Against All Enemies

Chapter Two

The watch rotation had rolled its way to that point where Paul came off the 1800–2000 second dog watch knowing he didn't have another watch until 0400. It wasn't anything like a full night's sleep by normal standards, but the promise of several hours of uninterrupted sleep seemed like heaven.

Until a messenger came to his stateroom and woke him up. "Mr. Sinclair? You're needed in the captain's cabin."

Paul pried his eyes open and checked the time. Half an hour until midnight. He ran through most of the obscenities he'd learned since joining the Navy, adding in the ones he'd picked up from Ensign Taylor, as he struggled into his uniform.

Commander Kwan was waiting outside the captain's cabin when Paul arrived, with Lieutenant Bolen right behind. Kwan jerked his thumb to indicate they should enter, then followed, pulling the hatch shut behind him.

Inside, the captain's cabin was dimly lit by nighttime illumination and crowded with figures. Paul ran his eyes over the group, seeing that in addition to Bolen and Kwan those present were Commander Garcia, Commander Moraine and Commander Destin. The Combat Information Center officer, the weapons officer, the Operations Department head and his relief, and the Chief Engineer. Captain Hayes was sitting on his bunk to allow room for the others since the cabin could hardly hold the small group.

Hayes looked at them, his expression hard to read in the weak light. "We've been notified that the security forces will begin their operation against the settlers at oh one hundred tonight. Nobody outside of this room is to be told. Is that clear?" Everyone nodded. "I want each of you to be prepared. Hopefully, everything will go well and those cops will take down the settlers without any trouble. But if things don't go well, we may have to improvise some very quick responses."

Garcia nodded heavily. "Will we get copies of the operation plan or will we have to read yours, sir?"

"Neither. I don't have the plan and you won't have it. All I know is the start time."

For once, Paul agreed with Garcia's outrage. "Captain, that's nuts! They're carrying out this op right under our noses. We need to know exactly what's going to happen and when! Otherwise-"

"I know." Hayes cut off Garcia in a way that made it seem the captain agreed but couldn't do anything about it. "But we don't see the plan. Security is regarded as too important."

Garcia seemed to be struggling with himself but managed to keep silent.

Hayes looked around again. "I don't know how many of you were ever scouts when you were kids, but at oh one hundred I want you to be prepared. Clear? That's all."

They pulled themselves out of the captain's cabin. Paul caught Garcia's gaze, looking for any further instructions, but Garcia shook his head like an angry bull and headed rapidly off down the passageway. Moraine eyed Paul, then turned without a word and followed Garcia. Kwan and Destin stared at Paul and Bolen in a way that conveyed a desire for privacy, so the junior officers left, Bolen quickly angling off in his own direction.

Paul stopped moving, hanging with one hand locked on the nearest hold, and checked the time. Just after midnight. Sleep was obviously impossible at this point. But he couldn't do anything, either. Anything he might do could cause people to wonder what was about to happen, and the last thing Paul wanted was to have the Captain, the XO and both his current and future department heads accusing him of violating a clear order to avoid tipping anyone else off.

What did that leave? As he hung there, Randy Diego came by and gave him a surprised look. "What're you doing up, Paul?"

Good question. Randy had just come off watch, but what explanation could Paul give? "The XO wanted to see me," Paul explained, reasoning that it was a truthful statement as far as it went.

"Oh. Paperwork?"

"Yeah." Paul seized on the explanation. "Legal officer stuff. There's some reports the XO wants to see."

Randy winced. "That ship's legal officer job really sucks, doesn't it? Uh, have they told you who's going to get it when you leave the ship?"

"Not yet." Every officer had collateral duties, extra jobs they got to be responsible for in addition to their primary jobs. Paul had been given the legal officer job, responsible for advising the captain on legal issues, by virtue of a three-week-long course he'd taken before reporting to the ship. With Paul's own transfer off the ship coming up, he'd heard that the other junior officers were in mortal terror of being assigned the legal officer job. "Are you volunteering?" he couldn't help adding.

"No!" Randy suddenly seemed to realize he needed to be somewhere else and started down the passageway away from Paul. "I'm too busy all the time now! Check you later!"

