Reciprocal Paranoia

By Mike Freeman

RECIPROCAL PARANOIA is a hard hitting space opera/ scifi adventure. It is the FOURTH book in the Contact series (after Redemption Protocol, Remission Praxis and Recidivist Paradox).

‘A hell of a read! Thrills and spills, heart stopping moments, laugh out loud humor, gripping horror and packed with cool technology.’ C. RILEY

‘I loved it! I’ve been waiting for Bob Stone to reappear for two books and it was worth the wait! What a ride!’ L. WELLS

‘Great entertainment! Fantastic characters, incredible imagination and compulsive, page turning action. Occasionally hilarious.’ J. HARRIS

Trust no one...

There is no trust in the system as the Talmas-infected advance their agenda and civilizations prepare for war. The remnants of the Alliance team flee the towers while, beneath the surface, Stone is oblivious to the People’s Republic marines as they close in for the kill...

Rated [R]. Violence, sex, profanity.

US English. 115,000 words.

About the author. To give his stories a realistic edge, Mike has been bitten by a snake, suffered frost bite, had his wayward yacht sink under him during a force nine gale, held a NATO TOP SECRET security classification and been serially used by a string of beautiful women. He is scared of horses and lives in a sprawling metropolis, where there are none.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mike Freeman
• Release date: Nov 4, 2013
• ISBN: 9781310076077

Mike Freeman

Mike Freeman is an NFL Insider for CBSSports.com. Before that, he was an NFL writer, investigative reporter, and columnist for the New York Times; a columnist for the Florida Times-Union; and a sports reporter, features writer, and investigative writer for the Washington Post, Boston Globe, and Dallas Morning News. He lives in New Jersey.

Book preview

Prologue

The final chapter of Recidivist Paradox. Skip it.

Prologue

Havoc swung furiously at Abbott’s suit with his filament blade. He and Abbott spun around each other like two crocodiles locked in a death roll. They crashed through the remnants of the container wall and into stick one. Havoc could sense the balance of power and it was his.

Abbott was going down.

For some reason the Talmas wasn’t launching its tendrils at him. Havoc had a full spread of laser fire zoning Abbott’s helmet in case the Talmas tried. Abbott felt like a shadow of the creature that had effortlessly taunted him in the quantum chamber. Not that he was complaining. He sensed the additional lifesign as they tumbled into stick one.

Don’t kill me, Havoc! He made me tell him!

Whittenhorn crouched against the side wall. The coffins were blown to hell, the debris floating in freefall.

Havoc spun Abbott around, trying to get a grip on him. He twisted his adversary, trying to line him up with the ragged hole in the hull. He wanted to fling Abbott into space so that he could blow him to hell, no holds barred. That way he could be certain there was nothing left.

Abbott streamed kinetics past his head as Havoc grappled his suit. Havoc swung Abbott between him and the jagged hole into space. Their filament blades clashed, flaring brilliantly as they destroyed each other. Havoc tried to thrust Abbott backward but Abbott grabbed the upper arm of his suit. Whittenhorn floated by the side wall behind him.

Help me, Havoc. I need air.

Havoc targeted Abbott’s suit with a massive electromagnetic pulse. Abbott’s suit temporarily died. Havoc activated the liquid cutter on his left forearm and slashed Abbott’s gauntlet off at the wrist. Abbott glanced down in surprise. Havoc cut away Abbott’s last micromissile launcher and twisted him back into line with the giant hole in the hull. He rolled back and stamped hard on Abbott’s chest. Abbott looked bemused as he flew backward, out of the hole and into space.

Abbott’s suit crackled as he struggled to revive it. Havoc sustained his electromagnetic offensive and readied the biggest salvo he dared to launch at fifty meters. Once Abbott got far enough away, he would vaporize him.

Five hundred milliseconds to go. Hell, he was looking forward to this. Whittenhorn drifted next to him, his face full of tears.

I’m sorry, Havoc. He made me tell him.

Havoc’s eyes didn’t shift from the target.

It’s alright, Whittenhorn, I’m not––

The Talmas calf erupted from Whittenhorn’s face.

Havoc was blinded, and then he was gone.

~    ~    ~

Weaver pulled herself through the desolate hulk.

She’d patched her helmet and her suit had self-sealed the cut in its side and its tanks. That said, her suit’s oxygen reservoir was critically low and whilst her body had sealed her internal reservoir, it was empty. She needed to get oxygen and quickly. She glanced through the ragged hole into stick one. She didn’t want to drift straight into the Talmas.

