Alan Scarlett Best Two Out of Three

Book #2 in the Alan Scarlett Saga

by Duleigh

©Copyright 2024 by Duleigh

Dedication

This book is dedicated to the memory of Tim Kuzon, my old pal, fellow railfan, and science fiction fan. We traveled the mean streets of Williamsville, NY, to find the latest copy of Fantasy and Science Fiction magazine. You’re missed every day, Tim.

A beacon bright in life’s brief span,

A dreamer bold, a cosmic fan.

Though now he’s crossed the final gate,

Tim’s essence shines, his tales await.

In every story, every gleam,

His memory lives, a starlit dream.

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Preface

I have always been a fan of “hard science, science-fiction.” Not the modern Science-Fantasy where you say, “make it so” and it magically happens whether it’s crossing the universe in a few hours or travel easily through time or find a race of space dragons that speak English. That stuff isn’t science fiction to me. It’s fun to read, but to me it’s fantasy.

I love the old school science-fiction where the science is first and foremost. My characters will probably never get beyond Saturn. They’ll never break the speed of light, they’ll run out of fuel, and they’ll squabble amongst themselves over the best food substitute at the chow hall. My ships don’t have artificial gravity, they don’t fly faster than light, my ships travel in straight lines and turning is a pain in the ass. There’s no swooping and curving trajectories because that’s impossible. The only exception is the asteroid belt, that’s my playground. Anything can happen there.

Join me in the heady days of great science fiction, the days of Asimov, Bradbury, Clark, Dick, Heinlein. I want to revive X-1, a radio “space opera” that used stories from the greatest writers. I try to avoid words they wouldn’t have used in 1950. I’ll use words like atomic instead of nuclear, terminal instead of computer, spaceman instead of astronaut and cosmonaut, and Pencil and Paper instead of laptop. I name many of my characters after real astronauts that have flown in the past 50 years. Many ships and space stations are named after astronauts of note: Armstrong, Glenn, Shepherd. My bad guys are named after actual bad guys, and the Cold War is still on.

Their history (your future) got pretty ugly in 2080. World War Four started with a terrorist organization called Widdershins Separatists set off an atomic bomb in Lake Erie, which destroyed all cities on the shoreline: Fort Erie, Buffalo, Erie, Ashtabula, Cleveland, Sandusky, Monroe, Toledo, and the city of Detroit. The tsunami killed millions of people and destroyed shipping for decades. In the following war, Earth took thousands of men from the Martian and Luna colonies, destroying their society, leaving Mars and Luna (the moon) a home for widows, old men and little boys.

Join me in a universe of brave men and women who man the ships of the Western Alliance Navy, and keep back the ships of the Eastern Bloc. A universe of space colonies on Mars, Luna, and Venus, vast stations hanging in space where their rotation provides gravity, where pirates prowl the solar system looking for a fat cruiser to pillage, and the spacemen who fly the small fighters and the bombers to keep the pirates at bay. Alan Scarlett has just saved all of humanity and was given some time off with his Radar Intercept Officer (RIO) on Fiji 2.

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Chapter 1

In twilight’s tender hues, where memories fade,

A silent ache whispers, shadows invade.

Echoes of laughter, now faint and forlorn,

Dreams of love wither, by dawn they are worn.

”Goodbye” echoes in the gloom, the demise of joy.

- Alan B. Scarlett, August 2142

Fiji 2, March 25, 2142

Last day of Vacation

Hilde Marks moaned under Alan Scarlett’s caresses and sighed in delight as each kiss brought the lovers closer and closer together. “Now, my love,” she whispered, and she tugged at Alan, pulling him atop her lithe, sensuous body. Her long shapely legs wrapped around his as their tongues danced together, their lips aching from the kisses.

She reached down and wrapped her delicate hand around his throbbing manhood, lining him up with her weeping vagina. “Are you sure?” Alan asked.

“It’s time,” she whispered, but then, she looked at Alan with fear in her eyes and said, “Trust no one,” and like the morning mist, she faded away, leaving Alan alone in his Uncle Ray’s guest cabana at Ray’s beachfront condominium on Fiji 2. He woke up and looked around, his fiancée and lover was gone. It was like this every night and getting worse with each dream about his love. Each time Alan came closer to losing his virginity, but each time reality intruded, leaving him alone on Earth, while Hilde recuperated at her apartment on Luna at the Luna Prime colony.

“I am not going to cry,” he vowed as he sat in the darkness, but like every night, the bitter tears of losing Hilde to a horrible accident came. A snapped cable took her legs off while they worked in space and simultaneously the cable killed his RIO and friend, Tasha Kikina. Alan saved Hilde by applying tourniquets to her legs, but she was so emotionally shattered she asked Alan to let her heal with her lover Yin Chao, who had almost become Alan’s “Lunar wife.”

There was so much loss, so much death in his life. His parents died with 120 other Martians in an insidious plot to kill them, Alan, and his sister, Christa. How many people did he kill when he went on a vengeful tear and destroyed twelve Eastern Bloc fighters? How many people were vaporized when he released an atomic bomb on his home planet of Mars? He dropped it on a large group of Eastern Bloc saboteurs looking to collect samples of the deadliest virus ever known to man, and they would have died from exposure to the Burgman Virus, and blasting them and the virus to atoms saving billions of lives, but he still killed them.

And he killed Dr. Burgman, the man who forced his parents to develop that virus. He did Dr. Bergman up close and personal and he watched the life drain from his eyes as the airlock they were in opened to the near vacuum of Mars. Murdering Dr. Burgman bothers him as well. He feels he should have taken longer.

Alan could not get back to sleep so he got up and took a towel and stepped out of Uncle Ray’s guest cabana onto the beach of Fiji 2 and walked down to the water line. He laid out the towel and sat on it, and watched the sliver of the moon rise over the ocean. “Hilde, please take me back,” he whispered to the moon, and he wondered if she looked down on him and said, “soon Alan, we’ll be together soon. Let me rest for a while.” At the same time, he knew she wouldn’t.

It was his last day in paradise. Tomorrow, his shore leave would be over. Then Alan and his Radar Intercept Officer Anna Vasquez would take a boat to the main Fiji island of Viti Levu and catch a flight to Guam. There they would transfer to the NSS Shepherd, the first launch ship in the Western Alliance Navy. It could launch U-700 shuttles from any point in the ocean to any orbit you could imagine. The shuttles were designed to carry passengers and priority freight outward to the three main Navy space stations, Camp Schmitt in Geosynchronous orbit over Camp Lejeune, Armstrong Station at Earth/Luna Lagrange point one, and Aldrin Shipyards at Earth/Luna Lagrange point two.

In 2083, a tsunami completely destroyed the Totoya atoll and nearby Matuku Island. Both were part of the Fiji island chain. A land speculation company paid the families of the lost islanders millions and purchased the islands outright and began hauling rock and sand and soon the two islands were renamed Fiji 2, primarily a retirement community which was loved by Lunars and Martians who wanted to get away from the colony and enjoy fresh air. Totoya was a tropical paradise with white sand beaches and swaying palms. There were condos, apartments, sailing in the lagoon and plenty of young staff members to help them adjust to laid back earth life.

Matuku was mountainous, with many streams and waterfalls. There was cliff diving for the adventurous, and mountain villas with breathtaking views. Matuku was for younger residents who wanted adventure and Totoya Atoll was for older residents who had their adventures and wanted to relax on the beach with topless Polynesian girls waiting on them and fetching them drinks.

As the sun rose, Anna came out of the main house and sat down on the beach next to her pilot and commander. “Couldn’t sleep again?” Alan didn’t speak, he just shook his head no. “Any improvement?”

“She said something that I remember this time. She said, ‘trust no one.’”

“Well shit,” said Anna. “After you atomized not one but two Eastern Bloc units and erased the weapon they wanted, then your squadron shot down fifty-three of their fighter and damaged their mystery ship? They’re probably out to get us. I think that was good advice.”

“Then there’s the worst one,” groaned Alan, as he poked a tiny seashell with a stick. “They’re expecting more from me.”

“Who is?”

“Everyone. Captain Schirra and Admiral Darwin both want a home run every time I catch a punt.”

“You really need to watch sports that you understand,” said Anna. “Like chess.” She leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder. “You’re not having fun training?”

“I’m still new to the Navy. I don’t understand half the crap Captain Schirra spouts.”

“That’s because he’s a captain and you’re a brevet commander.”

“I know, I know,” groaned Alan. He had to look that up to see what it means. In essence, he’s a Lieutenant Commander as long as he works for Captain Schirra, but he still gets Lieutenant JG’s pay. If he goes to another assignment, his rank is set back to Lieutenant JG.

“How does it feel to be owned?” grinned Anna.

“It used to feel better,” muttered Alan.

“Come on, let’s go eat some breakfast then do something that will make me wet,” said Anna.

“That’s anything that involves Keala.”

“Shut up… sir. I was talking about paddle boarding or windsurfing. Keala’s a friend. I’m still mourning Tasha, you’re still mourning Tasha, Hilde, Yin and Noelani. We’re both pitiful. Are you ok?”

“I’m mourning Noelani?” asked Alan.

“You didn’t look happy that your childhood girlfriend went and got married and had two kids without your permission.”

“Fuck…” Alan groaned at remembering the unexpected heartbreak. He had been gone almost an entire decade. How could he expect her to wait for him? “This is why Captain Schirra sent us here, so we didn’t bum out the new flight crews,” muttered Alan.

They watched the tide creep up the beach toward them. “Snorkeling,” said Alan. “Let’s go snorkeling and catch a few lobsters or harpoon a grouper.” Alan was better at harpooning than rod and reel fishing. As long as he could shoot something, he could put dinner on the table.

“Out by the reef? That’s dangerous!” said Anna.

“Yeah, it’s a good thing we don’t have fish in space,” said Alan with the start of a grin. “That would make space dangerous.”

They ended up going wind surfing. There was a regatta scheduled in the Totoya Lagoon and Alan and Anna entered the event. Nobody knew how good they were, so they were entered into the beginner’s brackets and they slaughtered the competition. Anna grew up on the shores of Lake Tota in Columbia and wind surfed her entire life.

Slim, short, tanned to a medium brown, Anna didn’t look like a Martian but her folks were both Martians, second generation from Tharsis City, but had to relocate to earth. Anna taught Alan how to windsurf on the windward side of the island, which was choppy seas compared to the lagoon, so in the much calmer lagoon, Alan was incredible. Since he first raised the sail on his sail board, he fell in love with the sport so much that he spent every lonely evening reading about it. “Surfboard Yachting” is what the cute Polynesian waitresses called it.

