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  An unpleasant silence filled the room.

  "I've got four people on limited duty with light injuries," Vinduly went on. "There's five or six more with bruises and scrapes and minor cuts." He shrugged, lifting his gaze for the first time to look at Tom. "That's all."

  Tom nodded. "Oh, that reminds me." He looked at O'Reilly. "We need to do a roll call. Several sections of the spine went through explosive decompression. We might have lost someone and not even know it."

  "It's done," O'Reilly said. "All hands are accounted for."

  "Oh, that's a relief." Tom smiled, then looked at Sawyer.

  "We're fully airtight," Sawyer said. By the expression on his face, she wasn't as pleased as her words might indicate. "We can handle hyperspace, but I would try to stay out of storms." She shook her head. "She's about ready to fly apart."

  "I would ask if she was safe to fly," Tom said, "but we can't stay here."

  "We'll be all right," said Sawyer, "so long as we're careful."

  "How much fuel is left?"

  Sawyer shook her head. "Maybe two thousand gallons. That gives us a range of eight, maybe nine light-years if we don't try for top speed. The problem is, we can't just fly anywhere in a straight line. We need to steer around the storms."

  "All right. Anything else?"

  "I've got Khashar working on a detailed damage report." She grinned bleakly. "It'll be quite a report. We have an incredible amount of minor damage. There's nothing major, though. The ship will fly."

  "Good," said Tom. "What's the weapons situation?"

  Sawyer hesitated, clearly gathering her thoughts. "The missile bay is fine. I don't know how many birds are left, but once we put the fire out the bay didn't have any serious damage. We've got damage to both forward laser turrets. We can probably pillage one for parts and get the other one fully functional. The guns are fine. The aft guns and lasers are all undamaged."

  "All right," said Tom. "Good. When we know our destination, we'll know our approximate arrival time. That's your deadline for the forward turrets. I need us ready to fight when we come out of hyperspace."

  Sawyer nodded.

  "Mr. Harper?"

  "There's not much to tell you, Sir," Harper said. "My people are adjusting well enough to their new roles, and we're doing all right without Azadi and Carmody." He glanced at Alice. "There's no significant onboard security concerns at the moment. When Mr. Fagan was injured, it freed up a marine from doing guard duty on the brig."

  "All right." Tom looked at Alice. "Ms. Rose. How are your people doing?"

  She wanted to tell them everything was great. It felt disloyal to her shipmates to say anything else. But with Tom's eyes on her she couldn't make herself lie. "They're fitting in as well as can be expected, I think. Some of them are … disgruntled. I think everyone understands the need for us all to work together, though."

  "All right," Tom said. "Let me know if there's anything we can do to help with integration. I need for us to be one crew, undivided."

  She nodded.

  "Mr. O'Reilly," Tom said. "Anything to report?"

  "The duty roster is in chaos," O'Reilly said. "A lot of the engineering staff need some down time. They've been putting in some brutal hours doing repairs. In fact, just about anyone with the basic skills to run a laser cutter or a bonder is overdue for some down time. Everyone's been pitching in."

  Tom nodded. "Well, we should have some quiet time for a day or two while we're en route to our next destination. That should help."

  O'Reilly nodded.

  "Which brings me to our next point," Tom said. He spread his hands. "Where the hell are we going?" He looked from one face to another. "O'Reilly?"

  O'Reilly stretched a hand out, tapping a control panel set in the middle of the table. A holo-projection sprang into life above their heads.

  "Here's where we are," said O'Reilly. A blue dot flashed in the projection. It was almost touching a white dot with a green halo. "As you can see, we're practically next door to Sunshine. I'll have to update the map," he added. "It's still marked friendly."

  The map was huge, more than two meters long. Toward the head of the table Alice could see Garnet, a green point of light alone in a sea of darkness. It seemed very, very far away.

  There was nothing between Garnet and Argo but empty space. On the far side of Argo, though, points of light bloomed as thick as blossoms on a cherry tree. This end of the Green Zone was crowded, a rich garden of stars, most of them only a handful of light years apart.