Alert’s flashed in her mind’s eye, reminding her of her dwindling oxygen supply. There was no point in hanging around. She swallowed, trying not to think the worst. She grabbed a twisted piece of composite and pulled herself into stick one.

> Havoc?

Havoc floated out from the shadows. He was silhouetted against Neria’s brilliant accretion disc that was visible through a large hole in the hull. His suit looked scorched and battle worn. As always, he looked impossibly dangerous.

> Hey, Scientist. Are you alright?

She’d never felt so grateful to hear someone’s voice. It felt wonderful to see him alive.

> Yes. Are you?

He smiled as he approached her.

> Better for seeing you.

She smiled, then caught movement out of the corner of her eye.

> Is that Whittenhorn?

Havoc glanced at the corpse drifting across the back of the stick. He nodded.

> He didn’t make it.

> What about Abbott?

Havoc pointed at the narrow viewscreen running along the hull. Webbing trailed out of the gaping hole and alongside the shuttle, visible through the viewscreen. Weaver nearly jumped out of her skin as Abbott stared sightlessly at her through the window. Abbott’s body bumped gently against the hull as it floated in the webbing.

> Is he…?

> Yes.

> The Talmas?

Havoc made a puffing motion with his right hand.

> Gone.

She looked at him.

> But how…?

He nodded at her.

> I think that thing in your head nearly killed it. I wouldn’t have stood a chance otherwise.

Of course, she thought. The blast of energy from her passenger. A flurry of emotions overwhelmed her.

> Oh, Havoc, thank goodness. We’re so lucky. If Abbott had known, he’d never have let me near him.

Havoc nodded.

> I know.

She started to cry.

> It’s over. It’s really over.

He smiled.

> Yes, it is.

They smiled at each other as they held each other’s gaze. It was a wonderful moment. She looked up at him coyly as she floated toward him.

> Hey, mister.

He watched her with amusement in his eyes.

> Yes?

She drifted closer.

> I need some air.

Coincident Symphony

First Doctrine

The Rolling Stone

And then there were six

Trinculo

Starlight Deep Dive

The Eyes of Plutus

Pegasus Falls

First Doctrine

 1.

Major Voth gazed out from his command cabin, watching thick gouts of blue-gray dust stream from the broken satellite tower and spread like sea fog over the vast Arena basin. Patches of smog suffocated the surface and swamped cabins, while smoky appendages strangled the towers rising from the mist. The general visibility worsened continuously, insidiously; always worse than a minute before. Voth thought the Arena conditions would deteriorate into perpetual sandstorm if the volcanic ruin sustained its prodigious vomit. Dust sandblasted the window in front of his face before spiraling away to scour something else. His tethered cabin rattled in the rising wind, but Voth felt strangely isolated from the gale raging only centimeters from his face. Truth be told, he felt a little numb.

He sighed.

They’d got the Scepters, thank the fates. As he stood here, staring dumbly – possibly in shock, possibly not – Colonel Fluellen was personally overseeing the ground testing of the precious alien assets, and the planetary patrol vessel Saber Cut stood ready to lift out Fluellen and their prize to their flagship Valiant. Fluellen wanted to be sure – as sure as they could be, that is – that the three Scepters weren’t bombs, tricks or traps before he escorted them to the Valiant. Voth felt uncomfortable at the thought of transporting the alien technology right to the heart of their fleet – he would have preferred to conduct the detailed analysis at a surface base, in a remote orbital lab or even on one of their platforms – but the senior and prevailing view was that the Scepters were too valuable to be stored anywhere but on one of their capital ships. This view assumed Havoc hadn’t played Voth, of course, and that the Scepters were genuine – Voth thought Havoc hadn’t and that they were, respectively; he hoped so, anyway. Voth turned to gaze out the opposite side of the cabin, which looked across their camp. Suits tilted into the wind as they scrambled past the immobile Colonel Fluellen, who drifted in and out of the blue-gray blizzard like a mountain in a storm as he supervised proceedings.

Voth sighed again as he tried to spur himself into full productivity. He might be an experienced intelligence operative, but it wasn’t every day you saw your entire squad wiped out in front of you. It had been so damn fast – faster than he could comprehend. He took a deep breath, thinking as he always did – mistakenly, he was always reassured – that he could smell the defensive nanites permeating the cabin air supply. The cabin reminded him of the smell of a medical facility, though he didn’t know why, since he’d spent so little time in medstations or hospitals. Perhaps a latent boyhood memory…

Come on, Voth, focus.

