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

This story was written for the 2024 Geek Pride Event. My previous Geek Pride entries are The Gate, an Anime Fanfiction, and Enchantress, an homage to Sir Terry Pratchett and his marvelous discworld.

This time I'm sharing my first love - Classic Science Fiction. You know the stuff, not the Star Wars or Star Trek fairy tales, but science fiction, with genuine science built in. It's a space opera written in the form of those great science fiction stories we got in pulp magazines and radio dramas in the 40s and 50s. This is the stuff I grew up on. I suppose this would be called retro-future fiction.

Captain Scarlett Saves Mars!

The Asimov Plan

Will the Asimov Plan save the Martian colonies?

February 12, 2156

TO: Ray Clark, President of Mars

SUBJECT: Jezero Crater

I've been following the water problems on Mars, and I have an idea that will work. I know it's been years since I lived on Mars, but it's still home to me, and you are family. The attached document lays out the detailed plan, and I've attached the chief engineer's comments. Please let me do this, Uncle Ray. I have the equipment and the people, and the funding is rolling in. I can't stand by and watch every colony on Mars shut down because of this water shortage. All I need from you is a place to work, and Jezero Crater would be perfect.

Signed: Alan Scarlett

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February 27, 2156

TO: Alan B. Scarlett, Captain, Western Alliance Navy

SUBJECT: Jezero Crater

Your plan is audacious and terrifying at the same time. It's crazy, but I think if anyone can pull it off, it would be you. I ran it through the political meat grinder, and everyone agrees, it's a million to one shot. No one has ever done anything like your plan describes and three quarters of the Martian senate says it's impossible. But as everyone knows, a million to one shot pays off nine times out of ten. Let's do it. At this point, Mars has nothing to lose and everything to gain. I'll be on Earth for colonial conferences from June first to the fifteenth. Let's get together and get the ball rolling on the Jezero Lake Project. (You name for the plan, The Azimov Plan, doesn't score well in marketing groups)

Can't wait to see you Al, it's been far too long. Will Pandora be there?

Signed: Ray Clark, President of Mars

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NSS Glenn September 30, 2156

Equatorial Atlantic Ocean

Lieutenant Scott Anders, call sign Fleagle, was late to his pre-flight. The mission briefing for a simple hop to Armstrong Station at Lunar Lagrange point One went on longer than normal. The Navy wanted to ensure that Fleagle got his VIP, Very Important Passenger, to Armstrong safe and on time. After suiting up in Life Support section, Fleagle stepped out onto the deck of the NSS Glenn, the first (and finest) Western Alliance Navy spacecraft carrier.

The launch window was an hour wide, and didn't open for another 30 minutes, giving him plenty of time to do a preflight inspection on his U-700 series lunar shuttle. Along with his flight engineer Master Chief Petty Officer Carl White, Scott Anders, and Spacecraft Boatswain's Mate (Launch) AB3, Sandra Magnus started the preflight check on the Air/Space craft before his VIP arrived and got in his way.

Landing gear, wings, fins, stabs, heat shields, solar panels all check good. Access panels closed, fuel probes removed, oxygen is being loaded, the exterior is ready. He noticed some red shirt "Ordies" up on the backbone. As far as Scott knows, the U-700 doesn't have a weapons system, so why were ordnance men up on the backbone? He entered the access hatch way down almost under the plane and climbed the ladder behind the engineer's and navigator's positions to the upper deck, where he closed the ladder hatch.

The ladder came up in the kitchen area and he made sure there were rations for three and coffee for six (that's how it usually works out on shuttle flights) then worked his way forward. The U-700 had eight seats on the upper deck, six passengers, pilot, and co-pilot. On this hop, there was no co-pilot or navigator on the schedule which cut down on weight.

He moved forward, then realized there was someone in the co-pilot seat. He looked and Lieutenant Anders saw his VIP sitting in the right-hand seat waiting for him.

Jet black hair with a touch of gray at the temples, steel hard square jaw, straight nose, black eyepatch on the right eye, bright, piercing blue left eye. There was a scar that ran down his forehead, under his patch, and continued to his cheek. The savior of the Luna 03 colony, commander of the outnumbered but victorious Western Alliance Space Forces in the battle of Lagrange 4, first Mars born colonist to rise to the command ranks in the Western Alliance Navy, first pilot to make the Terra-Luna run in under 24 hours, first spaceman to land on all four inner planets... the list of Captain Alan Scarlett's accomplishments along with those of his squadron, the Strike Force Berserkers, the best pilots in the solar system, was unfathomable.

Captain Scarlett looked up from his reading and said, "Permission to come aboard, sir?" His baritone voice was strong but just loud enough to be heard above the shrieking support equipment as oxygen was pumped aboard the U-700.

"P-p-permission granted," said Anders, then he climbed into the pilot's seat.

"I hope this isn't inconvenient for you," said Captain Scarlett, regarding his sitting in the co-pilot seat. "The boys who helped me aboard said it wouldn't be a bother." It would be more accurate to say that Captain Scarlett was carried and lifted aboard rather than helped aboard. He was sure he would be ok when he got to the weightlessness of space.

"No, that's fine, sir. Wherever you are more comfortable."

As Lieutenant Anders went over the pre-flight check of the instruments, a ground troop climbed the ladder to the right side cockpit and placed a helmet on Captain Scarlett and connected his suit to life support. A click of a switch and the magnetic latches built into Captain Scarlett's space suit locked onto the ejection seat of the U-700. Western Alliance Navy space suits had built-in seat belts. As all of this happened, Captain Scarlett calmly read his classified mission brief, The Asimov Plan. He liked that name better than the Jezero Lake Project, but Uncle Ray gets what Mars wants.

Now the pre-launch checks began. Out on the deck, the plane captain read off the engine start checklist, and Lieutenant Anders verified the switch positions.

"Primary Solar Panels stowed and locked..."

"Stowed... locked..."

"ACG off."

"ACG to... off."

"VHF antenna retracted and locked..."

"Retracted... locked."

"C and D Actuator safe and sealed..."

"C and D... C and D..." Lieutenant Anders looked around for the nob, lever, dial, or switch for the C and D Actuator. He knew where it was, but he didn't know what it was for. He was always told, "it's for future use." Scott Anders checked that switch a hundred times, but for some reason today he's unable to find it. Without looking up from his mission brief, Captain Scarlett reached out with his left hand and pointed to a three-position switch on the pilot's lower right-hand console. The switch had a safety cover and today the cover was sealed with wire and sealed closed with a crimped lead seal. The lieutenant had never seen that before. "C and D Actuator safe and sealed," said Lieutenant Anders.

"That does it, we're ready to go. Coming aboard," said the plane captain and flight engineer, Master Chief Petty Officer Carl White. He crawled into the lower access hatch, sealed the hatch, then took his seat in the lower engineering compartment. Chief White has a doctorate in Spacecraft Engineering and Propulsion from the prestigious Belgian Institute of Technology, but has turned down every commission he was offered. He wanted to "keep his hands dirty" by working directly on the spacecraft. Captain Scarlett wants him on the team. He squeezed into the engineer's seat, put on his helmet and locked his suit in place, then rotated around to view his control board. "Greyhound Zero One is configured for flight, Lieutenant."

"Thank you master chief," said Lieutenant Anders, then he got on the radio. "NSS Glenn Space Boss, this is Greyhound Zero One. Pre-flight checks are complete, we are ready whenever you are."

"Roger Greyhound Zero One, stand by." A moment later a small truck and several sailors ducked under the nose of the U-700 and connected a towbar to the nose wheel and the little truck pulled the orbital shuttle forward, centering the spacecraft on the flight deck, then it pushed it back until the six-wheel trucks of the main landing gear were at the very edge of the deck and between the clamps. Those clamps grabbed the landing gear, holding the U-700 steady. The flight deck team made one last inspection of the underside of Greyhound Zero One, then disconnected the tow bar and headed back to the Island. The flight deck supervisor gave Lieutenant Anders a sharp salute, then pointed to the bow and dashed off.

As the push truck and the sailors dashed into a garage at the base of the island tower, alarm horns began blaring. Water in the ballast tanks began shifting aft in the enormous ship. The main aft ballast tanks began sucking in hundreds of gallons of sea water and slowly, as the alarms blared, the bow of the massive NSS Glenn rose into the sky. Deliberately, the stern of the massive flat top lowered until the flight deck was just a meter above the roiling surface of the ocean. The flight deck was now sitting at an angle, pointing upward at 35 degrees. "Greyhound Zero One, the deck is clear. You are go for engine start."

"Roger Glenn space boss. Starting engines one through four now," answered Lieutenant Anders. Then to the plane captain down in engineering he said, "Let's wake 'em up master chief."

"Aye aye sir. Here comes number one." Lieutenant Anders watched as, one by one, the gauges on his instrument panel showed the engines coming online. When each of the most powerful atmosphere rated spacecraft engines ever built came online, the noise and shaking quadrupled. The only clue that Captain Scarlett was aware of what was going on was that he put the mission folder in the map slot next to him and rested his hands on the handgrips.

The U-700 began shaking as it strained against the magnetic clamps that held it in place. It gave a banshee howl that was the calling card of the feisty orbital shuttle. The shaking was so bad that Lt. Anders could barely read his instruments. "NSS Glenn space boss, this is Greyhound Zero One." Anders shouted so he could hear himself over the noise. "All engines are at one hundred percent. We are A-OK for launch. I repeat, A-OK for launch."

Behind the NSS Glenn, the four air-breathing engines of the U-700 were churning and boiling the ocean, steam and sprayed water shot high into the sky. The massive United Reaction series J-74 engines were powerful enough to push the NSS Glenn forward. To counter that, the ship's six turboshaft driven screws were spinning in full reverse to hold the NSS Glenn in position for launch.

Captain Bluford, the space boss, also known as the supervisor of flying, answered the Lieutenant. "Greyhound Zero One, you are number one on the runway. Have a pleasant flight."

"Roger Glenn." Lieutenant Anders gave his instruments one last check, then said, "head, hands, and feet." Magnetic clamps locked onto the steel pieces in the three men's helmets, gloves, and boots, holding them secure so they don't accidentally hit or kick a switch or lever during the launch. Lieutenant Anders' only free appendage was his right thumb. He flicked up a switch cover at the end of his magnetic hand grip and pushed down a button. As he did that, the magnetic catapult grabbed the U-700 and the wheel locks released. They were suddenly pulling eight G's rocketing skyward as the catapult slung them off the ship.

"Ok, let's level her up," said Captain Bluford as Greyhound Zero One roared away into the cloudless sky. Ballast tanks in the stern of the NSS Glenn blew water out and transfer water to the bow ballast tanks. Soon, the bow of the ship settled down into the ocean and the flight deck returned to level. "Ok, let's get Greyhound zero four up on deck, it launches in two hours."

On the rapidly climbing Greyhound zero one, as soon as the stubby wings stopped producing lift, they were retracted, and the nose came up. The magnetic holds released, and the occupant's hands were freed, and Captain Scarlett opened the mission brief again. The noise was tremendous from those four United Reaction series J-74 engines. At forty miles up they hit Max Q, and it felt like a dog had grabbed the ship and was shaking it like a rat, but that abated after a few moments. As the atmosphere thinned, the main booster engine, a United Reactions series N-50, lit with a bang and Master Chief White throttled up the engine to 110% while the air breathing J-74 engines shut down and closed their intakes.

Four minutes after launch and one thousand miles up, the main engine shutdown. The release of G forces almost felt like crashing into a brick wall, but in a moment they were weightless. Lieutenant Anders extended the VHF antenna and made a call. "Navy control, this is Greyhound Zero One. All indications are nominal. We have reached planned altitude."

"Roger Greyhound Zero One, you are go for two orbits before Trans Lagrange Interface. Millenium hand and Shrimp. Navy Out."

"Crap," muttered Lt. Anders. Millenium hand was a coded order to secure all conversations, give nothing away about the mission. Shrimp was the code word for SSM, Surface to Space Missiles. And that wasn't all. "We were scheduled for four orbits, can you get this thing ready to go in two orbits, Master Chief White?" asked Lieutenant Anders. After launch, the navigational equipment is double and triple checked, then the mission parameters are programmed into the navigation computer.

"Not a problem sir, let's not top off the batteries as planned until we break orbit. Extending the solar panels increases our radar cross section two hundred percent."

Anders glanced over at Captain Scarlett, who didn't look up from his mission brief. "The Eastern Bloc. They don't want us up here," said Alan Scarlett as he turned a page.

"Why not?" asked Anders.

The answer to that question is classified, so Scarlett said. "I don't know, it must have been something you said to your Hawaiian girlfriend last week."

"Wait, what? How do you know about her...?" Lanh couldn't be an Eastern Block spy, could she? But Captain Scarlett answered with a raised finger as he went back to reading.

Soon they were passing over the southern portion of the Eastern Bloc. The Electronic counter measure equipment lit up, long range radar waves washed over Greyhound zero one. "They're painting us sir," said Chief White.

Captain Scarlett looked up from his reading and pointed to a switch. "Hit that."

"That just calibrates our cameras, sir," said Lt. Anders.

"Yep, if they're listening to us It will make us look like a weather satellite," said Master Chief White. "Will it fool them?"

"It can't hurt to try," said Captain Scarlett. "It won't cost us anything either."

Lieutenant Anders calibrated the U-700's landing camera system and the radar probing eventually stopped. "It worked once, will it work again?" asked Chief White.

"Probably not," said Scarlett, and he turned back to his mission data. "We're on an equatorial Low Earth Orbit, there's no satellites on this route." He casually put his mission outline back in the map pocket. "We have ninety minutes."

Time passed as Chief White and Lieutenant Anders verified systems and configured the ship for space flight. Captain Scarlett released his magnetic seat restraints and floated up and then headed aft through the upper cockpit. It felt so good to be away from the gravity well of Earth. He loves the place, so much water! But his new joints ache in 1 G or higher gravity. He drifted back and saw that five of the passenger seats were filled with cargo. He drifted back to the galley; it was merely a small oven and coffeemaker, it also had toilet facilities and a fold-down seat for an extra passenger. But the floor of the galley slid to the side, revealing a hatch allowing him to drop to the engineers' and navigator's stations. On these short hop shuttles, the navigating was done by the pilot working with the navigator. The co-navigator's seat was normally empty, but occasionally a passenger would ride here. There was also a seat for an instructor navigator allowing the U-700 to carry up to ten passengers.

Alan Scarlett started mirroring Chief White's actions on a secondary, older style navigation system in the co-navigator's section. "We're not going to use that system, sir," said Master Chief White.

"Aww come on, humor me Chief. I used to navigate on an old U-562 series tramp shuttle. I like to stay in practice."

"No problem sir," chuckled the old engineer, and he let Captain Scarlett have his fun. Chief White took the classified data drive from the safe and plugged it into the navigation computer and uploaded the mission data. When he was done, Captain Scarlett took the hard drive and plugged it into the secondary navigation system, and started loading data.

Soon they were passing over the Eastern Bloc territory again, coming up on Riau Island. In 2095, the Eastern Bloc evacuated all three million residents of the Riau Islands, then sterilized the islands with nerve gas to insure no one remained behind. There, the Eastern Bloc set up their primary starbase, Dendam, which means "Revenge." It's their primary launching sites for manned spacecraft, satellites, and Surface to Space Missiles.

"They're painting us again," said Chief White. "I see a launch. Crap! I see an SSM-127 rising. Time to contact three minutes."

As Captain Scarlett reviewed the radar scope, Lieutenant Anders called out, "I'm open to any suggestions you may have, Captain." Anders's options were tiny. Regardless of what they say in a thousand pulp magazines and ten thousand Saturday morning videos, you don't maneuver in orbit. If you slow down, you drop to your death. If you speed up, you are cast out into open space with little hope of finding your way home.

"C and D actuator to C" said Captain Scarlett as he continued his navigational calculations.

"Aye aye sir!" Lieutenant Anders broke the seal on the switch cover and moved the three-position switch to C, and his multifunctional display showed: "CHAFF ROCKETS LAUNCHED."

From somewhere between the huge United Reaction series J-74 booster engines, four small rockets shot out, traveling straight back where they exploded in a cloud of tiny aluminum strips that reflected the SSM-127's search radar back to the seeker head, confusing the surface to space missile momentarily.

"C and D actuator to D," said Scarlett as he programmed in the TLI burn data to the older navigation system. At the same moment that Lieutenant Anders hit the C and D actuator to the D position, Captain Scarlet hit the Execute button on his control panel.

Everything went dark in Greyhound Zero One as a decoy rocket was launched. All electronic activity stopped except for Captain Scarlett's analog navigational system. When the SSM-127 burst through the cloud of chaff, it was blind; the chaff had adhered itself to the seeker head, blocking its radar. So, it switched modes and listened for electronic noise. It didn't hear any of the electronic chatter from Greyhound Zero One. That was because Greyhound Zero One was shut down. The SSM-127 heard electronic chatter elsewhere. The decoy rocket had recorded electronic chatter being radiated from Greyhound Zero One and was playing it back, and that is what the missile chased. Out of propellent, the SSM-127 exploded a safe distance from the U-700 shuttle.

With no intercom Captain Scarlett could not hear Lieutenant Anders or Chief White, but the analog navigational system worked on a circuit that was not shut down and right on time the big United Reaction series N-50 main engine burst into life, propelling the shuttle out of Earth's gravity well toward Lagrange One.

"What the hell was that?" said Lieutenant Anders as the systems started coming back online.

"The SSM-127 is a nasty piece of work. When it loses radar track it goes after the closest source of electronic noise. The Mark 57 decoy constantly records electronic noise from the ship carrying it, then when it is launched it plays back the noise," said Captain Scarlett as he drifted back up from the engineering section.

