Earth, North America, Texas Free Republic August 1, 2388 The hot summer sun beat down on the small graveyard surrounded by tall trees and dense underbrush. A faint summer wind managed to dip down beneath the vegetation to touch the tombstones, most of them aged and etched with the tiny strokes of centuries of exposure. In the unused portion of the cemetery, grass twitched and rippled in the fitful breeze, while an occasional dust devil blew up from the older, long-used area. On a plot next to the old aluminum fence lay a low plaque- not even quite a tombstone- engraved with two flags- that of the old United States, and the first flag of the Zardon Republic. The name on the plaque read, MAJOR GENERAL ARLIN BRUCE OVERSTREET: USN VIETNAM WAR 1968-1970, ZRPA ZARDON CIVIL WAR 2002-2006. BORN JUNE 5, 1950: DIED OCTOBER 27, 2028. The gate to the graveyard squeaked open slowly, admitting a nondescript figure in a bright red flight suit, covered by a vinyl jacket with fake-fur collar and multiple patches, listing flight squadrons, ship assignments, and honors almost beyond belief. On the left shoulder a rectangular patch, solid black save for a highly stylized golden thunderbolt, proclaimed the nationality of its wearer- Freespacer.. Two five-pointed stars flanked by laurel wreaths shone in silver thread from the lapel of the flight jacket, proclaiming its wearer as holding the titular rank of Vice Admiral in the Freespacers' principal military arm. The figure removed his flight helmet, revealing a large, unruly bundle of blond hair, curling and twisting above a pair of bright eyes, an average nose, and a bushy red beard. The hazel eyes dimmed sadly, contemplating the tombstones as their owner walked to the plaque by the fence. The pilot knelt by the grave, careful not to touch the precise spot of burial. From inside the jacket, he drew out a small Texas flag and an United States flag. Setting the two flags in tiny holes in the pedestal, the man sighed and said: "Hey, Dad. I'm home." WHITE LIGHTNING PRODUCTIONS in association with EYRIE PRODUCTIONS, UNLTD. presents REDNECK: WILDERNESS a story of the CFMF Starring Kris "Redneck" Overstreet Washuu Hakubi Terri "Crash" Curtiss Rianna Santova May Azland Co-Starring Aya Nakajima James Joseph Condorcet XVIII James Joseph Condorcet XX Doubledealer Mayl Popp'fl Guest Starring So Many Characters It Might Make Your Head Spin SCREENPLAY BY J. CONRAD SPADE, LAWRENCE MANN, MARTIN ROSE, ROBERT SHANNON, BENJAMIN J. HUTCHINS DIRECTED BY BENJAMIN J. HUTCHINS A number of characters portrayed in this work are not the creation of the author. The author makes no claim to those characters pre-created in other works by other creators. These creators include, but are not limited to, George Lucas, Ted Nomura, Ben Dunn, Altier Lana, Ikkou Sahara, Gene Roddenberry, David Weber, Sergio Aragones, Lois McMaster Bujold, Fred Perry, Hasbro, ArtMic, Pioneer, AIC, Johji Manabe, Nintendo of America, Western Designs, Masamune Shirow, Glen A. Larson, Donald Bellisario, and many more we can't recall just now. Thanks to my father for having lived, and thanks to my mother for letting me live. This fanfic novel is dedicated to Alan Shepard, Jr. You were not -the- first, but you were -our- first, in a time and place where we desperately needed heroes. You reached up and touched the stars; your footprints are on the Moon. And now only four are left... Chapter 1/THEN Deep space near Ammuuz October 28, 2028 Rear Admiral Kristan Overstreet, second in command of the United Galactica Joint Fleet Command, Outer Rim Territories, dug wearily through the ten-kazillionth - or so it seemed- report about various conflicts of command between the three services involved in the Joint Fleet. From the tone of the various reports, one would think that the Royal Salusian Navy, the Zardon Republican Space Navy, and the Confederate Freespacers Mercenary Fleet had never worked together before in their existence. Kris was responsible for the latter organization in particular, and he longed to get to the bottom of the incoming e-mail pile so he could write up final orders to the twenty-odd ships under his command and get some sleep. Kris' desk clock read 2205 hours, CFMF Camelot time. In about eight hours, the combined fleet would complete the enveloping movement which would trap, once and for all, the last major fleet belonging to the Zardon Imperial Restoration Front, immobile in defending its crippled flagship. The capture of the fleet, and its supreme commander the Empress Dowager Malificent Zard'al, would spell the end of the war which started when the Imperials stole two experimental CFMF warships, the CFMF Dreadnought and CFMF Henry V, from drydock. Not long after the experimental ships disappeared, a large fleet based around the two ships appeared in orbit around the Zardon homeworld. After two costly hours of bitter combat, the combined Zardon and Salusian forces in the Salusal system drove out the Imperial fleet, but the battle left the local forces in no condition to follow up the victory or even defend against another attack. The war which followed stretched on for two grinding years, prosecuted by a vaguely cooperative effort between the CFMF, the Zardon Republic, and the Salusians, with occasional assistance from the Wedge Defense Force. After some initial successes, the Imperials began losing, and then losing badly, against the combined fleets. Only the secret the two stolen Freespacer ships had been built to test allowed the Imperials to stay in the field after the first year; a new shield design, based upon the Kuat Drive Yards TSS shield projectors, which projected a triple-layered shield grid using only slightly more power than the standard single layer. However, the engineers (with some grudging hints from one Washuu Hakubi) had finally isolated a flaw which, if all went well, would prove decisive. In a small section of the ship directly above the projectors- two roughly two-meter square spots on ships three hundred meters long- the shields did not cover the ship. A direct hit would knock out the shields and produce a feedback effect into the ship's main engines, leading to the automatic shutdown of all ship's systems. In eight hours, the starfighter corps of the three fleets would test that theory, while the capital ships demolished the few, battered remnants of the fleet which had begun to take shape twenty years before with the fall of the Zardon Empire. However, even on the eve of final victory, Kris had to deal with the minor annoyances of joint command, as witness the letter currently ready to send on his terminal: To: Captain Rias Dewben From: Rear Adm. Kristan Overstreet, cmdg CFMF Subject: Re: Action on Insult Although I can sympathize with you, I must ask that you forgive Captain James Condorcet and excuse him from the duel of honor you have requested with him. He means no ill will, but his natural tendencies towards uncouth behavior can put off those not familiar with his nature. Soon I hope to show you evidence of his better nature in combat; his valor, his chivalry, and his selfless courage on behalf of his comrades in arms. As regards the specifics of your complaint with Cpt. Condorcet, I regret that I have no authority over the private lives of CFMF personnel save where they come in direct conflict with duty. Therefore, I cannot forbid the Captain from visiting your widowed sister and courting her as per his customs. However, I can and will pass the message on to his wife, Commander Reina Sabre Condorcet, who will undoubtedly act on it. Once more, I ask you to lay aside the honor of your family for the greater honor of the service. Captain Condorcet is, I assure you, sincere in his affections- he is, quite frankly, in love with all that is beautiful and feminine in the world. I will do what I can to curb his attentions away from your family, but I suggest rather that you be more accepting of Captain Condorcet's affections to your sister and niece in the future. Your