"Sure." Paul watched him go, then headed for the wardroom first. He'd need coffee.

The only person in the wardroom when Paul entered was the new supply officer. Paul blinked in surprise as he realized Commander Smithe was watching a video on the big display screen. Smithe gave a non-verbal and non-committal greeting to Paul and then paid full attention to the screen while Paul got his coffee.

Paul checked the title of the video as he got his dose of caffeine. Slaughterhouse Five? Oh, it's a twentieth century video. Old junk. With time to kill, he pulled out his data pad and called up a description of the movie. It sounded mostly incomprehensible, but Paul locked on one section of the description. "The aftermath of Dresden." Dresden? Air raid. Good God. Now I remember. He looked at the screen, where two men were climbing up some huge pile of rubble. Dresden. They still don't know how many people were killed there. For no reason. No military reason, anyway.

The comparison bothered him. We're here watching these civilians. They're not harmless, though. Well, some of them aren't. But some of them are likely to die tonight. And we're helping that effort even if we're not directly involved in what's going to happen on the surface of that asteroid. What if the civilians fire at us? What if we have to kill kids to stop them? What a lousy choice.

We're supposed to use these weapons of ours against other military forces. That's the way it's supposed to work. Honorable combat against people who follow the same rules we do. That sounds stupid and archaic but it's true. But how many times do we end up pointing them at civilians, instead?

And we don't have a choice. What the hell else are we supposed to do?

He didn't know. So Paul headed for combat, nursing his coffee and hoping his fears would prove meaningless.

He tried to move without any sign of unusual haste or tension, though Paul realized that if he did move with speed and apprehension then everyone seeing him would assume Commander Garcia or the XO had just called him in for another chewing out. The darkened nighttime passageways of the Michaelson were once again almost deserted except for a few personnel conducting physical inspections as a backstop for the automated sensors which had too great a tendency to fail just when they were most needed. The quiet and sparsely populated passageways made a strange contrast to the turmoil inside of Paul as he thought of the upcoming operation and everything that might go wrong.

He arrived in Combat a good half hour before the operation was scheduled to begin, nodding casually to the watchstanders who looked up at his entrance. He talked to them for a few minutes, the sort of quiet interaction that just reassured Paul that they knew what was going on and reassured them that Paul cared about them and their work. He was sure they were wondering what he was doing up here, but also sure the enlisted sailors would simply chalk it up to the mysterious and strange world of officers.

The sailors turned back to monitoring their watch stations as Paul strapped into his own and called up a view of the entire situation. He spent the next ten minutes trying to again commit every important fact about the familiar situation to memory, then paged Senior Chief Imari on her data pad. "Senior Chief Imari? This is Mr. Sinclair. Could you come on up to Combat?"

The reply took a minute. Senior Chief Imari was surely unhappy at being awakened at a time very close to the legendary "o-dark-thirty," but had to realize upon thinking about it that Paul must've had a very good reason. "Uh, yes, sir. Give me ten minutes."

"Fine." No need to rush the her, and no wisdom in doing so. If he did, every other chief would be aware before Imari left their quarters of something very short fuse about to go on in Combat.

Paul played with the displays at his watch station, looking at views of how the tactical situation would appear from the point of view of some of the other ships. It felt odd, seeing a symbol labeled USS Michaelson hanging out in space, just where one of the SASAL warships would see her. He noticed the weapons simulators automatically calculating firing solutions for the SASAL ship to target the Michaelson and cut off the view.

Senior Chief Imari entered, eyeing Paul with mild curiosity. "What's up, sir?"

Paul waved toward his watch station. When she got close, he nodded toward the time display, which now read 0055. Catching the Senior Chief's eye, Paul held up his hand with five fingers splayed out, then closed his hand into a fist.

Senior Chief Imari looked from the time to Paul's hand, then nodded, her face impassive. "Okay, sir. I guess I ought to check that on my watch station." Imari strapped in, checked the situation display, then gave Paul a quick thumbs up.

She's ready. And I didn't tell her anything. I'm sure Garcia or Kwan would rip me apart for getting Imari up here at all, but if something's going to happen I want my Senior Chief here.

