The tall leather chair crinkled as the old warrior shifted thoughtfully on it. Before him, the shaded body of a gas planet turned in a slow invisible motion, the unwilling pawn of a deadly game.

"Mr. Reynolds," the old warrior finally uttered, "raise us into a high orbit, and change the approach to achieve polar orbit, I want to see them coming."

The navigator entered the variables into the in-built computer and transferred the outcome to the helmsman. The planet and the stars beyond it shifted in the immense viewport.

The old warrior turned in his seat to face the communications station and ordered, "Get me the fleet," before turning back.

The crew in the Communications alcove made themselves busy before the officer in charge answered, "Ready," quickly flashing an up-turned thumb.

The old warrior rubbed his freshly shaven face and pressed the green button on his console before pronouncing, "This is Major General Sheldon, commander of the fleet. We are under orders to hold this planet at all costs. I need not remind you of how important this objective is to our lives, and the freedoms we hold so dear. Behind us are our industries, our colonies, and our beloved homes. Behind us is our country. Before us is an enemy that has pledged to destroy all of that. Remember our objective, Omega Planet; today no sacrifice is too great."

The crew on the bridge all looked thoughtfully at the General. They believed in him. Sheldon took a short respite, feeling the confidence and the strength of the fleet pounding through space, all dependent on him, all relying on him for direction. He was not one to shirk from a test of responsibility and leadership, he loved it. He could bask in their obedient silence, but being a leader meant action, "So here are the orders:" he announced briskly, "assume polar orbits according to attack wings. I want all attack wings in planetary orbit except for attack wing delta. I want you to move to the far side of one of the three moons, I don't care which, just stay out of sight, shut down main reactors but be ready to power up and attack on my command. Go to it." Sheldon deactivated the intercom with another press of the glassy green button.

"They are all signaling in sir," the Communications officer reported.

"Good," General Sheldon was pleased with the operation. Although he had never fought a major battle with odds this high before, he took relief in the probability that the enemy had not either. At least the presence of a large planet and several moons precluded the possibility of being outmaneuvered by the U.P.P.'s superior skill at lightspeed attack. He had been in that kind of battle many times before. A ship would appear out of nowhere, fire on him, and disappear before he could react. Sometimes they would perform this maneuver with not just one ship, but 10 ships, all spontaneously coming out of lightspeed at just the right place to hem in the flank or reign fire upon the middle before racing back to attack someone else. At least a planet offered cover, something to fortify.

The United Colonies had sophisticated lightspeed engines too, but that kind instant warfare was new. The U.P.P. ships were rigged for it and their pilots were trained for it. This was not true for the U.C. Think back upon history, Sheldon thought, remember the Scythians. The Romans were more advanced, were stronger, better armed, but could never subdue the Scythians. An average Scythian warrior could hit a bird behind him at 100 meters with his bow while riding on horseback. The Scythians were feared, as was the U.P.P.

The fleet of warships made a line over the planet. Their giant guns aligned together against the coming foe. And then they stopped, like the moons themselves, motionless, their pale metallic bodies coolly reflecting the burning white sunlight. The stars, glimmering in the eternal expanse thousands of light-years away, gave the vast battlefield and ancient significance. They had seen battle for thousands upon thousands of years, and now, they were going to see it again. The small fleet listened, looked, smelled, tasted, and touched the heavens, sensing nothing. The placid gaseous atmosphere of the planet moved slowly below them.

General Sheldon looked through the viewport inquisitively, pacing the grill-like metal gangway. Finally he settled into his seat again and ordered, "Watch for any subspace distortion, no matter how slight. If they are coming in, they will do it at light speed."

The men at the scanner stations checked their instruments, looking across the displays for any pattern or disturbance. There was still nothing. If there was a disturbance, reaction time was critical. But there was nothing.

The ships, orbiting at incredible speeds, were motionless, quiet, listful. Each crew member knew his duty. Omega planet was the flank of the United Colonies. It was the key point on the edge of uncharted space. The pressure, the tension, the raw exciting emotion of fear pulsed through the bowels of the great ships. They were the front line. The ships stood like statues, stone in the airless vacuum, and then they crumbled.

A flash of bright light preceded the streak of energy and metal that blasted into the line of ships. The missile erupted through the plated hull of one of the middle ships and detonated, tearing it into glowing shards and hunks of drifting metal. The pulse rocked the ships next to it and before they could stabilize, a dozen other explosions ripped through the line.

"Raise the shields, raise the shields!" Sheldon barked, leaning forward in his seat, veins visible in his long forehead. The ship rocked from a detonation nearby. Sheldon spun in his chair to face the communications alcove, vaulting himself from the chair at the same time. Standing like pillar against the storm, he yelled, "Order the fleet to raise shields right now, ready for battle!"

The group at communications went to work as a scanning officer cried out, "They're coming in from everywhere, subspace eruptions all around us!"

"Any ships?" Sheldon asked, holding his hand next to his ear to block out the din.

"Negative," the scanning officer stared at the readout, "only missiles, I cannot read a whole lot clearly in this mess!" Light flashed brightly through the viewport as the hull shook violently.

"We have been hit sir, but the shields took the impact," the operations officer bellowed, "we cannot take much more of this."

"Twelve ships down, six damaged sir," the officer in charge of communications reported, "what are we going to do?"

With no hesitation, the General barked, "All wings prepare for lightspeed attack."

The communications officer looked up in exasperation, "But General, we don't even know where they are. They are probably flying right at us."

"That is enough out of you Captain," General Sheldon appeared angered by the question, "carry out the order, now!"

Blinding light preceded a deep shudder and the explosion of sparks from the wall circuits. Another flash of light erupted milliseconds before the hull shifted violently. A thunder sounded through the deck and lightening lit clouds of thick smoke as burning systems shorted out.

The operations officer, bracing himself at his station, yelled, "Shield generators overloading, another hit and we will lose them completely!"

The General calmly looked to the Navigator, "Any planetoids with magnetic properties in the general vicinity before us?"

