AmerIndian 2192

by J. Scott Garibay

CHAPTER 24

  Lodge ship Iron Bow was a maelstrom of activities. Tribals moved quickly through the ship setting function columns to new parameters, readying the lodge ship for war. It was easy for Broge to move unnoticed. He approached the level’s weapons chamber. He finger tapped a release code and pulled a Sledge Decimator from the rack and grabbed two bandoleers of ammo clips.

  Broge had tried everything he could to avoid this situation. There was no way around it. He audio commanded his comp set. “Comp, list all forty to eighty ton outrider ships which are loaded with full armament but have not filed ready status.” The ship server threw the list of three ships across the lenses of his comp set. Broge chose a sixty-five ton heavy bomber transport.

  Broge ducked past a few tribals who were transporting spread-inducer cannons to empty exterior gun ports. He was nervous, also excited, as he entered level six of Hangar 276. Badger sat moored by two sturdy extension rails. Two tribals, weighed down by power tools, moved across the top of the ship checking structure variables and settings. Broge entered Badger after working his way down two level ladders. As a clerical assistant to Celetain Prax his usual tasks included diplomacy, record keeping, information gathering. He was not used to this type of physical exertion.

  The rear airlock led Broge into a long hall running the length of Badger, forward bridge to engineering. Broge saw a form pass across the hall down near the catalyst chamber. He moved quickly toward the bridge passing another tribal. The young woman was in the small armory checking each weapon for a full clip. He could tell by the tribe totem embroidery on her short-cropped jacket that she was Diegueño. She was dressed in bright yellow with stark white boots.

  “Assistant Broge, what brings you to Badger? Is there some way we can help Elder Prax?”

  “Yes, there is. We have a critical breach code coming from this ship to central. I am here to investigate.”

  “Why wasn't a Tsimshian sent?”

  “Everyone is busy with preparations for the invasion. Please lead me to the bridge so I can see what the problem is.”

  “No need for that.” She finger tapped and displayed the ship’s status on Broge’s comp sets. “No, Assistant Broge, nothing reads abnormal on the ship.”

  Broge frowned. I would like to see the bridge, specifically where the transmitter is.”

  “Of course, Assistant Broge.” The woman turned to lead him quickly to the bridge.

  Badger's bridge was large with several seats. The Diegueño walked forward into the bridge and turned as the grip of the Sledge Decimator crashed down into her forehead. The Diegueño reeled and her head crashed into the seat behind her. Broge had failed to knock her unconscious and she began to raise her head groggily. Clumsily, he clubbed her again and winced as blood flowed from her forehead. Broge cursed and slammed the black duffle down. He pulled out a coagulant patch and tore it open with his teeth. Quickly he slapped the patch unceremoniously onto her forehead. He pulled out a shiny roll of metallic tape. He pulled off a start to the roll and began to wrap it around the Diegueño’s head. Broge covered every part of her face except her nose and mouth. Nervously he shot a glance over his shoulder down the hall. No one.

  Broge hurried, pulling the Sledge Decimator out over his shoulder. He pointed the barrel at the back of the Diegueño’s skull and began to wrap the metallic tape to the Decimator. After wrapping the length of the gun he used his left hand to wrap the metallic tape around his right hand, which now clutched the Decimator. Cutting the metallic tape with a vibro blade from the duffel he slumped into a seat beside the Diegueño.

  “Comp, access Doolittle Zeta Nine. Strip code protocol. All command options transfer to bridge alone. Disable all ship input code other than those directed through my comp set. Execute on command code 765AB7D. Ship lock down immediately. Run minimal prep for launch.” Broge listened and heard the clank of the airlocks and the whine of the engine.

  Tribals were now jumping from the top of the ship to the hangar floor. Seconds passed before tribals began throwing on their comp sets to contact central. “Convert to voice command only.”

  “Launch ready,” the comp set responded in the voice of Potlatch Weaver.

  “Pull out of dock and sweep 180 at first available interval.” Badger's engines whined and the ship glided backwards, data links and oil hoses snapping off like twine holding a vault. Badger rolled out of the docking bay and swiveled to point away from lodge ship Iron Bow.

  “Comp, how many people are on this ship and what are there locations?”

  “Six tribals currently on board. Their locations are indicated by red circles on your comp set.”

  Broge studied the display on his comp set lenses. The lock down he had initiated isolated each tribal, trapping each in a segment of the ship by airlock. He noticed two tribals were together in the engineering section.