He checked the time, trying to fight down his nervousness. Three minutes to go. Did 0100 mean that's when the cops would move in, or was it just the time when the merchant ships would start launching the cops toward the asteroids? He'd seen pictures of the system they'd use. Just big tubes with spring-loaded platforms on the bottom. The cops would climb in and be launched toward the asteroid on just the right course with just the right amount of force and without using any active propulsion system that might give them away. With the latest stealth gear hiding their presence, the cops would hopefully remain invisible to the people on the asteroid until they were ready to move.

And if some of them somehow missed landing on the asteroid, the Michaelson would eventually help retrieve any cops heading on a one-way trip to deep space.

"Sir." Paul jerked his head over at the sound of Imari's voice. "Transients," she reported. "From both the Gilgamesh and the Saladin. They may be charging weapons."

Oh, hell. Paul focused on the other watchstanders. "Bayless. Chen. I want three pairs of eyes on those read-outs. Give me your estimates." He called up the information himself, feeling a heavy sensation in his guts. The transients were there, sure enough. Tiny leakages of power that almost certainly indicated the two SASAL ships were charging up their weaponry in preparation for firing. Nothing else could keep produce readings like that.

"Sir." Senior Chief Imari again. "The system gives a ninety-five percent level of confidence on those transients."

That meant a very high probability that they were accurate. "What about you, Senior Chief? What's your confidence?"

Imari gave Paul a hard look. "My gut feeling is ninety-nine percent confidence, sir. They're real solid."

Damn. What're the SASALs up to? He couldn't help remembering an incident years ago when Combat had reported picking up transients. The transients hadn't been real, that time. He'd been on the bridge then, a brand-new ensign watching as the Michaelson 's captain mistakenly fired upon and destroyed an unarmed ship. Paul hesitated for a fraction of a second. But this time it's Senior Chief Imari telling me those are real transient readings, and I know those are warships, and I know a lot more about this job.

He hadn't heard anything from the bridge, yet, but Paul figured they were fixated upon the asteroid just as Paul had been. He keyed the communications circuit. "Bridge, this is Combat." He heard his voice starting to rise with tension and lowered it. "We have high-confidence transients from both SASAL warships indicating they are charging their weapon systems."

He had only a moment to wonder how his information was being received. It was all to easy to imagine the report had landed like a bomb on the quiet bridge.

Instead of the officer of deck responding, he heard Captain Hayes' voice, sharp and uncompromising. "Combat, how high a confidence?"

"The system says ninety-five percent, sir. My people say ninety-nine percent."

"What do you say, Mr. Sinclair?"

"Ninety-nine percent, Captain." Paul didn't have to hesitate. He knew his job and he knew his people.

There was a pause. Paul checked the time. 0102. Whatever was happening on the asteroid had already started.

This time Captain Hayes' voice was more controlled. "Is anyone else doing anything, Paul? Any other ships?"

"No, sir, not-"

Chief Imari's voice interrupted him. "The Peter Ville's started chargin' weapons, too, sir," she reported, using the sailors' nickname for the Russian ship. "High confidence."

Paul swallowed and continued his reply. "Captain, we've just picked up high confidence indications that the Pyotor Veliki is also charging weapons." Were the Russians coordinating their actions with the SASAL ships, or were they responding to the SASAL actions? There wasn't any love lost between the South Asian Alliance and the Russian Federation, but that didn't mean there weren't areas of mutual interest.

Captain Hayes sounded very unhappy, making Paul glad he wasn't face to face with the captain at the moment. "No one else, yet?"

"No, sir. Yes, sir." Chief Imari had highlighted information on Paul's display. "The Middle Kingdom is charging up now, too."

Commander Garcia was suddenly there at Paul's elbow, glowering ferociously at the display. Unable to find anything wrong, he slammed a fist onto the nearest surface. "Captain, the Han Chinese don't like the South Asians at all. They can't be working with them. They must be charging up in response to seeing the SASAL ships doing it."

"Self-defense?" Hayes questioned.

"Yes, sir. Captain, recommend-"

"No." Hayes cut Garcia off before he could recommend that the Michaelson charge up her own weapons.

Garcia flushed, then switched his anger to Paul. "Run a tactical simulation of what'll happen if the SASALs and Russians open fire on us and the Europeans."

