a copy of the data, to brief your squads, and we'll be reviewing the situation daily. As the plan develops, I'll pass on to you whatever else you need to know. Any questions, so far?"

Flynn looked up, his face carefully business-like in expression and only his eyes betraying the eagerness. "Just one, sir. Who gets to be your driver?"

What in hell was Flynn doing wasting his time in Fleet? "I haven't decided yet, Lieutenant. The position's still open." Bennet allowed through the smile. "I'll tell you later if you can apply."

The next few days fell into a routine.

Bennet got into the habit of breakfasting with his father. They were neither of them at their best in the early morning, but it meant that the meals were generally quiet. Companionable, even, as long as they didn't push things and were content to let everything drift.

Bennet had no idea how to go about trying to heal the breach without making things worse. He was afraid to offer a reconciliation, to put this amnesty to the test, only to face another savage rejection. Every time he gathered his courage and opened his mouth to make the first peace overture, he got a mental image of Caeden's face when his father had found out about Joss, and winced again under the withering disgust and contempt Caeden had once directed at him. He didn't want to reawaken that. Even if his father now had it under control, it probably hadn't been purged. Bennet had been forced into choosing between Joss and everything he'd ever known, and sometimes he was still the bereft 18-year-old who felt that he'd been thrown out of the family. No. Better not risk more of that.

He was stuck here on the _Gyrfalcon_. He was forced to face up to his father for the first time in years and he didn't know if he was pleased or horrified. All he would admit was, that it was better than he'd feared. That was something, anyway.

After the morning briefing meetings, Bennet split his time between wandering the troop decks to get to know the pilots and sitting in his quarters working his way through the _Gyrfalcon_ 's records. He had everything: mission reports, personnel and service histories, performance assessments, even medical records.

He was impressed by what the _Gyrfalcon_ —and by extension, her commander—had achieved. Caeden had never talked very much about work when he was on his annual home leaves, preferring to concentrate instead on his family. But going from the mission reports, his father could have had as high a heroic profile as Warwick, if he'd chosen to milk it the way Warwick had. Perhaps Caeden's suppressed envy of his son's youthful admiration for Warwick was less surprising.

He used the mission reports to get his preliminary short list of forty, and started in on reading the data on those in alphabetical order. At least he started that way. He dutifully read his way through the A's and B's, and got as far as Carson before abandoning rational methodology and going straight for the one that interested him the most.

Flynn had a chequered career to go with a chequered life. Father presumed dead after the Maess devastated Thorn, one of the oldest of Albion's colonies; a mother who, reading between the lines, was left incapacitated by the raid and who committed suicide when Flynn was eight. No other family. Flynn had been shipped back to Albion to be brought up in an orphanage in Pella, the Macedonian provincial capital. He'd got into the Military Academy by winning a scholarship—no mean feat for an orphan with no connections and a basic education. The deck would have been stacked against him.

What the record showed was a brilliant pilot and a distinctly more erratic officer. The early years were peppered with reports of disciplinary problems, often connected with the lieutenant's social activities. Flynn was fond of gambling, for one thing. While gaming wasn't prohibited, it was heavily discouraged and the incidents that had brought Flynn up in front of Colonel Quist were often to do with the fallout from disgruntled bad losers. Flynn was a charmer, too. There was a complaint from the ship's doctor, carefully worded, that dealing with distraught staff who had been loved and left had an adverse effect on the efficient running of her MedCentre. Bennet laughed out loud at Colonel Quist's recorded comment that while senior officers might confidently deal with gambling and insubordination, the broken hearts of susceptible young women were beyond their remit or remedy. There was no record of Dr Parry's reaction.

Bennet had a sneaking suspicion that in a few years' time he could be reading this and substituting Flynn's name with Liam's. No wonder his father was worried, with an object lesson like this in front of him.

But throughout the records, there were definite signals in Flynn's appraisals that he was settling down, and for the last few months, Simonitz's regular reports spoke approvingly of the lieutenant's dedication to his squad and his obvious sense of responsibility. The resident subversive wasn't as wild as his reputation seemed to suggest.

But what interested Bennet was how Flynn approached his work. He read and re-read the mission reports, finding all the clues to how that wildness translated into skill and judgment, and a welcome independence of thought and action. At least, it was welcome if you didn't have to command the man. He might feel differently if he were in Simonitz's combat boots, which thank the gods, he never would be.

He put the records on Flynn aside. The lieutenant was definitely on his hit list. He turned back to his alphabetical trawling. Cruz was next on the list, and after her came Edwards and... and so it went on.

Most days it was a relief to close down the datapad and go off to be tortured by Pershing. The Sergeant had worked up a taxing program to accustom Bennet to the conditions he would find on T18. Pershing, though, was a fair man and joined Bennet in the routine. Bennet found it was all he could do to keep up.

"Really," Pershing said, one day, "you should cope down there reasonably well."

"Yeah?" Bennet hoped rather than believed that he had enough breath to sound incredulous, although he was tired enough to settle for sceptical. They'd finished the session and the engineers had returned both temperature and artificial gravity to normal, but he was still struggling to get his breathing evened out. At Pershing's now familiar gesture, he pulled up his sweat-soaked tee so the Sergeant could probe at the scars on Bennet's right side.

Pershing grunted approval. "That's not too bad. The scar's pretty flexible and I don't think it's pulling on you too much."

Bennet let the tee fall back and reached for the water again. His tongue felt furry and it was sticking to the roof of his mouth.

"What you have to guard against, is fatigue. You'll feel heavier in the gravity and you'll really feel it in that heat, especially if you're down there for any length of time."

Bennet glanced up as a contingent of pilots came in. He was running late. Usually he was gone before the pilots arrived, but today there was Flynn, all short black pants and long golden legs, chest muscles outlined by a tight white tee that made his skin glow. Bennet jerked his gaze away and concentrated on Pershing.

"We'll have to try with stims, then," he said.

"That's not a great idea, Captain, and you know it. Your heart's going to be under enough of a strain as it is."

"It's only for a few hours. I'll talk to Dr Parry and we'll try it tomorrow." Bennet pushed himself up onto his feet, bone tired.

Pershing shook his head and let it go. Bennet nodded his thanks to him, awed that the man was about to start again, taking the pilots through their paces.

As he passed Flynn, he got the big lopsided grin that he was coming to look forward to seeing.

"You look like hell," Flynn said, cheerfully.

His heart racing, Bennet paused and indicated his bête-noir, the running machine. He felt quite ridiculously happy. It had to be fatigue. "I've just run ten miles on that bloody thing, in extra gravity and a temperature of over 95 degrees. And that was slowing down at the end of the session. I'm astonished I can still walk."

"Hell! So am I!"

"There are days when I wish I'd stayed at the Thebaid, worrying about the Third Wave of Migration and the effect it had on Albion's political structures for the succeeding three centuries." Bennet grinned at the look Flynn gave him. The widened eyes and curving down mouth couldn't be bettered. Flynn looked more horrified by that than at Bennet's torture at Pershing's capable hands. "I need a shower and I need some sleep. See you later."

"Sure," Flynn said.

And he would see Flynn later. As he stood under the gym's sonic shower, letting the sound and vibration strip the sweat away, he looked forward to the moment when he'd close down the datapad for the last time that day and head to the OC to wind down. He wouldn't be there five minutes before Flynn, with a wide grin and a wave, would invite him over to join the Alpha squadron pilots.

It made the day, for him.

Bennet ate in the commissary most evenings, alone if he could manage it. There was so much data to get through—he was starting in on the remaining pilots who hadn't made the original shortlist, to be certain that he wasn't missing some star who hid his or her light under a bushel—that he tended to eat with one hand, operating a datapad with the other. A couple of times, Simonitz joined him. Bennet was nearing some conclusions about his most likely candidates but went over the entire shortlist, wanting Simonitz's views.

One night, about five days into Maess space, Colonel Quist joined him. The colonel listened to Bennet's recital of the list, adding concise and perceptive comments. Bennet was unsurprised to find Quist more judgmental than Simonitz, but he was interested to see that every one of Quist's judgments was borne out by the records. She might be on the bridge most of the day, but she knew the _Gyrfalcon_ 's crew backwards. Bennet wondered when she slept. Such efficiency was positively daunting.

When he was on his own, the occasional eager pilot would approach him, wanting to impress, to catch his notice. Bennet responded coolly, discouraging them until they grew uncomfortable and left, allowing him to get back to studying the datapad. Sometimes Flynn was in the commissary, but all he ever did was grin if Bennet happened to glance up and catch his eye. He left Bennet alone until Bennet signalled that work was over by closing down the datapad.

It confirmed Bennet's view of Flynn's intelligence. The lieutenant wasn't going to do anything that might influence Bennet against him. Flynn wanted to be in on T18, for sure. But maybe there was more. Flynn didn't want to get Bennet to strike a line through his name for the job. But not wanting to strain the growing friendship between them counted in there somewhere too.

Friendship. That would do, for want of a better word.

Bennet's relations with other people on the ship were slightly more problematic, and he did not mean with his father. Jillia kept up the attack, growing visibly more puzzled by the lack of response from him. He remained friendly and untouched, and after a few days, she shrugged her shoulders in a you-don't-know-what-you're-missing sort of way and gave up on him. She remained friendly, but in the same cool way that he'd adopted, her demeanour one of slightly disdainful pity at his wilful blindness.

He presented Powell with the same coolness that deliberately saw nothing that Powell was offering, with pretty much the same effect. Powell was half hearted about it all anyway. It wasn't Bennet that he was trying to impress. Flynn was the real object of Powell's interest. Bennet was a mite interested himself there—but only, of course, from the point of view of finding the best possible pilot to help him with T18.

Bennet went to the OC every evening. He quickly fell into the habit of joining Flynn at the table where the Alpha Squadron flight leaders sat. At least, he gravitated to Alpha squadron and Flynn was always there as well. That was all.

After only a few days, it was as if he'd always been there. Once he'd trained them not to ask him questions he wasn't going to answer, he was content to relax, share the laughs, and join in the conversation when it suited him. He liked them, he enjoyed their company, and if he didn't let himself think that he really liked Flynn and enjoyed Flynn's company in particular, then he managed to fool himself into thinking that all they were doing, despite their different background and characters, was becoming friends.

But sometimes in the night, when T18 and everything it meant kept him awake, he let his mind turn to Flynn instead, to the way Flynn was all warm golden brown tones of skin and hair, but for those startlingly green eyes. Joss and the prospect of getting home to him was no distraction. But Flynn could be a distraction. Flynn could be a very significant distraction.

Bennet was beginning to understand Powell.

## Chapter Thirteen

"The final six." Bennet slipped the data crystal into the slot on the briefing table in the bridge office. "I've talked it over with Colonel Quist and Captain Simonitz."

"They can't believe it either!"

Bennet froze at his father's snappish tone, and glanced at the colonel and flight captain. Quist stared back, unmoved, and Simonitz just shrugged. "There's a problem, Commander?"

"Not with most of your choices. But Flynn!"

"Really?" Bennet went for innocence. "He's my first choice."

"Flynn?" Caeden's tone sharpened even further. "Why in heaven's name do you want to even consider Flynn?"

"You mean, in addition to the fact he's the best pilot on this ship?"

Caeden grimaced. "He's a fine pilot. But he's unreliable."

"That's not reflected in the records." Bennet tapped the datapad he was carrying.

"You must have read the disciplinary reports!"

"I did. They're comprehensive."

"They're extensive," Quist said, in a neutral tone.

"And show someone who's matured greatly over the last year." Bennet dropped his hands out of sight below the table top and let them curl into fists, so that nothing would show on his face or in his voice. Curl. Uncurl. Curl. "He's intelligent, independent and flexible, and he thinks his way through the situations he's found himself in. A couple of reports are pretty clear that unless he'd been thinking for himself, the missions would have failed and you'd have lost pilots."

His father didn't appear to like the implication that a wrong-headed strategy had been rescued by a troublesome pilot. "He's a gambler, he's sexually incontinent and he causes a vast amount of trouble." Caeden gave Simonitz a cold look. "I had to be persuaded to accept him for his second tour."

Simonitz flushed. "With respect, sir, you said yourself that he showed signs of turning into the kind of officer we want and that he was repaying the time and effort invested in him. Flynn's all right, where it counts." He met Caeden's glare square on. Good for Simonitz! There was something to the man after all.

"He's maturing," Quist said. "He's been better motivated and better disciplined over the last few months."

There was something to be said for Quist's cold-blooded approach that cut out emotion: it was fairer. Bennet had known the minute that he'd met Flynn, that the lieutenant wouldn't be one of his father's favourites, but he was taken aback by the extent to which Caeden seemed to be blind to Flynn's virtues. But virtues there were. "He's the only one of your pilots I'd have in Shield."

"You can have him!" Caeden shook his head. "Who else do you have? Powell? Yes, he's good and I'll be sorry to lose him to the _Caliban_. He's as good as Flynn."

"In straight flying skills, yes, he is almost as good. But he's not as tenacious, nor as imaginative."

"And you think imagination is a virtue?"

"In my job, yes. A cardinal one."

Caeden snorted and went through the remaining candidates: Kelly, Kieran, Abir and Joakim. He approved of them, his comments on them as perceptive as Quist's had been, with similar considered judgments. It made the animus against Flynn even more unusual. Unless, of course, Caeden had taken a good look at his younger son and seen, as Bennet had, this older version here on the _Gyrfalcon_. It could be that. Apprehension could blind a man and make him unfair, and Liam was wild, very wild. Caeden had a tendency to allow a perceived fault to become the whole person. It was a religious thing, a Theban thing, as Bennet learned first-hand the day he'd stopped being the loved elder son and became the disgusting pervert instead.

... if you've ever touched Liam...

Bennet stopped himself right there. His father had been wild himself that night, with anger and shock, and there was nothing to be gained by brooding. Now was not the time for it. But he and Flynn were both victims of that rigid Theban moralistic view. There wasn't any grey in the Theban church. It wasn't any coincidence that the church's clergy wore stark black and white.

"At least the rest of them are reliable," Caeden said. The eyes that met Bennet's had a fleeting anxiety in them, quickly hidden behind the usual professional façade. What? Was that what was behind all this? They were only a couple of days away from T18, and Caeden was frightened for him? "I can have some confidence that they'd be there to get you back."

"What next, Captain?" Quist asked, when Caeden had come to the end of the list and had grudgingly agreed that all six should be put into training.

Bennet made himself look away from his father. "It's time to go and see what's out there, ma'am. As I said earlier, I'm going to take a look at T18 and make sure nothing's changed."

Caeden's mouth tightened. He hadn't been pleased when Bennet had told him at breakfast that he intended making the scouting trip. Why in hell had General Martens chosen the _Gyrfalcon_? Why not _Caliban_ and Commander Warwick's bombast, instead? At least then, the only distraction from preparing for the job would be listening to Warwick's interminable stories about his greatness.

"I'd better get the Mosquito ready, if Captain Simonitz will excuse me from attending the briefing meeting this morning."

"Of course," Simonitz said in a tone that didn't indicate a deep and abiding regret.

"Thanks. Then, if I can use this room later?" At Caeden's nod, Bennet glanced at his wrist chronometer. "Thank you, sir. If they could be here at, say, ten-fifty, I'll run over the basics with them and get them started on some simulator training. They'll have to practice landings and take-offs in a heavier atmosphere, and they can do that while I'm away. I've given your technical officer the simulation that we developed."

"I'll arrange it," Quist said, with a sideways glance at Caeden.

"Then with your permission, I'll head on down to the flight deck and get started."

Caeden stared at him, stony-faced.

The crew chief on the starboard deck was as helpful as they come. The flight crew manoeuvred the little Mosquito out of storage with skill, and Bennet spent a relatively happy and stress-free hour going over her systems with Jordan, a man who loved the spacecraft he cared for and who went into raptures over the Shield ship. Bennet, who flew the Mozzie but had little real technical knowledge about her, was a touch humbled by Jordan's enthusiasm and his own ignorance. To make up for it, he spent longer than he'd planned, showing the Mosquito off.

More than that. Jordan listened carefully to Bennet's concerns about his transport to and from T18, and some of the redundancy, so to speak, that Bennet was building into the plan. If ever there was a man to discuss the relative merits of cutter, Hornet and Mosquito, Jordan was it. By the time Bennet left for his meeting with his chosen six pilots, he was considerably more confident that, with the ground-crew chief's help, he had ironed out the last wrinkles in the extraction plan

Cheered, he headed back up to the command deck, to the little briefing room that sat behind the bridge. He expected to find his six possible taxi-drivers there. What he did not expect was to find his father sitting at the head of the table, studying a datapad. Simonitz was there as well, at one side of Caeden.

What in hell?

Caeden glanced up, his expression the remote one Bennet hated. He nodded at Bennet's salute. "I thought it would better to have them all ready for you, Shield Captain."

Oh, he did, did he? Bennet would have quite a lot to say about this later. He glanced at the six faces. None of them looked comfortable, and there was something when Flynn looked at him, something forlorn and disappointed, that had Bennet wondering exactly what it was his father had said and done in that oh-so-helpful, let-me-get-them-ready process.

He kept the tone so neutral that his father couldn't mistake it. "Thank you, sir. That was very thoughtful." He turned to the six pilots, putting more warmth into it. "Thank you all for coming. As you've guessed, you're short listed for this job I'm doing. I'm going to tell you a little about it now, but this is still classified. You may not speak of it outside this group."

"Any breach of that and you'll be in the brig for the rest of your life," his father said.

Bennet looked down to hide another flash of anger. He couldn't lose his temper right now, he just couldn't. As soon as he could speak calmly, he went on as if Caeden hadn't spoken. He half turned and glanced at the star map that someone—his father, probably, since the old man was being so damn helpful—had projected onto the screen behind him. He touched the little computer set in the desk and the back projection changed, showing the grainy pictures of the base on its steep escarpment. "Our target, the base on T18. This is an infiltration job, not a bombing run. We'll be going in after dark. One of you will have the dubious honour of driving me by cutter, at parachute height, and coming back to get me a few hours later."

He'd have laughed if he hadn't been so mad with his father. Every one of them looked at him, and then at each other, and if they could have got away with twirling their forefingers at their temples, they'd have done it. Probably in unison, to a chorus of jeers.

"Parachute," Kieran, one of the Gamma squadron pilots, said softly. He shook his head.

"It won't be the first time. We'll be using an armed cutter, and we'll be going in without a Hornet escort. We'll be coming in from this side." Bennet pointed to an approach that brought them in from the side of the system that faced into the heart of Maess space. "We'll have the planet between us and the base and there are two moons and an asteroid belt we can use for cover on the way in. Obviously, there are defences and sensors and as we come over the horizon, there's every chance that they'll see us, even with the cutter's shields up, but we'll be going in very low at about three and a half thousand feet. We'll do the drop as close to the base as we can get it. I'm banking on the fact that coming in from their side will slow their reactions enough to let me hit dirt, and for the pilot to get the cutter out."

"Leaving you down there." Powell's tone was flat, but his raised eyebrow provided all the disbelief needed.

Bennet grinned at him. "No choice. As I said at the first briefing, there's nowhere on that rock to land and hide. We have to go in this way. This is about bluffing them. If this were a pure Shield operation, we'd go in fast and get out fast. Even on a demolition run, Shield doesn't spend long on the ground, just long enough to set the charges and run for it. The Maess know that. They know how Shield operates—small, fast ships and a snatch and grab type of raid. And though I say it myself, they are piss-poor at catching us."

Caeden's mouth twitched. Probably holding back some comment on Shield arrogance.

Bennet allowed his own mouth to curve into a brief grin. "That's what they're used to. If they see the cutter, that's what they're going to think they've got this time—a ship coming in, making a reconnaissance run over the base, and getting out again without stopping to say hello. They'll know it's not a demolition raid, not with the speed I want that cutter in and out."

"They'll launch, though, sir," Abir said. "If they pick up the cutter on scanners."

"Yes, realistically, that close in they'll probably pick up enough anomalous readings to make them suspect we're there. And if they do, they'll send at least one patrol. If they do give chase, then the cutter driver will take them straight to where the _Gyrfalcon_ 's waiting."

"An ambush." Kelly grinned, lighting up. That appealed, then.

Bennet nodded. "An ambush. And I'm sure that the _Gyrfalcon_ will deal with them for me."

"I can guarantee it," Commander Caeden said.

"A cutter's not that fast." Flynn's sidelong glance at the commander was lightning fast before his gaze met Bennet's. He looked doubtful, his mouth twisting up at one side. "It might keep ahead of the Maess fighters, but it'll be close."

"It's not entirely risk free, no. But the engineering techs and ground crew have spent the last ten days stripping one down to the bone to lighten it, and making a few modifications to give it more speed."

"There's no other way to get you in, sir?" Joakim pulled at his lower lip as he spoke, pinching it between the fingers of his left hand. A little more nervous than his records suggested, that one.

Bennet shook his head. "We can't land and I can't parachute out of a Hornet. The base has to think what they're seeing is a fast scouting run. I don't want them seeing a ship land at all. I want that base nice and quiet."

Powell shifted in his seat, grimacing. "They'll still be on alert."

"I know. And they may launch more than one patrol, in which case my driver will really have to kick in the turbos. If they do launch more, then your Hornets will be ready. The Maess will be focused on following their fighters' progress, not on what's happening behind their backs. With all their fighters shot out of the sky, and me blowing the base at ground level when I'm done, all the Maess will ever know is that T18 was junked. With luck, they won't ever realise what we've gained by it."

"And what would that be?" Flynn, of course. The only one who had the balls to ask. The man was wasted in Fleet. Wasted.

"That would be classified, Lieutenant." Bennet kept his tone light, to take the sting out of it.

"You can't blame me for trying." Flynn flashed him that crooked grin again. But the glance Flynn gave Caeden was more troubled.

"I don't. At all."

"Sir," Kelly said, "If they're chasing the cutter back to the _Gyrfalcon_ , how do we get you out?"

Bennet glanced at Caeden and away again. "As soon as the _Gyrfalcon_ engages the raiders, the cutter will double back and pick me up at the rendezvous point. What I have to do on T18 will take a little time."

"In a base that'll be crawling with spooked Maess drones?" Flynn shook his head. "And picking you up in the middle of a battle in a cutter?"

"Yeah." Bennet shrugged. "All right, those are the main points of the mission plan. I know you want to know which one of you is driving the cutter, but I won't make a decision now. I'll do that when I get back in the morning."

"Back?" Flynn looked up sharply.

"I'm going to have a quick scout around, Flynn, to make sure that they haven't sneaked in extra forces." Bennet looked at the screen for a moment. "The Shield scout who got these pictures did a comprehensive mapping run, and we've used that to build a simulation that will give you a very good idea about the conditions on T18. It'll take you through heavy gravity landings and take-off and let you get used to some of the atmospheric peculiarities." He managed a faint smile for them. "While I'm gone, you'll all be pulled off normal duty to spend time in the simulators."

"Yes sir," they all chorused.

Bennet nodded. "That's all for now. Thank you. If you'll return to your duty posts, your commanding officer will tell you when the sim-room is ready for you."

They got up and saluted. Simonitz went with them. Bennet sat firm, catching Flynn's gaze as the lieutenant left and sending him a small reassuring grin. Flynn managed a slight shrug. Even subdued, Flynn was so beautiful that Bennet's breath came short. There was a tightness in his groin, a flare of desire that he didn't want to dampen down.

Joss. He should think of Joss. Although he shouldn't think that right now Joss was probably with one of those pretty, little empty-headed boys he always found to comfort him while Bennet was away, his so-called consolation prizes. He shouldn't think of that. In fact, it was probably better not to think of Joss at all. None of it mattered right now. None of it.

There was no time for this crap. The job was all that mattered. The job, and working out whatever the hell his father thought he was doing.

When the door closed, Bennet folded his hands on the table and stared at Caeden.

Caeden stared back. "Well?"

"What are you doing?"

"I promised you every support."

"Support is one thing, but what in hell did you say to them to get them so intimidated?"

"Please don't exaggerate, Bennet. I merely impressed on them the importance that I attach to this mission, and to getting you back."

Bennet wouldn't let that soften him. "You impressed a little hard in certain directions, didn't you? It looked like someone had turned out Flynn's lights. I want him in on this, sir. I don't want him demoralised, and thinking his senior officers have no faith in him is going to demoralise him fast. It's unfair and unjustified."

"I have said nothing to him at all," his father said, face stony again.

"I want all six to go through with the simulator training. I need all of them, not just a cutter driver. I don't want any one of them so impressed they can't function."

"I'm worried about this, Bennet. You're my son—"

Bennet couldn't hold it then. "Oh please! I don't need you suddenly going parental on me. Stop it."

Caeden flushed. "I'm well aware of the futility of that! The last time wasn't too successful either!"

Somehow, Bennet kept his voice steady, but he felt sick, and he pressed his hands together to hide the way his fingers were trembling. "That was you being parental, was it? Telling me I turned your stomach, that I was so contemptible you couldn't bear to look at me or touch me, that you never wanted to see me again, threatening me because you thought I'd hurt Liam... all that was you being parental?"

Caeden stared at him, white and shocked.

"Do you even remember what you said to me? Sometimes, I wonder if you do. Well, I do. I remember every single word when you threw me out."

"Bennet," Caeden said.

"So please don't tell me now that this is parental concern, because I've had over seven years of doing without it and I don't need it now."

"But I never threw you out! How can you say that?"

"Maybe it was something you said! The choice I had to make, home or Joss. You should be celebrating that successful application of parental authority, anyway. I've never been home since. The only home I've had has been Joss, the only family I've had has been Joss, because you didn't want something this second rate in yours."

"I didn't want—I don't want you to cut yourself off from us the way you have." Caeden's hands twisted over each other.

"You cut me out. You didn't want the queer in the family."

"Dear gods." Caeden buried his face in his hands. "I know, when I found you with Joss that time, I said things I shouldn't have, and you're right: I don't remember everything I said. I just wanted to lash out at you. I don't think that I've ever been so angry, Bennet, or so hurt."

"Hurt?" Bennet scowled. He'd been the one to be hurt! What in hell had Caeden to be hurt about?

"You never said anything to me, about how you felt. Your mother knew, or suspected. I don't think that she was very surprised about Joss. But you didn't trust me enough to talk to me about anything that was important to you." Caeden stared at his hands again, avoiding Bennet's gaze. "I was upset enough that you'd never talked to me about what you wanted to do with your life, and you'd never told me how important it was to you to take the scholarship to the Thebaid. You let me go on all those years thinking you wanted to go to the Academy and then at the last minute you changed all that, without warning, and it was my fault for being such an insensitive bastard that I never divined what it was you wanted. That was hurting already."

Bennet could only stare.

Caeden rubbed at his eyes. "I hated that I had to leave you all every year, after only a few weeks. I hoped that I'd made up for it a little bit, keeping in close contact all the time I was away. I hoped that I was an important part of your lives, but you showed me that I was very wrong, that I was unimportant and distant, a half-stranger you didn't trust."

"It wasn't like that." How in hell had Bennet suddenly been put on the defensive?

"No? It was like that for me. You'd closed me out, Bennet, long before, and Joss was the last straw. So I'll say this once more and then we'll do as you suggest, and leave it alone and go back to being polite to each other when we meet. I handled everything about Joss very badly, but I did not want this breach with you, and if I've come to accept you and Joss I won't lie and say that it's with joy. It's acceptance, Bennet, whatever that's worth. Because the gods know, I'd rather have you with Joss attached, than not have you at all. I have not been happy these last years, looking forward to every time I see you and hoping that this time we can make it work, and every time coming back out here knowing that we're polite and distant and as far away from each other as ever. And if that's all you want, then there really isn't anything else to be said."

And for a minute it really seemed as if there wasn't. Bennet was silenced, astonished at how this was all turned on its head.

"I didn't know you felt like that," he said at last. "I thought you were just angry and disappointed in me."

Caeden shook his head.

Bennet grimaced. "I used to save things up to tell you, but by the time you came home they didn't matter anymore, or they'd happened so long before that they weren't funny anymore, or they didn't seem important."

"They would have been important to me, that you let me share them. I had so little time with you all, anyway. Don't you think I treasured everything I could get?"

"They were so trivial."

"What you wanted to do with your life was trivial? Or did you think that would be my opinion, that what you wanted was trivial?"

"I thought you knew." Bennet rubbed at his temple, something to do to relieve the tension. "I thought you knew."

"I couldn't read your mind then. I can't now."

"When you came on me and Joss that time, at the Thebaid, we were planning out how to tell you." Bennet's throat hurt when he swallowed. "I didn't want a fight."

"I didn't come to the Thebaid looking for one, Bennet. You blindsided me there. Totally. I had no idea. And by the time I stopped being angry and was just hurt, you hadn't spoken to me in over a year."

"You didn't speak to me!"

Caeden shrugged. "You blocked your old mail address. I know your mother passed on all my messages to you. You never answered."

"I don't remember it like this."

His father smiled, very faintly. "No. We were both a little emotional at the time. I daresay the truth lies somewhere in between, and my recollection isn't perfect either. But that's the way I remember it, and it's been cold comfort these last few years when you wouldn't let me in." He sighed. "You don't even like me touching you. I hadn't seen you for so long, and you were so ill last year, and do you think that I didn't see you stiffen up when I came towards you the day you got here?"

Bennet shook his head. "I was surprised! I know you don't like touching me... "

For a minute, his father put his head in hands. "I cannot believe that we've let it get to this," he said, voice muffled.

Misunderstanding then, and not malice.

Bennet had to look away, staring at the star map on the wall. He couldn't remember ever seeing his father this emotional. His eyes stung, and he blinked rapidly to clear them.

After a minute, Caeden took a deep breath. "I don't think we have time to talk about this now."

"No," Bennet said, voice thick.

"But when this is all over, before you leave my ship, I want to try and sort this out between us, Bennet. I want that chance."

Bennet nodded, still not able to meet his father's gaze.

"If I get the chance," Caeden said. "Have you any idea at all how scared I am about this job of yours?"

Caught again by surprise, Bennet looked at him.

"I'm very frightened, Bennet. All I want to do is minimise the risks as much as I can, to make sure I get you back."

"I know what I'm doing, Dad. I'm good at what I do."

"Yes, but that doesn't stop me worrying. I don't want you to go on this scouting trip."

"You don't have anyone else to send."

"No. That worries me even more. I care about you a lot. I realise that you don't think that, but you're wrong."

Bennet's voice thickened again. "Yes," he said. Maybe he had been wrong. But he couldn't take much more of this. Hell, he had to get out of here and get started. Focus on what had to be done to get the job over with. "I should go."

"Yes." Caeden sighed. "I know that. I know I can't keep you much longer. But before you go, we need to decide who will take you down there."

"Flynn's the best you've got."

"He's not the most reliable. I want you to be safe. I can't do very much, stuck up here while you're risking your life down on T18, but I want to do everything I can to make it as safe for you as possible. Flynn's a fine pilot, I wouldn't ever deny that, but I'd be a lot happier if my son's life was in the hands of someone safe and dependable."

They were going around in circles. Bennet bit back the arguments. Caeden had Flynn badly wrong, but this wasn't the time to fight that good fight with him. Instead, it was time to be Shield and time to sneak. "You'd be happier if I took Powell to drive the cutter?"

"Infinitely."

Bennet nodded. "All right. As you said, there's not a lot between them. But I want them all in training."

"Yes. Of course. Thank you, Bennet." And Caeden did look relieved.

Bennet wasn't as satisfied, but there wasn't anything he could do. He stood up. "I'd better get back and see to the Mosquito. I'll take off within the hour."

Caeden nodded, and got up. They walked together down the short corridor that led to the bridge, the silence less strained, less brittle than it might have been only a few minutes earlier.

"Be careful," Caeden said, as they reached the bridge door. They'd part there, on the bridge in front of everyone, Bennet taking the elevators down to the troop deck. Caeden stopped, bringing Bennet to a halt beside him.

"I always am." Bennet allowed a faint grin through. "But if I'm not back in twenty four hours, head for home."

"Try not to leave me in the position of having to make that decision."

"I'll try." Bennet sought for something to say, something to mark the momentousness of the conversation they'd just had. "And I'm grateful you're looking out for me. Honest."

Caeden hesitated. He let his hand rest on Bennet's arm for a second. A nod, and he prodded the door mechanism and led the way. As they stepped onto the bridge, Colonel Quist's quiet but penetrating voice called out.

"Commander on deck!"

"At ease," Caeden said, and Bennet was conscious of his father's eyes following him as he made his way across to the main elevators. Bennet turned when he got into the lift.

He looked at his father, nodded, and let the lift doors close.

It took Bennet longer than he expected to compose himself after leaving the bridge. He detoured into his own quarters to get some time alone. The roiling in his gut balancing the confusion in his mind was not helpful. He had a job to do. He could not let this get in the way. He had no right to let it get in the way.

Shit, shit, shit. Why did the old man have to do this now? Who the hell needed this sort of pressure right now?

Did he still matter that much to Caeden?

Joss would smirk. Dammit, he hated it when Joss was right. Joss would be unbearable.

Shit.

Bennet took ten minutes to himself, before taking the metaphorical deep breath and plunging back into the job. His father had said it, and he was right: this was not the time for thinking about anything but getting through the next couple of days. A minute's inattention because he was thinking more about his relationship with his father than the task in hand, could be fatal. He couldn't think about it now. When it was all over, then they could talk.

