“You know the rules,” the guard said gruffly. “Walk five paces ahead, do exactly as I say, and keep your mouth shut.”

  Like most of the guards this one was sloppy. One by one, the more competent guards were leaving, headed for combat units, while second and third rate troops came in to replace them. This one was a joke, standing way too close, and damned near asking to have his butt kicked.

  For the millionth time Kilgor considered taking the guard’s blaster and shooting his way out. And for the millionth time he rejected a plan which would kill a lot of guards, end his life, and accomplish nothing.

  He still wanted to live, still cared, still hoped. Would he feel the same way in five years? Ten? Twenty?

  He thought of Susan and the glimpse he’d caught of her two days before. Her presence gave him hope somehow. Hope that he’d see her, talk to her, touch her hand.

  News travels fast inside a prison and High Bluff was no exception. As Kilgor walked down a long series of sterile halls word of his journey rippled outwards like waves from the center of a pond.

  Hand-talk jerked and fluttered as Kilgor passed groups of prisoners.

  “Where ya headed? What’s the deal? Anything I can do?” These questions and many more were asked and answered without the guard seeing a thing.

  Kilgor was already a “somebody” inside the brig, leader of the prisoner council, and someone to be reckoned with.

  Within weeks of their arrival Kilgor’s Brig Rats had identified all of the social outcasts at High Bluff, recruited most of them, and quadrupled the group’s size.

  Then, using people like Freese, Bugs and Red as enforcers, Kilgor had taken control of the other groups. Things were touch-and-go for awhile as Kilgor’s Rats went one-on-one with the heaviest muscle the other groups could bring to bear.

  Battles were fought in the chow line, wars were waged in the showers, and scores were settled in the halls. But because most of Kilgor’s troops were more than a little crazy, and willing to take unbelievable casualties, they won.

  It proved his theory. Loners are tougher than joiners. They have to be in order to survive.

  Once he had control, Kilgor took steps to end the wars. Alliances were forged, agreements struck, and many of the old abuses eliminated.

  Kilgor’s platform was simple: “This place is bad enough without making it worse.” It was simple, straightforward, and quite sensible. It was also very popular.

  So Kilgor’s trip to the admin section constituted big news and the prison grapevine was full of it.

  Kilgor had never been taken to the admin section before so he didn’t know what to expect. The elevator was huge, large enough to hold an entire company of troops all at once, which was exactly what it was designed to do. In the case of a riot, the elevator could deliver lots of guards to every level of the prison in a short period of time. Outside of a motionless maintenance bot, the elevator was completely empty.

  It dropped like a rock and came to a smooth stop. Kilgor stepped out into a hall full of troops. Real troops.

  With help from a variety of utility bots they were moving furniture, unloading boxes from power pallets, and generally getting in each other’s way.

  Kilgor was surprised and knew his guard was, too. It showed in the way he moved. Taking Kilgor by the elbow, a stupid move if there ever was one, the guard guided him towards a door marked “Commandant.”

  It hissed open and they stepped inside. It was a large well-lit room with a big desk and a wall-sized vid screen. Kilgor had expected to see a woman behind the desk, but not General Kelly.

  He barely recognized her. The big, almost burly, woman present at his court martial had been replaced by a hollow-eyed scarecrow. The general’s uniform hung around her in empty folds, and with a sudden shock, Kilgor realized that her left arm was missing.

  She stood, winced with pain, and held out her right hand. “Hello, Kilgor. You look a helluva lot better than I feel.”

  She turned to the guard. “Haul ass, son. This prisoner’s safe with me.”

  The guard took two steps backwards, delivered a half-hearted salute, performed a sloppy about-face, and left the room.

  Kelly shook her head as the door closed behind him. “Barracks scrapings. What’s this army coming to? No wonder Nithra volunteered for combat. Ah well, we would’ve taken her, anyway.”

  General Kelly sat on a corner of her desk and gestured towards a guest chair. “Sit down Kilgor . . . and stop looking at me like that.”

  Kilgor sat down. “Sorry general, I’m surprised to see you, that’s all.”

