Tarayla

Tarayla

Copyright 2013 AJ Asher

Published by AJ Asher at Smashwords

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1 – Ugly goes bad

Chapter 2 - Team of Two

Chapter 3 - Assembly

Chapter 4 – Painful Communications

Chapter 5 - A Small Light

Chapter 6 - Metamorphosis

Chapter 7 - New Beginnings

Chapter 8 - Which way out?

Chapter 9 - A New Paradigm

Chapter 10 - Unexpected Additions

Chapter 11 - Panic in the Cabal

Chapter 12 - Jubilation

Chapter 13 - The Clouds of War

Chapter 14 - Lonsdale's Rock Rats

Chapter 15 - The Cold and Hungry

Chapter 16 - Coming Together

Chapter 17 - Unpleasant Revelations

Chapter 18 - A Pyre of Dreams

Chapter 19 - Criner's cold shower

Chapter 20 - Laforte's moment

Chapter 21 - Betrayed

Chapter 22 - No way home

Chapter 23 - Clouds of Doom

Chapter 24 - The dark of dawn

Chapter 25 - Trial by Fire

Chapter 26 - Sunshine at last

Chapter 27 - Another Lonsdale's ordeal

Chapter 28 - Last Remembrances

Tarayla

Author: AJ Asher

Chapter 1 – Ugly goes Bad

STARCOMM Mobile Command Center Starpoint 3: Lift Minus 45 days - 14:20 hours

Lieutenant General W. Bruce (Bulldog) Delvany, Commander of StarComm's ReGone sector, checked his watch. He had just enough time. Though he would have never admitted it, Bulldog was anxious. In two years of war with the Lin-Teye Earth had not managed a single decisive victory. Those had gone to the Lin-Teye – every single one. And far worse in Bulldog’s mind was the growing difference between Sector combat losses and combat replacements. That difference was becoming ominous. And now, little more than ten days after Earth’s largest strike into Lin-Teye space, StarComm was holding an emergency meeting. Bulldog was not anticipating good news.

At thirty-nine years old General W. Bruce Delvany was the youngest Sector Commander in all of StarComm. He was also one of its more controversial general officers, though not by deliberate choice. In many circles he was seen as a maverick. It was only his unbroken string of military successes that had prevented the old boy network from derailing his career. While good looking in a rugged way, Bulldog was not a recruiting poster officer. His stocky body radiated power and without knowing his rank, others instinctively moved aside when he wanted through.

The other item driving Bulldog’s anxiety was Navy Lieutenant Commander Charlene Carla Strickland, his almost fiancée. Bulldog had asked for her hand in marriage twice and while he hadn’t secured a yes, he also hadn’t gotten a no. Commander Strickland, Charlie to her friends, was a true marital prize. She was above average in intelligence, substantially above average in attractiveness and was delightfully vivacious. She was the female Bulldog desired for his life mate and as the mother of his children. And she was scheduled to attend this emergency meeting. It would be the first time in five months that Bulldog had managed to see her. Damn war.

Bulldog passed through recreation center 2A's sound curtain and found himself assailed by boisterous conversations, clinking glasses and band music. Startled by the latter, Bulldog glanced at the performers' platform and could scarcely believe his eyes. The performers were more naked than clothed.

Hell, no wonder it's called whorehouse three, he said to no one in particular.

Earth's Starpoint stations were StarComms only fully mobile command Centers. The stations had a single gravitron pad equipped central floor running horizontally through the entire ship. This arrangement produced a two story structure with each story utilizing the opposite side of the central floor as its floor. The Starpoint series' pancake shape gave them the appearance of yesteryear's flying saucers.

The Starpoint series had been developed in the years prior to the Earth-Lin-Teye war and their rich prewar lushness was shocking against the starkness of StarComms recent war builds. Starpoint 3 was the last of the prewar mobile command station series built and was the plushest. From what Bulldog had heard after docking Starpoint 3 had burned hard to reach position for this top priority StarComm meeting.

Bulldog glanced around and got another surprise. Fleet officers from all of StarComm were in attendance. Bulldog felt his curiosity piqued. It was obvious the coming meeting involved more than just Sector Commands. That confirmed his personal feeling - something big was up.

He saw a familiar face, ReGone's forward patrol commander, Navy Captain Paula Jenkins, and started towards her only to see how raptly her attention was focused on a female officer whose back was to him. Bulldog turned without breaking stride and made his way to the bar. A minute later, drink in hand, Bulldog slowly made his way around the room saying hi to acquaintances.

No. We got our butts kicked! The grim words caught Bulldog's attention. He turned, and without being obvious, moved closer to the heated conversation. The speaker's collar insignia identified him as a fleet line officer.

Yeah? Well StarComm HQ said Three-Moons was a push. The challenge to the line officer's statement came from a Sector staff officer Bulldog didn't recognize. The line officer snorted. I don't care what load of bullshit is being officially blessed now days but I was there and I'm telling you we got our butts kicked. I commanded the one-three-three destroyer squadron and only two of my ships made it back. Three-Moons had been a disaster? Bulldog edged closer.

Weren't the losses about equal? The staff officer couldn't let it alone. Bulldog heard the cynical laugh.

We outnumbered them and we only knocked out three of their line ships. We lost sixteen and had five severely damaged. The staff officer's face turned red.

Come on. We knocked out more ships than that. I read the after action reports. You're implying StarComm is lying.

