Sands hurriedly stripped off his environment suit while Caen stood guard with his rocket pistol. The computer chamber, normally quiet as a mausoleum, was alive with various alarms. He recognized the signals for breached integrity, battle stations, and intruder alert. There were several other beeps, buzzes, and horns he could not identify. He hoped none of them was telling Alliance security to respond to a break in at the computer center.

Sands stood guard while Caen also stripped off his environment suit. They had set four explosive charges inside the computer. They would now try for its mate on the opposite side of the complex.

"Ready?" Caen asked as he smoothed out the rumpled uniform he had worn beneath the environment suit.

"Ready," Sands affirmed. They were masquerading as a commander and his aide. Both wore sidearms, as required by regulations, and had badges that would pass visual inspection, but that were useless if read by computer.

"Let's go, Lieutenant."

"Aye aye, sir," Sands said as he stepped forward to open the door. They paused long enough to squirt a vial of acid into the lock. With luck, anyone who wanted inside would attribute the damaged lock to an inconvenient mechanical breakdown. Otherwise, they might find the abandoned environment suits stashed in the passageway leading to the outside hatch.

As Sands followed Caen, he had to give the agent credit. His manner was one of someone who had the perfect right to be where he was. Sands only hoped his own terror would not give them away.

They marched nearly two hundred meters before they encountered anyone. That was a harried enlisted man with a tool kit hurrying to some emergency job. He threw Caen a sloppy salute, which the agent returned nonchalantly. The encounter lasted less than a second.

"My God, the place is deserted!" Sands whispered as they continued down the wide, brightly illuminated corridor. They could see into various work areas through wide windows as they passed. Most of the consoles were manned, but nowhere did they see the usual corridor and door guards."You said it would be," Caen responded confidently.

Sands gulped and was about to say that he had not really believed it. He was interrupted by a general announcement from the overhead.

"Attention. There is an attack underway onCloud Dancer . Our communications break has been repaired. Be ready to transfer control to Cloudcroft," a professionally calm voice announced.

Caen gave Sands a meaningful look, then marched straight to the lift that was their goal. A few seconds later, they were being whisked skyward in the company of two enlisted women. Neither paid them any attention. They got off at the level where Caen's map said the second computer center was located. It took another two tension filled minutes to reach their destination.

At the computer center, they encountered their first guard.

"May I help you, sir?" the Marine asked politely, his words muffled by his breather mask. His obsequiousness was somewhat marred by the fact that he had his hand on the butt of his holstered weapon. Behind him was a computer ID reader into which they would be asked to insert their identity cards.

"Certainly, Sergeant..."

Once again the overhead speakers came alive, interrupting whatever it was Caen had been about to say.

"Cloud Dancerhas been hit. All personnel, prepare to switch control to Cloudcroft. Activate!"

The guard glanced toward the overhead speaker for just an instant. That was all the opening Caen needed. He reached out and drove three stiffened fingers into the guard's larynx beneath his mask, then stepped close and chopped at his neck. The man dropped to the floor.

"Come on, drag him around the corner!"

The two of them hurried to conceal the guard, then rushed through the deserted computer center to a door identical to the one they had disabled with acid. Once again, it was a matter of seconds before Caen had the door open.

Beyond lay another squat computer with thousands of optical cables feeding into it. Caen planted their last three explosive charges while Sands stood guard with drawn pistol. Caen had just signaled that he was done when an alarm sounded.

"Attention, All Hands. Security breach. Intruders are loose somewhere in Section Alpha Nine. Get them!"

"Come on," Caen said, "Time to go. We've got thirty seconds on those timers and this place will be swarming long before that!"

Sands barely heard him. He was transfixed, staring upward at the place from which the orders had issued. The voice had been angry, perhaps a bit fatigued, and one that Sands recognized.

It had been the voice of Micah Bolin!

Chapter 37: Victory and Vengeance.

Envon Crawford watched the progress of the surprise attack on the enemy flagship and grinned.

Everyone had thought him crazy when he had suggested that his ore carriers could be useful for more than hauling metal down into Saturn's gravity well. Most of the battle staff had been opposed to the idea.

He had persisted, arguing that war on Saturn had been the province of aircraft for so long that everyone had forgotten the hard lesson of the first space war.

The attack had been arranged to look like a diversionary strike against the Alliance home cities. Indeed, that was the story that had been spread throughout Strike Force Redemption. Word had obviously reached the Alliance. The moment the freighters' engines came alive, two full squadrons of Alliance warcraft had taken up blocking positions to the west of the cluster.

