Part Three"So," Shane Vansen said, from her seat against the wall in the Wildcards' wardroom, once the 'Cards were showered and back together again after the test flight. "What did you guys think?"

"She's amazing," Hawkes sighed from his bunk. Vansen made a face at him.

"I meant about this new LIDAR," she replied.

"I couldn't really tell much of a difference," Damphousse said. "Which is good, I guess. This thing is supposed to be a command tool, and not bother *us* much. Some of the feeds from that 'genie' thing were kind of interesting. Don't know how useful they'd be under pressure. I could see where they might be, though, once we got used to them..."

"What did you think, Cooper?" Vansen asked Hawkes. He shrugged.

"Same as 'Phousse, I guess," he replied getting the question right this time. "Couldn't see much difference until the onboards bogged on me. That was weird." He looked thoughtful a moment. "At least that Major Barnes didn't think I was makin' it up. Like that other guy."

"She designed it," Damphousse said. "And she told us it hadn't been tested, yet. A good designer *has* to be open to the possibility of problems."

"She's really smart," Hawkes agreed in what sounded a lot like awe.

Damphousse looked at her fingernails for a moment.

"So, what did you *really* think?" she finally surrendered, rolling over and hanging down over her bunk. "I mean about, you know, Major Barnes. And the Colonel."

Vansen looked a little embarrassed. "Did you see the way McQueen was looking at her during the briefing?"

"And just how was he looking at her?" West tisked in disgust.

"He was *smiling* at her, Nathan. Come on, when was the last time you saw McQueen smile about anything?"

"So, do you think they were, like..." Wang hedged. Vansen sighed.

"What?" Hawkes insisted, looking confused. West came to his rescue.

"These gossip mongers are trying to figure out if Colonel McQueen and Major Barnes were lovers back when they served together in the AI wars," he explained a little pompously. "Like it's anybody's business..."

"Oh," Hawkes replied, still looking confused.

"I don't know," opined Damphousse. "It seems kind of weird."

"Yeah," Wang agreed. "I mean, McQueen... It's sort of like trying to imagine your *parents* having sex..."

"Why's that weird?" Hawkes asked, genuinely bewildered, now. The others ignored him.

"On the other hand," Vansen continued, knowledgeably. "Kelly Winslow told me she saw a picture of McQueen's ex-wife, and that she was really beautiful."

"It's funny," Damphousse agreed, "but I guess I just never thought about the Colonel as anything but, well, the Colonel. You know, Corps to the core. I never thought about him having, well, a life..."

"Oh, for crying out loud," West groaned. "The guy's not dead..."

"And Major Barnes is very attractive. In a Corps sort of way..." Damphousse agreed.

Vansen nodded. "I thought they looked good together, actually..."

"I can't believe we're having this conversation," West shook his head. "And anyway, Major Barnes was McQueen's squad mate, right? They were together with the 42nd? I can't see McQueen getting involved with a comrade-in-arms."

"That's true," Wang nodded. "Although there's nothing in the regs against it, exactly, as long it's not a chain-of-command thing. McQueen wasn't honcho of the 42nd or anything was he? Or Barnes?"

The others shrugged.

"You should have seen her go after that Captain Hickman, though," Damphousse added, "when he started to call Cooper a 'tank'. I thought she was gonna tear his throat out."

"Gotta be some kind of story behind that," Wang agreed.

"Maybe," West argued, standing up, "she's just a decent, liberal minded individual who won't tolerate that kind of bigotry. And maybe McQueen was her *friend*. I'd do the same thing if somebody went after Coop like that. Doesn't mean I'm sleepin' with him..."

"You would?" Hawkes asked, shocked. West clasped a hand on the other man's shoulder.

"You might be a dumb tank, Hawkes, but you're *my* dumb tank," he laughed. "Nobody gets to insult you like that but me."

The others laughed as West walked back to the lavatory in the rear of the wardroom. Hawkes looked a little startled, like he was not sure if he was the butt of the joke. He shrugged, finally, and smiled.

"So," Vansen asked again, when she had gotten her breath back. "What do you think?"

McQueen was just getting out of the shower, three days later, when the call came in requesting his presence on the bridge. He groaned a little. He had not been sleeping well, for some reason, and several old wounds had been talking to him because of it. You're gettin' old, Tyrus, he thought to himself. It was funny, but he had never really thought much about it before; growing old. Not that it was exactly *preoccupying* him, now. But the thinning gray hair and the lines in his face seemed more pronounced, suddenly. He had begun to realize that despite the fact that he had not technically started "living" until age eighteen, he seemed to be aging at the same pace as any natural born human. It dawned on him that no one really had any idea *how* an In Vitro might age, or what maladies might afflict them in their later years. No "tank" had yet gotten old. But he was getting there.