  Kelly chuckled. “Bullshit. I’m one arm short, thirty pounds light, and look like hell warmed over.”

  She pointed at her empty sleeve. “ ’Bout three weeks ago the bugs made a commando raid on HQ. Don’t know why. Just to show they could, I guess. Zigged when I should’ve zagged. You’ll like this though . . . the ugly bastards caught Hurd sitting on the can. Fried his ass!”

  Kilgor smiled, not at Hurd’s death, but at Kelly’s irrepressible style. The woman was amazing. Then he thought about what she’d said, and the smile disappeared. “Arista HQ? They hit that?”

  Kelly nodded soberly. “Scary ain’t it? No big deal since we got the real important stuff stashed elsewhere . . . but frightening just the same.”

  “Things aren’t going well?”

  Kelly was silent for a moment before she spoke. Her eyes were deadly serious. “No, they aren’t. We’re arming children over the age of twelve. The navy’s so short on equipment that they’re wiring old men and women into missile guidance systems. Every home, office, and factory is a fortress. There’s going to be one more battle, a big one, winner take all.”

  Kilgor jerked a thumb towards the hall. “That’s what’s going on here . . . you’re fortifying High Bluff?”

  Kelly nodded. “Right. This dump is being remodeled as a back-up command post and a surface-to-space missile battery.” She gestured to the room. “A lot of it is underground.”

  Kilgor felt his heart thump a little faster. “What about the prisoners? What happens to us?”

  Kelly smiled a crooked smile. “Well, that depends.” She touched the surface of her desk. A side door slid open and Struck stepped into the room. Kilgor hadn’t seen him since RS-4. For reasons never explained Struck had been shipped somewhere else. Wait a minute, what was that uniform Struck was wearing? It was army instead of a marine, and bore the flashes of a captain, along with the crossed daggers of military intelligence.

  Struck smiled and stuck out a huge right hand. “Hello Colonel. Long time no see.”

  Kilgor stood and shook the other man’s hand. “Why do I have the feeling that I’ve been snookered?”

  “Because you were,” Struck said cheerfully. “General Kelly put me inside to track your progress.”

  Kelly nodded her agreement. “In spite of appearances to the contrary, Arista values good officers.”

  Kelly turned to Struck. “Captain, define ‘good officers.’ ”

  Struck smiled. “Yes mam. A ‘good officer’ is any officer that kills a lot of bugs.”

  Kelly nodded her satisfaction and turned back to Kilgor. “Damned right. And, since you killed a lot of bugs, I put Struck in there to keep an eye on you.”

  Kilgor remembered the evening when Struck had stood up to defend him. “l owe you one, Captain.”

  Struck shrugged. “I meant everything I said. The problem was that the General here forgot to pull me out until the last moment.”

  “He needed to lose a few pounds,” Kelly responded loftily. “By the way, Struck monitored your behavior in here as well, so he’s something of an expert on Ras Kilgor.”

  “You’ve got agents in here?” Kilgor asked. He’d expected a stoolie or two, but MI agents?

  Kelly raised an eyebrow. “Of course. It’s my job to know what’s going on in this woman’s army. That’s how we weed out the really sadistic guards and incompetent commandants.”

  “Some of them, anyway,” Struck put in sarcastically.

  Kelly ignored him. “The point is, we thought you might come in handy someday. Now we need an answer to the following question: Has prison turned you bitter? If so, then you aren’t worth a damn to me or anyone else.”

  Kelly turned to Struck. “Well, Captain . . . what’s the verdict? Is Kilgor worth a damn or not?”

  Struck frowned. “That depends, General. I wouldn’t describe Kilgor as bitter, but there’s little doubt that he considered himself innocent, and bears the system a grudge.”

  Kelly laughed. “Not too surprising all things considered. The question is, can he command?”

  Struck chuckled. “Can and does. He runs this prison. Kilgor could turn it upside down and inside out if he wanted to.”

  Kelly rubbed her stump. “Then why doesn’t he?”

