began. A hail of energy bolts sleeted back and forth as a fi?le of heavily armored Ramanthians surged out, fi?ring as they came. And, had the jarheads been forced to battle the aliens alone, the bugs would have been able to break through. But that was when Foley and the brig rats arrived, crouched behind the makeshift barrier that had been established earlier, and opened fi?re. A Ramanthian trooper went down as energy bolts from a half dozen weapons punched holes in his armor. The contest was far from one-sided, as the enemy troopers turned toward their tormentors and fi?red. They were using projectile weapons, and one of the brig rats was snatched off his feet, as a slug hit him in the chest. That made Tappas angry, and the petty offi?cer rolled an energy grenade into the enemy formation, as his companions continued to spray the aliens with energy bolts. There was a bright fl?ash of light, three Ramanthians were blown apart, and pieces of shattered chitin whirled through the air. The bugs appeared to waver, started to fall, and were subsequently cut down as the sheer volume of defensive fi?re punched holes through their armor. The battle ended three minutes later. Having never fought an infantry action before, the brig rats were impressed by their achievement, and were busy high-fi?ving each other when Tappas noticed that Foley was twenty yards up the corridor and gaining speed. “Come on!”
the petty offi?cer shouted. “Follow the loot!”
The sailors were quick to respond, as were the jarheads, who had their company commander sandwiched between them as they carried the offi?cer along. “Follow me!” the wildeyed marine exclaimed. “Let’s kill the bastards!”
Foley saw markers for access corridor P-8, took a glance over his shoulder, and was amazed to discover that the group behind him had grown even larger! Not a good thing from the fugitive’s perspective since it didn’t make sense to go AWOL with the equivalent of a brass band and a couple dozen witnesses along for the ride. But it was too late to worry about such matters as Foley rounded the corner and pounded down the corridor toward the lift tubes beyond. The battle platform shook as if palsied, and Foley heard the sound of muted thunder, as a new voice came over the PA system. It was male this time. “This is Lieutenant Simmons . . . All hands prepare to abandon ship. I repeat, all hands . . .”
Foley swore as he skidded to a halt in front of the tubes. It had been his intention to leave the ship before the rest of the crew were ordered to do so. Because there were only so many escape pods, lifeboats, and other small craft for people to use. That meant the competition for fl?yable vessels was about to become a lot more intense. Something that could already be seen in the crowd gathered in front of the large personnel lifts.
By that time Tappas knew that unlike the marine captain, Lieutenant JG Foley was never going to shout something like, “Follow me!” That made it necessary to keep a close eye on the slippery offi?cer or risk losing track of him. And sure enough, without so much as a “by-your-leave,” Tappas saw Foley break away from the steadily swelling mob and start to run. “This way!” Tappas shouted, as he waved the brig rats and the marines forward.
But others heard the order as well, and being desperate for leadership, were quick to follow. So that by the time Foley arrived in front of the lift tubes normally reserved for freight, more than a hundred people were trailing along behind him. The offi?cer swore as they fl?ooded onto the enormous platform, and repeatedly stabbed the down button, as valuable seconds ticked away. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the platform began to descend. Three long minutes passed before the gates opened, and the mob fl?ooded out onto the walkway that circled the vast hangar deck. Plastisteel windows kept the vacuum out but permitted the crowd to look out at the vessels parked on the blast-scarred deck. Even as they watched, a navy launch rose on its repellers, turned toward one of two huge openings, and accelerated away.
“We’re going to need something big,” Tappas said, as he shouted into Foley’s ear. And the offi?cer realized that the sailor was correct. And, while there weren’t many vessels that qualifi?ed as “big,” the offi?cer saw one that did. A freighter, which judging from the activity around it, would soon depart. The problem was that the ship was of Hudathan rather than human design. And while the big aliens were allies, they were more than a little insular, and somewhat unpredictable. Would the alien crew allow humans to board their ship? Especially a mob of humans? There was only one way to fi?nd out. Foley took off, with Tappas hot on his trail. The rest followed. Their feet made a thundering sound as the group followed the curving walkway past a number of locks to the one where two armed Hudathans stood guard as a train of heavily laden carts passed between them. Were the aliens loading something that already belonged to them? Or stealing what they could? There was no way to know, and Foley didn’t care as he came to a stop in front of a hulking guard. Both Hudathans raised their weapons and aimed them at the mob. At least half the humans responded in kind. A fact that provided Foley with some welcome leverage.
“Hi there,” Foley began. “We need transportation to the surface. . . . You can invite us aboard, or we’ll shoot you and commandeer the ship. Which would you prefer?”
There was a pause while one of the aliens spoke into a lip mike. And another pause as he listened to a response. Then, having been ordered to do so, he lowered his weapon. His voice sounded like a rock crusher in low gear. “You can board—but do so quickly.”
Foley was the fi?rst one through the hatch, and the mob surged in behind him. A short fl?exible tunnel led between a pair of pressure doors and into a well-lit hold. A series of loud clangs was heard as muscular Hudathans wrestled the cargo modules off the carts and secured them to D-rings set into the deck. A Klaxon began to bleat as the last humans managed to squeeze themselves into the hold, and massive pressure doors slammed closed behind them. With no warning whatsoever, the alien ship lifted free of the deck, turned on its axis, and began to accelerate. Foley, who was being crushed from all sides, closed his eyes. The naval offi?cer had a good imagination, which meant he could visualize the scene outside the battle station, where the Ramanthians would be lying in wait. And sure enough, as the boxy freighter shot out through one of two enormous hatches and entered space, the bugs opened fi?re on her. The Hudathan vessel’s screens fl?ared, and the ship shook like a thing possessed, as the captain took evasive action. But rather than be thrown around as they could have been, the refugees were so tightly packed, that they held each other in place.
What happened next was wonderful and horrible at the same time. Wonderful, in that the fugitives were spared, but horrible because thousands of people were killed when Battle Station III exploded. Later, after there was time to refl?ect, some would maintain that the devastating explosion had been triggered by members of the space station’s crew, who, having defeated all of the reactor’s safeties, had intentionally pushed the device into overload. The action destroyed both the platform and the Ramanthian troopships that were alongside it.
Others took the position that such theories amounted to wishful thinking and amounted to jingoistic nonsense. The truth, they claimed, was that Battle Station III, like IV, had been destroyed by the enemy. This meant the loss of their troopships was the result of poor judgment rather than a suicidal act of heroism. One thing was clear, however, and that was the fact that the fl?eeing freighter had been able to escape during the aftermath of the blast, saving more than a hundred lives. That meant Foley could open his eyes, give thanks for the fact that he was still alive, and ask himself a very important question. Given the fact that the Ramanthians seemed in- tent on occupying Earth—how could an entrepreneur like him profi?t from such a horrible calamity?
NAPA VALLEY, PLANET EARTH, THE CONFEDERACY OF SENTIENT BEINGS
It was dark in the western hemisphere, so when Battle Station III exploded, it was like the birth of a small sun. Light strobed the surface of the planet below, which caused people such as Margaret Vanderveen to look upwards and gasp in surprise. Because even the most pessimistic of news commentators had been telling the citizens of Earth to expect a battle that would last weeks, if not months, ending in a draw if not an outright victory for the
