© 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 is my 100th story for Literotica and it had to be BIG. This is a rollicking planet-to-planet Sci-Fi brawl written in the style of the 1950s Masters of Science fiction. The Alan Scarlett series is a prequel for the Captain Scarlett series. The Captain Scarlett series will be followed by the Scarlett Planet series. Every hero needs an origin story, and every origin story spawns a hero.

A tragic accident leaves young Alan and his sister Christa Scarlett orphans, cared for by their bachelor Uncle Ray. As the story unfolds, plots and subplots are revealed and people aren't who they seem to be. The colonies of Mars and Luna are still recoiling from the tremendous loss of lives that devastated their colonies in the 2080 Earth wars. Now a group of madmen want to build a doomsday weapon from Martian pre-history. Only the disaffected colonists can save earth, and only a Martian can bomb Mars...

Alan Scarlett and the Scarlett Virus

EPISODE 1 in the Alan Scarlett series

Will humanity cease to exist because of the Scarlett family?

Bradbury Canal, October 7, 2131

Quadrant Meeting Day

It was another Quadrant Meeting Day on Bradbury Canal, the oldest and most boring colony on Mars. Boring for a ten-year-old boy. Alan B. Scarlett was a third generation Martian and like all native born Martians, he was tall and slim. He took after his dad with dark hair and penetrating dark eyes. Unlike his dad, Alan was far from quiet and introspective. Alan never whispered when a shout sufficed. His older sister Christa took after their mom with light blond hair, sparkling eyes and a slim figure that was starting to draw admiring stares from the men of Bradbury Canal.

Their parents, Harrison Scarlett and Laurel Clark-Scarlett were scientists, xenobiologists studying fossilized viruses. That's what they said, at least. Alan heard them quietly say the terms "Project X" and "Project X point One" when they thought he wasn't listening. Alan loved to pretend that they were secret agents trying to eliminate the threat from the Eastern Bloc with their research, but when the day was over and they sat at the table for dinner, they were still Harrison and Laurel Scarlett.

Alan's parents Harrison and Laurel were both born there at Bradbury Canal. How much more boring could you get? So were all four of his grandparents. Grandma and Grandpa Scarlett were among the first humans born on Mars, Stuart Scarlett and Judith Resnik-Scarlett; they were born on Bradbury Canal while it was under construction.

Bradbury Canal, the first permanent human settlement on Mars, looks like a revolving space station. That's because when it was being built, they had everything needed to build a revolving space station, so they just built a revolving station on the ground, then later they filled in the gaps. It was named Bradbury Canal in honor of Ray Bradbury, who wrote The Martian Chronicles, a famous early science fiction collection of stories about Mars. Of course, every prediction that Bradbury made was wrong... except the one about the atomic war on Earth. He got that right. But they're still a fun read.

Naming the station canal was almost a joke. At the end of the Martian Chronicles, an Earth family had just settled on Mars and the children wanted to see the Martians. All the native Martians were dead, so the father of the family took his family to a Martian canal which was full of Martian water and said, "look in the canal and you'll see the Martians." So, the family looked and saw their reflections on the surface of the Martian water, telling them they were the Martians. Therefore, if you want to see the Martians, just look in the Canal, and that's how it got its name.

Even ten-year-old Alan got that message, but what he didn't get was, "what's a reflection on the surface of the water?" In the Bradbury Canal, water came in pipes. Everyone had a graduated water bottle that you would connect to a dispenser coupling and an exact amount of water would be transferred to the bottle, and that was part of your daily ration. An open body of water in the three dozen colonies was rare. There wasn't one on Bradbury Canal but Alan's mom's brother, Ray Clark, said that at Perseverance station there was an ornamental canal. On Mars, the word canal had become synonymous with any open body of water. If an ocean mysteriously appeared on Mars, it would be called a canal.

The residents of Bradbury Canal were mostly scientists with a sprinkling of poets mixed in. Nobody knew why hard science breeds bad poetry, but it's there. The residents of Bradbury Canal were to a person vegetarian and proud of their diet and their colony. Alan was nine years old when he discovered that the "Martian Steak" his mom had been feeding him was tofu.

How do you tell if a Martian is from the Bradbury Canal? Don't worry about it, they'll tell you.

Another thing is that they're political. Many were Marxist, and some were actually aware that Marxism has ended in abject failure and misery every time it has been tried. Their reasoning for being Marxist was that it's never been tried on Mars! That's the difference. Meeting after meeting was held to iron out the possible content of their new socialist constitution. Meetings were held by quadrants, and the Scarlett's home quadrant, Quadrant C, was lagging far behind in their input on the upcoming constitution. The head of the PMP (People's Martian Party) Dr. Herbert Burgman was getting angry with Quadrant C lagging behind, and kids at school said he blamed Alan's parents.

"Burgman is going to space you and your folks," they taunted. Alan was sure that the kids were teasing him, because he was the smallest, youngest high school senior on Mars. It's tough being a child prodigy in a closed society like a Martian colony.

"Do I have to go?" whined Alan. "I want to program my robot." Alan had received a two-foot-tall programmable robot named Noxie for his eleventh birthday, which will happen in five more days, on October 2, 2131. It was from Uncle Ray and Uncle Ray said it was ok to open early. Alan had a magazine article that described how to program his robot and it should be able to fly.

His sixteen-year-old sister Christa rolled her eyes with the practiced pain filled disdain of a teenage girl. "Stop being a baby!"

"Alan, you've done nothing but play with that toy since your Uncle Ray gave it to you," said his mom Laurel. The way his mom acted, you would think that Laurel was sure that her brother Ray could do nothing right, but Uncle Ray was cool. Even his science was cool. He was an astronomical engineer, and he specialized in propulsion research. Alan was sure that Ray was going to break the "light barrier" and go faster than the speed of light.

They got to the Auditorium, and the place was crowded already. "Come on," urged his father Harrison. "Doctor Burgman is going to be angry if we're late." Harrison hated politics and wanted to be somewhere else. Anywhere else.

Alan looked at his water bottle. It was almost empty. "I want to fill my water bottle," he cried. He didn't want to sit in an auditorium, listen to a boring speech with a dry throat.

"Young fellow," said a bearded stranger, "There is a dispenser right over there." He pointed to a water dispenser across the corridor.

"Be right back!" and Alan dashed over to the dispenser and connected his bottle.

"Go with your brother," Laurel told her daughter, Christa. "Hurry up, we'll wait for you," said their mom from just inside the auditorium.

"We have to show a united front as a family," said his father.

"I can't help it if this dispenser is slow!" argued Alan.

Nobody heard him because alarms started going off throughout the colony. Everyone looked around but there were no warning messages on the info boards that hung from the ceiling. Alan looked at the Auditorium doors as the auditorium pressure doors slammed closed with his parents on the other side. "MOM!" he shrieked.

The terrified look on his mother's face was etched into his memory as the pressure doors slammed shut between her and her children. Then suddenly, an enormous thump was felt. It was like somebody hit Bradbury Canal with a giant hammer. Alan and Christa pounded their fists on the auditorium door, shrieking and wailing in agony as pressure doors slammed closed throughout the entire colony and the info boards proclaimed a hull blowout in Quadrant C.

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Perseverance Colony, October 7, 2131

Convair Intergalactic Testing Labs

Ray Clark was double checking the math from his terminal with a slide rule. Yeah, computers are infallible, but programmers weren't. As he angrily wrote down another error, Steffan Bridges stepped into his office and helped himself to a half cup of coffee. "Hey Ray," said Steffan. "Don't you have family on Bradbury Canal?"

"Yeah my sister and her kids, why?"

"They had a hull breech."

"What?" Suddenly everything went dim. Something told him that Laurel and Harrison were gone. He knew deep down that the PMP saw them as a roadblock to taking over Mars. He didn't want to believe what his friend, Dr. Steffan Bridges, just said, but his gut told him it was true. He grabbed the telephone and dialed Harrison Scarlett's personal telephone, but there was no answer. He tried his sister's personal telephone, but again, there was no answer. Then he tried to call her office telephone and somebody answered.

"Marconi-Edison Bio-Electronics, how can I help you?" The woman who answered sounded flustered.

"I need to speak with Doctor Scarlett."

"Uh... there's a bit of... there's..." and he heard the telephone drop and the woman began crying. Then a man picked up. "Hello, can I help you?"

"I need to speak with my sister, Doctor Scarlett, or her husband, Harrison Scarlett."

"We don't know where they are, the colony is in a bit of an uproar."

"Why? What's going on?"

"Nobody knows for sure, all the pressure doors closed about fifteen minutes ago, they're opening up one by one now."

"Thank you. If you see them, tell them that Laurel's brother Ray called." Doors opening one by one means the system is testing to see how widespread a hull breech is. His next call was to his wife, Tammy. "Honey, something happened at Bradbury Canal, I've got to go see what is happening and check on Harrison and Laurel."

"I take it you won't be back for dinner tonight?"

Ray rolled his eyes. She knows that he'll be on the train going there by dinnertime. "No, I don't know how long I'll be. I'm worried about Laurel and the kids."

"Maybe you can sleep with her while you're there," said Tammy as she hung up, slamming the telephone down in her drunken rage.

Ray shook his head and logged off his terminal, he didn't have time to deal with Tammy. He got up and stepped over to his boss's office. "Doctor Sax, I have to go to Bradbury Canal. I hope it's nothing, but..."

Dr. Monika Sax looked up from her terminal. "Travel is restricted to there."

"My sister and her husband live there; I have to find out..."

"I'm sure they're fine," said Dr. Sax. "But go on ahead. Don't forget your pressure suit, the train isn't going to couple to Bradbury Station."

"Yes ma'am."

"Ask your brother-in-law for me how his project is going."

"Yes ma'am." Fighting against the knot in his gut, Ray Clark signed out a pressure suit, helmet, and air pack, then headed over to the train station. It's been ages since he's been to Bradbury Canal. It's where he grew up, and he hated the place, and the moment he was able to get a job in Perseverance City, Mars' unofficial capital, he jumped and never looked back, except where his niece and nephew, Christa and Alan were concerned. They were his "spare kids" and he was their "emergency back-up dad." Since Tammy wasn't interested in having children with him (her daughter from her first marriage would have nothing to do with Ray) he poured his energy into Christa and Alan.

The ticket counter at the train station was crazy. Travel to Bradbury Station was for citizens of Bradbury Canal only. Luckily, Ray was able to produce evidence he was a citizen of Bradbury Canal. "Bradbury Canal please," he told the ticket agent.

"Travel to Bradbury Canal is restricted to residents of Bradbury Canal that are traveling in a pressure suit," said the agent in a bored sing-song voice.

"Does it look like I'm wearing Armani?" said Ray, tugging at the metal collar of his pressure suit.

The ticket agent handed him a ticket that was marked "UNPRESSURIZED" meaning that he was ticketed for an unpressurized car and he was going to have to wear the helmet all the way to Bradbury Canal. "Better hurry," said the agent.

Ray moved as quickly as he could while putting his helmet on. He got to the gate for the train to Bradbury Canal and when his ticket was scanned, the gate shunted him to an airlock out to the open platform where he found his car at the tail end of the train. He got aboard just as the doors closed and he found a seat where he could plug into the train's oxygen and electrical.

The car was full of men and women in pressure suits. It's unusual seeing people in pressure suits coming out of Perseverance this time of day. Normally, people wearing suits are outdoor workers and they leave the city at sunrise and return eight hours later.

Ray dimmed the faceplate of his helmet and tried to get some sleep, but he continued to call Harrison and Laurel's private telephones with no answer. After what seemed like an entire day, the train pulled up to Bradbury Canal and, as advertised, it didn't pull into the station. Over his headphone he heard, "All off for Bradbury Canal." The doors slid open, and they weren't even at a platform. He had to jump down to the ground, then he helped other travelers off the train. Straight ahead was a service airlock with a big number 6 above the door, letting anyone approaching the airlock know what clock position on the circular colony station the airlock was facing.

Ray checked his air level and decided that he had enough air to spend some time outside. He walked around the exterior of the station from the #6 air lock to the #9 airlock. As he walked around the parameter he saw it. Dozens of people in pressure suits were trying to clean up the mess and the bodies. A section of the station hull was blown outward like a flower that blossomed. The metal around the gap was torn and scorched. Some bodies were near the hole and they were blown to pieces. Using his helmet cam, he captured all of this. He searched around the dial on his suit radio but he couldn't find the frequency the cleanup crew was using, but he got what sounded like maybe a couple of cops.

"Blowout? Blowout my ass," said a voice that sounded pretty damn angry. "A pressure blowout is always a tear along a seam, this was an explosion that ripped open a hole. And a pressure blowout doesn't mangle bodies like that."

"The poor bastards," said the second voice. "They never saw it coming. Somebody must have really hated socialism."

"Or loved it," said the first voice. "The Bolsheviks have a history of sacrificing a group of their own, you never heard of the Red Terror? You were either fully on the bandwagon or you were dead."

Ray checked his radio and made sure he was recording this. He walked through the crowd of workers who were desperately trying to clean the mess off the Martian desert while a team of metal workers began constructing a patch to seal off the hole. Nobody noticed him because they were wearing common pressure suits and nobody questioned the camera system on his helmet. He soon made it to the Nine o'clock airlock and entered the Charlie Quadrant. When Ray took off his helmet, he found it was cold inside Bradbury Canal. Charlie Quadrant was frigid and Ray was thankful for the pressure suits over eager heating system. Thermal control must have been knocked off by the blast. He walked to Harrison and Laurel's apartment by memory and tapped on the door. He never rang the doorbell because Laurel gave him so much grief for waking up the babies in the past.

The door slid open and there was little Christa, all grown up, her eyes were red from crying. "Uncle Ray!" she cried and threw herself around him. She looked so much like her mother that Ray almost wept with her. Young Alan staggered out of his bedroom like a zombie and didn't recognize Ray at first. But he soon dashed to Ray, and they ended up on the couch, not talking about what happened. It was clear the kids knew.

After a very long session of tears, Alan looked up at Ray and said, "What do we do now?"

"I'm going to take you guys back to Perseverance City with me as soon as I can get us on a train. Do you have a pressure suit?" Both Christa and Alan shook their heads no. "Ok, we're going to have to wait for the train station to open again. Until then we're going to clean up this house and get ready to sell it."

"Sell it?"

"This is a condominium. A three bedroom is pretty rare here on the old Bradbury Canal, we can get you guys some college money."

An hour later, the kids cried themselves asleep on their parents' bed and Ray was staring glumly at a picture of his sister and tearfully forming a 25 word maximum emergency radio gram to his parents.

DEAR MOM DAD, I AM SO SORRY TO HAVE TO SAY THIS, WE LOST LAUREL & HARRISON IN A BLOWOUT. I HAVE THE KIDS. RAY.

He made sure that the address was correct and stumbled through a station he moved out of over two decades ago. He found the MARS station (Martian Affiliate Radio Service) and luckily, there was a clerk at the window. He stared at the form and vowed that he was going to get whoever forced him to write this to his parents in their retirement community on Earth. They were going to pay.

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Bradbury Canal, October 8, 2131

Marconi-Edison Bio-Electronics.

Harrison and Laurel Scarlett's Lab

"You are not going to bring those kids into my house!" shrieked Tammy.

"They are my responsibility and it's my house," snapped Ray into the telephone. "We will be there as soon as we can get on a train. When we get there I expect you to be warm and caring until they head off to college. If you cannot do that, get the fuck out."

"No! Not in my house!" Tammy shrieked.

"It's not your house," Ray repeated. "That house belongs to Convair Intergalactic Technology and is leased to me. If you don't like it, go back to earth, there's a passenger shuttle shoving off twice a week."

"How dare you!" she snarled.

"I'm giving you a choice, be nice or be gone. Pick one." He hung up. Ray knew that there was no way Tammy could be nice to anyone that wasn't going to buy her a drink, and her daughter Sheila was just as bad. He honestly didn't care where she's going to as long as she takes her whining ass and her slut daughter away. Letting that woman move in was the biggest mistake he's ever made in his life and he's going to be sure to never repeat it. The moment she moved in, she got what she wanted, a luxury apartment, and the sex became rare and cold. Luckily, Mars still had a severe shortage of men, so an occasional "arrangement" was easy to find. Ray was sure she would be packing because being nice wasn't something she's ever been good at.

He headed over to Marconi-Edison Bio-Electronics, where Laurel and Harrison worked as xenobiologists, studying fossilized viruses. The campus was heavily guarded, and it had a look of anger about it. He stepped up to the Marconi-Edison Bio-Electronics reception kiosk. They didn't even have a person there. He typed his name in and under occupation he entered "President of Mars." For the address he put "The Red House." For reason for visit, he put "State Funeral" and sure enough, that brought a human being out to see him.

Ray had to use the word "Human Being" to describe the security guard because he's never actually seen a gorilla. He knew they existed, and he knew they were big, but so was that hulking mountain of flesh that was glaring down at him.

"Mister Clark," groaned the security guard. "President of Mars?"

"Prove me wrong," said Ray.

"You are not the President of Mars."

"Give it time big fella," said Ray, just praying that this guy would take a swing at him. "No need to salute."

The security guard scanned his ID badge and looked at his scanning device. "It says you're a propulsion engineer at Convair Intergalactic."

"Rockets are my hobby."

"It says you've been arrested for assault several times."

"Pugilistic expression is my art form of choice."

"Maybe you'd like to go to the gym and go a few rounds Mister Clark." The guard said Mister like it was a filthy word, like only people with a Ph.D. were worthy of his time.

"Would that make you happy?" said Ray, as he began to unbutton his shirt.

"Why are you here, Mister Clark?"

"I need to speak to Human Resources," said Ray.

"Follow me." And the man-mountain led Ray into the Interior of the Marconi-Edison Bio-Electronics campus. All the while he led Ray, Ray kept checking to see if the security guard used his knuckles to help him walk. They finally reached the HR office, which was manned by a middle-aged woman who had the sour look of a person who hadn't taken a good dump since high school.

"How can I help you?" the gray-haired woman said in a voice that used the nose more than the mouth.

"Fire this ape," said Ray as he jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the man-mountain that hulked over him from behind.

"Why should I do that?" said the pinch faced woman through her nose.

"I come here to collect my dead sister's effects and he threatened to beat me up even before he asked me why I was here." He took a recording device out of his pocket and set it on her desk and hit play.

She could hear Ray say, "Expression is my art form of choice." And she saw the guard glaring down at the camera on the small screen.

"Maybe you'd like to go to the gym and go a few rounds Mister Clark?"

"Would that make you happy?"

"Why are you here Mister Clark?

Ray hit pause and said, "Is that how Marconi-Edison Bio-Electronics treats the grieving survivors of the worst blowout in Martian history?" Ray nearly shouted. "We send some demented ape out to beat them to a pulp? I demand to see the president of this company!"

"Now Mister Clark..." Her tone of voice clearly let him know she understood. She realized that he's not a Ph.D. so being stupid, he's not able to control his emotions.

"I stand for the families of the dead! We will not be forgotten! We will not be ignored!" now he was shouting. The normal sounds of a busy office fell silent as the entire workforce within shouting distance turned and listened. "IF NOT FOR ME, FOR THE CHILDREN!"

Three minutes later, he was in the Office of the President of Company Relations. "I just wanted to collect Laurel and Harrison's effects," said Ray in a shaking voice. "Maybe sit at her desk where she spent some of the most productive and fulfilling moments of her life."

Dr. Goldthwait was a soft-spoken man who Ray realized was not a soft man, but he did a good job of pretending to be one. "I understand Mister Clark, this is tough on a lot of people. We lost quite a few good men and women and we're still trying to get our feet on the ground. Let me lead you to their office. But I'll ask you to leave your recorder here. Security, you know."

"I understand, it's mostly videos of her kids... in happier times. I need to send those videos to grandma and grandpa on Fiji 2." Fiji 2 was a huge man-made island complex in Polynesia that has become the #1 retirement community for Martians, Venusians, and Lunas.

"I'm so sorry, be sure to swing by and pick it up when you're done."

Security watched via video camera as Dr. Goldthwait led Mister Clark to the tiny office where Laurel and Harrison worked. Mister Clark sat down at his sister's desk and looked around, lost. He took off his watch and placed it on the desk near her terminal. Getting to work, he looked through her desk drawers and put a few items in a box, along with the family portrait he had picked up from her desk. "Oh God honey... talk to me... please." But the portrait in his hands remained silent.

He studied it before putting it in the box and moving on. He did the same thing on Harrison's desk, collecting a few personal items, a trophy from Alan's science club competition, a ribbon from Christa's dance recital.

Meanwhile, security went through Mister Clark's recording device and all they found were videos of two cute children. Long-legged, slim and tall, just like any other native Martian. The device was put back on Dr. Goldthwait's desk about the same time Ray sadly rubbed his wrist and put his watch on, then allowed the security guard to escort him back to Dr. Goldthwait's office with his box of memorabilia. There was nothing in there that would look like a piece of paper or file, just bric-à-brac. Mementos of better days. Paperweights with the different colonies of Mars emblazoned on them. On a low gravity planet like Mars, paperweights are quite necessary in an office. Ray could only wonder how many paperweights the average Luna would have in their office.

"Before you go Mister Clark, could we take a look at your watch?" asked Dr. Goldthwait sweetly.

"My watch?"

"I apologize but security," Dr. Goldthwait shrugged a well-practiced shrug that clearly said, 'don't we all just hate security?' With a sad smile he said, "security saw you take off your watch and place it on dear Laurel's desk, I'm sure it is nothing."

"Oh sure, I understand. At Convair Intergalactic we're the same way." He took off his watch, a watch that Laurel and Harrison gave him, and handed it to a security guard who whisked it away. Ray and Dr. Goldthwait looked at each other uncomfortably for a long five minutes.

"Have any plans?" asked Dr. Goldthwait.

"I did... now I have a niece and nephew to raise."

"Oh. Sorry."

Finally, a security guard returned Ray's watch, saying, "It's a really nice watch, but it's just a watch Dr. Goldthwait."

"I'm sorry Mister Clark," said Dr. Goldthwait. "We worry about industrial espionage so much we lose sight of what's really important." He put Ray's recording device in the box with Laurel and Harrison's belongings. "Let me escort you out," and Dr. Goldthwait escorted Ray to the door with Marconi-Edison Bio-Electronic's profound apologies.

"Thank you for your time," said Mister Clark, and he turned and headed down the corridor carrying a box of mementos of the dead. He glanced at his watch and thought, 'sometimes a watch is just a watch, and sometimes it's a red herring.'

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Bradbury Canal, October 11, 2131

Moving Day

The next two days were spent with Alan and Christa, weeping and packing. They would spend the night cuddled together for comfort, and in the corner sat the box full of the items from Laurel and Harrison's office. After sitting next to the recording device for the required 24 hours, the paperweights began dumping the data they collected over the years to Ray's recording device.

Finally, it was time to go. The train station was re-opened and the kids sadly gathered their suitcases and Ray put on his pressure suit and they headed toward the station. Their walk would take them past the auditorium where their parents died, but that route was closed and they ended up walking through a seedier section of Bradbury's Canal than they would normally take.

"You! Clark!" came a booming voice from behind them. Ray recognized the voice. It was the Man Mountain from Marconi-Edison Bio-Electronics. "You owe me a job!" then a half drunken snarl he said, "I'm going to take it out of your hide."

"Here, hold this," he said, and he handed his helmet to Alan. "Don't watch," he warned with a wink.

In a move that was too fast to understand, the hulking beast ended up face down on the floor, his arm trapped between his shoulder blades in a thumb lock and Ray's knee pinning his head to the floor. "You know where to find me," snarled Ray. "Now get out of here." He got up and let the gigantic man go.

"Who was that Uncle Ray?" asked Christa.

"A sparring partner," said Ray.

They finally got on the train, and the two young teens, despite their horrible loss, were fascinated with the terrain sliding past the windows. Mars isn't red, it's brown. Endless brown. The kids have never been out of Bradbury Canal and it was all amazing, at least to Christa. "How long is our trip, Uncle Ray?" asked Christa.

"About four hours."

"At this speed? Wow!"

Alan was oddly quiet. He didn't speak the entire trip and when Ray got close to him; he turned toward the window. "See that ridge over there? That's the lip of the Jezero Crater. What do you say we go fishing over there?"

"Fishing? That's silly Uncle Ray," said Christa. "There's no fish on Mars."

"Then, let's terraform Mars so we can grow fish here."

"There's not enough gravity to hold a proper atmosphere," said Alan and he turned his back on Ray.

"What's with Alan?"

"I don't know, he's been weird for the past two days."

Ray frowned. Of course he's acting weird, he's suddenly an orphan. He thought of something Alan might like to see... "We'll be getting to Perseverance about the same time the daily freighter lifts off from Zhang field," said Ray, trying to work up some enthusiasm in Alan.

"Zhang, that's a funny name," said Christa.

"It was named for the first man to land on Mars, Zhang Li Wei," said Ray.

"He was the first man to die on Mars," muttered Alan.

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Perseverance City, October 11, 2141

Zhang Field

The heavy lift freighter RS Lake Baikal sat ready on the launch platform on Zhang Field. The last two passengers to board the huge, ugly ship were Tammy and Shiela Burnette. Tammy registered and bought the tickets using Ray's credit card. The big freighter had just delivered 3100 Earth Tons of water to Mars, and is returning to earth with 3100 Earth Tons of high grade iron ore, the life blood of the Martian economy. With iron ore and taconite becoming rare on earth, and water becoming rare on Mars, these Ore/Oar runs were becoming very profitable for both sides of the trade.

A side trade for the freighters was passenger hauling. The larger freighters will have an entire deck of cabins, the older, smaller freighters will have a few cabins (originally, they were storage compartments) and coach seating. The RS Lake Baikal is an old veteran on the Ore/Oar runs and due for retirement. It usually carried 24 coach passengers and six to twelve in the six cabins.

"Coach seats?" demanded Shiela, as they found their way to the small passenger section of the ship. "They don't have something cheaper? Like steerage?"

"Neither of us has the money for a cabin, and there's only six passenger cabins on this ship.

"This is ridiculous," muttered Sheila as she packed her carry-on into the overhead bin. "Will these seats fold back to beds?" she whined.

With a long-suffering sigh Tammy said, "We'll be weightless, it won't matter."

"How many Gs are these seats rated for?" asked Sheila. The guy she was fucking in Perseverance City told her about high-G versus low-G seats. She tried hard to get him to let her move in with him, but his wife didn't like her at all. (While a ménage à trois is common on male short Luna, on the more cerebral male short society of Mars they're frowned upon. Woman seeking a man on Mars will often settle for an "arrangement.")

"Ask the cabin steward," said her mother.

"Oh garçon! What G level are these seats rated for?"

The cabin steward looked at her and smiled. Garçon means "boy" and mispronounced as badly as Sheila mangled that word. It means "I'm stupid. Fuck with my brain." The cabin steward bowed and said, "U tebya krasivyye sis'ki." (You have nice tits.)

"The seats, what G level?" she said, almost shouting.

The cabin steward nodded and smiled. "U tebya bol'shaya zadnitsa." (You have a big ass.)

"SEATS! Gs!" she shouted. Every Martian knows that the louder you shout something, the easier it is for foreigners to understand.

The cabin steward looked like he suddenly understood her. "Ahh! Otsosi u menya!" (Blow me) and he held up five fingers with a smile, then left.

"Gawd! You have to ask three times to get a straight answer here," said Sheila as she flounced down in her seat.

Another crew member came through the cabin calmly saying "Pyat' minut. Pyat' minut." (Five minutes) When he was out of sight of the passengers, he sprinted to his cabin to strap in.

His cabin mate leaned over and asked, "Vy skazali im po-angliyski?" (Did you tell them in English?) English and Chinese were the two official languages of Mars, and the one Chinese settlement has been silent for two years.

"Net. Kak vy dumayete, mne stoilo eto sdelat'?" (No, do you think I should have?)

Just then, alarms started going off, and the ship was being raised to the vertical position. Loud, piercing klaxons were blaring. Through their television camera mounted in the passenger bay, they could see panic set in and passengers fought their way into their seats. As the ship neared vertical, a passenger would lose his or her grip and fall to the aft bulkhead.

The two crew members watched the pandemonium, laughing so hard that their faces hurt. A passenger was climbing up to his seat when the engines fired, throwing him back to the aft bulkhead again. Through his tears of laughter, the steward said, "Imenno prostyye veshchi delayut etu rabotu stoyashchey." (It's the simple things that make this job worthwhile.)

The ship flashed up into the Martian sky, the passengers and crew pulling eleven Gs. At eleven times the force of gravity, it's not the seat you need to worry about, it's your heart.

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Perseverance City, October 11, 2131

Home Sweet Home

Ray, Alan, and Christa watched the big, rugby ball shaped rocket take off surprisingly fast. Ray shook his head. That guy was wasting a lot of fuel trying to reach orbit that fast. Ray usually didn't care about freighters, even the ones that were able to land on Mars. It was the passenger and military ships that he worried about. The fat rocket was still visible when the train pulled into Perseverance City.

Alan and Christa were suddenly transported to a magical world they didn't realize could exist. Moving sidewalks, statues, large clear panels hung from the ceiling and words appeared on the panels: sports scores, traffic issues, entertainment news. All over the place were green things. The two kids were so impressed that Alan temporarily forgot his anger. "What are the green things?" asked Christa.

"Which green things?"

"You know, with the feathers."

"Feathers?" Then Ray saw what she was pointing at. "Those are houseplants and we call those feathers leaves. They take carbon dioxide from the air and release oxygen."

"Like reverse breathing!" said Alan. Photosynthesis isn't taught in Martian schools until the senior grades because plants on Mars are few and far between.

"What's traffic?" asked Christa, as she read the board above them.

"When you get a lot of people moving at the same time in the same area, it's called traffic," said Ray. "Stay behind me and step where I step," and he stepped onto a moving sidewalk while hauling a bright orange suitcase with dinosaur stickers all over it. The kids followed, hauling a suitcase each and when they caught up to him he said, "Ok, we're going to move to the left belt. It moves faster than the right belt so be careful." And he stepped over to the left belt. He decided to stay on this belt and wait until the kids were ready to move to the innermost belt, because it moves pretty quickly. He gave a travelogue on Perseverance city and suddenly they entered an area with high ceilings and enormous windows.

"Look! A canal!" cried Alan. In the center of the large open area was a body of water with water jets that sprayed water into the air.

"That's the George Abigale Washington fountain, he was the first US president to die in an atomic blast," said Ray. "He was the father of large space colonies and he approved the original design for Bradbury Canal before he was vaporized. The fountain symbolizes Lake Erie, where he was fishing on a yacht when the bomb went off half a mile away from him."

"Everyone knows that" said Alan, but he was mesmerized by the sight of water being squirted into the air.

Ray led them to a more residential part of the station. "There's a playground right there, not far from where we live."

"What's that?"

"It's a place where you can play," said Ray. "It's fun." Alan and Christa gave him an odd look, having never seen a playground before. "Trust me, you'll enjoy it."

They got to his apartment and found it a messy disaster. "I'm sorry, but Tammy was a pig," said Ray. Filthy dishes were stacked in the sink and garbage was everywhere. He led them to the bedrooms. The room that Sheila was using smelled like sex, but wasn't too bad. The other small bedroom was in good shape. Ray went into the main bedroom where all of his clothes were thrown on the ground and somebody took a dump on his bed. "That fucking pig. I hope she gets what coming to her."

<><><><><>

The next morning, the apartment was nearly spotless. Ray had been up all night cleaning and doing laundry. He made the kids breakfast, and Christa said, "Sorry about your wife."

"We weren't really married; it was a marriage of convenience. She needed a place to live and I needed somebody to hang off my arm at official functions at work."

"Can I go look around?" she asked.

"Be sure you have your personal telephone on you," said Ray.

"I just want to look at the playground."

"Ok. I'll be right here. Alan, can we talk?" said Ray as Alan started to follow his sister out the door. Alan stopped and glared at Ray. "Did I say or do something wrong?" Ray asked.

"You spied on my parents at work."

"Pardon?" asked Ray.

"You gave them paperweights with TK-1237 circuits embedded to collect data with instructions to download to your recorder after a specific period of time."

"And where did you get this idea from?"

"Noxie," said Alan.

"Pardon?"

"Noxie the Robot, you gave me Noxie for my birthday. I programed it to show me RF signals and it showed me the signal between the paperweight and your recorder."

"How?" asked Ray. "How does it show you? Show me." Ray brought out the paperweights and placed them around the recorder.

Alan held his robot over the devices and pushed a button on the back of the robot. The robot's eyes glowed blue and in the blue circle of light Noxie projected, Ray saw it, waves of different shades of blue from one of the paperweights and the recorder flashed softly... was that a signal that it was recording the radio waves from the paperweight? A number appeared above the paperweight, TK-1237, the circuit that powered the transmission. Above the recorder could be seen the number RK-802, the receiving circuit. Under normal scrutiny, RK-802 would appear as an innocuous circuit on the recorder. Maybe a noise filter.

"You programmed that yourself?"

"Uh huh, with the little keyboard that came with Noxie."

"Where did you get the idea?" asked Ray.

"Robotics Monthly magazine. They always have a Noxie tips and tricks column. I was trying to make it fly but I found an article that talked about showing the radio frequency spectrum as visible light with a circuit query..." Alan handed the magazine to Ray, who paged through it.

"It doesn't say how, it just says it might be possible."

"I know!" said Alan brightly. "That's what gave me the idea!"

As Alan spoke, the huge security man that Ray had knocked to the floor in the Bradbury Canal walked into the apartment. Alan panicked and grabbed the magazine out of Ray's hand, grabbed Noxie and ran to the back of the apartment. "Clark!" said the enormous man.

"Damnit Lars, we were talking here," said Ray. "Timing! We were having a moment."

"Sorry Ray," said the huge man.

"Just wait, I need to find him." Ray found Alan sitting on his bed, clutching Noxie.

"He found us," gasped the boy, his eyes wide in terror.

"No, that's Lars, remember when I said he was my sparring partner? We learned Judo together."

"So, you were pretending to fight with him?"

"Oh, hell no," said Ray. "I was mad that he snuck up on us. He was supposed to be watching our backs so we could get out of Bradbury Canal without being sneaked up on. I kinda over did it a bit."

Now Alan looked more confused than ever. Just then, a beautiful woman walked into the apartment. Ray turned and saw who was behind him, then said to the woman, "Doctor Sax, this is my nephew Alan Scarlett."

"I'd know Alan anywhere," she said with a huge, sad smile. "Alan, you've grown so much," she crouched down and looked Alan in the eye. "He's got his mother's eyes."

"You know me?" gasped Alan.

"Alan, this is my boss Doctor Monika Sax, she was there when you were born. And this mountain behind her is my partner Doctor Lars Olsen."

"Who are you people and why were you spying on my parents?" demanded Alan. He was getting angry. His eyes were tearing up, and he grasped his robot, ready to run.

"Alan," said Monika. "I need you to listen to me. Your parents worked for us; your mom was my best friend."

"She never mentioned you," said Alan. "You put these paperweights on her desk so you could spy on her."

"Alan, I made those paperweights," said the mountain sized man. "Your mother asked me to make them. It was your mom and your dad's way of getting information out of that office."

Monika picked up a paperweight and said, "when a visitor came by, one of your parents might give them a paperweight as a souvenir. The paperweights captured conversations and data from their terminal. We'd bring the paperweights back to see what Marconi-Edison Bio-Electronics was doing."

"Alan, think for a moment," said Ray. "Why would anybody spy on somebody that was studying fossilized viruses?"

Alan's brow furrowed as he considered the possibilities. In the end, there was no reason to spy on a nerd with microscopic fossils. "Because they weren't studying fossilized viruses?" Alan asked slowly.

"No, most of the time they were," assured Monika.

Alan thought about this. He's watched hundreds of spy movies with his dad. It never occurred to Alan to think of his parents as spies. They weren't spies; they didn't have guns and fast cars. They were nerds. They could identify and replicate viruses in a matter of... His eyes grew round. "Marconi-Edison Bio-Electronics was trying to make new viruses from fossilized viruses?"

"Not just trying. They were successful," said Monika. "Hopefully this information will give us the information we need to develop a defense and maybe tell us who they were making the virus for."

"Are you ok, Alan? I know this is a lot to take in," said Ray. "Your mom and dad were heroes. They risked their lives to expose these people who use the facilities of Mars to make their weapons for their dirty little wars on Earth."

"What do you mean?"

"They use our technology, they hide in our colonies and build their illegal weapons because Earth authorities can't touch them here and there's no real central law enforcement on Mars," said Monica. "There's a few of us who expose them and maybe earth will take care of it, but they just transfer their work to another colony."

"Because of our heroes, your mom, my big sister, we can warn Earth what these monsters were working on."

"They're testing their virus somewhere, we just don't know where," said Lars.

"What do we do now?" asked Alan.

Ray sighed and said, "You, me, and Christa, we need to go to Earth. You need to meet your grandparents."

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RSS Lake Baikal, October 12, 2131

Outbound From Mars

The heavy lift freighter RSS Lake Baikal shot out from Martian orbit at twice the speed that a grand old dame like her would dare venture. It was a high-G maneuver that even military spacecraft wouldn't attempt unless it was an emergency. But there were no complaints from the passengers, they were all unconscious. The crew of the Lake Baikal worked fast to complete their mission. They got everyone in the seats and strapped in properly, then using a metal plate they bolted the passenger cabins closed, sealing the passengers in. Then they went aft to handle the cargo. The iron ore was loaded on the Lake Baikal in removable cargo bay inserts. The inserts were being transferred to a cargo ship that normally hauls ore from the Asteroid Belt to Jordan Steel Foundry in orbit around Earth.

Meanwhile, a small ship matched its trajectory with the Lake Baikal and two people in space suits that were covered by white plastic overalls transferred to the RS Lake Baikal and entered the passenger compartment. The new spacemen were Sander Nickel and Napoleon Lowe, Martians and employees of Dr. Herbert Burgman of the Marconi-Edison Bio-Electronics Research Department.

They worked quickly and while Sander Nickel moved through the twenty-four sleeping passengers sticking hospice tags, a plastic square to their foreheads, Napoleon Lowe chatted with the cabin crew. The pilot, co-pilot, and navigator were being paid a lot of money for this, and they were excited to be able to retire early. Maybe they can settle somewhere in the Eastern Bloc. The land around the black sea was supposed to be beautiful and welcoming to pirates like them.

The conversation was light and centered around what they were going to do with all that money, and it ended when the white suited Napoleon Lowe took an inoculation gun and quickly pumped a fatal dose of opium into each crew member. He moved so fast that none of the crewmen had a chance to defend themselves. Meanwhile, Sander Nickel insured that there was plenty of opium in the crew's water canteen to possibly confuse a potential investigation and he took a used syringe and stuck it in the Navigator's arm. Chances of an investigation were slim, but Doctor Tarkov, the leader of this mission, insisted that they prepare for any contingency.

Meanwhile, in the passenger compartment, the hospice tags that were stuck to the foreheads of each passenger came to life spurred on by their brain activity. Their brain activity caused the rectangle to change from black to white, which normally showed the wearer's name and other such information. These just showed a black number. Napoleon Lowe moved through the passengers using his inoculation gun, injecting each passenger with enough slow release sodium pentothal to keep them unconscious for days.

Tammy and Shiela Burnette were wearing plastic squares along with their other 24 passengers. Sheila on the aisle showed #11 and the square on Tammy's forehead showed #12. Every passenger marked with a number. While Sander mounted a wireless video camera on the forward bulkhead to record the events of the experiment, Napoleon Lowe drifted to the back of the passenger compartment and injected #24 with the results of Project X.

"All test procedures complete, we're done over here," called Sander Nickel on an encoded radio frequency.

"Come on over," called a voice from the small ship on the radio.

Napoleon Lowe and Sander Nickel floated aft, past the passenger compartments where the future corpses lay unconscious, strapped to their launch seats and sealed up inside of their compartments for eternity, and entered the crew and engineering area. They exited the ship via the cargo bay airlock. While floating between the Lake Baikal and the smaller unmarked ship, they began to strip off the white coveralls that were protecting them from exposure to Project X.

Once they got the coveralls off, they grasped the line between the small ship and the Lake Baikal and pulled their way toward the small ship. "HEY WHAT?"

The line between the two ships was released by the small ship that was now moving away from the dying freighter. The leaders of the project, Doctor Tarkov, General Chang, and General Romanov of the Eastern Bloc special weapons research committee didn't think that the white coveralls were protection enough, and they simply threw their agents away. The crew leader pressed a button on board the small, unmarked ship. When she did that, the face plates of the helmets of Sander Nickel and Napoleon Lowe snapped open, venting their suits into space, killing both spacemen painfully and almost instantly. The unmarked ship continued to move off, leaving Sander Nickel, Napoleon Lowe and the Lake Baikal to drift off into space.

Aboard the small, unmarked ship, the crewmembers watched the television monitor with curiosity and dread. Finally, one crewman called out, "Ma'am, we have a fatality."

A woman whose long salt and pepper hair was pulled back into a severe ponytail gave the crewman a severe glare. "Well?"

"Number twenty-four... Patient zero... one hour thirty-two minutes after X." They looked at the monitor and passenger 24 was indeed gone. The plastic square on his forehead was black, showing there was no electrical activity in his brain.

As they watched with clinical disdain, the squares went black one by one. Tammy Burnette died five hours later; Sheila died twenty minutes after her mother. Nine hours and thirty-two minutes after a now dead Napoleon Lowe injected Passenger Twenty-Four with the results of Project X, all passengers were dead, except those that were trapped in their cabins. Their kicking and banging and shouts would go ignored for the rest of their lives. The RSS Lake Baikal was a ghost ship on a trajectory to meet its end in Jupiter's upper atmosphere.

The woman frowned. The virus infected everyone and was 100% fatal, but Doctor Tarkov was hoping for faster results, and now there would be nothing more coming from Marconi-Edison Bio-Electronics. That bridge has been burned. She shook her head, a nucleocapsid that was recovered from a fossilized virus over a million years old and it's as deadly as a grenade, and crushes brain activity. Unfortunately, it's slow. It should have torn through that closed environment in just a couple of hours. Maybe there's some way to boost its R factor and get it to move faster. The folks back in Qinzhou were expecting something faster.

"Your orders commander?" asked a crewman.

"Let's head back to Kōngchéng and review our data." The unmarked ship moved into the shipping lanes and, after a day, found a freighter to follow to Mars.

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Ohio Desert, January 17, 2132

Camp Curtis Spaceport

Alan and Christa grabbed the seat armrests as the ship shook while it entered Earth's atmosphere. The shaking got so bad that Christa thought it was going to rattle some teeth loose. All the while, they plunged down through Earth's atmosphere. Ray sat next to her and snored. He's been sleeping for the past five hours. The trip was not bad; it was their first ride in space, but when the stewards set their cabin up for re-entry is when it got real. Playing games in zero G was a lot of fun. There were several other kids their age on the ship and they gravitated toward each other during the weeks long flight.

Ray and Christa were the only Martian kids on the ship, and the other kids were Earthlings returning to Earth and were shocked to discover that Ray and Christa were Martians. "You've never been to Earth?" was the most asked question. They were shocked to discover that Ray and Christa had never been outdoors. The closest to outdoors they ever got was the train between Perseverance City and Bradbury Canal. Those kids were startled to find that the only growing plants Alan and Christa had ever seen were the ones in planters in Perseverance City that they saw for the first time a few months ago. "Fields of plants" was a completely alien concept to the young Martians. Alan pictured a barren desert landscape with a few pots of house plants here and there and decided that the "fields of plants" idea was impossible.

It is one thing to be told you'd be landing at Camp Curtis in the Ohio desert. The reality was something Christa and Alan were not ready for. Seeing their sleeping bunks turn into re-entry seats was terrifying. But then they had to strap in. For nearly a day they endured the G-forces of deceleration, then the captain announced they would be penetrating the atmosphere and that's when the shaking really got bad... and Uncle Ray slept through it. "Oh, sorry kids, I was up all-night playing pinochle with a couple from Earth, when do we break atmosphere?"

"We already did!" cried Alan. "We're on final glide now!"

"Oh, I missed my favorite part," mumbled Ray. Ray had been a different man since the memorial for the 122 people that died, including Harrison and Laurel Scarlett.

"Uncle Ray, do you realize that mom and dad were the only people from Marconi-Edison Bio-Electronics that died in that blowout?"

"You don't say," said Ray, looking out the porthole (actually a television screen connected to an exterior camera) at the clouds they were gliding through. Camp Curtis was a huge dry lakebed north of Columbus, Ohio. It was blasted sterile during the Atomic Exchange of 2085. Alan was not the first and wouldn't be the last person to ask, "Why did they nuke central Ohio?"

"We think they were aiming for Cleveland and missed," said Ray. "The tsunami from Lake Erie scrubbed this area clean a few years later, like it did to Buffalo, Erie, Ashtabula, Toledo, and others."

The big space liner finally set down on Runway two nine and used the entire five miles to slow down before turning toward the terminal. The pilot was a master at landing and the big ship's momentum carried them right up to the terminal, where they stopped on the mark with just a touch of brakes.

"Now what?" asked Christa.

"We catch a flight to Guam then a boat to Fiji 2."

"I'm tired of flying," moaned Alan.

"A boat is not flying," said Ray. "Didn't you study history?"

"Yes, it didn't make sense then either," groaned Alan.

"How long till we get there?" asked Christa.

"Our flight to Guam is six hours, our boat ride to Fiji is about a day long. First you need to get used to Earth Gravity. Stay buckled in, they'll let us know when it's time to go," said Ray. A few minutes later, the door opened, and the stewardess helped the kids unbuckle from their seats and they collected their flight bags from the overhead rack.

"It's so heavy," groaned Christa, who was feeling the tug of bra straps on her shoulders for the first time.

"You're not carrying anything," said Alan, who was slowly getting out of his chair.

"My blouse!" said Christa, "I can feel its weight... and my shoes! They weigh a ton."

"Everything is going to weigh over twice as much. It will take some getting used to," said Ray. "Especially if you want to go to college here on earth."

"Why would anyone want to go to college here?" asked Christa, as they approached customs.

"There's two colleges on Mars, there's actually thousands of colleges on Earth. You can't become a geologist or a botanist on Mars. You have to come here to earth, get your degree, then take your knowledge back to Mars," said Ray.

As he spoke, they went through customs. Their luggage was searched extensively by a customs official who asked questions with a grunt.

"Where were ya born?"

"Bradbury Canal."

"What's that?"

"You're serious, right?" Christa couldn't believe that she found someone who knew nothing about Bradbury Canal.

"Where ya going?"

"Fiji."

"How long ya intending to stay?"

"Couple of weeks."

Soon they were walking around what looked like a running track with benches and water fountains all around it. "How long do we have to do this?" moaned Christa.

"Just two laps," said Ray. "This is to get you used to Earth gravity... where's Alan?" He looked around and behind them was Alan. He was at a water fountain pushing the button over and over, watching in amazement as the stream of water arced through the air and landed in the basin.

"Alan, it's a water fountain, you drink, watch." Ray leaned over and took a sip. "See?"

Alan pushed the button and leaned in and took a sip. It tasted wild. It tasted exciting compared to the purified and semi-distilled water he was used to. "It's different!" said Alan.

"Wait until you try soda water," said Ray. "Let's go," and he started jogging.

"Uncle Ray, wait!"

"You young sprouts are going to let an ancient man beat you?" That was the right motivation. For the first time, they began running on earth. They didn't have to hold back like in school on Mars because there was room here. When they finished their two laps (eight hundred meters) they were winded, but it was fun. "Come on, let's go find dinner then go flying."

Ray took Alan and Christa to a small restaurant and introduced them to something they've never had before: meat. "Oh my god this is so good!" gasped Alan.

"It's so..." Christa was at a loss for words. Her small, chopped steak was captured between two baked buns and topped with red and yellow sauces that added to the sensations. Alan and Christa agreed that this is what rich people must eat. "What is this?" she held up a hot, golden stick.

"It's a French Fry. It's made from the root of a plant. It's washed, peeled, cut and cooked. You sprinkle a little salt on it and maybe dip it in ketchup."

Their favorite was the paper cup full of sweet, bubbly, black water. "It's called Coke," said Ray. He was still feeling and acting distant, but at least he was now interacting with Alan and Christa. He was almost silent on the weeks long flight from Mars.

"Uncle Ray, when are we going to go outside?" asked Christa. She was told that they could go outside on earth without a pressure suit and helmet.

"We will go outside when we get to Guam," said Ray.

"What's a Guam?" asked Alan.

"It's an island." Ray expected the next question and handled it with, "It's a piece of land with water all around it." As Christa and Alan prepared their next question, Ray said, "It won't sink, it won't flip over and it's very big. It's bigger than Perseverance City and Bradbury Canal combined. Think of it as an immense mountain, three miles tall or taller with just the very tip top sticking above the surface of the water." The kids could picture a mountain that tall. There were mountains nearly twenty miles high on Mars. What they couldn't imagine was enough water to surround a mountain.

Soon they were joining dozens of other people on what Uncle Ray called a hypersonic transport, which reminded Alan and Christa of the train on Mars, but with smaller windows. The transport took off by rolling along what Ray explained was a runway; until they were moving fast enough for their wings to generate lift. The ride smoothed out as the ship left the ground and continued to accelerate. They were soon flying at the edge of the atmosphere. "How long is this flight?" Christa asked.

"Ten thousand miles, roughly," said Ray.

"That's almost all the way around Mars!"

"Pretty close, Mars is 13,000 miles in diameter, Earth is 24,000 miles."

"You don't appreciate it until you see it passing under you," said Alan as they continued to climb until the curve of the earth was apparent through the window. Christa went right to sleep. This heavy gravity was wearing her out, but Alan was too excited. He was on a foreign planet! Yes, Earth is the birthplace of humanity, but it's not his homeland. That distinction was reserved for Mars. "The Scarlett Planet" as his dad liked to call it.

They eventually reentered the atmosphere and slowed down and finally landed on solid ground. As the ship was taxied to a stop, Ray told them, "We'll be going outside soon. It's something you need to prepare yourself for. When we go out there, look at the ground in front of you until you feel comfortable."

"What? Why?"

"Trust me, it's so big that you need to prepare yourself the first time you see it."

They got off the ship with a walkway and entered the terminal, and waited for their bags. Inside the building were posters advertising the beaches and resorts of Guam. "This is the furthest west portion of the Western Alliance," said Ray. "If you go further west, you end up in the Eastern Bloc."

Every Martian schoolchild knew about the feud between the Western Alliance and the Eastern Block. Capitalism vs Socialist Monarchy. By treaty, all the islands in the Pacific were neutral, including Japan. Ever since the Japanese government was overthrown by Korean military officers, Japan became the political home for the Korean peninsula and the peninsula became neutral also, selling spaceships and arms to whoever wants them.

Ray collected the kid's luggage, and they headed to the terminal exit. "Keep looking at the ground," insisted Ray. Finally, the kids could feel the strange feeling of the warm sun on their heads, a hot tropical breeze bringing the scents of the ocean and the jungle. And most of all, they could feel the humidity in the air. "Slowly raise your head and take a look. Don't try to see it all at once. Concentrate on one small thing, then look at a little more."

They didn't understand what he meant, but they trusted Ray. He's been to earth almost annually for one reason or another for their entire lives, so he should know a thing or two. They raised their heads and saw what he meant. It was enormous. It was bigger than they could have possibly imagined and the green! Greener than they ever imagined possible.

The ground was covered with green things of all shapes and sizes, grass, bushes, trees! Christa and Alan knew about trees, but they never knew about groups of trees. All their lives through school, they could imagine trees individually. They knew about forests but their teachers taught them that man had destroyed the forests but never told them that forests regrow.

They were looking toward the ocean from atop a hill. Below them was a jungle, then they could see a beach, and beyond that was the ocean. The ocean was a huge, moving beast that undulated and called to them, and far off in the distance, dividing the ocean into halves, was a line of white. "I didn't know a canal could be so big!" gasped Alan. He was in love with the ocean.