Crawford would like to have seen the face of the Alliance commander when the freighters' engines had not shut down on schedule. Instead, they had drained their reaction tanks in powered deceleration until they were well below orbital velocity. They had then literally fallen into Saturn's atmosphere. Rather than skipping off into space to dissipate heat, the freighters had blazed straight in, diving at the maximum velocity they could tolerate. Instead of heading for the Alliance cities, they had looped far to the north and south, passing the Alliance cluster well outside sensor range. They had then jogged back toward the North Temperate Belt and made straight for the Alliance flagship. After that, it had been a contest between diving fighters and outgunned defenders. The fighters had saturated the defense with their missiles, striking home half-a-dozen times.

As soon as it became clear that the flagship was mortally stricken, the fighters had divided their attention among the surviving airships. Two more were badly damaged before the defending squadrons drove off the attackers. Crawford remembered one scene in particular. It had been taken from the aft camera of a fleeing Corwin fighter. It showed the bow of the Alliance flagship rapidly deflating as the ship began a slow slide toward the depths.

Crawford had then turned his attention to the battle that raged close to his own ship. Even with the loss of their flagship, the Alliance squadrons continued to press their attack. They fought bravely, and with abandon, like men enraged by the sudden silence in their earphones. Yet, modern war relies too much on computers and long range sensing for mere valor to prevail. No individual can be aware of much more than the action on his own narrow front. To be successful, a fleet commander has to know everything that is happening. The Alliance had lost that capability while their opponents retained it.

"Why hasn't Cloudcroft taken over?" Admiral Vishnu asked his chief controller.

"Don't know, sir," came the terse reply. "They should have come on line the moment the flagship was hit."

"Something wrong with their computers?"

"Let's hope so." The reply was spoken as a prayer.

The tide of battle suddenly changed. The attacking Alliance ships began to falter. Those squadrons that had been pulled back to aidCloud Dancer now seemed irresolute. Some ships turned to rejoin the battle, while others raced after their beleaguered mobile bases. The latter were too late. The flagship had begun to break apart as entire sections were jettisoned to float as free balloons.

Increasingly, Alliance ships began to disengage. First one, then two, then six, would turn for the safety of open sky. Then, in the space of a dozen heartbeats, the Alliance went into general retreat while strike force squadrons chased after them.

Crawford swallowed hard as he watched the dissolution of the once mighty Alliance fleet. His gamblehad paid off. The battle between ships and fleets was nearly ended. The conquest of the Alliance cities was about to begin.

Rugillio Caen grabbed Sands roughly and dragged him along. They were in the corridor outside the computer center before Lars could shake the dark thoughts that had threatened to consume him. He returned to reality just as a party of Marines appeared around a corner.

Caen snapped off two shots and the two of them ran into an empty cross-corridor. They had not gone more than a dozen strides when a distantcrump! Told them their bombs had exploded. Caen led Lars through a maze of corridors and dimly lit service passages. They came to a ladder that extended several decks in both directions. They used it to drop down three decks.

"All right, we'll do it just like before," Caen said with breath raspy beneath his oxygen mask. "We're on assignment and have every right to be here. Just walk. Smooth and not too fast. If anyone challenges us, I'll do the talking."

"Where are we going?"

"Bottom level. We'll go out another maintenance hatch then lose ourselves in the city until our friends can get here."

"You go without me. I've got something else I have to do."

"What, for God's sake?"

"That last voice, the one who ordered the search. That was Micah Bolin!"

"There isn't much you can do about him now."

"That's where you're wrong. I'm going to kill him."

Caen scowled. "Look, we've been lucky so far. However, a good agent knows when it is time to climb into a hole and pull it in after. This is that time. If we're victorious, he's as good as dead."

There was a lot of truth in what Caen said. After all, what difference did it make when he exacted his revenge? Better to be alive to see Bolin dropped over the side than to die in an unsuccessful attempt to kill him.

It was all very logical. The problem was that he did not agree with the logic. If he did not kill Bolin himself, the ghosts of Dane, Ross Crandall, and all those dead scientists on Earth would haunt him forever.

"I'm sorry, Rugillio. This is something I have to do. You escape without me"

The team leader's scowl deepened as he mouthed a single, profane syllable. "Let's go, hero. If you're looking for this guy, he's probably in the Combat Information Center."

Where before they had trod the corridors in near isolation, they now found pandemonium. Various ratings were running from one duty station to another in an attempt to regain control. Most were unaware that the primary and backup tactical computers had been destroyed as they traced cables and checked junction boxes.Once again, Caen and Sands were commander and aide. They strode purposefully toward the center from which senior officers directed distant battles. Twice it was necessary to push through knots of anxious junior officers and enlisted men. They passed near one of the entry portals. A steady stream of Marines in battle dress was pouring back into headquarters from the city.

