The Black Mesa system had first been colonized by the Black Mesa Research Consortium. It sat on the furthest edge of Solarian space, surrounded by The Iron Workers and other independent races with which it had built a successful trading alliance.

Like the people of Agile, the human colonists had eagerly followed our exploits in the Cack media so that our arrival was welcomed as if we were a victorious ZGB team returning from a championship game. Our biographies were the top file links on all the local portals and video clips of our battle with Righteous Ruler had been cached on every server in the system. When our crews went on leave, they were treated like heroes and one of our fleet commanders, Maxwell, even signed a soft-drink endorsement for enough money to completely replace his flag-ship if he had wanted to.

We stayed in system a month living on gratuities and easy contracts which the locals had arranged for us with their alien neighbors. As we moved into our second month however, the money began to dry up, the aliens began complaining about the burden of supporting us and even the Solarian naysayers were commenting on the growing anti-Solarian sentiment in the Cack Moirarchy. Some interviewers began to ask how we felt about our responsibility for the growing Cack opinion that the Solarian species was dangerous and should be eliminated.

Our arrival had turned the Black Mesa Colony into a regional power overnight, but unless they began conquering their neighbors, they couldn't afford us. Realizing we would soon outlive our welcome, we held a meeting of the Consolidated Solarian Fleet shareholders which, since the reorganization, include everyone from the lowest- maintenance worker to the fleet commanders. The discussion in v- space ranged all over the map with some arguing we should set up an Moiarchy of our own right there, to others arguing passionately that we leave immediately for the nearest transit station and not stop moving until we saw our home worlds.

Hundreds of side conversation followed that theme on various discussion boards, but the overall sentiment was best summarized by a fighter service technician named Leon. He said, "I for one am tired of all the traveling and fighting, of emergency duties, emergency repairs and emergency rations. I just want it to end. Since we're in a Solarian trading port, I say we grab a jump ship, or a luxury passenger liner and let others worry about getting us home. Heck, I don't even care if you have to freeze me and put me on a corpsicle transport. My contract was up months and months ago. I'm ready to go off-duty."

A clear majority agreed with him so a vote wasn't even necessary. Smith, who had largely been silent during the meeting, spoke up. "If that is how you feel, it so happens that the head of the Spartan military transport and logistics command is a close personal friend of mine. If you wish, I can take a jump transport back to Sparta where I'm confident I can arrange for transport for all of us back home."

This, of course, was the best idea any of them had ever heard and everyone immediately agreed to Smith's plan. I felt like a kill-joy as I signaled my intent to speak. "I know you are all thinking about what you want to do when you get home, but there are a few practical matters we need to discuss first." The side conversations died down on the message boards and I could feel the excitement drain out of v- space.

"Even if Commander Smith finds a jump ship tomorrow and jumps directly to New Sparta, I don't have to tell you that the wheels of military bureaucracy turn slowly. It could well be months before he gets here with any jump ships so we need to plan how we're going to support ourselves while we wait." The messages had nearly ceased, though I saw a few comments agreeing with me.

"First I'd like to suggest we set up a central contracting authority to help us look for work. We've nearly exhausted our local support so we're going to have to turn to systems further out. Also, you may come across opportunities on your own. I think everyone who finds their own contracts or finds an opportunity to turn privateer should at least notify contracting so we can provide logistical support or, if necessary, come rescue your butts if you get in over your heads."

This brought a few chuckles, and while there was some grumbling on the message boards about us setting up our own useless bureaucracy, most of the comments were in agreement. This was confirmed with a quick vote from the shareholders and then I continued.

"Secondly, we need to consolidate our forces and pick, at most, two or three systems in which to set up a base of operations. We have intel suggesting The Iron Workers are gathering warships in a nearby system because they fear we intend to stay. I don't think they are presently a threat, but we can't afford to give them a chance to launch a sneak attack, so we need to set up regular patrols and preposition defensive forces near critical gates."

This brought even more grumbling. No one liked patrol duty. They were long, boring and potentially dangerous if you found yourself faced with a surprise attack. But they were necessary and in the end the votes agreed with me.

"Third, bureaucrats are bred to be as unhelpful as possible. It is possible that New Sparta may not send enough ships back for all of us." I didn't want to say out loud that I thought it possible New Sparta might only send for their own ships. "This being a trade port, I know Cack jump ships sometimes come here. I suggest we seize them and keep them on hand in case we need extra transport. We may not need them, but I'd rather have too many than too few. In fact," I added as a new thought came to me, "we can load a few light cruisers and FACs in the first few we catch and use them to raid ports we know the Cack merchants like to frequent."

This caused quite a commotion on the message boards. Some were all for splitting up the fleet to seize what jumps ships they could and leaving at once. Others were afraid they'd get left behind and didn't want to seize any jump ships for fear they'd be stolen by other parts of the fleet. In the end, it was agreed to take what jumps ships we could, but to ensure that no one left until the whole fleet could travel.

"Finally, since we must prepare for every possibility, in the event we cannot provide enough jump ships for the entire fleet, I suggest we contact all the system managers and ask them to send out their security patrols to clear a path for us through the gates as I hear there are many pirates and raiders here in the outskirts of the colonies. I'm confident they'll help speed us on our way in order to see the last of us."

