The breaching pod swung around toward the hanger deck. The hanger doors were open and as the pod pulled in, I could see a boarding tube hooked up to an atmospheric lander and people loading plastic crates inside.

Once the pod had docked, the troops moved inside. The passages outside the spinning habitat portion were deserted, but once in among the crew cabins, they saw people packing crates and stacking them in corridors littered with empty containers and packing filler.

Kouvaras stepped in front of a young spacer who startled and looked up in shock at the powered armor standing before him. Kouvaras waved an arm towards the crates in the hall. "What's going on here?"

"We're abandoning the ship," the S2C said.

"Abandoning it? What's wrong with it?"

The spacer shrugged. "I just heard from one of the NCO's that the commander ordered it."

Kouvaras' gauntleted hand clamped on the spacer's shoulder and pulled him out into the hall. "Show me where his cabin is."

They trudged up to executive row and Kouvaras pounded on the commander's door. Most cabin doors were thin plastic barriers designed more for low-mass privacy than security. Not so with the executive cabins. But neither were they designed to hold up to the powered gauntlets of Kouvaras' armored suit. His fingers punched through the metal door and his servos whined as the door, groaning in protest, tore loose from the frame. Kouvaras leaned the door up against the corridor wall and entered the cabin, trudging through piles of dirty clothes and discarded food containers. Riley lay sleeping in his bed.

Kouvaras gently shoved the man. "Commander Riley?"

Unwashed and unshaven, Riley opened his eyes then jerked back against the cabin wall. "Who are you? What do you want?" he shouted.

"The fleet commander would like to know why you are abandoning your ship."

"You can tell him I'm not doing anything."

"He's listening to our conversation right now. Tell him yourself."

"Go away!" Riley grabbed his blanket, flung himself down on his bed and threw the blanket over his head. "My XO is in charge. Go bother him."

I switched on my microphone. "I think we can accept this as his resignation."

A grunt of disgust was Kouvaras' only reply.

"How would you like to command a war ship?"

"Don't even joke about it."

"I'm not—at least not entirely. Go find the XO, or if he's uncooperative, the most reasonable of the ship's senior officers and put him in charge. Then go find whoever is in charge of the troopers. Use them however you must to enforce proper military discipline. A simple show of force may be sufficient; I'll leave that up to you."

In a very short amount of time, with a little help from the troopers on board who were waiting for someone with some authority to start issuing reasonable orders, Kouvaras got the Leroy Kelso ready to boost. A group of junior officers and NCOs, who had already shuttled to the planet's surface and who were waiting for more evacuees to come down with additional supplies, refused to return to the ship insisting they would no longer participate in our "death march." They refused to listen to reason. I was tempted to send the troopers down to force them back on board, but we didn't have any combat landers. The fleet had long ago left the system and the pirates were closing in with greater numbers, so in the end I simply wished the mutineers luck and gave the order to break orbit.

The nameless system of which our moss planet was a part had a single transit station connected to a network of small inhabited worlds. By the time we made the transit, the fleet had already divided up and claimed what supplies they could. Chris Knight had, on my behalf, claimed a world for me and not just any world but the political capital and trading hub of this part of the district.

"You're not going to believe it," he said once I had tracked him down. "These guys make racing craft and luxury yachts for the Cack elite. I captured about ten ships that were ready to be delivered."

Surprisingly enough, for a system group so small and isolated, they had extensive space docks and fabrication facilities. I had the engineers pull together a fleet-wide wish list for repairs and servicing and put Chief Master Engineer Droemer in charge of coordinating the space dock activities. As we dealt with that, my coms officer sent me an urgent message.

"What is it?" I snapped. I had been fielding dozens of disputes between my ship commanders over everything from docking and leave quotas to the distributions of critical parts. I was preparing my "tell them to work the chain of command first" speech when the coms officer said, "It's the planet below. I think it's their governor. I think he wants to surrender."

I couldn't believe the local government had not been dealt with. "OK. Transfer him."

The governor appeared on my screen. The inhabitants of the system were of the Iron Workers species, who looked a lot like The Swords except their heads were a little broader and prickly looking scales covered their skin instead of The Swords' downy fluff. "By what price of your ceasing to make war on us?"

"We're not here to conquer you. We are only passing through your system on the way home. We may need your help, but we will repay you as best we can."

The governor was reluctant to believe me. It seems that when Commander Smith first entered the system and was asked where he had come from and where he was going, he had replied that the fleet had just left The Ruler and was traveling to the district manager. When his ships had entered the system and begun seizing equipment saying "bill The Ruler", he realized they were not on official Cack business. But by then the rest of the fleet had arrived and it was too late to try to resist.

I told the governor our story, convinced him we were not his enemy and invited him to visit me on the Phoenix. There, as host, I presented him with one of our FACs as a present. The engineers had told me it wasn't worth repairing, but I thought it had technology he'd appreciate. Afterwards he volunteered a small army of engineers and machinists to help us repair our ships. Either he appreciated the gesture or he had just decided the sooner we got our ships in shape, the sooner we would ship out.

