Pavlishchev left the cabin. Halberd lay quietly, trying to process what he had been told. It was hard to think with his head pounding as it was. The Cumberland was obviously destroyed if there were only 25 survivors (now 23, he remembered, plus the six). He wondered where in space they were, whether they were still in the H2813 system or had managed to make repairs enough to return to a Rodinan system. He guessed from the damage he had inflicted on the Rodinans that their attack on the Commonwealth had been thwarted and imagined the Rodinan captain might not be terribly willing to exchange Christmas cards with him right now. He wondered who of his crew had survived. Finally, he realized that the Rodinans would probably be delivering all of them to a prisoner-of-war camp, which would certainly be unpleasant. As captain, though, he wondered if the Politburo and Rodinan FSB might want to conduct a show trial, find him guilty and shoot him. On this happy thought, he dozed off.

  When he awoke next, he found himself in the same cabin. His head still hurt, though he thought perhaps a bit less than it had. He turned slowly to his right. A different Rodinan was there, a young man with short black hair. Halberd asked for water, and the man held the cup and the straw up to him. After drinking a few sips, the door hissed open. Words were exchanged in Russian, and the young man got up and left. As the newcomer pulled the stool towards the foot of the bed, Halberd noticed his sleeve carried the broad stripe and single star of a first-rank captain.

  The newcomer sat down and began to unbutton his uniform jacket. As he did, he said, “First-rank Captain Maxim Belyaev, at your service.”

  Halberd noticed his English was almost without a trace of accent. “Captain Jonah Halberd,” he offered in return.

  “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance,” the Rodinan said, and with a trace of a smile added, “Believe it or not. I wanted to meet a man of such ingenuity and courage,” he continued, “and honor. Second-rank Captain Kaun sends his regards.”

  “Is Captain Kaun on the ship?” Jonah asked incredulously.

  “No,” Belyaev responded, “he is my nephew.”

  “Oh—”

  “Yes,” Belyaev continued. “He and I appreciate what you did for him. Your act of kindness made it possible for them to save the nerve endings in his legs and his knees. He is currently wearing some cybernetic replacements but will be able to regen his lower legs in the future.

  Jonah shrugged. “It was the right thing to do.”

  “It was the act of an honorable man, captain.”

  “Captain Belyaev, if you don’t mind my asking,” Jonah responded, “I don’t seem to be in the sickbay. Am I in one of your officer’s cabins?”

  “Yes,” Belyaev said with a smile. “Mine.”

  Stunned by such a kind gesture, Jonah was at a temporary loss for words. Finally, he managed to blurt, “Thank you.”

  “You’re probably thinking that I should be furious with you,” Belyaev mused, “and I am, so it would make no sense for me to give up my cabin for a wounded prisoner. But on a certain level, as one professional to another, I must confess to some admiration. We have pieced together what you did from the tactical logs, and it was a desperate, brilliant move. It was perhaps the only way you had to prevent us from penetrating deep into Commonwealth space, and it worked.” He shook his head with a smile. “You are a hard man to kill, captain. Or lucky. Or both. Plus, you treated my nephew with great kindness in a time of war. Such an unusual gesture demands a response, no?”

  “Captain Kaun?”

  Belyaev nodded.

  Jonah did not know how to respond, so changed the topic of conversation and asked, “Where are we?”

  “We are still in what your people call system H2813. We are nearly finished making the repairs we need to make in order to return to the Venera system.”

  “But the doctor said it has been nine days?” Jonah asked.

  “Hm, yes,” Belyaev responded. “Well, you shot off my Alcubierre generators, and one of your lasers hit the ship’s stores and damaged the replacements. We had to put one together from the damaged parts and then cannibalize the three from the Kronstadt—the heavy cruiser whose EM nodes you destroyed. We managed to jury-rig things, but it has been difficult to align the Alcubierre generators properly as they are not designed for this ship. These things cannot be hurried, as you know. We have all the personnel from Kronstadt aboard right now as we were forced to scuttle her. A fleet supply ship will meet us at Venera in a few days with more replacement parts so we can make more trustworthy repairs to the Alcubierre generators and EM drives before returning to the shipyard in Demeter to patch all the other holes you put in my ship. It was ‘brand new’ as they say. You should be ashamed of yourself, captain,” he said with a hint of a smile.

