Trophy: Rescue

By Paul M. Schofield

Trophy: Rescue, Book 2 of The Trophy Saga, continues the account of the New Victorian Empire. The Empire began in 2065 C.E.after the environment collapsed killing billions. A severe genetic mutation developed forcing mankind toward extinction. The Keyhole, a wormhole in space, offers a solution: time-travel to transport genetically sound humans from the past. A powerful underground organization is rapidly building their forces to eliminate the Empire and gain control of the Keyhole and the Solar System. Only the Planetary Control Corp under the leadership of Star-Commander Abigail VanDevere and the dynamic team of Lieutenant Janet Rogerton, Pilot Kolanna, Martin, and Panther stand in the rebels' way. Will the strength and determination of the PCC be enough? Will they succeed in time? The continuation of the human species is in question.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul M. Schofield
• Release date: Jan 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463190067

Paul M. Schofield

ABOUT PAUL M. SCHOFIELD: In the words of Lord Byron, "If I don't write to empty my mind, I go mad." So, I write action packed, future-fiction that's fun and exciting to read. "In all things of nature there is something of the marvelous." ~Aristotle Born and raised in Montana, immersion in the natural world around me was inevitable. As I grew up, I learned the complexities of language and the joy of humor by exchanging puns with my father. Just as Mark Twain said, "against the assault of laughter nothing can stand." An avid reader, my favorite genre was science fiction by authors like Isaac Asimov and Frank Herbert and fantasy by J.R.R. Tolkien. Coming of age just in time to watch Star Trek, Star Wars and Babylon V, my love of science fiction grew and my desire to craft and share my own stories was ignited. And since, as Maya Angelou once said, "there is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you", I became a writer. When I became chilled to the bone in Montana, I moved to Florida, where I became quite well done...that is, seasoned. My wife Ellen and I coexist with our highly intelligent cats who insist that they, or their substantially larger relatives, be included in any farfetched stories involving time and space. "Science fiction writers foresee the inevitable, and although problems and catastrophes may be inevitable, solutions are not." ~Isaac Asimov About my books: My action-packed books feature time-travel, chase and battle scenes, fusion powered star-ships, a computer-controlled society, tender moments and scary episodes. They are free of explicit sex, profanity, graphic violence and paranormal themes.

Book preview

Chapter I

Earth Date: 476 N.V.A., fourth month

Location: Io Station, near Jupiter’s moon Io

Lieutenant Janet Rogerton ran to the boarding-hatch tube and crawled up through the Octopus Unit into her ship. "Hurry, Kolanna! Detach the Clipper and follow them, they can’t be far ahead."

Sorry, Lieutenant, we’re ordered to stay here, not engage them.

What? Who gave that order, Security at Io Station?

No, Ma’am, the Star-Commander.

Why? Rogerton said as she pressed the COM switch. Star-Commander, we have to go after them. We finally have a chance to capture them both.

Stand down, Lieutenant. We’ve informed Station Security and they’re taking all necessary measures to apprehend them.

But, Ma’am, we have superior firepower and speed. We can catch them if we go now.

You have your orders, Lieutenant. Carry them out.

But, Star-Commander, if we don’t capture the Bestmarke’s now, it’ll be harder to recover Martin’s father. We can’t leave him trapped in that trophy chamber, she said, pounding her fist on the control panel.

I appreciate the situation concerning Martin’s father and I sympathize with it, but there are greater issues that we must deal with first—important issues.

I understand, Ma’am, it’s just that we’ve chased them for so long and it’s hard to see two of the most wanted criminals in the Empire escape. I hope it’s not a mistake we’ll regret—we’re so close now.

"I hope it’s not a mistake either; we’ll trust that Station Security apprehends them. In the meantime prepare the Clipper for the return voyage to Earth. Repair crews from the Daniela are approaching Bestmarke’s ship. When the Black Eagle is space-worthy all three ships will depart together. My sister Michelle will pilot the captured ship. Franelli, Guardian V, and a basic crew will accompany her. Any questions, Lieutenant?"

No, Ma’am.

Good, I’ll inform you of our departure time. The computer signaled the end of the transmission.

I still think it’s a mistake, Kolanna, and it doesn’t make sense. We can easily catch them. The Star-Commander is letting them escape.

My thoughts exactly, Lieutenant, and now it’s going to be harder to rescue Martin’s father. She must have good reasons for her orders.

She must—I wish I knew what they were.

