The Reaches

'Three minutes to transit,' Harrigan warned from the Gallant Sallie's navigation console. 'Lighting thrusters.'

Sal drew Stephen's armored form firmly down onto the deckplate so that the 1-g acceleration wouldn't slam him there. His faceshield was raised, but his eyes focused a thousand meters out.

The boarding party had made a single transit jump to get the captured vessel clear before the Feds attempted to retake her. The Federation commander's draconian threats to any captain who failed to hold the preset order had stifled the individual initiative that might have overcome the attack on the Savior Enthroned.

The huge globular form of the Savior Enthroned drifted in a cloud of debris against an alien starscape. While they waited for a ship-the Gallant Sallie, as it chanced-to arrive with navigators and additional flight crew, Stephen's men had voided the trash of battle. If Sal looked closely, she could see that many of the objects floating around the captured ship were mangled bodies, Molt and human both.

The Gallant Sallie's thrusters fired. Apparent weight returned; the deck was downward again. Objects ignored because there'd been forty extra sailors packed into the vessel now settled abruptly. The Savior Enthroned's image became a diminishing ball in the center of the display.

Sal began undoing the clamps that held Stephen's hard suit together. Half the front of the gorget was gone. The sealant repairing the crazed remnant clung to the latch until Sal scraped a knifeblade through it.

Stephen suddenly looked at her. 'Lord!' he said. 'Sorry, I was a long way. .'

He glanced wonderingly around the Gallant Sallie's cabin. Sal lifted his helmet off, then the gorget.

'I don't remember coming aboard,' Stephen said. He started to take off his own gauntlets, so Sal unlocked the three pieces that covered each arm. 'I didn't realize your ship was the one that was going to pick us up.'

'We'd ferried a load of ammunition from the Ishtar City Arsenal,' Sal said. 'Piet thought we'd be a good choice to take your wounded off. And bring you back particularly, Stephen. Piet was concerned that you might be carried to Venus inadvertently.'

Stephen laughed harshly. 'At least one of Pleyal's ships is going to reach Venus,' he said.

'Venus orbit,' Sal said. 'I don't think there's a transfer dock on the planet that could take her. I. . It's incredible that you captured her, Stephen.'

The boarding party's ten wounded men were on stretchers in the hold with the Wrath's own surgeon and one of his mates. Stephen and his two loaders had come across with their wounded by the same lines that guided the additional prize crew to the Savior Enthroned. Dole had come as well. The bosun was keeping himself as inconspicuous as possible because Captain Ricimer's orders had directed him to help take the prize to Venus.

'The Fed medics did a good job with their wounded,' Stephen said. He'd forgotten that he'd been removing his hard suit. Sal unlatched the leg pieces. 'With guns to their heads. It wasn't necessary, but I didn't try to stop it.'

'Prepare for transit,' Harrigan warned. Except for the mate, all the Gallant Sallie's crewmen were watching Sal and Stephen out of the corner of their eyes. Nobody was going to say anything- probably nobody cared-but Sal didn't need others to tell her that a captain's place was at the controls during transit.

Human beings had duties also. When they conflicted with the governance of a starship, well, sometimes the starship had to wait.

Transit. Bleakness, grayness, nothingness. Back, and she was holding Stephen Gregg's hands though she didn't remember taking them in hers. Transit.

The series was of eight in-and-out jumps, a thirty-second pause to calibrate for the observed position of the straggling Venerian fleet, and a final ninth transit pair to bring the Gallant Sallie within a kilometer of the Wrath. It was a clean piece of navigation. Sal had had plenty of time to program a back-course to the fleet while the Gallant Sallie waited, its hatch open, to receive the party from the captured vessel.

She hadn't known that Stephen was still alive until Dole raised the faceshield of the figure floating beside him like an empty suit of armor.

Attitude jets puffed, rotating the Gallant Sallie so that Harrigan could brake the freighter's slight velocity relative to the deputy command vessel. The Wrath's image was the background to the mask of alphanumeric calculations filling the display. Patches of odd-colored ceramic covered battle damage. A crew was at work on the outer hull.

Stephen closed his eyes and took off the linked back-and-breast pieces of his hard suit. There was a huge bruise visible through the sweat-soaked tunic he wore beneath the armor. 'Has anything happened with the fleets?' he asked without emotion.

'A lot of shooting,' Sal said. 'Less damage, and none of it serious. One of the Fed ships blew up all by itself, but you've won our only victory so far, Stephen.'

He looked at her, really at her. Sal was lifting away the hinged groin and thigh pieces. Stephen put the tips of his fingers on the backs of her hands to hold her attention.

'Sal,' he said, 'the Feds surrendered because they thought I'd tear the whole ship open and leave even the crew to suffocate when their oxygen bottles ran out.'

Sal nodded. 'I'm glad they surrendered,' she said carefully. 'That saved many lives.'

Perhaps yours among them, my friend. My love.

'They were right, Sal,' Stephen said. 'I told them that I'd as soon kill them as not, and that was as true as if I'd sworn by a God I believed in. I was ready to kill the whole thousand or more of them.'

'You didn't, though,' she said.

'No, they surrendered,' Stephen said-not agreeing.

'Stephen, if it bothers you so much when you think of what might have happened. .' she said. She paused, wondering if she was willing to go on. 'Then the next time, don't do it. But it didn't happen.'

'I'd have killed them all,' he whispered.

Sal turned her hands to grip Stephen's as hard as she could. Part of her prayed that she wouldn't start to cry; but the tears would have been for both of them, herself and the man she held who couldn't weep for the soul he thought he'd lost.

ABOARD THE WRATH

October 1, Year 27

1847 hours, Venus time

Piet saw Stephen's approaching figure reflected in the brightwork of his console. He spun the couch with a smile of greeting that hardened minutely as he rose to his feet. 'I didn't know you'd been wounded, Stephen,' he said.

'It's a bruise, Piet,' Stephen said. Maybe he ought to wear something high-necked-though he really didn't want even cloth in contact with the swollen, purple-black flesh over his breastbone. 'You should see the other guy.'

Piet had seen the other guy, many times over a decade. The mangled bodies floating through the compartments of a captured starship were all the same, except perhaps to God.

'Glad you're safe, Colonel Gregg,' Simms said quietly. The navigator turned back to his console immediately, as though he were afraid of the reaction.

It always puzzled Stephen that people really did seem to like him. Even people who knew what he was.

'Come view what's happened while you were gone,' Piet said. He drew his friend down beside him on the couch turned crossways in respect to the three-dimensional display. 'I'd like to get your opinion, and it'll be another hour yet before the Feds complete their calculations.'

He touched a control. The blotchy appearance of the enemy after a transit series replaced a real-time image of the Federation globe reformed. The Venerian ships converged on their enemy in a speeded-up review of the