obedient servant, Kristan Overstreet, Rear Adm. cmdg CFMF forces He'd just begun his reply to the next post, a request for information from a Zardon captain, when a small communications window opened up on his desktop. "Pardon me, Admiral," Lieutenant M'ryll, the Camelot's Caitian communications officer said, "but you have an incoming message from Earth." Earth? "Put it through to me here, Lieutenant," he said. The furry Caitian face blipped out, replaced by the grey-headed form of Patricia McDowell. Once, she and Kris had been lovers. For twenty years, she'd been Butch Overstreet's wife... Kris' stepmother. "Hi, Kris," her voice called over the lightyears. Her tough, handsome face bent in carefully suppressed sorrow as she said, "I've got bad news. Your father is dead. The cancer got him." "Cancer?" An icy chill stabbed Kris in the gut and stayed there. He hadn't known his father was ill, and in any case cancer was now treatable across the board. "Why didn't he see the doctor?" "He'll tell you for himself," Patricia said. "He left a message for you. I'm sending it through now..." The screen turned to static for a second before resolving into the old den add-on of the Overstreet trailer house. Butch Overstreet, grey-haired, mostly bald actually, and aged, squinted slightly into the camera. "Kris? If you're watching this, I'm dead, probably from widespread cancer. I didn't go get it cured because, basically, I'm tired. I've been in and out of the hospital so many times I could spit, between one thing and another. I've taken the cancer cure twice already, dammit. I've used up my body. Ain't nothin' left to fix no more. I've had my life, and it's time for me to go." Butch shifted around in his easy chair, grunting loudly with the effort. As Kris' fingers gripped the bottom of the keyboard, the recording continued, "'Sides, I got no intention of lettin' a doctor get his hands on me this late in the game. This is my fight, and fuck the doctors." The old smile, the charming friendly smile Kris had inherited, shone out one last time from the video screen. Kris' eyes teared up as his father continued, "It's been one helluva ride, hasn't it? Two wars, more jobs than you could shake a stick at... I've had my time, son, and it's been fun. Oh, I could go in and have the surgery, take the retrovirus and live another forty years, or get a cyborg body and live however long I liked... but why? Son, it's time for me to rest. I'm gonna go naturally, at home, probably in my sleep... the way I was intended to. "Now, you've got one helluva life ahead of you. You're gonna see one hell of a lot of stuff, feel a helluva lot of pain, and have a lot of fun. And one day, when it's time, you'll know when to let go and let someone else have a go at it. Just remember, son... I'll..." The figure on the screen stopped for a moment to compose himself, giving Kris the time to do the same. "Remember, Kris," the old man said at last, "I'll always be with you, watching your back. You ain't never alone, and I ain't never really gone. I'll always be there for you when you need me." The figure took a ragged breath, turned to the screen one last time, and said, "Kris... I love you, very very much. I only wish I'd been a better dad than you had, taught you better, been there more... I love you..." Butch turned his face and mumbled, "How d'ya turn this damn thing off?," and the recording ended, leaving Patricia's face to stare at Kris. Kris stared dully back, finally working up the mental capacity to whisper, "When is the funeral?" "Tomorrow," Patricia said. "I know you can't make it... we'll leave a chair open for you just the same..." "Thanks, Boom Box," Kris said, using her old callsign from when she had been his second-in-command in the MASS-01 Rebel Squadron. "Goodbye." The screen went dark, and Kris pushed his chair away from the desk and cried for a few minutes. In eight hours, he would be responsible for roughly a quarter of the combined attack fleet, commanding from the bridge of his flagship with a confident look and a cool exterior. Tonight, he would mourn the dead. The battle ended as expected, and the Marines who boarded the crippled Dreadnought found Zerina Zard'al, Malificent's puppet Empress Elect, crying over her mother's limp body; she had poisoned herself before the Marines could reach their quarters. The so-called Empress wept loud and long as the troopers carried her away from her mother's corpse to the brig of the CFMF King Arthur. At the end of the boarding ramp, Thalona Zard'al, the youngest of Malificent and Garth Zard'al's three daughters, stood beside Admiral Overstreet and waited. As Zerina and her captors stepped off of the ramp, Kris signaled them to halt. He glared down at her and growled, "Princess Zerina, you will be transported to the Salusal system, where you will be tried for your crimes against Salusia, Zardon, the Confederate Freespacers Mercenary Fleet, and the United Galactica." Zerina glared right back at Kris through her tears and screeched, "Don't you have the decency to let me mourn? My mother is DEAD! You KILLED her like you killed my father!! Don't you have any idea of how I feel?" Kris' eyes grew dark as opals, hard and cold His aura glowed slightly with emotion as he whispered, "As a matter of fact, yes I do. My father died yesterday. Because of your vainglorious little war, I'm going to miss his funeral. I didn't have a chance to tell him goodbye, or even to pay respects, because I was too busy making sure you never broke the peace again. You, little miss, have wasted time so precious to me that your entire life and death couldn't pay back a day of it." He turned his back on the self-proclaimed Empress, and facing Thalona, he growled, "You may arrange funeral ceremonies for your mother. Like it or not, she was once the Empress, and for all her crimes she deserves some respect." As he turned to leave, he said, "And keep that motherfucking self-centered bitch out of my sight!" Thalona watched the Freespacer admiral storm off, stunned motionless by his words. Behind her, Zerina asked, "What about you, Thalona? Don't you have any tears to shed for our mother?" "I shed all my tears the night I left the two of you to your madness," Thalona said. "I have no mother anymore." Zerina gaped in disbelief at her sister. "How can you say that? This is our MOTHER. Don't you have any love left for her?" "Why should I?" Thalona said. "She never had any for us. We were just her tools. She never saw anyone as anything other than tools. Well, let's see her use someone now." Zerina stared for a long moment, and then her face sank back into tears. Whining quietly, she walked away with her guards, shoulder to shoulder with them and totally alone in the universe. Thalona watched her sister leave, as the tears she denied built up in her eyes. The Empress is dead, she thought. Let her stay dead. And may whatever forces there are in the universe have mercy on her soul. Chapter 1/NOW Magnolia Hill Cemetery, Segno Community, Texas, Earth August 1, 2388 Kris Overstreet stood by the grave of his father, looking down with only the tiniest hint of the old pain in his eyes. "Dad, I'm glad I got to come back to visit, before everything hits the fan," he said, letting his accent thicken as he spoke. "I don't know if you noticed or not, but things are getting bad here in the land of the livin'. GENOM's runnin' roughshod over ever'body, the WDF's scramblin' to stop 'em, and ever'body else seems to be runnin' around like chickens with their heads cut off." The assessment was fairly accurate. The major independent space powers, each with different priorities, had scattered to the winds, and now each fleet was getting a beating by turns. The Salusians and Zardons sat besieged in their home system; the United Federation of Planets' Starfleet, after several pointless and costly single-ship encounters, had gathered their remaining fleet for one final stand at Wolf 349; and the various smaller forces, including the