He made a face at himself in the mirror. Only a mother could love that, he thought sourly. You're shit outta luck, McQueen.

He tugged himself into his flight suit, and stepped out into the corridor. There was no battle klaxon sounding, the corridor outside his quarters radiated the same pedestrian tranquillity that had haunted it for twenty-four straight days of inactivity. McQueen keyed his door lock, and went to find out what the Commodore wanted.

Ross was waiting impatiently for him when he got there. Wordlessly, the Commodore handed him a 'flimsy" of a recent communication. McQueen looked at it.

"It's from the carrier 'Colin Powell'," Ross said. "A Chig armada has been detected outside the Draconis system. The exact number of Chig motherships massing has not, yet, been determined, but the commander of the 'Colin Powell' estimates that the force may be even larger that what was seen at the Battle of the Belt.

McQueen looked up, his expression radiating both excitment and concern.

"Confirmed?"

Ross nodded. "Confirmed, Colonel. They're coming."

McQueen nodded, and silently acknowledged the sudden tightening in his bowels. Well, it went a long way toward explaining the dearth of Chig activity over the last few weeks.

"We are ordered to the Draconis system with all possible speed," Ross concluded. "And there is only one other SCVN class vessel that can reach them in time. The 'Ross Perot.' This is going to be a tough one, Colonel. We will surely be outnumbered. We just don't know how badly, yet."

McQueen nodded, again, but he eyed Ross warily. There was something the Commodore was not saying, he could just feel it.

"Draconis is almost two days' steam from here," he stated the obvious.

"It is anticipated that we will rendezvous with the 'Colin Powell' simutaneously with the appearance of the Chig armada in the Draconis system. The 'Ross Perot' will meet us there, but there won't be a lot of time, before battle is engaged, to assess the situation first hand once we arrive."

Well, that was nothing new, McQueen thought. "What else is in the area. What sort of support can we expect?"

"Two more destroyers may be able to reach the system shortly after battle is engaged. Other than that... the first of the fleet won't begin arriving until at least 20 mikes into battle."

It would be hairy, but they could hold them off for 20 mikes. They would have to...

"There is also the question of Major Barnes' LIDAR enhancement system," Ross continued. McQueen raised an eyebrow.

"Sir?"

"Whether or not our fighters will be equipped with the device in the upcoming battle."

McQueen had not seen much of A. J. Barnes in the three days that had passed since the test of the LIDAR. He had told himself she was busy and refused to acknowledge that he was avoiding her, or to address the reasons why her presence left him feeling a little out of balance. She had managed to run him down in the officer's mess the day before, however, so he knew what her latest findings were. He frowned, now, at Ross in confusion.

"Sir, when I spoke to Major Barnes, she indicated that she has not been able to identify the exact source of the problem with Lt. Hawkes Hammerhead, but she *has* been able to determine that Lt. Hawkes was correct. Something happened out there. Since the new LIDAR was the only non-standard piece of equipment on board, we must assume that it had *something* to do with the problem, until proven otherwise. Sir. I am sure Major Barnes will agree, sir."

Ross looked at him impassively. "Unfortunately, the Brass back home have taken a different view. They have expressed great interest concerning the new LIDAR's potential contribution to the outcome of the upcoming engagement."

Goddamn, pencil pushing REMFs, thought McQueen. "Sir, something caused Lt. Hawkes' on board computer to bog for almost six seconds while he was attempting to utilize the 'genie' leg of the new LIDAR. Since removing the program, the problem seems to have disappeared. What conclusions would *you* draw?"

Ross scowled. "Look, I don't want to use the damn thing either, under these circumstances, Colonel. But I'm afraid we may be left with no choice."

"We have to insist on the choice, sir. A delay like that could be fatal in actual battle," McQueen insisted. "To equip our fighters with this new system would be tantamount to handing them over to the Chigs. It doesn't work."

"What doesn't work?"

Ross turned as Barnes entered the bridge.

"Commodore. You wished to see me, sir?"

Ross nodded.

"Yes, Major. It appears that we are about to engage in one of the most serious battles of this war..." he filled her in briefly. "The Pentagon has expressed an interest in the use of your new device in this battle."