  “Comp, open Airlock 19 and decompress the engineering section.” Broge watched as the red circles moved out of the engineering section. He ordered the comp to use the same technique to herd all of the tribals to the compartment directly outside of the bridge.

  Suddenly a crossworker’s face filled Broge's comp set view. “You are in violation of the invasion silence edict. Return to the lodge ship immediately or you will be fired on.”

  Broge hissed, “Comp, give signal vid and audio to Central. Central, this is Anthony Victor, UDA intelligence agent, formerly Broge, assistant to Celetain Prax. I have seven tribal hostages. If any part of this ship is fired on the compartment I have my hostages in will be decompressed. I have also ensured that if I am personally injured this Diegueño will die immediately.” Broge nodded down to where the assault rifle was taped at one end to his wrist and at the other to the Diegueño.

  With that message Broge released the channel and checked the correspondence plane countdown on his comp set. Eight minutes, ten seconds.

  Wovoka ran into council bridge. All of the Elders were there save Weaver.

  Kugan turned and motioned Wovoka over. “We have a six minute window. Broge has seven hostages sealed tight in a stolen outrider ship. There is little we can do. If he can correspondence jump that outrider ship or send a correspondence plane fire a message back to Earth then the Naanac invasion will be severely threatened.”

  Celetain finger tapped. “Broge, why are you doing this? You have lived with us. You know we struggle for peace. Why are you returning to that UDA cesspool of loneliness and treachery?”

  “A million creds does a lot to reduce loneliness. A man can only serve one master and I believe a million creds will release me from all my masters. I am sorry, Celetain.”

  “Don't do this -” John pulled Celetain back. Tears were streaming down her face. Her shoulders were slumped with the weight of the knowledge that her words, her misplaced trust in this UDA spy was responsible for the deaths of thousands of tribals over the past few years. One of Celetain's Acolytes led her down from the command area and led her to a seat. She wept.

  John spoke softly, “What makes you think we won't scrap that ship, Broge?”

  “Because I don't think you, Weaver or Prax have the grit for that. Stormseeker can't command it himself.”

  Stormseeker slammed his fist down.

  Kugan finger tapped the feed from their comp sets to Badger closed. “It's simple. We scrap that ship, killing seven of our people, or we let him go and lose initiative at Naanac.”

  “Why can't the Tsimshian use the mother comp to command his outrider ship back?” Wovoka asked.

  Kugan sighed, “Broge is using Celetain's codes and authorization under his own voice. Tsimshian tri-jacks are working now to break Celetain’s code walls. They estimate it will take ten to fifteen minutes. He'll be gone in less than that. We can snipe him with a concentrated laser but that will kill the Diegueño hostage. The Decimator has a hair trigger option I'm sure he's using. We can have body tank warriors save the other six tribals on board though.”

  John opened the line
again. “Broge, you served Celetain well. You were a brother to all of us. Remember the harvest celebration? You laughed so hard apple juice came out of your nose when those Tsimshian tried to join the Corn Dance. I know you felt joy here among us. Please, brother, come back. All you're returning to now is the destruction of your very self. Come back. No one has been hurt beyond healing. We will accept you back as a brother who has cleansed his heart of a sickness. Please, Broge, come back.”

  Broge was shaking now. “No, I was never a brother. I am sick of every Tom, Dick and Tonto asking me how I am, sharing every essence of my life, expecting me to help and listen and share as if they were a part of my family. I want money, raw cred to be wasted and squandered at my disposal. Not communal wampum. I want no obligations to help anyone but myself and I want the faceless masses that will leave me alone. Now back off the fighter or there will be blood. Comp, reduce vent O2 by fifty percent in the aft bridge quarter.”

  John turned. “Pull the fighters back.”

  Stormseeker shook his head but did not countermand the order.

  John frowned. “We're down to four minutes. What are the options?”

  Stormseeker was silent for a moment. “We can disable the Kellion Cannon on Badger and get the body tank troops in there. The Diegueño will die. That's a viable option. If we don't handle this situation now we can still try to take Naanac. It will simply take the lives of a few thousand more tribals to do it.”

  John shook his head, “No, Stormseeker. I am not trading one tribals’ life now for a few thousand in the near future. We do not trade lives as currency. That is what makes us different than the UDA.”