"They're calling back their security forces," Caen remarked upon seeing them. "We've got perhaps another minute before they start restoring order. Let's make that minute count."

They turned a corner and came face to face with two guards. Rifles came up to cover them as Caen strode brazenly forward with Sands in lock step beside him.

"Your business, Commander," the taller of the two guards barked out. There was none of the usual deference an enlisted man shows an officer.

"Saving your dumb ass!" Caen snapped back. "Both the tactical computers have been blown by goddamned saboteurs. We have been ordered to assist in city defense. Every second you keep that goddamned rifle in my face is another second I won't have to figure out how to save the situation."

Sands could see the guard's resolve waver for just a moment. Caen calmly lifted his arm to point at first one, then the other. Magically, there was a rocket gun in it. He fired twice at point blank range.

"Here," he said, tossing the first guard's identification to Sands. "Use that to get through the personnel lock. I'll be right behind you."

Sands inserted the identity tag into the lock and was cycled through. Inside he found himself in a plush compartment filled with row upon row of combat consoles. At each, an officer worked frantically to salvage a failing situation. Above Sands's head was a wall size tactical display on which various symbols crawled slowly across the screen. He was too close to make any sense out of the jumble. Not wanting to show an undue interest, he let his eyes scan the compartment itself.

Cloudcroft's Combat Information Center was typical of the breed, although larger than most. The lighting was subdued, while heavy soundproofing and plush carpeting kept the noise level down. The light from tactical screens reflected from sweaty faces.

At the back of the cavern was an enclosed balcony where the senior officers watched the progress of the battle. Each of these sat at his own console, giving orders to various specialists on the main floor. Above this balcony was a single window. He could make out the silhouette of a figure behind the darkened transparency. Lars wondered if it were his imagination, or was that figure bald?

"Let's go," Caen whispered as he strolled up behind Sands, acting as though nothing had happened.

"What about...?" Sands did not complete the sentence, but indicated the place where they had left the two guards outside.

"Don't worry. I have jammed the personnel lock. No one is getting in or out for a while. Now, let's move before we draw attention to ourselves."

"Yes, sir."

The compartment sloped up toward the back, much like an auditorium or theater. It seemed to Sands that every eye was on him as he climbed the long aisle. Yet, everyone they passed was too preoccupied with events on their monitors to notice the two intruders. They reached the rear of the compartment and inserted their bogus identity cards into a wall-mounted reader."Yes?" a voice demanded from the speaker.

"Extra guards ordered to secure Center," Caen said. "We've got intruders loose in headquarters."

"Right," the voice responded.

The lift doors opened and the two of them got inside. Caen used one of his multipurpose tools to break into the control panel. He overrode the command that would have stopped the lift at the first balcony.

"All right, get ready," he said as he touched two wires together to open the door.

Sands had his gun out, but found no opposition. Beyond was a plush anteroom leading to a closed and armor plated door. A quick examination of the walls showed that they too were armored.

"What now?" Sands asked.

"Try the door."

Sands made a sour face, but did as he was told. To his surprise, the door slid silently into its recess.

Sands gripped his pistol tightly and stepped through.

The single occupant of the compartment did not glance up immediately. He was too busy taking in the situation on the tactical display. Sands was able to advance three paces before the familiar face turned toward him. There was irritation in Bolin's eyes and a snarl on his lips. The snarl died as recognized the features behind the breathing mask.

"Sands!"

"Hello, Bolin."

"How did you get in here?"

"You were careless. You should have locked your door."

"What do you want?"

"I'm going to kill you."

Bolin lunged from his high back chair, throwing himself forward. Sands pulled the trigger twice. The impact of the small rockets threw Bolin back into the chair, and then tipped it over onto its back. Bolin lay there with his feet up in the air and a surprised look on his face while twin pools of red spread slowly across the front of his tunic. The bald admiral looked up at Lars and opened his mouth. Whatever he had been about to say died with him.

Sands stood over his nemesis for long seconds, wondering why he did not feel the joy he had imagined would accompany this moment. All he felt was numb.

"Come on, let's go."

"Too late," Caen replied, pointing at the main floor of the Combat Information Center.

Sands gazed through the thick plastic window. All over the giant room, men and women were standing at their stations, pointing upwards toward him. Already there was a rush for the lifts at both ends of the main floor.Caen strode to the control board, studied it for a second, and then threw a switch. There was an audible click from the doors and a sudden popping sound in their ears.

"What did you just do?"

"I've sealed us in. It looks like our fleet has been victorious. Now if they can just get here before these people dig us out, everything will be fine. Care to bet on who will win the race?"

"No bet."