Chapter 1
THE CHASE

War comes in many shapes and sizes. Today, it came in the form of a small poisonous dart. Lieutenant Colonel Fox Jagger had waited months for something to happen, only now that it was here, he wasn’t sure he wanted it anymore. Leaning over the body of the ambassador, he felt for a pulse. It was weak, but it was there. He was alive…so far. The pungent bitter-sour stench of the poison filled the air.
The overhead klaxon blared its five-note fanfare. “General Quarters, General Quarters! All hands man your battle stations! Intruder on Sierra deck section 12. General Quarters!”
The Colonel, who knelt on the other side of the ambassador’s body, quickly stood and brushed everything off the nearby table with one sweeping motion of his arm. Glass cups and plates crashed to the floor. The metal utensils clanked and clattered beside them.
“Help me lift him,” the Colonel said, barely audible over the whining alarm.
Fox helped the Colonel hoist the ambassador’s body onto the table. The ambassador’s legs dangled off the end of the table. A dinner table wasn’t the ideal size, but it would have to do. The Colonel loosened the clothing around the ambassador’s neck; it should help with his breathing. Fox watched the Colonel as he worked. His name was Colonel Jonathan Terynn, but to Fox, he was The Colonel. He wasn’t just any colonel in the Earth military, he was The Colonel. The hero of Mesa Sol.
Fox had waited years for the chance to serve under him and as of two months ago, that wish had been fulfilled. And although the Colonel had given him permission to call him by his first name, Jonathan, it still sounded wrong. To call a hero “Jonathan” just seemed like it would diminish the grandeur of the man’s accomplishments. Maybe, given some time, it wouldn’t sound so weird. But for now, Jonathan was the Colonel.
The Colonel tapped a button on the comm-band around his wrist. “Medbay Charlie, I have a medical emergency in the Wardroom!”
“En route,” a voice replied from his comm-band.
A voice spoke from Fox’s comm-band. “Assailant fleeing to Romeo deck is.” It was the voice of Master Sergeant Grrrah’Kah. He was a Chantell. A race of nine-foot-tall locusts. Grrrah’Kah was the only bug assigned to the space station’s security teams. But he was practically a squad all by himself.
The Colonel glanced over to Fox with stern eyes. “Get him!”
Fox nodded, noting the stern resolve on the Colonel’s face. Fox pressed a button on his comm-band. “Grrrah’Kah, cut around to Romeo deck section 14. I’ll see if I can drive him toward you.”
He bolted into the hallway and joined up with one of the marine squads combing the decks. The marines were dressed in their black riot armor and carrying E.M. rifles. Electro-Magnetic rifles were the latest in firearms innovation. They fired aluminum rounds at incredible speeds. But the two marines bringing up the rear were armed with cannon-sized variants, called railguns. The railguns were so heavy that they were mounted to the marines’ chest plate with a swivel mount. Their ammunition was powerful enough to punch through walls and floors.
Fox and the marines descended a stairwell and burst through the door into Romeo deck. Fox glanced up and saw the sign for section 5. Almost there. It was time to play cat and mouse yet again. Fox didn’t mind the chase; it was his job after all. What he hated was that it always came at the cost of another human life. Fox glanced up at the wall again and saw the sign for section 12. Sergeant Greely shoved Fox against the sidewall. Fox hit the wall and fell to the ground. A little metal dart struck Greely’s chest plate below the neckline. It tumbled in the air and clattered to the ground. Greely was taller than Fox. If he hadn’t pushed him out of the way it would have struck Fox in the neck.
The marines fired their E.M. rifles in retaliation, peppering the walls with holes. Greely helped Fox to his feet. “Sorry for the push, sir.”
“I owe you one,” Fox said, cringing at the bitter-sour smell that now filled the hallway. He picked up the dart and handed it to Greely. “Get this to Med Bay Charlie. The Doc will need it to identify the poison.”
“Yes, sir.”
Fox turned to the remaining marines. “Colten, take point. Move out.”
The marines advanced with quick short steps, keeping their rifles poised to strike. Fox took deep breaths to calm himself. Adrenaline surged through him and his heart pounded in his chest. This was not like combat in the field. This was an enemy that liked to hide in the shadows and strike from a distance. It was almost like being stalked by a sniper. But his opponent wasn’t a sniper. He did not use a gun. As far as he could tell, this assassin used some sort of dart gun with poison darts. Poison, he thought. Why use poison when a pistol could reach farther and penetrate better?
There were a lot of unanswered questions. The only reason to use poison would be for stealth. But that bitter-sour stench was far from stealthy. No, this assassin was not trying to be covert; it was more like he was trying to announce himself. But that didn’t make any sense. Why bother trying to remain hidden if he was going to announce to the world that he had just killed someone?
A dark figure in a black hooded cloak dashed down the hallway and rounded a corner. The marines fired again, peppering the walls with more holes. The two railguns fired, punching large holes straight through the corner of the wall. The assassin would be dead if he didn’t move past the corner fast enough. A part of Fox hoped it would be that easy; another part of him wanted to catch the assassin alive. Alive was better for extracting information. And he wanted information. How had he gotten on board the space station in the first place? What was the poison he was using? And who had sent him?
These were all questions that needed answers. He felt a bead of sweat running down his bald head. He wanted to ignore it, but it tickled as it ran down his head, causing significant annoyance. He ran his hand back over his shaven head, wiping away the perspiration. Then, out of habit, he stroked his goatee. Well, as much of a goatee as the military regulations would allow. Clean-shaven was the preference in the regulations. Rank seniority only opened up a few extra options. Why did he even keep facial hair? It wasn’t practical. But then it did remind him of his theater days before joining the military.
Fox followed Colten and the other marines as they rounded the corner. No body and no blood. The assassin was quick. Fox sighed with a mixed sense of relief and apprehension. He still had a chance to catch him alive, yet he was still loose on the station. Colton motioned for the marines to continue forward with a wave of his fingers. With cautious steps, they all proceeded down the hallway. Colton’s hand left his rifle and swatted his neck. He had been hit with a poison dart.
Once more, the hallway filled with the bitter-sour odor. Colton collapsed to the ground. The other marines retaliated, blaring their E.M. rifles. Fox pulled Colton back behind the line of fire and checked his pulse. It was rapidly diminishing. Fox glanced down the hallway. Where had the shot come from? Shouldn’t this have been a game of cat and mouse? Instead, they were being picked off one at a time. Fox’s heart raced. He had to get the assassin off his rhythm.
“Kowalski, get Colton to a med bay as best you can!” Fox ordered.
“Yes, sir!”
“Jones, Peterson, Chaves, it’s time we put that gozark on the defensive!”
“Orders sir?” Peterson asked.
“Just like Terynn’s run. On three.”
The three marines each nodded.
“One, two…three!” Fox charged down the hallway with the others close behind. Fox yelled as he ran, firing off a few shots from his E.M. pistol. The marines followed, yelling while placing a few wild shots of their own. Without aiming, their shots needed blind luck to hit the assassin. They were more for a show of bravado. One thing he had learned from his theater days was that what he did mattered less than how he did it. And right now, theatrics is what would drive the assassin to Master Sergeant Grrrah’Kah.
The assassin peeked around the corner, watching them. He spun on his heel and fled. Fox tapped a button on his comm-band. “Grrrah’Kah, he’s coming your way!”
Fox and the marines continued yelling, rounding the corner in pursuit. Fox noticed a sign on the wall. Romeo Deck, Section 14. They charged around the next bend and skided to a halt. Grrrah’Kah stood before them holding the assassin by the neck. The assassin’s legs dangled a few feet above the floor, his body dwarfed by the nine-foot-tall locust. Grrrah’Kah’s hands were not really hands, nor were they pincers. They were a combination of the two. He stared at the assassin with his twin compound eyes that were as black as space. The assassin struggled for breath and then passed out.
Grrrah’Kah turned to Fox. “Assailant apprehended is.”
Fox lowered his E.M. pistol. “Good work, Master Sergeant. Take him to the detention center.”
“Sir, yes,” he said.
Grrrah’Kah’s English was rough at best, but Fox tried never to complain. It was refreshing to have a bug trying to speak English instead of just clicking his native language. Though Fox did correct him on a few points, such as his rank. Grrrah’Kah had the unfortunate habit of calling him, colonel lieutenant. Fox made sure to correct those slips. Grrrah’Kah walked away. His four powerful legs, which supported his 800-pound frame, pounded the floor with each step.
Jones walked up to Fox. “Lt. Colonel Jagger, I’d like to continue the sweep of Romeo deck in case we missed anything.”
Fox nodded. “Take the rest of Master Sergeant Grrrah’Kah’s squad with you.”
“Yes, sir.”
Fox turned to Chavez. “Contact maintenance, and schedule repairs of the walls.”
“Yes, sir,” he replied. He turned back to Fox. “Sir, shall I update Colonel Terynn on the pursuit?”
Fox shook his head. “No, I’ll take care of that personally.”
A simple radio call over his comm-band would suffice, but this time was different. The ambassador had been hit. The ambassador! Fox thought. He tapped a button on his wrist-mounted comm-band. The small black screen turned on and displayed a video image of Dr. Jacob Mallory in Med Bay Charlie. “Doc, how is the ambassador?”
Dr. Mallory lowered his head in grief. “Not good.”

~ ~ ~

Colonel Jonathan Terynn slammed his fist onto the smooth surface of the conference table. “I have had enough!” His fist lingered on the table. Regret over the outburst trickled into him like a sponge soaking in water. He was not a drill sergeant and neither was he addressing recruits. Trying to keep professionalism within the ranks began at the top, so Jonathan had always tried to maintain the best decorum. Worry had fueled this outburst. Among all the worries he juggled aboard a space station, this was number thirty-seven on his list.
Jonathan straightened his uniform jacket and turned to the two officers in the room. “Please excuse the unprofessional tone.”
Lt. Colonel Fox Jagger and Commander Isabeau Alexi, his two closest officers, stood across from him. Fox nodded. “Of course, sir.” He cleared his throat. “We still don’t know how they’re getting on board.”
Jonathan sighed. “How is the ambassador?”
Isabeau brushed aside some stray strands of her straight black hair. “He’s not expected to survive the night.”
Jonathan closed his eyes in exasperation and turned back to the conference table. He leaned his hand on the table, resting his mind more than his body. Paler skin around one of his fingers marked where his military academy signet ring once was. He took a deep breath.
“Colonel Terynn,” Fox said, “I’m sorry, I…I was so sure…”
Although he wanted a professional decorum, he encouraged the use of first names among his close officers. Not only did it help with unity, but it was also the only perk to commanding a lonely space station so far away from Earth. Heaven forbid he should have to call his two closest officers Lt. Colonel Jagger and Commander Alexi until the end of time.
Jonathan turned back to Fox and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Fox, we’re in private; you can call me Jonathan. And there was no way you could have known who the target was. We knew it was a gamble. The ambassador’s condition aside, you did a fine job. We got him.”
Fox took in a sharp breath and nodded appreciatively.
“Contact the Chantell medical center on the planet below. I don’t know how good bug medicine will be for a human, but right now we are looking for miracles.”
Fox nodded once. “Right away, sir.” He turned to Isabeau, nodding farewell before leaving the room. “Isabel.”
Jonathan raised an eyebrow. Before Fox left, he had called her Isabel, not Isabeau. Fox had been assigned to Gamma Station for six months now. That should have been plenty of time to learn her name. “Isabel?” he asked.
Isabeau rolled her emerald eyes. “I’ve told him a hundred times how to pronounce my name.” Her slight French accent crept into her voice.
“Maybe the French pronunciation is complicated?”
“Is-u-bo,” she enunciated. “How complicated is that?”
Jonathan grinned. “Point taken.” He cleared his throat. “So, you’ve caught the eye of the new Lt. Colonel.”
She returned a bashful smile. “I hope that isn’t a problem.”
Jonathan shook his head. “No, I checked the regulations. Your Naval rank is equal to his Marine rank. So, as long as your commanding officer approves it, you’re okay.”
She aimed a hopeful smile at him.
“Yes,” he said with a chuckle. “Has he asked you out yet?”
She shook her head. “It’s not progressing as I’d hoped.”
“Well, he seems playfully defiant in calling you by the English variant of your name. That’s progress.”
“Yeah, but that’s the only progress I’ve made in the last six months. At this rate, our first date will be at a retirement settlement.”
They both laughed.
She looked into his hazel eyes. “I’m glad I can still make you laugh.”
He grinned. “Izzy, ever since we were kids, there hasn’t been a time that you couldn’t make me laugh. Laughing with you always seemed to clear my mind.”
It was true. They grew up together on the Ter-Alta colony and she always knew how to brighten his mood. She had also gone to the naval academy with him. And even though a twist of fate had transferred him to the Marine branch, they had always been close. She was like a sister to him, and in return, he became the brother she was never allowed to have.
Isabeau relaxed her stance. “You know that man looks up to you.”
Jonathan huffed, turning partway around. “I hope he sees something worthwhile.”
“He refers to you as the modern Sun-Tzu.”
He snickered. “He’s been reading my war stories about Cobra Squad.”
“And Masa Sol, and the Ursar—Jonathan, they even teach it at the academy these days.”
Jonathan rolled his eyes. The last thing he needed was a bunch of new recruits being trained to idolize the great Jonathan Terynn. Why did everyone have to make such a big deal of it? It’s not like he reinvented the wheel.
She smiled and snickered.
He eyed her curiously. “What?”
She shook her head, recomposing herself. “Nothing, sir.”
Jonathan gave her a playful scowl. “Don’t you ‘nothing, sir’ me. What is so funny?”
She grinned and bit her lower lip. “Did uh, you read his report on the chase?”
He shook his head, picked up a handheld reader device, and scrolled through the text. “No, I hadn’t.” He appreciated written reports; they helped with the paperwork he had to fill out. He not only ran a space station, but he also had to oversee the four thousand men and women aboard. But when it came down to it, he preferred listening to his officers giving their reports in person. It was easier to read between the lines if he could see their expressions.
He stopped scrolling as one paragraph caught his attention. It was a part Fox had left out of his verbal report. It described how Fox had led the charge that spooked the assassin into Grrrah’kah’s ambush. Jonathan lowered the reader and glanced at Isabeau. “Terynn’s run?”
Isabeau giggled. “It’s from your charge at—”
“At Masa Sol, yes, I remember the engagement. But since when is it called ‘Terynn’s run’?”
“Wouldn’t the bigger question be how the other marines knew what he meant by saying that?”
She was right. A fancy name was one thing. But if the men knew what to do based on referencing that name, that was something else entirely. That was the gray area where fact and legend intersected. Were his stories becoming legends now? How? Or worse yet, was he becoming a legend? 34 years old was not old enough to be a legend. Legends were famous dead people, and last he checked, he was still breathing.
“Terynn’s run,” Jonathan said, glancing heavenward. “Now they are naming maneuvers after me.”
She smiled. “When it comes to strategy, you have a brilliant mind.”
Jonathan fingered his other hand, caressing where his missing signet ring had been. “If only my strategic mind translated into other parts of my life. Sometimes I tire of the uphill battles.”
“Some might say that uphill battles are what you excel at.”