  Broge came back in view. “I am two minutes from correspondence jump. I want every fighter and outrider ship two thousand kilometers away from this vessel in less than one minute or I kill the six and the Diegueño-”

  Suddenly the Diegueño rose from her seat. Broge had to stand with her. It happened quickly. Wovoka was the first to realize what was occurring. “No! Don't do it!” he screamed. “We will-”

  The Diegueño was already moving. She began to walk, staggering aimlessly. Broge cursed at her “Sit down, I swear to…”

  The Diegueño purposefully jerked her head forward.

  The Sledge Decimator roared and the Diegueño’s head transformed into a fine mist on the far inner hull section. The body dropped to the floor. Broge gaped at the Sledge Decimator, still taped to his hand but now free from the Diegueño’s head. He was still gaping seconds later when two Apache fighters raced in, firing concentrated lasers.

  The concentrated lasers severed the aft bridge section down the center of each airlock door. The aft section was sliced from the outrider ship like a chunk of carrot cut out by a master chef. Four body tank warriors, their armor gleaming from distant starlight, descended on the aft section carrying airlines. The body tank warriors carefully inserted the airlines and handled the aft bridge section like a mother cradling a child.

  Twenty meters away another group of body tank warriors fell on the Broge’s bridge section like wolves on a rabbit. One body tank warrior raised a beam cutter and holed the severed airlock. The rest of the body tank warriors waited with rail guns primed. The lead body tank warrior charged in as vacuum blasted into the bridge section. He threw a yellow pack of plastic at Broge. The pack hit him and exploded around him, enveloping Broge in a translucent yellow bubble. Broge gasped in the bubble’s air, refilling his lungs.

  One of the body tank warriors at the severed, holed airlock clacked his helmet against another warriors. Yelling and pushing the warrior’s weapon down, he made it clear to that despite what any of the body tank warriors wanted Broge was going back to the lodge ship alive.

  Wovoka shook his head. It was an ugly end. All of the Elders were struck by the brutality. Stormseeker put his arm around John's shoulder. “We are at war. The flow of blood is only beginning. The first small payment for the Homeland.”

  Wovoka looked over his shoulder to see the two acolytes leading Celetain out of the room. She was shaking with the force of her crying. Wovoka clenched his fist. His face twisted in rage. He pulled Stormseeker away from John. “That Diegueño will not die for nothing. We can take Naanac with twenty thousand Apache and ten thousand Brule. Send out a general announcement that no tribal is to set foot on any fighter or outrider ship in the bays until we launch the invasion. If one footstep falls on a single outrider ship that ship is to be automatically backed out of dock one kilometer, decompressed and scrapped by lodge guns. Strip every Elder’s code protocol until we are past the correspondence jump.”

  Stormseeker stared at Wovoka for a moment, still not used to hearing command decisions from this Infiltrator Pack Alpha. Stormseeker nodded and headed off to execute his orders.

  Keokuk rushed onto the deck and approached his brother. “I've got three possible invasion plans from the Brule Tacticians. Start going over them now so you-”

  Wovoka raised a hand to Keokuk. “This isn't a ship battle, comp jockey. I'll speak with the Brule Tacticians myself. What I need you to do is go take care of Celetain. She’s a wreck. She feels responsible for Broge. But I’m going to need every Elder ready to work when we hit Naanac.”

  “Her Acolytes are with her now.”

  Wovoka shook his head, “They worship her. They won't be able to console her or help her. See what you can do. Then go with Cavaho to Alpha Grail and have him transfer command of twenty body tank warriors to Cavaho.”

  Keokuk opened his mouth. Wovoka told him with a look that he had little time for discussion.

  Keokuk and Cavaho headed toward Celetain's quarters. Auto-ladders took them down twenty levels. Keokuk made his way through the tribals still prepping the lodge ship for battle. The entrance to the quarters Celetain used on the Apache lodge was obvious. Neon Cybershamanism symbols crawled across the walls for five meters to either side of the large oak doors. Two acolytes stood guard.

  “I'm here with a message from Wovoka, White Buffalo, for Celetain.” Keokuk said politely.

  The Acolyte answered Keokuk as he glanced at Cavaho who stood still and silent. “Allow me to speak with Sliver. He will decide if she is ready to receive your message.” The Acolyte closed his eyes for a moment. “Sliver says you may speak with Celetain - if you are cautious and brief.”

