Alan Scarlett Best Two Out of Three

© 2024 - 2025 Duleigh Lawrence-Townshend. All rights reserved. The author asserts the right to be identified as the author of this story for all portions. All characters are original. Any resemblance to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental. This story or any part thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the expressed written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review or commentary.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to the memory of Tim Kuzon, my old pal, fellow railfan, and science fiction fan. Monthly we traveled the mean streets of rural Western New York to find the latest copy of Fantasy and Science Fiction magazine. You're missed every day, Tim.

A beacon bright in life's brief span,

A dreamer bold, a cosmic fan.

Though now he's crossed the final gate,

Tim's essence shines, his tales await.

In every story, every gleam,

His memory lives, a starlit dream.

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Preface

I have always been a fan of "hard science, science-fiction." Not the modern Science-Fantasy where you say, "make it so" and it magically happens whether it's crossing the universe in a few hours or travel easily through time or find a race of space dragons that speak English. That stuff isn't science fiction to me. It's fun to read, but to me it's fantasy.

I love the old school science-fiction where the science is first and foremost. My characters will probably never get beyond Saturn. They'll never break the speed of light, they'll run out of fuel, and they'll squabble amongst themselves over the best food substitute at the chow hall. My ships don't have artificial gravity, they don't fly faster than light, my ships travel in straight lines and turning is a pain in the ass. There's no swooping and curving trajectories because that's impossible. The only exception is the asteroid belt, that's my playground. Anything can happen there.

Join me in the heady days of great science fiction, the days of Asimov, Bradbury, Clark, Dick, Heinlein. I want to revive X-1, a radio "space opera" that used stories from the greatest writers. I try to avoid words they wouldn't have used in 1950. I'll use words like atomic instead of nuclear, terminal instead of computer, spaceman instead of astronaut and cosmonaut, and Pencil and Paper instead of laptop. I name many of my characters after real astronauts that have flown in the past 50 years. Many ships and space stations are named after astronauts of note: Armstrong, Glenn, Shepherd. My bad guys are named after actual bad guys, and the Cold War is still on.

Their history (your future) got pretty ugly in 2080. World War Four started with a terrorist organization called Widdershins Separatists set off an atomic bomb in Lake Erie, which destroyed all cities on the shoreline: Fort Erie, Buffalo, Erie, Ashtabula, Cleveland, Sandusky, Monroe, Toledo, and the city of Detroit. The tsunami killed millions of people and destroyed shipping for decades. In the following war, Earth took thousands of men from the Martian and Luna colonies, destroying their society, leaving Mars and Luna (the moon) a home for widows, old men and little boys.

Join me in a universe of brave men and women who man the ships of the Western Alliance Navy, and keep back the ships of the Eastern Bloc. A universe of space colonies on Mars, Luna, and Venus, vast stations hanging in space where their rotation provides gravity, where pirates prowl the solar system looking for a fat cruiser to pillage, and the spacemen who fly the small fighters and the bombers to keep the pirates at bay. Alan Scarlett has just saved all of humanity and was given some time off with his Radar Intercept Officer (RIO) on Fiji 2.

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Alan Scarlett Best Two Out of Three

EPISODE 2 in the Alan Scarlett series

Will Alan Scarlett prevail over the three perilous tasks that fate has in store for him?

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In twilight's tender hues, where memories fade,

A silent ache whispers, shadows invade.

Echoes of laughter, now faint and forlorn,

Dreams of love wither, by dawn they are worn.

"Goodbye" echoes in the gloom, the demise of joy.

- Alan B. Scarlett, August 2142

Fiji 2, March 25, 2142

Last day of Vacation

Hilde Marks moaned under Alan Scarlett's caresses and sighed in delight as each kiss brought the lovers closer and closer together. "Now, my love," she whispered, and she tugged at Alan, pulling him atop her lithe, sensuous body. Her long shapely legs wrapped around his as their tongues danced together, their lips aching from the kisses.

She reached down and wrapped her delicate hand around his throbbing manhood, lining him up with her weeping vagina. "Are you sure?" Alan asked.

"It's time," she whispered, but then, she looked at Alan with fear in her eyes and said, "Trust no one," and like the morning mist, she faded away, leaving Alan alone in his Uncle Ray's guest cabana at Ray's beachfront condominium on Fiji 2. He woke up and looked around, his fiancée and lover was gone. It was like this every night and getting worse with each dream about his love. Each time Alan came closer to losing his virginity, but each time reality intruded, leaving him alone on Earth, while Hilde recuperated at her apartment on Luna at the Luna Prime colony.

"I am not going to cry," he vowed as he sat in the darkness, but like every night, the bitter tears of losing Hilde to a horrible accident came. A snapped cable took her legs off while they worked in space and simultaneously the cable killed his RIO and friend, Tasha Kikina. Alan saved Hilde by applying tourniquets to her legs, but she was so emotionally shattered she asked Alan to let her heal with her lover Yin Chao, who had almost become Alan's "Lunar wife."

There was so much loss, so much death in his life. His parents died with 120 other Martians in an insidious plot to kill them, Alan, and his sister, Christa. How many people did he kill when he went on a vengeful tear and destroyed twelve Eastern Bloc fighters? How many people were vaporized when he released an atomic bomb on his home planet of Mars? He dropped it on a large group of Eastern Bloc saboteurs looking to collect samples of the deadliest virus ever known to man, and they would have died from exposure to the Burgman Virus, and blasting them and the virus to atoms saving billions of lives, but he still killed them.

And he killed Dr. Burgman, the man who forced his parents to develop that virus. He did Dr. Bergman up close and personal and he watched the life drain from his eyes as the airlock they were in opened to the near vacuum of Mars. Murdering Dr. Burgman bothers him as well. He feels he should have taken longer.

Alan could not get back to sleep so he got up and took a towel and stepped out of Uncle Ray's guest cabana onto the beach of Fiji 2 and walked down to the water line. He laid out the towel and sat on it, and watched the sliver of the moon rise over the ocean. "Hilde, please take me back," he whispered to the moon, and he wondered if she looked down on him and said, "soon Alan, we'll be together soon. Let me rest for a while." At the same time, he knew she wouldn't.

It was his last day in paradise. Tomorrow, his shore leave would be over. Then Alan and his Radar Intercept Officer Anna Vasquez would take a boat to the main Fiji island of Viti Levu and catch a flight to Guam. There they would transfer to the NSS Shepherd, the first launch ship in the Western Alliance Navy. It could launch U-700 shuttles from any point in the ocean to any orbit you could imagine. The shuttles were designed to carry passengers and priority freight outward to the three main Navy space stations, Camp Schmitt in Geosynchronous orbit over Camp Lejeune, Armstrong Station at Earth/Luna Lagrange point one, and Aldrin Shipyards at Earth/Luna Lagrange point two.

In 2083, a tsunami completely destroyed the Totoya atoll and nearby Matuku Island. Both were part of the Fiji island chain. A land speculation company paid the families of the lost islanders millions and purchased the islands outright and began hauling rock and sand and soon the two islands were renamed Fiji 2, primarily a retirement community which was loved by Lunars and Martians who wanted to get away from the colony and enjoy fresh air. Totoya was a tropical paradise with white sand beaches and swaying palms. There were condos, apartments, sailing in the lagoon and plenty of young staff members to help them adjust to laid back earth life.

Matuku was mountainous, with many streams and waterfalls. There was cliff diving for the adventurous, and mountain villas with breathtaking views. Matuku was for younger residents who wanted adventure and Totoya Atoll was for older residents who had their adventures and wanted to relax on the beach with topless Polynesian girls waiting on them and fetching them drinks.

As the sun rose, Anna came out of the main house and sat down on the beach next to her pilot and commander. "Couldn't sleep again?" Alan didn't speak, he just shook his head no. "Any improvement?"

"She said something that I remember this time. She said, 'trust no one.'"

"Well shit," said Anna. "After you atomized not one but two Eastern Bloc units and erased the weapon they wanted, then your squadron shot down fifty-three of their fighter and damaged their mystery ship? They're probably out to get us. I think that was good advice."

"Then there's the worst one," groaned Alan, as he poked a tiny seashell with a stick. "They're expecting more from me."

"Who is?"

"Everyone. Captain Schirra and Admiral Darwin both want a home run every time I catch a punt."

"You really need to watch sports that you understand," said Anna. "Like chess." She leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder. "You're not having fun training?"

"I'm still new to the Navy. I don't understand half the crap Captain Schirra spouts."

"That's because he's a captain and you're a brevet commander."

"I know, I know," groaned Alan. He had to look that up to see what it means. In essence, he's a Lieutenant Commander as long as he works for Captain Schirra, but he still gets Lieutenant JG's pay. If he goes to another assignment, his rank is set back to Lieutenant JG.

"How does it feel to be owned?" grinned Anna.

"It used to feel better," muttered Alan.

"Come on, let's go eat some breakfast then do something that will make me wet," said Anna.

"That's anything that involves Keala."

"Shut up... sir. I was talking about paddle boarding or windsurfing. Keala's a friend. I'm still mourning Tasha, you're still mourning Tasha, Hilde, Yin and Noelani. We're both pitiful. Are you ok?"

"I'm mourning Noelani?" asked Alan.

"You didn't look happy that your childhood girlfriend went and got married and had two kids without your permission."

"Fuck..." Alan groaned at remembering the unexpected heartbreak. He had been gone almost an entire decade. How could he expect her to wait for him? "This is why Captain Schirra sent us here, so we didn't bum out the new flight crews," muttered Alan.

They watched the tide creep up the beach toward them. "Snorkeling," said Alan. "Let's go snorkeling and catch a few lobsters or harpoon a grouper." Alan was better at harpooning than rod and reel fishing. As long as he could shoot something, he could put dinner on the table.

"Out by the reef? That's dangerous!" said Anna.

"Yeah, it's a good thing we don't have fish in space," said Alan with the start of a grin. "That would make space dangerous."

They ended up going wind surfing. There was a regatta scheduled in the Totoya Lagoon and Alan and Anna entered the event. Nobody knew how good they were, so they were entered into the beginner's brackets and they slaughtered the competition. Anna grew up on the shores of Lake Tota in Columbia and wind surfed her entire life.

Slim, short, tanned to a medium brown, Anna didn't look like a Martian but her folks were both Martians, second generation from Tharsis City, but had to relocate to earth. Anna taught Alan how to windsurf on the windward side of the island, which was choppy seas compared to the lagoon, so in the much calmer lagoon, Alan was incredible. Since he first raised the sail on his sail board, he fell in love with the sport so much that he spent every lonely evening reading about it. "Surfboard Yachting" is what the cute Polynesian waitresses called it.

"You've got really powerful arms," said an incredibly cute woman who was about Alan's age. "You can really handle that sail."

"It's because I'm from Mars," he replied, flexing his muscle. Yes, he was from Mars, but he spent the past eight years working out nonstop in every gym and weight room he could find. Most Martian men were barely able to lift their own chess pieces. Alan wanted to break that stereotype. Being raised in 30% of Earth's gravity, you don't need big muscles, but Alan wanted to go to the stars so he started working out at the age of thirteen.

"Are all Martians like you?" asked the waitress as she squeezed his biceps.

"Wait until you see his dick," said Anna without looking up from her magazine. "A Martian will split you in half."

The waitress laughed and walked away, and Alan said, "What the hell did you say that for? Now you scared her away."

"Believe me boss, she's an earth girl. They'll be lining up at your cabana door after the luau tonight."

"Ladies and gentlemen, this heat is the finale. Three laps of the course for the championship. Will the following yachtsmen report to the starting line? Yamato, Williams, Scarlett, Rothschild, Vasquez, and Astor."

"You ready RIO?" asked Alan.

"Ready boss," said Anna and they headed to the shore to gather their boards. Both had Martian red sails, and both wore Berserker purple life jackets.

"Are you two aliens on the same team?" asked Bernard Rothschild in a snotty tone of voice as they lined up for the start. He was on the board between Alan and Anna, with Alan to his left.

Alan looked at young Mister Rothschild like he didn't speak English. Instead, Anna replied for them. "What team are you talking about, Biff? The Navy? Yes, we are both fighter pilots and we have sixteen kills."

"Twelve," corrected Alan.

"Didn't you get the memo from Admiral Pierce? They gave us credit for the four Eastern Bloc Featherbacks that got caught in the blast."

Alan shook his head and frowned. "That wasn't an air-to-air fight, that was a bomb blast." The windsurfers lined up on the starting line with their sails and masts laying in the water to their right.

"They went down by our actions, we got credit. We're triple aces!" said Anna like she was handed a puppy. "And they gave us credit for that cargo hog we split in half. They counted fifty bodies in that thing, mostly command staff and biochemists."

"He was blocking our entry into the Schiaparelli Canal," said Alan with a shrug. "I didn't want to count myself as a kill."

"You were in a war?" asked a stunned rich boy.

Alan stood on his board and looked down at the rich kid who lined up between him and Anna. "Yes, Mister Rothschild. You may have all the money in the world, but my friend Anna and I faced down the Eastern Bloc and won while you sat on your ass. This little girl has more balls than you do."

Rothschild whirled toward Alan to swear at him, but the starter's gun went off and Rothschild was standing on his board with his back to his sail. Alan and Anna yanked their masts up out of the water and were off leaving 'Biff' behind. This first leg was into the wind and they had to tack left and right to move forward. While everyone looked deadly serious around the triangular course, Anna and Alan were laughing, having a grand time. They looked like they were trying to bump each other off the course and they swooped and splashed each other.

They exchanged the lead over and over on the first and second lap, but the third lap was when the truly good windsurfers came into their own. Alan and Anna were in second and third place, rounding the last turn and sprinting for the finish line. Oki Yamato was right ahead of them, but Alan and Anna got upwind of him and their sails blocked the wind from his sail and he stalled, falling behind them. He was able to recover as they passed, but he never caught up with them and they flashed across the finish line with Anna beating Alan by half a length.

They were still arguing when the judge caught up with them. "Tell him I can't take this," demanded Anna. "He let me win."

"I did not. It was your skill and experience. Tell her that she won, Chief."

"Miss Vasquez, you were first across the line," said the Judge, as he handed her the trophy.

"I can't take this thing back to the McDivitt," she complained. It was a large trophy with a windsurfer on top.

"Leave it in Ray's house. He'll love it," said Alan.

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Fiji 2, March 25, 2142

Last Night of Vacation

That night at the victory luau, the members of the community cheered the crazy Martian who learned to windsurf in three weeks and their victor, the little Navy girl from the southern continent. Paul's friend from his first visit to Earth, Noelani, and her friend Keala came to serve Alan and Anna. The first course featured Lomilomi Salmon, pineapple, and Poi. The main course was ground barbequed pork, ginger mahimahi, rice, sweet potato, and roasted summer squash. It was a feast for a king and Alan was finally laughing and enjoying the party.

After dinner, they walked back to Uncle Ray's house, following paths lit by tiki torches through the narrow strip of jungle. "You live on the windward side," said Noelani. "Very convenient. Nobody will hear me scream," she said as she leaned over and licked his ear. Then she danced ahead of Paul a few steps, turned around and removed her bikini top. Her brown nipples and areola that were capping her sweet little mounds were erect and aching for attention. She grinned and wagged her eyebrows at him, then clung to his arm. "I want to say goodbye the Fiji way tonight." Her hand cupped his crotch through his swim trunks and squeezed his cock and balls.

"I thought you were married, with two kids."

"I am married," she whispered in his ear. "But this is traditional Fiji goodbye, so he understands." Her teeth closed on Alan's ear lobe. She playfully nipped his ear and said, "We can have our fun, and if it gets serious..." she kissed his cheek, "I'll name it after you."

She had Alan right where she wanted him. She knew he was aching to get into her pussy, or anyone's pussy, for that matter. His former lover Hilde kept him aching for her pussy, teasing him and denying him constantly. She gave him free access to her mouth and ass, but Hilde saved her pussy for her wife, Yin Chao.

They got to Ray's house and while Keala and Anna entered Ray's small house, Alan led Noelani to the Cabana at the back. She tried to get him to enter the house, tugging and urging him inside, but he said, "no, it's beautiful out here. We can look at the stars and sleep in the guest cabana."

"Don't you sleep inside?"

"No," said Alan. "I've lived inside my entire life. I love the fresh air blowing off the ocean, the sound of the waves, the sun waking me up in the morning."

"Sounds romantic, but I'm beyond romantic," said Noelani, her dark brown almond-shaped eyes flashing with mischief. "I want a good solid fuck on the kitchen table." She writhed around Alan like a warm snake. "I've dreamed of this minute for ten years. Don't make me wait any longer."

Something clicked in Alan's head. He's been here nearly an entire month. Why now on the very last day? Was she already pregnant with someone else's baby and wanted plausible deniability? To blame Alan as he heads off to space where he's unreachable? His aching erection faded. "I made a promise not to go in there uninvited. This month, it's Anna's residence."

"It's Ray Clark's residence," purred Noelani. "That makes it yours."

"There's a line between commander and subordinate," he said firmly. "I honor that line and give her privacy. That's why I'm out here." He softened and hugged Noelani from behind. His hands strayed up to her breasts, cupping them and squeezing gently. He has never touched those cute mounds that haunted his dreams. They were so much smaller than Hilde's breasts, her nipples were tinier too. He pinched and rolled those firm little nubbins between finger and thumb. He brushed her thick black hair away from her neck, then returned his hands to her tits while his mouth when to work on her neck.

Noelani responded to Alan's touch, but it was nothing like Hilde. When he hit 'that spot' behind her ear with his suckling mouth, Hilde usually groaned and went limp in boneless ecstasy. Noelani gave very little response. Did he do it right? Maybe 'that spot' was just Hilde, or just moon maidens. Noelani reached back and grasped Alan's hips and pulled him tight to her from behind, and she moved her ass against his cock, swaying her hips.

Alan reached down and released her sarong and whispered, "Let's go swimming in the starlight. We were always better together in the water." Her sarong opened and Alan's hands traveled downward, down to her hips, where his fingertips brushed the small tuft of black hair down there, then lower down to her... why did she have a leather strap around her upper thigh?

Noelani twisted out of his arms and a large knife flashed out of the thigh sheath she wore under her sarong. The blade glistened darkly in the starlight and she struck, stabbing at him. Alan tried to dive aside, but he wasn't quick enough and the blade sank into his left shoulder. "You bitch!" shouted Alan in horror. She stabbed him right where Dr. Herbert Burgman shot him.

She danced back from Alan, the knife switching from hand to hand. "General Chang sends his greetings," Noelani said as she sprang.

Alan is tall and slim, but he's not skinny and weak. He worked hard to overcome the light frame of his Martian ancestry. Months of long combat training sharpened his reflexes; aerial combat taught him to read the situation and hand-to-hand in multiple gravity scenarios taught him one thing... Look at the eyes. He could almost hear her eyes shout "Now!" just before she sprang, and he was ready. He caught Noelani's knife hand and wrist and twisted hard. With a frustrated cry, she lost the knife to Alan, who brought it to her throat.

"What the fuck is this?"

"General Chang has demanded your body, dead or alive," and somehow she twisted away and ran. Alan dove after her and tackled her before she could take three steps. He flipped her over and saw the hate in her eyes. "You western pigs think you rule the planet."

"I'm not western, I'm Martian. You know that."

"If you're not a member of the People's Soviet, you are a western pig and you... You are the worst! War criminal! Your parents built the deadliest virus devised and released it on Kōngchéng. When General Chang sent troops to help the survivors, you dropped an atom bomb on them."

Alan was shocked. Both atom bombs he released were the most highly classified events of the twenty-second century. And General Chang? The military of the Eastern Bloc was run by a triumvirate of three sick bastards. General Yue Lin Chang, General Grigory Styopa Romanov, and Doctor Anatoly Volodya Tarkov.

General Chang was in charge of ground forces anywhere the Eastern Block put soldiers on Earth, Mars, Luna, Venus, wherever. In space, his flag ship was the Obshchiy Bogdanov (General Bogdanov) which Alan and the Berserkers shot the living hell out of. General Romanov was in charge of their Space Force, and his flag ship was the Zheleznaya Koroleva (Iron Queen). Doctor Tarkov was the sickest bastard of the three, his flag ship was the Gorod Moskva (The City of Moscow). All three flag ships were huge troop and spacecraft carriers made from converted ore freighters.

Alan was sure it was General Romanov who killed his parents, and it was General Chang that killed his Aunt Sheila and his cousin Tammy on the RSS Lake Baikal, and released the virus on his own people at the Kōngchéng colony, forcing Alan to incinerate Kōngchéng with an atomic bomb. But the sick sins of Doctor Tarkov, if the rumors are true, are beyond the pale. Rumors of experiments to create super troops, advanced chemical weapons, and biological weapons that would keep any sane man awake at night pour out of Tarkov's labs in Siberia.

Chang, Romanov, and Tarkov. They were the epitome of evil, and Alan vowed to remove them from the universe.

Alan shook his head as Noelani spouted Eastern Bloc propaganda. The problem was that she was a believer. She spouted the political nonsense like it was a religious litany. She probably worshipped Generalissimo Francisco Javier Glauco Hernán, President of the "People's Soviet" publicly called "the People's Glorious Republic of Eastern Bloc Countries". He's been the figurehead of the show over there since he took power from the previous figurehead in 2131 in a bloody military coup that ended in a bloody civil war. Wide swaths of the former Russian empire and the former Chinese west were wiped clean by vast armies. Analysts say that he's just a showpiece, a figurehead that repeats the spouting of the general staff. Noelani started kicking furiously and in anger he slashed at her feet with the knife and slashed the sole of one foot and slit the Achilles Tendon of the other.

Then he heard Anna screaming from the house. Without thinking, he ran up the beach with Noelani's knife in his hand and he dashed into the kitchen via the lanai covered patio. He heard Anna screaming and men shouting in the living room. Four men had dragged Anna out the front door while Keala watched with a mask of glee on her face.

Alan struck Keala in the head with the butt of the knife handle and she sagged to the floor. He reversed the knife and swung at a man's arm that raised a Taser to him. He tried to get to Anna, but three men dragged her to a waiting military transport. He fought past the man he had slashed just in time to step outside and see the transport roar skyward. Its engines scorched Uncle Ray's lawn and set a corner of his roof on fire.

"Capitalist tool!" shouted the man left behind and he dove toward Alan.

"Shut the fuck up," said Alan and he scooped up the dropped Tazer and tazed the guy as he got near. He was going to be out for a while. Alan saw that Kaela was getting up, so he tazed her too and then tossed down the Tazer. The battery was exhausted and it would take twelve hours to charge back up. He stormed out to his cabana, stuffed his clothing into his sea bag and pulled out his favorite souvenir, the Smith-Ruger 889 pistol that Howard Bergman shot him with. It could fire the regular 9mm ammunition used on earth, or the new 8.8mm ammunition that was designed with an improved oxidizer which gave maximum performance in the vacuum of space.

He walked up the beach to where Noelani lay screaming, "I can't walk, you fucking pig!" she shrieked until the sound of an explosion filled the air. People aren't used to the sound of gunfire. "Slug throwers" went out of fashion in the days of space colonization. They were replaced with wireless Stun guns and hand carried laser rifles. The Smith-Ruger roared and the 9mm slug hit the sand an inch from her left ear, spraying her with painful shards of sand and she shrieked, then she shut up as she saw a fuming Alan standing over her, gun pointed at her.

"Where did they take Anna?" he demanded.

"I don't know," she said.

The gun roared again, and the bullet sprayed the sand into her right ear. "Next one goes between those and I go work on Kaela. WHERE DID THEY TAKE ANNA?"

"DANDONG!" Noelani shrieked. "They're taking her to Dandong."

Alan closed his eyes and shook his head. Dandong was on the Yalu River where what was once North Korea met what was once China. Dandong was caught up in wars everlasting. The great Asian war of 2078 that started World War IV in 2080 started there on the peninsula. A century of tension came to a head, and it exploded until the only thing that stopped the combat was a plague that wiped out almost the entire population. Now the Peninsula was "independent" and a huge spacecraft and space station factory, and Dandong, the spy city, is there to watch and try to capture every new spaceship model that rolls out of the assembly plant.

"I'm going to ask Keala, and if she says something different, I'm going to carve your heart out of you in front of your mother."

"I didn't want this Alan..." she wept sadly.

"You did nothing to stop it." He leaned over and said, "I don't want to kill you. I wanted to love you, but you signed your death warrant the moment you agreed to take part in this." He pressed the knife blade into her shoulder roughly where she stabbed him and pressed in until her blood flowed and she cried out.

"You have no heart," she wept.

"No, I don't. Anna, Hilde, Yin, Tasha, they were my heart, and you fucking bastards took them from me!"

He walked up to the house and the glow of the flames on the roof could be seen from the beach side of the house. He stepped into the living room and ripped off Kaela's sarong and ripped it into strips and bound her hands and legs. She, too, was wearing a knife in a thigh sheath like Noelani. "Where did they take Anna?"

"I don't know," said Kaela.

The Smith-Ruger roared again, punching a hole in the floor next to Kaela's ear. "I already cut up Noelani pretty bad until she told me. Now if you say anything different from what she said..." he took Noelani's knife and touched the tip of the razor-sharp blade to Keala's eyeball. "I'll take them both. You'll never see again."

Kaela saw that there was no mercy in Alan Scarlett's eyes. He wasn't a tourist they could bilk money out of; he was the real thing. They warned her to be careful and to kill him quietly while they took Anna in for interrogation. "Dandong, they took her to Dandong."

"Why Dandong?"

"I don't know! I honestly don't. General Chang said, 'Bring her to me. Kill Lieutenant Scarlett and bring me Lieutenant Vasquez.'"

Alan noticed flashing lights outside and stepped out to see the local fire department quenching the fire on the roof. Mrs. Monson, Uncle Ray's property manager, was wringing her hands in distress as she watched the firemen work. Then she looked up and saw a bloody, exhausted Alan Scarlett step out of the house. "What happened?"

"I need NCIS here immediately," said Alan. "We were attacked." The fire department paramedic led Alan to their rescue truck, pulled off his shirt, and began to work on him.

"You were stabbed in a gunshot wound? You're either the unluckiest or the luckiest Martian I've ever met," said the EMT.

"What other Martians have you met?"

"Just about everyone on the windward side is Martian or Luna. This end of the island is almost all Martian," said the EMT.

"So, you know my Uncle Ray?"

"Yeah, he's here once or twice a year. Didn't see him this past year."

"He's been busy. He got elected to parliament," said Alan.

"How did you get stuck?" asked the EMT.

"I said 'no' to the wrong girl. I guess she really did want me."

"There's two people tied up in there," said a fireman who stepped out of the house.

"They need to stay that way until NCIS arrives. There's also one on the beach with several painful looking cuts," said Alan. "Treat her, but she needs to talk to NCIS."

"And just who the fuck are you?" demanded the Fire Chief as police arrived.

"Lieutenant Commander Alan B. Scarlett, Forty-Third Interplanetary Fighter Squadron, commander."

"I don't know them."

"We're the Martian version of a wrecking crew."

Just then a Fijian police officer stepped up and said, "Mister Scarlett, I'm going to have to take you in."

"Take me in? Seriously? You walk up here, don't even look around and put me under arrest. What's this, investigation by ESP? Crime fighting by reputation?"

The cop pointed at the smoldering roof. "Arson. Come on, we're going to Matuku Island."

Alan scowled at the cop. "I'm not going anywhere with the likes of you. I am the commanding naval officer in the Martian Space Force. If you try to arrest me on trumped-up charges, then you just ignited an interplanetary pissing contest the likes of which you've never seen before."

The cop looked around, confused, and sputtered, but Alan switched to a soft, conciliatory tone. "I know buddy, I know. You got your orders from Dandong and you want to look good in case the boss is watching."

"Da-Dandong?" His eyes flew open wide. Dandong was the center of power for the Eastern Bloc's army and headquarters for General Yue Lin Chang, the man who swore to wrestle Mars out of Martian control and make it his personal kingdom. The cop got as close to Alan as he could and said quietly, "What do you know about Dandong?"

"You just did," whispered Alan. "Turn me over to NCIS along with the two women and the guy and I won't tell everyone on Viti Levu where you are getting your orders from."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me. I know that they want you to kill me. What else do I have to lose?" asked Alan. "Are you going to take away my birthday too?"

Just then, a very stern pair of agents in plain clothes showed up in a worn land transport. A stern heavy set man got out of the vehicle and said, "Special Agent Grierson, NCIS," and he flashed his badge around. "This is my partner, special agent Styles."

"Very special agent," said Styles, a handsome younger agent with a grin that was honed to make young women sweat in interesting places. Styles was deeply tanned, showing that he was enjoying his assignment to Fiji 2. They were normally stationed on Matuku Island, where the blue-water navy has a small support base.

"You took your damn sweet time!" shouted Alan. "I reported a kidnapping, and you put me on hold!" Alan Scarlett hated Very Special Agent Dwayne Styles the minute they met. He was a shallow gum chewing pretty boy, probably a surfer who investigated nothing worse than a bar fight or a pregnant serving girl whose baby daddy just shipped out for a two-year tour in the Naval Space Force.

The Naval Crime Investigative Service is the primary investigative law enforcement agency of the Western Alliance Navy. It started with the US Navy in 1946, using a combination of civilians not bound to naval tradition, and government investigators. The concept worked so well that as the Western Alliance Navy was formed; they brought the NCIS into the Western Alliance Navy along with much of the world's blue-water navies.

After checking Alan's ID card, they asked what was going on. "My RIO... my partner was kidnapped. She was flown out of here in an M-53 military transport, which is what caused the fires." He glared at the fire chief and said, "Isn't it interesting that nobody in the fire department asked me how the fire on the roof started?" Then he glanced at the cop and said, "Isn't it interesting how nobody asked me why there's a man and a woman tied up in the living room?"

"It's Friday night," said Agent Grierson. "We get a lot of that."

"Let's cut the crap. My RIO, a hero of the Battle of Lake Baikal, was abducted by Eastern Bloc agents, and nobody seems to care."

"We'll take this from here," said Grierson, and they pushed Alan into the vehicle and drove off. A few minutes later they pulled onto the ferry that runs between Totoya atoll and nearby Matuku Island. They pulled up to their office and led Alan into the office where he spent the night being questioned over and over.

After hours of questions and accusations by Special Agent Grierson, Alan finally snapped. "What the fuck is wrong with you people? Navy Lieutenant Anna Vasquez was abducted by Eastern bloc agents and nobody seems to be doing anything about it! If I bought you each a dozen donuts, would you get off your lazy asses?"

"Mister Scarlett, we are following up on every lead that we have available to us," moaned Special Agent Grierson. "Right now, all we have is an RTTY (Radio Telegraph) message from Armstrong station demanding that you follow your orders and find yourself standing in Captain Schirra's office within the next four days or you will be considered AWOL and be court martialed."

"Let's start over from the top," said Very Special Agent Styles. "When is the last time you saw your co-pilot?"

"She was my RIO, not my co-pilot."

"What's the difference?"

"Co-pilots don't kill people," snapped Alan.

Very Special Agent Styles cleared his throat and said, "What was happening when you saw her last?"

"They were stuffing her into an M-53 military transport, then they flew off."

Very Special Agent Styles grinned. "They just flew off. Like a bird." He made a fluttering motion with his hand. He clearly did not believe Alan's description of Anna's disappearance.

"An M-53 is an air and ground-mobile transport device. When you learn to read, you'll find out more about it. I know a book with lots of pictures and I can help you with the big words."

"Oh, you are very funny, Brevet Commander..."

"That's DOCTOR Brevet Commander to you, Earth boy," snapped Alan.

"Well then, Doc, do you know the difference between you and me?" asked Very Special Agent Styles.

"Besides opposable thumbs?"

"That's even funnier. I use my brain, you use a trigger," said Styles with a sneer. "I use my brain to solve puzzles. You just blow shit up and head to the O-Club."

"That exhaustive brain power explains why Anna is sitting out in your office waiting for me right now?" said Alan, leaning across the table.

"And just how did you discover she was taken to Dandong?"

"Police work. You may want to try it sometime," said Alan, leaning in closer to Special Agent Styles. "It's work, so that may be why you avoid it."

"Very funny. How did you set fire to the roof?"

"How did I set fire to my only living relative's house? I had the neighbor launch an M-53 from the front lawn." Alan always calls Roy his only living relative because he didn't want to imply that his sister, Christa, was alive. She has her cabin on a canal in a Canadian forest where nobody can find her. She and her husband Jake and their daughter, little Alana, are home and reportedly happy, according to Uncle Roy.

"It's time to go," snapped Grierson. "Captain Schirra wants you on the next U-700 to Armstrong and standing in his office in four days."

"I'm going like this?" asked Alan. He was sitting in their cold questioning room in a bathing suit, a bandaged shoulder and a pair of flip-flops.

"Here," said Agent Grierson, and he tossed Alan's seabag into the room. Wincing in pain, Alan pulled out a flight suit and boots and began to dress. When he finished dressing, he scooped up his bathing suit, which was laying atop his pistol, which Agent Styles had kept for evidence. Under his bathing suit was also Agent Style's ID card and badge. He gathered all that up and stuffed it into his sea bag and was led out to a helicopter.

The flight didn't last long, and they landed on Fiji's main island of Viti Levu and transferred directly to a small air breathing passenger jet and soon were airborne. Alan remained silent no matter how much Styles taunted him. The whole time he thought over and over, 'I can't believe I'm going back alone.'

"What's the matter, sailor boy? Don't want to go back out to sea?"

Alan continued to stare at the seat ahead of him, tears of bitter frustration and sorrow welling up. 'Not again, not again!' No, he can't go back alone!

They landed at Anderson Naval Airfield Guam (Big Navy) All military installations on Guam were now Navy controlled and the big Air Force base was one of the Western Alliance Navy's biggest airbases. They taxied to base ops and shut down, and a truck pulled up to the plane. Alan pulled his seabag out of the overhead rack and followed Agent Grierson to the vehicle and climbed in, which whisked him to the Outbound Terminal. This is the only way off of Guam by air, and Alan was led to the terminal.

He scanned his ID card and the screen above the terminal entry gate said, "LT. CMDR Scarlett. Gate 4." Without a word, Alan disappeared into the terminal. Guam is one of the Pacific Gateways. Anything heading to the Eastern Bloc takes off from Guam, Honshu, Luzon, or Australia. Guam was the most convenient for anyone out of Fiji 2. Regardless of where the flight took off from, all flights into the Eastern Block landed at The People's Glorious Port of Entry, commonly called Amnok for the small city nearby.

The young squadron commander walked first into the Air Ops office and asked, "Did you have anything flights heading to Amnok in the past twelve hours?"

"Just a private cargo plane."

"Any passengers?"

"No, sir. Just crew."

"Thank you," muttered Alan and he walked off to Gate 4.

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

Naval Air Station Guam, March 26, 2142

The Commander

Spacemen Apprentice Gregory Johnson was in awe of Earth. Having finished his training at Great Lakes naval training center, then receiving his space training at Peterson Space Force Base and Coronado Island Naval Space Center, he arranged to ship out to his new command from Guam. He was a Martian, and this was his first time on the big planet, as many Martians call Earth. His mother's family was from Okinawa, and he got the departure from Guam just so he had a few days near his family's ancestral home.

He plopped down in the waiting area for gate four and opened a book to read when a young naval officer sat down across from him. The officer was in a flight suit bedecked with patches like he always pictured a naval spaceman should wear. He saw one patch was for the Forty-Third Interplanetary Fighter Squadron, the unit he was assigned to.

The officer sat at the seats by Gate Four, staring at his hands and clenching them into fists over and over. In a nervous voice, Greg said, "Sir? I, uh, I think you're in my new command."

The man looked up at him, his face a mask of concern. Greg fully expected an authoritarian "Sit down and shut up," but the man's face softened and he said, "Welcome aboard!"

"Thank you, sir. I'm really excited about this assignment. A unit just for us Martians!"

"There are plenty of Lunas and Earthers in the unit still. Where ya from?"

"Bradbury Canal," said Greg. "Delta quadrant." He sighed and added, "My mom was at the meeting in Charlie quadrant."

The meeting in Charlie quadrant is all you have to say. Greg's mom clearly died with Harrison and Laurel Scarlett and one hundred and twenty other Martians. Alan nodded sadly and said, "it sucks to be us. Your dad, did he survive?"

"He was never really part of my life; I bounced from relative to relative."

For the first time in a day, Alan smiled. "You have a family now Spaceman Johnson. What is your rating?"

"Spacecraft mechanic, sir. I hope to be a plane captain." The term plane captain applied to both aircraft and shipboard spacecraft: fighters, recon, cargo, bombers. The plane captain was in charge of maintenance and the overall health of his assigned craft.

The officer took out a large notebook and said, "I'm going to assign you to my own plane captain, Petty Officer Gene Cernan. He's going to be your mentor and trainer. He's from Perseverance City and is the best plane captain in the Navy, so listen to him and learn."

"Which one is yours, sir? The Berserkers are pretty famous in Bradbury Canal and I have pictures of all the fighters."

"I don't have a ship right now," said the officer. "I wore mine out and left it parked outside of Bradbury Canal. It's called Honeybunch."

"I got to sit inside that ship!" gasped Greg. "They moved it inside. It's in the train station's upper waiting area. They let recruits sit in it after we sign our papers."

"I'm glad to see that old girl is still getting some use," said the officer. "That's the first ship with my name on the side."

"You're... you're..." Greg finally put two and two together and realized that he was sitting with the most famous Martian in the solar system... well, at least on Mars.

"I'm just your commander, Spaceman Johnson. You're going to have a lot of them if you stay in long enough," said Alan Scarlett. He went back to writing and said, "I'm just a lieutenant, but I was the only Martian in the room, so they made me a brevet Lieutenant Commander and told a bunch of people to line up behind me and do what I tell them. You're my newest, and a full Martian. That's great... I'll make sure your uniform is up to Martian specs..." and he wrote some more.

"Martian specs sir?"

"The forty-third is a Martian Space Force unit even though we are Navy. It's political. We have added some red to our uniform." He tore off his Forty-third IFS patch and slapped it on the open Velcro spot on Spaceman Johnson's left arm. "There you go. You're a Berserker now. Let me see your ID card." The spaceman handed Alan his ID card and Alan took out his and compared the two, then wrote some more on the paper. "here you go, let me seal this up..." He handed his ID card to Spaceman Johnson upside down and the young spaceman put it in his wallet.

While Johnson put the ID card away, his commander went over to the gate monitors desk and got an envelope from the gate control officer. He folded up the airman's ID card inside of the letter he wrote, sealed it up in an envelope, and addressed it to Captain Schirra. He returned to Spaceman Johnson and said, "Ok, my RIO still isn't here. I'm going to go hunt her down. Great flier, lousy at waking up on time. Don't you be like that!"

"No sir, I won't."

"If something happens and I miss the flight, don't worry. I'll catch the next one. If that happens, give this to Captain Schirra when you get to Armstrong Station. He'll blow a gasket at me, not at you. He's like that, but it's really important he gets that letter. It will make sure you get assigned to Gene Cernan. Copy?"

"Yes, sir!" and he gave Alan a salute.

Alan returned the salute with a smile and said, "We don't do that indoors."

"We're Martians sir, we don't have an outdoors."

"You have a point Spaceman Johnson." He tore the rest of his patches off his uniform and put them in his seabag and dug out a few things and put them into the leg pockets of his flight suit. "If I don't get back in time, can you make sure my seabag makes it to Armstrong?"

"Yes, sir."

Spaceman Johnson watched Commander Scarlett walk over to security, swipe an ID card he dug out of a wallet, and leave the terminal. That was odd. He was sure he was told once you swipe in, you can't swipe back out unless your orders were changed. It must be different for officers. Greg went back to his book. They were supposed to leave in an hour and there was no plane at the gate, so he piled up their seabags and used them as a footrest. Soon, he was fast asleep.

He was awoken abruptly by someone shaking his shoulder. "Let's go, sailor, even Martians are invited."

Spaceman Johnson looked around and saw that there was no sign of his commander, so he picked up both sea bags and instead of heading down the jetway, they went down an escalator that ended at ramp level. A Space Force sergeant opened the door for them and they stepped out into the hot, humid South Pacific weather. It was raining, but the humidity on Guam is so heavy it's hard to tell the difference between when it's raining or not raining, even when the sun is out.

A cargo plane with a tail ramp was backed up to the terminal, so they walked out of the terminal and walked under the cargo plane's tail, then climbed up the ramp and boarded the plane. "Find a seat! Strap in! We're running late!" shouted the plane captain. Greg found a seat and stuffed their sea bags underneath it. The plane wheeled away from the terminal and headed to the runway. It bumped and thumped as it taxied on the ancient concrete. The expansion joints were out of alignment from nearly two centuries of use.

"First trip, kid?" asked a Navy captain strapped in next to him.

"Y-yes sir. I just finished A-school."

"Where ya headed."

"Armstrong station. Forty-Third IFS."

"Well!" the captain looked impressed. "You a hotshot? A Martian? Both?"

"Just Martian for now sir, I'll try to achieve both."

"I like your sass, kid. This trip is a round robin. They're going to bounce around from one ship to another, picking up and dropping off people and cargo. If you're headed for Armstrong, you'll be getting off first on the NSS Slayton."

"What's that sir?" he pointed to something outside that he saw through the window. It was monstrous, it looked like a pair of wings attached to a pencil and covered with engines.

"That's the Arc Light Memorial. It's a B-52, an air breathing bomber. During operation Arc Light, those planes flew one hundred twenty-six thousand six hundred sorties, delivering up to one hundred eight bombs each."

"That's a mean-looking machine."

"Wait until you see a B-171 Interplanetary bomber," the Captain grinned. "The damn thing is so ornery we make the Marine Corps fly it."

"I can't wait sir... uh, why are we sitting backwards?"

"It makes landing easier," said the amused captain.

After what seemed like they were taxing around aimlessly, they stopped. It was quiet on the C-228 for a few moments, then they heard the air-breathing engines crank up and they began screaming. "You might want to tighten those shoulder belts," said the captain.

"Yes sir," said Greg, and as he tightened them up, the aircraft shot out onto the runway and was accelerating hard. The ancient runway passed under them. The plane shook and bounced with each expansion joint it bounded over. Then suddenly the ride smoothed out, and the plane began clawing for altitude. It felt like they were shooting straight up.

Eventually, the plane leveled out and a crew member walked toward the tail of the aircraft. "Who is getting off on the Slayton?" About four people raised their hands. "Who of you is going on to orbit?" This time, there were only two hands raised. "Ok, y'all take your boots off and come back here and get your pressure suits on. We'll be dropping you off soon."

The young spaceman pulled off his boots and walked back tentatively. "Name, rank, serial number."

"Johnson, Gregory R. Spaceman Apprentice. S1997852."

"Sign here for the suit." And the flight crew member handed Alan a pressure suit, boots, Velcro boot liners, gloves, slimline oxygen unit, and a helmet. "You have thirty minutes to get it on," said the flight crew member that handed him the suit.

Greg carried it back to his seat and the Navy captain took pity on the seaman and helped him on with the suit. "The horse collar goes last, over your head like this... now the helmet." They put on the helmet and all sound was lost to Greg. The captain grabbed Alan's left arm and touched a button and suddenly he heard everything that was going on. "The left forearm is your control panel. This button is an external microphone. This is environment control." The captain hit something and the hot suit cooled off. He showed Greg how to set the magnetic seat locks, and soon Greg was locked in his seat. "You won't need the shoulder straps or seat belt. The suit is your harness now."

Before he realized what was happening, the cargo plane slammed down on the deck of the NSS Slayton and roared to a stop. The back ramp slowly lowered and the load master called out on the microphone, "NSS Slayton, Carpenter, Tanner, Johnson, Davis, Scarlett, Vasques, un-ass my airplane. We have a schedule to keep." Greg and three other sailors, one in a pressure suit, got off the plane and two sailors got on. Greg was hustled off the plane and out onto a broad, flat, and oddly empty flight deck. A couple of sailors waved them over to the tower that sprouted from the side of the flight deck where they stood and watched as the cargo plane used its reverse thrust to back up to the edge of the deck.

A sailor tried to tell Greg over the roaring of the engines that a magnetic catapult was going to fling the cargo plane off the deck. The engines roared as the rear door closed up, with almost half of the aircraft hanging out over the ocean. Greg could swear that the nose of the ship was raising as the cargo plane's engines roared, then suddenly it shot off the deck and into the sky.

He was about to say something like, "That was intense," when an enormous spaceship appeared over the far edge of the deck. It was riding the ship's port side elevator up to the flight deck. It had intakes for four air-breathing engines, but it had large reaction mass storage tanks below each wing root. A small tug appeared from the base of the tower and it towed the large ship onto the deck, then pushed it back as far as it could. Several sailors began inspecting the big flying machine and Spaceman Johnson saw the huge engine exhausts, four air-breathing engines and one big "reaction mass burner." This was a ship to space aircraft.

"Johnson, Davis, let's go!" said a sailor, and she led the two spacemen in pressure suits out to the big plane as it was being readied for flight.

This was the new U-700 that everyone was talking about. The super-fast, super-economical shuttle for lifting priority personnel and cargo into orbit. But it could go beyond orbit. It was the first in a class of Lunar Shuttles. This thing should be able to land on Luna. The ship they were on, the NSS Slayton, was designed to carry, maintain and launch the U-700 into any orbit desired and retrieve the U-700 on reentry.

A hatch was opened at the bottom of the forward area and the sailor that opened the hatch gestured for Davis and Johnson to come over and get on the plane. As he crawled under the low slung ship and climbed into the hatchway, Greg realized he was in the navigation area. There were two seats side by side and he recognized some of the equipment from the spacecraft training in his A-school. There was a ladder ahead of him, so he pushed his two sea bags up the ladder and climbed up, finding himself in the cargo/crew area. "Put your sea bags in the last two seats and take any seat you want," called the plane captain from down below.

Spaceman Johnson finally got a look at his flying partner. She took off her helmet as she stowed her sea bag. He stowed his bag and Commander Scarlett's bag on the right rear seat and pulled the stowage net over them, and tightened it up. He noticed she had three green stripes on the left arm of her pressure suit. The green told him she was a spacecraft mechanic like he was, and she was a skilled spaceman, with three green stripes. He was an apprentice, so he only wore two stripes. "Greg Johnson," said Greg, extending his hand to shake.

"Lisa Davis, are you heading to the Forty-Third also?"

"Yes, I sure am. The commander already picked my trainer, Petty Officer Gene Cernan. I'll be working on his new ship when PO Cernan certifies it."

Lisa's eyes were wide with envy. "I saw them set down on Mars on the day... you know." Martian enlistees were briefed extensively not to talk about December 19th. The civilian population believes that there was no atomic bomb, (a lie) that Commander Scarlett was jumped by six KR-39 Fantis and killed them all (mostly true) and blasted an HL-42 cargo ship carrying scores of Eastern Bloc roughians that was blocking their way into the Schiaparelli Canal (partial lie) because Kōngchéng was about to blow up. (totally true).

"You were on Bradbury Canal? I was there, but I didn't get to see them land," said Greg.

"I was on leave visiting my folks. They said that Alan Scarlett was going to speak. They were there on October 7th and heard him convince Bradbury Canal to join the parliament. My dad is an MP for Syrtis Major and was really hoping to hear him talk."

"I spoke to him for a little bit on Guam, he seems to be an ok guy."

"Is he, y'know, cute?" asked Lisa.

"Of course," said Greg. "He's from Bradbury Canal."

"Alright Martians! Let's get settled in," called the plane captain, and Greg and Lisa sat next to each other. Not counting the pilot and co-pilot seat there were six passenger seats up on the upper deck. There were no windows to look out of for Lisa and Greg except for the smallish front wind screen, but Lisa showed him the different channels that he can view which showed views from external cameras shown on his face plate.

Channel A13 showed what looked like a view from a paralleling ship. First, the U-700 was pushed as far back on the deck as possible, and then the NSS Slayton began to sink at the rear.

"Where's the other two?" called the pilot over their headphones.

"Don't know sir," said Spaceman Johnson. "Lieutenant Vasquez didn't show up at the terminal in Guam, and Commander Scarlett went looking for her."

"Ok, let's lock in," said the plane captain. "They'll have to catch another flight. Put your head back into the headrest, grip the hand rest and put your feet on the footrests. When the commander calls 'Head, Hands, Feet,' he's going to lock you down so you don't flop around and break something on launch."

"Aye-aye," called Lisa. They sat back and rocked in their seats until all the magnet catches in their suits had mated with the magnets in the seats. "All good!" she called.

"Ok. Our ship is not sinking. They're filling ballast tanks in the stern, so when we launch we'll be pointed upward... mostly." The plane captain took up the co-pilot seat. This was a pre-programmed mission profile, so a navigator wasn't needed, and he was acting as the flight engineer.

They heard the air-breathing engines roaring, and the U-700 began shaking. The shaking and roaring reached a crescendo when the pilot yelled, "HANDS, HEADS, FEET!" and suddenly their magnetic locks tightened down and held their heads, hands, and feet firm. There was a powerful jolt and everyone was slammed back into their seats.

The electromagnetic catapult slung the U-700 forward, and they were shoved back in their seats with 6 Gs of acceleration. The huge 'boat' was cast off the deck of the NSS Slayton and was roaring upward into the blue Pacific sky. Greg was still watching a video feed from a paralleling ship, so he got to watch the entire sequence of events. However, he couldn't release his hands to change the channel, so he got to see the Slayton blowing out the ballast tanks and coming back up to level. Finally, the pilot released the magnetic holds on their heads, hands, and feet, but they were still pulling Gs. Greg found a channel that showed the flight statistics, and they were soon shaking through MAX Q and blasting their way towards 2,000 KM/h.

The pilot finally cut the J-74 air-breathing engines and for a moment, they felt weightless. Then the pilot kicked in the massive United Reactions series N-50 reaction mass driven engines. Again, they were slammed back into their seats as the big U-700 leaped into the black of eternal night and climbed into orbit. Greg watched the flight statistics on his faceplate in awe. It was one thing to watch a launch and monitor the statistics, and quite another to be on that launch.

It took about three hours for them to establish an orbit and prepare for the Trans Lunar Injection, which, when it finally came, was a gentle push compared to previous engine burns. "That was cool," said Greg, as they headed toward the moon. He was about to release his helmet when a challenge appeared on the screen.

"How about a nice game of chess?"

Very few Martians know where that line comes from, but on Mars, chess is king. Everyone plays. There's two games that have captured all of Mars, Chess and Shogi. Shogi was Greg's favorite, but it didn't translate well to a small screen. Chess can be played almost anywhere. "Let's play," he responded and a chess board appeared on his face plate.

"Rock, paper, scissors, winner gets white," said Lisa, and she shattered his scissors with her rock.

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

Armstrong Station, March 29, 2142

A New Assignment

After docking at Armstrong Station, Spaceman Lisa Davis and Spaceman Apprentice Greg Johnson were escorted into the life support section in the huge hub of Armstrong Station. "Welcome aboard spacemen," called Sergeant McCarthy, a Marine that was working the desk at the life support office. "This is where you'll come for all your safety equipment. When you're aboard ship, the life support section is also your laundry. Here on Armstrong Station, we just deal with your pressure suits, personal oxygen, and propulsion. The dorm will maintain your laundry. When the station is on alert, you will come down here and sign out your pressure suit, helmet, gloves and oxygen. You'll be living in that until the alert is over. Right now, I need you to get those suits off and hand them to me. I'll make any modifications you need and I'll store them here." He gave the instructions in a sing-song voice because he's given them a thousand times already this year and it wasn't even April yet.

"Won't I need the suit when I work on my spaceship?" asked Greg.

"All maintenance hangars on Armstrong are pressurized. As a maintainer, you'll only need your pressure suit when working in the landing hub or if you need to step outside." Then he collected Lisa's gear while Greg was wrestling his way out of his pressure suit. When Greg was ready, he handed over his suit, helmet, boots, and gloves. "Ok, this is now your permanent personal pressure suit. How does it fit?"

"Fine," said Greg. It wasn't exactly comfortable, but there wasn't any problem with it. Once they broke orbit and were heading to Armstrong, they only wore their helmets to play video chess with each other.

The Sergeant wrote serial numbers of the suit, helmet, and gloves on a form and said, "Sign here." Greg signed, then Sergeant McCarthy said, "Your ID please, so I can scan this in."

Greg got out his ID, he had to present it so many times, digging it out of his wallet was now automatic. He handed his ID card to Sergeant McCarthy, who looked at it and said, "I know Commander Scarlett, and you're not him."

"What?"

Suddenly, the window that Sergeant McCarthy was talking to them through slammed closed, as did all the other doors in the office. They were caught floating in a sealed ante room. "What did you do?" asked Lisa.

"I gave him my card! That's all I did! ... Do you smell something weird, like sour roses?"

"Oh damn," groaned Lisa and the two of them slipped into unconsciousness.

When they came to, they were in a small room with thick, transparent walls. They were leaning on each other with their wrists cuffed behind their backs, and they were sitting on a transparent bench in normal, earth like gravity. A marine in a starched uniform was standing outside of their transparent room, staring at them. "They're awake," said the marine to someone in an office next to him.

"Captain Schirra wants to see them ASAP."

"Why are we locked up?" demanded Lisa.

"Because, Spaceman, your partner is impersonating an officer."

"I am not!" shouted Greg. "I'm not impersonating an officer and I'm not her partner. I just let her beat me at chess."

"You did not," insisted Lisa.

"I did so, the third game when you opened with Romanov's Queen's Gambit and sacrificed your king's bishop's pawn? I could have had you in four moves."

"I did that on purpose to see if you would go for the obvious checkmate. Sikorski wrote that it's the easiest way to determine your opponent's..."

"ENOUGH!" roared Sergeant Mazmanian. "You fucking Martians, are you all chess crazy?"

"No," they lied simultaneously.

"Come along. It's time for your very first captain's mast. I foresee many in the future for you two." He unlocked the door and, along with a Marine private that was holding their boots and two large envelopes, they led Greg and Lisa down the long corridor to Captain Schirra's office. The corridor seemed to go on forever and in the distance, it curved up.

Occasionally, the Marine would say, "Quiet, this is officer's country. People are sleeping." A little while later, he said, "Quiet, these are all classrooms." And finally, he led them to a door that said, "Head of Governance Training / Interplanetary Affairs."

The marine knocked once, very loudly on the door and a woman's voice said, "Enter."

They entered a small office/waiting room where a beautiful woman with flowing red hair and large, round breasts was seated behind a desk. She was dressed conservatively, but somehow provocatively. "Sergeant Mazmanian! How often have I told you about knocking on that door? There are classrooms right outside."

"Sorry ma'am, I don't get to escort prisoners often."

"I tried to warn him," said the private.

"I'm sure you did, Danny. Leave these two here with me and I'll see that they are taken care of."

"But ma'am!"

"They're Martians. They're not stupid enough to do something crazy. Cut their flexi-cuffs and let me sign for them."

"Yes ma'am," said Sergeant Mazmanian sadly. He cut the plastic cuffs from their wrists and the private that Estelle called Danny handed them their boots and envelopes with personal items.

There was a bang and the inner door slid open and Captain Schirra glared at the two young spacemen. Sergeant Mazmanian puffed himself up to call the room to attention, but Captain Schirra pointed at him. "Don't you dare! Not in my office!"

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir." Sergeant Mazmanian was clearly disappointed that he didn't get to yell.

"Dismissed... not you two." Captain Schirra snarled at the retreating young spacemen. "Get in here." Lisa and Greg stepped into their wing commander's office, and the captain sat down with a groan. "Sit down, put your boots on."

"Yes, sir."

"Where is Commander Scarlett?" demanded Captain Schirra.

"Sir, I do not know. He wrote a letter and asked me to give it to you, then he said he had to go find Lieutenant V... something."

"Lieutenant Vasquez?"

"Yes sir, I saw him leave the terminal," said a terrified Spaceman Johnson. "Sir, Spaceman Davis didn't do anything..."

"I know. She was unlucky to be there when you handed an officer's ID card to a Marine."

"I did?"

"Yes, you did Spaceman. You handed Commander Scarlett's ID card to Sergeant McCarthy, which forced them to arrest you and drag your happy ass here to my office," snarled Captain Schirra.

"Why would Commander Scarlett take my ID card and give me his? He must have handed me his ID card when he finished the letter. Why would he do that?"

"To ensure that someone dragged your Martian ass up here the moment you got on station. Give me that letter." Greg handed the captain the letter that Alan wrote. It was a piece of paper folded up and secured with staples inside an envelope. Captain Schirra removed the staples with a small knife using the same care he would use to disarm a bomb. As he unfolded the letter, something wrapped in a note fell out. Captain Schirra unfolded the note and read it, then handed the note and what it contained to Greg. "Here's your ID card back."

Greg unfolded the note, and it said,

Brother Martian

Here's your ID card back. I'm sorry, but I had to be sure you would deliver a letter to Captain Schirra. I'm sure he's reading it now. You're a good Martian and have a bright future ahead of you. Make your new commander proud.

Alan Scarlett

Captain Schirra read the letter then, trying to remain calm, he pressed the intercom. "Estelle? Could you get Petty Officer Cernan to my office?"

"Yes, dear."

Lisa suppressed a giggle, and Captain Schirra glared at her. "Is there something funny, Spaceman Davis?"

"No sir, it's just... she called you dear."

"She's my wife. What else should she call me? I'm sure she'd entertain any suggestion you may have."

"Sorry, sir."

There was a click, signifying that the intercom just went live. "Dear, stop terrifying the young spacemen. You may need them in the future," came Estelle's voice over the intercom.

Estelle looked up Gene Cernan's schedule on the terminal. He was supposed to be complete with his shift. She called the NCO Dorm, but he wasn't there, then tried calling his maintenance office. Still no luck, so she paged the entire squadron area. "Petty Officer Cernan, report to Captain Schirra's office immediately."

That brought immediate results. She had caught Gene Cernan just as he was headed to the chow hall. She heard his footsteps as he ran the entire way to the office. "Ma'am," he said, out of breath.

"I have a pair of new troops for you," said Estelle. "They're in with Wally."

"Yes, ma'am." Gene took a moment to get his breathing under control before knocking on the captain's door.

"Come in," came from within.

Gene stepped inside and snapped to attention and saluted. "Sir, Petty Officer Cernan reports."

"As you were, Petty Officer. We were just finishing up." Captain Schirra turned his attention to Spaceman Apprentice Johnson again. "You said he got something out of his seabag before he left?"

"Two items, and he put both of them in the leg pockets of his flight suit..." He thought and he finally said, "Sir, I think one was a slug thrower."

"Pardon?" asked Captain Schirra.

"A mini, or maybe a small frame. That's what we call 'em on Mars. My dad and I go out and shoot mining drones with large frame, long barrel slug throwers."

"Mining drones?"

"Yes sir," said Lisa. "When the earth is in opposition to Mars, we get a swarm of unauthorized mining drones. They like to plunk down in the Isidis Basin between Perseverance City and Bradbury Canal. We think they're digging core samples and looking for deposits. We're terrified that they're going to drop an entire mining complex on us without permission."

"Do you know anything about this Petty Officer Cernan?" asked Captain Schirra.

"Yes, sir. My dad and I would hunt for them out on the Utopia Basin. We sometimes tried to hit them from Elysium Mons because of the cops."

"Cops?"

"Cops. They claim that they're worried about the safety of scientists exploring the basin, but there's no one out there exploring. That's mining country. Besides, some drones shoot back."

"What about Commander Scarlett? Did he own a small frame slug thrower?"

"Yes, sir. It's the gun he was shot with. A Smith-Ruger 988. He took it from Doctor Burgman before... before he stepped outside."

"Why the hell does he have a slug thrower on a space station?" demanded the red face Captain. Petty Officer Cernan remained at attention, but he rolled his eyes at the two spacemen who were hanging on every word. A slight motion of his head toward the door told Captain Schirra what he was concerned about. "You two, wait in the outer office. You don't need to be involved in office politics."

"Yes, sir." And the two spacemen rose and left.

"Now Petty Officer Cernan?"

Gene looked uncertain, then said, "Maybe he already used it... maybe the idea of coming back got to be too much for him. I don't know. Sir, he gets in these dark moods. He tells me about his dreams... he sees Lieutenant Kikina and Commander Marks chopped up, their pieces floating in front of him... their blood on his face plate. He sees the doors closing on his parents before the bomb went off... He sees his sister living happy with a new baby when all he wants is to be with Commander Marks, but she won't have him..." Gene frowned. "He puts up a good front when on duty, but he says he's going to use that gun to finish off what Doctor Burgman started."

"Do you really think that Alan Scarlett would kill himself?"

Petty Officer Cernan didn't think about it. He knew the answer immediately. "Yes, and No." He looked the captain in the eye and said, "if he was just conducting training and filling out paperwork and thinking about Hilde he would have blown his head off by now, but he's got a squadron to lead and a fellow Martian who was captured. He's going to move heaven and earth to get her back."

"I agree. You have two subordinates. Go feed them. I can hear their stomachs growling from in here. They have one week to in-process, and this is their first assignment, so you know what that means..."

"Yes sir, I hand carry them to all of their appointments."

"I appreciate it, Gene. Oh, and Gene, you're Alan's best friend in this unit. If he reaches out to you, please let me know. And on your way out, please tell Estelle that I need her."

Shocked at what he heard from the wing commander, he said, "Yes sir!" and with a proper salute and an about face, Gene stepped out to Estelle's office and up to the waiting spacemen who were discussing their next chess match. "Let's go eat, kids," then he turned to Estelle and said, "the captain needs you."

"Thank you Gene," and Estelle scooped up her note pad and walked into the office. She found Wally staring out his window at the earth, slowly rotating so far away. "Dear?" she called.

"They want to destroy the whole damn thing," said Wally. "We flash-fry a ship full of dead Martians, then we bomb Mars to keep them from getting a virus that would kill everyone... EVERYONE! And they still want to fight it out. What the hell is wrong with them?"

"You're taking it personally," said Estelle.

"They made it personal. They kidnapped one of my people."

"Who?"

"Anna Vasquez."

"Oh no. Alan must be having a fit."

"He went after her." Wally turned to face Estelle and wound up to drive his fist into his desktop, but thought better of it at the last moment. "They must have figured out she and Alan bombed Kōngchéng. I'll bet you a donut, they discovered that, and when Alan and Anna went on leave, they snagged them."

"We can't put earth off limits to our people," said Estelle.

"We might have to. The forty-third has been hiding nice and safe here on Armstrong, and they could be the primary target. They all took place in shooting up four of their fighter squadrons," said Wally.

"Four squadrons?" asked Estelle.

"There was a mystery ship that followed..."

"Mystery ship?" asked Estelle. She didn't mean to interrupt, but she thought she heard all navy expressions up till now. "I never heard of a mystery ship."

"That term goes back about two hundred thirty years. During the first days of submarines, the early submarines had to surface to fire on a ship. The mystery ship looked like an unarmed ship and when the submarine made their intentions to fire apparent, the mystery ship would set off a boat full of men dressed like women and children, but as they left and had the submarine's attention, the mystery ship would open false walls exposing their guns and sink the sub."

"This ship looked like something else?" asked Estelle.

"Apparently, it looked like a bulk ore freighter, like you see by the score coming out of the Asteroid Belt. Their laser camera footage doesn't show any identifying marks." He stood staring off into space, gently rapping his knuckles on the desk. "I need to speak to Darwin, official, not over dinner. I also need Commander Overmyer and Commander Hicks tomorrow. Individual meetings here in my office."

"You have..." she looked at his schedule, "a meeting with Captain Pierce about the FY 2143 space allocations on the station..."

"Screw that."

"... a meeting with Commander Baker about the McDivitt refit..."

"It'll wait."

"... and a meeting with Special Agent Malone, head of NCIS, on Armstrong Station."

"Is NCIS Director Cerise Sanguine going to be there?"

"She can be," said Estelle. "But she's got a conflicting meeting."

A grin of evil delight spread over Captain Schirra's face. Estelle knew that grin, there was nothing joyful about that grin. It was the grin that alligators have when a small child goes swimming near them. When he grinned like that, careers came to a crashing halt. "What time is that meeting? I so want to talk with Shamus."

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

Location unknown, Date unknown

Prisoner Status

Anna Vasquez had fought hard. When she and Keala stepped into Uncle Ray's study back on Fiji 2, four men popped out of the shadows and attacked. "Keala run!" Anna shouted as she tried to keep the men at bay with the martial arts training that she had received from the Navy. But Keala didn't run, she just stood there. Watching.

Smiling.

She kept them at arm's length with a knife from the kitchen, but she tired quickly. "ALAN!" she shrieked as they finally got their hands on her. "ALAN!" she shrieked again as they fought her through the living room and tried to get her out of the front door. Anna heard a bang from the kitchen.

"ANNA!" shouted Alan.

Anna shrieked in terror as they fought her out the front door. She saw Alan knock Keala down and he grabbed a man that was helping shove her out the door, but in the end she was dragged across the front lawn and stuffed into a reeking military style transport that stank of oil and spilled fuel. She felt it jerk and shoot up into the sky. All the way up, she kicked and fought, but in the end, she was hogtied and injected with something and soon lost consciousness.

Anna woke up naked in a cold concrete room. A single light glowed above her. What worried her was that there was no door. She looked around in a panic and saw no door, no window, no vent. "HEY!" she screamed.

"Who is your commander?" came a voice without a hint of an accent.

"What?"

"Who is your commander?"

"My name rank and serial number is Vasquez, Annetta D. Lieutenant Western Alliance Navy. Serial number N1925872."

"Who is your commander?"

"I'm freezing. I'm not answering any questions without clothing."

"Who is your commander?"

"I told you; I'm freezing. I'm not answering any questions without clothing."

"Who is your commander?"

"Captain I. M. Freezing. Western Alliance Navy."

"Who is your commander?"

"My name rank and serial number is Vasquez, Annetta D. Lieutenant Western Alliance Navy. Serial number N1925872."

"Who is your commander?"

"My name rank and serial number is Vasquez, Annetta D. Lieutenant Western Alliance Navy. Serial number N1925872."

"Who is your commander?"

"My name rank and serial number is Vasquez, Annetta D. Lieutenant Western Alliance Navy. Serial number N1925872."

"Who is your commander?"

Anna stopped responding, and when she did, it seemed like the room got colder. She eventually found herself curled up in a corner, shivering. She had no idea how long she held out, but she finally broke down and said, "Lieutenant Commander Alan Scarlett."

"He is dead. Who is your commander?"

"He's not dead. Leave me alone."

"You do not make the demands here," said the unseen voice. "Who is your commander?"

Anna refused to answer. She was so cold that her teeth were chattering. Eventually, a door that Anna never saw before opened up and four men who wore odd gray uniforms and black hoods over their heads and faces came in and grabbed her. Weak from hunger and thirst, she didn't put up much of a fight. They carried her into a room that contained a large, ugly chair. She was thrown into the chair and strapped down. Her arms were strapped to the arm rests, her legs were strapped to leg rests, and her head was strapped to the head rest.

A man wheeled in what looked like an electronic medical instrument. He placed electrode patches on her temples, her chest, and her feet. He then connected wires to those patches and plugged the machine into an outlet on the wall. He was very deliberate at plugging the machine into an outlet. Was he making sure that Anna saw what he was doing? Then the men left the room and the door they used melted into the wall and there were no seams.

Like the other room, this room was cold, barren, and illuminated harshly by one light overhead. She was all alone. She didn't say a word because as odd as this was; it was the most comfortable she's been since she was abducted. However, the silence was broken with the words, "Who is your commander?"

"My name rank and serial number is Vasquez, Annetta D. Lieutenant Western Alliance..." She didn't get the rest out because the machine came to life, and she was subjected to the most intense pain she had ever experienced. It was like 200 volts of electricity were coursing from her head to her feet, and she realized that her heart stopped. She screamed herself hoarse as her body tightened up and convulsed from the pain.

Finally, the torture stopped, and Anna almost wept from the wave of relief that washed over her when the pain stopped. She ached everywhere from her muscles being tightened up; it was like a full body muscle cramp with a migraine headache, but the shocks had stopped, and the alternative was so good.

"Who is your commander?"

Anna gasped when she heard that voice. Not again! "My commander is Lieutenant Commander Alan Scarlett."

The sudden rush of pain was worse than last time. Her body arched off the seat as the electric charges lit her nerve endings on fire. She couldn't scream, she couldn't breathe, all she could do was shudder from the intense pain. Finally, the pain stopped, and she was left gasping and weeping.

"Who is your commander?"

She couldn't take it. She knew one more jolt like that and she'd be dead. "My commander is dead."

When she said that, the door opened, and five men entered the room. One disconnected the torture device and the other four unstrapped her from the chair. She was unconscious before they could lift her from the chair.

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

Armstrong Station, March 30, 2142

Station Commander's office

"I'm sorry, Captain Schirra, but the admiral had to rearrange his schedule, and we had to postpone your meeting with him again," said the buxom yeoman that protected access to Admiral Darwin. "We have a VIP inbound and..."

"Damnit Claire," snapped Captain Schirra, and he slid open the door to the Admiral's office to find that the office was empty.

"I tried to warn you," she said. "He's preparing for a meeting with Secretary Dunkin."

Wally closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. Remy was famous for juggling his schedule without warning people, leaving it up to his yeoman Claire to straighten it out. The captain glanced at his watch. Commander Scarlett and Lieutenant Vasquez have been out of contact with the Navy for over one hundred hours, and there's no word from either of them. He has enough suspicion to handle this the hard way. He dug a few coins out of his pocket and laid one on the desk in front of Claire.

"Is this...?" Claire didn't finish the sentence. She's a petty officer in the Western Alliance Navy. She knows what that means. She picked up the phone and dialed four numbers and waited. "Admiral Darwin please." She waited some more until the Admiral got on the phone.

"What do you need, Claire?" asked the Admiral.

"Sir, Captain Schirra has declared a Tarnished Penny."

Admiral Darwin sighed, but didn't reveal what he was thinking. "I'm at the top five, send him over," and he hung up.

"The admiral will see you right now at the top five," said Claire as she hung up the phone.

"The Officer's Club?" Wally said in shock. That was not a venue to discuss a Tarnished Penny, the code words for a covert act of enemy action.

Claire shrugged, "it's what he said."

Wally set his jaw and stepped out of the office and walked to the Officer's club. He wanted to run, but he walked forcefully using what's known as 'the commander's gait.' His years in the blue-water navy taught him this stride, and if he was carrying a clipboard (the symbol of technical prowess) sailors and spacemen alike would dive to get out of his way in terror of being assigned a distasteful task. He walked into the O Club and breezed past the maître d'hôtel and into the area known as the Top Five, the room for captains and admirals only.

The Top Five was a shocking display of elegance and tradition. Elegant tables were set out for dining, comfortable wingback chairs set around a stone fireplace afforded conversation. Young buxom women whose battle with gravity just started, waited tables, fetched drinks, and lit cigars. The walls were lined with heavy velvet curtains and tapestries depicting naval battles of centuries ago. The most recent battle showed a line of battleships and cruisers in a narrow passage, firing on a distant enemy in the Battle of Leyte Gulf. That was back when men faced each other and fought. Now they just toss atomic bombs at each other and hope someone you hate gets vaporized.

Admiral Remy Darwin saw Captain Walter Schirra enter the top five and set course straight for him. "Gentlemen, if you will excuse me, I must speak with the captain." The five officers and two civilians he was having lunch with got up and left the club.

"Sir, I apologize, but we have a situation..."

"Wally, relax," said Admiral Remy Darwin. "Sit. You look like you haven't eaten. Try the shrimp."

Captain Schirra had been waiting over twenty hours to be able to have time to talk to the station commander and this wasn't the venue he wanted to speak in. They needed to talk in somebody's office, not over lunch at the officer's club. He needed Remy's 'blessing' so he could go ahead with his investigation. He didn't want to try the seafood that's been hauled 250,000 miles into space. "Remy... Admiral Darwin, we have a problem."

"With the forty-fourth? I knew I'd get some pushback re-designating it to the one hundred and first IFS."

"No, sir. That's not it." Walter Schirra looked around, then handed his commander a copy of the letter he received from Alan Scarlett yesterday.

Admiral Remy Darwin was the most relaxed, laid back admiral that Captain Schirra had ever met. He had an outstanding staff and hand-picked subordinates that he could count on, so when Admiral Darwin said, "handle it," whatever it was got handled. "This needs to be fixed."

"Yes, sir, but I have no idea where either one of them are."

"Call Ray."

"Pardon?"

Rather than repeat himself, he said, "CIC, one hour. Be there."

As Remy got up to leave, a waitress stepped up to the table and said, "Can I get the captain anything?"

"No, I..." started Walter, but Remy interrupted him.

"The captain will have the open face, prime rib of beef sandwich on sour dough, mashed potatoes, and the haricot vert," said Remy. When Wally looked at him in shock, Remy said, "Eat. We have work to do."

That was Admiral Darwin's superpower. He could remain calm in any situation, and he watched out for his people.

After an incredible lunch, which was topped off with station grown French cut green beans served with chopped bacon and onions in vinegar, Wally took the elevator hubward to the Mars ring, also known as the Iron Ring. The Mars ring was built from Martian iron, forged into steel that no ship borne laser could cut through. The Mars Ring was the flywheel that kept the station spinning at a constant rate. It was also the 'bomb shelter' for those that could make it there in time.

As the commander of the Eighth Interplanetary Fighter Wing, Wally was barely highly enough placed to enter the Combat Information Center unescorted. However, he chose not to abuse that privilege. He only entered the CIC when needed by the mission and did not hang out, hoping for a glimmer of information to advance his career. He knew many command staff officers who did that and more often than not, their intentions were discovered, and their careers would take a drastic turn for the worse.

The CIC was heavily guarded by Marines with laser rifles and stun guns, and it took a good five minutes to get through the required security check to enter the CIC. Inside, it was dark and quiet. The illumination came from the lit-up status boards, the clear Plexigraph boards that were tracking all Eastern Bloc shipping between earth and Luna, Venus, and the Asteroid Belt. Another Plexigraph board showed Western Alliance shipping between the Earth and Luna, Mars, and the Asteroid Belt.

The two boards could be laid over each other to get a good view of all the commercial shipping, but that was just part of the story. Another Plexigraph board behind the commander's 'control cab' showed known military ships and suspected military ships. The Obshchiy Bogdanov, the mystery ship that Alan and his Berserkers shot up was now marked as a combat ship as was her sister ship, the Gorod Moskva (The City of Moscow) There was a ship marked in flashing red, the Zheleznaya Koroleva (Iron Queen) that was registered as an ore freighter, it was drifting in the asteroid belt remaining as close to Mars as possible.

Admiral Darwin was studying the known military board and hit a button at the bottom of the screen. It overlaid Western Alliance military ship positions and showed that the Eastern Bloc ships in red were all matched with a Western Alliance military ship in blue. Most were deep blue (Navy) but some were light blue (Space Force). The Space Force was merely for intelligence gathering and not fit for warfare, or so the Eastern Bloc was led to believe.

"What is with the Koroleva?" asked Wally.

"We're changing her status from civil bulk carrier to mystery ship," said Admiral Remy Darwin.

"We've seen the fighting units?" asked Wally. By fighting units, he was talking about the fighter squadrons that were seen flying out of the Obshchiy Bogdanov, and the Gorod Moskva.

"I don't think we need to," said Remy. He drew a square around the area that contained Mars and the asteroid belt where the Koroleva was "resting at anchor." The plexigraph board zoomed in on the area he had outlined. "There's no mining going on in this section of the belt," said Remy. "So why is a three hundred thousand ton ore carrier parked here? And look." He sped up the passage of days to show that as Mars moved around the sun, the Koroleva was keeping pace with Mars, even though the asteroid belt moves slower. The Koroleva had to move past slow-moving asteroids to keep up with Mars.

"Now look at this," said Remy, and he zoomed in on the Koroleva. Occasionally, a smaller ship would pull alongside the Koroleva, stay connected to her for no more than eight hours, then it would leave. Two or three days later, another smaller ship would repeat the process. "If those are resupply missions, that means there's a huge force sitting on the Koroleva waiting to jump out onto the nearest target. The only target close enough to hit without one or two more resupplies is Mars."

"The Eastern Bloc is planning to take Mars?"

"That's what it looks like. We believe that General Romanov has planted his flag on the Koroleva. We don't think he will move soon because his fighter cover is way over here," he showed the two mystery ships, Obshchiy Bogdanov, and the Gorod Moskva in a section of the asteroid belt that was Eastern Bloc controlled and as far away from Mars as they can get. "Intelligence says they're preparing to join up on the Koroleva. In a year and a half, Mars will be lined up with the Obshchiy Bogdanov, and the Gorod Moskva, and we'll be on the other side of the solar system."

Admiral Remy Darwin reset the board to show the solar system out to the asteroid belt. "We believe that when the Obshchiy Bogdanov, the Gorod Moskva, and the Zheleznaya Koroleva are in proximity to each other, the target will be Mars."

Walt felt a sudden sinking feeling in his stomach. He was now sorry that he ate lunch. "Your orders, sir?"

"Get your wing up to strength. I want three full squadrons in the Eighth Fighter Wing plus spares. The Berserkers are back up to strength," said the Admiral about Alan Scarlet's forty third Interplanetary Fighter Squadron. "The forty-fourth will be re-designated to the one hundred and first, your third unit will be the Thirty-Third Fighter Squadron. They'll be manning up soon and heading for training here on Armstrong. Pre-position their equipment on Mars and put a maintenance detachment there preparing the boats for battle. How many Martians do you have?"

"Four. One RIO, one plane captain, and two trainees. I have more on the way but..."

"Get them to Mars. Full dress uniform when not turning wrenches. I'll notify the Martian recruiters they're going to have a few walking billboards down there soon."

"And what about Alan Scarlett and Anna Vasquez?" asked Wally.

"I take it you're not ready to write them off?"

"No, sir!"