"Sir," Senior Chief Imari interposed. "We're all at dead stop relative to each other, fairly close together and all our positions known exactly. We don't have to run a sim to know what'd happen if those ships open fire on us right now, sir."

Garcia glared at Imari, but nodded sharply. Any "battle" would last for only seconds as the ships with powered-up weapons riddled those who'd refrained from the provocative act.

"Sir?" Paul looked toward Senior Chief Imari as she spoke. "Captain's activated Big Brother."

Paul nodded, staring back at his display. Normally, warships stayed very quiet, communicating only in very short bursts when absolutely necessary, in order to keep their locations uncertain. But that made no sense now. Big Brother was a fairly new system, one designed to fire hose as much information as possible from the Michaelson back to fleet headquarters. All internal and external communications, sensor readings, orders given and received, the status of equipment onboard. Whatever happened to the Michaelson, the records of the event would be known with certainty to those receiving the Big Brother transmission.

Garcia slammed his fist down again and pointed wordlessly. Paul followed the gesture, seeing indications springing to life on the display, indications that said some sort of combat using hand weapons was erupting on one end of the asteroid. The cops got spotted going in. Can they -

An alert sounded. "Alliance ship Gilgamesh is firing," the Michaelson 's combat systems computer announced with its unvarying calmness.

Heads all over Combat jerked to focus on the combat action symbology which had flashed onto display screens. Paul had the briefest moment of dread as he wondered if the SASAL ship had targeted the Michaelson. He'd barely had time to realize that the ships were so close that if the Michaelson had been shot at, the Gilgamesh 's blows would strike home at the same time as the combat systems warning sounded, before he saw the freighter which had been hijacked by the religious fanatics staggering under repeated blows from the SASAL weapons. They're targeting the Jedidiah Smith. Why?

Senior Chief Imari's voice sounded. "Bridge, this is Combat. Gilgamesh is targeting the bridge and engineering sections of the freighter."

Paul tore his eyes away from the display to shoot a quick nod and look of thanks across the compartment to the Senior Chief. I should've been focusing on that, too, instead of being shocked into just watching.

"Combat, this is the captain. That freighter should've been knocked out by the first volley. Why are they still shooting at it?"

"Unknown, Captain. Gilgamesh 's fire is shifting to other portions of the hull, now."

The answer came to Paul in a flash, perhaps because of his remembrance of Dresden earlier in the evening. "They're trying to kill everyone aboard."

Garcia and Imari both stared at Paul. Then Garcia flushed an even deeper shade of red. "Tell the captain."

"Sir, I'm just guessing-"

"Tell the captain!"

"Yes, sir. Bridge, this is Combat. Assess the Gilgamesh is attempting to kill everyone onboard the Smith." That should include at least some of the Smith 's crew as well as the people who'd been holding them hostage. Apparently the SASAL ship was willing to sacrifice the innocent crew members in order to ensure the hostage takers were eliminated.

The reply took a moment. "Thank you, Combat. Unfortunately, I think you're right."

The alert sounded again as the Michaelson 's combat systems made another announcement. "Alliance ship Saladin is firing."

Once again eyes jumped to the displays, watching the combat systems highlight the almost invisible particle beams and lasers leaping from the other warship, and trying to determine the targets.

"It's the asteroid," someone said.

Any sense of relief Paul felt at his own ship not being the target vanished as he watched damage markers pop up on structures located on the asteroid within line of sight of the Saladin. As the asteroid rotated beneath the other ship, new targets became available and were shattered by the barrage.

Paul felt his hands clenching uselessly, unable to think of anything he could do. By his side, Garcia was rigid with anger as he watched the destruction. We can't do anything. Captain Hayes must be feeling even worse than we are, if that's possible. Paul saw the enlisted sailors staring at him with confusion. Unaware of the orders restricting the ship from acting, they were wondering why the Michaelson wasn't doing something. And even now he couldn't tell them.

A speaker came to life. Paul instantly recognized Captain Hayes' voice, even as he realized he was listening to a message sent to the other ships. "South Asian Alliance Ships Gilgamesh and Saladin, this is the USS Michaelson. Cease fire immediately. Over."