**********

We’ve got to stop this bleeding, brother, Terran said, sweat beading on his bald head. The bullet must’ve hit an artery. Here, push tightly on this compress. Don’t let up. Keep yourself awake. I can’t be a doctor and a pilot.

Security ships would be after them soon; they needed a safe place to hide. He turned the COM to a secure channel. Samson—Samson—this is Terran Bestmarke. I need help. Are you there?

Is that you causing all the fireworks, stirring up Security? You were just here a few hours ago, Samson said. It’s quiet for months until the day you and your brother arrive. What do you want?

We need a favor. More than a favor, we need help! Galen was shot, lost a lot of blood. I’m hurt, not as bad. We need a safe hangar and a doctor—fast. I haven’t seen any security ships yet. Can you help us?

Why should I? You insult me with low prices for my merchandise and now you want me to bail you out?

I’ll make up the difference, more than make it up.

All right—I’ll probably regret it, Samson said. Come in quick and low. Drop down at these coordinates. The landing pad will be up, but the lights will be off. As soon as you touch down, the pad will sink rapidly and the roof will slide over you. If a Security ship can see you, you’re out of luck. I can’t risk exposing my location. That’s the best I can do.

Thanks, Samson, you’re a lifesaver.

We’ll see. Here’s the coordinates. He punched them into the computer.

Terran fixed the coordinates into the NAV system and brought the space-plane in slow and close to the Station, mimicking normal traffic.

Hurry up, Galen said, his voice growing weaker.

Almost there, brother, keep pushing. Don’t let up. Terran winced from the stinging lacerations cut deeply into his arm and leg, blood staining the torn edges of his tan jumpsuit. He didn't like what he saw on the NAV screen—two Security ships coming around the end of the Station.

He guided the small craft down to a parking zone where a number of larger ships sat, skillfully landed between two of them, and shut down the engine. The Security ships coasted slowly overhead as he watched and waited. He turned to his twin brother beside him.

Are we there? Galen whispered.

Just about, brother, don’t give up. Stay awake. Keep pushing. When the security ships coasted out of range he fired up the engine and lifted the ship straight up.

At an altitude of twenty meters Terran guided the small ship through the maze of towers that littered the surface of the huge structure, following the coordinates to the opposite side of the Station. He saw the landing pad on the NAV screen and not a moment too soon. He brought the space-plane down on the landing platform and shut off the engine, the platform began to drop, and the sliding roof closed over them. Two Security ships approached and glided slowly overhead, continuing on without stopping.

The landing platform came to an abrupt stop. After a few minutes the green light signaled the restored atmosphere.

We made it, brother. Galen gave no answer, still pushing against the compress, his eyes nearly shut. Wincing in pain with each movement, Terran unfastened his restraint belts and then Galen’s. He gently slapped his brother’s face. Wake up, brother—don’t sleep—keep fighting. Galen groaned but didn’t move. Terran looked out the windows into the dimly lit hangar. Hurry up with that doctor, Samson.

The other end of the hangar brightened as a door opened and four figures quickly walked toward the space-plane. Samson led the way muttering directions in his gruff, low voice. Short and stocky, his heavy gold necklaces and pierced earrings complimented his golden-brown skin and slanted black eyes. In the fashion of the outer Solar System, intricate multi-colored tattoos covered his bald head, and matched the pattern of his brilliant red robe.

A short thin Asian woman in a light blue uniform followed him. She looked tired, and had sallow wrinkled skin and straight black hair, interspersed with gray. Behind her trudged two muscular women with tied-back brown hair and dull brown eyes. Both wore dark blue uniforms and they appeared to be sisters.

Terran threw open the hatch of the space-plane. In here! I haven’t moved him. He’s lost a lot of blood.

You’re hurt yourself, the doctor said. Come out of the plane.

Don’t worry about me, Terran said as he stepped to the hangar floor. Help my brother, please!

The doctor looked at his wounds and then at his face. Painful, but they’ll heal. I’ll tend to your brother first. She motioned to her assistants to follow her into the plane. The assistants removed Galen and placed him on a wheeled stretcher.

With no expression she ordered the assistants to activate the antiseptic force-field, producing a faint shimmering screen extending three meters out from the stretcher in a half-sphere. The doctor and two assistants picked up their equipment and moved inside the force-field.

I’m Dr. Eng. There’s no time to move your brother; we must work on him here. Please stay outside the antiseptic force-field. We are sterile inside of it and we have all the equipment we need.

