Unfortunately, the outspoken shareowner died in a mysterious air car accident a week later. That would have been sufficient to intimidate lesser companies. But Madsen was a mega corporation with the will and the means to oppose an emperor who many of Carla’s peers considered to be a malignant narcissist.

  They might be correct. If so, Carla was powerless to do anything other than look after her patients. The most challenging of whom was a Legion officer named Lieutenant Brice McCallum. There were different theories about what had taken place, but the diagnosis was clear. McCallum was suffering from a severe case of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, or PTSD.

  Thunder rolled across the land as Carla stood and left her office. A brightly lit hallway led to a bank of stainless steel elevators. The lights flickered as Carla stepped off the lift and onto the 6th floor. McCallum was in a secured room, so he couldn’t wander away.

  Carla pressed her right thumb against a print pad as her retinas were scanned. She heard a click, and a green light started to flash.

  The door opened onto a dimly lit nine-by-twelve-foot room. It was furnished with a neatly made hospital bed, a roll-around lap table, and two chairs. McCallum sat in one of them. He was twenty-eight. That made him slightly older than Carla. The legionnaire’s hair was the same length as the stubble on his cheeks. He frowned. “You’re out of uniform, Sergeant Deeson. Explain yourself.”

  Carla took the chair across from him. McCallum had mistaken her for other people before. “Sergeant Deeson is dead,” she told him. “I’m Doctor Carla Hanson.”

  McCallum’s head jerked like a man waking from a nap. He frowned. “Sorry. The light is dim, and you look like Deeson.”

  That wasn’t true, but Carla let it go. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like shit,” McCallum answered. “I want out of here.”

  “To do what?”

  McCallum stared at her. “To kill General Atov. You know that.”

  According to McCallum’s account, as recorded shortly after the legionnaire was found, he and his platoon had been ordered to kidnap the Madsen executive in charge of the company’s mercenary army, a move intended to disrupt the enemy’s chain of command and provide the government with a bargaining chip.

  The snatch had gone perfectly according to McCallum’s account. He and his team had been able to grab the executive and spirit him away aboard one of the Legion’s VTOL fly forms. But when the cyborg carrying the prisoner—and McCallum’s legionnaires—developed a mechanical problem, the fly form was forced to land.

  It wasn’t long before a group of Madsen mercenaries closed in. A brisk firefight ensued. McCallum and his soldiers sought cover in a shed where heavy equipment was stored.

  When it became clear that the unit was about to be overrun, the Legion knowingly dropped three precision-guided bombs on the site, killing everyone except 1st Lieutenant Brice McCallum. That’s how important Owens was to General Dominika Atov. She was willing to kill her own people in order to take Owens out. Or so McCallum claimed.

  “You’ll be staying here for awhile,” Carla told him. “For your own safety.”

  McCallum’s eyes stared from dark caves. “That’s bullshit, Doctor. General Atov and her battalion will eat your mercenaries for lunch. I think it’s safe to say that all of Madsen’s employees will be arrested, interrogated, and charged with treason. And executions are a distinct possibility. How ’bout it, Doc? Are you a Madsen employee?”

  Carla felt a stab of fear. Like most of the people in Firstport, her salary was paid by Madsen. She sought to change the subject. “How are the dreams?”

  McCallum looked away and back again. “They’re wonderful. Last night I dreamed I was riding a unicorn through a field of flowers when the blue bird of happiness landed on my shoulder and chirped in my ear.”

  Carla was about to reply when a distant boom shook the building and the lights went out. Half of them came back on a few seconds later. Backup power, Carla decided. McCallum’s right. The Legion is winning.

  McCallum grinned. His teeth were unnaturally white in the greenish half-light. “See what I mean, Doc? It’s time to leave. Before the Legion enters the city. Atov will kill me if she can . . . because I know what she did. And, if word of it gets out, she’ll be court martialed.”

  A voice came over the public-address system. “This is Andrew Bray. There’s no reason for concern. Preparations have been made to evacuate the hospital. All patients will be assisted to the north portico. From there they will . . .”

