"Of the two hundred twelve stars discovered with planets in viable orbit," Quinn was saying, "only sixteen have had planets capable of supporting life. Of these, only four have had planets marginally accommodating to human existence—one category alpha-three, one alpha-four, and two alpha-fives. The colonies established on these intemperate outposts are not self-supporting, and none has developed a perpetuating birth rate. All are prohibitively expensive to maintain."

"The two fives are being discontinued," Merriwether interjected.

"We know this," Runacres growled. "What has this to do with—"

"Bear with me, Admiral," replied Quinn. "Rex-Kaliph is a hot and active star, warmer and larger than Sol. It supplies energy to not one…not just one, but to two—"

"Preposterous!" a staff exobiologist exclaimed. "Mass ratios and Copernicus' Law—"

"Quiet!" Runacres snapped. "Yes, Commander?"

"Rex-Kaliph," Quinn continued, her eyes closed, "provides sufficient energy for two life-supporting planets, one massive and warm and another Earth-sized and Earthlike, if marginally cooler." She paused. The vid screens were still, dead quiet. What she proposed was incredible.

"Amazing," Wells said. "Two life-capable planets in one system."

"Two life-capable planets," Quinn said, "but only one alpha-zed."

"And a highly developed race of beings not inclined to share their planets," Merriwether said. "Perhaps the Killers of Shaula."

"But now we're getting to my point, Admiral," Quinn said. "Rex-Kaliph Two, the second planet from the sun, is the system's primary planet. That's the home of your highly developed race, and that's the planet being so belligerently defended. It's at best an alpha-five biosphere, probably more like an alpha-six. Prior to the attack, survey teams detected electromagnetic activity characteristic of an intelligent and highly technical civilization emanating from R-K Two. That planet is much larger than Earth, and quite dense, maybe three times more massive. Gravity on the surface of R-K Two is almost one and a half times that of Earth, and its atmosphere is extremely dense. The spectral lines are busy—lots of oxygen, nitrogen, methane, and gaseous carbon compounds. Surface temperatures are uniformly warm, and the weather appears to be slow-moving and hot. It has a natural condition that exceeds Earth's worst pollution fears and is not considered permanently habitable."

"Tell that to the aliens," Merriwether drawled. "Must be what makes them so cranky."

"What's your point, Commander?" Runacres asked.

"Sir, we did a broad-channel scan on the third planet," Quinn replied. "Everything—atmospheric parameters, temperature ranges, mass specifics, spectral composition—is totally within a very low alpha category. Yet, strange to say, there is little to indicate that it is inhabited."

"Your point," Runacres demanded. "What difference does that make?"

"Yes," Wells agreed. "The locals seem quite possessive."

"Yes, but the planets have vastly different, almost incompatible biospheres, Admiral," Quinn said. "My point—my hope—is that R-K Three is as unattractive to the aliens as our colonies are to us. Perhaps, just perhaps, they will negotiate with us—"

"Negotiate?" harrumphed Merriwether. "These are likely the same monsters that massacred our people at Shaula. They've started their negotiations from a rather extreme position, wouldn't you say? What makes you think they'll cooperate? And excuse me, Commander, but we have seen other planets that satisfy most, if not all, alpha requirements, and none has been a Garden of Eden. Yournew planet may not be worth losing more people and ships over, and that may be part of the negotiations ultimately required!"

"What do we do, now that we've found the monsters?" Wells asked.

"We don't know that we have found them," Runacres replied. "Who says this is the same race? Perhaps the universe is inherently unfriendly—but we've interrupted Commander Quinn. Please continue, er. Cassy."

"Admiral, because of the nature of their technologies, I feel certain the inhabitants of R-K Two are not the Shaula killers," Quinn persevered. "And R-K Three satisfies the habitability parameters within the most narrow range of any known planet ever surveyed. What's more, we obtained short range optical and spectral imaging from Harrier One."

"Imagery! How? From the middle of a battle?" Wells asked.

"Yes, sir," Quinn replied softly. She hit the advance, and a grainy, highly magnified image of a wispy turquoise sphere contrasting against the velvety backdrop of space shone from the wall screen. Despite the low digital resolution the opalescent planet looked like Earth.

Quinn broke the silence. "Don't ask me how, but the fleet datalink captured telemetry from Harrier One's survey cameras. The signals were intermittent and barely synched, but adequate to confirm broad-channel scans, narrowing the data even further. This planet—R-K Three—is a winner!" She looked about the silent room, a gleam of hope in her eyes.

"Maybe a bit cool," she added.

Runacres knew what Quinn was thinking, and Merriwether verbalized it. "Harrier One may have made that planet," she said softly, but clearly enough for the microphones to pick up. "We could have people alive in that system. We have to go back."

Runacres sat quietly. Only the Legion Assembly could make that decision.

The orbiting corvette flashed in the red light of the setting sun, completing its second full day in orbit. Two moons moved silently in the ebony heavens, the larger satellite a scimitar of brilliant silver, the smaller moon tiny, lumpy, golden.

"A search radar, Skipper," Hudson said. "Someone's watching us."

Buccari watched the commander clear his console. He had been re-playing the communication tapes of the battle. Buccari felt his despair.

"Surprising it took this long," Quinn sighed. "At least they aren't shooting…yet."

"You get a fix on the transmitter, Nash?" Buccari asked.

"Yeah," Hudson replied. "Mapping isn't complete, but the source is located here." Hudson designated the coordinates on their screens. "We'll be out of range in five minutes. Funny. No acquisition signals, no targeting lobes, no interrogations. It's as if they're indifferent."

"They may have other targeting methods," Buccari said. "Optical—"

"No matter. It's time to start moving," Quinn said, as if coming awake. "We didn't come this far to get blown out of orbit. Run the fuel numbers, Sharl."

"The good news is we're in low orbit," Buccari said, scanning her digital clipboard. "We have fuel for an injection run and at least seven round trips carrying standard loads, assuming we have a stable landing site. Any problems or delays and we easily double the consumption. And, of course, any serious problems and the lander doesn't get back up to the ship. Makes the rest of the calculations somewhat academic."

"Don't be so damned optimistic," Quinn said.

Buccari smiled, taking the command pilot's rudeness as a good sign. "I've been working on EPL manifests," she said. "On the first landing I recommend we take down a generator and an auxiliary fuel tank—"

"Crew first, equipment second," Quinn said.

"But Commander," she argued, "after we inject the Marines, we'll have fuel for seven or even eight landings. We only need four runs to get the crew and their equipment down. If we have fuel problems on the planet, the whole program is over. Anyone left onboard is stranded."

Quinn hit his palm with a fist. "That's my point," he responded too loudly, strain showing in his face. "We load the lander with crew until we get everyone down. We'll review priorities after the first trip. For now, do it my way."

Buccari withheld comment. She glanced through the flightdeck viewscreen at the ethereal limb of the planet. The corvette was well past the terminator. Her thoughts darkened with the planet below; night engulfed their only hope. No lights twinkled, no cities sparkled—no lights at all. Buccari scanned the unplumbable depths. And then her eyes detected a soft amber glow—a luminescence above the orbital plane, rotating into view on the horizon.