The Admiral

“This is a war, Mr. Chairman!” Admiral Tria had never raised her voice to the leader of the Human Alliance before. She had only spoken directly with him on five occasions, and never before had they been at odds about an important issue. Chairman Lee was stunned. He hardly knew how to react. The passion and frustration on her face reminded him of the fierce beauty that was evident in holos of her from earlier in her career, which he presently had sitting on his desk. He looked down at them as an excuse to look away and compose himself. The holo on top was taken when she was transferred to an exploratory vessel for disciplinary reasons. She was twenty-five, and appeared delicate. Her cadet ID, from several years earlier, lay just beneath that one. The Chairman had heard stories that the soldier who snapped that holo had laughed at her, told her that she would wash out in a few days. The Chairman smiled. ‘She showed him,’ he thought to himself.

Feeling more composed, he looked back up at the Admiral’s face on the screen. He let his smile show through to her, which only served to frustrate her further. He could tell that she had been about to expand on her previous comment, or maybe rehash her earlier explanations, but now she only raised a white eyebrow inquisitively, waiting for him to speak. The Chairman’s office was quiet. As he stood, he heard the tiny mechanical purr of the camera following his moves. He stepped around to the front of his desk, and leaned back against it with a sigh. His arms folded.

“No, Admiral Tria,” he said simply, “this is not a war.”

“But, Chairman-“

“This discussion is over,” The Chairman interrupted, “Thank you for your input.” He pushed the button on the desk behind him, cutting the connection. The screen grew dark, but the chairman could still see the face of the admiral, and he could still hear her words. After a moment he pushed the button again. The face of his personal assistant appeared on the screen.

“What can I do for you Mr. Chairman?” the young man asked stoically.

“I want a conference call with the Secretary of Defense and the Secretary of Xenological Relations.”

The young man looked confused for a moment, then flustered as he made the possible connection in his mind. He stuttered, “Wh-What should I tell them is the r-reason for the call?”

“Don’t.”

“Yes, Mr. Chairman. R-right way, Sir.”

The screen went black again. Chairman Lee strolled back around his desk, and settled into his chair, which conformed around him as he sat.

“I hope you’re wrong, Admiral” He said aloud to the empty room.

Kate Tria was eighteen years old, finally. Her family and friends sang her a song. As the song played she looked around at their faces. The song made a hollow sound in her ears, and she looked through them into the sky in the background. She looked through her father and mother. She looked through her brothers. She looked right through her best friend and boyfriend into the sky beyond. She looked even through the sky. She looked out into the vacuum of space and fell in love. In a flash, she loved the stars, and the mystery. From one moment to the next all worry of where she was going to be after her mandatory schooling was finished was wiped away. She was going to fly between the stars. She was going to grasp the inky emptiness of space, and rule it. Nothing could stand in her way

Her family looked back with the same look of love and adoration that she was giving the sky. The song ended, and Kate leaned in toward the cake. With her next breath, she decided that her wish would come true. She was going to fly between the stars.

In the next few moments, she refocused on the people around her. None of them had any idea that she wanted to fly, but all of them would be happy for her; All of them but one. She looked at her boyfriend. He would not be happy. For a moment her eyes stopped smiling with the rest of her face. The young man noticed. He cocked his head to the side, slightly, and his look changed to one of concern. Touched by his concern, she smiled fully once more and moved a hand to hook a bit of jet black hair behind her left ear. He was reassured.

The candle smoke cleared and the clapping stopped. Kate’s best friend picked up the gift nearest to her on the table, “Open mine first, Katie.” she said as she handed the package over to the birthday girl. Kate absently began to pull the colorful wrapping from the box. Her small, delicate looking hands stripped away the folds of red paper. The box was small and white. Neat black lettering stood out on the top: From Ashlee, for Katie. Happy Birthday! Kate opened the small box. Inside, five parallel silver chains, sharing a single clasp, formed a delicate bracelet. She put it on right away, and held her wrist up to the light. The chains sparkled.

