Action Stations

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Mcauliffe-Confederation Day eve.Confederation date 2634.234

"Have a good holiday Janice."

Stepping out of the space-to-surface transport, Admiral Frederick Long, commander of the Seventh Fleet docked at Alexandria Station above McAuliffe, nodded thanks to his pilot. As he walked across the tarmac he took a deep breath of hot, dry air. It was hard to imagine Confederation Day in such a setting, he thought sadly. Back on Earth he used to spend it up in Maine, catching the last of summer, sailing on the coast. He was heading to the coolest spot on the planet, Highcroft, which at fifteen thousand feet and a hundred miles from McAuliffe was about the only bearable place on the surface. Most of his staff would be up there as well.

Highcroft was officer's country, the resort area an attempt at mimicking a mountain resort back on Earth. They had even imported trees from home, though the darn things took almost constant attention from an entire company of ground personnel, and a fair part of the base's precious water ration. At least there'd be a log on the fireplace as a result, though they'd have to turn on the air-conditioning while the fire burned.

He looked up at the blazing primary sun, shading his eyes against the glare. Thirty-nine more years to a real sunset, he thought.

A lieutenant, one of Nagomo's staff, stood waiting patiently, and then approached the admiral and saluted.

"What is it, lieutenant?"

"Sir, Admiral Nagomo wanted me to inform you he'll be along in an hour or so and suggested that you go ahead."

"Fine, lieutenant."

"He also wanted me to inform you that communications with Point X-ray have been cut off."

Long hesitated for a second. Point X-ray was the listening post positioned just inside the demilitarized zone, near the jump point into McAuliffe and orbital base Alexandria. The lieutenant handed him a sealed envelope, which Long opened.

The post reported that a smuggler craft had emerged from the Kilrathi side at high speed. A Kilrathi destroyer had popped through in pursuit, then turned and went back through into its own system. Shortly after this report, the post failed to check in with its twice-daily all clear signal. Damn it all, with the translight burst system still down, the picket ship was reduced to hovering near the jump point and sending a transponder back through the jump point to indicate everything was all right.

Long stood silent for a moment. Damn equipment. Chances were the transponder had failed, but still.

"How long before we're back on the air again?"

"The techs say the storm's abating up there. Maybe six hours, sir, and we'll be back up, on-line," and the lieutenant pointed up towards the fiery red ball that filled half the sky, a streamer of glowing fire arcing from the red giant to the smaller yellow dwarf.

Long nodded. Concordia had translight burst capability, he really should run it out of the system to get a clear signal. It had been almost two weeks now since they'd heard anything from outside the system. For that matter, maybe a frigate should run out to Point X-ray to check on the listening post. Too much was going wrong with communications, maybe it would be best to hold off on leaving right now.

"Fred, you know you're late."

Sighing he saw his wife, Linda, step out of their helo lift, gesturing towards him as though he was a child who was late for school.

"Sorry, dear. Last minute paperwork."

A transport which had settled down next to the admiral's lift craft popped its access hatch, and a storm of laughing, shouting enlisted men piled out. At the sight of their commander, they nervously fell silent, snapping off salutes as they passed.

"Enjoy your leave, boys, and stay out of trouble," Long said in a fatherly way while acknowledging their salutes.

Linda came up to her husband's side and looked disdainfully at the disembarking crews, who as soon as they thought they were out of earshot started to again discuss where they were heading.

"Frederick, is that wretched place, Four Dollar Suzie's still open? I distinctly heard one of those boys say that's where he was heading. I thought I told you I wanted that filthy den shut down."

"Yes, dear," the admiral said wearily, "I'll have one of my people look into it immediately. But do remember, groundside is not under my control, dear, that's Nagomo's territory."

She shot an angry glance at Nagomo's lieutenant, as if the den of iniquity was his fault.

Long sighed and nodded to the lieutenant. "Tell the admiral the transponder most likely malfunctioned. If they don't report in on the next check, I'll run a frigate out to look around."

"Fred, our guests are waiting," Linda announced impatiently.

"That's all, lieutenant."

The lieutenant saluted and headed back towards headquarters. Long folded the envelope up and put it in his pocket as Linda took him by the arm and steered him toward the waiting helo.