Garcia's lips stretched into an ugly grin. "Good one. He didn't threaten them or threaten to do anything. He just told them to stop. The orders don't say we can't do that."

But the SASAL ships ignored the transmission, not replying and seemingly unworried by the presence of the Michaelson. The Gilgamesh had finally abandoned its death strikes at the helpless freighter and had joined in the bombardment of the asteroid. Paul watched more and more damage symbols appearing on settler structures, feeling sick inside. Involuntarily wrenching his eyes from the surface of the asteroid, Paul focused for a moment on the wreck of the Jedidiah Smith. Then he blinked and looked again. The wreck's moving. How can it be moving? The hits from the Gilgamesh couldn't have imparted enough momentum… Venting. "Bridge, this is Combat. The Jedidiah Smith is being pushed out of position by venting of gases and fuel."

There was a brief pause, then the captain's voice came again, the furious tone in contrast to his words. "Good catch. Where's it going?"

Paul frantically ran some extrapolations. "The wreck looks like it's falling off to starboard and down toward the asteroid surface. The trajectory is still shifting. Unable to tell if it'll clear the asteroid." He didn't bother saying what would happen if the wreck got in the way of the asteroid, let alone what that would do to anyone still miraculously surviving onboard the Smith and anyone on the asteroid's surface where the Smith impacted.

"That does it! There's one other thing we can do and we'll damn well do it. Combat, I want a course to put us between the Gilgamesh and the surface of that asteroid."

Paul hesitated, unsure what he'd heard, and listened as Garcia questioned the order. "Captain? Between the Gilgamesh and the asteroid?"

"Yes! We're going to block their line of fire. I may not be able to do anything else, but we can damn well do that! We'll see if those bastards are willing to shoot through us."

Senior Chief Imari signaled she was working the problem, so Paul just tried to keep track of what else was happening. Even if we can block the Gilgamesh, that still leaves the Saladin with a clear shot — The thought hadn't finished forming when he heard the captain broadcasting again, this time on the movement coordination frequency.

"All ships, this is the USS Michaelson. I intend placing my ship between the asteroid and those ships firing upon its surface. I say again, I am maneuvering to interpose myself between the asteroid and those ships firing upon its surface. Out."

General quarters sounded, the strident bongs of the alarm echoing through the compartments of the ship and bringing the Michaelson to the highest state of battle readiness. "General quarters, general quarters," the bosun on the bridge recited. "All hands to battle stations. Set airtight integrity condition Zebra." Those members of the crew still sleeping were shocked awake, grabbing uniforms and racing to their combat duty stations. The sounds of the ventilation fans changed as the ship automatically sealed off compartments and shifted to local air purifiers.

Paul pulled on the survival suit stowed near his seat, rapidly fastening the seals even as he scanned Combat to ensure all of his sailors were suiting up. The hatch to Combat cycled open and a last few operations specialists pulled themselves hastily inside, resealing the hatch in their wake, then launched themselves on direct routes across the compartment to their duty stations, depending on helping hands from their already strapped-in comrades to guide them. Senior Chief Imari swung her index finger from sailor to sailor, checking each one's presence and that they were in their survival suits, then gave Paul a quick thumbs up. Paul turned to look at Commander Garcia, who'd strapped himself into an observer's seat nearby. "Combat is manned and ready, sir."

Garcia nodded gruffly, his attention focused on the situation displays.

Paul took an instant to breath in deeply and calm his thoughts, then checked the Michaelson 's weapons status on his display. No change. We're not getting ready to fight. But we are getting ready to deal with anything else that might happen.

Maneuvering alerts sounded as the Michaelson 's thrusters fired, pushing the ship around to a new heading. Paul's body slammed against the straps as the acceleration forces jerked around everything inside the ship. He watched the projected course track which had sprung to life, seeing it for the series of compromises it was. Momentum and mass were the problem. Going too fast to get into position would make it impossible to stop in time and stay in position. Just how much slower to go was a matter of judgment. The captain's judgment. Paul knew that as the Michaelson came around the other ships would be quickly figuring out exactly where she was going and how fast she'd get there.

