I had just finished the after action debriefing, which had turned into a dressing down of my wing and ship's commanders, and was trying to decide what policies we would need to enact to restrain them from doing something so stupid in the future, when my netpiece alerted me to my regularly scheduled commanders' meeting.

Maxwell appeared in v-space looking disheveled and exhausted. Chris wasn't even in uniform. Only Abrams and Solomon appeared ready for inspection, though Abrams eyes were glazed with fatigue and Solomon's looked unfocused as if he were in a daze. Newman however, having taken over Smith's fleet in his absence, sat looking excited to be a part of the meeting and ready to offer all kinds of helpful ideas.

"We just don't have any more parts or funds to continue repairs,― Solmon said.

Maxwell rubbed his forehead as if it hurt. "Some commanders have confiscated war prizes for parts and given their crews IOUs."

"How are the drives," I asked. "Do we have any ships that can't go FTL?"

"No," Solomon said. "They'll travel, but we have several that aren't ready to fight. Quite a few are suffering intermittent failures of key systems and we have a critical fleet-wise shortage of missiles and no raw materials to fabricate more.

I turned to Abrams. "What's our contracting situation like?"

He sat up straighter and took a long, slow, deep breath. "Contracts have fallen off precipitously. Our last new contract was six weeks ago and it was only a short-term transport guard job. Most of our recurring contracts have given notice of their intent to not renew. I don't have to tell you what that's doing to our cash position."

Chris sat tapping a data crystal on the table and turning it over in his hand.

I caught his eye. "What about the surrounding systems? Can we find any supplies further out?"

Chris shrugged. "We have either raided or made deals with every system in a two day radius. Beyond that, things thin out a bit. If you want to go any further out, we're going to have to move the base of operations."

"The Locals would be glad to hear that," Maxwell muttered.

"What of Sparta and the jump ships? Surely they'll be arriving soon?" Newman asked.

"I've spoken to Smith, but the Spartan military are dragging their feet. The Cack media is agitating for war and the Spartan politicians are afraid of doing anything provocative like large fleet movements or taking responsibility for the force that nearly killed the Cack ruler. Plus, if war does break out, they may prefer we were here at the front line. Smith tells me some Spartan commanders have even referred to us as pre-positioned assets."

Chris continued tapping his data crystal. "If they want to garrison us here, they could at least send us some funds and supplies."

"That's not legally possible without a contract," Abrams said. "And that doesn't seem likely given the political situation. No, I'm afraid we can't count on Sparta to help us."

Newman gave Abrams an accusatory look. "I disagree." Apparently no one felt like arguing with him for no one responded.

"What does the oracle say?" Solomon asked.

"I've already discussed this with him since he said he would be too busy to attend this meeting. He's still studying the situation but fears we may have already delayed leaving too long. Some-thing about diminishing probabilities of opportunity." I shrugged. "Which means," I added, "given our situation, that the only course of action left to us is to get the fleet moving once more."

The other commanders stared down at the virtual conference table or shook their heads regretfully, but no one challenged my conclusion.

"I disagree," Newman chimed in again. "We have to have faith that if Smith says he can get the jump ships, he will. We certainly can't go running off when he may return any day."

I gave the other commanders a chance to respond before I broke the uneasy silence that had followed. "I suggest you meet with your chief officers and make sure they're on board. We'll hold a shareholders call tomorrow."

Chris sighed. "The crews aren't going to like this."

Newman started to object and I gave him a don't bother look. "Tell them Smith won't have any trouble finding us when he comes through with the jump ships."

"If he comes through," Maxwell grumbled and logged out.

* * *

Where our arrival had been greeted with fanfare, our departure, when it was noted at all, elicited little more than sighs of relief. The local authorities, learning of our intentions to leave, suddenly found food and supplies to send us on our way. They couldn't supply us with everything we needed to get back up to full fighting strength, but we scavenged some raw materials from their shipyards and began the tedious process of fabricating what we could as we traveled. Once again, I found myself missing the large factory ships and other support craft we left behind in our trip into the Cack middle sphere, but at least we were moving and the way had been cleared ahead for us.