Remy smiled. "Do what needs to be done. Full authorization."

"I'm going to shake up NCIS pretty nastily," said Wally.

"Sometimes you need to prune a few branches to get a tree to grow straight. I'll notify Senator Hubbard that there's going to be some complaints headed his way."

"Thank you, sir!"

"One more thing, sir."

"What is it Wally?"

"I want three Marine bombers."

Admiral Darwin looked at Walt Schirra for a few minutes and then said, "I can promise you one. The Arcturus. If you lose it, you'll never see admiral."

Walt Schirra groaned inwardly. Why did it have to be the Arcturus? "If I lose it, I won't be welcome in my own home."

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

Perseverance Colony, Mars, March 30, 2142

Convair Intergalactic Testing Laboratory

Ray Clark was finished with a long day at work and was getting ready to head out. He had an "arrangement" planned with Cecilia Craftworthy, a new librarian at the university. He had a litany of orangutan jokes to try out over dinner (librarians love orangutan jokes) when he was called back to his office. "Iota message, sir," was what his secretary Oscar said as he tried to get out of the office.

"Iota?" He hadn't heard from Iota in a couple of months. "Where is it?"

"Reading room, sir."

"Thank you." The reading room is a SCIF - Secured Classified Information Facility, which on Mars is a bit overboard. Each colony has at least one SCIF, Perseverance City has three, one at Parliament, one at the Senate, and one at the president's office. The SCIF at Convair Intergalactic Testing Laboratory does not exist. Ray Clark, member of the Martian Parliament and uncle of Alan Scarlett (Ray's sister was Alan's mother) took an elevator that was never built and only a few people at Convair Intergalactic knew was there, seventy-five meters into the Martian bedrock to a SCIF that doesn't exist officially or on any documentation.

Dr. Monica Sax was the watch officer of the day when the messages started coming in. Iota (Captain Schirra) had sent several to the #3 man in Martian intelligence, Gamma, knowing that Gamma was Ray, but he sent several to Alpha not knowing who Alpha was, only that Alpha was the top man in Martian Intelligence. Beta was #2, and most people in the intelligence community knew it was the President of Mars Benjamin Curtis who was an intelligence officer, but being president, he was not active. If President Curtis got a message that required action, he usually passed it to Gamma, knowing he was closer than Alpha, who was somewhere else. They were sure that Alpha was not on Mars, but where? Ray always thought Alpha was at the new station going in at Mars/Sol La Grange point #1, where Alpha could monitor all of Mars from a distance.

"Monica dear," said Ray. "This message is addressed to Alpha."

"Alpha is indisposed, and will be for some time," said Monica. The naming convention is also the hierarchy of Martian intelligence. Call signs Alpha through Lambda were assigned permanently to specific individuals and often their identity was not known around the community. Mu through Upsilon were assigned to active field agents and could be changed out as field agents move around in their assignments. Often the field agents don't know their Greek letter designator. Frequently, they don't even realize that they are collecting intelligence for the Martian Intelligence Bureau. They report something they saw to their supervisor and their supervisor will pass their information along, calling it a "Report from Sigma" or whatever the asset's designator was.

"Beta kicked those messages down the line. Gamma is the new Alpha. Do you need to be sworn in?"

"No, I know the requirement. I better grab a blanket and a pillow and move in down here." He started reading the messages that were sent to him as Gamma. "The Navy believes that the Eastern Bloc is preparing to invade Mars and take over every colony," said Ray as he read the report from Gamma. "It's about time they woke the fuck up." This threat was known to everyone in the intelligence community except for those in the military. Why are they so blind? Ray placed that message in the grinder and soon it was a powder that could be reconstituted easily as paper.

Ray looked at the next message sent to Gamma. "He's requesting a large, pressurized hangar at Zhang Field, and he's going to start to pre-position equipment and support personnel... He's going to send Lieutenant JG Kavandi as the maintenance detachment commander."

"Oh, she's a sweetheart," said Monica. "You keep your lecherous hands off of her!"

"Hey, we need all the Martians we can make... I mean get."

"I know what you mean," scolded Monica, whose two children were probably Ray's. And she knew better than to sleep with a subordinate.

By the time he finished reviewing the messages from Iota, the alpha messages were decoded for him. The first one was from Alpha himself, which startled Ray. Alpha was taking a back seat and letting the intelligence machine operate, but something was important enough for Alpha to assign the task to Ray. The message from Alpha simply said, "Prioritize this above everything."

"Prioritize this? Prioritize what?" asked Ray.

"This," said Monica as she handed him a new message from the printer.

The messages started out as personal notes being sent in the clear via RTTY. They all said something similar to "Dear Uncle Al. I hope all is well. Yesterday, Dave and I went to the museum and saw the latest exhibition of pottery and Van Gogh paintings...." And then the text would devolve into random characters and spaces as if the text transmission was corrupted by radio interference. The radio operator would print the corrupted looking text then put it on the 'reader.' The reader was a device created by Alan and Christa Scarlett called the Scarlett Encoder/Decoder and it would read the entire text of the letter optically and run it through a decryption algorithm and print out the original text. They were sure there was no other way the code could be broken, and the optical readers were insanely rare. There's less than ten on Mars, one on earth, one on Armstrong, and one assigned to the 43rd Fighter squadron. There were several encryption protocols and the clue to the proper decryption protocol was buried in the text of the RTTY message. The decryption protocol in this letter was the Evad protocol.

The unencrypted message read as this:

Alpha:

Attached is the text of a letter I received from the commander of the 43rd Fighter Squadron.

---------------

Captain Schirra

I have failed. Lieutenant Anna Vasquez has been abducted by parties unknown. I questioned people that tried to abduct me and they all agreed that she has been taken to Dandong on orders of Gimel. I reported her abduction to NCIS, who did nothing but question me, then take me to NAS Guam. The NCIS agents who failed to act were Agent Oliver Grierson and Agent Dwayne Styles from the Matuku Island office of NCIS. I will travel using Agent Styles identification until it is shut down.

I'm upset that your response to the NCIS notification was so terse, but you know the needs of the Navy better than I. My troops are my primary concern, so I apologize for my disobedience. The next time we meet, I will bring Anna back to Armstrong, or you will consign my remains to the deep.

Enclosed is Spaceman Johnson's ID card. He's a good kid and a good Martian. I would be happy to know that my last act as commander of the 43rd IFS was to assign him to Petty Officer Gene Cernan.

Tell Uncle Ray I'm sorry for the damage to his cabana. Please forward the funds to repair his cabana from my pay.

Alan

---------------

This was all news to me. The letter was presented to me moments after I discovered that Alan and Anna were not on the shuttle that they were scheduled to ride. I will find them; I will bring them home. I owe Mars that much.

Iota.

"Ray?" asked Dr. Sax. "Ray?" but Ray wasn't responding. His vision was filled with memories of a terrified ten-year-old Alan, less than a day after his parents died so horribly. The poor little guy was shattered and clung to Ray for days afterwards. After Christa went off to college, Alan and Ray grew even closer, but those first few days, when Harrison and Laurel Scarlett's only boy looked for reassurance, Ray dropped everything to be there for him.

"No more," said Ray to nobody in particular. "NO MORE!" he roared. "Mars will not be a political football to be punted around." He got up and stormed out of the office and took the elevator up.

Monica waited for the elevator doors to close and then she said to the guard, "Nobody is entitled to know what happens down here."

"I know that, ma'am," replied the guard.

"Just repeating what needed to be said," said Monica as she picked up the direct line to Beta's office. This was one of the most secure communication lines on Mars.

"President Curtis."

"Ben, this is Monica Sax. We have an issue. Ray is on his way up and he's hot."

"What's wrong?"

"Rho and Sigma are missing. Sigma has been captured by..." she looked up her list of code names for "The Other Guys" For that list, they used the Hebrew alphabet. He mentioned "Gimel" in the letter. She looked at the Hebrew letter, Gimel. "She was captured by General Chang, sir."

"Lord help us all," groaned President Curtis. "When did this happen?"

"That was on the twenty-fifth. Iota just found out about it. NCIS did not inform him of a problem with one of his troops."

"Are you sure it was General Chang?" asked the President.

"The letter clearly says Gimel."

"He's here now. Thank you, Doctor Sax," said President Curtis as he hung up the phone. Benjamin Curtis is not some addle minded politician. They have those aplenty in the parliament. He's a savvy operator who knows his opponents as well as he knows his friends. He knows Ray considered Anna Vasquez to be another niece, and nobody understands how close Ray and Alan Scarlett are like Ben. "Ray!" he said, trying to sound disarming. "Before you talk, sit, take some deep breaths and try to relax. Let me help."

"How can you help?" asked Ray as he tensed up, ready to scream.

"Here, gentle sips." He handed Ray a clear glass full of clear liquid with clear cubes floating in it.

Ray took a sip and his eyebrows shot up. "Gin and Tonic? With real tonic water?"

"Yep. Nothing but the best. Here." He placed a bottle of gin in front of Ray. "Sorry I don't have anything but dehydrated lime, but this isn't a bribe. I'm hoping you will use it to relax, or at least vent some of that anger." President Curtis sat down next to Ray and read the message that Ray handed him. He was only a few words into it, and he groaned with sorrow over the fate of the two heroes of the Battle of Kōngchéng. "I'm sorry for your nephew, Ray. He's a good man." To go head-to-head with General Chang on his side of the border is suicide.

"We can't let them get away with this," said Ray.

"If they see us arming up, they'll attack with ferocity," said Ben. "They could wipe us all out."

"Yes they could, but we'll make them pay for every inch of colony they take."

Ben frowned and sipped his drink. "Is it going to be worth it?"

Ray sighed and said, "Ben, if we can't stand up for the men and women who risk their lives for us, what the hell good are we? Mars has got to be more than a bunch of scientists and engineers working in low gravity. We have to stand for something more than colonies that bicker and pick at each other."

Ben grinned, "God damn it! That's what we need to hear!" He picked up a remote and pressed a button. A projector displayed an overhead photo of Perseverance City on the wall behind Ben's desk. Central on the photograph was the sprawling Zhang Spaceport ramp. "We don't have the pressurized hangar space to store three squadrons so let's use the Prior Spaceflight hangar for standard maintenance, and the smaller Zhang Avionics hangar for heavy maintenance. When they're fixed, they can be moved outside and make room for boats that need work." When Ray looked confused, Ben said, "It would be much quicker to launch that way than having to move each boat through the air lock."

Ray nodded and rose to study the photograph. Next to the two pressurized hangars was a long, narrow roof. "This here, the old Bedford-Lancia testing shelter. It's just a long, skinny hangar without doors, now it's just something to keep the dust and sun off Jeeps and Scooters," said Ray. Bedford-Lancia once built Jeeps and Scooters which were small, industrial flying vehicles used for hauling construction equipment and small loads of rocks and Martian gravel. They're getting new life as recreational spacecraft, the biggest and most powerful of which is said to reach orbital altitude (but not speed) and are now being built in the Olympus Mons colony.

Then he groaned. "Ok, we can park their ships. Where are we going to put these people? How are we going to feed them? We can't afford one squadron, now we have three. And water? Where is that going to come from?"

"I will deal with that. I'm heading to earth tomorrow. While I'm there, I'll try to negotiate our lost aviator back into our hands," said Ben. "And while I'm gone, I'm appointing you as my VP."

"Your what?"

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

Armstrong Station, Lunar Orbit, April 2, 2142

Primary Cargo Ramp

The last of the F-201 Interplanetary Interceptors earmarked for the Thirty-Third Interplanetary Fighter Squadron was being moved into the lower cargo bay of the RSS Lucid Dawn. The cargo team of the Lucid Dawn was busy chaining down the F-201's while the maintenance chief reviewed the forms of every ship that was loaded on the portly freighter. Some wag suggested painting the Lucid Dawn white and renaming it the Beluga Dawn.

"What do you think, Gene?" asked Captain Schirra over a private comm freq.

"They're all crap. Every one of them," said Petty Officer Gene Cernan. "I'll get them running for you sir, but half these scows don't have a nose laser emitter. They've been pulled for other boats. I'm going to have to fill the emitter bay with rocks and gravel to maintain weight and balance." The laser emitter was a massive piece of ordnance, and the F-201 had two of them. One drove both winglet tip lasers and one for the nose laser cannon. Laser emitters were huge, massive machines and the F-201 expended a lot of energy just getting all that mass up to speed.

"How about reaction mass storage?"

"Another internal fuel pod?" asked Gene.

"If it worked, especially on Mars, it could carry enough reaction mass to lift the boat to orbit," said Captain Schirra.

"Would you be upset if we tried to mount a slug thrower centerline?" asked Gene.

"You mean like on tail number 251?" asked the captain. Wally Schirra understood that as a plane captain, Gene Cernan was an 'it's easier to find forgiveness than beg for permission' kind of NCO, which Alan and Wally both admired. "Have you test fired it yet?"

"No."

"Really?" asked Wally.

"Well... a little bit. We thought that stabilization would be a nightmare, but it comes down to one mass being greater than another mass, so it really won't be that big of a problem. We just run a positional re-synch through the nav system when the trigger is pulled..." and Gene was off with his explanation. Greg and Lisa were helping the crew of the Lucid Dawn chain down the F-201's. But as they worked, they listened to their boss and trainer explain the system to Captain Schirra. They ate up every word. As they say, if you scratch the surface of a Martian, you'll find an engineer... and a chess board.

Just then, the captain's wife and yeoman called on their private frequency. "Wally, your NCIS agents will be arriving in fifteen minutes."

"I'm headed to the Earth ring. Is there anything you people need?"

"Pizza," said Spaceman Apprentice Greg Johnson.

"Yeah, and wings," said Spaceman Lisa Davis.

"With bleu cheese, not that ranch stuff," said Greg. The two Martians recently tasted some of Earth's finer delicacies and can't get enough.

"Get my ship loaded and we'll talk."

"Yes, sir!"

Wally clomped along the metal floor to the Hangar Bay airlock, his magnetic soles gripping the metal floor. Then, after cycling through the airlock, he headed for Life Support. As he turned in his pressure suit and put on his dress blues, he said, "Sergeant McCarthy, please call station ops and find out where they're going to land the inbound shuttle and request a marine escort for our two guests."

"Yes, sir." Marine Sergeant McCarthy didn't mind doing Captain Schirra a favor on occasion. He's one of the good guys. He made the quick call and reported to the captain, "It's inbound to Golf Spoke, outer dock, Earthside."

"Thank you, sergeant." There's eight main spokes on this huge wagon wheel space station, Alpha through Hotel, and each spoke has four docks, two "inner docks" positioned between the hub and the Mars ring (Mid ring with Martian gravity), and two "outer docks" between the Mars Ring and the Earth Ring (outer ring). They're designated as Earthside, the dock facing the earth, and Lunaside, the dock facing Luna.

Captain Schirra drifted to the Golf Spoke elevator, where two armed marines waited for him. "Let's go boys," said the captain, and they took the elevator to outer doc level. Seven passengers and two sacks of priority mail were being unloaded from the U-700 Lunar shuttle that just docked. "Agents Grierson and Styles?"

"That's us sir," said a green looking middle-aged man. The younger man that was with him looked nauseous as well.

"I'm Captain Walter Schirra. Welcome aboard," he said as they shook hands. "This is Sergeant Coats and Private Rodriguez. They will escort you up to the hub where you'll turn in your pressure suits and you'll get a flight suit to wear while on the station. Then we'll sit down and talk about your new assignment."

"Wait, what new assignment?" demanded Very Special Agent Dwayne Styles.

"Like I said, we'll talk, and welcome to the Inter-Lunar Region. Director Sanguine can't wait to brief you." With that, the captain stepped onto an elevator and disappeared as the doors closed.

Meanwhile, loading the Lucid Dawn neared completion. The lower cargo hold was packed so full with fourteen F-201 Star Strikers that Greg and Lisa had to release their magnetic boots and float above the F-201s just to make it out of the Lucid Dawn. "Come check this out!" called one of the crew members of the Lucid Dawn as the lower cargo hold door was closing up. "You might never see something like this again," he called.

Lisa and Greg clipped their safety carabiners to the crewman's safety line and climbed out onto the backbone of the tubby freighter. "See what?" asked Greg.

Just then, a presence made itself noticeable. It was as if there was a vibration in the air, but there was no air to vibrate. A deep pitched rumbling filled the helmets of the two young spacemen, they could feel the rumbling through their entire bodies and they were just experienced enough to realize that the rumbling was caused by the electromagnetic waves being generated by several heavy reaction mass motors running at idle.

Then a blackness deeper than space began blotting out stars, and it soon blotted out the earth. Even the bright silver reflection off of Luna that lit up Armstrong Station and Aldrin Shipyards like a huge spotlight was absorbed in this shadow that approached from the inky depths of space.

Finally, they could see it: a huge black semi-flattened tube with a bulge at the front, back, and in the middle. The forward bulge was lined with windows and sensors. This was the bridge and control cabin. The aft bulge was even bigger, and they knew it contained six enormous N-52 reaction mass engines. The bulge in the middle was adorned with a huge parabolic antenna on the 'top' and a series of antennae of all different shapes and sizes projecting out around the bulge. Some were for listening, others for transmitting, and all were for electromagnetic warfare. One by one, the smaller antennae retracted into the ship, leaving only the parabolic dish exposed.

"It's incredible," gasped Spaceman Apprentice Johnson.

"It's beautiful," sighed Spaceman Davis in awe.

"It's a motherfucker," said a crewman of the Lucid Dawn. The inky black machine was a B-171, the largest bomber ever conceived by man. "What a beast. It's like a flying space station. It's got a crew of twenty."

"Twenty?" asked Lisa. She couldn't imagine what you would do with twenty crew members.

"They have full crews, a captain, the exec, two pilots, two navigators, bombardier, communications, electronic warfare, gunner, weapons, and ship's maintenance. They all live in the forward end."

"Damn!" gasped Greg as a massive bomb bay door opened and a scooter carrying three personnel in black pressure suits emerged from the bomb bay and carefully picked its way toward the hub. The bomber did not match the rotation of the Armstrong, so it was slowly rotating end over end to Greg and Lisa.

"It can carry eight of these fighters, four in each bomb bay," said the Crewman. "It can carry eight breeching pods in each bomb bay, with two marines in each breeching pod. That's thirty-two marines."

"Breeching pods?" gasped Lisa, her eyes wide with wonder as she took in the sight of the huge behemoth.

"What do they do when they're not bombing?" asked Greg.

"Listening," said the crewman. "All frequencies. There's nothing that can't be heard out there. And when they're not listening, they're jamming. There's not a signal out there that they can't selectively block."

<><><><><>

In Captain Schirra's office, three Marine officers in black "bomber" pressure suits took off their helmets and gloves. One of the crew members was young, with brilliant red hair pulled back into a bun. She introduced the other two members. "Colonel Marquette, Sergeant Dunlop. This is Wally and Estelle Schirra."

"Colonel Marquette, welcome to the team."

"Three fighter squadrons and a bomber?" asked Colonel Marquette. "That's a bit diverse."

"It gets more diverse. The forty-third IFS and the one-oh-first are dedicated to protecting Mars and the thirty-third is a training squadron, designed to share tactics between the two squadrons and get our new Martian fighters up to speed. Members of the squadrons are members of the Martian Self Defense force which is very quietly part of the Western Alliance Navy."

"And you want a heavy bomber to form up on?" asked Colonel Marquette with a chuckle.

"We need your ears," said Captain Schirra. "Let's talk in here," and he led them into his office, and Estelle joined them. Colonel Marquette turned around and saw his new Bombardier standing next to Estelle and was stunned to see that his bombardier looked almost exactly like the Captain's wife, Estelle. While Estelle Schirra has a lush hourglass figure that no style of clothing could hide, Marine Lieutenant Pandora Vermillion's facial features were identical. From the laughing emerald green eyes to her cute pixyish nose to her lush crimson lips, she was the spitting image of Estelle Schirra. Lieutenant Vermillion's figure was slim and athletic, with small round breasts and a perfectly rounded ass, tiny waist and curved hips... not that he's noticed. "Are they...?"

"Ganging up on me?" asked Captain Schirra. "Yeah, it's their favorite hobby. I'm just glad Pandora's sister isn't here to complete the assault on my sanity." He pressed a button, and the door locked with a loud clank. He took his ID card out of his wallet and laid it on the desk. "I heard a rumor that you can hear the RFID chip in that card with your equipment. Is that true?"

The best way to describe Marine Sergeant Marcie Dunlop was "handsome." She was a good-looking woman, but not in a feminine way. She had "mouse brown" hair, straight eyebrows, gray eyes, a straight and narrow nose, thin lips and a solid jaw line. There was nothing soft about Marcy Dunlop. She was muscular, one of the fittest marines Wally had ever seen. He wondered if she was a lesbian, and the answer is no, but Marcy likes to wrestle for a sexual penalty and she didn't care who was licking her pussy at the end of the match, just as long as they were good at it. She was the top sensor operator in the Marine Corps, which is why Captain Schirra asked for their ship to be added to his "fleet." Marcie glanced at her commander uncertainly. "Go ahead," said Colonel Marquette.

"Yes," said Sergeant Dunlop.

"From orbit?" asked an astonished captain. "You can hear this card from a geosynchronous orbit?"

"Yes, sir." When Captain Schirra looked skeptical, Marcie continued. "As long as I have the serial number ID of that card, I can weed it out of the clutter. There's a million things in that frequency range, so I need to know which thing is my target. Once we identify it by serial number, it's mine. If it's above ground, it can't hide from me. I will track it anywhere."

"Even inside a building?" asked an astonished captain.

"As long as I get the initial fix on it, I'll find it wherever it goes."

Wally slapped his hand down on the ID card and looked his daughter, the bombardier, in the eye. "Can you hit it from orbit?"

"Yes, sir. I can hit it with any size weapon that will make it through the atmosphere," said Lieutenant Pandora Vermillion. "I could nail it with the laser cannon, but humidity and clouds would ruin the shot. I suggest a GBU-282 Mod 3 guided bomb with ceramic heat shields if it's in a hardened structure. If you want pin-point accuracy, an SGM 55 Hellspawn missile will hit the target's coffee cup if so desired."

"Can we ask why you want to know all this?" asked Colonel Marquette.

"This is classified top secret, cabinet thirty," said Captain Schirra.

"They're good for that level of classification," said Colonel Marquette, and he pointed toward Marcy and Pandora.

"One of our Radar Intercept Officers was abducted from Fiji 2 and we believe she is being held in Dandong near the Yalu River."

"Why would they take a risk like that?" asked Captain Marquette. "A RIO? She's what, a lieutenant? Maybe a lieutenant commander? What's the big deal?"

"She's Martian, and Mars wants her back," said Captain Schirra.

"Still... that's Mars' issue. Why do we want to waste a bomber on a lieutenant?"

"Two reasons," Captain Schirra said. "One was that she was her squadron commander's RIO. She's got a head full of classified information. And second, she's mine. I don't leave people behind."

Marcie Dunlop was taken aback, she's heard of Western Alliance men and women being abducted, but she's never heard of it happening as far away from Eastern Bloc territory as Fiji 2. "Sir, chances are good that her ID card was taken away from her," said the sensor operator.

"We know that; however, we have an agent in the Dandong area trying to reach her. He's out of communication with us and we want to know where he is. Especially since there are diplomatic negotiations happening." Wally slid a piece of paper toward Marcy. "This is the ID card our agent is traveling under. Can you find it?"

"I will start working on that as soon as we return to the Arcturus," said Sergeant Dunlop.

"Thank you. Thank you all," said Captain Schirra, as they escorted the bomber crew out of the office. Pandora gave her mom and dad a quick kiss, then quickly led her crewmates to the nearest elevator.

"Are you sure this is the way?" asked Colonel Marquette.

"My sister Eris and I practically grew up on this station," said Pandora. "We used to have elevator races. First one to the hub and back wins."

"What happened when your folks found out?"

Pandora grinned when she said, "Mom was judging the contests. I think that's why dad hired her as his yeoman. So he could keep an eye on her."

The elevator opened as they drew near and two marines stepped off, leading two men in orange jumpsuits. "It's not Halloween for months, boys," said Marcy in a no-nonsense tone of voice. She was taunting what she saw as prisoners. She hadn't beaten a man to a pulp in weeks and she wanted one of them to jump. One of the two men almost obliged her, but an angry glare from Colonel Marquette hushed whatever they were going to say.

The two young Marines, Sergeant Coats and Private Rodriguez led the men in orange, Special Agent Grierson and Very Special Agent Styles, down a long corridor that looked like it was curving upward in the distance and Private Rodriguez was giving a travelogue as they went. "... the circumference of the Earth Ring is exactly 3.1416 miles, so while building Armstrong station wasn't a piece of cake, it was a slice of Pi. Get it? Slice of Pi?"

Sergeant Coats desperately kept from laughing because Rodriguez was doing this just to piss off those agents in orange. And worse of all, it didn't look like Agent Styles got the Pi joke. They finally reached Captain Schirra's office, and the door opened for them. "Finally, we're going to get some answers here."

A spectacular redhead rose from behind her desk. Her tight-knit dress showed off curves that any country road would be proud to have. "Seargent Coats," she said in a breathy voice that would give Michaelangelo's David an erection. "The captain is waiting."

"I want to have a word with him," said Agent Grierson, and they entered the room. "I have never been so humiliated in my entire life, dressed like a criminal..." They entered Captain Schirra's office, but there were no chairs for them to sit on and Captain Schirra wasn't paying attention to them. The Captain just received a message from Admiral Darwin's wife Loren, who had just had a chat with Yin Chao and Hilde Marks down in Luna Prime Colony.

"Huh? Oh, the orange? That's what we traditionally dress prisoners in when they are to be spaced," said Captain Schirra without looking up from the report from Loren Darwin. "It tells passing spaceships to let the corpse float."

"SPACE ME? FOR WHAT?" shouted Grierson.

"We didn't do anything," moaned Styles.

"That's the problem," said Captain Schirra. He wrote a note on a note pad and underlined something in Loren Darwin's report, then he looked up at the two seething NCIS agents. "You did nothing. The squadron commander of the forty-third Interplanetary Fighter Squadron reported that his RIO was abducted, and you did nothing. It's almost like you were paid to look the other way."

"Captain, come on! We were a thousand miles away from the Eastern Bloc, and he claimed to command the Berserkers? Everyone claims to be from the forty-third..."

"Everybody? NAME TWO!" roared Captain Schirra. As the two NCIS agents stood and sputtered, Captain Schirra stood and leaned over the desk toward them. "I never mentioned Eastern Bloc, so it seems like you may have some information we need because thanks to you incompetent assholes, I now have a Radar Intercept Officer with a head full of classified information in the hands of the Eastern Block. I have one of the most aggressive, successful squadron commanders in Navy history gone rogue trying to get her back because you were too fucking lazy to do your fucking jobs! Explain to me why I shouldn't be kicking your useless asses out of an airlock."

"I-I-I don't..."

"Styles, show me your ID card," demanded Captain Schirra. The agent dug out his wallet and handed it to the Captain. "This is a brand new card. It was issued the day before I convinced Senator Hubbard to give me your worthless asses instead of putting you in prison for impersonating a law enforcement officer."

Estelle looked at the card and said, "Where is your original ID card and badge, Mister Styles?"

"I don't know," said the shaken former agent.

"When MY officer was being dragged off to the Eastern Block to be... God knows what they're doing to her... you did nothing." Walter Schirra walked around the side of his desk and stood behind the two agents and said, "When MY officer tried to tell you what happened, you accused him of being intoxicated and put him in handcuffs."

"Well... he set fire to the rental property..."

"It is not rental property; the house is HIS!" shouted the Captain so loud that Agent Styles' right ear rang. "It is owned by his uncle, and he is his uncle's heir..." Walter's voice got very soft, so they had to strain to hear what he said. "I know you're not into Martian politics, but my officer is Commander Alan Scarlett. His uncle is Ray Clark, who just became the Vice President of the United Colonies of Mars. The officer that was captured, Lieutenant Anna Vasquez, is a Martian émigré. Her citizenship was approved by Martian President Benjamin Curtis after her heroism at the Battle of Kōngchéng."

Both agents sagged. The bombing of Kōngchéng was still classified, but they heard about it. It was spoken of in hushed tones... a single squadron fought their way from the Asteroid Belt to Mars against 8 to 1 odds, then launched a suicide mission through their remaining enemy to hit a valuable target on Mars with only one orbit to acquire the target, burn off god knows how much speed, dive from 10,000 km through six enemy fighters to hit with pinpoint accuracy and emerge with a triple ace. "Then he killed the Butcher of Bradbury Canal with his bare hands," the stories always ended.

"The single biggest military event since the Lake Erie disaster, the greatest naval hero since Chester Nimitz and instead of buying the man a drink, you put handcuffs on him because it was easier than investigating his claims of abduction!" roared Wally Schirra.

Life on the Fiji Islands had been too easy. It was filled with days 'patrolling' the beach, gifts of baked goods from lonely widows, rousting drunk spacemen that were visiting grandma and grandpa, and escorting the pouch of mail from the dock three blocks to the post office when the Guam sailboat arrived. Then one of the hottest events in nearly a century was dropped in their laps and they blew it. They believed the wrong person. "You buffoons questioned nobody! You failed to even question Noelani Kawehi, the Eastern Bloc agent that was tasked with killing Alan Scarlett! If he hadn't crippled her, she would have gotten away like the other one... what's her name... Kermit or Killgore or..."

"Keala, sir," said a terrified Agent Styles.

"Yes, Keala Mononoke," snarled the Captain. "Luckily, we found her in a Fiji hospital, claiming that her boyfriend roughed her up. We found her with a fellow named Myeong Hoon Park. Do you know him? He's the Eastern Bloc operative that was sent to Fiji2 to kill Alan Scarlett and capture Anna Vasquez. There's still a BOLO notice for him and three other mooks from the Dandong military compound sitting on your desk on Matuku Island."

"I'm sure that it recently..." started Oliver Grierson.

"From the number of coffee cup rings and donut crumbs on the BOLO it looks like it's been there a while." Captain fought back the urge to kill them, to stuff them in an airlock and open the outer door without slowly relieving the atmospheric pressure first. It's said that the body will shoot out of the airlock like a ball from a cannon. Ear drums burst, eyeballs pop, lungs get sucked into the trachea, blood instantly boils. That's the rumor and Walter had the ability to find out first-hand. However, Walter continued with his planned speech. "South Pacific NCIS gave me you two imbeciles and replaced the personnel in your office with new agents."

"Who, sir..."

"It doesn't matter who replaced you, Mister Grierson, you're never going back to Fiji again. The betting odds are five to one against you ever returning to earth, in any condition. Personally, I'd like to return the both of you to earth. Fortunately for NCIS, your bodies will burn up on re-entry." Walter sat down behind his desk and glanced at the report from Dr. Loren Darwin, the top psychologist at Luna Prime General Hospital. She spoke with Hilde Marks and Yin Chao for nearly an hour, and she believed she convinced Hilde to take therapy, and hopefully ease the nightmares that were overwhelming her sleep.

"Sir?" asked former agent Styles.

Walter realized he was concentrating on the report from Loren again. "Oh, sorry. I forgot you useless morons were still here." He put the report in a folder so he wouldn't be distracted again. "Here's the deal. For some reason, HQ NCIS won't let me kill you. Not without cause. But they did say I can do anything I want with you." The way he said that made execution sound like a more positive future for Styles and Grierson. "I'm putting a detachment of spacemen on Mars and guess what! You get to be the very first NCIS agents stationed on Mars!"

"Mars, sir?" gulped agent Styles.

"For real sir?" asked a panicked agent Grierson.

"Yes, sir!" said Captain Schirra with mock excitement. "The very first NCIS agents on Mars. We'll eventually have over 100 spacemen on Mars, three full fighter squadrons, support, supply. It's all going to be there in Perseverance City. We may even scatter, which means you may get the opportunity to re-open an abandoned colony and turn it into a Martian defense base!"

"Thank you for the opportunity," said Agent Grierson with false gratitude.

"That's not all," said Captain Schirra, dropping the false excitement. "There's a lot of work to do, and you're going to be helping. You will be undercover as parolees who were assigned to a work detail. You will work directly for Lieutenant Janet Kavandi and Petty Officer Gene Cernan. They are close personal friends and if you make them unhappy, I make you unhappy."

"Sir..." started Agent Styles.

"If they say jump, you will ask 'How high?' on the way up." He closed his eyes. An interruption was not called for. "What is it Styles?"

"Sir, NCIS is a civilian agency. We don't work for the Navy."

"That's right Agent Styles. Your new director will speak to you in my outer office. I have work to do. Go away." He opened the folder that contained the report from Loren Darwin and opened his terminal, and typed in a few ideas. "Do not let me detain you," he said without looking up.

Styles and Grierson stepped into Estelle's outer office to find Estelle typing at her terminal. She looked up at them and with a sweet smile she said, "Boys, there are too many chairs in my office. Could you move those two leather chairs into the captain's office?" Her voice carried the promise of long sweaty nights naked with her in zero g. Of hot, passionate lovemaking that would earn a place in the Guinness Book of Records.

"Yes, ma'am." They picked the chairs up and carried them into the Captain's office quietly. They couldn't not do it. Her request was that sweet and that hypnotic.

When they returned, she smiled and said, "Have a seat, boys," and they sat down in the remaining chairs while she finished typing. Finally, she rose and came around her desk and leaned back against it. Her luscious hour-glass figure was hugged by a skintight knit dress. Her nipples pointed straight at them, and there was no force in the solar system powerful enough to get them to not stare back. Never had any man wanted to be a bit of cotton yarn so much as Agent Styles and Agent Grierson at that moment.

"We haven't been properly introduced," said Estelle in a tone of voice that brought images of making love cowgirl style, her crimson locks flowing, her breasts bobbing, her bright red firebush sliding up and down their... "As the Commander of the Eighth Fighter Wing's yeoman, I use my married name Estelle Schirra."

Dwayne Styles was trapped by her sweet, breathy voice. His hands ached to cup those marvelous jugs of hers and squeeze. He was so lost in that fevered fantasy; he almost missed the important part of her introduction. "As regional director for the NCIS, I use my Lunar name, Cerise Sanguine."

The Lunar Name is a Lunar tradition. Lunar girls that complete their A-Level examinations celebrate by legally changing their name to something that describes them and their personality. They spend years considering the potential names and often the names are exciting and descriptive. They don't always keep their Lunar name. If they marry, they often revert to their birth name and take their husband's sir name. However, not taking her husband's name is not an insult. Lunar children take their father's name and if their mother isn't sure who the father is, a quick DNA check will find out because to enter a Lunar colony, your DNA must be on file.

"D-d-director?" Oliver Grierson's mouth went dry, and he felt shivers of terror tickle his spine. Cerise is a soft, sensual shade of red. Sanguine is a color used in heraldry, it is blood-red and signifies danger. This juxtaposition of soft and sensual against blood and danger describes Estelle Schirra to a tee. Director Cerise Sanguine was a headhunter. You obeyed, or you 'walk home.' Walking home from a space station is never considered a good thing.

"I have agents here on Armstrong Station, Aldrin Shipyards, Luna Prime Colony, Luna Segunda Colony, Luna Tercera Colony, Camp Schmitt, and all the major spaceships, cruisers, carriers and fleet cargo ships. You two mutts will be the first NCIS field agents on Mars, and you will be undercover." She handed each a folder containing their cover profiles. Styles looked at his and saw that his cover story was that he was addicted to gambling and he was broke and now working any job he could get to buy a ticket back home to Shaker Heights, one of the few remaining settlements that was once Cleveland. Grierson's covers story was that he was a recovering alcoholic that was bouncing from job to job to avoid a nagging wife and her nagging daughter back on Venus Prime, the main space colony in Venusian orbit.

"You will assist in loading out the RSS Lucid Dawn. The hard part is done. The lower cargo bay is filled with the fighters we are sending to Mars. You will assist in loading the upper cargo bay. On the journey and at Zhang field on Mars, you will be working for Lieutenant Janet Kavandi and Petty Officer Gene Cernan. Neither knows you are an NCIS agent, but since I am assigning you to the Lucid Dawn, Petty Officer Cernan probably figured it out. Regardless, you will be semi-skilled labor. Learn from Petty Officer Cernan. If they assign you to someone else for any project, do what they say. Use the opportunity to collect intelligence. You are looking for any evidence of Eastern Bloc espionage above and beyond criminal acts by the spacemen you are traveling with. You are also going to keep an eye out for security leaks. The events of December are still classified, even though I know you are familiar with them, so if you hear a discussion in an open area outside of normal speculation, you are to report it to Lt. Kavandi and include it in your daily 714. Copy?"

"Yes, ma'am," said both Oliver and Dwayne. Estelle Schirra was sexy and sweet, Cerise Sanguine was sexy and terrifying. Both fallen agents could imagine her spacing them for their transgressions.

In the nude.

"I will communicate to you through the Vice President of Mars, Ray Clark. The man you refused to help is Vice President Clark's beloved sister's only son. When Alan was ten, Mister Clark's sister and her husband died in the Bradbury Canal blowout and Mister Clark had to raise Alan Scarlett by himself. They are very close. You will submit your daily NCIS_DO Form 714 reports to him weekly, every Friday evening. He will then send all seven fourteen forms to me. Oh, and be sure to accurately describe the damage to his home on Fiji. He may not believe the property managers report."

As she spoke, a young woman in a flight suit with only a name patch stepped in and listened to Cerise, 'Special Agent Sally Rhyde, NCIS.' "Agent Rhyde, could you escort Mister Grierson and Mister Styles to the Lucid Dawn and show them to their suite there?"

"Yes ma'am. Please follow me." With that, Grierson and Styles rose to follow the junior agent. Her flight suit didn't show off much of her figure, but it hinted that she had a nice ass.

While they were walking to the elevator, Dwayne Styles couldn't help but try it. "So, Agent Rhyde, are you seeing anyone special on this big, lonely station?"

"You mean other than my husband, Marine Captain Dale Rhyde?" she flashed her wedding ring at Dwayne. "He keeps me well entertained... quite well." She smiled and sighed the sigh of a well fucked young woman that's looking forward to a return match in the very near future.

"Uh... I was just wondering where the new kid in town could find a little action."

"For you? Mars. I highly recommend Mars. Your dossier shows that you're a hell of a chess player. That's how you get the Martian girls interested in you." She rose up on tip-toes and whispered in his ear, "Try Dunsany's variant... it drives Martian women wild!"

"Chess... great. Can't wait." Dwayne has never played a complete game of chess in his life. He added that blurb about chess in his dossier to gain the interest of a young personnel clerk who mentioned an interest in chess. Great.

She led them across the pressurized gangway into the crew quarters of the Lucid Dawn. "Here you go, and this is your suite." His next surprise was their suite. A narrow six foot by six foot by three-foot room with two sleeping bags attached to the floor... or wall, or ceiling, depending on what orientation is most comfortable for you and a pair of lockers on the back wall.

"How comfy," groaned Oliver.

They both found that they had three flight suits with a patch that said their name and "laborer" as a job title. They were pulling on their Velcro boots when a young man poked his nose in the "suite" and said, "Come on! We have cargo to load. Petty Officer Cernan wants you in your pressure suit in ten minutes."

"Where are our pressure suits?" asked Oliver Grierson.

"Life support, forward. Follow me."

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

Yizhou, April 8, 2142

Morning Routine

The western man woke up and crawled out of the barn where he had been sleeping for the past weeks. It was Sunday, the start of a new week, and the rent was due. He paid his landlord in cash, that's all they'll accept up on the Yalu river, then he walked into the tiny village of Yizhou. It was a beautiful, quiet morning and through the mist he could see the Dandong "Hospital" across the river. He didn't believe it was a hospital... nobody did. It was an enormous block of concrete with no windows or doors. Entry was through underground tunnels that stretched out in all directions for over a mile... or so they say.

The western man made friends easily, and he found that many workers on the south side of the Yalu river worked on that building and they hated it. It was a concrete nightmare, "too secure!" the builders claimed. "No beds, only doors with locks!"

The western man was off, no work until tomorrow, so he went 'downtown' which in Yizhou meant a few shops, a bar that was already attracting workers for a drink before taking the ferry across the river to Dandong where a large complex was being built. The story that the Chinese were spreading was that it was a hospital, but the workers knew better. It was a prison that currently held one woman.

As with every Sunday, his first shop in Yizhou was Momma Jeong's shop. For a few coins, she gave him several packages wrapped in tissue paper and tied with string. His weekly laundry. Then it was on to Mister Hyeon's kitchen for breakfast.

"What will you have for breakfast, western man?" said Mister Hyeon as the tall bearded white man sat down on a cheap plastic chair at a tiny plastic table out front of Mr. Hyeon's Kitchen. As he did every morning he came to Mr. Hyeon's, he sat facing the "hospital" on the other side of the river.

"It's Sunday. Let's try something new. What do you have?" The western man tries something new every Sunday.

"My wife made Kimchi jjigae. It's very good."

Kimchi jjigae was a spicy kimchi stew that was guaranteed to clear up any sinus blockage. In his funny accent, the western man said, "Yeah, let's try that," in Korean.

"Very good, sir! Any rice? Soju?"

The western man looked at Mister Hyeon and said, "I'll always eat your rice, but soju? Do I look hung over?" Soju was a Korean Liquor made from rice, sweet potatoes and plums, and it was the most popular drink on the peninsula. It was like vodka with a sweet aftertaste. A shot of soju in the morning cleared the head after a long night of drinking.

"It Sunday morning, you work hard!" Mr. Hyeon looked into the Western Man's eyes and saw exhaustion and pain, but not a hangover. He gave the Western Man a strong cup of coffee and a bowl of Kimchi jjigae, spicy hot kimchi stew, a bowl of rice, a shot of soju, and a dinner roll with sweet bean paste filling for dessert. "You been here long time. What do I call you?"

The western man shrugged. If he gave Mr. Hyeon a name, they would find out eventually. Even though Yizhou is on the "free" side of the Yalu river, there are agents from the other side in every village. "Chingu is fine. Just call me chingu. It's a good name."

"How do you say Chingu in English?"

"Friend," said the western man, now known as Mr. Chingu. He ate the spicy hot soup, it was delicious. Mr. Hyeon also gave him a small dish of rice, hot and sticky, which quickly had become Mr. Chingu's favorite and Mr. Chingu ate it every chance he could get. He put much of it into his soup to thicken it up and relaxed in the morning calm. In fact, this land used to be called the Land of the Morning Calm. When he was done with his soup and coffee, Mr. Hyeon sat down with him and poured him a beer and joined Mr. Chingu with a beer and a shot of soju of his own.

"Happy Sunday Mr. Chingu," said Mr. Hyeon. They raised their soju in salute of each other and knocked it back. Not for the first time did Mr. Chingu marvel at how smooth soju went down. Then he looked at the beer bottle.

"Cass Beer? I don't think I've had that." Mr. Chingu sipped it and nodded. "It's good." He opened a small metal case and offered Mr. Hyeon a small cigar, which he gladly accepted, and together they sat in the small village and puffed their cigars and watched the world wake up. It was a hard life and Mr. Chingu loved the peace of his Sunday mornings.

As they sat and watched the village wake up, they watched the small ferry haul the workers across the Yalu river to Dandong, where they were building something terrifying. Mr. Chingu was falling in love with this part of the world. He hates what is sitting across the river; it looks so glum and gloomy, not just the big ugly gray cube they call a hospital, but everything looked so dreary and ugly over there compared to the south side of the river. And this area used to be ugly too until it was liberated 60 years ago.

"What are you going to do today, Mister Chingu?" asked Mr. Hyeon.

"What else? It's Sunday, I'm going to nap."

Mr. Hyeon sighed. It's what he did every Sunday. "Here is your paper," said Mr. Hyeon, and he handed Mr. Chingu a copy of Mars Today. It was the last good remaining newspaper and Mr. Chingu read it because it did a good job of reporting on Earth news as well as Martian. "Did you ever live on Mars?"

"Once upon a time I lived there..." said Mr. Chingu as he scanned the headlines. As usual, he also scanned the personals. Much of the time, the personal ads were Earthers looking for a sponsor to emigrate to Mars and Martians looking for an Earther to sponsor their effort to emigrate to the "home planet." Other personal ads are quite funny and occasionally there's a sweet marriage proposal. Some hold a cryptic message, like the one he saw at the top of the page. It was an ad that contained something he never expected to see.

Gogo -

Hope all is well. Smartie and I miss you.

Call your dad collect if all is well.

Uncle Ray.

"Can I borrow your phone, Mr. Hyeon? I need to make a collect call."

"Sure," and Mr. Hyeon brought out an ancient Princess phone, being careful not to trip over the wire.

Mr. Chingu punched in the number and soon an operator came on. In fumbling Korean, Mr. Chingu said he wanted to make a collect call for Mr. Harrison Scarlett. "Standby," said the operator. Nearly a minute later, the operator came back and said, "I am sorry. Mr. Scarlett is not there to accept the call."

"Thank you, operator." Mr. Chingu smiled and handed back the phone. "Thank you very much, my friend. But now I think I'm going to go for a walk, then go take a nap. I go back to work at midnight."

"Good to see you, my friend. Will you be here for dinner?"

"I wouldn't miss it." Puffing on his cigar, Mr. Chingu gave Mr. Hyeon far too much money for a simple farmer's breakfast, then went for a leisurely walk along the bank of the river. When he was out of sight of Mr. Hyeon, Mr. Chingu carefully walked down to the river's edge, emptied his pockets and hid the contents under a rock, then eased into the water and started the long cold swim to the other side.

<><><><><>

"COMMUNICATIONS!" shouted Estelle Schirra into her phone. "Where did that call originate?" she was utterly startled for the first time in a long time. Somebody called her office, a collect call for Harrison Scarlett. Only two people in the universe would ask for that name, and one of them was the person who placed that personal ad in Mars Today.

"We're tracing the circuits, ma'am... Yizhou... Yizhou Korea... the call came from a small shop. The name translates to Hyeon's Food and Notions."

"Connect me to the Arcturus." Estelle wrote this all down feverishly. She looked up and saw Wally looking down at her nervously. "He called," she said softly as Wally tried to read her upside down notes. It had been a week since Alpha posted that personal ad and used Uncle Ray as the origination of the ad. Alpha knew Alan and knew that he read the Martian Times every chance he got. It was a piece of information that Dr. Loren Darwin gleaned from her visit with Hilde Marks, Alan's former fiancée.

"NSS Arcturus," said a spaceman who came on the call. "This is not a secure line."

"Ready the daily key," said Estelle and she took a key that was dangling on a chain around her neck and was safe between her magnificent breasts, and put it in the phone.

The distant spaceman said, "Ready to turn in 3... 2... 1... turn."

Estelle turned her key the moment he said turn. There's a two second gap in their transmission delay because the Arcturus is almost in Earth's orbit, but they got the keys turned and the line was scrambled. "Captain Schirra for Colonel Marquette and Sergeant Dunlop."

"Please standby," said the spaceman on the Arcturus. A moment later, he said, "They are on."

Walt just motioned to Estelle to continue with the call. "Colonel, Sergeant. We believe that Gogo is in Korea, on the Yalu river..." and she began reading off the longitude and latitude.

"Standby, Ma'am," said Marcy. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she said, "I got him."

Estelle and Wally breathed a sigh of relief. Their quarry was more than a spaceman. Alan Scarlett was almost like a son to them. They marveled as the young ensign was given duties far more demanding than he was trained for, solely because of his Martian heritage. Then they watched in awe as he fulfilled those duties far beyond anyone's expectations. He was now a stranger in a strange land, trying to rescue his teammate, a spaceman that the entire Western Alliance wrote off as lost to the East.

"What are my orders?"

Wally cleared his throat and said, "Monitor his actions and give us a report on what you see. This is his mission. If he needs help, he knows how to reach out to us."

"Yes, sir. Arcturus out."

"Armstrong out," said Estelle, her voice near the edge of tears. Wally crouched down next to his moon maiden and hugged her tightly. Estelle didn't know why, but she always considered Alan Scarlett her son and now she was terrified for him. She and Wally have sent dozens, no, scores of spacemen into harm's way, but this one is different. He assigned himself to this impossible task. He had already told them in a letter that he was coming back with Anna. Estelle preferred to ignore the part about the possibility of commending his body to the deep.

"He'll be back," whispered Wally. "We just got to be sure to give him every assistance he asks for."

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

RSS Lucid Dawn, April 9, 2142

Making Way

Petty Officer Cernan was livid. He's never had a spaceman under his direction miss a movement, but it damn near happened with Greg and Lisa. He was checking on the forward location crew when the deployment commander, Lieutenant Kavandi, said, "Petty Officer Cernan, I think we're missing people."

Gene looked at his clipboard, then he looked at the lieutenant. "No..."

"Our Martians," she said.

Gene looked at his watch. They were going to shove off in twenty minutes. The last shuttle up from Luna was due in fifteen minutes. A young spaceman floated up to Petty Officer Cernan. The young man was carrying two sea bags. "I got their kit, sir. If they miss the boat, they're only going to have the clothes on their backs for their court martials."

"I'm going to kill them," muttered Gene.

"I told the shuttle to inform anyone shipping out on the Lucid Dawn to go DIRECTLY to hub doc 3A," said Lieutenant Kavandi, the detachment commander. "It's all yours after that." She turned to leave, but Petty Officer Cernan stopped her.

"Ma'am, did we get the flight crew I requested for flight trials and acceptance inspections?" asked Gene as the Lieutenant headed up the pressurized ramp to the Lucid Dawn.

Janet turned and faced Gene. The poor young woman looked exhausted. "Yes Petty Officer. You and me." She turned and headed up the ramp into the belly of the Lucid Dawn.

On the bridge of the RSS Lucid Dawn, the captain was running through the pre-departure checklist. The clock had started, and this was the highest priority shipment the Lucid Dawn had ever hauled and Captain Ed Monahan would not disappoint the Seventh Fleet. A successful mission would guarantee him a regular run between fleet and Mars.

"Radar?"

"FMC, sir. Our projected route is clear out for the next ten days." (FMC stood for Fully Mission Capable)

"Navigation?"

"Course plotted and programmed into the main frame."

"Engineering?"

"Main thrusters A-OK. Micro and macro directional thrusters FMC."

"Life support?"

"Go."

"Comm?"

"All good, sir."

"ECM?"

"Go."

"ECS?"

"All go, sir."

"Avionics?"

"We're go boss."

"Cargo?"

"Tied down and ready to rock, sir!"

"Roger that. Let the log show that the Lucid Dawn is FMC at D minus three minutes and thirty-two seconds." Then he turned to the radio shack. "Comm, tell Armstrong control that we are ready for an on-time departure and they can retract the gangway at their discretion."

"Sir, Armstrong is reporting two bodies on the gangway. They'll retract as soon as they're aboard, sir."

"Who the hell is fucking up my departure?"

"Coupla Martians, I'll bet," muttered the radar operator who was sitting next to the communications officer.

"Five bucks?"

"Yer on."

The gangway retraction sirens were blaring as Spaceman Apprentice Johnson and Spaceman Davis rocketed their way through the pressurized tunnel onto the fore deck of the RSS Lucid Dawn, nearly colliding with Petty Officer Cernan and Lieutenant Kavandi. "Permission to come aboard," gasped Greg as he tried to get his breath. Racing from shuttle bay two to hub dock 3A was quite a feat.

Gene left this to the lieutenant, and he went to the intercom and pressed the button. "Bridge, fore deck. All personnel are on board. The hatch is sealed."

"Thank you fore deck." There was an alarm bell, and the gangway pulled away with a chuff and retracted into Armstrong Station. "Single up all lines fore and aft," called the captain over the intercom. The ship rumbled with the sound of security lines being retracted into the hull and the whirring of the maneuvering thrusters building up pressure. Janet Kavandi tried to chew them out again, but as she opened her mouth she was interrupted by the captain on the intercom, "Cast off all lines. Ahead slow!" and suddenly the entire crew of the Lucid Dawn started singing Anchors Aweigh.

Lieutenant Kavandi rolled her eyes. It was so corny! Then she noticed Petty Officer Cernan was singing along with the crew of the Lucid Dawn, as were Spacemen Davis and Johnson. Janet was almost laughing at the seriousness that the crew sang, but the pride and the joy of the spacemen was contagious. She's never heard anything like this, but at each shove-off ceremony she was always in flight in a fighter and preparing to land on their home ship when it was clear from the station it was tied up at. Finally, the singing was done, and the foredeck cleared of crew members of the Lucid Dawn. That's when Lieutenant Kavandi whirled on Spacemen Davis and Johnson. Normally Janet Kavandi is cute, a tall slim brunette with huge brown eyes, but now she was angry. "You were ordered to be on this ship no later than two hours before launch, and you nearly missed a deployment."

"No excuse ma'am," said Spaceman Davis.

"What in the world were you doing down there?" she demanded. "What was so important that you nearly got thrown into prison?"

"It was the Trinity Base Chess championship," said Spaceman Apprentice Johnson without looking up.

"What the hell is a Trinity Base Chess championship?"

"They hold it every year," said Spaceman Davis. "It's a championship between players from Armstrong Station, Aldrin Shipyards, and the luna colonies."

"They usually play in July, but they heard we were shipping out, so they held it this weekend," said Greg.

"They held a huge chess tournament early, just for you two?" demanded the young lieutenant.

"Yes ma'am. We didn't expect to rank so high; we were expecting to be back yesterday," said Greg.

"What do you mean rank so high?"

"We ran out of time, so we resigned the final game and ran to the shuttle," said Lisa.

"It's hard to run on the moon," pouted Greg.

"Who was playing the final match?" demanded the lieutenant. She is in charge. She should threaten them with fines and imprisonment, but she is a Martian. Chess to a Martian is like football to an Irishman.

"Us," said Greg, as he stared at the deck.

"We were," said Lisa.

"You were in a pairs tournament?" asked the lieutenant.

"We don't play pairs..." said Greg.

"... it's too weird," concluded Lisa.

"You were the two top players, and you both resigned the match?" asked the Lieutenant incredulously. Resigning a match voluntarily is not something a Martian does.

"We were running late," said Greg. "It's my fault, I was using all the clock, my matches were slow. It set us back."

"If you want to court martial us, we won't fight," said Lisa.

"No. You are confined to your bunks for seven days," said the Lieutenant. "Petty Officer Cernan will assign you material to study while you serve your time."

"Yes, ma'am," they said and took their bunk chit from the lieutenant. The "chit" is an access key to the bunk so their private belongings can be secured. The bunk room was a long hallway with doors on each side. They got to the end and Lisa opened a bunk but Greg cried, "Hey, that's my bunk!"

"No, it's my bunk." She held up her card and showed him the bunk number on the card. "See?"

"Is there a problem, you two?" asked Petty officer Cernan as he looked in the bunk.

"We're assigned the same bunk," said Greg.

"So? You've been using the same shower and locker room for months back on the Armstrong. If you had shown up on time, you could have chosen your bunkmates, but something tells me we'd end up just like this anyhow." Lisa and Greg looked at each other, then back at Gene. They clearly weren't getting it.

"Look, you two, you're best friends. As far as I can tell, you're each other's only friends. Just deal with it for seven days. When we're fully underway, we'll talk about switching out bunks, ok?"

<><><><><>

Lisa and Greg didn't speak to each other, but they played chess silently all day long. Neither knew it, but both were in agony from the silent treatment they were getting from their partner, but both were terrified to talk, terrified that the other would be angry with him or her for their predicament. One evening after lights out, they climbed into the sleeping bag together. It never occurred to them to use separate sleeping bags. Curling up together, weightless, in the same sleeping bag just seemed right.

She curled up behind him on the third night when it was chilly for some reason, and Greg felt the tickling of her pubic hair against his ass. "Are you naked?" he asked, breaking the silence.

"You are," was Lisa's defense. Then she asked, "Do you always sleep in the nude?"

"No," said Greg. "Only when I sleep with you. You're nice and warm."

Something had been breached, and both Greg and Lisa thought it over with their analytical minds, and neither slept well. The next day, another day in silence passed. Six chess games were played, each won three games. This time, they were undressed before the lights went out. They had been naked in front of each other before: when dressing, when washing, when exercising in the isometric gym, but now it was different. Greg's eyes traced all over Lisa's body, her round breasts were sticking straight out, floating weightless. He ached to reach out to her, but then what? With a loud click, the lights went off, and they were plunged into darkness. It wasn't totally dark. There was a small indicator lamp by the bunk entry door, and another faint light on the thermostat, but neither light provided much illumination at all. Definitely not enough light to see Lisa's dark nipples and narrow waist.

They stared out into the darkness like always and finally Greg said, "Was Petty Officer Cernan right? Are we best friends?"

The sleepy but joyful notes of Nocturne No. 1 in E Flat Major by John Field played softly in the dark. Greg and Lisa loved Classical Music, Brahms, Mendelssohn, Presley, Chopin, The Who, and especially Debussy.

"I don't think so," said Lisa.

"Why not?"

"Do best friends like to do this?" asked Lisa, and suddenly in the pitch black Greg felt her lips on his neck. She began sucking and her tongue flickered over his neck. The sensation was incredible. Thrills ran through him and his cock was so hard it ached. He didn't know he was capable of feeling such things.

"I don't know." He pulled Lisa close, and she felt his fingers trace over her face gently.

"What are you doin?" she asked.

"I'm trying to feel your smile. You have the most beautiful smile."

"No, really," she whispered. "Are we best friends?"

"No!" he finally said. "We're more... We are us, but I want more. I want all of you." His mouth kissed from her shoulder, up her neck to her mouth, where their lips met for the first time. They suddenly were hungry for each other, their fingers pulling each other close, flesh on flesh. He could feel the warmth of her sex against his as they clung together.

Greg kissed his way down to her breasts and Lisa encouraged him lower by pushing in his head. He suckled on her breast and the pleasure shot through her body, causing her pussy to moisten. He was so good! He suckled her left breast perfectly, and her right breast was not ignored. Greg rolled her nipple between thumb and forefinger so exquisitely, just the right pressure, the perfect pinch from time to time, sending lightning bolts of pleasure to her pussy.

Greg kissed his way over to her other breast and she whimpered out loud as his mouth covered her trembling nubbin. Greg pulled back and said, "Are you ok?"

"I'm... ok..." she whispered. "Don't stop." Lisa was out of her mind with the pleasure of this... she's weightless in a ship bound for Mars and a man she recently met, a chess master equal to her, and he is touching her in all the right ways. She never knew her body could experience such pleasure. He was a master and stimulating her breasts and she didn't realize what she was doing until she felt his hand on the back of her hand, and her hand was at her pussy! She was masturbating, and she didn't realize it.

"Let me help... show me how," he whispered. "Show me what you like."

Nervously, she pulled her hand away and his hand slipped into place and for the first time in her life, a man that was not her doctor was touching her vagina. Touching her in a way no doctor ever should. His ring finger and middle finger gently massaged her clit while he returned to suckling her breast. She began moaning softly as the passion built. He knew just how to touch her. Where did he learn this?

For his part, Greg has never touched a woman before. He was raised on Bradbury Canal and when he was six, his mother died in the same blowout that killed Alan Scarlett's parents. He was passed from relative to relative for twelve years until he enlisted. He was a genius, but his only outlet was chess. Lisa Davis was born to a politically powerful family in the Syrtis Major colony and raised by a nanny who didn't care. She too enlisted to get away and, like Greg, her only outlet was chess. She was the Grand Champion of Syrtis Major for four years and her parents never noticed.

'How did Greg learn this?' wondered Lisa as he slowly drove her to heaven. He learned from her. Every gasp, every wriggle, every sigh was a key that he did something right and he sought to repeat those moves over and over as he experimented and tried more. His finger slid inside her virgin pussy and they both almost came. So warm, so moist, so soft, so tight. This damp crevasse was made for his cock and Greg was aching to put it inside of her, but he didn't know if she was ready. Greg and Lisa both knew all about the mechanics of sex, but nobody told them how wonderful it was. Neither was prepared for the orgasm that sent them spinning in weightlessness.

Lisa screamed as wave after wave of bliss tore through her. She twitched and jerked free of the sleeping bag and they clung together as they bounced from one side of the bunk to the other. Lisa clawed at Greg as she came, her teeth closing down on his lip. As the waves of pleasure abated, Lisa sobbed softly in the dark. "What's wrong?" asked Greg.

"Nothing, that was so beautiful. It was almost like..." she sniffed and started weeping. "Almost like you love me."

"I do, didn't you know? Why do you think I take so long to make a move in chess? I want to keep in the game with you."

"Why didn't you say anything?" she whispered as she searched and found his face in the dark and began kissing him.

"Do you understand how terrifying it is? I can't lose you... if I said something wrong and you left..." he was shuddering in terror. He grew up alone, bouncing from one relative to the next. His mom died with Alan Scarlett's parents. His father worked on the Phoebus 2 steel mill, so he was never there for Greg. "What if you were just tolerating me and left when I told you how I feel? What if you hate me but like my chess? What if..." He was stopped by Lisa's lips on his. She kissed him passionately and her delicate tongue searched out his.

Their kiss was long and loving, and when their lips parted, Lisa whispered, "I'll never leave you. I can't. You're my other half... I... I love you too." Her hand curled around his cock and she smiled in the darkness. She's touched other men's cocks before and it always felt wrong. It felt right to touch Greg's cock. Perfect. She wrapped an arm around his neck and they floated in their bunk while Lisa gently stroked his cock. It seemed to get harder and harder and Greg's kisses were broken up by his panting.

"I'm going to... I'm..." he suddenly jerked and said, "Stop, not here in..." but she knew what he was worried about. She ducked down and took the head of his cock in her mouth as she stroked him. The sensation was like throwing gasoline on a fire for Greg and he came hard. Volley after volley of semen shot into Lisa's mouth. The sensations were mind shattering and grew more and more intense until they were unbearable. "Stop! Please stop... please, it's too much."

Lisa swallowed in the dark, then kissed her way back up to Greg's lips. "I think you came a lot," she said.

"I've never done anything like this before," he said nervously.

"Same here," she whispered between kisses.

They were quiet for a long time, then Greg said, "It's a shame we only have four more days confined to our bunk."

"Maybe if we break Gene's favorite torque wrench," suggested Lisa. "That should be worth another week of confinement."

They giggled and clung to each other, then fell asleep in the warm, dark womb of their bunk. Both were dreaming of further sexual exploration in the morning. It may be as fun as chess!

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

Earth Orbit, July 16, 2142

Cleaning Crew

Earth was surrounded by a cloud of debris. The cloud was built from almost two hundred years of leaving junk in orbit. It was mostly made up of dead or dying satellites, parts of satellites from collisions and breakups, spent boosters, and stages that didn't fall back to earth as planned. Several companies were making a fortune, cleaning up the mess, often they would nudge an old satellite from orbit so it would burn up on reentry, then once a section of space was clear of satellites, a pair of "trawlers" would sweep the area they cleared with a large net between them, capturing smaller debris. A tool bag that was floating loose since 2023 was caught, along with many bolts, wrenches, and other items.

The scrappers were not just nudging satellites into decaying orbits so they can burn up. Larger satellites in high orbits were a treasure trove of precious metals and components. Scrappers swoop up to the satellite's altitude and grab it, then they stuff it in the cargo bay of their ship. The all-time favorite was the Vega-Rocketdyne UU-202 shuttle. The UU-202 had a huge cargo bay and was designed to lift large objects to orbit. Now it has found a new life hauling them back down to earth.

The governments of the Western Alliance and the Eastern Bloc pay scrappers to clear space of the dead and dying satellites and many companies found big profits in the scrap that was brought to earth. Every flight put cash money in the pockets of the flight crews of the UU-202s, especially if they can get the old satellites with west European made optical devices. That's where the big money was.

There's some skill involved in orbital reclamation and ever since the captain of the Maryborough, Brian Pavlich, hired the new guy, a quiet, moody Martian, they've been raking in the cash. He can find the good stuff quickly, and he would plot an orbit that would bring them to the richest "picking grounds" up there. All he asked for was standard boom operators' pay and first dibs on the "litter."

"What the hell do you have there, Dwayne?" asked Brian Pavlich, captain of the Maryborough.

"Another booster."

"What are you doing with all those spent boosters? They're worthless."

Dwayne Styles eased the spent booster into the big cargo bay. Once he had it seated right where he wanted, he turned to Brian. "Not to the Koreans. They love 'em. The solid fuel tubes can be reloaded and the liquid fuel boosters motors are worth a fortune."

"We're looking for optics, not boosters."

"Correction," said Dwayne. "You're looking for optics. I'm looking for a variety of things. I found you three German made weather satellites. They should be full of optics and radar."

"Don't forget the boosters. You look like you're building your own space force." Dwayne had built a huge, old-fashioned vertical standing rocket out of scraps and called it his work of art. It even had a two seat escape pod as a "Space Capsule" on top. Brian loved teasing Dwayne about that thing, but that's where he spent all of his free time, except when he was sleeping in some old Korean farmer's barn over in Yizhou.

"I just might be," said Dwayne. He pulled on his 'puff pack' and set his helmet in place. "We are full, captain. I'm going to go out and tie her down."

"Need a hand out there? I can wake Cindy and she'll help."

"Nah, let her sleep. She's got a date tonight. It's just that booster and a small spy satellite that hasn't been tied down yet. I'll check the rest of the pickings are tied down while I'm out there, so we'll be ready for our reentry burn. It's going to be hours before we can head downstairs to Cheolsan." Cheolsan was the former North Korean "city of the damned" up on the Yalu, but after the war and subsequent freedom, it has become a thriving little metropolis. Maryborough Salvage has a scrap yard there where the local population was hired to disassemble the retrieved satellites and sell them off part by part. They also "play" with things there. Dwayne Styles claims to be a rocket artist, and he's building a model of a Longmarch 332 using spent boosters, and an old, discarded escape pod that kind of looks like a 2050s era Chinese space capsule.

He opened the bay doors wide and floated through the Maryborough's cargo bay. It was full of pieces and bits, lots of solar panels that were jammed into the cargo bay. There are a lot of rare earth minerals in those things and they're bringing in a good buck... not as good as German optics, however. He strung cargo straps over the debris and wound the straps tight, using the built in cranks on the Maryborough. As he finished up, he noticed two black pressure helmets peering at him over the edge of the cargo bay door. They really are here. He's been getting unexpected brief messages here and there, making sure he knew that someone was watching him. He drifted over toward them, then Brian asked, "You ok out there Dwayne?"

"All is good. I'm going to do a little earth gazing while I got some time."

"If you're not back in four hours, we're leaving without you."

"Copy that," and he drifted over to the two black pressure suits. He has never seen black pressure suits, but he heard that Marine bomber crews wear them.

As Alan got near, the black face plates flipped up and Alan saw a male with dark hair and tiny eyes, and a woman that looked very familiar. It was like looking at Estelle Schirra, but no. This girl was cute and tiny. Estelle is beautiful and sexy, but she's more than twice as old as this space pixie and she'd never fit those delicious curves into an extra slim pressure suit like this little darling.

The man said, "Commander Scarlett..." and he was stopped with a tremendous slam on the top of his helmet by Alan Scarlett's open hand. The slap on the top of his head caused his helmet to ring so loud that his ears hurt and it drove the "horse collar" of his pressure suit down into his shoulders, which hurt a lot. That helmet slap is what drill instructors do to trainee spacemen who aren't paying attention.

Alan furiously gestured with a slashing motion across his throat, telling the two to shut off their suit radios and then he grabbed them around the neck and pulled them close until their helmets were pressed together... "What the fuck is wrong with you? Ya dumb ass fucking marine!" he shouted. Their helmets pressed together carried the sound waves to the occupants of the black helmets. His anger was vicious, and Pandora was reminded of her first drill instructor. "We have seven billion flaming assholes underneath us right now who have no idea where I am. If you jeopardized my mission in any way, my last act on this earth will be to kill you both. Now what the fuck is so important that you just had to blab my name and rank on an open frequency?"

"Sir, you're coming with us," the terrified man said. He clearly did not expect Alan Scarlett to respond so viciously to his name being used.

"Fuck you."

Pandora Vermillion was shocked. First of all, they weren't here to pick up a naval officer; her partner Randy Treadwell told her on the way over that they were here to pick up an NCIS agent named Dwayne Styles. They had been tracking him for weeks. He lived in a barn and either flew in the Maryborough or he worked on some project down in the Maryborough Salvage scrapyards. He was a naval officer? And he told a superior officer to get fucked? "Sir, this is Major Treadwell, he's a ..." now she felt stupid. She's already said he's a major, but that's the same rank as a naval lieutenant commander, which was Alan Scarlett's last reported rank. "Sir, are you Alan Scarlett?"

"I guess I am now, thanks to fucking blabbermouth here."

"Sir, your mission has ended. We're here to bring you with us," said 'blabbermouth.'

Alan glared at them and wondered just how stupid can a marine be? There's only one way to find out, he said to himself then shouted, "JUST HOW STUPID CAN A MARINE BE?"

"Sir?" gasped Major Treadwell.

"I asked you a question. How stupid are you? Don't you know what AWOL means? It means I make my own orders. That's my RIO down there rotting in an Eastern Bloc reeducation center. I am bringing her out. Your only job is to cover my escape. One bomb, and I don't give a flying fuck if it's an atom bomb, a fragmentation bomb, a smoke bomb or a stink bomb, and if you can't be bothered to do that, go the fuck away."

"Sir... it's over," said Pandora. "They announced they are going to execute Lieutenant Vasquez for spying on Wednesday. It's over commander. You need to come back to Armstrong station with us."

Alan's eyes closed, and his shoulders sagged. When his eyes opened again, Pandora could see the sparkle of tears in his eyes. Tears don't fall in zero g, they just obscure the vision. "She was my partner in war and in heartbreaking loss. I watched her lover, my RIO, get cut in half and I had to tell her that it happened in front of my eyes. She was with me when my fiancée, who was injured in the same attack, told me to go away. And what did we do? We cried on each other's shoulder, then Anna took over as my RIO. Together, we earned a triple ace and bombed our home world to stop those assholes down there from killing everyone."

"Commander, I understand but..."

Alan cut Pandora off. "You don't understand shit. I'm the one that picked a vacation on Fiji 2 where we were caught... It's my fault... No, if Anna goes, I go with her. I owe her that much. Do you copy me, lieutenant?"

"Commander Scarlett, we have our orders," said Major Treadwell. "We've been ordered back to Armstrong Station. We're executing a TLI in less than one orbit."

"I understand. She's just a fucking Martian. Who cares... right? All us Martians are going to be dead soon, anyway. Better sooner than later, right? What's one more dead Martian to you fucking Earthers? When we die, you can hollow out our dry little home world and shit on it all you want like you did to this one... FUCK YOU! Just go away. Give me what remains of my honor and let me die with my troops."

"Commander, I strongly insist!" snarled Major Treadwell, and he pulled a sidearm, but before he could fire on Alan, the Martian commander twisted the pistol out of his grip.

Alan pulled them back against his helmet and said, "Go away. Leave me alone. Go back to your boss and tell them I will kill the next earther that thinks he's good enough to say my name."

This had gone all wrong, and Pandora was desperate to get the mission back on track. "Sir, come with us, please! If you stay, you're going to die."

"All I want is that you bury me on Mars next to my parents, where they died on Bradbury Canal." He wanted to shove them away as hard as he could, but they weren't worth the effort. He just turned, and with his puff pack, he drifted back into the cargo bay.

"Looks good back here Brian, we can go whenever you want," called Dwayne Styles on the hailing frequency, hoping he didn't sound angry to his boss. He collected the pistol that Treadwell pulled on him. A Chinese Norinco NP/S 77, a 40 caliber semi-auto pistol with an enlarged trigger guard, safety lever and magazine ejector for use with heavy gloves in a space suit.

"Done looking at the earth, Mister Styles?"

"It's prettier close up. I want to go feel the water one last time." He leaned his head on the bulkhead as the doors slowly closed and said to himself, "here we come, Tasha. Anna and I are coming for you."

Lieutenant Pandora Vermillion watched "Dwayne Styles" lean his head against the shuttle's bulkhead as the cargo bay doors closed over him.

She felt a tug on her line, which drew her back to the flat black scooter that floated peacefully in the Maryborough's blind spot. The scooter had a flat deck atop the thrusters and a railing to grasp around the deck, and a small control panel. Their magnetic boots held them in place as the scooter headed back to the Arcturus that sat silently unseen above the Maryborough.

The forward bomb bay opened wide to gather them in and Pandora took a quick look down to see that the Maryborough was rotating into position to start her reentry burn. "God, I hate myself," she whispered.

"Pardon?" asked Major Treadwell, who thought he had a chance with her.

"Don't worry. I have plenty of hate for you too," she said as she pushed off and drifted up to the bomb bay air lock while Randy Treadwell was trying to park the scooter in its storage rack.

Pandora drifted into the airlock and hit the cycle button without thinking. Now Randy is going to have to wait six minutes to get aboard. "Fuck him," she muttered. She couldn't believe the pompous ass pulled a taser on Commander Alan Scarlett. She didn't know it was a pistol. They weren't issued 'slug throwers', but Major Treadwell had smuggled one onboard the Arcturus. Cursing, she had her pressure suit off and was heading to the bridge when she was overcome with the entire sordid scene and she ducked into the warfare suite.

Normally in the warfare suite was the sensor operator, bombardier, electronic warfare officer, and gunnery officer seated shoulder to shoulder. She strapped herself into her seat and stared at a blank screen while the events of the past hour played back in her head.

"You ok ma'am?" asked Marcy.

"No, not in the least," Pandora groaned.

"What happened out there?" asked Marcy.

"What's up red?" A man's voice came from the doorway, interrupting their conversation.

"Go away Randy," said Marcy, Pandora, and Yasmeen, the EWO, in Unison.

"Do I look like Randy?"

Pandora whirled around and saw it was Colonel Marquette. "Sorry sir, it's habit... sir," said the horrified lieutenant.

"What happened? I thought you were supposed to report to me upon returning to the Arcturus, lieutenant."

"I believed Major Treadwell should have the honor, sir."

"Ah... ok." Colonel Marquette wasn't a colonel because he took lame excuses like that from lieutenants. "Give me your take on it. Did he tell you what he had planned?"

"Sir?" Pandora was really confused. "I just wished I knew that it was Alan Scarlett before we went out."

Colonel Marquette's face went blank. She knew that look; he was hiding his feelings. He reached for the intercom panel found in every cabinet and closet on the Arcturus. "Security? Where is Major Treadwell?"

"The locator shows that he is in the aft bomb bay, sir," came the reply.

"Send as big a squad as you can find. Bring him to me now. How many pieces he will be in is his choice."

"Aye-aye, sir."

The aft bomb bay is full of live weapons. Nobody, not even Pandora, who as the bombardier officially owns every weapon on the ship, was allowed back there alone. Whatever Treadwell was doing by himself back there was not good, and why didn't the alarm go off when he entered the bomb bay alone? "Security. Give me a 100% check on security alarms," called the commander of the Arcturus.

"Aye-aye, sir."

"Now, you three, where's your cohort, Quickdraw?" Quickdraw was the nickname he gave to the gunnery officer.

"Carlos went to get coffee," said Marcy.

Colonel Marquette nodded and said, "You two, Marcy, Yasmeen, what has been said in this booth since Pandora returned, is classified. DO NOT let me hear it later or you will both be walking home."

"Yes, sir."

"Lieutenant Vermillion, my office. Now."

"Yes, sir." She followed Colonel Marquette to the Captain's quarters, a tiny room with barely enough room for him to change uniforms. One wall had a sleeping bag and an actual pillow, probably held in place with Velcro. There were actual paper books in a Plexi-glass covered bookshelf, a small desk with a chair on either side, and a terminal screen and keyboard. He made sure the intercom microphone was off, and he gestured to Pandora to sit.

One doesn't really sit in space; a spaceman will strap themselves to a chair to prevent them from drifting off if there was a change in the ship's velocity or direction. In orbit there's not much chance of that happening, but outside of orbit it can happen frequently. 'Sitting' in a chair adds an air of familiarity to a meeting. "Confused?" he asked the little redhead that was peering around the tiny roomette.

"No, I was just wondering why you're not in the Captain's apartment," she said. The Captain's apartment is a small area far aft on the ship. Nobody knows what its original purpose was, but several captains brought their families along on long missions like wind-and-sail captains did in the far ancient past, and they set up a studio apartment for their wife and children in that area.

"Too far away from the action." He held his hand out to her. "Your audio module?"

Just then, the intercom beeped. "Captain, the security alarms for the aft bomb bay have been overridden. We're running diagnostics to see how long it's been down."

"Security, I want Treadwell in the brig NOW! Try not to get his blood on my bombs." Then he turned his attention back to Lieutenant Vermillion.

Pandora unclipped the audio module from her belt and he plugged it into a speaker/transcriber and they listened to the audio of the mission. It started with Pandora's eager chatter as they launched in the scooter; it was her first mission away from the Arcturus and she was eager to prove herself. Colonel John Marquette paused the recording and hit a switch that closed the compartment door and locked it. "Your mission was to contact a man operating under the cover name Dwayne Styles and find out what his plans for the next three months were. We left that up to Randy Treadwell to brief to you."

"That's not what I was briefed by Major Treadwell, sir."

On the audio recording, they heard Major Treadwell brief her. "Our job is to collect a rogue naval officer. He is under the delusion that a partisan held by the Eastern Bloc has vital information. She doesn't. She's just a peasant that was caught entering a rocket factory. It's our job to inform him that his mission is off and he must return to the Arcturus with us. He is out of time anyhow. The partisan he was going to rescue is going to be executed on Wednesday."

Colonel Marquette stopped the playback. "That partisan is his Radar Intercept Officer who was kidnapped at gunpoint from Commander Scarlett's cabana on Fiji 2 months ago."

Lieutenant Vermillion's confusion eased. "That's why when he came over to talk to us and Randy, Major Treadwell, called him Alan Scarlett, Commander Scarlett got really upset. He struck Major Treadwell and cursed him for using his name over the open radio."