"But everything shut down!"

"Of course," said Alan, as he eased back into his seat and engaged the magnetic locks that held him in place. "If we didn't the missile would have hit us. The moment you deploy the decoy, the U-700 goes silent, so the missile chases the decoy. The system comes back on after two minutes. Luckily the analog backup nav system is not part of the blackout."

"I didn't know about that," said Lieutenant Anders.

"Of course you didn't. You had no need to know. Just the presence of that system is classified. It was just installed on this shuttle and you're the first pilot to give it a go in actual use. The good news is that it works, the bad news is that we have to carry co-navigators again. If you find a seal on the C and D actuator cover, you're loaded with chaff rockets and a decoy."

"But it's ancient technology!"

"No, it's an ancient scheme using modern technology. And it worked. Now let me get some sleep, I have a meeting when we dock."

Lieutenant Anders spread the atmosphere wings wide open, then opened all the panels on the top surfaces of the wings, exposing the solar panels to sunlight, and started charging the batteries on Greyhound Zero One. "Amazing..." muttered the Lieutenant as he scanned the control panels to see if there are any more switches that were sealed.

"Is the Flight Data System Recorder active?" asked Alan Scarlett without opening his eye.

"Yes sir."

"Good. That was the first time the Eastern Bloc launched an SSM-127 at anyone in anger. We want to study that data."

"First time?" said Lieutenant Anders in awe.

"Yep. Just because I'm here. Still want to join the Strike Force Berserkers?"

"How did you know?"

"We know all, we see all," said the Captain. "Congratulations, you're now my wingman," which caused Chief White to laugh.

Anders scoffed and said, "I hope there's no more surprises."

"You and me both," muttered Captain Scarlett.

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Armstrong Station September 30, 2156

Western Alliance Navy

Western Alliance Marine Colonel Pandora Vermillion looked at her orders and said, "You've got to be fucking me... no fucking way."

"Fine, you're off the mission," said Admiral Schirra. "I'll get someone else."

"There is no one else," sputtered Pandora. She didn't expect he would bump her off the mission that quickly.

"Lovell is here, I'll use him."

"Lovell can't hit the side of a barn from the inside, I'm the best there is," demanded Colonel Vermillion.

"Apparently not," said Admiral Schirra. His voice had grown exceedingly cold. "Normally when handed a set of orders a Marine says, 'Yes sir,' and then proceeds to obey those orders."

"I apologize," she huffed and snapped to attention and said, "Yes sir. Thank you for this opportunity sir."

"Now Colonel Vermillion," said Admiral Schirra. "Do you have any questions?"

"Just one, sir. This is, in essence, a bombing run. Scarlett is a fighter jock," Colonel Vermillion frowned. "It's not a strafing run, this is going to take bomber experience. Why is he commanding the mission?"

The office was silent except for the ticking of Admiral Schirra's antique clock. Finally, he spoke. "He's not. I am. It says that right on the cover letter of your orders, Colonel. You need to check that ego of yours. Yes, If I die of a paper cut here on Armstrong station, then he will command the mission, he is the author of that mission and knows more about it than anyone else. Either way, you will follow orders, or I will put Lovell on the mission." The admiral held up a hand to stop Colonel Vermillion's protests. "You know as well as I do he has five years in service and six years in rank on you, so he does outrank you."

"But sir, this mission is my bread and butter, it's what I do."

"THAT'S WHY YOU'RE HERE!" roared the admiral. He closed his eyes and calmed himself.

"Why is this called the Asimov Plan?" she demanded, looking through the Op Plan. "There's no robots involved except for the flight."

"I don't know, Ray Clark and the rest of Mars calls it the Jezero Lake Project. He picked that name out. You know him better than I do."

"I haven't seen him in over three years," she snapped as she flipped through the technical details of the Asimov Plan. "All this just to 'water Mars?"

"Mars is out of water. They're at the point now where, if they need to evacuate, they can't do it. There's not enough water to make reaction mass for the ships to launch. They're already on water rationing, they're denying couples birth privileges and immigration is halted."

"I didn't know that."

"If you spoke with Captain Scarlett you would know."

"I can't find him, he's either on Venus, or Mars, or the moon, right now he's on earth. When we get close I get dragged into another damn mission. When I call I keep getting told he's out, or he's unavailable. I gave up. Now I have to water Mars."

"You haven't been briefed on the entire mission. Take a look at page 48."

Pandora flipped through the orders until she reached the specified page and scanned it quickly. "Oh damn. He must really be pissed off." The report showed that somebody was building a military establishment on Mars. Mars is strictly hands off when it comes to the military. It's purely a series of scientific research colonies and the Western Alliance has agreed to their terms and the nearest Western Alliance station is at Solar/Mars Lagrange 1 and 2. Alan's parents were scientists at the first Martian colony named Bradbury Canal, in fact the Scarlett family was among the first scientists when Bradbury Canal was built. His parents and the rest of his family died when he was ten, and his Uncle Ray took him in. He lived in the presidential palace until he applied to the Naval Academy.

"Look, this plan will work. Alan has been out there; he's done extensive research on the Saturn system. He has a unique ability to gather the right people needed to make this work, and he said you have the skills to make it work. Most important, the target is on Mars."

"So what?" shrugged Colonel Vermillion. "One target is like another."

Admiral Schirra looked at the bomber commander with a raised eyebrow. "Now YOU sound like a fighter jock. This is MARS colonel. You were born and raised in Luna Prime. Regardless of why you did it, if you released this on Mars, it could be seen as an attack on the Martian colonies by the Lunar colonies. Scarlett was born and raised on Mars in Bradbury Canal, a small but politically important colony. The first Martian colony. The president of Mars, Ray Clark, is a relative of Alan's. He's the hometown hero, let's use that political clout to stop a war without starting another one. Am I clear on this?"

"Aye aye sir."

"For the life of me I will never understand why the two of you married in the first place."

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The big, spoked wheel of Armstrong Station at Lagrange 1 came into view, and Lieutenant Anders prepared for docking to the huge rotating spoked wheel that was hanging in space. Armstrong Station is the first human habitat in outer space with artificially created gravity. The stately rotating of the station creates a 0.6g sense of gravity on the outer ring, similar to gravity on the moon. This station was built on a lunar Lagrange point. The Lagrange point is the location on the earth-moon system where the gravitational forces of the two bodies are equaled out, an area of gravitational equilibrium.

There are five Lagrange points in orbital systems. On the earth/moon system, L1 is 85% of the distance from the earth to the moon or roughly 35,000 miles from the moon. L2 is 35,000 miles beyond the moon and several communications satellites for dark side communications are parked there. L3 is on the opposite side of Earth from the moon. The L4 and L5 Lagrange points are 60° ahead of and behind the orbiting body. There's nothing there on the lunar orbit, but on the Jupiter/Sun orbit L4 and L5 on either side of Jupiter are full of asteroids known as Trojans.

These Lagrange points also apply to the earth/sun orbit. Several solar observatories are parked at L1, which is 1.5 million kilometers (930,000 miles) from Earth. On the Earth/sun orbit, there is something out at L3, on the opposite side of the sun from earth. It is a station so highly classified and defended that Captain Scarlett himself only discovered it by accident. He was found passing that station, unconscious in a tiny escape pod. The station put him on the first cargo ship to Armstrong Station in earth's orbit. All Captain Scarlett ever saw of that station was people in surgical masks trying to mend his wounds.

Greyhound Zero One docked at Armstrong Station twenty-six hours after launch, a speed once thought to be impossible. Rather than docking inside the main hub of the huge rotating wheel, Greyhound Zero One was instructed to dock at an external docking site. Lt. Quin closed all the solar panel protective covers and retracted the wings and vertical stabilizer as they approached the docking port. Slowly, they approached the station, guided by a series of lights on a target panel that protruded from the hub of the station. Lieutenant Anders had a light touch on the stick, rudder, and throttle as he eased the shuttle into position. When they were properly aligned, all lights on the target panel went green and magnetic arms pulled the shuttle tight to the station.

Before putting on his gloves and helmet, Captain Scarlett shook hands with Lieutenant Anders and Chief White. "Master Chief, what did you think of my little plan?" While Lt. Anders was napping, Captain Scarlett drifted downstairs and let Chief White review the plan.

"It sounds crazy, but from an engineering standpoint, there's no reason it wouldn't work."

"That's what I thought you would say. Well, Lieutenant, Master Chief, thanks for the ride, I hope we can fly together again someday."

"It was an honor to haul you here, sir," grinned the Lieutenant.

"Thank you. And if I see your names on an application, again," he added with emphasis, "I'll keep you in mind." With that, Captain Scarlett's overhead hatch opened, and he floated up into the station hub.

The station hub was pressurized, but with open bays and ships moving in and out of the station, it was a good idea to keep suited until reaching the main rings. A young yeoman met Captain Scarlett and led him to a ladder that ascended into a tube that was actually a spoke connecting the main ring to the hub. He floated up the ladder and had to stop at midpoint as the gravity started drawing him to the main ring. He climbed down the ladder and stepped out into the main ring.

The main ring looked like a long straight hallway that was curving up in the distance. Shops, restaurants, and offices lined the main ring. Next to the ladder was Life Support, the first stop for all spacemen arriving at Armstrong's Main Ring. In Life Support, he could drop off his suit and helmet, shower, and put on a fresh uniform. Not long later, Captain Scarlett stepped into Admiral Schirra's office and stood at attention in front of the admiral's desk. Pandora Vermillion was seated in the office, and she rose to stand at attention next to Alan Scarlett.

"Stand at ease. Alan, they need us to save Mars. Do you have another mission in you?" Admiral Schirra was worried. Captain Scarlett was injured pretty badly at the battle of Venus Prime when he engaged with hundreds of pirates and was taken captive. He was still recovering from his wounds.

"Aye aye sir. I feel right as rain." He tapped his eyepatch and said, "barely an inconvenience."

"You're lying, but I need you," said the admiral. "The Eastern Alliance has been building up a fortress on Mars in the Jezero Crater. The United Colonies of Mars does not want them there and neither does the Western Alliance. Any move on our part could endanger a Martian colony. The capital city of Perseverance is just two hundred kilometers from there."

"How convenient," said Alan Scarlett.

"I still don't understand sir," said Colonel Vermillion. "I could clean up the mess on Mars with two B-171 bombers and a couple of neutrino bombs. Problem solved."

The admiral looked at Scarlett and said, "Alan? Your thoughts?"

"Yes we could drop neutrino bombs. That would stop a buildup of Eastern Bloc forces for sure, but politically we just bombed Mars and that could turn it into a battlefield. Mars would cut off our supply of thulium, osmium, and Rhodium." Those rare earth metals are abundant on Mars and the Western Alliance needs them for hundreds of critical devices based on those rare elements. "On the other hand, I have been promising water to Mars for years. Our plan will be supplying Mars with something it desperately needs, and something I promised the colonies. It would be a shame if the Eastern Alliance got in the way and suffered an industrial accident, but shit happens."

"Exactly. Final mission brief will be at eleven hundred tomorrow. Make sure you're rested up. You'll be leaving tomorrow at twenty two hundred hours. Questions?"

"I want Lieutenant Anders and Chief White from Greyhound Zero One on my team," said Alan.

"You got them. Go get some rest."

"Aye aye sir," and Captain Scarlett did an about face and left, quickly followed by Pandora Vermillion.

"Alan! Alan!" called Pandora. "You couldn't be bothered to say hello?"

Scarlett stopped and turned and glared at her with his remaining eye. For the first time, she noticed a scar that ran from his forehead under his eyepatch and resumed down his right cheek. "Just like you when you couldn't be bothered to say goodbye," he said, then he turned and left.

"Crap," groaned Pandora. "This is going to be a fun mission," she said sarcastically.

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SS Peake, December 3, 2156

Outbound to Saturn

The trip out to the Saturn system was under five G's of acceleration for most of the trip. They were in a Livyatan class freighter, the SS Peake, loaded down with everything they'd need for the mission, the cargo bays were stacked full of reaction engines from United Reaction, along with miles of cable and everything they would need to control their creation and for defense they carried four F-733 GunSlinger interstellar fighters. Along with the rest of the crew, Captain Scarlett was under sedation most of the time, so they didn't have to suffer the heavy load of five gravities. The ship's functions were handled by a small team of robots, but when they were awake, Scarlett held briefings and laid out the mission. "Our destination is Saturn."

Several members of the crew had been out as far as Saturn in the past, but most of the crew stayed well within the Venus/Earth/Mars orbits. "We are going to raid Saturn for one of the most precious chemical substances in the solar system. Water. We're going to grab the biggest chunk of ice that we can on the back side of its orbit and as it comes around we're going to accelerate it out of orbit."

"We're going to steal a piece of Saturn's rings?" asked a bomber crewman.

"No, actually one of Saturn's moonlets. It's called Saturn CLXXII, it's three kilometers in diameter and is solid ice. Colonel Vermillion will brief you on this mission."

"Why are we doing this?" asked one crew man.

"That's classified," Pandora said.

"What are we going to do with it?"

"That's classified too."

"Why not Jupiter?" asked Lieutenant Anders, who still couldn't believe he was shanghaied into this mission. "Jupiter has rings and moonlets too, and it's a lot closer to home."

"Unlike Saturn, Jupiter's rings and moonlets are mostly rock," explained Pandora. "The radiation from Jupiter has burned off all the usable H2O ice. Any ice remaining would be so highly contaminated with radiation that we couldn't use it."

"Ok, so we're going to steal a giant ice cube. How are we going to do it?" asked a member of the bomber crew.

"That we can talk about," said Colonel Vermillion. "We're going to turn it into a spaceship."

"What?" The briefing room was full of a combination of disbelief and mirth. When Captain Scarlett could regain order, Pandora continued.

"If any of you had reviewed our cargo, like a good spacefarer would, you would have noticed that we have thirty United Reaction motors on board, along with enough cabling to wire them all up.

"What series are they?" asked crewman Lemke, a young ensign.

"Series N-52," said Colonel Vermillion.

"Sweet! Uh Sorry ma'am," said Chief White. Darrel White was the oldest member of the crew and currently he's serving as "Chief of the Boat."

"That's quite alright chief," said Pandora. "Your records showed that you were part of the team that certified the N-52 when United Reaction first developed them."

"Yes ma'am. They have a bad reputation, and I've never understood why. They're really a sweet running engine if you tune them to specs."

"That's why you're here, Chief. You're going to make them hum. You and Lieutenant Anders will work with the bomber team to design our ice ship."

"Why me? I'm just a shuttle driver," said Lieutenant Anders.

Scarlett stepped back in. "Because you're sharp, talented, and you listen to others and take their input and add it to your talents. That's something these old hacks around you forgot how to do." When the laughter died down, he said, "And you're in training to be a fighter pilot. You're my co-pilot until you get the hang of it."

"Alright people!" called Pandora. "We have one more week of zero g before we start decelerating. Study your mission profiles, insure your EVA suits fit and are functional, and be ready to jump when the time comes."

"But the ice ship, how are we going to design it?" asked Chief White.

"We have years of survey data on Saturn CLXXII, we have a rough design. Your job is to make it work," said Captain Scarlett. He led the chief to a workstation that had the preliminary designs loaded up. Chief White sat down and studied the outline.

"It could work, but where's the center of balance?"

Captain Scarlett squinted at the plans and pointed to a section of the blueprint. "It should be here, set your plans for that but be flexible."

Chief White looked at Captain Scarlett, then at Colonel Vermillion. What Alan pointed to wasn't part of the moonlet. "Alan," said Pandora, "could you review these plans a little closer?"

Scarlett glared at her with his one eye, then leaned over and studied the plan, then leaned closer. "Here, this appears to be the center of balance." He pointed to a completely different section of the plan, then he left the crew's workspaces.

Pandora turned to Chief White and asked, "does he squint a lot?"

The chief shrugged but Lieutenant Anders said, "No ma'am, but when he's reading, he holds the material right about here," and he held his hands just a few inches from his face.

"When he's inputting data in the nav station he leans way into it," said the chief. "Almost until his nose is touching the keys." With that, she turned and pushed off from the chief's workstation and sailed from the room.

"Alan! Alan!" she called, but he wasn't slowing. He was far ahead, almost at the other end of the ship. If she knew him, he was heading for the gym they had set up in an empty but pressurized cargo bay. She raced along the hallways as fast as possible, her crimson tresses flowing behind her. Suddenly, the ship was filled with the sound of alarms blaring. Pirates!

Pandora knew Alan. She was sure that he was going to take a fighter out. She raced to Life Support, propelling herself along by pushing off and kicking off from hatchways, handholds, and exposed plumbing. Pandora dove into Life Support and Alan was already there, and he was pulling on an environment suit. She stripped off her uniform, exposing her lithe body, narrow hips and pert breasts, then she pulled on an environment suit. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

"I'm coming with you."

"I have a co-pilot."

"He's not even here yet," insisted Pandora as she sealed up her environment suit and grabbed a helmet and gloves. "Besides, he's got work to do." She followed him into the ready room and the only thing there was the cockpits of the four fighters sticking up through the floor. She pulled herself into the side-by-side cockpit and pulled her canopy closed.

Without turning to her, Alan said, "You're not going to like this compared to bombing."

"Why do you think I'm not going to like this?"

"Our targets are going to move." His remark insinuated that bomber crews only hit sitting ducks. Well, they do. They go after sitting ducks that shoot back.