"There is one sir," the Navigator remarked, checking his data, "barely bigger than an asteroid. I am not detecting anything that unusual, other than … a slight subspace distortion!"

"That's it," the General cried, "that's the one!"

Predicting the next order, the navigator responded, "Setting course, locked in, ready to go."

"Communications, relay the order," the General started the countdown, "lightspeed in fifteen, fourteen, thirteen, twelve, eleven…"

The General continued the countdown as the helmsman announced, "Transferring plasma flow, creating subspace field, activating lightspeed drive…"

"Three, two, one…" as the General finished his countdown, the twinkling stars streaked to the sides of the viewport and a distorted tunnel of darkness opened before they plunged into it. The tunnel gave way again to starry space again as the vessel achieved lightspeed. The planet and its moons shrank quickly behind them.

***

"Just received message sir," a corporal in blue uniform handed a computer pad to the waiting Brigadier General, "we have de-coded it and we are to stay and watch the planet until they get back or otherwise inform us."

A Major, who was standing behind the Brigadier, remarked softly, "Looks like we get the guard duty again."

The Brigadier paced slowly across the deck. Laughing he said, "That old man Sheldon and his crazy ideas, a move this balsy might just pay off."

The Major shifted his regal, statuesque hat on his head, "Charging across hell to engage an enemy whose strength and exact position are unknown? Seems a little reckless to me…"

The Brigadier quickly chimed in, "You better hope that recklessness is a stroke of genius you missed because if they fail, we are up next."

***

The 3 attack wings sped toward the marble planet at light speed. Their engines projected back aqua streams of plasma which quickly dissipated as they left the subspace field. Their weapons glowed a cool crimson, ready to fire.

General Sheldon was braced on deck, his lower jaw projecting forward as if he was ready to lunge in attack, "Home in on the signal, I want us to appear right in front of them."

The Navigator was focused, concentrated, eyeing all of the controls in a methodical yet cautious manner, "Homing in; helmsman, divert engines to my control." As he said this, a silver lever and several other controls emerged from a red box that slid out the side of his panel. He immediately placed his hand on the lever and prepared to pull down. Timing was everything now.

The General turned his head quickly to the large alcove near the back of the room, "Weapons control, prepare to fire at will as soon as we drop out of light speed."

The Navigator prepared to pull back on the lever, his voice was sure and confident, "Steady, steady, now!" The Navigator thrust back the silver lever and the planet, which had been racing toward them in the viewport, stopped solidly, a huge looming object in the expanse of space. As flash of light erupted as the subspace field dissipated, and before them, colossal rows of warships line the serene green sky of the planet. The General was awed by the beauty of the layout, before it exploded in fiery plasma.

The United Colonies ships soared downward as they exited lightspeed, discharging their weapons into the unprepared enemy. The shieldless U.P.P. ships splintered and exploded as missiles and particle weapons ripped into their naked hulls. The U.C. warships raced through the drifting debris to engage the ships that were left, firing non-stop into the mass of retreating fleet. As if by instinct, the retreating fleet drew into a convex semi-sphere slowing the onslaught of attacking vessels.

"We have them pinned down sir," the Communications officer reported, "but they have formed a protective unit and they are laying down a field of fire our ships are unwilling to enter, shall I send a message to re-deploy?"

"Negative," the General announced without delay, "all craft forward, repeat all craft forward, don't let them escape!"

"Relaying the order sir," the Communications officer reported, looking to his subordinates to direct their efforts.

Through the viewport, the smooth gassy planetoid grew larger as the ship moved in on the cowering fleet. The remaining U.P.P. ships scurried together like beetles before successive flashes of light erupted and they all disappeared.

"Sir," the operations officer shouted, "the enemy fleet is fleeing at light speed!"

"Too late," the General muttered, "which direction?"

"To uncharted space sir," the Operations officer reported.

"Shall I order to pursue?" the Communications officer asked, his people ready at their stations.

A shadow of disappointment crossed the General, "No, they would split us up and draw us from our objective. Recall the order to attack. Make contact with all attack wings, set course for Omega Planet, and call together my staff, I want a meeting by the time we arrive."

***

"I just don't get it," the Brigadier General in command of the 3^rd attack wing muttered, "they were stationed at least a dozen A.U.s away and their missiles were still tearing into us. It just seems impossible, how?" The Brigadier looked around the large circular conference table, seeing faces that were just as perplexed as his was. On large display panels surrounding the room, data on ship damage and fleet status reports flashed slowly, while the computer contributed to the general ambiance by reporting projected repair times of individual ships in a silent and dull voice.

As facilitator for the meeting, Major General Sheldon quickly brought back the flow, "Colonel Franklin, you said you might know why we were hit from such a long distance."

"Yes," Colonel Franklin chimed in quickly, "the people in my department think the U.P.P. have developed a new weapon. Last year intelligence learned that the U.P.P. was working on a multi-lightspeed missile capable of incredible distances and speeds. We had worked on such a project ourselves but were unable to solve the problem of fitting all that sophisticated equipment into such a small device. Apparently, they were successful. If you can remember, the standard missile is capable of lightspeed if launched from a vessel at lightspeed, and even then, it is only able to maintain a subspace field for a few seconds before breaking down into sub-atomic particles. This new missile does not seem to have such a limitation and is able to achieve lightspeed and hold it independently, as well as be able to drop out of light speed with the precision of a well equipped space ship. Now since this can be fired from a location several A.U.s away, and since these missiles are nearly undetectable at lightspeed, they make a very formidable weapon."

"Tactical suggestions," General Sheldon asked patiently.

The Colonel gazed into the table for a moment emptily before he finally stated, "Well, my best advise is to stay in close range of the enemy if contacted. Up close, our weapons are as good as theirs. At a distance, you're dead."