After the clusterfuck that had resulted from the two failed ambushes – one in the carousel cavern and one in the tower – Voth was keen to chat to their intelligence source – Darkwood – face-to-face. Voth glanced at Lieutenant Dixon as she tracked sideways along the wallscreen, scrutinizing their feeds.

Anything on Darkwood yet?

Not yet, Major.

It’s a priority.

Dixon turned to face him.

I understand, Major.

What was wrong with him? He raised an apologetic hand.

Sorry.

Dixon nodded.

I have Sergeant Klusky for you, Major. He has the count.

Voth gazed out the window. The colossal towers stood like giant tombstones in the thickening duststorm. The cabin walls hummed as the winds blasted particles into them in waves; apparently the team at the Colosseum was having a hellish time with the weather. Voth tried to get his uncooperative and lackadaisical mind into gear.

Good job on the recovery, Sergeant Klusky, and well done getting your team out in one piece.

Thanks, Major. I have the count but it’s hard to be definitive.

I understand.

Two unaccounted for, possibly buried, and an intermittent signal on Hardwick before we lost it.

He might be alive?

Unlikely, Major. We recovered his legs and most of his torso, but his head and arms were missing. I’d say recently deceased and possibly recoverable if we get to him soon enough. The signal cut abruptly.

The Gathering picked him up?

It’s possible. Either that or he was buried in the tower.

Voth grimaced. The debris around the broken tower was hundreds of meters deep in places.

Anything on Lieutenant Ellis?

I think she’s down, Major.

No recovery signals from the rest?

Nothing, Major.

The two missing?

Spinner and Ventrone. It’s possible their suit systems were killed or they’re deeply buried. If they manage to restore comms we could try and recover them from the rubble, which leads to the obvious question, Major.

Voth nodded.

It does indeed, Sergeant. Please arrange a ground level scan of the debris. Let’s see if we can find them.

Will do, Major.

Thank you, Sergeant.

Voth clicked off as Lieutenant Dixon frowned at him.

The obvious question, Major?

Voth sighed even as he realized he was sighing too much. Dixon watched him with a concerned expression. Snap out of it, Voth.

Abbott and the Gathering landed on the tower and spent several minutes there, Dixon. There is a clear risk of infection. He gazed out the window, his features troubled. Even if we manage to locate the missing commandos, we have to decide if we pick them up.

 2.

Admiral Rhoden sat in an isolated island of calm in the center of her quadrant of the bustling command center of the United Systems flagship Valiant. The center buzzed with an escalating murmur of excitement and tension – with the acquisition of three alien targeting Scepters, and a major Fleet meeting commencing shortly, it was clear to the crew that a major decision point was imminent. Staff flitted between the stations to ensure that their briefs were current, comprehensive and did not contradict the rolling drafts of the other section briefs in the meeting pack.

Rhoden traced her finger over the fine handle of her porcelain teacup. Capital ship engagements at short range were planned for days but decided in seconds. The quality of the former had a major effect on latter, and small swings could have disproportionately large impacts. No one wanted to be responsible for the error that caused the loss of the fleet.

She watched in dismay as staff trickled continuously into her command center from functions with considerably laxer dress requirements than her own, causing not only the visual texture, but the behavioral ambiance, and more importantly, the tone, of her command center to deteriorate. Illustrating the point perfectly, Rhoden could trace the passage of the tall, broadchested and flagrantly open-shirted third officer Montreuil back to his station by the flock of hands being dragged through hair, necks curving like flamingos, and, most tellingly, heads flicking hair in sequence across the room like the passing crest of a wave.

It was the inevitable consequence of drawing the crew together, particularly in times of danger or imminent conflict. For herself, Rhoden would have preferred that the crew didn’t congregate at all. It was, for her, a regrettable fact that face-to-face synchronous meetings, in person where possible, had more effective outcomes than asynchronous remote communication. Rhoden found this mildly frustrating but, as ever, she wouldn’t fight the data.

She cast her gaze across the swelling numbers of crew. She knew it was her job to lead these people and not just manage them, though she would have infinitely preferred the latter – that people needed leading at all was a glaring human deficiency in her eyes.