While our engineers were overseeing the repairs, I took him on a tour through his district. At every occupied system we visited, the Solarian crews seemed relaxed and happy. They were enjoying their leave and largely behaving themselves. When we caught up to Smith, he greeted us like old friends and fell into telling stories of ex-wives, old girl friends and adventures from his younger military days as if he and the governor were old drinking buddies. Before we returned to the capital, however, he elicited the alien's advice on how best to get back to Solarian space and, before he was through, the governor had even agreed to personally lead us to the edge of his district if he could only stop and pick up his son who was visiting one of the systems we had occupied. Everyone agreed and only a week later, we were ready to leave.

The governor transferred to Smith's ship to help set the course for the fleet while his son, preferring the amenities of the Phoenix stayed behind with us. For three days we traveled through empty and abandoned systems that had once been mining centers. On the fourth day, the fleet missed its scheduled boost time.

I flash messaged Smith. "What's the hold up?"

Smith glared back, his face so red that his flushed scalp even shone through his thinning white hair. "We've lost our guide."

"What do you mean, lost?"

"Lost as in stole one of those expensive racing yachts you were handing out and fled.

I had given the captured ships away to the other fleet commanders and my subs. I wondered which he was more upset about losing, then I wondered why this had happened in the first place. "Why would he flee? He seemed to want to help us out of his district as soon as possible."

"That's just it. He's trying to protect his worlds. He's deliberately leading us away from his inhabited worlds and we still haven't finished resupplying."

"He admitted this?"

"No! Of course not. I confronted him and he denied it. We argued. I lost my temper and hit him."

"And then you let him escape."

"I didn't let him do anything! I had already assigned him an attendant who seemed to think he was the governor's personal valet. The man who let him go is now working in waste reclamation."

"One moment," I said as he paused in his ranting. I was already texting the trooper and security forces specialist I had assigned to guard the governor's son, asking her where he was and what he was doing. I had instructed her to accommodate him as best she could while keeping him under watch at all times.

She responded saying he was in trooper country drooling on the armor but not causing any trouble.

I looked back up at Smith. "It seems we still have the governor's son. He might be able to step into his father's role. I could send him to you if you like, but you have to promise not to lose him."

Smith growled. "Send him." He disconnected.

I texted the governor's son's guard and told her to prepare him for transport to the Battle of Kuzikos. As I did so, I worried that perhaps Newman had been telling the truth about Smith's illness.

* * *

Nearly ten days later, we came to the edge of The Archer's space. The last few systems were all within another nebula which forced us to travel in a slow column while our scout ships searched the gas and debris ahead for enemy ships. As we transited into the last system that stood between us and Cack-free space, Smith brought the front of the column to a halt. The fleet automatically formed up in a defensive sphere and reseeded the EPRs. Ahead of us, hidden in the clouds of the nebula, an armada of three local races, the Iron Workers, the Son's of Heaven, and The Speakers waited for us.

"What do you think?" Smith asked in the commander's conference. "Think we should come up with a plan for this?" He chuckled.

It certainly wasn't a new challenge. It was almost like being back in The Swords's territory. We were now so experienced at digging out native defenders that the process had become routine. Smith also seemed to be in an unusually good mood.

"Since we'll soon hit the run-time limit," Smith continued, "I've already ordered the engineers to quickly service the drives while we prepare."

"Just as long as they don't take too much time," Abrams warned. "The longer we wait, the more time we give the locals to gather their strength. We should attack as soon as possible."

Smith gave me a questioning look.

"If it comes to fighting," I began, "obviously we'll hold nothing back. But if the objective is to get past them, I think we should try and find a way that will cost us the fewest ships and causalities. Though going through a nebula is slow and hazardous, it's still easier and safer than going through enemy ships."

I called up a display of the system, our projected path between the gates and highlighted a narrow gap in the nebula. "According to our scouting drones, the enemy seems to be concentrated at this choke point. If we act as if the fleet is going to meet them head on, they'll be even more likely to concentrate there. Then we can have the FACs and light cruisers slip into the nebula, sneak up on the enemy positions and take them from behind."

"But look at me talking about sneaking up on men's behinds. I hear that's the kind of thing they train your Spartan special forces to do. Perhaps this is a chance, Commander Smith, to show us your stuff."

Smith's mouth twitched as he smothered a smile. "I don't know about all that, but I hear your Martian politicians are especially skilled in stealth. By twisting your tax laws and giving your money to their cronies and special interests they've managed to screw an entire world. Perhaps you should lead the way and show us your moves."

I laughed. "I'm already prepared to go. I've even caught some of the local pirates who have been preying on our support craft and I've learned of a number of paths that wind through the nebula."