They listened to the audio recording of the conversation with Alan Scarlett, and in retrospect, it was shattering. Pandora was nearly in tears when they reached the end of the recording. "What Major Treadwell said and did was inexcusable and clearly the act of an Eastern Bloc agent. Our mission was to remain in a stealth mode in orbit and render all aid to the man using the cover Dwayne Styles. That's why we tracked that ID badge and determined his pattern of behavior. It's clear that Treadwell's actions forced Commander Scarlett to rush whatever plans he had. We now have no idea what he's doing. We have an agent in place who will try to reach out to him and help from down there."

"What did he mean by being buried on Mars?" she asked.

"Commander Scarlett is Martian. His parents were killed in the Bradbury Canal colony over a decade ago by a bomb planted by an Eastern Bloc Operative."

"And triple ace?"

"That's a fighter pilot thing. It was never official and hasn't been mentioned in over fifty years. When a fighter pilot scores five confirmed kills, he's considered an ace. In Alan's squadron, the pilot and RIO share the kill because they both worked to achieve it. That was never the case in the past. He and his RIO Anna Vasquez are the first triple aces in two hundred years in western military history. His squadron, the Berserkers are the first space aces and whenever we get a chance, they're going to be recognized for that by Earth and Mars."

"Triple ace? Fifteen kills?"

"He and Anna have seventeen confirmed, and an extra four that are disputed." Before he expand on that answer, a call came through. "Colonel Marquette, Doctor Seddon is arriving."

"On my way." He turned to Pandora and said, "We will take this up again. Doctor Seddon is Commander Scarlett's flight surgeon and a specialist and an Ace. She's here to help with Anna when we get her up here. Let's hope she's not needed."

"Colonel Marquette," the intercom squawked again. "Major Treadwell is in custody and Gunnery Sergeant Briscoe is requesting Lieutenant Vermillion to the aft bomb bay."

"Shit," Colonel Marquette and Lieutenant Vermillion muttered at the same time. Did Major Treadwell damage a weapon when he was alone in the bomb bay?

When she got back there, they discovered he had damaged several gravity bombs and broke the fin on a SGM-199 missile. The Space to Ground Missile was a deadly accurate weapon, but it had a small warhead. They did little damage to large ships. The bent fin was easily replaced, but forward, on the #3 launcher which held various non-propelled weapons, Treadwell had a field day on the gravity weapons, cutting arming wires and removing fuses. Four nose fuses were removed from the weapons and they floated freely in the bomb bay. Two of them were partially disassembled. The fuses are actually explosive charges that set off the larger body of the bomb. "He had a fuse booster on him when he was caught," said Gunnery Sergeant Briscoe.

"Ok, let's get a team in here to clean up and get the bomb bay ready to rotate the launchers," said Pandora. The launchers are large rotary devices that stick up through the top of the bomb bay. Empty launcher positions can be reloaded in the maintenance facility above the bomb bay.

"Your plan ma'am?"

"We'll rotate and inspect every weapon on the launcher. Fix the weapons he damaged and if we can't fix them, we'll replace them. How many HS-109s do we have in back stock?"

"Two, ma'am." The HS-109 was a guided 2,000 lbs bomb covered with thermal tiles which would prevent it from burning up in a hypersonic drop through Earth's atmosphere, and a standard drop on Venus. It had a superior guidance system and was Pandora's weapon of choice.

"I only need one, but let's get as many operational as we can." They made one more sweep of the bomb bay looking for floating debris, then headed back into the bomber, where they would change out of their pressure suits and go to the weapons maintenance area above the bomb bay.

Before she went upstairs, she drifted into the bridge to brief the captain. "Colonel Marquette, I need to take launchers three and four offline for inspection and maintenance."

Colonel Marquette frowned. They didn't carry launchers in the forward bomb bay; they left that open for special operations. There's even a scooter and a jeep (large scooter) in there. He looked at the young lieutenant and said, "Everyone works. I want us FMC in two hours."

"Aye-aye, sir."

"Oh, and get a spread of GTS units ready."

Pandora smiled. She's been aching to release one of these new Ground Troop Simulators, just to see what they'll do. "I have a rack of four ready to drop. Just tell me where, sir."

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

RSS Lucid Dawn, July 18, 2142

Entering Mars Orbit

Captain Ed Monahan was proud of his crew. The run from Armstrong went off without a hitch, not counting the almost late arrivals at launch. The navigator and helmsman were working together for the past four hours, developing a landing approach plan to Zhang Spaceport, Perseverance City. "What do you have, Mister Kellogg?" asked the Captain.

"We will enter high Mars orbit in twenty-five hours. We estimate with one half G deceleration we will be able to penetrate the atmosphere in eight orbits."

Captain Monahan nodded his approval. He had estimated that same approach last month.

"Sir, the Martians are here. They would like to speak with you," said the executive officer, Mr. Sparks.

"Ah, my card sharps. How may I help you?"

Spaceman Apprentice Johnson and Spaceman Davis entered the bridge, which was more spacious than military space craft. "We didn't cheat, sir," said Greg. "The term card sharp means to cheat at the game."

"We played against people who weren't up to our level," said Lisa. "We beat them fair and square."

"You're both planetary level poker players," said Captain Monahan, whose entire crew was broke thanks to these two.

"No sir, on Mars we're just average," said Greg.

"Chess is our game," said Lisa.

"I tried to warn your crew," said Petty Officer Cernan, who entered the bridge with Lieutenant Kavandi. "Martians take cards and board games to a different level than Earthers. We don't have mass media on Mars to distract us."

"Are you here to give my crew their money back?" asked Captain Monahan.

"They are welcome to try to win it back," said Lisa. Greg nodded in agreement.

"No. We will file this under lessons learned. How can I help you?"

"We want to get married," said Greg. "We know that on vessels underway, you can legally perform the ceremony."

"I'm going to have a baby!" said Lisa happily.

"Don't you two believe in birth control?" asked Captain Monahan.

"Yes!" said Lisa happily.

"It's going to be born in January!" said Greg with a proud smile.

Captain Monahan looked at Gene and Janet for help. Janet was trying to stifle her laughter and Gene said, "They didn't warn you about us Martians, did they?"

"I guess not," said Captain Ed. "What did I miss?"

"First, if you're going to play against Martians, play checkers."

"Checkers sucks," said Lisa.

"Kid's game," agreed Greg.

"Second," continued Gene, "Rebuilding the population is top priority and when you get a couple of Martians who love each other like these two... you can see what I mean."

"I've been trying to tell them that a ship's captain can't perform marriage ceremonies," said Janet.

"She's right," said Captain Monahan. "A ship's captain cannot perform marriages when underway or in port."

"We weren't asking you to do it as a captain," said Lisa.

"You're an ordained Unitarian minister," said Greg.

"Hmmm, you figured that out, did you?"

"Mister Sparks, let us know," said Greg.

"We might as well get it done now, before we start our deceleration burn," said Lisa brightly.

"She's studying to get a license to pilot ships," said Greg proudly.

"Let's go to the cafeteria and have us a wedding," said Captain Monahan. "Mister Sparks, you have the bridge."

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

Location unknown, Date unknown

Prisoner Status

Anna woke up sick again. It wasn't the usual sick, which was coughing and shivers from the cold, humid climate. This was unexplained nausea. She had no idea how long she was locked up, but she was sure of one thing: she hadn't had a period since her capture. The fundamental question was "Am I going to die?" but it became "How long will it be before I feel my baby move?"

The idea of having a child was never something that appealed to Anna. It would impede flying fighter spacecraft. Anna was a hot shot dual qualified pilot/RIO with a triple ace. She used lesbianism as her birth control and loved other woman pilots. She didn't want a baby... until now. The thought of a new life living happily in her womb soothed and calmed Anna. She wasn't alone; she had someone to talk to, and she was happy until she thought, will they let me keep it?

Suddenly she wanted this baby. Yes, it was a product of rape after rape to the point where she doesn't care anymore, but this baby is hers. She's no longer alone. She'll teach the baby to speak Spanish, and English, and Martian. She had to laugh at that. Martian has been described as English with all the joy removed, but the grammar is easier. Then she softly sang the lullaby that her mother sang to her in the mountains of Columbia as she rubbed her tummy.

Duérmete mi niño

que tengo qué hacer

Lavar los pañales,

sentarme a coser...

If it's a girl, I'll name her Tasha, and if it's a boy, I'll name him Alan, she decided as she wrapped her sole blanket around her shivering, naked body. For now, she'll call the baby Poco Menear, Little Wiggle. It was almost time for questioning and this time maybe it won't be so bad. This time, Poco Menear will go with her. Little Wiggle will be there to comfort her.

"I love you Poco Menear. I can't wait to see if you're an Alan or a Tasha."

Far above Anna, a cone-shaped object was blazing down through the atmosphere, its composition and shape preventing the huge flames that were normally a product of a rapid re-entry. Winglets guided it down through the sky and into the inky blackness of the early morning. It slammed down into a wet rice paddy five miles west of the huge gray cube where Anna was being held. The cone drove seven yards into the mud and clay and rested. A second cone slammed into a bamboo forest six miles north of that. Moments later, two more cones landed several miles east of Dandong city itself. An hour later, antennae that were designed to look like organic branches emerged from the narrow craters made by the cone shaped objects.

They began to talk to each other. They synchronized their locations and programming, then they quietly waited for their orders.

In the city of Dandong, the very early risers heard four sonic booms, one after another, and it did little to stir up their curiosity. Across the river in Cheolsan, they are always launching something. Some of the greatest rockets and missiles are made right over there.

<><><><><>

Mr. Chingu eased out of his barn and shook his landlord's hand. "Sorry Mr. Park, but I am going home tonight. Thank you for renting me a sleeping space in your barn."

"You go home to Mars?

Mr. Chingu was shocked. "How did you know I'm from Mars?"

"You tall and boring. Everyone tall and boring is from Mars."

Mr. Chingu laughed and patted him on the back. "You are very wise, Mr. Park." Then he walked into the little village of Yizhou and sat in his usual seat at Hyeon's Kitchen as Mr. Hyeon poured him a stout cup of coffee. "What is for breakfast this fine Sunday, Mister Hyeon?" asked Mr. Chingu.

"Maybe should read first," said Mr. Hyeon as he handed Mr. Chingu a fresh copy of Mars Today.

"I'll look later. I'm starving."

Mr. Hyeon gave Mr. Chingu a disapproving look. "Eat now. All I have is dried squid. Eat after reading. I have Kimchi rice bowl."

"You're killing me, Mr. Hyeon," said Mr. Chingu, who loved Mr. Hyeon's kimchi rice bowl for breakfast. "I'm reading, I'm reading. Bring on the Kimchi Rice." He opened up the newspaper and glanced at the scores... The Chess world was still buzzing about a pair of young Martians that faced each other in the Trinity Base Chess championship - but they both resigned halfway through the game and ran off. How weird! The Chess Pages were filled with speculation where they ran off to and why. They were last seen on the Armstrong Station shuttle, but nobody can find them on Armstrong Station. "Said one bystander, 'they were quite young for chess masters, maybe their parents had them on a curfew.'" The article showed the position of the pieces in the game they left behind. "Hmmm," said Mr. Chingu. "Black has checkmate in five moves..."

"Is that good?" said Mr. Hyeon, who made no move to get Mr. Chingu's breakfast.

"It is if you're playing black, but... white is pretty crafty himself. These kids are awesome..." Alan wasn't much of a player, but he appreciated a good match. He and his older sister Christa played together often, but he preferred the Asian chess like game of Shogi. It's considered more challenging than chess, but there was no Shogi news in the sports section. He flipped to the personal ads and saw one that made his blood run cold.

"Gogo -

Sorry about the misunderstanding last night

I fired the messenger.

Please call home. Mom and dad are waiting.

- Smartie"

Did somebody post a personal to him using his sister Christa's childhood nickname? Or did Christa post it herself? Mr. Hyeon placed his ancient phone on Alan's table, then went into the kitchen to make him breakfast.

<><><><><>

Estelle Schirra and her husband, Wally, were a little bleary from lack of sleep. They finally got into bed after a whirlwind day and there came a knock at their door. Wally slipped on a bathrobe and slippers and answered the door to find a marine standing and waiting for him to answer. "What is it, sergeant?" asked Wally.

"I apologize, sir, but you're needed at the CIC. An Alpha message just came in."

"Copy, let me get my ID." Wearing a navy bathrobe and slippers, Captain Schirra journeyed to the nearest elevator and sailed up to the Combat Information Center. On a wagon wheel style space station, it's always easiest on the psyche to consider the hub as 'up' no matter where you're at in the station. The last message from Alpha demanded that they send Commander Rhea Seddon to the Arcturus, and the doctor just got there a few hours ago.

At the Combat Information Center, Wally showed his ID card, scanned his fingerprint and had his retina scanned before he was allowed inside. In the darkened nerve center of the Seventh Fleet, the room was illuminated by terminal monitors, radar screens, and plexigraph maps and status boards. He made a quick glance at the ship's position board and saw the Lucid Dawn nearing the halfway point of its journey to Mars.

"Sir, here is the message that came for you. We just finished transcribing it." The naval lieutenant handed Wally a folder that was marked "Classified Top Secret - Alpha." He opened the folder and read the text on the flimsy yellow paper.

Iota -

Rho will call, accept the charges.

Find out where he wants to work on the house. Basement? Front porch?

Relay his answer to ZR44 ASAP.

- Alpha

Wally looked at the ship designation board and saw that the code ZR44 was this week's code name for the Arcturus. "Thank you," said Wally, and he handed the folder back to the lieutenant. "File this as usual." This single hard copy is the only decoded copy of Alpha's message, and as usual it will be destroyed in 30 days along with the original transcript of the RTTY message.

Wally returned to bed, and he was exhausted, but Estelle was worked up. "What did Alpha want?"

"Alpha said that Alan is going to call again, this time accept the call and find out where he wants to work on the house. Like the front porch or the basement. Then to relay his answer to Colonel Marquette immediately."

Estelle thought about it for a moment and then said, "He's going to grab her soon, isn't he?"

"Yeah, there was some fuckup out there and his plans got changed... it looks like Alpha has taken control of the op."

"When he calls, let me handle it," said Estelle. She's already decided that if it was the NCIS agent on the Arcturus that caused this, she was going to space him. She's tired of NCIS agents from other regions screwing up. She wanted to show the other regions how to maintain discipline.

The call came a couple of hours later when the phone rang in their bedroom. A flashing light on the phone showed it was Estelle's office number that was being called. "Captain Schirra's office, this is..."

"We have a collect call for Laurel or Harrison Scarlett," said an operator.

"We will accept the charges operator."

"Mom, it's Gogo. Smartie told me to call you."

"Oh, Gogo, it's so good to hear your voice! We have had so much work piling up around the house since you left. Where do you want to start? Front porch? Back door? ..."

Alan figured it out in a second. How did his sister set this up? He almost chuckled. "I'm going to start with the roof. Dad said there's a big old hole in the roof."

The roof? What the hell is he up to? Estelle thought of the designs of the building as Wally listened in on the extension. He had an idea where Anna was being held. "Yeah, there's a leak in the southeast corner," said Wally. "Don't worry, if you need any help we have the neighbors to help too."

"Thanks dad. I'm going to pack my things and be home as soon as possible. Bye."

"Alan!" cried Estelle before he could hang up. "We love you."

"I love you too."

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Maryborough Salvage Yard, July 21, 2142

Home Made Rocketry

Unknown to Anna, the cone shaped objects that slammed into the ground around her prison began radiating radio traffic a few moments after Captain Schirra called Colonel Marquette on the Arcturus. Colonel Marquette in turn sent a signal to the four embedded devices, and they started radiating fake radio chatter that made the uneducated listener believe that there was a ground operation underway. General Chang ordered his air cover to concentrate on sweeping over the forests and jungles, looking for the attacking forces.

An enormous crowd gathered at the Maryborough Salvage yard because that crazy guy, Dwayne Styles, said he was going to light up the boosters on his home made rocket and make it look like he was going to fly. He even had a huge countdown clock that ticked off the time to ignition in two-foot-tall numbers like back in the good old days. Nobody saw Dwayne anywhere, and most people guessed he had slept in and wasn't going to show up.

Alan Scarlett had slept fitfully in the cockpit of the "Crossfire Voyager" and set an alarm to wake him at T minus 30 minutes. He didn't need to do that. The fuel pumps charging up the first stage with liquid oxygen and liquid propane woke him. He was dressed in sneakers, blue jeans, and a warm sweater that Mr. Hyeon's wife knit him. There wasn't storage to pack personal items, and he didn't want to leave the sweater behind, so it became his flight suit. He was so worried about weight he didn't bother to steal a pressure suit. He was the most casual spaceman in the Navy.

The Crossfire Voyager was a homemade replica of a Longmarch 332 three stage missile. The first stage of the Longmarch 332 was a cluster of booster engines, which was easy to reproduce considering the number of spent boosters in orbit. Five boosters surrounding a sixth central booster looked exactly like the first stage of the Crossfire Voyager. The second stage was a reaction mass booster from a deep space satellite that failed to light and was stuck in orbit. Alan brought the satellite and the booster back. The satellite was in perfect shape and made Brian Pavlich a rich man. The booster failed to ignite because the safety pins that kept it from firing on the ground were never removed before launch. The third stage was the cockpit and escape pod from a Western Alliance XF-303 fighter that failed in orbit. It wasn't hard to fix, and the booster rockets had 30 seconds' worth of fuel. Alan double-checked his plan and he should have more than enough fuel to get into orbit.

He watched his status indicators carefully; he didn't have any form of launch control to inform him of issues with a system that he wasn't able to wire to the cockpit of the escape pod, so he had to guess what was going on below him. He watched his liquid oxygen tanks come up to pressure, his liquid propane tanks fill up. His first stage was as ready as it will ever be. The reaction mass tanks on the second stage were cooling to within freezing, but they weren't cooling fast enough. He can't hold everything up for warm reaction mass (distilled water), he'll have to go with "warm" water. +3°C is acceptable, but not great.

Finally, with one minute before launch, everything grew quiet. He didn't have external cameras, so he couldn't see the enormous crowd that was now assembled and was chanting in their native languages, the countdown to zero.

With a bellowing roar, the chemical rockets of the first stage lit and the Crossfire Voyager shuddered and roared. Then, to everyone's surprise, it slowly climbed into the sky. The crowd went crazy as it gained speed. The age of the backyard mechanic has returned! Only the central booster was firing. The remaining five had their work cut out for them later.

The rocket rose gracefully, then the rocket began to sway, the rocket motor gimbaled side to side, trying to correct the sway. At one point, it looked like it was going to flip upside down and plunge nose first into the Yalu River, but somehow it corrected itself, even though he was on the wrong side of the river. The swaying stopped when the motors stalled. The Crossfire Voyager plunged tail first into enemy territory, the reaction thrusters firing, keeping the nose pointed straight up.

Then, at about 200 feet from the roof of the "Reeducation Center," the main thrusters kicked in with a bang, jerking him to a stop on the roof of the huge gray cubical. The troops that should have been guarding the roof were in the field looking for ground troops that were merely recorded electronic noise being played back by hidden GTS devices, Ground Troop Simulators. Alan unbuckled his five-point harness (stripped from a ground racing vehicle) and got ready to open the canopy. His plan was to get out, climb down the ladder rungs he welded to the outside of the Crossfire Voyager, then cut a hole in the building's roof with the cutting torch he had brought.

That's when the roof collapsed beneath the Crossfire Voyager.

With a shuddering crunch, the rocket sank ten feet into the building and stopped with a jerk. "Cheap fucking commie buildings," Alan cursed, then he looked to his left and realized he could open the canopy and step out onto the roof now. He reached for the canopy release lever when a series of cracking noises were heard and with another crunch; he dropped another ten feet, and he was now looking at a crumbling masonry wall.

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Anna was awakened by a roaring noise and the smell of burning roofing tar. Then everything went quiet. There was a crunch and the wall across from her bulged and the plaster fell off. She could now see that the wall wasn't poured concrete, it was concrete blocks. She stood and holding her blanket tightly around her; she walked up to the wall to see what happened. There was another sickening crunch, and the bricks fell inward toward her. More and more bricks fell inward, and she saw a man in a purple flight helmet covered with cement dust. She shrieked in horror and backed away, but the man said in English, "Lieutenant Vasquez! We have an oh-dark thirty takeoff this morning. Let's go!"

Eyes wide in horror and shock, she shook her head 'no', but the man advanced on her. Anna scooted back as far as she could, but she was jammed up in her little corner and she couldn't go anywhere. She cowered, ready for the hit or the punch. She squeezed her eyes closed and protected Little Wiggle with her hands, ready for the attack. Instead, the tall man took off his helmet and whispered, "Come on darling," he said softly. "It's time to go home."

"Alan?" Her commander? Her pilot?

"Come on darling, I need you. I can't go without you."

"I... I..." she couldn't speak. She was so shocked that she dropped her blanket.

Then Alan was shocked at her condition, she was skin and bones. He knew every inch of her body from hours of sunbathing nude with her on vacation, from showering after combat on the McDivitt, and she had lost so much weight he was horrified. Her ribs were sticking out, her knees were knobs in the middle of two thin sticks, her breasts were gone. "Come on darling, you must be freezing." He took off his sweater and held the big fluffy sweater open for her, and she eagerly put it on.

"Oh, boss!" she wept as he scooped her up and carried her to the hole in the wall. She wrapped her arms around his neck and in the dusty gloom of the wrecked cell, he carried her over the pile of bricks and slid her into the RIO seat of the escape pod. It had a side by side cockpit which was perfect for keeping an eye on Anna.

"I'm just loaning you that sweater," he said as he helped her buckle in. "Mr. Hyeon's wife knit it for me." He buckled her in as she tucked her hair into the purple aviator's helmet that he brought for her. Then he took a wallet out of his pocket and tossed it over to the corner where Anna spent the last few months.

"There's a kiss for you, General Chang!" he shouted to the troops that were banging at the wrenched cell door. Then he pulled on his helmet and slid into the pilot's seat and slammed the cockpit canopy closed.

Anna gazed at the instruments in front of her, so familiar and at the same time so foreign. What was this thing they were in? She didn't have a stick, but the throttle quadrant was between them. Somehow, her mind switched from the horror she suffered and returned to her training. Fuel. Batteries. O2 levels. She scanned the instrument panel. She had no radar, no electronic counter measures, no bombing computer, no guns. How is she expected to fly this thing without the essentials? What a piece of junk!

Alan buckled in and went through the startup procedure, bringing the Crossfire Voyager online. Their propane tank was almost 75% full, but his stomach churned when he saw his oxygen and nitrogen tanks were empty. They must have been punctured when they fell through the roof. His second and third stage look good, however. He brought the second stage online, and he started a version of the litany she's heard a hundred times. "It's two hundred miles to orbit. Our first stage is exhausted and our batteries are nearly dead. We've got half a pack of cigarettes. It's dark, and we're wearing sunglasses."

She had no idea where that recitation came from, but he said it every time the odds were stacked against them, and somehow they pulled through. Through her tears of joy and confusion, Anna pointed to the windscreen and said, "hit it."

Alan threw a few more switches, then he inched the four throttle quadrants forward. There was a screaming as the mass drivers kicked in and the mass reactors roared to life.

A squad finally broke down the door to Anna's cell and stepped in and saw the vast hole in the wall. There was something moving in that hole, moving up fast. Then the hole was full of flames and the cell filled with hot, smothering exhaust gas. The guards would have escaped that, but the propane tank in the first stage of the rocket that was wedged in the floors below exploded and the floor under the guards collapsed and part of the roof caved in and crushed them.

The gathered crowd at Maryborough Salvage were still talking with each other in confusion over the unexpected launch of the Crossfire Voyager. They were here to see a propane burning engine fire up and they got to see a rocket take off, lose control, then disappear into the Eastern Bloc. "Did you see that?"

"I knew it would never fly."

"I have it on video."

There was a roar behind them as Brian Pavlich and his crew minus one took off for the run to orbit in their salvaged UU-202 heavy lift shuttle. But a second roar from the north filled the air, and they looked and saw a streak of brilliant white flame shoot from the huge hated concrete cube and arc skyward.

"Is that Dwayne?"

"Is he running mass drivers in the atmosphere?"

"He's crazy!"

"He's doing it!"

The crowd cheered and shouted for their new hero.

Anna was crushed back in her seat and began whispering over and over, "Está bien poco menear. Nosotras vamos a casa." (It's ok little wiggle, we're going home.)

The little ship shuddered and shook as it blasted through Max Q, all the while he was shouting on the radio, "hit my badge! Hit my badge!"

In the warfare suite of the Arcturus, Sergeant Marcy Dunlop said, "I have it, but it's a weak lock. They must be in the basement or something."

On the bridge, Colonel Marquette was watching a tiny spaceship streak toward them on the Threat Warning Radar. "Use its last good location and make a hole."

"H-Sam is locked and ready," said Lieutenant Vermillion.

"You're clear to release," said Colonel Marquette.

"Bombs away," said Lieutenant Vermillion as the aft bomb bay door opened and the HS-197 hypersonic aerial munition released and dropped to earth. The bomb bay door closed quickly, and the Arcturus was once again invisible to ground-based radars.

On the frequency that the little spaceship was monitoring, Anna and Alan heard Sergeant Dunlop say, "Package is en route."

"How far up are we going, boss?" Anna asked as the sky darkened and the stars began to appear. She was just expecting a short hop for her flight to freedom.

Alan watched in horror as the reaction mass levels plunged. The warmer the mass is, the faster it's consumed to produce the same thrust. He cursed himself, and he cursed that bastard marine who rushed everything. They wouldn't be flying very much longer. He was still over fifty miles short of orbit. "Shit, I missed," said Alan.

"Missed what?"

"Our reception committee." He was twisting in his seat looking around, trying to see the bomber that was supposed to be here somewhere, but the single band radar set he had in the nosecone failed and they were blind. And then it was quiet. They were out of reaction mass and the four tiny reaction mass engines went silent.

Alan cursed at himself. He's got one stage left, but it was not enough. It was only designed to lift them away from a burning launch craft. He manually released the second stage and many of their instruments went blank as the second stage booster fell away. The single engine on the escape capsule burned for thirty seconds and lifted them a little higher, but not enough.

"I'm sorry Anna. I'm so sorry..." He kissed her hand and even that was just skin and bones. It won't matter, the escape capsule wasn't designed for a recovery from this high, the chutes were going to fail and they were going to make a crater in somebody's rice paddy.

"Sorry for what?"

"I was hoping we'd have enough gas to make orbit, but we're short by fifty miles and a thousand KPH." They arched over the top of their parabolic trajectory and soon they would fall to Earth. "I got you into this mess. I'm so sorry. I tried..."

"We're free," said Anna. "The three of us. That's what matters."

"Look what I found," came a call over the radio and with a jerk something grabbed them and as they watched, two gigantic doors closed over them and they found themselves in total darkness.

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A series of thrusters kept the bomb lined up on target as it headed into the atmosphere. The HS-197, an HSAM type weapon, a hypersonic aerial munition called by its handlers as an H-Sam and sometimes a Hyper Sonic Asshole Masher, was a 'powered gravity bomb' whose shielding kept the explosive content from detonating in the heat of re-entry. Small thrusters kept the weapon on target as it entered the atmosphere. When the heat of the friction with the thickening atmosphere burned away the thrusters, the built in fins and wings deployed to steer the bomb.

It was relentless. Once it had a lock on a signal, a lock on a heat source, or a lock on a geographic position, nothing stopped it. Much of its destructive energy came from its Mach 6 speed. The rest came from 765 pounds of high explosives wrapped in 1,435 pounds of steel and carbon alloy for a full metric ton of anger and vengeance.

"General Chang, this is all that was found in her cell," said the head of the guards as alarms blared through the shattered reeducation center. He handed General Chang the scorched and burned wallet that was found in Anna's cell.

The angry general opened the wallet and found an NCIS ID card and an NCIS badge. There was also a note tucked inside that General Chang opened up and read. When a youth, General Chang was educated at Oxford and was fluent in the guttural abomination that was called English and in English the note read, "Tell General Romanov that he's next."

He never got a response out. An object traveling at 4,450 miles per hour flashed past the aerial artillery that was supposed to shoot it down but was unmanned because the gunners were ordered to fight the attacking ground force that turned out to be fake radio signals from four Ground Force Simulators. It plunged through concrete and brick, seeking the RFID signal from that badge, and when it got within three meters, it exploded.

Across the river at the Maryborough Salvage yard, the party continued until the ear-splitting double BOOM! of a sonic boom filled the air and the crowd turned to the reeducation center and watched. It looked like the re-education center jumped a bit, then it sagged, and a corner collapsed. Smoke poured out of every crack and gap in the structure. Then the sound of an ear-splitting blast rolled across the Yalu River, and a cheer went up from the crowd. The re-education center was gone! A shattered hollowed-out shell. Destroyed before it could officially open and take in prisoners from all over the Eastern Bloc.

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A hatch opened up, giving Alan and Anna a little bit of light, then two figures wearing pressure suits ran a strap over the Crossfire Voyager and tightened it down. One of the two figures patted Alan's canopy and gave him a thumbs up while the other figure connected a metal wrapped hose to a fixture in the side of the Crossfire Voyager. "Our O2 levels are rising," said Anna as she watched a needle rise in the dark of the gloomy cockpit. "Who are those guys?"

"One was Brian Pavlich, the other was Cindy Lawson."

"But who are they?" The air lock door closed, and they were plunged into darkness again.

Alan shook his head slowly. "I worked with them. They're scrappers. We collected satellites, and I built this rig out of parts that I brought down."

"You built this?" asked Anna. She sounded like she was shocked.

"Yes."

"You built this out of spare parts you found in orbit?" now she sounded angry.

"Yes... hey, we know they worked."

Anna sniffed and leaned over, and their lips met. It was a gentle, tentative kiss, full of uncertainty and gratitude. When their lips parted, she smiled. "That was the best guy kiss I ever had."

"That was my best RIO kiss ever," said Alan, which amused Anna.

They held hands as they felt the Crossfire Voyager's carrier, the Maryborough, change orbits. There were tugs and jerks as the big shuttle lined up with... something. Eventually the cargo bay doors opened, and they looked up, not at stars but a cavernous ship's bay. Four spacemen in black pressure suits unstrapped the Crossfire Voyager from the Maryborough and hoisted her up into the bay. One of the spacemen held up a white board that said, "Wait while we pressurize the bay."

"Where are we going to go?" asked Alan.

"What do you mean?"

"Where do you want to go? I don't know if they'll let you back on active duty for a while."

"I liked Fiji," said Anna sadly. "I don't think I want to go back."

"Armstrong? Luna Prime? Camp Schmitt? Mars?"

"Where are you going?" asked Anna.

Alan sighed and patted her hand and said, "Leavenworth."

"No, really," she said. "Where are we going?"

Alan knew he was going to Leavenworth or Upper Heyford Military Prison. The Navy takes AWOL seriously, and he's been gone for months. "I want to go back to the squadron. Maybe they'll let me fly. I hope they made Rob Overmyer the new commander."

"No, you're the commander," she whimpered. "It's your squadron." She was quiet a long time, then said, "Can I name my baby after you?"

"Hmmm?"

"I was..."

She bit her lower lip and Alan saw the emotional free fall she was in. He actually hates his name. Alan - it's too short. It's barely a nick name. His dad's name was awesome. Harrison. That's a name with pride, and syllables. But Anna was hugging his arm as tightly as she could. "If you have a boy, then by all means, yes."

"You saved me," she said in a tiny voice. "Me and Poco Menear."

"Little Nudge? Little Shake?"

"Little Wiggle!" she said. "When did you learn Spanish?"

"I had to learn. You sat behind me on how many missions calling me all kinds of creative things?"

There was a thumping on their canopy and they looked up and the spacemen in black pressure suits took off their helmets to show that the bay was pressurized. "It's going to be cold out there, Chica," said Alan. The spacemen's breath came in puffs. "Ready? Unbuckle first."

As soon as she was unbuckled, he unlocked the canopy and slid it back and the frigid air hit them like a hammer. The bomber crew watched in surprise as the two got out, both wearing helmets designed for in-atmosphere flying, but he didn't have a shirt on, just jeans and sneakers. She was bare legged and bare footed. Alan pushed off, and he guided Anna to the air lock where they cycled it properly so the spacemen could vent the bomb bay and get to work.

When the inner door opened, Commander Rhea Seddon, MD, was there waiting for them. "Anna!" she cried, and she hugged the young lieutenant.

"Rhea!" cried Anna and wept as they hugged.

"God, I am glad to see you," said Rhea, but Alan could tell that Rhea was shocked when she wrapped her hands around Anna's emasculated frame. "Oh baby, let's go check you out," gasped the doctor.

As Rhea led Anna away, a large man with thick black hair floated up to Alan and planted his Velcro covered boots on the deck, barring Alan from following Anna. Alan saw the eagles on the man's collar and said, "Permission to come aboard, sir?"

"Lieutenant Scarlett? You understand what I have to do." Alan nodded sadly and offered his wrists to the commander of the ship. "I don't want to do this but..." and as the handcuffs closed around Alan's wrists, there came a plaintive wail from Anna.

"NO! HE SAVED ME!"

"Anna please," whispered Alan, "Go with Rhea."

"NO! I'M NOT LEAVING." Anna wrapped her arms around Alan's arm "I WAS AWOL TOO! LOCK ME UP WITH HIM!"

"Anna, no, he's right, he's got a job to do," said Alan.

A marine tried to pull Anna away from Alan and she went wild. "DON'T TOUCH ME! GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME!" and she started screaming. Alan was only able to calm her down by putting his cuffed arms around her and whispering softly in her ear and soon she was shuddering and begging, "make them stop..."

Rhea turned to Colonel Marquette and said, "Sir, please release him into my custody. He's not going anywhere. I still need to examine him."

"Lieutenant, will you abide by the doctor's commands?"

"Aye-aye, sir."

"He's a lieutenant commander!" cried Anna. "Tell them you're a commander."

"Shhh... He's right, I was a brevet commander. I gave that away when I left." He tried to calm her, and her terror broke his heart. She was a strong, capable woman and was headed for recognition and command. Now she's a broken little girl. He wanted to go back and search the reeducation center for survivors and make them pay for what they did to her.

The colonel removed the handcuffs from Alan, allowing him to gently wrap his arms around Anna and stroke her hair. "I would like to debrief you when you get a chance," said Colonel Marquette.

"I would be happy to, sir... and sir? I'm not ducking my responsibility... but I need to help my RIO." He followed Anna to the medical cubicle that Rhea set up shop in. "I'll wait outside, just outside the door," said Alan.

Anna looked worried, but Rhea first looked at Alan and said, "What happened to your shoulder?"

"Huh? Oh that... Howard Burgman shot me there last year."

"Yeah, and I checked Doctor Lawrences work last year and your shoulder didn't look like half a pound of ground meat. What happened?"

Alan shrugged. "Old girlfriend," was all he offered as an explanation. The wound was from Noelani's knife and was never properly treated. Then he said, "Don't worry about me, take care of Anna's baby..." Rhea's eyes grew huge and Alan nodded. "She wants this baby," he whispered.

Rhea turned to Anna. "You're going to make a Martian?"

Anna cheered up immediately and nodded. "Uh huh! His name is Alan... or her name is Tasha."

"Let's check this out..." she drew some blood from Anna and it was difficult because she had lost so much weight. "You too, commander. Get in here."

"Yes, ma'am." Rhea drew several tubes of blood from Alan and placed them in the analyzer.

"Don't disappear," the doctor warned.

"I'm not going anywhere without my shadow," said Alan from out in the corridor.

Rhea took the readout from the analyzer and read it and tried to hide a frown. "Ok, according to your blood chemistry, you really are hiding a baby in there."

"I know!" said Anna, practically glowing. "I think I can feel him."

"It's too early to feel the baby move, honey."

"I can feel him sleeping. He likes it when I sing to him. He would cry when they..." she looked angry. "When they raped me. He wanted to be left alone."

Rhea decided to shift gears. "Ok, darling, I need you to put on some healthy weight. Healthy moms make healthy babies."

"Ok," said Anna cheerfully. After the swill they gave her in prison, the thought of food made her nauseous, but she had a reason to eat now. She'll get over her food aversion for little Alan... or Tasha.

"And sleep! When we are done here, I'm going to give you something to help you sleep. It won't hurt the baby." She whirled on Alan. "And you! Where's your shirt?" she saw his ribs sticking out and said, "When's the last time you ate?"

"Sunday."

"Why didn't you eat?"

"I had to buy liquid oxygen. My timetable got fucked up by some asshole on this ship." Alan pointed to Anna, who was cuddling the soft wool sweater that Alan gave her. "We'll talk. Don't worry about me, they'll feed me in Leavenworth. Fix her first doc."

"You're damn right we'll talk," she dragged Alan out into the corridor and said, "How dare you knock her up! I know Fiji is romantic, but we can deal with this baby..."

"It's not mine, commander," snarled Alan. "She was raped in prison. She asked me to be the child's father and to please the best RIO I've ever flown with; I will be that child's father."

"She was raped?" gasped Rhea. "I can..."

"Stop!" demanded Alan. "I know what you want to do, and I know you want to help, but have you ever dealt with CIT? Have you ever dealt with a Martian with CIT?"

"No, but Captivity Induced Trauma can be dealt with."

"Rhea, please. Until we find a CIT specialist, she's happy." Alan tugged the doctor further away. "You know how baby crazy the Lunas are? Martians are worse. We are born crazy about babies and are lectured our whole lives on rebuilding the Martian population with healthy babies. Keep her happy and keep the baby healthy. That's all I'm asking. Anna and I have had a rough year so far. Let us find our own peace."

"Both of you are riddled with infections and bacteria. It's going to take weeks to clear your systems," said Rhea. "It's like you were both locked up in the same hole."

Alan pursed his lips then said, "we were."

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Camp Schmitt, August 2, 2142

Big Bertha

Alan Scarlett went nowhere without permission. If he went anywhere on the Arcturus, it was always with Commander Rhea Seddon or Colonel Marquette's knowledge. He and Anna didn't stray far. They spent a lot of time reading and relaxing. Whether they knew it or not, they were under observation by several members of the crew. Alan wore his sweater and blue jeans because they didn't have a flight suit that would fit him. He was the tallest person on the Arcturus. The "Big A" remained in orbit, monitoring the reaction of the Eastern Bloc to Alan and Anna's escape.

Actually, they never mentioned an escape. They spoke about a missile launch that went off course and slammed into their new reeducation center, and they spoke about the death of the people's hero, General Chang. Rhea tried to question Alan about what happened, but he said, "Please, just keep Anna healthy."

They spent most of their time in the "Captain's Apartment" at the aft end of the ship, generally reading and sometimes playing Shogi or chess. Being fliers, they could feel the changes in the Arcturus' orbit. "What are they doing?" asked Anna.

"They just parked at Camp Schmitt," said Alan, without looking up from the magnetic chess board. "Have you decided what you want to do?"

"That's a dumb question. I'm a flier. I fly."

"You're a mother. You moth." That started Anna giggling for the first time in five months. "I'm serious darling, you can't sit in the back seat with a mass reaction motor and two active laser emitters right behind that skinny ass of yours. You'll cook that baby."

"I know," she moaned.

"I want you as a trainer, however," said Alan. "I will not waste that triple ace. If we can get a simulator up, you can use gun camera footage and recordings of our combat missions and train perspective RIOs and chauffeurs."

That got another laugh out of Anna. 'Chauffeur' is the nickname the RIOs call the pilots. "How are we going to do that?"

"I got an RTTY from Gene Cernan. He's got two strikers that he's going to salvage for parts. Maybe he can make something out of them."

"Yeah," she said as she took a bishop from Alan. "Just tell him it can't be done and watch him do it. You suck at chess. Check."

"Damn. You're right on both counts."

"Lieutenant Scarlett?" asked a marine as he peered into the Captain's apartment.

"COMMANDER Scarlett," snapped Anna. "Checkmate."

"Damn!" said Alan, as he reviewed the board. "What is it, private?"

"He's a sergeant," said Anna as she reset the board.

"Sir, there's a shuttle here to take you to Camp Schmitt."

"Let me get all my stuff together." He picked up a pen and put it in his pocket, then he took off his borrowed Velcro boots and put on his sneakers. "Ok, I'm packed." Then he got up to follow the sergeant, and Anna followed him.

"Ma'am, this is only for the L... Commander." He reached out to touch Anna, and she recoiled and hid behind Alan.

"Sergeant, don't touch. If there's room for Lieutenant Vasquez on the shuttle, she's coming as my liaison officer."

"And if there's not?"

"Then we wait for a larger shuttle."

Lieutenant Vermillion appeared behind the sergeant and said, "I'll go with and help with Lieutenant Vasquez." When Anna looked at her with questions in her eyes, Pandora said, "They will not need a bombardier until we pull out, so Colonel Marquette asked me to help."

The two marines and the two Berserkers drifted to the center air lock where a small shuttle was connected, and Colonel Marquette waited. "It was good to have you aboard," said the Colonel, and he shook hands with Alan. "You conducted yourself here with honor and what you did down on earth took some serious balls."

Alan shrugged. "She's my RIO. It's my job."

"Did you really build that ship by yourself?"

Alan nodded. "I had to. I couldn't afford a new one."

Colonel Marquette chuckled and said, "Don't let the bastards wear you down, commander."

"Fair winds and following seas, Colonel," said Alan, reciting an ancient sailor's farewell, and they went through the air lock into the small shuttle where Rhea Seddon was waiting for them and they strapped into their seats.

Camp Schmitt was a wagon wheel space station, and it was 100% Marine. All Marine heavy bombers and troop transports worked out of there and Marine ground forces were headquartered there. It was not unusual to have up to eight Marine units running in formation around the "Earth Ring" at the same time. The camp had three rings, and each one simulates the gravitational pull of Earth, Mars, and Luna.

Alan and Anna were escorted to the Mars ring where they were given quarters near each other, but when Anna showed up at Alan's room with tears in her eyes, he said, "Come on in." They spent the evening sitting quietly, reading at the small round table. The room had a single bed and Anna found peace in sleeping next to the wall with Alan lying next to her, guarding her from any threat.

For breakfast, they went to the Officer's Club on the Earth Ring but were denied access because neither had an ID card and Alan didn't have a uniform. His Martian modified naval uniform was not available on Camp Schmitt, and even if it was, he had no access to his money... neither of them had an ID card, and their pay was linked to that card. They were allowed to start a tab and order a bowl of oatmeal to go, so in protest, they took their disposable bowl of oatmeal ten feet and they ate with plastic spoons sitting on the floor outside of the club.

"Who the hell are you?" roared an officer in a flight suit.

"Scarlett, Alan B. Lieutenant JG," said Alan as he jumped to his feet. They had just gotten their oatmeal and Anna just took a spoonful.

"Lieutenant Commander," corrected Anna like she did every time.

"Bullshit," said the officer. "Every squid in a flight suit on this camp claims to be Alan Scarlett. What's your father's name? Who's your commander?"

"Harrison. My mother was Laurel. My sister was Christa. They're all gone. I have only my Uncle Ray left."

"The real Alan Scarlett would know that his sister's not dead."

"She's in Saskatchewan," said Alan with a deadpan expression. "Same thing."

"Well, if you're not Scarlett, you have his balls. Why are you sitting on the floor of my camp?" demanded the officer.

"We're not allowed to eat in the club and we like our food warm."

"I take it you are Lieutenant Anna Vasquez?" When she nodded and cowered behind Alan, the marine officer softened. "It's ok lieutenant. I understand. I'm General Rafferty. Both of you follow me." He took their bowl of gruel away and led them into the club. He handed the oatmeal to a waiter and said, "Do something with that." Then he put his fists on his hips and roared, "LISTEN UP!"

The packed officer's club went silent. In a bellowing voice that could have woken the dead, he thundered, "This is Commander Scarlett and his RIO Lieutenant Vasquez. Outnumbered eight to one, they fought their way from the asteroid belt all the way to Mars, where single handedly Scarlett and Vasquez stopped an Eastern Bloc invasion of the Martian colonies..."

General Rafferty glared at his marines and shouted, "If that's not badass enough, when Lieutenant Vasquez was captured, Commander Scarlett went AWOL, built a rocket with his own two hands, flew in and grabbed her and flew out to where the Marine Bomber Arcturus was waiting. THAT'S the kind of leadership I want out of you people! Mission complete! Nobody left behind!"

"OOO RAH!" shouted the marines in unison.

"As you were!" He turned to Anna and softly said, "Would you do me the honor of joining me at my table?" and he extended his arm to her.

"Yes sir," she said softly, and she nervously put her hand on his arm and the general led them to his table at the back of the club. There was a reserved table waiting for General Rafferty, and they sat down to eat. "Commander Scarlett, have you met Admiral Peak? He's sitting right over there." Admiral Peak was the Vice CINC NAV, the second highest placed officer in the navy.

"No sir, but I believe he is the Convening Authority on my court martial. It's an honor to be boned by such a prestigious pencil pusher." Then, without a pause, he turned to the waitress and said, "I'll have the western omelet and coffee. She'll have the steak medium rare with two eggs, over easy, hash browns, a side of biscuits and gravy, coffee, orange juice, and milk."

"Are you really going to eat all that?" asked the general, to a nervous Anna.

"She had better," said Alan. "She lost a lot of weight in prison."

"So did you!" she almost shouted. "I'm eating for two," she added softly.

"Oh? Who's the lucky man?" asked a Marine lieutenant colonel who joined them.

"Commander Scarlett, this is Colonel Dale Snyder, my chief of staff," said General Rafferty.

Alan glared at the other table where the man who was working to put him in prison sat. "I promised Anna that I would fulfill the role of a father for the baby... no other promise has made me happier."

Lieutenant Colonel Snyder looked surprised. "It's rare to find someone so noble these days."

"We aren't Earthers, we are Martians," said Alan. "It's our nature. We love our children and we're trying to rebuild the population that Earth's wars took from us. Now, if we could get the Earth to pay back the water they took from us, we might have a chance to survive."

As their food arrived, Anna's eyes grew enormous as she saw her breakfast. It was more food than she would get in two weeks of captivity. She's never had a breakfast like this and gasped, "I don't know where to start."

"For you, Lieutenant, I suggest starting with the potatoes," said the General, now sounding like a kindly grandpa. "You need to build up your body and the carbohydrates are stored energy. Your baby will need you to share that with her. And you need your protein so your eggs and meat are next, and I think little Tasha will enjoy the biscuits and gravy. It's what I grew up on." He smiled at her from under his silver mustache and she giggled and tried the hash browns.

Colonel Snyder tasted a bit of his omelet then said to Alan, "I take it you don't like Earth."

"No colonel, I love Earth. It's beautiful, and it's so easy to live there. You can breathe anywhere, and there's water to spare. It's the Earthers that I can't stand."

"What do you have against Earthers?" asked the general's chief of staff.

"Besides Earth taking three quarters of our male population and slaughtering them as cannon fodder while stealing three quarters of our water reserves to fuel their warships? That's before my time. I personally have a hard time with Earthers because a cadre of them forced my parents to build a doomsday weapon. Then they killed my parents to keep them quiet, and they killed one hundred and twenty other Martians along with them to cover up their murder. They killed my Aunt Tammy and cousin Shiela along with thirty other Martians to test their weapon. Then the Earthers try to get that weapon and I had to kill dozens of earthers and drop an atomic bomb on my home world to keep their hands off of it. Then, as I enjoyed a well-deserved rest in a tropical paradise, Earthers tried to kill me and they kidnapped my partner. I lived in a barn and ate scraps for months as I worked to get her free and the fucking Earther navy brass just sat there and watched and did nothing."

"That's right," said Anna around a mouth full of hash browns. "Those guys really sucked."

"They were working diplomatically, behind the scenes."

"They did nothing while my RIO was being beaten and raped."

"That was the Eastern Block," snapped the lieutenant colonel.

"They're still Earthers," said Alan as he sipped his coffee. "This is Earth's best product," he sighed. Then he turned to the general. "Why are you defending the Western political monkeys? Some of the Eastern Bloc space force earned my respect. They acted like men. Real men. With testicles. They came at me with guns and knives," said Alan, as he calmly buttered a piece of toast. "They stood in front of me and dared me to fight them. They didn't take the coward's way and sneak up from behind and stab me in the back with a court martial for rescuing my people."

Colonel Snyder wound up to verbally assault Alan, but the General stopped it. "NO SHOP TALK," demanded General Rafferty. "We will keep a civil table for little Tasha."

"Yes, sir. I apologize," said Alan. He turned to Anna and said, "I'm sorry, and I hope little Tasha understands." Then he turned to the general's chief of staff. "I love Mars. I intend to die for Mars. I won't apologize for my love of my home or my disgust for the actions of some, but I apologize for the way I expressed it," and he went back to eating.

"You just politely told me to go fuck myself in the middle of an apology," said Lieutenant Snyder with a huge grin. "Good on ya kid, you have a future in the Naval officer's corps."

Anna leaned over and whispered to Alan, "stop talking about dying, you're scaring little Alan."

Alan couldn't help it, he would occasionally have a dream where he was captured like Anna and being questioned... tortured... He would wake up in a cold sweat wanting to scream but Anna would be there somewhere, in bed, sleeping in the recliner, or sleeping in the corner if the nightmares came to her too. Alan always knew when that would happen because she would steal his blanket.

"Is there anything I can do for you two while you are here?"

Alan shrugged. "There's not much you can do but feed us. We don't have our ID cards, so we can't join the club. We have no access to our pay checks, so we can't buy our food or our uniforms ... you don't have Martian Naval uniforms anyhow."

"Where's your ID card?" asked the General.

"I mailed it to Captain Schirra... long story."

"Tell me," said the General, a smile appearing under his bushy mustache.

Alan said, "It's a really long story and I have to go see my lawyer. Are you going to be called to testify at my court martial?"

He thought for a moment, then said, "possibly."

Immediately Anna yanked her arm away from the General. She was beginning to like him and Alan thought he saw a bit of pain cross the general's eyes when she pulled away. "Anna, it's ok. If he gets called, he has to answer questions. He can only answer what we tell him."

"I was starting to like him!" she insisted.

"They're going to call you too."

"No... NO! I won't go..." she panicked, and Alan had a hard time calming her down.

"I want you to testify. I want them to know what they did to you. I want them to know how brave you are."

"I'm not brave. Little Wiggle is brave," she finally said.

"Little Wiggle?" asked the general.

"The baby," said Alan.

"MY baby," she insisted, and she cut her leftover steak up into small pieces so she could eat it back in the room.

"Why are you cutting it up?" asked General Rafferty.

"We don't have any cutlery and we don't know where our next meal is coming from," she said. "This is probably supper. Alan started a tab so we could at least eat breakfast."

"I can probably find some leftover pouches from MREs," said Alan.

"Have you reported your ID cards missing?" asked General Rafferty.

"They're not missing. Captain Schirra has them," said Alan. "We went to Pass & ID, and they ran a check on them and they said, 'Captain Schirra has custody of them.'"

"How did he get mine?" asked Anna.

"I made sure they brought your sea bag from the cabana when they arrested me," said Alan.

"What did they arrest you for?" asked Anna. She suddenly realized there was a lot of story she hadn't heard.

"I don't know. They cuffed me, took me to jail, questioned me for hours while the Eastern Bloc operatives got away with you, then they dropped me off at NAS Guam."

"Well, he'll be here late tomorrow," said the General, which caused Anna and Alan to frown. Not only do military ID cards have an RF ID inside so they could be tracked, but they are also the spaceman's method of accessing his pay. His paycheck is deposited in an account and his ID card is linked to that account. General Rafferty realized the mess they were in. "You've been on this station two full days. How many meals have you eaten?"

"Counting this one?" asked Anna. "Two."

He held his hand up and snapped his fingers, creating a loud crack which brought the maître 'd over to their table. General Rafferty said, "Give them each a gold guest card."

"Very good, sir."

The fellow walked off and General Rafferty said, "It's my club, I make the rules." He then said to Colonel Snyder, "Dale, could you excuse us?"

"Yes sir," and Colonel Snyder left the table.

"I've been talking with Captain Schirra and Director Sanguine of the NCIS," he said softly. "This station is crawling with Eastern Bloc agents. Just the fact that you are being court martialed when you should be promoted is clue enough."

"And?" prompted Alan.

"We are going to treat you like you were a walking case of syphilis. We're hoping to draw them out and make their move. I need you to carry an audio module and a minicam at all times. Trust no one that's not a Martian, and suspect them too. Give the audio module and camera to your real defense attorney, not this hambone the navy assigned you. Copy?"

Anna looked around, terrified, but Alan smiled. "Operation Payback sir?"

"It's more like Operation Backstab," said the General. "All I can tell you is that my fliers are clean. As for the rest of the meatheads that Naval HQ gave me, I wouldn't trust them with a case of the clap. Can you help me clean this place up?"

"It would be an honor sir... who is my real defense attorney?" asked Alan, but the maître 'd came back and ended the planning session. He handed the general two gold cards, which the General signed, and handed to Alan and Anna. "Come here and get whatever you need whenever you need it... when's the last time you shaved, spaceman?"

"March... no February," said Alan.

"Shave."

"Awwww," said Anna. She rubbed the back of her knuckles on his beard. "He looks so cool."

"No razor." Alan shrugged helplessly.

"Ask your shyster for some money for a haircut and a shave."

"Speaking of shysters, I have to go see mine," said Alan. "I'll drop you off at Rhea's office on the way, Anna."

"If the lieutenant doesn't mind," said General Rafferty. "I would be happy to escort her to Doctor Seddon's office."

"Are you ok with that, sweetheart?"

"I think so," said Anna. The three rose and exited the club, and they made an interesting sight as they walked to the door. General Rafferty in his starched combat uniform, Anna in her borrowed flight suit that was a size too big, and Alan in his sweater, jeans and sneakers. Alan was worried about Anna but he saw that slim redheaded bombardier from the Arcturus fall in step with Anna and the General and Alan relaxed. She was in good hands. The redhead wasn't a Martian, but she was good people.

Alan headed over to the Staff Judge Advocate's office, then started the audio module that the General gave him. He walked in and announced himself. "Alan Scarlett to see Major Kennedy."

"He will be right with you," said the secretary. Alan looked at the clock on the wall. It was 8:55 AM, his appointment was scheduled for 9:00.

He found a copy of Mars Today and began reading. There were no personal ads for him, but there was an interview with someone who saw his mission. They described the way the rocket 'accidentally' launched, wove all over the early morning sky and crashed down on the 'hospital' roof, then exploded shooting the upper stage out over the Yellow Sea. "'he's probably dead,' one man said. 'But it was so cool!'"

"Great. I'm cool," he thought. Alan then pulled a law book down from a shelf and began to read. It was fascinating. At 9:45, he got up and walked softly to Major Kennedy's office and peered in. He was reading a comic book. It was the same thing he was doing yesterday when Major Kennedy was supposed to be discussing the court martial procedure with Alan.

He took a picture with a small camera he borrowed from Rhea, then went back to the book with a newfound eagerness to dig into it. It talked about how a lawyer conducts himself during a trial. He read for what seemed like fifteen minutes, but when he looked up at the clock, he saw it was 12:25 PM and Major Kennedy walked past him and as he passed the receptionist, he said, "I'm heading out to lunch."

"Is he going to the club for lunch?" asked Alan after Major Kennedy left.

"Yes, sir."

"Thank you. I'll bring this back," and he waved the book at the receptionist and left. He headed directly to the Officer's Club, and he peered into the club, but he couldn't see Major Kennedy.

"May I help you?" asked the hostess.

"I'm here for a quick lunch," he said, and he showed her his golden guest card. "I'm waiting for the Pass & ID office to come up with my papers."

"Follow me," she took a menu and led Alan to a table where three young marine officers were seated. They were clearly fliers. You didn't need to see their gold wings to see that because they "talked with their hands." Using their hands, they showed how they flew with or against somebody. "What do you do?" one asked Alan.

"I fly for the Navy. I've been on assignment for a few months," and he stroked his beard.

"General Rafferty is going to chew you out for that beard," laughed a marine captain.

"He already did," said Alan. "Yet at the same time he wouldn't loan me five bucks for a shave at the barbershop." That caused a lot of laughter. He was now one of the boys. They talked about flying and the marines complained that they joined because they saw all that swooping around in the movies, but in space you're trapped by Earth or Luna's gravity well. "When you get out of orbit, that's where the fun begins," said Alan.

"How far out did you go?" asked Marine Captain Don Slayton.

"About eight months ago, my squadron was out in the Asteroid belt."

"Bullshit. The only squadron that's been out that far is the Berserkers and the Werewolves."

"True, and the Werewolves got their asses grounded out there."

The marines were shocked. They heard that rumor and the rumor over the reasons were vast and varied. "Do you know why?" asked a marine whose ID tag read Gerry Carr.

Alan nodded as he sipped his water. "I grounded them."

"Bullshit! I call bullshit," said a Marine major. "There's probably five people on this station who know the reason, and you're not one of them."

"When their commander was gravely injured, they refused to respond to her trainee's call for help." Alan then ordered the open face beef sandwich and handed the menu to their waitress.

The major nodded his head. That's the story he heard at the Camp Schmitt CIC. "Why? Why would they do that?" asked Don Slayton.

"She was a luna, really gorgeous too," said Alan. "And she was only putting out for a Martian. That pissed her boys off and they refused to help, so I grounded most of them."

"YOU grounded them? I'm calling bullshit on that," said the Major.

"You're right. I went to the Wing King and said, 'I can't fly with cowards on my six.' He took six crews and moved them to the Berserkers and grounded the rest. However, four of those six were back on Mars."

"How do you know all this?" asked Gerry Carr.

"Remember how I said she was sleeping with a Martian?" He held his hands like he was going to describe two ships in a dog fight. The marine pilots leaned in, expecting to hear a flying adventure. "I'm that Martian."

"You're Alan Scarlett? Bullshit, half the squids on this base claim to be Alan Scarlett," said Don Slayton. In response, Alan pulled at the collar of his sweater and showed the scar from being shot and the three marines all nodded their heads. Everyone knows that Commander Scarlett was shot after he bombed Kōngchéng. "I want to fly with you," said Don Slayton.

"Look, I got a target painted on my back and I'm being court martialed next week. It's not worth it."

"I'm tired of flying trash haulers. I joined the Marines to fight, and they disbanded their last fighter squadron over Christmas," said Don.

"Are there any fighters here that we can take a hop in?"

"We have a few FB-719's. As fighters, they're pigs, but they're nice bombers."

"Let's take a couple of them out tomorrow," said Alan. "I have to prepare for my court martial today." He winked and got up. "I'll be right back. I need to say hi to a few people." He handed a small camera to Don Slayton and said, "Take my picture with those guys, ok? Make sure you get all our faces."

Alan took his book and walked over to a trio of men who were sitting nearby, one of which was a naval officer wearing a blue-water navy white uniform. "Hi. I'm Ray Clarke. I'm studying for an upcoming trial and I couldn't help but overhear your conversation. Brilliant! Just brilliant!"

"Good to meet you. I'm Howard Kennedy, and my friend in white is Lieutenant David Olson, and this is Admiral Peak."

"Right! Aren't you prosecutor and defense on something coming up?" asked Alan, pretending to ignore the admiral.

"Well, it's a small JAG office and we're friends. We don't let work come between us," said Lieutenant Olson.

"That's just great. Can I buy you guys a drink?" asked Alan, and he called a waitress over. Soon all four men had a whiskey in front of them and they talked law. "Geez, look at the time. General Rafferty wanted to say hi to me. Thanks for the encouragement, guys." And he got up and walked over to where general Rafferty was sitting with Anna and Lieutenant Vermillion.

"Hi Angel, how's our baby?"

Anna was actually smiling. "Rhea said it's a girl! She's Tasha. She came back to me."

"That's wonderful!" Alan hugged Anna and said, "How is the general treating you?"

"Like a wonderful friend that I used to fly with," she said with a cheerful smile. "What did your lawyer say?"

"I was just talking with him. I think things are going to work out."

<><><><><>

Alan found an airlock in an isolated corner of the station and stood in there watching the stars wheel by. If he relaxed, he could imagine that he was in the cockpit of his old F-119 Curtiss-Convair Berserker with Hilde in the back. Soon she would say something to distract him, just to see if she could distract him. There would be beautiful, loving sex later if she didn't distract him from flying.

A woman's voice with a deep Slavic accent interrupted Alan's reverie. "You vish to take valk? It can be arranged."

He tried to turn to see who was behind him, but he knew who it was. He could smell his first RIOs perfume. He knew immediately it was Tasha's half-sister, Antonina Matrona Markov. "Hello Antonina. I could have used your help in Dandong."

"Ach! Pigs! They treat poor Anna like meat."

"She's going to name the baby Tasha. She still loves your sister."

"Concentrate!" Antonina hissed. "Zhe Zheleznaya Koroleva, zhe Iron Queen, it is vhat you call mystery ship. Five squadrons, three outfitted vith GR-88 Ferret fighters and two vith Mak-22 Barramundi bombers."

"I heard. The thing is a nightmare."

"Zat is vere General Romanov has his flag. You must get him! He is zhe vun zat kilt Tasha!"

"I have nothing to take him on. I have a homemade escape booster, and a borrowed FB-719. I can't go after him."

"Zey know you kilt General Chang und zey know you are alive. All uf Eastern Bloc is hunting for you. You do not need to hunt General Romanov; he is hunting you."

"I just want to rest," groaned Alan.

"You MUST get all three," hissed Antonina. "Zere vill be no peace until Generals Chang, Romanov, and Doctor Tarkov are dead. You are one third complete vith your mission."

Alan banged his forehead against the glass porthole of the air lock. He just wanted to rest. He was getting used to the thought of settling down on Mars with Anna and raising her baby together. Then someday Anna finds a Martian girl, who hooks Alan up with an old friend of hers and he can eventually have a family of his own.

He whirled around to confront Antonina, but she was gone.

<><><><><>

Alan stood in his borrowed pressure suit in a hangar at the hub of Camp Schmitt, surrounded by seven marine rocketeers. Alan didn't like that name, but that's what the marine called their fighter crews. To Alan, it sounded like they were just along for the ride. "One last time, nobody uses my name or callsign, we don't want anyone outside to interfere with this mission, copy?"

"Ooo Rah!"

"Close enough, Deke, final mission brief please?"

"Gentlemen, I am Captain Don Slayton, your flight lead, call sign Deke. Flying RIO for me is Navy Lieutenant Commander Alan Scarlett, call sign Gogo. His presence her today is classified. You will not refer to him by name or call sign. He is merely my RIO and will be reviewing this mission..."

"You wouldn't be looking to hire a recently out of work fighter crew, would you?" called a marine.

"Actually yes. That's why I'm here," said Alan.

A wave of excitement flashed through the rocketeers, a chance to move up to the big leagues in flying fighters! Deke Slayton continued. "Our mission, escort Wolfpack Leader to Camp Schmitt. We will perform a two-minute slowdown burn and drop to an altitude of ten thousand nautical miles and perform one orbit of the earth at that altitude before executing a TLI. When we are five thousand nautical miles from Wolfpack Leader, we will reverse direction and form up on him and escort him to Camp Schmitt, where he will dock at Airlock Seven. We will recover in Hangar Bay 4." He grinned and turned to Alan. "How did I do?"

"Not bad, a little stiff. My navy chauffeurs in the Berserkers won't understand if you don't throw in an occasional fuck or goddamn it, but other than that, it was good. I liked it."

Don Slayton pointed up and waved his hand in a circle and shouted, "Leathernecks! Mount up!"

"Ooo Rah!"

The marines pushed off the magnetic floor and floated to their FB-719s and swarmed into the cockpits. Alan followed Deke into the lead bird and climbed into the back. He's flown backseat enough for Hilde to understand what everything is and how everything works. He was not a qualified RIO, but he knew enough to monitor the flight on radar.

Everything about the FB-719 was big. The RIO's cockpit was roomy and not condensed, and there were two seats in it. One facing forward, for the RIO, and one facing aft for the EWO (pronounced E-Whoa) the electronic warfare officer. The things that could be done with this bird! Jamming, long range surveillance, target acquisition, and it had the biggest laser cannons flying. It could carry six SSM-59 Phoenix III Space to Space missiles. Alan was practically drooling. Ideas and plans spun in his head... and they were getting rid of this treasure trove of destruction?

"Welcome to Big Bertha," said Don Slayton, as they locked their seats in. "She may not be the prettiest girl at the ball, but she can dance to any tune the band plays."

"I want it," said Alan.

"What?" asked Don with a laugh. "This thing is a beast. It's like flying a loaded fuel tanker."

"It's an Aardvark," said Alan as he looked at the capabilities he had in the rear seat.

"An ant eater?"

"No, an Aardvark. About two hundred years ago, when the Air Force was a thing and not a branch of the Space Force, they built a plane that was so ugly they called it the Aardvark. The Air Force wanted a Mach 3 fighter. The secretary of defense and the builder gave them a Mach 3 bomber and called it a fighter. It was the greatest bomber of that century. It could carry four dozen 750lbs bombs at Mach 2 at an altitude of 200 feet and hug the terrain. It was deadly accurate. It could put a two thousand pound bomb through your bathroom window if needed, and it terrified their enemies. They called it 'Whistling Death.' It was truly the greatest airplane built, and the Air Force hated it because it wasn't a sleek, agile little fighter. So, any spacecraft that's assigned to do one thing but excels at another is called an Aardvark."

"So what is my ugly aardvark in real life?"

"This beast is built to be a fighter but excels as a penetration bomber, but its actual goal in life is a command-and-control platform."

Suppressing a chuckle, Don called out, "Leatherneck Leader to Leatherneck Flight, let's take it out." And they released the magnetic landing gear anchors and gently flew toward the hangar door. The space stations didn't have an underfloor magnetic taxi system like the carriers, so a pilot had to fly his ship inside the hangar. The main door opened enough for the four FB-719s to leave. The FB-719 was big for a fighter and small for a bomber. It had heavy eight foot wide wings that folded up over its back inside the hangar. The underside of the wings was studded with bomb racks, radar sensors, and two massive laser cannons. The upper side of the wings was covered with solar panels. The aft cockpit was roomy, but there were only two tiny windows, one on either side of the hatch. The RIO and the EWO sat down inside of the ship while the pilot sat up high in a bubble canopy with a great view of space around him.

"Wings out," called Deke. "Form it up, the audience is watching." The big wings of the FB-719s folded down, so they were straight out and Alan brought up the radar in the RIO station. He was amazed at what he could see compared to what he saw in the back seat of the Berserker or the Star Striker. The range was much farther out, and he saw something...

"Hey Deke," Alan called on the intercom.

"What's up Gogo?"

"Are there any other units flying today?"

"No, just us. We don't have any units on Schmitt, just a few old bombers."

"Shit..." and Alan started recording what he saw on radar. He wanted Anna to see this. "Let's go."

The ships fired their dual United Reaction N-30 series engines, slowing them down and dropping them closer to the earth. Their new altitude gave them an orbit where an accelerating burn would kick them out toward Luna. They flipped on command and were now upside down over the earth, nose forward, ready to start their Trans Lunar Interface burn. "We're being painted Deke," said Alan. They were being lit up by ground-based radar from the big Eastern Bloc launch center on Riau Island, where an enormous base was being built. Supposedly, the name of the base was Dendam, which means "Revenge" to someone down there.

'Was it revenge for General Chang's death?' Alan thought to himself as the Threat Warning Radar screamed in his ears and the signal from the ground washed over their big fighter.

They fired their TLI burn and Alan was slammed back into his seat, but he kept recording the radar output. The people down there were looking for something up here, and Alan was sure it was him. The four Fighter/Bombers broke from earth's orbit heading toward the moon and were followed by radar the entire trip. On the intercom Alan said, "Deke, ask Navy control if we're getting some extra attention."

"You can ask if you want," said Don as they prepared their final flip maneuver.

"No, they're looking for me. I don't want my voice on the radio."

Deke smiled. When you have a combat record like Alan Scarlett in less than a year of active flying, you're entitled to be as paranoid as you want to be. It's a good way to stay alive. "Navy control, this is Leatherneck Flight. Are we getting a little extra attention today? My RIO is showing that we're being painted."

There was a pause then the reply came back, "Leatherneck one this is Navy control. We're not giving you any extra TLC, but we're showing somebody with a low power Baofeng Q band is paying extra attention to you. That RIO of yours has some good eyes."

"Yes, she does. We'll keep an eye on it."

"She?" asked Alan.

"Hey, if someone really is listening for you, that will fuck them up."

Alan chuckled at his 'chauffeurs' subterfuge. "And that's how you become a Berserker."

"Leatherneck Flight, final inversion in 3... 2... 1..." and the four ships flipped on command, the nozzles of their big boosters pointing aft, into their direction of travel. "Leatherneck Three and Four, spread out five klicks."

"Ooo Rah!"

"What's wrong with Roger?" asked Alan as the Leathernecks opened up their formation.

"Leathernecks, light 'em up in 3... 2... 1..." and with a boom the N-30 reaction mass engines burst to life, slamming Alan back into his seat, the G count piling up. It maxed out at six g's of force and his vision narrowed. Alan was sure he was going to faint if he survived this. Taking a beating like this is easier if you're driving.

The big FB-719 shook and roared as it slowed down and began moving forward, back toward Earth. Faster and faster and suddenly Deke eased up on the throttle and Alan peered through the front windscreen and there was a ship next to them! The NSS Kaiser eased into formation with the Leathernecks. The Kaiser was named for the company that built hundreds of Liberty Ships two hundred years ago. Their creation helped win the war against fascism.

"Leatherneck Lead, this is NSS Kaiser. Thank you for the escort. We noticed plankton on our screen not too long ago."

'Plankton' was the code word for possible enemy ships. Now Alan felt better. "Hey Deke, I want Lieutenant Vasquez to look at the tapes I made of the back seat here. Can you page her to meet us at debrief?"

"Ooo Rah."

"I hate that."

<><><><><>

In the debrief room Alan and Don Slayton briefed the marine rocketeers on their flying, which was fantastic, mission planning, which was incredible, and ship maintenance, which was good considering that the squadron has been deactivated. The FB-719s were going to be scrapped. As Alan was thanking the guys for a memorable flight in an unfamiliar air frame, General Rafferty stepped into the room. "Room! Ten HUT!" called Deke, and the Leathernecks jumped to their feet.

"As you were," said General Rafferty. "I thought I told you to shave."

"No sir, you told me to borrow five bucks from my lawyer for a shave. He has steadfastly refused to meet with me, sir."

"Did he now... Well, your ID card is here. It brought Captain Schirra and NCIS regional director Cerise Sanguine with it."

"Yes sir, I'm sure they both have words reserved for me."

"Yes, they do."

As the general talked to the Leathernecks about their last mission, Alan stepped over to the debrief terminal and plugged in his data cartridge, and fired up the terminal. "How was your day with the General?"

"He is a really, really nice man," said Anna. "He only acts loud and grouchy. He's nice. He's been like a grandpa to me."

"I need you to look at this, I just flew RIO on a quick out and back and I picked up a few things." A large plexigraph board displayed the instruments that Alan viewed on the flight. It showed the switch positions for every switch, knob, and button in the RIO compartment. She studied the display and nodded with approval. "Look what I found here," said Alan and he drew a circle around the threat warning radar. The plexigraph screen enlarged that display and Alan pointed out, "We have six little friends here, parked just a few miles over by that supply depot." The supply depot was a large satellite where items could be transferred from the station to a ship without the ship having to doc at the big wagon wheel.

"I wonder how long they've been there," said Anna. She slid her chair over to the terminal and began typing. "It's been nearly a week since a ship last tied up over there," she said, looking at the shipping logs.

"They know I'm here."

Anna frowned. "There's been so much chatter about the court martial it's almost like somebody was advertising your presence." She pointed to the screen. "What are you going to do about these jerks?"

"Let them stew for a day or two more, then kill them."

"Good plan," said Anna. "I approve."

"We having our own briefing over here?" growled General Rafferty.

"We were just picking my next victims," said Alan. "Show him sweets."

"First," thundered the marine general. He handed Alan his ID card and said, "Haircut. Shave. Uniform. ASAP. Your sea bag is in your room. Your commander is waiting for you in my office."

"Yes, sir!"

"Don't I get a salute?"

Alan tugged a lock of his long hair. "Would you accept a salute from this?"

"Git the fuck outta here," snapped the general, which made Anna giggle.

An hour later, Alan stood at attention in front of Captain Schirra. He was shaved, hair cut back into regulation length for the first time in 2142, and he was in his dress uniform. "Sir, I apologize for not obeying your orders and I understand the reason for a court martial. In my defense, I got her back alive and mostly healthy, and I'd do it all over again for any of my troops."

"That's nice to know, commander, but what the hell are you talking about?"

"Your order... NCIS Agent Grierson told me that I was under orders to return to Armstrong ASAP."

Captain Schirra looked oddly at the young lieutenant. "Is that what he told you? Is that why you went into hiding?"

Alan was shocked. He was terrified that he was going to be put in prison by someone he come to think of as a father figure. "Yes, sir! I had to get Anna before they took her to the interior." The interior was what the West called Western China, an area where prisoners go and are never heard from again. "What exactly were your orders, sir?"

"My orders were to follow your heart and do what you needed to do, and call us when you need help."

Alan almost started crying. He fought back, but occasionally a tear escaped. "I was so alone, I had no hope," he gasped. "It was as bad... no, it was worse than when my parents died... I had no one... I was so afraid I couldn't do it..."

"But you did it," whispered Anna. "You came for me; you saved me and little Tasha. We're free." With that, Alan took Anna in his arms and held her tight. Finally, he felt free. He was as much a prisoner as she was. They held each other for a long time, it was over! At least that part was.

"Those bastards!" Alan finally said in a strangled voice. "Is that what NCIS does? Make up crap to fill their quota for dumbshitery? Are they so morally bankrupt that they have to fuck with someone else to make themselves feel superior? I'm going to kill them!"

"They won't give anyone anymore trouble," said Estelle Schirra. "West Pacific division gave them to me. They're not agents for the East, but they did take bribes. When I found out what they did, I sent them to Mars. Your Uncle Ray now has two dedicated prison workers to do whatever he wants. When they land in a few days, he's going to put them to work clearing out hangars for your squadrons."

"Oh, I have plans for them now," sighed Alan.

"Speaking of plans," said Captain Schirra. "Camp Schmit is crawling with rats, and we want to help General Rafferty clean the rats out of his station... if you want to play along."

Estelle frowned and said, "We call it 'Operation Backstab,' and we call it in for a reason. It's not going to be pleasant if you want to participate."

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

Camp Schmitt, August 8, 2142

BackStab

"All rise," called the bailiff. "This general court martial is now in session. The judge, Captain Harold R. Stone, presiding." A short, angry looking Navy captain took his seat at the head of the court room.

"Please be seated. Mister prosecutor, are you ready to present the convening authorities' case?"

"I am, sir."

"Major Kennedy, are you ready to present the defense?"

"No sir," said Alan's defense attorney as he rose. Marine Major Harold Kennedy stiffly said, "The defendant just communicated to me that he wanted to defend himself."

Captain Stone glared at Alan, who sat motionless and expressionless. "That's it, just now? Did he say anything else?"

"He... he told me to do something that is biologically impossible, but yes, that's it."

"Go fuck yerself," muttered Alan.

"Mister Scarlett, rise," demanded Captain Stone. Alan stood and stared into the Captain's eyes, and for a moment Captain Stone got the impression that he was the one on trial, not Lieutenant Scarlett. "Mister Scarlett, this is not a movie or a play, this is a court of law, and in this court of law, you have the right to be represented by a military attorney or a civilian attorney and you WILL exercise that right. Do you understand?"

"Sir, I respectfully submit that Appendix 2 to the Uniform Code of Military Justice, section 838, paragraph b, 3, B states that I may be represented by the military council of my choosing. I choose me."

"No. Try again Mister Scarlett. You will not turn my court into your personal circus."

"Sir, with all due, and vast respect, I submit that the defense council, council for the prosecution, and the convening authority have already done that."

The murmuring in the courthouse came to a fever pitch. Alan may have sentenced himself to the brig and everyone knew it. "ORDER!" shouted Captain Stone, and he banged his gavel. "Mister Scarlett, you just implicated superior officers of malfeasance; I could lock you up!"

"Yes sir, and if, at the end of this procedure, I did not make the case for my accusation, I will apologize and go quietly."

"Name your legal representative now, Mister Scarlett."

"My uncle Ray's personal attorney was on earth and he agreed to defend me. He just came in on today's shuttle."

Just then, a very tall, handsome Martian rose from the gallery and stepped up next to Alan and placed a slim briefcase on the defense table and opened it. He patted Alan on the back and whispered a reassurance, then looked up at Judge Stone. He looked familiar to the Judge. "May I approach your honor?" asked Alan's lawyer.

"Yes, and bring your bonafides with you." The judge looked through Alan's representative's paperwork, graduated Harvard Law School, class of 2112, passed the bar the following year, served in the JAG corps from 2114 to 2120, attained the rank of Commander then returned home to Mars and has been practicing law ever since. "Your current employment Mister Curtis?"

"President of the UMC."

"UMC? I'm not familiar with that group."

"The United Martian Colonies," said Benjamin Curtis.

"He's the President of Mars, sir," added Alan.

Captain Stone did a fairly good job of hiding his emotions, but his demeanor softened some. Now he realized why he looked familiar. President Curtis was the most famous Martian in the solar system, other than Alan. He realized that all of Mars will watch this proceeding intently. One wrong word and they may set off an interplanetary incident. He looked around and saw Victor Davis, reporter for MNN - Mars News Now, their 24 hour news channel. With him was Judith Sangar, the top columnist with Mars Today. This trial had suddenly become huge.