There was a slight pause. When the fleet line officer answered, his voice was filled with pain. I hope to God we knocked out a lot more of those Elf bastards otherwise we wasted a lot of good people for nothing; however, no matter how much I would like Three-Moons to be a push, it wasn't. Our destroyers got lucky on the only launch we got off at their base and the spread caught a number of unarmed freighters disembarking. The fleet officer paused and shuddered. God, those battlewagons were brutal! he said, momentarily reliving bad memories. We threw everything we had at those babies and they just shrugged it off. Just shrugged it off, he said flicking his hand as if brushing away a fly, then turned and stared hard into the staff officer's eyes. And I don't give a damn what StarComm says, we got our butts kicked.

Twenty minutes later Bulldog sank into a plush velteen covered lodge chair and glanced around the briefing amphitheater. It contained carpet and marble floors, inlaid real wood wall coverings, floor to ceiling exotic curtains, and glitzy floor to ceiling showroom vid displays. Bulldog unconsciously scowled. What an asinine thing to do to a warship. His scowl caught the attention of five-star Admiral Chelee Tsing Leslie, SeComm CO and his commanding officer. She frowned at him. Realizing he was being less than circumspect, Bulldog nodded deferentially and turned towards Captain Paula Jenkins.

Looks like the fallout from Three-Moons is going to impact every section of StarComm, he said.

Three-Moons, said Paula Jenkins looking puzzled? General, I don't think this revolves around Three-Moons. It'll be something political because Starpoint 3 was scheduled to entertain some World League people and then burned it here so fast they didn't have time to let the performers off. A smirk occupied Captain Jenkins’ face. I've talked to the little darlings and I can tell you they're shaking in their boots being so near the fearsome Lin-Teye.

Her sarcasm displeased Bulldog. Captain Jenkins was a SeComm addition to Bulldog's staff. Through oversight, he had allowed his command team to become all male. Paula Jenkins wore her hair bobbed extremely short and she abstained from wearing any optional uniform decoration that might be considered feminine. Attractive facially, she wore her uniform so that any femininity her shape might possess was muted to indistinct. At that moment a commotion at the door of the briefing amphitheater drew Bulldog's attention.

Parks! The word escaped unconsciously as intense loathing washed over Bulldog.

General, Admiral Parks has the best run sector in SeComm, Paula Jenkins said. Her comment caused Bulldog's jowls to bulge.

He glanced at his patrol Commander, then, without saying a word, let a command expression fill his face before he looked at his nemesis, the Narmis Sector commander. The entourage of four-star Admiral Adam Quincy Parks conversed noisily as he and his officers walked to their assigned seats. Admiral Parks was well over six feet, athletically built, and Hollywood's idea of what a StarComm admiral should look like. As Admiral Parks' party passed in front of Bulldog, the two men's glances caught. Parks openly sneered and turned his head sharply aside. Heat flooded Bulldog's face as sharply indrawn breaths around him told him that others had seen the snub.

Atten-hut! The command rang loudly over the sound system and all six hundred plus officers rose and stood at attention. A door opened at the back of the stage and six-star Admiral Charles Kerry Kensington III, Commander-In-Chief of StarComm, entered. He walked to the front of the dais and looked at the assembled officers.

Be seated.

Kensington here? Bulldog immediately sensed the presence of the head of StarComm in deep space meant this was way beyond a simple briefing. Something big was up. A fluttering of whispers ran through the amphitheater. As everyone sat down Kensington cleared his throat and the whispering died away. He glanced around the room and commenced the briefing without preamble.

Gentlemen, Ladies, this will be short and on point. At Three-Moons the Lin-Teye repulsed the best we have and they did it with a smaller force. The only thing now in doubt about the war is how long it is going to take them to overrun us. A groan, then a tide of dissent swept the amphitheater. Kensington held up his hand waited until quiet returned. The Admiral was crisply handsome and his clipped accent, a throwback to a bygone English era, made his image distinct. He had reached the top of StarComm's command hierarchy because of his ability to effectively deal with the political realities of the World League. Silence finally returned to the amphitheater.

Three days ago, Kensington said, all factories under StarComm control ceased current design hull production and, even as I speak, are in the process of converting their lines to a new E-series of weapons platforms.

Protest rippled through the amphitheater. How long before the E-series are ready? an officer to Bulldog's right shouted. How will we get replacement ships? Parts? shouted another officer. We're going with a ship that might have bugs in it? another shouted. The questions came faster and faster until they ran together in an unintelligible babble.

Kensington held out his hand for quiet. The babble of questions slowly faded, the worry didn't. The Admiral glanced over at one of his aides and nodded. A holographic image of an artist's rendering of one of the new E-Weapons platforms appeared in the air behind the Admiral. Above and below the bright image floated a hologram of a StarComm current inventory cruiser and destroyer. Kensington looked at the images then back at StarComm's top officers. No, the bugs are not out of the E-series, he said. Despite that, first models will be rushed through test trials and hurried into combat. We will modify subsequent production models on a lessons-learned basis. Risky, except we believe that E-ships with flaws will be superior to anything currently in inventory. Will they win the war for us? Kensington paused masterfully and waited as everyone leaned forward in their seats. Impossible to predict, but they may keep us from losing it, if we can correct design flaws and overcome production bottlenecks in time.