Sheldon nodded, "Alright, that is what we are going to do. Here's the plan, so listen up Gentlemen. We know that currently we outnumber the enemy unless they found a way to reinforce. As long as we are at Omega Planet they will not attack it. If they still want to get through, they will have to go around. Now, they still have enough ships to initiate an invasion. What they need is a base for the invasion and a rallying point for reinforcements. This will either be a planet or a group of asteroids, somewhere near this location, but further to the left flank. Commerce raiders from the 2^nd and 4^th attack wings will fan out in that direction in search of enemy movement. Battleships and cruisers will take position behind in support, should the commerce raiders find anything. 1^st and 3^rd attack wings will stay and fortify Omega Planet should the enemy double back. Remember, if under attack, be aggressive, you may not live to try again." The General waited to close the meeting in case one of his subordinates should have a question. Seeing there was none he ordered, "Dismissed."

The singular presence of Sheldon's speech disintegrated into a low murmur of voices. The officers grabbed their vermilion coats and their small pieces of electronics and left the room. One of the Brigadiers paused at the door as the last of the officers left. He turned around as the door closed silently behind him.

Sensing the subject, General Sheldon motioned the two guards out of the room and sat back down in his chair, "What did you want Tom?"

The Brigadier looked at Sheldon with a smirk, "General, how did you know that the enemy would be located at a fixed point and that their defenses would be down when you attacked?"

Sheldon was a little annoyed by the question but was polite in answering, "Well, I expected the enemy ships to be appearing around us any second, and when they didn't, I figured they were somewhere else. They couldn't have been flying around out there because we did not detect them. I figured they were hiding somewhere, probably powered down. I didn't know that, but if we stayed we would be destroyed and if we left, Omega Planet would be taken."

"But what would have happened if you were wrong?" the Brigadier asked.

Sheldon was amused, "Well, that is where your attack wing came in. You were stationed behind that moon, remember? If I was wrong and if it was a trap, you were still there to annihilate them should they go for Omega Planet. Of course, even then, the plan might have failed. I am aware of that. The "what ifs" are not important. I will tell you something Tom, we won today because we did the unexpected. They counted on us to panic, not to retaliate. It was risky, I know, but you need to take risks to win. You are a General, you know that."

"And what about now," the Brigadier asked, "is this new order a far flung risk too?"

General Sheldon nodded briskly, "Searching through uncharted while dividing our forces and spreading them out, you're damn right it's risky. If they cut us down the middle or obtain reinforcements, there might be hell to pay. But I am not going to withdraw and I will not fall back. We do our jobs General. That's what we are out here to do."

"Yes sir." The Brigadier stated quickly, straightening into a salute.

Sheldon stood and did the same, his leather boots clicking together as he tightened his posture, "Good luck soldier."

Both lowered their arms and the Brigadier left Sheldon alone in the room.

The long sleek Commerce Raider rushed silently through empty space, its swept back engines projecting light blue flames of plasma that glowed florecently on the detail etched hull. The U.C.S. Alabama was flying through the rift between stars, moving at lightspeed across the starscape. Other than the shafts of light that flowed through the sparsely placed windows, the hull of the Alabama was completely dark.

Far behind the Alabama, another Commerce Raider moved silently.

***

"We are nearing our designated sector sir," the Navigator pronounced.

The Lieutenant Colonel nodded silently. Through the viewport, the stars in space moved quickly past them. He watched their movement in empty concern. Finally he turned and ordered, "Slow to 30 c, scanners ahead; stay sharp, we're going in."

"Sir," the man at the scanning station reported briskly, "our sister ship is breaking off to investigate the outer planets."

"Good," the Lieutenant Colonel nodded in silent agreement, "stay on course, be ready to drop out of light speed."

"5 seconds to planet four," the Navigator quickly turned to say, staying alert and ready for his task.

"Dropping out of lightspeed…now!" with that the helmsman slid back the silver lever and the stars slowed to stillness. A white and gray planet now loomed ominously in the viewport.

The Lieutenant Colonel stood and paced toward the viewport, "Adjust course to achieve orbit, and I want a full scan of this planet."

"Affirmative sir," the Navigator responded, quickly entering the data into his computer.

"Beginning scan now sir," the Scanning officer reported as he gave directions to his crew in the scanning alcove.

***

The sleek bodied commerce raider slowed as it approached the planet, moving toward the curve of the planet's horizon . The four moons burned brightly in the unfiltered sunlight. The skin of the Alabama glistened like a sausage roasting over a flame. The Alabama was a beautiful and elegantly structured weapon of war. Unlike earlier ships, its arches and curves fit together symmetrically. Its hull was shaped like a rapier, with fine lines that drew back into razor sharp points. Its streamlined engines trailed back in a way to give the ship the appearance of constant motion. The ship's weapons remained withdrawn and retracted leaving the hull smooth and unblemished. The clouds of white vapor on the planet radiated blankly in the sunlight and were reflected by the Alabama's mirror-like body.

***

"We are now in orbit sir," the Navigator reported, tilting his head back to the center of the room where the Lieutenant Colonel was seated.

"Very well Navigator," the Lieutenant Colonel acknowledged in approval, "Sensor control, status on surface scan?"

The Lieutenant in charge reported frustratedly, "The planet has a water vapor barrier that is interfering with our scanners. I recommend that we send down aerial probes to continue with the scan."

"That would take more time," the Lieutenant Colonel said quickly in concern.

"Yes, but it is the only way to ensure accuracy. If we don't use them we might as well not scan the planet at all. There could be 20 dropships down there and we wouldn't read a thing," the Scanning officer was making his best case. If something was missed, the blame would fall on the Lieutenant Colonel, but the fault would lie with the scanning team.

The Lieutenant Colonel thought on it intensely. They had 4 hours before leaving for the next system. An orbital scan would have been perfect, for it would have taken anywhere from three to three and a half hours to complete, just inside 4 hours. A probe scan of the altitude the scanning officer intended could take 12 hours, perhaps more. Thinking about it though, what better place to hide than on a planet with an atmosphere thick enough to inhibit scanning? And what was a timetable anyway? It was nothing but a figure pulled out of the air to meet a staff officer's idea of perfection.

