

## Zenith

## The Interscission Project: Book One

## by

## Arshad Ahsanuddin

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2014 by Arshad Ahsanuddin

All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Table of Contents

Part I: A Gathering of Suspects

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Part II: Tangled Webs

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Part III: Guilt By Association

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Part IV: The Smoking Gun

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Part V: The Hangman's Knot

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Part VI: Friendly Fire

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Epilogue: The Fork in the Road

Timeline

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Acknowledgements

About the Author

Other Works

Copyright
Part I: A Gathering of Suspects

Truth, it has been said, is the first casualty of war.

\- Philip Snowden, Introduction to Truth and the War, by E. D. Morel.

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Chapter 1

October 2176, Washington, D.C.

Martin flipped up his collar against the chill breeze and listened with half his mind to the memorial service. His gaze drifted along the ranks of the bereaved on the opposite side of the cemetery: a legion of men, women, and children, most dressed in black and bundled up against the cold. They listened stoically to the politicians who took the stage, one after the other, to shed crocodile tears and pontificate beneath the overcast, colorless sky.

_Damn vultures. Do you really think any of us care what you have to say?_ The opportunism irritated him, but hypocrisy was hardly in short supply after the tragedy. Martin was observing from a distance because he wasn't sure his presence would be welcome among them—not after his failure to prevent the carnage.

"Commander Atkins?" a voice asked from behind him.

He tensed but didn't turn around. "No interviews." _Speaking of vultures..._

"I am not from the press. I was wondering if we might discuss a potential career opportunity?"

Martin faced the stranger suspiciously. "And who the hell are you?"

The man seemed aggressively ordinary: slight of build with pale skin, hair the color of damp straw, and washed-out blue eyes. He was dressed in a plain black suit and tie, a stark contrast to Martin's navy blue dress uniform.

The man held out a business card. "My name is Henry Bradford, and I am the Chief Executive Officer of the Starfire Technology Group."

Martin raised an eyebrow as he accepted the card. "Isn't that the company that makes tourist ships for billionaires?"

Henry smiled. "In part. We manufacture customized spacecraft and satellites to meet the specific design needs of our corporate and military clients."

Martin examined the business card, shrugged, and slipped it into his breast pocket. "Fine. What do you want?"

"I understand that you and the other senior officers of the _CSS Heracles_ have been placed on administrative leave pending the completion of the inquest into the Trinity Spacelines disaster."

Martin scowled and turned away, back to the memorial service. "Yeah, we're grounded until the Brass decides whether we screwed up or not. Standard procedure."

"Given the difficulties in reconstructing the destroyed aircraft, as well as the extensive structural damage to the _Heracles_ , I'm told a final ruling is not expected for at least six months, possibly even a year."

"Maybe. What's your point?"

"In the interim, have you considered civilian employment?"

Martin chuckled. "Right."

"Have you ever heard of the Interscission Project?"

Martin faced him again, curious despite himself. "I've heard rumors. Some kind of new propulsion technology. Very highly classified."

"The drive technology was developed by several multinational corporations pooling their technological expertise, but they needed someone to build a ship that could take advantage of it, and they wanted the best." Henry grinned. "And I can honestly say that we _are_ the best."

Martin said nothing, merely waited expectantly.

Henry handed him a sealed envelope. "What I am about to tell you is elaborated more fully in these documents. I have been authorized to share them with you for reference, so you can make an informed decision about the offer I am about to make." The executive paused for a moment. "I assume I don't need to tell you that if those documents leave your possession, you will be arrested for corporate espionage."

"Naturally." Martin shrugged. "So what's your offer? Get to the point."

"Your information is only partially correct. The Interscission Project is designed around a new form of spacecraft technology, true, but it is not a method of propulsion so much as an alternate method of travel."

Martin frowned. "What's the difference?"

"The core technology is based on principles of folded space-time."

"I beg your pardon?"

"The larger spaceships in the fleet have artificial gravity, do they not?"

"Of course."

"Gravity is a localized deformation of space-time. At its most extreme, that distortion can actually puncture space-time entirely, creating a channel between widely separated locations in the universe." Henry smiled. "Our job was to build a ship that could survive the journey across that channel."

"Are you saying you're building a starship?" whispered Martin.

"Yes." Henry gave him a pointed stare. "But this is a strictly civilian project, without government or military involvement. And therein lies the problem."

Martin cocked his head. "How so?"

"Almost all spacecraft at this level of complexity are military in nature, so our possible experienced candidates for the crew are limited to former military personnel. Generally, these candidates are available for reasons of retirement, disability, poor discipline, or outright criminality. Hardly the pick of the litter."

"So you can't find anyone suitable? I find that hard to believe."

"Oh, we found someone. Captain Walter Keystone had resigned his commission due to a family emergency, which has since been resolved. He was quite enthusiastic about the project."

"So, why are you talking to me?"

"He was travelling from Brisbane to meet our project team in San Francisco, along with a number of key flight officers he'd recruited to the project, when his suborbital transport apparently collided with a decommissioned and undocumented satellite." He looked past Martin to the memorial service. "You know the rest."

Martin resisted the urge to follow his gaze. "And now you're looking for a replacement."

"Yes. We are also looking for additional experienced candidates to serve as the senior flight officers."

"Are you asking me to recruit other members of my crew?"

"It would be optimum to have a crew that is both experienced and has an established working relationship. I assure you our compensation packages will far outstrip anything the military has to offer." Henry extended his hand. "We hope you and your crew will consider joining us."

Martin stared at the outstretched hand for a moment before tentatively shaking it. "I'll review your documents and then present my crewmates with the information. I can't make any promises on their behalf."

"Of course. But you should impress upon them that this is a unique opportunity to make history, Commander." Henry nodded at the mourners on the opposite side of the cemetery. "Life is short. Best to make your mark while you can. I look forward to hearing from you."

Henry turned back to his waiting limousine. Behind him, Martin stood alone in the cemetery, staring at the envelope in his hand.

Return to the Table of Contents
Chapter 2

November 2176, San Francisco, California

Trevor stood at the window of the wood-paneled conference room, looking down at the new arrivals as they exited the limousine. Below, Henry greeted each of them in turn. He knew the two men were the pilot and engineer of the _Heracles_ , but there was nothing obvious to indicate which was which. One was deeply tanned and athletic, wearing bronze sunglasses with his black hair styled in short spikes, gazing around the shipyards with unconcealed interest. The other was paler and more serious-looking.

"So these are our saviors," said Jennifer, from beside him. She didn't sound particularly impressed.

Trevor shrugged. "We needed a crew, and these guys are the best we've been able to find." He snuck a sidelong glance at her. "Would you rather have finished the ship and let it just sit there until the military found a way to take it away from us?"

She sighed. "These people are soldiers, Trevor. They might take it away from us regardless."

"That's not going to happen. Henry would toss them out an airlock at the first sign they might sell us out."

Jennifer nodded, saying nothing. Then she raised an eyebrow as the second man broke into a grin and elbowed the man in glasses, pointing out the sleek black jetcopter on one of the nearby helipads. The other followed his gaze and pursed his lips to whistle in appreciation, his expression one of naked envy. "Okay, so they have good taste. I'll give them that."

Trevor rolled his eyes. "You and your damn greasemonkey fetish. Don't tell me you're finally going to warm up to having them on board, just because they like your ride."

She gave him a stern look. "Says the man who couldn't change a flat tire without three industrial robots and a supercomputer."

"Oh, please," he said with a snort. "I'm not that bad. Two robots, tops."

She laughed, and was about to respond when the door opened and Henry walked in, leading the two flight officers behind him.

* * *

Charles took in the way the two scientists went silent when he and Martin entered the room. _Obviously, we're not as welcome here as we've been led to believe._ The woman, short of stature with mousy brown hair, wore a white coat marked on the breast pocket with the staff and serpent of the medical profession. The man was taller and more gaunt. Long black hair partially covered his intense green eyes, which observed them with cool detachment.

Charles assumed a mask of professionalism that concealed his true thoughts. Martin, of course, was as bright and cheery as ever, smiling at the civvies from behind his sunglasses. It was just another facade, Charles knew, designed to allow outsiders to underestimate him. The younger man played the fool when it suited him, but Charles knew from experience that Martin was studying their new potential employers like insects pinned to a board, calmly evaluating the strengths and weaknesses each had to offer.

Henry sat at the head of the conference table. "Please, everyone sit down. I think introductions are in order before we start the information session."

They all took their seats: the officers on one side, and the scientists on the other. If Henry noted the conscious divide between them, he gave no sign.

Jennifer got the ball rolling. "I am Dr. Jennifer Donovan, Starfire's Director of Engineering and Special Projects, as well as its Chief Medical Officer, specializing in long-term maintenance of closed environments."

Trevor inclined his head. "Dr. Trevor Sutton, Director of Information Technology and Automation."

Charles nodded, and introduced himself. "I'm Lieutenant Commander Charles Davenport, Chief Engineer of the _CSS Heracles_ for the past seven years." He glanced at Martin, who seemed disinclined to speak. "This is Commander Martin Atkins, our Senior Pilot and Navigator. He's been with the _Heracles_ for a little over three years, serving as First Officer for the last fifteen months."

"And I am Henry Bradford, Starfire's CEO and Director of Research and Development. I was the Principal Investigator of the Interscission Project that developed foldspace drive." He smiled at Martin's apparent surprise. "Thought I was just another suit, did you?"

Charles watched Martin immediately mask his expression.

"You didn't give me any reason to think otherwise," Martin said.

"There is no deadweight at the Starfire Technology Group." Henry chuckled at the Commander's apparent discomfort. "Everyone on this project has been chosen because they have shown exemplary skill in areas of expertise critical to the long-term success of the mission."

Martin laughed. "And then there's us."

"Including you," answered Henry.

Martin flipped his sunglasses onto his forehead. "How are we exemplary of anything?"

Charles sighed. "Marty, pipe down."

Martin shrugged. "What? I'm just curious. Why us? And don't spin me the line about us being the only ones available. This could be the most significant advance in spaceflight for the last two hundred years. You don't put that kind of trust in someone you scraped off the bottom of the barrel. We haven't signed onto this project yet, and I'm not convinced there's not another agenda in play here."

Henry watched him calmly, the silence stretching to an uncomfortable length. Finally, he nodded. "In that, you are correct, Mr. Atkins. You were not the only available candidates. You were the _best_ available." He took a deep breath. "Lieutenant Commander Davenport holds advanced degrees in physics and mathematics. He only enlisted with the military as part of a family tradition, or he'd most likely be in academia now. That he has continued to publish while serving as Chief Engineer on board the _Heracles_ speaks volumes about the quality of his mind and education."

Martin continued to smile pleasantly. "What special qualifications do I have that make me such an asset to the team?"

"None," said Henry, without blinking an eye. "Although you are Mr. Davenport's superior officer, you have significantly less field experience and limited scientific training. You're here because of your actions during the Trinity disaster."

Martin looked suddenly uncertain. "What? How—"

"I called in a favor and was able to review the Bridge audio and visual records of the incident," said Henry, cutting him off. "You tried to save the other ship, but when you realized it was hopeless and that the _Heracles_ was about to be destroyed, you were the first to counsel Captain Drake to abort the attempt."

Martin swallowed. "So I'm here because I wanted to save my own skin? That's hardly a compliment."

"No, it's not. But you're missing the point." Henry's eyes bored unflinchingly into the younger man's. "You reminded your Captain that her primary duty was to her own ship and crew." His imperious glare swept over the two flight officers. "I don't need heroes on this mission. I need survivors. No matter what happens on the other side, it makes no difference unless you return. We chose you, not because of your courage in making the attempt to save flight 273, but because you knew when to step back and save yourselves. If you have any illusions to the contrary, you might as well walk out that door right now, because you're useless to me."

Martin slid his sunglasses back over his eyes, his face impassive. The others sat frozen in their seats. The brittle silence lengthened.

Finally, Martin turned to face Trevor and Jennifer, who were staring at Henry, aghast. "So, who owns that sweet 'copter out there?"

Return to the Table of Contents
Chapter 3

Charles set his bag of groceries down on the hall table and let the door swing closed behind him. He glanced around the hotel suite and picked out Martin in the semidarkness, stretched out on the couch and flipping channels on the holoscreen. The younger man's sour expression silenced the greeting Charles had been about to utter. Instead, he picked up the grocery bag and made his way into the rudimentary kitchen, carefully laying out the food he had purchased before pulling pots and pans out of the cupboards.

"How do you want your steak?" he called out.

"Whatever," came Martin's sullen reply.

Charles set the cookware on the stove and turned to face his crewmate, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned against the counter. "You're not a coward, Marty."

Martin dropped the remote, his head snapping to the side as he stared at Charles. Recovering, he scowled as he felt around in the dark for the remote. "Of course, I'm not. Why would you say something like that?"

"Because it's all you've been thinking about, ever since Bradford made his 'I need survivors' speech back at the shipyard." Charles sighed. "He really got under your skin, didn't he?"

Martin slumped in his seat. "I didn't do anything wrong. We would all have died if we hadn't let them fall. Everyone on the Bridge knew that. I just happened to be the first one who said it out loud."

"Martin..."

"I know! It know it wasn't my fault. It wasn't anyone's fault." His voice grew rough with bitterness. "I know."

Charles studied his best friend's tense posture and decided on a tactical withdrawal. "Medium okay?"

Martin nodded as his hand finally made contact with the remote. "Sure." He went back to flipping channels.

Charles turned back to the meal and thought dark thoughts about Henry Bradford. The briefing had been detailed and to the point, and by the end, Charles had known that both of them were going to sign up. _We're sailors at heart, and there's no greater call than uncharted waters._ He just wished the son of a bitch hadn't decided to single out Marty to make his point. The destruction of flight 273 weighed heavily on all of them, but Martin lived to fly. The younger man savored the power and control he wielded, and he'd become a shadow of himself in the months since they'd been grounded. To Commander Atkins, the prospect of getting back in the pilot's seat was worth any price, even humiliation in front of his crewmate and best friend.

_Fucking corporate suit. When this mission is over, boyo, remind me to look you up in a dark alley._ Charles almost wished that watching his friend sacrifice his self-respect to stay on the team was enough to be a deal breaker, but in all honesty, it wasn't. And unfortunately, that said a great deal more about Charles' priorities than about Bradford's.

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Chapter 4

The tinted glass shield slid over the windows of Trevor's office, and the holographic circuit diagram hovering in the room's center brightened in the gloom. Trevor tapped the hologram, enlarging the three-dimensional representation of the control chip schematic. Frowning at the extent of the changes to the original design, he touched the phone control on his virtual desktop and activated the avatar for Edward Harlen, the microcircuitry engineer who had proposed the modifications.

"Ed, could you come to my office for a moment?"

A moment later, the avatar blinked green, indicating the voice message had been received. Trevor turned back to the virtual display and started up his customized suite of diagnostic models. A minute later, the results came back. _Fifteen percent improvement in response time. Holy crap. How the hell did he manage that?_

He blew up the design further, following the intricacies of the glowing lines and symbols, trying to reconstruct the principles of the information in his mind. A soft knock at the door soon distracted him. "Enter."

Edward—the youngest member of the information technology team—pushed open the door and walked in. Barely out of his teens and drawn from Arclight, one of the newer nanomanufacturing corporations in the Interscission Consortium, Edward's most striking feature was not his brown hair cut short in front and long in the back nor his average frame clad in a short-sleeved blue shirt and black denim jeans; it was the short silver bar clipped to the bridge of his nose and projecting twin disks of blue light to either side, just in front of his eyes.

The design proposals Arclight had submitted to the project in recent months were superior to anything Trevor had ever seen, even from established companies with far larger R&D budgets. When he started making discreet inquiries, they had all led back to one man: little more than a kid who had shown up at the public office of Arclight one day with an innovative schematic for a novel form of three-dimensional printing that had left their corporate engineering team's jaws hanging open.

Admittedly, some of their surprise had been because the design was scrawled in felt-tip pen on the back of a movie poster. Edward had told them the design just came to him, and that he had a number of similar ideas. Within two months, the young engineer had become a central figure in the Interscission Project, and Trevor had no doubt that his star would continue to rise for years to come.

Edward's gaze immediately darted to the virtual schematic, his eyes illuminated by the glowing blue refraction fields hovering a centimeter in front of his irises. He grinned. "Did you run the diagnostic package yet?"

_Smartass,_ thought Trevor. Edward's juvenile glee was almost comical, especially when paired with his antiquated reading glasses.

"Yes, I did. How the hell did you come up with this?"

Edward shrugged. "It came to me."

Trevor chuckled. "Of course." He focused on the design again. "This is very impressive, Edward. Some of your best work yet. Assuming all the predictive models pan out, we can put these into production immediately and have the maneuvering control systems upgraded in a couple of weeks. I'm sure our new pilot will be grateful for the improvement in fine control."

Edward's smile slipped, his eyes widening behind the glowing lenses. "Pilot? Did the flight crew sign the contracts?"

"Yes." Trevor raised an eyebrow. "I'm surprised the news isn't all over the complex by now. The Chief Engineer and Senior Navigator from the _CSS Heracles_ accepted our offer and will be joining the team immediately. Henry was planning to introduce them to the rest of the crew and scientific support teams on Monday morning, during the general staff meeting. In the meantime, they've already started working with the subteams in their respective areas of expertise."

Edward licked his lips. "Will they be working with us?"

There was a curious intensity to that question, which Trevor didn't understand. "Lieutenant Commander Davenport will be working mostly with Dr. Donovan. This chip redesign you've created will probably mean we'll have to block some time together with Commander Atkins to go over the upgrades to the Navigation package." He looked more closely at the young engineer. "Why?"

Edward started for a second, and then his expression changed, becoming simultaneously more guarded but obviously feigning innocence. "No reason. They're kind of celebrities these days. The info that's leaking out about the damage to the _Heracles_ during the rescue attempt was pretty shocking. I don't think the people who criticize them know how close they came to dying."

Trevor remembered Henry's 'survivor' speech from their initial meeting with the flight crew. "True. But those two know, and they have to adjust to the knowledge that they lived and the others died. I'll bet it's hard on them."

"Yeah," Edward agreed, with a hint of something profound in his voice. "You're probably right."

To Trevor, it sounded almost... haunted.

Edward rubbed the bridge of his nose, below the snugly clipped silver bar of the holoprojector that generated the twin distortion fields of his reading glasses. "I guess I'll get started on modeling the new chip then, to confirm there aren't any hidden flaws."

Trevor saw the refractive fields ripple as Edward dropped his hand. "Hey, Ed... can I ask you a personal question?"

Edward blinked, plainly surprised. "Uh, okay. Sure."

"Why do you wear those things, anyway? If your eyes are that bad, why not opt for corneal replacement surgery?"

Edward's mouth opened and then closed wordlessly. He dropped his gaze and shuffled his feet as he considered his answer. "It's complicated."

Trevor felt his own face redden at his engineer's apparent discomfort. "I apologize. I shouldn't have asked."

"It's... it's all right, Trevor. It's not a secret or anything."

It was only the second time Trevor could remember that Edward had addressed him by his first name. _He's upset. Damn. I must have hit a nerve._ "Just forget it. It's none of my business."

"No, there isn't any real reason I shouldn't tell you." Edward took a deep breath and let it out. "I just find that people look at me differently when I explain." He reached up and slid the silver clip off his nose, the holographic fields disappearing from before his eyes. "The glasses are a sham." He swallowed nervously. "But the old style holoprojector casing is large enough to hold modern holoprojector circuitry and still have room for an ultrasonic resonator that can generate a topological sonic map."

_Oh, my god._ Trevor stared at him for a moment, and then raised his right hand and slowly waved it back and forth in front of Edward's face. The engineer's eyes remained focused straight ahead, unblinking. For the first time, Trevor noticed how vividly blue they were, a fact he had never noticed since they were normally obscured.

"Put it back on," Trevor said softly.

Edward replaced the clip, and the hologram lenses reappeared over his eyes. He looked at Trevor's face sadly. "Yeah, that's pretty much the same expression everyone has when they know."

Trevor was completely at a loss. "How long have you been..."

"Blind?" asked Edward. He shrugged. "Since I was eight. I was traveling on a spacecraft with my family, and there was an accident. The primary reactor developed a fault, and they were forced to vent drive plasma to save the ship. My compartment was irradiated before my mother was able to get me fully suited up. She didn't have time to save herself."

"I'm sorry," whispered Trevor, witnessing the raw pain on Edward's face.

Edward's expression grew cold. "Don't be. I survived. She didn't. That's just the way it is." He turned around and walked back to the door. "You can't change the past."

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Chapter 5

Edward didn't even make it back to his office before the panic attack threatened to overwhelm him. Ducking into the nearest restroom, he stumbled to the sink and splashed cold water on his face. He concentrated on his breathing, gradually forcing down the anxiety that threatened to choke off his reason. When he was finally calm again, he turned around and slumped against the wall next to the sink.

Stupid. Why the hell did I tell him that? He has no right to know. Trevor Sutton, especially, has no right to look at me with sympathy.

He took a deep breath and tamped down his emotions.

_Focus. I'm here to do a job. It's not about revenge._ He smiled at the words. It would have been a pleasure though, to finally see him pay. _Two months before lift. I can endure his company for that long to maintain priority access to the engineering schematics. Time enough for revenge later._

He pulled himself upright and dried his face with a paper towel. Then he opened the door and walked back to his office to run the computer models on the new chip design.

Clock is ticking, Trevor

Return to the Table of Contents.
Chapter 6

Jennifer finished outlining the environmental elements that would maintain the ship's internal habitat indefinitely and turned to Charles with an expectant expression. "What are your thoughts?"

Charles eyed the holographic schematic critically. "Overkill."

"I beg your pardon?"

Charles tapped his finger on the components in turn. "Your atmosphere scrubbers are overpowered, the hydroponics bay is too large, and the water recyclers could potentially operate at maximum efficiency for up to a year. This is a scout ship, not a long-range survey vessel. Why do you need this level of redundancy for a trip that won't last more than a month at most?"

She scowled. "Damn. Now I owe Henry dinner at _Chantelle's_."

Charles gave her a sidelong look. "I take it I passed some kind of test?"

"It's true. Project Zenith will end with successful completion of your survey," she said, "but Zenith is only the beginning. Phase two is Project Azimuth." She punched up another series of schematics on the holoprojector. "What do you make of these?"

Charles leaned closer, examining each diagram. "This looks like a general-purpose orbital construction platform, but much smaller than usual." He tapped the second projection. "An expanded solar sail for power generation—too big to be mobile. Useless on a ship, but it might be a workable solution for a fixed installation like a space station or..." He trailed off, realizing the purpose of the third design. "Cryogenic stasis modules. Christ." He turned to face Jennifer. "You're planning to build a colony. Ship most of the personnel in stasis, build a space station to house them, and deploy the solar sail to keep it powered. You need the extra environment capacity to keep the crew alive long enough to complete construction of a permanent facility to support the sleepers."

Jennifer nodded. "Exactly."

"Why are you telling me this?"

She shrugged. "You need to know what's at stake. It's not just your survival that hinges on this mission. Success will open a doorway to the future."

"No pressure," whispered Charles, staring at the designs.

"The Azimuth Project could use an engineer of your caliber. Should you decide that continuing to work with us might benefit you in the long run, rather than returning to the military, then consider this a standing offer of employment."

Charles frowned. "Are you making this offer to Marty, as well?"

"No. Commander Atkins has skills that will be useful in phase one, but his usefulness will be limited in the second stage of the project."

"What, and I'm supposed to keep quiet about this, I suppose?"

"You can tell him whatever you like, Lieutenant Commander," Jennifer said with a smile. "I'll leave it up to your judgment what to say and what not to say. But consider our offer carefully. It's not every day you get the chance to pave the way to the stars."

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Chapter 7

Charles entered the common area of his quarters with trepidation. For convenience's sake, the two of them had agreed to Starfire's hospitality and moved into the executive dormitory on site, sharing a two-bedroom suite. It meant Charles couldn't avoid Marty for long, but he desperately wanted to hide in his room and consider Jennifer's offer fully without the scrutiny of his best friend's dissecting gaze.

No such luck.

Marty stood next to the stove, emptying a box of popcorn into a large bowl. He tapped a control and stood back as the kernels began to burst almost immediately. Glancing up to look at Charles for a moment, he then turned back to his food as the stove chimed and shut down. Marty picked up the bowl, stuffed a handful of popcorn into his mouth, and chewed noisily. "Mmmph-hunh-hmm?"

Charles counted to ten in his head. "Why don't you try swallowing, and then ask me again?"

Martin nodded, continuing to chew, while watching Charles thoughtfully. Finally, he swallowed. "I asked why you looked so guilty."

Charles felt himself flush. "I... I'm not guilty of anything."

Martin lifted another handful of popcorn to his lips. "Sure, that's convincing." He chewed slowly, his eyes on Charles in an expectant stare.

From experience, Charles knew there was no shaking Martin when he had a bone to gnaw, so he chose discretion over valor and caved immediately. "They didn't tell us everything about the ship in the initial briefing."

Marin swallowed his second mouthful of popcorn and put the bowl down on the kitchen table. "Does it have something to do with it being three times the size it needs to be?"

Charles shut his gaping mouth with a click. "How...?"

Martin shrugged. "Their engineers gave me a crash course on the navigation package and flight controls. They say it's a scout vessel, but it masses the equivalent of a large frigate. Obviously, they're not being honest about the mission parameters if they wanted such a large displacement profile." He quirked an eyebrow. "That doesn't explain why you walked in looking like someone shot your dog."

"It's supposed to double as a colony construction and passenger transport vessel."

"Ahhhh... that explains it." Martin gave him a sly look. "Offered you a berth, did they?"

"No! Well, I mean, yes, but I... I haven't made a decision yet." Charles trailed off at Martin's look of amusement. "What?"

Martin snorted. "Chuck, I'm happy for you, but you don't need to act like you owe me anything. We made a great team over the years, and I wouldn't trade our friendship for anything, but we both knew it wasn't something we could rely on. Crews get shuffled and reassigned all the time." He grinned. "So relax. Enjoy your grand adventure. I'll get along just fine without you."

Charles felt his tension ease. "I thought you'd be disappointed."

"I am... a little. They need my skills for the survey mission because it's a jump into the unknown. If they're going to go into construction and ferrying colonists, they can get by without a crack pilot."

"You have quite a high opinion of yourself." Charles gave him a crooked smile.

"Credit where it's due, Lieutenant Commander." Martin checked his watch. "It's still early. You want to go out for dinner? Some of the project staff mentioned a place nearby that the locals seem to favor."

"Sure."

* * *

Henry closed his eyes and savored the tangy flavor of the caviar against his palate. When he opened them, he saw Jennifer watching in amusement.

"What? So I like it. Is that a problem?"

She shook her head. "Henry, you are truly a man of simple needs."

"Simple? This caviar costs over a hundred credits a gram."

"I didn't say they weren't expensive. Just simple." She smiled. "Give you some fine food, a selection of high-quality wines, and a data tablet to play with your equations, and the building could burn down without you noticing."

Henry was about to reply when he spotted something over her shoulder. He frowned. Jennifer turned in her seat. Charles and Martin were waiting for a table at the front of the restaurant, below the hologram marquee that spelled out _Chantelle's_.

Henry tapped the call button in the center of the table, and a moment later, the maître d' strolled over. Henry pointed. "Please invite those gentlemen over here."

A minute later, the maître d' ushered them to Henry and Jennifer's table. "Lieutenant Commander Davenport, Commander Atkins, would you care to join us?"

"We wouldn't want to impose." Martin's tone was bland, but his eyes practically radiated frost.

Henry was a student of human emotions, and the younger man's barely concealed antipathy amused him. Charles, however, seemed oblivious to his crewmate's displeasure. "Please. I insist."

Martin took a seat with poor grace, his movements slightly stiff with resentment.

Charles slipped into the chair opposite and turned to face Jennifer. "You guys were serious about that bet?"

Jennifer chuckled. "Oh, Henry always collects his debts. He has the soul of an accountant, the way he has to make the books balance."

Charles grinned at her. "From the looks of your ride, your soul must be looking for something a little freer."

She raised an eyebrow. "You might be surprised. I rebuilt that jetcopter practically from scratch. It was an exercise in skill, to see if I could do it. I guess I like to see the numbers line up as well."

Charles laughed. "If you just wanted to build something, you could have put together a two-seater. That rig is designed around one pilot with nothing uppermost in mind than speed and control." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "Don't tell me you don't point it out over the ocean once in a while and just open it up all the way."

She pursed her lips in mock disdain, and then winked. "Could be."

Henry noticed Martin's eyes widen as he watched the banter between the two engineers. After listening for a minute or two, Martin managed to slip a droll joke into the conversation, and the chill over the table thawed considerably.

* * *

A few hours later, Henry checked his watch. "Guys, it's late. I think I'm going to head home."

Jennifer gave him a cursory nod before returning to her conversation with Charles about the minutiae of aircraft restoration. For some reason, that irked him. He stood and glanced at Martin, who lounged in the seat across from him. "I pass by the shipyards on the way. Would you like a ride?"

Martin glanced at Charles and Jennifer, still arguing quietly over a series of diagrams they'd drawn on the back of a menu. He shrugged. "Sure."

Henry tapped his credit card against the payment contact to charge the meal to his account, and they walked to the lobby in silence and rode the elevator up to the helipad on the roof. They climbed into a steel-gray jetcopter, and Henry keyed in the preset destination of the shipyards. The aircraft rose vertically into the air and accelerated as it automatically merged into the local air traffic. Henry relaxed in his seat and gave the soldier beside him a long, measured glance. "He likes her."

"Yeah, he does." Martin turned away from the window to glare at Henry. "But does she like him in return?" His voice was tightly controlled, emotionless. "Or is she just trying to sweeten the pot for your job offer?"

Henry's voice gave nothing away. "She doesn't play games, Mr. Atkins. Though I've heard differently about you."

Martin raised his eyebrows, and then his expression turned to one of frank appraisal. "What, you think I'm jealous?"

Henry shrugged. "He's your best friend. It stands to reason you might be unwilling to share your claim."

"My 'claim'? Seriously?" Martin laughed. "If he up and married her tomorrow and the two of them spent their honeymoon around Alpha Centauri, it wouldn't affect my 'claim', Dr. Bradford. He's my friend, and that will never change, whether he and I continue to work together or not. So you can rest easy. I won't try and pressure him into turning down your offer of employment." He smiled at Henry's surprised expression. "What? Was I supposed to think you were asking out of idle curiosity?" Martin's tone sharpened. "You want the books to balance. To recruit him, you'd need to remove other competing allegiances, which means you need to take me out of the picture. Don't worry about it. We'll do the survey mission, and then he can make his own decision about whether to join you, with or without me."

Henry turned to look out the windscreen as the shipyards came in to view. "Thank you for your understanding, Commander." He chuckled. "Though I'm honestly beginning to wonder if we set our sights on recruiting the wrong crewman. You're obviously a lot smarter than you look."

Martin laughed out loud as the jetcopter settled onto the landing pad. He popped the door, stepped out of the aircraft, and stretched his back. Sticking his head back inside the cockpit, he favored Henry with a half-smile. "Dr. Bradford, you couldn't afford me."

Henry watched silently as the pilot pulled back, slammed the door closed behind him, then strode off alone to the housing complex.

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Chapter 8

Captain Melinda Drake lifted her gaze from her book when Martin leapt to his feet and started dancing in the middle of the Officer's Commons, shaking his fists in the air. "Commander Atkins. A little decorum, please."

Martin dropped his fists to his sides in chagrin. "Sorry, Captain."

The Captain turned to the hologram of the man still seated at the chessboard. "I take it he finally beat you?"

Charles—physically still on the Bridge, having drawn the short straw to cover the night shift this week—slumped in his seat, still staring at the computer-generated chess pieces in disbelief. "He got lucky. A broken clock is right twice a day."

Martin glared at him. "Bullshit! I beat you fair and square, Chuck. Just admit it."

The engineer finally raised his head and gave his opponent a lazy smile. "Not a chance."

Martin's blood pressure rose as the two of them argued. Behind him, Captain Drake sighed in apparent exasperation. "Boys, give it a rest, please? Listening to you guys bicker lost its entertainment value over three years ago." She lifted her book again. "I swear, you two should just sleep together and get it over with."

At the sudden silence, she glanced up to see them staring at her with identical expressions of shock. "What?" she asked, feigning innocence. "You've been joined at the hip since you met. Didn't you think people were going to start wondering eventually?"

Martin just sputtered, trying to come up with a response.

Charles put his head in his hands. "Mel... that's not funny."

She grinned at him. "And that's where you're wrong, Lieutenant Commander. It was plenty funny."

Martin finally found his voice. "Captain, some things you just don't joke about." He sat back down at the game table, grumbling.

Captain Drake snorted and turned the next page in her book.

At that moment, the hologram of Charles was suddenly outlined in bright red as the light strips that illuminated the Bridge changed color. The ship's computer cut through their conversation with an automated alert message. "Emergency beacon detected. Distress Condition One. All hands, report to duty stations immediately. This is not a drill."

Charles punched up the message on his command console and his face paled. His eyes snapped to Martin's. "Guys, you need to get up here, now!"

Melinda and Martin scrambled to their feet and sprinted through the access hatch as alarms sounded throughout the vessel. When they reached the main corridor, the two officers pushed past other running crewmembers on their way to the Bridge.

Melinda entered the Bridge first and slid into her chair at the center console, fastening her restraints automatically as she turned to Charles, who was belted into the Engineering Station to her right. "Report."

The engineer called up a telltale on the main viewing screen, hovering next to a bright dot at the edge of the horizon of the Earth below. "This is Trinity Spacelines flight 273, a suborbital passenger transport travelling from Australia to California at five meters per second with four hundred seventeen souls on board. It hit some space junk as it passed apogee. The impact took out its engines, and it's locked into a decaying trajectory. Structural integrity appears otherwise intact, so if we can get to the ship in time, we might be able to slow it down enough to stop it from burning up in the atmosphere."

Martin cursed under his breath. Fat chance.

She turned to face him. "Navigation?"

Martin finished typing commands into the navigation console to her left. "Intercept course compiling now, Captain." The lights on his console turned green. "Course plotted and ready."

She straightened in her seat. "Engineering, prep for crash reentry. Divert whatever power you can spare from propulsion to thermal shields, because we're going to hit the atmosphere hard."

Charles nodded as he furiously keyed orders into his console, transmitting them to his team on the Engineering deck. "We're ready, Captain."

A loud chime sounded in the background, and Martin frowned. The musical tone didn't belong on the Bridge. It seemed entirely out of place.

Martin woke, the memories slipping away. For a moment, he lay there, listening to his heart pound as he tried to catch his breath. He was used to the dream by now, but he was still grateful when something mercifully intruded before the end. The phone chimed again, and he tapped the accept key.

A hologram appeared in the air above the phone, and Jacob Atkins looked back at him. Martin smiled at his twin brother before glancing at the clock. _11pm. 8am in Paris._ "Good morning."

"Morning," the mirror image replied with a grin. "Was about to head to work, but decided to see if you were still up. Sorry I woke you."

Martin grimaced. "I'm not."

His brother's mirth faded. "The dream again?"

"Yeah." Martin nodded absently and rubbed at his eyes. "Have you heard anything about the investigation?"

"Not much. Everyone's pretty wound up over the public scrutiny, and the forensic team knows they're not supposed to talk to me, obviously. Still, I hear things." He frowned. "They brought in Vasili Markov from Russia to consult. His specialty is reconstruction of military ordinance, and I can't think of any reason they'd need his expertise."

"Hmmm. Neither can I."

Jacob shrugged. "So that's what I have. Not much to go on until the inquest wraps up officially. How about you? Any dirt on your corporate masters?"

"Henry Bradford is an asshole of the first order, but at least he's not flight crew, so I can ignore him for the most part."

Jacob chuckled. "I read up on Bradford. He inherited Starfire from his father when it was just a small-time manufacturing outfit. He basically retooled the entire business around R&D and custom high-tech manufacturing for corporate clients, and parlayed that initial concept into a global alliance of tech companies. He's known for being ruthless, and for poaching personnel from other companies to fill key vacancies."

"Yeah, that sounds about right. He didn't waste any time moving in on Chuck." Martin rolled his head, stretching his neck in an effort to relieve the tension. "In any case, the two they've got running wetware and hardware gave us a pretty chilly reception, so I gather the decision to involve us hasn't met with universal approval."

"What about the ship itself? As far as I can tell, Starfire submitted the design for final safety approval under corporate seal. Why so hush-hush?"

Martin felt a throbbing ache build in his left temple. He gritted his teeth. "Sorry, Jake. I can't tell you that part."

Jacob looked resigned but nodded.

Martin hated having to withhold information from his brother, but the twins were used to living in the shadow of the secrecy their jobs demanded of them. Honestly, it pissed Martin off that they were both so willing to accept that state of affairs for the sake of their careers, but they had learned early in life to be realists. He hesitated. "The first flight will be a simple survey mission, but we're not sure how long it will take to complete, given the ship's untested capabilities." _Not to mention that the level of uncertainty in the foldspace targeting matrix made it highly unlikely that we'll emerge from the wormhole exactly where we planned._

With a bit of luck, they would end up close to their destination in the habitable zone about one astronomical unit away from Alpha Centauri, but Martin couldn't discount the possibility they might re-enter normal space at two or three times that distance. And then there was the risk that the star's gravity well could capture the opposite terminus and grant them a one-way ticket into the belly of a stellar furnace. There were too many variables, and without actually making the trip, there was no way to test how well their models accounted for the behavior of the wormhole at that distance. The decision had been made months ago that the technology was too precious to risk to an automated probe. In truth, even the best and most adaptive computational model was no match for the human mind at responding to the myriad challenges the vessel might face on the other side. In the cold calculus of cost and benefit, their lives were a small price to risk for the potential impact of the mission should they succeed.

_But I can't breathe a word of that to him._ "We don't anticipate being gone for longer than a month or two."

Jacob nodded, but Martin could tell he had his doubts.

"This is a lot more dangerous than you're letting on, isn't it?" his twin asked softly.

Martin said nothing.

Jacob sighed. "All right, Marty. But if you get yourself killed, don't expect me to remember you fondly."

"It won't come to that."

"Are you sure?"

Martin struggled to answer without lying.

"I didn't think so." Jacob broke the connection before Martin could reply.

Return to the Table of Contents
Chapter 9

Henry studied the young woman seated at the computer data station. She seemed perfectly at ease, dressed in a smart business outfit that was better suited to the boardroom than the laboratory. "My contacts at Arclight say you asked to meet with me, Ms. Daniels. They said you had something special I might be interested in."

"Dr. Daniels," she corrected, tossing her long, dark braid over her shoulder. "And I do have something special, something I think you would be a fool to pass up."

Henry leaned forward intently. "So impress me. I'm all ears."

She punched commands into her workbench, and the holoprojector generated a familiar set of spatial topology models. "This is a simulation of the navigation targeting algorithm for the foldspace drive, which generates a terminus location with 75% confidence at a distance of one parsec."

Henry's face reddened. "Where the hell did you get that? Arclight isn't supposed to have access to the navigation programming! They're a manufacturing platform. They don't have personnel skilled enough in mathematical modeling to be of any use."

"They do not," answered Dr. Daniels with a smile. "But I don't work for them. I'm a free agent. I stole this data from your files and forged the Arclight CEO's access codes in order to send you the message asking you to meet with me."

Henry stared at her. "I beg your pardon?"

"I wrote the email you received, in order to bypass the Interscission Project's security screenings and convince you to meet with me directly."

Henry settled back in his chair. "I see. And is there some reason I shouldn't have you arrested immediately?"

She tapped a command into the keyboard in front of her. The simulation changed, revealing an entirely different algorithm.

Henry's jaw dropped as he watched the graphical progression of the computations, and the final answer that popped up after the simulation had run its course. "That's impossible!"

She shook her head. "Not impossible, just difficult." She smiled at him. "What would it be worth to have your navigation systems be able to plot a foldspace jump with 95% confidence in the location of the opposite terminus?"

Henry glared at her. "You mean, is it worth not having you locked up for espionage?"

"Besides that."

"What do you want?"

"I want a job."

Henry laughed. "Are you serious?"

"Perfectly serious." She shrugged. "You won't be able to duplicate my results without my input anyway. The computational models are more advanced than anything you've ever worked with. But this project will be groundbreaking, and I want in."

"You understand that I will have you investigated down to the brand of coffee you had for breakfast?"

"I wouldn't expect anything less." She stood and extended her hand. "Do we have an agreement?"

Henry looked at her outstretched hand. "Is the name you gave me a fiction as well?"

She smiled. "Stella Harlen."

Henry raised an eyebrow. "Any relation to Edward Harlen?"

"He's my brother. But don't be too hard on him. He doesn't know I'm here. I only learned of his involvement with the Interscission Project when I raided his files for enjoyment. I immediately realized the potential of his work here, and how I could contribute."

Henry laughed. "And was it too much trouble to ask him for a recommendation?"

She cocked her head. "Where would be the fun in that?"

Henry shook her hand. "Then, pending the outcome of the security screening, we have an agreement. In the meantime, I'm sure you understand I can't just let you leave."

"No, I imagine not. I would appreciate a room with a view." She smiled sweetly.

Henry snorted at the brazen request. "I'll have my people show you to somewhere you can wait."

He tapped a message to Security on his wrist computer, and watched as the guards led her from the room.

Then he tapped another command into the keypad. After a moment, Trevor's face appeared on the screen. "Trev, I think we need to have a talk about your star engineer."

Return to the Table of Contents
Chapter 10

Captain Drake tapped the control on her console for a shipwide announcement. "All hands, this is the Captain. Brace for full power descent." She turned back to Martin. "Break orbit. Best speed to intercept."

Martin's fingers danced over his console. He grasped the flight controls and pushed the throttle sliders all the way to the top, immediately slammed back into his seat by the acceleration. The pressure continued to mount, and he fought to breathe. Slowly, ever so slowly, the bright dot began to expand, eventually becoming recognizable as a commercial space plane, trailing smoke as it fell. Martin's voice was strained as he checked their course. "Intercept in four minutes."

Captain Drake gritted her teeth. "How long do we have?"

" _Re-entry in three minutes twenty seconds."_

He watched as the other ship continued to grow on the screen. Then its outline wavered with bright orange flames.

" _Engineering, deploy docking clamps," Melinda instructed Charles._

" _Docking clamps deployed," Charles answered, his hands moving across his board with difficulty._

The Bridge gave a sudden shudder as their ship entered the fringes of the atmosphere. Martin clutched the flight controls with a death grip against the turbulence, his hands firm despite the heavy vibration.

" _Navigation, can you get us close enough?"_

He grimaced, exposing his teeth in a caricature of his normal grin. "Just watch me." The seconds ticked by, the view obscured by flames as they entered the space plane's wake.

" _Slowing to match velocities." Martin started to ease back on his controls. "Hard contact in fifteen seconds."_

Melinda turned to Charles. "Get ready with those clamps. We're not going to get a second shot."

" _Understood."_

_The_ Heracles _drifted closer, the magnetic docking clamps on the underside of the vessel inching towards contact._

Then Martin was thrown forward against his restraints as they slammed into the other ship.