Admiral Tria was absently running her fingers over the dull, grey chains around her wrist. There were four of them, with a gap for a fifth in the middle. The missing chain was left unrepaired intentionally. It reminded her that she was not perfect; that she sometimes made mistakes.

She thought that the Chairman would be just as appalled as she was, but her description of the events did not move him to action. If something that horrible could not impel the HA, then what could?

She turned to the Ensign nearby. He had just switched off the console to the video communication unit in the wall of the council room on the H.A.S. ,the flagship of the Human Alliance Exploratory Fleet. The room was empty other than these two. “Ensign, do you think that I’m making a mistake?”

The Ensign looked surprised. He wasn’t expecting the admiral to even look at him, much less ask him such an important question. He was just there to run the conference center, not make decisions. He hesitated for a moment, but he spoke clearly when he did speak, “Admiral, I’m hardly qualified to make a judgement about --“

“Ensign,” She cut him off, “When I ask you a direct question, I expect an honest and immediate answer to the best of your ability. You were running the translation boxes during the first contact and you were standing by the door during my entire conversation with the Chairman. In my book that makes you the second most qualified person to make judgements about the situation. What do you think?”

This time, the ensign did not hesitate, “I think the Chairman is right, Admiral. The attack could have been the result of a mistake in communications. First contact has been difficult for every new sentient race that we discover.”

“It didn’t seem different to you this time?”

“I’ll admit that they did seem unusually aggressive.”

The Admiral nodded silently, and eyed the young man carefully. “You blame yourself.” She stated simply

The Ensign looked shocked again, “Admiral, I…” but he was lost for words.

“You were running the equipment,” she continued, “and you think it was your failure as a technician that caused the first contact mission to become a massacre.”

The man lost his stance, forgetting himself, and obviously uncomfortable. He looked guiltily down at his black boots, which shifted slightly under the legs of his blue coverall.

“At attention, Ensign” The admiral barked, quickly. The man regained his composure immediately, although he looked slightly frightened, as if he feared a punishment for his behavior. “I know it won’t make you believe it, but I’m confident that there was nothing that any of us could have done about the situation earlier today. There is something different about these aliens. I believe that we have met our first truly Xenophobic race, out here in the stars. Every race in the galaxy has always sent diplomats into a first contact situation. This is the first time a race has ever sent warriors.”

The ensign looked relieved, but unsure of what to do with himself or what to say. He just said the only thing that he could think of to say, “Of course, you’re right, Admiral.”

The Admiral turned her head quickly in The Ensign’s direction, causing her shoulder-length, white hair to sway around her face in a manner that the ensign would have found alluring had he been much older. She quickly looked into his face searching for a sign of derision or sarcasm. She found none. He had simply been making an observation; perhaps an unqualified one, but not a dishonest one from his perspective. She nodded simply and dismissed him with a wave of her hand.

Kate Tria sat in the plush green and purple office. She sat in one of four chairs that spanned one wall. Across from her, sitting behind a purple desk, was a small woman dressed in a conservative black and red suit. Her desk was almost bare. There wasn’t even a terminal on the slick, dark surface, only a leather blotter, a small stack of papers, and a name plate with a hole in it for storage of a single ink pen. Kate looked at the name plate for the twentieth time. Her gaze was continually drawn to the plate, being the only permanent fixture in the room which appeared metallic. It was silver. It said ‘Dr. Wesley’ in large serif-strewn letters, then ‘ship psychologist’ in smaller letters near the bottom.

“I asked you a question, Ensign Tria.”

Kate looked up as if seeing Dr. Wesley for the first time, though she’d already been speaking with her for several minutes. Kate looked through the doctor at the purple wall behind her, and the doctor regarded her with a look that very much resembled concern. When Kate was able to refocus her eyes, she spoke, “What was the question?”