  That was when Carla heard a bang and whirled in time to see smoke as the door slammed open. A man entered, followed by a woman. Both wore a hodgepodge of armor that had clearly been “liberated” from Madsen Mercenaries and dead legionnaires. They were armed with machine pistols and took a moment to scan the room before pointing their weapons at the ceiling.

  A second man entered. He had dark skin, a shaved head, and a wet ankle-length coat. Water dripped onto the floor. “Good evening. I’m sorry about the door. My name is Wilson. We’re resistance fighters. And you,” Wilson said pointing a finger, “are Lieutenant Brice McCallum.”

  McCallum shrugged. “That’s what it says on my ID bracelet.”

  Wilson turned to Carla. “And you’re Doctor Hanson. Please stand. You’re coming with us.”

  There was a flash of light in the distance, followed by a boom. It was louder than the one before. “No, we aren’t,” Carla replied. “You have no right to . . .”

  “I’m going,” McCallum said, as he got to his feet. “Anything is better than this.”

  “You won’t be sorry,” Wilson replied, as he turned to the female resistance fighter. “Take the doctor into custody.”

  Carla ran for the door. She was halfway there when the bolt from a stun gun struck her. Carla lost all muscle control and collapsed. A pair of arms scooped her up. Wilson’s voice seemed to come from a long way off. “Let’s get moving. The Legion is closing in.”

  * * *

  McCallum felt sorry for Doctor Hanson, but couldn’t help her, not with three armed opponents. He’d been briefed on the resistance, which wanted to be free of the company and the Imperial government. According to the Legion’s Intel people, only two-thousand rebels belonged to the group, which made it more of a nuisance than a threat.

  Wilson led them into a crowded hallway, but rather than join the ambulatory patients who were shuffling towards the elevators, Wilson shoved them out of the way. “Make a hole . . . Step aside . . . Emergency personnel coming through.”

  McCallum couldn’t tell if people believed that, but if they didn’t, the presence of two people armed with machine pistols kept them from complaining.

  Wilson followed the emergency stairs up to the hospital’s roof, where a darkened air car was waiting. Once the doctor was loaded into the back, Wilson ordered McCallum to get in, which he did.

  The car departed two minutes later and headed north. It wasn’t long before the vehicle began to bank right and left as it followed a pass up through the mountains to the manmade plateau on top of Mine 1. It was an old dig, and no longer in operation.

  Half a dozen people met the car. Doctor Hanson was able to stand, but was a bit unsteady, so McCallum offered his arm. Together they followed Wilson up a dimly lit path.

  The rebel leader was talking to some of his subordinates, and McCallum could tell that things weren’t going well for the Madsen Company’s mercs. Not that it mattered to Wilson, because he wanted both sides to lose.

  After being escorted into the mine and through a maze of tunnels, the prisoners found themselves in a side gallery. A faded “Office” sign hung over the entryway. The walls consisted of machine-scored rock, the furnishings were utilitarian, and the floor was damp. A com center occupied one corner, and all of the incoming reports were negative.

  A man with narrow-set eyes and prominent jaw came forward to meet them. McCallum knew the man was military, or ex-military, because of his bearing. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant. I’m Mark Coogan. I hear the Legion tried to kill you.”

  “They came close,” McCallum replied.

  Coogan nodded. “We know about your mission. It was a thing of beauty.”

  “Until it wasn’t,” McCallum said grimly.

  “Would you like to get even?” Coogan inquired.

  “Yes,” McCallum replied. “Put me with General Atov and I’ll kill her.”

  “I’d love to,” Coogan replied. “But that isn’t possible. According to the most recent intelligence reports, she’s aboard the destroyer Maximus and well out of our reach.

  “There are other ways to strike back though.”

  “Count me in,” McCallum replied.

  “Even if that involves fighting the Legion?”

  “When Atov ordered legionnaires to kill my team, they obeyed,” McCallum said darkly.

  Coogan nodded. “We’re working on a mission, one you’re uniquely qualified to carry out. But I’m not ready to brief you yet. Grab something to eat and get some rest. Rivera will show you around.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good,” Coogan replied. “Dismissed.”

