The fleet approached in a concave lens with the intention of englobing the battle cruiser. A fountain of attack craft erupted at us from the target. Our own FACs, having been slotted in between the heavy battle cruisers darted forward, forestalling their hit-and-run tactics. They either drove the aliens off or held them in place until our battle cruisers could finish them. We turned back wave after wave of attacks as we approached and began surrounding the battle cruiser. Then the aliens piloting the attack craft, fearing entrapment, all fled back to the planet.

Even without their escort, that one battle cruiser had the power to threaten the entire fleet. A stunning number of missiles lashed out in all directions, nearly overwhelming the D-RATS system. As our point defenses struggled to keep up, the remotely piloted attack drones slipped in to rake our ships with energy weapons and smaller ship-to-ship missiles.

Our own FACs and LCs boosted toward the cruiser on reaction drives, providing cover for our handful of gunships who accelerated towards their target to add extra momentum to their payloads. They approached from opposite directions, pinning the battle cruiser in place. After blasting through the enemy's defenses, the FACs and LCs separated and the gunships fired their payloads of depleted uranium. When those same payloads punched through the cruiser and flew out the far side, the FACs and LCs were forced to swerve away sharply to avoid being hit by their counterparts' projectiles.

The lights of the super heavy battle cruiser flickered and died. The energy weapons stopped firing and the missiles stopped launching. Even the remotely piloted drones ceased their attacks and continued accelerating away into the distance along whatever vector they had been following.

"Do you want to send boarding parties?" Harlow asked.

It would make a good prize, I thought. But then there would likely be other opportunities for capturing one of these. "Have they offered to surrender?"

"Not that we can tell."

"Then destroy them."

Perhaps they were too busy trying to repair critical systems, but not a single escape pod launched. Our missiles slammed into the hulk perforating it into fancy lacework, almost certainly killing the crew well before their anti-matter storage failed and vaporized the rest.

"Have the fleet form up in a defensive sphere," I told Harlow. "Let's check out this home world."

The planet surrendered immediately.

The new owners were generous with their newly acquired supplies and soon we had half the fleet in dock performing long-neglected repairs and resupply. The docking clamps had just locked down onto the Phoenix when the alarms sounded and FAS-Delta flashed on the alert panels. While Commander Brennon howled at the station's pilot master to release his ship, I flash messaged sub-commander Debbie Fowler who had C&C duty at the time. "What is it?"

"Another of those super heavy battle cruisers just transited into the system."

"Is he headed this way?"

"He's gone FTL and will be here in about ten hours."

"Recall all the crews and let's get into a higher orbit."

* * *

The new battle cruiser turned out to be loyal to the new rulers of The Strong High Dwellers—or at least it's commander decided to pledge his loyalty to them.

We stayed several weeks, our engineering crews working round the clock to repair all that they could. The Strong High Dwellers had a strange mix of technologies from a variety of worlds, supplying some rare parts we needed and, inexplicably lacking other more common items. We mostly traded technology for the supplies we needed when we weren't fighting their enemies.

After repair and resupply, we continued our journey towards home, escorted by a delegation of the new rulers. We fought their enemies and shared in the tribute of new alliances. When we came to the edge of their territory, they introduced us to their neighbors and helped us negotiate our passage through. This allowed us to travel from system to system without having to fight along the way. Even so our supplies, which were never abundant, were running quite low by the time we came to the next territory.

That region of space was ruled by a race whose name translated as From the Stars. The local aliens who greeted us with gifts of supplies and offers of peace were from an offshoot race called The Learned Ones. Later that day, at the commander's meeting, we discussed the appropriate response.

"I think we should attack them," Newman said. "We have nothing to trade and they don't seem to need our particular services."

I wish I could say I was shocked, but all the commanders had felt a simultaneous reluctance to accept their offer. Our situation reminded me of the truce after the war with Righteous Ruler where they offered to sell us the supplies we needed and slowly starved us to death.

I turned to Chris hoping he'd suggest something else. He sat staring thoughtfully into the distance while tapping a data crystal on the table. Noticing my attention, he shrugged. "They don't appear to be a very warlike race. I don't think they could stop us from rolling over them. They might not even resist."

Abrams looked stiff and uncomfortable from across the virtual table. "Attacking The Learned Ones, being allies of the Solarian colony of Legion who we are hoping will aid us, could complicate things."

"So could not having any food to eat or air to breath," Maxwell said.

"Then there are From the Stars to consider," Solomon offered. "They may not be particularly warlike, but they control a large region of space. One doesn't accomplish that without being able to defend oneself, and they have the resources of a hundred worlds from which to draw."

My commanders being divided, I turned to Dr. Hindmost. "What does the oracle say?"