He hit a switch and the magnetic suit clamps roughly yanked Pandora back into her seat. "Berserker One is GO!" he announced to the bridge of the SS Peake via radio. With a jolt, they were kicked away from the lumbering freighter. Instead of dashing off to the pirate fighters that were approaching, Alan let the fighter drift in space like a tossed bundle of trash. The freighter continued on course while the fighter gently rolled end over end. Pandora looked over at Alan and he wasn't moving. He sat motionless with one hand on the stick, one hand on the throttle.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

He reached over and found a data cable that was plugged into her helmet, but the other end was floating free. He plugged the free end into a socket in her left-hand armrest and her helmet's face screen was filled with data. It took a few moments to focus her eyes, but the center of her face screen was a large yellow symbol that was marked SS Peake. That was their freighter. She saw ten white symbols approaching in five pairs. One by one, Alan entered the white symbols into the attack computer, and she saw one by one a circle appear around the white symbols, showing that they've been targeted.

"Are you going to power up the lasers?" she asked as they continued to drift like a piece of space debris.

"In a moment. Hold on." The SS Peake sent an IFF request to the ten approaching ships. IFF stood for Identification Friend or Foe. A classified, coded message is sent out. If the other ship answers properly, they're a friend. If not, they're a foe. On Alan's display, all ten white dots turned red. They're not friends.

He flipped a safety cover on his control panel and pressed a button marked Execute. Nothing happened for a long minute until the display showed that all ten pirates were within ten miles of them. When that happened, their fighter snapped up, aiming at the pirates, and began to jerk and twist. Pandora felt a series of jerks go through the fighter. They felt like hammer strikes. She felt rather than heard a loud bang, bang, bang, bang.

"Have we been hit?" Pandora gasped when it was over about fifteen seconds later.

"No, we've been hitting. Watch your monitor."

She watched the symbols, and she saw a series of faint straight lines reaching out from what she realized was their fighter. One by one, the approaching red symbols disappeared until only three were left. "Now you can power up the lasers."

"What did you hit them with?" demanded Pandora.

"Maw duce," said Alan as he powered up all systems on the fighter and laid a course for the three remaining pirates.

"A fifty caliber gun? You hit them with a slug thrower?"

"Four rounds each." He took full control of the fighter and took a deep, shaking breath. "Berserker One engaging," he said into the microphone and charged straight at the pirates. There was no dog fighting as Pandora knew it. There was no one-on-one engagement that spun and wove around the sky like Pandora saw in the vids. No, Captain Scarlett charged straight at the remaining pirates, his lasers slashing at them as he charged. He plowed through their formation and spun his fighter 180 degrees as he shot. They were now retreating from the pirates, but still facing them. Alan's lasers continued to slash the remains of the pirate ships until all the red icons were gone from their screens.

Then it was quiet. Alan set in a course back to SS Peake, leaving ten slowly expanding clouds of debris in his wake. They were silent all the way back to the Peake. Occasionally Alan would twitch, but he was quiet the whole time until they could physically see the Peake hanging in space. Dim light from the distant Jupiter reflected off the blocky cargo ship. "Squirt IFF, please"

"I... uh..." Pandora searched the control panel. "There it is." She hit the switch and the IFF circuit sent out a classified "Identify Friend or Foe" signal telling the SS Peake that this little flying gun platform was a friend. Green lights illuminated on the belly of the Peake, and Alan brought the fighter closer and closer. He retracted the antennas, the dual .50 caliber guns and the quad laser emitters, then eased into position. Pandora was looking up at the belly of the freighter as they approached. Then, as they docked, the cockpit of their fighter was inside the pressurized ready room. It was an amazing sight for the bomber pilot. Her ships are usually as big or bigger than this freighter.

Alan locked the fighter in place, remotely connected umbilicals, then shut down the single engine. Once that was done, he was out of the cockpit in a flash. He kicked off of the open cockpit and sailed to the life support office and stripped the environment suit to his waist. He grabbed an airsick bag from a dispenser and vomited. "Are you ok sir?" asked the life support technician as he handed Alan his uniform. The greatest fighter pilot in the Western Alliance didn't even look at the kid. He just shoved his airsick bag in a disposal chute, grabbed another bag, then took his one piece uniform from the spaceman and kicked off, sailing out of the room, leaving his environment suit floating in his wake.

Pandora was pulling off her environment suit when a member of the freighter's flight crew entered the ready room. "Ma'am, Admiral Schirra wants you on the bridge."

Pulling on her uniform, she floated up to the bridge, which was a lot more cramped than she expected. All the video dramas show huge, spacious bridges. On the carriers and bombers she's been on, the bridges were comfortable but not exactly large. There was room there to nap because a crewmember could spend up to twenty earth hours on a shift. A spacious bridge only existed on earthbound ocean liners and video programs. This bridge was cramped. It looked like the cockpit of a U-700 shuttle, but they moved the navigation and engineering stations up into the passenger area and turned the seats sideways.

The Navigator got up from her station and said, "You can take the call here." She handed Colonel Vermillion a pair of headsets for privacy as Pandora settled in and attached her seat belt to keep from drifting off. When Pandora was ready, the navigator reached over her shoulder and pressed the Play button, then drifted off for a tube of coffee.

The message from Admiral Schirra was recorded over an hour ago. It had to be, because moving at the speed of light, that's how long it would take the video message to travel from Armstrong station near the Earth's moon to the SS Peake as it neared Saturn.

"Colonel. I am assuming that you survived the action with the Saturnian Pirates. If you didn't you can turn this video off now." Pandora groaned. Admiral Schirra had a sense of humor. Not a good one, but it was there.

"Intelligence has it that they are stationed on the Saturnian moon Tethys, which is made up of water ice and are planning to cut up the moon and sell pieces to the colonies. IF you survived I am ordering you to make sure that this does not happen again. Captain Scarlett is not to fly into battle out there among the gas giants. I do not want to have the legacy of the Strike Force Berserkers wasted on a classified mission outside of the asteroid belt where details can never be released."

What? What was he talking about? She rewound the message and played it again, and it made even less sense the second time she heard it. This time, she let it play to the end.

"The Berserkers are still heroes around the colonies, both in the Western Alliance aligned and in the Eastern Bloc colonies. They are still seen as protectors and guardians to the colonists. If Scarlett wants to kill himself in full view of the colonies while protecting them and end the story there, so be it. Your job is to get him back to Mars, or at least high Mars orbit where his death isn't wasted. Schirra out."

She sat staring at the screen. What the fuck! What did he just say? What does he mean wasting the legacy of the Strike Force Berserkers? Alan isn't suicidal... is he? Sure it's been three years but... then she remembered the one chance she got to look into his one good eye, and she realized that Alan, her Alan, wasn't in there.

"Problems with the captain, ma'am?" Pandora turned around, and it was Commander See, the Captain of the Peake. He was sitting behind her but facing forward. "You might have a talk with Chief Cernan down in Fighter Maintenance section." The Colonel gave him a look that did everything but accuse him of reading her mind. "Go have a chat with the chief. He's been the Captain's personal plane captain for over a decade."

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Pandora found that the fighter that she and Alan flew in was parked in the maintenance bay and someone was up on the stub wing reloading the ammunition on the fifty caliber wing guns. "This feed system wasn't designed for zero g," he said as he tried to get a floating belt of ammunition to lie flat in the ammo feed tray. He finally got the ammo belt lined up, lying flat, and the panel closed. "Didja ever think of installing one of these babies in one of your bombers?"

"They should only be installed in a museum," said the redheaded Marine colonel.

"I said the same thing, then the Captain said, 'mount two on everyone's ship.' I thought he was crazy, but the Army still uses the MA-2 machine gun in atmosphere, why don't we use it up here? So Duluth Chemical invents a gun powder with built in oxidizer, and I design an interface with the engines. Did ya notice that the engines pushed back to keep the recoil from shoving you off into space? That was my idea. How was the Captain's shooting? Ma'am."

"Ten for ten. He got seven from ten miles out with the fifty cals, then got the remaining three with the lasers.

"It's good to hear he's coming back," smiled the plane captain.

"Well, he was puking his guts out after we landed. Are you Chief Cernan?"

"Yes ma'am. The cap and me have been together since he formed up the Berserkers as a lieutenant commander. We're the only original berserkers left."

Three years ago, before she left, she had been to a Berserker party, there was over two dozen fliers and three times that many support staff. They were on top of the world, the Western Alliance Navy's top guns. Alan never went on any assignment without half a dozen fellow berserkers on his wing. When she married Alan, they laughingly drew straws to see who would be his wingman on their honeymoon.

"What do you mean only original berserkers left?" demanded Pandora. The chief looked guilty, like he was caught in a lie. "You mean the only berserkers left don't you chief."

"Ma'am... it's all classified and re-classified and..."

"I have the highest security clearance you've ever seen. Where are the rest of the guys?" She could see it now. Alan probably shot off his mouth to a senator and got the entire squadron disbanded. She remembered the last letter she ever got from him. They had just finished training on the dark side of Mercury and were heading back. They were expecting a big welcome ashore party being the tenth anniversary of the formation of the Strike Force Berserkers. He probably got drunk and told some politician to fuck off.

He begged her to come to the party, but her mission's return to Earth was delayed again. Then when she got back, she was scheduled to go on alert status for a month. No joyous reunions allowed. "It was after Mercury, right?"

"Ma'am, I wasn't there, I only have secondhand knowledge. My wife was having a baby and Captain Scarlett sent me Earthside..."

"Tell me," she demanded.

"Ma'am, this is classified Top Secret, Cabinet 51."

Cabinet 51 was a sub classification; it was reserved for data that actually can cause harm to the Western Alliance. You could be hung for possessing that information without being on the Cabinet 51 access list. Pandora didn't care. "Tell me!"

His face screwed up as he fought back the memories... "When I got back they was all gone... all but the captain... and there were parts of him that aren't never coming back... never."

In horror, she bellowed, "Chief! Tell me, damnit!"

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NSS Grissom, November 23, 2153.

Earthbound out of Mercury

They were two weeks out from Mercury, pushing hard against the Sun's gravity. The entire squadron plus new recruits were in the Berserk Room, the briefing room. The Strike Force Berserkers were looking to double, and they had the bodies to do it now. All they needed was a dozen more F-733 fighters to plunk the new folks into. NSS Grissom, the home carrier of the Berserkers, was a proud ship with a grand heritage, and they were making good time, hoping to be home for the holidays.

"Captain Scarlett to the CIC, Captain Scarlett to the CIC."

Alan Scarlett looked up at the loudspeaker on the wall, his two bright blue eyes glittering. "Thus, endeth the briefing. Don't forget I need mission profile folders updated by sixteen hundred, SHIPS TIME, not Earth time," he said, glaring at an embarrassed-looking Lieutenant Haise. The squadron and trainees broke up laughing and poked Fred Haise. The young spaceman used the difference between ship's time and earth time as a weak excuse for a late report in the past.

Alan made his way through the maze of corridors to the Combat Information Center, a dim room where the admiral made his combat decisions based on the intelligence gathering capabilities of one of the most modern war machines in the universe. "Sir?" he said as he stepped into the darkened CIC. Glowing transparent plexigraph screens displayed solar system maps and spacemen talking softly into headsets marked the maps with cryptic annotation in grease pencil. As the maps changed and moved, the grease pencil markings followed the map around until erased with a cotton wipe.

"We have reports of Pirate activities here, here, and here," said Admiral Crossfield, pointing out three of the colony stations around Venus. "VS2, VS3, and VS4. We've been requested to protect sectors Bravo through Delta," he said as he circled the three space stations. "Here's where your trouble lies," and Admiral Crossfield drew an arrow pointing at VS2, the largest Venusian station. It was proudly named Venus Prime.

"That's a lot of space to cover, sir."

"We're the only game in town, captain. Have your folks ready to go in 5 ships days."

"Aye aye sir."

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USS Grissom, December 1, 2153

Approaching Venus Prime

"We received notification from Venus Prime that they think they are now an Independent nation and are aligned with the Eastern Bloc. We informed them that we are coming to collect payment for our space station. So there you have it, our show of force is now a live fire war. The safety lenses have been removed from your lasers and your ships will be loaded with fifty caliber HEI ammo and Thrush antiship missiles. Bravo flight, you watch the right flank, Charlie flight, you watch the left, Delta flight you cover our backs. Alpha flight, you're with me on point. Flight control callsign is Dark Star. Questions?"

"Just want to know how hard you want us to kick their asses, Captain," called a voice from the back of the room, which rose some tense chuckles. Venus Prime is independent? What the hell were those colonists thinking?

Alan Scarlett looked at the men and women of his team, The Strike Force Berserkers. White, Yellow, Black, Brown, Red, Earthling, Martian, Venusian, Lunar. They're all here and they're not white, yellow, black, brown, or red. They're all blue. Navy blue. Every one of them. They were all dressed in their environment suits and had their helmets on the desk, ready to wear. "I've never been so damn proud of a group of fliers in my life. You've been trained, you know what to do. Those Venusian colonists need us, and our team on the boat needs our cover." Suddenly alarm klaxons sounded throughout the NSS Grissom, calling the flight units to launch. "Let's go..."

"BERSERK!" the squadron cried as a man, and they released their Velcro seat belts and headed for their ships. Launch rooms throughout the carrier had the cockpit canopy of four F-733 interstellar fighters sticking up through the floor. The Berserkers slid into their side-by-side seating cockpits, sealed the canopy and went through their start-up checklists. Alan led the way, dashing into Launch Room Alpha where the four ships of his flight awaited. He flew into his cockpit, then sat idle far too long for his liking as he waited for his navigator to get into his seat. Alan grabbed the man's environment suit and yanked him into the cockpit and remotely closed his canopy. "Hey!" the young officer cried.

"Shut the fuck up and lock in." Without waiting for the laggard, he hit the release switch, which started the engine and dropped the F-733 into the launch-well that ran the length of the ship. As soon as he had an indicator notify him that all four ships of his flight had dropped into the well, he headed out.

Forward of the Grissom, the Berserkers formed up. Bravo flight to his right, Charlie flight to his left, Delta flight above and below them. Behind them lined up the other two squadrons that call Grissom home. The 101st Fighter Squadron "Honey Badgers" and the 33rd Fighter Squadron, the "Blue Panthers." A flight from the Blue Panthers will cover the Grissom if they have to engage the enemy. All eyes watched their mission timers, and when the countdown reached zero, Alan eased his throttle forward. The single J-88 engine slapped his ship forward like a hockey stick propelling a puck. He didn't have to tell teams to form up or tell his wingmen to drop back and watch their leader, or tell Delta flight to orbit the FB-719 that was rebuilt to monitor and control the fight. Call sign was Darkstar.

Being the senior man on the mission, Alan had the most junior man riding 'shotgun.' The pokey young man next to him was Lieutenant Junior Grade Robert Best. Lt. Jg. Best had recently joined the Berserkers, and he wasn't scoring high marks with Alan. He constantly asked questions like, "Why are we fighting the pirates?"

"When you are ordered to attack a pirate, be assured that there is a reason behind that order. Usually, the pirate had raided a colony, or captured a cargo ship or..."

"But how will I know? Maybe they're just trying to make a living."

"Concentrate on your flying, lieutenant. If you want to know about our adversaries, I strongly urge you to transfer to intel. If you want to know about strategy and mission planning, I advise you to pull your head out of your ass and earn promotions that will allow that to happen." That was the last time Alan Scarlett spoke to Lt. Jg. Best, and somehow the young spaceman didn't transfer and ended up in his cockpit.

As they neared the orbiting colonies, the multifunction displays of the F-733's filled with contacts that were colored white for unknown ships. "Damn," muttered Alan. "There's a million of them."

"Actually, five hundred," said Lt. JG Best.

A moment later, the display showed "502 potential targets." Alan turned to the young lieutenant and said, "Lucky guess?"

"Yeah, that's it, lucky guess," came the snotty reply.

"Maybe you should tell me about your lucky guess, Ensign." The threat was obvious: talk or get busted down from Lieutenant JG to Ensign, the lowest form of life in space. Alan Scarlett was an incredible commander, but he didn't take any shit, not from someone who should be learning.

"You need to stand down," said Best as he took off his helmet. "They know your strengths and weaknesses. If you surrender to the independent kingdom of Venus, you might live."

"Independent Kingdom of Venus?" That was highly classified information. The admiral just revealed to Alan that information that morning. Alan took a deep breath, like he was reaching a decision, and leaned back. His helmet quietly clicked into its magnetic clamps, then he put his finger on the right seat extract switch. It's a button hidden on the throttle that releases the magnetic clamps so an injured or sick flier can be extracted. "Bob?" Alan said.

"Yes?"

Alan's reply was to release the magnetic locks on Best's suit and then jerk the stick right, then hard left. That caused Best's body to flop to the right, right into the canopy that was now heading left. His head slammed into the canopy and knocked him out. "Never take your helmet off Bob."

Alan turned the magnetic locks back on and yanked the traitor back into his seat, the magnetic locks grabbing his suit. Alan got on the gold channel to the CIC. "We stumbled into an ambush, sir."

"Tell me something I don't know," said the Admiral. There was the sound of fighting and gunshots behind him.

"Gold lead to Berserk lead, our escorts have problems. It looks like they lost power and Grissom is under attack from..." The voice of Gold Lead halted in mid-sentence. Gold lead was the call sign of the SpaceBoss in the CIC. Alan did a slow 360-degree turn and saw that both destroyers on either side of the Grissom, the NSS White and the NSS Chaffee, were dark and the Grissom was fighting off attackers with anti-spacecraft canons. As he watched, the cannons stopped firing and Grissom was floating dead in space. There appeared to be fires onboard the Grissom.