Confederate Freespacers Mercenary Fleet, either worked with the WDF, assisted sector defense commands, or protected their homeworlds from possible (and frequent) GENOM attack. "Things are gonna be rough," Kris said. "I got the Home Fleet helping to evacuate all the civilians from the Enigma Sector defense bases, and the Tactical Fleet's keeping a lookout in case GENOM attacks. Once we have the refugees out of the way, we'll hook up with the WDF and make our stand with them. God willing, we'll come through okay." Kris let the rustle of the leaves under the summer breeze echo through the cemetery for a few moments. After some thought, he reached into his jacket pocket and took out a ring. "I've been thinking, Dad. I met this girl, you see, and I think I'm in love with her. If we both live through..." He chuckled bitterly at that; these days, he could live through nearly anything. "If we both live through this... this shit... I'm going to ask her to marry me. "Her name's Terri Curtiss. She's a really sweet person, Dad... and she understands, Dad, she understands all the weirdness." Once, long long ago, Kris had been a writer for comic books. He'd ended up in space by a strange happenstance and had seen some of the characters he'd written for, somewhat different in certain ways, in the flesh. He'd flown vehicles from fiction, met alien races taken from movies, and generally lived a strange life. Terri just accepted all of it as status quo. "Dad... I just wish you'd lived... stuck around... hell, I don't even know where Mom was buried, or when. I'm all I got left, and it's really hurting me sometimes. I need someone to be there for me." A loud beep sounded from the flight jacket, and Kris took out an older model Starfleet personal communicator. Flipping it open, he said, "Overstreet here." "Admiral, we just received a report. Starfleet got waxed at Wolf 349. The main GENOM fleet'll be here in three hours. Olympus has issued a planetary evacuation code, they're heading for the hills. Time to bug out, Red." Like almost every other Condorcet before him, the commanding officer of the battlecruiser CFMF Tinker, James Joseph Condorcet XVIII, handed Kris his share of bitter pills to swallow. This time, for once, the grey-haired, bullheaded, sexist old warrior couldn't be blamed, so Kris swallowed his anger and forced himself into some measure of professionalism. "All right, JJ," Kris said quietly. "Prepare for rendezvous in thirty minutes. Overstreet out." Kris pocketed his communicator and crouched down to adjust the little flags in their holders. "Got to go, Dad. Thanks for listening... hope you'll be watching." Kris stood from his crouch and looked around the cemetery, to the tall pine, oak, and magnolia trees, and remembered the days long, long ago, when he had wanted so badly to escape the rural life and see the wide world. Today he sought for just a moment to forget the wide world he'd sought out, first as a student, then as a writer, and then, most improbably, as a starfighter pilot and mercenary. Precious moments, Kris thought. Time stolen from a schedule too tight to permit it. But who knows... I might not see this place again for a LONG time... or ever, maybe. Across the years, he could still hear his father's voice, the little mundane things that, somehow, had tied two people together in an unbreakable bond. "Hey, Kris, ya wanta go to th' beer joint?" "Kris, you wanna give me a hand with this?" "KRISTAN OREN OVERSTREET, YOU GET YOUR ASS IN HERE!!" "I don't think this is a good idea, Kris, but whatever you ever want to do, I'll back ya, one hundred percent of th' way." Kris forced himself to smile as he left the graveyard, carefully closing the gate behind him, and called out to the small metal dome situated midway up the fuselage of the Incom T-65 Dragonfly starfighter parked carefully beneath the massive old magnolia trees which had given the cemetery its name. "Hey, Sparky, crank 'er up, we gotta go!" "You got it, boss!" an electronic voice called up, and the engines on the X-Wing roared into life. Kris tossed his helmet into the fighter seat, took a running start, and LEAPED up into the lower branches of the trees, swinging down and landing in the open cockpit, snatching up his helmet and slamming it onto his head as he landed. A few seconds later, a searing hot wind blew through the trees, blasting red clay dust through the clearing and down the old road leading down to the old Segno settlement. The roar of the fighter's engines faded, the wind died down, and the dead were alone once more. JJ Condorcet stepped off of the hangar control deck and walked down the steps to the hangar bay itself as the Tinker's hangar tractor beam dropped Kris' fighter into its proper place on the flight deck. As the astromech crane lifted Sparky from his socket behind the canopy, JJ waved to his admiral, smiling the classic Condorcet grin as he shouted up, "Hi, Redneck! How was your visit home?" Kris removed his helmet and dropped it into the fighter's seat behind him as he climbed out. "Short," he said at last. "Give me a status report on the fleet." "Lessee..." JJ fingered his thick grey mustache as he ran through the lists of CFMF fighting ships, working out mentally who was where at the moment. "MASS units sixteen through twenty-five are deployed at Wilderness Station with the Home Fleet; the rest is escorting refugee evacuation fleets to Zeta Cygni. All five carrier task forces are at Wilderness, along with most of the smaller ships... the Palendrom's bottled up in the Salusal system with the Salusian RSN... the Guys and Dolls is returning from its patrol of space around Jyurai, should rendezvous with the fleet in another eight hours... the Defiant is still on its shakedown cruise after its engine refit... and then there's us." "Great," Kris nodded. "Get to the bridge and get us out of here. Best speed to Wilderness Station." "Will do, Admiral," JJ grinned. With a mock salute, he turned and walked briskly towards the turbolift, cracking his knuckles as he let the smile drop back into the worried frown he'd had all too often the last two months. Starfleet couldn't stop 'em, he thought. The Salusians can't stop 'em. The WDF can't even get half its ships out of drydock. An' we're gonna be right dead in their way when they come through to finish off Largo's little pet project. What the hell are we gonna do? Kris strolled leisurely along the deck, working open the seal on his flight suit, taking the time to look around him and inspect the hangar. Two of the Tinker's six squadrons, plus his own fighter, stood in the ready-launch bays, ready to go... along with two other, much larger objects which took up a large chunk of the Tinker's remaining hangar space. One of these objects, a large mobile missile launcher, flashed its lights and called out to him. "Hey, Admiral!" it shouted in a deep, laconic voice. "Glad to see you back!" "Hello, Major, how's it going?" Kris called out. "Not too bad," Major Doubledealer, second in command of the Ninth Regiment, Freespacer Marine Corps, replied. "Of course, I'd like some room to stretch out one of these days..." Kris tried not to chuckle at the thought. In robot form, the Transformer stood about eighty feet tall, give or take. "I'll see about getting you some shore leave on New Avalon in the near future. In the meantime, all I can do is up your lube rations and tell ya to keep your manifold from seizing up." "Fair enough. You take care too," Doubledealer replied. A much smaller figure, a human roughly five feet four, ran over from the other object, a large gunboat- sized starfighter done up in silver and white trim. "Admiral!" Dr. Hitaki Kizuki shouted. "Admiral, you must stop these horrible military- minded cretins. They want to launch the Starlight prematurely! Can't you please explain to them what the situation is?" Kris rolled his eyes. Rear Admiral Grosvenor Rollins, known in and out of the CFMF as Groo the Quartermaster, had assumed ever since the Starlight