  Jonah thought for a moment, then asked, “What happened…before? In Demeter?”

  “Ah,” Belyaev explained, “your forces did not have such a good time of it. You were perhaps expecting the new battlecruisers to still be in the slips?”

  Jonah nodded slightly.

  “They weren’t,” Belyaev chuckled. “My Pyotr Velikiy and her sister ships had been commissioned in secret a couple of weeks ago. One at a time, they had been taken out for ‘yard trials,’ which were really shake-downs. We knew you would think they were a tempting target. We learned of your attack plans weeks ago.”

  “How? I only learned of the plan myself just before we stepped off,” Jonah was curious.

  Belyaev put his finger aside his nose and smiled. “I do not know for sure,” he said, “but if I were you, I’d look at your Third Fleet. But that is telling tales out of school, I think. For once, those stooges at FSB got something right.

  “Regardless, with so much time to prepare, our fleet supply was able to erect three automated defense platforms near the emergence point from Venera. Your successful attack against Captain Kaun confirmed what we knew about your admiralty’s intention of attacking Demeter. When your Admiral Rodriguez appeared, she had no chance. Your people did well under the circumstances,” he allowed. “They managed to destroy the Dzerzhinsky and the heavy cruiser Sverdlov, as well as a couple of frigates and caused some minor damage to my sister ships, but my Pyotr Velikiy, the Kronstadt, and the two light cruisers didn’t get a scratch. That’s why we were sent through to target the Aries system.”

  “All the ships were destroyed?” Jonah asked.

  “Yes,” Belyaev answered, nodding. “There were fewer than 100 survivors. Admiral Rodriguez was killed.”

  “What about,” Jonah’s throat tightened, and he swallowed. “What about New Moscow?”

  “I think we share the same problem in both our fleets,” Belyaev said. “Your Admiral Johannsen is an idiot, but he was matched against our Admiral Titov, who is an incompetent boob. Both are political hacks who have achieved their ranks on family connections rather than ability. Some ships were destroyed on both sides, with the Commonwealth gaining perhaps a slight advantage. Your Admiral Antonelli fought a clever rearguard action that allowed Johannsen’s fleet to escape the system. However, the slight advantage in ships the Commonwealth gained in New Moscow was more than offset by your losses in Demeter.” He shrugged. “If we had managed to reach the Aries system, we would have dealt the Commonwealth a painful blow. As it is, neither side is much stronger or weaker than they were before—except…” He trailed off in thought.

  “Except what?” Jonah asked.

  “Except for you, captain.” Belyaev now had a cold and somewhat distant look to his eyes. “Except for you.” Belyaev shook his head as though to dismiss certain thoughts.

  “I have a problem, captain,” Belyaev confessed. “I don’t know what to do with you. If my political commissar were alive, he would know exactly what to do.”

  “What would that be?” Jonah asked.

  “Oh, he would take you back to New Moscow. After the FSB extracted every bit of information out of you, there would be a highly-publicized trial for war crimes, and then you would be shot.”

  “I see,” Jonah said glumly.

  “Sadly,” Belyaev said with mock sincerity, “the political commissar on board Pyotr Velikiy was killed during your attack.” He winked. “Any time one of our ships suffers a hull breach in battle, it is amazing, but our political commissars always seem to have a knack for being in the thick of the action and always get killed.

  “Regardless, what he would do does not sit well with me, especially since I am sitting face-to-face with the man who did the honorable thing by sending my nephew back to Venera for medical attention.”

  Jonah’s breath caught. He did not dare to hope.

  “I am waiting to hear from my, ah—what is the right word, my mentor? My patron? My,” he chuckled, “my fairy godmother? Releasing you and your people in a shuttle is the honorable thing for me to do, but I need to make sure that that I would survive such a thing. My mentor agrees with me about what I want to do. He is trying to enlist enough support from his friends to counter the inevitable backlash.”