"And another thing. I saw your guest list for tonight. I thought I told you that I will not tolerate Captain Hunter stepping into our house. After what he did with that other woman, it'd be an insult to Nancy if we have him in. I sent a note to her yesterday about that, and I'd die if she found out we had him over. Frederick, I want him transferred off your staff at once."

"Yes, dear," the admiral replied, looking back to see his shuttle powering up and starting to taxi back out to the runway. There was a slight gnawing sense, a gut instinct that was troubling. Communications back to CONFEDFLT had been down way too long. There were no indications of outright trouble. Hell, the offensive against the Cats was hundreds of light-years away, entirely outside his operational sector, but still, a lot could have happened. Now this glitch with the picket station. Maybe he should go back up, keep station on board tonight, at least until they found out what was going on at X-ray.

Thirty years of service, a good record, never a mistake, that was worth guarding. But then again, how many hundreds of false alarms, how many sleepless nights that turned out to be for nothing?

"Frederick, I'm waiting."

He watched as the shuttle was cleared and pulled out onto the runway.

"Frederick!"

"Yes, dear," the admiral mumbled as he ducked into his helo, which lifted off and turned northward, headed for Highcroft.

Minutes later the twice-monthly transport from Earth arrived. Over a hundred replacements stepped out and looked around forlornly at their new home, while eighty men and women, their tours completed, piled on board. A pallet of replacement parts was offloaded and quickly sorted, the equipment destined for the fleet above was set to one side and covered with a tarp. The pilot of the ship finally stepped off, carrying a silver pouch, and went up to the ground crew chief.

"When's the next ship going upstairs?"

"Too bad, sir, just missed it. Headed up not five minutes ago."

"Got priority dispatches here for Admiral Long. Lot of stuff here, you guys have been off-line for over two weeks now."

The crew chief looked at the silver pouch.

"He just took off too, sir. Headed up to the officer's retreat for the holidays."

"Damn."

"Try Admiral Nagomos office. He's heading out to join Admiral Long, maybe they can relay the stuff along."

The pilot stalked off, heading for the base HQ, falling in behind the replacements. Breathing a sigh of relief as he stepped into the blessed air-conditioning of the building, he looked around for the signs which finally led him to the office of the base commander.

"Priority dispatches here for Admiral Long," he announced to the bleary-eyed clerk behind the desk, who had obviously started his holiday celebration early.

"Can't be reached now, sir. He's headed up to the retreat. We could transmit them up."

"I can't, they're Priority Triple A from Banbridge. I'm not allowed to have them transmitted. I heard Admiral Nagomo is still here, maybe he can forward this along," the pilot replied, feeling annoyed that, with ten years in the fleet, he was still running around like an errand boy.

The clerk stood up and, coming around from behind his desk, looked at the silver envelope. Without saying a word he went back to his desk and picked up his phone. A minute later a middle-aged lieutenant came up to the pilot.

"Can I help you, sir?"

The pilot repeated yet again the need to get the dispatches to the admiral, and mentioned the requirement that he sign the pouch off before being permitted to leave.

"Admiral Nagomo, my boss, is heading up there in a couple of minutes. How about if I pass them on to him, and he can deliver them to Long?"

It wasn't quite according to regulations, the pilot thought. He was required to hand them off to Long or to one of his staff. But then again, he reasoned, one could say that Nagomo was part of the staff since he was in direct command of all ground facilities at McAuliffe, which answered to Long as commander of this fleet, which included McAuliffe and the orbital base Alexandria.

"All right."

The lieutenant signed the receipt. The pilot, glad to be rid of his burden, wished the lieutenant a happy holiday and left the building. The lieutenant watched the pilot enviously. The damn kids getting out of this lousy place, while I've got six more years to wait out till retirement.

The lieutenant started down the corridor to Nagomo's office, but stopped when one of the women in personnel gave him a cheerful greeting, and then, without much discretion, held up a bottle. The lieutenant hesitated, then stepped into the office which was already starting to cut loose with its celebration. Tucking the pouch into his belt, the lieutenant waded through the crowd… and never saw Nagomo heading down the corridor on his way to Highcroft.