prototype heavy fighter left drydock last month that it was ready for combat, and he had tried to put it on the front lines more than once. The grim reality was that the Starlight's special innovative pilot-ship interface- the point of the whole business- required massive cybernetic and genetic manipulation of its pilot, and the chosen test pilot, Dr. Kizuki's daughter Mitsuha, was still recovering from the surgeries. Both Dr. Kizuki and Washuu insisted on more time for training and observation before putting the extremely experimental system into combat. "Look, Dr. Kizuki," Kris sighed, "I'll get Quartermaster Corps off your back... again... but if you can show them something, anything in the next couple of weeks that could help..." The background hum of the engines rose slightly, and Kris smiled as he walked away. "Now if you'll excuse me, Doctor, we've just hit warp, and I really need to be on the bridge." "But Admiral!" Dr. Kizuki followed Kris right up to the turbolift doors. "What about the security of the project? Is the Starlight safe here? I've already arranged to have my children sent to New Avalon, but-" "Dr. Kizuki," Kris smiled, "this is the most potent starship the CFMF has. The Starlight, quite literally, could not be in a safer place." With that, he stepped into the turbolift, mumbled, "Main Bridge, Level One," and relaxed. Ah, stress, annoyance, and the acts of fools. Back to work, Mr. Overstreet. Chapter 2/THEN Sol System, solar orbit near Earth May 4, 2385 Four ships floated in open space, lit by the yellow star which they orbited and the tiny blue and grey spheres which lay some ten million miles behind them. Two Miranda-class light cruisers represented the United Federation of Planets Starfleet, flanked on either side by the massive Royal Salusian battleship HMS Lord Mathis and the even more massive flagship of the CFMF, the CFMF Tinker. A vague distance ahead of the capital ships, dozens of starfighters buzzed around the edge of a disturbance in spacetime, a strange buckling and curving of reality distorting the starfield beyond it Air traffic controllers coordinated the various Olympus/Earth, Starfleet, Salusian, and Freespacer fighters from the upper deck of the Tinker's vast bridge, while on the lower deck various science officers examined the scans sent back by the fighters patrolling the anomaly. In the pit of the bridge, gathered around an auxiliary display screen, Admiral Overstreet, Captain JJ Condorcet, Washuu Hakubi, and the captains of the other three ships watched a computer simulation of the anomaly grow, open up for a few moments, then close, shrink, and fade away. "To explain what's happening in layman's terms, a neighboring universe is brushing close to ours," Washuu said. "There will be a short period of imbalance as the other universe penetrates ours, and then the universes will drift back apart and the effect will subside.." "Can anything from the other universe cross over into this one?" Captain Juarez, the swarthy, impeccably trimmed commander of the USS Saratoga, asked. "Of course it could!" Washuu smiled. "However, I've looked into the universe in question, and-" "Excuse me?" Captain Jerisht, the Lord Mathis' commander and an old, grey-furred veteran of centuries with the Salusian military, asked softly. "You visited this other universe?" "No, not personally," Washuu said. "I just looked inside it for a bit." "But how did-" Jerisht felt a hand gently grasp his shoulder. The owner of the hand said quietly, "Don't ask how she does it, but I assure you Professor Washuu is quite capable of doing it." "I'll take your word for it, Admiral," the Salusian nodded. "The universe in question is very similar to ours, except for a slight delay in its process of time," Washuu said. "There is an Earth on the other side, on which the current year is 2045 or so. Their technology is significantly inferior to our universe; in particular, they have no hyperlight drive. The odds of their detecting the disturbance, much less purposely sending something through it before it subsides, are so low it's laughable. "Only the most luckless, clumsy, boneheaded accident could bring anything through the hole for the... oh..." Washuu punched a few keys on the console, nodded at the result with satisfaction, "fifteen seconds the portal will be open." "Nevertheless, we shall continue to observe the phenomenon with our ships at alert status until the effect has completely subsided," Captain Douglass, a tall, broad-shouldered man whose Starfleet uniform fit even more rigidly than Captain Juarez's, folded his arms and stared impassively at the Freespacer and Salusian commanders. "Such are Starfleet's orders." "Hey, you can do whatever you like," Captain Condorcet growled back, "but we ain't under contract to y'all, and we ain't under Starfleet or Federation command. Why, we oughta-" "JJ," Kris said quietly, "cool it, okay?" To the other captains, he said, "The Freespacers shall continue to assist Starfleet, Earth, and Salusian forces in this operation. In fact, as soon as the Tinker launches its second shift of fighters, we will offer refueling services to the other fighters." "That would be appreciated," Douglass replied. "However," Kris continued, "until an active threat presents itself, this ship will limit its alert status to its hangar bay and starfighter forces and support crews. All other functions, including the monitoring of the phenomenon, will be conducted under normal duty conditions." "If that is your choice." Douglass said, his voice not betraying one ounce of emotion. "However, Captain Juarez and I have specific orders to treat this operation as a potential military threat. We will remain at general quarters." "For seven hours?" Washuu said. "That's how long it's going to be before the activity peaks." She smiled slyly at the Starfleet captain. "Or do you like seeing your young female officers all at their stations at once, in those tight-fitting uniforms and form-fitting trousers..." Her smile turned truly wicked as she added, "Or have you gone back to those little butt-hugging miniskirts?" Douglass blushed and huffed uncomfortably at Washuu's leer. "Washuu, give it a rest," Kris grumbled. "Gentlemen, I shall revise the rotation shifts of our starfighters, and I suggest you all do the same. I shall pass on that suggestion to the commanders of the Earth defense forces at Olympus. You are invited back here in six hours to monitor the peak event. Until then, I suggest we all try to get a little sleep." "Excuse me?" Jerisht replied. "On my ship, the day is just starting." Kris groaned. "Or whatever," he said. "Six hours, gentlemen... ah, 0130 hours, Tinker ship time." As the captains went to the lift to take the transporter to their ships, Kris said to Captain Condorcet, "JJ, please arrange for half of the incoming pilots to get some rest. I want all possible ships flying in seven hours. Okay?" "Sure thing, Red," JJ replied. "You want me to rig up a fighter for you?" "Um... no," Kris replied. "I think this time I'll be of more use on the bridge." "Then I hope you don't mind if I take your place," JJ replied. "Wouldn't want to get rusty, y'know." "Fine," Kris said. "Have fun. I'll be back on the bridge in six hours." "Would you like me to tuck you in, Kris?" Washuu said just a little too sweetly. "Washuu..." Kris glared down at Washuu for a moment before sighing and continuing, "That just... isn't... funny." Kris trudged to the turbolift, mentally trying to prepare himself for sleep he knew he wasn't likely to get. Washuu stood behind on the bridge, and said quietly, "But I'm not laughing." At 0227 hours according to the clocks on the CFMF Tinker, the disturbance, which had grown steadily larger and more turbulent over time, split in the center, forming a ring of brilliant light around a tiny glimpse of normal-looking space. The science officers of the four ships studied the readings from the other universe intently, as the gap grew slightly wider and