Barnes shook her head. "It's not ready," she said flatly. "Sir, I'm cannot prove, yet, that the LIDAR II had anything to do with Hawkes on-board computer bog, but I also can't rule it out. I simply can't authorize the application's use. It doesn't work." She made a face. "I mean, it works, sir. But I can't be sure what else it might be doing. The code for the genie leg of that system touches no less than six critical legs of the Hammerhead's controls, including propulsion and navigation, when it goes back through on the backfeed side. Sir, we *can't* risk problems with those systems. I can't authorize it."

"I thought that genie thing was optional, that it didn't make anything actually *happen*," Ross queried.

"It *doesn't* make anything actually happen, sir," Barnes agreed. "But there are still places in the code where the 'genie' interfaces with other the systems. I'm convinced that the problem with Hawkes computers lies somewhere in one of those interfaces. I just haven't found it, yet."

"Major, I appreciate your frankness. However, I am going to need *something* to stand on, if we elect not to use this new application. The Pentagon has expressed 'considerable enthusiasm'..."

"The Pentagon, sir," Barnes countered hotly, "is looking for a biscuit to feed to Congress. Technological advances are good PR. It's not a new weapon, which would be better, but they couldn't talk about a weapon, anyway." She took a deep breath, then, and looked suddenly sly.

"Sir, have we been *so ordered* to use the application?" She emphasized the words.

Ross smiled slightly, and glanced at McQueen. "I'm beginning to understand why you two are friends... No, Major, we have not been 'so ordered'. Yet."

Ross nodded. "Then it is still my decision whether or not the application will be used in the upcoming battle. I will go on record as stating that the LIDAR II enhancement is not ready for use, and that using the application prematurely could result in an unnecessary loss of life, and perhaps, loss of the battle itself. The Pentagon will just have to contain it's enthusiasm for a little while longer, sir." She smiled prettily as she delivered this last.

Ross nodded. "That's a pretty strong statement, Major. You sure you want to go on record?"

"Yes sir," Barnes agreed. "It's out of your hands, Commodore. I won't turn over the passwords unless directly ordered to do so."

Ross nodded. "Very well, Major," he sighed, and McQueen could almost feel the man's relief. The Commodore walked away.

"What the hell kind of chickenshit order was that?" Barnes leaned close to McQueen and queried. " 'Considerable enthusiasm'... On the other hand, by the time the brass find the balls to *so order*, the battle will be over. Or I'll have fixed the damn thing."

"Shhh" McQueen warned her, frowning. She cocked a smile at him, and left the bridge. McQueen watched her go, and told himself that the sudden rush he felt was due to the upcoming threat of battle. This was going to be a big one, maybe bigger than anything they had faced so far. And they had so little to throw back at them, that they could gather in time. Could the Chigs have gotten wind of 'Round Hammer?' Elroy-L had intimated as much. He took a deep breath. He had work to do, before they made the Draconis system. There was much to prepare.

It never ceased to amaze Captain Lance Hickman, even in a vessel as tightly secure as a nuclear carrier, the number of little nooks and crannies one could find where no security was evident. Not even a camera.

Hickman had been very careful choosing the particular cranny he needed for his task. He had chosen it, actually, the first night they had arrived and had visited it, occasionally, at different times of the day and night, to assure himself of its obscurity, and its lack of use. The place was cramped, ugly, rivet filled and *dusty*; buried in the bowels of the big ship. No one came there. No one even walked by. It suited perfectly.

He knew it would be only a matter of time before he needed to use it, and that now that time had arrived. A.J. He never thought of her as "Major Barnes" when he thought about her privately, but always by the diminutive of her given name - a level of familiarity she would *never* grant him in reality. She had arrived in the lab from the bridge in a peculiar mood that morning; something between anger and amusement, if he had to put a label to it. She was not given to confidences, at least not to him, but he had managed to glean that the Pentagon wished to use the new LIDAR in the battle toward which they were currently steaming. And Aje, naturally, was dead set against it. This was just the opening he needed to push things over the edge.

Hickman waited until after lunch to seek out his hideaway. He had thought long and hard about timing this communication, if and when the opportunity arose. "Standard day," he had determined, was a safer his transmission than "ship's night." Although there *was* no day and night in space, the Navy attempted to maintain Earth standard "days" based on Greenwich Mean Time, to assist in the sanity of its personnel. If any of us could be considered "sane" Hickman thought sourly. True to Earthly habit, most communications traffic happened during the "daylight" hours. If one wished to "bury" a transmission, the most likely time to do so was during the day. Not that Hickman expected anyone to question a simple standard transmission. But, then, it was not the *first* transmission he was worried about.