When he could present that impeccable Shield exterior to the world again, he went down to the flight deck and found Jordan and then he went looking for Flynn. Because although he had no objection to Powell taking him into T18 in the cutter, he was damned if he was risking everything by coming back that way.

Powell could take him in, but Flynn would be bringing him home.

Flynn was going to be his insurance. And not just insurance against not getting back from T18. Not just that.

Flynn was going to be his insurance against being swallowed up, by either his father or by Joss. Flynn was going to be his insurance against being lost.

## Chapter Fourteen

The call to go to the command briefing room came midway through the morning of day eleven in Maess territory. Flynn was in the starboard bay ready room, feet up, reading the book he'd downloaded from the main computer systems the previous night. He'd have some catching up to do, of course, starting with volume one. The History of the Theban Peoples, it seemed to him, was a highly speculative account of Earth, if the place had ever existed, and there wasn't a mention anywhere of the Third Wave of Migration. With eighty-six volumes to go, he had to assume that came in later. He only hoped that it brought a plot along with it because, sweet hell! History was dull.

He answered his comlink on automatic and when he closed it down, he found himself staring at a ring of sour expressions all sitting on the faces of people he usually described as friends and colleagues. Now he wasn't so sure. At least, about the 'friend' bit.

"Good old Flynn," Cruz said, with such sarcastic emphasis that Flynn winced.

"It may not be what you think." But he was grinning like the proverbial loon, and he kept on grinning all the way up to the bridge. He even grinned at the expression on Quist's face as he was waved into the small command briefing room, though compared to that, Cruz didn't even know where to start when it came to sour.

Bennet wasn't there.

Half a dozen other pilots sat at the table with Commander Caeden at the head of it. But no Bennet in sight. Huh. That maybe meant this job wasn't in the bag, after all. Flynn offered a salute and slid into a seat, glancing around.

He knew them all; some better than others. He'd been close to Powell, of course, and Kelly from Beta Squadron. He'd dated Kelly for a while, just like he'd dated Powell. Well, maybe not just like it—he and Kelly had parted friends. She greeted him with a smile. Powell pointedly turned away. Flynn didn't know the others as well: Joakim was Beta Squadron, and Abir and Kieran from Gamma. Flynn was the only Alpha squadron pilot. The door behind him opened, and he looked around quickly, but it was Simonitz who came in. There was still no Bennet.

Commander Caeden nodded to Simonitz, and began, abruptly. "You six have been short listed by Shield Captain Bennet for the task of supporting him in the raid on T18. He'll be here shortly for a briefing. I wanted a few words with you myself, first." Caeden looked them up and down. "I'm going to be frank with you. The Shield captain has applied his own criteria to this exercise, and although he has discussed his choices with my senior officers, there are one or two of you whose presence here is something of a surprise to me."

His cold blue eyes met Flynn's for a second. It was like being hit in the face. Shit! He meant Flynn. Not the others, just Flynn. Disappointment and humiliation settled in Flynn's gut like he'd swallowed a cold weight.

"However," Caeden said, "Captain Bennet is a very experienced Shield officer and the only one who has any real idea of what he'll be facing on T18. I will, therefore, accept his judgment. But I want to make it clear, here and now, that I expect whoever is entrusted with this task will do everything he or she can to make the _Gyrfalcon_ proud. This is a crucially important raid. Although I can't tell you the details, I want you to understand that. I'm proud to be supporting the Shield Regiment, and I will personally break anyone who lets me or Shield Captain Bennet down. Am I understood?"

Frowning at this uncharacteristic speech, Flynn added his murmur of assent to that of his fellow pilots, ducking his head and avoiding the commander's gaze.

"Good. You may be at ease until the Shield captain gets here." The commander picked up a datapad and studied it, switching his attention off them.

Oh sure. At ease. One or two shifted in their seats and stared at the walls or ceiling. Flynn exchanged glances with Kelly, who chewed on her bottom lip. Even Powell's expression lacked its usual hostility as he deliberately widened his eyes at Flynn, the closest they dared come to exasperated eye rolling.

The star map of T18 was projected onto the wall screen behind Commander Caeden's head, and Flynn spent the wait studying it. His gut ached and the back of his neck felt hot. Shit. Was the commander that set against him? Why? He hadn't done anything to deserve that slap in the face. He rubbed a hand over his mouth and tried to get his breathing steadied.

Bennet's arrival was a relief. Flynn wanted this over with, to be told what they were supposed to be doing. He looked sidelong at the commander. What they were supposed to be doing if he was going to be kept in on this and not shunted out altogether, that was.

He didn't think Bennet had planned on the commander being there, not if Flynn read the tightened lips aright. Bennet thanked Caeden with cold courtesy and launched straight into outlining what he laughably called his infiltration plan. Flynn forgot his own troubles as he listened. It was all he could do not to sit there, open-mouthed. The man thought he would just parachute in, did he, and walk around a base humming with Maess drones? Even with a shield-suit... Hell, the risks were off the scale.

Cruz had been right, what she'd said when they'd first heard about this mission. Everyone in Shield was crazy. Mad as coots, every single one of them.

Quist held him back when they were dismissed, sending the rest of the pilots on their way and Flynn into the tiny bridge office, where he kicked his heels for the next half hour waiting for the commander to finish his discussions with Bennet. It wasn't a comfortable wait. He had no illusions about the commander's discontent.

Caeden came in quietly, seeming not to see Flynn leap to his feet and stiffen into attention. He walked past Flynn and sat down, only then lifting his eyes to study Flynn. "At ease, Lieutenant."

Flynn allowed the stiffness to bleed from his back and shoulders, and stood with legs slightly apart, hands behind his back. His heart thudded hard and his mouth was dry. "Sir."

Caeden dropped a datapad onto his desk, and pushed at it with a forefinger. "I'm not at all happy about the Shield captain considering you for this mission, Lieutenant. In my opinion, this calls for someone whose reliability is unquestioned."

Shit! That was a low blow. So much for the man respecting Bennet's judgment. Not that Flynn had expected anything different, not since that crack the commander had made before the briefing started. Even so, his face grew hot and he had to swallow hard to keep the indignation at bay and keep the smooth respect in his tone. "I think you're being unfair, sir."

"Do you?" Caeden touched the datapad. "That's your record. Do you know how many disciplinary problems you've had during your tour here? How many times you've been on report?"

"For mostly minor infractions of the Regs, sir. Things that—" Flynn stopped.

"That don't matter? But that's where you're wrong. Military life is made up of rules, things that in themselves may not mean very much to you, but put them together and they weld us into something bigger, something able to take on the enemy. Without them, we're an undisciplined rabble."

"I meant, sir," Flynn said carefully, "that I've never been on report for failing to follow orders under combat. I've never been in trouble for anything to do with my flying or how I command my squad."

"Really? You went your own way at the incident at the Vigellus colony."

Flynn's face was hot again. "With respect, sir, the situation there meant that the mission plan had to be adapted. If I'd obeyed orders to the letter, I'd have lost my pilots. And Captain Simonitz didn't bawl me out for it. He commended me and you endorsed it. He understood that I'd had to act independently. The point is that I did it, sir. I completed the job you sent me to do and I got all my pilots back. I know I still bend the rules now and again, but I've never failed at any mission objective. Never."

Caeden nodded. "I'll give you that much, Lieutenant. You're probably the best pilot on the ship, but what I'm concerned about is making sure that when Shield Captain Bennet gets out of that base, someone is there to pick him up, as and when agreed. I don't want his safety jeopardised." He drummed his fingers on the datapad. "I have doubts, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir." Flynn felt his eyes sting, and he blinked. "I don't know what to say, sir. If the real record, the things I've done are outweighed by the disciplinary one, then I don't think that there's anything I can say."

"No," Caeden said. "I'll consider it, Lieutenant. Dismissed."

"There's six of us being considered. And that's all I'm saying."

Flynn had detoured into the bathroom on the way back to the ready room and spent a satisfying ten minutes kicking things until he'd felt a little better, although taking out his frustration like that was probably another manifestation of that undisciplined approach that the commander deplored so much. When he was able to face his friends, he'd gone back to the ready room, aiming to carry it all with his usual insouciance.

Cruz, though, wasn't having any of this unnatural reticence. "Who else?"

"No one from Alpha. Joakim and Kelly from Beta, Abir and Kieran from Gamma. And Powell." Flynn picked up his discarded datapad and reactivated it, calling up the book. "No more, Cruz."

Carson, Flynn's second in his own flight, was as unimpressed as Cruz. "You'll have to tell us eventually."

Flynn shrugged, put the datapad up in front of his face and stared at it until the words all ran into each other. Good thing he had something to hide behind. No way would he let anyone see his misery and humiliation.

"Flynn," someone said again, more insistently.

He looked up, startled.

"Can I borrow you for a few minutes?" Bennet grinned at him.

"Er, sure." His face was flaming again, worse than in the commander's office. He dropped the datapad and scrambled to his feet. "Anytime."

"Good. I've cleared it with Captain Simonitz that I'm taking you away from duty for a while. It shouldn't take long."

Flynn nodded, and got up to follow Bennet out of the ready room. Bennet hesitated, then walked forward into the long, narrow launch bay. He looked about him, at the thirty tubes with their manned Hornets in position, at the second wave of ships parked ready on the launch line, and at those backed up behind them on the handling racks, ready to be swung into position the instant those in the tubes had launched, and the second wave had moved forward into position. More than one helmeted head inside the closed canopies of the first wave Hornets turned in their direction. Bennet ignored them and walked up to one of the second wave Hornets. He stood beside it, his hand on its belly.

"What do you think of a two-seater training Hornet? What's their manoeuvrability compared to the combat version?"

"Nowhere near as good. There's a bit of extra length there, to get the instructor's seat in, and that makes a difference. About eighty-five percent as efficient, maybe a little more."

"And not as well armed, of course."

"No," agreed Flynn. "Not bad, mind you, but still a combat Hornet has the edge. As you'd expect."

"So it's a choice between a Hornet or my Mosquito. Where's your Hornet?"

A choice between what? And why?

Flynn pointed to the ceiling. "Fourth one along. I'm on third wave today. My squad would be last out."

"Okay," Bennet said. "This one will do, then."

He called a tech over and within a minute or two had made the man bring up one of the mounting platforms. Bennet climbed up and opened up the Hornet. Bewildered, Flynn joined him on the platform.

"Not much room. More than the Mozzie." Bennet pointed to the area behind the pilot's seat. "That's the backup fuel cell, right?"

Flynn nodded. "Yeah."

"Useful but not crucial, then. It could be taken out."

Despite himself, Flynn grinned. "Depends on your point of view. I've known situations when it was very crucial."

"This is about calculated risks, Flynn. You're a gambler. You should know that."

"How do you know? How did you know that I like gambling?"

"I've read the record."

"Oh," Flynn said. "Yeah."

Bennet looked at him sidelong. He jumped down, and waited for Flynn to join him. "Thank you, Flynn. That was helpful."

"You're welcome."

Bennet walked back aft, Flynn beside him. When Flynn half turned to get into the ready room, Bennet shook his head, putting out a hand to catch Flynn's arm. "I'm just about to leave. Come and see me off."

In the landing bay, the ground crew had brought the Mosquito out of the side hangar, obviously in readiness for the scouting mission. Flynn stared at it, interest piqued despite his disappointment. "She's a lovely ship. Taking her out from here?"

Bennet nodded. "She's a bit small for your launch tubes. She's a beauty all right. She flies on the same control board as a Hornet, but she's faster and more manoeuvrable." They looked at her for a few minutes, until out of nowhere, Bennet added, "Commander Caeden isn't keen on me going on this scouting run."

"Don't blame him. Without you, this all falls apart."

"Yeah, but no one else can do it." Bennet gestured at the Mosquito. "There's not a lot of room for a passenger."

Flynn had no idea what was going on. He opted to look interested.

Bennet leaned up against a convenient bulkhead. "Lieutenant Powell will take me in to T18, Flynn."

Flynn's stomach tightened. "Oh," he said, after a minute.

"I know that you and he don't get on."

Flynn tried to keep it light. That was the only thing to do. "In the parlance of the military psychologists, we have some unresolved issues."

"I guessed." Bennet looked like he was trying not to laugh, the bastard. "I've discussed this very thoroughly with Quist and Simonitz. In terms of sheer flying ability, there's not a lot to choose between you, you know. But other things... well, Commander Caeden feels that Powell is best qualified for the job. He's made his views very plain, and I've no reason at all to doubt Powell's capabilities."

Sure, if he wanted a bus driver. Flynn bit it back, unsaid. It was unfair, anyway and untrue. Powell was a damned good pilot. "The commander and me have some seriously unresolved issues."

This time Bennet did laugh. "You and me both, Flynn. I'm in a delicate situation here, you know. I can only make this job work with his wholehearted co-operation, and I shouldn't complain. His only concern is to get me back, I know that. He believes that what I'm looking for is a reliable ride home, but that's not strictly true. I'm looking for a driver I can rely on to think his way through what's going on, who'll take risks, who'll gamble, and who'll do everything possible and impossible to get to the pickup. I don't want someone who's so bound to orders that they're incapable of independent thought. I wish I had another Shield warrior here."

"Yeah," Flynn said. That would be easier to bear than Powell, anyway.

"I'll be back by this time tomorrow, all being well. Listen. While I'm gone I want you to do something. You're still to go through the T18 simulation. The announcement won't be made until I get back and we need backup and contingency."

"Sure."

"And I want you to get that extra fuel pack taken out of your Hornet. I've talked to the ground crew chief about it. Make sure it happens."

Flynn stared. "Bennet?"

"We're ready, Shield Captain!" one of the ground crew chiefs called.

"You heard me. Get rid of that fuel cell." Bennet waved an acknowledgement at the crewman and stood up. "I've got to go."

"Bennet, what the hell are you up to?"

Bennet turned back. He smiled, the wide-open smile that could melt its way through bulkheads. "You're the closest thing to a Shield warrior that I've got here, Flynn. You're going to be my insurance."

## Chapter Fifteen

It was a long time since he'd been out this far without support from another Shield ship. There was nothing between him and the Maess but his own wits and experience.

Bennet had been out from the _Gyrfalcon_ for over ten hours. He had the little Mozzie in an asteroid field on the edge of T18's system, sneaking in behind the ghostly remnant of some long-dead comet. The asteroids were small, little more than chunks of dirty grey ice, but they were enough to mask anything of his ship's signature that might leak past the shields.

He was tired. It wasn't enough to stretch his legs in the foot space in the cockpit. They were aching and his neck was getting stiff. But the worst thing about a trip this long was having to make use of the Mozzie's facilities. He regretted having had breakfast, since his body insisted on processing it, and he limited his intake in the Mosquito to the emergency protein drinks. They tasted horrible, but at least all they'd do was make him piss, and that was infinitely easier to cope with in a confined space.

He spent the better part of two hours in the system, flitting from cover to cover, using planets, moons, asteroids... anything he could find to hide behind. T18 was quiet, the entire system was quiet.

Time to go back. He took the Mosquito out the way he came in, on half speed and varying the power ratios. The ship might register as an anomaly, but the erratic power signature and the tumbling blocks of icy asteroids should prevent anyone from realizing they were looking at a ship at all.

He swung her out in a wide arc, checking out the neighbouring system, a Class 5 sun with nothing more than frozen lumps of ice for planets. All was calm. All was quiet. All was—

That shouldn't be there.

Leaning forward, he stared at the scanner, reading the changes carefully. After a second, he kicked in the turbos, bringing the Mosquito around. Full throttle to get him past the outer planets and into the immense spaces where there was nothing but dust: old star-stuff or the beginnings of new life, who could tell? It was only dust.

An hour later and he was sure. It was orbiting a planet in a system within a few hours of T18. A straggler on its way to the Cetes attack, maybe. Stopped off here for some reason. Fucking Maess. They never did anything the way you expected them to.

He turned tail and headed for the _Gyrfalcon_ , fast as the Mosquito could manage it.

"A battleship," Caeden said, heavily.

Bennet stretched until he could feel his back pop under the strain, getting the kinks out of a frame that was, he'd admit, a little too long for a ship the size of the Mosquito. He'd had eighteen hours of being cooped up in it, and his body was still complaining. "Yes."

His father hadn't objected to being disturbed in his quarters when Bennet appeared at the door not long after five thirty. Not even early morning frowziness could hide his relief at Bennet's safe return. No dramatics. They both felt too raw for dramatics. Bennet gave his father a smile that felt uncertain, even on the inside, and Caeden contented himself with another of those equally tentative touches on the arm. Caeden turned away, clearing his throat, and called Colonel Quist over the comlink, inviting her to join them.

The colonel turned up within minutes, so pristine and perfect that Bennet decided that the woman never actually laid down. She probably stood upright in a closet somewhere until called for.

Quist studied the star map. "It'll be close. I take it we aren't aborting the mission?"

"No." It hadn't even crossed Bennet's mind to abort. Not this damned close.

"It's your mission, son," Caeden said, quietly, after a long silence.

Bennet came to a decision. "We go as planned, sir. At flank speed, we'll reach our position in ten hours, just after nightfall on T18." He pulled his gaze from the star map, his heart thudding. No going back now. "It's a go."

There was a strange expression on his father's face. "It's your mission," he said again.

Quist nodded. "In that case, I'll go and talk to the bridge and get us on our way."

"We'll need to tell the general about the battleship," Bennet said. "In case we end up having to abort."

"And Jak," agreed Caeden. "We'll join you in a few minutes, Quist. Please get the comms desk to open a secure channel."

"Of course. If you'll excuse me."

Caeden waited until the door closed behind her. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Let's just get it done." Bennet stretched again. "I'll brief the six pilots after breakfast then go and get some sleep."

"But you'll take Powell as your driver?"

"He'll take me in, yes. But I want all six of them in there, Dad."

"All of them?"

"I hope that by the time the boat comes in to retrieve me, I'll have blown the base to hell and back. But there'll still be one helluva lot of Maess drones milling about down there, and they'll be looking for me by then. I'm not going to make it easy for them. If six ships come in, they won't know which one is my ride home and they won't know which one to head for to intercept me. They'll have to cover them all and that'll spread 'em thin. With luck, thin enough for me to slip by them."

"You mean, five decoys?"

"Yes."

"They could be sitting ducks."

"I hope not. They're insurance. I can't afford having only one ship to take me off, Dad. I need backup, insurance. I've asked the ground crew to take out each Hornet's spare fuel cell, and at pinch, I can get a ride back in any ship down there. I have no idea what could happen down there, and I don't want to fail because I end up too far from the cutter to make it back."

"I understand that. I hope they'll understand it too." Caeden gave him a long and level look. "And your first choice backup will be?"

"Flynn," Bennet said, giving him a long and level look right back.

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Caeden shook his head. "You're incredibly stubborn, Bennet."

"Mama says I inherited it from you."

"Has she looked in a mirror recently?"

Bennet had a very early breakfast with his father after the terse conversation with General Martens and the Supreme Commander. The old phrase about the condemned man eating a hearty breakfast crossed his mind, but he didn't share it. Caeden was quiet enough already, and there were only so many brooding looks Bennet could cope with before the day had barely even started.

At least Caeden promised that this time he wouldn't interfere with the briefing, although he insisted on being present. Bennet couldn't deny him that much. Their last quarrel, patched over as it was, was evidently on Caeden's mind and he was being so careful not to give offence, not to be overly parental, that Bennet's throat kept tightening. It was a relief when the meal was over and he could call Jordan, arranging to meet him on the starboard deck.

Jordan was damned good at his job. He showed off the modified cutter and Flynn's Hornet, with the fuel cell taken out. "Flynn came to see me last night. I put together a new simulation for him."

"Oh?" Bennet squirmed in the space behind Flynn's pilot seat. There was enough room for him to get comfortable.

"Yeah. I had a word with the sim-room tech officer, Lieutenant Regan, and we used the T18 stuff to put together a Mosquito simulation for him. He spent nearly all night in there, Regan says, practicing."

Bennet pushed the pilot's seat forward. Caeden had been wrong. Flynn and Flynn's intelligence and adaptability were a helluva lot better than his father credited. Flynn had read every hint Bennet had dropped him, and run with them. In the right direction.

He grinned at Jordan. "Did he now?"

"I talked to him about it. The Mosquito's got a lot going for it in that atmosphere." Jordan gave Bennet a hand out of the Hornet. "Better handling and a better power-mass ratio for a hard take-off. And a helluva lot faster running for home."

"It crossed my mind too." Bennet glanced across the deck to where the Mosquito sat. "But she's pretty small for two."

"You'd come out intimate friends," agreed Jordan, with a laugh.

Bennet gave him a sharp glance, but the chief's expression was bland. "Let's take another look at the Mozzie, then."

There was much less space to crouch in. It would not be comfortable, but it would be possible.

"You're pretty cramped back there." Jordan peered in over the edge of the cockpit. "But it's do-able. I don't know exactly why you're going in there, Captain, but the entire ship knows that it's important to get you, and whatever you're carrying, out again. Unless that's going to be bulky?"

"No. No, it won't be."

"Then this is a better bet than the Hornet, I'd say."

"Can Flynn handle her?"

"Are you saying that you didn't point him in this direction? You know he can." Jordan pushed the seat forward and Bennet clambered out. "He's the best I've come across. Ever."

Bennet nodded. "Thanks Jordan. I'll talk to him about it."

"Any time, Captain."

Bennet held out his hand, and Jordan took it, solemnly. "I'll be going in later today, Jordan, although that's not common knowledge yet."

"We'll be ready."

Bennet smiled. "I'm sure of it," he said, and went off to find his ride home.

# SECTION FOUR: T18

30 Sextus 7486: **T18**

## Chapter Sixteen

Flynn had kept his head down the whole time Bennet was away. It was all very well Bennet trying to cushion the blow by offering the backup job, but Flynn didn't know what the commander would make of it. Given Caeden's reaction to Flynn's inclusion in the line-up of potential pilots, it seemed unlikely he'd be turning joyful somersaults.

For a few hours, Flynn had come close to telling Simonitz to strike out his name and be done with it, but he had stammered out some sort of promise to Bennet that he'd do what was asked of him, and one thing he'd learned when he'd got over his rebellious-orphan phase was to keep his promises. However mad he was about the whole thing, it was more dignified to rise above it all and show the commander that a few disciplinary problems didn't make for unreliable immaturity. What mattered was getting the job done.

Not to mention, he'd thought... well, that Bennet wanted him to do something in particular.

The simulation training had been a godsend. It was damn tough. He'd battled his way into T18 and out again. And then he'd done it again. And again. Practicing cutter take-offs under the extra gravity and with simulated Maess firing simulated laser bolts at him was, well, interesting. When they were let out of the booths, he wasn't the only one who ached down to the bone, if the facial expressions were anything to go by. Kelly gave him a rueful smile. Powell ignored him.

He went to see Jordan, the ground crew chief on starboard deck. If he'd got it right, if he'd read Bennet's hints right, then Jordan was the man to help. The crew chief was head down in a Hornet engine when he got there, coaching a junior tech in the finer points of its design. He straightened up when Flynn greeted him, and nodded.

He drew Flynn over to one side of the maintenance bay. "The Shield captain talked to me, before he left this morning, going over his options. I'd never use a cutter in those conditions, myself. A Hornet's going to be sluggish enough. A cutter will be like trying to get a garbage scow in the air."

There was no arguing with that. It would be like flying a brick. "There's no choice about the cutter."

"Parachuting in?" Jordan just shrugged at Flynn's astonishment. "I'm not an idiot, Lieutenant, and I've been around this war a lot longer than you have. This isn't the first infiltration mission I've done support for. I can work out for myself why he's using the cutter, but hell, it's not going to be fun for whoever drives it. Or the Shield captain." Jordan jerked his head towards the Hornet handling racks above his head. "He's a cautious one. He's thinking about an alternative way out if he needs it. I've got your ship up there. He wants me to take out the backup fuel cell behind the seat. I can work out why he wants that, too."

"He mentioned it earlier."

"I'll do it before the end of the day. It'll be ready for whatever he's got lined up for you."

"First reserve," Flynn said, gloomy.

"Yeah? He's going to a lot of trouble about it, in that case."

"It's his neck I'm insuring. Do you blame him?"

"No." Jordan's gaze was very direct. "No. We had a good look at the Mosquito before he went and I've been thinking about it since. I love our Hornets, Flynn, but it's a close one to call, which is the better ship for this job."

"You got a look inside her?" Flynn was diverted, briefly.

"She's a lovely little bird. Lovely."

"Is she very different?"

"Not much, not in terms of the control board. She'll fly differently though. Same controls, but a higher mass-power ratio. She must be a good ten percent faster than the Hornet and you'd be able to throw her around a lot more, much better manoeuvrability. Captain Bennet said she could turn in her own length, but that he wouldn't do it unless he had to. The centripetal forces were something savage, he said."

"Better for a fast take-off in heavy gravities though. The smaller mass would help there, too."

Jordan's wink was conspiratorial. "That's what I meant by not wanting to call which would be better."

Flynn stared up at the Hornet above his head. If Bennet had talked this through with Jordan, and only spoken to Flynn and not the others, then maybe... "So he's figuring on having me along in my Hornet, just in case. Jordan, how would I have to adjust the Hornet training simulator to mimic the Mosquito?"

"You couldn't do it. I could, though."

"Will you? I mean, clear that cell from my Hornet as well, the way he wants, but what I'm thinking here is that if the cutter can't get him out and I'm first reserve, I want all the power I can get. The Mosquito might be a better bet."

"It's damn small. Cramped. It won't be a comfortable ride home."

Flynn chuffed out a laugh. "Better than no ride home at all."

Jordan's expression was knowing. "And you're crazy to get your hands on a machine like that."

Hell, was he that transparent? "That as well. But it's not the main thing."

"If I thought it was, I wouldn't do it for you." Jordan tilted his hand to see his wrist chronometer. "My quarters are on deck seventeen, E-sixty-eight. Come about seven tonight. I'll have a training simulation ready for you by then. It'll be a bit rough, but it should be enough. It's not like you'll be starting from scratch on the controls. You just need to get used to the handling."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. After all, all we're just giving the man a range of options, right?"

"Right." Flynn grinned, happier than he'd been all day.

Flynn didn't see Cruz again until breakfast the next day, half an hour or so before they were due for the normal morning briefing. He was greeted with a sarcastic deference that grated a bit, Cruz bowing her head and holding a minute's disrespectful silence.

"Cut it out. I doubt I'll be the one."

"You're the best pilot in the group." Cruz ground her teeth theatrically. "On the ship, for that matter, although it pains me to admit it. I'd have thought you were in with a very good chance for glory."

Glory wasn't a consideration. Making sure Bennet go off T18 in one piece was a helluva lot more important.

"Where were you last night, anyway?" Cruz asked, spreading acres of golden toast with butter.

"You deserve a coronary," Flynn said. "Gluttony is, I'd remind you, a deadly sin."

Cruz shrugged and piled on more.

"I was in the simulators mostly, and then it was too late to come to the OC."

Cruz stared at him for a minute, the toast half way to her mouth, dripping melted butter all over the place. She frowned. "Powell was in the OC, doing the exhausted hero bit and being so discreet about things that he might as well have borrowed a megaphone and stood on a table shouting about how he was in on the secrets and we poor saps were out in the cold. You aren't going to tell me that Powell did so much better in the simulations than you, that he could afford to come into the OC while you kept practicing?"

"As if!" Flynn snorted. "He doesn't even come close. I was working on something else."

"And that was?"

"Something I'm not prepared to talk about." Flynn's activities hadn't exactly been official. Fun, though. Bennet hadn't exaggerated to Jordan about some of the forces the little fighter pulled at top speed. The simulator had been fierce and Flynn was still aching. He'd loved it.

"All right, keep your pitiful secrets. I'll ask the Shield captain."

Flynn twisted in his seat. Bennet had just come into the commissary. Flynn took a deep breath, letting it out in a silent sigh of relief, only now realizing how much concern and apprehension had been churning under the surface. Stupid, really, because it was evident that the Shield captain knew exactly what he was doing. The man did have a chest full of medals, after all. And even more stupid, because Bennet hadn't given Flynn any sign that he felt anything other than a vague friendship for him. All the same, something inside Flynn decided to be light hearted. He caught Bennet's gaze and grinned a welcome.

Bennet came over. "May I join you?"

"Sure." Flynn scooted his chair around to make room. Across the room, Powell glared at him. He smirked back.

Bennet noticed it too. "What does Lieutenant Powell think I'm going to tell you in advance of the briefing when I tell everyone?" he asked. He'd brought only a cup with him. Coffee, this time, although Flynn could only remember seeing Bennet drink tea before. Bennet's hand shook very slightly.

"A naturally envious disposition, that's all." Flynn looked Bennet over. "Are you okay?"

"Just tired. I didn't want to get wired on stims too early—I'm saving that for the job—and I haven't had any sleep."

Oh yeah. He'd been talking with Pershing about that in the gym, hadn't he? Pershing hadn't looked happy but it was no surprise Bennet won that argument. Flynn would put money on Bennet being pretty good at getting his own way.

Cruz was disapproving. "That doesn't sound too healthy to me, either the lack of sleep or using stims. Do you use them much?"

"We live on the damn things. Another reason why they rotate us out of Shield after two tours. They need to let us and our chemically-abused bodies get over our addictions. They burn us out, you know."

Somehow, Flynn didn't think Bennet was entirely joking. "And you do this for the extra days off?"

"It's a compelling motive." Bennet drained his cup. "Flynn, I want you to miss the usual briefing. You've got one with me instead. In fact, let's collect Powell and get to it."

"Are you going to tell him?" Flynn blurted it out without thinking.

Bennet, half on his feet, fell back in his chair. "Yes," he said, with a glance at Cruz.

Cruz, bless her, could take a hint. She looked from Flynn to Bennet and bolted down the last of her toast. "Excuse me, but I'm due... er, I'm due... somewhere. Catch you later, Flynn. Sir."

Bennet waited until Cruz was out of earshot. "You and Powell really do have some issues. Are they going to get in the way, Flynn?"

"Not on my side."

Bennet watched him. "What's it all about? The man's spent the last two weeks trying to get your attention."

"Or yours."

Bennet shook his head, irritated. "Oh, I don't think so. I've been very careful not to see the attempts to hit on me, and he was watching you most of the time anyway. Are you the reason he's leaving for the _Caliban_?"

Flynn shrugged, and Bennet sighed.

"The commander cited your reputation as counting against you. Me, I don't give a melting choco sex aid about your conquests and I don't care what went on with Powell. But you're the best two pilots on this ship and right now, Flynn, that's all I care about—getting through this job with a whole skin and doing what I have to do on that base. But if this is going to be a problem, I'll bounce both of you off the job and take Kelly instead."

"It won't be. It's just that... well, he's going to enjoy getting one over on me." Gods, Flynn was whining. He was mortified.

To his relief, Bennet laughed and the irate and cold professional receded again into the mild and friendly man that Flynn had known for the last couple of weeks. "Jordan tells me you did a little extra simulation training last night."

Flynn, relieved that the conversation had turned, nodded. "Just covering all the bases."

Bennet grinned. "What did you think?"

Encouraged, Flynn grinned back, his emotions swinging up as fast they'd plummeted down. It might not mean anything at all, but Bennet wasn't mad at him for his presumption over practicing, and was there a hint that he wouldn't get left behind? "If the simulation's anything to go by, she flies like a bird."

"One with a bite." Bennet got up. "C'mon. There's work to do."

Flynn's grin widened as he followed Bennet across the room to where Powell was sitting glowering at them. "Talking of which," he said, "just what does a hard working Shield boy know about chocolate sex aids?"

Bennet gave him an odd look. "Flynn, how do you think I spend all those extra holidays?"

"Dancing practice, you said."

"Yes," Bennet said. "You'd be surprised how well chocolate works as a motivator. Specially for the complicated steps."

Hell, but Flynn could get seriously enamoured of this man. His face was probably splitting in half, he was grinning so much. "I'm impressed. It throws a whole new light on what Shield means by infiltration missions."

## Chapter Seventeen

The star map of T18 was up on the wall again.

Commander Caeden and Colonel Quist were both there this time, along with Simonitz. The other four pilots were waiting outside the command briefing room and Bennet swept them up and shepherded them inside, herding Flynn and Powell with them. Powell gave Flynn a tense look. Flynn stared back, wearing the expressionless face perfected by years of card playing until Powell turned away, the tips of his ears reddening.

Bennet went straight into it, starting to speak before he even reached his seat beside the commander. "The scouting trip pretty much confirmed the general picture we discussed yesterday except for one thing. What I told you yesterday still stands, how we'll get into T18 and out again. The bulk of the Maess forces are massing over in the Magellan quadrant, as we expected. They're days away from T18." Bennet touched the screen and the star map zoomed out, showing the neighbouring systems. The pointer touched a faint luminescence. "Except for that."

"A battleship!" Flynn recognised it instantly, Powell a split second behind him.

"Yes. She's orbiting a planet in the next system, a few hours from the base."

"Shit," Flynn said before he could stop himself, and the commander glanced at him, expressionless. Powell, who'd been shooting little dagger glances of suspicion at Flynn, smirked.

"Yeah, I don't disagree with that." Bennet gave Flynn a quick, reassuring grin. "We're potentially neck deep in it."

"So, do we abort?" Powell asked.

"No. This is our best chance to do this, and I'm not passing it up. I've never run away from one yet. I'm not starting now." Bennet glanced at the commander's stony face, and said, still in that quiet, controlled tone, "We're going in, as planned. Today. There's nothing to be gained by waiting."