"There's no reason you should abandon your command. Send that Chris Knight with his FACs. He seems to like to play fighter pilot."

"I'm sure he would be happy to go."

* * *

Though both were regularly cleaned by spacers, my crash pod had acquired a musty smell rivaled only by the smell of my pressure suit. I leaned back in my seat, accidentally knocking my pressure helmet loose and munching on yeast cakes as I watched our fleet slowly advance toward the nebula. As we entered, the FACs peeled off and accelerated through the cloud while we kept our speed slow and steady.

I took a sip of some flavored water someone had called tea and waited for explosions to follow. When the FACs found the ships lurking in the nebula, it took several minutes for the light to reach us.

I popped another yeast cake in my mouth and chuckled, watching the confusion and indecision ripple across their ranks. The ships at the edges turned aside to deal with the attackers while the rest of their fleet spread out trying to block the passage. As the rest of our fleet came within missile range, our light cruisers leaped forward, withholding their missiles except for point defense, and readying their beam weapons for a decisive blow. Our FACs burst out of the nebula, having chased off the ships lying in wait to ambush us. The defenders scattered and our battle cruisers strolled through into the system unchallenged. The handful of worlds within was undefended and we gathered all the supplies we needed.

We traveled through the territory of The Sons of Heaven for the next five days unopposed yet unable to catch so much as a merchant ship unaware. Our supplies had dwindled rapidly as every system we came to had pulled their fleets in tight around their home worlds. We had plenty of firepower to defeat them, but it did us no good as we would have had to destroy anything useful in the fighting.

Finally, at the far edge of their territory, we came to a system with no ships to defend it. What it did have was an endless supply of relativistic missiles which they manufactured for the Cack military and a single battle station to launch them.

Our first ships had barely transited through the gate when a storm of missiles flew at them so thickly that the inaccuracies of the enemy's gravimetric sensors was more than offset by pure fire power. When we caught up to the fleet, the sheer number of ships waiting before the gate prevented us from transiting. We resynchronized communications and I found a meeting request waiting for me from Smith.

"Ken, you're just in time."

"What's the problem?"

Smith outlined the situation to me and concluded, "We can't get past them, we can't even get near them, and while we're running from the missiles, we can't stop long enough to fire back at them without being hammered by a million of those things."

"That's exactly what we want," I said. "However many missiles they have, it's a finite amount. They'll have to run out sometime."

Smith frowned thoughtfully. "That may be, but even when their propellant runs out, they continued to drift as active mines. We've had several ships crippled running into their anti-matter payloads."

"Send me the tactical reports." I opened the file that appeared on my data panel and studied a three-dimensional map of the system. All the outer planets had been smashed to asteroid-sized pieces to make them easier to mine. The battle station and all the interesting fabrication facilities orbited a shepherd planet just inside the ring of debris. As soon as our ships got more than a couple of degrees of arc above or below the plane of the ecliptic, the missiles started flying. It might be possible to get a few ships through the debris field, but it would be slow and dangerous and highly unlikely for the entire fleet could make it through intact. On the other hand, if the ship were small, like a FAC or even a breaching pod.... "I've got an idea," I told Smith. "I'd like to split the fleet into two divisions and have you approach the battle station above the plane just above the debris to draw their fire, then circle around behind the battle station. I will do the same, approaching beneath the plane of the ecliptic, but the Phoenix will pause here," I highlighted a large planetoid near the battle station. "We'll launch a full complement of breaching pods and enough fighter drones to cover them as they thread their way through the debris, using it for cover."

"You'll have to stay sub-light," Smith warned, "to stay in touch with the drones."

"Yes. We'll either turn back on reaction drives or just hide in the planetoid's shadow while the attack takes place."

"I would recommend the later. You'll be less of a target."

"Agreed."

Smith squinted at me a moment from my monitor, then gave a curt nod. "Very well. We'll play decoy for you. Will you have any trouble getting your troopers to do this?"

"No. Keeping them occupied seems to be my biggest problem. I'm sure they'll jump at the chance."

* * *

"When do we go?" Kouvaras asked once I explained the situation.

"I would prefer you directed the operation from the Phoenix."

Kouvaras shook his head in contradiction. "Do we have schematics for the station?"

"No. We could send in micro-machines, but cybernetics tell me it would take longer than we'd want to wait for the intel and we still might not be able to get the key information we need."

Kouvaras shook his head again. "It's going to take multiple teams to secure the station and that's going to take close coordination on site. I will have to go."

I took a deep breath, held it while I tried to think of a reason for him to stay behind. I hadn't thought of anything by the time I was forced to exhale. "Do as you think best."

"When do we boost?"

"As soon as your team is ready. The last ship should transit in-system in minutes."

"Give me five minutes to pick and prep my teams. I'll finish briefing them as we boost."

"Huh! Your briefings must be much shorter than mine."

Kouvaras smiled. "My job's easier than yours."