Crouching down in the dusty hole, Hickman removed a small communications device from his vest. It looked a lot like the portable audio-communicator he carried on Earth, and he had read somewhere that the design mirrored the cellular telephone of the late twentieth century. He liked aud-com better than vid-com. It always bothered him, vid-com, that the recipient could see his face and read in his expression the anxiety he had trained himself to keep out of his voice. This aud-com was special, though. And it rang on only one desk. Hickman punched in the activation code.

After the expected transmission delay, a voice on the other end said "AeroTech."

"Sir," Hickman said. "I have what may be good news. I believe that circumstances have finally come about in such a way as to present AeroTech with a golden opportunity to step in on the LIDAR enhancement project. It has come to my attention that the Pentagon, sir, is anxious to use the new application in an upcoming battle. The project manager, sir, refuses to comply."

Hickman listened to the voice on the other end, nodding to himself as he did.

"Yes, sir, technically she *can* refuse, since the military has not yet directly ordered the application's use. However, if a respected organization, one which has already expressed an interest in managing this technology, were to step in and assure the government that the project manager's reservations are groundless, I feel confident that control of this technology would be transferred to that organization, sir. The Pentagon is quite enthusiastic, I am told."

He listened some more.

"No sir, I am convinced that Major Barnes' objections *are* unfounded, sir. They are based solely on the results of a single test, and the observations of a single pilot. An In Vitro, sir. For all I know, the kid is a plant from some 'tank rights' group attempting to undermine the course of the war... No, sir, I have no evidence. However, the pilot's commanding officer is also an In Vitro, and Colonel McQueen formerly served with Major Barnes in the AI wars. I don't think we can rule out the possibility, sir, of undue influence.

"I'm sure it will work, sir. I wrote it, after all." There was a hesitation, then Hickman's face fell. It was at times like these that he was most glad for the aud-com: "Yes, sir, that's what I meant to say. I was involved with the project. I did not mean to imply that the LIDAR enhancer was my original idea or design..."

He nodded at the direction he was being given. "Very good, sir." He flipped the aud-com to off, and put it back in his pocket. But he did not leave his den. Lance Hickman stared around his grimy surroundings. Now was the time he needed to decided if he was really going to do what he had come there to do. Putting AeroTech on the scent of a new acquisition was only a blind to his purpose - the ensuing confusion would allow him to do what he needed to fulfill his real charge. If he had the guts to do it. As if he had a choice.

Like a lot of other people, Lance Hickman had joined the military to escape his roots. Poverty, disease, and lack of education dogged the footsteps of the 'poor white trash' from the hills of Tennessee. Hickman had found an escape route through the ROTC at his local university, found the only route to respect that he could afford. His honors, and his dress blues, had won him a wife who glittered like the gold she insisted on wearing, a trophy for his ego as well as his arm. She was an costly keeper, though, and Hickman had soon learned that the illusion of "an officer and a gentleman" did not include the corresponding paycheck - at least not in terms of his wife's expensive tastes and wealthy friends. Lance Hickman wanted more.

He wanted *real* power, power an simple officer in the Marine Corps was unlikely to ever win. He had no illusions about his abilities as a warrior - they were mediocre at best. He had more illusions about his abilities as a systems designer and businessman, but not so many as to delude himself as to his prospects in the real world. He wanted money and power, fast and securely, and there was only one way to get this, that he could see. An offer had been made him. It was his to take. If he had the nerve.

No matter that the offer involved betrayal of all he had previously held holy. No matter that millions would die. Some would be left, and they would need a leader. Even a puppet leader to a new regime was higher than Lance Hickman could ever hope to go on his own. He reached into his vest, a removed a second device.

The slender cylinder was not a aud-com. It was a modem access unit of a very special design. A design not even known to AeroTech. Hickman keyed an initiation code.

"Receiving," a metallic voice responded almost immediately.

"Events are moving in the anticipated direction," Hickman said. "Major Barnes has unfortunately been alerted to the presence of the base coding for the fatal virus, however, she has not discovered the actual location within the module, nor has she discerned the implications. I see no particular danger that she will. In time. I have initiated action with AeroTech to force use of the application in the upcoming battle, about which I assume you have already been informed. The entire compliment of fighters aboard the Saratoga will be upgraded with the new design, as directed. Once the virus is initiated, all impacted fighters will be disabled. Our associates will be able to pick them right off. Including the Fifty-Eighth."