One of Rhoden’s key strengths, noted time and again, was her emotional detachment which enabled her to make better fact-based decisions. She never felt shame or regret in deciding that her current strategy was wrong, and was prepared to instantly change her mind, including entirely reversing direction, when the facts supported it. Some of her subordinates found her fact-based flexibility troubling to deal with as they mistakenly conflated a ‘strong’ leader – who stuck to their course no matter what – with a ‘superior’ leader – who achieved their objectives – not realizing that they were placing a premium on nothing more than pigheadedness. This was an evolutionary trait, of course, to favor inflexibility, and one that in most cases Rhoden found to be a flaw in ship command. However, it was a fact that people were drawn to clear direction and were uncomfortable if their leaders radically, and particularly, frequently, changed plans. That was their problem, or rather, Rhoden wished it was their problem but knew it wasn’t.

Her lack of emotional attachment went further, of course, and this was the aspect that her crew found most troubling of all. Rhoden had as little attachment to poor performing subordinates as she did to poorly performing strategic positions. If either was suboptimal, she changed them without hesitation. She had little, if any, sentimental attachment to her crew and ruthlessly dismissed anyone she thought was doing a poor job. Her approach had garnered her a reputation for extraordinary ruthlessness even as it had proved highly effective in practice. It had also, unfortunately, created a near unnavigable block to her further advancement within the Service.

This assignment, managing an exploration flotilla, was perhaps her final opportunity to prove she could develop a meaningful relationship with the crew of her fleet. If she failed to do so on this mission, the chance that she would someday lead a full combat group was slender indeed – she was increasingly viewed as an excellent supporting officer to a Fleet Admiral – as Commander Taka was to her – rather than being Fleet Admiral material herself. Confirmation bias ensured that the more entrenched this perspective became in higher echelons of the Service, the less chance that Rhoden had of overcoming it. The very idea rankled her – she knew that most people eventually reached the ceiling of their potential, but she was damned if she had. Put another way, she knew she would make a fine Fleet Admiral and she was desperate for the chance to prove it.

She knew developing better relations with her crew would lead to measurably better fleet outcomes, but she was nervous in trying to develop a side of her personality that, quite frankly, she wasn’t sure existed. What if, in trying to improve her leadership, she ended up being terrible at both managing and leading? The whole idea was fraught with risk – which was how, she reflected dryly, she knew she was pushing her boundaries. Commander O’Brien had been assigned to her fleet so that she might learn from him; she’d gained a lot even in the short time that she’d seen him in action and she bitterly regretted his loss.

She was distracted from her reverie by a fine cup being set down beside her and her still full, albeit cold, cup, being taken away. The aroma of rose and hibiscus curled up from clear, hot water imbued with a pleasing hint of magenta. For once, the strength looked about perfect, and she carefully repositioned the cup and saucer in front of her. If she was honest, the primary reason that the main table wasn’t recessed into the floor – as it was in most command centers – was so that she could put her tea on it. This was a win-win for her as she infinitely preferred the table raised anyway, finding it altogether more civilized to have some kind of barrier between her and her crew when they met.

Commander Taka walked over to join her and seemed, for once, quite content to let Rhoden bask in her moment of solitude without pressing for a quick resolution to her latest query. After a short pause, Rhoden found this so disconcerting that she glanced up at her commander, who stood gazing out of the windows. Rhoden found this most curious. In the past two hours, Taka had taken to placing herself slightly to the side of her customary position, which Rhoden found mildly irritating though for no good reason.

Rhoden followed Taka’s sightline as her commander gazed toward a galactic star cluster somewhere off the eleventh division of Plash. Rhoden chose to gaze out with Taka as the soothing aroma of her tea nurtured her. The distant star system was beautiful, though the cluster of infant galaxies in the center of the windows was more to Rhoden’s taste, where young stars beamed out from blossoming gas clouds flickering like pastel flames. Rhoden looked more closely at Taka’s system as it peeked over the lower windows. The rim of Plash was powerfully silhouetted by the brilliant light of Neria’s accretion disk where Taka preferred to stare, and the enduring eclipse presented a luminescent halo around the dark shadow of the alien planet… and the overly tight trousers of Third Officer Montreuil.

Taka sighed.