"That's a big canal for sure," chuckled Ray. He kept his hands on his niece and nephew's shoulders as they drank in the sights of the jungle. Even the air was exciting! The air had a scent unlike filtered, purified, processed Martian air. This air was thick and moist, you didn't breathe it as much as eat it. Alan wanted to run down that green hill and dive into that forest. For Christa, it was too much. The sights, the sounds, the smells of an open habitable planet were overwhelming, and she felt suddenly cold, and she shook as her vision faded to black.

When she came to, Christa found herself lying on a wooden table in an open-sided building. "What happened?" she asked in a weak voice as a concerned Uncle Ray looked down at her.

"The first time you look at Earth is overwhelming for somebody who grew up in a bottle," said Ray. "That's why I asked you to keep looking at the ground and slowly lift your head so you could take it in little by little."

"I'm sorry," said Christa. "I didn't mean to be a burden."

"It's a burden I bear gladly," said Ray.

"But I..."

Ray silenced her with a finger to her lips. "I loved your momma; she was my little sister and you look so much like her. Taking care of you reminds me of her and it keeps her memory alive and I'm proud she trusted me with you. Now let's go find that brother of yours, it's time for a boat ride."

Alan was crouched at the edge of the jungle, inspecting the plants. "Come on Alan, you don't know what plants are poisonous."

"Poisonous?" and he dashed back to join his uncle and his sister, who led him to a taxi. The taxi was a vehicle with open sides so they could enjoy the cooling breeze as they traveled on a road that took them diagonally down the face of a steep cliff. At the base of the cliff was an open-air office of some sort. "We're in luck, they're just getting underway," said Ray and he led them along a boardwalk that went out over the ocean.

"This is a pier, and that thing there is a boat," said Ray. The boat was about ten meters long, slim and pointy at the front, and it had a stick pointing skyward from the middle of the boat. The local men had just finished loading the mail and their bags on the boat and they helped Ray, Christa, and Alan on to the boat. They cast off the lines and a small motor on the boat whirred, and the boat moved away from the dock. The boat slowly turned around one hundred eighty degrees and began moving toward the reef.

"If you feel sick, please lean over the edge," said the captain of the boat as they moved toward the open ocean.

"We just came from Mars," said Ray. "After a few months of weightlessness, we should be good."

"That's a big antenna you have," said Alan.

"That's the mast," laughed the helmsman. "It holds up our sails."

"Sails?" Alan believed he heard that mentioned once in a history class.

"There's a gap in the reef over there," said the helmsman to Alan. "Once we get past the reef, we can drop the centerboard and raise the sails and we'll be on our way, the way God intended man to sail." He pointed to the long line of waves that surrounded Guam. "That's the reef causing those waves, but ahead of us is a gap in the reef."

The water raged with anger as it thrashed at the opening that the helmsman pointed out and the little boat rose and fell with the waves, but soon the reef was behind them and they were out in the open ocean. There was nothing but water below them for 20,000 feet. The boat wheeled toward the south and the sails began to raise. Enormous sheets of heavy fabric that fluttered in the light breeze that luffed and fluttered until they caught the wind. "There we go!" cried the helmsman happily as the sails filled and began to pull the boat along with the wind. Before they knew it, they were sailing without the aid of a motor.

It was amazing to Christa and Alan, who grew up with some kind of device humming or purring nearby, doing something to keep them alive. From filtering air to generating power for the lights, there was always some kind of motor or other device near them, but now it's just the wind and the waves. "Whales!" cried Alan. "There's whales leading us!"

Off the bow, large, streamlined sea creatures swam and played along with them. "They be porpoises," said the captain. "And they can be a sailor's friend. Many an ancient mariner was saved by them beasts."

It was a magical day. The captain entertained the kids with stories of ancient pirates and evil villains called "whalers" that killed the porpoises larger cousins for the oil in their blubber. The crew of the boat broke out rod and reel and began fishing and tried to teach Alan the skill, but he was content to watch. Christa enjoyed the sport and landed a good size fish for lunch.

It was almost sunset when they came into port at the man-made island of Fiji 2, and Grandma and Grandpa Clark were there to meet them. Grandma Scarlett died on a geological survey four years previously and Grandpa Scarlett just wasted away without his life mate, and now these two children were the remains of the Scarlett legacy. When Christa and Alan saw their grandparents, they were suddenly overwhelmed with regret, and they both burst into tears. They ran to their grandparent's arms in tears, crying, "I'm sorry grandma..."

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Fiji 2, January 19, 2132

Grandma's House

"Those poor kids," said Edith Clark, Ray's mother. It took her forever to settle them down and get them to go to sleep in their little cabana. The two youngsters believed they were responsible for their parent's deaths. They weren't quite sure how they were responsible, but they felt guilty nonetheless. "How long have they been holding all of that back?"

"Since day two," said Ray. "When I told them that we were going to earth to see Grandma they shut it all away."

"What are you going to do with them?"

"Whatever it takes." Ray threw a shell into the calm ocean as they walked. "I want to detonate all of Bradbury Canal so I can be sure I got the one that killed them."

"How do you know the attack didn't come from Perseverance, or Copernicus, or even Kōngchéng?"

"Kōngchéng is a graveyard," muttered Ray.

"Don't be so certain about that," said his mom. "I've been following Eastern Block influences in space for a very long time and there's one thing that I know for certain about the Eastern bloc, if you believe something about them, it's because they want you to believe it."

She was right, Dame Edna had been in the spy business her entire life, so were her children. Ray could deal with agents from the Eastern Bloc all day long, but a teenage girl terrified him. "I don't know what I'm going to do with Christa, she's a young lady coming into her own, I don't know how to deal with that. What do I do when she walks into my room with a tampon and asks, 'How do I use this?'"

"First of all, Christa is sixteen, she knows. Second of all, there's instructions on every package." Edna clutched Ray's arm and rested her head on his shoulder. Ray was a political mastermind, a schemer, a man who could twist the eastern bloc to his will if he tried. Laurel was the scientist. She and Harrison could develop a million ways to pass a covert message and never be discovered. What went wrong?

"What do we do now?" demanded Ray.

"Right now, you take several weeks, stay here and mourn your sister with your father and I."

"And then?" asked Ray. All he needed was a plan. As long as he had a plan, no matter how bad it sucked, he felt secure that he could work that plan to success.

"Let's consider leaving Christa here with me. She's got the grades; she can enroll in Denver. Alan isn't subtle enough for Denver he strikes me as a fighter. You take Alan back to Mars until he's ready for the academy and we'll see how he does with a pair of laser canons at his command. In the meantime, you go into politics and work the investigation from that end."

Ray brightened slightly. A plan! Or at least part of a plan. The Denver that his mother mentioned was not a city in Colorado, nor was it a school that you could openly enroll in. Denver was the code name for a training system, a method of training someone for the espionage arts. Denver could occur anywhere. As for the Academy, she was talking about any one of the armed services academies: the Naval Academy at Annapolis, the Army Academy at West Point, the Space Force Academy at Trinity City on Luna, and the Marine Academy on Camp Schmitt in geosynchronous orbit above the Camp Lejune crater.

"Oh, I almost forgot, the paperweights have been exposed. We got the data but the op has been discovered," said Ray.

"By who?" demanded Edna. The paperweights were a beautiful piece of spy craft. Harrison and Laurel worked on that system for years.

"Alan."

Edna's jaw literally dropped. She reviewed the plans for that system and found it flawless. "How? The Radio Frequency levels were too low to set off an RF detector."

"He programmed his toy robot to show him any RF activities visually. I asked him how and he said that he got the idea from a magazine. I looked at the magazine and the article said that it might be possible. It gave no idea how it would be possible, just that it might be possible."

"What would happen if..." Edna had a grin that told her son that something clicked in her head. "No, nothing."

"You're thinking of making Christa Alan's handler when he goes in the field."

"No, of course not... not directly."

"Well? What then?"

"We put a few layers in between, and we watch. Does he speak Russian?"

"No, of course not."

"Encourage him. It will come in handy."

<><><><><>

Christa and Alan spent several weeks on Fiji 2 with Grandma and Grandpa Clark. Fiji 2 is a retirement community and normally people under the age of 60 are not allowed, but Edna and Oscar Clark had a visitor's cabana on their property and a private beach, so the kids got to sun and swim without anyone demanding they be removed.

Every morning, Alan would go for a walk along the beach and watch the sun come up over the ocean. On one of the walks, he met a girl near his age. Her skin was a bit darker than his and she had beautiful, dark, almond-shaped eyes. She wore flowers in her long black hair and wore a flower print skirt and mostly walked around topless. "Hello, are you new here?"

Alan was shaken. He normally kept to himself, and girls rarely spoke to him. "I'm visiting my grandparents."

"Me too, but then my mom got a job here, so I just walk around. The old guys like to watch. My name is Noelani Kawehi and we're from Hawaii."

"My mom and dad died, so we come to cheer up my grandmother," said Alan. It was the first time he had their deaths aloud, without crying. "You're very pretty, I can see why the old guys watch. My name is Alan Scarlett and I'm from Mars."

"What happened to your parents?" she asked as they walked at the edge of the shore.

"There was a blowout, the station wall split open and the auditorium they were in lost all its air. The room they were in was vented out to space and they were on the wrong side of the pressure door when it closed."

"That's awful..." gasped Noelani.

"The door closed between us; I still see mom's eyes. It was like she knew it was going to happen and she was sad, not angry." He paused for a long time and said, "It wasn't an accident, it was intentional. They were murdered."

"How do you know?"

"Because the alarms went off and the doors closed on the auditorium that that they were in before the blowout actually happened."

"What are you going to do?" asked Noelani.

Alan didn't hesitate. "I am going to find out who did it and why and then I'm going to space them."

"Oh," said Noelani. Then she shifted gears. "Wanna go swimming?"

"I don't have a suit," said Alan sadly.

"You don't need a suit," she said with a smile and she dropped her sarong and stood nude before Alan.

"Ok," he said with a grin and she helped him peel off his shirt and shorts and soon the two pre-teens were splashing in the warm Pacific Ocean. As they splashed and played, Alan made a promise to himself that he was going to live next to a canal like Grandma and Grandpa Clark.

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Melville Saskatchewan, October 6, 2141

University of Northern North America

Dear Alan

It seems like only yesterday when I heard you were accepted into the Naval Academy. I was so proud of you then and now, just a moment later, it's time for your first solo flight. I saw Uncle Ray last weekend. He's on Earth again, but like usual, he won't say why. He's so proud that you joined the Navy. Is he going to be there when you shove off? This is a big thing for him!

Thanks to Uncle Ray, the government of Mars has passed a law that allows Martian members of the military to be recruiters on Mars. The new law will even allow a unit with a Martian commander to be stationed temporarily on Mars. I heard a rumor that the Western Alliance Navy is going to make a Martian division and will make modifications to the uniforms for us Martians. This really is Big! Are you going to be the first Martian stationed on Mars? Will you be in charge of a Martian fleet?

Life in Melville, Saskatchewan, hasn't changed. I'm still stuck in the Art History department of UNNA (University of Northern North America) and am waiting for official word to see if my professorship has been approved. They say that the only places that hire Art History majors are historical digs and Art History departments at universities. Sadly, that seems to be the case. The only digs I heard of in North America are in the remains of Buffalo and Cleveland. There's a rumor that an archeology team has located the site of the Museum of Rock and Roll. That would be exciting, and we'd be close!

Oh well, time for lecture. Why do I get the freshman classes all the time?

All my love

Christa.

<><><><><>

Dr. Christa Scarlett stepped out of her apartment building and snorkeled down the hood of her parka against the frigid blast from the west. Winter is early this year! She walked across the university's quadrangle of plastic and steel structures to the College of Art History. The wind blew dead leaves and a light snow across the dry lawn as she fought her way against the wind and into Gibson Hall. Inside the four-floor building, she threw back her parka hood and pressed the elevator call button.

The elevator door opened and two people got off, and as she stepped on the elevator, someone stepped on with her. She rode with him up to the third floor and as he stepped off; she pressed the door close button, then on the builder's plate below the controls she noticed it said Otis Elevator, HQ Denver, Colorado. The corporate headquarters for Otis Elevator was in Farmington, Connecticut. Anyone with Christa's background would understand the meaning of that error. She pressed the O in Otis twice while holding the door close button and the elevator dropped. It dropped until she was 25 meters below ground, where the elevator stopped, the doors slowly opened, and Christa stepped off the elevator.

She found herself in a sterile-looking lobby with one mirror and a pair of doors to her right. She stepped up to the two-way mirror, which concealed a heavily armed guard behind the mirror made of thick, bulletproof glass.

"Name?"

"June third, twenty-one fifteen," she recited her date of birth to her reflection as she slid her driver's license under the glass. If she was being forced into the secured area by an enemy agent, when asked her name if she had said her name, that would have triggered a "duress situation" and the guards would have killed anyone near her. Last month the question 'Name?' was answered with your college employee ID number. Next month, it might be your favorite color.

The guard, satisfied with her authentication, slid her restricted area badge out to her and buzzed her into the office area. She settled down in her office and began reviewing reports that came in over the wire. Her job was spymaster, plain and simple. She had a network of spies that she controlled and collected information from. She was not just any spymaster. The sign above her door proclaimed her specialty with one word: Mars. Christa was the Chief of Data Collection, Analysis, and Dissemination for anything that happened on the red planet.

As she reviewed the messages and mail, one report caught her attention. "Kōngchéng?" she said aloud. Kōngchéng was the eastern bloc colony on Mars, and it has been called a ghost town since she was a kid. There's been no radio activity in or out of Kōngchéng for a decade and a half. Supposedly, all people in Kōngchéng died, which considering the silence from that colony, the rumor may be right... or that there were never that many people to begin with and they left on the last shuttle, Earthbound. Still, long range cameras keep watch on Kōngchéng, and radio receivers sweep the band listening for a hint of radio activity from the silent colony. There hasn't been a ship in or out of there for ten years.

According to a highly classified message, Kōngchéng spoke last week. A tightly beamed message was sent from Kōngchéng to Earth and was intercepted by a satellite, purely by accident. Christa slapped the intercom box on her desk and shouted, "Sapperstein!" Gone was the quiet, almost mousy Dr. Christa Scarlett. She was now Major Scarlett of the Martian Intelligence Bureau. A young man stepped into her office.

"You bellowed?" Jake Sapperstein was a disrespectful wiseass, but he was one of the best at what he does. His loyalty is not to his boss, Christa, but to Mars, and that's why she puts up with his nonsense.

"Kōngchéng speaks and I just find out about it now? Why did it take nearly a week for this message to get to me?"

"Because WE just found out about it. The Navy notified us this morning after they tried for a week to decode the message."

"The Navy couldn't decode the message?" Christa was shocked. The Western Alliance Navy had some of the best cryptographic people and equipment in the solar system. If they couldn't crack the message, she didn't have the resources to...

"It's not coded," said Agent Sapperstein. "It was sent in the clear. The Navy didn't believe that it was in the clear and spent a week looking for a hidden code. We don't know if the Navy was able to translate it or if they just didn't believe it."

"What is the 'it' that the navy didn't believe?" demanded Christa, who was getting tired of Jake's dramatic unveilings.

"It was sent in Choson gul, and it says geugeos-eun neuseunhan." Choson gul is an alphabet that was used by a people in the Eastern Bloc until they were vaporized in the Eastern Bloc civil war of 2077. Since it was a phonetic alphabet, Christa used it among her agents, but always double encrypted.

"And geugeos-eun neuseunhan means what?" She didn't have time for word games.

"It's loose."

Whatever got loose, it was terrifying enough for one of the most secret locations in the solar system to break radio silence and send out a warning in the clear, and that terrified Christa.

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Camp Schmidt, June 3, 2041

Geosynchronous Orbit Above the Remains of Camp Lejeune

Ensign Alan Scarlett sat in the briefing room in the outer ring of Camp Schmitt, the Western Alliance Marine space station in geosynchronous orbit above the Camp Lejeune crater. His newly awarded gold bar of rank gleamed on his shoulder, but in his case, that gold ensign's bar was rimmed with Martian red, showing that he was unique in the Western Alliance Navy, a Martian in an Earthman's navy. Mars was growing in importance to the Western Alliance as vast deposits of iron, nickel, and osmium were being opened up. Osmium is extremely rare on Earth but has been found in quantity on Mars and is immeasurably important in spaceship construction, so the Western Alliance plays nice with Mars.

Lieutenant Commander Ellison was giving the briefing to six new Naval Spacemen. "Congratulations, this is it. In one hour, you will become the loneliest humans in the universe. The flight plan is simple. Depart from Camp Schmidt with a thirty-minute separation. You will orbit the Earth three times or until given permission to execute a Trans-Lunar-Injection burn or are ordered back to Camp Schmitt. If given timer codes for a TLI, you will enter them into your nav computer and with luck will then proceed to Luna, where you will perform three lunar orbits and recover at Armstrong Station at Lagrange Point One."

Alan looked around at the five other fledgling fliers known as "chicks" to their trainers. They have been told repeatedly that their first solo mission has an average survival rate of 80%, which means that one of them is not coming back. Their lifeless body will be found drifting in space weeks from now as the ship's batteries die while sending out a weak distress signal.

They have also been told that this is the last time that they will be ordered to fly alone in space. Every flight after this one will be at least in pairs or on larger ships with multi spaceman crews. Cargo haulers and troop ships are not in Alan Scarlett's future, he's in it to become a fighter pilot. He's studied the exploits of the fighter/explorers of the past from the Vikings to the space age and he wanted to join that exulted group. Man does not leave his mark on the galaxy from the radio room of an ore freighter. If he's going to die on a mission, he wants a solo grave and not a shared pit with 30 other crew members.

"ENSIGN SCARLETT!" shouted Commander Ellison. "Do you care to share with us why you're looking around the room and not at your mission map?"

Sometimes honesty is the worst policy, which is when Alan becomes the most honest person you'd ever know. If he's telling the truth, it's probably because he wants to piss you off. Alan Scarlett was raised by geniuses whose IQ levels were off the charts, and he is clearly superior to them all. One of those geniuses was his Uncle Ray, who was also a no-holds-barred wiseass, and he is the parental figure that impacted Alan the most. The Western Alliance Navy may not be ready for Alan Scarlett, but he was ready for them. Alan rose and said with an arrogant sneer. "Just trying to guess which of my classmates is going to crack first. Sir."

"Explain!" demanded Commander Ellison.

"My classmates were all born on Earth, they grew up breathing free air, drinking as much water as they wanted. They climbed hills, mountains, trees and they were never alone in a confined space unless they were being punished by their mommy. I was born in space and grew up in a tin can. I know what drinking purified piss and breathing recycled farts is like because that's what I grew up with. Three days alone in a cramped cockpit? While they're freaking out, I'll be catching up on my reading. Everyone knows that the best spacemen come from Luna, starting today I'm going to prove the best come from Mars."

"Mister Scarlett" said their commander with a sneer. "That is the most callous, arrogant thing I've ever heard in this classroom... and I like it. You chicks had better develop an attitude like that and you better do it within the next hour, because if you are not the very best spacemen at least in your minds, you will die out there. I have not spent the last six months trying to train you to be an attractive corpse. When I see your bodies again in three days they had better be fully animated. Go gear up. DISMISSED!"

The six chicks rose and filed out of the briefing room and went to the life support section to gather their space suits and survival equipment.

"Can you believe the arrogance of that guy?" said Lt. Commander Ellison's teaching assistant, Lieutenant Briscoe.

"Yes I can. He's a red-blooded Martian. Pun intended. I know the man that raised him after his folks died, Ray Clark. Ray is the politest, but at the same time the most arrogant son of a bitch you'd ever meet. He once told me that he was going to be President of a united Mars, and that Alan was going to follow him... and I believe him."

"But to say that about your classmates just before your solo mission..."

"With luck he pissed them off enough to get them to pull their heads out of their asses and survive," said Lieutenant Commander Ellison. "I wasn't getting through to all of them, let's hope he did."

In the survival equipment room, Alan quietly adjusted his space suit while the other five members of his flight complained about his arrogant statement. Ensign Stan Michalowski stood in front of Alan and demanded, "What makes you think one of us is going to die? You're the first bird out, how do you know I'm not going to shoot you in the back?"

"Ski, I firmly believe that you can put your laser emitter in my mouth and blow your own balls off," said Alan calmly as he tested his suit's radio system.

"No!" said Michalowski. "You can't spout a bunch of bullshit in front of us and get away with it."

"Yes I can," said Alan as he test fitted his gloves. "Everything I said in that room is true. Ski, I've been flying solo in space since I was twelve. I was fourteen when I decided to join the Navy, I have done nothing but fly since that day. I was made a trainee navigator at twelve as we flew from Earth back to Mars and pulled full shifts on the bridge of the RSS Reliant. Why do you think I walked into Annapolis with an advanced degree in celestial navigation? While you were working on your bachelor's degree at Annapolis, I was writing a doctoral dissertation."

"And that makes you better than me?" demanded Michalowski.

"Ski, I'm fully suited and ready to fly, while you are standing there whining and bitching to me in your underwear. That is what makes me better than you." With that, Alan grabbed his helmet and map bag and left for the hangar.

There he found the six Vaught-Kingsbury F-9 Star Kites. The ship was named for the bird, not the toy and sadly, it was originally designed as an aircraft and was modified to become a spacecraft. The bird named kite can soar for days without landing and the F-9 is able to fly for days if you're good at managing your reaction mass fuel. And like the kite, the F-9 had a split tail resembling a swallow. Those tails were threat warning receivers, constantly looking for other spacecraft. The stub wings were designed to carry missiles, but the launch system was designed for an aircraft, not a spacecraft and so the act of launching an intercept missile threw the F-9 off course, losing radar lock causing the missile to veer wildly off into space. The wings were rebuilt with automatic bore sighting APNQ-178 Laser Emitters.

Inside there was plenty of room for food and water, but the pilot was jammed up so close to the nose it seemed like he could fall out into space. The big window gave a magnificent view of the stars, but a radar screen that size would be more practical. Since the Kite was originally designed as an aircraft, not a spacecraft, it flies like crap and is mostly used as a trainer and for search and rescue missions.

When the other five chicks arrived in the hangar, Alan was trying to convince Lieutenant Commander Ellison to let them do their launch from the outer ring of the "wagon wheel" space station instead of from the hub at the center of the wheel. "We'll be able to use that rotational energy for our orbital burn and save a ton of reaction mass."

"Ensign, you and I could do it blindfolded, but your shipmates need to come up to speed on moves like that. They're hoping to become carrier pilots, and carriers don't rotate."

"Just sayin'," said Alan with a shrug. "It could be fun."

"Just go around the earth, then around the moon, and then land without killing yourself. Let's get fancy next time."

"Yes sir," moaned Alan.

"All right everyone, let's get those pre-flights done and mount up!" came Ellison's order over their helmet speakers. The hanger did not have an atmosphere, nor did it have gravity. The F-9's were held down by magnetic feet on the landing gear and the chicks were walking with electromagnetic soles on their boots. Alan had done most of his preflight before the chicks arrived. It was a much quicker task if you turned off the magnets in your boots and floated around the ship.

By the time the other chicks started their pre-flight inspection, Alan was complete and was reviewing the spacecraft forms with the ship's crew chief. "Ok, it's a good boat, let's hope it gets me home."

"She will at that, sir."

"Meet me at Armstrong in three days Spaceman Cernan, there's a beer in it for you if I arrive alive." Alan gave his crew chief a wink, then they fist bumped, and he floated up to the cockpit.

"You'll get there alive alright sir, but you won't set any records with this old kite. Hey, us Mars boys gotta stick together."

"You Martian?" asked a surprised Alan Scarlett.

"Yes sir! Perseverance City born and bred!"

Alan smiled and held out a fist to bump. "Bradbury Canal!"

They fist bumped and Gene Cernan said, "Whooo! Small town boy makes good!"

"Well, lets see if I can fly a figure eight spread out over two hundred fifty thousand miles. "Alan inspected the control panels before actually entering the cockpit. He's been trained over the past 8 years to hate surprises, and the wrong switch out of place could be a horrible surprise. Finally satisfied with what he saw, Alan lowered himself into the cockpit and pushed himself back against the seat. "We got two," said Gene Cernan as the magnetic locks in Alan's suit connected with the seat. "There's six... all eight, you're locked in Sir."

"Hey chief," and Alan gestured to his crew chief to come closer and gave him a slashing sign across the throat which meant to mute his microphone. He pulled Gene close until their helmets were pressing against each other and shouted, "Thank you for calling me sir."

The vibrations in the air carried over to Gene's helmet and he could hear what Alan said. "Why sir?"

"You're the first person to call me that. It means a lot to me."

Gene was taken aback. He's never received a vote of appreciation from a pilot before, especially not one of these snot-nosed chicks. They fist bumped again. "Let's go fly a kite sir!" said Gene over the radio, and he drifted back and down to the floor.

As the mission clock ticked down, Alan reviewed his switch positions until the clock read 0400. It was time. "Camp Schmidt control, this is Kite zero one, I'm ready to start engines."

"Kite zero one, this is Camp Schmidt, you are go for engine start."

Alan hit the fuel pump switch and then the ignition and the auxiliary power unit came to life and his cockpit lit up. One by one they went down the list of systems, checking them as Spaceman Cernan read down the checklist. Navigation, life support, environmental, and dozens of subsystems. They completed their engine running checks in 10 minutes and sat idling for another five as Gene did one final check of his spacecraft. When Gene was satisfied with the status of the F-9, he gave Alan a thumbs up.

"Camp Schmidt control, this is Kite zero one, we are ready to taxi."

"Doors coming open... standby." Slowly the big hangar doors slid open, revealing the disc of the Earth that rotated in front of him. "Kite zero one, this is Camp Schmidt, you are clear to taxi."

"Thank you, Camp Schmidt. We are rolling." Alan flashed his landing lights and Gene marshaled him out of the hangar. Alan switched off the magnetic locks on the landing gear, retracted the landing gear, then edged forward out of the hangar using the directional thrusters. He still hadn't started the primary engine. As he floated past, Chief Cernan snapped a salute and Alan returned it, then he tapped the throttle.

Now that he was out of the hangar and the doors were closed behind him, the United Reactions N-22 primary engine rattled to life and it was time to go flying... Alan was back where he belonged, in space. He almost forgot to request permission to enter a lower orbit before he began accelerating away from Camp Schmitt. With a roar that only he could hear, he was off. "Navy Space Control, this is Kite Zero One at flight level three zero three... request permission for three orbits then a TLI."

"Kite Zero One, you are go for three orbits." Alan noticed that Space Control said nothing about the Trans-Lunar-Injection. He knew they would monitor him. Any horsing around and he'd be ordered back to Camp Schmidt, the big Marine Corps wagon wheel station.

He was entering his third orbit when he got the call, "Kite zero one this is Navy Space Control, you are go for TLI. Set timers to three one zero fife point fife."

"Kite zero one copies, go for TLI. Timers set to 3105.5. Copy." Alan dialed the numbers into the automatic timer and kicked back. He had been listening to the radio exchanges and all six Kites were now in orbit, circling the earth every 90 minutes. In fact, he had Kite 4 a few hundred miles behind him. At some point, the timer heard a signal from earth and began counting down. Alan performed last checks on his ship as the timer count down and when it hit, the main engine kicked in, slamming him back into his seat, accelerating the kite as it came around the backside of Earth and shot out in space on a straight line to where the Moon will be in 3 days.

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Armstrong Station, June 6, 2041

LT Commander Ellison's office

After recovering at Armstrong station almost exactly 30 minutes apart, Alan didn't have the opportunity to join his flight mates as they congratulated each other as they stepped into the ready room. When Alan shut down his kite and floated to the life support office, turned in his pressure suit, helmet and gloves, pulled on his flight suit and boots and headed for the debrief office. "Scarlett! My office!" shouted Lieutenant Commander Ellison over the intercom.

Alan shrugged; he hated debriefing anyhow. He took the elevator out to the ring farthest from the hub, and stepped into the office where he's spent far too much of his training time listening to Commander Ellison shout. The commander's Yeoman ushered him into the commander's office and soon he was in his traditional posture, standing at attention in front of his commander. Lt. Commander Ellison glared at Ensign Scarlett. "You flew the entire distance from the Earth to the moon backwards."

"No, not the entire distance as I recall, sir." Alan felt gross. He just had time to turn his spacesuit over to Life Support, and was heading to the shower when he was ordered to report to Lt. Commander Ellison. Alan pulled on his flight suit and dashed to his boss's office.

Ellison looked at the telemetry of Scarlett's flight, and he was right. Every three hours he did a slow three-hundred-and-sixty-degree rotation to verify his position between earth and moon, then looked back on the five remaining Kites. Ellison dropped that. There's no requirement that a ship in transit face in the direction of travel. Cadets who learned to fly in the atmosphere would fly nose forward out of habit.

"I want to talk about some Radio Teletype Messages that we copied."

"RTTY? I'm not sure I..."

"Stow it Scarlett. The message to Kite 4 read "Check your heading." That was followed a few hours later by another, "Kite 4, you're off heading by two degrees. Reset to planned heading."

"Yes, I believe I sent that," said Alan Scarlett as he stood at the position of attention.

"Why?"

"He was off course. If he didn't correct his heading he would have hit the moon. If you look you'll see a series of RTTY messages where I helped him troubleshoot a problem with his inertial navigation..."

"NO! I want to know why did you send that message? It wasn't your job."

"I respectfully disagree. I was in the number one ship, that made me flight lead, and it made him my responsibility."

"But this was a solo flight, what part of a solo flight means that you can help him fly his ship?"

"I don't know, and I don't care. I had a flight member whose life was in jeopardy and I had to get him home."

Lt. Commander Ellison glared at Alan for a full minute before he finally spoke. "Report to Captain Schirra. Immediately."

"Aye, aye sir," said Alan, and he made an about face and headed out into the training squadron offices. He stepped into the orderly room and asked the yeoman, "where is Captain Schirra's office?"

The yeoman took a quick look at his Rolodex. "Earth ring, Quadrant B, Section 7, office 34."

"Thank you," and Alan headed out.

Armstrong Station, the Alliance Navy's largest station, was huge and confusing. Earth ring was the outermost ring on this wagon-wheel style space station and is called that because it has gravity equivalent to the Earth's gravity. The middle ring has Martian gravity, and the inner ring has the same gravity as Luna. He was currently in Quadrant D, which meant that Captain Schirra was on the opposite side of the Earth ring from him.

The thought that he was heading for a court martial entered his mind, but he might as well go get it over so he could start a career in civil spaceflight. The suspense was agonizing, so he chose the quickest route possible. Instead of running around the ring (like a Marine would) Alan took a spoke elevator to the weightless central hub, then found another spoke elevator that took him to Quadrant B. After that it was a matter of counting down sections and then offices until he found the Head of Governance Training / Interplanetary Affairs. Fancy name for a guy that trained people to be leaders, but isn't that what the entire Navy was about?

Fearing that he would be used as an example in a lecture on "How Not To..." He entered Captain Schirra's outer office. Seated at the yeoman's desk was a beautiful, middle-aged woman with brilliant red hair. She was the sexiest woman he had ever seen. Her civilian ID badge showed her name was Estelle Schirra. It figures. Probably a trophy wife. "Can I help you?" she asked.

"Ma'am, I was ordered to report to Captain Schirra," said Alan.

"Name?"

"Ensign Alan Scarlett, ma'am."

Estelle looked up at Alan with an amused smile. He was tall, slim, handsome and self-conscious. He had his father's square jaw and pointed nose, but it's been a long time since she met Dr. Scarlett. Alan's brown hair was askew and his piercing blue eyes were sunken and dark. He was exhausted from his first long flight. But he was his father's son.

For her part, Estelle Schirra was an incredibly beautiful woman; her flowing crimson tresses spilled over her shoulders. Her lavish cleavage caught his attention, her green eyes twinkled with amusement, her full red lips pursed as she found the words, "Oh, you're the one. Go on in."

Alan didn't want to go in. He wanted to remain in the outer office gazing at this large breasted goddess forever. She was old enough to be his mother, but she was well preserved. Very well preserved. He tore his eyes away from her cleavage and muttered, "Thank you ma'am," and reluctantly turned to the captain's door.

"Relax," said Estelle. "He's not going to bite your head off. That's my job."

"Yes ma'am." Alan was sure that it would be enjoyable too. Steeling himself, he gave the door one solid knock and waited.

"Enter," came the voice from within, and the door slid to the side, allowing Alan to step into the office. Behind the plastic faux wooden desk sat a man who was born to fly. Captain Walter Schirra joined the Western Alliance Navy while tensions in the South Atlantic were glowing red hot and after serving as an in-atmosphere aviator, he transferred to the Space Navy. Behind Schirra was a photograph of Ensign Walter Schirra in his dress whites and a very young Estelle in a wedding gown. A trophy wife twenty-five years ago, too. "Yes, Estelle is my wife," said Captain Schirra, answering the unasked question without looking up from the monitor before him, but Alan held his salute.

Finally, Captain Schirra looked up and returned Alan's salute and said, "How much sleep have you had in the past three days, Ensign?"

"Twelve hours, sir," said Alan without pause.

"Ensign, that's a pretty accurate estimate. Telemetry shows eleven point two hours. Navy regulations require 21 hours of sleep in a flight of that duration. Why did you choose to ignore Navy regulations Ensign?"

"I had a member of my flight that kept drifting off course and I didn't want to lose him. I spent most of the flight trying to determine the cause of his navigational issue."

"Did you ever think that he could have been a plant from my office testing you and your co-fliers?"

"Yes sir, I did."

"But you continued to monitor him the entire flight."

"Yes sir," said Alan. "He and the rest of Kite Flight. I couldn't take the chance that he was not a plant. Off course is still off course regardless of who you are. His course would have dropped him somewhere near the Montes Apenninus range if I hadn't recommended a course correction."

There was a long pause as the captain regarded Alan up and down. His flight suit was wrinkled from being rolled up in his flight bag, his boots were untied, and his hair was askew. "Your flight mates all hate you," said Captain Schirra.

Alan shrugged and said, "I'm a Martian. I get it. Our average IQ is twenty points higher than Earth's collegiate average."

"They say you're an insufferable prick."

"That too. I don't take safety lightly and I will remind the fliers around me of that fact."

"They say you're a damn good flier."

"I hope I am," said Alan. "I've been flying almost nine years, anything I could get my hands on, from Jeeps to cargo ships." A Jeep is a small utility spacecraft used for hauling personnel and equipment from one ship to another or from ship to station.

"No luxury liners?"

"My first experience was navigation and communication on one, sir."

"At twelve years old," muttered Captain Schirra.

"I was getting over my first crush," said Alan. "Noelani, a beautiful Polynesian girl. Then my sister told me that she was going to remain on Earth to go to school, leaving me to go back to Mars alone with Uncle Ray. I wanted to go back to Mars, but I was going crazy with loss. My folks, then my sister, then Noelani... Ray arranged the job on the bridge for me to keep my mind busy."

"He's a good man, but now I need you to know that Ray Clark has nothing to do with what I am going to say to you." Alan shrugged and Wally Schirra continued. "Normally when we have a rookie flier understand that flight position #1 is the leader, and he shows skill in leadership, we offer him a position in the Advanced Leadership Academy. Unfortunately, you are not getting an offer. I am ordering you to attend the Academy."

"You're ordering me?" asked Alan. "That Academy is only for lieutenants and above."

"That's right," he handed Alan a small box that contained a pair of Martian Red Lieutenant Junior Grade bars. "When we embroider them on your flight suit, we'll add the Martian red border. Damnit, son, we need you. We have a shortage of leadership in the ranks, and you have the guts and know-how, and I'm going to use those qualities."

Alan stared at the gold bars in his hand. It all seemed too soon. "It's happening so fast." He didn't realize that he said that out loud.

"So fast? You've been flying for years, and whoever taught you, taught you right," said Wally. "Go wash up, go catch up on your sleep and I'll have a schedule drawn up and an upper classman take you under his wing. Go talk to Estelle, she'll set up your room and your advisor."

"Yes sir! Thank you, sir!" said Alan as the magnitude of the honor caught up with him. An ensign selected for an advanced school normally closed to anyone under the rank of lieutenant. He shook hands with Captain Schirra and stepped out to Estelle's desk, "You will be rooming with your instructor, Lieutenant Commander Marks who will also be your senior advisor."

"Yes ma'am," and she gave him his room assignment, a door key, and a chit for a linen exchange.

The lack of sleep over the past week caught up with Alan as he received his linen issue and headed off to find his room. It wasn't a long walk; he went past a series of classrooms filled with young officers into Section 9, which was silent. It was obviously the school dormitory section. He found his room, Earth Ring, Quadrant B, Section 9, Room 23. He noticed two names on the door: Marks and Scarlett.

His passkey worked, so he stepped into the room, threw his linen on the bed with his name at the foot and tore off his flight suit and took a fast shower, then climbed into bed under one blanket. Soon he was fast asleep, and in his dreams he and Noelani played and splashed on the beach, naked and unashamed.

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NNA University, June 6, 2141

Office of Dr. Christa Scarlett

Christa Scarlett reviewed the data from the robot that had moved within a quarter mile of Kōngchéng. It wasn't receiving anything. There was no electronic chatter coming from the Eastern Bloc colony structure, which was odd. In fact, there was no sign that there was any electricity being generated by the colony power station. The rule of thumb was, no power means no life support, which means no life. The small spaceport next to the colony held the ruins of several ships and one intact freighter.

"Anthony," she said to her robotics expert. "Let's see if we can access the logs on a couple of these ships."

"It will be a while, tomorrow evening at the soonest," said Anthony.

"I understand," said Christa, and she reviewed the data one last time before sending off a letter to Uncle Ray.

Dear Uncle Ray

Winter is approaching fast, and the snow is flying. Wish you were here. Yesterday I held a lecture on the work of Salvatore Dali and his painting The Persistence of Memory. One of my freshmen asked what the melted circles with numbers were...

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Perseverance City, June 6, 2141

Convair Intergalactic Testing Labs

Twenty-seven minutes after she hit SEND, on Mars Ray Clark received a radio-Teletype message from his niece, Dr. Christa Scarlett. He read it and chuckled; the letter told about modern college freshmen and their inability to wrap their minds around the tools and devices that the ancient world considered high tech. He took the printed copy of the message to the vault. The vault was more than a room with thick walls; it was a secure facility in the government offices of Perseverance City, the capital colony of Mars.

The vault was protected by two-foot-thick walls and a single door that has the security of a bank vault. Inside the vault was the huge mainframe computer which controlled all terminals in Perseverance City and provided heat for the government offices above. There were several workstations in the main room of the vault, along with rows of safes containing all classified information collected by the Mars colonies, much of it collected by Ray. There was a vault within the vault, which was the cryptology lab. He reached out for the keypad and punched in the combination and, with a loud buzz and click, the cryptology lab door swung open, and Ray entered his office.

This is where Ray Clark's real office was. Since the blowout in the Bradbury Canal, Ray's job has shifted from casual intelligence gathering while working for Convair Intergalactic to active spying. "What's up bossman?" asked Karen Seven as Ray entered. Karen Seven was probably the best cryptologist in the solar system. She was a typical Martian woman, tall and slender, with long legs, light brunette hair, and an extremely pale complexion, and she had a genius level IQ.

"I got a letter from my niece, wanna take a look?" said Ray as he handed his top team member the message from Christa.

"Melted clocks? I don't get it," said Karen as she glanced at the message.

"It's a famous painting."

Karen skimmed the message because, after the first paragraph, it devolved into a mish-mash of random numbers, letters, and symbols which appears to be a corrupted transmission. Normally the RTTY operator asks for a re-transmit of the message and ninety-nine times out of a hundred, the corruption clears on re-transmission. Not with messages to Ray Clark. "Salvatore Dali? We just got that code last week," said Karen.

"Christa is probably just testing the new code," said Ray.

"An encrypted message from Stiff Tits just a test? That will never happen," said Karen.

"Betcha ten bucks and that's DOCTOR Stiff Tits to you," scolded Ray.

"You're on," and Karen attached the message to a cylindrical drum in the decryption device next to her desk. With a few taps on her keyboard, the drum started spinning, and a scanner read the spinning message.

Karen looked at her screen and said, "Looks like you owe me ten bucks," and when the message was decoded, she hit the print button and the printer soon spit out the unencrypted message.

Bot 250 meters from Kōngchéng cannot detect electromagnetic fields

Three ships parked at Kōngchéng space port

Moving maintenance bot in to read ship's logs

Enter colony with bot?

"What do you think?" asked Karen.

"What if the last ship brought the plague?" said Ray as he stroked his chin in concentration. A plague among Asian countries in 2078 was one of the things that sparked the civil war, which eventually spread outward until it looked like humanity was going to erase itself from Earth. "Let me draft a reply..."

<><><><><>

About an hour later, Christa clamped Ray's message on the decryption device's drum. The message was mostly about Salvator Dali's painting Swans Reflecting Elephants, but it ended up a jumbled series of numbers. The letter spun, and the tight beam of light that scanned the spinning document finally generated an image that Christa's terminal could produce.

Suggest plague protocol.

Prepare to write off anything that comes in contact with target

Requesting medical bot to assist

Let Papa Bear drive.

"Anthony, Uncle Ray is suggesting plague protocol and is sending a medical bot at Kōngchéng. Draw up a wish list of what you want to see and send it to Ray very ASAP, he'll drive from Perseverance. Sapperstein, let's get that maintenance bot plugged into the data port on those ships and see what we can get." Christa clapped her hands a few times. "Let's go people, Uncle Ray wants us."

Her assistants looked at each other. 'Very ASAP?' What is very ASAP?

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Armstrong Station, June 7, 2141

Earth Ring, Quadrant B, Section 9, Room 23

Alan Scarlett fought back the urge to open his eyes, but he had to. He was sleeping on his side, spooning with a warm body. He was sure it was a female body because of the long hair his face was tangled in and the boob his right hand cupped. It was a nice tit, large and firm, and as he explored, he found a hard nipple protruding from the tit and aching to be toyed with. He detected a soft whimper of pleasure from the owner of that fine boob, and he explored a bit to see if this really was a girl.

His hand ventured south over a flat tummy where he found an innie belly button that he tickled, which produced a stifled giggle. As his hand crept lower, a shudder passed through his bedmate and hair fell aside to reveal a delicious-looking neck and shoulder. Alan instinctively began gnawing gently on that neck, eliciting gasps from the owner of the neck. Meanwhile, his exploring hand found a tuft of hair. It was soft and gentle, not tough and crinkly like he was led to believe he would find there. It was soft and silky smooth, like the hair that now covered his nose.

As his fingers continued to creep south, he found her legs were squeezed together tight. But as a digit tried to penetrate the mysterious confines, her legs parted, allowing him access to explore. If he remembered his elementary biology, her clit should be right about... there. A soft moan told him that he was right. He wasn't sure how to do this, this being the first clit he's ever entertained, but as he drew his finger around in circles, her sighs let him know she was enjoying what he was doing. He tried to probe further, but she caught his wrist in her grip and stopped his explorations, and she moved his fingertips back to her clit.

How long he gently stimulated her clit, he didn't know, but it was wonderful. Lying together in his bed was amazing. She was so warm and soft and she smelled good. This was the first woman he touched since Noelani, and he missed having a woman in his arms. He hoped that his roommate Marks would catch them, and he would be elevated in the eyes of the more experienced troops. Eventually, she cried out sweetly and pushed her ass back against his straining cock. She shuddered as the young spaceman brought her to a crashing orgasm that left her completely drained. His ministrations became too much, and she pushed his hand away from her pussy. "Mmmm, that was awesome. You must make all the girls on Mars happy."

"You must be thinking of somebody else," said Alan. "Martian girls don't go for flyers, they prefer scientists or musicians."

The woman rolled in his arms and until they were face to face and she smiled at him... such a beautiful woman with a beautiful smile. She had a cute little nose and bright blue eyes. "You must be a musician because you played me like a Stradivarius." Her little hand wrapped around his cock and began stroking. "Oh God that's so good," groaned Alan.

"If you like that, then you're going to love this," the blond said with a grin. She drooled on his cock, giving her hand lubrication, and she began to stroke faster and faster. Her breasts bobbled with her effort, which Alan loved watching. Before he realized what she was doing, Alan's body took over and reacted to the intense sensations she was generating in his body.

"I can't hold back," he groaned through gritted teeth.

"Silly, who told you to hold back?" she teased, and with that, Alan came. Relief crashed over his body as his semen spurted into the air, landing on the sexy blond and him. Wave after wave of relief crashed over Alan as she held his cock and directed the spurts. Finally, she said, "That was a lot, how long have you been saving that?"

"Lost count at Annapolis," sighed Alan.

"Come on, let's go wash up," said the blond, and they took a "Navy Shower" together. They rinsed together, washed each other with soap, and rinsed off together. Their shower was warm and loving, filled with roaming hands and kisses that went on for ages.

"I never got your name," said Alan, as they kissed passionately.

"I'm Lieutenant Commander Hilde Marks, and I'm your senior advisor."

Alan was shocked. Wasn't this fraternization? He just came all over a senior officer's tits! This was crazy! "Are you my roommate too?" asked a stunned Alan.

"Look," said Hilde as Alan toweled off her back. "We have several months of intense training ahead of you. This isn't some ridiculous class for scared Earthers, this is going to be some of the most intense training you've ever endured. First we're going to teach you to fly the hottest fighters in the solar system, then we're going to teach you how to fight anyone that thinks they're better than you, then we're going to teach you how to teach a group of men and women to fly and fight like you, and finally we're going to teach you how to lead them in battle and day to day."

"But you... you're..."

"Look, Alan, we're going to be close for the next year... damn close. Do you want to be able to reach out to each other immediately or do you want to have to walk down a hall and knock on a door not knowing if I was available?"

"But... you... I'm..."

"Alan, I'm going to be your work wife, it's just... I'm Lunar, and we take it to a different level. We deal with sexual tension the moment it rears up."

"What?"

"Back in 2085 when the war was hot, Lunar and Martian troops were called up and both colonies lost a lot of men and women. With Luna, we lost almost 90% of our men. Lunar women realized that they weren't going to get help from earth for a long time, so they learned to share. It's become a Lunar way of life."

"I didn't know... I mean I knew you lost men, Mars lost 80%. I didn't know about Lunar sharing."

"It's not something we advertise."

"If you did advertise the man shortage would be over quickly," grinned Alan. Then he frowned. "On Mars we have Arrangements. My dad never did that and people called him weird."

"Look, if you want I can get another room. There's other students that could benefit from having a live-in instructor." Hilde's tone was serious.

Alan looked at the blond goddess. Thick flowing blond hair, large round breasts, impossibly narrow waist and round hips and ass that seemed to beg for him to grab on and fuck until they were exhausted. "No, please stay. I am serious about becoming the best fighter jockey in the Navy. If you can help me reach that goal then please stay."

"Ok then, I will do that, just as long as we understand each other. When I say no, it's no, copy?"

Alan nodded his head.

"And when I assign you work, there's none of this," she swept her hands down her perfect hourglass figure and rested her fists on her hips, "Until you're done to my satisfaction. Copy?"

Again, he nodded his head. "Yes ma'am."

"Good, now first..." she dumped four huge textbooks on his bed. "Here's a little light reading. These are the best books on military space flight, each is an incredible book but each has a glaring error. I want to know what the error is before the end of the month."

Alan groaned. It was the fifteenth. He had some reading to do.

"I'm going to get something to eat," said Hilde as she pulled on a shift. "I'll bring you dinner."

"Thank you," muttered Alan. He had moved to his small desk and was already chapters deep in Tactics and Deployment, which was considered the gold standard for Naval fighter spaceship operations. He had a note pad at his side and was already taking notes.

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Armstrong Station, August 1, 2141

Head of Governance Training / Interplanetary Affairs

Admiral Remy Darwin, the commander of the Seventh Fleet, stepped into the ante room of Captain Walter Schirra's office. He was a very large black man with close cropped white hair and a perpetual smile, like he knew what the joke was and he was ready to hear the punchline again. However, he wasn't smiling today. "Good afternoon Remy," said Estelle Schirra. "Shall I announce that you're here?"

"I am not here," he said with a frown. "Is the admiral alone?"

"Yes, his last meeting just left."

"Fine. Mark this office closed and take the rest of the afternoon off. Go get some coffee."

Estelle has been her husband's yeoman for over twenty years. When an admiral tells you to go get some coffee, you go get some coffee. "Yes sir," she said, and she started getting her purse together.

"Estelle, how is Mister Scarlett doing in your opinion?" asked Admiral Darwin.

"He's doing fine sir, as far as I know."

"Is he ready to fight?"

Estelle looked at the admiral, her lips tightened and she said, "Yes, as ready as any twenty one year old boy can be."

"Is he ready to lead men into combat?"

Estelle wanted to scream "No!" she has seen how he treats Commander Marks. He's kind and caring, he doesn't treat her like a street whore like most non-lunar's treat lunar women. She has two daughters his age, and she wanted to introduce him to them. She doesn't want him shot up before they can meet. But she's seen his test scores. He's smart, innovative, he takes command if there's not a clear leader. He's what the Navy needs in spades, but will a force follow a Lieutenant JG into battle? "I think so sir."

"Thank you."

Estelle grabbed her purse and closed her terminal, then headed out. As she opened the office door to leave, there was a pleasant-looking man in his mid-forties standing there, ready to knock on the door. "I'm sorry, we're closed."

"He's with me," said the Admiral. "Estelle, this is Ray Clark, he's a member of the Martian Parliament. Ray, this Estelle Schirra."

"Pleased to meet you," said Ray as he held the door for Estelle as she left. She nodded and mumbled a greeting, then left, not knowing that if she wanted to talk to someone about Alan, she just missed the best source of information. "Are we missing anyone?" asked Ray.

"Mister Ben Curtis," said the Admiral.

"He's not going to leave Mars, not if the rumors are right," said Ray. "Besides, this briefing isn't for him, he knows what's going on. This briefing is for you."

The admiral and Ray Clark stepped into Captain Schirra's inner office. "Gentlemen? Seats please." He got up and locked the door after Ray and Admiral Darwin entered. "This briefing will be classified Top Secret, Cabinet 35."

They waited nervously for his phone to ring. Ray, who is normally calm, looked horrible. He was jittery and nervous. Mars was on the opposite side of the sun from Earth, so it was a long trip at max burn, then a long hard deceleration burn. Wally poured coffee and handed Remy and Ray a cup, then sat down at his desk. Finally, the phone rang and Wally hit a button on the phone.

"Captain Schirra."

His phone was set to speaker, and a man's voice said, "Insert the appropriate card now." The message was repeated over and over. Admiral Darwin took a plastic card the size of a business card from his breast pocket and handed it to Captain Schirra. Wally inserted the card in the phone and the voice disappeared and a hissing background noise could be heard. "Stand by for roll call," called a distorted voice. The voice was clearly encrypted and the message to standby for roll call was repeated every fifteen seconds. Finally, the voice said, "This is a briefing from the Martian Intelligence Bureau. All information is classified Top Secret for official use only. Roll call. CINC NAV."

Another voice called "Admiral Piper."

"Seventh fleet?" asked the original voice.

"Admiral Darwin," said Remy.

" Governance Training?"

"Captain Schirra"

" Earth?"

"Wendel Anderson."

"Mars?"

Ray tensed up. Wendel Anderson is the secretary general of the Western Alliance. He's in charge of half of the earth. There were some incredibly powerful people on this call. "MP Ray Clark," said Ray.

"We are joined, any questions before we start?"

"Yes, where is Ben Curtis?" asked Secretary General Anderson.

"I will represent him," said Ray. "We believe it is not prudent for him to leave the Red House at this juncture in time. If this information becomes public knowledge, he needs to be immediately available. He has granted me the authority to represent a United Mars."

"Is Mars truly united?" asked Wendel Anderson. For years, especially after World War V, Mars had been a divided world. It was always a series of think tanks united only by a tube train that was the envy of the solar system. To gain a trade agreement with Mars was nearly impossible because you had to negotiate with multiple colonies and usually ended with multiple conflicting trade treaties. A United Mars sitting on top of all that iron, nickel, and osmium willing to trade for potable water, and making coherent trade agreements, was a shipping magnates dream.

"No sir, but we are getting close." Ray was sure that one more unifying event could bring all colonies into the parliament, and then Mars would be a force to be reckoned with.

