"What?"

Smith took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he gathered his thoughts. "We didn't hear much while we were wandering through the badlands of the Moiarchy, but the Cack media has been going nuts. The major shareholders have all taken vows of honor to personally wipe out the human race and the common holders are all egging them on to do it. Only the crawdads and the non-Cack races of the Moiarchy are urging restraint, but nobody is listening to them. In the entire history of the Moiarchy, only one other species has been sentenced to extinction and they were so genetically xenophobic that they were compelled to kill or be killed."

"But the Earth? Sparta is willing to sacrifice it?"

"Not everyone at Command, but some fear we don't have the forces to help defend Sol and defend Sparta and others are still bitter about the colonial wars."

"Do the Cacks look like they're acting on this extermination plan?"

"Not yet. They're still debating. There is some indication they may be increasing ship production, but nothing like what they're capable." Smith fixed me with a suddenly intense stare, more like the old Smith I remembered. "Ken, if the Moiarchy takes it time and gears up for full production, we don't stand a chance. If this becomes a contest of economic strength we won't even be able to compete."

I sighed. "We're right back where we were in mankind's first encounter with the Cacks and we're going to have to do the same thing. We're going to have to scatter colony ships out among the stars and hope some survive. I doubt we'd even be able to save a tenth of our populations."

"If they really decide to exterminate us, even those may not survive," Smith insisted. "They'll be hunted down across the galaxy." I leaned back in my chair. "Space is a pretty big place. The Moiarchy, even as big as it is, has limited resources. If this becomes some sort of potlatch, some sort of contest of who is willing to sacrifice the most, the more desperate contestant usually wins."

Smith waved away my objections. "With enough forewarning, we might send some colonists off towards the rim. They'd either be forced to spend the rest of their existence in hiding or remaining on the run. Either way, life as a hunted species would be pretty tenuous, lonely and grim."

The conversation died out and we sat for a moment in horrified, contemplative silence. "I take it all this bares on the reason why Sparta hasn't sent jumpships for us?"

"Yes. They're going to need all their jumps ships for either colonizing or ship movements, whichever they decide. At this point, they would prefer we head for the Golden Worlds."

"Lots of habitable worlds there," I said. "One could easily found a number of colony worlds."

"Except that's where they expect the fighting to start."

"So they want us to stop them?" I asked, incredulous.

"The plan—or at least one of them—is to use us to set up a forward base in the Golden Worlds. We establish it and they send us supplies and reinforcements. Unless the Cacks want to go through The Swords territory as we did, they'll have to all go through that first gate into the Golden Worlds. It's our best chance to stop them. If we're forced to fall back, it's far enough away from the Solarian worlds and has enough systems for us to fall back into to try and grind down their attack."

"Sounds desperate."

"As are all the options we have left."

* * *

The funds available in Red Rock didn't hold us long. We held constant planning sessions trying to find ways to earn money and long debates on whether we were going to do the bidding of the Spartan military. The Cack threats were not taken too seriously in the local media which reported them as if they were nothing more than political posturing for the shareholders. It seemed that some of Righteous Ruler's political opponents were trying to take advantage of Shines Like the Sun's attack and were attempting to gather a controlling interest in the Moiarchy. While the Ruler struggled to maintain his grip on power, we struggled to simply gain a consensus of where the fleet would go next.

The fleet commanders were still wrestling with this when I got a message from Chris. "Ken, I've been asked by the ship and wing commanders to invite you to an urgent meeting. They have a proposal they want to run past you."

"Everyone seems to know what to do, it's just that no one can agree on what it is."

"We've got a pretty broad consensus here."

I continued clicking through my reports. "What? A wing? Maybe two have gotten together and decided where the fleet should go?"

Chris paused, looking upwards as if calculating something in his head. "It's more than eighty percent, less than ninety."

"You've got more than eighty percent of the ship commanders to agree on something?"

"I think you'll want to hear their proposal."

"I've always wanted to see a miracle. When are they meeting?"

"They're in session right now. I've been asked to invite you to join them if you have the time."

"Send me the link."

* * *

The conference was on the moon. Someone had selected a crater on the earth-facing side as a sort of amphitheater for our meeting in virtual space. The Earth hung overhead, a beautiful, bright, blue reminder of our ultimate objective and a not-so-subtle statement rejecting any thought of colonization or pursuing any other destination.

I stepped over the crater's lip, kicking up holographic dust as I walked down into the bowl. Hundreds of commanders sat along the rim and a handful stood in the center moderating the discussion. Chris called them to attention, greeted me and directed Ship Commander Christina Tomberlin to continue the meeting.

"Thank you for coming, commander, especially on such short notice. We've been discussing the challenges ahead and some of the lessons we've learned. We are very concerned about the lack of fleet discipline, especially now with funds running low. We've already seen how, with the wings acting separately, they're more likely to get into trouble and how one bad decision, even by a single commander, can harm the entire fleet."

I stood nodding my head but saying nothing.

"The commanders," she took in the rest of the group with a gesture, "Have agreed that the fleet should proceed with a more military bearing. We can no longer afford to operate as a loose coalition of mercenary fleets. We have largely integrated many of the wings, but we need to integrate the leadership." She paused and gave me an odd look. "It is the opinion of the ships commanders that we need a single commander in charge of the combined fleet." I continued nodding my head as I listened. "If you've invited me to ask my advice, I agree with you entirely and for the reasons you've stated."