" _Clamps!" shouted the Captain._

" _Clamps engaged!"_

" _Navigation!" Melinda barked at Martin._

" _Braking thrusters firing," he replied, his eyes fixed to his instrument panel. "Velocity down to four meters per second and falling." He ran the math in his head. Not enough. "Three meters per second." Five seconds. That's all I need. Just five more—_

With a scream of tearing metal, the port-side docking clamp tore away the plating of the space plane's hull, leaving a gaping hole. The vessels spun crazily as the center of momentum shifted, rotating around the fulcrum created by the lone remaining docking clamp. Martin tried desperately to right the two ships, but the imbalanced load played havoc with his efforts, and they tumbled out of the sky.

" _I can't do anything!" he screamed, his vision graying out at the edges from the wild spin._

The Captain closed her eyes. "Charles, get that second clamp back down!"

" _Starboard clamp is offline. I can't get a lock!"_

I'm sorry. "We have to break off!" shouted Martin. "They're going to take us down with them!"

" _Marty, can you maneuver to bring the starboard clamp back into position?" Captain Drake's voice was tightly controlled over the mounting cacophony of klaxons._

" _Captain, there's no time!" Martin cried. "We have to abort, or we're going to burn!"_

" _God damn it to Hell!" yelled Captain Drake. "Release clamps and break off!"_

_Charles cut power to the remaining clamp, and the_ Heracles _was thrown free from the space plane. Martin fired his braking rockets in sequence to kill their spin, and slowed their velocity to tolerable levels._

They watched silently as the other ship fell to pieces, scattering debris across their field of view as the smaller fragments burned up from the atmospheric friction.

Martin yawned as the memory faded and straightened up from where he had leaned against the elevator wall, dozing.

It's always the same.

The memory rose up out of his subconscious mind whenever he closed his eyes.

It's done. Nothing will change what happened. Why do I keep replaying it? I did my job, and I have no regrets.

He was almost used to the abrupt shift from the vivid dream to reality by now. He stepped off the elevator at the top floor of the executive dormitory.

Yeah, right. More than four hundred people didn't get the chance to second-guess themselves that day. Do you think they care if you have regrets?

He stopped dead in the hallway to his quarters. _Fuck this. It's too nice a night to spend it indoors._ He detoured to the garden at the center of the rooftop and tapped his security pass against the access contact next to the frosted glass door. Frowning when the light remained red, he touched his card to the contact again, but the door remained locked.

Weird. My card always got me through before.

He rattled the door handle. It remained frozen. Martin peered through the glass window into the garden. _Is the door blocked?_

The automatic lights were on, which meant someone was out there. He craned his neck to try to make out the rest of the roof from his narrow vantage, finally noticing the woman who sat on one of the cushioned benches, flipping through a book. _A book on paper._

Intrigued, Martin knocked on the glass door.

She looked up, focusing her attention on him, and her eyes widened in surprise. Then she got to her feet and crossed the distance between them to stand on the other side of the glass.

Martin waved his security card at the sensor, and shrugged.

She grinned suddenly and typed a code into the keypad below the sensor.

The indicator light turned green, and Martin turned the door handle and pushed through the door onto the roof.

"Hi. I'm Marty." He stuck out his hand.

She shook it, a half smile still on her face. "Pleased to meet you. I'm Stella." She turned and walked back to her seat. "Make yourself at home."

Martin walked to the bar and dialed up a beer. When it spat out a frosted glass full of frothy liquid, he picked up his glass and leaned back against the bar, watching Stella with unconcealed curiosity. "So..."

She picked up the book and placed it in her lap, returning his frank stare. "So...?"

"So... why did you lock the door?"

She shrugged. "I didn't. That was Starfire Security."

He raised an eyebrow. "Why would Security lock you in?"

"Mr. Bradford thinks I'm a spy. He didn't want me wandering around while he has me checked out."

Martin frowned. "Then why give you the access code?"

"He didn't." She grinned. "I hacked the lock to pass the time."

Martin took a sip of his beer. " _Are_ you a spy?"

She laughed. "No. Not really. I'm a computer programmer, and I'm very good, that's all." She opened the book and flipped to the slip of ribbon that marked her place.

"What are you reading? I haven't seen a book on paper in years."

She closed the book and stroked her finger along the green leather with obvious fondness. " _Through the Looking Glass_ , by Lewis Carroll. It belonged to my mother. She used to read it to us before bed, when we were little."

"We?"

Her smile slipped slightly. "Me and my idiot brother."

Now Martin grinned. "Yeah, I know how that goes. What did he do?"

She took a deep breath, and looked directly at Martin, meeting his gaze. "He joined the engineering team of the first starship and didn't invite me along."

Martin took another sip of his beer, taking deliberate note of her tightly controlled expression. "That pissed you off, I take it?"

"You could say that. We're supposed to be a team, but I had to find out what he was up to by snooping through his files."

"Ouch. So does this walking dead man have a name?"

She sighed. "Edward Harlen."

Martin blinked. "The kid with the glasses?"

She rolled her eyes. "He's not a kid, Marty. He's the same age as me."

Martin polished off the last of his beer. "And are you a genius too?"

"More or less." She snorted. "We had good genes."

Behind them, the door opened and Henry entered, followed by Trevor and Edward. Edward was visibly seething, but Henry just looked amused by the sight of Stella and Martin chatting away.

Edward stalked forward, his expression murderous.

Noting the naked fury on the younger man's face, Martin broke off his conversation. "Well, it was nice to meet you, Stella. Maybe we'll run into each other again."

She inclined her head in acknowledgement. "Count on it."

Edward didn't spare Martin a glance as the pilot walked past the three intruders and exited the garden.

* * *

Trevor watched as Edward and his sister conversed in a harsh whisper. "Hard to believe she managed to unlock the door. That's megabit-encryption, and the logs show she went through it like it wasn't even there."

Henry nodded. "Do you trust Edward?"

"Yes," Trevor said without hesitation.

"Then we'll have to accept his word that she'll be an asset to the program. I still have my doubts. There's just something about those two..." Henry trailed off, trying to put his thought into words.

"I know what you mean," Trevor muttered. "They both look familiar somehow, but I can't place the resemblance. It's a little unsettling."

Edward began yelling openly at his sister—in German. Stella responded with similar volume—in French. They were arguing in earnest, their words shifting fluidly in tone and character. Trevor turned to stare at Henry, eyes wide. "I heard French and German, and bits and pieces of Italian. What about you?"

Henry watched the two siblings intently. "Ditto on French and German, but there's Russian and Mandarin in the mix as well. I think I picked out a little Arabic, but I'm not sure. They're going too fast for me to make out more than a few of the words, here and there." Henry tapped some commands into his wrist computer. "Clever."

"Clever?" said Trevor. "It's amazing."

"That's not what I meant. She disabled the audio monitors when she unlocked the door. There's no record of her little chat with Atkins, and none of this is being taken down." Henry smiled. "They know we're right here listening, so they're encrypting their conversation. It's brilliant." He tapped the control on his personal electronics to record an audio memo. "I'll lay you three to one odds they've thought of a way to prevent me from recording them."

"No deal."

* * *

"You have to leave," Edward insisted, the Ancient Greek coming easily to his lips.

"You need me, Eddie." She folded her arms over the green leather book and spoke in Hebrew. "Face it. You've been here for months, and what do you have to show for it?"

"I've advanced the ship's capabilities by a quantum leap, and they've finally given me full access to the automated fabrication systems," growled Edward. "By the time I'm done with her, the design will be seemingly flawless. They'll never know I made additional modifications."

"Stop thinking like an engineer." She sneered at him and switched to Japanese. "What about the human element?" She leaned closer and lowered her voice. "What about Sutton?"

Edward resisted the urge to look toward the spectators at his back. "What about him?"

"He's the weak link in your plan. He needs to be eliminated before the Azimuth mission."

Edward stood still, his mouth hanging open. Finally, he recovered his voice. "Are you _insane_?"

"What's the matter, little brother?" she whispered. "You've come this far. Losing your nerve?"

"You're just ten minutes older than me. That doesn't make you any wiser. Revenge isn't practical. The murder of one of the project leaders would throw Azimuth into chaos. The mission might even be scrubbed entirely."

"Would that be so bad?" Her voice grew suddenly tentative. "Maybe everyone would be better off."

"You don't know that, and neither do I." He sighed. "There are too many variables, Stel. Much as I would like to, we can't risk it."

She was silent for a couple of beats. "An accidental death wouldn't stop the project."

"Let it go, sister. Let me handle this."

She laughed bitterly. "Not this time, Edward. Neither of us is going anywhere until this is settled. Decisively."

"Fine. Stay. But I hope you at least set up a good cover identity."

"Of course I did. I even filled a few holes in yours." She gave him an affectionate smile. "You did a good job of finding a real birth certificate to attach to your life history, but you forgot to clear the death certificate from the state records, in addition to the federal database."

Edward winced. "Shit. I forgot about the parallel systems."

"I took care of it. Otherwise, you were remarkably thorough. I'm actually impressed. You were always better working with your hands than pure data."

Edward snorted. "High praise, from you."

"I give credit where it's due."

Edward rubbed at his eyes, suddenly bone-tired. "All right. We'll figure this out together. But leave Trevor alone. His death would have too many unpredictable consequences."

Her eyes narrowed. "Uh huh. 'Trevor', is it? You're on a first name basis with him now?"

"He's been my boss for months." He frowned. "What are you implying?"

"Nothing. Remember who you are, Edward," she said softly.

He tapped the silver bar of his glasses. "I never forget."

She nodded. "So what's our next move?"

"It depends on whether they downgraded my access when you showed up. If so, we're out of luck until we can prove our worth as project assets." He grunted. "If Bradford puts you on the _Zenith,_ we'll have to get you into a position to help refine the ship's systems and minimize the hidden design flaws we already know about. Like you said, I think like an engineer. Some things I can't solve—software issues I wouldn't have a clue how to approach. Once you prove your value, they'll give you higher-level access, and we can get down to business."

She cracked a smile. "Are you finally glad to see me, then?"

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Yes, I suppose I am." He stepped forward and wrapped her in a hug. "I'm sorry I didn't trust you."

She hugged him back. "You'll make it up to me. I always collect my debts." She pulled away and inclined her head toward Henry and Trevor. "What do we do about them?"

"Improvise," answered Edward with a grin. "And find a way to explain how we erased the audio recording they're making right now."

She raised an eyebrow. "It's lucky they don't know you're blind, or they might change their programming parameters to ignore ultrasonic commands."

Edward felt a twinge in his stomach. "Yeah. That is lucky." He finally turned around to glance at his employers. "Shall we go face the music?"

She linked her arm with his. "Lead on."

Return to the Table of Contents
Part II: Tangled Webs

Cry 'Havoc!', and let slip the dogs of war.

\- William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar

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Chapter 11

Charles watched Jennifer while she concentrated on the board, planning her next move. She touched the projection of her remaining bishop and slid it across the board into his second knight. The mounted figure raised its sword in salute and galloped off the board, surrendering the square. "Checkmate in four moves."

Charles sighed as he swept his index finger counterclockwise around his king. The king clutched at his chest and collapsed. "I resign." He leaned back in his seat. "You're good."

"I'm the best," she said with a smile.

"Now, them's fightin' words, miss," said Charles with an exaggerated drawl.

"You Yanks." She chuckled. "No one really talks like that anymore."

Charles raised his eyebrows. "I'm not a Yank. I'm from Philadelphia."

"In Scotland, you're a Yank."

Charles cocked his head. "Is that where you grew up?"

"Some of the time. My father was American, my mother was Scottish, and after they divorced, I spent my adolescence shuttling between New Orleans and Edinburgh."

"That explains your lack of accent."

"I went to great pains to erase it. No reason to be bullied in school on both sides of the Atlantic." She glanced at her watch, and her eyes widened. "Damn! I had no idea it was that late." She stood. "Charles, I'm sorry, but we'll have to continue this conversation later. I was supposed to meet Trevor for dinner half an hour ago."

His heart skipped a beat. "Oh. I didn't know the two of you were together."

She turned back around, incredulous. "Together? Me and Trevor?" She laughed out loud. "Not a chance. He's my best friend. Neither of us has ever wanted more than that."

"I see," said Charles. "That's a relief." Then he realized what he'd just said. "Um, what I meant was..." He felt his face heat as Jennifer's expression shifted to something between appraisal and apprehension.

"Was what?" she asked with gentle amusement.

"Nothing." Charles indicated the door. "You'd better hurry or he'll think you stood him up."

"It's a dinner between friends, Charles, not a date."

He glanced back at the chessboard and the half-filled wineglasses. "And what was this?"

She smiled, and walked toward the door. "Well, that remains to be seen."

The door to the common room opened, and Martin walked in. "Hey, Chuck, you want to..." He trailed off when he saw Jennifer. "Sorry. I didn't realize you had company."

"It's no problem, Mr. Atkins. I was just leaving." She faced Charles. "Goodnight, Charles. Let me know if you want a rematch some time."

"I will," said Charles. He walked her to the door. "See you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," she agreed, letting herself out.

As soon as the door locked behind her, Charles spun to face Martin, who had picked up the bottle of white wine and was reading the label. "Don't say a word."

Martin gave him a look of mock innocence. "Who, me? I wasn't going to say anything. But now that you mention it," He glanced back down at the label. "There wasn't any wine in the refrigerator when I left this morning. Did you slip it in to chill after I went out?"

"Yes." Charles sighed. "I wanted to spend some time with her, and I didn't want to have to share."

Martin placed the bottle carefully back into the ice bucket. "Should I get another room, or do we work out a code?" He grinned.

Charles felt his face grow hot again. "What do you mean, a 'code'?"

Martin's smile grew wider. "A tie on the doorknob, perhaps? It's a classic."

Charles rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Must you?"

"Not really. It's just fun." Martin laughed. "If you want some privacy, just send a blip to my wristcomp, and I'll make myself scarce. No problem." His mood sobered. "It's not just because you work closely together, is it?"

Charles dropped into a chair. "No, it's not. Is that so hard to understand?"

"Not at all," said Martin. "I'm sure you have a lot in common." He glanced at the board. "Though, I'd been told she didn't play games. Guess that only applies to people."

Charles snorted. "You don't play games, either. Except when it applies to people."

"You really do like her, don't you?" Martin smirked. "Want me to give her a push in the right direction?"

"No!" said Charles, hurriedly. "I know you only have my best interests at heart, but please don't trick her or try to manipulate her into giving me a shot. If she likes me, let it happen at its own pace, rather than putting on the pressure. She just might be smart enough to see through you, no matter how subtle you think you are."

"How subtle I _think_ I am?" Martin's voice was mocking. "Oh, ye of little faith. I am the very epitome of the Stealth Wingman."

"I mean it, Marty."

Martin picked up the holographic game board, and carried it to the coffee table. "I know you do, and if you'd rather I stay out of it, I'll leave her alone. So, the two of you enjoy yourselves. I'll find someone else to torment." He cleared the game and set up a new board, the chess pieces reappearing in their places at either end of the board.

"No practical jokes either, with any of them. We have to work with these people."

Martin smiled as he made his opening move. "Too late."

Return to the Table of Contents
Chapter 12

Trevor stretched out on the couch and relaxed to the quiet strains of a Vivaldi concerto. He didn't remember which one. He knew what Jen would have said, if she were here. _"Who cares? They're all the same anyway."_

He smiled to himself. She was equally brilliant as a physician and as an engineer, but music had never been her strong point. It was just one of the little flaws he loved about her.

His eyes snapped open when he heard the door chime. He got to his feet and walked to the front door. Peering at the small viewscreen on the wall, he saw Jennifer standing outside his door, looking apologetic. He unlocked the door, opened it, and leaned against the frame, his arms crossed. "I thought you weren't coming."

"Don't be so dramatic," she said, not giving ground. "I'm less than forty-five minutes late."

"Time enough for dinner to get cold. You couldn't have called?"

She sighed. "Trevor, I'm sorry I kept you waiting. I was just in the middle of something, and I lost track of time."

Trevor glared at her for a few seconds more before straightening and stepping out of the way. She walked past him into the apartment, and he closed and locked the door behind her. Without turning away from the door, he murmured, "I was worried."

He felt her hand squeeze his shoulder. "You worry too much."

Trevor faced her. "So what were you doing that you lost track of time?"

She shrugged. "Nothing much. Davenport challenged me to a game of chess."

Trevor laughed aloud and walked back to the dining room, the tension broken. "I'll bet you wiped the table with him."

Jennifer followed. "Surprisingly, he was a fairly strong opponent." She lifted the warming cover off the serving plate in front of her usual seat. "So what's on the menu for the evening?"

"Braised lamb chops," Trevor answered, somewhat distracted. There seemed something a little off about her mood tonight. "Strange that he'd challenge you to a match so late in the day."

Her cheeks colored, and she sat with deliberate care and shook out her napkin. "It wasn't that late when we started."

Trevor paused in the act of sitting down, and stood instead. "Wait. How long did this match last?"

"Maybe three or four hours," she admitted. "We got to talking during the game, and he opened a bottle of wine, so we—"

"You went on a date," said Trevor, his voice flat. "With a man you once described as just another tin soldier with a degree."

She frowned, plainly displeased by his tone. "Yes, I did. Do you have a problem with that?"

Trevor could hear his heart beating loudly in his ears. "So, you blew me off to spend time with him. Why on earth would I have a problem with that?"

"I didn't blow you off. I came as soon as I realized the time."

Her annoyance was obviously giving way to confusion.

"Where is this attitude coming from, Trev?"

"It's... never mind. It doesn't matter." He glanced at the other covered dishes. "Look, why don't I pack up a little of this for you to take home. I'm feeling kind of tired."

She stared at him. "Trevor, you put all this effort into cooking. I'm not just going to take it home without sharing it with you."

"Haven't you been sharing enough?" he snapped, immediately regretting it.

Her eyes widened.

"Okay, I'm sorry. That was uncalled for."

"Are you _jealous_?" she asked, her voice edged with disbelief. "Trevor, just because you're my best friend doesn't mean I can't have other friends."

"It doesn't sound like you were looking for a _friend_ when you went out with him." He cringed inwardly at the mockery. _Just stop,_ whispered his conscience. _Stop now, before you dig yourself into a hole you can't climb out of._

"No, I wasn't." She bristled at the implication. "I like him. He's a decent man, and we have common interests. I could do worse."

"You could do better," he muttered. _You're making a fool out of yourself, you jackass,_ he thought to himself. _At this rate, you might as well just tell her and be done with it._

Jennifer got to her feet. "And that's none of your business." Her face reddened. "It's not like you threw your hat into the ring or anything." She spat out the words.

Trevor opened his mouth, then closed it with a snap and looked away. "I know." He glanced back at her face. "It never seemed to be the right time."

Her jaw dropped. "Wait. What?"

"It never seemed to be the right time," he repeated softly. "The time to tell you how I feel."

"Trevor..." she said, thunderstruck.

"Look, it doesn't matter," he replied, wearily. "Maybe you should just leave. I think I'd like to be alone now."

"But..."

He raised his hands. "Can we not?" He stepped back, away from her. "Go home. I'll see you in the morning."

She stared at him for another couple of seconds and then walked back to the door and let herself out.

A minute later, he heard the distinctive throb of her 'copter's engines receding into the distance. He dropped into his chair and regarded the meal on the table with disinterest for a time. _Now you've really put your foot in it._

Then he got to his feet and went upstairs to his bedroom, leaving the food on the table to rot.

Return to the Table of Contents
Chapter 13

Out of the corner of his eye, Martin saw movement in the control booth. _Guess she passed muster, after all_ , he thought as Henry entered the room with Stella.

He turned back to the navigation controls on the simulator. They were a different configuration to the ones he was used to: more complex than any ship he'd flown before but similar enough that he had to focus to avoid accidentally keying in a familiar, but now obsolete, subroutine from memory, and tripping himself up.

After studying the flight plan he had just written, he allowed the system to compile it into machine code and run the simulation. He was relieved to see that the projected course between the three planetoids fit neatly into the expected parameters. The ship would emerge from the asteroid field exactly where it should.

I still got it.

"Nice work," said Stella over the intercom. "Now try running it again with this control configuration."

The standard holographic control matrix shifted, replaced by a graphically intensive design with twice as many programming icons hovering on either side of the keyboard.

_Great,_ he thought. _Now I have to learn someone else's shorthand. Again._ He studied the new icons, ready to call up their menus to see what they each represented.

Wait a second. What the hell?

He snapped his head to the side, staring at the woman in the control booth. "This matrix is _mine_. Where did you get it?"

She folded her arms in front of her and leaned forward against the control panel. "You submitted the design for consideration to the Advanced Flight Academy. If I recall, you said it allowed more efficient semi-automated control by preprogramming mathematical transforms for common maneuvers, augmented by manual refinement on the fly. The evaluation committee thought the design was effective but too radical for general use, so they shelved it. I found mention of it in the redacted background dossier Mr. Bradford gave me. When I pointed out the obvious advantages of having you work with your own interface, he used his contacts in the military to get them to release the design."

Martin raised an eyebrow and turned back to the control console. "That must have taken some doing."

"Some," said Henry, over the intercom. "Do you think it would improve the success of the mission?"

Martin nodded. "Oh, yeah." He cracked his knuckles, called up the navigation simulation he had just completed, and hit ten of the icons in sequence. The course recompiled and came out with an identical flight plan to the one he had previously entered. He turned back to face the control booth. Henry was staring at him.

"Same result—in a tenth of the time and effort to type it in from scratch."

"It makes that much of a difference?" asked Henry.

"Absolutely," answered Martin. "With the increased response speed Edward promised from his control chip modifications, I'll be able to fly semi-automated in real time. It means I won't have to rely on manual control in a crisis." He shrugged. "Which isn't to say I couldn't fly on manual if necessary, but the odds of making a serious misjudgment in flight with a ship of this size just decreased considerably. Bradford, whatever you're thinking of paying her, you should consider giving her a raise. When the Brass rejected my proposal, I did my best to forget about it, or I would have suggested the modified design myself." He chewed his lip. "Come to think of it, there are probably a few tweaks that could make it even more efficient."

Henry stood, his face reflecting his approval. "I'll leave you both to it, then." He walked to the door and left the booth.

Stella smiled. "Are we having fun yet, Marty?"

"Fun? Are you kidding me?" He grinned back at her. "This is going to be _epic_."

She laughed and called up the programming schematics in the air above her terminal. "What kind of modifications were you thinking of?"

Martin turned back to the controls and stretched his neck. "Later. First, let me to take you out to lunch, and we can finish our conversation from the other night."

She looked surprised at the suggestion, but then nodded. "All right. Let me get my things."

Martin turned away and grabbed his jacket, so she couldn't see his predatory smile. _Game on._

Return to the Table of Contents
Chapter 14

"Earth to Sutton," said Edward.

Trevor blinked, and refocused on the conversation to see his entire team staring at him. "Sorry, where were we?"

"A million klicks from wherever you were, apparently," answered Edward.

"I guess I was distracted." He glanced at his watch. "Why don't we break for lunch and pick back up afterward?"

The project team grabbed their stuff and filed out of the room, with the exception of Edward. The young engineer waited until the door closed behind the others, and then faced Trevor with a resigned expression. "I noticed my access privileges have been downgraded."

"Oh. I didn't realize."

Edward shrugged. "I guess Dr. Bradford doesn't trust me."

"Henry is somewhat... overprotective of the company. This project, in particular, has been his baby from the start, from back when foldspace drive was merely a mathematical possibility. Your sister's theatrics probably made him nervous."

"But not enough to risk rejecting her offer," answered Edward with a slight smile.

"Henry is a very practical man. He'll take what he can get from her, but I doubt she'll ever be someone he'll fully trust."

"Or me, by extension." Edward cocked his head, fixing his glowing blue eyes on Trevor's. "Do _you_ trust me?"

Trevor scowled. "I have the utmost respect for your work, Edward."

"In other words, that's a 'no'." Edward sighed. "What will it take?"

Trevor drummed his fingers on the conference table. "She introduced herself by falsifying records and lying her way onto a high-security project. She says she learned of its existence by raiding your files."

"Ah." Edward nodded. "You're wondering if that was another lie, and I collaborated to get her on board."

"It's a reasonable suspicion, you must admit."

"Do you think we staged that first meeting, after you told me she was here?"

Trevor shook his head. "No, I don't. But Henry has his doubts, especially after you programmed his wristcomp to delete the record of the conversation."

Edward straightened in his chair. "What?"

"I checked the access logs after we discovered the data was lost. The erasure command was delivered by ultrasonic programmer's access, on the same frequency your glasses broadcast on."

"No, it—" Edward cut himself off. His face flushed.

"If you were going to say, 'no, it isn't', let me save you the trouble. I know you already changed the frequency. However, you forgot to erase your old work records, which contain examples of the previous waveform." Trevor chuckled. "That was sloppy, Edward."

"Yeah, I suppose it was." Edward took a deep breath, and let it out. "So what happens now?"

"Now, we start over." Trevor's voice grew cold. "Prove to me you're still an asset to this program and not a threat."

"What are the odds of that?" answered Edward softly.

"Slim."

Edward gathered up his papers and headed for the door.

"Edward."

He turned to face Trevor with a questioning look, his hand on the door handle.

"Yes, I trust you. But that doesn't change a thing."

Edward nodded. "Understood, Dr. Sutton." He opened the door and walked out.

Trevor sat in his seat, his eyes closed, massaging his temples, when he heard a soft knock. "Edward, I said..." He opened his eyes to find Jennifer standing in the doorway. "Oh, it's you."

Jennifer stepped into the room, letting the door close behind her. "Can I come in?"

"You _already_ came in," he said sourly.

She sat down at the conference table and leaned forward, her hands clasped in front of her. "You said it never seemed the right time to tell me how you feel. So tell me now."

Trevor sighed and slumped in his chair. "What difference does it make?"

"Try me."

Trevor shrugged. "It's always been you and me around here, Jen. Since Henry roped us both into Starfire, we've had each other's backs. Throughout all the politics and back-room deals when we started out, trying to get the funding and the personnel to make this company great, you were always there for me when it got to be too much. I thought you'd have my back forever."

"I've dated other men since we became friends, Trevor. Why didn't you speak up until now?"

He glared at her. "There were others. But you never let them cut into our time together. I thought I was special." He slumped further into his seat. "I thought you felt the same way."

He looked up when she brushed her fingertips across his cheek. "Trevor, our relationship is unique for me. You're my closest friend, the one person I can always rely on. But I never thought of you in romantic terms. It didn't even occur to me that you might feel differently. For that, I am truly sorry. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

Trevor looked away. "I take it you're not interested."

"No. Not like that."

"Well, thanks for telling me in person, at least." Trevor got to his feet and walked back to his desk. "I think we should hold off on spending time together outside of work for a while. I need to clear my head a little."

She squeezed his shoulder. "If that's what you want."

He didn't turn around. "That's what I want."

Jennifer didn't answer, just walked back to the door and let herself out.

Trevor listened to her footsteps recede before dropping into his desk chair. He opened the latest simulation flagged for his review and buried himself in his work. That, at least, he could always count on.

* * *

Edward released his tap on the security monitors in Trevor's office, allowing his sensorium to readjust to the sonic mapping of his own office. It seemed there was more to the relationship between Trevor Sutton and Jennifer Donovan than he had been aware. He tapped an encrypted message into his wristcomp. _We need to talk. There's been a complication._

A few moments later, the reply came back. _Tonight._

Satisfied, he picked up a data pad that awaited his review, and interfaced with its systems to read the data contained within. Numbers, at least, had never lied to him.

Return to the Table of Contents
Chapter 15

"Anything important?" Martin took a sip of his beer and motioned to Stella, who was still typing into her wristcomp.

"Nothing that can't wait." She finished typing and picked up her knife and fork, cutting into her trout fillet.

Martin took up his chopsticks and popped a piece of sushi into his mouth. As he chewed, he watched his prey. She seemed quite at ease, despite the Security Guard sitting at the next table and staring at them with focused interest. She was still effectively under house arrest, so the Starfire cafeteria was about as far as they could go for lunch. He swallowed, and then tried to draw her out with a soft ball. "So where did the two of you grow up? You never mentioned where you're from."

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you actually interested, or are you just trying to build trust in an effort to get in my pants?"

Marty tilted his head and studied her with narrowed eyes. _Feisty._ "A bit of both, really."

She smiled. "I am not going to sleep with you, Martin."

He returned her smile without hesitation. "Are you sure?"

She laughed. "I see your reputation is well deserved."

"I have a reputation? With whom?"

"Us military brats do tend to talk among ourselves, you know."

Martin sobered. "Yeah, I do know. So you're a military family. What branch?"

"Confederation Navy since before the first manned Mars mission."

"Wow. Not many of the blue bloods manage to avoid the service." He snorted. "I'm surprised your parents let you skate. Chuck's folks pushed him into uniform almost as soon as he could walk."

"I'm sure." She chuckled. "My mom put a lot of pressure on my dad to keep us out of it." She put her fork down and gazed at him, her expression hard. "She died in an accident when I was eight. After that, he climbed into the bottle and didn't come out for years, so the point became moot."

Martin paused in the act of reaching for another piece of sushi. He settled back in his chair. "Who took care of you, then?"

"We took care of each other." Her voice softened. "I'm sure you, of all people, understand."

"Yes." Memories rose into his thoughts. "Yes, I do." He shook away the old bitterness with the ease of long practice. "So, you're not here because you want in on the project; you're here because he's already part of it, and you want to stay close in case he needs someone to watch his back."

She picked up her fork again. "A reasonable precaution, wouldn't you say? Especially since Henry Bradford is involved."

Martin frowned at her harsh tone. "He's a devious prick, I'll give you that, but do you think he's actually a danger to anyone?"

She cut into her fillet with short, sharp motions. "He's a messianic technocrat with a good business sense. He rebuilt Starfire from the ground up in his own image: the most advanced science, leashed to his personal vision of the future. He thinks he knows what's best for humanity, and he intends to get there first and charge admission. Anything and anyone who gets in his way will be pushed aside or eliminated. What's worse, he makes you believe you want to be part of it. I don't intend for my brother to fall under his spell."

Martin sipped his beer again, measuring her throbbing anger in silence. "It sounds like you've made quite a study of him."

"You have no idea." She smiled wistfully. "And, I hear that if you get a few drinks in him, he goes from dangerous to an absolute menace."

"You should introduce me to your sources sometime."

She laughed. "Not likely." She glanced back at her wristcomp. "Clock is ticking, Marty. He's got my brother and your best friend dancing to his tune. What are we going to do about it?"

"Who says there's a 'we' in all this?" he asked.

"Because you want to protect Charles from whatever Bradford has planned for him, and you can't keep an eye on him by yourself. After all, you're going to be moving onto the flight simulators full time to refine the new navigation design, and I'll be working with the drive systems software to integrate my targeting algorithms."

_Clever girl._ Martin smiled slowly. "In other words, I'll be working with Edward, and you'll be working with Charles."

"They'll be watching us." She motioned to the Security Officer sitting just out of earshot. "But they might not expect us to cross-cover our targets."

"A strong strategy, I'll admit. What makes you think you can trust me?"

"I have good instincts about people." A shadow of emotion crossed her face but was gone before she dropped her gaze and broke eye contact. "And your reputation has an upside."

_She knows something about me, more than just scuttlebutt. Interesting._ "Such as?"

"Don't fish for compliments, Marty."

"Humor me."

"You keep your word." She pushed the plate of half-eaten food away from her. "And you take care of your own in a fight." She stood and looked down at him. "Are you in?"

Martin got to his feet as well. He regarded her with total seriousness. "Don't cross me, Stella."

"Likewise."

_Gauntlet thrown; challenge accepted._ "Then I'm in."

Return to the Table of Contents
Chapter 16

Stella was obviously displeased. "How long have you known?"

Edward shrugged. "I tapped his security monitors this morning to see if I could get a read on how long they're going to keep me on a short leash. She came by during lunch, and they talked, apparently about an argument they had last night."

Stella paced the floor of the executive dormitory. "Trevor Sutton is in love with Jennifer Donovan. How did we not know this?"

"There was probably no reason to bring it up before," said Edward in a subdued tone. "Since it was essentially a moot point."

Stella snarled. "He needs to die."

"We talked about this, Stel."

"That was when he was just a potential threat. Now he's a personal insult."

"Just give it time, okay? This is just a piece of information we didn't have. It may not mean anything."

She whirled to face him. "How can you say that? You, of all people, should understand."

Edward reached up and removed the silver bar from the bridge of his nose. The holograms faded from his eyes, and he was left staring straight ahead into nothing. "Of course I understand. I was there, remember?"

He heard her sigh.

"All right, Ed. We'll wait. But if he tries to make a move on her, I'll kill him. He has no right to touch her. He doesn't deserve to breathe the same air."

He snorted and reaffixed the glasses to his face. "If he makes a move on her, you'll have to get in line." He looked up to see her watching him with approval.

"Now, that's a sentiment I can get behind," she said. She sat on the bed. "So what's on the agenda for tomorrow?"

"Well, you're going to be working with Trevor to program your targeting algorithm into the navigation computers. I assume you were using terabit processing algorithms when you designed the models?"

She shrugged. "Of course."

"That's too advanced for their computer systems. You only have megabit processing power available. I've tried to upgrade their chips, but I couldn't effect a paradigm shift overnight without raising suspicion."

She drew her arm across her face and winced. "Wonderful. That will take a week of solid work just to set up, let along run."

"Maybe not quite that long. I've been busy. You'll have to see. But you'll be working with Trevor the whole time."

"Terrific." Her tone belied the word. "And what will you be doing while I'm toiling away next to the Devil himself?"

Edward couldn't help smiling slightly. "Optimizing the flight controls for Marty."

She glanced at his face and laughed. "He was always your favorite."

His mood sobered. "Yeah, he was."

Stella stood up and hugged him. "If we do this right, so much will change," she whispered. "Who knows what else will be affected?"

Edward held her close for a moment, and then stepped back out of her arms. "Then we better do it right the first time." He turned away and walked to the door. "We might not get a second chance."

Return to the Table of Contents
Chapter 17

Martin laughed with delight as he dodged through the asteroid field, tapping the primary control icons in sequence, like a concert pianist, to generate new course projections on the fly. All the while, he manipulated the attitude thrusters to shift direction until the tumbling rocks finally vanished, and he saw nothing ahead but open space.

"Impressive." Edward was the only other person left in the control room.

Everyone else had gone to lunch, but Martin was so pleased with the new system he wanted to keep trying new scenarios. Edward watched through the glass with a slight smile as the pilot gleefully put the simulator through its paces.

"That was the best run yet." Martin shut down the simulator and stretched in his chair. If your chips run as well in the field as in simulation, there's nothing in the fleet I won't be able to outrun or outmaneuver. I've got to hand it to you, Eddie. You've built an awesome ship."

Edward's face colored. "I didn't build it. I just tweaked it to make it better."

"That's not what I heard. Everyone around here talks about the boy genius, and how much you added to the project. You should be proud."

Edward looked away. "I am proud. But I can't take all the credit, and I object to being called a 'boy genius'. I'm twenty-three years old."

Martin gave him a lazy smile. "Really? I wouldn't have guessed."

Edward glanced back at him, discomfited by the pilot's intense stare. "How old did you think I was?"

"You look legal, but not by much." Martin grinned wider. "But 'legal' is the key word."

Edward raised an eyebrow. "Are you flirting with me?"

"Could be." Martin's grin didn't slip. He relaxed in the simulator chair. "Why? Is it working?"

Edward stared at him, bemused. "Commander Atkins... uh... my sister and I compare notes pretty often. Weren't you coming on to her at lunch just yesterday?"

"Call me Marty, please. Anyway, that was yesterday, and this is today." Martin shrugged. "And you really are quite attractive."

"Th-thanks." Edward's flush deepened. "That's, um... very flattering, Marty."

"You're not used to compliments, are you?"

Edward was fully blushing now. He turned away to fiddle with his tablet. "Depends on the source," he muttered.

"Who, me? I'm just a pilot. Granted, I have a sexy job and chicks dig the uniform, but beyond good looks and pretty blue eyes, I don't have much else going for me. You're the one with the massive brain."

Edward chuckled, and then paused and frowned. "I thought your eyes were green?"

"They are," said Martin. "But you had to think about it, didn't you? And you can't tell by looking."

Edward froze for a moment. Then he turned fully to face the other man. "No, I can't. How did you know?"

Martin gazed at him calmly. "I've worked with blind people before. You track movement with your whole head, rather than with your eyes. There's an ultrasonic mapping projector in the reading glasses, isn't there?"

"Yes." Edward took a deep breath and let it out. "Guess that takes a bit of the shine off the attraction."

Martin smiled again. "Not at all. In fact, it makes your achievements even more impressive."

Edward grinned. "Marty, don't tell me you have a nerd fetish. That would warp my whole image of you."

Martin laughed. "What can I say? I like intelligent conversation." He tilted his head. "Especially over dinner."

Edward blinked. "Uh, okay. How about seven?"

"Are you buying?"

Edward straightened in his chair. "Aren't you the one asking me out?"

The pilot snorted. "Well, you certainly recovered your confidence."

"I adapt fast." Edward dropped his tablet on the desk and folded his arms. "Tell you what. Come by my quarters tonight, and we'll see what we can put together from what I have on hand."

"You're offering to cook?"

"Not by myself. I'll expect you to help."

"Hmm. Now _that_ is actually a very intriguing offer."

"See you at seven."

Martin nodded thoughtfully as the door to the control room opened and one of the other members of the project team returned from lunch. "Count on it."

* * *

Exhausted after an entire day modifying the drive specs with Trevor Sutton and Stella Harlen, Charles dragged himself back to his quarters. For some reason, Sutton apparently hated him, and Ms. Harlen clearly had a bone to pick with Trevor. The result was a highly toxic working environment. The wrong word could spark a vitriolic argument over technical minutiae for hours.

It was obvious, at least to Charles, that having the three of them in the same room was counter-productive.

_Maybe they got it out of their systems today and cooler heads will prevail by morning._ He'd have to ask Jen for advice on talking to Sutton. The man was a conversational porcupine. It didn't help that Stella kept taking Charles' side, just out of spite.

Fuck it. All I want is a nice quiet evening to unwind, and to forget this day ever happened.

Stepping into the quarters he shared with Marty, he saw his best friend slipping a silk blazer over his shoulders and checking his reflection in the mirror.

_Oh, great. Here we go._ "Hot date already?"

Martin started in surprise, but recovered quickly and flashed a salacious grin. "Just dinner, so far. We'll see where it goes from there."

Charles chuckled with the patience of long suffering. "So, who's on the menu tonight?"

"Edward."

"Glasses Man?" Charles felt his eyebrow shoot up at the admission. "A little tame for you, isn't he? I thought you had your eye on Stella."

Martin shrugged. "Nah, she's too much like me. Saw me coming a mile away and shot me down flat."

Charles walked past his friend and flopped down on the couch. "Well, be gentle. We have to work with them both afterward."

Martin snorted. "Jealous?"

_Oh, no you didn't, Flyboy._ Charles sat up carefully, favoring Martin with an intense stare. He could tell it caught the younger officer off guard. "Why would I be jealous?" he answered slowly and distinctly.

Martin dropped his gaze. "I didn't mean it that way."

Charles held the stare. "Yes, you did." _You always do._

Martin said nothing, just stood there with his eyes downcast.

With a sigh, Charles got back to his feet. He stepped in front of Martin and lifted the younger man's chin until they were gazing into each other's eyes. "Marty, I've told you this a thousand times. I am _truly_ flattered, really I am, but it would never work. You've got to let go of the idea of us being together like that."

"How can you be so sure?" Martin's eyes grew bright. "We could try."

Charles shook his head. "And sacrifice our friendship? I won't let that happen."

"You were always the strong one." Martin rested his forehead on Charles' shoulder.

"Do you like Edward?" Charles reached up to massage the back of Martin's neck.

Martin sighed. "Yeah."

"Then do me a favor. Don't blow him off this time, like you do all of your conquests because you're holding out for me. Because that's not going to happen."

Martin straightened and turned away to face the mirror again. As he fixed his tie, he glanced over his shoulder at his friend's reflection. "Is that what you want?"

"Yes."

"All right." Martin's voice was subdued. "He seems like a nice guy. I would have let him down easy anyway."

"Why let him down at all?" asked Charles, gently.

Martin didn't answer, just headed for the door.

Return to the Table of Contents
Chapter 18

"Dr. Donovan. What can I do for you?" Stella had expected to see her brother on the other side of the door, so was surprised to find Jennifer waiting in the hall.

"Ms. Harlen, could I have a moment of your time?"

"Please, come in." Stella stepped out of the way and gestured to the living room.

Jennifer took a seat, with Stella across from her, and broke the silence. "What is your beef with Trevor Sutton?"

Stella raised her eyebrow deliberately. "I only met the man for the second time today. What makes you think I have a problem with him?"

"This is a small community, Ms. Harlen. People talk. The hostility of your first day on the job is already a hot topic throughout the facility."

"I didn't realize it was that obvious."

Jennifer laughed. "Oh, believe me, it came through loud and clear. I watched some of the security monitor footage of your sessions with Trevor and Lieutenant Davenport. The three of you have serious problems working together. So what's the story?"

"No story. He just rubs me the wrong way."

Jennifer sighed. "Stella. You seem like a reasonable and intelligent young woman. Trevor has been a vital contributor to this project for many years. You're a new and unknown quantity. If you can't work together, which of you do you think will be considered more replaceable?" She paused for a moment to allow that observation sink in. "If you want to remain attached to this project, I suggest you focus on your job and leave your personal feelings aside."

"Fair enough. But is your advice offered out of concern for me, or for him?"

Jennifer stood. Looking down at Stella, she shrugged. "Does it matter?" Then she turned away and strode to the door.

Stella remained seated even after the door closed behind her visitor. "Yes, it does," she said softly. "It matters more than you will ever know."

* * *

"You're awfully quiet."

Martin glanced up at Edward's words, and then looked back down at his fork as he continued to twirl up more linguini. "I'm sorry. I guess I have a lot on my mind."

"No problem." Edward grinned. "You're usually so bubbly with enthusiasm. A bit of seriousness looks good on you."

Martin smiled. "That's forgiving. I know I haven't been the best date tonight."

Edward dug into his pasta, too, but continued to watch Martin. "Can I ask you a personal question?"

Martin raised an eyebrow as he chewed silently. Then he nodded. "Shoot."

"I'll bet you've broken a lot of hearts. Has anyone ever broken yours?"

Martin stared at him. "That's a _very_ personal question for a first date."

"You don't have to answer."

"No, I'll answer." Martin's eyes narrowed. "But I want an answer in return."

Edward put down his fork. "To what question?"

"I haven't decided yet."

Edward shrugged. "Okay, I'm game."

Martin took a deep breath. "Yes, I've had my heart broken. He was a crewmate of mine, and a good friend. But he wasn't willing to risk our friendship if it went bad, so we never made a go of it."

"Did you stay friends?"

"Yes."

"Then maybe he made the right decision."

Martin picked at his dinner with his fork. "Probably. Doesn't mean I don't regret it every day. Or wish things were different."

"Was it Charles?"

Martin smiled sadly. "Yes, it was."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Like you said, it was probably for the best." He leaned back in his chair. "My turn."

Edward clasped his hands together. "I'm all ears."

"How did you lose your sight?"