We traveled quickly to the edge of Black Mesa's territory and the frontier of a race whose name translated as Those Who Dwell In Strength On High. The aliens, anticipating our arrival, sent a delegation in fast transports to meet us at their border. We sent over a man from Black Mesa by the name of Timmons who was something of a trade representative between the humans and aliens. We were hoping he'd work out an understanding with the aliens and signal us that all was clear to proceed. Instead, he came back and requested a private conference with the commanders.

Timmons appeared in v-space, a tall skinny man with narrow head that had only a short fringe of hair at the sides. "They said no."

I dropped back in my chair, stunned.

"You did tell them we intended to pass through their territory with or without their permission?" Abrams asked, sounding incredulous.

"Yes."

"You assured them that we would prefer to be their allies and would even help them if we could?" Maxwell asked.

Timmons nodded. "They've heard stories that, when it comes to non-Solarians, the fleet doesn't really distinguish between friends and foes."

"Where would they get an idea like that?" Chris demanded.

"They also assured me their super-heavy battle cruisers could deal with our fleet."

"Super heavy?"

"What?"

Timmons sent an image of a massive sphere the size of a large battle station with the long rear projections of a Cack grav-drive.

Chris whistled. "Does that drive work?"

"Yes," Timmons said. "It will reach 1C."

"Not too fast for a battleship," Maxwell said, "But unimaginably fast for a battle station."

"They've got a dozen or so of these things which they use to protect and hold the systems in their sphere," Timmons said. "Do you have any idea what weapon compliments it has?" Abrams asked.

Timmons shrugged. "I'm a merchant. I assume all the usual missiles and guns, but I can tell you each ship carries swarms of fast attack craft and a handful of light cruisers."

I gripped the arms of my chair in growing irritation as I resisted the urge to put a fist through my data panel. How could these aliens be so stupid? We only wanted to go home! We had no desire to fight them, yet their paranoia would ensure the one thing they were trying to prevent. I took a deep breath and forced myself to relax. "Mr. Timmons, you know these people. Is there any way they can be made to see reason?"

He glanced at the table and looked a little embarrassed as he shook his head. "No, sir. I don't think so. They seem convinced that you're not to be trusted and they are quite confident in their mobile battle stations. However..." he squinted up at me thoughtfully. "We might be able to get some of them on our side."

"Oh?"

"The Strong High Dwellers are a coalition of competing political units. Recently one unit rose up to seize power over the others, leaving a number of enemies who might be willing to help us."

"Can you talk to them for us?" I asked.

"Yes. I still have free passage as Black Mesa's representative."

"Good. While you speak to them, we'll withdraw to the previous system. Hopefully the locals will think we've given up."

* * *

Three days later, Timmons returned with the leaders of a number of the rival political units. We invited the aliens to a rare face-to-face meeting of the fleet command staff where we explained our situation to them. The Strong High Dwellers were the size of human pre-teen children, with short wide heads and large widely-spaced eyes. Short fur-like hair covered the backs of their arms, legs and their heads down to their cheekbones which gave them a vaguely racoon-ish appearance. I couldn't help glancing down to look for a tail and found one extending from beneath each tunic, wrapped around a leg.

They grasped our situation and eagerly agreed to help us in our passage through the territory. On their part, they committed to sending us some ships and launching an attack from their territory to open up a second front. We sealed the agreement by crossing our wrists and grasping both hands. Afterward, they left and we waited impatiently.

On the second day after the meeting, late into the third shift, the jump ships appeared. There were thirty of them and each were a strange cobbled together mixture of technologies from Cack to Solarian to who knew what. No two were exactly the same though each were little more than a web of support struts, sensors, exposed power plants and engine casings wrapped around a pair of LCs.

I flash messaged Chris who came online after a long delay. "Asleep?"

"I hadn't intended to be," Chris said. "What's up?"

"Our allies have arrived. Looks like about sixty LCs. Coordinate with their commander and see if you can integrate them into your wing."

"Will do."

I brought the fleet alert status up as the alien LCs unloaded and notified my wing commanders that we would be moving soon. The alien ships formed up and boosted straight for the gate to the alien system we were preparing to invade. They passed through our own formations, but instead of joining in, they kept going.

"Chris, get your ships in line," I messaged.

"They're not responding to my signals."

