Emily did not answer.

She led him across the platform, then bade him rest before riding the escalator up to the base. Sitting at the end of the platform, he saw men moving back and forth. Watson looked for Freeman but did not see him. A minute passed, then he stepped onto the escalator. As the stairs lifted him, he held on to the rail the way a drowning victim holds on to a life preserver.

They crossed the lobby and entered the base, passing offices and a cafeteria before Emily helped him into an elevator. He slumped against a wall for the two-second ride. When they finally reached the infirmary, Emily had him lie on an unmade bed. She applied a patch to his neck, and he fell asleep.

When he woke, his jaws were aligned but he could not move them.

CHAPTER.

FIFTY-EIGHT.

Location: The Churchill

Date: May 2, 2519

The call to stations threw the crew of the Churchill into an organized frenzy. Sailors sprinted through the halls. Red and amber lights flashed. Officers had to shout to be heard.

As Cutter ran to the chart table, the Klaxons faded.

"Is the transport away?" he asked Captain Hauser.

"Aye, sir."

"Fighter escort?"

"Launched, sir."

"Did you warn them about the battleships?"

Hauser deferred that question to his second in command-Lieutenant Frank Nolan, his communications officer.

"Aye, sir. They're going to land behind the base," said Nolan.

"Good," said Cutter. Only after hearing this did he allow himself to breathe. He looked at the holographic image of the space around Mars, noting the Churchill's position before looking for intruders. "Good God, are those Nike-class ships?" he asked.

"Yes, sir. Nike-class battleships, sir," responded Hauser.

Nike was the last generation of warships built by the Unified Authority. They were smaller than the Perseus-class ships used by the Enlisted Man's Navy-ships that the Unifieds had abandoned along with their clones. Nike-class ships had nearly impenetrable shields. Some of them carried shield-buster torpedoes that could render EMN ships defenseless with a single hit.

It had been more than a year since the Unified Authority Fleet broadcasted to the Scutum-Crux Arm and vanished into history. No Nike-class ships had been seen since that time.

"Where the hell did those bitches come from?" Hauser muttered.

Cutter watched the ships on the holographic map. One of the ships was less than five hundred thousand miles out and approaching slowly. The other was still a full million miles away. She appeared only as a dot on the display.

According to telemetry tracking, both ships were traveling at no better than ten thousand miles per hour with a low acceleration factor.

"What are they doing here?" asked Cutter.

"What is their weapon status?" asked Hauser, who was the commanding officer of the Churchill. Cutter ran the Navy, but the Churchill was Hauser's ship.

"The first ship's shields are hot, sir," an officer called. "We're picking up erratic energy fluctuations. There's something wrong with her."

"What about the second?" asked Cutter.

"Too far to read, sir," answered one of the weapons officers.

"Have you made contact?" asked Cutter.

"They're not responding," said Lieutenant Nolan.

"That bitch has been through the blender," said Hauser.

"I don't care if she's pissing blood," said Cutter. He started to say, "We can't go one-on-one with a Nike..." Then he saw the extent of the damage. Burns covered her hull. Entire sections of the battleship were dark. She's half dead, he thought.

Looking at the holographic representation of the ship, Cutter saw the miscolored areas where her hull had been broken and hastily patched. He said, "God, she shouldn't be moving."

"Admiral, we have help on the way, sir," said Lieutenant Nolan. "I just got a message from the de Gaulle. She's twelve million miles out."

"Oh shit," said Cutter. He did not explain himself.

"Sir, do we stand our ground?" asked Hauser.

Staring at the display, Cutter muttered "How the hell did those battleships get here?" Then he switched his attention to Hauser, and said, "Those are Nike-class battleships, Captain. Keep one hundred thousand miles between us and those ships at all times."

"Aye, sir," said Hauser, and he relayed the orders.

Once he received confirmation, he asked Cutter, "Admiral, do you think they came from Terraneau?"

"I don't know anyplace else they could have come from," said Cutter.

"Aye, sir," said Hauser. Then he added, "They're as slow as glaciers, sir."

One of the weapons officers approached the table and waited for permission to speak. He said, "Captain, the first ship is leaking radiation."

Hauser smiled, and said, "We might be able to sink that bitch with a spit wad!"

"Give me an updated position on the de Gaulle," said Cutter.

"She's eleven million miles out, sir," said Lieutenant Nolan. "Should I send her a distress signal?"

Eleven million miles, about twenty minutes away, Cutter reasoned. We might be able to play cat and mouse with those limping Nikes; but once the de Gaulle arrives, they'll surround us.

CHAPTER.

FIFTY-NINE.

Location: Mars Air Force Base

Date: May 2, 2519

Watson watched the scope that tracked the twelve Tomcats and the transport as they entered the atmosphere. The fighters could have annihilated the security clones if they caught them on open ground; but the pilots headed straight for the Air Force base, a choice that seemed to make no sense.

Moving as quickly as he could, Watson shuffled up the stairs to the observation deck, a loft with chairs and a bar fronting a twenty-foot circular window. Staring into the darkened sky, Watson located the fighters by their vapor plumes, brushstrokes that evaporated quickly.

Why would the fighters come here? he asked himself.

Cutter must have been monitoring them from the Churchill; otherwise, he would not have known to send the transport. Specking sludging, he thought. If only we could reach them.

"Hey, there's a battleship. Two battleships! Two battleships just entered the area," said one of the bodyguards, Sharkey or Liston or Dempsey. Watson could no more tell them apart than he could tell clones apart. In his mind, the bodyguards were interchangeable cogs, three burly guys, not particularly bright or brave or motivated. Without being aware of it, he was comparing them to Freeman and Harris.

The fighters and the transport slowed as they flew over the top of the Air Force base. For just a moment, Watson glimpsed the tails of the Tomcats. The transport, her shields glowing a ghostly blue, glided past the building last. They were low to the ground and coming in for a landing.

Two battleships. The words echoed back and forth in Watson's head. Battleships. Why would Cutter call in more ships, a single fighter carrier could...unless the battleships aren't his.

He could not make sense of it. As far as Watson knew, the enemy was reprogrammed clones and whatever remained from the Martian Legion.

The fighters and the transport parked on the massive airstrip behind the base. Dempsey went to open the rear air lock for them, but the pilots remained in their ships. With a hostile force advancing on the base, they could not leave their ships. With enemy battleships looming outside the atmosphere, they could not stay in the air.

CHAPTER.

SIXTY.

Location: Smithsonian Field

Date: May 2, 2519

My driver slowed to a stop as we approached the last gate. The guards at the gate wore combat armor. If we'd come yesterday, we'd have found them in service uniforms breathing fresh air; but the rules had changed over the last twenty-four hours. Thanks to reprogramming, reality no longer meant what it used to mean.

Three armed guards accompanied Major Dunkirk as he walked out to my jeep and saluted. I had no doubt that the missiles in the battery beyond the fence were trained on me at that moment.

I said, "We're in a hurry, Major," and I nodded toward the line of thirty-five trucks on parade behind my vehicle.

"May I see your orders, sir?" he asked. He did indeed need to see my orders. Until Cutter returned to Earth and officially acknowledged my commission, I would hold no more authority than any other retiree. As far as Dunkirk was concerned, the stars on my collar were only for show.

I handed him my papers.

He took them and scanned them, not reading the words but checking the authorizations. What I was about to do was bending the rules to say the least. If I was a traitor, my actions might put the entire empire at risk.