Flynn choked. He looked sidelong at Powell, just as his erstwhile lover looked at him, eyes wide.

Bennet didn't give them time to do more than gape at him. "We increased to flank speed an hour ago. _Gyrfalcon_ will reach her position off T18 in about eight hours, at which point Lieutenant Powell and I will leave by cutter. It'll be nightfall when we get there."

Powell gasped, and grinned in delight. He smirked at Flynn. It was a wonder his face didn't crack. The other four all looked relieved, if anything.

"Congratulations," Flynn said, and smirked right back when Powell's eyes narrowed.

"As I said yesterday, the base will launch fighters. Powell will draw them towards the _Gyrfalcon_ 's ambush, and we'll have to hope that I can finish the job before the Maess on T18 can call on the battleship for help. Nothing else changes. The Maess have still got to think that it's a normal Shield scouting run and give me a relatively clear chance at the base. I'll need a couple of hours, at least. Maybe more. It could get very exciting if they yell for help and I'm still there when that battleship gets into strike range."

"You understand that we could be taking on the planet-based squadrons and a battleship." Quist paused, and then added quietly, "Gods help us."

"Yes. I know." Bennet acknowledged this with a nod. "I'm sorry." He looked at Flynn and the other pilots. "I haven't been entirely honest with you about the raid. I don't know if you talked amongst yourselves yesterday after you'd been using the simulations, but if you did, you might have realised that you each had different rendezvous locations."

Flynn blinked. Well, that was a surprise. But then, he hadn't hung around to talk to the others. He'd been eager to find Jordan. From the looks of them, the others hadn't figured it out either. He wasn't the only unobservant dunce around, then.

"The reason for that is that you'll all be going in to T18, and to those different locations, timing it so you land simultaneously. The reason—although I sincerely hope that there won't be much left on the ground—is that if there are still substantial Maess forces around, I don't want to make it too easy for the drones to find me. The stuff I'll be carrying is far too important to lose. I can't risk them tracking my rescue ship and getting it when it lands. I'm afraid that you're a diversion. With six ships landing, they won't know which one is taking me off, and any remaining Maess forces will have to spread out to cover them all."

Flynn grinned. He wasn't completely out of everything, then.

"In addition, just in case I can't reach the cutter, each of your Hornets has had the spare fuel cell removed to make room for me in the back should I need it. I hope I won't." Bennet stretched, rolling his shoulders slightly. "You'll take off an hour after the cutter leaves, and follow us into T18. You'll have to slip around the Maess raiders chasing Lieutenant Powell back to the ambush, and head to the designated positions you were given in the simulation. When you're in position, you'll be sitting below the horizon and their scanners until it's time to move to your individual landing co-ordinates. You'll have to wait it out, I'm afraid, but as soon as you get the signal that pickup's been made, you get the hell out of there."

Bennet touched the screen to bring up the shots of the base again. For a long minute, he studied it silently and intently, as if he'd never seen it before. "Your simulations have been altered to reflect the whole mission plan and allow you to practice heavier gravity take-offs in a Hornet. You'll do another couple of hours practice, and then get some rest. Powell, your simulation is still the cutter, of course."

Powell gave Flynn a look of such triumph that Flynn was very hard put to bear it, then nodded. "I won't let you down, sir."

The smile that Bennet gave Powell would have melted stone. "I'm sure of it."

Flynn made a fast getaway when they were finally dismissed. Bennet had gone over everything again, letting them absorb it all and ask more questions, making sure that they understood what their role in this would be. All of that was fine, but throughout, Powell had glowed like a beacon, and Flynn couldn't take any more. As they left the briefing room, he avoided eye contact with everyone, including Bennet, and headed straight for Deck 20 and the simulators, determined to lose himself in work. He ignored Powell calling after him. He couldn't stand the bastard crowing over him.

Lieutenant Regan oversaw the simulator booths. She gave Flynn an odd glance. "I wasn't expecting any of you this early. I'm loading yours now. It'll take a couple of minutes yet."

"All right." Flynn looked over his shoulder, dreading that Powell would walk in on him. "Can I wait inside?"

Regan waved him into the booth. "Be my guest."

Flynn closed the door behind him, crawling through into the little egg-shaped compartment that was in virtual free-float inside the cubicle. He settled into the chair, fastened the safety belt across his lap and fixed the com unit into his right ear. Better to hide than show how much it bothered him Powell had won.

Regan's voice sounded in his earpiece. "The upload's complete, Flynn. Start when you're ready."

He reached for the joystick control. He touched the trigger twice to start the simulation, and sat back, letting the soothing familiarity roll over him. The display showed a star field, the data scrolling across the bottom giving him his co-ordinates and the flight heading to T18. He put the "ship" over into a banking turn, feeling the egg tilt in response, the way a real fighter would.

Two minutes later, he stopped the simulation. It wasn't reacting the way a Hornet would. If he didn't know better... surely they haven't done something with Jordan's Mosquito simulation? Adapted it somehow?

"Regan? There's something wrong with this."

"No, there isn't," Bennet said, through the comlink. "I want to see what you can do with her, Flynn. In this simulation, you'll be facing the Maess on the way into the rendezvous and taking her in to land. Get moving. And be warned. I'm not going to make this easy on you."

"All right." Flynn tried not to be too eager and excited. There might be nothing in this, after all. "I'm restarting the simulation."

He keyed in the trigger again, and started over. The first few minutes of the simulation were calm enough, and he spent the time getting used again to flying something that was smaller and niftier than the Hornet he was accustomed to. Then the shit started.

For the next twenty minutes, he had no time to brood; no time, barely, to think; no time to do anything other than fly his way through. He had no false modesty about this. It was what he was best at, flying on instinct backed with real, inarguable skill. He had the little Mosquito all over the sky, dodging and fighting. Once a trio of fighters had him in a pinwheel, and only a back flip that had him hanging upside down got him out of it. But he did get out, breaking right and taking two of the raiders out. Ignoring the third because he could outrun it, he resumed course and heading, and bulled his way through to T18, bringing the Mosquito in to the landing point with it skimming so low that it was kissing rock all the way in. He landed, sat nervously on the ground for a few minutes, and then almost as abruptly as some of the fighting manoeuvres, the simulation had him taking off with a force so vicious, he almost blacked out. The bruises would be hell, later. But he fought his way up, keeping alert, ready for the raiders that were sitting in wait for him in the upper atmosphere.

The simulation ended five minutes later, and he sat still, head hanging, trying to catch his breath.

"Out you come," Bennet said. No praise, no reaction, only a calm neutral tone that gave nothing away.

Flynn felt the jolt. He bit back the protest, knowing he'd been good. Damn good. He got out of the booth on legs that were a bit shaky, handing the comlink back to Regan. She winked at him. Bennet's expression was unreadable.

Bennet jerked his head towards the door, and Flynn followed him mutely. Regan turned back to overseeing the other booths. They were all occupied. Flynn glanced at the external monitors, watching the simulations running for a second or two, and wondered which one Powell was in. Pity it would be childish to kick the door as he passed.

Outside, Bennet turned into the main corridor, heading towards the elevators. Flynn fell in beside him.

"Where are we going?"

"I'm heading back to my quarters to check my shield-suit is charging up, and to try and get a few hours' sleep. It's a bit selfish of me to drag you along, but it's a good opportunity to talk along the way."

"Sure."

Bennet's mouth twisted a little. "Listen, Flynn. Commander Caeden has a gratifying concern about getting me back. He's trying very hard to reduce the risks. Very reassuring for me, but I don't think for a minute that all this really reflects his opinion of your abilities as a pilot and an officer. He's just caught up on those things that, in his eyes, make you seem a little undependable."

"Mmn." Flynn stayed non-committal, but he was gratified that Bennet was taking the trouble to try and mitigate some of the chagrin and hurt that he felt.

"Are you a religious man, Flynn?"

It surprised Flynn into a laugh and a "Hell, no!"

"It's a Theban thing, I think. They tend to magnify faults out of proportion sometimes, and then all they see is the fault and forget the rest of the person it's attached to. "

"I know the commander's Theban. A lot of the crew are. Most of 'em maybe. We have a chapel and a priest. Handy for the burials after a battle, I guess."

Bennet grinned. "I'll bet. Anyhow, I think those Theban values are at work here. I've been on the receiving end of it myself. My family's Theban, and something I did... " Bennet hesitated, and corrected himself. "Something I am, became the only important thing about me. It wiped out everything else. I know how hard that is to deal with, Flynn. It's one of the reasons I'm lapsed."

"I was never in, to lapse." Flynn followed Bennet into the elevator.

"You haven't missed much, although the sung High Services are spectacular if you like that kind of thing." Bennet grinned at him. "Your record, Flynn, is pretty colourful, but the one thing I noticed was that you don't foul up out there. That's what matters to me."

"And Powell doesn't foul up in here, either. Is that what swung it?"

There was something very odd about Bennet's grin. "Flynn, trust me. I know exactly what I'm doing here. I don't want you driving that cutter. I haven't wanted you driving that cutter ever since the commander objected."

"Oh." That hurt. That hurt more than the lack of the commander's good opinion.

"You'll be flying my Mosquito, instead."

The warmth started somewhere in the pit of Flynn's stomach, spreading out through his body until his ears tingled and his face heated up. "Consolation prize?"

The elevator doors opened. Bennet's quarters were only a few yards away. Bennet paused at the door. His mouth had twisted into a wry grin that Flynn didn't quite understand. "No. No, Flynn. I don't do consolation prizes. I told you. I need you for insurance." He put his hand on Flynn's arm. Flynn liked the weight and the warmth. Maybe Bennet noticed, because the hand tightened and there was something in those pale grey eyes that was more than amusement, something that reflected the warmth in Flynn. "Another hour's simulation practice, Flynn, and then go and relax until it's time. I'll be leaving in six hours."

"I'll be there to see you off and wish you luck." Flynn licked dry lips, aware of nothing but the weight of that long-fingered hand and the eyes looking into his.

"I know you will. And you'll be there to make sure I get back, too." Bennet released Flynn. "Where it counts, Flynn, I think I can depend on you. I know you'll be precisely where I want you." He grinned. "Don't say anything about using the Mosquito, or they'll all want a go. I've cleared it with the commander. Jordan will be crewing for you and he's getting the ship ready to go."

"Okay."

Bennet yawned. "I'm half asleep. See you later."

"Yeah," Flynn said, grinning like an idiot. "You will."

"It's going to be fun, don't you think, Flynn?" Cruz slumped in her chair. She looked tired.

Flynn watched Simonitz close down the computer, shutting off the diagrams and mission plans. He wondered what delicacy of feeling had made Bennet absent himself from the mission briefing, letting Simonitz, as GyrLeader, brief his pilots, all the pilots, by himself, as if this were an ordinary mission and had nothing to do with Shield. Bennet had to know how much Simonitz felt usurped, how much he felt that he'd lost control over the _Gyrfalcon_ 's squadrons.

"I think my part is," he said.

"But Powell's taking the man in, isn't he?"

Flynn nodded. "Oh yeah, but I can live with that."

She dropped her hand, lightly, on his. "I hope you do, Flynn. You take care."

Flynn glanced around, seeking his own small squad, and beckoned them to join him. "You'll look after them for me?"

Cruz nodded reassurance. "Carson will be right next to me. Don't worry."

Flynn snorted. He gave her a passionless kiss on the cheek and went to say a few quiet words of encouragement to Carson and the four pilots he was leaving to Cruz's care. There was little of the usual black humour and joking. Everyone was too tense and keyed up. They wished each other luck, and shook hands all round, before Flynn headed off down to the cutter deck. Cruz waved and mouthed the good wishes at him.

Powell joined him in the elevator. They stood in opposite corners, not speaking. Flynn sighed inwardly. A couple of months ago, if they'd been alone in a lift, he'd have been halfway down Powell's throat, kissing the life out of the man. Now all that he felt was irritation, but after a minute's uncomfortable silence, he took a deep breath. "Good luck."

Powell glanced at him. "Thanks. You too."

"No, I mean it. You're going to have the hardest part, luring those raiders into _Gyrfalcon_ 's trap. It's not going to be fun in that cutter."

Powell relaxed, the stiffness about the shoulders easing visibly. "It could get a little hairy."

"Yeah." Flynn said. It was a relief when the doors opened and he could get some distance between them. Even a few steps helped.

The stripped-down cutter sat in the middle of the deck, the ground crews going over her for the final time, Jordan overseeing the pre-flight checks. Bennet sat cross-legged nearby, dressed in the close fitting black shield-suit, packing a backpack with what looked suspiciously like explosive charges. Apart from that, he was lightly armed, carrying only a regulation issue laser.

"For someone who said he was half asleep a few hours ago, he seems pretty lively now." Flynn felt that little surge of don't-bother-to-analyse-it warmth again. That suit fitted like a glove and didn't leave much to the imagination—anything to the imagination. "All those stims, I guess."

"And you know so much about him, don't you?" Powell put out a hand to stop him, the brief moment of amity gone. "You've been sucking up to him since he got here. Don't think I haven't seen you drooling over him! Didn't get you anywhere, did it? It's not you on that cutter, taking him in. Not you, but me. You're not that much of a hotshot, I'd say."

"But unlike you, not pathetic either." Flynn wrenched his arm away, shaking Powell off. He put on speed, not giving Powell the chance for a comeback.

"Be with you in a minute, Flynn." Bennet didn't look up, concentrating on what he was doing. "Just let me get this stuff packed away."

"Don't drop it. I mean, can you imagine the commander's face with a permanent Flynn-shaped hole in the decking?"

Bennet grinned, and carefully closed up the backpack. He got easily to his feet and handed the pack to Jordan for stowing on the cutter, and whoa! That suit was really close-fitting. Flynn had to swallow hard and remind himself the man was about to go on a mission so risky that not even the most die-hard of gamblers would give it good odds.

Bennet glanced at Powell. "She's ready for you to make the final checks, Powell. You all set?"

Powell nodded, not looking at Flynn. "More than."

Bennet smiled at him. "I won't be more than a few minutes, then we'll roll."

"I'll get started then." Powell shot one triumphant look at Flynn and shouldered his way past and onto the cutter.

Bennet watched him go, shrugged, and held out his hand. "Try not to lose your way, Flynn. I've put an extra big cross on the map. Be there."

"Oh I'll get there, on a good day and with a following wind." Flynn took the offered hand in his. It was warm, a little dry. It felt good.

"And try not to get her paintwork scratched."

"Gods, are you picky or what?" Flynn reluctantly loosened his grip, but Bennet didn't let go.

"You've got me there, Flynn. I'm very picky."

Flynn stopped breathing for an instant. That was most definitely a hit.

"Good luck," Bennet said. "Stay alive."

"You too." Flynn remembered how it went: expand the lungs, draw in air. That was breathing in. Reverse the process and that was breathing out. Bennet's hand tightened briefly, then let him go, and Flynn had to start all over again. Expand the lungs...

"Commander," Bennet said.

Flynn's head snapped round. "Sir!" He saluted smartly.

"Lieutenant," Caeden nodded.

Hell, that was a dismissal and no mistake. Flynn gripped Bennet's hand again, briefly, and faded out of the way, giving the commander some space. He faded to some good purpose, taking a diagonal route that got him into the shadows under the pillars supporting the desk master's office, out of earshot, but leaving him with a fine side view of them both.

Commander Caeden handed over that intriguing small black case that Bennet had brought with him. Bennet opened it and checked the contents, before securing the case to the harness he wore. It couldn't be comfortable; it had to be eight inches square and at least six deep. Bennet settled it on one hip, listening to whatever the commander was saying to him. He looked up once with that heart-stopping smile, and Flynn wondered if it affected the commander as much as it affected him.

After a few minutes Bennet ducked his head as if he were in church, and Caeden lifted his right hand and rested it for a fleeting second on Bennet's hair in an unmistakable gesture: a Theban blessing from an elder in the faith. Bennet may be lapsed, but he was graceful enough to accept it. It was nice of the commander to offer it.

Caeden held out his hand and, to Flynn's surprise, the commander held Bennet's hand as long as he himself had. Caeden's expression was stern. Bennet nodded and released himself, heading for the cutter without another word, the commander turning to watch him go. Jordan clapped him on the shoulder when he went by, and Flynn could see the ground chief's lips shape the words _Good luck_.

The anxiety kicked in, a sudden pressure in his bladder, the need to piss almost painful. The usual pre-battle nerves were worse this time. Unrequited lust certainly didn't help. Was he stupid or what? The least he could have done before the commander butted in was tell Bennet how very beautiful he was. Please the gods he'd get the chance to do that later. And more.

Bennet paused in the cutter hatch, looking across the commander's head to catch Flynn's eye. Flynn nodded to him, trying to radiate confidence or friendship or a promise. He didn't know which. Probably all three. He got a small smile in response, and stored that up to remember on the long trip down to T18. Bennet's gaze dropped to meet Caeden's, and then he was inside and the cutter door closed.

Within a minute, the deck filled with the familiar high-pitched whine as Powell warmed the engines. At the warning klaxon, Jordan and the ground crew and Commander Caeden stepped back outside the white launch lines.

The cutter lifted up, gentle as a feather. And then it was gone.

## Chapter Eighteen

Five hours sleep had refreshed Bennet. He hadn't dreamed, that he remembered, but as he'd drifted off to sleep, the image of Flynn had hovered behind his closed eyelids. When the computerised alarm woke him, he was as hard as when he'd fallen asleep.

He didn't join Simonitz in the final briefing. The other captain didn't need Bennet looking over his shoulder. It was bad enough Bennet being foisted on him at all, without implying that Simonitz couldn't handle a mission briefing, even if it was in Shield territory behind the lines. He felt sorry for Simonitz, really, because although he'd got to know a few of the pilots, especially the officers, they weren't his the way they were Simonitz's. Simonitz was the one who'd have to live with the casualty list afterward, when Bennet was gone.

Instead Bennet got into the black shield-suit, pinning his Shield badge onto the inside of the collar. He could no more go on a mission without it than he could go without his right hand.

He slipped on the wide, dulled-black harness to which he could attach the Link. His camera, flat and unobtrusive, fixed to the harness at his right shoulder with the lead feeding down his sleeve. The tiny control button to operate the shutter slid into his hand when he turned his palm. One laser went into the holster on his left thigh. The backup tucked into the specially made loop on his belt, nestling in the small of his back. It poked uncomfortably into his spine.

A call to the bridge confirmed the arrangements for getting his hands on the Link. "I'll bring it down to you," his father said, subdued. "And see you off."

"I'd like that." Bennet wasn't entirely certain that that was true, but very certain that he'd hate to go off and not take the chance of some sort of farewell. "About twenty minutes?"

Caeden nodded, and closed the comlink.

No time to brood, not now. The minimal kit he was taking with him was already packed into the side pocket of a dull black, unreflective backpack. All he had to do was collect the stims. He picked up his helmet and left, detouring to MedCentre on his way down.

Parry was ready for him. The doctor, breaking off from her preparations for the expected casualties, greeted him without enthusiasm. She handed over a small, flat case holding pre-loaded hyposprays of stims. Two shots. "The commander said to give you this, so I suppose I don't have any choice. But remember how much strain your system's going to be under. I'll be very displeased if I have to deal with the consequences. I'll have enough to do today without self-inflicted organ failure. Understood?"

Bennet nodded, sealing the little case into a pocket. "Understood. I'll use it only if I have to."

Parry snorted and turned back to briefing her medical teams. Bennet, very aware that he was the cause of all this extra work and, by extension, the casualties that Parry would have to deal with, left her to it.

The Armoury officer was less grudging with her skill and talents on his behalf. She waited for him on the starboard deck, a case of explosives hanging negligently from one hand. "I brought you ten, and six flashbangs."

"I'll use 'em all," Bennet assured her.

"Five-minute timed charges, radio controlled activation sequencing. Here's the activator." She handed the case and a small transmitter over. "Don't lose it."

"I haven't lost one yet." Bennet tucked the transmitter into a loop on his belt, securing it.

She grinned. "It makes a nice change. All that these Hornet airheads know is how to press a laser-firing button. Not enough big bangs for me."

"I hope to manage a big one tonight." Bennet smiled back. "Thanks."

"Good luck," she said, and hurried away.

Jordan was working on the last minute preparations for the cutter launch. He eyed the case. "Want me to take it on board? We're ready for your driver, otherwise."

"I'll transfer the stuff out of the case first." Bennet sank down cross-legged onto the decking, stowing the charges into the backpack.

As he worked, he became conscious of someone looming over him. A shadow, the faint scent of a cologne that had become familiar... there was no mistaking who that was. "Be with you in a minute, Flynn. Just let me get this stuff packed away."

"Don't drop it," Flynn said.

Bennet sighed and packed in the last couple of charges. He'd been handling high explosives for the last few years and was living proof that he hadn't dropped one yet. It would be nice—not to mention, refreshingly novel—if people resisted the temptation to say it. It was unlike Flynn to be trite.

Then Flynn chuckled, and added, turning the joke against himself: "I mean, can you imagine the commander's face with a permanent Flynn-shaped hole in the decking?"

He made a face like someone sucking on lemons that was so close to Caeden's disapproving expression that Bennet could only laugh and close up the backpack. When he got up, Jordan took the pack from him, carrying it onto the cutter. Flynn was grinning, but there was an anxious expression in his eyes. Powell joined them, looking ruffled.

Bennet smiled at Powell. "Jordan tells me that the cutter's ready for you to make the final checks, Powell. All set?"

Powell nodded. "More than!"

"I won't be more than a few minutes, then we'll roll."

"I'll get started then." Powell shot a triumphant look at Flynn and shouldered his way past and onto the cutter.

Bennet waited until Powell was out of sight, then made his farewells with Flynn, who took Bennet's hand in his, and held it. Bennet let himself tighten the grip. The touch had almost taken his breath away, and those unusual green eyes were, again, all promise and invitation. And temptation. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again when he saw his father cross the deck towards them. All he could say was boring and conventional. "Good luck. And stay alive."

"You too."

Bennet smiled at him, then at his father, over Flynn's shoulder. "Commander."

Flynn flinched, grimaced at Bennet. He turned and saluted. "Sir!"

"Lieutenant," Caeden said.

It wasn't a greeting, it was a dismissal, and Flynn took it. He made carefully sure that Caeden couldn't see his face and rolled his eyes at Bennet. He got out of the way, but not far. Just enough to be obviously out of earshot. He seemed reluctant to leave, wanting to watch Bennet go. It was more than gratification that warmed Bennet then.

Caeden waited until Flynn had retreated to a prudently safe distance, and handed over the Link in its case. Bennet checked it and nodded, before securing the case to the harness.

"I don't really know what to say," Caeden said, quietly. "Except that your mother would be very upset if anything happened to you. Please don't put me in the position of having to tell her I'd been that careless."

Bennet looked up and smiled, a genuine smile, finally hearing what his father was really saying. His father's face was stern still, but not his eyes.

"And you hate being careless."

"Yes. I hope you know it." Caeden's return smile was anxious. "I've been too careless about you already. If there is a chance to make this right, I don't want to miss it."

"When I get back, I promise."

Caeden nodded, and raised his hand. "I know you aren't much for religion—"

"The gods are okay. I have a few problems with their church."

"And with their blessings?"

"Well," Bennet said, with as much significance as he could load into it, "I'll take yours."

Something taut and tense in his father relaxed. He was committed now. When he came back—if he came back—he would have to try to find some way for them to resolve this. Things weren't irretrievable. And his father knew that, too. If Bennet didn't make it, Caeden would have one less thing to beat himself about. It felt right.

Bennet ducked his head, and Caeden rested his right hand on Bennet's hair for a second. "The gods bless you and keep you," he said, his voice thick. Bennet smiled again, and took his father's hand when he offered it. Caeden held it for a minute, as reluctant to let go as Flynn had been. "Be careful," he said, in that same thick voice. It shook slightly, and Caeden grimaced before hiding behind the familiar stern expression that could no longer deceive Bennet. "Please be careful."

"I'll be back. I promise."

"I'll hold you to that. Come back safe."

Bennet could only nod and get to the cutter. Everything was getting too intense, too strained, too protracted. Jordan clapped him on the shoulder when he went by, and wished him luck. He paused in the cutter doorway, looking over his father's head to catch Flynn's eye. Flynn nodded, making a solemn promise, and lifted one hand in farewell. Bennet glanced at his father one more time, then he stepped inside and closed the cutter door.

The airlock was tiny, the compartment beyond it not much bigger. Powell turned to look at him. "We're off?"

Bennet took a deep, steadying breath. It was time. "Yeah. We're off."

Powell glanced from Bennet to the scanner. "We're only a couple of thousand miles from the moon."

"If you can call something that small a moon," Bennet said. Nevertheless, it was big enough to mask their approach and confuse the Maess sensors. He shouldn't complain.

"Straight in?"

Bennet nodded. "Straight in."

He left Powell to it, getting up to collect his gear. The Link in its case had not, of course, left his side for an instant. The backpack was in the seat behind him, held securely in place by the seat harness. Bennet shrugged into the shoulder straps with the pack held across his chest. He still had to find room for the parachute. Half way through securing the straps he had to force his fingers to stop trembling, run his hands over his pants leg again to get rid of the dampness. Not that it worked, given how impervious the suit fabric was. His mouth was dry. He always found the contrast strange, as if all the saliva from his mouth had run down into his hands to leak out there. He pulled on his helmet, flipping up the face shield until he was ready.

"Five minutes," Powell said, quietly.

The parachute was in the seat behind Powell. Bennet got into it quickly, cinching the belt around his waist. He staggered slightly, pulled off balance by the weight and by the cutter's shuddering response as Powell cut the engines. Powell had the cutter coasting in, letting T18's gravity pull them down, the cutter drifting and floating. There was no power signature now to give them away.

"Hold on," Powell said.

When the gravity forces caught the cutter, he let her plummet, controlling the angle so they wouldn't burn, pulling her into a long shallow dive. As they came into the atmosphere he put her into a glide, skimming over the upper reaches, then let the gravity well catch them again.

Bennet, ready to go now, steadied himself against the back of his seat. A few thousand feet above the surface, Powell kicked the engines back in, battling to keep the cutter steady. Powell was a damn fine pilot. Bennet must find the time to tell him so, when this was all over.

"Two minutes." Powell sounded breathless with the effort. "Good luck!"

"You too." Bennet dropped a hand on Powell's shoulder in thanks. He checked the parachute webbing one last time, checked yet again that the Link's little case was safely strapped to him, and stepped into the airlock, letting the inner door close behind him. He fitted the air tube quickly—five minutes of oxygen to get him to ground level, something to ease the jump, and reduce the physical distress of trying to breathe T18's atmosphere at a time of supreme exertion. He flipped down the face shield. All ready. Nothing else to do. He braced himself against the inner door, spreading his arms. He had to swallow hard again, and his heart was thudding uncomfortably.

"One minute," Powell said over the comlink. "Opening the outer door."

Bennet's grip on the door stanchions tightened. The air rushing past the open lock tugged at him fiercely, the noise like the howling of a banshee.

"I can see the base," Powell said. "Thirty seconds."

Bennet forced himself to loosen one hand, to open the valve on the oxygen line. He took a deep breath to steady himself. There was no going back now.

"Ten seconds."

Bennet let go of the door stanchions, letting the slipstream pull him to the outer door. He caught hold of it, feeling the cutter flatten out.

"Five... Four..."

Bennet did the count in his head. It gave him something to do in the infinity he was trapped in, waiting.

"Three... Two... Go!"

The slipstream was brutal, jerking him backwards even as he jumped. For a second or two, he was buffeted, tumbling over and over and over. Fuck! Fuck! Which way's up? Which way— He had his hand wrapped around the parachute release. He tugged downwards sharply, and the chute opened, jerking him upwards, back through the air roiling in the cutter's wake.

Then he was free of the turbulence, the parachute falling gently and silently, no longer yawing from side to side above and behind the cutter. He glanced down quickly, trying to orientate himself.

Powell had timed this beautifully. Bennet was almost on target, drifting a little to the south of the base. He pulled on the left parachute cord, letting air slip into the right side, turning himself so that he would land bang on the base itself.

Far to his left, Powell hit the turbo-thrusters, the cutter beating its way up into the outer skin of the atmosphere. It was little more than a point of fire, already far beyond his reach.

He was on his own.

## Chapter Nineteen

Three fighters came out of their launch tubes from the scarp face to the north, giving chase. They would be the ones on standby alert. Others would follow in seconds. Powell had better push the hell out of that cutter to get back.

The base was a study of black and white. The long, low buildings were brightly lit, casting deep black shadows. Maess drones marched along the perimeter fence, in guard patrols of two. Their attention was on the landscape beyond the base, not inside it. Nor, thankfully, the sky above it. Although his suit protected him from detection, the parachute itself might be spotted. Bennet angled his descent to come down into a narrow space between two buildings, an alley deep in shadow.

His landing was heavier than in normal gravity. He hit the dirt hard, rolling over and over, letting that absorb the impact energy. The parachute folded down behind him. His right hand hit the release mechanism, the left already gripping his laser. He fetched up against a wall, and knelt there, quiet, listening.

Somewhere off in the night he could hear the sharp scream of a klaxon, but it was quiet closer to hand. Nothing to show he'd been spotted. He took a minute to get it all under control. His stomach griped once and his mouth was full of bile. He had to lift the face shield for a second, to spit it out. The oxygen line was exhausted and he pulled it away to get a few drops of water from the pack to rinse his mouth. It was hotter than hell, the air heavy and thick and stinking. But although his chest was heaving with the effort, he could breathe. Just.

Time to get started.

He was rolling the parachute when the ground shuddered under him. To the north, another half dozen fighters powered up into the sky. Not all the base's defence ships, and not that fast a take-off. If he'd been in command, he wouldn't be very happy with the slow response time, but at least it meant Powell wasn't being chased by an entire squadron of Maess fighters. He took a moment to wish Powell the best of luck, then he closed off everything but the need to get through the next few hours, to get this job successfully completed.

He found a depression in the ground close to the wall of one of the buildings, a drain maybe, and pushed the rolled up parachute into it, weighted down with a couple of handy stones. It wasn't possible to be completely soundless, and every time a stone chinked or the parachute rustled, he stopped and listened, alert to anything that might signal that the Maess sensors had picked up anything to betray he was there. Still nothing. With the parachute safely stowed away, he slung the camera around his neck, put the backpack on properly and checked the Link.

No more putting it off. Time to go.

All those hours poring over the schematics were paying off. He could find his way about this place blindfolded; find every building, every guard point, and every access port. About five hundred yards to the west, in the exact centre of the base, was a storage area. From intel gained during other base infiltrations, the huge tankers held volatile chemicals. The gods alone knew what the Maess used the stuff for, but it was a perfect place for a few of his charges. He'd set them first before heading underground to the base proper.

Still, he hesitated for a moment at the mouth of the shadowed alley, rationalizing the delay by taking photographs of the site. There wasn't much cover between him and the chemical store. Off to the south, a pair of drones patrolled the perimeter fence, a good four hundred yards away. They appeared to be intent on their patrolling. Drones didn't have much in the way of independent thought and initiative, and he had to rely on that.

He should have listened to Joss. A sensible man would be in the Thebaid right then doing something nice and safe, such as dissecting a mummy, not flitting from shadow to shadow across a base filled with enemy drones. Not that it felt like flitting. He felt heavy and slow, and both his breathing and heart rate were faster than was comfortable. It would be all too easy to get exhausted if he didn't pace himself. Thank the gods for Pershing, and the older man's tireless help and coaching.

He left three of the charges attached to the tankers, widely spaced, so that between them the whole chemical store should go, and take out everything above ground. The charges were in unobtrusive places in shadow and near ground level, where the tiny signal light, gleaming like a half-dead firefly, shouldn't be noticeable to a drone, every one of which topped six feet.

Only then did he turn back. From the dubious shelter of a tanker several times his height, he surveyed the rest of the base. Most of the above-ground buildings were likely to be storage areas. It hardly seemed right to call them barracks, when their occupants wouldn't be sleeping, but lying in recharge pods, literally charging their batteries. He should be able to find his way below ground to the main operational areas from any one of them.

He chose one at random. Without days of spying, there was no way of knowing which units of drones were on duty and which on recharge. It didn't matter which building he chose. The risks were the same.

The door opened onto semi-darkness. He peered around it carefully, not at normal head height, but from where he was kneeling at one side of the door. If a drone were looking towards the door, he wouldn't be noticeable and his reactions were faster than theirs. He would be gone before the drones processed the data that the door had opened and nothing had come in.

All quiet. There were about a dozen drones, all prone in the pods, effectively on standby and unaware of him. He knew that. He knew that his shield-suit made him almost invisible to them. He knew, that until they'd cycled through recharge, the drones were just lumps of inanimate metal and plastic. He could dance the tarantella in there and they wouldn't notice. Intelligence culled from dozens of previous infiltration jobs confirmed it.

Still, knowing it, and being incautious and unwary were very different things. He took no chances. Heart thumping so loud that his ears throbbed, he slid around the edge of the door, laser in his left hand. Back to the wall, he moved fast and quiet, seeking the access port to the main base area, watching the pods all the way, getting more photographic images to add to their knowledge.

It might be ironic that the inhuman Maess had chosen a humanoid form to create their cyborg foot soldiers, but it sure as hell worked to his advantage. To move between levels, the drones needed the same sort of transport that a human would. The elevator was at the back of the room, and it was sitting waiting on this level. All he had to do was slip inside, and start it on its way down.