Kilrathi Second Fleet of the Claw

"Remember, all pilots are in their attack craft and will start immediate launch once the jump point is cleared. No matter what is encountered on the other side, the launch will proceed without delay."

The Crown Prince carefully examined the expressions on the faces of his six carrier commanders. They were all personally picked, all were eager.

"Return to your ships."

The commanders saluted and hurried down to the launch bay for the return flights to their vessels. Gilkarg looked over at his son.

"I expect you to return with blood on your claws, but do not take any unnecessary risks like a fresh cub looking for notice from his elders."

"I will do my duty, father."

Gilkarg drew closer. "Your duty is to stay alive."

Ratha looked at him, unable to reply. Was he being asked to shirk?

"I will not be like Jukaga, if that is what you mean."

Gilkarg snarled with disdain. "He is an embarrassment to his family. The shame will follow him for lingering behind when there is glory to be won. But as for you, I expect survival. You are the heir after me, remember that."

Ratha smiled. That, of course was a fact he would never forget.

Gilkarg watched his expression carefully, then waved a dismissal. Three of the best pilots in the fleet had been assigned to his unit with orders to keep him alive, something Ratha would never know. He would win his glory, but he also must learn when to let others do the killing.

The Crown Prince turned to look back at the navigation plot boards. They were continuing to accelerate towards the jump point into McAuliffe. They would hit it in less than six hours, attempting a jump at a velocity never before tried by carrier- and battleship-size vessels. The tests with old cargo hulks indicated that the risk factor of a misalignment had increased, but not enough to be of concern.

He settled into his command chair and motioned for the latest reports to be handed over. Most of the news was troubling. The Confederation picket ship did get off a partial burst signal before being destroyed. Could McAuliffe's station be back on-line, and had they been warned? There would be no way of knowing until the first carrier cleared the jump. Sixth Fleet had just completed its final burst transmission before jumping towards the Landreich, but resistance had already been encountered short of the jump point, when a picket ship opened fire first, then fled. Obviously, the Landreich was waiting for the attack.

Finally, there was the report on the transfer of information to the spies on the smuggler ship. All leads had turned up cold. The courier was completely untraceable. He wore no identification or clan markings. His record of teeth imprints and laser scan of his eyes revealed no records, as well. It was as if he had never existed. Gilkarg smiled and shook his head as he contemplated just how masterful the betrayal truly was.

Mcauliffe

Commander Winston Turner stormed out of the McAuliffe communications center and headed for the base headquarters.

"The stations still down. They said another couple of hours at least!" he cried bitterly. "Now, let's go find this damn admiral."

Geoff, still self-conscious about his filthy clothes and lack of uniform, raced to keep up.

"Some damn Confed Day Eve we got here," Turner snapped as half a dozen enlisted personnel, several of them more than a little tipsy, came out of headquarters, laughing and talking loudly. They looked at Geoff, Vance and Winston in surprise. An officer, following the boisterous crowd, stopped at the door and stared at them coldly.

"Now, just where do you three think you're heading?"

"I'm Commander Turner, on special duty for Banbridge. I need to see Admiral Long or Admiral Nagomo now."

The officer grinned, as if he was a majordomo confronted by a peasant begging for audience with the king.

"You are not in uniform, Commander," the lieutenant started. "Second, you have no authorization here to see either admiral. The weekend holidays started. Come back on Monday and follow the proper channels."

Winston sprang on the officer, slamming him up against the open door. With his free hand he whipped out his identification card, which was trimmed with red and gold, a color coding indicating that he worked for the office of the Chief of Staff.

"Son, I'm giving you just thirty seconds to get into your damn office and find me one of the admirals, or find me someone who can, or I'll rip your damned head off, then jam it down your gaping throat."

"You could be court-martialed for this," the officer stuttered. His gaze shifted from Turner to Geoff and Vance, as if hoping they would restrain the lunatic, but the two simply closed, in on either side of him.

"Better listen to him, lieutenant," Geoff said calmly, "I've seen him do it."

The lieutenant sagged against the door and nodded weakly. Turner loosened his grip and shoved him through the door so that the lieutenant almost fell on the waxed linoleum surface. He looked back at Turner, as if ready to try an escape, but Winston was standing straight over him.