But what good blocking only one ship's fire would do…

A woman's voice came on the communications circuit, its light British accent sounding unnaturally calm under the circumstances. "All ships, this is HMS Lord Nelson. We are maneuvering as well. All ships are requested to remain clear of us."

Captain Hayes' demand came on the heels of the Nelson 's captain's announcement. "Where's the Nelson going, Combat?"

I don't know yet! Paul thought desperately. He knew the captain knew they needed to see the Nelson start moving to even guess on her course, but he also knew the captain didn't want to hear that now. "Working on it, sir," he replied.

But at that instant another message arrived on a secure communications circuit. "USS Michaelson, this is HMS Lord Nelson. We estimate you are placing yourselves between Gilgamesh and its targets. We will position ourselves to block the fire of Saladin. Is this agreeable? Over."

Hayes' response held the first note of joy Paul had detected this night. "Absolutely, Captain Vitali. Michaelson welcomes the actions of Lord Nelson. Over."

"Lord Nelson was never one to hesitate in the face of a need for action, Captain Hayes. The Royal Navy can scarcely do otherwise than live up to his reputation. Out."

"Thank God for the Brits," Garcia muttered.

The Michaelson 's maneuvering systems fired again, pitching the ship around and jerking her crew against their restraints. Paul shook his head and blinked to clear his vision, then looked back at his display. " Gilgamesh is maneuvering."

Garcia studied the display, then grunted. "He's trying to sidestep us. Captain, the Gilgamesh — "

"I've got it," Hayes replied, his voice cool now. "They're complicating our move to block their line of fire to the asteroid, but that's all." Thrusters fired again, augmented by the Michaelson 's main drive. Paul rolled with the forces pulling at him, grateful that he was experienced enough at space operations that his stomach could handle the erratic shifts and sudden returns to zero gravity.

Combat systems emitted several short, sharp cracking sounds to warn of shots from the Gilgamesh coming close to the Michaelson as the SASAL ship tried to keep pounding targets on the asteroid. The Gilgamesh 's energy weapons didn't make any actual sound as they blazed past too close for comfort through the vacuum of space, but system designers had realized that the fastest and most effective way of alerting a crew to incoming fire was to simply simulate sounds that might be made by such weapons if they could be heard. Paul, trying not to duck at the sounds, realized the idea worked very well indeed.

He checked the read-outs on his display and felt himself sweating. The shots had been far too close, less than five kilometers away, a distance the Michaelson covered in seconds at her current velocity. If those SASAL ships keep trying to shoot past us, they run a real risk of accidentally hitting us, even if it's only a graze on our hull. The thought brought a surge of anticipation. If they hit us, we can shoot back. That'll stop this. Caught up in the battle, Paul momentarily forgot his chances of dying in a battle with the SASAL ships. Then he remembered and felt the heaviness inside him again.

Another alarm sounded, the high-pitched squeal of the collision alarm. "Warning," the Michaelson 's maneuvering systems stated. "Current track will bring the ship inside asteroid approach limits. Closest point of approach on current track will be-"

The warning cut off abruptly, telling Paul that the captain had ordered it to be shut off. Despite all the activity, his mind conjured up a brief image of a court-martial in progress and a trial counsel pointing to a diagram with a point labeled "Captain shuts off maneuvering system warning." No. We're not going to hit it. We're just getting too damned close for comfort. That's all.

Another set of symbols and a probability cone sprang onto Paul's display. The Nelson was moving. "Captain, this is Combat. Confirm the Brits are underway and heading to get between the Saladin and the asteroid."

The captain's response was once again drowned out, this time by another incoming transmission. "All ships, this is the Alsace. We are maneuvering. Request all ships remain clear." Then, on the heels of that announcement. "This is the Heavenly Mountain. We are maneuvering."