  Jonah thought quickly. “What about the rest of my people?” he asked. “Would it be possible to—”

  Belyaev laughed, slapping his thigh. “Ha! I win!”

  Jonah gave him a puzzled look.

  “I bet myself,” the Rodinan explained, “that you would ask that. Rest easy, captain. Your people are already loaded on the shuttle.”

  Jonah took a deep breath. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “That is enough for me.”

  “I win another bet with myself,” Belyaev stated. “Unfortunately, we will be leaving for Venera soon. If I do not hear anything, I will have to keep you with me, even though I would be sorry to. We—you and I—we are men of honor. I love my people. Rodina means ‘motherland’ in Russian. I could never betray my motherland. But the politicians and their toadies who are in charge, I do not wish to sacrifice my honor for them.”

  “When do you expect—” Jonah began, but Belyaev held up his hand.

  “I’ve been waiting for a couple of days. My mentor will contact me when he has the support lined up that he feels I need. I must leave you now, as duty calls. I will return in an hour or so and let you know. In the meantime, it would be helpful if you would devise a message that I can send in the clear to let your pesky patrol boat know to come looking for a shuttle.”

  25

  After an hour and twenty minutes had passed, Jonah had begun to give up hope. He consoled himself that 28 of his crew would be set free. He had decided on a message which Lieutenant Commander MacMurray would be able to understand but would be meaningless to anyone else.

  Captain Belyaev appeared.

  “Did you hear?” Jonah asked.

  “Yes,” Belyaev replied with a sigh, “and no. My mentor and I exchanged messages. He does not yet have all the support he feels I need to survive letting you go.”

  Jonah’s expression fell. “I underst—”

  Belyaev interrupted. “But he feels confident he will have it by the time we exit the corridor to Venera. I am pleased to say that I will be able to act as a man of honor.”

  Jonah, prepared for disappointment, stared at him with his one eye. “Thank you, Captain Belyaev,” he said after struggling for words.

  “It is my pleasure,” Belyaev responded. “And it would please me even more if you would call me Max.”

  Jonah pointed to himself and said, “Jonah. Thank you, Max.”

  Belyaev sighed, “Someday, when this war is over, I hope to meet you again, Jonah.”

  “I think I’d like that too.”

  Flight Surgeon Pavlishchev then entered the room. “Captain,” he said, “I need to ask you to stand up and get in this hoverchair.”

  Jonah nodded and began to rise from his bed slowly. He was surprised at how weak he felt. As he got settled into the chair, Belyaev stopped him and held out his comm. “What is the message for your patrol boat?”

  When Jonah had finished recording the message, he handed the comm back. He kept his hand out, and Belyaev shook it. “Goodbye, Max.”

  “Goodbye, Jonah.”

  Pavlishchev then had an aide push Jonah in the chair out of the room. The aide bustled Jonah quickly through the ship, finally reaching the shuttle bays. Waiting for him outside the shuttle was Commander Fung. The relief on her face was evident, and Jonah noticed her eyes were shining with tears. She pushed the chair onto the shuttle, and the door was closed behind her.

  Jonah looked to see who had survived. In addition to Blutarsky, Guglielmo, Allroyd, Sanchez, Patel, and Dietrich, who had been on the shuttles, he learned that Commander Fung and Master Chief Bradshaw had made it, though Bradshaw was also in a hoverchair and had lost his left leg. He was also pleased to see that Fireman Bosco had endured the destruction of the ship. He had not been on duty in engineering when the cores were ejected. Neither of the two who were more severely wounded managed to live—one of whom was the hapless Lieutenant Kelley.

  When he entered, Fireman Bosco jumped up immediately, barking, “Cap’n on deck!” while snapping a crisp salute.

  The rest of the crewmen jumped to their feet and saluted. Halberd was touched by their gesture. He saluted them in return.

  They pressed forward, hands outstretched. Bosco was first to give his captain a handshake, saying, “I told you, sir. The red shirt!”