  Keokuk looked at the Acolyte sideways. The Acolyte resumed his rigid stance and his companion waved his hand at the huge oak door. It opened inward slowly and smoothly without a hand being set on it. Keokuk was about to address the Acolyte when Sliver appeared. He motioned for Keokuk and Cavaho to enter.

  The large circular room, twenty meters in diameter, ascended five levels. The walls held thousands of books, mostly grimoires dealing with the art and science of sorcery, witchcraft and Shamanism in hundreds of variations. The center of the room was a ritual circle laid out in brilliantly colored marble. A hard light display showing the nearest galaxies turned with an eerie slowness near the ritual circle.

  Celetain sat in a large mahogany chair. She was silent. Her gaze was distant and tears streamed down her face. Three acolytes surrounded her. One acolyte shook a smoking lantern. The smoke rolled out of the lantern and created a luminescent orange haze. The other two acolytes chanted in low voices. Celetain didn't seem to notice them.

  Sliver turned to Keokuk, “I have never seen her lose control like this. Please, speak to her. The invasion is pressing and we will need her guidance.”

  Keokuk stepped forward. “Celetain, I know you are in pain but you must know that this is not your responsibility. There was nothing you could have done.”

  Celetain’s eyes remained the same, distant and blank. “I could have listened. Surely the Grandfathers warned me. They would not have allowed a traitor to hear every casual thought I gave to Broge in confidence. They warned me. I would not hear. I ask the Grandfather to show me the future. I ask them to show me the past. But when they showed me the danger of the present I would not see. Th
e blood of thousands of tribals is on my hands. I betrayed them with my mouth. Killed them with my tongue. Their deaths are a coldness on my heart.”

  Her voice cracked and tears rolled down her cheeks. She hugged herself, showing weakness and fear.

  Keokuk felt helpless, unable to help her. “As a Christian, I believe I know that the ‘Grandfathers’ you speak to are actually demons. I believe they are selective and cryptic when they speak to you. Am I right? Their reasons will become-”

  “No, they must have showed me. They would not-” Pain racked her and she shook with grief. The acolytes and Keokuk stood still. One of the strongest women of all the tribes now wept before them, broken. Keokuk started to back away. His words could do no more.

  Cavaho brushed past him, heading straight for Celetain. He knelt before her. Even directly in front of her he could see that she did not see him. Cavaho leaned forward and put his arms under hers and lifted her from the chair. The two chanting acolytes gasped and scrambled forward. Cavaho pulled Celetain up and hugged her tight, wrapping his arms around her with force.

  Celetain snapped out of her weeping and her arms flailed. She was Celetain Prax, Elder Shaman, and no tribal had ever touched her without consent. Both acolytes tried in vain to pull Cavaho off of her. Cavaho's arms were like iron chords. Celetain began to have trouble breathing.

  Keokuk could do no more than stare at the scene. The acolytes were now shouting and one was hitting Cavaho’s back in desperation. Celetain’s hurt was forgotten, replaced by fury. She began to kick at Cavaho’s shins. Then she felt tears falling onto her chest. She felt one warm drop after the other. Cavaho's face was now down at her neck and she released her tension and put her face down near his. The acolytes continued beating at Cavaho to no avail. Cavaho, like a great tower, beaten only by the wind, stood fast.

  When Celetain saw the tears streaming down the young man's face she could not help herself. She wrapped her arms around him. Her feet settled on the floor and the two fell into each other. The acolytes slowly realized that Celetain no longer wished to be freed from Cavaho's grasp and they stepped away. Cavaho held Celetain and she held him. Then abruptly Cavaho straightened and looked into her eyes. Cavaho released her. Celetain braced herself and remained standing, on her own.

  Cavaho met her gaze again for a moment and then turned. He walked quickly toward the door. Cavaho was exiting the room when Celetain walked forward to Keokuk. “Where is he going?”

  Keokuk looked at her for a moment and replied, “To work.” With that Keokuk turned and followed Cavaho.

  Celetain stood, processing Cavaho’s action and Keokuk words. She had known for a moment the hurt Cavaho carried with him every day. She also knew the workload Wovoka's infiltrator pack had carried the last few years. Celetain understood.

  “Run the Bear and Fox Grimoire codes through the Tsimshian symbol shaker. We have work to do.” The Acolytes hurried off at Celetain's command, each with the knowledge that their leader was back.