The strange, distorted voice returned. "If there are no more questions... the Martian Intelligence Bureau has been able to download the log files of three abandoned spacecraft at Kōngchéng spaceport. Two were licensed Yīng Kuàilè model personnel transports that were heavily damaged, and one was a small cargo carrier whose license and registration numbers do not appear in any database. The two personnel carriers were heavily damaged. It is believed that they were shot down by Kōngchéng spaceport security. Both carriers reported a crew of five and a load of seventy passengers, which is fifteen more people than the Ying Kuaile can safely carry. One of the personnel carriers was able to set up a narrow beam transmission beamed at earth with the message "geugeos-eun neuseunhan," which translates to "It's loose." We were only able to discover this message because a satellite in Mars orbit was in the line of transmission on one of the last times the ship had enough battery power to send the message. I will pause for questions."

"When did this shoot down happen?" asked Admiral Piper.

"October sixth, 2129," came the distorted reply.

"Do we have an idea what is loose?" asked Wendel Anderson.

"We have a belief that it is a microbe. We are still trying to determine the nature of that microbe. Are there any more question?"

Having paused for a moment, the distorted voice continued. "The third ship was sent out to conduct tests on a captured ship. Details of the tests and the identity of the captured ship were not on the ship's logs. The location of the test was within five million miles from Mars and the ship was left drifting on a course that would put it in the Jovian atmosphere by 2158. The tests were conducted on October eleventh and twelfth, 2131. The only mention to the tests were that the results were that the transmission rate was slower than expected and fatality rate was one hundred percent."

"Jeezus Christ," muttered Admiral Darwin.

"I will pause for questions." But the people on the phone remained silent. "Hearing no questions. The Martian Intelligence Bureau is prepared to gain access to the Kōngchéng colony. The MIB has determined that the bots that were sent to Kōngchéng were not adequate and a bot that was designed to detect biological warfare was needed. The investigation is on hold while a bot capable of detecting microscopic agents is constructed."

"Contact," said Admiral Darwin.

"Go ahead, contact," said the lead speaker.

"Seventh fleet will scramble a bot capable of detecting microscopic agents immediately."

"Thank you," said the lead speaker. "Be aware that anything coming into contact with Kōngchéng will be abandoned in place due to the probability of contamination. Are there any other questions?"

"What is the probability of The Three being involved," asked Admiral Piper. The Three he was referring to were three highly ranked planners in the Eastern Bloc. Doctor Tarkov, General Chang, General Romanov, men who are dedicated to the overthrow of the Western Alliance by all means available.

There was an uncomfortably long pause, then the voice said, "Probability is high." There was murmuring throughout the members of the call, then the voice said, "is there any other discussion?"

"Will Mars allow the Western Alliance fight this scourge on Mars if it comes to that?" asked Wendel Anderson.

"Mars insists that any action by the Western Alliance on Mars be planned and led by a Martian," said Ray Clark.

"Seventh fleet is actively working toward developing a unit solely for the protection of Mars. Martian officers are in the pipeline being trained right now," said Admiral Darwin.

"Thank you," said Ray. "Is there anything more to brief?"

The central voice said, "No, if there are no more questions we will close this briefing at fifteen minutes past the hour."

The speaker went dead, and the phone hummed and buzzed as it chewed up the plastic security authentication card that Captain Schirra activated the call with. When it was done, he pulled a little drawer out of the back of the phone and dumped the dust that used to be the authorization card in the trash receptacle. "How many Martian officers do you have in the pipeline?" asked Ray.

"Three, but one is in the brig for assault," said Captain Schirra.

Ray's shoulders slumped. "We have a memorial ceremony for his parents and the other 120 people that were killed in the Bradbury Canal blowout. We need Alan and his trainer there in their Martian and Lunar uniforms. I'll give him a couple of minutes to give a recruiting speech." He rose slowly. This earth gravity was wearing down on him. "I have a narrow launch window, I need to get going."

"Estelle will escort you to your ship."

"Thank you." Ray left the office feeling 100 years old, and the trip back to Mars will be just as bad. But he perked up when he saw Estelle. A beautiful, smiling, buxom redhead who took his arm and said, "Let me guide you to your dock... which one?"

"Bravo two," said Ray. They were in D section, that was on the other side of the world.

"That's over a mile of walking," said Estelle. "Let me show you how I do it." She led him to an elevator and pressed the call button. "Us colonials need to stick together."

"You're Venusian?"

"Oh heavens no, I hear all of those colonies are going to affiliate with the Eastern Bloc," said Estelle.

'They already did,' thought Ray. "Well, you clearly can't be Martian. We would have met long before now."

The couple flirted as they rode the elevator to the hub. When the doors opened, they were confronted with a laughing couple in flight suits. A spectacularly beautiful blond woman and a tall, slim fellow that looked a bit like Ray.

"Uncle Ray!" cried Alan, and he hugged his uncle.

"Alan is your nephew?" asked Estelle.

"Ray's the one that taught me to fly," said Alan.

"When he was thirteen I gave him the keys to a Jeep and said, 'don't kill yourself,'" said Ray.

"This is his instructor Commander Hilde Marks," said Estelle. "You two look happy, did you have a good sortie?"

"Alan is amazing, he got top marks on the morning sortie, and the afternoon flight was even better! I think we're ready to start on commanding a flying unit," said Hilde.

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Armstrong Station, August 6, 2141

43rd and 44th Departing

The training was intense, and Alan was loving it. Hilde was an incredible instructor who taught him so much about the art of spaceflight, space fighting, and Navy operations. They flew in the old TF-28 Texan IV, named after the old twin seat airplane that was such a great trainer two hundred years ago. They flew until the trainees got the hang of flying with a wingman and flying as a wingman. Alan was loved as a flight lead. He was tough and aggressive and he shared his 'kills' with his wingmen, but he was hated as a wingman. He flew so close that on radar they looked like one target and if you slipped up, he was always there for the 'kill,' which was great for mission objectives but awful for your kill ratio.

After a great day of flying, Alan often spent the evening making love to Hilde, but after a bad day of flying, he would spend the evening studying at his desk while Hilde went out with "the boys." (She actually spent her time in the instructor's library preparing the next day's lesson.) Bad days of flying became fewer and further between, and bad scholastic days never happened. Because of his advanced degrees, it took only two weeks for Alan to become the Navigation instructor.

July 28th was Alan's worst day in training. He was leading a formation of four Texans on an easy Luna and back. Two orbits of Luna in spread formation as he lectured on navigational aids. There were several types of navigational aids set out around Luna for training and as they came around the silvery pockmarked moon, he had plenty of time to brief the students on each one. It wasn't a tight formation, spread means that you can see each other's formation lights. The task was to pick out navigational points as they circled the moon, and the training was being provided by Alan and Lieutenant Commander McCormick. McCormick was in the formation's rear, monitoring the students. Each student had an instructor in the back seat, interpreting Alan's lecture and assisting the students.

As Tango flight was nearing completion of their second orbit and getting ready to break orbit with a three second burn, Tango Three somehow got out of position. "Tango Three, this is Tango Four," called McCormick. "Tango Three, you're out of position... Tango Three!"

Alan was wondering what McCormick was shouting about. He just kept saying that Tango Three was not in position. He was about to call out to Tango Four to find out what was going on when he felt a bang and a shudder go through his Texan. Alan immediately thought about the blow out at Bradbury Canal but then he heard a suit leak alarm screaming over the radio and red lights started glowing all over his cockpit. Warning lights screamed oxygen leak, reaction mass leak, engine failure, hydraulic failure, there were a hundred lights all demanding his attention. "We got leaks Commander Marks, seal your helmet."

Alan and Hilde sealed up their helmet as their oxygen vented off into space. They both had M-18 slimline oxygen packs, and he made sure that the remaining oxygen on his dying ship was going to their oxygen packs. Finally getting the alarms silenced, he heard, "Tango One this is Tango Two! Are you all right?"

"Yeah, what hit me?"

There was a long pause, then Lieutenant Vasquez, over in Tango Two, said, "It was Tango Three."

"What are you going to do?" asked Hilde. She sounded fine, but she was worried. If he made the wrong move now, he could kill the both of them.

"I have to be cool, calm, and collected," said Alan as he looked through his controls to see what was left turned on. All he needed at the moment was radio and intercom. "I don't want to try to move because my reaction mass is gone and I don't know what shape my thrusters are in, and where would I go anyhow? I'll save battery power and... oh dear god."

Alan got a look at what had hit him. The collision put them in a slow 360 degree flat spin. Now he could see Tango Three. Its canopy was smashed and driven down into the cockpit, and the remaining canopy on the forward portion of the dual canopy was covered in blood. In the rear seat, Lt. Commander Russo, Tango 3's trainer, was trying to get out of the ship.

"Were you able to get a call out for help?" asked Alan.

"Roger," said Hilde. They'll probably get Tango three first.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"Are you ok sir?" asked Tango Two.

"We're ok, thank you for asking. Keep your distance and I want you to lead. Copy?"

"Yes sir."

"Tango Four this is Tango One," called Alan. "Lead is now Tango two. Form up on Tango two and be ready to offer aid if needed to Tango One and Tango Three."

"We're past the burn point!" said a panicking LT Susan Kilrain.

"It's ok, you're in a good orbit. Keep a good formation and keep an eye on each other use the same Interface Burn Plan that you've done for months. You have Lieutenant Commanders Vanada and Stern with you to help get you home.

"I haven't heard from Vanada all flight," muttered Lt. Vasquez.

"I'm sure there's a reason," said Alan.

In a few minutes, a huge cargo hauler appeared before them and the tail of the big ship opened up like a clamshell. Two spacemen with "puff packs" emerged, leading a cable that they connected to Tango three and winched him aboard into the cargo bay. As they winched Tango Three aboard, they reached the burn point and Alan got to see Tango Two and Four accelerate into a higher orbit. Even though the Texan IV is a pipe with stub wings and an enormous canopy and is probably the ugliest thing in space, their charge to a higher orbit was very cool to watch.

<><><><><>

Back at Armstrong station, Hilde when on a tear with her instructors. Alan could hear her shouting from down the hall, then it got silent. Then came the tromp of boots. The only one that tromps like that is the Marines. Lieutenant Commanders Russo (Tango 3) McCormick (Tango 4), and Vanada (Tango 2) were led away by the Marines to a holding cell while the charges against them were being filed (Drunk on duty). Since as instructors they were considered "lookouts" they were being charged with Article 113 of the UCMJ, operating a spacecraft while impaired.

Sadly, the pilot of Tango 3, Lt. Don Schmitt, was dead. He was watching his navigational instruments and not out his canopy window, and his instructor was passed out in the back. He drifted into the back of Tango 1, Alan's ship. McCormick wasn't as bad as Russo and Vanada, but if he just said something other than "you're out of position," he would have saved a life.

Alan went to his fellow student's rooms, letting them cry on his shoulder. Don Schmitt was a good man, well liked, and eager to fly for Mars. Anna Vasquez and Susan Kilrain were both shattered over his death, and Alan spent a lot of time calming them down.

Hilde returned to their room late. She came in and found Alan curled up in a closet, shaking and weeping. She crawled in and sat next to him, and pulled him close. "Is this where you went when your parents died?"

Alan nodded. "I hid in the closet until Uncle Ray came for us."

"Where was Christa?"

"She was in the closet with me."

"Are you ok?"

"I'll get over it," Alan said. "I just wish... If McCormick would have said something more than 'you're out of position!' If he had said 'Tango One, go Z plus five meters...' Don would have passed under me."

"They were all drunk..." she sighed and Alan gave her a kiss, which she gently returned. Because of his gentle and genuine concern, she's never felt so close to a man before in her life. "Captain Schirra wants to see us at eighteen hundred. That's in an hour."

Alan sadly put his arms around her and held her tight. He lost a flier; she lost three instructors... how are they going to fill the requirements that Mars set and fill out three squadrons for the Martian Space Force? She'll never be trusted to run a training program again.

"I'm so sorry, please don't hate me," said Alan. "Rest your head in my lap and relax."

"You're going to make everything right and show me that men from Mars are better than Earthmen?"

"No. I'm feeling horrible and I want to cuddle with somebody I truly, truly admire. Maybe some of that admiration would work its way into your heart and relax you."

Hilde was shocked. Alan was always so smooth, so confident in his flying and in his ability to communicate with his fellow squadron mates. And now he's opening his soul to her. No guy has ever done that before. As soon as they come in her mouth, every other guy suddenly has something else to do. "I had three of my instructors climb into a spacecraft and fly drunk. They're going to prison in Kentucky, I'll probably be sent home and asked never to come back."

"That's not going to happen, we're a team, you're so much more than my work wife," said Alan. "I love the sex with you, but do you know what I love best? Just holding you. I love snuggling close and listening to you talk about your wife Yin. I wish someday I could excite you like that when you talk about me." He snuggled down close to her and held her in his powerful arms. "Except for you I can fly rings around anyone, together we're unbeatable. But without you in there somewhere, commanding me, leading me, riding with me, on my wing or waiting for me to return... there's no reason for me to try."

They cuddled in silence kissing and listening to the ever-present rumble and hum of the largest space station ever built by the Western Alliance and Hilde allowed her nerves to settle as she relaxed in the arms of the one man that she ever allowed this close to her heart.

An hour later, they were standing at attention in Captain Shirra's office. Cigar smoke swirled about as the burly captain gnawed on a cigar. "What happened today was unforgiveable. It is going to be a long time before Lieutenant Commanders Russo, McCormick, and Vanada breathe the air of freedom. Commander, you had three completely irresponsible idiots, and no, you did not miss signs of their intoxication. They were sober when they got in the cockpit. They had been up all night playing racket ball and they hadn't eaten in 16 hours. However they had vodka and orange drink in their canteens, which they drank before you were even cleared from Armstrong station."

Alan was shocked. They got drunk while manning a spacecraft? The cockpit is sacred ground to Alan. He hoped they would be hung for their irresponsible, dangerous, and (to Alan) traitorous actions.

"Mister Scarlett, you had every operational commander's worst nightmare, the death of one of your fliers, especially on your watch in your formation, and for that I am terribly sorry. Tomorrow you will write a letter to his family. You will do that here, in my office, and I will help you. Commander Marks, I want you here too, I want you to write a letter to his wife."

"Yes sir!" said Alan and Hilde in unison.

"Like I said, this is about as bad as it gets for an operational commander. And sadly, I was ordered to give you this today." He handed Alan and Hilde each a large envelope. "We should be doing this on a more joyful occasion."

Alan and Hilde opened their envelopes and peered inside. The documents inside were the standard format for Western Alliance Navy orders. They eased the documents out and began to read as Captain Schirra said, "these are your orders. In twenty-two hours, the Western Alliance Navy will activate two squadrons, the Forty-Third and the Forty-Fourth Interplanetary Fighter Squadrons. They will be the showcase of the Eighth Interplanetary Fighter Wing commanded by yours truly. You will receive your new boats the day after tomorrow. After two weeks of familiarization with the F-199 Berserker you will ship out on the NSS Borman for carrier training. Commander Marks you and the 44th will continue to train the 43rd from the rear seat. Upon completion of training, you will transfer to the NSS McDivitt where you will pick up your new RIOs and will be considered operational. The primary mission of the 43rd is to Protect Mars, to enforce Martian Law, and recruit young Martians into the 43rd and the 44th IFS. The primary mission of the 44th is carrier protection, long range interception and protect Mars from orbit until a cadre of Martians can be added to your ranks."

"Thank you sir," said Alan, shocked that "the lowest form of space life" could be selected as a unit commander.

"Don't go throwing any victory parties, you are ordered to keep this to yourselves. Your captain on the Borman will make the official announcement. Copy?"

"Copy!" they replied.

"Sir, if this isn't going to happen for weeks or longer, why tell us now?"

Captain Schirra smiled and said, "this gives you weeks to prepare to take over, you'll stand in front of your people with a well formed plan. It will make you look like a genius." He puffed his cigar and said, "It has worked every time it's been tried."

Back in their room, Alan and Hilde snuggled naked. Their hands were not roaming over each other in the heat of passion, but were holding each other close. It had been such an emotionally shattering day and the news that Captain Schirra gave them should have been celebrated with a party at the Officers' Club, but neither wanted to. It was alcohol that cost a good man his life and three men their careers. "Who is going to follow me into battle?" groaned Alan.

"Your squadron," said Hilde. "Haven't you noticed that they all call you 'sir'?"

"I'm an officer, and I call them sir," said Alan.

"No, they all outrank you. By tradition they should all call you Mister. I just wonder who is going to follow me."

"I will be there," whispered Alan. "And I'll bring my squadron with me."

<><><><><>

Alan hated his oxygen pack. He was used to the M-18 slimline emergency pack, which was about as bulky as carrying a folded blanket on your back. This was like carrying a shipping trunk. "Quit your bitching Mister Scarlett, you're weightless," said Hilde.

"Yes but this thing has mass," complained Alan. The enormous pack on his back had all the oxygen and water he would need for up to six hours. If he turned to look at something, the mass of the M-24 environmental pack would carry him off into the distance.

"They wore packs this size on the moon back in the nineteen hundreds," snapped Hilde.

"Yeah, and they didn't go back to the moon for sixty years," Alan moaned. He knew this day would come. It was time to depart Armstrong station and sail with the fleet. It was also a new day with a new spaceship. His squadron was going to be flying the Curtiss-Convair F-119 Berserker, a speedy little two-seat dart that had folding delta wings and could carry two tons of iron bombs. To save mass, the builders of the F-119 only put in one laser emitter mounted under the nose and didn't put an environmental system on the ship. You had to fly with a full pressure suit and work the cockpit controls with compression gloves. They were heated and tight and worked as a "glove liner" when he put on the big bulky EVA gloves, but he still couldn't feel the switches as he liked.

He didn't want to leave the nest. He's been training in the comfort of a huge space station that was home. It felt like home as much as living with mom and dad felt like home because he had love in both places. Hilde would never admit that she loved Alan, but she acted like it, and that was good enough for him. In the vast hangar sat 12 F-119 Berserkers, sleek and deadly. Their wings were folded tight to their sleek fuselage. "Let's go flying," said Hilde.

Alan has had 16 "traps" on the NSS Borman, and he felt confident to move to a carrier and become part of the seventh fleet. He just didn't want to. But if Hilde was going, he was going. "Forty Third! Mount up!" he called over the open frequency. He and eleven trainees and their trainers stepped out onto the hangar, magnetic boots silently clanging as they advanced.

In the visitors' booth, Estelle Schirra watched as the young men and women mounted their ships. The chicks were leaving the nest. Canopies slid closed and power units started and soon all 12 fighters had flashing marker lights and were aching to leave. Wally came up behind her and held her close as "their children" prepared to leave. One by one, the fighters floated to the big hangar door and drifted out into space. They formed up into three flights of four and suddenly they were gone.

As the hangar doors slid closed, Wally and Estelle saw a huge Marine bomber ease into position near the station. Their daughter's first cruise was over. It will be good to see her.

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

Bradbury Canal, October 7, 2141

Memorial Day

The head of the PMP (People's Martian Party) Dr. Herbert Burgman sent a message to Perseverance City demanding that Assemblyman Ray Clark come speak to him about some comments he made during the election two months ago. Ray replied in typical Ray Clark fashion, "I will be in Bradbury Canal to honor the memory of my sister and her husband on the anniversary of their death. You may speak to me then."

He got off the train at Bradbury Canal and headed in to see a few old friends when a mountain appeared before him. "Doctor Clark," the beast snarled.

"And you are?" said Ray. Ray had a doctorate in engineering, but he rarely, if ever, mentioned that fact. He says it's because people would expect something from him and would put him to work. Lars Olsen was one of the very few people that knew he had an advanced degree, and this was definitely his old friend Lars.

"You can call me Stan," said Lars.

Ray nodded. Clearly, Lars was working security for somebody. "Where are we going, Stan?"

"Doctor Burgman want me to make sure dat nuttin happins to ya."

"I'm sure I'll be in excellent hands." Lars was speaking in a weird accent. He normally has perfect diction and never speaks like a big galoot. "Where's a good place to get a bite to eat around here?"

"Sachmo's would probably be da best for ya," said Lars.

Ray didn't like this one bit. Sachmo's was his favorite restaurant in Perseverance City, not in Bradbury Canal. Lars was telling him that his life was in danger here. "Is Pesky's Grill still open? Maybe there."

"Dat's a good place," said Lars. Pesky's was a sidewalk style restaurant. Nobody would try anything there. They walked to Pesky's and Ray sat at a small table while Lars loomed over him like a guardian mountain.

"What's going on?" asked Ray.

"I don't know," said Lars softly. "When you got elected to parliament Herbert Burgman freaked out and proclaimed the Martian Parliament to be an anomaly and banned talk of it in Bradbury Canal government offices."

"Bradbury Canal doesn't have a government, so how can they have government offices? They've been squawking over that since I was a kid."

"Herbert Burgman took over the auditorium where the blowout occurred and turned it into his personal office. He thinks he's the government of Bradbury Canal and demands respect from the people. He doesn't want you speaking at the ceremony today."

The thought of Bergman sitting on his fat ass in Lauren's grave angered Ray so much he could barely see. "Fuck him," spat Ray. "I was asked to speak by many people who lost loved ones ten years ago, their agony trumps Herbert Burgman's butt ache."

"That's just what I wanted to hear," said Lars. Ray had his back to Lars, but he knew that grin that Lars would get when he was planning to make mischief.

"My escort should be here any minute now," said Ray as his cup of tea was brought to him.

<><><><><>

The NSS Borman slipped into an areostationary orbit above the Martian colony of Bradbury canal. The Borman was an early carrier that barely has enough room for a full squadron of fighters. "Are you ready Honey Bunch?" asked Hilde as they kissed before climbing into the cockpit. She only has two rules for him: no pussy penetration, and no L-word. He could feel it all he wants, but he can't say it.

"Why do you call me that?" asked Alan, blushing furiously. He's spent months with this woman and if you asked, he probably would say he was in love with her. They've had months of intimacy, making love any way that Alan could imagine, doing everything but vaginal penetration. If he felt a need to penetrate, there were two other options for his use. Hilde was adamant about that, and Alan never complained, but she was "saving herself." Yet, he could be balls deep in her cloying asshole and the name Honey Bunch would still cause him to blush furiously.

"Why? Because you're so cute when you blush," said Hilde. That was one reason. The main reason is when he tries to bury his embarrassment, he works extra hard on his flying and calling him "honey bunch" did the trick the best. He could fly a troop transport through the eye of a needle trying to hide his embarrassment. "Did your mom have a nickname for your dad?"

"No, my folks were nerds. Scientists. They studied ancient dead viruses that were fossilized in Martian rocks." He wanted to add 'they were spies too,' but he couldn't bring himself to say that. There's a spy that has been following him, he knows, because last night Noxie gave him a message from his spy. "See you tomorrow. From your Guardian Angel." It had to be a spy. A nerd spy. Who else could get a 10 year old toy to talk like that?

They had pre-flighted their Curtiss-Convair F-119 Berserker fighter-bomber. It was another unsuccessful space/atmosphere multi-role space/aircraft often called by wags a spaircraft. It actually flew well in the atmosphere, and in space it was so-so. It didn't carry enough oxygen and fuel to fly longer than 3 hours, and it had no environmental system, so you had to wear a space suit with an ME-24 environmental control unit (oxygen pack) on your back. The oxygen pack fit into a recess on the ejection seat, and it was annoying to wear, but all in all, the Berserker was incredible for training. It was fast and nimble and very responsive, so it was fun to fly through the asteroid belt zipping between the rocks, as long as you had some place to land quickly.

As soon as Hilde settled into her aft cockpit, Alan released his magnetic boots and drifted up to his forward cockpit and settled down into it. He chatted with the plane captain as he settled in, and soon they were ready to go. "Borman Spaceboss this is Bravo Charlie Zero One, preflight inspection complete, we're ready for engine start."

"Roger BC-Zero One. Release magnetic clamps for alignment and prepare your system," said the Launch Officer of the NSS Borman.

"Roger, clamps released." He felt the F-119 start to drift. That's because two plane captains with magnetic boot soles were pushing it toward the launch ramp. The launch ramp was a narrow section of the maintenance hangar. He felt the magnetic 'trolly' under the deck grab his landing gear and pull them backwards to the back of the hangar. As soon as the tail of their ship almost touched the hangar door, a door closed in front of them, sealing the hangar, and the door behind them opened. "BC-Zero One Ready for start," said Alan as he finished the pre-start checklist.

"Roger," said the Spaceboss. "Good luck and have a pleasant flight Mister Martian." With a silent yank, they were tossed out into space. They were launched aft off the fantail and Alan let the sprightly little fighter drift backwards for a while. When they were clear of the small carrier, Alan raised the nose of the F-119 and at the prescribed distance from the Borman, their main engine, a United Reactions series N-30, lit with a bang. Alan and Hilde were slammed back in their seats as they charged toward the Borman and passed over it.

Alan couldn't help but showboat. As he passed over the bridge, he extended the delta shaped wings and did a victory roll before diving into the thin Martian atmosphere. His training squadron wanted to do a fly-by to show solidarity with their Martian flight leader. Alan thanked them but begged them to stay behind. They do not know how paranoid Mars is, and he wasn't sure that he would not be taken as a threat.

"Ok, why is Mars so paranoid?" asked Hilde as she monitored every move Alan made from the back seat. Even though this is a "good will" mission, he was still being trained and evaluated.

"These colonies are one hundred percent academic. When Earth decided to blow themselves up in the 2085 war they came and scooped up every single student. No one came back, every man they took died. The colonies were left with emotionally shattered old professors and widows. The suicide rate was horrific. Like Luna our workforce was gone, but Earth did nothing to help us except wish us luck. We closed most colonies and organized around Perseverance City and other nearby colonies until the population recovered. When Earth pulled their heads out of their asses, several large universities came to our rescue and set prospective Martians. When the dust settled we found that the eastern bloc had occupied several abandoned colonies, so we vented them. Only Rock of Ages, now known as Kōngchéng remains, but the Martian war went on for several years. That's why you're not welcome in uniform."

Hilde was shocked. They didn't teach anything like that in Luna's history classes. "I didn't know. How did your population recover?"

"We're nerds, I'll bet the idea of mate sharing like on Luna never occurred to them. They used Invitro Fertilization and egg sharing along with collective families."

"So, Mars still hates Earth?"

"Mostly. We really hate the Eastern Bloc. My mom and dad raised Christa and I to not be judgmental about Earth," said Alan. "But that didn't apply to the Eastern Bloc. Dad hated them, and he really never said why." He rolled upside down and watched several Martian landmarks pass overhead while they inched closer to the surface of the red planet.

"Is that a colony?" asked Hilde, who was trying not to vomit.

"That was the Phlegra Montes colony. It was the biggest colony to be abandoned. When the Eastern bloc took it over, they trashed it. It's barely worth scrapping now."

"Wow," said Hilde as she watched the wreck of a colony pass overhead. "How can you fly like this?" she asked finally.

"I like looking at the ground, but the nose of the ship is in the way, so I roll over and the nose isn't in the way anymore."

"How much longer?" asked Hilde.

"You mean, are we there yet?"

"Yes, are we there yet daddy?" she asked, trying to be cute.

"Almost," said Alan. "We have to burn off some more speed, I'll do a hundred twenty degree turn and line up for landing."

He rolled over upright and opened the speed brakes on each side of the tail. Hilde was amazed. They barely covered in-atmosphere flying, but he's handling this like a pro. He pitched the F-119 to its side and made a hard turn over a sharp sided crater and lined up on a colony building in the distance. He was flying nose high, using the entire belly of the ship as a speed brake until it felt like it had stopped fighting and he brought the nose down. That's when he saw the patch on the side of the colony. It was a huge ugly patch made up of layers of sheet aluminum slathered with a thick gooey sealant. He flew a tight orbit around the colony, shedding the last of their speed, then using the positioning jets, he set it down near the huge ugly patch and shut down the ship.

"Check your fuel gages," said Hilde. "I'm showing over ninety percent remaining. Something is wrong."

"Yeah, that's right. I only fired the main engine once; the rest is the power generator running."

"You flew this all the way down with a dead stick?" asked Hilde, in shock.

"Yes ma'am," he said proudly. Then he announced he was going to open the canopy by saying, "canopy coming up."

"Canopy coming up," said Hilde. She didn't want to tell Alan, but she was prepared to eject, especially when he took that one hundred twenty degree turn on his left wing tip. As soon as Alan's canopy was up, he climbed out and jumped down to the ground.

"Jump down, I'll catch you," said Alan. Hilde was trying to find the footsteps built into the side of the F-119 Berserker, but they were better served for climbing up to the cockpit, not down. She let go and dropped into Alan's arms and they smiled at each other through their faceplates. "I'll always be here to catch you." He set her down, then opened up the stowage compartment and removed their garment bags and a long, thin box that he carried over toward the patch on the side of the colony's wall.

"Is this..." started Hilde, but she stopped when she saw Alan drop to his knees and he removed two pure white roses from the box. He placed the roses on the ground at the foot of the patch and remained on his knees for a full minute. Then she heard the click of him turning his radio back on.

"This is where it happened," he said as he stood up. "They said it was due to a seam failure, but the blowout happened between two seams. Also, the alarms went off, and the pressure doors closed before the blowout occurred. I know it was murder, but who were they trying to murder? Christa thinks it was Herbert Burgman sending a message to come to his damn meetings or be spaced."

"And you, what do you think?" asked Hilde.

"I think my folks were targeted and one hundred twenty people went with them to cover up the murder."

"Why would someone kill your parents?"

"I don't know, but I'm going to find out," said Alan as he led her to the six o'clock air lock and into the colony. "We have a room we can change in at the train station," and he led her to the station at the exact center of the ground-based wagon wheel space station. Unlike Luna, on Mars, the interconnecting tube trains come under the center of the colony. On Luna, the train station is separate from the colony and is connected by a walkway.

"For a colony, this is a nice room," said Hilde as she hung up her garment bag and began to pull off her pressure suit.

"This is about the size of the apartment I grew up in," said Alan.

"That's because you were rich," said a familiar voice. As usual, Ray let himself in without knocking. He was followed by Lars Olsen, who was not scowling but happy to see Alan. "There's my girl!" Ray cried and hugged a half-naked Hilde. "How's my little boy treating you, Commander?"

"Ooo! I can see where Alan gets his muscles from," she said as she hugged Ray.

"You know Uncle Ray?" asked Alan.

"You introduced us on Armstrong months ago and we have been in contact since. Uncle Ray is a leading proponent of getting Mars and Luna their own space forces," said Hilde, as she gave Ray a kiss on the cheek.

"Typical," said another voice, female this time. "Find a half-dressed woman and Uncle Ray is nearby."

"Christa!" shouted Alan, and he dashed to his sister. They hadn't seen each other in nearly a decade, and Christa was shocked at the change in her brother. He was so much taller, his chiseled muscles, his square jaw and that devil-may-care glint in his eyes. She was sure he had the girls lined up and never spent a night alone. "Christa, this is my senior training advisor, Commander Hilde Marks."

Hilde finally freed herself from Ray's arms and shook hands with Christa. "I've heard so much about you."

"And I've heard quite a bit about you," said Christa. She wanted to say, 'I picked the right trainer for my brother' and she fought to keep the jealousy out of her voice, but her little brother had turned into a man! A tall, handsome man that looked a lot like her father. And Alan was shocked to see that Christa had turned into their mother.

Hilde must have felt the jealousy from Christa because she pulled on a bra and turned her back to Alan. "Can you help me dear?" for some reason, having Alan hook her bra felt like she was sending a warning shot toward Christa.

"Love to," Alan said, and he fastened up her bra quickly and efficiently. Ray thought nothing of it, but Christa was shocked. This kind of behavior may work on Luna, but here on Mars? "I hope you folks don't mind but this is our changing room." Then he noticed a man who had entered behind Christa. "Who's the fellow?"

"Alan, Ray, Hilde, this is my associate professor, Jake Sapperstein."

"I hope you're keeping my sister warm in the tundra," said Alan as he shook Jake's hand.

"If she would help me chop firewood she'd stay nice and warm."

When Alan looked confused, Christa said, "We have an earth cabin! It's got a fireplace and an actual bathtub!"

"House," corrected Jake. "We have a cozy three-bedroom house with a fireplace and a bathtub. We have about three acres of woods on the Très Maigre River."

"A single-family house?" gasped Jake. "On a canal?" and Christa nodded happily. "Oh baby! You have my dream home!" he said as he lifted Christa and spun her around. Christa went on to describe her home in the great white north while Alan and Hilde continued to dress. Then Alan stopped and realized what Hilde was wearing. "I thought we agreed you wouldn't wear a uniform."

"Your uncle insisted differently," said Hilde. Her uniform was typical Western Alliance Navy, except all the gold that normally adorned her uniform was bright silver. The collar brass and the sleeve braid shone like chrome. Meanwhile, Alan's uniform had the same treatment, but his were ruby red. Even his space wings and atmosphere wings were red chrome.

"You two kids are the start of a new Alliance," said Ray. "Our colonies know we can't make it alone, and the Western Alliance realizes that the colonies are allies, not slaves, and they can't come here to Mars or Luna and take what they want. You two are going to be the core of a new navy. A Luna Prime Navy and a Martian Navy."

"And we're going to do what?" demanded Alan.

"For right now, you're going to be good Navy fighter pilots and set an example for your fellow Martians and Lunans to follow. In time Mars is going to be able to provide its own security without depending on earth to help enforce Martian law."

"What about Luna?" asked Hilde.

"Luna is going to be the example. You have to prove to Mars that it can be done."

"Mars is finished anyhow," said Alan. "We should concentrate on getting everyone off planet while we still have the water to do it." Mars was running out of water. Too many cargo ships and passenger liners were depending on meager Martian water supplies to provide reaction mass for their engines and are not bringing sufficient water to replenish their stores.

"We can fix that," said Ray. "Trust me."

After photos of Hilde and Alan were taken, there came photos of Alan and Christa, then Alan and Christa and Ray. Finally, Jake said to Ray and Alan, "there's a reason why I'm here, other than to honor Harrison and Laurel's memory..." he cleared his throat and took a deep breath. "Alan, I've come to ask for your blessing."

"Huh? I'm not a priest or anything..."

"Told ya," Christa whispered. She was sure that Alan wouldn't understand until it was fully spelled out. If they were talking about spacecraft or robots, he would have figured out what Jake said before Jake got the third syllable out. That's why Christa selected a Luna woman to train her little brother, to teach him about women, and life, along with flying and killing.

"Alan, Ray, I've asked Christa to marry me, but she won't answer until she's sure that it is ok with you two."

"Of course!" said Ray. He was well aware of Christa and Jake's relationship. Alan, on the other hand, was kept out of the loop for Western Alliance security concerns. What would happen if he fell into Eastern Bloc's hands knowing that his sister was the top spook for monitoring Mars?

Alan took Christa aside and said, "Is this the man you want to wake up next to forever?"

"He really is," said Christa. "He's the only one that will put up with me. We know each other and we love each other." The way that she said 'know each other' told Alan that this relationship was deeper and richer than he realized. He is crazy about Hilde as a friend, sex partner, and instructor, but as he gets to know her, his feelings become deeper and deeper.

"Then by all means, don't let me stand in your way." He gave his sister a little kiss, and Christa squealed with joy.

She stepped up to Jake and said, "my answer is yes, I will marry you."

"This calls for a celebration!" Ray stepped into the kitchenette and found a large pitcher of water in the refrigerator, a luxury on Mars. "Water anyone?" he asked. He poured a drink called a "White Martian" which is clear peach flavored vodka and water on ice.

"Umm, this drink is boring," said Hilde after a sip.

"Yes it is. Welcome to Mars," said Ray.

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Bradbury Canal, October 7, 2141

Memorial Day. Main Auditorium.

The ceremony was exactly what Alan had predicted. Dr. Herbert Burgman, the head of the socialist Martian People's Party, gave a long-winded speech about how all the dead gave their lives for The Cause. The Cause was equity; The Cause was to end unfairness. How dare huge corporations make huge amounts of money while research scientists only earn a living wage? (He failed to mention that as head of micro-research he was the highest paid "scientist" on three planets) Hilde grabbed Alan's hand. He was tensing up. She thought Burgman was disgusting for using a memorial service as a political platform, and she was sure Alan felt the same way. For his part, Alan decided that Dr. Burgman needed to be spaced the moment that he said, "Harrison and Laurel Scarlett were my dear friends and they gave their lives for The Cause..."

He was followed by Ray Clark, MP, who got a rousing round of applause. Somehow, the somber memorial ceremony became a rally. Or was it that these Martians were just happy that Dr. Herbert Burgman finally shut up? Ray told a few anecdotes about growing up with Laurel as his little sister, a young girl that was able to tear apart every electronic toy Ray had, and put them back together working better than before.

"I want to introduce you to Harrison and Laurel Scarlett's children. Christa is a professor of Art History and is planning a research dig at the remains of the Detroit Institute of Arts, and her fiancé Dr. Jake Sapperstein a professor of music history has done several research digs at the remains of the museum of Rock and Roll."

That line got enthusiastic applause. These egg head scholars love classical music: Bach, The Who, Beethoven, Led Zeppelin, Mozart, it's all the same to them. If Jake could dig up a piece that they've never heard before, he will become their hero.

"I'd also like to introduce you to Lieutenant JG Alan Scarlett and his trainer, Lieutenant Commander Hilde Marks. Please come up here." Alan and Hilde rose and walked up to the stage, where they stood at attention next to Ray. A gasp of shock went through the crowd. Military personnel here on Mars? "If you'll notice, their uniforms are different from Western Alliance Navy Uniforms. Commander Marks uniform is dressed in Luna Silver, and Lieutenant Scarlett's uniform is dressed in Martian Red."

The murmuring continued, but so did Ray. "The Lunar and Martian colonies depend increasingly on Earth for our security. Pirates and thieves are being financed by the Eastern Bloc and they're pillaging Mars, robbing us blind." That was a known issue. Pirates were becoming bolder and were scrapping abandoned colonies of the equipment that Mars could use. They were experimenting with drones that could dig precious ore reserves from Mars without paying fees or tariffs. The murmuring continued, but it was less angry.

Ray continued. "The Martian and Lunar parliaments sat down with command staff of the Navy and we said, 'We need security, but we don't want you dictating us.' And the Navy said, 'Why not do it yourselves? We'll supply the training if you supply the people. Equipment can always be found.' So here is our pilot program. Lieutenant Scarlett is the start of the Martian Space Force dedicated to keeping Mars safe from pirates. He was born and raised here in Bradbury Canal; Quadrant C. Commander Marks will be the core of the Lunar Space Force. She was born and raised on Luna Prime and is Lunar through and through."

"My dear friends did not raise their son to be a trained monkey in uniform!" shouted Eric Burgman.

Something snapped inside Alan's head. He could not let that bastard continue lying about his parents. He stepped up to Ray and whispered, "Step aside or I'll shove you aside."

"Please don't," said Ray, but Alan was angry.

The hall went silent as Alan Scarlett took the lectern and glared at Eric Burgman. Naval "chick" fliers in Alan's flights learned to dread that glare. That glare said, "You fucked up and now you're going to pay." Alan leaned into the microphone and said in a perfectly modulated voice, "You will address me as Lieutenant Scarlett, or Doctor Scarlett. I earned both titles with hard work and yes, I am a doctor of Astrophysics. Your next reference to me as a monkey will be your last. I promise you that."

The auditorium went silent as a tomb. It's like all of Mars was holding its breath, waiting for the next word to be spoken. Would it be this son of Mars who was wearing a uniform they were raised to hate? Or would it be this son of a bitch that bullied and terrorized their families with threats of water and heat being cut off if you didn't vote his way? Instead, it was some wag in the back that shouted, "YOU TELL HIM LIEUTENANT!" The tension was ended with laughter, the laughter of watching a statue of Stalin being torn down, of watching Saddam Hussein be pulled from his hiding hole. The tyrant was dead, long live the lieutenant!

Alan continued. "Here and now, I pledge my life to protecting the people and the colonies of Mars. If I have to do it by myself armed only with a shovel because of hate filled people like Doctor Eric Burgman, that's how I will do it." Alan was shocked at the applause he got from that statement. Was it the statement or was it he stood up to Eric Burgman?

"I hereby make this promise to you and your children. I dedicate my life to Mars, to her protection and her fair governance and I challenge all young men and women to do the same. Maybe for a couple of years, maybe for a career. It's not for everyone but what higher calling is there than service to our fellow Martians?"

"What kind of life is that?" shouted Dr. Burgman over the applause.

Alan whirled his hate and anger at the man he believed killed his parents. "LIFE? You dare speak to me about LIFE? Where were you, Doctor Burgman? Where were you after you threatened and bullied my parents to attend a meeting, they had no interest or need to attend? They were not your friends; they hated you and thought you were stupid beyond salvation. Where were you when the doors closed on the meeting YOU arranged. Where were you when the Alarms went off AFTER the doors closed on YOUR meeting? Where were you when a hole was blown open in the auditorium AFTER the doors closed on YOUR meeting? Where were you cowering?"

"I don't have to stand for this!" shouted Doctor Burgman as he rose in anger.

"Then sit down and shut up or get the hell out of here!" The crowd went wild at his words. Finally! Somebody standing up to the bully of Bradbury Canal!

Burgman stomped off as the auditorium taunted and jeered at him. He suddenly realized that The Cause was dead. As he left, Alan held up his hand for quiet and said, "I know I'm just a chick, that is what they call us fledgling pilots, I'm just some space nerd drawing star charts and playing with my toy robot, but I know that if we stand together, we're stronger than standing apart. As a fellow Bradbury Canal science nerd, I implore you, elect a member of parliament maybe one from each quadrant? Let your voices be heard in Perseverance City."

The auditorium was abuzz with excitement. For decades they've been brow beaten into believing that the best way was a dim, dark path into Marxism which would make them separate from the rest of the planet. There was excited chatter when somebody said, "I nominate Alan Scarlett as the MP from Bradbury Canal!"

There was a lot of cheering, but Alan held up his hand. He was chuckling over their sudden excitement. "It's the uniform right? You're impressed by my uniform? The girls love it."

"I love it," laughed Hilde. She was amazed at how Alan held this group in his hand. One of her next tasks was to train him on group mission briefings, and it looked like that was going to be easy the way he handled this crowd.

"What do I do?" Alan whispered to Ray.

"Keep going, get someone to show up at Parliament and we'll figure out the legality later," he whispered.

Alan turned back to the crowd and continued. "If I remember, every quadrant has a duly elected supervisor, why don't we send them to Perseverance City to represent us at the Martian Parliament? We can figure out elections later. Let's make this date, October 7th our day of freedom, our election day!"

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Bradbury Canal, October 7, 2141

Sammy's Canteen

Alan, Hilde, Ray, Christa, and Jake sat in a place called Sammy's Canteen, a local pub. They all sat at a large table in the dimly lit bar in the center of C Quadrant, not far from where Alan and Christa were raised. Dr. Lars Olsen, the Man Mountain, paid for everything: drinks, meals, desserts. He just quit his job as an undercover thug for Eric Burgman and revealed himself as Personal Assistant to Ray Clark, MP.

"This used to be Mom and Dad's favorite gathering spot," said Alan.

"They'd throw darts and play pinochle all night long with their co-workers," said Christa.

"With paperweights?" asked Alan.

Ray realized what Alan was inferring and nodded, "yes, with paperweights."

Hilde noticed an odd reaction between Alan and Christa. Christa seemed pleased that there were paperweights, but Alan seemed upset. "What does that mean?" she whispered.

"It means they were monitoring conversations," whispered Alan. "They were fighting against Bergman." That was close enough to the truth, but his parents were actually fighting a much more potent adversary. Then, in a louder voice, he said, "If you'll excuse me," and he rose and headed to the bathroom.

As Ray was entertaining Hilde with stories of Noxie the Robot and his pal, the boy wonder, Alan Scarlett, Herbert Burgman, glanced into the bar. Seeing that Alan wasn't among the revelers, he stalked up to Lars and hissed, "I thought I told you to take care of them."

"I did take care of them. I bought everyone dinner," said the man that Burgman thought was named Stan.

"You idiot!" Herbert barked.

"There you go calling people names again," said Alan from right behind Burgman. Burgman spun and there was Alan. The son of the man he hated most was standing right behind him with his hands behind his back, blocking his exit. Burgman turned, but Lars had pushed back from the table, blocking his exit in the other direction. Alan continued. "I know what you did, and I'm going to find out why. Once I have that nailed down I will give you one chance to confess."

"Then what?" sneered Burgman, hoping to draw out a threat from Scarlett that he can take to the Parliament.

"Then I treat you with the same kindness you treated my parents."

"I did nothing!" said Burgman, but Alan continued to stare at him. This stare was another look he developed while training as a flight lead. Eventually they crack and Hilde couldn't believe how well her student could break down the hardened liar. "Out of my way," growled Burgman and he shoved past Alan, but Alan gave Burgman's right ankle a kick which caused his right foot to catch against his left leg and he went down flat on the floor.

"That looked painful, do you need help up?" asked Alan, but Burgman got up and scrambled away, burning with embarrassment. Alan took his seat next to Hilde and said innocently, "Did I miss anything?"

A fellow who had been at the meeting and watched Alan's confrontation with Burgman came up and said, "It's a damn shame you won't run for MP. That was a hell of a thing you did in there. None of us ever heard talk like that."

"I just said what was in my heart," said Alan as he shook hands with the fellow.

"We're going to make October Seventh Alan Scarlett day," the next fellow to shake his hand said.

"No, don't name it after me, what if I go get shot up? I won't be around to enjoy it. Call it what it is, Memorial Day and remember the people that were killed that day."

"And the people whose lives were destroyed," said a woman who was listening. She had a young girl with her, and Alan was sure she was ten years old. "My husband was in the auditorium waiting for me," she said. Her chin quivered as the most horrible day of her life came back to her. "I remember the auditorium doors slamming closed, I saw you and your sister hitting the doors... then the alarms... then boom! And my life... my life hasn't..." and she broke down in tears, as did her little girl.

"Oh," groaned Alan, and he took her and wrapped his soothing arms around the distraught woman. While he tried to calm the sorrowful woman, Christa crouched in front of the weeping girl.

"I lost my daddy too," she said as she hugged the little girl.

The girl's mother allowed herself to weep for her lost husband one last time. Tears of loneliness and anguish flowed freely. And anger. Her husband never got to see the beautiful child they had made together. "I wish I could say something that would make it easier," said Alan.

"You already did," she said as she wiped her tears off her uniform. "Thank you."

People were now lining up to shake Alan and Hilde's hands. "I just fly spaceships," said Alan.

"No," said another man who was there. "You stand up."

"Sometimes that's what it takes," said the next man. "One man stands up and soon we all realize that we can stand up too."

And on it went. People who didn't realize that they were free to decide for themselves were now thanking the man who reminded them it was possible.

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

Bradbury Canal, October 7, 2141

Departure.

In their dressing room above the train station, Hilde grinned and laughed at her student. "You really stuck your foot into it this time, little chick." Alan wasn't amused. He suddenly realized that all these people were pinning their hopes and dreams on him. What happens when he can't deliver, when he can't protect Mars? He sat looking at his hands. They were trembling. "Did you figure out who sent the message to you through Noxie?"

"It had to be Lars," said Alan softly. "He's a comm specialist."

Just then, Ray stepped into the room. "You're not dressed yet?"

"I'm..." Alan shrugged and went back to staring at his shaking hands.

"The enormity of what he did just sank in," said Hilde.

"What if I can't deliver what I promised to everyone?" groaned Alan.

Ray stood behind the seated Alan and began massaging his shoulders. "All you promised was to protect Mars against unnamed enemies. You didn't promise to lower taxes, give out free ice cream, or bring us enough water to fill a crater. You left that up to us, and that's good. A citizen should have a stake in his planet's future."

"But they're all counting on me," said Alan.

"Hey, buddy," Ray said softly. "Remember those ball games we used to watch?"

"Football?"

"No, baseball, the game with the bat. That game is the perfect analogy for a Martian. It's you against nine other people, and their job is to get you out. You are the leadoff batter, and you got on base. You've done your part, now it's up to us to bring you home. I'm taking Christa, Lars, the four district managers and a bunch of excited Martians back to Perseverance City with me on the 6:30 train. They can't wait to see you and your squadron do a fly-by."

"Huh? I told them no; they weren't doing a fly by."

Hilde patted his knee. "No honey bunch, you told them no flyby when you left for Mars. You mentioned nothing about a flyby when we return to the Borman."

Blushing furiously, Alan tried not to look at Hilde. She would just lick her lips and make him blush more. "Who authorized a flyby?"

"Captain Reisman," she said with a grin. Captain Reisman was the commander of the Borman and what he says goes.

"Ok, ok..." Alan gave a sigh of defeat. "We'll form up and parallel the train for a while before climbing back to orbit." He started to pull on his flight suit slowly as he considered the possibilities of what they could do.

"I know what you're thinking. Nothing fancy. Three flights of F-119's in formation should be enough," said Hilde.

"Three flights?" said Alan. A flight was two or more aircraft in formation. His unit flew flights of four ships. More than one flight is considered a..." You said Squadron didn't you."

"Uh huh," grinned Ray.

"You're the squadron commander," said Hilde. "You're getting it from both ends now."

"Wonderful," groaned Alan. The largest unit he's ever led was a flight of four, now he's leading a squadron of a dozen.

Hilde and Alan finally got their pressure suits on, and they inspected each other's suit. As they did, Christa and Jake stopped in to say goodbye. "Come visit us on earth when you get a chance," said Christa.

"Can you do me a favor?" asked Alan.

"Sure," said Christa.

"If you have a baby, please name it Harrison or Laurel."

She whispered in Alan's ear, "I'm due in April and her name is Alana. Alana Scarlett"

Alan threw his arms around Christa, so happy for her he could shout. "I suppose I had better do something to make her proud of her name."

"You already have. I can't wait to see you fly."

"We'll form up over the Jezero Crater and meet you there."

After shaking hands with Ray, Jake and Lars, Alan and Christa walked off to the six o'clock air lock. As they walked through Bradbury Canal, people stepped out of their office or residence and said, "Thank you," or gave them a thumbs up. A few even offered to carry their garment bags or helmets. At the air lock, a small group of people gathered to say goodbye and ask, "When will you be back?"

"I'll be back in a few months when I can take leave," Alan said as he put on his helmet. With another quick check of each other's pressure suit, helmet seal, glove seal, and a check of the oxygen pack on their backs, they stepped into the airlock.

Hilde's voice came over the radio. "I think you hit a solid double and are in position to steal third."

"You watch baseball?"

"My dad said that my first words were Go Yankees!"

Alan was ready to take a nap, but the route to their bunk was blocked by a squadron formation flyby. "Let's go fly."

They walked past the big ugly patch that had become the grave marker for seventy-five Martians and discovered that there were more flowers that were placed at the site, along with Alan's white roses. The F-119 Berserker had a light coating of dust, but that's Mars. After a detailed walk around inspection, he and Hilde got into the cockpit and Alan prepared for start-up.

"Are you ok?" asked Hilde. In answer, Alan opened his canopy and stood up on his ejection seat, then leaned over the windscreen and picked up a rose that was lying on the nose radome of the Berserker. "You know, I think you hit a triple," said Hilde with a laugh.

"I love Martians," said Alan. He sat back down and put the rose in his map sleeve, then made sure he was locked in his seat. "Let's do an atmosphere check with a vacuum start," said Alan.

"Here you go," said Hilde, and the atmosphere checklist appeared on his monitor. Even though she was an instructor, there are functions that only the "GIB" (Guy In Back) could fulfill, so she was also part of the air crew. One of those was selecting the right checklist and putting it on the pilot's screen.

Alan checked the wing positions, flaps, slats, spoilers, but since the atmosphere on Mars was so thin, they couldn't use the air breathing function of the N-22 engines. The power unit roared to life, and the Berserker shook as it woke up. Lights flashed, indicator dials spun, the wings and tail planes shuddered and jumped to alignment. "Ready to fly," Alan announced.

"Ready to fly," said Hilde.