Edward considered. "Radiation damage. There was a reactor fault on my ship, and they had to vent drive plasma. I was in one of the irradiated compartments, and I was only partially suited up."

Martin nodded. "Most emergency venting schemes assume the drive will be offline, so the rear baffles will be closed, and they'll have to use the side baffles, which create radiation spillage across the shielded aft bulkheads. It's a design flaw nobody's found a way around, yet." He sipped his wine, eyes on Edward. "You're extremely well adjusted to your handicap, though. I almost didn't pick up on it at all."

"Most people don't. I've had a lot of practice."

"How old were you?"

"I was eight."

"Is that when you lost your mother?"

Edward froze. "How do you know about that?"

"Stella said your mother died in an accident when she was eight, and that you and she were the same age."

Edward nodded stiffly. "Yes. Mom got me into my suit, but she didn't have time to protect herself."

"That's tough. My parents died when I was ten."

Edward looked away. "Yeah, your bio mentioned that. Something about a construction accident, but the details were redacted."

"It wasn't an accident," answered Martin, bitterly. "It was Janus Station."

Edward snapped his head up in shock. "The terrorist bombing?"

Martin nodded. "After that, it was just my brother and me against the world."

"I know what that's like," Edward muttered.

"Yeah, I think you do." Martin paused. "It seems we have a bit more in common that I would have guessed."

"So it seems." Edward cocked his head. "Does this mean there's a second date in our future?"

"Honestly?" said Martin. "I think I'd like that."

Return to the Table of Contents

Chapter 19

On the Engineering deck, at the heart of the _CSS_ _Zenith_ , Edward started up his diagnostic software and watched the data flow through his workstation. "The new control chips appear to be working fine. We can start the simulation at any time."

Trevor nodded and called the Control Tower. "We're ready to start."

"Okay, people." Henry's voice issued from the overhead speakers. "This is a dry run up to the moment of the jump itself. Track any glitches, because anything we can fix now will be one less headache for the flight crew on launch day."

Edward tuned out his surroundings, ignoring Trevor's barked orders at the Engineering flight crew. The information streams remained smooth as the test progressed. Then a burst of static swam into view, obscuring the data architecture with unfamiliar code.

_What the hell?_ "Hold on, something's wrong."

Trevor stood behind him. "What is it?"

Edward activated his code scrubbers to clear the damage, but it resisted his efforts, flowing around his repairs to reinfect the healthy code behind his sweeps. "Data corruption. I'm not sure what's causing it."

* * *

Martin punched the last parameter into the navigation matrix and started it compiling. The telltales across his board flashed green. "Course plotted and locked. Jump computer predicts arrival location at ninety-five percent confidence."

Henry stood from the Captain's chair at the center of the Bridge, facing Charles at the Engineering Station. "Drive status?"

"Foldspace drive powered and ready to jump at your command," answered the engineer.

Henry nodded in satisfaction. "Navigation. Start the clock."

Martin tapped his console, and a countdown clock appeared on the viewscreen. "Clock is ticking. Ninety seconds to jump."

Charles frowned at his console. "Graviton generators online and... what the hell?"

Everyone on the Bridge looked at him.

"Something wrong?" Martin raised one eyebrow.

Charles looked up from his console. "Shut down the simulation."

Henry frowned. "What's the problem?"

"Just do it!" Charles commanded, his voice tight and urgent

Glowering at him, Henry dropped back into his seat and slid the slim control panel in place in front of him. "Fine." He typed a series of commands. "Simulation terminated. Now what's going on?"

Charles continued to tap at his controls.

"Mr. Davenport," said Henry, with more of an edge to his voice. "What—"

Charles cut him off. "Are you still feeding simulated data to my console?"

"No. I've cut the data from the simulation. You shouldn't be seeing anything but the actual data feeds from the ship's system. Why?"

"I'm reading a graduated energy buildup in the graviton generators, powering up to jump." Charles swiped at a trickle of sweat on his forehead. "Tell me this is a glitch, and it's not really happening."

Henry's face paled. "Oh, shit." He typed furiously at his console.

"Wait, you're saying the drive is powering up? For real?"

"Yes," answered Charles, frantically typing commands into his own board. "I can't shut down the reactor. We've got just over a minute before the drive fires."

Martin's gaze snapped to the viewscreen, now showing the shipyard around the vessel. "Jesus, Chuck. We're dirtside. What happens if we try to jump while we're still inside the planetary gravity well?"

"Best case?" said Charles. He wiped his brow again. "The ship tears itself to pieces from the gravitic torsion."

"And worst case?" asked Martin.

"We open a black hole in the center of the city," answered Henry, sagging in his chair.

Martin's breath caught. "Are the conventional engines live?"

Charles began typing commands into his console. "Yes. We might have just enough time to get in the clear."

Martin entered a delayed launch program that would take the ship out over the ocean, away from populated areas. Then his board went red.

"Fuck! Navigation computer just locked me out. I can't program an automated course," Martin yelled.

"Manual?" Charles asked softly.

Martin hit keys on his console, and nodded. "Manual control is still active." He toggled a shipwide announcement. "All hands, this is Commander Atkins declaring Distress Condition One. Abandon ship. I repeat: abandon ship. This is not a drill. Anyone who is still on board in forty-five seconds is going to die."

"What the hell are you doing?" yelled Henry.

Martin stared at the screen with icy calm. "If we can't shut down the foldspace drive in time, we have to scuttle the ship or we could lose the city. I'll give them another thirty seconds to evacuate, but then I'm going to take us out over the ocean at maximum burn. Anyone who's still here will have to take their chances with the escape capsules."

"Now wait a damn minute." Henry jumped to his feet. "You can't just—"

"We don't have time to debate this!" snapped Martin, glancing at the jump clock. "The drive will fire in seventy seconds. If your people can't head this off, my duty is clear." He turned to stare at Henry, standing frozen in front of the Captain's chair. "You want to be a survivor? Then get the hell out. Now!"

* * *

Trevor slid into the workstation next to Edward and tapped into the younger man's data feeds. "Jesus. Where did that come from?"

"It's in the drive system and navigation control systems. I don't think I can clear it. We might have to wipe the data architecture entirely and reinstall the operating system."

"Shit. It will take days to reconstruct the software package. We'll probably lose all the refinements we've been putting in for the past three weeks."

Just then, the simulation ended prematurely, and the data streams reset. The corruption remained, however, and continued to spread.

"The static isn't spreading randomly. I think it's electronic camouflage for some kind of malware. God only knows what's going on behind that. Charles might have a better view from the Bridge Engineering Station, but we're basically blind from here."

Every other light strip in the ceiling abruptly turned red as the alarms began to wail. Martin's voice resounded from the intercom. "All hands, this is Commander Atkins declaring Distress Condition One. Abandon ship. I repeat: abandon ship. This is not a drill. Anyone who is still on board in forty-five seconds is going to die."

Trevor hit his intercom control. "Henry, what the hell's going on?"

Stella answered instead, from the Control Tower. "The drive is locked into a countdown to fire. Martin is planning to fly the ship a safe distance away from the city before it blows. We've got less than a minute to fix the problem. Talk to me, brother."

"There's some kind of malicious program infiltrating the drive and navigation systems."

"Patch me into your console. Let me see."

Edward transferred control of his diagnostic console to his sister. "It wasn't there when the test started, which means it wasn't installed in the operating system before it became active."

"Then it must be in some kind of offline storage," said Trevor.

Edward spun to face the only other person left on the Engineering deck. "Trevor, what the hell are you still doing here?"

Trevor ignored him. "Stella, I need you to find the source, or it will just reestablish control after we purge the system."

"Trevor, you—" said Edward.

"This ship represents six years of my life!" yelled Trevor. "I'm not giving it up without a fight! Now help me locate the source."

Edward stared at him. He nodded. "Stella?"

"I've almost got it. Yes! It originated from the Operations console on the Bridge."

Trevor toggled the intercom. "Bridge, this is Sutton. We've got a computer virus that originated from the Operations console. Can you find any foreign tech up there? We need to remove the source before we can repair the damage."

* * *

Charles unbuckled himself from the Engineering console and ran to the Operations Station. He flipped the clips at the base and swung the cover away from the internal electronics.

Martin glanced at the clock. _Forty-five seconds._ He toggled the intercom. "All hands, if you're staying, buckle in. We lift in ten seconds." He faced Charles. "Chuck, keep looking!"

Charles nodded, strapping himself in as he continued to inspect the guts of the computer.

* * *

Trevor snarled as he strapped himself into his workstation chair. "Stella, are you still there?"

"Yes."

"When I dump the operating system, we'll lose our onboard data access. I need you to immediately perform a warm reinstall of the test environment. It won't be much, but it will be enough for us to reinitialize basic control systems from here."

"Got it," she answered, her voice tense over the speakers.

"Edward, I need you to punch up the engineering software as soon as we're back online, and purge the charge in the graviton generators while I reinstall the navigation package so we can fly."

"What if they can't find the source?" asked Edward, breathing shallowly.

Trevor gave a bark of laughter. "Then we die."

* * *

Martin hit the controls on his board and they were all thrust back into their seats as the _Zenith_ exploded into the air. He set a course directly away from the coast, gaining as much altitude as he could without sacrificing speed. He glanced at the jump clock. _Thirty seconds left._

"Found it!" Charles yelled in triumph. He reached out, with difficulty, and ripped a small black-metal object from within the console. "Engineering, you're all clear!"

* * *

"Bridge!" yelled Trevor. "We're going to wipe the system! Be ready to take control as soon as the flight controls reactivate."

"Standing by," said Martin.

Trevor typed the control sequence to purge the data core. The ship shuddered, and then the engines shut down. They were plunged into semi-darkness, the emergency lighting painting the room a lurid scarlet. Trevor swallowed hard against the nausea of free fall, waiting impatiently for the interface to reboot. Finally gaining access again, he began reinstalling critical systems, starting with navigation and propulsion. "Edward!"

"Almost there!" responded the other engineer, tapping keys. "Done! Venting gravity generator plasma."

* * *

The viewscreen reactivated, and Martin saw the ocean rising to meet them. Fast. In the back of his mind, he heard Charles praying quietly. _I hope you turn out to be right, Chuck, and there's something better waiting for us._

Then his board woke up.

Martin grabbed the flight controls and reactivated the engines. The feeling of weightlessness disappeared as he lit the reentry rockets and tried to arrest their fall. _This is going to be close._

The nose of the ship rose immediately, and Martin punched the main engines just as the belly of the ship smashed into the waves. The impact slammed him back in his seat as the ship bounced off the ocean's surface like a skipping stone, and then accelerated into the sky. His ears ringing, Martin leveled off their ascent. He glanced at the jump clock again, as it ticked down finally to zero.

Nothing happened.

With a sigh of relief, he hit the intercom. "Everybody still alive back there?"

* * *

Trevor gulped air as the acceleration restored the semblance of gravity. "We're good. Can you make it back to land?"

"No problem."

Trevor turned off the intercom and glanced at Edward, who had remained silent. The younger man's face was tight with a terrified rictus. "Ed, are you all right?"

Edward just sat there, shivering and gripping the arms of his chair.

"Ed, we did it! We're safe!" Trevor stared at Edward. "Are you hurt?"

Edward licked his lips. "I can't see." The ever-present reading glasses were missing from Edward's face.

Glancing around, Trevor saw them lying on the floor. He struggled with his seat buckle, and then got to his feet.

"It's okay, Ed. You're safe." Trevor picked the glasses up off the floor and gently pressed them into one of Edward's shaking hands.

Edward replaced the glasses on his nose with a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

"What are friends for?"

Edward gave him a half smile. "I guess."

Trevor looked around the empty room. "Who the hell could have done this?"

"I don't know." Edward scowled. "But I'm going to find out."

Return to the Table of Contents
Part III: Guilt by Association

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.

-Laozi, Tao Te Ching

Return to the Table of Contents
Chapter 20

Henry Bradford's office furniture was entirely made of glass and steel. Henry himself was seated behind his desk, glaring at the rectangular block of black metal in a clear plastic bag, which lay in front of him on the desk's frosted surface.

A soft tone announced a visitor.

"Enter."

Martin stepped into the office and regarded the data module in the center of the desk with amusement. "The police didn't take that as evidence?"

Henry snorted. "I'm sure they would have, if I had called them."

Martin sat down in the chair facing the desk. "So you didn't report the incident. Why does that not surprise me?"

"Should I let it get out that we were experimenting with potentially destructive technology in a heavily populated urban area?"

Martin gave a half smile. "It does seem a tad irresponsible."

Henry massaged his temples, trying to relieve the headache that welled between his eyes. "The drive is safe, as long as it isn't activated within a planetary gravity well. That someone might try to deliberately circumvent our security protocols and trigger a disaster simply didn't seem credible."

Martin glanced again at the black metal box on the desk. "Any idea who was behind it?"

Henry sighed. "It could be anyone in the Interscission Consortium, or even an outsider who learned of the project despite our security precautions." He sat up straight. "I am placing you in charge of the investigation."

Martin raised an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

"This device got through our security, so I can't rule out an inside job. That means I have to bring in someone from outside Starfire to figure out who smuggled it onto the _Zenith_."

"Wait. I don't have the skills or the experience to carry out this kind of criminal inquiry."

"I will place Starfire Security at your disposal to run the legwork." Henry folded his hands on the desk. "And your brother is a forensic investigator, is he not? Surely you can draw upon his expertise."

"Why should I bring Jake into this? Starfire is your mess to clean up. It's not my problem."

"If events had gone differently yesterday, you would have been among the dead," answered Henry softly. "Someone tried to kill you. Doesn't that make it Jacob's problem now, as well as yours?"

Martin glared at him. "I don't appreciate emotional blackmail, Mr. Bradford."

"Pity." Henry shrugged. "I've always found it quite a persuasive technique."

Martin maintained his baleful stare for a moment. He snorted. "Fine. What have you got so far on the device?"

"Relatively little, I'm afraid. We bagged it to maintain any biologic traces, and we have been using imaging techniques to visualize the interior. It appears to contain a small wireless transmitter and a solid-state data storage module. My programmers haven't been able to access the data architecture remotely."

Martin cocked his head. "Did you give _all_ of your programmers a shot?"

"I'm not letting her anywhere near this," replied Henry, feeling his face flush with heat at the thought.

"Why not? Ms. Harlen has demonstrated her ability as a data pirate. Breaking into a secure system should be entirely within her skillset."

"Stella Harlen and her brother are not trustworthy. They could have planted the device themselves for all I know."

"Perhaps. They certainly have the skills and access. But what motive could they have? Stella traced its location, remember? And she certainly wouldn't have endangered her brother, who remained on board."

"Maybe she's in on it alone and didn't realize he'd stay with the ship. Maybe they were working together but were overconfident they'd be able to undo the damage quick enough to come out of the incident looking like heroes."

"Or maybe they actually _are_ heroes, and they helped save the lives of everyone on board, as well as the ship itself." Martin chuckled. "The fact is, there's no way of knowing with the information we have available. Until we crack that thing open and find out who is behind this, it's clear we will never know anything more. Sometimes, you just have to take a chance."

Henry got to his feet and poured himself a glass of scotch from the decanter on a side table. "I didn't get this far by taking chances."

Martin shrugged. "Then call it a calculated risk. In any case, if there are people out there trying to kill us, we need to know who they are and how they plan to strike next, or we'll just be caught flat-footed by the next attack."

"Spoken like a soldier," said Henry. He dropped back into his chair, and waved his hand in dismissal. "Fine. It's your investigation. Bring in whomever you need."

Martin rose and picked up the bagged data module, slipping it into his pocket. He turned to leave.

"One more thing," said Henry, following his words with a sip of liquor.

Martin faced him with an expectant expression.

"As long as I sat in the center chair, I remained Captain of the _Zenith_. You usurped my authority when you declared Distress Condition One and assumed command of the vessel."

Martin licked his lips, but otherwise didn't waver. "That's true."

"As long as you are part of this project, you are a Starfire employee, and I am your employer. You are not to countermand my orders again, under any circumstances. Are we clear?"

Martin straightened and answered stiffly. "My actions were necessary and appropriate, by both civilian and military flight regulations on spacecraft emergencies."

"I don't dispute that." Henry's voice was hard. "But Starfire is my castle, and I am its king. If it comes to a pissing match between you and me, guess which of us is going to be sent packing?"

Martin shook his head in disbelief. "Bradford, you are one conceited, arrogant son of a bitch."

"I'm also the one who signs your paycheck, and I have absolute power over whether you take the controls of the _Zenith_ ever again. Now, do I have your word that you will not challenge my authority in the future?"

Martin gave him a sour look and remained defiantly silent.

"I assure you that I am not bluffing, Commander Atkins. Your word, please. Here and now, or I will have Security escort you to the front gate."

"You have my word," answered Martin, through clenched teeth.

Henry smiled pleasantly. "Excellent. I will expect you to keep it. Now, as you are no doubt aware, our search is ongoing for a Commanding Officer to lead the expedition, one who meets my not-inconsiderable standards for a Captain worthy to be entrusted with a vessel of such importance."

"What, you didn't have a suitably cowed minion in your fucking castle, ready to step up and take charge under your watchful eye?" asked Martin with a sneer.

Henry leisurely swallowed the rest of his scotch. "Not until now." He put down his empty glass and began reading a status report on his tablet. "You're dismissed, Captain Atkins," he said, not looking up. "Go nail the fuckers who tried to take down your ship."

Return to the Table of Contents
Chapter 21

Trevor looked up at the knock on his office door to see Charles leaning against the doorframe. "Lieutenant Commander Davenport, what can I do for you?"

"You could start by calling me by my name. Rank is all well and good, but it gets in the way at times."

Trevor raised an eyebrow. "In what way?"

Charles indicated the chair next to Trevor's desk. "Mind if I sit down?"

"Suit yourself."

Charles eased into the chair and clasped his hands behind his head. "The problem with rank and titles is that people use them as shorthand to establish expectations of a person, and then fool themselves into thinking those expectations accurately reflect who that person is."

Trevor leaned back in his seat, considering it. "That makes sense, I suppose. The 'shorthand' as you call it, gives you a place to start forming impressions of a person; the 'expectations' are a set of assumptions to be proven or disproven."

"But any shorthand is by definition a data-reductive process, is it not? Therefore, information and nuance is lost. Your reductive model becomes an oversimplification, a caricature with little or no resemblance to the actual person."

"Perhaps," answered Trevor impatiently. "It's an interesting argument, but I fail to see how this is relevant to just about anything."

Charles smiled, but the expression lacked warmth. "You called me 'Lieutenant Commander Davenport' when I walked in. In your mind, you've already dismissed me as a simple mechanic with a wrench in one hand and a pulse rifle in the other."

"I assure you that is not the case, Lieut—Mr. Davenport. I have the utmost respect for your scholarly achievements."

Charles chuckled. "Then why did you call me 'Mr. Davenport' instead of 'Dr. Davenport'? I hold doctoral degrees in Astrophysics and Non-Euclidean Topology, and I own three patents related to quantum entanglement computing."

"You've made your point."

"Have I?" Charles leaned forward in his seat, dropping his hands to his sides. "You don't know me. You don't know the first thing about me. So don't treat me like shit just because you think she'd be better off with you."

Trevor's expression turned stormy. "I'm surprised she told you."

Charles snorted. "She didn't. He folded his arms in front of himself. "You did, just now."

Trevor glared at him. "That was a cheap shot, _DR._ Davenport. Is that all you came here to say?"

"No." Charles shook his head. "I came to say 'thank you'."

Trevor blinked, caught off guard. "I beg your pardon?"

"Thank you. Your quick thinking yesterday saved the lives of everyone on board the _Zenith_ , including my closest friend. I am grateful for your assistance." The soldier's voice hardened. "But that doesn't change the personal conflict between us, which must be settled or put aside for us to do our jobs. I like Jennifer. I plan on seeing her again, if she's interested. That's my choice, and hers. You don't get a say in it. So you might as well be an adult and get over it, rather than acting like a spoiled child pining after a toy he can't have."

Trevor just stared at him. Then he burst into laughter.

Charles glowered, waiting.

Trevor continued to laugh, wiping at the tears that rolled down his cheeks. Finally, he pulled himself together and faced Charles with a grin.

"Well?"

He could tell Charles was fuming. "I'm sorry, Charles. May I call you Charles?" Trevor chuckled again. "Oh, yes, that's right, you did tell me to call you by your name. It's just that you're so refreshingly earnest and direct. It's obvious you've spent your formative years in the military rather than in academia or corporate culture."

"Could you make any less sense?" asked Charles, with a hint of anger.

"Honestly, I'm impressed by your forthrightness. A frontal assault? You obviously haven't learned the value of a velvet-covered dagger."

Charles reddened. "I find that dealing with my problems openly yields the most straightforward resolution."

"I'm sure you do," said Trevor, grinning. "It's really quite endearing."

Charles gritted his teeth. "I came here to work out a solution to an untenable working environment. I don't need to sit here and be patronized."

"Calm yourself. There's no need to be petulant."

Charles stood and turned toward the door. "Oh, to Hell with this."

"Sit down, Charles," Trevor said gravely.

Charles looked over his shoulder. "Why? Give me one good reason I should bother."

"I'll give you two: a fresh start on that 'untenable working environment,' and some personal advice on winning her over."

Charles turned and stared at him. "What?"

Trevor pushed the opposite chair toward him with his foot. "Have a seat, Dr. Davenport. Welcome to your first day of school. We have a lot of ground to cover."

* * *

Edward woke to the sound of someone singing Christmas carols. Badly. At the top of his lungs. He threw back the covers, and stumbled to the door. He called up the time on his personal electronics as he slipped his glasses on and unlocked the deadbolt. _Seriously?_

As soon as he opened the door, Edward found his arms full of a very unsteady and totally smashed Senior Navigator, who was leaning against the door. Edward wrinkled his nose at the aroma of tequila on Martin's breath. "Jesus, Marty! It's three o'clock in the fucking morning!"

Marty giggled.

Edward stared at him. _Did he just giggle? He honest-to-God fucking giggled._

"But it's Christmas! C'mon, let's celebrate!" Martin's words slurred and ran together in places.

Edward sighed. "Christmas is still a month away, Marty."

"Really?" Martin stared at him, his eyes wide and guileless. "Damn. We'll have to celebrate something else, then."

Edward helped him inside the apartment, stumbling a little. Martin was a fairly hefty guy, and he really wasn't pulling his weight. Intending to put Martin down on the spare bed to sleep it off, Edward tried to lever him into a more comfortable position. He ended up flat on his back for his trouble, with Marty lying on top of him, face-to-face.

From that position, Edward learned two things right away. First, that whatever alcohol Marty had consumed, it hadn't been enough to put a damper on his libido; and second, the quartermaster in the sky had been particularly generous the day Martin Atkins was issued his weapon of choice.

Acutely aware of the hardness pressing into his hip, Edward felt suddenly self-conscious that he was wearing only a loose pair of boxer shorts.

Martin leaned forward and nuzzled Edward's neck, behind his right ear, murmuring softly.

Edward's breath quickened, and he felt his own body respond. _No. Not like this. Not when he's drunk._

Martin stilled above him, and he lifted his head to look down at Edward's face. His predatory expression made it clear he was completely cognizant of the effect his touch was having on the younger man. "You look good enough to eat," he whispered.

"Marty." Edward winced at the crack in his voice. "Wait."

Martin blinked, his eyes half lidded with lust. "Why?" He rolled his pelvis suggestively. "Don't you want me?"

Edward gasped at the unexpected movement, trying unsuccessfully to clamp his jaw shut around the traitorous sound. "Oh, God, yes." He took a shallow breath and licked his lips. "You know I do. But not like this, okay? Can't we wait a little while?"

"You want to wait?" asked Martin slowly, his voice thick. "Really?"

"Yes." He reached up and cupped Martin's cheek. "Please."

Martin stared at him for a long moment. Then he leaned forward and whispered in Edward's ear, "Can I steal a kiss?"

Edward opened his mouth to answer, but Marty was already there. Their lips pressed together, Edward tasting the residue of alcohol on Martin's tongue as it darted into his mouth. The pilot grasped the back of Edward's head, deepening the kiss, and gently rolled them over until Edward was on top.

Edward pulled free of Martin's arms, gasping.

Martin watched him with a secretive smile.

_Oh, Hell._ "My turn." Edward darted forward and kissed Martin again, grinding their bodies together, driving his tongue deep into Martin's waiting mouth. He broke away. Sanity reasserted itself. He lay there, on top of Martin, listening to the older man's panting breaths.

"Do me a favor, Eddie." Martin ran his fingers through Edward's hair.

"What?" asked Edward, still catching his breath.

"Think of a safeword, and tell it to me when I'm sober. 'Cause next time, we're not stopping unless you slam on the brakes for real."

Edward felt a blush growing to the roots of his hair in the darkness as he climbed to his feet. He gently pulled a blanket over Martin. "Get some rest, Marty. I'll still be here when you wake up."

Return to the Table of Contents
Chapter 22

Martin awoke to the screams of the damned, accompanied by an explosion of white-hot light that scorched his retinas. Having been here many times before, he turned over in bed and stuffed the pillow into his ears, reveling in the sweet, sweet darkness until the thunderous wail of the alarm clock cut off abruptly.

That the alarm had cut off at all gave him sudden pause to consider. _Charles always leaves the alarm going when I'm hungover, just to torment me._

His heart sank as he tried to remember what the hell he'd done. _Chuck was out when I came back from my meeting with Bradford. I decided to start the party without him. Wait, why the hell was I..._

FUCK.

He made me Captain.

FUCKFUCKFUCKITY-FUCK.

Martin groaned as he rolled over, squinting at the morning sunlight that filtered through the sheer curtains. _Seventeen years of work to climb the ladder toward my own command, and he fucking hands it to me out of spite. How the hell am I going to live this down?_

He pushed aside the covers with difficulty, noting he'd slept in his clothes, and sat up. Resting his head in his hands, he tried to think. _Rum and coke._ That's how it started. _Then just rum._

Martin vaguely remembered singing to lift his spirits, somehow convinced he had composed a new Wagnerian opera, which ultimately depressed him, so he'd decided to try a serenade—the better to hunt up some companionship.

Oh, God.

My room has vertical blinds, not curtains.

He slowly lifted his head from his palms and glanced across the room at the other bed, just as the alarm screamed again.

Edward raised his hand, sloppily waving it through the sensitized space above the clock until the snooze timer reset. He burrowed deeper into his blankets, apparently oblivious to the fact that he was being observed.

He looks younger without his glasses on.

Martin sat quietly on the bed and watched Edward sleep, slowly piecing together the fragments of the night before.

I am such a jerk.

Drunk off my ass, and I thought he'd want me to rock his world?

I'm surprised he didn't tie me to a chair just to protect his virtue.

Another shard of memory exploded into his mind, fully formed and complete. _Holy crap, the boy can fucking kiss!_

Martin felt himself getting hard as he remembered Edward kissing him, thrusting against his body. _Okay, wow. Time-out for a second._

He controlled his arousal—with difficulty. _Dead cats. Global warming. Chuck naked. Whoa! Bad choice. Bradford naked._

Ah, that did it.

Okay. Moment of decision. Stay and apologize, or sneak out and leave a note?

He'll think I'm a coward.

He must already think I'm a slut. Maybe it's not such a stretch.

Do I care what he thinks?

For a moment, he heard Charles' voice in his head. _"Why let him down at all?"_

Ah, shit.

Right.

So.

Time to face the music, then.

"Edward."

"Mmmph, five more minutes."

"Wake up, Edward."

Edward opened his eyes and frowned.

Martin meant to start in on his apology, but he was taken aback by the vivid blue of the younger man's irises, seen uncovered for the first time.

He pulled himself together as Edward sat up in bed. "Good morning, Edward."

Edward turned to face Martin's voice, and grinned sheepishly. "Morning, Marty. Hell of a night, eh?"

"I am _sooooo_ sorry, Ed." He tried to focus on his apology, but he was completely disarmed by Edward's smile. His expression was so open, so trusting—entirely unselfconscious in his blindness.

Damn, you're pretty.

Edward laughed, waving his hand in a gesture of dismissal. "Don't worry about it too much. We both took advantage there, for a minute."

"I'll make it up to you."

"I'm sure you will." Edward smiled wider. "Grapefruit."

Martin blinked. "What?"

"You said to tell you when you were sober."

Martin felt a creeping heat prickle his neck. He rubbed at it self-consciously. "Uh, right. Got it. Grapefruit. Interesting choice."

"I hate grapefruit. I'm certainly not going to ask for it accidentally. I'd hate to miss out on an interesting experience through a misunderstanding."

Martin snickered in spite of himself. "I'll be sure and edit it out of my sexual repertoire."

Martin took a deep breath, conscious of the elephant in the room with them, and let it out again. "Edward, I truly apologize for last night. I have no excuse. I never intended to pressure you into sex."

Edward pursed his lips. "How much of last night do you remember?"

"I remember lying on top of you while I made a fool out of myself."

"You asked me if I wanted you."

The memory of Edward's voice echoed in Marty's ears. _"Oh, God, yes... You know I do."_

Edward winked. "Hold that thought."

Martin laughed, the tension broken. "Edward Harlen, you are a mess of contradictions, you know that?"

Edward's smile flickered.

For a second, Martin thought the young engineer looked sad.

Then Edward reached for his glasses off the nightstand. "You have no idea how right you are."

Return to the Table of Contents
Chapter 23

"Please, just don't say a word."

Charles looked up from his breakfast cereal as Martin shuffled into the common room of their suite. The pilot was wearing the same clothes he'd had on the day before, Charles noticed, except significantly more rumpled. Martin barely made eye contact.

Charles swallowed, and put his spoon down. "What would I have to say? It's hardly the first time I've seen you do the walk of shame."

Dropping into an overstuffed chair, Marty responded with an air of resignation, "Fine. Go ahead and get it out of your system, Chuck. You won't be happy until you do."

"Way to kill the mood, Junior." Charles sighed. "So where did you finally spend the night? The automated security sweeps lost track of your epic bender in the wee hours of the morning. Everyone was wondering where you ended up."

Martin stared at him. "Define 'everyone'."

"Half the base was accessing the security monitor AV feeds in real-time once the word spread. The other half picked up on the recordings in the morning." Charles cocked his head in disbelief. "How is it that we've been friends for more than three years, and I never knew you could sing classical opera in fluent German? Trevor was actually impressed, once he managed to make out most of the words."

Marty closed his eyes and tilted his head back. "Edward let me sleep in his spare bed."

"Hmm. So the two of you didn't..."

"No."

"That shows unexpected restraint." He gave Martin a faint smile. "Turned you down, did he?"

Martin sighed. "Yeah."

"Want to talk about it?"

Martin opened his eyes and lifted his head to look at Charles. "What's to talk about? I made a pass at him, and he turned me down. End of story."

Charles rolled his eyes. "Not about that. Want to tell me why you saw the need to get blasted in public?"

Martin hunched forward, eyes downcast. "I got some news that I didn't expect, and I was pissed off. Needed to blow off a little steam."

"More than a little, I'd say." Charles pushed his bowl away and turned to face Martin directly. "Does it have anything to do with the box on the coffee table?"

Martin frowned, following his friend's gaze to the velvet jewelry box sitting in the center of the glass surface. He reached out and picked it up, and then flipped open the lid. Inside, two mirror-image collar pins bore the Starfire Technology Group logo, surrounded by a five-pointed star with a gold pip at each point.

"Security dropped it off yesterday afternoon. I'd say congratulations are in order," Charles muttered, "but you apparently don't see it that way."

Martin stared at the rank insignia. "Bradford did it out of spite, because I defied him. I didn't earn them on merit."

"Are you sure? Bradford has all his eggs in the foldspace basket. He's bet his entire company on the success of the Interscission Project. If we fail, everything he's built will probably come tumbling down."

Martin looked up at his best friend, a confused look on his face. "But I didn't do anything. Why would he suddenly decide, out of the blue, that he trusted me?"

Charles snorted his exasperation. "Marty, think about it. When the drive malfunctioned, I identified the problem, but you realized the danger and took immediate action to shield civilians and still give the engineers time to save the ship, if they could. You did everything right, with no warning and no preparation. I call that rising to meet a challenge. Apparently, Bradford thinks so, too."

Charles got to his feet and walked to stand in front of Martin. He lifted the box from Martin's fingers and removed the two insignia. "You should get cleaned up and change your shirt, but until then..."

He clipped a pin to each side of Martin's shirt collar. "Let me be the first to congratulate you, Captain Atkins. If no one else says it, I want you to know that _I,_ at least, am damn proud of you." Charles stepped back and saluted.

Martin stood to return the salute. "Thank you, Charles." Then he turned and walked toward his bedroom.

Charles sat down at the table and reached for his spoon.

"Don't get too comfortable." Martin looked back over his shoulder. "There's a little black box in your future as well, Commander Davenport."

"What?" Charles stared at him, shocked.

"There's no way I'm going to ride herd on this unruly pack of civvies all by myself. If I have to pull double duty as Captain and Pilot, you're going to be right there next to me as First Officer."

"You're crazy. I'm not qualified."

Martin laughed. "Yeah, there's a lot of that going around. Get used to it, XO. We've got less than four weeks before launch, and we still have to figure out who's trying to kill us all. Time to get this show on the road."

Return to the Table of Contents
Chapter 24

A shower and a shave improved Marty's outlook on the world significantly. Feeling suitably human again, he picked up the Captain's insignia from the dresser and once again affixed them to his shirt collar. He stared at his reflection for a moment, examining the gleam of gold from the five rank pips, and then took a deep breath and punched his brother's number into the phone.

After a few rings, Jacob answered with a smile. He was about to greet Marty when he noticed the black and gold insignia at his brother's throat. "Uh, are those what I think they are?"

Martin said nothing.

Jacob nodded his approval. "Looks like you made an impression after all. Congratulations, bro'. I know you worked hard for them."

"Thank you. Bradford also put me in charge of the sabotage investigation. Any advice?"

"Hmmm. That's a bit of a tall order, but I'll help if I can." Jake considered for a moment. "Go over the details with me. Was there any modification to the _Zenith_ that proved it was sabotage rather than a malfunction?"

"We found a remote data module secreted on board, presumably the source of a malware infestation that overrode the drive and navigation systems."

"Okay, that's pretty conclusive. Anyone have the opportunity to plant it without arousing suspicion?"

"No. Access to the ship is restricted in the off hours. Although, if they got on board and found a way to divert the automated security monitors, they'd have close to free rein to wander the halls. They don't rely on guards so much around here."

"You might want to change up your routine a bit then, to try to forestall another attempt."

"Got it."

"You'll need to collect biologic residues from the module, as well as samples from anyone who is known to have touched it, so we can rule them out. The odds of finding a match there is limited, though, given how much DNA we shed into the environment every day."

"I'll talk to Jennifer Donovan. She's the Starfire CMO. She might have the expertise to collect the DNA. This is all under the table, though. Bradford doesn't want to invite further scrutiny on the project, so he's trying to cover it up."

"Fine. Forward the sample marked for my personal attention. I'll run it through the sequencers as a test sample. I'll also need a copy of the medical records database for Starfire, so I can run comparative DNA analysis and generate a list of possible suspects."

"That shouldn't be a problem. We have a couple of wunderkind software engineers who might be able to crack the programming code, so we can isolate where it was made and get some clues as to the intent."

"That should help a great deal. Just because it seems as if they were trying to destroy the ship, that might not be all they were after." Jacob looked thoughtful. "Keep in mind, though, that if you're thinking it's an inside job, the first person who makes a breakthrough and points you to a suspect is your prime candidate for a traitor, trying to lead you off the scent."

"Damn, Jake. That's fucking cynical."

"Nature of the beast, bro'. These people like to be in the thick of things. They're hiding in plain sight, lording it over the rest of us while we scurry around like rats in a maze looking for them. Trust me. If one of your programmers thinks he's found the killer, you're probably looking right at the henchman, or at least someone with just as much to lose."

* * *

Edward and Stella stared at the small black device on the table between them.

"So this is it?" asked Stella. "There wasn't any other evidence?"

"Not unless something turns up from the DNA swabs Dr. Donovan collected." Martin gave them both a serious look. "Think you can handle it?"

Stella cracked her knuckles. "Piece of cake."

"Leave this with us, Captain," said Edward, with a half-smile. "We won't let you down."

"Wait. What?" Stella's eyes darted to the rank chips on Martin's collar. "Whoa! When did that happen?"

"Last night," Martin answered curtly.

"Ah. That explains the video they showed me at morning report." She grinned. "Lovely singing voice you've got there, Captain."

"Must have been before he moved on to tequila," muttered Edward to himself.

Martin flushed. "Do me a favor, Ed. Don't watch the video, will you?"

Edward smiled at him. "Only if you promise to sing for me sometime under better circumstances. Maybe a private performance."

Marty smirked. "I'll serenade you anytime. But my repertoire is a little more melodic when I'm not drunk off my ass."

"Uh, guys?" Stella waved. "I'm still here."

"Right, so we'll get right on that, Mr. Atkins." Edward's voice smoothly shifted to a less-intimate tone.

"Excellent," Martin said. "Keep me informed." He turned on his heel and strode from the computer lab.

Edward picked up the data module and plugged it into the data receptacle of the isolated test computer. "Okay, so we should monitor how it responds to the test environment, and see how the infection progresses."

"In a minute," answered Stella. "First, you explain what I just saw."

Edward felt flushed. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"I mean that Martin Atkins was undressing you with his eyes every time he looked at you, and if I wasn't here, he'd probably be sneaking you off to a broom closet somewhere for a nooner."

"You're exaggerating."

"Edward..." Stella struggled to express herself. "Are you seriously planning to sleep with him? After everything we've been through together?"

"He doesn't know anything about that. It's not part of his reality. Here and now, he's just Marty Atkins, and he's my friend. And hell yes, I am planning to sleep with him... if he'll have me."

Stella sighed. "I hope you know what you're doing, little brother. I know you've had a crush on him, like, _forever_ , but that's a kid's fantasy. Pursuing an adult relationship with him might be considerably different. You haven't exactly had a lot of experience in that area."

"I'm not a shut-in, Sis," retorted Edward. "And I'm not a monk. Trust me. I'll be fine."

"If you say so." She turned to the data module. "Shall we crack this puppy open and see what falls out?"

They got down to business, punching up the data from their terminals.

After ten minutes, Edward looked up. "Stella, tell me this isn't a terabit operating system."

She shook her head, still pondering the lines of code that reeled off her display. "The design is unfamiliar, but the processing algorithms are definitely outside the realm of current science. No wonder your code scrubbers couldn't deal with the complexity. It would have been like trying to fend off a hurricane with a top hat and an umbrella."

"This level of technology doesn't exist in this timeline, other than what we brought with us," Edward agreed. "No one, outside the two of us, should have access to anything this advanced. So how can this be here, and now?" His voice deepened in concern. "How can it exist?"

Stella said nothing, only turned off her monitor.

"What are you doing?"

"Mystery solved," she murmured. "Only two people in the world could have created this device."

"Stella," said Edward, leaning forward, "I did not do this."

"Neither did I, little brother." She got to her feet. "But one of us is lying."

Return to the Table of Contents
Chapter 25

"Your saboteur is using a more advanced level of programming than we had access to," said Stella. "As near as we were able to tell, this device was designed to employ terabit computational algorithms."

"That's crazy," said Trevor. "You can't get beyond megabit capacity with a linear chip array."

"Agreed." Charles frowned. "Even pushing a linear array into the gigabit range will run into the theoretical limits of quantum decoherence. The uncertainty of the quantum states in your chip will ultimately limit the processing power by the number of available eigenvalues you can detect. It can't be done."

Stella smiled. "Because you can only read the square of the eigenvalues."

Charles shrugged. "Well, yeah. Otherwise half of your processing capacity would be using complex numerical values that don't exist in real space." He grinned. "So unless you've developed a way to detect the physical properties of imaginary numbers, what you're proposing is simply not possible."

"Oh, my God," Henry whispered, his eyes wide. Beside him, Trevor let out a low whistle.

Edward grinned. "Now you get it, don't you?"

Charles looked at Henry and Trevor in confusion. "I don't understand."

"Part of the core technology of the foldspace manipulator is the ability to read the physical parameters of complex variable quantum states. It does that by modeling the imaginary component as temporal shifts," answered Henry. "It was one of our greatest breakthroughs in theoretical mathematics. It allowed us to bypass quantum uncertainty and control the tunneling effect that is the physical manifestation of the drive field."

Charles just stared. "Wait... are you saying you can actually model ALL of the quantum states of a given atomic particle?"

"Yes." Trevor nodded. "Which means that, in theory, quantum decoherence can be effectively factored out of the equation."

"Holy shit," said Charles. "Do you understand the implications of what you are saying?"

"No," Martin piped up in a bored voice, doodling on his notebook. "Can you guys break it down for those of us who don't collect extra letters after our names for fun?"

"They just figured out how to multiply the computational capacity of a standard eight-state quantum computer chip by sixteen-fold," Jennifer said.

Martin blinked. "Holy _shit_."

"We had to reverse engineer the processing algorithms to be able to read the data," said Stella. "Once we did, it became obvious the mobile device was designed to lock out navigation control and retarget the foldspace drive to jump the ship to a specific set of coordinates—that's if it survived the gravitic torsion of opening a foldspace gateway inside a planetary gravity well."

"What coordinates?" Henry asked, his voice cold.

"In standard geodesic radial nomenclature," answered Edward, "zero, zero, zero."

"Excuse me?" Martin raised an eyebrow. "The center of the Earth?"

"It has a certain poetic symmetry about it, wouldn't you say?" answered Stella. "Abandon all hope, and welcome to Hell."

The meeting broke up shortly after that.

Stella hung back as the others left the conference room. "Can I have a word, Captain?"

Martin said nothing, waiting until they were alone. "Impressive work, Ms. Harlen. You and your brother did good."

"Thank you." Stella paused. "Be aware that if you fuck with his heart, I will _end_ you. Painfully."

Martin smiled. "I wouldn't expect anything less. Was there something else, or was that it?"

She hesitated. "Any word on the DNA tests?"

"Why? Did you have a suspect in mind?"

"No. But the fact that the device was based on foldspace technology means it was definitely an inside job, doesn't it?"

Martin nodded. "Most likely. I'll have to ask Henry who had access to that aspect of the technology, since I honestly don't have a clue what they were all talking about, but it limits the suspects to the members of the Interscission Consortium. We pretty much knew that already, though, since trying to destroy the ship implies whoever was responsible knew about the drive's potential."

"Right. So were you able to narrow down any leads?"

"It wasn't Edward, in case that's what you were wondering."

Stella froze, just for a second. "Of course it wasn't." She immediately recovered. "Why would I think that?"

"Because Edward already asked me if it was you." Martin grinned at her discomfort. "He didn't say it flat out, of course, but it was obvious from the way he phrased the question that he was most interested in ruling you out as a suspect." Martin's mood sobered. "Trouble in Paradise?"

"None of your business," she snapped.

"You're wrong." His eyes narrowed. "It's my ship now, which means I have a stake in finding out who tried to destroy it, regardless of how that might affect me personally."

She stared at him. "You thought Edward was behind it?"

Martin looked away. "I thought it was a possibility. The same as I thought you were."

"But it would have hurt more, if it had been him, wouldn't it?" Her voice softened.