The courtroom gallery gasped when President Curtis was announced. The President of Mars was here defending Alan Scarlett, the Defender of Mars against charges brought by the Earth Navy. This was theater in the making! Finally, Judge Stone came to life and called out, "Bailiff, please monitor who comes and goes. We do not want this turning into a tent revival. I would like a court clerk to sit with the reporter from Mars Today to help with the legal jargon. Now then, if everyone has their popcorn and circus peanuts, Mister President, do you have any motions that you wish us to consider?"

"I move that this entire court martial be declared a mistrial. It was based on a lie and perpetrated on a brave, honorable fighting man to humiliate and imprison for political gain. He was not only denied legal representation, he was denied basic tenants of a General court martial set forward by the UCMJ, merely to meet those ends."

"Mister President, I assume you are ready to defend those allegations."

"If you indulge me, your honor. A few questions to a few witnesses already on the docket will clear this matter up and we can end this and go get lunch."

"This interests me. I'd like to see how a president proceeds. As long as your witnesses are on the docket and are currently in the court room you may proceed."

"The defense calls Admiral Anthony Peak." The confused looking admiral took the stand and swore to tell the truth. President Curtis said, "Admiral Peak, court records show that Commander Scarlett's article thirty-two hearing was back on July third. Were you at that hearing?"

Admiral Peak avoided Alan's glare and said, "Yes." An article 32 hearing is a mandatory pre-trial hearing where the charges are weighed before referral to a general court martial.

"And was Commander Scarlett at his Article 32 hearing?"

"Uh yes."

"And Admiral, did you speak to Commander Scarlett at the hearing?"

"No."

"Admiral! You're the convening authority and you did not speak to the man you accused of being AWOL?"

Now the admiral looked flustered. "I advised him of the charges. We didn't chat."

"The charges... AWOL, right?"

"Yes, sir." The Admiral saw the withering glare he was getting from the tall Martian and amended his response. "Yes, mister president."

"Then if you told Commander Scarlett that you were charging him with the crime of Away With Out Leave, why are we trying him for Desertion? Would that not invalidate the Article 32 hearing if there was one?"

"Objection!" called the prosecutor. "The defense is..."

"Sit down, Lieutenant Olson," said the judge. "If there's an objection, it will have to wait for the trial itself."

"That's all I have for this person; I'd like to call Brian Pavlich to the stand."

Alan was shocked. How did they get Brian up there to Camp Schmitt? He always said he hated space stations. After Brian took the oath and sat down, President Curtis went right to work. "Mister Pavlich, you are a captain of a scrapping vessel?"

"Yes sir, the Maryborough. I also own the Maryborough Salvage Company. We generate nearly two million dollars in revenue for the people of upper Korea." Upper Korea was the politically correct name for the freed North Korea.

"And where were you on July third of this year?"

"High Earth orbit. We were in the middle of a five-day mission."

"And was Commander Scarlett with you?"

"Yes sir," said Brian with a grin. "He was the best boom operator I've ever had. That day he snagged us a GeoSat weather satellite with Bosch optics that doubled our annual income. It was a sweet grab."

"Was Admiral Peak there with you?"

"No, sir."

"Did you see or hear anyone speak to Commander Scarlett about being charged with AWOL or Desertion?"

"No, Mister President."

"Is it true that Commander Scarlett was in your employ until July twenty-first, when you caught his falling escape capsule in the Maryborough and lifted him to the Marine heavy bomber Arcturus?"

"Yes, Mister President."

"In all that time, did you ever hear or see an Article 32 hearing take place with Commander Scarlett?"

"No, Mister President."

"One more question. When you hired Commander Scarlett, did you know he was Alan Scarlett?"

"No, Mister President, not at first. He was traveling under the name Dwayne Styles. My first mate on those voyages told me to hire him and she told me who he was later."

"Thank you, Mister Pavlich, no more questions. I'll need fifteen more minutes, your honor."

"Make it quick."

"The defense calls Melika Reeves."

Alan was very confused at this point because Cindy Lawson rose and swore to tell the truth. Cindy was the first mate, but to Alan it looked like all she did on those hops to high earth orbit was sleep. After swearing to tell the truth, Cindy, a tough-looking chick from Samoa, sat down and grinned at Alan. "Miss Reeves, you were first mate for Mister Pavlich on the Maryborough for the entire time that Commander Scarlett was aboard?"

"Yes, Mister President."

"Did you ever see an Article 32 hearing while he worked there?"

"No, Mister President."

"Would it be possible for an Article 32 hearing to be conducted during his off-duty hours?"

Lieutenant Olson hopped to his feet. "Captain Stone! We already determined that there was no Article 32 hearing," called the prosecution without realizing that he just undermined his entire case.

"I apologize, your honor," said President Curtis. "I'm just trying to give Admiral Peak a chance. There had to be an article 32 hearing somewhere. We are hoping that the admiral merely had the date and location wrong or this entire proceeding is a mistrial, the court records have been falsified and the admiral had committed perjury while under oath. We don't want to see any of that." The way Ben said 'any' almost made Alan laugh.

Captain Stone suddenly realized how deep this went. This was no longer a lonely spaceman wandering off AWOL trial. This was huge, with implications that would rattle the foundation of Earth/Mars relationships. Judge Stone wondered how he got so 'lucky.' He cleared his throat and said, "please continue, Mister President."

"Miss Reeves, how did you know that Dwayne Styles was actually Alan Scarlett?"

"Cerise Sanguine, the NCIS director for the interlunar region, briefed me on his identity. Cindy Lawson was my cover. My real name is Special Agent Melika Reeves. I'm an NCIS agent in the West Pacific region and had been investigating the criminal actions of Agents Grierson and Styles of the Fiji office."

Alan turned around and looked at Estelle Schirra (Cerise Sanguine) who was seated behind him. The stunning redhead gave him a knowing smile and an erection inducing wink. Does she do everything that sexy?

President Curtis continued. "And what have you concluded, Agent Reeves?"

"My investigation is still ongoing, but if Styles and Grierson had followed NCIS protocol to any measure, Lieutenant Vasquez would not have been taken prisoner. It appeared that they ignored everything that Commander Scarlett and the local authorities told them. It turned out that there was a surfing competition later that week and they wanted to attend. They didn't want to be tied up with an investigation."

Alan's ears burned as he heard Anna softly weep behind him, and the desire to mortally wound Grierson and Styles rose in him. Wound them slowly, then stuff them in an air lock and over pressurize it slowly, painfully, then open the inner door and watch them writhe in agony as Nitrogen Narcosis set in and they suffered from the bends. Then Alan also heard General Rafferty reassure Anna that it was all over. He sounded like a kindly grandpa to Alan.

Special Agent Reeves continued. "It also appeared that Grierson and Styles ignored the orders they were supposed to give Commander Scarlett and told him that he was ordered back to Armstrong base and tried to put him on a Trans-Lunar shuttle. We, uh... we can't find them."

"They are on Mars, Agent Reeves. You are welcome to travel there with me if you would like to continue your investigation. I'm sure Director Sanguine would allow it."

"Yes, that would be wonderful," said Melika, and she gave the President a sweet smile. It was the same smile that Alan remembered getting from Noelani before she was politicized, and he suddenly felt even more alone.

Alan was now in shock. Ben Curtis, President of Mars, close personal friend of his Uncle Ray, family lawyer, and his eleventh-grade physics teacher was picking up a chick on the witness stand! Martians! They're as bad as Lunars.

"That is all, thank you, agent Reeves. The Defense calls Captain Walter Schirra." After Captain Schirra vowed to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, Ben asked, "Captain Schirra, what were the orders you sent to Commander Scarlett?"

"I said, 'follow your heart' and 'call if you need our help.'"

"That's it? Nothing that could be mistaken as 'Abandon Lieutenant Vasquez and come home?'"

"If that was how Commander Scarlett wanted to handle the situation, then I would have allowed that, but that's not Commander Scarlett. I know he would have brought Anna home to us. So no, I absolutely, and emphatically did not order him home. I always let the leaders under my command make their own decisions and plan their own mission. Commander Scarlett did not let me nor Lieutenant Vasquez down. If he was AWOL, I would have initiated the charges."

"And how did you relay these orders to him?"

"I asked Director Cerise Sanguine of the NCIS to relay those orders through her agents, and I was with her when she relayed them to the Western Pacific region of the NCIS. She was assured that those words were given to Agents Styles and Grierson."

"Captain, you said that if Commander Scarlett was away without leave, you would have initiated charges. Court records show that you did initiate charges. This is a Western Alliance Navy form 16-0132, where you preferred charges against Commander Scarlett." Ben handed the form to Captain Schirra and said, "What do you say now, captain?"

Captain Schirra glanced at the form and quickly handed it back to President Curtis. "I say this form is a forgery."

"Whatever do you mean?" asked President Curtis.

"The signature block and the signature is for someone named Wally."

"Is that not your name sir?"

"No, Mister President. My name is Walter, not Wally, even though that's what everyone calls me. My yeoman knows my correct signature block, my official job title is not Commander 8th Fighter Wing, it's Commander 8th Interplanetary Fighter Wing, and that scribble is nothing like my actual signature."

"Thank you, no more questions. The Defense calls Major Harold Kennedy."

The confused attorney who was supposed to be defending Alan stood. "Sir, your honor, I'm the defense attorney. I can't be called."

"You were fired Harold," said the judge. "Take the stand."

The confused attorney was sworn in and President Curtis produced a stack of large, glossy photographs. "This first one is a picture of you on August third at ten AM station time. You were scheduled to have a meeting with Alan Scarlett from Nine AM to eleven AM to discuss this trial, but he's not with you. In fact, he's the one that peeked into your office and took this photograph. This bit here," he pointed to the reading material that Major Kennedy was studying in the photograph. "I can't tell what that is... It's hard to make out. What is it that you were reading?"

Harold mumbled.

"I'm sorry, Major. I could not make out what you said. Could you repeat that?"

"A comic book."

"Ah yes, I see that now, The Venusian Avenger. My best friend's nephew used to collect them..."

"Thanks Ben," muttered Alan under his breath. He had a stack three feet tall in his bedroom at Uncle Ray's apartment.

President Curtis now sounded confused. "You're supposed to be prepping a defendant. He is sitting in the waiting room and you're ignoring him while you read a comic book and eat... is that pizza?" He handed the photo to the judge. "I think that's pizza. You have a unique trial preparation style."

The captain studied the photo closely. "With pepperoni," snarled Judge Stone under his breath. Pepperoni is a luxury in a space station. It's been two years since he had a taste of pepperoni.

President Curtis showed Major Harold Kennedy another photo. "This was taken at twelve forty-five in the officers' club the same day." He pointed to a figure in the photograph. "This appears to be you, our prosecutor, Lieutenant Olson, and our convening authority, Admiral Peak, standing with some guy with long hair and a beard enjoying a cold beverage. Whiskey from the looks of it. Were you discussing this case?"

"No, sir."

"Who's the guy with the beard?"

"Don't know, sir, he had just joined the conversation. Said he was a law student or something like that."

The president handed the print to the judge and showed Harold another picture. "Here is a picture of you on August fourth at ten thirty AM station time. You can see the time and date stamp. You were scheduled to have a meeting with Alan Scarlett from Nine AM to eleven AM to discuss this trial, but he's not with you. And it looks like you were asleep. Are you asleep here? Or were you inspecting the ceiling tiles for signs of decay?"

"I don't... I..."

"I think that's sleeping. Does this look like he's sleeping, Your honor?" and Ben Curtis handed the print to the judge. It showed the Major leaned back in his chair, feet up on his desk, his hands crossed over his stomach, his eyes were closed and his mouth was open like he was snoring.

"At least he's not reading a comic book," grumbled the Judge.

"Last picture, Major. This one again was taken at the club two hours after your alleged nap. Here's you, here's our prosecutor, and here's Admiral Peak again. Is that right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Cold beverages in hand, not talking about this trial, and the bearded guy is here too, and it looks like he brought a date. Did you catch her name?"

"No, sir."

"Not a problem. That is all. The defense calls Lieutenant Alan Scarlett to the stand."

Alan got up and took the stand and "Uncle Ben," gave him that smile that said it was going to be OK. "Lieutenant Scarlett, what were the orders that Agents Grierson and Styles gave you?"

"They told me that Captain Schirra wanted me back to Armstrong Station ASAP."

"Is there any chance that you misunderstood those instructions, that he had told you to penetrate Eastern Bloc territory, enter their prison at Dandong, and return with Lieutenant Vasquez?"

"No, sir. The NCIS agents had me in cuffs and told me flat out that the Captain wanted me on the shuttle and standing in his office in four days."

"How did that make you feel?"

"Like they were lying," said Alan. "Captain Schirra would never give me that order because he knows I would never follow them. He knows how I feel about my people, be they Earthers, Lunars, or Martians. Anna was my RIO, and she was a Martian. We went through hell together. I owed it to her to go through hell to get her back, and Captain Schirra would know that." Alan looked up and saw Anna sitting in the gallery, tears streaming down her face, leaning on General Rafferty's arm and he stroked her hair, trying to calm her.

Alan suddenly saw Anna leaning on the general's arm for eternity. Anna Rafferty... her baby becoming the general's son or daughter, living where she'd be safe from Eastern pirates and soldiers under Alan's umbrella of protection... while Alan grew old and died in space alone... all alone. "Alan?" Ben said softly.

"I'm sorry. I missed the question. Could you ask again?"

"Can you identify the men in this picture?" He held the photograph of the Officer's club lunch time meeting.

"That's Admiral Peak, Major Kennedy, Lieutenant Olson, and me."

"The man with the long hair and beard is you?" asked the presiding judge, Captain Stone.

"Yes, sir. I was living in a barn for months trying to rescue Anna, so I let my hair grow so I wouldn't be recognized. When we were able to launch, I left everything behind, including my money. Up here I couldn't get anyone to loan me five bucks for a shave. My lawyer refused to meet with me... the club ran a tab, so I hung out with their daily lunch time meetings to find out what was going on."

"And what did you discover?"

"They said that there was a flight of six Eastern Bloc fighter spacecraft nearby and they were going to let them know what ship I was on when they hauled me down to earth for prison. They believed that the trial would have only one verdict, and they were going to make sure it happened."

"Lieutenant! You had better be able to back up this fiction. You just accused a flag officer of treason and conspiring to commit murder."

"I understand, sir, and as I said earlier, I will apologize and face any punishment my words incur. Ben? How do I enter this in as evidence?" and he handed President Curtis an audio module. "This is the recordings of the four lunch time meetings I joined."

"You're telling this court that the defense, the prosecution, and the convening authority, the vice commander of the entire Navy, conspired to find you guilty, and you stood there and were part of their conversations?"

"I know it's hard to believe, but yes, sir. I complimented them. I would call their legal discussions 'brilliant' and they lapped it up, and I was suddenly their friend and ally." Then Alan looked at Major Kennedy and grinned. "If Major Kennedy had bothered to speak to me instead of hiding from me, he would have known what I look like with long hair and a beard. He never did. All he had to go on was my graduation photo from the academy."

"Your honor, the story of eastern bloc fighters sitting outside our station? It's ridiculous!" shouted Lieutenant Oliver.

"I thought the same thing, and that's why I went and looked for myself," said Alan. He handed Ben another recording module. "This is the radar readings from the hop I took in an FB-719. The radar clearly shows six fighters with Eastern Bloc signatures. I believe they are GR-88 Ferrets. They're sitting behind the cargo depot about seven nautical miles from here. It's all on that module, and Lieutenant Vasquez verified it. She knows exactly what an Eastern Bloc fighter looks like on radar. We saw plenty of them in combat."

The courtroom erupted in shocked chatter. Captain Stone beat his gavel until there was silence. By the time order was restored, Alan was seated at the defense table next to Major Kennedy. Alan leaned close and whispered, "You shouldn't have ignored me, you arrogant fuck." Major Kennedy pretended not to hear him. For his final witness, President Curtis asked Anna to take the stand.

Ben gave Anna a large photograph of several people at the officer's club. They were in a group laughing while Alan read something from a book. "Lieutenant Vasquez, can you see the man holding the large book?"

"Yes, sir," she said in terror.

"Can you tell us his name?" Anna was suddenly struck dumb with terror, all those people staring at her. It was like she was back in that questioning chamber, naked, strapped to a table, people staring... Ben said, "Is he in this room?" She nodded slowly. "Can you point to him for us?" Anna raised a trembling hand and pointed to Alan. "Let the record show that the witness pointed to Lieutenant Commander Alan Scarlett." Then Ben said softly, "He looks kind of scraggly in this picture, doesn't he?"

Anna smiled and shrugged and said nervously, "Kinda cool."

"I agree," he looked at Alan and said, "it's official Commander, you're kinda cool."

"Mister president, please continue," said Captain Stone.

"Lieutenant Vasquez, did you hear the allegations that Commander Scarlett referred to?" asked President Curtis.

She looked terrified, like she was going to run. Then she looked at General Rafferty, who sat bolt upright and lifted his chin. He was asking her to show the bravery he knew was in her. She took a deep breath and said, "Yes, sir. It was Admiral Peak who spoke about the Eastern Bloc fighters."

"Did you see them on the recording of the RIO station that Commander Scarlett made?"

Anna was more comfortable now. Radar was her livelihood. She knew her craft. "Yes, sir, and I concur with his findings. Those were Eastern Bloc fighters."

"Are you sure?"

"Commander Scarlett and I have blown twenty of the damn things to hell. I know an Eastern Bloc fighter on a radar scope better than anyone."

"Your honor, we rest." President Curtis led Anna back to General Rafferty, then sat down next to Alan while Captain Stone fumed on the bench.

"Never in my thirty years on the bench have I seen such an abuse of the judicial system. I would expect that members of the JAG corps could construct a less stupid conspiracy, but I was mistaken. Bailiff! Hold those three, Admiral Anthony Peak, Major Harold Kennedy and Lieutenant David Olson, until Article Thirty-Two hearings can be set up. Lieutenant Commander Scarlett, Lieutenant Vasquez, on behalf of the Western Alliance Navy, I apologize. I know that will never be enough, but I hope it is a start. I hereby declare this miscarriage of justice a mistrial. You are dismissed." He banged the gavel hard and called, "That's lunch, people!"

A cheer went up around the court room and a shattered Alan shook President Curtis' hand. "Thanks Uncle Benjamin. You saved my butt again."

"Now don't go getting it shot off."

"Uncle Benjamin?" said Major Kennedy as a marine guard led him away. "UNCLE Benjamin?"

Chuckling, Alan turned to hug Anna, but she and General Rafferty were gone already. He turned back to President Ben, but he and Colonel Stone were leaving. Even Estelle and Wally Schirra were gone. He was alone in the courtroom and any joy he had with this victory disappeared into the dark pit of loneliness that trapped Alan. He sagged to his seat and held his head in his hands.

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

Camp Schmitt, August 9, 2142

The Hell of Isolation

"Alan? Alan?" Estelle knocked on the door to Alan's room, but there was no answer. "Alan?"

Inside the room, ten-year-old Alan Scarlett was scratching and clawing on the steel blast door that dropped between him and his parents. This time the air was draining out on his side of the door too and he couldn't breathe. "MOM! DAD!" His mother's haunted look of impending doom, his last view of her face was etched on his mind as he began to lose consciousness from lack of oxygen. "Mom!" he cried one last time.

"Alan!" She was calling his name back. Alan knew he should say goodbye, but he couldn't bring himself to say it... Mom, Dad, Tasha, Hilde, even Christa. And now Anna... all gone. He couldn't use that horrible word. It would be better if he were dead. Dead people aren't expected to be polite.

"Alan! I know you're in there."

Alan woke with a start. His dreams were tortured by nightmares of separation and loss. Sleep hasn't been a healthful, relaxing escape for over a decade. The knocking echoed the pounding headache that accompanied the more intense dreams. "I'm up, I'm up..." he groaned and stumbled across the room. Why does he have one shoe on? He opened the door, and it was Estelle Schirra. "Oh, hi mom." He stumbled across the room and landed in his reclining chair.

"Come on, we're waiting for you."

"I'm tired. I've got nothing left, Missus Schirra, or is it Miss Sanguine?"

"You wouldn't like Miss Sanguine. She's not a happy person. She's got a mess to clean up, a mess you exposed, by the way. Come eat, it will do you good."

"I don't do banquets of any type. Wedding, funeral, award, holiday... I hate the food."

"I made sure you get a proper meal. Just stick to the plan."

"I hate the plan... just make sure Anna gets a proper meal. No... that's the general's job now, isn't it?"

"Is that what this is?" asked Estelle. "You're jealous of her infatuation over General Rafferty?"

"No, of course not..." then he thought about it and said, "Yes god damn it, yes! But what do you expect? Ever since I lost Tasha and Hilde, my life has been centered around Anna. We became the top gunslingers in the solar system and murdered every commie bastard that crossed our path. We dropped an atom bomb on our home world together! And when she got snagged, I did everything for her. I went AWOL, I stole a cop's ID, I chased her across the western Pacific, I swam across the Yalu river a dozen times looking for a way into that building. I built a three-stage rocket by hand! I would have made orbit too, if the fucking communists knew how to build a damn roof."

"Every damn minute of my life was centered around Anna. When I got her free, nobody said, 'Thank you spaceman!' they said 'You're a deserter.' I didn't have a dime to my name, and every scrap of food I found I gave to Anna. I was stealing fruit from the enlisted chow hall for her. I found unopened MREs for her and when the trial was over and we could relax together, she was gone. Pfft! Like that. She took off with some old white-haired pencil pusher who spent the last forty-five years yelling, 'ooo rah!' and 'gung ho' and I'm stuck with the ghost of what might have been clawing at my stomach." He looked at Estelle and said, "All I want to do is to go home... but I don't have a home."

Estelle hated herself for not realizing it. She had been reveling in the joy she had for Anna and Morris Rafferty and their blossoming love that she utterly ignored Alan, the man she once considered the son she never had. Throughout that horrible trial, she concentrated on Anna and General Rafferty, almost ignoring Alan, who sat in front of her wishing a meteor would do the honorable thing and crush him before the judge made his ruling. She could have reached forward and patted him on the shoulder to let him know she was there for him, instead she patted Anna's knee.

"I'm a horrible mom," she said aloud without realizing it. "I'm sorry, I should have been more supportive."

"You got my mom beat. You didn't die and leave your children behind."

That crushed her soul, but everything he said was true. She raised two righteous, rowdy girls who had meltdowns like Alan just went through. The difference was that with the girls, there were more tears and it was all exaggerated imaginary heartbreak. With Alan, it was understated... every word. She read all the reports. What really happened to Alan was much worse than anything he said. His only respite was Sunday morning, when he would eat an actual meal before swimming across the icy Yalu river to find a weakness he could exploit. Everything he earned as a scrapper's boom operator went into fuel to rescue Anna. "Come on," she said as she tossed him a shoe. "We have four rats in irons, there's more to catch. Dress blues, let's go. I have a cure for what ails you. The club got a shipment of tequila in. We're having Margaritas!"

The elevator from the Mars Ring down to the Earth Ring let them out near the club. Estelle led him up to the head table and at the place setting where his name appeared on a card signifying his seat, sat a navy captain in deep conversation with the general and nobody made a move to ask him to let the guest of honor sit down. "A-hem!"

"Do you need something lieutenant?" asked the Captain.

"You're in my seat," said Alan.

"Yeah, right," said the captain with a smirk. He took Alan's name card and handed it to him. "Sit wherever you'd like Lieutenant." and he went back to his conversation with General Rafferty, who did nothing to correct the captain.

Alan leaned over and politely said, "Please relinquish my seat."

"Lieutenant JG, I'm a captain, therefore I sit where I want. Now please fetch me a margarita."

Alan leaned closer and whispered, "Get your own fucking margarita, you gutless fuck."

"What did you say, lieutenant junior grade Scarlett?" shrieked the Captain in a squeaky voice.

"Be quiet, there are men present," said Alan, who looked around, and everyone at the table worked very hard to ignore him and his plight. Even Anna pretended he wasn't there. That was part of the plan, but that's probably what hurt the most.

Ten minutes later, he found himself in the darkest corner of the officer's club at a corner table with Marcy Dunlop, whose date dumped her. "I've been dumped in worse places," she said, and together, Alan and Marcy proceeded to drain pitchers of margaritas into their empty stomachs, which was not part of the plan. They were quite drunk by the time the dinner got started.

"I thought you were a commander," said Marcy to Alan, who was wearing silver Lieutenant JGs bars. Neither noticed that Wally Schirra loomed over them.

Alan ignored Captain Schirra and said, "I wear the rank of Lieutenant Junior Grade because I was supposed to get a permanent appointment to Lieutenant Commander this evening, but people I thought were my friends gave my seat, my dinner, and my promotion to somebody else instead."

Wally Schirra's face reddened to hear Alan's drunken anger. "What are you doing sitting in the back?" asked Captain Schirra. "This whole shin-dig was for you."

Alan looked up at the head table. All the seats except for Wally's were filled. Everyone up there was eating steak. "Then why is the commander of sewage reclamation sitting in my seat eating my dinner?" The plan was to embarrass Alan to see if they could get his enemies to make a move, but that captain was in the way. "He's been there all evening, maybe you noticed?" slurred a completely drunk Alan.

"Alan, please..."

" Instead of a congratulatory steak, I'm having a fuck you tuna melt. That's all the kitchen has left. Do you think your new commander, Captain Suckballs, will save me a doggy bag?"

"Alan, I'm sorry..."

"I know when you reach a certain rank that arrogance is considered a positive factor for promotion, but recognizing your troops should be considered a necessary evil..."

"Alan, it's not like that." Wally was shocked. Alan was drunk for the first time in his life and he's going to blow Operation Backstab completely out of the water. That Captain he's spouting about was Captain Aaron Roberts - chief of staff for Admiral Peak, and Estelle suspected him of being the Admiral's connection to the Eastern Bloc.

"Oh? Then what is it like?" slurred a completely drunk Alan. "It's because I'm not a dick sucking EARTHER! Alan Scarlett? Fuck him, he's just a fucking Martian. That's exactly what it's like. Let's thank him for doing the impossible that none of us had the balls to do by shoving a fucking knife in his back. You fucking earthers couldn't kill me on Mars, you couldn't kill me in the asteroid belt, you couldn't kill me on Fiji and I'll be damned if I let you kill me here. Go pin whatever fucking medal you have on that fucking captain that can't read a place card and give one to all your spineless buddies that refused to do the proper thing and let a Martian sit in the seat they reserved for him!" He threw his place card at Wally.

"Alan..."

"Next time you need someone to go into the Eastern Bloc and rescue some ingrate bitch, call someone else and LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!"

Wally realized that the whole thing had gone too far, Estelle had warned him against using Alan one too many times without telling him what they were using him for, but the brig was filling up with traitors and there were more they needed to catch... "Alan if we could talk," he started softly.

"Just go away and let me die."

When Alan sat down, he realized they were joined by the cute redhead, Lieutenant Vermillion. "That was awesome," she said. "I've never seen him get told off like that."

"I hope he fires me," grumbled Alan. "Then I don't have to waste my time quitting."

"What? Quit? Why?"

"The entire fucking navy. They joined with the Eastern Bloc to get the damn Martian... we saw that this afternoon, this nightmare is act two. I'm supposed to be eating a steak, and instead I get a tuna melt, whatever the fuck that is..." he turned to see a waiter standing there looking at him nervously. "What do you want?"

"Sir, the chef regrets to inform you that we are out of tuna."

Alan stared at the man and counted the ways he could kill him. "Do you have tequila?"

"Yes, sir."

"Keep it coming." He turned to Pandora and said, "See? They can't shoot me down or blow me up, now they're trying to starve me to death. The last meal I had was on the Arcturus."

"You're just being paranoid," said Pandora as Alan poured her a margarita.

"When everyone is out to get you, paranoia is just common sense," said Alan as he topped off his and Marcy's margarita glasses. A waitress brought them another pitcher of Margaritas and Alan tipped her handsomely. "Do you have any more of those cactus margarita glasses? Drinking margaritas out of a high ball glass is for those uncouth fucking Martians."

"Right away, sir," said the waitress, and she hurried back to get some novelty cactus margarita glasses.

"See? She agrees with me."

"You're drunk," laughed Marcy.

"That doesn't mean I'm wrong." He poured Pandora a margarita, then raised his glass. "Here's to Paranoia, our natural immunity to assholes."

"Cheers!" said Pandora and Marcy, and they clinked glasses.

The waitress brought the cactus glasses and another pitcher of margaritas. "From the Marine fliers over there." Alan looked and saw the guys he flew with, including Don Slayton. They were soon laughing and having a good time making up insults about the people at the head table when General Rafferty rose and tapped a spoon against a glass several times, getting the audience's attention.

"One of the best parts of being a commander is making sure your troops get the recognition they earned and deserve. It is my honor to recognize the incredible actions of a brave young officer. Lieutenant Scarlett, I am honored and..." The General looked down to his left and saw the captain who had been sitting there all evening. "Lieutenant Scarlett? Are you here?"

Alan was halfway up to the head table and called out, "Right here, general!"

"Lieutenant Scarlett?" the general asked again.

"I'm coming!" said Alan as he slipped between people and fell flat on his face.

"That's a shame," said General Rafferty. "This whole shindig was for him. I've never heard of such behavior."

"I'm coming, pops!" shouted Alan, as he staggered to his feet.

The general shook his head. "I have to apologize for young Scarlett. He had a tough mission, and it appears he has had a few too many. Security, please escort him back to his seat or to the brig. His choice."

Alan stood sadly, glaring at the general, then at Anna, then at Wally and Estelle, who looked at him sadly. None of them did anything. This was part of the plan, but he was supposed to pretend to be drunk. Alan overplayed his hand. A marine corporal with a black MP armband came up to Alan and grabbed his arm. "Git your hands off of me, jar head," and he jerked his arm out of the marine's grip. "Pussy," he spat at the marine. "I've seen more combat in one month than your entire unit ever will." Then he pointed at his name tag. "What does that say?"

"Scarlett... so what?"

"A marine that can read. What a surprise... do you get another stripe if you learn to tie your shoes?"

Alan sat down at his table and wrote a quick note on a cocktail napkin, then asked one of his marine flier friends to deliver it to the captain at the head table. "Make sure you point out to him where I'm sitting," said Alan with a grin.

Pandora and Marcy were shocked that the general did that to Alan, but Alan said, "He only has eyes for Anna. Wait until he finds out she's a lesbian. I can't believe my commander would let this happen to me," said Alan sadly, and he drained his margarita.

Just then, a captain who looked too young for his rank stepped up to their table. "Mister Scarlett?"

Alan stood up and stared him in the eye. "Yes, captain?"

"I understand I was in your seat."

"Yes, you were. For the entire dinner, you sat there and destroyed my promotion ceremony. You ate my meal, I wouldn't be surprised if you're wearing my medal. I hope knowing that you stole the glory from a Martian enhanced your enjoyment of my meal. I thought Navy captains, even the deck apes, were supposed to be able to read, tie their own shoes, and count to seven."

Ignoring his sarcasm, the Captain said, "I didn't realize..."

"Don't bullshit me. You knew exactly what you were doing. How long did it take you to convince the senile old fool I wasn't in the room?"

"LIEUTENANT Scarlett!"

"That's Lieutenant JG Scarlett to you chum," slurred Alan.

"You are bordering on insubordination!"

"That's impossible. Insubordination is defined by the UCMJ as the refusal to obey orders from people in authority over someone. You haven't given me any orders and I don't work for you. The worse you can get me for is disrespect."

"MISTER Scarlett..." the captain fumed, but Alan continued.

"But hey, you were doing the world a service. Who needs a piece of shit Martian spoiling their fun, right? If I were an Earther, you'd be required to treat me like a human. Lucky for you, I'm a Martian and you can treat me like shit all night long because it's fun to do. Right? So let's have a drink and let bygones be bygones, eh? We can start fresh."

Alan picked up an empty novelty margarita glass and a pitcher of margaritas and filled the glass. "If I remember, you ordered me to get you a margarita. Here it is." As the captain reached for the novelty cactus glass filled with delicious frozen margarita, Alan poured the entire pitcher of frozen, sticky margaritas over the arrogant captain's head.

As the captain squeaked in horror, Alan sipped from the glass he just filled. "To the good times," said Alan as he raised his glass to the retreating captain.

Pandora's eyes grew enormous as the Captain ran off, squawking. The marine fliers stood and cheered as Alan sat down to relax with his drink. "Do you know who that was?" asked Pandora.

"He's the cocksucker that took my seat and ate my dinner."

"He's Captain Aaron Roberts!" she gasped.

"Oh no! I screwed up terribly... wait... who is Captain Aaron Roberts? Should I care?"

"He's Admiral Peak's chief of staff," said Pandora.

Alan shrugged. "I know the admiral. He tried to kill me. He corrupted the entire military judicial system to try to hand me over to the eastern bloc, so they could imprison me and torture me to death. Other than that, he's a nice guy. He's in the brig right now for treason. He'll probably get a fifty-dollar fine for conspiring to litter Camp Schmitt with my corpse."

As Alan sipped his drink, five Marines with black MP armbands and truncheons stepped up to the table. "Alan Scarlett?" the tallest growled.

"Here we go," sighed Alan. He slid out of his chair and onto his knees. He put his hands behind his head and laced his fingers together, then said, "Sergeant Dunlap, this was fun, let's do it again..." that's when the Marines began to hit him with their truncheons.

They clustered around Alan, who was beaten to the ground. All any onlooker could see was the rising and falling of the clubs. They could hear the sound of hardwood striking unprotected flesh and the grunts of an unconscious victim. "STOP IT!" shrieked Pandora and Marcy. "STOP IT! YOU'RE KILLING HIM!"

Eventually they dragged an unconscious, bloody Martian out of the Officer's club by the wrists. "THAT WAS YOUR GUEST OF HONOR!" Marcy shouted at the crowd. "YOU WOULDN'T EVEN LET HIM SIT AT THE HEAD TABLE!"

Pandora followed as they dumped Alan's limp body in the corridor and stood guard around him. "Lieutenant Vermillion, you had better come back inside," said Captain Schirra.

"Really? Why? Did you run out of Martians to humiliate and Billy-club unconscious?"

"He was out of line."

"You degraded him! You ostracized him, you destroyed his evening! Then, when he reacted to the shitty way you treated him, you had your stormtroopers beat him to death. Is this how you treat minorities? Who's next? Us Lunars? I better get out of here before you change your target and decide to start clubbing Lunars to death."

"Pandora, wait!" but she ran off. Captain Schirra finally realized how painful this operation was.

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

Camp Schmitt, August 13, 2142

BackFire

The doctor looked down at Alan Scarlett. His vital signs say he's conscious, but he hasn't spoken to anyone since he was admitted four days ago. She looked at his meal tray. This is the thirteenth meal that's gone untouched. He also refused liquids. He had to be put on a saline drip to prevent terminal dehydration. "Alan, what are you doing to yourself?" sighed the doctor.

She walked around to the side where Alan was facing. "Alan, it's me Rhea. What are you doing to yourself? Is it Anna?" She begged Alan to talk for several minutes, then she sadly left.

In the lounge she saw Captain and Estelle Schirra sitting, their hands knitted in worry. Rhea's anger finally burst forth. "You finally broke him," said Rhea Seddon. "You asked us to do the impossible and did nothing but hinder us the whole way to the Asteroid Belt and back, but he did it. He led us to victory at the Battle of Lake Baikal, and when Anna was captured, he saved her. Alone! I don't ever know what he had to do to get Anna back, but he was infected with bacteria no human should ever touch. What was he doing there, lying in a septic tank?"

"Sort of," said Wally.

"You hamstrung us at every turn! At Lake Baikal, our sister squadron was so pathetic we had to fight our way home unassisted. People were flying four and five combat sorties a day, and when Alan was in Upper Korea all alone... why didn't you reach out with help? There was an NCIS agent next to him the whole time, and you didn't send a word to him! How much would it have hurt you to send an encouraging message?"

Wally Schirra frowned but said nothing. How do you tell your flight surgeon, one of your best pilots, that you can't trust anyone? That Eastern Block infiltration is so rampant you have no idea who to trust?

"I've never been so ashamed of the Navy in my life!" spat Doctor Seddon. "You basically told him to fuck off at his promotion and award ceremony... That captain took it all away from him and you didn't say a word! How could you do that to him? He should get the medal of honor, but you couldn't be bothered to give him the promotion he earned. Hell, he didn't get to eat. Some staff weasel sat next to you and ate Alan's dinner!" She put her nose almost on Wally's nose and glared into his eyes. "And you didn't say a word. And Estelle, you knew how fragile his emotional state was when you brought him there! Why did you set him up for such embarrassment and dishonor? You told me that you thought he was the son you never had... is that how you treat your children? Did you ever have any that lived?"

"I'm sorry! I hadn't seen Eris in a year and we were talking with her and I didn't see what happened to Alan. I'm sorry." Eris was their daughter, who was a civilian contractor at Aldrin Shipyards.

"That's a weak excuse at best, and don't tell me you're sorry. Tell him!" Rhea nearly shrieked.

"We did," said Estelle.

"And?"

"He let us know how he was feeling with one finger," said Wally.

"It's what you earned," Rhea snarled. She's never been this angry in her life. "What are you going to do to fix..." That's when the alarms in Alan's room started blaring. Rhea dashed to Alan's room and found his bed soaked with blood. There was a pillow over his face and a kitchen knife sticking out of his ribs on his left side. Rhea jumped to action. "CODE BLUE! Room 102, I need a crash cart and all the A Negative blood you can get, STAT!"

As she eased the knife out of his body, the nurse said, "Doctor, he's holding somebody's dog tags in his right hand."

<><><><><>

When he was first brought to the hospital, Alan said nothing to his visitors, he never looked at them. Besides dozens of contusions and two black eyes, Alan suffered two broken ribs, a cracked skull and a broken hand from a marine that stomped on his left hand. He had to communicate with Wally and Estelle Schirra with his right hand, but he only used one finger, then he went silent. He couldn't open his eyes when Anna came in. They were that swollen.

He was done with them. He had nothing to say that these Earthers would understand. Maybe a Russian would understand. They seem to have the soul of a Martian but they have the political acumen of a six-year-old, so anything he said to them would be wasted.

He was ignored by his friends at his own promotion ceremony to the permanent rank of Lieutenant Commander. Everyone ignored him and didn't even look for him until it was time to do the presentations. Fuck them. He should have broken Captain Robert's nose with the pitcher to make the beat down he got worth it.

As Alan was considering, someone yanked the pillow out from under his head and covered his face with it to muffle his shouts. He felt a sharp pain in his side but he could only fight back with one arm. His left arm was cuffed to the bed rails. He grabbed at the attacker's face, but he was weak from hunger to start with. He was weakening quickly and couldn't fight. He grabbed something and pulled, but it didn't seem to bother his attacker.

And then he was alone. It was peaceful, a gentle slipping away into sleep. It's been so long since he had a restful sleep. He slept for so long, just drifting on clouds of peaceful slumber until a familiar voice woke him up. "Alan?"

"Mom?"

"You shouldn't be here Alan," she whispered as she hugged her boy.

"Oh mom, it's been so lonely without you. Uncle Ray tries, but I can't pretend anymore."

"You've done so much for so many people, Gogo, but you have more to do. Smartie is going to help you."

"No, Mom, I can't. I'm so tired, I can't do it anymore."

"Yes, you can. You're my big boy. You're stronger than you know, and your friends are ready to go berserk."

"Berserk? Mom?" Alan opened his eyes, but everything was blurry.

"Vat the hell are you doink? You must get Romanov, you haf been wasting time! Schmartie is goink to be angry!"

It had to be Antonina Matrona Markov, the mysterious half-sister of his first RIO, Tasha Kikina. He tried to see Antonina, but she was behind him, leaning over the headboard. He got a quick blurred glance, and it looked like Tasha with dark hair. "He owned Bergman! He forced your parents to make zee Burgman Virus zen he kilt zem! He attacked you at Lake Baikal and kilt our Tasha. He ordered your death and captured Anna in Fiji."

Alan tried to talk, but there was something in his mouth. Whatever it was, it went down his throat and he couldn't talk. He tried to pull it out, but his arms were restrained.

"Get Romanov! You've vaisted too much time! He vants all zee iron on Mars. He is on hees sheep. Hurry! The commandant is coming." Antonina swept out of the room and as she walked past Alan's restrained right wrist, she gave the Velcro closure a tug, loosening it.

Mars - that's all anyone had to say. People are hateful cowardly creatures, and he's done fighting for them, but Mars is his home and he's been gone far too long. Alan struggled with his wrist cuffs. They were fabric cuffs held with Velcro, and he soon had his right arm free. Moments later, his bandaged left hand was freed, and he pulled the tube out of his throat. Then he pulled the IV needle out of his arm. Moments later, his ankles were free. Alan found some gauze to stop the bleeding from the IV needle and he did a quick inspection of the cabinets where he found pajama pants, which he somehow pulled on, then a bathrobe. He grabbed his ID card and left.

<><><><><>

"Sir? I don't think you're supposed to be in here. We have a VIP coming through today."

"Then let's hurry this up, corporal," said Alan. "As soon as we're done, I can go back to my duty station. Show me where the Zheleznaya Koroleva is sitting."

A large plexigraph status board lit up, showing a section of the asteroid belt. "Here you go sir... she's still sitting on the edge of the asteroid belt, probably loading up on ore," said the marine corporal.

"Show me her movements for the past six months." A time lapse depiction of the solar system's traffic for the past six months sped by on the status board. He watched the Koroleva sit on the edge of the asteroid belt and it looked motionless.

"She's not doing anything, sir. She's probably loading ore from different asteroid mines."

"Have you ever seen a freighter sit in one spot for six months? Look at the asteroids," said Alan. "She's not drifting with the asteroids, she's passing them." He tried to think of what was going on, then he said, "zoom back a little, now replay the last six months."

"Room! Ten HUT!" called the captain of the watch. Just then, a marine general with more ribbons and badges than Alan knew existed walked into the CIC and began looking around. Alan tried to continue to gather information but his navy blue bathrobe drew attention from the VIP.

"I didn't know that we were treating patients in the CIC," said General Sizemore, the commandant of the Marine Corps.

"Just gathering information for my next op, sir."

"And you are who?"

"Just a Martian sir, I'll be off your station in a few hours." Alan heard a groan from the generals cloud of hangers-on. Captain Schirra was in the gang of brown nosers.

"Name and rank mister Martian, then I will be the one that decides how you will exit my station."

"Scarlett, Alan B. Lieutenant JG."

"Well, Scarlett, Alan B, my records show that you're a Lieutenant Commander. Did you lose your rank immediately? I signed that paperwork a month ago."

"Yes, sir."

"No, sir, he did not," said Captain Schirra. "His promotion ceremony hasn't happened yet. It's scheduled to happen when he returns to his unit, his family. He's supposed to be recuperating in the hospital and was not given leave from the hospital."

"So, Scarlett, Alan B. Why are you here in the CIC when you should be on the mend?"

"This, sir." And he pointed out the Zheleznaya Koroleva. "There's something on that ship I want and I am going to get it."

"It's just an ore freighter, probably waiting for a load from an Asteroid Belt mine," said General Sizemore.

"She's not waiting for ore, sir." Alan turned to the corporal and said, "Play it again, Sam." This time, they could see the big freighter moving faster than the asteroids. "It's keeping pace with Mars."

"So?"

"The MIA has it listed as a mystery ship, sir," said Captain Schirra. "They believe it is full of invasion troops."

The general stared at him. The Martian Intelligence Agency was not big (as far as anyone could tell) but it was deadly accurate. He returned his attention to Alan. "Are you familiar with mystery ships Scarlett, Alan B.?"

Alan turned to the corporal that was controlling the status boards. "Find the Bogdanov." Soon they were zoomed in on the ship. "Sir, this is the Obshchiy Bogdanov. From the outside, it looks like a standard three hundred meter long ore freighter. However, it has doors cut down the sides of its hull, and when the doors on the sides open, it can launch up to one hundred fighters at you."

"What makes you say that?"

"Because as we departed from the Lake Baikal blast, we were harried by fighters the entire trip to Mars. I ordered my men to follow them and we caught them flat-footed, recovering on the Obshchiy Bogdanov. I proceeded to ruin their evening by shooting the piss out of the Obshchiy Bogdanov."

"And what is on the Koroleva that you want so bad?"

"General Slobodan Romanov, sir."

The general stared at Alan for a long time then said, "You look tired Scarlett, Alan B. I think it's best you go lie down before you fall down. You and I will have a talk later."

"Yes, sir."

"Go."

"Yes, sir." Alan left the Combat Information Center and began heading down to the Earth Ring, but the elevator stopped on the Mars Ring to pick up a passenger and Alan stepped off and headed toward his room. He stopped by Anna's room to give her a piece of his mind, but he found the room empty. He sat down on the bed, then leaned over and went to sleep.

<><><><><>

The small shuttle docked to the Arcturus, which remained beside Camp Schmitt. The huge black bomber sat and scoured the airwaves, listening for errant broadcasts in and out of Camp Schmitt, and radar probes of the big Marine station. In fact, four days ago, a radio message that originated inside Camp Schmitt set off alarm bells in the intelligence suite of the bomber. Two cryptologists worked in the tiny closet and finally decoded the message. It was a simple acknowledgement: "It's complete."

It wasn't the text of the message that the radio men were concerned with; it was the sound of the message. Each radio has a modulator, and each modulator is individual and adds a subaudible hum of varying amplitude to the signal. An audio fingerprint. A cryptological radio operator will look for that hum and match it to a database of known radios. This radio was known. It was a part of the inventory of hand-held radios issued to troops on the Arcturus.

Captain of the Arcturus, Colonel Marquette, received a call from Captain Schirra regarding Lieutenant Scarlett, which upset the colonel. Alan was a prisoner on his ship, yet he acted with dignity and was pleasant to speak with. He remained in the "captain's apartment" and took care of Anna Vasquez, watching over her like a mother lion. He remained close to her and shielded her from people that scared her and was there for her every moment of the day. When she woke up in terror, shrieking from the nightmares caused by her treatment at the hands of the Eastern Bloc, Alan was there to calm her, and Colonel Marquette admired that.

The passengers from the shuttle got out and lined up in the inner ante room where the Colonel welcomed them back on board. "Did we all have fun on shore leave?" asked Colonel Marquette. He gave them a knowing grin. Somebody always got into trouble on shore leave. They wouldn't be marines if they didn't. "Welcome back. Did we all have fun? Anyone wake up in somebody else's underwear?" There was some chuckling and somebody nudged Spaceman Apprentice Anton Ellis out of line. Anton was blushing so much his coffee brown skin glowed. "Anton!" said Colonel Marquette. "Again?"

"No sir," said the young man. "Not this time. I learned my lesson." That caused gales of laughter. Anton's very first shore leave was one for the history books. Since then, he's learned to moderate.

"I hope so. Got your dog tags? We may be shipping out soon. Everyone pull out their dog tags."

Half of the eight marines that got off the shuttle were wearing their dog tags. "Rivera? No tags?"

"Didn't wear them off the boat, sir. Don't want to lose them."

"Jones? No dog tags?"

"They're in my bunk, sir."

"Fascinello? Tags?"

"In my bunk, sir."

"Ok, back to duty. Oh, Danielle, hold up a moment." The tall body builder stopped. "Corporal Coleman, let me see your radio."

"Yes sir," and she handed him the radio she carried as the 'troop commander' on shore leave.

Colonel Marquette looked at the radio. It was etched with the number seventeen, the radio that made the cryptic transmission. "We found your dog tags," said Colonel Marquette as two marines with MP arm bands stepped into the ante chamber, and Darlene looked at them in shock.

"For a set of dog tags, sir?"

"There's a matter of a set of fingerprints and video from a kitchen security camera when a knife was stolen. Get back on the shuttle."

<><><><><>

All he heard was normal radio chatter and Flight Captain Vassily Novikov of the People's Glorious Space Force told himself for the five thousandth time that the planner that came up with this scheme was insane. Their agents had their chance in the officer's club, but the target lived, so sweet Darlene had her turn... and he lived! Even their highest ranked men have failed! What does it take to kill this man? Now Vassily could see why General Romanov was so insistent on capturing or killing this man. It wasn't just the good men were lost in Dandong because of him, he is Tarakan, a cockroach!

Vassily Novikov and his team sat watching the big wagon wheel space station, listened to their inane radio chatter, and waited. Their duty cycle was three days of cockpit alert, then they swap out into a small cargo freighter and relax in relative comfort for three days while Major Irinei Popov and his team sat cockpit alert for three days. Then they swap out again. This was the last day in his cycle and so far all he's seen was a flight of their FB-719 fighter bombers depart for their date with the scrapper's torch in the Western Alliance's North Sahara scrapyard. Two hours later, the call they were waiting for finally happened.

"Navy Control, this is prisoner shuttle November Sierra zero niner and we're ready to depart Camp Schmitt for Armstrong Station."

"This is Navy Control, shuttle November Sierra zero niner is clear to depart Camp Schmitt. Descend to ten thousand nautical miles and maintain orbital velocity until cleared for TLI... Do you really have Lieutenant Scarlett on board?"

"Yeah, he's in pretty bad shape. The bastards really got the guy this time."

"Have a safe flight and tell the lieutenant that all the crew here in Navy control is pulling for him."

"Will do. November Sierra Zero Niner departing Camp Schmitt."

Vassily watched through his telescopic video monitor and sure enough, a small six passenger shuttle detached from the big station. It oriented itself, then swung its nozzles in the direction of travel and started their descent burn. "It is time, my comrades," said Vassily. "Ve shall descent to ten thousand nautical miles in 3... 2... 1..."

All six GR-88 fighters known as Ferrets to the West were actually copies of the West's F-724 "Slingshot" fighters that were being held up in production. They were fast and agile, but they lacked the navigational capabilities of a large fighter, so they couldn't be used outside of Earth's orbit. They had an enormous engine and a powerful single nose mounted laser. It was a tiny ship with a big gun.

They reached their programmed altitude and gained their target. This was going to be a delicious victory, Vassily thought, and dreams of receiving the Order of Lenin award danced in his head. Suddenly screams of, "ALARM! ALARM!" from his men filled his ears. His threat warning receiver never showed that there was a threat.

"Western ships behind us Vas--" shouted his wingman, who went silent.

Vassily looked to his right and saw that his wing man had been cut apart by a powerful laser from behind them. He looked at his radar and, one by one, his flight winked out without firing a shot. He looked up and watched the shuttle they had been tracking climb upward, climbing back to Camp Schmitt. It was a decoy! They were played like fools! An FB-719 moved up beside him and he heard his name being called on the radio.

"Flight Captain Vassily Novikov, this is Captain Donald Slayton of the Western Alliance Marine Corps. Surrender your vessel and we will assure you safe passage to Camp Schmitt." Donald Slayton spoke flawless Russian with a slight Georgian accent.

Roaring with anger, Vassily turned his ship ninety degrees to the left and put that ugly bubble canopy of the FB-719 in his gunsight, but before he could pull the trigger, everything went blank in his cockpit. Some other FB-719 shot him in the generator. He had nothing, no power, no laser. If he had a missile, he couldn't launch it. He had no engine power, so he couldn't even ram his opponent. Worse of all, he would have no oxygen in 30 minutes.

Shaking with anger and humiliation, Vassily lowered the landing gear, a symbol of surrender. It is the same thing as raising your hands in surrender. "Fine," said Captain Slayton on Vassily's battery powered helmet radio. "Now step out and we will give you a ride."

Ignoring the sick, nauseous feeling in his gut, Vassily manually opened the canopy and released his seat restraints. He drifted out of the cockpit where two marines waited for him. They wrapped a cargo strap around him, keeping his arms pinned to his sides, and lowered him into an empty third seat of the FB-719. Vassily didn't know that there was a third position in the FB-719. He sat in there facing backwards and they used a small cargo net to keep him in the seat. "Sorry about the netting, Vassily," said Captain Slayton over the radio in perfect but accented Russian. "It's for your safety. We have different seat restraints than you do."

"This ship..." Vassily didn't know how to describe what he was seeing. The FB-719 had an electronic warfare array that beat the Eastern Bloc's best electronic warfare ships. At least one of the four FB-719's had an electronic warfare officer and masked their signals and jammed their threat warning radar. Eastern Bloc fighters would never see the marines coming. "You vill scrap this?"

"They say that the planning for ship acquisitions and disposals were done by an Eastern Bloc spy."

"Da. Could be very likely. Vas Commandar Scarlett on that shuttle?"

"No, but he did design this operation, right down to saving your life," said Captain Slayton as the FB-719s returned to Camp Schmitt.

"So now vhat, I am going to prison? Torture? Kvestioning?"

"Worse. You're going to a Marine chow hall."

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

Camp Schmitt, August 16, 2142

Spy Zone

Doctor Simon Misho tapped on the door of room 102. That's where the guy on suicide watch was stabbed. They weren't going to bring him out of the anesthesia for several more days, so all Dr. Misho had to do was make sure the saline drip was dripping and the feeding tube was feeding. They hung a new bag of saline at the end of last shift and the feeding tube was fully automated, so Doctor Misho prioritized the young marines that were hauled into the emergency room. There was a football game down on the earth level gymnasium and there were quite a few injuries. All the injuries came from the audience, which is not that strange for a group of young, drunk marines.

Finally, free to do his rounds properly, Doctor Misho looked into room 102 and found the bed empty. The arm and leg restraints hung empty. The IV was dangling from its stand and the feeding tube was on the ground; the equipment was turned off properly to prevent the alarms from going off. A bathrobe was missing, and he didn't know what else was gone. The doctor stormed out to the nurse's station. The nurses had been overworked by the football injuries also, so it was clear they didn't get their rounds either. "Where is Lieutenant Scarlett?"

"He's in his room. He's..." the nurse checked her instruments. Everything associated with Alan Scarlett was flatlined, like he was dead. They were never notified because all of his alarms were muted, something that never should have occurred. "Major Crenshaw, report to the nurses' station," she said on the intercom, then turned to Doctor Misho. "I've paged the head nurse."

"What is the problem?" groaned a very unhappy Major Crenshaw when she arrived at the nurses' station. She had just gotten to bed after a very demanding twenty hour shift.

"A patient is missing."

It was a Friday on a Marine camp. Marines were constantly busting themselves up, going to the clinic to get patched up, then wandering off to bust themselves up even more. "Who is it this time?" she said in a long suffering voice.

"The suicide watch, Lieutenant Scarlett."

Major Crenshaw looked up at the door to room 102 and asked, "Where's the guard?"

"I have been on-shift eight hours. There was no guard," said Dr. Misho.

Major Crenshaw typed furiously on her terminal and brought up the security video of Alan's room and backed up 24 hours, then played it forward at quadruple speed and suddenly the guard disappeared. She backed up and set it to play again. A tall, slender girl, almost a ballerina, stepped up to the guard, then suddenly they both disappeared, and the hall was empty and the door was open.

"What the hell?" she muttered and went back and forth, watching the guard and the tall ballerina disappear.

"The time stamp," said Doctor Misho.

"Oh no," groaned Major Crenshaw. The time stamp jumped forward from nineteen twenty hours where the guard was last seen, to twenty-one fifty hours. "Two and a half hours were wiped?"

"Call the MPs," said Doctor Misho. "And see if they have a search dog."

<><><><><>

Anna Vasquez, Pandora Vermillion, and Marcy Dunlop entered Anna's room. Anna had just finished buying a new outfit and was changing into it. "Do you think Morris will like it?"

"I think Morris will like anything you tell him to like," said Marcy.

"What do you mean by that?"

"The moment that general showed some interest in you, you sank your claws into him."

"He likes me," said Anna.

"What about Alan?"

"He's too... too... I don't know... he's too..."

"Too broke?" asked Alan as he emerged from under the covers and sat up on the bed. "Or too broken."

Pandora and Marcy gasped. He was covered with bruises; he had two black eyes and his left side was bleeding. "I'm too broken? Too thin skinned? Too Poor? Too inferior? Too Martian? Too low ranking? Or maybe just too pathetic." Their voices had woken him up, so when he sat up, he found himself holding a teddy bear. The covers hid him from their sight. Pandora almost sat on him, but she just considered the lumpy covers bad housekeeping.

"What are you doing here?" gasped Anna.

Alan stared at the stuffed Teddy Bear that was in her bed. It was the first purchase he made when he got his ID card back and could access his money. She called it Alan Bear Scarlett (because he wouldn't tell her what his middle initial B. stood for) and she put a bright red ribbon on its neck. "I came to tell you that I love you, but I guess you'd rather that I say goodbye."

"You were under arrest," she said as if he never said, 'I love you'. "You shouldn't be in my room!"

"So what? I've been through much worse for you, and you never said it. You couldn't be bothered. And on those nights you needed someone to talk to, did I ever say, 'You shouldn't be in my room?' You met General Sugardaddy, and you never looked back at me." He got up, walked past Anna and placed Alan Bear Scarlett on top of her dresser. "I'm sorry I wasn't good enough. Enjoy your bear."

"What! What was that?" demanded Anna. Alan stopped and looked at her with pain-filled eyes, then left.

Marcy shook her head. "He just walked out of your life," she said. "Don't be surprised if you never fly again."

"What did he mean?" Anna said as she looked from Pandora to Marcy and back. They were the two women she thought were friends.

"He's done with you," said Pandora. "How the hell could you let that get away?"

"He gave everything up for you and wasn't done giving it up," said Marcy. "He told me that after the court martial, he was going to resign his commission, sell a few of the patents that his parents left him and buy a home for you and baby."

"What? He never told me..."

"He couldn't, you were ignoring him," said Pandora. "I was with Alan when he picked out that bear. He was sure it would tell you how he felt. God, it took hours. He wanted to find the perfect item for you. I tried to convince him that he needed to be sure of your feelings before he invested his emotions in you."

"I can't believe it. He nearly died for you a dozen times over. He swam that river fifteen times to find a way into that building. I watched him from twenty thousand miles up... fifteen times!" Marcy was nearly shouting. "He built a rocket with his own hands to rescue you. Good Fucking God! if some guy did that for me, I'd be carrying an entire litter of Martians for him right now."

"And you never bothered to say thank you," said Pandora, getting up. "That hurt him more than anything else you did to him. Let's go Marcy, we need to get back to the Arcturus."

"Yeah, the air is getting stale in here."

As they left, Alan traveled down to the Earth ring on the elevator. On the lift next to him, a "dog," a small robot that looked like a lawn mower with tracks, was heading up. It got off the elevator, and it sniffed, looking for traces of Alan Scarlett. It led its MP handlers to Anna's room, where it stopped. The Marine dog handler beat on the door and a confused tear filled Anna said, "What?"

"We have a warrant to search your room!" The door flew open and five marines entered and proceeded to "toss" her room.

Down on the earth ring, a crowd of people were clustered around the nurse's station when Alan arrived at the hospital. He walked around behind the crowd and slipped into his room and lay down on his bed. He lay there considering how fucked up his life has gotten when he realized that the bandages on his left hand were covered with blood. "Oh shit," he groaned when he discovered his stab wound was bleeding.

Alan hit the call button and heard a commotion outside of his room. The door flew open and Alan was shocked when the nurse that entered the room screamed in terror when she saw him.

<><><><><>

In the CIC, Captain Schirra was showing General Sizemore the threat that the Eastern Bloc poses to Mars. "They want Martian resources, the iron, iridium, nickel, and osmium and they don't want to pay for it. The Zheleznaya Koroleva is full of Eastern Bloc troops and remains in a position to strike Mars, while the Gorod Moskva and her sister ship the Obshchiy Bogdanov begin to move into position to strike. We know what is in the Bogdanov thanks to Commander Scarlett and his men and women, and there's no reason to believe that the Gorod Moskva is any different. Alan informed me when I put him in advanced leadership and tactics school that he was going to take special pleasure in killing General Romanov."

"And how is he going to do that?"

"If you could clear your staff, I could give you a briefing," said Captain Schirra.

General Sizemore was intrigued, so he turned to his chief of staff and said, "Bill, take the crowd of gawkers over to the hub gymnasium and let them have some fun."

"Yes, sir."

As soon as everyone that didn't have a need to know was out of the room, Captain Schirra said, "He's already eliminated General Chang. His next target is General Romanov..."

"Wait... HE got General Chang?" asked the Commandant.

"You haven't been briefed in yet?"

"No, I've been shaking hands and kissing babies like a politician. This is the closest I've been to work in a month."

"Yeoman, bring up Three Alpha."

"Aye aye sir," said the spaceman and the plexigraph board they were looking at showed the Crossfire Voyager sitting in the Maryborough Salvage yard.

"This was advertised as a static engine run of a homemade replica of a late model Longmarch missile. I guess these night engine runs draw a crowd of spectators so you'll hear them cheering."

Flames shot out from under the Crossfire Voyager and it slowly rose into the sky on a tongue of flame. At some point it slowly settled back to earth, the main engine gimballing wildly, the flame waving side to side, trying to keep the rocket pointed straight up. The Crossfire Voyager waggled across the sky and only recovered in time to settle down on the roof of the reeducation center as the crowd cheered.

"That was all planned," said Captain Schirra. "Keep in mind, General Chang is inside the building."

Just then, the rocket sank into the building. "How did he do that?" asked General Sizemore.

"That wasn't planned. The roof couldn't hold his weight. Neither could the third floor," Captain Schirra added as the rocket disappeared inside the building. "At this point he is rescuing Lieutenant Vasquez, but his first stage oxygen tank leaked and was empty, so he launched with the second stage which used a mass reaction motor..." A streak of pure white flame shot out of the building and zipped skyward and the crowd went wild. "He was sitting atop a nearly full tank of liquid propane so..." and a bright blue flash glowed in the few windows of the building and part of the roof collapsed. There was excited chatter from the crowd for nearly half a minute when suddenly the video stopped. "This streak of yellow which hasn't been mentioned by the media is an HS-197 hypersonic guided bomb. Where this single frame caught its tail, one twenty-fourth of a second long, we estimate that the bomb penetrated to the basement where it went off." The video resumed, and the building collapsed.

"Where did he get the rocket?" asked General Sizemore.

"He built it from scrap that he recovered from orbit. NCIS Special Agent Melika Reeves was with him undercover and even assisted in the construction of the Crossfire Voyager. The escape capsule they flew in is still in the bomb bay of the Arcturus."

"I find that hard to believe that he built that by himself."

"Sir, when he was eleven, he programmed his Noxie robot to visually display clandestine ultra-low power radio waves. He did it based on an article that speculated that you could do it. Here's his plan to get General Romanov."

The captain took a China marker and began to mark the plexigraph board. He drew a circle in a portion of the Asteroid belt. "Ok, here is the location of where the Lake Baikal was destroyed. It's moving with the asteroid belt. When that and the Zheleznaya Koroleva and Mars line up..." and he drew a complex series of spacecraft formations, attack patterns and ship positions and described a complex assault on the Zheleznaya Koroleva where General Romanov was stationed. "Until that time, he'll have the three squadrons exercising carrier activities right here," and he drew a circle in an area that the Zheleznaya Koroleva would eventually move into. They plan to draw him into complacency before the actual attack.

Just then, he was interrupted. "We just got a signal from Bravo flight, Captain Schirra," said the head of intelligence in the Combat Information Center. "The op worked. Five ferrets have been destroyed, one captured. Bravo lead is returning with one guest aboard."

"Oh, thank god," sighed Captain Schirra. "Reply with my congratulations and make sure our guest gets a hot meal."

"What op is this Captain?" asked Marine commandant General Sizemore.

"There were six GR-88 fighters sitting at a supply depot, waiting to jump on any ship carrying Lieutenant Scarlett. Our fear was that they were going to capture him and take him to the Eastern Block. General Romanov has been trying to kill him for twelve years."

"That scrawny pup that was just in here? Scarlett, Alan B.?" asked the General.

"Alan is a certified genius," said Wally Schirra. "He's got a PhD in astrophysics, is a top tactician, a wizard at robotics, and he's got the heart of a warrior. Just mention that Mars is in jeopardy and he'll move a moon to save Mars, if that's what it takes."

"Move a moon," chuckled General Sizemore. "That's funny."

"Don't put it past him. If it could be done, he'll do it. He designed that operation and I'm pretty sure the next time we see him, after he berates and threatens me and threatens to resign his commission, he's going to demand that we give him all the FB-719's in the inventory," said the Captain.

"Berate and threaten you?" asked General Sizemore. He was in shock that a junior officer would dare speak to a command officer like that.

"I earned it," said Captain Schirra with a sigh. "I used him like a rented mule." He told the general of the horrible ways Alan was treated and the general grew angry.

"I'm ready to beat the hell out of you myself."

"Let me show you the results of the treatment he received. If you would follow me, general?" Captain Schirra led the general and his entourage to the brig on the Mars ring where the Eastern Bloc spies were being held.

The brig was overflowing. "Admiral Peake?" gasped the commandant, seeing a face he recognized.

"And his chief of staff, Captain Aaron Roberts," said Captain Schirra. "Here's his co-conspirators, Major Harold Kennedy and Lieutenant David Olson, formally with the JAG corps. They dummied up an entire general court martial without an article 32 hearing. We're waiting with bated breath to find out how they did that."

"I used to trust the JAG corps over civilian litigators," said the Commandant as he studied the angry lawyers. "Why would they do that?"

"Almost single-handedly, Alan Scarlett sprang a prisoner from their new prison facility, destroyed the facility, and killed General Chang. The Eastern Bloc has marked Alan Scarlett for death by any means."

They moved to the next cell. "That brings us to this sullen looking fellow. He is Major Randy Treadwell, formerly the navigator of the NSS Arcturus. He actually tried to prevent Commander Scarlett from rescuing Lieutenant Vasquez. When he couldn't talk Alan aboard the Arcturus, he tried to kill him with a Chinese Norinco NP/S 77, 40 caliber with space suit modified trigger guard, safety, and grips."

"I'd like to see that gun," said Oakley Sizemore.

"You can't prove anything. That Lunar bitch was lying. There was no gun," snarled Major Treadwell.

"The gun is back where it belongs, in Commander Scarlett's personal collection, along with the Smith-Ruger 988 that Doctor Burgman shot him with. And that Lunar bitch he was talking about is Lieutenant Vermillion."

The next two cells contained six marines. "What are these boys here for?" asked General Sizemore. Their uniforms were perfect, as were their hair and shave.

"They each took money from Admiral Peak to beat Commander Scarlett far beyond what is reasonable, with Billy clubs in front of witnesses in the officers' club."

The general glared at the young men. "We fight to protect our brothers. That's the marine's sole purpose in life, and you..." The general was at a loss for words. "Execute them."

The next cell contained two Polynesian women. "This is Noelani Kawehi and Keala Mononoke. Miss Kawehi met Commander Scarlett when they were ten. Later at university, she was turned by professors spouting Eastern Bloc rhetoric and became an agent. She's believed to have planned and executed several bombings on several Western Alliance installations on the South American mainland. She attempted to kill Commander Scarlett on Fiji 2. Miss Mononoke is her assistant. She was instrumental in the abduction of Lieutenant Vasquez."

"Who is this fellow?" asked General Sizemore as a Russian spaceman was led into the brig.

"This is Flight Captain Vassily Novikov of the People's Glorious Star Fleet. He attempted to shoot down an unarmed shuttle that he thought was carrying Commander Scarlett. We thought they were going to negotiate for his return, and we told them we had him held captive, but they said, 'keep him.'"

"Da, for zat I veesh to speek vith intelligence officer," muttered Vassily. "Zey vant Scarlett more zan any other. I haf information zey weesh I did not share."

"You'll get your chance Vassily," chuckled Captain Schirra. "He's been a fountain of intel since the Eastern Bloc tried to kill him in the chow hall. Are you comfortable Vassily?"

"Da!" He patted the cot he was lying on. "Is warm and dry, much nicer than sitting in GR-88 for days."

"They tried to kill him in the chow hall?" asked a stunned general.

"Yes, they did. Isn't that right, Corporal Coleman?"

"Go fuck yourself," muttered Danielle. The pretty young woman wearing a Marine Corps flight suit sat alone in a cell.

"Corporal Coleman is actually Lieutenant Colonel Galya Yanina Stepanova of the people's glorious Star Fleet, and somehow she got assigned to the Arcturus. While on shore leave on Camp Schmitt she tried to kill Vassily in the chow hall and she stabbed Commander Scarlett in his hospital room. Not the kind of person we want on our bombers. The Yeoman that pencil-whipped her background check will be joining our merry band later this afternoon."

"Idi nakhuy sam," (go fuck yourself) she said even louder.

"Polkovnik Marquette prekrasno govorit po-russki," (Colonel Marquette speaks perfect Russian) said Cerise Sanguine as she locked up a female in a marine uniform with Galya and joined the tour. "Colonel Marquette suspected Galya Stepanova the moment she stepped aboard the Arcturus. Her roommate is Alya Yaroslava Naoumova. She tried to stab Vassily Novikov."

"General Sizemore, this is NCIS Lunar District Director Cerise Sanguine who has been instrumental in each of these arrests," said a very proud Captain Schirra.

"My god, you look exactly like the young woman who gave me a tour of an Asteroid Belt mining facility earlier this year."

"Eris Carmine?"

"Yeah, that's her name. Do you know her?" asked the General.

"She's our daughter."

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

Perseverance City Mars, August 18, 2142

Rebuilding Trust

"Have any of you been in contact with Alan Scarlett?" called Ray Clark as he entered the Berserker hangar.

Lieutenant Kavandi, Petty Officer Cernan, Spaceman Lisa Johnson and Spaceman Apprentice Greg Johnson were working on an F-201 Star Striker. They had just removed the wing tip position laser emitter from the belly of the bird and were replacing it with a reaction mass fuel cell. Gene Cernan and Greg Johnson were under the Star Striker, laying on their backs holding the empty fuel tank up while Lieutenant Kavandi bolted it in place. A row of ten laser emitters that had been removed from different F-201 strikers were lined up at the side of the hangar and Lisa was getting all the serial numbers from the emitter that had just been removed.

The wing tip emitters used the same laser device as the nose position emitter, but the power was divided into the two wing tips, making each shot half as powerful as the nose position laser. Removing the emitter and adding the fuel cell lightened the F-201 Star Striker and gave it more reaction mass. The F-201 could now reach Martian orbit without having to add an external tank to carry the needed mass.

"No sir, Mister Clark. We haven't heard from Commander Scarlett since he went AWOL," said the lieutenant. "The entire squadron is in the dark."

"Something happened at Camp Schmitt, and the whole place is in an uproar," said Ray Clark. "Missus Johnson, you should be sitting down in your condition."

"I'm pregnant, not dead," said Lisa and she continued to shove the heavy emitter into line with the other emitters.

Ray continued. "President Curtis is angry about something that happened after Lieutenant Scarlett's court martial. He ordered all Navy personnel and equipment off Mars."

Lieutenant Kavandi crawled out from under the Star Striker, and Gene and Greg crawled under to connect all lines to the new fuel cell. "All of this junk is property of the Martian Self Defense Force," said the lieutenant. "I'll be damned if we didn't get these wrecks flying just to hand them over to the Earthers."

"We're all Martians. He can't kick us off Mars," said Lisa.

"If he does, I'm taking the keys for this one," said Greg from under the Star Striker. "Good luck trying to sell this to the Navy without the keys." The keys he was referring to were a pair of boxes that needed to be programmed by the unit intel officer. Without them, the communication system, weapons, and the engines didn't work. They were to prevent theft and terrorist acts. Without them, the ship was useless, and they weren't interchangeable.

"Mister vice president!" called a presidential aide as he walked into the hangar. "I was told to tell you, Alpha Message."

"Oh god, Alpha is probably pissed," muttered Ray. "Lieutenant, you may want to see this."

"We have to put the nose laser emitter back in this Star Striker," said the lieutenant.

"We have this, ma'am," said Gene as he slid out from under the Star Striker. "It's not like we haven't done it a dozen times already."

"Come on, it's going to be fun," said Ray, and he led Janet Kavandi to the Convair Intergalactic offices. The office staff rose when he walked in. "Sit!" he ordered.

"Mister Vice President..." started the receptionist.

"It's ok Billie, I'm just here to see Doctor Cox, and how come I didn't get treated like that when I worked here?"

"Maybe because you still owe me one? She's down in the reading room."

Ray rolled his eyes and smiled, then leaned over her desk and whispered in her ear, which caused the receptionist to blush and smile. Lieutenant Kavandi wondered what was with this man that women all over Mars were swooning over him. "Come lieutenant, I want to introduce you to Doctor Monica Sax." He led Janet into the offices of Convair Intergalactic that were just off the main concourse in Perseverance City. From the main entrance, Janet could see The Red House, the home and offices of the President of the United Martian Colonies.

"What do you owe her?" asked Janet as they walked through the halls of the Convair Intergalactic offices.

"A baby," said Ray without a hint of sarcasm or chicanery.

"No, really."

"Really."

"Ok, don't tell me," said Janet.

"I just did," said Ray as he led her to an elevator and gestured to her to wait until they were on the elevator.

Janet wondered what an elevator was doing in the building. In this area, the highest this office could go is two stories. She's flown over the capital dozens of times and knows the roof line intimately. Ray insists they circle Perseverance City after a successful flight to show off the star striker to the Martians of the capital colony. Each Star Striker needed at least one acceptance inspection flight, then a flight after the write-ups have been cleared, then one or two gunnery flights to insure the laser is aligned. Now Petty Officer Cernan is talking about something called "bore sighting."

Finally, the elevator opened, and they stepped on. Ray pushed and held the door close button and the second floor button. There was an odd "Ding!" and the elevator started going down. "Every Martian counts. You've been off world. The Battle of Lake Baikal followed by the Battle of Kōngchéng. The population is terrified they're going to draft Martian men again and we haven't recovered from 2080. We've got seven colonies in the federation. In 2075, we had fourteen, not counting Kōngchéng, New Kiev, and Saint Stanislaus." The last three were Eastern Bloc colonies that were all abandoned or were vaporized in an atomic blast.

"You make it sound like a sexual free-for-all is going on here to rebuild the population," said the young lieutenant. "My parents were happily married."

"Mars is still 71 percent female," said Ray. "Gene sharing is very important, and I think Mars has more fun with that than Luna." Luna uses (IVF) In Vitro Fertilization for most their children. Mars believes in the old fashion way. He didn't mention that his research showed that one of Janet's brothers is actually her half-brother, and she's got a half-sister and two more half-brothers over on the Hellas Planitia Colony that she never met.

"Why does Mars not use IVF? The natural method is less accurate and has a higher failure rate."

"It's cheaper and more fun," said Ray. "Ah, we're here. Stay close to me. Security is pretty tight and nobody has a sense of humor down here. I'm going to sign you in as a candidate."

"Ok." Janet had no idea what he was talking about, but when the Vice President of the United Martian Colonies speaks, you listen. Seventy-five meters below the surface of Mars, Ray Clark stepped up to a security window and signed himself in, then turned back to Janet with a clip board and asked her to sign a form, then he returned to the window.

"Follow me closely," said Ray, and he led Janet to a door that buzzed when they approached. He opened the door, and they found themselves in a small office that contained an armed guard. Behind him was another office, which contained another woman at work at her terminal. The office contained a terminal, a printer, a classified document shredder, and a device that resembled an ice cream machine. The woman was a typical Martian, tall, leggy, beautiful brunette. "Janet, this is Doctor Monica Sax. Monica, this is Lieutenant Janet Kavandi, the only native born Martian female officer in the Navy."

"Welcome to MIA," said Monica. "What you see or hear here is kept in the strictest of confidentiality."

Janet nodded, showing that she understood. "The MIA really exists?" she asked. "I thought that was all fairy tale and comic book fodder."

"No, the Martian Intelligence Agency is very serious. It's the real thing," said Monica. Then she turned to Ray and said, "Is she cleared for this?"

Ray nodded and said, "It's all going to come crashing down on her head shortly. She's the detachment commander and will be commanding the Martian Space Force."

Monica sighed and continued. "It's been busy. We got a message from Alpha and Bravo, and they both agreed that the east fell for BackStab. The order from Beta for the Navy to evacuate Mars was part of BackStab, ignore it. A message from Iota said that the prisoner they captured confirmed that they no longer wanted to kill Alan for an operational advantage, they just wanted revenge for General Chang's death. Also, a message from Eta stated that Zeta may have been compromised, and that he was going to brief Rho on BackStab. Sigma is off the books, and you're getting a FB-719 for Phi to develop."

"Does anyone speak English here?" asked Janet. "It's all Greek to me." Then she turned to Ray and said, "Get it? Greek? ... what's wrong?"

Ray ignored Janet for the moment and punched the concrete wall. "He still doesn't know?"

"No sir, Iota was going to brief him and things went pear-shaped," said Monica.

"What is all this?" asked Janet. "What's with the Greek Alphabet?"

Monica shrugged. "It's a way of saying people's names without saying people's names. Alpha through Theta is assigned to positions. Alpha is head of the MIA. To be honest, I have no idea who that is. It could be Ray Clark. You're not Alpha, are you?"

"If I answer that I may have to kill you," said Ray. Janet was shocked to see that for once, there was no mirth in Ray's reply.

Monica continued, "Most we know. Beta is President of Mars, Gamma is the vice president, Delta is President of the Western Alliance, Epsilon is President of the Lunar Confederation, Zeta is CINCNAV, Eta is the Commandant of the Marines and Theta is Commander of the Space force. The rest of the alphabet is assigned to individual people. Sigma was Lieutenant Vasquez. She's off the books now. You are Upsilon, Gene is Phi, and Chi and Psi are the Johnsons."

"What do you mean she's off the books?" asked Janet, who was secretly happy she had a letter.

"She's grounded and probably retired. We don't have the full details but she's no longer a viable intelligence asset," said Monica. "She should have gone into treatment from the trauma of her captivity, but some asshole kicked off Operation BackStab and she was a vital part. She was going to take years of therapy to bolt her head back on. Now it may take a lifetime."

Janet muddled through the Greek alphabet soup that Dr. Sax dumped on her and finally said, "CINCNAV is compromised?"