Christina looked a little embarrassed. "But we didn't invite you to offer your advice. We've invited you to offer you the position."

I'm afraid I may have gaped at her. I scanned the surrounding faces and saw a mixture of smiles of encouragement and amusement. I turned on Chris. "Did you know about this?"

He shrugged. "They called me in after they made their decision. They thought I would be able to talk you into it."

Suddenly speechless, I cleared my throat. "Well, this is a very great honor. I don't know what to say."

"Hopefully, yes," Christina laughed.

"This is a big decision. Until now I've only ever considered what was best for the fleet. I'm afraid I may need some time to think about it."

"Of course," Christina said. "But I do hope you'll let us know before the fleet leaves Red Rock."

"I will."

* * *

The more I thought about the possibility of being the commander of a unified fleet, the more excited I got. I had largely been the de facto leader for a long time. Now, at last, I would finally have a chance at the recognition I had already earned. I could lead the fleet in its triumphal return and everyone back home would see me as the one who had defeated the Cacks. Assuming I could keep the fleet together.

The fleet already had something of a mixed reputation. We had detractors who considered us a dangerous group of lawless pirates. If I couldn't keep them together, there was a real chance that we would live down to that reputation and there was no telling how much damage that would do to my father and Trans-Luminal Systems.

I tossed and turned late into the night, then finally got up and found a local oracle whose prices weren't too outrageous, withdrew a ton of funds from my account back on Mars and sent him my kairogram. I told him about my situation and asked a simple yes or no question. Should I accept or not?

I finally got to sleep and found the answer waiting for me the next morning. "Acceptance is negatively indicated." The oracle had included some standardized charts which indicated the likely impact of either option on love and finances and career and similarly broad categories. About all I could tell was that neither option was more likely than the other to kill me, though my chances of survival were close to fifty-fifty in either case.

As the time neared for the fleet to leave, Commander Tomberlin and others urged me to accept the position. They fill my message queues with pleas for me to take the job and dire warnings that I would let the fleet down if I refused.

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to decline the offer," I told Commander Tomberlin in voice chat. I was sitting in my quarters/office and couldn't bear to face them in v-space.

"But why?"

I had been trying to puzzle that out myself. "Now that we're back in Solarian space, we're going to need help from the colonies and that means earning Spartan favor. I think it would be best if a Martian weren't in charge."

"Nonsense! Will the Spartans get angry if they are not first in line at the chow hall? If they were as petty as that, they wouldn't allow any of us Solarians to command a ship."

I'm afraid my little attempt to bow out gracefully only backfired. Even more spacers began to demand that I take over the fleet. When word came to me that the commanders were meeting with the intent of passing a resolution forcing me to lead the combined fleet, I asked to speak at their meeting.

"I cannot tell you how honored I am that you think so highly of me." I said. "It is my fervent prayer that The Maker will find some other way of allowing me to serve you. I promise I will faithfully follow the orders of whomever you appoint. But, to convince you that it cannot be me, I must confess that when I learned of your intention of making me your leader, I sent my kairogram to an oracle and asked him if it would be better for you if I were to lead or not. The answer was an unequivocal no."

Their disappointment was so profound that I felt as if I had betrayed them. I almost recanted and told them I would lead them anyway, but they accepted the oracle's judgment. In the end they chose Smith.

"I assure you," he said, "that I also would have followed whomever you had chosen, but really you did Commander Phon a favor by not choosing him. Even now, though I tried to silence him, Dexter is slandering him before the Spartan commanders. He's been telling them that, during my absence, Commander Phon would only share command with those from Earth or Mars but refused to share command with him because he was from New Sparta."

I wish I could say I was surprised to hear this. I could only hope Spartan command could see through his self-aggrandizement.

"But I want you to know I have not been idle on your behalf," Smith continued. "So prepare your ships to boost immediately. I've secured jump ships to take us as far as New Home. From there we'll decide on where to go next."

This motivated the crews and for a few days, everything proceeded like a regular military organization. We jumped to New Home but there we received a less enthusiastic welcome. Merchant ships came out to take our money, but the local government would have nothing to do with us. Our contracts department complained that we were shut out of all the local short-term contracts and soon we were only three days away from bankruptcy.

Determined to make it home with some sort of profit, or at least enough to pay their expected legal expenses, the ship commanders met and tried to appoint, first Smith, then me, to a delegation to force New Home to trade more favorably. Not wishing to extort money from a colonial world, Smith and I refused, so they selected Commanders Lucas, Watanabe and—I'm sorry to say—Commander Solomon, to deliver their thinly veiled threat. It was, of course, a disaster.

The governor's negotiators said they would take our request under advisement and then they recalled their merchants, their war ships and activated their orbital defenses. When it became clear we would get nothing from New Home without laying siege to the planet, Lucas and his followers blamed us for sabotaging their efforts. Their commanders resigned from the fleet en mass saying they refused to follow a Spartan and a Martian who had contributed no ships to the fighting and left it to the colonials to suffer all the losses.

And so the oracles advice turned out to be wise. Within the week, Smith's supreme command over the fleet ended and the fleet broke up.