"Move it, lieutenant."

They followed the frightened officer down the corridor. As they passed the main desk he looked over at the young woman behind the counter. "Get security, now," the lieutenant hissed.

Turner ignored him and pushed the lieutenant forward.

"Where are the admirals?" Turner asked.

"At Highcroft, the officers retreat. Everyone's standing down for the holiday."

"What about their execs?"

"The same."

"Their heads of security?"

"The same."

"Damn it all to hell, is anybody here?"

"I am, sir, I'm on Nagomos staff."

"You the highest ranking officer in here right now?"

"I guess so, sir."

The lieutenant stopped by a small cubicle.

"That's my office."

"Well, let's get in there," Turner snarled. "Get on the horn to your boss, right now."

"I can't do that, sir. Standing orders are that the Admiral is only to be disturbed this weekend if there is a serious emergency."

"Would you call a damn war an emergency? Because, son, there's one coming straight at us. Now get on that comm unit, and I want to see Nagomos face on that screen in one minute, or it'll be your face that's jammed right through it."

"Is there a problem here, sir?"

Geoff turned to see two military police standing in the doorway.

"This man attacked me, he's a lunatic, sergeant, arrest him!"

The marine sergeant started to step into the room with a bit of a bemused look on his face. He had already dealt with half a dozen fights so far this evening, fueled by the rivers of cheap booze flowing in town. The sergeant stopped cold when he found himself staring down the bore of a blaster held by Geoff.

"Vance, take their weapons. Good move, Tolwyn, don't hesitate to shoot either of them if they make a move."

Geoff stared calmly at the sergeant. Though he doubted if he could actually blow the man's head off in cold blood, he knew that he had to convey the impression that he would if forced to do so. Vance pulled their pistols and nightsticks, then tossed them towards the far corner of the room.

"Come inside, gentlemen," Turner said calmly, motioning for them to sit down.

"Look, fella," the marine sergeant said. "I don't know who you guys are, but you're quickly moving from thirty days in the brig to a lifetime of bustin' rocks out on Devil's Planet. So, why don't we be friendly about this and I'll forget about the gun?"

"Tolwyn," the other marine said, looking over at Geoff. "Hey, you're the guy who told that senator to kiss your ass."

"The same," Geoff said calmly.

"Lieutenant, these guys are officers."

"Like hell they are," the lieutenant cried, trying to reassert some control now that there were witnesses from the base in the room who would undoubtedly discuss how he behaved.

Turner looked at the marine sergeant.

"Is Nagomos topkick still in the building?"

"Master Sergeant Ulandi? Yeah, he's down the corridor, he never leaves this place."

"Geoff, take the sergeant, get the topkick, and bring him back."

Geoff motioned for the sergeant to step out in the corridor and pocketed his own pistol, but kept it trained on the marine.

The marine led him down the corridor and stopped at a door just one down from an ornate plaque that announced the domain of the base commander.

Without bothering to knock the marine opened the door.

"Sergeant, we have a little problem here."

The sergeant major looked up from his comm unit.

"What the hell is this?" he barked.

"Sergeant, Commander Turner needs to see you," Geoff interrupted, while still keeping his eye on the M.P.

"Turner? Here?" The sergeant major stood up. Geoff could not help but admire the precise neatness of the old sergeant's uniform, which seemed ready to crack when he moved, so thick was the starch. As he stepped out into the corridor he casually looked over at Geoff and noticed the bulge of the blaster in the ensign's pocket.

"I hope your finger isn't on the trigger of that, Mr. Tolwyn."

Geoff was surprised to be recognized yet again.

"I'm sorry, sergeant, but it is. Commander Turner is having a problem with one of the admiral's lieutenants. If you would be so kind as to help straighten it out, I'll be glad to take my finger off the trigger and turn the weapon over to you."

Geoff sensed that this was not the type of man to push with threats. The tradition of an old top hand commanding, in many ways, far more respect than most officers was an ancient one, and Geoff knew that to cross it would most likely provoke the sergeant into going after him, and probably beating the hell out of him as well.

"All right, damn it. Let's see what the hell is going on."