"His vice commander is sitting in the brig on Camp Schmitt. CINCNAV could be involved, no one knows. He'll probably have to retire to clear his name. Meanwhile, Vice CINCNAV goes to Barsoom."

"NO SHIT?" gasped Janet. "What did that deck ape do?" (Deck Ape is a pejorative term used by Space Navy when talking about Blue-Water Navy officers. The term implies they don't have the courage to go into space.)

"He tried to fix Alan's court martial and get him thrown in an Earther prison where the East could get their hands on him. This was purchased with Eastern Bloc money. And because his vice was dirty, we believe CINCNAV could be dirty too."

"That's what kicked off BackStab," said Ray. "They're both going to end out at Barsoom as far as I'm concerned, and if JAG doesn't send them there, I will."

"Barsoom?" asked Janet.

"There are two prisons on Mars, Phobos 2 for Martian offenders, and for Earth convicts we have Barsoom. Edgar Rice Burrows wrote eleven fictional books about Mars. You know, John Carter? In his books, the Martian name for Mars was Barsoom. Burrows was a colony named after him, but in 2091, it was sealed and abandoned like what happened to Phobos 2. Phobos reopened in 2129. In 2132 Burrows was reopened as a prison for the very worst, and it was renamed Barsoom," said Monica.

"Remember those NCIS flakes, Grierson and Styles?" asked Ray.

"Yeah, one day they didn't show up for work and you said, 'don't worry about it.' What happened to them?" asked Janet.

"Once they got your ship unloaded and all the fighters in the hangar, they were given a choice: go to Barsoom and be a guard, or go to Barsoom and sit in a cell."

"That's cold!" gasped Janet.

"Those were the orders from Cerise Sanguine," said Monica. Janet nodded in agreement. She's heard of NCIS Director Cerise Sanguine. Her region was scattered all over space and she didn't take any crap from any NCIS agent, no matter where they were. Janet did not want to meet Director Sanguine at all.

Ray frowned and sat down next to Janet. "We're expecting a Vice CINCNAV, his chief of staff, two JAG officers, six marine MPs, and an undercover GRK officer who was posing as a spaceman's bosun's mate. She was a GRK assassin who targeted Alan. They're coming in on the next shuttle and heading straight to Barsoom."

Janet's eyes widened. "The GRK was after Alan? What did he do?" The GRK was billed as an investigative agency, but in reality, they were the Eastern Bloc's death squad. If the GRK wanted you dead, start digging your grave.

"We don't know," said Monica. "We're getting conflicting reports from Dandong. One said that Alan built a missile and used it to blow their new detention center up. Another report claimed that he swam across the river, escaped with Anna, then took off in a rocket he made. There was another one that said he and Anna were found in low earth orbit inside an escape pod by a scrapper and delivered to the Arcturus. It's all crazy! Like Alan could build a rocket that would reach orbit! It's a riot."

"He probably could," said Janet softly. "Especially if he's got left over parts. He's a genius with bits and pieces."

"What do you mean?"

"He found a few crates of fifty-caliber machine guns, then found a company that makes space rated ammo for the guns. He was working on a workable feed system for the ammo when everything went to crap."

"He made his toy robot do things that the makers and other enthusiasts only dreamed about," said Ray.

"I thought that it was Petty Officer Cernan that made the innovations," said Monica.

"He does," said Janet. "They work together, and they collaborate, and while Alan's running the show, Gene is in the background putting their ideas to work."

"I'd love to see that," said Monica. Monica is an aerospace engineer. She's been concentrating on things outside of her field of study for too long. It's time to get back in the game.

"Why not see what can be done with that inbound FB-719?" said Janet.

<><><><><>

Alan Scarlett woke up, and he was still in the hospital bed on Camp Schmitt. He just wanted to rest and get his stitches on his stab wound and... and what? He realized that he's not wanted anywhere or by anyone. They all hate him. Hilde, Anna, Noelani... even Estelle. Antonina Markov won't even let him see her. But he wasn't strapped down to the bed. That was a plus. However, under his blankets, he was naked, and he didn't see his clothes anywhere.

Then he noticed a big guy sitting next to his bed in the easy chair, reading Mars Today. He was wearing a khaki shirt and tie and dark green pants. He was a big guy with a huge chin and short, dark hair.

The guy looked at Alan and said, "Oh, you're up..." He took a section of the paper and folded it to the personals and handed it to Alan. "Here you go."

Alan habitually glanced through the personals and saw one there for him. He almost threw the paper across the room in disgust, but he read the personal ad anyhow...

Gogo -

Please, before you do anything, listen to this man

I trust him. Listen and make me proud.

I love you

- Smartie

Smartie... that was his mother's nickname for his sister, Christa. She was the smartest one in the family. She had her doctorate at fifteen... He looked at the guy and said, "My horoscope says I should listen to you."

"Do you believe what it says in your horoscope?"

"I do when it calls me by name. What do you want to say?"

The big guy got up and closed the door, then spun the big reclining chair around like it was as light as a folding chair. He sat down facing Alan in his bed and said, "I'm sorry. You should have returned as a hero... then they could go into BackStab, but so much got fucked up when that asshole Peak tried to court martial you. We knew he was going to, but he jumped faster than we expected. I am personally going to find out how he got you in front of a judge without an Article 32 hearing..."

"I never caught your name," said Alan.

"Oakley," and the big guy extended a hand to shake.

Alan shook his hand and said, "General Sizemore, what brings you here to the low-rent district?"

"You know who I am. I'm kind of surprised."

"You're the only person in the solar system with the name Oakley. I briefed you in the CIC the other day."

"Week. "You've been out for weeks," said the Marine Commandant.

Alan looked around nervously, then finally asked, "Why are you here... sir?"

"To personally apologize for BackStab. It was a great idea, and it worked better than we dreamed, but in operation, it cost far too much. The problem is, you were never fully briefed in, and nobody involved was told that you weren't briefed in, so they went with it and I'm afraid we lost you.."

"Ok, I missed a staff meeting. I do that a lot. What did I miss?"

"There's only two things that the Eastern Bloc hates more than the fact that they can't take what they want from Mars, is you and the fact that they can't get you. Both of those things are keeping them away from Mars. General Romanov is willing to do anything to take you out of the equation before you take him out."

Alan lay back and looked up at the ceiling. "They seem to be doing a better job of getting me than of me getting him."

"On the contrary," said General Sizemore. "Yes, you're banged up pretty good, but you're still looking down at the tops of the flowers."

"Please don't mention flowers," groaned Alan. He had wanted to get Anna flowers, but they were so expensive in space. He settled for a teddy bear and feels like an idiot.

"Sorry." Estelle told Oakley about the flowers and the teddy bear in Anna's room. "You're still functioning and ready to head back to work. BackStab was playacting by the people around you to discredit you. The Eastern Block agents would see you getting piled up on and they would join the attack. When they did and exposed themselves, we grabbed them. We didn't realize how much we could get. BackStab took over two dozen Eastern Bloc spies and operatives out of circulation, and that was just here at Camp Schmitt. There were an additional two on the Arcturus."

"Let me guess, Randy Tredwell, the bastard that tried to shoot me while we were in orbit."

General Sizemore took a piece of paper that was folded lengthwise and looked at the list. "Major Treadwell pled guilty to attempted murder, espionage, and willful destruction of WAMC weapons systems. Thirty years at Barsoom."

"Barsoom?" said Alan with a grin.

"Yes, almost everyone on this list is going to Barsoom, Admiral Anthony Peak, his chief of staff Captain Aaron Roberts, Major Harold Kennedy and Navy Lieutenant David Olson of the JAG corps, every yeoman that falsified documents to falsely imprison you, every marine that took money to beat you to death if possible in the officer's club. The Eastern Bloc operatives that were not part of the Western Alliance forces, Noelani Kawehi, Keala Mononoke, Lieutenant Colonel Galya Yanina Stepanova, will be sent to Lunar Max."

"What about Vassily?"

"He's asked for asylum and is singing like a canary. We were able to pick up two nurses before they poisoned you. We can't find the Ballerina, however," said General Sizemore.

"Who?"

"Tall, very slim Russian. She's a rogue Eastern Bloc agent and seems to be able to go anywhere she wants."

"Oh... I think that's my first RIO's sister. Let her be. She works for MIA as far as I can tell." Alan then thought about his last meeting with Antonina Markov and fell back on his pillow. "I know you're trying to help, general, but I'm more confused than ever."

"Lieutenant Scarlett, I cannot afford to lose you."

Alan stared at the ceiling and said, "With all due respect, sir, I don't work for you."

"Actually, commander, you do. Thanks to you exposing Admiral Peak and his links to the Eastern Bloc, I am now in charge of all naval space activities. Admiral Darwin reports to me, Captain Schirra reports to Admiral Darwin, you report to Captain Schirra."

"With all due respect, sir. I quit," said Alan, staring up at the ceiling.

"Bullshit. Son, you just doubled my workload and I fully intend to dump an enormous chunk of that shit sandwich in your lunchbox," said the General.

"I can't do it anymore, general. I'm tired."

"What do you want Commander?" asked General Sizemore. "What do you want more than anything else?"

"I want..." Alan knew the answer was impossible to fulfill. "I want to go home, but I don't have a home."

"I'm sorry for that, commander," said the General. "I know your history. I know your uncles, both of them. Ben and Ray, they're good men." He leaned forward and said softly, "I know your sister, Smartie."

"Wha...? How?"

"That is for later." General Sizemore took a cigar out of a pocket and considered it for a while. "You and I are alike... fighting men with no family, but that's wrong. Our families are our units. We long to be among the men and women we trust, those folks whose lives depend on us and ours depend on them. That's where our home is. You don't belong on Camp Schmitt. The Berserkers are waiting for you on Armstrong."

"I'm tired, sir. I have nothing to add to the mission."

"Bullshit," said General Sizemore. "When you briefed me on your observations with the Eastern Bloc mystery ships lying low in the Asteroid Belt, that was something that the ballsiest dream weavers in the intelligence community missed. They just came to it a couple of months ago... you saw it and called it out with one look at the status board. I can't lose that. You have guts, and you have smarts. I have two choices: put your scrawny ass back in the cockpit, or Shanghai you onto my staff and keep you on a short leash where I can watch you get fat on O Club food four meals a day."

"I was just guessing," said Alan.

"And you were dead right. So what will it be, the cockpit or the leash?"

"What if I said neither?" asked Alan.

"Don't push me. I'm not in a charitable mood."

"I want eight FB-719s, six warbirds, two for each squadron and two for parts. I want the marines who fly them as well and your best EWOs in the back seat. I also want three B-171s on call, one for each squadron."

"You're fighter squadrons. Why would you want a big old monster like the FB-719?" asked General Sizemore.

"We are a combat squadron. The F-201 is a great strike fighter, but it can carry one bomb at best, and its electronic warfare capabilities are nearly nonexistent. The 719 is the best EW bird I've ever seen, and it can haul some tonnage. As for the B-171, I need its ears, it's laser cannon, and its ordnance."

"I'll give you six 719's and the remains of the spare parts back stock. As for bombers, I can only afford one at a time unless you have a shooting war."

"Sold, let's go home."

"One more caveat, commander. I have ordered everyone in BackStab to come in here and confess their sins to you. I order you to listen to them. You don't have to believe them, you don't have to give a damn about what they say, but you do have to listen. I want the air cleared over this massive fuckup before we head out in three days." The general rose and tossed the cigar to Alan. "Save that. We'll have cigars and brandy over a game of Shogi at the Armstrong Top Five on Saturday."

"Yes, sir!" said Alan with a grin. He hasn't had a good game of Shogi since his niece Alana was born on Mars.

General Sizemore put on his suit jacket with badges and ribbons and four stars. "I'm heading down to Belgium for some dumb ceremony or another and then I'm going home, too. I'll see you on Armstrong in one week." He handed Alan a set of orders requiring him to transfer from Camp Schmitt to Armstrong Station. The flight would take sixty hours after the translunar interface and the TLI was scheduled for three days in the future.

"Aye-aye, sir!"

Alan suddenly felt a lot better, and General Romanov was in his targeting reticle. A plan for the general's demise slowly formulated, which pleased Alan. At least he hadn't lost his sense of irony. Then the first apologist tapped at the door. He looked up; it was Anna Vasquez standing in the doorway. She was dressed in a pink dress and was clutching her Alan Bear Scarlett Teddy bear to her chest. She looked utterly terrified.

"Come here," he patted the bed. "We've been through too much together to hide from each other." Anna sniffed and ran across the room and lay down next to Alan. "What's on your mind, RIO?"

"I'm so sorry! I didn't want to be mean to you, but... they said it was needed..."

"Shhh... shhh... calm down, this is bad for Little Tasha." He hugged her and stroked her long, silky black hair like they did for days on the Arcturus.

"They caught thirty people that wanted to hurt you..." gulped Anna. "They really wanted to hurt YOU!"

"And who do you think they'll be after when I'm gone? We both killed General Chang. Our ride in the Crossfire Voyager has been seen all over the world. They know it was us and they don't like it."

"I know you wanted to spend your life taking care of me," said Anna. "I can't let that happen. You want a complete woman, one who will give you babies. I'm so scared of being touched like that."

"Shhh, it's ok."

"No, it's not," she insisted. "I'm so fucked in the head. The general and I are moving to Mars. He was a POW too. They did things to him... we find strength in each other. When we retire, we're moving to Perseverance City."

Alan was quiet for a long time, then he finally said, "When you get there, see if Doctor Barber is still practicing. He was my shrink when my folks died."

"I will," she said softly.

"It's ok... can I babysit Tasha on occasion?"

"Yes, of course you can." Anna got up from bed and smiled. "I knew you'd want to."

"Goodbye Anna," he said as she closed the door behind her.

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

Camp Schmitt, September 1, 2142

Preparing to Leave

Alan spent nearly a full day in the cockpit of the FB-719 reviewing the flight manual and the switch positions. There was little for him that was new. It was a matter of knowing where the switches and knobs he needed were. The bloody thing had two Mass Reaction engines, which means that everything was doubled up. Twice as many power control indicators and controls, dials, switches, and throttles. And the directional thrusters were slow to react. He familiarized himself with the ship for a full day.

He was scheduled to fly on the Arcturus, but when the opportunity to fly a "Cow" came up, he hopped on it. A marine pilot was grounded by the flight surgeon for sinus congestion and had to go on the Arcturus and Alan volunteered to take his place in the FB-719.

"You're doing it to avoid me, aren't you?" asked Pandora Vermillion, back at his hospital room on the Earth Ring of Camp Schmitt.

Alan was in the bathroom getting ready to shave. He leaned out and saw the redhead sitting on his bed. She was scheduled to apologize, but like Marcy Dunlop, she had nothing to apologize for. She was on his side the whole time and she seemed extremely angry over what Captain Schirra and Estelle did and said. "Doing what, shaving?" asked Alan. "No, I only shave a couple of times a week and I have to fly tomorrow."

"No, flying the FB."

"I love flying and any time I get a chance to hop in a new cockpit, I take it."

"Let me shave you. I used to shave my dad all the time. Mom taught me how."

"What do I do?"

"Sit on the toilet," she said, and when he sat down with a towel over his lap, she studied his face before she applied the lather.

"What are you looking for?"

"Oh, anything that would be easy to nick," she lied. She just wanted to look at his face. When he wasn't being emotionally abused by the command staff or drowning in infatuation with Anna, he was quite good looking. He was a combination of nerdy and tough, with a helping of something else that called to her Lunar upbringing. She could see a deep inner strength, but she could also see a soul that had taken too many hits.

At the same time, Alan studied Pandora's face. Marine Captain Pandora Vermillion was a "fast burner" like him and was on the fast track to becoming a bomber commander. She had been popping up in conversations and locations. He was interested in Marcy. She was a tough chick with a snarky sense of humor that he just loved. Pandora was cute, a pixie like heart breaking cute, and Alan didn't need any more heart breaks.

The first time Pandora met Alan Scarlett, she was an unwitting member of a hit squad. She was shocked at what Major Tredwell did to him in the cargo bay of the Maryborough. "Was that gun that Randy Tredwell pulled on you an actual slug thrower?" she asked as she carefully applied an even coating of lather.

"Yeah, it was a Chinese-made gun. A Norinco NP/S 77. It's a 40 caliber semi-auto pistol modified to be used wearing a pressure suit. It has an enlarged trigger guard, safety lever and magazine ejector so you can operate it with the gloves of a pressure suit."

"It would have killed you," she said as she began the slow process of a proper shave.

"Yep, a whole lot," he said as she shaved him.

"Why don't you ride on the Arcturus? There won't be anyone that will kill you on board," said Pandora.

"I was told that last time I was invited aboard," said Alan. He meant it as a joke, but Pandora took it seriously.

"I didn't know he was an Eastern Bloc agent!"

"It's ok... I'm sorry, my mind's a little toasted. That bomber is a bit more complicated than I expected."

"It's just a fighter with extra bomb racks."

"That's what I thought too, then I opened up the dash one and hopped in the back seat."

"Back seat?" Pandora had never dealt with the FB-719. She didn't realize that there was something behind that bulbous pilot's canopy.

"Middle seat, actually. The back seat is for the EWO. I'll show you when we get to Armstrong."

Pandora frowned; she was becoming more interested in this brevet commander than she expected. "Why don't we do it now?" she said as she finished the shave and applied a soothing lotion.

"Yeah, why don't we. There's still a couple in a pressurized hangar." He rubbed his hand over his cheek and said, "Hey! That's an awesome shave. Remind me to return the favor."

Pandora had a vision of lying on her back, legs spread wide and Alan trimming her pubic hair "Luna style" where the remaining hair is trimmed in the shape of a heart. She found herself getting hot for him. If he could keep himself from getting injured, he'd be the perfect... Her hands were trembling as she cleaned and dried his razor. "So, you think you could give a girl a Luna trim?" Her mouth was dry and her tongue was sticking to the back of her mouth.

"Hmm? Oh yes, my ex was Lunar. She insisted on teaching me how to use a scissor and razor." Alan realized that he just called Hilde Marks his ex for the first time, and it didn't hurt as much as thinking about it did.

"Did you like being engaged to a Lunar woman?"

"It was the highlight of my life," said Alan. "I was young and so much in love..."

"It was last year," said Pandora.

"Yeah... and when she pushed me away, time seemed to stop." Alan sighed and continued, "it was awesome. We had so many plans... we were going to have a lunar marriage... I met her wife and we hit it off big time, but she didn't want anything to do with me after she was injured." He looked at Pandora, who was leaning against the sink. "We had so much fun... I guess that's what I miss the most, the fun and the laughing."

"The laughing and enjoying life is a Lunar thing." Pandora leaned over and whispered in his ear, "I'm Lunar too."

Her words went straight to Alan's heart. Ideas of a relationship entered his head, and he wondered what it would be like if she could play Shogi... or maybe even Chess... He had to get his mind off of women. The worst things in his life were centered around women. "Let's go play with rockets," said Alan, desperately trying to change the subject. He changed into a flight suit, giving Pandora a good view of what he had to offer. He's spent the last five years, since he entered the academy, in units containing men and women. Showering together, changing clothes all in the same room were normal... unless there was an emotional attraction which made the showering and changing hard. (Pun intended)

Then they took the elevator up to the hub and entered a pressurized hangar. Four FB-719's sat in a line waiting their turn to be moved through the airlock into the hangar that's open to space. Alan connected external power to one and they floated up to the backbone of the large fighter. It had stub wings with bomb racks, and the wings could extend out further to carry more bombs in the underside and expose more solar panels on the upper side to collect sunlight. Alan opened a panel and pushed a button that opened the canopies and Pandora was surprised to see not only the big "goldfish bowl" of the pilot's canopy open but two other windowless canopies behind him.

"This seat behind the pilot is the bombardier/navigator/RIO, and the one behind that facing aft is the Electronic Warfare Officer," said Alan as he reached into the pilot's cockpit and hit a few switches and the electronic systems came to life.

Curious, Pandora leaned over and peered into the EWO position and looked around. "Holy crap, there's an entire suite of goodies in here." She lowered herself into the EWO position and studied the radar jamming and radio jamming. "I could hide from everything with this..."

"I know! There's enough stuff in here to be a command and control platform. The RIO and the EWO should be able to see an entire battle from a distance and run the show."

Pandora floated out of the rearward facing EWO seat and lowered into the RIO's position. She was familiar with this position. The navigational and bombardier components were exactly like what she used every day on the Arcturus, with the addition of the flight controls. The stick was on the right side instead of between the legs like she saw on fighters and she asked Alan about that.

"Most of the time, the RIO is nose down into the scope and the controls. The stick would be in the way. The rudder pedals aren't rudder pedals, they control the sweep of the nose radar for manual sweeps."

"Then if I was flying, how would I control yaw?"

"You twist the stick grip."

"You want a combat spacecraft whose only job is to hold somebody who just watches?"

"Not just watch, direct. When we fought our way back to Mars, it was just a game of 'shoot the other guy before he shot you.' There was no order to it, fight after fight we'd just launch and squeeze the trigger until the laser emitters overheated then go back and get lunch. I finally got sick of it and we followed them back to their carrier and shot the hell out of it. I believe we could have gotten to that point earlier if we had someone step back and watch the battle unfold."

"Was it tough?" she asked.

"It was exhausting. Most of my crews were getting three or four hours of sleep a day."

Pandora knew the story. One squadron, the Berserkers, clashed with up to five much larger Eastern Bloc squadrons. "What were the Werewolves doing?"

"A few joined the Berserkers. The rest were morale builders for us."

"How? They were all grounded."

"They were grounded for cause and were being charged for transportation and meals. My guys relieved the tension by telling their former instructors about the battles we won and we made fun of them. It was a great sport. 'you stay here with the elderly and infirm. Real fighters will be protecting you!'"

Like most of the navy, the Marine Bomber Fleet has never been in actual combat. Pandora Vermillion was the first Marine to drop a bomb in anger since 2082. Being a "hole in space" was the concept of combat for the B-171s. They planned on a quiet, stealthy approach to target, blow the hell out of it, then drift off into nothingness. Their massive detection and avoidance systems were often on demand by navy units. Now, as the big carriers came online, the need for long range 'eyes' and 'ears' of the bombers was needed more than anything.

"I could do this," she whispered as she looked at the array of systems available to the RIO.

"What are you doing, Scarlett?" came a voice from the hangar entrance. It was Captain Schirra.

"Damn it," hissed Alan. He reached into the pilot's position and shut off power, then floated down to where his magnetic boots had contacted the hangar deck. "Just relaxing and having a bit of fun. Sir!"

"I thought you were in your hospital room getting ready for the transit to Armstrong."

"Just getting my ride ready for the trip, sir."

"Who is that with you?"

Captain Schirra turned to the FB-719 and saw Marine Captain Pandora Vermillion climbing out of the RIO cockpit. Pandora was about to explode, and Alan grabbed her ankle and pulled her down close. "It's over. We're on the same side," said Alan. Then he turned to Captain Schirra. "Just heading back to my room for a little rest, sir." And he squeezed Pandora's ass as they floated past the captain.

"Why do you let him get under your skin like that?" asked Alan.

"I don't know." Pandora shrugged. "He's my dad and... what? You didn't know he was my dad?"

"I grabbed your ass so he would see it!" gasped Alan.

"I know," said Pandora with a huge grin.

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

Perseverance City, Mars. September 3, 2142

Testing Day

The doorbell rang again and Gene Cernan grumpily got out of bed, put on a robe, and stumbled for the front door. Halfway there, he stepped on a toy... a small animal of some form, and he reached the front door before the messenger could ring the bell again. "Petty Officer Cernan? I was told I could find Petty Officer Cernan here."

"That's me."

"Sir, RTTY for Petty Officer Gene Cernan from CINCNAVOPS. I'll need some ID and a signature."

"I'll be right back." He turned on a dim reading lamp and was able to make it to the bedroom without stepping on a plastic creature that the kids left on the floor, dug his ID card out of his wallet and returned to the front door, showed the man his ID and signed for the envelope. In the living room, he opened the envelope and read the message. He shrugged his shoulders and went back to bed. They had a long day ahead of them, testing the new gun design. He wanted some more sleep.

He crawled into bed, and Monica rested her head on his shoulder. "What is it, honey?"

"It's a personal message from the new guy in charge of Naval Operations, a marine general. Somebody forwarded my zero-g ammo feed designs and my anti-recoil programming to him. He wants to know the outcome of the tests and he will forward my designs to the Western Alliance patent office."

Doctor Monica Sax gave Petty Officer Gene Cernan a kiss. "I knew you had it in you," she said.

"I'm not going to make any money off either of the patents. The Navy will hide them to prevent the Eastern Bloc from seeing them."

"You'll be what we call a founder. If your design is used in future ships, you'll get some kind of dividend."

"I just want to spend some time with the gang," sighed Gene. "I don't know what's going on."

"You mean the forty-third?"

"Yeah, I miss brainstorming with Alan. For a kid, he's pretty sharp. It's a shame about Hilde, but maybe Anna can keep him straight."

Monica's face went blank. "Babe, this is classified, please don't spread it around... Anna is grounded, maybe she'll be back, but she's planning to move here to Perseverance City," said Monica. "Sorry I didn't tell you, but it's been classified. I'm sure Alan will tell you... He's going to need a good friend when he gets here."

Dr. Monica Sax snuggled closer to the rocket mechanic. This was supposed to be an "arrangement." A dinner, a walk through the Martian Gardens, then to bed. The problem was that little Max came down with a fever and was a very unhappy, very sneezy little boy. He curled up on Gene's lap and went to sleep for the first time in a day as Gene read him a story. "Do you have any kids of your own?" asked the startled mom. Maxie doesn't like anyone when he's got a cold, including her, so his attachment to a man he's never seen before was startling.

"No, ma'am, this little booger is the first one I ever held." He looked up at Monica with the most content smile she ever saw on a man and said, "They're kind of addictive, aren't they?" That was weeks ago. Monica's two children, Marigold and Maxwell, look eagerly for Gene to return every evening after his shift at work and Gene scoops each one up with a tickle and a kiss even before he kisses Monica hello.

Occasionally Ray Clark comes over with news of the Forty-Third and not all of it is good. Their commander, Alan, has been having a tough time with it. "PTSD," Gene said. "I don't know why they don't give him full-time duty with a shrink."

"The military is a mystery to me," said Monica. She knew why, but it's classified.

Gene set the radio-gram aside and turned off the light. He had to be down at the hangar in a few hours and maybe he could get some sleep before getting up. That idea went out the window when Monica's soft hand wrapped around his manhood and urged him to full hardness with gentle strokes. "You didn't think you were getting out of here that easy, did you?" she asked with a sly grin.

Monica pulled back the covers and straddled his waist. "No foreplay?" he asked.

"Laying naked next to a man who has two designs that CINCNAVOPS is going to submit to the patent bureau is enough to get me hot," she said and Monica began sliding her moist pussy lips up and down Gene's thick cock.

Gene looked up in the darkness at his beautiful Martian Doctor of Ouranautical Engineering (From the Greek Ouranos meaning The Heavens) Her primary means of study was to improve life in the open colonies in Mars and hopefully reopen some of the closed ones that were vandalized during the war. But tinkering with spaceships, especially fast, high-speed interceptors, was exciting. Like hot cars back in the late 1940s, hot rockets were fascinating, and Gene scratched that itch like no other.

The beautiful dark-haired scientist lowered herself onto Gene's cock and groaned with the pleasurable spreading of her pussy. She started to rise back up, but Gene held her hips, preventing her from lifting. "How long will this go on?" said Gene.

"About seven or eight minutes, ten if I'm lucky," said Monica with a mischievous grin.

"No, really, us."

"Please don't tell me you fell in love with me," said Monica.

"You, and Marie and little Maxie." Gene started to panic. She just stared at him with a shocked look on her face. "Yes, I did and if you want me to leave, I will, but I'll still be in love with you."

"Why?" she whispered. "I asked you not to."

"Because you are the most intriguing woman I have ever met. A scientist with children that she loves..."

"Adores."

"Adores," said Gene. "It's so good to have a woman waiting for me, someone who gives a damn. It's like Alan told me, 'I thought I was whole, I didn't realize I was just half, until I met my other half.'"

"Am I your other half?" asked Monica.

"If you're not, it sure feels like you are..." Monica looked down at him with a sad smile. "I fucked up, didn't I?" asked Gene.

"No... I just wanted to know..." Her face twisted and suddenly she fell forward and buried her face in his shoulder and she cried. "I've waited so long," she finally got out. "I've waited and watched. I knew you would be coming, but I lost hope."

"Monica, I love you, but if I'm making you uncomfortable..."

"No!" She peppered his face with kisses. "Don't go, don't ever go away. I love you too. I want to keep you."

"Well... I guess I'll let you keep me." His cock surged and somehow he remained inside of her. He rolled over and was on top and he moved inside of the Martian that he loved. He began to move inside of her, and she urged him on, her hands and heels urging him to go faster, and soon he was fucking his lover as hard and as fast as he could. Their bodies moved together in a timeless rhythm of love. Their lips met over and over as he skewered her again and again, her cries and yelps urging him on. Her breasts wobbled and shook with each jarring thrust.

Their sweet lovemaking turned raw. Gene hooked his arms under her legs, opening her pussy up to his thrusts, and fucked her like a madman. Monica was soon in the throes of a spectacular orgasm and she fought to keep from shouting out her pleasure and waking the kids. She was almost paralyzed with the pleasure as Gene pummeled her over and over. "Cum in me!" she gasped. "Cum with me!" she cried as another orgasm built. He came soon and their cries of ecstasy mingled as their fluids joined together. It was a magnificent orgasm that took them both by surprise, and together they panted as the aftershocks washed over them.

"Oh my God," she said, shuddering. "Is it going to be like that every time you come back from the sea, sailor? I think you bruised my spleen."

"I hope so, ma'am. It's going to be intense when I get back from a deployment."

Monica grinned in the darkness. "Can't wait to see what that's going to be like." They snuggled and kissed, then she asked, "Are you mad at me for having arrangements while you made your way here?"

"No! We're both Martians. We know what living independently looks like. And look at the babies you made! They're so beautiful and smart! Maxie is going to beat me at chess soon."

"He's two."

"So? You were a prodigy yourself, Doctor of Ouranautical Engineering, at fifteen..."

"Fourteen."

"Right, fourteen. He'll be beating the hell out of me soon."

"They are your boss's cousins," said Monica softly.

"What?"

"Their father is Ray Clark, Alan's uncle. I never told him, but it's true. I didn't have a lover or any arrangements, just work. Ray was always nearby and willing when I was lonely. You know how it is."

"Oh yes, there's somebody willing in any spaceport bar... thank God that part of my life is over," sighed Gene. "Just knowing there's a home waiting at home port feels so much better."

"You realize most of my work is so classified that I can't talk about it."

"That applies to me as well," said Gene as he started to get out of bed.

"Where are you going?" Monica asked, and she tugged him back for a kiss.

"I'm going to start breakfast. I've got an oh seven thirty flight this AM. It shouldn't be long, just a system test and then after landing a tear down to see if there's any broken parts."

Monica smiled. She probably knew as much about this flight as he did. She laid back on the bed and sighed happily. He's making coffee for her!

<><><><><>

"Suit check," called Janet Kavandi. Gene Cernan turned to face her, and they inspected each other's pressure suits. These weren't the light weight 'in atmosphere' suits they wore in the thin Martian atmosphere; these were the heavy space suits because for the first time they were going to launch to orbit. Up there they planned to fire six rounds at two targets with the M-2A MK12 .50-caliber machine gun mounted on the belly, then re-enter the atmosphere tail first like Alan Scarlett did when he attacked Kōngchéng.

They checked the backside of each other, each was wearing a 'slimpack' an oxygen re-breather in case they had to bail out, but the re-breather is only good for 30 minutes at orbital altitude. It's most efficient on the surface of Mars with atmospheric pressure to help it work, but it's what the F-201 was built to use.

Just as they were ready to put on their helmets, Monica and Max entered the locker room, led by Lisa Johnson. "I just wanted to wish you luck," she said with a smile. They kissed long and sweet, then they rubbed noses.

"Just seeing you is all the luck I need," said Gene.

"Are you a spaceman?" asked Max.

Gene crouched down as much as the suit would allow. "I am today. Can I get a goodbye kiss?"

After a quick, sloppy kiss, Max said, "Bye!" and ran to the hangar door.

"You better go get him," said Gene, laughing. "He's headed for the tool crib and there are a lot of things he would enjoy in there."

"Be safe up there," and she gave Gene another kiss, then she turned to Janet. "Bring him back to me in one piece!"

"Yes, ma'am!" said a startled Janet. After Monica left Janet said, "what was that all about?"

"I guess our arrangement is going full time."

"Now that's something to cheer about," said Janet as they put on their helmets.

Ray Clark was waiting for Monica when she came out of the hangar with little Max. "Mister Vice President," she said.

"Doctor Sax... or is it Doctor Sax-Cernan?"

"One step at a time, Mister Vice President," she said happily as they climbed to the Control Tower.

"I'm going to guess that Gene is excited about being step-dad to his commander's cousin."

"Ecstatic, and how did you know?"

"I know all, I see all," said Ray as they entered the air/space traffic control tower. They got there in time to see Gene and Janet climb into the F-201 and prepare to launch. Ray turned to Monica and said, "You know I watch out for you."

"I was your boss at Convair Intergalactic Testing Labs," she insisted.

"You are eighteen years younger than me," said Ray. "The daddy gene kicks in regardless of company rank."

Down on the spacefield ramp, Gene was in the RIO station of the F-201 and was reading the checklist to Janet, who was in the pilot seat. The auxiliary generator was running, and they were ready to start the engines. They had two Kistler Aerospace auxiliary boosters mounted on the wing stations just in case they needed an extra boost to get to orbit, but even with the gun, ammo, and two boosters, they were a metric ton lighter than the F-201 with two laser emitters.

The unmodified F-201 needed the auxiliary boosters to reach orbit from the ramp, but the boosters were annoying and expensive and you had to bring them back so they could be refueled and used again. Janet and Gene hoped that the modifications they made eliminated the need for the boosters. Each modified StarStriker had been tested with an engine run and an in atmosphere flight. So far, everything has been perfect. Now it was time to see if their math was correct and they can reach orbital altitude without a pair of boosters taking up weapons space on the stub wings.

"Mass injector primed," called Gene as he read off the checklist.

"Primed."

"Turbo pumps to feed."

"Feed."

"System cooling to fifty percent."

"Fifty percent."

"Feed pump switch and ignition switch held to start until Engine On light comes on green, and release."

"Feed pump and ignition to start... Engine On light amber... and... green! Switches released."

"Checklist complete, it's your bird to fly, ma'am."

"It's been a while since I've been in space. I miss it," said Janet.

"Oh, do ya?" teased Gene. Lt. Kavandi has been eager for this flight since Gene proposed it.

"I used to live there." Janet switched to ground frequency. "Zhang tower, this is Berserker one-one. We are ready to taxi out for runway launch." When Gene heard that, a sudden rush of excitement ran through him... he's finally flying as a Berserker!

"Berserker one-one from Zhang tower, Runway 27 is all yours. Wind is from the west at six knots, taxi via taxiway bravo, advise when at EOR."

"Roger Zhang tower, taxiway bravo to runway 27 EOR." She advanced the throttles and moved out to the Bravo taxiway. It seemed to take forever to reach the end of the runway, but finally, they were there. "Zhang tower, this is Berserker one-one, holding at EOR, runway two seven."

"Roger Berserker one-one, you are clear to go." Up in the tower, Ray and Monica watched the F-201 move onto the runway. "Berserker one-one, you are number one on the runway," said the Tower Controller. "Have a safe flight."

"Roger tower," came Janet's voice over the speaker. Then Gene's voice came over the speaker, "I'll be home for dinner, Maxie."

Little Maxie's eyes grew round, and his mouth was a perfect o of surprise. "Look!" said Monica, and she pointed to the sleek fighter that was starting its takeoff roll. "That's Mister Gene."

Maxie held his hand up and open and closed a fist (his version of waving to somebody) "Poppa!"

"Yeah Maxie, that's your poppa," said Monica, nearly laughing with the joy of the moment.

The F-201 rose off the runway, then the needle like nose pointed up as Lt. Kavandi opened up the throttle. "Let's go!" she called out with a laugh, and they roared into the amber Martian sky. They shook and rattled through Max Q, which came and passed quickly due to the thin Martian atmosphere. The sky grew dark, and the vibrations from blasting through the atmosphere subsided.

"One hundred and fifty miles," called out Gene as he monitored all the instruments. "All systems nominal... I hate that word."

"It means they're working properly," said Janet.

"It sounds like they're barely working. One thousand miles and all's well."

"Please go back to nominal Gene."

"Yes ma'am," said the chastised petty officer. "Three thousand and nominal, ease back, ma'am."

"Aye-aye, easing up... and there you are, three thousand six hundred miles."

"You did it ma'am, we're in orbit."

"Zhang tower copies, welcome back to space Martian Space Force! And congratulations Lieutenant! That was amazing spaceman-ship."

"Negative Zhang Tower. It was my plane captain. He built the ship, balanced the load, added reaction mass, and hopefully will get us home a whole new way." Then on the intercom she asked, "What's the number, Gene?"

"Fifty-nine percent ma'am."

"We only used fifty-nine percent of the new tank? That's amazing! You estimated we'd use seventy percent."

"No, ma'am, we have fifty-nine percent remaining in the new tank. We only used forty-one percent, and we were carrying a full load of weapons."

She looked out and saw the two unused boosters on her stub wings. They were there to add to the lift, but they were never needed and their weight simulated a full load of weapons. "Fifty-nine percent," she marveled. "We can get home with that much! That's amazing! Let's go shoot something."

"Roger that," said Gene as he studied the radar. "Target number one is coming over the horizon..." Gene adjusted the radar until he found the old Mangalyaan satellite that ran out of fuel decades ago. "Here's your target lock. The first round is a slug, ma'am."

Janet verified she was locked on target and squeezed the trigger. There was a jolt, but all thrusters gave a squirt holding the ship on target. "Round's away." A bright red flare soared off into the night before the red phosphorus of the tracer burned out.

Gene studied the scope for what seemed like forever, then he finally said. "Radar says you got it, ma'am."

Janet grinned. She was pilot qualified but spent most of her time as a RIO because she excelled at that position. Being a good RIO is a great job, but shooting things is just plain fun. "Got another round for me, chief?"

"Yes ma'am. The next round on the belt is HEI, High Explosive Incendiary... and... target is set."

There was another jolt and Janet announced, "round's away." Again, a red tracer raced off into the night.

This time, the pause wasn't as long. Gene watched the target on radar turn into dozens of pieces of satellite. He cried out, "Holy shit, ma'am, you blew the crap out of that thing!"

"Awesome, let's go shoot the moon," said Janet.

"Ok, coming up in five minutes," said Gene as he located the moon's path on radar. "Should be coming out from behind Mars any moment." He slaved his radar to her screen and said. "We don't care if you hit or not, just pull the trigger four times as fast as you can. We're testing the feed, not the radar or stabilizing thrusters. The next four rounds are tracers. You'll see them go."

"Here she comes," said Janet. She got as close as she dared this time. There was a big white sheet with a black circle in the center on the tiny Martian moon Phobos. It was put there for laser training but they haven't had any recruits join lately, so there was no training. "Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump!" Janet watched the red points of light streak away. They burned out before hitting Phobos, but they were fascinating to watch.

"No jammed rounds," said Gene.

"Ok," said Janet. "Three tests passed. Here's the last one..." The flight records showed that Alan burned off all his speed in one orbit of Mars and dropped from the sky like a rock, providing a deadly accurate dive bombing approach, but somehow he was able to keep the nose pointed up and the rocket exhaust pointed down as he dropped from the sky. Janet surmised that because the Martian atmosphere was so thin, that wouldn't be an issue until they dropped below ten thousand feet. "Zhang Spaceport, this is Berserker one-one, requesting a straight down approach on final orbit."

The tower controller re-read the flight plan of Berserker 11. Even though it was a winged fighter, it was requesting a straight down landing approach with a fly off to the south in case of a missed approach. "Roger Berserker one-one, you are clear for a straight down approach to Corbet field."

"Thank you, tower, initiating descent burn." She flipped the F-201 around so they were flying tail first and as Gene programmed the re-entry, the gutsy United Reactions N-32 engine burst to life at 110%. Gene and Janet were slammed into their seats and the Gs built up. "How did Anna and Alan survive this?" thought Gene. "They entered Mars' orbit at three times the speed they were traveling and shed that speed in one orbit."

Finally, they dropped. They continued to burn; the Gs shoving them back into their seats, then the engine cut out, and they were dropping like a rock. Janet got the nose up and held it straight up with slight nudges on the stick and rudder pedals. At 10,000 feet, Janet opened up the throttles and slowed them again, nearly coming to a stop. She then brought the nose down, and they were falling nose first, picking up air speed. As they neared the Martian soil, she pulled the nose up and shot out over the open ramp and lined up to land on runway 90. They touched down gently and turned off the runway and headed back to their hangars.

"And that's how you land tail first, like Alan did," said Janet. She taxied up to the main air lock at the Berserker hangar. Lisa Johnson was marshaling them up to the door. Gene opened up his rear canopy and climbed out, then dropped to the ground and joined Greg Johnson in pushing the F-201 into the air lock. It seemed to take forever for the airlock to pressurize and the inner door open so they could push the F-201 into the hangar.

Once the inner door was opened, they pushed the StarStriker into the hangar, then closed the inner door. Janet emerged from the cockpit and jumped down, and the four members of Strike Force Berserker gathered together for a group hug. "Let's take two days to rest up, then come back and take a look at this gun," said Janet. "I want this hangar sealed, so you all get the rest you deserve. I will not authorize any overtime," she said, glaring at Gene and Greg.

"Yes ma'am. I think my free time is spoken for now," said Gene as he saw a proud Monica Sax and her little boy Maxie waiting for him at the locker room door.

It was a good feeling to have somebody eager for your return. The best feeling ever.

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

Armstrong Station, September 5, 2142

Home

General Sizemore's admonishment to Alan and Captain Schirra was still ringing in Alan's ears three days later. "Get your shit together! If the two of you don't pull your heads out of your asses, I'll shit can the both of you and find someone who can act civil to each other. You are dismissed, Captain."

"Yes, sir. I'll work on it sir," and Wally saluted and left. Chastised by the chief of naval operations, he was sure his career was over.

After Schirra left, Sizemore turned to Alan and looked him up and down in silence for a long time. He finally said, "Scarlett, I like you. You're a genius, a warrior with blood on his hands, a hero who saved his RIO against all odds. You see what needs to be done and you do it. You have a way with the troops that I'd like to bottle and sell to my staff, and you have a 100% victory margin. But I no longer have a use for you. A junior officer that's feuding with his commanding officer? That's bad mojo and will poison and destroy a unit faster than a hand grenade tossed into the barracks. Look at what happened to the 44th IFS Werewolves. Their vice commander didn't like working for a lunar and he poisoned the squadron against her."

"That's why I requested a transfer, sir."

"That's right. Here are your choices. Picking up spank socks at Thule Space Station on Mercury, picking up spank socks at Barsoom Military Prison on Mars, or pulling your head out of your ass and doing the job I hired you to do."

"Sir! That's not fair, I can't..."

"FAIR?" roared General Sizemore. "THIS IS THE NAVY, THERE IS NO FAIR, MISTER." It was clear that he was waiting for Alan to say the word fair. "Is it fair that half of my time is spent putting out fires that the two of you started? Is it fair that I have lost my most effective squadron commander because he's feuding with his wing commander? If I'm going to lose you, Mister Scarlett, it's going to happen on MY terms, not yours. Why? Because of Navy Regulation four dash zero. I have four stars; you have zero, so I get my way."

"Sir, I don't even know what rank I am," said Alan. He handed General Sizemore his ID card and his pay stub. His ID card said Lieutenant Commander, O-4. His pay stub said Lieutenant JG, O-2.

"That will be fixed by the time the McDivitt pulls out. I'm assigning a shrink to the crew of the NSS McDivitt. If you and Captain Schirra straighten out your differences, you will be speaking with that shrink for one hour every day you are aboard ship. If during the transit to Mars you are off ship for a day or two, you will speak to that shrink two hours a day until you're caught up."

Alan was shocked. The last psychiatrist he spoke to merely reminded him that the love of his life was living a few hundred meters away and hated him. "A shrink?"

"Son, and I don't say that lightly, the true test of an officer is not to jump into the fray with guns blazing, damn the torpedoes and all that rot. No. The true test is the day to day crap that we're inundated with. The enlisted men and women of your unit are more of a problem than you've ever been trained for. The paperwork is a ball busting nightmare, to the point of wanting to go out and die in battle. Can you swallow that pride and take orders from a man who you are angry with? But most of all, can you calmly sit down and tell him why you're angry?"

"You act like he doesn't know, sir."

"No, he doesn't. Neither do I. We get flashes of brilliance followed by volumes of anger from you. I do not authorize mind readers on my staff, so the mystery remains. Why is Mister Scarlett angry? If you cannot tell him exactly why you're angry, I'm guessing you can't tell yourself."

"Sir, it's..."

"Do not tell me," said General Sizemore. "Tell your commander that's an order. Do it before we ship out for Armstrong, Mister Scarlett. We have a chain of command for a reason. Don't make me hang you with that chain."

Alan saluted and stepped out of General Sizemore's temporary office, and walked down the hallway to Captain Schirra's office. He was there, going over some documents with Estelle. "Sir, I was ordered to brief you on my state of mind."

"Go ahead, commander." Wally was shocked and taken by surprise, but he sat down next to Estelle.

"Sir, my first action in active duty was to identify my aunt and cousin's corpses, determine how they were murdered, then vaporize them. I have nightmares over that. Then my fiancée got her legs cut off, and she pushed me away. I was shattered. I wake up screaming and I'm afraid that my life is collapsing around me. Do you know why Anna and I shot up so many Eastern Bloc ships? Because we were hoping to die in the process."

"Alan, we didn't..."

"Anna and I destroyed fifteen enemy fighters. She says it was more. I led my squadron to over forty-five confirmed kills. The ghosts of those spacemen harass me at night... one broken squadron against five or more squadrons at full strength and we won... I should be dead. No squadron has flown that many combat sorties since the 2080 war. I'm so goddamn tired.

"Alan, I..."

"Sir, I'm not mad at you. I just want to crawl into a hole and die. When I dumped that pitcher on the head of that clown, I was planning to go step outside for a walk. I was beaten nearly to death by Russian mobsters in Marine Uniforms, but they may have saved my life. I couldn't walk home while unconscious. I'm so tired."

"Alan, it wasn't like that..."

While Captain Schirra tried to explain, Alan continued like he wasn't talking. "After I kill General Romanov, I think I'll quit. As far as I'm concerned, as soon as I kill him, I'm done. I'll resign my commission if I still have one, then go home to Mars and die of thirst with my fellow Martians."

"Alan, please!" But Alan sagged to the floor, unconscious. Estelle dashed to his side while Wally called the medics. "Alan? Alan?"

The Schirras stood by as the medical professionals checked Alan over, then rushed him off to the ER. They sat in the waiting area, nervously pacing. Finally, a doctor came out and said, "Mister Scarlett is sleeping."

"What's wrong doctor?" demanded Estelle.

The doctor shrugged. "Exhaustion, malnutrition, emotional stress. I gave him some sleep supplements, liquids, saline. He'll be fine in a day or two. He'll be ready for the trip to Armstrong."

Wally and Estelle silently walked back to their temporary quarters. There in their room, Estelle sat down on the bed and watched as Wally paced in anger. It was silent for a long time until Captain Schirra kicked a trash can across the room. "I told you; I told you it was dangerous!" snapped Wally. "That's the last time I get my ass tied up in an NCIS investigation. No more project BackStab... not on my watch."

"It worked. We're up to thirty six Eastern Bloc agents and sympathizers just here at Camp Schmitt," said Estelle Schirra.

"But at what cost, Estelle? Look at what it did to him."

"You're guilty enough yourself," said Estelle. "You used him out on the Asteroid Belt as much as I did here on Camp Schmitt."

"She begged me not to give him hope that she'd take him back. Hilde wanted her wife and nobody else. What could I do? I know what to do with Pandora and Eris, but guys... I'm a wing commander. I shouldn't be worried about teenage crushes."

"Name one flier that's better at running a squadron than Alan."

"We have to fix this," said Wally.

"You know what we have to do as soon as we get back to Armstrong."

"Brussels is going to have a fit," said Wally, referring to the Office of the President of the Western Alliance.

"What are they going to do? Sentence you to a space station?"

<><><><><>

The Arcturus sat silently in the night waiting for her six big, ugly FB-719s to accompany as escorts. The flight got off to a slightly rocky start. As the marines prepared to mount their Fighter Bombers that were lined up in the big, pressurized hub bay on Camp Schmitt, a tall, skinny navy spaceman approached, holding a purple helmet to wear with his pressure suit. "Ladies, gentlemen, and Marines, I'm Alan Scarlett, your flight leader for this little hop..." refreshed from forty-eight hours of sleep, Alan was ready to rock. He didn't remember his outburst and collapsing in Captain Schirra's office.

"Excuse me, I'm Major Dale Evans," said a marine major. "I believe I'm the flight leader. I've got nine years in these machines."

"How many combat sorties? How many kills did you score?" Alan asked. "Just last autumn, I had forty combat sorties, fifteen kills, and two live atom bombs deployed."

"I've got one and one. You win, were do we go, oh great leader?" said Major Evans, as the marines around him laughed.

"Cheater," chuckled Don Slayton.

"He's cool," said Marine Lieutenant Gerry Carr. "I flew with him too when we escorted the Wing King to Camp Schmitt. He designed the sortie that gave you that kill, Dale."

"Where did you get the two shiners?" asked Major Evans, loosening up.

"Five marines with MP arm bands and billy clubs," said Alan.

"Why were five MPs beating on you with billy clubs?" asked a shocked Marine captain in the group.

"I poured an entire pitcher of frozen margaritas over the head of the chief of staff for the Vice CINCNAV."

"NO SHIT?" Alan was suddenly an authentic hero in their eyes. Forget the forty combat sorties and the triple ace. He pissed off a member of the Powers On High and lived to tell the tale. Alan Scarlett could do no wrong.

"Ok, brief away."

"Here's the drill. We will escort the Arcturus from Camp Schmitt to Armstrong Station. Estimated flight time is sixty hours."

"That's usually a seventy-two-hour run," said Don Slayton. "I know you're full of tricks, but how do you shave twelve hours off a run like that?"

Alan shrugged like it was elementary. "We go faster. We're not dropping to LEO (low earth orbit) and TLI from there, we're going to do it from geosynchronous orbit. We follow the Arcturus. Those enormous monsters don't drop to LEO so we follow our leader."

"Why do we drop to LEO before Trans Lunar Interface?"

"So we can choose the time we want to start our TLI instead of waiting a day to be in the right position for TLI. Everyone gather in here. This part of the briefing is Top Secret, for official use only. There are some VIPs on this transit. First is the President of United Mars. He wants a Martian Space Force and Marine Corps, so we got to make sure he's impressed with us. Next is the new NAVCOMOPS..."

"Some high-ranking squid that drinks tea with his pinky extended," said a lieutenant in the back. His remark raised some chuckles.

"No, it's General Sizemore."

"NO SHIT?!?" the marines cried in unison.

"Trust me, three days ago he chewed ten pounds off my ass," said Alan.

"Like you could afford that," said Don Slayton to even more laughter.

"Also, our Wing King is on the trip, Captain Walter Schirra. You will treat him with all due respect at all times... I'm trying to make time with his daughter and I want him wondering what you all are up to, so I can fly under his radar." The Marines roared with laughter. This guy was ok. Flying with him might be fun.

"I've been in a pretty dark mood lately. Things had been majorly fucked up in my life and I told General Sizemore that I just wanted to go home. He said, 'Son, you've been away from your unit for over six months. That's where your home is.' Marines, I saved your birds from the scrapper's torch and I need you in my home. I'm going to teach you exactly what it means to be a Berserker. Let's mount up!"

<><><><><>

The FB-719s formed up on the Arcturus and had a peaceful transit to Armstrong station. Right now, the flight crews in the fighter-bombers were napping. The EWO (Electronic Warfare Officer) on the lead FB-719 was flying the entire formation. He was keeping a pre-determined distance from the Arcturus and remotely controlled all five following FB-719's so their crews could get some sleep. The flight lead, Lieutenant JG (even though he wore Lieutenant Commander oak leaves) Scarlett was awake and talking softly on a secure channel. The rest of the flight could only hear a scratching noise on that frequency. Being the EWO on Alan's ship, Marine Major Arnold Kelley could hear the conversation.

He tried to ignore it but Alan was talking about quitting and the woman he was chatting with kept insisting that he calm down and after the Arcturus docks at Armstrong Station they'll have dinner at the O-Club, and have a private conversation where Major Kelley wasn't listening.

Major Kelly snorted when he heard his name come up. "Never underestimate the abilities of a radio operator who does favors for pay," said another female voice. It was Sergeant Marcy Dunlop, breaking into the conversation.

"I had my microphone muted," Arnold insisted.

"You thought you had it muted," said Pandora. "My girl Marcy hears all."

"Speaking of which, we're getting close," said Alan. "Give the gang a seven hundred cycle whistle, please."

A low pitch whistling noise was played in all the FB-719s waking the flight crews. It had been a nice transit. Most of these fliers had never been in a cockpit for 60 hours and were getting "spacy." At one point, a scooter came out of the Arcturus' bomb bay and delivered food and drink to the guys. It was a steak MRE and a squeeze bottle of real apple cider, both flown up from earth by Ben Curtis. The apple cider was a favorite of his, and he believed in feeding his guards properly.

"Ok, folks, here we go. Just like we practiced," said Alan and the fighter bomber escorts, moved ahead of the huge black bomber and took up position between Armstrong station and the moon. The Arcturus took up position between them and Armstrong, and with its thrusters it edged to within a hundred meters of the enormous wagon wheel style station. Once the VIPs were safely shuttled aboard the station, Alan called out, "Let's park these things."

The FB-719s moved away from Armstrong. "Armstrong tower, this is Berserker One with Berserker Flight. Request permission to buzz the tower."

The word spread through the space traffic control tower, "Berserker's back!" and everyone that could leave a radar scope gathered in the tower to see their hometown hero return. The senior controller, a friend of Alan's, picked up the microphone and replied, "Negative GhostRider, the pattern is full." Years of watching ancient movies came to fruition for Senior Controller Barns and Flight Leader Scarlett as six huge FB-719's flashed past the control cab's windows in diamond formation. The space traffic controllers cheered as the diamond formation rolled to the side, showing the tower how huge the ugly fighters really were.

One by one, the elements of Berserker flight swung out of formation and slowed in a sweeping curve and approached the parking hangar and each was directed in by a plane captain with illuminated batons. "Welcome home sir!" called the plane captain.

Alan laughed and said, "It will be home for me when I get to see Petty Officer Cernan's scowl and hear him accusing me of destroying his personal instrument of war."

"Gene is still living the good life on Mars. His modifications have been approved and we've started replacing the wingtip laser emitters with extra reaction mass."

"Awesome! I can't wait to take out an F-201C!" said Alan as he led his two crew members to life support along with the two marines from his wingman's ship, Berserker Two. It had been nine months since he's been home, and he was feeling good about being here. He tried not to think about how he made a fool of himself in Captain Schirra's office, but he was determined to continue on with his plan. Once he killed General Romanov and Doctor Tarkov, he was done.

In the locker room, they pulled off their pressure suits and passed them through the window to be cleaned and then went for a zero g shower, which was cleaning off with damp cloths. When it came time to retrieve uniforms, Alan was given a pair of gym shorts and a T-shirt. "The new boss wants you in Class A uniform."

"What new guy?"

"Some Marine."

"Thanks. Shoes?" Alan was handed a pair of flip-flops, which he considered with disdain. He turned to his flight crew and said, "Thanks for the ride guys, I'll link up with you later for debrief. When everyone is aboard, this fellow here will guide you to your quarters down on the Earth ring." He left his Marine teammates in the hands of a Marine guard as he headed off to his apartment on the Earth Ring.

He entered the familiar three-room suite and found that it was just as he and Anna left it back in January. He entered the main bedroom that Anna used and went to the closet they shared. It had a pair of flight suits hanging from hangers, a couple of nice civilian shirts that he rarely wore, but his dress blues and his office uniforms were gone.

He pulled a flight suit off the hanger and sat down on the couch; the televideo was turned off; the radio was playing softly, and he didn't want to do this. He just wanted to move into the dorm and hang out with his brothers and sisters.

"Knock-knock!" came the call as the doorbell rang.

"It's open!" he called.

The door was indeed open and Anna walked in, carrying a load of folded clothes in her hands. "I just got them from the laundry. They should be nice and clean, and I told them to starch the flight suits."

"I hate starched flight suits."

"I know!" said Anna brightly. "But you look so good in them when they're starched nice and tight." She carried his clothes into the main bedroom and placed them on the bed, then began putting them away in the chest of drawers and the closet. Alan could see her baby bulge now. She was due in a couple more months.

"How is little Tasha?"

"She's a dancer, just like her namesake," said Anna.

"Tasha was a dancer?"

"Yes, a ballerina, you didn't know? She and her sister Antonina tried out for the Bolshoi." She stepped up to Alan and placed his hand on her tummy. "Feel that? She knows that somebody that cares for her is near."

Alan felt a little movement, then another, almost as light as a butterfly as Tasha rolled around in Anna's womb. "Poppi will be here in a couple of weeks to pick me up, then we're heading to Mars. Your daughter is going to be a true Martian. We have a two bedroom waiting for us at Syrtis Major, only a block away from my parents!" she said brightly.

Syrtis Major is the second largest colony on Mars and only a 30 minute tube train ride from Perseverance City. "Oh? When did Mama and Papa Vasquez move back to Mars?"

"They came up to see me after the court martial and were so happy that Poppi was going to take care of me that they went right back to Colombia and made arrangements to move back to Mars."

"Poppi?" asked Alan.

"General Rafferty, silly!"

"Oh, of course. Poppi."

Alan sat down on the bed and pulled Anna onto his lap and rubbed her tummy. "You know I was and still am willing to take care of you and Tasha."

"No! I can't do that Alan, I love you but I can't do that to you and I can't do that to Mars, and Earth, and Luna... they need you. You're brave and smart and strong. They need you to protect them." She looked around to see if anyone was listening. "It's worse out there than you expect. The other units are barely able to fly. Only your squadron is left, the rest are pussies."

"What do you mean?"

She looked him in the eye and whispered, "What you saw on Camp Schmitt, with dozens of Eastern Bloc agents in positions of power... it's like that throughout the Navy. You and Captain Schirra are all that is left to conduct a war if it came to that."

"I'm fucked in the head," said Alan.

"No, you're confused and angry. I'm the one that's fucked in the head," said Anna. "I don't remember how I got pregnant, I don't remember so much of that prison, and Poppi says it's for the best."

"Anna I can..."

"No!" she interrupted him boldly, with a small, soft hand to his lips. "You're young and healthy and when you throw off your anger, you'll be looking for a pretty woman to help you repopulate Mars. General Rafferty was taken prisoner, much like me, but they cut him. He's a eunuch now because of them. Please don't tell anyone. He's good to me and it feels good to be living with someone who couldn't hurt me if he tried. He's going to be Tasha's grandpa, and I'm going to name her Tasha Scarlett after the man that saved her life."

"I understand and I wish you all the luck in the world. We're going to be shipping out for Mars as soon as the McDivitt is finished with her shake-down cruise and stocked." He kissed her forehead and said, "I'm going to miss you when I leave, little sister."

"No, you're going to be too busy to miss me."

"You're wrong chica, I miss Hilde, I miss Tasha, I miss my sister Christa, I miss my parents... I'm going to miss you most of all."

"Why? You never got anywhere with me."

"We bombed Mars together. How many chicks can you say you dropped an atom bomb with?"

Just then, the door slid open and a cheery "knock-knock" was called out, and then the doorbell rang. It was Marine Captain Pandora Vermillion, carrying several uniform bags. "Can I come in?"

"You already are in," said Alan as Pandora breezed past him and hung the uniform jacket up in his closet.

"Get dressed, little fishy," she said in a sing-song voice. "Formation is in one hour."

Alan held up the flight suit he was getting ready to don. "I'm almost dressed."

"Think again," she said as she opened up a uniform bag and held up his service dress white uniform. "No tie required."

Alan groaned. The service dress white uniform, also known as the choker, was the oldest uniform in the Western Alliance Navy. While the service dress blue uniform was made from a combination of the uniforms of the different nations that made up the Western Alliance a hundred years ago, "The Choker" for the officers and the "Cracker Jack" for the enlisted remained. The Choker was called the choker because the white dress jacket had a high collar, which made wearing a tie impossible, and that was the only advantage to that uniform. It was the last thing Alan wanted to wear when he was hungry because a spill in the Dress Whites was disastrous. And at that moment, he was starving.

"Knock-knock!" called a female voice, followed by the doorbell. "Why is this door open?"

"Hello Marcy," said Alan. "Feel free to walk in anytime you want."

"Just like everybody else," said Anna cheerfully.

"Sir, you have a video call from Mars," said Marcy. "It's marked personal and professional and unclassified. Should I send it up now?"

"Yeah, let's see what Uncle Ray has for me."

Marcy spoke into her wristwatch, "Send it to Commander Scarlett's apartment."

A tiny voice said, "Aye-aye." A moment later, all the televideos in Alan's apartment lit up, but it wasn't Ray Clark. It was Gene Cernan.

"Commander, this is the final result of two dash zero modification to the F-201. This is our second orbital test flight." The scene cut to an F-201 as it taxied to a catch pit for spent booster engines and discarded two wing mounted boosters, then taxied out to the runway. The pilot stating that she didn't use training wheels was heard, which caused Alan to laugh.

"Gutsy move," he said as he watched the sleek fighter move out onto the runway.

Gene's narration returned. "As with the first flight, we attempted to reach orbital altitude using only the reaction mass in the new storage tank."

The ship rolled down the runway, then suddenly zipped straight up into the sky. Then came the voice of Lieutenant Janet Kavandi. "Without the added mass of the second laser emitter, the ship is incredibly fast and responsive. We reached orbit in three minutes on thirty percent of the internal reaction mass."

"Holy shit!" gasped Alan. He had calculated that reaching orbit with just the added reaction mass could be possible, but he didn't expect it to be done with just 30% of the added fuel.

"Here's a surprise for you, sir," said Gene. The view switched to the pilot's gun sight and you could hear Gene say, "This is a target practice round." The ship shook but stayed locked onto its target. "The second round is HEI," said Gene and again the ship shook, but this time the target satellite exploded into a million fragments. The next scene showed four red lights streaking off to Phoebus. The next view was from the tower, which showed the F-201 dropping tail first until it leveled out and flew over to the runway to land.

"That's how we did it over Kōngchéng," said Anna.

The last scene was Gene and Janet inside a hangar with several F-201s behind them. "It works like you said it would, sir," said Janet. "I just wish I could be there but from Gene, Gary, Lisa and I, congratulations." Gary Johnson and a very pregnant Lisa entered the view and waved. Then Dr. Monica Sax entered the shot, causing Alan to smile.

"I haven't seen Monica in years," he said. Then his eyes opened wide as she melted into Gene's arms.

"By the way, Commander," started Gene. "When you get here, Monica and I would be honored if you would be my best man."

"Any reply?" asked Marcy.

"Yes, send: 'Thank you and I would be honored to be your best man.' Also, classify that video and tell Lieutenant Kavandi that everything about that gun is now classified secret."

"Why?" asked Pandora. "It's just an old slug thrower. That design is over two hundred years old."

"Yes, and everyone gave up on it because it doesn't work in space. But Dupont came up with space rated ammo. Still, the gun was only good for one shot because of problems with the feed system. That last shot, the four red tracers heading toward Phoebus, that showed that Gene figured out how to build an ammo feed system that works in zero G. That gun will break up things that a laser will never burn through."

"And you want it kept secret?" asked Pandora.

"Hell yeah! I don't want somebody shooting at me with that thing!"

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

Armstrong Station, September 5, 2142

Wing Commander's Call

Alan felt like a uniform store manikin. He always hated the dress whites and his full dress uniform looked horrible with one single medal hanging on it. His medal was the Commander's Trophy for graduating first in his class at Annapolis. The medal was also called "The Battle of Canoe U." He wore his gold atmosphere aviator's wings and above that, the platinum Space Wings, a pair of wings with a NASA style space capsule reminiscent of the Apollo missions surrounded by a wreath with a star over it showing that Alan was a command pilot.

"You look like a scarecrow, sir," said Marcy, as she tried to adjust his uniform.

"I lost twenty-five pounds since I went AWOL," said Alan. "Most of the time I was scrounging."

"Yeah, and you gave most of it to Anna," scolded Marcy. For the past six months, meals were "catch-as-catch-can," and Alan often gave most of what he scrounged up to Anna.

"It's a Martian thing," said Alan. "We honor and protect our pregnant women." The population of Mars was dangerously low at several points in their history and the veneration of pregnant woman became part of the Martian lifestyle.

"Good, then if I get my stupid ass knocked up, I'm moving to Mars," said Marcy as she brushed off an imaginary dust particle from his shoulder boards. The boards had one wide gold stripe and one narrow stripe showing the rank of Lieutenant JG.

They were backstage at the Auditorium, a section of the Earth Ring where there were no offices on either side of the ring and the auditorium took the full width of the ring. There were alleys on either side of the Auditorium to go around it when it was in use, but normally the double doors on both ends were open wide enough for a formation of Marines to jog through every morning. The Auditorium is most often used for showing feature movies in the evening and during the holidays, the Broadway company of Scrooge puts on a show for the troops.

The stage was normally set at floor level, but today they raised the stage a full meter higher than it normally sits. Marcy volunteered to keep an eye on Alan because, according to the commander of the 8th Interplanetary Fighter Wing, "he tends to run off." Out on stage, General Sizemore was introduced as Chief of Naval Operations, Inner Belt region, which was all Navy operations inside the Asteroid Belt up to and including Earth, Luna, and their orbit areas. The general was introducing himself to the troops.

"Don't you like General Sizemore?" Marcy asked.

"I like him a lot," said Alan as he idly cradled his aching left arm with his right.

"But you guys had a big argument just five minutes ago," she said.

"Yeah, it was a good one," grinned Alan. It involved giving out the Distinguished Flying Cross for Spacemanship with a V device. First General Sizemore didn't want to give it to the RIOs, but Alan said, "I'm never going to tell one of my RIOs that their contribution wasn't enough. If their effort wasn't enough, neither were the pilot's efforts and neither were mine." Then General Sizemore didn't want to give it to the four crews that were stationed on Mars. Alan insisted they busted their asses flying High Cap over Mars, four and five missions a day. Everyone gets it, or no one gets it, was Alan's final word.

They settled on everyone who flew as a Berserker until Alan released the bomb on Mars, got a DFC. That included the Werewolves who joined the Berserkers after what is now called by the Berserkers, The Mutiny on the McDivitt. The crews who flew cover for Mars got a DFC but they did not get the V device for valor.

When he and Alan finally settled their dispute, General Sizemore was struck by Alan's words and pride in his men. The general's scowl became a grin, and he said, "God damn it I wish I had a dozen of you!" He punched Alan in the left shoulder, the one that had been shot and stabbed and said, "Let's get this shit done with and hit the club."

Finally, he came to the end of the briefing and stepped back from the microphone, and Pandora escorted Anna onto the stage. She actually looked cute in her maternity uniform. The Wing Master Chief Petty Officer announced to a silent fighter wing. "On March 25th, 2142, on the Island of Fiji, Lieutenant Anna Vasquez was taken prisoner by operatives of the Eastern Block and smuggled to Dandong Prison in the Eastern Bloc. There she was, subject to torture and abuse, but remained faithful to the Western Alliance until she was returned to Camp Schmitt. There, she worked to expose further infiltration by the Eastern Bloc. Her heroic efforts insured the capture of over 30 Eastern Bloc agents and operatives and reflect credit upon her and the Western Alliance Navy. For this, she is awarded the Medal of Valor."

As they prepared to honor Anna with an honorable discharge, Alan was handed an enormous bouquet of flowers to present to Anna, but he saw General Ratcliffe in the backstage crowd behind him. "Sir, I believe this honor belongs to you," and he handed the General the bouquet.

"Do I have to tell her that these flowers are from Alan Scarlett?" the general asked with a wink.

"Yes... sucks to be you, sir. Go make my little sister happy."

Pandora's heart leapt with excitement when Alan called Anna his 'little sister.' Was he just teasing?

"Alan," said the old man sadly, "I'm sorry that it worked out this way."

"Sir, you need her as much as she needs you," said Alan. "Go have a happily ever after and when I get settled on Mars, you can buy me the steak you owe me." He patted the general on the shoulder and Pandora escorted him onto the stage.

"That was awful nice of you, sir," said Marcy.

Alan shrugged and said, "Wait until he finds out how much a steak costs on Mars."

"Expensive?"

"About a year's pay."

General "Poppi" Ratcliffe handed an ecstatic Anna her flowers and escorted her off stage into her civilian life. "Goodbye Anna," whispered Alan so quietly that only Pandora heard him.

She saw him wipe the tears from his eyes and ventured to ask, "Are you ok?"

"I'm just so damn tired of saying goodbye. That's all I've done for the past year."

Pandora suddenly had the urge to tell him he'll never have to say goodbye to her, but she held back. She was suddenly afraid to talk to this Martian that only had eyes for Anna. He seemed to like Marcy a lot as well. What's going to happen when Alan finds out that Marcy hates officers and isn't real happy with men as a species at the moment?

On stage, the Wing Master Chief Petty Officer announced to the fighter wing, "Commander, Eighth Interplanetary Fighter Wing, Captain Walter Schirra, and NCIS Lunar Region Director Cerise Sanguine. In late July, Captain Schirra and Director Sanguine discovered eastern agents bribed two NCIS agents in the Western Pacific region to allow the Eastern Bloc agents to kidnap and escape with Lieutenant Vasquez..."

"They were bribed?" hissed Alan under his breath. "I'll cut their fucking heads off..."

The Wing Master Chief Petty Officer continued. "Further investigation found that Camp Schmitt was a hotbed of Eastern Bloc activity. They initiated operation BackStab and immediately discovered that the Eastern Bloc had taken over the Judge Advocate General office, and numerous functionaries throughout Camp Schmitt and in the end over thirty agents and operatives were arrested due to the successful implementation of Operation BackStab. They found that Eastern agents were placed as high as Vice CINCNAV."

General Sizemore stepped in front of Wally and Estelle and prepared to present a medal to them. "For conspicuous gallantry and..."

"Stop!" demanded Captain Schirra. "Stop reading that citation. We cannot accept any recognition."

"What we did was reprehensible," said Estelle. "To be honest, we deserve punishment. We used a man, a great man, as bait. We allowed the hounds to attack a hero. We turned our backs on him, inviting the Eastern Bloc to attack or to try to entice him into betraying the Western Alliance. We used him to capture these enemies of freedom, but at what cost? What we did was cruel, and if we had misjudged our steps worse than what we did, he could have ended up dead. I am so, so sorry."

General Sizemore said, "Don't tell me about it. Tell him yourselves." He gestured to the side and the power couple turned and looked. Estelle and Wally saw Pandora escorting Alan on stage. Their slim, sexy redhead daughter in her Marine dress blues was escorting Alan Scarlett in his dress white uniform. They were both incredibly beautiful looking, and Estelle gasped. She was looking at a preview of her daughter's wedding. She was sure of it!

"That's the one," whispered Estelle.

Wally saw his beautiful pixie like little girl being escorted by a Martian ruffian. A warrior. A man who seems content to charge into one battle after another regardless of the cost to his mind or body. He stood up to General Chang and his army, but was he strong enough to stand up to Pandora? For some reason, she looked so happy to be with Alan. As they walked across the stage, their eyes met and they smiled. It was a moment that Estelle and Wally hoped to pin in their memories forever.

The entire auditorium was silent as Pandora led Alan up to her parents. The look on her face seemed to say, 'I found the one!' She released his arm, but she didn't step away. Pandora stayed next to Alan while her parents prepared to abase themselves. "Commander Scarlett, it is with deepest regret that I apologize to you," said Wally. "We know how much the Eastern Bloc wants to capture and kill you and we used you as bait to draw out the Eastern Bloc agents and operatives without thought to your personal wellbeing. We had no plan if you were found guilty in their unlawful court martial and they would have had you in Dandong before we figured out their ruse."

"I am so sorry, Alan," said Estelle. "We humiliated you and degraded you at your own ceremony. We were so intent on putting Captain Aaron Roberts and his staff in prison, we embarrassed and humiliated you in front of two hundred people, and you ended up in the hospital..."

"That was on me, commander," said General Ratcliffe, who appeared at Estelle's side. "It was my job to get you angry enough to draw out their hit squad. I guess I forgot how hot the blood of a young man can boil. I apologize for what I did to you."

"Enough!" said Alan firmly. He looked at the heartbreak and sorrow on their faces. They were being honest with him. They were actually remorseful. He shook General Ratcliffe's hand and said, "Go make my little sister happy." Then he put his arms around Walter and Estelle's shoulders and hugged them both. "This is all I wanted," he whispered. "I just wanted to know that you didn't hate me." Before they could respond to that, Alan said, "Let's go finish our jobs."

Tearfully happy, Estelle and Wally Schirra stepped into position and received their NCIS Cross medals for their efforts in arresting thirty enemy agents. It was presented to them by Hans Scott, Director in Chief of the Naval Criminal Investigative Service. Then Director Scott turned to face Alan and presented him with the NCIS Cross for drawing out enemy agents on a Marine base and in a Marine bomber.

As Alan studied the ribbon that was hung around his neck, he wondered if he could wear an NCIS ribbon in his woefully anemic ribbon rack. Captain Schirra stood in front of Alan and whispered, "I've waited far too long for this."

"Sir?"

The Wing Master Chief Petty Officer read again. "Citation to accompany the award of promotion. On December Eighth, Twenty-One Forty-One, Lieutenant JG Alan B. Scarlett received a brevet promotion to the rank of Lieutenant Commander. Lieutenant Commander Scarlett led the Forty-Third Interplanetary Fighter Squadron Berserkers, IFS-43, a squadron that he made and named. Six hours later, he was the first man to deploy an atomic weapon destroying a cache of a fatal virus in the Asteroid belt. He led IFS-43 through the Battle of Baikal Lake, resulting in the destruction of an estimated seventy-eight enemy spacecraft and heavy damage to their carrier at a cost of two spacecraft, three casualties and one fatality. The Commander of the Western Alliance Navy and the governing body of the Martian Space Force are proud to promote Lieutenant JG Alan B. Scarlett to the permanent rank of Lieutenant Commander with a date of rank of July 21, 2142."

Estelle and Pandora unbuttoned Alan's epaulets and replaced the shoulder boards with Lieutenant Commander's shoulder boards, but instead of a gold star above the two broad and one narrow stripes, this had a red circle indicating the Martian Space Force. While they did that, Captain Schirra handed him a framed certificate, a new set of oak leaf clusters, but these were ruby red for when wearing the uniform of the Martian Space Force. While his head was spinning from the thought of three months of backpay coming his way, the sound of a thumping was heard. He looked and saw Hilde Marks and Yin Chao walking toward him. Hilde looked like she used to look, except for the cane. She was dressed in a navy blue outfit with voluminous legs, and she walked slowly with the aid of a cane.

She made her way across the stage slowly, step by pain filled step. Alan couldn't see her legs because of the loose legs on her slacks, but she wasn't walking naturally. He had so much he wanted to say, but when she stopped in front of him, she smiled sweetly and said, "Lieutenant commander, I would be honored if you wore my sword into battle."

"I..." Alan's jaw dropped, and he was afraid tears would soon follow. As a Lieutenant Commander, he's allowed to wear a sword. "I will wear it with pride, my lady."

"I am not your lady," she said softly as Yin and Pandora put the ceremonial belt and knot on Alan's uniform. "But there is one here who would like that title."

"Ma'am?" But she didn't respond. When her sword was hanging on his belt, she raised her hand in a salute that Alan returned. Then as Hilde turned to leave he said, softly, "Goodbye, Honeybunch."

"Goodbye, my love," she replied.

Her response hurt, but not as bad as Alan expected. He's said so damn many goodbyes... it sucked to become good at saying goodbye.

The next award was the Distinguished Flying Cross for Spacemanship. The Wing Master Chief Petty Officer read citation which described the Battle of Lake Baikal, mentioned on how all participants became an ace due to the superior training they received, and lauded the actions of the six flight crews that guarded an unprotected Mars while the battle raged. One fighter squadron against five or more Eastern Bloc squadrons, all at full strength. Each Pilot and RIO was called up and received the award. The ground crews all received the Meritorious Service Medal except the Chief of Maintenance Gene Cernan, who kept all ships flying. He received the Legion of Merit.

After that Anna was brought back out on stage and she stood next to Alan and as the Wing Master Chief Petty Officer read the Citation to accompany the award of Silver Star. He described how Alan and Anna raced to Mars to beat the Eastern Bloc to Kōngchéng and deployed an atomic weapon to destroy the remains of Kōngchéng and, with it, the Burgman Virus. He described how they had to fight past Eastern Bloc fighters and ground units that were blocking their way into the Schiaparelli Canal, where they would be sheltered from the blast, and ended up with seventeen kills, a triple ace.

As General Sizemore awarded them their medals, he said, "You two made such a damn good team. What would it take to get you back together?"

"A miracle," said Anna. "I don't remember any of that."

"I can always pray." He shook Alan's hand and kissed Anna's cheek (because she's a civilian now) "One more award."

The Wing Master Chief Petty Officer began reading again. This time, Captain Schirra stood in position to hold the award, and President of Mars, Benjamin Curtis, stood facing Alan.

