"Mr. Rhodes says—"

"Ready for ignition, now! No more questions."

The circuit went silent. "Aye, sir," Goldberg said at last. Hudson shook his fingers as if they were on fire. Buccari ignored him.

Quinn came up on the command channel: "Ignition in ninety seconds. Let's slow this bucket down. You ready, Mr. Rhodes?"

The engineer responded: "Retro in ninety. Engineering is ready."

Quinn hit the maneuvering alarm and broadcast over the general circuit: "All hands to stand by for. five gees. Five gees for five minutes. Commencing retro sequence now."

Buccari monitored fuel readings and rechecked burn times. Five gees for five minutes would get everyone's attention. She switched the injection profile over to her primary monitor. Klaxons sounded and a controlled cacophony of chatter emitted from her headset, each station reporting their status. The ship's crew settled into known procedures, conditions for which they had trained and retrained, the urgency of their struggle dispelling the shock and surprise of post-combat and the helplessness of being in deep space without power.

Buccari's voice droned professionally as she verbalized checklist items rolling down her console display. Quinn's replies were equally sterile. The prominent digital clock was once again counting the seconds to their destiny, the gaudy red flickering a mechanical symbol of the tension rebuilding under the dispassionate routine of the checklist. Buccari rechecked the craft's alignment to the retro-axis for the twentieth time; cross hairs were centered on the thrust vector. A slight oscillation was apparent, but it was within vector limits.

"Orbital checks complete. Twenty seconds to retro," Buccari announced over the general circuit. "All stations prepare for final count."

Quinn locked the throttle at sixty percent, flipped back the ignition switch cover, depressed the interlock, and positioned his hand over the ignition. Buccari' s hands curled around the acceleration grips on her arm rests, fingertips playing lightly over the controls. She finished the countdown: "Five… four… three… two… one… ignition, now."

Quinn depressed the button. After an agonizing delay a surge of pure power pressed her into her seat. Never had five gees felt so good! She sensed the familiar gee-induced vibration inside her eyeballs. Peripheral vision tunneled inward. The red diodes of the ignition timer counted positive seconds into the burn…009…010…01 1. Buccari forced her lungs to exhale a load of air.

"Igni-shun plus fifteen sec-con's. F-fuel flow p-peaking," Hudson grunted. An eternity passed, and then Hudson's voice again: "Plus thir-thirty secon's."

Buccari scanned the master display. Warning lights illuminated, some steady, some flickering. The power plant was functioning—outside of limits, but it was holding steady across the board.

"H-how's it look, Sharl?" Quinn grunted into the intercom.

"R-real ug-ugly." Buccari contracted her abdomen, forcing her diaphragm to expel her words. "S-shunt's working, and the mains are holding, b-but w-we got over four minutes to shake, rattle, and roll."

An ominous thump-thump-THUMP vibrated through the frame of the ship. Buccari wrenched her head sideways to look at Quinn, who did likewise toward her. They were powerless to take action. The mains might not take the stress of powering up again. Unless they rode out this deceleration they would be doomed to death in deep space. If the mains blew, all their problems, and their hopes, would be over. Both pilots worked their heads forward, returning their view to the engine instruments, to wait.

Four minutes later the timed retrofire terminated. Weightlessness returned, and Legion corvette, Harrier One, was in orbit.

"Excuse me, Admiral," Commander Ito reported. "It's time." The flag aide poked his head through the chromed hatch of the admiral's habitation ring stateroom.

"Right behind you, Sam," the admiral replied. "What's the latest?" Runacres, with Merriwether and Wells at his heels, sauntered through the half gravity of Eire'shabitation ring, following the flag aide.

"Of the twenty-two survivors," Ito updated them as they entered the briefing compartment, "four irretrievably died of trauma before being picked up; two others were resuscitated but are in critical condition and no longer capable of meaningful existence. They will be allowed to terminate. Ten others are seriously injured but should recover, two as unregenerative amputees. They'll all be spending time in radtox."

Runacres wearily shook his head. The corvette group leader and other senior members of his staff were already seated while junior staff sat at stations outside the sensor perimeter. On the bulkheads in front and to each side of the admiral were segmented vid-images being transmitted from the other ships. Most attendees were quietly seated, although the normal movement of latecomers and kibitzers gave the screens a kaleidoscopic character. Movement ceased as the admiral took his seat.

Commander Ito, somber image filling the speaker's vid, commenced the briefing, running down the agenda and designating speakers. Runacres looked at the secondary screens, identifying faces in the electronically connected assemblage but pondering on those who were missing. The center screen moved into a close-up on the first speaker, a woman, obvious even though she was smoothly hairless. She spoke in a firm contralto. A medical dressing masked one of her crystal blue eyes and obscured her fine features. Runacres recognized Lieutenant Commander Casseopeia Quinn— Jack Quinn's wife.

"Greenland's survey computers had data link with Harrier One's survey system," she reported. "Instruments show that Harrier One was functioning when the fleet jumped—the crew was still alive." A single tear broke loose and rolled halfway down her cheek before it was intercepted by a quick knuckle. Runacres averted his eyes; a lump grew in his throat—and anger. He should have been notified about this in advance of the brief. There was nothing he could do about her husband and his crew. The silence was mercifully cut by the resumption of Quinn's narrative.

"…and," she continued, her voice firm, "those same instruments indicate that R-K Three is alpha-zed."

Runacres hit his command button and glared at the conference screen. "Excuse me, Commander…Cassy, isn't it?" Runacres interrupted. "First permit me to offer my condolences for the loss of your husband, and of so many of your valiant shipmates. Second, allow me to thank you for your courage in making this presentation so soon after your ordeal. I hope your injuries are not serious."

"Thank you, Admiral," Quinn replied, chin up and voice steady. "My injuries will heal, the loss of my husband will not. But…there may be hope…yet."

Runacres considered the beleaguered female's situation. Her husband was marooned in an alien system, and there was only one reason the fleet would ever return to that system: a habitable planet.

"Alpha-zed, eh?" the admiral muttered. "Have you evidence?"

"Yes, sir, I do," Quinn replied, "and I apologize for letting my emotions get the better of me. Permit me to resume, sir."

"Please do," he said.

"Humans have been exploring the stars for two centuries," Quinn said, addressing the conference. "And other than Shaula, our exobiologists have not discovered any life forms more intelligent than the aborigines of Arcturus Four."

"And all we discovered at Shaula," Merriwether whispered into his ear, "were the dead crews and destroyed ships of the Hakito Fleet. The intelligent life was long gone by the time we got there. We've finally found the bastards."

Runacres allowed his memory to dominate his concentration. Twenty-five years earlier he and Merriwether had been corvetteofficers on the belated rescue mission sent to Shaula System. The Hakito Fleet, HLA units of the Asian Cooperation, was a year overdue, and the AC leaders had requested the Tellurian Legion to investigate. After obtaining all the necessary assurances and guarantees, the Legion had agreed to the AC request, dispatching two HLA cells to distant Shaula. The frustrated rescuers found only burned and ransacked hulks—and drifting lifeboats—in gruesome orbit about the star's single barren planet. Some of the lifeboats were filled with desiccated remains, but many boats were inexplicably empty—leaving over three hundred crew members unaccounted for. It was mankind's first and only contact with a technologically advanced life form, and it was the reason Legion exploratory units were equipped with missiles and energy weapons.