"Yes. It would have hurt a hell of a lot more."

"You really like him, don't you?" she said. "It's more than just sex you're looking for."

He frowned. "Is that so hard to believe?"

"No." She turned to leave. "Not at all."

"Stella."

She stopped and looked back at him.

"The genetic markers showed traces of Charles, Trevor, and Jennifer, but no other complete matches. Even figuring in contamination of the device during handling, unless you guys were somehow genetically related to one of them, you're both off the hook."

"Right. That's good to know."

Martin studied her minutely. "You don't seem pleased."

She shrugged. "It means we still don't have a clue who the real threat is."

Martin nodded. "Yeah, that's pretty much what Edward said."

Stella stood there for a long time after he left, staring straight ahead at nothing. "FUCK."

Return to the Table of Contents
Chapter 26

Jennifer studied the structural diagram of the drive system. "You're sure it can't be repaired?"

The head of the Structural Engineering team shook her head. "No, Ma'am. I'm sorry. Without dismounting the drive manifold itself and effecting a complete reconstruction, the center reaction tube will have to remain offline. Repairing it would take a minimum of four months in dry dock, most likely half a year."

She sighed. "That's unfortunate. Good thing the port and starboard reaction tubes are still available, or we'd really be sunk."

She dismissed her team and returned to her office, brooding as she reread their written report on her tablet.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Trevor stood in the doorway.

"Trevor. This is a surprise."

He lifted the thermos in his hand. "Peace offering?"

She smiled. "The usual?"

"Hazelnut cappuccino with chocolate sprinkles. Just the way you like it."

"Bless you." She pointed out a spare chair that was only partially covered with computer printouts. "Have a seat."

He brushed the papers aside and sat. "Charles came to see me. He was fairly adamant about pursuing you."

She sighed. "That's refreshingly direct. And your response?"

He took a deep breath. "For the moment, I bowed out."

Jennifer said nothing.

"For the moment, I said," added Trevor. "I reserved the right to make an ass out of myself again in the future."

Her eyes twinkled with amusement. "Well, as long as you have a plan..."

He handed her the thermos. "I'm sorry about the way I acted."

"Apology accepted," she answered, with a smile. "I missed you."

He returned her smile, and then looked away. "So what's new on your side of the fence?"

"Oh, just trying to fix some of the damage from Atkins' stunt flying."

Trevor raised an eyebrow. "How bad was it?"

"Surprisingly little. The lower decks took a bit of a beating. _Zenith_ is a spaceship, not a damn surfboard. The only major piece of equipment we couldn't repair was the center drive port."

"What happened?"

"The drive shaft is bent. It's embedded in the solid graphite of the radiation shield, however, so we can't get at it to make repairs. It won't support sustained drive thrust without generating turbulence in the plasma flow, so we'll just have to shut it down until we can get the ship into dry dock."

"Will it compromise the function of the drive?"

"No. We built in three drive ports, so there's redundancy. The top speed will be reduced somewhat, which might make Atkins unhappy, but it will still have plenty of legs."

Trevor seemed lost in thought. "Are the rear baffles on the central shaft tied into the same controls as the baffles on the port and starboard tubes?"

"Yes, but that was only for programming convenience. The actual mechanism of the baffles is independently powered. Now that we've shut down the center shaft, we'll have to disconnect that system from the others so the drive doesn't vent down that tube. Why?"

Trevor smiled. "I have an idea."

* * *

"You want to do what?" asked Stella.

"I want to design a program that retasks the central drive shaft controls so they operate independently of the main drive. We can use it for emergency venting, if necessary, without having to flood radiation beyond the aft shielding."

"Trevor," she whispered. "Do you know what you're suggesting?"

"Sure. The center shaft was off-line from the drive anyway, due to damage when the ship hit the water. I'm just proposing that, for the time being, we use that bit of bad luck to our advantage."

Stella drew herself up straight. "Dr. Sutton," she said in a formal tone. "Are you aware how my mother died? Of how Edward's vision was damaged?"

"Yes," he answered, frowning. "He told me some time ago. It got me to thinking, and this solution will prevent a similar kind of disaster from ever happening aboard the _Zenith_. If we can show its utility, we can put the argument to the spacecraft regulatory design boards that a dedicated exhaust shunt should be included as standard on all vessels, specifically to avoid future incidents." He cocked his head. "I know we got off on the wrong foot, but honestly, I thought you'd be pleased."

"Pleased?" she said, slowly and distinctly. "Trevor, this _solution_ of yours would have saved my mother's life, and prevented my brother from growing up crippled in body and spirit. For that, I would gladly have borne your children."

Trevor blinked. "Uh, right. Well, I appreciate the thought, but that's not really necessary."

She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you for thinking of us. Where do we start?"

Trevor smiled, his face coloring as he laid out the programming parameters they'd employ to make the modifications.

Stella listened with half her mind, thinking back over the suffering she had watched Edward endure over the years, and the years of her father's descent into alcoholism and his painful recovery. _Check and mate, Trevor. You win._

She felt her heart lift as she let go of something dark and bitter that had fouled her spirit for years.

I forgive you.

Return to the Table of Contents
Chapter 27

Martin tapped the phone to accept the call. Jacob's face appeared above the desk. "Morning, Jake. Calling to wish me a Merry Christmas?"

"No," said Jacob, his voice grim. "It's about the Trinity inquest."

"What about it?"

"The inquest has been suspended pending the outcome of a separate criminal investigation that is now being launched."

"Criminal? That's ridiculous! What did they think we did?"

"Nothing," said Jacob. "It's not about you. Remember I said they brought in an expert on military ordinance? Well, he just issued his report, concluding that the object that took out flight 273's engines was not a random piece of space junk."

"Then what was it?"

"A long-range heat-seeking missile fired from orbit."

Martin dropped into his chair. "Someone shot them down? Deliberately?"

"Yes." Jacob took a deep breath. "Currently, no one here knows about the sabotage event at Starfire. However, if it gets out, and someone connects it to the original _Zenith_ flight crew being killed by this attack..."

"They'll shut us down," said Martin, nodding, "impound the ship, and interrogate everyone who might have a motive in seeing the project fail."

"Brother, they're going to be watching me pretty closely now, but I wanted to warn you while I still could. Whatever it is you have planned, you better do it now, because the Interscission Project's days are numbered."

"Got it," said Martin. "Thanks for letting me know. I hope you don't lose your job over this."

"You do what you have to. Take care of yourself, Marty."

"Goodbye, Jake." Martin hesitated. "I love you."

"Good luck, bro'. I meant what I said. Take care of yourself. If you get killed on this mission, I will personally kick your ass halfway around the afterlife as soon as I catch up to you." Jacob disconnected without another word.

Martin sat silently at his desk for a minute, ordering his thoughts. Then he dialed Henry Bradford.

The Starfire CEO's visage appeared above the phone. "What is it, Atkins?"

"I need you to greenlight a change in the launch timetable."

Henry frowned. "We're still officially a week away, but all of the prep work is completed. We can launch anytime, really, given twenty-four hours' notice. What launch date were you considering?"

Marty grinned. "Twenty-four hours."

* * *

Edward watched Martin pack the last of his gear into the drawers in his quarters. "You're very neat. I wouldn't have guessed that about you."

Martin shrugged. "Small living spaces don't go well with a cluttered lifestyle." He glanced around the cabin he'd been assigned. In addition to the generous number of drawers and the hanging closet built into one wall, there was a large desk with an integrated computer workstation, and a wide bed. "Though I have to admit these are nicer digs than on most ships."

Edward smiled. "You're the Captain. Of course you get the nicest cabin."

Martin hesitated. "It feels weird. I was on the fast track to having my own command before the Trinity disaster. If I go back now, with that black mark on my record, I might never be offered my own ship."

"So stay. See if Bradford would consider keeping you on."

Martin shook his head. "I won't beg. If Starfire wants me, they know where to find me." He looked around his quarters one last time. "Well, that's that. Everything's set for launch day."

"Are you going to stay here tonight?"

Martin stretched. "Nah. I'll take one last night in a real bed."

Edward tapped his wristcomp to check the time. "It's late. I'm going to head back."

"I'll come with you."

Edward tried to stop his eyebrows from shooting up. He nodded. "I could use the company."

They walked back to the executive dormitory side by side, in companionable silence. When they reached Edward's quarters, the engineer opened the door. "Care to come in and talk for a bit?"

"Sure." Martin followed him inside.

Edward poured them both a glass of white wine from the bottle left over from dinner, and then joined Martin on the couch.

Martin stared into the depths of the cool yellow liquid.

"Penny for your thoughts."

After a sip of the wine, Martin set the glass down on the coffee table. "Honestly, I'm flipping through my repertoire, trying to find the best line for this occasion."

Edward frowned. "What do you mean, a 'line'?"

"I had kind of decided on the 'Sailor's Last Night in Port' scenario, but I thought I might come across as too desperate." Martin gave him a sheepish grin.

Edward felt his heartbeat accelerate. He put his glass down before it could slip from his fingers. "Why are you feeling desperate?"

Martin reached out and entwined his fingers with Edward's. "Because I have a terrible hunch that when I step on that ship tomorrow, I won't see you again."

With his free hand, Edward reached up to stroke Martin's cheek. "Marty, you're going to make it."

His words were almost drowned out by Martin's short bark of laughter. "Oh, I plan to make it, all right. But are you planning to be here when I come back?"

Edward was silent.

"Is that a 'no', or can you just not say?"

"Marty, I can honestly say I've accomplished everything at Starfire that I came here to do." He took a deep breath. "But I'll wait for you, if you ask me to."

"Then I'm asking."

Edward gazed at him sadly, and then nodded.

"Do you trust me?" asked Martin, his voice lowered.

Edward suppressed a frown. "Sure."

Martin reached up and gently lifted the glasses from Edward's face before placing them down on the coffee table. "You're beautiful."

Edward reached out hesitantly, finding Martin's face with his left hand. He leaned forward. "Can I steal a kiss?" he whispered.

"You can have whatever you want," Martin murmured. "What would you like?"

Edward kissed his cheek. "Everything."

Return to the Table of Contents
Chapter 28

Martin stared out the viewscreen at the curve of the Earth beneath them, remembering the last time he had seen this view from space. _The day of the Trinity Spacelines disaster._

He looked right, sensing Charles was watching him. "Drive status?"

"Foldspace drive powered and ready to jump at your command," answered the engineer.

Martin nodded. Turning back to his board, he toggled a shipwide announcement. "All hands, this is the Captain. I'm sure we all have our reasons for being here, and I wish I had the words to capture each of those motivations in a way that would inspire us all to greatness." He looked back at Charles and smiled.

Charles lifted his thumb in salute.

"All I have to offer today is this: for millennia, humankind has looked up at the stars and wondered, 'What's out there?' Today, I say to each you, 'Let's find out.' And may the wind be at our backs."

Martin tapped his console, and the view of the Earth slipped away as he rotated the ship to face the stars. Finally, he hit one final sequence and a countdown clock appeared on the viewscreen. "The clock is ticking. Ninety seconds to jump."

Charles looked back at his console. "Graviton generators online. Charging."

The Communications Officer frowned. "Captain, I am receiving a priority communication from planetary traffic control. They are ordering us to return to Janus Station for inspection."

Martin grinned, and then glanced at the clock. "Tell them I'm a little busy right now, but I'll call them back in sixty seconds."

"Sir, they're being quite insistent. Apparently, they want to ask you some questions about an ongoing investigation."

"Forty-five seconds," said Charles, under his breath.

The Communications Officer looked up from his board. "Captain, I have an Admiral O'Dare on the line from Confederation Navy High Command."

Marty sighed. "Put him through."

An elderly gentleman in a Navy uniform appeared on the screen, sipping at a cup of tea. "Captain Atkins, I am giving you a direct order to power down your engines and surrender your vessel to the civilian authorities."

Martin inclined his head. "Admiral, I'm afraid I must decline. But it's good to see you again, sir."

The Admiral smiled. "I remember your first day of Advanced Flight training. Brilliant, I thought at the time, but a little brash." He set his teacup aside. "You'll never get away with this, Martin."

"I don't intend to, sir." He glanced at the clock. "But I have a job to do right now. We can speak later."

The Admiral nodded. "I look forward to it. Rest assured, however, that your career in the Confederation Navy will be at an end the moment you hang up this call."

Martin was silent for a moment, watching the numbers count down. "I understand, Admiral. You do what you have to, sir."

"That is regrettable, son. I hope you understand what you're doing." He took a deep breath. "There's not much scuttlebutt about your ship, but I've seen the summary analysis of the design specs Starfire submitted for approval, and I have my suspicions about its ultimate purpose. I take it you have a long journey ahead?"

"Yes, sir." Martin gave him a wistful smile. "Wish me luck."

The Admiral reclaimed his cup of tea and fixed Martin with a piercing stare. "Godspeed, Captain. If I'm right, then may you and your crew open a door that will never again be closed."

The screen went blank again before returning to the view of the stars.

"Ten seconds," said Martin.

"We're really going to do this, aren't we?" said Charles.

"Hard to believe, isn't it?"

"I never doubted it for a second." _Five._

Martin laughed. "Liar." _Four._

Charles smiled. "It sounded good, though." _Three._

"It did." _Two._

"God help us." _One._

Zero.

Return to the Table of Contents
Part IV: The Smoking Gun

By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.

\- William Shakespeare, Macbeth

Return to the Table of Contents
Chapter 29

An instant of brilliant light and spine-twisting nausea, and then it was over. The viewscreen revealed an empty starfield ahead of them. No ships, no space stations, no communications satellites. They were alone, alone in a way entirely foreign to a modern astronaut.

"I think I'm going to puke," Charles said in a strained voice.

"Right back at you, Chuck." Martin tried to control his shallow breathing. "Funny how the briefing never mentioned scrambling your inner ears."

" _You may experience some mild discomfort_ , my ass," answered Charles.

Martin glanced around the Bridge. "Everyone still on their feet?"

A few of the duty officers gave him shout-outs, but everyone was looking a little green.

Martin shook his head, trying to clear it. "Fine. Let's get to work. Astrogation! Get me a starfix, pronto."

"Aye, sir. Starfix in progress."

"Operations, deploy the sensor arrays. Let's see what's out here."

"Sensor grid is live, Captain. Feeding the results to your workstation, now."

Martin watched as the active sensor pulses began mapping out local space. _Interesting. We seem to be in the center of an asteroid field. Mostly small rocks, none more than two meters in greatest dimension, but nothing moving fast enough to pose a real threat. It might require some delicate handling to get clear without bouncing a few off our armor, though._

It didn't look like there was more than five hundred meters of open space anywhere in the debris field.

That can't be right.

He punched up a three-dimensional model of the asteroid field on the main screen. "Chuck, do you see what I see?"

Charles looked at the spatial map. "Looks like an asteroid field." He stopped. "Wait a minute..."

"Starfix completed, Captain! Alpha Centauri, one AU out, within the plane of the ecliptic." The Astrogation Officer grinned. "Perfect shot."

The Bridge officers let out a ragged cheer.

"Pipe down!" yelled Charles. "Something isn't right here."

Martin spoke into the shocked silence. "It's too regular, isn't it?"

Charles nodded, his forehead creased in suspicion. "Perfectly uniform in size and located at fixed intervals." He looked worried. "Whatever it is, it's not an asteroid field."

Marty nodded. "Operations, give me a real-time feed on the position of the objects, and establish a dynamic map of their trajectories. We might need to get closer to one of them to figure out what we're dealing with."

The Operations duty officer punched keys on his board, eyes wide. "Real-time feed on-screen, sir."

"It looks the same as it did before."

"Yes, sir. As best as I can tell, within the detection limits of my instruments, the field is entirely stationary."

Martin whistled. "Do you get the feeling we're not alone out here?"

"They have to be artificially placed, and their locations continuously maintained," said Charles. "Nothing in nature is stationary for long. It just doesn't happen."

The Operations console beeped. The duty officer typed a few keystrokes, and read the message. "Movement! I have movement from one of the objects. Wait... make that two. No, three."

"Show me!" barked Martin.

Three of the points on the spatial map turned green.

"Movement appears to be accelerating," the duty officer said, licking his lips. "Additional movement detected. Six objects now in motion."

"Give me a Doppler read-out of their trajectories and project their courses in relation to our position." Martin felt his heartbeat accelerate as all six of the colored dots displayed a blue shift telltale, which meant that while they were all moving in different directions relative to each other, they were all moving in the same direction relative to the ship.

"Courses plotted," said the Operations Officer, his voice dropping to a whisper. In the middle of the map, a snowflake appeared; six trajectories, all converging on a common destination at the very center of the map.

The _Zenith_.

"Something tells me we're not going to want to be around when they get here," said Charles, his voice heavy with dread.

"Agreed." Martin started punching icons on his navigation matrix. The _Zenith_ began to accelerate slowly, heading for one of the gaps in the satellite array, which opened up when the six nearest objects moved out of position.

"Objects are changing course to intercept!" yelled the Duty Officer.

Marty ditched subtlety. He punched up the main drive, forcing them all back into their seats from the acceleration.

"Six more of them in motion, Captain," said the Operations Officer, apparently controlling his fear as he focused on his work. "All twelve accelerating in pursuit."

Martin cursed under his breath as he recomputed his course on the fly, integrating the positions of the new satellites—at least, what he thought were satellites.

No other explanation makes sense. Whatever we've landed in the middle of, it's obviously been designed for a purpose. A purpose I have no intention of finding out.

"Operations, give me a continuous feed from your instruments, and then punch up the long range sensors and try to map out the limits of the satellite field. Plot me the nearest edge, so I can take us out of here."

"Aye, sir."

Martin continued to weave towards the widest open spaces, trying to stay ahead of the devices. Suddenly, every point on the map turned green, each with a blue shift tag.

"Oh, shit," said Charles.

"They're swarming!" yelled the duty officer. "I've got at least thirty of them on our tail, and another dozen or so moving to cut us off."

"How far to the edge?" shouted Martin.

"Got it! Thirty by seventy-two degrees, range twenty kilometers."

Martin plotted a new course, noticing an opening between three of the satellites in the right direction, but it was closing fast. He punched the _Zenith_ up to maximum velocity, watching the movement of the data points with razor-sharp focus.

"They're too fast." Charles watched the map with one eye while he tried to feed Martin more power from the engines. "We aren't going to make it."

"We can't avoid all of them," Martin said, his voice tight. "But we might be able to squeak past with no more than a near miss on one or two. It's our best shot. Try to feed more power to thermal and navigation shields. There's no telling what will happen when we get close to one of these things."

"On it."

Martin blazed past the trio of satellites, trying to give two of them a wide berth by darting closer to the third.

Suddenly, the viewscreen turned pure white. The _Zenith_ was slammed off course, spinning end over end. Martin's eardrums screamed from a sudden burst of air pressure as the hull buckled somewhere in the ship. Then his senses reeled as the artificial gravity failed. Seventeen years of training took over. He automatically read the parameters of their spin off his instruments and punched in a combination of attitude bursts to counteract it. "What the hell was that?"

"Thermonuclear detonation," answered the Security Officer. "Twenty kiloton yield."

Martin pulled himself together and saw a gap where the three satellites had been obliterated by the explosion. He punched the drive to maximum, smoothly peeling out of their crazed spin and making for the edge of what he now knew to be a minefield. "XO! How bad is it?"

Charles recovered his wits and started reviewing damage reports. "Explosive decompression, decks ten through fourteen, sections nine through twenty-six: Cargo Bay Two, Hydroponics, Propulsion, and Main Engineering," he said, his voice lacking any emotion. "Emergency bulkheads have deployed, atmospheric pressure is stable."

"Casualties?" asked Martin, as he typed in another course correction around the next cluster of mines.

"No emergency transponders active within the affected areas."

Which means it was over too quickly for anyone to make it into their suits.

He clenched his teeth as he realized Charles had basically lost his entire team, everyone he had been working with for the last two months. "I'm sorry."

"We can mourn later, if we survive," said Charles. "Can you get us out of here, Captain?"

Martin silently programmed another course change. "Security! What's our armament status?"

"Port-side weapon systems offline. Starboard fixed defense system is still active, but pulse cannon emplacements have lost targeting sensors. Automated repairs in progress."

"So we've got forward rail guns but no broadside firepower yet?"

"Yes, sir."

"Okay, here's the plan." Marty punched up the remaining three clusters of mines between them and open space. "I want to fire everything you've got at cluster #1, while I fly between clusters #2 and #3. Hopefully, we'll be able to trigger a detonation in the first cluster while the other two clusters move to intercept us. That should give us a big enough hole in the grid to reverse course and punch through into open space. Got it?"

"Aye, sir. Ready to fire on your order."

"Give me ten seconds to line up on the first cluster, then let loose."

Charles snorted. "If we make it home, remind me to buy Bradford a nice bottle of something old and expensive for investing in a military construction license."

"Just be glad he sprung for heavy armor, or we'd all be chewing vacuum right now." Martin made the final adjustments to his course. "Fire at will!"

The Security Officer immediately launched a preprogrammed two-dimensional array of one-kilogram aluminum slugs, accelerated by linear magnetic induction to nearly a third of the speed of light. "Projectiles away!"

Martin did a hard sixty-degree turn and accelerated between the other two mine clusters that swarmed toward them. He switched to the main viewscreen to track the first cluster.

If this doesn't work, we're dead.

He watched the mines stream toward them on either side.

"Ten seconds to intercept," said the Operations Officer.

The view of the stars on the screen was abruptly obscured by an expanding sphere of white-hot plasma. Martin immediately spun the ship along its long axis and launched them toward the center of the fireball at maximum acceleration. "Shields!"

"Thermal shields at maximum," said Charles. "But I hope the Medbay is well stocked with radiation pills."

"One problem at a time," muttered Martin. The plasma wave from the thermonuclear detonation grew in size as they rushed toward it.

The _Zenith_ shuddered as it passed through blast front, alarms screaming the length of the ship. "Thermal overload. Shield failure in fifteen seconds," said Charles, impassively.

The viewscreen showed nothing but white fire for second after agonizing second. Charles murmured the tenets of his faith under his breath.

Martin sweated in his chair, waiting to see if they would punch through before their shields failed. _If I believed in God, I'd say a prayer too at this point, but if He's up there, He'd probably just laugh to hear from me._

He took a deep breath. _Fuck it._

Lord, I don't know how this works, but if you have a moment in your schedule, please help me bring these people home safely. And if you don't have time, then, well... don't make Edward wait too long for me if I'm not going to make it back to him.

And then they were through, empty space opening up before them, dominated by the distant disk of an alien sun.

Amen.

Return to the Table of Contents
Chapter 30

Martin bit into his ration bar and grimaced in disgust. "I hated these in basic training, and I still hate them."

"Stop whining," said Charles. "Just be happy we had an emergency supply in Cargo Bay Three, or we'd be even worse off than we already are."

Martin nodded, acknowledging the grim reality of their situation. Their manufacturing facilities were intact, so they'd been able to make improvised repairs to the hull, section by section, and repressurize the underlying compartments, starting with Hydroponics. Unfortunately, the entire complement of plant life they'd been carrying had been frozen and desiccated by exposure to vacuum. Their supply of seed stock had also been lost with the destruction of Cargo Bay Two, which left them with critical shortages of both food and oxygen. For the moment, the atmosphere in the ship was still breathable, thanks to the extra carbon dioxide scrubber capacity built into the ship for the Azimuth mission, but they had a week at most before the ship could no longer sustain life. Main Engineering had shown more promising salvage, once they finished the macabre task of removing the bodies. It was fully functional, although heavily irradiated. Charles was confident he would be able to maintain ship's services by himself, working in a radiation suit, which was fortunate given that they had no alternatives.

And then there was Propulsion, which housed the conventional fusion drive and the graviton generators that powered both the artificial gravity and the foldspace manipulator. They had finished repairing the hull in that section this morning, and they would be ready to crack the seal on the emergency bulkheads as soon as repressurization was complete.

Martin looked over the list of casualties on his tablet, and picked up writing letters of condolence where he had left off. At this rate, he'd be done in a day or two. _Then I'll have to start on the rest of the crew, assuming they ever find us._

The fact that artificial gravity could not be restored from the Main Engineering control stations was an ominous sign. If the graviton generators or the foldspace drive had sustained significant damage, the _Zenith_ would be their coffin—a ghost ship lost forever among the stars. Everyone on board was aware of that, but they took pains never to talk about it.

Speak of the Devil, and he appears.

* * *

Charles stepped into the makeshift airlock they'd installed around the doors to the Propulsion compartment, and rechecked the seals on his rad suit. The nuclear blast had left the other salvaged compartments heavily contaminated with radiation, and Propulsion was probably going to be no different. Satisfied that he was adequately protected, he cycled the airlock to seal himself inside and then entered his security code to unlock the emergency bulkhead.

The heavy blast door slid silently out of the way, leaving only darkness beyond. Charles powered up the flashlight taped to his radiation counter, and stepped inside. The scorched deck plating clicked under his magnetic boots as he made his way silently between the burned-out corpses of his former crewmates. Many had become entangled in the machinery, and thereby were not lost to the void when the compartment decompressed. He waved his light around, taking stock. The gaping tear in the port wall was patched with the titanium alloy panels they had also used to close the rent in the primary and secondary hulls. Next to that wall, the shielded bulk of the foldspace manipulator towered above him. He made his way to the control station at the base and reinitialized the system. After a brief pause, the test pattern cleared from the screens, and the control matrix was displayed. Charles immediately ran a full diagnostic routine, trying not to hold his breath as the system went through its internal checklist. After a minute or two, the report came back.

No faults detected.

Thank God.

Moving deeper into the center of the compartment, he ran a diagnostic on the conventional fusion drive, just to confirm the readings he had collected from the Main Engineering control station. _No faults detected._

Finally, he walked around the fusion drive core to the starboard section of the compartment, where he shone his light on the graviton generator. He stopped dead, and felt his heart skip. He toggled his microphone. "Marty, we have a serious problem."

"How bad is it?" Martin responded immediately.

"I can't tell the full extent from here, but the graviton generator has sustained major damage. It appears that shrapnel pierced the casing and embedded itself into the reaction chamber itself."

"It is something we might be able to repair? Because if not, we're dead."

"Impossible to say without going closer. But that might be a piece of cake next to the other problem."

Martin apparently heard the change in his voice, even through the distortion of his suit mike. "What's going on, Chuck?"

"Shrapnel might not have been the best word to describe what I'm seeing. It's more like we picked up a passenger." He patched his suit camera into the data feed. The lens panned over a dented but largely intact metal sphere, just under two meters in diameter, with a reaction baffle at one end and several attitude thrusters spaced at equidistant points around its circumference.

"What the hell is that?"

"If I had to guess, I'd say it's one of the mines."

Return to the Table of Contents
Chapter 31

Marty looked around the conference table at what remained of his senior staff. "Okay, to recap. One, we have a damaged graviton generator, which means we are stranded here until we can make repairs, or we suffocate, whichever comes first. Two, we have a derelict hostile spacecraft on board, most likely of extraterrestrial design, which contains an unexploded thermonuclear warhead. Three, we have one, and only one, engineer left in the crew who has even a snowball's chance in Hell of either repairing the generator or disarming the warhead. Four, no matter what action we take, the _Zenith_ is not capable of supporting life in her present condition for more than ten days, given our present rate of resource consumption." He shrugged. "As I see it, our options are limited. Either we disarm the bomb and repair the graviton generator, or we accept that we're all going to die here, and we just give up."

"Or we find a habitable planet in less than a week and camp out until we're rescued," said Charles, with a completely straight face.

Martin rolled his eyes, "Thank you for that clarification, Chuck."

"That's not entirely impossible, actually," said Dr. Sophia Wu, head of the Astrogation department. "We're set up to do the necessary telescopic survey to find planets in the habitable zone as part of the Azimuth mission, but it would take a minimum of six months for a complete survey. The odds of finding one in under a week, and having it be habitable, would be a lot less than a million to one."

"Not to mention that we have evidence of intelligent life here," said Lieutenant Thomas Knox, Chief of Security. "Even if we found a habitable planet, there's no guarantee it wouldn't _already_ be inhabited, not to mention defended."

"And I'm not looking forward to playing tag with any more minefields," Martin added. "So, we need to try to disarm the bomb first of all. But we're dealing with unknown tech here, and there's no telling whether that will be possible. We need Chuck here to repair the graviton generator or disarming the bomb itself is moot."

"I can't be in two places at once, Marty," said Charles. "And if I screw up with the bomb and blow myself to Hell, the rest of you will die out here, even if you survive the explosion."

"I agree," said Marty. "Which is why we're going to get the bomb off the ship and then try to disarm it from a safe distance."

"Why bother?" Charles frowned. "I mean, if we can get it into a shuttle without blowing ourselves up, why not just send it into the void and forget about it? Why try to disarm it?"

"Because I want to know who the hell built that fucking minefield, so I can look them up someday and kick their asses," answered Martin, with quiet intensity. "This mine we've picked up is the only evidence that can point us toward them, and I'm not letting them get off easy."

Charles sighed. "Martin, I realize this is an emotional subject, but—"

"They killed thirty-seven members of my crew!" yelled Martin. "Someone has to pay for that."

Charles didn't raise his voice in reply. "Captain, you can't afford to let that sway your judgment. They knew the risks in coming here. Your primary duty is to the ship and its crew. And by that, I mean those who are still alive and depending on you."

"I think the Captain's position is valid," Thomas said into the brittle silence. "We have been attacked. We need to collect as much information about the capabilities of our attackers as we can, or we will find ourselves at a disadvantage if it ever comes down to direct conflict." He took a deep breath. "I volunteer to fly the bomb out of range of the ship while the XO tries to disarm it remotely. It's the only way we can be sure his expertise is preserved in order to save the ship and the rest of the crew, if he can."

"It's a good plan, Lieutenant," Martin said. "But I can handle the bomb. I will not allow any more of my crew to take risks I wouldn't take myself."

Dr. Wu cleared her throat. "With respect, Captain, you also cannot be risked. If we encounter another minefield, or some other fixed defense system, there is no one else on board with the piloting expertise to give us any chance of escape."

Martin stared at her, fuming. "Fine. Lieutenant Knox will fly the shuttle while Commander Davenport attempts to deactivate the device via telepresence."

Charles sighed. "That's assuming we can get it out of the engine compartment without it going off."

"We'll just have to take our chances." Martin stood from the table. "Dismissed."

* * *

Charles heard a light knock at his door, and he slipped a piece of paper into the book to mark his place. He got to his feet and opened the door.

Martin stood in the hallway. "Can I come in?"

Charles nodded and stood aside as Marty stepped into the cabin and sat down at the desk.

"What can I do for you, Marty?" He sat on the bed.

"I want to apologize. You were right in what you said earlier. My responsibility is to the ship and its crew, just like when I told Captain Drake to break off the rescue attempt during the Trinity disaster."

"I think I should apologize as well," answered Charles. "I discounted your argument for picking up whatever intelligence we could about whoever built the minefield, because I thought you were doing it for the wrong reasons."

"It was never about revenge, Chuck. At least, not entirely."

"I believe you. Thomas will be taking quite a risk, whether I can walk him through it or not."

"The risk is justified. We have to know what we're dealing with."

"I agree. That was the entire point of this mission in the first place, to find out what's out here. For us to scurry home with our tails between our legs with nothing to show for it but a list of dead crewmen... that would be the very essence of failure."

Martin sighed. "The problem with exploring is that sometimes you get lost. People died on this mission. I can't let that be for nothing."

Charles nodded. "I understand. You were right; we'll have to take our chances." He leaned back and rolled fully onto the bed. "Thanks for dropping by." He picked up his book and flipped to the page he had marked.

Martin stared at him. "Where did you get that?"

Charles glanced up again to find Martin's gaze fixed upon the green leather book in his hand. He shrugged. "Bought it at an antique store about a week ago."

Martin held out a hand. "Can I see it?"

He marked the page again before handing over the book..

Martin flipped to the title page. " _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland._ Not your usual taste in books, is it?"

"Trevor mentioned that Jen has a fondness for antiques, so I started browsing the local vintage shops. It's part of a two-volume set." He grinned. "I gave the other one to Jennifer and asked her to hold on to it for me, so I would have an incentive to come back just to find out how the story ended."

Martin chuckled. "And I thought _I_ had a quirky sense of humor." He flipped a few pages. "It's weird. I haven't seen a book on paper for years, and then I come across two in as many months." He studied one of the colorful illustrations. "The other one wasn't in quite as good shape as this, though. It was older and more faded." He handed the book back to Charles. "You're really serious about her, aren't you? Even though you've only been dating for a month."

"Yeah. I feel like I can talk to her about anything. It's like we're totally in synch, even if we haven't known each other long. I've only felt this way once before." He lifted his gaze to meet Martin's. "And that was with you."

Martin smiled sadly. "You know I love you, right, Chuck?"

"I do know." Charles hesitated. "Sometimes I regret turning you down."

"Only sometimes?" asked Martin with mock outrage.

"But then I think of her, and I wonder if I would ever have bothered getting to know her if we'd been together all this time." He stared at Martin with perfect seriousness. "I would have missed out on something just as special, and I would never have known."

"Even though I wanted more, I have never once regretted our friendship," said Martin softly.

"Do you love Edward?"

Martin smiled at him. "Goodnight, Chuck."

"Fine, keep your secrets." Charles couldn't contain a grin. "But if I ever need a Best Man, shall I keep you on speed dial?"

"Charles, Charles, Charles." Martin shook his head. "What makes you think you'll need one before I do?"

"Wait, are you saying that..." Charles blinked, confused.

Martin shrugged. "I'm not saying anything. And besides, if I were going to ask him to marry me, I'd talk to _him_ about it first, not you. It would only be fair."

Charles stared at his friend, and then he frowned. "Are you pulling my leg?"

"Maybe a little." Martin laughed.

"Go on, get out of here." Charles snorted, as he shooed the Captain away. "Goodnight, Marty. We've got quite a day ahead of us tomorrow."

Return to the Table of Contents
Chapter 32

Marty stood back, out of the way, and watched them try to gently dislodge the mine from the graviton generator. Despite the anxiety of the moment, he maintained his breathing at a steady rate to avoid taxing the rebreather in his pressure suit. In the end, not knowing how the device was triggered, they had decided not to try moving it to the shuttle bay through the corridors of the ship. Instead, they bled the atmosphere from the compartment back into their reserves, and removed the makeshift repair they had constructed over the rent in the port outer bulkhead. Martin glanced out the gaping hole at the stars and at the diminutive short-range cargo shuttle that hovered about ten meters away. The rear cargo doors were open, and Lieutenant Knox waited in the doorway, ready to take possession of the mine once they removed it from the _Zenith_.

The mine was wedged between the generator and the starboard bulkhead, presumably thrown bodily into the ship at the forefront of the blast wave during the first detonation. It took another forty minutes of painstakingly peeling back the jagged edges of the damaged generator casing before they could maneuver it free.

Gently, they pushed the device through the compartment in free fall, and then through the opening in the outer wall to where Knox waited in the shuttle. Martin watched his Chief of Security wave hesitantly at all of them before sealing the cargo doors behind him. He wondered if he'd ever have the chance to get to know the man on a personal basis.

He hadn't ever interacted with Knox in any memorable way before they launched, and since their arrival at Alpha Centauri, there really hadn't been time for anything other than survival. The man seemed brave and dedicated—willing to shepherd a nuclear bomb to a safe distance from his crewmates.

Funny how we put things off, thinking there will always be more time... until there isn't.

A moment later, the shuttle's reaction motors lit and the small vessel moved briskly away from the ship. Knox called over the radio. "Captain, do you think ten klicks away will be adequate before I open her up?"

"Better make it twenty, Thomas." Martin hesitated. "Just in case it calls for reinforcements."

"Aye, sir. I'll keep an eye on the proximity sensors and lead them away from the ship if I see them coming."

Martin closed his eyes. "Remind me to recommend you for promotion if I ever see Henry Bradford's smug, smiling face again."

"I'd appreciate that, sir. I could use the step up in base pay." Thomas laughed, but his voice was strained. "Honestly, sir, it's what you said to the Admiral before we jumped. You do what you have to."

Martin took a deep breath and let it out. "Admiral Seamus O'Dare was my advisor at the Advanced Flight Academy. He's the closest thing to a father figure I've had since my parents died in the Janus Station bombing in 2154. That was his mantra. It was the first lesson he ever taught me."

Knox was silent. Martin watched the light from the shuttle's engines fade from sight.

"I'm sorry, sir. I'm sure it must have been hard to defy him like that."

"It was. But going to the stars was always a dream of his. He would think it was worth it, if he'd known what was at stake. I'm sure he'll forgive me eventually, at least on a personal level." Martin sighed. "On a professional level, however, I disobeyed a direct order from a superior officer, for all that I was on detached duty. If we get back home, a dishonorable discharge is the best I can hope for. I was acting in the capacity of my civilian rank when I refused to stand down, which might keep me out of a Court Martial, but it won't be pretty."

"Good luck, sir,"

"And to you, Lieutenant. You're going to need it."

"Yes, sir. It'll take me another couple of minutes to reach minimum safe distance. How is the XO doing with the graviton generator?"

"Hang on, I'll check." He switched frequencies. "XO, what's your status?"

"It looks like the reaction chamber is repairable, but the power supply got crushed. It will take some time to crack it open and see if the fuel rods are intact."

"What if they aren't?"

"Then Dr. Wu better hope we beat the odds looking for a place to land."

"Do you want to hold off on trying to defuse the mine until you know for sure?"

"Nah. It will probably take another hour to clear enough of the debris before I can get close enough to determine the status of the fuel rods. They don't need me for the heavy lifting until then. Meet me in Main Engineering, and I'll get suited up for telepresence."

"Be there in five." He switched back to the long-range frequency. "Thomas, graviton generator status is still up in the air. We're going to proceed with disarming the bomb, whenever you're ready."

"Aye, sir. I'll have the repair drone standing by."

Martin took one last look at the stars, the hole in the wall much smaller now as crewmen continued to replace the bulkhead plating. Then he headed back to the airlock to search for the answers that had brought them here.

* * *

Charles looked like a clockwork homunculus, the virtual reality telepresence gear strapped to his limbs over his radiation suit. They had struggled to find a way to get the VR headpiece on over his helmet, but eventually they had to bring him back out and put the headgear on under a helmet from a larger rad suit. They'd taped up the slack in the suit's arms and legs and strapped the VR equipment on over that. The results were decidedly inelegant, but it functioned well enough for Charles to remotely tap into the sensory systems of the repair drone in the shuttle and to exert control over its movements.

Martin watched him through the armored glass wall of the Chief Engineer's office on the upper level of Engineering deck. It was the only room within the compartment that wasn't radioactive. _Lucky your office has a door to the outside hallway, Chuck. I don't think that outfit would be a good look for me._

Finally, Charles gave him a thumbs-up sign as he initialized the telepresence uplink from the Robotics Station below. Martin activated his VR headset and linked into the data feed. Effectively, he was seeing exactly what Charles was seeing, although his observer headset had no control over the drone's movements.

After a moment of disorientation triggered by the unfamiliar perspective of the drone's widely spaced video cameras, he picked out Lieutenant Knox standing to one side of the hostile satellite, which was strapped securely to the deck plates. Charles took three ponderous steps closer so they could examine the device in more detail.

There were no exterior markings. The mine appeared to be powered by a reaction motor, similar to the one on the shuttle itself. However, Martin could attest to the dangerous speed of the device in flight, so it was obviously much more powerful. The attitude jets for steering were similar to the technology he was used to, but form followed function, so he wouldn't expect them to be all that unfamiliar in design, regardless of the race that had built it.

"The hull plating has seams but no rivets," said Knox.

"Could be molecularly annealed," said Charles' electronically synthesized voice. "Let me see if we can open the casing with a debonder." He lifted two of the drone's many arms and affixed a magnetic grapple to the center of the largest hull plate. Then he directed a beam of blue energy along the edges. When he had completed his circuit of the seam, he gave the plate a gentle tug. It came away from the device easily. Knox flinched, and Martin held his breath for a couple of seconds, but nothing else happened. Charles carefully handed the hull plate to Knox, who slipped it under a cargo restraint to keep it out of the way. The three of them crowded around the opening while Charles shone a floodlight into the interior of the device.

Whatever they were expecting, it seemed anticlimactic. The lower half of the sphere appeared to contain the guts of the engine, and the upper portion contained a dense mixture of black plastic circuit boards all interconnected by heavily shielded cables. "So far, this technology looks comparable to ours," commented Charles. "The design is unfamiliar, but it's not so far advanced that it's unrecognizable by our standards."

"Well, that's something," said Knox. "At least we don't have to worry about being entirely outclassed."

"We should have guessed," said Martin. "Whoever they are, they're still using nukes, which are inherently wasteful and toxic to maintain. Not the weapon of choice for a technologically advanced culture. If that first mine had been armed with a modern antimatter charge, we wouldn't be alive to have this conversation."

"And there's your warhead, gentlemen." Charles pointed one of the drone's arms at a silver cylinder in the center of the satellite.

Martin frowned. "It doesn't look like much."

"It's not," said Charles, with obvious disgust. "It's a fucking museum-piece. Classic turn-of-the-millennium design. Universally phased out and mothballed over a hundred years ago."

"Wait," said Knox. "You said the level of technology was comparable to our own. Why would they be using a weapon design similar to something so antiquated?"

"You don't understand, Lieutenant," said Charles, his voice shaking with anger. "It's not _similar_ in design to ours. It _is_ ours. This is twenty-first century military surplus." He flashed his light at the base of the cylinder. "Look."

Now that the beam was centered directly on it, Martin could make out the faint letters. _Property of the United States Army._ "Jesus! These things are supposed to be gathering dust in one of the decommissioned lunar stockpiles. How the hell did it get here?"

"With that." Charles shone his light at a piece of equipment in the lower hemisphere, which they hadn't examined closely yet.

Martin examined the compact device. Something about it seemed familiar somehow. _That piece there looks almost exactly like..._ "Oh, my God."

"Thought you didn't believe in God, Marty," replied Charles, his tone acerbic.

Knox stared at the inner workings of the satellite with a confused expression. "What is it?"

"It's a graviton generator," Martin answered, staring at the tiny reaction chamber that was almost an exact twin of the massive piece of equipment he'd been watching them repair all morning.

"In miniature," added Charles. "And _that_ , Lieutenant, is simply not possible at our current level of technology." He flashed the light around some more, coming to rest on another compact piece of equipment. "And neither is that."

This one, Martin recognized immediately. "A foldspace manipulator."

Knox looked stunned. "But... are you saying it's not of human origin after all?"

"No, it's human, all right," said Charles. "But the technology is decades ahead of anything I've ever seen."

"But how is that possible?" asked Knox. "Are you saying someone out there got their hands on the foldspace design, has secret technology advanced enough to have created that minefield, and is trying to kill us?"

"It would explain how that bit of sabotage during our dry run launch utilized computer technology we hadn't even theorized yet," said Charles, thoughtfully. "They probably stole the plans for the foldspace manipulator, improved on them, and then designed the mines to jump to our target coordinates and wait for us. That's probably why there were so many of them, because we're using first-generation technology; even we weren't sure where we were going to drop back into normal space."

"This is crazy," said Knox. "Who the hell could pull off something like that?"