"On the evening of March Twenty-Fifth, 2142, six Eastern Bloc agents attacked Lieutenant Anna Vasquez and Lieutenant Commander Alan Scarlett at Commander Scarlett's island residence. They attempted to kill Commander Scarlett, and they were unsuccessful. They then abducted Lieutenant Vasquez. Commander Scarlett determined that she had been taken to Dandong, where she was held prisoner in the newly built detention center..."

The Wing Master Chief Petty Officer continued to read, narrating all the things that Alan did to rescue Anna. As the Petty Officer described Alan's rocket, the curtain on the back of the stage opened, revealing a movie screen. "On July Twenty-First Commander Scarlet rescued his Radar Intercept officer," and the film of his flight played.

The film was taken from several recordings made by excited Korean revelers who gathered to watch what they expected was just a test engine burn... a work of performance art. "This was the first firing of a propane burning chemical engine in decades..." As the mission unfolded, the Wing Master Chief Petty Officer narrated the action, and as the Crossfire Voyager shot off into the sky with Anna onboard, the gathered spacemen rose and cheered wildly.

"For his bravery, innovation and courageous actions in the face of overwhelming odds, for the rescue of a fellow Naval Spaceman, and a fellow Martian, Commander Scarlett is presented with the Martian Medal of Honor." The Martian Medal of Honor is equivalent to the Western Alliance Medal of Honor. As Ben Curtis presented him with the ribbon, the screen raised, showing the capsule of the Crossfire Voyager.

Alan, Wally, and Ben stood for photographs in front of the Crossfire Voyager, then Anna came out and stood in front of the capsule, but she was terrified. She was able to smile for the photographs, but anyone that knew her knew she was terrified. Then Estelle asked that they get pictures of Alan and Pandora. Alan humored her, just happy to be back in the good graces of the Schirras again. He turned to look at Pandora and she was smiling at him. It's been a long time since somebody smiled at him... it was before he killed so many people.

The conflicting feelings fought for supremacy in Alan's psyche, the fact that he killed hundreds of people, or those smiling emerald-green eyes of hers. He let the eyes win. He bathed in the beauty and joy that he saw in those eyes and, while a few moments gazing at her eyes didn't solve any problems, it made quite a few fade into the background.

Captain Schirra stepped forward and said, "It gives me great pleasure to introduce the commander of the Forty-Third Interplanetary Fighter Squadron and the Operations Chief of the Eighth Interplanetary Fighter Wing, Lieutenant Commander Alan Scarlett."

"Go get 'em, tiger!" whispered Pandora.

Alan had been looking forward to addressing and joining his troops, but when Pandora whispered that, he now wanted to spend his time with her. Fighting the urge to remain next to her, he gave her a wink and stepped out to the front of the stage. Before he could speak, his squadron began the Berserkers chant. "Doe Da! (clap clap!) Doe Da! (clap clap!) Doe Da! (clap clap!)" Soon the entire auditorium was chanting " Doe Da! (clap clap!) Doe Da! (clap clap!) Doe Da! (clap clap!)" Even the group of VIPs from Luna who were here were joining in on the chant, clapping and stamping in time.

"Thank you, thank you, and thank you. I see you've been practicing while I was gone. For those of you that don't know what doe-da means, I hope you're not too embarrassed when you find out."

"What does it mean?" came a female cry from the VIP seats.

"It's Swedish and it's something a viking berserker might say. That's all I can do for you. Ok, this is the very best part of being a commander... When I call your name, could you step up here? Commander Rhea Seddon, and Lieutenant Doug Wheelock." As Rhea and Doug stepped up on stage, a picture of their ship, Old Battle Axe, appeared on stage. The Wing Master Chief Petty Officer read the citation that described their actions in the Battle of Lake Baikal, then Alan presented them with the Distinguished Flying Cross (Space) with Valor medal.

He called up each crew, and a photo of each crew's ship was flashed up on a screen behind them. Alan presented them each with the Distinguished Flying Cross (Space) with Valor medal and posed for a picture with them. Their citations were all similar, however, there were differences. LT CMDR Stanley Love and his RIO LT Judith Resnik (Love Boat) rescued the crew of a stricken Eastern Bloc fighter, and that rescued crew provided the west with valuable information on the Eastern Bloc's mystery ships.

Then he called up the plane captains who participated in the Battle of Lake Baikal and the Martian deployment. Many he knew and greeted with a grin and a handshake, and occasionally he whispered news of their boss Gene Cernan, who was deployed on a secret mission. Finally, he walked down to the Audience and presented Hilde Marks with a DFC for her work as trainer and commander of the Forty-Fourth IPF. He handed her wife Yin Chan with a bouquet of flowers and whispered, "Take good care of our girl." He kissed Yin on the cheek before climbing back up on stage.

"I want to introduce some important people to you. The flight surgeon for the Eighth Fighter Wing is Commander Rhea Seddon. What she says goes. If I find someone that's grounded trying to climb into a cockpit, they will be walking home. You plane captains, you can quit laughing... the Deputy Commander for Maintenance is LT Commander Mae Jemison. What she says goes. I, of course, am the Deputy Commander for Operations, and my command trainer will be Lieutenant Joe Edwards. The man and his RIO Pete Knight are double aces. I expect you will listen in rapt attention to every word he says. Before I dismiss us so I can whip General Sizemore's ass in Shogi, are there any questions?"

"Is there any truth to the rumor that we will convert to single-seat fighters?" called a crew member.

"Convert? No. There is a plan to test them for suitability, but there's no talk of conversion. I want two pairs of eyes on the swivel at all times."

"Do we have to fly with marines?"

"Yes. Not only will you fly with them, you will like it. That's an order." Then he softened. "The Marines are the fourth leg of our plan, and are now an Electronic Warfare Squadron providing radar and radio jamming, along with command and control. I will discuss each person's role in the Eighth Fighter Wing with the squadron commanders, and your commander will reveal their mission to you. Anyone else?"

"Is the rumor of the Top RIO trophy true?"

"Yes. The Battle of Lake Baikal and the Martian deployments have taught us how important it is to have a sharp RIO on your team. Mission data and pilot's input will be the determining factors. It will be an annual award and we'll have a big show trophy in the wing trophy cabinet. It's going to be called the Tasha Kikina Memorial. Yes, Commander Concia, do you have a question?"

The nine kill pilot stood with a grin and asked, "How cool is it to pour a pitcher of margaritas over a captain's head?"

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

NSS McDivitt, September 25, 2142

A New Home

The NSS McDivitt returned from her shakedown cruise with glowing reports of outstanding performance. She was refitted with four "decks" as the launch and recovery decks are called. The lower section of the McDivitt looks like four enormous lengths of squared off pipe that were bound together. Each pipe is known as a segment and when approaching from behind the McDivitt, the upper left segment is Segment A, the lower right is Segment D. The forward end of each segment is the launch deck. The central area in the segment is the pressurized maintenance area, and the aft portion is the recovery deck and parking area. Inside the segments, there's enough room for a ship to pass over or around the maintenance hangar. Each squadron has their own segment, A for the Thirty-Third, B for the Forty-Third, C for the 101st, and D segment was home to the 429th Interplanetary Electronic Warfare Squadron, the Dark Marauders.

Eight massive engines were mounted above the four launch segments and above the engines were two segments, side by side, for living quarters, ship's controls, and reaction mass storage. Then above that was a segment for command, control, and communications. A column ran from the Command Deck to the lower maintenance deck for crew members to travel about the ship.

The McDivitt sat four hundred miles off Armstrong station and for two weeks the fliers became acquainted with approach, landing, and takeoff from their new homes. Alan left this up to his training team as he toured the facilities with the new commander of the NSS McDivitt, Captain Rene Bertrand Tremblay.

Being used to serving on a wagon wheel space station, the Marines of the 429th Dark Marauders were having a difficult time adjusting to zero G in a spacecraft carrier. "How do you run to your ship if you have to scramble?" asked Marine Bruce Peake.

"You want to take this, Joe?" asked Alan.

"Sorry, what was the question?" asked Joe Edwards, Alan's Deputy Commander for Training.

"Your ship. The boss said to scramble, how do I get to my ship?"

"Amidships on level one, you go to life support, put on your pressure suit, helmet, gloves, slim pack and put your belongings in your locker. Then you..."

"Sorry," said Bruce. "I meant in an emergency situation."

"Ok. If we are in Readiness Condition Alpha, everyone is on alert. Everyone is wearing their pressure suits, helmets, and slim packs in case of a launch or puncture. Readiness condition Bravo, all flight crews will be in suits, helmets and slim packs. Everyone else will be hauling their gear around in a pack so they can suit up when we go to Alpha. Readiness condition Charlie. All flight crews will carry space suits in a pack except alert crews. Alert crews are always on Condition Alpha. Normal condition is Readiness Condition Delta. Everyone has a suit, helmet, and slim pack at Life Support for repair, cleaning, or storage. They also have a second pressure suit in a pack that they store at their bunk. Under condition delta, you only suit up if you have exterior work, like working in the unpressurized hangar or flying."

"But how do you scramble for your ship?" asked Bruce.

Joe and his RIO, Lt JG Pete Knight, looked at Alan with a grin. "Show him," said Alan. "The maintenance hangar is pressurized."

"Roger that," said Joe and in the blink of an eye, he was gone.

"Holy shit!" gasped Bruce. "How did he do that?"

"Show him slowly Pete," said Alan.

"Ok, if you're just drifting along in zero G, there's always a handrail or something on the bulkhead, but for some reason, you'll always be closer to the overhead than the deck. Give yourself a boost up to the overhead. Turn in the direction you want to go, then push yourself down. Dig those Velcro boots in and launch yourself like superman."

As he described the action, Pete slowly did what he described. As he contacted the deck, which was always carpeted in Velcro, he leaned forward and shoved off as hard as he could, like a championship swimmer at the start of a race. He zoomed down the companionway, pulling himself along, using handrails and aiming for the center of the airtight bulkhead hatches that were an obstacle every twenty feet.

"You got to be quick because all airtight bulkheads have to be closed in one minute after the horn goes off," said Captain Tremblay.

"Captain, is the fabrication section still in the same space?" asked Alan.

"Absolutely CAG," said the captain.

"What? What did you call me?"

"CAG. Carrier Air Group. You didn't know?" said a confused captain. "You're the director of operations, which makes you Assistant CAG. If Captain Schirra the wing commander isn't on board, that makes you primary."

Alan realized he had been had. He started chuckling and said, "That fucker."

"What's so funny?"

"He put me in charge so I didn't have to bother him asking for permission to do stuff."

Pandora was peering into the radio room when she heard Alan say that and started laughing. "That's my dad," she laughed.

"I'll be on the bridge if you need me," said the captain.

"Where are we going?" asked Pandora as Alan instinctively headed for a "drop tube."

"Down," said Alan.

"I don't understand this ship," she said as she followed him down two levels.

"Up top you have command, then below you have a port and starboard sections where there's the crew quarters and chow halls. They're divided into forward and aft halves. Each half is divided into four quarters. Below that is engineering. Down there are three levels. Fabrication is on level 3, Section 1, office 01."

"Sounds like you know this ship," said Pandora.

"I lived here last year. The upper portion didn't change. Below that, they upgraded Engineering and added two launch sections." They drifted to the fabrication section and entered. It was a huge machine shop with all the latest equipment designed to do anything the engineer needed in zero gravity. It's a must have for repairing meteorite and battle damage. "Anyone here?"

"Yes sir," and a fellow who was wearing a coverall with no rank or name appeared from behind some machinery. "Chief Petty Officer Sharkey, sir. Can I help you?" the short, balding man said. He looked like a bulldog with a migraine.

Alan handed the CPO a folder and said, "Chief, I need at least four of these and I need them made in-house. You should have all the components we need."

"Is this for Navy use, sir?" said the petty officer as he looked through the designs that Alan gave him. "I can't just fabricate anything for any fucking young officer with a bright idea."

"Yes, chief, it is for a naval operation. Captain Schirra made me the DCO on this cruise, and I see a need for this little sweetheart. Think of it as a very nasty limpet mine."

"Yeah, we can fucking do this. How many do ya need?"

"I'd like a priority on this, and I need at least four. Six would be perfect. About four of the pranks would rock too."

Chief Sharkey looked at Alan and nodded. "Scarlett... hey, you're not Harry Scarlett's kid Al, are ya?"

Pandora started to snicker behind her hand as Alan turned red. "Yes, chief, that's me."

"Awww god, I remember bouncing you on my knee... I went to UM Perseverance; your dad was my physics professor. He would bring you into fucking class..." Chief Sharkey said as he remembered those days. "You got the fucking bastard what did your folks, right?"

"Still in progress, chief. These little gems are to finish the job and get the guy who ordered the bombing that killed my folks."

The chief looked at the last page of the plans that described the operation of the design. "Aye, aye, sir! I can have the first one ready to test in two weeks."

"We have to keep the strikers flying first, chief."

"Geez sir, now you're starting to sound like a fucking space boss. I gotta tell you what I tell all the fucking Space Bosses. This fabrication shop is for the NSS McDivitt first and foremost. My job is to keep her airtight and battle ready. After that, I fix a fucking rocket or two, maybe."

"Works for me chief,"

When they got back to the command deck, Alan asked Captain Tremblay, "Where's my office?"

"You're in here," said Captain Tremblay, and directed Alan to the CINC, the Combat Information Center.

"Sweet!" said Joe Edwards. "Do you have room for me in here?"

"Joe just wants to animate obscene drawings on the Plexigraph boards," said Lt. Commander Mae Jemison, Alan's deputy commander for maintenance. She was well acquainted with Joe Edward's obscene sense of humor.

The room was packed with radar screens and Plexigraph boards, but everything was off; the room was dark; the radios were silent. "When does the CINC crew come aboard?" asked Alan.

"Three more days. They're over on Armstrong training."

"Where are my quarters?" Alan asked.

"This way, commander."

"I know the crew quarters. Just give me the bunk number," said Alan.

"You're a command officer, so you're not with the fliers. You're here with the command staff." He led Alan to a small closet that was marked Lt. Commander Scarlett. It was more an office than a bedroom. It was designed for Zero G so there was a wall mounted sleeping bag on one wall and a terminal where he could work. There was a fold down desk and bench along with a filing cabinet on the wall next to a locker.

"Oooo! A private room!" Pandora's eyebrows waggled as she grinned. "We may have to break this room in!" However, when she mentioned breaking in the room, his smile faded. "What's the matter? Did I say something wrong?"

"Let's have dinner tonight and talk. Just you and me, ok?" He gave her the warmest smile he could manage and Pandora agreed eagerly.

"Ok you guys, everyone in here," said Alan and his staff assembled in his room. Deputy Commander for Operations, Commander Rob Overmyer, Deputy Commander for Training Lieutenant Joe Edwards, Deputy Commander for Maintenance, Lt Commander Mae Jemison.

It was quite crowded with the five of them in there. Pandora was filling a space for the First Sergeant but he needed room for more, CPO Gene Cernan representing maintenance and Lieutenant Janet Kavandi representing Martian relations. Marine Captain Don Slayton had to be there to represent the FB-719 Dark Marauders. Even though the 719s were in their own squadron, the 429th Electronic Warfare Squadron, they had to work close with all other squadrons on board. Pandora turned to Mae, her pale white skin contrasting with Mae's dark black complexion. Pandora leaned over to Mae and said, "If somebody jumps, we're not getting out of here with our virtues intact."

Mae whispered in Pandora's ear saying, "I don't know about you, but I haven't had any in months. I just might be the one that jumps."

"Ok, thank you," said Alan. "I'm sure that just proved that staff meetings are going to have to be somewhere else. We're not going to pack eight people in here. Thank you for playing along."

"Is everything ok?" Pandora asked after everyone left the room.

"No, of course not. I'm involved, so everything is going to shit pretty soon."

Pandora gave him a confused look. Concern was written on her brow, then her expression lightened up. "No, that's my dad's job." When his expression didn't change, she said, "Come on shorty, lighten up."

"Shorty? I'm half a foot taller than you."

"I was talking about something else," and she gave his crotch a squeeze, then with a laugh she kicked off the bulkhead and rocketed out of his tiny room.

Alan was over his surprise and took after her as she zipped back and forth from bulkhead to bulkhead up the narrow confines of the ship while his staff laughed at the two. "Alan's back," said Rob Overmyer.

"Get back here, marine!" Alan kicked off the bulkhead and gave chase. Laughing and giggling, she stayed just out of grasp until Captain Tremblay floated out of the command deck while reading a report and they both plowed into him.

"Captain? Commander? First time in zero G?" He gave them a withering look that one develops when raising teenagers.

"Just getting used to the new digs, sir," said Alan lamely.

"Since you're the only one I have rated on F-119s, I have a Berserker that needs to go back to Armstrong. She's in section B, launch 3. Care to take it out?"

"Be glad to, sir," said Alan. "I'll need a RIO to get her going."

"Take Captain Ginger here with you. She'll figure it out."

"Yes, sir!"

"I can't fly a fighter," said Pandora.

"You'll just be reading a checklist to me," said Alan, as he led her to life support. There was only one person in the life support section and Alan told the spaceman there, "we're going to need environment suits with full environmental pack and at least one pair of heated compression gloves."

"Here you go," said the Life Support technician, and he opened his half door and handed out two huge bulky suits and two large environment packs.

"Thanks," said Alan and he led Pandora to the locker room and they undressed.

"Full environment pack?" asked Pandora as she slipped off her flight suit. She was used to the slim pack that they wore on the Arcturus when in alert conditions. Alan was slow to answer because she was completely naked. Her skin was pale but dusted with light freckles, her breasts were round and firm with bright pink areola that were capped with a hard, dark pink nipple. And down below she didn't trim. If she did, it would be a crime to lose a hair from that brilliant red fire bush tucked between her slim legs. "Ah-hem! My eyes are up here," said Pandora firmly.

"Yeah, but your pussy is down there," said Alan. He said it to see what kind of reaction he would get, and her reaction was perfect.

She just started chuckling and gave him a wink. "You will do, Mister Scarlett." She wrestled on the environment suit and asked again, "why the full environment pack?"

"The Berserker doesn't have an environmental system, so you bring your own and plug in to the ship's power," said Alan as he helped her put on the bulky environmental pack. Even though it's weightless, it still has mass, and it throws off the wearer when you try to move around. When they were ready, he led Pandora to a drop tube where they dropped through the engineering section, down to "The Decks." They entered a pressurized maintenance hangar where four F-201 Star Strikers and one FB-719 Marauder were undergoing maintenance. He led her to an airlock where they put on their helmets and checked each other's suits before cycling the air lock.

They stepped out on the launch deck and there were three F-201 Strikers looking for all the world like a missile with stub wings and a cockpit, and one F-119 Curtiss-Convair Berserker. It was an incredible looking ship. Sleek, aerodynamic, with delta wings and a vertical stabilizer. "This looks like an in-atmosphere ship," said Pandora.

"It is," said Alan. "It actually flies best in Mars' thin atmosphere. The Martian Civil Guard is equipping themselves with surplus Berserkers." He opened a small panel on the ship and pulled a lever and the two canopies opened and he drifted up with Pandora as the plane captain put power on the Berserker.

"This has no seat back!" said Pandora as she peered into the aft cockpit.

"You're wearing your seat back," said Alan. "Your environmental unit locks into the cockpit. Make sure the pressures are up to 100%. It's your life raft if we have to punch out."

"What?"

Alan could see Pandora's brilliant emerald eyes open wide in surprise as he helped her get settled in the aft cockpit. He pointed to her main radar screen and said, "When we're ready, the startup checklist will come up here. Just read the checklist from top to bottom. When I complete something, it will change color. When it changes color, read the next step. If the color goes red, stop and let me know immediately, ok?"

"Ok," said Pandora. She's been on the bridge of the Arcturus once when they were leaving port and going down a checklist. This is exactly what the crew on the bridge did to get the heavy bomber moving. The executive officer read the checklist while the crew members performed the checklist functions and, being bombardier, her only function at the launch was to verify that the loaded weapons were safe and the offensive laser cannon was secure. Now she's going to be part of the launch sequence and she felt the excitement building in her stomach. She watched over the top of her instruments as Alan slid into the pilot's seat with talent honed by dozens of flights in the Berserker. In fact, his squadron got its name from these feisty little ships.

"Here we go darling," said Alan as the internal generator came up to speed and the instrument panel came to life.

Darling! Did he call me darling? No... it had to be force of habit, she decided. Her heart raced for a minute, but she remembered his RIO was Hilde for most of his career and his RIO in some of the bloodiest space battles in history was Anna, and now he has his commander's daughter in the back seat.

"Are you ok love?" asked Alan.

Pandora tried to blink the tears of disappointment away, but in zero g, tears don't go anywhere. They just flood your eyeballs. She blinked them away and saw that the checklist was on her screen. "I'm sorry, I was looking at the controls... AJC to AUX."

"Aux," said Alan, and the first step went from amber to green.

"Stab input to PRI."

"Primary," said Alan, and the next step turned green. Step after step, she read off the checklist, and they worked together, progressing quickly, finding a comfortable rhythm as they sailed through the checklist. "And radar to standby... that completes the checklist," said Alan. "McDivitt Spaceboss, this is Berserker oh one, we are ready to start engine and move to launch position."

"Standby Berserker," said the acting Spaceboss. As they waited, the little fighter began to move. It rolled out to the centerline of the hangar space, then moved toward the door that was opening.

"How did you do that?" asked Pandora. She checked the instruments again and the main engine was not running, the thrusters were not engaged, the landing gear still showed that they were magnetically locked to the deck of the ship. The only thing running was the auxiliary power unit.

"It's not me, it's who's ever in the control tower. Magnets under the deck called the underfloor magnetic taxi system move the ship around. It will even give us a big launch push."

"Berserker 01, this is McDivitt tower. You are go for engine start."

"Roger, thanks McDivitt." Alan began the engine start procedure as the blast deflector behind them raised up. "Pandora, grab the handholds and don't let go."

"Ok," she said. Suddenly there was a click on her helmet's headset and the magnets built into her suit locked her into position. Her gloves grasped the handholds, her helmet clicked into place on the head rest, her feet snapped to position and her boots locked to the deck.

"Engine coming up," said Alan, and he started singing, "Off we go, into the darkness yonder, off we go, into the stars..." He shoved the throttle forward which sent a launch signal to the McDivitt, and the McDivitt flung the ship into space. The F-119 shot forward and out of the launch deck, and immediately the engine came up to power and slammed them in the back. Pandora whooped with the excitement of the incredible blast of acceleration. "Hold on, we've got to make a turn here," said Alan and the stars whirled across her canopy as the Berserker rolled and then went into a sweeping one hundred degree turn.

When the turn was completed, Pandora heard beeps and tones as Alan fiddled with the navigation system. "Keep an eye on your radar. You will see J1856-3754, J1400-1438, J1002+127 and J0724+62 come up on your screen." Four amber dots lit up on her radar screen. Then amber lines appeared, connecting the dots in a complex pattern. "Triangulating from these known points in space, we can calculate that Armstrong station is... here." And a bright amber point lit up on her screen where the lines intersected. "We keep that point centered on our screen and we're headed home." He fired the engine for about fifteen seconds. "That's it!"

"Cool, what was all that?" said a very confused Pandora.

"I just set our course using pulsars as navigational aids."

"Why not just navigate off of Armstrong's homing beacon?" she asked.

Alan was silent for a long time then said, "well, there is that too I guess..."

Pandora's gloves, helmet, and boots were released, and she relaxed. "Did you really forget the navigational beacon?"

Alan laughed and said, "No, I wrote a paper in the academy on the need to navigate on pulsar navigation and stay familiar with the process because beacons are unreliable. I do stay current on it because... what would happen if the beams were jammed or spoofed and we ended up going in the wrong direction? We have earth right here to steer us by, but what if we were out past the asteroid belt?"

"Past the belt? We don't go that far," said Pandora. "We don't go that far, do we?"

"There are a few private groups... individuals possibly, that are building stations on the far side of the belt."

"Like who?"

"There's one I know of, a separatist group sick of Earth politics. They built a Babylon style station. It's a home for scrappers," said Alan. "They scrap any asteroid mining complex that drifts close to them, and either use what they scavenge or sell it."

"I can see my sister living there," said Pandora. "She scrapped an abandoned ore hauler and has been doing nothing but scrapping ever since."

"I scrapped satellites," said Alan. "We made a bunch of money."

"What did you do with your money?"

Alan sighed and she couldn't tell if it was sorrow or something else. "I bought liquid oxygen and liquid propane and made my own rocket."

"So dinner tonight, a pizza in your suite? Something else?"

"Oh, shit... what today's date... the twenty-fifth? I was invited to the top five by General Sizemore." Friendly invitations by General Sizemore carry the weight of written orders. "Please come with.

"Top five? I hate wearing my blues to dinners," said Pandora. "They stain so easily..."

"Tell me about it, but this is a dining out, and I've never been to one before." Alan sounded eager because he's heard that a dining out was a lot of fun. It's a chance for the unit to pretend they're in the military. Rule number one - no shop talk. You can bad mouth any other units, but you don't discuss anything that your particular unit was up to. "Will you be my guest for dinner? We'll have a couple of drinks, eat the chicken flavored tofu, listen to a speech and get out."

"I was hoping we could talk someplace quiet, you know?" she said, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice. She's been to dining out functions, and they are fun, but they're far from private affairs.

"We can talk here," said Alan.

"Maybe, but when we talk, I want to see your eyes."

Alan felt a wave of terror roll through him. Hilde would say the same thing whenever she wanted to talk about not getting married. "I understand. Why don't we put some champagne on ice, get some nibbles, then after dinner you can see my eyes all you want."

"Now that sounds like a plan," said Pandora happily.

<><><><><>

General Grigory Styopa Romanov looked at the plotting scope in the Zheleznaya Koroleva's missile launch compartment. Two Eastern Bloc spacemen sat shoulder to shoulder monitoring radar and long range televideo screens. Behind them, the stárshiy leytenánt (senior lieutenant) stood at a plotting table and explained to the general, "Drugogo takogo shansa u nas ne budet v blizhayshiye nedeli." (We will not get another shot like this for weeks) said the missile launch officer.

General Romanov nodded, but remained silent.

"Yesli my eto sdelayem, my obyazuyemsya, (If we do this, we are committed) added the senior lieutenant.

General Romanov nodded again. Then he said, Dlya Changa (for Chang) Then, in as booming of a voice as he could generate, he shouted Svobodnyy! (Loose!)

Loose! Like we were ancient archers, thought the lieutenant. Loshadinaya zadnitsa (horse's ass). He pressed a button, and the countdown began. His two subordinate spacemen followed the launch checklist while General Romanov and the Senior Lieutenant leaned over the spacemen, inserted their keys into the control panel and turned them. When the countdown reached zero, two missiles from the nose silos of the Zheleznaya Koroleva leapt into the night.

General Romanov strutted back to his office while the senior lieutenant tried to burn everything that had just happened into his memory... for the war crime trials.

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

Armstrong Station, September 25, 2142

Dining Out, Moving Out.

Alan and Pandora swept into the Officer's Club in their dress blues. A few of Alan's flight crews were taking a break from the training schedule to relax with their new teammates, the Marines that were added to the ranks. "Boss!" cried Cathy Coleman, C flight leader and Pilot of Aces and Eights. She was leaning on Mark Polanski, the RIO of Stranger in a Strange Land. "Come help us," she said. "We're trying to teach these grunts how to name their ships."

"I'm sure they'll figure it out," he chuckled.

Yelena Serova, RIO of Dragon Rider, rose and whispered in his ear, "I've got a little something for you if you need help getting lucky, sir."

"Thank you, Yelena, I'll just work with what I have," chuckled Alan.

"Fine, be that way," pouted Yelena, and she slumped back down into her chair. "We're just tired of you bein' grumpy all the time."

Alan led Pandora back to the Top Five area, and she asked, "What's that all about?"

"They think I'm grumpy because I'm not having sex regularly."

"So, is that why you're grumpy?" she asked with a smile.

"No, of course not. I have sex quite often... it's just that no one else is with me at the time."

She was still laughing as they sat down at a table in the back. As they were talking, a waiter came up and whispered to Alan, "The president would like you to join him at his table."

"Thank you," said Alan and he slowly got up and extended a hand to an obviously excited Pandora. She was ravishing in her marine dress uniform, her brilliant red hair cascading down to the edges of regulation length. Normally, she had it knotted up in a bun or ponytail. She only sets it free in gravity.

"Cheer up, it's the president of Mars!" she hissed as they moved forward.

"He was my high school physics teacher."

"He runs an entire planet!" she whispered.

"He's my uncle's drinking buddy," said Alan as they stepped up to the table. President Curtis rose to greet them. He was sitting with NCIS Special Agent Melika Reeves, who he invited to travel with him to Mars.

"Alan, you look better now that you're with your troops," Ben said with a smile.

"I still have some residual anger left over from Back Stab, but we're working through it," said Alan, as he and Pandora sat down. To their left was General Sizemore and an elegant-looking woman who appeared to be in her mid-forties. To their right were Admiral Remy Darwin, commander of Armstrong station, and his wife Loren.

"Are you still angry at your commander, Commander Scarlett?" asked General Sizemore.

Alan looked at the general and smiled, "That sounds dangerously close to shop talk," he said.

"Ahhh, you're right, and the penalty is, I believe, one drink?" said the general with a sigh. He ordered a drink for everyone at the table and then said, "Let me try it this way. How's your relationship with Pandora's folks?"

"Improving, sir. If we didn't have so much history, I would have walked back to Mars by now."

"And Miss Vermillion? Is there something going on here with Commander Scarlett?" asked Ben Curtis. "Just your names alone seem to be a match made in heaven."

"It would be a match made in heaven, if I could convince him to transfer to the Marines," she said as she sipped the drink a waiter put in front of her.

"We took a look at my new apartment this morning," said Alan. "I'm trying to figure out how to hire a marine bombardier to travel with."

Pandora smiled as she took another sip. This was the closest thing to romance that Alan has said. Maybe that "Darling" and "Love" from this morning were real?

"How are you getting along without Noxie?"

"Thanks, Mister President," grumbled Alan.

"Noxie? The toy?" asked General Sizemore.

"Oh, it's much more than a toy, and in Commander Scarlett's hands, Noxie can be a tremendous asset. He's had a Noxie next to him since he was ten," said Ben Curtis.

"Thanks, Mister President," grumbled Alan again.

"He's got three in his room here on Armstrong," said Pandora. She had seen the boxes delivered earlier in the day.

"Three? Why would you need three Noxie robots?" asked General Sizemore.

"Robotics fascinates me and to be honest, Noxie is a highly advanced device," said Alan. "A Noxie is affordable and has some very advanced internal computation equipment. It's a good starting point for many projects. I'm going to program two to play chess against each other and the third will not be programmed to play, just observe. It's an experiment to see if the third will learn the game." It was close enough to the truth. Sort of. He turned his first Noxie into an advanced portable standalone computation frame and he and his Uncle Ray have the patent on Mars for it. If he applied for a patent on Earth, the patent would belong to the Navy, because he developed it while on active duty. Therefore, Uncle Ray applied for the patent on Earth, then he shared the patent rights with Alan.

"What plans to you have for your future, Mister Scarlett?" asked Admiral Darwin.

"Long term? A house on a canal with a boat and a handful of kids. I love Mars, but being able to go outdoors and sit in the sun is so relaxing."

"A canal?" asked General Sizemore. "Any canal in particular?"

"General," said President Curtis, "I think he means a generic canal." When the general looked confused, Ben said, "On Mars, a canal is any body of water. It started as a joke, making fun of early astronomers who swore to the public that there were canals on Mars, and it caught on with settlers and native born Martians. For a Martian, a canal can be a lake, river, pond..."

"But still, wouldn't it be cool to live next to a canal?" asked Alan. "You know, like the Dortmund-Ems canal in Europe or the Welland Canal in North America. You could sit and watch the ships go by, maybe wave to the crews."

Beneath the table, Pandora reached out and gently placed her hand on Alan's thigh and his hand closed with hers. It was a gentle acknowledgement of her feelings toward him and Alan responded. It was a particular thrill to be holding hands while talking with the most powerful men in space. Their eyes met as the band began to play and Alan said, "Ladies, gentlemen, I believe Captain Vermilion agreed to teach me how to dance," and they rose and stepped out on the dance floor.

He draped an arm around her and held her hand as they moved in time with the beat of the music. Alan was swept up in the moment. She was so soft and warm, and she smelled so good. Her gentle perfume filled his nostrils and swirled around his heart. "You dance quite well, Commander Scarlett," said Pandora.

"I should hope so. Your mother tried to teach me."

"You can tell her that I approve," said Pandora as their eyes met while they moved around the dance floor, holding each other close. The warmth of her body was hypnotizing, and it felt like she was pressing tighter against him. "Earlier today, you called me darling, and love, did you mean..."

"I'm sorry," said Alan. "I suppose I shouldn't have. I wasn't trying to get in your flight suit. Lord knows that never worked for me anyhow."

"So, you didn't mean it? You were just kidding?"

"No, I meant every word. Ever since we met in the cargo bay of the Maryborough, your eyes have enchanted me, and your smile..." Alan sighed. "When I fly, I take off knowing the person I speak to last may be the last person I ever speak to. So, I do everything I can to be totally honest with them."

"Are you saying that you love me?" asked Pandora, a surge of hope raced through her.

Alan sighed and thought for a moment, then said, "Let's face it, I'm not very smart when it comes to women. From the age of ten, I grew up with a bachelor womanizer and all I learned was pickup lines. I fell in love with Hilde, who used foreplay as a training tool, then I fell in love with Anna. She'll never see me as a suitor, so it was a lot of wasted emotional pain. I mean, I'm glad I rescued her, but I should have pulled my head out of my ass at some point, you know?"

"So, you're saying that you don't love me?" asked Pandora, now suddenly terrified.

"What I'm saying is that I want to. I want to do it right, to get to know you, to romance you, to fall in love with you, but I'm so damn scared."

"Scared of what?"

The memory of all the women in his life raced through Alan's head. His mom: dead. His sister: hiding. Aunt Tammy: killed by the Eastern Bloc. Cousin Shiela: killed by the Eastern Bloc. Noelani: subverted by the Eastern Bloc. Hilde: savagely disfigured by the Eastern Bloc. Tasha: cut in half by the Eastern Bloc. Anna: kidnapped by the Eastern Bloc. He was scared of putting whatever curse he had on Pandora. "I guess I'm scared of ending up alone, sitting in my room playing chess against Noxie for the rest of my life."

Pandora pulled him closer and whispered, "Let's try that romance thing, and if that doesn't work, I'll send my sister Eris over to play Shogi."

Alan cheered up and said, "It's always good to have a backup plan." He led her back to the table where both looked bright and cheerful, which made Ben happy. They loosened up and laughed at jokes and had a wonderful dinner. It was all going so well...

As the dinner concluded, the President of Mars rose and gave a speech about his visit to Earth. He talked about the humorous points of the negotiations he attended, and he spoke with admiration of the Space Forces of the Western Alliance and the Lunar Colonies. Then he dropped an atomic bomb. "Ladies, gentlemen, I have to turn in. We're departing for Mars at oh six hundred."

"Sir?" Alan went white and began to sweat.

"Parliament," sighed President Curtis. "Parliament is demanding I return or face a vote of no confidence. I should have been back sooner. I wasted a lot of time in unproductive meetings over water. We're shipping out on the Garuda on its scheduled run."

"Sir, who is your escort?" asked Alan. "You're the biggest target in the solar system right now."

"Mars needs me," said Ben. "I can't let fear set my schedule. Sorry General, admiral, ladies... Alan, I'll see you when the McDivitt makes orbit." With that, the president of Mars left with Agent Reeves.

"General, you can't let him go!" said Alan. "The Zheleznaya Koroleva is waiting for him to show himself."

"Mister Scarlett, I know it pains both of us, but he is the dually elected president of an entire planet. He outranks me."

"Then... give me a scow as a carrier. I can take an Marauder, a couple of Strikers and a few volunteers and we'll cover him. Sir! I killed General Yui Lin Chang, their number three in their triumvirate. The Chinese people called him Shí rén mó, the people eater. He was the sick bastard that tortured and slaughtered people until the rule of the military triumvirate was the law of the land." Alan was getting passionate as his stomach knotted up in terror. "General Romanov and Doctor Tarkov want me to pay for killing Chang. They busted their ass to get me at the sham court martial, and Ben Curtis stopped them. Now Ben is out in the open, along with Anna in a shuttle bus to Mars. General Romanov has been drooling for a chance like this. We have to cover him... it's our fucking job!"

"Mister Scarlett!" Admiral Darwin almost shouted. "You need to learn your place!"

"No Remy, he's right," said General Sizemore. "Kid, go find Captain Tremblay and Colonel Marquette and tell them to get over here immediately."

"Yes, sir!" Alan went to find the officers and Pandora went with him. They found both ship commanders at the same table as Captain Schirra. "Captain Tremblay, Colonel Marquette, the general needs to speak with you."

The two officers rose and Captain Schirra went with them. If there's something that a carrier is needed for, the commander of the flying units needs to know as well. Before Alan and Pandora returned to their table, Estelle Schirra said, "Is this a thing now?"

Confused, Alan and Pandora looked at her, then looked at what she was looking at: they were still holding hands. It just felt so right. Like their hands were made to hold each other's hand. "Mom!" whined Alan. "You never let me have any fun!" and with a wink they went back to their table, leaving the women with Estelle to break up into whoops of laughter.

Rejoining the general, he was demanding answers. "Tremblay, how soon until the McDivitt is ready to move out?"

"Three days sir, we're still loading..."

"You have two and you leave, loaded or not. Marquette, how soon can the Arcturus set out?"

"Twelve hours, sir."

"I need ten. Here's the issue. The cargo boat RSS Garuda is departing at oh six hundred. That's ten hours from now. On board will be President Ben Curtis, General Morris Rafferty, and Lieutenant Anna Vasquez. They are all considered primary targets by the Eastern Bloc. President Curtis is the government of Mars. Morris Rafferty is an escaped POW who has testified to the Rousseau commission on the treatment of prisoners in the East. And Miss Vasquez killed General Chang. They want payback. I can't change the president's orders, so we will protect the Garuda to the best of our ability."

"We'll give it our best, sir."

"Sir," said Alan. "Can I put four strikers in the forward bomb bay of the Arcturus and put four flight crews on board?"

"Is it possible, John?" asked the general.

"Yes, it's possible, but two would be easier."

"Three would be better than two," said Alan. "Two can engage any threat and the third would remain close for any threat that got past the other two."

Colonel Marquette glared at Alan, then said, "Did she teach you how to bargain like that?" He was, of course, referring to Pandora. "Three strikers and a tank of reaction mass for them. I barely have enough for the Arcturus. We will be ready to load them up in about four hours."

"Scarlett, make it happen," said General Sizemore. "But you're not on that mission. You fly with your squadron."

Alan gently squeezed Pandora's hand and said, "Yes, sir."

"And as soon as the McDivitt catches up, your people will evacuate the Arcturus and return to the McDivitt, understood?"

"Yes sir," said Alan.

Colonel Marquette turned to his executive officer. "Get everyone back on board ASAP. We have some work to do."

Captain Schirra turned to Alan and said, "Staff meeting in thirty minutes. Wing commanders call in one hour."

Alan turned to Pandora and said, "let's go get changed."

They were finally back in Alan's suite when Pandora said, "thank you, it was a wonderful evening." She took off her dress blues and stood naked as she returned her blues to a garment bag. Alan was doing the same right next to her. Fliers are constantly changing in and out of flight suits and pressure suits, so nudity wasn't unusual for them.

"I told you that when I'm involved, everything eventually goes to shit," said Alan as he stared at the closet door. "I warned you... my head is so screwed up, I don't know what I want," he said. "I only know one thing for sure right now. When you're around, life seems to be better. Holding your hand makes everything less painful. Dancing with you makes me feel alive again. If I live, can I see you? I mean..."

Pandora put her hands on his shoulders and gently turned him to face her, and their eyes met. Something happened inside Alan that he hadn't felt in a long time, a surge of hope, a feeling that he wasn't alone. Lost in her emerald-green eyes, he pulled her tight to his body, feeling her warm, athletic body mold to his, and they kissed. Gentle at first. Little sweet pecks that slowly evolved into passionate oral embraces. Their tongues met, and they both knew that this was a beginning, a start of something huge. Hearts pounding, they clung to each other as they kissed, relishing the feel of a warm nude body clinging to their own naked body. Her small firm breasts burned into Alan's chest and he allowed a hand to slip down to her taught ass. She responded by grinding her bright red bush into his throbbing cock.

As their lips parted and they gasped for breath, heads light with the wonder of what they held in their trembling arms, Pandora panted and said, "When we're done, I'm going to keep you."

Alan smiled and said, "When we're done, I'm going to let you."

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

NSS McDivitt, September 26, 2142

And so to Mars.

The last time Alan Scarlett and Pandora Vermillion saw each other was in the bomb bay of the Arcturus. Alan was there with Dick Robinson, commander of the 101st, and Llewela Dale, commander of the 33rd IFS. They were there to observe the process that was used to secure a Striker "upside down" to the "roof" of the weapons bay if it was necessary to use a bomber as a carrier. Once familiarized with the process, the new squadron commanders would be able to use the process in their battle plans more efficiently.

As Pandora supervised the task and briefed Dick and Llewela, Alan was spending his time teasing the plane captain of the fighter they loaded and launched several times over. The young plane captain from the 33rd who was being trained on the process was worried that he would get dizzy hanging upside down from the roof and that just drew stares from the squadron commanders. The concept of "up" is something all spacemen have to deal with. It takes years to realize that in space, there is no up.

A jeep arrived with equipment for the deployed fighters and to take back the 'spectators' who were there to observe the load. Being the Bombardier, this was all Pandora's responsibility, and she managed the operation with the authority of a cigar chewing top sergeant. The slim marine demanded perfection from her troops as they loaded the three fighters in her bomber, and she got it.

Alan signaled to her to cut her radio and held her close. Their helmets pressed against each other so their voices would carry. "Do me a big favor, occasionally write me, write me about anything, but it's important that you ask about Noxie in each message. Use B34 encryption."

"That's an old battle code. It's been cracked by the east and Colonel Marquette will have my head!" gasped Pandora. "Is this one of your ridiculous plans that mom warned me about?"

"Colonel Marquette knows about it, and yes, it is. Your mom worries too much," said Alan, aching that those lips of hers were inches away and completely out of reach.

"Don't do anything stupid and get yourself killed," said Pandora.

"Only if you promise to help me break in my bunk when this is over."

"Deal," sniffed Pandora. "Alan, come back to me. I want that romance you promised."

"I will be back once I figure out how to do that romance." They hugged and then Alan went and got on the Jeep from Armstrong station as Pandora secured the bomb bay and closed the doors.

The next two days were filled with preparing the McDivitt to fly. All the 33rd IFS's Strikers were sitting on Mars, ready to go, but there weren't any rated flight combat crews on Mars yet. Several crews from the 33rd were en route to Mars on a scheduled shuttle weeks ahead of the McDivitt.

Loading up the McDivitt was an exercise in high-speed jigsaw puzzle building. The flight bays were loaded with pallets of food, water, equipment and the crew's personal baggage. They had to be put in the flight bays in the correct order, so they could be moved up on deck in the right order.

The McDivitt was considered a mega-carrier, which was any carrier that could carry three or more complete squadrons. A second mega-carrier was under construction in the New Newport News shipyard at Earth/Luna Lagrange Point 3, which was 238,850 miles from earth on the opposite side from the moon. When completed, the NSS Grissom promised to be the top carrier in the fleet and Alan wanted to be part of that crew.

While the McDivitt's crew members were on board hustling to get the big carrier ready to launch, the flight crews were in intensive training. Briefings were being held hourly, and the status of the situation changed rapidly. A tall, skinny officer in a Martian Space Force uniform stood in front of the assembled fighter crews and began his briefing.

"The Martian Intelligence Agency is working in cooperation with Western Alliance Intelligence and they can agree on one thing. The Eastern Bloc has given up on Luna and is now concentrating on Mars and Venus. We were expecting both mystery ships, the Gorod Moskva and the Zheleznaya Koroleva, to form up and attack Mars. Now it appears that the Gorod Moskva has changed course and is moving toward Venus. At its current rate of travel, it will be approximately two to four years before it can be a severe threat to our Venusian stations."

An image of a huge, ugly ore freighter appeared on the screen. It was a massive cylinder about 300 meters long with a control complex built centerline on the backbone of the big tube. "The Zheleznaya Koroleva is a different story. The name Zheleznaya Koroleva means The Iron Queen. For a long time, it was the top ore carrier of the Eastern Bloc until their military went rogue and got their hands on it. It holds an estimated one hundred twenty Eastern Bloc fighters..."

Uncontrolled murmuring went through the assembled fliers as the intelligence officer showed an image of a huge, tubular ship. It was a bulk ore freighter that used to haul iron, nickel, titanium, and other such ores from the riches of the asteroid belt to the refineries and mills in Earth and Martian orbit. The finest steel mill was the Phoebus Mill in Martian orbit. Martian iron and tungsten create an alloy called ferrotungsten, which added to steel make a steel so resistant to heat that ceramic heat shields are no longer needed for entering the Earth's atmosphere, a weight savings of tons when designing Earth-landing spaceships.

An ore carrier the size of the Iron Queen is worth its weight in tungsten, so why did the Eastern Bloc convert it to a military ship that just sat waiting for orders? Are they waiting to attack? Or are they hiding something? A hundred questions flashed through Alan Scarlett's head. It all came to mind when the intelligence officer said, "The remainder of the briefing is classified top secret cabinet fifty. Those of you without that clearance are excused."

The vast majority of the flight crew members got up and left, leaving only the squadron commanders and vice commanders and wing officers. Every remaining person's ID was checked for current security clearance and two officers were removed due to questions on their clearance. "The second mystery ship, the Gorod Moskva, which means the City of Moscow, is not turning toward Venus. Intelligence projects that the City of Moscow is heading toward earth. Its reasons are unknown. Enemy agents have subverted many of our units and for that reason alone, the one hundred and first and the thirty-third fighter squadrons are recalled to protect earth."

"Sir! The thirty-third is a Martian unit. It's an asset of Mars," said Alan.

General Sizemore stepped from the corner where he had been observing. "That's right, but if there is no Earth, there will be no Mars to protect."

The intelligence officer stepped up to Alan and handed him a folder marked TOP SECRET, CABINET 50. Inside was a communique from the mysterious Alpha. The communique said that all intelligence assets point toward an attack on Mars to draw the Navy away from Earth, leaving the Lunar colonies, Armstrong Station, and Aldrin Shipyards on the far side of the moon open for attack. General Romanov will lead both attacks moving from Mars to Earth when Mars is conquered. Unconfirmed intelligence sources state that the third leg of the triumvirate, Doctor Anatoly Tarkov's location, might be on the Gorod Moskva, but that was unconfirmed.

Alan handed the folder back to the intelligence officer and muttered a curse under his breath. He wanted to kill Romanov, to lock him in a room and vent it to space like he did to Alan's parents and 120 neighbors. To watch through a window as he died in agony as the shock of a sudden vacuum sucked his lungs up into his trachea. The joy of watching his mortal enemy try to shriek in pain has been taken away. Romanov has to remain alive so he can be questioned.

"The thirty-third and the one oh first aren't ready yet," he said. He was speaking more to the wall than to anyone in particular.

General Sizemore stepped up to Alan and said, "Commander, you trained them well. We both know they're not ready to face General Romanov's forces, not yet. We can only afford to send one squadron to Mars, so instead of sending an untested unit to Mars, we're sending them the most battle tested unit in the Western Alliance Navy and we're hoping that unit's commander can protect his home world, then turn around and help us back here."

"Yes, sir," said Alan as the weight of the situation crashed down on him.

"You need to make it look good."

"What are my assets?" asked Alan.

"Your full unit, the Arcturus, all assigned F-201 strikers, and all the FB-719s you can eat," said Captain Schirra.

"I'd like a second bomber," said Alan, "something to play high guard, watching the entire battle unfold, giving me intelligence."

General Sizemore turned to Captain Schirra, who shook his head. "We can afford to loan you the Pollux."

The NSS Pollux was one of two older B-168 class bombers, her sister being the NSS Castor. They've been described as 'manned intelligence satellites' and, like the Arcturus, they are masters at remaining hidden, but they are hopelessly out of date and unable to carry modern torpedoes. "I would like to request as many Marines as we can handle, sir."

"Why?" asked Captain Schirra.

"I'm going to try to take prisoners. The FB-719s can mask our actions so we can grab prisoners."

"How are you going to grab prisoners?" asked General Sizemore.

"When you knock out an Eastern Bloc fighter, they don't try to rescue survivors," said Alan. "They leave the spacemen to die. I didn't know that at Lake Baikal." The thought of the number of spacemen they left to die often caused Alan to wake up crying out in horror.

"Do it. This is the height of the shipping season. We'll load one of the unused launch decks with pressurized quarters and give you a couple of Jeeps to help scoop up escape pods and spacemen." General Sizemore's firm tone of voice left no doubt in anyone's mind that this was the Word of God and all abandoned spacemen will be picked up.

"Yes sir," said Alan, feeling oddly chastised even though he got everything he asked for.

"You need to keep Romanov's forces busy while we finish training up the thirty-third and the hundred and first."

"Who is going to train them?" asked Alan. "Speaking candidly sir, the Werewolves didn't exonerate themselves and you haven't replaced them yet and I only got so far with their training. "

A familiar female voice came from the dark corner that General Sizemore likes to hide in. "It's not your problem, commander." Commander Hilde Marks stepped out from the shadows. She walked stiffly, clearly getting better with her prosthetic legs. "I will train them. You keep Romanov busy. Maybe he'll give up on Luna and head to Venus if you do your job and blow his Iron Queen out of the solar system."

Stunned, all Alan could say was, "Yes ma'am. If you'd like, we can go over the training records..."

"Concentrate on your deployment, Lieutenant Commander," said Hilde sternly. Then she mellowed and said, "we will discuss training over dinner in... my suite."

"Yes, ma'am..." A million confused emotions raced through Alan as he looked at Hilde. She refused to make eye contact.

<><><><><>

Alan had moved out of his oversized suite and onto the McDivitt. His few extra belongings were stored in a warehouse somewhere. It was only two small boxes taking up less than a square meter of storage space. Bit by bit, the big Star Carrier was coming to life, but it was only going to be a quarter filled to capacity. One full fighting squadron, a half dozen fighter/bombers. One of the decks was set up with pressurized cells for survivors.

Alan floated at his terminal monitoring the load out and the McDivitt was on schedule to launch on time in fifteen hours. Usually when a carrier launches, the flying units join up a day later in a big to do called a fly out. Flags waving, speeches made, fly byes and barrel rolls. It was a standard military movement that became a vainglorious show of force.

There would be no big fly out to the McDivitt. Everything was completely loaded. One by one, the F-201 Strikers and FB-719s flew out from Armstrong and were stowed for the launch. This is what would happen with the spare ships before a big deployment, so it was not an unusual event in the eyes of anyone watching.

Alan stood at the door to the suite that he shared with Anna Vasquez on Armstrong Station, his home until earlier in the day when he finally moved out, and he fought an internal emotional struggle. Twice he raised his hand to knock, and twice it fell to his side. "Fuck it," he said to himself mournfully, and he turned to go. As he did, the door slid open and there was the cheery smile of Yin Chao, Hilde's wife. "Alan! Come in! We were waiting for you!"

Yin was so cute it took Alan's breath away. The memory that she almost became his lunar wife stung, and the old tears of loneliness and anguish threatened to return. "Yin," said Alan hoarsely. "You're looking well." As he stepped into the apartment, the Noxie that he gave Hilde last year recognized him. The robot's enormous eyes flashed yellow and with a whistle, it raised a mechanical arm.

"And you look like lā shǐ." Yin made the Chinese word for shit sound musical and happy. She was right, though. Alan hasn't slept well all year, not since Anna was taken. Scratch that, not since Hilde lost her legs. He's not eating, his dress blues hang off of him like he was wearing someone else's uniform. Someone big. He was wearing his Martian dress blues - same as the Navy dress blues, except everything that was gold was replaced with ruby red. The ruby piping, badges and wings looked incredible. The simple color change made the entire uniform look new and exciting. "What does the Martian dress whites look like?" asked Yin.

"If it's up to me, there will be no dress white uniforms," said Alan as he leaned over for a kiss on the cheek from the sweetest woman he had ever met. "But I do like the choker. You can't wear a tie with that jacket."

"You had better talk to your uncle Ray," said Hilde from the kitchenette. "He's already designed one."

Alan looked at Yin in shock and pointed to Hilde with a question on his expression. Hilde in the kitchen? "She learn to cook," said Yin happily. "It part of her therapy."

"Sit! Dinner is ready!" said Hilde happily and Alan hung up his hat, which fell to the floor. He looked, and the hook was gone.

"We move the hat rack," apologized Yin, and she picked up Alan's cover and laid it on a side table.

"Sorry," said Hilde. "We're rearranging as we move in."

"No, it's your place now. It doesn't have any memories for me that I want to keep," said Alan. Long, lonely hours spent contemplating suicide were the only memory Alan had of this place.

"It beautiful apartment. It must have some memories," said Yin.

"No, I spent most of my time here thinking of my next move." Those thoughts of suicide were roaring back at him like a UU-202 shuttle on re-entry. Then Hilde set a large steaming hot bowl of vegetable soup in front of him. "You remembered! Thank you!"

"I thought soup silly for bon voyage dinner," said Yin. "She insisted."

"No, it's my favorite!" said Alan as he jumped up and pulled out a chair for Hilde.

"Soup?" squeaked Yin.

"You can't eat soup at zero g, so it's a special treat for spacemen," said Hilde as she sat down. "It's a tradition. A hot bowl of soup says bon voyage and be safe. There will be more when you return." They ate in silence. Delicious homemade soup, fresh baked bread with real earth butter, and a special treat - Pepsi.

"Did you carbonate this yourself?" asked Alan as he sipped the rare nectar.

"Yin's dad has a shipping company, and he slips the occasional treat in for us," said Hilde. "He sent us an entire liter of the syrup to make it."

They finished their meal, and Alan helped clear the table and wash dishes. When he was done, Yi disappeared into Anne's bedroom... Alan shook his head. It's their bedroom now. What was once his room was now storage. He sat down across from Hilde at the table and she hadn't opened the training records he gave her. "We're not here to talk about training, are we?" said Alan.

Hilde reached across the table and held his hands in hers. "No dear. We're here to talk about a luna that I care about. I'm worried about her."

"You know that I will always..."

"Honeybunch, we're not speaking about anyone on this space station. This Luna truly cares for you and she worries about you."

"Estelle?" It was the only Luna he could think of that would be worried about him.

Hilde glared at him. "Are you that innocent? Or are you being obtuse?" she demanded, which caused a series of giggles from the bedroom.

Alan and Hilde both looked at the bedroom door. "I take it that Yin has heard that before?"

"Honeybunch, I'm talking about Pandora."

"Pandora?" asked Alan. "She's a marine. Marines don't worry."

"AND SHE'S A WOMAN!" Hilde thundered, which caused even more laughter from the bedroom. She saw the look of confusion on Alan's face, then said, "I thought you liked her."

"I do, it's just... I was going to tell her..."

"You're going to dump her?" asked Hilde.

"No... Yes... yes, damn it, for her own safety. Before she dies, or before she dumps me."

Hilde was shocked at the maniacal look in Alan's eyes. "You led her on so you can dump her?"

"No... yes... I don't know. It's going to happen. It's like every woman in the universe is lining up to crush me." Alan felt a buzz of anger in his head, the heartbreaks and confusion that ruled his life rising to a crescendo.

"Alan, it's not like that."

"Oh no? What do you call my mom, Noelani, my Aunt Tammy, Tasha, you, Yin, Anna, Estelle, even Cindy Lawson... Melika Reeves, whatever her name was. I went to talk to her after the trial and she ran off with my uncle."

Even Hilde had to agree. The score was stacked against Alan. "Honey, most of that was just life. Your mother, your aunt, Tasha and me, that was life. Do you think I wanted to be chopped to pieces?"

"I can't do it... I can't make friends. I'm a death warrant to anyone that gets close. I just want it to end."

"And what about Pandora?" demanded Hilde. "She's crazy about you."

"Then she's suicidal."

Hilde got up and walked around behind Alan, and massaged his temples and shoulders. "You haven't been to talk to Doctor Remy, have you?"

"When have I had the chance? I've either been in Fiji, Korea, space or prison for the past year."

"Ok, close your eyes..."

"Are you ok?" asked Alan. "Maybe you should sit, this gravity might be..."

"Stop it. I'm fine. I'm getting better every day with these new legs and I have a support system. I have my wife, my shrink, and my commander. Who do you have besides Noxie?"

"Noxie is awesome."

"Exactly." She leaned in and whispered in his ear, "let me be your support system." She resumed massaging Alan's shoulders. "The other night dancing with Pandora. You two looked like you were having fun." Alan didn't feel comfortable talking about Pandora, especially with Hilde and their history and somehow Hilde picked up on that. "It's ok, both Pandora and I are Lunar, we have no jealousy."

Alan sighed. "I don't know... it was nice."

"Nice? Is that all?" asked Hilde.

"Really nice," said Alan.

"Really nice? From where I sat, I could see much more than Really Nice."

"I'm not a poet, ok?" snapped Alan. "When we danced. It was like I knew how we were going to move together... I..." Tears of frustration welled up in his eyes at the memory of their closeness, of her eyes, her smile, the smell of her perfume, it all came racing back. "I couldn't hold her close enough. I didn't want it to ever end." He opened his eyes and saw that Yin Chao was sitting in Hilde's chair, smiling at him. "It's going to be so horrible," he groaned.

She took his hands in her tiny, delicate hands and said, "She a woman in love."

"What, Pandora?"

Yin smiled and nodded, "she loves you... but she scared. We friends and we talk. She tells me how sexy you are!"

"Sexy? Me?"

Yin nodded. "She says you're decisive, a leader. You risk everything for your men and women." Yin leaned forward and whispered, "It makes her damp!" Then Yin saddened. "Pandora say she scared for you, scared you leave and not come back. Scared you have too much pain."

"Damp?"

Hilde grimaced at her wife. "You know how to get a man's attention."

"She say it!" insisted Yin. "Men like to hear that."

"Tell me more," said Alan.

"See?" said Yin proudly. Having torn Alan down to his roots, making him reveal his worst fears and sorrows, Hilde and Yin spent the rest of the evening building him up and introducing him to a force of nature named Pandora Vermillion. They ended up sitting together on the couch watching an old program on the televideo, eating popcorn, and for the first time in his adult life, Alan was looking forward to something that didn't involve killing someone.

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

NSS McDivitt, October 3, 2142

Underway

"Enter!" Alan called when a loud knock was heard at his bunkroom door.

Lieutenant JG Angela Fisher entered his room and looked around. She had heard him, but where was he? "Commander Overmyer sent me. He said you needed a RIO." Every bit of wall space was used with electronics projects held in place with fine mesh netting so they wouldn't drift off. His worktable was covered with a semi disassembled Noxie robot. A second Noxie robot was bending over a magnetic chess board, pondering his next moves.

"I didn't ask for a RIO," came his voice again. "Especially not a Werewolf."

It was apparent that Commander Scarlett knew Angela was in Hilde's Werewolf squadron until a mutiny by several fliers broke it up. Looking up, Angela saw Alan had affixed his sleeping bag to the overhead - the ceiling. He lay in his sleeping bag, looking down at her. "Commander Overmyer said that you told him every pilot is required to have a RIO and to fly with that RIO exclusively unless injury, death, or being spaced by you breaks up the team."

"Sounds like something I would say. Why are you bothering me, young lady?"

"I'm your RIO and we fly in two hours," said Angela, who was actually a year older than Alan.

"Go without me."

"The squadron commander denying a flight order?" said Angela. "The gang won't like to hear that."

"You're going to blackmail me, Lieutenant? I know that blackmail and backstabbing were acceptable methods of advancement in the Werewolves, but this is the Berserkers. We use bribery and treachery. I need to get you up to speed." Alan slid out of his sleeping bag naked, then he unzipped his sleeping bag all the way and dug out his knotted up flight suit. "This keeps it from floating off."

Angela stood by impassively as Alan dressed and pulled on Velcro boots. "Where are you from?" he asked as he floated down to his terminal screen, raised the keyboard, and pulled up the flying schedule.

"Olympus Mons, sir," she said proudly. Like Alan, she was third generation Martian, and Olympus Mons was a large colony of scientists.

"My high school rivals," said Alan as he made a few notations in his pocket notebook.

"I thought you were from Bradbury Canal," she said. Everyone knows that the main rivals of Bradbury Canal was Hellas Planitia.

"I am, but I transferred to Perseverance City after the blowout in Quad C when I was eleven."

"Oh, sorry."

"Don't apologize, you didn't do it," said Alan. "Ok, Martian, I'll keep you until you give me a bad radar lock and I miss an important target."

"And then you'll space me?"

"No, but you'll wish I had. Come on." He led her to the Combat Information Center and vouched her in. In the CIC, he strapped himself into a stool and began to study the boards and made notes on a clip board while a spaceman gave him a briefing on their status.

"We are slowing to notch 4.5, and on course for our rendezvous with the RSS Garuda. The rendezvous date has slipped by two days." Notches were an old-fashioned way of abbreviating speed numbers. Each notch was ten thousand miles per hour, therefore, notch 4.5 was forty-five thousand miles per hour.

Alan leaned over to Captain Tremblay, who was seated next to him. "Slowing? What's up?"

"The RSS Lucid Dawn is outbound to Mars and has requested to form up with us."

"Looks like we're getting a proper convoy," said Alan as he peered at a plexigraph chart. They already had the RSS Zaqar, a fast priority cargo hauler in their wake. "Who is that?" he pointed to another ship abeam of them on their starboard side.

"That's the NSS O'Bannon, a gift from General Sizemore," said Captain Tremblay. The O'Bannon was a fast, gutsy Northumberland class destroyer, bristling with lasers. It was named after the most decorated western destroyer in the second world war. "It's moving to catch the Garuda. Your uncle won't let them slow down. We have another ship that's part of our happy family as well," and Captain Tremblay pointed out a cargo hauler ahead of them. "The RSS Isimud."

"And they made you convoy commander?"

"Lucky me," sighed Tremblay. "Let's hope it stays quiet so we can form up."

"What's that?" asked Angela, and she pointed to a small object that appeared far off their starboard bow and headed straight for the convoy.

"Is that a missile? A torpedo?" Alan squinted at the contact. A spaceman drew a circle around it and labeled it UNK-01.

"Sir," said a radio operator. "The Pollux reports that it's a breeching pod. It looks like it came from the Koroleva."

Another item appeared on the plexigraph screen. It was following the breeching pod. Alan looked at the new unidentified object. "That's a missile," he said, and he slapped the alarm button, calling all fliers to Readiness Condition Alpha. Throughout the big ship, red lights flashed and flight crews put on their environment suits. Alan and Angela Fisher dashed to life support and got their environment suits on. "Hurry up Anna," he said as he hauled on his horse collar and turned to help her with hers.

"It's Angela, sir."

"I'm used to Anna. When I had an Anna for a RIO, we got seventeen kills. You're now Anna."

"Yes, sir." They put on helmets and dove for the down chute and took it down to the lowest level. Section B held the F-201's of the Berserkers, the Section A held the F-719s of the Dark Marauders. The alert crews were in their cockpits and going through their pre-startup checklists.

"Where's my ship, Chief?"

Without turning around from the F-201 he was trying to ready for launch, the Chief of the Deck said over the suit to suit radio, "Jack shit, less'n you're the boss."

"Will squadron commander do?"

"Your C model on spot fourteen," said the Chief without looking up from his task.

Spot fourteen was the parking spot closest to the end of the deck, so they had to pass six fighters that were going through start-up. "What's the difference between an A model and a C model?" asked the woman now known as Anna.

"You only have one laser emitter to worry about," said Alan as they dove into their seats.

"That's good."

"And a fifty-caliber machine gun."

"WHAT?"

"Don't worry about it," said Alan. "In space, nobody calculates for windage."

"I don't get it," said the confused RIO as she rocked in her seat and got all the magnetic restraints to lock her in place.

"I'll talk you through it," said Alan as he brought the batteries online. "Spaceboss, show spacecraft two-seven-one as Berserker Zero One."

"Roger Berserker one, welcome back. Advise when you're ready to launch."

They sailed through the checklist until they came to a new portion of the checklist, the gun section. "Record rounds count. What does that mean?" asked Anna.

"Type in two four eight."

"What's that?"

"It's the number of times the gun has been fired. It needs to be torn down and inspected when it hits one thousand. I have the official rounds counter up here. "

"Ok, now... record rounds loaded," said Anna.

Alan was told by the plane captain that a single belt of ammo was loaded, so he told Anna, "Five zero."

"Checklist complete!" said Anna as she got her radar set up for combat.

"Awesome job kiddo. No wonder why Hilde picked you to be a trainer. Spaceboss, Berserker Zero One, checklist complete, we're ready to start engines. Vector A flight and B flight to the missile, vector C flight and D flight to the breeching pod, everyone else be on cockpit standby."

"Roger that Berserker one. You are clear to go. Have a safe flight."

The ship began to move out to the center line and the rest of A flight and B flight followed. A and B flight were five ships, there were two new crews brought over from the Wolverines who didn't get any combat during Lake Baikal and they were being trained. Alan had his usual wingman, Joe Edwards, in Aces High, and B flight was led by Sara Garcia Alanzo in Bandito.

One by one, the Berserkers shot out into space and they raced toward the incoming threats. "Ok Anna, we're going to try a few gun shots. This is different from a laser. You have to let the firing computer calculate range and travel time." He's read Gene Cernan's proposed technical order for gun operations and this is the first time a "slug thrower" has been used in space.

"What is that beeping noise?" demanded Anna as an odd beep sounded on the intercom.

"That's Noxie. I installed a Noxie in the 74 section. He's just saying that his batteries are charged."

"You put a toy robot in the 74 section?" asked Anna incredulously. The 74 section was a small empty compartment on the F-201 that they occasionally stored rations in for long flights. "Why did you put one there?"

"Partially because the Noxie has an incredible data processing power and maybe I can program him to help fly this thing."

"Are there any other reasons?" asked Anna.

"Uh... he plays a mean game of chess..."

They accelerated hard, closing the distance between them and the breeching pod which sailed past them to their port side. Alan could hear Sidney Gutierrez from D flight calling to the pod on multiple channels, begging it to slow down or it would be destroyed. "Do you see anything else on radar, Anna?"

"No sir, just that missile coming at us. I have a shooting solution."

"Ok, let's give it a try." A red dot appeared on the far left of his heads up display. He turned toward that dot and when he had his cross hairs lined up, he squeezed the trigger. The gun belched out five rounds and Alan saw five red flares fly off into space. He lined up and took another shot. Five more rounds raced off into the inky darkness of space. "I guess we missed," said Alan.

"Wait for it," said Anna as she monitored her radar screen. It took forever and Alan watched the missile get closer and closer on radar. He switched the selector switch from Guns to Laser and, just as he was about to ask Anna to get a radar lock for a laser shot, she laughed. "There!" she called out, and Alan saw a bright double flash in the black depths of space.

"Holy crap, how far were we?"

"Ninety-seven miles. Radar says that was probably an SSM-188 Growler," said Anna. The SSM-188 was a long range space-to-space missile. The missile was long and slim and would follow a target anywhere.

"We hit a flagpole from a hundred miles away," gasped Alan.

"That's what it looks like," said Anna. "It would take a hell of a RIO to line up a shot like that!"

"Relax, you got the job, Martian."

"I want one of those!" said Owen Garriot, B flight leader Sara Alonzo's wingman.

"They're testing them right now on Mars," said Alan. "That was the first operational shot of a slug thrower in space." When the chorus of "Pappy's back!" died down, Alan called, "Alpha flight, bravo flight, 180-degree turn to the left and we'll burn at half throttle for thirty seconds... execute!" He led his flight in a 180 degree spin and a thirty-second burn, which reversed their direction of travel and lined up with the breeching pod.

On the emergency channel, they could hear the lead of Charlie flight, Lt. Commander Cathy Coleman calling to the breeching pod to stop. This time she said it in Russian. "It's firing its retros!" called her wingman Ed Gibson. Alan led Alpha and Bravo flight back and were nearing the breeching pod when it opened. "Holy shit!" called Sidney. "They stuffed four guys in there!"

A Breeching Pod is used to board a spacecraft. It's a rocket with booster engines, retro engines and steering thrusters. It drives its nose into the skin of the target and the nose opens inside the target ship, locking the breeching pod onto the ship like a metallic parasite. The spacemen inside the breeching pod crawl into the target spaceship. Each pot can carry two spacemen and there's not much room in there. How did these guys shove two more live bodies inside their pod?

"Holy crap," said Cathy. "They're just wearing fighting suits." A Fighting Suit is a very light weight environment suit made from stretchy material whose only job is to simulate earth's atmospheric pressure to prevent your blood from boiling. Unfortunately, they have little insulation to keep your blood from freezing. Because they have little to no insulating properties and are made light so you can fight your way to the bridge of the ship you just breeched, these four guys only had minutes to live.

Luckily, a jeep with two armed marines arrived, and the marines brought rescue kits, which included survival blankets. They wrapped the prisoners in the blankets before they froze to death.

Alan left escorting the jeep back to the McDivitt up to Charlie and Delta Flights and he led A and B flights back to The McDivitt. As soon as he landed, he told the plane captain, "Paint my name on that one, and Lieutenant Fisher's name on the RIO seat. The plane captain will be Gene Cernan."

"Aye, aye sir," said the line chief. "While we're painting, got a name picked out?"

"Yes, Moon Maiden. If you put artwork on the nose, she's a redhead."

"I know who the boss likes!" taunted Anna over the inter-suit radio.

"Careful or I'll bust you from Anna back down to Angela." As they headed back into the pressurized hangar, Alan said, "that was a good radar lock today. You may have set a record. I'm going to send word to the Project Manager, Janet Kavandi, about your shot. I'll be up in the C in C seeing what our next step is. I want you to see that our four guests are comfortable and the Marines are treating them properly. There should be an intel officer waiting to meet them."

Alan drew up an after action report and then encoded it with the Scarlett Encoder/Decoder and sent it off to Mars, and he hoped Armstrong would intercept, recognize the code and send a copy to Captain Schirra.

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

Convoy Echo Mike Zero One, October 7, 2142

Mail Call

As the ships closed up with the RSS Garuda, Alan's squadron flew constant observation flights from the Garuda, in the lead, to the last ship in line, the Lucid Dawn. Alan Scarlett usually flew the first mission of the day before long range radar showed the Eastern Bloc ship Zheleznaya Koroleva launching fighters for what appeared to be training flights. The Koroleva had left the asteroid belt and was on course to intercept Mars and he needed his people to stay sharp and be fully up to speed.

The fabrication shop was busy making the reaction mass tanks and gun mounts needed for the upgrade to C model. One by one, the F-201s were taken into the pressurized maintenance hangar, the wing-tip laser emitters were removed and replaced with a reaction mass tank and a fifty caliber gun. He took one crew out after lunch to get experience with the gunnery system. "This is not a replacement for your laser. It has a lot of moving parts that can jam and seize up, but it is another tool in your toolbox. You're going to lose patience with it if you're shooting at something that is moving erratically because, compared to the laser, bullets are slow. However, the bullets carry a punch, and they will pound through a mirror like it wasn't even there."

Covering satellites and ships with mirrors to deflect lasers is a cheap and easy defense. But a slug thrower doesn't care about mirrors. As long as you line up your gun with your pipper, whatever is in a straight line from the end of your barrel is going to die.

When he wasn't flying, he spent a lot of time in the Combat Information Center. However, most of his waking hours were in the cockpit on mail runs and what came to be called "Snooper Shoots." He had been out of the cockpit for almost a year, and he had a whole new Star Striker to learn. It was faster, nimbler than the previous model that had dual laser emitters. He flew two or three times a day and he introduced intercept games with satellites that the Koroleva was firing at them that the fliers called "Snoopers."

When Alan wasn't flying or in the CinC, he spent his waking time working on reprogramming his chess playing Noxie. It now reacted when it saw Alan enter the room. The little robot would salute and say, "Good (morning/afternoon/evening/night) Alan. How about a nice game of chess?" and they would start a new game or return to the game that Noxie had been studying all day.

Just before bedtime, Paul would sit down with pencil and paper and write a letter to Pandora. He started out with news of the day, which occasionally was minimal due to classified information, so he started writing about his feelings for her.

My Dearest Pandora

Yet another day spent without the feel of you in my arms. I miss the scent of your perfume, and I ache to dash up to the Arcturus on a "Training Mission" and lock myself in the warfare cabinet with you, and to hell with anyone who sees us. Marcy would probably open a beer and watch.

With a name like mine, you would expect that the color red was a part of my personality, especially being from Mars, but it's not, it never has been. But then I met you. The beautiful crimson of your hair, the tangerine color of your tiny freckles on your shoulders, the raspberry of your nipples and suddenly Scarlett is more than a name to me. It is an omen of joy.

I long to hold you tight to me and kiss again, like we did as we said goodbye, body to body. But this time it will be to say hello, welcome home to my arms.

When we get to Mars and everyone is safe, you are going to disappear with me into the depths of Perseverance City, in the tiny shops and bistros of The Alleys, where it's always a party. We'll find a little love hotel and get a room on the second floor. We'll sit on the patio and watch the party and parades below and we can fall in love over and over again...

He wrote until the ache of missing her was gone. Doctor Darwin was right, he had to get it off his shoulders somehow and to Alan, writing was the way he expressed himself best. He took a shuddering breath and put the letter in a folder marked "Limerence" and held it out to Noxie. "Hold this, please." The little robot pinned the folder to its chest with its mechanical arms. "Thank you Noxie."

"You're welcome," said the robot in a tiny voice.

Because of the snooper satellites, the convoy was traveling under official radio silence. They had certain phrases they used to put up normal radio chatter to avoid suspicion, but other than those phrases, they were silent. But communication had to go on between the ships of the convoy. A mail system was developed and one of the duties of the Berserkers was to deliver the mail from ship to ship three times a day with more runs if needed. Alan took the morning run, traveling from the RSS Garuda with the NSS O'Bannon paralleling her in the convoy's front followed by the RSS Isimud, then to the NSS Arcturus, RSS Zaqar, to the RSS Lucid Dawn out back, and then home to the McDivitt which took up position between the Koroleva and the convoy.

While Alan was at the CinC, Anna stopped at his quarters to see if he was ready and saw Noxie holding a folder marked Limerence and was shocked to see it. Normally Noxie is holding a folder marked "Flying Schedule" or "Duty Schedule" but Limerence? Limerence is a state of romantic infatuation and is a constant concern for spacemen. It's a condition that can be hard to discern, as it presents in a very similar expression to falling in love. In reality, it's a multi-stage process of projecting unmet needs onto another person. One that's rooted in trauma. Nobody has been romantically traumatized more than her boss, thought Anna.

She couldn't help herself. She wanted to see what was in there. There had to be something hot and juicy about her old boss Hilde, or maybe his old RIO Anna Vasquez. She slipped the folder out of Noxie's grip and looked in there at the pages... they were all about Pandora. "Oh shit," she moaned.

Most of the pages looked like drafts for essays, a few paragraphs that described his state of mind and his feelings toward Pandora, and a longing to hear some more encouragement from her. He had a feeling that their last conversations were a dream of what he wished she had said. If he knew she had similar feelings toward him, he could tell his shrink that it's not limerence but love, so shut the hell up.

One page looked like a love letter to Pandora. It was so sweet, going on and on about how he feels when he was close to her, how dancing with her was like being in heaven, how he felt so complete when she was near. He talked about his dreams about her. He was terrified that it was all a dream and their close moments before leaving only happened in his mind. The letter closed with a poem. A love poem!

It was such a beautifully written letter that Anna had to wipe away a few tears as she returned it to the folder and returned the folder to Noxie's arms, then headed over to the squadron briefing room for the daily briefing.

"Standard flying profile today, three scheduled mail runs, Moon Maiden with the AM run, the Noon run will be Nostromo II and the PM run will be The Shadow. The standby team for unscheduled runs will be Dragon Rider." Alan has taken to using ships' names because the crews never change unless there's some damage, and the gang likes it. They said it was 'Utterly Hep,' whatever that means. Alan is years younger than the average age of his fliers, but he knows almost nothing about being a twenty something on earth. Is his Martian upbringing what makes him feel so old? Or is he just that 'un-hep'? He moved on to the announcements. "After this morning you will be escorting a shuttle from the Lucid Dawn on these mail runs," he added. "We want all paying passengers to move from the freighters to the McDivitt."

"What if they don't want to move?" asked Lieutenant Ed Gibson.

"We can't force them to move, but if shooting starts, they'll move. Ok, the winner of the Turkey Shoot is crew Bravo Two, Lieutenants Owen Garriott and Ron McNair. They hit a third snooper yesterday and are the convoy's Super Snooper Shooters for week three. Are you guys ever going to name that ship of yours?"

"Rogah that sah," said Owen in that odd earth accent that he called Hill William (an educated Hill Billy, which made even less sense to Alan). "We gonna call it tha Wild Turkey."

"That'll work, I like it," said Alan. "Hotel Flight and Foxtrot Flight, you fellows have alert patrols today, check your schedules. No gun training today but tomorrow Stan and Judith in the Love Boat." Stanley Love did not name his fighter the Love Boat. He didn't have to. It was a natural. The crew chief had that painted on his ship moments after Captain Schirra allowed naming the fighters. "That's all I have for the moment. Intel?"

Lieutenant Commander Lewis Sams, the short, pale officer Alan called "The ghost of the CinC," got up to address the fliers. "The Zheleznaya Koroleva is speeding up, and it appears we are now in a race to reach Mars. We expect more snoopers and their fighter units are now patrolling farther and farther away from the Koroleva."