"Power coming up," said Alan, and he brought the N-22 online. The thrust was directed down, and he opened the throttle gently, which pushed the Berserker up into the Martian sky. As soon as the Berserker was ten meters off the ground, he began directing the thrust backwards, which shoved the Berserker forward. He was soon flying rather than hovering and he did an orbit around the parameter of Bradbury Canal. In the atmosphere, the Berserker howls, but in the thin air of Mars it just rumbles. However, the Berserker's rumbling vibrated the walls of Bradbury Canal and everyone inside heard that rumble. Those that were at the outside edges and were near a window were able to see something most Martians had never seen before: a fighter spacecraft in flight.

"That was a very smooth takeoff," said Hilde. "I never taught you that. How did you figure it out?"

"You never taught me to read either," said Alan, ever the wise-ass. "I've been aching to do that since I was thirteen."

"Berserker leader this is Berserker squadron," came the call over the radio.

"Berserker Squadron this is Berserker lead. What is your position?"

"We are aerostatic over Bradbury Canal, over."

"Lets form up at one KM over Jezero Crater about three quarters of the way to Perseverance City. We'll do our flyby over a trainload of VIPs."

"Roger lead, penetrating atmosphere now."

Alan opened up the throttle and was supersonic in the thin atmosphere in no time. They were flying at the level of one kilometer above MAGL (mean average ground level) which is a nice altitude over flat terrain, but there are many mountains and pillars that extend far above one kilometer. Alan deftly and smoothly buzzed between these obstacles, rocketing across the open Martian terrain, the train tracks off to their left and the train far behind them. "You learned to fly like this in a Jeep, right?" she asked.

"Yeah, and a twenty-five-ton Thornycroft-Intrall." Alan said with a grin. "I was a truck driver. They trained us to handle that monster by speed runs through the Schiaparelli, Burton, and Lowell Canyons. It really teaches you to pay attention to everything."

"Jeezus," groaned Hilde and she held on tight. A Thornycroft-Intrall is a flying truck used for heavy deliveries between colonies here on Mars and on the moon. "You're trying to impress me right?"

"No, this is a trip down memory lane, I haven't buzzed Mars for about four years," said Alan as he dodged up a narrow canyon while maintaining his altitude.

"You guys never did low level formation flying before, have you?" asked Hilde. She knew damn well that they hadn't.

"No time like the present to learn. Do we have them on radar?"

Rather than answering, Hilde brought up their position on Alan's radar screen. "Berserker Squadron, Berserker lead, Form up on me."

"Roger, A flight copies."

"B flight copies."

"C flight copies."

Alan and Hilde shot out of the canyon and sprinted across the flat, open Martian plain toward a sharp ridged mountain range, but as Alan gained altitude, she could see that the mountain range was the lip of a deep crater. "Jezero crater," said Alan. "Ray and I constantly make jokes about filling this up with water and going fishing here."

"Ha. Funny," said Hilde, who was trying to fight back nausea. She was not used to low-level sprints across the surface of a planet. She was a deep space girl whose idea of hot flying was a well-timed approach to an orbital station.

Alan kept his left wing low as they circled the immense crater, and Hilde studied the jagged mountains below her. If nothing else, it would be a pretty place to be buried.

"A flight." At that radio call, Hilde noticed a Berserker formed up on either side of them and one more was trailing.

"B flight."

"C flight."

A quick look at the radar showed all eleven members of the Berserker squadron had formed up on Alan. "Here we go, folks. Nice and steady across the open plane, we fly alongside that train, then one by one we head for the Borman. DO NOT look at the ground, do not look at the train. Look at me. I'll tell you when to leave. Keep in mind these people are going to trust us to protect them, so let's make it look like we do this for a living and not leave any new craters in Mars."

"A flight copies."

"B flight copies."

"C flight copies."

It was obvious to Hilde that the flight leaders were chuckling as they responded, and soon they were rocketing across the desert and pulling up alongside the high-speed train. Hilde could see people lined up at the windows, watching them in shock as the twelve Berserker fighters tried to hold a good steady formation.

When Alan saw Christa waving at him madly, he made the call that his squadron was aching to hear. "Ok. mission is a success, let's go home one by one," said Alan. "Twelve go NOW... Eleven go NOW..." and he counted down the flight positions about three seconds apart and as he said "NOW" the named ship shot off into the brown Martian sky. The people on the train were taking pictures now, clapping and hooting at the show. Those were their sons and daughters! And when it came to Alan and Hilde's turn to leave, Alan snapped a perfect victory roll, his wingtips missing the ground by inches, Hilde screaming like a young girl on a rollercoaster, before rocketing into the sky.

"I'm going to fucking KILL YOU!" shrieked Hilde, as Alan yanked back the stick, and they roared toward orbit.

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NSS Borman, October 7, 2141

Outbound from Mars.

Recovering at the Borman took longer than expected, mostly because Alan had never flown in a twelve ship formation before and he didn't realize how long it would take. They were nearly out of reaction mass fuel by the time they shut down and climbed out of their Berserker and he realized they should have recovered in fuel remaining order.

"Mission debriefing immediately after maintenance debrief!" Alan called as he and Hilde grabbed their garment bags and disappeared into the back area. They had dashed to the locker room, kicking off from hatchways and gangways as they floated to the locker room. There, they cleaned up as best they could. Zero G showers don't exist. Spacemen take a "Birdbath" as Alan's mother Laurel called them. First a scrub down with a damp soapy cloth, then a rinse with a clear water wet cloth. It didn't take Hilde and Alan long to get their shower down to a science on these zero gravity carriers. Normally showers are a time of closeness and togetherness, but Alan looked sad and distant.

"Why do you look so sad?" asked Hilde.

"Oh, it's silly. Don't worry about it."

"Tell me," she demanded in that tone of voice that he couldn't deny.

"We're another week closer to the end of training," he groaned.

"Don't tell me you fell in love," she scolded.

"It's worse. Much worse." He looked into her glistening blue eyes. "You're my best friend."

"I'm sure you had a million friends..."

"No. Not me. Not on Mars. I was a nerd among nerds, and so was Christa. We were each other's only friends. Just promise me, when this is over we can still be friends."

"Oh, of course we can! I wouldn't want it any other way." She gently kissed Alan, knowing that he lied about falling in love with her. She knew she should have told him on day one... For his part, Alan was relieved, but he felt like she was holding something back from him. He felt like there was a lot being held back from him by everyone. "Let's see that uniform..." said Hilde, and she checked his Martian uniform, and he checked her Lunar uniform. "Let's go," she said.

They slipped on Velcro boots and headed off to the briefing room where the flight crews waited. They stepped into the briefing room and there was a video of Alan's speech at the Bradbury Canal six hours ago. "I'm never going to hear the end of this," he whispered to Hilde.

"I think you'll be surprised," she replied.

The video ended with Alan's impassioned plea to make October 7th their Freedom Day. When the lights came up, the entire group was hooting and clapping, and when they saw Alan and Hilde in their Martian and Lunar uniforms, they unstrapped their seat belts that kept them from floating away from their desks and stood on their Velcro boots and applauded. "Goddamn!" cried someone from the back. "You're going to put me out of business."

"TEN-HUT!" came the cry of the chief of the boat from the back of the briefing room and in floated Captain Garrett Reisman, commander of the NSS Borman. He floated up to the front and planted his Velcro boots on the Velcro deck and said, "as you were." The squadron sat back down and strapped in. "That truly was inspiring, Lieutenant. You're going to put me out of a job if you keep that up," said the Captain as he shook Alan's hand. "First a little housekeeping. Do we have any Martians here?"

Alan and another trainee, Lieutenant Anna Vasquez, raised their hands. "You're a Martian Lieutenant?"

"My parents are Martian... but I was born in Columbia. I have applied for Martian citizenship."

"I'm going to need a ruling on that. I'll get back to you. Do we have any Lunas?" Three people raised their hands. "Ok you're all instructors. That's not a problem. Here's the situation. Lieutenant Scarlett did a pretty good sales job, but the rest of you sealed the deal." The video screen came up again, showing a video taken from the train. The barren Martian desert slid by, but in the distance something approached. Soon on the screen were twelve F-119 Berserkers in formation, racing across the Martian desert, growing closer and closer to the camera. Excited chatter of onlookers could be heard as the formation flew alongside the train, then one by one they zoomed off into the sky. Whoops and gasps of amazement were heard from the train passengers when each F-119 shot skyward. When Alan performed his barrel roll and shot up to the stars, the onlookers burst into applause. Then they could hear Ray Clark saying, "Those are the men and women that have volunteered to help protect Mars!" followed by wild cheering from the observers on the train.

"XO, could you read the document we just received from Mars?"

"Yes sir," the executive officer cleared his throat and continued. "By unanimous vote, the Parliament of Mars has accepted the Western Alliance Navy Chief of Staff's offer of assistance and will be proud to host the Naval Fighter Squadron that put on such a show of airmanship and dedication to the Martian cause."

"That fighter squadron is you," said Captain Reisman. "When you are complete with training, the forty third naval fighter training squadron will become the Forty-Third Interplanetary Fighter Squadron. And because Mars requires a Martian to command their outfits, Mister Scarlett will be your new commander."

He paused for the applause to die down. "Additionally, the Navy is forming up the Forty-Fourth fighter squadron dedicated to service on Luna. When training is complete, Commander Marks will take over the Forty-Fourth as commander. The forty third and the forty fourth will work together to protect and serve the colonies that are depending on them. Mister Scarlett and Commander Marks are wearing the uniforms authorized by CINCNAV for Martians and Lunars serving for Mars and Luna in the forty-third and the forty-forth. Martians and Lunars that are serving in other units will wear standard Navy uniforms. Mister Scarlett, Commander Marks, my stateroom in thirty minutes. Carry on!" and with that, he floated out of the briefing room.

Of course, Alan and Hilde knew all about this and were sworn to secrecy, but they could see the wisdom of that decision by the jubilation in their trainee's eyes. The timing of the announcement was everything, and now these people were tied together tightly as a unit.

Alan tried to calm down his squadron, but they were excited and the chatter went on far too long. "Ok! Calm down. Keep in mind that when our training is done, the training really begins!" the room went silent and Alan explained. "Your senior training advisors, who are diligently sitting in your back seat helping you fly your crate, will be heading off to greener pastures and become the pilots of the Forty-Fourth. When they do that, we will have twelve new RIOs to train. And your trainers will be training RIOs too, over in the forty-fourth."

"I foresee one-on-one, and two-on-two engagements between the Forty Third and the Forty Fourth... strictly for training of course," said Hilde, and her squadron went wild. They could imagine the betting pools forming immediately.

"Will we be stationed on Mars?" asked one excited young flier.

"No," said Alan. "You probably wouldn't like it there anyhow. People read books for entertainment; you wouldn't fit in." That caused a lot of laughter and Alan continued. "Martians are paranoid. There's me, a known native Martian, son of Martian martyrs, nephew of a very popular Martian celebrity, but all they saw was this uniform. During the 2085 wars, Mars was screwed and left for dead by earth and Mars has not forgotten."

"So where will we go?" asked Mario Runco, a top pilot and flight lead of B flight.

"Don't know. We'll probably be stationed on ship, or maybe at Duke station, but those are guesses." Duke station was a small wagon wheel station being built at Sol/Mars Lagrange point 1 (Lagrange point 1 is the point of gravitational equilibrium where the sun and Mars' gravity equal each other. Point 1 is between the sun and Mars and fairly close to Mars, Point 2 is on the opposite side of Mars from the sun, the same distance away from Mars as Point 1. Point 3 is on the opposite side of the sun from Mars.)

"That would be cool, living on a new station and not some ancient wreck built before the war," said Mario. Most orbital stations were built before 2085.

"Don't jinx it," said Alan. "There's plenty of abandoned colonies down there where they could place us."

They spoke about the fly-by for a little while, then Alan said, "I have to go talk to Captain Reisman, I want you guys to do two things. One is to thank your trainer for doing such a great job, otherwise we'd be split up and leading a handful of NUBs. (NUB = New Unexperienced Body) The Navy might think this is a waste of time and money, we were supposed to be scattered among the squadrons as experts, and now we're going to keep all that expertise to ourselves. Thank your trainer for helping keep the team together."

"What's the other job?" asked Cathy Coleman, his wingman. Cathy was a cute, pixie like earth girl who could fly the wings off any rocket that couldn't keep up with her. She was assigned a male trainer, a tall, lanky looking fellow named Scott Altman. Like Alan was rooming with Hilde, Cathy was rooming with Scott.

"Come up with a name for our unit. 'The Fighting Forty Third' is for press releases and news reels. I want something we can put on a patch for our flight suits."

"Aye aye, sir!" called out the new squadron.

"Dismissed," called Alan, then he and Hilde headed off to the Captain's quarters.

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

NSS Borman, October 8, 2141

Quarterdeck

"How the hell did you do that? " Demanded Captain Reisman. "How the hell did the two of you get Mars, Luna, and the Western Alliance working together?"

"It's just two fighter squadrons, there may be more later, we don't know," said Alan as he sniffed his drink. It smelled like the trees on Guam. Reisman had offered Alan and Hilde a squeeze bottle, the usual method of drinking in space. A quick sip told Hilde what this drink was.

"I haven't had a gin and tonic in ages. This is wonderful, thank you," said Hilde. As for Alan, he didn't drink, so he did not know what was in his bottle. In fact, he was too young to drink on Mars or Earth, but he was a commander of men and women training to go into battle. A sip of gin wasn't going to kill anybody. "Where to now?" asked Hilde.

Captain Reisman looked at a clipboard that was hanging magnetically on a wall. "Basic command flying. Two ship, four ship, eight ship, twelve ship formations and tactics. We'll need a big, open piece of space with a rock or two to avoid, so we'll head for L5."

L5 was a Lagrange point on Mars' orbit, approximately 60° behind Mars. Occasionally, an asteroid will be caught in Lagrange 5 and they're known as a "Trojan Moon." All of Mars' trojan moons were known and mapped and were not a challenge. "What do you want to do after that Mister Scarlett, junior squadron commander?"

"Asteroid belt," said Alan. His words were slurring, and he was feeling dizzy. Did Captain Reisman drug his drink? He just took a single sip from his drink, and Reisman handed him a second drink. He closed the lid and put his first drink in his pocket and took very tiny sips from the second drink. He loved the lime/juniper flavor of the drink, but his spinning head told him it was dangerous and the second drink went in a different pocket.

"Why the asteroid belt?"

His eyelids felt heavy, but he said, "Follow th' leader. Formation flying in asteroid fields, great training for truck drivers, even better for fighter drivers."

"Truck drivers?" asked Captain Reisman.

"He used to drive truck," said Hilde. "He said it was a twenty-five ton Thornycroft-Intrall. Their training was racing through Martian canyons."

"Do you still play with your toy robot Mister Scarlett?" asked Captain Reisman. He produced Noxie and held Noxie's face close to Alan's face. "I used to have a Noxie too, I couldn't get it to do a damn thing."

Alan wasn't sure if he couldn't answer or he just didn't want to. He knew that Captain Reisman was taunting him for some reason, but he didn't care. How did he get Noxie? All he knew was that he was more relaxed than he's been in a long time... the morning he met Hilde Marks. That was such a sweet awakening... to wake up next to a beautiful woman that didn't mind a young man's exploring fingers. He opened his eyes a little and there was his old pal Noxie. "Noxie, record," whispered Alan. He smiled because it was a standing rule to focus on Hilde. He gets amazing photos and video of Hilde from Noxie...

The next thing that he remembered was Hilde screaming, "NO! I'M MARRIED!" Alan opened his eyes and even though his vision was blurry, he could see that Captain Reisman had Hilde pinned in a corner and was ripping her uniform open. He struggled, but found himself trapped in his seat. The Velcro seat belt was closed over his arms, pinning them to his lap. He pulled an arm free and tore open the Velcro...

Hilde was trying to push Reisman away from her, but he closed his hands around her wrists and had her pinned in a corner. He then grasped both of her wrists with one large hand and he pawed at her exposed breasts with the other. "Sharing these beauties with a schoolboy and not your captain? That's possibly a violation of... awwk!"

Fighting the grogginess in his head, Alan floated up behind Reisman and put a good solid choke hold on him. He was angry enough to kill his captain. Alan braced his feet on the wall on either side of Hilde and shoved, launching him and Garrett Reisman away from a shocked Hilde. "Noxie, transmit recent data, Mailing List One... ooof!" They slammed headfirst into Reisman's desk. The Captain worked his way free from Alan's grip and slapped the intercom on his desk.

"SECURITY! I'M BEING ATTACKED!"

Hilde tried to pull herself together, but he... she couldn't believe she was attacked by a fellow officer. She heard a whirring and saw Alan's toy, his good luck charm, Noxie. The little robot was using its cooling fans to propel itself and it was hovering in front of Hilde, looking at her as if it was concerned for her. "Noxie, go home." The little robot that looked like it was built out of child's building blocks lowered to the ground and with its little Velcro feet walked to the door and waited patiently. Noxie didn't wait long. Four burly marines charged into the room and unnoticed, the little 1.5 foot tall robot left with its funny, stiff-legged gait and a quiet rip-rip-rip of its Velcro covered feet.

"Grab them!" shouted Captain Reisman. Before Alan could realize what was happening, a marine had him in a hammerlock hold. He looked over and saw that they were putting hand cuffs on Hilde. With her arms bound behind her, her exposed boobs were on full display.

"Let her cover up!" demanded Alan.

"Shut up rocker." Rocker was the slang term that Marines used for fighter crew members. It's short for Rocket Man, and the marines think it's an insult. Even in the 22nd Century, Marines aren't hired for their brain power.

"That's my wife, Leatherface," shouted Alan.

"That's Leatherneck," snapped a marine.

"Not with your ugly mug... Let her cover up!"

The Marine glared at Alan. "Do you think you're funny Rocker?"

Alan returned his glare and snarled, "If my dog had a face like yours I'd shave his ass and make him walk backwards." Alan got an elbow in the gut for that, but the other three marines started laughing and one re-cuffed Hilde's hands in front so she could hold her uniform closed.

Soon they were locked in the brig, a white room divided into three cells whose walls were clear plexiglass. The light was painfully bright and not conducive to napping. "Ten years in the navy and I've never been in the brig," groaned Hilde from her cell. "I've never seen the brig."

"I always thought it would be dark, and dank," said Alan. "I'm sorry for what happened, I should have known better but I didn't realize how powerful alcohol was..."

"I didn't realize you were such a lightweight, I would have suggested fruit juice," said Hilde, trying to laugh. "It's not your fault, it was all Reisman." Their cells were side by side, divided only by a wall of Plexiglass with vents cut into the walls.

"I only took two sips, one from each drink he gave me."

She looked at Alan in shock. She's never heard of even the lightest weight drinker passing out that easily. "That fucking bastard. You were roofied."

"What?" Being roofied didn't sound pleasant to Alan.

"You were drugged, he slipped you a mickey," said Hilde, then she grew silent. They were quiet for a long time and then Hilde said, "That was sweet what you did, thank you. Most guys would have joined in with him..."

"No, I don't believe that's true... not me anyhow, and not in my squadron," said Alan firmly. "Not to anyone, and not to my work wife... Never."

"You know he's going to put you in jail," she said. "If we had a child the baby would be a college grad before you got out."

"I don't care, as long as you are safe... just don't name the baby after me." He couldn't hold it back any longer. This was probably goodbye, and he had to say it. "I love you Hilde. I know you said not to, and not to say it, but I don't love you like a girlfriend, it's something more... something real. A companion in life, a real wife, the death till you part kind of partner. No, I love you like an old friend. One of those friends where you talk all the time and you never tire of each other." He chuckled and said something that popped into mind. "A sister... yeah, a sister with benefits. Someone I can be comfortable with and trust with my darkest secrets. I don't understand but there it is and if you want to tell me to leave you alone I'll say goodbye now and leave you alone." He sighed miserably and stared at the walls.

"Like a wingman who is always on your wing no matter what kind of pattern you fly... I know what you mean... I... that's exactly how I love you... I've never met a man I could trust so fully..." Tears don't fall in Zero G, they just pool up in your eyeballs and need to be wiped away. Hilde was glad they were sitting back to back; she didn't want to see the pain and betrayal on Alan's face when she said what was next... "When I told Reisman that I was married, I wasn't referring to you... I have a wife on Luna. That's who I save myself for." That wasn't the whole truth. She was married to a woman who is waiting for her on Luna, but she was really thinking of Alan when Reisman attacked her. She's had several 'work husbands' over her career as a trainer, but none with the sweet, yet strong demeanor of Alan Scarlett.

"And she lets you sleep with me..." It wasn't a question; it was a sigh of sadness and regret. He should have known. Lunars' idea of sex and marriage is far different from Martian arranged marriages and Earth love based relationships. "I never should have..." his words failed him. He finally said, "Yin Chao is a lucky woman."

"How did you know her name?"

"Noxie told me... She must be in your public records... Reisman is probably taking him apart now."

"I told him to go home," said Hilde. She smiled at the silly toy robot. It had an incredible array of capabilities because of its numerous wired and wireless interfaces, its multiple sensors and supermicro processor. Most kids that get a Noxie are happy to be able to get it to say hello and walk in a programmed circle, but it's far, far more capable than that. He was more like a pet or a friend to Alan than a toy. "How did Reisman get his hands on Noxie?"

"He must have gone through our quarters," said Alan. "I wonder what he was looking for."

"Aw shit, I know what he was looking for," groaned Hilde. "Some of my underwear is missing."

"Damn," moaned Alan. They were sitting back to back on a bench that extended through both cells. Their fingers were touching through ventilation gaps in the plexiglass wall. "How bad did he tear up your uniform?"

"He tore open my jacket, blouse and bra, I have no buttons left. I have to hold it closed." She turned around on the bench and Alan saw her beautiful breasts floating proudly.

A marine guard stepped into the area to check on the prisoners and Alan called out, "Marine! Please send someone to Bunk 2-23 and get Commander Marks a flight suit. Please?"

"Is that an order sir?" asked the young Marine.

"No, it's a request from a distraught husband who doesn't want his wife's body on display."

"Wife sir?"

"Yes sergeant. Would you want your wife's body on display after she was attacked by her boss?"

<><><><><>

A young Marine drifted through 'officer country' to the bunks area. Bunks on a ship are just that, a single mattress that will rotate for gravity or acceleration. The bunk has a sleeping bag to keep you from drifting off in zero g and a storage area for uniform and private items. Officers bunks are tall enough to stand in (or wide enough to lie sideways in depending on which way the ship is running) with several drawers for storage of uniforms and other clothing.

He found Bunk 2-23 and noticed that there was a Noxie robot toy hanging upside down from the Velcro ceiling. They're cute. His older brother had one that he programmed to pull a little Tinkertoy wagon around their living room. Seeing a toy or trinket hanging near a door in "Officer's Country" is not uncommon. The area looks like an endless line of doors on each side of the hall with small, stenciled numbers on the door. There's no "landmarks" to navigate from, so the occupants often hung something by their door to make the door easy to find.

The Marine opened the sliding door and stepped in. There were clearly two residents of this bunk, but he wasn't told who to get a flight suit for, so he grabbed one from each dresser drawer. Just as he was about to leave, he heard a whirring that ended with a click. He turned and saw the Noxie standing in his charging stand, its large round eyes spinning joyfully as it charged its depleted batteries. The young Marine closed the bunk door and headed back to the brig.

He was young, and he was married to the prettiest girl ever born on Armstrong Station, and when he heard Alan said his wife was attacked by her boss, the young marine was livid. He didn't know who Lieutenant Scarlett was lying or not about the Commander's boss. All he knew for sure was the thought that made him angry, and he shared the story and his feelings with his fellow marines after he delivered the flight suits.

The marine was wrong about Noxie. Noxie wasn't charging. Alan installed a micro-generator powered by Thorium and Deuterium, and it would last for decades. Noxie was connected to the communications array of the NSS Borman and was now transmitting the pictures in his memory to everyone on Mailing List One.

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

Perseverance City, October 9, 2141

Robotics Lab

Finally! It was months late, but they got the medical bot. The Admiral kept his promise and speed transported an ABC (Atomic, Biological, Chemical) detecting bot to Mars, and the folks at the Robotics lab were excited. Ray and Christa were ready to enter the Kōngchéng Colony. A Jeep dropped the bot off about three miles from Kōngchéng and it took a full Martian day to make its way to Kōngchéng. Then, as they were close enough to enter, the bot stopped and extended its solar panels and spent a day topping off its batteries. "Are we ready?" asked Ray as Christa Scarlett and Jake Sapperstein painfully programmed the bot with tests they wanted it to perform. As the bot approached an open air lock on Kōngchéng, a printer in the office came to life and began spitting out images.

"Jake can you check that? It's driving me crazy."

"Uhhh... Mister Clark, you need to look at this..." Jake handed Ray a stack of pictures that came out of the printer, they were marked with source (Noxie 02:AA:B3:92:1G:F4) date, time, and approximate location which was a jumble of letters and numbers that he was sure that his nephew Alan, the navigational genius, would understand.

The pictures were of a man in a naval uniform ripping open Hilde's uniform. They showed him struggling with her, tearing off her bra and exposing her breasts. Then came the photo of him, one hand holding her wrists together and pinning her wrists above her head and his other hand shoved down her trousers, groping for her pussy. The look on Hilde's face broke Ray's heart. She looked so terrified yet also resigned to her fate. The last series of pictures showed Alan putting a choke hold on the guy and prying him away from Hilde. The look on her face was pure love as she watched her trainee struggling with her rapist. In the last three shots, Alan and Hilde were grabbed by marines and led away in chains.

"God Damn It!" roared Ray, and he stepped up to a framed photograph on the wall. It was a photo of Alan, Christa and their parents, Harrison and Laurel. It was their last holiday together and Alan had just figured out how to get Noxie to take pictures. He compared the Noxie ID numbers between that ten-year-old photo and the ones fresh off the printer, and it was the same robot that took both pictures. He took his stack of photos and headed for the door. "I'm heading to the Prime Minister's office, shut everything down and keep an eye on the printer. Come tell me if something else comes from Alan's Noxie."

He took a high speed moving sidewalk to the Prime Minister's office and after a hurried word with the PM's secretary; he was ushered into the second most powerful man on Mars' office. "What is so urgent old friend?" asked Avery Davis, the Prime Minister.

"Sir, I may have made a tremendous blunder regarding the Martian Self Defense Forces."

"What do you mean? The people actually love the idea, they're crazy about those kids in the ships... what did you call them... Bizzarro something?"

"Berserker, it's named for an ancient Viking warrior. Sir, I just received these photographs showing a command grade officer assaulting one of our self-defense pilots... the head pilot instructor mind you, and it appears that the only Martian in the navy is being led away in irons."

"No..." muttered Avery, "Not again. Mars cannot stand for this again." The memory of Martian men being led off like slaves to die on earth was still bitter in the hearts of all Martians. He panted and tried to calm down... but a Martian in chains? If this ever got out, the under equipped people of Mars would declare war on Earth. It would mean the end of Mars as a populated planet, but Mars has suffered enough.

"Sir, the woman he's assaulting is Lieutenant Commander Marks, she's the head of the Lunar squadron," said Ray.

"By God this will not stand!" The Prime Minister paced his office and then shouted, "JESSICA!"

Shocked that her boss was shouting, Jessica Pine dashed into the Prime Minister's office, expecting the worst. But there was no blood, so that fear was gone. "Jessica dear, send a radio telegram to Admiral Piper. He's the Commander in Chief of the Navy. Copy Alex Hovey, the Lunar PM. I demand to know why Admiral Piper's people are assaulting and raping the very people pledged to defend Luna and Mars. Include these photographs."

Jessica's eyes grew round. She's been Avery Davis's secretary for decades and she's never seen him this angry before. Then she saw the photographs...

"Walk with me Ray," said Avery and he led Ray out and into the Perseverance City political center.

"Where to?" asked Ray.

"We're off to see who is actually behind the curtain running the show," said Avery.

"Pardon?"

"You, me, the parties that make the parliament, they're pablum. We discuss moving sidewalks and changing water filters. That's the stuff that makes Mars work, but it's not the stuff that runs and controls Mars. I'm taking you to see the man that actually runs the planet."

"Who?"

"Benjamin Curtis."

"The president?" Ray had to stifle a chuckle. The President, known as Ben to everyone, was a guy that was re-elected every four years. He took bills that were handed to him by the parliament and the senate, and he signed them into law or vetoed them. He appointed judges, and he cut ribbons at grand openings.

"The president," said Avery firmly.

"He's on vacation half the year."

"He's on Earth half the year fighting for more water." Avery looked around to make sure they weren't being overheard. "Mars is doomed if we don't get more water," he whispered. "If we don't get more water by 2151 we won't be able to evacuate the women and children."

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

NSS Borman, October 11, 2141

Captain's Mast

Alan was called to the Captain's office in hand cuffs. He was wearing a flight suit trimmed in Martian red, but he had pulled off his name patch. Fliers take all forms of identification off their flight suits when flying in combat. Alan hoped it sent that message to Captain Reisman. He was in the outer office and Chief McCoy was briefing him. "Lieutenant, you are going to be charged with violation of Article 90, Assault of a Superior Commissioned Officer. But we can make this all go away. Just plead guilty, Captain Reisman gives you thirty days and it's over."

'But then so is my career,' thought Alan. Once found guilty of any article in the code of Military Justice, an officer is no longer eligible to reenlist. He just nodded in response. The chief gestured to a Marine guard who leaned over to unlock Alan's leg irons but Alan said, "Leave them. You're just going to be putting them back on in a couple of minutes."

The Marine looked up at Chief McCoy, who just shrugged. "It's his Captain's Mast." The captain's office door opened and the Marine guards actually pulled Alan's Velcro covered feet from the Velcro carpet and carried his weightless body into the captain's office and planted him in front of the captain's desk. The captain glared at Alan, waiting for a salute, but Alan's hand cuffs were chained to his leg irons so he couldn't lift his hands higher than his naval. "Lieutenant JG Alan B. Scarlett reports sir," said Alan, staring into Captain Reisman's eyes.

"A captain's mast starts with a salute, Lieutenant," said Captain Reisman.

Alan continued staring at Reisman and wordlessly shrugged, then he lifted his wrists to show that his arms were restrained. "It's not a big deal, sir. A salute is a sign of respect. I lost all respect for you when you assaulted my trainer."

"You call her your wife," growled Captain Reisman. He stepped out from behind his desk and stood in front of Alan. "Do you know that she's married to a woman?"

"Yes sir."

"Do you know that you're not the first work husband she's had and you probably won't be the last?"

"Sir, are we going to spend the afternoon playing trivia? Because I have a Captain's Mast that I was invited to attend. It's scheduled for this hour and I'd hate to miss it because we were playing stupid fucking games..." Alan was silenced by a solid punch in the gut by Captain Reisman.

"You think you're so smart Mister Scarlett, sleeping with and fucking the hottest piece of ass in the navy and pretending that you're married to her. Well, you're not. She's a Luna whore and you're just some O-2 with a bachelor's degree..."

"Doctor," said Alan. "I'm an O-2 with a doctorate in..." and Reisman silenced him with another punch to the gut. Both punches would have sent him sailing in the zero-g environment, but the chains added mass to his slim body and the Velcro on his shoe soles held tight.

"Mister Scarlett, you are charged with assaulting a superior officer, a violation of Article 90 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice. Just plead guilty and you'll have fifteen days in your bunk with your whore... I mean wife, then the both of you can return to duty, and it all goes away."

Alan didn't want it to go away. He wanted a court martial so he could proclaim to the world what this jerk did. "I want a lawyer," he hissed, trying not to vomit.

"Look buddy, if you're found guilty by a jury, you'll go to prison for twenty years. What's Hilde going to look like in twenty years? She's already ten years older than you. Let's just make it extra duty for thirty days, working in Scheduling or something like that, and it's all over."

"Lawyer."

"You ignorant little fuck! I'm trying to give you your life back. I'm sick of you cry baby lieutenants thinking that you're running my navy. I should bust you back down to ensign you arrogant piece of shit." And with that, he slugged Alan in the gut again.

If Alan wasn't weightless, he would have sagged to the ground, but he hung from his Velcro boots, almost standing. He was unconscious for a moment. He opened his eyes and Garrett Reisman was glaring at him. "You're quite a man, sir," wheezed Alan. "Gut punching junior officers in chains, raping female subordinates, do you kick puppies for distance or just twist their necks?"

"You son of a bitch!" and he punched Alan as hard as he could. Alan felt something pop inside of him and he just went limp. He couldn't feel anything as he hung weightless by his Velcro shoes. No wait, he was standing up weightless... he couldn't tell up or down and the room was spinning so he closed his eyes. "What will it be?" roared Reisman. "Extra duty or do we go to court?"

When Alan opened his eyes, the room continued to spin, making him nauseous, but he heard something to his right and glanced over to look. "I wish to press charges," He gasped, trying not to vomit from the pain. His mouth was full of blood and it was running out of the corner of his lips. It tasted like copper, and that flavor was going to make him puke.

"Are you kidding?" laughed Reisman. "Charges for what?"

"I wasn't talking to you," said Alan softly.

"Captain Reisman! Bellowed a Marine major. "By order of CINCNAV, you are to turn over command of the NSS Borman to Commander John Lounge, and you are to report to Admiral Phillips ASAP.

Commander Lounge elbowed his way into the office and checked out Alan. "Can we get someone with a key over here?"

"Thank you captain," whispered Alan and that's when things got bleary. He coughed and a lot of blood came up.

Commander Lounge nodded to the Marine major, who turned to Captain Reisman. "You are charged with Article 128 of the UCMJ, assault and Article 120, attempted sexual act using force." They led the captain away to the brig, where he would wait for a fast shuttle to take him to Camp Schmidt, then down to the Pentagon to report to Admiral Phillips.

"I'm tired, I want to go to sleep," said Alan. He was soaked in sweat, but his skin felt cool.

"Hang on, Commander Marks is on her way," said one of the Marines.

"Who?" asked Alan. That name meant something, but he couldn't remember.

"Sick bay, ASAP!" said the new captain of the NSS Borman. John Lounge knew what the symptoms of internal injury were, and Alan exhibited many of them. Two marines lifted Alan and guided his weightless body out of the commander's office.

"For your sake, he better live," Commander Lounge said to Captain Reisman. "Then again, I saw some of those pictures. You may want to consider the honorable way out."

"What? What pictures?"

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

NSS Borman, October 19, 2141

Officer's Country

Alan opened his eyes and smiled. His beautiful blond instructor was next to him in bed, naked, her beautiful breasts pressing into his back. They weren't floating free; they were restrained by the sleeping bag that keeps them from drifting off while they slept. They were lying on the mattress. "We have gravity," Alan whispered. "Where are we? Are we on Mars?"

"No, this feels more like Luna. We're accelerating at one tenth G toward the Asteroid Belt," said Hilde. One tenth G isn't hard acceleration, but it's cumulative, and after a day of one tenth G acceleration, you were moving at over 700,000 mph and still accelerating. The ship was capable of four G's of acceleration for days. Accelerating for days isn't the hard part. The hard part is decelerating.

"I don't want to get up," he groaned and stretched bonelessly. He had a ruptured spleen brought on by Reisman hitting him. Luckily, his flight surgeon, CMDR Rhea Seddon, was able to operate and repair the damage and now it was time to get back on his feet. "Is the gang ready for formation training?"

"We finished the formation training while you lay in bed fucking your instructor's throat raw."

"If I've been fucking your throat raw why is my dick hard?"

"You get hard in your sleep," she purred. "I can't let you suffer like that."

"I am so going to miss you..." he turned, and they were lying face to face.

"Don't make me cry again," she whispered.

"I didn't..."

Hilde stopped him with a finger to his lips. "Don't. I know what you did. You got him mad at you and you kept him focused on you so he'd leave me alone."

"No, really, I'm just that big of a jerk," insisted Alan.

"Alan, you had a ruptured spleen! You could have died!"

"I wasn't trying to die... I hate bullies," he said as he wiped a tear from her cheek. He licked the tear from his finger and kissed the other tears from her and frowned. "I like the taste of everything you give me, but I don't like tears."

"Then stop making me make them!" she cried. He pulled her close and they kissed. It was the sweetest, most loving kiss they ever experienced. Their lips opened and their tongues danced together gently, reminding them what love was. When they were done, they weren't panting with desire like they usually do. They were glowing with a warmth generated by their love. "How much do you love me?" she asked.

"Enough to do anything you ask of me."

"Even if I ask you to leave me and Yin alone and never look back?"

Their eyes locked. She saw the pain and confusion in his eyes when he said, "Yes. I'll go away as long as..." Then he frowned and said, "No, no requirements, no addendums. If you want me to let you be, I'll just go. You'll know where to find me if you need anything."

"I don't want you to go, but I may need you to. Yin doesn't like men, she was..." now Hilde looked pained. "She had a rough past."

"I promised you, lets enjoy our remaining time and part as star crossed lovers," said Alan.

"I do want something from you," she said.

"What is that?"

"Your baby."

"AI?" he asked.

"Yes, artificial insemination... I hate that term but yes."

"Can I visit the baby?"

"That's up to Yin. She knows how I am with men. As long as I save my vagina for her she's content, and she was the same way with men until she met a merchant marine who didn't like our rules. It is taking her a long time to heal after the beating he gave her."

"Is he in prison?"

"We don't know where he is, he disappeared into space ten years ago."

"Let me hunt him down for you," said Alan. "As a parting gift."

"No, I want a son," she said as she stroked his cock, which was regaining its erection. "I want a little boy to remind me of our love. A little man that I can say, 'I love you' to as I remember us."

"Please don't name him Alan... I hated being called Al for short, he will too. Name him after my dad, Harrison."

"So I can call him Harry for short?" asked Hilde, who was a bit confused. Al is much preferable to Harry.

"No, use the nickname that grandpa gave him. 'Son.'" He looked serious for as long as he could, then they both broke up laughing. "Seriously, everything I am, everything I will be is because of my parents Harrison and Laurel... and Uncle Ray, of course. And now you."

"I'm not naming him Ray. That old guy tried to convince me to dump you for him."

"That's where I get my horny from," said Alan as he raised his hips, pressing his cock against her pussy.

"Mmmm, I know where this is going," she said as she began twitching her hips and sliding her moist pussy lips against his cock.

"Careful," he warned.

"I'm always careful," she whispered as she looked down on her work husband and continued sliding her pussy lips against his cock. Soon the sensations caused by her clit sliding up and down against his cock took hold. She shuddered and groaned, sighing as exquisite thrills radiated from her clit and even her breathing began to shudder.

Alan loved this. He could look up into her lust filled eyes and grasp her dangling breasts, pinching and twisting her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. "So beautiful," he whispered. The sensation of her moist lips sliding up and down the sensitive underside of his cock felt so marvelous. He ached to roll her over and drive his cock into her moist, warm depths, but he didn't. He made a promise, and he was going to keep it, no matter how painful it might be.

Their rubbing became mutual as Alan's hips began to thrust up against Hilde of their own accord. Their thrusts grew easier and Hilde's fluids soaked Alan's cock and lubricated their frenzied friction. They needed gravity to do this, and it's been a while since they had gravity so they were passionate about this "dry" humping. Their passion rose and their thrusts grew unsteady, their breathing coming in frenzied pants as their passions grew. Then suddenly, she pulled too far forward and when she pushed back, the head of Alan's cock popped inside Hilde's vagina.

They both froze and stared into each other's eyes. Both felt the need for Alan to plunge into her forbidden depths, to soak his cock in her warmth and become one with her. They saw the hunger, the desire, the love in each other's eyes. Alan knew Hilde would forgive him, and even fuck back, uniting them. But Alan also saw something else in Hilde's eyes. He saw her love for Yin. Reluctantly, he pulled back. He eased his cock back away from heaven... heaven will have to wait.

Hilde almost cried in love for this man. He could have had her, but he kept his word and pulled back. She wanted his cock inside of her more than any other man she had known, but his honesty and integrity caused him to pull back. She hated him doing that. She loved him doing that. It thrilled her to meet such a man, and that love was spurring her on. Her hips were in a frenzy as she slid her clit back and forth on his cock. "Yes! Yes! Oh god Yes!" she was gasping as thrills she's never known filled her.

Alan was pushing up at her, increasing the pressure of her pussy against his cock. "I'm going to cum," he said in a strangled voice.

"Yes, yes baby, cum with me... yes cum with me!" and with stifled cries of delight they came, waves of pleasure and relief crashed over them as they came, their thrusts against each other became jerky as jolts of sexual relief crashed over them, his semen squirting between them adding to Hilde's juices that covered them.

They lay panting and shuddering from their passion. "You were almost there," she whispered. "I couldn't have stopped you if I tried."

"If I did," Alan said slowly, "I wouldn't be any better than Reisman. I made a promise and I kept it."

"That's why I love you," she said.

Trying to ignore the inevitable, Alan took a soft towel from their shared drawer and wiped the fluids they generated from her silky smooth skin. "So we're at one tenth g acceleration you say," he said. "Why are we running so fast?"

"We need to get three weeks training in the Asteroid belt, then return to Earth for the trials."

"What was with that guy?" groaned Alan. He was still bleary from his ruptured spleen. "Where's Reisman?"

"He's on a fast shuttle to earth and a talk with CINCNAV. I'm not worried about him right now, I'm worried about you. Your fever is gone and your head isn't spinning any more, you're able to hold down food. It's about time to get back into the cock pit."

"Yes, I suppose."

"Your troops have a squadron name and a patch they want to show you."

"Can't wait. Let's go see." He eased out of bed and while the gravity from their acceleration felt good, it also made everything more difficult. What was once wall is now floor and vice versa. After pulling on a flight suit, he and Hilde climbed out into the hallway. That was no longer a hallway, now due to gravitational force it was a well to climb out of. Even at half a g it was a pain in the ass, but they made it to the briefing room that was able to rotate with gravitational force, so down is always down.

As Alan and Hilde stepped into the briefing room, the air crews from the 43rd and 44th stood and applauded "The Outlaws" as their commanders were now known. Assaulted by the captain of the ship and put in jail and Captain's Mast for defending themselves? They were heroes to their flight crews. When Alan asked that marine for a flight suit for Hilde and said, "Would you want your wife's body on display after being attacked by her boss?" thanks to that marine, his question spread over the ship rapidly, and before anyone realized, Captain Reisman was branded a sick rapist by his crew and few would follow his orders even before he was relieved of duty.

Alan and Hilde finally got the air crews to be quiet and sit down. "I understand that there's an artist among us?" said Hilde to start the briefing.

"Yes ma'am," said one of her instructors. "We voted on squadron names and Anna Vasquez came up with the designs and they're really cool."

"Ok," said Hilde, grinning. She couldn't wait to see what they came up with. "Keep in mind that these names and symbols will remain through posterity. Bring it on."

"The 44th was easy," said Anna and she manipulated the screen with her tablet. On the screen behind Alan and Hilde appeared a circular patch. It was dark blue, then a large silver orb appeared and over that the black silhouette of a snarling wolf's head staring at the viewer with red eyes. The wolf's jaws were open and blood was dripping from the fangs. At the top it said "44th Interplanetary Fighter Squadron," and at the bottom was the squadron name, "Werewolves."

The men and women of the Werewolves started chanting a grunting noise that ended in "ArrrOOOOO!" which caused Alan to break up laughing. "They got a squadron chant too?"

"I guess they were bored," said Hilde as one of her fliers came up and put the squadron patch on her right arm where the Velcro was waiting. The rest of the fliers in the 44th put the patches on their arms now that their commander was wearing hers. "Ok, what does the 43rd have for us?" she asked.

"We came up with something that reflects the heritage of our squadron... the first boats we ever flew," said Commander Rob Overmyer, Alan's executive officer.

The squadron artist, Anna Vasquez, brought up another circular patch on the screen. It was rimmed in black and filled in Martian Red. Then appeared a chipped and bloodied battle axe crossed with a chipped, cracked and bloodied sword. Across the top it read "43rd Interplanetary Fighter Squadron," across the bottom it said "Berserkers." The air crews started chanting "Doe-DA! Doe-DA! Doe-DA!" they were banging their fists on the tabletop in rhythm with their chants. One could imagine a long boat filled with Viking Berserkers approaching an undefended coastal village.

"What the hell is that?" laughed Alan.

"It's Swedish for Kill! Kill! Kill!"

"I like it!" he said, laughing as Rob put the squadron patch on his arm. "We have a patch for you," said Alan as the Berserkers put their patches on their flight suits. He and Hilde began handing out patches that showed a snarling wolf's head from the side. It was black with gray highlights, glowing white eyes, and white teeth. The top of the patch said, "8th Interplanetary Fighter Wing" and on the bottom it said "Wolfpack."

"Both squadrons are part of the Wolfpack," said Alan. "We are mostly autonomous, we will be given our orders and expected to carry them out but we'll do it the way we want to do it. The mission of the 43rd IFS will be to protect Mars and assist the 44th IFS. We will also be the attack dogs for the Navy. No mission too large or too difficult."

Then Hilde said, "the mission of the 44th will continue to train senior fliers for leadership roles, protect Luna, escort VIPs between Luna and Earth and between Earth and Mars. When we're 'overbooked' the 43rd will assist in our mission," said Hilde.

"Protect VIP's?" groaned a werewolf flier. "Will we be serving them tea and finger sandwiches also?"

When the laughing died down, Hilde said sternly, "while we've been hiding in the cocoon we made with training, pirates and smugglers have taken over the solar system. The Asteroid belt is filthy with them and kidnapping VIP's has become a top dollar industry."

"Cool, I get to kill pirates," the werewolf grinned.

"That's a job for a Berserker," said his trainee, Lieutenant Ed Gibson, Cathy Coleman's wingman.

LT Sidney Gutierrez, Alan's D flight leader, raised his hand. "Does that mean the Berserkers will be doing leadership training?"

Hilde looked at Sid sadly. "Yes, but not if you're the only one available." Both squadrons started laughing at that.

"Ok!" said Alan. "Berserkers, for the past several months your trainer has been acting as your RIO (Radar Intercept Officer). For the next series of training events, YOU will sit in the back and navigate, operate radar and radio, and work the electronic weapons systems. Then the next day you'll be back in front with a new appreciation for the GIB." (Guy In Back) "You'll be switching seats for the next few weeks."

"Why are we doing this?" asked LT Sara Garcia Alonzo, wing man for the C flight leader.

"Because in several months we will be receiving RIO's from the academy to replace the 44th personnel and they will be picking up RIO's from the cream of the crop," said Alan. "My dream is that in the future the Berserkers will feed the Werewolves with the best... pilots and RIOs, unless you're a Martian then I will keep you forever."

"As we approach the asteroid belt we will practice high speed launches and recoveries. You will work with your plane captain to make sure the ship with your name is the best flying machine in the solar system. I want the squadron launched and accelerating in two minutes."

"That's a launch every ten seconds," gasped CMDR Rhea Seddon. Rhea was the wingman for D flight and was their flight surgeon. She performed the surgery that saved Alan's life.

"Yes ma'am," said Alan. "When we get the new boats we'll have a second hangar and launch from both hangars. That's a 20 second interval between launches for each hangar. It will be possible if we all work toward it." Alan will call Rhea Seddon ma'am for the rest of his life, regardless of their ranks. When his spleen ruptured, she diagnosed it correctly in a matter of moments and whisked him into the operating theater and saved his life. He didn't want his flight surgeon flying, but every unit had to have a medical professional and she loved to fly. As soon as he gets a Martian or two, she's going to be semi-grounded and play doctor for his squadrons.

"Wait!" cried E Flight lead Susan Kilrain. "New Boats? Two hangars? What do you mean?"

Alan and Hilde looked at each other for a moment and, with a nod from Alan, they silently decided that she would make the announcement. "When we reach our destination to start this block of training, we'll transfer to the NSS McDivitt our new home. There we will meet our RIO's and each squadron will be fully manned and equipped with F-201 Star Strikers. On completion of training, we will head back to Earth for a week of shore leave."

"Who's the wing King in charge of this?" asked CMDR Rob Overmyer, Alan's Foxtrot Flight leader. He was the oldest and most experienced of his pilots and Alan's second in command.

"Wing king?" asked Alan, unfamiliar with the term.

Hilde frowned. He's got to learn these terms if he wants his people to follow him. "Your wing commander is a Captain named Walter Schirra. He's been in the black world since the color black was invented."

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Perseverance City, October 31, 2141

Robotics Lab

"Ok, nice and easy, " said Ray as the interruptions had ceased and they were able to get their ABC Combat equipped robot to restart. When the pictures from Noxie showing Captain Reisman's attack on Hilde started pouring into Ray's office, causing political hell to break loose, they shut down the robots until Ray was able to get the 43rd fighter squadron back on the "yellow list." Mars has a three tier access system. Red means you can come and go on the Red Planet as much as you want. Green means you're banned from the Red Planet, go back to Earth, and Yellow means you're allowed but not trusted.

When the political forest fires burned themselves out, it was time to dig into Kōngchéng. However, when they tried to initialize their ABC Combat robot, they found it was stalled. It was receiving and acknowledging commands, it just wasn't executing them. Getting the stalled robot to restart was a pain in the ass and they had to air-drop a maintenance bot to trouble shoot the ABC Combat robot. Once the frozen circuit was identified and restarted, the ABC Combat robot was able to enter the station. It was followed by one of the original explorers and the maintenance bot.

Since Kōngchéng was nearly the same design as the Bradbury Canal, it wasn't hard to gain access. A station maintenance bot, the type you see crawling over every orbital station fixing and maintaining the stations, crawled up on Kōngchéng and went to work on the door seal. The main door opened and Alan and Christa muttered, "what the hell?" the inner door was open, the airlock wasn't locking anything in or out, there was no atmosphere in Kōngchéng.

"Jeezuz," groaned Christa. "We're not getting any of these drones back, are we." Blowing open the doors on a colony or a space station is the last act of a dying population fighting back at something. Since there was no recorded attack on Kōngchéng by people (it was under 24/7 observation for decades) it was a something that attacked them. If someone even suspects there is a plague, all bots have to be abandoned in place. A Plague can rip through a closed community like a space station or a Martian colony and destroy the entire population in weeks, so Ray's bots probably won't be coming back for fear of bringing the plague back with it.

Their small army of robots moved through the colony, but the only thing they saw was empty corridors. There was no sign of humans around. A thick layer of ultra fine Martian dust covered everything and the maintenance bot had to constantly pressurize a tank with thin Martian air and blow the other robot's optical lenses clear of dust. A wag once said that Mars' atmosphere was 95% carbon dioxide and 96% dust.

Many of the hallway doors were closed and it would be a major effort to open them without power, so they were now touring the corridors of Kōngchéng, looking for an open door. The first one they found was a mop closet, so they resumed the tour. Eventually, they came to an intersection where two main corridors met. "Turn left here," said Christa.

"Why?"

"Because on Bradbury Canal an intersection like that would lead to the hub, and the hub is a place where people meet." Ray looked at her oddly and Christa continued, "Bradbury Canal and Kōngchéng are the same design, they are both Global Dynamics type A2 "Wagon Wheel" space stations that were assembled on the ground. Many Martian colonies started as a space station kit. The difference is that Bradbury Canal expanded into the area between the spokes."

That was true. From above, Kōngchéng looks like a wagon wheel space station with eight spokes that was lying on the ground. From above, Bradbury Canal looked like a large metallic pizza with everything. The eight spokes denote where the pizza had been sliced at one time. Ray followed Christa's instructions, navigating with infrared rather than white light because the signal used less power.

They reached a doorway at the end of the corridor that was three quarters open. Ray drove through the door and bumped into something that fell with a dusty crash. "What the hell was that?" demanded Ray. Whatever it was, it had been wrapped in gray cloth, the same color gray as the Eastern Bloc military uniforms... "Oh crap," said Ray, and he backed the bot up to get a better look.

"Oh goddamn!" shouted a nervous Jake as the object came into focus. It was the remains of a dead, desiccated human body. The grinning flesh covered skull was a dead giveaway. It had probably been frozen, but the dry air of Mars sucked the moisture out of it as quickly as possible.

"Doctor Scarlett!" shouted the robotics lab technician that was operating the maintenance bot. "This is just off the main hub," he said and pointed to his video screen. The screen showed a feed from a station maintenance robot that was peeking through a window. It showed a control room similar to their robotics lab. There were rows of workstations with keyboards, computer terminals, and screens. They were all facing a wall with a large blank screen and next to it was a large clock that was showing midnight. At each workstation were the remains of a human body. Some collapsed against their keyboard, some were slumped back in their chairs, some had fallen to the floor.