"Berserk Lead to Dark Star, you're in command."

"Honey Badger one copy."

"Blue Panther one copy."

"Dark Star copy..." The control ship suddenly exploded.

"God damn it!" Alan shook his head and reached for the IFF button. The response he got back from the 502 ships was, of course, wrong. On all the Berserkers' displays, all the opposing ships became bright red targets. They were facing 11 to 1 odds. The only thought that came to Alan's mind was that his horrible loneliness would soon be over.

Everyone with a multi-functional-display knew that the fight was on. "Berserk one to all flight elements, lead with your fifties. One round each. Honey Badgers, Blue Panthers, stay on our six and we'll clear a path for you. Home team has the kickoff." The guns were installed before the Mercury deployment and the squadron just learned how to use them. Alan didn't know how much info the spies that were planted in their ships sent to their comrades, but hopefully they all said, "Slug throwers? Impossible."

Actually, that's exactly what happened.

And now they waited, drifting closer to their enemy, no idea what was going on back in their carrier. When Alan said "Home team has the kickoff" he told the Berserkers to wait for the pirates to fire first. Alan watched his display and all eighteen of his ships showed that their weapons computers had designated targets and were waiting for the execution order.

The two forces were getting very close, then one, then three, then a dozen pirate ships fired their lasers. It was nerves. Their lack of discipline showed and their targeting at that range was abysmal. None of the berserkers were hit, but every one of them began filling space with fifty caliber slugs moving at Mach 3. The Berserker's ships twitched and jerked with each shot. They jerked from the engines absorbing the recoil, and from the assault computer re-aligning the guns for their next round.

Soon, the first rounds hit the pirates. The pirates were flying so tightly that a Berserker miss would hit something else. Space was filled with debris as the rounds slammed home. Traditionally, fifty caliber isn't considered a heavy round, but here in space it could do some incredible damage. Pirate fighters literally flew apart. Reaction mass and engines exploded throughout the formation, a chain reaction of pirates' fighter ships exploding ran through the formation.

"Damn it," muttered Alan. "I might live through this." He keyed up his radio on the open frequency. "BERSERKER ONE IS GO!" shouted Alan, and he kicked his throttle wide open. There wasn't much left of the pirate fleet when they got there, and their lasers sliced them up. Passing through the slaughterhouse that was once five hundred pirate fighters, the Berserkers spun around 180° and continued to fire as they opened their throttles up and slowed down.

And then the Berserkers started exploding. Alan heard screams from over the radio and it sounded like his guys said the colony space stations were shooting at them. Heavy lasers from the station sliced through the 101st and the 33rd squadrons and now trained on the Berserkers. That's when even more fighters spilled out of the colony station.

Alan's lasers were overheated and shut down, but he still had fifty caliber rounds left. He swung around and put four rounds into the side of an Eastern Bloc "Flounder" fighter. The flounder disintegrated as its engines became twin hurricanes of destruction. He looked over at his wingman and saw the ship split in half. The navigator, Fred Haise, lived for a few seconds, then went still.

Alan spun his ship about looking for his next target and an Eastern Bloc "Frogtail" fighter slammed into him. It severed the nose of his fighter and he lost everything. Before the power went down, all of his indicators were red. The Frogtail exploded, shoving Alan's ship backwards helplessly. He sealed up his helmet and pulled the ejection handle, not realizing that he was passing under the pirate held station.

With a blast, the dual seat cockpit shot off the disintegrating fighter. The entire cockpit was an escape capsule, and they had food, water, and oxygen for weeks in their capsule, if they can get away. The escape capsule sliced through the thin hull of the station, and he traveled through the walls and floor nearly to the middle of the station. Remarkably, he was healthy. Nothing was broken.

Unfortunately, that gave the pirates more to break when they pried him out of the wrecked escape capsule.

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Station Venus Prime. December 15, 2153.

Independent Kingdom of Venus

On his first day of captivity, Alan was placed in a locked room, naked, with no food or water. He didn't know for how long, but when the door opened, he jumped at whoever was there. It wasn't much of a fight. There were four of them, and he was weak from hunger. Then he noticed that Robert Best was among the pirates. "You fucking traitor!" shouted Alan, and he lunged for Best's throat, but Best slashed at his face with a hunting knife, slicing him from forehead to cheek, destroying his right eye.

For trying to escape, Alan was tied in a chair, and the thugs beat him. As the damaged space station creaked and groaned around them, the spacemen tortured Alan until a tall, handsome man entered. "Velcome to zee Independent Kingdom of Weenus," said the man. "Ve are proud to haff such a distinguished weezitor. I am Station Komondor Radmir Valery Kovalyov. And you are?" he said with evil glee.

Alan looked up at the man through eyes that were swelling shut and memorized the man's features, long sharp nose, narrow set light blue eyes, broad mouth with thin lips, and a short, salt and pepper beard.

"Oh, but you are too shy to speak?" Kovalyov wound up and slapped Alan in the face so hard it knocked him and the chair he was in over. The laughing spacemen put him back up and Kovalyov said, "Tell me your name, oh famous one." Again, Alan refused to speak and Kovalyov sneered at him, "Maybe you are too good to tell me your name," and he wound up and hit Alan again, even harder this time.

Kovalyov's hit sent Alan and his chair flying and the pirates laughed loudly as they sat Alan up again. The pain was tremendous. Alan knew nothing but pain now. Why did that hurt more than a closed-fist punch? "Now vill you tell us your name Mister Spaceman?" Kovalyov taunted Alan.

"Alan Scarlett," muttered Alan.

"Vee haff a celebrity with us!" cried Kovalyov. "Rukovoditel Krasnyy!" (Highest ranking leader Scarlett) "Please make Kapitan Krasnyy velcome in our little station. Maybe reunite him vith his shipmates?" Laughing, Kovalyov left the room, and the pirates beat him nearly unconscious.

Bleeding from a dozen dagger cuts and stabs. Alan was then forced to watch as the pirates beat two Berserker captives to death. Owen Garriott and Bruce Peake were bludgeoned with fist and club until they were twitching bloody pulps. Alan shouted himself hoarse, begging the pirates to stop, but they merely hit harder. Then they spaced the bodies of the brave Navy veterans, and Alan was sure Bruce and Owen were still alive when they shoved them in the airlock and opened the outer door.

Then the "questioning" began. He was asked a question, and if they didn't like the answer, he would suffer. It didn't matter if the answer was right or wrong, if one pirate said, "I don't like that answer," he would be hit somewhere with a hammer, or they would take a power drill to a joint, or they'd push a dagger into him somewhere, or they'd flip him over and rape him. They took a pair of pliers to a testicle, and he realized he wouldn't survive this torture.

He was questioned for days without food, with little water, and no sleep. Alan was sure he was hallucinating; he saw them castrate a shrieking Gerald Carr, then space him... or did that really happen? The questions kept coming and made no sense to him at all. Some were impossible to answer because they were asked in Chinese. Down the hall, he heard Anna Fisher screaming hysterically. They were raping her again. They must have tired of the fun because her shrieking ended with the sound of a pistol being fired. "We hope you are more cooperative than she was," said his questioner. "Now, where were you on January 11th, 2117."

"That was before I was born," groaned Alan.

"What was your home address on Earth as a child?"

"I was born and raised on Mars," the captive groaned.

"How many engines are capable of thrust vectoring on the B-171 bomber?"

"I don't fly a bomber, never did." His pain racked mind saw through the fog and he knew what was going on. They'd give him dumb questions one after another, then throw a proper question at him. The B-171 was built with thrust vectoring, but it was too much strain on the ship's frame, so they shut it off. That's classified top secret and he shouldn't know that. It was something that was briefed at a classified briefing, a briefing that he didn't want to go to. Knowing something like that could change the way they plan to defend against the bomber.

"How many engines are capable of thrust vectoring on the B-171 bomber?" the questioner asked again.

"You mean like gimballing?" Alan's voice was a hoarse croak. His vocal cords were burned from the bleach they poured in his mouth. "All of the mains can gimbal." Gimballing differs totally from thrust vectoring. Gimballing was changing the engine's thrust angle of single degrees to gently steer the ship. Thrust vectoring was changes of up to 90 degrees for sudden turns. It's a good idea for a fighter, not so good on a heavy bomber. But the questioner didn't seem to notice that gimballing isn't thrust vectoring. Almost all main engines on all spaceships can gimbal. It's how they steer.

"Very good, you may have some water." They unstrapped his wrists, which were both smashed with hammers, and sat him up and handed him a cup of water. The pirates didn't tie his legs; they were no longer functional. Alan stared at the cup of water... he was so thirsty. The last time they gave him water, it was salt water, but he tried to drink. It was excruciatingly painful to raise the cup to his parched lips, but he did it. As he drank, alarms started blaring and people began running around the station. Somebody is inbound. After destroying a carrier and two destroyers, plus the Navy's top squadron, Alan was sure that these were bombers inbound, looking for some payback.

He rolled onto the floor, landing on his ravaged knees and wrists. Then he started the painful crawl across the floor, dragging himself, leaving a trail of blood. Somehow he made it the six feet to the emergency escape pod. The pods sit open, so you don't lose time getting in, and it seemed like it took an hour to get his broken body inside the pod.

One word drove him on, Pandora. One more time he wants to see her... but when she saw what they did to him, she will cry in horror and run... he was sure of it. There's nothing left of him to give her. They wanted children, but even that was not possible. He reached up and hit the Emergency Launch button. Emergency Launch performs very limited safety checks when it goes. It makes sure the pod door is closed, and it signals the station to close the station side door, but it doesn't check that the station side door had closed. Alan didn't care... he heard Pandora calling. Her gentle voice drew him onward.

The traitor, Robert Best, ran into the questioning room, hunting knife in his fist. If he was going to die from a Western Alliance bomber, he was going to kill Captain Scarlett first. But he found the examination table empty, and his chair tipped over. "Scarlett! Where are you?" He saw the blood trail, then the pod door slammed shut. Robert Best didn't see the inner station door close over the pod, but the pod launched, leaving a six foot tall hole open to space.

The traitor was sucked out into space, and immediately his blood started boiling. Had he lived, he would have seen four immense B-171 bombers pass over the station, crossing from all compass points. Their weapons loads all struck the vast station simultaneously, obliterating it.

In all the expanding debris and the drifting hulks of three dead navy ships, a tiny, long distance life pod wasn't noticed as it headed away from the sun.

<><><><><>

Earth/Sol Lagrange Point 3, December 22, 2153

Unoccupied Space (Officially)

"Commander, I have detected an escape pod heading this way."

"Thank you Ed."

"Commander, there is life in that pod, it is transmitting an S.O.S."

"Ed, need I remind you that this is a classified location?"

"Commander, if we do not assist the escape pod, as required by Western Alliance Navy Regulation 171-1-2-4, we could be complicit with the occupant's death and charged with negligent homicide."

The Electronic Devices series 9000 computer, commonly called Ed, was right. There's officially nothing here. This station was so highly classified that revealing anything about it bears the death penalty. The station has a name, but it is but it is never used. Some people call it Area 51, or Grooms Lake, but it's always been called "the station" and nothing more. The station is of the same design as Venus Prime, but the people manning it are vastly different. Their duty is to keep the station secret and isolated and to continue their work, but now they must rescue the escape pod. The ED 9000 is a great machine, but a horrible nag.

"Bridge to medical, we have an escape pod in our vicinity, please get the ambulance out there."

"Aye aye, Sir."

"That was a wise decision Commander."

"Thank you Ed."

Within minutes, a small cargo shuttle, outfitted as an ambulance, left the station. Its search radar made one low powered omnidirectional ping and immediately the escape pod responded. The pod was a bit too large to fit in the ambulance, so they towed it to the station. Remote medical sensors were placed on the escape pod's tiny window and the data began flowing into the ambulance computer.

"Male, Caucasian... Martian... thirty four to thirty-seven earth years of age," said Ed.

"What else can you tell us Ed?" asked the rescue commander.

"He has lost a lot of blood, and is suffering from dehydration and malnutrition. I detect that he has lost an eye. Knees, ankles wrists, elbows, they're all severely damaged."

"Ed, how do you think he was injured?"

"He's severely injured in specific areas, mostly the joints. But he doesn't have the expected contusions and hematoma normally associated with injuries like I am seeing. Commander, this man was tortured."

"Tortured? Are you sure Ed?"

"His condition bears all the hall marks of Eastern Bloc questioning torture. I am 95% sure it was torture; 89% sure it was performed by Eastern Bloc specialists."

Soon, the escape pod was pulled into the cargo bay, and the cargo bay was carefully pressurized. The entire medical staff of the station was there to investigate. He was carefully lifted from the escape pod. "How long do you think he's been unconscious?" asked the head surgeon.

"Doctor Slayton, he's not unconscious. He's asleep."

"Asleep? Are you sure Ed?"

A doctor looked at his blood chemistry and said, "Yeah, he probably is asleep. Blood chemistry shows that he's suffered severe sleep deprivation. Leptin levels are near zero while ghrelin levels are through the roof. This guy has been awake for over a week, possibly two. He was probably hallucinating at the end."

The head surgeon turned to a resident and said, "Doctor, what do you make of the injuries to his joints?"

"I... I really don't..." the resident looked and sputtered.

"Ed's right, it's torture," said the surgeon. "this wound here was caused by a power drill, this one by a hammer. Looks like our friend had been a house guest of the Eastern Bloc. Let's get his ID and check his medical insurance."

"Medical... what?" asked a young nurse.

"It's a joke," said the Surgeon. "We will probably pack him up in stasis and let him drift back to earth."

"Will he survive a journey that long in an escape pod?" asked a nurse.

"Doctor Slayton, I have this man's identification from his DNA sample if you would like to hear it."

"Let's hear it Ed," said the head surgeon. "Who is this guy?"

"Scarlett, Alan B. Captain Western Alliances Navy. Commander 43rd fighter squadron the Strike Force Berserkers. Lost, assumed dead at the battle of Venus Prime."

The room was silent. "Oh shit," whispered a doctor. They couldn't just wrap up a legend and ship him off in a stasis container back to earth and let them figure it out. They couldn't do that to Captain Scarlett, they just couldn't.

The senior doctors and nurses started shouting orders: "Let's get ready to replace these ankles, knees, hips, shoulders, and elbows."

"The wrists will have to heal, they're too delicate of a joint for replacement."

"We don't have his consent to install a bionic so there's nothing we can do about that eye."

"Let's start with the stab wounds and internal injuries. Get the operating room ready."

"Ok folks, we have a hero to mend. Get me as much A negative blood as we can get."

"I have 12 pints, take what he needs."

"LET'S GO PEOPLE!"

<><><><><>֎<><><><><>

SS Peake, December 3, 2156

Approaching High Orbit over Saturn

As Chief Cernan told the story, Pandora was in shock. She didn't know that she bombed her husband. How many surviving Berserkers did she kill? What if he was a moment late hitting that escape pod launch button? She looked at Chief Cernan and he tried to finish the story. "A friend who was on that station told me about how they picked up the Captain and bolted him back together, there were a few spacemen that survived the SS Grissom who told me the rest. The Cap won't talk about it at all."

"Is this why Admiral Schirra put me on this mission?"

The chief looked at her strangely. "Admiral Schirra didn't put you on this mission, the captain refused to take it unless you were on board. The admiral argued with him for days, but the captain won. The captain always wins."

"Does he still hang out in the gym when he's upset?"

"As always, ma'am."

"Thank you chief. Oh, and chief? Paint my name on the pilot's side of that plane please."

"Yes ma'am!"

<><><><><>֎<><><><><>

An empty cargo bay was reserved for crew use. There was some gym equipment bolted to the wall and floor, there was a set of bleachers facing up bolted to another wall, and videos could be projected on the ceiling. They used it for zero g flight training and for briefings, but mostly it was used for horsing around in zero g.

Pandora stuck her nose inside. The lights were dim, and it didn't look like there was anyone in there. Then she heard a sniff and a shuddering breath. Quietly she hung a sign on the door that said Briefing in Progress and locked the door from the inside, then softly floated through the gym, looking. He wasn't hard to find; Alan was curled up underneath the bleachers. He had wedged himself in there so he wouldn't float away.

He was saying something, a kind of mantra. Then she heard what it was.

"McNair, Ron. Lieutenant. Slayton, Deke. Marine Captain. Young, John. Lt. Commander. Ochoa, Ellen. Commander..."

Alan was calling the roll of all his Berserkers. She squeezed in under the bleachers with him, but he seemed to ignore her until he called the name of every pilot and navigator lost above Venus. He finally opened his eye and looked at her. "I didn't want you to see this. I figured I could just stand tall and say, 'take it from here colonel' and you would finish this mission and I could go and rejoin the berserkers. We would finally be... I... I can't..." and he broke into tears. He wept for his lost friends and assistants, and he wept for what was and never will be again. Alan tightened up into a ball, trying to fight back the tears.

Now Pandora realized why Alan had been avoiding her since she returned. He was physically and mentally shattered, and the Western Alliance threw him right back into action. She tried to hold him, but he fought back. Eventually, she got his arms around her and he held her tight as he endlessly wept. Finally, the tears stopped, and he whispered, "I'm sorry to have dragged you out here. I didn't know they'd be here."

"You didn't know who would be out here?"

"Pirates."

"They're everywhere lately. You and me, we're going to build a squadron and we're going to sweep them out of the solar system."

"I got nothing, I'm no good anymore," groaned Alan. "They hurt me... they..." he swallowed, then whispered.

"What?" asked Pandora. "What did they do?"

"They raped me."