The Doctor’s frown deepened, “Why did you attack Captain Gethen?”

Kate dropped her head into her hands. Her arms were still sore, and she could feel scrapes on her face, where she must have fallen against the floor of the bridge. She could also feel the sedatives still flowing through her body. She looked back up and shook her head to clear it, “Gethen goosed me.”

Doctor Wesley looked confused, so Kate tried to clarify, “He grabbed my bottom.” She paused for a moment, waiting for the doctor’s reaction before clarifying further, “...in front of the whole flight crew.”

The doctor seemed to be considering this for a moment, “Why was that cause to physically assault him?”

“He physically assaulted me,” The tranquilizer was wearing off, and Kate was feeling a bit more lucid now that she had something to say, “I was defending myself.”

The doctor paused, as if thinking. The only sound in the room: the repeated tap of her pen against the desk. After a moment, she stopped herself from the nervous habit and said, “Ensign, there is a whole department of the military designed specifically to deal with threats of that nature, you should have-“

“No,” Kate cut her off, “That never works. I’ve tried, and they never do anything. Besides, I had to show the rest of the flight crew that I was not okay with it, that I was not to be treated that way.”

Doctor Wesley adopted a look of understanding, “I know how you feel, Ensign, but it doesn’t change the fact that you physically assaulted the Captain of your ship.” The doctor watched as Kate placed her head back in her hands. “By policy you should be discharged immediately,” she sighed, “but you must be a damn good crew member, because you’ve just been reassigned. The Captain demanded you off of his ship, which is his right, but the Admiral has placed you under another captain’s command.”

Kate looked up at the doctor, relief spreading across her face. She should have slapped the captain months ago. “Where am I going?” she asked.

The doctor looked down at the sheet of paper lying on top of the stack on her desk. “You’re headed to the Mercury.”

Kate grinned. The H.A.S. Mercury was an exploring vessel, top level priority, top level technology... A dream assignment.

“When do I leave?” Kate was having trouble containing her enthusiasm.

The doctor sighed again. “You’ll leave this ship at the next port, and transfer from there. You are to be confined to your quarters until that time. Commander Kline will give you the details later. That’s all I know.”

“Thank you, Doctor Wesley” Kate stood up to leave, her head completely clear.

“Don’t thank me,” said the doctor with yet another sigh, “If it were up to me you would have been sent home”

Kate frowned at this before turning and stepping out of the office into the corridor. Once outside, with the door sealed behind her, she performed a small version of her personal victory dance, barely able to contain a shout of excitement that was welling up inside of her.

The Admiral tossed in her sleep, images of the massacre still floating around in her head, making her sleep fitful and draining, rather than restive. She awoke, startled. She sat up in bed, and rubbed her stiff neck. The cuff of her pajama bottoms brushed the thin carpeting as her feet landed on the ground beside her bunk. Her free hand moved to the terminal at her bedside, and keyed up the replay of the events of the previous day for what felt like the thousandth time. She didn’t quite know what she was looking for. Perhaps some sign of what she could have done differently, perhaps some proof that she could have done nothing.

She watched as the Communications Officer moved into the frame, and instructed The Ensign to set up the universal translation processor. It was a small beige box, which The Ensign was presently placing atop a tripod. The new species could be seen approaching in the distance. She watched as they drew near and the ensign flipped on the device, carefully watching the readout on the display, rather than watching the newcomers. For the hundredth time, she wondered how it was possible for him not to stare at a never before seen species of sentient starfarers.

The Admiral was distracted by an obtrusive beep, and a blinking light in the corner of the console display housing. She touched the light, and the face of the ship’s captain appeared on the screen. He looked troubled.

“Admiral?” he said simply as a way of asking to speak.

“Go ahead, Captain”

“Some of their ships seem to have followed us. We’re still at quite a distance, but they are faster, and will catch us in about Thirty-five minutes.”