The sergeant strode down the corridor with a precise, measured thirty-inch stride, as if he was walking on the parade ground behind his admiral. Reaching the door into the lieutenant's office, he stopped and Geoff could see the slightest flicker of surprise in his eyes.

"Commander Turner, sir. Now just what the hell are you doing?"

Geoff stepped up behind the topkick and saw a look of genuine pleasure in Turner's eyes.

"Gunny, been a long time."

"Yeah, Tabul, and I still owe you a drink for that one, sir."

"Forget the drink," Turner replied, and he quickly launched into a brief explanation of what was going on. Before he was halfway through, the sergeant cut him off and fixed his gaze on the lieutenant.

"Lieutenant, sir. I strongly urge you to let me get hold of the admiral right now."

"Sergeant, my orders are…"

"Pardon me, sir, but damn your orders, sir," the sergeant snapped, and, barging his way into the office, he got behind the lieutenant's desk and punched in a secured access code which connected him straight to Nagomo. Turner sighed with relief and seemed to sag against the wall.

"I flashed Iron Butt an Alpha priority," the sergeant announced. "That ought to get him stirred."

A minute later the screen flickered to life.

"Sergeant Ulandi, this better be damn important."

Geoff could hear the sound of a party going on in the background, Still keeping his eye on the two marine guards, who now seemed relaxed as if they were enjoying a show, he nevertheless edged his way to the other corner of the room so he could see the screen. Nagomo did not look pleased at all.

"Sir. We have a major crisis here. I think you better get Admiral Long with you."

Nagomo hesitated, then looked over his shoulder.

"Sergeant, if you make me look foolish you can kiss that topkick retirement money good-bye."

"Sir, I just hope I live to see it. Please, sir, could you get the admiral, sir."

The screen flickered off for a moment. The sergeant leaned back in his chair, fished out a cigar and lit it. "Against regs to smoke it inside, but what the hell," he said with a smile.

The screen flickered back on. The two admirals were standing side by side and Geoff could hear the shrill, angry protests of a woman in the background. Admiral Long looked over his shoulder, made a hushing noise, then looked back. The sergeant motioned for Turner to step in front of the screen and drew aside.

"Sirs, I am Commander Winston Turner," and as he spoke he held his ID card up to the screen.

"I remember you, Turner," Nagomo said. "Good articles, but what the hell are you doing? You look like crap."

"This better be good, Turner," Long interjected angrily.

"Sirs, just bear with me for five minutes," and yet again he launched into a recap of his mission, starting with Banbridge's orders.

The two admirals grew increasingly somber as he talked.

"You'll have a hard copy of the scan and the document in a moment, sirs," he continued, motioning for the sergeant to do an upload. The sergeant ran out of the office carrying a memory cube. Seconds later Nagomo stepped away from the screen, and then came back holding a sheaf of papers which he started to quickly scan through, then handing them over to Long.

"We'll get back to you in a couple of minutes, Turner," Nagomo said, and the screen went dark.

Frustrated, Turner stalked over to the lieutenant's coffee pot, poured a cup, and then downed it.

The lieutenant, wide-eyed, looked around the room nervously.

"Sergeant, I saw over three hundred planes out there on the tarmac, lined up wingtip to wingtip. Where are the pilots?"

"Most of them are undoubtedly down at Four Dollar Suzie's puking their guts out by now."

"How many hardened positions we got here?"

"Enough for a hundred."

"Can you call an alert?"

The sergeant sighed and shook his head. "Sorry, sir, I can't do that, especially tonight."

The screen flickered back to life. Another officer was now visible, while in the background the angry denouncements of a woman were clearly audible.

"The admirals are coming back to the base right now, sir. They should be there within an hour and a half."

Turner's features reddened.

"Captain, have they authorized a full alert?"

"No, sir."

"Damn it all, why not?"

"There is no clear indication from your information to necessitate that."

Turner looked over at the topkick, who came around to stand in front of the screen.

"Sir, things are getting a little out of hand downtown," Ulandi said. "Can I at least authorize the military police to start rounding the crews up?"

The captain hesitated for a second, then nodded. "Go ahead, sergeant."

"Thank you, sir."

The screen flickered off.