Rhoden’s eyes narrowed sharply as she glanced up at her commander. Taka was so absorbed she might be studying the brush strokes of a Raibolini. Rhoden observed the dashing figure of the broadchested Mr Montreuil, recently graduated from staff college, as he gazed at the stars and then marked up readings on his screen. What was Montreuil thinking about, Rhoden wondered, to have such a strikingly handsome look of contemplation on his face? Her expression soured. Probably nothing, she thought, though she conceded he was pretty in a generic fashion.

She glanced down at her cup, feeling uncomfortable with participating in such behavior. Perhaps Taka was merely taking a moment for herself in the same way that Rhoden did with her tea? Rhoden couldn’t make this idea fly. Leering at subordinates was simply not done. She cast her eye sideways as at least four male staff members paused to contemplate the striking figure of Captain Boutiette bending over a holo.

What was happening to her command center?

Commander Taka?

Admiral?

Rhoden framed her words.

Whilst I hate to be dragged into the minutiae of day-to-day operations, could you please remind staff officer Captain Boutiette that while what she wears in the operations center, or indeed her own cabin, is her business, her skirt is too short for the command center. The last thing I need is an error due to distraction.

Taka gave a hint of a smile.

Are you worried about our young men, Admiral?

Rhoden’s gaze lingered on Boutiette’s shapely legs.

I’m worried about everybody.

Taka chuckled, and Rhoden sniffed to convey her irritation. Commanders and ship captains should be able to arrange appropriate dress without her involvement, for goodness sake – though she conceded it was possible that the only person who was irked by Boutiette’s attire was her. One person too many, as far as she was concerned.

Didn’t I mention this before? she asked, knowing perfectly well that she had.

Taka bowed her head in acknowledgment.

It won’t happen again, Admiral. In her defense, Captain Boutiette seems entirely unaware.

Rhoden watched Boutiette pause in another alluring pose.

If you believe that, Commander, I have an infinity drive I’d like to sell you.

Taka chuckled. Rhoden’s gaze returned to the far window.

While you’re at it, Commander, please inquire of Third Officer Montreuil whether he is capable of operating his holo station with less than four of his shirt buttons undone? Does the man have a respiratory issue?

Taka stiffened as Rhoden’s focus swept rather closer to home.

I’ll see to it, Admiral.

Rhoden’s gaze picked out yet more suggestive attire amongst the junior male, and particularly the junior female, officers.

What’s got into our colts and fillies, Taka? I swear they should never have moved the staff college to d’Armorique.

Taka smiled.

Perhaps it’s because they’re young, Ma’am.

Rhoden’s glare intensified into the terawatt range at this outrageous insinuation. Taka hurriedly went on.

Though as you are aware, Admiral, crew assignations always spike dramatically when lives are at stake.

Somewhat mollified by the data, Rhoden deigned to nod.

The data do support that.

I came to ask if you have any final changes, Admiral?

No. Proceed, Commander.

Taka retreated and Rhoden reached for her cup. She lifted it to her nostrils and inhaled a long soothing breath, then reached forward to take a sip and nearly choked as Boutiette’s supple thighs swished along the rail in front of her.

Disgraceful.

 3.

Voth watched a dust dervish spin into existence and then careen away, growing to over two hundred meters in height. On most other worlds, it would be a weather event; here, it was an eddy in a stream.

Lieutenant Dixon stood aghast at what he’d said. Her reaction was natural. Voth was talking about nothing less than abandoning their own crew.

We’d leave them behind? Dixon said.

With a pained expression, Voth spread his hands.

If there has been contact with the Talmas, the contamination risks are unquantifiable and hence unmanageable except by isolation. We could lose everyone, Dixon.

Dixon’s expression grew increasingly disturbed.

But if they’re buried under the rubble, surely…?

Voth took a deep breath. How they handled the missing crew was critical not just to those stranded behind, but also to those still on crew: if word spread that people were abandoned for even the possibility of contact with the Talmas, morale and tactical responsiveness could take a serious hit. Fleet personnel were already finding it hard enough losing in straight up fights – both capital ships with the Diss, and expeditionary forces on the surface – since losing military confrontations wasn’t supposed to happen to United Systems expeditions when they had superior numbers.

Voth tried to give Dixon a reassuring look.

If we can establish that Spinner and Ventrone were buried before the Gathering landed on the tower then we’re good, and whatever happens, if we can reestablish comms then we’ll provide area protection and drop required support – we’re not abandoning anybody, Dixon. The Talmas’s combination of known lethality and unknown capability means we can’t risk direct contact with anyone who might have contacted it until we develop a scan in which we have total confidence – we can’t risk the mission and the rest of the crew until we know they’re one hundred percent clear. That said, if it turns out they’re alive, hopefully we’ll establish they were nowhere near the roof when the Talmas landed.