Dr. Eng and her assistants quickly set out their tools and diagnostic equipment. They cut away the top of Galen's blood stained gray jumpsuit. I’ll repair the vessels to stop the bleeding. Start the syn-blood units, Eng said.

The doctor monitored Galen’s fading vital signs and worked speedily. Terran and Samson watched from outside the force-field. At one point Eng said: Interesting, I haven’t seen anything like this before. But most of the time she worked in silence, efficiently doing her job, and finally she was finished, the wound closed up with no scar or attachment marks. Galen slept soundly, his skin color restored and healthy looking. The assistants shut down the force-field and began putting away their equipment.

Here is something I found quite interesting, Eng said, walking to Terran. She stopped in front of him and opened up her palm. It’s some sort of projectile, but I’ve never seen anything like it before. Do you know where it came from?

Terran stared at the 8mm bullet. The expanded lead-tipped front gave it an ugly, deadly appearance. He reached out for it, but the doctor held it back from him as she looked into his face.

I’m curious about this. I think I’ll keep it. Just consider it part of my fee.

Terran shrugged with no emotion.

Follow me. I’ll clean up your wounds in my office. It’s not far from here.

The assistants wheeled the stretcher through the doorway into a dim hallway lined with plain gray doors, Terran and Samson following close behind. They turned a corner into a wider corridor and went in the fourth door on the left. Samson locked the door behind them.

The softly lit room was an improvement to the dingy corridor. Terran looked around the small austere office of Dr. Eng. White trimmed light brown walls surrounded a large screen showing a tropical scene from Earth, complete with birds and wildlife so real it seemed you could step beyond into a lush jungle. He followed the assistants into a smaller, more sterile room while Samson found a sofa in the main office.

The assistants removed Terran’s outer clothing and sprayed an anesthetic onto his wounds. Dr. Eng bent over him, examining the cuts with a hand-held multi-dimensional microscope.

I haven’t seen lacerations such as these, Mr. Bestmarke. One could almost conclude they are claw marks—from a very large animal. A large cat, perhaps? she said, fixing her dark eyes on his. The cuts are smooth and deep—and parallel. Only a large cat could do that. I’ve never heard of such an animal anywhere but on Earth.

Terran didn’t welcome her probing comments but endured them in silence. She had saved Galen’s life and his own wounds were cleaned and treated, the pain nearly gone. She left the room after cleaning the last deep laceration. The assistants finished their work on Terran and checked on Galen, still asleep. They brought Terran new, clean clothes and left the room, closing the door.

Terran felt claustrophobic in the small room with his sleeping brother. There were no windows or viewing screens, only the constant fluttering of the ventilation grille. The still air in the hangar and corridors had a bitter tang, one common to recycled air in large spaces. The office air seemed sweeter, but it was a mask covering a medicinal, antiseptic malodor heightened by the lack of any positive stimulus in the drab room. It evoked memories of battles and lingering death. A long time had passed since he had been in a medical office and he couldn’t wait to leave.

Half an hour crawled by before Eng returned. After examining Galen, she inspected Terran’s wounds. Quite good, quite good, in forty-eight hours they’ll be invisible, completely healed.

She reached into her pocket and removed the expanded bullet she had taken from Galen’s wound. She stared at it on her palm, transfixed as if trying to see inside it. She lifted her narrow eyes to Terran’s, his gaze also held on the unusual object. He looked into her questioning face but offered no reply.

You aroused my curiosity, Mr. Bestmarke, so I researched the origins of this projectile. Would you like to know what I’ve discovered? she said, her wrinkled skin tightening at the edges of her widening smile.

Terran continued his expressionless gaze.

You are very reticent, Mr. Bestmarke, undoubtedly hiding a secret. But I admit—I found nothing. It’s a gunpowder projectile made of copper and lead, eight millimeters in diameter, and a close inspection shows parallel marks on the side, most likely from a gun barrel. What do you say to this?

You seem very thorough, Doctor. What’s your point?

Point? Oh, there is no point, Mr. Bestmarke. I’m just probing. I said I was curious. She looked in Terran’s eyes, closed her hand, and placed the fragment back in her pocket. She turned toward the door. As she opened it, she stopped and looked back. It’s interesting that I could find nothing in the data banks about this projectile. And then it struck me—check the age. So I ran an analysis on it. Can you guess what I found? she said, satisfaction in her voice.

Terran stared at her and said nothing.

This projectile was made six hundred years ago. That’s why it’s absent from the data banks. This is indeed astonishing, Mr. Bestmarke. Where did this projectile come from? What’s the meaning of this mystery? Am I correct in my analysis?