"This is where they tried to fight it," whispered Christa.

"Fight what?" asked Jake.

"Whatever bug it was that killed them." Christa and Ray looked at each other. "Plague," they said in unison.

"What kind of plague?" demanded Jake.

Ray got up and put on his suit coat. He was a character and was trying (unsuccessfully) to make a comeback for the Frock Coat. "That's your job to figure out." He picked up a phone and made a call to Perseverance Hospital. "I need to talk to Doctor Sidney Greenstreet... yes, this is an emergency... thank you, please hurry..." after a moment he said, "Sid! Ray here, look Sid, we have an emergency... yes, big time. Can you send me your best Epidemiologist and Virologists? At least two each, three would be best, we want a variety of opinion... Awesome! Thanks. See you Friday!"

Ray hung up the phone but noticed everyone was staring at him. He had just called Mars' top doctor like he was calling an old dart team member for a Friday night match and got six of his top doctors with just a phone call. "Ok, back to work. Start documenting everything," Ray said as he tightened up his string tie and put on a fedora hat. "Christa, I'll get you an office where you can set up shop for a few months, you need to concentrate on intelligence, and I've got an apartment picked out for you and Jake."

"What do you mean? We're going back to Earth in three days." She gave him a look that clearly said, 'remember who is really in charge here!'

"Sorry hun, I've have to initiate a planetary quarantine." And with that, he tipped his hat and stepped out of the office to collect the PM and head over to the President's office.

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Asteroid Belt, November 3, 2141

NSS McDivitt

The NSS McDivitt wasn't a big ship, but she was fully equipped to handle two full squadrons of fighters with a complement of 16 fighters, 32 officers, and 40 support personnel in each squadron. It looked like an enormous pipe that was being pushed along by a cluster of five pipes mounted atop it. Four of those pipes were engines, and one was the command section. The McDivitt was a "Modular" design, so the command section containing the bridge, crew's quarters, and engines could be detached from the flight deck and be connected to another flight deck or cargo bay. It's never been done, but the Navy thought the capability would be essential at some point.

A REO-Brockway forty ton truck, basically a box with an engine and directional thrusters, was used to haul the crews and their tools from the Borman to the McDivitt and it was frustrating to Alan because they wouldn't let him drive. He's driven 25 ton, he wanted to try a 40 ton truck to see what it was like. "No playing around, you have a squadron to move," insisted Hilde.

"I never get to have any fun," groaned Alan, which earned him an elbow from Hilde. They made love last night, celebrating their departure from their first assignment and the next big step in their future together. Commanding two squadrons that were attached at the hip, the Navy was going to be their bridal suite. Rising early, he and Hilde finished an inspection of the crew's quarters, insuring they were clean and ready for the next users. They also checked the maintenance and supply area. The supply bins and shelves were locked and sealed and all F-199 Berserkers were FMC (Fully Mission Capable) for the next round of trainees.

With inspections complete, Alan and Hilde stood at the airlock in their pressure suits, saying goodbye to Captain Lounge and his staff. "I apologize again for my predecessor," said Captain Lounge.

"You handled the transfer of power well," said Hilde, as they shook hands. Then she saluted Captain Lounge and said, "IFS 44 departing."

"Fair winds and following seas, forty four," said Captain Lounge. Then it was time to shake hands with Alan. "I'm sure we'll meet again, Mister Scarlett. You're sailing under a favorable star."

"Pardon?"

"Sir, you're a Lieutenant Junior Grade, an O-2, yet you're a squadron commander."

Alan shrugged. "I've been told since day one in the Western Alliance Navy, it's not the rank it's the position. My people follow me, so I must be doing something right."

"You must be," grinned Commander Lounge as they shook hands.

"Come visit the Scarlett planet," said Alan with a grin, "and send me any Martians you find in uniform." Then he saluted Captain Lounge. "IFS 43 departing, sir."

"Fair winds and following seas, forty three," said Captain Lounge sadly as he returned the salute. His first training squadron was shoving off. Now was the long slow flight back to earth to pick up another batch of trainees and trainers. It will soon be a never-ending cycle. The Western Alliance Navy always needs new pilots, but he sensed something special about that last bunch. He watched through the double window of the airlock as the truck pulled away, then rotated on its axis 180 degrees and backed up to couple with the McDivitt for off-loading.

"Request permission to come aboard sir," said Hilde as they stepped into the maintenance bay. They were met by Commander Kanopa, the executive officer.

"Welcome aboard," he said

As Alan and Hilde stepped aboard, a sailor blew a whistle, piping them aboard and announced, "IFS Forty Three and IFS Forty Four arriving!" A smiling middle-aged woman met them at the entry port, which was located down in the maintenance hangars. "Captain Baker, Commander Kanopa, Commander Marks and Mister Scarlett," announced the sailor as Hilde and Alan took off their helmets and gloves and shook hands with their new skipper.

"Ma'am, we are pleased to meet you," said Hilde.

"Your Uncle Ray warned me about you two," said Captain Baker as she held Alan's hand and looked him over a little more closely than he expected.

"Uncle Ray has a vivid imagination," said Alan. "He thinks he's James Bond." He realized that Ellen Baker was taking his pulse.

"Who says he's not?" She leaned in for a closer look at his eyes, then poked him on the left side under his ribs. Alan now realized that Captain Baker was giving him a quick medical evaluation.

"I uh, have a flight surgeon."

"Now you have two, I'm an MD also. No sign of Jaundice or tenderness. I hear that she fixed you up with an ancient 21st century operating theater."

"Yes, that's all we had on the Borman, and Doctor Seddon is also a damn fine fighter jock."

"So am I. Maybe we'll go for a hop someday. Let's take a tour of the maintenance facilities," said Captain Ellen Baker, and she led them through a large maintenance hangar with several F-201 Star Strikers parked in there. The F-201 was a two seat interceptor/bomber, it was sleek, a "missile with a man inside" type design, with two stubby wings that had Silicone-Radiographic AN/ALA202 laser emitters on each wingtip along with an AERO-8B torpedo launcher that held any fighter size missile or torpedo in the Navy inventory. The nose was large, containing an AN/APQ-110 radar set and an oversized AN/ALA300 laser emitter, giving the F-201 a triple strike laser punch.

Alan stared at the Star Strikers in awe. For a fighter pilot, they were a work of art. He could hear them begging him to climb in and go find someone that desperately needs to be killed. "I think I lost a potential husband," said Hilde.

"This is heavy maintenance. Fore and aft of us are two parking ramps both unpressurized. The fore ramp is currently the 44th, the aft ramp is the 43rd. This hangar is a shared facility for inspections and heavy maintenance. Centerline is life support and the tubes."

Just then, Alan saw a man he recognized from a long time ago. He searched his memory for his name, then called out, "Petty Officer Cernan!"

"Yes sir," said Gene and he came up to Alan. Then a smile of recognition grew. "Mister Scarlett! It's good to see you again sir."

"I have a job for you, Gene," said Alan. "Go find the Striker in the Forty Third with the lowest tail number and make that the Squadron Mascot. Paint my name on the side and paint your name on the other side. I want that thing to be a marvel of perfection and a terror to every bad guy in the sky."

"That is a true honor and dream come true, but sir, I'm in the Forty Fourth."

"That was yesterday, it's a whole new day on the McDivitt Petty Officer Cernan."

"You can't steal my plane captain!" complained Hilde.

Captain Baker glared at Alan, but Alan just smiled. "Where are you from Petty Officer Cernan?"

"Perseverance City, Mars sir!"

"He's mine!" grinned Alan. "Welcome to the Martian Forty Third Petty Officer Cernan. Get your ass over to Life Support and get your uniforms modified for the Martian Space Force, and if you find any more Martians you bring them to me."

"Yes sir!"

"Cheater, grumbled Hilde.

"Gene, ask around in Forty Third maintenance and see if anyone wants to switch to the Forty Fourth," said Alan. "We want to keep the teams even.

"Yes sir!" and he ran off, his magnetic boots clanking against the steel deck.

"Friend of yours?" asked Captain Baker.

"He's the first man to call me sir," said Alan. "He was my plane captain and launched me out on my 3 day solo which eventually led me here. He's my good luck charm."

"Three day solo?" asked Hilde and Ellen in unison.

"Yeah, my first solo flight, six of us flying Kites launched about 30 minutes apart from Camp Schmidt, three orbits of earth, then three orbits of Luna, then recover on Armstrong station."

"On Armstrong?" asked Captain Baker.

"Yeah, why?"

"Soloing rookies don't recover on a space station. They draw up near a station to a parking point and are towed inside."

Alan looked confused. "They didn't do that for me. I had to land in the hanger on Armstrong after three days of solo flight."

"Honey..." Hilde took his arm gently in her hands. "There's no such thing as a three day solo."

"My solo was launch from Camp Schmidt, two orbits of earth and recover at Camp Schmidt," said Captain Baker.

"My solo was from Luna Prime station, one orbit of the moon and recover at Luna Prime," said Hilde. "Those are typical space solos."

"No, really, I was lead on a six ship formation spread out thirty minutes apart and I had one member that kept drifting off course. I had to correct him two or three times a day... I couldn't sleep! I debriefed with Captain Schirra and suddenly I'm Commander Hilde Mark's student.

"Sounds like Captain Schirra has big plans for you," said Ellen.

"He saves his favorites for me," said Hilde as she tightened her embrace of Alan's arm.

After swapping out their pressure suits for a lightweight flight suit and Velcro boots at the Life Support office, they received a tour of the squadron areas, and were assigned their offices as squadron commanders. "I figured since you were still in training mode, you'd want adjoining offices... and quarters."

They peaked in the quarters and they were adjoining bunk rooms, but only one bunk room had a sleeping bag and mattress, the other was a zero-g dressing room, and both of their 'sea bags' were there. "Thank you ma'am."

She led them to a darkened room full of spacemen seated at terminals, radar screens, and glowing transparent Plexigraph screens displaying nearby asteroids. "This is the C In C, the Combat Information Center. Most threats will be plotted and tracked from here. We'll formulate plans or receive orders and plan our execution of those orders from here."

"Cool," said Alan. "This beats the chalkboards on the Borman."

She then led them down to the training area. There was a zero g gymnasium (weight machines that use elastic resistance) "We have a contingent of twenty marines for ship security and ground attack.

"This ship is amazing," said Alan as he marveled at the features.

"Wait until you see a new ship like the Grissom. That's going to be incredible when it's done," said Captain Baker.

<><><><><>

"Hey Gene," shouted CPO Sharkey, head of maintenance for the 43rd.

"Yes chief," said Gene Cernan.

"Captain Baker wants you to report to her in the officer's mess immediately after your shift ends. Dat means NOW."

"I'm on it chief." Gene washed up, put on his new uniform and headed up the lift tube between the flight deck section and the command/engineering section of the ship. Where the hell is the officer's mess? He works, sleeps, and often eats down on the flight deck section. He looked around, but he didn't find any reference to the officer's mess. He eventually bumped into an ensign that he knew. "Sir, where is the officer's mess?" The ensign gave him an odd look. What does a maintenance toad want with the officer's mess? "Captain Baker asked me to report to her there."

"Up one deck, corridor C, all the way forward."

"Thank you sir." He went back to the lift tube and went up one deck and found corridor C. Rib numbers on the main supports get smaller as you move forward, so fore and aft wasn't a problem. He soon found the Officers' Mess and entered without a problem and nobody asked him why he was there. In fact, there were several enlisted types in there. It was a large dining hall with soft lights and an enormous window facing forward so you could see the stars.

He found Captain Baker quickly, hoping that his new uniform with the Martian Red name tag and badge of rank looked ok. "You requested to see me?" asked Gene as he settled his Velcro boots in the carpet.

"He needs to see you." And she pointed at Alan Scarlett, who urged him over with a finger gesture.

"Sir? Did I do something wrong?"

"Yes, Petty Officer Cernan. You failed to show up at Armstrong Station for your beer." He handed Gene an ice cold bottle of Old Ruby Pilsner, one of Mar's most famous beers. "I owe you this for giving me a perfect Kite, I can't wait to see what you do with a Striker."

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Perseverance City, November 16, 2141

Robotics Lab

"This is worse than I thought," said Jake as the data from Kōngchéng began to flow. The bots at Kōngchéng were able to get power to the computers, and they began a data dump of station logs.

"It's worse than anyone thought," said Ray. They were horrified as they read the reports. A virus was stolen from a lab that was only identified as Q1 and was delivered to them by their agent only identified as Bravo. The virus was described as unlike anything ever seen. It would kill a mouse fifteen minutes after contact. A rabbit in 45 minutes. A beagle size dog in an hour and fifteen minutes. Once it got into the bloodstream, it began multiplying like crazy, attaching itself to cell nuclei and injecting its core protein into the cell nuclei, destroying the cell, then moving on.

It could survive on organic objects and even consume objects made of inorganic materials. The only thing they suggest storing it in was glass or steel. The only things they found that stopped it were extreme heat and extreme doses of x-ray radiation. "This thing is a nightmare," groaned Ray.

Christa was as white as a sheet. Every revelation was a horrible nightmare, but worse, she had a sneaking suspicion. She began checking her parents' lab logs. They were told that Harrison and Laurel Scarlett's work was a failure, so their logs were destroyed, but everyone knows that Marconi-Edison Bio-Electronics throws nothing out. They're still trying to make a profit from the floor sweepings collected from the floor of their offices every evening.

President of Mars Benjamin Curtis reached out to Marconi-Edison Bio-Electronics and asked nicely for the lab's logs and was told they didn't exist. His response was, "Let my people look for them." He nationalized all assets of Marconi-Edison Bio-Electronics and sent a "sweep team" in to inspect everything. Dr. Bernard Goldthwait tried to stand in their way and was soon led off in handcuffs.

"What part of the term Planetary Emergency didn't you understand?" asked President Curtis.

"What planetary emergency?" demanded Dr. Goldthwait.

"Let me put it this way," said Ray, who came along to watch Dr. Goldthwait get dragged away in handcuffs. "If this gets out, we don't have to worry about water... ever again."

All of Harrison and Laurel Scarlett's lab notes were in the vault, and when Christa saw the cover page on the boxes of their records, she almost fainted. "These were signed into the vault on October 7th, 2131 at 12:55 PM by Doctor... what's that word?"

"Burgman," said Ray.

"Uncle Ray, the blow-out was at 12:59. Burgman should have been there in the C Quadrant auditorium getting ready to speak at 12:59, instead he was taking my parent's notes and storing them in the Marconi-Edison Bio-Electronics vault."

"What is this all about?" asked a virologist that Ray called in to study this mess.

"This is my mom and dad's life work; dad was a paleontologist specializing in fossil virus and bacteria. Mom was a virologist. Since they were working on Martian fossils they were called xenobiologists by everyone. Dad thought it was funny, but mom was a super nerd and thought they earned that title."

The virologist looked through their notes and whistled. "According to this, they claimed to be successful in recreating a half billion year old Martian virus. They named it Dexter."

"Dexter?" gasped Christa and another scientist at the same time. "Mom and dad used to talk about Dexter all the time. I always thought he was a lazy lab tech. They always complained that they had to work so hard to get Dexter to work."

The other scientist didn't say anything. He merely called Ray over to the document he was reading. When Ray saw it, he blanched. The code name for the virus they had at Kōngchéng was Dexter.

"Doctor Scarlett, who is Gogo?"

"Gogo? I don't know why?"

"Your parents refer to Gogo and Smartie quite often in their personal notes."

"Dad used to call me Smartie when I was little, so maybe Gogo was Alan? He was always running around, but when he applied himself he was much smarter than me."

"Smarter than you?" chuckled the Virologist who was trying to make heads or tails out of Laurel and Harrison's notes. In their time together, he found Christa to be one of the smartest people he's ever met.

"Yeah, he's a lot like Uncle Ray. They both have a PhD but they never advertise it, they don't want anyone calling them doctor. They're happiest with the title of MP and Lieutenant.

Ray picked up a phone and called the Red House, the Martian equivalent of the old White House that once had something to do with North America before the war of 2085. "Radio room please," said Ray. He waited for a few moments and when the Radio Room picked up, he said, "I need a radio telegram sent to the NSS McDivitt, Lieutenant Alan B. Scarlett. The body of the letter is this. One, who is Gogo? that's one word, Gogo. Two, who is Smartie? Three, who is Dexter? Please respond immediately. Thank you. Signed Uncle Ray. Send that Priority One, my authorization is Scaffold. Thank you, goodbye."

"Scaffold?" asked one of the Virologists.

"Radio time is precious. Priority codes help alleviate the load," said Ray, and they went back to looking through the notes.

"Ok, it's been long enough," said someone and Christa looked up and it was Ben Curtis, the President of Mars (or more properly, the President of the Federated Colonies of Mars). "I ordered Pizza and soft drinks, it's time for you to take a break. You guys have been digging through this stuff for days."

"Weeks," corrected Ray.

Soon delivery men with several large pizzas with real cheese and actual pepperoni, and several bottles of the good stuff, actual earth cola made with real sugar. The exhausted, starving scientists dug in and Christa groaned, "this is so good! I never had pizza this good on Earth!"

"It's good to be da king," said President Ben to the chuckles of the feasting researchers. As they ate, a messenger raced over from the Red House.

"Sir, a message, a reply to your Scaffold message," said the messenger.

"I'll take it," said Ray, but the President took it first, looked at it and frowned and handed it to Ray. "You were right, Christa. Alan says that Smartie was your dad's nickname for you. Gogo was your mom's nickname for him, but Dexter he doesn't know. Just some guy at the lab, as far as he knew."

"I can't understand why mom and dad did this," said Christa. Dad always talked about being responsible with scientific research.

"Because they were being blackmailed," said one of the criminal investigators that was added to the team when it became clear that the trail went through Marconi-Edison Bio-Electronics. Their mission was not to research the virus but to find criminal activity related to the virus.

"Huh? We didn't have anything except a nice company condo."

"They had you," said the investigator. "There's several places in your parent's notes that stated that B. threatened to kill Smartie and Gogo if they didn't build the Martian virus. We believe that Agent Bravo from the Kōngchéng documents was known to your folks as B. Eastern Bloc immediately named it the Scarlett Virus but when it got loose they went silent and cut off Kōngchéng."

"We started getting data from that last ship that landed at Kōngchéng," said a criminal investigator. "It's horrible... They kidnapped a freighter with about thirty passengers, knocked 'em all out and gave the virus to one, and sat and watched to see how long it would take for them all to die. It leaped from person to person and killed them all in about a day."

"We're trying to eat here," groaned somebody.

"What ship was that?" asked Ray, terrified that he knew. His old girlfriend and her daughter never sent him a message from earth.

"The RSS Lake Baikal."

Ray went pale and his appetite was gone. He didn't hate Tammy. They had some good times, but this was disgusting. "What happened to it?"

"They had programmed it to dive into Jupiter's atmosphere, but there's no record of that happening... where you going?"

But Ray had jumped up and called the Red House Radio Room again. "Flash message to all command staff of the NSS McDivitt. Search for RSS Lake Baikal in Asteroid Belt. If found DO NOT APPROACH. Plague, Plague, Plague. Advise Red House Directly, Immediately. Relay message to any naval ship in the asteroid belt. End. Send that Priority One, authorization is Scaffold."

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NSS McDivitt, November 16, 2141

Common Room

The big common room was often called the Chow Hall, but it was used for multiple purposes. Any large briefing or group entertainment was held here, in addition to all meals and religious services. At a large table at the head of the room, the Powers That Be sat eating lunch. Squadron Commanders Alan and Hilde, their second in commands, Lieutenant Commander Rob Overmyer and Lieutenant Commander Anne McClain, ship's commander Captain Ellen Baker and her Executive Officer Commander Tim Kanopa.

"... so my cousin Arthur was tired of hearing everyone on earth end their sentences with "for a Martian," said Alan. "Everything was like that...'smart kid, for a Martian,' and 'good scientist, for a Martian,' so that's why he named his daughter Fora."

"Sounds like a great place to raise kids," said Ellen, the captain of the McDivitt. "A bonded community with everyone watching out for each other."

"No... it's all book learning," said Alan. "And the books are often wrong. As a kid on earth, you could go out and climb a tree any time you wanted. In that brief moment you knew more about that tree than any Martian would learn in a year of study. My sister Christa and I were schooled by idiots who told us that all trees had been cut down by evil men. The first time we ever stepped outside was on Guam about ten years ago and the first thing we saw was a tropical jungle. We freaked out, Christa actually fainted. We were told all the trees were cut down; we were expecting a large Mars. We did not know that trees grow back."

When the laughter died down, a spaceman from the Communications Center floated up to the table. "Lieutenant Scarlett?"

"That's me," said Alan and the spaceman handed him a yellow sheet of paper. He looked at it and chuckled then said, "Hang on, I have the reply..." He took a pencil from his sleeve pocket, wrote on the back of the message and handed it back to the Spaceman and said, "I think that needs to be sent right away. I'm not familiar with Scaffold authorization."

"Yes sir," said the spaceman, and he dashed off to the comm center.

Alan glanced around the table and everyone was staring at him. "What?" he asked.

"Scaffold is presidential communications. It's generally top secret and has top priority," said Ellen.

"It was just Uncle Ray asking about childhood nicknames," said Alan. "My dad called my sister Christa Smartie, and mom called me Gogo."

"That was it?" asked Hilde.

"They also asked about some guy named Dexter, I didn't know him."

"That's odd," said Ellen.

"That's Uncle Ray," said Alan. "He's got something up his sleeve..." then Alan shook his head. Ray knew those nicknames; he called Alan Gogo since the day he learned to crawl. Something is up on Mars. He should be happy; his squadron is up to strength. The NSS Perrin just dropped off a shipload of supplies and 30 eager Radar Intercept Officers. Fifteen of them were considered the best, the other fifteen were trainees, slackers, or Martians, and of course, Alan got the trainees, slackers, and Martians.

"Let's go!" called Hilde, but her voice didn't get the attention of the chatting space crews that were getting to know each other over lunch.

"Master Chief, please?" asked Ellen.

Master Chief Petty officer, John Allison, the Chief of the Boat, rose and bellowed, "WING! ATTENTION!" Immediately the room went silent, and all spacemen sat silent in their seats. "They're all yours ma'am."

"Thank you chief. Both Squadrons! We will continue to fly and map this portion of the asteroid belt. Some of you RIOs may hate it, but this is the very best way to show off your skills. Your pilot has been through this several times, we all flew RIO while waiting for you to join us. Be sure to double check the schedule, you're flying with someone different this afternoon. First go of the afternoon is in one hour! As you were."

"I had better get going," said Alan and he unstrapped from the bench and floated up out of the seat. He disposed of his food containers and he and Hilde drifted off toward Life Support, where he would get his pressure suit.

At life support, he was given his suit, which was thick and bulky. Most people put their suits on by themselves, but Alan and Hilde helped each other most of the time. They've been flying together every flight since they met and yesterday they flew with somebody else for the first time. For Alan, it was like his leg was cut off. He and Hilde knew each other's moves, how each other would react to a situation or flight condition. Now they're not even in space at the same time. Alan takes off with the first 'go' and Hilde flies with the last 'go.' Helping each other on with their pressure suit before their flight is one last time for a gentle caress, a stolen kiss, a knowing smile.

As he was about to pull on his helmet collar, a woman with an eastern European accent said, "Do I fly with you this afternoon?"

Alan looked up and before him stood a tall, athletic woman, completely naked except for her Velcro socks. She was slim with high, firm breasts, six-pack abs and her pussy was shaved of all hair. Alan was not impressed; he's got a deep hate for the Eastern Bloc and any reminder of that group of mass murderers disgusted Alan. "If you're Tasha Kikina, then yes, you are my RIO. We will find out in thirty two minutes if you're flying with me or walking home. Meet me at spot one."

Tasha just smirked and drifted away. "I don't like her," said Hilde. She helped Alan on with his "horse collar," then they collected his helmet and gloves. "She came over here to rub her pussy on your face."

They stepped up to the air lock that lead out to the aft hangar. "Why would she do that?" asked Alan.

"Because she wanted you to be enamored with her body."

"There's no chance of that, you've cast a spell on me that I'm not trying to break." Hilde gave Alan a kiss for luck. Then he put on his helmet and stepped into the airlock. His ship 055, the Double Nickel, was parked in his spot, parking spot one. It was parked, pointed to the big hangar door, and was ready to go.

"Red flight again sir?"

Alan Smiled. His twelve ships were set up in flights of two. He flew A Flight lead, and his wingman, the "semi-Martian" Anna Vasquez, was on his wing. If they flew a four ship formation, they became Red Flight. His twelve ships could make up three flights of four labeled Red Flight, Blue Flight and Green Flight. The four ship flights were rare, but this week they're going to practice launching as a four ship formation and split into two ship flights and return as two ship flights. "Just playing around with the new guys Gene," said Alan as he performed his walk around inspection of the double nickel. "We need practice launching four ships."

"Let's get you out on the runway," said Gene. He opened a panel and released the landing gear's magnetic hold on the metal floor. Alan and Gene Cernan pushed the double nickel out to the hangar door, then locked the landing gear to the floor again. They turned and saw Anna Vasquez, her RIO Scott Kelly and their plane captain, moving her plane behind the Double Nickel, and they gave her a hand. Cathy Coleman and Ed Gibson of B flight saw what was happening and soon all four planes were lined up on the centerline of the hangar deck.

"This is a great idea," said Alan as he patted Gene Cernan on the shoulder.

"I learned that trick on the NSS Kittyhawk," grinned Gene. "Just ask for a MITO and the Spaceboss will launch you five seconds apart."

Now that sounded like fun! Alan released his boot magnets and floated up into the cockpit of the ship. These Star Strikers were a joy to fly. It was almost like flying in the atmosphere when you were swooping and diving with a Star Striker. He couldn't wait to launch. Just as he was about to lower the canopy, Tasha Kikina climbed into the aft cockpit.

"You're late," growled Alan. "I want my aircrews preflight inspections complete twenty minutes before scheduled launch."

"Da I vas speaking wit Commander Marks. She vanted to haf vords wit me."

"I take it she wasn't impressed with the way you addressed me in the locker room?" asked Alan.

"Da. She insured I vas avare uf Western habits. In Eastern Bloc, ve spent much time naked."

"The next time you're late, for any reason, I don't care who's driving, you're walking home."

"Da, vill nefer happen again."

"It had better..." Alan hit the battery switch and fired up the on-board generator, applying power to the plane. He brought up the radio and got a good check with Red Flight. After verifying with his flight that they were ready, he switched channels and made a call. "NSS Spaceboss, this is Berserker Zero One. Red Flight is ready for MITO launch."

"Roger Berserker Zero One. You're number one on the runway, have a great flight." Suddenly, the magnetic trolly under the floor kicked Alan's ship out of the hangar. He gathered his wits and fired up the engine and soon all four ships were in a tight four ship formation, turning to give the tower a 'fly by.'

"That was so cool!" said Ed Gibson in Berserker 04. "I saw it from the rear, Bing! Bang! Boom! And we were all gone! That was a minimum interval take off, right?"

"It sure was," laughed Alan. He could see in the tower the Spaceboss was laughing and pointing at them as their circle of the NSS McDivitt was nearly complete. "Mister Kikina, give me a course to todays primary hunting grounds."

"Da, continue turning left to one eight zero degrees, zee minus three degrees."

"Very good." He flicked on the squadron radio frequency. "Berserker Zero Two, Three, and Four, this is Berserker Zero One. Great launch gang, I have the lead to our Happy Hunting Ground. Doe-DA!"

"Doe-DA!" the other ships replied.

Almost immediately, Alan's radio burst to life. "Berserker Zero One, McDivitt Spaceboss... Recall, Recall, Recall. Return to McDivitt ASAP."

Alan sighed, "I roger your recall order Spaceboss, Berserker Red Flight returning home." He made a broad 180-degree turn and picked up on their ILS signal and let the Double Nickel land automatically. The four ships glided into the hangar and floated over the parked Star Strikers until they reached their parking spot, where they spun around to face the center of the hangar and gently lowered to the deck.

"Excellent touch sir," said Tasha Kikina. "You vouldn't make me valk home, vould you?"

"Until I see proof of your allegiance with the Western Alliance, I suggest to keep your walking shoes and an extra tank of air handy."

"Vat do you mean darlink?"

"I know that your half-sister is Antonina Matrona Markov, a captain in the Eastern Bloc Peoples Space Force." Alan waited a long time for a response. "Well?"

"Not on radio."

Alan shook his head and shut down the Striker and climbed out and headed for the hangar airlock, with Tasha Kikina right behind him. As soon as the airlock equalized pressure and they could take their helmets off, Tasha said, "Ve must talk." Alan reached for the door handle, but Tasha slapped his hand away and said, "You must listen. Very Important. Eastern Block wants Lake Baikal, will kill anyone to get it."

"What are you talking about?"

"No time! We must get it first, and send it to Jupiter." She turned the handle and stepped into the pressurized life support area and there was a crowd of anxious fliers trying to figure out what was going on. Alan lost Tasha in the crowd as his team pulled him to the side and demanded to know what was going on.

"All flying has been suspended," cried a new RIO.

Alan replied, "Good, you need to catch up on your studying anyhow."

"How long will this be? I need points!" Fliers gain points for every mission and point totals work towards promotion.

"You'll get points, give it a few months." Being the lowest ranking man in the squadron, Alan was really not the one to talk to about fast promotions. He finally got to Life Support and was able to change out the heavy pressure suit for his lightweight flight suit and a pair of Velcro boots. He then headed upstairs, through the cabins to "officer's country" where the staff of the McDivitt and the senior leadership of the forty-third and the forty-fourth IFS units were gathered in a classroom.

"Finally," sighed the captain as Alan strapped himself in next to Hilde. "This briefing is classified Top Secret, and is for official use only. I'm sure it's going to be stuffed in a cabinet back on Earth." Top Secret material can be assessed as to how much damage it would cause if released and be put in a security cabinet, the higher the cabinet number, the more security will be used to protect it. The highest cabinet rating Captain Baker ever heard of was thirty-four.

"What is it? What's going on?" asked Alan.

"We received another Scaffold message from Mars. This one reads, 'Search for RSS Lake Baikal in Asteroid Belt. If found DO NOT APPROACH. Plague, Plague, Plague. Advise Red House Directly, Immediately. Relay message to any naval ship in the asteroid belt. End.'"

One of Captain Baker's staff officers, Commander Martin Monti, shrugged. "This is from the government of Mars. It doesn't apply to us, there's only one Martian on this ship."

"Three actually," said Alan. "One pilot, one RIO, and one plane captain. However, every piece of hardware used by the forty third Interplanetary Fighter Squadron was paid for by the planet of Mars so you can take your Earth first bullshit and stuff it up your..."

"Stop!" whispered Hilde quietly in his ear. She squeezed his thigh as a warning, but she was sympathetic. As a Luna she hears arrogant Earth First blather all the time too.

Captain Baker continued. "Seven minutes ago, we received a message from Armstrong that reads, 'McDivitt is now Scaffold asset. Follow Red House orders. Eagle One enroute.'" She looked at the commander that was still glaring angrily at Alan. "Yeah, you can stow that Earth First baggage or you can find another command to pollute. McDivitt is now an asset of Mars and Eagle One, our wing commander is enroute via fast shuttle. Earth is in its closest proximity to this location so he will be here in a few days. I hope to have the Lake Baikal located and cordoned off by the time he gets here."

"What is this thing?" demanded Commander Monti.

"The Lake Baikal is a Mars flagged ship, she's an ore and water carrier. I believe the crew is Pacific islanders. Other than that, I don't know. Why is it categorized as a plague? I don't know. Where is it? Nobody knows for sure.

"Ma'am," said Alan, raising his hand. "That thing launched ten years ago with thirty Martian passengers. My aunt and my cousin was among them and we never heard from them again."

"What does this thing have that we need to protect?" demanded Monti. "The plague itself?"

"Possibly," sighed Captain Baker.

"Ma'am, I saw that thing take off, I know exactly when it launched. It was an unusual launch pattern; I may be able to guess where it penetrated the Asteroid belt."

"How long will that take?" asked Captain Baker.

"Two, maybe three hours."

"You have one hour, go!" and when Captain Baker said that, Alan dashed out of the briefing room. The captain looked at Hilde and said, "Yeah, you can help too."

Hilde found Alan in the office they share and he had Noxie set up on a bookshelf. It was projecting a map of the solar system across the room onto the white board. Alan was drawing on the white board with different colored markers and making calculations as he went. "How are you doing?"

"Almost done. I think I know where it is, now I'm working on the question why. I sent a message to Uncle Ray to tell me what is going on, but I think I found another route of information."

Just then, the other Martian in the squadron, a new Radar Intercept Officer, Janet Kavandi, poked her nose in the door. "I found her sir."

"Bring her in," said Alan, who was suddenly more authoritative than any Lieutenant Junior Grade Hilde has ever heard. "Noxie, off," he commanded, and he turned up the room lights as LT Tasha Kikina stepped into the room. "Thank you Janet, please keep folks away from my door." When Janet stepped out, Alan said softly and firmly, "Tasha I will protect your sources, but this thing is getting huge. You have to be one hundred percent straight with me or Captain Schirra will have you spaced for treason the minute he gets here."

Tasha glanced nervously at Hilde, but Alan said, "She will keep any secret that you don't want revealed."

Tasha fought her inner demons and finally said, "da, my half-sister, und you vill find she is good source of information. She loves Earth, hates Eastern Bloc. Is why I immigrate to Mars and apply for citizenship."

"I didn't know you applied for citizenship... but we must talk about the Lake Baikal... Here's my solar system map," and he pointed to his circles on the board. "The yellow circle in the center is the sun, the blue circle is Earth, the Red circle is Mars and the wavy black line is the asteroid belt. And the black star is us." The blue and red circles were close to each other at the ten o'clock position on the map, along with the star. There was a small piece of paper taped near the star. "Where is the Lake Baikal?" and he handed her a whiteboard marker.

Tasha moved to the whiteboard and put an X on the piece of paper. "Here."

"You're just putting the x there because a random piece of paper is on the board."

"No..." She paused, how do you address your commander when you out rank him? "No sir, is there. Five hundred cubic kilometer area to search maybe seven fifty, but is there!"

Alan lifted the piece of paper to show an X he had drawn there himself. "Then we agree. I'll get a search going. Hilde how do you want to play this? We have a deadly plague somewhere around here," he circled his X. "Other people want it. Can you fly top cap for me while we search?" As Hilde considered her options, he turned to Tasha. "Tasha, please run over to the commanders office and ask Captain Baker if she can join us here, then go take a sauna. You've earned it."

"We have sauna? Yes sir!" and she disappeared. Moments later, there was a knock on his door.

"Enter," said Alan, as he and Hilde continued their discussion.

"I'm not used to reporting to Lieutenant JGs Mister Scarlett," snapped an angry ship's commander.

"I apologize ma'am, maybe Eagle can explain why I'm here, but I'm not in a trusting mood with some of the conversation I heard in that briefing room."

"So, what do you have, Lieutenant?" demanded Captain Baker.

"Here's my solar system today, Sun, Earth, Mars, asteroid belt, and us. I firmly believe that X marks the spot."

"That's at two o'clock off our bow."

"I have reason to believe that it's in an area about a thousand cubic kilometers in size."

"You mean five hundred cubic kilometers," she said.

"Ma'am?" Alan tried to look innocent, which caused Hilde to snicker.

"I know your Uncle Ray," said Captain Baker. "And yes, before you ask we did date. If he taught you anything it's how to hide your degree so no one will put you to work, how to pad your estimates so you look like a genius when you come in under your estimate, and how to kiss a woman so you don't have many lonely nights. I discovered you have your PhD in Astrophysics; you promised me three hours and you were done in thirty minutes. How did you learn number three?"

"I did the last one on my own... well, my big sister gave me pointers..." Suddenly Alan looked heartbroken. "My aunt was on that ship; she was Ray's common-law wife. I hated her but when they first met she made Ray happy. Oh, and when he raised me for six years, he went to bed alone every night."

"So how do you want to proceed?" asked the captain.

"If that thing has plague we need to tow it through the asteroid belt and aim it at Jupiter and let it go. We were planning on searching in pairs, two Berserkers sweeping the area and two Werewolves flying top cap."

"Top cap? Are you expecting trouble?"

"Yes ma'am. There's something on that ship that the Eastern Bloc wants."

"Let's double check your work, follow me," and with that the Captain led Alan and Hilde to the C In C and she stepped up to the main Plexigraph display. "ok what day did you say this ship launched?"

"October eleventh, twenty one thirty one. About two PM."

Captain Baker typed on a keyboard and the Plexigraph screen showed, "No Launches." She shrugged and said, "Ok, I'm not showing a record of any launch on October eleventh."

"Any launches? Zhang field is the number one spaceport on Mars. There's a launch or recovery every hour. I remember seeing two launches that day from the train as we traveled to Perseverance City."

"Nope, the MSA (Martian Space Authority) is showing no launches or landings," said the Captain.

"We were right there at Zhang Field," said Alan. "We watched that big fat thing take off like it was scared. I've never seen a launch go so fast. They must have been pulling fifteen Gs."

"Do you have access to Zhang field weather radar?" asked Hilde.

"Let's see..." said Captain Baker, and she grinned. "Oh yeah, check this out. Zhang Field, October eleventh." The screen showed a launch as seen by a radar scope. "Damn, look at it go... what is he hauling?"

"The Lake Baikal was an Oar/Ore freighter, it would deliver water to Mars and return to earth with the same weight in iron ore," said Alan.

Captain Baker pulled up another radar screen. "He didn't head to earth, he headed...there." They showed the Lake Baikal meeting an unregistered cargo freighter approximately 4 million miles from Mars. Once that rendezvous was complete, another, smaller ship pulled up alongside the Lake Baikal and flew along with the Lake Baikal for almost an Earth day, then the small ship flew to Mars and the Lake Baikal flew onward. "Its course will have it entering the Jovian atmosphere in about seventeen years."

"Where did that ship go?" asked Alan, as he pointed to the small ship that headed back to Mars.

"Mars, but..." Captain Baker typed on her keyboard. "It was flying incognito and it definitely didn't land at Zhang Field." She typed some more... "The database shows no landings anywhere on Mars during that time period."

"Who the hell is keeping the flight data records? The Marx Brothers?" cried Alan in exasperation.

Captain Brown said, "it's a government contractor, Marconi-Edison Bio-Electrical Research."

"That explains a lot," snapped Alan. You don't have to be Sherlock Holmes to see the connections forming. Everything is pointing back to Marconi-Edison Bio-Electrical Research.

"What's the name of that hoo-doo?" asked Hilde.

"The what?"

"That's what Lars called it, the ghost colony. He called it a hoo-doo."

"Kōngchéng... is that what happened to Kōngchéng? Did they get the plague from the Lake Baikal?"

"What happened with Kōngchéng?" asked Captain Baker.

"It was the only Eastern Bloc colony on Mars. We left it alone because we didn't have a force to get rid of them, and they paid their colonial fees, but then, after I got back from Earth, they went silent. Nobody has heard from them.

"When did you go to Earth?"

"January 2032." A misty grin spread across his face.

"Don't ask," warned Hilde. "He spent six months skinny-dipping with a girl from Hawaii."

"Yeah, then Ray brought me home..." He suddenly thought, "what if it's the plague they're after? If they can't get a sample from the Lake Baikal, they'll go to, to... they'll go to Mars. Shit!" He started pacing back and forth, muttering to himself. "How long will it take to get to Mars from here?"

Captain Baker shook her head and thought, "Sixty hours, two and a half days,."

"I need a recall, recall the Berserkers," said Alan. "Everyone to the squadron briefing room ASAP." He raced from the CinC and waited in the commander's study room, which was behind the briefing room. Alarms blared through the ship and Alan called his chief of maintenance, CPO Sharkey, on the phone. "Get me four Strikers ready for a long-distance run."

"Where to sir?"

"Mars, non-stop."

"Which flight? They're all pretty much ready to go."

"Easy and Foxtrot," said Alan. "Fully armed also."

"Three hours, sir."

"And the rest?"

"Ready for training sir."

"Arm the lasers. We may have to tangle."

"Yes sir."

Alan hung up the phone and walked into the briefing room. Behind him, a photo of a heavy lift freighter covered the wall. "ROOM TEN HUT!" shouted CPO Schafer, head of the squadron orderly room. All fliers snapped to attention.

Alan took his place and looked at his squadron and realized it was both squadrons. He looked over at Hilde, who was standing by the side, and she just smiled and mouthed the words "Do it!" Alan looked around and said, "As you were." The fliers strapped themselves to their benches. The back wall was clustered with maintenance people and suddenly Alan felt horrible.

"I want to apologize, the most you Berserkers knew when you signed up was that you might have to fight and die for a series of dry, dusty colonies on a tiny planet that you can only see from earth at sunset... You didn't ask for a commander that you out rank, an absentee wing commander, and a posting on the ass-end of the solar system but here we are. It's time to earn our underwhelming paychecks..."

"Ten years ago the heavy lift freighter RSS Lake Baikal disappeared after launch with thirty Martian passengers aboard. The records of the launch from Zhang field disappeared and several weeks later an Eastern Bloc Martian colony went silent. The last heard radio transmission from the Kōngchéng colony was translated as "It's Loose."

Captain Baker stepped up to Alan and handed him a printout from the Radio Room. It was a very brief message from Uncle Ray. He said that the plague was identified and they believe it killed everyone in the Kōngchéng colony.

The room was deadly silent as Alan read, then he folded up the message and handed it to Hilde before he continued. "We believe the Lake Baikal is infested with a plague that was just identified. I was just informed that the entire Kōngchéng colony was killed by a plague and the two may be connected. Our orders are to find that freighter and quarantine it. Do not touch it!"

"That's it?" asked Sid Gutierrez, leader of Delta Flight. Sid was from Earth. He didn't understand the terror that a plague holds for the people of Martian and Lunar colonies.

"No. Somebody is coming to get it. They cannot have it! If they touch it, kill them... they're going to die anyway. And if they see us here they're going to Mars to scrape some of that plague off of Kōngchéng and take it back to Earth. They cannot have that either. Echo Flight. Foxtrot Flight. Get your gear together, you're going to Mars in 3 hours. If anyone gets near Kōngchéng kill them. You will save millions of lives and you will be doing them a mercy. This plague has a 100% mortality rate, if you touch it, you die. Report to Ray Clark on entry to Martian Space. He will probably have you land at Perseverance City or at Zhang Field.

"Doe-DA!" shouted the Berserkers and the eight fliers got up to leave.

Before Alan could say another word, Hilde shouted, "Werewolves! Echo Flight, and Foxtrot Flight, you're flying top cap for the Berserkers. Three hours! Get packed!"

"Arrr-OOOO!" shouted the eight fliers, and they left.

Alan looked at the remaining fliers. He looked like he had just been beaten up. "Any questions?" he asked sadly.

"Is it really that bad sir?"

"It's worse. Berserkers, Alpha Flight, Bravo Flight, be ready to launch in thirty minutes..." He turned to Hilde. "Take us out Commander."

"Werewolves same thing," called Hilde. "I can't underplay how important this is. A simple flu virus can wipe out an entire colony if not handled properly, so colonists are particularly terrified of biological warfare. It takes one infected person to kill thousands. But if this thing gets to earth, that's it for humanity. Let's go find a rocket!"

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

NSS McDivitt, December 1, 2141

Squadron Commander's Office

"It's out there, we'll find it," said Hilde as Alan studied a map of the local area that Noxie was projecting against the whiteboard. It was a "live" map constantly being updated with the McDivitt's radar and AWS (Asteroid Warning System). It also showed bright pinpoints of light where their searching spacecraft was located. Red lights for the Werewolves, Purple for the Berserkers. (Hilde assigned those colors)

Alan didn't move or reply. He was asleep. He looked like he was standing, studying the boards, his Velcro boots caught on the Velcro carpet, but his crossed arms uncrossed and floated gently in front of him. "Noxie, off," ordered Hilde,

"Yes honey bunch," said Noxie, and the office went dark. The only light came from their terminal monitors at their desks.

"Did Alan program you to call me that?"

"Yes honey bunch," then one of Noxie's round, luminous blue eyes became a straight line of blue, then returned to circular. He just winked at her. She untied Alan's Velcro boots and gently "unplanted" him from where he had fallen asleep, leaving his boots behind and carried his sleeping body to their adjoining joint cabin. He's flown multiple search missions and was exhausted.

There she carefully unzipped his flight suit and pulled it off and put it in the laundry, then took him to their bunk. The best way to describe their bunk was a cushioned closet. She felt so sorry for him. A Lieutenant JG, he just turned 21, and he's in command of a flying unit and is doing the mission planning for a second unit. The night before, she had a talk with the captain. "He can't go on like this, he's burning himself out, can't his executive officer help?"

"His XO is enroute to Mars, along with your XO," said Captain Baker.

"What is this, trial by fire?"

"Yes," said Captain Baker without a pause. "Captain Schirra sees something in this boy and his orders are, 'Let Scarlett run with it, let him do it his way.'"

Hilde decided to stand by him and offer all the help that he asks for. In the end, she got a flying schedule for her troops that was perfect in every way. It's like he's been scheduling sorties and crew rests his whole life. When she asked him how he drew up the schedules, he had to think for a moment. "I see what needs to be done, and I do it." He shrugged, wondering why nobody else thought of that formula. "I see the crews as part of a jigsaw puzzle and I can see where they fit into the big picture."

She gave him a bird bath and took one herself, then opened the door to the bunk and eased him in there. He was asleep the whole time. She floated in next to him and activated the bunk and the cushions gently inflated with air, pressing together gently. She closed the door and added oxygen to the air balance and soon she was asleep too.

She didn't know how long she slept, but she realized that Alan was feeling better because she woke to find the cushions deflated and he was between her legs, gently licking her pussy. He had somehow pushed their silver butt plug in her ass while she slept, a sign of what was to cum!

Hilde groaned. It felt so good to have him suckling and lapping at her pussy. Two fingers easing in and out of her sodden cunt. So perfect, so exciting, and so different to the way Yin makes love to her. While Yin's tongue feels like a demented butterfly tap dancing on her clit, Alan feels like a lion gently savoring its favorite meal, getting ready for that big bite. Hilde couldn't wait to introduce him to Yin. Yin has already said that she wanted to meet Alan. She's going to love him, too. Hilde sighed as Alan eased a third finger into her pussy and she clenched his digits with her vaginal muscles. "You're awake," he whispered.

"I have the greatest alarm clock in the world," she sighed. "A big dick." She pressed her feet against the upper cushion and pressed, which pushed her ass against the lower cushion. She was now immobile and they could play like they were in gravity. "Fuck me, give me your baby," she whispered.

"I will, just as soon as Yin says yes."

That both thrilled Hilde and brought some disappointment. She could step off this boat nine months pregnant and she and Yin Chao would have the baby they've dreamed of, but Yin wants to meet Alan first. It thrilled Hilde that this man knows how important Yin is to her and how he agrees with their desires. He could be gleefully pounding away at her pussy and she would do nothing to stop him, but he won't. Not until Yin says it's ok, and that's so perfect! Yet, she wants that dick NOW!

"Ohhhhh God, fuck me," she groaned. Her lover had three fingers in her pussy and was fucking them in and out, his other hand grabbing a large breast tightly for support. The sensations were so good. She was immediately transported in her mind to a bed on Mars where Yin joined them and watched as her wife was fucked senseless. "Yes! More!" she cried as all four fingers were pounding and stretching her pussy, getting her ready for that massive cock that would someday be all hers.

Her orgasm crashed over her with the power of a tsunami and she grabbed his wrist with both hands, pulling his fingers in as deep as possible. She shook as the waves of pleasure washed over her; her shaking legs pressing harder against the upper cushion, driving her ass deeper into the lower cushion. With a shout, it was over and she was curled up in the fetal position, her young man wrapping his strong Martian arms around her. She shook and shuddered as the subsiding waves of pleasure left her floating in a world of bliss.

"I saw our baby," she whispered. "he had your eyes and chin and my hair."

"A blond Martian?"

"Uh huh, and he's going to run Mars."

"Our son, the president," sighed Alan, as he held Hilde tight.

"No, he's not going to be president. He's going to run the place like Uncle Ray."

They cuddled together, kissing and whispering, both dreaming of a future that will include Yin. Occasionally, they bumped against a cushion and rebounded, and occasionally Alan's hard penis nudged Hilde's round, delightful buttocks. "Ok, ok. I haven't forgotten you." She grabbed his cock and said, "such an impatient fellow. Let's get me ready." She pushed Alan away and pressed her feet against the upper cushion again and Alan eased the buttplug out of her ass.

"Now baby!" she gasped as he eased one, then two lube covered fingers into her asshole. He's found out over the past that when she says 'Now Baby' she's ready, and the feeling may not last long. She could lose the desire while he was lubing up, and then it wouldn't be fun for either of them. He quickly lubed his cock and pressed against her exposed and vulnerable asshole.

He grasped Hilde's hips for stability and pressed inwards with little jerks of his hips. She grinned and rolled her eyes and sighed, "I'm going to miss this..."

"Miss?"

"Oh hell yeah, once you're in my pussy you're going nowhere except my mouth or maybe Yin."

Soon he was pounding in her, soaking in her cloying warmth. He could even feel her heartbeat through his cock. Her sphincter squeezed and massaged his cock as he fucked and she groaned as her pleasure grew. "Fuck me!" she growled. "You can't break me!" she cried as she came on his spearing cock. His fucking grew spastic, and he fucked wildly, their bodies slapping together, and suddenly he was spurting his semen into her ass. His orgasm snuck up on him and hit him hard. He jerked and grunted as each spasm of pleasure had its way with him.

They eventually collapsed into each other's arms and they kissed as they gently bounced from cushion to cushion. "We're going to be great parents," he sighed. "The three of us."

She kissed Alan and said, "You teach them nerd, I'll teach them hockey."

"What will Yin teach them?" he asked.

"Everything else," and they kissed sweetly.

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

NSS McDivitt, December 3, 2141

Combat Information Center

Alan stepped into the CIC, still wearing his pressure suit and carrying his helmet and gloves. Some wag had painted the helmet purple and put white horns on the side. He did not know why it was painted like that, but he was now being called "Alan the Red" by the senior staff. He had just finished a four-hour search pattern and had a ton of squadron paperwork to do. The search was grueling because it was all visual searching. Radar probably wouldn't be able to tell the difference between a fat cargo hauler and a fat rock.

He wanted to go take a long hot sauna with Hilde but she was out flying top cap, watching out for the Eastern Bloc people that were sure to come, especially if they saw the two squadrons searching one area. They had to know what was going on.

He still couldn't believe he was a Lieutenant Junior Grade, an O-2 commanding one of the most important missions since the war of 2085 (WWIV). As he stepped inside the CinC, Commander Tim Kanopa, the executive officer of the McDivitt, called the room to attention. By habit, Alan snapped to attention. "No, that was for you, sir!" grinned Tim. He was a large man with a shaved head, dark brows, and a pointed nose. He spoke with a strange earth accent and called everyone "Bloke" or "Mate." He rarely smiled, but today he was grinning from ear to ear.

"Why, am I a general now?"

"You may be when Eagle gets here, he's nine hours out, but you found it!"

"We found it? Where? Show me!"

The large plexigraph status board showed the cube of space they've been searching for the past eighteen days. It was in the lower corner nearest to where the McDivitt was sitting. "It was turning the search ninety degrees that did it sir," said Commander Kanopa. "It was pressed against a large asteroid and is covered with dust."

The way navigation is standardized, the sun is always north. Zero degrees dividing east from west on the solar system plane is a straight line between the sun and Proxima Centauri. If you were looking straight down on the solar system and you saw the earth was at the Nine o'clock position, it was sitting at 270° on its orbit. That usually put it in mid-December. To go above or below the solar system plane, your movement was measured in degrees on the Z axis, or in numerical distance measured as Z+ or Z-. The plane is determined by the Earth's revolutions around the sun, not because that's where life began, but because Earth has the flattest orbit around the sun. It defines the planetary orbital plane for the solar system.