“Thank you, Captain. I’ll be on the bridge shortly.”

“Yes, Admiral.” He said, and closed the link.

The terminal screen switched back to the playback of the day before just in time for the communications officer to collapse in a bloody heap. Not having braced herself for it this time, The Admiral cringed and squeezed her eyes shut. Recovering, she watched the grizzly recording for another few moments before keying in the command to shut off the display.

The bridge was surprisingly calm when she arrived. A few members of the flight crew were busy analyzing data, or testing communication channels, but most of them were just staring at the view screen, waiting for something to happen.

The Captain approached to give her the details. “We’re still about 25 minutes ahead of them at these speeds.” He began, “We haven’t gotten any indication as to their intent, but we believe that their ships are better armored and better armed than ours.”

“The only other thing that we know about them is that they are unusually aggressive.” The Admiral pointed out, “seems like a bad combination of information. How many of them are there”

“Three of them broke away from the main fleet and began to follow when we left.”

“So, they’ve matched our own numbers... An honor code of sorts perhaps?”

The captain shrugged. “Space samurai.” He said, simply.

“Something like that,” The admiral agreed, “I’ve noticed that they behaved similarly on the ground; they didn’t hesitate to kill, but they never out-numbered any of our people, though they could have easily.” She stepped out onto the flight deck, and several members of the crew turned in her direction, recognizing that she was about to give orders. The bridge was silent as The Admiral glanced over to the empty chair where the ship’s communication officer had sat only a day earlier. He was the highest ranking crew member to die at the first contact site, and the only death that had been visually recorded by the equipment that they had brought with them. She had watched him die nearly a hundred times over the last twelve hours. He had come to represent, in her mind, all of the 35 deaths and 15 injuries, most of which were only recorded by the biometric scanners.

She forced herself to be resolute as she turned to the engineering officer. “Set up a link of all of our scanners and systems, including external cameras and diagnostic systems directly to the computer on board the Mercury, and tell them to record everything.” She ordered him. He immediately turned back to his console and began to work. She turned back to the captain and said, “Tell the Mercury and the Aurora that we are going to break formation, but that they are to stay on course for Earth, no matter what happens.”

“Yes, Admiral.” The Captain nodded and turned to leave. The Admiral grabbed his arm.

“Make sure they understand,” She said, spitting the words out one at a time, “no matter what.” Her look was fierce, and though The Captain did not understand her motivations, he knew that she was serious, and that his simple task was of the utmost importance.

He swallowed visibly and said, “Yes, Admiral.” once more before she released him from her gaze.

“Finished, Admiral” She turned toward the voice. It was the engineering officer.

“Very good,” She said without smiling, “faster than I expected.” He was about to thank her, when she turned away, and stepped toward the navigation officer. “All stop,” She ordered, “and turn us to face the approaching ships. Let me know if the Mercury or the Aurora alter course at all.”

“Yes, Ma’am” said the young woman at the controls. She was a small woman, with square shoulders and a severe face. Her blonde hair was tied back into a simple ponytail, but was otherwise unadorned. The woman reminded The Admiral of herself at that age. She felt sad for just a moment, then composed herself and looked up at the status screen.

It was just as she thought. When the ships caught up one of them continued on an interception course, while the other two hung back to observe. Samurai... Indeed.

The Admiral stepped forward, so that she was just to the left of and behind the navigation officer. Unconsciously, she placed her hand on the woman’s right shoulder and squeezed good naturedly. The officer turned to look up at the Admiral, her blond ponytail brushing the older woman’s hand. “Ma’am?” she questioned.

“Transfer control of the ship to the manual override interface.”

The woman pushed a series of buttons on her control panel before rising from her seat. She moved around to the front of the bridge, where she was joined by the Admiral. Together, they grabbed some straps from within recesses in the deck, and lifted a panel out of the deck plating. Setting the panel aside, the two women looked at one another briefly before the officer returned to her station.