“You’ve got really powerful arms,” said an incredibly cute woman who was about Alan’s age. “You can really handle that sail.”

“It’s because I’m from Mars,” he replied, flexing his muscle. Yes, he was from Mars, but he spent the past eight years working out nonstop in every gym and weight room he could find. Most Martian men were barely able to lift their own chess pieces. Alan wanted to break that stereotype. Being raised in 30% of Earth’s gravity, you don’t need big muscles, but Alan wanted to go to the stars so he started working out at the age of thirteen.

“Are all Martians like you?” asked the waitress as she squeezed his biceps.

“Wait until you see his dick,” said Anna without looking up from her magazine. “A Martian will split you in half.”

The waitress laughed and walked away, and Alan said, “What the hell did you say that for? Now you scared her away.”

“Believe me boss, she’s an earth girl. They’ll be lining up at your cabana door after the luau tonight.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, this heat is the finale. Three laps of the course for the championship. Will the following yachtsmen report to the starting line? Yamato, Williams, Scarlett, Rothschild, Vasquez, and Astor.”

“You ready RIO?” asked Alan.

“Ready boss,” said Anna and they headed to the shore to gather their boards. Both had Martian red sails, and both wore Berserker purple life jackets.

“Are you two aliens on the same team?” asked Bernard Rothschild in a snotty tone of voice as they lined up for the start. He was on the board between Alan and Anna, with Alan to his left.

Alan looked at young Mister Rothschild like he didn’t speak English. Instead, Anna replied for them. “What team are you talking about, Biff? The Navy? Yes, we are both fighter pilots and we have sixteen kills.”

“Twelve,” corrected Alan.

“Didn’t you get the memo from Admiral Pierce? They gave us credit for the four Eastern Bloc Featherbacks that got caught in the blast.”

Alan shook his head and frowned. “That wasn’t an air-to-air fight, that was a bomb blast.” The windsurfers lined up on the starting line with their sails and masts laying in the water to their right.

“They went down by our actions, we got credit. We’re triple aces!” said Anna like she was handed a puppy. “And they gave us credit for that cargo hog we split in half. They counted fifty bodies in that thing, mostly command staff and biochemists.”

“He was blocking our entry into the Schiaparelli Canal,” said Alan with a shrug. “I didn’t want to count myself as a kill.”

“You were in a war?” asked a stunned rich boy.

Alan stood on his board and looked down at the rich kid who lined up between him and Anna. “Yes, Mister Rothschild. You may have all the money in the world, but my friend Anna and I faced down the Eastern Bloc and won while you sat on your ass. This little girl has more balls than you do.”

Rothschild whirled toward Alan to swear at him, but the starter’s gun went off and Rothschild was standing on his board with his back to his sail. Alan and Anna yanked their masts up out of the water and were off leaving ‘Biff’ behind. This first leg was into the wind and they had to tack left and right to move forward. While everyone looked deadly serious around the triangular course, Anna and Alan were laughing, having a grand time. They looked like they were trying to bump each other off the course and they swooped and splashed each other.

They exchanged the lead over and over on the first and second lap, but the third lap was when the truly good windsurfers came into their own. Alan and Anna were in second and third place, rounding the last turn and sprinting for the finish line. Oki Yamato was right ahead of them, but Alan and Anna got upwind of him and their sails blocked the wind from his sail and he stalled, falling behind them. He was able to recover as they passed, but he never caught up with them and they flashed across the finish line with Anna beating Alan by half a length.

They were still arguing when the judge caught up with them. “Tell him I can’t take this,” demanded Anna. “He let me win.”

“I did not. It was your skill and experience. Tell her that she won, Chief.”

“Miss Vasquez, you were first across the line,” said the Judge, as he handed her the trophy.

“I can’t take this thing back to the McDivitt,” she complained. It was a large trophy with a windsurfer on top.

“Leave it in Ray’s house. He’ll love it,” said Alan.

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Chapter 2

Fiji 2, March 25, 2142

Last Night of Vacation

That night at the victory luau, the members of the community cheered the crazy Martian who learned to windsurf in three weeks and their victor, the little Navy girl from the southern continent. Paul’s friend from his first visit to Earth, Noelani, and her friend Keala came to serve Alan and Anna. The first course featured Lomilomi Salmon, pineapple, and Poi. The main course was ground barbequed pork, ginger mahimahi, rice, sweet potato, and roasted summer squash. It was a feast for a king and Alan was finally laughing and enjoying the party.

After dinner, they walked back to Uncle Ray’s house, following paths lit by tiki torches through the narrow strip of jungle. “You live on the windward side,” said Noelani. “Very convenient. Nobody will hear me scream,” she said as she leaned over and licked his ear. Then she danced ahead of Paul a few steps, turned around and removed her bikini top. Her brown nipples and areola that were capping her sweet little mounds were erect and aching for attention. She grinned and wagged her eyebrows at him, then clung to his arm. “I want to say goodbye the Fiji way tonight.” Her hand cupped his crotch through his swim trunks and squeezed his cock and balls.

“I thought you were married, with two kids.”

“I am married,” she whispered in his ear. “But this is traditional Fiji goodbye, so he understands.” Her teeth closed on Alan’s ear lobe. She playfully nipped his ear and said, “We can have our fun, and if it gets serious…” she kissed his cheek, “I’ll name it after you.”

She had Alan right where she wanted him. She knew he was aching to get into her pussy, or anyone’s pussy, for that matter. His former lover Hilde kept him aching for her pussy, teasing him and denying him constantly. She gave him free access to her mouth and ass, but Hilde saved her pussy for her wife, Yin Chao.

They got to Ray’s house and while Keala and Anna entered Ray’s small house, Alan led Noelani to the Cabana at the back. She tried to get him to enter the house, tugging and urging him inside, but he said, “no, it’s beautiful out here. We can look at the stars and sleep in the guest cabana.”

“Don’t you sleep inside?”

“No,” said Alan. “I’ve lived inside my entire life. I love the fresh air blowing off the ocean, the sound of the waves, the sun waking me up in the morning.”

“Sounds romantic, but I’m beyond romantic,” said Noelani, her dark brown almond-shaped eyes flashing with mischief. “I want a good solid fuck on the kitchen table.” She writhed around Alan like a warm snake. “I’ve dreamed of this minute for ten years. Don’t make me wait any longer.”

Something clicked in Alan’s head. He’s been here nearly an entire month. Why now on the very last day? Was she already pregnant with someone else’s baby and wanted plausible deniability? To blame Alan as he heads off to space where he’s unreachable? His aching erection faded. “I made a promise not to go in there uninvited. This month, it’s Anna’s residence.”

“It’s Ray Clark’s residence,” purred Noelani. “That makes it yours.”

“There’s a line between commander and subordinate,” he said firmly. “I honor that line and give her privacy. That’s why I’m out here.” He softened and hugged Noelani from behind. His hands strayed up to her breasts, cupping them and squeezing gently. He has never touched those cute mounds that haunted his dreams. They were so much smaller than Hilde’s breasts, her nipples were tinier too. He pinched and rolled those firm little nubbins between finger and thumb. He brushed her thick black hair away from her neck, then returned his hands to her tits while his mouth when to work on her neck.

Noelani responded to Alan’s touch, but it was nothing like Hilde. When he hit ‘that spot’ behind her ear with his suckling mouth, Hilde usually groaned and went limp in boneless ecstasy. Noelani gave very little response. Did he do it right? Maybe ‘that spot’ was just Hilde, or just moon maidens. Noelani reached back and grasped Alan’s hips and pulled him tight to her from behind, and she moved her ass against his cock, swaying her hips.

Alan reached down and released her sarong and whispered, “Let’s go swimming in the starlight. We were always better together in the water.” Her sarong opened and Alan’s hands traveled downward, down to her hips, where his fingertips brushed the small tuft of black hair down there, then lower down to her… why did she have a leather strap around her upper thigh?

Noelani twisted out of his arms and a large knife flashed out of the thigh sheath she wore under her sarong. The blade glistened darkly in the starlight and she struck, stabbing at him. Alan tried to dive aside, but he wasn’t quick enough and the blade sank into his left shoulder. “You bitch!” shouted Alan in horror. She stabbed him right where Dr. Herbert Burgman shot him.

She danced back from Alan, the knife switching from hand to hand. “General Chang sends his greetings,” Noelani said as she sprang.

Alan is tall and slim, but he’s not skinny and weak. He worked hard to overcome the light frame of his Martian ancestry. Months of long combat training sharpened his reflexes; aerial combat taught him to read the situation and hand-to-hand in multiple gravity scenarios taught him one thing… Look at the eyes. He could almost hear her eyes shout “Now!” just before she sprang, and he was ready. He caught Noelani’s knife hand and wrist and twisted hard. With a frustrated cry, she lost the knife to Alan, who brought it to her throat.

“What the fuck is this?”

“General Chang has demanded your body, dead or alive,” and somehow she twisted away and ran. Alan dove after her and tackled her before she could take three steps. He flipped her over and saw the hate in her eyes. “You western pigs think you rule the planet.”

“I’m not western, I’m Martian. You know that.”

“If you’re not a member of the People’s Soviet, you are a western pig and you… You are the worst! War criminal! Your parents built the deadliest virus devised and released it on Kōngchéng. When General Chang sent troops to help the survivors, you dropped an atom bomb on them.”

Alan was shocked. Both atom bombs he released were the most highly classified events of the twenty-second century. And General Chang? The military of the Eastern Bloc was run by a triumvirate of three sick bastards. General Yue Lin Chang, General Grigory Styopa Romanov, and Doctor Anatoly Volodya Tarkov.

General Chang was in charge of ground forces anywhere the Eastern Block put soldiers on Earth, Mars, Luna, Venus, wherever. In space, his flag ship was the Obshchiy Bogdanov (General Bogdanov) which Alan and the Berserkers shot the living hell out of. General Romanov was in charge of their Space Force, and his flag ship was the Zheleznaya Koroleva (Iron Queen). Doctor Tarkov was the sickest bastard of the three, his flag ship was the Gorod Moskva (The City of Moscow). All three flag ships were huge troop and spacecraft carriers made from converted ore freighters.