  Struck shrugged. “This is only a guess mind you, but I suspect Kilgor has morals, a rather heavy burden for someone in his position.”

  Kelly smiled. “Is that right Kilgor? Have you got morals?”

  Kilgor shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “There’s some things I won’t do . . . yes.”

  Kelly turned to Struck. “Would you follow Kilgor into battle?”

  Struck looked at Kilgor and back to Kelly. “Any time, any place.”

  Kelly nodded, and reached into the side pocket of her camo jacket. She pulled out a small black box and tossed it Kilgor’s way. “Welcome back, Colonel . . . we need your help.”

  Kilgor caught the box and lifted the lid. The comets glittered gold.

  “They’re yours,” Kelly said, “the same ones Wanto ripped off your uniform. I kept them for you.”

  Kilgor’s throat felt tight. He tried to speak but found he couldn’t. Kelly understood and continued to speak.

  “That’s the good news. The bad news is that I can’t give you a line unit. I pulled some G’s at what’s left of HQ, but not enough to restore your rank and your old unit. Nope, the truth is that if we weren’t standing up to our belt buckles in bug poop, you’d be here for good.”

  Kilgor smiled. “That’s okay General, I understand. So what’s available?”

  Kelly looked at Struck and they both laughed. It was Struck who answered. “Why, the Brig Rats, what else?”

  Kilgor learned some interesting things during the next few days. The first time was that Kelly had been planning to “reactivate” military prisoners for some time. She’d seen the pattern of bug victories, understood what was coming, and made contingency plans. Military prisoners were only one aspect of those plans. It was through Kelly’s foresight and long range planning that Arista had sufficient weapons to arm the civilian population.

  The second thing Kilgor learned was his mission. The Brig Rats, formally designated as the First Battalion, Third Marines, would occupy and hold a partially completed orbital weapons platform known as Defender Seven. In Kelly’s words, “Defender Seven was part of the friction, the resistance designed to slow the Hothri down, and give us a chance on the ground.”

  Defender Seven, along with three similar platforms and the two surviving moons, was to absorb the initial shock of the bug assault and hold-as long as it possibly could. In the meantime, Kelly’s ground forces, including the entire civilian population of Arista, would prepare a warm reception.

  It was the perfect assignment for military prisoners. It would keep them away from Arista’s regular troops, limit their chances of escape, and foreclose the possibility of retreat. If they won, so much the better, if they lost, so what?

  It was a tough mission, but one Kilgor’s marine and naval personnel were reasonably well trained for. It was also preferable to rotting in prison. Or so Kilgor assumed.

  The third thing Kilgor learned was that taking control from within, and taking command from without, were two different things.

  As a prisoner, he’d been one of them, suffered the same indignities, opposed the same rules.

  But the moment Kilgor reverted to officer status, he lost the credibility that went with being a Brig Rat and became an authority figure again.

  Kilgor got his first glimpse of the problem when he summoned his original group of Brig Rats to give them the news.

  Although word was out that something was going on, the prisoners didn’t know what, and Kilgor wanted to keep it that way as long as he could.

  Before destroying one social structure, he’d have to create another, and that’s where his cronies came in. Given the fact that Kilgor had days rather than months to organize a full fledged battalion, there wasn’t enough time to promote on merit. By turning his original cadre of Brig Rats into company commanders, Kilgor hoped to geta head start on pulling the outfit together. That was the theory anyway. The reality was something else.

  Having gotten his hands on some camos to go with the comets, and commandeered a conference room just down the corridor from Kelly’s office, Kilgor waited for the Brig Rats to file in. It was silly, but he looked forward to watching their faces as they took in his uniform, and the comets on his shoulders.

  And then there was Susan. Would it still be there? The feeling that had existed between them? Or had it vanished, a victim of prison life?

  Wires entered first, followed by Freese, Red, Bugs, and finally, Susan.

  Kilgor drank her in, searched her face for clues that she was okay, signs that she felt the same joy he did. And the signs were there, in the warmth of her eyes, and the smile on her face.

  Then the feelings were gone, stashed away like civilian clothes to be used when the time was right, submerged under a thousand years of military tradition.