Sir, the firepower defensive-screen monograph is up. Kensington turned to look at the vid display then nodded at the aide who had spoken. He drew a laser pointer out of his pocket and walked to the floating holographic display.

As you can see, and with this he flashed his pointing laser, the E-series represent a quantum leap in technology over anything currently in inventory. There was a slight rustling in the audience.

What about speed, Sir? The question came from an officer on Bulldog's left, a fleet line officer.

Kensington faced the questioner. They should be twenty-five percent faster than Lin-Teye battlewagons, have defensive screens equivalent to Lin-Teye heavy cruisers, and be able to effectively engage in direct fire exchanges at over five hundred thousand kilometers.

Aw right! The excited comment came from a fleet line officer to Bulldog's right, the one who had been at Three-Moons. That officer jumped up and started applauding. Others followed. Kensington walked to the podium and stood patiently until the clapping subsided.

Exactly. What's not to like? he said. Being the master politician he was, he let his eyes slowly take in the whole amphitheater before speaking again. Unfortunately, there are a number of not-to-likes, he said. First, E-series models, at their earliest, are estimated five months off and mass production seven, and that's if we encounter no unsolvable production line delays. A verbal explosion of protest filled the amphitheater. Bulldog was not surprised. Fleet losses had been appalling and Sector commanders and their staffs would be the first to know exactly how tight resources would get with no new replacement hulls for seven months. This time the noise didn't die away.

At ease! Kensington's irritated command only dampened the uproar. Finally he raised his hand and stared hard at the loudest clusters. Calm of a sort was restored. Our objective is quite clear. Reaching it is the difficultly. Sacrifice, ingenuity, and a most careful husbanding of resources will be mandatory, and those of you here will determine whether we survive until the E-series becomes operational.

An uncertain voice filled Kensington's slight pause. Are you saying, Sir, that StarComm is risking Earth's life on a crash conversion of existing production lines to an untried weapons design? The speaker was an Admiral on Parks' staff. Bulldog suppressed a snort. It was so like Parks' people to ignore the obvious.

Absolutely, Kensington said. StarComm and the World League leadership are convinced that the risk of losing the war by continuing current operations is a hundred percent. You all know the old saw, if you want the same old results, keep on doing the same old thing. Kensington paused, took a breath and started anew. As of three days ago, all StarComm offensive operations ceased. Until further notice, StarComm is assuming a defensive-operations-only posture. The most aggressive thing we will do is sector forward patrolling. If the Lin-Teye become extremely aggressive in one sector, we will even consider abandoning it.

Kensington held up his hand to head off the growing swell of anger. When silence returned, he resumed his briefing. At our projected loss rate over the next six months, current inventory will not stretch to the E-series introduction so we are taking steps to augment each sector's immediate response force. First, we are disbanding offensive task forces and reassigning released ships and personnel to sector commands. Second, the last of our mothball fleet will be activated and assigned to sector naval yards for parts or refurbishing as time and upgrade equipment permits. Last, we are instituting the Phoenix-Stanine program. Under it we intend that each sector will form forward patrol squadrons of Aegis Corvette's. Gun and comm upgrades will be effected at sector naval yards. The class A ships so released . . .

A roar of disbelief swept the amphitheater. Aegis Corvettes were 115 years old and the last one in service had been retired 60 years ago. The corvettes were totally obsolete even by the most charitable of measures. The noise showed little signs of slacking.

At ease, Kensington said sharply. Not while I'm talking. The uproar, hastened by pointedly delivered glares, was reduced to a low murmur. As I was saying, the class A ships so released will be used to supplement sector response forces. The addition of these ships is critical, because without them we won't stretch - period.

The murmuring, which had never quite died, swelled in intensity. Kensington again held up his hand. I know. Believe me, I know. Losses in the Aegis patrols will be high, perhaps even catastrophic. But consider the alternative. Kensington paused and looked slowly around the amphitheater. Adopting the Phoenix-Stanine program had been the toughest command call of his career.

Aegis crews will be drawn heavily from draftees, military stockades, and non-critical military occupation pools. The officers, for the most part, will be those with record blemishes or other problems which are deemed non-material to the completion of the mission. The Aegis boats are so slow and so poorly protected that there is little the crews will be able to do to affect the outcome of any engagement the Lin-Teye elect to pursue. There . . .

Bulldog's sudden realization that StarComm was creating a sacrificial group and dumping it right in the Lin-Teye's lap brought him to his feet. His pulse pounded in his ears, nearly blocking Kensington's words about academy graduates and StarComm's best officers and NCOs being assigned to E-ship mock-up crews. Kensington halted the briefing.

Yes General?

Is the crewing-risk wise, Admiral, politically or for fleet morale?

Kensington's displeased stare bored into Bulldog. Compared to the risk of losing the war? Or the risk of not stretching current inventory until the E-series comes on line? Yes it’s acceptable. This course, however repugnant, gives us our best chance.

Admiral, such deliberate unevenness in risk assignment is a disaster waiting to detonate in our face, Bulldog answered. How can we justify to Earth that their sons and daughters weren't good enough to deserve at least a few front-line officers? Justify that this terrible risk wasn't apportioned equitably throughout StarComm. That in fact their sons and daughters were used by StarComm as cannon-fodder. Cannon-fodder, Admiral. Bulldog's words sent groans rippling through the amphitheater. Before Kensington could answer Admiral Parks bounced to his feet.