When they began searching, they were making north to south passes in the search area, and they dropped two KM (Z - 2KM) between passes. They used radar and magnetometers, but primarily it was the Star Strike's landing lights and two pairs of eyeballs doing the majority of the searching. They finished searching the search area three days previously and were now sweeping east to west, moving up on the Z axis (Z = 2KM) after each pass.

Nobody called out "I found it!" on the radio. They were too professional. It was Berserker Eight, Commander Rhea Seddon, MD, who saw it and called out, "Berserker Maintenance, this is Berserker Eight. I have a FTS warning light come on, I'm going to stop and look at this. Can you send a mechanic?"

"What's an FTS warning light?" asked Commander Kanopa.

"FTS stands for Found The Ship," grinned Alan. "Tell my A flight to report to the cockpit," and he dashed off to life support where Anna Vasquez and Tasha Kikina were taking off their pressure suits. "Get them back on you two, we're going back out."

"Blin!" (Damn it) shouted Tasha Kikina,

"Maldita sea!" (Damn it!) shouted Anna Vasquez.

"I knew it was going to happen," said Scott Kelly, Anna Vasquez's RIO. He was still fully dressed in a pressure suit and eating peach slices from a small container. Their recent supply drop included several cases of peach slices, and Scott had become addicted to them.

"Let's go, called Alan. "Doctor Seddon had an FTS warning light!"

"Let's rock!" shouted Scott, and he helped Anna Vasquez get her horse collar on. (The horse collar is a protective portion of the pressure suit that contains shoulder pads and the helmet ring. It's a pain to pull over your head when putting on the pressure suit.)

"Kikina!" shouted the technician from life support. "Your helmet is done!" and he tossed her a purple helmet with white Viking horns and the tall Russian tossed her plain beige helmet back.

"What is with these helmets?" asked Alan.

"You're a berserker, right? And a berserker is a Viking, Right? There you go!" said the life support technician. "Vasquez and Kelly, I'll have yours ready when you get back."

"I still don't get it," muttered Alan as they headed off to the hangar deck.

The four fliers piled into the air lock and were soon in the maintenance hangar. Their ships were being readied for the flight. After a quick walk around inspection, Alan released the magnetic lock and the three crew members of Berserker One (Alan, Tasha, and Gene) pushed their ship out to the center of the hangar, followed by Berserker Two.

Alan floated up to the cockpit and settled into the seat. The magnets in his pressure suit locked into the seat and once all eight magnets were locked, the seat pulled him tight. His slimline oxygen system on his back connected to his ship, and he was good for hours. "One A ready," said Tasha Kikina.

"Berserker One ready, canopy coming down," said Alan as the two canopies on the F-201 Star Strike closed.

"Berserker Two ready, canopy coming down," said Anna Vasquez to let Alan know she's ready to launch.

"McDivitt Spaceboss, this is Berserker one, I've got a flight of two strikers and we're ready to launch, requesting MITO."

"Berserker one, I show you ready, hangar doors coming open, have a pleasant flight, Spaceboss clear."

The moment that the hangar doors were open wide enough, Alan's ship was flung out into space, Berserker two was five seconds behind him. "Ok, my fellow Martian, we'll turn right and head Zee Minus about three hundred kilometers."

"Lead on oh berserk one," said Tasha, and Alan turned to the right and followed Hilde's beacon to the wreck of the Lake Baikal. There were now four Berserkers and two Werewolves hovering about 100 meters from the old ship.

The Lake Baikal was near a large asteroid, which was large enough to hide the Lake Baikal from the NSS McDivitt's radar sweeps, and it hid the ship from the north/south visual sweep. The cargo bay doors were wide open and the removable cargo modules were gone. Two bodies floated outside of the Baikal, both of them wearing out of date pressure suits and there were two pair of painter's coveralls floating nearby. Both bodies had their helmet face plates open. Didn't they have a faceplate vacuum lock back then? If anyone had seen this, they normally would have suspected something was up: plague, pirates, something horrible. Since there were no reports of strange plagues, the natural camouflage of this location may have saved millions of lives.

Alan proudly watched his team working together as they recorded everything in the area. A mini-bot flew from Berserker eight's ship to the wreck and mapped everything, while Berserker seven flew larger and larger rings around the wreck, radar mapping every square inch. Rhea Seddon's RIO, Lieutenant Doug Wheelock, flew the mini-bot around the Lake Baikal starting with the back. He surveyed all three cargo bays, finding nothing, not even the cargo modules were left behind.

The mini-bot carefully examined the corpses that were floating outside of the ship. Doctor Seddon was now controlling the mini-bot as it examined the corpses. Alan watched as Rhea Seddon moved her Striker toward the aft end of the Lake Baikal and she concentrated on her instrument panel. She did something because the aft passenger airlock on the Lake Baikal slowly opened and the mini-bot flew inside the Lake Baikal.

The outer airlock door closed and from the small port holes on the side of the passenger portion of the ship, you could see the mini-bot had turned on high-intensity lights and was exploring the dark interior of the ship. Nothing really happened for fifteen long minutes except the mini-bot's lights shining through different portholes. Then the light from the mini-bot went dark and Rhea leaned back in her seat. She whispered, "take us home Sid."

"Roger Doc, form up on me," said D Flight leader Sid Gutierrez and D Flight, Berserker Seven and Eight, formed up and headed back to the McDivitt. It was clear that Rhea had set her ship to automatically follow her leader from its perfection in flying. Every move that Sid made in Berserker 7 was matched perfectly by Rhea's Berserker 8.

Alan was thinking about what he had to say to Sid and Rhea. They left the AOR (Area Of Responsibility) without permission from the commander... However, the ranking man was not the squadron commander, it was Doctor Rhea. Commander Rhea told Lieutenant Sid to lead her home. It was mostly a lawful order. Rhea was not the unit commander, however, and the unit commander was on site. It was a quandary that Captain Schirra put him in; he was ordered to command a unit where every single person outranked him. Did Captain Schirra do this to teach him the difficulties of command? Or was one of his statements taken as bragging and he was put here as a slap down?

Hilde pulled up next to Alan, and they sat floating in space, side by side, staring at this beast that caused so much pain. "I'm going for a walk," said Alan and his canopy went up and he floated up out of the cockpit using thrust from his slimline pack. Tasha Kikina squawked a bit about being abandoned, but Alan didn't respond. He had a mono-filament retraction reel on his belt and it would pull him back to the cockpit of his ship if Tasha hit the appropriate button.

Hilde's canopy opened, and she floated out of Werewolf 1 and using their "puff packs" they drifted to each other. They embraced, holding their helmets together, which allowed them to talk without the radio. "It's so relaxing floating out here," said Alan. He remembered in the Academy his first spacewalk and he was mesmerized by looking at the earth below him. He understood immediately why John Young had to be ordered back into his spacecraft one hundred seventy-five years ago. It's so beautiful and peaceful, floating weightless, with a beautiful blue world revolving beneath you.

"What's wrong with Doctor Seddon?" asked Hilde. She obviously noticed Rhea leaving the AOR without permission.

"She somehow got a mini-bot inside." Alan was sure that he didn't have to describe the horror that she had to deal with. However, he had no idea how bad it really was.

Alan was about to make a romantic overture toward Hilde when a powerful voice broke their reverie. "Attention all personnel monitoring this net, attention all personnel monitoring this net, this is McDivitt Space Control with the following announcement. The Eagle has landed. I repeat, the Eagle has landed. Command staff report to briefing room one in thirty minutes. Space Control out."

Alan looked sad as he studied her ocean blue eyes, then without warning he activated her retraction reel. "You!" she shouted. As she was being pulled back to her spacecraft, she was able to hit Alan's reel, and he was pulled back into Berserker One. Laughing, they returned to their cockpits and began the flight back to the McDivitt.

Alan made sure he was latched into his seat; it took a bit of rocking to get all the magnets to latch up before the canopy would come down. "You fly us back, Tasha. I'll handle the landing, just get us in the pattern."

"You are either very much happy, very much in love, or very much ignorant of my flying skills," said Tasha Kikina as she slammed the throttle forward and the ship jumped.

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

NSS McDivitt, December 3, 2141

Commander's Mess

Captain Walter Schirra stood at the airlock and requested permission to come aboard and saluted the Western Alliance flag. "Welcome aboard sir," said Commander Kanopa, then the bosun's mate piped the Captain aboard. The PA throughout the ship announced, "Eighth Interplanetary Fighter Wing arriving."

"Follow me Captain, we have a bit of a reception planned for you, when the rest of the guests arrive." He led the Captain to the life support locker room where he could change into a more comfortable uniform and have his pressure suit cleaned and upgraded. After changing out of his pressure suit and into a flight suit with all the requisite badges of rank and Wolfpack patches, Wally saw a helmet that was sitting on a rack that intrigued him. "Spaceman, may I see that helmet?"

"Aye aye sir," and he handed Captain Schirra the purple helmet with white horns.

Wally Schirra turned the helmet over in his hands, then handed it back to the technician. "The Vikings?"

"The Forty Third squadron is called the Berserkers, which were Vikings. This is for the squadron XO when he gets back."

"Oh? Where is he at?"

"Don't know sir, but he's been gone for days."

"Looks great, but does that comply with Navy regulations spaceman?"

"Not sure, Sir. This is for the Martian Navy."

"Martian navy... nice." Wally left the Life Support section and was still laughing as they floated up the long tube that connected the flight deck area to the command area.

"Can I take that for you?" asked Tim Kanopa, and he reached for the heavy-looking case that the Captain was carrying.

"No. I need to take this to the CinC before we go anywhere."

"Right here sir, this is intelligence director Sams."

Wally handed the gunmetal gray case to the director of Intelligence, who grinned as he looked at it. "The Scarlett Encryptor. I've been waiting forever for this. Any relationship to our own Lieutenant JG Scarlett?"

"His older sister built it using a design of his. It was an electronics project when she was an undergrad."

The head of intelligence, Lieutenant Commander Lewis Sams, looked at the box and whistled. "Some project!"

"Run this as soon as it comes up then store it with the device," and he handed Lt. Commander Sams a piece of paper marked Top Secret, Cabinet 30. It was covered with random symbols, numbers, and letters.

"Aye, aye sir! We have a stack of messages waiting for this!" He set the case into a space on a counter that was waiting for it, opened the lid and connected the network and power. Inside was a metal drum, and he clipped the paper to the drum, hit a switch and it started spinning. An optical scanner looked at the spinning drum, and a counter on the top showed that it was doing something and was 2% complete.

"That will take a while, it's loading the Dhali code. I'm expecting a message if it's not here already," said the commander of the two flying squadrons. "Commander Kanopa, lead on!"

The next stop for Captain Schirra was the commander's mess, a small, elegant dining facility. "Welcome aboard the McDivitt, sir. I've heard so much about you," said Captain Ellen Baker. "I'm sorry I didn't meet you at the airlock but we've been having some excitement around here."

"Where are my squadron commanders?" asked Wally as they sat and he poured coffee (actually injected it into a squeeze bottle from a thermos pump.)

"They were expecting you in a few more hours so they both responded to an FTS call," said Ellen Baker as she sat a container of sandwiches on the magnetic table.

"FTS?"

"Found the ship. They work in near radio silence, the searchers speaking on intercom or helmet-to-helmet contact. On the radio they speak in abbreviations." She explained how Alan took control of the situation. "This is his mission and there's no doubt he's well suited for it. He wouldn't give many orders; he'd just ask for suggestions and work with the best ones."

"And his orders he did give?"

"Most I agreed with. I still think he sent too many people to Mars, but..."

"Mars?" demanded Captain Schirra. "What the hell are they doing on Mars and why wasn't I informed."

"You weren't informed due to Operations Security. We're sure we are being monitored but we didn't have an encryptor with high enough security for the information this mission generates. As for why, Alan was sure that if the Lake Baikal wasn't found, they would go to Kōngchéng to find the plague."

"And Alan Scarlett came up with that all by himself and initiated the operation without permission?" said Captain Schirra, trying to hold back a wry smile.

"Something about forgiveness being easier to get than permission," said Captain Baker as she poured herself another bottle of coffee. "The deployed fliers are guests of Ray Clark and he's very happy with them. The detachment is eight ships, four from each squadron and one of the officers is a native Martian. Ray signaled me that she's now a celebrity and a recruiting poster."

"Wait, the forty third is his unit, he can do whatever he wants with them. What is the forty fourth doing there? They're not Martian, if something happens, Mars will freak."

"They're flying Top Cap, and the Martians love the idea. We're getting reports of ships probing the Martian atmosphere, they're afraid it's going to get ugly. But still, we need to finish up here and get back there quickly. Luckily it has remained quiet here. Long range radar shows a little movement far off, about three days away but...

Just then Alan Scarlett, Hilde Marks, Lieutenant Lewis, Director of Intelligence, Lieutenant Commander Oswald, Director of Communications and two marines entered the room. "Ma'am, sir," said Hilde. "We just had a major security breech."

"What are you saying?"

"Ma'am, we dropped a comms drone ten thousand KM aft of us when we took up station here," said Lieutenant Commander Oswald. "It picked up a radio signal emanating from this ship. The signal did not contain the Western Alliance header. It was sent in a Slavic alphabet and was immediately flagged as enemy action."

"I suggest an immediate search of all bunks and personal spaces," said Lieutenant Lewis. "The antenna array of the McDivitt was used to send the message and it's going to attract attention."

"I have the Berserkers on alert ready to defend the Lake Baikal. We are going to have gunnery practice as a show of power," said Alan.

"I have the Werewolves on their wing," said Hilde.

The Captain's mess went silent as Captains Baker and Schirra considered the consequences. Finally, the silence was broken with a single syllable. "Shit," muttered Captain Baker. "XO, start the search."

Commander Kanopa rose and floated over to an intercom box. He turned a knob and selected ship wide. "Attention on all decks, attention on all decks. All personnel will stand by their bunk. All personnel will stand by their bunk. Prepare for ship wide inspection."

"May we accompany you ma'am?" asked Alan.

"Why?" Captain Baker demanded.

"With all due respect, ma'am, this is my mission. This radio signal made my life much more difficult. And I think I know what to look for."

"And what would that be?" she demanded.

"A toy robot."

The search didn't last long. They started with the officers of Captain Baker's command staff. The marines searched each bunk area for computation devices and radio devices, and they didn't find anything until they reached Commander Martin Monti's bunk. The Marine emerged with a toy robot.

"Oh Noxie!" cried Hilde. "He's so cute!" While Alan's Noxie was made in two shades of blue with black buttons, this one was blue and red with silver ornamentation.

"He's a good-looking robot," agreed Alan. "I'd say a twenty one thirty six model, is that right Commander Monti?"

"Twenty-one thirty-five," said the Commander.

"I have a Twenty-One Thirty model, not nearly as cool as this one. I got it for my eleventh birthday." Alan looked at the little robot and smiled. "I still use my Noxie, he's really awesome. That's where I got my degree in robotics, from playing with Noxie."

He leaned forward toward the robot that the marine held as carefully as an armed bomb. "Noxie, Factory Override Five Three One Two Romeo Alpha Delta." The toy robot's eyes flashed red twice. It was now unlocked. "Noxie, do you have a radio interface circuit?" The robot's eyes flashed green twice. Yes.

"Noxie, send all radio messages that you transmitted in the past seventy two hours to the commander's printer." The robot's eyes flickered yellow, then flashed green three times. Complete.

"It stores radio messages?" gasped Monti.

"Noxie remembers everything, don't you girl?" said Hilde and Noxie's eyes flashed green twice.

"Thank you Noxie," said Alan. "Commander Monti, thank you. Once we study your messages I'm sure the Captain would like to have a word with you. When your trial is over can I keep your Noxie? I think my girlfriend likes your robot."

<><><><><>

The marines found the keyboards that came with the Noxie, a western keyboard and a cyrillic keyboard. "Looks like Mister Monti speaks Russian or Slavic or something," said Commander Kanopa.

"I can't read any of this crap," said Captain Baker as she looked through the sheets of paper.

"Maybe cryptography could figure it out" said Captain Schirra as he looked through the printout from Monti's Noxie.

Without saying a word, Alan went over to the intercom box and selected ship wide. "Lieutenant Kikina to the Captain's Mess, Lieutenant Kikina to the Captain's Mess ASAP. Berserker out." Then he drifted back over to Hilde and strapped down to a chair next to her.

"Mister Scarlett, I insist that you keep your hands off my box," said Captain Ellen Baker. She glared at him angrily, daring him to laugh.

"Yes ma'am," said Alan, trying not to blush. He lost the battle of the blush.

"Berserker out?" Hilde asked quietly.

"It was the last time I ever get to use the intercom, so why not?"

Soon Tasha entered the room, planted her Velcro boots and stood at attention. "Lieutenant Tasha Petrova Kikina reports as ordered ma'am." She looked at Alan, who was still blushing. "Vat?"

"We need your skills," said Alan.

"Vat, is it because I am Martian?"

"Can you read this?" Captain Baker asked.

"He always peeks on me because of my Martian heritage," said Tasha in her heavy Slavic accent. Then she looked at the documents that Noxie printed. "Chert voz'mi!" (God damn it)

"What is it Martian?" asked Alan.

"This gives someone our numbers, this one tells number of ships sent to Mars, this describes search patterns we use, this one he forgot to add security header, it tells of Lake Baikal and how Berserkers collecting virus samples..." she looked again at the sheet. "Scarlett Virus he calls it."

"There's no viruses being collected... are there?" asked Captain Baker.

"Nobody touched anything," said Tasha. "I vas there. Anything drawn near to Lake Baikal is abandoned at the wreck."

"Hang him," muttered Hilde. "He's trying to start a war."

"Well, he's wrong. For once I'm not involved with..." Alan shrugged his shoulders. "Scarlett virus? It's not me this time..." Then memories from his childhood stepped to the forefront. "Oh no... did someone resurrect one of those damn bugs that Dad studied?"

Captain Schirra slowly nodded.

"NO!" he slammed the table and cried "The only one that could do that was Mom... she's the only one who could manipulate a genome to do that and she'd never do that!"

"She did," said Captain Schirra sadly. "According to Lars Olsen, she put an end of life sequence into its genome but when they found out how deadly it was, even in the short term, an Eastern Bloc xenobiologist was able to clear that end of life gene. The damn thing is almost immortal now," said Captain Schirra. "It killed everything in Kōngchéng. That site isn't abandoned, it's quarantined. If that bug gets lose on earth, all life is doomed. Human, animal, plant..."

"And they call it the Scarlett Virus? Why would mom and dad do that?"

"Because they were told that you and Christa would be killed if they didn't cooperate," said Captain Schirra. "They were sure that once they finished the project they'd be left alone, that the end of life gene Lauren implanted in their genome was protection enough, but the Eastern Block discovered the EOL gene and reprogrammed it, then killed your parents to keep them from talking. You and Christa were supposed to die with them. They took one hundred and twenty men, women, children with your parents."

"NO! I cannot allow father's name on this!" shouted Alan. "I will not!" He released from his seat and drifted to the television monitor at the head of the table and tuned to the input where the videos from Rhea Seddon's mini-bot were stored. "Look at this! She used a medical emergency override to open the air lock. It still had enough power to cycle. Those doors on the left, those are passenger cabins, those squares are blocks of steel they bolted in place on the doors preventing them from opening, sealing the passengers in. Those animals left them in there to die of starvation."

The bot traveled forward, past the sleeping passengers to the forward cabin where each member of the flight crew had a needle in their arms. "A flight crew sharing drugs in flight? Seriously, how stupid are we expected to be?" snapped Alan. The bot spun around to look at the desiccated corpses in the 24 coach seats. "What are those black squares on their foreheads Doctor Baker?"

"They're..." The captain closed her eyes. She didn't want to think of this.

"What are they Doctor?" demanded Alan. He knew she knew.

"They're hospice tags. The eastern bloc uses them. They would have the patient's name on them but when brain functions end they go black."

"Any guesses why they have them?" Alan was almost yelling now. This was the Alan that comes out when someone is needed to take charge. The Alan that Hilde was so madly in love with. "I'll tell you why. There are cameras mounted in the passenger cabin. My guess is that one person was injected, and they watched it on TV as their hospice tags went black. One. By. One. Isn't that right doctor?"

Captain Baker nodded, but she screwed her eyes shut, trying to keep back the tears. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She was supposed to shuttle around trainee pilots and patch up the wounded when they landed hard. She's not supposed to be lectured on a gothic horror story by a twenty-one-year-old victim of the violence.

Alan froze the picture. "That woman, right there... That's my Aunt Tammy and the one next to her, that's my cousin Shiela. I didn't like them, but I will avenge them, and I will avenge my parents, I WILL!" He shrieked and he slammed his hand on the table as hard as he could. Then, in a soft, shaking voice, he said, "I will gut the next person I hear say 'Scarlett Virus.'"

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

NSS McDivitt, December 5, 2141

Squadron Briefing Room.

The command staff of the McDivitt sat around a large table with maps and figures spread out. Tempers were flaring. "The only way I can see to get the Lake Baikal out of the asteroid belt is to drop to Z minus one thousand KM and we'll avoid all major asteroids. Then we head south... at..." Commander Kanopa made several calculations then came up with "Two hundred five degrees..."

"Where is that going?" asked Hilde as she looked up at the live map of the solar system. Two hundred five degrees was awful. "That's nowhere close to Jupiter."

"Jupiter is out of position," said Tim Kanopa. "We can't hit it for almost nine years. I'm looking at Saturn."

"And how many years are we going to be escorting a plague infested ghost ship? Meanwhile half the Eastern Block is collecting plague infected corpses from Kōngchéng to air drop on Western Alliance cities!" shouted Hilde.

"Stop," said Alan calmly. "We're not going to tow Lake Baikal anywhere. We have to get back to Mars. I want to leave in three days."

"Three days?" asked Captain Baker sharply. "That's news to me."

"We can't just put a fence around it," said Tim Kanopa.

"I'm going to vaporize it," said Alan.

"What?" demanded Captain Schirra.

"We take a Mark 885 warhead, it's a dial-a-duck..."

"A what?" asked Commander Sams from Intel.

"A dial-a-duck is a warhead that you can actually adjust the blast from kilotons to megatons. It's all deuterium and tritium injection into the critical..."

"Thank you, Lieutenant Scarlett," said Captain Schirra forcefully. "We get it, you know the bomb. What's your plan?"

"I dial down the yield, tweak the Iridium and Tritium settings, cut back the deuterium and we have a fizzler that's powerful enough to dose every virus in the Lake Baikal with enough X radiation to sterilize it, and a wave of heat energy that will melt the Lake Baikal into a ball of steel that any surviving virus cannot escape."

"That's it? Just poof? And it's gone?" asked Commander Kanopa.

"Yeah," shrugged Alan. "Just because a bomb was made to destroy cities, that doesn't make it totally bad. I need two B71 bombs with a W855 warhead and this mission is over."

"What's the other bomb for?" asked Captain Baker.

"Kōngchéng."

"We're not going to bomb Mars," said Captain Baker.

"No, you're not, ma'am. I am. I'm the only Martian here, it's my call. I get a day or so ahead of the McDivitt, we withdraw our people from Kōngchéng and the only thing you have to do when you pull into orbit is march in the victory parade."

"NO! You will not do this! This plan is reckless and dangerous," demanded Captain Schirra. "By God I order you..."

"My plan has already been approved by the President, Parliament, and Senate of Mars. Funds to pay for the bomb are being collected from private donors," said Alan. "What's the Navy's Venmo number?"

"He's been using the Scarlett Encryptor nonstop since you got here sir," said Lewis Sams.

Alan glared at his commander. "You put me in charge. Let me finish this or space me. I will accept no other choices."

"Estell was fucking right about you," muttered Captain Schirra.

"What... she told you not to hire me?"

"NO! She called me stupid for taking so long to make the decision."

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

NSS McDivitt, December 7, 2141

Asteroid Belt

It was not as easy as hoped. They found that for maximum efficiency, the bomb had to be about a thousand meters away from the Lake Baikal and there were three asteroids that had to be moved to ensure that the full force of the wave of X radiation and heat hit the Lake Baikal. They had plenty of cable; it was brought expecting having to tow the Lake Baikal, but they only had two jeeps and one truck.

The Jeeps were used to string the cable lassoes over the asteroids and the truck was used to pull the asteroids to a higher or lower orbit. The contingent of Marines was used for this and they loved it. It was almost like playing, because it had been months since any of them were able to spacewalk.

The last asteroid was a big one. The cable lassoes were over the asteroid and the truck began to pull. As they worked clearing that last asteroid, Alan was nearby on a huge guitar pick shaped rock that was being called the "Trinity Asteroid" because his B71 Atomic bomb was strapped to it and he was verifying the settings. He connected the "Squawk Box" (SWK-110/A atomic weapon test set) that simulated the connections an aircraft or spacecraft would have with the bomb. His RIO, Tasha Kikina, floated above him, holding a flashlight as Alan programmed the squawk box. Hilde floated above them in her F-201, monitoring Alan and Tasha. After verifying the settings and the timer, Alan set the master switch from TEST to ACTUAL. In 12 hours, the Squawk Box was going to give the bomb instructions to detonate. He placed the lid on the tester and latched it in place.

That's when the Eastern Block struck.

Two KRG-73 "Featherback" fighters dove in on the project. They were painted dark beige and were hard to spot, but McDivitt radar picked them up and the Werewolves alert ships were launched. "Approaching ship, approaching ship, this is Werewolf zero three. You are entering a secured area. Change your heading or we will open fire."

This just caused the Eastern Bloc fighters to speed up in their race toward the Lake Baikal. "Final warning!" called Lieutenant Spokes in Werewolf Three. "Turn away now!" but the Eastern Bloc pilot did not turn. Spaceman Spokes squeezed his trigger and his Westinghouse Vulcan Lasers slashed through the lead featherback.

Spaceships don't explode in an exciting blast like in movies; they just die a disappointing, quiet death. The laser cuts through them, severing command cables and hydraulic lines. Sometimes batteries burst, but mostly the hydraulic fluid burns and, in the vacuum of space, there's no visible flame or smoke. On rare occasions, the engine explodes, but that's just a rapid disassembly. There's no smoke or flame to liven up the action.

The first featherback started coming apart, and his wingman wisely chose to evacuate the area. As the second featherback pulled away, Werewolf three pulled back to follow. That's when Werewolf Four said, "Oh fucking no... no... NO!"

At the Trinity asteroid, Alan was closing up the tester's carrying case. The SWK-110/A was going to give its life for this project in twelve hours. The case it came in will make a nice footlocker. He just wanted to clean up the work site. Plastic bags that held cable sets and radio receivers drifted around like lazy jelly fish and he was grabbing them and stuffing them in the empty tester's case. Hilde got out of her spacecraft and grabbed the drifting garbage. The talk all morning was about going to Luna and meeting Yin Chao.

"You tink Werewolf One's wife is going to like you?" asked Tasha.

"Yeah, why not?" asked Alan.

"Because you have deek."

"Yeah, a big one too." said Hilde.

"If she reject you, call me. I vill add you to my stable."

"Thank you for your support," said Alan. "Both of you... really... I mean it." He took a gallon jug with a hose and a spray nozzle and began spraying over the bomb, tester, and Trinity.

"What is that?" asked Hilde. The liquid he sprayed on the bomb foamed up to ten times its volume, covering everything in a yellowish brown blob.

"Just some insulating foam. However, when it sets up in a vacuum it becomes rock hard. Damn near impossible to chisel through." Hilde could see him grinning in the dim light of the Asteroid belt. "We're going to leave this unguarded for six hours. Our Eastern Block buddies are going to need more than that to chisel through," he said as he finished spraying the bomb. It was now glued permanently to the Trinity asteroid.

Just then the featherback swooped overhead, spraying fluids and parts, and it dove toward that truck that was straining against the last asteroid. The cable was stretched out with as much tension as the truck pilot would allow when the featherback hit. It missed the truck, but it hit the cable and cut itself in half all the way back to the engine, which was stronger than the cable. When the engine hit the cable, the cable snapped instantly.

Alan was just about ready to tell Tasha and Hilde to get in their ships when the Marines started shouting, "CABLE! CABLE! CABLE!"

Unseen, the end of the cable moving at a thousand miles an hour flew over Alan's head. Floating just above him, Tasha was immediately cut in half, just below the ribcage. She died without a word.

The cable took Hilde's legs off at the knees. She felt a hit then thought, "Why is that foot over there?" then the pain set in. Alan was in complete shock, but he knew two things. Tasha was gone, but Hilde could be saved. Each space suit has a tourniquet kit for bad pressure suit tears.

"HELP!" he shrieked into the open radio frequency. He floated up to Hilde and grabbed her tourniquet kit and quickly tied off her left leg, then he took his own kit and tied off her right leg. The kits are easy to use, they're made for panicky spacemen. You loop the noose around the wounded limb. The kit has a round box like an old pill box. You push the button on the box and it draws the noose tight enough to stop the air leak. A second push draws it up tight enough to stop the blood. "WEREWOLF IS DOWN AT TRINITY!" shouted Alan into his radio over the confused chatter of the marines. "I NEED HELP!"

"Don't let me die!" shrieked Hilde, which caused Alan to start crying. "I don't want to die!"

"You're not going to die baby... ANY STATION! WEREWOLF IS DOWN AT TRINITY! PLEASE RESPOND!" he roared into his radio as his trembling fingers dug through his med kit. He finally found the auto injector of morphine and he pulled the cap, then jammed it against her beautiful ass. The powerful spring on the injector plunged the needle through her spacesuit and injected her with the pain-relieving drug. Still, there was no response from Werewolf squadron.

Hilde threw her arms around Alan and said, "Please don't let me die."

"No honey bunch, no... we have all those babies to make!" then he shouted into his radio, "WEREWOLF IS DOWN AT TRINITY! RESPOND!" but there wasn't an answer.

Fuck them, he thought, then yelled, "BERSERKER ONE ALPHA IS DOWN AT TRINITY!!! PLEASE RESPOND!" the alpha designation meant that it was the RIO that was injured or dead. Immediately, he heard responses.

"Berserker 2!"

"Berserker 3!"

"Berserker 4!" and quickly space was flooded with F-201 fighters. Their landing lights flooded the gory scene with illumination, and the Berserkers were full of questions, but they suddenly noticed their favorite Russian's body floating away in two pieces. "Oh, dear god," groaned Sara Alonzo, Berserker Four.

"Somebody get Tasha, get all of her and put her in the back of Werewolf One and take her home," said Alan as he and three fellows carefully eased a weeping Hilde into the rear seat of Berserker One.

"What about the RIO that's there?" asked Joe Edwards, Berserker 3.

"Pull his stupid ass out of there, zip tie his wrists. He's being charged with accessory to murder," said Alan.

Just then Anna Vasquez floated up to Alan holding the tester box. "Her legs are in here."

"You're an angel, dear." He drifted under Berserker One and latched the case to the centerline bomb rack. "Someone has to stay and guard Trinity, somebody has to bring Tasha home, and somebody needs to bring that gutless fuck back," said Alan as he drifted up to the cockpit.

"I'll bring Tasha," wept Anna Vasquez. She and Tasha Kikina had grown very close in the past few weeks.

"We'll get it," said Sara Alonzo, Berserker 4. "Get our lady back to the ship."

"Take me home daddy," wept Hilde. She was in pain, but thanks to the opiate, the pain didn't matter much. "I want to go home..." She began softly weeping, which to Alan was much worse than the screams of terror and agony. This quiet weeping meant that she was broken. The strongest woman he had ever known was shattered to the core.

Alan got the ship started and discovered that McDivitt radio was calling him wide open on the guard frequency. "Berserker One come in! Berserker One say your situation."

"McDivitt radio, Berserker One is inbound to McDivitt with one casualty. Werewolf One has had her legs sheared off at the knee. Tourniquets are applied. Morphine administered."

"Berserker one, land forward deck..."

The forward deck allowed him closer access to the emergency float tube up to the Command Section of the McDivitt, but long-range radar showed several werewolf F-201s lollygagging in front of the hangar entrance. Were they blocking that hangar on purpose? "Negative Spaceboss. I'm landing my normal pattern. I will give reasons in debriefing."

"Roger, Berserker one, land aft deck, ILS is active, heading is Two Seven Zero. Increase your altitude to Z plus one hundred meters."

"Increasing one hundred meters." Damn, he was at Z minus one hundred kilometers! He yanked back on the stick and shot upwards. He drove toward McDivitt with his N-32 engine in full roar, jinking and weaving around the few asteroids in his way. He burst through Z+0 level a dozen kilometers ahead of the McDivitt and rolled over on his back, looping over the carrier looking down on the McDivitt. He continued the back loop until his nose was lined up with the aft landing bay hangar door and gave the reverse thrust full throttle. Berserker Zero One bellowed and shook as it approached the hangar bay entrance, decelerating hard. The hangar doors opening so damn slowly... but they opened enough. The reverse thrusters were still bellowing as they entered the hangar, the vibrations causing everyone to duck, but he had it down to a controllable speed by the time he got over his parking spot.

"I should court martial you for that stunt mister Scarlett," said a bleary Hilde Marks in the back. "But damn was it cool!" The ship slammed down on the parking space and the magnets locked, catching the ship as it tried to rebound. Alan hit the centerline Jettison switch and the case that was locked in position there popped off.

Both canopies opened and Alan released the seat magnets and Hilde floated out of her seat. "Grab the case!" shouted Alan.

"Why?" asked one of the responding medical people. Alan was sure it was Commander Rhea Seddon.

"It contains her legs. Berserker two will be coming in with the remains of my RIO.

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

NSS McDivitt, December 8, 2141

Six Hours To Trinity

Alan stared at the surgery door that he was standing in front of, but he could have been hanging upside down from his magnetic boots. Being weightless, there's no reason to sit, and pacing aimlessly in magnetic boots is too much work. Both MDs on board the NSS McDivitt and the finest in medi-bots were working on Hilde. Twice a nurse came out and said, "Thank God you were there, you saved her life."

"But what about her legs?"

"That's up to her. She needs a positive attitude and support to heal."

"Thank you."

Captain Schirra entered the surgical area and stood toe to toe with Alan. "Why did you charge Spaceman Curtis with accessory to Murder?"

Alan shrugged. "I know he's going to beat the charge in any court martial, but he's going to have to take the stand and explain why he did nothing to help his critically wounded commander. He just sat in his ship and watched. He should have had a bag of popcorn so he'd enjoy the show. I want to see the spineless worm take the stand. I want to hear his spineless ass lie to me. I would charge the entire squadron if I could."

"It's not the entire squadron, it's the new bodies that were brought aboard the McDivitt from Armstrong," said Captain Schirra. "Hilde sent her most faithful fliers to Mars, she was trying to work with these people and most didn't want to listen to a Luna."

"I don't know what to do..." groaned Alan. For the first time since his parents died, he was lost for an action to take.

"I need you on the bridge. It's time to go."

"Shit..." with a forlorn look at the door to surgery, Alan turned to go to the bridge. He was only there once before. Fliers don't go there, that was for the blue-water navy, not fliers. It was nothing like you'd see on video shows, where the bridge was huge and well lit. The bridge on the McDivitt was small, cramped, dark, and noisy. Commander Kanopa was sitting on a chair used by the captain.

"I'm here, what do you need?" asked Alan.

Tim Kanopa looked and recoiled. Alan was still wearing his pressure suit, still soaked in Tasha and Hilde's blood. His blood smeared helmet was tucked under his arm and he was still wearing his blood covered gloves. "Recall the flying squadrons, we're heading for Mars."

"You're late," said Alan. "We should have set course for Mars over thirty minutes ago."

"Our captain is indisposed. Are you going to recall the flying squadrons?"

"Are you going to get underway?"

Tim sighed. "Let's get underway. MISTER Scarlett has his own plans for bringing aboard the spacecraft."

"Aye, sir," called out the helmsman.

"Navigator, plot a course for Mars."

"Aye, aye sir," said the Navigator, and she leaned over her star charts and began calculating.

Alan waited for a full five minutes watching her flip from chart to chart in confusion before he cried out "Oh for Gods sakes! This course should have been plotted five hours ago! In what street gutter did you find your navigator's license?"

The navigator looked at the blood covered Lieutenant JG in terror. "I can't do this with you staring at me!"

"And what are you going to do knowing there's an Eastern Bloc carrier out there looking to shoot us the fuck out of the universe!" roared Alan.

"What carrier?" said Commander Kanopa.

"Where do you think that pair of featherback fighters that killed my RIO came from? Polaris? Jeezuz... Let me show you how a navigator works..." he looked at the navigator's rank and rolled his eyes in disgust and pronounced it "co-man-dur. He shoved all the star charts off the worktable onto the deck revealing the plexigraph star chart underneath. "Here's us, here's the sun, here's Mars..." he wrote several equations on the glowing worktable with a grease pencil. "The solar system is a flat disc. Ignore the rest of the universe. We're staying on this disc." He used an ancient circular cardboard computer and said, "You figure out when do you want to get there and work backwards..." he scribbled out a few more equations then said, "here is where Mars will be in eight days," then drew a line on Mar's orbit. Then he drew a line from their position to Mars future location. "Helmsman, steer zero-one-five degrees, zee plus two degrees for twenty hours, then level up on zee minus zero."

"Is that right navigator?" asked Commander Kanopa.

"uhhh, yes sir. That's not the way we were trained but it's right..." 'and fast!' she thought.

"He has a doctorate in Astrophysics. He knows his way around a star chart," said the XO.

"Now that you have the course plotted is the time to worry about navigation points," said Alan and he handed the blood covered grease pencil to the terrified navigator. "You don't worry about them first."

"Helmsman, steer zero one five degrees, nose up two degrees," said Commander Kanopa

"Coming about, to.... zero one five degrees, sir."

"Let's light the fires, all ahead..."

"Take it easy sir, we have three surgeries in progress," said Alan.

"That's right," said Tim. "Helmsman, all ahead slow. Ease her up five percent every thirty seconds."

"Aye, aye sir, she's answering the helm."

"Thee surgeries?" asked Commander Kanopa.

"Yes sir, they're trying to attach a pair of legs to Commander Marks, and a pair of balls to her gutless RIO." He picked up the microphone and called, "Spaceboss, bring the Berserkers aboard and have maintenance get them ready to cover for that other unit."

"Bridge," called the Spaceboss. "What about the Werewolves?"

"Fuck 'em," said Alan. "They're not my problem," and he hung the mic back up and left the bridge.

"What was that?" asked the engineering officer.

"I don't know but I'll get to the bottom of this." With that, Tim Kanopa left the bridge and followed Alan down the corridor, shouting, "Mister Scarlett... MISTER Scarlett..."

"What?" Alan said without turning around.

"Mister Scarlett, what is with this attitude?"

Alan spun, stood nose to nose with Commander Kanopa. "I'm getting ready to nuke the remains of my Aunt and my cousin and suddenly my RIO gets cut in half and my fiancée gets her legs chopped off. I call for help three fucking times and nobody responds. I called for the Berserkers and they all showed up. And that fucking gutless cocksucking RIO sat there and watched."

"Lieutenant, I'm sorry but..."

"This blood is all I have of the best RIO I've ever had, goddamn it."

"I'm sorry lieutenant..."

"Not as sorry as those assholes are going to be..." and he stormed off.

"You're not going to recall them to the ship?" shouted Tim.

"I'm not their goddamn commander!" replied Alan, without turning around. He could feel the ship start to accelerate and he hurried down to the surgery. When he got there, he found the doctors Rhea Seddon and Ellen Baker washing up after surgery. "Well? Is she ok? Will she live? Will she be able to fly again?"

"She's going to be ok," said Ellen. "Most people ask if she's going to walk again, you asked if she'd fly again."

"She loves to fly. She never mentioned walking. I suppose recovering on Luna will help a lot," said Alan breathlessly. Then he got quiet. "Is there any problem with having a baby?"

"Mister Scarlett, it's all up to her. She's suffered a horrible trauma. Physically she should do fine, but emotionally? Watching her baby fall trying to walk could set off an episode, but nobody knows."

"When can I see her?"

"I knocked her out for eight hours," said Ellen. "You can tell her all about the end of the Lake Baikal when she wakes up."

Alan spent the next four hours getting his plane ready. He pulled a weapon out of storage; it was a B71 Mark 1 Mod2 atomic bomb. The B71 was designed for in-atmosphere release, but the Mark 1 Mod 2 was designed for use in a vacuum or near vacuum, like on Mars. Instead of having a parachute to slow the bomb's descent, it had retro rockets. As the maintenance teams and the flight crews busied themselves getting their ships ready to fly, Alan pulled the bomb out of storage on a handling dolly, lowered it until the magnetic casters contacted the steel floor, then rolled it under the F-201.

He took his time. He pumped the hydraulic handle raising the bomb, checked the alignment, pumped it up a little more, then when he was happy with the alignment he lowered the bomb down, opened a panel on the center line bomb rack and connected a cable to the F-201, then closed up the panel, routing the cable through a hole in the panel. Then he pumped the bomb back up. "Lieutenant?" came the soft voice of Anna Vasquez in his headset.

"Yes lieutenant."

"I know what you're going to do, I want to be your RIO."

"You're one of my pilots, I can't afford to lose you as a pilot."

"You can't drop this properly without a RIO, I know how to handle the B71. I know how to modify the rocket pattern to keep it on target."

Alan pumped the bomb up close, then reached between the bomb and the fighter and connected the cable he installed to the bomb. "What a pain in the ass," he groaned. Then he pumped the handling fixture a few more times and said, "Not you pain in the ass, the damn bomb." He pumped until the bomb locked into the bomb rack, then he lowered the fixture and pulled it out of the way. With Anna on the other side of the bomb, they shook the bomb side to side, which caused the bomb rack to tighten down on the bomb and keep it from rattling when they flew.

"I'm waiting for an answer," said Anna.

"Oh, I suppose it's not going to matter when this is over. Ok, yeah, let's do it. Is your bird lined up?"

"Yes sir," said Anna.

"You don't have to call me that, you out rank me," said Alan as he moved the handling fixture out from under the plane.

"No, I don't sir. You're my commander."

Alan moved the handling fixture back to storage, then checked the time. "Oh shit..." He tapped a button on his suit radio control and called, "The movie of the week and popcorn in the squadron briefing room in fifteen minutes."

<><><><><>

Alan was angry when he finally entered the Squadron briefing room. The berserker side was full, the werewolf side was filling up, the promise of a movie and popcorn was too enticing to ignore. There was even cold soda. "The movie today is, The Lake Baikal Story," said Alan as he stood behind the fliers who were watching the scene. "It's a silent film, so I'll add the soundtrack."

"The Lake Baikal is a Mars flagged heavy lift cargo transport with passenger accommodations for six cabins and twenty four coach seats." A picture of the ugly, pudgy ship sitting straight up on its landing legs filled the screen. "It was built in twenty one twelve and serviced the Earth to Mars ore trade. Flying an orbit to orbit profile, its maximum load was 10,000 tons, but it could lift 3,100 tons from the surface of the earth. For its last ten years of life it took 3,100 tons of water from Earth, land on Mars, offload the water and return to Earth with 3,100 tons of high grade Martian iron ore. That was called an oar/ore flight. With the removable cargo modules in the cargo bays the Lake Baikal could be offloaded, reloaded, and ready to fly in eight hours."

The scene switched to an old video of the Lake Baikal launching from Mars. "On October Eleventh twenty one thirty-one my sister Christa and I watched the Lake Baikal launch from Zhang field. Our parents had just died in the worst blowout in Martian history, along with one hundred twenty other Martians and our Uncle Ray had just taken us in. Yes?"

"Was that the Bradbury Canal blowout sir?"

"I heard it was murder," said another Berserker.

"Yes, it was Bradbury Canal, and yes, it was murder."

"Did they ever catch the guy, sir?"

Alan was amazed. These men and women, they all out rank him, but they all call him sir. By tradition, they should be calling him Mister. "No but I guarantee that he will be caught soon. Ok, back to the big show of the week. This is the Lake Baikal now. The cargo was taken, even the removable cargo modules are gone. This video was taken by our very own flight surgeon Rhea Seddon and her awesome RIO Doug Wheelock."

The berserkers applauded Rhea's camerawork while the werewolves sat in sullen silence. "Who are the two stiffs?" asked a Berserker.

"These two fellows, we believe, were part of the plot to take the Lake Baikal. Commander Rhea popped them both with a medi-dart and sent the DNA reading back for identification, and these fellows were identified as Sander Nickel and Napoleon Lowe of Mars. They were employees of Marconi-Edison Bioelectric Research. That's where my folks used to work."

The scene changed, and the camera entered the Lake Baikal. "Those six doors to the left are the cabins. As you can see, somebody used a block of metal and a power driver to bolt the doors shut."

"What about the passengers?"

"They probably starved to death," said Alan. "Here you can see the coach accommodations, roomy, comfortable. If you can see up here, somebody mounted cameras to watch the passengers. Here's the flight crew. They either died of overdoses or, something worse, notice the syringes in their arms. Kinda obvious, right? Now looking at the passengers..."

The Berserkers and the Werewolves gasped. "Those black squares are called hospice tags. They have information like name, age, DNR, that kind of thing. When the brain activity stops, the tag goes black. We believe people like Sander or Napoleon injected one passenger with the plague, then sat in another ship and watched while the tags went black." Alan approached the screen and pointed out a corpse. "This is my Aunt Tammy, and this is her daughter, my cousin Sheila."

He turned around and made eye contact with everyone. "This plague was created by the Marconi-Edison Bio-Electronics corporation. My parents were blackmailed into designing and building the virus. If they didn't, people like Sander Nickel and Napoleon Lowe would have killed me and my sister. I was ten, she was fifteen. My mother engineered an end of life ticker in the viruses genome, giving it a maximum lifespan of 37 hours or one Martian day. Marconi-Edison Bio-Electronics took that out and now the damn thing is nearly immortal. It's 100% fatal and the only known treatment is lethal doses of X radiation or high intensity heat."

Alan stepped aside as the scene shifted. It was now a split screen. On one side, they could see the remains of the Lake Baikal. On the other screen, they could see the Trinity asteroid. It was surrounded by at least a dozen spacemen who were chipping and chiseling away at the foam that Alan had coated the bomb with. "This is a live feed... hurry up guys, you got ninety seconds," said Alan with an evil grin.

"They're Eastern Bloc spacemen," cried a werewolf. "You're making jokes about their deaths?"

Alan addressed the werewolves standing very close to one loudmouth. "Marconi-Edison Bio-Electronics is an Eastern Block shell corporation. They built the virus; they murdered one hundred twenty two people to cover their actions. They killed twenty four Martians as an experiment and hundreds of their own people with it. They killed my RIO; they nearly killed your commander. No, I'm not going to feel bad when they get vaporized. Unlike their victims, this is going to be painless."

Suddenly something under the foam popped, and the bomb's huge atmospheric parachute deployed, covering three of the spacemen with the canopy. "That was a Mark 1 Mod 0 B71, right?" said Anna Vasquez brightly.

"Correct. And now... showtime!"

The ticker in the upper right counted down to zero and the right screen went white. On the left screen, a wave of light passed over the Lake Baikal, which suddenly glowed with heat and grew soft. It was nudged against an asteroid and melted itself to the asteroid. The remains of Sander and Napoleon disappeared and only the larger bones remained, skull, hips, femur. When the picture on the right screen returned, the trinity asteroid was gone and the other nearby asteroids were moving away from the blast site, but not as fast as one would imagine. The lack of an atmosphere takes much of the blast away from a bomb.

The lights came up and Alan said, "Show's over. We warned them, we have been broadcasting warnings over all frequencies for the past day. I'm sure that the ship that just lost a dozen idiots who didn't listen to their radio is going to come for us. Berserkers Two and Three are on alert. Everyone get your pressure suits and helmets. I will fly Berserker Two. Anna will be my RIO. The rest of you go get some rest, you're all on ten-minute response. Berserker's Dismissed!"

"DOE-DA!" they shouted and rose to leave.

"Ten HUT," shouted the Chief Petty officer.

"Please sit," said Captain Schirra as he entered the briefing room. "Lieutenant Junior Grade Scarlett designed every bit of this plan, from the formation of the two squadrons to the destruction of the Lake Baikal. Everyone here took part in saving millions of lives. That virus has the possibility of wiping out all life on earth. There's one pocket of the virus left and I know that he has a plan to deal with that also. But I cannot count on a lieutenant JG to carry it out... therefore, with the best wishes of the government of the Western Alliance and the government of Mars I hereby promote Lieutenant JG Scarlett to the grade of Lieutenant Commander." He handed Alan a small box that contained two bronze oak leaf clusters. "These brought me luck," he said as he shook hands with Alan. "I'd be proud if you wore them into battle."

For some reason, Alan felt relieved... vindicated, too. Somebody noticed! All this crazy work and somebody noticed!

The Berserkers were chanting "Doe-DA!" over and over and banging their fists on the table while the werewolves clapped politely. "Berserkers go, you have your orders," said Captain Schirra. When the Berserkers left the room, he glared at the Werewolves. "What the fuck happened?"

"Pardon sir?" said one werewolf.

"Your commander was critically injured, the spaceman rendering aid requested help three times and nobody showed up."

"Sir! I was engaged in combat! I wanted to help but we were pursuing an Eastern Bloc featherback."

Alan looked at him and shouted, "Do you want to fly?"

"Yes sir!"

"Will you fly as a Berserker and take orders from me?"

"Yes sir!"

"Go to life support and get your gear and go get crew rest. You're my new wingman."

"Yes sir!"

"The rest of you DON'T MOVE!" shouted Captain Schirra. "Does anyone else want to fly as a Berserker? Anyone?" Five people raised their hand. "Why didn't you come to your commander's aide?" demanded Captain Schirra.

"Stan and I were flying Werewolf Four on Walter's wing. I wanted to, I was right there and I saw it happen but we were in pursuit... I don't care what these new assholes say I LIKE commander Marks! I don't want her hurt."

"Go get your flight gear and report to Commander Scarlett. You, two, why didn't you respond?"

"We were on crew rest and asleep when it happened," said Lt. Cmdr Mae Jemison, Hilde's temporary XO while her XO was gone. "I would prefer to fly for Hilde, but I'll fly for Mister Scarlett any day."

"I would have gone in a heartbeat," said Mae's RIO Michael Good. "I'm a lunar and I'm sick of this racist Earth first Crap."

"Go report to Commander Scarlet," said Captain Schirra. "You raised your hand," he said to the remaining werewolf, who raised their hand. "Why didn't you come to your commander's aid?"

"Well... sir... she's lunar."

One of Captain Schirra's eyebrows shot up. This was going to be interesting. "Lunar? You didn't come help her because she's lunar? You've been flying with her for weeks."

"Yeah, but... you know... the diseases that women like that can catch."

"Is that how everyone feels? You didn't come and provide aid for Commander Marks because you were afraid of the flu? Measles?"

"You know," said one werewolf, who seemed to be the speaker for the group. "Social diseases... STDs. The clap? I'm sure they make plenty of money on the side but..."

"Oh yeah, I gotcha," Captain Schirra smiled and nodded, then he leaned over and put his nose against the loudmouth's nose. "My wife and daughters are lunar. Tell me again about lunar whores."

"I uh I mean..."

Captain Schirra stood and glared at the men and women of the werewolves. He opened a copy of The Bluejacket's Manual, 148th Edition. "All commissioned officers will come to the aid of anyone needing assistance unless actively engaged in combat." He glared at the werewolves. "None of you lifted a finger. Instead, you depended on the lowest ranking man out there to care for your commander. Your conduct has brought disgrace to yourselves and dishonor to the military profession."

"For a whore?" demanded loudmouth.

"You are a pariah, nobody will fly with you lieutenant, your fitness to command has been compromised. I can court martial you all under Article 133 of the UCMJ. Conduct Unbecoming an Officer. We are on a long trip to Mars; I suggest you get your shit together because I will be holding Captain's mast the entire voyage. One by one we're going to talk... and I can't wait to get you in my office loudmouth." He glared at the punk that called his wife and daughters whores. "I really can't wait to take a piece out of your ass."

The wing commander turned to leave, but he stopped and turned back to the former instructors. "You have all been suspended from flying for cause, that makes you passengers on this boat. Your passage and meals will be deducted from your pay. Your duties as instructors will be picked up by the Berserkers... if we survive this passage."