Dr. Hindmost had sat listening to the whole exchange, his eyes withdrawn and cowering under the edge of his carapace. "Trending indeterminate, we follow a dark path. More time collapsing the uncertainty is required."

I sighed. Surveying the faces of my commanders, I could tell they thought we'd need to take the supplies we lacked, but none were ready to stake their reputation on the consequences. "We'll delay our reply until we hear the oracle's conclusions. Ask The Learned One's to please be patient while we seek to learn The Maker's will for us."

Hours later, the oracle told me he could "find no way through" by violence and suggested we accept the peace offering. We did and soon we were on our way toward the next Solarian colony, Legion.

* * *

"What do you mean, they've denied us docking rights?" I asked Harlow.

His expression appeared uncharacteristically nervous on the display. "The system manager says the decision came down from the Regional Director at Red Rock. The thing is, we've just signed and paid deposits on several private dock rentals at Legion's main space port."

"If they've taken our money, go ahead and dock."

"Traffic control won't give us permission to approach."

"Ignore them. Take the ships that need the most work and make sure they each have a full complement of troopers in case the local authorities decide to get stupid and impound our ships or something. Confine everyone to the dock areas until we get this straightened out."

"Yes, sir."

I spent the next day overseeing negotiations, trying to get access to the space port while, at the same time, telling my NCOs I didn't know when the crews could begin going on leave and yes I did know the state of crew moral.

We stayed several weeks in a tense state of not-yet-but-maybe-soon-to-be-declared hostility, repairing our ships and scrounging supplies where we could. On discovering several wealthy subsidiaries of companies that technically owned some of our ships, we confiscated whatever we needed from them and told them to send the bills to HQ. Other than that, we restricted our piracy to cargo ships belonging to From the Stars exempting only The Learned Ones.

As our repairs neared completion, my communication's officer messaged me. "Sir, we've got a request from that fast transport that came in from Red Rock. They claim to be a delegation from the Regional Director sent to negotiate a ceasefire."

I stared incredulously at my communications officer. "A ceasefire? What do they think we're doing here?"

"Apparently we're laying waste to Legion and the surrounding territories of From the Stars."

I sighed. "Set up a meeting of the commanders and link these delegates in."

Within two hours our fleet commanders had all logged into v-space and were staring at a group of nervous bureaucrats. Their spokesman however, a man named Phineas, oozed the slick charm of a man confident of his ability to sway others. I looked up his public profile and got the distinct impression he thought rather highly of himself.

We began with introductions all around and then Phineas took over. "Warriors of Sol, Red Rock applauds your victory, glad to see once again that humans can defeat their alien foes. We congratulate you on persevering through your terrible ordeals in alien space and coming home safely again. As your fellow humans, we call on you to remember your duty to protect humanity and not attack our colonies like Black Mesa and Legion. We have had to fight the aliens to win these systems and are contractually bound to protect them.

"We have heard that you have seized the main space port here at Legion and are continuing to raid all the ships that pass by. We have come to ask you to stop this right now. It would be a terrible shame if we were forced to ally with From the Stars or any other aliens against our own species."

I glanced from the smug quirk of his poorly concealed smile to my commanders' clouded expressions of stunned outrage. Chris sucked in a lungful of air as if to shout, but I cleared my throat before he could begin. "It is true we were lucky to escape with our ships intact, but it seems you are unaware of the events following that. When The Sons of Heaven or The Swords opposed us or failed to trade with us, we fought them. Not because they were aliens, but because we were forced by necessity to get supplies where we could. If the aliens were friendly, as in the case of the Iron Workers or The Strong High Dwellers, we helped them, even attacking their enemies as if defending human space. At Black Mesa we were greeted warmly and so we paid good money—money we had little of—for everything we needed. But coming now to Legion, how were we treated? Like heroes returning from war? Like defenders of human space?

"No. Your administrator denied us access to the space port and violated our paid contracts with private space docks, forcing our exhausted crews to remain confined in their ships while alien traders came and went. We've tried for weeks to negotiate a solution, but they insist they are following orders directly from Red rock.

"And now you threaten to side with From the Stars and attack us...." I paused and looked into the ashen faces of the delegation. Even Phineas, with frightened raised eyebrows and all trace of smug cleverness lost, seemed to understand how badly he'd screwed this up.

I shrugged and gave them a rueful smile. "If that is the case, then I say bring it on! We've already defeated many times your number. Your threat, frankly, bores us. As for From the Stars, I suspect they might actually pay us good money to destroy you and hand their systems back."

The elder member of the delegation quaked and the others exchanged frightened glances. They glared at Phineas who looked ill. Then the lead delegate in a cracking voice said, "One moment please," and both the audio and visual feed cut off.