Terran’s eyes lost their defiance. You’re correct, Doctor. You can see the profound implications of your assertions but I can’t say more without my brother’s input. You’ve helped us a great deal and we’re indebted to you. We can pay your fee, whatever the cost, but we need assistance in another direction. Can you help us?

I understand, young man. Her countenance brightened and she continued. I have some acquaintances that will be interested in talking to you. We must wait for your brother to heal further. We’ll leave him here for the night; he’ll be monitored and looked after. You may stay in the guest suite adjacent to my quarters, if you so desire. The choice is yours.

Chapter II

Please follow me to my quarters, Eng said. She locked the office door and turned left along the corridor to the third door on the right, dingy and unmarked, with no entry handle or lever. She pressed her open hand to the center at eye level. After a few seconds it swung inward with a soft whoosh as the air seals along the edge relaxed. Terran followed her in, the door closed, its seals re-locking with a muffled snap.

They stood in a vestibule three meters square with a door to the left and another to the right. An elegant wooden bench hugged the wall in front of them beneath a misty landscape painting of layered mountains, clouds, and sparsely leaved gnarled trees. It looked old. At either end of the bench stood small matching stands each holding a tiny living tree as contorted as those in the painting. Standing to the side was a thin Asian man of medium height with intense green eyes, the whites of which were deep purple.

Mr. Bestmarke, may I introduce you to my house steward. He’ll show you our guest quarters and attend to your immediate needs. He’s also prepared supper for us; it will be served in half an hour, Eng said. Mr. Bestmarke, this is Marion.

Mr. Bestmarke, I am happy to be of service to you. Please call me for anything you may need. He also spoke with a sing-song accent although different than Eng's. He bowed at the waist, continuing his gaze at Terran.

Terran also bowed, his eyes fixed on the slight man in loose black clothing with black sandals. Thank you, Marion.

Please, sir, this way. He opened the door to the right, gesturing for Terran to enter first.

Terran walked through the doorway but his legs began to buckle. Marion caught Terran and pulled him up, helping him to a sofa.

Please, sir, sit and rest. You have had a trying day. Marion left and returned with refreshments.

Terran marveled at the slight man's strength, speed, and precise movements. He thanked Marion as the steward left the room.

**********

Terran felt better by the time Marion returned. Marion escorted him to the vestibule and through the other door into Dr. Eng’s quarters.

The tasty supper was simple and something new to Terran’s palate. He didn’t know what it was and he didn’t ask. The wine was also new to him. After two glasses he was comfortable and growing sleepy. Eng hand signaled to Marion who in turn helped Terran back to his quarters. He wondered about his brother still asleep in the doctor’s office. What would he have done if their circumstances were reversed? He wondered for only a moment and fell asleep.

**********

Mr. Bestmarke, I hope you slept well, Eng said. There’s an important matter I want to bring to your attention. Your pictures are on the security monitors but not the public news channels. I have a friend in Security who keeps me informed of things such as these. It would be best if you and your brother stayed with me a while longer.

Then we shall remain indebted to your hospitality, Doctor. How is my brother’s condition?

Much improved although he is still weak. You may speak to him for a short time this afternoon.

**********

Later that afternoon Marion gave Terran a blue hooded robe that shadowed his face. Wearing a similar garment he led Terran back to Dr. Eng’s office. Nearly everyone they passed was dressed as they were, some with the hoods down, but most were up.

Galen is awake. He must be feeling better for he is quite obnoxious, Eng said. His reputation seems accurate.

Terran expelled an audible sigh, rolling his eyes. My brother—may I see him?

Of course, but first I must ask you about something I discovered.

Go ahead. It seems I have no choice in the matter, do I?

Eng continued to gaze at him a few moments. I discovered that Galen has a link. That’s unheard of for anyone but a guider. Do you also have a link?

Terran slowly yielded to the doctor’s probe. Yes, I do. I’m a pilot and my brother is a weapons specialist, a gunner. Our minds are linked to the ship’s computer with a Level I interface making us difficult to defend against.

I’m sure. Tell me, who facilitated the connections and worked out the programs? I know of only one person with that capability.

Who’s that?

Why, your former engineer, Mr. Franelli!

How do you know Franelli?

She ignored his question. "He was on your captured ship, wasn’t he? Who else was there, they must have been important? The flagship of the Empire, the Victorian Heavy Cruiser Daniela, is presently outside the Station. And with it is a small, powerful, new ship—a prototype, no doubt. Why? What are they after? It’s not a routine mission, is it?"