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

NSS McDivitt, December 12, 2141

The Battle of Lake Baikal.

The flying and fighting were furious. Whoever was out there wanted the Berserkers dead. They kept coming, featherbacks and fangblennies (Wester Alliance designations for the KRG-73 and the KR-66) The featherback was a squat, wide, three engine fighter and the fangblenny was a long thin single-engine fighter. The KR-66 was probably the most unstable spacecraft ever made, and it has never hit a moving target on purpose. It was impossible to keep on target. The featherback was made to offset the fangblenny's instability. The Eastern Bloc created a fighter that was so stable it was nearly impossible to get it to turn.

Fighting in flights of two, the Berserkers made their name as they fought off the attacking Eastern Bloc ships. The space combat went down in naval history as The Battle of Lake Baikal. At the end of the first day of fighting, twenty-three Eastern Bloc fighters were shot up and only two Berserker spacecraft were hit. Berserker Four lost its forward radome and Berserker Seven caught a laser bolt through the ship's short vertical tail. The laser bolt hit nothing but sheet metal. In the dining hall, exhausted Berserkers talked about their battles using their hands to illustrate their battles. Pilots and RIOs kidded each other about 'the one that got away,' and werewolves sulked on the sidelines.

Every time a new Ace was made, a reception of Viking chants of "doe-DA! doe-DA! doe-DA!" greeted the crew as they entered the dining hall. Even Rhea Seddon, MD, was elated when she got her fifth confirmed kill and she was passed weightless around the dining hall like a beach ball as the Viking cheers echoed through the McDivitt.

Down in the maintenance bay, mechanics worked overtime getting their personal weapon of war back up to FMC status (Fully Mission Capable) and painting kills on their planes. The symbol of the Eastern Bloc was a hammer being clutched by a fist over a gold star, and that was stenciled on the side of their F-201's but before the end of Day 2, the hammer had become a bloody Viking's Battle Axe.

Nose art and names appeared on the fighters. Lt. Joe Edwards, the first Berserker to achieve his fifth kill named his plane "Aces High" and Rhea Seddon, the oldest and wisest flier surprised them all by naming her bird, "The Old Battle Axe." Former Werewolf Walter Concia had a cartoonish wolf on a chain painted on the nose of his F-201 and named his plane "Leash Law." Former Werewolf Mae Jemison celebrated her love of Basketball by naming her plane "Slam Dunk" and the other former Werewolf, Stanley Love named his fighter "The Love Boat."

For days it was the happy hunting ground for the Berserkers, and at the end of three days of combat, every single Berserker flight team except Alan and Anna became an ace and many came close to becoming a double ace, but no one made that magic tenth kill. "You've been at four since day one of this fight," said Lt Commander Cathy Coleman (pilot of Aces and Eights (AKA The Deadman's Hand)). "Stop handing your kill shots off to other people. They have to run out of poor pilots and crappy spacecraft someday."

"I want everybody blooded," said Alan as he headed toward the Hospital.

"We're blooded," said Cathy. "We want our boss in this fight, not just pointing out the easy kills."

"They're not easy anymore are they?" asked Alan. "They send out their junior fliers first to get them experience."

"Like they did to us?"

"Pardon?" asked Alan.

"That's the word going around, that half the werewolves started this sexist crap knowing they'd be grounded because they saw the fight coming and were scared."

"Hmmmm, I hadn't heard that. You can tell the gang for me that I do not know that to be untrue."

"Anything else?" grinned Cathy. Her boss was 'stirring the pot,' allowing his fliers to get worked up to fight their way through the fatigue that's setting in.

"Nah. I'll make up something new when the time comes." And he stepped into the hospital for his crew rest.

When on crew rest, Alan would nap next to Hilde, strapped in a reclining chair still in his pressure suit, but not the one with the blood stains. That one was being saved for a special purpose. He would fall asleep gently holding her hand, and she would occasionally wake and ask questions. "The bomb... did it go off?"

"Yes honey, it went off right on time."

"The virus gone?"

"They were all destroyed and entombed in a melted spaceship."

"It's over," she sighed happily and drifted off to sleep, not knowing what was being planned.

"One down, Two to go..." muttered Alan as he drifted off.

He was out for maybe three hours when a young yeoman shook his shoulder. "Commander, twenty minutes."

"Do we have inbound?"

"Yes, they're thirty minutes out."

"Time to make the chimichangas..." he groaned and rose, kissed his sleeping woman goodbye, and left. As he clomped out, magnetic boots ringing on the floor, Hilde opened her eyes and began to cry.

Alan walked through the chow hall that was filled with former werewolves enjoying a leisurely meal. "Is that good? It looks delicious," said Alan. "Us fighting men only have time to eat MRE's. We've been busy, you know, protecting your craven asses. Would you like me to save any pound cake for you?" Pound cake was a dessert in a Meal, Ready to Eat, and many people hated it. Alan loved it and generally carried one around in a sleeve pocket. They filled you up when you didn't have time to eat a full meal.

"Shut the fuck up!" shouted a werewolf.

"Whoa, buddy, that's conduct unbecoming an officer," said Alan. "Luckily you won't have to worry about that much longer, am I right?"

"Fuck you!"

"You can't fool me with all that manly talk, buttercup. We know what you are," and he blew the loudmouth a kiss. "Now sit down and let the men protect you."

Yes, he was spoiling for a fight. Hilde had trained him on zero G and low G boxing and was probably better than anyone else aboard the McDivitt. He would love the chance to humiliate one of those cowards, but they wisely shut up and went back to eating their dinner, which was costing them a fortune.

Alan grabbed a piece of bread and a squeeze bottle of coffee and headed to the drop chute. At the drop chute, he met his wingman, Walter Concia. "Bulkin' up on carbs before a fight sir?"

"Mrffl," Alan said around a mouthful of freshly baked bread. Mars-made is good, but there's something about zero-g bread. It's both fluffy but dense, it's hearty and soft and Alan can't get enough.

"How's the boss?" Walter asked. He was, of course, referring to Hilde. They stepped into the drop chute, a long tube between the command section and the flight deck section. The airflow went downward, so just stepping into the down chute took you down. If you were in a hurry, you could speed yourself up by pulling yourself down on the handholds shouting "ON YOUR LEFT" the entire trip to avoid slower folks. The up chute works the same way.

"She's not going to deal with this well, she talks about flying in her sleep and she constantly is asking me about my kills... even though she falls asleep in the middle of the story."

"Well, they're boring stories. Tell her about a few of mine."

"Wally, I'm trying to get her mind off the pain."

They reached the bottom of the chute and stepped out into the pressurized heavy maintenance hangar. Wally's Berserker 2 was no longer on the shop floor. It was obviously pushed out onto the parking deck. "Looks like they got the hole in your butt fixed."

"Thanks chief."

"That's what I'm here for." They stepped into the airlock, putting on their purple helmets and their gloves. Alan called the tower on his helmet radio. "Spaceboss this is Berserker one, what does it look like this time?"

"I'm seeing a cloud of objects inbound. It looks like a combination of missiles and fighters."

"How many?" asked Alan.

"A shit ton. This is the biggest attack yet."

"I love those precise numbers. Recall all the Berserkers, everyone flies."

"What about the Werewolves?" asked the Spaceboss.

"They grounded themselves, if we get sunk, it's their fault. If we live it's a Berserker victory parade," said Alan.

"Roger Berserker One," said the Spaceboss. "All Berserkers are scrambling..."

"Let's go! Let's go! Let's go!" he called and as Berserkers filled the Hangar deck, they began manually pushing their F-201's out onto the center line. The only ship not moving on this sortie was Berserker Zero One with an atomic bomb and four reaction mass fuel tanks on the belly. A lone marine guarded the Star Striker against anyone getting too close.

Soon all ten ships were ready to go, including Commander Rhea Seddon, MD. Alan tried to impress on her that she was needed in the rear to heal the injured and her response was, "I want to injure some people first."

You can't ground an attitude like that. No commander can.

"Ok Berserkers, this time when we send them running, I want to chase them all the way back to whatever hole they're coming out of. I want their Spaceboss to know they fucked with the wrong squadron!"

"DOE-DA!"

Soon, the ten fliers were flung one by one out the rear hangar deck of the NSS McDivitt, straight into the face of the incoming enemy. "Here comes your ace Anna," said Alan as he raced straight at a featherback.

"Bring it to me miho!" she called. Alan had been holding back and he let his wing man and other squadron fliers get the kills. They needed the experience. To Alan, compared to rat racing through Martian ravines in a souped up Jeep, this was fighting in slow motion. The featherback had a very slim profile. The pilot must be laying down in the damn things. They liked to play chicken with young fliers and, because of their slim profile, the young fliers found them hard to hit. Alan lined up his shot over the top of the featherback and squeezed the trigger, then pushed the stick forward a little. The laser blast sweeping down the featherback sliced it in two.

Alan jinked hard to his right and sliced up a KR-66. They were hard to hit because they were wiggling all over the sky because they were so unstable. However, an expert pilot in them will get the fangblenny in a rhythm. Alan was able to shoot into that rhythm and another fangblenny flew to pieces. "Know what I want?" shouted Alan over the blaring alarm of the Threat Warning Receiver.

"A new Noxie?"

"A slug thrower. I want a real live gun, maybe twenty millimeter, something light so I don't have to worry about lifting a five ton laser emitter."

As he was talking, Anna was lining up on an incoming KR-66. "I got the gun!" she called and took control and fired with all three emitters. The fangblenny went to pieces.

"They're breaking!" shouted Ed Gibson, the wing man in C flight.

"You lead us in Cathy!" called Alan.

"Aye, aye sir!" Lt Commander Cathy Coleman was Alan's XO while Commander Rob Overmyer was relaxing on Mars. "Form up on me!" called Cathy, and she gave chase to the retreating spaceships. Soon she was so close to the Eastern Bloc fighters that, on radar, the Berserkers would look like they were part of the returning squadron to any spacecraft carrier.

Anna Vasquez furiously scanned space and said, "There's no carrier out here. It could be in the opposite direction."

"What's out here, dead ahead of us?"

"Just an old ore freighter... no!"

"Let me guess," said Alan. "They're landing on the ore freighter."

"They're landing on the ore freighter," groaned Anna.

"Berserker squadron this is Berserker zero one, target is an ore freighter converted to be a spacecraft carrier. Berserker Five, this is your party, let's let them know the Berserkers were here."

"Roger, roger," called Cathy Coleman. "Berserker squadron, look for defensive weapons... I'm in!"

The laser system that an F-201 carries can slice through a fighter made of carbon fiber and aluminum sheets, but an old ore freighter made of two inch thick steel will not notice their "flashlights." The Berserker's lasers will barely warm the metal. However, the guns lining the upper decks were very fragile when subjected to laser fire. They stripped the unknown freighter of its defensive armament, shot out two of its four engines, fired through a couple open hangar doors and shot up whatever was inside that did not want to be shot, and Alan got a shot right through the pilothouse window blinding the command crew before victory rolling his way along the forward decks and off into space.

"Kto eto, chert voz'mi, byl?" (Who the fuck was that?) shouted the first mate of the Obshchiy Bogdanov (General Bogdanov) the Eastern Bloc's largest "mystery ship."

"Eto byl kosmonavt Skarlett, posledniy as Zapadnogo Al'yansa." (That was Spaceman Scarlett, the Western Alliance's latest ace) said the intelligence officer.

"Ya khochu ubit' yego." (I want to kill him) said the first mate, Radmir Valery Kovalyov.

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

NSS McDivitt, December 17, 2141

Launch Date

Hilde opened her eyes and Alan was sleeping next to her, strapped into the recliner. She sought his hand that was floating near her as always and clung tight to it. She was in so much pain, but what caused the most pain was the memory of the shock on Alan's face as her legs were sliced from her body. That sorrow and concern will haunt her dreams for the rest of her life.

She was still coming to the realization that her legs were cut off. She didn't even feel it, just a jolt and then she saw a leg... and then she saw Anna... the pretty, funny Russian was sliced in half, both halves fountaining blood... there were blobs of blood floating everywhere... and there were two legs floating around... and she knew she was going to die. Then a terrified lieutenant JG, at the edge of panic, screaming for help, saved her life...

She bit a lip to keep from crying out and looked over at Alan and he suddenly looked so young! The oak leaf cluster took so much weight off his shoulders, a young lieutenant JG given so much authority, it was killing him! When she lost her legs, she actually felt sorry for him! His big mission, her squadron was fucking up by the numbers and now he had to care for an invalid. She couldn't bear to look at him and his sad, sunken eyes. But when she opened her eyes, he was a Lieutenant Commander with even more authority, but he was eating it up and enjoying the game.

He had the authority, and now he had the rank to back it up... and now she's going to hold him back. She grabbed a sick bag as the thought of being an anchor on his career caused her breakfast to come up. Her retching woke Alan, which gave her more to feel guilty about. Imagine waking up after a long mission and your woman is puking because she was thinking of you. Alan immediately sprang to action and started cleaning her up. He held the bag for her and was patting her back, then took a cloth and wiped her face.

"Stop... stop... stop helping me!" she cried.

"This is what I'm here for."

"Why don't you and Anna run off together? You seem to do ok with your back seater." She was referring to the months when she flew back seat with him.

"She's a lesbian, she may not like it so much."

"So, you're going to spend the rest of your life cleaning me up?" demanded Hilde.

Alan looked at her like it was the most stupid question he has ever heard. "Of course... that's what I'm here for." He finished cleaning her up and said, "If this is the card I'm dealt, then this is the hand that I play." He gave her a kiss and said, "I love playing with you."

"You want to teach a baby and a grown up to walk at the same time?" asked Hilde.

"You don't teach babies to walk, they figure it out themselves."

Hilde stared at him hard, then she finally said in a small voice, "They do?"

"It's monkey see, monkey do with them. We'll have to teach them what your boobs are for, but once they catch on they won't let go."

Again, Hilde was dumbfounded. "How do you know this stuff?"

"Christa babysat everyone's kids, and as she got more popular, she brought me on as a partner. I was babysitting at six."

"Newborns?"

"A few. One years old is the best age," said Alan. "They're learning everything and they want to be so independent. They're so much fun to watch as they figure things out."

"What's the worst age?" she asked.

"Thirty two."

As Hilde gave Alan a series of smacks (she's 32) there was a tap at the door and a yeoman peeked in. "Commander Scarlett? Good, you're awake. This is your one hour call."

"Flying again?" asked Hilde.

"Yep, I'm going to go bomb Mars."

"You're leaving two days early?"

He leaned close and whispered in her ear. "We still have an info leak. The Obshchiy Bogdanov is paralleling us to Mars. We have to sneak out and get there first."

"You're going to be in that cockpit for over two days?"

"Something like that... but honey listen. If I do this for Mars, for a lifeless rock just brimming with people I don't know, imagine what I will do for you, the woman I love."

"No," she whimpered.

"When you are up and about I'm going to cheer you on. When you're down I'm going to be there for you twenty four seven. I'm thinking of getting a Luna Prime to Armstrong Station cargo run so I can make two runs in a day and be home in time to make you and Yin dinner."

"Alan! You're a combat pilot! You can't give that up and fly a shit wagon!"

"Hilde, dear, when at the end of a flight, you're waiting for me, that's all I need."

"I can't ask you to drive a truck for me!"

"I'm twenty one and I'm tired of getting shot at. Maybe a nice box van route on Luna's surface! God that sounds peaceful."

The yeoman was holding Alan's dinner tray, but she was watching the interaction between Hilde and Alan. Her eyes flashed side to side as the couple verbally sparred until the yeoman realized there was one person in the room that didn't know what Hilde was hinting at, and it wasn't Yeoman Thomas. "Sir, your dinner. I don't want to launch you with two MREs and an empty stomach."

"Which MRE's did you choose?"

"The sausage lasagna and the chicken stew. I packed two of each."

"Awesome. I hope I have enough air on board to open my helmet. Thank you, Darla."

"I will be back in thirty minutes," said the yeoman and closed the door behind her.

Alan lifted the cloche. "Salsbury steak and Mac and cheese! I love this! In Annapolis, we sat in satellites for weeks and ate high protein paste from a tube and drank exactly one and a half liters of water a day and called ourselves spacemen. Then we moved to Camp Schmidt and this was my first meal, and I can't get enough."

"What is so good about it? It's just ground beef..." Alan stuck a forkful in her mouth. It was good!

"It's the nutmeg. Nutmeg and beef just goes together." He ate another bite, then said, "I'm going to take you and Yin to Fiji 2. It's beautiful there. My grandparents had a condo there and Uncle Ray inherited it. He has a big beach right there; we can sleep next to the ocean and swim all day long. He'll let me use it if we pick up the empty beer cans when we're done. I hope you and Yin love it."

"Ocean? I can't swim!" she said as he forked some Mac & Cheese in her mouth.

"The ocean isn't all super deep, I spent six months playing naked in the ocean and never went deeper than my shoulders."

Alan was able to get the conversation lightened up, and they laughed and kissed as Alan told her about his summer with Noelani. But when Yeoman Thomas came back, Alan was helping Hilde with the bedpan. The look on her face was pure heartbreak. Alan was in the head cleaning out the bed urinal when the nurse answered the call button. "I got it," said Alan from the hospital head. "But what's going to happen when I'm not around? She's everything to me, I need you to remember that."

Alan came out of the head drying his hands and he leaned over Hilde and kissed her and said, "I love you more than either of us could dream of. Please don't make any decisions before I get back. Please?"

"Ok," she said softly. "Go save Mars."

"I'm going to save everyone," he grinned and gave her a kiss that almost changed her mind about the decision she had already made.

<><><><><>

Not long later, Alan emerged from life support wearing his blood-soaked pressure suit. "Gawd! Why are you wearing that?" asked Anna Vasquez. "It will never clean up now."

"Reasons," said Alan.

He led her through the pressurized heavy maintenance bay out to the Werewolf's forward parking bay. Berserker Zero One was parked on the Werewolf's parking ramp centerline with a marine guard. On her nose was the name of the ship that Alan finally came up with: Honeybunch. It was painted in bright Martian Red with deep purple shadowing on each letter. "It looks good," said Alan, and he patted Gene Cernan on the back. "I see you have Lieutenant Vasquez' name on the rear seat too. Thank you."

"It's going to cost you another Martian beer," said Gene, shaking Alan's hand.

"There's plenty in your future." He turned to the guard and said, "Thank you marine," said Alan. "You are relieved."

"CHALLENGE!" shouted the marine so loud Alan didn't need a helmet radio to hear him. He saw the laser rifle in the marine's hands charge up and prepare to fire.

"Utah," said Alan.

"Valley," said Anna.

"Zone," said the plane captain Gene Cernan.

"I stand relieved," and the Marine turned on the safety on his laser rifle and headed for the upward chute.

Gene helped them get Berserker Zero One ready. They took down the red rope that surrounded it, then did a walk around inspection, and they all checked the bomb to make sure that the settings were not tampered with. The slim, pointy rocket also had four external reaction mass fuel tanks, two tanks on each side of the bomb. "Four tanks?" asked Gene.

"Two to get us there and two to slow us down when we get there."

"What about internal fuel?" asked Gene.

"We're going to burn the hell out of that after we drop that bomb," said Alan with that devil may care grin that had disappeared when that cable snapped.

They shook hands with Gene one last time, who said, "Please, sir... come back for me."

"I know, I promised to drag you with me through hell and back, and you're not coming with, so it's obvious we're not going through hell this time. The beer is on me at Sachmo's in Perseverance City, join me in four days spaceman!"

"Just come back. We'll find us a second squadron and go kicking some ass."

"Sounds like fun, I'll definitely be back."

"You too Miss Anna. I can't lose another friend." Gene and Tasha were close. When Tasha found out how close Gene and Alan were, she teased Gene and accused him of being her competition for Alan's affection. Gene and Tasha had mock fights at every launch and cared for each other deeply. If Tasha ever allowed a man in her love life, it would have been Gene Cernan.

"Me neither meho," and she gave Gene a hug.

They climbed into the cockpit and locked themselves in their seats and went down the startup checklist with Gene. When they finally got the alternate power supply running, Anna said, "Alan."

"What?" then he looked up. Lining either side of the centerline taxiway were werewolves, berserkers, the entire Marine contingent, and the staff officers of the NSS McDivitt. Alan didn't realize that there were that many pressure suits on the McDivitt. They all came to attention and at the sound of a command that Alan and Anna didn't hear, they snapped a hand salute. "Hand salute," said Alan softly. "Ready, two." And they brought their arms down and closed their canopies, but the men and women lined up held their salute. There wasn't much of a view from the F-201. With the canopies closed, windows were only a few inches tall. The designers rightly assumed that Radar and IR (Infra-Red) screens would be the primary method of seeing where you're going.

"Cockpit is pressurized," said Anna as she went through the last steps of the preflight checklist. "All systems are green, bomb is locked, ready, and safe."

"Spaceboss, Berserker Zero One, we are ready to go."

"Roger Berserker Zero One. Doors coming open, give them hell for this old Martian, Alan."

Before Alan could answer the unseen Spaceboss, the magnetic trolly kicked them down the taxiway between the lines of their friends. They shot out the opening doors and were catapulted forward from the McDivitt. Their main engine burst to life and Alan Scarlett was heading home.

Three minutes later, all the werewolf fighters that hadn't been used in over a week came pouring out of the bay and they dove to where the Obshchiy Bogdanov was suspected to be. They were "Running off some hours" on the unused werewolf fighters and keeping the Obshchiy Bogdanov from noticing that a fighter disappeared into the void.

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

NSS McDivitt, December 18, 2141

Midway

"Alan?"

"Hmm?"

"You OK?"

"Not really."

"Why?"

"I think I destroyed Hilde."

Anna stretched and asked, "what do you mean?"

"I broke her in half. She shouldn't have been out there while I was setting the bomb, it should have been me and Anna, nobody else. She lost respect from half her squadron because of me, I should have beat the fuck out of her RIO. I should have made her a skirt from his skin... fuck Fuck FUCK!... DAMN IT!" he slammed the canopy with his fist. "She's going to be gone when I get back."

"No, she's not. She loves you too much," said Anna.

"No, she loves her wife too much. I was a crush that came between them... that's something else that I fucked up."

"She'll be there for you." Anna didn't actually believe that the moment she said it. Hilde was having some serious mental issues and needed professional help immediately. She's going to find solace in her wife's arms and try to forget the man who saw the whole thing happen.

"What are you willing to bet?" asked Alan.

"A month in Fiji. When we get back I will buy passage to Fiji so you and Hilde and her wife can lay on the beach and talk it out. What are you going to put up?"

"I have a 100 year old bottle of Glenlivet single malt Irish whiskey bottled before the distillery burned down in 2045. When I get back and all that's waiting is a Dear John letter, you and me are going to crack the seal and drain that bottle."

"You're just trying to get your Guy In Back drunk so you can tap my Door In Back," said Anna.

"Hilde liked it, and she's married to a girl... I suppose I should apologize to Yin when I get back."

"For what?"

"For sleeping with her wife."

Anna slipped a hand between the seats and slapped Alan's helmet. "DUH! SHE'S LUNAR!"

"Oh yeah." Alan was quiet for a long time. In fact, Anna thought he finally fell asleep. But then said, "You wouldn't be Lunar would ya?... just a little bit?"

"Pendejo!" she yelled, as she smacked his helmet again.

<><><><><>

Berserker Zero One rocketed toward Martian Space faster than a Spaceship has approached Mars in decades. In fact, the ride was getting rough because Berserker Zero One had to dodge the remains of an ancient space station that was destroyed in 2085. "What's going on!" demanded Anna. She had to slap Alan's helmet to wake him up. It had taken him a long time, but he finally went to sleep and now the ship was shaking apart.

"We went off the road and I was driving on the shoulder."

She slapped his helmet again. "WHAT JUST HAPPENED?" she shouted.

"That was just bits and pieces of crap in Lagrange point two that Berserker was avoiding on autopilot. There was a space station there that was blown up in the war back in 2085. It means we're on course and almost home."

"Mars space control to inbound ship. State your intention."

"Mars space control this is Berserker Zero One, Commander of the Martian Space Force."

"I challenge you," said Space Control.

"Lieutenant Commander Hilde Marks." Alan had used Hilde's name as his passcode.

There was a long pause and then Space Control said, "Welcome home Commander Scarlett. Situation is Code Zulu. Please state your intentions."

"There is no change to my scheduled approach."

"Very good, Space Control over and monitoring."

Alan was quiet for a while, then said, "I'm so pathetic. The only reason why I'm going to survive this mess is because you're in the back with me so I can't mess up."

"What did you eat since taking off?"

"Chewing gum."

"What?"

"I swallow my gum," said Alan. He opened an MRE, found the pound cake and slipped it into a pocket, then returning to the open MRE, he lost his appetite. Alan dug out the Chicklets and chewed them for a while, then swallowed them. Anna shook her head. He's going to be drinking that fine single malt Irish whiskey on an empty stomach. "When things get rocky some guys get their girlfriends candy, others get her flowers," moaned Alan. "I emptied her bedpan."

"All right, enough. I lost a lover too! Now concentrate on the fucking mission!"

"Is that the first time you said it out loud? That you are in love with Tasha?"

"Shut the fuck up," shrieked Anna.

"She talked to me; she really loved you." Alan was quiet while Anna wept in the back seat. Finally he said, "Do you want to know something?"

"What?"

"Some of the guys that killed her will be waiting for us at Ground Zero."

Anna went silent for a long time, then she sniffed. "For real?"

"Yep, space control gave us a Situation Code Zulu, that means bad guys are in the target area."

The grieving RIO remembered the satisfying thrill she got when she saw guys that helped kill Tasha Kikina get vaporized at the Lake Baikal. "And?" asked Anna. She wanted to hear his plan.

"I got this big honking bomb; I figured I'd use it on them."

"Let's do it!" said Anna Vasquez. Alan's words lit a fire in her. There was a glint in her deep brown eyes that had been gone since Tasha Kikina died.

"Hang on love, this is a high-g approach."

"I hate those!" Anna shouted as Berserker Zero One spun around and approached Mars backwards.

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

Kōngchéng Colony, December 19, 2141

My Father's Revenge

The mobile laboratory built from the hull of a Chinese Luying Kuaile RV slowly approached the abandoned colony. Luying Kuaile (or as detractors put it: Lying Quail) was an Eastern Bloc built brand of Recreation Vehicles and the name translated to "Happy Camping!" The two men inside the mobile laboratory weren't camping, they were on the clock. Max Stephan and Clyde Conrad were "fixers," they could perform any task you wanted, results guaranteed. You just had better have a healthy checking account to cover their exorbitant fees.

They normally like to work in space. They have a CF-58, a Navy surplus landing craft that was armed to the teeth. It was designed to fight its way into a tough landing zone and fight its way back out. Normally, Max and Clyde worked in the Asteroid Belt, collecting ore samples from prospecting robots or convincing wildcat miners to mine somewhere else. However, this job was on the surface of Mars, and this is where the CF-58 showed its brilliance in design. Operationally, the back end was filled with Marines that were sitting in an armored fighting vehicle that the CF-58 would deploy. This time, it was an eight wheel drive Eastern Bloc built RV retrofitted to survive on Mars that wheeled out of the CF-58.

They touched down in a deep ravine about 15 km from the abandoned colony construction site, then Max and Clyde climbed out of the cockpit of the landing craft and climbed into the RV. Because there was no pressurized connection between the two vehicles, they had to wear lightweight pressure suits, skintight things with a helmet collar they called Jogging Suits. They weren't insulated, so they wouldn't protect you from the cold, but they would protect you from the effects of the vacuum of space or of Mars' thin atmosphere.

They clambered into the Lying Quail, pressurized the interior, then fired up the reaction mass driven motor and warmed up the frigid laboratory. Once they warmed up, they unlocked from the CF-58 and headed out across the bleak Martian desert. Driving out of the ravine wasn't hard. The Lying Quail had eight-wheel drive and climbed out like a champion. After orienting themselves, they drove overland through the dark Martian night and were at their target by dawn. There was something spooky about the place they surveyed. It looked as if it hadn't been touched in decades. "Food poisoning," Herb had told them. "A case of bad rice pudding wiped out the construction crew before the colony could open and the superstitious Martians abandoned the colony before it was complete about five years ago."

"There's no construction equipment," said Clyde. "Herb said it was under construction when they abandoned it."

"Maybe they were done and had packed everything up," said Max. "Don't over think it. Just get the samples that they want and deposit the check for doing almost nothing."

The mobile laboratory stopped near a likely looking air lock on the colony outer wall and deployed its stability struts. "Here we go!" grinned Clyde. This job was going to net them ten million plus expenses.

Max moved from the driver's seat toward the back where he took up station at the small robotics lab. "Deploying Fido one," said Max as he booted up the robot that was slung under the RV.

"Ok, before we get into it, we need Mister Big Shot to define what he means by 'Organic Sample,'" said Clyde. Their instructions were overly simple, "1. Go to the abandoned colony construction site. 2. Collect organic samples. 3. Put sample in a steel box and leave it outside Bradbury Canal Airlock 6."

"Roger that," said Max. "Deploying relay." He pressed a button and on top of the RV, a small weather balloon began to inflate.

<><><><><><>

"Keep an eye on your screen!" shouted Alan over the roar of the powerful United Reactions N-30 engine, the most powerful engine ever installed in a fighter. "The target is coming up!"

"I can't see!" shouted Anna. "It's all blurry!" It was blurry because the spacecraft was shaking so violently.

"It's that space station that's lying on the ground!" shouted Alan. "See it?"

"I see it! Why did you put a space station on the ground?" she shouted.

"Because we had one? Just mark that position!"

"Marked! Now what?"

"Relax!" shouted Alan. "We have a whole orbit to enjoy before it gets fun."

<><><><><>

A very pregnant young woman was riding business class on the tube train from Perseverance City to Bradbury Canal on a fine Martian morning. The train shot through the plexiglass tunnel, riding smooth as silk. There was the occasional rumble as the tube split from a single tube to a double tube so they could pass a train moving in the opposite direction. They were rocketing westbound this fine morning and the eastbound commuter train was a bit early and waiting in the siding for them to pass.

"Do you live in Bradbury Canal?" asked the sweet old woman that was sitting to Christa's right.

"No, I am a professor at the University of Northern North America in Saskatchewan. I was born and raised in Blackberry... I mean Bradbury Canal." She chuckled. "We called it Blackberry when we were kids. My little brother couldn't say Bradbury when he was two."

"Did you come here to have your baby?" asked the woman. So many young Martians emigrate to Earth, but they return to Mars when they are due so their babies will be born native Martians.

However, for Christa, the honest answer is no. She came here to find out why her family was murdered and ended up staying too long. Now she can't travel home this close to delivery. She went with the next best answer. "Yes, I want my daughter to be born a Martian. Citizenship may not have prestige that it once had, but my brother and I are all that remains of our family, so we decided our children are going to be born on Mars."

"All that remains?"

"The Bradbury Canal blowout," sighed Christa. It still hurts, but everyone knows about the blowout and nobody asks for details. "We lost my mom, dad, aunt, and cousin. It's just me, my brother, my uncle, and now little Alana." They often include Tammy and Sheila in the blowout when telling the Scarlett family story because nobody knew what happened to them for sure... until two weeks ago.

"That's so sad." Then she asked, "How many children does your brother have?"

"None, his fiancée was just injured so that set their plans back a lot longer than they expected." She felt little Alana kick, and she smiled and stroked her tummy.

"This is your first," said the old woman. "I know that smile."

"Yes, this is my first." It was nice having a little friend inside, someone she can whisper to in the night, and make plans with. "I'm going to take her to Fiji." Just then, the phone mounted in the seatback in front of her started ringing. She picked it up and said, "Hello?"

"Hey sweetheart, how are you doing?" said the kindly voice of Ray Clark.

How did Ray know she was sitting here? Normally, these phones are used for outbound calls, so how did he call in? Seats aren't assigned, just the cars that you sit in. But then, Ray was one of her best agents. "We just passed that passing siding near Jezero crater, we'll be there on time."

"Good, your brother just started his entry burn, he should be on time also."

Christa leaned over and looked up at the sky and saw very high up a white streak dart across the sky. She never expected him to be a showoff, but her sources say that he's a damn good fighter jock.

<><><><><>

"Burgman," he snarled into the telephone handpiece. Not "hello," not "Doctor Burgman" not "This is Doctor Burgman," not even "Hey, it's Herb!" Dr. Herbert Burgman answers the phone with "Burgman" and you're expected to know the rest and feel honored that he lowered himself to speak to you.

The connection was crackly and filled with static. It was a radio telephone relaying off of a balloon mounted antenna. It was cheaper than a satellite and it got conversation over the horizon. "It's Max, we want to verify what kind of sample to pull. Over."

"Max who? Over" boomed Dr. Burgman. He was sure that the louder you shout, the clearer the radio reception will be at the other end of the conversation.

Max sighed. The idiot is yelling again. It overdrives the cheap microphone in his cheap telephone and distorts everything. "Max Stephan. We're at Kilo site. What kind of tissue sample do you want? Over."

"Tissue! A brachium! A crus! A Cranium! Whatever you do, don't touch it. You'll uh... you'll ruin the results. Over."

"Roger out." Max slammed the phone down. The fucker wanted an arm, or a leg, or a head, and provided them with a robot that could collect skin samples. What a dick. If he wasn't paying so damn well, he would have pulled out weeks ago.

Max looked at the little bot that Burgman supplied them with and realized that it couldn't do the job. There was no way those little arms could carry a human leg. "Suit up, we're going to do this the old fashioned way," said Max.

Clyde grinned. "Roger that!"

<><><><><>

"Coming up on our mark!" shouted Anna. Thank God! She was exhausted from the rattling and shaking.

"Roger," said Alan. "Coming up on primary entry burn in three... two... one... Mark!" Anna didn't hear him say 'Mark' because at that moment their main engine exploded, but it didn't fly apart. It held together and just kept exploding. The roaring bellow couldn't be heard in space, but it rang in Anna and Alan's ears. They were being shaken like a napping squirrel in a young dog's mouth. The Gs they pulled slammed them into their seats and trapped them there. Alan couldn't lift a hand to the control panel. They were helpless to the entry burn programming.

A white hot tongue of flame roared out of the N-30 engine for ten meters before it disappeared in space. Anna wanted to scream, but she didn't have the energy. She couldn't monitor the radar screen because everything was a blur, so she closed her eyes and prayed that when they exploded, they would take out the bastards that killed her Tasha Kikina.

And then it stopped. The G forces were gone and the feel of weightlessness returned, but they were stopped above the target, 10,000 KM above Kōngchéng. And they were falling. "Why are we doing a straight drop approach?" asked Anna.

"Couple of reasons. One was it was the fastest and most efficient accurate release. I didn't want to release from orbit, we only have one bomb and I want to be sure we hit that target."

"What's the other reason?" asked Anna, dreading she knew what the answer would be.

"It looked like fun."

"I knew it," muttered Anna. She checked the flight profile checklist. They were going to get pretty busy soon, as her squadron commander would say, 'might as well do it right and enjoy the view.'

<><><><><>

The phone rang again, and they still hadn't made it to Bradbury Canal. "Doctor Scarlett," said Christa, out of habit.

"It's Ray. He's on his bomb run."

"Thank you, I'll call from the office when we're done."

"Scarlett?" said the sweet old lady. "Oh my. I heard of an uproar about a young Navy boy named Scarlett a while ago."

"That was my kid brother Alan."

"Oh could he get a crowd worked up!" said the woman.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Pardon," said the lady with a sweet smile. "I'm Elinore, but you can call me Omega."

Christa laughed. Omega was the hidden protection detail that Ray had covering her. She knew there would be an Omega agent somewhere on the train; she didn't realize that the agent would just plop down next to her. "Thank you Elinore. Are you traveling alone?"

"Oh, heavens no, I never travel alone. I always have a grandchild or two hovering around, fetching me tea and swatting flies, that sort of thing."

"They sound like good kids."

<><><><><>

Eight F-201 Star Strikers took off from Zhang Field and roared westward with the rising sun at their backs. When they took off, they tried to fly in the largest formation they could, but there's only so much formation you could get with eight, so they flew in two diamonds. The Martians loved the little air shows they got every morning.

The deployment that Alan Scarlett ordered had indeed been busy. Eastern Bloc fighters and mining vessels had been harassing them non-stop since they got to Mars. The probes and attacks had stopped over the past five days. Intelligence told them that the fighters were pulled for something out on the Asteroid belt. Then they heard about the running battle between the Berserkers and an entire Eastern Bloc mystery ship

Commander Rob Overmyer went to the Berserker's private chat frequency and heard his flight talking. "Berserker Zero One this is Berserker Zero Nine. I know you're listening. Let me be the last to congratulate you on a successful operation, a successful space battle, and a well-deserved promotion."

There was a long pause and finally the Berserkers heard, "Thank you very much, Commander. I'm a little busy now, I will meet you in a few minutes."

"Roger, roger," said Rob.

Then the booming voice of Martian Space control announced, "A small force of spacecraft have just entered the atmosphere, heading for restricted zone."

"Spaceboss Mars this is Berserker zero nine, please vector us to the inbound. Give them one more warning, I'm not authorized to do so."

His RIO, Janet Kavandi, the only native Martian on the deployment, received the vector from Spaceboss and said, "They're close... they're... they're behind us!"

"Berserkers break!" shouted Rob, and the eight spacecraft scattered in all directions then arched around in the thin Martian air and came face to face with two dozen KR-39 Fantis. They've never been seen by Western Alliance and their capabilities were unknown. "Wingmen, stay on your lead! Record everything" The battle for Kōngchéng was on.

<><><><><>

The suited spaceman entered Kōngchéng through a solar powered airlock that was partially charged. "What do you see Clyde?" asked Max from the confines of their mobile lab.

"There's no power, there's no atmosphere, they vented this place... HOLY SHIT!" screamed Clyde. He was being attacked by a maintenance bot. A maintenance bot is merely a box about a cubic meter in size on tracks with three arms and various tools the bot connects to the ends of the arms for each particular job. It was rolling toward him, all three arms waving and pointing at him.

"What? What's happening?" Max couldn't see because Clyde's chest cam was jerking around so much. Finally, the picture stabilized. "What happened?" demanded Max.

"A fucking maintenance bot came after me!" said Clyde. "It came at me waiving it's arms and snapping it's claws. I had to flip it over and take the power cell out of it."

"Fuck." Did this colony get destroyed by robots that run amok? "Keep looking," said Max.

Clyde turned up a spoke toward the hub and began peeking in offices. "I got you, just a lot of empty offices and... holy shit!" gasped Clyde.

"What?"

"They... there's dozens of them... they all came to the hub to die." The floor was covered in bodies, most were covered in a blanket, some had a mat and pillow.

Max watched his monitor in terror. Dozens? There were three hundred people in that station when it went silent from the rumors he heard, and now he believed those rumors. "There! Grab that baby."

Clyde looked down at the ground and saw it, an infant swaddled in a receiving blanket. He suddenly felt nauseous. How long has that baby laid there? He was terrified that if he picked it up, the head would come off. He bent and carefully scooped up the baby... very carefully. The only thing that worried him more than the head coming off was the baby waking up. "Got it," he whispered.

"Good. Now get the fuck out of there," said Max.

<><><><><>

Lieutenant Commander Alan Scarlett was now falling from the sky upside down and fighting to hold his ship horizontal. Coming down with the broad flat back of the Star Striker leading the way through the thin Martian atmosphere should keep the speed down... but it didn't. "Gotta bring the tail down," grunted Alan as he fought the plane.

Below them the Berserkers wheeled on the Fantis and opened fire. At first, the Eastern block ships ignored them, but when Rob cut one out of the Martian sky with a well-aimed laser shot, and LT Tam Ngo of the former Werewolves sent another down streaming smoke, the fight was on.

Fighters wheeled above the dusty Martian plane; Western Alliance F-201 Star Strikers vs the Eastern Bloc KR-39 Fantis. The Fantis were amazing ships. They were lightly armed, their lasers were lower powered than the Strikers, and they recycled slower, but the Fantis were fast and nimble. However, the Eastern Bloc tactics and pilots were not up to their ships. And their tactics were designed for a slower, less agile ship, and their discipline and teamwork were lacking.

"Got him!" shouted Lt. Jim Reilly. He and his flight lead Susan Kilrain got their Fanti with a "Wingman fake." Susan kept to the Fanti's left so when it broke right, her wingman Jim Reilly was there waiting for it.

"LET THEM GO" broke through the radio chatter.

"Sir? They're heading for Kōngchéng!" said Commander Overmyer.

"Good," said Alan. "Let 'em go. Cover Bradbury Canal and Perseverance City ASAP."

Berserker 01 was now plunging tail first. "Five thousand kilometers," said Anna.

"Roger," grunted Alan, as he fought against the plane. It wanted to flip around and go down nose first, but Alan had a need for the tail to be heading down first. "Try the flapperons again," he said.

Anna tried to activate the flapperons, also known as grid fins. Still no luck. She twisted in her seat and found the flapperon circuit breaker and pulled it, then pushed the circuit breaker back in and tried again. "Grid fins out," said Anna, noticing that the ride has grown much smoother, and now they were racing downwards. "Two thousand KM," announced Anna.

"Steady..." said Alan.

The numbers just flashed by for Anna. "Fifteen hundred..."

"Looking good..."

"One thousand!"

"Bingo!" shouted Alan, and he fired the engine again. The Gs came crushing down on them, bringing Berserker Zero One to nearly a stop again. He killed the engine and as it toppled over, heading nose down, Alan called, "Here we go!"

<><><><><>

"Damn it!" said Jake Sapperstein. He lost contact with his maintenance bot.

"What happened?" asked Ray as he took a cigar out of his pocket and sniffed it. This was going to be a good one.

"I was going to move the maintenance bot outside to see if I could get a video of Alan on his bomb run and some jerk walks into Kōngchéng!"

"What did you do?"

"I extended the arms and tried to block him and hopefully chase him away but he flipped my bot over and it looks like he took the battery pack."

Ray thoughtfully snipped the cap off the cigar and said, "He's not going to be able to use that where he's going."

<><><><><>

Clyde Conrad stepped out of the open airlock with the tiny bundle in his arms. He dare not look at the baby; he was sure the head came detached from the neck. He opened the steel box that was supplied for samples and carefully lowered the infant in there. It had been dead for 10 years or more. He could have just tossed it in there, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

"There you go, five million each in cold hard cash." But when he straightened up, there was Max, stepping out of the Chinese RV wearing the lightweight pressure suit. He was holding a gun.

"No, ten million for me," said Max and he fired five 9mm rounds into his former partner.

Just then twenty-one Eastern Bloc KR-39 Fantis roared over a distant hilltop. They had orders to clear anyone and anything away from Kōngchéng. There was a heavy cargo lifter full of Russian and Chinese scientists that were going to inspect Kōngchéng and take samples, and the fighters had orders to clear everything away for them. Two Fantis pulled back and rocketed skyward, but the remaining 19 ships fired on Max and his dead partner, and his Chinese RV, killing him and demolishing the RV.

Directly above, Alan was streaking down from the heavens, his bomb sight locked on the hub of Kōngchéng. "We have company!" called Anna, who had closed the flash curtains in her cockpit. Not because of the bomb they were going to drop. She didn't want to see Mars rushing up at her.

"Line me up on their lead," said Alan.

"Ok..." she sounded unsure of herself, but she locked the lasers on the lead that was roaring up at them.

"Tanks one... four... two... three away!" said Alan as he released the empty tanks.

"Good separation," said Anna. "Bomb racks are retracted."

"Bomb away!" said Alan.

"Good separation," said Anna. "Bomb rack is retracted." Then came that electrical buzzing that you didn't quite hear, but you felt it when the laser emitter released a full charge, and Alan fired all three lasers. You could feel it in the fillings in your teeth.

"We are now a double ace!" cried Alan as the KR-39 Fanti that was roaring up at them died.

Flight Lieutenant Petya Zakhar Vasya Stepanov was flying wing for Colonel Matveyev and as they passed over Kōngchéng Rill, Colonel Matveyev saw something above them and shouted, "Follow me to glory!" Flight Lieutenant Petya Zakhar Vasya Stepanov followed Colonel Matveyev up but as they climbed, Colonel Matveyev's ship was cut to pieces by a Western F-201 that flashed past him at unbelievable speed. Then Flight Lieutenant Petya Zakhar Vasya Stepanov looked up and saw the bomb. It had fired its retro-rockets and was slowing down.

Flight Lieutenant Petya Zakhar Vasya Stepanov locked on to the bomb and squeezed his trigger just as the falling fuel tanks caught up with the bomb and Flight Lieutenant Petya Zakhar Vasya Stepanov went to glory, not knowing that his only kill was an empty fuel tank.

As Alan dove to the ground, he passed over a squadron of Eastern Bloc KR-39 Fantis that were shooting the living shit out of something. He wasn't sure if they noticed him because they were having so much fun taking pass after pass at their target. Alan was going well over 3,000 KM per hour and was still trying to bleed off speed, yet he was trying to get away as fast as possible. He flashed over the ridge of hills known as the Kōngchéng Rill and there in front of him was an eastern block HL-42, a cargo lifter.

Berserker Zero One was the only aircraft allowed in this piece of sky, so he chopped up the control cables and hydraulics of the HL-42 with his laser and watched as it augured in. "That's eleven!" shouted Alan and he dove for the Schiaparelli Canal, a long straight canyon that Giovanni Schiaparelli claimed was a canal in 1877.

They dashed along the canyon when suddenly the radio made a scrambled buzz in their ears. "What was that?" asked Anna. "Was that the bomb?"

"I believe so, it's only the first bomb I ever released."

"Is it Miller time?"

"Not yet.

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

Bradbury Canal Colony, December 19, 2141

My Revenge

Just as the train pulled into Bradbury Canal Station, Ray Clark called Anna one more time. "The cigar is lit," was all he said.

"What did he say?" asked Elinore as Anna hung up the phone with an odd look on her face.

"He said the cigar is lit."

Elinore broke into a sweet smile. "I suppose he means that interplanetary plague is no longer possible, and the area is sterilized," said the sweet old woman.

"He did it," whispered Anna. "Wow." She marveled at the enormity of it all as they pulled into Bradbury Canal station. "And he did it dead on time," she said softly. She got up and said, "It was nice to meet you Elinore, but I have a very important meeting at Marconi-Edison Bioelectric Research that I must attend."

"I'm headed in that direction too, mind if I walk with you?"

"If you like."

The escalator carried them up to ground level, and they walked down the main corridor to the six o'clock air lock. As they walked, Elinore explained how important it was to walk in the late stages of pregnancy. "And the light gravity of Mars makes it so easy to do, that's why so many girls come here to have their babies."

"I didn't know that," said Anna.

As they arrived at the six o'clock airlock, they saw through the windows on either side of the air lock that a Navy fighter had landed and it looked in rough shape. The grid fins were extended, one was missing, and the others looked bent. The entire ship had a swayback looking bend to it, and they were fighting to get the rear canopy open. Finally, the pilot hopped down and opened a panel, and pulled a lever. When he did that, the rear canopy popped off the fighter and landed a hundred meters away.

He caught the RIO as she jumped out and they unpacked their garment bags, then each of them carrying a garment bag and two MREs, they entered Bradbury Canal at the 6 o'clock airlock. The spaceman that stepped out of the airlock looked terrifying. His helmet was purple with white horns and covered with blood splatters and bloody handprints. His pressure suit was covered with dried blood and the face plate on the helmet was chrome stained with blood; it was impossible to see his face.

"Alan?" asked Christa.

The shorter of the two spacemen took off its purple helmet, revealing a Hispanic woman. "Hi, you must be Christa. I'm Anna Vasquez, I'm Alan's RIO but he's really pissed right now. I think he's planning to kill more people. Where is Dr. Herbert Burgman? He owes me."

"In fact, he owes all of us," said Christa.

"His office is in the old C Quadrant Auditorium dear. Follow me," said Elinore, and she led them around the perimeter ring. "Would you like to change somewhere?"

Alan's helmet rotated side to side slightly, and he kept walking. The magnetic soles of his boots clumped loudly as they walked. Terrified Martians scattered as they saw the tall blood covered spaceman bearing down on them in the corridor. Finally, they reached the old auditorium. There was a sign on the door that read:

Marconi-Edison Bioelectrical Research

Director Of Virology and Micro-Research

Dr. Herbert Burgman

IN A MEETING

The big metal pressure doors were replaced with genuine wood, flown all the way up from Earth. They entered the outer door and found themselves in a reception office. "I'm sorry but doctor..." there was a gasp as the receptionist saw Alan looming over her. A tall, blood covered spaceman with a chrome helmet faceplate glared down at her menacingly. She couldn't see if he was lusting after her or was preparing to kill her.

"It might be time you take a break dear," said Elinore.

"Yes, I'm overdue..." gasped the receptionist. Her eyes were frozen wide open, and she grabbed her purse and left quickly... then returned, grabbed her personal wireless telephone, and left again.

There was another door with another sign that proclaimed a meeting was in progress, and Alan planted himself in front of the door, then tapped on the door with the hard plastic fingertip of his glove. A voice inside said, "We're in a meeting."

Alan's helmet swiveled to Christa, who gesture to him to try it again. His helmet nodded yes, and he looked back at the door and tapped again. "Don't you understand? Go away!"

Alan raised one foot, took careful aim at the door latch, then kicked the door off its hinges with a well-driven kick of his heavy metal boot. The door sailed into the office and crashed into an antique globe of the planet Mars that was standing on an antique table. Four men turned and gasped at the intrusion.

The opulent office was an incredible room. It was huge with wide picture windows. It was paneled with wood and covered with full bookshelves. There was a fish tank with tropical earth fish, and live underwater plants. There were plants galore around the office. It reminded Alan of Guam. There was a small Zen fountain trickling precious water into the fish tank. There was a series of tubes and cubes where hamsters played. There was even a billiard table.

Most important, there was Dr. Herbert Burgman behind his desk. He was looking gray and fatter than the last time Alan saw him. The three other men in the meeting remained in their chairs and turned toward Alan. They all looked agitated that Alan blew the door open and interrupted their meeting. "You can't just barge in here," cried one of them, but Anna slapped him on the side of his head while wearing her heavy environment glove.

"We just did, ya fucking moron. Pay attention." She was angry. Someone here was responsible for Tasha's death and Anna wanted blood.

Outside, on the Martian plane, the Berserkers were landing. Alan and Anna could see the deployed fighters shutting down their ships next to Berserker One through Burgman's picture windows. Alan advanced on Burgman, shoving an old guy out of his chair and throwing the chair aside. Herbert Burgman pulled a gun and fired at Alan, but missed anything vital and hit his left shoulder. The pain was incredible, but Alan was so hopped up on anger and the need for vengeance that he didn't notice. He grabbed Herbert's gun hand and crushed it around the gun, squeezing as hard as he could. With his other hand, he grabbed a fist full of Burgman's shirt and tie and lifted him from behind his desk. "WHAT DO YOU WANT?" shrieked Burgman.

"Give me money," shouted Alan through the closed helmet faceplate.

Burgman looked at the blood covered helmet, but all he could see was his own panicked reflection. "Ten million, I have ten million available. Cash. I'll give it all to you."

"Give me this office!" This is where Alan's parents and ten dozen other people died. He wants it as a memorial.

"It's yours!"

"Give me your fish." Alan didn't know why he said that. He didn't really want the tank, he just liked fish and water.

"Fine! Take them! They're yours! What else do you want?"

Alan's helmet faceplate snapped open and Dr. Herbert Burgman was looking at the Harrison Scarlett he met over 25 years ago. "GIVE ME MY FATHER!"

"GIVE ME MY MOTHER," said Christa, as she stepped out from behind Alan. "You were behind everything; you left a trail of paperwork a mile wide."

Now he was looking at the Laurel Clark-Scarlett he knew back then, flush with new life in her womb. She was a sweet, desirable woman back then. This version of her is so similar, except for the expression of anger and disgust on her face. "Our parents printed and saved every order you gave them regarding the virus. They even saved the order that said you would kill us if they didn't."

"I would never do that!"