The lower level was much more brightly lit than the barracks above. He checked the corridor in both directions before leaving the relative safety of the elevator. It was clear, and now he ran, silently, wanting to get under cover as soon as he possibly could.

It had been Felix's job to pore over the photographs and scans, piecing together the best picture he could of the underground structures, seeking evidence from metal masses and heat signatures and magnetic anomalies to map out the base facilities. The schematics that Felix had come up with—and ever cautious, Bennet had double-checked them for himself, several times—were fixed in his head. He had to get out of sight, into an area where he could attach the Link and get this job over with.

He found it after a minute that seemed to last at least a decade or two, a dark room with a bank of computers at one side of it. He didn't attempt to try and find controls for the lights, but took a pencil-thin torch from his pack, flipping up his visor to hold it between his teeth, lighting the little case as he opened it. The Link was surprisingly heavy for its small size and he held it in both hands, terrified he'd drop and break it.

This was the real test. The Link had been developed to fit into the kinds of monitors and processors that the Strategy Unit techs had found on captured Maess fighters. If these main computers operated on a different type of hardware, he might as well pack up and go home right now.

He transferred the Link to one hand while he scanned the computer bank, the pinpoint of light from his torch moving slowly over the metal casing. He blew out a gusty breath when he found a familiar-looking access slot. The Link fitted into place. A touch to activate it, a moment to risk the camera flash to photograph the room and everything in it, and he was scuttling to the end of the computer banks, finding a small space to crawl into and wait.

He glanced at his wrist chronometer, pushing up his sleeve. Thirty minutes in. Powell would be well on his way back to the _Gyrfalcon_. The Maess fighters hadn't come back; at least, Bennet had heard and felt nothing of their return and he didn't think he'd miss it. It was likely they were still chasing Powell, and it wasn't likely they would come back. He could trust to his father and the _Gyrfalcon_ 's pilots for that. The four decoy Hornets would be taking off right about now, taking their long curving course to detour around any possible battle, to come up on T18 from behind the same little moon that had sheltered the cutter. Also right about now, his ride home would be taking off from the starboard deck, the Mosquito screaming out past the force fields. He spared a minute to wish Flynn luck.

It was intensely hot. Sweat ran down his face, salty on his lips. He took some more water, rationing himself, careful to find a balance between dehydration and drinking too much too early and leaving himself with no water at all. It tasted warm and unpleasant. The tension made him ache, muscle and bone, as if he had a fever. Sitting still intensified the ache, but all he could allow himself was a soft tapping of his toes on the floor in an effort to relieve the strain. Every fifteen minutes, he checked the shield-suit's power. It glowed a faint green.

The Link was connected to the tiniest of hand-held monitors. The screen was only a couple of inches square, no more than a faint green glow. It showed nothing but a stream of machine code that took several minutes to resolve itself into a message.

negotiating with host

Now there was nothing to do but wait.

An hour and a half dragged by before the screen flickered.

connexion established

For fuck's sake, it was about time! Those Hornets and the cutter would be coming in to land soon, and he still had nothing to take with him.

He had to get this finished and get to the rendezvous before his ride gave up on him, and before some real Maess somewhere spotted that the systems had been accessed and sent drones to investigate. Even the fact that the Link was using the Maess's own codes might not be enough to avert suspicion.

He checked his suit's power. More than two hours in, and it still glowed green.

Fingers that were too slick with sweat had to be dried carefully, before he could extend the tiny keypad attached to the monitor. At last, he could start the Link searching for data, typing in the search criteria. He had to hope that the military linguists hadn't messed up and the Link would make the right translations.

searching battleship schematics

Working by touch, he manoeuvred one of the blank data crystals from the case and plugged it into the port on the keyboard.

downloading data

Well. They were off the starting line at last.

More than an hour later, Bennet decided to leave the base via one of the fighter ports. He knew he'd hit a sheer drop of twelve feet or so then slide down the scarp face, to Flynn and home. He hoped. He had no choice. There wasn't a hope in hell of getting out any other way.

The base was humming now. The Maess had evidently realised some time ago that their fighters had flown into trouble. For the last hour or more, the alarms and klaxons had gone off intermittently, and every now and again drones marched past the door of Bennet's hideaway. Luckily, he was in an area that didn't seem to be crucial to the base's defence systems—an environmental control centre, the Link suggested when he downloaded base schematics—and he was left undisturbed. But every time he heard drones, his heart hammered so loud that their aural circuitry should have heard it. He couldn't work out why they didn't. He'd cat-foot over to the door and wait, pressed against it, listening hard, his laser in his hand, until the footsteps faded away again. Then he would steal back to the Link and continue the downloads.

It was excruciatingly slow.

No way was he going home with even one empty data crystal. He had eight crystals in the box, and he was taking all eight back with him. The Link, its connection with the Maess systems secure, translated the machine code and let him search the system for useful data. He chose carefully, ignoring stuff they already had, like fighter schematics. Instead, he downloaded data on battleships and fixed bases, blueprints for every other type of Maess ship he could find, even their tankers and support vessels; he downloaded weapons systems data, defence systems, laser guidance systems; he took star maps and data on planetary bases throughout Maess space... anything at all that would be useful.

Useful! This stuff was a goldmine.

The Link didn't find much soft data that would mirror the social data he'd find in a human computer system. Nothing he could see on politics or social structure, or the way the Maess lived and interacted. He found some stuff on drone manufacture, but the drones were no more than peripatetic computers and he'd hoped for a lot more on the Maess themselves. There wasn't much, but he took it all.

No images, dammit. No images.

He left the Link in place, when he was ready to go, fixing one of the remaining charges to the console beneath it. The case was awkward, and he'd had enough of carrying it around. It had done its job and could be jettisoned. The all-important data crystals were secure in the pouch in his belt.

He spent a few minutes debating about what to do, using the base schematics to help him decide. He had six charges left, three for each of the enormous flight bays, but he didn't want to leave all the charges in the outermost chamber. He needed to get at least one charge deeper into the chambers at the back, to cause the maximum damage. For best effect, he was going to have to get into those areas of the base immediately behind each flight bay, set charges there, and then come back and mine the bays themselves.

The power unit on his suit was draining fast, flickering from green to yellow and back again. The disrupter field was fading. The chances of them spotting him were growing more likely by the minute.

Peachy. Just peachy.

Dissecting mummies had a lot of charm, in comparison. Time to get the hell out of there.

He kept the little monitor, using it and the data he'd downloaded to navigate his way to the flight bays set into the escarpment face. They were close together, linked by a short corridor, the hangars and workshops built into the scarp behind. Leaving the safety of the dark little computer room was hard, but sneaking around the back of the first bay, he came up with a subsidiary chemical store that would help things go up with a bang. The weapons stores were behind the second bay. Mining those, between them, left him with one charge for each bay.

He hung both charges and five of the flashbangs from his harness on easy-snap toggles, where he could get to them fast when he needed them. He clutched a flashbang in one hand, his laser in the other.

There weren't that many drones about, but standing in the shadow of an entrance into one of the bays with his suit power flickering now between yellow and red, he had to be in imminent danger of being visible and detectable. He had to buy himself some time. He had to put the charge somewhere where the Maess would have difficulty removing it, he had to have the time to put the last charge in the second bay, and he had to get the hell out of there. It had to be half an hour since Flynn, the Hornets and the cutter had landed to retrieve him.

There was a lift shaft across the bay, and the schematics confirmed both that there was a duplicate lift in the second bay, and that there was an access hatch to the lift well in each shaft.

So, Bennet, you throw the flashbang, you run like hell across the open space, you shoot out the hatch and drop the primed charge into the shaft, run for the second bay, do the same thing, then get out over the exit port and down the escarpment slope. Right?

Right. Easy. Real easy.

The suit's power meter slipped into red and stayed there.

Bennet was on his own and right out in the open. He took a deep breath, and exploded into the bay.

The first part went just as planned. A drone on the other side of the bay turned, but Bennet had seen it first. The flashbang sent it staggering. His first shot scrambled the drone's circuits, the second laser bolt opened the hatch to the lift well. He pulled one of the prime charges from his harness, dropped it into the lift space, and was running before it hit the bottom of the shaft.

He raced into the second launch bay as all the klaxons went off again. More drones, one of them a yellowish EDA, turning towards him as he burst out of the short corridor. He came out firing, trying simply to distract them, to keep them from focusing on him and returning fire. He hurled a flashbang to his right and another to the left, just in case there were drones there.

Then he saw it.

It was with another group of drones, right ahead of him on the other side of the bay.

The drones were solid, a discernible shape and size. They were recognizable. Most of them were the familiar dull grey. One was different, not an EDA, but something thinner, more attenuated, with a head that seemed translucent and filled with shifting blue lights. Something new, maybe, but still probably a drone of some kind.

But that thing? The thing there with them? That was no drone. It wasn't solid and even as Bennet glimpsed it, its edges blurred and shifted so that the drones were obscured and revealed in a kind of undulation.

Bennet faltered.

It was about man-high, but wider, and had no clothing he could see. No shape either, or at least, not one that seemed fixed; no head or limbs, just a mass. The skin had the look of oily iridescence overlying a pallid, greyish bulk. It shifted shape again, extruding an arm? Tentacle? Long-fingered hand? It extruded something, anyway, and took an object the unfamiliar thin drone held out to it.

At Bennet's noisy entrance it froze for a second, the shifting shape stilled before the top half twisted on itself to turn towards him.

Bennet stared. The iridescent surface shimmered and changed. A nose pushed out above an outline of a mouth. Cheekbones jutted beneath black pits opening up above them, pits that showed nothing. The mouth opened on a long scream, a high-pitched trilling wail.

Fuck! Oh fuck!

And then Bennet was moving again. He slammed up against the side of the lift shaft and blew the hatch with one snatched shot, firing at the drones and that thing, that abominable thing, all the while. He missed. It flowed away to one side, the drones closing ranks to shield it.

His life boiled down to a series of commands to himself. Toss the charge into the shaft. Shoot at that thing. Run. Shoot. Run. Shoot. Run like fuck.

So he tossed charges, fired and ran. As he turned and started his run, he twisted the remote shutter release in his palm to get the shoulder camera working, snatching shots of the group at the other side of the bay, as many as he could manage by running towards it, racing right across the middle of the landing bay floor. That thing slid behind the group of drones, using them for cover. It screamed again, so high-pitched that Bennet's ears rang. The drones enveloped the thing, shielding it.

Bennet swung towards the fighter exit port, firing as he went, shouting at them, tossing his last flashbangs, anything to distract and disorientate them, trading on the drones' slower, non-human reactions. He was faster because he was human, and he was faster because he was scared.

He made it to the edge of the port. A waist-high wall was all that stood between him and the outside, and he vaulted over it, praying that the scarp face on the other side wasn't too sheer, that the aerial photographs that the Shield scouts had taken were accurate. A laser snapped over his head charging the air with static, but missed him by at least a couple of feet.

He landed hard. Even though he absorbed the shock that jarred up his spine, and rolled in the classic parachutist's landing, it still hurt. He struggled up, but his feet slipped from under him, and then he was careering down the slope on his backside, coming up against a rock about fifty feet down with a force that sent the breath whooshing out of his lungs.

He wriggled around to the underside of the rock, digging his boots into the dirt to hold him and lay still, gasping, until he had enough breath to move. The drones leaned over the retaining wall, firing down the slope, but hidden behind the rock, he was safe from their infrared visual circuits. For the minute, anyway.

Oh, fuck. That thing. That thing...

It was hard to breathe the hot and humid air. Panting, Bennet located a few heavy stones within arm's reach, piling them beside his friendly little rock. He manoeuvred the activator out of its secure fastening on his belt. A second to switch it on, and he pressed the button once. A five-minute delay, the Armoury officer had said. In five minutes, that base and that thing in it would be blown to hell and back, and he had better be long gone.

The drones fired blindly down the slope. Still hunkered down behind the rock, Bennet hurled the activator off to one side, following it up with the stones; all tossed in the same general direction. They clattered loudly, dislodging more stones, making a glorious, diverting, look-I'm-over-here noise. An instant later, the laser fire swung over to follow the activator's progress, and Bennet went in the other direction, taking a diagonal run for the base of the slope that was half controlled, half a mad slipping and sliding in the loose scree. Stones bounced down the slope ahead of him. He changed direction several times to avoid the laser fire that was aimed at him now, some of it coming so close that the static had his hair on end.

A couple of times he fetched up against boulders bigger than he was, and rested against them for a few seconds, trying desperately to get his breathing under control. His chest couldn't hurt more if he'd broken most of his ribs.

And then there was a flash of intense light from behind him, the entire scarp heaved under his feet and he went down the last thirty or so feet in a roll, bounced off his feet by the enormous explosion.

He didn't remember hitting the bottom.

He wasn't out of it for long.

The base was still exploding when he shook his head free of the muzziness that came from having the breath violently knocked out of him twice in as many minutes. He was finding it impossible to take a deep enough breath to refill his straining lungs. Hell, his breathing was so loud that he sounded like he had whooping cough.

Somewhere far above his head another explosion rocked the escarpment. Uphill, flame vented out of one of the landing bays. The explosion was satisfying, rather than huge, but the whole of the sky above him was red and yellow. Another chemical or weapons store, maybe. The base itself seemed to have gone.

And that thing with it.

He sat up slowly. His suit was in shreds, but it had done the job of keeping the rocks and scree from shredding his skin along with the suit. He hurt, but most of the scrapes were minor, where the shield-suit fabric had been sliced through. He moved his arms and legs, testing to see what worked and what didn't. Everything still there, but shit! His right foot! It was trapped under a rock. Not a big rock, but heavy. It hurt like fuck. Heaving the rock off was a mistake. Blood rushed back into his foot, and with it came sense and feeling. Far too much feeling.

"Shit!" The pain shooting up through his foot and leg was intense. "Shit!"

His foot was still there—that was something. The rush of pain had had him wondering, for one dreadful second, if it was gone altogether, but so far as he could tell by feeling gingerly, everything was where it should be, if not exactly in prime working order. Thank the gods his combat boot was holding it together, but shit! That grating feeling was not good. He'd managed to break his foot.

Somehow, he had to get to Flynn, who was all of three miles away.

Well, fuck.

He got the stims out of his breast pocket. Despite Doctor Parry's strictures, if there was ever a time for a little pharmaceutical assistance, this was it. His hands shook slightly as he pressed the first of the hypo sprays against the side of his neck. The rush of adrenaline was instantaneous, everything easing up, even his breathing less painful and difficult. The pain in his foot was still there, but suddenly bearable. Bennet hesitated for a second, then against all medical advice, he took the second dose. If... when he got back, he'd be high as a kite for hours, but shit, right now he needed all the help he could get.

He needed a crutch of some sort, if he was to get mobile at all. And he needed to get mobile fast. There was something coming his way that looked, in the flickering yellow light shot through with red, to be suspiciously like a Maess drone. Bennet, fighting the stim-euphoria, wriggled to one side, thanking the gods for the rocky terrain. Behind another sheltering rock, he reached for the comforting hardness pressed against his backbone. His spare laser pistol. His first laser was long gone. He'd lost it on that headlong dash down the slope.

The drone was thirty feet away when Bennet popped up from behind the rock and blasted it in the chest. It fell over, whirring slightly, making no other noise, its arms and legs juddering a couple of times. There was something so very revolting about a creature that looked human and wasn't. It couldn't even die like the humans it aped.

At least it was dead and he couldn't see any more close by. Sensors were blown, though—Bennet chinned the sensor pad in his helmet, but the heads-up display flickered and went dark. His comlink was dead, too. He saw why when he took off the helmet. It was battered; one side bashed in and cracked in that long tumbling fall. Shit.

He tossed it to one side. A little less weight to carry, anyway.

The drone was still now. Bennet had to hop to get to it, trying to keep as much weight as he could off his foot. He needed a crutch and he didn't have time to stand around on one foot and think about how he was going to manage this. Where there was one drone, there'd be others, and he had to get out of there. Without the helmet sensor and with his suit shredded, he wasn't so much vulnerable as he was a sitting duck. He had to get moving. He just needed a crutch, to do it.

He set his laser to sustained beam, severing the drone's stiff, elbow-less arm at the shoulder. No blood, no flesh. Nothing but wiring and bits of circuitry. They weren't human, just machines with a few organic cells in their heads. They couldn't feel anything. That faint screech, and the scrabbling the drone did, was just circuits misfiring, that was all.

He swallowed.

The thing was deactivated, not dead. No one could say something was dead when it had never actually lived.

The arm made a reasonable walking cane, and now he could move. And if he couldn't exactly run, the way he'd intended, he was making a reasonably good speed in the circumstances. Nowhere near as fast as he should be, but he was mobile.

When he'd come down the slope, he'd deliberately angled himself towards where Flynn and the Mosquito waited for him. He recognised enough of the topography to orientate himself. Hobbling at his best speed, he made his way home.

It was a shock when the first ship lifted off.

Bennet hadn't made bad progress. Slower than he wanted, obviously, but he was more than halfway to where the Mosquito should be. He was soaked in sweat, and desperately thirsty. He couldn't stop to draw breath. A pair of drones trailed him.

He hadn't expected to be this late. He hadn't expected to see his rides home take off without him. Seeing the trail of smoke and fire brought him up short. Far off to his right went another trail, and another, and another. Then the cutter, slower and more ponderous, lifting from the position where poor Powell had been sitting and waiting.

Five of them. Five little points of light that had been given the Abort signal and left him there.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit...

The battleship had to have moved so close that it posed a serious threat to the _Gyrfalcon_. He was late. He was very late. His father would have waited until the last possible minute before recalling the Hornets and the cutter, giving him every chance to get back. What his father had to be thinking and feeling, having to leave him there—well, for the first time in a long while, Bennet could empathise with some of that.

Only five points of flame.

Bennet turned back in the direction he'd been travelling so painfully for half an hour now. Nothing over there to disturb the blackness of the night, no sixth little plume of fire from the Mosquito's afterburners as she left for the relative safety of the _Gyrfalcon_. Flynn hadn't gone anywhere.

Bennet smiled and hobbled on. It was always gratifying to be right.

## Chapter Twenty

Almost time.

Sitting on a crate at the back of the starboard deck, Flynn checked his wrist chronometer for about the millionth time. It was more than an hour since the cutter had left for T18. Round about now, Powell would be bringing her in and Bennet would be getting ready to jump.

The _Gyrfalcon_ was at the agreed co-ordinates. She was on full battle alert, all set to spring the trap on any fighters chasing Powell. Every pilot was ready, either in the tubes or on the rack, or standing at the back of the launch room, waiting to run for their ships the instant the first and second waves were out.

The decks were scenes of apparent chaos. Anyone unfamiliar with how the _Gyrfalcon_ worked would have to assume that some king-size panic was going on. Techs and ground crew were everywhere, scrambling around getting cutters ready to act as medical and rescue/retrieval ships in the coming battle, moving everything out to the sides of the Hornet bays to keep the main landing areas clear for incoming fighters, giving the handling equipment one last going over. There had to be more than fifty of them here in the starboard bay alone, and not one of them walked. They ran from one task to the next. But it all had a purpose that became clearer as he watched, and in the centre stood Maire, the starboard deckmaster, directing every single move, choreographing every step, completely in control. Everyone obeyed her without question. Maire was of the Colonel Quist school of management. She scared the shit out of everyone.

Almost time.

"We're ready for you, Flynn," Jordan said.

Flynn grabbed his helmet and stood up. "Where's everyone else?"

"The other four will be leaving the tubes any second now. Maire just got word that the cutter's been detected on sensors, with a dozen fighters on its tail. She said to get your arse moving. She wants you off the deck."

Flynn nodded and jogged across to the Mosquito.

"Now, I know you've been practicing." Jordan kept pace with him. "But don't relax, don't forget for a second that this isn't your Hornet. Remember that you get that funny little power spike when you kick in the high engine. Use that if you need it. It gives her a kick like a mule and while it only lasts a couple of seconds, it could get you out of trouble. And don't forget that you've got two extra laser nacelles under the wings. They're there for a reason and it's not to make that bird look pretty."

"Yes, mother." Flynn scrambled into the cockpit. He glanced at the space behind him.

Jordan handed him his helmet. "And remember, if you don't come back, there are a lot of people here who will suddenly be debt free." He grinned. "Oops."

"Debt free, but bored. Don't worry, I'll be back."

"Okay. Well, T18 is dead ahead. You can't miss it."

"Dead ahead?" Flynn gave him a cold look. "Will you please stop that? Trying to jinx me or something?"

Jordan laughed. "I owe you money, too, remember? Good luck, Flynn."

"I'll need it, with this amount of ill-wishing." Flynn jammed on his helmet, comforted by the black humour that helped deal with the fear.

Jordan closed down the clear hatch, and Flynn buckled himself in. He felt, rather than heard, Jordan's hand slap the cover, the signal that the seals were tight and that he was ready to go. The mounting platform rolled to one side, Jordan clinging to the safety rail and mouthing good wishes at him. He nodded back.

Heart rate normal. Breathing normal. Bladder behaving itself. He spread out his hand, looking critically at the splayed fingers. No shaking. Good.

He hesitated for a second, his hand hovering over the starter. Then came the voice in his helmet communicator. It was the new guy on the bridge, the one who'd transferred in from the Estonia. What was his name? Orion, or something? Omaha? Flynn shook his head, annoyed with himself for forgetting, and annoyed with the heart that insisted on jumping in his chest, the breathing that caught in his throat for an instant, the bladder that suddenly made itself felt.

"Bridge transferring control to Mosquito." It was Bridge Captain... shit, what was it? Orvin? "Launch when ready. Good luck."

Flynn hit the starter, feeling the little craft vibrate around him. He let the engines warm for a minute, watching the readout panels that told him when they'd reached optimum operating temperatures. He eased her up gently, lifting the Mosquito off the deck and holding her there. She floated effortlessly, and he was grinning when he gunned her forward, sending her skimming over the decking a scant few feet above the floor, nerves forgotten again. There was the usual instant of dislocation, when the light bent and energy crackled over the ship's skin as she went through the force fields that held the atmosphere in the bay and kept the vacuum out. And then they were away.

A flashy exit, but then he was the one and only Flynn.

He brought her round in a gentle curve, getting himself onto the right heading. On his scanners, he saw the four Hornets come out of the tubes, and he waited, holding the Mosquito back until they were closer, the five of them heading for T18 in a curving arc of a flight path that would take them around the flank of the approaching Maess fighters. They'd reach T18 in about an hour and a half.

He couldn't see Powell on the scanners yet. The poor sap wasn't having much of a day, being chased all the way home and then having to turn around and go back again. Powell was a pain in the ass, but... hell, Flynn had been smitten once, and the sex had been great. Didn't last of course. It never lasted. And Powell whined so much... still, Powell had a lot of good points. Flynn tried hard to remember them.

Five minutes later, What's-his-name (Orson?) warned him that the _Gyrfalcon_ had gone to red alert and was launching all squadrons. They were given a minor course correction. It seemed that Powell was slightly off the planned course on his way home. No blame there. The man would be having a rough time, after all, with his afterburners scorching the noses of those fighters. No one could blame him for not being right on the button.

Flynn took a minute to wish Powell well, and this time he meant it. He hadn't been kind and, for the first time, he was sorry. Powell wanted more than he had to give, but Flynn had been a complete arse about it.

His scanner lit up suddenly, looking like fireflies had got caught under the screen. Maess fighters, nine or ten of them. The big blotch that was the _Gyrfalcon_ spat out tiny little fireflies of her own. Bridge Captain Omar—that was it!—opened up the comlink to remind them that they were on silent running, and that the only signal they would get would be when the pickup was confirmed and they could run for home, or the abort command if that battleship picked up speed and headed in to join the party. Until then, the commander's compliments, good luck and _Gyrfalcon_ out.

Flynn snorted to himself, and settled down to flying, getting to know how this real Mosquito felt as opposed to the simulation. Simulators, of course, could only give an approximation of all Mosquitoes, and not this highly individual little ship, who had her own quirks and personality, and who, if he didn't get to know her and handle her, could turn around and bite him. Hard.

But she didn't show any signs of that. She flew like a dream. She was even smoother than the simulation, and she moved under his hands like a real lady, responding to his every touch as she glided through space like a blade through silk. She was lovely, but with a hint of the steel underneath that would be there when he needed it.

At the end of the arc he brought the Mosquito around to port, flattening the curve and setting her on the new heading that would bring her up to T18's little moon. More than two hours ago now, the satellite had hidden the cutter's approach. Now it would give them cover. The others were locked on to him, using him as their lead. They'd follow him in. He brought them all to a halt, sitting behind the little moon, waiting.

This was the worst bit. In the end, Bennet had decided they should give him three hours to get the job done—whatever the job was, and the close-mouthed bastard hadn't said. Flynn and the others had to wait here for about half an hour before heading into the atmosphere, where they'd peel off to land in their different locations and, please the gods, fool the Maess into such bewilderment that their brains leaked out of their ears. If they had brains.

Or ears.

Nothing to do but check the systems, keep an eye on the scanner screens, check the systems again, twist in the seat to look at the little space behind it, check the systems again, watch the scanners...

Once during the long wait, he tensed. Something was coming up on them from behind. He turned the Mosquito and fired up her lasers. But his hand fell away from the laser controls. It was the cutter. Powell had made it. Flynn got the Mosquito back into position, and returned to checking the systems and watching the scanner, but he kept the lasers on full charge. He wasn't nervous, exactly, but a lot was depending on them getting this right.

The numbers on the control panel chronometer seemed to crawl. Powell came closer until he was level with them, and then all six ships were moving in formation, the cutter at the point of an arrowhead. Flynn kept his eyes on the chronometer and the scanners, checking that everyone was in position, and doing the count in his head. Thirty seconds to go, twenty, and now ten.

Go now.

He kicked in the turbos and sent the Mosquito into a screaming dive to starboard, taking her in an arcing curve that made his ears sing with the pressure. He lost visuals on the other ships, concentrating on the surface of the planet rushing towards him.

The Mosquito bounced when he hit the stratosphere, and he skimmed along for miles, like a stone being skipped over water. He eased the joystick forward, and she cut in, slicing her way through the thick atmosphere. The shield glowed cherry red, heated gases streaming past her nose as steam and vapour. She shook with the gravitational forces pulling on her, but she was a lady after all. As he stroked and handled her, talking to her, she responded to him, smoothing out of the dive and coming towards the Maess base from the north.

Dead on target. Dead on time.

Mind you, dead was not the word he wanted. Still, he brought her to a halt on the precise place on the map where X marked the spot, the little ship hovering for a second, blowing dust and sand around herself in an obscuring cloud. She dropped neatly into place. He throttled the engines back, letting them idle.

"Good girl." He patted the control panel and looked south, towards the base.

It was still intact. That's what had worried him as he came over the horizon. The base was still sitting there on the top of the escarpment three miles to the south, untouched, the superstructure silhouetted against the night sky.

If Bennet was ready to go, that base should have been smouldering rubble. If Bennet had completed the job, that base should have been smouldering rubble. If Bennet was still alive—

He reached up and hit the hatch release. He hadn't forgotten what Bennet had said about the air being breathable, if unpleasant, but he wasn't prepared for quite how unpleasant. It was hot, even though the sun must have gone down hours ago, and the air was thick. It seemed to stick to the surfaces of his mouth and nose as he breathed in, sharp and acrid, tasting of burnt rubber. It made his nose sting and seared the back of his throat. He choked on the first breath, and took all subsequent ones a great deal more shallowly, trying to get the minimum amount necessary into his lungs. Gods, that was awful. Stank like shit.

He eased himself up onto the top of the fuselage, sitting on the edge with his legs dangling inside, and slid the seat forward, ready. It was the work of a second, but a second spent now was a second saved when it might be absolutely crucial. For the same reason he reached down to the little button beside his left knee that extended the emergency ladder down out of its cradle deep in the fuselage. He unholstered his laser and held it, ready, one finger on the trigger.

All set. Now there wasn't anything else to do, but wait.

The hot air around him seethed suddenly.

Then he heard it.

The deep booming noise came from the direction of the base, and he looked quickly towards the ridge of the escarpment. The top of the scarp was a boiling sheet of flame, as if the air itself was on fire, and shapes, things—and the gods alone knew what—were thrown into the air like toys, outlined against the red of the fire. Two huge flames erupted from the scarp face itself, probably venting through the exit ports for the Maess fighters.

The ground shuddered, making him and the ship vibrate. He caught hold of the edge of the cockpit to steady himself.

Flynn laughed out loud, relief making him feel as if he'd had a liquor or six too many. Maybe Bennet had found a fuel dump? Something volatile, anyway. Nothing else could have created such a satisfyingly big explosion. And gods, but it was wonderful, filling the night sky like the sudden birth of a sun.

They were on their way. It was over.

Flynn let himself relax, forgetting about the time spent sitting on the rapidly heating fuselage of the Mosquito, sometimes too tense to breathe, jumping at every little night sound, at every shadow, thinking it was a Maess patrol heading for him. Now all he had to wait for was the signal that Powell had Bennet and they could all go home. Where he had every intention of getting stinking drunk and seeing if he had any better luck than Powell in hitting on a Shield Captain who ought to want to celebrate as much as he did.

Time dragged by.

Another half hour and still no signal. The optimism had evaporated in the hot air. The sky still glowed in the south, and that was a source of satisfaction, but as Bennet had said, what he was bringing out with him was more important than blowing the base. If they didn't get Bennet back, then the mission was a failure.

Don't go there. Bennet had to get back.

The shrilling of the comlink had Flynn falling into the cockpit, and into the pilot's seat, slamming it back into position. He thumbed open the link, his heart hammering, because it wasn't the signal he was waiting for. It wasn't the signal that said Powell had Bennet safe.

Abort.

Not a successful pickup.

Abort.

Flynn stopped breathing. That Maess battleship had been alerted to them, then, and had turned towards T18, moving to flank speed.

Abort.

Flynn suspected that the battleship was right on top of them. The commander would have left it until the last possible minute before recalling them. The battleship might only be an hour or two away, maybe even less.

Abort.

They'd faced down fighters up there, and they'd have taken losses, even though the Maess pilots couldn't match humans for verve and skill. And a battleship was a formidable enemy even when they hadn't just fought a battle and were still trying to assess the damage and losses, even when they were facing one fresh and ready.

Abort.

A couple of miles to the west a pinpoint of light flared as one of the other ships obeyed the summons and got the hell out. And another. Farther off to the southwest went another. It went up slowly, fighting the heavy air. Had to be the cutter.

Still no signal confirming that they'd picked up Bennet.

Flynn reached up to the hatch controls. He hesitated, and his hand dropped back slowly. "It's pity you're not exactly configured to the _Gyrfalcon_ 's communications grid, my girl. I mean, we're going to have to say that the signal didn't come through that clearly. Think they'll buy it?"

He put the engines back onto idle, on the lowest setting they would take without stopping.

"Nope, me neither, but it's the best I can come up with. We're faster than the others, you know. We could give him a bit longer, maybe even go and take a little look around, and still catch up. Whaddya think?"

The Mosquito was silent, of course, but an imaginative man might detect an approving air about her. Flynn had an excellent imagination. He patted the control panel in a spirit of friendly alliance.

"After all, Bennet said what he wanted was a gambler, someone to think, not just obey blindly." Flynn pulled himself up again, out onto the fuselage. "Of course, the commander's going to be putting another notation on my record, but I think Bennet's heading for us and I'm not leaving him behind. That okay with you? Of course it is. You want him back, too, and I reckon that all along he wanted you to take him home. He's Shield, isn't he? He'd want a Shield ship."

He slid to the ground, unholstering the laser again. He turned towards the red glow in the south. A direct line would be best. He doubted Bennet would be taking the scenic route.

He started jog-trotting south, but the heavier gravity and the heat had him panting for breath within a hundred yards, as if he were grossly overweight and running in a sauna. After a couple of hundred yards, he had to stop and throw his flight jacket off, the sweat already soaking through his vest and pressure suit. Grimly he kept going, desperate for any sign of Bennet.

Anything at all would do.

All the warning he got was the slightest prickling of the hair on the back of his neck, then someone or something forcibly connected with his legs and brought him down. The impact had that foul smelling air whooshing out of his lungs.

"Stay down!" Bennet's voice hissed in his ear. "Two drones. Right behind me."

Flynn tried to catch his breath. Bennet, arms and legs wrapped around him, rolled them both into the shelter of the rock that he'd evidently been hiding behind. For an instant, they lay in the warm darkness, wrapped together. They were in deep shadow, and Flynn had to feel for Bennet's face to touch it, to make sure that the Shield captain was really there. His hand found Bennet's mouth, felt it curve into a smile, and he smiled himself.

Bennet disentangled himself, so that Flynn was undistracted again. He inched up to peer carefully around the rock. The two drones were about fifty feet away and marching towards them.

Bennet was breathing hard. "One each, then let's get the hell out of here. Take the one on the right. On my count, three, two, one."

They rolled in opposite directions from behind the rock. Flynn fetched up on his knees, bringing up the laser and firing several sharp short bursts. His drone staggered and fell onto its back, its circuitry fried by a plasma bolt to the head. The remaining one stood rigidly still, sparks shooting out from its chest circuitry. In an awful travesty of a human reaction, its hands were clawing at the hole in its chest. It toppled slowly over onto its face.