Alan was sure it was General Romanov who killed his parents, and it was General Chang that killed his Aunt Sheila and his cousin Tammy on the RSS Lake Baikal, and released the virus on his own people at the Kōngchéng colony, forcing Alan to incinerate Kōngchéng with an atomic bomb. But the sick sins of Doctor Tarkov, if the rumors are true, are beyond the pale. Rumors of experiments to create super troops, advanced chemical weapons, and biological weapons that would keep any sane man awake at night pour out of Tarkov’s labs in Siberia.

Chang, Romanov, and Tarkov. They were the epitome of evil, and Alan vowed to remove them from the universe.

Alan shook his head as Noelani spouted Eastern Bloc propaganda. The problem was that she was a believer. She spouted the political nonsense like it was a religious litany. She probably worshipped Generalissimo Francisco Javier Glauco Hernán, President of the “People’s Soviet” publicly called “the People’s Glorious Republic of Eastern Bloc Countries”. He’s been the figurehead of the show over there since he took power from the previous figurehead in 2131 in a bloody military coup that ended in a bloody civil war. Wide swaths of the former Russian empire and the former Chinese west were wiped clean by vast armies. Analysts say that he’s just a showpiece, a figurehead that repeats the spouting of the general staff. Noelani started kicking furiously and in anger he slashed at her feet with the knife and slashed the sole of one foot and slit the Achilles Tendon of the other.

Then he heard Anna screaming from the house. Without thinking, he ran up the beach with Noelani’s knife in his hand and he dashed into the kitchen via the lanai covered patio. He heard Anna screaming and men shouting in the living room. Four men had dragged Anna out the front door while Keala watched with a mask of glee on her face.

Alan struck Keala in the head with the butt of the knife handle and she sagged to the floor. He reversed the knife and swung at a man’s arm that raised a Taser to him. He tried to get to Anna, but three men dragged her to a waiting military transport. He fought past the man he had slashed just in time to step outside and see the transport roar skyward. Its engines scorched Uncle Ray’s lawn and set a corner of his roof on fire.

“Capitalist tool!” shouted the man left behind and he dove toward Alan.

“Shut the fuck up,” said Alan and he scooped up the dropped Tazer and tazed the guy as he got near. He was going to be out for a while. Alan saw that Kaela was getting up, so he tazed her too and then tossed down the Tazer. The battery was exhausted and it would take twelve hours to charge back up. He stormed out to his cabana, stuffed his clothing into his sea bag and pulled out his favorite souvenir, the Smith-Ruger 889 pistol that Howard Bergman shot him with. It could fire the regular 9mm ammunition used on earth, or the new 8.8mm ammunition that was designed with an improved oxidizer which gave maximum performance in the vacuum of space.

He walked up the beach to where Noelani lay screaming, “I can’t walk, you fucking pig!” she shrieked until the sound of an explosion filled the air. People aren’t used to the sound of gunfire. “Slug throwers” went out of fashion in the days of space colonization. They were replaced with wireless Stun guns and hand carried laser rifles. The Smith-Ruger roared and the 9mm slug hit the sand an inch from her left ear, spraying her with painful shards of sand and she shrieked, then she shut up as she saw a fuming Alan standing over her, gun pointed at her.

“Where did they take Anna?” he demanded.

“I don’t know,” she said.

The gun roared again, and the bullet sprayed the sand into her right ear. “Next one goes between those and I go work on Kaela. WHERE DID THEY TAKE ANNA?”

“DANDONG!” Noelani shrieked. “They’re taking her to Dandong.”

Alan closed his eyes and shook his head. Dandong was on the Yalu River where what was once North Korea met what was once China. Dandong was caught up in wars everlasting. The great Asian war of 2078 that started World War IV in 2080 started there on the peninsula. A century of tension came to a head, and it exploded until the only thing that stopped the combat was a plague that wiped out almost the entire population. Now the Peninsula was “independent” and a huge spacecraft and space station factory, and Dandong, the spy city, is there to watch and try to capture every new spaceship model that rolls out of the assembly plant.

“I’m going to ask Keala, and if she says something different, I’m going to carve your heart out of you in front of your mother.”

“I didn’t want this Alan…” she wept sadly.

“You did nothing to stop it.” He leaned over and said, “I don’t want to kill you. I wanted to love you, but you signed your death warrant the moment you agreed to take part in this.” He pressed the knife blade into her shoulder roughly where she stabbed him and pressed in until her blood flowed and she cried out.

“You have no heart,” she wept.

“No, I don’t. Anna, Hilde, Yin, Tasha, they were my heart, and you fucking bastards took them from me!”

He walked up to the house and the glow of the flames on the roof could be seen from the beach side of the house. He stepped into the living room and ripped off Kaela’s sarong and ripped it into strips and bound her hands and legs. She, too, was wearing a knife in a thigh sheath like Noelani. “Where did they take Anna?”

“I don’t know,” said Kaela.

The Smith-Ruger roared again, punching a hole in the floor next to Kaela’s ear. “I already cut up Noelani pretty bad until she told me. Now if you say anything different from what she said…” he took Noelani’s knife and touched the tip of the razor-sharp blade to Keala’s eyeball. “I’ll take them both. You’ll never see again.”

Kaela saw that there was no mercy in Alan Scarlett’s eyes. He wasn’t a tourist they could bilk money out of; he was the real thing. They warned her to be careful and to kill him quietly while they took Anna in for interrogation. “Dandong, they took her to Dandong.”

“Why Dandong?”

“I don’t know! I honestly don’t. General Chang said, ‘Bring her to me. Kill Lieutenant Scarlett and bring me Lieutenant Vasquez.’”

Alan noticed flashing lights outside and stepped out to see the local fire department quenching the fire on the roof. Mrs. Monson, Uncle Ray’s property manager, was wringing her hands in distress as she watched the firemen work. Then she looked up and saw a bloody, exhausted Alan Scarlett step out of the house. “What happened?”

“I need NCIS here immediately,” said Alan. “We were attacked.” The fire department paramedic led Alan to their rescue truck, pulled off his shirt, and began to work on him.

“You were stabbed in a gunshot wound? You’re either the unluckiest or the luckiest Martian I’ve ever met,” said the EMT.

“What other Martians have you met?”

“Just about everyone on the windward side is Martian or Luna. This end of the island is almost all Martian,” said the EMT.

“So, you know my Uncle Ray?”

“Yeah, he’s here once or twice a year. Didn’t see him this past year.”

“He’s been busy. He got elected to parliament,” said Alan.

“How did you get stuck?” asked the EMT.

“I said ‘no’ to the wrong girl. I guess she really did want me.”

“There’s two people tied up in there,” said a fireman who stepped out of the house.

“They need to stay that way until NCIS arrives. There’s also one on the beach with several painful looking cuts,” said Alan. “Treat her, but she needs to talk to NCIS.”

“And just who the fuck are you?” demanded the Fire Chief as police arrived.

“Lieutenant Commander Alan B. Scarlett, Forty-Third Interplanetary Fighter Squadron, commander.”

“I don’t know them.”

“We’re the Martian version of a wrecking crew.”

Just then a Fijian police officer stepped up and said, “Mister Scarlett, I’m going to have to take you in.”

“Take me in? Seriously? You walk up here, don’t even look around and put me under arrest. What’s this, investigation by ESP? Crime fighting by reputation?”

The cop pointed at the smoldering roof. “Arson. Come on, we’re going to Matuku Island.”

Alan scowled at the cop. “I’m not going anywhere with the likes of you. I am the commanding naval officer in the Martian Space Force. If you try to arrest me on trumped-up charges, then you just ignited an interplanetary pissing contest the likes of which you’ve never seen before.”

The cop looked around, confused, and sputtered, but Alan switched to a soft, conciliatory tone. “I know buddy, I know. You got your orders from Dandong and you want to look good in case the boss is watching.”

“Da-Dandong?” His eyes flew open wide. Dandong was the center of power for the Eastern Bloc’s army and headquarters for General Yue Lin Chang, the man who swore to wrestle Mars out of Martian control and make it his personal kingdom. The cop got as close to Alan as he could and said quietly, “What do you know about Dandong?”

“You just did,” whispered Alan. “Turn me over to NCIS along with the two women and the guy and I won’t tell everyone on Viti Levu where you are getting your orders from.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me. I know that they want you to kill me. What else do I have to lose?” asked Alan. “Are you going to take away my birthday too?”

Just then, a very stern pair of agents in plain clothes showed up in a worn land transport. A stern heavy set man got out of the vehicle and said, “Special Agent Grierson, NCIS,” and he flashed his badge around. “This is my partner, special agent Styles.”

“Very special agent,” said Styles, a handsome younger agent with a grin that was honed to make young women sweat in interesting places. Styles was deeply tanned, showing that he was enjoying his assignment to Fiji 2. They were normally stationed on Matuku Island, where the blue-water navy has a small support base.

“You took your damn sweet time!” shouted Alan. “I reported a kidnapping, and you put me on hold!” Alan Scarlett hated Very Special Agent Dwayne Styles the minute they met. He was a shallow gum chewing pretty boy, probably a surfer who investigated nothing worse than a bar fight or a pregnant serving girl whose baby daddy just shipped out for a two-year tour in the Naval Space Force.

The Naval Crime Investigative Service is the primary investigative law enforcement agency of the Western Alliance Navy. It started with the US Navy in 1946, using a combination of civilians not bound to naval tradition, and government investigators. The concept worked so well that as the Western Alliance Navy was formed; they brought the NCIS into the Western Alliance Navy along with much of the world’s blue-water navies.

After checking Alan’s ID card, they asked what was going on. “My RIO… my partner was kidnapped. She was flown out of here in an M-53 military transport, which is what caused the fires.” He glared at the fire chief and said, “Isn’t it interesting that nobody in the fire department asked me how the fire on the roof started?” Then he glanced at the cop and said, “Isn’t it interesting how nobody asked me why there’s a man and a woman tied up in the living room?”

“It’s Friday night,” said Agent Grierson. “We get a lot of that.”

“Let’s cut the crap. My RIO, a hero of the Battle of Lake Baikal, was abducted by Eastern Bloc agents, and nobody seems to care.”

“We’ll take this from here,” said Grierson, and they pushed Alan into the vehicle and drove off. A few minutes later they pulled onto the ferry that runs between Totoya atoll and nearby Matuku Island. They pulled up to their office and led Alan into the office where he spent the night being questioned over and over.

After hours of questions and accusations by Special Agent Grierson, Alan finally snapped. “What the fuck is wrong with you people? Navy Lieutenant Anna Vasquez was abducted by Eastern bloc agents and nobody seems to be doing anything about it! If I bought you each a dozen donuts, would you get off your lazy asses?”