  Most of those systems showed green, a fact which annoyed her. The planets she thought of as the Free Planets were, on paper at least, possessions of the UW. The United Worlds had always ignored the fact that the people who actually lived in the Green Zone didn't think of themselves as members of the UW. It was a level of arrogance she'd always found infuriating.

  Now, her perspective was a bit different. Beyond the scattered emerald garden that was the Free Planets loomed the crowding red lights of the Dawn Alliance. The Alliance only held five systems, according to the map. By now, though, three times that number should probably show in red. The thought of her home world and the home worlds of her friends being invaded by the ruthless armies of the Dawn Alliance filled Alice with a furious impatience. She wanted to strike back, to take the war to the enemy, to free her home.

  Instead, she was drifting in space with a crew who only wanted to get to safety.

  It was realistic, she knew. A frigate couldn't liberate a planet. The United Worlds needed to consolidate their forces, not dash impulsively toward the nearest captured planet.

  But still, it chafed her.

  "Let me zoom in," said O'Reilly. He worked the controls, and the starfield expanded. First the red planets of the Dawn Alliance vanished from the edge of the projection, then the green circle of Garnet. More and more colony systems faded as the map expanded. Finally only five star systems remained, Argo at one edge.

  "There's a small military outpost at Jonqing," O'Reilly said. "That makes it an obvious destination – but it's an obvious target for the DA, too."

  Tom looked around the table. "Any thoughts?"

  Vinduly ignored him, staring at the table. Sawyer shrugged. "I know hardware. Not strategy."

  "There's no way the base at Jonqing is still intact," Harper said. "It's too valuable to the UW. I guarantee you it got clobbered first."

  "I expect you're right," Tom said. "If it's not already taken, at the very least it's blockaded." He looked at O'Reilly. "What's next?"

  "Zin's a brown dwarf with nothing in the Goldilocks Zone. They did some mining there, maybe fifty years ago. There hasn't been anyone in the system in decades."

  "All right, we'll forget about Zin. What else?"

  "Parkland and Hapsburg." The corresponding systems flashed in the map. "They're both colonized. They have ports; they'll be able to supply us with fuel."

  Sawyer looked up the map. "I like Parkland. They have a full shipyard. If we could spend even a few hours in dry dock with proper tools we could do this ship a lot of good."

  O'Reilly nodded. "That would be nice. The other advantage is, it's the closest system to us. If we get there and find a Dawn Alliance fleet, we'll still have enough fuel to try something else."

  Tom looked around the table. "Anyone else? Is there anything we're overlooking, anything else we should consider?"

  Tell them. The voice in the back of Alice's mind was urgent, insistent. Tell them about Rivendell. They need to know.

  But the secret of Rivendell wasn't hers to share. It was a Free Planets base, and the Free Planets existed to fight the United Worlds. Revealing the base would be treason.

  But aren't we all on the same side now? She squirmed, then made herself stop. Maybe we are, and maybe we aren't. Helping these people out, fixing an air pump, is one thing. Telling them about Free Planets bases? That's something else entirely.

  "It looks like Parkland is our destination, then," Tom said. "We'll come out of hyperspace on the frin
ge of the system and look things over from a safe distance. The cockroaches can't invade every planet at once. With any luck they haven't made it to Parkland yet." He looked at each person in turn, and Alice made herself meet his gaze without flinching. "Is there anything else? No? Then the meeting is adjourned." He stood. "Ms. Sawyer. Dr. Vinduly. Make sure you get some rest."

  Alice stood and slipped out before anyone could ask her if something was bothering her, and force her to lie.

  Chapter 3

  The funeral was a quiet affair, much smaller than the mass funeral several days before when half the ship's crew had made their final departure from the ship. Tom watched as four bodies floated through the force field at the front of the shuttle bay and into the void, then waited, weary, as the crew dispersed. He'd gone over his decisions countless times, asking himself if he'd done the right thing. He had. He was almost sure of it.

  But still, the dead reproached him.