I had gone too far with the last proposal. The message boards exploded and there were so many requests to speak that the v-space servers began to drop connections thinking they were under attack. The crews didn't even want to think about the possibility of trudging back home through the gates. In the end we never voted, but I contacted the local managers personally about the matter and they assured me they would do everything in their power to help us and oh, by the way, when were we leaving?

I hated to tell them I didn't know.

* * *

We loaded Commander Smith on the first jump ship that came to port and convinced its commander to take him straight to New Sparta. A week later we commandeered the next jump ship. After that, they stopped coming to port, so we put Commander Dexter in charge of a squad of LCs and FACs, loaded him into our captured jump ship and sent him to go capture more. We never saw him again.

For the next month we were forced to go further and further out from our base of operations to find work. We had mixed success, including one idiotic sub-commander who managed to get himself and his entire squad of ships wiped out, but for the most part we survived. The locals, unable to pay us, started providing guides to lead us to raid the systems of their enemies and seize anything we could find of value.

I was manning a forward command post a day's boost from our main base of operations where half our ships had remained behind, when an urgent message flashed on my data panel from a returning scout ship. I opened it.

"Phoenix command, this is the Artful Dodger. Task Force Sigma is trapped and urgently needs reinforcements."

"Acknowledged, Artful Dodger." I alerted a couple of wings we had kept back for this purpose. "Do you have data for me?"

"Transmitting now."

A gravimetric scan appeared on my display, the nice clean lines of the geometric symbols belying the fuzzy guesswork of mass and trajectory plots. "By the Maker," I muttered, taking in the debris field disc and the lack of all planets outside of the goldilocks zone. My stomach twisted in a knot as I thought of how Kouvaras and his men had been lost. "This is The Sons of Heaven all over again."

"Come again sir?"

"What's Task Force Sigma's situation?"

An icon flashed next to the smaller member of the binary planet. "All the space-based assets of the surrounding systems have been collected here near this large moon. Battle stations have been towed to all five Lagrange points and the moon itself has heavy defenses. Finally, they have collected ships from all the surrounding systems and amassed a fleet equal to Task Force Sigma and that fleet is growing as more ships come in.

"The problem is that before their defenses came online, we were able to slip in and land several compliments of troopers on the moon."

"Without landers? You didn't use drop pods did you? How did you plan to get them back?"

"No. We didn't use drop pods. We had captured some transports capable of landing on the moon and got the troopers in before the aliens had figured out what was going on."

"But now their defenses are up," I prompted.

"Yes. Our plan was for the troopers to seize control of those defenses by capturing the base on the moon. They got a foothold, but the aliens have managed to isolate their main control center and our troopers can't break through without additional firepower."

"Which Sigma can't provide because of the orbital defenses and the growing alien fleet," I concluded.

"Exactly, and the troopers can't evac in the transports for the same reasons."

I shook my head. "This is undoubtedly the worst plan I've ever seen. It's almost as if you'd planned to strand your troopers there." I paused and the scout didn't reply, but then it wasn't his fault and there wasn't any point to berating him. "Stand by."

I contacted the other wings, sent them the data and my attack plans and gave them their thirty-minute warning. After that, I waited and distracted myself by heating some tea. It had all seemed so simple when I had just been one of dozens of fleet sub-commanders. Now Smith was gone and I was in charge of everything. I had other commanders I could call on, but they already had their assigned roles and responsibilities. I couldn't just run to them when things got tough. I could delegate actions, but not my decisions. I was basically alone now.

The acceleration warning chimed and I returned to my crash pod with a zero-G thermos of tea and sipped it as the two wings navigated the transit station. My task force formed up on the other side and accelerated again, this time building up delta-V so that when we dropped out of FTL we wouldn't be stationary targets. We couldn't let it go too long because we needed at least a few seconds on target before we flew past. We didn't know if they had gravimetric sensors or how accurate they were. If they didn't, it would take thirteen hours for the light from our current position to reach them. The battle would be long over before they saw us come in through the gate.

We went FTL, skirting the debris field disc and approached the battle station at Lagrange point three on the far side of the planet from the moon. They seemed completely unprepared to receive us as we dropped out of FTL well within beam weapon range. Our particle emission weapons carved their battle station into tiny pieces and they made no response. Secondary explosions tore the rest of the structure apart before our momentum had even carried us to it. I pinged the two wings, checking the com-laser network, then gave the thirty seconds warning to proceed to the next target.

Less than half of a second from the H-drives and we had cut across a third of the moon's orbit to Lagrange point four. They were prepared for us this time and fired a combination of missiles and directed energy weapons. Our point defenses launched counter missiles and blew prismatic chaff to defuse the beam attacks. Our offensive missiles had scored significant hits on the station when the Phoenix shuddered and the lights flickered as damaged circuits rerouted power through alternate pathways.

I called up the ship's status panel and saw minor to moderate damage indicators all along our right side. All the nearest ships on that side were similarly damaged except for The Xerxes. The Xerxes did not appear at all. As I watched, The Westerfeld, covered with damage icons, disappeared and was replaced with a "signal lost" icon.

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