“Mister Scarlett, we are following up on every lead that we have available to us,” moaned Special Agent Grierson. “Right now, all we have is an RTTY (Radio Telegraph) message from Armstrong station demanding that you follow your orders and find yourself standing in Captain Schirra’s office within the next four days or you will be considered AWOL and be court martialed.”

“Let’s start over from the top,” said Very Special Agent Styles. “When is the last time you saw your co-pilot?”

“She was my RIO, not my co-pilot.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Co-pilots don’t kill people,” snapped Alan.

Very Special Agent Styles cleared his throat and said, “What was happening when you saw her last?”

“They were stuffing her into an M-53 military transport, then they flew off.”

Very Special Agent Styles grinned. “They just flew off. Like a bird.” He made a fluttering motion with his hand. He clearly did not believe Alan’s description of Anna’s disappearance.

“An M-53 is an air and ground-mobile transport device. When you learn to read, you’ll find out more about it. I know a book with lots of pictures and I can help you with the big words.”

“Oh, you are very funny, Brevet Commander…”

“That’s DOCTOR Brevet Commander to you, Earth boy,” snapped Alan.

“Well then, Doc, do you know the difference between you and me?” asked Very Special Agent Styles.

“Besides opposable thumbs?”

“That’s even funnier. I use my brain, you use a trigger,” said Styles with a sneer. “I use my brain to solve puzzles. You just blow shit up and head to the O-Club.”

“That exhaustive brain power explains why Anna is sitting out in your office waiting for me right now?” said Alan, leaning across the table.

“And just how did you discover she was taken to Dandong?”

“Police work. You may want to try it sometime,” said Alan, leaning in closer to Special Agent Styles. “It’s work, so that may be why you avoid it.”

“Very funny. How did you set fire to the roof?”

“How did I set fire to my only living relative’s house? I had the neighbor launch an M-53 from the front lawn.” Alan always calls Roy his only living relative because he didn’t want to imply that his sister, Christa, was alive. She has her cabin on a canal in a Canadian forest where nobody can find her. She and her husband Jake and their daughter, little Alana, are home and reportedly happy, according to Uncle Roy.

“It’s time to go,” snapped Grierson. “Captain Schirra wants you on the next U-700 to Armstrong and standing in his office in four days.”

“I’m going like this?” asked Alan. He was sitting in their cold questioning room in a bathing suit, a bandaged shoulder and a pair of flip-flops.

“Here,” said Agent Grierson, and he tossed Alan’s seabag into the room. Wincing in pain, Alan pulled out a flight suit and boots and began to dress. When he finished dressing, he scooped up his bathing suit, which was laying atop his pistol, which Agent Styles had kept for evidence. Under his bathing suit was also Agent Style’s ID card and badge. He gathered all that up and stuffed it into his sea bag and was led out to a helicopter.

The flight didn’t last long, and they landed on Fiji’s main island of Viti Levu and transferred directly to a small air breathing passenger jet and soon were airborne. Alan remained silent no matter how much Styles taunted him. The whole time he thought over and over, ‘I can’t believe I’m going back alone.’

“What’s the matter, sailor boy? Don’t want to go back out to sea?”

Alan continued to stare at the seat ahead of him, tears of bitter frustration and sorrow welling up. ‘Not again, not again!’ No, he can’t go back alone!

They landed at Anderson Naval Airfield Guam (Big Navy) All military installations on Guam were now Navy controlled and the big Air Force base was one of the Western Alliance Navy’s biggest airbases. They taxied to base ops and shut down, and a truck pulled up to the plane. Alan pulled his seabag out of the overhead rack and followed Agent Grierson to the vehicle and climbed in, which whisked him to the Outbound Terminal. This is the only way off of Guam by air, and Alan was led to the terminal.

He scanned his ID card and the screen above the terminal entry gate said, “LT. CMDR Scarlett. Gate 4.” Without a word, Alan disappeared into the terminal. Guam is one of the Pacific Gateways. Anything heading to the Eastern Bloc takes off from Guam, Honshu, Luzon, or Australia. Guam was the most convenient for anyone out of Fiji 2. Regardless of where the flight took off from, all flights into the Eastern Block landed at The People’s Glorious Port of Entry, commonly called Amnok for the small city nearby.

The young squadron commander walked first into the Air Ops office and asked, “Did you have anything flights heading to Amnok in the past twelve hours?”

“Just a private cargo plane.”

“Any passengers?”

“No, sir. Just crew.”

“Thank you,” muttered Alan and he walked off to Gate 4.

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

Chapter 3

Naval Air Station Guam, March 26, 2142

The Commander

Spacemen Apprentice Gregory Johnson was in awe of Earth. Having finished his training at Great Lakes naval training center, then receiving his space training at Peterson Space Force Base and Coronado Island Naval Space Center, he arranged to ship out to his new command from Guam. He was a Martian, and this was his first time on the big planet, as many Martians call Earth. His mother’s family was from Okinawa, and he got the departure from Guam just so he had a few days near his family’s ancestral home.

He plopped down in the waiting area for gate four and opened a book to read when a young naval officer sat down across from him. The officer was in a flight suit bedecked with patches like he always pictured a naval spaceman should wear. He saw one patch was for the Forty-Third Interplanetary Fighter Squadron, the unit he was assigned to.

The officer sat at the seats by Gate Four, staring at his hands and clenching them into fists over and over. In a nervous voice, Greg said, “Sir? I, uh, I think you’re in my new command.”

The man looked up at him, his face a mask of concern. Greg fully expected an authoritarian “Sit down and shut up,” but the man’s face softened and he said, “Welcome aboard!”

“Thank you, sir. I’m really excited about this assignment. A unit just for us Martians!”

“There are plenty of Lunas and Earthers in the unit still. Where ya from?”

“Bradbury Canal,” said Greg. “Delta quadrant.” He sighed and added, “My mom was at the meeting in Charlie quadrant.”

The meeting in Charlie quadrant is all you have to say. Greg’s mom clearly died with Harrison and Laurel Scarlett and one hundred and twenty other Martians. Alan nodded sadly and said, “it sucks to be us. Your dad, did he survive?”

“He was never really part of my life; I bounced from relative to relative.”

For the first time in a day, Alan smiled. “You have a family now Spaceman Johnson. What is your rating?”

“Spacecraft mechanic, sir. I hope to be a plane captain.” The term plane captain applied to both aircraft and shipboard spacecraft: fighters, recon, cargo, bombers. The plane captain was in charge of maintenance and the overall health of his assigned craft.

The officer took out a large notebook and said, “I’m going to assign you to my own plane captain, Petty Officer Gene Cernan. He’s going to be your mentor and trainer. He’s from Perseverance City and is the best plane captain in the Navy, so listen to him and learn.”

“Which one is yours, sir? The Berserkers are pretty famous in Bradbury Canal and I have pictures of all the fighters.”

“I don’t have a ship right now,” said the officer. “I wore mine out and left it parked outside of Bradbury Canal. It’s called Honeybunch.”

“I got to sit inside that ship!” gasped Greg. “They moved it inside. It’s in the train station’s upper waiting area. They let recruits sit in it after we sign our papers.”

“I’m glad to see that old girl is still getting some use,” said the officer. “That’s the first ship with my name on the side.”

“You’re… you’re…” Greg finally put two and two together and realized that he was sitting with the most famous Martian in the solar system… well, at least on Mars.

“I’m just your commander, Spaceman Johnson. You’re going to have a lot of them if you stay in long enough,” said Alan Scarlett. He went back to writing and said, “I’m just a lieutenant, but I was the only Martian in the room, so they made me a brevet Lieutenant Commander and told a bunch of people to line up behind me and do what I tell them. You’re my newest, and a full Martian. That’s great… I’ll make sure your uniform is up to Martian specs…” and he wrote some more.

“Martian specs sir?”

“The forty-third is a Martian Space Force unit even though we are Navy. It’s political. We have added some red to our uniform.” He tore off his Forty-third IFS patch and slapped it on the open Velcro spot on Spaceman Johnson’s left arm. “There you go. You’re a Berserker now. Let me see your ID card.” The spaceman handed Alan his ID card and Alan took out his and compared the two, then wrote some more on the paper. “here you go, let me seal this up…” He handed his ID card to Spaceman Johnson upside down and the young spaceman put it in his wallet.

While Johnson put the ID card away, his commander went over to the gate monitors desk and got an envelope from the gate control officer. He folded up the airman’s ID card inside of the letter he wrote, sealed it up in an envelope, and addressed it to Captain Schirra. He returned to Spaceman Johnson and said, “Ok, my RIO still isn’t here. I’m going to go hunt her down. Great flier, lousy at waking up on time. Don’t you be like that!”

“No sir, I won’t.”

“If something happens and I miss the flight, don’t worry. I’ll catch the next one. If that happens, give this to Captain Schirra when you get to Armstrong Station. He’ll blow a gasket at me, not at you. He’s like that, but it’s really important he gets that letter. It will make sure you get assigned to Gene Cernan. Copy?”

“Yes, sir!” and he gave Alan a salute.

Alan returned the salute with a smile and said, “We don’t do that indoors.”

“We’re Martians sir, we don’t have an outdoors.”

“You have a point Spaceman Johnson.” He tore the rest of his patches off his uniform and put them in his seabag and dug out a few things and put them into the leg pockets of his flight suit. “If I don’t get back in time, can you make sure my seabag makes it to Armstrong?”

“Yes, sir.”

Spaceman Johnson watched Commander Scarlett walk over to security, swipe an ID card he dug out of a wallet, and leave the terminal. That was odd. He was sure he was told once you swipe in, you can’t swipe back out unless your orders were changed. It must be different for officers. Greg went back to his book. They were supposed to leave in an hour and there was no plane at the gate, so he piled up their seabags and used them as a footrest. Soon, he was fast asleep.

He was awoken abruptly by someone shaking his shoulder. “Let’s go, sailor, even Martians are invited.”

Spaceman Johnson looked around and saw that there was no sign of his commander, so he picked up both sea bags and instead of heading down the jetway, they went down an escalator that ended at ramp level. A Space Force sergeant opened the door for them and they stepped out into the hot, humid South Pacific weather. It was raining, but the humidity on Guam is so heavy it’s hard to tell the difference between when it’s raining or not raining, even when the sun is out.