Chapter 2
ELLYRA EL’ALLEL

Ellyra stood under a fruit tree. She wore her light blue hair down. She liked it down. She had had enough of official meetings and formal dress. Right now, she wanted to be comfortable. She took a few steps across the low-cut blue grass. She stopped and stared at it. She had never noticed it before. But since getting to know Jonathan, she had started noticing little things. When he visited last year, he had thought it strange to see grass and trees that were blue. He insisted their rightful color was green. Who has ever heard of green plants? She wondered.
But then again, Eurosia was her home and she had not seen any other worlds yet. She had only recently earned her Ascendency and was now in command of a starship. It was a girlhood dream of hers to captain a ship and zoom across the stars. But it was not until she met that Earthian man that she had any real drive to accomplish that dream. She wanted to see him again.
Her hand went to her necklace. The simple silver chain she wore held another treasure. A signet ring dangled on the end. She caressed the ring, recalling what it was like to stare into his alien eyes. They were so foreign and majestic. A gorgeous brown with amber gems against a white canvas. Her own Eurosian eyes were the boring blue within blue. Nothing as wondrous as his. Her contented light blue locks of hair slowly transitioned to a deep shade of romantic pink. It was an involuntary reaction to her emotions. Her father would not approve of her lack of control. Her father’s reprimand was already echoing in her head. Do not display your feeling in public, he would always say. Then he would drone on about the need to conceal what she was actually thinking. Inter-house politics were a necessary nuisance. Which was another reason she enjoyed retiring to this spot in the garden. It was her sanctuary away from all the politicking and duties of belonging to a great house.
A scrawny woman in a light blue gown strolled up. It was Rana, her personal aid. “Ellyra, your father is delayed. He asks that you postpone your trip another week.”
Ellyra turned away, her scarlet gown blowing in the breeze. Her hair color darkened into a regretful indigo. “I have waited for so long.”
“Your Earthian man?” she asked.
Ellyra nodded. “I have longed to see him again. My memories of him are not as clear as they once were. I fear they are fading with each passing year.”
She looked confused. “It’s only been one year.”
Ellyra shook her head. “Not for him. His solar cycles are a fifth of ours. For him, it has been five years.”
Rana rolled her aqua within blue eyes. “You make it sound so dramatic.”
Ellyra glanced at her. “You sound like my mother.”
“That is probably why she chose me.”
Ellyra smiled. She was most likely right. Her mother had the final say on who was assigned to be Ellyra’s personal Eltashee. Rana was supposed to be at Ellyra’s beck and call. But there were times when it seemed Rana was, instead, her mother’s tool to keep tabs on her. Regardless of how much truth was in that, Ellyra and Rana had grown close. Rana was nearly the same age and had similar interests.
“Shall I have Brigadain Diahlus stand down from launch?” Rana asked, her long dangly earrings swaying as she spoke.
That was the one thing Ellyra envied about Rana; her dangly earrings were a symbol of her married status. It was the only thing still beyond Ellyra’s reach. Which, for the daughter of the largest great house on Eurosia, was frustrating.
“That will not be necessary,” Ellyra finally said.
Rana cocked her head in confusion. “But if we do not send word to stand down, he shall still be expecting to leave.”
Ellyra took a few steps away. “I shall keep that in mind.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You intend to disobey your father’s wishes.”
Ellyra grinned and looked at Rana. “You make it sound so dramatic.”
Rana opened her mouth to protest but thought better of it when she noticed a man approaching. It was Xer Cora’Del. Xer was Ellyra’s parliamentarian officer. He was in charge of verifying that rules and regulations were being followed aboard the ship. Xer, like all officers, was a member of the aristocracy. He was Ellyra’s cousin and next in line to lead their great house if her father could not produce an heir.
Xer bowed to Ellyra. “My lady, I have somewhat to report.”
She nodded. “Then let it be spoken.”
“My lady, I regret to inform you that due to the imminent weather, Brigadain Diahlus has requested that we depart within the hour.”
She eyed him a moment and suppressed a grin. The unfortunate change in weather was a boon to her more-immediate plight with her father. Her hair color brightened up to a thoughtful violet. “Brigadain Xer, what is weather to a starship? Are not our deflectors sufficient?”
Xer’s eyes widened. “Forgive me, my lady. But electrical storms can interfere with guidance and other critical systems.”
“Am I to understand the weather threatens the safety of the ship?”
Xer nodded. “Yes, my lady.”
Ellyra looked at Rana while speaking to Xer. “Far be it for me to interfere in the safety of the ship by not launching when recommended.”
Xer bowed and left.
Rana pursed her lips. “And to think your father ever worried about you grasping politics.”
She grinned. “If you haven’t already, have your things loaded onto the Calmao in the next three-quarters of an hour.”
Rana hesitantly curtsied and left.
Despite the victory, it meant she would have to cut her walk in the garden short. She sauntered over to a tree and touched the trunk. It was smooth to the touch. The gardeners made sure the bark would not spoil the hem of a dress. She lingered. Am I ready for this? She asked herself. Leaving her homeworld behind to galivant across the cosmos was intimidating. More so than going off to finishing school, or even the Stellar Academy. She fingered her simple chain necklace and Jonathan’s signet ring that it held. Her hair transitioned to a contented blond as memories of Jonathan flooded her mind. She stood there for a long while, soaking in the memories. Ready or not, she had to do this. She needed to see him again. She straightened up and strode across the grounds. She made her way to the large building in the distance.
Ascending the many steps into the Great Hall, servants and guards each bowed to her as she made her way inside. She ignored any servants trying to get her attention. It was on purpose. If her mother sent any of them, they would be trying to delay her departure. It was best not to make eye contact and pretend she didn’t notice. She lengthened her stride. The quicker she could reach the hangar, the sooner she could evade her parents. Why were they trying to keep her home for another week anyway? She was only scheduled to be away for three weeks. She wasn’t a little girl any longer. She was a Sune; in command of a starship.
Her hand instantly touched the ring on her necklace. That had to be the reason. Her father was under pressure to produce an heir—a son. Her mother had not managed to bear one, so he had turned his attention to Ellyra’s courtships with keen interest. Whom she married would greatly impact the future of House El’Allel.
She burst through the double doors as gracefully as she could, stepping into the hangar. Several servants stopped their work to see the commotion. They hadn’t seen this much excitement in weeks. Ellyra’s dance instructor would not be pleased with her. He often reminded her that doors were not to make any sound when using them. But there was no time for propriety; her window of opportunity was now.
She briskly ascended the ramp as two elegantly dressed men entered the hangar. The house guards were guards in name only. They were used to officially summon a guest or even a member of the household. Mother must be getting desperate, she thought. She stepped across the threshold into the ship and promptly pressed a red button beside the door. Small red lights on the boarding ramp pulsed and a low-toned alarm buzzed. Servants and officers on the ground dropped what they were doing and sprang into action. Some uncoupled the fuel lines while others dashed up the ramp. One servant carrying two suitcases sprinted up the ramp. Both house guards ran, their elaborate long overcoats swaying in their stride. They stopped short as the ramp retracted from before them and folded into the ship.
Ellyra made her way to the Center of Workmanship, the command center of the ship. She walked slower now. Once the hatches had closed, only an order from the Sune, the ship’s commander, could open them again. But she wasn’t safe yet; her mother would try to call her over the ship’s transmissions. Ellyra held her head high as she strode down the crimson-carpeted corridors of the Calmao. She smiled as she passed several ornate tapestries hanging on the walls. She had hand-picked most of them. One of the many perks of captaining a ship was picking out the décor. And her mother had trained her well in color coordination and the use of space.
She halted in front of a door and glanced at a painting that hung on the wall. Her favorite of all the artwork on the ship was this portrait. It was a depiction of the famous iron-willed philosopher of long ago. She smiled at it. “Guide me, Kalmeedes.”
The double door parted, allowing Ellyra to enter the Center of Workmanship. This circular room was designed with all the control consoles around the outer edge. They all faced the center of the room, toward the holographic viewing stage. Ellyra took her seat next to an older, portly man. Diahlus Melquinn was her First Dommicon, her most trusted bridge officer.
He glanced at her. “I take it our abrupt departure has something to do with the sudden bombardment of transmissions from Lady Elony?”
Ellyra’s formal white hair burned into an embarrassed burgundy. “You can tell my mother that I shall read each message in the order they were received.”
“Shall I cancel the launch then?”
She shook her head, sending her curly locks of hair swaying. “If I find a reason to cancel the launch from reading my mother’s missives, I shall endeavor to inform you.” She gave him a conspiratorial smirk. “My mother shall just have to hope I am fast enough.”
Diahlus grinned. “As you wish, Sune Ellyra.”
The large domed roof of the hangar spiraled open. It revealed a scarlet and pink sky with white chubby clouds. Ellyra’s ship, the Calmao, flashed colorful lights all across its frosted-glass-looking hull. It floated up through the open ceiling and into the windy sky. The egg-shaped starship drifted forward. At one-third the size of the palace, it moved with the grace of a butterfly.
Ellyra held a reader device, scrolling through her mother’s messages. She turned to Diahlus. “It would appear my mother wishes us to cancel the launch.”
He grinned. “If only we had known sooner.”
“My thoughts precisely.”
A tall thin man, who wore his hair a formal white, walked up to Ellyra. There was something familiar about him. She looked closer. Where had she seen him before? He was a Dommicon with the rank of Shel Brigadain, that much was obvious by his uniform. He definitely wasn’t one of the suitors her father had sent to meet her. Yet she knew him from somewhere.
He bowed to her. “Sune Ellyra, I was instructed to report to you when I came on board.”
Something in his voice was also familiar. The tantalizing revelation teased her brain. Then the man smiled. It was a smile she had known in her youth. Arkamenos Arauri stood before her with all the boyish charm she grew up with.
Ellyra’s eyes lit up. “Arkamenos!”
His smile broadened.
She leaped up and hugged him. “How has your father been?”
“Most productive, Sune Ellyra. My father’s investment has proven fortuitous. I was able to afford to attend the Stellar Academy, and have studied security ever since.”
“Splendid!” she said. “I do hope you will be on my security staff.”
He nodded. “I most certainly am.”
Diahlus motioned toward Arkamenos. “Sune Ellyra, may I present to you Shel Brigadain Arkamenos, your Master of Security.”
She hugged him again. “I cannot think of anyone better suited for the position.” She looked him in his green within blue eyes. “And I shall entrust you with your first task. Please encode a transmission to the Earthian outpost, Gamma Station. Please announce our visit and provide our hyperspace telemetry.”
He bowed. “As you wish, Sune.”
A woman in an emerald gown walked up to Diahlus. “Brigadain, we are in position to open the hyperspace portal.”
Diahlus nodded and pressed a button on the arm of his chair. Gentle chimes sounded from the overhead speakers and everyone took their seats. “Astrogator, open the hyper-portal.”
“As you wish,” a male voice replied from behind.
“On stage please,” Ellyra ordered.
A golden metal ring in the center of the floor lit up and projected a three-dimensional hologram. The hologram showed their ship, the Calmao, and the surrounding space. In front of the Calmao, a spark of light twinkled and opened into a hyper-portal. It resembled a fountain in reverse, sucking sparkling particles into a blue tunnel of light.
“Let it be done,” she ordered.
The Calmao moved into the hyper-portal and vanished. The hyper-portal collapsed and dissipated.

Chapter 3
GAMMA STATION

Dr. Mallory stood over the body of Ambassador Lucas Cale. He had known the ambassador for many years. They had been friends for the better part of two decades. While their careers had gone separate ways, their friendship had not. That is why it was unnerving to look down upon his degenerating body. Losing patients was nothing new—that came with the territory. But Dr. Mallory had never lost a friend before. That is what made this patient more than just a patient. That is why his failure to save him was more than just a simple failure.
A thin strand of hair fell across his forehead. At first, he ignored the impertinence, but in the end, he straightened up and move his hair back into position. He straightened his blue and green scrubs and glanced over to one of his automated “nurses”. His nurses were a series of machines that took over the mundane and routine tasks that he didn’t have time for.
“Time?” he asked.
A computerized voice moaned a reply. “The time is twenty-three hundred fourteen hours.”
Dr. Mallory sighed and hung his head in defeat.
The silence broke when he heard a faint humming from down the hallway. He walked over to the door and pressed the button. The door opened by sliding up. Gamma Station was built by the Chantell. And those nine-foot-tall bugs sure knew how to make large hallways. To most human standards it was a waste of space. But, to the Chantell, it was efficiency. Humans didn’t design hallways wide enough or tall enough for monster-sized insects to fly down, but the Chantell did. Three Chantell flew down the hallway toward Med Bay Charlie.
Med Bays Able and Bravo took the majority of minor injury cases. That left Med Bay Charlie with enough time to focus on the most difficult and severe cases. The bug doctors were from Terks, the planet that Gamma Station orbited. Two of them carried medical equipment. They landed and entered. Dr. Mallory guided them over to Ambassador Cale’s body. “I’m glad you’re here, and I hope you can help.”
The foremost Chantell doctor looked at Dr. Mallory. His large compound eyes were each as black as space. He moved his head with sharp jerking motions. “Different is your smell.”
“That’s because I’m not in the military. I’m a civilian from Bravo Station,” Dr. Mallory explained.
“Brav on Gamma Station?”
Dr. Mallory shook his head. “No, I’m sort of ‘on loan’ to the Gamms.”
“No fear?”
Dr. Mallory smiled. “I may be a Brav but I’ve been around you bugs long enough for the shock to wear off.”
“I vision.”
Dr. Mallory chuckled. “The expression is, I see.”
The bug doctor cocked his head in a sharp motion. “Forgive. I see.”
The other two Chantell completed assembling their medical devices. Each resembled asymmetrical bundles of orange-tinted metal with dials and buttons. They approached Ambassador Cale’s body.
“Also Brav?” one of them asked.
Dr. Mallory shook his head again. “No, Lucas just loves fancy clothes. Probably picked it up from all the years he spent as ambassador to the Euroo. The more buttons, sashes, and layers the better.”
“Euroo, much art mastery, much to impress.”
“Poison is what type?” another one asked.
“Teterophalezine,” Dr. Mallory replied. “It’s a neurotoxin that attacks the brain. We don’t see much of it because most people consider it useless as poison. The strong, unmistakable odor gives it away.”
“Much sense it not makes,” the third Chantell doctor said.
The other one nodded his head in agreement. Well, it wasn’t so much a nod as it was jerking his head up and down, trying to mimic a nod. “Much time we not have,” he said as they went to work.
The Chantell spoke to each other in their native “clicking” language. They only broke into the Earthian language when they needed to update Dr. Mallory.