"Alright, you have 12 hours, not a minute more," the Lieutenant Colonel finally conceded, "Navigator, take the bridge, I will be in my quarters. Where's Major Locher?"

"He is in Engineering sir," the Communications officer reported.

"Tell him to meet me in my quarters," Lieutenant Colonel Tomlin ordered as he left the room.

"Yes sir," The Communications officer acknowledged.

***

The lone computer sat isolated in the deep lifeless darkness. Many of its ancient appendages no longer had life: transmitter, antigravity transit systems, power production, lights, ventilation, water pumps; all dead. Diagnostic: what still functions? Short range scanners: inoperative; long range scanners: functional; defense units: functional; power batteries: functional; memory banks: functional. Remember objective: eliminate all foreign intrusion, use chekron defense system. Protect chekron production, stand guard, stay operational until overseers return.

Foreign object detected: begin chekron production. Chekron eggs in storage: still functional. Prepare hosts for chekron activation. 20 hours until chekron readiness. Prepare launching craft, remote chekron attack vehicle. Standby…

***

Major Locher strolled softly down the white hallway. Blue uniformed technicians and other enlisted personnel filed past him as he made his way to the fore of the ship. His long black boots made a hard clicking sound against the solid metal plating of the deck. His crisp olive uniform shone as brilliantly as the dull color could in the artificial light. His gold rank insignia and metals glimmered brightly.

At one of the smaller junctions he turned to enter a dimmer corridor. Reaching the second door on the left, he pressed lightly on the bottom button on the gray side panel.

"Major Locher here sir, may I enter?" he asked into the intercom.

A voice came back from the gray panel, "Enter."

The white door slid open to reveal the rather plain looking room. It was a studio-like room with one half seemingly devoted to work and study while the other half was occupied by a closet (cordoned off by curtains) and a bed, as well as a quaint bathroom (shower, mirror, sink, and toilet also cordoned off by curtains.) Each of the officers had their own bathroom so as not to ruin the image of authority with a communal shower. The room, however, was slightly bigger than those of the other officers. Lieutenant Colonel Tomlin's room was 15 feet long and about 10 feet wide.

Tomlin beckoned Major Locher inside from his small desk in the side of the room and directed him to sit, quickly grunting and taking a sip of his tea.

"Ah David," Tomlin said, setting down his porcelain cup, "I need to talk to you about our mission."

David Locher sat lightly in the chair opposite to Tomlin's, slowly taking off his hat and placing it under his arm, "In what way sir," the major said slowly.

Tomlin felt a barrier of professional detachment being built by the Major's tone and by his body language, "David, it's o.k., I may now be your superior officer, but we are still friends, right?"

David nodded, but then the Major mentioned, "But what about the crew sir? We must maintain a level of discipline around us."

"True," Tomlin said, "but the crew is not here and besides, I asked you here for advice."

David finally gave in, "I'm sorry, you're right Matt. I am just trying to remain rigid and professional so I don't slip."

Tomlin tried to reassure his friend, "David, you won't slip, you've never slipped. You're not the kind of person that will panic, fail to make a judgement, or do something wrong."

"I did before," David muttered.

"That wasn't your fault," Matt returned defensively, "I read the report, I saw the logs filed afterward; you were the one man that didn't panic. Foote and Barnes-"

"You can't blame them," David interjected defensively, "they were just re-forming their attack wings for a counter attack. If I had held on a little while longer…"

"If you had held on any longer your attack wing would have been destroyed," Matt was trying to use logic but he was competing against years of doubt, "you did what had to be done, and you know that neither Foote nor Barnes was preparing a counter-attack. They were fleeing, they were sacrificing you to cover their retreat."

"That's your story, not mine!" David exclaimed in a raised voice.

"No, I've never heard your story, not even once," Tomlin said in puzzlement, "all this time, and you have never spoken of it openly with me."

"And I won't," David chimed in defensively, "if you were responsible for the deaths of over 400 million people you would understand. Please, as my friend, promise me you will never mention this again. It happened, and nothing will change it."

Tomlin nodded softly, "Alright, you have my word."

They sat in silence for a moment before Tomlin finally said, "Let's both have a drink and get to the task on hand." Matt got up from his seat and paced over to the oak liquor cabinet.

"Sounds good to me," David said briskly, still angry about his prior conversation.

Matt took a couple shot glasses down from the cabinet as he looked at the selection, "All I have is vodka."

"You know I hate the stuff," David laughed, starting to lighten up.

"Then I'll have one for both of us," Tomlin announced, starting to laugh himself. He unscrewed the cap to the bottle and poured the clear liquid into the glass. Finally he held up the glass and toasted, "To Omega planet," starting to descend into laughter he continued, "wherever that may be next." He quickly tossed back the drink and hit himself in the chest to distract him from the kerosene-like taste and the burn that followed.

"To Omega planet," David Locher murmured.

Tomlin walked back to his chair and sat down, slowly turning the shot glass in his hand. Looking at its translucent lines and glossy yet transparent surface, he asked, "Why do they call it Omega Planet anyway? Or Omega anything? Wherever we fight a crucial battle, it is always Omega Planet, Omega sector, Omega nebula, or Omega system. I mean, why not just call the planet or system by its own name? Like this last battle, it happened at LV 351."

"I don't know really," David answered, "just tradition I guess. I figure its because each crucial battle may be the battle that will make or break the war. Wherever Omega Planet or Omega System is, it could just be the last battle, the last stand. I just hope Earth is never Omega Planet. Who knows, this uncharted planet that we are orbiting right now could be the next Omega Planet."

"Interesting," Matt Tomlin nodded, staring off into space. Bringing his eyes back to David's he continued, "interesting you brought up this planet. I am wondering whether you are getting the same ominous feeling that I am." Matt looked concerned, almost fearful, as if some evil presence had slipped into the room that only he could see. The solitary lamp seemed to dim as the conversation grew more intense.

"What feeling?" David asked, obviously not aware of it himself.