"Excellent," the metallic voice reverberated in the cramped enclosure. "Proceed as planned. Such a profound loss is sure to trigger the Earth's surrender. You will be well rewarded, Captain Hickman. Or should I say, Secretary General Hickman? Our associates will be well pleased."

Hickman keyed off the communicator, and shuddered. Bloody Silicates. God, he hated them. But it was necessary to deal with them, they were the link to his desires.

T. C. McQueen put down his coffee mug and scowled at the paperwork in front of him. He had read the same page three times, now, and he still did not know what it said. This was not like him. He did not like the way he was feeling; he did not trust the inkling that niggled at the back of his mind. It had been years, eons it seemed, since he had last felt this way, and the results were always disastrous. He simply was not going to go through it all again.

The work McQueen was attempting to finish was routine stuff, not really enough to keep his mind busy. He had spent the last twenty-four hours going over intelligence reports and speculations, compiling his own series of thoughts and recommendations on the upcoming confrontation. He had done all he could do to prepare, other than brief his people and put them into their planes. With that effort still hours away, and little else to think about except outcomes he could not yet effect, he was left with nothing to do but finish standard summary reports, and brood. And he was not brooding about battle.

His mind was on things he could not have, did not want, and could not convince himself to let go of. Anjelica Barnes had been a casual acquaintance, a long time ago. Nothing less, nothing more. Somebody he had served with. And she was hardly even *that* now. Period. End of sentence, end of discussion. *Years* had passed since they had known each other. Yeah. Right.

McQueen sighed in resignation, and closed his eyes.

LOXLEY, ALABAMA: 2055
Captain T. C. McQueen stood with his back to the wall in the cocktail lounge, holding a glass of champagne that he was not drinking, watching the scene before him. He sincerely wished he had not come to this party, wished he had not let himself get talked into participating in festivities he did not feel. However, for him to absent himself from the pre-nuptial shindig honoring Major Richard Luth of the 23rd squadron and Captain Anjelica Barnes, from his own 42nd, would have been very obvious. He was determined not to give anyone the satisfaction of thinking they had kept him away.

Besides, A.J. had asked him, especially, to come.

McQueen sipped a little of the champagne. He did not care particularly for the taste, and would have preferred a beer, but champagne was what was being served, and he did not want to draw attention to himself. The lounge was still decorated with the trappings from New Year's Eve two weeks earlier, and McQueen found the left over finery depressing. He watched the screaming couple in the center of the room being baited, good-naturedly but rather obscenely, by the rest of the guests. The activities embarrassed him. And they made him inexplicably sad.

In the year and a half since he had run away from A.J. Barnes on that Alabama hillside, the two had become unlikely friends. Unlikely, at least, to the rest of the squadron who assumed that McQueen was just some kind of "project" the pretty pilot had taken on. The assumption was hateful to McQueen, who understood what was behind it - that a "tank" could never have a serious *equal* relationship with a human female, but not hateful enough to turn him away from the friendship that was offered.

It had not come easily.

It had taken Barnes almost a week to seek him out after the incident with the book. She had found him, alone, going over the systems on his fighter. It was not strictly necessary that he do so, they were not scheduled to ship out, but he found the task soothing, and it served to occupy his otherwise turbulent thoughts.

"You still talking to me?" she had asked.

"I guess," McQueen told her, not turning around.

Barnes hesitated. "Ty, I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you..." she floundered for words and he could hear the catch in her voice. He turned a little to look at her.

"Forget it," he replied, turning back to his plane.

"No," Barnes argued softly. "It was thoughtless. I just didn't realize... I guess my intentions sort of backfired..."

McQueen turned around this time, and glared at her. "And what where they? Your intentions?" He was wounded, but more than that, he was confused. What had she been trying to do to him? And why - why make him feel that pain?

Barnes stared down at the tarmac.

"I'm not exactly sure," she admitted. She kicked her foot against the ground. "I guess it's just that I thought I saw... I don't know. Similarities in the creation. The hatefulness of Frankenstein's attitude. The humanity of the creature. How much it's like what I see happening here... I was so struck..." she shook her head helplessly. "I wanted to share that with you, I wanted to talk to you about it. I wanted to *understand.*" She looked away sheepishly. "Maybe I was just trying to understand *you*. What you've been through. Who you are..."