"Stupid Cack translators," I muttered. "OK, let's go ahead and transit. Chris, contact their commander and make certain he's got their slot assignments."

The alien LCs led the way through the transit station into the nearest enemy system which, we later learned, was their central governing world. Our own LCs followed while the battle cruisers queued up with well-practiced ease. We had long ago begun ignoring the transit station's navigational requests. Our own navigation officers, bending many safety protocols, had learned to cut the transit to one-tenth the usual time—and that was before one counted the time savings of seizing the in-bound lanes and turning them into out-bound lanes. I smiled, imagining their control officer's consternation as we transited. The entire fleet would have swept through before he could find the station director and get him to fire off a formal complaint.

The battle cruisers formed up as they exited, but the gravimetrics told me our alien escorts had already gone FTL and were heading straight for the home world.

I flash messaged Chris. "What's going on? I thought you instructed the aliens to join your wings?"

"I did! I gave them each their slot assignments and I thought they understood, but—oh crap!"

I glanced at the gravimetrics display. Thirty or forty of our own LCs had taken off to join them. "Chris! Get a hold of your command!"

"Yes—"

I cut him off and smashed the icon for the command emergency communications override function. "Attention all ship commanders! This is a direct order from the fleet commander. Do not break formation. I repeat: do not break formation—or I will have your command!" I slammed the "end" and "transmit" icons and sat back in my crash pod and stewed.

The alien super-heavy battle cruiser had placed itself between the attacking ships and their home world. It would be hours yet before the light from the battle reached us at the transit station. The battle itself would likely be over before the fleet could join in. While we prepared, all I could do was watch the little dots on the gravimetric displays indicating mass and velocity and wonder what was happening.

I looked around the C&C at the stray trash scattered about and decided it was past time for environmental to start cleaning the place again. I fired off a terse message to the e-tech supervisor and returned to my watching and fretting.

The little dots representing our attacking ships neared the big dot of the super heavy battle cruiser. As they closed the gap, a cloud of tiny dots sprayed out of the bigger ship. At this range, only the LCs and FACs would have shown up on the scanners, but hundreds of missiles and remote piloted attack craft must have accompanied them.

The engagement lasted only seconds. Then our ships did something no Solarian ship had done since leaving Solarian space. They and their alien allies turned around and ran away from the enemy. "Commander, the fleet is ready," Harlow announced.

I glanced at my data panel. All our ships had transited and reported ready for combat. I quickly calculated an intercept point at which to meet our fleeing ships, still pursued by the enemy, and flashed the coordinates to Harlow. "Tell the commanders to boost immediately."

"Yes, sir."

The pursuing aliens turned and fled back to their super heavy battle cruiser as our fleet caught up to them. We stopped to rejoin the returning LCs and FACs and assess their damage.

I messaged Chris. "Chris, contact all the ships that broke formation. Inform their sub-commanders that they are now in charge of their ships. If their former commanders want a job, they can be the subs until they learn to follow orders."

Chris looked shocked. "Uh, you know many are owner-operators, right?"

"I will not have people commanding ships in my fleet who cannot follow orders," I snapped.

Chris stared at me in silence.

"Tell them they can have their ships back when we get home." I started to log off, then added, "And make sure the aliens know what is expected of them!"

I logged off and set up a data feed for the engineering repair estimates. It turned out that most of the repairs that could be made outside of a space dock could be made within twenty-four hours. As this would return a number of LCs and FACs to active service, and the Strong High Dwellers seemed to prefer to stay close to their home world, we gave the mechanics the time they needed to repair the ships while we prepared our commanders.

I flash messaged Harlow. "Do we have any gunships left?"

"We still have the handful Sunshine used to practice planetary bombardment with. They haven't seen a lot of use because of their limited range. Why? You're not going to bombard their home world are you?" He replied nervously.

"No. I'm going to use them on that cruiser. It's pretty much stuck in place trying to defend that planet. Have the gunships prepare their mass-drivers for their heaviest load."

"Isn't that overkill for one ship?"

"There's no such thing."

Having done all I could do, I went to bed while the engineers worked round the clock to repair our ships. I didn't think I was tired, but I dropped into sleep immediately. I even overslept the next morning, and started the first shift five minutes late. Two hours later, the attack began.