  One last knot of spacers broke up, trickling toward the exit, and revealed a grim figure at the back of the bay. A lone spacer stood there, glaring at Tom as if he'd personally murdered all four of the fallen crew.

  "Hanson," Tom said. When Hanson didn't move Tom added, "What do you want?"

  "I'd like to stay alive," Hanson said. "Doesn't look like it's going to happen, though. Not until we get a real officer in charge."

  A rising wave of fury washed away Tom's fatigue. A quick glance showed him the bay was empty except for the two of them. Hanson knew better than to goad him like this in front of witnesses. Tom took a step toward Hanson, fists clenching, fighting for calm. You can't brawl with a crew member. Not if you want to keep any credibility at all. "The funeral's over, Hanson. Get back to your post."

  "I'm off-duty," Hanson said, and smirked. "Got nowhere I need to be. Or are you going to call in some marines, and confine me to quarters again?"

  The brig. I'll have him tossed in the brig. If it's been repaired. Or should I just confine him to quarters again? He pictured having to order a marine to stand guard outside Hanson's quarters, while Hanson himself loafed and enjoyed life. What the hell do I do?

  Hanson saw the indecision in Tom's face, and his smirk deepened. "What's the matter, Sublieutenant? Are you out of your depth?" He gestured around them. "In a nice peaceful shuttle bay with one little spacer? You can't be much of an officer if you can't maintain discipline with one crewman." His expression changed to mock sympathy. "But it's not your fault. You're not even a real lieutenant, after all."

  Tom took another step toward him, and saw Hanson's posture change, ever so slightly. He expected Tom to take a swing at him. He wanted it. He was poised, ready. He wouldn’t throw the first punch. He was too cunning to stick his head in a noose. He'd goad Tom into crossing that line.

  For a moment the realization made Tom even angrier. He took another step without realizing it, stopping when he felt Hanson's breath hot against his own chin. They were nose to nose, Hanson's eyes wary but eager as they stared into his own.

  I will not give him what he wants. Tom had to repeat the phrase to himself over and over before his rage began to ebb. The two of them stood there, close as lovers, as the seconds ticked past. Hanson's eyes narrowed, and Tom thought, He doesn’t know what to do. He can't hit me, and he can't back away, not without losing face. He tried to provoke me and it didn't work, and now he doesn't have a move.

  Of course, neither do I.

  "Tell, me, Hanson." To his own astonishment Tom's voice came out mild and pleasant, and it brought a flush of irritation to Hanson's face. "What do you want?"

  The man stared at him, a complex mix of emotions flitting across his face. Frustrated annoyance was a significant component. My calmness is my weapon in this fight. He's trying to goad me. I can make him fail.

  Tom lifted his eyebrows, projecting sincere curiosity, and Hanson scowled. "I want you to stop pretending you're a real officer."

  There seemed to be no answer to that, so Tom just stared at him, bland as broth.

  "You're a bloody half-bar! You've got no business lording it over the rest of us and acting like a captain."

  "Would you like me to step down?" Tom said. "Refuse to lead? What exactly do you think will happen then?" He put an amused expression on his face.

  "You were supposed to take us straight back to Garnet!" Hanson's hand came up, and Tom flinched before he could stop himself. Hanson gave him a contemptuous look, then took a half-step back and gestured at the bay doors behind Tom. "You just dumped four dead bodies into hyperspace. That's four people who would still be alive if you had any common sense."

  That was close enough to Tom's own thoughts to drive any clever comeback out of his head. He said, "Is there anything else? You might as well get it all off your chest."

  Hanson didn't speak.

  "There were civilians on Sunshine Base," Tom said. "You took a vow. You put on the uniform. That makes civilians your responsibility." Hanson opened his mouth and Tom leaned in, cutting him off. "I'm all done explaining myself to you. If you say one more word I'll have you arrested for gross insubordination. You'll get back to Garnet in irons. Is that clear?"

  For an endless moment the two of them glared at each other. Then Tom turned and stalked out of the shuttle bay. As he reached the corridor Hanson muttered something behind him, the words not quite intelligible.

  Tom pretended he hadn't heard and kept going.