She looked at her husband in shock. Pandora always thought of both the Eastern Bloc and the Pirates as honorable enemies. She didn't know how wrong she was and now she knew why Alan had been avoiding her. He told her of how they took over the Venusian colony and spaced everyone that wouldn't join them or leave, then they built up a power base. The Eastern Bloc gave the pirates weapons of every type and some of their best fighters, and when the Pirates had a good firm hold on the base, the Eastern Bloc took over.

Alan told of how they beat Owen Garriott and Bruce Peake to death in front of him, of how they castrated Gerald Carr as he died, and how they raped Anna Fisher over and over until she went mad, then they shot her in the head. How they beat and raped him, how they took a power drill to his kneecaps and elbows, and a pair of pliers to his testicles.

"Shh, stop, I got them for you honey. I vaporized them, I blew them to shit with a pair of Mark 26 Neutrino bombs. They're gone. That's why I couldn't meet you, I was on bomber alert duty. I almost got you too from what Chief Cernan says."

"Shame you missed... it would have been... kindness," and the tears returned. Tears don't fall in zero g, they just ball up around your eyeballs. "I'm sorry," said Alan. "I have nothing left for you. So many nights I dreamed of holding you again like this, but in my dreams I did it as a whole man and not a... a useless thing."

"Stop, you're not a useless thing."

He wanted to shriek "Why did you leave me?" but they had agreed on that assignment. "So many lonely nights, so many empty days..."

"Shhhh, stop, I'm back. It was a deep space mission, and I thought our careers were..." this time Alan shushed her.

"Look at what our careers got us. We're at the ass end of nowhere and I'm going to steal an ice cube. And you get to watch an animated corpse pretend to be your husband. What happened to our dream? We had beautiful dreams! Where's our babies? Where's our house on the canal? Where's the songbird on a perch waking us in the morning? All our hopes and dreams are gone."

She turned around in his arms and he pulled her back close and sighed. It felt so good to be back in his arms. The road to this reunion was long and rocky. Pandora spent three years on a deep space probe, and she spent the whole time fighting off advances from men and women. She was mad at Scarlett for not meeting her when she returned. Bomber Alert has conjugal facilities, they could have had a proper reunion. The only break in the monotony was a bomb run to Venus. They blew the shit out of a station, but as they turned and headed back home, her navigator, Eileen, reported seeing a carrier and two destroyers hanging lifeless in space. Dear Gawd, was that her husband and his men and women?

"I wrote a haiku for you," said Alan, as he tried to calm himself.

"I love haiku, tell me."

"The winter night stars

No longer call out to me

Now that I am gone."

Pandora whimpered, then said, "I'm sorry that I was angry at you. You were so sweet to give me the freedom to advance. I know that I can't easily make it up to you. Will you please let me try?"

"You can try but I can't make any promises."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Do you have any idea what went through my mind when I saw that we were sixteen ships versus five hundred?"

"What?" she asked.

"I thought It's over. I'm not going to be alone anymore."

That stabbed right to her heart. She was so damn selfish; Pandora walked out on him because he got a promotion and outranked her. She wanted to get her promotion, too, and a woman in command grade told her she would never get a promotion with a husband dragging her down. And Pandora believed that old hag. "You were right. I'm coming home to take care of my hero."

They were quiet for a long time as Alan fought back the tears and the pain. "Come on, you're all scrunched up under here. That's got to hurt your legs." She tugged him out from under the bleacher and they floated gently in the gym, clutching each other. She was right, getting out and drifting unrestricted in zero G felt good. Finally, Pandora said, "do you remember the first time that we were alone in the gym together?"

"It was the day we met," he said.

<><><><><>

Camp Schmitt, July 17, 2145

Geosynchronous Orbit over the Camp Lejeune Crater

The tall, skinny Martian fighter pilot drifted into Camp Schmitt, a marine space station in geosynchronous orbit above Camp Lejeune. "Lieutenant Commander Scarlett," said Captain Schirra, "This is Major Pandora Vermillion. I trust that you two will get along and play nice." Alan and Pandora shook hands. "What do you do?" asked Pandora.

"Fighters. We're here testing out the F-733A multi-roll interstellar fighter. We don't know if the side-by-side seating will work for the Navy."

Pandora smirked. "While the Marines are worried about winning wars the Navy is discussing seating arrangements?"

"Ahh, yeah, when you put it that way it sounds a bit weird," said Alan. "Look at it this way, you jump in a fox hole you hope it's not fifty foot deep with twenty feet of water at the bottom, right?"

"Right."

"So you're saying that the marines are picky about holes in the ground?"

"Touche."

"What do you do, ma'am?"

Pandora shrugged. "I fly bombers. B-171's." She just got assigned as a command pilot trainee in the 5th Interstellar Bombardment Wing [Heavy].

"Holy shit, that's like flying a house."

"Sometimes it seems like it, twenty man crew with bunks and kitchen."

"Twenty people on the crew?"

"Captain, exec, two pilots, two navigators, bombardiers, communications, electronic warfare, gunners and ships maintenance. We often haul special forces and marines to their assignments."

"Two pilots! Wow, that must be a lot of work hitting the auto pilot on those beasts," he said with a grin.

"Fuck you Popeye," she said with a grin as she punched him.

Captain Schirra left. Young officers are strange, he decided. He can't wait to tell his wife Estelle about this pair. Hopefully, Lieutenant Commander Scarlett can keep the high-strung major out of his hair for a while. They're both outstanding officers, a little too energetic as people, however, but he could see them going far and he planned to keep his eye on them.

"Do you gyrenes have a gym around here? I want to unwind. I just arrived from Jupiter."

"Oh? Did you fly coach?" she grinned.

"F-303 the whole way. Talk about a butt numbing adventure." The F-303 was a space fighter that was adapted for atmospheric use. After modification, it couldn't do either properly, space or atmosphere. They were used to shuttle pilots around the solar system until they could be scrapped.

"We have four gyms. One G, Martian, Lunar, and Zero G. You look like a Martian; would you like to hit that gym?"

"No, I want to try the Zero G. That's just a whole lot of fun."

"Follow me," said Pandora.

"I need to get my gym stuff," said Alan as he turned toward his quarters.

"You'll be fine. Follow me." And she led him by the hand to the hub of the station. The zero G gym was a cargo bay that was set aside for zero G training and goofing around. There were weight machines that used elastic for resistance, bikes, and rowing machines. In the corner was a wash-down area with moist towels.

"What do I..." Alan turned to Pandora, and she was naked. She had slithered out of her flight suit and was putting it in an empty locker.

"What's the problem? This is a gymnasium. The word comes from gymnos, which means naked. Gymnasium means a place to exercise in the nude." Alan could barely hear what she said. Pandora Vermillion was breathtaking. Her milk white skin called for him to touch her. Pandora's small, firm breasts were pointing at him, daring him to touch her erect coral nipples. Her abs told him she was muscular, and her flashing green eyes told him she was playful.

Alan shook his head and wrestled off his own suit. Normally he doesn't have a problem dressing and undressing in zero G, but the problem is compounded when a slim, sexy redhead with a trim, athletic build is watching hungrily.

As he unceremoniously stuffed his flight suit in a locker, she said, "If you can catch me, you can fuck me." Laughing, she pushed off from the wall and flew away like Supergirl.

"Damn!" gasped Alan, and he pushed off after her. As he neared her, she grabbed a handrail and suddenly changed direction ninety degrees and shot across his bow, so to speak. She was beautiful, with long, flowing red hair which she tied off in a ponytail. Tight, perky breasts, slim waist, and narrow hips. Her face was pixie cute, flashing green eyes, a tiny, pointed nose, luscious lips and a very light smattering of freckles. She trimmed her pussy but left a thin landing strip of bright red, and Lt. Commander Scarlett was aching to come in for a landing.

They bounced back and forth, up and down. She was a master at navigating in zero G, and even better at staying out of his reach. But she was giving him pointers, and he was catching on. "Stop thinking with your dick! This isn't golf, you're not going to sink a long putt."

That had him laughing so hard he had to stop for a moment. As he caught his breath, he was clutching a padded bar near the ceiling (or near the floor and he was upside down; he lost track) when suddenly he felt a mouth close around his balls. "Oh my gawd" he groaned as she suckled one swollen ball and slithered her tongue all over it. Then, quick as a wink, she was gone.

"You have to pay attention!" she called from the other side of the room.

Soon, it became time to put that fighter pilot training to work. He noticed two things. When he chases after her, he's aiming for where she is. He needs to aim where she's going to be, to lead his prey. Most important, when she's away from the walls, she's helpless. She can only go in the direction she's chosen. There she goes. She kicked off the wall, heading toward the wash-down corner, so Alan kicked forward into her path of flight and she gave a squawk when his arms wrapped around her waist.

They were tumbling head over heels in the middle of the room, her delectable ass right in his face. "We're becalmed, you dingbat sailor! Even Popeye knows..." Her tirade was stopped when Alan spun her around in his arms and her pussy ended up right where he wanted it. "You bastard... that's not... fair... you're... Oh gawd!" She cried out in outrage and lust as Alan began licking her pussy.

Being a "fighter jock," Alan can get any woman he wants. If he walks into a bar in a Venusian colony station all the way out to a "hooch" at an asteroid mining complex in the asteroid belt, he can claim any woman he wants. But he never really did that kind of thing. He always believed that there was a girl out there waiting for him. And there, floating in zero G, his tongue flickering over her clit, he was sure he found the one. She was tough, she was feisty, and he fell in love with her before she offered to take him to the gym.

They were floating in the 69 position, and they clung to each other desperately. Alan has never loved licking a pussy as much as he did her. For her part, she grabbed his ass cheeks and started swallowing his cock over and over, the head of his dick plunging deeper in her throat with each swallow.

She began panting, and she clutched him tight; she was going to lose control, so she took his cock out of her mouth and kissed his inner thigh. "This is where I go crazy," she groaned.

"Do it, go crazy for me," he whispered, then returned to his lapping and suckling of her pussy.

"I already am crazy for you Popeye..." before he realized what was happening, she was shuddering and jerking, her whole body jolting with spasms of pure delight as her climax crashed over her. He rotated the cumming woman in his arms and they were kissing, their tongues dancing together as she came down from her cloud of bliss.

"You caught me," she grinned, then she bit his neck. "Now you have to fuck me." A challenge. Sex in zero G is fun, if you know the secret. Alan has never tried sex in zero G but he's heard enough horror stories in the O club from fighter jocks who had the opportunity and failed the test.

Just then, they bumped into that padded bar. It protruded a few inches out from the wall; he could hook his feet in the bar. Flexing his leg muscles pushed his back against the wall. He planted his head and shoulder blades and arched his hips out and lowered the scarlet-haired beauty on his cock. In moments they were fucking wildly. At first, he just slid her weightless body up and down on his cock like a fuck toy. She grinned and let him use her, but she got in on it too. She planted her feet on the wall and pushed away. When she did that, he grabbed her hips and pulled her back down on his cock. She'd push out, he'd pull her back. Soon they were fucking madly, the sound of their groins slapping together and their cries of passion echoed through the gym as they both came. Alan couldn't believe how powerful his orgasm was. It felt like he squirted a gallon into her. That was something she accused him of doing at dinner that evening. "Now what do we do?" he panted as they held each other tightly in post coital bliss.

"I don't know, I've never been caught before."

<><><><><>

SS Peake, December 3, 2156

High orbit over Saturn

"Come on Popeye," said Pandora, calling him by her old nickname for her navy man. Then she realized what she said and cringed. "I'm sorry, I forgot. I didn't mean..."

"It's ok," he whispered. "I guess it's more fitting now."

She led the weightless fighter pilot to his bunk on the SS Peake and undressed him, then gave him a sponge bath. Pandora hissed and gasped as she saw the scars that his two weeks of torture had left on the outside of his body. She cupped his scrotum and realized that he now only had one testicle. "Did they do this to you?" she asked.

"No, they crushed it with pliers." He nearly vomited at the memory of the agony. "Some surgeon took it... I don't know when."

Pandora kissed him and cushioned him as they floated in his bunk. "This just means that we'll make the survivor work harder." Her remark made Alan Scarlett chuckle for the first time in a long time.

Carefully she lifted his eyepatch and peered in, fearing the worst, and she saw a glass eye, but it was an 8 ball from a billiard set. "Where did you get that from?"

"I don't know. They told me it was there when they found me at Armstrong Station along with all the internal hardware."

"Who did the surgery on you?"

"I don't know. Someone between Venus Prime and Armstrong Station did it. They did a pretty good job; my left hip was bad anyhow." Suddenly, his fear of being alone washed over him again. "Tinkerbell?"

"Yes Popeye?"

"Please stay with me..."

As if terrified of hurting him, she gave him a gentle kiss. Then Pandora Vermillion undressed and zipped herself into his sleeping bag with him. For the first time in three years, Alan had what he could call a good night's sleep. In his arms, Pandora could happily say the same thing, too.

<><><><><>֎<><><><><>

SS Peake, February 23, 2157

High planetary orbit over Saturn

The SS Peake finally finished her deceleration burn and drew up alongside the Saturnian moonlet Saturn CLXXII. Now they could do the deep scans that they needed to complete the mission. The exact center of gravity was mapped out and the engineering staff was soon ready. "This is an insane plan," said the chief engineer Lt. Commander Roy Bridges. He was a bomber co-pilot who designs starships for fun.

"That's right," said Pandora, "and you're going to make it work."

For the first time in a long time, Captain Scarlett addressed the spacemen. "Today Colonel Vermillion and I will mark the spots where the installations will take place. Tomorrow we start. If you're not on the final design team, we have a list of setup work that needs to be done. We launch in forty five days. Questions?"

"Yeah, are you and the colonel getting back together, cause I'd like to know if I have a chance..."

"Eileen..." groaned Pandora. Eileen Collins was her navigator and a self-confessed sex hound.

"Wait... what... with me?" asked Alan.

"Either one of ya, I've been having these dreams..." the rest of her answer was drowned out by the laughter of the assembled men and women.

"Thank you very much Eileen," said Pandora, interrupting Eileen.

"Any other questions? Something having to do with the mission or spaceflight in general?" asked Captain Scarlett. Lieutenant Scott Anders raised his hand. "What do you have for us, Fleagle? Don't stand please."

It's a tradition to stand when asking a question of a superior officer, but zero G changes things. They were seated on benches behind long vacuum tables and had Velcro seatbelts to hold themselves in place. The vacuum tables held their notes in place as the officers briefed the troops. Lt. Anders reattached his seat belt and said, "Sir, you and Chief White and I have been flying around together for months. What are the Strike Force Berserkers doing without you?"

Instead of addressing him, Alan and Pandora turned to each other and spoke in whispers. "Tell them," said Chief Cernan. "They need to know."

Captain Scarlett turned and looked at the spacemen, who were waiting for him to speak. "In your careers, at some point you applied to be a member of the Strike Force Berserkers. The Berserkers are..." Alan stopped and tried to find the right words. He looked at Pandora and said, "This is a mistake."

"Do it, you need to at least say it," she whispered, encouraging him.

The young officers looked at each other in confusion until Alan said, "The following briefing is classified Top Secret. What you are about to hear is not for dissemination to anyone off this ship, and I will probably be charged with treason for telling you but what the fuck, my life can't get any more fucked up. They can do what they want." Captain Scarlett stood tall at the front of the briefing room, held in place by Velcro on his boots and on the floor. He took a deep breath and in a shaking voice Alan said, "Chief Cernan and I are the only surviving members of the Berserkers."

There. He said it.

"What do you mean?" asked Chief White as shocked rumbling went through the room.

"I just read an article about a Berserker raid on a pirate mine in the asteroid belt," said someone.

"Yeah," cried another voice. "I saw it too. It was in the Navy Today magazine; they said it was just last year."

Alan held his hand up for quiet. "That raid happened four years ago. The Navy changed the dates for publication. They don't want to let anyone know the Berserkers are gone."

"Gone?" asked Lieutenant JG Beth Moses. "I don't understand... I joined so I could become a Berserker." She had a poster on her wall at the Academy of the Berserkers.

Pandora stood next to him, her hand wrapped in his and she said, "Tell them, they need to know."

Alan frowned and tried to make eye contact with each of the members of Project Asimov. "We were returning from a training exercise over mercury. Chief Cernan's wife was expecting, so I sent him earth side on a currier ahead of us. As we returned on the NSS Grissom, the NSS White and the NSS Chaffee, we were drawn into an ambush."

He paused and tried to push the pain and anger down, then he continued. "The three squadrons from Grissom, the 101st, the 33rd, and the 43rd, were outnumbered eleven to one. We faced over five hundred fighters, and we mowed them down. The battle drew us close to station VS2, and we were ripped apart by heavy artillery that was installed on the station. While we were getting chopped up, deep cover Eastern Block spies killed almost every man and woman on our ships, two destroyers, the NSS White and NSS Chaffee had their power cut and were opened to space. NSS Grissom was in flames. The hand to hand fighting in the Grissom went on for nearly a week. While that was happening, our exit was cut off by Eastern Bloc fighters and we were slaughtered."

"Eastern Bloc?" asked Eileen. "Really?"

"I took out a Flounder with my fifty caliber guns, I was ten meters away from him so yeah, it was a Flounder. After that I was rammed by a Frogtail and my day was over."

"Damn!" Eileen gasped. The Flounder and the Frogtails were supposedly the Eastern Bloc's newest and best. "What happened?"

"The Frogtail exploded and shoved me under the station. My ship was breaking up, so I punched out. I didn't realize that I was under the station when I ejected, and I ended up deep inside a Pirate controlled station. My capsule had punched through the skin and five decks before I came to a stop."

