The Morcai Battalion. Diana Palmer

the headache would die with him. And then, the Rojok ship filled the viewscreen…

      The Rojok came screaming in toward the Bellatrix. There was a final surge of power as Higgins ordered the astrogator to throw the throttle wide-open. Then, quite suddenly, a ball of green mist enveloped the enemy ship.

      It took Stern precious seconds to realize what was happening. In a mind yielded to death, thought came slowly.

      “Full about!” he barked at the astrogator, praying the man would recover fast enough to make the maneuver. A split second’s delay, and the Bellatrix would go up in atoms along with the Rojok.

      “Aye, sir!” The astrogator’s thin, trembling hands seemed to hit the switches in slow motion.

      Stern felt the huge starship vibrate like a running heart with the sudden braking. She bolted under the pressure, as if torn apart between time and speed. Then, with a recovery that was nothing short of miraculous, she began to turn and inch away from the doomed Rojok ship. In seconds that were centuries to her crew, she pulled away with a rippling burst of speed just as the Rojok ship exploded in silent fireworks out in the eternal night. The shock wave that came in her wake was enough to rattle the scanners on the bridge.

      “God!” Stern breathed in mingled relief and gratitude.

      “Sir, we’ve got the megatrons back in working order, now,” Higgins said quickly. “Not nearly up to par, but I think we’ve got enough charge to hit the other Rojok.”

      “Lock on target and fire at will!” Stern told him.

      “On target, Captain. Megas away!”

      Stern watched the blue bolts fly into the second Rojok with boyish excitement. The resulting explosion was no less enjoyable than the first had been, and the colorful display produced nothing more than a light jar to the Bellatrix. Stern leaned back in his chair with a long, shuddering sigh.

      “Good work, Higgins,” he told his exec. His eyes went to the astrogator and fished for a name, and was surprised when he couldn’t find it. “What’s your name, son?” he asked.

      The astrogator gaped at him. “Why…it’s Crandall, sir.”

      Stern nodded. “Crandall. Good man.”

      “We’re lucky you spotted the first attack in time,” Higgins said with a grin at his commanding officer. “If you hadn’t, we’d be atoms by now.”

      “Speaking of attacks,” Stern said, leaning forward, “where did that one come from?”

      “Had to be the Centaurian,” Higgins replied. “But he’s…”

      “Interspace comm coming in, sir,” the comtech broke in.

      “Throw it over here, Jennings. Higgins, get me a damage report.”

      “Yes, sir.”

      Stern switched on the viewscreen, to be met with a pair of slightly amused pale green cat-eyes. “You present an interesting case for your race, Captain,” Dtimun said over the screen. “I had not credited it with such ingenuity. Status of your vessel?”

      “Higgins?” Stern asked.

      Higgins’s thin face seemed to grow longer. “Sir, we took a hit amidships. Damage control reports thirty injuries and fifty-five dead, including our Amazon unit,” he added, noting the specialized female attack squad that was regulation aboard all SSC vessels. Females served in combat, as well as in support units. Many former members of Amazon squads, like Madeline Ruszel, were now officers. A good many were assigned to SSC ships like the Bellatrix, although Stern had no female bridge crew on this particular mission due to rotation and R & R.

      The Amazon units were the most well-known, the most respected of the SSC’s forward units. They were known even by outworlders like the misogynist Centaurians. Madeline Ruszel had started out in an Amazon unit before she felt an inexplicable urge to practice medicine and petitioned for the right to be sent to medical school. She had a soft spot for the Amazons, especially for the unit that served aboard the Bellatrix. Its commanding officer had gone through training with Madeline.

      “Damn!” Stern cursed. Madeline was going to take the news hard. “All of them?”

      “Yes, sir,” Higgins replied. “It gets worse. Our backup fuel units were destroyed, we have three crushed bulkheads, and our primary engine batteries are dead. We’ve also got grav holes that we have no means of plugging. We’re leaking atmosphere at a lethal rate. Unless that Centaurian ship has a repair deck, we’re…well, we’re finished, sir.”

      Stern stared at him blankly. “In other words,” he said quietly, “we’re a dead ship.” He sighed and turned back to Dtimun’s image on the viewscreen. “Nice try, Commander, but you might as well have let the Rojoks take us out. We’d need two weeks in a shipyard just to begin repairs.”

      “If you expect to find one this deep in captured territory, I withdraw my former statement regarding your ingenuity,” Dtimun replied. “Prepare for ship-to-ship lock. I’m evacuating your crew and complement to the Morcai.”

      “With all due respect,” Stern protested, “you could just as easily throw a towbeam on us and…”

      “Such a rescue operation is beyond the capability of my vessel,” Dtimun replied. “Considering our normal cruising speed, your ship would be ripped in two by the pressure. You have your orders.” The screen went blank.

      Stern glanced around the somber bridge crew. Their faces were mildly accusing. He almost understood the feeling. The Bellatrix had been home for six years, and her deck had a familiar feel. But what could he do with such a damaged vessel except scuttle her?

      “Higgins,” he said, rising, “order abandon ship and tell the medics to start loading their patients into the port escape hatches. Prepare for ship-to-ship lock.”

      “Aye, aye, Captain,” Higgins replied halfheartedly.

      “Something on your mind, Higgins?” Stern asked.

      The executive officer eyed him quietly. “Just one thing, sir. We’re damaged, sure, but couldn’t we call for help?”

      Stern felt sick. “We’d be a sitting duck, with Rojoks everywhere and no weapons. Dream on, son.”

      “Yes, sir. I guess you’re right. I just hate giving up our ship.”

      He watched his exec as he walked away, with growing resentment. For the first time he could remember, he felt a vague distaste for the entire crew.

      3

      The darkness had already fallen on Enmehkmehk when Lyceria was taken from the Rojok ship with her head solidly encased in an opaque helmet. Except for the bonds on her slender wrists, she might have passed for a female Rojok soldier in the thin copper armor she wore.

      She knew better than to make an outcry. Her captors had warned her of the consequences. She followed them meekly, gracefully, through the gemstone streets, past the glowing multidome architecture that housed the barracks of Enmehkmehk’s largest military base. Maliche, she thought, surely they wouldn’t imprison her in a common soldier’s barracks! She was a member of the Royal Clan. It would be an outrage that would reverberate all the way home to Memcache, the home planet of the Centaurian Empire and the emperor, her father, himself! No power in space would save Mangus Lo from the Holconcom if she were harmed.

      But it seemed that the Rojoks had no fear of her people, because the barracks were, indeed, her destination. She was taken into a small circular building adjacent to the main complex and thrown unceremoniously into a small compartment. A heavy door was lowered, and she found herself in complete darkness.

      Her huge eyes dilated to let in the faint light, and she had her first look at her new surroundings.

      There was nothing in the room except for a small synthesizer on the wall. But she could see two panels near it that would account for a retractable couch and