No.

Please, Mr. Bestmarke, tell me what I need to know. I’m a doctor. I have access to strong persuasive drugs—they are not pleasant.

I don’t like threats.

Nobody does. Consider it persuasion, not a threat. I’m sure we can help each other, but you must not hold back.

Terran stared at Eng. We had a Guardian with us. We captured a Guardian when we recovered Franelli.

You captured a Guardian? Eng said. Her eyes grew almost round. And you brought her to Io Station? The Empire’s full attention is shining on us now. Whose brilliant idea was that? Please say it wasn’t yours.

It was my brother’s last minute idea. It wasn’t part of the original plan.

I’m glad you said that, she said, calming herself. Had it been your idea I would be forced to turn both of you over to the authorities. We have no margin for stupidity. You’ll have to remain invisible until the Empirical glare subsides. It will in time; it always does.

Terran remained silent for a few moments. May I see my brother now?

Yes. But you will need to tell him, in no uncertain terms, that he’s not in charge any longer. He’s undisciplined and reckless, and he’ll be terminated if he doesn’t cooperate. We hold the power at Io Station.

**********

What do you mean I’m not running things anymore? Galen said to his identical twin. His face flushed, neck veins bulging. Did you decide to take over while I was unconscious, almost dead?

The decision wasn’t mine, brother. Terran calmly assumed his usual countenance when dealing with Galen’s tirades. In fact, I had no say or part in it.

No say? I don’t understand. Who’s in charge? Don’t they know who we are? We’re the Bestmarkes! We don’t take orders from anyone!

Well, brother, we do now. We have one choice before us: either cooperate fully or be turned over to the Station Authorities. That’s our choice, Terran said, his voice even. Please stop shouting and start thinking for a change.

Galen sneered but didn’t comment. Finally he spoke. Who's in charge here? What are their terms?

Eng, the doctor who saved your life, seems to be the boss of a powerful organization here on Io Station. I don’t know any more details. I’ve only seen her two assistants—dull, stupid looking women. She also has a house steward named Marion.

You haven’t seen anyone else?

No, and I’ll tell you everything she said. Then you’ll clearly see our position, Terran said. Here’s one more important point—somehow she knows Franelli.

She knows Louis? How?

She wouldn’t say. I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough. Terran moved closer to Galen placing his hand on Galen’s shoulder, leaning close to his ear. Remember, we still have our nukes, he whispered. He patted his brother’s shoulder with his index finger three times, paused, and did it again.

Galen glanced at him and smiled. That’s right, brother.

Chapter III

Galen and Terran Bestmarke sat on a minimalist-style brown-tweed sofa in Eng’s living room. The redolence of steeping green tea wafted about the room, driven by the slowly turning ceiling fan. Marion served almond pastries to the uniformed women across the low wooden table from them. The two women shifted uneasily on the matching sofa. Eng sat on a simple wooden chair facing the end of the table, her hands together, a pleasant expression on her wrinkled yellow face. She turned to the Bestmarkes.

Gentlemen, it seems I have underestimated you. You have a substantial bargaining chip that is unheard of in our times.

So, you were listening to us, Terran said.

Wouldn’t you do the same? Eng said. We’re no different than you, take advantage of a situation or adapt to another.

What about trust, my good Doctor?

Trust—in our business? she said. Trust is only earned by fighting, bleeding, and dying together. We know who can be trusted. We don’t know you, yet.

You knew us twenty one years ago, at the 455 battle, Galen said. It wasn’t us that backed down. We didn’t give the retreat order.

You’d have had us throw away our lives for the sake of glory, said the brown haired woman on the left. Typical male thing to do—female rule is at least one thing the cursed Empire has right.

Terran grabbed his brother’s arm and spoke in a harsh whisper. That was a long time ago. Let’s not re-fight old battles. We have new things to consider now; new directions to take that will give us the upper hand and finally put an end to the wretched Victorian Empire and its iron-fisted rule.

Eng sat quietly in her chair, unmoved by the drama playing out in front of her. Terran is right. Each of us has powerful pieces that must be brought together. Separately, we’re nothing. Together, we’re greater than the sum of our parts. We need each other, trust or no trust.

Forget trusting them, Eng, the brown haired woman said. We’re doing fine without them.

Silence, Mirzam.

So the lioness has a name and a temper, Terran said. You’ll get along well with my brother Galen. Terran stared at the muscular well-proportioned woman next to Mirzam. Do you also have a name?