  * * *

  Carla turned to go as Rivera led McCallum out of the office. “Hold on,” Coogan said, “I’d like to speak with you.”

  “About what?”

  “About McCallum,” Coogan replied. “What I said was true. I might have a mission for him. But I need to know if he’s capable of pulling it off.”

  “I’m a doctor,” Carla responded, “not a military person. I have no way to know how competent McCallum is.”

  “No. What I want is your assessment of whether McCallum could take charge of a team and hold it together long enough to blow up an enemy target. He’s subject to hallucinations according to one of your coworkers.”

  One of Carla’s peers had been feeding information to the resistance. Which one? Not that it mattered. “McCallum is a very responsible person,” Carla replied. “That’s why he feels so badly about losing his team. Even though there was nothing McCallum could do to prevent their deaths, he blames himself.

  “So, if he had a new team, it seems reasonable to suppose that he would feel equally responsible for it,” Carla concluded. “And that might keep him integrated. But it’s just a theory. The human mind has a lot of moving parts, and his was injured.”

  “Thank you,” Coogan said. “I appreciate your input. You’re welcome to stay if you’d like to. Lord knows we need doctors. But it won’t be pretty if you’re captured. You might want to leave while that’s possible. We’ll provide you with supplies and a map.”

  Carla knew the rebel leader was right, but was willing to take the chance. “I’m going to stay. And, if you send McCallum on that mission, I want to go with him. The team will need a doctor.”

  Coogan frowned. “Is that the doctor speaking? Or the woman?”

  “Both,” Carla replied. “Let’s leave it at that.”

  * * *

  After drawing a set of civilian work clothes and eating some glutinous macaroni with Rivera, McCallum was free to choose one of the cots in Tunnel 1. Each bed was equipped with a soiled pillow and a Madsen Company blanket. That’s all McCallum needed. Sleep pulled him down.

  There was nothing other than nothing at first. Then the dreams began. McCallum was running, shouting orders, and looking for cover. When the mercs fired, legionnaires fell. His legionnaires. McCallum paused to grab a corporal’s harness and drag her into the relative safety of an equipment shed.

  The metal siding was thick enough to stop the small caliber stuff, but .50 caliber rounds passed right through it, and green tracers crisscrossed the interior head-high. That would have been the end of the fight if it hadn’t been for the team’s heavily armed Trooper Vs. Intense fire from their machineguns and arm-mounted energy weapons kept the mercenaries from advancing.

  McCallum and his radio operator sat huddled under a tractor. “Ground Pounder to Sky Eye,” McCallum said. “This is Ground Pounder. Over.”

  McCallum heard a burp of static followed by a female voice. “This is Sky Eye. I have you five-by-five. Over.”

  “We have the prize. But we’re surrounded and taking heavy fire. Request air support and a fly form. Over.”

  A moment passed while General Atov was summoned. McCallum recognized her voice. “This is Sky Eye actual. Hang in there Pounder, air support is five out. A dust-off will follow. Over.”

  McCallum felt better after that. If Atov said help was on the way, then help was on the way. The fire fight continued. Men, women, and cyborgs died. But that was what they were paid to do. What hewas paid to do. And something each of them had chosen.

  Then, after what seemed like an eternity, the air assets arrived. Rather than announce themselves, as they normally would, the fighters attacked. Not the mercenaries, but the shed the legionnaires were hiding in, and that’s when McCallum screamed.

  McCallum woke to find that he was sitting up. His body was drenched in sweat, and his heart was beating fast. He looked left and right. Had he screamed out loud? No, apparently not. Rivera was snoring two feet away. Thank god for that.

  McCallum forced himself to lay down. Now he was afraid to sleep lest he betray himself. Time passed slowly. Eventually a runner arrived. “Coogan wants to see you,” the woman said. “He’s waiting in his office.”

  McCallum was grateful for the chance to get up, but Rivera wasn’t. He bitched all the way to the coffee pot, and from there to the office, where Coogan and members of his staff were waiting. “You know Rivera,” Coogan said, “and this is Lieutenant McCallum. He was a member of the Legion until recently, and he’s willing to help us.