Real officers aren't afraid of duty risks, Delvany.

Bulldog whirled. His fists were clenched, his lips thin white lines. A red flush slowly colored his neck. Step out of the fucking shadows Parks and say what you really mean!

A collective gasp rose from those in the amphitheater. Gentlemen, Kensington shouted. Abruptly reminded as to where they were, the two officers turned and looked at StarComm's commanding officer. And I am using that term loosely where you two are concerned! Kensington's voice was terse. I will see you two in my quarters an hour after this meeting adjourns; and, if you know what is in each of your best interests, you will subject us to no more of your damn bickering. Kensington glared at Parks. Red faced, Admiral Parks sat down. Are you telling me you're going to have a problem executing Phoenix-Stanine, Delvany? The words were as cold as Kensington's glare. Bulldog knew he had been neatly boxed and that irritated him even more than Parks' jab had.

No, Admiral. Without waiting to be told, Bulldog sat down. There was no point in anything else.

Eight minutes after the meeting ended Bulldog was in a small suite pacing back and forth. Though small, the suite was attractive and well lit. On a small counter, framed and reflected in the mirror behind it, was a filled ice bucket nestling a bottle of champagne. The door opened and a very attractive StarComm female officer with golden streaked tresses entered. Bulldog opened his arms and she moved into them and embraced him. He hugged her tightly, enjoying immensely her feminine feel and the affection she showered on him. Even after four years of seeing her off and on Bulldog was filled with boyish excitement by Navy Lieutenant Commander Charlene Carla Strickland's appearance. They kissed and separated.

A very unpopular thing you did, Bruce. Your stars are not exactly shining at the moment.

Damn Parks!

Charlie sighed. The two men's dislike for one another was almost legendary, but Parks was higher ranking and had more friends so the dispute was personally dangerous for Bulldog. Couldn't you for once, just for me, ignore him?

Bulldog took a large breath and as he considered her words his foot continued to scuff the carpet. Maybe she was right. He was letting his dislike for Parks interfere in his relationship with Charlie and that definitely wasn't good.

You're going to wear a hole in it.

What? Bulldog looked at her and followed her glance to his foot. He laughed lightly and held out his arms. Charlie stepped into them and they hugged tightly. Bulldog kissed her forehead softly.

Any use in asking you to marry me again? Charlie's fingers, busy being playful on his back, stilled. Damn! I wasn't going to press her, he scolded himself. He hadn't intended to bring up the one sore point between them. It was just that when he saw her, his ongoing desire for her overwhelmed him. Silence filled the suite as Charlie stood motionless in his arms. She looked up. Bruce, I am interested, as a future thing, but I'm not ready for marriage right now and I have no interest in motherhood anytime soon. She paused and then laid her head against his shoulder. If another applicant fills the position before I'm ready, I'll understand, though the hurt will be more than you can imagine.

Bulldog remained silent. With the war on even if he arranged to get Charlie posted to ReGone, his unending sixteen and seventeen hour days wouldn't promote the closeness he wanted for his marriage. Bulldog kissed the top of her forehead again as a signal he hadn't taken her rejection personally and as he did, the scent of her, like her feminine fullness, caught his attention. He loosened his arms and let his hands slide caressingly down her back, over her hips and onto Charlie's shapely derriere. His hands caressed the feminine curves and thinking of her out of uniform, Bulldog became aroused. Charlie moaned appreciatively and her hips instinctively thrust forward against his masculine hardness.

The room's comm unit chose that moment to interrupt. Bulldog groaned. He released Charlie and walked to the wall and touched the blinking section of the comm screen. Delvany!

Paula Jenkin's image appeared on the screen. Bulldog saw her eyes look quickly around the suite and he had the strangest impression that somehow she was smugly satisfied. Parks got your meeting with Kensington changed to three minutes from now, General.

That bastard. The oath was out before Bulldog remembered Charlie's earlier request. Chagrinned, he glanced at Charlie then back at Paula Jenkins' image. Inform Kensington I'll be there.

Right, General. Paula Jenkins eyes crinkled slightly as she glanced towards Charlie. By the way Lieutenant Commander Strickland, Admiral Griffin has set a new departure time for sixteen-twenty hours. Jenkins out.

The comm channel closed leaving Bulldog ready to strike something. In the silence his jaw clenched and unclenched. Finally his arm dropped to his side. He turned and spoke with obvious strained self-control. Is there any chance for us afterwards?

Charlie shook her head negatively. Not if Admiral Griffin has rescheduled his departure time.

Damn him!

Charlie frowned at Bulldog. And you weren't a major part of our losing this time together, Bruce? The words stung. Bulldog's expression grew grim as his hands clenched and then unclenched in resignation. He met her gaze.

I apologize, Charlie.

I haven't seen you for three months and your engaging in playground antics with Parks is more important than time with me. What makes it even worse, she said staring accusingly at Bulldog, is 'fast-hands Jenkins' delight in giving me the news.

They stood in frustrated silence looking at one another. Finally, Bulldog knew it was time to go. He exhaled resignedly. I'm sorry, Charlie.