Charles shrugged with two of his robotic arms. "No idea. Illuminati? Freemasons?" He laughed. "Somewhere out there, the Secret Masters of the World are laughing at us."

Martin stared at the foldspace manipulator outlined in the beam of Charles flashlight, as his senior officers continued to argue among themselves. "Charles," he said finally. "Look at the casing on the control chip for the foldspace manipulator."

Charles narrowed the flashlight's beam, making it significantly brighter and focusing the light on the area Martin had pointed out. "Hmm. There's more writing, and some kind of image, but I can't make it out. Can you see what it says?"

"No," Martin said softly. "But I think I recognize the image."

"What is it?" asked Knox.

Martin didn't answer. "Chuck, can you magnify the video feed?"

"Sure." Charles gasped as the tiny print expanded to fill the virtual screen and he was finally able to read the words printed on the device.

"Captain?" asked Knox. "What does it say?"

Martin did not respond. He just stared at the stylized design of a sunburst encircled by a five-pointed star.

Knox rapped his knuckles sharply on the casing of the repair drone. "Captain! XO! What does it say?"

"Manufactured 2205 by the Arclight Corporation," said Charles, in a low whisper. "A wholly-owned subsidiary of the Starfire Technology Group."

Return to the Table of Contents
Chapter 33

"Time travel."

Martin ignored Knox's comment, lost in thought.

"It makes sense," said Charles in a subdued tone. "The foldspace drive punches a hole between two points in space-time. We've known that from the beginning. It stands to reason that the points can be separated in time as well as space."

"So this shadowy conspiracy trying to kill us, it's really our own company attacking us from the future?"

"I don't think so," said Martin. "The foldspace manipulator came from Starfire, but Starfire is a legitimate military contractor. They have legal access to the specs and materials to manufacture modern weapons. It doesn't make sense that they would have to resort to antique military surplus if they wanted to build a bomb. It could be that these are components from multiple sources, which have been assembled by a third party. I'll bet they used the old nukes because they're not as well guarded as the active munitions depots. This warhead is probably stolen."

"That makes a lot of sense." Knox nodded slowly. "But why go to the trouble of building a minefield? Time travel is the ultimate assassin's weapon. You want to eliminate some guy? Just go back and shoot his parents before they meet, and he ceases ever to have existed."

"Not necessarily," said Charles. "There are many competing theories of how manipulating history would affect the present. No one has any idea which, if any, are correct, because time travel has always been an untestable theoretical possibility." The repair drone swiveled its head to look at Knox. "Take your example, for instance. If you kill a man's parents before they meet, then he is never born. He is erased from the new timeline that is created by that event. But, does the original timeline continue to exist, just no longer accessible from the new timeline? Or is there only one timeline, which incorporates every change to the present, each iteration overwritten by the next? And suppose someone from the second iteration comes back and shoots the first traveler before he can kill the original targets, so that the second iteration never comes into being. Would that restore the original timeline back to iteration one?"

"No," answered Martin. "It won't really be the original timeline, because there's two new elements present: the two time travelers. They don't belong in the present, so their presence changes history. Instead, you've created a third iteration of your timeline, which just happens to resemble the first."

"True. But one traveler is dead," said Charles. "He doesn't count anymore. And the second time traveler just needs to go home, and the present is restored. It raises an interesting issue, though. What happens to the time traveler when he goes back to his time? Will he remember his trip to the past, replacing the third iteration version of himself at the moment of his arrival? Or would his second iteration identity be replaced by his identity in the third iteration, so he effectively ceases to exist?"

"Maybe neither," said Martin. "Maybe he winds up with two sets of memories, one from each iteration."

"But which would be dominant, I wonder?" Charles said.

"Perhaps we should focus on the problem at hand?" suggested Lieutenant Knox, apparently trying to be delicate in speaking to his superior officers. "Specifically, disarming the warhead."

"Good point." Charles flashed his light inside the casing again, systematically cataloging the components he could identify. "A-ha!"

"What is it?" asked Martin.

"Looks like some variant of a standard dataport. With luck, it will be backwards compatible with the present-day configuration, and I'll be able to access the data architecture."

Charles extended a data probe, inserting it into the port. After a moment, he disconnected it again. "Odd."

"What?" asked Knox.

"It may look physically intact, but the electronics appear to be fried. I wonder how that happened?" He stared at the guts of the mine for a moment before extending another arm of the data robot, tipped with a variety of sensor equipment. Then he laughed.

"What did you find out?" asked Martin.

"The interior of the mine has been recently flooded with higher-than-lethal levels of hard radiation. I'm still getting some low-level secondary counts from the irradiated internal components. Apparently, whoever built this thing in the future was too cheap to invest in shielding against radiation damage and electromagnetic pulse effects."

"Well, shit," said Knox. "If we'd known that back at the minefield, we could have just waited for the mines to catch up to us and then vented drive plasma at them through that fancy new center exhaust port."

"Well, now we know," said Martin. "Still, they were closing from all sides. Even if we vented from aft, port, and starboard exhaust tubes at once, we'd still have been creamed by the ones attacking from the front."

"Not if we fired the forward batteries and took them out from a distance."

Martin considered that. "True. Good thinking. Noted for future reference, in case we run into them again."

"You'd still have irradiated half the ship and be dead in the water," said Charles. "Better label that plan a last resort."

A high-pitched tone cut through the conversation, followed by the voice of Dr. Wu. "Sorry to disturb you, Commander, but we've cleared the debris from the graviton generator, if you'd like to make your inspection."

"I'm on my way," answered Charles. "Guys, I'm going to shut down the VR uplink. Thomas, you can bring this monstrosity back to the ship. The proximity detonator is burned out, and it looks like they've removed the old kinetic detonator. It's harmless now."

"One more thing," said Martin. "Commander Davenport, Lieutenant Knox, I am giving you both a direct order not to reveal the origin of this device to other members of the crew, nor any of our suppositions about time travel."

"Aye, sir," said Knox.

"We can keep our mouths shut, Marty," answered Charles. "But why?"

"Because Thomas was right. However it really works, time travel is an assassin's weapon. So why build a minefield? Because no one in the crew is the target."

"It's the ship," said Knox, his voice hard. "The _Zenith_ is the target."

"Right," said Martin. "If we make it back, we can probably expect another attempt to destroy the ship while she's back in dry dock having the damage repaired. As long as we keep quiet about what we know, we'll have some time to prepare."

"Prepare how?" asked Charles. "There's no defense against time travel."

"Maybe not. But if we're right and they're coming to our time through foldspace wormholes, maybe we can block them somehow, or at least detect when one is opened."

"There's no way to armor space against being torn open from the other side," said Charles. "Not now, and probably not in the future, or they could have just locked us out of coming here."

"Unless the object wasn't to stop the mission, but rather to destroy the ship," answered Martin.

"Right. An early warning system, though," said Charles thoughtfully. "That might be possible. I'll need to study the foldspace mathematics in more depth. I'm not an expert."

"Dr. Wu is," said Knox.

Martin saw the view of the shuttle shift as Charles turned the head of the drone to face Knox. "What did you say?"

"Dr. Wu," said Knox. "She's head of Astrogation because she designed the original foldspace targeting algorithm, along with Dr. Bradford, during the Interscission Project. Dr. Bradford wanted to retain her expertise, so he hired her away from Parallel Dynamics Corporation."

"Typical," said Martin, but his ire at Henry's tactics was strictly _pro forma_ now. "All right. Charles, while you check out the graviton generator, I'll talk to Dr. Wu privately and tell her what we discovered. We'll see if the two of you working together can design a warning system, or better yet..." He trailed off as another thought occurred to him. When he spoke again, his voice was cold. "On second thought, before you two start working on a warning system, we'll need to have her do another starfix and see if she can calculate our current date from stellar drift."

"Shit," said Charles. "You're right. I didn't think of that."

"What?" asked Knox. "You think we landed in another time?"

"Not by much," said Charles, "or the original starfix on arrival wouldn't have been able to compute our position. But a small deviation, say less than a century either way, would have been within the margin of error for the computers to ignore in finding a starfield match."

"Oh my God," said Knox. "A century either way? Are you kidding me?"

"Dead serious, boyo."

"And doubled again on our return trip? How the hell are we supposed to get home?"

"Maybe we aren't supposed to," muttered Charles.

"Thank you, Commander Davenport. That's really fucking cheerful," said Martin. "But I'm not giving up on us yet. Are you?"

"No, sir!" said Knox, saluting.

"No, Captain," said Charles, the chagrin evident in his voice. "Forget I said anything."

"Good to know we're all on the same page, then," snapped Martin. He remembered his words from the night before. _It was never about revenge, Chuck. At least, not entirely._ He tried and failed to tamp down his frustration. "This is about survival, damn it! We're fighting for our lives, here. All of it comes back to that, whether we run out of air next week, or we disappear tomorrow when our timeline gets erased. Dead is _dead_. And like you said earlier, Commander, dead doesn't count."

Charles chuckled softly and toggled the VR channel to private. "Since when do you actually pay attention to what I say?"

Martin saw the telltale on the VR display indicating that the speakers on the repair drone were muted, so Lieutenant Knox couldn't hear their conversation. "Since the beginning, you idiot." Martin dropped his voice to a tight rasp. "I've hung on your every single word since the day we met."

"Marty, you know I didn't mean it like that." Charles paused. "What are you really pissed off about?"

Martin wanted to lie, to laugh his foul mood away and say it was nothing.

We don't have time for this.

Then he remembered his stray thought in the engine room while watching the crew deliver the bomb to the shuttle and Lieutenant Knox. _Funny how we put things off, thinking there will always be more time... until there isn't._

The image filled his mind as his memory betrayed him: the dreamy expression on Charles' face as he had spoken about his 'connection' with Jennifer Donovan. Now, the engineer was physically standing less than ten meters away, encased in his radiation suit and VR equipment, but just out of reach, as he always had been. Martin clenched his fists, thinking of their friendship: over three years of single-minded devotion, though thick and thin, good times, and hard times.

For the rest of what remained of Martin's life, he would pinpoint this exact instant as the moment he let Charles break his heart the second time, standing alone in the Chief Engineer's office on board his first command, as it drifted through space, crippled and so far from home, where no one would ever find it. The instant Martin gave up and let Charles Davenport go.

Jennifer, you'd better treat him right, because if he gets hurt because of you, I will fucking cut you to pieces with a laser saw.

A deep, bubbling laugh forced its way out of Martin's chest. "Charles," he said, "do you think there's an afterlife for people who never existed?"

Charles was briefly silent. "You don't believe in an afterlife."

"No, I don't," answered Martin, quietly. "So I will not let you die out here. Even if I do, even if I fail completely to protect you, at least _you_ believe you'll wind up somewhere better. But whoever these people are, whatever their reasons might be, we're in their way. Sooner or later, they'll take the kid gloves off. We'll be wiped out of history, and you won't even show up to the Pearly Gates to be counted." His knew his voice dripped hatred, and he could hear his heart thumping wildly in his chest. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "I won't let that happen, Charles. No matter what it takes, I will die before I let them kill you. And I will kill them all before I let them get their erasers on you. It doesn't matter who they are, or where, or when. Somehow, _I will find a way_." He suddenly realized he was shouting, and he clamped his teeth together with an audible clack.

Charles said nothing.

Martin waited for a response, blinking away the tears that had pooled in his VR goggles, the seconds ticking by in complete silence.

"Understood, Captain," said Charles. He toggled the speakers back on before Martin could say another word.

Martin closed his eyes and swallowed the painful lump in his throat. _First things first._ "All right," he said, suddenly bone tired. "Commander, see what you can do with the engines. Lieutenant, bring this piece of crap back to the ship and put it under guard until we can go over it more thoroughly. Maybe there's something else we can learn from it. Meanwhile, I'll talk to Dr. Wu and fill her in. Dismissed."

He shut down his link to the VR feed and stripped the goggles from his face, breathing heavily. Then he steeled his resolve and looked down at Charles.

The engineer was looking directly up at him, but his expression was hidden behind the VR headset inside the helmet of his radiation suit.

The two officers stared at each other, neither making any effort to leave or even to turn away. The frozen tableau held for almost a full minute, perfectly still, the walls echoing soundlessly with indescribable grief.

Then Martin became acutely aware that Charles could probably see the tears drying on his cheeks. Suddenly self-conscious, he wiped his eyes with his shirtsleeves and dried his face. When he looked up again, the Engineering compartment was empty. The only sign that Charles had been there was the emergency bulkhead, closed now that Charles had cycled open the airlock.

Martin tapped into the internal communications grid. For a moment, he debated who to call. Then he dialed up Astrogation. "Dr. Wu, please meet me in my quarters in ten minutes. I need to speak to you privately."

"Certainly, Captain. I'll be there momentarily."

Martin signed off and looked back down at the empty deck below him. Then he spun on his feet, flinging the VR headset away from him so that it crashed into the wall hard enough to crack the lenses. He stomped to the door, punched his code into the keypad to unlock it, and waited as the door slid aside.

Martin tensed, half expecting Charles to be standing there. But the corridor before him was empty. He sighed, wondering whether he was actually disappointed or relieved.

Now you've really put your foot in it.

Squaring his shoulders, he walked briskly down the hall toward his cabin.

Return to the Table of Contents
Chapter 34

Dr. Wu stared at Martin as soon as he finished speaking, her expression unreadable. Leaping off the bed and onto her feet, she let out a whoop of delight. "I was right!" she screamed. "I was right, and he was wrong!" She cackled with glee.

"Dr. Wu..." Martin was unsure what she was talking about.

"Please, Captain, call me Sophia." She grinned at him. "After all, you've just given me the most important news of my life!" She started pacing around Martin's quarters—quite a feat in the limited space. "Bastard! I can't wait to rub his face in this," she muttered to herself. "No, wait. First, I should dust off my mantelpiece for the Nobel! Then I'll rub his face in it. Even better."

"Dr. Wu, I'm a little in the dark here," said Martin. "What are you talking about?"

"I told you, Captain," she said. "Call me Sophia." She stood still in the center of the room and raised her chin arrogantly. "Allow me to explain."

Martin sat back in his desk chair and dropped his hands into his lap. _Great._

"By all means. Take your time." He surreptitiously turned on the audio recorder on his wristcomp and groaned inwardly. _Academics._

After his first year working with Charles, Martin had learned by heart to recognize the basic signs of an impending lecture.

Hopefully, Chuck can explain it to me later in terms I can understand. Assuming that Chuck is still talking to me after my overprotective, crazy stalker speech.

"Time travel is just a side issue," she said. "It doesn't address the real problem."

"Really?" he asked. _Phase One: The Bait._

By now, he knew the first or second assertion would sound intuitively wrong. This was _always_ a trap, designed to leave the audience open to Phase Two, which he privately referred to as _The Guillotine_ : a pre-planned, devastating assault on the logical validity of some fact or observation the rest of the world regarded as perfectly obvious, in order to establish the speaker's intellectual superiority. "Then what is the real threat?"

She blinked, taken aback, but recovered and launched into her explanation.

Phase Three: The Wind-up.

"We have always known the interscission technology could bridge any two points in four-space. The only question was a matter of control." She glanced at him expectantly.

_Oh, she's one of those. Audience participation, it is then._ Martin affected a concerned expression. "How so?"

She smiled, apparently delighted that he was keeping up. "We identified minor temporal shifts during early experiments, on the order of microseconds to several milliseconds, so we always knew the potential was there, but we had no idea how to access that capability and direct it to our advantage. As we collected more data, we realized the spatial topology of the interscission event itself was dimensionally complex, occurring in both real-space and imaginary-space. The real-space component, occurring in just three dimensions, was very difficult to model mathematically with any consistency. The imaginary-space component of the event appeared impossible to grasp. Or so it appeared, until I finally tried a mathematical model based on eight physical dimensions."

"Eight dimensions?" asked Martin, in involuntary surprise. He cursed inwardly. _Shit._ _Phase Four: The Curveball. And I fell for it._

She glared at him. "Correct. Quite beyond the ability of the average human mind to encompass unassisted." Her tone made it obvious whose mind she was referring to.

_No escape this time._ Interruptions at this point only tended to prolong the agony. _And God help me if I ask for clarification._ Smiling and nodding sometimes helped speed things along, but not always.

Not for the first time, Martin wished he could sleep with his eyes open. He settled in, resigned to riding out the rest of the monologue. "You were saying?"

She cleared her throat and returned to her subject. "In any case, it was clear that the processing power required to exactly compute the parameters of even a single jump would take a prohibitively long time, on the order of decades. It seemed the death knell of the project, until the project leader came up with a solution." Her voice dripped acid. "Dr. Bradford suggested an exact computation would be unnecessary if we could design a heuristic algorithm to generate a three-dimensional model of the real-space component of the target event. Then, we could massage the starting parameters until the data appeared to match and the higher-dimensional equations simulated a zero contribution, including the temporal component." She sneered.

"Essentially, he suggested we keep pounding one block into different holes, like an infant, until we found one it went through, regardless of whether it fit. Why else do you think my original targeting algorithm could only plot a course with 75% accuracy?" She faced Martin defiantly. "I objected to his approach, but in the end, I was overruled."

_Phase Five: Choosing Sides._ About the only thing he understood from her explanation was that Henry had figured out a way to make her work irrelevant, and she was obviously still bitter. The fact that Henry's solution apparently _worked_ , didn't seem to matter to her.

Either I argue that wasting decades to run exact calculations was the right choice, which she won't believe, or I say that she was wrong, which will just piss her off. Either way, I don't have the math to argue my case. Lose/lose, whatever I say, and she'll dismiss me as an ally.

Martin felt sweat trickle down his back.

She's obviously a scientific purist with an aversion to discipline and practicality. She's not Security, like Knox, or Military, like Charles, both used to hierarchies of authority. Even if she follows orders and builds a warning system, she won't keep quiet about the possibility of time travel, not if it compromises her chance at a major breakthrough, and then we're sunk. The enemy will find out that we know, and they'll take us out. I'm losing control of this situation.

Martin thought of Charles, and the impassioned offer of protection he'd made. _I should have sent you to talk to her, Chuck. Maybe you would have come up with something clever to say to talk her down._

Then, incongruously, he thought of Edward. _Something clever..._ He desperately dug back into his memory for a specific conversation. _Stella. What did she say about Henry? Something about protecting Edward..._

_Got it._ He gazed up at Sophia Wu and smiled. "Henry Bradford is quite a character, isn't he?"

She snorted. "That isn't the word I would use."

Martin got to his feet. "He's a messianic technocrat with a good business sense. He rebuilt Starfire from the ground up in his own image: the most advanced science, leashed to his personal vision of the future. He thinks he knows what's best for humanity, and he intends to get there first and charge admission. Anything and anyone who gets in his way will be pushed aside or eliminated. What's worse, he makes you believe you want to be part of it." He grinned. "And I hear that if you get a few drinks in him, he goes from dangerous to an absolute menace."

"I... I wouldn't know about the last." She seemed suddenly uncertain. "The rest of it sounds about right."

"The question is, what are we willing to do about it?"

She tilted her head and stared at him with narrowed eyes. "What do you suggest?"

"You can't really challenge his decision on how the targeting algorithm was designed until you have a viable alternative, can you? One that doesn't involve decades of computing time." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Suppose I were to tell you there was a way to boost the processing power of a standard computer chip by sixteen-fold."

She laughed. "Ridiculous! Why, even pushing a chip into gigabit processing is impossible without flooding your capacity with random garbage from quantum decoherence."

_I hope I get this right._ "But quantum decoherence can be effectively factored out of the equation, can't it? By modeling all the quantum states of a given atomic particle. The Interscission Project already developed the technology that made it possible." _Please don't ask me to explain what I'm talking about. Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease..._

Her eyes widened. "Oh my God," she whispered. "That would work." She sagged against the white-enameled steel of Martin's desk, seemingly overwhelmed by the possibilities.

"If we make it back, Henry Bradford will get credit for a successful test of an interstellar drive, and maybe terabit computer chips," added Martin. "But Henry shut down your work, didn't he, because the computations were impractical. Suppose you put your ideas through the new chips, and came up with the technology to travel through time..."

"I'd eclipse everything he'd ever accomplished." Her voice was flat as she gazed him, her face twisted with equal parts greed and suspicion. "What's the catch?"

Martin shrugged. "Well, first we have to get home. Then you need to keep your mouth shut about time travel until you can prove it works, or people will think you're just another crank."

"But we have proof!" she protested. "You said so yourself."

"Yes, we do." Martin paused delicately. "It doesn't say who is responsible for the technology, though. You can bet Henry's going to be all over this idea, as soon as he realizes it has proven potential."

She smiled slowly. "But if I start now, I'll have a head start—is that what you're saying?"

"Unless I tell Henry he's got competition."

"Well played, Captain." She gazed at him with new respect. "I wouldn't have expected a military man to stoop to emotional blackmail."

Martin shrugged. "I've been told it's quite an effective technique."

"What exactly do you want?"

"You said our foldspace manipulator has a design flaw that prevents it from jumping through time." _At least, I think that's what you said._ "I want you and Commander Davenport to examine the device we found and find out how it ticks differently. Then I want you to either find a way to block its effects, or build us an early warning system so we can detect when one of these time-jumps occurs."

She nodded slowly. "I take it you are expecting visitors."

"Something like that. I imagine the odds will go up if they know we're on to them."

"Very well." She pushed away from the desk to stand on her own again. "I'll get right on it."

"Lieutenant Knox has the device under guard, but he'll be expecting you. I'll tell Commander Davenport to meet you at the wreckage, so you can begin your examination."

As soon as she left, Martin locked the door and slumped against the wall, his back against the bulkhead until he was sitting on the floor.

_Damn. That was tougher than the Academy marathon. Lucky she's ambitious as hell, or that wouldn't have worked._ He sighed. _I should have sent Charles to talk to her. He, at least, would have spoken her language. That was a serious miscalculation. What the hell was I thinking?_

He tapped a few controls on his wristcomp and emailed the voice recording of their conversation to Charles. Hesitating for just a moment, his finger on the button for direct voice communication, he then dialed up his First Officer. "XO, what's your status?"

"Just finishing up the inspection of the graviton generator, Captain," Charles said, his voice stiff. "I'll forward you a text report on the damage as soon as I'm done here, and then I'll drop by and brief you in person."

"Can you hit the highlights now?"

Charles hesitated. "I'd rather not, sir."

_That sounded ominous._ Martin's wristcomp chirped twice to let him know he had a private message waiting. Frowning, he punched it up on the screen. A simple, two-word message in their private shorthand. _Open Channel._

"Understood, Commander. Did Thomas check back in?"

"Yes, sir. He locked up our passenger in Cargo Deck Two, since it was mostly vacant. We can disassemble it there and bring the components to the science labs for analysis."

Vacant except for the dead bodies, that is.

They hadn't bothered to repressurize the empty cargo bay after patching the hull breach, which made it ideal for a morgue.

_Fewer prying eyes, as well._ "Fine. I'll be waiting for your report on the generator."

"Aye, Captain."

Martin sat quietly on the floor, waiting for the call he knew was coming.

Three minutes later, his wristcomp beeped twice. He answered immediately. "How bad is it?"

"Are you alone?" asked Charles.

"Yes."

"Five of the ten fuel rods are shattered."

Martin closed his eyes and his heart sank. "Can you repair them?"

"No."

"Can the generator operate with that much loss of power?"

"Yes, it can, just barely, but..."

"But what?"

"But operating the generator uses less power, once it gets going, than it takes to start the damn thing up in the first place. For that, I need at least seven intact rods."

Martin was silent, absorbing the news. Letting his head droop until his chin touched his chest. _So that's it then. Over and out._ "I'm sorry I got you into this, Chuck," he muttered.

"What?"

"I should never have talked you into joining the project."

"I made my own choices. But we're not dead yet. There's still a chance."

Martin snapped his head up. "But you just said..."

"I said I needed the power equivalent of seven intact rods to start the generator."

"And you only have five. I got that part."

"Ours isn't the only graviton generator out here, Marty."

Martin got slowly to his feet. "The mines."

"I won't know, until I take this one apart, how compatible it is with our technology, but even if it's using an alternate fuel source, I might be able to repair the mini-generator itself and use it to give ours a boost."

"You said it was fried."

"I said the computer system and the detonator were fried. The graviton generator casing will have had its own internal shielding, so it should still be operational."

"Our passenger can't mass more than two or three hundred kilos. You really think its generator will be strong enough to give us the extra power we need to float a ship the size of the _Zenith_?"

"No, I don't, actually."

"Then how does it help us?"

"Assuming I can make it work, I'll probably need you to hunt down maybe another dozen more."

"Another dozen mines?"

"Yes."

"Armed with nuclear warheads and proximity detonators?"

"That's the plan."

"Hell of a plan."

"Think you can pull it off, Marty?"

Martin grinned widely. "Tally ho."

Return to the Table of Contents
Chapter 35

Martin stared at the viewscreen and its unfamiliar constellations. "Astrogation, show me our position relative to the original configuration of the minefield."

"Aye, Captain." Dr. Wu typed commands into her console. "On screen now."

Martin studied the diagram of the minefield, the three-dimensional lattice of the minefield forming a great crystalline sphere that spanned hundreds of kilometers. "Can you superimpose the map of our probable landing sites, as well as our actual point of arrival?"

"That data should still be available from the initial jump calculations." She found what she was looking for in a few moments and overlaid a sphere of orange light on the minefield.

The orange sphere was located in the outer third of the minefield, and a crimson dot showed the location of their emergence into normal space, quite close to the periphery.

Martin frowned. _We were almost at the edge; that's the only reason we survived. They've been a step ahead of us the entire time. Why didn't they surround us more completely?_

A possibility occurred to him—one that he had been desperately trying to avoid thinking about ever since they'd opened the casing of the derelict mine.

No. It's ridiculous. Just let it lie.

Pointedly ignoring his own advice, he forced the words out, "Dr. Wu, can you overlay the same information based on the version of the targeting algorithm prior to Ms. Harlen's modifications?"

Dr. Wu raised an eyebrow. "That algorithm is obsolete. How could it be of any use at this point?"

"Humor me, please."

Dr. Wu creased her brow in thought as she entered commands into her workstation. "I suppose the program must have been archived in the system when the jump software was updated. It should still be accessible." She worked in silence for almost a minute. "Found it. It will take a few seconds to run the calculations again to reconstruct the original landing map."

Martin waited. _If someone up there is actually listening, then please... I've made so many mistakes, been wrong so many times. Let this be one of them._

She punched the data up on the screen and gasped.

Everyone on the Bridge stopped for a moment and stared at the image in silence. The overlay, outlined in blue, was much larger than the orange footprint of Stella Harlen's new algorithm, as expected.

It was also located at the exact center of the minefield, far too deeply embedded within the lattice of satellites to have allowed them any chance of escape.

_They hadn't known._ Somehow, Stella's new algorithm had taken their enemy by surprise. Martin wanted to puke. He understood, finally. He didn't have all the pieces yet, but the overall shape of the puzzle was clear in his mind. Only one explanation fit the facts. All the hints, the coincidences, the subtle incongruities, they all made sense suddenly. _Stella, you god damn, deceitful, fucking bitch._ He chuckled with bitter amusement.

"It seems we owe Ms. Harlen a debt of gratitude," he said. "I'll have to think of something suitable to reward her with, when we get back." _Yeah. In spades._ He closed his eyes, and his anger sluiced away, leaving only a deep, penetrating ache in the center of his chest. _Oh, Edward..._

He took a calming breath, and opened his eyes. _Nicely done, Ed. You played me like a trumpet. But you have no idea who you're dealing with, if you think you'll get away with it. You like games? Well, place your bets, lover, because I play to win._

Martin climbed out of his seat and walked to the Astrogation Station. "Dr. Wu, clear those overlays, please, and punch up the last known configuration of the minefield."

Dr. Wu tore her eyes away from the screen and removed the last two images she had created. With a few more keystrokes, a new overlay appeared, showing the mines swarming to attack, the lattice flowing like water to engulf them as they fled.

"How close can we get without being detected?"

"Based on the satellite we recovered, their sensor range is limited, but they use each other as range multipliers. They won't see us coming initially, as we're beyond the range of the outermost shell of mines, but if we enter the field itself, the first mine that detects us will relay our position to every other mine in range before it attacks. The second wave of mines will also propagate the message, and then they will attack as well. With each cycle, the number of transmitters will increase exponentially, as will the number of activated mines. We'd be overwhelmed in minutes, just as we were before."

Martin nodded. "Understood."

"There might be another weakness, if we can find a way to exploit it." She stared at the screen. "If you recall, the first mines didn't activate immediately."

"That's true. We were probably in the heart of their sensor grid for an entire minute before they attacked."

"It's possible there's a fail-safe mechanism in place to prevent false alarms by delaying activation of the mines until the target remains within the sensor grid for a certain period of time."

"Hmm. That actually makes sense. They probably only have a finite number of nukes, and they wouldn't have wanted to blow away a chunk of the grid every time some random rock or space junk floated by." He glanced back at the display. "If I had recognized it as a minefield, do you think, maybe—"

Dr. Wu cut him off. "Doubtful. Even if you had grasped the situation immediately, to have evaded detection you would still have had to pilot the ship out of the sensor grid entirely before the fail-safe period expired." Her voice lost its usual haughty tone. "Now is not the time for recriminations and self-doubt, Captain. We survived. Isn't that enough?"

"Not all of us."

Her tone hardened again. "No. Not all. But most of us did. And now we are relying on you to save us a second time, and to bring us home."

Martin stood straighter. He walked back to his station and strapped himself into his chair. "Operations, sound collision alert."

"Aye, sir."

A deep chime resounded the length of the ship, repeating every five seconds. Immediately, everyone on the Bridge followed Martin's example and strapped themselves in.

Martin toggled a shipwide announcement from his console on the Bridge. "All hands, this is the Captain. You have all been briefed by your team leaders on what we intend to do. I assure you that this course of action is a last resort. I do not make the choice to take us into battle lightly. You are explorers, not soldiers, but over the last two months, I have learned that the two are really not so different. We both understand sacrifice, and duty, and courage. We have all sacrificed much to reach this place and have had the courage to leap beyond the cradle of the Solar System and into the unknown." Martin paused, his gaze drifting to the empty chair next to him.

Charles had been forced to remain on the Engineering deck, watching over the semi-skilled scientists who had been pressed into keeping the ship running during combat.

"Now, we have one final duty to perform. We must find a way home, so that others can learn from our example and follow in our footsteps. To accomplish that goal, we must employ the tools of our unknown enemy against him." Martin hesitated for a second. "Let me be honest with you. There's a lot you don't know, things that are not safe for me to tell you, but I swear that if there's a way I can bring you home safely, I will not hesitate for an instant. In the next few hours, our survival will depend as much on your skill and discipline as on mine. Together, we _will_ succeed. Because I, for one, do not intend to die today." He turned off the microphone. "Communications, get me Lieutenant Knox on speaker."

"Channel open, sir."

"Thomas, what's your status?"

Knox's voice was calm and matter-of-fact. "Shuttle is prepped and ready to launch on your order, Captain. We're ready."

"Then you have a green light, Lieutenant. Go catch some fish."

"Aye, sir. Powering up. Launch in ten seconds."

_Game on._ "Astrogation, give me a continuous plot of the shuttle's position in real time."

"Yes, sir. On screen, now."

Martin watched the new telltale detach from the _Zenith_ and accelerate toward the periphery of the minefield. Charles had done all he could to boost the maximum speed of the shuttle so that it should be able to keep slightly ahead of the mines, but it would be close. "Astrogation, access the shuttle's long-range sensors and update the map with the locations of the mines as they come into range."

She silently complied, and as the shuttle inched forward on the screen, the outstretched wave of data points that represented the pursuing mines disappeared, one by one. "Where did they go?"

"If this minefield is meant to be in stationary orbit for a long period of time, the mines might be programmed to return to their original locations once a potential target is destroyed or drops out of range," answered Dr. Wu. "If so, we should see the outer shell of the lattice in less than a minute at the shuttle's present speed."

Martin growled. "Damn. That will make this operation a little more dicey than I planned." He regarded the map sourly. "Communications, find me the XO."

"The system places the XO on the Engineering deck, sir. I will put you through."

"Charles, what's your status?" asked Martin.

"We've cleared the aft decks so we can vent drive plasma on your order, but I wouldn't recommend more than a ten percent purge at a time or you'll compromise the maximum speed of the main drive."

"Will that be enough?"

"No idea. But if it doesn't work, I think we'd better be able to run away afterward."

"Agreed. Keep your finger on the button, and stand by."

"Check."

Martin looked back at the display as the first updated positions of the mines were displayed. _All of them are right back in position. Crap. Well, no one said it would be easy._

"Lieutenant Knox, it's time to poke the bear."

"Yes, sir. Wish me luck."

"Good luck," answered Martin, as the shuttle continued to approach the periphery of the minefield. "Astrogation, is the shuttle within the sensor envelope of the mines?"

"Yes, Captain. It's only a matter of time before the fail-safe expires and they take notice."

"Be ready, Thomas," said Martin. "We're only going to get one shot at this."

"Standing by, sir. Just tell me when to run."

Martin chewed on a fingernail as he waited. Charles had estimated he would need at least seven mines to be able to generate enough additional power to initialize the graviton generator.

"Movement," said Dr. Wu. "Three mines breaking formation and accelerating to intercept."

_Not enough._ "Stay on course, Thomas."

"Three additional mines breaking formation."

Just one more.

"Additional mines powering up and moving to engage."

"How many?"

"About a dozen, with more on the way."

"Knox! Break off!" snapped Martin.

"Aye, sir. Changing course to vector ninety by minus sixty degrees and accelerating to eighty percent maximum speed."

"Let them get close, but not too close."

"Copy that, sir."

Martin looked at Dr. Wu. "How many devices in pursuit?"

"Twenty-eight."

"Any more hostiles being recruited?"

"No, it seems the Lieutenant has drawn the attacking mines far enough away from the main grouping that the signal relay has been interrupted."

"Good. At least something is going right." He watched the mines slowly close the gap behind the shuttle. "Thomas, how far behind are they?"

"Sensors show a lead of about two thousand meters, but that's shrinking fast."

"Get ready to deliver the package."

"Ready. My lead is down to seventeen hundred meters."

Almost there.

"Fifteen hundred!"

"Now, Thomas!"

"Drop confirmed! The package is away." Knox's voice grew strained. "Increasing speed to maximum."

"Charles, are you on the button?"

"Ready."

"Astrogation, give me a continuous feed of the distance between the shuttle and the package, and range to target."

The parameters appeared on the screen side by side, the values changing in opposite directions.

Come on, Thomas. Punch it.

"Range to target will reach optimum in ten seconds," said Dr. Wu.

"Wait until Knox is clear."

"Captain, if we lose this window..." said Charles.

"One klick, Charles. We can give him one klick."

"Tell me when."

Martin watched as the first number on the screen flipped over to one thousand meters. "Now!"

The screen went white with static.

"Sensor data corrupted," said the Operations Officer. "Electromagnetic pulse effect. Attempting to compensate."

The screen cleared, showing the same diagram, but the mine telltales had all disappeared.

"Twenty kiloton thermonuclear detonation confirmed," said the Security Officer on duty.

"Lieutenant Knox, what's your status?" Martin waited a moment, but there was no reply. "Communications, is the channel still open?"

"We're transmitting, sir, but I'm not receiving a pingback from the shuttle's transponder."

"Is it interference from the blast?" asked Martin in a soft voice.

"I can't tell, sir. It's possible that the shuttle has been destroyed."

"Keep trying," said Martin. "Let me know immediately if you re-establish contact."

"Aye, sir."

Martin cracked his knuckles, and then began programming a new course into his console. "Okay, time to count the fish."

"You have a sick sense of humor, my friend," said Charles. "What about Knox?"

"Offline," said Martin, the tension in his voice obvious even to him. "If he's still alive, he's either injured, unconscious, or his communications uplink is damaged. We'll know more when we're closer and the ship's sensors can punch through the blast interference."

"Can you see how many mines are still intact?"

"Not yet. I hope you got the range right to disable rather than destroy them, or we're going to have to come up with another solution."

"I still can't believe how you came up with this idea," said Charles.

Martin set the _Zenith_ in motion, accelerating at twenty percent maximum thrust toward the detonation site of the salvaged nuclear warhead they'd pulled out of the first mine. "I wasn't the most well-adjusted teenager, Chuck. Fishing with dynamite had a certain rebellious appeal. Just be ready with the drive plasma. We might have to club the ones that aren't quite dead yet."

Return to the Table of Contents
Chapter 36

Martin looked up from his tablet when Lieutenant Knox groaned and opened his eyes. "Welcome back."

Knox winced at the sound of Martin's voice. "What hit me?"

"Plasma wave. Looks like your helmet didn't save you from a concussion. You also got a mild dose of radiation through the shielding, but the docs tell me the chelating drugs are working perfectly, and you should make a full recovery."

Knox smiled weakly. "Did we catch any fish?"

"Yes." Martin grinned. "We managed to salvage ten of the mines. More than enough to initialize the graviton generator. It's already up and running. We can jump at any time."

Knox frowned. "Then why haven't we?"

"Because your actions gave us the means to escape." Martin stood. "You deserve to watch the jump from your duty station. I'll expect you on the Bridge as soon as you decide to stop goldbricking." He turned to leave. "See you on deck, Lieutenant Commander."

Knox blinked. "I... thank you, sir." He raised one hand and managed a shaky salute.

Martin returned the salute gravely. "You earned it. Now get back on your feet, so we can go home."

* * *

Martin wistfully regarded the distant orb of Alpha Centauri. _If only we had more time._ "Astrogation, what is status of the telescopic survey?"

The Astrogation Officer accessed the ship's mainframe for a few moments. "Just about a tenth of one percent complete, sir."

"Drone telemetry?"

"We're receiving the sensor feeds loud and clear, sir, and the automated data archives all read as fully functional."

Members of the scientific staff had labored around the clock for two days to ensure the automated survey drones were ready to spend the next five years mapping the Centauri system unattended. The data would be recorded for future study by multiple communications satellites left in orbit around the star. _The only part of the original mission that we're going to be able to set in motion._

"Operations, what's left of our life support capacity?"

"Not much, Captain," answered another of the duty officers. She checked her console and called up more detailed data. "The atmosphere scrubbers are already losing effectiveness due to the increased demand as the air quality degrades. I estimate we can last another day or two, at most, without atmosphere regeneration."

Martin sighed, staring at the stars. _Party's over. Time to leave._ "Astrogation, plot me a jump back to Sol."

"With pleasure, sir. Shall I program the prearranged destination coordinates?"

"No. I don't want there to be any more surprises. Recompute the targeting parameters for a destination somewhere beyond the Luna traffic pattern." Martin punched up his navigation package and highlighted a small region of space just beyond the orbit of the Moon. "Make sure the entire landing footprint is outside the standard passenger and shipping routes. We don't want to get home just in time to get run over."

"Course compiling now, Captain. Stand by." The Astrogation Officer watched her board intently until a green telltale popped up on the holographic display. She looked up to meet his gaze. "Jump parameters computed and locked, Captain."

Martin dialed up the Engineering deck. "XO. Drive status?"

"We're ready when you are, sir."

Martin typed a control sequence into his console. "The clock is ticking. Ninety seconds to jump."

No one spoke as the clock ran out.

Martin took one last, long look at the distant orb of Alpha Centauri. _You can keep your secrets for now. But we'll be back. Count on it._

Just for an instant, the light of the star was obscured by a piercing white brilliance, and then it was gone, replaced by the familiar contours of the lunar surface.

The Astrogation Officer confirmed what everyone knew. "Starfix places us in lunar space, at forty-five by minus one-hundred-twenty degrees, range thirty-two thousand kilometers."

Martin smiled as the Bridge crew let out a ragged cheer. He frowned suddenly. "Wait. What was our range to Luna?"

"Thirty-two thousand kilometers, sir. Approximately. I'd need to access the traffic control grid to get an exact location."

"No!" said Martin, a little too loudly. "Don't link in." He started punching commands into the navigation console. The data he was looking for came up on his screen, and he grinned in satisfaction. _Gotcha._

"Communications, deactivate the long range transmitter, as well as the backups," he instructed. "Operations, shut down our traffic transponder."

The Operations Officer looked thoroughly scandalized. Martin didn't blame her. The first rule of flying in a populated area was to never fly dark. Hiding from the traffic control network only endangered yourself and anyone who crossed your path.

Martin looked around at the incredulous faces of his crew. "Listen to me. You've come this far. Now, I need you to trust me for just a little longer."

The Bridge was silent and still.

Then the Operations Officer typed a series of command overrides into her terminal. "Transponder offline, Captain."

"Thank you." Martin glanced at the Communications Officer, who had also started typing commands into her workstation. "Communications?"

"The long-range transmitter is now set to receive only, sir."

Martin nodded. He turned back to his screen. "Astrogation, find me the nearest DSDM."

The Astrogation Officer blinked. "A what, sir?"

Martin paused. "Oh, sorry. Navy slang. It means—"

"Deep Space Disaster Module," said Knox, from the Security Station. "They're military supply depots placed at strategic locations between distant ports, in case of accidents. Massive stockpiles of food, water, air, medical supplies. Everything we'd need to keep the ship flying a little longer." He gave Martin an amused glance. "I take it you've got something up your sleeve, sir?"

Martin pointed to his display. "We're beyond the traffic sensor grid. No one on Earth will know we're back unless we announce ourselves, which means the enemy doesn't know we're here, yet. That buys us time."

Knox frowned. "Time for what?"

Martin grinned fiercely. "Payback."

Return to the Table of Contents
Part V: The Hangman's Knot

Look upon my works, ye mighty, and despair!

-Percy Bysshe Shelley, Ozymandias

Return to the Table of Contents
Chapter 37

Jacob Atkins was doodling on his sketchpad. He'd meant to take a little time for himself and indulge his creative side, but the events of the last ten days were still too raw to be swept aside by such a pleasant distraction. _Which is a pity. Christmas in Paris is a treat for the senses. At least I can still see its beauty; not like most of the people who live here, going about their mundane daily lives with such self-importance._

_Then again, they have jobs. They have reason to be busy._ He smiled to himself. _Yeah, I'm not bitter._

His wristcomp chirped, indicating he had a message waiting. He considered ignoring it, but petty rebellion had never been his style. He dialed up the message, half-expecting the termination notice he'd been waiting to arrive for the last week. Instead, it was just a set of map coordinates. The message was signed with a single word. _Janus._

Jacob couldn't breathe. His pulse thundered in his ears. _He's alive!_

He swallowed hard as he checked the map coordinates.

Somewhere in the third arrondissement, only a few blocks away.

He bundled up his pastel crayons, tossing them carelessly into his messenger bag along with the sketchpad. Then he set out at a brisk walk, his mind full of questions.

What happened that day?

He'd seen the raw video footage with his own eyes, taken from a nearby traffic control satellite. One moment, the _Zenith_ had hovered in orbit like a great bird of prey forged of pure silver, gracefully spinning to face away from the planet's surface. The next, it was highlighted in a sourceless flash of white light before it disappeared. No wreckage. No trace. Nothing to indicate what had happened. It was simply there, and then it was not.