McQueen stared at her in shock. He could feel her reaching out to him. He did not know what to do. The truth was, the story *had* touched him, however painfully. He had been stunned by the resonances, he had not slept nights thinking about them. About what he was. About what he might become, if he let bitterness rule him. And he found himself wanting to talk about these things. Even to thank her somehow. He did not know how.

"You think I'm a monster," he ventured, but not angrily. He knew she did not. She looked up at him quickly.

"You're no monster, Tyrus McQueen," Barnes answered. McQueen had shrunk from the intensity in her eyes when she had said it.

Two days later, the book had showed up mysteriously on his bunk.

It was a beginning. Tentatively, hesitantly, in the months that followed, they had found themselves more and more frequently working together, and a bond had formed. At least when the 23rd was out on maneuvers, and Major Richard Luth was not around.

And now, he was going to lose her. Things would never be the same. There he was, drinking champagne he did not want, watching this woman who had come to mean so much to him preparing to marry a man that McQueen did not like or trust. With T.C. McQueen, as usual, on the outside looking in.

A crash and a shriek brought him out of his reverie. Someone had picked up A.J. and was parading her around the room like a trophy. McQueen put down his drink and got ready to go. The jukebox started while he looked for his jacket. When he turned around, Barnes was standing in front of him. The sight of her made his swallow hard. Her heavy dark hair curled down onto her shoulders and the alcohol had flushed her pale cheeks to a roseate glow. The look in her eyes made him breathless. He did not think he had ever seen anything more alluring, anyone more desirable, than she appeared to him in that moment. She frowned at him.

"You're going?"

McQueen just nodded.

"Aren't you going to dance with me, Captain."

McQueen shook his head. "I don't know how to dance."

Barnes looked wistful. "I could teach you," she suggested. "It isn't hard." She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, she was smiling faintly, a little sadly. "I wish you wouldn't go."

"I better," McQueen insisted, deathly afraid of his suddenly galloping emotions. Barnes nodded.

"I'm not as drunk as I look, Captain," she said with utter seriousness. The she smiled again. "Kiss the bride?"

She reached up and slipped her arms around his neck, drawing him down, and then her lips touched his, parted, and he pulled her close. A kind of desperation overwhelmed him, and then he let her go. She touched his face lightly, her eyes wet, and for a moment he thought he saw despair in them.

"Be happy, Tyrus Cassius McQueen," she whispered. And then she was gone.

SCVN SARATOGA: 2064
McQueen shook himself back into the present. No *way* he was putting himself out there, again. It felt good, though, remembering. Somewhere deep inside him, where memory stirred and rolled over in sleep, it felt very nice. Tender. Warm. Sad-good, painful- good. But good, nonetheless. He shook himself, again, angrily. He was *not* going to indulge this. Never mind the connection that still seemed to be there. Never mind the humor he had forgotten, the lighthearted spirit in the face of adversity. Never mind the understanding, the compassion. The caring. Never mind that he had never really looked at her as just a friend. Never mind a lot of things. Those things were *not* for him.

And anyway, he was busy. He had a war to win.

He knew he was in trouble, though, and he thanked whatever gods there might be that Barnes' tenure aboard the Saratoga was temporary. In a few days, a week, she would be gone, again, and his life would return to normal. As normal as life got, anyway, for a "tank" in the midst of war. In the mean time, though, she *was* there. And she had once been his friend. There were things going on around her that he did not like at all. He belted back the dregs of his coffee, gave the "After Action" reports one last scowl, got up and headed for the labs.

"So, what have you heard?"

Paul Wang turned from watching Hawkes in the VR booth to eavesdrop on the conversation between Vansen and West. The recreation room was pretty much empty. In twenty-six days of inactivity even the most pleasure minded had had the opportunity to sample every kind of *legal* entertainment the Saratoga afforded, and most personnel had retreated back to their own quarters to sulk. The only reason the 'Cards were there was because the rec room was bigger than their own. Except for Hawkes, anyway. Hawkes could shoot those virtual bullets at ghost Chigs forever and never get bored it sometimes seemed to Wang.

"I don't know," West answered Vansen as Wang turned around. "Four more squadrons came in this morning. *Something's* coming down."

"I heard that over half the fleet is headed toward the Draconis system," Vansen said.

"Well, that's definitely the direction we're going," Wang agreed. "Who told you?"

"Flight crew. Got it from the 19th when they came in this morning."

West looked down at his hands. "You think this may be it?" he asked quietly.

"You mean..."

Vansen nodded. "The big one."