A cargo plane with a tail ramp was backed up to the terminal, so they walked out of the terminal and walked under the cargo plane’s tail, then climbed up the ramp and boarded the plane. “Find a seat! Strap in! We’re running late!” shouted the plane captain. Greg found a seat and stuffed their sea bags underneath it. The plane wheeled away from the terminal and headed to the runway. It bumped and thumped as it taxied on the ancient concrete. The expansion joints were out of alignment from nearly two centuries of use.

“First trip, kid?” asked a Navy captain strapped in next to him.

“Y-yes sir. I just finished A-school.”

“Where ya headed.”

“Armstrong station. Forty-Third IFS.”

“Well!” the captain looked impressed. “You a hotshot? A Martian? Both?”

“Just Martian for now sir, I’ll try to achieve both.”

“I like your sass, kid. This trip is a round robin. They’re going to bounce around from one ship to another, picking up and dropping off people and cargo. If you’re headed for Armstrong, you’ll be getting off first on the NSS Slayton.”

“What’s that sir?” he pointed to something outside that he saw through the window. It was monstrous, it looked like a pair of wings attached to a pencil and covered with engines.

“That’s the Arc Light Memorial. It’s a B-52, an air breathing bomber. During operation Arc Light, those planes flew one hundred twenty-six thousand six hundred sorties, delivering up to one hundred eight bombs each.”

“That’s a mean-looking machine.”

“Wait until you see a B-171 Interplanetary bomber,” the Captain grinned. “The damn thing is so ornery we make the Marine Corps fly it.”

“I can’t wait sir… uh, why are we sitting backwards?”

“It makes landing easier,” said the amused captain.

After what seemed like they were taxing around aimlessly, they stopped. It was quiet on the C-228 for a few moments, then they heard the air-breathing engines crank up and they began screaming. “You might want to tighten those shoulder belts,” said the captain.

“Yes sir,” said Greg, and as he tightened them up, the aircraft shot out onto the runway and was accelerating hard. The ancient runway passed under them. The plane shook and bounced with each expansion joint it bounded over. Then suddenly the ride smoothed out, and the plane began clawing for altitude. It felt like they were shooting straight up.

Eventually, the plane leveled out and a crew member walked toward the tail of the aircraft. “Who is getting off on the Slayton?” About four people raised their hands. “Who of you is going on to orbit?” This time, there were only two hands raised. “Ok, y’all take your boots off and come back here and get your pressure suits on. We’ll be dropping you off soon.”

The young spaceman pulled off his boots and walked back tentatively. “Name, rank, serial number.”

“Johnson, Gregory R. Spaceman Apprentice. S1997852.”

“Sign here for the suit.” And the flight crew member handed Alan a pressure suit, boots, Velcro boot liners, gloves, slimline oxygen unit, and a helmet. “You have thirty minutes to get it on,” said the flight crew member that handed him the suit.

Greg carried it back to his seat and the Navy captain took pity on the seaman and helped him on with the suit. “The horse collar goes last, over your head like this… now the helmet.” They put on the helmet and all sound was lost to Greg. The captain grabbed Alan’s left arm and touched a button and suddenly he heard everything that was going on. “The left forearm is your control panel. This button is an external microphone. This is environment control.” The captain hit something and the hot suit cooled off. He showed Greg how to set the magnetic seat locks, and soon Greg was locked in his seat. “You won’t need the shoulder straps or seat belt. The suit is your harness now.”

Before he realized what was happening, the cargo plane slammed down on the deck of the NSS Slayton and roared to a stop. The back ramp slowly lowered and the load master called out on the microphone, “NSS Slayton, Carpenter, Tanner, Johnson, Davis, Scarlett, Vasques, un-ass my airplane. We have a schedule to keep.” Greg and three other sailors, one in a pressure suit, got off the plane and two sailors got on. Greg was hustled off the plane and out onto a broad, flat, and oddly empty flight deck. A couple of sailors waved them over to the tower that sprouted from the side of the flight deck where they stood and watched as the cargo plane used its reverse thrust to back up to the edge of the deck.

A sailor tried to tell Greg over the roaring of the engines that a magnetic catapult was going to fling the cargo plane off the deck. The engines roared as the rear door closed up, with almost half of the aircraft hanging out over the ocean. Greg could swear that the nose of the ship was raising as the cargo plane’s engines roared, then suddenly it shot off the deck and into the sky.

He was about to say something like, “That was intense,” when an enormous spaceship appeared over the far edge of the deck. It was riding the ship’s port side elevator up to the flight deck. It had intakes for four air-breathing engines, but it had large reaction mass storage tanks below each wing root. A small tug appeared from the base of the tower and it towed the large ship onto the deck, then pushed it back as far as it could. Several sailors began inspecting the big flying machine and Spaceman Johnson saw the huge engine exhausts, four air-breathing engines and one big “reaction mass burner.” This was a ship to space aircraft.

“Johnson, Davis, let’s go!” said a sailor, and she led the two spacemen in pressure suits out to the big plane as it was being readied for flight.

This was the new U-700 that everyone was talking about. The super-fast, super-economical shuttle for lifting priority personnel and cargo into orbit. But it could go beyond orbit. It was the first in a class of Lunar Shuttles. This thing should be able to land on Luna. The ship they were on, the NSS Slayton, was designed to carry, maintain and launch the U-700 into any orbit desired and retrieve the U-700 on reentry.

A hatch was opened at the bottom of the forward area and the sailor that opened the hatch gestured for Davis and Johnson to come over and get on the plane. As he crawled under the low slung ship and climbed into the hatchway, Greg realized he was in the navigation area. There were two seats side by side and he recognized some of the equipment from the spacecraft training in his A-school. There was a ladder ahead of him, so he pushed his two sea bags up the ladder and climbed up, finding himself in the cargo/crew area. “Put your sea bags in the last two seats and take any seat you want,” called the plane captain from down below.

Spaceman Johnson finally got a look at his flying partner. She took off her helmet as she stowed her sea bag. He stowed his bag and Commander Scarlett’s bag on the right rear seat and pulled the stowage net over them, and tightened it up. He noticed she had three green stripes on the left arm of her pressure suit. The green told him she was a spacecraft mechanic like he was, and she was a skilled spaceman, with three green stripes. He was an apprentice, so he only wore two stripes. “Greg Johnson,” said Greg, extending his hand to shake.

“Lisa Davis, are you heading to the Forty-Third also?”

“Yes, I sure am. The commander already picked my trainer, Petty Officer Gene Cernan. I’ll be working on his new ship when PO Cernan certifies it.”

Lisa’s eyes were wide with envy. “I saw them set down on Mars on the day… you know.” Martian enlistees were briefed extensively not to talk about December 19th. The civilian population believes that there was no atomic bomb, (a lie) that Commander Scarlett was jumped by six KR-39 Fantis and killed them all (mostly true) and blasted an HL-42 cargo ship carrying scores of Eastern Bloc roughians that was blocking their way into the Schiaparelli Canal (partial lie) because Kōngchéng was about to blow up. (totally true).

“You were on Bradbury Canal? I was there, but I didn’t get to see them land,” said Greg.

“I was on leave visiting my folks. They said that Alan Scarlett was going to speak. They were there on October 7th and heard him convince Bradbury Canal to join the parliament. My dad is an MP for Syrtis Major and was really hoping to hear him talk.”

“I spoke to him for a little bit on Guam, he seems to be an ok guy.”

“Is he, y’know, cute?” asked Lisa.

“Of course,” said Greg. “He’s from Bradbury Canal.”

“Alright Martians! Let’s get settled in,” called the plane captain, and Greg and Lisa sat next to each other. Not counting the pilot and co-pilot seat there were six passenger seats up on the upper deck. There were no windows to look out of for Lisa and Greg except for the smallish front wind screen, but Lisa showed him the different channels that he can view which showed views from external cameras shown on his face plate.

Channel A13 showed what looked like a view from a paralleling ship. First, the U-700 was pushed as far back on the deck as possible, and then the NSS Slayton began to sink at the rear.

“Where’s the other two?” called the pilot over their headphones.

“Don’t know sir,” said Spaceman Johnson. “Lieutenant Vasquez didn’t show up at the terminal in Guam, and Commander Scarlett went looking for her.”

“Ok, let’s lock in,” said the plane captain. “They’ll have to catch another flight. Put your head back into the headrest, grip the hand rest and put your feet on the footrests. When the commander calls ‘Head, Hands, Feet,’ he’s going to lock you down so you don’t flop around and break something on launch.”

“Aye-aye,” called Lisa. They sat back and rocked in their seats until all the magnet catches in their suits had mated with the magnets in the seats. “All good!” she called.

“Ok. Our ship is not sinking. They’re filling ballast tanks in the stern, so when we launch we’ll be pointed upward… mostly.” The plane captain took up the co-pilot seat. This was a pre-programmed mission profile, so a navigator wasn’t needed, and he was acting as the flight engineer.

They heard the air-breathing engines roaring, and the U-700 began shaking. The shaking and roaring reached a crescendo when the pilot yelled, “HANDS, HEADS, FEET!” and suddenly their magnetic locks tightened down and held their heads, hands, and feet firm. There was a powerful jolt and everyone was slammed back into their seats.

The electromagnetic catapult slung the U-700 forward, and they were shoved back in their seats with 6 Gs of acceleration. The huge ‘boat’ was cast off the deck of the NSS Slayton and was roaring upward into the blue Pacific sky. Greg was still watching a video feed from a paralleling ship, so he got to watch the entire sequence of events. However, he couldn’t release his hands to change the channel, so he got to see the Slayton blowing out the ballast tanks and coming back up to level. Finally, the pilot released the magnetic holds on their heads, hands, and feet, but they were still pulling Gs. Greg found a channel that showed the flight statistics, and they were soon shaking through MAX Q and blasting their way towards 2,000 KM/h.

The pilot finally cut the J-74 air-breathing engines and for a moment, they felt weightless. Then the pilot kicked in the massive United Reactions series N-50 reaction mass driven engines. Again, they were slammed back into their seats as the big U-700 leaped into the black of eternal night and climbed into orbit. Greg watched the flight statistics on his faceplate in awe. It was one thing to watch a launch and monitor the statistics, and quite another to be on that launch.

It took about three hours for them to establish an orbit and prepare for the Trans Lunar Injection, which, when it finally came, was a gentle push compared to previous engine burns. “That was cool,” said Greg, as they headed toward the moon. He was about to release his helmet when a challenge appeared on the screen.

“How about a nice game of chess?”