Ulandi quickly switched screens.

"Andre, the stuffs going into the fan, the Cats might be heading this way. I want every one of your men out on the streets in five minutes. They're to shut down every joint in town. Try and find as many ship's officers as possible to help you round the crews up, and start getting them back here now!"

The sergeant flicked the screen off and stood up.

"I better get to work, sir."

Turner extended his hand and the sergeant warmly took it. The sergeant kicked the two marines out of their chairs and stormed out into the corridor. In less than a minute it seemed like the place was coming to life as orders were shouted, and personnel began to run.

"You got the officer's manifests for any of the ships docked at Alexandria, and who's standing watch tonight?" Turner asked the lieutenant.

He stood silent for a moment, and then disdainfully punched up the lists. Turner started to scan them and stopped on one of the carriers.

"I at least know her," he said, and, without bothering to ask, Turner reclaimed the comm unit and punched in the access code listed next to the officer's name.

A young red-headed woman, who had obviously been awakened, looked blearily at the screen.

"Lieutenant Commander Valeri Olson, watch officer Concordia, here."

"Valeri, it's Commander Turner here."

She looked at him in confusion for an instant, then a smile formed. "Winston, long time, sir. Heard about the Academy, too damn bad."

"Listen, Val, I don't have time to explain. Something bad is about to come down, maybe right here. Do you catch my meaning?"

She seemed to instantly come awake.

"I think so."

"Could you pull a battle alert drill on your ship right now?"

"Turner, two thirds of our crew are down on the planet."

"Can you get a drill going? You'll have to trust me on this. At least start getting those engines warmed up."

"Yeah, sure, I'll get them cooking."

"Okay, Val, thanks. I'll touch back later with more."

Turner shut the screen down, then looked over at the clock, which showed local time and Confed standard.

"Well, it's going to be one hell of a holiday today," he said quietly.

Geoff looked up to see that it was one minute after midnight.

Ulandi came back into the room.

"Sir, just got a message from communications, burst signal station thinks they're able to transmit, but nothing coming in yet. They asked me about your signal. There's several hundred dispatches piled up waiting to go out."

"Tell 'em to send it first and get it the hell out now!"

Confederation Fleet Headquarters

"Sir, we've just had a priority flash come in from McAuliffe directed to you."

Skip looked up at his adjutant.

"All right, Anderson, hook it in to me."

In spite of the years of training, Skip felt his pulse rate surge. Was this it? Chances were it was just a confirmation of his orders to Long and Nagomo. They should have arrived there yesterday.

He looked up at his clock. It was eight in the morning, local time, and in spite of the increased alert, but on the orders from the president, business was to be carried on as usual. There had been one logical point to his argument, to blow out a full alert across the entire Confed might very well tip the Cats off that a code had been broken. So, except for Dayan running at high speed for McAuliffe in hopes of ambushing their attack, the rest of the Confederation knew nothing.

His screen flashed red, encoding signals scrolling across the scarlet background, followed an instant later by the message header.

COMMANDER WINSTON TURNER TO CICCONFEDFLT MESSAGE PRIORITY THREE A ENCODED ATTACHED FILES ENCODED MCAULIFFE, 0011 STANDARD TIME 2634.235

A wavery image appeared on the screen, typical of a burst signal on its first read, before the encrypting computers had made a second run-through to clean the picture up.

"Skip, this is Turner. I'm at McAuliffe, having just arrived at twenty-one ten hours standard. My mission was successful. Skip, I'm going to say this in the clear. The Kilrathi Empire might very well be launching its counteroffensive at this very moment. The phony war is over. I've attached a scan we picked up of one of their fleets, which I believe is moving to flank the Landreich. I also have something else, Skip, but it has to be sent by courier. Concerning that second item, Skip, it is clear and conclusive proof of their intentions to launch a preemptive strike. Blucher is already mobilizing the Landreich, and it is safe to assume that hostilities have already started on that front. A deduction here, Skip. What they're throwing at the Landreich is mostly their older stuff. Just a gut feeling, but I think they're going to coordinate it with one hell of a major strike, concentrating everything at one point. My first thought on it-the damn blow is coming right here, at McAuliffe, with everything they have."