  Jonah smiled, then quickly shook the hands of the others until only Commander Fung was left. He noticed a tear rolling down her cheek. He meant to give her a handshake too, but she slipped past his outstretched arm, stooped down, and pulled him into a close hug, catching Jonah slightly by surprise.

  She released him, stepping away and wiping a tear from her cheek. “I thought you were dead, sir,” she murmured.

  “Not yet,” he chuckled. “Not yet.”

  “What happens now, sir?” she asked.

  A message over the loudspeaker told them to strap in, as launch would be taking place in two minutes. Jonah nodded at the direction of the sound.

  Renee made sure his hoverchair was anchored to a cleat then strapped herself in the nearest seat. The speaker announced a one-minute and then a thirty-second warning, then with a jolt, the shuttle left the battlecruiser.

  The rest of the group began to talk amongst themselves. Fung took the opportunity to pull Halberd aside. “How is your eye?” she asked.

  “Flight Surgeon Pavlishchev had to remove what was left of it,” he explained. There is some damage to the nerves in the socket from radiation exposure and the cold, which will make regen or connecting a cybernetic difficult unless they can do the regen sequencing on the nerves soon.”

  Fung looked glum.

  “I’ve already received excellent medical care,” he assured her. “Pavlishchev did inject me with medical nanites to stop the bleeding and repair subsequent brain damage caused by the splinter that hit me. I really can’t ask for anything more. Besides,” he added, “I’ll get them to give me a black patch to cover it up once the bandages come off. Maybe I’ll get one with a skull-and-crossbones.”

  Jonah felt his strength fading. The last thing he remembered was the feel of Renee grasping his hand.

  26

  “Lieutenant commander?” Petty Officer Reed asked.

  “Yes?”

  “The comms monitor just spit something out I think you should look at, sir.”

  Lieutenant Commander Fred MacMurray looked at what the comms monitor had flagged. He read:

  “Howdy, pardner—you know that bull done busted me up last rodeo, but the clowns done their job and got me to safety. Onliest problem, pard, is I’m stuck out where it all happened, and I was hopin’ you’d give me and my compadres a lift. Ain’t nobody here but us chickens. We’ll be waitin’ fer ya, pard, cuz we ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

  “Well, shee-it!” MacMurray exclaimed softly. “Petty officer, when did this here message get sent?”

  “Time of transmission was 53 minutes ago, sir. It was sent in the clear, I think from the Rodinan ship that just transited in-system.”

  “Okey-dokey. Time to fire up the kewpie,” he said. “Gotta call this one in.”

  MacMurray picked up the comm and selected the kewpie connection to the Admiralty. After identifying himself and informing the Admiralty that he had a priority one message for the sector commander, he was connected in a few minutes to Admiral Antonelli’s yeoman.

  The yeoman, hearing it was a priority one comm, said, “Please hold a moment, sir. I will go wake the admiral.”

  Less than a minute later, MacMurray heard, “Antonelli here. Go.”

  “Lieutenant Commander MacMurray, PB 410, sir. We’re on station near the hyper exit in the Venera system. We just received the following message in the clear, sir. I believe strongly it’s from Captain Halberd.”

  MacMurray had sent the text of the message to the admiral while he was speaking. He waited while the admiral read it.

  “Lieutenant Commander,” the admiral queried sharply, “how can you be sure this message is from Captain Halberd?”

  “I served under him, sir,” MacMurray explained. “He got to know me pretty well and learned my family is originally from Texas. I don’t know if you’re aware, but Texan culture is a little different.”

  “Go on.”

  “Well, sir, in the message, he talks about a rodeo. In a rodeo, riders called cowboys try to stay on the backs of either a wild horse or a wild bull. When I explained it to him, he equated it to combat. When the message references getting busted up by a bull, it means the wild bull threw him off its back, and he was injured. If we continue the analogy, that would be having your ship destroyed.

  “In a rodeo, if a rider gets thrown off the horse or bull, special attendants dressed like clowns distract the animal and rescue the fallen rider. I would take that to mean that he was rescued. In addition, his mentioning the clowns I take as a different kind of joke, where he’s calling the Rodinans clowns.