The Admiral turned and climbed down into the small, cramped pit, and sat herself down in the dusty seat. She listened to the soft mechanical purr as the controls around her automatically adjusted themselves to a comfortable position. Surrounding her, status screens and veiwport terminals gave her access to almost all of the ship’s systems. From this point, a solitary person could control the entire ship if they knew what they were doing. She grabbed on to the hand levers, which were beside her on either side, and placed her feet on the two petals before her. Gently, she wobbled each of the control sticks and alternatingly depressed each pedal. No one on board felt it, but the entire ship, and all of its 125 remaining crew members, wobbled slightly in space. They wobbled in such a way that would have been nearly impossible for the computer navigation system to reproduce.

“Let’s see if they understand,” she whispered to herself. She watched the alien ship. For a long moment it simply hung in space, then, tentatively, it wobbled in such a random way, that only a sentient, abstract being could be controlling it.

“Good.” She said simply under her breath, and checked her displays to see that the Mercury and the Aurora were still moving away at full speed. She called up an order that the hatch above her should be closed. This was accomplished with some hesitation, and the only light in the small shaft was the glow of each of the panels and screens, allowing The Admiral’s flagship to become as an extension of her own body and mind.

A knock came to the door of Kate Tria’s quarters on the H.A.S. Mercury. It was a frantic, urgent knock. Kate called out that the owner of the rapping knuckles should enter. Her first officer burst through the door.

“Captain Tria! There’s been an accident in engine room four. The reactor is overloading.”

“What’s the danger of meltdown?” she asked, quickly alert.

“Certainly within the hour if something is not done to contain it.”

Without responding, Kate pulled the command console from its place in the wall beside her bunk. She first called up the ship diagnostic schematic. The commander was right; the reactor was in the process of overloading.

“Sit.” she barked at the commander, who quickly, nervously sat on the nearest thing, which was luckily her chair. He hit the arm before he hit the seat, however, and while it looked painful, he accepted the injury stoically, and sat rigid on the seat cushion.

Kate glanced away from the screen with a raised eyebrow. “At ease, commander.” She instructed. The man deflated into the chair.

“Sorry, Captain” he whispered meekly, but Kate was already back to the console. She punched up the comm, and requested to speak with the Lead engineer. As his face appeared on the screen, he looked as disheveled as she knew she did. He must also have been awakened, but she could tell from the background that he was not in his quarters.

“Report,” she ordered hurriedly.

“Captain, I’m not really sure what caused it,” he began in the casual, never truly at attention, manner that any technician-type officer seemed to have when addressing a superior, “The containment field around core A-3 just stopped working. We’re trying to make adjustments, and solve the problem remotely, but we’re not having much luck.”

“Could you and your team address the problem better at the Core?”

“Of course,” he said condescendingly, “but that part of the ship has been sealed off due to radiation and the chance of meltdown.” He looked annoyed with the need to explain the issue to her.

Kate repressed the desire to reprimand him, there would be time for that later. She ordered him and his team to get into EVAC suits, to protect them from the radiation, and let themselves into that section of the ship, so that they could attempt to salvage the engine. The Engineer looked worried.

“If you don’t think that you can do it…” she started.

“It’s not that,” he said, squirming a little, “It’s just…” he left the thought unfinished. “I’ll get right on it, Captain” he said at last. The connection was terminated from the other end.

Minutes passed. Kate and her first officer didn’t look at each other. They sat in silence. Waiting.

Moments before, she had been harried and stressed. She had needed to act quickly, and make a difficult choice: Send a small team into a dangerous situation to attempt the repair, or take the chance that the explosion resulting from the meltdown would take the entire ship with it. She was starting to have doubts about her decision. She was tentatively deciding to rescind her order, when her screen flashed, and the Engineer’s face, under an EVAC suit mask regarded her from within.