* ~~ *

REGONE: Underground Command Bunker: Lift Minus 40 days - 09:20 hours

Army First Lieutenant Derek Lonsdale absently turned the page of the magazine in his hand without having read a single word. He looked up and once again glanced around ReGone's underground command center. Eight feet in front of him a female Warrant Officer sat collating reports. Behind her a Lieutenant Commander and two navy Lieutenants were busy monitoring incoming/outgoing communications for General Delvany. Beyond them was a floor to ceiling glass wall and on the other side scurried the officers and enlisted personnel of post operations. Through the glass wall Derek could see the large wall-sized screens blinking and displaying data, diagrams, or copies of distant screens. Beyond and perpendicular to the glass wall, a hallway separated Post Ops from the offices of Bulldog's staff officers. Administrative assistants loomed in front of these like busy guard dogs. The color motif for the command bunker was much like the rest of the underground facilities, beige white with blue, green and brown highlights -- a welcome reminder of the beauty of a distant Earth versus the overwhelming orange and reds of ReGone. Crisply balanced atmospherics challenged the fact that the command bunker was a thousand feet below ground.

'I wonder why General Delvany wants to see me?' It was the fourth time in the last ten minutes Derek had asked himself that question. He ran his hand nervously through his closed-cropped light brown hair. A slightly worried look filled his attractive face because there was a lot for him to be worried about. The Lin-Teye's mostly human appearance, graced by their elfin air, made them a very attractive species to mankind. That had become very apparent to Derek when his sister, Tana Jane, had married one of their up and coming diplomats. The Lin-Teye and mankind were close enough genetically that with very little help from Lin-Teye genetic scientists, TJ had birthed Jennifer Lyn, a beautiful little girl.

Derek had been dubious about TJ's desire of marriage to essentially a member of an alien species, but the thought of losing TJ from his life had forced his grudging acceptance of their union. After he gotten to know his Lin-Teye brother-in-law, Rougan Te'Shera, Derek's feelings about his sister's marriage had drastically changed. Rougan was extremely intelligent, had a wonderful sense of humor, deeply loved TJ, and had quickly become Derek's best friend. That TJ laughed a lot around Rougan helped even more. What had really sealed the deal on TJ's marriage for Derek was their daughter Jennifer Lyn. She had quickly zeroed in on her 'Unca Dek' as her most favorite person in the whole world. Besides being an exuberant happy child, Jennifer Lyn was very loving and when she focused the intensity of her child's love on Derek she had conquered totally.

From his relationship with Rougan, and because of the importance of Rougan's position in Lin-Teye society, Derek had gotten to know a number of Lin-Teye and had grown to like and admire them as a species. Besides their physical attractiveness, they demonstrated a delightful sense of humor and, perhaps more importantly as far as Derek was concerned, they were totally trustworthy. Honor was extremely important in all facets of Lin-Teye society.

While satisfying to him personally, TJ's marriage to Rougan and the birth of their daughter was the bane of Derek's military career. Because of his Lin-Teye associations Derek had been deemed untrustworthy by the investigative arm of StarComm, the Military Security Bureau, or the MSB as they were generally known. Derek had posted to Camp La June on the planet ReGone twelve months prior to the war's outbreak and at the commencement of hostilities, his life on ReGone had become one of immense frustration and despair. Derek, because of the MSB's warning tag was denied a fleet posting. He had also been denied any posting that even remotely touched something sensitive. In a word, what he was stuck with day after day, month after month was the worst of bilge details ReGone had to offer. Making the non-relenting bilge duty assignments even worse was the smirks and smart-ass remarks of the officers assigning him those duties. Their sneers and body language said one thing all too clearly, they detested his presence. He had stopped going to the officer's club three months after the outbreak of hostilities. People would point him out then hushed whispers and smirks would follow. And everyone would move away from him or turn their back on him. He had been ostracized and that included all female personnel on ReGone. No female on post would date him, and those that had to speak to him made their comments terse. No female smiles came his way. The last two years on ReGone had been the most difficult, friendless years of Derek Lonsdale's life.

Another problem for Derek was the war itself. He didn't understand it or the motivations behind it. The Lin-Teye were an older civilization and at first contact relations with Earth they had been welcoming and friendly. The fact that the Lin-Teye were Elvin like, and were physically appealing to Earthly eyes made the reasons for the war even more unexplainable to Derek. And his deep and immediate friendship with Rougan made the war personably challenging. The possibility of his having to fire at an enemy vessel Rougan might be in was a conundrum Derek found most disquieting.

'I've got it,' thought Derek to himself. 'He's going to kick my butt for breaking that training robot.' Derek's mind was hop-scotching from one possibility to another. The robot's destruction had been accidental. With no friends and no steady job assignment, and after nearly coming to blows with another officer in the O-club, Derek had elected to exhaust himself daily in combat against the base's Jeng training robots. Two weeks ago, beset by vicious comments made loud enough for him to overhear, Derek had vented his anger in a violent series of Jeng combat moves. He had executed deadly killing sequences as easily as others shook hands and before he was aware of what he was doing, the very expensive Jeng training robot lay crumpled and broken at his feet.

The General will see you now, Lieutenant. The feminine voice interrupted Derek's thoughts and jerked him to his feet. Embarrassed by his start, he attempted to appear calm by carefully returning the magazine he had been holding to the small table. The effort was successful, then undone by his running his hand nervously through his hair.

Though the bunker had excellent climate control, Derek swallowed to ease his suddenly dry throat. After a deep breath, he looked at the female Warrant Officer, gave her a perfunctory smile, then turned and headed for the door that separated Lieutenant General W. Bruce (Bulldog) Delvany, the military God of ReGone, from the rest of the universe.