"I don't know," Matt replied trying to use his hands to explain, "you ever get a bad feeling about a time, a place, a circumstance?"

"Oh yes," David replied assuringly, "it was usually just nerves, superstition. But sometimes, sometimes it was as if I could predict the outcome before the enemy could be seen. Believe me, there is no Captain of a ship that didn't have that feeling at one time or another."

"It is deeper than that though," Matt shook his head, "I can't describe it. It is as if this planet is just projecting something evil, ominous."

"How long have you had this command?" David asked in concern.

"Two weeks, why?"

"Two weeks," David exclaimed, "two weeks. You are bound to be under a lot of stress, all this responsibility, trying to live up to what is expected of you. You gotta let go of it, just try and take things one at a time. It is overwhelming now, but it will change, I promise you. That is what this is all about. Take the worries out of you mind, and just focus on your job." David was telling a half-lie, command of a ship was never easy for him. Hate was the factor that allowed him to focus. Perhaps it was its absence that he was missing.

Matt nodded, slowly biting his lip, "You're right, I guess. I just try so hard.."

"I know," David said, "but it will pay off, just keep at it, stay strong."

"I just couldn't believe it," Matt commented, "my first command, a Commerce Raider. I have doubts here and there but I try to reassure myself. Did you have doubts?"

"No, at least not that I could remember," David muttered, "I could see only as far as my anger. They killed my fiancée at TL 31, and it took my downfall for me to see clearly again. And then, all I could do was mourn."

"In any case," Tomlin said intently, "I asked you here because I trust your ability and your advice. I hope you will help me in those regards."

"You can count on it," David agreed with an assuring grin.

A double beep came from the intercom. It repeated as Tomlin looked suggestively at Locher and flipped on the intercom.

"This is second Lieutenant Tyler, scanning control, are you there sir?"

Tomlin spoke back into the primitive one-way device, holding down the 'talk' button as he spoke, "This is Lieutenant Colonel Tomlin, I am receiving, go ahead."

"Sir," the voice came off pitch but clear through the intercom, "one of our probes has located a stationary energy source on the planet surface. It could be a U.P.P. encampment, but the type and pattern of the reading is unlike any I have seen produced by either side."

"What about equipment, vehicles?" As Tomlin asked the question, he gestured as if he was asking David.

Tomlin addressed Locher in a low tone, "David, I want you to talk to Captain Galindo. Get his marines ready and have them meet me in bay two. I will want you to lead a mission down to the surface, understand?"

"Perfectly sir," David stood, turning on his heels, and strolled briskly out of the room, placing his cap on his head securely as he left.

Tomlin finished his conversation into the intercom, "Thank-you Lieutenant, that was very helpful, Tomlin out."

"Acknowledged sir," the reply came back before the unit switched off.

Emergency lights flashed in the dropship bay. A siren accompanied the thunderous roar as the dropships powered up. Technicians and pilots ran into position as they prepped the ships for departure. Huge metal clamps from the ceiling high above held the three dropships in place, suspended above the floor of the bay.

The thunder of running echoed down the narrow corridor. It was not random like a usual stampede, but had an order, a synchronous pattern, so precise and consistent, it was like one creature rampaging through the empty halls of the ship. The Marines stormed into the armory, tearing open the metal lockers to grab their armor on one side of the room. Shuffling, sliding, often shoving their combat fatigues into place, they dashed to the other side of the narrow room to retrieve their weapons. The elegant but deadly weapons were clean and polished, sliding perfectly into holsters, strapping over harnesses, or attaching firmly to the armor. The personal weapons and equipment were quickly assembled and put in place before each soldier strapped his helmet on and ran down the hall with the other Marines and the sergents running in front, to the side, and in back, chanting, shouting, and kicking. The entire company of men raced again in unison.

Holding the flank, Platoon Sergeant Thornberg chased behind yelling, "Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up, go, go, go, go! Company F is the best, Company F rocks! Let's hear it!"

The men replied in unison, "Company F rocks!"

"Let's hear it people, are you the Navy?"

"No!" they chanted.

"Are you the malitia!"

"No!"

"Are you gonna kick some ass!"

"Yeah!"

"What are you, what are you!"

"We're Marines, we're Marines!"

"Let's go people, get into formation now, squad leaders, hold the ends, line up people!"

Most of the yelling was morale boosting, getting the men pumped up for combat. It was a motivator. The marines raced out of the corridor and into the bay where they lined up at attention. They came in a solid flow until, seconds after the first arrived, the entire ensemble was lined up. They were divided into two platoons, each platoon consisted of 5 rows, 5 squads, each squad consisted of 10 men, 50 men per platoon, 100 men in all.

Two Lieutenants were the first officers to enter the bay. The lead platoon sergeant quickly ordered, "Attention! Officer on the deck!"

The entire assembly stood straight, tightening their postures until they became stone.

Captain Galindo was the next to enter the bay, accompanied by two staff sergeants. The Lieutenants saluted him as he strolled forward in his battle armor. He visually inspected the troops as he approached, carefully scanning their armor and weapons for defect. His staff stood to the side as he strode to the middle. Galindo did not hesitate to speak.

"Gentlemen, you all know the situation. 48 hours ago, our fleet engaged U.P.P. forces at sector LV561. With heavy losses, we pushed them back into uncharted space where we think they are trying to regroup. We don't know much about this area of space. It is relatively uncharted and unsurveyed. We are out here to keep them from gaining a foothold. They have already tried to do so once, and now we must stop them from trying it again. Scans indicate an energy source on the surface. To be honest, we have no idea what is down there, and it doesn't matter. It could be an electromagnetic annomaly, or an infantry brigade. Remember, all we are here to do is detect the bastards. That means, if we see them, we avoid detection and call in the cavalry. There is nothing to worry about people, we have over 200 ships and 50,000 marines backing us up. Walk softly, but be ready to rock and roll if needed.

"Enough of the briefing. You have 15 minutes to load all weapons and armored vehicles into the dropships. I want all personnel and equipment ready and accounted for by that time. We drop in ten minutes, let's move!"