Dixon looked relieved as she pointed at the console.

"Got it, Major. I have Captain Lindquist from the Valiant for you."

Voth frowned in surprise – he’d requested that the contact with Havoc on the tower be analyzed by the Fleet’s Capability Assessment Unit, but he hadn’t expected an answer so quickly, and certainly their boss to call back. Interesting. He gestured at Dixon to hook them up.

Stay on the line, Dixon.

Dixon nodded and Voth stepped sideways, so the holos and screens of his command feeds were in view as he gazed out the window.

Captain Lindquist, this is Major Voth.

Major Voth, I’m head of the Capability Assessment Unit for the Information Operations Section of Commander Taka’s Flag Support Team.

Voth was a little surprised that Lindquist had burst signaled the simulcast of his mental voice for higher speed communication. Voth could see the emotional inflections marked up in the text, or play back Lindquist’s communication at a vastly accelerated rate. It was standard practice in a contact or any situation where time was of the essence, but Voth wouldn’t usually expect its use in these circumstances. He frowned at Lindquist.

Is time a factor here, Captain?

It could be, Major.

Voth was perplexed by Lindquist’s involvement. Given the Talmas, the Diss and the other ships in system, Voth would have thought Lindquist had plenty of more pressing matters elsewhere.

Are you my appointed tactical capability specialist, Captain?

I was very interested in the package you sent for analysis, Major.

Voth watched the gigantic cloud swirling across the Arena.

I want to understand how the hell Havoc decimated my team, Captain Lindquist, but I’m not sure about the urgency or the need to involve the head of unit – not now that Havoc is dead.

We’re not sure Havoc is dead, Major.

 4.

Rhoden retook her seat at her command table as she smoothed down the arm of her flight suit. Taka walked up to join her, similarly clad in a softshell exploration suit. Neither had their helmets deployed, but the transparent visors could deploy in the blink of an eye when necessary.

Rhoden eyed Taka’s garb and nodded with approval.

Now that we’re contemplating ship action, I think this is a wise precaution.

As ever, Taka’s face was a mask of discretion.

Very good, Admiral.

Rhoden nodded, content to have solved the dress issue at the same time as impressing upon the crew the gravity of the impending Fleet action. It was an unusual step to have staff in a capital ship like the Valiant wear suits – overkill meant that the losing vessel was typically obliterated with the loss of all hands – but the suiting up sent a message about the seriousness of the situation, and had virtuous side effect of neatly excising the untoward frippery from Rhoden’s command center at the same time.

How long until everyone reports?

Less than five minutes, Admiral.

Good. See that––

Rhoden stopped dead as Captain Boutiette strode naked across the room. Not naked, she corrected herself, but wearing a skin-tight epitaxiphene suit that looked sprayed on. A gaggle of similarly clad females officers entered after Boutiette and Rhoden’s eyelids froze at third mast as the undesirable energy in her command center increased still further – if anything, the switch to higher combat readiness seemed to have increased the playful frisson infecting her command center.

Rhoden allowed herself the luxury of touching two of her fingers to her temple as Taka stared fixedly ahead. She didn’t palm her forehead, but she did lightly caress her skin in as close to the gesture as she ever allowed herself. Two of the young women walked past, their suits leaving nothing – nothing – to the imagination. Did their primeval urges overcome all sense of common decency?

Are those at least class-five explorations suits, as I specified?

Taka glanced at the shapely buttocks moving away from them.

Yes, they are, Admiral.

Rhoden straightened in her chair, dismissing this minutiae. She had tried and, at least temporarily, failed. No matter.

Holos from the other ships materialized around the table. Taka walked round to take her place in front of the holos at the head of the briefing area.

Time, Admiral.

Thank you, Commander.

Rhoden stood and surveyed her crew, satisfying herself of their competence and readiness, all frippery dismissed from her mind as she prepared to address the critical matter at hand.

"Good day, ladies and gentlemen. We are on the verge of a significant shift in the balance of power in this system – a shift in our favor. Now that the situation on the Undaunted has been resolved, and we have achieved at least a temporary resolution with the People’s Republic Loyalty, it is a good time to review our position. For those of you who were not made aware in advance and have not subsequently heard, one of our surface team’s has managed to recover not one, but three of the alien targeting systems that control the Diss weapon."