~ ~ ~

Fox paced across the dull green metal floor of the detention center, stroking his goatee. The steady clicking sounds of his footsteps faded into the ambient noise around him. Fox glanced back to the transparent wall. It separated him from the prison cell where the assassin sat. The interrogation went well, and yet it didn’t. He did get some information out of the man but nothing he needed. What was he hiding?
Was there an angle he hadn’t yet tried? Interrogations, after all, were simply performances. Whoever gave the better performance usually got what they wanted. And Fox was a good performer. Before his military career, he had been a stage actor. Fox could play any part, but his passion was for Shakespeare. And it seemed Shakespeare always followed him around whatever career he chose. As a Marine in the Earth Military, he found his acting skills played a very useful role in security.
Yet this time was different. That assassin seemed to be playing a part in a well-orchestrated play. If only he could figure out what the play was about or how many actors were involved. Time, he hoped, would bring him the answers.
The door to the detention center slid up and Jonathan entered. “You know, it’s a good thing the Chantell didn’t know what carpet was when they built this space station. You’d have worn it out by now.”
Fox glanced down to his feet, noticing his pacing.
“Has the prisoner talked yet?” Jonathan asked.
Fox shook his head. “Not much, I’m afraid.” He strolled over to Jonathan. “I’ve interrogated him several times. He still won’t say who he is or how he got on board the station.”
“Have you run a DNA scan on him yet?”
“His DNA doesn’t match anyone on file. And that is not the worst part.”
“What’s the worst part?”
“He has alluded to getting on board with the help of an Abe spy on the station.”
Jonathan’s brow wrinkled. “Is that possible?”
“I’ve run every DNA record we have against Able Station. Every member of our crew checks out. If there were an Abe spy aboard, I would have known by now. Besides, Grrrah’Kah has a knack for sniffing out Abes.”
It was literally true. Grrrah’Kah, the sole bug on Gamma Station was able to smell which space station humans came from. He said they each had their own scent. He even said that Dr. Mallory, who had been living on Gamma Station for several years, still smelled like a Brav.
Jonathan stared at the assassin through the transparent wall. “And yet somehow an Abe assassin got aboard. He didn’t trip any alarms or raise any suspicions.”
“For months we’ve been trying to figure out how they’ve been getting aboard. A mole would certainly answer that elusive question.” Fox scratched the side of his head. It often itched on the side when he was troubled.
Jonathan noticed. “So what’s the problem?”
“Problem is…” Fox turned to also stare at the assassin behind the transparent wall. “Problem is…he’s lying.”
“Wait, but you said his story was the most plausible.”
Fox threw up his hands. “I know, I know. But his eye contact, hand movements, and speech patterns all tell me he is lying. The confusing part is that it’s almost as if he is lying about something he has not yet told me…if that makes any sense.”
“Unless…”
Fox turned to Jonathan. “Unless what?”
Jonathan faced him. “Unless Ambassador Cale was only incidental.”
“You think the ambassador was not his primary intended target?”
“Look at this man,” Jonathan said, pointing to the assassin. “Who wears a black hooded cloak? His appearance is conspicuous. He uses a poison that has an unmistakable smell. Everything about this man screams audacity. Yet, now that we’ve caught him, he refuses to boast or tell us his name. Fox, audacious men crave recognition. He’s not through with us yet.”
Fox stroked his goatee. “Time shall unfold what plighted cunning hides; Who cover faults, at last shame them derides,” he quoted.
“Hamlet?”
Fox shook his head. “King Lear.”

Chapter 4
THE EUROO

Jonathan stepped into a lift tube followed by Isabeau and Fox. They wore their formal dress-black uniforms with white trims. They didn’t often get to don their dress blacks. So, he was thrilled when he received word that a Euroo delegation was visiting. Even though the message was rather vague and didn’t specify who was visiting or why, it was still exciting.
“Hey, Colonel, is it true the Euroo all have blue eyes?” Fox asked.
He shook his head. “Not exactly. They have blue eyes and green eyes, but the white of their eyes is also blue. The vernacular is, blue within blue.”
“Or green within blue,” Isabeau added.
“But they change colors when their mood changes right?”
She shook her head. “It’s their hair color that changes.”
Fox rolled his eyes. “This is getting complicated.”
“Welcome to my world,” Jonathan said with a sigh.
“I don’t know what all the colors mean yet,” Isabeau added. “But a lot of the time, their hair will be white.”
“Anything else I should know?” Fox asked.
She nodded. “Don’t be surprised if they call you Lt. Colonel Fox instead of Lt. Colonel Jagger.”
Fox glanced back with a confused look. “What? Why? What’s with the first name?”
Before she could reply, Jonathan glanced up in thought, reciting the greeting under his breath. Then he turned to Isabeau. “What am I missing? ‘We express our gratitude for the Euroo presence here this day’. It sounds like I’m forgetting something.”
“…for the honor of the Euroo presence here this day.”
He nodded appreciatively. Isabeau was always very thorough in her research. And for that he was lucky. He had met with dignitaries of seven races so far. Isabeau had helped him avoid miscommunication with each one. Having English as her second language was an advantage in understanding alien languages. For as long as he had known her, she had loved languages. If only the Draconians had made an exception for her, she could have become a linguist on Bravo Station. But as far as he knew, the Draconians had never made an exception to their rules.
The lift stopped at their floor and they exited. Jonathan led the small procession toward docking bay six. He glanced back at Isabeau. “Remind me which ones I bow to?”
Isabeau shook her head. “You bow to anyone you show respect to. What you’re probably asking about is arm clasps for men and hugs for women.”
“You have to hug?” Fox asked, raising his eyebrows.
Isabeau nodded. “In Euroo culture, you greet a woman with a hug. Men clasp forearms.”
“Wait,” Fox said. “But if one is a man and the other is a woman, which one would they do?”
Isabeau rolled her eyes. “Think of it this way, if a woman is involved, you hug.”
Jonathan smiled. “What would I ever do without you, Izzy?”
They rounded the corner and Isabeau stopped short of entering the docking port bay. She hesitated with anxiety in her eyes. After doing all that research on Euroo culture, she should have been the most comfortable. Something else had to be bothering her. Jonathan turned to her. “What’s the matter?”
“I can’t go in; you’ll have to do this without me.”
He put his hands on her shoulders. “Izzy, what’s wrong?”
She lowered he voice. “Our uniforms don’t include a skirt.”
“That’s never been a problem before, why should it now?”
She pursed her lips. “You can’t curtsy in slacks. It looks ridiculous.”
Jonathan ran a mental picture of what that might look like. She was right. Not the desired outcome when trying to impress an impressive people. The Euroo were very decorative and ornate in nearly everything they did. Even when they spoke the standard Earthian language, they expressed themselves ornately. Her hesitation suddenly made a lot of sense.
“Maybe you can bow with us then,” he offered.
Her eyes widened. “In their culture, bowing is for men. The women all curtsy.”
He sighed. Again, she was right. The Euroo had a strong sense of differentiation between how their men and women dressed. It wasn’t like on Earth where a shirt, slacks, and a jacket were acceptable for either. The Euroo women wore dresses—rather, they wore elaborate gowns. The men all wore five-piece suits. Isabeau’s predicament was more than just the curtsy, her whole uniform was out of place.
“I think I understand now,” he said, considering options. “I don’t suppose living on a military base you had any reason to ever own a dress?”
She shook her head.
Fox snapped his finger in conclusion to a thought. “Isabel, if you can’t bow and you can’t curtsy, just do something else. Like a head nod or something.”
She looked at him for a few silent moments. The gears were turning in her head but she still had apprehension in her eyes.
“I’ll do it with you instead of bowing,” Fox offered. “They’ll probably just assume it’s a human custom.”
After a moment of thought, she smiled with an air of relief about her.
It was a good thing that Fox’s sentiment on formality could be measured in a teaspoon. It was a charming quirk that Jonathan was grateful for. He put a hand on Fox’s shoulder. “Thank you, Fox. If I had to do this without Isabeau, it would be like marching into battle unarmed.”
“Any time, sir.”
The bay doors opened before them and they strolled in. The long, wide docking port bay was used mostly for loading and unloading supplies. The Chantell had built the ceiling incredibly tall so they could fly while unloading. Master Sergeant Grrrah’Kah was already in the bay with two squads of marines in dress uniform. They formed a single line, perfectly spaced apart. Grrrah’Kah was always efficient and very precise. He drilled his men until they expected precision from themselves. Jonathan, Isabeau, and Fox stood at the head of the line. Fox was on Jonathan’s left, while Isabeau was on his right.
Several dock workers shuffled about, finishing last-minute preparations to complete the docking sequence. They were instructed to leave once the docking connection was established. Visiting dignitaries required a level of security in the form of isolation. That meant clearing out all unnecessary personnel from the bay.
“Euroo vessel, Calmao, approaching docking port,” the overhead speaker announced. “Stand by for docking sequence.”
Through the transpara-steel wall, they watched the luminescent ship. It moved alongside the space station. The beautiful lights shone through the luminescent hull. Even their ships were works of art. As far as he knew, no two Euroo ships were exactly alike. Small differences and decorative taste seemed to differentiate each ship.
Isabeau muttered something in French.
Jonathan glanced at her. “Impressive, isn’t it?”
“I had seen pictures, but seeing it in person…”
“To the Euroo, a job worth doing is worth doing spectacularly.”
“Hey Colonel,” Fox asked. “Is it true they don’t have a word in their language for dull?”
Jonathan nodded. “That’s the rumor. Let’s just hope their visit doesn’t inspire them to invent one.”
“Docking sequence initiated,” the overhead speaker announced.
A long tube extended from the docking port hatch over to the Euroo ship. Once air pressure had been established, the port hatch would automatically unlock. Now it was a nervous waiting game.
Fox tugged at his collar.
“Something the matter with your dress uniform?” Jonathan asked.
“They’re so…stiff.”
“Just think of it as a costume that you can change out of when this performance is over,” Jonathan offered.
“Atmosphere established,” the overhead speaker said.
Jonathan turned to Fox. “Mr. Jagger, please clear the bay.”
Fox walked into the center of the bay. “Okay, let’s clear the room! If you are not in dress uniform, you are now to exit the bay!”
Dock workers hustled about.
Fox clapped his hands together a few times. “Come on, let’s go, let’s go!”
The last of the straggling dock workers jogged out of the bay. Fox returned to his position as a loud clanking sound echoed in the bay. The hatch door had unlocked. Jonathan nervously tapped his leg reciting his short speech under his breath. The door opened. Three men stepped into the bay. Their black crimson-lined capes fluttered as they walked. Their knee-high black boots over ivory slacks pattered against the floor of the bay. Their navy-blue jackets sported tails and double-breasted brass buttons. Each button had the crest of their great house engraved.
Two of the Euroo men stood to the side of the door. The third offered a white-gloved hand to a scrawny woman. He ceremonially assisted her through the hatch door. Her sparkling white gown glittered many colors as the fabric swayed. Her white sparkling gloves reached up to her elbows. Her high heels clicked against the metal floor as she took her place in line. The Euroo man then held out his hand for the last woman. She took his hand with a scarlet elbow-length gloved hand and stepped into the bay. Her scarlet gown shimmered with a metallic sheen. The curly locks of her formal-white hair draped across her shoulders. Jonathan’s eyes lit up. It was Ellyra. She took her place at the head of the line of Euroo personnel.
When all the Euroo were lined up they uniformly took several steps toward Jonathan’s crewmen. They floated closer like a well-coordinated ballet line. The Euroo were not demonstrating precision, they were displaying grace and flair.
Jonathan stood, nervous. He hadn’t practiced for, nor expected, this kind of reception. He suddenly felt unprepared. He glanced over to Isabeau. She shook her head. It was not yet time for him to speak. He took a deep breath and waited. Ellyra’s line of crewmen halted a few feet away.
Ellyra curtsied, floating down to the ground and rising back to her feet in one fluid motion. “Hail, Colonel Jonathan Terynn of Gamma Station.”
He nervously glanced at Isabeau who nodded. He looked back at Ellyra. “Hail, Ellyra…of the Euroo.”
Ellyra raised an eyebrow.
Isabeau cringed.
Jonathan cleared his throat. “On behalf of the humans—I mean Earthians, and crew of Gamma Station, we express our gratitude for the honor of the Euroo presence here this day. May your visit be a beautiful one.”
Ellyra nodded, her curly locks swaying. “On behalf of the Euroo and the crew of the Calmao, we are honored by the magnificence of your salutation. May your grandeur increase.”
Jonathan motioned to Fox. “May I present to you and your crew my first officer, Lt. Colonel Fox Jagger?” He turned to Isabeau. “And—”
Isabeau nudged him, mouthing the words “who is also”.
He motioned back to Fox. “Who is also my 90.”
Ellyra smiled.
Jonathan motioned to Isabeau. “And my second officer, Commander Isabeau Alexi.”
Fox and Isabeau gave a head nod.
Ellyra curtsied.
Jonathan motioned to Grrrah’Kah. “And my security chief, Master Sergeant Grrrah’Kah.”
Grrrah’Kah lowered his insectoid head and fanned out his four large wings. It was the Chantell equivalent of a bow.
Ellyra curtsied again. “A most gratifying pleasure.” Then she motioned toward the portly gentleman beside her. “May I present to you and your crew my first Dommicon, Brigadain Diahlus Melquinn, who is also my 90.”
Diahlus bowed.
She motioned to the next man. “My second and parliamentarian Dommicon, Brigadain Xer Cora’Del.”
Xer bowed.
She motioned to the third man. “Shel Brigadain Arkamenos Arauri handles my security.”
Arkamenos bowed.
Then she motioned to the scrawny woman at the end. “And this is my personal Eltashee, Rana Arauri.”
Rana floated to the floor like a leaf in a flamboyant curtsy.
Jonathan bowed. “I bid you all welcome.”
He couldn’t remember any more of the formalities and glanced at Isabeau.
She whispered. “We’re all done.”
Jonathan took in a deep breath and turned to Grrrah’Kah. “Master Sergeant, you may dismiss your men.”
“Company dismissed is!” Grrrah’Kah ordered in his poorly constructed Earthian language.
The marines turned on their heels and marched out in a tight formation, Grrrah’Kah in the lead.
Jonathan turned back to Ellyra, motioning to Fox. “Please coordinate with Lt. Colonel Jagger for any resupply needs for your ship.”
Ellyra nodded, smiling.
Jonathan motioned again to Isabeau. “Commander Alexi will escort your officers, uh…Dommicons to their quarters. If their accommodations are lacking in any respect, please let her know.”
Ellyra nodded again.
“And in the meantime, how about I take you on a tour of Gamma Station personally?” he said, offering her his arm.
Ellyra accepted by placing her hand on his forearm. Then she turned, looking behind her, and motioned for Rana to join them.
Jonathan motioned toward Rana. “She wants the tour as well?”
Ellyra smiled shaking her head. “It’s not that. It just isn’t proper to be seen without a chaperone.”
“Are you sure that’s necessary here? The only ones that will see us are my crew. And they surely won’t think two people walking together would be scandalous.”
Rana took her place beside Ellyra. “Propriety is always necessary,” she said with an air of authority.