Very few Martians know where that line comes from, but on Mars, chess is king. Everyone plays. There’s two games that have captured all of Mars, Chess and Shogi. Shogi was Greg’s favorite, but it didn’t translate well to a small screen. Chess can be played almost anywhere. “Let’s play,” he responded and a chess board appeared on his face plate.

“Rock, paper, scissors, winner gets white,” said Lisa, and she shattered his scissors with her rock.

<><><><><>֍<><><><><>

Chapter 4

Armstrong Station, March 29, 2142

A New Assignment

After docking at Armstrong Station, Spaceman Lisa Davis and Spaceman Apprentice Greg Johnson were escorted into the life support section in the huge hub of Armstrong Station. “Welcome aboard spacemen,” called Sergeant McCarthy, a Marine that was working the desk at the life support office. “This is where you’ll come for all your safety equipment. When you’re aboard ship, the life support section is also your laundry. Here on Armstrong Station, we just deal with your pressure suits, personal oxygen, and propulsion. The dorm will maintain your laundry. When the station is on alert, you will come down here and sign out your pressure suit, helmet, gloves and oxygen. You’ll be living in that until the alert is over. Right now, I need you to get those suits off and hand them to me. I’ll make any modifications you need and I’ll store them here.” He gave the instructions in a sing-song voice because he’s given them a thousand times already this year and it wasn’t even April yet.

“Won’t I need the suit when I work on my spaceship?” asked Greg.

“All maintenance hangars on Armstrong are pressurized. As a maintainer, you’ll only need your pressure suit when working in the landing hub or if you need to step outside.” Then he collected Lisa’s gear while Greg was wrestling his way out of his pressure suit. When Greg was ready, he handed over his suit, helmet, boots, and gloves. “Ok, this is now your permanent personal pressure suit. How does it fit?”

“Fine,” said Greg. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but there wasn’t any problem with it. Once they broke orbit and were heading to Armstrong, they only wore their helmets to play video chess with each other.

The Sergeant wrote serial numbers of the suit, helmet, and gloves on a form and said, “Sign here.” Greg signed, then Sergeant McCarthy said, “Your ID please, so I can scan this in.”

Greg got out his ID, he had to present it so many times, digging it out of his wallet was now automatic. He handed his ID card to Sergeant McCarthy, who looked at it and said, “I know Commander Scarlett, and you’re not him.”

“What?”

Suddenly, the window that Sergeant McCarthy was talking to them through slammed closed, as did all the other doors in the office. They were caught floating in a sealed ante room. “What did you do?” asked Lisa.

“I gave him my card! That’s all I did! … Do you smell something weird, like sour roses?”

“Oh damn,” groaned Lisa and the two of them slipped into unconsciousness.

When they came to, they were in a small room with thick, transparent walls. They were leaning on each other with their wrists cuffed behind their backs, and they were sitting on a transparent bench in normal, earth like gravity. A marine in a starched uniform was standing outside of their transparent room, staring at them. “They’re awake,” said the marine to someone in an office next to him.

“Captain Schirra wants to see them ASAP.”

“Why are we locked up?” demanded Lisa.

“Because, Spaceman, your partner is impersonating an officer.”

“I am not!” shouted Greg. “I’m not impersonating an officer and I’m not her partner. I just let her beat me at chess.”

“You did not,” insisted Lisa.

“I did so, the third game when you opened with Romanov’s Queen’s Gambit and sacrificed your king’s bishop’s pawn? I could have had you in four moves.”

“I did that on purpose to see if you would go for the obvious checkmate. Sikorski wrote that it’s the easiest way to determine your opponent’s…”

“ENOUGH!” roared Sergeant Mazmanian. “You fucking Martians, are you all chess crazy?”

“No,” they lied simultaneously.

“Come along. It’s time for your very first captain’s mast. I foresee many in the future for you two.” He unlocked the door and, along with a Marine private that was holding their boots and two large envelopes, they led Greg and Lisa down the long corridor to Captain Schirra’s office. The corridor seemed to go on forever and in the distance, it curved up.

Occasionally, the Marine would say, “Quiet, this is officer’s country. People are sleeping.” A little while later, he said, “Quiet, these are all classrooms.” And finally, he led them to a door that said, “Head of Governance Training / Interplanetary Affairs.”

The marine knocked once, very loudly on the door and a woman’s voice said, “Enter.”

They entered a small office/waiting room where a beautiful woman with flowing red hair and large, round breasts was seated behind a desk. She was dressed conservatively, but somehow provocatively. “Sergeant Mazmanian! How often have I told you about knocking on that door? There are classrooms right outside.”

“Sorry ma’am, I don’t get to escort prisoners often.”

“I tried to warn him,” said the private.

“I’m sure you did, Danny. Leave these two here with me and I’ll see that they are taken care of.”

“But ma’am!”

“They’re Martians. They’re not stupid enough to do something crazy. Cut their flexi-cuffs and let me sign for them.”

“Yes ma’am,” said Sergeant Mazmanian sadly. He cut the plastic cuffs from their wrists and the private that Estelle called Danny handed them their boots and envelopes with personal items.

There was a bang and the inner door slid open and Captain Schirra glared at the two young spacemen. Sergeant Mazmanian puffed himself up to call the room to attention, but Captain Schirra pointed at him. “Don’t you dare! Not in my office!”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” Sergeant Mazmanian was clearly disappointed that he didn’t get to yell.

“Dismissed… not you two.” Captain Schirra snarled at the retreating young spacemen. “Get in here.” Lisa and Greg stepped into their wing commander’s office, and the captain sat down with a groan. “Sit down, put your boots on.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where is Commander Scarlett?” demanded Captain Schirra.

“Sir, I do not know. He wrote a letter and asked me to give it to you, then he said he had to go find Lieutenant V… something.”

“Lieutenant Vasquez?”

“Yes sir, I saw him leave the terminal,” said a terrified Spaceman Johnson. “Sir, Spaceman Davis didn’t do anything…”

“I know. She was unlucky to be there when you handed an officer’s ID card to a Marine.”

“I did?”

“Yes, you did Spaceman. You handed Commander Scarlett’s ID card to Sergeant McCarthy, which forced them to arrest you and drag your happy ass here to my office,” snarled Captain Schirra.

“Why would Commander Scarlett take my ID card and give me his? He must have handed me his ID card when he finished the letter. Why would he do that?”

“To ensure that someone dragged your Martian ass up here the moment you got on station. Give me that letter.” Greg handed the captain the letter that Alan wrote. It was a piece of paper folded up and secured with staples inside an envelope. Captain Schirra removed the staples with a small knife using the same care he would use to disarm a bomb. As he unfolded the letter, something wrapped in a note fell out. Captain Schirra unfolded the note and read it, then handed the note and what it contained to Greg. “Here’s your ID card back.”

Greg unfolded the note, and it said,

Brother Martian

Here’s your ID card back. I’m sorry, but I had to be sure you would deliver a letter to Captain Schirra. I’m sure he’s reading it now. You’re a good Martian and have a bright future ahead of you. Make your new commander proud.

Alan Scarlett

Captain Schirra read the letter then, trying to remain calm, he pressed the intercom. “Estelle? Could you get Petty Officer Cernan to my office?”

“Yes, dear.”

Lisa suppressed a giggle, and Captain Schirra glared at her. “Is there something funny, Spaceman Davis?”

“No sir, it’s just… she called you dear.”

“She’s my wife. What else should she call me? I’m sure she’d entertain any suggestion you may have.”

“Sorry, sir.”

There was a click, signifying that the intercom just went live. “Dear, stop terrifying the young spacemen. You may need them in the future,” came Estelle’s voice over the intercom.

Estelle looked up Gene Cernan’s schedule on the terminal. He was supposed to be complete with his shift. She called the NCO Dorm, but he wasn’t there, then tried calling his maintenance office. Still no luck, so she paged the entire squadron area. “Petty Officer Cernan, report to Captain Schirra’s office immediately.”

That brought immediate results. She had caught Gene Cernan just as he was headed to the chow hall. She heard his footsteps as he ran the entire way to the office. “Ma’am,” he said, out of breath.

“I have a pair of new troops for you,” said Estelle. “They’re in with Wally.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Gene took a moment to get his breathing under control before knocking on the captain’s door.

“Come in,” came from within.

Gene stepped inside and snapped to attention and saluted. “Sir, Petty Officer Cernan reports.”

“As you were, Petty Officer. We were just finishing up.” Captain Schirra turned his attention to Spaceman Apprentice Johnson again. “You said he got something out of his seabag before he left?”

“Two items, and he put both of them in the leg pockets of his flight suit…” He thought and he finally said, “Sir, I think one was a slug thrower.”

“Pardon?” asked Captain Schirra.

“A mini, or maybe a small frame. That’s what we call ‘em on Mars. My dad and I go out and shoot mining drones with large frame, long barrel slug throwers.”

“Mining drones?”

“Yes sir,” said Lisa. “When the earth is in opposition to Mars, we get a swarm of unauthorized mining drones. They like to plunk down in the Isidis Basin between Perseverance City and Bradbury Canal. We think they’re digging core samples and looking for deposits. We’re terrified that they’re going to drop an entire mining complex on us without permission.”

“Do you know anything about this Petty Officer Cernan?” asked Captain Schirra.

“Yes, sir. My dad and I would hunt for them out on the Utopia Basin. We sometimes tried to hit them from Elysium Mons because of the cops.”

“Cops?”

“Cops. They claim that they’re worried about the safety of scientists exploring the basin, but there’s no one out there exploring. That’s mining country. Besides, some drones shoot back.”

“What about Commander Scarlett? Did he own a small frame slug thrower?”

“Yes, sir. It’s the gun he was shot with. A Smith-Ruger 988. He took it from Doctor Burgman before… before he stepped outside.”

“Why the hell does he have a slug thrower on a space station?” demanded the red face Captain. Petty Officer Cernan remained at attention, but he rolled his eyes at the two spacemen who were hanging on every word. A slight motion of his head toward the door told Captain Schirra what he was concerned about. “You two, wait in the outer office. You don’t need to be involved in office politics.”

“Yes, sir.” And the two spacemen rose and left.

“Now Petty Officer Cernan?”

Gene looked uncertain, then said, “Maybe he already used it… maybe the idea of coming back got to be too much for him. I don’t know. Sir, he gets in these dark moods. He tells me about his dreams… he sees Lieutenant Kikina and Commander Marks chopped up, their pieces floating in front of him… their blood on his face plate. He sees the doors closing on his parents before the bomb went off… He sees his sister living happy with a new baby when all he wants is to be with Commander Marks, but she won’t have him…” Gene frowned. “He puts up a good front when on duty, but he says he’s going to use that gun to finish off what Doctor Burgman started.”