  Jaret pulled his jumpsuit off and hung it carefully in his gym locker. He watched the sliding door to the locker area close behind the last soldier to leave. He pulled soft black body armor out of the locker and donned it. Pulling on armored gloves, he checked the time display on the back. Forty seconds before the run began. He pulled a black mask over his scalp and adjusted full-spectrum goggles into place. The light flexible suit of armor could absorb up a moderate laser blast and even some types of hard case ammunition. The suit bore no sigil and hid virtually every aspect of the suit's wearer.

  Jaret grabbed two Sledge Challengers from the locker and closed it. He checked the energy clips and settings. The Challenger in his left was set on full-auto laser fire. The challenger in his right was set to single fire mini-grenade launch. He heard the locker room door swing open and he maneuvered to the other side of the locker set. He listened and heard someone in the locker room undressing.

  Blink. The goggles flashed a clear picture of his surroundings and he moved. Jaret exited the locker room and ran down the length of the pool. A few soldiers were swimming. He ignored them and picked up speed. The gym door slid open as he bolted through it and barreled down toward the brig. He approached a soldier looking at him quizzically. Jaret toppled the soldier with a fast armored forearm to the face. He fired the Challenger at a soldier ten meters ahead. The soldier flopped as though all his bones had been removed.

  At speed Jaret crossed an intersection and fired concussion grenades in one directions, sprayed laser fire in the other. He reached the entrance to the brig and barked out the special codes he had arranged (using a complicated task shield) through two of Lige's best coders.

  Stepping to the side of the door Jaret avoided laser fire. He waited for the first barrage to stop and rolled into the brig area with a deft somersault. He sprayed the area liberally with laser fire. The energy clips emptied and the Challengers automatically clicked over to the grenades, each dispensing their eight grenade integral magazines as Jaret got to his feet. Laser fire blinked past him as he ran down the cell tunnel. He threw himself behind a corner and slapped energy clips into both guns as fast as his gloved hands would allow. As soon as both guns were go he threw himself back into the hall firing full-auto again. Three blasts hit the suit and he saw the capacity reading drop from ninety percent to fifty-four.

  Jaret turned and ran, cutting a zigzag route through the halls to Alexa's cell. He stopped, amplified his audio sensors and heard the clatter of boots. He guessed they were two corners away.

  Jaret spoke through the mask. “Beta Authorization. Open and wipe. Lock to code - Gramma's Cookies.”

  The door slid open and Jaret jumped into the cell commanding the door to shut as he skidded to a stop. Alexa was at the terminal as usual and her eyes widened as she saw the black armored figure race into the room. Jaret placed the rifles on the floor and slapped two energy clips and two grenade cylinders on the floor in front of Alexa.

  “Load those,” he commanded. He pulled at the Velcro compartments on the suit and removed three objects. The first was a cylinder three times the width of Jaret's palm. He held it out at arms length and turned it so that the bottom and top pointed at the ceiling and the floor. He clipped a button with his gloved thumb and the device fired two lines of flexi-cord ending in vibro grapples. The grapples drove deep into the plasteel of the floor and ceiling.

  Jaret stepped back from the taught line of flexi-cord now extending vertically down the center of the room.

  Alexa stood. “Jaret?” she asked sounding surprised.

  “Yes, and I really need those Challengers loaded. Now.” She stepped back and started loading the rifles awkwardly. “Are we escaping?”

  Jaret talked while he worked. He set two rectangular boxes down on the floor, each on one side of the flexi-cord. “No. You are escaping.”

  “Where to?”

  “Wherever the ship's navcomp takes you. I aimed it for earth. Did the best I could, but I’m not a gator.”

  Jaret snapped the boxes together around the side of the flexi-cord and then spun them around the cord as an axis. They rolled smoothly. He thumbed a button on the top of each box. Each box telescoped to triple its original length.

  “In thirty seconds you will be on your way home. I love you but I can't go with you. Maybe we'll meet again. Hand me the Challengers.”

  Alexa did as she was told. When he was holding them, she grabbed the bottom of the mask and pulled it over his nose. He blinked at her and smiled. She kissed him. “I love you. We will meet again.” She pulled the mask back down.

  “Hold onto my shoulders.” Alexa stepped behind Jaret and jumped onto his back. He grabbed the flexi-cord and pulled their weight off the floor above the extended boxes. With his boot he tapped the left box and the two extended boxes began to circle. A red light shone from beneath the end of each box. Two concentrated lasers cut a circle in the floor. The circle dropped smoothly crashing on the level below which had also been
perfectly cut by the concentrated laser. The circles dominoed down six levels.