stabilized for a few seconds. Then the starfighter tumbled through the gap and into the midst of the swarm of Dragonflies, Epees, Valkyries, Headhunters, Myrmidons, and other assorted fighters. The battlescarred fighter rolled end over end, drifting through and away from the rift. One wingtip had been blasted clean away, and one of the twin tailfins was dented badly from a glancing impact. The running lights and cockpit sat, dead and dark, at the outer edges of the ship. The rift closed up behind the starfighter; the ring of light narrowed and winked out, and the turbulence began to subside. Kris jumped up from the Tinker's command chair and strode over to a console, focusing the Tinker's scanners on the vessel. As he thought, all power systems read as totally dead... but there -were- life signs, faint, but present, in the cockpit. The pilot was still alive... but unless the ship could be rescued, that life would be short. "Helm!" Kris shouted. "Take us in, one-quarter sublight! Hangar bay, prepare to receive salvage vessel! Medic team, report to main hangar!" The Tinker's bridge flew into motion, and with a subliminal rumble of engines the Tinker moved forward towards the disturbance. "Get our airspace clear!" he shouted to the ATC officers around the bridge. Starfighters scattered, speeding away from the otherworldly fighter as the Tinker moved forward. Gracefully the battleship reversed its position, turning its rear towards the derelict and opening its main hangar doors. A tractor beam latched onto the craft, halted its spin, and gently brought it into the hangar, where another beam guided it over to the corner of the hangar closest to the main turbolift. From the console on the bridge, Kris got his first clear look at the fighter. The main ramjet engine intake gaping in the front, the twin jet intakes atop the stubby wings, the bulging canopy and twin tailfins... Kris pushed his memory for the place he'd seen the design before, and finally came up with the reference. Four hundred years ago, when he'd been something other than a mercenary... The Starfleet captains stared with surprise when Kris' leaped up to the upper deck of the bridge and ran to the turbolift. Captain Jerisht didn't bat an eye; his early career had been spent as a junior officer on the old SDF-17 Wayward Son, and he'd seen enough during his career to be surprised at virtually nothing. In the sickbay, a young redheaded woman with a rich crop of freckles on her cheeks lay unconscious on a diagnostic bed. The senior medic, a Salusian named Dr. Bifran Piers, checked the bed's display panel and said to Kris, "Well, Red, she'll be just fine. Her ship was probably rendered powerless crossing between universes. She's only been out for a couple of minutes. In fact, she'll be waking up any moment now." As Dr. Piers spoke, the woman's eyelids fluttered, and she groaned slightly. She stared for a long moment into the furred face of the Salusian doctor, took a deep breath, and screamed wildly. Kris leaned over her, pinned her arms down, and yelled, "QUIET!" The woman stopped screaming and looked curiously at Kris, who stared back calmly. "What is your name?" he said. "I..." The woman gulped down a breath and continued, "I'm Lieutenant Terri Curtiss, Earth Volunteer Group." "Terri Curtiss," Kris said. Luckless, clumsy, totally accidental. Straight from the comics. "Terri," Kris said quietly, "my name is Kris Overstreet. You aren't in the world you used to be in..." Terri's eyes widened. She sat up slightly, looking around her. She said quietly, "What? ...What year is this?" "2385," Kris said. Terri stared at Kris for a long time. "Four hundred years?" Kris nodded. "Close enough." "Another universe?" Kris nodded again. Terri collapsed back into her bunk, groaning. "I should have known," she grumbled. "I'm in a spin-off title." Chapter 2/NOW DSS Wilderness Station, Enigma Sector August 2, 2388 Near the center of Enigma Sector, in the long-ago days between the fall of Atlantis and the first Kilrathi War, a Salusian scout placed a navigation beacon to guide the slow, clunky hyperdrive ships of the time through the regions of dark nebulae and rogue planets which gave the sector its name. The new routes through the region sped up travel through the sector by days, and soon the beacon became the hub of travel for the region. Hubs of travel, as any Ferengi could tell you, mean money. And money means that someone will come along seeking to transfer some of the money from the spacers flitting past the hub into their pockets. One particular someone, an entrepreneur whose name is lost to memory, moved a small planetoid to within a few million miles of the beacon and built in orbit around it what would later be called Wilderness Station. By the twenty-fourth century AD, Earth Gregorian Calendar, warp drives were well on the way to supplanting hyperdrives for large-scale commercial transport. Newer, better sensor systems meant that ships could plow directly through the nebulae and asteroid fields rather than stick to the older trade routes. Despite changes in technology, one thing remained constant; within a fifteen-lightyear radius, Wilderness Station was the best place to resupply, rest, and recreate. It was also one of the best defended stations in space; a ship within ten klicks of Wilderness Station was as safe as in orbit around Salusia itself. Not even MacLeod Station, built near the actual center of Enigma Sector, could compete with the ancient and immense Salusian station. Naturally Wilderness Station became one of the centers of organized defense when GENOM's fleet appeared, almost from nowhere, to begin its run at galactic conquest. For the past month, the CFMF had been contracted to the Federation as sector defense and evacuation guard. For its headquarters, the Freespacer command had chosen Wilderness, and the Confederate Freespacer Alliance moved the core of its Home Fleet into orbit around the grand old space station. Dropping to sublight, the Tinker was greeted with the magnificent view of the Freespacer Home Fleet, in a loose orbital cluster around the immense bulk of Wilderness Station. A tourist, upon catching first sight of the running lights of the fleet, would see the older starfighters of the Home Fleet Defense Force, or occasionally one of the new X-Wings of the MASS-01, the traditional escort force of the Freespacer government, on skirmisher duty. The tourist's ship would then pass into the outer perimeter of the fleet, a disorganized area where as many as a couple hundred ships of varying size from tiny tramp freighters up to huge bulk haulers, sleek warships and clumsy habitat ships, would either sit, awaiting instructions from the Freespacer fleet ATC, or move from one position to another around the fleet's edge. Beyond the outer edge lay the fleet proper, a strictly organized flight pattern organized to prevent collisions while allowing for easy passage in, through, and out of the pattern. At the heart of the fleet lay five ships, which above all represented the core of the Freespacer nation; the twin triangles of the capitol ships, the CFA Washington and CFA Richmond; the two principal drydock vessels, the streamlined CFA Birmingham and the gigantic CFA Bethlehem; and at the very core of the fleet, the motley hulk of metal and good wishes, almost as big as Wilderness Station itself, the CFA New Orleans. These five ships, by themselves, held some 70,000 permanent residents; the entire fleet, over 2,500 ships in all, normally had a total population of over a million people. Today, as the Tinker glided through the pattern to its position close by the Washington, that population had been drastically increased. Kris stood on the bridge of the Tinker, watching the ships gliding around and through the pattern. Dozens of private haulers, some out-and-out smugglers, raced their ships through the pattern, running to and from larger transports with their cargo of refugees. The starfighter cordon was supplemented by the