"Oh, my gawd," gasped Jim Dutton. "Then what?"

Alan was quiet for a long time, then in a small voice he said, "They pried me out of my capsule, then," he tried to say it but he could only say, "two weeks..." The room was silent as they hung on his whispered words. "Six of us survived the space battle and made it aboard the station. I was forced to watch them kill Gerald Carr, Owen Garriott, Bruce Peake, and Amy Fisher... This ship is named for Bruce."

Now Pandora looked like she was going to burst into tears. Gerry Carr, Amy Fisher, Alan Scarlett, and Pandora Vermillion, the four musketeers. They were a team. When they had time off, they went everywhere together. Gerry and Amy were engaged, he asked her a week before the battle.

"Sir... we..." started Lt. Anders, but Captain Scarlett wasn't listening. He could only hear the agonized screams of Amy in his head.

"I'm the only Berserker pilot left. Thank gawd that Chief Cernan is... we're all gone... all of us... I'm sorry..." He kicked out of the Velcro footpads and fled the room while Pandora flew after him.

Chief Cernan floated up to the head of the briefing room and said, "You can see that he's still dealing with this. It was years ago and we're still..." he shook his head sadly.

"I just saw a small blurb in the Spaceman's Monthly about the Berserkers cleaning up pirate strongholds on the Jupiter moons," said Vance Brand, a bomber pilot.

"They post things like that as a cover."

"Chief, have you known Captain Scarlett a long time?" asked Lt. Commander Dutton.

"I was his plane captain long before the Berserkers were a thing. He had just put on Lieutenant Commander."

"Then is he ok?"

"No. Neither of us are." Chief Cernan looked lost. "I didn't go through the hell that the captain did. A week after I got home Admiral Schirra stopped by and told me. They hadn't found the captain yet so it was me, I was the only berserker... when I heard the news it felt like my heart was ripped out... I lost so many good friends and coworkers on the Grissom... I almost dropped my newborn son when he told me... I was put on sea duty in the Bahamas where they could keep an eye on me so I wouldn't talk."

"Do you know what happened to him?" asked Lt. Anders. The chief nodded sadly, and the lieutenant said, "He said six were taken on board the station, but he only mentioned five, including himself. Who was number six?"

"Number six was Lieutenant Junior Grade Robert Best, and he was a Lieutenant JG, and he rode with the Captain on his last mission. He was a traitor working for the Eastern Bloc." The chief looked especially pained. "We had Eastern Bloc spies on all three ships, in all three squadrons. They had been planning this for years."

"How did the captain escape?"

"The room they held him in had an exterior wall so it had an escape pod. They left him untied because they smashed all of his leg and arm joints, so when the bombers showed up and everyone started running around, they ignored him. He rolled off the table, crawled over to the escape pod and hit the button."

"Then what?"

The chief shrugged and said, "No one knows, not even the captain. All I know is that he called and said, 'I need you.' So here I am." They looked at him expectantly and he said, "Look fellas, Our mission is to save Mars. Mars needs that chunk of ice desperately, and if pushing it by hand will help the captain, that's what I'm going to do. We are going to transport twenty seven cubic kilometers of frozen water to Mars." He looked around the briefing room. They were all staring at him in shock. "God damn it, if this is my last mission, then by god I'm going to go out as a berserker."

"What do you mean 'go out as a berserker?"

Master Chief Denton muttered, "fuck it," and spun the dial on a secured cabinet, the same cabinet you see throughout the Navy fleet holding classified documents. "The rest of this briefing is classified Top Secret, Cabinet 51..."

<><><><><>

Captain Scarlett was taking deep breaths, finally getting control of himself. The shaking had almost stopped. Pandora's tears were finally subsiding, too. Gerry and Amy gone... it just sank in... in front of everyone. She couldn't imagine the horror that they and Alan went through. Colonel Vermillion was wrapped around her husband, holding him tight as they floated freely in their bunk. "Are you ok? Can you go on now?"

"I kinda wish we were naked, Tinkerbell," said Alan.

Pandora gave him a kiss. "You're all right, Popeye." Just then, there was a knock at the door. "What is it," she called out.

The door slid open, and Lt. Anders was there. "Captain, Colonel. When you're ready, the troops would like to talk with you."

"We'll be right with you," said Alan. When their door slid shut, he said, "I want to go to Earth."

"Earth? Why earth?" she laughed.

"I want a dog. It's the only place we can have a dog." He showed her his reading tablet set to page one of Lad, A Dog.

"You and your ancient scrolls. That's over two hundred years old."

"Close to two fifty."

"Should we add that to our dream house on a canal with children and songbirds?" she asked.

"And maybe a goat. They sound cool."

"It'll poop in your canal. Let's go." Pandora chuckled as she and Alan headed back to the briefing room. He's original Martian stock. His family had been on Mars for a hundred years, and his home colony, Bradbury Canal, was the original residential colony. On Mars, the term for a body of water is canal. Something about early astronomers seeing canals on Mars that weren't there. They don't have lakes, ponds, ocean, rivers. The only bodies of water on Mars are man-made and called canals because of those astronomers. It was originally a joke, but it stuck, and now if a Martian sees a bathtub full of water, he calls it a canal.

They entered the briefing room, and the Chief of the Boat, Master Chief Petty Officer White, called, "Berserkers! Ten Hut!" The men and woman of Project Asimov snapped to a seated attention.

"As you were," said a confused Alan. "What reminded you people that you're in the military?"

"Well, Chief Cernan is your only berserker and we figured that a Navy captain needs more than an exhausted chief petty officer to command, so... uh..."

"Sir," said Master Chief White. "What the lieutenant is trying to say is that we can't let the Strike Force Berserkers disappear into obscurity. The Fighting Forty Third deserves to be more than a footnote in a history book. We want to be the berserkers."

Alan looked at the room full of expectant faces. Engineers, propulsion specialists, heavy transport flight officers, strategic bomber crews, and fly by the seat of your pants navigators. "How many of you have flight experience in a fighter spacecraft?" A half dozen hands raised. "How many actually piloted the fighter?" Three hands went down. "Who of you wish to dedicate yourself to learning to fly, fight, and kill?" All hands went up. "And how many of you will stand and defend the people of Western alliance lands and colonies on Mars, Venus, Luna, and Earth?" All hands remain raised.

Alan looked at Pandora, who also had her hand up. She was floating free, so she was almost upside down, but her hand was raised. "Then may whatever God you believe in have mercy on your souls, welcome to the Berserkers. Petty Officer Coats, start drawing up a flight training schedule."

"Aye aye, SIR!"

<><><><><>

Alan and Pandora took out the fighter that was emblazoned with her name on the canopy sill. After reprogramming the laser, they made an orbit of the equator of Saturn CLXXII while Alan kept the nose of the F-733 pointed straight "down" at the equator. Pandora had the targeting system feeding information to her helmet visor, and she was drilling holes in the ice with the laser to mount the thirty reaction engines that were in the storage bay of SS Peake. Alan would get the nose pointed close to where Pandora needed it to be. Then she took over. To her, it looked like the fighter projected a dot on the ice that she had to line up with the targeting reticle. Her stick was set to 'Fine' so she could make slight movements, and when she was lined up, the laser was programmed to fire four shots into the ice needed for the four legs of the engine mounts. When they finished with the 30th and final set of holes, Alan glanced over his shoulder and gasped.

"What?" asked Pandora. "What did you see?"

"Look!" he rotated the fighter to point at Saturn. This was something they hadn't had the chance to do. They were so busy drilling holes they didn't look up.

"My god," Pandora gasped. She's been out this far, but she was on the other end of the solar system running laps around Neptune. She's never seen Saturn.

The sight was incredible. They were far outside of the rings so they could see the rings in their entirety. Saturn was magnificent. Compared to the massive anger of Jupiter, Saturn was a gentle, benevolent giant. A perfect, peaceful sphere hanging gently in space, wearing a disc of rings as a crown. A giant ball with stripes of yellow, tan, sky blue, amber, and white. Around her circled the rings, which were not the silver that Pandora and Alan were brought up to believe, but a rich reddish brown, the color of Martian soil. Saturn and her rings were tilted at a rakish angle as if to shout "Look at me! I'm gorgeous."

Alan and Pandora opened their canopies and floated out of their fighter and hung in space, staring at the beautiful planet that hung above them. Their hands unconsciously joined as they marveled at the sight.

"It's beautiful!" gasped Pandora.

"No, it's an incredible thing to see, but you are what is beautiful."

"There's the Alan Scarlett I've been missing," she said as she squeezed his hand.

"I'm sorry, my head was so fucked up that I was angry with you, I'm still fucked up, big time, but you're helping, and I love you so dearly."

"Why were you angry with me?"

"It's something those bastards drove into my head when they were torturing me. They tried to convince me that you abandoned me."

"I guess I showed them!" she said proudly as their helmet visors touched gently. "I gave them 20 kilotons of my love."

"I didn't even know where I was most of the time, but somehow I expected you to find me." The lovers looked at the most incredible planet in the known universe for a long time. "I truly love you so much," he whispered.

"Thank you for finding me, I love you... and I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't found me," she said as they held hands.

"I knew your dad would find you for me."

<><><><><>֎<><><><><>

SS Peake, March 24, 2157

High planetary orbit over Saturn

Captain Scarlett gave the new Strike Force Berserkers forty-five days to convert an enormous ball of ice into a spaceship, and they did it in thirty. On March 24th, the sanity tests on the engines and control systems were complete, and they declared Saturn CLXXII as fit to fly as any other homemade space craft made of ice. Upon completion of all tests, they christened their ship of ice 'the Big Berserker.' A case of champagne was iced down with ice from CLXXII, the corks to be popped upon successful launch.

The ice from Saturn CLXXII turned out to be surprisingly pure. There were no strange organic impurities, just dust, and when melted, what wasn't water filtered out easily. Mars is going to be delighted with this gift. The Eastern Bloc won't enjoy the gift near as much. The Berserkers congratulated each other for their hard work and made the crew of the SS Peake honorary berserkers.

For being a seat of the pants plan, it came together amazingly well. All static tests showed 100% reliability. The only thing that would hold them back is if three or more engines fail when the window to launch opens. The crew worked hard, and Pandora did an outstanding job drilling the pilot holes for the engine stands, which made mounting the stands incredibly easy. All the crew had to do after the engine stands were lowered into place was to ensure that the engine mounts were seated. Usually, a few loving taps from an electric recoilless hammer did that nicely. The main support struts were held in place with water. They injected liquid water into the holes and within seconds, the water was frozen as hard as the surrounding ice. At the temperature of outer space -270° C (-455° F) the ice was incredibly hard, and the engine mount struts were permanently locked into place.

Using a zero G forklift, also known as a 'scooter' they moved the engines from the SS Peake on to the mounts easily enough. After the engines were mounted on the stands came the hard part, locking the engines down and wiring them up. Alan spent many hours outside, harnessed to engine #0, where the interface box was mounted. The hard wiring from engines 0 through 29 came together there, then through a wireless interface with the SS Peake, the flight engineer on the Peake controlled the engines. Master Chief Petty Officer White and Chief Petty Officer Cernan worked on the gimbal. Only the odd numbered engines were going to gimbal, which saved on wiring and time spent ensuring that the gimbal angles were identical.

Also, high on the list of things to do was inspecting and patching their environment suits after every trip outside. The nature of the work caused nicks that needed to be patched and before long, it was apparent that arms, hips, and knees were taking the brunt of the beating. The entire crew would spend an hour or two every evening helping the life support folks clean and repair the environment suits, which were vital to the mission.

Everyone agreed that the hardest part of the task was to not look at Saturn. The majestic orb had a hypnotic effect on the men and women of the Berserkers, and sometimes a glance at the ringed giant turned into fifteen minutes of admiration.

As always, while they worked, a fighter patrolled silently around them, keeping an eye out for pirates. Not only was this protection from intruders, but it was also flight training for the new Berserkers. Eileen Collins was in the pilot seat as they kept an eye out for pirates who were mining the moon Tethys. The ice moon Tethys was far enough away to give them ample warning if the pirates wanted to attack. "Why do they have to do things the hard way?" asked Eileen Collins. She was getting her initial training on the F-733 Predator fighter spacecraft. "Can't they just scoop up ice from the rings?"

"That is the hard way," said Alan. "It's like trying to collect a specific rock in a landslide. You'll get beaten up before you get a profitable share." In space, water is worth twice its weight in gold. "Let's do some switch drills."

"Aww," groaned Eileen. All trainees hated switch drills.

"AJC Aux to safe," said Alan.

"AJC... AJC... AJC Here it is, AJC Aux, safe!" Suddenly, a beeping noise filled their ears. "What's that?" gasped Eileen. "What did I do?"

"TWR is hot," said Alan calmly as the threat warning radar picked up something suspicious. "I have control." He was sitting in the navigator's seat, but most of the controls were identical to the pilot's controls. "Don't take a nap, you have plenty of switches that I don't. Right now, I need Master Arm to ARM and LMG to G. It's on your throttle quadrant."

"Master Arm is Armed, and LMG to G. Whatever that is."

"Guns. LMG is Laser, Missiles, Guns. That switch is your friend. Ok, now let's find our friend out there." There was no sign of pursuit, so the threat that came up on the Threat Warning Radar must be hiding. "There he is," said Alan. Eileen scanned the surrounding space, then she saw a white dot on her helmet visor display. It was quickly marked as Contact 453. When she zoomed in, she could see a ship of some sort hiding behind a tiny moonlet. "Query IFF," said Alan.

"Aye aye," and Eileen hit the IFF switch, and they waited. And waited. There was no response from the mystery ship.

"Move in on the ship slowly," said Alan. "You pay attention to your flying, I'll watch the boat."

"Aye aye," she said, and they slowly approached the ship. "It's an F-733," she gasped.

"Yes it is... F-733F, it's a newer boat than ours... and it's sitting empty. The pilot's canopy is open." Their F-733D had a canopy that swung up to open. On the F-733F, the canopy slid forward, which made it easier to get in and out of. Alan zoomed in and looked closer at the fighter. "There's someone in the navigator's seat, but the pilot's canopy is open, and his seat is empty." He turned to Eileen and said, "seal up your suit."

"What? Don't! Don't leave me!"

"I'm not turning my back on a free boat. Station Keeping to on."

Nervously Eileen turned the station keeping select knob to on, then put her gloves on and double checked the seals on her environment suit. Not for the last time, she groused that on a proper spacecraft like a heavy bomber you don't need to wear a full environment suit. "Don't go anywhere," said Alan and he opened the canopy.

Using a thruster pack, Alan floated over to the derelict and opened several maintenance access panels on the derelict. "What are you doing?" she asked over the suit to suit radio.

"I'm looking for something." Finally, he started digging into a panel and found what he was looking for. He removed a component about the size of a one liter water bottle and let it float in the derelict's cockpit.

"What is that?" asked a terrified Eileen.

"A bomb."

"How do you know it's a bomb?"

"It was wired into the motor startup system, really crappy job." He looked into the cockpit and reviewed the switch positions. "Ok, here's a fun exercise for you. Switch over to the navigator's side."

"Ok, I'm there," called Eileen. She's a tiny woman, so moving from the pilot to navigator side was easy, which kind of annoyed Alan. He takes a good five minutes to squeeze his way over without throwing a dozen switches by bumping into them.

"Now find the MMC select switch and set it to rescue."

"MMC?" asked Eileen.

"Mission Mode Control, top center of the navigator's main control panel."

Eileen found the switch quickly. "MMC to Rescue. Oh wow. Half the switches changed names."

"Yep, you're now a tow truck. Ok, keep your hand off the throttle until we're hooked up." Alan drifted over to his fighter and reached up between the engines, opened a panel, and a long cable spilled out. He grabbed the end of the cable and pushed off to float over to the derelict. He opened a panel on the very nose of the derelict and connected the combination power cable and tow cable to the derelict. "Ok, find a switch labeled tow cable or umbilical."

"I found one marked Tow Umbilical," said Eileen.

"Good," said Alan as he eased himself into the cockpit of the abandoned fighter. He checked several switches and said, "Tow Umbilical to the Tow position." When she did that, the pilot's instrument panel lit up. He was getting power from the lead fighter. He set a few switches, then said, "Nice and easy, fly back to the Peake."

"Ok," said a nervous Eileen. She eased the throttle forward, and the fighter started moving, but soon she felt a jerk. "What was that?"

"Me. You're towing me behind you," said Alan.

"I'm not going to be able to count this as a solo flight?"

That made Alan laugh. "No, sorry not this time." He was interrupted by a scream from Eileen. "What's wrong?"

"The other pilot. He's over there... to your right."

Alan saw a frozen body in space far off to his right. "Mark the location on your map and we'll come back to get him."

"K-kay."

"You're doing good, just keep the Peake in mind, it should be on your screen any time now.

<><><><><>

"What do we got here?" asked Pandora. As usual, when there was a meeting or gathering, Alan was in charge of the gathering, but Pandora was his spokesperson. They found that her asking the questions allows him to concentrate on the answers that they get.

A body lay strapped to the exam table in medical, another body floated in a corner, wrapped in a sheet and trussed up for a funeral in space. "Mystery guest number one, the pilot, is an Earther," said Dr. Sing, the ship's entire medical department. "DNA info came back naming him Fredo Spenalzo, he's linked to the Eastern Bloc but there's not much information on him. Mystery guest number two is Risto Pärn..."

"I knew him, he was a Lunar and a command pilot in the 33rd fighter squadron on the Grissom," said Chief Cernan. "He was their instructor pilot for the new F-733F models."

Pandora looked at Alan, but he didn't twitch when the Chief identified the corpse.