Derek pushed through Bulldog's office door and like many before him was awed. Behind the desk two flag standards, one the world league flag, the other StarComm's battle flag, provided a colorful backdrop. Between the two flags and directly behind the general hung an autographed picture of D'Amonshri L Singh, the current Secretary General of the World League. Various awards the General had earned within StarComm, which included the coveted Medal of Valor (StarComms highest), were displayed on the wall to the General's right. At the far end of the office was a private bar and a pseudo-window, a real measure of power in material-short StarComm. Completing the overwhelming setting was a small gallery of pictures along the far wall showing members of the General's past commands.

Sir, Derek said, posting rigidly in front of Bulldog's desk and saluting. His eyes focused a foot over Bulldog's head. As he stared into nothingness, Derek tried hard to present a military image, anything to cover the nervous uncertainty that gripped him. Everyone knew Bulldog Delvany wasn't in the habit of talking to lowly Lieutenants to pass the time of day. The General looked up, studied Derek for long seconds before returning the salute.

At ease, Lieutenant. I have two questions and I need short answers. How do you feel about our war with the Lin-Teye and if you were assigned to a mission that required you to kill them, could you?

Derek's eyes widened. This was nothing like what he was expecting. Surprised, Derek's gaze found the General's eyes. The sheer force of will projecting from the stare that met his left little doubt in Derek's mind that behind General Delvany's piercing gray eyes lay a superior intellect. He took a moment to think.

In truth I don't understand the war, General. I think it is completely stupid, said Derek. He had quickly thought of many different things he could say but had quickly realized that whatever was going on, the absolute truth was what General Delvany wanted. I personally know many Lin-Teye, he continued, and like them individually and as a species. Lin-Teye society has many tenets I would like to see mankind semi-adopt; however, I am not willing to have those things forced onto us by the Lin-Teye. Personally, I would rather not kill, General, but if it comes down to a choice between the Lin-Teye dictating to us or shooting at them, I'm shooting, General.

Bulldog nodded, stared at Derek a few seconds longer then opened the center drawer of his desk, removed an antacid combo energy pill and swallowed it before returning his attention back to Derek. What you are about to hear is not to be repeated outside this room. Clear?

Yes, Sir! said Derek in relief. It didn't sound like he was going to get his ass chewed.

Few are aware of the true extent of recent StarComm losses. If the Lin-Teye elect to force major engagements on us, it's likely that some sectors will not have sufficient immediate response forces to repulse Lin-Teye intrusions. Do you understand the implications of that, Lieutenant?

The last had been said softly, yet Derek felt as if he had been kicked in the stomach. Once alerted by the forward patrols, a sector's immediate response force was vectored to intercept and repulse any intrusion. If the perimeter sectors couldn't stop the Lin-Teye, then only the home fleet stood between the Lin-Teye's prime battle fleet and Earth. That prospect made Derek's stomach constrict even further. This was worse than he had imagined and he had been studying engagement reports continuously since the war's outbreak.

Is there any chance of replace . . .

Lieutenant, Bulldog snapped. I've never accepted having subordinates quiz me during a personal briefing and I have neither the time nor patience to start that practice now.

Derek's face blushed red. Yes Sir.

Bulldog glanced at the papers on his desk then, to Derek's relief, he continued. The Lin-Teye worlds can out-produce us and their equipment is substantially better than ours. That makes for a tough war. Bulldog's slight pause was expansive. Earth is betting everything on a radically new starship series. The new line has tremendous potential; however, E-series deployment is at least seven months away. Seven months, Lieutenant. Bulldog's eyes focused intensely on Lieutenant Lonsdale's face. It's SeComm's task to buy StarComm that time, at any cost. Bulldog leaned back in his chair and for the first time his hands become an active part of the conversation.

StarComm is re-commissioning Aegis Corvettes for use as forward patrol squadrons. The replaced Class A ships will be shifted to Sector response forces. Without them, we won't make it to the E-series, Bulldog explained. These patrol squadrons will be light years slower than anything the Lin-Teye throw at us, will be badly outgunned and under shielded. Knowing this, StarComm is determined to deploy Aegis patrol squadrons in perimeter sectors as quickly as possible. Bulldog paused and looked Derek in the eye.

Do you understand the necessity, Lieutenant?

Yes Sir. I understand. And Derek truly did. StarComm had to, at any cost, buy Earth's factories the necessary time and that meant the Aegis boats and crews were expendable. Derek's curiosity rose even higher. Everything made sense except why was he being told.

Eighteen of these Aegis Corvettes are, at this moment, undergoing reconditioning here on ReGone and I'm vetting their personnel pools, Bulldog said. Derek's mind made the leap and to make sure his revelation was true, he found Bulldog's eyes and matched the steely gaze. When the General offered no further information Derek knew his supposition was correct. He snapped to attention.

Sir, I volunteer for patrol duty in the corvettes if one of your commanders will have me. The prospect of finally getting a posting, no matter how dangerous, thrilled Derek

At ease, Lieutenant, said Bulldog nodding. One of these squadrons, CTI-351, assembles at La June in two days and is slated to lift for deployment 31 days later. Would you like command of that squadron, Lieutenant?