combined force of half the fleet's MASS units and the six active carriers of the CFMF Tactical Fleet. Many more non-Freespacer ships than usual were in the pattern, taking advantage of the additional protection to restock, rest, and scurry on to safety. In the current situation, safety was a relative concept. Each day, more worlds came under attack from GENOM forces. Salusia, Zardon, Vulcan, Sirius and Cybertron were all under siege. On Earth, the Olympus arcology had been bombarded almost out of existence in minutes, and the planetary defense forces had been driven underground or into guerrilla warfare. Smaller task forces were attacking places like Manticore, Corellia, and Ord Mantell. More and more refugees, displaced from old safe ports, were being re-routed to the new Dyson Sphere which had replaced the old Utopia Planitia Ship Yards. "All stop," JJ ordered, and the helmsman's hands danced across the keys, bringing the motion of the ship into sync with the rest of the fleet. Through the viewports, Kris picked out three of the Tactical Fleet's Camelot-class carriers, along with several Plymouth-III and Broadway fast corvettes. The fleet's mixture of the incredibly-modified Headhunters, slightly-less-modified Myrmidons, and brand-new Dragonflies zipped back and forth across the pattern, tiny sparks against the multicolored shapes of the main Home Fleet. "Thank you for the ride, Captain," Kris said. "If my launch is ready, I'll be heading over to the Washington now and get a dent put in the paperwork." Kris' smile said that he'd rather clean out a Bantha stable. "Anytime, Red- uh, Admiral," JJ said. "Say hi to Little Joe for me, willya?" "Will do, JJ," Kris replied. "Carry on." Once inside the turbolift for a long ride down to the hangar and his personal shuttle, Kris wished to himself that he could risk the new transporters he'd had installed in all the ships Dreadnought-class and larger. However, he thought, trying to use a matter-energy transporter on a lifeform which absorbed energy would lead to extremely unpleasant consequences. A few minutes later, Kris' private launch eased out of the Tinker's hangar, aiming itself towards the Washington. As Kris guided the small shuttle through the pattern, he noted one particular X-wing cutting across the pattern at high speed, whisking just above or below the hulls of various ships, apparently trying to intercept him. The markings on the fighter, even at this distance, identified it as one of the MASS-21 Cosmotigers. Kris' heart sank even as his hands keyed in an evasion protocol, barely convincing the shuttle to duck under the fighter's path. The fighter passed overhead, overcorrected, grazed a passing freighter with its wingtip, and spun wildly towards the Washington. A few seconds before the fighter could collide with the larger ship, a tractor beam lanced out from its starboard vane and slowed the fighter, stopping it a few meters from its hull. "Overstreet to Washington," Kris said quietly. "Is that Lieutenant Curtiss in that fighter?" "Sure is, Admiral," the deck officer replied. "Would you like to speak to her when you land?" Kris suppressed what he'd really like to do- all four variations- and said, "That would be a good idea." Chief Warrant Officer Boris Konig groaned as he inspected the Incom T-65-A Dragonfly Lieutenant Curtiss had nearly wrecked (again). Between her frequent visits to the Washington and other incidents, he saw the fighter more often than the Cosmotiger's crew chief, Petty Officer Larzac, ever did. Off to one side of the Washington's hangar bay, the Admiral's launch was settling to the deck, its hatch already opening up before the engines had cycled to a complete stop. The Admiral himself almost jumped out of the shuttle, looking around angrily for Lieutenant Curtiss. Finally, his eyes fell on the redheaded woman in the orange flight suit standing meekly in the middle of the bay. "Terri, what the HELL was that out there?" he shouted from halfway across the hangar, his boots clacking loudly on the metal. "You come barreling across the goddamn fleet like a bat out of hell- about as blind, too- and nearly get yourself AND me killed! What the HELL WERE YOU THINKING?" "I... I'm sorry, Red, I just wanted to see you so badly, I mean..." Chief Konig watched as Terri shifted on her feet with a discomfort he'd never been able to inspire in her. "I ought to have you grounded- AGAIN- for that display," Redneck barked. "If I didn't know you were rougher on the enemy than on our own ships, I'd have you assigned to Quartermaster Corps!" "But... I... I didn't mean to hurt anybody...." And on it went, for several more minutes, as the Chief watched the Admiral give the lieutenant the dressing-down of her life. Finally, he grumbled, "I'm going to refer this to MASS Command for action, Lieutenant. I'm sure they'll find SOMETHING that might make an impression on that redheaded brain of yours! Dismissed!" "Yes, sir..." Terri mumbled. "Um... would you like to have dinner with me tonight?" "Hm? Um, yeah, sure," the Admiral nodded. "8 PM in the forward commissary, as usual?" Chief Konig shook his head and returned to his inspection of Terri's fighter. No doubt about it, he thought, the Admiral's got it bad... Chapter 3/THEN Uncharted planet November 16, 2234 Kris floated through his dreams, trying to relax while searching madly for a peculiar type of dream he had on occasion. Ever since he could remember, Kris had seen places, and occasionally people, in his dreams. Places he hadn't been, people he'd never met. He'd wake up and forget the dream- until he saw the place or met the person, when he'd be hit with the feeling he nicknamed Deja View. A week ago, he'd orbited this planet, a nameless watery world dominated by one large continent of mostly grasslands, after thirty-two years of wandering uncharted space and getting stranded on various planets trying to repair his decrepit scout ship. He'd never seen the world before- in fact, as far as anyone knew, no one from the United Galactica had come this way. But he'd seen the planet before... and he'd known, at once, he had to land. He set his ship down near the center of the grassland, and he'd hiked a couple of miles before he found a small grass hut alone in the wilderness. He'd walked up to the hut and looked around... and found a note addressed to Kristan Overstreet. MAKE YOURSELF COMFORTABLE; I WILL RETURN SHORTLY. In the week since, he'd listened to the old man who showed up that evening, meditated while he ran alongside the bovine creatures of the plains, concentrated on not concentrating. Already his control over his ability to absorb and manipulate energy had become more refined and less instinctive. He could feel and control every action, every process in his body. Not bad for a Jedi in training. Tonight, sensing the Force but not able to touch it, Kris stumbled from dream to dream, rushing through the chaotic images in search of a true vision. Views of various Condorcets, of Washuu and Sparky, of Leeanna and Asrial and Ichi and Jeremy, of the Wayward Son, the New Orleans, the ex-Sivar carrier CFMF Jyurai, of worlds and people and ships beyond number, blurred together into a phantasmal blur. But tonight, it seemed, there would be no 'special' dreams, no Deja Views. Resigning himself to failure, Kris settled into a more restful sleep, vowing to try again another time, and another, as long as it took. More to learn, he thought, and how much time to learn in? Early in the morning on the seventh day of Kris' training, Jaicyen led him on a trek across the plain, the old man running effortlessly through the waist-high grass ahead while Kris gasped and panted his way back up to a trot behind him. For the millionth time or so, Kris regretted promising not to boost his strength or endurance during training; his lungs were raw, his legs shaking, and he wanted to throw up. Looking back, he could barely make out the hut, some three or four miles back. The horizon before them appeared