"Round Hammer," West agreed.

Wang glanced around quickly, but the room still remained deserted, except for them. "We're not suppose to talk about it," he cautioned.

West snorted. "Right. No secret like a military secret."

"Paul's right," Vansen said. "It's better not to discuss it. Not out loud. Not outside the mission briefing room. It's not suppose to be common knowledge, yet."

The two men eyed her a little uncomfortably, protests, and wisecracks, dying on their lips. Two months ago they would not have hesitated, but since Shane Vansen's promotion to Captain over them, they sometimes were not quite sure how to act around her. If she was aware of their reticence, however, and the reasons for it, there was not indication. She seemed preoccupied with thoughts of her own.

"Well, whatever it is," Wang finally lamented, "I wonder how long they plan to keep us in the dark about it? At this clip, we'll hit Draconis system by 1100 tomorrow. Maybe sooner."

Vansen just stared toward the doorway of the rec room.

"We could try asking McQueen," she said. They all turned and followed her gaze. Their CO was standing in the doorway to the recreation room.

"Think he'd tell us?" West asked. Vansen shrugged.

"I don't know. Colonel!"

McQueen had noticed them at the same moment they saw him, and he had known it was too late to duck out and go another way. Not without being really obvious about it, and he could see by the questions on their faces that his evasion would generate more gossip than it would stop. Besides, he hated keeping them in the dark like that. However much the Brass thought it was a good idea.

Then Vansen called him, and he knew he was caught.

"What?"

Vansen looked up at him respectfully, but also expecting an honest answer. Trusting that he would tell them what he could.

"Sir, what's going on? Why are we heading toward the Draconis region? That's outside our current area of patrol."

"There are reports of Chig activity around Draconis," McQueen thought he would start, at least, with half the truth. Not that he expected it to satisfy them, "we're being called in as support. It's not as if *this* area has been particularly hot, recently."

Wang and West both smiled at the explanation, but Vansen was not going to let him off the hook.

"Sir, fighter squadrons have been rendezvousing with the 'Toga since midday yesterday. And I've heard that more are expected tonight." She hesitated a moment, then plunged on.

"Sir, is this the big one?"

McQueen blew out a breath and just looked at them for a moment. He looked around. The only other person in the room was Hawkes, occupied with his game. McQueen looked back at Vansen.

"This goes no further..."

She nodded agreement for all of them.

"It's not *our* big one..." McQueen said. Vansen looked suddenly grim.

"They've anticipated us."

"We don't know that," McQueen cautioned. "We don't know what they're thinking. We *never* know what they're thinking, that's one of the problems with this war."

Vansen just nodded. "Do we know, yet, what we're up against?" she asked him.

McQueen nodded. "We have some idea. And you'll be informed at the proper time," he added, asking with his eyes that they trust him; understand that he had already told them more than he probably should have, and all he could. Vansen opened her mouth slightly, and looked like she might question further, then she closed it and nodded.

McQueen did not quite smile. "Mission brief at 0945. Get a good night's sleep. And chow down well tomorrow. I can't tell you more than that."

Vansen just nodded again, then glanced over at the others as they watched their Colonel walk out.

McQueen found Barnes where he expected her, in the research complex on the fourteenth mid-deck, frowning at a computer monitor screen. He was not sure exactly what he wanted to tell her, but he knew he wanted to put her on her guard while there was still time to do so.

"What do you know about Captain Hickman?" he asked, after barely giving a greeting. Barnes looked up at him.

"Sir Lancelot?" she quipped. "Not much. He's only worked for me for a few months." She sat back and looked at McQueen thoughtfully. " He's a bit of a prig. Has a *very* expensive wife, to whom he is unfaithful at every opportunity. A bigot, but you already know that."

"Nice guy," McQueen grumbled.

"He's a prince," Barnes agreed. "He's a pretty good programmer, though. Follows orders with no complaints. His work is usually solid, and he has no bad habits that interfere with his job. Why?"

McQueen glowered. "I don't trust him."

Barnes nodded slowly, "Interesting," she responded seriously. "Any particular reason?"

"I don't know, " McQueen admitted. He leaned forward, and rested his elbows on her work table. "Gut feeling. Something doesn't sit right about the guy. Besides the fact that he's a prig and a bigot."

Barnes just eyed him a moment. "You think he might have screwed up on his leg of the program, and his blustering is an attempt to cover it up? That something's wrong he doesn't want pinned on him?"

McQueen looked at her. "Partly. The thought had occurred to me..."