“We’re headed in, Captain” he said, a slight waver in his voice. She noticed that she was glad that the man was scared. She didn’t like him. This immediately made her stomach turn. She felt that she might soon be ill. In all her years as a commander, she had never sent men into a situation which she knew to be likely deadly, but what choice did she have? The safety of the many is more important than the safety of the few. That’s what she had been taught, but where to draw the line? If she knew the odds, it would be easier. If she knew for certain that she was choosing between the lives of these men or the lives of all of the crew, including these men, the choice would be easy, even obvious. However she only knew that there was a chance that the exploding engine would damage the rest of the ship. It could just blow itself harmlessly out of the side of the hull. The engine would be lost, but it already was anyway. Even if the engineers stopped the meltdown, the Mercury was still limping back to port on one engine.

“Captain?” She couldn’t see the look on the engineer’s face, but she guessed it was worried confusion. She had been staring at him while she struggled internally.

“Go ahead,” She said. She couldn’t see if the engineer looked disappointed, but she thought she heard a resigned sigh. He knew that the core could explode at any second. He knew that there was a reason that he and his team would have to move through the two bulk-head doors one at a time, like an air-lock: to protect the rest of the ship from the area that they were walking into.

Kate switched her display to view the ship diagnostic screen. She saw the dangerous engine core, outlined in red. She saw the first hatch of one of the bulk-heads open, then close. She watched as the second door repeated the process with about the same timing. The men were inside.

She felt herself grinding her teeth. She felt helpless. She felt like she should be doing something, like she should be the one risking her life in the core room. However, she knew nothing about the engines. She would be useless. For all his arrogance, the engineer really was the right man for the job, and it was everyone else’s job to wait for him and hope that he succeeded.

After a moment, she felt the entire ship jolt sharply, throwing her slightly into the air. Something bit her wrist as she fell from her bunk. She hit the floor and bounced off. She was floating in zero-gravity. She realized, immediately, what had happened. The engine had gone. The gravity system had been knocked out.

She floated for several moments that seemed like hours. Then, just as suddenly as the gravity had disappeared, it returned. She hit the floor nose-first, and the wind was knocked from her chest. Slowly, she rolled herself over. Her first officer was on her bunk, sitting up, looking even more stunned than she felt.

“Commander.” She said sharply from the floor. He tuned and looked at her. Surprise registered on his face. Immediately he was on his feet, and helping her to hers. When she was again sitting on her bunk, and he was on her chair, she asked “Casualties?”, though she felt that she already knew the answer.

The commander pulled a small console from his pocket, and tapped it several times. Reports of some minor cuts and scrapes… One broken bone… Several nausea…” He paused here, not wanting to say what was next, knowing that he didn’t really need to, “No -- fatalities except --” he didn’t finish.

except for the men you sent to die… she finished the sentence in her head. “Dismissed.” She said simply.

Her first officer rose out of the chair, “Captain, I -“

“Dismissed, Commander.” She cut him off sharply. With wounded feelings, he left.

When alone, Kate looked down at her hurt wrist. Her bracelet was damaged. The third silver chain, the one in the middle, was lying on the floor near her bed. It must have caught on the corner of her console as she fell. She touched her wrist with her other hand, and then began to rub it slightly. For several minutes she sat like that. Completely numb. Then, she tuned and lay back down, where she wept silently into her pillow. She hadn’t cried since she was a little girl.

Her tear-ducts ached from use after so long with none. She didn’t care. She welcomed the pain. She deserved it. That and so much more. She couldn’t be a starship captain. She didn’t have what it took. Everyone had been right, she couldn’t cut it, not really, and it was just luck that had even gotten her this far.

“Tria?” mused the giant, lined face of the Secretary of Defense.

Chairman Lee was looking up at the screen in his office. Secretary Tomen was on the left half of the screen. His face took up his entire half of the picture; Lee hated it when people put their conferencing camera right on their desk. Director Feist was on the right half, and Lee could see the xenobiologist’s full form, standing in a large, tidy office. The contrast was giving him a headache. He looked away, removing his glasses to rub his eyes.