Paul felt his guts tightening. All those ships swinging close by each other and close to the giant menace of the asteroid. Which way were the Franco-Germans and the Northern Chinese heading? Out away from the mess or -

The collision alarm stuttered into life and Michaelson 's warning systems spoke again. "Warning. Multiple ships maneuvering along projected course close to current position. Unable to calculate closest points of approach-"

The alarm and warning shut off, doubtless again in response to orders from the captain. Paul didn't blame him. He felt a sort of stunned fascination as he gazed at the maneuvering display, watching the overlapping course projections cluttering nearby space, the firing tracks from the SASAL ships, the looming presence of the asteroid, and the assessments of what was happening on the asteroid's surface. What a goat rope. What a gawdawful goat rope. This can't get any -

"Watch the Smith!" someone yelled. Paul half-turned to snarl at the offender for yelling, then halted, his eyes back on the wreck of the freighter. Against the much faster moving actions of the warships, the freighter's slow, staggering path had been easy to overlook. But its venting gases had carried the wreck further down toward the asteroid and not far enough to the side. The Jedidiah Smith was fairly large as human spacecraft went, but its mass was nothing more than roadkill in the path of the asteroid's majestic tumble. Paul watched, horrified, as the freighter fell slowly down to meet the equally gradual movement of the millions of tons of asteroid, until the freighter merged with the rock for a moment before breaking into scores of fragments hurled outward from the point of collision.

"Captain, this is Combat. The Smith has collided with the rock. We have multiple fragments from the Smith being projected outward. Some are closing on our intended track." On the already cluttered display, the paths of the wreckage cut straight across the areas several of the warships were approaching. Paul jerked his head up in momentary shock as the overhead lights dimmed, then he fixed his eyes on his display to check weapons status. The Michaelson was finally powering up her main batteries and close-in defenses. To deal with the wreckage. Hitting any pieces heading for us will divert them… quite likely toward another ship's path. And if somehow by some miracle someone on the Smith had survived the firing from the Gilgamesh and the collision with the asteroid, then the defensive fire from the other ships would surely kill them.

The maneuvering drives fired again, then several more times, and the main drive chimed in with a quick, massive slam that checked the Michaelson 's movement and left her drifting unsteadily across the area directly between the Gilgamesh and the asteroid. Paul waited, trying to control his breathing, waiting to see whether Gilgamesh would try to slam shots past the Michaelson and risk hitting the American ship. They don't know we can't fire on them unless they hit us. If they do hit us, will the captain fire on them? Will they take the risk of hitting us?

They didn't. The Gilgamesh 's weapons fell silent as Michaelson 's thrusters kept kicking in from various angles to cause sudden changes in the Michaelson 's course and position so that the SASAL ship couldn't predict where the American ship would be from moment to moment. The Lord Nelson skidded into position between Saladin and the asteroid, braking hard with remarkable precision, and the Saladin stopped firing as well. The maneuvering display began to lose its insane web of projected courses as some of the ships settled in to new positions. Nothing and no one seemed to be headed for collision with Michaelson at the moment, though a lot of things were too close for Paul's peace of mind.

Paul took a long, deep breath, then studied the display for remaining trouble. Though the space above the asteroid had calmed, scattered symbols revealed that some sort of ground combat was still going on between the cops and the settlers on the surface of the asteroid.

"Mr. Sinclair."

Paul shook his head to clear it, feeling slightly stunned by the press of events and the recent chaotic movements of ships in the small area around the asteroid. "Yeah, Senior Chief."

"Sir, there's two main pieces of the Smith heading outward. If there's still any survivors, they'd most likely be on one of them."

Paul eyed the symbols the chief had highlighted, taking long moments to comprehend why she'd emphasized the point. Then the reason finally came clear. He glanced at Commander Garcia, who was watching the situation on the asteroid's surface with a sort of horrified fascination and seemed unaware that Imari had spoken. "Thanks, Senior Chief. Bridge, this is Combat. We have two primary pieces of wreckage from the Smith headed away from us. They may hold any survivors."

Hard to say how the information would be received, given everything else the captain and the rest of the bridge crew had to worry about right now. The maneuvering thrusters punched a couple more times, jarring Paul and countering an attempt by the Gilgamesh to clear its line of fire to the asteroid.

The commonplace sound of a bosun pipe shrilled across the general announcing system. "Gig crew to the gig, on the double."