~ ~ ~

Jonathan walked with Ellyra’s hand on his forearm, Rana trailing a few paces behind. They walked along a hallway bordering a roadway. Vehicles passed by and overhead automated machines carried supplies around the station. The walkway was enclosed by transpara-steel walls and ceiling. It provided a scenic and quiet commute on foot.
Ellyra reached out and touched the transpara-steel wall. “Remarkable,” she said in amazement. “It’s like a moving mural.”
Jonathan smiled. “The transpara-steel walls are insulated from sound.”
She turned to him. “And I thought you said your people were not very artistic?”
He chuckled. “I guess we do have a few peculiarities that could be classified as artistic. The main reason I brought you here is because of how quiet it is. I often come here to think.”
“Ah, and what is it you are thinking of now?”
He smiled. “Actually, I’m thinking I messed up the beginning of that formal greeting. How was I supposed to address you?”
“Since I am a ship’s captain, you would call my title, Sune. So, you would have said, Hail Sune Ellyra El’Allel of the Calmao.”
He smiled, repeating it under his breath. “Oh, and what does the phrase ‘who is also my 90’ mean?”
She smiled. “It means of great importance or worth. But it can mean a variety of things depending on how you use it.”
“Can you give me an example?”
“Well,” she began. “My first Dommicon is someone I trust very much and can rely on. So, I say he is my 90.”
“So, that would be like me saying, my right-hand man?”
She stopped abruptly, trying to conceal her giggling behind her hands. “I have never heard that phrase before. And I have heard a lot of phrases from you.”
He laughed. “Are there other uses for the 90 expression?”
She nodded and gazed at him. “I admire the beauty of your eyes. The remarkable tapestry of colors amazes me. So, I would say that your eyes are of my 90.”
He looked into her blue within blue eyes. “Then I guess it’s safe for me to admit that your eyes are of my 90.”
She smirked and they continued walking. After a few silent moments, her smile fell. “Jonathan, I have somewhat I need to ask of you, regarding the time we shared together on Eurosia.”
“I’m all ears,” he replied.
“I beg your pardon?” she said with a confused expression.
Jonathan rolled his eyes. “Sorry, that’s another human expression. It means you have my complete attention.”
She nodded. “Five of your years is perhaps a long time to keep such a hasty promise. I, of course, understand if you have since…moved on.”
Jonathan’s hand went to his barren finger, where his academy signet ring used to be. Had it really been five years? His mind raced back to that summer he had spent on Eurosia. It was a rarity that, in vain, he had tried to repeat. Space travel for humans was very restricted and, looking back on it, he shouldn’t have been able to go in the first place. So, it was either very good luck or galactic providence that had allowed him to travel to the Euroo homeworld. It was there that he had met Ellyra. Those three weeks had tormented him for the five years that followed.
“The first year was the hardest,” Jonathan admitted. “Every year after that got a little easier.” He stopped walking and looked directly into her blue within blue eyes. “I have missed you for the past one thousand eight hundred and twenty-seven days.”
Her eyes glistened and she took a deep breath. “Your words describe one who has suffered greatly. To have chronicled each day that you have been without surely speaks of great misfortune.”
“The greater misfortune would have been if I had stopped counting.”
She smiled as if a great weight had been lifted. Then, as if a sudden realization struck, her smile faded. “Are you sure you wish to remain bound? The Draconian restrictions on your people will make it difficult.”
He looked past her, up into the distance. “You do have a point. The high and mighty Draconians sure make things difficult for humans.” He looked back into her blue within blue eyes. “But I’ve never been one to back down just because the course is difficult.”
She smiled again. “You are a fascinating man, Colonel Jonathan. Perhaps with your persistence, the Draconian restrictions may not last too long.”
Jonathan shrugged. “Perhaps if they get bored with studying us.”
“They study you?”
“Not directly. They divide us among three of the five elder races. Most of us get to stay on Earth. The rest of us are hauled off to serve aboard one of three space stations. And the blasted Draconians never care if it splits up families. Poor Isabeau hasn’t seen her family in over a decade. She has only met her brother once, about five years ago.”
“Were you separated from your family too?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I was fortunate enough to have kept my immediate family. But it did come with a price; I have never been allowed to see Earth.”
She brought a hand to her face in shock. “You mean, you have never seen your own homeworld?”
“I’ve seen pictures. And some combat missions took us very near our solar system. So close that I used to lay awake at night wishing upon every star I could count. The wish to see Earth never came true.”
Her hair color muddied into a brown.
Jonathan blinked, breaking himself out of his reminiscing. “Sorry, I digress. Your question was what the great races study about us. Are you familiar with the three space stations?”
She nodded. “Able Station, Bravo Station, and Gamma Station.”
“Interesting side note, by the way,” Jonathan said. “Whoever named the space stations didn’t do their homework. The first two are named after the first two letters in the joint-military alphabet, Able and Bravo. The third space station was named after the third letter in the Greek alphabet, Gamma. They probably got the two mixed up. This space station should have been called Charlie Station.”
Ellyra snickered and held her hands to her face. “Please forgive my impertinence, Jonathan. But it is a good thing this station did not receive that name. It is a rather silly-sounding name.”
Jonathan smiled. “Who knows, maybe cosmic fate needed the name to be different.”
They began walking again. “Anyway, the Greys on Bravo Station study human intellect. The Bugs here study our military strategy. And the vile Scorpii on Able Station study human cunning—which has proven to be just a euphemism for our evil nature.”
They walked for a few moments in silence. Ellyra’s hair brightened to a violet. “Is it terrible then, that I am making my own study of you?”
He smiled. “Oh?”
“I have been endeavoring to decipher all your Earthian expressions.”
He chuckled. “And how well is this study going?”
“Not as easy as one would have thought,” she admitted. “I do, however, have my favorites memorized.”
“Such as?”
She smirked. “Such as curve ball.”
On the last night that he was with Ellyra, on Eurosia, he had given her his academy signet ring as an excuse to meet again. He had told her it was in case life threw them a curve ball.
He chuckled. “You even asked me if that was another human sport.”
She glanced ahead, watching where they were walking. “Well, your people are rather fond of that shape.”
“And life sure did throw us plenty of curve balls,” he said, staring straight ahead.
“Your words proved prophetic,” she said, stopping. “Draconian law has kept us apart for five of your years.” She took off her necklace and removed Jonathan’s signet ring, handing it to him. “Which reminds me that I am finally able to return your jewelry to you.”
Jonathan slipped his ring over his right ring finger, fitting it back into place. It felt comfortable. It felt whole and intact. His hand had felt the ring’s absence for so long, that it almost felt foreign to have the ring back in place. But it did look proper. It looked how he remembered it.
She smiled. “It is complete again.”
They stepped aside to allow a uniformed man to walk past.
He took her hand. “Whenever—”
Rana audibly cleared her throat. Ellyra quickly withdrew her hand, her hair changing into an embarrassed burgundy. Jonathan’s stomach muscles tensed in annoyance. What was so inappropriate about holding her hand? He took a deep breath to clear his emotions. The ridiculous irony was that he would have to thank her for ruining the mood.
He turned to Rana. “Thank you for the correction.”
“My pleasure,” she replied.
It probably is pleasurable for her to disrupt, he thought. He turned back to Ellyra, attempting to reengage the conversation. “Whenever I am with you, I am complete.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Do you mean that or is it another expression?”
He sighed, glancing down. “I can see how it might be hard to tell when I’m being literal.”
“It would be much easier if your hair wasn’t always the same color; I can never tell how you’re feeling.”
“Well,” he said, smiling. “Maybe it’s to keep you guessing.”
She giggled. “That sounds like something you would do.”
He smiled. “Hopefully that doesn’t hinder your studies too much.”
“It’s…an ongoing study,” she said with hesitation in her voice. “One might even say, it would take a lifetime to complete.”
The air grew heavy. He heard his heart beating. “With such a lengthy project, I would wonder if one could manage it all alone.”
“Now that you mention it,” she said, staring into his hazel eyes. “Such an undertaking might only be possible…if I had the appropriate company.”
He reached to take her hand but refrained, glancing back at Rana. He put his hands behind his back instead and smiled at Ellyra. “Where do I enlist?”
She turned away, her hair dulling into a troubled gray. “Do not make this decision lightly; it will not be easy. Not a simple walk in the woods, as you would say.”
A part of Jonathan wanted to correct her, that the expression was, a walk in the park. But he was proud that she was trying to use human expressions. It was best not to interrupt her train of thought.
She walked a few steps away from him in contemplation. “I am only here for a few short weeks. And with our duties, yours and mine, we would be under pressure to make the best possible use of this time.” As she reasoned, her hands became more animated. “These things are only done a certain way, so we would need to do this properly. And then there is my father…”
Jonathan caught her by the shoulders and turned her to face him.
“Colonel Jonathan,” Rana called out sternly.
He quickly removed his hands from Ellyra’s shoulders and straightened up. Once again, he felt a volcano trying to erupt within the pit of his stomach and took a few breaths to calm his annoyance.
He glanced at Rana. “Sorry. Thank you again for the reminder,” he said, feigning appreciation. He turned back to Ellyra. “Sune Ellyra, I have been fighting uphill battles for most of my military career. Making the best use of what I have been given comes naturally to me.”
She gave a tentative smile. “Then you are resigned to move forward?”
“I am.”
“Upon your honor?” she asked.
“Upon my honor.”
She smiled, her hair brightening into an enamored pink. “There are conventions to follow, but before we can get to that, you will first need to formally announce your intentions to my Eltashee, Rana.”
Jonathan glanced back at Rana.
“Oh, but not now,” Ellyra cautioned. “It must be done privily.”
“Consider it done,” he said, with an air of inevitability.
She stared at him with a confused expression.
Jonathan chuckled. “Sorry, another human expression. It means I will get right on it.”
She smiled warmly. “With all these expressions, it’s a wonder your people can understand each other.”
The comm-band on Jonathan’s wrist beeped. It was a message from Med Bay Charlie. He had asked Dr. Mallory to let him know if Ambassador Cale’s condition changed. He tapped a button and the little black screen flashed and showed Dr. Mallory’s face. “Doc, the ambassador’s condition has changed?”
“Yes, but…not for the better. The bug doctors were able to neutralize the poison, but I’m afraid the neurological damage is far too great. He has lapsed into a coma.”
“Is there anything…”
Dr. Mallory shook his head. “I’m sorry. This is now beyond my abilities.”
Jonathan tried to nod. He wasn’t sure how effective he was. “I’m sorry for your loss, Doc.”
He glanced down. “And I’m sorry for yours.”
Jonathan tapped his comm-band to end the transmission.
“Ambassador Cale?” she asked with a shocked expression.
He nodded.
“He spent a lot of time on Eurosia as liaison with Earth. He was an artist, that one. He would weave logic into a tapestry of reason.”
He turned away from her. “That is probably why Able Station assassinated him.”
She pursed her lips. “Jonathan, you have to fight back.”
“How?” he asked in exasperation. “How do I fight Able Station? I can’t even keep their assassins from getting aboard.”
She walked around to look into his eyes. “I apologize, Jonathan. This is apparently a very troubling subject.”
He took a deep breath and looked down. “Please forgive the unprofessional tone.”
She touched his cheek with her gloved hand, soliciting his gaze. “All is forgiven, Jonathan. I only ask that you forgive me as well. I was perhaps too forward in offering my opinion.”
Rana pretended to cough. Ellyra immediately withdrew her hand.
“No, that’s all right. I, uh. I actually would appreciate your insight. You have a lot more experience in these matters; you come from an important political family.”
She nodded. “The largest of the great houses.”
“How would you recommend I fight back?”
“They have already telegraphed their fears by assassinating Ambassador Cale. They fear your influence in the Draco Senate. Therefore, the place you can most hurt them is in the Senate.”
Jonathan dismissed her comments with a wave of his hand. “This mockery of a Senate the Draconians have us all in? It isn’t a real senate. The Draconians hold a two-thirds majority all by themselves. It’s nothing more than a contest to see who can upset the Draconians against someone else.”
“I don’t think anyone pretends to live in a perfect galaxy,” she replied. “Did you not just say that in fighting uphill, using the resources at hand has become second nature to you?”
He nodded.
“Then, if you would take my advice, take hold of whatever advantage you have and fight with it.”
Something in her words rang true. He had heard similar words before. They had come from his own lips a decade earlier. His mind caught hold of the memory where he had spoken them. It was when he led the impossible charge at Mesa Sol and carried the day. The event that Fox called Terynn’s Run. “We have not…” He concentrated, plucking the words from his memory. “We may not have chosen the field nor the day, but what we can choose is how we fight…”
Ellyra looked at him with renewed interest. “Well spoken.”
“It was part of a rallying speech I gave to my men years back.” He glanced back into her eyes. “Ellyra, I’m a commander, not a politician.”
“The only difference between the two,” she said, “is the weapon and the battlefield.”
His comm-band beeped again. It was Fox in Command and Control. “Go ahead.”
“Sorry to interrupt your tour, sir,” Fox said. “But we have an urgent message on the Alpha Channel.”
“Well, who is it?”
Fox shook his head. “Can’t tell. The message is encoded for you only.”
“Somebody sure wants to keep a secret. I’ll be right there.” Jonathan turned off the transmission and turned to Ellyra. “How about a tour of Command?