“Do you really think that Alan Scarlett would kill himself?”

Petty Officer Cernan didn’t think about it. He knew the answer immediately. “Yes, and No.” He looked the captain in the eye and said, “if he was just conducting training and filling out paperwork and thinking about Hilde he would have blown his head off by now, but he’s got a squadron to lead and a fellow Martian who was captured. He’s going to move heaven and earth to get her back.”

“I agree. You have two subordinates. Go feed them. I can hear their stomachs growling from in here. They have one week to in-process, and this is their first assignment, so you know what that means…”

“Yes sir, I hand carry them to all of their appointments.”

“I appreciate it, Gene. Oh, and Gene, you’re Alan’s best friend in this unit. If he reaches out to you, please let me know. And on your way out, please tell Estelle that I need her.”

Shocked at what he heard from the wing commander, he said, “Yes sir!” and with a proper salute and an about face, Gene stepped out to Estelle’s office and up to the waiting spacemen who were discussing their next chess match. “Let’s go eat, kids,” then he turned to Estelle and said, “the captain needs you.”

“Thank you Gene,” and Estelle scooped up her note pad and walked into the office. She found Wally staring out his window at the earth, slowly rotating so far away. “Dear?” she called.

“They want to destroy the whole damn thing,” said Wally. “We flash-fry a ship full of dead Martians, then we bomb Mars to keep them from getting a virus that would kill everyone… EVERYONE! And they still want to fight it out. What the hell is wrong with them?”

“You’re taking it personally,” said Estelle.

“They made it personal. They kidnapped one of my people.”

“Who?”

“Anna Vasquez.”

“Oh no. Alan must be having a fit.”

“He went after her.” Wally turned to face Estelle and wound up to drive his fist into his desktop, but thought better of it at the last moment. “They must have figured out she and Alan bombed Kōngchéng. I’ll bet you a donut, they discovered that, and when Alan and Anna went on leave, they snagged them.”

“We can’t put earth off limits to our people,” said Estelle.

“We might have to. The forty-third has been hiding nice and safe here on Armstrong, and they could be the primary target. They all took place in shooting up four of their fighter squadrons,” said Wally.

“Four squadrons?” asked Estelle.

“There was a mystery ship that followed…”

“Mystery ship?” asked Estelle. She didn’t mean to interrupt, but she thought she heard all navy expressions up till now. “I never heard of a mystery ship.”

“That term goes back about two hundred thirty years. During the first days of submarines, the early submarines had to surface to fire on a ship. The mystery ship looked like an unarmed ship and when the submarine made their intentions to fire apparent, the mystery ship would set off a boat full of men dressed like women and children, but as they left and had the submarine’s attention, the mystery ship would open false walls exposing their guns and sink the sub.”

“This ship looked like something else?” asked Estelle.

“Apparently, it looked like a bulk ore freighter, like you see by the score coming out of the Asteroid Belt. Their laser camera footage doesn’t show any identifying marks.” He stood staring off into space, gently rapping his knuckles on the desk. “I need to speak to Darwin, official, not over dinner. I also need Commander Overmyer and Commander Hicks tomorrow. Individual meetings here in my office.”

“You have…” she looked at his schedule, “a meeting with Captain Pierce about the FY 2143 space allocations on the station…”

“Screw that.”

“… a meeting with Commander Baker about the McDivitt refit…”

“It’ll wait.”

“… and a meeting with Special Agent Malone, head of NCIS, on Armstrong Station.”

“Is NCIS Director Cerise Sanguine going to be there?”

“She can be,” said Estelle. “But she’s got a conflicting meeting.”

A grin of evil delight spread over Captain Schirra’s face. Estelle knew that grin, there was nothing joyful about that grin. It was the grin that alligators have when a small child goes swimming near them. When he grinned like that, careers came to a crashing halt. “What time is that meeting? I so want to talk with Shamus.”

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Chapter 5

Location unknown, Date unknown

Prisoner Status

Anna Vasquez had fought hard. When she and Keala stepped into Uncle Ray’s study back on Fiji 2, four men popped out of the shadows and attacked. “Keala run!” Anna shouted as she tried to keep the men at bay with the martial arts training that she had received from the Navy. But Keala didn’t run, she just stood there. Watching.

Smiling.

She kept them at arm’s length with a knife from the kitchen, but she tired quickly. “ALAN!” she shrieked as they finally got their hands on her. “ALAN!” she shrieked again as they fought her through the living room and tried to get her out of the front door. Anna heard a bang from the kitchen.

“ANNA!” shouted Alan.

Anna shrieked in terror as they fought her out the front door. She saw Alan knock Keala down and he grabbed a man that was helping shove her out the door, but in the end she was dragged across the front lawn and stuffed into a reeking military style transport that stank of oil and spilled fuel. She felt it jerk and shoot up into the sky. All the way up, she kicked and fought, but in the end, she was hogtied and injected with something and soon lost consciousness.

Anna woke up naked in a cold concrete room. A single light glowed above her. What worried her was that there was no door. She looked around in a panic and saw no door, no window, no vent. “HEY!” she screamed.

“Who is your commander?” came a voice without a hint of an accent.

“What?”

“Who is your commander?”

“My name rank and serial number is Vasquez, Annetta D. Lieutenant Western Alliance Navy. Serial number N1925872.”

“Who is your commander?”

“I’m freezing. I’m not answering any questions without clothing.”

“Who is your commander?”

“I told you; I’m freezing. I’m not answering any questions without clothing.”

“Who is your commander?”

“Captain I. M. Freezing. Western Alliance Navy.”

“Who is your commander?”

“My name rank and serial number is Vasquez, Annetta D. Lieutenant Western Alliance Navy. Serial number N1925872.”

“Who is your commander?”

“My name rank and serial number is Vasquez, Annetta D. Lieutenant Western Alliance Navy. Serial number N1925872.”

“Who is your commander?”

“My name rank and serial number is Vasquez, Annetta D. Lieutenant Western Alliance Navy. Serial number N1925872.”

“Who is your commander?”

Anna stopped responding, and when she did, it seemed like the room got colder. She eventually found herself curled up in a corner, shivering. She had no idea how long she held out, but she finally broke down and said, “Lieutenant Commander Alan Scarlett.”

“He is dead. Who is your commander?”

“He’s not dead. Leave me alone.”

“You do not make the demands here,” said the unseen voice. “Who is your commander?”

Anna refused to answer. She was so cold that her teeth were chattering. Eventually, a door that Anna never saw before opened up and four men who wore odd gray uniforms and black hoods over their heads and faces came in and grabbed her. Weak from hunger and thirst, she didn’t put up much of a fight. They carried her into a room that contained a large, ugly chair. She was thrown into the chair and strapped down. Her arms were strapped to the arm rests, her legs were strapped to leg rests, and her head was strapped to the head rest.

A man wheeled in what looked like an electronic medical instrument. He placed electrode patches on her temples, her chest, and her feet. He then connected wires to those patches and plugged the machine into an outlet on the wall. He was very deliberate at plugging the machine into an outlet. Was he making sure that Anna saw what he was doing? Then the men left the room and the door they used melted into the wall and there were no seams.

Like the other room, this room was cold, barren, and illuminated harshly by one light overhead. She was all alone. She didn’t say a word because as odd as this was; it was the most comfortable she’s been since she was abducted. However, the silence was broken with the words, “Who is your commander?”

“My name rank and serial number is Vasquez, Annetta D. Lieutenant Western Alliance…” She didn’t get the rest out because the machine came to life, and she was subjected to the most intense pain she had ever experienced. It was like 200 volts of electricity were coursing from her head to her feet, and she realized that her heart stopped. She screamed herself hoarse as her body tightened up and convulsed from the pain.

Finally, the torture stopped, and Anna almost wept from the wave of relief that washed over her when the pain stopped. She ached everywhere from her muscles being tightened up; it was like a full body muscle cramp with a migraine headache, but the shocks had stopped, and the alternative was so good.

“Who is your commander?”

Anna gasped when she heard that voice. Not again! “My commander is Lieutenant Commander Alan Scarlett.”

The sudden rush of pain was worse than last time. Her body arched off the seat as the electric charges lit her nerve endings on fire. She couldn’t scream, she couldn’t breathe, all she could do was shudder from the intense pain. Finally, the pain stopped, and she was left gasping and weeping.

“Who is your commander?”

She couldn’t take it. She knew one more jolt like that and she’d be dead. “My commander is dead.”

When she said that, the door opened, and five men entered the room. One disconnected the torture device and the other four unstrapped her from the chair. She was unconscious before they could lift her from the chair.

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Chapter 6

Armstrong Station, March 30, 2142

Station Commander’s office

“I’m sorry, Captain Schirra, but the admiral had to rearrange his schedule, and we had to postpone your meeting with him again,” said the buxom yeoman that protected access to Admiral Darwin. “We have a VIP inbound and…”

“Damnit Claire,” snapped Captain Schirra, and he slid open the door to the Admiral’s office to find that the office was empty.

“I tried to warn you,” she said. “He’s preparing for a meeting with Secretary Dunkin.”

Wally closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. Remy was famous for juggling his schedule without warning people, leaving it up to his yeoman Claire to straighten it out. The captain glanced at his watch. Commander Scarlett and Lieutenant Vasquez have been out of contact with the Navy for over one hundred hours, and there’s no word from either of them. He has enough suspicion to handle this the hard way. He dug a few coins out of his pocket and laid one on the desk in front of Claire.

“Is this…?” Claire didn’t finish the sentence. She’s a petty officer in the Western Alliance Navy. She knows what that means. She picked up the phone and dialed four numbers and waited. “Admiral Darwin please.” She waited some more until the Admiral got on the phone.

“What do you need, Claire?” asked the Admiral.

“Sir, Captain Schirra has declared a Tarnished Penny.”

Admiral Darwin sighed, but didn’t reveal what he was thinking. “I’m at the top five, send him over,” and he hung up.

“The admiral will see you right now at the top five,” said Claire as she hung up the phone.

“The Officer’s Club?” Wally said in shock. That was not a venue to discuss a Tarnished Penny, the code words for a covert act of enemy action.

Claire shrugged, “it’s what he said.”