"I knew him also. He was a hot shot rocketeer, but he wouldn't share his information," said Alan. "We wanted to know more about the F models, but he wouldn't say a word about them. Even Colonel Radcliffe, his commander, ordered him to brief us on the F model F-733 and he refused to do it."

"Besides spacing, are there any other injuries these two gentlemen may have on their persons?"

"Both of them have several stab wounds. It appears that they didn't like each other very much. This knife matches the stab wounds in Mr. Pärn and still has traces of his blood on it," said Dr. Sing, holding up a large hunting knife. He passed it around to the gathered officers and finally the knife reached Alan's hands.

Alan knew that knife, it was a standard issue Katran (mud shark) knife. Thick flat black steel blade about twelve inches long and nearly an eighth of an inch thick along the spine. The pirates and Eastern Bloc military men (there were no women) all carried these hateful knives. The jimping along the spine of the blade was used by his torturers to gauge how deep they were pushing the blade into his body... then they would twist the blade to add to the agony.

This is the blade that took his eye, the blade that slashed, cut and stabbed him, and the last time he saw Robert Best, the traitor, he was carrying his Katran knife. Alan only saw it for a moment because the door of the escape pod slammed shut and he was thrown against the thick cushioning of the pod's back wall as the pod blasted away from Venus Prime moments before Pandora swooped in and obliterated Venus prime. "Is this the knife that killed Risto Pärn?" Alan asked.

"Yes," said Dr. Sing. "The stab wounds that killed Mister Spenalzo are from a different knife, a much narrower blade."

"I'm going to keep this," Alan said as he slid it back into the sheath that he removed from Fredo Spenalzo's environment suit. The knife blade that killed a traitor was something he felt a need to hold. "Master Chief White, Chief Cernan, you've been over the derelict that I dragged back, what did you find?"

The two petty officers looked at each other, trying to determine who goes first when Master Chief White said, "You start." Since Chief White had the rank, Chief Cernan started. "It's in good shape, not a scratch on it. We looked it up and it was assigned to the 33rd fighter squadron, but when we looked up the serial number it came back as 'destroyed in the battle of Venus Prime.' Also there were several other bombs, you found the big bomb. There were two smaller ones, one was tied into the throttle circuit, the other was tied into communications circuit. If you tried to start the internal power unit with the throttle in the idle position the bombs would arm, but when the batteries died, the logic circuits for those bombs died also."

"So why was it sitting there dead?" asked Pandora.

"They were spying on us," said Master Chief White. "They were there behind that rock watching us, recording everything we said, but at some point they tried to kill each other. I'm guessing that they didn't send back their data because you used that area of space for flight training constantly and they couldn't move without being noticed. I have several terabytes of data they gathered."

"When their batteries died their communications systems sent off a meaningless beep as they died, that's what set off your Threat Warning Radar," said Chief Cernan. "The boat is good to go, it passes all the checkouts we could give it."

"Can you put guns on it?" asked Alan.

"It already has guns, factory installed..."

"They used our idea?" demanded Captain Scarlett. Chief Cernan nodded and Alan snarled, "You have a patent on the engine interface. Somebody owes you money for that." He sighed and said, "paint my name on that one, just like you did for the colonel."

"Aye aye sir."

<><><><><>֎<><><><><>

SS Peake, April 9, 2157

High planetary orbit over Saturn

Two F-733 fighters orbited the area surrounding the ice moonlet Saturn CLXXII, the Big Berserker. One fighter was marked in large letters, Vermillion's Decision and the other was named Scarlett's Harlot. They flew in tight formation around Berserker-01 and the SS Peake before doing a wide sweep around the area before the launch window opened. Two more F-733 fighters circled five kilometers behind them.

The zero G forklift, a small utility ship with several arms for holding items, had just released multiple wrapped objects, including two oblong packages, behind the Big Berserker, and was heading back to the cargo bay of the Peake. This should be the last time the forklift is needed for this mission.

"Everybody ready?" asked Alan Scarlett. He was answered by two clicks of the microphone from each fighter.

On cue, the SS Peake sent out a diagnostics request from a United Reactions computer on the freighter. When that happened, the fighters started reading signals from several points around them. Any spacecraft with a United Reactions motor started dumping diagnostic data to the requesting computer, giving away their positions. The fighters turned toward the errant signals and painted them with radar. "Berserker four, contacts departing," called Lt Anders as he swept the distant radar return with his search radar.

"Berserker three, same," called Lt. Commander Dutton.

"Berserker two, same here," added Pandora.

"All clear, Berserker one," said Alan. "Launch site is clear. Berserker three and four, head back to the Peake." The new 43rd fighter squadron wanted to rename the SS Peake to Berserker Prime or the Big Berserker, but Alan wouldn't hear of it. It was named for one of the original Berserkers who was, unfortunately, captured and beaten to death for the entertainment of his captors. Its radio call sign for the engineer in charge of operating Big Berserker was Berserker Control and that will have to do.

"Roger, Berserker three, heading home."

"Berserker four on your wing."

"Berserker 2, moving to position," called Pandora in Vermillion's Decision.

"Roger," replied Alan, "Berserker one moving to position also." He turned Scarlett's Harlot on its axis, then he tweaked the throttles. Alan looked over at his navigator, Lieutenant George Zamka, a bombardier by training, but he was enjoying the right seat of a fighter. "Let's go watch the fireworks."

Soon Berserker one and two took up position a half kilometer "aft" and off to the side of Big Berserker. One hundred meters behind Big Berserker floated two bodies, frozen stiff and several large bags of compressed garbage. "Berserker control to all stations, the launch window is now open," called the chief engineer on the SS Peake. His computer screen now showed thirty additional N-52 engines, the most powerful engine ever produced by United Reaction.

"Let's hope those motors don't eat the entire moonlet before we get there," muttered Pandora. The engines will use the water ice of Saturn CLXXII as reaction mass for their fuel.

"That would suck," said Eileen in the right seat of Berserker Two.

"Ignition in three... two... one..." called Berserker Control. The thirty engines winked on and the accumulated trash of several months and the bodies of the pirates, Risto Pärn and Fredo Spenalzo, disappeared in a puff of smoke.

"Looks good here, Berserker Two."

"Good here, Berserker One." Alan tapped a button on his joystick and the multi-functional screen of his helmet's visor now showed the chief engineer's screen. He studied the readout of the engine's performance and said, "Berserker Engineering? How does everything look?"

On the SS Peake, several Berserker engineers studied computer interfaces with the Big Berserker, and the voice of engineering, Master Chief White, went around the room, querying the different specialists for their status.

"Reaction mass?"

"Go!"

"Throttle response?"

"Go!"

"Navigation?"

"Go!

"Environmental?"

"Go!"

"Structural?"

"Go!"

Chief White glanced at his computer readout and saw no problems. "Berserker Control, this is Berserker Engineering we are go for throttle up."

"Throttle up to seventy five percent," said Berserker Control. The glow from the exhausts of the N-52 engines intensified and Alan was sure he could see faint but powerful flames extending from the fourteen engines. He looked up at the hulking SS Peake, the freighter that's been their home, their workshop, and their carrier. Its marker lights glowed gently against the darkness of space. The sun, a tiny dot, pumped unimaginable amounts of power out through photons and other forms of radiation into space, but it looked so small! In six weeks, Mars will be at its closest point to them right now, and hopefully they'll be there to meet it.

A radio call broke Alan out of his revery. "One meter!" called Berserker control. It's moving! The moonlet is now one meter closer to Mars than when they started. They were the first persons ever to move a natural object out of its orbit. "Five meters!"

Alan could feel the excitement well up inside of him. It was happening! He could barely contain the excitement in his voice when he said, "How does it look Master Chief?"

The chief engineer on the project, Master Chief White, responded with, "Everything is stable, we're good for one hundred percent."

"Throttle up to one hundred percent," said Berserker Control. Again, the intensity of the engine's exhaust increased, the glow from the exhausts was nearly blinding.

"Berserker two, get ready to skedaddle," Alan called to Pandora. These months in space, far from home, were coming down to the last test.

"Five hundred meters," called Berserker control. "All engines are nominal."

Half a kilometer! They moved a moon half a kilometer! But it could be all for naught. "Berserker control, Berserker one. Kill the engines."

"Throttle to zero," called control. The bright glow disappeared. This was where the N-52 engines were reported to explode, when their throttle was cut quickly after a heavy load. Is there a heavier load than moving a moon? "All engines quiet," said Berserker Control. "All indications nominal."

"Thank you control. Master Chief? These are your babies, how are they doing?" asked Alan.

The chief looked up from his screen, and his fellow engineers were grinning at him. They all told him that their systems were in good shape by giving him a thumbs up. "Everything is perfect," said Chief White with a father's pride. "They can do this for a year."

"We only need six more weeks," said Alan. "Berserker Control, you are clear to continue."

"Aye aye, sir!" called control. Alan and Pandora watched as the engines re-lit. Without a problem, all fourteen engines came up to one hundred percent. Where did the bad reputation of the N-52 come from, Alan wondered.

"One kilometer," counted Berserker control. It was boring, but Alan and Pandora sat in their fighters at a safe distance but close enough to see how the motors were working. Cameras on the nose of their fighters recorded every moment of the launch.

"Two kilometers." Now Alan could tell there was movement. Stars moved behind Big Berserker, stars that weren't moving ten minutes ago.

"Three kilometers!" called Berserker control. They had moved a moon its own length out of orbit! Big Berserker was flying under their control!

"Berserker one to all men and women of Berserker project, congratulations! You are the first people ever to move a celestial object. Next stop, Jezero Lake!"

The two fighters returned to the SS Peake docking at almost the same time, and as they climbed out of their cockpits, the captain of the SS Peake began the long, slow process of accelerating to keep up with Big Berserker. By the time they were out of their environment suits and into flight suits, they were up to 0.2G of acceleration and had 'gravity' for the first time in months.

Soon those champagne corks popped, and they could drink out of a glass instead of a squeeze tube. They cheered and clapped, congratulating each other until finally the new Strike Force Berserkers began chanting "Speech! Speech! Speech! Speech!"

"They want you to give them a speech," whispered Pandora. The last time he gave a speech, everyone ended up dead. How can you give a speech with that hanging over your head?

In the end Alan shrugged his shoulders, almost launching the champagne out of his glass, then said, "I asked you guys to do the impossible, and you did it. What more could I possibly say?"

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For two weeks the flight schedule was fairly simple, sixteen hours of five G acceleration, followed by eight hours of rest at 0.5g so the crew wouldn't have to be sedated like when they flew out to Saturn. After that, the Big Berserker was up to the speed they want it to coast at and they could coast for a while. Planetary alignment made the outbound flight to Saturn nearly three times longer than the inbound flight to Mars, and shortly after crossing the Jupiter orbital plane they sent the following message to Mars Central Communications, unencrypted on an open channel.

TO: Ray Clark, President of Mars

SUBJECT: Jezero Lake

The water that you ordered has shipped, it will arrive at Jezero Lake on May 16, 2157.

Thank you for your business.

Signed: Alan Scarlett, Scarlett Water Systems

The next six weeks were a delight for Alan and Pandora. They spent most of their time in their tiny quarters making love any time they were in half G. It was like meeting each other for the first time all over again. Unfortunately, it was a bittersweet reunion. When they met, they were so young and on the ascendancy of their careers and the sky was the limit. They were only married eight years, but the last three years aged them both an extra decade. They both realized that this was Alan's last flight. The acceleration to five G every ship's morning was getting harder and harder. He was flying on borrowed time; his wounds were too extensive to allow him to serve anymore. He can no longer fly, and he refused to take a desk job even if it included a promotion. Quietly, Pandora worked with engineering to adjust their schedule to transition to five G slower, making it easier on the captain.

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TO: Generalissimo Francisco Javier Glauco Hernán, President, People's Glorious Republic of Eastern Bloc Countries; Ferdinand Jean-Pierre LeBeau, Secretary General, Alliance of Western Democracies.

CC: Alan B. Scarlett, CEO, Scarlett Water Systems

SUBJECT: Jezero Lake

This is another reminder that phase one of the Jezero Lake project will start on May 16, 2157. If you have any people or assets in Jezero Crater, they will need to move before May 16th. Please do not delay, once the project starts, it will advance quickly.

Signed: Ray Clark, President, Mars.

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TO: Hector Wong, General, People's Glorious Star Fleet

CC: Kaipo Kauʻi Kai Kaleo, Secretary of Space Advancement, People's Glorious Republic of Eastern Bloc Countries.

SUBJECT: Jezero Crater

It does not appear that this grand Jezero Lake project is anything to worry about. Jezero Crater is a huge, circular crater on a very wide, elevated plateau. It is the perfect place for a large military installation, it's easily defended and hard to access. The camouflage nets make the more industrialized portions of Jezero Spaceport look like a pirate camp, as you can see in the attached photographs.

All we can see of the "Jezero Lake" project is a small contingent of robots building what appears to be a conveyer belt across a section of the Isidis Dorsa basin known as the Heinlein Plain, directly from the capital city at Perseverance. At their current pace, they should reach this crater by June at the soonest.

Also, the installation of the SSM-127 launchers is nearly complete. The SSM-127 missiles are now all here and will be online by May 30. Then we will truly see who is the president of Mars.

Signed: Khalil Burhan Jad Najm, General, Commander Jezero People's Spaceport

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TO: The Men and Women of Scarlett Water Systems

CC: Admiral Walter Schirra,

SUBJECT: Jezero Lake

Thank you so much for your speedy service. We Martians appreciate good water, and we cannot wait for your product. Please don't be late!

Signed: Ray Clark, President, Mars.

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TO: Khalil Burhan Jad Najm, General, Commander Jezero Spaceport

CC1: Generalissimo Francisco Javier Glauco Hernán, President, People's Glorious Republic of Eastern Bloc Countries.

CC2: Kaipo Kauʻi Kai Kaleo, Secretary of Space Advancement, People's Glorious Republic of Eastern Bloc Countries.

SUBJECT: Jezero Crater

The rumors of the decadent and corrupt Western Allies attempting to move an ice asteroid with their substandard ships made by the slave labor of the proletariat are western propaganda created to instill terror among the proud and literate people of the Glorious Republic of Eastern Bloc Countries. The courageous spacemen of the People's Space Force have an intelligence gathering post on the Saturnian moon of Tethys and report of an ancient, decrepit freighter named SS Peak. They believe the SS Peak was collecting meter size ice balls from the rings of Saturn.

Comrades Pärn and Spenalzo have been gathering intelligence on the actions of that freighter and will report back soon. Also, I placed an asset on the crew of the freighter myself. He reports they were carrying spare engines. Obviously, western rocket engines are not trustworthy! If there were something as ridiculous as moving an ice asteroid, I would have been informed.

Rest comfortably, my comrades. Our time to liberate Mars from the stranglehold by decadent western pseudoscientists is coming!

Signed: Radoslav Parvan Filipov, Secretary of Intelligence, People's Glorious Republic of Eastern Bloc Countries.

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SS Peake, May 15,2157

Inbound to Mars

"Thank you all for taking your time to join us in our last rest period," said Alan Scarlett. He and Pandora had just returned from an observation around the Big Berserker and were still wearing their environment suits. "Our own personal moon has been decelerating nicely after rotating one hundred eighty degrees and we are ready to start the last phase of the operation." An image of Mars was shown on the wall and started zooming in to show Jezero Crater to the men and women of the Berserkers. "Here is our target, and we are on course to hit it tomorrow. Master Chief? Can you...?"

Master Chief White stood from behind his computer screen and said, "The moonlet is on course, and we are ready to start final deceleration. Big Berserker will decelerate at maximum Gs, until it reaches point x-ray at one hundred miles above the Martian surface, at which point we will force the gimballing engines and the non-gimballing into an unbalanced configuration which will shatter the Big Berserker into basketball size pieces of ice."

"You can do that?" asked a crewman from the SS Peake.

"Huh? Oh yeah. Super easy, barely an inconvenience. This moonlet is one solid block of ice, a crystal. We just need to hit it at its resonant frequency and snap!"

"Ray Clark, the president of Mars said that if we hit the bulls eye that he's going to throw a party for everyone here," said Pandora.

"What's the bullseye?" asked newly minted fighter pilot Jim Dutton.

"Dead center on this crater," said Alan.

Lt. Scott Anders squinted at the map. "That looks like a military base."

"Military? Really?" scoffed Alan sarcastically. "Are you saying that whoever built that base has worked very hard to make that look and smell like a rogue pirate base?"

"My ass," said Eileen Collins as she looked closer. "There's no pirates that have SSM-127 facilities. These are launchers for the SSM-127. By global agreement, Mars is independent and non-military... we are bound by agreement to take this out!"

Alan grinned and said, "now you're thinking like a fighter jock, next we'll have you chewing cigars and grabbing chick's asses."

"I'm way ahead of you boss," she responded with a wink.

"There's no pirates who fly F-733's either but we found some," said Pandora.

"Are you saying that the pirates are eastern bloc operatives?" asked Chief Cernan.

"Me? Heaven forbid!" said Alan, ensuring that everyone in the room knew he was being less than honest.

"There's people down there!" said Lt. Commander Edmund Walker, the Executive Officer of the SS Peake. Edmund has been extremely quiet for this entire mission, concentrating on the SS Peake and staying away from the Berserkers. This outburst was very unusual for him.

"Since this boat left lunar orbit and headed for Saturn, they have been warned repeatedly," said Alan. "We know they do not care about human life, but we did what we could. Last night a B-202 tactical bomber blanketed them with leaflets printed in every language spoken in the Eastern Bloc countries warning them that the Jezero Lake project is going to 'start with a bang' and be very dangerous to anyone in the area."