Henry Bradford, Starfire's CEO, had responded to the flurry of inquiries with a canned reply, that the _Zenith_ was an experimental vessel employing technologies that were protected by corporate secrecy laws. It didn't matter whether the questions came from government officials, law enforcement agencies, or individual journalists, they all received the same message. Except for Jacob, who'd received a personal note from Bradford himself, with the simple statement, "I have the utmost confidence in the abilities of the Captain and crew of the _Zenith_."

Which could mean anything at all. What exactly were you up to, brother? What was it that you were itching to tell me, but couldn't?

His contacts in the military hadn't been any more forthcoming. Admiral O'Dare, Martin's old mentor, had confirmed that the civilian authorities had requested their assistance in reconstructing the missile that brought down flight 273 and killed the original Captain and senior officers of the _Zenith_. O'Dare also confirmed that while Martin was technically on administrative leave during the investigation of the Trinity disaster, he was still listed as active military personnel, which had prompted the Admiral's involvement in trying to impound the vessel. There was no word yet on whether Martin would face a Court Martial for disobeying a direct order from a superior officer, but the Admiral had spelled it out in no uncertain terms that, even if Martin escaped censure, he would never be offered his own command.

And then there was law enforcement. It had quickly come to light that Jacob had called Martin shortly after the Trinity inquest issued its confidential report, and that the _Zenith_ had launched just over twenty-four hours later, a week ahead of schedule. Jacob's superiors had drawn their own conclusions. They hadn't even given him the opportunity to deny any complicity. Jacob found himself reassigned to a desk job almost immediately, and his security clearance had been downgraded to that of an entry-level investigator. Technically, he hadn't been fired, but it was clear as glass that his career was over.

He put those concerns out of his mind as he approached the map coordinates from the message: a small square surrounding a street intersection in the heart of Le Marais.

_Not much to see_ — _a few shops, a cafe, and a nightclub not yet open for business_. _What am I missing?_

He checked the map again. This was definitely the place, to within five meters. His eyes ranged systematically around the square.

The shops he dismissed. _They're too far away. The map coordinates wouldn't have led me to this exact spot if I were supposed to go in one of them. There's something right here, in the open, that I'm supposed to recognize. But what?_

He glanced at the cafe. A few diehards were seated outside, the bitter chill warmed by thermal fields surrounding each table.

_Maybe he's in disguise._ Jacob looked more closely at the patrons. A mix of locals and tourists, it seemed. _Nothing about any of them seems particularly out of place._

Then his eyes snapped back to one man who was reading from a tablet and sipping a steaming glass of mulled wine. He looked like a tourist, based on the logo on his shopping bags— _Gerard's_ , a trendy department store that was trying to compete with its older rival, Harrods Paris. But lying on the table in front of him was a small statue. A stone head with two faces. _Janus._

Pushing away his crushing disappointment that it wasn't Martin, Jacob walked to the man's table. "Do you mind if I sit?" he asked, in French.

The man looked up, his eyes widening in surprise. He recovered immediately. "Please do." He held out his hand. "Thomas Knox."

Jacob pulled up a chair and shook the man's hand. "Jake Atkins. Interesting statue. Where did you acquire it?"

"From your brother," said Thomas. He grinned. "Captain Atkins made it clear that it was only a loan, and that you would recognize it." Thomas glanced down at the figurine. "He didn't explain its significance, beyond the obvious mythological reference."

"It's me," answered Jacob. "And Martin. Two sides of the same coin."

"I can see that. He said I would know you when I saw you, but I didn't expect the resemblance to be so complete."

Jacob shrugged. "Monozygotic twins. Some cultures believe we only have one soul between us." He leaned forward intently. "So where is he?"

"Hiding out, for the time being," answered Thomas. "But I can take you to him."

_This could be a trap._ But his instincts didn't peg the other man as a threat. "Then let's go."

The two of them got to their feet, and Jacob watched the other man hail one of the city's antiquated surface taxis on his wristcomp. A few moments later, a vehicle pulled up to the curb next to them. "Take us to the spaceport," Thomas said in English as they climbed inside.

"Yes, sir," answered the taxi's computer. "I estimate we will arrive in twenty-five minutes."

"Thank you," said Thomas. "Privacy mode, please."

A green light went on above the dashboard, indicating that while the cab was still monitoring their condition and would respond to verbal commands, it would not store any record of their conversation.

"Okay, now tell me what's going on," said Jacob. "Who are you?"

"Starfire Security," answered Thomas. "I am a tactical officer from the _CSS Zenith._ "

Jacob felt a wave of relief roll through his muscles. "So you made it back, finally, from wherever you disappeared to."

"Most of us did," answered Thomas. "Thanks mainly to your brother."

"Want to tell me where the hell he's been?"

Thomas shook his head. "No, sir. He'll tell you himself."

For the rest of the ride, Thomas didn't answer any further questions, just stared straight ahead with a stoic expression.

Eventually, they arrived at the Paris Astroport. Jacob was surprised when Thomas directed the cab to turn onto the service road, rather than proceed to the passenger terminal, but he said nothing. They drove between the storage depots until they reached a non-descript building with the Starfire Technologies Group logo on the side, where they disembarked.

Thomas typed his security code into the door, unlocking it, and then motioned Jacob inside. Jacob, swallowing his misgivings, walked into the darkened building.

The lights came on immediately, revealing the inside of an aviation hanger populated by a long row of cargo shuttles.

Thomas closed the door and locked it behind him. "We're taking the shuttle in bay four."

They walked down the line to the fourth shuttle. Jacob noted it was different from the others, longer and more compact. It had also recently sustained some major damage, and the repairs looked fairly rough, with unpainted replacement hull plates lining the entire aft section. "Are you kidding me?"

Thomas smiled. "They wanted me to take the other shuttle, but I have a sentimental attachment to this one. We've been through a lot together." He patted the hull. "I assure you it's spaceworthy. Commander Davenport personally went over the repairs to make sure everything was in order. We just didn't have time to pretty it up entirely." His expression turned grim. "Not to mention that it was easier to manufacture a false transponder profile if it didn't look like one of the cargo shuttles assigned to the _Zenith_."

"Why bother?" asked Jacob. "What's the point of the cloak and dagger routine?"

"Because our lives are in danger, Inspector Atkins," answered Thomas. "We face an enemy we know very little about, other than that they have superior resources, technology, and tactical intelligence. We, on the other hand, are trying to outmaneuver them based mostly on supposition and guesswork. Your brother thinks we have a narrow window of opportunity to prepare for their next attack, but in the end, we don't have a lot to go on." He faced Jacob squarely. "We're assuming they'll be watching for any member of the crew, which is why I'm using false identification and transponder codes. Still, the longer I'm in the open, the greater the risk. That's where you come in."

Jacob nodded. "You need a proxy. Someone who can move freely, without drawing attention. But I'm the obvious first person Martin would contact upon his return. What makes you think they aren't watching me, too?"

"Because you weren't associated with the mission." Thomas shrugged. "Once we reveal that we're back, then they'll probably place you under stricter surveillance, but for now, we don't think they'll consider you important enough to monitor. It's a gamble, but we have to start somewhere."

Jacob gave the shuttle another distrustful look, and then sighed. "Let's go then."

* * *

"You might as well settle in, sir. We've got a four-hour journey ahead of us." After they cleared the atmosphere, Thomas visibly relaxed.

Jacob turned away from him to look around at the cramped interior. "What have you got to eat in here?"

"Ration bars."

Jacob sighed. "I don't suppose you have anything other than water to wash them down with?"

"I'm afraid not, sir."

"Stop calling me, 'sir'. My name is Jake."

"Understood... Jake."

_I'm surprised you can sit down comfortably with such a big stick up your ass._ "So what's your story?"

Thomas raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Why did Marty send you to pick me up, and not someone else?"

Thomas gave him a level gaze. "He had planned to send Commander Davenport, but we couldn't risk him being arrested, because he's the only thing keeping the _Zenith_ flying."

Jacob chuckled. "You haven't known Marty very long, have you?"

Thomas frowned. "No. We were introduced about a month ago, when he was made Captain and I was assigned to his staff."

"Well, let me give you a bit of insight. He trusts you enough to bring me in alone, which means you must have made one hell of an impression." Jacob stared out the front window at the stars. "My brother doesn't trust easily. Don't let him down."

Thomas was silent for a time before answering. "I'll do my best."

Jacob turned to face him. "Your best isn't good enough. _Don't let him down._ If you fail, and something happens to him on your watch, I will kill you myself. Understand?"

Thomas studied him with narrowed eyes. "I think so."

"Good." Jacob leaned back in his seat. "So how did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Earn my brother's trust?"

Thomas licked his lips, considering his answer. "I played chicken with a nuclear minefield."

Jacob shrugged. "Fine, don't tell me. I was just making conversation." He turned away to look at the stars. "How long have you worked for Starfire Security?"

"Almost ten years."

"Is it good work?"

"For the most part, and it definitely pays well." Thomas hesitated. "But, I think I've reached my limit."

Jacob looked back at him. "How so?"

"I'm thirty-five years old, and in the last week, I've risked my life more times than I care to count." He took a deep breath. "Call it self-preservation. My contract is up for renewal in a couple of months. After this mission, I'll have earned enough in hazard pay to cash out." He met Jacob's gaze. "Assuming I'm still alive."

"Then what?"

"No idea. I've been working corporate security my entire adult life." Thomas shrugged. "Maybe I'll start my own firm."

Jacob snorted. "Well, if you need a forensic investigator on your team, look me up. I'll probably be unemployed by then."

Thomas laughed at that. "I'll keep you on the short list."

* * *

Thomas shut down the shuttle's transponder as soon as they reached the periphery of the lunar traffic sensor grid. They flew the rest of the way on manual.

Jacob watched as the _Zenith_ expanded from a bright dot in the sky to the massive structure he remembered. As Thomas flew under the belly of the _Zenith_ , toward the hanger doors, Jacob got his first good look at the damage the ship had sustained. The once mirror-bright hull was dull and pitted, with visible scorch marks across the lower decks. The patchwork of replacement plating was obvious to Jacob's trained eye.

_Major thermal damage across the entire hull, with frank blast traces below, and extensive hull breaches._ "You weren't pulling my leg earlier, were you?" he muttered. "You actually _did_ play chicken with a nuclear minefield."

His mouth turned up a little at the corners, but Thomas said nothing until they landed, passing through the atmosphere curtain into the pressurized space of the docking bay while the hanger doors closed behind them. He unstrapped from his chair and got to his feet. "Follow me."

Jacob unbuckled his safety harness and stood. "Lead on."

The two of them walked to the rear cargo doors, and jumped down to the deck a meter below. One of the deckhands saluted, and handed Thomas a uniform jacket. "Welcome back aboard, sir. The Captain asks that you and Inspector Atkins meet him in Cargo Bay Two for debriefing."

Thomas nodded, slipping his arms into the jacket. He glanced at Jacob. "It's not far. Let's go."

Jacob noticed the rank pin on his collar. _Three gold pips in the corners of a five-pointed star_. "What did you say your job was?"

"Tactical officer. Why?"

" _Which_ tactical officer?"

"What does it matter?"

"It matters because Marty sent you to get me, and I trust his judgment about people, so I've been giving you the benefit of the doubt. But that doesn't cut much ice if you're not honest with me."

Thomas shrugged. "If it makes a difference, I'm the ship's Second Officer, and Chief of Security."

"Held your job long?"

Thomas stared at him. "What?"

"Martin told me the entire senior flight crew was heading from the training facility to the shipyards on Trinity 273 when they went down. He didn't have a Second Officer in his crew."

"I was promoted at the end of the mission, before we returned."

Jacob considered him thoughtfully. "Interesting."

"Why?"

"I knew he trusted you personally, but I didn't realize he trusted you professionally as well. That's a _very_ short list, Lieutenant Commander, in case you didn't know."

Thomas looked uncertain. "How short?"

"I can think of maybe half a dozen names... including yours."

Thomas stared at him for a moment. "Come on." He turned away brusquely. "It's this way."

They walked in silence down the access corridor to the cargo bays. Past Bay One and Bay Two, the corridor was blocked by a sealed blast door. In front of it, an airlock had been constructed of thick slabs of armored glass, edged by a frame of bright steel, unpainted and unpolished. It was clearly not part of the original construction.

On either side of the airlock stood a guard dressed in a sealed pressure suit and armed with a pulse rifle. Thomas inclined his head to the two guards. "Is he inside?"

One of the guards nodded. "Yes, sir. He's waiting for you, along with Commander Davenport and Dr. Wu."

"Right." Thomas opened a locker bolted to the wall and pulled out two pressure suits. He tossed one to Jacob. "Do you know how to put that on?"

Jacob shook out the thin gray material. It was a simple design—an insulated sheath of metalized fabric bonded with an impermeable polymer into a generic human shape.

"Yeah, Marty's taken me on a spacewalk a few times." He shrugged into the suit with minor difficulty, noting the instrument panel on the breastplate.

Thomas handed him a helmet, and then inspected the readouts on Jacob's instrument panel. Apparently satisfied, he quickly suited up before pulling a small device from his own instrument panel. It was a small data module on an extensible cable, and Thomas plugged it into a matching receptacle in Jacob's instrument panel. "Can you hear me?"

"Yes. Why are you using hardwire communications? Is the ship's internal com grid offline?"

"No, but this is one conversation we don't want to be overheard."

Thomas led him into the makeshift airlock, and then cycled the atmosphere and unlocked the blast door with his security code. The heavy door slid open, revealing three figures dressed in pressure suits, standing next to what appeared to be a number of satellites in various stages of disassembly. Jacob stepped into the room, pausing as Thomas closed and locked the door behind them.

As they approached, the man in the center turned around, and Jacob felt his heart constrict. His brother's face broke into a wide grin.

Martin moved closer, and tapped the dataport on his own instrument panel, next to the communications cable that was plugged into Charles' breastplate. Jacob drew out the data cable from his suit and handed it to Martin.

Martin plugged it in. "Hey, Jake," he said, in a bland tone. "I didn't get killed."

Jacob tipped his head. "I'm glad." He looked at Charles. "Hey, Chuck."

Charles gave him a half-smile. "Jacob. Nice to see you again."

Jacob turned to the woman. "I don't believe we've met."

The woman bowed slightly. "Dr. Sophia Wu, Chief of Astrogation."

Jacob frowned and glanced briefly back at Martin before replying, "I'm not familiar with that term. Is it different from navigation?"

"Somewhat. Navigators use natural and artificial landmarks to direct their course and speed in order to reach a certain destination in local space. My job is to use interstellar landmarks to program the mathematical transforms necessary to target an interscission event."

"Interscission?"

"The word means 'to cut between' or 'subdivide'. In this context, it refers to the creation of a localized gravitic distortion sufficient to pierce two manifolds of space-time and form a temporary bridge between them, allowing instantaneous travel between two widely separated locations in the universe."

Jacob slowly turned back to face Martin. "Teleportation."

Martin nodded. "Yup."

"How far did you go?"

"Alpha Centauri."

Jacob took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He glanced at the heavy metal shelves that lined the walls of the cargo bay, all laden with long metal boxes, each bearing a name and identification number. He'd been to enough crash-site reconstructions to guess what they contained. The grim expression on Martin's face, when he turned back to face his brother, confirmed it. "Was it worth it?"

"That remains to be seen."

"I'm listening." Jacob folded his arms over his chest. "Why don't you start at the beginning."

Return to the Table of Contents
Chapter 38

Martin sat on the bed in his quarters, watching his brother mark down suggestions for the message he was to deliver. Jacob was a visual person, just as Martin was, but while Martin tended toward dynamic displays of light and color, Jacob preferred scenes of peace and stillness. And while Martin could come up with a pretty good plan of attack off the cuff, Jacob's overly analytical mind could take it apart and refine it, tweaking it in ways Martin would never have considered and identifying obstacles his twin had overlooked, so that ultimately their chances of success were greatly improved.

Finally, Jacob set down the tablet. "I think we're as prepared as we can get."

Martin nodded. "I'll have Thomas meet you in the hanger with the package."

"There's a certain amount of risk in this for him. You're all wanted for questioning. If they don't take the deal, they might not let him go."

"He can handle himself."

Jacob leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. "You trust him?"

"Yeah, I do."

Jacob's eyes narrowed. "Do you _like_ him?"

"What?" Martin allowed his confusion to show. "I guess so."

"That's not what I meant."

Martin felt his face redden. "Are you asking me if I'm sleeping with him?"

"Yes."

"He's one of my officers!"

"So is Charles."

Martin glowered at his brother. "No, I am not sleeping with him."

Jacob let his hands drop. "Sorry. I guess I thought..."

"Why the hell would you think that?" snapped Martin.

"Because every time we talked in the last six weeks, you seemed happier, more alive." Jacob sighed. "I thought... I hoped... maybe you'd met someone, someone you genuinely liked. And Knox said he'd known you for about a month. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions."

Martin stared at his twin for a few seconds, and then dropped his gaze. "Edward."

Jacob frowned. "Edward... Harlen? The one you suspect of being..."

"Yes."

"Shit."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry."

"It's still just a theory. I could be wrong."

"You laid out a pretty convincing case." Jacob paused. "Do you still want me to reanalyze the genetic marker data? The answers might not be what you hoped to hear."

"It doesn't matter what I hoped. He may not be guilty, but he's certainly not innocent."

"It's your call, brother."

Martin raised his gaze to meet Jacob's. "Run the data. We need every advantage we can get in this fight, and those two are going to be key players."

Jacob watched him, his expression openly sad. "Marty... this is your boyfriend we're talking about. Are you sure you want to start thinking of him as a strategic asset?"

Martin was silent. Finally, he looked away. "I'm out of options, Jake."

Jacob stood and walked around the desk. Then he knelt and wrapped his arms around his brother.

Martin stiffened for a moment before slowly relaxing, reaching out to return the embrace. He laid his head on Jacob's shoulder. "I'm glad you're here."

"So am I. Did you love him?"

Martin closed his eyes. "I think maybe I did."

Jacob hugged him closer. "Do you still?"

Martin didn't answer, merely held on tight.

And Jacob didn't ask again.

Return to the Table of Contents
Chapter 39

In the end, they said their goodbyes in private, and Martin asked Charles to walk Jacob back to the shuttle. The two men walked side by side down the corridors toward the hanger bay. They were the two most important people in Martin Atkins' world, and they both knew it. It gave them a bond, of sorts; an appreciation of each other's personal strengths. Jacob and Charles had always been comfortable around each other, neither feeling the need to fill the silence with extraneous conversation. Today, however, Jacob felt there was something that needed to be said.

"Do you think we're going to make it?"

Charles shook his head. "No. The enemy has been three steps ahead of us the whole time. We might postpone the inevitable for a while, but we're going to lose."

"I'd argue with you, but you're probably right." Jacob chuckled.

" _Morituri te salutant_ ," said Charles.

Jacob gave him a quizzical look. "Translation?"

"Those who are about to die, salute you."

"Uh, right. Something to do with gladiators, isn't it?"

"You were never one for the classics, were you?" Charles smiled. "But technically, no. Condemned prisoners said it before they were forced into large-scale naval battles for public amusement. They thought it would help them get on the good side of the Emperor, angling for a mass pardon for the winners afterward."

"You think God will grant us a reprieve?" Jacob snorted. "The enemy, whoever they are, could wipe us out of history entirely. Can you still believe, even in the face of that much power wielded by men?"

Charles stopped walking and his expression grew stern. "Foldspace drive is a powerful tool, but it's the product of human hands. It's in our nature to find a way to use our tools to smite our enemies. At some point, every major scientific advance in history has been harnessed to make war. This is just an extreme example. Nothing more, and nothing less."

"You said it yourself, Chuck," answered Jacob quietly. "They're three steps ahead of us."

"And yet, they've tried to kill us twice now, and failed. They're not infallible."

"Three times," Jacob reminded him. "You're forgetting flight 273. No one saved them."

"So, what should we do?" asked Charles, his face coloring. "Give up? The odds are against us, sure. But that's no reason not to give it our best shot."

Jacob nodded. "Fair enough." He started walking again.

Charles kept pace, and the two of them soon reached the hanger. Next to the beaten-up cargo shuttle, Thomas waited with two large briefcases at his feet.

Jacob smiled when he saw the logo of _Gerard's_ embossed on the sides. "You went all the way to Paris, and all you got were suitcases?"

Thomas grinned, suddenly looking much younger. "No, it's not all. I was using a fake credit card with no limit, and there were a couple of things I couldn't resist." He shrugged. "Besides, who knows if I'll ever get the chance to go shopping in Paris again?"

"If we make it out of this, drop by sometime and look me up," said Jacob. "I'll show you around. There's better stuff to be had around town than in a tourist trap like _Gerard's_."

Thomas laughed, but didn't reply. He lifted one suitcase and offered it to Jacob. "Here's the package."

Jacob took the case, finding it a significant weight but not overly heavy. "It's all in here?"

"That's everything," said Thomas, his expression turning grim. "A ship's ransom."

Jacob looked at the other case. "What's in that one?"

"Exactly the same thing," said Charles. "A fail-safe, in case you are unsuccessful."

Jacob looked from the case to Charles. "Marty didn't mention a fail-safe."

Charles met his gaze unflinchingly. "He doesn't know. This is between the three of us."

Jacob scowled. "What are you up to, Chuck?"

"We don't know what the enemy is planning," Charles said. "But we may not get a chance to find out, if your part of the plan doesn't work. We could lose control of the _Zenith_ and its technology, and then we have no chance of defending ourselves."

"I'm supposed to hide it in such a way that it will not be found immediately, but will eventually find its way back to one of us, or to Captain Atkins, someday, once we're in the clear," said Thomas. "That way, even if we lose, we might have a second chance to set things right."

Jacob glanced back and forth between them. "So why keep it from Marty?"

"Because he's the most obvious target once we're back in the open," said Charles. "When the news breaks that he got us out of there safely, he's going to have the lowest odds of survival when the enemy decides to strike back. We have to be prepared to lose him."

"Charles," said Jacob in disbelief. "He's your best friend."

"Yes, he is," said Charles, his voice level. "But let's be honest. He's our leader, and he put this entire resistance plan together. He can't be allowed to know everything. They might decide to capture him, rather than kill him, to find out what we know. And then, we're lost."

"Fine." Jacob couldn't contain a scowl. He turned to Thomas. "Where are you going to hide it?"

"I can't answer that, Inspector," said Thomas. "But I'll make sure it's safe until we need it." His gaze flickered to Charles momentarily, and then back again. "I'll take care of it while you're back at your apartment, before we deliver the package."

Charles frowned at Jacob. "You're going home? For what?"

"I have an errand to run," answered Jacob, maintaining eye contact with Thomas. _I shouldn't be surprised he told Knox. Someone had to know other than me, and there's no way we can let Charles in on this part, not until we know for sure._ "I have to retrieve some biometric data from my personal files."

"Now, who's keeping secrets?" asked Charles, testily.

"It's a personal matter, Chuck," said Jacob. "It doesn't concern you." _Which is a total lie, but it will have to do._

Knox raised an eyebrow, but he let it pass.

Charles sighed. "I guess I can't be one to throw stones, can I?" He stuck out his hand to Jacob. "Take care of yourself, Jacob. We're all counting on you."

Jacob shook his hand. "I'll do my best."

"Your best isn't good enough," said Thomas, in a soft voice.

Jacob nodded thoughtfully. "You're right." He let go of Charles' hand. "I won't let you down, Chuck."

Charles turned to Knox. "Good luck, Lieutenant Commander. Come back alive."

"I won't let you down, either, sir." Knox saluted.

Charles returned the salute gravely before turning away. "Clock is ticking, gentlemen," he said over his shoulder as he walked back to the access corridor.

Knox watched him go, and then, without another word, picked up his briefcase and headed for the stairs to the rear door of the shuttle.

Jacob picked up his case and followed. _Game on._

Return to the Table of Contents
Chapter 40

Jacob sat on the park bench, taking a deep breath of the air kept warm from the winter's chill by a thermal field.

The man next to him poured a cup of steaming hot tea from a thermos, before sitting back to watch snowflakes falling into the cone of light cast by the streetlight above them.

"Thank you for meeting with me," said Jacob.

"Your message said it was urgent that we speak privately," answered Admiral O'Dare. "But I was most curious about the mention of a proposition I wouldn't be able to turn down." He blew softly on the tea before taking a sip. "So go ahead, Inspector. Make your pitch. What is it that you have to offer?"

"A device that is capable of interstellar teleportation on a small scale, using technology based on folded space-time."

The Admiral's tea slopped over the lip of his cup as his grip loosened momentarily. "I knew the rumors, but I didn't let myself truly believe them until I saw the _Zenith_ disappear before my eyes," he whispered. He turned to stare at Jacob. "The _Zenith_. Where did she go?"

"Alpha Centauri."

The Admiral took a deep, shuddering breath and closed his eyes. "And what did they find?"

"That someone else had gotten there first." He struggled to keep the anger from his voice.

The Admiral's eyes snapped open. "Say that again."

"They landed in a minefield, which was armed with twenty-first-century nuclear warheads."

Admiral O'Dare's eyes narrowed. "You're saying someone in the military had the technology to reach Alpha Centauri, and tried to kill them?"

Jacob shook his head. "No, sir. We believe the warheads to be stolen. But the technology was definitely human, and it was definitely based on the foldspace drive developed by the Starfire Technology Group and the Interscission Project."

"Why would Starfire destroy its own ship? It makes no sense."

"My brother believes, based on the evidence recovered from the mines, that the technology was acquired by a third party several decades in the future, who then adapted it to send the mines back in time to the location in which the _Zenith_ was historically known to have arrived." Jacob watched the Admiral intently. _It all comes down to this. If he doesn't believe me, we're dead._

"Time travel." The Admiral leaned back against the bench and considered the possibilities. "It stands to reason, I suppose," he mused. "If you can jump between points in space, then jumping between points in time should be theoretically possible." He took another sip of his tea, staring thoughtfully out over the Seine, the waves capped by floating chunks of ice. "And you are offering to place this technology in my hands? Corporate espionage is a serious crime, Inspector Atkins."

"I am offering to give you a miniature foldspace manipulator that was salvaged from the wreckage of one of the mines. As the technology for such a device has not yet been developed in this time, Starfire has no claim on it." Jacob shrugged. "The software was regrettably wiped when the mine was destroyed, and we cannot, in good conscience, give you the original mathematical transforms developed by the Interscission Project or the improved algorithms developed by Starfire for the _Zenith_. That _would_ be espionage, and grounds for arrest. However, we think you will agree that having the device available for study would give you a significant advantage in reverse engineering the technology."

"True," said the Admiral. "However, if this device is capable of time travel, as you say it is, it could be used as a powerful weapon in the wrong hands. I would be within my rights to impound the vessel and all research associated with it, in the interests of planetary security."

Jacob gave him a humorless smile. "And you would face universal opposition from our corporate citizens, who would band together to defend Starfire out of simple self-preservation and demand the return of the data, not to mention your head on a pike. Your own superiors would bow to civilian pressure eventually, and leave you swinging in the wind. There's no way you would ever get away with it, sir."

"Sad, but also true." The Admiral poured the rest of his tea on the ground and screwed the cap back on his thermos. "I presume your offer is an exchange, and not a gift. What are your terms?"

"If someone from the future is targeting the _Zenith_ , the crew needs the ability to defend the ship as best they can. We believe we might be able to generate an effective defense, if we have access to a specific piece of equipment that is normally restricted to military vessels." Jacob consulted his wristcomp. "A class-five graviton manifold and fuel rods, as well as the loan of an engineering crew to install it."

Admiral O'Dare cocked his head. "That class of graviton manifold is designed to operate in capital ships, Mr. Atkins. Why would a vessel the size of the _Zenith_ require that much power?"

"I don't know the specifics, Admiral," said Jacob, "only that our scientists believe it will give the _Zenith_ an edge if the enemy attacks us. Also, our people can't keep themselves safe if they're behind bars. So, I need you to quash the civilian subpoenas. The _Zenith_ is to be allowed to return to dock without interference, and the officers and crew are not to be forced to comply with any civilian or military investigation into the destruction of Trinity flight 273 or any subsequent criminal activity. Furthermore, all officers and crew are to receive complete amnesty from any civilian or military laws, rules, or regulations they may have broken in the course of their mission, whether inadvertently or deliberately." Jacob raised his head in defiance. "That includes the ship's Captain."

"Your brother disobeyed a direct and legal order, Mr. Atkins," answered Admiral O'Dare. "I can't let that pass, regardless of his reasons."

"This is more important than the rules of military discipline, Admiral," snapped Jacob. "My brother always described you as a man of vision. Surely you can see the bigger picture!"

The Admiral smiled slowly. "Your brother once told me that the bigger picture was just a montage of smaller pictures, each with its own beauty and importance." He chuckled. "This demand for amnesty doesn't come from Martin, does it? It comes from you."

Jacob bit back his response and sat there seething, trying to get his temper under control. After a moment, he managed a calmer reply. "It doesn't change the demand. That's what I want, in exchange for the foldspace manipulator."

"Your brother always said he was the cool-headed one in the family. I didn't believe him until now." O'Dare stood, and slipped the thermos into his coat. Pulling on his gloves, he stepped outside the thermal field. "Allow me to make you a counter-offer, then, Jacob," he said, his breath fogging the air like a dragon breathing smoke. "I agree to all of your terms, including amnesty from prosecution to all officers and crew of the _Zenith_. In return, I want the foldspace manipulator, and a firm commitment from your brother that he will immediately resign his military commission and accept an honorable discharge from the Confederation Navy."

Jacob laughed. "Try again, Seamus."

The Admiral's eyes glittered. "Don't try my patience, boy. I am giving you a fair hearing out of respect for your brother's years of service to the fleet, and my respect for his accomplishment in leading humanity to another star. Based on my personal relationship with him, I know for a _fact_ he would never allow you to negotiate on his behalf at the expense of his crew. It's an equitable deal, Jacob. Your intransigence does Martin a tremendous disservice."

Jacob opened his mouth to argue, but was distracted by another man stepping into the light from the shadows behind the Admiral. _No!_

"Admiral," said Thomas, with a stony expression, "your terms are acceptable."

Admiral O'Dare turned to face the new arrival. "And you are?"

"Lieutenant Commander Thomas Knox, sir." Knox saluted. "Second Officer and Chief of Security of the _Zenith_. I accept your counter-proposal on behalf of Captain Atkins and his crew."

O'Dare raised an eyebrow but returned the salute. "I knew civilian vessels used equivalent ranks, but I wasn't aware they abided by military courtesy, Mr. Knox."

"The Captain instituted the change, sir, when he took command," answered Thomas. "He felt that a certain level of formality would help establish clear lines of authority and foster discipline."

The Admiral cocked his head in amusement. "Are we talking about the same man?"

Thomas stood straighter. "I'm told that command changes people, sir. Perhaps he mellowed."

"He was too mellow to begin with, Lieutenant Commander."

"I wouldn't know, sir." Thomas set the suitcase down on the ground between them. "This case contains the foldspace manipulator. If you will put me in touch with your strike force commanders, I will give them the location for delivery of the graviton manifold."

The Admiral tilted his head to gaze at Thomas. "Strike force?"

"I have been monitoring the park for the last eight hours, sir, since before Inspector Atkins first contacted you. Three hours ago, two military personnel carriers landed at either end of the park and discharged troops before withdrawing. Those troops have dug in at secluded locations all around the square, with spotters on the nearby rooftops using motion detectors and image enhancement gear to track any person entering or leaving the park itself. They were very thorough."

"They missed you, though," said O'Dare, sourly.

Knox smiled. "I was also very thorough, sir." He tapped his wristcomp. "I will need a cypher module to allow me to communicate with them over military-grade encryption, to transmit the location of the _Zenith_ for transport of the engineering crew, once the manifold is on board."

Admiral O'Dare snorted. "You're placing a lot of trust in my word, Mr. Knox."

"Captain Atkins trusts your word, Admiral. I haven't had any reason, as of yet, to doubt his judgment."

The Admiral stared at him for a moment, and then laughed. He lifted his wristcomp and tapped a key. "Major Kelso, please give Mr. Knox whatever assistance he needs." He waited a moment, apparently listening to a reply through his earpiece. "I understand your concerns, Major. But those are my orders. Please carry them out." He tapped the key again to break the connection.

"My people will be here in a minute or two to hear your requirements, Mr. Knox. If you will excuse me?" The Admiral stepped forward and picked up the briefcase. He turned to look at Jacob, who was glaring at Thomas. "This is as good as you could have hoped for, Mr. Atkins. Accept that you got what you needed, and move on."

"That assumes your people don't arrest us both as soon as they get here," growled Jacob.

"Yes, it does, doesn't it?" answered the Admiral with aplomb. "I guess you'll just have to trust me."

He walked briskly away down the path and into the shadows.

Jacob glared at Thomas. "You fucking bastard. You were supposed to wait for my signal before breaking cover. Where do you get off interfering?"

Thomas shrugged. "Orders."

"Whose orders?" yelled Jacob. "Charles again?"

Thomas tapped a couple of controls on his wristcomp.

Martin's voice spoke into the winter silence. "Thomas, watch out for my brother at the end. He wanted me to ask for a pardon as part of the deal, but the Admiral won't go for that. I disobeyed a direct order on an open channel. O'Dare has to make a public example out of me to maintain his authority. If Jake can cut a deal that keeps me out of jail for now, then let him. Otherwise, step in and take over if he tries to put the Admiral over a barrel. We need the manifold, and the freedom to use it. Everything else comes second to that. Good luck."

Jacob stared at him. "When..."

"After you left his quarters, and before you arrived in the hanger bay," answered Thomas. He took a deep breath of the cold air. "Sorry, Jake."

Jacob slumped back against the park bench. "Nah. I'm pissed off right now, but I'll get over it. You did your job. I was the one improvising." He looked around the poorly lit park, street lamps casting small pools of limpid radiance. "Think they're coming to help us, or toss us in jail?"

"Honestly?" said Thomas. "I have no idea."

Return to the Table of Contents
Chapter 41

"Life signs?" Martin studied the personnel carrier that was approaching their position.

"I am reading twelve humanoid thermal signatures on board," answered Thomas.

Martin turned from the viewscreen to face Knox at the Security Station. "Could they be using camouflage gear to fool our sensors?"

"Yes, sir," answered the Security Officer, typing commands into his console. "They have access to the same heat baffle suits I used on the surface to fool Admiral O'Dare's strike force. However, the shuttle does not appear to be carrying any detectable amount of Barium-137."

Martin gave him a blank look. "I'm just a pilot, Mr. Knox. How is that significant?"

Thomas' face colored. "Sorry, sir. It's a metastable radioactive element used to generate the gamma ray pulse for use in type-three synchrotron accelerator weapons."

Martin sighed. "Try smaller words, Lieutenant Commander. Three syllables or fewer, if possible."

Thomas flushed a deep crimson. "Pulse rifle ammo, sir."

Martin brightened. "Ah, now that I understand." He turned back to the screen. "So the ship is carrying our ten engineers, plus a pilot and copilot presumably, unless there are more of them in hiding. And they're not armed, unless they're using weapons other than standard military issue."

"Yes, sir," answered Knox, regaining his composure. "It could still be a trap."

"Yeah, but there's nothing we can do about it," said Martin. "It's a short-range troop transport. It won't have enough fuel to make it back to Luna. Either we let them land, or they're stuck out here until they run out of oxygen."

Knox frowned. "Why would they chose a short-range transport for such a long trip? They knew how far out we were."

Martin nodded, and gave his Second Officer a grim smile. "Because Admiral O'Dare knew this mission was past the point of no return for them, and he knew I would know that, too. Which forces me to let them land and refuel, regardless of whether I think the vessel is packed full of armed commandos. Anything less, and we might as well shoot them down now and never stop running." He chuckled. "The Admiral is a firm believer in preventing his opponents from choosing a battleground. At this point, we have no option but to let them board."

"I have half my Security complement waiting to meet them in the hangar bay, sir," said Knox. "And the rest stationed at strategically defensible points throughout the ship. If they try to take the _Zenith_ , they won't have an easy time of it."

"If we're lucky, it won't come to that." Martin sat down in the Captain's chair at the center of the Bridge. Pulling the workstation console toward him, he toggled a shipwide announcement. "All hands, this is the Captain. We have a military shuttle arriving at the hangar bay. Unless they actually come out shooting, please consider them our guests. That is, treat them with courtesy, but don't let them wander into places they shouldn't be." He turned off the mike. "Operations, clear them to dock at Cargo Airlock One."

Martin watched as the shuttle looped around the wide-swept wings of the _Zenith_ , toward the rear of the vessel. _And now we cross our fingers and see what happens._

* * *

Charles watched as the airlock opened and the ten engineers exited the transport, each carrying a bundled up rad suit.

It would be nice if the repair drones had completed decontamination of the Engineering deck, but that would take a systematic scrub down with radionuclide chelators, and there just wasn't enough time, even if we had enough decon agent on board. Too bad they don't sell THAT at Gerard's, or I would have had Knox pick up a couple of barrels.

He stepped forward to lead them down to Main Engineering, followed by a dozen armed Starfire Security Officers, but immediately called a halt when another man walked out of the airlock.

Admiral O'Dare.

The Admiral took stock of the welcoming committee, and then strode forward toward Charles, who stood waiting. "Commander Davenport."

Charles saluted. "Admiral. If we had known you were coming, I'm sure Captain Atkins would have been here to greet you personally."

"I think I will need to have few words with your Captain, presently," said the Admiral, returning the salute. "But first, please brief me on the battle damage. From the exterior, it looks like the ship took quite a beating."

"That would be an understatement, Admiral," replied Charles. He indicated the door with his hand. "If you'll come with me, I will show you where you can wait while I inform Captain Atkins of your arrival. I'm sure he will be happy to discuss the condition of the ship with you. The Security detail will escort your men to the Engine Room to install the graviton manifold."

The Admiral nodded. "Lead on."

* * *

Martin punched his security code into the lock, opened the door to Charles' office, and stepped inside. "Admiral," he said, extending his hand to Admiral O'Dare, who stood at the window, gazing down into the Engineering compartment. "Such a pleasure to meet you again, in person. It's been a long time."

Admiral O'Dare shook his hand. "I'm pleased you made it back safely, Captain. It seems you've had a spot of adventure since we last spoke."

Martin stopped smiling. "Yes, sir. A lot of my people didn't make it."

"That is a... difficult burden to bear, Captain, but it comes with the job. I wish I could say it gets easier with time, but that would be a lie." O'Dare turned back to watch Charles' half-trained team of scientists-turned-engineers through the heavy, armored glass. "How many casualties?"

"Thirty-seven dead," answered Martin, following the Admiral's gaze. "Predominantly the crew of the Engineering and Propulsion decks." His voice hardened. "There are about twice that number with mild to moderate radiation poisoning. Nothing immediately lethal, but my medical staff tells me quite a number of them will face increased reproductive risk or outright sterility."

"Everything has a price, Captain." O'Dare turned to face him. "Was it worth it?"

Martin raised his chin. "In the long run, we achieved a huge milestone in human history: a manned expedition to another star. But was it _worth_ it? I don't know. Certainly not to those who lost their lives or were maimed by this attack."

"In the long run, someone thought your achievement was significant enough to merit its destruction," answered O'Dare. "I know you're looking at this through the eyes of your crew—you always did have more sympathy for the small picture, the personal consequences—but you can't afford to think that way now."

Martin met his gaze but said nothing.

The Admiral's voice softened. "Martin, humanity will only survive as long as it continues to advance and evolve. Our need to better ourselves is the sole factor that will determine whether we triumph over our self-destructive impulses and continue to exist as a race." His amiable demeanor dropped away, leaving only sharpened steel beneath. "Commander Atkins, do you intend to honor the terms of your amnesty?"

Martin inhaled sharply at the conversation's sudden shift in tone. "Aye, sir. I will tender my resignation from the Navy as soon as the _Zenith_ returns to port."

"I am an active duty Flag Officer, Commander," answered the Admiral, his voice cold. "You may tender your resignation to me. Now."

Martin straightened to his full height and saluted. "Admiral O'Dare, I resign my military commission, effective immediately."

"Very well, Commander." The Admiral's eyes gleamed, but his face was an expressionless mask. He returned the salute, and then turned away. "Your resignation is rejected."

Martin blinked. "Sir?"

O'Dare didn't turn around. "Under any other circumstances, Commander, any at all, I would have you up on charges of insubordination. Your resignation is the least recompense I would have demanded. However, this situation is unique and unprecedented. The attack on the _Zenith_ is an attempt to turn back the clock, to eliminate a concrete step out of darkness by our entire race. It is literally a crime against humanity, sacrificing the hopes and possibly the very existence of future generations, for reasons I cannot fathom or even care to understand. This I cannot allow to pass unchallenged." The Admiral finally spun to address Martin directly, practically spitting in rage. "I will not take chances with our survival. You have managed to foil this attempt to cut short our destiny as a people, and that makes you responsible for the future you have preserved. Accordingly, I authorize your field promotion to the rank of Captain, and grant you unrestricted access to all military intelligence and resources under my control." His face tightened with righteous wrath. "You have all the tools I can place at your disposal to combat this threat, Captain. Take whatever actions you deem necessary, and I will back you one hundred percent. All you have to do... is _win_."

Martin stood stiffly at attention. "Aye, sir. I won't let you down."

"See that you don't," said Admiral O'Dare, the passion fading from his voice. He turned back to the window, and suddenly he just sounded weary. "You are a soldier in the Confederation Navy, Captain Atkins," he whispered. "Do your duty, and defend the people of your world. That is all. You are dismissed."

"Admiral, I..."

"Dismissed, Captain."

Martin saluted again before heading for the door. He glanced back and saw the Admiral rest his head on the glass, his eyes closed. For the first time, Martin realized how old he was.

I never even noticed, because he was always so alive. He was everything I aspired to. So much drive, so much ambition.

Martin stepped out of the office and closed the door quietly behind him. _So much hope._

He took a deep breath, and then dialed up Dr. Wu. "Sophia, what's your status?"

"It will take another hour or two to finish the installation of the graviton manifold, and then we will have to test whether we can operate it safely without overloading the ship's artificial gravity system, but if all goes well, the damper field should be operational by the end of the day."

"Will it work?"

"The theory is sound, Captain, but there's no way to be sure until we have a test subject."

"And the early-warning system?"

"We have wired the ship's sensor grid into the foldspace manipulator, as well as the interferometer designed by Dr. Davenport. We should be able to detect any other interscission events in local space, up to a distance of one hundred kilometers, and use the interference pattern with our own drive waveform to pinpoint the source of the event to within ten meters. Again, the theory is sound, but we have no way to test the equipment except by using it."

"Let me know when both systems are up and running." _I don't know who the enemy is, or what they want, but next time they strike, they just might be in for a surprise._ Martin grinned as he walked back to his quarters. _They're not the only ones who can set a trap._

He unlocked his cabin door and entered his room to find Jacob sitting at his desk, staring morosely into a glass of white wine.

"Jake? Something wrong?"

"No," said Jacob. "Everything went fine. I managed to extract the genetic records of Edward and Stella Harlen from the information you provided me, and work up the DNA from the data module the enemy left behind when they tried to sabotage the _Zenith_. The analysis you asked for was relatively simple, compared to the original search, since I was only looking at the two of them."

Martin's good mood evaporated, and his stomach clenched. "What did you find out?"