Sergeant Thornburg ensured no time was wasted, "You heard the Captain, get on it!"

The assembly broke up quickly, littering the bay like ants. Within seconds the access door opened and tanks came rolling through. Ammunition men followed the tanks carrying crates with bullets, shells, and short range missiles. Like a pit crew, accessory personnel loaded the tanks and checked gauges and bearings before standing back with thumbs up. As the tanks powered up again and rolled into the dropships. The dropship crews finished loading the dropships with missiles and and other weapons as well as power cells and coolant cartriges.

Galindo stood by one of the dropships issuing orders and signing reports. As he turned to watch the powerloaders pack the last missiles into the dropships the door to the drop bay openned and Major Locher strolled in wearing battle armor and a pulse rifle strapped behind him. He marched alone, crossing the bay floor to stand directly in front of Galindo.

Galindo looked at him with curiosity, horror, and anger, restrained by personal dicipline,"Sir, why are you here?"

As if the answer was not immediately obvious, Locher replied, "I am going with you." Locher could not be more brief.

Galindo took Locher aside, quickly excusing his attendants, and silently asked, "Sir, I would prefer if you stayed on the ship."

Locher simply stated a question, "You object to my presence on the surface?"

"Yes sir, but I would prefer not to elaborate here."

Locher tilted his head slightly to the side while lowering his stance to level with Galindo's line of sight, "Because?"

Galindo bit his lip as his body began to animate itself, and then stopped, "Sir, I have four minutes before takeoff. I can only say that I request that you stay on the ship, sir. I cannot go into it any further at this time."

Locher inhaled as he straighted his stance, "Your request is denied. Assume your station."

Galindo restrained his jaw as he grated his teeth together and his right fist clinched lightly, "Yes, sir." Galindo saluted and turned on his right foot the moment the return salute was given. Locher waited by himself briefly, passing his gaze over the dropship that hung above him.

A few seconds before takeoff, an alarm sounded and the last of the Marines ran into the dropships before the ramps closed. The bay cleared of all personnel and giant clamps moved the dropships forward. Air vacated the room quickly with a roar, then all was silent. Giant doors opened beneath the dropships and the dropships were lowered into giant hatches in the floor. A single row of doors separated the dropships from the eternal vacuum of space. The final doors unlocked, then split open, allowing blinding light to shine into the bay. Unshielded by atmosphere or distance, the star's radiance burned purely in its intensity, seeming to bleach white every surface that it touched. The dropships were momentarily suspended in time, white light radiating from their symmetrical hulls. The clamps released. A back-thrust fired and the dropships rocketed down.

The acceleration was smooth for nearly half a minute before the ships hit the atmosphere. Red plasma gathered around the hulls of the ships, turning orange, yellow, then white. The air roared like a sheet of leather being torn rapidly by a dull knife. Far below, the cloud layer loomed in mystery.

Successive jolts of turbulence slammed Galindo into his seat. For him, the worst part of a landing was the actual drop. His pulse was racing and nervous energy welled up inside him, threatening to make him nausious. He tried to hide it, but he feared that his reactions were still visible. His hands gripped the restraints tightly and his eyes closed with every bump. Locher was not far away. Galindo glanced over at Locher, expecting to see the man suffering as he was, but what he saw shocked him. The Major was cool as he had ever seen anyone, not even flinching as the ship rocked violently. Locher's gaze panned across the entire vessel, or at least all of it that he could see, like a Roman General, surveying his troops. Galindo was impressed, but he was still not ready to reconsider what he had heard about the Major.

After what seemed an eternity of rapid deceleration, the ships leveled out into flying mode, entering the cloud layer boldly, and disappearing beneath its depths.

Galindo unlocked his restraints and stood, almost stumbling over his quaky limbs. The rest of the troops in the dropship also stood, the sergeants quickly assembling them and directing them. There were six armored vehicles altogether and Galindo's dropship contained two of them. The two tank crews moved to the back of the dropship unlocking the tanks and readying them for deployment. The rest of the soldiers re-assembled their weapons and took position to the front and the sides of the dropship. Most of the shaking was over already and the flight had leveled out.

The dropships roared downward, dropping until they were skimming the ground below radar height. The small hills and desert shrubery passed quickly by below, seeming no more than a blur. The dropships flew in a semi-linear formation, forming two staggered lines held with the dropships hovering only meters apart. They slowed quickly as they came up on the dropsite, turning abruptly into a small bowl of earth cut into the surrounding hills. The jets blasted the sand upward with a high pitched roar to accompany the landing process. The ships rotated slightly as they settled down and long landing gears extended from their undersides to meet the fairly even earth underneath. They settled down slowly as the engines began to subside. Guns extended from the sides of the dropships, covering the surrounding ground.

Before the landing struts settled into the dust, the main ramp of each dropship extended downward. As the dropships came to rest on the dusty earth, the whirring of the engines was replaced by the thunder of the tanks crashing down the ramps. The armored troops followed them out, splitting up behind each tank for cover as they panned out across the landing site. A small circle of hills surrounded the landing site, forming sort of a crater in the landscape where they could mostly be safe from detection. Within a minute or so the check of the landing area was complete and the tanks positioned themselves defensively around the dropships. The officers quickly assembled the troops for deployment as the last of the personell was unloaded from the dropships.

David marched quickly out of his dropship, the bright light of the sun overhead blinding him as he pounded onto the white dust. Galindo had made it out only a few seconds before him but he resented not having more control and participation in this opperation. He knew that Galindo would try to consign him to the dropships to moniter the search, but that was not what he was there for. The heat drew sweat from the troops whose armor was still black. David did not even bother to tell them they were still wearing space colors but merely flipped the adjuster switch in his sholder-piece and his black camoflage turned white to blend in with the surroundings. The troops around him quickly realized their suits were not on auto-adjust color and quickly made the appropriate adjustment. The sun continued to beat down on the men. David was not bothered by the heat and tried to let its effect pass through him. David made his way to where Galindo and the two lieutenants were standing, going over their computerized maps.