"Shit," Flynn said. "What an exciting life you lead! Any more of them?"

"Hope not."

"You got everything? Can we go home now?"

"I have, and we can." Bennet pushed himself upright, using the rock to do it. "You'll have to help me, Flynn. I broke my foot, I think, and it's slowing me down."

Well, it would, wouldn't it? Flynn shrugged. "I got the signal fifteen minutes ago that the battleship's moving in, so we don't have much time. The Mosquito's not far. Quarter of a mile, maybe." He got his left arm around Bennet's waist. "That's a long way to carry you in this atmosphere."

Bennet put his right arm around Flynn's neck. "You won't have to. I'm stimmed up. I can run."

He did, too. Not very well, and he was evidently in pain, but he was using his right foot, trying to keep as much of his weight off Flynn as he could.

About halfway back to the Mosquito, Flynn had to stop for a minute, to catch his breath. Bennet let him, without comment, but then Bennet had put in a couple of weeks in the gym to build up his stamina for this. If he'd wanted Flynn to run in these conditions carrying Bennet's worthless carcass, he should have made Flynn get into training, too.

"I don't know how you're doing it." Flynn bent over, hands on his knees, sucking in the foetid air.

"Stims are wonderful things. I'm so wired I could probably still run if I'd blown the bloody thing off."

"How'd you break it?"

"My exit strategy from the base wasn't all it might be. I was half way down the scarp when the base went up and it blew me the rest of the way." There was rueful amusement in Bennet's tone. "It was very rocky and it made bouncing a touch problematic. Luckily I was able to find a temporary crutch and I started this way. I knew you'd be here, Flynn."

"Sure," Flynn said. "Of course I would be. I'm a sucker like that. I mean, here I am carrying you back when you have a crutch hidden somewhere that you're not using."

"It was a drone's arm. I can't say it was all that useful, but it was better than nothing. I lost it, hurling myself on you to save your life. What do you mean by lumbering out of the dark like that?"

Lumbering? Lumbering?

Flynn spluttered his outrage, needing his breath for running.

Bennet laughed, and then they were off again, and it was another nightmare of heat and dust and lungs straining to get air into them. The sweat ran down into Flynn's eyes, stinging. He had to shake his head to get his wet hair out of the way. The Mosquito was ahead, a black shape in the darkness. Bennet's breathing was laboured, sounding harsh in Flynn's ear.

Only a few more yards. Only few more.

And then he was scrambling up the emergency ladder and into the cockpit. He stood on the seat and leaned out to reach out a hand for Bennet. "We'd better move it."

Bennet reached up to take Flynn's hand. With Flynn taking his weight, he got his left foot onto the first rung of the ladder. "Ready."

Flynn grunted, and heaved. Bennet, gasping, pulled hard on the ladder and got most of the way up, then clinging to the edge of cockpit, he let Flynn climb back out again. Flynn straddled the fuselage, out of the way. Cursing, Bennet let himself fall into the small space behind the seat.

Flynn pushed the seat back with his weight as he threw himself into it.

Bennet grunted.

"All right?" Flynn hit the hatch closure with one hand, firing up the engines with the other.

"Oof," Bennet said, again.

Flynn took it for agreement. "Hang on," he said, and a second later, the Mosquito surged up into the thick, foul air.

The take-off was every bit as unpleasant as the simulation. Worse.

## Chapter Twenty-one

"Mosquito to _Gyrfalcon_ , come in please. Mosquito to _Gyrfalcon_ —"

"You're late!"

Flynn frowned. He wasn't certain who it was on the bridge's comms desk at the other end. It didn't sound like Ohio, or whatever the man's name was, but it was hard to tell with all the static. That was the worst of flying through a battle area—the debris bounced the signals all over the place.

He was aching too much to be conciliatory. That had been a savage take-off and not even the cushioned pilot's seat had saved him from blacking out for a minute or two. From the groans and complaints behind him, Bennet had had it worse. "Yeah, well, it got a little exciting down there. I've got the Shield captain."

Silence.

Flynn tried again. " _Gyrfalcon_ , can you hear me? I've got—"

"He's late too."

Behind Flynn, Bennet squirmed until he had his head near Flynn's, resting his chin on Flynn's right shoulder. It was the closest he could get to the comlink.

"You try running for three miles on a broken foot, _Gyrfalcon_ , and see how long it takes you," he said, tartly.

Another short silence, and then came the equally tart reply. "You're being sent a revised heading for an intercept course, Mosquito. We need to make a hyperspace jump to avoid that battleship and you're holding us up. ETA twenty-five minutes. A paramedic will be waiting for you in the cutter bay. _Gyrfalcon_ out."

"Well, thank you!" Flynn sniffed. "Who the hell was that? A little gratitude for saving the day would be nice."

"That was the commander, Flynn."

"The commander?" Flynn considered it and nodded. "You're right. It was. Oh great. Another notation on the record, and all because you couldn't help mouthing off." He sniffed again. "I hate to say this, Bennet, but you stink."

"Metaphorically?"

"Actually. Did you find some shit or something to roll in?"

Bennet choked out something that was half a laugh, half a disdainful snort. "I did a lot of running, and I got very sweaty. That dust sticks."

Flynn twisted his head round slightly. Bennet looked very dirty, even in the dim light from the control panel. "It wouldn't be so bad if we weren't in such a confined space. There's no place for the stink to go. How are things back there?"

"A little snug around the shoulders."

Flynn could feel Bennet wriggling around. "What are you up to?"

"Trying to see if my shoulder camera survived all that." There was a moment's silence before Bennet sighed.

"I guess it didn't?"

"No," Bennet said, slowly. "No. It's tougher than that. Tougher than me." His laugh sounded forced. "It's fine. It bounces better than I do."

Flynn's own laugh didn't sound much better, and after a minute, he said, really wanting to know, "Tell me again why you do this for a living? The days off, right?"

"But that's true, Flynn. I was twenty when I went to do my year at SSI and opted for Shield, and I was desperately in love. The last thing I wanted was to join Fleet and spend months, even years, at a time away from home. I didn't think I'd have anyone to come home to. This way, I'm home a lot."

It felt like a kick to the gut. "You're married?"

"No. Living in sin."

"Aha!" With an effort Flynn kept his voice level. "That's what the innocent Thebans in your family couldn't handle, eh?"

"Oh, yes." Bennet laughed softly and this time the strain was gone. "That was the other reason I joined Shield, Flynn. I really wanted to piss off my father. It worked."

"Tell all. You know I've been dying to know." Flynn stared down at the control panel, disappointment filling him. Bennet had someone waiting for him, back on Albion. That hurt more than Flynn was willing to admit.

"The family's been Fleet for so long that when we started, the ships still had sails. Dad's a senior officer in Fleet. It was absolutely expected that I'd follow him into the service, like it was bred in my genes or something. We had our first serious falling out when I deferred the Academy for two years while I finished my degree at the Thebaid Institute. He thought I was selfish and even though I told him I had a place at SSI when I wanted it, he wasn't mollified. Then, only a couple of weeks later, he found out about the dancing."

"Dancing?" Flynn said, then understood. "Oh."

"Yeah. Oh. He seriously disapproved of my dancing partner. My father's very Theban, Flynn. He does not approve of same sex dancing."

Flynn choked.

"Joss is older than me, a lot older, and that doesn't help. Dad sees it as a stupid teenager letting himself get seduced by a wicked older man. I was barely legal when I went to live with Joss."

"I can see why your father might have some trouble with that."

"We had a massive fight. We didn't really speak for the two years I was at the Thebaid. We only met once in all that time, on his next home leave, and it was like I didn't exist for him anymore."

"That doesn't sound too good. He holds a grudge, then."

"Oh I don't know. That's what I thought then, but now I think it was embarrassment and that he was pretty ashamed about some of the things he'd said. He just didn't know what to do or say to get out that corner he'd backed himself into. He's not big on compromise, my dad. He made the first move the day he came to SSI to give us a lecture. In his eyes, I was getting back on the genetic track by at least taking up my place there and doing my duty to protect the race." Bennet chuffed out a laugh. "Actually, I think my mother laid the law down to him and he had to do something about making up otherwise she would have taken steps. And I think he truly was unhappy about how things were between us. It got a bit easier after that. He came to my graduation from SSI, and he was reasonably human to Joss. Mind you, my mother had him on a tight leash at the time."

"She sounds like quite a lady." Flynn wondered if it was the stims that were making Bennet suddenly so confiding.

"She is. She keeps the peace. Dad and I don't meet very often, but now we're civil to each other at least."

"And going through SSI—which most parents would be ecstatic about—but then rejecting Fleet for Shield, that was to get back at him?"

Bennet laughed. "Got it in one. So childish that sometimes I can't believe it myself." He squirmed at bit more, and his breathing was ragged. "Especially on days like today."

"All right?"

"Everything's seizing up." Bennet sounded like he was gritting his teeth. "I ache all over from bouncing down that slope. And my foot hurts like all hell."

"I can't do much to help." There would be mild painkillers in the tiny first aid kit under the control panel, but Flynn had no idea about how they might react with the stims. "We've got about twenty minutes to go."

"Great."

"I could see what's in your first aid kit."

"I know what's in my first aid kit. There's nothing I could use while I'm still this wired. I'll hold out. Keep me distracted."

Flynn felt an unaccountable desire to know the worst. It gave him a morose satisfaction, like picking at a scab: painful but necessary to find out what was underneath. "Joss. Tell me about him. I take it he's not in the service?"

"Joss?" Bennet sounded amused. "Joss in the service?"

"What does he do, then?"

"Not much of anything, really. He's got money—a lot of money. He doesn't need to do anything. He's an archaeologist and interested in the work at the Thebaid, so he spends a couple of days a week there on some research of his own and doing the occasional lecture."

"Aha. A man with money. The man who bought you the red sports car when you graduated?"

"That's the one." Bennet squirmed some more. "He wants me out of the service."

"Well, if he's seriously rich, couldn't you take being a kept man?"

"I'd hate it."

Flynn nodded. "Stupid question to ask." He sat in silence for a few minutes, brooding. "Why are you telling me all this? You've not said anything to us about yourself for more than two weeks, and suddenly your life is an open book?"

"The job's almost over, Flynn. Not quite, but almost. And—" Bennet hesitated, then said, very quietly, so quietly that Flynn had to strain to hear him, "I wanted you to know about Joss."

"Why?"

Bennet put his hand on Flynn's right shoulder and squeezed.

Flynn drew in a sharp breath. The weight and heat radiated down through his body from the light pressure.

After a minute, Bennet said, softly, "And because although I do get lots of those little vacations, I'm still away for weeks at a time. That's not fair on him, you know. So we have an agreement when I'm home, it's just the two of us and I don't ask any questions about who he's been seeing while I'm away, who's been his consolation prize this time. It leaves me free, too. The same rules apply and he doesn't ask."

Flynn said nothing. For a minute, the weight on his shoulder was like lead, then he felt it lessen slightly, as if Bennet was taking his hand away. He heard Bennet sigh. Quick as a flash, he brought his left hand up and put it over Bennet's.

Bennet's hand twisted under Flynn's to hold it. His thumb rubbed little circles on Flynn's skin, feather light. Flynn had a sudden vision of those long-fingered hands moving on his body, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, so hard he was aching.

"So then," he said, clearing his throat.

"When we get back and this is over." Bennet squeezed his hand and withdrew his own.

"Yeah." Flynn laughed and dropped the freed hand into his lap to rub against the pressure there. He sighed. "I seriously doubt I can wait that long."

"You'll have to. Sorry. There's not enough room in here even to kiss you."

"I know." Flynn twisted enough to catch a glimpse of Bennet's dirty face. Hell, but he wanted to kiss the man until both their heads swam. "I'll have to have a word with Jordan about the necessary modifications."

Flynn and Jordan had to lift Bennet out of the Mosquito.

They were given an approach into the enclosed cutter deck—coming back from a dirtside mission, they'd have to go through full decontamination. The Hornet landing bays weren't equipped for that. The main bays were swarming, in any event, with little room to cope with the Mozzie. Hornets were still coming in after the firefight, and they'd passed several squads circling the _Gyrfalcon_ in holding patterns until there was room on the decks.

The Mosquito got priority clearance. A half-wrecked Hornet had missed its own deck and had careered into a corner of the cutter bay, smacking into one of the parked cutters. Both ships looked totalled. Smoke from the Hornet curled around them as Flynn brought the Mozzie in to land, and medics were running for the decontamination chambers at the back of the bay, with a stretcher between them. The fire crews were piling their equipment back onto a transport trolley.

Jordan appeared the instant Flynn popped the hatch and scrambled out onto the mounting platform. They pulled the seat as far forward as it would go. Bennet had curled up in the tiny space behind it, face white beneath the dirt and beaded with sweat, his mouth set in a hard line of endurance. His hands clenched and unclenched spasmodically, as if he couldn't control them. He probably couldn't.

"Can you move?" Flynn asked.

Only his eyes, it looked like. He tried to raise an arm, but the breath hissed out him with the pain.

"His muscles are locked," Flynn said to Jordan. "His foot's broken, but I don't think there's anything else. He hasn't admitted to anything else."

The crew chief nodded. He turned and beckoned to a waiting medtech, not someone Flynn recognised, then back to Bennet again. "All right. Listen to me, sir. We'll pull you out. Let us do all the work, all right? Don't try to help and don't fight us. It'll hurt like hell until we can get you down onto the deck and the paramedics can get a muscle relaxant into you, but we'll be quick. Ready?"

Bennet managed a strained sound that they took for assent.

"When I pull him up, grab his feet." Jordan reached in and got his arms under Bennet's, locking his hands across Bennet's chest. "We'll swing him over onto the platform. Then give him to me, and I'll get him down. All right? Go."

Jordan hoisted Bennet up holding the Shield captain against his chest. Bennet screamed as the cramps hit him. Flynn grabbed both Bennet's legs and in an instant, they had him out of the Mosquito and onto the platform. Once there, Flynn heaved to get Bennet up into Jordan's arms, letting the crew chief stagger down the platform steps. Flynn followed him, his knees shaky. The medic ran up demanding to know what was needed.

"Muscle relaxant," Jordan said, breathless. With Flynn's help he dropped to his knees and lowered Bennet to the deck. Bennet was whimpering in his throat, but trying to hold it back.

"Two minutes." The medic got a hypospray against Bennet's neck. "Then we can move him to MedCentre."

Bennet unclenched his jaw enough to grind out two words. "No. Bridge."

"You need medical attention, sir," Jordan said.

"Need to finish the job." Bennet took three breaths to get it out. He began to loosen up, the tension on his face easing as the relaxant took effect.

"You're risking a thrombosis," the medtech warned.

"When the job's done." Bennet moved gingerly. "I'll do. Get me to the bridge, Flynn."

"Mad as coots they are," Flynn said to no one in particular, but he helped Bennet sit up. With every passing second Bennet was looking better.

"They said something about you having a broken foot." The medtech tapped on one of Bennet's boots.

"I know. Thank you. I'll be fine until later." It took both Jordan and Flynn to get Bennet to his feet, and he hobbled towards the decontamination chamber, leaning heavily on both of them. The medtech went with them, grumbling every step of the way.

"I'll see you through decontamination and as far as the bridge elevators," Jordan said. "Then I'll have to get back here. We've still got Hornets coming in and it'll be the gods' own hell to get everything turned around to face that battleship. The bloody thing's only an hour away."

"We'll manage. We're getting good at hobbling." Bennet sighed as they lowered him onto the bench in the chamber. The medtech went straight to him.

Jordan closed the door. "I've set it for a ten minute cycle. By rights, we should double that, but you're wanted on the bridge as fast as I can do it. I can't make it less than ten, though."

It was the absolute minimum time, and normally the techs would have made them sit through two or three times that, to clear anything they might have brought from planetside. The commander paving the way, Flynn supposed.

"You rest, Bennet, and let the medic do his job. Then we'll head for the bridge." Flynn took a closer look at his soon-to-be lover and winced. "You look terrible."

Bennet's shield-suit was in tatters, the layers separating in places, with frayed and shredded wires snaking out of the rips. Bruised, torn skin showed through the tears. Bennet looked down at himself. "I told you. I didn't bounce too well."

"I can't do much about your foot here," the medtech said. "Except to put on an air cast, if I can get your boot off. That'll stabilise things until you get to MedCentre."

"Uh-huh." Bennet grimaced and nodded. "I'm still wired, so no painkillers or anything."

"I'll be quick." The medtech glanced at Jordan and Flynn. "Hold him still for me."

The medtech was as good as his word. It was quick. Unpleasant, but quick. He got Bennet's boot unlaced and took it off a foot almost black with bruising and distorted by the lumpy mess of bone under the skin. Bennet went white under the dirt.

Flynn complimented him on his vocabulary, allowing Bennet to grip his hands. He hoped the wince didn't show. The look Bennet gave him could have withered steel and he grinned back.

"Easy, sir," Jordan said. "Easy. It'll only be a minute."

The air cast was fitted in seconds, inflated and checked. Bennet took in a couple of sharp breaths before relaxing. He let go of Flynn's hands, which was a shame.

"Better?" the medtech asked.

Bennet just nodded. He leaned back and closed his eyes. Flynn sat back on the bench, watching him, grinning to himself.

He'd done it. He'd got Bennet back.

And he'd got Bennet back pretty much the way Bennet had always intended it to happen. Powell may have been the good cutter driver, but Bennet had been looking for something different to get him out, something only Flynn had. The commander and Powell would both have to eat crow over this. Flynn grinned. That wasn't so important, really, not considering he'd done a lot more than just get Bennet back.

He'd got Bennet.

He'd got Bennet, even if it couldn't be for long. If it was only for a few days, until they reached Albion's space and Bennet went back to Shield, they were going to be the most spectacular days that could be humanly managed. Flynn couldn't wait to get Bennet to himself, to soothe those bruises, to kiss that poor bruised mouth, lick at Bennet's throat and neck, touch the dark nipples...

"We're ready." Jordan hit the inner door mechanism with the palm of his hand. He looked amused when he glanced at Flynn.

Startled, Flynn jumped. How long had he been sitting there, staring at Bennet with a sappy grin on his face? Downright uncool, acting like that.

He and Jordan got Bennet onto his feet and onto the high-speed travellator. Bennet looked better. He kept his weight off his foot and allowed Jordan and Flynn to hold him up, but he looked less strained. The air cast probably gave more support than his combat boot had done. The medtech stuck with them all the way back into the main part of the ship, to the lifts that led to the bridge, arguing that they really should be taking Bennet to MedCentre. He gave it up after a minute or two. No one listened to him. Flynn couldn't work out why he persisted in tagging along. It wasn't like Flynn needed anyone else to smirk at him. Jordan was doing just fine on his own.

Jordan and the medtech stepped back when they reached the bridge elevators. Jordan pushed Bennet's discarded boot into Flynn's hands. "We'll get back to the deck. See you later."

"Thanks," Bennet said, sincerely.

Flynn propped him up in a corner, and let the door slide closed. He cleared his throat as the elevator started upward, and looked sideways at Bennet. "Are you sure?"

Bennet smiled at him, reaching out a hand to hook him in a bit closer. Flynn's arms tightened around Bennet's waist. Purely for the support, of course. He knew better than to offer anything more. This job, whatever it was, wasn't over yet and Bennet wouldn't let anything, even lust, get in the way of finishing it. So he was surprised when Bennet's lips brushed his, gently, sweetly and quickly.

"I'm sure, Flynn. Aren't you?"

Flynn nodded. "Yeah, but—"

"But?"

"But you taste foul as hell. That planet sure didn't do us any favours."

Bennet laughed. He was still laughing when the elevator doors opened onto the bridge. It hadn't been that funny. Maybe the man was hysterical.

It was quietly frantic there. The forty or so bridge personnel moved with their usual quiet efficiency. Mind you, with both Quist and Commander Caeden looking over their shoulders, the poor sods didn't have the chance to work in any other fashion. The flag command centre was dark and quiet though, the dais empty but for the commander leaning on the rail and watching the main screens at the front of the bridge. The cold blue gaze flickered over them.

"Glad you made it, Captain," the commander said, cool as if they'd all been on a pleasant stroll in a park. "The comms desk is yours. I suggest you use the one up here, where it's more private."

Sobered, Bennet nodded. He let Flynn get him up onto the command dais, to the flag command communications desk, and sank down into a chair with a sigh. The bridge comms officer had followed them up onto the dais. She powered up the console and looked at Bennet for instruction.

"Please open a priority gold channel, code griffin-beta-seven. Then step back, please."

Whatever the hell that meant, it shocked the hell out of the comms officer. She looked from Bennet to the commander and back again. "But only the commander has clearance—"

"Security override Obsidian," Bennet said. "Open the channel."

"Do it," Caeden said.

Her mouth dropped another inch. "Yes, sir."

Bennet waited until she'd stepped back before typing the comms address. The monitor went black briefly, and flickered into life to show a woman in Shield uniform. "Captain," she said. "At last! Hold a few minutes, please, while I get the Supreme Commander on line."

"Ma'am." Bennet opened the belt pouch and started lining up data crystals on the console in front of him.

"How was it?" the general asked.

The commander stood beside Bennet, one hand on the back of the chair. He didn't look at Flynn, but Flynn sidled back a step anyway. It wasn't possible to shrink, but with luck, he wouldn't be noticed.

"The Link worked perfectly, ma'am. Eventually. I found a terminal in what I think was an environmental control centre. But the coupling took ages to establish a link with the Maess system. The Unit techs need to work on that. It held me up for a couple of hours. But once it did link in, there were no problems. Still slow, but it worked. I downloaded everything I could get to."

"Excellent. The techs will be pleased all that research has paid off." General Martens smiled. "They'll try and claim the credit, of course. I'll try and make sure they don't steal it all. What did you do with the Link?"

"I left it, ma'am. I had enough to carry."

"Ah," she said, amused. "The Supreme Commander's on line. The boy did it, Jak."

The little screen split to show another office. There was so much gold braid that Flynn could barely see the person behind it. The gold braid spoke sourly. "You left it behind? That's several billion credits down the drain."

"Not really, sir. I got what I went for." Bennet paused. "More than that. I hit the mother lode."

Both General Martens and the Supreme Commander stiffened visibly. Commander Caeden's hand dropped onto Bennet's shoulder. Flynn frowned. What was that all about?

"Are you sure?" The Supreme Commander's tone was so harsh that Flynn jumped.

"Pretty sure, sir. There was... something. I have it on camera. Not brilliant shots, but maybe enough for the Strategy Unit to analyse."

Another pause. "Transmit it with whatever else you got, Shield Captain. Proceed."

"Yes, sir." Bennet put the first data crystal into the slot. "One of eight. Transmitting."

"Eight?" Supreme Commander Jak turned his head to watch something off screen. "You were busy."

"Yes, sir." Bennet leaned back in his chair.

The commander stepped to one side, beckoning to one of the bridge crew. A minute later, he put a bottle of water beside Bennet. "You're dehydrated," he said softly. "Get some of this down you."

Bennet grinned up at him. "Thank you, sir."

"Download complete," the Supreme Commander said.

"Confirmed." General Martens nodded. "Destroy the data crystal, Captain."

Bennet extracted the crystal from the reading slot and inserted it into the one next to it. He pressed a button, vaporising the crystal. "Data crystal destroyed."

"Confirmed," Caeden said, quietly.

Bennet pushed the second crystal into the transmission slot. "Second crystal. Transmitting."

Caeden turned to look at Flynn. "That battleship will be here very shortly, Flynn and we need to kill it before we make the jump into hyperspace. I think you should rejoin your squad. Your Hornet's ready."

Flynn stiffened into a salute. Ah well, he'd seen more than he'd expected and it was the gentlest of dismissals. "Yes, sir." He dropped a hand on Bennet's shoulder. "See you later, Captain."

"Download complete," the Supreme Commander said.

"Confirmed," the general said. "Destroy."

Flynn stepped away, turning for the lift. Bennet was intent on removing the second crystal and dropping it into the vaporisation slot. Flynn wasn't surprised at his focus. This was what Bennet had risked his life for, after all.

"Destroyed."

"Confirmed," Caeden said.

Bennet inserted another crystal. "Three of eight."

He looked up as Flynn reached the elevator, and he smiled.

Flynn's heart turned over. He took that smile with him into battle.

## Chapter Twenty-two

"What did you see?"

The last crystal had been vaporised and the camera data extracted, sent, and the camera data card destroyed in the same slot as the others. Bennet had endured the Supreme Commander's gruff commendations and Martens' even less effusive praise before they closed down the Gold channel. And now the _Gyrfalcon_ 's Hornets were fully engaged with the battleship while the dreadnought herself pulled back towards Albion space, gathering her fighter squadrons around her as she went.

Caeden and Bennet were alone at the back of Flag Command, but even so Caeden kept his voice low. Of course, he'd recognised the coded message but he looked more shocked now than he had when Bennet had dropped his bombshell. Maybe now he was allowing himself to show it.

"I'm not really sure. There was a new kind of drone there, I think. I got a glimpse of something there that wasn't usual, anyway—something tall and different." Bennet waved a hand towards his head. "Different kind of head. But that wasn't it. That wasn't what I meant. That was just a drone. The thing... it wasn't a drone. It didn't have a definite shape or size. It kept shifting. It..." Bennet had to work his mouth to get some moisture back. "It b-blurred. The edges were blurred. It..."

He stopped. His hands shook, he noticed, and he balled them up so his father wouldn't notice. Caeden hands were heavy on Bennet's shoulders. They squeezed and relaxed, squeezed and relaxed. Bennet could feel it even through the shield-suit.

"Steady," Caeden said.

"It grew a face when it saw me." Bennet had to force the words out. "M-my face."

Caeden stared. He never had much colour anyway, but what there was ebbed from his face. "You're joking."

"No." Bennet pressed his lips together, fighting to control that damn stupid little stammer. It always came back when he least needed the extra stress. "It was like looking in a mirror."

His father stared at him, eyes wide. Caeden's hands clamped down hard on Bennet's shoulders. "Hell!"

Profanity from Caeden was shocking. It made Bennet clench up inside.

"I know. I know what you're thinking. I've been wondering, too. But it wasn't really human. It couldn't pass for human any more than a drone could. It looked like oil on grey water, all greens and purples. Iridescent. Not real. It didn't look real."

"Bennet..."

"It's okay. Honest. It's just... It surprised me, you know? It's stuff we didn't know. I need to get it all written down."

"Before you forget."

"I won't forget. Like I said, oily colours over grey. With my face." He swallowed. "It screamed at me."

Caeden leaned forward, resting his forehead against Bennet's. One hand came up to cup the back of Bennet's head. "Oh, dear gods."

"Yeah." Bennet let him do it, despite hoping the bridge crew were all too busy to notice. The touch made it all less pressing, less heavy. He drew a shaky breath. "I'm okay. It's just hard to process. I'll be fine. I'd better let you get back."

Caeden frowned. "I wish... " He looked over Bennet's head towards the bridge crew. "I can't leave the bridge, Bennet, or I'd take you down to MedCentre myself."

"I know," Bennet said. Of course his father couldn't leave the bridge.

Half distracted, Caeden glanced at the big screens where the battle was being played out. "I wish I could."

"I'll be fine. Honest, Dad. I'll be fine." He hobbled to the bridge elevator, leaning on his father. "Maybe someone could heave me into the elevator?"

"Sergeant Barton will take you down, Captain." Quist met them at the base of the dais. Her sharp gaze asked questions she'd never voice. She signalled the convenient Sergeant forward.

Bennet turned to face the Sergeant, biting back the desire to whimper at the flash of fire that tore through his right foot, making him lurch to keep his balance. The stims were definitely losing their anaesthetic effect. His father was very quick to help steady him and, what's more, held onto him for a second or two longer than was strictly necessary.

"I'm very glad that I didn't have to explain myself to your mother," Caeden said, very quietly.

Bennet gave him a wide, sincere smile. "Oh, me too!"

His father let him go. "I'll see you later. We'll talk then." He tried for a smile. "And by the way, Bennet?"

Bennet, leaning on Barton, stopped and turned. "Yes sir?"

"Try and find time for a shower. You're too fragrant."

Bennet shook his head, amused by this patrician euphemism. "Actually, sir, I stink."

Caeden gave him the patented cool stare again, then smiled. "You most certainly do. See to it, Shield Captain."

Flynn was all right. He was all right.

Bennet had sat helpless for longer than he ever wanted to again, his datapad on his knee, trying to find the words to report what he'd seen while listening to distant booms and explosions, klaxons and alarms. The huge ship shook and shuddered from compressions and decompressions. The Maess battleship had evidently got up close and personal.

And worse, he wasn't alone in the treatment room. The main triage areas were already in full use when Sergeant Barton had delivered Bennet to MedCentre, and within a bare half hour of the two great ships engaging, more casualties had been brought in. All the other beds had occupants now, unconscious or sedated. Ground crew, Parry had said, bringing in a girl and settling her into the bed opposite Bennet's. A Hornet, badly damaged in the firefight, had lost it coming in to the port landing bay and the support crew hadn't had the chance to get away. Parry said the girl had been lucky. The pilot and two ground crew were dead. She had been on the edge of it and she'd live; although with her right arm gone, it might take her a while to accept that was a boon. She might have been very pretty once, before the flash burns. She smelled of smoke.

After he'd finally locked down the datapad, Bennet had spent the last couple of hours dividing his time between watching the door for Flynn and watching the girl's face, slack and childlike in her sedated sleep. There was one helluva price being paid for the job, and he wasn't the one paying it. The gods alone knew if it was worth it. This poor girl would never be able to tell him.

He lay back on the narrow hospital bed. It was pointless to fret, and pointless to tell himself to stop. At least worrying about whether it had all been worthwhile kept him from worrying about Flynn, and whether the lieutenant had made it through. Well, that was the theory, anyway. He was thinking in circles, and the more he tried not to think about Flynn, the more Flynn was the only thing he could think about. Not that that would surprise anyone who'd ever met Flynn. The man had a way of being the centre of everything.

It had the virtue of keeping his mind off other things.

He turned his head on the pillow, and there was Flynn himself walking towards him. Unscathed. Thank the gods. Thank every god in Albion's pantheon. Flynn was safe.

Something in Bennet, something tight and cold in his chest, uncurled and warmed. He smiled. "Hey."

Flynn nodded and sat on the edge of the bed. He took a moment to speak, couldn't quite meet Bennet's gaze. "Hell of a fight."

Bennet reached out with both hands, but let them fall. There was an unusual restraint about Flynn right then. This was a Flynn with all the lights out, quenched and sombre.

He'd lost someone, that was plain. It might be the downer a soldier always got after the heat and excitement of a battle, as the adrenaline drained away and the realization that you only just made it took its place. But this seemed more. Not Cruz, though. From all Bennet had seen, Cruz was important. If it had been Cruz, Flynn couldn't have been this calm.

Flynn's hands shook. He pushed them into the pockets of his flight jacket. "How was it here?"

"Scary."

Flynn smiled thinly. "Do you madmen get scared?"

"This one does. I don't think I've ever been so frightened, sitting in here listening to it all and not being allowed to join in. It's not nearly so frightening if you have something to do."

Flynn said, after a minute, "The old girl took some damage. I heard one of the engineers say something about the engines." He cocked his head as though listening. "Can't feel any difference."

"Could you tell?"

"She has a sound you get used to. You don't even hear it, until it changes. Then you worry." He cocked his head again. "She sounds okay. She sounds like she always does."

Bennet waited.

Flynn took his hands out of his pockets and stared at them. "The battleship's pulled right back towards T18. We made the shift into hyperspace as soon as we were far enough away from T18's mass that we didn't blow the hyperdrive engines, and we're heading for home, as fast as we can do it." He glanced from Bennet to the unconscious girl, and back to his hands. "We lost a lot of good people. Rafe's gone, and Jaime, and Kelly didn't make it. I've got Carson here in MedCentre with shrapnel wounds and Nairn has some nasty flash burns. They'll both make it, but still. So many. The rest... well, the captain's got to keep the tubes manned, but he's sending everyone else off duty. They're gathering in the commissary. They're going to ask me, and I don't know what to tell them."

"You want to know if it was worth it?" Bennet couldn't help himself. He reached out to put his hand over Flynn's.

Flynn let him, staring down at their hands for a moment before looking up and nodding.

Some of that circular thinking hadn't been quite useless. "I think so. For the first time ever, Flynn, we were able to hack into their computer systems. What I got was pure gold, machine codes, battle plans, ship and base schematics, weaponry blueprints, drone manufacture details. The general and everyone else back home thinks it gives us one hell of an advantage. We need that."

"What sort of advantage? Just the better intelligence?"

Bennet shook his head. "Not 'just' anything. We got ourselves into this stupid war, and we've got to get out. I'd rather it was on the winning side, wouldn't you?"

"You do a lot of trick questions in Shield?"

"No. I dunno... No." Bennet tightened his grip on Flynn's hands. "We're in the shit, Flynn. Sometimes, I think we're perilously close to losing. We can't match their numbers, for a start. Even if we had the technology, I hope we wouldn't make the same decision they did to create fighting drones with no individuality, no purpose but to fight and die. But that's one hell of an advantage they've got. They can sacrifice thousands, millions, of drones and all they have to do is crank up the manufacturing plants and churn out more. Some days, I wonder how the hell we hold them back, how the hell we've managed to hold them back for so long."

Flynn nodded.