Jacob picked up the tablet on the desk and tapped the screen. A holographic image appeared in the air above it, showing a graphical representation of his findings. "They're fraternal twins, so they both had one haplotype in common, which made it easy." He looked up, noticing Martin's look of confusion. "Sorry. I know... three syllables. Hmm. Well, basically, humans have two sets of genes for pretty much everything. One set they inherit from the mother, and one from the father."

Martin rolled his eyes, amused despite his sick sense of dread. "I didn't sleep through all of my high school biology classes, Jake."

Jacob gave him a ghost of a smile. "Each set of genes is called a haplotype, because it describes half of their genetic makeup. Well, Edward and Stella both inherited the same haplotype from one parent, which made it easy to isolate the markers between the two of them that didn't correspond and reconstruct the haplotypes they each inherited from the other parent. That gave me both haplotypes for one parent, and one haplotype for the other." He took a deep breath, and let it out. "And then I went looking for matches in the rest of the database."

"And?" asked Martin, despite his sudden desire to push open the door and run away.

Jacob downed the entire glass of wine as Martin watched. "Marty, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I really hate to have to tell you this." Jacob raised his bloodshot eyes to meet his brother's gaze. "But you were right."

Return to the Table of Contents
Part VI: Friendly Fire

Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.

\- John Milton, Paradise Lost

Return to the Table of Contents
Chapter 42

Stella growled in frustration and tossed her tablet on the table in front of her. "God, I'm bored." She got to her feet and began to prowl the confines of Edward's living room. "Bored, bored, bored."

Edward ignored her, continuing to study the lines of code laid out on the screen of his own tablet.

She flopped down on the couch, grumbling to herself. Finally, she turned her ire on Edward. "What the hell are you working so hard on?"

"Experimental communications satellite design," answered Edward, not looking up. "They're trying to figure out a way to set up a quantum entanglement communications grid so they can offer real-time communications between Earth and the off-world colonies."

Stella snorted. "They didn't have real time interplanetary communications, even in our time. It was all physical mail delivery by foldspace pulse."

Edward chuckled. "Their approach won't work on a large scale, but they don't know that yet. And I can't tell them why it won't work without letting them know about the Rudnikov spatial distortion effect, which won't be discovered for another five years."

"So why bother spending time on it?"

Edward looked away from his tablet and met her gaze with a patient expression. "Because it's my job."

Stella rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. Your 'job' is a sham. It's a cover story to give you a reason to be here."

"Yes, it is," said Edward, focusing back on his equations. "But that's no reason not to do it well."

She watched him work, her frustration growing with each passing minute. Finally, she got to her feet with a harrumph. "I'm going to get something to eat. You want anything?"

Edward shook his head, still concentrating.

Stella grabbed her jacket out of the closet and left the apartment. She rode the elevator down to the ground floor, fuming silently. Then she walked out of the executive dormitory and headed for the main building, shoving her hands in her pockets to protect them from the winter chill. Once inside, she navigated the corridors until she came to the cafeteria. Honestly, the food was top-of-the-line, if mass-produced.

Bradford does try to treat his employees well, I'll give him that.

Opting for simplicity, she bought a Reuben sandwich and a salad, and charged it to her employee account. Picking up her food, she looked around the dining room for a place to sit and eat in peace. _Damn, it's crowded. I should have waited until after the regular lunch hour._

She glanced at the private dining room, separated from the main room by a wall of bronzed glass. It was usually empty, as most of the project leaders were workaholics who tended toward takeout and eating in their offices, but today there was a single occupant at one of the tables.

Great. Sutton.

Her displeasure was mostly reflexive. Her hatred of the man had largely cooled in the wake of his solution to the emergency venting design.

Eh, why not? What the hell.

She knocked at the glass door, but Trevor took no notice of her, continuing to look at his tablet as he absently dug a fork into his bowl of gnocchi and lifted a morsel of pasta to his lips. She pushed open the door, finally noticing the earphones he was wearing.

Always the music lover, weren't you, Trevor?

Stella carried her tray to his table and set it down at the place setting across from him.

Trevor looked up at the movement. He raised an eyebrow as she sat down, and lifted one of his earpieces out of place. "This room is reserved for Project Managers, Ms. Harlen."

"Project Managers and their guests," she answered in a pleasant voice. "You could invite me to stay. Consider it a team-building exercise."

Trevor snorted. "Teamwork doesn't seem to be your strong point." He shrugged. "But stay if you like." He reached for his earpiece again.

"What are you listening to?"

Trevor looked surprised at the question. "Vivaldi."

She nodded, and unwrapped the bundle of utensils from her napkin. "The operas or the concertos?"

"Concertos, presently. For opera, I prefer the German composers."

"I enjoyed the _Four Seasons_ ," she answered, squeezing dressing out of a plastic packet onto her salad. "I never developed a taste for opera, other than Mozart, but for him, I prefer his other works."

Trevor set his fork down and propped his head on his hand, gazing at her with a bemused expression.

Stella paused in the act of reaching for her fork. "What?"

"That was the first intelligent comment about classical music I've heard in over five years," he said with a half-smile. "I gather the genre has fallen out of favor among younger generations."

She chuckled as she dug into her salad. "You can't be more than ten years older than me. Don't be such a curmudgeon."

He laughed. "Curmudgeon. I like that. It's probably the nicest word you've used to describe me since we met, Ms. Harlen."

"What can I say, Trevor? Haven't you ever had cause to re-evaluate a negative first impression?" She munched thoughtfully on a mouthful of salad, then swallowed. "And you can call me Stella."

"As a matter of fact, I have," said Trevor. He took a sip of water. "I prejudged Commander Davenport when he joined the project, discounting his skills and knowledge in favor of the man I expected him to be."

"You seem to have moved past it since then. The two of you seemed to be working together quite well in the last few weeks before launch."

"Yes, but only because he came to my office one day and told me off to my face." He gave her a half-smile. "You and I have been working together more successfully in recent weeks as well. Did I finally pass muster?"

"Eventually." She debated internally how much to tell him.

I guess it couldn't hurt.

"My mother shared your view of the tastes of 'younger generations', but she saw the value in a broader perspective," Stella continued. "She had a friend of the family try to teach us about music and art from an early age. For a while, he was my favorite uncle." Her voice dropped. "He and my father had a falling out after my mother died, and we lost touch. I was raised hating him for what he did, and I don't know what ultimately happened to him."

Trevor frowned at her change in tone. "What did he do?"

She raised her gaze to meet his squarely. "He triggered the venting of drive plasma during the emergency that resulted in my mother's death."

Trevor returned her gaze soberly for a time before answering. "Was the emergency venting necessary?"

She nodded, not breaking eye contact. "Absolutely. If he had waited any longer, the reactor would have gone critical, and the ship would have been destroyed. He saved hundreds of lives that day. But that doesn't change a thing."

"No, I can see how it wouldn't." Trevor deliberately picked up his fork again. "Tell me about Mozart. Which of his other works did you prefer?"

She ordered her thoughts, switching gears. "I like his short, fast works for the most part, like _Eine Kleine Nachtmusik_ , but depending on my mood, I sometimes enjoy the longer pieces, as well."

They continued to chat until Edward slammed open the door and barreled into the room, yelling, "They're back!"

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Chapter 43

Edward stood outside on the balcony of the Control Tower to get a firsthand view of the ship, rather than watching the video feed. The accessibility carrier wave that was standard on all viewscreens, which contained a simulated sonic map of the images on the screen, would have allowed him to watch the landing from indoors, but nothing beat the real thing. At least, as real as technology could allow him. He bounced impatiently on the balls of his feet as he scanned the skies. "Where are they? They were supposed to land fifteen minutes ago."

"Calm down, little brother," Stella said from beside him, wrapped up in a heavy coat and gloves; the only other person willing to brave the bitter wind blowing off the ocean. The rest of the spectators watched from the tarmac, surrounded by portable thermal fields. "You'll get laid soon enough."

Edward dropped to his heels and turned his head to glare at her. "It's not about that, sis."

She grinned at him. "Edward. Are you telling me you're not planning to sweep him off his feet and drag him to bed as soon as he gets out of debriefing?"

Feeling his face flush, he turned to look back at the landing site. "I thought we'd have dinner first," he muttered.

"Really?" She raised her eyebrows. "Not even a quickie beforehand?"

"Okay, maybe dinner second," he admitted.

She sighed, shaking her head. "Men."

"Well, maybe if you met someone yourself, you'd have a little sympathy."

"Ed. He's only been gone for three weeks."

"Three _long_ weeks," answered Edward. "Any word on why they cut the mission short?"

"No, not that anyone is talking about."

Edward heard the misgivings in her voice. "Do you think something went wrong?" he asked softly.

"I don't know. But Martin called Henry Bradford on a secure channel as soon as they came in range, and they talked behind a privacy field for over half an hour. No one has any idea what they talked about. The entire base has been whispering about it."

Edward was about to reply when he heard the rising thunder of the descending spacecraft's engines. Turning to face the rumble of sound, he toggled his glasses to emit a more focused sensory pulse for a long-range visual simulation. The outline of the ship suddenly appeared in his sensorium, dropping out of the sky toward them. _Yes!_ "Stel, what do you see?" he asked, his voice tinged with excitement. "Tell me!"

"I'm not sure," she answered. The rest of her answer was drowned out by the blast of noise as the _Zenith_ fired its bow rockets to kill its forward speed, followed by the belly thrusters to offset its weight as the ship settled ponderously onto its landing jacks. Then the _Zenith_ cut her engines, and the only sound was the scream of the wind.

Edward waited for his glasses to generate a higher-resolution sonic map of the ship, now that it was stationary. "Well, it looks like they brought it back in one piece, at least," he said, smiling.

"Edward..." Stella said from beside him.

Hearing the uncertainty in her voice, he turned to look at her, toggling his glasses to the standard short-range mapping function. When the map was complete, he could see her staring at the ship with an expression of concern. "What's wrong?"

"It's covered with scorch marks," she murmured in the silence. "The entire belly of the ship has a patchwork of new plating. They probably had a significant hull breach on the lower decks."

Edward's anticipation at seeing Martin again was immediately eclipsed by a sense of dread. "Main Engineering."

Stella said nothing, but Edward knew from her expression of fear that they were both thinking the same thing.

Charles

Return to the Table of Contents.
Chapter 44

Henry Bradford stood on the tarmac below the undercarriage of the _Zenith_ , watching as a line of crewmembers descended the main cargo ramp in groups of six, each group carrying a long, silver-metal box on their shoulders. A single name and identification number was stenciled on the side of each coffin. "Someone will burn for this," he said in a quiet voice.

"Yes, they will," said Martin.

Henry turned to face the group of four who stood next to him: Martin, Charles, Knox, and Sophia Wu. "You really think you can trap them?"

"With Admiral O'Dare's assistance, the odds in our favor rose significantly," answered Charles. "The upgrades he provided to our defense screens mean the ship will easily withstand the impact of a missile attack like the one that took out Flight 273."

"Assuming they still intend to destroy the ship by conventional means, they will have to do it close up and in person," said Knox. "And we'll be waiting for them."

Henry turned to Dr. Wu. "And you'll be able to see them coming?"

She nodded. "The theory is sound. We won't know until it happens."

"It's a gamble," said Martin. "Just as the dampening field is a gamble. But this is our best shot at getting a line on the enemy."

"I told you I didn't get this far by taking chances," said Henry.

"And what would have happened to your company if the _Zenith_ had been destroyed at Alpha Centauri?" asked Dr. Wu, her words laced with contempt.

Henry faced her. "If the _Zenith_ had been lost, the public would have assumed the drive technology was flawed. My corporate partners in the Interscission Project would have been pressured by their investors to pull out, and Starfire would have borne the entire brunt of the subsequent investigation. Regardless of the outcome, shareholder value would have plummeted, and the company would have been ruined. _I_ would have been ruined."

"Sounds like you're a gambler to me," Martin said. "Ready to double down?"

Henry turned to face the slowly moving line of silver coffins that stretched from the _Zenith_ to the main hangar. "Tell me what you need."

* * *

Edward waited nervously as the _Zenith's_ crew emerged from the receiving facility, where they had been debriefed and medically assessed before being officially released.

Those of them who came back, that is.

Everyone standing in the roped-off observer section of the tarmac had seen the coffins being unloaded from the ship by the dozen. Edward couldn't understand it.

The Zenith mission was a complete success. There was no loss of life reported. How could this have happened?

Stella stood next to him, outwardly calm, but Edward had seen her lose it in private, convinced that her targeting algorithm must have been at fault.

Could she be right? Or was it one of my modifications to the ship's design? Is it our fault? Did we do this by coming here?

The crowd of onlookers began to thin. One by one, the crewmembers stepped out of the facility and were spirited away by grateful loved ones. The families of the dead had already been notified, although the victim's names had not yet been announced. Edward knew Martin had survived, because he had identified himself to the Control Tower staff before making his private report to Henry Bradford, but there was no word yet as to whether Charles had made it.

What if he died out there because of our meddling? What the hell have we done?

His musings were cut short when Stella gripped his arm hard enough to hurt. Following her gaze, Edward saw two men step into view from the receiving facility, side by side.

Martin and Charles. Thank God.

As he watched, Charles was jerked out of line by Jennifer Donovan. She wrapped her arms around him, and Charles responded by embracing her just as forcefully. The two of them stood there, as if frozen in time, ignoring the rest of the world entirely.

Martin, Edward saw, had stepped out of line and was watching them intently with a sad expression on his face. On the other side, Trevor watched the reunited couple from the sidelines for a long moment before walking away.

Edward shook his arm free from Stella's grasp and pushed through the remaining spectators to Martin's side. Gently, he laid his hand on Martin's shoulder, noticing the visible tremor in his fingers as he touched the Captain's jacket.

Martin spun in place at the touch, his eyes widening when he saw Edward.

"Ed—" That was as far as he got before Edward wrapped his fingers in Martin's hair and dragged his head down until their lips met in a fierce kiss—so fierce that Edward barely noticed Martin reach around his body to hug him tight to his chest. All Edward cared about was that Martin was _alive_ , here and now, in his arms, and was kissing him back.

Finally, Edward drew back, gasping for breath. He stared into the handsome face he had yearned for, feeling the body of the man he had wanted for so very long pressed firm against his, and suddenly he didn't care about the secrets, the history, and the outright lies between them. All he cared about was this moment, this instant in time when nothing else mattered. Then he took the foolish, sentimental, and potentially disastrous words that burned in his heart and did the one thing he had promised himself he would never do.

He said them out loud.

"I love you."

* * *

Martin's head spun with the words. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, and his resolve shuddered to a stop. Edward's simple, and obviously sincere, declaration crashed through the emotional barriers Martin had erected against him. Out of the corner of one eye, he saw Charles raise his head, his face tight with concern.

All of Martin's strategies deserted him. He found himself naked and defenseless against Edward's guileless blue eyes, which glowed behind the refraction fields of his reading glasses.

You lied to me. You've been lying to me this entire time. Everything I know about you is fiction, except for one simple fact.

The only piece of truth in your entire history.

The one thing I had to find out for myself.

The one thing you would never have told me.

Martin smiled widely, forcing it to reach his eyes—a consummate skill learned by years of practicing the art of seduction.

I know who you are.

He leaned forward and kissed Edward again, deeply and passionately, using every trick in his not inconsiderable playbook to enhance the other man's pleasure. Then he tore himself away and hugged the younger man close.

"I love you, too," he whispered in Edward's ear with all the sincerity he could muster.

_Lord, if you're listening, please... please, I..._ Martin closed his eyes against the tears that threatened to fall. _Please._

Let that be just another lie.

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Chapter 45

Edward woke slowly, first becoming aware of the soft rhythm drumming in his right ear, and then the supple weight that wrapped around his back to end draped over his hip. The memory of the night before crept into his awareness, and he smiled as the rest of his body checked in, quite deliciously sore after the evening's strenuous physical activities, which had stretched into the night and picked up again in the early morning.

Edward uncurled his left hand from where it lay next to his head and placed his palm flat on Martin's chest, luxuriating in the warmth of the smooth skin and the firmness of the muscle beneath. He slid his fingers lower, until he found what he was looking for, and began kneading the soft flesh until it hardened into iron. He continued to play with his prize, listening to the accelerating rhythm of Martin's heartbeat, until the arm flung over his back tightened around him.

"Edward." Martin's voice was still drowsy. "You are positively insatiable."

Edward momentarily squeezed hard, feeling Martin's body jump in response. "Are you awake yet?"

"Yes! What was that for?"

Edward moved his hand up and down in slow, gentle strokes. "Do I have your _complete_ attention?" He kept his tone lazy, playful, but he could feel his own heart quickening as Martin's breath grew heavier, more ragged.

"Oh, yeah."

Edward lifted his head and kissed his way up his lover's chest, not breaking rhythm. His lips worked along the curve of Martin's neck, down the line of his jaw. "Are you close?" he whispered.

"Yes," answered Martin, his voice uneven. "Very..."

"Then kiss me."

He felt Martin's right hand slide behind his head, drawing him forward so their lips met. Martin's tongue slipped between his lips and probed his mouth, and immediately Edward responded by returning the kiss and accelerating the motion of his hand. He inhaled deeply, tasting his partner's breath.

Martin's head jerked back suddenly, shouting incoherently as his body spasmed under Edward's deft touch. Liquid heat spilled over the younger man's fingers.

Martin collapsed back onto the bed, panting loudly.

"Good morning." Edward eased onto his side and propped his head on his hand.

"G—Good morning." Martin struggled to speak.

Edward brushed his still-wet fingers across Martin's skin, tracing his body from groin to breastbone, trailing them through the shallow puddles of warm fluid where his lover's seed had pooled. Bringing his hand to his lips, he delicately licked his fingers clean.

"Christ, Edward," said Martin. "You should be illegal."

Edward wished he could see what Martin looked like, right now, spread-eagled on Edward's bed, completely at his mercy. "So. Think you'll be able to fuck me anytime soon?"

"I might... need a few minutes to recover."

"That's okay." Edward ran his fingertips across Martin's chest again, drawing a series of random swirls that swept through the droplets of sticky fluid now cooling on the other man's skin. "I can wait."

Martin's chest shifted under his fingers as the older man moved suddenly, and Edward found himself flipped unceremoniously on his back. Weight settled against his lower body as Martin straddled him, pinning Edward's hands to the mattress above his head.

Edward was curious but unconcerned. He knew was in safe hands. "Marty, what are you...?"

Martin pressed against him with the obscene pelvic roll he seemed to have perfected, and Edward gasped at the friction against his own hard flesh.

"My turn," growled Marty, letting go of Edward's hands to fumble for something on the nightstand. Edward could hear the sound of Martin rubbing his hands together, and the faint scent of lavender. _The massage oil I used on Marty last night._ He felt Martin's weight shift slightly, as his lover wrapped both hands around Edward's throbbing erection, spreading a thick layer of warm lubricant over the sensitive skin.

Edward controlled his breathing; but was unable to contain his anticipation.

There are two ways this could go.

He'd dated a couple of soldiers growing up; both had considered themselves exclusive tops, seemingly trained to always expect to be the dominant partner. To his delight, Edward had discovered Martin was much more open-minded. Apparently, Marty didn't give a damn who pitched, as long as they were both completely satisfied afterward.

Option one would be a treat, but, oh, option two—now that would definitely be something special to start the day.

Edward held his breath as he felt himself being gradually enveloped in tight heat. He shuddered with pleasure as Martin impaled himself on his erection. Edward exhaled in a rush at each arch of Martin's back, and reached out blindly to touch him, but Martin grabbed his wrists and forced them back down on the mattress.

"Don't touch." His voice was a soft rasp. "Don't talk. Just feel."

Martin began to move again, up and down, with Edward writhing beneath him. Finally, Edward couldn't take it anymore. "Marty, let go of me."

Martin stopped moving, Edward's hard flesh still sheathed entirely in his body. He let go of Edward's wrists. "What is it?"

"Kiss me."

Martin leaned forward to catch his lips, kissing him back gently, and Edward wrapped his arms around his lover, carefully rolling them over until Martin lay on his back, with Edward on top. Edward flexed Martin's legs, allowing himself a better angle, and began fucking him in earnest, hard and fast.

Martin grunted with each thrust, reaching down to stroke himself, hands still slick with oil. Finally, he climaxed with a guttural scream, semen spurting across his chest and Edward's.

Edward felt the hot spray of liquid against his skin as Martin clenched down hard on him. Unable to hold back any longer, he buried himself as deeply into Martin's body as he could, and then let himself go, shuddering at the ecstasy of release.

They lay still for a moment, each. Edward carefully pulled free of Martin and lay down beside him.

"Wow." He said nothing else for a moment, trying to catch his breath. "That was amazing. Even more than usual." He reached out to touch Martin's face, tracing the lines of his expression, and realized that his lover was smiling.

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself, because I sure as hell did." Martin took a deep breath and exhaled sharply. "Damn. I always kind of wondered how that would feel."

"How what would feel? We didn't do anything we haven't done before." Edward frowned. "Wait. It did feel different somehow. More intense. I usually last longer."

"That's because I didn't dress you for the occasion," murmured Martin.

Edward gasped. He reached down to touch himself, not finding the sheath he had expected. "Are you nuts?" he yelled. "What were you thinking?"

"I've had my shots," Martin said, matter-of-factly. "And I distinctly remember you saying you'd had yours. So, it's not an issue, unless there's something you've got that I've never heard of."

"No, of course not," sputtered Edward. "But there's always a risk that..."

"I considered the risk." Martin rolled off the bed and got to his feet. "I accepted it."

"But why?"

"Because I wanted this to be special. A memory of you, alone, that was unlike anyone else. Something no one else could touch."

Edward sat up, and turned his head toward Martin's voice. "You shouldn't have taken the risk. I don't think I could bear it if it turned out I hurt you."

Martin was silent for a time. "I know you would never do that."

"No. I wouldn't. I love you."

Martin said nothing.

"Marty?"

"I love you too, Edward."

Edward listened to Martin's footsteps recede toward the bathroom. "Martin."

The footsteps stopped.

He took a deep breath. "It _was_ special. Thank you."

"I'm glad," said Martin, softly.

Edward was about to say more, when he heard the door to the bathroom close. A moment later, he heard the shower start running. He flopped backward, lying flat on the bed.

Damn. I could get used to this.

* * *

Martin huddled in the corner of the shower stall, his body quickly going numb under the spray of frigid water.

I am the absolutely worst fucking person in the entire goddamn world.

After a few minutes, he climbed wearily to his feet, shivering from the cold. He turned the water temperature up, to a more tolerable warmth, and let the hot water sluice over his body, washing away the traces of sex from his skin. His forehead against the glass wall of the shower, he let the heat sink into his bones, trying not to think about what he'd done—but it was a losing battle.

He was scared. He saw the coffins, and he was scared.

Martin began to pound his head lightly against the glass, not loudly enough to be audible through the bathroom door.

He was terrified that I could have died out there, because HE FUCKING LOVES ME. God, I'm such a bastard.

He lifted his head so the stream of hot water poured over his face, washing away his angry tears.

If I'd really wanted to reassure him, I could have just spent the night talking to him. He would have been satisfied with that. The plan was to pump him for information and figure out why they were really here. I didn't have to push him into a damn sexual marathon first. What the hell was I thinking?

He turned off the water and opened the door. Rather than reaching for a towel, he stared at his image in the heated mirror across from the shower door.

I could have found another way to make him happy. Some other way to make up for what I'm about to do. But I didn't. Why?

He stepped out of the shower still dripping wet, heedless of the water that pooled on the floor as he examined his reflection's bloodshot eyes. Martin knew how to read people.

The eyes never lie.

He met his own gaze and saw what was written there.

_Guilt. Misery._ _Need._

I did it because I was weak. Because I was greedy. Because I wanted to let it be real—for just one night. One night to let myself feel it. One night to let myself be his, unconditionally.

He propped his hands on the sink and hung his head, breaking eye contact with the unbidden desire that was so plainly visible on his face.

One night to let him love me, until the moment I betray him.

He turned his head toward the bathroom door, toward the bed he had shared with his lover—the man he desperately didn't want to lose.

Until the day I break his trust and destroy that love forever.

"I'm sorry, Edward," he whispered.

Until today.

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Chapter 46

Edward left the bathroom, drying his hair with a towel, and strode to the closet. He pulled out a random pair of pants. They were all the same, but if anyone had noticed that he always wore basic black pants, no one had mentioned it, which simplified matters. He had enough trouble ensuring he didn't wear the same shirt two days in a row. If he did, someone might notice he couldn't fake color vision if it wasn't labeled for him on a viewscreen by the accessibility carrier wave.

He pulled on his trousers and ran his fingers over the labels of the shirts, printed in tactile ink. It was an imperfect invention, but Edward was grateful it was already so widely used in this time, or he'd never have been able to pretend he could read the paper documents that were still somewhat prevalent. His cover would have blown in no time if his glasses couldn't pick it up and allow him to make out the words and diagrams printed on hardcopy blueprints. Still, even without his glasses on, he could feel the change in temperature as he ran his fingers over the letters and reconstructed the text in his mind. Finally, he found the shirt he wanted, which the label indicated was a rich aqua color. He shrugged it on, not yet bothering to button it.

Back in the bedroom, he tried to hold back a yawn.

_Having wild sex all night long sounds great in theory, but it makes going to work a little more difficult the next day._ He grinned to himself. _Of course, wild sex in the morning just makes you impatient to get through the day so you can do it all over again._

He walked to the nightstand and reached down to retrieve his glasses from the charging station.

At least Marty knew enough to realize I wasn't kidding when I said I needed the layout of the room and certain objects within it to remain absolutely fixed in place.

It was why his bed wasn't slept in and the other bed probably looked like it belonged in a cheap hotel in Vegas. He inhaled deeply, wrinkling his nose at the smell of sweat and semen, and remembering the feel of Marty's touch, the taste of him.

I have a staff meeting to get to. No time right now to jerk off to the memory of being fucked ten different ways by my amazing boyfriend, or of fucking him. Or... damn... that thing he did with his... Okay, leash that thought until later. I have to go to work.

He walked into the living room, where Marty, now fully dressed and lying on the couch, was looking at something in his hands. Edward felt his face flush as he remembered his thoughts in the bedroom, and how close he'd come to missing the staff meeting for some self-love, even with Marty right in the next room.

Sloppy, Edward. Pay attention.

"Oh, sorry," he said. "I thought you were planning to leave while I was in the shower. I didn't realize you were still here."

"That was the original plan," Marty said, not looking away from the rectangular object he held. "But I decided to stick around and do a little snooping while you were busy."

Edward laughed. "Right, like I have anything worth hiding."

Martin moved his left hand to the side, and Edward heard the distinct sound of paper rubbing against paper.

_Holy shit._ "Is... is that a book?" asked Edward. "A real one?"

Martin turned to look at him. "Yeah, can't you see it?"

Edward moved closer, in wonder. "I can see it, but I didn't realize what it was. It must be very old."

Marty's focus returned to the book in his hands. "How can you tell?"

"There's no tactile ink signature in my sonic map. It was standard in books printed after the turn of the century, until they went out of style." Edward held out his hand. "Can I see it?"

Martin handed over the book without comment.

The rich grain of the deeply embossed leather cover made rough ridges under Edward's curious fingertips. He opened to a random page, and touched the edges, discovering the almost unnoticeable ridge that told him the pages were gilded. "This is amazing. Where did you get it?"

"I found it. _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland._ Not something I'd expect you'd just have lying around, Ed."

Edward went cold. He slammed the book closed, his fingers skimming the cover again, feeling the pattern of the lettering, the weight, the familiar notch in the upper right corner. He looked back at Marty, his face white with fury. "You... you fucking bastard," he yelled. "How dare you?"

Marty raised an eyebrow. "Problem?"

"This is _mine_!" Edward screamed. "It was my father's. He gave it to me before he died! It's all I have left of him, and you decided to put your grubby hands on it because you felt like snooping?" Edward felt tears sting his cheeks. "Get out! Get the fuck out of my room!"

Martin sighed. "Edward, I'm sorry. I truly am, but you're wrong. It's not what you think."

"What the hell does that mean?" snapped Edward, seething. "I know this book like I know the lines on my own palm.

"I'm sure you do," Martin said. "I guessed as much from the fact that Stella has the exact same edition of _Through the Looking Glass_." He got to his feet. "It's not your book, Edward. At least, not yet."

Edward was about to scream that he wasn't making sense, until he ran through the sentence again in his mind and slammed into a single word.

Yet.

Oh, God. No.

Martin, eyes downcast, stepped forward and took the book from Edward's nerveless fingers. "This is actually Charles' copy. He doesn't know why I asked to borrow it."

No. No, please. This can't be happening.

"I know, Edward." Martin put the book down on the coffee table, and straightened to his full height, meeting Edward's gaze squarely. "I know who you are."

"How long?" whispered Edward.

"I figured it out during the mission," answered Martin, his voice cold. "But I wasn't sure until we got back and Jake ran your DNA profile to identify who your parents were."

"You knew..." whispered Edward, softly. "When I told you I loved you... you already knew."

Martin didn't flinch, just stared at him expectantly. "Tell me your name, Edward. Your _real_ name."

Edward swallowed. "Last night. This morning. All the times you told me you loved me... it was all lies, wasn't it? To place me off guard?"

"Your name. Now."

"Edward."

"Edward _what_?"

I will always love you, Marty.

Edward closed his eyes, his heart breaking. "Edward Davenport."

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Chapter 47

Stella marched between the two Starfire Security Officers, her hands clenched in her pockets. They climbed the carefully guarded cargo ramp into the hangar bay, and then headed up the access corridor into the depths of the _Zenith_. Finally, her escort stopped before a nondescript door with the words "conference room" stenciled across it. The taller of the two officers, whom she had named Thug One in her mind, rapped on the door with his knuckles.

"Enter," Martin answered.

Stella raised an eyebrow at Thug Two. "I thought you said you were taking me to my brother."

The shorter officer nodded. "I'm sure Captain Atkins will explain, Ma'am." He indicated the door. "After you."

Stella pushed open the door and walked into the conference room, Thug One locking the door behind her.

Stella considered the three men around the conference table.

Edward was slumped in the seat closest to her. Martin sat across from him, his face an expressionless mask. The other man, standing with his back against the far wall, she hadn't met before, although she recognized him from the crew manifest. _Knox._

The viewscreen was lit on the wall to Martin's right, showing a split view of Jacob Atkins' face on one side, and a standard word processing document on the other.

"Come in, Stella," said Martin. "Please have a seat."

She frowned. "They told me Edward was in some kind of trouble."

"That would be an understatement," said Knox, with faint amusement.

From the corner of her eye, Stella noticed that the empty document frame wasn't empty anymore. Glancing up at it, she saw that everything that had been said since she entered the room had been faithfully transcribed on screen. She turned back to Martin. "What's going on here?" she demanded.

"Please sit down, Ms. Davenport." Martin's voice was calm. "We have a lot to talk about."

"Edward, what did you tell them?" she hissed in Mandarin.

"Nothing that we didn't already know," answered Martin.

She blinked, shocked that he had understood her words, and then noticed that they were exactly translated on the screen.

"Real-time translation program," she said in Russian, seeing the words appear in English. "Clever."

"I'm sure you'd find a way to beat it eventually," said Martin. "But that would ultimately be a waste of time for all of us, and time may be something that is quickly running out." He indicated the chair next to Edward. "From what little Edward has been willing to tell us, there are forces in play even you are not aware of."

She folded her arms and gave him a smug smile. "I doubt that."

"Someone mined the Centauri landing zone." Edward said, speaking up for the first time.

She stared at him, shocked not so much by his words but by the hopeless, defeated tone in his voice. "What are you talking about?"

Martin tapped a control on his wristcomp, and a second viewscreen lit behind him, showing the audio-video feed from the Bridge data recorder. She silently watched the _Zenith's_ arrival in Centauri space as the events played out.

Martin turned off the screen when they breached the minefield perimeter into open space. "Eventually, we were able to salvage one of the mines and discover that it was of human origin, and equipped with a miniature foldspace drive that was capable of temporal jumps." He met her gaze directly. "It was relatively simple to deduce that we had been set up by an enemy operating from the future. An enemy who was using time travel as a weapon to eliminate us."

"That's not very likely," she said, trying to keep her tone subdued. "If they were operating from a fixed point in the future, they would have been erased by the temporal shift when the timeline realigned in response to their changes. It would be suicide."

"From where, then?" asked Knox.

"For any traveler to maintain their identity intact in the face of the massive temporal disruption of so many historically significant deaths, they would have to travel here, to the present, and then return to the future after the realignment had occurred," she said, with an air of authority. "Anything less, and they would simply be overwritten. That implies a mobile time travel platform."

"A ship?" asked Martin.

"A ship would be the most logical solution," answered Edward, without emotion. "The foldspace drive of a small starship could be modified for temporal jumps. At least it could if they had the necessary computer power and the mathematical transforms to allow for calculation of a simplified, 4-space targeting solution."

"Which no one does." Stella raised her chin defiantly. "It took me five years of dedicated study to create the equations that allowed for personal spatial jumps. The equations to plot time jumps were derived from that work. They would require access to a substantial portion of my unpublished data and computer models."

"I did it." The ghost of a smile played on Edward's lips.

"You don't count." Stella was glad he was finally showing a little life.

"The fact remains that someone else did count," said Martin. "Unless you're telling me that you two are responsible for what we faced out there."

Stella glared at him, feeling her indignation rise as heat up over her face. "Do you honestly think we are capable of that?"

"I have no idea what you're capable of," Martin said, matter-of-factly. "But you didn't put that minefield out there. That I already knew."

Edward looked up at that. "You sound awfully sure of yourself."

Martin frowned at Edward's belligerent tone. "The minefield was centered around the landing field defined by the original targeting algorithm developed by Dr. Sophia Wu. We survived because Stella's new algorithm dropped us at the periphery, and we were able to escape before the entire field collapsed on top of us." He met her shocked gaze. "Thanks for saving our lives, by the way."

"Wait," she said, "if the minefield was designed around the old algorithm, that means..."

"It means your version of the targeting algorithm didn't exist in the historical record at the time the minefield was created," answered Knox with a scowl. "Which also means it predates your arrival in this time. That's the only reason the two of you are not cuffed and behind bars right now."

"That, and the fact that Jake was able to identify your parents from your DNA profiles," added Martin.

Stella gave him a long, measured stare, and then sat down in the chair next to Edward. "How much do you already know?"

"We know you are the biological children of Charles Davenport and Jennifer Donovan," said Jacob, from the screen.

"Do they know?" asked Stella.

"No," Martin replied. "No one knows but the five of us. I assume there would be consequences for the two of you if they were to find out."

"We'd be trapped here," said Stella. "We couldn't risk returning home in case the knowledge of their future prevented them from having the children that would grow up to be us."

"Beyond that, we're mostly moving into the realm of supposition," said Martin. "I know your mother died in a radiation accident. I am guessing the ship was the _Zenith_."

"Yes." Edward sat up in his chair. "Although it was renamed the _Azimuth_ by then. We grew up on board during the colonization mission. The reactor fault developed during the ninth year of the project, as the _Azimuth_ was about to jump home. Trevor was the Senior Duty Officer in Main Engineering at the time of the accident. He made the decision to commence emergency venting before the crew was able to evacuate the sections at risk of irradiation. Afterward, the Civilian Review Board cleared him of misconduct, but Dad wouldn't accept the decision. He resigned from Starfire and took on other engineering jobs when he could get them, but they dried up when his drinking got out of control. Stella and I did the best we could, but the situation was too much for a couple of kids to handle, especially since I was still adjusting to my... handicap. I think it was only a matter of time before Social Services would have stepped in and taken us away from him."

Martin leaned forward intently. "What stopped them?" he asked, caught up in the story, in spite of himself.

Edward remained silent.

"You," whispered Stella.

Martin sat up straight. "Me?"

"You were his closest friend, and fast becoming his only friend," she continued. "You forced him to choose between the bottle and ending your friendship. He chose you. Then you forced him into detox, and counseling, and eventually, you pieced our family back together."

Martin stared at her, and turned to Edward with a thoughtful expression.

"No, it wasn't hero worship, if that's what you're thinking." Edward made a sour face. "At least, not entirely. _You_ asked _me_ out, remember?"

"I remember," said Martin, breaking eye contact.

"Anyway, it's all moot," added Stella. "Trevor's modification to the emergency venting system guarantees the accident will unfold differently if history repeats itself. Everything we came here to accomplish was achieved. We could have left at any time."

"So why didn't you?" asked Knox.

"Because a man I thought I loved asked me to wait for him," answered Edward, practically spitting the words. He glared at Martin. "So I waited."

"Edward's time platform is a fixed-point foldspace projector," said Stella, watching her brother sadly. "As long as we remain here, it is maintaining a continuous lock on us, preventing the timeline from relaxing into a new configuration. Once we leave, however, we will become part of the new history based on this present. We might never recover our memory of who we were before the temporal shift." She sighed. "But that would require both of us to leave. Nothing will change as long as either of us chooses to remain here."

"Is that what you want?" asked Jacob. "To be overwritten into someone else?"

"We came here to change our own destinies," said Stella. "Hopefully for the better. But we won't know if it worked until we return and let history unfold."

"There's something I don't understand." Knox frowned. "The two of you exist presumably because Charles Davenport joined the Interscission Project and met Jennifer Donovan, which means your timeline is based on Trinity flight 273 being shot down."

Stella raised an eyebrow. "That's true, I suppose."

"So, if the minefield was placed before your timeline existed, it predates the Trinity disaster."

Martin frowned. "I don't see where you're going with this, Thomas."

Knox stared at him. "If the minefield existed before you joined Starfire, and before they came back and changed the targeting algorithm, then in their original timeline, we must have jumped right into the center of the minefield. How did we survive?"

Martin looked at Edward, who seemed totally taken aback. "How _did_ we survive?"

"I don't know," said Edward. "There were never any historical reports of the _Zenith_ encountering a minefield."

Stella chuckled. "Good old Henry." She looked at Martin, amused by his obvious confusion. "When he makes the announcement that the Zenith managed to jump from Earth to another star and back again, do you think he's going to mention that someone got there first? He probably covered the whole thing up."

"Weird," said Edward. "That might explain why Dad never liked to talk about it."

"Oh, hell," said Stella. "Remember the party for Dad, when he'd been sober for a year? He made that cryptic toast to Uncle Marty?"

"That's twice you've saved my life," Edward said softly. "And this time you did it without any fancy flying."

Stella glanced at Martin, who was looking at her with his eyebrows raised. "Looks like you would have made it out of the mines even without my help."

" _Uncle_ Marty?" he asked. He shook his head in disbelief. "Okay, we've established that you're not working with the enemy. Are you willing to help us take the fight to them?"

"Why should we help you?" snapped Edward.

"Because you succeeded." Martin's face showed no sign that Edward's hostility mattered to him. "Your happy new lives are waiting for you. But are you willing to chance that the enemy won't find a way to destroy it all after you leave?"

Edward opened his mouth, and then closed it again, apparently thinking better of an angry retort. "Fine. What do you want from us?"

"Long-term, I need you to work with Dr. Wu and Henry to develop some kind of defense against temporal jumps," said Martin. "In the meantime, I need you to review Dr. Wu's calculations regarding a weapon we've already developed and installed on board the _Zenith_. She's confident it will work, but it's possible you'll be able to improve on it."

"What kind of weapon?" asked Stella.

"She calls it a Gravity Shield," said Knox. "It bombards local space with high energy gravitons, disrupting the formation of coherent artificial gravity fields."

"Like foldspace events," said Stella. "But if it's a local effect, it won't stop them from jumping in, only from jumping out. They could still attack you."

"I know." Martin grinned fiercely. "I'm counting on it."

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Chapter 48

Martin sat alone at the table after Knox led Stella and Edward away. He laid his head down on his folded arms.

"How are you holding up?" asked Jacob, from the viewscreen.

Martin sighed, not lifting his head. "You mean aside from feeling weird that I've been sleeping with my best friend's son? I'm a little freaked out about it, but honestly, I knew I'd lose him. Objectively, there's no way he would have wanted to stay with me after I tricked him into revealing who he was. I just didn't expect him to do such a complete one-eighty and hate my guts."

"Then why did you do it?"

Martin turned his head, still pillowed on his arms, to meet his brother's curious stare. "Everything we knew about time travel was just theory and guesswork. They have the knowledge we lack, and the technology that might give us the edge in this fight. I couldn't let them just stand on the sidelines."

"Marty, you are being deliberately obtuse," answered Jacob, his brows drawn together by an ugly scowl. "You know what I meant. We had the DNA profiles. There's no way they could have talked their way out of that. We could have just put them in a room and told them what we knew. So why trick him into confessing?"

"I needed to hear him say it. The facts were an abstraction. I needed him to say out loud that Chuck was his father, to make it real."

Jacob studied him through narrowed eyes for a time. "Bullshit."

"What?" Martin blinked, and then raised his head.

"You are totally trying to snow me with this sentimental line of crap," answered Jacob, his voice low and even. "This is _me_ , Marty. _Janus_. I know you inside and out, and you are a fucking pragmatic son of a bitch. Your entire life, you always looked at the evidence, set yourself a goal, and then did whatever you thought was necessary to achieve it, no matter who or what had to be pushed aside or crushed under your boots to make it happen. Not once have you ever held back from going full speed ahead as soon as you made up your mind."

"Once," whispered Martin.

That brought Jacob up short momentarily, and his gaze softened. "Okay, once. You let Charles decide the two of you shouldn't be lovers, and you didn't try to pressure him into starting a relationship you were convinced would be the best thing that ever happened to both of you." Suddenly, Jacob's forehead creased in suspicion. "Aw, Christ. That's it, isn't it? You're doing it again. You provoked Edward deliberately, just to make it easier for him to hate you. Why? What's so important that you decided to fall on your sword and send him on his way?"

Martin didn't meet his gaze, propping his head on his arm again while he traced the wood grain veneer that topped the conference table. "What would you give to see Mom and Dad again?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Jacob recoiled as if Martin had reached through the viewscreen and slapped him. "What?"

"Mom and Dad. If you could go back in time and prevent the bombing, live your life over again with them in it, what would you give up to make it happen?"

Jacob watched him soberly. "Anything," he said. "Anything and anyone. Anyone other than you."

"I love him." He rubbed his eyes wearily. "Every time I said the words, I meant them. It was never a lie." He got to his feet and stepped closer to the viewscreen. "He has a chance at happiness that you and I will never have. I won't let him throw that away. Not for me."

Jacob visibly hesitated. "You could go with him. Make a place for yourself in his bright future."

Martin shook his head, smiling wistfully. "I know how much it cost you to say that, brother, and I appreciate it. But I could never leave you behind. And who knows if he'd even remember me when we got there? I fell in love with this Edward—the Edward shaped by tragedy, who persevered in spite of it. I don't know if I could love the other Edward, or if he could love me back." He met his brother's gaze. "But I know in my heart that _this_ Edward won't leave if he still loves me, and I can't allow that to happen."

"Charles turned you down because he wasn't willing to commit to you," said Jacob. "Edward is willing, but you're deliberately pushing him away because you think he'd be better off without you." He sighed. "Brother, you sure can pick 'em."

Martin chuckled. "You're probably right. My life would be a whole lot simpler if I could fall for someone easier to get along with. Someone loyal, and down-to-earth, and just plain stable." He smirked at his brother. "Someone like Knox."