  Wires was the first to react. “Holy Sol! The bird of paradise took a shit on the boss’s shoulders!”

  Then came a confused babble of voices as everyone tried to speak at once. Kilgor held up a hand for silence. “Whoa! Hold on! Let me explain.”

  So they did, and by the time Kilgor was finished, most were scowling. Red was first to speak.

  “You gotta be kidding boss . . . it sounds like a suicide mission to me. What’s in it for us?”

  Kilgor knew better than to talk about concepts like “freedom,” and “independence,” so he kept to the basics.

  “The answer’s simple, Red. Volunteer and you’re back in the crotch, full pay, clean record.”

  “Big deal,” Freese put in disgustedly. “I thought you were different Kilgor, a regular guy, but now I see you’re like all the rest. Pure brass through and through. They screw you, throw you some comets, and you come running. It makes me sick.”

  Kilgor saw Susan start to say something but gave a tiny shake of his head. Anything she could say wouldn’t be enough and might come back to haunt her. He was losing them pure and simple. Well, there were others, men and women less cynical or more eager to escape the brig.

  Kilgor took a deep breath and got ready to send them away, when help came from an unexpected source . . . Bugs.

  Bugs shook his head in disgust. “Freese . . . you ain’t got the brains God gave corporals. Why not listen for a change? This ain’t about us and them, it’s about the friggin bugs killin’ every damn thing on this planet, and using your momma’s backyard to hatch their eggs.

  “Now I don’t know about you poop for brains, but I’d rather meet the bugs with a gun in my hands, than sittin’ here in the brig waitin’ to fry. I say we sign on and grease the bugs before they grease us.”

  No one seemed to have a ready reply, or if they did, the guts to deliver it in the face of Bugs’ truculence. Although aware of Bugs’s history, and the fact that he enjoyed killing Hothri, Kilgor was not about to question this unexpected support. He looked around the room.

  “I think Bugs summed it up rather well. So, unless someone wants to wait for the bugs locked inside a cell, welcome to the First Battalion, Third Marines. From now on, each one of you holds the rank of Captain.”

  “Captain?” Red said enthusiastically. “No kidding? Hey this ain’t so bad after alll”

  “Oh really?” Wires asked sarcastically. “And what if someone puts an A-6 demo-pack under your bunk?”

  Red made a rude gesture in her direction and Wires laughed.

  Suddenly Kilgor had the support he needed. Susan smiled and he smiled back. Both were thinking the same thing. No matter what happened they’d deal with it together.

  Defender Seven was shaped like a pie from which a single piece had been eaten. The platform was big, about a mile across, and its reflectorized surface rippled with light. During the initial stages of a battle, the platform’s shiny hull would reflect laser based energy weapons.

  Knowing that, the bugs would use missiles instead, which explained why Defender Seven’s architects had specified so many anti-missile batteries. Unfortunately, thirty-two percent of them were nothing more than gaping black holes. Everything was in short supply.

  Kilgor grimaced as the navy shuttle skimmed low and slow over the platform’s hull. Army officers didn’t get much training on the fine points of orbital warfare, but he was learning fast.

  “You want another run, Colonel?”

  The navy pilot was young, right out of advanced combat school, and cocky as hell. Defender Seven had only twelve of the thirty-six aero-space fighters it was entitled to, plus a couple of beat-up shuttles.

  “Yeah,” Kilgor responded. “Give me another run.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The pilot put the shuttle into a tight turn and headed back across the upper surface of Defender Seven’s hull.

  Kilgor looked down into the black wedge where ten percent of the platform’s hull was missing and saw pinpoints of light wink on and off as construction crews continued their work.

  They’d never make it in time. According to Kelly, the Hothri fleet was already on its way.

  That meant a ten percent hole in the platform’s defensive weaponry, and if you drew straight lines out from the missing wedge, a regular highway for incoming bugs.

  Once the battle began, their computers would take all of five or ten seconds to identify the dead spot and re-direct their forces to that approach. Kilgor made a mental note to do something about that.