Barnes nodded. "Yeah, it occurred to me, too. Problem is, it's gonna take some time to prove it."

McQueen returned the nod. "And time is the one thing we're short on." He looked at her grimly, but did not comment further. Barnes frowned.

"What?"

McQueen shook his head. "Just watch your six with that guy, okay?"

Commodore Ross's voice cracked unexpectedly over the intercom, preventing Barnes answering.

"Major Barnes, Colonel McQueen, report to the Command briefing room,"

Barnes looked at McQueen. "Both of us?" She grinned a little. "Feels like old times... I wonder what we did."

"They're on their way, and there is nothing I can do about it," Commodore Ross said tightly. Before him, Barnes and McQueen stood at attention, not because the situation required it, but because it was that tense.

"Sir," Barnes began. Ross waved his hand in the air, and handed her a communications "flimsy."

"Just read it, Major." Barnes read. She handed the communication to McQueen.

"This is AeroTech. We can block this. I need a secure line to Earth, I'll put all those damn lawyers I pay such fat retainers to on it. I can get a court order..."

"You cannot get a court order in time for this battle..."

"They got a ruling," McQueen said, handing the flimsy back to Ross. Barnes nodded bleakly.

"AeroTech has managed to have the LIDAR enhancement classed as emergent technology, though I'll be damned if I know on what precedent, and we've ordered to release the passwords and programming to them. They have advised the joint chiefs that the problems encountered during testing were due to human error, not systems failure, and are recommending the use of the new enhancement during the upcoming battle in the Draconis system." Barnes looked at Ross fiercely. "We can't let them do this."

"We don't have any choice!" Ross argued back. "I have received advisement from the joint chiefs that this new technology *will* be used, Major. We are *so ordered*. You are *ordered* to turn over the passwords and programming. That order is endorsed by the President of the United States. Your Commander-In-Chief, Major.

"Besides," Ross continued reasonably. "we do not know that there *is* anything wrong with it. We suspect there might be, and yes, if the decision was mine, I would not authorize it. But the decision is no longer mine. It is no longer yours. We will simply have to trust it, and trust our pilots. Maybe the hitch in Lt. Hawkes' computer was a just a fluke."

"We don't know that," Barnes looked around helplessly. "It just does *not* make any sense. Why risk lives like this on an information gathering application? I programmed this thing, Commodore, I designed it. I have no illusions about what it will and will not do. And it will NOT contribute significantly enough to the outcome of *one* single battle to justify using it before it is one hundred percent ready."

"I understand that," Ross agreed, more quietly. "But I don't know what you expect me to do."

Barnes narrowed her eyes. "Sir, I want to go on record as protesting the use of the LIDAR II enhancer in battle at this time, sir. The application is *not* ready, and we are unable to assess the risks of such use at this time. However. If the decision is no longer in military hands, sir, this Major requests assignment to a combat squadron. If we *must* use it, I'll fly the enhancer myself."

"No!" McQueen countered sharply. Barnes frowned at him.

"Colonel, I am a fully qualified attack jet pilot. My flight status is active. I am ready - and able - to fly this mission."

"Sir, Major Barnes has not flown with a combat squadron since the end of the AI wars, sir. The armada we are facing is too serious an engagement to risk..."

Barnes turned and faced Ross.

"Sir, if the Commodore will check the record, sir, my air hours are current...

"Flying test planes is *not* combat," McQueen returned. "Sir. Major Barnes has *never* faced *this* enemy..."

Barnes wheeled on him, head high, eyes blazing. "What's the matter, Colonel? Are you afraid I might hare out on you?"

"This is *not* the time to find out!" McQueen shouted.

Barnes froze. Color drained from her face, and she looked at McQueen in shock, as if he had just slapped her. Then she took a deep breath. She turned to Ross.

"If you will excuse me, sir?" She turned on her heels and left the briefing room. McQueen closed his eyes.

"Nice one, Ty. Very tactful," Ross said, his voice edged with disgust. He walked up to his officer. "Look," he hissed. "I don't particularly want to send her out there, either, but she *is* qualified..."

"She has too fine a mind, too great and valuable a talent to *risk* against odds like these, sir," McQueen argued, tiredly. "We ned her *brains* a lot more than we need another pilot..." Ross just eyed him.

"Are you sure that's why you're objecting?" he asked. With a shake of his head, he left the briefing room. McQueen watched him go. He closed his eyes and rubbed his face with his hand.

Next : Part Four

Previous : Part Two