The question stunned Derek. Command? Him? Of a navy Squadron? Disbelief so overwhelmed Derek, he found it necessary to replay the words in his mind. Surely he hadn't heard what he thought he'd heard? When Derek's disbelief subsided it was all he could do to restrain his excitement. At the last moment his sister and her Lin-Teye husband came to mind.

Well, Lieutenant?

Yes! Absolutely, Sir! Yes Sir, Derek said hastily. Surely the General was aware of his family background. Suddenly the full meaning of his acceptance penetrated. He had a posting! Not only a posting, but a command! Derek's lips broadened into a ferocious grin and his hands came up, clenched into fists and moved exuberantly. Thank you, Sir!

Bulldog and Derek stared at one another for a few seconds before the General resumed the briefing. I believe you have the right to know what you will be up against, Lieutenant, before your decision is final. Aegis Corvettes, once on station, couldn't run from a Lin-Teye destroyer, even with a two day head start, and they haven't shield strength to last longer than forty seconds if engaged. Their weapons systems, even with the expected gun upgrade, will be inferior to the Lin-Teye patrols possess and, under the most favorable of circumstances, it's unlikely that an entire Aegis patrol squadron could knock out a standard Lin-Teye recon patrol of a single destroyer and sub-corvette in a toe-to-toe slugging match. And the worst truth is that if you get hit by a real aggressive Lin-Teye heavy patrol, which is two Lin-Teye destroyers and two corvettes, you'll be fortunate to have a single boat make it back. You still want the command?

Yes, Sir, said Derek excitedly.

Okay, Lieutenant, it's yours. What StarComm needs is an accurate advance warning of Lin-Teye probes in strength through your patrol area. I don't want an over-excited report of doom the first time you encounter an aggressive Lin-Teye recon patrol, because a report that causes the Sector response forces to be marshaled in the wrong area is almost as dangerous as not receiving a report on a major Lin-Teye incursion. Bulldog's eyes narrowed. You copy?

Loud and clear, Sir, said Derek. And he did. General Delvany was asking for responsible execution of the squadron's mission, nothing less. That such duty properly executed meant loss of life within his patrol was not a consideration, the squadron was expendable.

After the meeting concluded Bulldog pushed his chair back, stood and walked towards the bar just beyond his pseudo window. On the way he passed the gallery of his former commands. The accomplishments the pictures represented seemed to mock him. He, not someone else, had just placed that young officer into StarComm's cannon-fodder group. An action made even more disgusting by Post Op's computations that less than fourteen percent of those who served in the old Aegis boats would survive three tours of duty. Bulldog reached the bar and poured himself a glass of double malt bourbon, neat. The action was uncharacteristic. Bulldog seldom drank on duty and never by himself. After a pause, he downed half the glass in a single swallow. As the liquid burned its way down his throat, he stared morosely at the scene on his pseudo window. It had been easy enough to guess in light of the Lieutenant's numerous posting requests in his personnel file that Lonsdale would jump at any posting opportunity, regardless of risk.

Bulldog's unusual offer had grown from feelings of disquiet about squadron CTI-351. It contained far too many 'serious' trouble makers, far too many bad attitudes and far too many green draftees. And his interview with navy Lieutenant JG Rotz P Tilleyman, 351's HuRes assigned CO, had changed his disquiet to galloping dismay. Tilleyman had seemed shifty and worse, Bulldog's gut feeling had screamed that the combination of Tilleyman and the unit's personnel was a disaster in the making. Selecting Lonsdale was risky for if the unit failed miserably and the failure could be laid at the feet of the young officer, it would be substantive grist for more of Parks' attacks. And it might even be possible grounds for a censure because of the MSB's (Military Security Bureau) do-not-use warning in the Lieutenant's file. But since Bulldog wasn't about to give command of the patrol to Tilleyman, and his personnel replacement pool of young officers was bone dry, he had few options. Despite his depressed thoughts, Lonsdale's reaction had pleased Bulldog. He was about to travel a very skinny limb and he didn't want an unsound judgment snapping it off behind him. He looked down at the half full glass on the bar and returned to his desk. The excellent bourbon hadn't burned away any of his disgust.

* ~~ *

EARTH: VIRGINIA: World League Complex New Hope: Lift Minus 40 days - 20:42 hours

Eighty-Seven Kilometers South of Washington DC stood the World League complex New Hope. With six forty-story work/living centers concentrically aligned and inter-connected by eighteen 84 acre un-buttressed inter-floors, the complex was a triumph of nuoglass and plascrete form molding. The top of the complex, the towers and inter-floor roof, functioned as a large aerial transport nexus for the diplomatic community and was replete with runways, flitter pads and its own wearied traffic control section. The ground floor between the buildings was a magnificent arboretum whose three-story high roof served as the floor of the World Leagues general assembly chamber.

Since the inception of the war, it was not unusual to see one or more of the inter-floors lit late into the evening hours and this night was no exception. The thirty-five story high sixteenth inter-floor blazed with light. StarComm Ensign Bonnie Ann LaForte looked at the diplomatic receiving line ahead and swallowed. Unable to buy a dress on her StarComm wages to match the stunning plumage of the other females present, and too proud to humble herself before her wealthy mother, Bonnie Ann felt badly out of place. She glanced to her right and nearly stumbled. The solid wall she had been against had given way to a curving two story high one piece nuoglass pane that stretched in an unbroken inward curving arc from the tower she had first entered to the adjacent tower. The view of the countryside thirty-five stories up was breath taking and disorienting because of the invisibility of the nuoglass at night. The view gave a sense of floating among the clouds, and a sense of vertigo.

