“All hands to battle-stations.”

Urle gave the order, and the command center exploded into action. Officers ran about, speaking in rapid voices, and crewmen began to work furiously, sending all the signals to prepare the ship for combat, to inform the crew, to get everything locked down – a million actions, triggered by the one phrase.

It was no longer theoretical, just a possibility. They were in action now.

Jaya, among them all, seemed the calmest.

She’d been born for combat command, Urle thought. A part of him even wondered if she should be in command now, instead of him. To fight, to kill, was not his forte, even if he could – and had – commanded in battle before.

But he would not give up the command seat until his dying breath, or until Brooks returned. And right now, the latter option was in doubt.

“We have thirty-five, repeat three-five missiles inbound for the shuttle,” an officer informed him.

“Counter-fire missiles. I don’t want one getting within fifty kilometers of the Captain!” he ordered.

“Counter-missiles launched, sir.”

Urle checked the computer’s calculations on optimal detonation points, approving them. The computer would be better at such numbers than even he, but he still believed in double-checking.

Their salvo of missiles were visible on-screen now, streaks of light that were soon swallowed by the infinite dark.

Seconds later, he saw more blips appear from the Hev fleet, just as Cenz spoke.

“We have more launches, repeat more Hev launches. Counting . . . over eighty . . . no, we have a third wave, oh my . . . an additional one-hundred and twenty-one missile launches. Two-hundred and thirty-seven missiles in total between all three waves, sir.”

“They are determined,” Jaya noted sourly. She turned in her chair to look at Urle. “Sir, we can counter their missile launches, but they surely have more than us. And the more they launch, the higher the odds that one makes it through.”

“I’m aware of that,” Urle said. “Estimated time to them reaching the Captain?”

“Approximately twenty-nine minutes,” Cenz told him. “Ours have greater velocity, but we are still cutting it close.”

It would take much longer than that for the shuttle to return to the Craton.

They had limited options. The Craton was charged for a jump, and they could jump in to aid the Captain, but if they did . . .

They’d be stuck.

But Brooks was a Captain, about to be taken captive by the Hev. At best he would become a bargaining chip, and more than likely he’d end up in the hands of the Fesha – who would probably strip his mind for anything and everything of value.

A notification appeared, startling him. Almost any notification should have been stifled right now, but this-

This was for a Captain’s eyes only. It was from the ship’s computer. The AI had understood the situation, and was now informing him of a special command.

Stolen story; please report.

He opened it, read it.

C-Directive 12, it was called. Something that he, as only Executive Commander, had not been privy to.

His heart was beating.

‘Under Special Order of the SU Supreme Council, all measures are to be taken to prevent the capture of a Shoggoth by hostile forces.’

It bore the electronic signature of the council, and he knew it was true.

Now he had even fewer options.

The computer made a suggestion to him, and he checked, but no one else saw it.

‘Recommend firing upon shuttle to complete C-Directive 12.’

“No,” he said softly, the word just slipping out.

“Captain,” Eboh said. “We are receiving a tight-beam from the Bright Flower.”

“Open channel,” Urle ordered.

Guona Daa appeared.

“Captain Urle,” she said. “We have seen the situation, and request permission to jump in to rescue Captain Brooks and his team. If you can provide covering fire, I believe we can survive long enough to meet back up with you and potentially transfer our crew over. We’ll lose the Bright Flower, but it will be worth it.”

It was a brave idea, Urle first thought. But he didn’t even need to run the numbers to know just how unrealistic it was.

“No,” he told her. “That won’t be necessary. I want you to jump out immediately, and return to Commodore Siilon.”

“And the Craton?” Daa asked.

“We’ll be going in,” Urle replied.

----------------------------------------

“I’m having trouble stopping the bleeding!” Logus yelled. It was the only way any of them could hear each other.

“Kell, can you help him?” Brooks asked. “I’m needed at the controls!”

“It is best I do not,” Kell replied.

“Then can you take the damn controls?” Brooks yelled.

“That is an even worse idea,” Kell replied. “Arn Logus, perhaps if you pinched the vein that is bleeding, it will prevent the flow.” He managed to make his sarcasm biting even to a nearly-deaf man.

“Oh, sure, just show me where it is!”

“I would think you could tell,” Kell said, his annoyance showing. He knelt next to the bleeding and unconscious Decinus and reached his fingers into his tattered arm.

Decinus sat up like a shot, screaming.

“What did you do?” Logus yelled, trying to hold Decinus still, who was thrashing like a wild man.

“I pinched the vein. This is why it is best I am not involved. Your life has a visceral reaction to the touch of my kind when you are dying.”

“What the hell . . .” Logus said, his words still loud, if not quite a yell.

“Damn it,” Brooks muttered, setting the controls as best he could on auto-pilot. The ship was so simple it could do very little on its own, but he could leave the controls for a moment, at least.

He came over. Decinus was in a bad way, but if they could get him help quickly . . .

Of course, they couldn’t realistically do that. They were hours out from the Craton at the slow delta-v the shuttle could make, and their mother ship should not stay that long. When the Hev launched on it, they would be much quicker than the diplomatic shuttle. Even with her many defenses, the Craton would not be able to stop them all forever.

Decinus’s eyes had the look of a panicked animal, and Brooks was trying to help him calm, but Kell’s touch had sent him into a state that they couldn’t snap him out of.

A voice came from the control panel.

“Diplomatic shuttle, this is the Craton. We are taking control of the ship, stand by for pickup.”

“What?” Logus said, his face puzzled.

Brooks stood and rushed back to the controls.

A flash of light appeared outside the front window, dulled by the cameras automatically, but still enough to make him flinch.

And the Craton was there.

“Damn it, Urle, you should have taken her out of here . . .” he muttered. “But you didn’t feel you had a choice, did you . . . ?”

He did feel relief, though. Even if he knew it wouldn’t last long.

He felt more than saw Kell’s stare, but said nothing to him.

A communication came in.

“Captain,” Urle’s voice came. It sounded unnaturally soft. “Are you all right?”

“We’re alive, but Ambassador Decinus is badly hurt. Ks’Kull’s envoy was a bomb, and he was injured in the blast.”

“Is anyone else hurt?”

“Not badly,” he said.

“You sound kind of loud. Hearing damage?”

Brooks wished the volume on the panel went higher.

“If you just said what I think you said – yes, Logus and I are suffering from hearing issues.”

“And Ambassador Kell?” Urle seemed to be talking louder now.

Brooks looked to Kell, who seemed amused. “I am unhurt,” he said.

“He’s fine,” Brooks told Urle. “Get Dr. Y to meet us at the airlock with a trauma team.”

“Already done. We’ll have you on board in two minutes. And Captain – glad you’re all right.”