featureless, save for a stunted tree here or there rising from the grassland. "Come, Kristan!" Jaicyen shouted back. "The Jedi gains strength and endurance from the Force! Let the Force flow through you!" Kris smothered the thought of letting anything flow at all and kept running. The small wash appeared out of nowhere, breaking the endless plain in front of them. Laughing, Jaicyen jumped off the wash's high banks; groaning, Kris followed, dropping and rolling as he hit the wash bed about twelve feet below. Jaicyen had apparently had no need even to roll, he stood, staff in hand, looking at Kris with the same penetrating stare as when the two had first met. For a few seconds, Kris steadied himself, allowing his regeneration to catch up with his exertions. At the same time, he carefully relaxed himself, little by little, opening himself up to the Force. The first couple of times, it seemed to flee from him; the third time, he felt it flow through him; as he touched it, he felt a cold, hungry darkness around him. "What..." Kris said, careful not to lose his concentration... "what am I feeling?" "What _are_ you feeling?" Jaicyen asked. "Something is wrong here," Kris murmured. Standing, he took a few tentative steps, then turned and faced the arroyo's bank. In front of him was a low cave, where past floods had washed away the soil to reveal the limestone beneath. The hole might admit a human, crouched over, carefully. The cave reeked of the darkness; in a flash, Kris saw the cave and its surroundings as if on a moonlit night, except that the darkness flowed from the cave, eating away at the daylight. The vision passed, and Kris took a step closer. "There is something in the cave, isn't there?" he said at last. "In ancient times," Jaicyen said at last, "a great battle was fought here, between a Jedi Master and a Lord of the Sith. Since that battle, this place, this tomb, has been strong, strong with the Dark Side of the Force. "You must go inside." Kris balked. "I don't want to go inside. You've warned me more times than I can count about the Dark Side, why should I want to go in?" "Sooner or later, Kristan, each of us must face the Dark Side for the first time," Jaicyen said. "If you do not go in now, you merely put off the inevitable for a day when you may not expect it." "Am I ready?" Kris asked. "No," Jaicyen replied. "There is no way to be ready." "I'm afraid," Kris said. "That is natural," Jaicyen said. "Be careful not to let your fear control you. Control your emotions, do not let your emotions control your actions, and you will be safe." "What will I find in there?" "Only what you bring with you." Kris looked at Jaicyen, then at the cave, and then, taking a deep breath, he crawled into the hole. For a second, Kris saw the dimly lit cave, water dripping down into the depths of an enormous cavern, shadows creeping at every side... Kris blinked furiously. The cave was gone; he stood in an alley of some sort. Around him stood high sandstone palaces, carved with the images of birds of prey, of hunting animals, and of tall bipeds with leonine faces. The smell of smoke filled his nostrils, the furnace heat and cloying moisture of a tropical city clung to his skin. Kilrah, Kris realized, this is the Kilrathi homeworld. What the hell am I doing here? Behind him, something exploded with horrific force, throwing him to the ground. Terror welled up inside him, and he forced himself to calm down. There is no emotion; there is peace, he thought. The voice inside him which said, Yeah, right, did nothing to help his state of mind. Footsteps crunched slowly against the sandstone street. Kris spun around to face a humanoid form, roughly Kris' height, dressed, cloaked and hooded in black, took long measured strides, walking towards, and then past, Kris, without looking aside. A Kilrathi female, a young cub clutched tight in her arms, stumbled into the alleyway, gasping for breath and glancing behind her. Apparently satisfied that her pursuers were gone, the Kilrathi woman stepped forward, paused, and gasped as she saw the smaller, human form before her. The Kilrathi screamed. The cloaked human raised a hand, and small bolts of energy flew from his palm to slash through the woman's body. Screaming in fear and pain, she fell atop her baby, carefully shielding the cub without crushing it against the ground. The energy-shivs continued, cutting hole after hole into the Kilrathi's body. Finally, the Kilrathi woman's screams died out, leaving the crying of the cub to echo through the quiet alleyway. Kris gaped as the cloaked man bent forward, pushing the Kilrathi's body off her cub. The cub looked up, silent and fearful, as the cloaked man picked it up by the scruff in its neck. An energy blade appeared in the man's hand, and wordlessly he raised it to strike. "STOP!" Kris managed to shout at last, and he ran towards the man and cub, energy staff appearing in his own hand. The cloaked man paid no attention; with a flick of the wrist, the cub's head tumbled away, landing with a soft splotch. With a gesture of disgust, the man tossed the lifeless body away. "No..." Kris's staff vanished, and ignoring the cloaked man, he knelt down and cradled the headless cub in his arms. Then, tears steaming down his face, he looked up at the cloaked man and said, "Why? Who are you! WHY?" In reply, the hooded man reached up and pulled the hood away from his face. Wild, unkempt blonde hair matted down on a pale head, and a manic grin gleamed through a tangled red beard. Two slits which might have been eyes glowed as red as the energy blade which still glowed in the man's right hand. Kris gasped, "You... you're me." "Wrong," the man said quietly. "I am me. You merely think you are me. But you are a lie, a denial. I am the true Redneck, little man. And there are Kilrathi to kill." "NO!" Kris said, and, dropping his link to the Force, he focused all the energy at his doppelganger- -and Kris stood, in a dark, damp cave, water up to his calves, fists glowing with energy ready to expel. No, he thought, carefully dissipating the energy gathered in his hands, no, that wasn't me. That was only a vision. It isn't real. I would never be that cold, that wild a killer. I hope. Outside the cave, Jaicyen watched and waited, and thought. And he kept his thoughts to himself. The dreams again, the images, the searching. A week had passed since his trial at the cave. Jaicyen had refused to tell him if he'd passed or failed, and Kris didn't know himself. The image of himself as a cold, heartless killer filled Kris with terror, a terror he had to wrestle down almost constantly. The images returned, and this time Kris felt he was on the right track. A black-haired woman with horns, a redheaded elf with an ancient sword, and a scantily-clad blonde woman with a fedora; these were images totally unknown to him, as were the many images of a small redheaded child, smiling happily up at him. He saw a young woman with long, straight black hair, her ivory face broken by three spots of blue, then saw a feminine figure- the same woman?