"The data I got on T18 won't win us the war, but it'll help us fight on a bit longer until we can. I hope it'll help us fight better and smarter. So, yes, it was worth it. But the price we paid, that other people paid for us, is almost too much. A lot of people died for this, and not only from this ship. We lost five Shield scouts getting me the data on T18 and the other possible targets."

"But it's still worth it." Flynn sounded sad, depressed and unconvinced.

"It'll be worth it if we win. If we survive." It wasn't much, but it was the only comfort Bennet had been able to find for himself; the only comfort there was.

Flynn looked at him for a long minute. "Well, we survived this one." He straightened up. "I can't tell 'em all that, can I? No one can know what you did down there."

"No. I'm sorry. That was just for you."

"It's all right. I'll think of something." He nodded to the capsule encasing Bennet's foot. "Are you in here all night?"

"Another hour or so, I think, until the bones fuse, then Parry's kicking me out. This is pretty minor, and she'll need the bed."

"Okay. I'll go to the commissary with the others, and then I'll see you later. I don't want to be on my own tonight. I need something to remind me that I survived."

Bennet tightened his grip on Flynn's hands. "I'd be glad to help you remember, if you still want it."

Flynn leaned forward. He freed his hands and cupped Bennet's face with them. Bennet's lips opened under his, as naturally as breathing, and Flynn kissed him.

Flynn pulled back, still holding Bennet's face in his hands. "Oh yes," he said. "I still want it."

"You just caught me." Bennet swung his legs off the bed as Caeden came in. "Parry wants me gone. She said she'd prefer my absence any day of the week, and right now would be the very best time. Great bedside manner."

"She's a good doctor," Caeden said, but the admonishment was absent minded, and he stared past Bennet to the people in the other three beds. Bennet understood. To say that his father had a strongly developed sense of responsibility was to indulge in the worst kind of understatement. These were Caeden's people, and he cared. He wouldn't be Caeden if he didn't.

"I know. She hasn't even told me that this mess is all my fault."

"Because it isn't," Caeden said, firmly. "We all have a job to do, and we're at war. People die and people get hurt."

Bennet glanced at the girl's face again. "I guess. But we can't hide our own responsibility behind that necessity for ever, Dad."

"Unless there's a miracle and we find peace, what happened today will be repeated over and over again. Here, or Cetes, or somewhere else. You didn't start the war, Bennet, but hopefully, today has given us another weapon to help end it."

And here endeth today's lesson.

Bennet nodded. He and his father were more alike than was comfortable, sometimes. It was pretty much the same sermon he'd given Flynn.

"I suppose," Caeden said, turning his attention from his injured crew to his injured son, "that talking of peace, I have mine to make with First Lieutenant Flynn?"

"I saw the cutter and other Hornets take off." Something inside Bennet shook and cried in fright, and he stilled it with an effort. He swallowed. "I wouldn't have got back without him."

Caeden flushed. "I had no choice."

"I know that. I didn't ever think anything else, Dad."

Caeden hesitated, then sat beside Bennet and put an arm around his shoulders. Bennet let him. "I waited as long as I could. I don't think that in my entire life I've ever had to make a harder decision."

Bennet remembered the set, grey face that Caeden had turned to him when he'd hobbled onto the bridge and the flare of relief in his father's eyes. He met those eyes now and nodded. "I know. I know you waited."

"You know," his father said thoughtfully, "I'm beginning to wonder if, subconsciously, I was relying on Flynn, too. It was hardly a surprise when Omar told me that the Mosquito hadn't taken off when the Abort signal was sent."

"I knew he wouldn't go until he had to. He weighed the odds, and he took the risks accordingly. If he hadn't come to find me, those Maess drones would have caught up with me before I could have made it back to him. He saved my life twice over."

"Which makes the humble pie a little more palatable." Caeden sighed. "I suppose."

"You owe him an apology."

"I know it." Caeden grimaced. "I wasn't very fair to him. I don't know why, because when I stop to think about it now, I know he isn't as bad as I painted him. I can't imagine what got me so het up about him."

"The Liam factor, maybe."

Caeden looked startled, then smiled. "You might be right. Liam scares me, Bennet. He's so wild. And yes, the resemblance between them hasn't escaped me. Sadly, it has more effect when I come down heavy on Flynn than it does on your graceless brother."

"Liam's okay really. He's just suffering from a severe case of testosterone poisoning."

Caeden choked out a laugh. "I don't mind Liam suffering. It's the suffering he inflicts on everyone else that I deplore. But to get back to Lieutenant Flynn, I do owe him an apology and I'll do it tomorrow. And, going by what you told Jak, I'll be handing the boy a medal, too."

"He deserves it. They all do. They must have been scared as hell sitting there waiting for me, never knowing when the Maess might take it into their heads to come and investigate the landings."

"I don't know why they didn't. The Maess, I mean."

"Me neither, but I guess they had enough on their hands wondering what happened to their fighters. There's one advantage we have over them. They might outnumber us, but when it comes to it, those drones don't have any initiative. They wait for orders, and if the commander is thinking about lost fighters and not unknown ships landing, then they have to wait until..." Bennet's voice trailed away and he forced the images from his mind. "Until he/she/it tells them to do something about it. I don't think there's an original thought between them."

"Not at drone level, anyway. The gods alone know about the Maess themselves." The arm around Bennet's shoulders tightened. "What will they give you for today?"

"Me? A pat on the back and some extra leave, if I'm lucky." Bennet grinned at his father's expression. "Dad, you get medals for doing something above and beyond, remember? Flynn and the other deserve it. But as Captain Simonitz pointed out the day I got here, I'm supposed to walk in and out of Maess bases. It's my job."

"And one you're good at, if I remember you right."

"I think I've said that once or twice. I need to give up boasting." He reached for the crutches that Parry insisted he use for a couple of days. "Walk me back to my quarters?"

Caeden helped him upright. "Are you really fit enough to leave here? You looked terrible when you got onto the bridge."

"I'm fine. Parry's fused all the bones together again, and everything else is superficial. I've got to keep my weight off my foot for a couple of days, but that's all."

"I thought you'd be tired." Caeden held the door for him.

Bennet got there slowly, getting used to the crutches. It was an effort when everything ached. "I am beyond tired, but I'm wired on stims up to my eyeballs. I'll crash out about dawn, probably, and sleep most of tomorrow. Don't expect me for breakfast."

"I doubt whether I'll have any time for breakfast anyway. The battleship has pulled back and we're in hyperspace and far out of their range, but there's a lot to do to secure the ship. There's a fire on deck ten that we're having a hard time getting under control. Quist's down there now."

In Bennet's opinion, no fire would dare defy the formidable colonel, but it was probably better not to say so. "Will you get to bed tonight?"

"Probably not. I can't really spare much time now, not as much as I'd like, but we're out of immediate danger and I couldn't wait much longer to see for myself that you were all right. I'll need to send some sort of report to your mother."

Bennet grinned at him. "Do you use her as an excuse for everything?"

"Pretty much." Caeden smiled back. Then he said, tone serious, "What you did down there, what you saw... how was it? Really?"

Bennet shook his head. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to think of all those hours squeezed into the corner of that dark room on T18, waiting for something to happen, either the Link to work or for the Maess to find him. He didn't want to think about that shifting obscene Thing that he'd blown to hell and back. He really, really didn't want to think about that. He didn't want to think about it until the debrief, when the Shield psychs would be there to take him through it.

They were at the elevator before he spoke. His father, eyes anxious, was watching him sidelong. He had to say something. Dammit, but that tremor was back in his voice. "I was p-pretty scared. That thing. It scared me. I think the drones fooled us, Dad."

Caeden raised an eyebrow.

"I mean, they fooled us into thinking that the Maess must be a bit like us, fundamentally. If the Maess could create something that had a body, and arms and legs, then the Maess must be something like that too. That they'd have bodies, arms and legs and heads—even if we didn't know how many arms and legs—and that maybe they were something like us in other ways."

"Basic needs, maybe," Caeden said.

"Yes, that. The need to eat and drink, probably, and the need to procreate. Things like that have to be common. All life needs that. But everything else? If that was a Maess I saw, then there's nothing we can latch onto as familiar." Bennet closed his hands hard on the crutches and hopped into the elevator behind his father. "Nothing."

"It felt wrong, you mean."

Bennet could only nod. "Very wrong. Abhorrent. Now I'm wondering if they create drones because they have nothing like us. Because they don't have fixed bodies of their own." Leaning up against the elevator wall, he tapped the datapad in his pocket. "I've written it all down. I don't want to think about it anymore just now. Not until I get home and they start the debrief. I'm too tired now."

The elevator doors opened. Caeden blocked the way out and when Bennet came to a halt, he took away one of the crutches.

"Hey!"

"Those things are hard work when you're tired," Caeden said, and put his arm around Bennet's waist. "Lean on me."

Bennet stared, then obeyed. Progress was marginally faster, but silent now. Bennet didn't know about Caeden, but he was reluctant to break this unusual closeness. Silence was less dangerous than words. Far less dangerous.

Outside Bennet's door, Caeden stopped, but didn't quite release him. "I won't come in now. I need to get back."

Bennet took back the purloined crutch. What in hell was he supposed to do or say now?

"Besides," his father said, patrician nose wrinkling, "you need that shower I mentioned."

"Yeah." And Flynn would be coming this way soon. It wasn't that Bennet wanted to rush his father or anything, but explaining away Flynn's appearance in his quarters would be interesting. That was the word. Interesting.

"I want to talk to you though. Tomorrow?"

Bennet nodded. "When I surface."

"Good. I want to sort this out."

Bennet said, very quiet, "What do you want to do?"

"Do?" Caeden sounded tired. "I don't know, Bennet. But I want to know. I want to know what I can do to get my son back."

"Well," Bennet said. "I'm right here."

# SECTION FIVE: AFTER THE FALL

31 Sextus – 7 Septimus 7846

## Chapter Twenty-three

When it was all over in the commissary and he couldn't take any more death and dying, Flynn went to find Bennet.

Bennet opened the door almost as soon as Flynn hit the buzzer. Bennet let him in, without speaking. Flynn pulled him close and let Bennet soothe him, still without speaking. And Bennet kissed him, without speaking, when Flynn raised his face from his hands and, just as mutely, asked him to do it.

"Can't you sleep?"

"No," Flynn said. "You?"

"I'm coming down but it'll be a while yet before I've metabolised all that crap." Bennet pulled him in a bit closer. "I could have another go at trying to tire you out, if you like."

They hadn't had sex at first. Instead, Bennet had helped Flynn undress and got him into bed. They'd held each other, just for the feeling of something warm and vital and still alive. After a little while, they started moving together, slowly and without urgency, until Bennet had taken Flynn's cock into his hands and mouth, and Flynn was lost.

Bennet said he was impressed by Flynn's staying power, if the hard cock pressing into his thigh was anything to go by. "I mean, I obviously didn't do too well the first time."

"Stop fishing for compliments." Flynn squirmed and wriggled until they were nose to nose. He had to squint to focus. "Want to know what I was going to tell you when you got into that cutter, if the commander hadn't turned up?"

"What?"

"That you were quite possibly the most beautiful thing in this quadrant of the universe and I couldn't wait to get this over with so I could show you what I do with beautiful things. Of course, that was before you got yourself so battered and bruised up. I'll have to change my plans now."

"You mean, I'm not beautiful anymore?"

"I love each and every bruise," Flynn said. "But I'm going to have to put the wild sex on hold until you heal a bit."

Bennet laughed. "I don't mind. In fact, I'm more a making love man, myself. I like long and slow and deep, Flynn."

And that went straight to Flynn's cock, but he kissed Bennet gently, willing to share the mood. "Do you?"

"Why not try it and see?" Bennet kissed him back and it was a long time, an eternity, before they came up from it.

Bennet made Flynn relax, using his hands at first, moving on him slowly, smoothing down Flynn's side and sliding back up the flat belly to rub gently at a nipple. Flynn hissed and his back arched. He stretched out his hands to reach for Bennet.

"Take it slow, Flynn. There's no rush."

Flynn's answering touch was feather light, soothing the bruises with fingers and lips. He took his time, finding all the places and things that Bennet liked, only falling back when Bennet pushed him down and returned the favour.

Bennet was a demon at this. He used hands and lips, his whole body, rubbing slowly against Flynn while he touched and teased, smoothing first his palms then just fingertips over the skin he was sensitizing, brushing close to nipples or Flynn's hard cock without actually touching them. His tongue followed, tasting Flynn, flickering over skin, lips mouthing over it. He kept everything unhurried and leisurely, working his way down Flynn's stomach to—Sweet gods! Right there.

Flynn fisted his hands in Bennet's hair, holding him in place as he thrust into Bennet's mouth. After a minute or two, Bennet shook his head free of Flynn's hands and let Flynn's cock slide from between his lips, licking along the length as it went.

"Hey!"

"I'm not letting you come yet," Bennet said, lapping at Flynn's taut balls. "You've done that once tonight."

"Oh go on! I don't mind being selfish."

Bennet just laughed. "You're going to come, Flynn, but you're coming in me."

One more nibbling kiss, and Bennet was working his way back up. He reached Flynn's chest, tongue licking up Flynn's breastbone in long, lazy sweeps. As Bennet moved inexorably upwards, Flynn's hands slid down the back of his neck, making him shiver, and started smoothing down his back and across his shoulders.

"Now," Bennet said. "I want you now. Face to face."

"Well, since you ask so nicely." Flynn trailed a sticky, wet hand down Bennet's face. "You are so, so beautiful."

Bennet smiled and kissed him again.

[Good morning, Captain. It's 5.30 am]

Flynn grunted something, and buried his face in Bennet's hair again. They were spooned up, Bennet's warm buttocks tucked into his groin. He tightened his hold on Bennet's waist, and pulled him in closer.

[Good morning, Captain. It's 5.35]

Bennet was dead weight against him, not reacting either to the arm draped over him, or to that bloody irritating computerised voice alarm. His breathing was deep and even.

[Captain, it's 5.40]

"Oh fer fuck's sake," Flynn said, getting one eye open. "The damned thing's for you, not me."

Bennet sighed deeply in his sleep, but that was all the reaction Flynn got.

The computer moved on to one-minute warnings.

[Captain, it's 5.41]

"All right!" Flynn said loudly. "I heard you. Alarm off."

He waited, but the computer apparently didn't care who told it to shut up as long as someone did. He snuggled back up to Bennet again.

They couldn't have slept for more than a couple of hours, Bennet's hyped up state chiming perfectly with Flynn's more animalistic need to prove to himself that he was still living and breathing. He didn't remember coming so often in one night since he was a teenager. Best sex ever.

Flynn had a varied and prolific sex life. Hell, everyone wanted a piece of him. He'd spent a lot of time working on being charming and irresistible, not to mention that there was no one to touch him for looks. Well, Bennet came close, maybe. Still, there wasn't much that he couldn't turn to his advantage, wasn't much that passed him by when he used the charm and the looks to get something he wanted or to get himself out of trouble.

Came out of the years in the orphanage, likely. A survival mechanism. That's what the pyschs would say, anyway. If only his mother hadn't died... Flynn chuffed out a quiet sigh. She'd checked out long before that, of course. He'd loved her, but gods forbid he should ever need anything from her. He knew now that she'd been left mentally trashed by the Maess raid that all but destroyed Thorn just after he was born, but a kid couldn't have known that. A kid only knows when he's not important, when he's invisible. Not that the orphanage was much better after she... after she... Fuck. The least she could have done was make sure he wasn't the one to find her hanging from a beam. What sort of mother does that to their eight-year-old kid?

There wasn't any point thinking about it. She was gone. She was gone and there was nothing to be done about it—just not let anything touch him, ever again. Not touch deep, anyway. There was nothing wrong with being touched by sex. That was only bodies. That was about being hot and about being fun, and blowing his brains out through his cock when he came. Hell, there was nothing to come close to that. Sometimes it was better than others, sometimes he connected better with the body he was moving with and the heat was more fierce, the explosion in his balls more overwhelming, but even then it wasn't something that lasted. Just something on the surface—hot, fast and meaningless.

It hadn't seemed like that last night. Bennet had given ample proof that long and slow and deep didn't mean less passionate, it just meant less frenetic. It was about letting the walls down, and taking time, putting immediate gratification aside and looking for that something extra under the passion, the something that he'd never experienced before.

Flynn couldn't see why it had been so damned good. He'd always been an immediate gratification man himself, and he'd never looked for or even considered anything more. This had been experimental, something totally different. He was looking forward to another bout of experimentation to see if he could find some empirical measures for this new sensation, but from the look of him, Bennet wouldn't be available to hold up his end of the research project for some time to come.

Flynn smiled down at him. The man would likely sleep through a full-scale attack by the entire Maess army accompanied by brass bands and cheerleaders. He was completely dead to the world. Flynn leaned in and kissed him. At least he didn't snore.

One more kiss and Flynn slid reluctantly out of bed. Duty called, but hell, he didn't want to go.

As _Gyrfalcon_ 's honoured guest in command-level quarters, Bennet rated a proper turbo shower. Flynn revelled in that. Although long inured to the deprivations of service life, this was one of the luxuries that he missed the most. By the time he was ready to go and find breakfast, he felt like a new man. The problem was that his new man hadn't stirred an atom, and all Flynn could do was kiss Bennet again a few hundred times and leave him to sleep.

He swung by MedCentre to check on Carson. The lieutenant was pretty sleepy too, but Flynn didn't offer to kiss him. Flynn didn't stay long, just long enough to make sure Carson understood how thankful everyone was that he'd made it.

"Thankful enough so I don't have to pay you that ten credits I owe you?"

Flynn snorted. "Be glad I'm a charitable man. I'll give you extra time to pay."

Carson looked at him, and frowned. "You look happy."

"Oh, I am, I am." Flynn straightened his face. "Because you've been spared to me, Carson, my son."

"Because my ten credits have been spared to you, you mean."

"Don't be stupid. I'd have claimed it out of your estate." Flynn ruffled Carson's hair, conscious that he was spreading light and joy wherever he went.

Indeed, after seeing the impact he'd had on Ensign Nairn in the next bed to Carson, Dr Parry suggested that Flynn was maybe being a little too joyously light for her patients' delicate health. "That boy doesn't need his temperature elevating any further, thank you, Lieutenant. Come back tomorrow."

Nairn was heard to whimper.

"Or maybe next week." Parry shooed him to the door.

So Flynn, a little hurt and insulted, headed off for breakfast and to spread light and joy in the commissary. The place was crowded. It took him a minute or two to spot Cruz and work his way through to her, picking up his tray of unidentifiable protein on the way. She looked tired and worn, her eyelids reddened and puffy. She'd lost Todd from her small squad of pilots, and that weighed heavy on her. He stooped down and kissed her cheek. She raised a hand and patted his shoulder.

"All right?" he asked, taking a mouthful of coffee and sighing gratefully. The tiny kitchen in Bennet's quarters had stocked only tea, and Flynn made a mental note to take some coffee with him when he went back.

When he went back.

The warmth started somewhere in his groin, spreading up through his stomach to set that something in his chest fluttering. He smiled at Cruz.

Cruz nodded. "Better, thanks. You?"

Considerately, Flynn moderated his raptures. Cruz would not have had a good night. "Fine. I'll be glad when the debriefs over."

"Yeah. At the usual briefing, Simonitz said." Cruz picked at her meal. "I just saw him. He says the commander and Colonel Quist will be there. I don't know about Bennet."

Flynn opened his mouth to tell Cruz there wasn't a hope in hell of seeing Bennet for hours, and closed it again, deciding on discretion. He really didn't think Cruz would be in the mood to listen. Besides, he didn't want to share it. Not yet. He wanted to keep Bennet all to himself.

The warm feeling started up in his groin again, and the blood sang in his ears. He sighed gently, shook his head at Cruz's look of enquiry, and applied himself to refreshing the inner man. He was going to have to build up his strength and stamina, although once the stims were out of Bennet's system it was just possible that his new man would slow down a bit. Flynn hoped not.

"Flynn?"

Flynn, who'd been concentrating on his breakfast, grimaced before looking up. "Powell. Are you joining us?"

Powell hesitated so long, that Cruz touched Flynn's knee under the table, sending should-I-go? messages to him through the medium of nods and rolling eyes. Flynn shook his head urgently.

"Was it a set-up?" Powell demanded at last.

"Yesterday? Not on my part, Powell. I was his first backup, I knew that. But that's all I know. I don't know why he opted to come my way rather than yours." Flynn tried to radiate sincerity. "I mean, he did break his foot. Maybe I was closer, that's all, to where he managed to get out of the base before it blew."

Powell stared at him, the pale hazel eyes unreadable. Flynn waited for a minute, then with an exasperated glance at Cruz, he resumed his breakfast. Cruz did a bit more sympathetic eye rolling.

"I could have killed you yesterday, and then the shit hit, and—" Powell shrugged. "I saw Jaime go."

"Yeah." Flynn had seen Rafe go. He'd yelled out his impotent rage and pounded his fist on the control panel of his Hornet, and he'd taken out the Maess fighter that had got Rafe, despite his vision blurring. After that, every survival was a triumph. It burned away any lesser feeling. He looked at his ex-lover in a more kindly way.

And Powell blew it. "I came to talk to you last night. You weren't around."

"No," Flynn said, kindness freezing into caution.

Powell dropped into a chair opposite him, and sat with his hands on the table top, twisting them together into complicated knots. "I thought we might talk."

"Uh-huh."

"You didn't come back, either. I checked a couple of times."

"Good lord!" Cruz's voice was sharp with alarm. "Is that the time? I gotta fly."

"You don't have to go anywhere," Flynn said, the kindness cooling rapidly into the irritation he'd felt for Powell for weeks now.

"No, she doesn't. She knows, doesn't she?"

Flynn shrugged.

"Don't you, Cruz?"

Cruz sank back into her chair. "Flynn's my best friend."

"You mean," Powell said, "that he's never hit on you, so you have less to forgive."

"Or more." Cruz was loyal to a fault. She gave Flynn a quick, supportive grin.

Powell was the one to shrug now. "Depends on your point of view. Experience changes it." He turned back to Flynn. "I wasn't expecting anything. I want you to understand that. I wanted to tell you that I was glad you made it, and hoped... thought you might be glad I'd made it too and I just wanted to talk to you."

"I was glad. I am glad." Flynn could say it and mean it. He still liked Powell, when he wasn't being irritated by his ex-lover's inability to let him go, and he would have been very sorry if Powell hadn't come through.

Powell considered that and nodded. "I think you mean it. All I wanted to do was tell you that and that I'd seen Jaime go and wanted us to be glad to be alive. Did you find someone to do that with?"

"Mmn," Flynn said, feeling distinctly harassed.

"Give it up, Powell," Cruz said.

"Typical. Flynn holds onto someone else and I hold on to the past." Powell grinned at Flynn, but there was nothing in it but self-deprecation. "Bennet?"

Flynn said nothing.

"I'll bet it was Bennet. You haven't been able to keep your eyes off him since he got here, and he wanted you for T18 all the time. He likes you too, and he's perfect for you, isn't he? I mean, he'll be gone in a couple of days and you'll be free again, and there's no entanglement, no embarrassment. Just what you like, I guess, and all you can cope with."

Flynn frowned at the sudden jolt, at the way that the cold hit him in the pit of his stomach. He took a sip of coffee to warm himself. "Whoever it was doesn't matter, really, does it?"

"No." Powell stood up. "I'll be glad to get to the _Caliban_ and start over."

"I'm sorry, Powell."

"So am I, but I'm still glad you made it. See you later, Flynn. Cruz."

"Fuck," Flynn said, softly, as soon as Powell was out of earshot. "That man's starting to worry me."

"Yeah." Cruz looked anxious, mouth drawn down and eyes narrowed as she watched Powell's retreat. "I'd have been a helluva lot happier if he'd tried to deck you."

Flynn still trying to warm himself against that sudden and inexplicable cold, stared. "Spoken like a true friend."

"I think he's losing it. You watch your back." Cruz grinned. "Was it really Bennet?"

The warmth flooded through Flynn again. He sparkled at Cruz over the rim of the coffee cup, and Cruz laughed.

"You're unbelievable! Didn't you say the man fell down that escarpment and broke his leg?"

"His foot, that's all, and Parry fixed it."

"It didn't slow him down any then." Cruz shook her head. "But then, unlike Powell, he didn't exactly have to chase you, did he?"

Commander Caeden and the colonel were already in the briefing room when the remnants of the pilot officer cadre arrived. Both looked tired, even Quist. The _Gyrfalcon_ had withstood the battleship attack well, but not without damage. Flynn suspected that the pair of them had spent the night on the bridge, not willing to leave until the ship was back to some sort of normality.

The commander sat at the head of the table, Quist on his right hand. Simonitz slid heavily into the chair on the left.

"Everyone at ease," the commander said, as soon as they filed in. "Please go to your seats."

The officers went to their normal places. There was a momentary hesitation, a short instant of having the open wound touched—because that left holes. Good people these, though. They closed up ranks, without fuss and without even having to talk about what they'd do. The holes melted away, temporarily.

"I know that you're not all of the Theban faith," the commander said, when they had all found places, "but I hope you'll all join me in a moment's silence for our dead."

Flynn bowed his head, thinking of Rafe again, and Kelly and a dozen or so more. Hell, he'd miss Rafe. He couldn't believe he was gone. The silence thickened, and the commander's quiet voice startled everyone when he began the Theban prayer for the souls of the dead.

"So be it," they all said, at the end. Flynn could just hear Cruz and his other neighbour, their voices almost lost, but by some trick his voice pitched itself a little lower than usual and he heard himself say the words with a clarity that surprised him. He was not a religious man, but this little ceremony was simple and never failed to move him. It would be worse later, with half a dozen bodies to commit to deep space. This was all there was time for now, but the dead wouldn't mind. It was all heartfelt.

Caeden straightened. "Thank you, ladies and gentleman. Captain Simonitz will take the debrief as usual, but before he begins I want you to understand how proud I am of you all, how very proud. I'll be conferring with Captains Bennet and Simonitz, and we'll make recommendations for decorations, of course, but all of you and your pilots deserve commendation. This ship has centuries of tradition behind her, and I don't know how many pilots have served on her, but you are all very worthy successors to the generations of heroes who went before you. I couldn't ask for more. Thank you, all of you. Captain Simonitz."

Simonitz coughed, and started giving his report, calling on the other squadron leaders, Jillia and Kyle, to support him when he needed it. Others chipped in details of the action against T18's fighters and then those of the battleship. Flynn listened to this dry and official version of the blood and heat and fire of the day before, trying to match his own chaotic memories to it. At one point, Powell recounted what happened on T18 from his point of view, and came in for the warmest praise from the commander. Caeden even went so far as to say that he was sorry to lose Powell to the Third Flotilla and that he'd personally be commending the lieutenant to Commander Warwick, as well as ensuring that Powell's courage had a more formal recognition. Flynn looked up at that, smiling to see Powell glow with satisfaction. Powell deserved it.

"Lieutenant Flynn?" Caeden said.

Flynn started, and looked along the table, meeting the commander's cool gaze. "Sir?"

"I would be interested in your explanation of why you missed the Abort signal."

Flynn's jaw dropped. No way! The man couldn't drop on him for saving Bennet and whole bloody mission! "Sir?"

"I understand that there was some difficulty in transmission?"

Flynn stared, then said, enunciating each word carefully, "No, sir, none. I got the signal clearly."

"But you chose to ignore it."

"Yes, sir." Flynn's mouth set, and he felt sick. "Well, not ignore it, exactly. Just delay reacting to it. When I saw that the cutter had lifted off and we still didn't get the signal that the Shield captain had been picked up, I calculated that the risks were worth it. Given the Mosquito's superior speed, I had some time in hand. Shield Captain Bennet wanted me for his back up, sir. That's why he gave me his Mosquito. He knew that if he couldn't make the cutter, then I'd be there. He had to be on his way to me. I had no intention of letting him down."

"I see. And that included going to the base to look for him?"

Beside Flynn, Cruz drew in a sharp breath and looked at him sidelong. Bennet must have told the commander. Flynn had told no one. "Again, sir, I calculated that I had the time. I figured that something must have happened to slow him up."

"A platoon of drones, I believe," Caeden said in that same cool tone. "Your arrival to help him deal with the last of them was most opportune. The Shield captain doesn't think he'd have got back without your help, especially given his injury."

"That was my job, sir," Flynn said, so stiffly that he reckoned he'd be on report in a second for sheer dumb insolence.

"Yes." Caeden locked gazes with Flynn for a minute, and Flynn had to fight hard to keep his face expressionless. Caeden nodded. "The Shield captain chose very well, Lieutenant. Without you, we'd have failed." Flynn was favoured with a smile. "Well done. Very well done."

Flynn's jaw dropped again. Everyone was looking at him, and even Quist had a cold smile on her face. She gave him a nod, and dear gods, where was his diary? This was a day to record for eternity. Quist had approved.

"You'll be pleased to know that Shield Captain Bennet ensured that Shield General Martens and Supreme Commander Jak were both made aware of the pivotal role you played. Therefore, I've not only my own congratulations to give you, Flynn, but theirs too. Your record will carry their commendations as well as mine."

"Thank you, sir," Flynn said, faintly, and sank back in his chair, trying to disappear behind Cruz, feeling his face burn.

"Oh, my hero!" she whispered, grinning. "You didn't tell me you'd gone running to the rescue."

Flynn could only shake his head and he let the rest of the debrief pass in a haze. He didn't know what he'd expected, but it hadn't been this completely revolutionary public approbation. He didn't know what to make of it.

## Chapter Twenty-four

When Caeden thanked them all again and Simonitz dismissed them, Flynn got slowly to his feet with the others, still dazed. Caeden's voice jerked him back to reality.

"Lieutenant Flynn, please remain behind."

Caught half stood up, Flynn stared down the long table to the commander. Caeden was wearing that inscrutable face again. Flynn had no idea what was to come next. Maybe the commander was going to keep the bawling out for disobeying orders private. Flynn sat back down again, only shrugging at Cruz's questioning expression. He was as bewildered as she was.

When the room was empty, Caeden got up and came to join him, taking Cruz's seat. Flynn made to get up, politely, but was waved back down again. Hell, but he was giving a bloody good impression of a jack-in-the-box.

Caeden settled down beside him. Without preamble, he launched straight into it. "A few days ago, you accused me of being unfair, of allowing my prejudices against the more colourful episodes in your career on board the _Gyrfalcon_ to blind me to what really mattered." He smiled thinly at Flynn. "You were within an inch of being on report for insolence for that, you know, but I'd just promised Bennet that I wouldn't interfere, and that I'd let all his choices go through simulator training."

"Yes sir. I wasn't intending to be insolent."

"Well, you do have a huge talent for being insolent while being precisely by-the-book respectful." Caeden's smile was rueful. "An impressive talent. However, I acknowledge that I was unfair, this time. I allowed personal considerations to cloud my judgment, to blind me to the very reasons as to why Bennet wanted you there with him."

Flynn's face burned again. Never in a millennium had he expected the commander to apologise to him, never.

Caeden tapped out silent patterns on the table top with a long, elegant hand. "They would not have sent him if he wasn't the best they had for this mission, of course, and while that makes me proud, it didn't make me any the less anxious. I'm sorry that you bore the brunt of that, Flynn."

What. The. Everloving. Hell?

Flynn decided to leave his mouth hanging open. To let it drop violently so many times in quick succession was likely to cause some damage to the mandibles. There was an unaccountable buzzing in his ears.

Bennet had said his father was Fleet, a senior officer in Fleet. You couldn't get more senior than the commander of First Flotilla. There was no one between Commander Caeden and the Supreme Commander. No one.

There was only one reason that the most senior officer in Fleet would be proud of a Shield officer. Just one. That hadn't been a Theban blessing on the flight deck before the cutter took off for T18. At least, it hadn't been one from an elder in the faith to someone his junior.

It had been a blessing from father to son.

Fucking hell.

Flynn nodded. It took him a couple of attempts to get his voice working. "No problem, Commander. I mean, I know that I come across as a bit nonchalant and flip and—" He stopped, suddenly desperate to get out of there. "No problem, really."

"Good. Thank you, Flynn." Caeden gave him an amused look. "You'd better go. I think you're due on patrol, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir." Flynn got to his feet with such alacrity that he must have looked like that damn jack-in-the-box again. "Thank you, sir."

He saluted and headed for the door, but slowed and hesitated, his hand hovering over the door release mechanism. "Commander?"

"Yes?"

"Whatever else you think, sir, please believe that I'd never let you or the _Gyrfalcon_ down. I'm very proud to serve here, sir."

Caeden smiled at him. While Bennet must have got his looks from his mother, there was at least one thing he'd inherited from his father. It was a pity the crew didn't see it more often.

"We're proud to have you, son."

"Wake up!" Flynn shook a bare shoulder ruthlessly. "Wake up!"

"Uuuhhh," Bennet said, without opening his eyes.

"I said, wake up!" Flynn hauled Bennet up into a sitting position, and shook him. He was momentarily diverted by having his arms full again of warm and naked Shield Captain, but he repressed his baser instincts. "Come on!" Shake. "Wake." Shake. "Up!"

"Uuuhhh." Bennet yawned, and cracked open an eyelid. "Flynn," he said, with sleepy pleasure, and wound his arms around Flynn's neck.

Baser instincts unrepressed themselves instantly. Flynn tilted his head back, letting Bennet's lips move over his throat.

"Are you off duty already?"