Chapter 5
BEING HUMAN

Fox stood in Command and Control, the hub of daily activity on Gamma Station. It was also the center of political headaches and disasters waiting to happen. He was overseeing the resupplying of Ellyra’s ship. It needed supplies and fuel but why did the Euroo crew insist on receiving it in a ceremonial fashion? What difference did it make? How would Juliet handle this? he wondered. “What’s in a method? That which we call fuel given by any other method would burn as bright.”
Isabel was still seeing to the comfort of the Euroo dignitaries on board. If they were this stiff with supplies, their requirements for a proper guest room must be ridiculous. It was a good thing the Colonel didn’t assign him that duty. The Colonel knew Isabel would be more tactful. She was so meticulous in the things she did. She remembered every detail like an actor’s lines. Moreover, she was attractive.
Jonathan and Ellyra stepped into the room with Rana trailing close behind. Command and Control was a five-sided room with no door. What did the Bugs have against doors? It was like they never considered the idea. The only doors on this space station had to be added by humans. That was also why every door looked out of place against the Chantell architecture.
The rest of the room’s layout was very good. A short balcony ran around the back three walls. That’s where the runners transferred internal messages, ran errands, and got the officer on duty his morning coffee. A large trench stretched around the front two walls. It was affectionately referred to as The Pit. The pit crew took care of space traffic, external communication, ship supplies, and more. The entire room worked together like the cast of a great unknown play.
“Okay, Fox, let’s have it,” Jonathan said.
Fox glanced at Ellyra. If the message was encoded for the Colonel, it wasn’t smart for a foreign ship captain to be present. Surely, a brilliant strategist such as the Colonel would see that. He nodded in Ellyra’s direction. “Sir, perhaps you’d like to take the encoded message privately?”
Jonathan blushed, looking at Ellyra. “Sorry, please excuse me a moment. I will be right back.”
He crossed over to Fox and typed in his password to the computer terminal. A small screen on the control panel turned on and displayed the transmission. When it finished, he looked at Fox with a confused expression. “Put it on screen please.”
Fox nodded, pressing a few buttons. One of the two large wall-mounted screens flashed and displayed a video image. It showed a bald gray-skinned alien with large black eyes and almost no nose or mouth to speak of. It was a Tumnei. One of the five elder races. They were the technological giants among the elder races. They couldn’t compete with the superiority of the ancient races, such as the Draconians. But they led the scientific advances among everyone else.
“What do the Greys want?” Fox asked aloud.
Jonathan motioned for Ellyra to join them.
Ellyra walked up to Jonathan’s side. “I thought the Tumnei oversaw the Earthians at Bravo Station.”
Jonathan nodded. “They do. But at times they coordinate with us when transporting personnel from Bravo Station.” He turned to Fox. “There should be an accompanying transcription.”
“Yes sir,” Fox said, pressing a few buttons on his control console. The Tumnei were a telepathic race. They spoke into people’s minds, not making any audible sounds. It was very efficient since thoughts didn’t need to be translated into other languages. The biggest downside, however, was that thoughts could not be recorded in a video message. Only audible sounds could. So, the Greys had to include a written message with their transmission.
The silly thing was that their mouths didn’t move anyway. What was the point of seeing a video image of them staring back at you while you read a caption? It would be simpler to just send a written message. The Greys probably wanted to fit in with everyone else. They might feel excluded if they didn’t also communicate with a video image.
Subtitles scrolled across the bottom of the screen. ESCORT ALIEN VESSEL 2236.5 BY 41178.2 BY 114.8 HEADING 0014 MARK 441 EXPLANATION PENDING MY ARRIVAL, DANGER IMMINENT—SUPRM. CMDR. T’KAL.
“Are they serious?” Fox asked. Could the Greys really be wanting them to gallivant across the stars in search of an endangered ship? Though, of course, it was hard to know what to believe when it came to the Tumnei.
Jonathan turned to Fox. “Oh, they’re serious all right. That was the supreme commander of the Tumnei. What doesn’t make sense is why they would need our help. Their ships are much faster and more powerful than ours.”
Fox scratched his shaven head.
Ellyra stepped forward. “If I might be permitted to opine, Colonel Jonathan.”
Even though Isabeau had mentioned that the Euroo used first names with ranks, it still sounded weird.
“Of course,” Jonathan said with a nod.
“Military strength may not be the deciding factor if they had political or legal issues to evade.”
“So, you’re suggesting they may not have sufficient justification in this instance?”
She nodded.
Jonathan turned to Fox. “If danger is imminent, let’s see just how fast we can get there.”
“Aye sir,” Fox said, turning to a stellar cartographer sitting at a computer station in the pit. “Chief O’Dell, I need a fix on those coordinates and the closest hypergate route.”
O’Dell replied in his thick Irish accent. “Aye, sir.”
Fox glanced up to the balcony and spotted one of the runners. “Vinnece!”
An 18-year-old seaman turned around. “Sir?”
When Fox had first joined the Earth Navy, he was puzzled why the enlisted rank was still called seaman when they were deployed in space. His drill sergeant had pointed out that changing the rank to spaceman just couldn’t be taken seriously.
“I want a cruiser prepped for launch in five. And I prefer the Saratoga if she’s back—this is not a drill.”
“Aye, aye sir!” she said, spinning around to head back to her station. Her braided ponytail swung around and hit her in the face, briefly halting her.
Her hair had grown longer than regulations allowed for her rank. But he let it slide. She kept it neat and orderly, and it was also fun to watch her swat herself with her hair. It was an amusing encore he looked forward to.
Chief O’Dell stood. “Lt. Commander Jagger. Hypergate Washington is reportin’ they be down for maintenance. They suggest detouring to hypergate Shanghai. That’ll be puttin’ the total travel time at 53 minutes 29 seconds, sir.”
Fox sighed and ran a hand down his shaven head. “So much for our snappy response time.” The Greys really needed to give more advanced warning. An hour of transit was not bad for hyperspace travel, but for a rescue, it was horrible. In combat, a lot can happen in an hour. In fact, a lot can happen in just ten minutes.
Jonathan rolled his eyes. “It’ll have to do. Inform the Chantell and request permission to leave the station.”
“Colonel Jonathan,” Ellyra said. “If you do not think it is too forward of me, I may be of some assistance. Seeing as you are in need to save time, I can offer you the use of my ship. Euroo vessels can enter hyperspace without the need for a hypergate. We might even be able to decrease your travel time by up to half.”
Jonathan smiled. “It would mean a lot to me.”
“Besides,” Ellyra said with a coy smile. “I always wanted to take you out for a twirl in my ship.”
He chuckled. “Out for a spin, you mean.”
“Yes. That.”
Fox rolled his eyes. Everyone likes a good romance, but did the Colonel need to fraternize with an alien captain in front of the crew? If he was going to make it a habit, at least he should put some class into his flirtation.
“Do you mind if I take some extra baggage along?” Jonathan asked Ellyra.
She raised an eyebrow. “How much?”
“Oh, say, 42 tons.”

~ ~ ~

Ellyra sat in her command chair on the Center of Workmanship aboard the Calmao. She was pleased with herself. The situation could not have been more perfect if she had planned it. Jonathan needed help and she was in a position to help. Now she could spend some time with him, showing off her starship. She had smiled when he first boarded, watching his amazed look. He had eyed every mural and tapestry with wonder. If Earthians reacted like this aboard simple starships, they definitely didn’t spend enough time decorating.
Throughout the trip, Diahlus sat to her left and Jonathan sat to her right. It was nice having Jonathan right next to her, but that isn’t where she wanted him. The seating convention dictated that the seat to her right was for a visiting dignitary. She wanted him to sit beside Rana. Sitting beside her Eltashee meant he was a suitor, actively courting her. That is where he belonged.
If only he could be there now. But there were conventions that had to be followed. Things were done a certain way. Anything else just wasn’t done. They had left too abruptly for Jonathan to formally announce his intentions to Rana. These things would have to wait until then.
“Sune Ellyra,” a woman addressed. “The coordinates are upon us. Shall I exit hyperspace?”
“Let it be done,” Ellyra ordered.
The Calmao raced through hyperspace, the blue tunnel of light in space. A large black hole opened at the end of the tunnel. It was the portal back into truespace. The Calmao crossed the event horizon. It shot out from the hyper-portal into the black starry space. The ship slowed to a stop.
“Madam,” a female sensor operator announced. “Scanners are picking up two ships pursuing a third.”
“On stage please,” Ellyra ordered.
“As you wish.”
The golden ring around the center of the floor lit up. It projected a three-dimensional hologram of the surrounding space. The two persuing crafts were tuning-fork-shaped ships of sleek orange metal.
Jonathan leaned forward in his chair. “I recognize that design. Scorpii, am I right?”
She nodded. “Confirmed. Two Scorpiian Harkon-class destroyers and one Earthian Darion-class frigate.”
“What is the status of the Earthian frigate?” Ellyra asked, worried.
“Dire,” she replied. “They’ve taken several direct hits. Their main engines are down and they are venting oxygen.”
Ellyra turned to a man on her left who handled communications. “Can we hail them?”
He shook his head. “Indeed not, the Scorpii have erected a scattering field.”
Ellyra shot a glance at Jonathan. “They are in no mood to talk. I suggest you launch your extra baggage immediately.”
Jonathan pressed the intercom button on his chair that Ellyra had pointed to. “Eagle One and Eagle Seven, this is Mother Goose. Report in.”
“Mother Goose, Eagle One. Standing by,” a voice said, in a stoic military sir-yes-sir style.
“Mother Goose, Eagle Seven. Standing by,” another voice echoed.
“You are go for launch, I say again, you are go for launch!”

~ ~ ~

In the cargo bay of the Calmao, Lieutenant Christopher Ryork sat in the cockpit of his SF-301 Trident-class starfighter. The Trident resting beside his belonged to his wingman, Lieutenant Bryce Allen. Allen was a good friend and an excellent flight lead.
Ryork’s Trident starfighter held the callsign of Eagle Seven. Ryork’s callsign was Ironman. When talking to Allen, they would address each other by their pilot callsigns. But to communicate with their home ship, they would use their starfighter’s callsign.
Allen glanced out his canopy over to Ryork and gave him the hand signal to power on. It wasn’t necessary, they had already powered on and completed the pre-flight checks. It was more of a formality since they were doing an unconventional launch.
The uptight Euroo didn’t seem keen on letting them fire off their afterburners inside the cargo bay. Something about messing up their walls. Somebody needed to tell them to lighten up; char marks were an easy paint-over. When Ryork had confirmed he was ready to launch, he gave Allen a salute.
“Calmao cargo control, Earthian starfighters. We are ready to launch,” Allen said.
It sounded strange hearing Allen use layman’s terms for their starfighters. The Euroo didn’t have a brevity system, so the Colonel had instructed him to speak plainly to the Euroo. At least that wouldn’t be a problem after launch.
The cargo bay door opened. It was like watching the far wall slide up, revealing the starry space beyond. The blue glow around the opening meant the atmospheric shield was holding the air inside the bay. It was a pretty impressive piece of technology. It held the atmosphere inside the cargo bay while allowing shuttles to enter and exit. But as impressive as that technology was, it didn’t compare to the shield technology of the elder races. Their shields could stop more than just air pressure; they could stop an enemy’s incoming fire.
The atmospheric shield of the cargo bay was going to perform a different function this time. It was called a pressure launch. It needed skilled pilots with nerves of titanium. And that was pretty much the dictionary definition of Allen and Ryork.
“Stand by for the depressurization of the cargo bay,” a male Euroo voice announced. “In five, four, three, two, one.”
The blue glow around the bay opening disappeared, releasing the air pressure. In a flash, the escaping air sent anything not bolted to the floor shooting out into space. Allen and Ryork’s Tridents shot out like cannonballs.
“Waaaahooo!” Ryork hollered.
Quickly regaining his bearings, Ryork took hold of the stick and hit his afterburner. Allen was at his side. It was now time to dance.
Ryork checked his sensor screen. He saw five blips. The one closest to him was his wingman, Lt. Allen, the flight lead. The large blue blip was the Calmao, the Euroo cruiser. The yellow dot was the frigate and the two red dots were the enemy hostile ships, or bandits, as they were called.
Ryork needed to get a readout of the enemy ships. The biggest rule of engagement was to know your enemy’s starcraft and to know your own. He pressed a few buttons. Details of the enemy ships streamed across his sensor screen.
Ryork’s eyes widened. “Shogun, bandits are Scorpiian Harkons.”
“Roger that, Ironman. We can’t throw our weight around with the elder races. We’ll have to pester them into disengaging.”
Ryork smiled. Pestering the enemy was sometimes more fun than shooting them down. Since the Scorpii were an elder race, they had the technological advantage. That was usually par for the course since humans were near the bottom of the totem pole. Humans were always outclassed in technology. On the bright side, that had led to a very surprising research path compared to the rest of the known races.
“Ironman, arm EMPRAAMs, but save your heavies.”
Ryork flipped a switch, arming the electromagnetic pulse missiles. Human ordnance couldn’t penetrate superior armor. So, these were designed to knock out the enemy’s electrical systems instead. Unfortunately, they wouldn’t do much if the Scorpii had energy shields raised. “Roger, Shogun.”
“Bandits are coming around for another pass on the frigate,” Allen announced. “See if you can get an IFF reading on it while you follow me in.”
IFF, or Identification Friend-Foe, was an electronic signal that all human ships broadcasted. It was a quick way to determine if the ship really was human and where it originated.
“Roger, Shogun.” Ryork pressed a few buttons. What on Earth! He thought. How can that be? The frigate’s IFF signal was from Gamma Station. There was no way that ship was from Gamma Station. Only military ships were stationed there. And the design of the frigate looked civilian.
“Shogun, that frigate has a Gamma IFF,” Ryork replied.
“Roger that, Ironman. Mother Goose, this is Eagle One. Friendly echoes Gamma IFF.”
“Gamma? Are you sure?” Jonathan’s voice asked.
“That’s affirmative, Mother Goose.”
Several other voices were heard over the comm channel. It was typical to hear too many voices over a battle transmission which was frustrating. And to make matters worse, the Euroo were not aware of transmission decorum. What little Ryork had heard of them speaking was filled with too many unnecessary words. Maybe flying a mission with humans would wise them up to talking more efficiently.
“What did you learn about the ship being chased?” a male Euroo voice asked.
“It says she’s one of ours,” Jonathan said.
“You already told us that.”
“No,” Jonathan clarified. “It’s saying she’s from Gamma Station.”
“How can that be?” a female Euroo voice asked.
“Someone’s trying to tell me that frigate is important,” Jonathan replied.
“How is that a message?” another voice asked.
“It must be an Earthian thing,” the male voice concluded.
As entertaining as the background conversation was, they were coming up on those two Harkons. The Scorpii classified the Harkon as a destroyer, which did not make much sense. At least in human navies, a destroyer was a larger ship that supported the carrier group of capital ships. These looked like overgrown starfighters.
Ryork lined up his Trident starfighter with the Harkon. A targeting light flashed and a beeping sounded in his ear. “Shogun, I’ve got target lock.”
“Roger, Ironman. Mother Goose, this is Eagle One. We have target lock, do we have permission to fire?”
“Fire at will,” Jonathan’s voice said. “I say again, fire at will!”
A missile dropped from under the wing of Allen’s starfighter. “Eagle One, fox-2.”
Ryork pulled the trigger on his stick and heard the clank of the missile detaching from under his wing. It rocketed away toward the Harkon. “Eagle Seven, fox-2.”
Each missile hit one of the Harkons, illuminating the energy shield surrounding it. It looked like an invisible bubble of safety that lit up when they were hit. Blue electricity snaked all over the shields of the Harkons.
“Blast, these bogies are shielded!” Ryork said. “We don’t have enough time to cut through them.”
“Mother Goose, Eagle One,” Allen said over the comm. “Bandits are endowed, again, bandits are endowed. Please advise.”
“Stand by,” Jonathan’s voice replied.
Ryork checked the readout on his scanner. The EMPRAAM missiles didn’t damage the Harkons, but they interfered with their targeting computers. The Harkons lost their lock and their orange plasma bolts missed, flying past the frigate. The Harkons would have to circle again for another pass. Ryork and Allen followed them.