"Skip, this entire base is sitting with its bare ass hanging out, waiting to get kicked. For heaven's sake, issue a full mobilization alert now, damn it!"

"If you should not hear from me again, I want to commend Tolwyn and Richards for an excellent job. Take good care of them if they get out of this. I've already written up the details of our entire mission, along with the attached scan. Take care, Skip, and may God protect the Confederation."

The grainy image snapped off, followed by a signal indicating attached files. He quickly scanned the report and the profiles on their attack fleet. One light carrier, a couple of old battlewagons, potent enough, the same profile he'd figured they'd throw at McAuliffe.

Damn, if the Cats were throwing a diversionary against the Landreich, they certainly wouldn't split their forces even more for a second diversion. That could only mean one thing. Turner was right and the damn Cats were going to hit McAuliffe with everything they had left. If that was the case, we won't outnumber them, it's going to be the other way around!

"Anderson, get in here now!" Skip roared, as he waited for the computer to load the files and unscramble them.

The adjutant stuck his head through the door.

"My message to McAuliffe. The one two weeks ago. Did that get out?"

The color drained from Anderson's features.

"Ah, yes, sir, it most certainly did, sir."

"As I ordered it to? Apparently McAuliffe's yet to get word."

"Ah, sir, I'll track that down right now. It should have gotten there on time."

"Well, damn it, find out. Now, call down to the security at all exits to this building and out in the garage. This building is to be sealed right now. I want everyone we can lay our hands on back in their offices. I'm calling the president now and asking for authorization for a full alert. Now, move it."

For the next twenty-eight minutes the Admiral of the Fleet sat in an ever-increasing rage, waiting as he was shunted from one office to another while scurrying staff tracked down the head of the Confederation.

The argument went for another twelve minutes as Skip waited for the copy of Turner's report to be relayed over to the party that the president was attending.

He finally fell silent as the president sat down and started to thumb through the papers.

"You know that More and half of the senate is out in the next room at this very moment?" the president said.

"Screw More," Skip snarled. "Sir, if they come through right now, I tell you we will have no fleet by this time tomorrow. It looks like McAuliffe as we suspected, but, sir, there's indications they might be throwing a hell of a lot more into the attack than we thought."

"Do you know the flap this will cause if I call an alert on Confederation Day and it turns out to be false? We can kiss the election good-bye."

"Sir, if this is the real thing and we don't alert, there won't be any damn election."

Skip hesitated for a second, trying to think of an argument a politician would respond to, then pressed on. "Sir, I'll take the heat on this. You can have my resignation if I'm wrong. It'll make you look vigilant and you can say I overreacted."

"And besides, sir, we are talking about the lives of nearly two hundred thousand young men and women out on McAuliffe alone. I'd rather see them pissed off that their holiday was ruined than dead. For God's sake, sir, authorize me to mobilize."

"What about this thing that Turner referred to but wouldn't send?"

"Sir, Turner has a damn good head on his shoulders. Whatever it is he has, it must be so damn important he can't trust it even to encoded burst. It must be a document, a report, an intercepted transmit, something from the other side that we can't let the Cats know we have. That alone tells me this information is solid."

The president finally nodded reluctantly.

"Authorize Defense Level Two."

"Sir, can I go to One? I want forward recon all along the frontier and shoot-to-kill orders on all fronts."

"It's Two, Admiral," and the screen went dark.

Admiral Banbridge switched stations on his screen and activated the emergency burst signal transmit and quickly dictated the order. Dayan's last report indicated she was approaching final jump into McAuliffe. At least she could be alerted that she was most likely jumping into a hot situation, but would McAuliffe's station be able to receive? He routed the signal through to the orbital transmit station, and prayed that there was still time.

JUMP POINT X-RAY

"Prepare for jump transit!"

Jukaga cinched in his harness and waited for the shift. He felt a flutter of apprehension. They were hitting the point faster than any battleship had ever attempted to do so before.

He looked over at Nargth, who sat unperturbed, as if this was simply another exercise.

"For the glory of the Emperor!" someone shouted, and the cry was picked up on the deck and then throughout the ship.

"For the glory of the Emperor!"… and the battleship hit transit into Confederation space.