Jacob froze. His face reddened slowly, the color rising by the minute under Martin's knowing gaze. "Yeah," he mumbled. "Thomas seems like he'd be a solid choice."

"He's not really my type." Martin grinned. "Have you asked him out yet?"

"I planted a few suggestions," muttered Jacob. "I'm waiting to see if he takes me up on them."

"Good luck with that," said Marty. "Try not to be so shy this time. You're a handsome devil. It amazes me that you haven't gotten laid since—"

"O- _kay_." Jacob stopped him abruptly. "Changing the subject now. What are you going to tell Charles about his two little munchkins?"

The mirth faded from Martin's face. "The same as I've already told him. They're time travelers, here to help the Zenith mission succeed. It wasn't a hard sell. He'd already seen the difference in the landing maps between the two targeting algorithms and had drawn his own conclusions."

"So now we wait," said Jacob, "until our mysterious enemy decides to try again."

"Right. Too bad we can't choose the time and place they decide to strike."

Jacob suddenly frowned. "Hmm. Maybe we can't. But maybe we can narrow the field, a bit."

"How?"

Jacob grinned. "I have an idea."

Return to the Table of Contents
Chapter 49

Gifford ran through his katas quickly and efficiently, the blade of his katana striking down his foes one after another.

A soft tone sounded in the exercise room.

He ignored it, flowing through the final movements, maintaining perfect form and balance until he completed the scripted battle. Then he bowed to the fallen enemies who littered the floor, and slid the katana into its sheath at his belt with a flourish. Reaching up, he deactivated the VR headset he was wearing, and his imaginary opponents faded from view. He carefully removed the device and placed it back into its power receptacle to recharge. "What is it, Modred?" he asked, grabbing a towel off the warming rack.

"My search programs have been continuously monitoring all news broadcasts in the planetary infosphere that contain a subset of the keyphrases you specified," answered the ship's computer. "You asked to be notified if any such broadcast achieved an eighty-percent match or better against your search parameters."

Gifford broke into a predatory smile. _Finally._ "Show me."

The viewscreen built into the wall lit up, and one of the vapid newscasters of this era appeared. Gifford didn't remember her name, but she was probably dead and buried as far as he was concerned, so it mattered little. He focused on her words, wanting to savor the moment. _Victory at last._

"A startling development was reported this morning in regards to the _CSS Zenith_ , an advanced research vessel built by the Starfire Technology Group that made headlines three weeks ago when it mysteriously vanished without trace from Earth's orbit with more than two hundred crewmembers on board." Behind her, a video played of the Zenith enveloped in the brilliant light of the interscission event before disappearing entirely.

She continued, "Dr. Henry Bradford, the Chief Executive Officer and Director of Research at Starfire, announced at a press conference today, under threat of an official inquiry and subpoena, that the vessel was designed to perform a detailed astronomical survey of the Alpha Centauri star system, utilizing an experimental propulsion system capable of interstellar travel.

"Details about this prototype stardrive have not been immediately forthcoming, beyond the statement that the drive is based on teleportation technology developed by Starfire in cooperation with a global alliance of corporate citizens known collectively as the Interscission Consortium. Finally breaking his silence after widespread criticism of the secrecy surrounding the vessel's disappearance, Dr. Bradford admitted the _Zenith's_ maiden voyage was to be their first attempt to execute a controlled teleport across interstellar distances, and that the ship had essentially executed a blind leap into the unknown. In Dr. Bradford's own words, 'the potential benefits of this technology toward the advancement of human society rendered any conceivable danger to the crew an acceptable risk'."

Gifford laughed. _Arrogant bastard. Just keep on digging, Henry. The bottom will drop out soon enough._

The announcer paused for dramatic effect before continuing. "However, in a surprise twist, Dr. Bradford concluded his remarks by indicating that the experiment had been a resounding success, and that the _Zenith_ had returned unharmed and intact, without loss of life. Dr. Bradford was then joined on stage by key members of the scientific staff that made the mission possible, as well as senior members of the _Zenith's_ crew, newly returned from their historic journey."

The announcer's voice was drowned out by Gifford's incoherent scream of rage as he saw the image of the scientists and crew standing in a semicircle behind Bradford, proud and triumphant. The screen went dark as he flung his sheathed katana through the charged glass.

Fists clenched, he stared at the shattered viewscreen and at the incandescent sparks popping from its damaged electronics.

Beaten. Again.

How?

Walter Keystone?

He assumed the experienced original Captain of the _Zenith_ had recognized the danger posed by the minefield and piloted the ship to safety before the mines activated. The elimination of Keystone and the other senior flight officers should have resulted in the destruction of the vessel. The replacement Captain that Bradford had hired was just another hot-headed greenhorn who had never been engaged in active combat, had not even held a command of his own. Nothing in Martin Atkins' military personnel file indicated he had the mindset to recognize the configuration of the minefield and escape before the fail-safe period ran out.

Obviously, I missed something—something that gave them the edge they needed to survive.

He grasped the lacquered black case of his katana and yanked it roughly from the wreckage of the viewscreen. "Modred, clean up this mess."

"Auto-repair sequence activated."

Gifford turned to face the viewscreen on the other wall. "Pull up the last image again. I want to see the faces of the people responsible for this... setback."

The image of Henry and the Starfire team appeared on the second viewscreen. Most of them were easily identifiable. Captain Atkins and Commander Davenport he recognized from the photos included with their military files. The man wearing Lieutenant Commander rank pins, and the double twist of gold braid on his epaulets that marked him as Second Officer, had appeared on stage during previous iterations, usually in the background as one of the uncaptioned senior staff. The other members of the _Zenith_ crew he dismissed as unimportant before turning to examine the scientific staff.

Trevor Sutton and Jennifer Donovan, of course, and Henry Bradford, but who do we have here?

"Modred, who is this woman, and the man wearing those ludicrous reading glasses? They weren't there in the previous iteration."

"The image caption lists their names as Stella and Edward Harlen."

"Access the Starfire historical records we acquired on our last forward jump. Show me their files."

"There is no record of any Starfire employees named Stella Harlen or Edward Harlen in this time period."

"Are they from one of the other corporations involved with the project?"

"There is no record of either name listed as employees of any member of the Interscission Consortium."

Gifford stepped closer to the screen.

Curious.

"Then where did they come from?"

"That information is not available."

Gifford snorted in annoyance. Modred was a top-of-the-line, near-AI construct from his original timeline, but he did have a tendency to take things literally. "Do a face-print recognition survey on both subjects across those same databases. Maybe they're not using their real names."

"No match."

His pulse sped as his suspicions were aroused. "Widen the search to all available databases, in all known iterations. I want to know who they are." Gifford paced the room.

"Iteration One: no match."

"Iteration Two: no match."

"Iteration Three: no match."

"Iteration Four: no match."

"Iteration Five: match found."

An image of Stella appeared on the screen. She was dressed in a business suit that wouldn't be in style for decades, and was apparently teaching a class.

"Estelle Clara Davenport, Associate Professor of Mathematics, Oxford University. Born Centauri Space, Azimuth Crèche, September 17, 2179. Father: Charles Edward Davenport. Mother: Jennifer Ainsley Davenport. One sibling: Edward Martin Davenport, born Centauri Space, Azimuth Crèche, September 17, 2179. "

Gifford stood frozen, staring straight ahead at nothing. "Repeat that," he said in a strangled voice. "The part about her parents."

"Father: Charles Edward Davenport. Mother: Jennifer Ainsl—"

"Stop!" Gifford swallowed. "Modred, give me a brief biographical summary of Jennifer Ainsley Donovan, beginning in 2176."

"Jennifer Ainsley Donovan, Chief Medical Officer and Director of Engineering and Special Projects, Starfire Technology Group, 2176. Chief Medical Officer, _CSS Azimuth,_ 2177. Married Charles Edward Davenport, 2178. Two offspring: Estelle Clara Davenport and Edward Martin Davenport, born 2179, Azimuth Crèche, Centauri Space. Deceased, _CSS Azimuth,_ Centauri Space, 2187."

"Cause of death?" he whispered.

"Radiation exposure associated with emergency venting of drive plasma."

Gifford sat down on the floor. "And this is part of Iteration Five continuity? After we shot down the spaceplane?"

"Yes."

"Give me a biographical sketch of Trevor Sutton, beginning in 2176, same iteration."

"Trevor John Sutton, Director of Information Technology and Automation, Starfire Technology Group, 2176. Chief Operations Officer, _CSS Azimuth,_ 2177. Charged with thirteen counts of second-degree homicide, sub-specification: depraved indifference to human life, and ten counts of first-degree assault, sub-specification: intent to cause grievous bodily harm, following early activation of emergency venting of drive plasma, _CSS Azimuth,_ Centauri Space, 2187. Criminal charges vacated with prejudice following external civilian safety review, 2188. Resigned from Starfire Technology Group, 2188. Associate Professor of Applied Engineering, Cornell University, 2189. Deceased, Ithaca, New York, Earth, 2194."

"Cause of death?"

"Plasma rifle injury, self-inflicted."

Gifford took a deep breath and held it. Then he screamed.

"Are you in need of medical assistance, sir?"

Gifford put his head in his hands. "No." He sighed, and got to his feet. "No, I do not need any assistance, Modred." He turned back to face the image of Henry. "Was there anything else in the broadcast that might be of use to me?"

"Dr. Bradford stated during questioning that the _CSS Zenith_ would remain at the San Francisco Starfire Shipyards facility for the next week, undergoing repairs for incidental damage accrued during the mission. It will then be transferred to a high-security dry dock facility for extensive refitting prior to being rechristened as the _CSS Azimuth_ and embarking on a ten-year exploration and colonization project."

"So we have a week to act before the ship is out of reach." He turned back to the image of Stella and Edward. "What are indices looking like after the announcement?"

"The stock price of the Starfire Technology Group has increased by one hundred seventy-three percent in the last hour, and continues to climb."

"I see." Gifford continued to stare at Stella and Edward. "Modred, reclassify all data acquired since we returned to this time period as belonging to Iteration Six."

"Confirmed."

Gifford kissed his fingertips and then pressed them to the viewscreen between the images of Stella and Edward. "You fucking mongrels will regret coming here. It wasn't personal until now. Now, I will see you dead." He turned and glared at the image of Charles' smiling face, where he stood on the stage next to Martin. "No. Not dead. I will see you _expunged_."

Return to the Table of Contents
Chapter 50

Knox watched the scene flicker on the viewscreen as it tapped randomly into the security camera feeds from all over the ship. He leaned back in his chair and tried to stretch out the sore spot in his neck. "The waiting is killing me."

Martin grunted noncommittally from where he slumped in the chair opposite Knox's desk in the Central Security Office, and flipped to the next page in Charles' copy of _Alice in Wonderland_.

"I mean, it's been five days," said Knox. "Do you think maybe we didn't make it obvious enough that the ship would only be vulnerable for a week?"

"We'll know in another couple of days, I guess." Martin sounded unconcerned.

Knox glared at him in exasperation. "That must be a hell of a good book."

"It's okay." Martin turned another page. "Not really my thing, though. When I read for pleasure, I like a little more murder and mystery."

Knox sighed and turned back to watch the Security feeds. "Then why are you reading it?"

"If I give it back to Charles without reading it, he'll wonder why I borrowed it in the first place," answered Marty. "That would be a serious problem for all concerned."

"Right," said Knox. "I should have realized." He glanced back at Martin. "You'll never be able to tell him, you know. I've seen how close the two of you are. Are you going to be able to keep it quiet for the rest of your life?"

"It will be hard. But it would be harder to live with myself if I put Edward in danger."

The conversation lapsed into silence, broken only by the rustle of paper as Martin turned pages.

"Captain, can I ask you a personal question, off the record?" asked Knox finally.

Martin looked up for a moment, as if surprised, and then dropped his gaze back to the book. "If you like."

Knox hesitated. "It's about your brother."

Martin slipped an index card between the pages and closed the book. Sitting up straight, he faced Knox, an expectant expression on his face. "All right, Thomas, you have my undivided attention. What's your question?"

Knox shifted in his seat. "I kind of have this weird impression he's trying to tell me something, but it's all in some kind of code, so he's dropping little hints and clues for me to figure out."

"Jake's mind can be a little convoluted at times, if you're not used to it," Martin replied. "It all makes sense to him, though, even if you can't see the overall pattern immediately."

"Oh, I think I understand the pattern. I'm just not sure how to feel about it."

"Thomas," said Martin, with a hint of a smile. "You said you had a question."

"Is Jake, uh, _interested_ in me?" Knox felt a flush forming at Martin's direct stare. "Romantically, I mean?"

"Yes."

Knox blinked. "Okay, that was simpler than I expected."

Martin chuckled. "Thomas, he likes you, but he's not the kind of guy to make the first move. He's more the sort of person who will walk into a room full of your enemies and start throwing out dead bodies."

"That's charming. The only problem is, I kind of like women."

Martin grinned. "So do I. But what you like in bed doesn't necessarily have anything to do with who you can love."

"I... see. That's an interesting perspective. I'll have to think about it."

Martin shrugged. "Do that. If you decide to make a go of it, more power to you. Welcome to the family. If not, he's still a good friend to have in your corner." He settled back in his chair and reopened his book. "And I'm sure I don't need to repeat myself when I tell you that if you break his heart, I will gut you like a fish before I feed you to the sharks."

Knox smiled slightly. "No, sir. I think that goes without saying."

* * *

Charles squinted at the holographic chess pieces. Then he tapped his knight and jumped it past the defenses erected by Edward's bishop and rook.

Edward moved his bishop across the board. "Check. Mate in seven moves."

"What? Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Charles sighed and resigned. "I'll take your word for it." He leaned back in his chair and stretched, then glanced at the readouts from the Artificial Gravity Control Station to make sure the gravity shield would be ready to go at a moment's notice. Finally, he turned back to his opponent, who was staring at the chessboard even after the holographic pieces had faded away. "So, what's your story?"

Edward raised his gaze to meet Charles' frank stare. "What did Martin tell you?"

Charles shrugged. "Just that you were time travelers with an interest in making sure the _Zenith_ mission succeeded. Total bullshit, obviously."

Edward's mouth quirked slightly upward at the corners. "What makes you say that?"

"I can always tell when Marty is lying to me."

Edward smiled sadly. "His left eyebrow twitches."

Charles didn't try to mask his surprise. "You noticed that, did you?"

Edward's expression turned sour. "Yeah. If I'd kept my glasses on when we made love, maybe I would have realized he was playing me for a fool."

"You mean, the same way you were playing him? I mean, you _were_ just going to up and leave him in the dirt when this was all over, weren't you?

Edward said nothing for a time. "Probably," he answered, at last. "I should have known there wouldn't be room in his heart for both of us."

Charles frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"He'll never love me the way he loves you." Edward sighed. "I shouldn't have convinced myself I had a shot."

"You had a shot, Edward," answered Charles in a soft voice. "You blew it. He doesn't forgive people who lie to him about the things that actually matter." Charles looked away. "Besides, Marty knows there's never going to be anything more than friendship between me and him."

Edward chuckled. "Never say never."

Charles stared at him. "What?"

"By my time, you'd been married twice, Commander." Edward shrugged. "Martin was spouse number two."

Charles laughed. "That's ridiculous."

Edward gave him a level gaze. "I am perfectly serious."

Charles swallowed, his amusement draining away as he tried to keep his face impassive. "And spouse number one?"

"Jennifer Donovan."

Despite his efforts at keeping a poker face, Charles' eyes narrowed. "I take it we didn't work out, then."

"You were very happy together."

"Then why was there a spouse number two?"

"You outlived her." Edward's expression turned morose. "You outlived them both."

Charles heard his pulse drumming in his ears. "You're lying."

"No. I'm not."

Charles got to his feet and glared down at him. "Then why are you telling me this?"

"Because life is short, and I think you understand that." Edward didn't look up to meet his gaze. "I don't believe anything I say will deter you from pursuing either one of them. And who knows? After everything that's changed, nothing I know about future events may still hold true. You could live out your life with Jennifer beside you. Or you could both die tomorrow. Destiny is a lie."

Charles sat down slowly. "I think you're telling the truth."

Edward shrugged. "Think what you like." He tapped the board, and the holographic pieces reappeared back in their starting positions.

"I also think you're just telling me this so I'll forget you haven't answered my question about who you really are."

Edward raised his head and smiled at him across the board. "It's your move."

* * *

Stella monitored the interferometer data from the Engineering Station on the Bridge. _Sooner or later, the enemy would show himself, and if all went well, I will be the first one to see him coming._ That didn't make the waiting any easier. Like the others, she was riding high on sleep deprivation meds, maintaining her vigil almost uninterrupted for the last five days. When she did take a break, she switched off with Dr. Wu.

She glanced back at the Astrogation Officer, noticing the diagrams of the mathematical models Dr. Wu was working through. She frowned. "Wait. You're not seriously trying to solve the complete eight-dimensional equations, are you?"

Dr. Wu squinted up at her. "Of course I am. It's the only way we'll ever be able to truly understand the interscission effect."

Stella shrugged and turned back to her console. "Suit yourself, but you're wasting your time."

"It's my time to waste," she answered primly.

"I suppose," said Stella. "I can't fault your work so far. The graviton bombardment effect you designed into your Gravity Shield wasn't discovered in my timeline for another six or seven years. Maybe you'll find a way to crack the complete model, too."

"I don't need to crack the model entirely," said Dr. Wu. "I just need to be able to understand the gravitic geometry up to the point where it becomes possible to neutralize the higher-dimensional effects."

Stella turned around to face her. "Say that again."

Dr. Wu met her gaze. "If I can find a way to model the interscission effect sufficiently, I can create an opposing waveform in the local space-time manifold that will block an incoming foldspace event. The problem is in finding a way to separate the three-dimensional from the four-dimensional events, and selectively shut out the four-space intrusions."

"A temporal shield." Stella nodded. "That would be... difficult to engineer, but not impossible."

"If I can find a solution that works, then with the assistance of Admiral O'Dare, it should be possible to disseminate that technology to create a global defense. Time travel, as a weapon, would become useless."

Stella stared at her. "I'm impressed. You think big."

Dr. Wu sniffed in disdain. "Nonsense. You have simply been thinking too small. Our enemy does not suffer from the same lack of vision. We must find a defense that is equally robust, or we remain permanently at risk."

Stella regarded her silently until her console let out a shrill tone.

She spun in her chair and punched up the information about the alert. "They're here."

Return to the Table of Contents
Chapter 51

Martin's wristcomp chimed, accompanied immediately by a flashing light that indicated an urgent message.

Martin tapped the receive key. "What have you got, Sophia?"

"Two foldspace events, Captain," replied Dr. Wu. "A large one, about five kilometers west, over the ocean, and a second, smaller event, somewhere much closer."

Knox frowned. "Two ships?"

"No." Stella answered on the same channel. "The first is probably the ship, but the smaller pulse is almost certainly a personal teleport field operating on remote power from the ship's graviton generator. The gravity field it puts out is enough to create a localized foldspace event, but too short-lived to be affected by gravitic torsion from the planetary gravity well."

Martin sat up straight. "Are you saying we have a saboteur jumping directly into the base?"

"Into the base, or even into the ship itself. I can't narrow it down with the equipment you have available."

Knox activated the friend-or-foe mode of the ship's surveillance system, an upgrade from Admiral O'Dare. The ship's computer immediately identified everyone on board by an implanted subcutaneous transponder chip and filtered them out of the security sensors so that it could highlight anyone else who still registered on board.

"There. One human heat signature in the Propulsion compartment, next to the foldspace manipulator," Knox said.

"Chuck. Edward." Martin's heartbeat accelerated in anticipation. He picked up the pulse rifle that lay on the floor next to his chair. "Are you ready?"

"We're ready," answered Charles, his voice tight.

"Then lock it down. Let's give our guest the greeting he deserves."

* * *

Gifford entered the final sequence into the keypad and hit "execute". He nodded with satisfaction as the numbers started counting down and touched the transmit key on the throat mike around his neck. "I'm done, Modred. Get me out of here."

"Negative function," replied the computer program via his earpiece. "A graviton bombardment has commenced at this location. Teleport functions are offline."

Trap.

"That's impossible. The _Zenith_ graviton generator isn't strong enough to generate a gravity field of that magnitude."

"Based on my sensor sweep of the vessel, the vessel's graviton generator has been significantly ungraded."

Gifford berated himself silently. _I underestimated the military mind. I thought they would use soldiers, not science, to enhance security. I should have expected they might have something more devious up their sleeves._

"How can I shut it down?"

"The field is most likely controlled from the Artificial Gravity Control Station in Main Engineering. However, I am reading a large concentration of human heat signatures in that area. It is likely to be heavily defended."

"Well then," said Gifford, "we'll just have to try something unexpected."

* * *

"He's on the move." Knox consulted his wristcomp. "Heading for the Engineering deck."

"Remind your men that we want to take him alive," growled Martin, running beside him, flanked by a team of Starfire Security Officers.

"They know," said Knox. He raised his hand suddenly. "Hold up. He's changed direction."

"Where?"

"Chief Engineer's Office."

* * *

Gifford turned around when the door was kicked open, and stood there, leaning back against the glass as the Security Officers surrounded him.

"Get on your knees, and put your hands on your head!" demanded Knox.

Gifford remained standing, his arms folded, ignoring the pulse rifles trained on him. "That would hardly be dignified." He caught sight of Martin standing in the hall. "Ah, Captain Atkins, a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. I must admit I underestimated you."

"Who the hell are you?" asked Martin.

"No one you'd know. But my name is Gifford."

"Care to tell me why you've been trying to kill us all?"

Gifford smiled. "The root of all evil."

Martin frowned, and then turned to Knox. "Throw him in the Brig. He's not going to tell us anything useful for a while."

"No, Captain," said Gifford. "I'm not going to tell you anything useful at all."

Martin faced him and opened his mouth to make an angry reply, but his words were drowned out by the chime of the collision alarm sounding throughout the ship.

Stella's voice echoed through the halls as she made a shipwide announcement. "Incoming missiles! Defense screens online. All hands, brace for impact!"

Martin stared at Gifford, his mouth agape for a second or two before Knox knocked him down and covered the Captain's body with his own.

Gifford hit the detonator concealed in the crook of his arm, and the wads of plastic explosive he'd planted at the corners of the observation window exploded simultaneously. The armored-glass shattered, and then collapsed entirely as Gifford threw himself backward, crashing through crystalline shards to fall into the Engineering compartment proper.

The lights went out as the missiles fired by Modred slammed into the defense field, the detonation actually lifting the ship off one of its landing jacks. The uneven load caused the remaining jack to crumple under the strain, and the _Zenith_ crashed to the ground.

Gifford climbed unsteadily to his feet on the skewed floor, the steel of his katana ringing as he drew it from the sheath secured to his back. The Security Officers surrounding him had been knocked off their feet, and while Gifford knew there was a practical difference between cutting insubstantial enemies to pieces and hacking into human flesh and blood then hearing victims scream, he wasn't planning to let himself be caught.

Then that insufferable Captain Atkins changed the rules again. Standing in the shell of the observation window, pulse rifle raised to his shoulder, Martin started shooting.

And damn, if he isn't a good shot, too.

Gifford felt his arm go numb as a blazing streak of white-hot light burned through the air less than six inches from his wrist. He dropped to his knees, the katana tumbling from his fingers, and scooped up a blood-soaked sidearm from one of the Security Officers he had dispatched. He desperately scanned the room's instrument stations until he saw one labeled "gravity", and then bolted in that direction. Head low, he dodged to avoid the suppression fire laid down by Martin and Knox from the observation window above.

Gifford leapt over a computer workstation, and stumbled to a stop. There, not ten feet away, crouched two figures he recognized: Edward and Charles Davenport. Directly behind them was the Artificial Gravity Control Station.

Gifford heard the running feet of the remaining security forces as they finally recovered their footing and moved to pursue him.

I can take out the Gravity Shield and escape, or end this damnable misbegotten iteration, once and for all.

In a moment of blinding rage, he raised the pulse weapon and fired a burst of radiant energy at Charles' head, just as Edward slammed into his father from behind and knocked them both to the floor. The energy pulse raked across Edward's back, setting his shirt on fire, before blowing a sizeable hole in the instrument panel behind him.

Modred spoke in his earpiece. "Graviton bombardment terminated. Teleport function restored."

"Evac, now!" yelled Gifford, glaring at Edward and Charles where they lay sprawled on top of each other.

I'll deal with you later.

A nimbus of brilliant light surrounded him and he vanished.

Return to the Table of Contents
Chapter 52

Martin sat slumped in his chair, a tepid cup of coffee in his hand, as Knox completed his report. Charles sat next to them in the waiting room of the intensive care unit of the Starfire Infirmary. "So what's the final bill?"

Knox checked his wristcomp. "Moderate damage to the superstructure of the ship, and severe damage to the landing facilities; estimated time to repair is approximately seven months. The Artificial Gravity Control System is fried and will require a complete overhaul; estimated time to repair is four months in full dry dock. We recovered another nuke from the Propulsion compartment, wired up to a timer, but the Engineering crew was able to disarm it safely."

"Casualties?"

"Seven Security Officers killed by Gifford, and twelve more injured by the blast shockwave from the missiles."

Martin sagged further into his seat. "And Edward."

"And Edward," said Knox, a sympathetic expression on his face, although he said nothing out loud. "But we don't yet know the extent of his injuries. He might still recover."

"You saw him, Thomas. His back was practically charcoal. No one walks away from that." Martin hung his head.

Charles put his hand on Martin's shoulder. "Marty, don't give up yet. Let Jennifer finish working on him. It might have looked worse than it was."

Martin just raised his cup to his lips and sipped his coffee.

The inner door of the medical unit opened, and Jennifer Donovan entered the waiting room, dressed in surgical scrubs.

Martin immediately tossed his cup in the trash and got to his feet. "What can you tell me, Doctor?"

"Ms. Harlen has authorized me to brief you in full, Captain," she answered. "You should understand however, that with injuries this severe— "

Martin interrupted her. "Is he going to die?"

She met his gaze squarely. "Yes. Almost certainly. It might take a few days, but his condition will decline rapidly as the irradiated tissues of his heart and lungs deteriorate. Also, the beam transected his spinal column at the level of the ninth thoracic vertebral body. Even if we are able to stabilize his vital functions, and he should somehow survive, he will be permanently paralyzed from chest down." Her gaze softened slightly. "Ms. Harlen informs me that you are aware of his previous medical condition."

Martin nodded.

Charles looked back and forth between them. "What previous condition?"

Jennifer said nothing.

"He's blind," answered Martin. "Since he was eight years old."

Charles' jaw dropped. "What?"

"Eight years old," said Knox. His eyes narrowed. "Rad damage?"

"Yeah," answered Martin curtly.

"Given his existing functional compromise, it seems almost impossible that he will be able to care for himself, even if he survives." She sighed. "Having been informed of his options and prognosis, Mr. Harlen has declined further treatment."

Martin winced and hung his head.

"Ms. Harlen has also requested that I discharge him from the hospital, so she can take him home."

Martin snapped his head up. He stared at her in horror. " _WHAT?_ No! She can't just—"

Charles grasped his arm forcefully and jerked him aside. "Marty, shut up!" he said, in a harsh whisper.

Knox stepped forward smoothly between Martin and Jennifer. "Dr. Donovan, thank you for giving us the news. Could you excuse us for a moment? We just need to have a word with Captain Atkins in private."

She raised an eyebrow, glancing back at Martin and Charles, who were staring daggers at each other. "Certainly. I'll start the paperwork for Mr. Harlen's discharge."

Knox walked her to the door. "Thank you." After she exited the waiting room, Knox closed the door behind her.

"What the HELL are you two playing at?" demanded Martin. "If she takes him home, they'll lose their identities! He'll die not even remembering how or why he got hurt!"

"Captain, Stella said they'd become part of the new timeline based on this present," said Knox, urgently. "Barring some wild coincidence, there's no reason to believe he'd ever have been injured in that future."

Martin felt his anger fizzle out. "He'd survive."

"Probably," said Charles. "It's his best shot at living through this." He took a deep breath. "Which means you should probably say your goodbyes while you have the chance."

* * *

Edward dozed fitfully until the pain forced him back into wakefulness. He opened his eyes, but saw nothing. _They must have taken off my glasses._

"Sis, are you there?" He put out a hand.

"No," said a male voice. "She's just outside. Should I get her?"

Edward turned his head toward the voice, uncertain whether he was still dreaming. "Marty? Is that you?"

He felt Martin's hand in his, entwining their fingers.

"Yes, Edward. I'm here."

Edward rubbed his thumb across Martin's palm, feeling the familiar lines, the calluses he had memorized. "Why?"

Martin said nothing.

"Answer me. Is this another trick? One last endgame?"

"No tricks this time."

Edward heard him get to his feet, and then he felt Martin's lips touch his brow in a gentle kiss before he moved away again.

"I never lied to you, love," Martin whispered, so close that Edward could feel his breath against his cheek. "Not even once."

"But... But... then why... ? " asked Edward.

"I wanted you to leave. To go home and relive your life the way it should have been. I didn't want you to give it up, even if it meant losing you."

Edward smiled slightly in the dark. "It was my dream. Everything I'd worked for. Did you think I would have given that up just to have you?"

"Uh... maybe?"

Edward chuckled. "You big goof. Come here." He lifted his arms. After a moment, he felt Martin step into his embrace. Wrapping his lover in his arms, Edward let himself feel a moment of happiness, despite the shattering, deep ache in his chest and the complete absence of sensation lower down. "Of course, I would have," he whispered. "But try not to let it go to your head."

Martin shivered with silent laughter for a moment. "You have to leave. Otherwise you'll die here."

"I know," whispered Edward. "I wish... I just wish I could promise I'll remember you."

Martin pulled his hands free, and Edward heard the clink of a metal chain, felt it, still warm from Martin's skin, as he slipped it over Edward's head. "Do you love me, Eddie?"

"Yes." Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. "So much."

Martin clasped Edward's hands in his, wrapping them around a couple of flat metal wafers that hung from the chain around Edward's neck. He leaned forward until his forehead touched Edward's. "Then remember. And when you do, _come back to me_."

Martin let go of his hands, and Edward heard his footsteps recede and the door close behind him.

* * *

Martin stood outside of Edward's room, his eyes closed, his head braced against the wall. A light touch on his shoulder, and he opened his eyes. Stella stood next to him, her eyes sad.

He straightened and met her level gaze. "Watch over him."

Stella nodded. "I always have, for his entire life." She smiled. "And so have you." She kissed him on the cheek. "Take care of yourself, Marty."

She pushed open the door to Edward's room and entered.

Martin followed, standing in the doorway and silently watching as she strapped Edward's wristcomp to his arm. She typed a complex sequence of commands into the keypad, and then did the same to her own.

A quiet voice, which Martin recognized as belonging to Charles, issued from both devices. "Command interlace enabled. Foldspace projector online. Ten seconds to interscission event horizon. Brace for temporal discontinuity."

She looked up, tipping an imaginary hat to him. "Goodbye."

Brilliant light outlined them both, forcing Martin to look away. When the afterimages faded, he turned back. They were gone. The hospital bed was empty.

Martin stepped into the room and glanced around. There was no trace of their presence, nothing to indicate they had ever been there. Then a gleam of metal caught his eye—the silver bar of Edward's reading glasses. He picked it up. Stared at it for a time.

Not quite nothing.

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Epilogue: The Fork in the Road

"In the kingdom of the blind, the one-eyed man is king."

\- Desiderius Erasmus
Edward started up in bed, looking around wildly, his heart pounding. The room didn't look any different than it ever had; everything appeared to be in its proper place. He glanced at the clock. The holographic digits hovering in the air marked the time as seven in the morning. He slowly lay back down, staring at the ceiling.

Must have been a bad dream.

He took a deep breath to calm himself, and caught the faint aroma of frying bacon. With a grin, he slid out of bed and got dressed.

Pulling a thin sweater over his T-shirt, he took the stairs down to the main corridor of the house, and headed for the breakfast nook. Spying a plate of the crispy strips he had sniffed out, he grabbed a couple and shoveled them into his mouth.

His father sighed from where he sat at the table, a steaming cup of coffee in his hands. "Twenty-three years old and you still have the table manners of a preschooler."

Edward scowled. "Hrmr, bah fur, erm hrungy," he said, inadvertently spitting out small fragments of bacon.

His father took a sip of coffee. "Check and mate, sport."

Edward swallowed. "I said, 'be fair, I'm hungry.' I traveled three light years to be here for the ceremony." He grinned. "It's not every day my twin sister wins a Nobel Prize."

His father laughed. "Oh, please. The two of you collect academic honors just to keep score. Don't try to tell me you haven't already started working on something designed to upstage her."

Edward folded his arms in mock outrage. "Now, would _I_ do something like that?"

"You don't want me to answer that, sport. You really don't."

"Be nice, you two." His mother set a plate containing an omelet and hash browns in front of Edward. "Now sit back and eat your breakfast."

"Yeah," said Edward. "Be nice." He picked up a fork, and then hesitated, seeing his mother turn back to the stove. "Uh, did you make this, Ma?"

"Of course," she answered. "I can't have your father being the only one in the house who can cook."

Edward put his fork down. "You know, maybe I should go check on Sis, see if she needs help getting ready for her speech. I'll just get a cup of coffee and then... " He broke off when his mother turned and gave him a glacial stare. "Or maybe I'll just sit back and eat my breakfast."

"Good call." His father tapped the floating icons of the news matrix in front of him to open a data stream, listening to the encoded audio on his earpiece as he watched the video play out.

Edward cut into the omelet with as much care as if he were disarming a nuclear bomb. He put the first piece in his mouth and chewed carefully before grinning at his mother. "It's good, Ma. Thanks!"

She smiled beatifically, and then turned back to the stove.

The moment her back was turned, he spit the half-chewed bite of food into his napkin, bundling it up and slipping it into his pocket. His father watched in amusement. "You know, Ma, I think I ought to get going, really. There's a bunch of old friends on Earth I really want to touch base with while I'm here."

She sighed and turned to face him. "All right, dear, if you must. But make sure you throw that napkin in the wash, rather than the disposal. It's one of a set, and I might not be able to replace it."

Busted.

"Uh, sure." He stood, reaching into his shirt pocket for his personal teleport unit. "I'll meet up with you guys before the ceremony." His questing fingers met something hard and unfamiliar under the cloth of his T-shirt. Frowning, he pulled his collar aside. Two iridescent metal wafers hung around his neck on a gunmetal-gray chain.

What the hell?

He lifted them to get a better look. There was a name and an identification number printed on them, and an embedded old-style data chip.

Huh. Where did that come from?

"New necklace?" asked his father, eyebrows raised. "I didn't think retro military chic was your style."

His mother turned too, and saw what he held. "Are those dog-tags?" She craned her neck to stare. "Where did you get them? They look like museum-quality reproductions."

"I dunno," said Edward. "I've never seen them before." He looked up, puzzled. "And who the hell is Martin Atkins?"

His mother went completely still, her face white with shock.

"Ma? Are you all right?"

She took a careful step backward, and then another, still staring at the necklace in his hand. Then she covered her mouth with her hand. "Excuse me," she whispered. "I need a moment... to... I... sorry." She turned around and walked out of the kitchen through the opposite door.

Shocked at her distress, Edward turned to his father. "What did I say?"

His father glared at him, red-faced with fury. "Michael Edward Sutton, what exactly were you trying to prove by that little stunt?"

Edward winced, as much at the use of his full name as the cold, angry tone in which the name was spoken. "I wasn't trying to prove anything! I don't know where these things came from, and I don't know who they belong to. They were just here!"

Trevor Sutton watched his son, his eyes narrowed. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I am." Edward glanced at the door his mother had exited through, and then looked back at Trevor. "The name means something to you, doesn't it? To both of you."

"Yes, it does," answered Trevor. He held out his hand. "Can I see them?"

Edward slipped the necklace over his head and handed it to Trevor. "Who is he? Martin Atkins, I mean?"

"A ghost of Christmas Past," Trevor murmured, staring at the name printed on the dog-tags.

"What?"

He shook his head and handed the necklace back to Edward. "You really don't know where you got it?"

"No, I don't."

"Then why did you put it back on?"

Edward froze in the act of slipping the dog-tags back over his head. "I... I'm not sure." Slowly, deliberately, he settled the chain around his neck and tucked the dog-tags under his T-shirt. "They feel... familiar somehow, like I'm supposed to have them." He shrugged. "I guess I'm not making much sense."

Trevor regarded him soberly. "Maybe not, but I'll take your word for it. Do you remember our friend Thomas, from back on the _Azimuth_?"

"You mean Captain Knox? Of course! He was always a barrel of laughs at parties."

"Remember his husband?"

"Uh, yeah, but not so well. He always seemed uncomfortable around me for some reason."

"What was his name?"

"Jacob," answered Edward. "Jacob Atkins."

"His brother was the original Captain of the _Azimuth_. He was also your biological father's best friend."

"Oh, _hell_ ," Edward groaned. "Dad, I swear to God, I didn't know that. I would _never_ have brought that up in front of Ma."

Trevor sighed. "I believe you, son. But it's out there now. Your mother is probably going to be a wreck for a few days. She took Charles' death very hard."

Edward swallowed, hesitating before opening his mouth again. "What happened?"

Trevor frowned. "What do you mean?"

"What happened to him? My biological father, I mean? All I know is that he died in an accident before we born. You almost never talk about it."

Trevor was silent for a moment. "You're an adult. I'm surprised you haven't gone looking for your own answers by now, if you wanted to know."

Edward dropped his gaze, staring at the tablecloth. "The records of the accident are sealed by Starfire Security. I didn't have high enough clearance to open the files when I worked for them, and they deleted my access after I resigned."

"Aw, shit." Trevor rubbed at his eyes. "Don't tell me _this_ is why you stayed at Starfire so long, even though you were unhappy?"

"Only the Lifers had that level of access," said Edward softly. "And I was so tired of having to prove that everything I earned wasn't just handed to me because I was your son."

"You should have just asked."

"How could I?" He raised his gaze to meet his step-father's. "But I'm asking now."

Trevor nodded silently. He tapped the console of the breakfast table to project the floating menu icons again, and moved his finger over the image of a starburst surrounded by a five-pointed star. The icon expanded to fill the air between them, crowding out the other icons.

A pleasant voice spoke into the quiet room. "You have accessed the Starfire Technology Group. Please identify for security verification."

"Trevor John Sutton, Chief Executive Officer."

"Voiceprint confirmed. Welcome, Dr. Sutton. How can I be of service?"

"Access the personnel records of Captain Martin Atkins and Commander Charles Davenport of the _CSS Azimuth._ "

"These files have been placed under forensic seal. Password authorization required to release."

"Zephyr."

"Confirmed. The personnel records are now available for access at your convenience."

"Copy all materials to my personal database."

"The requested files have been copied to your database. Please note that these files are not to be distributed to Starfire employees below level 10 clearance or to non-Starfire personnel."

"Understood. Log out."

"You are logged out, Dr. Sutton."

Trevor tapped another couple of icons. Then he looked at Edward. "I've transferred the files to your database. You can read them at your leisure."

"I thought you weren't supposed to distribute them."

Trevor smiled. "I never gave you anything you didn't earn. It's time you got some mileage out of being the boss's son." He stood and walked out of the kitchen.

Edward took a deep breath, and then called up the two personnel records. Within ten seconds, he realized why the files were under forensic seal. Right under each of their names was a blinking red notice.

Deceased. Cause of death: Homicide, unsolved.

* * *

Gifford stared out the window of the command deck at the stars.

Modred interrupted the silence. "The historical records you requested have been downloaded."

"Give me a biographical sketch of Jennifer Ainsley Donovan, starting in 2176, Iteration Seven."

"Jennifer Ainsley Donovan, Chief Medical Officer and Director of Engineering and Special Projects, Starfire Technology Group, 2176. Chief Medical Officer, _CSS Azimuth,_ 2178. Married Trevor John Sutton, 2178. Two offspring: Annette Clara Sutton and Michael Edward Sutton, born 2179, Azimuth Crèche, Centauri Space. Associate Professor of Applied Engineering, Chiron University, Chiron Colony, Centauri Space, 2187. Full Professor of... "

"Stop," said Gifford. "That's enough, thank you, Modred."

"Yes, sir."

Gifford sat down in the center chair of his ship, the _CSS Damocles_. "Well, now that that's settled, we can get back to the business at hand. Prep for temporal dislocation."

"Yes, sir. Target coordinates?"

Gifford scratched his chin.

Obviously, tampering with the Zenith mission at this point would simply place the modifications I've made already in jeopardy. But perhaps, there is some way to use the Azimuth mission to serve my purposes.

"Chiron Colony, sometime in 2185, after they woke the sleepers—that should be enough of a crowd to get lost in without being detected. I'll plan my next move from there."

"Yes, sir. Targeting solution has been calculated. Ready to jump at your order."

Gifford turned to gaze at a framed portrait on the wall of the command deck, depicting Jennifer and Trevor Sutton.

It's not over yet. I WILL beat you.

He faced the stars with a feral smile. "Jump."

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Timeline

Iteration Five trigger: Trinity Spacelines Flight 273 Disaster, 2176

Iteration Six trigger: Edward infiltrates the Interscission Project, 2176

Iteration Seven trigger: Martin Atkins and Charles Davenport murdered, 2178

2138 Charles, Henry born

2141 Thomas born

2142 Trevor, Jennifer born

2143 Martin, Jacob born

2176 Project Zenith mission completed

2177 Project Azimuth mission begins

2178 Edward, Stella born

2179 Gifford born

2187 Jennifer dies in radiation accident, Edward blinded

2188 Project Azimuth mission completed

2201 Edward develops technology for controlled temporal displacement

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Post a Review!

If this book made a strong impression on you, whether positive or negative, consider writing a review. Alternatively, if you wish to express yourself privately, you can contact me directly through http://pactarcanum.com/contact/.

Goodreads:

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Acknowledgements

Thank you to those who helped me improve my skills and made this book possible with their advice, criticism, and encouragement. I especially want to thank my editor, Karin Cox, for her comments, as well as my beta readers, Jerry, Eric, Katy, Laura, and Karul. Thank you also to Jason for his proofreading skills.

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About the Author

Arshad Ahsanuddin is a practicing hematopathologist, a physician specializing in the diagnosis of diseases of blood, bone marrow, and lymph nodes using laboratory data and microscopic evaluation of tissue biopsies. He is also the author of the Pact Arcanum science fiction vampire series. Yes, he's a blood doctor who wrote a series of vampire novels. The irony isn't lost on him. If you enjoyed this story, or if you have questions about The Interscission Project, check out his website at http://pactarcanum.com and leave him some feedback.

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 http://www.goodreads.com/pactarcanum

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Other Works

**Fiction**

_The Pact Arcanum Saga_

Sunset: Book One

Sunrise: Book Two

Moonlight: Book Three

Starlight: Book Four

Cathedral of the Sky

The Interscission Project

Zenith

Azimuth (forthcoming)

**Non-Fiction**

First Words:

13 Short Essays on Writing from a Neophyte Author's perspective

Stepwise:

eBook and Print-on-Demand Formatting using Word 2010

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Copyright

First Edition: April 2014

Text © 2014 by Arshad Ahsanuddin

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, organizations, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, government institutions, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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