“She has a very good record.” The secretary continued, “Why shouldn’t we trust her opinion. She’s handled five first-contact missions. There have only been seven such missions in history. I dare-say that she is the most experienced --“

“That doesn’t matter!” The director cut in with his nasal, almost whiney voice. “All of our research shows that it is not possible for a sentient race to be completely non-negotiating. They must like or want something. Remember when we thought that we were going to have an interstellar war with The Garrison. They ended up being totally appeased with the establishment of a sodium trade.”

“That just proves my point,” the secretary’s voice boomed, after he was sure that the director was finished, “Tria led that mission. She’s the one who figured it out. If she doesn’t see the same potential here, then I’m inclined to trust her.”

A small icon blinked in the corner of Lee’s screen. He studied it for a moment, then decided to interrupt the conversation. He could see from his expression, that the Director of Xenological Relations was about to accuse the Secretary of Defense of warmongering, and didn’t really want the discussion to go in that direction.

“Gentlemen,” he addressed them, “I am just now receiving a video feed from the Mercury. It is marked ‘urgent’. Would you like to share it with me?”

Both men nodded. “Of course,” they said, almost together.

“Good,” Lee made a small, sad smile and pushed a button on his desk.

As the image came into focus from the static, Lee heard a stifled gurgle through the still-open audio link with his advisors. It was a sound like someone who is startled while sipping coffee.

Kate Tria floated in space, completely in control. She and the Menace circled each other, not sticking to any spatial plane in particular. She could tell that he was trying to maneuver his nose to face her port side. She let him. When he fired on her port weapons bay, she rolled to stern, taking the shot on the thicker hull of her underside.

She maneuvered the roll into a turn, and fired her aft missiles, aiming for his engines. The missiles struck true. The Menace ship was not slower than Kate, it took the blow without care. It was showing arrogance. Her first instinct was to think of this as a weakness. Quickly she remembered her experience. Strengths and weaknesses are not the same for every race. She was making the mistake of assuming some humanity on the part of the Menace. Quickly, she considered the possible outcomes of this battle. As she evaded another shot, and returned another glancing blow, she played out the long term consequences of her actions, and the actions of the Menace. Just before the Menace fired again, she made her decision, and knew that it would be the most important thing that she had ever done. The Menace was dangerous. And The Human Alliance needed to know that action was a necessity. They needed to be spurred.

As the Menace guns flared, she rotated to stern, taking the blow on one of her vestigial wings, completely shearing it away from the ship. It was dramatic, and she knew it, but it did not really disable her maneuverability. The Menace knew that. The crew knew that. But, the billions of people who must now be watching on the surfaces of the human planets might not realize.

The Menace faltered. Hesitated. It knew that she could have moved away from that blast. She returned fire, but she purposely moved sluggishly, as if her control of the ship was dampened. On her monitor, she saw the Mercury begin to alter course. It was returning to help. No! she thought, You have to keep moving! I have to finish this, now!

As the Menace regained composure, and fired once more, she quickly rolled to expose the aft engine compartment. She moved her most vulnerable, yet easily guarded spot into the path of the Menace weapon. She knew the effect it would have on the ship. More importantly, she knew the effect it would have on her audience. Despite the cost, she knew she was making the right decision.

The explosion was bright and terrible. For a moment there was a small sun where Kate Tria had been. The Menace was knocked back several decameters by the blast, and the fragments were hurled outward at great velocity. Some of them struck the Menace. Some of them were simply incinerated. Some of the fragments were hurled at great speed toward the thousand human worlds, carrying with them a sense of horror and atrocity, which humans hadn’t known for many centuries, the necessary courage and hatred that they needed to survive. Some of the fragments spun out toward the Menace worlds, carrying with them a resounding and final shout of war.

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