After him was the "Weather Briefing." Astronomer Lieutenant Decker briefed on sunspot activity, solar radiation and solar winds, radiation from Jupiter which was at its nearest to Mars at the moment, and meteoroid activity which, luckily, was at a minimum. While he was concluding his forecast, Lieutenant Commander Sams came up to Alan and said, "We need to talk when you get back."

"Is it bad? If it's bad we can talk now."

"No, the guests we have down on deck C are starting to talk and they have a few interesting things to say."

"I won't be long, I can't wait to hear what they're saying," said Alan. When the morning briefing concluded, he said to Anna, "Go check out the Moon Maiden, I'll be down soon."

"Yes sir."

Alan went to his room to put on warmer socks and Noxie squeaked a hello when it recognized Alan. He noticed Noxie's "ears" blinking red. On a normal Noxie, that would mean nothing. On an unmodified Noxie, the flashing ears were decoration, but Alan's Noxies had all been upgraded. "What did you see Noxie?" he asked the toy.

Noxie turned to the wall where a piece of paper was attached to the wall and projected what he saw less than an hour ago. "Shit," groaned Alan as he watched the video.

Anna had completed the walk around inspection of the Moon Maiden. "All set?" asked Commander Scarlett as he entered the launch bay with a large envelope full of smaller envelopes to be delivered. He placed the envelope in the tiny storage compartment and made a quick physical check of the gun.

"All set, sir."

Alan knew immediately that Anna was feeling guilty. "Sir" was used rarely, if ever. "Boss man" or "Kato" (the Green Hornet's chauffer) was her normal form of address. "Ok, let's get this checklist done, and make sure we do the gun checks."

"Gun checks?" asked Anna. This was a mail run. They don't do gun checks on those!

"I may want to shoot somebody," snarled Alan.

He knows! She didn't know how he knew that she dug into his personal files, but he knows! 'I'm going to end up walking home,' she said to herself.

They completed the checklist and began moving to the flight deck door and Anna broke out in a cold sweat. "Keep sweeping the radar," said Alan. "General Romanov is getting antsy."

That's it! He's going to space me and blame it on Romanov! There was a rock in her gut that began to burn.

They pulled up to the RSS Garuda which extended the Pilot's dock, a small dock that locks to the Jeep, Scooter, shuttle, fighter or any other small ship that a pilot would use to return to the space station that he guided the Garuda away from. The Garuda was a smallish cargo vessel that was mostly set up for luxury passenger transport and Alan loved to drop off the mail; he got to see Anna Vasquez and Morris Rafferty. The executive officer escorted Anna Fisher to the bridge to drop off the Convoy Directives while Alan chatted with Anna and Morris. "I can't wait to get to Mars," gushed Anna. "Mom and dad are so excited."

"How are you doing... emotionally?" Alan asked.

"Most of my days are good days now," said Anna. "Little wiggle is happy to have a dad ready to catch her."

"You take care of my girl, General, as soon as I get some legitimate leave I'll be down to visit my God Daughter."

"Will do, Captain," said Morris with a smile.

"I'm going to go talk to Ben, be right back," and Alan drifted from the luxurious zero g common room to Ben and Melika's state room where he knocked on the door. "Ben? It's Alan, we have to talk."

There were several calls of "Hold on!" and a lot of giggling. After waiting far too long, the door slid open and Ben was there in his sweatpants and an open hooded shirt. He was in fairly good condition for a man with silver chest hair. Behind him, Melika was pulling on a robe and Alan could tell she had no chest hair at all, but she had very nice breasts (all breasts look awesome in Zero G). "Ben, please. I need you and Melika and Morris and Anna on the McDivitt. I need you all there right now. Currently I'm just asking but soon it's going to be an order and we will lead you there at gunpoint."

"You can't order us around," said Ben with a smile, but he knew what the answer really was.

"You're right, I can't. Captain Tremblay can, you're in his convoy and under his protection. He doesn't want to go down in history as the Navy Captain that was executed for losing the president of Mars."

"Are you going to put us in a space suit and kick us out the door then pick us up as you come by?"

"No, Ben..." Alan growled in exasperation. "Ben, if you came out from under the covers you'd see that we're shuttling mail from ship to ship. This visit will be the last mail run in a fighter, a mini shuttle that can hold six passengers will start doing the mail runs. You just step onto the shuttle and you're in the McDivitt."

"Why?" asked Ben. "Why do you want us on that big ugly carrier?"

"Because it can take hits all day long and still fly. This little thing will crack like an egg with one hit. Please, convince Morris and Anna. They'll listen to you. They think I'm crazy and burned out from Korea."

"How are you feeling?" asked Ben.

"Tired. Exhausted," said Alan. "Please, we need you on board that carrier. I need you on that carrier, I haven't had a good game of Shogi in over a year."

"Ok, give me some time to talk to the general and the captain."

"Ben, I'm begging you. I have a bad feeling about this, and my bad feelings are pretty accurate. Stay near your escape pod."

Alan and Anna left the RSS Garuda and headed over to the NSS O'Bannon, a sleek-looking destroyer that was bristling with laser emitters. There he begged the commanding officer, Commander Lambert Glass, to stay tight to the Garuda. "Geez Al, you act like that politician is your dad."

"No, no relation. But he is my Uncle's best friend and I was raised by my uncle."

When they finally got to the Arcturus, all Anna could think was, "He's going to kill me." They entered through the Pilot's entry port and when they got their helmets off Alan said, "I'll go give Colonel Marquette his ships mail." Then he handed Anna a single envelope. "You give this to the bombardier."

"Me?"

"You already know what it says so you can help if she has any questions. I'm expecting a full report when you get back." Without another word, he turned and headed for the bridge. Anna followed because the warfare suite was next to the bridge.

"Mail," called Anna.

"For me?" asked Marcy as she scanned the dial, looking for radio noise coming from the Zheleznaya Koroleva.

"No, it's for Captain Vermillion." Anna handed the letter to Pandora. "If there's someplace we can talk, ma'am?"

"Anna, we're the same rank, relax." A Navy Lieutenant and a Marine Captain both wear two silver bars.

"No ma'am, this is my punishment for being snoopy. I am to answer any questions you may have and send back a report on your thoughts."

"Is this good or bad news?" asked Pandora.

"Both? Maybe? I don't know the boss that well yet."

"Who's your boss?"

"Commander Scarlett," said Anna with a brilliant blush.

"Oh my," said Pandora as she studied the unmarked envelope. "Let's go to my bunk," and she led Anna through the tight corridors to officer's country where small booths just large enough to give you room to change your clothes lined the wall of the corridor. Pandora slid back a glass panel and peered in. "Ok, my bunkie isn't in. Let's see what your boss has to say."

With trembling hands, Pandora took the single page out of the envelope. Immediately, she realized that something was different. It wasn't the 'flimsy' paper normally used aboard ship. Flimsy can easily be recycled into fresh paper and it weighs a fifth of what regular paper weighs. The envelope was made from flimsy, but the letter itself was actual paper... "Linen?" she asked aloud. Then she looked at the first words. "My Dearest Pandora..."

"Ballpoint? On Linen?" she gasped. In space, this was fine calligraphy!

"Yeah. The boss is fancy like that," said Anna. She heard that Alan uses a quill pen in gravity just because it looks so cool.

Pandora read the letter through several times. It wasn't the first love letter she ever received, but this one was the letter that she dreamed of receiving. It spoke of the lonely hours just a few miles away, aching to hold her in his arms, of moonlit nights on a warm Pacific island, cuddling by a fire in a cabin in the woods. These were all alien concepts to the Luna, but he wanted to do every one of them with her, if she would only say that she was his.

"Oh my," gasped Pandora. She felt flushed and damp in places that Alan would appreciate. "I don't know what most of this is, but it sounds wonderful."

"It sounds strange to me too, but Boss spent a lot of time on Earth. He's an academy grad and I think he owns Fiji," said Anna, who was only on Earth for a few months for Officers Training School and only heard of Alan's exploits on Fiji 2 from rumors on the ship.

"You read this?"

"Yes ma'am, I apologize."

"Why did you say it might be bad?" asked Pandora.

"Ma'am, the commander has had a history and he's terrified of this being a limerence, a shipboard infatuation," said Anna. "I read some other documents I shouldn't have read. I don't think it is an infatuation, but Doctor Darwin says it is. Ma'am... he's had a tough year. Make him tell you about it and then you decide."

Pandora looked at the letter again and the poem that ended the letter.

In twilight's gentle glow, our whispers softly blend,

Our hearts entwined as one, our love shall never end.

Beneath the moon's embrace, our souls in dance unite,

A symphony of dreams, in passion's tender light.

Through seasons' ebb and flow, our bond remains so true,

With every dawn anew, our vows we shall renew.

In timeless harmony, our spirits soar above,

Eternal as the stars, this everlasting love.

"For me?" gasped Pandora through her tears. "He wrote this for me?"

Anna nodded. Her on-again, off-again boyfriend Fred Haise occasionally writes her poetry, but it usually starts with the line: There once was a man from Nantucket... and it descends rapidly from there.

Pandora reread her poem. It was written in French alexandrine form, something she has had a passion for since she began reading poetry. "I only told him that I love poetry once," she said with a sniff. "Nobody has ever written me a poem." Holding back frustrated tears of desire, she gave her message to Anna. "Can you remember that?"

"I have it," said Anna. She remembered it, but she didn't understand it.

Pandora returned to her duty station, where she re-read the letter over and over and refused to let Marcie see it. Anna met Alan in the pilot's airlock where they checked each other's suit and cycled the airlock, then stepped outside. Their magnetic boots held them to the pilot's dock as they climbed into the Moon Maiden.

"Well?" Alan said, finally broaching the subject.

"I'm sorry, I will never read your personal documents again."

"I'm sure of that, unfortunately you are now part of this relationship. If word gets out, we all go down."

"Um, no," said Anna firmly. "The only one going down will be Pandora on that cock of yours if you ever get some time alone with her."

"Pardon?" demanded Alan.

"That poem!" said Anna. "Holy crap, sir. If someone wrote a poem like that to me, I'd resign my commission and we'd be on Mars repopulating Medusae Fossae!" Medusae Fossae was an abandoned Martian colony that was reopened recently.

"Did she have any comments for me?"

"Yes, she said 'Tell Cyrano to leave Christian at home, Roxanne is waiting for him.' I'm not sure what that means, do you?"

Alan's heart leapt with joy. He knew exactly what it means. Could this be the one? Could she be the woman that Christa told him was worth the wait? He relaxed and snapped his fighter in a 360° victory roll and sped off to finish his mail run.

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

Convoy Echo Mike Zero One, October 9, 2142

Showdown

Western Alliance Marine Captain Don Slayton was patrolling the vast area of space between Convoy Echo Michael Zero One and the Zheleznaya Koroleva in his FB-719. He had a full crew, a luxury that was denied to him for most of his flying career in the Marines. Electronic Warfare Officers took a lot of training and the Marines decided that the FB-719 was on the way out, so why bother with them? But Commander Scarlett scrounged the Navy and found every remaining EWO on active duty and put them on the McDivitt.

Behind Don Slayton sat his RIO/Co-pilot, First Lieutenant Hayley Arceneaux, and behind her, facing aft, was the Electronic Warfare Officer Marine Captain Viktor Afanasyev. Viktor's parents were Eastern Bloc refugees and, like most EWOs, he spoke fluent Russian. A big part of the EWO's job was to monitor Eastern Bloc radio, and the primary languages of the Eastern Bloc were Russian and Chinese. As the years passed, it was the ground troops that spoke Chinese and space forces that spoke Russian.

"Something is happening, captain," said Viktor. "I am hearing chatter; someone is trying to defect."

"What frequency?" asked Don.

"405.890 megahertz," said Viktor.

Don Slayton punched in the frequency and soon he heard what Viktor was talking about. After a long shouting command on the radio in Russian, Viktor translated. "Somebody just threatened to shoot someone else. The other person said his woman is pregnant and he just wants to feed her so they don't lose the baby."

"Oh shit," groaned Don. The Eastern Bloc placed enough food on each ship for a six-month deployment, then typically put them on station for a year and a half. Rumors of mutinies over food are rampant in the Eastern Bloc and just the thought of having a command staff that callous was nauseating to Western Alliance fliers.

"We have company Captain," said Alice as three unexpected pips emerged at the edge of her long distance radar.

"What do you see Vick?" asked Don as he turned the ship to face the incoming threat.

"Looks like a flight of two GR-88 Ferrets following one Mak-22 Barramundi bomber," said Viktor. "It looks like it is the Mak-22 that is running, the GR-88s are chasing him. The bomber is trying to maneuver... the Ferrets fired a warning shot across the bomber's nose..."

"Can they see us Vick?"

"No, I have us shaded, their radar should be blank. The only way they'll see us is visually."

"Not in this dark paint," said Don as he turned off all the external lights. The ships were all painted a dark beige to blend in with the background color of space. It tends to absorb sunlight and gets hot, but it's actually easier to cool a small ship than to heat one. "Foxtrot flight form up on Bomber Daddy, we have three inbound. Lights out protocol."

"Copy daddy," said flight leader Lieutenant Susan Kilrain in her ship, the Kilrain Elite. She was on Mars during the Battle of Lake Baikal and she missed out on the battle. She was aching for a fight. So was her wingman Lieutenant Jim Reilly in Dragon Rider. Jim's Rio, Yelena Serova, spoke fluent Russian, and she often translated the chatter they'd pick up from the Zheleznaya Koroleva.

"We have a family feud out there headed toward us," said Yelena Serova.

"As long as they're not shooting at me," said her "chauffer" Jim Reilly.

The two F-201's and the FB-719 formed up in a row with their external lights turned off. They stood ready between the inbound Eastern Bloc ships and the convoy. Regardless of the Eastern Bloc flier's intentions, they would not get near any convoy ship while in their current spaceships. They could hear the Eastern Bloc ships getting closer and closer on the radio.

Viktor Afanasyev completely blanked the Eastern Bloc's radar, the FB-719 could almost absorb the radar waves being directed at it.

On radar, the Russians were almost on top of the Western Alliance defenders. When they were just approaching visual range, Viktor Afanasyev dropped the electronic cloud that was masking them from the Eastern Block and called out, "Stoy. Ne priblizhaysya!" (Halt. Do not approach) The two F-201s and the FB-719 turned on all their external lights and to the Russians, it looked like those ships appeared out of nowhere. Suddenly all three were there on their radar screens, they appeared as if by magic.

"Ne priblizhaytes' k kolonne," (do not approach the convoy) said Viktor.

They sat in space staring at each other, targeting systems locked on to each other, fingers resting lightly on the triggers. "What do we do?" asked Joe Tanner, RIO on The Kilrain Elite.

"Wait for one of them to twitch then blow the fuck out of them," snarled Susan Kilrain. She wanted payback for every moment of the battle of Lake Baikal.

Then, to all the Western Alliance fliers shock, one by one, all three Eastern Bloc ships lowered their landing gear, the signal of surrender.

"Now what do we do?" gasped a shocked Lieutenant Kilrain, again denied her chance to fight.

"I don't know," said her RIO Joe Tanner. "Can we keep them?"

<><><><><>

Moving silently through the eternal night of space, two missiles that were launched from near the asteroid belt weeks ago approached Earth. They were launched by the Zheleznaya Koroleva before Convoy Echo Michael Zero One departed from Armstrong Station. They approached earth with the sleepy tundra town of Melville programmed in as their target.

They slipped stealthily through the inner Earth system, passing within 100 miles of the "Lunar Highway," the busy shipping lanes between Aldrin Shipyards, Luna, Armstrong Station, and the Earth, and were completely unnoticed. The dark beige color of the missile's radar absorbent skin made them invisible to the inky background of space.

They slipped past Camp Schmitt as it hovered in orbit above the remains of what was once Camp Lejeune and penetrated Earth's atmosphere. Massive retrorockets slowed their dive to Earth, adding to the spectacle that lit up the skies of north central North America.

At the University of Northern North America (UNNA) in Northern Saskatchewan, in the center of the quad was a tall bronze statue of a woodsman carrying a double-bladed axe in one hand while reading a book held in the other hand. The statue was named 'The Educated Woodsman' but everyone called him Knute or Spruce. Sometimes Woodsey. The statue stood in the quad for over fifty years, but in the pre-dawn gloom, Knute met his end. A missile roared down from the sky, a fire ball of intense magnitude. The entire university was lit up like broad daylight, the intense light reflecting off the snow. The missile struck the ground in front of Knute, throwing him dozens of meters, but the fireball tunneled deep into the frozen Canadian ground to the depth of 100 meters where it detonated.

The entire campus was lifted two feet from the force of the underground blast, then dropped. Every building collapsed, killing hundreds of students and nearby residents, and trapping hundreds more in the rubble. Broken water lines sprayed water that quickly froze in the cold autumn weather. Gas lines burst and explosions and fires added to the calamity. Trapped students were either burned or frozen to death. Nearby, Melville was flattened. The survivors would be numbered in the dozens out of a total population of almost ten thousand. The actual target was not the university or the nearby town, or the large rail yard, which now looked like a bowl of steel spaghetti, but an underground office that very few people knew existed. That office and everyone in it was liquified.

Thirty miles north of the blast, a beautiful two story white clapboard farmhouse stood at the edge of a deep pine forest; the trees still covered with the snow from two days ago. A barn painted red and trimmed in white stood nearby. Protector of horses, cows, sheep, and chickens in its past, the stately huge building has stood for over 150 years and now protects a tractor, several snowmobiles, and other sport vehicles.

Associate professor Jake Sapperstein was up early to plow the driveway. Life in the north country could be a joy, but as winter began setting in, it was time to dig out the extension cords and start plugging the cars in at night. He looked with pride at the house he and his love, Christa Scarlett, built. It was a warm, cozy house, but it looked like a farmhouse from 250 years ago.

Jake was confused as everything lit up like a spotlight was shining on him from above. He never got the time to wish he was in Christa's arms. He didn't have the time to mourn that he would never see their daughter Alana's first Christmas or her first birthday. He didn't even have time to wonder where that light was coming from before the missile slammed into his house.

The impact caused the house to explode, killing Jake with the shrapnel, and that was just from the force of the impact. The warhead buried itself 20 feet down and exploded, opening a fifty foot deep crater that was two acres in size. The blast flattened every tree and building within a kilometer and when the pieces of house, barn, forest and Jake Saperstein finished raining back down, the Très Maigre River began filling the crater.

<><><><><>

Alan spent a couple of hours on the Arcturus with Pandora, celebrating her birthday. "You were born in 2120?" asked Alan.

"Yeah, what about it?" they were snuggling together in her bunk, kissing and whispering.

"That means I'm an entire week older than you," he said with a grin.

"What? No! I thought you were much older than that... oh shit, I didn't mean it like that."

"No, it's ok. When you put yourself in the shit, you tend to spin up the milage." He did look older than his twenty-two years. Sometimes he looked much older.

"No, I mean, honestly mean, that to me men don't get this handsome until later. Until then they're just boys," said Pandora.

"If what you say is true, that would explain why my Uncle Ray always has a chick hanging off his arm" said Alan with a chuckle.

"Who is Uncle Ray?"

"Ray Clark raised me since my folks died. His bitch wife didn't like that idea and left him before he could get me and Christa to Perseverance City. He's been a bachelor ever since, and when I went to the academy he became a hound."

"I can't wait to meet him."

"You're not going to meet him. He's knocked up every woman he's dated since I left. If anyone knocks you up, I want it to be me."

"I like that idea," purred Pandora as she snuggled closer to Alan. But all too soon came Marcie's knock on the bunk's door.

"Shift change in five minutes, you're up, ma'am."

"Ma'am, the Commander is wanted back at home plate, something is going on," said Anna from out in the passageway.

A moment later, Alan floated out of Pandora's bunk, pulling his pressure suit on. "What is so important that I can't have another five minutes?"

"Three Eastern Bloc ships just surrendered," said Anna so softly that Alan wasn't sure if he heard her correctly.

"Are you serious?"

"I caught the message back to Armstrong Station sir," said Marcy. "It was in B32 code."

"Check my suit Anna," said Alan as Pandora came out of her bunk. "Gotta go. It's going to get strange," and he gave Pandora a kiss, then he and Anna floated off to the pilot's air lock. They could see the alert level go up on the Arcturus as they exited the bomber to board their F-201. They departed quickly and were surprised to hear the head controller for spaceflight in the locale calling them. "Berserker Zero One, you are cleared to land deck one, right. Follow landing signal officer directions on approach."

"Copy Spaceboss," said Alan. "Turning on final."

The fact that he was given landing clearance the moment he started up and pulled away from the Arcturus told him to get his ass back aboard fast. He turned 180 degrees and did a thirty-second burn to slow down and let the convoy pass, then another 180 and a hard burn to line up with the McDivitt. Anna never saw Alan try to land when he was in a hurry, so she was shocked at how fast he could get back on the ship. They were still decelerating hard when they were directed aboard and Alan shot straight through the landing deck, flew over the pressurized maintenance hangar, to the launch deck, where he slammed the ship down hard and engaged the magnets on the landing gear before it could rebound.

Alan popped out of the cockpit so fast that Anna thought he actuated the ejection seat. She followed him to the airlock and barely got inside as he closed the door. The intelligence officer, Lieutenant Commander Lewis Sams, was waiting for him as he came out of the airlock and into the pressurized maintenance bay. "What's up Lew?"

"Look what our new visitors brought us," said Sams, and he gestured to three Eastern Bloc ships in the center of the maintenance bay.

"DAMN!" cried Anna. A Mak-22 Barramundi and two GR-88 Ferrets sat in the bay, maintenance people swarming over them, disconnecting everything that looks like a radio so it couldn't potentially transmit any data or its location back to the Zheleznaya Koroleva. As she floated over the bomber, Anna gave her opinion on the plump looking ship. "This thing is a cow."

"Why are they inside? They could be rigged to blow," said Alan.

"They're good, we scanned them nose to tail before they came aboard," said Sams.

"And the flight crews let you do that?" asked Alan.

"They were in here eating their first meal in two days." He led Alan to the prison modules where the prisoners were kept with the four fellows they picked up earlier from the breeching pod. The four soldiers that were in the breeching pod were maintenance people on the GR-88s and had little information that intelligence was interested in. They were starving and wanted to get away and are now known as the "First Four."

The second four, two in the Mak-22 bomber, and one each in the GF-88s were a storehouse of information, said Sams. "According to them, when General Chang was killed, General Romanov went crazy and vowed to kill anyone involved."

"Well, they worked together for years," said Alan.

"It appears that their relationship went closer than that."

"Oh hell," groaned Alan. He killed General Romanov's lover and now an unhinged madman has control of the Eastern Bloc's entire space force. Yesterday, Alan's biggest worry was how to get water to Mars. Today he's got a madman moving to stand between him and Mars.

They went into a briefing room and there were two Eastern Bloc pilots eating the first hamburger they had ever seen in their lives. The other two were eating for the first time something that Alan thought was universal spaceman's food: pizza rolls. "Should they be questioned separately?" asked Alan. One Eastern block pilot, a beautiful blond woman, was tossing pizza rolls to another pilot who caught them in his mouth. Their body language told Alan that they were more than pilot and RIO on the Mak-22.

Lieutenant Commander Lewis Sams, the top intel man on the McDivitt, said, "they were hungry so we gave them food and they began singing like birds. Romeo and Juliette were escaping to the west in the Mak-22, and the other two guys were sent to bring them back and kill them. According to them, they saw three ships magically appear in front of them and they took it as a sign from God and joined our two lovers in defecting."

"No shit?" asked Alan.

"No shit!" said one of the pilots as he reached for another hamburger. "Romanov is sick. He's got one squadron who follows him but the rest of us do what he says so our families don't get killed. He sent eight bombers out, and nobody knows where they went."

"What does Romanov want?" asked Alan.

"Scarlett and Vasquez and anyone related to them," said the pilot in heavily accented English. "It's all he talks about. Killing President Curtis, killing Roy Clark, killing Vasquez, killing the Scarletts. He forgot primary mission."

"Primary Mission - to meet up with the Gorod Moskva and attack earth?" asked Sams.

"No. Primary mission was for the Obshchiy Bogdanov to take Mars with virus, The Zheleznaya Koroleva was to take Luna and all Western space stations, the Gorod Moskva would take Venus. General Chang commanded Obshchiy Bogdanov. General Romanov commands Zheleznaya Koroleva. Doctor Tarkov commands Gorod Moskva. With all space assets gone and the threat of a virus, the West will capitulate to East!"

"Da!" said the woman, who was feeding her pilot pizza rolls. "But with General Chang gone, plan changed. General Romanov take Mars by force, Doctor Tarkov take Luna, and then the one in best position take Venus. But Romanov discovers Scarlett sends task force to stop us and goes crazy. He was told Scarlett in lead cargo vessel."

The "Gorod Moskva is not moving," said Lieutenant Commander Sams. "Recent intelligence says it's adrift and is rotating oddly."

"Da," said the first Russian pilot as he experimented with ketchup and mustard on a cheeseburger. "The Gorod Moskva was out of food, the crew protests and riots. Doctor Tarkov had a sample of Scarlett Virus," He shrugged and said, "Gorod Moskva is ghost ship now. Tarkov set course for Luna, released the virus in the ship and left. "

"When did that happen?"

The Russian counted on his fingers then said, "Iyul... how you say, July. Romanov wanted to use the virus against the task force."

"That's the second time you mentioned a task force. What task force?" asked Lieutenant Commander Sams.

"This! All This!" The Pilot made a sweeping gesture with his hands to indicate the entire convoy.

Alan's head spun. They had it all wrong! Alan ruined their three-pronged attack plan by shooting up the Obshchiy Bogdanov and killing General Chang after he returned to earth. The Western Alliance Navy's intelligence bureau had the entire plan wrong. Only Tasha Kikina's sister Antonina Matrona Markov had it right.

"When?" asked Alan. What did he mean when he said Scarletts? It was clear the Eastern Block flier didn't know that he was Alan Scarlett. "When is he planning to do all this killing?"

"It started," said the flier around a hamburger. "He start with Alpha. Christa Scarlett. He shoots two SGM-27 missiles at Canada. No survivors."

"WHAT?" shouted Alan. "What did you say?" Alan was screaming when Sams dragged him out of the room. "What the hell is he talking about? My sister is an Art History professor in the Yukon!"

Lewis looked at Alan, but he only said, "Saskatchewan."

"Saskatchewan, Yukon, whatever. Did he mean he was going to attack Christa? Was he calling Christa, Alpha?" Alan glared at the intel officer, but Sams didn't flinch. He knew something. "What aren't you telling me?" demanded Alan. There was no way Smartie could be Alpha!

"I cannot give out Martian intelligence," he finally said.

"I'm a Martian. I'm the highest-ranking Martian on this boat; I'm ordering you to tell me."

"Sir, no. You know I can't, but you know who to talk to."

Alan glared at Lewis Sams for a long moment, then sighed. "You're right, you're always right damnit." He turned and shouted, "Anna! Get back in the boat! We have to go talk to mister president." He slammed his helmet back on, angry that weightlessness didn't let him stomp off in a huff. He and Anna Fisher were in the air lock checking each other's suit before depressurizing when the alarms went off.

Flashing red lights filled the maintenance bay and Readiness Condition Alpha lights flared everywhere and as soon as they got their helmets on, their helmet radios were filled with confused chatter. Radio discipline fell apart and Alan finally turned to the keypad on his forearm, hit a few buttons and the radios went silent. He had muted every suit microphone other than his. "Berserkers, this is what we've trained for. Relax and do your job, and operations owns this frequency. Go to channel three if you want to whine."

"Thank you," said the space boss. "As of 1835 hours convoy time, the NSS Pollux has reported inbound objects currently targeting the RSS Garuda. Berserker and Marauder flights call in your status as you ready for launch."

Alan turned the suit mics on and called out, "Berserker Zero One ready to launch."

"Roger Berserker Oh One, waiting on Berserker oh two," said the operations officer.

Finally, Joe Edwards in Berserker Zero Two called in ready. Space Operations called "Alpha Flight clear for launch." Alan moved the throttle to the 'Scramble' position and the Moon Maiden began moving to the launch deck, the hangar doors coming open as they neared. Alan held the throttle in Scramble and suddenly as he passed through the flight deck doorway the McDivitt gave them a shove into space and the engine on the Moon Maiden roared to life. Alan changed frequency and called "Spaceboss, this is Berserker Zero One, I need a vector."

"Form up on Marauder zero one," said Spaceboss.

"This is Marauder zero one, form up on me, I'll guide you in." The big FB-719 soon had every fighter that launched following as they raced forward in the convoy. On the radar screens, it was horrible. Missiles were pouring in and the destroyer, the NSS O'Bannon, was trying to act as a screen for the target, which was the luxury liner RSS Garuda.

The bombers and the fighter bombers threw up an electronic screen, but the missiles kept coming. Laser beams tore through the inky blackness of space, then hit a cloud of dust particles that reflected much of the laser power into space as visible light. The laser beams were lighting up dust particles, which blinded the pilots and ate the energy from the beams.

"Why the hell weren't we told about this dust cloud?" growled Alan, who thumbed the Gun/Laser switch to Gun. Did Romanov know about it and he waited to use it? Or did Romanov create this cloud and waited for the convoy to reach it? Alan was going to have to review radar recordings to see if there was any Eastern Bloc activity in this area.

"Let's give this gun a try darling," said Alan as Anna's radar screens changed from laser screen to gun screens. Soon, the missiles were close enough for the fifty caliber guns to be useful, and red tracers filled the blackness of space.

The missiles began exploding, but not enough were destroyed and surviving missiles continued on to their target. The Berserkers shot until they ran out of ammo. Maybe one in ten rounds hit a missile, but that meant that at best, each Berserker could shoot apart five missiles, and the missiles were still coming. Finally, they were close enough for the lasers of the O'Bannon to be potent in the dust cloud, but one after another hit the O'Bannon or raced past on its way to the Garuda.

Perched above the Garuda, the NSS Arcturus opened up with her defensive guns and her primary laser cannon. Pandora selected SSM-202 missiles from her stock and began launching the slim Space to Space Missile. They were designed as an offensive weapon against fighters, but missiles don't know offense from defense, as long as they have a target. She was slaughtering the incoming missiles, but she could only work so fast, and soon she was out of SSM-202 missiles. She took over the heavy laser cannon from her gunner and he worked the smaller defensive cannons.

Five FB-719s began jamming space with their electronic warfare systems, hoping to screen the Garuda from the incoming missiles, and it looked like it was starting to work. Marauder zero three began shouting, "Garuda! CLIMB! CLIMB! CLIMB!" The captain of the Garuda had turned to face the missile stream giving them a much smaller target to hit, and when Marauder zero three said "climb" the big luxury liner climbed upward on the ecliptic plane, the orbital plane of earth around the sun. The jamming by the 719s and the O'Bannon blocked the missiles from 'seeing' that happen and hopefully the Garuda could get out of the way in time.

The Berserkers found themselves in the stream of missiles, out of 50 caliber ammo, and staring straight at the missiles coming inbound. The jamming of the 719s was making their attack radar nearly useless, but they were able to shoot with the radar set to the navigation and linked their gun sights to that, until one by one their laser emitters overheated and shut down. "What do we got left?" demanded Alan.

"We can try running them over," said Anna as she anxiously waited for the emitter to cool down. Just as it cooled to allow firing a shot, a missile flashed past right outside their canopies. There was a blinding flash and everything in the cockpit went dark as all the instruments failed. The stars outside their canopy spun crazily as the blast sent them spinning. Alan and Anna were pinned against the right side of their cockpits due to the G Forces of their mad rotation.

"Reset main circuit Bus A, B, and C, circuit breakers" called out Alan.

"Will that fix this?" asked Anna as she fought against the G forces to reach the circuit breakers.

"Probably not, but it will give you something to do while I try to figure out what to do next."

"A, B, and C, reset and... damn." Anna was shocked as the lights came on. Every warning light in the cockpit came up in bright red. Most instruments were not responsive.

<><><><><>

On board the Garuda, it wasn't bedlam, but it was getting close. The passengers were panicked and were trying to get their luggage into any escape pod they could find. "Get yourself into your escape pods!" called the crew members, and they began pulling baggage out of unused escape pods.

"Hey, that's my stuff!" cried an irate passenger.

"Yes," said the cabin steward. "And if I'm in this area when the pods begin to launch, that's my pod. Now get in and strap down!"

Anna was so terrified that she started having contractions. "Time to go," said Morris and the old general grabbed a robe, several towels and all of Anna's maternity gear and gently pushed her into the escape pod.

"I don't want to have Tasha in here!" cried Anna.

"Tasha is going to show up whenever Tasha wants to. She's stubborn like her mama," said Morris with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. As a Marine general, a smile wasn't an item in his managerial toolbox.

"Where's Alan?" asked Anna. "I need Alan, he can fix this!"

"He's outside doing what he does best," said Morris as he tried to strap her in and not injure the baby.

Suddenly, Anna screamed at the top of her lungs. There was a clock above the pod door and it started counting down from ten and the pod door slammed closed. "Strap in! Strap in! Strap in!" she cried over and over. She closed her eyes, and she was in a prison in China and Alan was there, because Alan was always there when she needed him most. He stuffed her into an escape pod there in China, and they flew away to safety. Is that going to happen again?

She opened her eyes and Morris was still trying to strap in when the pod launched. There was a tremendous jerk, and he was thrown across the pod and he hit his head against the clock above the door and he floated unconscious in the drifting pod.

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

Perseverance City, Mars October 9, 2142

Red Planet Battle Zone

Vice President Ray Clark leaned over the long distance radar operator's shoulder and watched a series of blips, dots and electronic fuzz on the screen. "Talk to me," said Ray. "What am I seeing here?"

The radar operator tapped a pencil on the screen over a solid blip. "This is an ore freighter, we believe it is independent, but its name is Russian."

"So what? There's always an ore freighter somewhere with all the mining in the asteroid belt."

"It launched a barrage of missiles at this ship," and he pointed out another blip on the radar.

"Tell me that's not the Garuda," groaned Roy.

"I can't identify it," said the radar operator. "It's traveling in a convoy that was radio silent but now I'm getting excited ship to ship chatter." The blips grew indistinct. It was hard to determine what was going on. Then the blip faded away. "It looks like the target broke up."

"God damn it," groaned the vice president of Mars under his breath. He didn't want to be president, not like this. The battle he watched was in near real time. It was close enough to Mars to be considered Martian Space.

"That's not why I called you down here," said Marv. He changed screens to Near Mars Radar and there were eight blips in diamond formation. "This is why."

"What is that?"

"That is a formation of Mak-22 Barramundi bombers that have been heading our way for the past three days."

"Let me guess," groaned Ray. "They launched from the Ore Freighter?"

"Bingo... sir."

"When do they get here?" said Ray with a long-suffering sigh. Leave it to Ben Curtis to take a long trip to earth during their busiest time, leaving him in charge.

"Sometime this afternoon, mister president."

"VICE president," insisted Ray. He didn't want to think that the radar blip that disintegrated contained Ben. "How about the Tommy Oh. Where is he at?" Ray referred to the RSS Thomas O. Paine, a quarterly freighter between Earth and Mars that was traveling days ahead of the RSS Garuda.

"He's in orbit preparing for the de-orbit burn in about fifteen minutes."

"Thanks Marv," and Ray patted the radar operator on the shoulder and took a pad of paper and wrote on it quickly with a pencil. He turned to the radio operator and said, "Dave, is the Tommy Oh able to receive B38 code?"

"Yes sir, with a military cargo it's required."

"Awesome," and Ray took a page off the tablet. "Transcribe this to B38 and send it to the Tommy Oh right away."

"Not a problem sir!" said Dave, and he began typing the message into the B38 encryptor.

"If anyone needs me, I'll be at the spaceport, we have VIPs inbound," said Ray as he left. This radar operator was working in the Red House and was part of the staff. Aaron Davis, a previous president, didn't want to wait for radar reports or radio communications, so he set up a radar and radio site in the Red House. The radar started as local radar looking for sandstorms and landing spacecraft, but over the years, Extreme Long-Range radar was added to their suite of information gathering.

Ray stepped into his office in the Red House, the capital office of the President and Vice President of the United Mars colonies, and the President's residence. He walked up to his secretary and said, "Agnes, could you reach out to Malone Ortagus and request he join me at the VIP welcoming platform in ten minutes?"

Agnes knew something was up. When Ray wanted you around for an event like a ship landing with VIPs, he let you know weeks in advance. When he had something up his sleeve and he didn't want you to wiggle out of it, he would only give you a few minutes' notice. "What shall I tell him this is for?"

"We have some big-time investors inbound, I'd like Malone to tell me if they're legitimate investors or are looking for a handout."

"Yes sir," said Agnes, trying to hide her grin. Malone Ortagus considered himself the savviest investor on Mars and was quite arrogant about it. Asking for his advice played up to Malone's vanity, and Malone's ego would not let him say no. Ray was up to something. He never mentioned Malone, ever, and he never spoke to him outside of the Parliament. He never told Agnes how he feels about Malone, but the less Ray Clark said about someone, the more Ray disliked them.

Malone was a Member of Parliament representing the Olympus Mons colony's Bravo quadrant and was a colossal pain in the ass. Parliamentary meetings went on for hours longer than needed due to MP Ortagus insisting that they enter into contract with Eastern Bloc contractors that provide substandard product.

"Let's go for a walk Bubba." Bubba was Ray's security. A small Asian man with thick glasses, Bubba could drop kick you into next week before you realized he had also broken both of your arms. They stepped out of the Red House and walked up to the first moving sidewalk and took several different moving sidewalk options before they reached the Martian Space Force hangar. In there was an F-201 set up to train troops that were due in. "Commander Kavandi, I have some work for you and your people."

Janet stepped away from the chess board where she was trying to beat Gene Cernan and stepped up to Mister Vice President. He told her what he needed, then turned for the staircase that took him to the Reception Center. Ray Clark found PM Malone Ortagus waiting for him in the VIP Reception center. The reception center was like a big greenhouse atop the enormous hangar. They had an incredible view of the main spaceport ramp, the runway and vertical launch pads and landing pads, everything that made up Zhang Field. "Is that our ship?" asked Malone as he looked up and saw a speck in the brown/red Martian sky.

"I believe so," said Ray with a glance at his watch. "There's several ships inbound."

"We're becoming a busy planet," said Malone.

"Did I ever tell you about my kids?" said Ray.

Malone chuckled, then said, "Which ones? You have kids all over Mars."

"The ones I raised, my sister's kids. Christa and Alan."

"Oh yeah, how are they doing? I saw that Alan did that hero thing again, something with Korea? China? I don't read the Earth news much anymore."

"They're doing good. The problem is that people keep trying to kill them. First it was that General Chang fellow, now it's his buddy General Romanov."

"Those poor kids, are they going to be ok?"

"Can you imagine what Alan is going to do to General Romanov when he finds out that Romanov risked war with the Western Alliance by launching missiles at Central America?" asked Ray.

"Well, Northern North America, yeah. It's going to be horrible when Alan gets his hands on Doctor Tarkov for that action."

Ray merely nodded and continued looking out the window at the ramp. He almost missed Monica Sax as she came up and took his hand and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "No hello?"

"Oh, just watching a ship land, sorry," said Ray. As he said that, a large ship that looked like a chubby egg descended and slowed. The building vibrated as it gently landed and came to a rest out on the far end of the landing field near the hangar where a row of ten F-201 Star Strikers sat waiting for Alan Scarlett and the Berserkers.

"Why didn't it land close to the terminal so they could hook up a walkway?" said Malone.

As he said that, a man in a space suit with a yellow vest over the suit stepped out onto the ramp from the main hangar and took control.

"Let's go! Move it! Move it! Move it! Are you Navy or are you Space Force? Let's GO!" Gene Cernan shouted into the radio. "Move your asses!" As he said that, three spacemen wearing green vests showing they were plane captains spilled out of the ship and hopped across the ramp, hopping being the fastest way to move on Mars. They were followed by several spacemen wearing red vests showing that they were the ordnance troops. "You take that one, you get the one next to it, you, over there, MOVE!" said CPO Cernan, directing the spacemen to their F-201s that were lined up on the side of the ramp. As the plane captains swarmed over their new steeds, the ordnance men crawled under the ships and one by one loaded ammo into the guns and cocked the guns, getting them ready.

Six officers in flight pressure suits and helmets emerged from the ship and Lt. Kavandi, wearing a purple helmet with Vikings horns painted on the sides, directed them to their ships. Another officer stepped out of the ship and walked up to Janet and they hugged. He too was wearing a purple Berserkers helmet. It was CMDR Rob Overmyer, her pilot on the Berserkers.

"You did a great job here Janet, ready to kick some ass?"

"God I missed you Robbie."

"Ditto darling. Let's make somebody have a bad day then go unwind."

"Do you two mind?" demanded CPO Cernan. "I've got a war to win and I was kind of hoping you guys would help."

"I'd be happy to assist you Chief," chuckled Rob Overmyer.

"Then get your happy ass in my personal weapon of war and go kill something," said the chief with a salute, and he began inspecting the F-201 that Janet picked out. "Everyone has two hundred rounds, please keep the burst selector to five round bursts or you'll melt the barrel."

"Aye-aye chief," said Rob, and he began the walk around inspection with Janet. Satisfied with the exterior condition of the fighter, they pulled themselves into the cockpit, settled into their seats, and began the startup procedures. Soon they were running through the startup checklist, and their old rhythm returned. "Are you ready buddy?" asked Don over the intercom as they finished the checklist.

"BUDDY? After everything we've been through? After almost a year of separation? BUDDY?" Janet didn't know what came over her. Their relationship was always professional, but she missed her teammate so much. She dreamed about him almost every night and she dreamed about the day she would be able to tell him how she felt.

Rob made sure the radio was off and they were talking over the intercom. "I asked Mister Clark to rent me a room at the Augusta Placidia and we can discuss finding a different word instead of buddy." The Augusta Placidia was a hotel in Perseverance City that was designed to look like a regal Roman villa.

"Fine," pouted Janet. The way her love life was going, they'd probably lose control and crash before checking in.

Rob looked down the line of Berserkers and saw the other three were looking at him. He nodded and all four pilots canopies lowered at the same time, while all four RIO canopies slid forward and closed. "Tower this is Berserker Oh One Alpha. Berserker Flight is go for launch."

"Roger Berserker flight, taxi via taxiway Charlie to the two seven end of the main runway."

Rob switched to the local frequency. "Ok Chief, get us outta here."

"With pleasure sir." Gene raised his hands and began waving the fighter forward, out from under the overhead roof. The other three Berserkers followed their plane captain's directions, then, with four sharp salutes to the four plane captains, the fighters turned left and followed the yellow line painted on the concrete ramp. They taxied behind the RSS Thomas O. Paine, that was emptying the rest of the passengers into a pressurized bus via a pressurized walkway.

"So, who is this VIP?" asked Malone Ortagus as the bus pulled up to the terminal and the passengers entered the terminal.

"Hmm, pardon? Oh sorry," said Ray. He was holding his and Monica's youngest son Maxxie, and they were playing "got your nose." Monica always said that Ray was the world's worst absentee father, but the world's greatest absentee uncle. When Gene asked Ray if he minded that they changed the kids' names to Cernan when he married Monica, Ray said "It's an honor that they carry your name Chief. Believe me, you have earned it." He looked at Malone and said, "The VIP? Oh she wants to meet you."

The passengers walked past them, excited chatter about the local gravity filled the air, until one of them stepped up to Ray. She was wearing a cloak with a hood and was carrying a baby and was followed by four men in Perseverance City Security uniforms. She pulled back her hood and glared at Malone. She didn't speak, Ray did. "Mister Ortagus would like to extend his condolences on the death of Doctor Sapperstein," said Ray.

"Did he mention Bet?" said the woman. Bet was the Martian Intelligence Bureau code name for Doctor Anatoly Volodya Tarkov, General Romanov's boss. Her voice was cold, her entire persona radiated hate. Malone realized he was afraid for the first time in his life. He's seen that face before, those steel-blue eyes, that soft golden blond hair, lips that needed no rouge, that tiny nose and those sculpted cheekbones... he was looking at the ghost of Laurel Clark-Scarlett.

"Yes he did."

"See me when you're done with him," she told Ray. Her soft voice carried the authority and inevitability of Death himself. She turned to the men in Perseverance City Security uniforms and nodded to them, then turned to leave. When she started walking, two security men followed her, and two of the security agents remained and stepped up to Malone.

"Malone Ortegas, you are invited to join us in a discussion of the recent attacks on the head of the Martian Intelligence Agency and other field agents."

"I know nothing about that," said Malone and he tried to leave, but the security agent held him, painfully pinching his upper arms.

"In that case, you are charged with aiding and abetting in the attempted assassination of the President of Mars, a high level cabinet member, and the head of the Martian Defense Force." They roughly cuffed his wrists behind his back and gagged him with a ball gag. He was led through the crowds, handcuffed and gagged, and thanks to Malone Ortegas hogging the spotlight whenever a news camera was in the area, every Martian knew who that was.

As he was led away, Ray and Monica watched out the huge window as the sun rose high in the Martian sky. "What are we holding for?" asked Berserker Zero Two Alpha on a closed, encrypted channel.

"There are eight Mak-22 bombers heading into Martian space, we're waiting to see if they're going to orbit or to attack," said Rob Overmyer.

"Only eight? I'll never get my ace if you guys jump in there when I'm trying to shoot," called another voice.

"Yeah, you berserkers need to step aside and let someone else win a war or something," said another.

"Ok, I get it, you're hungry. Let's get them to surrender their ships because Captain Schirra will count that as a kill."

"Let's get Angi to have a chat with them, she'd talk a hummingbird in off a flower," said another voice.

"Boys," said a sexy feminine voice with a southern drawl, "y'all just exaggerating' jes a lil' bit about lil' ol' me, aren't cha?"

"All right! Relax and concentrate," ordered Rob, and the chatter died down.

"Berserker lead, this is Perseverance Tower. Incoming Barramundis have entered Martian orbit without permission or clearance. You have been updated with their orbital stats."

"Roger," said Commander Overmyer as he saw his takeoff timer begin to count down.

"Berserkers, these C models are snappy, that's the best way I can put it," said Janet Kavandi. "Follow the checklist, set your throttle to taxi and get rolling before you advance the throttle. Raise the gear as soon as you get airborne. Take it easy on the climb out and you'll save a lot of reaction mass and you won't snap the wings off." The Star Striker, like most fighters, had extendable wings which helped with in-atmosphere flying but were mostly for solar power. The upper side of the wings were covered with solar cells and they charged the various batteries on the ship with their solar cells. The underside had two missile launchers on each wing.

"Here we go," said Rob as the takeoff timer counted down to zero. Rob got it airborne, raised the gear and advanced the throttle to 100% and was suddenly slammed back in his seat. "Holy shit!"

"Yeah, it's kind of a log-rhythmic throttle," said Janet. Her first flight in a modified Striker caught her by surprise, too.

The four Strikers roared into the Martian sky, aiming for an orbital altitude of 10,000 feet. Reaching that altitude, they rolled on their backs and eased into orbit, then tightened up their formation. In orbit, they remained upside down, looking for the Mak-22 Barramundis that were in orbit ahead and below them. Accelerating, they dropped to 7,000 feet and there they were, still in a diamond formation. The Berserkers crept up on the Barramundis, and when they were in optimal firing range Rob called out, "Unidentified spacecraft, this is Berserker One, you have not requested entry into Martian space and therefor are considered Hostile."

Rob Overmyer flipped his script over so he could read the second part when his wingman said, "Do we have a checklist for this?"

"What do you mean... holy crap." Rob looked up and every single bomber had extended their landing gear. "The boss ain't gonna believe dis shit..."

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

Convoy Echo Mike Zero One, October 12, 2142

Aftermath

The majority of the barrage of missiles from the Zheleznaya Koroleva were destroyed by the Berserkers, the NSS O'Bannon, and the NSS Arcturus, but enough to do serious damage got through. A missile had exploded as it flashed past Alan Scarlett's Moon Maiden, causing severe damage. After resetting the main bus circuit breakers, a small amount of control was restored. Anna was able to stop the spin, but they were still on the course they were traveling in, which was headed toward the Zheleznaya Koroleva. "You do a system's check, I'll see what we lost," said Anna.

"Roger," said Alan as he started cataloging the circuit breakers that had popped.

"Damnit," snapped Anna. "My canopy won't open."

"Let me look," said Alan and he opened his canopy and eased out of his seat and, using a mag-mount to attach a safety cable to, he drifted out to inspect the wreckage of his ship. The tail end was a mess. The missile had a proximity fuse, and it went off just behind the Moon Maiden. He found that Anna's canopy wouldn't open because of a warped panel that was blocking the canopy from sliding back. He tried beating on the panel with his fist, but it was thick steel.

Alan released the magnetic mount from the side of the ship and banged on the warped steel with the massive magnet and bent the steel back into shape. A couple of times, he rebounded after a strike and drifted out, but the magnet caught and held his safety line. "Try it now," he said.

Anna manually opened the canopy; it was difficult, but it opened. "Ok, you inventory the systems, I'll record the damage," she said. "Are you ok?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," lied Alan. He just realized that if he drifted off before he got Anna's hatch open, there would be no hope for him. Now that he found a woman that cares for him, he finally has something to live for. He was shaking and breaking out into a cold sweat. He eased into his cockpit and locked himself into the magnetic locks, including the helmet locks which he only locked when launching from Mars or Earth. He took photographs of the cockpit controls and the glaring red warning lights while Anna took pictures of the damage to the tail, including the horizontal and vertical stabilizers.

Alan has never been so terrified in his life, not even when he lit the fuse on a homemade chemical rocket that had sunk into an Eastern Bloc prison. He sat and concentrated on reuniting with Pandora, breathing deeply and finally relaxing before he finished with his survey of systems. They had used up almost all the thruster propellent in manually slowing their dangerous spin to a stop. Nothing. No radio other than the emergency beacon, no radar. They had breathable oxygen and water, and their cameras. "Gun is gone!" said Anna happily as she inspected the belly of the Moon Maiden. Alan was able to dump the gun while they were still spinning. The gun had a jettison circuit, and he was able to release it, sending it back towards the convoy. They didn't want the Eastern Bloc to know what they were shooting with. They hoped that the Eastern Bloc saw the tracers and assumed they were mini missiles.

Anna returned to her cockpit and slid the canopy closed. "You going to get Noxie and bring him back?"

"No, he's got a mission to perform still. Noxie, are you still here?"

Beep.

"Ok, Noxie I'm happy you're here."

Beep. Beep.

"Initiate Visitation Protocol."

Beep.

"Soon as we get home we'll play a nice game of chess, is that ok with you Noxie?"

Beep. Beep.

Alan sighed. He worked on that Noxie for hours and hours. When Alan first devised the idea, he didn't know how to kick off the Visitation Protocol, but General Romanov's attack gave him the opportunity. Now all he had to do was give Romanov a chance to hang himself. Alan tugged back on his joystick, which put the ship in a slow backwards roll. "Ready Ann?"

"Aye-aye. Let's go home."

When the ship was pointing straight up on the ecliptic plane, Alan pulled the ejection handle and the entire cockpit was ejected and was heading straight back towards the convoy. The ejection alarm sirens blared on the radio. They only had three seconds of thrust, but that was enough to get them headed back toward the Convoy. When the rockets shut down, everything was completely silent. Alan tried to nap but Anna asked, "What is Visitation Protocol?"

"It's something I was fiddling with. If Noxie gets picked up by the Zheleznaya Koroleva and hears Russian voices he'll try to gather all the data, he can from their network and send it to me in a data burst." That was true. Not the entire truth, but true enough. Visitation Protocol was just the start of a bigger plan. Hopefully, a plan that would end this mess.

"Did the number of beeps communicate something?" said Anna. She was sure something was up.

"When I told him 'I'm happy you're here,' that told him to pause recording, and he acknowledged with two beeps. Then I told him to initiate Visitation Protocol, which he acknowledged with one beep, then when he beeped twice the time expired, and he started recording conversations again."

"You're so crafty."

"Try and get some sleep, I'll keep a watch."

"Roger," and she began shutting everything down except the oxygen system and the external beacon lamps.

<><><><><>

It was day two since they had ejected, and the batteries that were transmitting the distress beacons were running low. They were low on water and appetite suppressants. Soon, the three days without food would be known when their appetites returned with a rush. Even Martian tofu was going to look good. Even though they weren't hungry, their bodies realized there was a problem, and they were shuddering with the suppressed pangs of hunger.

Games of chess and crosswords on the helmet visors had to be suspended to save battery life, and eventually, talking became difficult. Thoughts of ending it by opening their helmet visor entered their fevered daydreams. Alan kept a journal on a note pad which slowly devolved into repeated apologies to the women in his life, his mother Laurel, his sister Christa, his RIOs Hilde, Tasha, Anna and Anna, and to Pandora. His only message to Pandora was to tell her to speak to his remaining Noxie and ask it if it has a message for her.

They were both half asleep when there came a banging on the canopy. Alan twisted and looked at the canopy and saw a spaceman out there waving at them. In moments, a team of spacemen in black pressure suits descended on Alan and Anna and they were extracted from the cockpit module and were loaded on a scooter while their capsule was strapped down to a heavy-duty scooter known as a jeep. Their suits batteries were weak, and the radio was hard to hear, but it was clear that these were spacemen from the convoy.

They pulled up to the McDivitt and Alan saw a group of spacemen working on the approach end hangar door of landing deck B, the upper right segment which housed the Berserkers. "Who hit the door?" Alan asked.

"Commander Young, his yaw controls gave out on final," said a spaceman in a light gray space suit with a red vest indicating weapons/crash recovery.

"Is he ok?"

"He's fine, his RIO, had a cracked helmet but they got into the pressurized hangar before the crack blew out."

Alan closed his eyes as he formulated a response, and when he opened his eyes, he found he was in sick bay. His lightweight pressure suit was removed, and he was gently restrained to a hospital bed. "Go back to sleep," said Rhea Seddon, the flight surgeon.

Alan had a million questions, but he fell asleep before he could ask any of them. He woke up the next day feeling hungry, and when he opened his eyes, Ben Curtis was waiting for him to wake. "You and your team saved a lot of lives," said Ben.

"I got my ass shot up... again," said Alan weakly. "Are you ok?"

"I'm fine, I'm not too sure about the others, but we all got out. All but the crew, the bridge crew stayed with it and tried to save the ship. All fourteen were lost, they took an SSM straight into the bridge."

"Oh god," groaned Alan. "Ben... I don't know if MIA got it, but the Gorod Moskva is a ghost ship. Doctor Tarkov released the virus on it and aimed it at Luna. It's a biological weapon! You have to tell Alpha, we have to get another atomic bomb and fry it."

"Alan, I don't want to do this, but you need to hear it from me..." Ben looked horribly uncomfortable.

"What's going on?"

"Your sister, Christa. We believe she's dead."

"What?" Alan shrieked.

"Romanov launched two SGM-65 Space to Ground missiles aimed at northern Canada. One directly impacted the University of Northern North America and destroyed the entire campus. The other hit Christa and Jake's house. Their entire farm is now a lake. Jake's body was found... most of it, but there's no trace of Christa."

Suddenly Alan felt profoundly alone. That bastard murdered his family and there's nobody to share his sorrow with. "Go," said Alan. "Leave me alone." He's cried enough tears, he's said goodbye far too many times in the past year, he just needs an airlock so he could step outside.

"Alan, don't. I need you. Romanov has declared war on Mars and on the Western Alliance. He's been branded an outlaw by the Eastern Bloc and the head of the People's Soviet in the Eastern Bloc, Generalissimo Hernán has put a bounty on his head. You have to get him before they do. If the Eastern Block captures Romanov and reclaims the Zheleznaya Koroleva they'll just sweep this whole thing under the rug. Get me that man! Get me that ship! It's the only way we can get your revenge and keep Mars free!"

Alan heard Ben talking, but he didn't understand what he was saying... Christa gone, Jake gone, the baby Alana gone... his entire family gone. He had to go; he had to do something; he couldn't wait on Noxie to get things started. He started to undo the Velcro straps that held him in place when Rhea came in and demanded, "Where do you think you're going?"

"I gotta go," mumbled Alan. If he were honest with himself, he did not know where he was going to go. He just felt the need to go somewhere and do something.

"No, you're going to rest," she said as she injected something into his IV, then swatted his hands away, preventing him from pulling out his IV line. Finally, with a mumble, he slipped into sleep and the doctor whirled on Ben. "Did you have to do that? You couldn't wait?"

"Yes, I had to tell him. We're leaving soon," said Ben. "Doctor, this is what family does, we are honest with each other, in good times and bad times, and this is about as bad as it's gotten in ten years," said Ben. He was feeling horrible but he had to say it. "What about Miss Reeves' ankle?"

"I have it immobilized but she'll need surgery. I have an orthopedic surgeon. He can do her surgery in the morning."

"We're leaving in two hours," said Ben. He looked at the sleeping Alan and frowned. "I helped raise him. Two Martian bachelors with a teenage girl and a pre-teen boy. God... I still remember her first date, she was so excited, she looked so much like her mother... That kid came to the door to pick up Christa and was met by two grumpy men... the poor kid nearly shit himself. But Alan, he was always alone. Every time he found a friend something happened, usually the kid's family moved to a different colony and he ended up all alone. Ray and I were afraid he would take after us and become a loner too, and it seems that fate is forcing that life on him."

"He's a good man and a damn fine commander for someone his age," said Rhea. "The troops call him Captain Ender."

"Oh god! He'd die of embarrassment if he heard that." Ben shook hands with Rhea and said, "Take care of my boy doctor. I suppose you should ground him after what I just told him, but that would kill him."

"You're right. I tried to ground him once before."

"How did that work out?"

"Not well."

<><><><><>

When Alan opened his eyes again, he was dressed in a flight suit, the lightweight one-piece coverall that has been popular with flight crews for over 100 years. His tiny cabin hadn't changed, but there was a whiff of perfume in the air. As usual, Noxie was considering the chess board. "Noxie, are there any messages for me?"

Noxie looked up from the chess board and his eyes flashed in recognition, then his square head turned from side to side to indicate 'No.'

"Thank you. Noxie, what is the date and time?"

Noxie turned his head to the wall and projected October 14, 2142.

"Jeez," groaned Alan. He launched out on the ninth. He's lost nearly a week. His head felt like it was going to explode, a common result of oxygen starvation. They were floating in that ejection capsule for days. It only had oxygen and water for one day, so they sucked down a lot of bad air.

Alan floated to the CinC and Captain Tremblay was there to meet him. "I suppose if I ordered you to remain on the ship you wouldn't do it," said the ship's captain.

Alan grabbed a squeeze bulb of coffee and took a sip, then said, "If I was the ranking man and I ordered you to fly with your squadrons and just let the ship fall apart, you wouldn't do it either. Am I right?"

Captain Tremblay nodded. He needed Alan to stay on board and manage the flying units, but he couldn't ground him. Alan strapped down in the seat next to him and the captain asked, "How are you doing Al?"

"Bit of a headache but the aspirin is helping. What's going on?"

"Well, we got our asses handed to us. The O'Bannon was shot to hell, they lost seven spacemen and their main engines are out, but their guns are still working, so we've slowed down to stay with them and their guns are covering us. The Isimud took a hit and lost navigation, she's tailgating the Lucid Dawn. We took three hits and had a crash at into the landing deck hangar door, but we're fine. No loss of pressurization. We've taken on all passengers from the Isimud, Zaqar, and Lucid Dawn."

He mentioned three of the four cargo ships they were sailing with to protect. "What about the Garuda?"

"It took a dozen hits and broke up." He saw the panic that he stirred up in Alan and said, "All escape pods were launched and we recovered them all. The bridge crew was lost but all passengers and deck crew got off. It took a full day to round them up, and the pods only had one fatality."

"Who?"

"Morris Rafferty. He had a heart attack and died shortly after we brought him aboard."

Alan had a horrible sinking feeling in his soul. Poor Anna! "Where is Spaceman Vasquez?"

"Who?"

"The woman he was traveling with. The pregnant woman."

"I think she's still in the sickbay."

Alan didn't say goodbye. He unstrapped from the seat and shot through the corridors of the ship, pulling himself along on the doorways and exposed plumbing. He finally got to the sickbay and said, "Is Anna Vasquez here?"

The clerk looked at Alan and said, "I can't discuss anything about our patients."

Before Alan could say, 'I'm her commander you damn well better tell me,' he was rescued. "She's back here," came the familiar voice of Rhea from back in the hospital area.

Alan drifted past the spouting medical tech to where his flight surgeon, Doctor Rhea Seddon, was with his RIOs Anna Vasquez and Anna Fisher, and with them was Pandora. "Welcome back! I hope you didn't mind that I gave your reserved bed to Lieutenant Vasquez."

Alan was torn in several directions at once, losing his sister, losing General Rafferty, but then here were Anna and the baby, and Pandora. "Anna!" said Alan, as his emotions spun in his head.

"You're late," said Rhea, "come meet your newest Berserker."

Alan expected Anna to be shattered and heartbroken over Morris, but she was in the bed holding a tiny bundle. She looked up at Alan and said, "Look what we made." She pulled back the blanket, revealing the face of a tiny infant.

"She's beautiful," whispered Alan, entranced at the sight of the first newborn he had ever seen. To Alan, the baby was actually kind of odd looking, tiny and wrinkled, like a blob of clay ready to be molded into something. But it held a beauty of innocence. Alan now realized what it was all about. Everything he does is to protect this tiny sprout and enable her to grow to her fullest potential without fear of madmen like General Romanov, who is out to kill him, or General Chang, who indirectly helped create her.

"I wanted to have her on Mars so she would be a Martian," said Anna sadly.

"Honey, we're in Martian space," said Anna Fisher. Anna was in the bed next to Anna Vasquez and was wearing a hospital gown like Anna. She, like Alan, was still recovering. "She's as Martian as me. But you and my driver are even more Martian."

"How can I be more Martian than a native born Martian?"

"We were declared Heroes of the United Colonies last year when we bombed Kōngchéng," said Alan. "Remember?"

"I think so," said Anna with a frown. "I've lost so many memories it's hard to tell what was real and what was a dream. Would you like to hold Tasha?"

"I don't know how, I'm afraid I'll break her." Alan was suddenly nervous.

"Come on papa, you won't break her," said Anna. Then she said to Tasha, "look! It's papa Alan, I told you about him, he's the nice man that saved us."

"I don't..." but somehow Alan ended up with a two day old baby in his arms. "Am I doing this right?"

"Relax silly, babies are easy in zero g," said Pandora and she helped Anna ease the tiny infant into Alan's arms.

"What do you mean easy?"

"You can't drop them so you hug them. They love to be held close," said Pandora. "They've been hugged for nine months inside mommy, and they kind of miss it." She floated close to Alan, who pulled her closer with his free arm.

Tasha opened her mouth wide, then stretched before relaxing in Alan's arms. "What's she doing? Is she going to bite me?"

"She's yawning, silly," said Pandora. "Talk to her, tell her who you are."

Alan thought for a moment then said, "Hi little one, I'm Alan, your mommy's chauffer. I'm going to make sure that when you land on Mars, you and mommy get everything you need." As he whispered to the little girl, Pandora clung to him and peered at the baby over his shoulder.

"Look at them," Anna Fisher whispered. "I see a lot of this in their future."

"Oh, hush," said Rhea, and she took several photographs of Alan and Pandora. She's never seen a couple so enchanted by a baby.

"Morris would have loved to see this," said Anna. "He said he always knew he would not live past sixty, and he was sure he wasn't going to make it to Mars, but he wanted to make sure Tasha and I got there." Her eyes started tearing up again.

"I'll make sure you and Tasha make it all the way," said Alan.

"When we get to Mars, will you be her Godparents?" asked Anna.

Alan and Pandora looked at each other, their eyes met and for a moment they could read each other's thoughts, but they weren't thinking about this particular baby. "Yes," said Alan softly. "We will."

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

Martian Space, October 18, 2142

Visitation Protocol

Because their primary defender, the NSS O'Bannon, was shot up and lost most of her main engines, Convoy Echo Mike Zero One had slowed to a crawl. At Armstrong Station, Captain Schirra looked in depression at the reports coming in from the convoy. The primary ship they were sent to protect was blown to pieces, a destroyer shot all to hell, one heavy bomber missing, presumed lost, half of their fighter squadron shot up, the commander of the squadron missing in action, and the president of the United Colonies of Mars hasn't been heard from since the Garuda broke up.

He ached to load up another squadron on a high-speed transport and run it out there to help, but the convoy was in Martian space now. With the loss of President Curtis, the new President, Ray Clark, threw up an exclusion zone around Mars and no ship outside of the convoy was allowed into Martian Space. He claimed to have two squadrons now and was willing to take anyone on.

Wally looked at the most recent dispatches with growing despair. Alan was lost. The captain sighed in remorse over the way they had treated Alan in order to expose traitors, and now he's gone. "This is what happens when you let subordinates get too close," muttered Wally. The close relationship they had could never be repaired. He put the dispatches in a secure case and left his office with the case. He walked down to the CinC where his commander, Admiral Darwin, and the commander of Naval Space Operations, General Sizemore, were waiting for him. "Echo Mike Zero One, what is happening?" said the General firmly.

A radar representation of the convoy appeared on a Plexigraph board. Captain Schirra drew a circle around the ships and zoomed in on the ships. "Here at the center of the formation is the McDivitt, it's now a lifeboat. All the paying passengers of the other cargo ships, the Zaqar, the Isimud, and the Lucid Dawn all transferred there before the shooting started. The passengers from the Garuda made it to the lifeboats and were collected aboard the McDivitt. Also, numerous prisoners are now housed there." He looked through the dispatches again and said, "These reports say the escapees are defectors."

"How many?"

"We have four escapees who traveled there in a breeching pod, seven GR-88 Ferret fighters have surrendered, four Mak-22 Barramundi bombers, even an experimental KR-40 Foxcub which the McDivitt engineering team is tearing apart right now. Commander Jemison has more operational Eastern Bloc ships than she has working F-201s."

"Commander Jemison? Who may I ask is that?" said the General sternly.

"Lieutenant Commander Mae Jemison is Alan's Deputy Commander for Maintenance. With Alan missing and his deputy commander on assignment, she now assumes command of the forty-third IFS."

"So how many capitol ships are in Echo Mike Zero One," demanded General Sizemore.

"Six sir. The McDivitt, Arcturus, Pollux, the O'Bannon, and the cargo ships Isimud, Zaqar, Lucid Dawn, and Garuda. But with the Garuda broken up and the Pollux on station far above the ecliptic plain, that leaves six."

General Sizemore refreshed the long distance radar screen and said, "So, how come I only see five?"

<><><><><>

The surrendered Eastern Bloc spacemen were questioned over and over and all said the same thing: living conditions for those that were not part of General Romanov's staff on the Zheleznaya Koroleva were intolerable. Food and water were scarce and their quarters were huge, cold, open bunk rooms. "We wish to surrender. We will fly and fight if you ask. Please don't make us go back," was the universal claim.

Finally, all the Eastern Bloc spacemen were gathered together in the cafeteria set up in the prison modules. The men and women that surrendered thought the prison modules were fine living. They were warm and comfortable and had all the faux beef they could eat. Something was up and the Eastern Bloc spacemen were nervous. Finally, several Western officers entered. One of them was wearing a dark blue uniform that featured a lot of red buttons and badges, the other had a similar uniform but had gold buttons and badges, not red. The man with the red began talking and only a few of the Eastern fliers understood.

Marine Captain Viktor Afanasyev, the Western Alliance Marine that has been their translator, said, "This is Lieutenant Commander Alan Scarlett of the Martian Space force. He is thanking you for your courage. He says it takes a lot of courage to recognize that your orders are not lawful and to remove yourself from that situation. He also says it takes much courage to go back and fix what is wrong."

Then the man with the silver badges on his uniform spoke, and Viktor translated. "This is Captain Rene Bertrand Tremblay of the Western Alliance Navy. He says that he respects your decision to leave the Zheleznaya Koroleva. Now it is time to make a further decision. If you wish to surrender or if you wish to defect. If you wish to surrender, you will be returned to the Eastern Bloc when this is over. Who wishes to surrender?"

When no one raised their hands, Victor continued to translate for Alan and Rene. "The next decision you need to make is if you wish to defect to the West or if you wish to defect to Mars. If you wish to defect to the West it will take up to ten years to get your full citizenship, and if the Eastern Bloc demands you back before your citizenship happens, the Western Alliance will return you. If you wish to defect to Mars you will be made Martian citizens immediately after you pledge your allegiance to the United Colonies of Mars. There is a Russian speaking colony opening up but the official language of Mars is Martian so lessons will be mandatory. Also, you will be required to serve in the Martian Space Force."

"Mars has space force?" one English-speaking detainee said.

"Yes," said Alan through Viktor's translating. "We have a full squadron of F-201 Star Strikers, and a full squadron of Mak-22 bombers."

"How did you get bombers?" the shocked Russian asked.

"General Romanov sent them to bomb Perseverance City and told them to return after bombing but he sent them with no food. They surrendered immediately, landed, turned over their ships and weapons to Mars, and three days later took the oath of allegiance to Mars. When they complete their four years of duty in the Martian Space Force they will be given St. Stanislaus colony to re-open."

When Viktor completed the translation, an excited murmuring went through the cafeteria. "Will we work for you?" asked one man.

"Probably," said Alan. "The Martian Space Force is a new organization. We will arrive in two weeks so there's no need to rush..."

The men and women assembled rose and shouted, "Da zdravstvuyet Komandir Skarlett! Da zdravstvuyet Mars!" (All hail Commander Scarlett! All hail Mars!)

<><><><><>

General Grigory Styopa Romanov sat in his office, scowling at his terminal screen. His squadron of GR-88 fighters returned shot to hell. Those little missiles that the fighters of the McDivitt were shooting at his GR-88's were tearing up his fighters. He reviewed the tail numbers of the F-201s that they engaged, but they were all the same, the same nine ships over and over. And those huge Fighter/Bombers, they just appear with no warning on radar and shoot the hell out of a formation of his ships, then they disappear. Only one faint image of an FB-719 from a gun camera exists.

He typed away at the terminal and brought up specification on the 719, which said it had three cockpits, but little more could be found on the ship. The Marine corps was supposedly scrapping them, but Scarlett gathered them all up.

"Looking at the Marauder, Sir?" asked his aid-de-camp Vasili.

"Da. I cannot find reliable information on it."

"Look on August 13 of this year. Operation Krasnyy Zakhvat (Scarlet Capture)."

General Romanov remembered that operation. It was a failure that ended in the destruction of six ships and the loss of six flight officers. Then again, had any of the members of the team survived, they would have been spaced for such a failure. They had one objective: kill or capture Scarlett while he was being transported to Earth as a prisoner or medical patient. He brought that up on the terminal and all he found was that the FB-719 had a wingspan of over six meters wide when fully extended.

"Bah! I will have GRK investigate. Vat do you have for me Vasili?" Vasili stepped back to the General's office door and reached out and returned with a small plastic robot. "A toy?"

"Da. It vas Scarlett's toy. It was in storage compartment of his F-201 and wired into the ship's network."

"For what?"

Vasili shrugged. "The fellows in the computer lab went through the memory of this robot and all they found was chess."

At the sound of the word chess, Noxie lit up and said in its tiny electronic voice, "Kak naschet priyatnoy partii v shakhmaty?" (How about a nice game of chess?)

"It plays chess?"

"Da, both on helmet visor and on chess board." Vasili, a small, but confident man, drifted up to General Romanov's desk and placed Noxie on the desk and the robot's magnetic feet clung to the metal desktop. On the front corner of the spacious desk stood an ornamental board. The General was a chess fan and his greatest ambition was to beat a Martian at chess. Noxie studied the board, bent over, staring at it with his mechanical claw-like hand at his chin (if he had one). Vasili moved a pawn forward two spaces to open the game.

With slow, jerky movements, Noxie moved a pawn two spaces to counter Vasili's opening move. "The fellows in the computer lab say it's quite good, and is only programmed to consider three moves in advance."

"Was anything else found in the remains of the fighter?" asked Romanov as he got up to consider the chess board. He reached forward and moved another pawn. In response, Noxie moved his knight.

"Some scrap metal was found, brass. The engineers are trying to determine if it was battle damage or left from poor maintenance practices." What they had found was a pair of fifty caliber shell casings that were bent and crushed from when the gun was ejected.

"I want him here," said Romanov as he moved his bishop. "I vant Scarlett here. I vant him alive so I can strangle the life out of him with mine bare hands!" When Romanov said 'Scarlett' Noxie looked at the general and his ears flashed. Visitation Protocol was complete. Operation Bradbury Canal had started.

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

Martian Space, October 25, 2142

Operation Bradbury Canal

The NSS Zaqar had slipped off during a battle between the tremendous might of the Zheleznaya Koroleva and the dwindling forces of Convoy Echo Mike Zero One. It dashed for Mars with two FB-719s providing radar cover for the fast cargo carrier. It landed at Zhang Spaceport while the Martian night rotated Perseverance City away from the Zheleznaya Koroleva in case the Koroleva had long distance radar. It sat down next to the old Bedford-Lancia testing shelter where the ready to fly fighters sat waiting to launch. A waiting bus collected the passengers at the airtight walkway. They were civilians that needed to be removed from the battle. Among them was Ben Curtis.

The PUMC (President of the United Martian Colonies) sat staring at his hands, a broken man, even though the other passengers, along with NCIS Special Agent Melika Reeves, tried to cheer him. Melika knew what was wrong. Ben was a fighting man. He's fought for Mars, he fought to unite the remaining colonies, he's been fighting to get more water from Earth, he fought to save Alan from false charges in a Stalinist show trial. "Now that you're on Mars, what are you going to do when I resign my office?" he asked Melika.

"Simple," the Polynesian beauty said. "I'm going to seduce Ray Clark." When she got no reaction from him, she put her hand on his unshaven cheek and forced him to look at her. "Hey! I did not fall in love with the President of Mars. I fell in love with Ben Curtis. I'm going to love you whatever we end up doing. If we end up shooting whomp rats in speeders, so be it."

"Whomp rats?" Ben chuckled after thinking about it for a few moments.

"I saw it in an ancient movie. One of those old Sci Fi movies where spaceships turn corners like they're flying in atmosphere."

Ben frowned in anger. "I've never run away from a fight before... Alan looked so heartbroken when I told him about Smartie. He was utterly shattered."

"Who?"

"Smartie... it was his sister Christa's nickname; his mother gave it to her because she was so sharp as a child."

Melika felt something click into place. "Wait... Alan is Gogo?"

"Yeah, how did you know about Gogo?"

Melika said, "When we were in Korea, I was told to watch the personal ads in Mars Today for ads to or from Smartie or Gogo. Then, when I reported I met an Anglo named Dwayne Styles, all of NCIS went nuts and I was ordered to keep an eye on him. When he signed up to fly on the Maryborough I called in a favor so I could fly with him. When we weren't flying, I never found out where he went at night, but I found him every morning eating breakfast at a little joint in Chingu. The guy that ran the place made him read the personal ads in Mars Today." She paused. Something wasn't right. "What did you tell Alan about his sister?"

"I told him that she was targeted in that missile attack in North America. It was traced back to the Zheleznaya Koroleva. The crater the missile blew in what used to be her farm was named Lake Scarlett in her honor."

"Damn," whispered Melika. The bus was finally full, and they began the long ride across the open ramp toward the VIP Reception Center. "What is with all the bombers?"

"Huh?" Ben looked and saw there was a line of modified Mak-22 Barramundi Bombers and a series of spacemen were pushing one toward the cargo ramp of the NSS Zaqar. The bombers were painted a dark tan with a brown/red circle on the tail with two smaller brown/red circles, one on either side of the large circle. The large circle was crossed at a 45-degree angle by a wide gold stripe. In the stripe was the motto Ad Martem, Domum Dilectam (For Mars, Our Beloved Home) the Symbol of the Martian Defense Force. They also had two fifty caliber guns mounted under each stubby wing and a second pair of laser emitters mounted to either side of the cockpit.

"What the hell is Ray up to?"

The bus connected to the VIP terminal's pressurized walkway, and Ben waited until everyone was off the bus before he got up and lifted Melika in his arms like a child. Ben was a powerful man, but on Mars, Melika weighed only 45 pounds. "You don't have to carry me," demanded Melika.

"Yes I do, it's my fault you're laid up." Ben delayed getting in the escape pods, making sure that the pregnant girl was loaded safely and that they didn't have time to strap in when their pod was ejected, and Melika ended up with a fractured ankle. "We're going to get that ankle fixed immediately," he said as they walked up the pressurized walkway.

Four security agents surrounded Ben and Melika and escorted them to the Red House. The Red House was a two-story colonial-style house with double-hung windows and it was red with white trim and white shutters on each side of each window. As he entered, even though it was late at night, the entire staff was waiting and greeted him. "Good Evening mister president."

"Closer to morning, but same to you Rose. Is Doctor Kitchner in?"

"He's on call, sir," said Ben's tiny secretary, a short blond of indeterminate age. She had the bearing of someone with years of experience, but she had the energy of a ten-year-old.

"Tell him we need an orthopedic consult in the morning."

"Yes sir. Vice President Clark is waiting for you in your office."

"Thank you Rose," said Ben as he headed to the business wing of the first floor. As he got to his office door, there were two security guards blocking the door. "Boys, I'd like to read my mail."

"Sir, your office is top secret, cabinet fifty," said the larger of the two guards, and he gestured to Melika, who was still in President Curtis' arms.

"She's part of my security detail, get the door Marv."

"Yes sir," and the smaller of the two guards opened the office door. Inside the office, Ben set Melika down on a leather chair while Vice President Clark rose to greet them. "Ben! You look horrible."

"I feel horrible, but I'm back. What is with the cabinet fifty?"