She met his gaze, her steely-gray eyes steady, as she ran her fingers through shoulder length shining black hair. She spoke in a deep contralto. Aludra, Mr. Bestmarke. Aludra is my name. My friends call me Alu. You may call me Alu if you like, she said, her voice trailing off.

I'd like that, Alu, Terran said. You can call me Terran.

She nodded.

Aludra and Mirzam, Terran said. Those names sound familiar. Aren’t they the ancient names of stars in the constellation Canis Major?

You know your star-charts well, Terran, Alu said. Impressive.

I should know them, I’m a pilot.

Alu nodded again.

Let’s get on with it, Mirzam said. Medium height and skinny, her tied-back mousey hair accentuated her narrow pointed face. She had no patience for small talk and pseudo-pleasantries. She glanced at Galen, his countenance similar to hers. Struggling to control her patience she turned to Eng. Why do we need them? We’re progressing well enough. I admit, at times it’s slow, but progressing none-the-less.

True, Mirzam, true, Eng said. However, sometimes we must adapt if new circumstances arise. This is one of those rare opportunities.

What have they done to help us in twenty years since everything fell apart? We can do it without them.

We probably can, but how long will it take? The Bestmarkes can help us speed up the process though it will mean compromise. We’ll have to share control and power, Eng said.

I don’t like it. How can we trust them? I say get rid of them or turn them over to the authorities. There’s a large reward for them—we could use that.

No doubt we could. But remember, they have a powerful bargaining chip.

"Like what? We’re building up our ships now with the latest technology. Their old ship, the famous Black Eagle, has been captured by the Empire. They’re at our mercy."

So it would seem except for one major problem, Eng said.

What could they possibly have that we don’t?

Nuclear weapons, Terran said.

Mirzam sat stunned, her jaw dropping. Alu continued to listen.

What? That’s impossible, Mirzam said. No one has had any since the Empire began. All of them on Earth were destroyed at that time. CENTRAL has absolute control on all the materials needed to make them. No one has even dared to attempt producing one. Is this a joke?

Show her the bullet, Doctor, Terran said.

Eng reached in her pocket and held out her hand. Mirzam reluctantly stretched out her open palm, her hand trembling, as if anticipating something painful. The doctor placed the expanded bullet in her hand.

When Mirzam realized it wouldn’t hurt her she picked it up with her other hand, examining it closely. What is it? I don’t understand.

It’s a bullet, a projectile fired from a rifle by means of exploding gunpowder, Eng said. It was meant for hunting animals, killing them. It expands when it hits flesh, creating a bigger more deadly wound.

I can see that. What’s your point?

It’s very old technology. I took this out of Galen’s shoulder—he nearly died. Eng paused for a moment. Someone wounded him with a bullet over six hundred years old.

Impossible, Mirzam said. All weapons were destroyed at the New Beginning. Nothing was saved, not even in museums. Something that old would have corroded by now. The bullet looks new and shiny.

This has profound implications if my thinking is correct, Alu said. Please, Terran, tell us where this came from.

Terran paused and gazed at them all, one by one. It came from the past—through time. We went through the Keyhole and traveled back and forth in time.

There were gasps and then silence. The gentle swishing of the ceiling fan remained the only sound. Mirzam appeared to be in shock, but Alu was poised with anticipation.

The possibilities—the possibilities are tremendous, she said. How did you do this? Can you do it again without your ship?

Our engineer, the brilliant Louis Franelli, figured it out. We downloaded his files when we abandoned ship, Terran said. We can only assume he was captured and is being taken back to CENTRAL. The files are encoded in the computer of our space-plane, hidden in Samson’s hangar.

What prevents us from taking the files? Mirzam said. We can unlock them and use them ourselves to go through the Keyhole. We don’t need you or your brother.

Terran glanced at Eng. Her face hardened as she restrained her tongue. He turned back to Mirzam. My good lady, you still don’t understand. Our nukes from five centuries ago were not on the captured ship. I assure you, we have them in a safe place. And they will stay there unless something happens to my brother and me. He paused, allowing this thought to penetrate. We notified our organization that we are at Io Station. We left explicit instructions that if anything happens to us, Io Station will be targeted.

M.A.D. Mutually Assured Destruction, Eng said. That acronym has not been mentioned for five centuries. However, I believe our two organizations can cooperate in harmony and trust, Mr. Bestmarke. Isn’t that right, Mirzam?