~ ~ ~

Jonathan paced in front of the hologram that showed the battle. His muscles were tense and his breathing shallowed. There has to be a way, he thought. The frigate was losing power and oxygen; it was a drifting target. The enemy ships were energy shielded. And his two starfighters did not have enough firepower to punch through. For their electromagnetic pulse weapons to work, they had to hit the actual hull of the ship.
He turned to Ellyra. “Can the Calmao attack?”
She glanced over to Xer.
He shook his head. “Indeed not. We have neither precedent nor grievance to legally engage in combat with the Scorpii.”
Ellyra brushed a stray lock of white hair over her ear. “When you say ‘we’, are you referring to the Euroo, or this ship?”
Xer returned a confused look. “Are they not one and the same in this instance?”
She shook her head. “Give me not the meaning of the law, but the letter of it.”
“The law specifies the government may not engage. But under Article Twenty-three, a ship is considered to belong to the government to which its commander answers. So I ask again, are they not one and the same in this instance?”
Ellyra’s hair color cooled into a thoughtful violet. She rose from her seat and walked up to Jonathan. She leaned in close and whispered. “Ask me for command of my ship during this battle.”
Jonathan returned a startled look. He heard her words plainly. She was inviting him to request command of her ship. Was that even allowed? Maybe he misunderstood her. “What?” he finally asked.
“Command of my ship,” she reiterated, staring into his eyes. “Ask me for it.” Her determined eyes told him she was being serious. Why must he ask for it? Couldn’t she simply give it to him? She was a shrewd one. He had learned that five years earlier. She knew something he didn’t and was offering help in the only way she could. He would be a fool not to accept. His pilots were outmatched and that frigate was no longer space worthy.
His calculating mind decided this request needed to sound formal. Most things he observed about the Euroo were formal. Jonathan cleared his throat. “Sune Ellyra, seeing as the, uh, rules of engagement restrict us… may I, uh, formally command your ship for the duration of the battle?”
Diahlus jumped out of his seat, his hair color blackening. “Impertinence!”
Jonathan had no idea what an ‘impertinence’ was but it sounded bad. Had he misspoken? It sounded proper in his head. Jonathan paled.
Ellyra spun around giving Jonathan her back. She spoke in one long quick sentence as she stepped over to her chair. It sounded like she had rehearsed the lines to a play and spewed them out as quickly as possible. “How impertinent and improper a request, though I suppose your argument has merit. Yes, you truly have convinced me of the necessity of the situation. Under Regulation Six-five-five, I hereby grant you temporary command for the duration of the battle. Do not imagine to yourself, however, this will become a habit.”
Diahlus and Jonathan exchanged dumbfounded looks.
Ellyra shot a glance over to Xer. “No, Xer. It would appear they are not one and the same in this instance.”
Xer cleared his throat. “I stand corrected. We now have legal precedent.”
Diahlus broke the brief silence, speaking over his shoulder. “Arm seeker missiles and open the outer hatch doors.”
“As you wish,” a female voice replied.
“I assume those are your orders,” he said to Jonathan.
Jonathan nodded in appreciation. “Thank you, Brigadain. Can your seeker missiles penetrate their shielding?”
His hair color lightened to a formal white. “We’ve never had the opportunity to find out. I suspect, though, that we shall have to use every last one.”
Jonathan nodded. “Target the lead Harkon and fire.”
“Let it be done,” Diahlus called out.

~ ~ ~

Ryork pulled his Trident fighter around a tight turn, following behind one of the Harkons. Volleys of seeker missiles erupted out of the small missile hatches on the bow of the Calmao. The pepper cloud of missiles raced toward the Harkons.
Jonathan’s voice called out over the comm. “Eagles One and Seven, break off, break off, birds are away!”
“Roger that, Mother Goose,” Allen said.
“Roger, Mother Goose, getting out of the way!” Ryork said as he veered away, engaging his turning thrusters.
The pepper cloud of missiles grew into a dense cluster as they closed in on one of the Harkons. The missiles slapped up against the invisible energy shield, illuminating it. Missile after missile, explosion after explosion harassed the Harkon’s energy shield. It sputtered and collapsed.
Energy shields were impressive. Using electrical power, they absorbed explosions and enemy weapon shots. But once all their power was used up to absorb damage, they collapsed. They could be raised again once the shield capacitor was recharged but that took time. Ryork and Allen now had a window of time in which to strike a crippling blow on the Harkon.
“Ironman,” Allen said. “Arm your heavies and follow me in on Bandit One. We’re gonna need a one-two punch.”
“Roger Shogun.” Ryork armed his heavy ordnance EMPRAAM missiles. Then he pulled up beside Allen’s Trident starfighter.
“Eagle One, fox-3,” Allen said, firing a missile.
The targeting computer beeped in Ryork’s ear. “Eagle Seven, fox-3.” The missile clanked as it dropped from under the wing. It rocketed close behind Allen’s missile, racing toward the Harkon. The first missile struck its hull. Green electricity danced across the metal surface. The second missile crashed into the hull a few seconds later. It bathed the Harkon in green electricity. The red glow of the Harkon’s engines flickered and died. It helplessly drifted without electrical power.
“Hoorah!” Allen shouted with joy. “Bandit One is dead in space!”
A flash of light from Ryork’s peripheral vision caught his attention. “Shogun, break right! Bandit Two incoming!”
Allen fired his turning thrusters, pulling away from his trajectory. Furious orange bolts of plasma streaked past, illuminating his canopy. Allen dove his Trident starfighter behind the lifeless Harkon, breaking line of sight. This did not deter the other Harkon. It fired its orange plasma bolts into its wingman’s dead ship, destroying it. The explosion threw wreckage in all directions. Debris showered Allen’s starfighter until it also exploded.
Time seemed to stop for Ryork. His flight commander, his friend, was now gone. Memories of Allen and his wife flooded his mind. They were almost as close as family. His heart felt cold and heavy. His throat was dry.
Jonathan’s voice over the comm sounded faint and distant. “…I repeat, Eagle One, do you read!”

~ ~ ~

Jonathan stood in the Center of Workmanship of the Calmao, watching the terrible battle on the three-dimensional holograms in the center of the room. One of the Scorpii ships exploded and Lt. Allen’s starfighter was very close to the explosion. This worried him.
Ryork’s voice finally responded. “He’s K.I.A., sir. He’s gone.”
A moment of dreadful silence passed. Jonathan closed his eyes and clenched his fists. His jaw tensed up. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, forcing his jaw to relax. “I need you to pull yourself together, Lieutenant. There is still one more bandit. Can you commit?”
Ryork’s static-laden voice replied. “No joy, Mother Goose. And my sensors are inop.”
Jonathan sighed, glancing heavenward. What else could go wrong? Losing visual was usually not a problem with an active sensor screen. But Ryork’s starfighter was also quite close to the explosion. If his sensor grid had shorted out and was inoperative, then he was blind to anything he couldn’t physically see. And having lost visual, his pilot was a sitting duck.
Jonathan located the Harkon on the three-dimensional hologram. “Eagle Seven, bandit is forming up on your six o’clock. Break left and hit your afterburner. You should then get a visual.”
“Tally on bandit,” Ryork’s voice announced.
Ellyra, Diahlus, and Xer sat, watching with bated breath. It wasn’t clear how much combat experience they had. The Euroo were an elaborate and peaceful race. Jonathan couldn’t count on them having as much field experience. This arena was his, and his alone. The Calmao had already fired all its seeker missiles, so, he couldn’t help his pilot in that way. Yet there had to be something he could do.
“Bandit is scissoring me, gaining the advantage. Please advise, Mother Goose. Please advise!”
“Colonel Jonathan,” Diahlus addressed. “May I advise a retreat?”
Jonathan glanced in his direction and then he continued his pacing. His calculating mind spun in circles. The obvious path had been foreclosed. He could not overpower the enemy. And their energy shield prevented his weapons from having any effect. He needed another angle. Something not obvious, something perhaps wild and crazy.
“Jonathan,” Ellyra said, standing. “The Brigadain is correct. We must retreat.”
“Something on that frigate is important. If we retreat the Scorpii will destroy it.”
“Better that frigate than us,” Xer said. “We were never a match for an elder race to begin with.”
Jonathan spun around to meet Xer’s gaze. “If you ever learn anything from humans, learn this expression, ‘where there’s a will, there’s a way’!”
“How can there possibly be a—”
Jonathan raised his hand, gesturing for silence. His eyes danced around momentarily and then he looked up with a smile across his face. “And I just found a way.” He walked over to Diahlus. “I need you to power up your hyperdrive. But don’t engage the drive, just let the power build.”
“That could blow the primary relay conduit and rupture the drive!”
“Right, but that won’t happen for about a minute or so, correct?”
“How long is a minute?”
“Your assessment is correct,” Ellyra answered.
Diahlus looked to Ellyra for approval of the order.
She gave him a nod.
“Steersman, power up the hyperdrive,” he ordered. “And do not, I repeat, do not engage the hyper-portal generator.”
“As you wish, Brigadain.”
A low gentle hum from the hyperdrive capacitor sounded in the room. The hum grew in intensity.
“Mother Goose, Eagle Seven!” Ryork’s panicked voice came in over the comm. “Bandit One is on my tail, and I can’t shake him!”
“That’s it, Eagle Seven!” Jonathan shouted. “Bring the enemy into range. We are charging up the Death Ray.”
“Death Ray?” Ryork’s confused voice asked.
“Death Ray?” Xer mumbled under his breath.
“That’s right, Lieutenant,” Jonathan continued. “The Scorpii have crossed the line and we’re going to send them into oblivion!”
“…oh…right,” Ryork’s voice said. “But I won’t escape the blast radius.”
“You will, uh, be remembered with honor, Lieutenant!”
Diahlus pointed to the three-dimensional hologram of the battle scene. The Harkon had veered away.
“Mother Goose, Eagle Seven. Bandit One is bugging out!”
“Quickly! Fire the Death Ray!” Jonathan shouted.
The Harkon bolted into superlight speed.
“Enemy vessel has hyper-shifted into hyperspace,” a female Euroo voice announced.
“Yiiii-haha!!” Ryork hollered over the comm.
Diahlus quickly gestured to the steersman to cut power to the hyperdrive capacitor. The loud hum of the hyperdrive died down. Ellyra jumped up and hugged Jonathan. Then, second-guessing the propriety of the act, she stepped back.
“Simply brilliant, Jonathan,” she said.
Xer looked confused. “What is a Death Ray?”
“A clever ruse,” Diahlus explained. “It would seem that the Colonel here has deceived the Scorpiian pilot into thinking we were about to destroy his vessel with some great weapon.”
Xer’s cyan within blue eyes widened. “And when the enemy vessel scanned the Calmao, they detected a large energy buildup and assumed the threat was real! Masterful!”
Diahlus walked over to Jonathan. “Colonel Jonathan, I owe you an apology. When you came aboard, I saw you as an uncultured, arrogant, and impulsive ruffian.”
“And now?”
“I still think you’re an uncultured, arrogant, and impulsive ruffian,” he admitted with a smile. “But it is clear to me that your unorthodox strategies produce spectacular results. Which makes you—on my canvas, at least—an artist.” He bowed to Jonathan.
Jonathan bowed in return. “That’s quite the compliment to live up to.”
Diahlus smiled. “Indeed.” He raised a finger. “Yet, there is one thing I do not understand. How did your pilot know you were deceiving the Scorpii and how to properly respond?”
Jonathan returned a witty smirk. “That, my friend, is part of being human.”