Ray gestured behind Ben, who turned and saw a blond woman had sat down next to Melika. She had a young child on her lap and was talking to Melika. "Smartie?"

<><><><><>

Alan Scarlett was exhausted. They've been flying up to five sorties a day, and Alan has been learning to fly the Eastern Bloc Mak-22 and the GR-88. He liked the Mak-22; it was big and carried a lot of ordnance. He was told that Mars converted it to Western Alliance style bomb racks and missile launchers and they added gun pods and a second dual laser. He didn't like the GR-88; it was fast, but it was stiff and clunky, and didn't respond smoothly like the F-201, but he had to learn it, just enough to get back to the Zheleznaya Koroleva.

He had to stop Romanov; he couldn't allow that ship near Mars. Alan was sure Romanov had plans for Mars. He got back to his bunk and saw Noxie's ears flash when he recognized Alan. "Noxie, do you have a message for me?"

The little robot said, "Visitation Protocol complete. Start Bradbury Canal."

Alan went cold. It was real now. It was time to avenge Mom and Dad and Christa. Payback for Tasha and Hilde and Anna. He took a piece of paper from a drawer and wrote a quick signature on it, then put it in an envelope and wrote "Pandora" on the envelope and gave it to Noxie. "Give this to Pandora and give her that message. Thank you Noxie." He patted the little robot on the head and left.

He headed to Life Support and said, "Give me Spaceman Borisova's pressure suit." The petty officer working the check-out window found the suit and brought it to Alan, but Alan said, "No, his Eastern Bloc suit." Spaceman Borisova was one of the first Eastern Bloc refugees and he now worked in the maintenance shops, converting the GR-88 to Western Alliance standards.

"Are you sure sir?"

"Yes, suit, boots, gloves and helmet, and don't forget the oxygen."

The petty officer returned with the pressure suit, boots, gloves, helmet, and an Eastern Bloc "quicky" oxygen pack. "Why Spaceman Borisova's suit, sir?" Spaceman Borisova was the tallest spaceman the eastern block ever produced.

"Because it fits," said the tallest spaceman in the Martian Space Force. He took his ID card out of his wallet and gave his wallet to the petty officer and said, "Lock this up for me," which was a common request. He put his ID card in the left sleeve pocket of the pressure suit, then pulled all the patches and name tags off the pressure suit and gave them to the Life Support petty officer also, then he pulled the pressure suit on over his flight suit.

He then floated into the pressurized maintenance hangar. "What do you have that flies for me Chief?" he called out to the Chief of Maintenance. "I need a Russian bird." Their fleet of GR-88 Ferret fighters was up to sixteen. They had six Mak-22 Barramundi bombers, which were converted to gunships. The dual feed laser emitters removed from the F-201s were installed on the Mac-22, which already had dual lasers. They added two fifty-caliber machine guns in pods hanging from the bomb racks and rechristened it the A-222 Shadow gunship.

"I have an A-222, just finished the conversion and it needs a shake-down ride."

"I'll take it, let me get my things." With that Alan floated over to the Fabrication section, where he found CPO Sharkey hollering at a young spaceman. "Chief! When you're done abusing my spaceman, I need those items I requested."

"It's about fucking time!" Then Sharkey realized it was the commander. "Uh, sir. It's about fucking time sir." He looked around, then said in a harsh whisper, "Those damn things could blow us all up! Just one could vent this entire fucking compartment to space!"

"That's why I trusted them to you, chief. I knew you could do it safely and correctly."

Sharkey opened a paint locker and pulled out a box that contained dome shaped devices. "The white ones are the cutting charges, the red ones are the pranks, and there's the roll of det cord."

"Perfect. You may have saved Mars chief," said Alan as he transferred the devices to a canvas bag and padded them with shop rags.

"Is that safe?" asked Chief Petty Officer Sharkey.

Alan looked him straight in the eye and said, "I hope to God they're not." And with that, he floated out of the work area with his sack of explosives and went to the large air lock where they were moving the A-222 out to the flight deck. One of the spacemen said, "Why did they call this thing an A-222?"

"Simple," said Alan. "Two lasers, two guns, and two more lasers. It's the perfect attack craft." He put on his Eastern Bloc helmet and was impressed at how it sealed so easily to the horse collar. It just pressed into place and provided a perfect seal. It even rotated as Alan turned his head. It was a much better design than the Western suits. He helped push the Russian-made ship into the big air lock and as the air lock cycled, he placed his cargo in the rear cockpit and secured it with straps.

Soon it was in a parking spot, and the walk around inspection was done. "Ok, we're running late. I need to go," said Alan to the plane captain. He was feeling nervous and nauseous. He didn't want to go; he didn't want to die. Not now that he found love... it's not fair. But there were a million people depending on him, so he had to go. It's what you do when you pledge your life to defend your home world.

He turned to the plane captain, who saw the sorrow in Alan's eyes. "Thanks for everything," and Alan shook the plane captain's hand. "You and your men have made me proud. It's been an honor and a privilege to be your commander." He turned to get in the cockpit and said, "Oh. If a tall red-head Marine captain named Vermillion comes looking for me, tell her there's a document in my quarters for her."

"Yes, sir," said the crew chief, who helped strap in Alan. The Eastern Bloc didn't have magnetic restraints. They used old-fashioned nylon web belts.

"Spaceboss this is Berserker test flight four two hyphen three zero three alpha."

"Go ahead three oh three alpha."

"I am ready to launch," said Alan as he completed the handwritten checklist.

"Three oh three alpha, we don't have an ETR on your flight plan." An ETR is an estimated time of return.

"Ah, roger space boss. This is a post modification shake-down. I hear they're fun to fly if everything works correctly but they're a bear if they don't. Let's leave that open, I don't want to record a late return due to pilot familiarization."

"Roger Three oh three alpha, have a pleasant flight." The A-222 started moving to the hangar door, driven by the underfloor magnetic taxi system.

<><><><><>

Captain Pandora Vermillion eased the scooter into the landing bay of the NSS McDivitt and found a storage spot for it between two F-201s that were shot up pretty badly and waiting for their turn in the maintenance hangar. Next to them was a cockpit that had been ejected from an F-201. It had Alan and Anna Fisher's names painted on it, a grim reminder that this wasn't a game.

Her metallic feet clanking soundlessly on the magnetic deck, Pandora walked to the hangar personnel airlock. She walked instead of floated, because she could. Walking was nearly impossible on the bombers. The overhead was so low; it was easiest and safest to float horizontally so when she could walk, Pandora walked.

When she entered the maintenance bay, she took off her helmet and her brilliant red locks cascaded out and fluffed out around her head. She took off her gloves and put them in her floating helmet, then with a few elastic bands, she expertly crafted her crimson hair into a long ponytail. As she walked into the maintenance area, a plane captain came in from the launch deck and spotted the redhead in the black Marine pressure suit. He walked up to her, and she was indeed tall. "May I help you ma'am?"

"I'm looking for Commander Scarlett. Is he flying? I heard he was down here today." Alan spent a lot of time helping Mae Jemison, his Deputy Commander for Maintenance, with repairing battle worn fighters. It was best to start looking for him down here.

"He just took off ma'am. Testing out a rebuilt fighter."

"Who is flying with him?" She was hoping Anna Fisher went to keep an eye on him.

"No one, ma'am. He had a duffel bag full of items, I thought it was just parts and stuff to simulate mass."

"Mass my ass," shouted CPO Sharkey. "That was fucking high explosive devices."

"What?"

"Yeah. His first fucking day on the ship he comes down and he gives me deez plans for a type of fucking limpet mine he designed," said CPO Sharkey. "Fucking things will blow a hole through the moon. He never said it was fucking classified or nothing so if he don't like me tellin' ya, fuck him."

"Thank you, chief," said the plane captain with undisguised sarcasm. He looked up the flying schedule to find the flight he just launched. "There it is, mission 42303A, Lieutenant Commander Scarlett, no RIO required." The chief looked at the flight details, then said, "No ETR designated."

"I fuckin' told you!" spouted CPO Sharkey. "Best fucking commander we got and he takes off to do somethin' fucking crazy. That's always the way. The good ones go get themselves fucking blown up, and it's the puny punks that stay around and get under your jock strap." He stormed off in a cloud of obscenities, shouting at any low-ranking spaceman that got in his way.

The plane captain saw the look of horror in her eyes. The redhead was battling to keep her emotions under control and was close to losing the fight. "Ma'am, before he left he said, 'tell Captain Vermillion there's a document for her in my quarters.'"

"Thank you," she said with a gasp and headed over to the Up tube and pulled herself all the way to the top deck where Alan's quarters were located. She drifted into his room and saw nothing out of the usual except Noxie was holding an envelope against his body. He turned and saw Pandora and his eyes flashed twice and he said, "Hello love."

Pandora calmed herself. He was just going on a test flight, with a gunny sack full of limpet mines, in an enemy fighter. Fighting to hold back the tears, she said, "Do you have a message for me Noxie?"

The little robot bowed slightly at the waist twice, which was his method of nodding yes.

"Let me have the message Noxie."

The little robot looked at Pandora and said, "I love you truly." He raised his little plastic arms, and the envelope floated toward the open doorway. Anna Fisher appeared in the doorway. She had heard Noxie's message for Pandora and she entered Paul's quarters through the open door. "Sounds like Noxie likes you." The little brunette looked at the envelope and said, "Gotta keep an eye out for floating rubbish. Oh, this hasn't been opened yet." She handed the envelope to Pandora, whose hands were shaking. "What's wrong?"

"Alan left."

"He better not have left," said Anna angrily. "We've been flying all day and we're on alert tomorrow."

Pandora's hands were shaking so badly that she couldn't open the envelope. "Read it for me," she said, handing it back to Anna.

"Ok, ok." Anna carefully opened the flimsy envelope and pulled out an actual sheet of paper. There were words written on it in actual cursive with a real ballpoint. She looked at the page and gave a little gasp. "This isn't for me to see," said Anna as she folded up the page. "It's a poem he wrote for you."

"Please read it to me," said Pandora. "I'm..." she took a painful swallow and said, "I'm afraid."

Anna unfolded the page, and with tear-filled eyes, she began to read.

In twilight's silent hour, when dreams begin to fade,

My heart laments the past, our plans all left unmade.

Our love once full of hope, now shadows on the breeze,

Is lost to time's cruel hand, as whispers in the trees.

The echo of your voice, a lovely tender sound,

Resides within my soul, where our hearts are still bound.

A fleeting chance we missed, now veiled in sorrow's shade,

A vision of a life, that destiny betrayed.

Though death's shadow looms near, duty calls me to fight,

In service I must stand, through the darkness of night.

My heart's burden to bear, with each tear left behind,

For honor and for love, I'll face fate unaligned.

Do not weep for my soul, for it soars in the sky,

In each dawn's gentle glow, in each whispering sigh.

Remember me with joy, not a tear in your eye,

My love for you remains, though now in peace I lie.

<><><><><>

"Mae, where's your boss?" asked Captain Tremblay. It was time for the afternoon status meeting with his team, and the top flier wasn't there. Since Alan Scarlett's deputy commander is on assignment, the meeting should be attended by his Deputy Commander for Maintenance, Mae Jemison, but she's not there either. Alan's wingman attended the meeting to take notes.

Lieutenant Bruce Peake shrugged. "He was here this afternoon. I was flying in his formation when that last bunch of Ferrets came roaring down our throats."

"I have two flying squadrons on board, one commander a marine and one commander is AWOL," complained Captain Tremblay. The phone rang in the conference room, and he snarled, "Now what?" He picked up the phone and tried to sound professional. "Captain Tremblay."

"Sir, we need you in Commander Scarlett's quarters," said Mae Jemison.

"Be right there," said Rene. He had heard crying in the background. Did Scarlett whack himself? Did he push himself too hard? He was in Scarlett's room in moments, and he found Anna Fisher and Pandora Vermillion clutching each other, shivering in tears. They were floating up by the overhead where Alan set his sleeping bag. Mae Jemison wasn't looking too good herself. Rene looked at Noxie, whose eyes were now red. Alan had warned him about Noxie and told him that red eyes meant that Operation Bradbury Canal was underway.

Mae handed Rene a sheet of actual paper and said, "He left this for Pandora."

Rene Tremblay glanced at the paper. He's not a fan of poetry, but he has never seen a better pre-departure goodbye letter. He knows the heartbreak of women and men whose lover just went off on a one-way mission. He's seen it too often. However, Pandora is a marine; this should be easier than most. "Captain Vermillion! Front and center." He said that in a voice that left no doubt in Mae's mind that he's dealt with marines before.

Pandora straightened out and lowered her feet to the floor. "Sir," she said in a trembling voice.

"Captain, this is one of the hardest things we can ask a marine to do; to standby and not get in the way. Commander Scarlett has a mission that he designed that can end this entire melee. I cannot give you any details, but he needs you to make this mission a success."

"Me?"

"Yes ma'am. I don't know what your part of the plan is, but Colonel Marquette will brief you when you get back to the Arcturus." He folded up the poem and handed it to Pandora. "I'm sure he has a more interesting poem written for his return."

"He had better," said a confused Pandora.

<><><><><>

After leaving the McDivitt, Alan traveled straight "up" on the ecliptic plane. A careful study of the emission pattern of the Zheleznaya Koroleva showed their antennas were all pointed at the convoy. Their main radar swept up and down the length of the convoy. He paused behind the McDivitt and when the radar sweep had moved to the end of the convoy, he opened the throttles. He shot straight up for hundreds of miles, far above the radar sweep, then rolled over on his back heading "West" on the ecliptic plane until he made his rendezvous with one of the most sophisticated spacecraft in the Western Alliance Navy, the heavy bomber NSS Pollux.

The Pollux's weapons system was not upgraded to carry the newer missiles, and she didn't have offensive laser capabilities, but her electronic warfare systems were superior to the newer bombers, and the Pollux attracted the very best Electronic Warfare Officers. As he approached the Pollux, he clicked his microphone three times, which was answered by two clicks from the Pollux. He gave the countersign by blowing on the microphone and opening the mic for about a second, creating a weird sound that would easily be mistaken for static. When he did that, the Pollux's forward bomb bay doors opened up, and he carefully eased the fighter into the gaping maw of the bomb bay, which was crowded with scooters and jeeps.

When the doors closed under him, he lowered his A-222 onto the doors and secured it with the magnetic landing gear and shut down all systems, then he opened the canopy and drifted up to the bomb bay air lock. After entering and cycling the airlock, the inner door was opened for him and he called out, "Permission to come aboard?"

"Granted, welcome aboard Commander," said a Marine Lieutenant Colonel, who shook his hand. "Welcome to the Pollux, I'm the executive officer Xander Rigby, the operations briefing will start in about five minutes."

"Briefing? I thought we had the plan settled," said Alan as Xander led him through crowded passageways aft to the "Captains Apartment."

"Ever since Mars got involved, the plan has changed," said Xander as he opened the hatch for the captain's apartment.

"Mars? What?" asked Alan as he looked and the big open space meant for storage was filled with Marines.

"You're not going to be alone," said a Marine Colonel. He extended his hand to Alan. "Hartman Rabb, Commander NSS Pollux."

"Alan Scarlett, Commander Forty-Third IFS." As they shook hands Alan said, "Hartman, do I call you Hart?"

"Lieutenant Commander, you can call me 'Sir.'"

"Ooo Rah, sir."

"Relax spaceman. President Curtis sent this for you," he handed Alan an envelope. "Ok, let's get this briefing underway..." He began briefing the marines on setting thermite charges while Alan set out mis-direction prank explosives to keep the "damn rooskies" looking the other way. "Mister Scarlett, are we boring you?"

"No, sir. It's just... I've heard of these, I don't believe..." Alan sputtered in shock as he read the document that President Benjamin Curtis sent via radio-fax.

"It's a letter of marque," said Colonel Hartman Rabb. "Is there a problem commander?"

"This mean... I'm... I'm a pirate?" gasped Alan in astonishment.

Colonel Rabb merely grinned and growled, "Yarrr there me mateys! Thar be a scallywag in our midst! What do we say then?"

The marines shouted, "Shiver me timbers!" then broke down into laughter. Although Alan was younger and out ranked the marines, he suddenly felt like he was among peers and this stupid, crazy plan was going to work.

"How long have you rapscallions been practicing that?" asked Alan, which caused more roars of laughter. Alan felt a rush of relief. If he dies in this operation, he won't be alone. It felt so good to be among the troops.

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

Armstrong Station, October 26, 2142

Intel Failure

Captain Walter Schirra stared at the most recent dispatch from convoy, Echo Mike Zero One. The convoy was coasting and drifting off target. The wreckage from the RSS Garuda, which had broken up, was pelting the ships as they flew through the cloud of debris. The Arcturus had some major damage to its radar absorbent skin; the McDivitt lost two engines and several stability thrusters, along with a lot of damage to the skin. Luckily, most of the damage was confined to the fighter parking areas in segment B and D and no pressurized compartment was breeched. Several fighters were lost in the fighting, one crew that ejected was not recovered for days after. The NSS O'Bannon took most of the punishment and the entire convoy, with one exception, slowed to stay with the O'Bannon.

Walter was angry. He should be there helping Alan, especially now that they were in Martian space and the Zheleznaya Koroleva was getting desperate. The O'Bannon has no directional control and was off course. The convoy will have to abandon the O'Bannon, but it appeared to long distance radar that the convoy and the Zheleznaya Koroleva are now on converging courses.

Injuries and damaged spacecraft were piling up. Walter knew that this was part of the story. Fighters exhausted from being slammed around in their cockpits pulling Gs as they swing around to shoot, exhausted trying to land after the fourth or fifth mission of the day. He should be out there with his troops, but instead he's in the rear with two new squadrons that are being trained at Armstrong Station and he was tiring of listening to new fliers whine and bitch about a two sortie a day training schedule.

Walter rose and looked out his window and in the distance he could make out the NSS Deadeye, a training ship with a single landing deck and a takeoff deck. It was a simulated spacecraft carrier. Perched atop it was a small command tower where evaluators could score the approaches and landings. The new squadrons were coming along, but they were slow.

Foremost on his mind was the question of when is that third Eastern Bloc mystery ship going to make its move? And why isn't the Zheleznaya Koroleva moving toward the Gorod Moskva like they had expected? Just then, as he was in deepest concentration, Estelle knocked on his door. "I have an Ensign Baxter who needs to speak to you."

Jeezuz, an ensign. Nothing derails a train of thought like a junior officer. "Tell him I'm busy," said Wally without turning around. He immediately knew that was the wrong thing to do.

"Sir, General Sizemore sent me. He requests your presence in the CinC."

"Thank you ensign." Wally turned around and saw the ensign. Christ on a Crutch! The seventeen-year-old kid who took Pandora's twin sister to her high school prom looked older than this kid. "Is that all ensign?"

"No sir. He said Alpha Message."

Alpha! Nobody has heard from Alpha for weeks. There is a rumor that Alpha was killed when SK Station went off the air. Nobody knows who Alpha was or where Alpha worked from, but the silence of Alpha after mysterious SK station went silent was too coincidental. Walt didn't believe in coincidences, but if he looked back on his life, he was driven to this point by coincidences.

Walt Schirra was a lonely lieutenant assigned to the Luna Tercera colony to study the feasibility of a Naval Fighter Outpost there. He needed a yeoman to help with the mountain of paperwork. Coincidentally, he was secretly under investigation by the NCIS because one of his supervisors was a suspect in a smuggling ring. The NCIS agent that was placed in his office undercover as a yeoman was Cerise Sanguine, who fell in love with Wally, married him under her birth name Estelle, and became a solid boost to his career. A pair of twin girls three years later was a bonus that made Wally's life complete.

Years ago, Commander Walter Schirra was Squadron Commander of the 61st Interplanetary Fighter Squadron on the NSS Daedalus. They were in orbit around Venus and had the entire squadron out on proficiency flights. They were about to be jumped by a squadron of Eastern Bloc GR-16 Fishbelly Fighters at the same time as a massive solar flare swept through, killing every Eastern Bloc pilot before they could spring their ambush. The GR-16 was the last Eastern Bloc fighter to be built without extra cosmic ray shielding and that was the last squadron of GR-16 fighters flying, a coincidence that saved Walter Schirra's life.

As head of training, he was desperate for a young commander. Somebody who could wield authority from the word go, fly like a hawk, and adds life and vigor to lackadaisical fighting units. Was it coincidence that a Martian, Alan Scarlett, walked into his office just a few weeks before the Scarlett Virus became a threat to humanity?

Walter gathered up all his paperwork and headed to the Combat Information Center up on the Mars Ring of the big wagon wheel space station. Estelle was with him. As NCIS regional director, she was privy to Alpha messages also, so she hurried along with him, her large, round breasts jiggling merrily under her silk blouse as they fast walked to the nearest elevator.

They rode in silence, but the same thing was on their mind - Alpha is back? Where did Alpha go? They dared not discuss their suspicions, not in a public elevator. Soon they were at the CinC door where their ID was verified with card, fingerprint, retinal scan, and code word before they were allowed inside. In the dark, quiet room, spacemen were wearing headsets and speaking softly into microphones, plexigraph boards with softly glowing words and figures were updated as information came in. General Oakley Sizemore, commander of all Naval, Army, Space Force, Air Force, and Marine units in solar orbit, sat in a seat behind an elevated desk and he glared at the main board in front of him. "Are we all here?" the big general rumbled.

"All are present," said his yeoman, a small, bored looking Asian woman in a Space Force uniform.

"Gentlemen, ladies. We are screwed," said the General. "I've got one fucking commander I can count on to motivate his troops to get the job done. Just one!" He glared at the command staff in front of him. "If you cannot cause in any way a rise in motivation among your troops, to the level where we will not be blown to shit by any threat, heads will roll. That is a promise." He paused for a long time to let his words sink in. He pressed a button, and the room went darker and the main plexigraph board glowed brighter. "Do it, Smedley."

His yeoman, that he nicknamed "Smedley" for some reason, took a pointer and went up to the main plexigraph board to brief the assembled officers. "Intelligence from multiple sources has confirmed that the Gorod Moskva is uncrewed and drifting toward Earth. It will enter the Earth/Luna system in six hundred thirty-two days. Confirmed reports say that the crew revolted and the ship's commander released a variant of the Scarlett virus in the ship killing the entire crew."

"I want this thing vaporized ASAP," said General Sizemore. "Captain Stires, Captain Voeller, Captain Parson, I want each of you to put a plan on my desk tomorrow at ten AM telling me how your unit will accomplish the mission."

"Sir, I can..." started Wally, but the general shut him down.

"Captain Schirra, you have enough on your plate right now. Show them Smedley."

Petty Officer Kazuko Hayashi, also known as Smedley to the general, moved the focus of the plexigraph board to Mars. "Convoy Echo Michael Zero One should have arrived at Mars three days ago, instead it is slowed by damage to the NSS O'Bannon, a Northumberland class destroyer. The Zheleznaya Koroleva remains a dangerous threat to the convoy and to Mars. They are out of food and riots in the Koroleva are not unusual. The commanding officer, General Slobodan Romanov is not responding to orders to stand down. He announced that his intention is to destroy the entire convoy, which he believes is a military task force, then place all Martian colonies under bombardment."

"Gentlemen, we have a madman in charge of one of the largest combat weapons ever built," said General Sizemore. "He launched missiles at North Central North America. He destroyed the RSS Garuda to kill the Martian President. He's now trying to destroy the NSS McDivitt, and when he's done, he's going after Mars. The remains of the McDivitt's flying wing are all that stand between Mars and General Romanov. The forty-third is down to flying captured Eastern Bloc ships they souped up and the 429th ECS is proving that canceling the FB-719 was idiotic. Yes, Schirra, out with it."

Walter was boiling mad, and he let fly with a tirade. "God damn it! If we had better intelligence, I'd have two carriers with three fighter squadrons on that convoy and we'd be done with that nonsense. Instead, while most of our forces are standing around with their thumbs up their asses, I have my men running around catching everyone Romanov spaces and flying Eastern Bloc junk because my ships are worn out and shot to hell!" Wally realized that he may have ended his career with that outburst. "I apologize sir..."

"Apologize shit! You said what needed to be said. For that you get to stay after class. The rest of you dismissed." After the other officers left, General Sizemore lit his cigar and said, "You were absolutely right. Our intelligence let us down big time. We have gangrene in the intel community. Dead meat. It's got to be cut away, so I've ordered a cleansing of the intel community. They got too many lazy bodies sucking on the government teat." He looked at a report and said, "Why are we wasting time picking up dead bodies? Twenty three spaced Russians?"

"They're not dead sir; he throws them out in a pressure suit with oxygen and leaves them to kill themselves by opening their helmet. We've collected twenty three new residents of Mars."

"Dear gawd," groaned the General. Then he took a flimsy document that he had in a folder and gave it to Wally to read.

"Bradbury Canal? What does that mean?"

"It's where his parents died," whispered Estelle, who was holding him close and reading along with Wally.

"Oh... right." Wally reviewed the plan and said, "It's dangerous, it's damn near suicidal, it probably won't work."

"Can your boy do it?" asked General Sizemore.

"It's insane! He'll get himself killed."

"I didn't ask for a review of the plan's weaknesses and strong points, I asked, can your boy do it?"

"Yeah," Wally sighed. Estelle sniffed as she read the plan. "Yeah, he'll get his ass killed in the process, but he can do it."

"I'm glad you agree. I've already sent the go code. Only one question remains. How good a shot is your daughter?"

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

NSS Arcturus, October 27, 2142

All Systems Are Go

Captain Pandora Vermillion peered into the telescopic sighting scope of her LCU-117 long distance high power laser cannon. "Nope, I don't see anything, not yet... wait. There, by the lower edge of the door."

Marine Colonel John Marquette peered over her shoulder at the display screen above her sight, and it showed exactly what she was seeing. They were peering through a high power electronic telescope that was linked to the LCU-117. The huge Zheleznaya Koroleva was sitting with all of her hangar doors raised open as usual so it could launch or recover without waiting for the doors to open. It had just launched ten fighters toward the McDivitt's five remaining F-201 fighters. Two-thirds of Alan's squadron had been shot up and he was holding back on using the captured GR-88 Ferret Fighters until their IFF (Identification Friend or Foe) transmitter could be programmed to reply as a friend to Western Alliance queries. "What are you seeing, Red?"

"Here," she zoomed in to the lower edge of the door and in the gloom, Colonel Marquette saw a marine in a dark pressure suit placing something in the lower aft corner of the open door, then he turned around and stuck something in the lower forward corner of the next open door then disappeared underneath the belly of the massive ship.

"Now he's got to get them to close their doors," said Colonel Marquette.

"What is that guy doing?" whispered Pandora as she scanned the command structure atop the huge main body of the ship. There was somebody walking on the side of the ship. He was walking on the forward wall of the command structure, his body sticking straight out horizontally as he walked on the wall with magnetic boots. In one hand, he was carrying a canvas duffle bag. In the other hand, he carried something that he kept looking at like a compass. Finally, he stopped below the bridge and stood studying the wall.

"It's Commander Scarlett. He's studying the rivet pattern," said Colonel Marquette, who was recently read into the plan. Then something swam into view. "Scooter," said the ship's commander.

"Got it," said Pandora. There were two Eastern Bloc spacemen on a scooter approaching Alan. Both had hand laser pistols out and were approaching him.

"Why aren't they shooting?" asked Marcy.

"He's wearing an Eastern Bloc pressure suit," said Colonel Marquette. "He's not wearing any patches that say he's a member of any Eastern Bloc force, and he has his ID card with him so they shouldn't shoot him for being a spy."

"You two are not helping," said Pandora as she prepared to kill a man for the first time in her life. She's shot ships, and maybe people died, but she never targeted a person, until now. The screen went into targeting mode with a white circle in the middle of the screen. Pandora turned a dial which focused the laser's beam, making the circle smaller until it only covered a small portion of the approaching Eastern Bloc spaceman's chest.

"They mean business Honey," said the radio operator Marcy Dunlop, who was listening to the radio chatter.

There were two audible clicks in the electronics of the warfare cabin as Pandora took her shots. Instantly, the two spacemen went limp in their scooter. Each was shot with a high power laser through the heart. Their magnetic boots held them in place as their scooter bumped the wall next to Alan. Both spacemen had drawn their hand lasers, which Alan noticed and grabbed the guns before they could float off. Then he crouched and went to work. He took six white dome shaped objects and stuck them magnetically in a large rectangular pattern on the wall. Then he took a spool of detonation cord, a fuse that burns at 22,000 feet per second and connected each dome in the rectangle, then he took the device he had used as a compass and attached it to the det cord rectangle.

According to the plan John Marquette read, the device he used as a detonator was made from the main computation device taken from a toy robot. The detonator would synchronize with any other Noxie robot in the vicinity. The Marine colonel didn't believe it, but then he didn't know of Alan Scarlett's skill with programming his Noxie.

Leading the scooter with two dead spacemen with one hand, he walked down the wall of the command structure until he reached the main body of the ship. There, in the command structure's shadow, he parked the scooter with its magnetic landing gear to the body of the ship. He removed the two dead spacemen and stuck their magnetic boots to the ship, then he stepped on the scooter and drove it out of the shadow of the command structure where Pandora could see him clearly.

Alan flew out beyond the edge of an open hangar door where Pandora could see him waving to her. He held his hand up with the thumb, index finger, and little finger extended, then he pressed his gloved palm to his face plate, then he extended his hand out. "What was that?" gasped a now confused Pandora.

"He blew you a kiss honey," said Marcy Dunlap.

Colonel Marquette leaned in close and whispered in her ear, "He said, 'I love you' in sign language."

Pandora shuddered, holding back confused tears. She never got to say goodbye. He just disappeared, but now as he began an operation there's no chance of coming back from, he said "I love you." She watched as the scooter lowered and disappeared under the hangar door as he entered the hangar. "What do I do now?" she asked helplessly, asking nobody in particular.

"We wait," said Colonel Marquette.

"For what? How long?" Pandora tried to keep the desperation out of her voice, but it wasn't working.

"Keep your eye on the hangar bay doors," said her commander, and he left the warfare suite. "Inform me over the PA the moment you see them close. In the meantime, get your rotary launcher set up with antiship missiles."

<><><><><>

Alan Scarlett used a control processor from a Noxie robot like a compass as he walked around on the command structure of the giant ship. He was told roughly where General Romanov's office was and he was sure his Noxie was in there. He had found in a magazine article how Noxies can look for each other and he used the control processor to find the Noxie that he programmed to speak some Russian and allow General Romanov to win at chess occasionally. Alan was sure that would make it Romanov's favorite acquisition, and he was right.

He found Noxie. It was right "under" his feet on the other side of the bulkhead and not far away. Maybe five feet at the most. From the number of main struts, he could almost see the dimension of the room Noxie was in. Just then, a scooter containing two spacemen bumped the wall next to him. He was startled and thought he was going to get captured or killed, but nothing happened. He looked and was shocked to see that both spacemen were dead. A hole was shot through the thoracic cage of each one, burning through the heart and lungs and cauterizing the veins and arteries closed. It was like a cartoon where a character gets a cannon ball shot through them and you can see through the hole. Both spacemen released their hand lasers and Alan grabbed the guns before they drifted off. He had never seen a Tochny Vystrel PBM-156 Laser Pistol before, and he wanted to play with them when they got to Mars. Maybe shoot a few Eastern Bloc mining drones.

He got to work and calculated the size of the blast he wanted, then began placing the limpet mines which clung to the skin of the command structure magnetically. He had to place them carefully because with the neodymium magnets, the limpet mines clung to the steel just as voraciously as their patelliform brothers in the ocean cling to rocks. He laid them out in a rectangle, then took the spool of det cord and strung it from mine to mine, attaching the Noxie control processor to the det cord. These limpet mines aren't powerful enough to do any serious damage, no matter what CPO Sharkey said, but with fifteen pounds per square inch of air pressure inside the office, they should pop a nice size hole in the superstructure.

Then it was time to go.

He tugged the scooter along with him as he walked 'down' the face of the command structure. When he got to the main frame of the hull, he locked the scooter to the hull, released the magnetic boots of the two dead spacemen and magnetically attached them to the hull in the command structure's shadow, where they wouldn't be seen. They'll probably stay there until the batteries in their suits wear out and release the electromagnets in their boot soles. He stepped on the scooter and purred out into the sunlight. He looked off into the distance. He knew Pandora was there, about 200 miles away, watching him in her spotter scope.

Alan knew a little bit of sign language and tried to sign the letter P, but it was impossible in these clumsy gloves, but holding his hand up and giving the I Love You sign was easy. If she missed that, he blew her a kiss. Then, with an aching heart, he lowered the scooter down. Damn it. Just when he found somebody that he felt he had a future with, now this. Alan was sure that IF he survived, he was going to be horribly injured, disfigured, crippled. Alan had heard stories of the tortures the Eastern Bloc put captured spies through, and General Romanov was the worse. The man was sick. If it wasn't Mars that was under threat, Alan was sure he would tell Captain Schirra "get somebody else."

Alan drove images of torture out of his head, set his jaw, and eased the scooter into an open hangar. He flew over a parked GR-88 Ferret and eased the scooter down on the hangar deck next to a few other scooters and headed off with several "Pranks" in his canvas duffle bag. Nobody seemed to notice him attaching the limpet mines here and there to the steel floor of the maintenance hangar, and when he was done, all he had left in his canvas sack was a pair of laser pistols. He stashed the bag and the guns in an empty locker and walked into the airlock.

It took him a while to figure out the air lock controls, even though he had been briefed by several Eastern Bloc escapees, but soon he was in the pressurized command structure and heading up. There were no long distance up and down tubes like on the McDivitt. There was just a hole in the deck above and he released his magnetic boots and gently bounced up to the next level. For several floors, he would go up a level, wander up and down the hall until he found another hatch and went up to repeat the process.

He knew he was getting close; the halls looked more businesslike, possibly even luxurious. Alan looked around. There were signs everywhere, but he couldn't understand the cyrillic alphabet or the Russian language. For the first time, he understood the pain of illiteracy. However, the numbers were Hindu-Arabic, same as Mars and the Western Alliance, and he roughly guessed that he had to go up two more floors.

He went up one more floor and was met by a large, ugly, man shaped thing with a horribly broken nose and a cauliflower ear that shouted, "Ostanovit!" which Alan understood to mean "Halt." Alan shrugged his shoulders, palms up indicating he didn't understand, but the huge bruiser spat out a steady stream of guttural syllables liberally sprinkled with sharp-edged consonants and painful sounding vowels.

Alan tried the phrase that took him far too long to learn how to say: "Menya zovut Alan Skarlett. Otvedite menya k Generalu Romanovu." (I am Alan Scarlett, take me to General Romanov.)

The big guard sneered and took a swing at Alan, but he was prepared. Hilde Marks had taught him well the art of weightless kickboxing. He kicked off, avoided the swing, planted a foot on the wall and spun hard, kicking the monster on the side of the head. If the Incredible Bulk didn't have magnetic shoes, he would have gone down. It was a good, solid hit. Against all odds, the beast straightened up, rubbed his jaw, and grinned at Alan.

"Oh shit," groaned Alan. Just his luck to find a mouth breather that enjoyed getting hit. Alan snapped his helmet's face plate closed and kicked off the wall, soaring at the beast at full speed. He clasped his hands around the man-mountain's wrist and continued to swing past, getting an extra kick off an exposed pipe in the overhead. He swung his hips, increasing the momentum, and it should have ripped the guy's shoulder out of the socket. Instead, Gigantor hauled Alan back at him like a yo-yo wearing a spacesuit.

The shaved Yeti's fist missed Alan's face and connected with his shoulder, the left shoulder that's been shot and stabbed. Alan had never been hit so hard by anything like that in his life, he almost blacked out from the pain of a punch in the shoulder and he realized this monster could seriously injure him. Sometimes the better part of valor is getting the hell out of there, and Alan took off up the corridor like a shot.

He was able to keep away from Sasquatch II, who was clomping along the steel floor like Frankenstein's monster. Eastern Bloc ships don't use Velcro carpet and boots, all floors are steel, and all shoes are electromagnetic. Alan had the electromagnets in his boots shut off and was bouncing from side to side of the hallway, avoiding the Jolly Mean Giant as it lurched after him. Then he saw the hole leading up and shot for it. He hit the floor below the hatch and launched himself up, only to be clubbed on the head by a fist the size of a refrigerator. The hit rang his helmet like a bell and drove him back down into the arms of Frankenstein-ski.

The enormous monster from the upper floor came down and joined in on the fun and helped Frankenstein-ski beat the living hell out of Alan. Besides his helmet, another saving grace was that he was wearing a full size oxygen system so there were no kidney punches. But what they lacked in kidney punches, they made up for in knees to the groin and punches that cracked ribs. They were able to open his face plate and punch his face before he could close the faceplate again. They beat him all the way to General Romanov's office and only stopped when Romanov saved Alan's life by saying, "S nego khvatit, rebyata." (He's had enough, boys.)

"Mister Scarlett, you are, if I'm not mistaken, the last Scarlett. How does it feel to be the last Scarlett?"

"What about my sister?"

There was a maniacal giggle, and Romanov sighed. "Silly commander. Don't you read the news? Her farm and her entire university is gone! Two little missiles and poof! Gone! I have ten more missiles left, one for Perseverance City, one for Bradbury Canal and eight more for any place that you've ever been."

Giggle? The general giggled? Alan peered through swelling eyes at General Slobodan Romanov. Five minutes ago, Alan had expected an old school general, scarred and snarling, broken nose, tiny pig eyes, and steel teeth. Instead, he had a horribly soft, pampered look about him. Black hair that was coiffed perfectly, light blue eyes, tiny nose, a perfect smile, and a small, rounded chin. He wasn't just handsome; he was cute. Alan now believed all the rumors about General Romanov being General Chang's bitch.

The office had the look of a high-end country club smoking room, with dark walnut paneling and shelves covered with trophies. Most of them for tennis and field hockey. An enormous walnut desk sat in the middle of the room with a very, very special office chair. On the desk, Noxie pondered an antique ornamental chess board. If Alan was right, one set of figures was cast in silver and the other in gold. Several large monitors covered the walls. Some were showing the hangar deck, some showing the engineering compartment, one was showing a shower room.

"Nice office," wheezed Alan through aching ribs. "Do you enjoy living in luxury while your people starve?" If there was gravity, he would slump to the floor. He had to keep sniffing back the blood in his nose from several solid punches through an open faceplate.

"I think to celebrate this glorious victory; I will wipe out your carrier task force before I go to bomb Mars. You have what, maybe five Star Strikers left Mister Scarlett? Four?"

"Something like that," said Alan weakly.

General Romanov smirked and picked up the phone and shouted, "Polozhit' konets vsemu etomu!" (End it all) After hanging up, he grinned, "There. In two minutes, all of my fighters will launch to slaughter your remaining forces."

"I require my guys to be airborne in one minute," said Alan.

"Would you like to watch?" asked Romanov, and he turned a knob on his desk and except for the TV showing the gymnasium washroom, all the televideos showed scenes of the hangar deck where Alan could see the fighters launching out of the huge hangar complex.

"That's a nice office chair," said Alan, ignoring the televideos. "Isn't that a German design with blowout protection? It must have cost a fortune." The Steelcase-Rauch Safetymax chair cost more than the average personal spacecraft.

"Da, you like? It has emergency oxygen, but it would not have saved your parents Mister Scarlett. They served their purpose, they built a virus, Doctor Tarkov has been able to reproduce it. Their death was necessary so West would not get details of the virus. If Doctor Burgman had not done the job and kill them, I had others who were willing."

"Let's talk about that," said Alan. "Eleven years and eleven days ago, Dr. Herbert Burgman killed my parents. You blackmailed them into making a deadly virus for you, and you had them killed to cover it up. Is that right?"

"Da," said General Romanov. "But this will not save your life. For what you did to Chang, I will torture you as your men die." He pulled a knife with a long, skinny blade. "I will stick this in you each time one of your men dies today, then I will space you, and then I will burn every Martian colony to the ground."

The Eastern Bloc's Space Force had a unique method of spacing a spaceman. They would release him with a full pressure suit and a full pack of oxygen. They would drift helplessly in space until they ran out of oxygen and suffocated or until they opened their helmet and ended it quickly. Either way, the Eastern Bloc could say they died by their own hand.

Alan slowly opened the gold plated faceplate of his helmet and looked at Noxie. The little robot's eyes flashed when he recognized Alan's face and the final phase of Operation Bradbury Canal was started. A series of loud bangs were heard through the ship as the "pranks" down in the hangar deck went off one by one. They did no damage, they were just noise makers that were set off by a network tone that Noxie sent.

"Look into that," said Romanov, and one of the two huge apes stepped out into the hallway to look.

"How did you do it? How did you get the airtight doors to close before the alarms, before the blowout that killed one hundred twenty-two people?" asked Alan. When Romanov didn't answer, Alan said, "I think I figured it out," but Slobodan Romanov didn't hear him say that because all doors on the Zheleznaya Koroleva slammed closed. It didn't matter if they were airtight doors or not, they slammed closed with authority. The doors that had locks locked, and all airlocks were disabled. This was a security shut down. Down on the hangar bay, most of the GR-88s had launched, but the rest were caught inside the huge hangar bay and couldn't move.

As each huge hangar door swung down and closed, the thermite charges placed there by Marine special forces went off. Too impossibly bright to watch, the burning thermite charges welded all the hangar doors closed. There was no way that the trapped fighters could launch nor could the launched fighters return. Inside the ship, the air lock doors wouldn't open, so people in the launch and maintenance bays they couldn't return to the comfort of the pressurized sections of the ship.

"That was really crafty," said Alan. "For ten years I wondered how you closed the doors before a blowout, then I found it. You didn't set off a depressurization alarm, you set off a disabled security sequence and we thought it was a depressurization shut down, because the doors went through a depressurized compartment check before re-opening."

"What did you do to my ship?" said a shocked general, ignoring Alan's speech. He looked like he was going to cry.

"Then came the alarms," said Alan, ignoring General Romanov's question and right on cue, alarms started blaring throughout the Zheleznaya Koroleva, announcing a pressurization breech. "I still remember the alarms as my parents prepared to die," said Alan as he picked up Noxie.

The shocked, terrified general sat in his chair just as Alan's faceplate slammed closed. Noxie saw the gold plated faceplate close and signaled the other Noxie he was in contact with. That signal ignited the det cord and all six limpet mines exploded.

<><><><><>

"It looks like they're going to launch," said Pandora as she peered through her telescopic sight. Through her sight, she could see in the hangar decks of the Zheleznaya Koroleva. The spacecraft aviators were scrambling and climbing into the cockpits of their GR-88 Ferrets. "Yep, they're getting ready to go." Like she did over a dozen times this week, she sent a quick message to the CinC of the Arturus, Pollux, and the McDivitt. Alert Pilots in the McDivitt were already in their pressurized flight suits and were in the maintenance hangar, helping with whatever task they could help with. C flight commander Cathy Coleman and her RIO Bob Crippen were getting good at cutting sheet metal as they helped repair their own ship, Aces and Eights.

That's when the 'Incoming Attack' sirens went off. Flashing lights and rotating beacons told the men and women of the McDivitt this was a full launch, everything was going. "Let's go buddy!" said Cathy, and she grabbed her helmet and gloves. Bob followed her. This was going to be his first 'solo.' They finished dressing in the air lock and stepped out on launch deck Bravo, which was filled with surrendered Eastern Bloc GR-88s. Beneath them on deck Delta, the remaining F-201s prepared to fly and over on deck Alpha the FB-719s and Mak-22s prepared to launch.

Cathy waited as the magnetic taxi management system rolled her out to the hangar door, then waited. She had the lead today, and she was anxious. This was her first solo in a Russian built single-seat fighter. It felt lonely without a RIO backing her up. "Spaceboss, this is Berserker Zero One. We are ready to launch on Deck Bravo."

"Berserker zero one, you are clear to... wait... Berserker one, hold your position. Updated orders are coming.

"What's to update," said Cathy. "They fly, we kill them, life is good."

At the same time, on the Arcturus, Pandora noticed the hangar doors over on the Zheleznaya Koroleva start to close. She reached out and hit the intercom button. "Bridge, this is warfare. The Doors are closing."

"Thank you Captain, record everything you see." Then John Marquette called, "Radio, bridge. Raise the Zaqar please, and patch me through."

Gunnery Sergeant Dunlop gave Pandora a strange look. "The Zaqar has been AWOL for ages." She dialed up the hailing frequency for the Zaqar and called, "NSS Arcturus calling RSS Zaqar."

"Zaqar, go ahead."

The radio signal was so loud and clear that it shocked Marcy. "Standby Zaqar... Bridge I have Zaqar." By this time, Marcy wasn't paying attention. The thermite charges were going off and Pandora had to put a sun filter on the sight lens to keep from burning out the optics.

"Zaqar, it's all yours."

"Roger Convoy Echo Mike zero one. Mars is ready and waiting for you."

Something blocked Pandora's view, and she had to zoom back. It was the Zaqar that pulled between the Arcturus and the Zheleznaya Koroleva and it started disgorging fighters. They looked like Mak-22 fighters with four laser emitters and two gun pods, painted up in Martian colors. "What happened with those hangar doors?" asked Marcy.

"I don't know," said Pandora. "There were some marines at the base of the doors earlier and this happened." Pandora played back the video.

"Ah, ok," said Marcy. Pandora thought it was an electrical problem that caused the bright sparks, but Marcy knew immediately it was a thermite charge. "We have to send you to sapper school. Those boys just welded the doors shut."

Pandora went back to observing the Zheleznaya Koroleva. She cried out in shock as a quick series of blasts weakened a steel panel which blew out. "Bridge, warfare. The command structure on the Koroleva just had a blowout!" A few moments later, a steel colored pod came floating out of the opening. "I believe an escape pod just came out."

"Let me know when that pod gets picked up," said Colonel Marquette.

Meanwhile, on the launch deck of the McDivitt flight commander Cathy Coleman, was getting anxious. She was tracking space battles all throughout the space between the McDivitt and the Zheleznaya Koroleva and she was getting anxious. Finally, the call came, "Berserker Zero One, Spaceboss."

"Go ahead Spaceboss, we're still awaiting orders."

"Monitor channel twelve. Assist expats with recovery of new defectors. Strike Force Zero One has the lead."

"Roger," she said with a sigh. She switched to channel twelve and called "Strike Force Zero One this is Berserker Zero One."

"Well, there you are Cathy girl! We could use a little help out here."

She recognized that voice immediately. Her old nemesis, Rob Overmyer. She was his wingman when she was a young ensign and they were flying off the old City of Belgium, a Meuse class spacecraft carrier and the last of its kind. "What do you need Robby?" she replied.

"Ok, your call sign is now Strike Force Berserker Zero One. Pass it on to your flight, and follow me." She saw a converted Mak-22 light up with all marker lights, and the underfloor magnetic taxi system moved her out to the edge of the launch deck.

"Strike Force Berserker Zero One, you are clear for engine start," called the tower and the blast deflector came up behind Cathy. As soon as her mass reactor came up to 100% the underfloor magnetic taxi system kicked her out into space.

As her flight formed up, Cathy asked Rob, "What do you have for us?"

"Teach a bunch of defectors how to land. All these boats go to Delta deck. Code one ships go to the launch deck, code two and above go to the recovery deck."

"We don't speak Russian," Cathy replied.

"Polkovnik (Colonel) Petya Vasilyev and his troops will help, I have to take some Martians to help the boss."

"Roger," groaned Cathy. One kill away from being an Ace, and now she's got to babysit a bunch of defectors.

<><><><><>

Alan hugged the Noxie robot close. He didn't want to lose it in the blast; it had recorded every word said in this office, their entire conversation, including admitting to the killing of over a thousand students and faculty in the destruction of the Northern North American University. The limpet mines went off and Alan heard a half, maybe a quarter of an explosion, and then there was silence. All the air was sucked out of the sealed room in a flash. The strazha (guard) that beat Alan so severely was dead in an instant.

For Romanov, the nine hundred thousand dollar chair/security system worked as advertised. The moment the ambient air pressure in the room dropped below 0.6 bar (8.7 PSI), it activated. A hood popped over the chair, encasing the chair and the occupant in a steel pod that was pressurized to 1 bar (14.5 PSI). An oxygen rebreathing system kept the air breathable for twelve hours or so the manufacturers claimed.

A lot of loose items were sucked out through the huge opening in the hull, mostly loose documents, a few books and trophies, papers that weren't secured on the desk with enough magnets. Alan expected much worse, but it was just the air in this one room, not the entire ship, that got vented to space. Even the force of the blast of the limpet mines was sucked out. Alan's Eastern Bloc suit pressurized, which scared him, but it saved his life. He just hoped he didn't crush Noxie. He was going to keep Noxie and that sterling silver and gold chess set. He has a letter of marque, he's entitled.

Floating in the office's wreckage was a large briefcase. Alan couldn't open it, but General Romanov was reaching for it when the chair encased him, so Alan kept that too. Alan set Noxie back down at the chess set and he moved a silver knight. "Check," said Alan through the suit radio.

That confused Noxie. That move didn't put him in check. The little robot went back to considering the chess board. So much of his reasoning capacity was set to other tasks that his chess logic was diminished.

"Are you ready Berserker?" came through Alan's suit radio.

"Hang on." Alan went to the chair pod and found the switch for the emergency radio beacon and turned it off, then he released the floor magnets and pushed the pod out of the opening he had created. "Here you go. We need this hull sealed up but there is a body in there. It's a crime scene, so this office remains sealed." Then he pushed the big briefcase out. "This is mine too."

"Yar!" growled a marine in the darkness as he and another black clad marine grabbed the pod with Romanov and the briefcase before disappearing into the eternal night.

Aching with every step, Alan slowly made his way across the face of the command structure until he reached an airlock on the upper starboard side of the ship. There were over a dozen marines waiting for him there. "Let's see if this works," said Alan and he punched in the command code for the door lock: 10241917 and, to his surprise, it worked.

Three heavily armed Russian speaking marines went in first, followed by three more. It took five cycles of the air lock to get everyone inside, but once inside, Alan found the marines had four huge guards captured. Their hands were cuffed behind their backs and they were babbling incoherently. "What are they saying?" Alan asked.

"They're saying that they were forced to do this," said Marine Captain Andreev, Alan's chief interpreter. "They claim that Romanov threatened their families."

Alan nodded, "have them lead us to the bridge."

The bridge crew of the Zheleznaya Koroleva were desperately trying to determine how many compartments vented into space. So far, it looked like it was just Komandir Romanov's office. "Remain calm!" called Flight Komandir Aleksei Ignatyev as he tried to reassure his troops. "The doors have to go through a complete pressurization check before anything will open and that will take over an hour. Continue to work the..." His speech was interrupted by the door to the bridge opening, and a dozen commandos in black pressure suits poured onto the bridge.

"Relax!" shouted Marine Captain Andreev in Russian.

A man in an Eastern Bloc pressure suit strode onto the bridge. "I am Commander Alan Scarlett and by this letter of the marque issued by the president of the United Martian Colonies, I hereby claim this ship and all associated equipment as property of the planet of Mars!"

After Marine Captain Andreev translated Alan's words to the crew. The crew looked astonished and Flight Komandir Ignatyev said in heavily accented Martian, "You are pirate?"

Alan looked proud and said, "Yarr, right ye are matey!"

The flight commander stared at Alan in confusion, then asked Marine Captain Andreev, "What did he say?" in Russian.

"He didn't get it," said Captain Andreev.

Alan tried again. "I am a lawful privateer defending Mars and I claim this entire ship as MY property. If you don't like it, you can walk home."

"You can't!" gasped Flight Komandir Ignatyev.

"Commander, those two missiles you launched struck a university in Canada!" shouted Alan. "You are criminals! Murderers! That was not an act of war, that was murder! General Wong, commander of the Eastern Bloc's Star Fleet has labeled you rogue. Secretary of Intelligence Filipov has named you enemy of the people, and Generalissimo Hernan, president of the entire Eastern Bloc requested that the Western Alliance return General Romanov's head to him." Alan glared at the flight commander and repeated, "HEAD!"

Flight Komandir Ignatyev sagged visibly. "Da. Is true. General Romanov told us these reports were to fool Western Alliance. Same with reports of General Chang."

"What reports of General Chang?"

"He went rogue, Eastern Army was marching to Cheolsan to arrest him. He blew up his new prison to escape capture."

The pieces began falling together, and a realization washed over Alan accompanied by a wave of nausea. "That bitch! She used me!"

"What Bitch?" asked Flight Komandir Ignatyev.

Alan didn't realize he said that out loud. "Antonina Matrona Markov. A woman I know." That bitch! She knew that General Chang, General Romanov, and Doctor Tarkov weren't just trying to run the entire military, they were trying to take over the entire Eastern Bloc. The triumvirate wanted to run the government, and Antonina used Alan to clean up their mess!

Alan considered his options, then turned to Flight Komandir Ignatyev and said, "If you surrender this ship, any member of your crew that wishes to retire to Mars and serve in the Martian peace forces lawfully may emigrate to Mars and take up residence in the New St. Stanislaus colony. Anyone that wishes to go back to earth simply step out in the hall. You will be escorted to the conference room, where you will wait for transport."

"And what if we do not wish to turn over ship to you?" demanded Flight Komandir Ignatyev.

Alan pointed to the bridge windows and said, "You don't have a choice in the matter." Outside the bridge windows hovered four A-222 spacecraft. Eight fifty-caliber machine guns and sixteen lasers were aimed at the men and women on the bridge. "This is my ship now," said Alan. "You can leave now or you can join my crew and set a course for Mars and become citizens."

"I do not think we will be welcomed on earth by either the east or the west, true?"

"Very true, Aleksei," said Alan. He knows the sadness of being separated from something you could call home.

Flight Komandir Aleksei Ignatyev sighed. "I don't want to fight."

Alan smiled and patted Aleksei's back and said, "A wise man once said that soldiers don't want to fight, they just want a good meal and a place to sleep. A hot meal and a warm bed are hard to find for a soldier, but they can find fighting anywhere."

"Truly wise, I believe that I speak for the bridge crew when I say, welcome aboard captain. But we are already on a course to Mars," said the flight commander.

"Use my course," said Alan as he walked over to the navigator's station. "And close all missile port doors." As soon as the doors closed, a team of mechanics from the McDivitt hopped off their scooters and swarmed over the missile ports, welding them closed.

Alan didn't speak any Russian, but he had a doctorate in Astro Physics with an advanced degree in celestial navigation, so when he went over to the navigator's table with a translator, the navigator was shocked and surprised at Alan's knowledge. Navigators speak their own language and Marine Corporal Adam Smirnov didn't understand what they were saying, but he translated. Something must have been funny because Alan and the young navigator of the Zheleznaya Koroleva were laughing.

"Good idea," said Alan. He said to Adam, "Let the crew know, there is no royalty on mars, just hard working people. The Zheleznaya Koroleva (Iron Queen) is now officially the Zheleznaya Deva (Iron Maiden) and we shall be leading this rag-tag bunch of ships to our new home on Mars."

Even though General Romanov hated it passionately, the Zheleznaya Koroleva was kiddingly called the Zheleznaya Deva among the crew since she was launched. When Alan announced that the Iron Maiden was leading the convoy to Mars, he touched something in their souls. Pride, humor, and a willingness to carry on regardless of how strange or difficult the mission is. "Let's increase speed," said Alan. "I want to be on Mars in three days."

"What about General Romanov," asked the young navigator through Corporal Smirnov.

"He's not your problem anymore. He's mine."

The navigator's eyes grew wide in shock. "Da ser!" (Yes sir) and he ordered the change in speed to get the Iron Maiden into an areostationary orbit above Mars alongside the orbital Phobos Steel Plant.

Inside the ship, the doors opened one by one, and when a door opened, the crew men inside that room were greeted by Eastern Bloc officers and Russian speaking Western Alliance Marines who explained the situation. General Romanov went crazy and launched his oxygen chair through the hull of the Iron Maiden, and that because of the horrible things he had done with the ship, Mars was taking over as an independent third party. Anyone that wants to go back to earth can leave on the RSS Thomas O. Paine when it heads back in five days.

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

Perseverance City, Mars, November 6, 2142

Peace

The Arcturus pulled into orbit alongside the wounded NSS O'Bannon that they escorted to Mars. They arrived several days after the McDivitt and the Pollux escorted the Iron Maiden and cargo ships into orbit. They spent another full day getting the cargo stowed in the forward bomb bay loaded on to a shuttle for transport down to Mars. The cargo was mostly GR-88 fighters that they didn't have room for on the McDivitt.

Pandora Vermillion sat through a post mission meeting that seemed to go on forever. One run from Earth to Mars that went on forever, but Pandora got a lot of experience. She got to fire her laser cannon in real life; she fired dozens of Stinger VII missiles at Eastern Bloc fighters, dropped her favorite bomb on General Chang, and was able to be a spy on the Zheleznaya Koroleva with her telescopic sight. "For all this and more, the outstanding officer of the mission is Captain Pandora Vermillion," said Captain Marquette as he handed Pandora a plaque she could mount in her compartment.

She took the plaque and posed for photographs with her commander, then Captain Marquette said, "I'm assigning you to some shore duty." Pandora nodded sadly. She's never been to Earth. It may be fun, but there's something she'd rather be doing. She was about to turn down the shore duty when Colonel Marquette said, "Go pack, make sure your blues are up tight. Your shuttle leaves in thirty minutes."

"Y-yes sir."

"Why are you still here? GO!"

"Yes sir!" and she was gone in a shot. Back in her cabin, she packed everything she could think of taking in her duffel bag, and her dress blues in her garment bag.

"Moving out girl?" asked Marcy Dunlop with a grin.

"I've been assigned to shore duty while the Arcturus is in port," said Pandora breathlessly.

"You gonna get lucky girl?" asked Marcy with a wicked grin.

"I had better!" insisted Pandora as she put on her laciest bra, than after thinking about it, she took it off. No bras on this trip.

Marcy watched Captain Vermillion prepare for her trip and eyed her jealously. The redheaded officer was slim and sexy, with long, shapely legs and a cute, round butt. She slithered into a fresh flight suit, gathered her bags, and headed to the air lock. "See ya Marcy!"

"I won't be far," said Marcy, and she followed Pandora onto the shuttle.

"Where are you going lady?" asked Pandora.

"I have a meeting in Perseverance City in the morning. They're designing some long distance approach radar and they need an antenna freak, so they asked me."

"Where are you staying tonight?" asked Pandora.

"At a friend's house, wanna crash with me?" offered Marcy.

"I have an invitation to stay at the Red House."

"Cool!" said Marcy, as they strapped in on the shuttle. "What's the red house?"

"It's where the president of Mars lives."

"Oh. I suppose." Marcy's family was from Ireland and she's never known much about Martian politics, so she wasn't aware of the White House/Red House rivalry. "Anyway, I love this part," and the shuttle suddenly plunged into the thin Martian atmosphere. Thirty bone jarring minutes later, the shuttle settled down on spot #1 at Zhang Spaceport. It took a few minutes for the walkway to be connected to the shuttle, but soon Marcy and Pandora were entering the VIP reception area, and there was a small crowd of people there.

"Captain Vermillion!" called a happy sounding voice. A happy-looking man came up to her and shook her hand. "Ray Clark, Vice President of the United Martian Colonies."

"It's nice to meet you Mister Clark," said Pandora timidly.

"Please, call me Uncle Ray. My nephew, Alan, asked me to escort you to the Red House. Are you coming with us Marcy?"

"Yes sir!"

Two men picked up Marcy and Pandora's bags and they headed into Perseverance City taking the baffling maze of moving sidewalks. Ray Clark was in his glory. He had two young women on his arm, both marines and heroes of the Battle of the Iron Queen! He introduced them to everyone he met as they took moving sidewalks and once Pandora heard him call her 'my future daughter-in-law.'

"Such pretty red hair!" gasped one woman. "Like the Moon Maiden!"

"Pardon?" Pandora tried to get more information out of her, but they had moved on and were passing a park where children played on swings and a merry-go-round.

"We used to live near here. After Alan's parents died, he would come here and watch the kids play," said Ray. "He wouldn't join them; he would just watch. I asked why he wouldn't play and most of the time he said he was too old, but once he let me see his heartache with a shred of honesty when he said, 'I don't think I'm allowed to be happy.'"

"He blames himself for his parents dying?"

"No, he blames himself for not going with them. As they entered the auditorium he stopped to get a drink and the door closed between him and his parents. A moment later a bomb went off venting off the auditorium. "

"Oh god," groaned Marcy.

"I believe he's taking Captain Vermillion to the site where it happened tomorrow," said Ray.

"He is?" All Pandora knew about this trip was that she was on shore duty and that she was to be given details later.

By that time, they passed through another section of the colony that appeared to be residential apartments. Doors were decorated with flowers, evergreens, and other decorations. Soon they were in another wide open area and what looked like an ancient red brick colonial house with white trim and white shutters on each side of the windows. "And here we are, home, sweet home."

"It's a palace!" gushed Pandora, who has only seen the colonies of Luna and the various space stations her father was assigned to. Living quarters to her were exactly like the apartments they passed on the way to the Red House.

"You live here too?" asked Marcy, who was underwhelmed. She was from earth and grew up in a house this size.

"Oh yes. There is a Vice Presidential residence but this place is huge so I moved in from that big empty old shack. There's two large families living in there currently."

"How many bedrooms does this house have?" asked Marcy, who was expecting to hear five or six.

"I think there are twelve, plus another six or seven rooms that can be used as guest rooms."

"How?" gasped Marcy.

"The house goes back past that wall and there's a lot of room underground," said Ray as they passed through the security gate and ascended the steps to the front door. Ray gave them a tour of the Red House, which included a peek into the Presidential office where President Curtis was in a meeting with several men. He stopped the meeting and rose to greet Pandora and Marcy, then introduced them to the men he was meeting with, the new Prime Minister, the Leader of the House of Governors, and the new head of Martian Water Management, a vitally important position in the Martian government.

"Gentlemen, these marines were highly instrumental in getting me here safely, and bringing us over one hundred new Martians, mostly men."

They shook hands with the powerful men, but Sidney Lambert, the head of Water Management, was not happy about the new members of the Martian community. "They speak Russian," he said with disdain.

"Konechno. A kto ne khochet?" (Of course. Who doesn't?) said Marcy sweetly. She speaks several languages flawlessly and can understand what is being said in a dozen more.

"Sid, they all gave us a well needed boost in hard working males in our population," said President Curtis. Like Luna, the population of Mars was still recovering from the slaughter of the wars of fifty years previous. Women still outnumber men three to one, and like Luna, 'arrangements' are made to boost the population.

They finally made it to their rooms and when Pandora peeked in her room, there were two Noxie robots playing chess against each other. One robot recognized her and bowed in greeting. "Hello Love," it said in its tiny voice.

"I take it that Alan is nearby?" she asked Ray.

"Yes, he's probably in another briefing. He's been with the head of the Martian Intelligence Agency since before he landed and I believe that Alpha wants to speak with both of you," said Ray with a huge smile.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh, it's just, we never knew who Alpha was, but now she's in the open and it's nice to put a face on a code name. You'll meet her soon, she's quite nice.

Pandora threw herself on the queen size bed and sighed. "This is a nice bed!"

"Gonna break it in tonight?" asked Marcy as she laid down next to Pandora.

"It's been ages, I might break it in now if you're not careful."

"I'll come get you for dinner in about an hour," said Ray. "Your uniforms for tonight are in your closets, you'll have to transfer your medals."

"This is an evening dress uniform!" gasped Pandora. She has never seen a marine in a navy blue evening dress uniform, let alone wear one. Full length Navy blue evening dress skirt, white ruffled dress shirt, red cummerbund, waist-length Navy blue jacket with red collar, white gloves, and the Bernard cap.

"This is a formal affair," said Ray with a wink and a smile.

An hour later, Pandora and Marcy were in their Marine evening dress uniform. Marcy's uniform was like Pandora's except she wore the four inch red and gold gunnery sergeant's stripes on her sleeves. Ray came to the room where they were primping each other's uniforms, getting the badges and medals correct. (You never know who is going to be looking.) "Ready?"

"DAMN!" gasped Marcy. "James Bond much?" Ray was wearing a perfectly tailored tuxedo and looked every bit the dashing gentleman spy. He just needed a martini and a cigarette.

"This old thing? I just threw it on. Shall we?" He led them deeper into the depths of the house and they realized that the Red House was bigger inside than it looked. "Down this way," and he led them down an escalator to a tunnel deep underneath, where they took a moving sidewalk for what seemed like a mile and then stepped off for another escalator, which took them up to a huge formal dining room. "This is the Old Perseverance Meeting House; it was made from the very first buildings of the original colony."

"It's like a royal palace!" gasped Pandora, who has never seen a royal palace, but in her imagination they look just like this. The decor was sumptuous, chandeliers hung over each round table, the walls were covered with beautiful mosaics depicting early life on Mars, elegant topiary in corners, the tables had silver candelabras casting an intimate glow at each table, crystal glasses and gold-rimmed plates. Even though they were in a huge gathering, each table was a warm, intimate get-together.

"Ah, there's Mister Scarlett," said Ray.

Pandora looked, and her heart leapt. He was wearing his dinner dress whites, navy blue trousers, white shirt with black bow tie, gold cummerbund, white waist-length jacket with navy and red epaulets. His ribbons hanging proudly, the stripes on the epaulets and his badges were ruby red rather than gold signifying Martian Space Force, but they were still beautiful and proud. But... he was carrying a baby, and he had a spectacular blond on his arm. Long flowing blond hair, gorgeous figure, and the skintight full length burgundy dress she was wearing were magnificent. Pandora hated her instantly.

Alan and Pandora's eyes met, and he stepped up to her and his free arm curled around her and pulled his love close. Their lips met and for the reunited lovers' time stopped. It was the sweetest, most passionate kiss Pandora ever had. Her heart raced and all thoughts of the blond and the baby faded as their tongues danced gently together. Finally, their kiss ended with tiny, sweet pecks. "Oh God I missed you," said Alan softly as people around them applauded.

"I can see that... who's the blond?"

Alan chuckled. "Captain Pandora Vermillion, this is my sister Christa Saperstein and my niece Alana."

"Scarlett," Christa corrected. "Jake and I were engaged... we were supposed to get married when he got to Mars."

Alan whispered in her ear, "He was killed in the missile attack that Romanov launched."

"Oh no. I'm so sorry, I didn't see the launch, I could have..." Pandora almost wept in grief and frustration. A strategic missile launch and she didn't see it. She could have taken them out with a hypersonic missile or her laser.

" He did a cold tube launch and just tossed them out," said Alan. "It looked on radar like a trash dump, they sat for weeks before firing their main motors. They were behind us when they lit."

"I'm so sorry, I didn't know," gushed Pandora and she hugged Christa as Ray tried to lead them to their table.

"It's ok honey, I didn't know until after I landed. I've been in hiding until Gogo showed up with a present for me," said Christa.

"Oh, that's sweet, what did you bring her?" Pandora asked Alan.

"It's a secret," said Alan, as he reluctantly returned Alana to her mother.

"Tell me, I have a clearance."

"It was General Romanov," Alan whispered in her ear as the Colonial Symphony Orchestra started a gentle, romantic song "Two Moons Tonight." It's said that more babies were made during this song than in New Years and Mardi Gras combined. "Care to dance?"

"I would love to, but I don't recognize this song."

"Just follow the music," and Alan led her out to the small dance floor and took Pandora in his arms. "Hold my hand, put your other hand on my shoulder and we're going to foxtrot, so we start with our left and it's slow, slow, quick, quick. Slow, slow, quick, quick." It took a little bit of whispering and giggling, but soon they were dancing and other couples joined them. Marcy and Ray stepped out on the floor and were dancing as well.

"I'm dancing," gasped Pandora. "I've never loved dancing as much before."

"You just needed the right partner," said Alan softly.

Pandora's head spun with the pleasure of holding Alan, gazing into his eyes, and moving together. She felt the warmth of his body even through their jackets, the gaze of his eyes, the smell of his tall, muscular body. Pandora could feel something powerful in Alan's soul, and she wanted to be part of it. They danced every dance until it was time for dinner. By that time, the ballroom was filled with civilians and with fliers from the 43rd Interplanetary Fighter Squadron. Alan made introductions to Pandora all the way back to their seats.

"You look happy," said Christa, as Alan and Pandora returned to the table.

"I've never danced this much before," said Pandora. The room spun, and she was filled with joy and love. "Now I know what Elisa Doolittle was singing about," the sexy red-headed Marine said, thinking of the song 'I Could Have Danced All Night.' "Your squadron, they're crazy," she said to Alan.

"They're exhausted, the fliers and the support crews. They've been sleeping since we made planet fall."

Finally, another couple arrived to fill the table. "Gene!" cried Alan as he rose to greet his plane captain. "God how we needed you up there!"

"I was a bit busy down here," said Gene. "Do I need to introduce you?" he said, indicating Dr. Monica Sax.

"Oh, hell no," said Alan as he shook Monica's hand. "Doctor Monica is an old friend of the family."

"My god Alan, you terrify me," said Monica. "Would you please be more careful up there?"

"I'm sorry, Doctor Sax," said Alan. He's known Monica his entire life and he couldn't bring himself to call her by her first name. "Gene gives me such a perfect ship to fly in, I feel invincible."

As their dinner was served, Gene Cernan turned to Alan and said, "Sir, would you do me the honor of being my best man at our wedding."

"Of course! Even eighty million miles away, you've always been there for me. Doctor Sax, who is going to be the maid of honor?"

"Well Doctor Scarlett, my boss agreed," said Monica Sax. Officially Monica works for Convair Intergalactic Testing Laboratory and was Ben's supervisor before he went into politics (blackmailed into politics, he claims). But Convair Intergalactic Testing Laboratory is a cover for the Martian Intelligence Agency, and Alan's sister Christa is the top dog there, and Monica's boss. Christa even built an office under a college on Earth while she taught Art History for a cover story. "So how did you and Pandora meet?" asked Monica.

"She met me in the bay of a scrapper's shuttle in Earth orbit. She accompanied a fellow who was sent to kill me."

"NO!" gasped Pandora. "It wasn't like that at all... wait... no, it was exactly like that. Sorry," and she kissed Alan as all at the table laughed.

"Doctor Sax, chief, this is the most important person in my life. Pandora saved my bacon twice in the past few months up there," said Alan.

"Two times out of three," said Pandora. "President Curtis saved him at his court martial."

"Court martial?" gasped Gene. "For what?"

"I angered somebody," said Alan, and Pandora told the story of The Court Martial of Commander Scarlett through dinner with a little embellishment. "The first lady was there too," said Alan. "She was Ben's ace in the hole."

"First lady?" Then Pandora looked at the head table and saw Melika Reeves sitting next to President Curtis. "Oh yes, I heard rumors about that."

"They got married right after they landed," said Ray.

After dinner, President Curtis made a quick speech about dedicating a new display out at the Bradbury Canal Museum, and he invited everyone to come to the ceremony, and ended with, "Commander Scarlett has a few words."

Alan groaned as he rose. It was the cockpit that he and Anna Fisher lived in for days after ejecting. It's being added to the "Alan Scarlett Broke This Museum of Busted Crap" at the train station in Bradbury Canal. Then President Curtis was going to present awards to the entire squadron. "I would like to repeat what Mister President said, everyone is invited to the museum above the Bradbury Canal train station. Except for the Strike Force Berserkers. For you it's a mandatory formation!"

There was chuckling in the room and someone shouted in heavily accented Martian. "Even Russians?"

"Yeah, sure. Welcome to the club. Ok, Spaceman Lisa Davis and Spaceman Apprentice Gregory Johnson, could you both step up here?"

The two young spacemen made it to the front, Lisa being preceded by her pregnant belly. They held hands for comfort because they weren't warned that Alan would call them out. They were in the back, so it took quite a long time to come up front. When they got there, Alan was smiling. "My goodness, you've discovered something other than chess, haven't you?"

Lisa and Greg looked at each other, then back at Alan, and nodded nervously.

"Gregory Johnson, I wouldn't be here right now, nor would Anna Vasquez nor would Tasha Vasquez if it wasn't for you."

"I didn't do anything, sir," said the stunned Spaceman's Apprentice.

"You did exactly what I asked, you were honest with the authorities and Captain Schirra. You followed your trainer to Mars and worked on a very important and highly classified project. E-2s rarely get that chance and you did the job exactly. Petty Officer Cernan and Lieutenant Kavandi have nothing but glowing reviews for you. Therefore, it is with great pride and pleasure that I award you both with the Navy Achievement Medal and jump promote you one grade." He pinned the Achievement Medal to their uniforms and handed them stripes for their new ranks. Greg was promoted to Spaceman (E-3), and Lisa to Petty Officer Third Class (E-4).

"Thank you sir," said a still nervous Greg.

"I hear that you two are planning on getting married. Is that true?"

"Yes sir," said Lisa. "We have the paperwork ready and everything we just need to set up the ceremony."

Alan looked back over his shoulder at President Curtis, who held up one finger. Turning back to Greg and Lisa, he said, "One week from tonight, gather everyone at the Red House. President Curtis will officiate."

Greg and Lisa looked at each other in shock. A presidential wedding? That was one of the highest honors for a young couple on Mars. "Yes sir!" they gasped.

"Oh, and by the way," grinned President Curtis, "After the big to-do at Bradbury Canal tomorrow, there will be a tournament chess board set up exactly as you left the board at the Trinity Base Chess championship. We want to see this game played out."

"Yes sir!" shouted Greg as he and Lisa headed back to their seats.

With the first promotion ceremony of his career as a squadron commander over, Alan sat down and Pandora said, "I don't know if I can go to this big to-do tomorrow. I have shore duty and I haven't found my duty officer yet." She noticed that Ray and Christa were hiding their laughter. "What? What's so funny."

"It's him," said Ray. "You're assigned to Alan."

Pandora whirled and saw Alan and Gene grinning. "Mister President assigned us some diplomatic stuff to do for the next couple months and since the Arcturus is heading back to the dry dock to patch a few holes, I asked him to fix you up as my aid-de-camp."

"What kind of diplomatic stuff?"

"Meet and greet, shake hands, take pictures, report back to Ben and Smartie," said Alan. He pulled out his itinerary. "We have meetings in Brussels, Munich, Denver, Honolulu, Fiji..." Alan glared at Ray. "How did Fiji get on my list?"

"I need you to make sure they fixed the roof on our house," said Ray.

Pandora had never been to earth, and this was a dream come true. Dare she imagine it, a honeymoon? "This is a gift from fate," said Alan softly. "This is the beginning of the rest of our lives, I know it."

"Sweet Alan," said Pandora. She put her delicate hand on his cheek and they gazed into each other's eyes. Maybe this time is the love that Alan ached for. Three times he fell in love and two times out of three ended in pain.

"Tell me this is real," he whispered.

"This is our turn," she replied quietly.

"Come on, let me introduce you to the family," and with a soaring heart, Alan rose and led Pandora from table to table, meeting the members of the squadron and making sure they understood they were required to be at Bradbury Canal at thirteen hundred hours. He hugged Pandora close and they made a spectacular couple. "Look at that smile," said Commander Rhea Seddon, Alan's doctor, who watched their relationship bloom. "It's been a long time since I've seen a smile like that on Alan's face."

"I can get a bigger smile out of him," said Pandora. "Watch!" She leaned in close and whispered in his ear, "I'm not wearing any underwear."

"You did it girl, look at that grin!" gushed Rhea.

They ended up at a table with Anna Fisher, Anna Vasquez, baby Tasha, and several members of the Martian parliament. One member of parliament had a very familiar-looking woman on his arm. "Look who I found!" gushed Anna Vasquez. "Tasha's sister! Aunt Antonina!"

Alan was shocked. Anna was right, it was Alan's first RIO and Anna Vasquez lover, Tasha Kikina's sister Antonina Matrona Markov. "Half-sister," said Alan, startled that this woman was there, on Mars, in the Old Perseverance House ballroom. How does she keep popping up?

"Come, let's dance lyubovnik," She rose and turned to a shocked Pandora and said, "do not worry milashka (cutie) I vill bring your man back very soon. Vee need to talk."

The band started a quiet dance and the Eastern Bloc spy gushed, "Alan dahlink, it has been so long!"

"First, I am not your lyubovnik, whatever that means."

"It means lover," purred Antonia.

They danced in silence for a while, both looking elegant and aloof. Antonia was wearing a Martian red sequined floor-length gown that fit her like the skin of a snake. The front of the dress looked like it was painted on. Her small, firm breasts and hard nipples were noticeable, as were her naval and her pubic mound. The back of the dress was bare, down to the start of the cleavage of her muscular ass. There was no way that Alan could dance with her and not touch bare skin.

"You used me," Alan snarled. "You used me and my friends to clean up your mess."

"Da, lyubovnik, ven did you discover?" she said with a thousand-megawatt smile.

"The triumvirate wasn't trying to control the Eastern Bloc military; they were trying to control the entire Eastern Bloc. You couldn't stop them, so you dumped your garbage on me."

"Da, all is true. Vat is problem?" Her smile never faded. If a cobra could smile before striking, this is what it would look like.

"You owe me for taking out your trash. I killed Generals Chang and Romanov. Pay up," demanded Alan. "I want..."

"Funny Martian!" Antonina interrupted. "General Romanov is still alive. You need to question him quickly, because he vill be dead in five more days."

Again, Alan was shocked. Only he, Christa, and a few Marines knew Romanov was alive and being held in the subbasement under the ruins of the abandoned New Kiev colony. "I want the design of that long range missile that killed my brother-in-law. You can dig that up for me."

"Da, I could lyubovnik, but job is not done," cooed Antonia. "Like General Romanov, Doctor Tarkov is still alive and he is the one that needs to die. His ship, Gorod Moskva, is how you say... hoodoo? Ghost ship? He made sure his version of the virus works! Now you must get to vork. He is not just threatening Mars; he vants Mars and Earth. You got two out of three dahlink, you must get clean sweep."