"You ordered your lab assistants Sander Nickel and Napoleon Lowe to plant an explosive on the wall in this auditorium on October 7th, 2031. We have their records."

"What? They disappeared years ago."

"I found them," said Alan. "You ordered the deaths of thirty-three people on the Lake Baikal. We found Sander Nickel and Napoleon Lowe's bodies outside of the ship. Twenty-four passengers were killed by the Burgman virus. Six were killed by being bolted in their compartments and left to slowly starve to death, and three were killed by opium injection."

"That's ridiculous, you can't prove a thing..."

"A ship left the Lake Baikal and landed at the Kōngchéng Colony. I dumped the logs of that ship not very long ago, then I got into the Kōngchéng data files and I was happy to find that they kept extensive records. They even described how they killed your men Sander Nickel and Napoleon Lowe after they injected the virus into "Patient 24." They remotely opened Nickel and Lowe's helmets and spaced them to keep them from bringing the virus back."

"NO!"

"They were an Eastern Bloc crew, their idea of lab sanitation was different from the West, especially when a virus is involved," continued Christa. "Soon the entire ship's crew had the Burgman Virus. Three weeks after they landed, everyone in Kōngchéng colony was dead. Everyone was killed by the Burgman Virus. Before they died they set up a narrow band warning to earth, "It's Loose!" and one of our satellites stumbled across that message. Just by chance, that's how we discovered that the Burgman Virus was loose."

"It's the Scarlett Virus."

"By the way, my Aunt Tammy was Patient 11, and my Cousin Shiela was Patient 12," said Christa, as Anna taped up the holes in Alan's pressure suit. "I should kill you just for that, you sick bastard."

"It's the Scarlett Virus!" shrieked Herbert Burgman. "I didn't order anything like that!"

"When I set an atomic weapon to sterilize the Lake Baikal you sent an Eastern Bloc mystery ship to prevent that," said Alan and his helmet face plate slid half closed. This part was hard, and he didn't want Burgman to see his eyes. "Your fucking people cut my fiancée's legs off."

"That wasn't me!" Burgman shrieked in terror.

Alan lifted Burgman up by his throat. "You should have just carved her heart out, it would have been more merciful," he snarled as his faceplate slammed closed. Burgman choked and shook as Anna slugged him in the gut before Alan set him down.

"They cut my Tasha in half!" screamed Anna. She pointed to the blood stains on Alan's pressure suit. "That's her blood! And here, that's Hilde's blood." She slapped Burgman's face so hard with her pressure gloves that she drew blood.

"You sent people to Kōngchéng to gather samples before we nuked that colony thinking that the McDivitt was still two days out," said Christa. "They died in the blast fifteen minutes ago."

"NO!"

Elinore finally spoke. "It's a shame you committed suicide before you could be brought before Parliament and the Joint Committee on Homeland Authority." (the interplanetary United Nations, without all the corruption) Alan's helmet rotated toward Elinore and nodded. She just gave him the go-ahead to finish it, and he dragged the shrieking Dr. Burgman out into the corridor.

"Stop! Please! I didn't want to, they forced me! They said they'd kill me!"

Alan stopped, and his faceplate slid open. "WHO?"

"They'll kill me!"

"So will I."

"It was the three!"

"WHO IS THAT?" roared Alan, and he shook Burgman like a rag doll.

"Doctor Tarkov, General Chang, General Romanov," gasped Burgman. His face was bright red and his eyes were bulging out.

"Bullshit." And Alan's faceplate snapped closed. If those three members of the Eastern Bloc scientific elite actually forced him to murder that many people, the documentation will show their involvement, and Marconi-Edison Bio-Electronics kept documentation on everything.

Alan dragged Herbert Burgman through the corridor by his collar and tie, and as Burgman sputtered and begged for mercy, Alan remained silent. The people of Bradbury Canal saw a corrupt politician/businessman being dragged away by a blood-soaked spaceman and thought little about it. Burgman had it coming, and they all knew it.

They reached the nine o'clock airlock and Alan opened the door, stepped in and dragged Burgman with him. "NO!" Burgman screamed. "Anything! Name it, Anything you want!"

Alan's face plate opened wide and Burgman could see the hate, anger, and pain in Alan's eyes. "I want my parents back. I want my fiancée put back together. I want Tasha to be alive and whole again. Give me my fucking life back." Alan glared at him, then shrieked, "WELL? WHERE IS IT MISTER SOCIALIST?"

"I'm sorry, if I could, I would."

"I gave you a chance..." Alan's faceplate slammed closed.

Burgman could only see his own reflection in Alan's faceplate as Alan hit the button that started the airlock cycle. It's actually not as painful as people expect when you're spaced. Yes, the nitrogen in your blood boils and causes an extremely painful condition called "the bends" but most people are already unconscious from lack of oxygen before the bends sets in. The vacuum of space actually sucks the air out of your lungs if you're not holding your nose, which most people are too panicked to remember to do.

Dr. Burgman slowly died with a look of startled disbelief on his face. All his plans and schemes, the backs he stabbed, the lives he snuffed out all suddenly meant nothing because one brat kid was dawdling and playing with his water bottle when he should have been dying with his parents.

It wasn't as satisfying as Alan thought it would be to watch Burgman die; he went too fast. If there was justice in the world, he should have suffered for weeks, but in the few moments it took to suck the air out of his lungs, he was gone. "Rot in hell you bastard," snarled Alan.

Then Alan did something very odd. He turned on his suit's radio and said, "Doctor Burgman! Stop! Don't! Suicide isn't the way!" He looked at the corpse in his and he opened the outer door and tossed Burgman's corpse out of the airlock and onto the Martian soil.

It actually felt good to do that. To Alan it felt like cleaning your bedroom on the first day of spring, like mom always demanded.

He cycled the airlock and returned to the corridors of Bradbury Canal where sharply dressed naval officers from the 43rd Interplanetary Fighter Squadron - the Martian squadron - wore a red sash with gold letters that spelled out GUEST or in the cast of Janet Kavandi her sash read MARTIAN. They worked with investigators from the JCHA to issue subpoenas to most people at Marconi-Edison Bioelectrical. The Berserkers helped the JCHA escort prisoners out of their offices and helped pack up thousands of mainframe memory discs, which contained documentation of Marconi-Edison Bioelectrical's attempt to build the ultimate weapon for sale to the highest bidder.

Alan's head was spinning as he walked past all that and returned to his office. There were people in there and he recognized them, but he couldn't remember their names. He slowly stripped off his bloody spacesuit. It served its purpose.

"What happened?" asked Janet Kavandi, the Martian RIO that Alan had sent to Mars weeks ago with a flight of eight ships.

Alan looked at her, trying to remember who she was. Tall, slim, she had that frail look that many Martian women have. She was in uniform, so she must be ok. "He broke loose and jumped out of an airlock. I shouted for him to stop but it was too late," Alan said softly. He was sure that Colony records of his radio transmission would back up his story and, in his mind, it had become a true story.

He went to put on his dress uniform in his office, the one that Herbert Burgman gave to him, but when he finally got the bloodstained pressure suit off, he found he was soaked in blood. The one piece underwear that spacemen wore, commonly called a singlet, was soaked in blood and was sticking to him. Anna, who was also changing into her blues, turned around and screamed so loud that...

<><><><><>

"Alan? Alan wake up."

"Dad?"

"Alan you need to wake up," his father scolded. "You have so much to do."

"I'm so tired... I want to come home."

"We're so proud of you, but you have to make your own home now."

"I have to care for Hilde," said Alan. "I'm going to resign my commission to stay with her."

"You will not!"

"Mom?"

"Alan, wake up now. You'll have plenty of time to rest in the..."

<><><><><>

Alan woke up in the EMF, the Emergency Medical Facility where a grumpy doctor with something that looked like a soldering iron finished sealing up the wounds in his left shoulder. His right arm had an IV bag connected, restoring his lost blood. "Now a gunshot wound!" complained the doctor. "I moved to Mars to get away from the violence!"

Alan was disoriented and tried to go back to sleep, but the doctor saw that he was awake. "So, you dropped an atom bomb on your home world, do you feel like a big man now sailor?"

"With all due respect buddy, fuck you," groaned Alan.

"I saved your life and that's the thanks I get?" asked the doctor with an amused look on his face. "You could at least address me as doctor."

"You can do the same for me, I got my degree... and I saved your life first, I win." Alan moaned in pain and stared at the ceiling. "I'm done doc. I've finished my task. I'm all used up. You should have let me go."

The doctor wisely avoided that line and started putting his equipment into the sterilizer. "I moved to Mars to get away from violence and what do I find? A Martian fighter jock with a death wish and a hole in his Glenohumeral joint."

"Sorry doc, but if you want to get away from violence you have to move to Titan." The doctor looked amused and Alan finished with, "it's a moon of Saturn."

"Saturn is beautiful. How many people are on Titan?"

"None."

"I get your point. Where did you find a slug thrower?"

"In the hand of the man that killed my parents."

The doctor looked shocked. "Does he still have the gun?"

"I don't think so. He stepped outside for a walk and he hasn't come back yet."

"Uh, was that Doctor Burgman?"

"Yeah, I think he said that was his name."

"Ok, let's bandage you up, drink a lot of fluids and you need to keep your left arm in a sling. I sent my notes to your commander Doctor Seddon."

"Correction doc, I am HER commander."

"No, you have been grounded, you report to her if you ever want to fly again." The doctor winked at him and said, "I was Navy too once upon a time."

Alan groaned and put on his blues and dutifully wore his sling. Luckily, it was black, so it matched his navy blue uniform. The doctor helped him on with his red sash that said Scarlett in gold letters. Nobody on Mars was going to forget that name, not for generations.

He joined Janet Kavandi, and they opened up Burgman's office to the public and worked together to answer questions from the inquisitive population of Bradbury Canal. They showed off the red brightwork on their uniforms and introduced Anna Vasquez, whose parents were Martian and she was applying for Martian citizenship too, so she could wear the red buttons with the pride that Alan and Janet show. They attracted a few young Martians to enquire about volunteering for the Navy.

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

Perseverance City Mars, December 25, 2141

A New Ally

The apartment that Alan shared with Uncle Ray became the gathering point for the sixteen spacemen that Alan and Hilde had deployed to Mars. Alan and Anna informed them of all the events that happened on the McDivitt and were shocked that so many werewolves ignored the call for help for their commander's injuries. "They said it's because she was lunar," said Anna.

"I hope they get hung with Saturn's gravity," snapped one of the homeless werewolves. "Spacing is too good for them."

"The forty fourth squadron is gone," said Alan. "I can only offer you the opportunity to join the Berserkers or maybe we'll make a new squadron. I don't know what Captain Schirra has in mind.

"Whatever happens I hope we get a cool NFL helmet too," said a former werewolf.

"A what?" asked Alan and Janet.

"A helmet like yours," said LT Mark Polanski. "With the NFL logo."

"I don't get it," said Alan.

"It's an earth thing. Don't worry about it," said Rob Overmyer.

"I want a red slash on our pressure suits," said Anna. "To remind us of Tasha and Hilde."

"I might be able to get that for a Martian squadron," said Alan.

"It is the Scarlett Planet," said Susan Still Kilrain, flight lead for F Flight.

<><><><><>

The McDivitt soon arrived to fanfare and cheers from Mars, and before Alan could find a ride up to the McDivitt to see Hilde, Captain Baker arrived in Perseverance and had an envelope for Alan. "I'm sorry soldier," said Captain Baker, but Alan just walked away. He found himself alone in an enormous crowd, holding the envelope in his trembling hands, and all he could say was "Please don't do this..."

That evening, Ray Clark entered his apartment and found it strangely quiet. He was used to the laughter and stories that the fighter crews brought to his apartment. He stepped into the living room and found Alan and Anna Vasquez passed out on the couch. Alan was leaning back on the couch and Anna was leaning on him. Before them on the coffee table was a fine old bottle of Glenlivet. Pre-distillery fire Glenlivet too. There was a quarter of the bottle remaining and next to it was a hand-written letter.

My Dearest Alan

Please don't hate me for sending you this letter, but I don't have the courage to say it to you directly. I must go. Every time I look in your eyes, I see the love that a healthy woman should bask in, not some self-pitying basket case. Doctor Baker and Doctor Seddon both told me that the nerve damage was too severe and the legs will have to come off soon and I will have to spend my life on plastic legs and metal crutches. I can't put you through that again. I'm going home to have them chopped off and be fitted with plastic replacements. The look in your eyes when they came off the first time still haunts me. I never want to see that again and I know these peg legs will tear your heart out every time you see them...

You once promised me that if I asked you to go, that you loved me enough to do it. I'm not asking you to leave. I'm begging you to let me leave. Find a wonderful life, be the hero that Mars needs and if you're ever on Luna, there is a special bank at Luna General Hospital and I would appreciate it if you could find it in your heart to make a deposit just for me. Then I would have a little Alan to love without the horror and pain that we suffered together. He would know me as the mommy with plastic legs and not have memories of me before burning in his heart.

Hilde

"Fuck," groaned Ray. He covered Anna and Alan with a blanket, put the whiskey away, and left a bottle of water and a bottle of aspirin on the coffee table, then went to bed.

<><><><><>

The next day, a funeral service was held for Lieutenant Tasha Kikina. The men and women of the 43rd Interplanetary Fighter Squadron were granted shore leave in Perseverance City for the ceremony and a little look-see around the Capitol of Mars. Alan walked around like a zombie, his arm in a sling, Anna, who was now wearing a Martian sash, Janet, and his wingman Walter Concia escorting him around, but he rarely traveled far from Ray's apartment. One time, he slipped his escorts and they couldn't find him. "Try the playground," said Ray.

That's where they found him, sitting motionless on a bench on the side of the playground, watching the children playing. A tiny girl sat next to him, telling him about her little one-year-old brother who couldn't even walk. "How can you play with someone that can't walk?" she demanded to know.

Anna and Walter immediately panicked, fearing what the hungover, abandoned Alan will say. Alan looked at the little girl with his sad, bloodshot eyes and said, "You love them and ask them not to leave."

Walt Concia stood in front of Alan, who looked up and said, "I can't go."

"Come on commander, we have to say thank you to Tasha," Alan sadly took the arm that Walt offered and rose and took the slow walkway to city center, his good right arm around Anna's shoulders.

The crowd at the city center was huge and Alan got a rousing round of applause when he stepped up on the podium, but he didn't look happy. The crowd was expecting a fire and brimstone speech like Alan has delivered in the past, but they were going to be disappointed. When they finally calmed down, Alan spoke. "Months ago, I was talking to my friends at Bradbury Canal about representation and how important it is, and they joined the parliament and became the most active colony in the union. I asked you to take my friends in and treat them right, and you did, and they stopped one-hundred and three Eastern Bloc incursions into the Los Platas Iron Fields."

There was wild applause. The Los Platas Iron Fields are a rich source of iron ore, which Mars sells for desperately needed water. When the applause died down, Alan continued. "I'm not here to talk about you, or me, I'm here to talk about my friend Tasha Petrova Kikina. Tasha was the most charming yet mysterious woman I have ever met. She was my Radar Intercept Officer and she was damn good. It was Tasha's skills that made us the number one flight crew in shooting competitions against the forty-fourth fighter squadron. The first time she climbed into my ship I was ready to throw her out... she was late and wearing a borrowed flight suit, but she made me realize how very wrong I was. We flew forty three missions together, sadly we parted ways halfway through mission number forty four."

Alan couldn't go on. He froze up and stared at his notes, then said, "I loved Tasha, and if I could trade places with her I would do it..." he paused, tears in his eyes. "Tasha wanted to be a Martian more than anything else, she was so proud that her application for citizenship was under consideration, and now I have the task of bringing Tasha home to finally become part of Mars... Tasha... Hilde... so many others... we accomplished so much, but I don't know if I can afford the price... endings always come too fast... I'm so tired of saying goodbye..." He suddenly tightened up and gasped, "I'm sorry..." and Walt led him away.

He was in the men's room trying to pull himself together when someone entered and locked the door behind them. He turned to look but the woman that entered grabbed his shoulders and whirled him away from her and the sinks so he couldn't see in the mirror and said, "Do not try to look at me." The cold steel of a knife blade pressed against his throat.

"Are you Antonina Matrona Markov?" he demanded.

"Nyet, I am Cheburashka."

"You smell like Tasha."

"How do you know vhat Tasha smells like?"

"I flew with her nearly every day for months. We flew together, we changed clothes together, we helped each other wash. I even brushed her hair."

"You brushed hair?"

"She would ask me to do it when Anna was flying and she felt lonely. I would brush her hair and she would gossip with Hilde, and you are not Cheburashka, I am Cheburashka. Whenever I missed a shot she set up she would call me that... I KNOW WHAT MICKEY MOUSE IS!"

The woman pulled the knife tighter against his throat. "Böd spokoyen! (be quiet) or I vill slit you open like carp!"

"Do it! If you have any mercy in your soul you'd cut me open and send me to Tasha were we could watch over our loves Anna and Hilde in peace."

"You do not have romantic soul of Russian. You have nerd soul of Martian that needs challenge. You vill finish our revenge... only then ve can haf peace."

"How? I've set off more atomic bombs in two weeks than all countries combined for years. I watched Doctor Burgman commit suicide, it's over."

"Suicide? you just open door for Doctor Burgman so he could go for walk, da?"

"Da," said Alan. "All of Marconi-Edison is in jail, their records are damning them to a prison on Deimos 2."

Phobos 2 and Deimos 2 are abandoned colonies that have been converted to prisons. Phobos is for Martian offenders and is considered a technical school. Deimos 2 is mostly Earth's worst convicts. Suicide is encouraged there, and many Earth convicts take it because their cell wall facing the surface of Mars is 100% transparent. The only thing to see is the wide open Martian desert. Convicts on the North side get to see the train tube. They get a daily parade of 4 trains, two in each direction. Sundays it's six trains, four freights with a passenger train in both directions.

"They vill not live to testify," said the woman who claimed she wasn't Antonina Matrona Markov. "You must complete the mission you started."

"What mission?"

"You vill kill Doctor Anatoly Volodya Tarkov, General Grigory Styopa Romanov, and General Yue Lin Chang."

Alan groaned. Another list of bodies to stack up somewhere out of sight. He didn't even try to memorize those names because he was done with it. "Antonina? I really did love Tasha... like a sister. I miss her so much..." the sight of Tasha cut in half, blood streaming out, the sad, surprised look on her face..."She haunts my dreams, begging for vengeance."

"Da, she vuz my vorld." Suddenly, the knife at his throat was gone and when he turned, he saw the door to the men's room was closing.

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

NSS McDivitt, January 21, 2142

Arriving, Armstrong Station.

Alan spent the entire slow passage from Mars to Armstrong Station working at a terminal, typing with one hand. The moment he was weightless, he cast off his sling, but Doctor Seddon had another idea. She bound his left arm to his chest with an Ace Bandage, creating a zero g sling. "I know you fliers don't believe it, but there is such a thing as immobilized. And it has its uses in the medical world."

"Yes ma'am." It was really all he said. His office, which once seemed so tiny, was huge now that Hilde wasn't in there with him. They had connected bunks, but they shared one and used the other for storage or a place to study while the other slept. He couldn't go in the bunk they slept and made love in... it smelled like her. He checked the storage compartments and all of her stuff was gone. The only sign that it was ever occupied was Noxie standing in his charger.

Alan moved Noxie and all of his clothing to his office and stuffed his clothing in a filing cabinet. "Mister Scarlett, you can't withdraw from the ship's population just because you lost a troop," said Commander Kanopa.

He wanted to scream "I LOST MY WIFE! I MURDERED A MAN!" but he just muttered, "I'll work on it sir." After Commander Kanopa left. He taped a sign to his office door that said "Out having fun :-)" then he turned out the light, locked the door and ate part of an MRE in silence while Noxie played soft music.

The Monday Morning staff meeting was underway when Captain Baker said, "Commander Overmyer, first welcome back, it's good to see you back with us. But where is your commander?"

"He is indisposed and he asked me to cover the meeting for him."

"Can you ask him to join us?" insisted Captain Baker.

"I'd rather not ma'am... In my opinion he needs to have a long conversation with a mental health professional."

"Ma'am, he had a nasty breakup. He'll get over it," said Commander Kanopa.

"Bad break up?" asked Captain Schirra. "She was cut to pieces in front of him. His RIO was cut in half. Right next to him was his Aunt and his Cousin's corpses. Lord knows what happened in his mind after he dropped an atomic bomb on his home planet."

"On Mars the man that killed his parents shot Alan then committed suicide in front of him," said Rob Overmyer.

"This is a bit more than a nasty breakup," said Wally Schirra. "The guy shot himself in front of Alan?"

"No sir, he stepped outside." A euphemism for being spaced. It's a pretty accurate euphemism.

Wally immediately put two and two together. Overmyer was covering up for Alan. "Are you saying that in front of Alan Scarlett he voluntarily stepped into an airlock, hit the cycle button, and went outside?"

Commander Overmyer thought for a moment. If he had his hands on the throat of someone who slaughtered his family, would he press the airlock cycle button and watch him die? Of course he would. A man protects his family, and convincing someone to step outside, even on Mars, sometimes had to be done. "Yes sir."

"I suggest we contact NCIS and convene a criminal investigation into the death of this man," said Captain Baker.

"It's not going to do you any good," said Captain Schirra. "Very soon, he's going to be one of the most decorated O-4 officers. We put him through a meat grinder and denied him access to a mental health professional? That will not reflect well on your records."

"I'm his commander, it's my call," insisted Baker.

By the time the McDivitt docked with Armstrong Station, a huge investigation into the death of Dr. Howard Burgman was underway, but they were tripping over the feet of the Joint Committee on Homeland Authority investigators. Soon, the full extent of Doctor Burgman's treachery was exposed. NCIS gave up on the investigation. Far too many people heard Alan begging Dr. Burgman not to kill himself.

"Alan... Commander Scarlett," said Doctor Rhea Seddon. She peeked into his office and he was strapped in his office chair, but it was clear that she just woke him up. "Alan, we've docked."

"Sorry I missed the brass band and confetti. I'm just not feeling very Navy anymore."

"We weren't going to make a big fuss over you."

"Wally was."

"Yeah, he was pretty angry you didn't show up for your own award ceremony."

"With luck he'll throw me out.

"I doubt that. You're the son he never had; he's got plans for you." She wrote something on a note pad and handed it to Alan. "Go over to Armstrong and get something to eat on the Earth Ring. I suggest Los Jimadors."

"What's that?"

"It's a Mexican Restaurant."

"Oh... what's A Jimador?"

"It's a Mexican farmer who harvests agave plants that are used to make tequila."

Alan considered it for a bit, then said, "What's a Mexican?"

"SERIOUSLY?" asked Rhea, but Alan just shrugged. Countries that disappeared a hundred years previously were not studied in High School on Mars and what was once seven different nations, including Mexico, is now merely known as The Central Zone.

"I'll explain it to him over dinner," said Anna as she peeked in the door. "Come on boss, pack your bag. We're moving into VOQ."

"VOQ?"

"Yep, we're getting a new flight deck section," said Doctor Seddon. "It's going to be awesome - room for three squadrons and a fast launch alert section."

Alan shook his head. Rhea was the most bloodthirsty MD in the Navy. She loved saving lives, but she enjoyed taking them, too. He started packing his overnight bag and said, "Ma'am... did Hilde's legs... did they have to come off again?"

Rhea sadly nodded her head, but she said, "I'm her doctor, I can't talk about that."

Alan sighed. "Come on Noxie, we're moving." He opened his A3 bag and stuffed it full of clothing that was stuffed into the filing cabinet, then he grabbed Noxie, his charging stand, and keyboard, and they headed down to the shuttle dock. The shuttle connected to the McDivitt a few minutes after they called for a ride. It wasn't a long trip. The McDivitt was docked to a maintenance pier separate from Armstrong, and they saw the new deck system being readied at the next maintenance pier. Soon, they docked at Armstrong's central hub and headed for the elevator plaza. They looked up the location of VOQ and found there were multiple Visiting Officer's Quarters and one was named "VOQ - FLEET."

"It's right next to Captain Schirra's office... that's got to be ours," said Alan and they took the elevator out to Earth Ring. It had been a half a year since Alan felt Earth-like gravity and he felt exhausted just walking to the VOQ office. "Commander Scarlett, you and Lieutenant Vasquez are in suite three."

"Together?"

The clerk looked at the screen and said, "You're a flight crew in the 43rd? Captain Schirra wants you guys to room together."

"I don't... I'm... I can't..." sputtered Anna.

"We'll be ok," said Alan, and he took the key card. They found the suite. It was the nicest room Alan had ever seen. The living room/kitchenette was bigger than Ray's entire apartment. The bedroom was big and comfortable, and there was a business office with a single bed. "They must be expecting one of us to work for a living," said Alan.

"I don't feel comfortable..."

"You're safe. If you were a foot taller, blond, and lunar, with tits the size of volley balls... then you'd have a problem."

"Then I'd have a date for tonight," said Anna and she walked into the office with her bag.

But Alan said, "Uh uh, that room is mine. You get the bedroom."

"But you're the commander!"

"That's right, and I'll be working here."

Later that evening, they found their way to Los Jimadors, and it was packed. "Let's go get a hamburger," said Alan. As they were stepping out of line, the maître d' came up and said, "Commander Scarlett? Admiral Darwin invites you to dine with him and guests."

Desperately, Alan tried to think of an excuse to refuse. Admiral Darwin was commander of the Seventh Fleet. Every Naval spaceship between earth and Uranus was under his command. "We're not in uniform," said Alan.

"There are no uniforms allowed in Los Jimadors."

"I haven't shaved in days," said Alan.

"That's not a requirement here."

Alan tried to come up with a believable reason to say no, but he sighed in defeat and said, "We'd be happy to join the admiral." Soon they were seated with Admiral Remy Darwin, a large black man with tightly trimmed white hair and an infectious laugh. His wife, Loren, was a tiny and beautiful mother of six and was clearly grateful for the chance to get away from the children and much of the Navy. With them were Captain Wally Schirra and his wife Estelle. "How long have you two been flying together?" asked Darwin, who was wearing a Minnesota Vikings t-shirt.

Now Alan knew where the design for the helmets came from. "We've been flying together since December 7th, sir."

"That's just a month and a half and you're double aces," said Admiral Darwin. "That's incredible."

"When people stand motionless in space and say shoot, we shoot," said Alan. Then he grew serious. "We both lost so much on December 7th, our lives were destroyed and we wanted to make somebody feel our pain."

"Yet you opened a children's zoo on Mars."

"It's not much of a zoo," said Alan as he studied the menu. "It's a tank full of fish, a cage full of hamsters, a couple of old cats and a beagle that were headed toward a lab somewhere. My uncle Ray hired a couple of botany students to manage it. It's mostly houseplants but the kids love it."

Alan tried to understand the menu, but it was all foreign to Alan. Then he saw something he understood. Chimichanga. And when he saw it contained beef, he couldn't wait. On Mars, beef is a rare, special meal. A Martian steak is a piece of beef flavored tofu with a bit of freeze-dried reconstituted ground beef mixed in. But his Chimichanga was INCREDIBLE.

"It's just a deep fried burrito," explained Anna as the waiter placed a Mojarra in front of her.

"That's the biggest fish I've ever seen," gasped Alan as Anna took a picture of her Mojarra, which is a whole fried tilapia.

The admiral tried not to laugh but when Anna said, "The only other fish you've ever seen is a goldfish," the admiral lost it and his rolling laughter filled the restaurant.

After dinner, they retired to the Naval Officer's club and were seated in the "Top Five" room. This is an incredible room reserved for captains and admirals only, along with their guests. They puffed fine cigars and sipped exquisite bourbon, neither of which Alan liked much, but he sat and listened to the Admiral and Captain Schirra speak about the future of the Martian branch of the Navy.

At some point Admiral Darwin turned to Alan and said, "I understand you like classic Science Fiction."

"Oh yes, it's really amazing at how much they got right."

"Like the Dragon Riders of Pern? The Wizards of the Discworld?" chuckled Remy.

"Oh, they're fun reads, but they're fantasy. I like good hard Science Fiction... Asimov, Clark, Heinlein. I grew up in a colony named for one of the greatest, Ray Bradbury."

"Have you ever read Orson Scott Card?"

Alan suddenly felt the nicotine rush from the cigar slam into him and he began to sweat. "Yes sir," he said in a tiny voice. 'Why didn't I make the connection?' he cursed under his breath.

"What does a dead writer have anything to do with us?" asked Anna.

"Orson Scott Card wrote a story about a young prodigy who was so good at what he did, he ended up winning the war for the..." Remy shrugged. "home team? It's been a couple of years since I read the book. They used this lad's skills because no grownup was as good."

Alan stared at his drink and muttered, "fuck."

"We knew about the Burgman Virus. A young Martian intelligence prodigy let us know all about it and how it was created. We needed a Martian. No one else in the solar system could drop an atomic bomb on Mars without starting World War Five, but that's what we needed because with all those infected corpses laying around, Kōngchéng was a huge biological weapons storage depot that only four Martians were aware of and they had nothing to secure it with."

"Four?" asked Alan.

"The president, Ben Curtis, the Prime Minister, Avery Davis, MP Ray Clark, and our intelligence asset," said Remy Darwin. "We had a problem. We needed a smart, eager Martian in the Navy to take over the program and all we had was thirteen-year-old Alan Scarlett."

"Fuck," said Alan under his breath.

"With Ray's help we gave thirteen year old Alan access to Jeeps and trucks that most Martians wouldn't drive until they were 25, pointed him to the Martian canyons and canals and said, 'go have fun!' and we ended up with one of the greatest close-in pilots ever born."

Anna looked over at Alan, who continued to stare at his drink.

"We didn't force him into the Navy," said the Admiral. "But when he showed interest in space flight we encouraged him. Soon he began to study astrophysics, he realized that there was only one way a Martian boy could get to the stars. While most people get their bachelor's degree at Annapolis, he entered with a master's and earned his doctorate in Astrophysics."

"You're a doctor of space?" asked Anna.

"Well... space is mostly nothing... so I'm a doctor of nothing."

"He's one of the top navigators in the fleet," said Wally Schirra. "He gave the navigator on the McDivitt five years of training in ten minutes."

Just keep NGC 5907 ULX above the solar plane," said Alan. "You'll never get lost."

"What is... that number," asked Anna.

"That is a pulsar," said Remy with a laugh. "Don't get us old navigation nerds started on Pulsar nav!"

"There's no such thing," said Wally.

"If I can match NGC 5907 ULX with any other pulsar like PSR J0523-7125, I can plot a straight line course to earth from anywhere," said Alan.

"This could go on for hours," said Estelle Schirra, her beautiful green eyes rolling in mirth.

"We gave him the hardest solo flight we ever devised and not only did he pass with flying colors, but he also took command of the other five fliers taking the same solo. He saved a life and guided home one of the fliers that was having navigation issues."

"Damn!"

"We gave him one of the greatest space flight combat instructors, and he honors her memory every time he squeezes the trigger." He placed a fatherly hand on Alan's shoulder and said, "He is our Ender."

"She is my everything," whispered Alan.

"She wants her privacy. Healing is going to take a long time," said Loren. "A really long time. The same with you two. You lost so much, but you gave us so much more..."

"We have a job to do ma'am," said Alan, still staring at his drink.

"Captain Loren Remy is the head of psychology for the seventh fleet," said Captain Schirra. "This is your schedule, for the next month you'll be evaluating young flight crews, tactics and gunnery. One day a week you will belong to Loren."

"I want to see the both of you, once a week, Luna Prime General Hospital," said Loren.

"Loren is going to help us help you," said Captain Schirra. "This is part of your duty schedule. Consider it mandatory... because it is. She's the only psychologist with the security clearance to speak freely with you about what you've done for the past two months... unless you want to go to Belgium."

Belgium was the medical center for the Western Alliance Navy. If they went to Belgium, they would be grounded until the shrink certifies them mentally fit. Alan and Anna immediately rejected that idea.

"I want documentation on your treatment from the patient side," said Admiral Darwin.

"Pardon?"

"I know what kind of wringer we put you guys through, from the loss of your lovers to having to bomb your home world. You saved us all Alan Scarlet. You saved humanity, and we can never repay you enough for what you did for us. Then again, we can never let the world know how close they came to death."

"I uh...

"Tell you what," said Wally Schirra. "Take a couple of weeks of therapy, take vacation, then come back to therapy relaxed. I understand your uncle ray has a nice place on Fiji 2."

"Yes sir!" and Alan smiled a genuine smile for the first time in a very long time.

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

Luna Prime Colony, February 13, 2142

Therapy

Alan and Anna were some of the most respected tactics and gunnery instructors on Armstrong Station. Alan was silent about his training, but he was just doing what Hilde taught him from his back seat. Anna was the one with a natural talent as a RIO. While the Berserkers called Armstrong home, waiting for the McDivitt's refit, they were busy flying training sorties, "shooting down" NUBs. (New Unexperienced Bodies) Armstrong station was the final training point for future fighter pilots and RIOs. The motto of the training squadrons was, "You have to get past the moon to get to space." A second line was added that read, "You have to get past the Berserkers to get past the moon."

Every Wednesday, Anna and Alan traveled to Luna Prime Colony on the Lunar shuttle that landed inside the colony. The colony was a lot like Bradbury Canal. Very staid, very businesslike, and the ceilings were very low. A few times Alan had to duck, so he didn't bang his head on a sign that was hanging from the overhead (as the Navy has called the ceiling for over 500 years). The gravity was so light that it was hard not to bounce up and bang his head.

Prime General Hospital was not far from where the Shuttle lands, which was really convenient, but the hospital was huge, so Alan and Anna needed guidance to find Dr. Loren Remy's office. While Anna was in with Loren, Alan remembered a request he got from Hilde and went back to the main entrance and waited to speak to a receptionist. The pretty Asian receptionist was talking to another hospital visitor, so he spoke to the other receptionist. "Does this hospital have a sperm bank? My fiancée mentioned... uh... making a deposit."

"Yes we do, it's right off corridor A."

"Thank you." And Alan followed Corridor A to the Sperm Bank. "I'm not sure how to do this, do I open an account?"

"Yes actually," said the beautiful receptionist. Luna was still trying to rebuild their population so there was no shame to visiting the sperm bank. It was considered a social duty. Alan was sure that the sperm bank receptionist inspired a few deposits. She was tall and slim and she moved with ease and self-assurance. The same self-assurance that Hilde had... has. She helped Alan with the account and when he had his account built, she assured him of total anonymity and let him know he would get a monetary stipend for "public" deposits.

"What if I don't want anonymity? What if I want whoever makes the withdrawal to know it was me?"

The receptionist smiled. "You can make a deposit for someone. That will insure that it is there for them when they need it but you will not get the monetary stipend. Will you be making a deposit today?"

"Yes, I think so..." and he was directed where to go. He was handed a sterile cup and filled out the paperwork, leaving this deposit in the name of Hilde Marks. He was assigned a private booth where there was a video screen with all kinds of options for the depositors viewing pleasure. Alan just wanted Hilde but chose something called MILF porn, which worked.

It had been ages since Alan's cock got any attention, so he was shooting into that cup in record time. He sat shaking and hating himself for enjoying this while Hilde lay in bed, in pain. He left the little cup on the shelf marked "Leave Deposits Here" and went upstairs to Dr. Loren Remy's office.

The following weeks were very similar, but the deposit he made was for Yin Chao. If she doesn't want it, she can release it to the public and Alan will get money. Every week, his talk with Loren Remy was less stilted, a bit more open than the first week when he said little. In that first meeting, he just listened to her tell him what they were going to concentrate on over the course of his treatment. Lately they spoke of his youth, then the horror of watching the pressure doors slamming closed over his parents. "I got my revenge for that," said Alan.

"And how did you do that?"

"After I killed Burgman I turned their death chamber into a museum for kids. It's filled with plants, there's fish, the only fish on Mars! there's hamsters and cats and I got an RTTY that said they got a bunny!"

"A bunny?" laughed Loren. She tried to ignore him when he said that he killed Dr. Burgman. It was abundantly clear that the man committed suicide. Alan is clearly blaming himself. They'll work on that as they progress.

"A lab rabbit, one of the last ones on Mars. Uncle Ray found that illegal animal experimentation was happening on Mars and is bringing the tamest survivors to the Children's zoo."

"Quickly, before our time is up. Why is the children's zoo so important to you?"

"Because the children love it. I could watch them pet the hamsters all day long and sometimes I can get to sleep at night."

He met Anna in the main waiting room and she was all smiles, quite different from the way that Alan felt. Past horrors were catching up with him. "Guess who I met today!"

"I hate this game, Tasha played it all the time. Who did you meet."

Anna smiled like she was handing him a wonderful gift. "Yin Chao! We're going to have lunch with her next Wednesday!"

<><><><><>

"What was that?" asked Tasha as she tried to catch the plastic bags that were floating free around the Trinity site. She firmly believed in the spaceman's creed, take nothing but pictures, leave nothing but rocket exhaust.

"That was a featherback being chased by a Werewolf F-201," said Hilde as she floated above Tasha.

"CABLE! CABLE! CABLE!" shouted Alan. "MOVE! IT'S COMING! IT'S GOING TO KILL YOU!"

The end of the cable moving at a thousand miles an hour flew over Alan's head, but it seemed incredibly slow, and he watched it head straight toward Tasha and Hilde. "TASHA! HILDE! MOVE!" he shrieked over and over. But he was frozen. He couldn't move. His girls needed his help, but he was useless.

Floating just above him, Tasha was in the way of the cable and she couldn't move. "Make it stop!" she cried as it slowly cut her in half just below the ribcage. She died shrieking, "Why did you do this to me?"

The cable continued on through Tasha's spraying blood and slowly cut Hilde's legs off at the knees. She felt a hit then said, "Why did you do that to me?" then the pain set in. Alan was in complete shock. Tasha was gone, and Hilde screamed, "You killed me!"

"HELP!" Alan shrieked into the open radio frequency. He floated up to Hilde and grabbed her tourniquet kit and tried to tie off her left leg, but her squadron floated around him, laughing.

"Help a Luna whore?" laughed the werewolves.

Alan couldn't move, he couldn't get to Hilde. He shouted, "WEREWOLF IS DOWN AT TRINITY!" into his radio over the confused chatter of the marines. "I NEED HELP!"

"Don't let me die!" shrieked Hilde, which caused Alan to start crying. "I don't want to die!"

"You're not going to die baby... you're not going to die..."

"It's ok" said Anna. "It's ok, it's over... It's over....

"I'm sorry," wept Alan. "I'm sooo sorry..."

"It's ok, it's ok..." whispered Anna. "It's all over."

"Why didn't it take me!" he wailed, and he pounded his fists on the carpeted floor.

This wasn't the first time Alan woke up screaming. It's been happening regularly, but this was the worst one. His screams of terror woke her in the bedroom and she came over and found him clawing at the carpet. In his sleep, he was trying to dig up Tasha.

Anna hugged him from behind, her small, firm breasts pressing into his muscular back. "Please Commander, come back to me," she begged and soon he woke up and slumped down on the floor.

"I did it again, didn't I."

"Yeah," whispered Anna.

"I'm going to get that box truck route on Luna... I can't fly like this."

"We're not flying today boss," said Anna as she kissed the back of his neck. Hilde once told her doing that calms him down. "Come on, let's go get breakfast."

"Breakfast," groaned Alan. It didn't sound appetizing.

"Let's shower first," said Anna as she ran her hands over his sweat covered back.

He got up and climbed into the shower, and Anna joined him. They were still co-workers showering, friends. There were no advances, no grabbing and touching, and no kissing. They didn't need to shower together, but that's how they did it on water short Mars and it was nice having company for a morning shower after a night wracked by nightmares. They pulled on civilian clothes and plodded to the Dining Hall.

"What's for breakfast today?" asked Anna.

"Something called Huevos," said Alan, who always seemed to know what was on the menu. They ate all their meals in the dining hall except for Wednesday lunch, where they ate at a diner down on Luna. "What are Huevos Rancheros?"

"Eggs and refried beans."

They sat down with breakfast and Alan ate reluctantly, regardless of how much of his favorite hot sauce Anna poured on his huevos rancheros. (Since docking at Armstrong, Anna has been trying to teach him to eat Central Style: beans and rice, green chili peppers, thin sliced steak, chips and salsa, and lots of hot sauce.) He liked refried beans, but they weren't sitting well this morning. When he finished half of his breakfast, they headed back to their suite and got the notebooks that Loren insisted they use to keep track of their phobias, and Alan grabbed a blue box that he held close. They climbed on the shuttle and it dropped from Armstrong Station and they rode in silence. An hour later, when they got off the shuttle and were walking to the hospital, Alan asked, "Where did you find Yin?"

"She asked me not to tell, so please don't ask."

"You're going to be there right?"

"Of course. Are you nervous?"

"She's going to kill me."

"And you want me to stop her?"

"No. I'm not going to stop her either," said Alan. "When she decides to kill me, I'm going to offer her my throat and my last words will be 'thank you.'"

Anna wanted to make a remark about being a drama queen, but he looked so forlorn, so helpless. "Come on Commander. You need to talk to somebody."

At the hospital Alan didn't make a deposit. He just sat in the waiting room and waited to be called back. When he was called into her office, his conversation with Loren was stilted, his answers were monosyllabic, and he avoided all eye contact. Like Hilde, Loren could read your mind the moment you made eye contact with her and she finally demanded, "What are you hiding?"

He clutched the box and steeled his jaw. "I'm meeting Yin Chao in a few minutes."

"That's wonderful! Why are you nervous? You must be so excited!"

"I'm scared shitless." There! He finally admitted it.

"Of what? You're the greatest rocket man in the Navy! You flew a short distance interceptor from the Asteroid zone to Mars and you set a speed record. You set off two atomic bombs, you shot down eleven enemy fighters..."

"Twelve."

"Twelve. Fine. You took on a corrupt, blood thirsty corporation and won, you kicked ass!"

Alan looked unhappy and said, "I was in control of those situations. It was just me that was going to pay if I screwed up..."

"And Anna."

"And Anna. Fine." He squeezed his eyelids closed and said," I brought Yin's wife home to her in three pieces. And I'm so terrified that I'm going to beg her to see Hilde. I'm so scared..."

"Alan. Just be you. Tell her what is on your heart," said Dr. Remy.

"I love her."

"You never met her!"

"I know, but we communicated, the three of us wrote long letters, we were planning to be a Lunar ménage à trois, I wasn't going to have two wives, I was going to marry a Lunar with a wife who was going to marry me."

Loren frowned internally. It was one of those relationships that makes sense on Luna where the shortage of men is still desperate. There's a shortage of men on Mars also, but Mars is odd. They didn't have a marriage like a Lunar ménage à trois. They would have "arrangements" and you wouldn't see them. Men will live alone and visit their lovers, and Uncle Ray is quite famous for his "arrangements." She leaned forward and patted his knee. "If you love her, then love her, and let her love you. Then be a man and work with her to do what you can to make Hilde's life easier."

Alan patted the box on his lap and took a deep breath. "I think we're done for the day here," he said and left.

"That's my line!"

<><><><><>

Alan met Anna in the main waiting room. "Are you ready?" she asked.

"Let's do it," said Alan while his courage was still up, and they walked to their favorite diner and Anna led Alan to the back where there were small booths. A dark-haired woman was sitting with her back to them. Anna stepped up to the booth and said, "Yin Chao? This is Alan Scarlett."

She turned to look and Alan recognized her. He recognized her from the pictures Hilde had and from seeing her at work; she was the attractive Asian woman from the hospital reception desk. She looked so terrified; she was shuddering and her eyes were wide in terror. Alan bowed deeply from the waist and said what he had been practicing for a week. "Qǐng jiēshòu wǒ de dàoqiàn."

"You're apologizing? Why?" gasped the cute Asian with long black hair.

"It was my job to bring Hilde home safe and sound. I failed. I am so sorry. I ruined all of our plans. You, Hilde, Anna, me..."

"No, no, don't think that." She rose and threw her arms around Alan and wept. "Thank you for bringing Hilde home. You saved her life! Thank you so, so much."

Alan didn't know what to do with his hands and eventually he put them around the tiny weeping woman and she melted into his arms. It felt like she has been there in his arms forever. It felt right to comfort this poor woman. "I'm so sorry, it was horrible, and when I found out the operation didn't take, I was shattered."

"She was in so much pain, when they removed them again she felt so much better."

"Please. Tell me everything," said Alan. "Don't hold back, I need to know."

They sat side by side in the booth and Yin told Alan about the problems they've been having. They talked like old friends, or possibly reunited lovers. Yin looked like she was grasping at the last straw. "Is there anything I can do personally to help?"

"Please Alan, stay away. She doesn't want you to see her, she's ashamed."

"Do you need money?" Yin didn't answer, but she nodded her head. "I'm going to reach out to Uncle Ray, He will do something, You and Hilde will be a Hero of Mars, I promise. He may ask you to move to Mars, he thinks everyone should move to Mars, but he will take care of you." As he spoke, he took out his wallet and handed Yin all the cash he had.

"I can't take this," she said as she looked at the wad of cash.

"Don't worry. I get my back pay tomorrow and I'm going to take leave next week so I won't be around gawking at you and telling people, "I almost married her."

Yin swatted him on the arm, then sighed and leaned against him. "Maybe you're not like the others."

While they were talking, their lunch arrived. They were so involved with each other, so lost in each other's eyes, they didn't notice Anna ordering lunch. "This is incredible!" said Alan. "I've never had anything like this!"

"It's taco salad," said Anna. "You miss a lot when you live on tofu all the time."

They talked about Hilde before and after losing her legs, and Yin showed Alan the artificial legs that she's being fitted with. "I'm so sor...."

Yin stopped him with a gentle finger to the lips. "Now I know why she asked that you stay away. Not just for you, because you feel so guilty, but for us, we don't need to be reminded."

"Ok for that, I apologize," said Alan softly. "Here, if you need ANYTHING and you can't get a hold of me, and I mean anything, from medications to cheese, here's Admiral Remy Darwin's number and RTTY address..."

"I can't take that..."

"His wife is my shrink; I'm going to talk to her about making house calls because she's the only shrink with the security clearance to talk to us about what happened out there. She should be talking to Hilde too. This is Captain Schirra's number and RTTY address, he's the one who got us into this mess." He then took two business cards out of his pocket. "This is for Hilde. She challenged me to open an account over at the sperm bank and make a deposit for her."

"Really?" Yin laughed. Then she looked at the card and gasped a little. IVF costs were already covered. It represented a baby, Hilde's hope for the future. "Her family is gone now, you know. Mine too. That's what brought us together, a couple of Navy girl orphans."

"No, she never spoke to me about it. I didn't know you were Navy too."

"Just a yeoman, four years and out. I was going to go prospecting in the Asteroid Belt until Lieutenant Hilde reeled me in."

"Hey, as long as Ray and Christa and I are around, you have family. You and Hilde are officially Scarlett girls. If you move to Mars you will be given immediate citizenship," said Alan.

"Oh!" a tearful Yin gave Alan's cheek a kiss. "She's going to love this," Yin said as she looked at the card wistfully. A baby! Their family is guaranteed!

"Here, here's one for you too." and he handed the other card to Yin, who squealed like a teenager and threw her arms around Alan.

"You have no idea how much this means!" she cried and kissed his cheek until she contacted his lips.

"You're going to be a great mom," said Alan. Then he put the box on Yin's lap and said, "This is for both of you. Hilde understands it. She'll show you how it works." Alan gave Yin a kiss on the cheek, and said, "We're going on leave to unscramble our brains, we're dropping down to earth this afternoon, use those numbers that I gave you if you need anything. And when we get back, Anna will reach out to see how you're doing."

"Why don't you check on us?" she asked.

Alan sighed. "I care for the two of you too much, I may not be able to pull myself out if I slipped in too deep."

"What if I invite you to join us?" asked Yin with a wag of the eyebrow.

"Then, you're stuck with me." Alan and Anna got up and headed over to the shuttle port and Yin peeked in the box and shrugged. What would we need that for?

Later that afternoon, Hilde was exhausted from wheeling around their apartment in her wheelchair and transferred over to the couch where she lay back and rested her eyes. She tried to sleep, but their terminal kept buzzing. She finally twisted and saw that she got an RTTY message from the Martian Veterans Association. It stated that her disability claim was approved along with her monthly stipend of... DAMN! That's twice what the Western Alliance was paying. When Yin gets home, she's going to have to look into this.

Yin came home a little late and apologized, "Sorry, I was busy, I kept getting RTTY messages from Uncle Ray."

"You know Uncle Ray?" asked Hilde.

"No, YOU know Uncle Ray. Him and some guy named Ben Curtis told the Martian VA that you're a hero of the Battle of Kōngchéng and you'll be getting some money soon."

Hilde turned the terminal screen toward Yin so Yin could read it. "Yeah," said Yin. "That's what he said it would be."

"Oh god that solves a lot of headaches," groaned Hilde. "We can get that bigger apartment near the hospital. You won't have to wheel me across the colony for my treatments."

"We'll need the bigger apartment," said Yin in a sing-song voice. "Look was some handsome stranger gave us!" and she handed Hilde the sperm bank deposit cards.

"Who gave you this?" asked Hilde, her eyes wide with joyful shock.

"The same guy who gave you this," said Yin, and she placed the big blue box on Hilde's lap.

"What the hell," she said as she peered in. "Is that?" she started weeping in joy and nostalgia. "Noxie! Oh Noxie!" She took the toy robot out of the box and hugged it. The tears continued to flow as she hugged the robot while it booted up.

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

Fiji 2, February 26, 2142

Vacation

Alan stepped out of his cabana wearing a sarong and gazed up and down the beach, then stretched and wondered what he was going to do next. Paddle board? Surfing? Fishing? He tried fishing yesterday; it was fun, but he had to throw everything back for being too small. He settled on sailing. There's something about a small boat on a vast ocean that appealed to Alan. He just has to navigate in two dimensions since one point (the earth) is fixed, so he can get the other two points of navigation calculated down to a few meters in his head.

That's all he needs, a map, a compass, and a star to seer by. There's a two-masted Schooner that gives sailing lessons. He was thinking of going out on that.

"Hey boss," said Anna lazily from the edge of the shore where she and Keala relaxed, daring the tide to come in and spoil their fun. Anna met Keala shortly after landing on Fiji 2. Keala was a sexy, slim Polynesian girl with dark blond hair, and a hostess at the local Tiki bar. She and Anna hit it off immediately and before Alan knew it, Anna was walking around topless like Keala and her skin was turning a rich golden brown in the rays of the warm sun.

"We're going to a Luau for dinner," said Anna as Alan eased into a beach chair.

"I'm trying to keep kosher," said Alan. "You two go have fun."

"Captain Alan!" taunted Keala

"Come on!" said Anna. She got up and came up behind Alan and started rubbing his shoulders. Keala kneeled and his feet and started applying suntan lotion to his legs. Her beautiful golden brown breasts bobbled gently with her efforts. "Keala found a date for you," said Anna.

"You'll like her. She's Hawaiian like me," said Keala.

"Is she Lunar?" asked Alan.

"Silly! I said she's Hawaiian! Not moon maiden," Keala smiled, flashing those brilliant white teeth. "She's here, does she look Lunar?"

"All my loves have been Lunar," said Alan, and he wondered if anyone wrote a song with that as a title.

"This is the guy we were talking about, his name is Alan," said Anna.

"Hello Alan," then Alan heard a slight gasp. He opened his eyes. She was a visage of Polynesian beauty. Her long black hair flowed over her shoulders; she dyed a streak of blond in her hair and wore a beautiful red hibiscus behind her ear. Her breasts were medium and tanned berry brown, along with the rest of her body, and she wore a flower print sarong. She had a smile that could make a strong man's heart stop.

It's been nearly a decade, but Alan would know that smile anywhere. "Noelani? Noelani Kawehi?"

"Alan? Alan Clark-Scarlett?" said Noelani. "Oh my God!"

Alan jumped to his feet and, with a cry of joy, he scooped up his old friend in his muscular arms and they whirled around. And then they left.

Anna was in shock as she watched her boss walk off hand in hand with Keala's friend. Then, just a few yards away, Alan and Noelani pulled off their sarongs and dove into the ocean, picking up where they left off a decade ago.