- in gleaming black power armor, facing off against an enormous wolf. A man both old and young, man and machine, enemy and friend, glowered at him. A man with an insane grin, and glowing red eyes, wearing a blue business suit, sat in a spinning office chair and smirked at everything around him... Kris fell into a dark, dark pit... ... running through the black-walled corridors, beam-staff in hand, seeking... what? ... anger, much anger, whose? Fear, fear and hatred soaked through the walls- how am I feeling this? Turn a corner and- -the pain, the pain of the innocent- who is doing this? I hear the screams, what are they doing? Why am I here? WHY? "Kristan! Wake up!" Kris jerked up from his bunk, sweat plastering his bedsheet to his skin. Above him stood Master Jaicyen, whose sad eyes watched him with grave concern. "You were seeking the future, I see," he said. "And you have found it." "Did you... did you see that?" Kris asked. The image echoed in his mind, fresh and strong; he fought to lock away the fear and anger he'd felt in the dream. "I am not sure," Jaicyen said. "I saw something which gave me concern... and I awoke and felt your fear. Wherever the place was you saw, it was deep, deep in the Dark Side... and you were in grave danger." "Danger? From who? I didn't see nobody." "From yourself," Jaicyen said. "Much of the anger, the hatred, was yours." With a soft grunt, the old Jedi stood and walked to the shelf on the other side of the room. He pulled down a couple of earthen jars, then whispered, "I cannot teach you anymore." "What?" Kris started. "But Master, I was just beginning to learn! What about the other lessons, the other techniques?" Jaicyen looked into Kris' eyes, the regret in the master's face regarding the confusion and fear in the student's. "I saw two futures," he said at last. "Maybe one is true, maybe the other, maybe neither. In one, I taught you and made you a Jedi Knight; that much ability is in you. And then you fell to the Dark Side, and had not the strength to come back. In the other, you left me, and you learned a little on your own, and you came close to the Dark Side, but stepped away from the edge. "For your sake, and the sake of those you call friend, I must refuse to teach you anything else. I would appreciate it if you left this world at once." Jaicyen gestured to a rack, upon which some dried meat and a few pale tubers hung. "I have prepared some supplies which should see you as far as the next system. There you will find an industrial world capable of servicing your ship. May the Force be with you." The old man picked up the jars and strode out of the hut door into the pre-dawn shadows, leaving Kris alone to dress and pack. A few hours later, with his gear stowed back into the Sunday Driver, Redneck took his ship up into the skies above the nameless little planet, soaring across the grassy plains. He passed over the plain several times, startling some bovines, hoping to catch a final glimpse of the shack he'd spent the last two weeks learning so much in. Jaicyen's hut was nowhere to be found. Chapter 3/NOW CFA Washington August 3, 2388 Staring out a window- whose window?- watching ships in combat... the battle is one-sided, a huge fleet of huge ships smashing a smaller fleet of much, much smaller ships... ...a redheaded form flashes by, too fast to see, in the cockpit of an X-Wing, flying into the heart of the fighting. The laser blasts find the fighter, and I hear the screams... screams ... "TERRI!" Kris sat up in his bed, sweat soaking the bedsheets and running down his face and chest. The dark cabin on the CFA Washington lay around him, dimly lit by the running lights and engines of the fleet shining through the viewport. Shaking slightly, Kris got up from the bed and walked over to his desk, checking the time and date; 0342 8-3-88, the small readout glowed. The dream's horror faded slightly, and Kris forced himself to calm down. A battle- must be us against GENOM, no one else has a fleet that big- and Terri? Terri dead? ... Kris got up, wrapped a robe around himself and strode through the cabin door, through his office, past the reception desk and out into the corridor. Even at this late hour, pages for the Legate and Washington crewmen passed by on their errands; a couple paused to stare at the disheveled admiral in a green terrycloth robe standing in the middle of the walkway. Across the corridor from Kris' office door stood a plain wooden door, familiar to any child who ever watched the educational TV series "Washuu's Lab." Where most of the doors on the Washington slid open, the wooden door hinged, opening into a vast, vast space not shown in the blueprints of the ship... mostly because, Kris knew, the space didn't exist in the ship, or in this dimension, at all. The door closed behind Kris, the crab-shaped door chime clattering as the door vanished behind him. Kris knew where to find it when he wished to leave; this was hardly his first visit into Washuu's laboratory. As usual, Washuu sat near the door on a cushion suspended in midair, typing madly away on a holographic terminal. At the sound of the door closing, she looked up and smiled warmly. "Hi, Kris!" she said. "Having trouble sleeping?" Kris walked over to Washuu and knelt so his face and Washuu's were on the same level; where Kris was a hair under six feet tall, Washuu was between four and five feet tall, and sitting didn't make her any taller. "Washuu, I need to ask some advice," Kris said. "Go ahead," Washuu said, more sober than usual. "I'm in love with a person," Kris said, and Washuu's eyes lit up excitedly. "The problem is, I think- well, I had a premonition- well, there's a good chance she's going to die soon. I don't know what to do about it." "Die?" Washuu said. "Are you sure about this?" Kris hung his head miserably. "I don't see any hope of avoiding it," he mumbled. "I'm as sure as I am of anything, more so even." "Well, if you really think she's going to die, then there's no time to waste!" Washuu said. "You need to tell this person right now just how you feel! Use the time you have together to the maximum! Don't let the opportunity slip away! Once she's dead, you'll never have the chance again!" Sitting back on her cushion, she said, "I've made that mistake too often to let it happen again, if I can help it." "When was this?" Kris asked. "Oh, long before you were born," Washuu said. "That's not important now. Listen to me. There is nothing more precious in this universe, in my experience, than love. Nothing is harder to find, harder to keep, and harder to part with. If you love someone, and you think you're going to lose them, then you hold on tight, and you make every moment you have together the best it can possibly be." Kris nodded. "You're right," he said. "That's what I'll do! Thank you for pointing it out to me!" Kris hugged Washuu tightly, and Washuu shed a tear of joy. Releasing her, Kris said, "I'll go ask Terri right now!" Washuu's smile faltered. "Terri?" "Yes! Terri and I are gonna be- well, if she accepts- I gotta go propose!" Kris ran through the Lab door, banging it against the ship's bulkhead on the other side. Washuu stared through the door until it swung closed, and the small crab chime clattered above the frame. Then she put her head in her hands and cried. "Yawn... whuzzisit?" Terri groaned. Stumbling from the guest bunk she'd requested for the night, she wrapped a nightgown around herself and keyed the door open. For a second, she looked around and saw nothing; then she noticed the man kneeling in a bathrobe in front of her. In his hand was an ancient ring-box, a small ring crowned with a cluster of tiny diamonds inside. "Theresa Amy Curtiss..." Kris said quietly, "I ask for your hand in marriage." "huh?" Terri hadn't woken up yet. "Terri..." Kris said, slightly annoyed, "Will... You... Marry... Me?" The words sank in at last, and Terri staggered slightly. "M-marry?" Terri took the ring-box from Kris' hand and looked at it, and him, like a startled deer entranced by a spotlight. "M-m-m-m-m- marry me? Marry you? But-but I- but-" "Terri... I love you very deeply. And I don't want to lose you." "But... but this is so... sudden," Terri said. "I need time to think about this... maybe..." Terri closed the ring-box and turned to the door. "I'll have to think about it," she said. "I'll let you know when I have a decision." "Don't take too long," Kris said, rising up. "We may not have much time... and I don't want to waste one minute of what we have." Terri smiled. "Is that a come-on?" she said. It was Kris' turn to stutter. "Uh, wha, bwa?" "Great!" Terri said. "I get a test-drive before I buy!" Grasping Kris' robe by its lapels, she pulled him into the stateroom, keying the door closed behind them. Washuu cried and cried, on through the night, unable to stop, emotions pouring from her like the tears running down her face. I've failed, she thought. I've failed.