That brought Flynn back down with a bump, and he firmly unwound those encroaching arms. "No, I'm not. I've not started yet and I'm going to be late. Listen to me—are you awake?"

"Who can sleep with you around?"

"Right then. That first morning you were here, remember? At the briefing? You said that you hadn't been on a dreadnought since you were about fourteen, right?"

"Did I say that?"

"You did, you deceitful bastard. It was your dad's dreadnought, wasn't it?"

Bennet nodded, expression solemn but for the amusement in his eyes.

"It was this dreadnought, wasn't it?"

Another solemn nod. "It was my birthday treat. Most kids my age got a bike. I got three days on the _Gyrfalcon_."

"Oh, my gods."

"And a ride in a Hornet. That was cool."

Flynn didn't hear him. "Oh my gods!"

"The pilot was so pretty that I began to wonder if I'd ever like girls. I dreamt about that man for months. Come to think of it, that's probably what started me off on that deviant lifestyle Dad deplores so much." Bennet yawned widely. "It's all his own fault. I should tell him that one day. If I'd got the bike, I'd probably be married with two kids by now."

"Oh my gods! I spent all night last night fucking the commander's son."

"And tonight," Bennet said, yawning again.

"And tonight," agreed Flynn. "And tomorrow night and as many nights as we get before they take you away." Bennet smiled at him, and this time when those arms snaked around his neck and pulled his head down, Flynn let the deceitful bastard kiss him.

"Oh, shit," Flynn said, five minutes later, fighting those instincts that would have let Bennet pull him back into bed. "I've gotta go. I've really gotta go."

Bennet pouted, but was already mostly asleep again. The downer from the stims had hit him hard.

Flynn watched as Bennet drifted into sleep, feeling the ache in his groin that indicated he'd be spending the next seven, Bennet-less hours stuck in a Hornet with only a hard-on for company. "You know, if I was half as irresponsible as your father thinks I am, I'd pull a sickie today and spend it in bed with you. Instead... "

He sighed, and continued on his way, shaking his head at his new found maturity. All in all, he felt, the commander would be proud of him.

Flynn was never that keen on attending chapel. He only ever went to funerals and committals. That sort of thing took the edge off the religious experience. There was something wrong with a world in which the service with which he had the most familiarity was the Midnight Watch for the dead. Right now, at the symbolic moment back on Albion when one day ended and the new one began, there were bodies to commit to space and all the other dead to be remembered. None of it made for religious ecstasy.

He shouldn't be selfish and complain that he'd had to leave a warm bed and even warmer Shield Captain to go to chapel, but he hadn't wanted to go. Maybe not only because he was leaving Bennet, but... Hell, what was the point? Dead was dead, whether you got a fancy coffin or you were like Rafe, with nothing left but gas and ash. Not all the remembering in the world brought you back.

He had to go. No option. And maybe that rankled a bit too. At least it did until he saw Cruz when they met outside the chapel door, her face twisted with grief, her mouth trying hard to hold its firm line and trembling despite everything she could do to hold back. Hell, but he was a selfish bastard, no matter how hard he tried to pretend he wasn't. He pulled her into a fierce hug and didn't let her go afterwards, tucking her hand under his arm to walk into chapel with her and be damned to military decorum. She was the purest gold, was Cruz. She was Cruz and she was hurting, but thank every damn god in the Theban pantheon that she was still there, still with him. Life without her didn't bear thinking about.

He could do this for her, when he didn't think it was worth doing for himself. He'd do anything for Cruz. Together they took candles from the little priest, and set them in the big candelabrum before the altar. White candles for remembrance. Dozens burned there already.

Most of the crew were in chapel. The commander and Colonel Quist at the front, of course, with Simonitz and the little priest whose name Flynn never could remember. Bennet had come to Chapel but he stayed at the back out of the way. He'd not been sure about coming at all.

Bennet was right about the singing. Even here, with a small choir whose voices kept catching on their grief, the sung services were beautiful. The little priest had a big voice, rolling out the service in the ancient Theban language. The gods alone knew what it meant, but it sounded right. Flynn's chest hurt.

Then it was time.

Commander Caeden said a few more words about how proud he was of them, and how much he honoured both dead and living, and then let Simonitz take it over. It was more than any of them could bear. The line of bullet-shaped coffins moved into the ejection chamber, and as each was dropped into hyperspace, Simonitz read the name and rank.

Standing rigid, Cruz's arm still linked to his, Flynn felt every drop. The floor beneath his feet pulsed, and there was another of his comrades gone. And when all the dead were gone who still had bodies to commit, Simonitz started on the names of those who had vanished in a flash of fire and blood.

Simonitz's voice broke when he read the list, and Flynn's throat ached in sympathy. They had all been people Flynn had known and been fond of, had flown with and drank with and gambled with. A long litany of names, their losses and wounded at almost fifteen per cent.

Despite everything, including how bloody irritating the man had been at breakfast, he was glad to see that Powell was there, unhurt. He gave him a small smile. Powell, surrounded by Jaime's grieving pilots as well as his own, nodded back, his face pale and strained, enmity forgotten for the minute.

Then it was over, with the priest raising candles and incense and the sonorous Theban blessing rolling out over them. Flynn let his shoulders relax.

Cruz wiped at her eyes again and sniffed, straightening bowed shoulders. She always took her losses hard. Flynn understood that. He'd have taken it hard himself, but he'd been lucky. Carson and the squad had made it through. It could have been worse.

"I'm going to take my pilots into the OC," Cruz said. "What about you?"

They were still on alert and allowed only one drink each. The gods knew, they needed it. "It's not like I can get them drunk, and I'd like to. But yeah, I'll bring my lot."

They couldn't take long to mourn. They'd remembered the dead here, now they'd drink a toast in their memory, and move on. They had to. The _Gyrfalcon_ was still behind enemy lines, running for home, and although the scanners showed clear, they couldn't rely on an easy trip back to Albion's space. They were still fighting. They might have to fight every inch of the way home.

Something Shield was used to. Flynn turned to look, but Bennet had gone. Shame. But these weren't his pilots, weren't his friends, and Bennet probably didn't want to intrude. But at least the madman who'd got them into this fix was there to get them out again.

And later, he'd be there to help Flynn forget again. Flynn was looking forward to that. He glanced at the candles burning in front of the altar. Yeah. He was really looking forward to it. He had a helluva lot to forget.

## Chapter Twenty-five

It was mid-afternoon when Bennet woke again.

This time no one was manhandling him, which was a pity. Being manhandled by Flynn was a pleasure. Still, at least he could take his own time getting his aching body vertical. And he did ache, just about everywhere. Bouncing down rocky hillsides was a mug's game.

He swung his legs out of the bed, wrinkling his nose at the ripe smell of the covers, and found the crutches, using one to lever himself to his feet. He felt another twinge of that deeper ache that Flynn had left him with, and he smiled, wondering how often they'd made love. He could remember three times for sure, but Flynn had still been raring to go when the stims had worn off and Bennet had finally started fading out. Although he'd tried his best to keep up, some memories of the night were hazy. Pleasurable, but hazy. Somehow, he doubted if that had stopped Flynn. Not if those sex-smelling sheets were anything to go by.

He made slow progress to the bathroom, using the furniture for support on the way. He paused only once, his hand on the dresser outside the bathroom door. Last night, when Caeden had gone and Bennet had finally got into the shower to get cleaned up, he'd taken the little leather case with the photograph of Joss and had put it away in the top drawer. It had no place with him and Flynn.

Now he hesitated. He hadn't given Joss a thought in hours. He should be shocked that his first thoughts on waking had been for someone else, and most of all he should be shocked that he didn't feel guilty. He should, but he didn't. Even when he tried. He glanced at his wrist chronometer, working out what the time must be back home on Albion. It was unlikely that Joss would be alone right then. He'd have found someone to fill the loneliness he hated.

Bennet moved on. He left the drawer closed.

The turbo shower, set to cool, finished the job of waking him. Everything still hurt, but the warm air of the dryer soothed the aches and pains, and he was left feeling awake and glowing, wishing he didn't have at least two hours to kill before Flynn got back.

After some cursing and much aggravation, he got his right boot on over a swollen foot that was an unattractive shade of mulberry, and set out to find his father and a very belated breakfast. Caeden was exactly where Bennet expected to find him, in the bridge office.

Quist sent him straight through when he limped onto the bridge. The woman was so pressed and neat that she had to be an android. It just wasn't natural. In comparison, Bennet felt scruffy, despite managing to get his uniform reasonably clean. It was the boots. Not even Shield combat boots took well to a mad career down an escarpment face with most of a Maess base bouncing down behind him and flames licking at his heels. The boots were scuffed beyond any hope of redemption. And of course she noticed them. Nothing more than a lift of her eyebrow, but she noticed. His mother couldn't have done it better.

But then, he'd had better things to do since T18 than polish his shoes. He'd bet the colonel hadn't spent the night being loved silly. That cheering and supercilious thought had him grinning at Quist, refusing to be cowed. The colonel's mouth moved into something that might approximate for a smile.

His father looked refreshed, although he couldn't have had much sleep. More to the point, he looked flatteringly glad to see Bennet.

Bennet grinned and jerked his head back towards the bridge. "Does she ever get dirty, do you think?"

Half out of his chair to help Bennet with the crutches, Caeden paused and frowned.

"Quist." Bennet accepted his father's help to get into a chair. "Does she ever get rumpled or anything? She must get herself ironed with a steam press every morning before being polished."

"She's certainly a lot cleaner than you were last night," Caeden said, smiling. "And less fragrant. How do you feel?"

"Fine."

"Have you just got up?"

"Innate laziness," Bennet said, fielding any possibility of either criticism or concern. "Question is, who does the ironing?"

"Bennet, we stop this conversation right here."

"I'm just curious." But Bennet he did as he was told for once, despite knowing that the unnatural neatness of colonels masked the more serious things they had to talk about. He switched subject, finding a talent for displacement activity that surprised him. "Anything on the battleship?"

"We're well away with no signs of pursuit." Caeden glanced at the monitor on his desk. "We'll reach home space in three days."

"That won't stop 'em, if they decide to come after us."

"True." His father smiled. "It's the psychological thing, though, isn't it, about feeling safer when we're back on our side of the fence?"

Bennet nodded, then asked, more soberly, "How much damage is there?"

"Enough." Caeden didn't try to dress it up. "The ship took a pounding."

"I know. I sat through it. It scared the hell out of me."

"Really? You surprise me. I've never been sure you have enough sense to be scared." Caeden smiled, taking the sting out of his words. "We could do with taking her to Demeter to make some repairs, but she's secure and we're still combat capable. Only, I hope, not against another battleship just yet."

"I'll second that." Bennet hoped his father wasn't sent straight into the defence of Cetes if that attack was pressed home, rather than being allowed into a maintenance and repair dock at Demeter. "Are you heading for Demeter?"

"We're heading straight for our own backyard, so we'll come in somewhere near Tallus and then we'll swing over towards Demeter. I'd hoped you'd be with us until we got to Cetes, so that we could spend some time together before you rejoined your ship, but orders came in this morning from Jak for me to pass on to you. They want you home for the debrief as soon as you can do it. We'll drop you off as soon as you get within striking distance of Demeter and you'll be given fast transport home from there—Demeter's commander has been told she's to give you the fastest ship she can put her hands on."

Well, that wasn't a surprise. Not given what Bennet saw. "The debrief will be a doozy this time around."

"Yes." Caeden put his hand on Bennet's arm and patted it a couple of times. "I expect it will be. It can't be helped."

"No." Bennet shrugged. "No. Will you go into dock at Demeter for repairs, then?"

"We'll go on and join the rest of First at Cetes."

"Not so good."

"It's not so bad, either. The repairs can be done en route. Part of level eighteen is sealed off because of a minor hull breach, but there's nothing in that section that's critical and the techs are working on the breach right now. Getting her into dock at Demeter would be more convenient, that's all." Caeden sighed slightly. "The more difficult task is dealing with our losses. We lost a lot of good people."

Bennet looked away. "I'm sorry." He sighed. "I guess that I won't be too popular in the OC."

"We're at war. They have a job to do, and they know that you do, too. If they're quiet and withdrawn, it's because they have their losses to come to terms with, the same as they would after any battle. Don't assume it's aimed at you." Caeden smiled again, reassuring. "They're as professional as Shield."

"Yes," Bennet said.

"And they'll take this mission and the outcome in a professional way. I'm really very proud of them. We'll hold the committals at Midnight Watch tonight. Will you come?"

Bennet grimaced. "I'd like to, but I don't want to butt in where I won't be wanted. They died for me—"

"No, they didn't. They died for Albion, Bennet. You really aren't important enough."

Nice try to make him feel better. But if the crew were looking for somewhere to plant the blame, they wouldn't look much past Bennet. "We'll see."

Caeden nodded, and left it there. A short pause, then he said, "I've apologised to Lieutenant Flynn."

Bennet glanced up. His father looked as if he were sucking on a lemon doused in vinegar. Commanders were not accustomed to apologizing to mere lieutenants. Probably better not to make too much of it. "Thanks."

"I may have misjudged him." Caeden added, simply, "He brought you back."

Bennet nodded and changed the subject. "Have you eaten? I need some breakfast."

"And you want company?"

"It would be nice."

"Then I would be delighted. We can leave the well-ironed Colonel Quist in charge. I doubt it will ruffle her."

"Nothing would." Bennet remembered that smug smile at the state of his boots. He got up slowly, letting Caeden rush round the desk to help him.

"It will give us the chance to talk. It seems I have some talking to do to convince you that not only is it the most natural thing in the world to have your photograph on my desk, but I that really don't mind doing this either." Caeden's hold on Bennet tightened for a second. "I'm sorry that I couldn't stay last night. We could have started sorting this mess out then."

"We cut it pretty fine as it was." Bennet had had a scant ten minutes between his father's departure and his new lover's arrival. He noted the look of perplexity and shook his head. No way was he explaining that. "Never mind."

Caeden's eyebrow went up a little further.

"Better late than never," Bennet said, brightly. He did not want his father asking difficult questions.

"Inane, but inarguable."

"Trite, even."

"I distinctly remember sending you to a very expensive school. I know that you went there—those damn bills came in often enough."

"I liked school."

"I could wish your brother followed your example. At least with you, I didn't think that I was wasting my money. Until now, that is." Caeden went to hold open the door onto the bridge. "Better late than never? Is that the best you can come up with? Didn't they teach you how to think for yourself?"

"Dad, I followed you into the military. What in the world would the military do with people who think for themselves?"

"Shove them into Shield, apparently," Caeden said, and smiled.

"Whatever I said to you that day, I'm heartily sorry for. You know that, don't you, Bennet?"

Bennet nodded, thinking that sometimes a free breakfast came at too high a price. But he'd promised his father that they'd talk, and he couldn't come up with a good reason for wriggling out of it. That was another problem with the religious upbringing: too much regard for duty and a bad habit of keeping his promises.

"I was angry and hurt, and I was frightened," Caeden said.

That caught Bennet's attention. "Frightened?"

"Very. I've thought about it a lot since you arrived here and I hoped I might have a chance to talk to you. Really talk to you."

"Not just being polite, you mean?" Bennet shifted uneasily in his chair. A pity his mother wasn't there. She'd be needed if things got out of hand.

"Definitely not just being polite." Caeden looked very thoughtful. That could be a bad sign. "It was shock, I think, at the realisation that I didn't know my own son very well. That frightened me a lot. There's a price to be paid for the job we do, Bennet, and often it's our families who pay it."

"Mmn." Bennet heard very similar sentiments every other day from Joss, usually even more eloquently expressed and focusing on Joss's personal experience of the neglect suffered by military dependents. It was astonishing that Joss and his father could agree on anything.

Except, maybe, telling him how to live his life.

"I'd tried very hard to make you and your brother and sisters feel that we were a real family, even with me being away so much. Everything that happened during that leave showed me that I'd failed miserably. I'm sorry, son."

"I don't think it was that bad." Bennet suppressed a grimace. Surely one son turning out to be queer wasn't the familial equivalent of nuclear devastation? The Theban capacity for guilt was impressive.

"If I'd been home more often, I would have known. I'd have known you better."

"Oh, I don't know."

"Your mother knew."

Gods, but Bennet found sibling jealousy hard enough to deal with, without his parents in competition too. He sighed. He'd have to find something soothing to say to stem the tide of reproach and martyrdom washing at him from over the table. "I didn't say anything to her. Thea knew, that's all. And if you'd been around more, I'd just have hidden it better."

Caeden stared at him for a minute, then smiled reluctantly. "You didn't tell her?"

"No. Although I was about to. I thought I might get her to tell you. I figured after the almighty screw-up I made of telling you that I wasn't going to the Academy, I needed all the help I could get. She's had thirty years of telling you things and I figured that she had resources available to her that I didn't, to persuade you to be nice. I was about to bow to experience, that's all."

Caeden laughed. "Resources?"

"Well, whenever I try out my best smile, all I get is a cold glare. I have to assume she's better at it than I am."

Caeden shook his head, then said, more seriously, "Why did you never tell me?"

Bennet shrugged. He crumbled the remains of a pastry with one hand. What in hell could he say? It was a reasonable question, after all. "I don't know. I was too afraid, I suppose."

"Of me?"

"Not of you, exactly." Bennet struggled with it for a minute. "It's just... I mean..." He struggled a bit more. "I was fourteen, I think, when I decided that I liked girls but I liked boys better. Do you remember me at fourteen? So shy I couldn't open my mouth without that damn stammer tripping me up. Can you seriously imagine me trying to tell you that I was gay? Or mostly gay, at any rate. Of course I was scared."

It seemed for a minute as if Caeden didn't know what to say. And then he came out with the very last thing that Bennet would ever have expected. "I know that you hated it, but I quite liked that little stammer. It wasn't anywhere near as bad as you thought it was, and it was very endearing."

Bennet stared. "Endearing?"

Caeden smiled. "Very. It was a part of you, like grey eyes and hair that never behaves itself."

The old man had to have lost his mind. Bennet could only shake his head. "It was mortifying."

"I know you thought so. I suppose I'm not sorry that you grew out of it, for your sake, because I know that it really bothered you. But I am very sorry that you were too scared to tell me what really troubled you."

"Wouldn't you have told me that I'd grow out of that too?"

Caeden threw up one hand, like a fencer acknowledging a hit. "Probably."

"There's something about a thing like that. The longer I could put off saying it or doing anything about it, then it wasn't real. I had a few girlfriends at school—nothing very serious, but I tried. And then I met Joss." An image popped up unbidden, of more than seven years earlier and his last year at school, when he spent most of his free time in the Thebaid's library, and seeing Joss there for the first time. "You were away, and"—he choked slightly—"it's not the kind of thing I could put in a letter."

Dear Dad, school's almost over. Exams were fine. Top marks in history, as usual. Even passed Maths. Won house cup at Tierce. Have won the Jancis Scholarship for a place at the Thebaid, studying with Professor Bachman to take an accelerated archaeological degree, so if you don't mind, I won't be going to the Academy. Don't worry—SSI will take me in a couple of years when I've finished.

Love Bennet.

PS: Think I should tell you I lost my virginity to an amazing guy I met at the Thebaid. Sex is great. Think I might be queer. Sorry for not mentioning this before, but didn't want to bother you...

No, not a letter.

"No," Caeden said, his eyes wide. He was probably mentally reading the same letter. "But I wish you'd told me when I got home."

"I was building up to it. Telling you about going to the Thebaid and not the Academy was a kind of practice run for telling you about Joss." Bennet pulled a face. "That caused enough explosions. I decided I needed to get Mama on my side before telling you that I had a lover and I was going to go and live with him."

"But to be afraid of me!" Caeden said, his tone a mournful dirge.

"I wasn't frightened of you, exactly, but just who was the authority figure in my life?"

"Ah." Caeden smiled faintly.

"I could do it now, sit down with you and tell you I was queer. I mean, I've done things and I'm grown, and I'm comfortable with myself. I'm not a kid and I'm not scared. Then I was still finding out and I wasn't sure of myself. Now, I'm sure. I know that I like girls, that if Joss hadn't happened I might have kept on trying with one of them and been okay about it." Bennet shrugged. "But he did happen and everything I felt when I was fourteen started making sense."

Caeden picked up his coffee and sipped at it. "And I suppose you would have had to tell me, sometime."

"I wasn't joking when I said that we were talking about it that day you came on us in the Library. It was about all we talked about for weeks."

"Really? I assume Joss had swallowed the words and you were trying to retrieve them?"

"Dad!" Bennet grinned, because there was nothing acidic in what his father had just said. Who knew the old man had such a wry sense of humour? An old joke, maybe, but unexpected.

Caeden smiled, then, more soberly, leaned forward and put a hand on Bennet's. "Are you happy with Joss?"

Something in Bennet's chest jumped and the adrenalin pounded in his bloodstream. "Yeah. Of course I am."

"Good. I'm glad. Every time I've tried to say this, it's come out wrong and made things worse. I'm half afraid to make another attempt." Caeden's hand tightened on Bennet's. "It's like the stammer. It's a part of you."

"Oh." Bennet met his father's gaze, feeling his ears burn with embarrassment, and if he'd still been fourteen he'd have been squirming in his seat. Only years of training in that Shield inscrutability kept him from fidgeting.

"All right?"

Bennet nodded. "Yeah. All right."

And that was that. No more to be said.

"So then." His father released Bennet's hand and sat back. There was a long silence, then Caeden cleared his throat noisily. "So then," he said again, and he blinked once or twice. "I suppose I'd better get back to the bridge. Colonel Quist will be wondering what's become of me."

"Yeah. And I'd better go and say thank you to Sergeant Pershing." Bennet stopped crumbling the breakfast pastry, and sat up straighter, fighting the weariness. Gods, but this father-son baring of souls thing was too much when a man had spent the previous day falling off mountains. He wasn't up to it. He reached for the crutches and looked at the remains of his late breakfast spread all over the table in his father's quarters. "Shall I clear up in here?"

"My yeoman will see to it," Caeden said, grandly.

His yeoman. Hell, but Fleet had it easy. Bennet figured that if he ever asked any of his crew to clear up after him, they'd laugh at him, from Rosie down to the cook. He might have inherited his father's dislike of dramatic scenes, but he evidently hadn't inherited his father's authority.

Caeden came to help him up, again. Bennet forbore to tell him that he could manage.

"Bennet?" Caeden said, rather tentatively, as they made their slow way to the elevator. "Would you do me a favour?"

"Sure."

"You do know that you have a lot of influence over Liam?"

Bennet almost fell off the crutches. "Are you kidding?" Maybe sentiment had the old man teetering out of what was left of his mind. "Nobody has any influence over Liam. Nothing short of a neutron bomb would have any influence over Liam."

Caeden laughed. "No, really. He thinks that you're the real rebel in the family. He admires you for that. All he's trying to do is live up to you, you know."

Bennet stopped and stared. His father didn't get home very often, true, but that was no excuse for this completely cock-eyed view of family dynamics.

"In a noisier kind of way." Caeden took Bennet's arm and started him walking again. "The point is, that he does look up to you, Bennet. You're the radical one who broke the mould. So would you please use that influence to persuade him to see me as the authority figure in his life?"

Bennet stopped again and stared again, his mouth falling open. Caeden reached out and put his finger under Bennet's chin, pushing upwards until Bennet's mouth closed, soundlessly. He moved the finger to tap Bennet's cheek, affectionately, as if he were still that skinny, stammering fourteen year-old.

"It would be a novel sensation that might be good for your brother. And for me."

Bennet swallowed. He owed the old man something, he supposed, for the handsome, if oblique, declaration of affection earlier. But influencing Liam?

In the end he shrugged. "I'll try, but mind you, no promises. I hate to admit it, but even Shield has its limitations."

## Chapter Twenty-six

"Where are you?"

"In my quarters."

"I'm on my way." Even over the comlink, Flynn sounded as if he was running. "And I hope you're ready for this, because I am just about bursting."

"The door's open." Bennet laughed as he closed down the link. He was ready. He'd had another shower when he got back from seeing Pershing in the gym—hot water was incredibly soothing on his bruises—and wore only shorts and a tee. Ready and waiting, really. Very ready, and sick of waiting. After all, who was the one who'd been counting the minutes until 4pm when Flynn came off duty, and who'd been glaring impatiently at the chronometer for the last thirty-five minutes, while Flynn must have been caught up in Simonitz's office giving his report.

Bennet scowled. There were reasons he didn't like Simonitz much. Good reasons.

He was more than ready for Flynn. He'd called in at the OC, though it was out of hours, and persuaded the dubious bartender to let him have the bottle of wine that was sitting ready in the ice bucket. And he'd managed some minimal cleaning up after he'd got back from seeing his father and Pershing, at least getting the sheets changed. Although from the sound of Flynn, that might have been a waste of time and energy.

Flynn entered like a whirlwind. Bennet barely had time to drop the crutch he was leaning on as he was caught and borne backwards, landing on the bed with a jar that had his bruises shrieking their complaints at him, but totally unable to voice them because of the leech that had suddenly fastened onto his mouth, sucking all the air from him. More hands than an octopus were pulling urgently at his shorts.

He tried to speak, but how could any man manage coherent speech when his lover's tongue was so far down his throat that he had to kiss him back or choke? The dozens of hands on his shorts were tugging with more urgency, and Bennet had to lift his hips to help Flynn or risk friction burns from the fabric.

"Hey—" he managed when Flynn came up for air, but Flynn's lungs were in first class condition and the lieutenant only had to take a second to gulp down oxygen and fasten on Bennet's mouth again, tongue hot, wet and demanding.

Somehow, Flynn had used one of those hundreds of hands to get hold of some lube. How, Bennet wasn't certain, as he would have sworn that not one of those hands left his body for a second. Slick fingers rubbed down the crack between his buttocks, pressing into him. He gasped against the mouth covering his as two fingers invaded him, twisting and probing, stretching him quickly and, it had to be said, perfunctorily. Flynn was definitely in a hurry.

Bennet, his mouth finally freed, was pushed onto his right side. A probing finger brushed against his prostate, and his whole body jumped with the thrill of it.

"Flynn," he said, half protesting at the speed, half excited by it.

"Sssh. I want this. I want you so much."

Flynn was spooned behind him, pressing close. Bennet twisted his lower body, getting his stomach flat onto the bed, giving Flynn a better angle to work with. He got his arm behind his left knee and pulled his leg up towards his chest. Flynn surged again, and Bennet could feel the heavy balls pressed against his buttocks, the tickly scratchiness of pubic hair against his skin. Flynn was all the way in.

For an instant, Flynn held still, his mouth on the back of Bennet's neck, nuzzling his hair, nibbling, kissing and licking the skin. "So beautiful," he said, and started to move.

Not the gentle rocking movements that he'd used the night before when they started. This Flynn was in heat, and was all energy and fire. He started as he meant to go on, a fast, demanding rhythm that had the head of his prick pounding onto Bennet's prostate, pulling out on each stroke before slamming back in again.

The burn vanished within seconds, Bennet's body adjusting to Flynn with the ease of long practice. He grunted softly each time Flynn thrust into him, each hammering blow sending shudders of pleasure through him.

Flynn couldn't keep going for long. A few minutes, and he was shouting, and slammed in hard, flooding Bennet with heat. He collapsed onto Bennet's shoulders, while Bennet shuddered underneath him, shaking with his own orgasm.

For a long time they lay still, entwined, Flynn still firmly lodged. Bennet gasped like a landed fish. At last, Flynn laughed and kissed Bennet's shoulders through the sweaty tee shirt.

"Couldn't you just say hello, like a normal mortal?" demanded Bennet.

"I've been thinking about nothing else all day, cooped up in that fuckin' Hornet. I wanted you so bad, I came in my pants about six times today. I couldn't wait." Flynn laughed again, and let himself slide free. He was still dressed, Bennet saw, when he turned over to face him. Bennet moved slowly and gingerly, abused muscles painful.

Flynn's happy expression froze. "Shit! I forgot! Did I hurt you?"

"No," Bennet said, not entirely truthfully. His heart was still thudding. Discomfort or excitement, he couldn't tell. He'd never been taken like that before. Joss would never— "No."

But Flynn looked crestfallen, and his eyes slid away from meeting Bennet's. "I'm sorry. I should have thought... " He broke off and swallowed. "I should have remembered."

"It's all right. You'd have stopped if I told you to."

Flynn only nodded, refusing now to look at Bennet. "Shit, I'm sorry."

"Stop making such a fuss about it and wake up to the fact that you're wearing all too many clothes."

Flynn stared down at his boots. He hadn't even kicked those off in his indecent haste. Bennet sat up and tugged at Flynn's flight jacket.

"Too many clothes," he said again. "Get naked, Lieutenant."

Flynn sighed, and started to obey, but his eyes were clouded. "I didn't think. I've thought about nothing else but you all day, but I didn't think about how hurt you were."

"I'm fine." Bennet slipped the tee over his head. "I wish I could return the compliment, Flynn, but I wasn't thinking of anything all day. I was asleep until a couple of hours ago. Maybe I dreamed of you though."

Flynn's answering grin was strained. He slid into bed beside Bennet, and took him, very carefully, into his arms.

"Flynn," Bennet said, after a couple of silent moments.

"Huh?"

Bennet kept the sentences short and uncomplicated. "I won't break. You didn't hurt me. You did surprise me. You are allowed to kiss me."

This time the grin was more genuine. Flynn snuggled a little closer. "You sure I didn't hurt you?"

"The only yelping I was doing was because of you hitting my prostate, every time. Stop worrying."

Flynn sighed and relaxed, and settled in for some serious kissing. Bennet was glad to comply, although it played havoc with his attempts to get his breathing sorted out.

After a little while, Flynn let him go again, and stared at him. "What I just did... it wasn't much like last night."

No, it wasn't. It hadn't been at all like their long, slow lovemaking the previous night. Bennet said nothing, letting Flynn work his way through it.

"Has it always been like last night for you?"

Bennet nodded. Joss was a sensualist, pure and simple. He'd made Bennet one, too.

Flynn let a hand trace down the side of Bennet's face. "Right. I'm not very good at slow and special, but I liked it and I'm a fast learner. We'll do it your way from now on. Promise."

Bennet laughed and coiled himself around Flynn as much as his stiffening muscles would let him. "I'll hold you to that."

Flynn laughed, but it didn't sound quite right. "For now, anyway."

"For as long as we get," Bennet said, and kissed him.

Much later, Flynn left for the Midnight Watch. Not without some grumbling, and evident reluctance, but he had to go. Bennet dithered about going himself. It wasn't that he didn't honour and revere the _Gyrfalcon_ 's dead. Without them, he wouldn't have pulled this damned job off at all. But he didn't want to intrude where he wasn't wanted. Whatever his father might say about Bennet taking too much on himself, the dead had died on his behalf. That weighed heavy.

In the end, he slipped into Chapel just as Midnight Watch began and the priest lifted his voice in the sonorous words of the service, the Ancient Theban rolling from his tongue.

Grant them eternal rest, O Gods, and let perpetual light shine upon them... Forgive, O Gods, the souls of all the faithful departed from all the chains of their sins... by the aid to them of your grace may they deserve to avoid the judgment of revenge...

At the back of the Chapel with the rest of those crowding in who couldn't find seats, Bennet shifted the crutches and came to attention as best as he could. They hadn't been Shield and he may have had his doubts about using Fleet to support the job. But Shield couldn't have done any better. Differently, yes; but not necessarily better.

The choir started up again, their voices soft and aching, and more than one was choked. Bennet's throat tightened and his eyes felt scratchy. He closed his eyes and let the language he loved wash over him.

The day of wrath, that day will dissolve the world in ashes

The service went on. It seemed to go on forever.

Over the next few days, while the _Gyrfalcon_ ran for home, Bennet and his father got into the habit of breakfasting together.

Bennet could cope with that, but it amused him to chart his father's increasing confidence. The first morning, after the Midnight Watch, they'd both been subdued. The day after that, Caeden had been easier about greeting Bennet with a hand on his shoulder. Now, on their third shared breakfast, Caeden had relaxed to the point where Bennet got a hug before Caeden rested one hand on his shoulder, using the other to ruffle through Bennet's hair before smoothing down over it all and giving a little tug to the over-long bits at the back. He used to do that when Bennet was a child, the hair ruffling thing. It made Bennet feel about six years old.

He opted not to complain, but he ran his hand through the cowlicks, feeling them spring back up under his fingers.

Caeden merely smiled. He lifted his coffee cup, savouring the aroma. "Parry says that you're just about over the stim use. She thinks you overdid it, mind you."

He was doing it again, the omniscient commander thing. An affair with a _Gyrfalcon_ pilot may not be the safest game to play when his father was evidently checking up on him. With the best of intentions, he had no doubt, but checking up for all that. And it wasn't as if Flynn was the most discreet of creatures. Bennet was sure that Cruz, at least, knew as much about what was going on between them as they did.

"She wasn't the one running around down there trying to get back to her ride. That might change her mind about what's excessive when it comes to stims."

"I wouldn't put a great deal of money on that. Parry is a dedicated doctor. She says you can stop using the crutches whenever you're comfortable without them."

Bennet considered enquiring if the doctor had said anything about her oath of confidentiality about her patients but there was no point in fanning the embers into flame. He let it go. "I'll go and see her later."

"Good. I'd like to be sure that everything's progressing as it ought."

"You can come with me if you like. Then she can tell both of us. It'll save you passing on messages."

"Cheek. I get enough of that from your brother." They grinned at each other, and Caeden changed the subject. "Have you been back to the OC?"