Nervous?

Bonnie Ann glanced at the five-star Admiral beside her. I'm feeling a lot like a plain brown wren that's got itself invited to a party of large red breasted robins. With her comment, her grandfather, StarComm five-star Admiral Nels Jarman, looked at Bonnie Ann's flawless complexion and sun streaked golden hair, then looked at the over-endowed redhead less than fifteen feet away. The redhead, on the arm of an older diplomat, was dressed in a low cut red sequined gown that barely covered the nipples of her very prominent breasts.

You're staring, Bonnie Ann said. Nels glanced at his granddaughter.

Actually, I was looking at her feet.

Grandfather! Bonnie Ann's protest turned into a soft chuckle. Nels kept a straight face.

No, honest, Bonnie Ann. I've concluded that when she had herself body sculpted, she had those things filled with helium to keep them up, and, according to my calculations, she's due to go airborne any second now.

Bonnie Ann laughed and when she saw others turning to look at her she quieted and pinched her grandfather's arm affectionately. Grandfather, you're terrible, she whispered.

Bonnie Ann.

The loud greeting interfered with the muted nearby conversations causing heads to turn towards the young male bearing down on her and her uncle. The young was dressed in the latest skintight blue velsilk pants which were cut cleverly to enhance the bulge of his sex and prominently display his sculpted thigh muscles. An arsosilk white shirt with lacey cuffs and collar, a red cummerbund and a white gold trimmed embassy short jacket completed the ensemble.

Hi, Nikki.

His beaming happy smile displayed perfect teeth and sent Bonnie Ann's heart rate soaring. Nikki Ruiz Sante Cardona was the richest, most gorgeous male she had ever seen and he seemed taken with her. Unable to help herself, Bonnie Ann cast a quick glance at the stunning redhead and felt better when she saw the other’s envy. Nikki grasped her hand and in a dramatic flourish, brought it to his mouth and kissed it, leaving her pleased and slightly embarrassed.

It is ravishing you are this night, no?

No, Nikki, she said trying to gently take her hand back.

Nikki Cardona continued to hold her hand as he examined her body very slowly. Heat surged through Bonnie Ann. Nikki Cardona had an obvious and dramatic way of making her aware of her sex, her desirability. It is teasing, you are me, no, he asked. Without giving her time to answer, Nikki turned and looked at her uncle. Senor Jar . . . my pardon, General Jarman. Good evening it is to you. Bonnie Ann restrained her laugh.

It's Admiral Jarman, Nikki, said Bonnie Ann smiling.

Nikki clasped a hand to his forehead. Perdoname. It's stupido I've been again. You have my most humble apology, Admiral Jarman. As Nikki bowed and stuck his hand out to Nels, Bonnie Ann managed to retrieve her hand.

Senor Cardona, Nels said shaking the extended hand. As soon as polite, Nikki turned the beaming smile back on Bonnie Ann.

My papacito will be so happy to meet such a smart-beautiful companion I date, Bonnie Ann. Nikki's naked look of longing was so intimate, Bonnie Ann shivered. It had been a long time since someone had tried this hard to get her into their bed.

Boy it's warm in here, she said fanning her face.

Ah, how stupido, Nikki said placing his palm against his forehead. Of course, I shall get you the drink. Champagne. No?

Bonnie Ann smiled at Nikki's dramatics. A glass of Chablis will be fine, Nikki. Nikki turned to Nels.

Senor Jar . . . er, General Jarman, and you, Sir?

Thank you, no, Senor Cardona, Nels answered. Nikki nodded and turned to Bonnie Ann.

Your wish, my command is, he said dramatically. He bowed, turned with a flourish and walked off towards the nearest bar. Bonnie Ann grew slightly flustered when she noticed everyone looking at Nikki's tight pants. The pants were so tight that every muscle of his buttocks was on display.

I swear, I don't know why that boy isn't a soprano.

Grandfather, Bonnie Ann protested then she had to look downward to avoid giggling. Nels glanced at his granddaughter.

Are you in love with him, Bonnie Ann?

I think I'm in lust, Grandfather, she answered watching Nikki's well-shaped retreating buttocks. Bonnie Ann sighed dramatically, then looked up seriously at her grandfather. I just don't understand why he is so interested in me. He's so attractive and so loaded.

You're as pretty as anyone here, Bonnie Ann.

And I thank you, Grandfather; unfortunately, you're not exactly unbiased. But hey, I'm only worried about keeping him out of sight of Charlotte.

Bonnie Ann, Bulldog has long agreed with me that you're the catch of both families. Bonnie Ann patted his sleeve affectionately.

And Uncle Bruce is not unbiased, Grandfather? She looked at him and smiled warmly. I love you both for saying it though.

* ~~ *

EARTH: Secret underground facility Eighty-Three miles from Lima Peru: Lift Minus 40 days - 23:40 hours

Order! Order! Vigorous banging of a gavel sounded. As bedlam continued, the Chairman resigned himself to waiting for the voluble egos to exhaust themselves. Francisco Quvarra, Frank to those who knew him closely, stood on a slightly raised dais facing three rows of ten seats each. Each row sat a foot higher than the one in front. The walls in the underground facility were polished living rock and while stark, the plainness was deliberate. It helped soothe the always-present