Chapter 6
CONSPIRACY

Fox raced down the wide hallway with a hovering stretcher in tow. On the stretcher lay an unconscious man with pale skin. The Colonel had said they rescued an Earth frigate from the Scorpii, but that it was severely damaged. The oxygen had all vented out into space. The sole occupant of the frigate now lay on the stretcher, dying. The closest medical bay was Med Bay Alpha. But the Colonel had specifically requested him to be taken to Med Bay Charlie. Dr. Mallory was the chief surgeon and also the very best.
Fox wanted to stay and inspect the broken frigate, but he was also the fastest runner among the officers. We’ve got to get a better way to transport passengers to the med bays, Fox thought. The Chantell didn’t build a better way because they always flew down the wide hallways. The Bugs hadn’t designed this space station with a flightless bipedal species in mind.
Grrrah’Kah’s men were stationed at each hallway intersection, halting pedestrian traffic from crossing. That saved time and lessened the risk of an accidental collision. Grrrah’Kah thinks of everything, he thought. That bug will definitely be getting a raise.
Fox slowed to a stop in front of Med Bay Charlie. The door slid up and Fox maneuvered the hover stretcher inside. “Here he is, Doc,” he said, panting.
Dr. Mallory looked up from the bedside of Ambassador Cale. “That’s the passenger Jonathan called about?”
“That’s him, Doc,” he answered, still trying to catch his breath. “He’s not responsive but he still has a weak pulse.”
Dr. Mallory rushed across the room and checked the man’s pulse. “I need some room. Move the stretcher over next to the Ambassador’s bed.”
Fox pushed the hover stretcher beside Ambassador Cale’s bed. Fox looked down at the pale man who lay on the stretcher. Both the bed and the stretcher lay side by side. Ambassador Cale on the bed and the pale man on the stretcher. The pale man looked to be in his early thirties but with a bald head and pale skin. He lay motionless. His chest didn’t even noticeably rise and fall as it would if he were breathing. Suddenly, the man’s hand grabbed Fox’s wrist.
Fox jerked his arm away. The fear of the surprise vanished from him. And somehow, he knew what was wrong with the man. It was like a sudden flash of inspiration was transferred through the pale man’s touch.
“Severe cerebral hypoxia, Doc.”
Dr. Mallory rushed over and placed an oxygen mask on the pale man’s face. “How severe?”
“Imminent somatic death.”
Dr. Mallory cursed and feverishly connected machines up to the body of the pale man. Fox stood watching in helplessness. What was there to do? He could only watch and hope. If the man recovered, he could get some answers. But if he died, the mystery would die with him. The Greys did promise an explanation. But would they have enough of an explanation without this man?
An alarm sounded and Dr. Mallory cursed again, working twice as fast. After a few exhausting moments, Dr. Mallory stopped and breathed out long and hard. He turned off the alarm with a flick of a switch and then glanced at the time on the comm-band around his wrist.
“Nurse, time of death is o-seven-hundred-thirty-eight hours.”
A computerized voice responded. “Noted and recorded.”
Dr. Mallory sighed and began disconnecting the equipment. “I’m sorry.”
“No worries, Doc. You did everything you could with what little time you had.” Fox paused a moment. “Doc, what is cerebral hypoxia?”
Dr. Mallory looked at him. “Don’t you know? You’re the one who told me.”
Fox shook his head. “It’s strange, Doc. When that man’s hand grabbed me, those words were very clear in my mind. Somehow, I knew that was the answer. Only now, I have no idea what that means.”
Dr. Mallory returned a skeptical look. “Cerebral hypoxia is a lack of oxygen to the brain. When starved for long enough, the patient will lose consciousness and eventually die. As we have seen here.” He shook his head. “But with how far gone this man was, there’s no way he could have grabbed your arm.”
Fox’s eyes intensified. “He grabbed it, Doc. Just like this.” Fox imitated the gesture to his own wrist.
Dr. Mallory again shook his head. “Lt. Colonel, a comatose patient has no voluntary motor control.”
“Oh yeah,” Fox said. “Well then, how do you explain that?” He pointed at the body. The pale man’s other hand had reached over and was holding onto the wrist of Ambassador Cale.
“What the…” Dr. Mallory whispered in amazement. He leaned in closer. “It must be some kind of localized Dystonia that happened to look voluntary…”
Fox rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, Doc.”
“Look,” he said defensively. “I’ve worked in foreign and domestic medicine for two decades. I’ve seen a lot of strange alien stuff. But this man is human.”
Fox folded his arms. He knew what he had experienced. He had felt the cold grasp of the hand followed by the flash of inspiration that had now left him. But it was no use debating the issue with a medical doctor. He would have better luck debating music with a prima donna.
Fox’s comm-band beeped twice. It was a transmission from the Colonel. He spoke into his comm-band. “Receive.”
The black screen blinked and displayed a video image of Jonathan. “Lt. Colonel Jagger, how is the man we rescued?”
Fox looked away. It was hard to inform the Colonel that one of his best pilots was killed saving a man who died anyway. “I’m sorry, Colonel. But he didn’t make it.” For a few seconds, the only sounds heard were the faint noises of medical equipment in the background.
Jonathan looked down. “That’s…unfortunate.”
“The Doc did all he could.”
Jonathan nodded and took a deep breath. “Better come on up to the conference room. Supreme Commander T’Kal has arrived. We should be able to get some answers.”
“On my way, sir.” He tapped the screen and it turned off.
Dr. Mallory put a hand on Fox’s shoulder. “For what it’s worth, I wish I could have—”
The computer screen next to Ambassador Cale started beeping softly. Dr. Mallory crossed over to the screen with a confused expression on his face.
“What is it, Doc?” Fox asked.
“Cale’s brainwave activity is returning to normal…that doesn’t make any sense.”
“Wait, isn’t that supposed to be a good thing?”
Dr. Mallory kept his eyes on the screen. “Well, yes, but how is it possible?”
Fox glanced at the time on his comm-band. “I have a meeting to get to. Let me know what you find out.”