  A day later the ship came out of hyperspace several hundred thousand kilometers from XBR, the red giant informally known as Parkinson's Star. The system held no planets ideal for terraforming, but one world, Parkland, was a marginal candidate. Too far from the star to get an adequate amount of heat, Parkland was also cursed with a very slow rotation. Any point on the planet would have several months of constant sunshine, followed by several months of frozen darkness. The tenacious settlers had coped by building a chain of settlements around the equator. Each time the sun neared the horizon they moved west and took up residence in a place where it was still morning.

  "What do you see?" Tom drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair, then made himself stop. A tense silence filled the bridge as everyone waited for the answer.

  "There's no radio traffic so far," O'Reilly said. "A quick scan shows no ships." He twisted around in his chair to look back at Tom. "I'll need more time to give you a definitive answer."

  Tom nodded impatiently, then stood and walked to the front of the bridge. It was pointless, of course. Parkland was invisible at this distance. Parkinson's Star hung in the void to his left, like the angry eye of a forgotten god glaring at these interlopers into his domain.

  "Move us away from the portal."

  O'Reilly nodded and tapped his console. The red star moved to his right and dropped out of sight below the windows as the nose of the ship swung around. O'Reilly would move the ship several thousand kilometers in a random direction, in case hostile eyes had seen the portal they'd created as the ship made the transition to normal space. Tom hated to burn the fuel, but he'd hate to be attacked by a Dawn Alliance ship even more.

  No radio traffic. What does that mean? Does it mean we're the only ship in the system?

  Are we the first ones here? Should we race in, grab some fuel, warn them about the war, and get out of here?

  "There's a ship in orbit around Parkland, Sir," O'Reilly reported. "No transponder."

  That probably means they know about the war. But whose ship is it? Is it a Dawn Alliance warship, or a freighter?

  Could it be one of ours?

  The thought filled him with a sudden eagerness. The United Worlds had dozens of ships at Garnet. Surely some of those ships would have left immediately for every colony, base, and outpost in the Green Zone. That could be a United Worlds frigate peacefully orbiting the planet.

  There would be officers aboard. Plenty of them. They would be able to spare one – hell, several – to help get the Kestrel home. Tom imagined turning command over to a seasoned commander, even a lieutenant with som
e real experience. He imagined letting go of the crushing weight he carried.

  Signal that ship. He wanted to give the order, wanted it with a feverish intensity. Oh, how he wanted the lonely ordeal of leadership to be over. But Hanson's barbed words echoed in his mind, reminding him of his responsibility. Ironically enough, Hanson himself would no doubt demand that Tom send a signal. Anything to get him out of the big chair. But that would be foolhardy.

  He had to be sure, first.

  Onda gave him an inquiring look.

  "Maintain radio silence," Tom said. "For now we'll watch and listen."

  After a time O'Reilly said, "Captain? I'm as sure as I can reasonably be that it's the only ship in orbit around Parkland."

  "Take a look around the rest of the system," Tom said. "I want to know if we're the only ship skulking around the fringes."

  O'Reilly gave him a dubious look – an entire star system was a massive area to scan – but he nodded and turned to his console.

  Tom looked at Onda. "Contact the Forward and Aft Observation Rooms. I want them helping with the scan."

  Onda murmured into a microphone. After that, silence descended over the bridge. Tom returned to his seat, where he brought up a tactical screen and zoomed in on a random spot in the sky. It was a fairly pointless exercise, but it kept him busy while he waited.

  What if we don't see anything? What if that ship doesn't move? How long will we sit here, waiting?

  He had no answers for the nagging voice of his doubts, so he pushed it to the back of his mind and kept peering into his console.

  "Captain?"

  Tom jerked his head up, momentarily disoriented. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but O'Reilly was staring at him. "Yes?"

  "You're right, Sir. We're not alone."

  "What? What's that?"

  "There's another ship."

  Tom stiffened. "Where?"

  "Quite a ways off. We're still working out the range, but it's at least two hundred thousand kilometers. Probably a lot more."