Paul grinned and gave Senior Chief Imari a thumbs-up. There wasn't any doubt that the gig would be sent out to try to catch those big pieces of wreckage and see if there was anyone left alive on them. But his elation faded as he took another look at the combat display. The Russians and Southern Africans hadn't moved, holding their positions as the situation swirled around them. Both the Alsace and the Middle Kingdom were finally sliding in between the SASAL ships and the asteroid, further limiting the ability of both the Gilgamesh and the Saladin to fire or maneuver. Paul almost shuddered as he saw how close the other ships were now. If somebody zigged when they were supposed to zag, there'd be a collision for certain.

The combined obstacles of the Michaelson, the two Euro ships and the Han Chinese had finally brought a halt to the SASAL firing on the asteroid, but the temporary structures Paul had spent so many long hours watching had all been shattered and breached. The Michaelson 's own sensors and the data links to the police teams couldn't tell him how many had been destroyed by the SASAL ships and how many by ground fighting or the suicide attacks the fanatics had threatened. Dammit. Most of those people must be dead. Dammit. We were here to stop something like this from happening and we couldn't.

Paul blinked as the last traces of action calmed with amazing quickness. One moment the situation was a swirl of action, with weapons firing and ships moving too close too fast, the next the weapons had fallen silent, the ships had settled into new positions that might be too close but were nonetheless almost stationary relative to each other, and even the battle symbols on the asteroid had dwindled to nothing.

It almost felt peaceful. Except for the scattered wreckage of the Smith tumbling outward. Except for the venting of gases still taking place at a few sites on the asteroid where wrecked and probably lifeless structures now littered the bare rock. Except for the smoldering anger and sense of futility Paul felt as he watched the SASAL ships pivot under the push of their thrusters and begin accelerating away from the asteroid.

"Secure from General Quarters. Set Readiness Condition One Alpha."

There was still so much to do. Support the cops. Coordinate moving the Michaelson and the other warships further out from the asteroid again. See if they could help anybody, somehow. Paul looked around, his head aching and fuzzy with fatigue, as he heard reveille being sounded. Have I been in Combat that long?

Senior Chief Imari yawned, rubbing her face. "I need a drink," she announced.

Paul managed a smile. "Coffee? Yeah, me, too."

"I didn't mean coffee, sir. Not after tonight. But it'll have to do, won't it? It's times like this I wish I was on the Brit ship with a fully stocked bar."

One of the operations specialists was sent to get coffee from the mess decks. When he returned, the sailor also carried a carton of battle rations. Paul and his sailors studied the food dubiously. They were all hungry, but if ordinary Navy food could be atrocious, battle rations could be inedible. In the end, Paul cautiously nibbled on some sort of food bar, which seemed fairly tasteless, and drank his coffee gratefully.

Officer's call was held that morning in a corner of Combat. From the way he glared at his division officers, Commander Garcia's anger from the night before didn't seemed to have diminished much. "For those of you who haven't heard, the cops have recovered seven members of the cult alive. Everybody else they've found so far is dead."

Paul tried not to openly flinch at the news.

Garcia paused, glowering down at his data pad. "The entire crew of the Smith is confirmed dead. Our gig found no survivors on the wreckage. Neither did the Alsace 's gig." He looked up again, his expression seeming to blame Paul and the others for the bad news. "The cops are securing what's left of the structures on the asteroid. We're to return to Franklin."

Only Ensign Taylor had the nerve to ask the inevitable question. "Have the cops found any heavy propulsion devices? Anything that those people could've used to kick that rock toward Earth?"

Garcia's face shaded a little redder. "No."

Taylor grimaced and nodded.

Garcia shook his own head, his mouth tight, then turned and left. Commander Moraine left with him, her expression an odd mix of relief and dread.

Taylor, Paul and Kris Denaldo exchanged glances. Finally, Taylor shook her head. "Some days this job really sucks."

Paul nodded in agreement. "Yeah."

"We did our best," Kris insisted. "We did everything we could."

"Yeah. Everything we could do just wasn't good enough, though," Taylor observed. "Well, boys and girls, it's been real fun talking with you but I need to see my division and pass on the happy news. See ya."

Kris watched her go, then looked at Paul. "Yeah, let our sailors know what happened despite our best efforts. Then what do we do?"

Paul shrugged, too weary to think anymore. "You heard Garcia. We go home." Part of him knew that should be good news, but the rest of him was too numb to care.