~ ~ ~

Isabeau paced back and forth across the dull green metal floor of the conference room. She didn’t usually pace. She didn’t often have enough anxiety to take up the habit. But today was different. Jonathan had mentioned that the Greys’ ship had arrived. T’Kal wanted to hold their secret meeting in person this time. That meant there was a chance that they brought Cyran with them. If only they had thought far enough in advance. They might have anticipated the opportunity and brought him.
She dearly hoped they had. She hadn’t seen her brother in five years. It would be so grand to see him again and feel his warm embrace. Would she recognize him? The picture she had of him was seven years old. A lot can change in seven years. Everything, that is, except the Draconians and their stupid rules. Why couldn’t she at least write to him? Why was there such strict segregation between each of the space stations? And why was she one of the unlucky ones?
The door slid up. Isabeau spun around, her heart stopping. All her longing to reunite with Cyran bubbled up inside her. Her muscles tensed up in anticipation. She took a quick step toward the door and then froze. Fox stepped inside and sauntered over to a seat. Her anticipation melted away into annoyance. It was only Fox. All that suspense was for nothing, like seeing a package arrive only to find out it’s not for you. She glared at him.
“What?” he asked in bewilderment.
She turned away and continued her pacing.
The door slid up again and Jonathan entered with three Tumnei behind him. The Greys stood four to five feet tall. They wore silvery skin-tight uniforms with black boots. Their large heads held two solid black glassy eyes. Their noses were so small that only a pair of nostrils could be seen. Their small mouths were the greatest mystery; they never moved.
“If you’ll please have a seat,” Jonathan said to them, motioning to the table.
It was always difficult to pick out which one was T’Kal and which were his bodyguards. They all looked pretty much alike and their uniforms held no distinctions. One of the Greys sat down, his head not very far above the conference table. That must be T’Kal. The other two stood at the wall behind him.
Isabeau felt a hand on her shoulder. It was probably Jonathan, instructing her to take her seat. She turned to sit down at the table but stopped. Jonathan was standing at the table already. Then whose hand was on her shoulder? She glanced back. A tall man with short black hair and a thick mustache stood at her side. His blue and white attire suggested he was from Bravo Station. He smiled.
She knew that smile. She had studied every curve of that smile from her old tattered photograph. “Cyrano!” She jumped into his arms, giving him a tight bear hug.
He lifted her off the ground and spun her all the way around. “Bonjour, ma petite Isabeau! Comment ça va?”
“Bien, mon cher frère! Bien, et toi?”
Cyran kissed her on both cheeks and she mirrored him. “Oui, petite sœur, moi, je vais bien!” He gave her one last tight hug.
Fox deliberately cleared his throat.
“Forgive me, my friends,” Cyran said in his thick French accent. “But a five-year reunion just could not wait.”
“That’s okay,” Jonathan said in a calm tone. “I think I know exactly how you feel.” He motioned toward the table. “If you’ll both please take your seats.”
Isabeau and Cyran sat next to each other.
Jonathan glanced over to Fox. “Please lock the door.”
“Of course, sir.” Fox walked over to the door and typed a code into the keypad on the wall. The door chimed three times. Fox retook his seat.
“Thank you for agreeing to move up this meeting, T’Kal,” Jonathan began. “It’s difficult to keep these meetings looking random. Current events also made the perfect excuse to meet in person.”
“Your gratitude is unnecessary but appreciated, Colonel Terynn.” T’Kal’s thoughts projected into everyone’s minds.
Isabeau had heard that the Greys spoke telepathically but hadn’t experienced it before. No wonder their mouths never moved. They never had to.
“But before we begin,” Cyran said. “I want to thank you for rescuing Vincent.”
“Vincent?” Jonathan asked.
“Yes, the passenger aboard the frigate. I had altered the frigate’s transponder signal to that of Gamma Station. I hope you got the message?”
Jonathan looked down. “Yeah, I got the message. But I’m sorry to report that Vincent didn’t survive.”
Cyran paled. “Did you retrieve the body? Did you bring it here?”
Jonathan looked at him curiously. “Yes…yes we have the body in a med bay.”
Why is he so concerned about a dead man’s body? Isabeau wondered.
“There’s a possibility he might not be dead.”
“Oh no, he’s dead all right,” Fox replied. “I was there when the Doc called the time.”
“If he is dead then this was all for nothing,” Cyran said grimly.
A fire lit in Jonathan’s eyes. “I lost a good man in that rescue, Cyran. It had better have been for something.”
“What was all for nothing?” Isabeau asked. “What was so important about that man?”
“He was not an Earthian man,” said T’Kal’s telepathic voice. “He was a Voonsu.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Voonsu. They are a race of microorganisms. They inhabit deceased bodies to interact with the outside world.”
Isabeau covered her mouth and nose. Gross!
Fox pounded his fist on the table. “I knew there was something weird about that guy.”
All eyes turned to him.
“Something you wish to share with the rest of us, Mr. Jagger?” Jonathan asked.
Fox ran a hand down his smooth head and face. “In the med bay, I swear that guy grabbed my wrist. The Doc says that’s not possible due to his condition. But he grabbed my arm and I suddenly knew what was wrong with him. Like a sudden idea popping into your head that eventually fades away.”
“Yes, they form a network of consciousness. It allows them to intercept neural impulses around them.”
“In other words,” Cyran said. “They are telepathic.”
“Well, so far you’ve told us what they are but not why they’re so important,” Jonathan said.
T’Kal tilted his head. “Are you familiar with the story of the Skorath Prophecy?”
Jonathan glanced up in thought. “In fairy tales mostly. From when my mother would tuck me in at night. I remember something about a foretold star that would scare the Draconians.”
“Yes, that is the one. Allow me to refresh your memory. ‘A newborn light will arise from an uninteresting corner of space, wielding a power that will frighten the star of Draconia, and claim the birthright of the ancestors.’ ”
Cyran sighed. “That, unfortunately, was where the Voonsu were supposed to come into play.”
“How so?” Jonathan asked.
“The prophecy tells of the downfall of the Draconians by a new race with the power to ‘frighten the star of Draconia.’ ”
“And just what power was the Voonsu supposed to have? What could possibly frighten the Draconians?”
“Because, Jonathan, the Voonsu don’t simply read people’s thoughts, they can also influence them.”
Jonathan sat forward in his chair. “Wait a second. You’re telling me they can mess with somebody’s mind?”
“Talk about a security risk,” Fox added.
“It’s perfect,” T’Kal’s voice said in their minds. “It fits the prophecy’s description of a power that can frighten the star of Draconia.”
“No,” Cyran objected. “It would have been perfect had the Voonsu lived. Now all this talk about the prophecy is meaningless.”
It didn’t make much sense to Isabeau. If it was a prophecy, wouldn’t that mean it was going to happen and not something that simply could happen? After all, wasn’t inevitability what separated prophecies from useful advice?
“Well,” she began. “How could the Voonsu be the fulfillment of this prophecy if they’re dead? Wouldn’t they have been prophesied to have died if that were the case? I thought a prophecy was peering into the future; seeing what was going to happen.”
T’Kal tilted his head. “The Commander’s logic has merit. From a philosophical standpoint, if the Voonsu are to fulfill the prophecy, they cannot be all dead. If Vincent has perished, there must be more Voonsu out there somewhere.”
“You make them sound like replacement parts,” Cyran said. “As if you could go and pick up new ones when needed. It was a stroke of luck finding Vincent in the first place. How are we ever to seek out more?”
Isabeau wrinkled her brow. “Can’t we just visit their home planet?”
“A sensible suggestion, Commander Alexi,” came T’Kal’s telepathic voice. “Unfortunately, they have no homeworld, at least, none that they are aware of.”
“Forgive my pessimism, ma petite sœur. Without a homeworld, our only recourse is to ask around if anyone has seen a race of micro-organisms about.”
Fox snapped his fingers. “Wait, micro-organism? Is that like germs?”
“A crude approximation, but that technically fits.”
“I’m not the only one Vincent touched,” Fox said, running a hand down his shaved head.
Cyran gave him an inquisitive look. “What are you getting at?”
“Vincent touched Ambassador Cale also. And right before I left, the doc said the ambassador’s brain was working again.”
Cyran exclaimed something in French. “I pray this is true. Did he wake up? Were you able to talk with him?”
“Well…no. He still looks kind of dead.”
“No homeworld,” Jonathan thought aloud, the gears in his head turning. “From a strategic standpoint, there is only one way we can feasibly wage war on the Draconians. At least without their armada decimating our home planets. That would be to invent an enemy that has no home. There would be no stationary target to retaliate against. The Draconians would be forced onto the defensive.”
“If they can actually take casualties, that is,” Fox said, interrupting the thought train. “Their dreadnaughts are darn near invincible.”
Jonathan shook his head. “Nothing is invincible, Mr. Jagger. Everybody has a weakness. It’s just a matter of finding it. For example, the Draconians do not use defensive shield technology. I’ve always wondered if our EMPRAAM missiles could short out some systems.”
“Even if we could,” Fox replied. “We have a limited number of missiles, and they have a limitless armada of ships.”
T’Kal looked at Fox. “Please forgive the critique, Lt. Colonel. But you speak in exaggerations.”
“Forgive me, Supreme Commander. But the most prominent fleet in the sector is the 53rd fleet. That’s over two hundred dreadnaughts parked within striking distance of most homeworlds. Now, that name alone tells me they have at least fifty-two other fleets. Do the math. That’s more than ten thousand six hundred Draconian dreadnaughts. And that’s a conservative estimate.”
Isabeau breathed out in dismay. “We would be trying to fight a colony of ants, one ant at a time.”
“That’s why we needed the Voonsu,” Cyran said, passionately waving his hands as he spoke. “They would have fulfilled the prophecy and freed us from the Draconians.”
Fox turned to him. “How? You haven’t mentioned them having a fleet of starships or anything. How would the Voonsu tackle an armada of dreadnaughts?”
T’Kal held a hand up. “That is where the last line of the prophecy comes into play; ‘claim the birthright of the ancestors’. We are sure it means advanced technology from an ancient race.”
“Skorath tech?” Jonathan asked.
Fox leaned back in his seat. “You’d think if the Skorath technology was so easy to find, someone would have found it by now.”
Isabeau’s thoughts trailed off. It couldn’t be Skorath technology. The wording of the prophecy didn’t fit that assumption. If the Skorath were prophesying about their own technology, wouldn’t they have said ‘claim our birthright’? She glanced at T’Kal. He was watching the others discuss the Skorath. I wonder if he already knows it’s not the Skorath?
T’Kal turned toward her and spoke into her mind. “Very astute, Commander.”
Isabeau blushed. I’m sorry, Supreme Commander, she thought, I’m not used to my thoughts being public.
“No apologies necessary, Commander. But please, do take credit for your logical assertions. The birthright of the ancestors, which the prophecy speaks of, is not the technology of the Skorath.”
“Right, because linguistically it doesn’t make sense. And besides, they all vanished after the Great War anyway.”
All eyes turned to her.
She blushed again, realizing she had made that last comment aloud.
“The Skorath are not all gone,” he said into everyone’s mind.
She recomposed herself. “What do you mean, not all gone?”
T’Kal nodded to one of his guards. The guard walked over to a large computer screen on the wall and inserted a crystal disk. The screen flashed and displayed a video image of an empty spot in space. The timestamp was displayed in Tumnei characters in the lower corner. Isabeau shivered as a long black ship faded into view. It hadn’t moved; it had gradually appeared. The long, tubular, and uneven shape of the ship made it appear organic, like a large shadowy squid in space.
Fox braced his hands on the table and pushed himself to his feet. “Is that…?”
“Skorath.”
The others joined Fox in standing. They gazed upon the eerie-looking vessel.
“The ship appears every ten years or so on the outskirts of a star cluster they have forbidden us to divulge.”
Jonathan blinked, breaking his mesmerized gaze on the ghostly ship. “So, you have spoken with them?”
T’Kal tilted his head. “Of course, Colonel. Each time they come; they ask us only for information on current events—nothing more. And in return, they tell us about the past.”
“Why do they want to know about what happens around here?” Isabeau asked.
Jonathan stroked his smooth chin. “It sounds to me like the Skorath don’t consider the Great War to be over yet.”
“Precisely our assessment. In our last encounter, we inquired as to why they had not yet counterattacked the Draconians. They replied, ‘We await the return of the Antarens.’ ”
Fox plopped back into his seat. “More bedtime stories. Out of all of them, Antares was my favorite. The classic outer space Atlantis story. A vast and powerful galactic civilization that vanished without a trace centuries ago.”
“No,” Jonathan said. “If I recall, it was their homeworld, Antares, that vanished without a trace. The Antarens supposedly died of some deadly plague—”
“That’s not what I heard,” Isabeau said. “I heard they died in a great battle…”
Cyran stood and waved his arms. “Gentlemen, gentlemen, please…” He glanced at Isabeau. “…and lady,” he amended. “The main point of this conversation is this: the galactic word Antar means ‘they which came before’. Or, in other words, ancestors. Therefore, Antares, or Antar es, means ‘where the ancestors reside.’ ”
After a long uncomfortable silence, Jonathan finally spoke. “So, the birthright of the Ancestors is the technology of the Antarens?”
“Colonel,” Fox said. “If we had a technological advantage like the Antarens, we could wallop the Draconians. We’d give them a run for their money.”
Antaren technology was supposedly superior to the mighty Draconians. But from a practical standpoint, it wasn’t much of a guarantee they’d be able to get their hands on it.
“But as you’ve pointed out,” Isabeau said. “This all hinges on if the prophecy is true.”
“More accurately, this all hinges on if we are interpreting the prophecy correctly. And if the Voonsu are the fulfillment of it.”
“And assuming the Voonsu survived,” Cyran added.
“We must tread lightly here, gentlemen,” Jonathan cautioned. “Whether or not we understand the prophecy—whether or not the Voonsu are the fulfillment of it—if we commit to this, there will be no going back. We will win or we will be annihilated.” He pointed to the video image of the Skorath ship on the screen. “Possession of that footage alone is enough to get an extermination order called. One slip will be the end of us all. The Draconians do not give second chances.”
He allowed a moment of silence for his point to sink in. Everyone who was still standing took their seats. “Supreme Commander T’Kal, let us suppose that our understanding of the prophecy is correct. Would you have a proposed course of action? Just how would this birthright be claimed?”
T’Kal nodded. “What your bedtime stories haven’t told you is that the Antarens and the Skorath were allies in the Great War.”
Fox snapped his fingers. “If they were allied with the Antarens, then they would know how to claim the Antaren technology.”
“Our thoughts exactly,” Cyran added.
“How much time do we have until the Skorath ship returns?” Isabeau asked.
“Approximately four months.”
Fox scratched the side of his head. “Just getting the technology might not be enough. We may have to construct some more of their ships. Which means we’ll need facilities to construct them.”
“It can’t be us,” Isabeau concluded. “Humans are too closely watched. It’ll have to be one of the elder races if we are to have any chance of keeping such a project under wraps.”
“I’m sure we can assist in that.”
Isabeau glanced over to Jonathan. He was silent, staring off into space with the gears turning in his head. “Colonel, what are your thoughts?”
He looked up. “Who we really need are the Chantell. They are the most efficient builders I have ever seen. They built this space station in under a year—it should have taken ten. And they are an elder race, like the Tumnei, so they wouldn’t have nearly as much scrutiny over their actions. But we don’t yet know if they’ll be obedient to the Draco Senate or if they’ll be willing to join our conspiracy. Four months may not be enough time to approach them delicately. We have a strong relationship with Grrrah’Kah but he doesn’t have any political pull with his government. We haven’t even begun forming the necessary relationships.” He took a slow breath before continuing. “In light of these matters, I think we should postpone the vote until we can see if the Chantell will be on our side.”
Cyran’s eyes widened. “That could take years! Our window of opportunity is just four months away. I officially request we vote now.”
“Cyran, be reasonable. We don’t even know for sure if the Voonsu survived. If we commit to this and this whole prophecy falls apart, we would have no alibi. We’d be destroyed—along with everyone else back on Earth.”
Cyran pounded the table. “Jonathan, if the Voonsu survived, then our time is now.”
T’Kal motioned with his hand. “I second the motion to vote now. The Scorpii have become increasingly aggressive in the Senate. We are in a position to assist you now. However, we don’t know if the political landscape in the near future will still allow that. The Tumnei government agrees that we should act sooner rather than later.”
Jonathan turned to Cyran. “Do you speak for Bravo Station?”
Cyran nodded. “I have the full support of the Chancellor himself. They will back whatever decision I make.”
Jonathan took a deep breath. “A motion to call a vote has been made and seconded. We will proceed with the vote. Since you already know my thoughts on the matter, I might as well go first. In light of the unknown condition of the Voonsu, the limited support the Tumnei can legally offer, and the work needed to bring the Chantell in on this, I don’t think we’re ready for a commitment like this. I am obliged to vote nay.”
Cyran exhaled in disapproval. “We won’t get another shot at this for ten more years…”
Jonathan turned to Isabeau.
She swallowed the dry lump in her throat. She was torn. She desperately wanted to be rid of the mandates of the Draconians. She wanted to be with her family again. She also agreed with Jonathan that they were not ready. A tear ran down her cheek. “I’m so sorry, Cyran. I want so much to be with you. But I have to concur with Jonathan. There are too many ifs. I vote nay.”
Cyran’s eyes fell to the table.
Jonathan glanced over to T’Kal.
He tilted his head. “It is regrettable that our plan does not have your backing, Colonel. However, on behalf of the Tumnei government, I vote aye.”
Cyran stood, being the next to vote. “Aye! Every time a holiday passes, I think of my family, separated and scattered. Thousands of such families will never be able to reunite under Draconian rule.” He pointed at Jonathan. “And you have never been allowed to see Earth. And I know you well enough to know you have no delusions that the Draconians will ever change their mandates. And you still have the Scorpii pitting Able Station against you. When will we stand together and cry out enough?” A tear ran down his cheek. He ignored it. “Look what has happened to Cale!” he said, pointing in the general direction of Med Bay Charlie. “Are our lives really safer doing nothing? And how about the lives of everyone back on Earth? They cannot lift a finger without questioning if it will upset the Draconians. Are their lives really safer if we do nothing? How much more until you have had enough?”
Jonathan’s gaze drifted to the table.
Isabeau’s eyes watered. She glanced at Fox. With two votes aye and two votes nay, Fox was now the deciding vote. How would he vote? She had only known him for six months. Nothing about his posture or facial expression was hinting one way or the other. She found herself holding her breath.
Fox stood and walked halfway around the table. “I respect my commanding officer.”
Cyran slowly sat down and slumped in his chair.
Fox continued. “And this very morning, my commanding officer stood right here and told me—” he slammed his fist on the table. “I have had enough.”
Jonathan looked up and met his resolute gaze.
“I agree with the sentiments of my commanding officer. I too have had enough. I vote aye.”
Cyran breathed out in relief.
Jonathan rose to his feet. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of a man supporting me by voting against me.”
Fox returned a sheepish look. “If I may quote Marcus Brutus, sir. ‘There is a tide in the affairs of men. Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; Omitted, all the voyage of their life is abound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat, and we must take the current when it serves, or lose our ventures.’ ”
He placed a firm hand on Fox’s shoulder and nodded. “Okay.” He patted his shoulder twice and turned to the others present. “Though, this does put us in a tight situation. We have to find some way to recruit the Chantell without exposing ourselves in less than four months.”
“I’m sure it’s possible,” Fox said.
Isabeau shook her head. “It may not be. It took the Euroo over a year.”
“Wait, you’re saying the Euroo already have a relationship with the Chantell?”
She nodded. “Yes, that’s what Xer told me.”
“Wait a minute,” Fox said. “If the Euroo have already established trust with the Chantell, why not go through the Euroo?”
They both looked at Jonathan. His eyes widened. He took a sharp breath and waved a dismissive hand toward them. “Out of the question. My relationship with Ellyra is strictly personal.”
“Colonel Terynn, are we to understand that you have a personal relationship with a member of the Euroo aristocracy?”
He pursed his lips before facing T’Kal. “The daughter of House El’Allel.”
T’Kal tilted his head. “Please forgive my impropriety, Colonel. But would it not be agreeable to use your advantage to recruit the Chantell?”
“There are some lines you just don’t cross.”
T’Kal shifted his gaze. “Some have said that about the Draconian rule. As the weaker party in the upcoming confrontation, can we afford not to use every means at our disposal?”
“You make a convincing argument,” he said, walking over to T’Kal. “But I haven’t seen her in five years. And a lot can change in that time. For now, let’s just say that I will consider it.”
“Thank you, Colonel Terynn.”
Jonathan faced everyone else. “Three votes aye, two votes nay. We go to war.”
The tension in the room broke and Cyran rose, sauntering over to Fox. “Mr. Jagger, is it?”
Fox nodded. “You can call me Fox.”
“A very stirring speech, Fox. I never thought I’d find anyone else so well versed in Shakespeare.”
“I appreciate the praise, Ambassador.”
Isabeau stood. “He quotes it a lot.”
Cyran smiled.
Fox chuckled. “Yes, but rarely to such a rapt audience.”
Isabeau rolled her eyes.
The door chimed. Isabeau walked to the door and typed in the code to unlock the door. The door slid up, revealing Rana standing on the other side.
Isabeau’s face lit up. “Rana, how are you?”
Rana returned a forced smile. Something wasn’t right. She had gotten along quite well with Rana since she came aboard the station. Something else must have been on her mind. Her curt tone and fidgety fingers attested to her displeasure. But if that wasn’t enough, her hair was jet black. Isabeau didn’t know what all the Euroo hair colors meant but she knew a few. And black meant she was feeling angry.
“Thank you for the pleasantries, Commander Isabeau. But I am here to speak with Colonel Jonathan.”
Isabeau turned to see Jonathan walking to the door alongside T’Kal. “Colonel, sir?”
He looked up. “Izzy?”
“Rana Arauri is here to see you.”
He quickly tapped his com-band to check the time. “I’m sorry, it looks like I’m three minutes late—”
“Walk with me, Colonel,” she snapped, turning around and strolling down the hall.
Jonathan glanced at Isabeau as if to ask what that was all about. Truthfully, she didn’t know. But if Jonathan had set an appointment, maybe it had something to do with that. Isabeau shrugged.
Jonathan stepped out the door after Rana.