Wally set his jaw and stepped out of the office and walked to the Officer’s club. He wanted to run, but he walked forcefully using what’s known as ‘the commander’s gait.’ His years in the blue-water navy taught him this stride, and if he was carrying a clipboard (the symbol of technical prowess) sailors and spacemen alike would dive to get out of his way in terror of being assigned a distasteful task. He walked into the O Club and breezed past the maître d’hôtel and into the area known as the Top Five, the room for captains and admirals only.

The Top Five was a shocking display of elegance and tradition. Elegant tables were set out for dining, comfortable wingback chairs set around a stone fireplace afforded conversation. Young buxom women whose battle with gravity just started, waited tables, fetched drinks, and lit cigars. The walls were lined with heavy velvet curtains and tapestries depicting naval battles of centuries ago. The most recent battle showed a line of battleships and cruisers in a narrow passage, firing on a distant enemy in the Battle of Leyte Gulf. That was back when men faced each other and fought. Now they just toss atomic bombs at each other and hope someone you hate gets vaporized.

Admiral Remy Darwin saw Captain Walter Schirra enter the top five and set course straight for him. “Gentlemen, if you will excuse me, I must speak with the captain.” The five officers and two civilians he was having lunch with got up and left the club.

“Sir, I apologize, but we have a situation…”

“Wally, relax,” said Admiral Remy Darwin. “Sit. You look like you haven’t eaten. Try the shrimp.”

Captain Schirra had been waiting over twenty hours to be able to have time to talk to the station commander and this wasn’t the venue he wanted to speak in. They needed to talk in somebody’s office, not over lunch at the officer’s club. He needed Remy’s ‘blessing’ so he could go ahead with his investigation. He didn’t want to try the seafood that’s been hauled 250,000 miles into space. “Remy… Admiral Darwin, we have a problem.”

“With the forty-fourth? I knew I’d get some pushback re-designating it to the one hundred and first IFS.”

“No, sir. That’s not it.” Walter Schirra looked around, then handed his commander a copy of the letter he received from Alan Scarlett yesterday.

Admiral Remy Darwin was the most relaxed, laid back admiral that Captain Schirra had ever met. He had an outstanding staff and hand-picked subordinates that he could count on, so when Admiral Darwin said, “handle it,” whatever it was got handled. “This needs to be fixed.”

“Yes, sir, but I have no idea where either one of them are.”

“Call Ray.”

“Pardon?”

Rather than repeat himself, he said, “CIC, one hour. Be there.”

As Remy got up to leave, a waitress stepped up to the table and said, “Can I get the captain anything?”

“No, I…” started Walter, but Remy interrupted him.

“The captain will have the open face, prime rib of beef sandwich on sour dough, mashed potatoes, and the haricot vert,” said Remy. When Wally looked at him in shock, Remy said, “Eat. We have work to do.”

That was Admiral Darwin’s superpower. He could remain calm in any situation, and he watched out for his people.

After an incredible lunch, which was topped off with station grown French cut green beans served with chopped bacon and onions in vinegar, Wally took the elevator hubward to the Mars ring, also known as the Iron Ring. The Mars ring was built from Martian iron, forged into steel that no ship borne laser could cut through. The Mars Ring was the flywheel that kept the station spinning at a constant rate. It was also the ‘bomb shelter’ for those that could make it there in time.

As the commander of the Eighth Interplanetary Fighter Wing, Wally was barely highly enough placed to enter the Combat Information Center unescorted. However, he chose not to abuse that privilege. He only entered the CIC when needed by the mission and did not hang out, hoping for a glimmer of information to advance his career. He knew many command staff officers who did that and more often than not, their intentions were discovered, and their careers would take a drastic turn for the worse.

The CIC was heavily guarded by Marines with laser rifles and stun guns, and it took a good five minutes to get through the required security check to enter the CIC. Inside, it was dark and quiet. The illumination came from the lit-up status boards, the clear Plexigraph boards that were tracking all Eastern Bloc shipping between earth and Luna, Venus, and the Asteroid Belt. Another Plexigraph board showed Western Alliance shipping between the Earth and Luna, Mars, and the Asteroid Belt.

The two boards could be laid over each other to get a good view of all the commercial shipping, but that was just part of the story. Another Plexigraph board behind the commander’s ‘control cab’ showed known military ships and suspected military ships. The Obshchiy Bogdanov, the mystery ship that Alan and his Berserkers shot up was now marked as a combat ship as was her sister ship, the Gorod Moskva (The City of Moscow) There was a ship marked in flashing red, the Zheleznaya Koroleva (Iron Queen) that was registered as an ore freighter, it was drifting in the asteroid belt remaining as close to Mars as possible.

Admiral Darwin was studying the known military board and hit a button at the bottom of the screen. It overlaid Western Alliance military ship positions and showed that the Eastern Bloc ships in red were all matched with a Western Alliance military ship in blue. Most were deep blue (Navy) but some were light blue (Space Force). The Space Force was merely for intelligence gathering and not fit for warfare, or so the Eastern Bloc was led to believe.

“What is with the Koroleva?” asked Wally.

“We’re changing her status from civil bulk carrier to mystery ship,” said Admiral Remy Darwin.

“We’ve seen the fighting units?” asked Wally. By fighting units, he was talking about the fighter squadrons that were seen flying out of the Obshchiy Bogdanov, and the Gorod Moskva.

“I don’t think we need to,” said Remy. He drew a square around the area that contained Mars and the asteroid belt where the Koroleva was “resting at anchor.” The plexigraph board zoomed in on the area he had outlined. “There’s no mining going on in this section of the belt,” said Remy. “So why is a three hundred thousand ton ore carrier parked here? And look.” He sped up the passage of days to show that as Mars moved around the sun, the Koroleva was keeping pace with Mars, even though the asteroid belt moves slower. The Koroleva had to move past slow-moving asteroids to keep up with Mars.

“Now look at this,” said Remy, and he zoomed in on the Koroleva. Occasionally, a smaller ship would pull alongside the Koroleva, stay connected to her for no more than eight hours, then it would leave. Two or three days later, another smaller ship would repeat the process. “If those are resupply missions, that means there’s a huge force sitting on the Koroleva waiting to jump out onto the nearest target. The only target close enough to hit without one or two more resupplies is Mars.”

“The Eastern Bloc is planning to take Mars?”

“That’s what it looks like. We believe that General Romanov has planted his flag on the Koroleva. We don’t think he will move soon because his fighter cover is way over here,” he showed the two mystery ships, Obshchiy Bogdanov, and the Gorod Moskva in a section of the asteroid belt that was Eastern Bloc controlled and as far away from Mars as they can get. “Intelligence says they’re preparing to join up on the Koroleva. In a year and a half, Mars will be lined up with the Obshchiy Bogdanov, and the Gorod Moskva, and we’ll be on the other side of the solar system.”

Admiral Remy Darwin reset the board to show the solar system out to the asteroid belt. “We believe that when the Obshchiy Bogdanov, the Gorod Moskva, and the Zheleznaya Koroleva are in proximity to each other, the target will be Mars.”

Walt felt a sudden sinking feeling in his stomach. He was now sorry that he ate lunch. “Your orders, sir?”

“Get your wing up to strength. I want three full squadrons in the Eighth Fighter Wing plus spares. The Berserkers are back up to strength,” said the Admiral about Alan Scarlet’s forty third Interplanetary Fighter Squadron. “The forty-fourth will be re-designated to the one hundred and first, your third unit will be the Thirty-Third Fighter Squadron. They’ll be manning up soon and heading for training here on Armstrong. Pre-position their equipment on Mars and put a maintenance detachment there preparing the boats for battle. How many Martians do you have?”

“Four. One RIO, one plane captain, and two trainees. I have more on the way but…”

“Get them to Mars. Full dress uniform when not turning wrenches. I’ll notify the Martian recruiters they’re going to have a few walking billboards down there soon.”

“And what about Alan Scarlett and Anna Vasquez?” asked Wally.

“I take it you’re not ready to write them off?”

“No, sir!”

Remy smiled. “Do what needs to be done. Full authorization.”

“I’m going to shake up NCIS pretty nastily,” said Wally.

“Sometimes you need to prune a few branches to get a tree to grow straight. I’ll notify Senator Hubbard that there’s going to be some complaints headed his way.”

“Thank you, sir!”

“One more thing, sir.”

“What is it Wally?”

“I want three Marine bombers.”

Admiral Darwin looked at Walt Schirra for a few minutes and then said, “I can promise you one. The Arcturus. If you lose it, you’ll never see admiral.”

Walt Schirra groaned inwardly. Why did it have to be the Arcturus? “If I lose it, I won’t be welcome in my own home.”

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Chapter 7

Perseverance Colony, Mars, March 30, 2142

Convair Intergalactic Testing Laboratory

Ray Clark was finished with a long day at work and was getting ready to head out. He had an “arrangement” planned with Cecilia Craftworthy, a new librarian at the university. He had a litany of orangutan jokes to try out over dinner (librarians love orangutan jokes) when he was called back to his office. “Iota message, sir,” was what his secretary Oscar said as he tried to get out of the office.

“Iota?” He hadn’t heard from Iota in a couple of months. “Where is it?”

“Reading room, sir.”

“Thank you.” The reading room is a SCIF - Secured Classified Information Facility, which on Mars is a bit overboard. Each colony has at least one SCIF, Perseverance City has three, one at Parliament, one at the Senate, and one at the president’s office. The SCIF at Convair Intergalactic Testing Laboratory does not exist. Ray Clark, member of the Martian Parliament and uncle of Alan Scarlett (Ray’s sister was Alan’s mother) took an elevator that was never built and only a few people at Convair Intergalactic knew was there, seventy-five meters into the Martian bedrock to a SCIF that doesn’t exist officially or on any documentation.

Dr. Monica Sax was the watch officer of the day when the messages started coming in. Iota (Captain Schirra) had sent several to the #3 man in Martian intelligence, Gamma, knowing that Gamma was Ray, but he sent several to Alpha not knowing who Alpha was, only that Alpha was the top man in Martian Intelligence. Beta was #2, and most people in the intelligence community knew it was the President of Mars Benjamin Curtis who was an intelligence officer, but being president, he was not active. If President Curtis got a message that required action, he usually passed it to Gamma, knowing he was closer than Alpha, who was somewhere else. They were sure that Alpha was not on Mars, but where? Ray always thought Alpha was at the new station going in at Mars/Sol La Grange point #1, where Alpha could monitor all of Mars from a distance.