  Jaret slid down the flexi-cord following the circles as they popped out beneath him. Alexa, clinging to Jaret, laughed as they dropped past a soldier shaving, three soldiers huddled around a game table, a soldier dancing to blaring music in his briefs and another lost to the world with a sation disk plugged into his head. The two, clutched tight together, slammed to a stop on top a pile of six flooring circles. Alexa almost lost her grip when Jaret jumped down off the pile and dragged her to a grav lifter holding two plasteel cases.

  Jaret keyed the accelerator and the grav lifter pulled forward. “Open the cases,” he yelled.

  The lifter picked up speed. “You steer.” He let Alexa take the control stick while he emptied his Challengers to the front and rear clearing the halls of the few troopers foolish enough not to get out of the way. As the Challengers emptied he threw them away from the grav lifter and pulled out fully primed and loaded replacement from the cases. One hundred and fifty meters, sixteen energy clips and twelve grenades later the grav lifter skidded to a stop at the hangar bays. Jaret checked the countdown - thirty-three seconds remaining.

  Jumping off the grav lifter he pulled Alexa with him. He charged into the hangar bay, currently empty due to a scheduled hull cleaning. Enola Gay sat quietly on her moorings.

  “Jump,” he shouted. She looked down. Five meters below a large cargo door was open on the top of Enola Gay. She hesitated and he shouted again, “Jump.” Alexa turned and jumped. She hit the top of the ship hard but managed to roll over to the hole above the cargo section when she caught her breath.

  Jaret blasted two vidcams and ran to the other end of the hangar bay. He dove into a large empty container at the start of a supply corridor. He yanked the lid closed and waited in the dark as the last nine seconds ticked by. Jaret could not see the events in the hangar bay that he had personally orchestrated. He knew what each sound signified as the container was pulled along tracks down the supply corridor.

  The cargo bay shook with the force of Enola Gay's impulse thrusters. The ion flames left red glowing blazes on the plasteel of the hangar bay. The ship surged forward and it's Kellion Cannon fired at a point just five hundred meters from Black Mariah.

  Even the small amount of Black Mariah's gravitational field would affect Enola Gay's correspondence jump. While Enola Gay's navcomp had aimed at Earth it was likely the ship would end up galaxies away in any direction but it would most likely be undamaged. Jaret had stocked the ship with six Nagaspheres for additional firings as well as a year’s worth of dry rations. Much of the escape's success would rely on Alexa. Jaret had downloaded piloting and astrogation training programs onto the ship's comp. She would know enough in a few weeks to take the ship wherever she need to go if she worked hard. There was also the remote possibility she would be found by another ship.

  Enola Gay gunned through the correspondence plane and was gone. A massive wave of energy bounced back out of the correspondence plane rolling Black Mariah twenty degrees, like a wave would rock a sea vessel. Black Mariah's Nagasphere semi-breached and died in a contained implosion. All of the ship's power winked off sending hundreds of soldiers scrambling for pressure suits. Jaret’s empty container stopped moving when the power died.

  Jaret kicked the crate open and pulled himself out. He activated low light vision on the goggles and read the section number laser engraved on the plasteel structure support near him. Hurriedly he pushed the empty container, counting the structure beams he passed. He stopped at Sector 19-G and pulled a panel out of the floor. He pulled his armor suit off and donned his uniform, which had been underneath the panel. Jaret pulled out a pressure suit and put it on over his uniform. He shoved the armor suit down and replaced the panel.

  Jaret heard a howl as vacuum raced toward him down the corridor. He scrambled into the gunny tube above Sector 19-G and could hear the chaos going on in the halls. He moved quickly toward the bridge.

  Soon he dropped down into a low traffic hall and ran the rest of the way to bridge. The bridge was blazing with halogen lights placed on top of blank monitors. Lige was in the center of the room. Jaret recognized him by the Admiral's sigil on both shoulders of his pressure suit. He made his way through the bridge crew, who looked confused and busy.

  Lige was editing a restoration plan on a gauntlet comp. Jaret joined the group around the Admiral. “Men are going to pay for this with their lives,” he hissed. “Did you capture the infiltrators?” Lige asked.

  “I saw one man dart across a hall fifty meters from me. I followed but I could not catch sight of him again.” Jaret lied. “How many were there?”