Bennet nodded. He had indeed, persuaded by Flynn. They want to know that you're all right, Flynn had said. So he'd gone along, a little apprehensive about what sort of reception he'd get. The pilots had been quietly welcoming, even people like poor Cruz, who'd lost one of her squad and was still mourning. Cruz, indeed, had also been quietly knowing, giving him and Flynn very significant smiles when Bennet had said that he needed some rest, and Flynn jumped up to help him back to his quarters. Powell looked equally knowing, but less beatific about it.

"Flynn came by and persuaded me to go last night. Everyone was fine, even poor Powell, and the gods know I had him set up as a sitting duck."

"I told you they would be," Caeden said, satisfied. "I hope you had a good and relaxing evening then. You earned it."

Bennet looked at him over the rim of his cup. "I certainly did," he said, and smiled.

"How long do you think we'll have?" Flynn asked, licking his way down the side of Bennet's neck.

"Dunno," Bennet tilted his head back to give Flynn easier access. He smoothed his hands over Flynn's back and the curve of the buttocks that forced his thighs apart. Flynn was settled very comfortably between Bennet's legs. "Not long. I have to go as soon as we're in range of Demeter. It won't be long."

"I hope it's not for about a zillion years," muttered Flynn, licking his way up the other side of Bennet's neck.

"Don't worry about it. Make the most of what we've got." Bennet gasped. "Oh yes, Flynn. Just like that."

It was a long and slow lovemaking, the kind Bennet liked best: passionate, intense, powerful in its very restraint, something strong and primeval. Flynn twisted his head so that by curving his back, Bennet could reach his mouth, and as he moved in Flynn with long, powerful strokes, his hand stroking Flynn's cock to the same languorous rhythm, his tongue duelling with Flynn's; Bennet finally understood the danger he was in.

He never wanted it to end.

## Chapter Twenty-seven

"You strain something last night?" Cruz asked, tossing her helmet to her flight crew chief and joining Flynn as the latter climbed from his Hornet. "You're moving a little slow and cautious there."

"Very funny. Why don't you shout a bit louder and make sure that everyone hears you?"

"Sorry. At least I would be, if you'd wipe that insufferable grin off your face. I can hardly bear to sit in the OC of an evening and watch you mentally stripping the man of his clothes." Cruz shuddered artistically. "Gross."

"You're just jealous that you're missing out." Flynn walked towards the bay doors with conscious and deliberate ease. It wasn't so bad if he concentrated. "You know damn well—"

He stopped abruptly, so abruptly that Cruz, who wasn't paying attention, walked into him.

"What the hell!" she complained. "Flynn?"

Jordan and his crew were on the starboard side of the deck, working on the Mosquito, getting her ready. Jordan was head down in the cockpit, obviously checking something.

The shock hit Flynn like a laser blast. He was going. Bennet was going.

"What the hell's the matter with you?"

Flynn moistened suddenly dry lips. "They're getting the Mosquito ready." He wondered who the hoarse-voiced stranger was, using his mouth to talk.

Cruz stared from the Mosquito to Flynn, and her expression sobered at what she saw. "Hey," she said, putting a hand on Flynn's arm. "Hey, you knew he'd have to go sometime. You knew it wouldn't be for long."

Flynn didn't reply. He searched the deck; no sign of Bennet. He hesitated, not knowing what to do, feeling suddenly hollow, as if someone had scooped out his insides and replaced them with a desolate empty space. His knees were trembling. "He's not down here yet."

"Go and find him. You go, and I'll wait here. I won't let him leave without you getting the chance to talk to him."

Flynn couldn't speak. He grasped Cruz's hand in thanks and ran for the travellator doors at the back of the deck. What if he missed Bennet? What if Bennet was in the elevator coming down one shaft, and he was in the one going up in the shaft next door? What if?

He charged through the door, straight into Bennet. He was alone, and for an instant, Flynn held him, so relieved that he had to blink his eyes to clear them and his throat hurt.

"Over here," he said, when he could speak, and pulled Bennet into a nearby storeroom.

Bennet pressed up against Flynn, kissing his throat and the side of his neck.

"Don't go," Flynn said, still in that stranger's voice.

"I have to, you know that."

Flynn shook his head and stopped the words with his mouth, cupping Bennet's face in his hands as he had the first time.

Bennet's eyes were bright. "We knew it couldn't last."

Flynn took both Bennet's hands in his. His eyes stung badly, and he blinked rapidly to clear them.

"I didn't lie to you about Joss. But apart from a couple of girls—and he wouldn't count them, anyway—I never took advantage of it before. And with you, I'd have done it anyway, arrangement or not." Bennet laid the palm of his hand against Flynn's face. "I like you a lot, Flynn. From that first briefing when you tried to get me mad, I knew then I wanted you."

"I don't want you to go." Flynn couldn't say it. Not what he really meant, not out loud.

Bennet took Flynn's hand in his again. "I can't stay."

They only had a minute. Not enough time. Not enough.

"Walk me to my ship." Bennet squeezed Flynn's hands, releasing them to pick up the duffle.

Flynn nodded, numbed. He stopped at the door for one last kiss, tasting Bennet for the last time. Bennet pressed up to him again for a minute and then let go.

"Come on," he said. "I'm late. I delayed as long as I could until you could get back."

Flynn nodded again. They cut through the main entrance doors. Cruz and a few of the others were waiting near the Mosquito. News was spreading.

Cruz looked at Flynn, and said, quietly, "Sorry that you're going, Bennet. Good luck."

"Give my love to home," Kyle said.

"When I get there. The debrief will be long on this one, I expect." Bennet handed Jordan his bag.

Powell shook hands. "Good luck, Bennet."

"Thanks. You too, when you get to Third Flotilla. Thank you for everything you did, Powell. I'm sorry if it looked like you got screwed. It wasn't meant that way."

"It wasn't me that got screwed." Powell glanced at Flynn, and away again.

"The commander," Jordan said, jerking his head towards the main entrance.

Caeden crossed the deck towards them. Bennet sighed, and went to meet his father.

"I wanted to see you off," Caeden said.

Bennet nodded at him, unsmiling.

The commander held out his hand, then hesitated, and put both hands on Bennet's shoulders instead. His voice dropped, but Flynn, straining, could just about make out the words. "We may have disagreed about you doing this, Bennet, but don't think that I don't respect your decision or that I'm not proud of you. I'm really very proud of you. More than I can say."

Bennet smiled at that. "Thank you, Dad."

That was clearer. Beside Flynn, Cruz choked and Kyle gasped.

"Well, well, well," Powell said.

Flynn ignored them, concentrating on Bennet. He had to make every second last.

The murmuring voices dropped and after a moment, Bennet hugged the commander. Caeden's face was expressionless, but he raised one hand to rest it on Bennet's hair.

Bennet turned away, his gaze seeking Flynn. Flynn nodded to him, the sickness growing. Another few minutes and Bennet would be gone. But not before Flynn had to get through the goodbyes and good wishes, watch Jillia and Cruz kiss Bennet on the cheek and Powell shake hands again. Bennet came to him last of all.

Flynn took a deep breath. "It was good, Ben," he said, using the diminutive for the first and last time. "Never better."

"Never." Bennet smiled and held out his hand, and when Flynn took it, he pressed something tiny, cold and sharp-edged into Flynn's palm. For the most fleeting of instants, his thumb caressed the back of Flynn's hand, and Flynn was back in that tiny, smelly, little cockpit on the way back from T18 with Bennet telling him that he wanted him.

Another squeeze, and Bennet stepped away. Flynn closed his fingers over Bennet's gift while his lover, the first real lover he'd ever had, climbed into the Mosquito. Jordan closed down the hatch and checked the seals, slapping his hand twice on the clear hatch in confirmation. The Mosquito lifted up as soon as the mounting platform had been rolled aside. When it went through the force field, it was outlined with light for a second, shimmering.

Flynn pressed his lips together. Likely, he'd never see Bennet again.

When he glanced up, Caeden was giving him a very cool look, the blue eyes narrowed with suspicion, and the luminous smile that his son had inherited from him conspicuous by its absence. He stared back. Maybe his misery showed, because something like pity crossed the commander's face and he walked away without saying anything at all.

At least Powell waited until the commander was out of earshot, and until most of the pilots had wandered away. Only Cruz was there, beside Flynn, close and comforting. "Hell's teeth, Flynn, but you've got some gall! You were screwing the commander's son?"

"Did you know?" Cruz asked, eyes wide.

"Sure." Flynn's hand hurt where the sharp edges cut into his palm and he squeezed tighter.

Cruz shook her head. "Good gods, Flynn. You knew, and you still screwed him?"

Flynn opened his palm and looked down, at the tiny silver shield and the red marks where its edges had pressed into his skin. The little shield that Bennet had once said was the most precious thing he owned.

"Oh no, Cruz," he said, gently. "It was much worse than that."

"Shit," breathed Cruz. She looked frightened. Why should she look frightened?

Flynn closed his hand on the shield, hiding it from sight. He looked Powell in the eyes, and smiled, a sudden fellow feeling warming the chill he felt. He understood Powell a little better at last and understood, too, how cruel he'd been. He hadn't meant to be. He hadn't known any better. Now he did. "I'm sorry, Powell."

Powell's eyes widened, but Flynn turned away, slipping his arm through Cruz's and giving her a little tug to get her started towards the decontamination chambers and the big, empty ship beyond.

He hadn't just screwed the commander's son at all.

He had loved him.

## Chapter Twenty-eight

Joss was waiting when Bennet got home.

Not being stupid, Bennet called him from Shield HQ as soon as the debrief was over. He hadn't called the moment he'd arrived back on Albion. Again, he wasn't stupid. Better by far that Joss never found out he'd been left to one side for six days while the general, Felix and assorted psychs crawled through Bennet's mind for every detail of the raid and every detail of what he'd seen.

And much better by far that Bennet call in advance. Joss wasn't good with surprises. He always swore that he didn't take his consolation prizes home with him, but, well, Bennet wouldn't be good with that sort of surprise either.

And Bennet really wasn't that stupid.

Much later, with Joss dozing beside him, Bennet eased himself up to sit against the headboard. He'd had a low-grade headache for days, what with all the drugs and the controlled hypnotic regression. And hell, he could use a shower.

"Can't you sleep?"

Bennet turned his head. "Sorry. Did I wake you?"

"I wasn't really asleep." Joss wriggled to sit up beside him. "Besides, after you called me, I arranged for dinner to be sent in, to celebrate. We'd better get up. It'll be here in half an hour." He entwined his fingers in Bennet's. "I ordered all your favourites."

Bennet smiled. "Thanks. I'm hungry. The debrief was interesting this time around and all they offered me this afternoon was a cup of tea."

"Hmmmn," Joss said, with his usual passionate interest in the minutiae of Bennet's job. He tightened his fingers on Bennet's and yawned.

Bennet let the smile widen. Joss would never change. "Oh, you'll never guess what ship I ended up on this time."

"You don't ever tell me anything about your jobs." Joss straightened up. "This is new, trusting me with actual information."

"It's not like tha—"

"You weren't on the _Hype_ , then?"

"No, not this time. Rosie took her onto a different job and I got sent to a Fleet ship for mine." Bennet gave Joss a smirk. "Guess which one."

Joss stared. "No!"

"Yes, indeed. The _Gyrfalcon_."

"I don't believe it." Joss chuffed out a short, humourless laugh. "And you keep telling me your father has no influence over your career."

"He doesn't. It wasn't planned this way, Joss. Circumstances meant we had to change our original plans. His ship was best placed to support Shield."

Joss's face was carefully expressionless. "Uh-huh. And I'm sure he had no thoughts at all about getting you into Fleet."

"I think he's finally accepted that Shield is where I belong."

Another "Uh-huh."

Hell. Better not to have mentioned it at all. Bennet turned his head away and grimaced. "I thought you'd be amused. Oh well."

"There's not a lot about your job that's funny. At least you came back in one piece this time." Joss disentangled his fingers. His back was stiff with tension again. "What was it like, being on his ship?"

What was it like? A vision assailed Bennet, a vision of thick golden-brown hair falling into green eyes, startlingly green eyes in a dark gold face. He rode out the stab of pain, trying out a few adjectives in his mind. He rejected them all. He got out of bed, deciding he needed that shower before they ate.

"It's a ship, Joss. It got me where I needed to be." He started for the bathroom door. "It helped me get the job done. End of story."

Much, much later, he slipped out of bed while Joss was sleeping. The cracks had been papered over again, Joss's complaints stopped with Bennet's mouth, his discontent dissolved with sex. The disagreement, because it wasn't big enough to think of as a real fight, ended as they all did. Odd that his life had fallen into this pattern of recriminations and sex. Not what he'd expected when he'd let Joss seduce him all those years ago.

Rain was blowing across the wide windows, and the Thebaid's dome was invisible in low cloud. The living room was pleasantly warm. Bennet settled into one of the big sofas and stared out into the murk. All he could see was his own reflection, faint and wavering.

He rubbed his chest with one hand. It had been aching a lot recently, ever since he'd taken his leave on the _Gyrfalcon_ 's flight deck. What was it like, Joss had asked. Well, now.

What was it like?

Scary. Bloody. Exciting, mostly. Tedious, sometimes. A test of all his endurance. Stressful to the nth degree, and that was just the reconciliation with his father. Terrifying when he saw that thing... More than terrifying. Magnificent. Fun. Nerve-wracking. Satisfying. Hot. Sweaty. Dangerous.

And Flynn.

It had all, in the end, been about Flynn.

He tipped his head back against the sofa cushions and closed his eyes. In the confusion of that embrace from his father, he'd managed to get one hand to his throat and take the Shield. He'd just wanted to be away, to get it over. But he had to get through all the goodbyes and good wishes, let Jillia kiss him on the cheek and Powell shake hands again. Cruz had given him an unexpected hug.

Bennet came to Flynn last of all.

Flynn's smile had charmed him then as much as it had the first time he'd seen it, but he'd seen what lay underneath it. When Flynn took his hand in farewell, he'd pressed his Shield into the palm. It was all he had to give, the most precious thing he owned.

And that was that. Bennet had stepped away and climbed into the Mozzie's cockpit, pulled on his helmet and hesitated, his hand poised over the control console. He had a clear view out of the cockpit. The group of pilots had stood back a little, leaving Flynn on his own, Cruz hovering behind him. Flynn had watched him steadily. A few yards to one side, his father too, was watching, but Caeden had seemed to be as aware of Flynn as he was of Bennet. He had looked from Flynn to the Mosquito, to Flynn again.

Flynn's focus hadn't wavered. The lights had fallen on the side of his face, shadowing his eyes, the line of light sharp along his cheekbone, edging it with gold. He'd been so beautiful that the sudden pain had been like a blow to the chest. The something inside Bennet that tightened and curled in on itself when he was stressed and hurt, tightened and curled right then. His chest hurt.

The Mosquito had skimmed along the deck, heading for the force fields. Bennet had concentrated on that, getting her out into open space, taking her through the field in a glimmer of white light as she breached it. He hadn't looked back, but he knew what he'd done.

He knew it then, and he knew it now.

He'd left more than his shield in Flynn's hands.

~end~

Continued in Heart Scarab

Carry on reading to learn more about the Taking Shield books, and for a preview of _Heart Scarab._

# About My Books

Thank you for reading! I do hope you've enjoyed the book.

Here you can find more information about my books and, if they belong to a series, more about the series too. Ebook versions of the books are available from most online booksellers. Paperback versions are available and you can contact me for a signed copy.

The Taking Shield Series

The classic, Rainbow Award-winning space opera/military sci-fi series.

Earth's a dead planet, dark for thousands of years; lost for so long no one even knows where the solar system is. Her last known colony, Albion, has grown to be regional galactic power in its own right. But its drive to expand and found colonies of its own has threatened an alien race, the Maess, against whom Albion is now fighting a last-ditch battle for survival in a war that's dragged on for generations.

Taking Shield charts the missions and adventures of Shield Captain Bennet, scion of a prominent military family. Bennet, also an analyst with the Military Strategy Unit, uncovers crucial data about the Maess to help with the war effort. Against the demands of his family's 'triple goddess' of Duty, Honour and Service, is set Bennet's relationships with lovers and family—his difficult relationship with his long term partner, Joss; his estrangement from his father, Caeden, the commander of Fleet's First Flotilla; and Fleet Lieutenant Flynn, who, over the course of the series, develops into Bennet's main love interest.

Over the Taking Shield arc, Bennet will see the extremes to which humanity's enemies, and his own people, will go to win the war. Some days he isn't able to tell friend from foe. Some days he doubts everything, including himself, as he strives to ensure Albion's victory. And some days he isn't sure, any longer, what victory looks like.

For more information on the Shield universe, visit www.annabutlerfiction.com

The Taking Shield **e-books and paperbacks** in reading order:

Taking Shield 01: Gyrfalcon

Taking Shield 02: Heart Scarab

Taking Shield 03: Makepeace

Taking Shield 04: The Chains of Their Sins

Taking Shield 5: Day of Wrath

(There is no paperback of the compiled series, but each individual book is available in print).

The Lancaster's Luck Series

A classic m/m romance with the added twist of a steampunk world where aeroships fill the skies of Victorian London and our hero uses pistols powered by luminferous aether and phlogiston. First published by Dreamspinner Press, the first book of the series, _The Gilded Scarab_ , was a finalist in the Romantic Times Reviewer's Awards in 2015, and _The Jackal's House_ is a multiple Rainbow Award winner.

When Captain Rafe Lancaster is invalided out of the Britannic Imperium's Aero Corps after crashing his aerofighter during the Second Boer War, his eyesight is damaged permanently, and his career as a fighter pilot is over. Returning to Londinium in late November 1899, he's lost the skies he loved, has no place in a society ruled by an elite oligarchy of powerful Houses, and is hard up, homeless, and in desperate need of a new direction in life.

Everything changes when he buys a coffeehouse near the Britannic Imperium Museum in Bloomsbury, the haunt of Aegyptologists. For the first time in years, Rafe is free to be himself. In a city powered by luminiferous aether and phlogiston, and where powerful men use House assassins to target their rivals, Rafe must navigate dangerous politics, learn to make the best coffee in Londinium, and fend off murder and kidnap attempts before he can find happiness with the man he loves.

The Lancaster's Luck **e-book and paperback** series in order, available from most online bookstores:

The Gilded Scarab

The Jackal's House

The God's Eye

Passing Shadows

If you enjoyed the Taking Shield books, why not take a look at the series prequel, Passing Shadows? It tells the story of the destruction of Earth, ten thousand years before the events of Gyrfalcon and the following books, in a trilogy of short stories narrated by Li Liang, a pilot and first officer on a ship caught up in the destruction and the immediate aftermath as the few surviving humans run for their lives.

FlashWired

A novella depicting an even earlier period in Earth's history, as humanity first starts moving out to the stars, founding colonies on new planets. In it, scouts from a coloniser ship come across an alien society that has a disturbingly practical use for the other races it encounters.

*

To keep in touch with publication of new books, you can follow my blog and sign up for my newsletter. Newsletters are sent only when I have something substantive to say: progress on the books, events I'm attending, occasional giveaways and offers of ARCs of new or forthcoming books in return for (absolutely honest) reviews. You won't be peppered with emails every few days. Promise!

You can contact me through my website (www.annabutlerfiction.com) or at annabutlerfiction@gmail.com

Read on for a taster from Heart Scarab, the second Taking Shield book

# _Heart Scarab_ Teaser

Section One

22 – 31 Primus 7489

Chapter One

22 Primus 7488: Sais, Albion

The apartment door crashed shut so hard in Shield Captain Bennet's face, it rattled on its hinges.

Bennet took an involuntary step backwards. Shit! Another home leave ending in a fight with Joss. Another fucking fight. Hell's teeth, but this was getting old. Recently, every short leave between Bennet's missions for the Shield Regiment had been bracketed by resentful, sulky silences or screaming matches.

On the whole, Bennet preferred the silences.

"Whoa," Shield Lieutenant Rosamund said from the elevator lobby behind him. She sounded impressed. "Joss is in fine voice."

Bennet closed his eyes for a moment and let his shoulders slump. It was bad enough dealing with Joss's regular outbursts of fury at Bennet's refusal to leave the military. He didn't need a witness. Especially Rosie, his second in command.

"I'd sort of gathered things weren't still love's young dream in the Bennet-Joss household. I wasn't expecting to get proof." Rosie's glance skittered over Bennet and away again. Her face was tinged with pink and she didn't meet his eyes. "Sorry, Bennet. I didn't mean to upset Joss."

Bennet picked up his kitbag. "You didn't upset him. I did. He's been mad ever since the call came from HQ assigning us to the Telnos evacuation. It wouldn't make any difference who came to pick me up."

Joss. Joss who had been lover, partner, sort-of spouse, family, for nearly nine years. Who loved Bennet and wanted him out of the military. Joss did love Bennet. But he was also emotional and dramatic and... hell, he was damned selfish. He wouldn't hesitate to use emotion and drama to try and get his own way.

He wasn't Flynn—

Bennet chopped that thought off right there. More than a year and a half since T18, when he'd commandeered his father's ship to get him behind the lines. Infiltrating a Maess base in between battling to work out his dicey relationship with his father and shoring up his dicey relationship with Joss... child's play. Well, child's play in comparison to dealing with the distraction offered by First Lieutenant Flynn, the pilot who'd got him back from the base.

Flynn had been one hell of a distraction. No. That wasn't fair, not to either of them. He'd been much, much more than a distraction. Too much more.

He still was, damn him. Still.

Bennet's chest ached, bone deep. He rubbed at it with one hand while he and Rosie took the elevator from the penthouse he shared with Joss to street level. Rosie hadn't looked at him all the way down and what he could see of her face was still pink with embarrassment. Damn Joss! Damn him for making Rosie uncomfortable.

"It's not your fault." Bennet forced a smile. "He'll get over it. He'll be all right by the time we get back."

Rosie had parked across the narrow street. She slid behind the driving console while Bennet tossed his kitbag onto the back seat to join hers. "Still, maybe if I hadn't come to get you, it might have been easier. Joss never really took to me, you know." She edged the car into the traffic. "You know what his problem is? You're not the impressionable eighteen-year-old he seduced all those years ago."

He gave her a sharp glance. She was no fool, his Rosie. "I had to grow up sometime."

"And so far as Joss is concerned, you did it to spite him?"

"Nail. Head. The. On. Hitting. The." Bennet grinned at her. "Any order you like."

She laughed. "Of course, if you're older, he can't keep fooling himself he's not, can he? If you're grown up now, what does that make him?"

"I dunno. Older than me?"

"Exactly. Years and years older than you. You're not twenty-seven yet. He's forty-five, Bennet." Rosie turned into the road cutting across the park. "And he's not making you happy."

"That's mutual. You're right. He's having a hard time adjusting to getting older, and it doesn't help he's nearly twenty years older than me. But mostly it's because I won't leave Shield." And there it was, the familiar little kick of nausea roiling in Bennet's gut whenever he thought about how difficult things were. "I'm losing patience, Rosie. There's only so much drama I can take, and Joss overdoses on it. I don't want to go home, sometimes."

Not if it meant going home to fights, histrionics and more accusations of selfishness. Joss apparently found the dramatics recreational, but they were anything but restful. Bennet got more than enough of warfare in his working day without getting it in the neck at home.

"Then think about that, too. Look, you've never told me this much before about you and Joss, but I'm not a fool. I've always known living with him can't exactly be restful. Personally, I don't think he deserves you, but it's none of my business. You've always been able to cope with him before now. What's changed? You haven't really been your old self since the T18 job." Rosie glanced at him sidelong. "You've never talked about it. At least, you've never said much about the _Gyrfalcon_ and having to work with"—one hand left the controls to make some vicious air hooks—"the Great Commander Caeden."

Bennet shook his head. The mission to T18 had thrown him and his father into closer contact than they'd had in years. They'd sorted out a lot of their differences. Reconciled, even. "No. Not that. Things are pretty good with Dad now."

"Really? I'm glad. It never made much sense to me, anyway."

"Dad was always convinced my joining Shield meant I lacked ambition. Commandeering his dreadnought put paid to that idea."

She chuckled, but it was short-lived. "Then it's just Joss? You know, you're going to have to decide what you want there and start pushing for it."

Bennet watched the city of Sais as they passed through it. The Old City first, all ancient buildings, temples and museums; the heart of Sais and the oldest settlement on the whole of Albion. Then north through the financial district and onto the great arterial road out to the distant spaceport. Rosie, bless her, left him to his silence.

They were on the outskirts of Sais before Bennet spoke again. "You've always said I was spoiled. Rich family, rich boyfriend, never wanting for anything because I always got what I wanted. Well, it doesn't always work out. There's something I want and I can't have it. I'll never be able to have it."

"Uh-huh." She gave him yet another glance, speculative this time. "All right, I'll bite. Something or someone?"

"Yes."

Rosie stared out at the road ahead. "And, rethinking what I said a minute ago about your Dad's ship and how not quite yourself you've been since, someone connected to the _Gyrfalcon_?"

Bennet grimaced at her, in lieu of an answer.

"Right." Rosie wove her way through the traffic with the speed and verve that came from piloting a fighter. Her mouth tightened. "Well, I guess this is where I'm a good and loving friend and I pat you consolingly on the arm"—she matched word to deed—"and change the subject. Telnos. We'll talk about the job on Telnos instead. I don't know about you, but I can't wait to get to a planet at the backside of nowhere to evacuate hundreds of illegal colonists in the teeth of a Maess invasion. It'll be a breeze. What do you say?"

Bennet managed a laugh. "That you're the best friend a man could have. You have a knack for putting it all in perspective."

Rosie sniffed. "Well, I suppose we all need to be needed," she said, so sour that Bennet blinked.

What in hell was that about?

28 Primus 7488: Telnos

Telnos stank.

Telnos stank, both literally and metaphorically. Bennet couldn't work out which offended him the most. Sometimes it was the sheer physical awfulness of Telnos that got to him, sometimes the spiritual desolation of being at war on one of the most unprepossessing planets in the galaxy. After only a day, Telnos affected even the most equable of tempers.

When he mentioned this theory, Rosie arched one eyebrow and pasted on a sweet smile. "Self-delusion, Bennet?"

He grinned, pulling her down to sit beside him, leaning back against a tree. "I'm as bad-tempered as hell, but with this stench, who can blame me?"

Telnos was a hell-hole, so of course the Shield Regiment was in there doing the dirty work for Fleet and Infantry. Bennet's sleek scout ship was held in close orbit with half her company flying patrols in their Mosquitoes, and watching for the Maess. The rest of _Hyperion_ 's crew had drawn the shortest of straws and were dealing with what had to be the worst part of the planet. Festering marshland was never his favourite terrain. The landscape was a series of shallow pools, seldom more than a few inches deep, threaded through with thin strips of what passed on Telnos for dry land. The thick, glutinous mud of the pools smelled vile.

Rosie's nose wrinkled. "It smells like something died."

"There's definitely something rotting underneath all this." Bennet waved a hand at the rampant, acid-green vegetation. "Maybe it's feeding off the decaying corpse of some long-dead leviathan buried in the mud."

"Either you've been taken with a romantic fit, which is probably hormonal, or these bloody flies have given you a fever. Either way we'd better get you off-planet before you start writing bad poetry." Rosie pulled off her helmet and scratched at the midge bites. Her nails left red grazes on her forehead. "Gods, they're even in my hair!"

Marshes the galaxy over had but one function: to be perfect breeding grounds for nasty little insects. The worst were the tiny, flying, stinging, ever-hungry gnats. There were billions of them, hanging in dark, roiling clouds under the tree cover.

"Whatever did they live on before I got here to add spice and variety to their diet?" Rosie pulled her helmet back on, settling it so far down in an attempt to keep the midges out of her vibrant red hair that Bennet, laughing, said she looked like a torpedo. She sprayed insect repellent around herself in vicious bursts, blue eyes narrowing at him.

Bennet dared to smile. "As long as they continue to prefer your spice to mine, I can live with it. No one's got sick yet."

"Yet."

Rosie had a point. Telnos was not a healthy place.

Several years earlier, small groups from an extreme religious sect, the Brethren, had crossed into the Border Zone to colonise Telnos. Putting aside the legal technicality of the Zone being closed to non-military traffic—admittedly, the illegal traders and smugglers known as Jacks treated the law as purely theoretical so why, Bennet reasoned, should it hold back religious fanatics?—Telnos was hardly the Promised Land. The Brethren established their farms where marshes were the perfect breeding ground for fever and disease. Presumably, to further mortify the flesh with gnat bites.

Bennet's Shield unit had been tasked with locating settlements and whistling up the Infantry for transports to get the colonists to the ships taking them back into Albion's space. Several of the people they'd evacuated had been sick and feverish. Colonists and rescuers alike would be spending a lot of time in decontamination when they finally got off-planet, maybe even weeks in quarantine. No one wanted to be famous for taking some deadly new infection home to Albion.

If people were stupid enough to set up illegal and unauthorised colonies on a desolate hell-hole, then the consequences were entirely down to them. Bennet's objection was the he and his people were dragged in to rescue the idiots. He said so. With conviction and bad language.

"Gives the crew someone to blame." Rosie killed another few hundred gnats with noxious chemicals. "Other than you, of course."

Bennet shrugged and wriggled to get more comfortable under the dubious shelter of the tree. It was, of course, raining. It never stopped. It might have been a blessing if the rain had brought any cool refreshment with it. But this rain was a permanent warm mist, smelling as foul as the mud. It left them damp and hot, sticky and sweaty. The Brethren had to be insane to choose to live in the marshes. Bennet could understand why the miners were twenty miles north in the mountain foothills where they could lever solactinium out of the deep mines and sell it—there was a thriving black market for it, and more than one of Albion's many colonies would turn blind eyes to a cheap source. It made economic sense, and the climate in the mountains was one helluva lot better. Choosing to live in the swampy marshland was conclusive proof religion addled the brain.

Rosie displayed her usual aptitude for mind reading. "Why did they choose to set up home here, do you think?"

Bennet slapped at an adventurous gnat or ten, settling on his neck for a snack. Rosie smirked, proffering the can, and Bennet added his mite to reducing the insect population. "Apart from escaping from the dread hand of a secular and therefore profane government, do you mean? This lot makes extreme religious fundamentalists look half-hearted. You know, my father's so religious he sweats prayers, but even he wouldn't be able to understand their mentality. I imagine this planet was perfect for them. Nowhere else in the known universe offers as much opportunity to mortify their bodies and consequently purify their souls."

"Bless you! You always came up trumps with some theory or other. I thought you'd work it out. That religious upbringing of yours, I expect."

Bennet snorted. His family of patrician Thebans, one of the foremost in the faith, did not have a great deal in common with the Brethren. There wasn't much similarity between the gold-leafed marble domes of the Theban temples back home on Albion, and the tiny wattle-and-daub chapels in the marshes.

Rosie sighed and glanced up at the sky. "How long do you reckon before the Maess get here?"

"Soon. Too soon. We'll know as soon as they drop out of hyperspace."

Rosie eased her shoulders inside her tac-vest. The damn things were heavy and uncomfortable in the heat; Bennet's own was stuck to his back with sweat. "I can't see the Maess drones staying here long. They'd rust solid in a week."

"They'll stay long enough to get the solactinium." Bennet leaned his head back against the tree and closed his eyes against the strong greenish light. "And what do the Maess care if they lose a few thousand drones in the process? All they have to do is crank up the manufacturing plant and they've covered their losses in a month."

"We should stay and fight," said someone from the shelter of a nearby tree.

Bennet twisted to see who it was. Kerr. He gave the man a quick nod of sympathy. Kerr was right. Humanity was slowly falling back from the frontier, securing an inner core of systems around Albion. It bothered Bennet. What war had ever been won from a state of defence?

"We've been talking about it in the Strategy Unit." Bennet mentioned the other job the military had him doing as well as sliding about on stinking mud. "Consolidation, they called it. I said 'suicidal ossification' came closer, and got my knuckles rapped for the use of plain language."

"If we give up too much ground now, we'll have trouble retaking it," Rosie grumbled.

"We won't be able to retake it." Bennet's voice was sharper than it should be. He reined in the irritation. "Telnos is lost. In itself, it isn't important. It doesn't sit on any of the major space routes so losing it won't threaten Albion or a settlement planet or any of the smaller colonies. I know there's some solactinium, but not enough to make this dump worth fighting for. But what it stands for, what we're giving up here..." Bennet shook his head.

He'd told the crew this in the pre-mission briefing, but he could understand their frustration at the limited job they had. They'd do it to the best of their ability. They'd get the illegal colonists and the miners off, and leave the Maess to flounder through the mud to conquer the place. They'd do it, but no one said they had to like it.

"Well, ours is not to reason why, so they tell us. We just have to get on with making sure these idiots get off-world in one piece." Rosie tried to lighten the mood. "Have you noticed every single man has a beard birds could nest in?"

Bennet snorted. "I can cope with the beards. Their never being short of a Book quotation or some prophet's raving is a lot more irritating. I just love how they can twist it to justify idiocy."

"Too close to your father's thinking, you mean? Without the beard, of course."

"No. Not really. Dad's religious, but these maniacs... no, he's hardly in their league. He's no blind fanatic." Bennet levered himself up onto his feet. Two settlements down, the gods alone knew how many left to go. "Break's over, boys and girls. Back to work. The next settlement awaits us."

Continued in Heart Scarab