  “Lieutenant McCallum, this is Captain Hassan, our S-1, Captain Fenton, our S-2, and Major Ossey, our S-3. I told you that we might have a job for you, and we do. Captain Fenton? Bring the lieutenant up to speed.”

  McCallum knew that an S-2 was an intelligence officer, and the use of such titles seemed to confirm his suspicion that Coogan was a veteran of someone’s army. A planetary force perhaps.

  Fenton was thirty-something. She wore her hair in a ponytail, and was dressed in an olive-drab jump suit and a pair of muddy boots. A pistol was slung beneath her left arm. She nodded. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant. The Owens snatch was a work of art. Please accept my condolences regarding the loss of your team.

  “What I’m about to describe is a mission which, if successful, will hand General Atov a significant defeat. It won’t win the war, but it will drag the conflict out for a year, and provide us with a chance to regroup.”

  “I’m in,” McCallum said. “Let’s do this thing.”

  Fenton smiled. “I like your attitude. Here’s some background. As you are no doubt aware, the time-space continuum is thinner in some places—making it easier to enter or leave hyperspace at those locations.

  “There could be tens of thousands of such points in our galaxy, but only eight-hundred and sixty-seven have been mapped and marked with beacons. A Madsen Mining scout ship discovered a jump point in this system. The company marked it with a beacon, filed a claim on the planet, and spent billions to settle it.

  “Time passed. And as more and more shipping began to use the jump point, the Imperial government sent Madsen an electronic draft for half a billion dollars and took control of the beacon. Now the government intends to tax everything that comes and goes through the jump point—and levy a surcharge on the proceeds from Madsen’s Rhodium mine too.”

  “That’s where the mission comes in,” Fenton added. “If we could put a team on the space station where the beacon is located, and destroy it, shipping would slow to a crawl.

  “Yes, the imperials know where the node is. But to reestablish the beacon they’ll have to send a new one, plus ships to protect it, all through normal space. And Madsen’s mercenaries will be waiting for them.

  “After that, who knows? Maybe we win and maybe we lose. But we’ll have a chance. And that’s more than we have now. Do you have any questions?”

  “Yes,” McCallum replied. “Why me?”

  “Because,” Coogan replied, “you are, or were, a Legion officer. And the space station is protected by legionnaires. You know how they think, and you know how they fight. Once on the station that could give you an edge.

  “But there’s something more as well. Only a person with an Imperial implant can operate the space station’s outer lock. Yes, it might be possible for someone else to bullshit their way in, but the station’s crew will expect to receive a navy officer, or a legionnaire, and it would be a shame to disappoint them.”

  McCallum gave the proposal some thought. Desertion was bad enough. But what if he was forced to kill some legionnaires? Could he live with that? Yes, the inner voice said. The Legion killed your team. And while he couldn’t kill Atov he needed to do something. McCallum nodded. “I’m your man.”

  That’s what McCallum said. But, deep inside he wondered. Are you up to it? Can you face combat again? Are you the man you were? No one answered.

  * * *

  Strange shapes squatted or loomed all around as Carla followed McCallum’s team through a maze of worn out mining machines. Two days had passed since she’d been abducted from the hospital and McCallum had agreed to Colonel Coogan’s proposal. “There she is,” their guide said. “Straight ahead.”

  The Solar Queen was about sixty-years old and was waiting to be scrapped when members of the resistance brought her back to life. The freighter was crouched on her skids, ramp down, waiting for the team to board. A rectangle of light beckoned.

  As Carla followed the others aboard she saw peeling paint, some loose wires that dangled from above, and a badly scarred deck. “All she has to do is get us there and bring us back,” McCallum assured her. And that was true. But could she? That remained to be seen.

  Assuming the old lady could lift, and exit the atmosphere, what then? Would the Imperial navy blow the Queen to smithereens? The answer was “no,” according to Coogan.

  The transponder had been stolen from an Imperial warship that was undergoing repairs on the far side of the planet. Since that time the device had been installed in the Solar Queen which, according to the signal she was broadcasting, was the Imperial cargo vessel Helios.