"And you are counting on people to not believe what you told them? Are you hoping they all remain behind and die?"

Alan Scarlett went ice cold. He turned and stood nose to nose with Lt. Commander Walker. For the first time, the berserkers saw the glare of hatred in their commander's eye. "Officially? Officially we care sooo goddamn much. We want to hug every one of them and dry their tears, kiss their little noses and pat their little bum-bums. Unofficially? I hope the stupid fuckers all die. In agony." Scarlett turned back to the image of the future Lake Jezero.

"What about any captives they may have?"

Captain Scarlett didn't turn around. "If there are captives down there, when the Big Berserker hits, we will provide them with mercy."

"How can you say that?"

Scarlett stepped up to Lt. Commander Walker and pulled off his eye patch, displaying the empty eye socket. "My eye was the first thing they took. It was far from the last."

"Alan, stop," said Pandora softly. To be honest, she didn't want Alan to stop. She once liked Lieutenant Commander Walker, but this attitude was sickening to her.

"When I was their captive they didn't tie me up, they didn't have to. They took a power drill to my knees and elbows. They took a sledgehammer to my ankles, hips, wrists, and shoulders. They forced me to watch my men get beaten, carved up and raped and spaced. Have you ever heard the screams of a woman being raped for two weeks straight...."

"Ok, I get it."

"No, I don't think you get it." Quick as a flash, he whipped out the large knife that was used to stab the former Lieutenant Commander Risto Pärn. "This knife is standard Eastern Bloc issue. See these notches on the back of the blade? They used that to gauge how deep they would stick it into me. It was a game to them. You know, like how you tried to stick it in our backs, all of us. Your men and mine."

"I don't like your insinuation, sir."

"I don't give a fuck what you like. Am I accusing you of trying to send coded messages to the Eastern Bloc operatives at Tethys? Did I say anything about you sending coded messages directed at Earth and Mars and trying to wipe that information from the computer's memory? I haven't mentioned any of that."

Realizing that he was discovered, Lt. Commander John Anthony Walker jumped at Alan, but he was grabbed by two marines who saved his life. Alan held the point of his blade at Walker's throat. If he continued to jump, he would have died. "Thanks guys," said Alan, as he turned back to his men.

"I wish you hadn't done that in front of the men," said Commander Elliot See, captain of the Peake. "We had security waiting for him at Perseverance Spaceport."

"He pissed me off. One more word and I was going to space his ass. Those marines may have saved his life." Alan looked up at the shocked looks he was getting from the men. "None of his messages got out. We let a few go, but they contained nothing that would endanger the project."

"Sir, we're one day out. What if they see us?"

"We're jamming the entire spectrum, including light. The Peake is not merely a cargo freighter, it has the Western Alliances top electronic warfare suite. They're not going to see us until Big Berserker is at the five hundred mile mark. By then it will be too late."

"What if they shoot us down?" asked a panicked Eileen Cooper.

"Eileen, we're planning to drop twenty seven kilometers of ice on their heads from seven hundred million miles away, shooting us down would be redundant."

"Oh yeah."

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SS Peake, May 16, 2157

Geosynchronous orbit over Mars

As the ships lifting off from Mars appeared on their attack radar, the Strike Force Berserkers tensed. This was their first action! "Here they come," said Captain Scarlett. "Home team has the kickoff." He was the only pilot with combat experience, and now he was leading four other fighters against a dozen ships that were coming up at them. "Everyone pick a target, then an alternate."

These kids had weeks of simulator training but have never been out here when it comes to killing. Berserker two and three were on SS Peake's left, Berserker four and five were on the right in their geosynchronous orbit 8,000 miles over the Jezero crater on Mars. With his navigator, Lieutenant George Zamka, Alan was below the Peake, trying to keep control of everything. Everything was peaceful as they awaited the arrival of Big Berserker, then the Peake ruined everything and announced they were getting company. A dozen ships were lifting off from Jezero Crater.

Lieutenant Anders in Berserker 3 on Pandora's wing called, "they're cargo ships sir, it looks like they're running." Alan checked his attack radar. The kid was right, they were big ugly ships similar to the Peake, climbing, clawing for altitude. At two hundred miles up, they nosed over and pulled into orbit before setting off for wherever they were headed.

Eventually, the expected radio call came. "Unidentified ship in high orbit over the Heinlein Plane, identify yourself."

Captain Scarlett took that radio call from his vantage point. "Our Mars STC orbital pre-announcement and flight plan is 57136-0024."

The unknown station called again. "Unidentified ship in high orbit over the Heinlein Plain, identify yourself."

"I've given you our pre-announcement and flight plan number. Martian Space Traffic Control is generally more polite and a lot more professional than that."

"Scarlett, if you get my ass shot down I'm taking you with me," came the voice of Commander See over the private channel.

"Come on boss," pleaded Alan. "The guy has five minutes left to live, let me make it entertaining for him."

The ground station was relentless. "I say again, unidentified ship in orbit over the Heinlein Plain identify yourself and state your intention, please?"

Alan looked at his watch. What the hell, it was almost time, might as well let the cat out of the bag. "Station requesting our identification, this is Alan B. Scarlett of Scarlett Water Service. How can I help you?"

"This is restricted space, please tell us your registration number and business."

"This is WA56-0211," said Alan, giving the tail number the fighter had before being stolen by the Eastern Bloc at the battle of Venus Prime. "I have a delivery of water for a mister Ray Clark. He asked me to drop it off here. Is he around to sign for this?"

Alan and all four other berserkers were looking up as the unidentified voice stumbled and demanded more information. The bright point of light above them became twelve tightly clustered points of light growing larger and larger. Then Big Berserker roared past them, all twenty-eight remaining engines burning at 200% pulling hundreds of Gs of deceleration as it plunged toward the surface of Mars. Master Chief White did the math, he said with an additional 30 engines, he could safely land Big Berserker on Mars unscathed.

After watching this plan become reality, Alan didn't doubt Chief White in the least. He needs to hire him before someone else grabs him.

Now they could see hints of flames from those huge engines as they touched the thin upper atmosphere. As the Big Berserker encountered the weak atmosphere, the engines went out of sync, creating a vibration in Saturn CLXXII. As he watched, the outlines of Big Berserker became blurry from the vibrations. Alan felt sorry for anyone on the ground below this beast. Surely they should hear the shrieking of those enormous engines even in the thin Martian atmosphere.

As he watched through the long range scope, Alan saw one, then another engine explode. It was expected that they'd all explode at some point, but most of the engines defied their expectations and held together. What an advertisement for United Reaction engines this will make. Motors that can move a moon! Then, as Chief White predicted, the Big Berserker came apart. One moment it was a massive planet killing asteroid, and the next it was ice cubes. Exactly like Master Chief White said would happen. A few of the engines tried to escape, but they were all deprived of their reaction mass. They flamed out and fell to Mars in resigned silence.

In a moment, it was over. In the blink of an eye, the Big Berserker became a huge frozen lake dead center in the Jezero crater. Alan was clueless about what happened down on the illegal space port below them. He couldn't even imagine. How big were the ice chunks as they slammed into everything? Did the bastards who stayed even know what hit them? All Alan knew for sure was that in less than a minute, the illegal Eastern Bloc military base was gone, buried under fifty feet of crushed ice, and Mars returned to its non-military roots.

They can't say they weren't warned.

One by one, the fighters returned to the SS Peake, recovering inside of the cargo bay rather than the alert hatches on the ship's belly. You can't land a cargo ship on Mars with a fighter hanging on the side. Mars frowns on it. Alan did a perfect victory roll inside the cargo bay before forcing his ship down on the deck, where the magnetic clamps grabbed the landing skids and held them tight. "That was for you Josh," he whispered, and when Pandora heard in on the headsets, she broke down into tears. She forgot all about Joshua Rafferty, a Berserker that she came to love like a little brother. He invented the "indoor victory roll."

The crew of the SS Peake was chaining Scarlett's Harlot down before Alan could finish his shut down checklist. It was a good last mission. He just wished his gang was alive to share it with him.

"Thank you for everything, Captain," said Alan's navigator, Lt. Zamka, and he extended a gloved hand. "You moved a moon, and you asked me to help. And we did it! I still can't believe it."

They shook hands and Alan said, "Thank you Lieutenant. I still don't believe it myself. It's folks like you who made it happen. If you ever find yourself in need of work, there will always be a position open for you at Scarlett Water Systems."

"That's real? That's not just a cover for the operation?"

"It's as real as rain," said Alan with a wink. "I should use that as a motto for the company!" Alan has never encountered rain, but it sounds nice. They got out of the cockpit as Commander See announced that the re-entry checklist had started, and everyone needed to get to their landing positions.

Alan followed behind the "chain gang" and insured all five fighters were chained down properly and was done when he got the call to be in their seats in ten minutes for re-entry. He floated to life support and tossed them his helmet and stripped off his environment suit and let it float back to the life support team. "Don't forget these," said the Life Support technician, who handed Alan a pair of boots as Alan zipped up his flight suit.

"Oh damn, thanks." Alan had completely forgotten about his boots. He normally doesn't wear boots on board, usually he wears bedroom slippers. The environment suits have built-in boots, so he didn't need boots. He dashed back to his quarters where Pandora was waiting. She gave him a congratulatory kiss, then he helped her unfold the seats. They had themselves seated and strapped in just in time. The ship shuttered as they dipped into the atmosphere, then began shaking crazily.

"Holy crap!" shouted Pandora. "Who's driving this thing?" She turned to Alan and said, "What's your middle name?"

"What?" laughed Alan. What a weird time to ask that question.

"What's your middle name? All I know is that it starts with B."

"Why?"

"Because, I don't know it," said Pandora.

"We've been married almost nine years and you don't know my middle name?"

"I want to know before we die, which might happen in a few minutes with this flight crew."

Captain Scarlett took a deep breath. "Promise you won't laugh?"

Pandora held up her middle finger. "Marine's Honor!"

"It's Bean."

"What?"

"Bean."

"Like Navy Bean?"

"Yes," sighed Alan. "My parents were vegan hippies."

"Alan Bean? Who's going to believe in a spaceman named Alan Bean?" Pandora whooped with laughter.

"You said you wouldn't laugh."

"Marines lie."

Pandora became quiet and clutched Alan's arm tightly. "What's wrong? You've been through worse landings than this."

"I think I'm going to be grounded."

"Why?"

"Why do you think?"

"I don't know," cried Alan. "Why are you going to be grounded? Did you piss off the admiral again?"

"Think! What have we been doing like rabbits since we hit Saturn orbit?"

"You... you're pregnant? We're pregnant?"

"Yep. Looks like the ball they left for you works pretty good!" she joked about it, but she was terrified of what he was going to say. They had never talked about having children. It never entered their minds, but the moment she found out that she was pregnant, she realized she wanted the baby. The next thing she knew, she was being kissed passionately by Alan. She was panting when they broke the kiss. "So you think it's a good idea? They're probably going to assign me to an earth billet."

"I love the idea, I love you, I love the baby, I love the earth and the dog we're going to have."

She was so relieved she could cry. She was terrified at what he was going to say when he found out. A three-year separation followed by a rocky reunion, then a high pressure mission... she was truly scared. They held hands and kissed until they felt the skids hit the landing pad and the safety belts retracted.

As he bent over to pull on his boots, Alan's hand brushed a pocket on the side of his seat, and he realized that was the book he had been looking for.

"What are you reading?" Pandora asked. She figured it was part of his fetish for ancient literature.

"An ancient novella called 'The Martian Way."

'I was right,' she thought. "Lemme see."

"The story is over two hundred years old. You'll hate it."

"Lemme see," she said, and she snatched the book out of his hand.

"Don't, give it back, it's a rare copy."

"If it was that rare you wouldn't have brought it to..." She flipped to the last pages and her blood ran cold at what she saw. "You based this entire plan on an ancient fable?"

They wrestled for the book until they determined that kissing passionately was more fun. Soon the engines were shut down, and they were officially at the New Antilles star port at the Martian capital of Perseverance. The welcome party for the hometown hero, the savior of Mars, was waiting for them and this marine can't drink.

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The party started with a ceremony. Almost everyone on the Asimov Project was promoted except for Alan and Pandora. Alan remained Captain Scarlett, and Pandora remained Colonel Vermillion. However, the rest of the crew was promoted. Master Chief Petty officer White became Lieutenant White, and Lieutenant Anders became Lt. Commander Anders and so on down the line. Everyone who applied for Berserker duty was given orders to Navy Spaceflight school on Luna, where they would receive training on properly handling the hottest space fighter/interceptors, the F-733F.

A few of the members of the Asimov project turned down their orders. They had received job offers from Scarlett Water Systems that were too good to turn down. "I'm betting my future on this," scolded Eileen. She tapped Alan in the chest with her finger. "You better not screw me over."

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Epilogue:

June 22, 2160

Admiral Schirra walked side by side with Marine Colonel Pandora Vermillion. "Why don't you change your name to Scarlett, Colonel," said the admiral. "You've only been married twelve years."

"I hate paperwork," was her answer. They were walking along the old towpath of the ancient Erie Canal. Over 300 years old, but it's still full of water and pleasure craft. It was a beautiful day. The sun was warm, and the air was filled with the scent of freshly mowed hay. It was a day for sitting in the shade and sipping tall, cold drinks.

"So you've made up your mind? You're going to retire?" asked the admiral.

They stopped at a dock where a very comfortable-looking party barge was tied off and the Admiral regarded it with jealousy. They turned and crossed the lawn of a home that abuts to the canal. The house was ancient, built not long after The War and was built to look like it was built before the canal was dug. The huge, neatly trimmed lawn was filled with shade trees and grapevines on arbors that provided more shade. Pandora plucked a few ripe concord grapes and dropped a couple in Admiral Schirra's hand. He tasted them and said, "these are good!"

"He loves them. Look at this," she laughed. A large free-form swimming pool filled with crystal clear water shimmered in the sunlight, calling to the admiral. The edge of the pool went right up to the house. The side that abutted the neighbor's property had a wall of enormous ancient granite blocks carved to look like they were still attached to the mountain they were dug out of. A waterfall splashed from the top of the wall and the wall supported a water slide and a diving board.

On the other side of the pool was a round, kiddy pool in which sat Alan Scarlett. Next to him sat a two-year-old girl. On his lap sat a six-month-old boy, and they splashed in the warm shallow water. Next to them lay a large golden retriever who patiently ignored the splashes.

"I can't ask them to give this up. He finally has his own canal; he even has a dog. Mars has all the water they want. Next month we go up to re-christen the NSS Grissom, then we head over to Mars for the latest delivery. It will be his first time in space since Big Berserker." Big Berserker had become the catch-all phrase for the operation to supply Mars with water and rid them of the Eastern Bloc military.

Admiral Schirra smiled; the Battle of Venus Prime followed by Big Berserker weakened the Eastern Bloc, their space force was falling apart and several of their colonies defected. The Eastern Bloc was on the run, and his job was getting much easier. "He likes the water?" asked the admiral, pointing at Alan.

"I can't keep him out of it. He's either swimming or ice skating. YOU'RE the one who told him about broomball!" Broomball is a hockey substitute for folks who aren't inclined to partake in the fastest game on ice but still want to play on ice. "Besides," she said coyly, "I'm grounded again." To emphasize that statement, she placed her hand on her tummy.

Just then, the two-year-old girl saw her mother and the Admiral, and she jumped out of the pool and raced toward them shouting, "Grandpa!"

"Don't! You're dripping on your grandfather's uniform!"

"It's ok, come here Stinkerbell," said Admiral Schirra as he scooped his granddaughter Anna up into his arms.

The colonel kissed the admiral on the cheek and said, "Dad, why don't you and mom retire? We're doing great with Scarlett Water Solutions. If you need a place, we can get you a place to stay. We'll build on if you'd like. Please?"

Admiral Schirra looked around... at the canal, the huge ancient elms, oaks, and maple trees. He looked at the pool. Alan was now in the big pool with the baby in his arms. He was holding little Wally's hand and waving at him, Grandpa Wally. His wife, Estelle, was reclining in a lounge with a tall lemonade and one of Alan's ancient books. The scent of beef brisket in the smoker joined the assault on his reserve. How much more could a guy take?

"Come on grandpa!" said Anna as she wriggled in his arms. She was named for a Berserker, a friend of Alan and Pandora that was lost in the battle of Venus Prime. "Stay wiff us Grandpa!" she waggled her eyebrows and said, "You can ride our boat if you stay."

"You guys don't play fair."

"Nope," said Pandora. "I never learned how."

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The Asimov Plan and this entire story was (loosely) based on an ancient scroll that I read while I was in high school back in the early 70s. The novelette, The Martian Way by Isaac Asimov, was in the anthology The Best of Isaac Asimov, a book that I almost memorized. Dr. Asimov took an enormous chunk of ice from the rings of Saturn for the colonies of Mars rather than steal a moonlet. This was before the rings of Saturn were protected by the EPA... and the fact discovered that the largest chunks are only a meter in diameter. (Science!)

I tried to keep the spirit of the 50s science fiction alive and not add terms that were not used back then, like laptops and astronauts, although computers and spacemen and robots filled Asimov's work. One of the big differences was that in The Martian Way, the spacemen captured a chunk of ice a mile in diameter from Saturn's ring. Now we know that ice in the rings is rarely more than a meter in diameter.

I'm sure the astute reader noticed that the spacemen and the spaceships were all named after real life astronauts and the traitors were named after real life traitors.

The adventures of Alan and Pandora continue in Episode #2, Captain Scarlett vs The Scrapper