"The energy signature was located here, toward the center of the grey area," Galindo moved his finger toward where the beige of the desert dissapeared into grey intermingled with green. Not much could be seen from the aerial image, but David could already see that enemy contact with the given territory could prove hazardous. Galindo continued, "Recent scans show that the signature has been getting more powerful, but as far as I can tell, it has nothing to do with us."

One of the two lieutenants nodded silently, "Still don't know what it is?"

"Not UPP, that's for sure," a voice came suddenly from outside the circle.

"Who the hell-" Galindo stuttered.

They all turned to see the owner of the curiously out of place voice. He was dark haired with a sharp, well defined face, silvery blue eyes set deep beneath his brows. Unlike the beige armor everyone else was wearing, he wore a black t-shirt and black pants with leather boots. He looked almost chizzled out of marble, the veins even standing out on his arms, all muscle and bone, with none of the soft padding that most people had. He introduced himself with a forward, yet comfortable confidence, "Dr. Juan Knudsen, special science adviser, I'm here to help you gather intelligence from our UPP friends," seeing that none of them believed him, he further advised, "I am registered in the manifest, look for yourself."

Galindo accessed the manifest with the pad, scanning the list, "Yes, you are here, and have orders for this mission. Tell me, how are you down here without me knowing, I thought I cleared everyone."

"I got my clearance from Lieutanant Commander Tomlin, I was already onboard by the time you arrived in the bay," Knudsen explained simply, his hands at his side, careful not to send negative signals by crossing his arms or sticking his hands in his pockets.

Galindo shook his head, "Alright, but you will stay at base camp while we move forward, I don't want a green civilian in the field. As far as I am concerned, I don't need you and will run my mission as I see it."

Knudsen gave a smirk of disbelief, "With respect sir, I have plenty of tactical training, you can see my file if you want, and I have my orders to report from the point of most advantage on enemy movement. Besides, my scouting experience may be of use to you. If someone wouldn't mind getting transportation for my equipment..." he said, directing his arm toward two black crates that had almost seemed to appear magically behind them. Seeing that no one was making any action to heIp, he remarked, " I was told you were ordered to give me your full cooperation."

"Well, unfortunately for you, no one gave such orders to me. I've had too much experience with non-military personnell getting in the way and getting themselves killed."

David interrupted, "And I've had too much experience with junior officers making decisions before they know the full facts. Dr. Knudsen, you are coming with us. Captain Galindo, do you have any other objections?"

Galindo gave a cold stare at David, his anger restrained only by his need to maintain protocol, he hated being overuled, "No sir."

"Alright then," David said, seeing that his control was unchallanged, "we will go with standard scouting approach. We will divide into two groups, I will lead group one, you Leiutenant," he said, pointing to Leiutenant Browne, "will take your platoon with me. Captain, you will lead group two with Leiutenant Hoffman's platoon. This point I am about to stress is very important. We cannot be detected by the enemy. Are communication jammers on?"

"Yes," Galindo said quietly, "they have been activated, but they should not have an effect on our communications."

"Good." David said curtly, "Now, we will have to move slowly, tanks will be in the rear to minimize possibility of detection. If you engage the enemy, analyse the situation first, and I add, very carefully. If we are spotted by one of their units, we must take that unit out before it can report back. However, if they outnumber us or we are unable to win, our priority is to survive long enough to alert our ship. Understood?"

The group nodded and repeated, "Understood sir," each man chiming in with slightly irregular timing.

In a couple minutes the groups were assembled and ready to move out. They started their journey in two different directions, both seperated by about 30 degrees. Over a hill and out of the bowl of earth they went, quickly leaving the dropships behind.

"OK Knudsen, what is your specialty?" David finally asked the Dr., both men walking now in tandom near the middle of the platoon.

"Computer systems, data encryption, et cetera," Dr. Knudsen silently confessed.

"Hm," David laughed to himself, "don't be offended by this question, but why again did they send you to us?"

"Well," the Dr. began, "it was mostly to hack into any UPP computers that we come across. The UPP keep a record of all directives and communications that are sent and recieved. If we captured one of their survey teams, we could get hold of their plans for this sector. That is very important."

"What was the other reason?"

"Aliens." Dr. Knudsen paused while David decended into a light giggle, "What, you don't believe in aliens?"

David looked over at Dr. Knudsen with a smile, "No, I think it is possible. Just, why do you expect to see them now?"

"Mostly rumors, remember the Weyland Yutani Corporation?" the Dr. asked.

"Yeah," David nodded, "I read about it in school."

The two men made their way through a rock formation that looked like a miniture canyon. Dr. Knudsen continued, "They were involved in a special bio-weapons project, classified top-secret, even from the government. That was over 200 years ago. Even today, we still don't know much about the project. Had something to do with aliens though, somewhere in this sector. There was a colony on LV 426, not more than 5 lightyears from here. It has been 200 years since anyone else has set foot on that planet. You know that grey mass ahead of us?"

"Yeah," David was getting curious, "we didn't get a clear reading on it, looks too large and complex to be a group of rock formations."

"It's not," Dr. Knudsen said crypticly, "we're gonna find out though. I will tell you something that not many people know. There is something in this sector that the UPP does not know about, something they must not know about, something that they cannot get their hands on. Why am I here? I am here to stop the UPP from finding that secret before we do."

"Noble task, the implementation may prove more difficult," David replied gently.

The rocky hills cast no shadows this time of day. Their bleached faces merely reflected the brutal light back into the dry air. On the ground, a thin layer of dust and sand covered the rock beneath. A vast dune sea stretched beyond the horizon behind the rocky wilderness. During violent sandstorms, the giant clouds of dust could blow miles past the boundaries of the desert, covering the stony landscape beyond with silky dust. Every crevice was filled with it, a white powder that sat in puddles the way water does after a rainstorm. Wind and sand had shaped the rocks, slowly wearing their sharp edges into rounded humps and smoothed surfaces. Historically, deserts have always expanded, molding the surrounding territory after them. Slowly, the rocks broke down, becoming dust themselves. A ceasless pattern of destruction, death, never relenting, every year, every century, every millenia. Unlike most deserts, however, the origins of this one were far from natural.