There were excited murmurings, and then, much to Rhoden’s surprise, there was spontaneous applause. She smiled tightly as she raised a hand to quell the excitement – the reaction was understandable but premature.

"I should add that the alien technology has not been tested yet, so we cannot be certain of its provenance or utility. However, in support of their functionality, our surface team witnessed their apparent use and it was at this moment that the Diss redirected away from the Undaunted. We believe that two of the Scepters recovered were taken from the Gathering, and it appears virtually undeniable that they were targeted on our Fleet, as their redirection resulted in the Diss moving toward the Oovort cloud, where the entire Diss cloud appears to be reunifying into one formation."

Rhoden scanned across the faces around her, some virtual and some real.

However it remains the case that we have not verified these systems as genuine, that we do not yet have the means to target them, and that even if these systems are genuine and we can target them, we may yet learn that they have been subverted in some fashion that we are not aware of.

Some of the faces turned hesitant. Leadership, Rhoden reminded herself.

I am not saying that our situation is not improving, – Rhoden chastised herself for the double negative – "merely that we have some way to go before we control this system. The surface team are currently conducting tests to ensure, as best we can, that the Scepters do not pose or conceal a threat. The Saber Cut will then depart the surface to deliver the Scepters to the scientific team that Commander Derby has seconded to the Valiant."

Rhoden took in the muted frowns as her crew absorbed this blatant breech of contamination protocol – from their Admiral, no less – and decided to tackle it head on.

I appreciate that it is unusual to compromise contamination protocols in this fashion, but we must be clear that these items are of such extraordinary utility that they must be housed aboard a capital ship to safeguard them – they are the key to system dominance. The Alliance scientist Evelyn Weaver has proven that these technologies can be used by humans, so I am confident that our scientific team will soon rise to the challenge.

Commander Derby smiled.

Thank you, Admiral, I’ll pass that on.

"In the meantime, the Alliance’s Doctor Weaver – as the one person we know can operate the Scepters – remains our highest priority target for acquisition, on the admittedly slender possibility that she was not caught in the tower blast and remains alive. Now, to current business. The period before the Scepters arrive on the Valiant, and Commander Derby’s team make them operational, presents an ideal opportunity to take stock of our position, and to that end Commander Taka will lead us through a comprehensive brief."

Taka stepped forward as Rhoden sat down.

Thank you, Admiral. Before discussing the upcoming ship action, the functions will brief us on the notable highlights their packs. Firstly, Head of Theater Operations, Colonel Zariski.

Taka stepped to one side as the slender, silver haired Zariski stood up and immediately highlighted parts of the system holo, getting straight down to business as Rhoden knew he would.

Thank you, Commander; good day, Admiral. Zariski gestured at the holo. Surveying is proceeding slowly due to the extreme hostility of our operating environment. The attrition rate in our first three sensor waves was appallingly high – even, I should emphasize, despite increased shielding, and we have delayed launching our next wave to further ruggedize our units. Zariski smiled grimly. This binary system continues to present a challenging operating environment. I shall not dwell on the threat of being in such close proximity to the foreign capital ships, as others will cover this in more detail, but clearly our ability to maneuver within the system is severely curtailed by our desire to remain shielded from the bulk of the solar radiation emanating from whichever of the two stars we are most exposed to; at this time, Neria. Whilst I don’t wish to be labeled repetitive, I would be remiss if I didn’t reemphasize that Neria’s random and hence entirely unpredictable bursts of intensely concentrated gamma radiation will obliterate any ship they strike. I appreciate that the Fleet ran this risk when we entered the system, although we approached from a vector that minimized our exposure, and clearly we were further away – I’m simply reiterating that survival in this system beyond the umbrella of Plash’s protection is purely a function of time at risk, and that system operations are complicated by the fact that there is a finite chance that, at any instant, any ship with a clear line of sight to Neria could be destroyed. It is inevitable that this will occur at some point, as it already has with some of our sensors.

Rhoden nodded.

A point worth repeating and duly noted, Colonel. Next?

"The conditions are taking their toll on both crew and equipment, Admiral. Radiation exposure is worst amongst the ship crews, of course, since the platform crews are afforded better shielding by virtue of being closer to Plash. Sickness rates are running at thirty times over baseline and that rate is