"Sir," a corporal approached his Leiutenant, "I have anylized the radiation levels since we landed. The area in which we are walking is reading substancially high in gamma ray activity."

"Does it pose a danger?"

"No sir," the soldier said, "the sensors on the dropships would have told us if it did. It is just that the desert behind us reads higher than any other place on the planet. The planetary average was a third of what I am reading now sir. Should I notify the Captain?"

"No, you said it yourself it was not a danger. It is still interesting though."

The troops in group two moved in staggered formation, the dry heat exhausting their vision, slowly changing their march into a stagger. Each mile became more tedious until the men on point paid little attension to their surroundings.

The troops reached the top of a dirt hill whre the rock outcroppings began to level out. The man on point shifted his gun in his hands, tempted to rest his arms by slinging it over his shoulder. The equipment on his armor rattled as he moved, the dust puffing up slightly as he walked. The man behind him was staring blankly at the point-man's back when a plume of red mist exploded into the air and he was torn backwards as if someone had struck him with a blunt object. A second later, the air thundered with the sound of automatic gunfire. Dirt on the ground exploded into the air with each bullet striking the ground, the trail of plumes leaping up to strike the second man before he could move and continuing the pattern with blood instead of dirt.

"Take cover!" Galindo shouted under the deafening roar. The soldiers scrambled toward the surrounding rocks and outcroppings, the streaking bullets chasing them down. One man twirled as he fell behind a boulder, a single bullet having struck him in the back.

The hail of gunfire continued as the men secured themselves behind whatever they could find. Tracers made yellow streaks in the air as they chizzled into and ricocheted off of the stony defences.

Galindo crouched against one of the larger rocks which sat on a slight rise in the terrain, overlooking a mostly open sand flat below. From across this flat area, bullets whined as they streaked overhead.

Leiutenant Hoffman jumped in beside Galindo, shouting, "We're pinned down sir, they have superior position and firepower!"

"Tell me something I don't know!" Galindo shouted back, he looked around to see soldiers thier guns up at angles, spraying bullets blindly in the air. Galindo hit Hoffman forcefully on the shoulder, "Tell your men to hold their fire! At this range, they won't hit anything!"

Hoffman picked up the mouthpiece to his transmitter, "Hold your fire, do not return fire!"

By this time, the enemy fire had been reduced to short, seemingly random bursts.

"Spotter, get the spotter up here!" Leiutenant Hoffman shouted.

A troop came running from the rear of the line, zig-zagging between the rocks and barely avoiding the yellow streaks that threatened to sting him. His mad dash seemed completely suicidal, his final leap knocked sideways by the dirt exploding around him.

"Private Simon here sir!" the spotter yelled as he landed between Hoffman and Galindo, his helmet finally leaping off his head from the impact. He instinctively grabbed it to secure it to his head again when he saw that where the chin strap was supposed to attach to the helmet had been blown off. He dropped it to the side with humerous astonishment.

"You outta take more care than that soldier, you could have been killed with that little stunt back there!" Hoffman started into Simon.

"What stunt sir?" Private Simon asked, a little dazed from his journey.

"You know what I am talking about. Running through an open field of fire like a maniac, you put more lives at risk than your own-"

"Enough!" Galindo interrupted, "Yell at the kid later, for now our priority is to take out that gun up there. Simon, get a reading on that position up there, and tell me how many guns are there. Tell me if they have any artillery."

"If they had artillery, they would have used it by now sir," Leiutenant Hoffman commented.

Galindo shifted his shoulder up onto the rock while he got his legs situated into a kneeling position, "No, it's an old tactic. If they fire when we are spread out like this, they will only take out one or two of us. But, if they wait until we cluster our main people together, they can take ten or more out with one shot. They might also want to lure us out into the open. We cannot commit ourselves tactically until we know more about their strength and location," as Galindo spoke the spotter was extending a periscope like device up from behind the rock, Galindo continued, "get the smart guns up here."

Hoffman repeated the order into the intercom, "Smart-gun operators, rally at my position, repeat, smart-gun operators, rally at my position."

"OK sir," Private Simon was now looking through the bottom portion of the periscope, "I am seeing two guns and I am beginning to get a range on their position. Cannot see anything else, the hill is pretty much bare besides them. Can't see any artillery or mortars, if it is there, it would have to be mounted behind them. Nice guns they have though, looks like Z-200s, best range of any land-based weapon they have besides the X-150. Compact units too, smaller than the normal vehicle based model, these ones are being fired from the ground. As far as I am concerned, they are pretty much screwed on mobility."

"Do you have the range on them yet?" Galindo broke in.

"Calculating that now sir," Simon reported, pausing to get the readout, "5340.6 meters, directly North-West of this position. Relative elevation is 4 meters above our own."

The gunfire began to increase again, sounding the arrival of the smartgun opperators. Two of them came from in front of Galindo's position, both leaping into cover from opposite sides. The third man came from behind, a little later than the other two. He was much more careful and dashed from boulder to boulder instead of running past three at a time. By the time he found cover near Galindo, the guns had aparently lost him and were firing random bursts in the general area.

"Where is Peters?" Hoffman asked the smartgun operators. Two of them turned and looked at each other as they obviously had no idea.

The third smartgun operator leaned closer to Hoffman, "He couldn't make it over here sir. He got hit finding cover when they started firing. Doc says the bullet split his pelvis, he is completely unable to move sir."

"I saw two guys go down when they started shooting," Hoffman added, "but I cannot see them very well from here, how are they?"

"I think one may be alive sir, I saw movement." the smallest of the smartgun operators said, "We were yelling at him not to move and so far they have not tried to finish him off. The other one was not moving at all, I think he is dead sir."